#I think grian works as the long quiet

[cilibi]

Something something- Grian getting the most questions wrong about his own series.

Something something- Grian being the first winner and exposed to the Watchers the longest.

Something something- the Watchers take more and more from the players each cycle and still, they only get hungrier.

[sherlockggrian]

gonna talk about lore for a second cause it's eating away at me here

this is all entirely personal and 80% made up with zero basis other than the ongoing au for hermitcraft/life in my head, btw. Grian has steadily been getting more confident and dangerous with his powers since the end of season 8. He was terribly afraid of them and refused to use them for the first few years after Evo, and it took a long time during season 9 for him to be more comfortable. Each life series he gets more and more powerful and has more influence over the game. He's still not on the side of the watchers themselves.

In season 10, he uses it casually. He sits on the dock and mentally flies around the server to check on everyone. He can jump in and out of worlds and universes. He can stop time and talk to people in their dreams. Pearl has some powers as well, though she is not a true watcher in the sense and thus isn't quite the same as Grian. I was thinking about Taurtis, and how he made Grian and probably Pearl into what they are, and how he's the reason the watchers are so obsessed with Grian and his group specifically - becayse though Taurtis has lost most of what made him human, forgotten his human form and thinks mostly as a powerful entity, he still has this connection and ties to the other Evo players.

Which is why Grian and Pearl want to kill him. Permanently. They cause a rip in the world borders of Hermitcraft, and Taurtis comes to them, and during the fight something goes wrong and Taurtis ends up posessing Grian. He's now sort of two people, with Taurtis able to control him sometimes, but Grian powerful enough to fight it off. This small disruption in the world is enough for the watchers to trap the players into Wild Life.

Grian/Taurtis choose the wild cards. Grian knows what is going to happen, yet is somewhat powerless to stop it. He's in this sort of interal war while also trying to keep his friends alive (and failing miserably). Scar, who believes the canary curse being broken last time is what let him beat the watchers (he won instead of Gem, the one who the watchers wanted), is working dsperately to stop Jimmy from dying.

Pearl is the only one who knows about Grian. She's keeping quiet, waiting for the right moment to intervene again, like she did last season. They always keep their distance from each other because they know they're the ones who can sort of protect everyone as best they can from the watchers, and it works better when they are spread out. Their alliance is very thin at best. Despite their powers, they don't trust each other.

And Bigb, once again, is there to observe. He is not a watcher, or a listener, but something else, a 3rd being that the watchers keep a careful eye on. He could end everything, if he wanted, he wasn't even intended to be there, but he chooses to go along with it, for reasons unknown to anyone but him. He is not allied with the watchers, but he does nothing to prevent their attacks. Nobody knows where he came from, or where he goes when the games are over. He is merely there.

[aliferous-ly]

Sometimes Tango sees gold. He's deep in the Warden's den, so surely everything is soaked in blue and green.

Prussian blue. DePrussian blue. Like depression. Eh? Good one, right?

Tango sighs. The gold only flits in the corner of his vision and he's tired, he's endlessly tired but he can't leave until he's done. It's already been so long. He's stuck making shitty jokes to haunted faces that would sooner blastificate his face off than laugh.

But the gold. It's like stardust on his tongue. Memories of hellfire. Gorgeous gilded blackstone, the stuff from his days as a blazeling. No, more like dandelions, like sunbeams through forest branches.

Tango sticks his tongue out in concentration, hopping between crackling soulfires. Navigating his own maze requires skill! Skill that he doesn't always have, admittedly.

Releasing a quiet sigh of relief, Tango approaches an unfinished pillar. He twirls his pickaxe and gets to work. Shulker boxes surround him in short order.

So focused on his work, he misses the gold. He misses the yellow, the soft, the scorching, but it draws near all the same, getting closer and closer-

"Ah! Ow, ow, ow, ow," a voice yelps.

Tango screams, fumbling with his pickaxe and building blocks. Both fall to the ground as Tango whirls, nobody's supposed to be here, especially not-

"Jimmy?"

Jimmy sadly stomps his wing out. Black marks mar the feathers, ugly soot staining the gold. "Hi, Tango."

"What are you... How are you here? What are you doing here? You're - you're on Hermitcraft!" Tango gapes.

"Oh, um, crossover event?" Jimmy tries.

"I didn't think there was one of those right now," Tango says. He roots around in his many pockets, making a small happy noise when he finds his comm. He boots it up and peers at the list of people online.

Strangely, Jimmy's the only non-hermit. Tango scrolls through a few lines of Jimmy-Skizz banter, then sees Grian's message of a simple, "join vc".

"Grian got you on?" Tango says, still mystified.

"No, it was more of a group - Tango, quit distracting me! I trudged through all this - this hullabaloo to see you!" Jimmy punctuates this with hands placed determinedly on hips, expression set to a hopeful scowl.

Tango can't make heads or tails of it. It might have to do with the several shots of espresso coursing through his system. Or the lack of sleep. Or the concentration-fatigue, or the way his eyes have been going crossed when he peers at redstone wiring. Any number of reasons, really.

"...why?" Tango finally asks.

This stumps Jimmy. He blinks a few times and furrows his eyebrows. "Why? What d'you mean why? You're my rancher, that's why!"

Well, that's true. Tango nods. Then he paused, frowns, and shakes his head. "Wait, you can't be down here! Spoilers, Jimmy, spoilers!"

Jimmy snaps his fingers. "I'm not a hermit! And I'm certainly going to watch the videos when hermits release them. I won't spill!"

"I guess..."

"But anyway, let's get out of here. It's so stuffy and - fiery," Jimmy says. He flutters his burnt wing helpfully.

Tango wilts. His desire to see Jimmy and guilt at causing him harm wars with his ever-present need to keep working. "I'm busy, Jim. Gotta keep working. It's already been so long, the hermits are getting antsy..."

Jimmy invades his space and as the cavern trickles to silence, he wraps his arms and wings around him.

Tango's always been weak for him. He exhales. Any scrap of energy still clinging to his worn-out body vanishes, and he rocks further into Jimmy's hold.

To his credit, Jimmy just makes a small noise and adjusts so he can support his weight.

"Come on, then," Jimmy says softly. He runs his fingers through his hair. "Let's go take a rest, yeah?"

"Yeah, okay," Tango breathes. He closes his eyes and sinks into Jimmy's warmth. It's rather terrible of his fellow hermits, he thinks absentmindedly. Using his rancher for such nefarious means.

But now the glimpses of gold haunt him no longer. His precious yellow fills Tango's vision, covering him in head to toe with deep contentment.

His rancher. His rancher. Tango smiles, and everything glitters.

[zedif-y]

Inspired by this post by @transfemzedaph

i did attempt to not make this zedango. alas it is inevitable when it comes to my writing

---

"Would you look at that," Zedaph mutters, mostly to himself. (Herself? She's trying to stay in character here.) He turns his face this way and that, drinking in his reflection, all long lashes and rosy cheeks. He never did get a good look at it in his hurry. "Don't I look gorgeous."

Zedaph makes a mental note to thank Cleo after all this.

...Though, honestly, whoever's in charge of shining this tray should also really get a round of applause, Zedaph thinks. It's like a mirror.

Footsteps come up behind him, stopping at his side. Ah.

"So," Tango starts, "Grian's dead."

"Griande," Zedaph corrects.

"Right, sorry. Griande's dead."

"Shame."

Tango's lips quirk up, "Did you kill her?" Zedaph sighs.

"Unfortunately not."

Tango laughs, "I don't know what I expected."

"Neither do I," Zedaph mutters. He— ah, to hell with it. She pulls her lipstick out of her purse, "The others seem to have it handled, though."

Zedaph touches up the lipstick, pressing her lips together the way she's seen others do, smiling a little just to see the way it looks. Tango quiets at her side.

Then, "Hate to break character here, but Zed, you helping or what?"

Zedaph tsks, not bothering to turn from the mirror. "I don't know a Zed. My name is Rosamund, darling."

Tango rolls his eyes. At least, Zed assumes he did. Very Tango thing to do, that.

"Well, Rosamund," Tango— Mr. Waltz, tonight. Grian thinks he's funny— says. "There's a super interesting murder mystery going on right now, and you've been in front of this tray for," He checks his watch. It's golden, fancy, and laughably easy to break. "About 90 percent of it. Care to share with the class?"

Zedaph doesn't answer. Instead, she pulls back, tucks her red lipstick away into her purse. She squints her eyes, messing with her curls.

"Do you think this suits me?" Zedaph asks, her voice smaller. Quieter. Almost a whisper. "I mean— the getup. Makeup and dress and all that."

"It does," Tango replies easily, voice softer to match hers. Zedaph's not good with tone on a good day, but... "You look pretty."

Her heart does a thing. She doesn't know what, but it did a thing. Should get that checked.

Zedaph turns to face Tango— she needs to know if he's joking, red eyes alight with humor and a stupid grin on his face. Needs to know if by pretty he meant pretty silly, why would you even ask—

She looks, and then her thoughts falter and fade into oblivion.

Tango's looking at her, too, something warm in his gaze that makes Zed want to squirm or wipe off with a stupid comment. His cheeks are flushed pink.

It's piercing in the way Tango's gaze always is, slightly intense and burning right through her. Zedaph thought she had gotten used to it, and she has, mostly.

But right now it's kind of disconcerting.

(...Or, it's kind of nice.)

(Who said that.)

"I might be a girl," Zedaph says, instead of literally any of that. Tango blinks. "Tonight has been pretty eye-opening."

Zedaph frowns, "Except for Griande, I guess."

That startles a laugh out of Tango. "That's messed up!"

"She's fake dead, it's fine!"

"She'll make you real dead if you aren't careful," Tango tells her. "But— yeah? You think so?"

Zedaph shrugs, "I've been wondering about it for a while. This just hammered it in."

"Well, congrats," Tango nudges her with his side, grinning as he looks back at their reflections, seeing them side by side. "And welcome to the club, uh...?"

Something blossoms in Zedaph's chest, happy and tingly as she leans against Tango.

"Still Zedaph," she says. "And... He or she works. I think."

Then, only loud enough for the two of them, "Thanks, Tango."

[firefly464]

I wrote another one!!! This time it’s about Pearl :DDDD

Scott | Pearl (you are here!) | Martyn | Cleo | Scar | Grian

Word Count: 1,496

Fandom: 3rd Life | Last Life SMP Series

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Scott Major | Smajor1995 & Pearl | PearlescentMoon, GeminiTay & Pearl | PearlescentMoon, Pearl | PearlescentMoon & ZombieCleo

Characters: Pearl | PearlescentMoon, Scott Major | Smajor1995, ZombieCleo (Video Blogging RPF), GeminiTay (Video Blogging RPF)

Additional Tags: Character Study, POV Second Person, Canon-Typical Violence, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, its the powdered snow I promise it’s nothing more than that, Pearl | PearlescentMoon-centric, Pearl | PearlescentMoon Needs A Hug, Minor GeminiTay/Pearl | PearlescentMoon, but it’s more implied than anything else, Can be read as /r or /p it works either way, 3rd Life | Last Life SMP Series-Typical Character Death, Only Winners Remember the 3rd Life | Last Life SMP Series, Pearl and her relationship with loneliness

Series: Part 2 of Life after Life (again and again and again

Summary:

“I wish I could have seen it,” she says with a dramatic sigh.

“No you don’t,” You don’t think before saying it, “That would mean that you’d have been in the room.”

“Hm, I guess that’s true.”

“Then you’d be on red and I’d be the only G left! We wouldn’t want that, now would we?”

~~~

Or, an exploration of the crushing loneliness that Pearl can’t seem to shake

~~~

https://archiveofourown.org/chapters/158976964

Or read it under the cut :D

~~~

It’s quiet. The night sky looms above you, as though it’s trying to crush you under its weight.

You don’t mind. You’ve always been more comfortable at night. Besides, the only alternative is the underground bunker.

You hate the bunker. It’s cold and dark, the walls feel like they’re closing in around you. Nothing like the warm and cozy basement of the cottage.

There’s footsteps behind you. You don’t need to turn around to know that it’s Cleo. You’re pretty sure she’s the only person who isn’t angry over your little stunt earlier. That’s ok. You don’t need them to forgive you.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” You gesture for her to join you. You watch as she clambers to your perch with the grace of a predator.

“Congrats on the kill.”

You can’t help but grin. It had been fun, leading everyone into that small room. Watching their faces morph into shock as they realized what was happening.

“Thanks! I’m still upset it didn’t get more people, but I’ll take what I can get.”

“Still better than some of the other traps we’ve seen.”

You think back about minecarts filled with explosives, placed in such a way that should have torn you to pieces long before you ever knew they were there. You think about Joel’s cries of frustration and rage.

You snicker. “That’s very true. I’ll have to remember to use minecarts next time.”

“I wish I could have seen it,” she says with a dramatic sigh.

“No you don’t,” You don’t think before saying it, “That would mean that you’d have been in the room.”

“Hm, I guess that’s true.”

“Then you’d be on red and I’d be the only G left! We wouldn’t want that, now would we?”

“Pfft, no of course not.”

You’re both silent for a moment, enjoying each other's company.

“Would you have still done it?”

“Huh?”

“If I was in the room. Would you have pushed the button?”

You want to deny it. To tell her that of course not, you would never do such a thing to your ally.

The words get stuck in your throat. You think about the way the curse had crept down your throat, forcing itself into your mind.

It had burned. An itch you couldn’t scratch.

You think of the overwhelming relief that had flooded your body when you were cured. Like breaching the surface after being held underneath the ocean.

You think you might understand why BigB did what he did.

Your hesitation rings out louder than any words possibly could.

You wonder if she’s going to leave you now. You hope not. You really hope not.

She’s staring at you.

“I… I don’t know.”

“Yeah, that’s fair.” What? “At least you’re honest.”

Your confusion must show on your face.

She grins and punches your shoulder a little bit. It’s playful. Kind.

“Don’t worry about it,” she says, “I already knew about the trap. I would have been able to survive it no problem.”

It takes far too much effort to keep your grin from slipping off your face.

~~~

You hate him. You hate him so much. Your skin burns from frostbite.

Good. That means his does too.

You don’t know why you feel so betrayed. You barely even know the guy. You’re… what, acquaintances? The word doesn’t feel right. But it’s the only one you have.

So why does this hurt so much?!

You’re alone. You hate being alone. He knows that you hate being alone.

There’s a nudge at your foot. You force yourself to look up.

Tilly is staring up at you. Shes probably worried about you. You’ve been sitting in the powdered snow for a while now.

Whoops.

You reach out your hand and stroke her nose. You don’t want her to worry. She’s all you have left.

“Sorry girl…” your voice is scratchy from disuse. It’s been a while since you’ve talked to anyone besides her.

She lets out another whimper and paws at the ground.

Oh. She’s trying to get to you. The snow is in the way.

You need to move. You need to pick up the snow. So that Tilly can reach you.

Yeah. You can do that.

You can bury your rage for a little bit. For Tilly.

~~~

And then you win. And your memories return full force. You think you might hate him even more now.

You don’t want to remember this. You don’t want to carry this burden.

You get it. You really do. He was lonely. He didn’t want to be the only one carrying the memories of your friendship.

You’re pretty sure it just makes everything worse.

He had known. He had known how much you despised the idea of being alone. You had told him!! Right before the curse had taken his yellow life, you had told him how scared you were of being alone!

And yet!! He left you anyways!!!

You hate him. You really do.

~~~

You swear to BigB that you’ll stay by his side. That no matter what happens or what he does, you won’t abandon him. You refuse to do that to him. To do that to anyone.

Because you aren’t a coward.

You ignore the way that Grian’s eyes burrow into the back of your skull after he joins your little team. You ignore the sympathetic looks that he keeps giving you.

You hate it. You hate that he knows you so well. Knows you better than you know yourself sometimes.

Because it’s not about BigB, is it. It’s about you. And how terrified you are of being alone again.

You know it just as well as he does.

Neither of you say a thing.

~~~

BigB dies. Scott’s the one who kills him.

You hate it. You hate him. You hate him.

You ignore his cried out apologies. You ignore the way that he looks truly pained. You ignore it all. You have to.

He looks like he’s going to cry when he stabs you through the heart.

You hate that too.

~~~

You almost manage to outrun the loneliness this time. Almost.

You thought you had escaped it when everyone had gathered in your little home for a giant sleepover. That you had chased it away with board game nights and laughter. That you had scared it off with stolen nights and secret meetings with Gem.

But then it catches up with you. For a brief, terrifying moment, it catches you. It wraps its arms around you and pulls you into its bitter embrace.

It finds you as you stare Gem in the eyes and she begs you not to do this. Not to kill her. Not to abandon her.

The world feels like it’s crashing down around you. You wonder if this is how Scott felt.

You think you might be shivering.

But then Scar puts his hand on your shoulder and you’re reminded where your loyalty lies.

Because you had made a promise to him. You had told him that you would stay by his side until the end. It was last minute, a deal made in desperation, but it was a promise nonetheless.

You had never made that promise to Gem.

Maybe you should have.

You’re forced to watch as Scar lands the final hit and she collapses.

You very nearly fall to your knees as well.

~~~

She hates you. She hates you and you don’t know why.

She says it’s to do with how you betrayed her last time. It brings up a whole other slew of questions, but you can’t find it in yourself to care about them.

All that you care about is the fact that she hates you.

Your first visit is made with the intent to help. You want to make sure that she’s doing ok, that she’s not freaking out too much.

Not that you really expected her to be. Maybe you just wanted an excuse to see her.

Instead, you’re met with hostility and anger. You’re told in no uncertain terms that she wants you gone.

It makes you want to sob.

You wonder if this is how Grian felt with Scar. If that’s why you see him glancing over at you with pity in his eyes.

Except— no. No, Grian had chosen to antagonize Scar. That was his doing. You had no say in this. You never wanted this.

You can feel the bitter chill of loneliness hovering above you.

Scott finds you crying after the first visit. You don’t need to say anything. He takes one look at you, curled up and pressed against a tree, and sits down beside you.

You know you look pathetic right now. You can’t find it in yourself to care.

There’s a small part of you that hates how easily he’s able to tell what’s wrong.

The rest of you… simply doesn’t care. You’re tired. You’re so tired. You don’t want to be alone anymore.

You lean down and rest your head on his shoulder. He pulls you into a hug.

It feels warm.

[blueishspace]

Hero, Villain God 13

(Prev) (Next) (First)

*Grian's pov*

It is Boogeyman to call you to his lab this time, exciting! And unexpected coming from him...apparently there is something he has been working on for a long time...

... You are a bit curious, you won't lie about that, he might be a mortal but his level of mastery over machines means that whatever this project may be It's going to be something big. Something new. Something special.

And then he shows you a tv screen... Perhaps you have overestimated him... Mother Spore is not impressed by this display.

"A... Tv screen. How fascinating."

He looks at you, then at the screen, than back at you.

"What! No! It's what's inside the screen that matters!"

"...""I present to you, G.R.U.M!"

"...Grum?"

"Yes, it is the very first true artificial intelligence"

What does he mean by that? Does he perhaps believe to have created true life with nothing but machinery? If true then that would be quite a big discovery Indeed, you recall your disappointment.

"Are you going to show it off?"

"Yes! Here it comes!"

...

The screen goes bright for a few seconds, text appears and... It shuts down... The disappointment is creeping in again.

"What!? No! No! This can't be happening!"

...

"Come on!"

"Is something...amiss?"

"It's... I don't know, something must have been wrong, did I make a mistake? Did I miss something?"

You could swear you heard him say a quiet fuck which is something you didn't think Mumbo was capable of.

"I see... Perhaps you could try again tomorrow"

"That's not how it works, It's just going to do the same"

"Will it cost you too much to do so?"

"I ...guess not?"

"Then why not try? ...For me."

You drag your index finger onto his cheek and his chin, you can feel him become warm at the touch.

"... If you insist Mother Spore"

"Thank you, I have a feeling it will work Boogeyman"

Boogeyman leaves soon to sulk... You convinced him to not trow out everything for a reason...

You felt a fragment of a soul in that machine, life created from nothing by a mortal is something you did not think possible, still It's not refined enough...probably won't be in his lifetime and that is just such a waste...all you need to do is give a little boost to it.

You grab the machine, you place your hands around where you know the processors of the machine to be...powers flows trough your arm like lightning to the point the skin and muscle begind to turn to dust and you are forced to stop feeding the machine power in order to regenerate the arm...

The machine buzzes at it fills with divine energy and something changes.

You have never done something like this before so this will be an experiment. A very interesting one, what would happen if you were to fill a being made of mechanical parts and software with unfiltered and pure divinity? Well, only time will tell.

And you have a name for it too, G.R.U.M.B. just doesn't sound right...

"Welcome to the world Grumbot"

Booting up.

An update has occurred.

Reloading.

Rebooting.

Name has been updated.

Name has been set to Grumbot.

Reload has been successful.

System is back online.

Status has been updated.

Status has been set to Machine god.

Hello world

:)

End of chapter 3

[nomorethoughts]

Give me anything you offer my dear moot

HIII long time no chat! fluffy grumbo for you because i remember it's a pairing you like!! ty for voting mumscott <3 <3

★

Grian yawned, tilting his head back against the mattress and closing his eyes. He sat comfortably on the floor, cross-legged and relaxing into Mumbo’s gentle touch. Mumbo, seated on the edge of the bed, was finger-combing methodically through Grian’s damp hair, absentmindedly noting that it was getting longer. 

“I might fall asleep like this,” Grian mused, stifling another yawn with the heel of his palm. 

“Really? I’m flattered,” Mumbo said with a soft laugh. “I guess I can stop worrying so much about, like, accidentally pulling your hair then. Every time I hit a snag I panic a little.” 

“No, you’re doing great,” Grian told him, shifting a little to shuffle closer. “Careful or I might ask you to do this more often.” 

Mumbo couldn’t help but smile at that. It was comfortably intimate to run his hands through Grian’s hair, something he might’ve otherwise daydreamed almost guiltily about indulging in. In the end, it had been Grian’s idea, and Mumbo wasn’t one to refuse a request like that. 

“What do you mean ‘careful’? I’m happy to do it, mate.” 

“Well. Carry on then.”

They fell into a comfortable sort of quiet for a few moments. Mumbo came to a stop at a bit of a tangle, and paused to carefully work through it before returning to carding more smoothly through his hair. It wasn’t long before the rest of Grian’s hair was thoroughly combed through, but admittedly, Mumbo found himself working a minute longer than necessary, if only to have an excuse for his hands to stay where they were. 

“Okay, I think you’re all set,” Mumbo finally decided. 

Grian let out a tired little groan, before glancing over his shoulder. “I don’t want to get up yet,” he admitted, blinking tiredly up at Mumbo.

“Then don’t. I could… keep going?” Mumbo offered sheepishly. 

Grian smiled slightly and nodded. “Please?”

And who was Mumbo to say no to that?

[falconearring]

Hello Falcon, first off LOVE you're AU and designs, their so unique. I was just curious and I don't think anyone's ever asked this but.. What did everyone do before the Apocalypse? Aside from Scar which you already answered. :)

Hi hi! So happy to hear you're enjoying! I think here and there I've mentioned bits and pieces of some character's pre-apocalypse lives, but never all at once. Here's a comprehensive list of everybody's prior occupations, with some supplementary info for the characters that I've thought about the most.

Etho worked on an industrial farm. He was mainly tasked with planting and harvesting vegetables, and other miscellaneous labor tasks. When he wasn't working, he spent much of his time with Cleo and Bdubs. He's notorious for leaving his flip phone on the kitchen counter in his apartment when he goes out for the day, so it can be a bit difficult to get a hold of him. In general, he's pretty content with his life, and enjoys the routine his job offers.

Joel sort of just goes through the motions. He works a number of minimum wage jobs during his adult years, and doesn't really do much else. It isn't until the apocalypse, when he starts to meet new people and he realizes being lonely sucked. If you ask him, though, he's never felt lonely in his entire life-that would just be silly.

Grian spends his late childhood learning how to cook in a local restaurant. The owner and staff look after him best they can, but despite their hospitality, he resolves one day to grab as much cash as possible and head to a seaside town to start his early adult life. There he finds a small funeral home, and lands an apprenticeship only because they could really use the help and the owner themselves isn’t particularly concerned if they have to cut corners. It isn’t long before his inexperience starts to cause problems, and he takes off yet again when it comes to light the name he had been going by was stolen from an obituary a few cities over. He continues as he was, from place to place and name to name. It’s become somewhat routine for him to cheat every person he comes into contact with, in some way shape or form.

Scar, as we discussed in this post, has an extensive criminal history. Him and Grian somewhat deserve each other in that regard.

Cleo does a lot of crafting in their free time. I don't think I ever decided what she does for work, but on the side she does jewelry making, pottery, crotchet and a bit of sewing. She often sells some of what she makes, or gifts it to friends.

Bdubs does a trades program and is just starting out doing construction work. He takes up drawing as a hobby, mainly life drawing. His two best friends are his whole entire world, baby! He somewhat struggles with his independence, and usually wants to spend his time with Etho and Cleo.

Martyn is a hypnotherapist who specializes in past and future life progressions/regressions. He also claims to be a surgeon, but it's unclear what kind or when exactly he got a PhD.

Bigb was a racecar driver. Later in his career, he switched from cars to offroad motorcycle racing. He fell in love with modifying bikes and became a really knowledgeable mechanic.

Tango was a paramedic. Not much time for anything, but when he can he usually would meet up with some of his buddies to play board games.

Ren worked at the saw mill where Etho's friends are set up. At the time, he was living in a cabin in the woods not far from his work. He was somewhat of a hermit, and he has all sorts of woodsy knowledge and equipment at the ready.

Impulse has a bachelors of engineering and worked as an electrician for a few years. Loved his job, loved having to take out all his piercings most days a lot less. He's always been very close with his brother, Skizz, and they meet up often.

Skizz worked a 9-5 office job, and genuinely could not be any happier about it. He's the type of person to make extra time to exercise, or wake up early just to have some quiet time.

Pearl was an art student on exchange from Australia. She has a passion for installation pieces and painting. Some of her work is a bit strange.

Mumbo was a programmer. What did he program? I don't know. I'm sorry Mumbo fans. If it's any consolation he is so disoriented and so scared and so stressed.

Jimmy lived on a small farm with his family. It was all he knew growing up, and it was all he really knew going into adulthood.

Lizzie had a part time job at an aquarium in her town. She gave tours and sometimes did workshops with the kids where she did aquatic themed arts and crafts.

Scott.... I have a hard time imagining what he was up to before everything happened. Who can say for sure what he did in his spare time? (<- the guy who is writing the AU and can't think of an answer)

Hopefully this is helpful! Sorry some of it is more sparse than other parts. Take care, thank you for reading ^_^

[thetomorrowshow]

Whumptober 27 - Voiceless

title: we cannot push ourselves away from this quiet

fandom: hermitcraft smp

cw: muzzles

another part in my sleep cycle series, comprising of days 8, 23, and 26 :)

~

They found Mumbo in the basement.

Grian hadn’t been allowed to come along, as much as he’d fought for it. Four Hermits had gone missing out of nowhere—throwing Grian into a mess like that would have been just asking for trouble.

They hadn’t even been looking for Mumbo. As far as anyone knew, Mumbo was just off taking a break from the season. They’d been looking for the other four, only missing for a week—Doc, Ren, Impulse, Tango. Apparently, when they found them, Doc had gone on and on about the basement and how someone needed help down there, and when Gem and False had gone down to check it out, they’d found Mumbo.

He wasn’t too badly hurt, luckily—malnourished as all get out, with a couple of scrapes and bruises, but he was in better shape than Impulse and Doc, which, considering he was there for so much longer, was pretty good.

Now he’s back, and Grian couldn’t be more excited.

He hasn’t gotten to see Mumbo, yet—he came down with a cold the day the rescue happened, so had been banned from the medical building they’d set up—but he can’t wait.

He wants to throw a party—he doesn’t, but he wants to. Xisuma had laid a strict no-overexcitement-for-the-kidnapped rule, no matter the circumstances. So Grian does not trap Mumbo’s base with a glitter bomb or prepare any special gifts. He just stops by for a visit.

Mumbo’s got his back turned toward Grian when he arrives, digging through a shulker box and tossing various pieces of junk on the ground. For a moment, Grian’s about to sneak up on him and tap him on the shoulder, but he decides that would be a pretty poor idea, as far as his ideas went.

No-overexcitement-for-the-kidnapped, and all that.

“Hey, Mumbo,” he says loudly, approaching slowly.

Mumbo’s surprised jump is not subtle, and he spins around, letting the lid of the shulker box drop with a resounding crack. He also jumps at that, shoulders shooting up practically to his ears.

“Hey,” Grian says again, and geez, Pearl was not kidding about the malnourishment.

Mumbo’s always been thin, but not like this. His cheeks are sunken, his jawline harsher and clavicle clearly sticking out. His suit coat is missing, but even his white button-up hangs loose on him, and his slacks are actually held up by his suspenders instead of simply held in place.

He hasn’t shaved, either. Clearly, he has shaved since returning (three days ago, mostly spent in Scar’s bed shop-turned-hospital), but it’s been long enough that the stubble on his cheeks and chin is visible. That, combined with the oily shadows under his eyes and the bone-thin frame and his too-long hair, clutches at Grian’s heart with an iron fist.

But he puts on a smile. “I missed you,” he says. “Settling in all right? Do you need anything?”

Mumbo’s eyes dart around. He shrugs, tongue flicking out to moisten his lips. Then, belatedly, he twitches, opens his mouth.

“Er, no. Thanks.”

It’s all he says. Those three syllables are uttered so lowly as to be near-whispered, and after a half-attempt at a smile that fails miserably, Mumbo turns back to his shulker box.

The grip on Grian’s heart squeezes tighter.

“Okay,” he says, toning his own voice down. “Is it okay if I just hang out with you? We don’t have to talk, just . . . parallel working.”

He might be mistaken, but he thinks he sees Mumbo’s shoulders relax a fraction of an inch.

Mumbo nods, back still toward Grian. So Grian plops down a shulker box of his own and starts organizing, occasionally offering little comments or detouring to tell Mumbo a story about something that happened while he was gone.

Mumbo never says anything back, but he relaxes more and more. When Grian leaves a couple of hours later, the smile on Mumbo’s face is small, cautious—but genuine.

Grian doesn’t know what happened to him, or why he doesn’t want to talk.

That’s okay. He’s here for him, no matter what.

-

“He didn’t choose you,” Milo murmurs, gently running his hands through Mumbo’s hair. “We gave him a choice. He didn’t choose you.”

As much as Mumbo wants to pull away from the touch, he doesn’t.

Mumbo used to talk to himself. He would explain various redstone concepts, design new machines, picture his builds in his mind’s eye as he detailed everything aloud.

It was mere days before his guards tired of his noise.

He’s been muzzled ever since.

At first, the muzzle had been on conditionally. If he agreed to work for them, they would take off the muzzle. They would give him something solid to eat. They would let him work unbound, with a bed and a bath and everything he might need.

Those aren’t on the table anymore, he thinks. They don’t even demand his skills anymore, they just leave him in this dark room and sometimes feed him disgusting blends of food.

There are tears in his eyes. He’s been here by himself for so long, his only visitors his tormentors. Unable to speak, unable to open his mouth.

Milo had come in hours ago, had told him that they had one of his friends. He said that the friend would be given a choice: to free Mumbo of the muzzle, or free someone else of their muzzle. Inconsequential decisions. Zero repercussions for choosing one of them, no other stipulations.

Why wouldn’t he choose him? It’s been so long, so long, he’s going to die if he has to spend another moment without being able to move his mouth, with the leather strap that seems to have melded into his skin, tight and heavy and world-ending.

He can’t talk. He can’t talk, and it’s been so long that he doesn’t know if he ever will talk again.

“I know. It’s hard. He cares more about a stranger than he does you. I am here.”

He’s being stockholm syndrome’d. Mumbo knows it.

Knowing that doesn’t make the tears fall any slower. Knowing that doesn’t mean he drags himself away from Milo’s hold.

-

Mumbo circles down, down to where Grian is polishing Grumbot, and lands on the rocky ground, stumbling a bit. He waves hesitantly, and Grian hops down from Grumbot’s shoulder.

“Hey!” Grian greets, offering a smile. Mumbo smiles back, then starts setting down shulker boxes.

“A swan, today?”

Mumbo bites his lip, then nods. “Y-yeah,” he manages, the word oddly loud. He cringes, cheeks burning red.

After waiting for a nod, Grian wraps Mumbo in a soft hug, gently squeezing. “That’s all right,” he says into Mumbo’s chest. “It’s okay to be a swan.”

Mumbo eases into the hug, squeezing Grian back.

Despite Mumbo’s swan days (days where talking is uncomfortable for him) being almost more common than his talking days, he’s always willing to accept physical affection. Grian makes sure to hug him as much as possible, remind him that it’s okay to struggle.

Mumbo’s never told him why he struggles to speak, and Grian’s never asked. It feels too personal, too demanding.

What Mumbo has told them, though, is how long he was in captivity.

Two months.

Two months, compared to the week of everyone else, so doesn’t he have ample reason to not talk sometimes? After all, Doc still refuses to be by himself, Ren spooks when anyone touches him, and Tango spent the first week avoiding everyone only to now be inseparable from Impulse, and they were only gone for a week.

Trauma is trauma, and it isn’t Grian’s place to judge how it affects his friends. He’ll be there for Mumbo whether it’s a swan day or not, and he won’t press for answers.

Interestingly, Mumbo doesn’t even send messages when it’s a swan day. They’d tried that, once, but he had only managed to message a couple of words before shaking his head.

Maybe he doesn’t really think in words on swan days. Maybe it’s just exhausting to form them.

Grian doesn’t ask, and it really doesn’t matter. Today, he hugs Mumbo, then chatters on while he cleans and Mumbo sketches out some redstone plots.

It’s only been a month since they brought him home, and already his suit fits better. He’s shaving regularly again, his eyes are brighter, the shadows under them not near so heavy.

Today, Grian smiles, and Mumbo smiles back.

[dmwrites]

This takes place between session 5 and 6 of Secret Life- based vaguely off of this post

——

The secret keepers met once a week at a diner somewhere deep in the void within the end. The faceless, yet watchful beings met to discuss all things secret life, from task ideas to personal favorite players.

The front door jingled as it opened, and the secret keepers went quiet as the man with the red sweater walked in. They threw him looks of curiosity and deep contempt. Grian was well aware that the secret keepers only tolerated him because he’d organized these games for them to enjoy in the first place. He walked over to the smattering of tables, holding a notebook tight to his chest. The secret keepers all took their seats, wandering back over from the pinball machines and music boxes they had been occupying their time with.

“Fellas, nice to see you all. How’s everyone feeling, what with reds already on the server, huh?” Grian asked, throwing out some finger guns. There was some general murmurs and nods of celestial heads. “Jimmy and Martyn, who would have thought, huh? The dragon really went yeet on Tim’s ass,” that statement was met with silence, so Grian cleared his throat and moved on. “So I had an idea, for both some tasks and server bonding activites.”

The tasks were usually left up to the secret keepers, as they loved to participate in the pain of the players they watched, so this statement raised a couple of eyebrows (metaphorically, anyway- Grian didn’t really know what they looked like under their hoods). Grian knew he didn’t have long before the secret keepers got annoyed with him, so he took out a notebook, and flipped to a page pretty far in the back.

“So, picture this, a warden and a wither fight, right in front of the secret keeper. Think of the drama, the carnage, the potential sacrifice, the teamwork to keep the two beasts in check. I’m thinking Etho for the warden part of this, as he’s pretty adept at wrangling them. And I wasn’t quite sure who could be the other person for the task, so let’s just call them… y/n, for now.”

“What does y slash n mean?” one of the secret keepers asked.

“It’s… um, well, it’s just kind of a placeholder for m- someone to put their name in post… publishing. The tasks are randomized, right?”

There were some confused murmurs from the group, but waves to .

“Right,” Grian continued, “so y/n would have to be super brave and go collect wither skulls in the nether to make a wither. And then y/n could work with Etho to make the fight happen. And they couldn’t tell anyone, so it would just be a secret between them, and they’d have to get super close and personal…”

“This seems more detailed and personal then our usual task dedications,” a secret keeper said. “Did you have a particular person in mind to be this… y slash n?”

“Umm…” Grian coughed. “Imaybehadmyselfinmind?”

“What was that?”

“I mean, I could go to the nether…”

There was a collective groan from the secret keepers.

“You just want to be best friends with Etho.”

“Him and the whole server.”

“Who elected you king of the secret keepers, deciding your own task?”

“Fellas, fellas…” Grian said, holding out his hands apologetically. “It’s only a suggestion. y/n could be whoever you want. But whoever it is, maybe we could also have a task that makes Mumbo y/n’s… butler?”

Grian cringed as several secret keepers threw their hands up in exasperation.

“You want Mumbo to be your butler?” one of them asked. “What kind of fantasy world do you live in?”

“No, no, it’s just for whoever this… y/n person ends up being!” Grian knew they were seeing right through his lies. “Maybe he can, like, help y/n and Etho pull off this fight! Mumbo is very competent.”

There was an uproar of noise at that, and Grian stared furiously down at his notes. They just don’t understand the vision, he thought. The secret keepers eventually settled down again, throwing him annoyed looks assumedly. “Anything else, Grian?” one of them asked exasperatedly.

Grian looked down at his notebook, reading the final idea he’d had last night, mentally facepalmed over the little hearts he’d put over the dot of the I’s. “No…”

“Don’t lie, you’ve already made a fool of yourself today.”

“Well, maybe the warden and the wither could fall in love,” Grian said, clinging as he said the words. “Enemies to lovers style… i wrote a little story about it last night if you want to read it sometime…”

If the secret keepers knew how to do more then just stare and mutter to one another, they would have booed him out of the diner. They didn’t, but Grian knew that their patience with him had run out.

“And that’s all I had, fellas. I hope you guys have tons of fun coming up with new tasks, they’re always so much fun and super awesome. Love you,” he left the diner as quickly as he could, and before he knew it, he was back in his bed on the Secret Life server.

The next day, each player recieved their newest task, a book popping into each of their inventories. Grian opened his and read it once, twice, and a giddy grin spread over his face. He clutched the book to his chest in a hug, then put it away in his inventory. He put his hair up into a messy bun, and raced to go find Etho. They had a lot to do today, after all.

[cardcatcardboard]

Febuwhump Day 12 - Used As Practice

cw // Blood, Torture, Graphic Violence, Non-Consensual Mind Control (sleep-agent type beat) (lmk if I missed any)

Words: 1601 Fandom: Hermitcraft Character(s): Grian and Scar Ao3 Version Here! @febuwhump

~\/~

Grian leaped off the roof, spreading his wings to begin another circle around HotGuy, the two of them once again stuck in a skirmish.

“Always running away, huh CuteGuy?” HotGuy taunted, a normal part of their conversation these days. 

He hadn’t chosen the name himself, it was more something that HotGuy said as a joke one time when Grian first showed up and the newspaper sucked it up like candy as they tend to do.

“Well if you can’t catch me then I think you’ve got other things to worry about Mr. Number One Hero,” Grian taunted back, turning in the air quickly to launch some of his sharper feathers at the hero.

HotGuy retaliated by letting two of his arrows fly, both missing. 

Despite the fact that they’d both been ‘fighting’ for well over a year, HotGuy had only ever actually hit him with an arrow twice, which was a surprise considering he rarely ever missed during other confrontations with actual villains. Not to mention he’d seemed genuinely guilty after both shots, so Grian had a feeling he often missed on purpose to look like he was doing something for the press.

As Grian continued flying in circles, he realized HotGuy had gone quiet, something that pretty much never happened, especially during one-on-ones like this; he always had some comment to make or some taunt to throw into the air. 

With a concerned glance down at the hero, Grian jolted at the fact he’d collapsed onto the roof, lying limp on his side. 

“HotGuy!” Grian exclaimed, angling down to the hero and landing on the roof next to him. 

He hadn’t heard anything that might’ve hit him down, and as far as he was aware, they were the only two in the area, any villains long taken care of and gone.

What had hit him?

Even though they were supposedly enemies, Grian had learned a long time ago that HotGuy really didn’t mean any harm, and they worked together more often than not beneath the nose of the hero business and the press, staging certain ‘fights’ like tonight to make it still seem like they were at odds. 

Looking over the hero to find any sort of wounds or bleeding, he came away with nothing, leaving Grian more confused than anything. 

“HotGuy?” Grian muttered, reaching a hand out. 

It was then that HotGuy jolted up with a snarl, blade suddenly in hand as if to fight. 

Grian scrambled away and got to his feet quickly, caught off guard by the sudden hostility. “HotGuy, what’s wrong?” he asked. 

To his surprise, the usually chatty hero only growled again before lunging forward. 

Grian yelped in surprise, using his wings to shoot upward, only narrowly missing HotGuy’s outstretched arms. 

And now, unlike before, HotGuy was aiming to hit, all banter and humor from their earlier encounter missing. 

What happened?? Grian thought, lost on how or why HotGuy switched up so quickly. 

Even though he wanted to know what was wrong or if he could help, he could tell purely from the hero’s posture that he was actually trying instead of shooting arrows just for appearances, and he knew he was better off leaving and figuring things out at a later time. 

Unfortunately, HotGuy moved quicker than Grian was thinking, and the moment he’d turned away to fly off, an arrow found itself in his wing. 

Grian screeched out in alarm as he plummeted to the roof beneath him, and the moment he landed he ignored the pain in his shoulder in favor of getting to his feet and trying to run away. 

Even more unfortunately, HotGuy used one of his fishing arrows, meaning Grian didn’t get very far before he was yanked backward by the cord attached to the arrow, the action pulling a cry from his mouth as it tugged harshly on the wound in his wing. 

Between one moment and the next, HotGuy was restraining Grian with the cord and dragged him off the roof, Grian’s struggling doing nothing to aid his escape. 

“HotGuy, what happened!?” Grian tried asking, but unsurprisingly, he was met with silence.

It didn’t take long before the two of them were at the Hero Tower, HotGuy not giving any kind of response other than angry huffs or growls at anyone in the entrance room who tried to approach the two of them as if Grian was some kind of territory to defend. 

“HotGuy, you seem to have finally caught the well-known vigilante ‘CuteGuy’, what are you planning to do with him now?” somebody asked, clearly some kind of reporter.

As with everyone else, HotGuy only growled at her, and she was startled into silence. It wasn’t just odd behavior from the usually-chatty hero, it was almost scary.

Grian knew not to say anything or attempt getting help because if he knew anything about how this city treated vigilantes—much less hybrids—there wasn’t anything they would do to help his situation. However, as he was dragged passed, while some looked at him with expected disdain, some of them seemed to have some level of pity in their gaze.

Eventually, HotGuy had dragged him through the halls enough that they were far away from anyone and Grian lost track of where they were. He didn’t know much about the Hero Tower, much less what sort of things might be underneath it, and he couldn’t even guess where HotGuy might be leading them. 

A high-security prison? A bedroom? A torture chamber?

What he didn’t expect was to be pulled into a very basic training room clearly meant for long range weapons, a long hall down one side and guns and throwing knives set up on the closest wall.

Even more unexpectedly, HotGuy began dragging him down the range, and Grian had a terrifying image being created in his mind. 

“HotGuy…what are you doing?” Grian asked, again expecting no answer as he was untied. 

“Well I need some sort of practice with a living target, right?” HotGuy responded, surprising Grian that he responded at all before the words were processed. 

“Wh- what?” Grian stuttered, but his thoughts were interrupted as HotGuy grabbed him by the throat and held him to the wall. 

It was in situations like this where their difference in physique was painfully obvious, Grian easily held above the floor by HotGuy’s hand as Grian tried kicking and pulling at HotGuy’s arm to no avail. 

“You avian hybrids move too much,” the hero scoffed, bringing his other hand up, now armed with a blade, and stabbing into Grian’s wing, pinning it against the wall. 

Grian cried out at the pain, his struggling stuttering because as much as he wanted to escape, any movement irritated the blade now impaling his wing.

Blinded by the pain, he didn’t notice the second blade coming toward him until his other wing was also pinned to the wall, making him wail louder.

He struggling was significantly weaker, and HotGuy took advantage of it, using a blade he’d grabbed from the back wall to pin his hands up as well, blood painting the surface behind him. 

After his second hand was pinned, HotGuy took his hand away from Grian’s throat, leaving all weight hanging on his hands and wings and sending flames of pain through his body.

Blood poured down his arms and sides and tears dripped from his face, blurring his vision as he tried looking at HotGuy, though he had a feeling whoever this was was not HotGuy, at least not the one he knew.

He watched as HotGuy walked back down the range and picked up a knife from the wall. 

“Is five points for hitting a limb fair?” HotGuy asked nobody, readying the knife. 

Grian tried to prepare himself, but the fire licking throughout his body from the other blades made him barely notice as the throwing knife dug itself into his thigh. 

A strangled sound fell out of his mouth, and he thinks he heard HotGuy cackle as Grian’s chin fell to his chest. 

Everything blurred together after that between new stabs of pain in his limbs and the pounding of his heart in his ears and the blood painting his body and tears tracking down his face and the black fogging up his vision.

He felt vaguely as the magic that held his identity slowly bled away, starting in his feathers and dripping down like the blood that now painted the floor, and he heard a joyous hoot from HotGuy on the other side of the range. 

“About time, am I right?” the ‘hero’ said, his smile audible, as he made his way down. “I was wondering when you would—”

His words caught in his throat as his hand lifted Grian’s chin, showing off his unprotected face. His civilian face.

The hand that held his chin was frozen, and through his blurry vision, he could see HotGuy’s eyes widen from behind his dual-colored visor.

It was as though a switch had been flipped, the weird tenseness that had filled his body now bleeding out to make room for a truly concerned posture as his other hand came up to hold Grian’s face. 

HotGuy was silent, and Grian swore he could see tears welling up in the ‘hero’s eyes. 

“…Grian?” he whispered. 

Grian couldn’t even find it in himself to be shocked. He was too tired, unconsciousness creeping in his mind from blood loss and pain, to care that of course the Number One Hero knew his civilian identity.

However, he was able to summon surprise when HotGuy tore off his own facial covering to be…

…

…

…

Scar?

[hermitagereheadcanons]

(THIS IS A LONG ONE! i might have written to much)

How to handle tantrums 101. A guide by Skizzleman (With the mountaneeirs as test subjects)

Gem. Doesn't have alot of tantrums, or she is to young and the only thing in her mind is napping or she is an angel but when she has them is because she is lonely and she really wants attention but doesn't know how to voice it. So pick that little up and hug her she will be happy!

Grian. Has tantrums often because its fun- he is chaotic and energetic and sometimes tantrums are one thing that are gonna take some of his energy, but if you offer that bird snacks he will be out of the floor in a minute!

Scar only has tantrums when he is unable to do something, he can't go play tag because he is on a bad pain day and is on his wheelchair, he cant build because he can't think of what he can do because the ideas don't seem to appear in his head. Simply carrying him around on your arms and bring him aroun everywhere, he will be quiet and enjoying being there and probably sleep on Skizz's arms

Joel is also one for tantrums. Specially if he is frustated with himself or when he is tired but doesn't want to sleep piggyback rides are the way to go! Skizz smiles everytime he can hear Joel giggling on his back (But sometimes he does regret it when Joel starts to be a little gremiling and pull his hair)

Mumbo doesn't have tantrums, he totaly doesn't. No, him refusing to get back inside of Skizz's base and pounting because he doesn't want to nap(even tho he needs to) is not him having a tantrum. But if he WAS having a tantrum offer him to read a story, Mumbo loves hearing stories and comment on them even tho he just babbles and he will be more willing to take a nap

Impulse. When regressed Imp still tries to work and gets frustate when he keep making mistakes and when Skizz notices this he will say sweet and soft words, impulse usually needs a reminder that he is allowed to take a break, he is allowed to relax, he is allowed to be a little and doesn't need to work 24/7. He is not on their old home anymore

And now for a secret note from the littles as a bonus! How to make a happy Skizz while he is the one having a tantrum!

When Skizz is having a tantrum is usually... Because he is really tired, his wings hurt, memories that he rather to forget keep coming back and he is just... so tired. So when he eventually starts having a tantrum (Even tho he isnt a little, he shoulnd be one, he really needs to grow up) and refuses to rest. The whole group gets together to help, Impulse with words of affirmation and helping him calm down, Joel carrying him to his base on his back while Mumbo tells him about his day, grian is in the kitchen making snacks and Skizz is just watching him while Scar holds him and after the snacks and Gem being the perfect hermit to cuddle and hug.

In the next day when he is big again, Skizz is so greatfull to have all of them - 🦋 (also about Xuma hc, no you didnt misunderstand me! I probably just invented a word and tought it meant something lol)

This was a very fun read!

[endcrman]

Allostasis

(Chapter 4)

As a general rule of thumb, Grian doesn’t do public servers for a multitude of reasons. This one hadn’t even made it onto the list.

TW for PTSD symptoms, Self-Neglect, and minor Disordered Eating (All of these very minor in this chapter)

Read the whole fic here. (Here for Ao3/mobile.)

-

Getting back into the swing of things was easier said than done, Grian quickly found out. Nobody expected him to be normal again immediately, nobody except for himself, which was enough of a stressor he didn’t need.

He wasn’t prepared for the effort it took him to not just start wallowing in bed again, every morning began with a fight to get himself out of bed. Most days he managed, others he needed a little help. He tried not to think about how when he wasn’t out in a couple hours, somebody was flying by and checking in on him, he tried not to think about how much work he was being for everyone else.

He didn't like being work, he didn't like being an issue, even if everyone insisted he wasn't, he knew better.

He knew if it weren't for the week he spent in bed by himself, he wouldn't be receiving so many gifted meals. “Leftovers” he was told they were, as if anyone had leftovers in this server, he was being coddled; but damn if it wasn't the best he'd eaten in months, even with the guilt that piled on with every meal.

When he could, he threw himself into his own work, be it fishing, building, or being harassed by his friends at the permit office. It helped him feel normal again, being able to pretend nothing had been wrong in the first place.

“Hey Grian!”

Like he’d been doing just now.

“How’s the fishing going?” Gem had come up behind him without him noticing, which seemed to happen often while he was focused on the river. Not Gem specifically, just in general.

“Lots of junk,” he glanced over to see Gem without pulling his attention away from the bobber in the water for too long. “Plenty of fish though too, you hungry?”

She laughed a little, sitting on a nearby barrel. “I think I’m doing alright. What are you fishing for today anyways?”

What was he fishing for? He already caught his mending book a while ago, it was just a good mindless activity. He shrugged, reeling in the next bite, a cod. “Good to get me out and moving,” he admitted, casting again. “Keeps me from wasting away in bed all day.”

Gem was quiet for a bit, which made him nervous. “I’m proud of you,” she said after a while, which made him scrunch up his face.

“Ugh, no, no serious talk,” he said, laughing a little to try and lighten the mood. “Come be normal and fish with me. I need normal.”

“Okay, okay,” she laughed right back, getting off the barrel to join him on the dock, sitting down to dip her feet in the water as she rummaged around for her own rod. “Let’s be normal together, whatever that is.”

“Normal for us,” Grian reiterated, soon realizing just how much his own feet were starting to hurt, just how long had he been out here? Eventually he was joining Gem, sitting cross-legged next to her. “So what’s your angle here?”

“My angle,” Gem repeated, reeling in and casting out again before she continued. “Why do I need an angle? Can’t I just want to hang out with my fishing buddy?”

“Nobody wants to just hang out with me right now,” Grian realized how bad that sounded as soon as it came out of his mouth, wincing. “I mean- that’s not-”

“I get it,” Gem interrupted him, and he let out a relieved sigh at not having to explain himself. “I’m not here to mother hen you, if that’s what you’re worried about. I just missed you.”

“Thank you,” he mumbled, watching as his bobber sank beneath the water, too distracted to pull it back. “You wouldn't believe all the attention I'm getting right now, it's embarrassing.”

Another successful catch and cast from Gem. “We all feel a little guilty for not noticing sooner,” she explained, keeping her own gaze focused on the water. “I can't speak for everyone, of course, but we're trying to make up for it, I think.”

“We're veering off into serious territory again, Gem,” Grian warned, though he did nothing to stop it, hypocritical as he was. “Don't feel guilty, okay? It's not your fault, it's not anybody's fault.” Just his own. 

She barked a laugh at that, finally tearing her eyes away from the water again. “Easier said than done, but I'll try. You'll just have to convince everyone else now. You know Mumbo's worked himself up into a mess about all this, right?”

He grimaced, reeling in his empty line to set the rod aside, laying back on the dock to look up at the sky. Yeah, he knew. “I'm fine now, obviously. He knows he can just come talk to me, instead of sending you to do it.”

“Hey! I came here of my own volition!” Gem scoffed, sounding teasingly offended. “My ulterior motive is totally different from whatever he's got going on.”

Grian quirked a brow, turning his head to look at Gem again, who had a grin on her face now. “Ulterior motive, you say?”

“Well…” She drawled, reeling in another catch before setting her rod aside as well. There was a mischievous twinkle in her eyes when she finally looked back over at him. “You didn't hear it from me, but I think my little snail friend has been missing her usual company as well.”

It was almost embarrassing, how quickly he sat up at the mere mention of mischief. “Aw, I'm sorry to hear that. I could probably pass the message along,” he hummed, resting his chin on his hand as if deep in thought. That didn't last long though, soon enough he had a grin that matched Gem's, far too excited at the prospect to play coy. “I wonder if they’d like to see just how much Scar’s train has grown since the last time they visited.”

Gem threw her head back and laughed, scrambling to her feet. “I’m sure that’d be fantastic enrichment for them, we should see what they think.”

Grian followed her up, groaning as he was standing again on his own aching feet, but he was too excited to complain, adrenaline already pumping through his veins. “I bet I can beat you there,” he challenged, darting off before Gem could even react and cackling when she finally did shout out behind him.

He could almost hear her footsteps in the grass behind him, her own laughter quiet compared to the wind whipping past his ears as he picked up speed. Scar’s build wasn’t too far from his dock, thankfully, but he could already feel his lungs aching. He yelped as he tripped, just about falling head over heels as he rolled the last couple of feet, sprawled out on the grass as the world spun around him.

“Grian!” Gem sounded worried, and her steps slowed down as she stopped next to him, looking down from above. “Are you okay?”

He blinked, the world finally settling around him, then he cackled again and the worried look slid right off of Gem's face. “Never better!” He wheezed, starting to push himself up. Once he was sitting and catching his breath, he fluffed up his wings for a second so the feathers would lay flat again, slightly askew from his tumble. He was sure he looked like a mess in other ways too, grass stains on his knees and elbows, wild-eyed and flushed, but he couldn't bring himself to care, laughing again as Gem offered a hand to help haul him up on his feet once more.

Hearing Gem's laughter in return, he felt lighter than he had in a long time. “You are ridiculous,” she scolded, snickering regardless. “If that was a fair race I totally would have beat you.”

“Pfft, what? That was absolutely fair,” he bluffed, crossing his arms, though the look Gem gave him had him laughing yet again. “Okay. Okay, next time it'll be fair. Snails now?”

There was a pause, Gem narrowing her gaze as she crossed her own arms, but soon enough her grin was breaking through once more. “Alright, snails now.”

The two of them definitely didn't do anything but supervise as the snails did their work, eager to harass Scar and his build yet again. It really was a beautiful train so far, Grian almost felt guilty setting loose base-eating snails on it. Almost. They were small enough that the damage was barely there, just enough to be annoying, which was always his goal.

He and Gem were giggling again when they finally parted ways for the evening, prank left behind for Scar to find later, depending on when he decided to return home. Grian had his own goal now, the time with Gem making him realize just how much he missed his other friends too. Even when he was actively trying to take care of himself he was isolating and he hadn't even realized it. What else was he doing wrong?

Instead of dwelling, he found himself outside of Mumbo's base, the Mothball or whatever— surely he could come up with a better name than that, right? Cupping his hands around his mouth, he realized how helpful a horn would be in this situation. “Hey! Mumbo!”

Mumbo’s face looking through the barred windows startled him, he was almost expecting to have to go on a server-wide search he didn’t think he had the energy for. “Grian?” His eyes widened, and Grian could see his mustache curl into a smile even from this distance. “Hang on a moment, I’ll be right down!” And he disappeared again.

Grian had to stifle his laughter as Mumbo all but fell out of the hanging base, a hand clamped over his mouth as he tried to keep quiet. He mostly had it under control by the time Mumbo was up on his feet again, suit rumpled and hair sticking up in all sorts of directions. “Hi Mumbo,” his amusement was obvious, even without the laughter.

Before anything else could happen he was swept up in Mumbo’s arms, the sudden action forcing a squeak out of him as his feet left the ground, kicking a little. “Mumboooo!” He wailed, the dam holding back his laughter bursting once again. He stumbled when he was finally allowed to touch the ground again, arms out to keep his balance.

“Sorry, sorry,” Mumbo didn’t sound too sorry, more for the inconvenience than what he’d actually done, mirroring Grian’s smile with laughter in his own voice. “I just- I’ve missed you is all,” his tone petered off into something a bit more nervous as he wrung his hands together, “Scar told me a bit of what happened.”

Those words were spine chilling, and Grian felt his face fall. “He did?”

“No details!” Mumbo quickly assured him, hands landing on his shoulders. “He- he told me you weren’t telling Joel either so-” Grian felt himself relaxing a little as Mumbo squeezed gently. “He told me that something… serious happened, when we went offworld. I thought that maybe- but I- you were-” He sighed, hanging his head. “I’m sorry, Grian, truly.”

“Oh, Mumbo, no,” Grian tilted his own head forwards, bumping foreheads with his friend. “Is that why you haven’t come to see me yet?” He asked, trying to tease, “too busy feeling guilty?” Mumbo opened his mouth and closed it again, gaping a little like a fish, which meant his answer was yes, and he just didn’t want to admit it. Grian sighed, pulling away a little so Mumbo’s hands slid off his shoulders, taking one of them in his own. “Come on. We’re hanging out, no guilty feelings on my watch. Done and over with, show me what you’ve been working on.”

Mumbo perked up at that, like he always did when Grian asked about his redstone. “Well, you see, since I figured out how to get up into my base, I’ve started working on a way to categorize and organize my builds,” he said beginning to tug Grian along to show him just what he was working on, gesturing as he spoke, “if you break it down to it’s bare components it’s quite simple actually-”

Grian almost laughed at that— simple, as if— but instead he let Mumbo’s words wash over him, nodding and humming as expected. He might not have been picking up on too much of the specifics of the redstone, but it wasn’t like it was something he’d be using himself, the time spent with Mumbo was much more valuable than any redstone engineering.

“—and you’re not listening to a word I’m saying, are you?”

The words Mumbo was actually saying finally parsed in Grian’s brain, after however long of just listening without comprehending, and it made him squawk in offense. “I am too! You’ve got a- um- it’s like… a modified passcode kind of thing,” Grian bit his lower lip, waving his hand a little. “Right?”

Mumbo smiled so warmly at that, and the nod he got almost had him celebrating outwardly too. “Did you guess that, or were you actually listening to me?”

“A little bit of both,” Grian admitted with a snicker, shrugging slightly. “Sorry, I just like being here with you.” He didn’t mean for that to come out as mushy as it did, but Mumbo only looked even happier at the confession, so he didn’t mind quite too much. “Don't let it go to your head,” he tried to save.

“Aw, Grian,” Mumbo wrapped an arm around him, pulling him into a side hug even as he pouted. “I like being here with you too.”

Grian huffed, reluctantly leaning into the other, his hesitance more for show than anything else. “Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he sighed, relaxing even more after a moment. He definitely didn’t stretch out a wing around Mumbo, and thankfully the other knew better than to comment on it, eventually continuing to explain the redstone in front of them; and Grian was actually starting to pick up on a couple of things. It wasn’t like he was clueless about redstone, he’d built a couple of contraptions at this point! He just hadn’t picked up quite the amount of knowledge Mumbo had yet.

“Are you getting tired?” Were the next couple of words directed at him, having Grian blinking his eyes open and lifting his head off of Mumbo’s shoulder.

“Huh?”

He heard Mumbo’s laugh, shaking him awake from his half-asleep daze, bringing him back to reality. “I asked if you were getting tired, but I think that’s answer enough. Let’s get you home, birdie.”

He scrunched up his face at the nickname, which just made Mumbo laugh again. “No, I’m fine. I don’t need to,” he protested, even as he allowed Mumbo to take the lead, undoubtedly leading him back to his base regardless.

“You’ve practically been sleepwalking the past half hour,” he sounded amused at least, rather than bothered or annoyed. “I appreciate the company, especially after so long, but you don’t need to stay up for my sake, G.”

“I can take care of myself, you know,” Grian huffed, falling in step with him, “nobody thinks so but I can, I’m a grown man damn it,” he wasn’t even mad at Mumbo specifically, he didn’t think he could be truly. “I shouldn’t have to be anybody’s responsibility.”

Mumbo was quiet, waiting for him to finish it seemed, because he only spoke when it seemed Grian wasn’t going to continue. “Nobody’s saying you aren’t, Grian,” his voice was purposefully even and patient, “but you’re going through a rough time, and we don’t want you to come out the other end hurt, or worse.”

He scowled a little at the thought, shaking his head. “But I’m fine now, I don’t need everyone babying me because they’re scared I’m going to- to-” He gestured with his hands, something he couldn’t describe. “-I don’t even know! But I’m not going to, I’m fine!” Even hanging out with Gem earlier, even though she had promised she wasn’t going to treat him like that, there was something unspoken in the air; and now with Mumbo too.

“Grian, I’m not trying to start an argument with you right now,” Mumbo rolled his eyes, Grian was sure of it, even if he couldn’t see it. He was being ridiculous after all. “Everybody here needs a bit of help sometimes, you just got unlucky enough that everyone else noticed, instead of just me or Pearl.”

“Scar and Joel and their blabbermouths,” Grian mumbled, kicking at the grass as they continued to walk.

“They mean well,” he was reminded.

“I know, that’s why it sucks that I can’t be mad at them,” he sighed, “everybody here means well. Bane of my existence, being cared for,” he snorted, even if Mumbo didn’t laugh with him that time.

“Grian…”

“I just wish you guys would tell me when I’m too much, I know I am sometimes,” he pouted, “I’ve been told before.” Mostly it was just when a prank went a little too far, and he had to help clean up and was told not to do it again. Which was just fine and totally fair, he just wished they’d do the same here.

“Grian, that’s not-”

“I wouldn’t get upset, even! I’d rather you guys tell me instead of working so hard to coddle me,” Grian cut him off. “Let me handle myself before I scare everyone away,” he sighed, voice dropping in volume as he crossed his arms tightly, almost hugging himself. “Sorry.”

Mumbo stopped walking, turning to face him again, and Grian couldn’t help but shrink even more under his gaze. “Grian…” Hands on his cheeks gently tilted his head up, forcing him to make eye contact as much as he was trying to avoid it. “Everyone’s trying to help because they want to, not because they feel like they have to. We like you, you’re our friend, and we hate seeing you hurt. I know you have a hard time accepting it, but you deserve it, okay? You’re not too much, and you’re not scaring anyone away.”

He wasn’t going to cry, he refused. He sniffled softly, looking away. “Okay.” Grian took a deep breath, eyes closing for a moment. “... Thank you.”

“Any time, G.” Mumbo’s hand found his shoulder again, just a gentle pressure that soon slid off. “Will you be okay tonight, when you get home?” Alone remained unsaid, though implied.

He opened his eyes again, meeting Mumbo’s eyes on purpose now. “I think so, yeah. You could always check in on me tomorrow, make sure I’m not getting up to any trouble?”

That made Mumbo smile again, easing the growing tension. “You are known to get up to trouble, true. I suppose I better put it on my calendar.” 

Grian laughed, finally starting towards his base again, checking behind himself to make sure he was being followed. “Don’t lie to me, you don’t have a calendar.”

“I could! You don’t know that,” Mumbo protested, then after a moment or two he sighed, hanging his head. “No, you’re right. I don’t.”

“I know you,” Grian scolded, snickering softly, he almost didn’t notice as they finally made it to his base, sun setting in the distance. “... No more avoiding me, okay?”

“I wasn’t avoiding you,” Mumbo’s answer was immediate, then he looked a little guilty again. “No, I… I’m sorry. I’ll be over tomorrow, I promise.”

He smiled softly, nodding. “Good, I'll hold you to that,” he hummed, hesitating before giving Mumbo a quick hug, pulling away just as quickly. Mumbo had his own smile back, and Grian considered that a success. They split easily after that, Mumbo headed back to his base as Grian made his way up into his own.

Honestly, he was almost too excited to sleep. He found himself in his bed too easily, comfortable under the covers, but otherwise tossing and turning, thinking about tomorrow. It was a little ridiculous, he thought, they hadn't even made proper plans, but he couldn't help it, eager for things to be like they were again.

He was finally pulled out of his futile attempts at sleep by his comm going off, notification distinct from that 

samgladiator: hey. i know youre ignoring me and that's totally fine and i get it, i promise.

samgladiator: but ellen found out i had your comm address and basically begged me to let you know they say hi, lol. they said they miss you

Grian's stomach lurched, and he quickly hit the power again, turning off the screen. No, he wasn't thinking about this tonight. He took a deep breath, holding it in. He hadn’t spoken to Ellen in ages, he’d wager it had been over a decade even. They still thought about him?

He let out a slow breath, feeling his heartbeat slowing just a bit, he hadn’t even noticed how much it had sped up in the first place. He wasn’t going to freak out, he refused. Grian took another deep breath, setting his comm aside as he continued breathing deeply, laying back onto his bed.

Tomorrow. This was all a problem for tomorrow.

[izelthewashbear]

Conversations with strangers (fragment) v3

This story has performed incredibly well on ao3! When I'm writing this, it's just a single step away from 600 hits! So enjoy one more fragment, while I scheme and prepare a prequel to this story :3

"Wait, wait, Scar..." Grian reached out and put his hand on his friend's shoulder. His green eyes were full of uncertainty, as if he had little question marks inside of them. "You, uh... You think that? You think that I hate you?"

"Well, don't you?"

"What? No, I don't hate you, Scar! It's just that..."

Grian went quiet, silently weighing his words. It took him a moment to notice the string between them tightening. He took a deep breath, knowing they were running out of time. But before they did, he had to make things right. Or at least try.

"I... I don't hate you, Scar. I'm just... Tired."

"Of me?"

"No, no! I'm tired of... This . Of us ending up together every time. And it's not just you, it's... Us , in general."

Scar's green eyes slowly followed Grian's reserved body language. He tried his best to grasp what his soulmate meant, but it wasn't easy. Grian was probably just as confused as he was. But he was at least trying to fix it...

"I just feel like we need to... Try something else. Living with other people. Trying new things. What we have is fine, but... We can only stand each other for so long. I'm sure there are people out there who will love you endlessly. I... Need to recharge my batteries to do that. You get it, right...?"

Scar nodded. It was a lie. He still wasn't sure. It's not that he couldn't grasp complex emotions. Some people saw him as an idiot, but he was far from it. Sometimes, he just had a hard time putting himselfs in others' shoes. And as someone who craved people, he couldn't understand the feeling of being tired of someone. Especially, if that someone was tired of him . It made him feel like a failure. Even so, he put on a brave face and smiled.

"Of course, of course! Next season, I'll find other people to live with, and you'll live with someone else too! And after that, we team up agian, right?"

Grian nervously smiled, trying to hide his embarassment as best as he could. He didn't want to say yes, as he didn't know what future would truly bring - and didn't want to disappoint Scar in case it didn't happen. Both of them felt as the thread pulled their hands closer together. Scar restlessly chuckled, still waiting for his answer.

"Right, Grian...?"

Snap.

[frozenjokes]

CuteGuy Would Prefer Greatly If HotGuy Never Ever Had Any Nice Things, But Especially Not His Good Friend And Roommate Cubfan135 (3/3)

prev

this part ended up much darker than the first two, related to Grian’s mental state after the cut. He thinks and says things he does not mean or want, so please check the ao3 link for the content warnings.

Grian gave himself a few days to recover after his fight with HotGuy, too sore to do much else than sit at his laptop and send out job applications; something he should have been doing anyway, but looking for work with a criminal record was nothing short of demoralizing. So what if he had a history of violence- so did everyone in this damn town, only some people were better at running from the police.

At least Cub was always around to help, sending links for possible options and filling out applications at his side; honestly, Grian wouldn’t be able to accomplish half of what he did without Cub’s help. Even then, the process of writing and waiting was stressful, and Grian was never good under pressure. Anxiety made him restless and restlessness made him lash out, and he didn’t want to lash out, not at anyone who didn’t deserve it.

So he gathered his things as the sun set, comforted, at least for now, by the idea of release. Maybe he’d catch a petty thief in the act, or spot some asshole from an earlier time- oh what he would give to get his talons on Cub’s shitty manager, but that was off limits, especially now. Regardless, it would only create more work for Cub in the long run, and Grian wasn’t trying to cause him any more grief.

Cub was.. pretty down after the night with HotGuy. He hadn’t gone out once besides to work, and while he wasn’t visibly upset, he was distracted, and just a tad clingier. Cub needed a lot of downtime, and usually he spent that time alone, but in the past few days he lingered in the common area, and sometimes even Grian’s room if Grian hadn’t left it in a while. Grian never minded. It was nice to hang out like that, quiet, doing separate things, but doing them together. Though, it was much harder to squash the temptation of ‘Bother Cub Instead Of Working’ when Cub was right there.

Grian wouldn’t have it any other way. He just wished he could help Cub feel better.. Especially when it was at least partially his fault Cub was so down in the first place.

He didn’t know exactly what Cub and HotGuy had been texting about, but it was clear enough that Cub was pretty upset. Grian didn’t fully understand why; was it really such a big deal to fight, even if it was staged? Was it the being misled? Now, Grian didn’t want Cub to have anything to do with HotGuy, but this didn’t feel good either, especially when he had a part to play. If Cub knew it was Grian behind the mask, would he be just as upset that Grian had gone through that much effort just to try and force a rift between them? Well, in fairness, Cub would definitely be more concerned with Grian having a supervillain alter ego, but that wasn’t- it didn’t matter.

Still, he felt guilty.

It was guilt that stopped Grian at the front door when Cub called his name. Guilt, that kept him home to watch a movie when Cub asked instead of going out like he desperately wanted to. And the next night, when Cub asked to play board games, and the next, when Cub told him simply he just didn’t want to be alone.

But the next night, over a week after the incident with HotGuy, Grian was too restless, too anxious, too stressed. He needed to leave, he needed to fly, he needed to hit something so he could just be normal again. So when Cub asked him to stay, Grian said no.

“Please.”

Grian hadn’t expected ‘please.’ He didn’t like ‘please.’ He didn’t like the way Cub said it at all. “I’m just going for a fly. We can play cards when I’m back.”

“Can’t you fly during the day? Doesn’t the sun feel better?” There was something too desperate about Cub’s tone, like his composure was just crumbling away. It was wrong. Grian felt his stomach turn.

“I like the cold. I like the moon. And it’s too busy during the day, I don’t have to pay as much attention in the dark.”

Cub wasn’t satisfied. “Grian, I want you to stay. I’m asking you to stay.”

“I-I know-“ Grian felt his own composure begin the crumble, his knees beginning to feel weak, “I just have to go, Cub. I’ll be back soon, I promise.”

“You don’t have to.” Cub met his eyes, and saw directly through him. Grian could have thrown up.

“I need to,” he insisted, almost shrilly, but Cub did not budge, he didn’t understand.

And all at once, everything came crashing down. He was so stupid. He- Grian- This wasn’t about HotGuy at all! Cub didn’t care about HotGuy- they were barely even friends, and honestly, Cub had never been all that romantically inclined- Maybe he’d been angry with the hero, but that wasn’t why Cub had been staying home-

Cub saw the spiral behind Grian’s eyes, and the change was instant.

“Grian, come here, please. This isn’t- we can figure this out. I’m not angry with you, I promise I’m not angry. We’re going to figure this out.” Cub took a step forward, arms raised. Grian’s breathing hitched as he took a step back. He felt his hand tighten around the door knob. He saw Cub’s eyes flick to the spot, then freeze. “Don’t run.”

Grian was out the door faster than Cub could lunge to reach him, and even without wings, Grian was in far better shape, far faster, and they both knew it. Grian beat his wings violently, drowning out the sound of Cub’s voice calling his name. He needed to go. He needed to be away. He needed to run. He didn’t want to hear himself think.

…

High above the dappled city lights, the first bar with music loud enough to hear from the sky called his name. The lights were garish and red, the people loud and grating, and it was everything he needed to stop thinking forever. Maybe he could get a guy to buy him a drink, and really make some bad decisions. Panic heightened his delusion. He wanted to black out. Didn’t want to remember where he was when he woke up, or anything about the night before. He wanted to wake up in the woods miles away from town. He wanted to wake up in a stranger’s bed. He’d never had sex before. He hoped it would hurt.

Something like mania clouded his vision as he stumbled into the bar, or maybe it was the lights. It was crowded, so crowded, and people were bumping his arms and his wings as they danced and again he was sure he would vomit over the sensations. He needed more.

Grian reached half-blind for the first man he saw, grasping for contact he viscerally didn’t want. The hand his talons fell across was big, peppered with scars and adorned with dusty gray rings- the skin didn’t quite feel right, though the person attached to the arm turned when he was touched, distracting Grian with his large green eyes.

“Dance with me?” Grian heard himself say, and the man grinned, wide enough to swallow him whole.

“I’d love to!” He took Grian’s other hand, pulling him closer, and Grian pushed in, whether to avoid contact from others or drown himself in the stimulation of one man instead, he had no idea. The crowd shifted around them as they danced, loud and careless and sharp, everything was so sharp and they were touching his wings, they were touching his wings and he needed them to stop. He held the hands of the man he was with like a vice. His grip must have hurt, his claws surely, but his partner never reacted and never let go. Grian felt his mouth hang open as the crowd enveloped them both, choking on the proximity. Someone stumbled against his back and Grian wanted to die. He couldn’t get enough air. He couldn’t breathe.

Someone was speaking, but Grian couldn’t hear them over the music. Maybe he wasn’t listening at all. He had to keep dancing. The current song switched over to something new, and Grian wretched as the base shook his entire body. He was going to die. He felt himself being pulled and had no choice but to follow. People were talking. Someone was talking to him.

He didn’t remember leaving the crowd, but he must have, because he was sitting on a stool at the bar, and he could breathe again. He was holding something, something cold, and was disappointed to discover it was water. Fuck, he was thirsty. He drank the entire thing.

“Shots. I want shots,” someone said, and that someone turned out to be himself. “Whiskey. Or tequila. Yes, tequila.”

“Uh, no. I don’t think so,” someone annoying said, and the annoying voice belonged to a person with a very broken nose, whoa, wild, and hey this was the bad hands guy!

“I’m having a bad day. You should buy me tequila shots.”

“I’m pretty sure you’ve had enough.”

“I haven’t had anything!”

“Then you’re either on hard drugs, or something is very wrong.”

“I’m sober!” Grian snapped, “And nothing’s wrong with me- nothing’s- you’re making this very hard on me, so if you won’t buy me something to drink, I’m going to go back to dancing.”

“Well, you’re shaking like a leaf and burst into tears while we were with the crowd, so I’m kinda thinking you’re not doing so hot. Honestly, I was surprised to even see an avian in a place like this- I was pretty sure you guys liked your personal space. Everyone’s different, I know, but still.”

Ah. That’s why he felt so wet. Hm. Bad Hands Man seemed to think for a moment, before waving the bartender over, which pleased Grian until he asked for another water.

“What’s your name, stranger?”

Grian considered not answering out of spite, but at the same time, he was still thirsty, and being annoying and having bad skin wasn’t a crime. “Grian. I’ve come up with my own name for you, but it’s not nice.”

Bad Hands Man snorted, the smile returning sharp on his face, “You can’t just say that and not tell me. Maybe I’ll like it.”

“Bad Hands. Because I hate touching you.” Bad Hands Man blinked a few times in rapid succession, which Grian found to be very satisfying, throwing him a smirk of his own before going to sip at his water.

“You know, I kind of want to be offended for several reasons, but I also kind of respect you for that. I don’t want to be called Bad Hands though, so give me a second to come up with something else.”

“Well I call you Bad Hands Man, not Bad Hands but- hey, what are you doing?” Grian hopped off his stool, poking his head over Bad Hands Man’s shoulder where he was scrolling on his phone through- baby names? “What- Do you not have a name?”

“Oh, I’ve got one, but you could be fae. I won’t risk it, no, no. Strangers get fake names. Occasionally, if I decide I like you enough, you’ll get my other fake name for good friends only.”

“What? When do I get to know your real name?”

“Hm. Suspicious.”

“I’m not suspicious! We live dead in the middle of the worst city in the world- there’s hardly a tree for miles! There are no fae here!”

“That sounds like something a faerie would say,” Bad Hands Man trilled, then laughed at Grian’s reddening face, “I’m joking, I’m joking. I’m not going to tell you my name though.”

“But I want to know! I- oh, is this a superhero thing? Are you just trying to cover yourself? Or are you one of the villains, and really trying to hide it.”

But Bad Hand Man’s lip curled at the mention of superheroes, and Grian had never respected someone so instantly in his entire life, “No. I wouldn’t be caught dead in all that riff-raff. The only reason I’m here is because, as you said, this city is cold and dead and devoid of all things green. They won’t catch me here.”

Grian stared for a moment, processing. “Whoa. You’re kinda nuts, aren’t you?”

“The same people that call me crazy give their names freely when strangers ask.”

“So.. everyone?”

“My point stands.”

“You know, I’m not sure if it does.”

“Well, do you want to help me pick a name? I’m thinking about something with an ‘M,’ take a look,” Bad Hands Man showed Grian his phone, and Grian very much did want to do that, so he paid close attention while Bad Hands Man scrolled slowly.

“Micah. I’ll call you Micah.”

Micah looked pleased, nodding in his approval. “Is there a reason? I’m just curious, I like to know why people pick the names they do.”

“My-cah!”

“Mycah!”

“My-cah!”

Micah broke the back and forth, laughing, though Grian could have gone for hours, “So what’s the reason then?”

“I like the way it sounds.”

“Oh! Guess I could have figured that out on my own, couldn’t I?” Micah chuckled, and Grian Looked at him for what felt like the first time. He was handsome, really, in most senses of the word. His hair was relatively short and pulled back into what was quite frankly, a silly little ponytail. He had glasses too, but even despite the harsh light in his eyes, Grian was pretty sure they didn’t have lenses. His outfit was fun, his dark top cropped to an almost ridiculous degree, while his pants were red like his glasses, floral patterned, and little too short on him, but cute. Grian cringed inwardly at what he must be looking like right now; a total mess certainly, feathers probably all puffed up and hair wind-blown to hell. Well! If Micah hadn’t abandoned ship already, Grian might still have a chance here.

“I!” Grian began, holding himself a little higher, “Think you’re cute.” He preened, pleased with his grand show of affection, more so when he opened an eye and saw Micah smiling.

“Thanks. This is a new outfit, a little different from what I’m used to, but I kinda like it. Usually I show a bit more chest and less stomach, so this is honestly a bit weird for me. Good though. I’m always looking for a little change.”

“Well I definitely wouldn’t say you’re hiding too much when it comes to the chest.”

“You think it’s too much? Maybe it doesn’t leave much to the imagination, but that doesn’t bother me.”

“No! Not too much at all! I like it! I like you.”

“I’m glad,” Micah looked away, the smile falling just slightly. With some distress, Grian wondered what he was doing wrong. This was how this was supposed to work, wasn’t it? Was he forgetting something? A bead of mangled frustration crept through, a reminder of the pain, the fear, of the desperate need to run. He needed this. He needed this to work.

“I want to go home with you,” Grian was painfully aware of how breathless he sounded, a result of his hiking heart rate.

“Grian..” Micah began, but Grian couldn’t handle the gentle rejection on his tone, he needed to be better, more desirable-

“You could have your way with me. You could do whatever you want.” Pathetically, he felt like crying. He needed this so badly and he was losing, he just couldn’t stop losing.

“Grian, no. Stop this.” Micah was firm, and Grian felt like shattering.

“Please.”

“You’re not well. Where do you live? We could walk, or I could call you a taxi. You need to go home, okay? This place isn’t good for you. Is there anyone I could call? Anyone who could pick you up?”

“No!” The sound ripped out of his throat with a wretched sob, “I have nowhere to go. I have no money- I have nowhere to go.” Just like that, everything was wrong again, everything was awful. Why did this have to be so hard? What would it take for him to just be normal, to stop being so hopelessly angry all of the time?

“Hey, Grian, it’s okay. You’re going to be okay. Let’s go outside, alright? Let’s go outside.

“It’s not okay-“

“Breathe with me. Breathe. Can I take you outside? Can I touch you?”

“Don’t- not my hands.”

“Can I touch your sweater?

“Touch-“ Grian pulled in a strangled breath, but he just couldn’t keep the air in, “Yes- The sweater.”

“The sweater’s okay?”

“Yes.”

Grian was painfully aware of his hands, of his wings, of his skin, as Micah guided him along, cringing at the attention Micah brought when he loudly cleared the way, but also grateful for the lack of accidental brushes against his feathers. He didn’t think he could take it. He didn’t think he could survive.

The nighttime air was a massive relief, and Grian managed to take his first real breath through heaving lungs. There was a bench right outside, and Grian all but collapsed onto it, burying his head in his hands and curling inward. It was too much. It was just too much.

He didn’t look up when Micah spoke.

“My place isn’t far from here. I have a spare bedroom, and the door locks from the inside. You could use it, if you want, for however long you need. My work is unpredictable, and I can’t promise I'll be home much, but maybe that’s better for you. There’s not much to eat there right now but- I can grab groceries tomorrow morning. You don’t need to tell me anything, or pay me- it doesn’t matter. I don’t want you on the streets tonight, okay?

Grian didn’t know what to do with that. He barely processed any of it.

“I promise you’re going to be okay. You’ll be safe.”

He didn’t like that promise. No one could know what was going to happen to him. What might become of him. But damn if Grian didn’t want to believe it. To collapse and curl up and feel a little less like everything was falling apart.

“Okay,” he managed, his voice little more than a whimper, “I’ll go.”

[em-mermaid]

Hot Damn, What a Cuteguy

“Mumby? Can you help me with the zipper?”

“Erm yes, I’m coming” he responds, before placing a kiss on Scar’s temple and standing up. He looks down in time to see Scar’s smile grow into something too innocent, too knowing. Squinting his eyes suspiciously, he drops his voice to a whisper. “What did you do, you silly man?”

or: Mumbo gets to be very gay about his partner in a superhero outfit

(read on AO3)

—————

It is a calm afternoon in their shared home. Mumbo is lounging on the couch, feet propped up on the nearby table as he glances down at Grian. His head rests on Mumbo’s legs, eyes shining behind round glasses as he excitedly talks about plans for a new project. To Mumbo, Grian’s voice always sounds like music. Today was no exception.

Grian’s melodic monologue fills the air and is conducted, as always, by his strong and gentle hands moving in time to his words. Mumbo basks in the tenor tones floating over him, as he looks out the window across Scarland and lets his mind wander.

This truly was the perfect spot for them to build a home. A cozy place nestled comfortably in one of the castle towers for the three of them to relax and just be together. A home that was theirs.

Mumbo looks down when Grian laughs. Their eyes meet and Mumbo smiles, moving to gently brush his hand through Grian’s hair. Everyday he is thankful that the beautiful man in his lap agreed to be theirs.

He is pulled back to the present as the tone of Grian’s voice shifts to something quiet and teasing. “Mumbo Jumbolio, are you even listening to me?”

“Erm… uh, not really?” He stammers weakly, face heating up in embarrassment.

Grian smiles up at him, hand moving to softly caress Mumbo’s cheek. “What’s on your mind?”

He leans into Grian’s hand, cherishing the gentle touch. “I was just thinking about how lucky I am that you’re mine.”

“Oh, you sap.” Grian laughs, leaning up and using the hand on Mumbo’s cheek to guide him down into a sweet kiss. As they part, Mumbo hears the front door open in the other room.

“Oh Grian!” Scar sings as he comes in. “Where are you my sweet songbird?”

Mumbo watches as Grian rolls his eyes fondly, before calling back. “We’re in here, Scar!” He returns to resting on his head on Mumbo’s lap as they listen to their partner take off his shoes in the chair by the door.

After a minute, there is a quiet grunt followed by the soft click of a cane coming down the hall.

Scar beams when he enters the room. His long hair is pulled back into a pair of loose braids that rest behind his shoulders and the sleeves of his navy blue work shirt are rolled up to his elbows. A bright pink shulker rests under the arm not holding his cane.

He smiles at Mumbo before focusing his gaze on Grian. “You know you are the cutest man in the world, right?” Scar asks, tucking his cane under his arm and holding out the shulker.

Grian’s face lights up in excitement as he quickly sits up. “Is it what I think it is?”

“Go try it on my beloved songbird.”

Grian beams, jumping up off the couch to wrap his arms around Scars neck and giving him a quick kiss. “Thank you, thank you!” They watch as he grabs the box and takes off down the hall towards the bathroom.

Mumbo looks up at Scar, amused, as they hear the door close. “What was that all about?”

“Oh, it’s something he’s been wanting for a while,” Scar says with a grin.

Mumbo chuckles at the statement as he watches Scar walk around the table to rest his cane against the arm of the couch before plopping down next to him, immediately melting into his side. “That doesn’t tell me anything, love.”

Scar tilts his head up to look at Mumbo with a smile. “The surprise will be worth it, my dear. I think it is something you’ll enjoy as much as me and Grian.”

“I still don’t know what that means, but I’ll take your word for it.”

Mumbo leans in to rest his cheek on Scar’s hair, loosely lacing their fingers together and using his thumb to slowly trace small circles into his tanned skin. They fall into a comfortable silence, basking in the warm embrace before they hear Grian call out to them from the bathroom.

“Mumby? Can you help me with the zipper?”

“Erm yes, I’m coming” he responds, before placing a kiss on Scar’s temple and standing up. He looks down in time to see Scar’s smile grow into something too innocent, too knowing. Squinting his eyes suspiciously, he drops his voice to a whisper. “What did you do, you silly man?”

“Oh nothing, nothing.” He whispers back with a wave of a hand and a wink. “Just try not to enjoy it too much, I want to see the outfit too.”

Mumbo feels his face heat up. “What does that even mean?”

Scar only smiles and gestures towards the bathroom.

Baffled, Mumbo stands from the couch and walks down the hall. He takes a breath before lightly knocking on the bathroom door.

“Yes Mumbo you can come in,” Grian responds fondly.

He opens the door, briefly catching a glimpse of a smirk reflected in the mirror in front of him before—

Pink.

Pink from head to toe.

Grian wearing a bright pink, skin tight, long-sleeved leotard.

He is distantly aware of his jaw dropping open as his eyes trail up and down Grian’s body to take in the sight before him.

The leotard is beautifully made and leaves all of Grian’s perfectly toned muscles on full display. It hugs softly along the length of his arms, emphasizes the slight curve of his waist, and stretches gently around his strong thighs before wrapping comfortably around his ankles.

But the thing Mumbo’s eyes are drawn to more than anything else is the open zipper along the full length of Grian’s spine and the smooth pale skin visible beyond it. Goodness he wants to touch. To feel the soft material under his hands and the shift of strong muscles underneath. His fingers twitch with indecision, before he settles for fidgeting with the cuffs of his sleeves.

“Enjoying the view?” Grian asks, playfully shaking his hips. Mumbo attempts to stammer his way through any sort of response, deliberately ignoring the reflection of his own very red face.

Grian laughs lightly and reaches back towards Mumbo with one of his hands. “Come here, love.”

Cautiously, Mumbo steps forward taking his hand, allowing his own to be placed on the small of Grian’s back. The material is soft and shifts slightly as he runs his hand down towards the bottom of the zipper.

His hands shake as he hesitantly takes the zip, carefully avoiding touching the top of Grian’s underwear right behind it. Slowly, he zips upward, the sound almost as loud as his beating heart. His other hand trails behind, following the path upward holding down the fabric until they meet at the top. Task complete.

He doesn’t want to let go.

They make eye contact through the mirror when Mumbo finally finds his words. They slip through his lips, the sound no louder than a whispered breath. “You look incredible.”

There is an intensity to Grian’s gaze as Mumbo rests his hands on the pink fabric of his shoulders. Before he can think too much into the expression, Grian is turning to grab his collar, pulling him down into a deep kiss.

Mumbo makes a small noise of surprise before melting into him. The soft lips pressed firmly against his own are warm and familiar and yet he knows this is something that will never get old. His hands, dislodged during the sudden movement, find new purchase on Grian’s shoulder blades before trailing down the soft fabric on his back. Grian’s hands move up, tangling into his hair and pulling him even closer.

It’s over too soon. They break apart, breathing heavily into the small space between them. Grian smiles up at him. “Thanks for the help, Mumby.”

“Anytime,” he rasps between unsteady breaths.

“Ok, I have to put the rest of this outfit on now,” Grian says, nudging him to turn around before pushing him out the door. “The rest is still a surprise.”

He blinks as the door closes behind him. “Oh, right.”

His feet carry him back towards the living room on auto pilot as questions begin to bounce around in his mind.

Grian had called him into the room to help him with the zipper, but why not Scar, who had given him the box? Was it because Scar already knew what it was? But then Grian had kicked him out after he zipped up the outfit anyway, so it wasn’t just for that. And, oh gosh, of course it is only now that he remembers Grian is fairly flexible and can usually zip up his own outfits. Was the whole plan just to fluster him? Grian had been smirking, so that was probably his intention. Well, that was normal for Grian, he supposed. And, then, perhaps the most confusing question of all—

Scar barks out a laugh, startling him out of his thoughts. “Well don’t you look dashing!”

“Huh?” His eyes move to focus on Scar instead of the wall in front of him.

Scar’s face lights up with a grin and Mumbo watches as his eyes scan him up and down before landing on his ruffled hair. “I see you enjoyed yourself in there, hmm?”

Mumbo furrows his eyebrows, not fully processing Scars words as he tries to piece everything together. When he speaks, his words come out quiet and slightly strangled. “Scar, why is Grian in pink?”

“It’s his Cuteguy uniform!” Scar exclaims, opening his arms towards Mumbo and beckoning for him to come closer. “I made it for him so he can fight crime as Hotguy’s second in command.”

“Hotguy?” Mumbo steps forward and sinks onto the couch next to him, slouching to rest his head on Scar’s shoulder as he accepts the embrace. “Oh, is that the hero thing you were telling me about?”

He feels Scar nod and gently move to brush a hand through his disheveled hair.

They hear the bathroom door open. Scar perks up, looking enthusiastically towards the hall. When Grian comes into view, Mumbo forgets how to breathe.

Grian is still wearing the pink leotard. Only now does Mumbo notice the simple blue and orange Hotguy symbol embroidered onto Grian’s chest. The stitches are a bit uneven and wobbly, but it is clear the amount of care went into making sure each one would lay flat along the fabric.

Along with the leotard, he sports a pair of black high top sneakers painted with thin blue and orange stripes along each of the sides. His lips are pinker than usual, a combination of their earlier kiss and some newly applied lip gloss.

Grian grins at them and strikes a pose. “Well, how do I look?”

“Even more stunning than I imagined, my dear.” Scar replies easily, softly dislodging Mumbo from his shoulder as he leans forward on the couch. “Come here? I want to make sure everything fits perfectly.”

Grian shifts the coffee table out of the way so he can stand in front of Scar. Their knees touch as Scar reaches out to lightly hold Grian’s wrists as he checks the length of the sleeves. Mumbo assumes whatever he’s checking is to his liking when Scar hums in satisfaction.

Scar’s fingers trail up to Grian’s chest, almost reverent when he brushes them across the Hotguy logo.

“Turn so I can check out your back?”

Mumbo coughs in surprise at the same time Grian exclaims, “Scar! Wording!”

“What?” Scar looks up with feigned innocence, “I want to make sure it fits!”

Rolling his eyes in fond exasperation, Grian turns so Scar can see the back of the outfit. Mumbo watches as Scar traces along the collar and then down the seam of the zipper. When he reaches the bottom of the zipper he smirks and squeezes Grian’s butt, startling a yelp from him.

“Scar!” Grian scolds as he turns to face his two partners who are now howling with laughter. “Do you really want to start this?”

“Start what?” He asks through the giggles.

With a smirk, Grian pushes Scar back on the couch and climbs forward to straddle his lap, giving Mumbo a wink as he does.

Scar looks him up and down. “Oh-ho-ho is that what you meant, pretty bird? I can’t say I’m disappointed.”

“Oh shush, you” he replies before wrapping his arms around Scar’s shoulders and kissing him deeply. It’s a sight Mumbo knows he will always love.

When they part, Grian stays close to place a small kiss on Scar’s cheek. “I love it, thank you.”

Scar beams triumphantly. “Anything for you, my beautiful songbird.”

With that, Grian smiles and flops sideways into Mumbo’s lap, shimmying his way into the small gap between them and tucking his face into Scar’s neck. “Then cuddle me.”

Mumbo chuckles and angles himself to wrap one arm loosely around Grian’s waist and the soft fabric of his costume. He uses the other arm, which is still laying along Scar’s shoulders to give him a small squeeze as Scar leans into them from Grian’s other side.

Mumbo closes his eyes as the three of them settle. Scar begins to talk about his ideas for Cuteguy’s first velocitae lessons as Grian shakes with laughter. As Mumbo drifts off to their playful banter he thinks, maybe it could be worth it to learn more about this superhero thing.