#like his knee against mumbo

[terandera]

imagining some boatem regressors. touch starved Pearl who will absolutely soak up any hugs her way versus touch starved mumbo who does /not/ want to be hugged but is very much satisfied with a cg Grian sitting a safe distance away.

[sleepy-fiction]

Please Madame!

Weeping Clown x Fem!Reader

syn: Pegging Weeping Clown like it's his last day on earth.

tags: pegging, dom!reader, sub!weepy, pure fucking + a lil sprinkle of romance, no plot, barely beta read

a/n: I've always loved this man since release. And his voice was so nice to hear... i finished the story and was like aw thats so sad- OK time to write him getting pegged. one day I'll have to tell my partner about this account uhh... uhhhh erre uhhmmm

"F-fuu- Agh! Madam," Weepy cries his prosthetic fingers gripping the sheets, his face beat red beneath half wipped face paint, a color matching his blushed ass. He was bent down on his knees on the bed, ass perked, perfectly in line with your strap as you pegged him.

His moans were high and raspy, loud and thrilled. He shivered with delight, as his aching, reddened cockhead leaked dribbles of slick. His cheeks were a bruised red as you squeezed and smacked them, each time earning a deliciously sweet whimper.

"Mmh, is it good, sir," you giggled, patronizing.

He squeaked out, "Ah! Ah-ang... Amazing!"

You raised your hand, crashing your palm down against his bruised ass cheek again, watching him jerk out. He cried, his voice shaking the walls of the manor room; you reached and grabbed chunks of his hair. "Guh! Aaa-aa," he trilled, arching viciously into your touch.

In this angle, you fucked him deeper, your fake cockhead rubbing against his spot and digging deep into his gut. "Oo-mm... Fuck. M-Madam," he moaned out long and drawed out, his eyes escaping to the back of his head as he squirted his second orgasm into the sheets.

You dropped his head seconds later, and it fell limply forward, through top of his head grazing the bed as he peered down. You took the opportunity to grab your black paddle, meeting the cold leather to his bruised ass. Weeping jumped in surpise, his head flinging up, while his cock twitched in anticipation. "Madam! A-Are you go-going to whip me... Again," he hushed out, pulling chunks of the bedsheets white-knuckle tight.

"Ooh, changed your mind," you teased, drawing circles into his skin with the leather.

"N-No! I would n-never," he gasped, his own shame and humiliation long fled his body. Before you could respond, he stuttered, "More please, I'll be g-good... I won't jerk away!"

Desire crawled down your body, burrowing itself deep to your already soaked cunny. A shudder leaves your lips as you sigh, "Good boy." A crack splits the air as you leave your first mark on him with the paddle, and Weeping calls out intensely, his back arching into you. His body shivered all over as you thrusted a medium pace and rose the paddle once more, cracking it down against his ass.

"Mad-aam," he cries, his voice breaking up into useless sounds, "oncemore-oncemorepleasepleaeeplea--" you crack a stronger hit against him again, and he sparks like fireworks. He shoots forward, launching his face into the sheets, jerking his perky ass off your dildo, leaving it puckering for purchase in the wind.

You grit in annoyance, "Weeping," scolding him with your displeased hush.

Still in a daze, he didn't notice between his drawn-out orgasm, not until you cracked him alert. "Aah!" He squealed.

"You pulled off me again. You naughty clown, I'll really punish you now," you spat.

"Madaam... I'm soorry I'll be good. I'll b-be good," he moaned. You couldn't see it, but on his sweaty sticky face was a dirty smile, a smile as he wiggled his ass in the air.

"There is no next time," You plugged his hole up quick, taking the paddle in your left hand and cracking it against his left cheek. You trusted intensely, paddling him to the beat of your thrusts. His voice spiked out, his back arching off the bed as he shot his head up, his hands shaking against the pressure.

Off his lips came senseless mumbo, as his hair stuck to his scarred face, a face that smeared paint into the sheets before, and left him but nothing but faintest to cover said scars. You'd be lying if you said you didn't orgasm just then, just as his voice hit its limit and turned into a raspy, airy mess.

"A-Amazuh-- Madame," he cried with all his heart as he shot out milky sperm. Sperm that was liquid and slick, barely carrying any semen from all his prior ejaculations.

You slowed down, dropping the paddle and grinding your base against his ass, forcing it deep into his body. He perked, whole body spasming as he buried his head against the sheets. His pants were buttery, the sweat dripping down his body lustfully. This was a much needed cool down for him and for you.

"Madam," he whispered, peaking over his shoulder to gaze into your eyes.

"Yes, clown," you murmured, half listening while you squeezed his ass, panting softly.

"M-May, may we switch... Uh... Positions? I want to l-lay on my back... I don't think I-I can't hold myself up f... For longer," he takes a gulp in-between his words, his gorgeous red hair wet with sweat.

"Alright," you pulled out of him, causing his toes to curl, "You need water?"

He flipped onto his back, his cute wide eyes staring up at you so sweetly, so innocently, "No-mm... 'M okay for now. T-Thank you, mistress," he smiled. You almost felt bad for punishing him.

You grabbed a pillow from above, ordering him to raise his head and sliding it beneath him when he does. He smiles so kindly at you, his hands curled up against his heart. You sigh wistfully and place one last pillow to prop up his ass.

He suddenly squeaked.

You perked, "What?"

"M-My semen is cold against my back-! T-The... The whole spot beneath me is wet," he cried in his comfort, his eyebrows weaving in stress. You giggled, pinning him down and lining up with his hole.

You coo between lidded eyes, "Aw, I almost feel bad for you." He whimpers pitifully. You gaze into his eyes right as you plunge in, soaking up his every feature. That's also when you notice most of his face paint had been wiped off. It was a euphoric treat for you.

Watching as his mouth fell slack, the way his eyebrows knitted, his eyes disappearing behind the clouds. But also, noticing his scarred cheeks, the way the corners of his lip suffered worse scars. How his cleft revealed his flashy, pearly whites. You'd be lying if you said you didn't orgasm again then too.

You gulped, not noticing how you still had been. Long enough for Weeping to wrap his arms around your shoulders, "Mistress," he hums raspy. The sound is quiet, gentle, and almost loving. It snaps you right out of the slow-motion replay.

You gulp, now aware of how your beating heart "Yes, Clown?"

He reaches and nuzzles his forehead and nose against your face, "'M ready now. I-I promise I can tuh... Take more," he whispers. Just as he says so, he leans back into the pillows, his red hair sprawling, a perfect match to his beat red cheeks, wistfully eyes, and caring smile. God. He was fucking beautiful.

You thrusted slow and deep, watching his face twist up in excitement. You gripped his hips tightly, swallowing back the feelings bubbling up. You knew you should have never let him turn around. God.

He cracks another moan, easing his head back, closing his eyes- completely succumbing to your will.

Fuck.

"Weeping," you pant, feeling passion heat in your veins, "your face paint rubbed off."

He gasps suddenly, "N-No! My--" but before he could cover himself with his hands, you slammed downwards, catching his wrist with both hands and leaning forward, your face inches apart. He squeaks and squirms, but you keep yourself there, stating deep into his eyes.

He has nowhere else to look but your intensity, no way to flee from your teasing yet perfect thrusts. His eyes flee behind his eyelids, succumbing once more, his jaw hanging open in his vulnerability. He felt so powerless it felt-- A warm shot of cum splattered against your belly, as you quickly looked down to see his weeping cock, spitting up on itself.

"Ooh, you like this, huh? You like how powerless you are? You like the Madam looking at your pretty face, huh," you teased.

"Yes- yes ma'am," he leans his head away, revealing his gorgeous, lean, pale neck.

He was so lean, tall, so slanky.

You swallowed thickly.

You pulled off his wrists, but he kept his arms there, and you sunk into his neck, nipping and biting down on the milky flesh. His moans rose, spiking, the vibrations striking through his body. You too felt the familar feeling of your pussy clenching, pleasure from purely watching and experiencing this with him, was drawing you near an orgasm.

You panted and grabbed his hips, burying your teeth in his neck for purchase as you thrusted faster and faster. Riding out his high, ans reaching your own euphoria, as he released his last moan, "Oh y-yes! Madame!!"

You came at the same time, dropping your tired body onto his larger, skinnier one, slowly pulling out of him. "G-God," you moaned, feeling how disgustingly ruined your panties had turned.

"Amazing-uh... Mmgh... Madame," he murmured, gently caressing your head.

This was bad.

You were falling for a one night stand.

You only needed to break steam off in this damn manor, not...

You peered up at him, watching him stare down at you so tenderly, "Madam," he hushed it as if he worshiped the name.

Ah.

You were in big trouble now.

[xhoneygirlxx]

because work has been kicking my ass and i'm a wh*re for virgin Eddie, here is this small little blurb as a treat :)

virgin!eddie x reader (reader and Eddie are both in their 20s)

rated r: smut, oral receiving, swearing, mentions of sex. (18+ minors GO AWAY)

You and Eddie sit on the small couch in his trailer living room, the blue glow from the tv highlighting him in the most beautiful way. The eerie music of Halloween plays through the tinny speakers, the soundtrack of your night. Although the metal head has watched this movie more than he can count, you can’t help but notice your best friend has become instantly tense the moment Lynda’s tits appear on screen.

Eddie’s virginity wasn’t a secret in your friendship, he’d constantly asked you for advice on how to please his partner when the day finally came, but watching him squirm in his seat at glimpse of bare tits makes your heart melt. To be completely honest you had a crush on your bestie for as long as you can remember, to be fair who wouldn’t? You’ve thought about him a few times when your hands were in between your legs, fingers pumping in and out of your sopping cunt.

You’ve thought about offering taking Eddie’s virginity but you would hate to take something so special from him especially when it should be with someone he loves. So you kept your offer to yourself, helped him with any advice he’d asked, and remained supportive in his search of a partner.

The continuous bounce of Eddie’s knee pulls your attention from the screen, too entertained by his constant fidgeting. The scene that got him so riled up as now ended with the pretty blonde being killed but his growing length beneath his jeans continues to strain against the unforgiving material.

Even though it’s selfish and you’re dying to know what he hides beneath his pants, you give in and ask him the one thing you’ve been dying to ever since the two of you turned eighteen.

“Eds, are you good?” Leaning forward, you curl your legs underneath your bum.

His head snaps towards you, eyes bugged out and cheeks flushed. “M-me? Yeah I’m fine, m’good.”

Eddie nods his head slowly, not only trying to convince you of his words but also himself. Your face falls, mouth pulling into a straight line clearly unamused by his horrible acting.

“Okay let’s try this again but this time tell me the truth,” You say sternly, “are you good?”

Letting his head fall to the back of the couch, Eddie closed his eyes and lets out a harsh breath. “I’m just, the movie it’s,”

The nervousness in his voice won’t let him finish his sentence, every thought in his brain melting together in a bowl of mumbo jumbo.

Placing your hand on his thigh, a little higher than usual, you look up at him from under your lashes. “Her tits got you all hot and bothered, is that it?”

Snapping his eyes open down at you, he stares at you as you spoke in a completely different language. Having too much fun with his blush intensifying, you lean forward just a bit more putting your cleavage on display.

“It hurts, huh? Feels like you’re gonna burst at any moment.” Your voice is sweet like sugar, dripping with an intoxicating amount of intensity that Eddie’s never heard.

His hands that sit by his sides clench and unclench, jitters pouring through him at an alarming rate. Too dumb to speak he nods, curls bouncing with every motion.

“Awe baby, s’okay,” you coo as you hook your legs over his thighs, “if you want I can make it all better. Want me to kiss it better?”

Eddie stares at you unblinkingly, mouth parted slightly in awe. Again he nods but this time you tsk at him, shaking your head back and forth in disapproval.

“I asked you a question, honey, I need your words. Do you want me to make it better?” You pout your lips at him and he swallows harshly.

“Please make it better, hurts s’bad.” He slurs, already drunk off your touch without even really feeling it just yet.

“Such a good boy begging me so nicely.”

Slowly you move forward, capturing his soft lips into a needy kiss. Despite being a virgin Eddie does a good job kissing you, not going overboard with too much tongue or sloppy movements.

Taking a chance and wanting to take care of the growing pulse that grows in between your thighs, you begin to rock hesitantly over his hard length. The intense spark you feel jolting through your veins is verbalized with the wanton moan that rips from Eddie’s throat and vibrates into your mouth.

Picking up your momentum you can’t help but roll your eyes into the back of your head, the rough material of his jeans adding extra intensity to your pulsing bundle of nerves. Eddie isn't any better, his face is flushed red, bangs sticking to his forehead due to the amount of sweat that beads from his hairline, and his chest rattles from all the moaning sobs that leave his open mouth.

Opening your eyes you can't help but snort at Eddie's awkward hand placement. They hang in the air, itching to grasp at something but too nervous to give into the temptation.

Letting your hips come to a complete stop, you gently cup his cheeks in the palm of your hand. Hazy eyes open and look right at you, a thousand tiny specks of glitter shimmer in the big brown pools, sweeping you right into his vortex.

"Eddie honey, do you want to touch me?" Despite the dryness that lingers in your mouth, your words drip and saturate the boy beneath you in love and care.

"If that's okay with you, I don't want to make you uncomfortable or anything. So like if you don't want me to I won't-" You stop his rambles with a quick kiss to his lips.

Pulling away with a small giggle you look at him the same way he's looking at you, disgustingly in awe.

"I want you to touch me, Eddie. Bet your hands would feel so nice on me, so big and strong."

With the thought of it makes your underwear even wetter, so wet that you know when you get off his lap there will be a big wet stain. Not wanting to wait any longer you pull your shirt over your head, revealing the pretty white lace bra that holds your breast into place.

Eddie looks something like a fish, opening and closing his mouth with unspoken words that get caught in his throat. Although it's funny watching your best friend so speechless, you can't help but adore his childlike wonder.

Gripping his wrists in your hand and pull them towards you placing them on your tits, squeezing his fingers around the doughy flesh causing you to hiss in satisfaction.

"F-fuck you're so hot." It's breathless when it comes out.

Eddie follows your lead, fondling your round breasts in the palms of his big hands. The feeling of his grip causes you to resume your motions, grinding harder on his lap trying to relieve the hammering thump in between your legs.

You remember in the fog of your lust that this wasn't about you, it was in fact about your best friend who is currently trying to hold himself together.

Again you stop your movements, pulling his hands from your lace covered chest, and move from his lap.

"W-wait, what's- what are you doing?" Eddie is more than frantic, he's completely distraught with the absence of your weight on his legs.

Pinching his cheek sweetly, you push his legs apart to create enough room for yourself. Sinking to your knees, you move into the space you've created for yourself.

"I'm doing what I said I was going to do, I'm going to kiss it better." You drag your nails up his jean covered thighs, gazing up at him with doe eyes acting as if you aren't making one of his dreams come true.

"Yeah yeah, fuck okay." Babbling like an idiot, Eddie stares at you completely shocked as if you didn't promise this to him earlier.

Raising your eyebrows at him, you wait for him to catch on to what you're waiting for. It doesn't hit him until you clear your throat and point at the handcuff belt that hold his jeans in place.

"Oh shit, right. Let me just get these off." Going as fast as his shaking hands will allow him, he goes to undo his belt and push his pants just below his balls.

His cock bounces from their confines, hitting his tee shirt covered navel with a small thud. You can't help but gawk at the sight of him. Eddie's packing more than you ever imagined, long and thick with a prominent vein running along the underside. The tip is a pretty pink shade that shines from the pearls of precum that dripples from the slit.

Your mouth fills with saliva just from the sight alone. The dark brown thatch of curls that sit at the base match the hair on his heavy balls. You weren't someone who found genitalia appetizing but man oh man was did your best friend's look good enough to eat.

The small silence that settled between you two has clearly made Eddie anxious. His chocolate brown eyes look anywhere but you and the thick chunky rings that sit on his fingers have become his clear fascination, twisting them around and around his thick digits.

Not wanting him to sit with his thoughts any longer, you lean up enough to capture his kiss bitten lips in a passionate kiss. This time it's all teeth and tongue, spit swapping between the two of you.

When you both pull away you wish you could continue kissing him, fuck the oxygen that you need all you want is Eddie.

Sitting back down on your knees, you let spit dripple down onto his stiff shaft. Clasping your hand around him you begin to jerk him off slowly, not wanting the moment to be over fast.

Eddie on the other hand is fighting for his life, lip pulled between his teeth and his eyebrows pinching together. You drink it up like a plant in the middle of a drought.

"You're s'pretty, Eds and your cock, fuck it's so pretty too." You coo, to prove your point you press kisses up and down his length.

"Mmm s-shit, your ha- your hand feels so good." Eddie's voice is completely strained, his jugular vein pocking out every once and a while.

It doesn't take a rocket scientist to know that Eddie's nearing the end, the shaking and tensing of his thighs a clear sign. Wanting him to experience it all, you envelope the tip of his cock into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it and licking along the slit to collect the salty bead of pre that beads out of it.

Moving your mouth lower, you take him halfway into your mouth and allow your hand to jerk off whatever you can't take. The hand that braces itself on his thigh snakes its way to the heavy sack that sits just below his cock, kneading it in the palm of your hand gently.

Without needing instruction Eddie's hand finds it's way to your head, gripping your hair at the scalp and pulling out it with vigor. The pain and arousal that sparks within you causes you to moan around him, making him sob out in ecstasy.

"F-uh, oh don't stop I'm gonna- shit I'm gonna cum!"

Moving your head as fast as you can, you move to the tip to avoid chocking on the salty release. Still pumping your hand up and down on his cock you collect his warm seed in your mouth, letting it pool on your tongue.

Above you Eddie is a screaming mess, blabbing nonsense and groaning loudly. To no one's surprise Eddie cums and he cums a lot, so much so that it starts to dripple out the sides of your mouth with the string of your spit.

Once his breath returns to his lungs and his grip loosens on your hair, you let him fall out of your mouth with a lewd pop. When your eyes make eye contact with his own, you open your mouth to show him the pearly white of his release that sits on your pink tongue. Closing your mouth and swallowing it with a loud hum, you open your eyes to see Eddie completely gobsmack.

"Jesus sweetheart, you can't do shit like that unless you want me to get hard again." He says with an airy laugh.

You take his words as a threat, one that you'd be stupid not to take with the way your pussy flutters in need.

"Who said I was done, Munson?"

[chickensoup1025]

Lightning struck just a few paces away from Grian and quiz music grew louder. He looked up to see Trivia Bot come ask him a question.

"Here's my fella!" He said, grabbing the attention—and hopefully help—of Skizz, Mumbo, and Scar.

"I can help!" Scar stumbled over his feet to get closer, eager to continue to prove his trivia prowess today.

Grian opened up the question as his teammates listened intently. He read, but not out loud: "Why did Grian turn red in Third Life?"

He knew the answer was B: He didn't pick up Scar's No Kill Pass, but remembering that day stunned him to silence.

All at once, memories he'd unintentionally repressed came flooding to the surface, but in reverse. He remembered winning, how could he forget that? He remembered crying and laughing with Scar in his final moments. Of Scar burning the Dogwarts flag, of climbing Monopoly Mountain for the last time, of the knee deep water as he held a sword to Scar's neck, of barely reading "I have plan" in the chat, of being so mad-

Wait.

"I have plan"

"I have [a] plan."

GoodTimeWithScar whispered to you: I have plan.

Back in the present, Scar now put a hand on Grian's shoulder. "Grian? What's the question?"

The avian startled but closed the UI to look at his new ally, his new friend again. "It asked, um, "Why did Scar message Grian 'I have a plan' when Grian turned red in Third Life?"

Skizz whistled. "Third Life? Do either of you even remember that long ago?"

"Yeah, I do- um..." Scar broke the oddly intense eye contact to think. That moment really did feel like lifetimes ago. He supposed it was. "It was when Bdubs and I were left right? And then you came out of no where and attacked us."

"Yeah."

"I think I wanted to do some sort of synchronized attack. Work together again against him. Is that an answer?"

Grian felt a whirlwind of emotion but tried desperately to keep up his lie. "Oh, uh yeah. A: He wanted to attack Bdubs together..." He wanted to ask if it was a lie, a distraction, a further attempt for betrayal-

Maybe this was why he'd repressed it. Whether Scar liked it or not, him betraying Grian in the eleventh hour changed how he made allies for the rest of the death games. Never again did he have only one ally, one person to trust. At least two. That way, if one left and hurt him, he always had insurance.

He pressed the real right answer of B and stood back.

Mumbo shuffled back and forth, more than usual. "Are you sure-"

Trivia Bot's screen turned green and it cheered, sending relief through Mumbo, Skizz, and Scar. Grian didn't know how to feel.

[thefireintheshadow]

He’d done it. He’d gotten his mending book.

[authors note: this seems like a cute little fic about grian and his mending book but it is in fact a dark mafia fic jsyk…]

Grian couldn’t believe it had finally happened. It was so surreal that he wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself.

He went through the motions of cleaning himself up. It felt good to shave, see some color on his cheeks. Even his eyes were brighter.

When he returned to the dock to clean up all of his fishing gear, there was a silhouette in the setting sun. He couldn’t make out who it was, a broad frame almost haloed in glittering red.

“Hello, Grian.”

He squinted. “Beef?” As he grew closer, he could make out the source of the glittering, a suit that appeared to be crafted from salmon scales. “Wow.”

“Been doing a lot of fishing lately?” Beef asked, running a hand up one of the pillars of the little hut.

Something felt off in Grian’s gut. Something in his friend’s tone felt…predatory. It couldn’t be. This was Beef. He was one of the sweetest guys around. “You could say that,” he said, trying to keep his tone light. “But I’m all good now, got my mending book.”

“Is that so?” Beef cocked a brow, and stuck both hands in his pockets, as if on a casual stroll. Something in his gait screamed danger, though, and was this just too much time spent in death games? Was this overflow from Secret Life and Demise and—

Beef stopped on the block over Grian’s storage room. No.

“Why don’t you come on downstairs?” Beef asked, but it was hardly a request. “Because somehow I don’t think you’re all good.”

He pulled out a handful of seeds and composted them, disappearing through the floor.

Grian’s pulse thundered in his ears. What the hell was going on? How did Beef find out about his secret area? And what the hell was up with that suit? His head spun.

On the surface this would look like a fun prank. A bit.

But it didn’t feel like a bit. It didn’t feel fun.

He didn’t want to go down there.

But something told him he needed to, some instinct buried deep. Though surely Beef just wanted to make a deal for something in the chests down there, right?

Heart hammering, he composted and dropped down.

But there was nobody there. His guts twisted. Beef meant down downstairs. This was getting weirder and weirder, and that sense of danger felt sharper and heavier.

He dropped down into the cave and his heart ceased to work.

He couldn’t quite register at first the tableau in front of him. His gaze zeroed in on Mumbo’s face, beautiful skin marred by blood and tears.

“Grian! They’ve gone-” Mumbo cried, but his words choked off on a scream as a sickening snap echoed and suddenly time seemed to stop.

Grian’s ears buzzed, as if no other senses other than his sight were capable of working at a time. Mumbo was on his knees, hands behind his back, face twisted in pain. Skizz stood behind him, muscled arms gleaming as he took the kneeling man’s disheveled hair in one of his fists.

Skizz didn’t look quite right, though. His eyes were too big, almost bulbous, and too far apart. His face shone with what Grian had at first thought was sweat, but no, it was as if his skin were made of…scales? And nowhere was that soft, sweet, fun-loving Skizz energy. He looked maniacal. A maniacal, half-mutated fish man.

And Beef. Beef in his salmon-scaled suit, still cool as a cucumber, hands in his pockets, watching the scene with detachment.

Grian sucked in a deep, ragged breath as his lungs screamed for air, and time seemed to start again, his brain somehow catching up with the fact that he couldn’t just watch the scene forever.

“Walk with me, Grian,” Beef said, strolling towards the redstone door.

“No!” Grian cried, his entire body quivering. “What are you doing to Mumbo? Skizz!” He took a step forward, but in a flash, Skizz jerked Mumbo’s head back, exposing the tender flesh of his throat, and pressed a glittering diamond sword against it.

“I already broke his wrist, want another lesson?” he warned, and something was wrong with his voice, it sounded so distorted.

“My associate here will take good care of Mumbo,” Beef said as the door opened. “I’d like you to show me this room.”

Grian swallowed hard, staring at Mumbo with desperate eyes, the man he cared about most in this world, the man he’d do anything for. Somehow, somehow he’d fucked up and now Mumbo was in pain and there was fucking nothing he could do. Why hadn’t he brought any weapons down here? Why hadn’t he acted on his instincts up there…god.

A drop of crimson beaded on Mumbo’s throat, and he hissed in pain.

“You’d better go, your little friend has thin skin,” Skizz warned gleefully.

“I’m going, I’m going,” Grian said, forcing his feet to move, one in front of the other, towards Beef, towards the door…away from Mumbo. “Please stop hurting him.” The words came out so disgustingly weak sounding, and he hated it. He wanted to press his thumbs into Skizz’s mutant eyes until they popped out of his fucking head, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t do anything.

Skizz lowered the sword at least, and Grian scurried after Beef into the manifest room.

“Tell me about this,” Beef said once the door closed behind them, spreading his arms.

“It’s my…my manifesting mending room,” Grian said, and it sounded so stupid now. He had to admit he’d gone a little batshit with all of that fishing, with his obsession. What did this have to do with Beef and Skizz, though?

Beef pursed his lips, shaking his head. “It looks to me like a cod-worshipping room,” he said.

Grian’s blood rushed through his ears. Was this what this was all about? Types of fish? “No, they were just, easier to build statues of,” he insisted. “The color palette-”

“I don’t believe you,” Beef snarled, and his blazing anger was so jarring after being calm for the entire exchange. “Big Cod is trying to get a foothold here and my employer is not going to let that happen.”

“What are you talking about?” Grian asked, head spinning. “This is literally just for me, you can see my painting at the other end-”

“I saw the painting,” Beef interrupted, turning his back, clasping his hands there, walking down the platform to look at the painting in question. “Quite an expensive piece, for a fisherman.”

Grian scrubbed his hands down his face. “Well I’m not just a fisherman-”

“No, you’re not,” Beef said, whirling on his heel. “You know, my original thought when I was tasked with eliminating the cod threat was just to blow this whole thing to hell with you inside it.” He raised a finger. “But I thought, no need to make such a mess. I think I can bring you to heel with the right motivation.”

As if in cue, the redstone door opened, and Skizz dragged Mumbo in, shoving him back to his knees. His nose was freshly bleeding, and he looked about to collapse completely.

“Beef, please, whatever you think this is, it’s not,” Grian begged, whirling back towards him. “I swear I don’t know anything about…big cod-I just-”

There was a thump and Mumbo groaned.

Grian whirled again as Skizz pressed his boot against the man’s back, shoving him into the floor.

“Stop hurting him!” Grian cried, turning back to Beef. “Please, what do you need me to do? Just stop hurting him!”

Beef reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigar – since when did he smoke? – and flicked a zippo, taking his time lighting it evenly. He puffed, then tossed the zippo over his shoulder, landing it neatly at the bottom of the painting.

It went up quickly. Grian watched the flames, swallowing hard. He was happy to trade the painting for Mumbo’s safety, but it was still hard to watch it go up like that.

“Since you have your mending book, you won’t be needing that anymore,” Beef said, smoke trailing as he strolled up the walkway, free hand back in his pocket. “And since you’re certainly not working for Big Cod, you won’t need this room anymore. Dismantle it. Destroy it.” He pointed at Grian, cigar smoldering between his fingers. “I will be checking. And you don’t want to have this meeting again, do you? Who could I motivate you with next? Gem? Or how about Scar?”

Grian shook his head vigorously. “No, you don’t have to motivate me, I’ll do it.” He took a step back. “Please, just let Mumbo go and I’ll do it right now.”

Beef patted him on the cheek, chuckling as the sickly-sweet smoke made him cringe. “Yes you will,” he said, and stalked past him, snapping his fingers on his way by Skizz. “Kill him.”

Grian screamed, launching himself towards them, but he was too late, Skizz stabbed Mumbo through the back of the skull and Grian landed on the hard floor, next to the bundle of bloodied ropes left behind.

“I don’t want to see your face on the surface until it’s done,” Beef said as Skizz crossed the threshold. “Or else.”

The door closed, leaving Grian alone and sobbing on the floor.

[read on ao3]

[greeenchrysanthemums]

Grian met Scar on a hot, hot summer day.

He and Mumbo had been chasing rumors for months at that point, holding onto every whisper that they could of a man with unnatural eyes and an uncanny smile who brought death with him wherever he went.

They finally got ahold of something substantial just as they were beginning to lose hope: a location. They followed the tip to a tavern at the edge of a small village in a neighbouring kingdom, out of the way and hard to find. Just as what was likely intended.

They spotted him almost immediately, his appearance, as well as the magic that emanated from him, both unmistakable. He was sitting at the bar surrounded by a group of men, dramatically telling a story while he leaned up against the counter with a mug in one hand.

Mumbo was fearful and hesitant, but Grian held no such feelings. He marched right up to Scar and interrupted him mid-sentence, all but demanding that he speak to him in private.

Scar was too amused by the bold display to turn them away right off the bat, so he agreed to talk and followed Mumbo and Grian out. He barely payed any attention to Grian as he explained that he was the leader of a resistance and that he needed Scar's help in order to bring the crown, and those who controlled it, to their knees.

Truth be told, Scar had initially planned to kill the two of them for being so bold and pulling him away from a good time. He was long past his time of messing with mortal affairs, the last thing he cared about was their silly little resistance. He had simply wanted to get a little more amusement out of the two of them before disposing of them, but then Grian showed him something that changed his mind.

In Grian's sweaty palm was a small silver brooch in the shape of an eye, and from his mouth came an offer. "Help me, and I'll help you" is what he told him.

Scar had smiled, all teeth and cruelty, before accepting the deal with the shake of a hand.

They took an oath the same night they left the village together. A deal bound by magic, unable to be broken by either of them until the day that their goals were reached.

[kamrenn-james]

Thinking

Vampire!Mumbo x Watcher!Pearl

(Warnings for smut, blood, probably disordered eating, and honestly Ive describe vampire venom and ichor as a drug one too many times for this to not have some sort of warning for MAYBE dub-con)

(I typed this on my phone and hit post. No proof reading happened. Ignore my stupid typos.)

Thinking about vampire!mumbo going feral durning season 8 of hermitcraft.

He’s so determined to see this vegetarian ‘peace, love, and plants’ thing through, but every day it’s harder and harder to keep control over himself. Grian scrapes his hand on the stone he’s building with, Scar is so prone to injury Mumbo is about to lose his mind, and Pearl has one too many times gotten splinters from those god forsake trapdoors that she calls a front door. Not to mention Impulse’s knack for flying into solid walls giving himself the flying equivalent to road rash. Mumbo’s surrounded by people who don’t know how to keep themselves from getting injured and it’s really not helping his diet.

‘Diet’ might not exactly be the right word, but it’s what Mumbo calls it and he’s sticking with it.

Grian becomes the worst perpetrator as the season goes on. It gets to a point he’s getting some sort of scrape or cut every time he’s around Mumbo. Had Mumbo’s mind not been muddled by malnutrition he maybe could have figured out that Grian was doing it on purpose.

But it’s not Grian that finally breaks him.

Pearl sits quietly in his base, watching him build. She’s worried, he can tell. A lot of the hermits seem to be these days. Mumbo’s not sure how to tell them that he’s fine in a way that they’d believe. Nothing seems to put any of them at ease, but he’s fine.

He’s consciously aware of every move Pearl makes even as he’s building. He’s all too aware of how she’s picking at her nails. He hears her wince from across his storage room when she rips her nail just a little too close to the nail bed.

The small bead of blood is there and gone in an instant as Pearl pops her thumb into her mouth and sucks away the blood. She doesn’t even seem to notice how he’s frozen. She hadn’t done it in purpose.

Mumbo swallows around the lump growing in his throat, he pushes down the hunger and the thoughts that scream at him to hunt. He’s fine and he doesn’t need blood. But the smell of it is on Pearl’s breath and he wants nothing more than to sink his teeth into something living, someone whose heartbeat he can feel against his tongue.

He knows if he asked, she’d let him. Each of the hermits would. But he can’t ask, he can’t bend to that bloodthirsty monster. He won’t do it.

“Mumbo.” Her voice is soft. Inviting. And the smell of iron is growing heavier in the air. She’s realised what she’s done now, she’s enticing him and it’s working.

Mumbo turns to look at her, jaw clenched and breathing slow and shallow. If he doesn’t smell it he can’t give in. He won’t lose.

But he wants too more than he’s wanted anything, and Pearl’s reaching a hand out to him. She’s offering. She’s offering and who is he to deny her?

Pearls still sitting on one of many chests scattered around his base, and when he takes her hand he’s towering over her. There’s no fear in her eyes, despite the line she’s carelessly toeing.

“‘s alright.” Pearl whispers, pulling him closer. Mumbo wonders briefly if this is how she tames her wolves. Somehow he understands them, being drawn in with her comforting words and kind eyes. He knows why they flock to her.

Before he’s even conscious of what he’s doing, Mumbo finds himself on his knees in front of her. In a way he wants to beg for her forgiveness, he’s failed. He’s failing and Pearl is going to suffer for it. She wouldn’t feel obligated to do this had he not been the monster he is.

But her hands on his cheek, her voice soothing. He can smell the blood on her nail. Every defence he has is crumbling around him as her thumb swipes over his lips. There’s not much blood, but the drop left behind feels like a drug. He needs more like he needs his next breath. He needs her blood. Not quite human but not quite hybrid. She’s something more and he can taste it. It’s the hints of divinity that runs through her veins. It’s the golden ichor mixed with mortal blood. It’s addicting and the moment it’s on his lips he knows he’s lost.

Defeated, he opens his mouth, licking the blood from his lips. Her thumb lingers, blood slowly beading at the surface again, and all he can do is look up at her and plead.

Pearl smiles, he wonders how she can be so calm, but her smile is the permission he needs.

He’s already failed. What else does he have to lose?

Mumbo takes Pearls thumb into his mouth, the rest of her fingers cupping his jaw. There’s care in her touch, and Mumbo can’t tell if it’s that care or the blood he can’t get enough of.

Theres barely anything left to give from the ripped nail, but it’s enough to know he can’t stop. A guilty part of him doesn’t want to stop. The blood is rich and the ichor sweet. He knows he’ll be racked with guilt when he’s drained her, but right now he just wants more.

It’s Pearl that pulls her fingers away, and a growl almost involuntarily raises in his throat. He’s able to hold his breath and stop himself from following her hand away. He wants. It’s the only thing he can think. He wants. He wants. He wants her. Pearl looks at Mumbo like she can read his mind, and a part of him is scared she can. He hopes she can.

And when her hand returns to him, fingers gripping harshly around his tie, he’s easily pulled closer. Her thighs bracket his shoulders, he can hear her pulse. Slowly, waiting for her to stop him, Mumbo rests his head against the warm skin of her leg.

There’s a moment her smile falters, he can’t read her expression, but her hand moves to his hair. Pearl doesn’t nod, but she does hook her leg over his shoulder. And he thinks that maybe she can read his thoughts. Maybe she is in his mind but he finds it comfortable, he can’t find a reason to complain.

“You’re sure?” Mumbo chokes on the words, his fangs seem to tangle with his tongue in a way that’s never happened. It’s not at all attractive but it doesn’t seem to bother her.

“Yes.” Pearls fingers brush through his hair, and down his cheek. She’s waiting, and mumbo catches the anticipation she’s trying to hide.

Mumbo’s tongue drags over the bare skin of her thigh, finding the first artery he can reach.

Mumbo feels her tense when his fangs pierce her skin, and he feels the moment his venom seeps through her. The muscles under his grip relax and he hears a soft breath escape her. He wants to hear it again.

Until the blood touches his tongue, and finally his mind goes quiet. It’s been too long that not even the guilt can touch him. Pearls fingers tangle in his hair, nails scratching at his skin, and for the first time in months he feels comfortable. He’s not sure if it’s the blood or just because it’s Pearl.

A soft gasp escapes Pearl when he pulls away, it’s not enough, far from it but he wants to look at her. She seems to look more pale after, he’s not sure if she is but the thought of it is in his head.

She blinks slowly, looking down at him with heavy lids. The venoms done its work, she couldn’t run if she tried and again that guilty part of him mind is reeling.

Pearls wrist is in his hand, his eyes not leaving hers as he sinks his teeth into her skin again. The blood tasting like he’s never tasted it before, like he’s never had a single meal before that moment. Watching as Pearls eyes grow heavier, and hearing the soft sounds that escape her lips, Mumbo doesn’t want the moment to end. He bites down again, deeper this time. He wants to hear her again.

“Mumbo-” Pearl says his name like it’s a prayer, the goddess above him saying his name like it meant something. He lets her wrist go, doesn’t bother to try to stop the bleeding, and pushes himself up towards her.

He kisses her like it’s natural. And she returns it without hesitation. When her hands tangle in his hair she seems just as desperate as he is. The blood slowly flowing from her wrist isn’t much of a concern now that Pearl is moaning into his mouth and doing everything in her power to get him closer. Who is Mumbo to deny her that?

She’s pulling at his tie again, this time to undo the knot and throw it to the side. Her fingers are clumsy on the buttons of his shirt, and as much as he’ll hate the blood stains when this is over he loves how shaky her hands have become. He can’t decide if it’s from the blood loss or desperation, maybe it’s both and that drives him insane.

Both his jacket and shirt end up on the floor in two seconds flat, before he even has the chance to consider taking hers off.

Pearl makes the decision for him, pulling away from the kiss to pull her own jacket off. He watches, enamoured. The venom hasn’t had time to wear off yet, but she’s fighting to keep control of herself. He sees it in the determined look in her eyes. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of seeing that look.

The white tank top stays for the moment, he’s thankful for that as he imagines it stained crimson. Pearls arm is already half soaked in blood, but Mumbo wants to see more. He wants to see how much she’ll give him before she either stops him, or can’t give any more.

Mumbo stands straight, hands cupping her face as he imagines it. He probably looks insane, mouth smeared with blood and eyes wild for more. Whatever else she’ll give him.

“I want you to fuck me.” Pearl says, hands gripping his wrists.

“Yeah,” Mumbo breathes out, nodding.

Pearl stands, her legs wobbly, but Mumbo easily supports her weight.

“Right now.”

Mumbo’s lips are back on hers in an instant as he guides them towards the nearest wall. Certainly not the most comfortable position, but it will do.

Her back hits the stone harsher than he would have liked, his strength returning to him throws him off. He hasn’t felt this alive since before the season started. It feels new, like the first day after he was turned. Pearl gave that to him. And gods he wants nothing more than to repay her for it.

Kissing down her neck feels as intoxicating as that first drop of blood. Pressing his tongue to her pulse has him moaning against her skin, and the blood flowing into his mouth is a drug he’s never going to stop craving.

More venom enters her bloodstream and he feels the second she feels it. Pearls knees buckle, her hands desperately clawing around him to keep herself upright.

Mumbo doesn’t take as much, she’s already given him so much and there’s different type of need is overtaking his senses. His lips find hers again, while his hands move to her shorts, quickly undoing the button and shoving down, out of his way. Her underwear lasts only a second longer as he trails his fingers across the waistband, before they join her shorts on the floor.

“Can I eat you out?” He asks against her lips.

“I think you’ve done a pretty good job of that already.” Pearl smiles, and chuckles at her own joke. “Next time? I want you in me. Like now.”

“Yeah okay.” Mumbo’s nods, one hand tangling in her hair as he presses his lips to hers again, the other trailing down between her legs, purposefully missing her clit. She’s moaning into his mouth again, and the sound is driving him mad. He’s growing painfully hard and it’s taking every ounce of effort he has to draw it out at all.

With the smell of blood thick in the air it feels like a heavy fog has settled on him. It’s not bad, quite the opposite. He never wants to leave the fog. It’s just the two of them, and he has Pearl pinned and squirming from his touch. Mumbo forces himself to pull away so he can watch her. Take in the sluggish trail of blood from her neck staining her shirt, watching as she throws her head back when his fingers finally find her clit.

“I swear to god Mumbo-” Pearl doesn’t finish her threat, instead another moan overtakes her.

He thinks she’s about to kill him when he pulls his hand away, that is until she notices him kicking off his shoes and working his belt off. His trousers and pants are on the floor equally as fast as hers were, freeing his aching dick from the stiff fabric.

Mumbo lets himself have half a second to look her over again. The blood covering half her body, the awareness slipping from her eyes, her breath picking up significantly. Her knees buckle again and this time Mumbo’s lifting her up to wrap her legs around his waist. It’s not the most comfortable position he’s ever been in, but as Mumbo shifts Pearl in his arms and reaches around to stroke his dick he can’t find it in himself to care.

The head of his cock glides across her pussy, the combination of her wetness and probably blood makes it easy. His tip catches and he slips inside. There’s barely any prep, but he pushes up into her like it’s where he belongs. Pearl clenches around him, a broken moan cut off when his mouth finds her neck again. The blood is still so sweet. He doesn’t bite, just licks up her neck to her jaw as he gives her time to adjust.

Pearls hips grind down, and it’s all the encouragement he needs before he’s thrusting up into her, pushing her back harshly against the wall. The sounds she’s making are broken and cut off. It’s music to his ears. Maybe, he thinks this was all worth it to hear her choke out his name between thrusts.

Mumbo tightens his hold around her, pressing his forehead against the side of her neck that isn’t covered in blood. She’s squeezing around him, and she’s so warm he feels like he’s burning, it’s so much in the best way.

Pearl lets one hand drop from his back, snaking between them as she rubs at her clit. Her moans turn into breathy whimpers with each slap of skin against skin.

There’s a small swell of satisfaction he gets from hearing her like this. Feeling her tighten around him and whimper out a sound close enough to his name that it can’t be anything else. Pearl is a watcher after all, a goddess that could have anyone she set her mind too. But she wants him. And he wants nothing more than to make sure she’s satisfied.

Pearls nails dig into the skin of his back, her hips rocking to urge him deeper, faster. He happily obliges. Picking up the pace as much as he’s able in the position they’re in. It’s not enough for her, he can tell, so it’s no surprise when she’s tapping his shoulder and wiggling out of his hold.

“Do you have a bed?” She asks, slipping off of him as he lowers her to the ground on unstable feet.

“Not yet.” The admittance is sheepish, but she doesn’t seem to be judging.

Her eyes shift around his storage room and she very quickly comes to her decision. Pearl grabs ahold of Mumbo’s hand as she lowers herself onto the floor, grabbing the discarded trousers and shorts to wad up under her head.

Pearls pulling him back into a kiss before he even has the chance to ask her if this is alright.

It takes him by surprise how wuickly she pulls away, and rolls herself onto her stomach. She gets her knees under her but her chest is pressed against the wad of discarded clothing.

The blood from her thigh is smeared across her legs, and Mumbo was right in his assumption that it was part of the wetness between her legs. He thinks agains that he wants to eat her out, but he’ll wait until she asks. ‘Next time’ she had said. And he realises then that she’s expecting there to be a next time.

Mumbo doesn’t waist any more time before he’s pushing into her again. The angle’s better, he feels deeper, and feeling Pearl hot and squeezing around him again feels like heaven. It takes only two thrusts before he’s picked up his previous pace.

His hands on her hips and gripping tight enough he hopes he’ll leave bruises, and he thinks about making sure it does. He thinks about littering her skin in bruises, leaving her not only with bite scars but a more temporary reminder. He thinks about her watching it all fade over time. He hopes she’ll come back when they do.

Mumbo leans over her, one arm supporting his wight next to her head, the other trailing up her body and under the blood stained tank top. She’s wearing a thin sports bra underneath, and it makes it easier for Mumbo’s hand to snake underneath fingers pinching at her hard nipple. Her reaction doesn’t go unnoticed. Her hand finds his next to her head, and she seems to be the one wanting to leave bruises now as her nails dig into his skin.

Mumbo thinks he could stay like this forever. But it’s getting harder and harder to keep his movement consistent as the pleasure grows. He’ll be toppling over the edge sooner than he’d like, but he also can’t bring himself to care.

He’s missing the beat more often than he hits it, and his fingers on her nipple becomes a full grip around her boob, nails digging into Pearls skin.

“Close,” Mumbo tells her, although it’s probably unnecessary with how shallow his movements have become.

The force of his orgasm has him pressing deep into her, and he can’t control how he bites into the unmarked side of her neck. That seems to be what does it for Pearl though, her body shaking under him as she squeezes hard around him. The whimpers become one last harsh moan, and the nails digging into his wrist would have drawn blood if he had any.

Pearl nearly collapses, only held up by Mumbo’s arm snaking around her hips.

He lowers them both down slowly, wanting to stay inside her as long as he can. He doesn’t want to give up that warmth just yet.

“Ok?” Mumbo asks once their breathing evens out.

Pearl nods, but takes a beat to say anything. “I’ll take that offer of eating me out now if you’re up for it.”

Or something like that

[str4ngr]

golden syrup [ john price ]

i had a vision, i also want money

cw: suggestive [not any nicer than with könig] , foul language, age difference [hes like 40 or smth], objectification?, typical confusing sugar daddy behavior, toxic relationship, fem! reader.

Sugar Daddy! Price, always buys you chocolates when he gets back from work, no matter how much you complain about it being unhealthy or bad for you it is, he just holds your waist and whispers in his gruff voice, "I love you."

Sugar Daddy! Price, who buys you a pretty dress for each military ball, amused by your adorable shyness, clinging to his arm as your hips sway besides his, the bespoke dress making you irresistible to look at. Luckily, the Captain is intimidating enough to glare down any pathetic, greedy man away.

Sugar Daddy! Price, who is too focused and stressed by work to realize how needy for him you are. Even when you stand beside his desk. Confused by all the military mumbo jumbo, you simply rubbing your knee against his thigh, leaning down to smell his hair, as you trace your hands across his shoulder, looking for him to turn his focus. But he doesn't, simply handing you his black card and shooing you with his hand, making you pout, pulling on his sleeve, but he doesn't turn. You were his relief, not his lover.

Sugar Daddy! Price, who comes out of his office in fury, a mess made by someone or another, as he grasps your arm, ignoring the pout the sat on your pretty plush lips from earlier, yanked you over to the nearest surface, bending you over as he practically tears your clothes off, letting you moan into his hair and neck as his lips taste your sweet skin.

Sugar Daddy! Price, who loves to take you on dates, loves when you prance in front of him in the clothes you're trying on, loves to buy you every piece of clothing you fawn over, let alone glance at, loves when you let him tease your clit in the dressing room of a lingerie shop.

Sugar Daddy! Price, who always buys you pretty jewelry with any diamond, gold, silver, or gem that you want. His favorite pieces being first, the diamond medallion he gifted you the first day he fucked you, and the second, being the thin, delicate anklet with his name, adoring the way it dangled over his shoulders every night, kissing the hot metal to soothe you as his he fucks you dumb.

Sugar Daddy! Price, who always sends you more money than you two agreed on, knowing you'll never deny him. Always has an extra band ready for you, a, as he liked to call it, "little" reward for the times he liked to make his little sugar baby into a sobbing mess.

Sugar Daddy! Price, who couldn't fathom the bubbling venom growing in the pit of his stomach, watching you laugh and giggle with another man, knowing exactly the name of this bitterness, refusing to summon the devil. He rushes towards you, towering over you as he looks as both you, and the man he recognized to be a new recruit. "Not for much longer." He thought to himself, grabbing your hand slowly, his movements controlled as his fingers constricted around your wrist like a snake. Lucky for you, his extra band came in handy.

Sugar Daddy! Price, who was merciless that night, not to be confused with his usual roughness, adoring the blush that adorned your round ass, the flesh burning from the searing hot strikes of his hand, each movement after the next making your mind melt, your little messy cunt squeezing desperately for him. He laughed, laughed at the way you squirmed, laughed at how you reacted when he teased you, he was laughing at you, his cute little stress reliever.

Sugar Daddy! Price, who never pulls out, "might as well get my moneys worth, yeah, little girl?" treating your shoulder like a jawbreaker as he bites down, teeth sinking into you plush skin, ensure that pathetic recruit would never dare to lift his eyes again. The smell of his intoxicating cologne, combined with the smell of the cigarette still lit in his left hand, making you only mildly capable of babbling his name as he buries himself within you.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

this was so exhausting to write but it was soo worth it.

also i cant be the only one that thinks price lowkey looks like a puppy, yk? i think its the mustache.

directory

[aquinnix]

Hermittober 2024 - Ghosts

It was strange. Mumbo was staring at his face, that face that looked exactly like he remembered, despite the bruises and burns, that was him. But it wasn’t. There was something wrong, something different. There was this look in his eyes, glazed over, scared. So impossibly tired. They both stood there for a moment, looking, waiting for the other one to make the first move. Mumbo took a step forward, and Grian flinched. Mumbo quickly stepped back, putting his hands halfway up in surrender. Grian’s gaze darted around, never landing on Mumbo for more than a few seconds, but somehow never leaving either. It was then Mumbo had a realization, did Grian even recognize him? Suddenly, Grian collapsed, his knees buckling out from underneath him. Mumbo rushed forward, catching Grian just before he hit the ground. As soon as Grian looked up, he moved to jerk away, this look of crazed desperation in his eyes. True fear. A fear that Mumbo had never seen in his friend before. 

Mumbo let go, drawing his arms back against his chest. And it was then that Mumbo knew that his Grian was gone. What sat shaking before him was nothing more than a shell, a ghost. And with that, not matter how much the rest of him screamed for him to do otherwise, 

Mumbo ran. 

[logosbot-tm-fics]

Grumbo people come get some food✨️

One shot that takes place around the time of Mumbo's return to Hermitcraft s9, hope yall enjoy!

Feel free to read here or on Ao3

Thought About You Way Too Much

To say that Grian had missed Mumbo would be an understatement.

In his absence, Grian had found himself struggling to sleep, staying up far past midnight most nights planning or building. As if it would let him avoid the morning when he'd have to face the fact that Mumbo still wasn't there. Each day he’d wake up and stare at the empty base across from him, feeling a stab of pain at the emptiness.

It got so bad that he spent most of his time down by Grumbot, talking to their son from a different universe and longing for the life that other version of them spent together. He felt himself needing Mumbo more and more as time passed, a heavy weight pressing down on him until something eventually cracked. Before he knew it, Grian was creating a summoning circle in hopes that it would bring back the mustached man.

All it did was make him feel hollow, spending another sleepless night sitting between flickering candles and sobbing into his knees.

It wasn't that he didn't understand why Mumbo had taken a break. Mumbo had been on Hermitcraft for years, constantly creating and working hard – it would've honestly been weirder if he never felt the need to take a break. So Grian was happy for him, truly he was, he knew how overwhelming Hermitcraft could become, how burnt out you ended up at times. He was glad that Mumbo had realized that he needed a break, and from the updates he did get, it seemed as if Mumbo was having fun.

He just wished that Mumbo would have brought him along.

Each second without him was painful, and the server just didn't feel the same. He needed his best friend, needed their silly pranks, needed to annoy him. He needed Mumbo.

It should've been startling for Grian to realize that he wasn't just missing Mumbo, that he was longing for him. Somewhere, deep down, Grian knew that he'd always loved him.

So, when Mumbo had discovered the surprise Grian had set up for him, Grian didn’t waste a single second immediately pulling the lever for the XP, and tackled the taller man into a hug, screaming, “YOU’RE BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!” as loud as he could.

He felt ecstatic.

Never before had Grian felt as happy as he did, when Mumbo wrapped his arms around him, and whispered, “God, I've missed you.”

Grian could've died right then and there, and that would've been fine. He didn't want to be anywhere else than in Mumbo's arms.

~

The week after, Grian and Mumbo found themselves sitting together under the starry sky. They'd been mucking around, pointing out constellations to each other and making up a few when they couldn't remember more.

At some point, as the coldness of the night truly began to set in, they had inched closer to each other until their shoulders brushed together. It was just for the warmth, they claimed. It was only so that they could hang out for a little longer.

They both knew that it was a lie. They just couldn't stand being apart again.

Then, Grian opened his mouth to speak. "Mumbo, I…" he trailed off, biting his thumb. The moonlight cast long shadows on the ground, making everything feel like a weird dream.

"Yeah?" Mumbo answered. They were so incredibly close, and he could only focus on Grian's leg pressing against his.

Grian looked away, his hair falling over his face. He was grateful for the cover, allowing the layer of curls to hide his blushing cheeks.

"Okay, I just- I think- you really… we should–” He cut himself off with a thick breath, either anxious or frustrated. Maybe it was both. His leg was bouncing, his fingers were threading together. “Why the hell is this so difficult to say, fuck-"

Mumbo simply tilted his head, knocking their shoulders together a little more intentionally this time. A silent show of support.

He smiled, closing his eyes for a second to gather his thoughts. "So, you know how I didn't have the best time when you were gone?" He asked.

Mumbo nodded in reply. "Yeah, I know."

"Well, when you were gone I kinda- realised a few things.” He ran his hand through his hair nervously.

"Like what?"

"Like…how I don't know how to function without you close by, it's almost like I completely stop working." He explained. "Or, how I hate being away from you for a long periods of time, it feels like my heart is getting ripped to pieces." He winced, as if he was feeling that pain in the moment.

Mumbo wanted to wrap his arms around him, to hold him together, to undo the pain. He wanted so badly to protect Grian, even if he wouldn't be particularly good at that. Grian was the better fighter of the two of them, but still…he wanted-

"I also realised how I feel about you," Grian’s words tugged Mumbo from his thoughts with a jolt.

He stared at Grian like he had grown a second head, or like he was hearing the beginnings of a conversation that he had fantasised about so many times in the past few months.

Mumbo had realized a lot of things whilst being away from Grian. Such as, he was so used to having him right there, that it was difficult to understand that he had no one to talk to. That he didn't have Grian to talk to. That he had missed Grian so strongly that it felt as if a piece of his soul had disappeared. (Technically he didn't have a soul, he had half of Grian's, but that was another discussion.)

He’d realised that friends didn’t normally crave each other so deeply and completely. He’d realised that friends didn’t normally want to spend every moment together, for the rest of their lives.

But, putting those words to it? Putting a name to that feeling?

Saying the reason why he missed Grian so badly?

That was something that he hadn’t been able to do for a long time. Not until he saw the surprise party that Grian had set up for his return, so elated by his presence, and even then- he had never been able to say it out loud.

He’d never been able to that word, the one that Grian surely couldn’t mean, even if Mumbo wanted him to so badly–

"I think I've fallen for you, Mumbo."

Oh. Oh… OH! No, this had to be a joke, Grian couldn’t be serious. He-

Mumbo looked over at him with wide eyes. He couldn’t see much of the other man’s face, but the tips of his ears were flushed as he bashfully avoided eye contact. His shoulders were tense, his posture nervous, and their thighs were pressed together so tightly. It was so warm, and Mumbo never wanted to be without that. The way that Grian touched him, it was as if…

...he actually felt the same?

Mumbo had practically short-circuited at the realisation, staring at Grian like a bumbling fool, gaping like a complete and utter idiot. He was in disbelief, wanting to say something. Anything! But…he didn't, his brain couldn’t comprehend what Grian had said, at all.

"Mumbo?" Grian said cautiously. Mumbo hadn't even realized that he was looking at him, directly at him.

He looked regretful, hurt and embarrassed. Like he wanted to take it back immediately.

Like he was being rejected.

Of course he did. He thought Mumbo was rejecting him. He didn’t want that, he didn’t mean that! Why couldn't Mumbo just speak? He needed to, he was ruining everything!

"I- we can forget about this. I understand if you don't feel the same, it's completely fine. I'll get over it eventually-" Grian rambled, fidgeting with some of the feathers in his wings, curling in on himself.

He pulled back, their bodies parting and cold seeping between them.

The shiver that went down his spine was all that Mumbo needed to kick back into gear.

"Grian, w-wait," Mumbo shuffled awkwardly until they were touching again, gently prying Grian's hands off his wings. "Wait, please. Just- you're being completely serious?"

Grian nodded. Nothing more, he just nodded, looking rather embarrassed.

"Like, one hundred percent? There's no prank going on, there's no joke at all, you're being serious?" Mumbo asked, needing confirmation.

Grian nodded yet again, his eyebrows furrowing confusedly. "Yes, of course why would I- Mumbo?!"

He was cut off by Mumbo hugging him tightly, holding him as close as he possibly could. Grian didn't know what to do, his hands hovering over Mumbo’s back. For once, he wasn’t sure how to react. "Are- are you okay?" Grian asked.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine…I just-" Mumbo’s voice was shaking. He pulled back to look at Grian, his eyes shiny from tears. "I never thought I'd hear you say that."

"You-" Grian was in disbelief. "You like me back?"

Mumbo smiled. "Yeah."

And with that Grian began to cry.

"Grian!?" Mumbo said, looking surprised. "Don't cry, because if you cry, then I’ll cry!"

Grian laughed at Mumbo's shock, he just felt so relieved. The mixed-signals from before had frightened him badly. "I'm sorry- I just-" His voice broke into a sob and he laughed silently. "You just scared me."

Mumbo was crying as well. "I'm sorry. My brain stopped working completely, I honestly thought you were pulling my leg."

Grian laughed in reply.

"Anyway, why are we crying? Isn't this meant to be happy, what are we doing?" Mumbo said, laughing as well. Tears rolled down his cheeks, and Grian gently wiped them away.

"I am happy, that's why I'm crying." Grian replied.

"Really?"

"Yeah, I've never been happier." Grian's voice was filled with fondness, as he leaned forward to kiss Mumbo, and Mumbo let him.

Mumbo melted into the kiss. Sure, it was wet and unpracticed and not the best kiss by a long shot, but…

It was Grian.

And that was all that mattered.

~

If the hermits had to be honest, they had thought Mumbo and Grian would figure everything out sooner. Some of them had betted on when they'd finally confess, gambling away precious diamonds as the pair in question danced around the subject. It was only Joe that somehow was right.

They had started the bet back in season six, with Iskall establishing the pool as soon as Grian decided to dress up as Ariana Griande and began writing a song for Mumbo.

Iskall had thought they'd confess during season six, and so had Stress, Cub and Cleo.

Some had betted on season seven, one of those being Scar, who was being extremely smug when Grian had signed up Mumbo as a potential mayoral candidate.

A handful had betted on season eight, one of those being Pearl who joined the bet as soon as she heard about it.

But somehow, Joe had been the only one who had been right. Somehow Joe had predicted that they'd confess whilst sitting on the bridge that went between their bases, and that they'd confess in the middle of the night. This he said after saying that they'd confess in season nine.

How he knew that their bases would be connected in season nine was something every hermit had questioned.

Not that anyone would ever know.

And when Grian and Mumbo finally announced their relationship, most hermits muttered as they had to pay diamonds to Joe.

Grian and Mumbo had just looked on in disbelief. Shaking their heads, as they wondered just how they had ended up with the hermits as their friends.

Even so neither could lie, they were thankful for Hermitcraft.

[mochiwrites]

Aaaa thank you sorry this is going to be super long but I just had this really amazing terrible angst idea thing with vampires and so i wrote it out and i think it gets across what I want it to? The more i look over it the more it feels like a vent lmao

So uh. Here. Contains blood, kinda sh thoughts, and self worth issues! No happy endings allowed!

The worst part of the late nights was how they never seemed to pay off. Grian rubbed a hand against his eye, trying to keep the lines on the page in front of him from blurring. On his way to grab a red pen for notes, his fingers brushed against the chain holding his red crystal pendant around his neck, and he paused to look over at the vampire in the chair across from him. The light from the fireplace gave him a slightly ethereal look— the low light hid the circles that Grian knew lay under his eyes, and his usual pallor was draped in a warm orange glow. His eyes caught on Grian’s, who quickly straightened the smile that had crept onto his face, hoping the dim light would mask the warmth across his ears and cheeks.

“Grian? Something wrong?”

Grian blinked a few times. The lack of sleep must have been getting to him. “No. No, nothing.” He turned his eyes back to the papers, ignoring how they stung in protest. He had to get something done tonight, it couldn’t all be for nothing, not like the cave, not like the shack. Useless.

“Actually, could you check this out? I think I need a second pair of eyes…” Mumbo muttered. Grian shot to his side as quickly as his heavy bones would allow. If he could do anything to help, anything at all—

He overcompensated for the distance between their chairs, toppling them both onto the ground. Grian scrambled off of him, apologizing profusely at the mess of papers now scattered on the ground. Mumbo shook himself off, face a little darker than before. “No, I’m fine. Are you doing alright? You look…” he brought a hand to Grian’s face, running a thumb under his eye. “…not great,” he finished.

Grian unconsciously pushed his face further into Mumbo’s hand. “I’m fine. I’m—“ he went to take a step back, save himself from Mumbo’s scrutiny, but his knee refused to support his weight. Mumbo shot an arm out to catch him, supporting Grian’s weight against his body. Grian flung his arms around his neck in panic, relaxing his grip to his shoulders as Mumbo’s hand, the one not at his face, pressed firmly against the small of his back. Grian noted the way they were flush against each other, how he could feel Mumbo’s chest move with each breath, in and out a little faster than it normally did. He understood why; he wasn’t particularly light, and Mumbo was basically carrying him at this point. Dead weight again, in a close-to-literal way.

When Mumbo spoke again, it was soft, tentative. “Grian, you can’t carry on like this. You need sleep.”

“I can’t just sit around doing nothing. Far as I can tell we haven’t found the murderer yet, I’m of no use unconscious.”

“Well, you’re certainly not going to be of any use to us if you’re dead.”

“You’ve been sleeping less than me. That’s not fair.”

“I’m a vampire, Grian. I don’t need to sleep as much as you. I’ll take a rest too, if you want, I don’t think I can get much more done today.”

“That’s— I can’t, Mumbo, why won’t you let me—“

While Grian’s voice had been steadily rising in pitch and volume, Mumbo’s stayed soothingly consistent. “Because I care about you. Because I—“ his eyes darted across Grian’s face for a moment; Grian felt the hand on his cheek shift to his jaw, thumb below his lip, pinky brushing his pulse. Mumbo took one shuddering breath before their lips connected. After only a moment— far too short— Mumbo pulled away, frantically searching Grian’s face for some kind of reaction. Grian didn’t give him the chance to figure it out, chasing his lips, his hand moving from Mumbo’s shoulder to catch in his hair. Mumbo startled before kissing back, clearly just as impatient as Grian was. How long had they both wanted this?

Still, something nagged at him, rang in his ears. Useless. He couldn’t convince himself that he deserved any of this. Why these long nights, the nightmares everything they had suffered, was it really just to kiss his best friend in a pile of their hard work?

The worst part was, he knew Mumbo was right. He couldn’t go on like this. If only there was something he could do, some way to keep going. More energy. An idea struck him— it was a bad idea, but it was the only one he had. He couldn’t do any more, but Mumbo could. All he needed was a little blood. That was something Grian could do. After all, he wasn’t using it for anything.

He broke from the kiss for a moment, long enough to whisper an apology, before rising to meet his mouth once again, this time driving pointed teeth into his lower lip. He tried to suppress a grimace at the odd feeling of blood leaving his face, knowing Mumbo’s fangs anchoring his mouth in place would make any kind of expression painful. It would have been better to get an artery, he knew, but this was the best way he could think of, the best way to put his worthless blood to use. Maybe he could have just cut open a wrist, maybe the smell could be enough, but then again, maybe Mumbo would see it coming and throw him out. He shuddered at the thought, pulling Mumbo closer against him, feeling teeth push deeper into his lip. Ah, and Mumbo had told him it didn’t work that way, didn’t he? So this really was the best way. Hands curled around his face, thumbs gently maneuvering the fangs from his mouth, painstakingly detangling him from this mess he had started. Cool, fresh air flooded the new space between them, and clarity hit him like a freight train.

What was he doing? Did he seriously consider slitting his wrist just to force his best friend into something he very obviously did not want to do? He forced himself to make eye contact with Mumbo, dark eyes meeting red ones, blown wide in shock. Hands dropped from his face, and he crumpled to the ground without Mumbo’s support. The vampire took one step back, another, then he was running. Grian didn’t get up. He wasn’t sure if he could. A bit of blood welled up on his lip, dripping unceremoniously onto the paper-strewn carpet.

Ah the italics didn’t transfer. Thats ok. You can imagine. Love you mochi!!!

🦕

NONNIE. NONNIE PLEASE COME BACK. PLEASE. IM EXPLODING INTO A MILLION PIECES WHAT DO YOU MEAN MUMBO RAN OFF AND GRIAN JUST SAT THERE I /POS /POS /POS

I’m so. Okay. Okay okay okay. I am in love with this. like I can 100% see this unfolding in songbird. grian and mumbo feel SO spot on. like sb!grian would absolutely try and trick mumbo into drinking his blood through a kiss if it meant it helped him out. I’m so. MMMMMMMMMMMM

I love this. I love seeing a potential route of “hey this could lead to their kiss or a confession” I am in LOVE. I love them,,, and I adore how gentle mumbo was and grian’s stubbornness and MWAH. this is so lovely oh my goodness

wahhhh thank you 🥹💕 and if you ever want to write a part two please feel free omg

[fountainpenguin]

"I wanna hold you, baby, 'cuz I'm gonna miss you like crazy even if I'm halfway around the world~!" (x)

One and a Half Birds

💙 Read on AO3

🧡 Complete! - 15/15 chapters - 113k words

💚 More Pixels Imperfect fics

A server hub story about Mumbo proposing the soul-eating dynamic to Grian before they roleplay it... and Grian fretting over what might happen when he reveals his soul is purple, not blue like everyone else's in this world.

Newbie pictures, creeper biology, hungry phantom hybrids, Watcher Grian drama, and Minecraft surgery await in this hurt/comfort story of friendship and communication.

ft. platonic Buttercups (Grian, Mumbo, Scar) with flirty Ahasbands (Martyn/Mumbo) working out their post-Last Life relationship on the side. Super pleased with how it came out. Enjoy!

(First 1,000 words below the cut)

One and a Half Birds

Baby Pictures

💙  🧡  💚

The thing about Grian is that he has a tendency to buck his head, throwing it back any time he explodes in laughter. It's better than the feel of his jagged fingernails curling tight against your arm and only slightly easier to duck than his flapping wings. Mumbo leans sideways, clutching his drink near his chest, as Grian does exactly what he always does: which is, of course, all three. "Pfffft! Oh, Scaaar! Wow… I never- I never knew you were such a little nerd back in your newbie days! What is up with your hair? Is that white dye?"

Careful, Grian… I really, really don't want to spill this all over your lovely couch. Grian's actually got a nice flat for someone who rarely lingers here while in Between. Mumbo cups one hand around his wooden cup, catching a droplet before it can splatter on a throw pillow.

"Hey, hey," Scar protests, leaning forward. Grian and Mumbo are on the couch, but Scar is standing with one hand inside his jacket pocket. Grian's still got a finger jabbing at the screenshot in the scrapbook. It probably looks upside-down to Scar. That fits.

The sheepish boy in the picture (who's dangling upside-down himself from an oak branch) is grinning at his own reflection in the pond below. He's a whole lot younger than the Scar standing in front of them now. If you squint, you can see the places he hadn't quite grown into his own skin. The blue wings flapping at his shoulders are smaller, but much brighter in color. Definitely an allay hybrid in a way the vex standing before them isn't.

"You look like Victor Frankenstein."

"That was 700 years ago! Don't be picking on a man's looks. Little Scar can't even defend himself!"

"Little Scar can't do nuttin' to me. I'll talk about his silly hair all I like."

Scar surges forward, scooping Grian behind the back and under the legs. Grian's wings snap out. He hardly has time to yelp before Scar flips him backwards off the couch. Mumbo's brows shoot into his hair. Grian scrabbles with his fingertips, howling and gasping, and Scar springs knee-first on the cushions to grab his wrists. Their pixels slam together, spurting sparks, and Grian (knees already on the ground) tilts back his head. Scar draws in close, breathing slow, until his mouth is practically brushing Grian's ear.

"Long… live… the king."

With that, he shoves Grian to the floor with a thud. Grian doesn't get up, but lies there like a fish, crumpled in his own jumper. Mumbo chuckles.

"Never a dull moment with you two, huh? … You wanna see my newbie pictures?"

That does get Grian off the floor. Scar drops down on the cushion beside him and Grian pops up from behind the couch, arms folded on the back of it. Mumbo flips through the pages in his own book, looking for one in particular he's not even sure he still has. He's only a couple in when Grian slams down his hand, crowing laughter.

"You're younger than me, Mumbo! Why do you look like an old man?"

It's true. He sort of does, doesn't he? Wrinkled forehead, dark and squinty eyes… He's even wearing a bowtie in most of these, though back then he hadn't picked out the three-piece suit he often wears in public now. Mostly white button-ups. Occasionally his full wandering trader robes. Mumbo got his start much younger than Scar did, though he's not sure he can say the same for Grian.

He squints, running his thumb down the corner of one screenshot in particular. Unlike Scar's pictures from his first singleplayer, most of his were taken in the Between dimension. Huh. His home village of Little Sun has changed quite a lot, actually, from what it used to be… but the spawn temple with its little teal and turquoise banners is still the same.

And yet… I still have Double-U and Buzz. His llamas have stayed beside him all his off-server life. Their white wool still flourishes, accented with familiar pale brown spots like chunks of cookie dough in vanilla ice cream. The spots shift around between their respawns, but the long lashes and affectionate headbutts are always the same. Speaking of the girls, he should send False a whisper to confirm she actually did check on them tonight. He doesn't doubt her… His comm just hasn't pinged with an incoming message yet.

"You look like Etho," Scar observes, indicating the red scarf wrapped around his mouth in one screenshot on the next page.

"Sorry- I just can't get over how old and tired you look, Mumbo… I doubt you'd even made it to the Far Lands back then, but this fella already looks like he's seen too much."

"Oh, go on, then!" Mumbo claps the book shut. "Let's see your newbie screenshots."

All the energy whirls out of Grian chest in that moment. "My what?"

"Yeah! Let's do that!" Scar throws an arm around him, double punching Grian in the shoulder so hard, he flashes red. "C'mon, G! Get the book! You know, I half believe you spawned into existence without ever being a newbie account. I've literally never heard you talk about your spawn temple."

"Um-"

Mumbo concurs with a lift of his drink, like making a toast. "Look, you can't talk smack and then leave us hanging, bud. That just ain't bro!" (Is he saying that right? The whole 'dragon bro' bit was always a mite difficult to wrap his head around).

"… Right. Uh, let me just…" Grian pushes away from the couch, sliding his hands into his pockets. Mumbo watches his tongue press against the inside of his cheek. "Right, okay… Let me just ask Two where he last put it…"

Mumbo and Scar let him go, both craning their heads to follow Grian along the corridor with their eyes anyway. Two, BadTime, and Drone are all in Two's room frosting cookies and making party plans. Mumbo watches Grian twist the doorknob, then returns his attention to the book of screenshots in his lap. You know, there are some really nice ones in here. His only regret may be not taking more while he had the chance.

I like to think I grew up nice, actually… And then, Why aren't WE having a party in pajamas?��Don't get him wrong, because he loves his suspenders and Scar likes his jacket (and Grian is, well, Grian), but…

"Scar? We're missing out, bud."

"S'cuse me?"

"No pajamas."

"Oh… Next time!"

[Full story on AO3 - Link at top]

[blockmenmakemecry]

I just think skizz needs love man

At times, Skizz felt like a flimsy paper bag next to his peers. The other hermits were so talented and refined in their craft, while his own builds and ideas seemed unworthy for the server. Yet, here was Mumbo—someone he deeply respected—worshipping him completely.

Skizz sat back on his bed, fingers idly curling up in the sheets as Mumbo kneeled between his legs, Mumbos own hands wandering up his thighs as he pressed kisses and the ocassional love bite to scars that littered his whole body. It should've been erotic, the sight of the usually neat and composed Mumbo so disheveled. His red tie hung loosely around his neck, his suit coat discarded on the floor behind him, and his white shirt was no longer pristine. The top buttons were undone, and the wrinkles in the fabric, once crisp and pressed, seemed to speak of something deeper—a quiet, unspoken care. Every movement, every touch, felt like a tender expression of love.

"Skizz," Mumbo continued, his voice full of admiration. "You're so valued here." His eyes met Skizz’s, bright with affection and it made skizz want to choke.

Slowly Mumbo rose from his spot, hands still touching him wherever he could, leaning over him as he slotted his knee between his thighs. Skizz went with the movement and laid back on the bed as mumbos fingers caressed his cheek lovingly.

"Is this,, is this okay?" Mumbo asked, that slight anxious tone finding its way back into his voice and skizz just nodded.

"Yeah man, it's,," For the first time in a long time Skizz found himself wordless, breathless even "its good buddy" He managed, sucking in a stuttered breath through his teeth.

Skizz swore Mumbo's eyes sparkled as he gave him a soft smile before pressing small sweet kisses against his jaw.

"You're,, so,, incredible,, I'm so,, so,, glad,, you,, joined,, us" Everyword was broken up by yet another kiss to neck as Mumbo trailed his assault (was it really an assault if Skizz love it though?) Of nips and kisses down his neck.

"So kind" he practically purred, nuzzling into his neck before he pulled back just enough to see Skizz's face.

And what a sight it was.

Skizz was flushed a deep red, clearly flustered, maybe even a little overwhelmed. Tears shimmered at the corners of his eyes, and for a brief moment, he avoided Mumbo’s gaze—perhaps out of embarrassment, or something else entirely.

"You know that, right, Skizz?" Mumbo asked gently. "You're always so kind to us."

[kissorkill16]

They Don't Deserve It: A Hello Neighbor Fanfic

By JJ

Summary: Never save someone who doesn't deserve it.

"Put me down!", Trinity yelled, her voice muffled through the bag over her head. "Let me go!"

But the cultists dragging her into the Fear Room didn't let her go, not until they tied up her wrists and ankles and threw her on the floor, then they left the building.

"Help!", she yelled, "Anybody!"

When she heard footsteps, she stiffened, but then she heard that voice.

The nice, soft voice that she heard when she saw Maritza giving the book to Dove.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to hurt you.", he reassured. He began trying to undo the ropes on her wrists and ankles, "I'm here to get you out of here, just stay still."

Trinity held still for a moment as she waited for Dove to finish untying her, and she pulled the bag off her head, and backed up against the wall at the sight of torn up taxidermy animals.

Dove stood up and helped Trinity stand up, "Come on. Let's get out of here before they come back.", he said.

Trinity took Dove's gloved hand and let him lead her down the darkened hall of the Fear Room, and she stood close to him until they were completely out of the building.

She followed Dove wherever he went, and Dove hid behind different concession stands, holding Trinity's hand the entire time.

Dove slowly stood up and saw that there were cultists on many different rides, tools in their hands, and they seemed to be...unscrewing the rides.

Unscrewing, cutting wires, messing with the machinery, they were really messing everything up.

And Dove could barely take their eyes off them, and he couldn't help but wonder...

Did they do the same thing back when Lucy was still alive?

As two of the cultists began to talk, Dove slowly crouched back down, but kept peeking at them.

"Well, principal. That black book's mumbo jumbo worked. The well is gurgling, almost ready for you know what.", said Mayor Tavish.

"Then there's no more need for Peterson. Have him eliminated.", said Principal Abanate.

Dove's eyes widened underneath his beak when he heard that. They were planning on killing Mr. Peterson?!

Sure, he knew he shouldn't care about him, especially after all he did to him, but he didn't want Mr. Peterson dead. He didn't want anyone dead, even if they were an asshole. So he made a mental note to warn Mr. Peterson later, after he saved Trinity.

Just then, Otto came running to the cultists, he dropped down to his knees, completely out of breath. "The girl. She's gone!", he said. "And so is Dove."

Principal Abanate came close to Otto, and though he couldn't see it, Otto could tell that she was scowling.

"Can we trust you with anything, Otto?", she asked, sarcastically. Then she turned to Mayor Tavish, "Spread out."

Dove hid back behind the concession stand, and Trinity bit her nails.

"What're we gonna do?", she asked Dove.

Dove looked around for a moment, trying to think of a plan, and then he saw a toy gun. He grabbed it, plugged in the cork, and turned to the side to see a bell. He aimed the gun at the bell, and shot.

The cork hit the bell, and the bell rang.

Mayor Tavish turned around to look at the bell, and he ran in the direction of the ringing sound. Seeing it as the perfect opportunity to escape, Dove took Trinity by the hand and led her away from the cultists, and out of the park.

Once they were out of the park, Dove grabbed Trinity's shoulders and made her look at him.

"I'm going to tell you what I told your friend.", he said, "Please stay away from the cult, stay away from the woods, the tunnels, Mr. Peterson's house, stay away from all of it. Please."

Trinity pushed him away, "Why should I listen to you? You're literally working with the cult."

"But I'm not like other cult members, I don't want you or your friends to die. Don't you people see? I'm trying to keep you alive."

Before he could say more, Trinity gasped and ran away from Dove. Dove was about to run after her, but he felt a harsh tug on the back of his cloak, pulling him back and making him look into Otto's angry eyes.

"You let her go?!", he asked, "Do you realize the trouble you put me in? Crowface will have my head because of you!"

Dove kicked Otto in the shin, making him drop him to the ground. He stood up and dusted himself off, and he leaned in close, making sure Otto could hear him.

"I won't let you or anyone else hurt her.", he said, his voice firm and angry. "I don't care what any of you think, I don't care what any of you do, I won't let you hurt any of them."

Then he ran away from the park.

Meanwhile, Otto was left standing there, a wicked smile growing on his face.

Later that night, Nicky packed a couple of tools and his lockpick set and snuck out of his bedroom window, practically running back to the Golden Apple Amusement Park.

He climbed up the fence, throwing his backpack down on the ground and went to the carousel first.

He got to work on taping together the snipped wires, being extra careful so they wouldn't accidentally shock him.

When he was done with the carousel, he went to the Ferris wheel, and he carefully climbed up the wheel with a wrench and a couple of screws in his hand and got to work tightly and firmly screwing it back.

As he was climbing down the wheel, he was putting away the wrench and was about to take out another tool, but then he stilled when he felt an eerie presence behind him.

He slowly turned around to see Crowface, and even though he wore a mask, Nicky could tell he wasn't happy.

Crowface sighed, "I can't believe I'm about to have this talk with you again, Nicholas.", he said, stepping closer to him. He snatched Nicky's backpack away from him.

"I welcome you into my cult, and all you keep doing is interfering with my plans. You offered that girl instead of threatening her, you risked your arm instead of letting that science teacher die, and now you let the girl go.", he said, his voice growing deeper and deeper.

Nicky looked down at his shoes in shame, "Otto told you about that?"

"Yes, as I was punishing him for leaving you two alone. I had to muffle his screams with his own stuffing."

Nicky quickly shook his head, not wanting to hear more. Without thinking, he snatched back his backpack.

"I'm only interfering with your plans, because all of your plans involve my friends getting killed or hurt.", he snapped at him. "I never said I wanted anyone to die when I agreed to join your cult, I only wanted my friends to suffer for how they treated me. None of that meant I wanted them to die. And now you guys are planning on killing Mr. Peterson too?! I know what he's done, but he doesn't deserve to die, Franklin!"

Nicky's eyes widened and he backed up against the ride as Crowface stepped closer and closer to him, then he slowly took off his mask, revealing a pale, burned, and rotting corpse face.

"If anyone else called me that, I wouldn't have been so kind, Nicholas. But since you called me that..."

Nicky closed his eyes and hugged himself, waiting for what Franklin would do to him next. Franklin just grabbed Nicky's cheeks and turned his face to look at him.

"It's because of this wretched town, I've become this disgusting beast. Rotting, pale, destroyed, half dead, and half blind.", he said. "If I get my revenge, then everyone in this town will know how I felt when I was hit by that light."

He took his hand and squeezed it.

"You keep saving the people who have done nothing but make your life hell, and you join this cult, who is dead set on making their lives magnificent and others worse, and you do exactly the same."

Nicky winced when he felt Franklin squeeze his hand harder, and he tried to pull it away.

"And you were planning to save Peterson? Of all people? Especially after what he did to you?"

Nicky finally got his hand free and he gently rubbed it.

"Before I joined this cult, I wanted you to kill me -"

"And I decided that I have a much better use for you, dear.", said Franklin. "I didn't think you'd be a complete pacifist with this damn town."

Franklin sighed, "But what can I expect from a child?", he said.

Nicky looked at his shoes again, then he felt Franklin pull him close into his black cloak.

"I want you to stop thinking about those people, think about all of the times they've hurt you instead. All of the bullying, the mean nicknames, the abuse, the pain, the guilt trips, everything, dear.", he said, rubbing Nicky's bandaged arm from the other night where Nicky had saved Mr. Murtaugh from being killed. "If you keep thinking about that, then you wouldn't be trying to save them so much."

As he rested his head against Franklin's chest, he thought about all of the bad times he's had with his previous life. His parents neglecting him, his friends being total assholes, kids at school bullying him...

Trinity dismissing his "not okay" behavior.

Just those thoughts made him start to cry.

Franklin gently rubbed Nicky's hair in soothing circles, "Shhhh...., it's alright, my darling dove.", he said.

"You shall rest here tonight, Dove, where you're safe and sound, away from danger. I will protect you all through the night, and you will know only comfort in my arms."

[thetomorrowshow]

Whumptober 13 - Team as Family

title: if all your friends jumped off a cliff...

fandom: hermitcraft smp

cw: blood and injury

~

Impulse senses it a moment before it happens.

It’s in the way his stomach swoops, feeling like an elevator dropping from his throat to his knees. It’s in the way the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, his shoulders tensing.

He slips.

His heel lands funny on some loose gravel and he slips.

Then stumbles, trying to catch himself.

Then windmills.

Then falls.

-

“We should go hiking.”

Impulse suggested it, thinking of his new hiking boots he had yet to break in. He loved a good day of hiking, and it sounded like a perfect group bonding activity.

“Oh, yeah, I love hiking!” Mumbo said, perking up in his seat. “That would be great.”

Grian snorted. “Would you even show up?”

“I—of course I would! Just because—”

“You haven't come to a single team bonding activity yet. Isn't the line manager the one who's always supposed to be there?”

“I—look, that isn't—”

“Hiking sounds fun,” Pearl interrupted. “Impulse, did you have somewhere in mind?”

-

The fall is bad.

The side of the trail is a steep cut-off without any sort of fence in place, and when Impulse slips, he feels a breath-taking moment of terror as he knows what awaits him if he falls the wrong way.

Which he does. Of course he does.

It doesn’t happen in slow-motion, like the movies. If anything, it’s sped up, a brief moment of being airborne before he crashes into the ground and starts rolling faster than he knew he could.

He tumbles down the side of the mountain, and his world becomes a blur of green and brown and pain. His ears are assaulted by a barrage of crashes and thuds, over and over as tree branches and underbrush whip and crack under him—

He keeps trying to grab onto something, to get his feet under him, but he's falling too fast for it to happen.

Until he slams into a boulder.

-

“Grian, did you bring snacks?”

Grian sighed. “Right, I already divided up everyone's snack bags,” he said, putting on an affect of weariness. He set down his backpack, dug through it, before pulling out several ziplocs.

“Cookies for Scar, trail mix for Impulse, pringles for Mumbo, apples and caramel dip for Pearl. And I've got a ton of beef jerky and carrot sticks in my bag.”

Scar snatched his ziploc of cookies, already tearing it open. Impulse chuckled. They hadn't even stepped onto the hike yet.

“I was looking at it online,” Mumbo said, tracing his finger along the map at the entrance. “The blue trail is easiest, but the red one has the best view.”

“I've only hiked the blue trail,” Impulse said. “It was pretty easy. But you know Skizz, from the development department? He hiked the red one last week and he said it wasn't hard at all.”

“I do love the color red,” added Grian.

-

Impulse blinks open his eyes, the fuzziness in his vision barely dissipating with each blink. There's static in his ears, a slight hum behind it. His mouth tastes like metal. He licks his lips, swallows drily.

His head hurts. His head—his back—every part of him—

He was just falling, right? Why isn't he falling? What happened?

“Impulse! Impulse!”

The sound of his name being shouted distantly breaks through the static, and Impulse scrunches his eyes shut, then forces them open again. Everything's still kind of blurry and black-spotted around the edges, but he looks as far up as he can, until he can kind of see the figures of his friends far above him, up the steep mountainside.

Did he really fall such a long way?

“Impulse, can you hear us?”

That's Grian.

Weakly, his body trembling, Impulse raises his right hand in a wave. Even from this far, he hears their sighs of relief.

“How are you feeling?” Grian calls down.

Impulse winces. His head and neck are up against something hard and unforgiving, pain blooming out from the base of his skull.

That might explain the issues with his vision. Concussion.

Or possible spine damage, he realizes with sudden panic.

Impulse spits out blood (his bitten tongue bleeds sluggishly against his teeth). “Uh,” he croaks, as loudly as he can manage. “I hit my neck.”

If possible, the others become even more worried. “Okay, we'll call for help,” Mumbo says resolutely. He gets out his phone, takes a step away.

“Is that rock on your leg?” Pearl says, and for the first time, Impulse looks down at himself.

His fall had dislodged a boulder next to the one he hit neck-on, and his leg is partially under it. It's enough that he can feel the weight (which surely means something good for his neck that he can feel it), but it isn't pressing down so hard that it's super painful. It hurts, but he's fairly certain it's not broken.

Impulse decides not to move. Not at all. He knows you shouldn't move with a potential spine injury, and he's afraid that one shift could entirely crush his leg.

“Yeah. I'm not going anywhere.”

“I don't have service. I don't—Grian—”

Grian checks his phone, too, his scared expression morphing into one of panic. “Me neither. Okay—Mumbo—”

“I—oh, dearie me, I don't—”

“Mumbo,” Pearl interrupts, placing her hand on his arm. “Walk back down the trail until you get in range. Then call emergency services, okay? We'll keep Impulse awake.”

“Impulse, don’t go anywhere,” Grian says. Impulse makes a vague effort to flip him off.

Mumbo starts scrambling back the way they came. Grian sits down, scooting as close to the edge as he dares.

“Do you think you’re good until Mumbo gets back?”

Impulse takes stock of himself. Between the pinned leg and the pounding head, he’s got a ton of bruises and scrapes. His arm feels funny, his shirt is torn all over the place. There’s a twig digging into his back, but he doesn’t have the energy to try and get rid of it.

“He should hurry,” he says, avoiding the question. He really just hopes he doesn’t pass out. Everything hurts a lot, and the black hasn’t cleared from his vision, so it’s all he can do to hang on.

He trains his focus on Grian’s face. He has to stay awake. Mumbo will be back soon, and then the paramedics will show up after that.

What if they can’t get down to him? There’s got to be too many trees to call in a helicopter. How long would it take to try and climb up to him from the bottom of the mountain? Would they even be able to?

“Hey,” Scar says, taking a careful step off the path, about ten feet away from Impulse’s clear slide marks. “This part looks way more even! I bet one of us could go down and give Impulse some water, or something!”

“Scar, absolutely not—”

Grian isn’t even able to finish his sentence before Scar’s foot slips.

Impulse sees it almost in slow-motion—the way Scar’s eyes widen, the way his arms flail out to grab Grian, who reaches forward too-slow—

With a comical scream, Scar falls.

-

“We all know hiking safety, right?”

“Yep!” Mumbo responded. Nobody else said anything.

Impulse sighed. “Okay. Well, first off, never go off the path. Got it?”

Pearl nodded. Grian did as well, rolling his eyes. Scar didn’t do anything, crouched down to toss one of Impulse’s peanuts to a squirrel.

“Scar?”

“Aw, look at you! Isn’t he so cute? Look, Grian, he’s so cute!”

“Scar,” Impulse said again. “Did you hear me?”

“Yes, yes, now look at this squirrel! His tail is crooked, look!”

-

Scar’s fall, if anything, looks worse than Impulse’s had felt.

He seems to hit every part of his body with a resounding crack against the ground, and his scream cuts off near-instantly when his head hits a rock but he keeps going. He slips and rolls and barrels down past Impulse, where he finally hits a fallen tree and his body uses its last bit of momentum to roll over it.

The only part of him visible is his foot, propped up on the log, his boot half-off in a way that totally obscures whether or not his foot is bent at an impossible angle.

Impulse stares, his breath caught in his throat.

“Scar! Scar!”

Grian’s shouting does nothing. 

The foot on the log doesn’t move.

“Impulse, is he okay?”

“I—I can’t see him,” Impulse manages. None of them can properly see Scar, he could be dead for all they knew, if it’s possible that Impulse broke his neck who’s to say that worse didn’t happen to Scar?

What if he needs resuscitation? Can they wait until the paramedics arrive? They’re already an hour into the hike, how long would that take?

“Scar, c’mon! Scar—be okay, please be okay—”

Impulse ignores Grian’s frantic words. Somebody needs to check on Scar, and he’s the only one already down here.

Scar isn’t close enough to reach. His foot is about ten feet to Impulse’s left, which might as well be ten miles. He scrambles briefly for something to throw, but there’s nothing at hand.

Impulse looks again at his leg. The boulder really isn’t resting too heavily on it. If he’s careful, he might be able to get out from under it. Then he could crawl to Scar, at the very least, check his pulse and start on CPR.

He shouldn’t move until he can get his neck scanned, but he can’t leave Scar like that.

His right leg isn’t too badly injured, so Impulse places his right foot on the boulder, takes a slow breath.

He’ll push with his right as he pulls his left leg out. Quick and easy. No problem at all.

“Impulse, don’t—”

He pushes.

He pulls.

-

“Have you ever had an emergency while hiking?” Mumbo asked, glancing around nervously. “Like, what if one of us passes out?”

“I resent that!”

“I—Scar, I wasn’t talking about you. Just—just generally, you know?”

Impulse chuckled. “Nope. I mean, once Tango tripped and scraped up his knees real bad. We ended up heading back early, carrying him on our shoulders.”

“I knew someone who went missing while hiking,” Pearl interjected. “They found her remains last year.”

“That won’t happen,” Impulse said firmly, as Mumbo’s eyes widened. “As long as we pay attention and stay on the trail, we’ll be fine.”

-

He doesn’t get out.

The boulder rocks back, and he has a moment of freedom—

But it comes crashing down before Impulse can move, utterly crushing his leg with an audible snapping noise.

Impulse gasps, his vision sparking red.

Then black.

He drifts for a moment in painful blackness, feeling utterly incapable of even breathing. The agony steals through every part of his body, through his lungs and stomach and brain, his head pulsing angrily in time.

He’s dying. He’s sure of it. He’s dying, it’s so terrible, he isn’t going to make it—

It isn’t Grian’s voice that rouses him this time. It’s Pearl’s, but she isn’t talking to him.

“—can’t just leave them! Scar could be—”

“There’s no way possible you can get down there, both of them tried—”

“I know how to go down steep hills, I learned this technique once!”

“Pearl, I can’t let you.”

“Mumbo hasn’t gotten back, it could be hours before someone’s here to help them. We don’t even know if Scar’s alive—the window for bringing him back is shrinking! I—I have to try.”

It takes more effort than Impulse has, but he opens his eyes.

Through a red haze and double the black dots, he sees Pearl, adjusting her backpack. She waves when she notices him looking.

“Heya, Impulse! On my way down!”

Impulse groans.

-

“Do you think someone could climb down the side?”

Impulse glanced off the path, shuddered. “Doubt it. See how steep the drop-off is?”

“Right, but it’s only a sheer drop for about ten feet,” Pearl replied. “After that, it becomes more of something climb-able.”

“I mean . . . maybe if they had poles,” Impulse said dubiously. “I wouldn’t try it. It’s really not worth the risk.”

-

Pearl’s method of coming down the hill involves sliding the first ten feet of the steep drop on her backside, then stopping herself before she gained serious momentum by grabbing the grass. After a moment of dusting herself off, she stands. What follows is a strange hopping-jog, her gait short and staccato, jumping down the hill like a hare. It’s kind of working, but it’s clear about halfway down that she’s losing control of it—Pearl tries to stop but it’s too late—

She stumbles, falls, somersaults—tries to get back on her feet, but pulls another somersault, tries again—

Impulse doesn’t notice until her body jerks to a stop, a small shriek tearing from her throat, but Pearl’s foot gets caught and won’t come free.

She’d clearly tried to stand, putting all her weight down into a rotting tree stump. Her right foot had sunk in to the ankle, and the abrupt stop of her descent hadn’t been enough to pull her free.

“Ow, okay, ow,” she gasps, pushing herself up onto scraped forearms. 

“Pearl! What did I say—”

“I’m all right,” she calls over her shoulder. “I just—I did something to my ankle, sprained or broken or something. But I’m fine!”

“I—a broken leg is not fine!”

Impulse closes his eyes, swallows. His mouth still tastes like blood. His teeth hurt from gritting them so hard.

He feels a little floaty, actually. Less pained than before. Maybe that means he’s about to pass out.

“Pearl,” he manages, wrenching open his eyes. “Scar. Can you see him?”

Pearl pushes herself up farther, then more, making small sounds of pain as she manages to bring herself up to standing. “Um . . . yeah! Yeah, I can see Scar!”

Impulse waits.

Grian, still going on about injuries, falls silent.

-

“Scar, stop pretending you’re asleep and get up,” Grian said, nudging Scar with his foot. “Come on, we said five minutes and it’s already been eight. We need to get a move on if we want to finish this hike any time soon.”

Scar continued to fake-snore.

“Come on, Scar,” Impulse laughed.

“Scar, we all have your fake-snore memorized. We know you’re awake,” said Pearl.

Mumbo glanced at them. “What? Does Scar pretend to be asleep a lot?”

Pearl nodded. “He pretended to sleep through bowling last month.”

“And paintball the month before that.”

“And at the Taylor Swift concert before that.”

“I—sorry, you all went to Taylor Swift?” Mumbo demanded. Grian just shrugged.

“Yeah. The company paid for it, it was a team-building exercise.”

Mumbo sputtered incoherently. Scar fake-sleep-mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like the chorus of Shake It Off.

-

“He’s breathing,” Pearl confirms after several harrowing moments. Impulse lets out a sigh of relief.

Scar’s alive.

It isn’t pressing danger, not anymore. Well, Scar definitely needs emergency help, and so does Impulse, but everyone’s alive.

“Hey, Grian,” Pearl calls up the mountainside, easing herself back down to the ground. “Looking a little lonely up there, all by yourself.”

“I am not joining you,” groans Grian, burying his face in his hands. “I—no!”

“Come on,” Pearl wheedles. “It’s fun!”

“Absolutely not. You know what—here.”

There’s a bit of rustling from above. Impulse looks up as Grian pulls a bag of carrots from his backpack and tosses them down to them, aiming for Pearl.

It soars, down, down, past Pearl—

Scar’s foot jerks as it lands. Pearl bursts into laughter.

“Square in the back!”

“I hope Mumbo gets back soon,” Grian says. “I cannot be the responsible one right now.”

“Just come join us!”

“If all your friends jumped off a cliff!” Grian says, chucking a bag of beef jerky. That one misses as well, landing well out of anyone’s range. “If all your friends jumped off a cliff, and they said it’s fun and cool and called up to you from the deadly cliff, would you jump? Would you jump too!?”

“Don’t be such a party pooper!”

“I’m gonna pass out,” Impulse mumbles, swallowing. His vision is getting darker by the second.

“No, Impulse, hold on—”

“Impulse, can you reach your water bottle?”

He can’t. His backpack is under him, and possibly what created such an awkward angle for his neck to hit the rock, anyways.

Impulse blinks. Then again. Then again.

They’re speaking to him, but the buzz in his ears has gotten so loud as to drown them out entirely.

It drowns everything out.

The pain drowns him out, too.

-

“New announcement from corporate,” Mumbo says, sitting down at the table. “All team-bonding must be in a safe and controlled environment. Specifically, hiking, paintball, and ziplining have been banned.”

“Come on, that was next on the roster,” complains Pearl.

“And it has been suggested to me in particular that we maybe play getting-to-know-you games for our next team-bonding,” adds Mumbo. “The rest of the teams are kind of mad at us for the ban, honestly.”

“What? How did they know it was us?” Grian demands.

Impulse looks between them all—his own neck brace, shoulder brace, and broken leg; Scar’s double-casted arms and knee brace; Pearl’s crutches.

Yeah.

That makes sense.

“At least we had fun,” he tries.

Mumbo raises a disbelieving eyebrow. “You—Impulse, you have to relearn how to walk.”

Silence.

Pearl’s the one who starts laughing first. Grian cracks soon after, then Scar (with repeated, “Ow, ow, my ribs”), then Impulse, and finally, Mumbo joins in.

“Right,” Mumbo says once the laughter dwindles out, wiping a tear from his eye. “Does anyone know any getting-to-know-you games?”

“Truth or dare,” Scar suggests immediately.

“No. Instant veto. Absolutely not.”

[randomzdum]

Something of a small WIP I've not touched in a while...enjoy!

____

Lightning strikes the earth before him, scorching the dirt near the drop where Pearl had been. “Oh Pearl!” He calls out, ignoring the heavy thud of his heart as he reaches over the drop and jumps down, grunting as his feet hit the hard stone. A cold sensation crawls up his spine and causes the hairs on the back of his neck to rise as he tenses. A hushed voice brushes against his ear, “She’s dead Scar. You won.” He freezes, before a rush of pain causes him to fall to his knees and cry out. A burning sensation takes over his body and he gasps for breath as he clutches his chest. A llama with a colorful tarp, a flash of heat coming off the desert sand, a ring of cactus. Scar lets out a desperate laugh, ignoring the zombie raking its claws down his arm. Crystals spinning around in his palm, a lone house on the mountain top, a horse hanging over a pit of lava. He curls up on the stone, dragging himself towards the nether portal. The red sweater of his soulmate, soft fur in gray and white, a press of blade against his soulmate’s throat. He starts to sob, a desperate sound as the zombie loses interest in his arm and lunges for his throat. A calloused hand smoothing his hair down gently, a llama with a sleeping man, the press of a hand on his wrist. “I can’t believe the guy without friends won,” he laughs as his mind is filled with memories he didn’t know he was missing. He screams, as the memories tear apart at everything he thought he knew, before he takes his sword in a singular arc and the zombie falls to the ground with a thump. He groans in pain as he drags himself to his feet, relying heavily on the face of the overhang. He instinctively trudged towards the secret keeper, crying out when he stumbled. The feeling of steady hands holding his arm stop him from giving up entirely. When he finally reaches the Secret Keeper, he all but collapses on the succeed button, pressing it with a quivering hand. The injuries begin to mend themselves as he trembles. Then everything goes black.

The sound of rockets forces Scar to peel his eyes open, gripping the sheets of his bed. He sits up and looks around, he's in his base on Hermitcraft, the room looking too lively and joyful in comparison to the turmoil in his head. Scar doesn't know how long he sits there, hands in his hair staring at the wall.

Pearl knows what the first few moments are like, she knows it will be worse for Scar. When Grian had come back the first time, he refused to talk to anyone and couldn't bring himself to look at Scar for months. She couldn't possibly imagine what had happened and how Scar must feel, having so many memories crammed into his head all at once. She picks up her rockets and makes sure her famous soup is nice and hot before she takes off the ground, heading towards ScarLand.

Grian is hiding, he knows he should look for Scar, beg the kind man to forgive him, but instead he sits in his cupboard, wings folded tightly around him. He tries to fight down the tears, knowing that Scar will never forgive him for the Desert. He hates you he hates you he hates you, a cold voice says to him as he chirps sadly.

Scar pulls himself to his wheelchair, sighing in relief as he begins to move towards the elevator. He grabs a spare blanket and wheels himself out to Main Street.

Pearl spots Scar sitting by the statue of Jellie, said cat sitting in his lap, purring up a storm. She lands with a flourish and walks up to him, opening her arms up in invitation. Scar takes it, clutching her tightly as he cries silently. She runs her hands through his hair and hugs him back fiercely. Jellie wiggles her way into the embrace and Scar lets out a tired laugh.

Mumbo finds his way to Grian's kitchen, hearing the muffled sobbing from his favorite cupboard. He crouches down and opens it gently, taking the avian into an embrace as Grian lets out choking sobs mixed with chirps and gasps. "I've got you, I've got you. You're safe, I promise," Mumbo reassures as his best friend cries. Grian pulls in desperate gulps of air as he tries to form the words he needs to say, "I- I- I don't," he heaves and cries out, "I'm sorry, I- I'm so-" he wails. Mumbo rocks them in place, "It's alright, it's okay," he begins to reassure. Grian cuts him off, "Mumbo- Scar, I- I need- I need to find Scar," he pleads, releasing the hold he has on Mumbo's shirt. Mumbo lets him, not letting go of his wrist but making sure Grian gets up all the way. "You need to see Scar?" he asks, "Right now? Do you want help?" Grian shakes his head, "No, no, thank you, I can- I can do it." Mumbo nods, letting go of his wrist and Grian is gone not two seconds later. Mumbo sighs, running a hand through his hair, he doesn't understand what's happening but he doesn't have the heart to question it.

Grian stands outside of Scar's castle, trying to get himself to walk inside. To do something other than stand there in pain.