#I feel your pain Skizz

[nexusdoodles]

Can’t let Skizz get a second of Glory

[astronomodome]

No More Skizzlepregnancy!

[waytooobsessedwithmcyt]

Thinking about the complete different types of villainy all of the life series members have.

Pearl and Cleo are the easiest comparison, Dl!Pearl had a very manic energy, she felt a little hysterical, not always in control, just swinging her axe at whoever spoke (I could make a whole post about that because I love her so much) while Cleo always has this very calm, in control energy, their most famous villainous act, burning the fairy fort, occured with her above Lizzie and the rest.

Gem's villainy is obviously a kind of sweet manipulative evil. Not much to say on her because she speaks for herself, she kills people and makes them love her for it, it's insane how she talks to people she literally just killed and gets them to thank her. (Like Pearl, hello shiny duo shippers)

Scar is manipulative, like Gem, and desperately wants friends, like Pearl. Although he doesn't quite have the manic energy or the in control feeling of Cleo, he's remarkably good at figuring out exactly what someone wants and offering exactly that but in a way that's wrong, he's like a monkey paw

Ren is obviously an overdramatic theatre kid, he has the stage presence of an old school Disney villain, he strokes his mustache as he hangs Scar over a pool of alligators and demands the banner back. Martyn has the kind of "mastermind behind the scenes but also intensely loyal" villainy, he may be running things, but whatever his king says, goes, and he'll enforce that to the ends of the earth (gay?) the entire red army has the vibe of a wolf pack (I love wolves and I'd like a disclaimer that they rarely attack humans and are not evil) circling in on its prey (the alpha/beta ranking system has been disproven but for the purposes of this allegory I will ask you to suspend your disbelief) waiting for their alpha's command before diving in with terrifying ferocity.

Martyn in every other series is a wild card. I think I saw someone say that he was broken by Ren's death and became an unloyal person because the last person he was that devoted to brought him pain. He's driven further into insanity. His betrayal of Scott feels like a natural conclusion of this. Cleo taught him that even when the game demands that he be paired, he will not be chosen, but he still chose to abandon Pearl who would have chosen him. In secret life, he pairs with Jimmy, who he knows will die, maybe he hopes it won't hurt as much since he knows it will happen, but it does, and then he's the only red, and he's then left out of a huge sever wide event because he's exempt. I'm ranting but I'm so feral about this little dude.

Joel is cursed. Saw someone call it the Dionysus curse, he goes insane on red, he's deadly, efficient, and takes exactly the amount of joy he should, he's an intensely effective hitman who never misses a shot, and never fails to celebrate a death.

Third life Skizz is a type of unhinged, like Pearl, following the wolf pack analogy, he's the one snapping and snarling, just waiting for the release and savouring the kill. He wants to go so fucking feral, he is pure emotion

[th3-c0ll3ct3r]

With MCC pride coming up, I feel as if I need to state the obvious for some people

*taps mic*

THERE MAY BE STRAIGHT CONTENT CREATOR BECAUSE THEY DON'T HAVE ENOUGH SPACES FILLED WITH LGBTQIA+ ONES

"But what about *insert name* why didn't they get in?"

1. THE NOXCREW AND SMAJOR DIDN'T KNOW WHO THEY WERE AT THE TIME

2. IF THEY'VE ALREADY CONFIRMED A BENCHED PLAYER TO PLAY, THEN THEY AREN'T GOING TO GO BACK ON THERE WORDS AND RUIN SOMEONE'S DAY FOR YOUR SAKE... grow up-

3. AS MENTIONED IN THE SKIZZ & IMPULSESV PODCAST, SCOTT SMAJOR HAS A WAITING LIST FOR MCC! MEANING THEY COULD BE ON THE LIST BUT JUST DIDN'T MAKE IT THIS YEAR

4. INCOMPATIBILITY WITH OTHER PLAYERS

5. MCC PRIDE REPRESENTS ALOT MORE THEN THE AVERAGE MCCS, AND THEY WOULD TEND TO PICK SOMEONE THEY KNOW AND WHO IS RELIABLE TO PROMOTE THE CHARITIES THEY'RE SUPPORTING! MEANING THAT YOUR FAVOURITE CC! COULD BE IN A NON-PRIDE EVENT THIS YEAR/NEXT YEAR, TO BUILD TRUST AND RAPPORT, SO THAT SMAJOR AND NOXCREW ARE CONFIDENT THEY DON'T FUCK IT UP

6. JUST BECAUSE YOU KNOW THEM DOESN'T MEAN EVERYONE ELSE KNOWS THEM! YOU CAN BRING IT TO THERE ATTENTION AND THEY'LL LOOK INTO IT BUT THERES A WAITING LIST AND THEY MAY NOT TURN UP FOR A WHILE

And 7. Wanting someone familiar with the charities and what they represent as well as the importance of the event, and having confidence that their attitude during this event will be as they've displayed as, in the past, THIS BEING RESPECTFUL, IS THE MOST IMPORTANT THING‼️

You do not know what a content creator does behind the screens and maybe your favourite content creator won't be there because they do things that the Noxcrew, Scott Smajor or the charities do not like or would not feel comfortable with/they're in a bit of a pickle but it's none of their business

Everyone's input is just as important as other as Noxcrew/smajor co-own MCC and the charities they will be representing are putting themselves on the line to ensure support for people in the future. They reach out to the MCC crew for support, not pain!

You're not being forced to watch one particular content creator, so if you don't like them you can move on bestie

Additionally don't be hating on other for playing. No one is having you chained to a chair to watch Sapnap or idk some other person. You don't have to watch there POVs and can just watch another. It's not that deep bestie.

*...drops mic...*

[scribbling-dragon]

45 and flower husbands (or maybe emberfrost/snowbugs :eyes:) for the ask game!

breath from death

summary:

“Oh, love…” the sheer agony in Scott’s voice is enough to make Tango crack his eyes open, watery from his subsequent coughing fits, tears continuing to bead up as he tries to bring Scott’s shape into focus. When he does, he almost wishes he hadn’t, having to resist the urge to recoil from the way Scott is looking at him.

(ao3 link)

(2,473 words)

hdjsk this was meant to be more angsty than it actually was,, i just made tango into a bit of a loser tbh. but! hope you enjoy the snowbugs (i can't lie the only reason i wrote them is bc i loved the name hdsjhsjk). did i see scott gift tango a heart and go a little silly? yes. yes i did

also! if you liked this and want to send in another request the list of prompts is here! i've got a lotta free time at the moment, so i'll definitely be writing stuff a lot more than i have been recently

“Ooh, Skizz really wasn’t lying, hm?”

Tango glances up at the voice, not even bothering to lean away from the bush he’s made himself a comfy spot against. Or as comfy as he can be when every part of him is in burning pain and agony. But the slight slouch he’s found himself in puts the least amount of pressure on his various injuries and maladies, and so is the most comfortable he can be right now.

“Scott,” he croaks out, wincing a little at how terrible his voice really sounds. He’d been spitting smoke earlier, angry with how much energy it was taking to simply haul himself to his feet. It’s left him with the inside of his mouth covered in ash, and his throat feeling like it’s been rubbed raw. “Good to see you could make it.”

Skizz is somewhere nearby, but not close enough to interrupt if Scott decided he wanted to put him out of his misery right here and now. He’s somewhat caught between being thankful for such a thing, and angry that he couldn’t go on any further.

He’d just be another footnote at the end of a book, another mention; a small aside, make sure to mention the one that almost dies in the most silent and insignificant ways.

He is well aware of his previous contributions to these games. He goes out with barely a sound, and the world carries on without him, continues to spin round and round, maybe a few choosing to mourn him. Be sad over the misfortune of his death, how easily such a thing could have been prevented.

He doesn’t even realise he’s breathing smoke again until Scott coughs, waving a hand in front of his face to waft the smoke away. Tango snaps his jaw shut almost immediately, muttering a quiet “sorry” when Scott continues to cough.

“It’s fine, it’s fine. Rough day?”

“You could say that,” he stretches his back out, wincing as it tugs at the edges of unhealed injuries. A stray branch from within the cherry blossom bush scraping a hot line of agony across his spine. He curls inwards on himself with a hiss of pain, tears beading in his eyes at the sudden sting of all his injuries making their protests known.

The small relief from earlier, afforded to him by other servermates, swayed by Skizz’s plea for a small gift of love, a small act of mercy. A better act of mercy would be to put him out of his misery entirely, he thinks humourlessly.

“Hey, c’mon, you're just making this worse for yourself,” a hand lays over the back of his own hand, slowly encircling it before pulling it away. The movements are done with such delicacy, such gentleness, it’s as though he’s made of an extremely fragile glass. Like he’d break if the hands moved him too fast, that he’d shatter into a thousand pieces.

Maybe he would. He feels about ready to fall apart right now, anyway.

“See,” the person – Scott, it’s still Scott, he’s still here, Tango realises belatedly – breathes, his voice barely above a whisper. “That’s much better. Now, where has your teammate gotten off to?”

“He, agh,” he coughs again, a small curl of smoke rolling off his tongue as he hacks, one or both his lungs threatening to make an appearance as he doubles over again, stomach cramping with the force of his coughs. “He went to get some resources, something to better survive the next few hours.”

“He didn’t stay with you?”

“The idiot would have,” he scoffs, laughing slightly. He then has to cough again, appreciating Scott’s gentle stroking over the top of his shoulders. He’s nowhere near as warm as Tango himself is, the fire stoked within his core happily blazing away, despite the disrepair of the rest of his body. “I made him leave. I’m dead either way. My death will be nothing to gasp and cry over, better he’s not around when it does happen.”

“Oh, love…” the sheer agony in Scott’s voice is enough to make Tango crack his eyes open, watery from his subsequent coughing fits, tears continuing to bead up as he tries to bring Scott’s shape into focus.

When he does, he almost wishes he hadn’t, having to resist the urge to recoil from the way Scott is looking at him. His hand is still lying over the top of Tango’s shoulders gently, though no longer stroking to soothe him through a coughing fit.

When Scott had turned up, looking down at him with those gleaming red eyes. Eyes that herald violence, promise it, Tango had willingly accepted his death. Would probably have stretched his arms out and taunted Scott for coming after someone when their guard is so far down that it’s ripped to shreds if even twitching his arms didn’t hurt so badly.

And then he’d just…stood there, crouched in front of him and comforted him as he coughed.

It’s his own fault that his lungs are in such a sorry state, anger over everything about these damn games making his flame burn too hot too quickly. He usually has better control over it, breathes fire for a party trick sometimes, not to clog his lungs with ash. Still, Scott had provided the comfort happily, despite them being on rival teams now, people that should be looking to kill each other. Not make sure that he can breathe and is comfortable and that his ally hasn’t abandoned him.

“Every death is worth shedding at least a tear over,” Scott tells him. His hands have migrated from his shoulders to cradling the back of his neck, now kneeling in front of him instead of crouching. Tango almost wants to tell him that he’ll stain his jeans with grass and mud; they may already be wrecked beyond repair, ripped in ways that aren’t purposeful and stained with old blood, but the thought still crosses his mind. “You’ve built good alliances here, love, there will be several tears shed over your death.”

“And a few oh, poor Tango, what a terrible way to go!’s following behind it,” he snorts without humour, only sparing a moment to be relieved when it doesn’t catapult him into another coughing fit. “The same way it goes every time,” he finishes, slightly bitter. It brings a sour taste to his mouth to think about his previous failures. His previous embarrassments.

He’s jolted from his self-pity party when Scott’s fingers twitch over the nape of his neck, making his efforts to ignore how Scott’s hands are currently resting against the back of his neck null and void. His efforts to ignore how the hands reach far enough round that Scott could easily strangle him. Could simply wrap tight and squeeze the last drops of life from him. Scott would definitely benefit from it, numerous superficial injuries littering his body that he’d probably be relieved to get rid of.

But Scott doesn’t grip to his neck tighter, doesn’t shove him to the ground and crush his windpipe. His hands remain a heavy, almost comforting, weight at the back of his neck. Their faces are close like this, he realises belatedly, the intimacy of such a thing settling over him suddenly and heavily. Like a weighted blanket’s just been chucked on his head. He feels a little unbalanced by such a realisation, even as close to death’s door as he currently is.

It makes an odd feeling wash over him, only increasing as Scott moves his hands, fingers tickling the short furs at the back of his neck. Can feel the way Scott’s thumb brushes over his pulse point – stupid, doesn’t he know that the thumb has a pulse? That you can’t measure someone else’s heartbeat with your thumb, as your own racing heart will interfere?

Scott’s pinky fingers ghost over his jaw as his hands retreat, and tango almost makes a pitiful sound in the back of his throat when he thinks Scott’s pulling away from him.

He’s glad he didn’t (really, really glad) when Scott’s hands still again, settling over his jaw, cradling his face gently between his palms.

He really is quite close now, close enough that Tango can take in the smudged state of his make-up, like Scott’s been rubbing his eyes and smearing it around the corners of his eyes. Or that he’s not reapplied it recently and he’s simply been wearing the same make-up for the past few days.

He’d given up on the stupid pink eyeliner and little hearts he’d draw on his own and the others’ faces ages ago, tired of reapplying it every morning, wasting precious time that could be spent doing other things. More important things.

Scott’s make-up still looks good, though, smudged the way it is.

“I’ve always noticed when you died,” Scott tells him. This close, he can see the pink flecks in Scott’s eyes. They almost match the shirt he chose to wear for this go-around, wanting to fit better with the whole vibe they had going on at the Heart Foundation prior to its burning. “Kinda hard not to, when you're checking your comm every few minutes and hoping it’s not one of your allies that’s just died.”

“Oh,” he says, maybe a little dumbly. So sue him! He’s not sure what to say to a man very close to his face, still looking pretty despite his smudged make-up, when he gets told that he always notices him.

Yeah, some snide part of his brain comments, always notices when you make a fool of yourself and die in the most humiliating way possible.

“Oh,” Scott repeats, snickering a little. It makes his shoulders shake, meaning Tango’s face is wobbling a little because Scott’s still holding his face, cradling him carefully like he’s some delicate thing to be treasured.

Man, he’s glad Skizz hasn’t made a reappearance yet. He’s not sure how he’d explain his current everything to him with a straight face. Skizz would probably laugh at him until he cries.

“What else do you want me to say to that!” he protests, a little embarrassed at his slightly lacklustre response. “Thanks, I notice every time you die too – I'm always dead at that point! I can’t notice.”

“No, no,” Scott shakes his head, brushing one of his thumbs over the paper-thin skin beneath his eye. The motion makes him shiver, something weird, but not unfamiliar or unwelcome, curl down and around his spine. He shudders again. “I’m just teasing you, love, promise.” His eyes twinkle with mirth, “Would you believe me if I told you I came here with kind intentions?”

“Not at all,” Tango says, half-joking. “You’ve only been mean to me so far.”

“Aw, I'm hurt!” Scott cries, eyes crinkling as he grins. “I saw Skizz’s, uh, plea for help on your behalf and thought I might as well pop over and give you a little boost.”

“Oh, really?” He perks up at that. A few people have been by already, each giving him a small boost. To think he was in an even worse state as the sun rose that morning is somewhat horrifying to think about. It’s a miracle he even managed to have a coherent conversation with Skizz as their day began. “Well, c’mon then! Don't leave poor ol’ me waiting.”

“Okay, okay,” Scott laughs again, a little quieter. “God, you tell someone you're about to give them something, and it’s all they can think about.”

“All I can think about is how much pain I'm currently in,” Tango jokes.

He realises that the joke didn’t quite land as he intended when Scott’s face doesn’t continue to crease with smile lines, instead dropping into something sadder. “Well,” he says confidently, “I can fix that real quick for you, love.”

And then Scott’s leaning and Tango’s floundering, because, sure, he’s kissed people before. For definite. Kissed people plenty of times, actually! But he never quite knows what to do with his hands, nevermind the fact that he can barely even lift his hands right now.

Scott seems comfortable taking the initiative, giving him a chaste peck on the lips, warm hands continuing to cradle his face gently, before pulling back just as quickly as he’d moved in.

“There,” he says, sounding satisfied. “All better?”

“I – yeah. Thanks,” he manages. He mentally fist pumps when his voice doesn’t wobble and he doesn’t immediately chase after Scott with significantly less achy limbs than a few moments before. “That’s really appreciated, thank you.”

“Not a problem,” Scott says, wiping a little around his bottom lip, clearing away some of the smudged make-up there. “Always glad to help!” He chirps, then stands. “Well, I’ll be seeing you around, hopefully not at the other end of my sword!”

“Hopefully not,” Tango agrees. Really hopefully not because he’ll probably just stand there like an idiot and think about how soft Scott’s lips are, and the way they’d slotted against his own, and-

The clearing of a throat above him has him blinking his eyes open, squinting a little at the figure silhouetted by the sun.

“See you had a little visitor,” Skizz tells him, sounding far too smug for someone that probably only saw Scott walk away. Tango’s sheltered where he sits, so even if Skizz was on his way back while…all that happened, there’s no way he actually saw anything.

“I- what? Oh, Scott, yeah. He gave me a heart.”

“See he gave you a little something else, too.”

What?

“What?” He asks, sitting up slightly, hissing under his breath as his cracked ribs forcefully remind him that they're still cracked. “What d’you mean?”

“You got a little something,” Skizz says, “around here.”

And gestures around his mouth.

Tango wipes at his lip with his thumb, cringing when it comes away stained with make-up. Make-up that everyone has seen Scott wearing recently.

“Oh, wow, haha,” he laughs, not at all amused. “How’d that get there.”

“How indeed,” Skizz says, obviously already knowing, the dick. “Maybe we should ask the whole server, see if they can help us solve this mystery.”

“No!” Tango throws himself upwards as Skizz goes to retrieve his comm, smacking his hands away frantically. “No, no, I'm sure we can figure this out ourselves.”

“Oh, yeah. I'm sure we can.” Skizz says, and walks off. Still grinning.

Tango collapses back down to the ground, indulging his moment of dramatism even as it aggravates a few minor wounds.

Whatever shitty higher being watches over me now, he pleads, please strike me down before he comes back.

The shitty higher being watching over him decidedly does not strike him down, and Skizz comes back to laugh him again, though he brings a make-up wipe with him…maybe Tango can find it in his heart to forgive him. Eventually.

[pearlescentmoonshippingbracket]

Thoughts on Mumpearl/Celestial Nonsense? They're just so- *froths at mouth*

Anon do you have any idea of what you just unleashed

God I love Mumpearl.

Because like, on the surface it’s awakward x confident. We see that with Mumbo telling Pearl he folds when complimented and Pearl immediately overloading him with compliments and getting him flustered. Imagining Mumbo being more unsure of himself and Pearl hyping him up as well or Pearl being an absolute girlboss and Mumbo being wowed

But here’s the thing that most people don’t know about MumPearl

Mumbo doesn’t know about Scarlet Pearl (I mean neither does Lizzie, Skizz or Gem but this ain’t about them)

Because when Mumbo turns red he immediately goes rouge and starts attacking the rest of the mounders and isolating himself in the radio tower (which, as a reminder,is above Pearl’s base) because he’s traumatised from the southlanders and last life. And the worst part is, Pearl knows EXACTLY what Mumbo’s going through.

She knows what it’s like to be alone and isolated and trapped in a tower and feel like you’re out of your mind and feel like no-one understands. She knows his pain too well but Mumbo doesn’t know that she knows. He only knows Pearl from last life, the one who got lucky, the one who’s always happy and ready to help, the only one with the stable alliance. He doesn’t think Pearl would understand BUT SHE DOES. She wanted Mumbo to remain allies with her, she mourned his death, she loved him but Mumbo just kept pushing away and— *actually explodes*

The fandom is sleeping on this ship I’m telling you, the storytelling potential is off the charts

(Also I’ve never seen anyone call them celestial nonsense before, it fits them)

[whereispearlescentmoon]

A third part to my currently nameless Hermit glitching fic

Part 1 Part 2

Skizz starts his day with wings he doesn’t normally have. Well, that’s not entirely true. He’s always got small, vestigial wings that have little sensation in them. The kind that he easily tucks under his shirt and that are absolutely useless for flying. Normally they’re so small that he barely registers them, at least not any more than someone registers their back.

Today when he woke up at his pyramid, he instead had massive fluffy white wings, and when he struggled to get a good look at them, he found that not could he feel them, he could lift off the ground with them. He nearly flew into his own roof. He was just about getting used to them when the news came over his com that there was a server wide glitch that was making everyone’s hybrid traits act up. Any Hermits still in their right mind were to report to X’s map room to strategize.

To his somewhat embarrassment, Skizz had to go to the meeting without a shirt on. None of his clothes were adapted for wings, and he couldn’t fit these under something like he normally would. He felt a little less alone in his awkwardness when he got there and found Pearl thumping a long wolf tail on the ground, only to lose her balance as the tail disappeared and goat horns sprouted from her forehead. Speaking of horns, where was Impulse? The imp was conspicuously absent from the meeting.

A very shaky X spoke to the group, telling them that a patch had gone wrong and that mob and animal code was currently taking precedent over player code for some reason. His voice was etherial, barely audible if not for the amplification of his helmet, and small tendrils of void smoke seeped out of the seams of his armor. As he finished speaking, he collapsed, Skizz rushing to collect his armor pieces and set them safely down. Luckily, or unluckily, X was no longer in the suit. In his place was a vague shape of void, almost like an end gateway.

“Alright…” X spoke from somewhere in the shape. “I’m not going to be able to do any wrangling myself it seems. I’m going to try and search through code the best I can like this. In the meantime, please try and contain the affected players. I don’t want anyone getting hurt,”

Skizz’s first thought was to go find Impulse. He was barely more imp than Skizz was celestial, he couldn’t be that affected right? He shot off a message in chat, just to check.

*You whispered to ImpulseSV: hey dippledop, where are you?*

Not a second later, his reply came:

*ImpulseSV whispered to you: In the nether. Can’t leave. Started to freeze in the overworld.*

*You whispered to ImpulseSV: ill come keep you company buddy!*

This turned out to be a lie however. The second Skizz stepped through his nether portal, an excruciating pain burned through his body. And burn was quite literal. He could see his flesh beginning to blacken and char, right before he succumbed to it.

*Skizzleman burned to death*

Skizz shot up in his bed, groaning. Ugh, this sucks. Stupid celestial stuff.

*Hypnotzd: You good?*

*Skizzleman: yeah, but I think someone else is gonna have to go after impulse. i got all burnt up*

*Keralis: I’ll get on it after I wrangle Scar away from Doc.*

*Welsknight: focus on that, I’ll deal with Impulse.*

*ImpulseSV: Sorry*

*Skizzleman: not a problem dude. can I help somewhere else?*

*Keralis: Yeah actually. False and Grian are going to tear Magic Mountain up and an elytra can’t keep up. Think your beautiful new wings can handle it?*

*Skizzleman: on it boss*

Alright. Flying. He can handle that, sure. It’s not like his wings are brand new and he’s still learning to use them and is now going to have to chase down two life long experienced fliers.

When he gets there, the situation isn’t quite as dire as Keralis put it. Theres definitely some damage, especially around Grian’s base, but the real issue isn’t any of the builds. Instead, Skizz finds the ground littered with colorful parrot feathers, all dotted with blood. If that wasn’t enough to find them, the powerful screeching overhead gives it away.

The second he enters the air space, False’s eyes are on him. Their blue is distinctly predatory, sizing him up, before in a moment deciding he isn’t food, or at least not worth eating, and turning her terrible focus back onto Grian. For once, Skizz laments not being even more bird like, as he watches the two fight with talons that are typical of Grian, but certainly new for False. Her’s are clearly sharper and more powerful than Grian’s, the weapons of a hunting bird. How is her supposed to break that up?

Grian is losing, and badly, and his squawks are turning into something more akin to screams. His banded wings are fluffed up to the max and missing patches of feathers. His sweater is torn to shreds, barely hanging on. Skizz has to act fast, if he wants to prevent Grian from dying in this state.

He reaches into his inventory for something useful, and thanks the void that he actually has some raw meat on him from the day before when he was testing saturation levels.

“Hey Falsie! Look! Doesn’t this look yummy?” He taunts, pulling out the raw food and flying in circles around the pair. False’s attention is once again pulled to him, and more specifically to the bloody meat in his hand. Honestly, he’s terrified, but it’s the best idea he has. He tosses it to the ground, in the hopes she’ll follow it.

It works, as she launches herself at food, giving Grian enough time to run off and hide somewhere in his base. Skizz has to act fast, and miraculously manages to get the drop on her, trapping her in a cobblestone box without getting hurt. She scratches at the inside of the box, shrieking powerfully. Skizz winces before pulling away.

“Sorry False! I had to do it!”

With that done, he can tend to Grian’s wounds, and ends up bringing him to where some of the other passive hybrids are, a small enclosure that Keralis set up near Scar’s train within walking distance. Doc is somewhere nearby, trapped in a similar box to the one that Skizz had gotten False in. Grian seems content enough to hang out there, even though he could fly away. He feels bad that False had to be locked away, but feels a little less bad when a death message pops up in chat.

*Pearlescentmoon was slain by [minecraft_entity:fox]*

It’s a bugged message, foxes can’t normally kill players. Either Gem or Etho got Pearl good, evidently. He shudders to think of what False might have done if she saw him as prey or a threat.

*Pearlescentmoon: Good news. Respawn works on feral hybrids. Zed had death loop scars.*

Well that would explain just how much blood was spilt around Grian’s base.

*Skizzleman: you okay pearliepop?*

*Pearlescentmoon: I’m gonna take a nap. The shifting has started again.*

*Xisuma: Tpin hrd. ned updts* (typing hard.need updates)

*Welsknight: Following Impulse’s cords, he got pretty far out.*

*Mumbo: Working on getting Cleo contained. Can confirm, respawn works on hostiles too. She keeps burning up before she can get to me*

*Hypnotzd: Jevin is being slippery but it shouldn’t take too long*

*Bdoubleo100: might need some help later with cub from pearl, but right now I’m focused on getting tango*

*Pearlescentmoon: Need some warden taming advice?*

*Bdoubleo100: always.*

*Xisuma: grt. tryn fix it. hrd wn hds g thrgh cms* (great, trying to fix it. hard when hands go through coms)

With nothing more to do, Skizz slides down in the enclosure and starts to film Joel and Scar playing. This is gonna make excellent blackmail.

[saccharine-stories]

~Clipped Wings~

Summary:  However, he was a bird with clipped wings. In this cruel game, freedom was one thing the Watchers could not allow. Suddenly, he felt the tingle of his wings snap away from his control like a severed cord. Then, his body began to feel heavy, the effects of gravity ruthlessly tugging him back down. Down to his death.

A/N: I saw the @whumpcember event going on so i wrote this on a whim. I hope to write something at least once a week!! I wrote this in like 4 hours, so I hope y'all enjoy it.

Prompt: Day 1, Broken Bones

Fandom: MCYT. This takes place in Grian's series "Wild Life" and is inspired by the moment in session 7 when he tried to fly and fell instead.

Grian flashed a grin at Mumbo as they stopped in the shelter of the forest. Although it was genuine, there was a bit of an edge to it. He had been unprepared for this twist, and still felt as though the return of his teammates was a slight against him and him alone. The others didn’t understand. They thought it was just part of the game, but he knew better. This was some sort of retribution, though for what, he wasn’t sure. 

He remembered how Mumbo died and the memory replayed vividly whenever he looked over the edge of the Spider’s Nest. How his friend got caught up in the heat of the Watchers game and paid for it with the last of his lives. Before now, Grian was only able to blame the Watchers for the game alone. All the tragedy, all the death, all the betrayals. All the cruelty came from their own actions as they sought to survive and win the game they were all trapped in. But this?? This was uncharacteristically cold, even for them. The Watchers had not only brought back both Mumbo and Skizz, but given power over them to Cleo, who promptly turned them on him, causing him to lose a life. Later, he had been able to steal her power, so now here he was, stealing a quiet moment with his friends in defiance of the Watchers’ cutthroat game. Grian paused for a moment, watching Mumbo laugh and taking in the broken body of his friend, whose eyes were clouded with decay, and yet still seeing and filled with mirth despite everything. 

“Well,” Mumbo chuckled, “Our time’s almost up. Don’t you need to leave or something?”

Grian turned away slightly and nodded, putting aside the bitterness that always flared when the game started its downhill descent into overwhelming thirst for victory at any cost.  

“Yeah, yeah. Get back to your new friends. I’ll be seeing you!” 

Mumbo laughed in response, and Grian flashed him a cheeky grin, this time without the edge. He stepped back and crouched, ghostly scarlett wings materialized at his back, courtesy of Pearl’s power that he nabbed earlier. They were a faint mimicry of the ones he had on his home server, but man had it felt good to fly again. He jumped up and his wings blasted him into the air. He soared up, high above the trees, bases, and chaos of this tiny death world, relishing the peace that the altitude brought. Closing his eyes, he breathed in deeply, taking in the untainted air that rushed past his ears. The sun was warm and the air was cool and quiet, and for one moment, one precious moment, he felt free. However, he was a bird with clipped wings. In this cruel game, freedom was one thing the Watchers could not allow. Suddenly, he felt the tingle of his wings snap away from his control like a severed cord. Then, his body began to feel heavy, the effects of gravity ruthlessly tugging him back down. Down to his death. He keeled backward, heart slamming a deadman’s rhythm against his chest. Air rushed past him, stripping the screams from his throat and muting his final moments. And when they came, they came with an explosion of force and pain Grian had never guessed was possible. Bones snapped and shattered at the impact, twisting his body into a mess of blood and dirt. His life was gone, destroyed at the point of impact. 

Though his life was gone there would be no sweet release to end the pain. There never was. Not for him. Time slowed as this life bled away, trapping in the death throes of his agony. Bones ground as he tried to breath again, popping out of place as his chest rose and fell with the quickness of tortured and panicked breaths. He felt his sweater, his pants, the ground, his hair, become warm and heavy with blood, shards of bones piercing through his skin and tearing his flesh. The intensity of the pain was unbearable. 

So Grian screamed. He screamed into the purple stained void that had replaced the living world with its timeless limbo. Screams of pain resonated through his body, screams that cursed the deal he had foolishly made long ago. He cried and begged and screamed for an eternity, but though his pain was seen, his pleas were not heard. 

Then, at some point in this timeless hell, the renewal process began. His bones started to realign, tearing through his flesh to sink back into their proper places and all the jagged fractures seared in blinding intensity to become whole once more. Grian’s body convulsed and writhed as undone joints and sinews knit back together, tightening around bones that felt white hot inside him. Wounds burned as they closed up with unnatural quickness, leaving no scar and no trace of the fatal damage that had once been. 

Then life started to come back to him. It hit him like a second impact, flooding him with an overwhelming torrent of energy that was strong enough to bring the dead back to life. It crushed him beneath its force, nearly rattling his bones out of their newfound places. It burned and chilled. It stabbed at him, through his body and his soul, into the dividing veil so that he could be allowed to return. 

Grian opened his eyes, breathlessly staring into the void that was becoming more and more solid by the moment. He saw the Watcher’s eyes around him, glowing in neutral silence like a thousand cold stars. It frightened him to see them here, reminding him that their game had no room for carelessness. The agony was starting to fade, leaving room for writhing fear to fill his gut, chest constricting at the feeling of being perceived by a host of malevolence. 

Shivering, he closed his eyes again and did not open them until he felt the breeze on his face, and heard the sound of the living world return.

[wisepuma23]

Knives and forks clink against the dinner plates, metal scraping and laughter, their base drips with water from above. Drip, drip, drip. Impulse watches. It seeps into the center of the table, a growing patch on the wooden grain. Right between the steaks and loaves of warm bread. Nobody pays it any mind. Drip, drip.

(…Nobody but him.)

Etho says something he doesn’t catch, a bark of laughter from Tango. Beads of water splash onto the surrounding food.

Impulse’s hold on his fork goes tight. 

He needs to fix that. 

“Impulse buddy, you with us?” Skizz shakes his arm, “You agree Scar’s acting weird right?”

“Yeah yeah,” Impulse answers on auto-pilot, “I heard rumors he’s been trying to get kills. Yellow Scar, man.”

Tango cackles and the conversation cycles on. Impulse steels his jaw, he can’t zone out again. Keep pretending, he reminds himself. It wouldn’t be good to stab his teammates at the dinner table. He’d have to clean the table out. Maybe pull out the entrails from the cracks in the grain of wood.

(Drip, drip.) 

No, focus. 

Focus.

(A faint, metallic scent permeates his senses– gone in a moment.) 

Impulse bites into a piece of steak. Buttery juice slides over his tongue and between his teeth. The taste of blood makes his grip on the fork creak. For what feels like the first time in millenia, his glamor itches at his skin. The careful control over his form twitches and squirms like a coiled snake poised to strike. 

Show them what you really are, hums in his mind. The dripping echoes like a wardrum. Show them your true face.

 Impulse licks at his lips, “You did a nice job, Tango. It’s delicious!” 

“Aww!” Tango coos, his flames crackling a soft orange-red, “Etho lent me some seasoning but he won’t tell me where he got the happy happy sauce.” 

Impulse takes another bite, canines digging into flesh and bone, and the rip is loud. Or is it loud for him? Again, infernal magic bubbles at the back of his throat. He swallows, appraising the flavor. It doesn’t drown out the sickly sulfur like he hoped. 

“Bdubs?” Impulse guesses with a tease.

“Oh come on,” Etho groans, “Ah I guess that was way too easy.”

“He married me too, remember?” Impulse laughs at Etho’s expression, “Can’t blame me for forgetting the best meals I’ve ever had! Bet he’s feeding his family around now.” 

Etho waves him off as they cackle at the blush rushing up past the mask. Impulse cuts another piece off the bone. Rip, snrk, clink. Idly, he wonders if human skin still made the same noise. 

The clink of metal against the plates, the dull pounding of water. The snap-crackle of Tango’s fire. Buttery-sweet blood coats his tongue.

He remembers the musky smell of Etho's burning hair and flesh, his screams turned into bloody gurgles as he flailed in lava in the first game. Just minutes before everything ended. 

Impulse tears off a chunk of meat.

(Snrrk, clink.)

People die in so many ways. It’s why he loves the variety poison provides— stomachs twisting and lungs seizing— and yet he wonders if anybody’s tried skinning someone, if the server would even allow it.

Impulse swallows a dark laugh, is vivisection on the table? His glamor shivers.

Metal catches the light, the smooth shimmer taking him back. To sharp arrowheads and snapping magma, to a castle reaching into the sky.

He remembers a golden clock.

(Rip, snrk, clink.) 

Impulse remembers the way Bdubs’ flesh bubbled and blistered from the Wither. The way his Red bloodlust sang at the way his corpse crumpled to the ground. Bdubs’ skin growing dark, mottled with blackened streaks and bruised from the Withering and regular battle. 

The worst of it healed over, scars stitched into flesh. But he’d be a liar if he said he didn’t revel in it, the stained canvas left on Bdubs’ face and arms. 

He kissed that face. Peppering them along wither-cracked ribs and arms, tracing every dark and poisoned line with a smile. I’m sorry, he had said. I’m sorry.

He meant it. (Yes, really.)

Impulse hadn’t meant to curse Bdubs with chronic pain and scars, especially since he had to feel the echoes of it through the soulmate bond. He loved Bdubs. Loved him since the beginning.

And he remembers the rip-schk! of the ax in his back. 

The way his blood pooled on the grass as everything went dark.

The phantom feeling of Pearl’s wolves tearing flesh from bone in long strips and bites. Riiiip-snrk-crunch.

Blood dripping from between their teeth.

(Drip, drip.)

Impulse stabs his fork a little harder into the next cut, picturing a handsome face with a cute and crooked grin. Damn him. He glares down at his plate. No, focus. Pretend, he tells himself, you’re good at that, aren’t you?

There’s a hand over his, warmer than it should be. He looks up.

Tango has cocked an eyebrow up with a cute little nose crinkle, “You in?”

Impulse blinks, the words registering in his head.

“Yeah, sure,” He grins, “A walk sounds great. I think I’m tired of Skizz’s stink overpowering the place. We really need to install some ventilation.”

“Hey!” 

And they laugh, bright and loud as Skizz pouts, checking his armpits. The glasses shake as Tango rattles the table with a smack, a cackle on his lips. Etho’s eyes twinkle with amusement.

Impulse’s focus drifts. Back to the present, away from the blood.

(Drip, drip.)

And yet.

(Rip, snrrk, clink.)

…The hunger prevails.  

[bidoofenergy]

don't leave me hanging alone again

also on AO3

After the end of the session—after secrets are revealed and the rewards are reaped—everyone just hangs out. It's the no-man's-land of time, a few hours without fighting—and also without peace. You don't build new alliances or lay new traps. You use the time to breathe, to talk, to try to laugh. If you do it right, you won't hate your friends when you leave.

That's what you like to do at least. Jimmy likes to use this time to apologize. Back when you were soulmates—2 games and a Hermitcraft world ago—this was endearing to you.

Now, you wait for it.

You and Skizz catch up with Impulse, laughing about the game of tag, commiserating over your failures. Your conversation is light—it's Impulse and Skizz. You three have been friends for so long you can't be anything but. This is bearable. Manageable.

Several minutes into your conversation, Bdubs sidles up next to Impulse, fitting himself so perfectly into Impulse’s side it’s like the space had been left for him all along. The two of them aren't together this time around, but their history folds wrinkles into their every interaction.

For now, Bdubs is here to gloat.

Skizz watches them carefully, the way they bend towards each other without even meaning to. He's trying to understand them, trying to understand ex-soulmates—has been trying to understand for the last two games. Skizz missed just one of Grian's invitations and returned to a tangled web of feelings that have only gotten more and more knotted every time the games started back up again.

The longer this goes on, the more it’ll be clear to Skizz just how messed up you are over Jimmy—messed up in a way the others aren’t over their own ex-soulmates. Even if Skizz hasn’t already heard it directly from Impulse—and he definitely has, you know your friends—he’s figuring it out now. You can hear him and BigB whisper to each other, usually when you're on the other side of their island futzing with the stupid chicken machine.

How do you explain it to someone who wasn't there? How do you explain the way blood, injuries, every fraction of a heart lost all meant something bigger than yourself? That that was the game?

You didn't like being responsible for someone else's loss. You don't miss it. You don't want it back. But you would carve another 19 hearts out of your chest just to feel Jimmy's pain again.

How do you explain that to someone who wasn't there? You don't. You can't.

You won't try. You listen to Bdubs brag instead, laughing when Impulse gets under his skin— gentle. Oh so familiar with what makes him tick.

You won't try. You’ll let Skizz stay disbelieving, shooting you looks with one eyebrow raised, whispering with BigB when they think you're busy, listening to Impulse tell stories they think you don't know about.

You won't try. Bdubs is interrupted by Jimmy finally bounding over with a cheerful “Hello!”

“I heard you blew our boy up!” Impulse gestures at you—did Bdubs tell him? Do you even care?

Jimmy grins, canine sharp, and you both laugh like nothing hurts.

“We should take your name out of the drawing for that.” Skizz says and his easy-going smile is just a little too wide.

Jimmy turns to you and before his face can even fall, you say, “Don't worry about it.”

He smiles at you, not even relieved he was so certain in you. And it's just like before, standing right up against the thing that will hurt you, just because he's there smiling on the other side of it, just because you miss your heart beating with his. And isn't that exactly what will get you killed?

[selodka-pod-shuboy]

I think 3rd life is somehow the best plot&system-wise. It's not based on anything, just my humble opinion. I have so much thoughts and they are all so tragic. Like. It was my first ever interaction with theese CCs, I went there blind reacting. It was amazing then, it was even better after getting to know them. Every perspective tells such a drasticly different story. You've got alliances formed throu death, loyalty and sacrifices, broken or cherished till the very end. You have 3 lifes, and that's it. No tricks or some help or twist from the gamemakers. Go apeshit or stay nice, nothing changes it. All your enemies can start from something as simple as a random punch or a shot or a pice of paper. So can friends. No one knows how the server operates, they all come from somewhat-friendly spaces, so every simple fact is a new surprise - everybody kills animals, and ends up suffering with lack of food&lether for books afterwards. They put effort into builds, bother with decorating(not to say they didn't in later seasons, it's just the attachment I'll talk later), fill the places with love and care, get attached to pets and trees, banners of all things. PROTECT THEM and feel sorrow and grief, once they enevitibly get killed or burned or blown up or DESTROYED. The rage is so innocent in it's belive, that they were wronged, that they should be avenged, and not that this is just the reality of the server itself, that that's just - what heppens. The story tells so much about betrayal, about broken trust, and friends that go mad, and almoust no one follows the "all alliances are broken after you're red" rule. You are allowed to kill now, yeah, but there was nothing in PARTICULAR, stopping you before. It is proven by the first death, that it was just a prank, that lead to all the following chaos. Scar gives Grian flowers after his second death, and Grian STAYS. Cleo sticks with Bdubs, calling his castle a toilet, kidnaps the desert lama, burns Joel's home. She goes for the king and dies in the blind rage . Bdubs makes and gives Impulse the clock, that will doom their hearts in the end. Impulse promises his trust to the Crastle. Bigb makes the cookie. Martyn hears voices, and Ren asks him to take his head. He takes so many lives. The Red Winter Comes. Tango saves the cows, only for them to be stolen, he gets shot stuck behind the fire. Etho's dark oak gets burned, he builds a woolen castle, for it to get burned multiple times. Timmy gives Scott a poppy, starting their marriage. They build the flower valley. Timmy DIES FIRST and aquaeres the Canary curse. Scott follows full of sorrow. Skizz dies second, full of rage, and creates the boogieman curse. Joel stays alone, with his dog army, and dies, leaving his pack wandering the desert. The cactus-ring fight. The siege of dogwarts. Battle of the Red Desert. All the monopolies. The state, that everyone leaves the server, the contrast with the start. It's like watching the 1rst anual hunger games, from a perspective of people, who know and love each other, but no matter their efforts, end up slowly spiraling into violence and distrust, spreading pain and destruction. Mu soul loves and aches for it, even though it was the very same thing that broke it in the first place, that took a pice of it and so it will never be whole again. It's so tragic. All this blood was never beautiful. It was just. Red.

[blacktofade]

ok i combed through your blog for long enough that i think this is a safe space to do a little discussion of ccs personal lives. if not, you don't have to answer this. but: i know we are all very happy for skizz to be able to go full time with youtube and twitch but i am 99% sure i know what company he worked for — i don't think it's ever been too hard to find the info so maybe most people do? but i've never seen anyone say it directly. if it wasn't common knowledge before, this is going to make it extremely easy to find out — anyway, that company is going through fucking massive layoffs and cutbacks right now, which was announced in private to employees the same day that skizz made his announcement. i don't know how well it lined up other than the day, but the major shit he would have been in either pushed him to jump into professional youtubing and streaming even though it isn't as secure for him as people on the outside might think, or at the very least made the decision feel much better in retrospect.

the graph of the company's stock crash is painful even if you are entirely disconnected from the industry, it is historically awful. like the situation for the company as a whole is not, at this point, bankruptcy bad, but it's not-entirely-unwarranted-comparisons-to-late-90s-early-00s-era-nortel bad. which is… Very Bad. they're cutting approximately 1 out of every 7 employees (15,000 people) over the next couple of months, and in just one day wiped out $30 billion-with-a-b worth of value from the market. it's an absolute nightmare for the people working there, because nobody knows if they're going to be one of the ones getting laid off yet. the company's giving early retirement packages to push out some of higher earning workers, and even if skizz made his decision to leave after knowing the layoffs were coming, the chance he was included in that is very small. but i do hope he got a good deal, if he could.

in conclusion: it's very likely this choice was even scarier than anyone in the fandom previously thought, so… idk everyone please subscribe to skizz on twitch if possible!!!!!

This is absolutely a safe space for CC real life discussions, mostly because I know I'm way more deranged than any anon could be. I know things that would make CCs sweat.

I'm also going to name and shame the company, Intel, because Skizz has mentioned it before, so I'm not considering it a secret -- plus he's no longer there. It's also real shitty what they're doing and my heart goes out to their employees. I dealt with something similar recently and can confirm that these guys will have to wait weeks/months to find out if their job is safe and it will be the most degrading, dehumanizing experience ever.

I keep hemming and hawing about my 1000 IQ assumptions (lmfao), but he 100% knew about the layoff. Whether he heard about it and bounced or whether he took a volunteer deal is up for debate, but there's no way he didn't know it was coming. These companies are not subtle and Skizz is a smart man.

I am quietly praying he was able to take a volunteer deal though, because severance packages at those kinds of companies are WILD. Like, for some actual example numbers, a coworker of mine got 23 weeks of pay (8 weeks base + 15 weeks for years of service), which they received as a lump sum. Skizz says he's been with Intel for 20+ years so he'd be looking at base + 40 weeks. Dude would most likely get a year's salary lump sum (minus taxes), which would definitely help him going the full-time route.

Intel won't be going anywhere anytime soon, but their employees are going to be overworked and underpaid for the foreseeable future and we should be glad that Skizz is free! He's his own boss and, yes, we should all go support him to show he definitely made the right choice! He's such a delight and I will continue to be unwell and horny about him!!

[songbirdsanctuary]

Whispers of Loss

This is a Team ZITS fanfic. This one is a bit dark, read the warnings!

Warnings: Suicide and a suicide attempt, non-explicit self-harm.

Word count: 902

Impulse sat on the edge of his bed, his heart heavy with the weight of grief. Zedaph's sudden death had left a gaping hole in his chest, a void that seemed impossible to fill. The guilt clawed at him relentlessly, a cruel reminder of his failure to see how much pain Zedaph had been in to lead him to do something like that.

With a heavy sigh, Impulse pushed himself up, his long, slender tail trailing behind him. He needed solace, a shoulder to lean on, even if just for a moment. He opened his wings and flew to his blazeborn friend’s base. he walked around for a minute before his eyes landed on Tango, whose fiery hair flickered with muted flames in the dimly lit room.

"Hey, Tango," Impulse called out as he approached, his footsteps echoing softly on the ground. But as he drew nearer, he saw Tango lost in a world of his own, his tail twitching with irritation. Tentatively, Impulse reached out, but before he could utter a word, Tango's response sliced through the air like a razor-sharp blade.

"What do you want?" Tango's voice was sharp, causing Impulse to falter for a moment. "I-I just wanted to come and see how you are," he stammered, his concern evident in his voice. But Tango didn't spare him a glance, continuing to move back and forth, carrying blocks with frenzied determination.

"Well, I'm busy, so leave me alone," Tango snapped, his tone curt and dismissive. A knot of worry tightened in Impulse's chest; he knew that when something troubled Tango, he tended to bury himself in work until he collapsed from exhaustion.

"Tango, when was the last time you slept?" Impulse pressed gently, his voice laced with concern. Tango's fiery mane flickered brighter with annoyance. "None of your business!"

"I just want to make sure you're okay," Impulse insisted, his words soft but firm. Tango turned to him, his eyes ablaze with anger, yet there was something deeper lurking behind the fiery facade. "Why do you suddenly care so much!?" Tango's voice rose to a Yell, his words like daggers aimed at Impulse's heart. "Go away!" The rejection hit Impulse like a physical blow, leaving him feeling more isolated than ever before.

.

.

After leaving Tango's, Impulse reached out to Xisuma, seeking permission to visit Skizz off-server. Hoping for solace in his friend's company, Impulse made his way to Skizz's residence. However, upon arrival, Skizz barely uttered a word, his silence echoing louder than any conversation. The lack of communication only exacerbated Impulse's feelings of loneliness, prompting him to depart without a word. Yet, no matter where he wandered, the void within him remained, a persistent reminder of the friend he had lost and those he feared losing.

Back on Hermitcraft, Impulse struggled to find purpose amidst the suffocating weight of his solitude. He had always prided himself on being there for his friends, but now he questioned if his efforts had ever truly mattered. He failed to be there for Zed and now he was gone forever. The burden of his failures weighed heavily on his shoulders, threatening to crush him beneath its relentless pressure. Tears welled in his eyes as he succumbed to the darkness that threatened to consume him. His diamond sword sat close to his bed, he grabbed it and lifted it to his wrists.

.

.

.

Skizz couldn't shake the guilt of Impulse's last visit. Their interaction had been minimal, and it was evident that Impulse was in dire need of someone to confide in. Coming to a solution, Skizz reached out to X and requested permission to go to Hermitcraft. Without delay, he made his way to Impulse's base.

Upon arrival, Skizz noticed a stack of papers neatly arranged on a table, each bearing a different hermit's name. Hastily sifting through them, he came across one with his own name inscribed on it. As he unfolded the note, a sinking feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. Unable to bear the weight of its contents, Skizz dropped the paper halfway through reading it, his chest tightening with dread. With a racing heart, he darted around the house, gripped by the fear of losing yet another cherished friend.

Fear gripped Skizz's heart as he raced to the bathroom, praying that he wasn't too late. There, he found Impulse, a bottle of painkillers clutched in his trembling hand, his eyes wide as he stared at Skizz. Without a second thought, Skizz pulled Impulse into a tight embrace, holding onto him as if afraid he might vanish into thin air.

As Impulse's tears began to flow, so did Skizz's own, and he listened intently to every word Impulse uttered, his heart weighed down by their shared sorrow. Leading them gently out of the bathroom and onto Impulse's bed, the palpable heaviness of grief filled the air between them. With shaking hands, Skizz reached for his phone, swiftly composing a message to Tango, telling him to what Impulse almost did to himself, understanding they couldn't handle it alone.

Upon Tango's arrival, his usual fiery demeanor melted away in the face of Impulse's pain, and he apologized for his earlier behavior. Skizz harbored no resentment towards Tango; after all, Tango was the one who discovered Zedaph’s body. Drawing each other close, their tears mingling, they made a solemn vow never to let one another slip away again.

[thornlings]

I'm really saddened by Scar's announcement today. Even moreso because my family actually said goodbye to our beloved pupper, Buster, just 6 days ago. It's been awful since and my heart goes out to anyone going through this or something similar. There's a hole in the home where your companion should be.

One of the few things that has brought me comfort, and which I hope will comfort Scar and others feeling this pain, is actually something that Skizz has said before.

"Pet ownership is thousands of the best days of your life, and then one of the worst."

Hearing it phrased like that helped put into perspective the totality of my time with Buster. His presence in my life was not confined to that awful last day. We had 9 wonderful years full of laughter and cuddles and joy. Scar was blessed with 17.5 years of time with his beloved Jellie.

The pain hurts. But it can't hold back the brightest of smiles as I remember all the good times. I hope Scar and all affected are able to find similar comfort in Skizz's wise words.

May Jellie's memory be an enduring blessing to Scar, his family, and the entire Minecraft community, as Buster's memory is to me.

[sammy-writes-sometimes]

Word Count: 595

---------

“Jimmy, are you aware that you’re molting?” Tango asks bluntly.

“What?” He looks at them, confusion in his eyes. “I’m– I’m not a bird? I’m not even a hybrid, I’m just human!”

“Yeah? Well…” Fae points to the trail of bright, pretty-looking, golden feathers leading from the bed to the kitchen. “Explain that.”

Jimmy blinks, turning away from the pan in front of him as he simply stares.

Beside him, Tango leans against the counter. They seem to take him in, at least more than usual, but this time under an almost anxiety inducing glare.

Then, as Jimmy moves, the netherborn seems to wince. It’s an echo of pain as Jimmy rubs his shoulder, groaning slightly like he got hit by something.

“Jim, sit down for a bit, I can handle the pancakes and you can…” He twists his hand, leading back to the trail. “Clean up those, carefully.”

“Yeah, I’ll- I’ll do that…”

It doesn’t take long for the food to be finished, takes even less time for Jimmy to start picking up the feathers before he soon stops. Pain seeming to overcome the younger man, leaving him curled up in bed.

“Do you have chronic pain?” Tango asks simply.

“No? I’m just– I don’t know why, but it hurts a lot.”

Tango sighs before putting the plates to the side, they can worry about eating later when his soulmate isn’t in nearly as much pain.

That and after they’ve found out why this is all happening.

“Get on the bed and take off your shirt.”

“What?” Jimmy yelps.

The netherborn laughs. “Just– listen, I need to check something.”

He can’t help but find the dusting of pink, almost red, over Jimmy’s cheeks and ears at least a little adorable. But he does as told, shedding the fabric as–

His upper back is practically covered in feathers. Messy and uneven, looking like they’re never been preened a day in their life. Further upon this, some look to have small drops of blood on them, staining the gold underneath.

Jimmy lays on the bed with a groan, laying on his stomach as he hides his face in a pillow.

Once fae’re next to the bed, right beside Jimmy, fae hover a hand but… he’s in too much pain, likely wincing even at the smallest of touches.

“Did you know about this…?” He asks quietly.

JImmy remains silent, trying to hide even more.

“Did you– When did this happen? How long–”

“It wasn’t this bad last time!” Jimmy complains.

“‘This bad’? What do–”

“With– with every death, I’ve grown these feathers… it started on my second to last life last time, just a few, but– after we fell, and we respawned, there were more and–”

“You still should have–” Tango stops himself, fire crackling in his own ear.

They take a slow breath, evening out into some semblance of calm. At least by his usual standards.

“Sorry, you just– you worried me, Jimmy. Sorry…”

Tango places a hand onto their partner’s lower back, rubbing a gentle circle until he feels Jimmy melt into the touch.

“Do you want me to help with them? Some of the pain might be coming from unclean feathers and, according to Skizz, those tend to hurt a lot.”

“Please?” Jimmy whimpers, and if it hadn’t been for his partner’s obvious pain, or how worry is spinning in every single thought, he’d probably be getting other ideas.

“Alright, just stay still, can’t promise that this won’t hurt you.”

Jimmy stays quiet, but turns his head to smile up at Tango. “Thank you…”

[royallygray]

Scar HC S10E12

actually welcome to Scar Says Sus Stuff

this was supposed to be me talking about my favorite parts or parts I want to share but it's just the sus parts and several things that I specifically liked

like. a rly in depth AO3 comment except with a YouTube video.

spoilers for his video

(I haven't watched most of scar's episodes so far)

-- --

1:01 "grant me access to the hole" scar. scar please. your wording. fix it. but also never change we love you but oh my god SCAR

it is actually triggering me that he's just casually on three hearts. my man PLEASE EAT

3:53 "I'm gonna wait for [Grian] inside of his mouth"

5:38 "well now Skizz and my bits are all mixed together"

6:06 "I fall for it EVERY time, by the way" -Skizz. I love Scar and Skizz, the two gullible-est people bonding over how they're gullible. It's genuinely somehow wholesome.

6:20 "something of substance was gonna come from this"

6:44 SKIZZ COME ON MAN I HAD FAITH IN YOU WHAT THE HECK

6:51 There was PASSION in this. Scar go off on them YEAH

7:33 how did I know he was gonna be one block off. rip scar you tried o7

7:40 "he didn't get inside my hole at all" SCAR.

8:17 "we could get six horns" the word horns sounds like hoards. and also kind of the other word.

8:39 (for one frame) the inside of scars face is cursed

10:17 THAT WAS SMOOTH THAT WAS SO SMOOTH IM OBSESSED??? SCAR YOURE A MAGICIAN. A WIZARD. THAT SNAP. IM OBSESSED.

but also. scar. why do you have a tnt minecart as decoration. scar I don't have high hopes for this room. scar you come from the Life series. scar. it's gonna die. someone's gonna shoot it with a flame bow I guarantee it

10:46 LMAO the way he tried to say cartographer sounds so. like. idk endearing or smth idk. Like he tried to breathe in and talk at the same time.

11:05 "I've just realized I kind of look like a composter" that is the entire clip by the way. all you out of context makers, I need that in there. idk if it'll be as funny as it is in here, because seriously, the delivery of having literally no other context other than it just being a random thought that popped into Scar's head is so funny to me

11:41 scar at the goat horn shop what will he do. I'm not mad scar. I think you're an adult who is making decisions with their fictional money. and you deserve it. you deserve that goat horn.

11:52 I lied put it back

12:44 WAIT YOURE GONNA PUT TURTLES AND DOLPHINS IN HERE THATS SICK I LOVE IT

in seventh grade we did an essay on whether zoos are good or bad and while I do love scars character in this I literally cannot stop thinking about it :(

13:15 SCAR THAT WAS TOO SMOOTH I--OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD THATS SUCH A COOL TRANSITION AND ALSO THE SOUND EFFECT OH MY GODSSSSS

ALSO YOU SWIRLED TO SUCH A COOL NEW THING WHAT THE HECK WOW LIKE OKAY

wait oh my god it's a sink?? the water and lava?? oh my god??

14:55 damn Gem and Grian's spike has grown

15:35 scar I don't think you remember where your stuff is in the first place. at least like this it'll look cool. although the underground weird chest monster has character and I actually kinda like it in the same way that I like when my floor is a mess because it just feels inhabited and has personality

15:58 oh my god scar you transition god

16:33 scar why are you there

16:35 Etho I appreciate you LMAO

17:19 Etho have you seen Skizz's storage. it's. bad. like. it is worse than Scar's. Genuinely. It gives me pain.

17:25 THE PEARL DOORS. THE BOATEM PEARL DOORRSSSS also scar going through the middle even tho Etho literally opened the other door for him LMAO

17:32 ah yes dig when there is an entrance yes yes

17:43 honey roofs. I see you're obsessed with Joel's gift mr. slab.

this scene is actually amazing. I've never seen Etho and scar interact 1 on 1 (I don't watch a lot of Scar, and I have watched Etho a total of approximately once. his videos are rly long) and also just. Etho's system is so cool.

also Etho's storage system is adorable :D

I like both storage systems. Etho's is significantly more functional (and less likely to explode, scar that minecart is making me wary) but I really enjoy the aesthetic of Scar's.

thank you for coming to Royal says stuff, go watch scar's video, it's great.