#bigb biceps

[krashlite]

Design concepts for Grian!

basically, completely overhauling how I draw him!

Design notes under the cut!

Animal: Sphinx

He's one of two people that try to hide that he has a motif (the other being Scott, but I'll get to him), so his animal traits are a lot more subtle. We only see more overt traits like his wings and big teeth through his hallucinations.

FACE/HEAD

Wide face! Very rectangular.

Generally, he has more reserved expressions that are based off his eyes.

His face/head shape is meant to resemble that of a lion, with a broad nose, round ears, and a lazy, catlike smile.

The shape of his hair is meant to resemble a bird with tucked wings, though I'm not sure how well I pulled that off!

He has lowlights in his hair that, when pulled into the "wings," makes the light and dark strands crisscross into that waffle pattern.

He doesn't have irises! It's a genetic disorder called aniridia, which affects his sight. During/before EVO he still had ~75% of his irises and wore contacts, but now he's fully reliant on his watcher abilities to see (though bright lights still affect him!).

BODY TYPE

Even mix of soft muscle and body fat. Reads as soft but can absolutely pack a punch!

Most of his bulk is around his abdomen and biceps, with a bit of overhanging fat in both areas (though we don't really see this).

Legs are fairly skinny to give a more birdlike appearance to his shape.

CLOTHES

An adapted version of business casual! Adventure casual? Business adventure?

The leather vest is mostly there for weight. It's there to help ground him when he's experiencing the wing hallucinations. Most of the weight for it lands on his back, where said wings would otherwise sit.

Leather patches on his elbows and the toes of his shoes from wear and tear (though the left one is starting to tear off again...) as well as a messy stitch on the side of his pant leg.

This outfit doesn't actually fit, but he works with it! This is his favorite outfit and he's going to make it work goddamnit!

Doesn't generally button the top button on his undershirt.

ADDITIONAL

He's the only one that sees the wings/eyes/teeth in his hallucinations! He does also see more overt versions of other motifs (so hare ears on Etho, or antlers on BigB, for example). This isn't all he sees, and episodes can induce nausea in the same way looking at a magic eye painting can make you dizzy.

He doesn't show any physical signs of injury or aging, nor does he have the ability to make lasting changes to his appearance (such as tanning, gaining/losing muscle mass, haircuts, tattoos, etc.) with the exception to this rule being, ironically, his eye bags.

Final note is that with the life series, I'm approaching the watchers through a complex trauma lens. In my interpretation, they are otherworldly and incomprehensible entities that can damage the human psyche just through small, direct interactions. Grian, after being changed into one against his will for an extended period of time and then changed back, has a very difficult time separating that experience from his own identity. The watchers themselves ARE NOT a current part of the games, but Grian uses the abilities gained from them in order to run the games. It's his way of both reconnecting with his humanity and reclaiming that trauma.

Once again, the watchers ARE NOT a part of the games in my version. References to them through Grian are either flashbacks or hallucinations.

[massivemusclestuds]

Hossein Kalateh

[sparxwrites]

Play Your Part

[ao3] This fic now has a Director's cut.

“I killed him,” says Grian, as Scar comes up behind him. He’s staring down at Bigb’s grave – at the improvised headstone, the wilting flowers, the little handful of sand poured on top of it like an offering. He doesn’t look sad, exactly. A bit regretful, maybe. But mostly just confused, as though this wasn’t inevitably what happened when you dropped rocks on people’s head at close range.

As though this wasn’t always where they were heading – a red life, a shallow grave, and no remorse.

“Yes,” says Scar, cold and unkind. He stops a few feet from Grian, and makes no move to come closer. No move to reach out and offer comfort. “You did.”

“He was my secret soulmate,” says Grian. He sounds lost, a little. He looks up from the fresh-turned earth, dark eyes drawn to Scar’s red ones. “What am I supposed to do now?”

Scar closes his eyes for a moment, and breathes through the red thump thump thump of his heart. He’s gritting his teeth so hard he can feel his pulse in his molars.

“You play your part,” he says, and though he aims for cruel, he mostly hits tired. “I’m your soulmate. Not him. And now he’s dead, and we’re not, and the story must go on. So. We’re both red. We’re in love. We kill people. We play the game, together. That’s what we do.”

“But–”

“You play your part, Grian.” Scar’s voice is flat, unyielding, and brooks no argument.

Grian, as always, brooks one regardless. He sets his jaw, juts his chin out like a stubborn child. The motion is so endearing, so familiar, it makes Scar’s cold chest ache. “What if I don’t want to?”

“You think Pearl wants to be crazy?” snaps Scar, the tiredness burning away into irritation. “You think Scott wants to hate her? You think Martyn and Cleo want to do whatever the hell it is they’re doing? You think Impulse really loves Bdubs?” He pauses, his eyes hard. “You think I really love you?” Grian flinches. Scar presses on. “No. But we’ve all got our roles to play, and we’re playing them, because that’s how this works. There’s a story to be told, here, and I for one want it over, as soon as damn well possible. And so, just like everyone else on this godsforsaken server other than you, I’m playing my part.”

“I swore– Scar, you know I swore I’d never– I wouldn’t let Them control me again–”

“For once in your life, listen to me,” snaps Scar, grabbing Grian by the front of his jumper. Grian’s staring like he’s never seen Scar before – and maybe he hasn’t, not like this. Not cold with anger, cruel with frustration, face blank and eyes dead. “There is a narrative loose on this server and, one way or another it’s going to eat us all alive. Now– we can either get it over and done with, as quick as we can. Or, we can fight it, and lose, and drag the whole goddamn thing out for no goddamn reason. And we have all, collectively, picked option one – other than you. So.” He shakes Grian, hard enough to half-lift him off the ground. Hard enough he sways where he stands, held up only by Scar’s fist curled tight in his clothing. “Play. Your. Part, Grian.”

Grian gulps. Swallows. Nods, tersely.

Scar lets him go. Raises an eyebrow. When he crosses his arms over his bare, scarred chest, his fingers dig bruises into his own biceps.

“Yeah. Okay,” says Grian, tight and miserable. “Fine. I’ll play the stupid bloody game. Fine.”

“Okay, what?” says Scar, and wishes the victory felt less hollow.

“Okay, beloved.” The endearment sounds like a razor blade in Grian’s mouth.

Scar swallows bile. For a second, the ice in his eyes cracks. There’s heat beneath the surface, a raging, howling fire somewhere just below the cold. Then it’s gone. The ice returns.

“Good,” he says, with a bright smile, and takes Grian’s hand. Pulls him away from the grave. Grian lets him, his fingers cold, his grip slack in Scar’s. “Because, no matter what – the show must go on.”