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roanofarcc · 3 months ago

Text

THE OLD FASHIONED WAY

pairing. trevor lefkowtiz x alive!reader

summary. You had always regarded your ability to see ghosts as odd, until you met Sam and her eclectic group of ghosts.

warnings. kind of/kind of not happy ending, ig? sad trevor :( angsty and a little flirty. reader gets stood up.

word count. 3.8K || masterlist

a/n. alive!reader HURTS but in the best way

trevor tag list. @marcos-scorpion , @youngdumbamericanteen

“I have one last, fun, interview question,” Sam said and you inwardly cringed. You had sat through so many job interviews that you knew a ‘fun’ question was normally anything but. Nevertheless, you smiled politely and nodded at her to continue asking. “What are your thoughts on ghosts?”

You laughed, against your will. It was a reflexive response that you immediately regretted. “Sorry!” you rushed out.

She didn’t seem put off by your laughing. “I know, it’s a ridiculous question. But the last guy that worked here…uh, this place may, potentially, be haunted. Not that I know, but there’s speculation. I just want to know how you feel about ghosts. Do you believe in them? Do you think it's all a bunch of mumbo-jumbo?” That was probably one of the oddest interview questions you’d ever been asked, but it was better than explaining how your weaknesses were really strengths. It also felt pointed.

You didn’t know Sam and she didn’t know you, but the question made it sound like she knew your weird talent. And for some reason, you didn’t feel the embarrassment you normally did when someone brought up the concept of ghosts. There was something about Sam that compelled you to tell the truth, even against your better judgment.

“Actually, that’s kind of a funny story-” you started, but were cut off.

“Samatha, when you are done, your assistance is needed in the television room. Someone believes it is his turn to watch another horrible film of space nonsense, but I distinctly recall it being my turn to watch those horrible women pick out whorish dresses for their weddings.” A woman appeared at the threshold of the entryway and the living room, dressed in a gown not from that century with her red locks pinned up in a curious updo. You were taken back, confused when your eyes fell on the man that stood beside her, dressed formally on top but lacking anything but socks and shoes on his bottom half.

“First of all, Star Wars is not ‘space nonsense’ it's one of the biggest movies, like, ever,” the man started. “And second of all, you just got to watch your pick two days ago.”

Sam cleared her throat, ignoring the two with a tight-lipped smile. You looked between the two, which seemed to confuse them. “I’m so sorry, will you excuse me for one second? I’ve got to take care of something really fast.”

“Yeah, of course. Take your time. I don’t mess around when it comes to Star Wars either,” you said.

The two people overlapped in with a ‘what?’ and an ‘excuse me?’ Sam stared at you wide-eyed, mouth slightly agape as she looked between the two figures behind her and you. “Hold on, can you see them?”

It took a moment for you to understand why that was odd, which was too long if you were being honest. Obviously, no one was walking around in a gown like that or pantsless for no reason. You weren’t looking at cooky guests, but rather ghosts. Did nowhere not have any spirits lingering? It seemed like every job you worked or applied to had ghosts haunting the building. Though, you supposed out of all of the places, it did make the most sense for the old mansion to be haunted.

But Sam wasn’t a ghost, but she seemed to be able to at least hear the ones in the threshold. “Can you see them?” you asked.

“Y-Yeah. I can.”

“Me too.” You have been able to see ghosts since you were little. As a child, most of your friends were the collection of ghosts that inhabited your childhood home. You thought you’d eventually outgrown it, but you never did. Now, nearly everywhere you ventured, you encountered dead people. It was interesting, a little obnoxious at times, and often made you feel like a freak of nature. But the woman in front of you could see them too; that was a first.

Sam sat speechless for a moment before she said, “You’re hired.”

You weren’t sure what to expect, working in the haunted mansion. In your lifetime, you’d encountered just about every kind of ghost, so you prepared yourself for anything when Sam introduced you. The Woodstone ghosts were an eclectic bunch, comprised of ghosts spanning nearly every decade. They were interesting, to say the least. But even if they had ended up being terrible, you were just happy to be around someone who shared your ability to see them.

Sam and Jay had set you up at the front desk, putting you in charge of checking in guests. And when it was slow, the Woodstone ghosts often found their way to you if Sam was busy.

One ghost in particular liked to hang around you, Trevor. He was the definition of an overgrown frat brother, with a lazy smirk and incessant flirtatious attitude. Every time he sauntered up to the front desk, calling your name, you made a habit of rolling your eyes.

“Good morning,” you greeted, tone flat as you clicked away on the computer.

Trevor leaned against the desk, his gaze burning into the side of your face. “How you doin’?” he said, and you sighed.

“Watching Friends again, I see?”

He blew air from his cheeks, deflating just slightly. “I’m a little rusty, okay?”

“Rusty? At what?”

“This,” he pointed between you and him. “Flirting.”

You laughed and shook your head. “Is that what’s happening?”

“Well, yeah. My flirting with Sam is useless because she and Jay are annoyingly sweet together. But you…” Trevor trailed on, a smirk on his lips and a certain cocky attitude wrapped up in his voice.

“I hate to burst your bubble, no-pants, but we’re not exactly… compatible.”

He raised his brows. “Because I’m dead?” You winced slightly. You didn’t want to be the one to say it; some ghosts were really sensitive to that, but Trevor didn’t seem too bothered. He shrugged like he saw it as no big deal. “I see that as a minor roadblock.”

As much as you wanted to roll your eyes once more and shut him down, you were impressed at his relentlessness.

You thought after a couple of weeks of working at Woodstone, Trevor’s ploy to win you over would fade alongside his attention. But he started to hang around you even more than when you first started, and you two had created a weird but kind of nice rapport of his continued flirting, peppered with more authentic conversations sprinkled in. He told you stories of his college days and the assholes he befriended before they ended up killing him in that every house. You told him about your own school days and how you were currently floating through the motions of young adulthood, trying to figure things out.

“Scoring a job here was nice,” you said, comfortably resting your elbows on the front desk as Trevor stood across from you, listening intently.

“Yeah,” he said. “Sam and Jay are pretty cool.” He paused, toying with the end of his tie. “So, you think you’ll stick around?”

A small smile fell across your lips. “I think so. Things are pretty interesting around here.”

“Well, if you ever want them to be more interesting, let me know.”

“Oh, yeah?” you asked, raising your brows.

“Oh yeah. I could rile up the basement ghosts, convince Thor minivans are enemy warships, you name it.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You are something else.”

“Careful,” he teased. “That almost sounded like a compliment.”

“It was supposed to,” you replied, not missing a beat.

Trevor’s eyes widened just slightly, the smirk wiped right off his face and was replaced by something that resembled confusion with a slight fluster. Clearing his throat, he managed to say, “Oh.” You didn’t know ghosts could blush until that moment, even with their lack of blood, because Trevor’s cheeks tinted a light shade of pink as he made up some excuse to leave, mumbling something about helping Sass before he hurried away.

You chuckled, resuming your work as another guest popped in.

To say your dating life was pathetic would be a polite understatement. It was almost nonexistent, which is why when an attractive-looking person popped up on the dating app you forced yourself to get, you got your hopes up a little too high. Sam had encouraged you to go out on a date with them, excitingly helping you get ready and everything.

You had been excited, believing it was a fresh start for you. First a new job and then a new romantic interest. Unfortunately, after waiting at the restaurant, alone, for a solid hour, you realized your dating life had quickly circled back around to being pathetic. Embarrassment didn’t quite cover how you felt as you left the restaurant and headed back home to wallow.

The following day at work, the second you stepped inside the mansion, Sam was there with an excited energy, ready to hear all about your date. She grabbed your hand and dragged you into the kitchen before you could protest. She had made tea and had left off sweets Jay had made for the guests yesterday. The other ghosts lounged around the kitchen too, and you felt even more embarrassed to talk about your total bust of a date around all of them.

But you slouched down in the one empty seat and let Sam push a mug of tea in front of you.

“Tell me everything!” she insisted.

You smiled politely but it didn’t stay on your face long before it morphed into a frown. “There’s not much to tell,” you sighed. “They stood me up.”

“Wait, seriously?” Trevor said, seated beside you, brows furrowed.

“No call, no apology, nothing. I sat there for an hour, like an idiot.” You rubbed your forehead, a scratchy feeling in your throat. There was no way you were going to cry in front of your boss and the ghosts. You tried to swallow down your emotions as you stared at the steam curling up from your tea.

Sam’s frown deepened. “I’m so sorry.”

“That is why you should meet suitors the old-fashioned way; not on the web,” Hetty said.

“People meet online all of the time,” Sam said. “Bad dates happen, but you’ll find someone.”

“At this rate, I’ll die alone,” you muttered before realizing your audience. “Sorry.”

“Dying alone not so bad,” Thor said, in his own odd way to cheer you up. “Die here!”

“Thor,” Sam sighed but you laughed lightly. “I’d prefer no one else to die in the house.”

The Viking shrugged. “Just suggestion.”

You picked at your fingernails, the same pit that’s been in your stomach since your ruined dinner last night turned.

Someone called from the entryway, the newest guest at the mansion. You moved to stand, but Sam waved you off. “I got it. You stay here, finish your tea.” You started to object, but she left before you could. With a huff, you sank back down in the chair.

“You’re young, you got plenty of time. If I learned anything from being alive, dating in your twenties is usually a, what’s that phrase Jay uses?”

Flower piped up, “A shit-show!”

Alberta nodded. “Yeah, a shit-show. Brush it off and get back out there, while you’re still young and hot.”

You smiled. “I’ll try. But you might be right, Hetty.” Maybe dating apps weren’t the way you were going to find someone. Old-fashioned dating sounded a little bit like a nightmare, but you figured it’d pay off more than mindless swiping through apps until another asshole stands you up.

“I normally am,” Hetty said.

The ghosts dispersed, going about their day-to-day while you lingered in the kitchen. Trevor stayed with you, quietly drumming his fingers against his bare knees. “At least you didn’t get catfished by a dead dude.”

“Excuse me?”

“I did that once,” he said. “Catfished Jay’s sister, actually. I didn’t know she was Jay’s sister at first, obviously. But, uh, yeah. It was a whole mess. I tried to possess her friend’s body, but he ended up almost dying, so it was a total bust. Then Sam started putting the iPad in the drawer.”

You laughed, that pit in your stomach easing just a little. “That’s insane,” you said. “A ghost on a dating app. For all know that’s why my date stood me up.” That sounded a little better than them just not being interested in meeting up with you in person. “But I doubt it.”

Trevor shrugged. “It’s possible.”

“I think it might just be me. I’ve never been great at the whole ‘dating’ thing.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Trevor said. “Looking like that, I’m surprised you don’t have every weekend booked.”

You shook your head, a little flattered and a little exasperated. “Definitely not. But by the sounds of it, you did.”

He smirked, throwing his hands up in a ‘what can I say’ gesture. “I got around, if that’s what you’re implying.”

It was odd, being around ghosts. To you, it never felt super different than hanging around livings. Besides the ability to touch them, the ghosts were every bit as real as Sam and Jay. You had started to forget that the Woodstone ghosts were just that, until they did something that knocked you back to reality. Trevor, being the most recent death, made it even harder to tell the difference. You could almost convince yourself he was living.

“Did you ever have a serious relationship before you died?” you asked, curious.

Trevor thought for a moment before he shook his head. “Nah. I was having too much fun being a bachelor and screwing around with my buddies to care about anything serious.” He paused, his smug attitude slipping away a little. “I didn’t know I was gonna end up dying before I could, though. I guess I would have liked to.”

“You guess?”

He looked a little zoned out, staring at something across the kitchen with his brows slightly knitted together. “I don’t know, I didn’t think much about it until I died.”

Sympathy fell hard against your shoulders, and you itched to reach out to Trevor and offer some kind of comfort but you couldn’t. Instead, you said, “I’m sorry.”

He tried to brush it off, regaining his normal composure but it didn’t shine in his eyes like it usually did. “It’s whatever. I don’t ever have to worry about going on a first date again, which is nice; those were always awful. And getting your heart broken probably sucks, so at least I’ll miss out on that.”

“You never had your heart broken?” you asked, impressed. Even though you’ve never had a super-serious relationship, you had a tendency to fall for your crushes hard, which usually resulted in a broken heart.

“Nope.”

“That’s pretty lucky,” you said. If you could go the rest of your life without a broken heart, you thought that’d be nice.

“It’s an interesting choice for a bachelor party, don’t you think?” Alberta said, but you had to ignore her because of the group of men you were checking in. You did agree though. The B&B was perfect for weddings and romantic weekend getaways. It was the kind of place you brought a family or your parents, not a bachelor party. But the men didn’t look like the kind to get too rowdy. The groom, in your small talk, had said they were just looking for a quiet weekend to unwind before the wedding chaos. They wanted to play video games and board games, drink whiskey, and catch whatever game was on TV. It was rather sweet, you thought.

“You’re all set. Is there anything else I can do for you?” The groom said no before thanking you and leading his small group of friends up the stairs. They weren’t up there for long though. After they carried in their bags and settled in, the group was back in the entryway, waiting for a car to take them into town, where they planned to bar-hop for the evening.

One of the groomsmen found himself at the front counter, handsome and smiley as he met your gaze.

“Do you have any bar recommendations? So far, our ‘bar-crawl’ only consists of two bars,” the groomsman asked.

You hummed in thought before replying, “The Black Dog is nice. It’s right on Main Street, if you’re heading downtown.”

“Do you hang out there often?”

“Sometimes.”

“So it has pretty company then, huh?” Your eyes widened and a flustered laugh fell from your lips.

From a couple of feet away, some of the ghosts had gathered to observe the new guests. A loud scoff sounded from Trevor before he said, “Seriously?”

You ignored him in favor of not looking crazy in front of the guests. “Oh, uh, no-”

“Oh, come on,” the groomsman said. “I’d say you’re pretty, really pretty, actually.”

Your face felt hot, and you tried to focus on the man in front of you, but the ghosts refused to stop talking.

“Get a load of this guy,” Trevor huffed.

“He’s got game, I’ll give him that,” Alberta said, to which Trevor scoffed once more. “What? Look at him.”

“Thank you,” you said.

The groomsman tilted his head to the side, pausing for a beat before he said, “Would it be too much to ask when you get off work?”

“A little.”

He held his hands up and chuckled. “Fair enough.”

“This can’t seriously be working on you?” Trevor said. “Look at this guy! He’s got khakis and a polo on!”

“At least he is wearing pants,” said Hetty.

“Unbelievable.” Trevor got closer to the counter, much to your disdain. It was hard enough trying to look sane in front of the guests when the ghosts were talking to each other, let alone you. “You’re clearly out of his league-”

“Enough!” you said, raising your voice regrettably so.

The groomsman looked at you oddly. “Whoa, sorry I-”

“No!” you quickly cut him off. “Not you! I was, um, I-”

“Dude, let’s go! The car’s here!” the groom shouted from the front door, beckoning the groomsman over.

He shot you one last smile, dipping his head in goodbye as he followed his friends out of the mansion. The door closed loudly behind them before the house was drenched in cold silence. The ghosts all stood quietly as you glared. “How many times have you asked you guys not to talk to me when I’m helping guests?”

“I don’t know if that counted as helping-” Sass started but shut his mouth when you shifted your glare onto him.

You mumbled under your breath before you left the front counter and bee-lined for the kitchen. Sam and Jay were out for the evening, leaving the mansion in your hands.

You only got a singular second to yourself before Trevor appeared in the room with you. Rubbing your fingers against your forehead, you asked him. “What was that?”

He pressed his lips into a thin line for a moment before he shrugged and said, “He was flirting with you, clearly, and was out of your league like I said.”

You stared at him, the way he fiddled with his tie and avoided your eyes. Then it hit you. “Are you jealous?”

He blinked. “W-What? No…” By the way, his voice trailed off, you felt a terrible knot tangle in your stomach.

“Trevor…”

“Don’t,” he quickly said, shaking his head. “Don’t do that. I don’t…I don’t need that,” he gestured to the very clear glaze of pity in your eyes, but you couldn’t help it. You felt bad, really, terribly bad.

A heavy breath slipped from your lips as you walked toward him, placing yourself right in front of him. His lips tugged downward in a still sadness that made your heart ache. “I’m really sorry.”

Trevor sighed, “Don’t be. It’s…ugh.” He pressed his hands against his eyes, laughing bitterly at himself. “I’m dead,” he said. “You’re not.”

“Yeah,” you breathed out, unsure of what else to say. Maybe if you had met him in a different life, one where you both were either alive or dead, you’d take his flirting more to heart. But that wasn’t your current situation. You existed in different realms, untouchable but on each other’s paths. You’d never described your ability as cruel until that moment.

“And I’m an idiot,” he added.

“No, you’re not. If things were different…” Even saying the words aloud, they felt bitter on your tongue, doing more harm than good. You could tell by the wince that twitched in Trevor’s face.

He smiled sadly, recovering from just the implication of your unfinished sentence. “But they’re not.” He let out a breathy sigh before he nodded his head toward the kitchen door. “I’m gonna go,” he said, slipping away before you could say anything else.

The next couple of days passed uncomfortably inside the mansion. Trevor barely showed his face, and you felt worse and worse by the hour. Hetty and Issac kept you company at the front desk, making light conversation between their reassurance that Trevor would be okay. But your guilt weighed on you. You didn’t know how to make it better; you feared you wouldn’t be able to.

But things came to a turn on the last day the bachelor party was there. The handsome groomsman had left his number on a slip of paper that you crumbled and shoved in your pocket, heavy on your side. You watched as they pulled out of the driveway and when you were alone, you unrolled the paper with his number, staring at it so intently you missed a presence appear beside you.

“You should call him.” Trevor’s voice started you. You yelped and clutched your heart, which brought a small smile to his lips.

“What?”

He sighed, shifting in his shoes and looking a little unsure of himself. “That’s his number, right?” You nodded. “You should call him.”

“Oh, no-”

Trevor cut you off. “Why not?” Because you felt bad, but you didn’t need to say that for Trevor to understand. “Don’t not call him because of me. Seriously, I…I lied when I said I’ve never had my heart broken.”

You peered at him, confused. “Why?”

“Because it sounded a little pathetic to say I crush hard. I liked my recess teacher so much that I cried like a baby when I had to move to fourth grade. In high school, my girlfriend of two weeks broke up with me because she was moving schools and I faked sick for three days because I was so, embarrassingly heartbroken. It’s just how I am,” he admitted, much to your surprise. “But I’ll get over it. It’s like not it would have worked out with me being dead and all. It was stupid.”

“It wasn’t stupid,” you said. “And you’re not pathetic. It’s sweet, actually. Really sweet.”

Trevor shrugged. “I’m glad someone thinks so.” He pointed a finger at the paper in your hands. “Call him, okay? You deserve a good date, the old-fashioned way.”

And so you did, the old-fashioned way.

#trevor lefkowitz #trevor lefkowitz x reader #trevor lefkowitz x you #cbs ghosts #cbs ghosts fanfiction #sam arondekar #jay arondekar #hetty woodstone #sasappis #issac higgintoot #thorfinn

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jellieland · 2 years ago

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A week or two after the games, Grian will usually check in with the victor.

It's a habit that's probably more for his own benefit than anyone else's. But it is, he thinks, a good habit nonetheless.

After all, as fun as it all is, things can get a bit... intense, towards the end, and it's good for his peace of mind to make sure the last one standing is ok with how things shook out.

Nothing much has ever really come of it before; they're all pretty resilient. He doubts this time’ll be different. Except- well.

Something about it all itches at the back of his mind, and he hasn’t been able to work out why. There was the actual ending, of course, but also Grian may have been whispering in Martyn's ear about how boring that final showdown was turning out to be, and how narratively satisfying it would be if he just betrayed the other two and got it over with, so.

If nothing else, it feels like he's got no reason to break with tradition.

There's just one more concern.

Martyn seems to have made it almost impossible to contact him.

It's not... unheard of, for players to keep to themselves most of the time, especially when it comes to those they don’t share a server with. It seems a little uncharacteristic of Martyn, but the last time Grian saw him outside the games was before they even started, so maybe he does things differently these days.

There are certainly a great many reasons why that could be the case, most of which are perfectly sensible.

But Grian's never been able to resist picking at a puzzle put in front of him, whether the puzzle likes it or not, so he is going to talk to Martyn. And he can just see what happens, and worry about any consequences if and when they appear.

Luckily, he already has a way to do just that.

He doesn't usually need to do this - although it is very funny to startle Scar or Mumbo with it sometimes when they're concentrating. Honestly it's usually less effective than communicators, with how much effort it takes.

But he does have a way. The same way he used to whisper in Martyn's ear very recently, in fact.

He reaches out, away from his home, away from his body, and it feels a little like simultaneously overextending himself, and putting his foot down on a step he thought was flat ground.

That is... not how this usually feels.

It's odd. Rather unnerving.

But it works.

He finds Martyn. Watches the vague shape of him solidify into something more real.

He’s still wearing his red life outfit, for some reason. His eyes are closed. Around his head, the coral curls like a blood-red crown.

“What do you think you're playing at?” Asks Grian.

Martyn blinks his eyes open slowly, looking less confused than Grian would expect for someone hearing a disembodied voice out of nowhere. “Oh good.” He says dryly. “You again.”

He squawks indignantly. “Hey, what's that supposed to mean?”

There is silence for a few seconds.

“...Hey.” Martyn says, and as flippant as he suddenly sounds, he looks as thrown off balance as Grian feels. “Not sure who this is, but I think you might have the wrong number!”

“I think that's unlikely.” He deadpans. “Where are you? I haven't been able to get hold of you.”

“Uh-” There's a short pause as he looks around at wherever he is right now. “Falling into endless nothingness, looks like. Same old, same old, am I right?”

Grian rolls his eyes. “Yeah, ok. Well, I suppose you don't have to tell me.” A part of him makes a note of Martyn’s wording, though. Just in case.

“...Hm. Well, not gonna lie, I do appreciate the change of pace, but I would love to know what exactly you want from me. You know, just on the off chance that you feel like giving me any clues.”

It's at this point that Grian remembers: one of the main reasons this method of communication is good for messing with people is that it makes him sound, um. A little different. And while he can see Martyn, it’s not as if Martyn can see him.

...Best to just pretend that hadn't slipped his mind.

“You do realize this is Grian, right?” He asks, as though it ought to be obvious.

“Riiight, yeah, sure.” Says Martyn. “And I'm also Grian, did you know that?”

“Oh for- what, do you want me to tell you some secret only the two of us would know, or something?”

“Nah.” Says Martyn. “That wouldn't work.”

“Elaborate.” Says Grian, through gritted teeth.

“You know what? I don't think I will!” Replies Martyn brightly.

Grian takes a deep breath in through his nose. “I'm beginning to wonder why I bother.” He grinds out.

Martyn snorts. “Tell me about it.”

There's a short silence.

“But- ok.” He continues. “Just suppose for the sake of argument that you are Grian.”

“...Yes?” Asks Grian warily.

“I have a question for you.”

“...Yeeees?” Asks Grian, even more warily.

The silence stretches for several long moments.

“What's up?” Asks Martyn.

“Yeah ok, this isn’t worth it, I'm leaving now.”

“Wait! No, I'm serious!” Under the amusement, there's a note of something that sounds almost like nervousness in his voice. It's uncharacteristic. Unnerving.

“What are you talking about?” Asks Grian, trying very hard to keep his voice at least mostly free of annoyance.

“Oh, you know! What's going on, what's the deal, what'd you want to talk to me for?” There's a slight hesitation. “You need help or something?”

“I- ok. That's actually sort of relevant. It's really nothing too complicated, Martyn.” He says, grumpily. “All I wanted to do was make sure you're good with what happened at the end of the last game.”

Martyn blinks, and goes very still.

There is a long silence - long enough that Grian starts to feel concerned.

And then Martyn laughs.

It's not a nice laugh.

“Good, huh. You want to know if I’m good with it. That sure is an interesting choice of words.”

“...How so?” He asks, guardedly.

“Grian. Grian, I’m not sure if you remember this, but I won. I won this one, Grian.” Every word he says, however restrained, sounds like it’s had to claw its way out of him. He glares at nothing. “And guess what? It's just like the others. I don’t really care enough for any of it to matter to me, anymore, and that's fine by me.”

Now that's... a lot to unpack. “You- I'm sorry?”

“Well that makes one of us then, doesn't it?” His voice is coated with scorn.

“What are you talking about?”

“Do you actually think I’m going to explain myself to you?” He asks, looking half-amused. “You, of all people?”

“Well unfortunately, Martyn, I can’t exactly put Ren on the line, so I’m afraid I’m all you’re going to get.” He snaps, and instantly regrets it when he sees the look in Martyn’s eyes.

There is a short silence.

Grian shifts uncomfortably. He’s not going to apologize, obviously. But. Well. “That... ok, maybe that was a bit much.” He says.

“...Little bit, yeah.”

There is another silence.

After a while, Martyn speaks.

“I would’ve betrayed him too, you know.” He says coolly.

“What, Ren?”

“Yeah. At the drop of a hat. Soon as it was convenient.”

“I mean sure, I suppose?” Says Grian, caught off guard. “You didn’t, though. Did you? When you had the chance.”

“Eh.” He shrugs, as though that’s an irrelevant detail. “It would’ve been more dramatic later. You know how it is.”

...There's no real way he can justify saying no to that, is there? “Yeah.” He says. “I guess I do.”

He tries to picture the King, betrayed. The Hand, triumphant.

“I dunno, though.” He says, thoughtful. “I don’t think you ever could’ve done it, to be honest. Not in the first one. Whatever it was you were planning, it was just never how that story was going to go.”

“That’s not true.” He says it just slightly too fast. “I know that’s not true.”

Grian scoffs. “You know thinking about something isn’t the same as doing it, right?”

“What, no, really?” He rolls his eyes. “You don’t say!”

“What I’m saying,” He lets his voice turn biting, “Is that you’re being stupid.”

Martyn lets out a startled laugh. It’s surprisingly genuine. “Wow. You’re really bad at this, dude.”

Grian bristles. “Well why am I the one who has to do it then? Why don’t you talk to someone else, if you hate talking to me so much?”

“I mean…” He makes an unconvinced noise. “Obvious problems aside, when do you even expect me to do that? We usually have other things to worry about.”

“I don’t know, maybe at literally any point between the games?” He sighs exasperatedly. “There’s no way you’re that busy.”

“Between the games?” Martyn asks incredulously, and Grian suddenly feels as though something dangerous is hovering over their heads, just about to drop. “What do you mean, between the games?”

“I mean between the games! Like- now! What do you think this is, right now, if it’s not between the games?” He snaps.

“This right now?” He looks nonplussed. “I think we’re usually asleep for most of this bit. Or possibly we forget about it. As you can probably imagine, it’s hard to know for sure.”

“Now I know that’s not true.” He says firmly, ignoring the unease trying to creep up on him. “I know I do stuff between games, and I know I don’t just forget about it. That makes no sense.”

“I mean, I don't necessarily mean everything between the games, more just this specifically.” He gestures around at nothing. “That gets more complicated, though. But you- hm.” He looks curious. “That’s interesting. Where even are you, then, at the moment?”

“I’m at home! Which is where I thought everyone else was too!”

Martyn seems to consider this for a few moments, and then he frowns, and then his expression goes blank. “…Oh.” He says. “Yeah. No, that… makes sense, actually. Yeah. You’re probably right.”

“Wha- what do you mean? Right about what?”

“Everyone probably went home. Or, at least, they thought they did. And hey, what’s the difference, when you get right down to it?”

“...Ok, I’m going to ignore the second part for now, I already got past that little existential crisis after Ren and Doc’s whole… thing… in season eight- if you think everyone went home, why are you- what was it you said- ‘falling into endless nothingness’?”

There’s another pause.

“...You’re really gonna make me say it, huh? That seems cruel, even for you.”

“Wait, no, what do you-”

“Where else do you think I would go?” It sounds less like an admission and more like an accusation. “What ‘home’ do you think I have left, Grian?”

“Look.” Snaps Grian, feeling vaguely tricked. “It’s not my fault that you-”

“Yeah, it never is, is it?” He glares into the darkness. “It’s always a tragic inevitability with you, never a choice you’re making. That way you get to stab people in the back and pretend to be sad about it. Best of both worlds, huh?”

Grian splutters for a few seconds. “Why are you being so rude to me??”

“Because you’re you and I’m me.” He smirks. “Don’t know what you expected, honestly.”

“Oh yeah? Who’s hiding behind inevitability now?” Grian retorts, perhaps a trifle vindictively.

“I never said I wasn’t a hypocrite, sometimes. Also, I never said I felt bad about it.” He replies levelly, and all at once, they’re talking about something else.

“You didn’t need to say it.” Snaps Grian. “You might be good at lying but you’re not perfect. I could see in your face that it hurt.”

He narrows his eyes. “It felt good, actually.”

“Wow, good for you.” He says, almost amused suddenly. “You didn’t say I was wrong, though.”

His expression twists into something unreadable. “I know you, Grian. Like recognizes like.” He says, voice low and dangerous. “You’re a liar.”

Grian shrugs, despite the fact that Martyn will not see it. “And you’re a coward. Your point?”

“I don’t need to justify myself to someone who refuses to admit that he could have chosen to be better, if he’d ever wanted to.” He spits out.

“Hey, at least I don’t try and convince myself I’m a monster just because I want to survive.”

That one strikes something tender; he can tell. “Right, yeah, and you’re just a blameless angel and everyone you cut down had it coming, I’m sure.”

“I didn’t say that. But since you bring it up… how many people did you give up your time for, again?” He grins. “Is it less than one? Because I think it is. I think I’ve got you beat there, Martyn.”

“And where did it get you?” He snarls.

“Home, in the end.”

Martyn flinches back as though he’s been struck.

“Did you forget about that part?” Asks Grian.

There’s a long pause.

Martyn fidgets with the end of the banner he wears around his waist, pulling at where the white threads are coming undone. He stares out into the darkness. “Yeah.” He says. “I guess I did.”

The satisfaction of winning the argument feels less potent, suddenly.

“You’re right.” Says Grian, after a while. “I’m really bad at this.”

Martyn laughs quietly. “To be fair, I’m not exactly helping.”

“You’re really not.”

He sighs. “You know pulling the knife out just makes the wound start bleeding again, don’t you? That’s all we’re doing here. That’s all we’re going to do to each other. We’re too alike to do anything else, unless we just don’t do anything. And hey, we’re not great at that either.”

“Hmm.” Says Grian begrudgingly. “I’d say something about inevitability again, but I honestly don’t think you’re wrong.”

“We both just enjoy pushing buttons too much to be particularly good at not pushing them, I guess.” Martyn sounds half-amused, half-resigned.

Grian makes an irritated noise. “Yes, alright, I don’t need another reminder of the whole button debacle.”

There is more silence.

After a while, Grian speaks again. “There’s something I was wondering about, actually.”

“Oh yeah?” Martyn raises an eyebrow.

“What’s the reason?” He asks.

“You’re gonna have to be more specific with that one, mate.”

“‘This is a death match for a reason.’” He says matter-of-factly. “That’s what you said. So- what is it? What’s the reason?”

Martyn blinks, then lets out a short, harsh laugh. “You think I know that?”

“No, not really. That’s why I wondered what you meant when you said it.”

“It- look. I don’t know if you’re expecting philosophy from me, or something. It’s a death game. People die, and it doesn’t have to mean anything. It doesn’t have to be special, it doesn’t have to be honourable, it doesn’t have to be fair. That’s what I meant.” He frowns. “You know that.”

“I do.” He admits.

“Then why ask?” Martyn looks around as though this time, somehow, he might be able to find Grian’s face in the dark.

He doesn’t.

“I just-” Grian sighs. “What do you want?” He asks. “What do you actually want, Martyn?”

The question sits heavy in the darkness between them.

“What do you want me to say?” Martyn asks. He sounds more tired than Grian’s ever heard him.

“I want you to tell the truth.” Grian says. He needs to know. He needs to know.

“Now, Grian.” Says Martyn, voice gently chiding. “Have you met me? You know I can’t do that.”

“Pretend it’s a lie, then.”

Martyn’s grip on the banner he wears tightens, slightly. There is a long, long silence.

“Or how about,” Says Grian, eventually, “You say something, and I won’t know whether it’s a lie or not.”

There is another pause.

Martyn frowns at the red of the fabric in his hands, as though it might offer him something.

As far as Grian can tell, it does not.

He’s just beginning to give up hope of ever getting an answer when Martyn speaks, so softly he almost doesn’t hear it.

“I want it to be warm again.” He says.

It’s quiet.

For a moment – just a moment, no more – Grian remembers bloody, aching fists. He remembers burning heat.

“Well.” He says. “That makes one of us, then. Doesn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Says Martyn, voice low. “I guess it does.”

There’s another short second of silence before Martyn speaks again, sounding cheerful. “So, suppose I’ll see you in the next one, huh? If that ever happens.” He grins. “Wanna take bets on how hard Scott’ll have to try not to win it? I’m gonna go with very.”

Grian snorts. “I’m not taking that bet. That man is infuriatingly good at surviving.”

“You’re not wrong! You are not wrong.” He gestures into the void. “And don’t even get me started on Timmy’s whole thing, I think we both know how that one’s gonna go. Unless you want to bet against him being gone first next time round?”

“You’re not Scar.” Says Grian. “There’s no way you talk anyone into taking that bet in a million years. Except maybe Timmy.”

“Fair, fair.”

There’s a short pause.

Grian hesitates for a moment before he speaks – almost, but not quite, reluctant. “Why do you keep looking back?” He asks. “There’s nothing left for us there. You know that, right?”

“I mean, let me know when you find a better place to look.” He tilts his head to the side slightly, curious, and frowns. “Do you really never want to go back?”

“No.” Says Grian. “Never.”

Martyn opens his mouth, and then, uncharacteristically, closes it again. “Yeah.” He says. “Me neither.”

Grian is tempted, momentarily, to tell Martyn to take the banner off and let it go. Let the darkness take it. Prove it.

But just like Martyn, he lets it drop.

Mutually assured destruction is a potent thing.

Now all he has to do is the hard part. The part he’s dreading most of all.

The main concern is phrasing it correctly. Making it sound just how he wants it to sound.

After some thought, he thinks he’s found the words he's looking for.

He could always be wrong, though. He’s usually more one for incredible violence than smooth talking.

“Martyn?” He asks cautiously, casually. “Do you want me to help you?”

The expression that crosses Martyn’s face is unreadable.

He processes the question for a few moments, before he answers.

“Nah. I’m good.” He says, voice guarded. “Don’t worry about it.”

And that’s the rub, isn’t it.

Because now Grian has to decide whether he’s going to let Martyn lie to him or not.

Whether he’s going to pass the test that’s been set before him, or not.

...

Grian’s not a monster.

He’s just realistic.

There's nothing he could do, anyway.

“Well.” He says levelly. “Just let me know if that changes.”

(Martyn would do the same to him. It’s not a justification, or an excuse. But he knows it to be true.)

Martyn stares out into the darkness. His eyes are almost, but not quite, resentful. “Sure thing, man. Why wouldn’t I.”

It’s not said like a question, so Grian doesn’t answer it. “Well, you know I can’t stay here forever.”

“I do know that.”

“Any messages you want me to pass on to any of the hermits? I know you haven’t seen Mumbo in a while.” It’s not really a compromise, or a peace offering. Hopefully, however, it’s close enough to one or the other of those to act in their stead.

Martyn closes his eyes. Breathes in. Breathes out. Opens his eyes again. “If you were Grian, then maybe.” His gaze is cold. “But I think this hypothetical has gone on long enough.”

...It’s a lot easier for both of them, if Martyn believes that.

He’s positive Martyn knows that.

Just this once, perhaps he can manage to not look a gift horse in the mouth.

“For what it’s worth,” He says, looking away, “I moved on from the Bad Boys when it got too expensive to keep them alive.”

“It’s not worth a lot.” Says Martyn flatly. “And it would be worth even less coming from Grian.”

Grian sighs. “Alright. Fine. I’ll see you around, Martyn.”

“I know.” Says Martyn. He closes his eyes.

After a few moments, Grian does too.

When he opens them, he’s home.

…

Oh, that doesn’t feel good.

It really doesn't.

He could dwell on this. It wouldn’t be hard. He could drown himself in guilt over what he’s done, or not done, or will not do.

But- well.

Grian never really saw the point in letting someone else drag you down with them.

#once he's sure that the thing he's decided to pretend was not grian is gone #martyn goes back to falling #and wishes he still felt enough grief to be able to cry.#limited life smp #life series #grian #martyn inthelittlewood #my writing #i finally managed to finish this. it took me. a while.#they're narrative foils to the point of absurdity is the thing #they're incredibly similar and also completely different #it's fascinating

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watarfallar · 27 days ago

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I bring more

Etho: I like to play this game called nap roulette. I take a nap and don’t set an alarm. Will it be 20 min or 4 hours? Nobody knows. It’s risky and I like it.

Jimmy: Scott, I want a bedtime story! Scott: I’m busy, Jimmy. I’ll tell you one tomorrow. Jimmy: If you don’t tell me a story, I won’t go to bed! Scott: Once upon a time, there was a person named Jimmy, who always wanted things their way. One day, their friends got sick of it and locked them in the basement for the rest of their life. Everyone else lived happily ever after. The end. Jimmy: I don’t like these stories with morals.

Bdubs: Where did you get that tomato soup? Etho: It’s actually a bowl of ketchup I just microwaved.

Skizz: Hey, what have you two been doing? Martyn: we were helping Cleo with their wedding vows and we were kicked out of their house for making it inappropriate. Joel: How is “Nice ass, Bdubs” inappropriate?

BigB, talking to Martyn: They're trying to lure me into a false sense of security! Well, joke’s on them! I’ve never been secure in my life! And I’m not about to start now!

Mumbo: I’m not so sure you’re stakeout material. Scott: I’m a chronic insomniac, I was born for this.

BigB: Ew. What kind of tea is this? Martyn: I boiled gatorade.

Pearl: I keep a picture of all of us in my wallet. Whenever I face difficulties, I take it out and stare at the picture. The Squad: Awwww- Pearl: And I tell myself "If I can deal with these idiots, then I can deal with anything." The Squad: Oh.

Gem: So what do you have planned for the future? Jimmy: Lunch. Gem: No, like long term. Jimmy: Oh...um, dinner?

Cleo: As someone who has a long history of not understanding anything, I feel confident in my ability to continue not knowing what is going on.

Bdubs, singing: I don’t want a lot for Christmas, there is just one thing I need— Joel: A family. Pearl: A better love life. Impulse: Mental stability. Jimmy: *clueless* Bagels?

Gem: Are you tall enough to play basketball though? Joel: Are you calling me short? Gem: I'm calling you vertically challenged.

Cleo: Am I in trouble? Skizz: Take a guess. Cleo: No? Skizz: Take another guess.

Etho: Sweet dog you got there. Police: Yes, this is our new drug sniffing dog. Etho: Still training huh? Police: What do you mean? Etho: Etho: Never mind.

Martyn, after asking the squad how to get rust off of a blade: Thank you good people oddly versed in knives.

Martyn: I wanna die. Joel: We all do, you aren't special!

Impulse and Gem texting* Impulse: Come downstairs and talk to me please. I'm lonely. Gem: Isn't Etho there? Impulse: Yes but I like you more.

Grian: When I first got my autism diagnosis, my first thought was “woah… it’s canon” and I think that maybe thoughts like that is why BigB made me get tested.

Pearl: We can’t tell you because you’re not a member of the club. Tango: What club? Scar: The hating Tango club. Tango: …The fuck? I should be the leader of that club!

+ a bonus soup group quote:

Keralis: Between Gem, Pearl and Impulse, there are three braincells. Keralis: And Impulse has all three of them.

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emjiroki · 11 months ago

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✨️Little Yuuji drabble to brighten up our Friday✨️

Based on This little headcanon

Word count: 706

No warnings SFW

“I can’t”

“You can”

“I really don’t think I c-”

“Don’t make me go over there and ask her out for you like you’re in kindergarten” Choso said, a dead serious look on his face. Yuuji knew he would do it too, his older brother was never one to make a false promise.

“I just… I don’t know” Yuuji groaned softly, a hand running down his face and feeling the heat on his cheeks.

“You love her right?”.

Yuuji almost choked on his tongue.

“Woah wait a minute!” He croaked, probably too loud in the hushed thrum of the library, “We’re- friends okay? I’ve only talked to her a few times”. That’s kind of true. He had accidentally bumped into you on the first day, nearly knocking your phone from your hand and he had apologized profusely, but you had only laughed and told him it was fine, the sweetest smile on your face that made Yuuji’s heart feel like it was going to burst. The next time, you had come to sit next to him, the soft floral sugariness of your perfume wafted to his nose as you sat down and asked him how his weekend had been.

“I mean I like her but I-”

“There’s only love and curiosity little brother,” Choso cut him off once again, twirling his pencil in his charcoal-stained fingers and adjusting his thin reading glasses as he focused back on the paper he was editing, “If you’re curious enough to try, your determined enough to succeed, Do It”. Yuuji rolled his eyes, realeasy for him to say.

“Yeah okay. You and all your psycho mumbo Jumbo” Yuuji grumbled, beginning to gather his stuff to go to his gym session with Megumi.

“You gonna do it?” Choso asked, not bothering to look up from his paper.

“Just leave it” Yuuji snapped, no real venom behind his words. He knew his brother was only looking out for him. Yuuji had just packed up his last book and was about to swing his back over his shoulder when Choso's hand shot out, nailing Yuuji in the chest and sending with enough force to stumble. The pink haired boys back thumped straight into someone, the loud clatter of papers hitting the floor proving it.

“I'm so sorry, my brother-” Yuuji started to apologize, his mouth clamping shut at the giggle that graced his ears.

“We really need to stop running into each other like this” You said, kneeling down to gather your stuff.

Yuuji was stiff for a moment before ducking down with you, picking up your notebook and the pencil that had rolled under the table.

“It was my brother this time,” Yuuji said with a sheepish smile, “sorry about that”.

“It's okay, really, I was just about to get out of here anyway” You said, standing with your stuff gathered before putting it away in your bag.

“Uh yeah me too actually, heading to the gym with Fushiguro” Yuuji replied, pulling his bag back up his shoulder, “what are you doing now?”.

“Studying” You sighed, “all my classes are done for the day”.

Choso picked that moment to clear his throat, his eyebrows raised in expectation at his paper when Yuuji looked at him. Then it clicked.

“Oh uh yeah mine too, um…” butterflies were hammering Yuuji's stomach as he looked into your pretty eyes and felt fire burning the tip of his nose. “Would you like to- uh- I don't know, go to a Cafe with me? Since we're not busy or anything”.

“Thought you had to hit the gym with your friend?” You asked, that sweet smile on your lips.

“I'll cancel! Right now, he can go with Inumaki or something” Yuuji said quickly, grabbing his phone and sending Megumi a quick message before stowing it away back in his bag, “done”. It felt like his brain was turning to pudding as you laughed, turning to the door.

“Well then let's get going Yuuji”.

God he loved the way you said his name.

“Y-yeah let's go”. He turned to his brother with a thumbs up and a big grin when you had turned away, Choso waving him on with a smirk as Yuuji jogged to catch up with you.

‘Young love’ Choso thought to himself as he watched his brother hold the door for you, flashing him another big grin before the door shut, ‘what an idiot’.

#choso is the best big brother #yuuji itadori #choso kamo #yuuji itadori x reader #em writes ✍#em talks 👄

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theminecraftbee · 8 months ago

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so, first, accountability statement: I plan on trying to finish the “zedaph steals a baby” fic by the end of the month and god is that one-line summary no longer accurate but we’re sticking to it, said here publicly so now I have to do it. obviously I also have recursive exchange and the writing I have for hotguy comics zine, but I am not SUPER worried about either of those time/inspiration-wise at the moment and also for Reasons I know it won’t be long until I have more free writing time after that, SO.

various items that are on my potential writing docket, I am curious which of these appeal most:

I dust off the supervillain support group au. two ways this could go: I chip away at the second arc of my original outline and acknowledge this will be like a 300k fic I’m not ready to feel “done” with or “ready to post” with for ages, or I re-work it into something a little more doable and less ambitious keeping the same premise (ren runs a support group for supervillains, doc pov as he starts to heal and redeem himself). this MAY honestly be a target for “if I don’t hate the first 50k on re-reading it and I can actually make my brain write the second arc, do a slower release schedule and then start releasing chapters before I’m done writing”? but this ALSO runs the risk of “I stopped writing it, which is often a sign I was having trouble writing it”.

pearl monster au, which has been cooking in my head for a long while. the basic premise is “one day, pearl, with no memory of how or why this happened, wakes up in a facility as a monster and must try to figure out how she got there, escape, and find her way home, even knowing she may be irrevocably changed”. now with bonus season 10 fish flavor to add to this creature design I’ve been iterating on in my head for forever! this one is ALSO an experiment for me in “can I write a fic where I can’t write dialogue for basically the entire first act”, which would be interesting to see from me, you know?

the related “bigb folklore au”, where after secret life bigb is woken up by Cat and Dog by the tracks of the King Snake, which bigb can recognize as the railroad track, and decides to journey down the railroad to see if he can figure out what the fuck is going on. I need to do video review of life series bigb for this one. this is my excuse to get Weird and Metaphorical and also assign everyone to various animals for no reason, along with using some very specific aesthetic I have wanted to use for some worldbuilding but hadn’t gotten around to yet in any of my stuff. man walks through the desert with animal, confronts train that might be the watchers, might be death, and might just be a train. also, realizes that “confront” is the operative word there and has to deal with that. you know how it is.

““office au””, in air quotes because it’s not REALLY what anyone going to an office au is looking for so much as an excuse to write weird horror. iskall, normal-ish software developer man in a boring office job who does game jams in his free time, goes to work one day to work in his boring downtown office on a payment system for a client. and then things, uh, Take A Turn. this would be a LITTLE me going “what if I wrote an au with a guy who works in tech but like, the boring side of tech I’m in. like, banks and consulting and manufacturing and shit. where you sit in meetings all day and tweak java 8 code even though that language is ten years out of date. but THEN. something exciting happens in the worst way possible.” I’m doing to iskall what I did to mumbo stuffed bird is what I’m saying. it’d be fun.

DO ANY OF THESE PARTICULARLY INTEREST ANYONE. your input will be valued. like 50% chance i get hit with a strong bolt of inspiration then IGNORE that input but it’ll be valued all the same,

#note that me telling you about these ideas is ALSO accountability #on account of both ‘anyone can make whatever based on my things forever’ meaning one of you could make one now #and on account of people will start asking me about them on rare occasion now lol

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the-joju-experience · 2 years ago

Text

Scar saw the poll turn green. He cheered to himself and smirked.

“About time someone acknowledged my sexiness,” Scar said to himself. He scrolled back up to the bracket, looking for his next competitor. He read the name and paused.

Technoblade.

He swallowed a large mouthful of air. Behind him, he heard the sick sound of steel scraping its scabbard.

---

“Doc, my brother from another mama!” Ren shouted. He leaned over the edge of the Perimeter, looking for his friend. “Did’ja see the bracket? We’re up against each other!” He heard nothing.

“Doc?” Ren shouted slightly louder.

“I heard, Ren,” Doc said. Ren turned around slowly, finding Doc standing over him in his ripped lab coat, taut muscles exposed to the elements that surrounded him. “And I’m sorry that your time in the bracket has to end this way.”

---

“Oi, Pearl!” Cleo said, landing next to their fellow hermit.

“Hiya, Cleo!” Pearl said. “Is this about the bracket?”

"Yep,” Cleo said. “I just wanted to stop by and say, no hard feelings.”

“Why would there be hard feelings?” Pearl asked.

“Well, no one’s heard from Zloy since I beat him into a pulp,” Cleo said. “I just wanted to make sure you knew there’s no shame in losing.”

“What makes you think you’re gonna win?”

Cleo arched her eyebrows menacingly and glared at Pearl.

“No, Pearl, I don’t think I’m going to win,” they said. “I know.”

---

“Hi Joel!” BDubs shouted. His head had just shot up out of a bush on Joel’s island.

“Good lore, BDubs!” Joel shouted, quickly moving his foot out of the way. “How did you even get here?”

“The power of my sexy prowesses!” BDubs said enthusiastically. He disentangled himself from the foliage and drew himself up to full height, which was not particularly tall. “You know what they’re saying about me on the Tumbles, right?”

“I think they actually think I’m sexier,” Joel said.

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” BDubs said, attempting to throw his arm over Joel’s shoulder. Unfortunately, he couldn’t reach, so he awkwardly backed away with an outstretched arm.

“I am, as you know, a very tall and sexy god of lore,” Joel said. “I think that beats ‘weird mossy dwarf’ any day.”

---

Scott cursed as he slipped on a rock. He had been crawling through the wilderness for several hours, searching for his competitor, but he had finally come close. He checked his map one more time, seeing how far he had come. Looking up, he saw a small wooden cabin. He approached it and knocked on the door.

Etho opened it, allowing savory smoke to waft into Scott’s nose.

“What’s up?” Etho asked.

“I just came to tell you…” Scott said nervously, “we’re up against each other in the bracket...”

“Oh, that’s fun!” Etho said.

“And that I’m going to tell my fans that if they don’t vote for me they’re homophobic,” Scott said.

Scott couldn’t see it, but deep down he knew that Etho was frowning disapprovingly.

---

Grian walked into Mumbo’s base, following some weird, high-pitched noise from his own base.

“MumboJumbo!” a voice was singing. “I am hotter!”

"Mumbo?” Grian whispered hopefully. Following the sound, he walked deeper, approaching the slight opening in the walls of Mumbo’s vault. The noise grew, and Grian’s hopes grew with it.

Those hopes deflated when he entered and saw Slimecicle dropping slimeballs on every surface.

“MumboJumbo!” the autotuned voice continued. “Come and fight me!”

Grian sighed heavily, turned, and left.

---

Wilbur was walking towards his front door when he noticed Joe Hills sitting on his porch.

“Oh,” Wilbur said. “You’re Joe, right?”

"Yes I am!” Joe said.

“Is this about the bracket?” Wilbur asked.

“Oh, that silly thing?” Joe said. “No, not in the slightest! I just wanted to say howdy!”

“Do you want to come in or something?” Wilbur offered. “I have soup if you want it. And I’ve been told I make some pretty good burgers.”

“No, that’s fine,” Joe said. “I’m good just sitting right here.”

“OK, then,” Wilbur said, opening the door. He walked inside and looked around. On a hunch, he checked upstairs. Nothing was amiss. He came back down to find Joe sitting exactly where he had left him.

“Are you going to… move or something?” Wilbur asked.

“No, I think I’ll sit right here for the next…” he checked his phone. “22 hours and 57 minutes.”

---

Grian returned to his cave to find Quackity lounging on a dark oak stair in front of the portal.

“Hiya!” Quackity said.

"Oh no,” Grian said nervously. “What do you want?”

“I thought I’d skip ahead a bit and try to cut a deal,” he said. “You see, I know I can’t win against you. You’ve got way too many stans.”

“Look, if this is about the bracket, I don’t really care-”

“Look, Grian. I have an offer.” Quackity stood up and walked towards the hermit. “Let’s pool our votes and form a ticket together. We can be co-sexymen!”

“No no no no no,” Grian said. “I’ve heard this story before.”

“But I have to beat Wilbur!” Quackity said. “Come on, man. What the fu-”

“Nope!” Grian interjected, shoving Quackity back through the Rift.

Behind him, Grumbot lit up. He whirred briefly, and then spat out a message.

WHAT WAS THAT ABOUT?

“This is a family-friendly server, Grumbot,” Grian said.

#mcytblr sexyman #fanfic

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hopepetal · 1 year ago

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Masterlist

Read on AO3!

Part Four!

Reblogs and comments are much appreciated! :)

@applestruda

Impulse fell back into control of his own body in the same way one snapped out of a particularly long ADHD-induced dissociative state. Panicked, unthinking, and wondering how much time has it been?

The book was still burning as Impulse instinctively reached out to snatch it from the flames, only fully processing a moment later that maybe he shouldn’t have grabbed something that was still actively on fire. With a cry of pain and shock, Impulse dropped the book onto the ground as the rain began to beat down more heavily. Stumbling back, he tripped over his own feet and fell, landing with a soft noise of pain as he held his injured hand close to his chest.

For a moment, he sat there, the small fire put out by the heavy rain far too late. A fear the likes of which he had never felt before sat in his chest, causing his heart to race.

What just happened to me? Is it going to happen again? My hand hurts I need to get it bandaged I need to TELL someone I can’t tell anyone what if it happens again what if I lose control and hurt someone what if–

“Impulse?”

Once again, he was yanked from his spiraling thoughts by someone calling his name. Turning around perhaps just a bit too quickly, Impulse looked up to see Scar, sopping wet from the rain, standing behind him. “Scar,” he breathed out, equal parts relieved and terrified. “Scar, are you– are you okay?”

Scar frowned, his eyes immediately landing on Impulse’s burnt hand. “I… think I should be asking you that, Impulse. C’mere, we’re gonna get that all fixed up.” He carefully helped Impulse to his feet. “I’m not gonna ask what happened,” he began as they walked back to the main camp through the rain, “so don’t worry about that. But…” He sighed. “Just… Impulse, I– we– don’t want you to be suffering alone. We’re knights. We’re friends. We’re in this together.”

Impulse nodded, trying to swallow that stubborn lump in his throat. “Yeah. Thanks, Scar.”

Mumbo, wearing a raincoat and holding an umbrella like any normal person would, waved to the two when they approached the tents. “Did you get caught in the rain?” he shouted, if only to be heard over the downpour.

“No,” Scar called back, “we’re just naturally this wet!”

“Oh, okay! Um, Grian and Pearl aren’t around, because, well, you know. Their wings,” Mumbo tried to explain, “their wings don’t– why am I explaining this to you, you both know this, goodness gracious…”

“Thanks Mumbo,” Scar said anyway, “are you gonna get inside? I don’t think this storm is gonna let up any time soon.”

Mumbo shook his head. “This is actually the perfect time for me to study the possibility of harnessing lightning for power! Theoretically, it could work, but theoretically it could also blow me up. And to be honest, I can’t wait to see which one it is.”

“Have fun!” Scar called after him, before leading Impulse to the swaggon. Instead of tents like the other knights, he usually just stayed in the same place he did before joining the knights. “I have bandages and burn stuff here, because goodness knows I burn myself plenty when cooking. Just sit down right there…” He quickly rifled through one of his chests, before pulling out clean bandages and burn ointment. “Aaand I should have some water– how are you feeling, by the way?– here it is!”

As Scar helped Impulse cool the burn and clean his hand, Impulse was at a loss for words. Scar seemed to take note of that after a few minutes of him being unresponsive to the attempts at keeping the mood light hearted, and continued to silently bandage the treated burns.

“I’m sorry,” Impulse began, trying to keep his voice from shaking. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Scar chuckled softly, understanding shining through in his eyes. “I think I’d know that feeling better than anyone, Impulse. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. I know I’ve done more than my fair share of… poorly thought out things… in the past.”

Impulse had to bite back a laugh. “Yeah, I can think of a couple more memorable ones,” he admitted, “but I just… I dunno, Scar. I…” He sighed. “What would you think if I wasn’t human?”

Scar didn’t even pause. “I mean, Impulse, we’ve been over this a million times before. If you weren’t human, none of the knights would be.” He began to put away the bandages, ointment, and leftover water.

Impulse frowned, shaking his head. “That’s not…” He flexed his right hand, testing to see how much he could move still, before placing it back in his lap. “What do you think of me now?” he pressed, looking back up at Scar.

Scar smiled, turning back to Impulse. “Oh, that’s easy. You’re strong, kind, passionate, smart, a really good teacher, an amazing fighter, you’re funny, you’re creative, and just… you’re a great friend.”

“But what if I wasn’t…” Impulse tried to figure out how to word the question, bouncing his leg slightly. “What if I wasn’t just me?”

Scar thought for a moment, before shrugging. “Well, I don’t think there’s any problem with bein’ that! And, Impulse…” He sat down so that he could be at Impulse’s eye level, folding his hands in his lap and leaning forward. “You’re making it sound like there’s something wrong with being human.” He smiled kindly, but there was something that stopped it from reaching his eyes. “That’s what this is about, yeah? I’ve been… I’ve been thinking about it for a bit. With everything going on…”

Impulse shook his head, interrupting Scar. “No, no, no, there’s nothing wrong with being human! I just… what if the me I am isn’t good enough?”

For a moment, there was silence.

“Oh, Impulse.” Scar’s voice broke slightly on his name. “You are more than enough. You have always been. I’m so happy you’re one of my friends, a part of my life, you…” He took a deep breath, in and out. “If you could see the things you’ve done from an outside perspective, you’d see it– just how much you’ve changed and impacted lives. I…” he trailed off, caught for a moment in a fleeting memory. “I can say for a fact I’ve changed for the better since I met you. So please don’t ever say or think that you aren’t good enough. Because you are. Because you always have been.”

Impulse tried to blink away the tears that suddenly were welling up in his eyes, but it was too late. His vision blurred, and the next blink sent salty drops falling from his eyes to make dark spots on his fresh bandages. It was as if the dam burst with that, and tears began to fall in a steady stream as Impulse’s shoulders shook.

All this pain, all this fear, all the self doubt and anxiety… and he wasn’t alone. He had never been, really. If it hadn’t been for him shutting the other knights out, he wouldn’t have ever ended up with a demon in his mind taking control whenever it wished. But now…

“Thank you, Scar,” Impulse got out, furiously wiping his eyes. “I… I think I needed to hear that.”

Scar nodded. “Of course. I… I can’t say I know exactly how you feel, and I wish I knew more to help you. But just… talk to us, okay? Or, gosh, I don’t know– talk to someone, at least! We won’t be able to help you if we don’t know you’re hurting.”

“Okay. Okay. Thank you. Thank you so much.” Impulse wiped away what he hoped to be the last of his tears, taking a few deep breaths to calm down. “I– I will. I promise I’ll talk to you guys more. And I’m really sorry about all of this.”

Scar waved his hand. “Ah, don’t be. We all have our moments.” He smiled tentatively. “Do you want to stay here with me and wait out the storm? We can make bets on if Mumbo’s new experiment blows up or not.”

Impulse grinned– a real, happy grin. “Sounds great.”

–

Somehow, things got better.

The first day Impulse woke up feeling well-rested, he could hardly believe it. But it continued to happen, again and again, until finally he was waking up at a much more normal time.

“For you, maybe,” Grian had said, but the clear relief in his expression over Impulse’s “recovery” had taken away any snark intended.

Slowly, Impulse began to heal. Not only from the burns, but from the exhaustion and lack of appetite as well. The animals seemed to forget all about their previous distrust of Impulse, though Jellie still was a little wary. He didn’t really mind, of course. The joy he felt from being able to settle back into his life again was enough.

The other knights were thrilled, too. It was like a fog had been lifted from the camp, and everything just felt… lighter.

“Alright.” Pearl interrupted the lively chatter during lunchtime about two weeks later, “we’re unfortunately getting a little low on vegetables and some other supplies. It’s been a while since Impulse and I brought back everything, and I don’t want it goin’ bad, ya hear?”

“Soup day?” Mumbo piped up, eyes wide. They’d all heard this speech a million times, and it was always something the knights looked forward to.

Pearl nodded, smiling. “Soup day.”

“I don’t know why we call it soup day,” Grian mumbled, “it really ends up more like stew, if you ask me.”

Pearl rolled her eyes. “Because, goofball, it’s tradition! And also, soup sounds nicer than stew.”

And so, Impulse found himself paired up with Scar, who kept watch over the pot and stirred while he chopped vegetables.

“Whew!” Scar wiped the sweat from his forehead, turning away from the fire. “It's been a while since I've cooked. I forgot how hot everything gets!”

Impulse laughed. “Yes, that tends to happen with fire. Shocking.”

“Oh, you hush!” Scar grabbed a large spoon, waving it sternly in Impulse's direction before turning back to the pot. “You just keep cutting those veggies, mister.”

“Aye aye, captain.” Impulse turned back to the cutting board, reaching for the knife that lay beside it.

Do it.

Impulse froze. His hand stopped where it was, hovering just over the knife. Taking in a deep breath, he closed his eyes for a moment. He had to calm down. He was– he was just hearing things. Nothing was wrong. He was fine. The demon was gone. It had to be. It hadn’t spoken in weeks. Why would it show up again now?

Impulse picked up the knife, placing a washed and peeled carrot on the cutting board. He began to cut the carrot into thin slices with deft hands. In the background, he could hear Scar humming to himself as the fire crackled.

It's just you and him. Alone. The words were like a fog settling over his mind, like icy hands gripping at his heart. An easy target.

Impulse's chopping stilled as he tensed up, before starting to cut again. His movements were sharper, harder, and one of the carrot slices flew off of the table. “Gosh–” He set the knife down, bending to pick the carrot slice up and throw it away.

“You good, man?” Scar called from where he stood beside the fire, not turning to look away from the pot. “Havin' some troubles?”

He has his back to you.

“Nah,” Impulse joked, though his tone was a bit forced. “Just underestimated my own strength.” He straightened back up, gripping the edge of the table with his hands.

No. No, no, no no no no. This couldn’t be real. It couldn’t be happening. Not again. Not now. Not after he’d finally started to be happy again.

The voice cooed softly in his head, a persuasive siren song. It would take nothing at all to kill him. Impulse found his hand drifting toward the knife, unable to stop. To stab him in the back... He picked it up. Somehow, this was different from the possession. Yes... feel the thirst... spill his blood–!

The demon wasn’t making him do anything. This time, it made him want to.

“No!” Impulse breathed out, stumbling back. He threw the knife down on the table. “Sorry, Scar. I gotta go. I'll tell Grian to come out and help you.”

Impulse fled, not sticking around to hear Scar's confused “Wait–!”

–

“...just worried, is all. I know you see it too. It’s like whatever happened–”

Whatever conversation Grian and Pearl were having before Impulse interrupted had probably been important by the sound of it, but Impulse didn’t really have the time to feel guilty about that. Panicked, he looked back and forth between them both, still panting slightly. “Grian?” he got out, trying to force his voice to stay calm, “Grian, I need you to go help Scar. I– I can’t…” He trailed off as he realized just how stupid this all sounded.

Pearl took a step toward him, her face unreadable. “Are you feeling alright, Impulse?” she asked, and after a moment, Impulse swallowed and nodded. “Are you sure, mate? You’re looking awfully pale.”

Grian said nothing, but Impulse noticed how his wings had slightly spread out, colourful feathers slightly puffing up. Grian had never been surprised by anyone before– he somehow always knew when someone was coming. So unless he had been angry at Pearl for some reason (which, thinking about it, wasn’t all that unbelievable), it had to have been Impulse who had set him off.

…right?

Impulse just tried to smile and nod. “Um. Yeah. Sorry.” His eyes kept drifting back to Grian, which Pearl noticed.

She turned to Grian and smacked him on the shoulder. “Hey. Birdbrain. That’s Impulse, mhm? Our friend? Pull yourself together, goodness gracious.”

Grian blinked, shaking his head slightly. “Oh– was I staring? Uh, yeah, sorry about that.” His wings slowly folded back behind him, and he lost the alert posture. “Sorry. What was happening?”

“Nothing,” Impulse got out. “I’m good. I promise.”

Pathetic. He was pathetic. It wasn’t even that long ago when he’d had that conversation with Scar about reaching out, and being more open with the other knights. Guess this was just another thing he managed to screw up instantly.

Impulse began to back away from the two. “The uh. The soup! Yeah, the soup’s almost done. I’ll see you guys at dinner…?”

Pearl smiled, if only to put him at ease. “Of course. See you at dinner, Impulse.”

Impulse began to walk away, and it was only when Grian and Pearl started talking again in hushed tones was he reminded that the contract with the demon gave him enhanced hearing. Nevertheless, he didn’t want to invade on their privacy–

“I told you. You could see it in his eyes.”

“Grian, not now.”

…especially when this was clearly about him.

Impulse ran the rest of the way back to Scar, and was all-too relieved to see that Mumbo was there as well. “Hey. Sorry about that. I don’t know what came over me.”

“Oh, it’s alright!” Scar called over to him, “we’re just about finished up, so don’t you worry!”

“I got to chop the vegetables,” Mumbo added, “but really, I’ve been thinking– it would be quite simple to just get an automatic…” He started to ramble about his idea of an automatic vegetable cutter, but Impulse found he couldn’t quite follow along as well as he’d hope to.

The demon was back. Or maybe it had never left. And not only could it speak to Impulse and possess him but it could influence him as well.

Impulse was strong. He had trained all his life to hone his strength and skills. He couldn’t fly, couldn’t breathe underwater, couldn’t withstand a fiery blaze, and most certainly couldn’t teleport. But he was strong. In terms of pure physical strength, none of the other knights stood a chance.

And that terrified him.

Dinner went by in a blur, and it felt as though barely a moment had passed by when Impulse laid down to sleep. He had been stuck in a sort of zoned out state ever since the demon had reappeared, and only now did his head feel more clear.

Today had been a warning. What happened with Scar– Impulse could’ve killed him. The fact that he hadn’t was frankly a miracle. But it would happen again. The demon would speak to him and he would pick up the knife and he wouldn’t be able to stop himself in time.

Tomorrow.

Impulse would leave camp tomorrow, and he would run until he was far, far away from anyone he could hurt.

But for now, he needed to sleep.

#my writing #boatem knights au #impulsesv #pearlescentmoon #grian #goodtimeswithscar #mumbo jumbo #hermitcraft fanfic #obv i'm not updating the ao3 rn #bc of the attack

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wren-kitchens · 2 months ago

Text

meet me halfway

3511 words

mumbo stares at the retreating figure of grian like his life depends on it, head spinning with far, far too many thoughts to even begin to comprehend what on earth just happened. he doesn't have nearly enough brainpower for this- if mumbo was an engine, he'd be rattling and shooting out sparks at an alarming rate. honestly, he’s quite surprised he hasn't exploded yet. goodness. okay- god, no, there's no way that can actually have just happened. no way- that was just something mumbo hallucinated. grian can’t have just- there's no possible way. mumbo's heart is pounding against his ribs, his breathing is practically hyperventilation, but it was- it can’t have been real, because if it was real then grian just-

honestly I just really wanted to write an 'oh' moment and I haven't written grumbo in a while, so here we are

tumblr formatting is being weird so if you see any mistakes, no you don't <3

goodness. okay- god, no, there's no way that can actually have just happened. no way- that was just something mumbo hallucinated. grian can’t have just- there's no possible way. mumbo's heart is pounding against his ribs, his breathing is practically hyperventilation, but it was- it can’t have been real, because if it was real then grian just-

grian just kissed him. and mumbo kissed back, and- and he liked it, and now he wants more, and he might just have a name for that nagging warmth that has followed grian's laughs and his smiles and when his hand would brush mumbo's, and that's just- it's bizarre. but it's so incredible, and it's so awful, and there's no possible way he can deny it anymore- and oh, god there's no possible way he can deny it anymore-

because mumbo might just be in love with grian. that- grian just kissed him, and now he knows- he knows the way it feels to have grian's hand against his waist, and he knows how grian's lips feel against his own, and he can never stop knowing- and there's no way mumbo can ever stop thinking about it, and oh god is he cursed to forever sit useless and lovestruck on this beach and watch as grian walks away whilst knowing all of that?

and grian doesn't know. grian doesn't know that mumbo has spent nights upon nights thinking of his face and wondering what it means, and he doesn’t know that mumbo replays the moment of every time he made him laugh in his mind on a loop, and he doesn’t know that mumbo is staring at the blurry outline of him and wishing desperately that sand was easier to run on so he could grab his hand and tell him it all. never in his life has anyone fit so perfectly by mumbo's side, and grian doesn’t even know-

okay. he should- he should probably take a second. wow- okay. gosh.

almost absentmindedly, mumbo rubs a thumb across his bottom lip, half imagining what it would be like if it were grian's thumb. oh- and now he’s flustered again. you know- he should really have taken tango's advice when he got it: don’t hang out with pretty men, you’ll fall for them way too quickly. and mumbo thought he was just being hyperbolic- what a fool he was! god- no wonder jimmy and tango are such idiots- they've been dealing with this the whole time!

and- oh goodness, grian just kissed him! he just- it's like a romance novel, and now mumbo is losing his mind in a completely different way, because- well, grian kissed him! he did the thing where- he pulled mumbo in by the collar of his shirt, and he kissed him, and- oh gosh, he’s going bright red again. this is so embarrassing.

mumbo pushes himself off the ground (and that's even more embarrassing- he fell to the floor when his crush kissed him. gosh.), fully prepared to be the worst possible cliche and run after grian, when the man in question looks over his shoulder. and something in mumbo's brain combusts when he realises that grian is coming back.

y’know what- he was wrong; this is the most cliche he’s ever going to get. grian is running towards him, and mumbo is running too, and he can just imagine the stupid slow-mo cinematic shot that the two of them are creating right now, and he doesn’t care, because all that matters is that he reaches grian. because he’s in love! mumbo is in love with grian, and- gosh, how crazy is that?

grian is barely a few metres away, and all mumbo can think about is that kiss. so when mumbo glances briefly (so briefly! barely even a second of glance!) at grian's lips, his already fried brain finally explodes, and all of a sudden mumbo is face-down in the sand. grian is laughing at him, and that's only making it worse, because now he’s both embarrassed and enormously endeared, because- wow, he really does love grian's laugh.

when mumbo looks up, brushing the sand out of his moustache, grian is knelt in front of him with that life-ruiningly fond grin on his face, and mumbo is going to explode again. "i’m- I shouldn’t have ran. i'm sorry- I didn’t even-"

"shut up for one second." mumbo says, out of breath, pushing himself up so he’s face to face with grian.

their eyes meet, and it's as if the whole world goes silent as mumbo raises a hand to cup his face. grian is staring at him with that indecipherable expression, but when mumbo begins to pull away, he presses his hand against mumbo's, keeping it in place. it's so- it's all utterly bizarre, and in the best way possible, because mumbo is tracing grian's cheekbones with his thumbs, and grian is staring at him with nothing short of adoration, and mumbo might just be losing his whole mind because-

"I love you." mumbo breathes, watching the way grian's eyes widen with such interest. "I can't- I never even considered something like this could ever happen- I was so confused!" he laughs. "I had no idea- and then you kissed me and I- I still can't believe that, honestly. you! you’re so beautiful- and you kissed me!"

grian is laughing too, and he’s blushing- and oh goodness, mumbo made him blush, how incredible is that? "i've- you know, i’ve been lamenting to tango a little bit-" mumbo gasps in mock outrage. "i- no actually, i’m allowed, you’re an idiot. anyway, we agreed- you’re just as bad as jimmy."

"what? I can't be that bad!" mumbo exclaims, but in all honesty, he can’t help but agree a little. it- he may or may not have gotten distracted staring at grian's lips midway through his sentence; he’s a complete idiot—especially if grian is with him.

"I- mumbo." grian says, surprisingly breathless, and mumbo looks up to see him flushed pink. oh. oh- was that- is that because of him? "you can't just- oh my god."

"you- I blame you for this!" mumbo feels his own face growing hot, stomach fluttering. "I wouldn’t have known if you hadn't kissed me!"

grian lifts a hand to mumbo's cheek, and mumbo's engine of a brain is shooting sparks once again. "how could i not?" he says, almost to himself as he rubs his thumb against mumbo's lips, who might actually explode this time.

"grian," mumbo's voice is barely a whisper, and it occurs to him that they must have started leaning in at some point, because their faces are so much closer than they were a moment ago.

apparently distracted by mumbo's lips (which- wow. that's- that is happening. okay), grian gives a little hum of answer.

"can-" mumbo puts a hand on grian's, and he looks up. there's a look that flashes across grian's face when their eyes meet, and it's almost smug—as if he knows just how much fire mumbo's brain is on right now. "can you kiss me?"

grian's lips twitch into a half smile, and he tilts his head, leaning in until their noses barely brush. "gladly." his breath ghosts mumbo's face, but before he has time to even process this, the gap between them is closed.

somehow, it's even better the second time. grian's hand is cupping his cheek, the other gravitating towards his waist, and it's all mumbo can do not to explode as he leans into grian. it's honestly unbelievable- mumbo wonders, as grian's hand rubs gently against his waist, if this is all just an incredible dream. this theory is quickly wiped from his mind, along with any other hint of rational thought, as grian begins to run his hand through mumbo's hair. y’know- if this is a dream, mumbo would rather not wake up.

after what feels like a lifetime—and yet far, far too soon—the two of them are forced to pull away for air. mumbo is grinning like an idiot, and grian is flushed pink but smiling just as much, and they just kissed! again!

"so- um. what- are we-" mumbo seems to have forgotten the english language mid-kiss. which- okay, that's embarrassing. he thought that was just something people made up for romances. "would you consider us to be- um. what- what would you-"

grian presses a kiss against mumbo's lips, very effectively shutting him up long enough to say, "I would like to be your partner. if- if you also would like that."

for a moment, it's all mumbo can do to nod enthusiastically, and grian (being the incredibly rude man he is) cackles at him. "I- I would definitely like that." mumbo manages, smiling shyly.

"good." grian says, and mumbo can just tell he’s trying to sound calmer than he is. it's cute. mumbo wants to poke it. "because- I mean, it's not like you had much of a choice. you’re mine now- it's not really optional."

mumbo tilts grian's chin upward and kisses his lips, grinning as grian blinks in flustered surprise. "i’m not mad about that."

never has mumbo ever seen someone look so pleased and so indignant at the same time before. "you- you did that on purpose!"

mumbo laughs, and grian can't keep up the silly pout he was attempting. "of course I did! you kissed me- out of nowhere, and left me alone!"

"oh I see," grian says, clearly trying to stay annoyed, but he can’t stop giggling to himself. "this is revenge."

mumbo kisses grian's nose, watching with glee as grian turns even pinker. "of course not." he says unconvincingly.

"oh my god- mumbo!" grian buries his face in his hands, and mumbo cackles.

"okay- i'll stop! i’m stopping, i’m stopping." mumbo grins, and- okay, maybe he just wants to see grian's face again. what, are you gonna sue him? you- please don't, actually. "i’m sorry- I apologise."

grian moves his hands away from his face, giving mumbo a suspicious look. wow- he really does know him, doesn’t he? "I don’t trust that voice." he jabs at mumbo's chest, grinning a little.

embarrassingly, mumbo feels himself turn pink. "I- well, is- would it be weird if I said I just wanted to look at you?"

within an instant, grian turns more red than mumbo has ever seen him—apparently speechless, because all he does is stare as mumbo starts to laugh at his expression.

"it's just-" mumbo raises a hand to stroke grian's cheek, watching with delight as grian melts into the touch. "you’re just so beautiful." he murmurs, beginning to trace the outline of his jaw with the tips of his fingers. mumbo reaches his chin, and tilts it upward ever so slightly. "I can't believe I never.." he trails off, distracted by how soft grian's lips feel against his fingers.

grian looks like he could very well melt into a puddle; voice slightly raspy when he says, "mumbo, you- you’re killing me here."

mumbo grins, stomach fluttering at the fact that he flustered grian. "I did say it was revenge." he leans in ever so slightly, glancing very intentionally at grian's lips before pulling his gaze away. honestly, it's a marvel to see grian so shy- usually that's mumbo. "I just.." his smugness softens into something far more affectionate than he would ever admit again. "I love you."

"if- if you don't kiss me in the next five seconds," grian starts, entirely out of breath and positively beetroot-coloured. "i’m actually going to die, and it will weigh on your conscious forever."

mumbo tilts grian's face upwards ever so slightly, and- okay, maybe he’s taking a little longer to do this than he otherwise would. it's- in his defence, grian's reactions are just too incredible to let slip by; mumbo can’t just miss them. "well, since you asked so nicely." he teases, pausing just long enough to watch grian's expression shift to something simultaneously flustered and exasperated before he leans in.

grian kisses him with the air of someone who has seconds left to live, and mumbo can’t help but melt into him as grian presses closer—nails digging bluntly into the fabric of his jeans. it's all mumbo can do to kiss back, brain turning to mush at the insane reality that grian is kissing him- and that he’s kissing him because he loves him. it's all- there's no possible way that mumbo is coming out of this with his sanity still intact.

all too soon, grian pulls back, and mumbo makes an embarrassing noise of complaint. their faces are so close, mumbo can feel grian's breath on his cheeks. he might just explode. "just- just to clarify," grian pants, and- wow. okay, that- wow. "is there anything you- you don't want me to do?"

"not- not in the slightest." mumbo breathes, and his voice sounds almost desperate. grian, apparently, seems to find this fact intoxicating rather than embarrassing. "maybe- i’d prefer you not to stop."

at that, grian presses a kiss to the corner of mumbo's mouth, smirking mischievously. "i’d never dream of it, mumbo." he whispers. oh, gosh.

within moments, they are kissing again, and mumbo sinks into it without a second thought—quite frankly, if he could make this last for all eternity, he would. grian must be noticing the way mumbo relishes his softness, because he has begun to cup his face, rubbing a thumb across mumbo's cheek. mumbo, of course, is finding it very difficult to think about anything other than that gentle touch through the haze of quiet breathing and comforting embraces, but- well, he can’t just let grian do all the work, can he? that- that would be rude.

grian makes a little noise of surprise as mumbo slips his hand into his hair, scratching gently at the nape of his neck, but within seconds, mumbo feels grian begin to melt against him. he has to admit- it's pretty cute—especially when grian pulls barely back to mumble, "is- is this revenge?"

mumbo can’t help but giggle at how red grian is, coupled with how pleased he is with- everything that's happening right now. "I- it wasn't my intention, but- y’know, it could be."

grian practically pouts, and mumbo is laughing even more now- which he doesn’t think was the intention behind that. "you’re so mean to me, mumbo."

"I- well, you- you were being so nice to me," mumbo says, feeling his face begin to warm as he watches grian realise what he means with delight. "I had to return the favour."

grian is grinning now, pout entirely forgotten in lieu of making fun of mumbo. "oh, mumbo-"

mumbo claps a hand over grian's mouth, enormously embarrassed by it all. grian continues to grin, but the fondness in his eyes betrays his true feelings. "that- we don't need to discuss it, actually. we can just- we can let the moment pass."

"i’m making a note of this in my mind." grian says. well- mumbo is pretty sure that's what he said, after all, his voice is muffled by mumbo's hand. "but- okay-" the look in his eye makes mumbo expect to be licked, and he moves his hand very quickly away. "hey!"

"you were gonna lick me." mumbo says, grinning at grian's offence. "weren't you?"

grian makes a sulky face, which is- far too pretty for his own good. "I was gonna kiss you." mumbo laughs, and grian's sulk drops almost immediately. which- frankly, the mischievous grin that replaces it should not be nearly as endearing as it is. "I wanted to watch your reaction—they're always cute."

mumbo barely has time to give a flustered huff of a laugh before grian is following up with, "but I was going to say, I have been paying attention." he says, and mumbo finds himself reeling.

"you- I hadn't even- oh my goodness." mumbo scrambles desperately to locate wherever his brain has ended up, because it's very obvious that it has completely abandoned him by now. "you- you actually thought about- gosh." he buries his face in his hands, and grian cackles.

"well, I just- you always liked it when I held your hand." grian is saying, and his grin is so abundantly obvious in his voice alone- he’s so audibly pleased with himself for getting it right. "and tango- I mean. I won't pretend we didn't talk-"

mumbo looks up so fast, he may have almost given himself whiplash. "what did tango tell you?" he says, pointedly ignoring how funny grian seems to be finding this whole conversation.

grian is still laughing when he finally answers, "well, he- he may have hinted a couple things. I didn’t know you guys used to date." he takes mumbo's hand and raises it to his lips. "he mentioned on the off-chance it'd be relevant.." grian presses a kiss against mumbo's knuckles, and oh he’s just so smugabout it that mumbo could melt.

"I- I can't believe this." mumbo barely manages. he’s fairly certain his face is cosplaying a beetroot by now. "you two- oh my goodness. why- how would you even- when did that become a- a topic of discussion?" embarrassingly, it seems as if his voice has abandoned him, leaving mumbo stuck with squeaks.

grian blushes, and mumbo feels a little better about his own disastrous response. "I- okay, it- it's not like I talked about you all the time, but I- you came up.. a lot."

mouth agape, it's all mumbo can do but stare for a long moment. grian, of course, finds this hilarious. "how would- I never even- are you kidding?"

"tango said you’d probably react like that." grian is grinning, and mumbo is going to dissolve. in a good way.

"I- y’know, maybe I should start telling jimmy this kind of stuff about tango." mumbo is still embarrassingly breathless, and grian laughs. "see now he likes it."

grian leans forward and presses a soft kiss to mumbo's lips, eyes ridiculously fond. "I think he'd probably appreciate you helping him out." he grins. "how do you think I got the courage to kiss you?"

mumbo can’t help softening slightly. "well. maybe i'll forgive him." he jabs grian in the forehead, grinning as he squawks in protest. "once I forgive you for leaving me alone after you kissed me." he exclaims.

grian cackles. "I- look, okay, I was freaked out-"

"you were freaked out?!" mumbo half-yells, unable to keep from grinning along. "grian- you just- you kissed me, and then left! and then I had to realise that I was in love with you- and you left, so I couldn't even tell you-"

"I thought you were gonna hate me!" grian defends. "I couldn’t- but then I turned around and you were running, and immediately fell over-"

mumbo grins. "I just- I was thinking too much about you kissing me, and then I- I saw your lips, so-"

frankly, mumbo has never seen grian look so delighted in his life. "you fell over because you wanted to kiss me?!"

"I- well- kinda." mumbo says, heat rising in his face from both embarrassment and pleasure. "has that- is that just me?"

grian snorts, face reddening. "I- okay, I might- a week ago, I was. thinking about you a bit whilst me and jimmy were looking for crabs, and I wasn't- I forgot to pay attention, and I sorta. fell into the sea."

mumbo laughs harder than he thinks he’s laughed in weeks, not even trying to regain his composure as grian cackles along. "oh- oh my gosh- grian!" he squawks, trying to catch his breath again. "what- what I wouldn't pay to watch that." he grins. "do I really have that much of an effect?"

"well," grian glances away, looking suddenly embarrassed. "it's- you had that shirt, and you’d ditched your jacket 'cause it was hot, and- with the sleeves rolled up- it- uh. yeah." grian hides his face with his hand. "I got- I got distracted."

mumbo's face hurts from smiling so much, and he honestly doesn't care. "I- wow. I will be- i'll be making a note of that." he says, flattered.

grian looks back, grinning. "you’re gonna use this against me, aren't you?"

"who would I be if I didn't?" mumbo smiles, fonder than he meant to be.

grian leans forward and kisses mumbo, cupping his face as he does so. when he pulls back, mumbo finds himself chasing his lips—much to grian's amusement. grian tilts his head, smiling. "I love you."

mumbo turns his head to kiss grian's hand, stomach fluttering. "I love you too."

#hermitshipping #kissing #grumbo #mumbo jumbo #grian #this is technically in my dredge au but tbf you can't really tell aside from a couple things they mention #if you don’t know what the au is then you’re not gonna be lost at all #wren writes #this took me like four months to write btw so yk if it feels disjointed at times it's cause it is GKFHDK #the end might feel weird and that's cause I just wanted to be Done #trafficfic #hermitfic #I can’t remember if I need more tags

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frozenjokes · 7 months ago

Text

Mumbo Doesn’t HATE Furries, But He WILL NOT Go Back To Jail

Mumbo’s phone didn’t ring very often these days. He didn’t care at all to speak to much of anyone, far preferring to text, though he didn’t do much of that, either. These past couple years were lonely, certainly, but in more ways than one, loneliness was far less stressful than his prior alternative. There was peace in loneliness, in his one bedroom apartment, on his laptop, playing games and talking on forums. It was quiet. He liked quiet. He liked this.

When his phone did ring, 9/10 times it was a spam caller, so 10/10 times, Mumbo would end the call with deft fingers, hardly looking at the number. If someone really wanted to reach him, they’d call back. Though, this time, his phone did ring again, a rare and unwelcome occurrence, especially now, since Mumbo was quite focused on the game he was playing and didn’t particularly feel like stopping. So again he hung up, again without looking, huffing at his computer screen.

When it rang a third time, Mumbo groaned out loud, canceling the call before the first ring concluded. There was only one person who called more than twice in a row, and Mumbo did not want to talk to HotGuy. Mumbo didn’t actually want to talk to HotGuy ever, but that didn’t stop the superhero from calling him over and over until he picked up. A battle of wills, one Mumbo had yet to win because seriously, he could waste thirty more minutes ignoring HotGuy’s calls, but then that was thirty minutes of his time he was forced to think about HotGuy, and even if he turned his ringer off, he would still see HotGuy’s name calling when he looked down to check the time, and then he’d feel bad, his conviction would crumble, and he’d pick up, so really, might as well just get this over with.

On the fourth call, Mumbo eyed his phone with great ire, then promptly fell entirely out of his chair with a squeak.

That- That wasn’t HotGuy-

Mumbo scrambled to his feet, his desk chair ending up being a horrible choice to steady himself, and he toppled over as the wheels slid out from under him. Getting to his knees, he hit his head on the underside of his desk, and needed to lay on the floor for a second to recover before moving more slowly, carefully, on this treacherous journey to his phone. All this to say, he did not make it before the ringing ended automatically. Though, Mumbo didn’t even get far enough to pick up his phone before it rang a fifth time. Immediately, he answered.

“Grian! Goodness, you are persistent, aren’t you? Sorry I didn’t pick up right away- In the restroom I was, couldn’t answer the phone. Don’t feel bad though, about calling all those times I mean, it’s good for me, sometimes I don’t look-”

There was a lot of feedback from Grian’s end, the kind of sound Mumbo remembered well from times Grian would pick up the phone while flying. Mumbo always hated talking to him like this, unable to hear most words in lieu of the wind. Wasn’t Grian ever afraid of dropping his phone? “Mumbo!” Grian sounded out of breath, almost heaving, “I don’t feel bad.”

“Ah! Good then, that’s-”

“I want to catch up. It’s been awhile, hasn’t it, pal? I miss you. I want’ta catch up. Would that be fine? Was thinking about you lately. Sound good?” The noise came through sporadically, and predictably, Mumbo understood less than half of what was said. In the sky, Grian had two volumes; mumbled garbled nonsense, and LOUD, which would always make Mumbo flinch. He’d probably scold him over it if it hadn’t been so long since they’d talked. Boy, that was a little sad, wasn’t it.

“That sounds great. I’d love to. When-”

“What’s your address?” Grian’s voice came through so loudly over the wind, Mumbo couldn’t claim he hadn’t heard correctly. Even still, he wasn’t sure he had. Surely Grian hadn’t meant what Mumbo thought he meant.

“You- You want to meet now?”

“Yes. At your house. Right now.”

“Grian, it’s 11:30 at night!”

“Is that a problem?”

“I-” Mumbo shed a somewhat guilty glance at half empty coffee across his desk, mostly forgotten, but certainly not drunk at a reasonable time. Regardless, he and Grian knew he wasn’t sleeping anytime soon. “I guess not- wait.” Mumbo steeled himself, taking a firm breath, “You’re not running from the police or anything, are you? Because I told you, I’m done, retired, no more of this, and I won’t let you talk me into anything either, I’ll send you right on your way.”

“No! No, not that, promise. I wouldn’t, I wouldn’t.”

“There’s been some interesting stuff in the news about you lately. You sure? Not coming to recruit me, are you? I swear, if HotGuy sent you-”

“No! Mumbo, no! Please, I just need a friend.”

Mumbo took a step back, physically and mentally, closing his eyes. No need to go off on the man, not when they hadn’t talked in years. Grian had always been impulsive regardless, this wasn’t exactly out of character.

“Okay. I’ll text you.” Mumbo bit his lip, quite the bad habit given his sharp teeth. Was Grian okay? He sounded winded, but it was a little hard to tell, and flying could be pretty intense exercise.. Mumbo wasn’t sure. This just felt so odd.

“Be there soon.” Grian hung up as he finished the sentence, and Mumbo sighed, navigating to Grian’s contact to give him the address. But as he was hitting send, finger just about pressing the button, he got another call, accidentally accepting it at the same time he sent his text.

He didn’t even see the contact before the speaker exploded into noise, “MUMBO!” HotGuy wailed from the other end and Mumbo groaned, falling back in his desk chair with a hefty thump.

“What do you need.”

“Mumbo, I think I just made a huge mistake and I don’t know what to do! I-I met this guy, and I met him as HotGuy and my normal person identity, and he hates HotGuy but really likes normal person me, and tonight we just had this moment, y’know? He told me like every crime he’s ever committed and all about how he doesn’t feel crazy with all those alter egos and I was just like wow! I don’t want to feel crazy anymore. I want to be known! I want to be seen! So I took the mask off and told him exactly who I was and then he screamed and ran away and then I had a panic attack and I’m still kind of panicking, but I also don’t regret it?? I’m glad I did it! I’m glad he knows! I’m relieved!”

“Great, what’s the problem then, bud?”

“He screamed and ran away!”

“Could be worse.”

“I do not think it could be worse! Five minutes before that we were talking about being a polycule! Well. I was talking about it a little more than he was. It’s complicated. I don’t actually completely understand what’s happening here, but like, he’s kinda in love with his roommate, right, and I’m also a little in love with his roommate and we were going on dates and I think his roommate likes me too but then..” Mumbo started to tune HotGuy out as another call came in, from Cub, what the hell? It had been- fuck, at least ten years since they’d talked- Why? He didn’t even know Cub still had his number.

“HotGuy, buddy, I gotta let you go. Got someone else on the line.”

“Wait- But I’m not-“ Mumbo didn’t wait to hear the rest, hanging up a little more aggressively than probably warranted. He didn’t much care.

“Hello?” He asked, somewhat timidly. Cub had always intimidated him, even when he, Mumbo, and Grian had shared an apartment junior and senior year of college. They had never gotten along quite as well as Cub and Grian did, though, maybe that’s because Grian was the easy sort to talk to, comfortable, at least in his opinion. He could be prickly, but he was fun as well, the type of extremely bad influence that draws you in. Goodness, maybe catching up was a bad idea. Mumbo pursed his lips. But Grian seemed to have changed his tune, at least a little, switching from Criminal to Still A Criminal But Government Approved This Time- maybe it would be fine?

“Hey, Mumbo, sorry for calling so late,” Cub said in the same monotone drone that Mumbo remembered well; that made him so nervous sometimes, but this time, there was a bit of an anxious edge, “I know it’s been awhile, but Grian called me and told me he was visiting you, and he didn’t say so, but I think he’s upset, and I just wanted to make sure- I don’t know,” Cub sounded so lost for a moment, and Mumbo felt his own anxiety fall away. Well, the Cub-related anxiety anyway, the Grian anxiety was alive and well.

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it. I was a little confused when he called me as well, I won’t lie.. I can’t tell you if he was having a hard time, I can barely hear when he’s flying, but-“ Mumbo stopped when his phone started to buzz, seething, “One moment please. I Will Call You Back.”

“Uh-“ Cub sounded a bit startled, “Yeah, man, sure.”

Mumbo hung up, reeling on the other line, “HotGuy. Stop. Calling me.”

Mumbo was pleased to hear stuttering over the speaker, but the satisfaction didn’t last, turning to guilt when HotGuy started to speak, “I- I’m sorry! I’m just having a bit of a crisis here, I needed to talk to someone and- I don’t know- I always just think of you-“

“HotGuy.”

A small pause, then a meek, “Yes?” nearly as quiet.

“I will call you back, but later. Maybe tomorrow. I am dealing with something right now, and you are stressing me out.”

“You’ll call me back?” The change in tone was jarring, HotGuy lighting all the way up and his voice ablaze with what Mumbo could only describe as unadulterated joy.

Mumbo grit his teeth. “Yes. I will call you back.”

“Okay!” HotGuy didn’t miss a beat, any distress that was previously there, gone. Mumbo got the distinct feeling he had just been conned. “Bye, Mumbo!” And not a moment later, HotGuy hung up. Mumbo sighed deep, redialing Cub’s number.

“Hi. Sorry about that.”

“It’s no problem,” Cub spoke quickly and quiet, half mumbling, “Did you say Grian called you tonight? Just wanted to make sure.”

“Uh,” Mumbo hesitated, wondering if he was about to get Grian in trouble, “Yeah, about fifteen minutes ago he did.”

Mumbo heard Cub exhale loudly through his nose and cringed, very much not wanting to be in the middle of this, but Cub didn’t sound frustrated when he spoke, “Okay. He told me otherwise, but I think.. I don’t know what he’s thinking sometimes. I know you know how he can be sometimes, and really, he’s been better lately- I guess I just mean to say if this is too much for you tonight, shoot me a text. I’ll come pick him up. I might be a while if you live far; we don’t have a car right now, but I’ll get there as soon as I can.”

Mumbo shook his head, a bit alarmed, “No, no, you don’t have to. If need be, I’ll drive him home. I’m just as much of an insomniac as I was before, this won’t be a disruption for me..” Mumbo trailed off, feeling bad for even thinking to ask, but anxiety always got the better of him and- damn it, his lip was bleeding again, he had to stop doing that- “You don’t think he’s in trouble, do you? With the police, or any other superhero business.. I- I won’t send him away or anything, but I really don’t want to get tangled up in anything, those days are firmly behind me.”

Cub was quiet for a long moment, clearly taking the question seriously (which Mumbo appreciated), but the silence was also driving him a little crazy. Finally, Cub answered, painfully honest, “I don’t know. I really don’t think so, and I believe that Grian respects you enough to keep that business out of your hair.. He really feels awful about what happened to you, and I know-”

“Please, don’t. I’d rather not discuss it.”

Cub gave a small noise of assent before continuing, “To be perfectly honest, I have no idea what could have happened. Could be as small as a perceived humiliation that he just can’t quite cope with, or as big as.. Well, he’s had to confront a few things about himself in the past few weeks, and change is never easy. Maybe he just needs some space from me. We’ve had some pretty intense, uh, relationship dealings.. It’s not important. He’ll tell you if he wants. But to answer your question, it’s been a bit since Grian has been in trouble with the police. I can’t say for sure, but I really don’t think he’d be dragging something like that to your doorstep. He certainly won’t try and talk you into anything, I’m sure of that.”

Mumbo managed to let go of the breath he’d been holding. “Okay. Thank you, Cub. I should go now, tidy up a bit, but I’ll text you if anything happens.”

“Okay.” There was a bit of a pause, the distinct kind of silence that held unspoken words, so Mumbo waited, though he didn’t need to wait long. “I don’t think anything will happen. I just worry. I just wish he would tell me the truth sometimes.”

Mumbo nodded, though Cub couldn’t see. “I understand. Bye, Cub.”

“Bye.” Cub hung up, and Mumbo was left a moment to breathe. But only a moment, because seconds later, his phone rang once again. Grian. Mumbo picked up.

“I’m here.”

“Alright. I’ll buzz you in. Come right up.”

And Grian wasted no time, scaling the stairs in what must have been record time and knocking on Mumbo’s door no less than a minute later to Mumbo’s great distress. His place was a bit of a mess- no one had visited him in ages, though, Grian wasn’t likely to care. Mumbo took a deep breath, allowing himself to relax. This was fine. This was exciting! It really had been too long since they’d seen each other, and maybe if Grian had really turned himself around, they could even be friends again.

All that hope dropped right through his stomach when he opened the front door.

“Grian.”

Grian looked startled, genuinely so, as if he wasn’t standing in Mumbo’s doorway in full costume, chicken mask tucked conspicuously under his arm. Even his wings were painted, for goodness’ sake, this is not what Mumbo wanted tonight. “I-” Grian seemed to understand what Mumbo was looking at a moment later, looking thoroughly embarrassed, as if he had accidentally shown up at his door dressed as Poultry Man- You know, at this point, Mumbo wasn’t even surprised. “Would you believe me if I told you this is a fursuit.”

“No!”

“Well then you would be wrong, because it is, and has served me well through many cons. She’s a little old, could use some touch-ups, but I take good care of her, and have for years. Did’ja know Poultry Man is a hen, Mumbo? I bet you didn’t. There’s a fun bit of trivia for you.” Grian invited himself in, pushing past Mumbo like he wasn’t even there.

“I- I don’t care if it’s a fursuit or not, Grian!”

“Kinda sounds like you do. Y’know, I didn’t take you as the type to make fun of furries; a bit low in my opinion. I thought you had more class than that, I’ll be honest.” Grian set the head down on the arm of Mumbo’s sofa, then looked back, eyes blinking wide as if noticing for the first time how upset Mumbo actually was, “I’m serious, though. I’m not in trouble, I just wanted to run HotGuy around for a bit. I had a couple things to talk to him about, and I wanted him to know about the other stuff I do in my spare time. No crimes committed tonight, not one,” Grian released a shaky breath, looking distant as he turned his gaze back to the mask.

Mumbo didn’t feel much better. “I don’t really believe you, Grian.”

“I-” Grian turned, having the gall to look angry, but the expression didn’t last, maybe in part due to Mumbo’s own dark look. Still, Grian shook his head, shoulders hunching, “That’s fair. This was stupid of me, I’m sorry. Wasn’t thinking. This was an impulsive thing, dumb. Shouldn’t have called you. I’ll go.” Grian scooped up the head of his costume, turning back toward the door.

“Damn it, Grian, don’t do that.”

Grian’s eyebrows twitched, anger maybe, or distress; his expression was shifting too much to tell. “What? You want me to go. You didn’t want me here in the first place, not like this, and I still came exactly like you told me not to, like a fucking asshole, because I just wasn’t thinking. I’ve done enough, Mumbo, I shouldn’t have come.”

But Mumbo stood in Grian’s way, anger and conflict fighting with the deep desire to see him, to reconnect, to meet and not fight. If Grian left, hating himself, things would be as they always were. Or maybe they’d be worse, their ties severed completely. Mumbo didnt want that. And he promised at least to Cub he’d drive Grian home, but Mumbo didn’t really want that either.

Maybe this had been an accident. A stupid accident, showing up as a long-time criminal, but if Grian had really been so upset like Cub suspected, maybe he wasn’t thinking.

“Tell me about the suit.”

Grian startled, blinking up, “What?”

“Your fursuit. They’re characters, right? They’ve got names and stories I thought, at least some of them do. It’s, uh- sorry, I don’t know the terminology. Does yours have a story?” Mumbo took a seat, giving himself and Grian room to breathe. Grian stared for a moment, body stuttering in his confusion, before sitting on the floor. That was just fine.

“Uh, well, she’s- her name is Adelaide. She’s kinda.. well, she’s not a great person. She’s just.. angry. All of the time. And a lot of things get under her skin, a lot, but what gets to her the most is feeling like other people don’t take her seriously. Drives her mad, really. Makes her feel completely out of touch with herself, with humanity- I know she’s a chicken, just bare with me, okay?”

“I’m baring! I’m baring! Go on.”

“Well, she’s so angry, and it makes her feel less than human. She feels very primally animal, like a wild dog or starving coyote or something- again, metaphorically- this isn’t about like furry racism it’s just- ugh, I’m embarrassed. This is embarrassing.” Grian drew his hands over his eyes, and Mumbo frowned.

“Don’t be, please. I’d really like to hear about it.”

“The story is so old. I kinda got into this stuff after college, just kept it to myself. It needs about a thousand reworks.”

“Well it means something to you, doesn’t it?”

Grian chewed on his lip, reminding Mumbo to stop biting his own. “Yeah. Guess you can tell it hits a little close to home. I just don’t like her very much anymore. I don’t want to be like that. We’re out of touch.”

“That’s fine, Grian. I’m not trying to psychoanalyze you through the chicken character you made ten years ago.”

“Ten years.. Oh god, don’t say that,” Grian gave a small chuckle and Mumbo risked his own, grateful for the ease in tension.

“You don’t have to tell about Adelaide if you don’t want to.”

Grian cringed inwardly, and Mumbo threw up placating hands, worried he’d done something wrong, but Grian only laughed, “Sorry- That was like- super weird for me. To hear someone else say her name out loud, I mean. I don’t know how to explain, but it’s like this person that has lived in my brain for years just got plucked right out and looked at. And I felt it. In my brain.”

“I’m sorry for touching your brain then, mate, ” Mumbo chuckled with the smallest roll of his eyes, “I’m serious though, I feel like I’m making you uncomfortable.”

“You’re not. You’re perfect, I’m just- a little painfully me sometimes- not- I don’t mean to self deprecate, I just can’t tell a story. But I would like to try. If that’s okay.”

Mumbo nodded, “Sure.”

Grian took a breath, and then one or two more. “Adelaide.. She feels out of touch with the world, and she starts to wonder if maybe things would be different if she was a rooster, right? Maybe she wouldn’t be so angry all the time, and maybe people would start to take her more seriously. She’s already got a pretty large cone; that’s the red thing on chickens’ heads by the way, hens also have them, lots of people mistake hens for roosters because-” Grian cut himself off, looking embarrassed, “Anyway, she’s been mistaken for a rooster before, and she’s always liked the idea of having spurs, which, again, are a rooster thing, they’ve got sharp bits on the backs of their legs. So she decides she’s going to give it a shot! See if anything changes. Surprise, this does not solve her anger issues.”

“I figured.”

“Yeah. She’s not treated exactly the same, but she has these different challenges she wasn’t expecting, and she’s pretty reactionary when things don’t go as planned, and is still getting into a lot of fights. She holds her own, though, especially with the new knives on the back of her talons, and one night after a fight outside a bar, she’s approached by this guy, and he tells her he thinks she’s got talent for this kind of thing, fighting and stuff, and that she could earn quite a bit of cash doing it professionally. Cock fighting, essentially. Do you know what cock fighting is, Mumbo?”

“The.. blood sport? Don’t they tape knives to roosters and make them fight until they die?”

“Yeah, essentially. It’s pretty awful stuff, and very illegal- it’s illegal in this universe as well, though the chickens in the ring aren’t actually fighting to the death. Deaths do happen though. It’s shady business, and Adelaide knows that, but she also sees an opportunity here for release, and she’s excited by it. She wants to do this. All under her alias as a man, of course. And so she signs on. Calls herself Poultry Man, which, yes, in a universe where chickens are humanoid, is a ridiculous name, but she doesn’t care. She does care when the audience is betting against her though; she’s smaller than most of the other roosters, and a little feeble looking, so without knowing anything else about her, gamblers think she’s going to lose a lot of her first fights. And that really pisses her off, because, again, she hates being discounted.”

“So she kicks ass.”

“Yeah. And she’s an amateur fighter, but up against other amateur fighters, she’s quite the beast to behold. So she causes quite a few upsets, and suddenly there’s this ‘rooster’ that came out of nowhere and people love her. Life has never seemed so perfect. Yeah, she’s an animal and she’s violent and angry, but that’s okay here. And.. well.. this is kind of where I fall out of touch with the story. Originally, she starts climbing up in the ranks and becoming this more well known cock fighter, but that just doesn’t make much sense to me anymore, and honestly, feels a little cliché. I want her to be challenged sooner, not because she’s met her match or anything and has to rethink this when she can’t win easily anymore.. I don’t know. I want her to change, but I want it to come from herself, you know?

Mumbo hummed to himself, giving it some thought. “What if she kills someone? Early on, but after all the upsets. It’s an accident, but maybe it has something to do with the homemade spurs, right? They’re sharper or longer or something that gave her an edge, and it doesn’t matter to anyone else, it doesn’t even matter that the guy is dead, but she’s never killed anyone before. And that could stop her in her tracks, you know? Really shake her, make her ask if that’s what she really wants.”

“Ooh..” Grian tapped his lips, eyes distant, “That could do it. I feel like I’m so desensitized sometimes, I didn’t even consider..” Grian pursed his lips, “Nevermind. I like this. And she could try to get away from this place, but people like Poultry Man, too much to let him leave. The ring is all sorts of shady anyway, she might have signed some sort of contract and didn’t even realize. By the time she tries to get out, it’s too late. And suddenly, someone who’s never been afraid to die before is petrified, because what if she dies like this, angry and bitter and a murderer, and she never gets the chance to change.”

Mumbo raised an eyebrow at that, and Grian jolted up, catching the look before Mumbo could hope to conceal it, “You said you weren’t psychoanalyzing me!”

“Hey, I never said anything.”

“You say things with your dumb face just as loudly as you speak words!”

Mumbo gasped in mock offense, turning his head away, “How dare you! I’ll have you know, this face is not nearly as dumb as it was a few months ago when I nixed the mustache, and here I was thinking I was finally starting to look normal again.”

“You- You shaved it? Why?” Grian wailed and Mumbo laughed, sighing contentedly.

“Had a bit of a crisis. Was an impulse decision I'm afraid, very impulsive. Truly a tragedy. And you should’ve seen me after, goodness, I was speedrunning the five stages of grief like my life depended on it, and just when I thought I had accepted it, it would start all over again. You would’ve laughed until you ran out of air to make fun of me.”

“I would have cried, Mumbo!”

“You would have laughed!” Mumbo pointed an accusatory finger, and Grian did laugh, resting his hands behind his head and leaning against the arm of the sofa with a sly look.

“I probably would have laughed.”

“Uh huh. I would have sent a picture in a complete panic and you would have called me just to laugh at me. And maybe you’d feel just a bit bad and try to tell me it was fine, but then you’d see the picture again and start cackling just like you do, and I’d be in complete ruin.”

Grian huffed, though the smirk never left his face. “Maybe then it would be your fault for sending me the picture. Since you know so much about how I’d react. Speaking of, do you have one?”

Mumbo gasped, affronted, “Even if I did, I would not show you!”

Grian snickered, slinking up onto the couch, “So you do have one,” he grinned, sharp teeth on full display, “I bet you haven’t changed your phone password since we were in college. A few months ago, hm?”

“Grian!” Mumbo yelped, scooching to the other side of the couch, but Grian crawled after him, stalking like a cat. “You don’t even remember it I bet. You don’t remember anything!”

“How about you hand over your phone and we’ll see just how much I remember,” Grian spoke silkily, batting his eyelashes, and Mumbo scowled, sticking out his tongue, however, was distinctly not ready for Grian to actually pounce, screeching as flapping wings battered his face and talons poked holes in his shirt. Perched on his shoulders, Grian bent over Mumbo’s head, snatching his phone out of his lap (dropped as Mumbo tried to protect his face with his arms) and entering the password with a few swift clicks. Grian did not move from Mumbo’s shoulders when he finished, apparently satisfied, and unceremoniously dropped Mumbo’s phone back at his knees. The flapping stopped when he got his balance, and Mumbo grumbled, shutting off his unlocked phone.

“Point proven. You know I hate when you do that, right?”

“Steal your phone?” Grian asked, innocent, and Mumbo rolled his eyes.

“Sit on my shoulders. This has never ended without me getting hurt. You losing your balance, hitting me in the head, digging into my shoulders, pulling my hair, scratching my face-”

“Hey, hey, it’s been a while since I’ve done any of that! Years, even!”

“Yeah, only because we haven’t seen each other for that long, I’m sure nothing has changed. This night is going to end with bloody scratches across my face, guaranteed.”

“I’m offended.”

“Good!”

“I’ll forgive you if you show me that picture.”

“I am not-” Mumbo stopped himself, eyebrows furrowing in thought, “I’ll show you..” he began, careful, “if you tell me what you’re running away from tonight.”

Grian quieted, his talons digging a little in Mumbo’s shoulders, “Alright. But you show me first because this might kill the mood.” He shifted his weight, leaning forward expectantly, and Mumbo relented, starting the scroll through his photos to find the picture. As expected, the moment Grian laid eyes on it, he cackled, flapping his wings for balance then falling off Mumbo’s shoulders altogether in a giggling heap.

“It’s really not that funny.”

“But you look so distressed! So- so upset! Your upper lip, oh no! Mumbo! You poor thing!” Mumbo did not get the sense Grian actually felt very bad, curled up and snickering as he was. “A Mumbo without his mustache,” Grian continued, almost dreamily, “That’s a cruel world, a cruel cruel world.”

“Alright, alright, it’s your turn then,” Mumbo batted at a wing that flew a little too close to his face, and Grian giggled, sighing before spreading himself out to lay down properly, talons draping over Mumbo’s legs. It was comfortable, a thing like this. Like decades old friendship. Like nothing had changed.

“Okay.” Grian began with conviction, raising his hands in a vague gesture, “I’m going to need you to imagine you’re me, alright? Not only are you me, but you are me who has been off his meds and faffing about in therapy for a few months, so you’re a me who isn’t in a good state. So you’re me. And your roommate, Cub still, finds out you’re a somewhat prolific supervillain, confronts you about it, and your brain just short circuits, so you run away determined to make your own life worse somehow in order to not think about what just happened ever again. Hey, wait a minute-“ Grian stopped, turning an accusatory glare Mumbo’s way, “How did you know I was CuteGuy?”

“Uh, it was pretty obvious, mate. Especially the recent stuff with you on the news and all those clips of you talking. Can’t say you make a massive effort to disguise your voice, and even mostly covered by that mask, you’ve got a pretty recognizable face.”

Grian groaned into his hands. “That is so annoying.”

“In all fairness, I wouldn’t have guessed you were Poultry Man like, ever. The mask that covers your whole head and the fact that you never speak in costume makes you near impossible to identify. Continue, though.”

Grian huffed, grumbling something inaudible to himself before going on, “Fine. Okay. So you’ve imagined you’re me and you’re having a bit of a crisis.”

“I’d rather not be having a crisis, but for you Grian, I’ll pretend.”

“Thank you. So you go to this bar, and it sucks, it’s awful, it’s everything you were looking for, and you meet this guy, and maybe you cried or something, and he’s kinda worried about you, so then you make a complete fool of yourself at his feet, like bad, like beg to go home with him- yes, in that way, and also ask him to buy you drinks and probably other extremely embarrassing awful vulnerable things because you’re having a crisis and you don’t want to go home and face it.”

“Yikes. Can’t believe I did that.”

“Exactly! Yikes. But this guy is very nice, he’s very very nice, and when you tell him you can’t go home, he says he has a spare room, and that you can have it as long as you need, and right now you’re desperate and you’re having a crisis so you just say yes, but later when you’ve calmed down a bit and you’ve gotten a little sleep, you realize how lucky you are that you met such a nice guy, and you’re so unbelievably grateful, and you still aren’t ready to go home, but this guy doesn’t mind, he likes having you around, and even though you do eventually go home and talk about your problems with Cub, you and the guy from the bar stay friends, and you go over to his house to hang out with him and watch movies and bake cookies and it’s fucking awesome.”

“Yes. I can see it. This guy is great.”

“Yes! And what’s best, is that you really feel like you can tell him anything. So whatever’s on your mind, you say it, and you know what’s on your mind a lot? HotGuy. YOU HATE HOTGUY. He’s arrogant, egotistical, does zero research on basically every sponsor he takes, he’s careless, he’s stupid- seriously, he is so fucking dense and people just eat that shit up and it drives you CRAZY. It has for months! You sit and doomscroll in your room and you just see clips of him acting like a fucking idiot and everyone in the comments is like ‘oh my god, he’s so cute!’ ‘oh my god, I hope I can meet him one day!’ ‘oh my god, I wish he would talk to me that way!’ So you start making burner accounts just to leave hate and argue with people-“

“Okay, you know, I was on board until that last bit-“

“-but it’s not enough! It’s never enough for you, so you decide to punch someone about it, and then you keep punching people and you call yourself cUtEgUy to satirize him and eventually you punch enough people that you get his attention, and guess what? HE’S A FUCKING ASSHOLE.” Grian took a deep breath, centering himself, and Mumbo didn’t dare speak. “But it’s okay. Because the nice guy from the bar doesn’t like HotGuy either. And he’s more than happy to listen to you and even commiserate a little bit. And you feel great! You feel great. Cub doesn’t care very much about superhero stuff so he kinda spaces out when you start ranting, but also- forgot to mention, you can’t actually throw shit fits about HotGuy around him anymore, BECAUSE HOTGUY WANTS IN HIS FUCKING PANTS!”

“Wait- wait-“

“I KNOW!” Grian shrieked into his hands, completely misunderstanding the meaning behind Mumbo’s bewilderment, “So HotGuy, who you hate, gets eyes for your roommate, who you’re in love with by the way, and you have to watch the two of them bumble about- well, Cub doesn’t bumble, but HotGuy bumbles, god, he’s so fucking pathetic around Cub I just want to tear out my fucking hair- But. But. It’s okay. One: Because you have the guy at the bar, and you’re pretty sure he likes you as well, and maybe while Cub is putting himself out there, you can too, and it can all be great. Two: You are a mature adult, and you can talk to other adults about how you’re feeling, and be honest with them, and even though you don’t like HotGuy, you’re willing to admit he’s not as bad as you first thought, and that you’ve been unfair to him, and you’re going to try to stop being such an asshole.”

Grian paused, but it was not the type of pause that invited conversation. And even all these years later, Mumbo could spot an incoming Grian explosion from a mile away.

“And you know what HotGuy says to you? After all that?”

Mumbo stared. Grian didn’t need an answer.

“HE AND MICAH. ARE THE SAME! FUCKING! GUY!!!” Grian beat the couch with his fists, and Mumbo moved to give him the space to do so, pretty sure he could assume ‘Micah’ was the same as ‘guy from the bar.’ Hm. Yeah. He didn’t need to speak, Grian seemingly far from done. “How am I supposed to be nice to him now. How am I supposed to go to work? What the fuck is wrong with him! Seriously, what is wrong with him? I swear to you, I swear, Micah is a completely different person- and I’m not being unobservant either, they have different mannerisms, completely different voices! I pegged them as brothers, and Micah told me I was right, he told me this horrible tragic backstory and how the two of them had grown apart and couldn’t mend their relationship- it was so real Mumbo. Their- personalities, I swear to you, different. And what breaks my brain the most- HotGuy was talking total shit about himself for weeks. WEEKS. I don’t- does he just fucking hate himself? What is happening? Why did he do that!? That is an Objectively insane thing to do. Is this like- revenge? Is this karma? Was this some sort of elaborate plan by him to fuck my head??? I want to kick his shit in! I want to cry.” Grian collapsed limp into the sofa, an arm, wing, and leg hanging off the side.

Mumbo considered him, unsure whether or not he should speak. But Grian looked thoroughly burnt out, his assault on the couch along with the tirade seeming to snuff the fire. Now, he just stared blankly at the ceiling, not moving, not crying, just.. gone.

“Do you want a hug?” Mumbo couldn’t offer much more, but it seemed to bring Grian back, the other side-eying him through lidded lashes.

“I don’t know,” he mumbled, and he sounded just as winded as he looked, “I just don’t have a back up plan anymore. I don’t have anyone. Anyone that isn’t Cub, I mean, and this whole- my whole plan depended on Micah. He was going to take me out tomorrow. Help me make friends. We were going to-“ Grian cut himself off painfully, unable to finish. His wings quivered. Mumbo’s heart ached for him.

“You know my boundaries now, Grian. I know you do, and I can see that things have changed pretty drastically since we’ve last talked.. I know it. And I don’t know everything, obviously, but I.. it really feels like you’re trying to turn yourself around. Like you’ve made a lot of progress. I’m proud of you, Grian.” Again, Grian eyed him from the side, and Mumbo hoped he could tell he was being genuine. “Listen.. If you need a friend, then you’ve got one in me, alright? You’ve got one here.”

Grian was still for so long, Mumbo wasn’t even sure if he heard, but then Grian was up, and in a flash of feathers, strong arms were locked around his waist and fuck did he mean it when he said strong, christ, it was a good thing Mumbo didn’t actually need to breathe. Grian didn’t seem to notice, nor did Mumbo see fit to tell him, instead wrapping his own arms around the shorter, tight above the base of his wings.

Grian sighed, something deeply shaken. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” And Mumbo meant it. God did he mean it.

#hermitcraft #gtws #goodtimeswithscar #mumbo jumbo #grian #cubfan #cubfan135 #hermitfic #hermitcraft fic #hermitshipping #but not much #cubscar #waffle duo #hotguy #cuteguy #poultry man

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lavendernlilac · 1 month ago

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Ough, one of them reacting to a random comment or visual that triggers them for the first time and the other doing their absolute best to help without even knowing why there’s an issue. Then them sitting down in the apartment after and taking time to discuss why and what happened, how to help, and building plans to help each other incase this happens again.

The only one that really breaks down during any intimacy is Grian, usually when she has had a rough day(and potentially overheard some unfortunate comments) and isn’t really taking in Scars compliments and sweet words as well as usual. She’s overwhelmed and Scar stops to get her to settle back down, to get her to breathe. They don’t continue, Scar just cleans them up and they watch some tv before going to bed.

Scar once has a reaction to someone dressed as a doctor on set of one of Griandes music videos or photo shoots and freezes up. He dissociates for a while and Grian notices his distance pretty quick, but can’t get to him until the end of the shoot. So she tries to get him in private the first available moment, tries to calm him down, and it works just enough for him to come back to awareness but be unsettled for the rest of the day until they can get back to the apartment. They have a long discussion and Scar ends up clinging to Grian all night, head buried in her neck as she just lets his hair quietly.

-bodypillow anon

EXPLODING INTO A MILLION TINY PIECES T-T

as we speak I'm actually planning out some fics right now and I want to have a fic where they both sit down at their own times and talk about their pasts <3 WAHHHHH the two of them sitting down and confiding in one another ;w; the show of trust and vulnerability....

grian would definitely be the one to break down during any intimacy yeah :( most of the time scar's kindness and praise is so nice and sweet but when she's had a rough day and that doubt is way too loud, it sits weirdly with her. there's almost a quiet beg for scar to stop lying and it breaks scar's heart :( or when he sees her so overwhelmed and nothing else matters to him except for getting her to breathe. he stops everything and has her look at him until he can just hold her and murmur that she's okay, over and over again

not only that but when they're trying out some more intense stuff, some of it is trial and error. they learn pretty quickly that grian likes giving up control to scar or when he's rough with her, and all of that is fine. she likes how her mind goes blank and she doesn't have to worry about who she should be, how she should be acting. it's easy when scar gives her directions to follow, when she's eager to make him feel good. but figuring out just how far to lean into it was the challenging bit

once or twice scar accidentally pushed a bit too much with mean dom act while trying to figure out their limits and grian didn't react well to it (scar felt like shit after). he cleaned them up, sat in a bubble bath with her, and held her so close to him, telling her how much he loves her, rattling off every bit of kindness and affection that came to mind. and they both wait until they're calmer to sit with each other and figure out what's a big no and what's okay

and of course outside of intimacy??? GOD. GOD. there are some days where grian can't look in the mirror. or she's quieter and missing her spark, extra sensitive to what people have to say to her or about her.

there's an interview she does--normally iskall and mumbo pre-approve any of the interviewer's questions, but there are moments where random ones are thrown out on the fly, where she's asked about her previous affiliation with that first producer (not many people know about that. iskall did everything they could to get the singles grian recorded there taken down), and grian is completely caught off guard by it

scar is of course there, and he sees how she's fighting a shut down but she's stammering and her voice is quieter and she's crossing her hands in her lap to hide how they're shaking... iskall and mumbo are right beside him and they both look like they want to get involved and scar does it before either of them can. he casually walks on set, plopping himself down right next to grian and jokes about feeling left out of the questions, puts the attention right on himself. grian subtly leans into his space some and lets herself shut down, disassociating through the rest of the interview

when it's finally over, mumbo is apologizing up and down because neither of them knew that would be asked, or how the interviewer knew and grian murmurs in answer. and it's killing scar that he can't do more for her right now :(

he's not able to get to her for a while, forced to watch her be spacey and visibly upset until they're back at the studio and grian is in her dressing room. scar quietly knocks on the door before coming in, siting down with her. the second he's sitting down grian is pressing her face into his shoulder, grabbing his hand and squeezing it

it's a rare night where they go back to scar's apartment--he's giving grian one of his shirts and she curls up with jellie. scar cooks something (grian's comfort food), and she clings to him for the rest of the night and they're quietly talking amongst themselves and scar waits until grian brings it up herself and starts talking. scar holds her the entire time, soothing her and wahhhhhh :<

iskall and mumbo personally scout out any producers who are interested in working with griande, and there's an incredibly small circle of producers who griande regularly works with (three of them). anyone new is practically grilled by her managers and skizz, and when hotguy joins the security staff????? I need you to imagine the city's beloved superhero, who's normally always cheerful and big smiles, sitting arms crossed, completely stone-faced (he takes grian's safety very seriously).

she gets really nervous when it comes time to release something new, or right before a performance. and when it's coming up on an album release she gets. so critical of herself and just. wough. there's so much I could go into with grian :(

and for scar... god. him seeing someone dressed as a doctor and grian notices that she doesn't see him around much. it's that gut instinct that she knows something is wrong, and when she sees the other person it clicks. the first second she gets to breathe she's looking for him

there's something really soft about her finding him with skizz... having kept an eye on scar because he noticed something was off. he doesn't ask any questions when grian finds them, just takes his leave and grian is guiding scar to sit down, asking if it's okay to touch him. sometimes scar answers, sometimes he doesn't. if he doesn't, she just sits next to him until he's softly calling her name. if he does answer, grian is taking his hand, putting it against her heartbeat so he can feel it, and help ground him :(

and she reaches him, asks him what he needs while rubbing her thumb in little circles on the back of his hand. sometimes he just needs the contact, or her voice, or silence. she doesn't make any movements for him until scar initiates it, pulling her in so he can press his ear against her chest, listening to her heartbeat. they don't get more than fifteen minutes like that, but it's enough to bring him back to awareness. he's unsettled and uncomfortable (and grian is quietly pulling the director aside asking to get everything with the lab coats recorded first before doing anything else)

when they get back to her apartment, grian makes sure the two of them eat (aka she orders delivery) and they sit on the couch together first with star wars playing, grian in scar's lap as he rests his head on her shoulder (he does make a little show of letting go of her so she can answer the door when the food comes, and: "scar, buddy, you're gonna have to let go of me if you want to eat" "but I'm so comfortable" "and you need to eat, it's important to take care of yourself" "not nearly as important as snuggling my girlfriend. it's actually higher than the need for food on the--mas-mah-malsow's hierarchy of needs" he lets go anyway)

they talk after eating, and scar skips patrol (grian convinces him to), staying over for the night. they crawl into bed and it's grian who reaches for him, pulling him into her. all she gets is scar's shaky breath while he tucks his face into her neck and she runs her fingers through his hair. she's still awake by the time scar falls asleep, feeling the need to watch over him, to make sure he's okay. he's been dealing with his pain so long all by himself; she never wants him to be alone ever again. she spends hours just laying there with scar in her arms, petting his hair, kissing his head, pressing her cheek against him. scar has never felt safer

AND THAT'S NOT EVEN LIKE.... I didn't mention it much, but scar has his moments where he gets nervous about cars--it doesn't happen as much anymore, but around the anniversary of the accident or once in a while he'll have a hard time with it and waugh.... sobbing and wailing over them

#letters #bodyguard au #bodypillow anon #THE ESSAY #IVE WRITTEN AN ESSAY #I'm so emotional over them okay #holding them so gentle #I am RUINED #I hope you enjoy my essay /silly

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errorryx · 3 months ago

Text

unraveling — part one, season eight

read on ao3 | hermitcraft, 2.2k words

This fic was written for the MCYTblr AUfest (@mcytblraufest)! My artist was @ghastspidergwen, who made this beautiful doll for the AU! please go give that post lots of love, it would mean the world to me <3

—

There are two new server members this season, and for most of the hermits, this is their first look at either of them. It’s probably a little intimidating for Pearl and Gem to be stared at from above by everyone else, but it’s difficult for most of them to remember to be courteous about it, because they're too busy staring at Pearl.

Players on Hermitcraft have always come in all different shapes and sizes, but none of them have ever been anything like Pearl. She’s a player like the rest of them, that much is obvious, but her body appears to be made out of wool, rather than any sort of organic material. Her eyes are buttons, and she has soft fuzzy antennae protruding from her hat that look like feathers.

Pearl stares back up at them, a slight grin on her face. She has yet to do much in the way of moving. Finally, when it comes time to introduce herself, she hops up to join the rest of them, moving around as easily as any other player.

Eventually, one by one, the hermits come to the conclusion that everything must be in order after all. They graduate from staring to sneaking occasional looks, and they do their collective best to treat her like any other player.

Because if there’s one thing Hermitcraft is known for, it’s things that defy logic with their very existence. And in that respect, Pearl fits right in.

—

Shortly after the Boatem Pole incident wraps up, it occurs to Mumbo that he’s gone and joined another club for the season—and that one of the other club members is a newcomer that he’d really like to know more about.

He figures Grian is his best bet for information about Pearl, seeing as he’s the one who invited her to the server in the first place. Mumbo finds him offloading his inventory into the start of what’s sure to be a formidable chest monster, and asks, “You know Pearl pretty well, right?”

“Of course!” Grian says. “We’ve been friends for years.”

“Has she always been…you know.” Mumbo carefully considers his choice of words. “Did she use to look any different?”

Grian shrugs. “Maybe.”

“You don’t know?”

“A lot of people have looked a lot of different ways over the years.” Grian closes the lid of the chest. “You can’t expect me to remember everything.”

He has a point, unfortunately. “What about since the last time you saw her?”

“You mean ten minutes ago? I doubt she’s changed much since then.”

Mumbo rolls his eyes. “Before today.”

“That was…a couple months ago, I think. Or a couple years. One of those.”

Sometimes, Grian is an extremely frustrating person to hold a conversation with. “I just want to know why she’s made out of yarn and stuffing!”

“Oh! Why didn’t you just say so?”

“Because—” Mumbo stops, realizing he might be equally at fault here. “I thought it would be rude.”

“Well, to answer your question,” Grian says, “I haven’t the slightest idea why she’s like that.”

“You never asked her?”

“I thought it would be rude.”

“That’s never stopped you before,” Mumbo points out.

“Excuse you! I don’t go around asking why you’ve got that mustache.”

Mumbo strokes the mustache in question, feeling a little self-conscious. “I think it’s a nice mustache.”

“Me too,” Grian says. “I also think Pearl looks nice the way she is.”

“So do I,” Mumbo agrees quickly. “Really, I do.”

“Glad we agree!” Grian pats him on the back, and Mumbo leaves even more confused than before.

—

Grian’s still thinking about his conversation with Mumbo when he goes to ask Pearl for help with a build.

The build in question is actually a prank on Mumbo, but that’s not why it’s on his mind. In the few weeks since they spoke about Pearl, it’s occurred to him that there is something a little different about her—he just can’t quite put his finger on it.

“Have you gotten a haircut recently?” he asks her. “It looks nice.”

“Don’t be silly,” Pearl says. “You can just tell me you like my new wings!”

Right, of course. The wings. Grian feels a little embarrassed that he didn’t realize. “I do quite like them,” he says. He knows that Pearl’s wings have been there since the beginning of the season, it just hadn’t occurred to him that they were new. Like he said to Mumbo, he doesn’t keep track of these things.

“I appreciate it.” Pearl pokes him in the shoulder. “I like yours too, you know.”

“Yeah, well—” He rolls his eyes, his feathers instinctively fluffing up at the acknowledgement. “They aren’t exactly new.”

“I still like them!”

“Thanks.” Grian takes a closer look at her wings. They’re grey moth wings with a similar texture to the fabric that makes up the rest of her body, though they have more detail than any of her clothes. With such a small wingspan, they shouldn’t be aerodynamic enough to get Pearl off the ground, no matter how little she weighs. “You can’t fly with these, surely.”

“Not with that attitude I can’t.”

“I’ll be very impressed if you manage to prove me wrong.”

“Oh, yeah?” Pearl walks outside through the left-side door, and Grian follows through the trapdoors in the center. “Watch this!”

The way she rises is odd, to say the least. Grian is intimately familiar with the process of taking flight, and he’s pretty sure Pearl’s method violates the laws of physics. It’s not so much that she’s flying as it is that she’s being lifted, like an invisible hand is pulling her up by the feelers and holding her there, letting her dangle inelegantly in midair.

“Ta-da,” Pearl says, spreading her arms open.

Grian squints up at her. “When did ‘Suma give you access to creative mode?”

“I’m not cheating,” Pearl says, offended. She turns her back in midair, displaying her wings, which are slowly flapping back and forth. She begins to bob around in the air, sort of like a slow-motion hummingbird. It’s only marginally more convincing than her initial ascent.

“Fine,” Grian agrees, if only to get her to stop. “You can fly. I’m impressed.”

Mostly, he’s disturbed. His wings itch just looking at her.

“Thank you,” Pearl says, and much to Grian’s relief, lands beside him. “So what’s this about a tree war?”

The vague plans that have been taking place in Grian’s head will require flight for them both, but he really, really doesn’t want to watch Pearl hover like that ever again. “First things first,” he says. “Let’s get you an elytra.”

—

Keralis is no stranger to the unusual. He knows he’s a little unusual; people tell him so all the time! And unusual things are constantly happening around him, only some of which are his fault. But Pearl is really something special.

The first time she comes to visit, Keralis ropes her into a scheme he’s just come up with, which is to get a clock from Bdubs so he can do some interior decorating. This is only part of his motivation—he takes to the extraordinary like a moth to a flame, and there are many extraordinary things about Pearl. He wants to discover them all.

Like her player head, for instance. Normal player heads, dropped in the event of a player's death, have a very simple effect: when equipped, they give someone the physical appearance of that player from the neck up. Usually they don't feel like anything, but Pearl’s head behaves a little differently. The first time Keralis tries it on is a very disorienting experience.

He and Pearl continue to meet up over the course of the season, hatching various schemes to try and swindle Bdubs out of even more clocks. Tango joins them for their third meeting, and Keralis wears his Pearl head again. It still feels very funny, and he decides that sharing is caring. “Here, put on a Pearl head!” Keralis says, throwing Tango his spare.

Tango puts it on, and now two Pearls are looking back at him. “Is it supposed to feel like my head is full of cotton?”

“Yes, that is perfectly normal,” Keralis assures him. “You get used to it!”

“He’s right,” Pearl agrees. “I’m very used to it.”

Keralis squints at her in suspicion, but he currently has buttons for eyes, so he’s not sure if anything actually happens. “Was there a time when your head was not full of cotton?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Pearl says, “what with the cotton in my head and all. Makes it hard to remember these things.”

Keralis respects and admires that Pearl wants to maintain an air of mystery, so he laughs along. But he does not quite believe her.

—

On the day they decide to tear down an entire castle and rebuild it on Bdubs’ mountain, Keralis and Pearl wind up killing each other for fun midway through the project. Mumbo arrives with his end crystals to further complicate things, and after several rounds of recreational murder, Keralis puts on Pearl’s head again.

He knows what to expect by now, so the strangeness of it doesn't catch him off-guard. The interesting part comes when Pearl retaliates by putting on one of his heads. Keralis isn’t sure what he expected, but it’s not a knitted version of his own face staring back at him, complete with oversized black-and-white buttons for eyes.

“You've got a lovely head on your shoulders, Pearl,” he says. “Not terrifying at all.”

Mumbo turns to look at her too, and jumps about a foot in the air. “Good heavens!”

“What?” Pearl says, the picture of innocence. “Have I got something on my face?”

She blinks—and, come to think of it, Keralis can’t remember whether or not he’s ever seen Pearl blink before. Maybe he has, and he never noticed, but it’s hard not to notice when her eyes are so much larger. Mumbo seems to notice the same thing, because he asks, flabbergasted, “How on earth did you just blink with button eyes?”

Pearl does it again, twice in a row. Keralis is no closer to understanding how she does it, but he’s all the more invested in watching her to find out. “How do you blink with your goopy eyes?” Pearl asks.

“Oh, very easy. We use our eye muscles!” Keralis tries to demonstrate, but finds himself unable to do so. “Sorry, one second.” He pops off the Pearl head that he’s wearing and bats his eyelashes. “See?”

“Muscles, right. I’ve heard of those.” Pearl stretches her arms up to her head. “You used to have some, right, Mumbo? Do you still have ‘em?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because you’re a potato? Last I checked, potatoes don’t have muscles.”

“Yes, but surely…” Mumbo looks down at his arm, poking the skin—the peel?—around his wrist. “Oh, dear. Do I have muscles? How am I meant to tell?”

“I know!” Keralis draws his axe. “We can slice off a little piece of you and look inside!”

Mumbo goes faintly green, resembling a poisonous potato. “I would really rather you didn’t.”

“No, I like this idea,” Pearl agrees. “Aren’t you curious, Mumbo? I know I am.”

“And we could also find out what your head looks like on Pearl’s head,” Keralis suggests.

Mumbo sighs. “Fine,” he says. “But only because I strongly suspect you’re going to do it anyway.”

“I promise I will be careful,” Keralis says, crossing his arms behind his back. “Just a teeny tiny slice.”

“I don’t want to watch.” Mumbo holds out his arm and looks in the opposite direction.

Keralis cuts into Mumbo’s arm. Unfortunately, he misjudges the amount of strength needed to cut through a potato with a large axe, and ends up slicing off Mumbo’s entire hand. “Oopsy-daisy.”

“Ow,” Mumbo says, as Pearl picks up the hand from the ground. He sounds more annoyed than agonized. “Really?”

“It’s okay, it’s okay! Five minute rule, remember? You will be good as new after a nice respawn.”

“He’s potato all the way through,” Pearl reports, showing the hand to Keralis. “You don’t even have bones, Mumbo, see?”

“Can I get that respawn now?” Mumbo asks, still refusing to turn his head.

“Of course!” Keralis slices him through with the axe, then does it again. The hand that Pearl’s holding disappears, as does the rest of Mumbo, who pops up at the nearby respawn bed while Pearl picks up his player head from the ground and plops it on.

Similarly to Keralis’s head, Mumbo’s head on Pearl’s body is made out of interwoven material with button eyes. This time, however, the yarn has been replaced by what appears to be little strips of potato peels.

“Well, that’s distressing,” Mumbo says, summing up what they’re all thinking.

“I can’t see what this looks like,” Pearl says, “but it smells like raw potatoes in here.”

Her specification of raw gives Keralis an idea. “I wonder if we could put Potato Boy through a furnace?”

“I think I’ve had enough scientific experimentation for the day,” Mumbo says, gathering up his things from the chest. “I need to put an end to this whole potato business as soon as possible.”

After he leaves, Pearl walks over to the crafting table. “We could put his head through the furnace.” She crafts a furnace and sets it down, taking off the Mumbo head. “Aw, it won’t go in.”

“Too weird for normal Minecraft,” Keralis says, shaking his head.

Pearl laughs. “Story of my life.”

—

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#aufest 2024 #pearlescentmoon #mumbo jumbo #grian #keralis #hermitcraft #my writing #my stuff #no shipping in this one btw (by request of my artist!)

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