#I spent ages trying to get Grian

[gladumfdoodles]

[Day 3]

your honor I am so normal about them

au + designs by @kitsuneisi

[hmshermitcraft]

The hermits and rain don't tend to mix well. Some it's just a minor inconvenience - for instance, Scar can't fly as well with wet wings - but for others, it could be deadly.

And by others I literally just mean Tango. If the rain puts him out he could die. So what does everyone else do when it rains?

They drop everything to make sure someone's with him - unless they can't, then they just hope that he's ok - and cover him.

For Scar it could also be deadly, the same as Grian, because the two are idiots who will try and fly with wet wings. But that's their own idiocy, Tango's isn't!

That time they spent ages trying to contact him during a storm with no reply, until he eventually emerged from the nether completely fine, with a dead communicator... That's Tango idiocy.

But they'd rather spend time frantically searching and worrying about him than Tango get hurt.

[frozenjokes]

A Mermaid Learns English, Races Clams, And Breaks Up What Was Definitely A Vicious Human Fight

I’ve decided to post these ‘one shots’ on tumblr as well since y’all seemed to enjoy the last one

With the passing of a couple days, Mumbo was beginning to pick up on a few more human words. There was ‘Hey!’ to get Grian’s attention and ‘Look!’ to get Grian’s attention and ‘Clam!’ to get Grian’s attention, all of these words usually used in quick succession. However, Mumbo was most proud of figuring out the human pronoun. He. That’s what it was. Scar was a he and Grian was a he and they had both considered Mumbo a he, which was cute! It was like Mumbo was an honorary human with hes and hims just like them, how sweet! (And they were okay with that! Excited even! He was excited, yeah, look at that! He! Me!) How many other animals did they consider to also be human? Did humans even use separate pronouns for their own species and others? Maybe every animal was just a really big or really tiny human to them.

Regardless. After learning about human pronouns, Mumbo learned that Scar and Grian talked about him constantly. Constantly! They talked like Mumbo wasn’t there, even when he very much was, and he knew, because whenever they bothered to include Mumbo in their conversations about him, they would be looking directly at him. At first it was flattering, and then it was a little bit annoying, and currently it’s been quite frustrating! What are you squawking about? Tell me! Mumbo made sure to let them know how he felt. He got pushy, getting in their space (never closer than a few feet), but they didn’t seem to register that as aggression at all, in fact, Scar never looked anything less than delighted. Utterly confusing! Though, Scar in particular was quite physically affectionate with his human friend.. was that how humans always acted, or was something wrong with that one’s head. Grian didn’t seem to reciprocate very much, sometimes pushing the other off of him or simply doing nothing (looking generally displeased, though that’s how he always looked), but who knows! Humans were weird and apparently not very protective of their own space.

“Look! Look at that, Grian, he’s getting so comfortable with us! He gets closer every day, isn’t that great?” Scar waved his arms around carelessly, and Mumbo had to shimmy back to avoid being touched.

“I don’t know about that. Can’t tell. He doesn’t emote very much, does he?”

‘Will you two quit talking about me.’ That got their attention, whistling clicks always did, but when they didn’t hear a word they recognized (their names), they just stared before going back to chatting with each other. Fine. Be that way, then. Mumbo was hungry anyway.

So he left, trying to throw in a bit of petty flair, but Mumbo didn’t have to look back to know the gesture went over their heads. Given the splint still holding his sore tail in place, Mumbo doubted a mermaid would have understood either. Ugh. Hunting was going to take ages like this.

And it did.

Mumbo spent an hour in deeper water getting batted around by currents and the like, but chasing fish as he usually did had been out of the question since getting stuck in Grian’s net. So he had to wait. Wait for fish to come to him.

Mumbo was not very good at waiting.

It wasn’t that he was an impatient person. He could be plenty patient when he needed to be, but Mumbo was also a fidgety mer, and typically fish aren’t too keen on swimming very close to the visibly hungry big thing with sharp teeth.

He did not get many fish today. He did not get many fish yesterday. He did not get many fish all week. Maybe there was a reason he was starting to get so irritable.

Regardless, Mumbo wasn’t too worried about starving or even losing all that much weight; if he was really having problems he would just have to take a detour back home to the deep and get fixed up. He could go today if he wanted. But he didn’t, not really. The humans would miss him! They would wonder where he had gone. (Not that Mumbo would be thinking of them as well, worried about what they were getting up to. But humans were so fragile, and these two in particular seemed to have impaired survival instincts. What if Mumbo left, came back, and they were gone? What if he never saw them again?) Needless to say, Mumbo was only going hungry for normal, sane reasons. Maybe he could steal some of the humans’ food, though, they hardly ate anything at all. Wouldn’t be worth the grief.

When Mumbo returned, hungry and irritated about still being hungry, Scar was looking for clams. That seemed to be his favorite activity, sifting through the sand, digging up clams, piling them up, then at the end of day, scattering them back in the sand. Today, Scar was lining up his clams on the shore, letting them sit in the sun for whatever reason. Mumbo wondered if he ever planned on eating them, or if the clams were just toys to humans. Maybe Scar didn’t understand how to get inside them? Mumbo snorted, bubbles floating to the surface. Humans probably thought the clams would just open up for them if they waited long enough.

But not even his sour mood could withstand Scar’s bright smile as the human spotted Mumbo returning; its entire body lit up, every single encounter met with the same excitement as the first time it saw him. Sure, Mumbo was more easily flattered than most mermaids he knew, but anyone would break under the weight of that joy. Was Scar that excited to see everyone, or was it just him? He hoped Scar knew he felt similarly. He wished he could tell him.

Scar’s attention quickly shifted back to the sand though, bending over to sift through with a hand then plucking a clam out of the water. “Oooh this is a big one!”

Across the water, sitting on a rocky outcrop, Grian rolled his eyes. “Pretty sure you’ve shown me that same clam every day since you first got here.”

“It’s big though!”

“It is pretty big.”

“Do you think she’ll win?”

“The- did you finally remember to bring nail polish? And I don’t know, I’ll have to take a look at all of them before I decide.” Grian went back to fishing (and Mumbo was keeping a closer eye than he’d like to admit on the line), but Scar seemed satisfied, taking his bounty to the shore to line it up with the ten or so other clams.

“Well you’d better get ready, because our athletes are all lined up! They’re revving to go, Grian! You should look before they speed away! They’re chomping at the bit I tell you, they’re gonna run right away if you don’t come and look right now.”

Grian made a small noise of assent, not moving. “I'm in no rush.” He re-cast his line.

Scar huffed, trotting to his bag (which Mumbo couldn’t help but notice was placed very far from the shore, what was up with that anyway? Did they not trust him? They could trust him. Come on, no harm in putting them a little closer to the water..) and producing a small vial. Mumbo dragged himself a little closer to inspect it as Scar sat back with his clams. It smelled weird.

“What,” Mumbo said in human, another very useful word he’d learned, and Scar smiled, unscrewing the top.

“We paint our..” he paused, thinking, before gesturing to his dull claws, “Nails.” With the brush attached to the cap, he drew some of the brightly colored liquid inside across one of his ‘nails’, coloring it. Huh. So humans painted their skin just like mermaids did sometimes, very interesting. Unfortunately, Mumbo didn’t have the materials to show him. Scar examined his hand thoughtfully when he finished, throwing Mumbo a soft smile. “This won’t last. I’ll save it for the clams.”

With great care, Scar began to examine his clams one by one, picking them up and spinning them in his hands, saying something about names to Grian, then painting little symbols on the shells once they were dry enough. But why? Mumbo got the sense Scar was preparing them for something- to eat, maybe? Mumbo have never actually seen either human prepare any food; they seemed to bring pre-hunted meals with them every day. Was this.. part of the process..? Why in the world would they name their food?

Well. It was possible Scar wasn’t trying to eat and Mumbo was just thinking about food due to his own hunger. But then what was the point!

Apparently, the painting activity piqued Grian’s interest despite his previous dismissal, a common trend for that human it seemed. Despite holding a somewhat stubborn facade of disinterest, he was quick to contribute a name, and eventually, stopped fishing altogether to check out what Scar was working on.

“This one will be Jellie, the cutest, prettiest, fastest clam,” Scar said, practically shoving one of the clams in Grian’s face. Mumbo couldn’t quite make out the symbol painted on it, (none of the human symbols meant anything to him) but Grian seemed to understand, reaching insistently for the paint in Scar’s other hand. Scar held it out of reach, leaning away, but not without a smile on his face. “What? You don’t like Jellie?”

“Let me make one.”

“I thought you didn’t care about clam racing,” Scar grinned as he shoved back, Grian stumbling a bit in the sand before scrambling back to Scar, throwing himself across the other’s arms in a way that made Mumbo’s fins stand on end. What were they doing? Why were they fighting? Was it about food?

“You can’t put Jellie in the race without Maui and Pearl. At least one of them! I want to draw them.”

“There’s only so many slots for the race, Grian. I’m afraid your cats didn’t make the cut, very sorry, very very sorry.”

“You haven’t even painted all of them yet!” Grian said, in a tone that could have been a growl, though Mumbo had never heard a human make that noise before. Grian pushed at Scar’s face, and Scar laughed(?) hurriedly trying to cap the paint before he dropped it. Grian climbed onto Scar’s back, but as soon as the paint was secure, Scar fell backwards, howling as he crushed Grian in the sand behind him. Grian squeaked, the breath knocked from him, but it wasn’t long before he was squabbling under Scar’s weight, clawing and pushing and being very loud in tones that made Mumbo’s skin crawl. He had to stop them somehow- they were going to hurt each other!

Mumbo tried whistling, ‘Stop, stop, stop,’ but they were too preoccupied in their wrestling, Scar yelping as Grian poked at his eyes. He meant to call their names, but his voice wouldn’t form the human words, even names, the sounds refusing to materialize on his tongue. The humans were close to the water, close enough to splash maybe, but Mumbo’s use of his tail was so limited with his splint and the water was so shallow. Who knew if he’d even be able to kick up enough water to distract them, or if they would even stop? If he was going to hurt himself, better to make sure it counted for something.

Mumbo closed his eyes, bracing himself before heaving out of the water and grabbing Scar’s arms with his hands and a shoulder in his jaws, yanking backward. Two things were immediately clear; one, Mumbo failed to remember how small and weak and light-weight humans were, and two, their skin was so fragile. All this to say, Mumbo was thoroughly stunned at how far back he pulled Scar, and even more alarmed to taste blood, the shock at both of these two things overpowering even the electric pain in his tail. Scar yelled and Grian shrieked, and suddenly everything was just too frightening and overwhelming and Mumbo needed to be away, away, instinct so strong, he pushed away with a strong flick of his tail despite the splints, agony shooting up his body. But in a way, that was okay. He was gone. All he needed was to be gone.

But being alone and safe from the noise gave way to thought, and in a way, that was worse.

He felt bad. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t even know if he had hurt Scar, or how badly- he hadn’t meant to! He didn’t want anyone to get hurt at all! Mumbo buried his face in his arms, hiding from the sunlit surface. Mermaid fights were nasty things, and it usually took multiple sets of teeth to dislodge one mer from another, not to injure of course, just to hurt enough to get them to see sense and release each other, which, honestly, was a hassle in it of itself; mermaids with long tails could get all sorts of tangled. Why was human skin so thin! Were they built to die!?

Distantly, Mumbo heard the humans talking. Grian was saying Scar’s name an awful lot, loud as he always was, and it sounded like they were arguing even more than before. Mumbo buried his face deeper into his arms. He hadn’t even made a difference.

Then, splashing. A lot of splashing, both humans by the sound of it, but the second source quickly stopped short at one, big splash and- oh.

Mumbo lifted his head, and there was Scar, swimming directly toward him. There was a definite bite mark in his shoulder, still bleeding, but it didn’t seem to be bothering him at all, the human still swimming strongly. Mumbo put his head back in the sand.

“Mumbo! Hey, Mumbo!” The words were barely recognizable under the water, but Mumbo didn’t care to hear them anyway. He didn’t want to talk. He didn’t want to move. Everything hurt and he was hungry and all he did was make everything worse. Humoring the human with zero survival instincts wasn’t going to make him feel any better. The human lingered regardless, though mercifully kept its distance. It got air several times before finally realizing Mumbo didn’t want to talk and eventually, after what felt like ages, it left him alone. The lack of disturbance in the water was a sensory relief. Still, he heard the humans talking above the water.

“Still think he was trying to kill me, Grian? Seriously. He feels awful, the poor thing. We probably set him off or something, I don’t know. Like how some animals can’t tell the difference when we raise our voices playfully or because we’re mad.”

Grian took a long time to respond, but when he did, his voice was stony, “That was extremely stupid, Scar.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“You don’t know what he was thinking. You don’t know! Sometimes it feels like I’m the only person here who gives a shit about your life. That’s not a person, Scar, that is an animal, an animal that has been documented as something that eats people. I don’t care if he ‘looks sad,’ personifying him like that directly after he attacks you is going to get you killed. Even if he is ‘sad,’ jumping right in after him is an objectively insane thing to do! You could have set him off a second time and there would have been nothing either of us could do. I- Honestly, Scar, I really shouldn’t be having to tell you this! You know this! You own a god damn zoo!”

“I don’t agree.”

“What do you mean you don’t agree? What about?”

“I think he’s a person. And I think we have the opportunity to do something really special here, so I’m not going to throw it away over a dumb misunderstanding.”

Another pause from Grian, longer this time. “Scar.” Scar didn’t say anything and Grian didn’t either for a while, long enough that Mumbo thought the conversation was over. It wasn’t though, apparently. “Can’t you wait? Wait until he comes back to us? We’d know he’s calm at least, safe.”

“No. He might be flighty and I really don’t want to scare him off from this. I just have to make sure he knows we’re good.” Another pause, but Mumbo got the impression it was more from a lack of things to say. It didn’t last long though, Grian breaking the silence after a bit of shuffling.

“Hey- what are you doing, Scar you can’t- those are my fish.”

“How much do you sell these ones for? I’ll pay a better rate.”

“No. No, absolutely not. No. This is the bad idea to trump all bad ideas, I am not going to let you throw away your life trying to feed- Scar, come on, I’m trying to work with you here and you’re being impossible!”

“I won’t take them if you say no.”

“I’m saying no! I’m saying no, Scar, I’m saying no so stop- stop looking at me like that.”

“This whole thing means a lot to me, Grian, I just want to preserve it.”

“Well you mean a lot to me and you don’t seem to care at all! How can you just stand here and be okay with throwing your life away- do the people that love you mean nothing to you? Do you even think about it? I think about it! It drives me crazy when you just-“ Grian made a strangled noise, “Don’t! Think!”

More silence, the heaviness permeating the water as much as the air.

“I won’t go in. I just need a fish. The smallest one you got.”

“You won’t go in?”

“I won’t go in. I promise. And I’ll pay for it, I mean it. I’ll pay for everything you caught today if this works out.”

If Grian said something, Mumbo didn’t hear it, only hearing the muffled shuffling of above-water activity that went on for ages. Eventually, he heard the telltale splash of Grian’s lure from the other side of the cove. The whir of the reel was nice; a soft white noise.

Not so nice was the massive splash right above his head, frightening Mumbo off the sand in a cloud of dust, frantically looking around for the source of the noise. He smelled the blood before he saw the fish, eyes widening at the sight of it. Certainly dead, but also fresh, the kill just about as clean as it gets; if Mumbo had found this in the wild, he would have assumed it had been sick and avoided it, but the little gash in its face was a clear enough indicator on how this was caught. The rock tied crudely to its tail with fishing line was a bit of a clearer sign of human intervention.

After calming his racing heart, Mumbo drifted over to inspect it, somewhat painfully aware of Scar’s eyes on him from the shore. Was this a gift? Mumbo touched the fish gingerly, then flinched back. It was cold. Why was it so cold? Did humans have some sort of cooling ability Mumbo didn’t know about? He was pretty sure he’d have heard about a thing like that. Hunger stopped that train of thought. The fish was a small thing, not much in the scheme of things, but right now Mumbo would take anything. After a short inspection (and removing the rock), Mumbo devoured the whole thing, pleased.

Maybe this was okay. Scar clearly wanted Mumbo to know he wasn’t angry, and while he still wasn’t sure about Grian, maybe there was something proactive he could do about it.

Mumbo didn’t even surface before swimming deeper, straining with his injured tail. His foray onto land might have broken his splint; it sat uncomfortably now at the sides of his already throbbing scales, but there was nothing Mumbo could do about it now. That would have to be a later fix.

As much as his tail hurt, Mumbo really wanted to catch something fast, and at this point, it was sort of feeling like he was already going to be in pain for awhile, so why not make this hunt quick. He didn’t go deep, hardly much deeper than Grian’s fishing lines, but deep enough to catch an alright sized fish if he could push through the pain enough to chase it properly. He was still patient; Mumbo wasn’t about to swim after every fish he saw, but in the end he did end up giving chase more than intended, and by the time he had something suitable, his entire body felt like it was on fire. But that was okay. Now he could deliver his own peace offering.

And it was a good thing he surfaced when he did; Mumbo had gotten a bit worried when he stopped hearing Grian’s lure, and it turned out that was because the two humans were getting ready to leave. Alright. Fine, good even.

As much as he longed to eat the fish he had caught, Mumbo still dropped it to whistle, ‘Scars,’ and both humans turned around, surprise coloring their faces. Not a particularly bad emotion, Mumbo hoped. He brought his fish to the shallows, wincing heavily as his tail touched the sand, the splint hanging off and bumping it in increasingly uncomfortable ways.

“Oh! Mumbo, you shouldn’t have, really!” Scar met Mumbo near the water, and while Grian hesitated, he joined his fellow human, though lingered a little further back. Mumbo dropped his fish, though Scar didn’t take it, only looking to Grian, “Can you use that?”

Grian grimaced, “No, probably not. I mean, I’m sure we could eat it, but it’s a bit mutilated. I definitely can’t sell it.”

Scar nodded, turning back to Mumbo, “You keep it. Unless you’re not hungry, but I feel like I barely ever see you eat. I guess you don’t really know what I’m saying, I’m probably just confusing you by talking this much, aren’t I.” Mumbo stared. Scar stared back. Why wasn’t he taking it?

Mumbo craned his neck forward, straining to grab the fish again to drop it closer. Moving across the sand felt like dragging himself across magma, and he couldn’t help the small hiss that escaped through his gritted teeth. When he managed to open his eyes, Scar’s head was cocked to the side, and he still hadn’t taken the fish.

“I think he’s hurt,” Scar said, soft and sympathetic, “Whatever’s attached to his tail looks kinda broken, doesn’t it?”

“I’m sure he is, he’s been swimming oddly all week, and a couple weeks before is when he got caught in my net and bit me. He was really tangled, I think his tail was at a bit of an odd angle. I think whatever’s attached is a splint to keep it somewhat still- did you not think so?”

“No??”

“What did you think was on his tail?”

“I don’t know! I thought it was like- mermaid fashion? How was I supposed to know!”

“I thought that was a joke!”

‘Will one of you just take the damn fish!’ Mumbo whistled, irritated by the bickering and quite honestly, a little concerned they were going to start fighting again. Thankfully, the humans stopped, both staring at Mumbo again with wide eyes.

“I think he wants you to take the fish, Scar.”

“I don’t want the fish! I want him to have it!”

“Well right now he probably feels like you don’t like his gift. Does the bloody mess in the water not appeal to you?”

“You know I’ve seen worse.”

“Then take it!”

Scar frowned, bending over to gingerly touch the fish, though he didn’t look like he was all too thrilled about it. Did humans.. not eat fish? They must, surely they must, humans fish all the time! But the way Scar was holding the fish away from his body, touching it with as little of his hand as possible, Mumbo was really starting to think they didn’t eat fish. Why were humans so weird? Though, Grian seemed to be laughing at his friend, so maybe Scar was the weird one. Mumbo wouldn’t be surprised.

“I want you to have this,” Scar said, slowly extending his arm back toward Mumbo, and Grian seemed to find it extra funny when Mumbo huffed, but ultimately accepted the returned gift. Whatever. He was still hungry and had absolutely zero intention of letting this go to waste.

And.. that was that.

Mumbo retreated to deeper water where his tail felt a little less like his scales were going to peel off his skin, and the humans left soon after, the clearing returning back to its tranquil quiet. Not a great day, definitely not, but maybe that was just part of learning. Interspecies relations were never going to be easy with all the different customs and body language. Mumbo had little idea how Scar and Grian were feeling most of the time, and honestly, no matter how stressful they could be, he was grateful they were so expressive. Gosh, reading him must be a nightmare; mermaids didn’t emote nearly as much. Mumbo had tried copying some human expressions on his own time, but he was pretty sure he physically couldn’t, just lacking the facial muscles. Strange. Strange..

But good too. This was still good. And as much as Mumbo really should be headed back home for more help with his tail, right now, there was still no place he’d rather be than here.

[amethystfairy1]

I love the Traveling Thieves au! Do you happen to have any spare Pearl lore for the soul?

Some Pearl Lore in this trying time, I see?

Lemme think...

Well! She's spent most of her time since getting sold from her colony in various mercenary bands or workhouses, which would essentially rent her out, so she's done a lot of work as a mercenary and a fighter, and hasn't spent much time under the direct eye of a master, the way Grian and Jimmy have. She loves pastries and sweets but never asks for them, but Gem is perceptive enough to notice and always makes sure to send Pearl to get them 'snacks' while in the city and have her choose something she likes. Pearl usually picks something plainer for herself out of nervousness, but she's getting better about it!

Out of the three avians we know, Pearl is the strongest fighter, with Grian being a close second and Jimmy third, but he's got other benefits going for him since he's grown, he is considerably physically stronger than either of them. Pearl hasn't seen Grian since they were sold from their colony at 15, and she hasn't seen Jimmy since he was 13, the age he would've been when his older cousins were sold away.

Pearl also loves the rain and thunderstorms! She finds the sounds to be soothing and the dark clouds pretty!

I hope this was enough Pearl lore to tide you over till we get to see our deadly Shiny Duo again!

[thetomorrowshow]

Whumptober 6 - Not Realizing They're Injured

title: exit 73

fandom: limited life smp

cw: blood and injury

~

Jimmy whoops, high-pitched and birdlike, as they run, their feet pounding against the asphalt. “We killed that one! Those Clockers didn’t know what hit ‘em!”

“Stop talking and just run,” Grian hisses, his words choppy. “We’re not out yet.”

They'd parked the van another block down, cleverly disguised as a plumber’s van—and if anyone opened it up, a plumber’s van is all they’d find. They’d spent a good bit of money outfitting it with drain snakes and wrenches and other tools, just in case anyone decided to find their van suspicious.

Right now, they’ve just got to make it there without getting caught.

Are they being followed? Probably not, they wove through some confusing alleys that Grian had somehow known his way through, they should be in the clear. Joel doesn’t look behind himself. He just keeps running.

They round another bend, and another, and Joel tries to keep himself pretty fit, but the stitch in his side is already burning and shouldn’t they have found the van yet?

“Where is that plumbing van?” he mutters angrily. Grian shushes him; Joel scoffs. “We lost ‘em ages ago, calm down,” he tells Grian, slowing just a bit to try and relax the stitch’s pain. “Where’d we park it?”

“Two more streets down,” Jimmy calls back—because of course he’s taken the lead, with his stupidly long legs. “I can see it, just over the hill.”

Great. Two more streets.

It’s kind of embarrassing that he’s already so out of breath. He swears he works out—it’s just been a long hit. He’s been hiding out at the cargo bay for hours, wedged behind some boxes, waiting for the moment that the Clockers showed up to sign for their contraband. Then it had been some quick moments of adrenaline—a fight, flashes of knives and fists—before Grian had the papers and they ran, the sudden energy still pumping through Joel’s veins.

He’d managed to grab Bdubs’s (one of the top Clockers that was overseeing the operation) famed pocket watch off the man himself, and that should sell for a pretty penny. It was plated gold with crystal glass, so the rumor went, and Joel couldn’t wait to have a jeweler test it.

Oh, that tiny man has got to be so furious right now. . . .

“There it is!” Jimmy cheers, pointing ahead. Joel still doesn’t see it all that well through the dark, but he trusts that Jimmy knows what’s going on and just focuses on one foot in front of the other, in through his nose and out through his mouth.

Grian grabs his hand and pulls him forward, toward the van. He sees it now, with its crooked pipe art on the side, dimly illuminated by the starlight above.

Joel’s the driver, of course. The others poke fun at him for never letting anyone else drive, but he’s not going to go into or out of a mission with intense nausea, so he’s driving. He climbs up into the driver’s seat, shoves the keys in the ignition and starts driving before he even knows that Grian and Jimmy are in.

Judging by an annoyed shout, Jimmy wasn’t all the way in, but the door shuts and Jimmy rolls into the backseat, his annoyance clear in the darkened reflection of the rearview mirror.

Grian immediately reaches for the radio. Joel smacks his hand away. Jimmy leans forward, also reaching for the radio. They both smack his hand.

“No music,” Joel grits out. He’s usually high-strung after a mission like this, no real outlet for the energy flowing through him. Yet, despite knowing that he’ll be quick to anger, the others always manage to provoke him.

The no-music rule has been in place for as long as Joel’s been driver. Can’t the others stop being idiots for two seconds and let him drive in peace?

The van trundles along at thirty-five miles per hour, and Joel turns toward the on-ramp of the freeway, grimacing as that stitch in his side pulls when he presses on the gas. He can’t wait to get home and just sleep, once the adrenaline has run its course.

Grian beside him is shuffling through the pages, making a satisfied noise with every leaf he reads. “Yep. This is exactly what we were after. Good job, team.”

“They had a ton of weapon storage,” Jimmy pipes up. “They must’ve been storing stuff at their port.”

“Maybe we should put up some people to watch, see where they move it to,” muses Grian. “Now that we know it’s there, they’ll be in a hurry to pack it all up.”

“Especially now that we have the blackmail.”

“Mhm. Joel, how’d your side go?”

“Fine,” Joel says shortly. He keeps his eyes fixed on the road, even as the white lines in the darkness seem almost to float on water.

Never think that when you’re driving, his mom had told him once, when the eight-year-old Joel had pointed it out. It’ll make you sleepy.

How long was he at his post? Seven hours, maybe? That isn’t too bad. With the adrenaline still jolting through him, he shouldn’t be this tired.

“His seatbelt isn’t on,” Jimmy says, ignoring the fact that Joel is a bear that he shouldn’t be poking with a stick.

Grian clicks his tongue, leans over Joel’s entire body to grapple with his seatbelt. “Safety first,” he reprimands, dragging the belt over him. Joel cranes his neck to see around Grian.

He clicks it into place at Joel’s hip, then sits back, examining his fingers.

Which exit was it, again? 73? Well, that one’s 69. Maybe he should get off the freeway, take some backroads. He doesn’t think they’ve been followed, but there are more cameras on the freeway.

The freeway will get them back quicker, though. And it’s in the plans to go this way, he doesn’t want to change them right as the job’s wrapping up. Sudden changes in plan are the highest cause of casualties in this business.

“Joel,” Grian says slowly. “Is there blood on you?”

Joel glances over at him; Grian’s holding his hand up to the window, something dark shining on his fingers.

“Maybe,” he shrugs. “I broke Bdubs’s nose.”

“Did you get injured?”

“Here—I’ve got a flashlight—”

A light clicks on and Joel resists the urge to growl at Jimmy. No lights on in the car, first rule of driving, why is Joel the only one with a bit of sense—

Grian pulls at his shirt, lifting it (Joel tolerates it, as much as he wants to literally bite him).

A moment of tugging his shirt this way and that, of Joel’s teeth grinding as he stares at the road.

Then Grian gasps.

“Joel—shoot—someone got you—”

“Holy moly—that’s a lot of blood—”

It all catches up to Joel at once.

The anger, the exhaustion, the stitch in his side—

And Bdubs had had a knife, hadn’t he? A knife that Joel had lost track of after he’d nicked the watch.

Grian’s hand presses down right on the stitch in his side, and Joel shouts behind his teeth, hands tightening on the wheel. That—that hurts—

“Pull over,” Grian commands. “Timmy can drive. Pull over.”

“Absolutely blummin’ not,” Joel says. His stomach is already roiling, there is no way he’s going to let someone else drive. “I can make it. How bad is it?”

More painful pawing at his side. Joel bites the inside of his cheek.

“It looks deep,” Grian says. “We should call ahead, get them ready for medical attention—Joel, seriously, pull over—”

“I’ll be fine. We’re almost there, anyways.”

Subtly, he taps a bit more on the gas. Now that he knows he’s been stabbed, apparently, he can barely think through the pain. It hurts quite a bit more than it did a minute ago—and his head is starting to feel woozy—

Jimmy’s talking on the phone behind him, and Grian is digging through the glovebox—Grian withdraws a bunched-up emergency blanket (it’s not in the little package anymore, he thinks Jimmy opened it up a while back because Joel wouldn’t turn off the air conditioning) and flicks open his pocket knife, cutting a long strip off the blanket.

Grian reaches around Joel, wriggling his arm behind Joel’s back. “This would be easier if you would pull over,” Grian grunts, threading the strip of the blanket between the seat and Joel’s back.

Joel stares ahead, sweat breaking out all over his body. He might be sick, regardless of—

White hot pain bursts through Joel’s side, radiates up and pounds on the confines of his brain, stealing his vision for a brief moment. He cries out, arms jerking without his input.

“Pull over—Joel, hit the brakes and pull over!”

Joel blinks rapidly, the road fuzzing back into sight. He’s driving between two lanes, his arms luckily dragging him more toward the middle of the road rather than the median. He straightens out as best he can with his stiff, lead-like arms.

Which exit are they on? 72. Great, so the next one. The next one, the next one, the next one—

“None of this will be worth it if you crash the van,” Grian’s saying in his ear, his voice echoing around Joel’s staticky brain. “Pull over!”

Next one, next one, next one—

Exit 72 B?

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Joel breathes, pressing even harder on the gas. They’re going ninety-five now, definitely too fast for this tired old van.

“They’ll be ready when we get there, I told them it was bad,” Jimmy says. Jimmy’s voice doesn’t echo quite like Grian’s, but it does sound funneled into his ear, almost like through a cardboard tube.

It isn’t bad, he wants to say. He can’t quite get his lips to move.

Exit 73.

He remembers to click on his turning signal, somehow. It seems important.

“Joel, slow down, slow down, brake brake brake—”

“Am braking, calm down,” Joel mumbles. He is, he thinks. He definitely moved his foot to the other pedal, even if he doesn’t dare look down at the odometer. He thinks if he turns his eyes down, they’ll shut.

He knows how to get back to the mansion from here, but Grian gives directions anyways. His hands are still on Joel, holding the strip of blanket tight around his gut. Joel doesn’t have the strength to argue.

Left here. Onto that country lane. Keep driving. Keep driving.

“Talk to me. Say something, Joel, stay awake.”

Joel groans. He doesn’t particularly want to talk to Grian, and right now he’s doing nothing but severely irritating him.

“’m fine,” he manages around his heavy tongue. “Stop worrying. Like my mom.”

Grian laughs, shrill and anxious. “I wouldn’t worry so much if you could put together a whole sentence! Or if you would pull over—”

“Jimmy,” breathe, “can drive—” breathe breathe breathe, “when I’m dead.”

“Might not be too far away, to be fair,” Jimmy says.

Is this what death feels like? Clammy and fuzzy and sweaty?

Joel had better not die, then, because that sounds like it would be downright hellish in more than small doses.

Geez, he’s tired. Can’t he just pass out? Wouldn’t that be nice?

Can’t close his eyes. He has to keep driving. Can’t close his eyes.

“Never been stabbed,” he says through numb lips. “Just got shot. Once.”

“Turn here,” Grian says. Joel blinks. He hadn’t realized they’d already reached another turn.

“There is so much blood we’re going to have to clean up, geez louise. . . .”

“Right, I’ll jus’ . . . stop,” snarks Joel back at Jimmy, “stop . . . bleedin’.”

“Eyes on the road,” says Grian. Joel’s eyes are on the road, though, he’s sure they are. He’s going to great lengths to keep them propped open and staring directly at the road.

“Joel, eyes open. Keep them open.”

“They are,” he insists. Grian squeezes his arm with the hand that isn’t holding the blanket, sticky and warm.

“More open than that. We’re almost there, okay?”

They are almost there. The driveway is just up ahead.

Joel squeezes the steering wheel. He’s got this. It wouldn’t be good to pass out right here, right before they make it.

He isn’t sure how he gets there, but he does. He stares straight ahead, more focusing on keeping his eyes open than he is on the road, and he pulls up in front of the doors, finally letting go of the wheel to shift into park.

It’s silent for a moment as Joel stares straight ahead, at the dark mansion ahead of them.

“Told you,” he manages, shooting what he hopes is a smirk in Grian’s direction.

Then the fuzziness coalesces into darkness entirely, and he slumps forward over the wheel and knows no more.

-

The mansion’s library was converted into something of a hospital, long ago. Joel had always disliked it—they hadn’t bothered to paint it white or anything, left the walls a deep red and surrounded by costly books and polished oak shelves and expensive wood flooring, so it just felt like some rich mad scientist’s pet project every time he walked in.

That was why he didn’t particularly enjoy waking up there.

He groans, blinks several times as the library’s ceiling comes into reluctant focus. His limbs ache, and there’s some kind of pain pulsing from his side, but it isn’t as sharp as he thinks it ought to be. Painkillers, probably.

Joel looks down, sees an IV in his arm. Yep. Painkillers.

“Are you actually awake, or just faking it?”

Joel glances over to his other side.

Grian’s sitting there, arms folded. His leather jacket lies discarded on the floor, the sleeves of his red shirt pushed up to his elbows. His sunglasses are stuck in his greasy hair, doing nothing to hide his disapproving raised eyebrow.

“Hey,” Joel croaks. Then, because his memory is a bit spotty, “We made it, right?”

Grian smacks his shoulder.

“Hey—ow! What—?”

“It’s for being a moron—both Jimmy and I are perfectly capable of driving—and why didn’t you say you were injured?”

Joel’s seen the two of them drive, and he would like to disagree on that point. The him being a moron, though . . . probably justified. “I didn’t know,” he says, in response to Grian’s question. “Really.”

Grian holds his gaze for a moment longer, irritation in every line of his face—and then his face softens, and he rolls his eyes.

“Just try not to die, okay?” he says, smacking his shoulder again (gentler, this time). “I don’t have time for a funeral.”

Joel scoffs. “I wasn’t going to die. I was fine!”

Grian doesn’t speak.

Was he—was he genuinely close?

“Well,” Joel says, deciding not to think about that. His hand not occupied by an IV fumbles into his jeans pocket, and just as he’d hoped, his fingers find cold metal. “I did grab . . . this.”

Grian’s jaw drops as he stares at the golden watch, glinting in the low light. “No way. No—you got a Clocker’s clock?”

“Better. Bdubs’s clock.”

“Oh, dear,” Grian chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re gonna be in for a lot more trouble than a pesky stab wound.”

Joel just smiles, drops his hand to his lap.

He could use another nap.

[give-grian-rights]

ok im bad at staying focused . QUICK WEIRD HEADCANONS

With Players, upon respawning, the fatal wound is healed, so they don't fall into a slow and painful death-loop. Smaller non-fatal wounds are kept, but usually are scabbed or healed over. You can feel the pain of both. More powerful Admins can prevent most scarring and mark-leaving injuries entirely.

Scar has a curse that makes him retain all scars and injuries, regardless of death, or intervention. Only manually healing and treating wounds can help. Something he, typically, does not take the time to do.

Grian is partially deaf, with tinnitus, in part to . both Yandere High School and his love for tnt. He uses hearing aids and hides batteries for them...everywhere. including on people. he can just grab Mumbo or Scar and pull out a pair of hearing aid batteries from somewhere on their clothes, no matter the outfit. He knows Japanese and British sign language.

Stress is comedically always somewhere in the distance from Iskall. they say something stupid and you can just vaguely hear Stress shout something correcting them, or laughing at them.

Players have different religions. Players that spent most of their time in Survival, single player, normal servers, usually say "Oh my Dev", or "Oh my Void" interchangeably. Some massive Servers do not allow Players to leave until a certain age. those Servers usually have some variation of god. Gord (Yandere high school), Dream XD (dreamsmp), Lady Irene (minecraft diaries), etc. it is. human nature to rediscover religion i guess

Chat, which represents youtube comment section and live stream messages, are little vexes and wisps of code with intelligence. not quite alive, but vaguely sentient and omnipresent. They can take control of different things. Only some people can hear them, and unless you're a Vex hybrid, you cannot hear other people's chats. You can, however, see them when they're manifested as things.

Grian's Chat takes a different form to talk to him every season. His Chat started in Evo SMP, as sentient clayballs. Season 6 of Hermitcraft, baby chickens. Season 7, parrots. Season 8, eggs. Season 9, pebbles and rocks.

Scar's Chat just doesn't try to hide. They're Vexes. so is Cubs.

Doc's was creepers. they were still hostile, his Chat would just speak through them before they exploded or die. they found it hilarious. They have since changed to be goats.

Xisuma's appears as messages inside his helmet, while also talking to him.

Joe's chat is a comedical mix of things. Some are floating dish rags like ghosts. Some are just lime green panes of glass. Right now (s9/empires crossover) they are the cats. Usually they don't bother with a form.

Ren's Chat are dogs, AND dog stuffed animals. some of Chat didn't get the memo and thats ok.

[nullvoidface]

Wall!AU Main Three

(CuteGuy Villain AU)

All art in this post done by the lovely @shr00mgum

Read the fic HERE

Grian, pseudonym - CuteGuy

Hybrid-Status: Presumed avian

Not much is actually known about Grian as he keeps things to himself.

He was never a member of The Hermits, only working as a vigilante side-kick to HotGuy at most.

Five years ago he disappeared (and was presumed dead) due to The Wall incident. Now he’s back in the desert and more secretive than ever.

He’s extremely focused on his plan, which will be revealed in due time.

He’s currently struggling with balancing being on the run and trying to make it big as a villain.

Though he doesn’t want to kill anyone, focusing much more on sending a message.

He’s got one foot in the past, and one in the future. Plagued by overthinking every current moment as well as remembering his past and trying his best to suppress what once was and justify to himself what he’s currently working on.

Random fact: Grian once tried to make Mumbo the mayor of El Santuario. It didn’t work.

(Song I associate with Grian: AJJ - A Big Day For Grimley)

Mumbo Jumbo, Pseudonym - None at the moment

Hybrid-status: Human

Mumbo moved to the desert with not a penny to his name after being kicked out by his parents at 16 due to him being trans. This turned out to be an awful idea as had it not been for the mad scientist known as Doc, he probably would’ve spent more than a year as homeless. Doc picked him up off the streets after hearing about the kid’s redstone abilities that he used as a smalltime-villain.

After a few years working for Doc, Iskall decided to take him in. The two worked together on various projects, and would primarily do bank heists/robberies to earn enough to get their weapons company up and running.

Mumbo was caught by The Hermits, and due to his young age they decided to offer him a new chance to get “on the right path” (possibly due to Scar taking a liking to him).

He grew close with The Hermits, but after the loss following The Wall, he went back to Iskall. The two have worked and lived together since then.

He’s struggling quite a lot with the fact that Grian is back, part of him is convinced it’s all a dream, or maybe he has finally lost it. He sleeps less, his appetite is gone, our poor Mumbo is not doing great when we first meet him in the fic.

Random fact: Mumbo faints at the sight of blood

(Song I associate with Mumbo: PUP - Totally Fine)

Scar, Pseudonym - HotGuy

Hybrid-status: [CLASSIFIED]

Growing up in El Santuario, Scar was a pretty active kid and went onto become a skilled archer, even competing in other parts of the continent. However, this eventually came to a stop when Scar fell ill with an unknown disorder.

He decided to challenge himself to become a hero, starting out as a simple vigilante with a bow and arrows, he could be found perched on rooftops saving him from close-combat.

Eventually he was recruited into the Hermits and quickly gained an even larger fanbase than before. He had quite a hold on the media as well, and when Xisuma had to leave El Santuario for a few months Scar was picked as the man in charge.

This, however, was when The Wall appeared. He had kept close to Grian as usual, until he was forced to split from him.

Some media sources blamed Scar for the loss of an unofficial Hermit, leading Scar to leave the Hermits for a while until he could finally be convinced to rejoin the group.

When Grian was gone Scar focused more on unravelling the ties of the criminal network that runs through the city like blood vessels. This is done completely outside of work with the Hermits as the government refuses to fund his search for answers. “Surely it’s tied to Grian somehow, right?”

Scar is appalled that a new villain would ruin Grian’s “good name” and considers CuteGuy a rival.

Random fact: Scar’s cat Jellie has been the employee of the month every single month except for one. This was because Tango brought donuts in on his shifts for the entire month.

(Song I associate with Scar: Kate Bush - Running Up That Hill)

[aeolianblues]

Realising. I have (/had) a lot of sympathy for NME, since they played a big part in shaping musical and pop culture, and crucially, I started reading NME in 2013. The things artists said about them being two-faced shits did not really resonate with my experience of reading the NME. I'd spent a decent amount of time over the years, watching people like Andrew Trendall do good, in-depth and considered interviews with artists, often video ones that are less easy to manipulate if you will, that actually treated musicians like complex, thinking, feeling human being trying to express themselves through art, and writers like Rhian Daly who wrote a lot of the news stuff pretty factually— none of the snark that accompanied every news story of the past. I was fairly sympathetic to their cries of no one supporting journalism anymore, and I was saddened by them going out of print in 2018, and I agree it's a hellish landscape for journalism in general; worse for a non-news, leisure magazine like a music mag. I was happy that they were coming back in any form at all, with those bi-monthly (every 2 months) magazine drops.

I realise now (after the Fontaines incident, which I thought was in extremely poor taste after they'd spent the week before that posting clips of Andrew's 30-minute interview recorded at Grian's house) that had I been reading NME even 5 years before I started, I might certainly have been in the chorus of people celebrating the publication's woes. They were fucking horrible. Particularly from the late 00s onwards, they just got more and more tabloid. They ragged on new bands repeatedly. If you looked a certain way, if you had certain sentimentality, they would eat you alive, even as any other infrastructure in place to give you a boost slowly fell apart.

I realise now that they were on the back foot. They were playing niceys because they knew that they got way more publicity out of doing a collaborative Instagram post with pink pantheress than she got out of it. They went down the tiktok artist discovery route, they branched into covering K-pop (notably, not in NME Asia, as they did with indie bands from Asia, but in the UK/global NME). All just finding the artists with the largest audience they could woo or at least expose their website advertisers to. BTS don't need the NME, their fans don't even read it. They are too busy compiling 'x weeks since BTS has been in the Spotify charts; stream BTS, army!!' charts on twitter. All BTS gets out of this is saying they've fulfilled UK/English language press obligations, and maybe hopefully exposed themselves to someone over age 35.

Then the Oasis reunion happened. 35 articles a day. And the minute they found an opening to rag out a new band, throw them to the dogs (Oasis fans over the age of 45), they did. Stirred up this shitstorm—the Fontaines 'controversy' is that their guitarist and bassist aren't Oasis fans. That's 'controversy'. That is the stupidest thing i've heard. They're allowed that opinion. To turn it into a focal point story also is to imply that this is a point we should take note of and cross-examine. I think they did Fontaines so fucking dirty, and it reminded me of why people were wary of these magazines in the first place. They wait until they have the moment and momentum to sell you out, and they do at the first chance. So distasteful.

So yeah, this felt like old-school NME bullshit. No wonder most millennials don't feel too kindly about them. Gen Z readers caught them at a low ebb.

I'm not saying burn them all down! I'm saying this culture and attitude still very much exists in journalism, dormant as it stays right now. Look at the tabloids.

[noitkot1]

eueueue powerful sl!Scar concept eueueue

Scar continually pressing the button, gaining 5 hearts every few minutes and just hoping at some point it'll all end. He didn't try and bury anyone, his time was spent processing his situation. Equating it through his mind, understanding that the world was coated in silence since everyone was dead- that this is how all the previous winners felt. This was why Pearl was willing to sacrifice herself. The after, the winners spot was horrific and it is taking chomps out of Scar's body, and will slowly continue to do so until there is no more.

Scar let himself be blown up by creepers, slept without any protection, removed his armor because it was getting heavy and nothing could stop him from pressing that button. Nothing to stop those hearts from getting more and more. It was ages before something finally changed. Grian took pity, having been watching Scar this entire time, figuring eventually he'd pass and they'd all be sent home because this is Scar. Even if he survived this life series he still respawns every week inside of hermitcraft. He isn't careful, and he knew Scar wouldn't be careful during these remaining days. So Grian does /kill, and Scar screams in pain because he still stood. Still took a breath in, still cried the entire time and sobbed as he slammed the button down again.

In minecraft the /kill command is based off a certain amount of hearts. So if your hearts exceed the /kill command amount, then you will not die. I know the actual amount is extremely high and its unlikely Scar ever achieves that amount of hearts within a week of clicking the button over and over again, he probably gets really high, and the /kill can't kill him anymore. So instead the code is left eating away like a poison affect, slowly biting down on Scar's code and trying to eat through all the hearts to kill scar and it doesn't work. ( This implies by the time they do manage to move on from the Secret Life server/world, Scar would still be a red life since he hasn't died. )

[thelastrefrigerator]

This is gonna be a long one

To any new and old followers and people dropping by:

TLDR

I'm an odd person with a large amount of interests and beliefs.

You will find that I don't interact that much.

Info:

Age: 18

Bi and european.

Knows about a wide amount of topics with a small amount of knowledge in each.

Has been very good at not being an active part in that many communities (being a lurker most of the time)

Variety of youtubers and artists I follow

Linus Tech Tips

Will Wood

Cosmo Sheldrake

Tomska

Sr Pelo

Berd

Eltorro64Rus

Pantsless Pajamas

Aimkid

Grian

Technoblade (Rest In Peace)

City Planner Plays

Real Civil Engineer

Rtgame

Fun facts about me:

I have a large head, and am slightly near-sighted (literally)

I'm taller than average

I don't like interacting too much

My brain goes weird around people

I don't drink as I don't know how I am when I'm drunk. Also, beer taste disgusts me.

I like thinking up worlds, characters and stories, and proceed to not share them anywhere. Not even here.

I am not good at keeping attention when stuff feels useless/worthless (to the detriment of my grades).

I like gathering information about subjects I find interesting, keeping my attention on them for longer periods of time (to the detriment of my grades).

I like making milkshakes and smoothies when it gets too hot outside.

Music helps making me keep focus (i'm currently listening to Hawaii: part II - the mind electric).

I sometimes go on rants about literally anything, which usually drains people around me from energy (I suck their energy. It's mine now).

I overthink a lot when I make posts (this has been in drafts for weeks).

I probably maybe have a form of social anxiety and/or autism (not diagnosed, so therefore not proven).

I do not like to self diagnose.

I have read the entirety of wings of fire (and so should you)

Most of my days are spent in front of a computer screen.

I'm constantly looking for self improvement, and trying to better my mental health.

In my opinion:

Music is yes. music is all

Self diagnosing is good.

Self diagnosing up to the individual person (please for the love of god do not put labels on other people that they do not feel comfortable with).

The third arc of wings of fire was the weakest one.

The second arc of wings of fire had some of the best books.

Capitalism has on average made humanity more depressed.

Communism is currently only good on paper.

Liberalism is pure freedom, low to no taxes, but highly favors people with a lot of money. It directly ignores people in need.

Socialism is not liberal nor communistic. It is very controlling, high taxes, but has a large focus on economic safety nets for people in need.

Conservatism slows down change, be it for the better or the worse. Like socialism it is controlling, medium taxes.

Socio-liberalism is the ideal form of government in the current world.

Debates are only debates if both parties are listening. Otherwise, they are arguments.

Free healthcare is a human right.

Abortion is healthcare.

Medical weed should be legal

Recreational nicotine products should either be banned or remain unbanned on top of legalising recreational weed products.

People should be educated on the way their country is run (political system and whatnot)

The european union is great!

Brexit was dumb on so many levels.

You can't both be a good person and a billionaire (why don't you pay your workers/employees more, jackass?).

Not having consequences for your actions does not excuse them.

Everyone is entitled to their own beliefs.

If you have read through the entirety of this post then you are amazing

It's fine if you don't have the same political opinions as me. Just don't shove yours in my face and then tell me that I'm wrong.

I send a 'have a lovely day' to anyone that read this, and also the ones who didn't bother.

[geojester]

there is an end to everything

A snippet I wrote for the per audacia au about how Grian became the Emissary

The day Grian leaves to find the Watchers is the day he decides to no longer hold back. 

He has been waiting and waiting, living his life in the space between blinks. Looking for any excuse to stay even as he’s drawn towards the cosmos.

Sol has no answers for him. He knows from his endless searching. He knows that to find what he seeks he must verge into uncharted space. Whatever the reach of the Traveler may have been during the Golden Age no longer matters. Its arm has been cut short, many places where humanity once dwelled have since been lost.

It was always inevitable that his search would take him beyond the confines of Sol. Centuries spent chasing stories that all pointed him one way. The Watchers linger beyond the heliopause.

Pure chance was the only thing that kept him around this long.

First, Mumbo’s disappearance. Grian had been unwilling to leave without at least trying to find his friend. Scott, the Vanguard, they had all told him that Mumbo was dead. That he had died honorably in defense of the City. His name commemorated on a plaque alongside other Guardians who’d fallen in the battle.

Grian refused to believe it. Even now, he rejects the thought that Mumbo died in Twilight Gap. But even he was forced to admit after years of searching that it wasn’t looking good.

He had been making up his mind to leave when he’d met Scar.

Grian’s stomach twists at the reminder of betrayal, still so fresh. Of their parting words.

Scar had cost him precious time. Now, as Grian loads his ship for what he’s very aware may be a one-way journey, he banishes the other Lightbearer from his thoughts.

He knows he must leave. He feels it behind his eyes, under his skin. He is incomplete. Unfinished. There’s something out there that he must become.

---

The journey passes.

Grian appreciates the silence. The lack of reminders, of pleas for him to change his mind. After all, what does Sol have to offer him any more?

Sure, he leaves behind acquaintances, friends. But none he’s particularly close to. None that won’t get on without him. None that would be torn in two over his absence like he was when Mumbo vanished.

---

On some of his expeditions, Grian would fly out to the Reef.

He was allowed in exactly once, long ago during the Dark Age when the King’s bodyguard took pity on him. 

The Awoken King is cold and distant. He tells Grian in no uncertain terms that he is never to return. From then on, Grian’s ship is stopped before he even makes it past the first few asteroids.

---

When the King opens the Vestian Outposts to the Guardians, Grian returns again.

This time, he is not turned away.

He tries to describe what is happening. The hallucinations. The whispers that echo in his ears. The way it’s becoming impossible to differentiate between dreams and the waking world.

The King brushes him off. He knows about the Watchers. Nothing Grian says is news to him. He tells Grian his search is futile.

Grian does not see the bodyguard that time.

---

He’s nearing the boundary of the heliosphere when the Light leaves, its connection snapping like a strained thread. Something is wrong.

The severance leaves him reeling, the void within him yawning wider than ever before. He searches desperately for the Light and finds nothing. As if it was never there in the first place.

Grian passes beyond the heliopause.

A chasm gapes through his being. A rift that began when he was revived and has only grown wider since. Everything he is crumbles away at the edges. 

He feels himself splitting in two.

---

W H A T I S D I V I D E D C A N B E R E M A D E

your old life is ended

Grian is not your name.

---

Grian feels himself burn away. He rises from the smoke and ashes of his old life as something more. 

The voices are louder than ever -- pouring into his head, zinging through his nervous system. He can feel the buzz of power behind each one. Even as his mind forms the question, Grian already knows who they are.

W E H A V E B E E N W A T C H I N G

our grasp falls short in this you will be our pawn

Grian can feel them attempting to strip his will, tearing at it with grasping claws. He holds on.

Do not resist.

you will be our judge

O U R E M I S S A R Y

the scale on which we measure the guardians of sol

“Get out of my head,” hisses Grian.

The pressure is unrelenting. The Watchers will not give up without a fight. And Grian has nothing left. His friends are gone. The Light is gone. He refuses to give up his will to them.

A S T A L E M A T E?

you wish for agency this wish we shall grant

Our goals are aligned.

Grian scoffs. “I highly doubt that.”

Yet he feels himself giving in. He is willing to act on their behalf on the condition that he keeps his agency. His will is his own.

T H A T I S A C C E P T A B L E

you retain your agency even as you give us agency our goals are shared

Grian is no more.

---

It’s the last time he hears his name for a long time.

[atherix]

New story? 👀👀

-🍂

mm 👀 So spoilers under the cut for the album, but the album that has given me these brainworms is a rock opera concept album called Broken Bride, consisting of 5 songs that tell a story. Each song is in a different style. **A bit of a warning, the album does contain religious imagery (the endtimes, not redemption or salvation or damnation) as well as descriptions of mild gore and suicide.**

Broken Bride from Ludo shares a similar story to The Time Machine film, where the plot is driven by the death of the protagonist's partner (thus the Broken Bride).

I want you to know I started rambling IN DETAIL about each individual song holy shit I stopped myself and started over because I was getting. Way too into it.

So the story is the protagonist is driven by obsession for fifteen years to try and save his wife who died in a car accident, by going back in time and keeping her from getting out of the bed that morning. It turns out time machines are hard to control and he ends up propelled back to the age of the dinosaurs, where he's driven into a cave by pterodactyls. It cuts to the far distant future at the endtimes, with a conversation between a young boy and the mayor of a city. The mayor states there's nothing he can do about the families suffering outside, denounces god (real smart move at the endtimes huh) and praises their king before shooting himself in front of this kid. The boy has seen some shit by now so just steps up and rallies the people not to just pray for saving, but to fight. Back to the past, the protagonist reminisces on the days he and his wife spent together, and how after she died no one could help him or convince him to move on, and he reaffirms that he will save her. He makes a run through the swarm of pterodactyls and gets to the machine, only for the machine to malfunction and send him- you guessed it- to the endtimes. He witnesses firsthand what is happening here, learns about the king who is fighting against god. The dragon of the endtimes rises and the protagonist is watching so many people die, and in that moment he realizes he can't change what has already happened but he can change what could happen. He sacrifices his time machine, saying "I've got dragons of my own," indicating he brings the fucking swarm of pterodactyls to the future to fight the dragon, the machine blows up and kills him but the endtimes are stopped with the fall of the dragon. He is confronted by god or angels, not sure which, who praise his sacrifice but notice despite saving them, he's still suffering. He requests one more day with his late wife, just long enough to say goodbye as he's realized he can't save her. They grant this and he goes back to his home the morning she died. Instead of trying to keep her home, knowing he can't change what happened, he gets in the car with her. The accident still happens, only this time he's with her. (I assume for paradoxical purposes that this had no bearing on reality and he was only there in spirit, since he was already dead? Idk lol)

So. The story in my head that this album has shoved there- obviously we’re replacing all the religious stuff with Minecraft stuff, I’ll probably use my Pantheons stuff and the Ender Dragon. So yeah.

Just a warning- this contains Major Character Death as well as canon characters in antagonistic roles.

So obviously Mumbo would be the inventor. He and Grian, an Avian ofc because I’m me, have known each other for a long time, and been together from nearly the beginning- think “as soon as they were old enough to date.” Like highschool sweethearts, maybe even middle school sweethearts. They were the It Couple, deeply loyal to one another. It was not necessarily a healthy relationship, the depths of their devotion to each other, but they were happy and they took care of each other.

One day there’s a tragic accident in which Grian unfortunately does not survive, which naturally drives Mumbo to the brink of madness. He dedicates himself to building a time machine to try and stop the accident, and he successfully builds one after years and years of trying only to end up stranded throughout time- he meets new and interesting people in different time periods he gets thrown into, and maybe has a little run in with a Wither and maybe even a Warden along the way. Ancient Cities in flesh and blood, long-dead kings and queens- he sees it all. 

Until one of the time periods he gets thrown into is the far future, where the Ender Dragon is destroying everything and the world is under siege of the undead. Everything has gone wrong- think Blood Moon in RLCraft, only all the time. He meets Scar, an Elf who works for the King (Ren) to try and fight the Ender Dragon and save their world. Mumbo is separated from his time machine by Ren, who is going a bit mad now and is slipping, and Mumbo’s trapped for months in this apocalypse under Scar’s watch. The two of them bond over this time, and Mumbo learns more about what happened; the end of the world started when Scar was a child, he’s lived his entire life under siege of the dead and the dragon. He became involved with the king’s court when he was barely a teen, when he stopped asking for help and started helping others instead, fighting off the hordes of undead and trying to save as many people as possible. He is now one of the most respected warriors, though he wants nothing more than to be able to put down his bow and just create. 

Of course, there’s undertones of Redscape during this time but Mumbo is still deeply devoted to the long-dead Grian and can’t bring himself to move on. Scar, after Ren goes off the deep end and starts supporting the End, breaks Mumbo out of the castle and gets him back to where the time machine is hidden away, telling him to go back home and live his life in peace, thousands and thousands of years before the End Dragon breaches the unprepared Overworld.

Mumbo has started to realize by now that he can’t rewrite the past, as it’s what makes up his present- who, what and where he is now. These are all things that are going to happen, no matter what he does; it’s already witnessed and already written. What isn’t set in stone is how this war ends, as it has not been witnessed or written yet. So, knowing now that he can neither save Grian nor live happily without him... he makes a choice.

And that’s all I’m going to say :) I won’t say it’ll have a sad ending but it is a very bittersweet one. It’s not a 1:1 with the song but I don’t want to say what it would be hjghjjk

[hmshermitcraft]

OKAY SO I READ Apocalypse AND ALL I CAN THINK OF IS ‘The Crafting Dead.’ IM PRAYING ONE OF U WATCHED SCARS SERIES OF THE CRAFTING DEAD!!

Anyway- for scenario, very basic do what you want with it:

Scar was simply checking the defenses around his area, making sure no zombies could get through. When he saw a glimpse of dirty blonde hair.

A closer look would reveal that a boy(Grian), around Scars own age(18-19) had fallen into one of his traps. Hitting his head and injuring his ankle.

Should he help him.? Or just leave him for the zombies. Oh who was he kidding, he couldn’t just leave the boy. Plus..he looked kinda cute.

- Poor anon

It might use up resources and it might bring danger to the little sanctuary Scar's created for himself but... Maybe there's a part of him that's yearning for human interaction as well.

So Grian becomes a fixture of his life. And for the longest time, Scar is worried about letting him too close. There's the threat of betrayal, the thought of Grian moving on and leaving Scar alone again, but also...

What if Scar is only interested in Grian because he's not seen anyone else for so long? What if this attraction isn't even real? How could he tell the difference, he's spent most the years he should be figuring this out just trying to survive.

And then one day, after what is likely months since Grian became part of Scar's life, he kisses him. And Scar realises, what does it matter? This is the end of the world. If he's going to date somebody, he better make it count.

He kisses back.

[megabuild]

❔ for the ask game ^-^

❔ Choose a random WIP and talk about it.

Fuck that wheel im talking about band au because it's the most fleshed out one i can actually say things about. Band au is about this post

TLDR: NHO band au with left Ethubs. Bdubs is a twenty or thirty year old man (all ages ambiguous but I like to think of them as grown adults because it makes it funnier) who hates his job and has spent a solid half of his life trying to get THE big break with a band he formed in high school called the boomers. Unlucky for him the first chapter consists of him being informed that tango and impulse are kicking him out because he's the one pulling the band down. Through a serious of unfortunate events Bdubs ends up pulling together a new band with Doc (highschool friend), Beef (friend of Doc's) and Etho (friend of Beef's who quickly becomes Bdubs' mortal enemy) with the intention of beating the boomers at their local yearly battle of the bands, which is actually a charity tax writeoff hosted by Scar and also a total scam because his (worst-kept secret) boyfriend Grian's band always win. Bdubs insists it's less about winning and more about ensuring Tango's life is made miserable. Theres a whole lot else that happens in it but the best way I can explain it is snippets of discord conversations I've had about it and the original draft I wrote in 2021 which is now lost to time

[amethystfairy1]

I keep thinking about Cub in TTSBC and How he got into college, if that was his first time topside and he was from the Deep Dark with no support?? Does he have family (I feel like warden mutants wouldn’t do super big groups like blazeborn clans)? And I was thinking how he probably hasn’t gone back since he went up, and also how overstimulating the near surface would be for a warden mutant. Like…there is redstone everywhere and they for sure can hear it. All the rail carts and people on top of that? At least topside you can find quiet places, but if you were fully in the near surface, you’d have to find a hideyhole like tango’s house for even relative peace. I was also thinking that Cub might be able to hear Grian’s wings if they moved under his sweater, whenever they meet, but he probably hasn’t spent enough time around other hybrid types to pick that out. He probably tries to ignore bodily sounds as a habit. I just…Cub. I want more Cub. I want to knowwwwwww.

Cub, Cub, Cub!

I'm serious I was not expecting TTSBC!Cub to be the brainrot for so many folks and yet here we are 😆 I'm so glad you like him so much, I love him too and I have lots of plans to write more for him I promise!

But for now...

I actually made a 'Warden Lore' post not long ago in response to another ask, but basically Cub got a scholarship through the acclimation program! Cub in the present day is 35, he's the same age as Scar. That makes him three years older than Pearl and Grian, and five years older than Jimmy. When he went topside via the acclimation program he was one of the first new batch of kids to do so post-Anarchy. He's another gutter rat with no family and no support, and you're right! Warden Mutants are very solitary my nature...a lot of them are also tangled up in organized crime groups that moved to the Deep Dark after Etho's gang with it's lab-backed support forced them to stop operating so publicly within the Depths.

You're absolutely right! Cub hasn't gone back to the Deep Dark since he was eighteen. He does occasionally return to the Under-City, but only like once a year. He goes to a clinic in the near-surface for his medical check-ups. And he does hate the near-surface for all the reasons you said, it's soooo loud and sooo crowded and sooo busy and he also has to ride the rail carts which made so much noise, so Cub puts off his medical check-ups for as long as possible every year because he doesn't wanna go. 😭

Cub does have the tendency to tune things in and out to avoid getting completely overstimulated every five seconds, because I mean...the poor guy's hearing is insane, and it gets stronger the more anxious/scared he gets because it's a survival mechanism, so when he starts having a panic he's gotta try his best to keep his calm because once he starts spiraling things only get ever louder.

Poor Cub. 😓

[pixiemage]

This just in! "Hermpires" is now actually the polycule relationship between the ENTIRE CAST of Hermitcraft and Empires! Who'd've thunk it? :D

For real though, I'd said this before and I'll say it again. We need to get better with this. Honestly. It's so hard to distinguish which characters duo names are referring to except for a Rare Few. (Desert Duo comes to mind, though most people I know still call them Scarian whether it's ship-leaning or not.) It's impossible to summarize a pair of complex characters down to one adjective and still have it be clear to anyone reading it which characters you're talking about. I spent ages trying to figure out if "Shiny Duo" was related to someone who was diamond-greedy, or had a thing for gold, or whose skins looked like Foolish and Skeppy or something. By "simplifying" things, the naming system has become overcomplicated.

(Y'all I've seen pairs get Duo-fied when they already HAVE a canon name. Team Rancher gets this all the time. They named themselves Team Rancher - it's on the sign on their base, it's in every episode, it was their first official tag, and we know what it means. Why are we Duo-ficating it on top of that?)

We have the "Hermitshipping" and "Trafficshipping" tags for folks who are trying to block that kind of thing, but it's not an immediate sign of romance if you combine two peoples' names. I consider "Grumbo" to be any post about Grian and Mumbo, whether the intent is romantic or not. They're just a funky pair of blorbos that are often grouped together. I know what the name means. I know who it's referring to. It's easy. Pleeeeaase can we fix the system? Goodness gracious.

brother these duo names are getting out of hand some of yall need to just call them their names and let it be jesus christ