#grian looking back over his shoulder

[uhohbestie]

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaa it's them it's themmmMMMM.

I love the softness in this paired with the scratchy texture of the lines. The hands, their blushes, Scar's fingers interlocked to keep Grian close.... Gosh... Will they ever find another cabin like the one they left behind...... (touching my hand to the glass) if only someone had the power to write them being happy again......

I love seeing these two SO much I'll never get tired of it. Thank you for drawing them! aaa <3 :D <3 - 🔒

Soft TAMN cabin doodle, i just,, aoughtgh,,,, they hate being happy so fucking much i swear

[polarisbear]

more dweebs (Very detailed image description below.)

a drawing of grian, ethoslab, tangotek, and smallishbeans. grian is in his season 10 fishing skin and the rest are in different outfits referencing their base themes.

grian is in his fishing skin looking very tired with his fishing rod swung over his shoulder and an ear pierced with a brassy fish hook. he’s a cod hybrid with fin-ears and a stubby tail. behind him blue snail is munching on some leaves.

etho is posing with a neck sheepishly behind his neck and the other resting on his bag. he’s in the postal uniform polo with a green, canadian maple-themed yukata loosely worn and slipping off his shoulder. he has fingerless gloves on under. he is wearing dark red pleated pants and light green heeled crocs. he has a black and red messenger bag with a trellis motif. etho is an arctic fox hybrid with brown legs and streaks through his hair. doodles below show what his paws look like under the crocs and one shows him posing with a note saying “ties up sleeves.” above him another note reads “streaks bc his winter coat is shedding.”

tango is posing confidently with a wrench. he is in the postal uniform polo, with chunky brown and orange gloves and boots, topped off with red, pinstriped overalls. one strap is not around his shoulder, and on the belt around the overalls they carry a small bag, a screwdriver, and a vial of redstone. he has on brown goggles with blue lenses. tango has fire for hair and pointed ears. above him there’s a doodle of the messenger bag that’s secured on his back. it shows how the orange straps tuck over the whole outfit and lead to a dark red and pinstripe blue bag with cog detailing.

joel is giving an indignant pose like he’s complaining. he is wearing a black undershirt that fades out into his light green claws, a pink kimono with only one sleeve of cherry blossom patterns, and a dark grey vest and cherry blossom-patterned obi tie it off. the vest has a cherry blossom crest on the back. joel also has on dark pink pants with a cherry blossom motif on the bottom and on his left arm there’s a bracer with a screen built in. crawling all over the undershirt there are cybernetic patterns connecting joel’s skin through to the undershirt. joel is a tanuki, hence why he has a leaf on his head. around joel are doodles showing the crest on the back of his vest and the pattern on the sleeve.

[mochiwrites]

couldn’t help writing a lil thing from @plumadot’s arts (linked here and here!)🥺👉👈 third life scarian possessed me so hard I broke out of my burn out for this reblogs would be really cool and awesome okaythankyou

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“And how are preparations for Doom Day going, my good sir?” Scar’s voice is a light sound behind him, tone cheerful and inquisitive all at once.

Grian turns around from where he’s knee deep in sand, a small hole dug out in front of him. Scar comes to stand beside him, red eyes staring down at him. His gaze is soft, far too soft for a man who’s meant to be anything but.

With a soft noise, Grian pushes himself up to stand while dusting off his hands. He leaves his shovel in the ground by the hole. His wings flutter.

He hums, surveying the area. He gazes at the holes of sand, where the tnt will be set down, at the place where a bunker will be built. “Not bad, I’d say. I think this place’ll be ready by tomorrow or some time ‘round then.”

Scar whistles, moving to casually wrap an arm around the green life’s shoulders. “Amayzin’!” His lips lift in a smile. “Man, those Dogwarts guys won’t know what hit ‘em!”

“That’s if this trap even works, Scar,” Grian mutters, unable to hold back the bitterness in his voice. His traps have hardly worked all game, and he’d be lying if he said he isn’t worried about this one failing too. “It has to,” he says, brows knitting together, “there’s too much riding on this one.”

His eyes trail over to Scar, who doesn’t seem to share his worries.

“Aw, c’mon G,” Scar starts as he pulls the other toward him. He tugs so that Grian’s facing him, their faces a few inches apart. Grian can feel how warm Scar is this close, can see the way his chest rises and falls. “I have total trust in you and your trapping skills. So relax a little, yeah?”

Grian frowns at him in turn. Speculation and trust aren’t good enough when up against his fail rate. He needs one hundred percent certainty. But he can’t just test this one. It’s a one time pull. “Scar—”

Careful fingers grab his chin, rough and calloused from the harsh conditions of the desert but still far too careful. Red names aren’t supposed to be careful or gentle, and yet here Scar is.

“I trust you,” Scar says again, and Grian doesn’t think this is how things are supposed to go. It’s not the first time he’s had this thought, and he’s sure it won’t be the last (provided they both survive this, that is). “You really do worry too much.”

“One of us has to while you’re off gallivanting around without a shirt on,” Grian grumbles while reaching for the edge of Scar’s cloak. He holds onto it, fingers digging into the fabric.

Scar lifts a playful brow at Grian’s comment, “Does that mean I look good while valligaggling?”

Grian snorts, the action laced with too much affection. “That’s not even a word, Scar,” he replies with a little laugh, one that makes Scar’s grin widen.

“It’s close enough,” the man hums in answer, their faces moving closer. His hand drops to Grian’s elbow, the other drawing him in closer by the waist. Red eyes flutter shut as his breath ghosts over Grian’s lips. “And it made you laugh.”

“Your priorities are seriously mixed up,” Grian’s voice is hardly above a whisper as watches as Scar draws in closer.

Their lips meet seconds later, chapped and warm. Grian stares at Scar’s face, the way the creases in his forehead smooth over and relax. He looks so content, a funny feeling to express when the powder keg is seconds from exploding.

It hardly takes any time at all for Scar to deepen the kiss, raising his hand from Grian’s elbow to hold the edge of his jaw. His thumb settles too close to Grian’s throat, yet not an ounce of fear runs through him. His eyes shut as he presses his lips back against Scar’s, a bit more pressure than the other applies. He catches Scar’s wrist in his hand, and his grip is a little tight at first (too tight for a green name). He has to remind himself to loosen his hand, but Scar never gives a reaction.

He simply angles Grian’s chin up slightly, hand shifting to cup his cheek. His fingers tangle in his hair, brushing against his ear.

It’s kind of a shame they’re blowing up the desert. He wouldn’t mind sharing more kisses with Scar out in the open chilly air like this.

Scar kisses him like he’s something fragile, something precious. He kisses him like he’s afraid of breaking him, and really it’s laughable how gentle he is with Grian. His eyes say he shouldn’t be.

(Ironic then, that Grian is wearing more red than him.)

It’s with a soft sigh that Scar pulls back, setting their foreheads against one another. So easily, so fluidly, he holds Grian’s face in both of his hands, one of his thumbs brushing along his cheek. There’s a fond smile on his face, and Grian feels a little dazed by the sight.

“Gri,” Scar says quietly, a moment shared for only the two of them, “I need you to know, I—”

Some kind of alarm rings in Grian’s head, and he knows he cannot let Scar finish that sentence. Panic runs down his spine like electricity, zapping him. He sets his hands on Scar’s front, gently pushing back as he turns his head away.

“H-Haha, we’ve wasted enough time, haven’t we?” he questions, some kind of desperate attempt to change the conversation. “We have a war to prepare for, remember?”

He doesn’t watch Scar’s face as he turns away, unable to face it. He turns his back to Scar, wings twitching behind him. Grian purposefully looks down at the sand before him, reminding himself of what he’s meant to be doing. “We, uh, have much to do still,” he says, trying to focus on anything but Scar. “I mean, unless you want me to lose my first life!”

Grian goes to say more, but two hands land on his shoulders, stopping him. He jumps just slightly, startled. Yet it doesn’t last long as he feels Scar’s warmth against his back. “…Scar,” he mumbles.

Arms wrap around him proper, holding him close. He feels Scar bury his face in his hair as the smell of lilacs and poppies flood his senses. “Just a little longer, okay?” the red name murmurs so softly.

Let me hold you for a little longer.

Stay with me for a little longer.

Pretend this’ll last for a little longer.

How selfish, Scar is. Grian looks down at the sand below, its mocking grains. He grabs hold of Scar, keeping him right where he is. “…I’m not going to die, Scar.”

“Promise me.” Scar’s arms tighten around him, giving away how much he needs Grian to stay alive. How much he treasures Grian, both his partnership and company.

Grian squeezes him. He supposes he’s a little selfish as well. “…I promise.”

Scar lets out a shaky breath, burying his face further into Grian’s hair.

They don’t move for a little while. A gentle red name and a green name clothed in far too much crimson. Together they stand, selfishly.

[duckimate]

GRUMBO WEEK DAY 3 - " Nightmare " @grumboweek

"read more" at your own discretion. messy+wordy explanation of the concept coming:) .

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pardon me for being late but i really couldn't stand leaving this looking unfinished so. had to spend a bittt more time on it (might even post for grumbo week even after the event's over if thats okay!!)

we all got over the progression from their friendship to their betrayal of eachother in Last Life too soon. i need people to mourn with me

"Nightmare" made my mind immediately jump to the series that waffle duo really got their share of angst from, Last Life. How an unbreakable bond of friendship strengthened by literally passing eachother something as valuable as a life so quickly crumbled into them both betraying eachother in the end, a Nightmare scenario that the two of them would've never even considered for sure. even grian, who upon turning red was still clinging onto the hope that their bond was so strong that mumbo would join him as a redname. (concept) even red mumbo, who in his last ditch desperation tried reigniting post-red yellow life grian's humanity by giving him the spyglass, the southlander's physical embodiment of their friendship, only for grian to crush it mercilessly ,,,,,,,,,

anyway for this piece i tried real hard to cram in as much symbolism and imagery and intent behind my lines and colors as possible, so heres some of it! (theres more but thats on you to figure out!)

Composition + just some of the details : the main concept that i really wanted to drive home is the use of the SPYGLASS as symbolism for the progression of their bond throughout Last life, up until the end. yellow-side grian holds up a spyglass, looking towards the right

day4 past and future concepts ahead the spyglass extends through the past to the present, like a solid line of sight into the future before its unfortunately crushed by red-side grian (him shutting down any friendship or reconciliation from mumbo) mumbo, back against the future, faced twoards the past, reaching his spyglass out looking for who his friend was, only to see a cracked figure of him staring back grian, faced towards the future in both drawings, but also looking back at mumbo, with different emotions but both with the same desire to move forward, one with adoration and another with the desire to move on from mumbo's dead body and focus on self-preservation. he knew he had to move on, and he was right.

SOUTHLANDERS BADGE: mostly for visual interest! but also unlike the spyglass, is an unremovable physical reminder for post-red grian (literally lodged deep into his shoulder)

CLIPPED WINGS: i felt like i had to mention that they're supposed to look clipped in the second drawing:) "HE NEEDS TO LEARN" was a real quote that was directed at both jimmy and mumbo, but we gotta adapt pfft ,,, this post is long. LOng long. i should stop. special SPECIAL thanks to my dearest @justrelaxhere for their hours worth of dissection of my drawing! god i could always count on them to squeeze every drop of symbolism out of my work. without them i wouldn'tve been able to fully articulate my ideas! okay thanks for reading people:D

[funkyplantguy]

grian gets saved by hotguy and then pines over him <3

so this "au" (if you can even call it that when it exists exclusively in my brain and now in this ask) is mostly crack and comes from me joking around a couple days ago with some friends so...don't take it too seriously. that being said...

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you have (3) new comments! view now?

click.

areeongreenday: hey! so this is insane.

click.

h0tguysnumber0n3fan: i guess i kind of understand where you're coming from with this - scar goodman and hotguy do share a similar sense of humor, and i sort of see what you're saying at 47:03 when you compared their voices (more specifically, the inflection they use on specific words) but...i guess i'm having a hard time imagining scar as a superhero. don't get me wrong - he's plenty cool, but...didn't he say that he's a full-time content creator now? i don't know that he'd really have the time to record, edit, and post videos on top of saving the city on a near-daily basis. interesting theory, though! admire the dedication.

click.

scargoodman: ;)

and there it was, taunting him - that damn winky face, yet again, commented nearly instantaneously each time grian uploaded a new video about the man itself. scar goodman - known to many as the man who had risen to sudden fame in the video essayist community with his charming good looks and boisterous personality. scar goodman, whom grian suspected was secretly none other than the city's beloved superhero. after all, they'd both made their debuts within a week of each other and shared not only a similar path of success but a similar sense of humor, a similar speaking style, a similar body type, a similar laugh...sure, there were things that didn't quite line up, but...for the most part, they appeared to be the exact same person.

okay - maybe grian was a little obsessed. but what was he supposed to do, not point out the obvious?

what made matters worse was that nobody seemed to believe him. no matter how many videos he posted, no matter how much proof he gave...nobody was willing to hear him out.

nobody except scar goodman himself, who seemed intent to drive him absolutely insane.

grian grumbled something to himself, pocketing his phone and continuing down the long, narrow sidewalk to his apartment complex. he'd lost track of time at work yet again, and as a result, the sun had long set. this wasn't unusual for him - he often opted to remain late in the office to "finish up a few things" (ie take advantage of the functional wifi his workplace offered instead of trying to upload videos on his crummy home network), so he was...fairly comfortable tracing the path back to his apartment in the dark of night. the street lights in this part of town didn't work exceptionally well, but with the familiarity of it all and the dull light of the moon, grian typically fared well enough.

tonight, however...well, call him paranoid, but...something felt...off. something about the way all the buildings around him were dark, indicating that their inhabitants were either asleep or out (and entirely unreachable if grian were to call for help). something about the absence of the various stray cats that he often crossed paths with. something about how the complete and utter silence made his ears ring.

"aw, what's this? a cute guy? well, pretty boy, you've just entered the wrong part of town at the wrong time. unfortunately, loose lips sink ships, or...uh...however the saying goes, so...sorry, i can't let you leave this visit alive."

before grian could even register the words being spoken (where were they even coming from?? above him? below him? behind him? everywhere, all at once?), he felt hands gripping the back of his shirt. in another moment, he was on the ground, his breath clawing its way out of his chest. above him stood a figure, shrouded in darkness and the billowing, starry cape draped across their shoulders. in their hands was something glinting, something sharp, something deadly -- something that grian's frazzled, spinning mind was unable to put a name to. or maybe it refused to - refused to name the tool that would be his doom. maybe it was better that way, he mused idly, as the figure raised it high above their head. maybe it was best to not know.

"hey! there you are - what did i say about running off?"

and just as quickly as he'd accepted his death, the threat of it was gone, vanquished by the appearance of the tall, costumed man on the rooftop adjacent. grian felt his breath return to his chest in one fell swoop, filling his lungs and sending a wave of sensitivity to his throat. he coughed, hard, tears welling helplessly in his eyes, and the newcomer's attention snapped to him in an instant.

"oh - and you've made a friend! how nice. unfortunately, there are no plus ones in prison."

"hotguy," grian's would-be murderer snarled. "i thought i'd lost you."

"nah. i may have gotten lost, sure. but you didn't lose me. there's a difference."

"you'll wish that i'd lost you when i'm through with you."

"oh, that was lame!" the man cried, hopping over the low rooftop wall and landing neatly on the ground below (how he did it, even grian wasn't sure. by all intents and purposes, his legs shouldn't have that level of shock absorption, even if he had been fed some chemical cocktail by a mad scientist at a young age as he boasted). "listen - we've got to get you a better catchphrase."

hotguy strode forward, his eyes glinting behind his tinted visor. he glanced to grian out of the corner of his eye, then back to the villain - then back to grian again, his mouth going slack in surprise. grian met his gaze - took in his appearance - and let out a bark of laughter, one not missed by either scar goodman or the cloaked figure in front of him. scar returned his laughter, throwing his head back and planting his hands firmly on his hips.

"well, what a coincidence," he giggled, after a moment. "my new catchphrase just so happens to be "subscribe to my youtube channel."

"what?" their third demanded, glancing between the two. "what are you talking about?"

"oh my god. there's no way. there's no way. how - how am i the only one who knows? how am i the only one who suspects?? it's obvious - it's so obvious."

"what's obvious?"

"i know, right? i make it as obvious as possible, and still...still, nobody puts two and two together. well...nobody except for you, apparently. i guess that you're just...special."

"why don't you just come out and say it?" grian mused, propping himself up on his elbows and ignoring the sputtering from their newly acquired third wheel. "i feel like if you said it - either as scar goodman or hotguy - people would have to believe it, no?"

a strange look came over hotguy's face, but it vanished as quickly as it had arrived.

"ah...i don't think that would change anything. plus, i have this thing with this cute guy where he tries to tell everyone my identity and i egg him on to get him to make more silly videos. i would hate to give that up."

he winked, and grian felt warmth climb his cheeks. gone was the fear, gone was the panic, gone was the darkness and the creeping, crawling sense of unease - instead, there was only curiosity, burning brightly in his chest. he wanted to talk to scar - hotguy - for hours, wanted to pull the object of his obsession apart to see what made him tick, then put him back together again, just to see what would happen. he wanted to get to know who hotguy was underneath the suit - and who scar goodman was with the suit. he'd wanted (he'd wanted for so long) and it felt like maybe...just maybe...he'd get to have.

"hey! what the hell is going on?"

"oh, right," hotguy chuckled, turning his attention to the third member of their party. "sorry - didn't mean to ignore you. here - sit tight, for real this time. the police will be here soon."

"dude, i'm just going to leave again. do you really not have handcuffs or something?"

"who needs handcuffs when you have a cub to design fancy gadgets for you?"

"a...a what?" the figure asked, then yelped, startled, as something exploded out of the cuff on hotguy's wrist. a net, affixing itself neatly to their body, wrapping them up in a cocoon of their own folly. grian stared at it, humming in approval.

"nice."

"thank you! it's new."

"i know."

"i bet you do," scar responded, and grian flushed further at the teasing edge his tone took on. "i bet you know almost everything about me, at this point. obsessed, much?"

"i could say the same," grian huffed back, pulling himself to his feet and brushing off his jeans (there was a rip in one leg, now, he noticed with a frown). "you recognized me, like, immediately. it's pretty dark out, too - sounds like you're the one obsessed."

"what can i say - you're pretty and smart. i happen to like my men pretty and smart."

grian sputtered incoherently in response, all confidence gone out the window. oh god - he was even more charismatic in person, even in costume. and god, was the costume more attractive in person, as well - baggy cargo pants and a tight, fitted top that exposed his tanned midriff. not the most tactical, sure - but damn was it hot.

"you can't say that," he moaned, covering his reddened cheeks with his hands. "oh my god. i hate you. i've known you for five minutes and i already hate you."

"sure you do," scar responded, grinning. "i - oh, hold on."

he raised his hand and tapped the earpiece affixed to the side of his head, concentrating. after a moment, he sighed - and for just a second, grian thought that his shoulders drooped in exhaustion. as quickly as they sagged, however, scar was straightening, turning back to grian with an easy smile.

"sorry, handsome, duty calls. are you alright to get back home on your own? i doubt this guy will be giving you any more trouble. those nets are pretty sturdy."

"wait!" grian sputtered, his heart hammering painfully in his chest (no, no, he couldn't let scar slip through his fingers, not now, not when he was finally so close). "don't go - i...can i see you again?"

scar's smile wobbled around the edges, and any panic grian felt was replaced with guilty - heavy and suffocating (though he wasn't sure why)

"ah...isn't it more fun, this way? don't you like the chase? isn't that exhilaration enough for your pretty little head?"

"i mean...it's a fun hobby, yeah, but -,"

"then we'll stick to the status quo. after all, i'd hate to rob you of your favorite hobby. goodnight, grian. can't wait for your next video."

and with a wink, he was gone, disappearing back into the shadows so quickly grian could have sworn he was made of them. and grian...well. he had an apartment to get home to, a cat to feed...and a chase to continue. and maybe, someday, if he was fast enough...he'd catch up.

[definitelynotshouting]

your half of the ransom

inspired by this post and scar's tweets about secret life :] i speedran this just in time for the first eps of the new season to drop!! as always likes and reblogs and especially comments in the tags are appreciated❤️ enjoy!!

Scar wakes to a field of sunflowers.

The sun itself is a swollen yolk bleeding gold at its edges when he blinks, cascading down from the horizon to melt over the earth with indiscriminate fervor. It dips the petals of each field-flower in honey, honing their silhouettes to supple knife-points— even the soil beneath him, packed firm from countless nights of sleep, has burnished to a fine, patinated bronze. In the amber of its rays stray pebbles transmute to pyrite, the subtle scrabble of roots to filigree, and caught in the open mouth of such gaudy resplendence, Scar digs an elbow into the dirt and hauls himself, reluctant, back to his own unsteady feet.

Even at full height the sunflowers still tower, blocking all signs of hearth and home. But the sun (popped, bleeding, all gored-out gold in the upturned belly of the sky) remains his guide— Scar picks his legs up in a faltering stumble to follow it before catching rough fingers against the stalk of a nearby sunflower. He flinches; this early, it's too easy to perceive each stalk as part of a swarm, a yellowed panoptic presence bearing down on the world-weary muscles of his shoulders.

Their seeds will need harvesting soon. Scar hums, a match-strike against unyielding silence, and casts his gaze back to the sun above to orient himself in the direction of his base.

Until they're ready, he has nowhere else to be.

Trader Scar's is too-empty for so comely a morning, a hollowed-out shell long rebuilt and bristling with more wares than he has those to sell them to. But it's a familiar charade— Scar slips into the back with a single sunflower clenched tight in his palm, bruising the petals and scratching against the insides of his fingers. He changes in rapid, efficient motions; last night's poncho is discarded over a nearby chest in exchange for a brighter one, yellow wool lovingly dyed; his hair is released from its tie, combed through, then braided again; the soft leather shoes he'd worn underneath the stars are left to clump by the doorway in favour of far-keener diamond. Worn in but undamaged, the crystal chimes without dents or scratches— there's nothing left to fight here, anymore.

When Scar steps back out to the front, a ghost is waiting patiently for him at the counter.

Or— the ghost of a ghost, if he's being generous. The outline of a shadow, the flicker of a distant mirage. "Oh," Scar says, and the word scrapes like rust from the well of his throat. He'd recognize those wings anywhere. "Well, hello there, Grian."

Grian's filmy outline says nothing. They never do, when the shades appear for a rare visit. The barrier between living and dead remains a clear divide, a gorge through which Scar cannot pass— all that's left between them now are the soft, faded echoes of what was, and what it could have been.

Still, in the year he's spent here, that's never deterred him from a potential sale. Scar props a hip up against the counter, eyeing the flickering shadow and mustering up his best imitation of an enthusiastic smile. "So what brings you out here to my neck of the woods? Looking for something to buy? Some fine goods to trade, perhaps? Man, I don't think I've seen you around in a dog's age. How about some catching up?"

The back of his neck prickles, electric; Grian's shade is a stygian blot in his vision, a fuzz of static that extends its presence from floor to ceiling. His ghost keeps his silence.

Scar tugs his smile wider, flashing two rows of bright, gleaming teeth in Grian's direction until the strain threatens to choke him. "No? Not even a little bone for ol' Scar? Well, tell you what, don't you go standing on su— se— oh, ceremony! Come in, come in! You make yourself at home, you know how I just love a visitor— how about I make us a drink to share and you tell me where in the world you've been, mister."

He doesn't bother waiting for a non-existent reply; instead, Scar swoops down to snag his fingers against the cupboard he'd installed within the counter months ago, fumbling with the latch before throwing its doors wide open with a gust of musty air. Inside, an eclectic mix of quite high-quality wares and some of Scar's own humble belongings tangle, speckled with cobwebs and the first faint stirrings of freshly disturbed dust.

Scar purses his lips, eyeing each item in turn. A nautilus shell here, a few scraps of wood there, some glass bottles, the handle of a ladle he'd cracked over six months back.... Squinting, he thrusts his hand deep into the mess, sweeping the items aside and shuffling new ones into view until— there!

Toward the back lies a dented iron kettle, brittle with disuse. Scar snaps forward, straining out his arm until the tips of two fingers meet the edge of its dusty wooden handle. With a grunt, he flicks it closer, wincing at the shrill scrape of iron on wood as it inches toward him.

SCAR.

It is not a voice. No mere voice can resonate a single word like that in his chest, trembling in his bones and drumming out from the chambers of his very heart. Like a ripple on the still surface of a lake, it rattles through him, scattering each thought to the far corners of his mind and stripping him raw, flaying open his ribs to splay beneath the scorching sun. The yelp that bubbles up to his lips flies past them unbidden, rocketing out with such force that he jolts, and rams his skull straight into the overhanging lip of the counter.

White-on-red sparks, a cherry-hot bolt of fire centered on his crown. "OW! Oh, oh my gosh, I-I— Grian?"

None of the shades haunting him and this server have spoken. They've never spoken. They've never— so why now, when he's made his peace with that—

Scar wets his lips, tongue dry as desert bone, and drags the kettle out of the cupboard with one quick yank. Clutching it to his chest, he rises back up on shaky feet, holding it up as if to ward off an incoming attack. Some shield; its hollow interior reverberates with a screech when he raps his knuckles against it. "Now— now hang on, mister, you can't just— you— oh my gosh, I-I think you just made my heart stop there for a second." A bracing breath. Two. "Y-You can't just shock a man in his own home like that! You...."

Scar trails off. The misty impression hovering on the other side of the counter remains impassive, impersonal— this is not the Grian he knows.

The Grian he knew.

Deep within the static writhe of his shade, the after-image burn of greyed-out eyes begin to squirm to the surface. Scar flicks his gaze back to the kettle with instinctive, long-honed deference, staring hard into the distorted lines of his own reflection.

YOU WON. Once again the words rip something vital in him, boil up through his veins to tear themselves, wet and coppery, on the limp meat of his tongue. Scar risks a peek up, lump hanging heavy in his throat; each syllable comes out as a squeak, threatening to crack the smooth silver of his voice.

"I— yep, I sure did! I sure did, and— thank you very much, for noticing! I, uh, I still don't know how I did that, what with— oh, you know how it is, with, with the, uh, the— friends situation, how that all panned out. Y'know, actually, I wonder if that's wh—"

The eyes blink at him, asynchronous and blank. Hollow. In the heartbeat it takes for them to train back on his own, a soul-wrenching wave of gooseflesh ripples up over Scar's arms.

He whirls himself away so fast his vision spins. "So, uh— tea! You like tea, right Grian?" Without ceremony Scar scrambles to the other side of the room, forcing the counter still between them, every nerve in his body winding tighter, tighter, kinetic energy in a bottle. "How about, um, a—" he rifles through a new cabinet, clumsy with frenzy— "oh, shoot, now where did I put that— I've got some, uh, some dandelion root! Hand roasted by yours truly, of course. Not that anyone else could do it now, but— oh, oh, and look at the lavender, now that's just delicious, you've gotta try it, G, I know you'll just absolutely love it."

Silence. Scar's hand pauses, braced tight on the handle of the cabinet.

"Grian," he says, slow, quiet. Lets the words drift up, shining soap bubbles, to pop against the ceiling. "Why— what are you doing here?"

To his credit, Grian is direct. IT'S TIME.

Without permission, Scar's fingers tighten around the handle of the cabinet. "It's— what? Wait, wait—" He blinks. Does not turn around. "Time for what?"

Silence.

Scar licks his lips, worrying at the split still stinging at the right hand corner. "Time for what, Grian?"

The distinct pall of burning ozone scalds through the air. Tentatively, Scar shoots a glance back down into the kettle, peering at the distinct smudge still smearing the wall behind him. No eyes in its reflection; some of the tension riding in his shoulders loosens, slackens his tendons and begins to uncurl his fingers from the cabinet knob.

Without warning, a wash of ice wisps forward to numb the small of his back. COME HOME, Grian says simply. The words echo in the gap beneath his sternum, drag themselves up each vertebrae in his spine, and Scar freezes stiff, solid.

"This is home," Scar says, blank.

NO.

Some hot ember, banked countless months ago, sparks back to life in the pit of his stomach. "It is," he says, more firmly this time. "It's— that's it. You said it yourself: I won. And I did it fair and square, I'll say. I followed every rule, every task to the— to the nth degree, and... and now I, um." He falters. Grits his teeth until the molars ache. "I get to live with it."

But a sudden chill that has nothing to do with the shade behind him abruptly slips beneath his skin. Hesitantly, still clutching the kettle in one hand like a lifeline, Scar says belatedly: "... Right?"

Despite the sun nearing midday, the temperature around him plummets. NOT ANYMORE.

"Oh," Scar says. The metal surface of the kettles creaks as his second hand joins the first, digging nails into rust and grime. "I— again?"

YES.

"... And what if I don't want to do it again."

He does not phrase it as a question. They both know his answer.

Scar sucks in a sharp shock of air anyway, rattling the kettle against his chest and daubing a blotch of dust over the soft wool of his poncho. "Is—" he bites his lip— "will everyone... be there?"

YES.

Ah. Scar's eyes slip shut of their own accord; behind them, dozens of veins brim over, webs of blood welling up and spilling to slake a thirst so abyssal it could drink and drink for years without satiation.

"... Will you be there?"

For one long, nightmare-eternity, Grian does not reply. Then, a knife between his ribs: YES.

With slow, halting steps, Scar turns. "Okay," he breathes, and drags a hand over his eyes to cloak them both in darkness, and sags back until his skull knocks against the cabinet door with a dull, tender thunk. Each exhale emerges as a series of shaky puffs, damming up his lungs and swallowing all the air in his esophagus. Scar shudders, scrapes his bitten-down nails against iron, and breathes with the roiling of his gut. "... Okay."

When he opens his eyes again, Grian's ghost has vanished.

The spot it occupied is still frigid when he waves a trembling hand through it; Scar inhales, exhales, inhales again. Rinse and repeat, the perfect cycle, the mantra against extraneous thought. Then, solemn and deliberate, he holds the kettle out in front of him, trailing one wandering finger over its dents and bruises, tracing the paths between the known and the new.

"Guess I'll see you there," he tells it, and lifts its grubby handle up in absent toast.

High above, the bleeding sun strikes noon at last. Scar does not harvest the sunflowers.

[grainscharacter]

Pearl would like to say (very loudly, for the people in the back) that she thinks she knows Grian pretty well. She’s been friends with him for, oh, over half of both of their lives. She would go to hell for him, and he’s already been to hell for her.

So she would like to know—and she’s not particularly upset, it’s just that, when you learn something completely new about your friend that someone definitely should have told you to save you a heart attack you’re going to experience some strong emotions—she would like to know why Grian is perched on top of Mumbo.

She did not sign up for this.

She signed up for—well. She’s not exactly sure, but not this. When Mumbo had asked, earlier, if anyone had any spare cobble they didn’t mind giving away, Pearl had said that she would bring some over. She had said this under the expectation she would be bringing it over to Mumbo. Not a Mumbo-and-Grian monster.

“Hey,” she says, and doesn’t bother to hide her stare. “Mumbo?”

They turn. It looks like a practiced move. Grian’s wings flare out a bit when Mumbo turns, but he does it slowly, nothing like the hyper, constant movement she’s used to seeing in him.

Maybe Grian’s like a weighted vest.

Maybe Pearl needs to spend a little less time hanging out with Gem and Tango. That’s not a normal thought to have.

“Oh!” says Mumbo. Grian’s hand is resting on his head, just barely not covering his eyes. “Hey! I wasn’t expecting you ‘till a little bit later—normally you’re asleep by now—but don’t worry i still have the. Well. I haven’t got the chests set up yet but I can do it really quickly, don’t worry.”

“Yeah,” says Pearl. Is she dreaming? She thinks she might be dreaming. “I can wait—I’ve not got anything else to do right now. Wanted to get you the cobble before you went to bed.”

Grian chirps a little, at that, a soft giggle that seems to catch him off guard. “Don’t worry. Mumbo’s very awake right now,” he says.

“Yes…” she drags out the e sound. Grian’s wings flare a bit. “About that.”

“What?” asks Grian. His head tilts, like a puppy. “Oh! He was troubleshooting redstone. I’m his rubber ducky.”

Pearl very carefully does not say that that explains nothing. Mumbo bends his knees to get into a chest, probably because he can’t lean over without knocking Grian off. Why on earth has he not pushed Grian off his shoulders?

Grian unlatches a shulker that’s at his eye level while Mumbo rummages in a chest. “Oh! Mumbo, in here,” he drops a few chests into Mumbo’s hands.

“Perfect! Here, I’ll let you put the cobble down here, I’m not going to steal your shulkers.”

“But you steal my shulkers all the time!” Grian says with mock-offense.

“I maintain it doesn’t count as stealing if you don’t realize it’s gone! Your chest monster is so large you didn’t notice I was stealing them until I told you!”

Right. Okay. This is just normal, then. Grian on Mumbo’s shoulders. It can’t be good for his back—Grian’s that is, he’s hunched over almost to an extreme, and his wings are flared out wide for balance. It doesn’t look comfortable. That being said, he looks completely at ease. Both of them do.

Pearl wonders about the mechanics of that. How did Grian get up? How did this start? When did this start? Grian had never done this before Hermitcraft!

…Grian must be really light or—oh gods, did Mumbo secretly have massive muscles under his suit?

Pearl does not want to think about that. She dumps all of the cobble in the chest Mumbo graciously provided, and then leaves. At speed.

She hears the combined call of their goodbyes for far longer than she thinks should be possible.

What in the world?

…

> PearlescentMoon -> Grian: How does it feel being tall for once?

> Grian -> PearlescentMoon: SHUT UP

[zedif-y]

He’s falling.

He’s falling, Impulse thinks again, panic dulling his senses. His wings sprout from his back, flapping in desperation as he falls down, down, down.

His shoulder is an explosion of pain, white-hot and throbbing as blood trickles and bleeds into his shirt. The arrow shimmers with magic, because of course, of course–

Just my luck, Impulse thinks, bracing for impact. Get shot off the wall after summoning a Wither. 

What a stupid death.

“–Impulse!”

The white walls of the base taunt him as he falls, and suddenly– Nothing.

—

The first thing Impulse sees is red.

Red feathers, red sweater. Bloodied, shaking hands.

“–mpulse, wake up!” He hears someone hiss, shaking him as his vision clears. A dull pain wracks his body, but it isn’t… “Impulse, come on, please–”

“…Grian?” Impulse croaks, expression twisted in pain. The hand stills. “I’m not dead?”

Grian scoffs, “You’re welcome.” He scowls, then, quieter, “When I found you, you weren’t breathing.”

That… Huh. “You saved me?”

Grian looks away, “I– Yes. What, why?” He spits, defensive. “Saw you fall.”

His hands are trembling, still.

Impulse frowns. He sits up with a wince, his shoulder stinging as he moves. Grian’s hands shoot out to steady him, hovering inches away from him, “Be careful!” He snaps. Impulse stares at him, incredulous.

“Gri, I’m not gonna keel over–”

It’s only then that he gets a good look at Grian, and the words fall away.

He looks… Awful.

His feathers are singed, blood and soot all over his wings. His hair is a mess, and his beloved sweater is torn, the sleeves pulled up to his elbows. He’s bleeding sluggishly from a wound on his head, and his arms are covered in blood.

Impulse swallows. His blood.

“…Why?” He asks, his throat dry.

Grian looks down, his mouth pulled into a thin line. Impulse grits his teeth.

“Grian, why did you save me?”

Silence. It prickles at his skin.

“They killed the Wither,” Grian replies, his voice dull. “I just– I saw you fall, and I got–” His hands ball into fists, “I got…”

Grian’s expression twists. Crimson drips down his face.

Then he stands up, eyes still downcast. “C’mon,” He mumbles, holding out a hand. “They’ll find us if we stay here. We gotta go.”

Impulse takes his hand, heaving himself up with a grunt.

There’s cheering in the distance. Impulse doesn’t face him as he says, “Thanks, I… I owe you one.”

Grian just shakes his head, tired.

“Don’t mention it. Just be careful,” He mutters, “You’re all I’ve got left.”

[theminecraftbee]

Etho's head is still strangely fuzzy, filled with something like a combination of cotton and bloodlust and hunger. He's sitting in the middle of their base. Cleo is tearing down the dripstone, complaining the whole time that Etho hadn't even built it right. Grian is fretting over his magma cube, even though his task is done. They both keep checking the door, and also checking on Etho as they wait nervously to find out if the apocalypse that had happened that past session was going to actually wear off now that the task was done.

Etho sits in the middle. The bloodlust and hunger is swirling around, sure, but the thing he feels most is the cotton. The fuzzy not-quite-there feeling. Something fuzzy and strange and slow, like his thoughts are made of syrup and death and safety, and...

And it hits him all at once what has happened, when Cleo puts a hand on his shoulder, tells him that they'll keep him safe until it wears off. The bloodlust and hunger are far away, replaced with that blank sense of safety. He leans into the touch. "Thanks, Cleo. That was all pretty wild, huh?" he says.

He doesn't really hear the responses. He feels Cleo's cold, dead hands, and even though they really shouldn't, they feel soft.

It hits him all at once. He'd say he's not sure how it happened, but he knows. He may have a reputation as cold, a loner, a survivor, but what he really is--everything he loves goes up in smoke, is the thing. Dogwarts, Bdubs, Joel, TIES--all of them, up in smoke around him, flames licking at his feet. It's nice if he can pretend he doesn't care. It's nice to pretend he's cold. That it won't hurt him this time. That he won't watch the smoke and fall apart this time.

Someone who doesn't know him, they might even believe it.

Cleo walks over to say something to Grian and Etho holds them in his vision and--breathes. The cotton isn't wearing off, but looking at them, he doesn't feel hungry at all. And he'd say he doesn't know how it happened, but he does.

It's love, all over again.

He wonders how much it'll hurt this time when it's done, but right now, he feels blessedly safe again. Grian and Cleo get into an argument. He watches the red of Cleo's hair and decides he made an okay choice, this time, for the thing that's going to kill him in the end.

Her hair already looks like fire.

He rubs his head and leans back where he sits. He should keep his mouth shut while he's still half-zombie, so that he doesn't say anything stupid like that out loud. He's pretty sure Cleo wouldn't appreciate it. Or maybe she would. You can never know, with a zombie like that one. That's part of what makes her perfect.

[aliferous-ly]

A ghost haunted season 10. Certainly not a malicious one, if a bit mischievous - and one had to keep a careful eye out to catch him.

Jevin heard him first, deep underground. He was hunting iron, early in the season, and he was having the worst luck. He even looked up where iron should be, to make sure the updates hadn't changed anything! Alas, the iron evaded him. Jevin might have to resort to begging and then jump straight to a farm.

And he kept hearing these crackly, faint snickers. At first he thought he'd been on a voice channel accidentally, but, no, his comm wasn't connected. Then, just to make sure, he disconnected it entirely - but the laughter prevailed. Jevin chalked it up to too many sleepless nights, and went to find an overachieving hermit already building an iron farm.

Stress heard him next, but as someone who heard murmuring monsters on a good day, she didn't give it a second thought. Clear as day she heard an, "oh, bugger." She thought, you and me both, monster, before going along with her day.

Then it was Xisuma, though he didn't hear anyone, he saw. It was a mere glimmer out of the corner of his eye. White hair, stout, pickaxe slung lovingly over a shoulder. When he looked back there was nothing. He resolved to run diagnostics on his helmet, because something was clearly haywire.

And in Joel's defense, he was both exhausted and brand new to hermitcraft. It wasn't like people had nametags on, they were a group of friends! So when an old man grumbled by, lost as could be within the shopping district, Joel furrowed his brows but ultimately was too tired to ruminate. He overheard the man saying something about shroomlights and called out, "Tango has the permit, but he doesn't have a shop up yet!"

The man startled, muttered something about "permits?" before scuttling off like a spooked horse. Joel shrugged. It was called hermitcraft, after all. There had to be loads of people he hadn't met yet.

Small instances added up. Scar fell asleep making a tree, hidden amongst the branches, and was spooked awake by the sound of a player dying. But when he checked his comm, nothing showed up. A dream, he thought uneasily.

I just need sleep, Tango thought.

Wow, someone's wearing a sick costume, Skizz thought. Too bad I'm too busy to go chat right now!

Who's messing with my hourglass now? Doc thought. Only, there wasn't anyone else on the server at the time. Probably an armor stand prank.

It all came to head when Hypno stumbled across his fifth stripmine in one mining session. He rolled his eyes, because of course Wels had created tunnels beneath Hypno's place just to be a nuisance. Except when he pointed it out to Wels, who was on call with Hypno but was busy caving, Wels expressed confusion.

"I've only made one or two strip mines. And they're not near you," Wels said.

Hypno saw a wisp of white hair turning a corner. "Haha, very funny, Wels. Come on out."

"I'm not joking?" Wels said in confusion. In the same beat he got the achievement for sneaking successfully past a shrieker for the first time and Hypno was far too high up to be near an ancient city.

"Maybe it's someone else?" Hypno murmured, checking who was online. Grian and Joel, who were having their own shenanigans blowing up the comms (it involved TNT, so the blowing up was quite literal). Impulse had just left. Etho, who could be a contender if Hypno didn't know he'd fallen asleep at the post office three hours ago. Plus, what sort of prank would this be, from Etho?

He explored the endless strip mines and got so lost that he had to dig his way up. When he mentioned the strangeness to Keralis, the man lit up and exclaimed that he'd found the same thing, how weird was that, huh?

Hypno investigated. If there was a bug in the world he'd need to know.

"You know, it might not be a bug," Cleo said meaningfully. They fidgeted with a tear in their clothes.

"What else would it be?" Hypno asked, mystified.

"Maybe it's a player. You know. Someone we never removed from the whitelist."

Cleo raised an eyebrow. It wasn't in their nature to beat around the bush, but at the same time they didn't want to act crass. Not for this.

Tentative realization trickled through Hypno. He nodded and abruptly left, unsure how to feel.

The information spread slowly through the rest of the server. Joe took to leaving boxes of torches and iron pickaxes about, and every so often would have to refill them. He didn't ask, but everyone swore they hadn't been stealing. Who would need an iron pickaxe at this point, anyway?

One night, Cub let off a slew of fireworks that were spherical and solid green. He heard a faint chuckle on the breeze, and raised a drink in quiet salute.

So, yes. A ghost haunted season 10. But ghost haunting had such a negative connotation, didn't it? The hermits, if they spoke about him at all, much preferred to call him the True Hermit who never left.

[solargeist]

"What are you even doing here?" Grian grabbed Martyn's shoulder and dragged him to the side into an alley way.

"Don't worry. It's a rescue mission. We're here to rescue you!" Martyn let himself get yanked off the main square full of other Watchers. Grian was fully aware that there was no way the Watchers didn't already know that there was a Listener out and about in their streets.

"Rescue mission? We?"

"Yeah? Me and Jimmy mostly, but Pearl managed to get her hands on the uniform." Martyn says with pride, giving the outfit a little spin for a very stunned and disbelieving Grian. "Not sure about the holes in the back though. Seems like an odd design choice from such a conservative group."

"It's for your- our wings-" Pearl knew about Grian going to this Warcher conference. He had been formally invited to attend and even speak on some topics that he and the Watchers still agreed on. He was almost sure that this was Ather's idea. An olive branch of sorts.

Of course, Pearl would cause trouble about this.

Grian took a deep breath and raked his hands over his face as the Listener thought about his words. "Oh. Oh! That's what these are for then?"

To both his horror and amazement, Martyn leaned own and hiked up the skirt of his stolen uniform. There was a bag that was hidden by the long fabric. He undid the zipper and pulled out the cheapest wings Grian had ever seen. The elastic tool was caked in more glitter than there really had any deserving right to be on an article of clothing. Grian genuinely thought the rubber bands used to hold that thing to anyone's back would cause them to snap.

"Who gave that to you?" Grian really couldn't hide the almost horror from his voice.

"Jimmy said he had Heard Warchers have wings, right? I geuss he picked these ones out."

Grian wanted to rip his scalp off his head. "Of course."

"Don't worry." Martyn said again, trying to sooth as he put his bag away and attempted to put the wings on. "Like I said, I'm here to rescue you. We'll get you out of here in no time!"

"I am here of my own volition." Grian felt himself say distantly as he watched Martyn struggle to get the bottom of the shawl unbuttoned without taking the whole thing off. "I- Martyn that isn't going to work."

"Course it will!" He said cheekily. "Besides, I'm sure they won't even notice you gone. You don't have to pretend to want to be here."

Grian took a deep breath before stepping forward, undoing the back button that kept the shawl flat agaisnt a Watcher's back over their wings. He helped Martyn slip the restrictive cords over his arms before getting them situated back into the long sleeves.

"Okay, Look, I mean, look, Martyn. I can't leave just yet. I actually got somethings to do before we go."

"Do you have to?"

"Martyn, I was Invited here."

He pauses. "You were?"

Grian rolled his eyes. "For a Listener, you are very bad at paying attention."

"What do you expect me to do right now then?"

Grian stepped back and tried not to look at the glitter on the wings. "I geuss you walk beside me and we pretend I don't know you while I do all of the talking until we can both go home."

"Why are you here willingly on a Saturday?" Martyn asked, baffled.

Grian suppressed another eye roll. "I'll explain later, as of now... well, lunch starts in half an hour. I hope you can actually can pretend to be mute and only listen, er, Listen for now. Because if you cause any problems, I'm not gonna come back for you."

This was a lie and theh both knew it, but Martyn folded his arms and looked down at Grian. "Sure. Fine. Whatever."

"Good. Let's to. Keep your mouth shut, Martyn." The two stepped out of the alley, the taller 'Watcher' following behind the shorter.

-Lunar, who is typing this out on a new phone and is having a fucking nightmare of a time doing it

they are so ridiculouS

[ceratedfish24]

People REALLY liked my Scottho post, which I thought might get maybe 17 notes if even that, so, uh, here’s a dabble based on literally one line towards the end of Etho’s 5th episode of Wild Life.

—————

“Best Decision I’ve Ever Made” -Etho

The rain lashed against the cobblestone roof above Scott’s head. For the sake of privacy and as a defense mechanism against Impulse and Cleo’s snoring, Pearl and Scott had put up cherry wood walls between the four color coordinated beds in the small base. Scott had thought about putting a window by his bed, but he figured it was best to keep his enemies from being able to see into his base in a death game. The blankets were heavy, and Scott was lying on his stomach, completely limp. His cerulean eyes drooped. Grian’s games were fun, but they were also exhausting. If he was being honest, his favorite part came after the games, when he was curling up in his bed with his cat and sleeping for hours and hours after a whole pot of pasta.

There was a knock on the door.

Scott’s shoulders had just settled into the mattress, but he shoved himself up from the bed. His chest was heaving just from pulling himself onto his knees on his bed, and he took a moment to decompress from that effort alone. Nobody else was going to answer the door. Scott is nothing if not selfless. He puts his weight onto his left hand, feeling it sink into the sheets, and swings his legs over the edge of the bed.

The teal haired man stumbled his way to the door of his room and leaned against the frame, running his hands through his bed head. If he was going to answer the door in the middle of the night, he may as well look the best he can manage to represent his team. Scott’s feet dragged themselves to the front of their base, shoulders sagging. Impulse’s snores were faint, but they were audible. Scott pulled his head up to look through the small window in the door. A black eye and a red eye looked back at him. The blue haired man shot upright.

“Etho?” Scott swung the door open towards himself. The poor man’s white hair dripped and sagged over his headband, covering it completely. Etho’s eyes were as sunken in as Scott’s, and they were almost hidden in the dark of the night. Water rushed down his skin, dappled with sun and age. The torches covering the base were like a bonfire outlining Etho’s lean frame. Scott was starting to think he had overdone it with the mob spawn-proofing.

“I know this-” Etho couldn’t finish his sentence, before Scott was dragging him inside by his dripping vest. Scott was too tired to notice how Etho’s eyes dropped to look at his lips, momentarily confused as to the blue boy’s intentions.

“What are you doing out here?” Scott slammed the door shut behind them and practically threw himself into his team’s storage. He fished out the thickest wool blankets they had. Cleo had prepared them for the team during the early days of the game, before they had walls and a roof over their heads to keep out the wind. They didn’t need such heavy blankets now that they were in a safe little abode, but Scott was a hoarder. This was exactly why. He wrapped them securely around Etho’s shoulders, and his hands brushed Etho’s neck. The white haired man was ice cold, but he wasn’t shaking. Scott knew cold like nobody else. Etho should be freezing. His teeth should be chattering, and his nose should be running. Maybe Scott would never understand how Etho had managed to reach such a point in his life that such conditions were normal to him.

“Bdubs stole my bed,” Etho shrugged, hugging the blankets closer to him, digging his fingers into the fabric. “You have- uh. Thank you,” Scott would not have been surprised if Etho was about to admit that he hadn’t seen a blanket in weeks. “I know that I was the one who said that we- uh, that we would keep it, keep this alliance on the downlow, but…”

Scott blew on his hands several times and pressed them against Etho’s masked jaw. It was tense. That must be why his teeth weren’t chattering. Etho stared at Scott. The tension in his shoulders, even under the thick wool, visibly relaxed, and his head dropped into Scott’s palms, which felt like a fireplace on Etho’s face. The stiffened joints in Etho’s neck audibly cracked, and Scott could practically feel the knots in Etho’s shoulders and upper back unraveling.

“You don’t have to apologize for wanting to be warm,” Scott murmured. Thumbs rubbed Etho’s cheekbones, which seemed to jut from his face. The blue haired boy made a mental note to feed this lanky man.

Part of Scott wanted to pull Etho’s head into his neck and cradle his shoulders, letting the man put all his, admittedly very minimal for such a tall survivalist of a man, weight on him. He pulled away instead. Scott pulled a towel out from the chest monster and draped it over Etho’s head. A surprised little “oh!” squeaked out of Etho’s throat, as Scott dug his hands into the towel and mussed Etho’s soaked hair, doing his best to dry it. Trying his best to keep his head still, Etho squeezed his eyes closed, as Scott bunched the towel in his hands on Etho’s scalp. The redstoner’s hair was pretty short. Scott didn’t have to try too hard to get it dry enough.

“Uh, do you have an extra, an extra bed?” Etho shuffled in place and rolled his shoulders. Scott did not have an extra bed, nor did he have the resources to make one. The G’s had yet to move their livestock, so shearing sheep would require a fifteen minute run to and from the island far from the rest of the bases in the rain and darkness.

“Yeah. It’s in that room,” Scott handed Etho a water bottle and nodded to his own room, pulling the blanket off of Etho. “You go ahead. I should set up a hook in here to dry this.”

Reluctantly, Etho pulled his mask down. Scott turned away respectfully, but he could hear Etho drinking. He sounded like he hadn’t had fresh water in a year, before he made his way to the ‘spare’ room. He stood in the doorway for a moment and looked back at Scott. The dry man did his best to ignore it, pretending everything was normal. Scott wrung the water out of the blanket in his hands and draped it over his shoulder, opening the chests to look for the materials for a tripwire hook. Etho’s eyes softened, and he crossed his arms, leaning against the wall.

“This is your room,” Etho stated. Scott huffed and half-heartedly picked through a chest for string.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Scott tried.

“I’m tired, Scott. I’m not clueless. The whole room is blue,” Etho argued. Scott threw the blanket onto the chests.

“We don’t have a fifth bed,” Scott mumbled, defeated, and looked up at the taller man. Etho shrugged nonchalantly. He hadn’t pulled his wet mask up. His lips had a scar running through them. It looked like it might have been from the same attack that scarred over his eye. Scott ignored that he was looking at Etho’s lips.

“So I’ll sleep on the blanket.”

“Absolutely not.” The blue haired boy sped over to Etho and practically tossed him onto the teal sheets. Scott closed the bedroom door behind him. “You’re not a stray fighting for scraps on the street anymore, sir. You’re my teammate, and no less.”

Scott tugged the blankets from under Etho and tossed them onto his frozen form. The warmth from when Scott was still under the sheets not too long ago seeped into Etho’s muscles. The older man had little time to react before Scott climbed in next to him, wrapping his arms around Etho’s neck and tucking Etho’s damp head under his chin. Etho didn’t know what to do with his cold hands. It seemed rude to press them against Scott’s warm shoulder blades. Scott’s neck felt scorching against Etho’s frozen nose. He doesn’t know when he had begun to let his body shiver.

“...If you insist,” Etho whispered. Scott’s hands ran through his damp hair. They felt like a mug of hot chocolate after a day in the snow. He felt like he was melting. “This is, like, the best decision I’ve ever made, I think.”

—————

Thanks for reading my little drabble!!🩵

[handdrawnverathin]

Hi. So, uh... it's been a while. And after all this time, I think it's time to be honest with myself and admit that this animatic is probably never going to be finished. I started it when I'd only watched a couple POVs of Third Life and it really shows in the designs. Some of them aren't bad - I still like how I drew Tango - but enough of them have details wrong or just weird vibes that continuing to draw them is kinda dissatisfying. That being said, I put a lot of work into it and didn't want to let it just die without saying anything, so here's a collection of GIFs from the few scenes I managed to get edited.

For the record, I am still on the Hermitcraft/Life Series brainrot train and I have some drawings that I've been working on that I genuinely like. So hopefully those will be done soon! Just as soon as I finish that one project that I started eight years ago. But it's getting there! I swear!

Also: for anyone interested, I've included the original frame-by-frame plan below the cut

SONG: Willow Tree March, The Paper Kites

Intro

Feet swinging over sandstone cliff face (0:00 - 0:05)

Lower half of Grian’s face visible, whistling (0:05 - 0:12)

The cool bit

Fade to front face view of Grian, looking up slightly (0:12 - 0:16)

Real quick zoom out to all players standing in a row looking dramatic (0:16 - 0:28)

Title card fades in as overlay (0:20 - 0:28)

Player introductions

(0:28 - 0:30)

(0:30 - 0:32)

(0:32 - 0:34)

(0:34 - 0:36)

Peaceful times

Grian walking through a forest, early morning. First frame is a footstep, then a side view of him looking around (0:36 - 0:44)

Flower Husbands meeting, afternoon. First frame is Scott peaking into the hole from outside, then Jimmy looking up at him sheepishly (0:44 - 0:52)

Renchanting looking up at the sky, sunset. First frame is a hand raised to block the sun, then a rear-view shot of them from the waist up (0:52 - 1:00)

Phantom shelter, night. First frame is a wide view of the group either hiding or fending off phantoms, then a close up of a few of them laughing with each other(1:00 - 1:08)

FIRST DEATH

Wide shot of Scar burning the tree (1:08 - 1:12)

Close-up of Grian’s face as he looks to the side. Creeper visible in the reflection of his eyes. (1:12 - 1:16)

Scar doing some smooth talking. A wisp of smoke fades in behind him.(1:16 - 1:20)

Close up of Scar’s face turning around, eyes widening (1:20 - 1:22)

Yellow heart (1:22 - 1:26)

The promise

Wide shot of Monopoly Mountain, cut to close-up of Grian swearing loyalty with a hand over his heart (1:26 - 1:34)

Close-up of Grian’s face, mostly the eyes, looking a little unhappy with the whole situation (1:34 - 1:42)

Tensions rising

Skizz looks at an enderman: over-the-shoulder shot of him looking back, then a close up on his eyes widening (1:42 - 1:50)

Cleo threatening Pizza - animated? Initial/final poses plus two in-betweens (1:50 - 1:58)

Tango’s lava game: first a close up of his smiling face, then a wide shot with his arms outstretched in front of the challenge (1:58 - 2:06)

Scar threatening Ren for the enchanter: first an over-the-shoulder shot of Scar, then one of Ren (2:06 - 2:14)

Uh-oh

Wide shot of ceremony (2:14 - 2:18)

Ren, kneeling, waist down and cloak on (2:18 - 2:22)

Low-angle shot of Martyn looking very uncomfortable. Winces a bit, axe raised and…  (2:22 - 2:28)

Swings down. We get a flash of Ren's face, grinning, before fading out. The red eyes linger just a bit longer. (2:28 - 2:32)

O_o

Flower wall burns down (2:32 - 2:40)

Rear view wide shot in silhouette

Front view, sad and also a little horrified

Desert battle (2:40 - 2:48)

Profile view of Grian with a slightly manic smile on his face as explosions go off. The camera is pretty close to him, so we can’t actually see the explosions, but add in some effects and it’ll get the point across

Siege of Dogwarts (2:48 - 2:56)

Aerial attack using slowfall arrows

Ground combat feat. Joel and dogs

 Bdubs kills Impulse, Scar kills Bdubs (2:56 - 3:04)

Interlude

Scar (right) kneeling in the water before Grian (left). We can see Scar from about chest down and only the lower half of Grian’s legs (3:04 - 3:12)

Low-angle shot of Grian looking down at Scar holding a sword. We can see Scar’s head and maybe a bit of his back depending on camera angles. (3:12 - 3:20)

Fade to the Tree in a dark void, glowing as if by firelight. Very slow pan out. Fade to a wider view before the light is extinguished, leaving us in darkness.  (3:20 - 3:28)

Ghosties (dark gray background, white outlines)

Jimmy/Cleo/Skizz (3:28 - 3:32)

Joel/Scott/Etho (3:32 - 3:36)

Tango/Ren/Martyn (3:36 - 3:40)

Impulse/BigB/Bdubs (3:40 - 3:44)

They want blood (survivors haunted by ghosts)

Grian, with chestplate and sword, looking very much like he’d rather be anywhere else(3:44 - 3:48)

Scar, also not having a good time, sword and shield but no chestplate (3:48 - 3:52)

Facing each other, no weapons or armor. Scar of left, Grian on right (3:52 - 3:56)

Close up side view of Grian’s face: scared, then steeling himself (eyes closed) then shouting as he runs in (3:58 - 4:02)

The girls are fighting! ;A;

(4:02 - 4:10)

(4:10 - 4:18)

(4:18 - 4:26)

We have a winner

Full body behind shot of Grian standing at the edge of the cliff before falling (4:26 - 4:36)

[mochiwrites]

I’m here to see you put scarian in more situations:

8. “Who did this to you?”

Pwese <3

08. "Who did this to you?" (put that guy in a situation!)

reblogs do more than likes!

“Oh, songbird,” Scar’s voice shakes as he takes in the ragged appearance of the man in front of him. He’s wrapped up in bandages, dressed in clothes that don’t fit him (it’s not that they’re too big, they just don’t look right on him). Two fluffy appendages sit on his back that are certainly new, but what kills Scar is how upset Grian looks.

It’s been two years since he’s seen him, two years since Scar believed his husband to be dead.

But Grian is very much alive, and well… mostly well. He sits on a bed a little ways from Scar, somehow in Mumbo’s redstone world, and he is alive.

Scar can hardly believe it.

“Scar,” Grian croaks weakly, and it’s like life breathes into his body again. Scar’s world fills with color and vibrancy, and breathing in air has never felt so good.

The sound of his husband’s voice urges him forward, and he’s quick to sit with him, even quicker to pull him into his arms.

“Grian,” he breathes out quietly, a hand falling into his hair. Scar sets his cheek on Grian’s head, simply breathing him in. Grian grips him, wrapping his arms tight around him. “Grian,” Scar says again, letting the familiar syllables roll right off his tongue. His vision blurs as he crushes his husband to his chest, holding on like he’s going to disappear again.

“I’m here,” Grian says, hand rubbing Scar’s back as the taller begins to tremble. He presses his face further into his shoulder, “I’m here.”

Tears fill Scar’s vision, and he pulls back to take him all in again. He cradles Grian’s face in his hands, thumb ever so delicately brushing over a bandage on his cheek. He’ll have to thank Mumbo later for taking care of Grian. His lips form a wobbly smile as he moves to gently press his lips to the other’s cheek. “Well, I guess the bird like behavior really suits you now,” he weakly jokes, and preens when he sees Grian’s eyes light up with mirth.

Yet the look darkens seconds later as he tears his gaze away from Scar, breaking the man’s heart all over again. “Yeah,” Grian mutters.

“Oh, love.” Scar gently encourages his husband to meet his eyes, rewarding him with a kiss to his nose when he does. He sees the darkness swirling in the depth of Grian’s eyes, sees the way he’s just mere steps away from appearing to Scar as a husk, retreating behind his walls for safety.

The very thought that Grian has come back to him with such pain, with the need to guard himself, makes anger burst forth in his chest. It makes him so, so angry. It makes him furious, and protective, and he swears that he will make whoever caused such pain for the light of his life will not rest easy.

“I’m sorry,” Grian murmurs to him, leaning forward to embrace him again. He tucks his head under Scar’s chin, and Scar doesn’t hesitate to wrap him up in his arms. “I didn’t mean to disappear or lose contact but They—”

“It’s alright, G,” Scar soothes, carding his fingers through Grian’s hair, “you came back to me. That’s all that matters.” He’s spent every day of the last two years terrified out of his mind, but he’s here now, able to hold Grian in his arms once more.

He hears Grian’s breath hitch as his fingers dig into the back of Scar’s shirt. “….I lost the jumper you made me,” he quietly admits, and his voice is shaking. Scar holds him tighter. “They… They did so much…”

“Sh, sh, later, okay? We can talk about all of it later,” Scar tells him. He gives the other a light squeeze, dropping a kiss to his head. “But I… I need to ask, G,” he says nervously, still brushing through his hair. “Who did this to you?”

Who hurt you? Who took you from me for so long?

He tries to keep his voice even, tries to keep it still and free of the anger creating a tsunami in his chest. But some it still bleeds through, still echoes in his words as he holds his husband against him.

He feels Grian stiffen in his arms, but they both know this part of the conversation will be inevitable. They cannot run from it. Scar is owed a lot of answers at Grian’s pace, but he still needs to know this much.

Grian sucks in a rugged breath, and Scar can feel the way his eyelashes lightly tickle his neck as he shuts his eyes. “The Watchers,” he answers, and the tsunami crashes harshly. Roughly.

Scar presses another kiss to his hair, taking a measured breath. “Alright,” he says, “okay.” He breathes out with a soft tremble, burying his face in Grian’s hair. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes, “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there. But I’m here now, and I’m never letting you out of my sight again.”

Grian nods against him, murmuring an affirmation. He doesn’t let Scar go, instead choosing to cling to him like he might just disappear. Scar holds him just as closely, carrying the same fear.

He takes in Grian’s fear, his pain, his grief, and swears to make Them pay, whenever he gets the chance. He knows there’s a lot more to the story, but for now, Scar is content to hold Grian in his arms.

[mumblesplash]

more behind the scenes :D

so obviously my hgcz comic was a huge learning curve for me (i hadn't previously attempted a project this big EVER), and with this new and exciting experience came the opportunity to try something i'd never really done before: make actual character design refs!

i'm pretty happy with how they turned out, and more importantly they served several key purposes:

for one thing, both suits are specifically designed to make the character's poses as easy as possible to read--scar's leg braces especially don't allow for any visual misinterpretation of foreshortening or odd angles. the holster for grian's escrima sticks serves a similar function by giving a concrete sense of how his shoulders are positioned at a glance

also, crucially, they are both easy to draw. i was VERY aware that i was going to have to draw these guys dozens of times each, and i knew myself well enough to know i'd be adding in more than enough complexity with the posing and anatomy (and boy did i ever). i think i might have ended up with the least complex cuteguy design in the entire zine because of this, but in my defense he spends most of the comic pinned facedown on the floor. (this is also why i ended up simplifying his logo design in the final comic, if anyone was wondering)

more practical considerations included: hotguy's removable light-up vest, cuteguy wearing pants that could be rolled up so as to splint his broken leg, and his main weapon being escrima sticks so cleo had something to splint his leg with

i put arguably MORE effort into body language design (inasmuch as that's an actual thing, idk) but that's its own can of worms

of course, due to my nature the character design process deteriorated rapidly after i locked in my designs for hotguy and cuteguy. my design process for cleo was pretty much me drawing this sketch and going 'yeah that's what she looks like :)'

and my concept art for skizz was uh. this panel

i literally Just Drew Him. i was as surprised to discover what he looks like as you were.

looking back and comparing i can definitely see *some* benefits to designing character refs ahead of time, though to be more useful i think in the future i'd make sure the references include more closeup detail. or maybe i just refrain from things like putting an extremely distinct crack in a wraparound visor i have to draw over 100 times at every angle imaginable,,,

[immeasurablesaladagere]

A Wildcard is Active - Team Self-Sufficient

Series - A Wildcard is Active

-----

Words: 4973

Summery: By a stroke of bad luck, both Gem and Joel end up as children and are determined not to let anyone know. There are reds about, it’s not safe for them to be alone without an adult to protect them. When they run into trouble in a cave, they're forced to ask the Bamboozlers for help.

-----

On the first morning of the fourth session, Joel allowed himself to stay in bed just a bit longer and take in the snail-less peace and quiet. No more running about constantly looking over his shoulder for deadly flying mollusks, just a nice easy doze in the Charger, living the life.

Gem was already up and about, cooking breakfast by the smell of it. Somehow session three had been a breeze for her and now she was going around being all productive. Showoff. 

“Joel! Breakfast is ready!”

As much as he wanted to roll over and doze for another thirty minutes, the start of the session would wait for no man. They only had a short time before the next wildcard activated for the week and they needed to pound back as many calories as possible if they wanted to keep up with whatever craziness Grian had in store this time.

So out of bed and into their makeshift kitchen he went, rubbing the sleep crusties out of his eyes. “Quit yer yelling, what if I’d been sleepin’ still?”

“Then you needed to get up anyway. Wildcard rolls in an hour, up and ‘attem!” Gem said with the chipperness of someone who hadn’t spent the last week fearing for her life, and slid two plates of eggs, toast, and bacon onto the table.

“Yeah, yeah. Easy for you to say, you dirty snail-lover.”

“Hey! Who made you breakfast?”

“You’re right, you’re right, I’m sorry.” Joel shovelled a forkful of bacon into his mouth and groaned. “S’really good.”

Gem chuckled. “Well don’t make it weird! Maybe I shouldn’t be cooking for you.”

“No, please, I’ll be eating nothing but bread all season.” He whined. “Seriously, this is great, thanks Gem.”

��Well of course! We’re going to need the energy!” She finished her glass of milk in one go and got up to start putting her dishes away because holy moly, she ate fast. “What’s on the to-do list for today?”

There were about a million answers to that question, seeing as no one got anything done last week. Diamonds, finish the base, make traps, go to the nether; but of course what they’d like to do didn’t matter so much as what they could do once the wildcard hit. “Dunno. Some mining, maybe hit the nether if Grian hasn’t rigged it to explode or sumfing. I need redstone and gunpowder.”

“Ooo, yeah, the nether sounds good. I don’t know if they’ve found the fortress yet, so maybe there’s still some potion stuff left.” 

The moment the last piece of toast was in his mouth Gem was snatching his plate out from under him and dumping it in the sink.

“Oi!”

She stuck her tongue out at him. 

Well, might as well get started on the list. “If gonna try to finish the base while nofing’s going on, head’s up for falling deepslate in here!”

“If you get rock dust in my kitchen I’ll put you on yellow!” She called after him.

The base was coming along nicely, it just needed a few finishing touches. Trim here and there, polish the windows, sand off a few edges. He grabbed his tools from the starter base and climbed up onto the hood of the car. Maybe he could even finish before the session started.

-

“Joel! Wildcard!”

He could not. Joel sighed and set down his tools as the colourful ellipses appeared in his vision and Gem came outside. They had to be prepared for anything, and it was much safer to find out the gimmick together. They both braced for the worst. Floor is lava? Levitation? Permanent nighttime? More snails?

A Wildcard is Active.

The two of them did a hasty once-over of themselves. 

“Hearts and hunger are the same,” Gem reported.

“No effects, and you’re not dying right now so no floor-is-lava. Darn, I was hoping for that one.” He didn’t feel any different, and nothing around them seemed immediately strange. It was almost more unsetting that he couldn’t pinpoint the twist right away. 

“You were hoping I would die?”

“No, no, but you know what I mean. I was so sure that’d be one of them!” He patted himself down. “I don’t feel weird. Do I look weird?”

“More than normal? No.” She smirked.

“Wow, rude!”

He was about to accept that maybe Grian had miraculously decided to do something low-key this session. Maybe it was nether-based or mob-based and wouldn’t be nearly as big a deal as the murder snails and the hunger. Sure, it would put a mild spanner in the works but they would live. But then he felt it. His entire body suddenly felt… buzzy. Like pins and needles all over.

“Um, actually… Maybe I do feel a bit weird…” 

Gem shifted from foot to foot, rubbing a hand up and down her arms. “You feel it too? What is that?” Her eyes widened. “Oh my— Joel, you’re smoking!”

“I know that Gem, but I’m married so—“ Oh. Sure enough, his arms were giving off a faint purple mist, and now that he noticed it, so was Gem. “Woah, you’re smoking too! What on earth is this? Gah, I hate this feeling!”

In seconds the smoke went from tiny wisps to thick fog that surrounded him completely, and he could just barely make out Gem disappearing behind her own cloud as the smoke consumed him and everything went dark.

Then a moment later he was back again, lying face down on the car and tingly all over. He groaned. Was it weakness? Why did he feel like he was just tossed around by a ravager? He went to sit up and was rocked by a wave of dizziness. “Ugh, oh dear…” He mumbled, and then slowly his words caught up to his spinny brain. 

Something was wrong with his voice. It was higher, and weirder. 

“Joel!?” Came a squeaky cry from the ground, one that sounded eerily familiar. 

He shuffled forward to the edge of the base and oh, that was a long way down. Standing in a fun-size suit of armour and using a sword much too big for her to prop herself up was Gem. Tiny Gem. She looked no older than seven, maybe eight at the absolute most.

“Gem! What’s happened to you?” He called down, and yeah, his voice was definitely wrong. 

“Me? What about you? You’re teeny!”

He took a proper look at himself and his new tiny body, squishy arms, and stubby hands. Oh, this was terrible. 

“Are we all kids? Is that the twist!? That’s horrible!” How were they supposed to survive like this!?

Gem fumbled to pull out her spyglass and looked across the field to their neighbours. “No, not everyone! Tango’s still big over there, but Etho and Bdubs are little!”

“So only some of us? And we both get made into stupid toddlers? That’s not fair!” He pouted.

Their communicators were suddenly flooded with messages, mostly panicked gibberish from everyone who had been baby-fied and gushing from everyone who hadn’t. From the looks of it every group had at least one normal adult; between Scott, Cleo, Pearl, and Impulse there were three, except for them.

“This is bad, right?” Gem asked nervously, “There’s yellows and reds and if they know we don’t have someone protecting us… what if they kill us?” Joel hadn’t even thought of that. “Come down from there, we gotta find a place to hide!”

He went to climb down, but stopped when he saw the steep drop down the windshield to the ground. Suddenly his stomach was twisting into knots and he couldn’t bring himself to slide down. “Uh…”

“What’s wrong?” Gem asked with a look of growing worry, “Are you… scared?”

Joel’s ears burned. “N-no! Just, um…” So it was messing with their heads as well.

Gem seemed to understand, and careful to stay out of sight from their nosy neighbours, she crept around to the front of the car and built up a few blocks. When she got close enough, she held out her arms for him to slide into. “I’ll catch you.”

Absolutely not. He would rather die right then and there. “I don’t need your help!” 

Gem rolled her eyes. “Sure you don’t, now come on! Before someone sees us!” She hissed.

Without much of a choice, Joel took a deep breath and pushed himself down the hood of the car with a squeak and landed safely in Gem’s arms. Once he was safely back on solid ground, she immediately began to manhandle him.

“C’mon, c’mon!” She dragged him by the hand to their starter base and to his dismay, she was indeed much taller than he was, and she was able to pull him like he was a bundle of feathers. “Grab as much food and stuff as you can.” She said, and began rifling through their chests.

“Wha— okay, where’re we going?” The chests were so hugehe almost couldn’t reach into the bottom and he had to stand on his tip-toes to reach a pile of bread.

“We’re gonna hide underground. No one’s gonna wanna come look for us down there.” Gem said, like she’d thought the whole thing through already. She dropped a stack of torches and loose coal into her inventory.

“For all week? That’s a long time.” He pointed out.

“Yeah, I know, that’s why we’re getting all this stuff. We can come back up for food if we really gotta, but we can’t let anyone know that we’re both kids. That’d be super bad.”

Joel snickered. “You’re talkin’ funny.”

She scoffed, offended. “Am not! And don’t be mean to your elders!”

“You are not my elder! Look at you!”

“Uh-huh, and what does that make you? Look how small you are compared to me! You’re just a baby!” She teased, ruffling his hair.

“Oi, you—“

“—Gem? Joel? Are you here?”

They froze. Bdubs. And where there was Bdubs, there was Tango, and Tango was red. Gem hurried them to the wall and dug into it, boxing them in. They both held their breaths as multiple sets of feet walked around their base.

“Awe, they’re not here.” Bdubs.

“Do you think they’re kids, too?” Etho.

“Oh, I wanna see kid-Joel so bad! I bet he’d be real tiny.”

“C’mon Dubs, let’s go find the others.”

The footsteps walked away, and they both let out a sigh of relief.

“Let’s dig down.” Gem whispered. She lit a torch and the little box they were crammed in filled with light, which he liked a lot more than the dark. Joel tried his best to stay out of her way as she began to dig a tunnel down, and he was put on torch-duty, keeping it lit all the way down.

After what felt like forever, they finally hit a cave. It was really dark, which was both good and bad. Good because it meant no one had been there yet, and bad because Joel was very quickly learning his little kid brain didn’t like the dark very much.

“I don’t hear any monsters.” Gem said, peering into the hole, “Gimme the torches.” She took one more look around, then scooted down from their safe ledge into the cave. The torch in her hand lit up the walls around them just enough for him to see just how much further the cave went. It was already huge, but it seemed even huger because they were so small. The empty void made his stomach feel fluttery. He took out his sword and gripped it tight.

“Put the torches down, Gem! So the mobs don’t spawn!” He said urgently. Gem turned around and raised an eyebrow at him.

“You’re really jumpy, huh?” She smiled.

“I-I’m not! We just have to be careful. What— w-what if mobs do more damage ‘cause we’re tiny? Didjya ever think of that, Ms. Not— uh, Afraid?”

It was meant to be a jab but she just started giggling. “This is adorable. You look so pouty!” 

She was so busy laughing at his expense she didn’t notice the creeper emerging from the darkness and scuttling towards her.

“Gem, watch out!” 

She whirled around just in time to pull up her shield before the creeper blew up in her face and sent her staggering back into the wall. 

“Are you okay!?” He called, timidly crouching over the ledge. 

Gem chuckled nervously, brushing off some of the stone bits that got on her clothes and hair. “Yep, all good! Maybe the torches are a good idea…”

As Gem placed down torches he cautiously climbed down into the cave, keeping a sweaty hold on the handle of his shield. He hated just how blummin’ nervous he felt. He shouldn’t have cared if it was dark or if there might be monsters lurking around the corner, but suddenly the thought of leaving the light and Gem’s side was the worst thing ever. Stupid kid brain, stupid kid body. 

“Okay! We’re okay, we’re fine.” She chirped, “We’ve got torches, an’ our swords and shields, we’ll be fine.” It sounded like she was trying to tell herself that just as much as she was telling him, which strangely did make him feel better. At least we wasn’t the only scaredy-cat, even if Gem was better at hiding it than him. “Let’s go find some iron. We might even be deep enough to find diamonds!”

Right. Diamonds, iron, focus on that. “We’re gonna be so rich, Gem. All those silly fools up there are gonna be freakin’ out about being stupid babies and we’re gonna have full diamond!”

“There, that’s the spirit. Do you— um...” She offered her hand to him with a small smile. “You can be our shield, and I’ll protect us with the sword. How’s that sound?”

Joel scowled at her hand and reluctantly, to the death of his pride, took it. This was the worst day. He was going to have a talk with Grian when this was all over. The jerk was probably an adult as well, knowing him and the stupid universe. “Fine. But only for teamwork.”

“Teamwork.” Gem agreed, and they descended into the darkness.

-

“See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Gem asked, throwing a few more loose pieces of wood into their little campfire.

It wasn’t. Sure, the dark still wasn’t very nice and they hadn’t had much luck with diamonds, but their trek through the cave got them a lot of iron, nearly a stack between them. “I wasn’t worried. I knew we were gonna be fine the whole time.” 

“Uh-huh. And when you screamed like a girl ‘cause you saw a spider you were totally gonna take it down, right?”

He nodded, dumping as much raw iron as he could fit into the furnace. “Yep, you just got their first. Silly Gem, stealin’ my kills.”

Even though he’d been trying not to think about it, he appreciated what Gem was doing. Both of their minds were being affected by the wildcard, but it was embarrassingly obvious that he had it worse, probably because he seemed to be the ‘younger’ of the two of them. And all the while dealing with her own nervousness and keeping them safe, she was talking to him like a normal person and keeping him steady. The good-natured ribbing kept everything feeling light when the scary cave sounds started to get to him, and she wasn’t being overbearing or babying him. It was almost like session one again; a normal day, just ever so slightly shorter than two blocks tall.

“Here, pork chop’s ready.” Gem passed him a stick with a cut of cooked pork chop skewered on it. Even without any seasonings, it smelled delicious.

“Fanks, Gem.” He devoured the whole thing in a few large bites, much to Gem’s disgust. One of the few upsides to being so small was that they were going through much less food than usual, and one pork chop was all he needed to feel properly full again. 

“So,” He burped, “We’re really gonna stay down here all week?”

Gem nodded and started making something on the crafting table. “Thas’ the plan.”

“Aw, but that’s a bit boring, isn’t it? I wanna have some fun too…” He kicked a little stone away and the clacking echoed off the walls.

“Do you wanna have fun, or do you wanna stay alive?”

How could she be so tiny and still act like such a mum? “Stay alive, I guess.” He pouted.

She turned around and laid a thin wool sleeping bag on the floor with the tiniest pillow Joel had ever seen. “That’s what I thought. I’ll take first watch. I didn’t bring enough wool, so sorry it’s not very good...” 

There was no way he could be upset about the sleeping bag, not when she was making that face. If they were on the surface Joel was sure Gem could get them whatever they wanted just by giving someone puppy eyes. “No, no, it’s fine! It looks super comfy. In fact,” He crawled over to it and nestled inside to show her. Stones dug into his back. “See? I could fall asleep right now.” He made an exaggerated yawn.

Gem chuckled. “I ‘precicate it, but you don’t hav’ta lie. Your pudgy little face doesn’t hide anything.”

“Going to sleep now!” He yelled, turning over and pressing his face into the pillow. “Honk-shoo, honk-shoo, see? Sleeping.”

“Have a good sleep, Joel.”

-

“Joel, get up, get up, come on!”

Joel barely had time to remember where he was before he was on his feet and they were running. His half-asleep legs stumbled to catch up and Gem was half-dragging him, and between his bleary eyes and the unlit cave he could barely see where they were going.

“Gem, what on earth— what’s going on!? What are we runni—“ Two arrows whizzed past his head much too close for comfort, and that woke him up.

“There were so many, I—I couldn’t kill them all!” Gem exclaimed. They took a hard left at a fork and two more zombies joined the chase from the right. There were at least six mobs behind them, probably more. There was no time to pull out their shields, they’d surely be overwhelmed instantly, which meant they’d just have to find a place to hide.

“Gem this is bad, this is so bad!”

Gem cried out as an arrow lodged itself in her shoulder, and then another. “I-I know, I know, keep running!”

They rounded another corner and skidded to a halt. Dead end. Joel raised his shield to catch another arrow but the mobs were getting close fast. They were dead. 

He yelped as Gem grabbed him by the scruff and pushed him into a corner. “Ow! Gem, what—?” She began haphazardly surrounding him in cobblestone, and Joel’s stomach sank. “Wait, G-Gem, what are you— what are you doing?”

“I’m low, my shield’s almost gone,” She panted, and her splitting shield took another hit, this time from the zombie at the head of the pack gnawing viciously at the wood. “Stay in here, I’ll come back for you, okay?”

“Gem, no!” His heart was pounding. He could only see a sliver of Gem’s scared but resigned expression through the gap now. More zombies caught up, groaning and forcing her back. “Gem—!”

The last block slid into place and he was plunged into darkness just as the message rang out.

Geminitay was slain by a zombie

-

This wildcard is a nightmare.

Jimmy watched, exhausted, as Lizzie tried to coach Scar up a tree for the third time. While a good “parent” might have stopped it by now, falling out of a tree was about the safest thing they had been up to over the last twenty-four hours. If all he had to do was pass out snacks for regen every time Scar fell, that was fine by him.

He truly believed Grian’s games simply hated him personally. Why else would he be the only adult in his team? The yellow life, the canary, the one who attracted death, keeping two children safe. What was the universe thinking? And of course in all the nonsense he hardly had any time to think about how he was going to get his next kill. Lizzie had been trying to help, but most of her ideas ended up drifting in a fantastical or hypothetical Jimmy-is-suddenly-amazing-at-pvp scenario and hadn’t come to fruition. 

“Jimmy, look! I made it!” 

Sure enough, Scar had finally managed to clamber up next to Lizzie on the branch, smiling proudly down at him.

“Wow, look at that! Don’t fall please, I’m running out of bread!”

“I won’t, I’m being very careful.” Scar waved him off, then wobbled and caught himself. “See? Careful.”

“Mm-hm.”

Bzz-bzzt.

Oh? What’s gone on now? He pulled out his communicator.

Geminitay was slain by a zombie

<Smajor1995: ???>

<Grian: red/yellow kill??>

<BDoubleO100: gem’s baby I kno it>

Huh. Gem and Joel had been missing for the entire session so far, and for her to die to a zombie of all things, she must have been seriously caught off-guard. Or small, came the thought, but even then Joel probably would have been looking after her, what with his whole “family” bit. Was he seriously being a better parent than Joel right now? He smiled to himself. What an idea.

And so, continuing his streak of great parenting, he went back to supervising. 

“Wo-OAH!”

And down Scar went, taking Lizzie with him and hitting the ground with a thump. 

“Owwww, Scaaar! That hurt!” Lizzie whined.

“Sorry, sorry! I was tryin’a get higher!”

Jimmy just sighed and fished two more loaves of bread from his inventory. “Come on now, no arguing, just take your bread.”

Thankfully even though Lizzie and Scar had proven themselves to be quite the tiny squabblers so far, the snacks seemed to settle them enough to just sticking their tongues out at one another and throwing crumbs. It was in the middle of their picnic when he heard someone yelling his name, and he turned to see Gem running towards him. Sure enough, she was a kid maybe the same age as Lizzie, and she looked all out of sorts.

“Gem! Where’ve you been, eh? What’s going on?”

“Y-You gotta— you—“ She gasped, out of breath and stumbling over her words, “You— we need help!”

Jimmy raised an eyebrow. “What? Slow down, who’s ‘we’? You and Joel?”

Gem nodded quickly. “We— we were in a cave and I was s’posed to protect him b-but I couldn’t an’ there w-were so many mobs an’—!“

“Hey, hey, woah, easy.” He knelt down in front of her and put his hands on her small shoulders. This was still so weird. “Deep breaths, ready? In…” She took a harsh breath in. “Out.” She released it. “Now, tell me what’s happened.”

Gem swallowed hard and Jimmy swore he could see the faintest hint of tears forming in her eyes. “Me and Joel are b-both kids, a-and I said we should hide ‘cause we had no adult to protect us so we went into a cave. I-It was my idea an’ I was s’posed to keep him safe, b-but there were so many mobs and—and I di-died and now Joel’s trapped down there and it’s all my fault!” She blurted, and a few stray tears fell down her cheeks.

Oh boy. “Well, that is a lot, isn’t it?” He said stupidly, and then rushed to correct himself when Gem’s face scrunched up like she was about to start bawling, “B-But don’t worry, we’ll get this all sorted, yeah? Where is he? I’ll help you rescue him.”

“In a cave under our base. I gotta show you, w-we dug it ourselves.” She sniffled, collecting herself. Thank admins.

“Alright, well…” He looked over to Lizzie and Scar, who were watching with wide eyes. “Lizzie, I put you in charge. Go back home with Scar and play some board games or something until I get back. Or go play with the neighbours, whatever, just something safe, alright?”

Lizzie got a look of genuine seriousness about her and nodded, and the two of them ran off towards the mountain.

Jimmy offered his hand to Gem. “Alright, lead the way.”

-

The staircase down into their cave was a tight squeeze, but once they were in the mouth of the cave opened up considerably. For an undiscovered cave it was very large and, other than a few of Gem’s stray torches, very dark.

“Jimmyyy!” Gem urged, “Hurry, this way!”

“Right, right, hurrying!”

He heard the mobs before he saw them, and there were a lot. At least two skeletons, a handful of zombies, and a spider. No wonder they’d been overwhelmed, even he was going to need to be careful about this. He motioned for Gem to stay back and brought up his shield, steeling himself with a breath for courage. Why Gem came to him with this was beyond him, but there was no turning back now. Joel needed him. Heck, Gem needed him. He peered around the corner where the pack was clustered around a cobblestone box and noticed a single creeper mixed into the bunch. Bingo. 

“Hey, big stupid mobs! Come and get me!” He shouted, and the entire group turned to come towards him. The creeper scuttled faster, pushing its way to the front, exactly what he was hoping for. He hid behind his shield as they all clustered together and the creeper hissed to life.

BOOM

The only surviving skeleton was easy to cut down with his sword, and he let out a huff of relief as the bones clattered to the floor. He did it. Holy moly he did it.

“Joel!” Gem rushed past him to the cobblestone box.

He helped her break away the stone, and inside the box with not so much as a torch sat Joel, who was maybe even younger than Scar, curled in on himself and shaking like a cold strider. A tiny part of Jimmy, the tiniest, ugliest part, whispered in his ear how easy it would be to get a dark green kill right now. How simple.

No. Not like this.

“I-I don’ l-like this wildcard…” Joel whined, before bursting into tears.

“Oh Joel, buddy, it’s alright…” Jimmy tried to comfort. His hands hovered uncertainly. A quick glance at Gem told him she wasn’t doing much better and was just barely keeping it together. He needed to come up with something quickly. 

Without stopping to consider the possible awkward consequences, he did the first thing he could think of. He reached down and scooped Joel into his arms.

“Hey, shhh, you’re alright, you’re okay… shhh. Uncle Tim’s gotcha now, everything’s gonna be A-OK.” He hushed, letting every soothing phrase he could think of tumble out of his mouth like alphabet soup. He threw in a little gentle rocking, pet Joel’s hair, anything he could think of until finally the shaking and crying began to settle. The shoulder of his jacket was soaked through with snot and tears by the time Joel properly came back around, but that was fine. He would just have to dunk it in the river or something later.

Joel sniffled and sat up slightly, using one hand to scrub at his face while the other stayed firmly clutched in his shirt. “Ugh… sorry about that, Jim. This whole kid ‘fing sucks…”

“…Joel? Are you okay?” Gem mumbled, face flushed and eyes puffy.

Joel thought for a second, then nodded slowly. “Yeah. Just got a bit scary there, y’know? Stupid baby brain didn’ like the dark.”

“M’so sorry…” She warbled, sounding on the edge of tears again, and Jimmy had to put a stop to that right away.

“Nope, no more crying!” He announced, maybe a bit too loudly, “Everything’s alright now. You did the best you could, Gem. See? Joel’s still on six lives because of you.”

“But I—“

“No buts! You did a good job protecting Joel, and Joel was very brave for staying safe down here by himself. Can we all agree?”

“Haha, butts.” He heard Joel mutter against his shirt. Jimmy counted that as a win.

“Perfect. Now we’re all going to get out of this cave, and you two can spend the night with the Bamboozlers, how does that sound?”

“Like a sleepover?” Gem tilted her head like a puppy, and now that they weren’t in a crisis, man, these guys were cute. 

“Yeah, like a sleepover. C’mon now, I’ve got to get back to Lizzie and Scar before they destroy the server.” He went to set Joel down, only for him to cling tighter and wrap his legs around his torso like a koala. Jimmy was happy to keep carrying him; if he was being honest he expect Joel to start thrashing to be let go the moment he came back to himself, but if he still needed it then Jimmy certainly wasn’t going to judge. Plus, one day it was going to be an amazing story to hold over his head. Maybe not today, but someday.

“So,” Joel said, a cheeky smile on his face as they started up to the surface, “‘Uncle Tim’, huh?”

Jimmy wordlessly reached up and pushed Joel’s head back against his shoulder. “Hush.”