#mimic arc

[angeart]

hhau mimic arc rambles - part III: aftermath

(~5,5 k words) // other parts & au masterpost here

After Grian and Scar reunite, they’re tucked away in a makeshift shelter—nothing too grand, but good enough for a small pause, a little bit of rest, a faint semblance of respite.

Except, turns out, it might have to be a more permanent place to stay than they’ve thought.

It’s almost in a haze that they deal with wounds and all the other immediate things, and then Grian’s curled up and pressed against Scar, asking if they’re safe. Are they safe? Can they rest? He hasn’t had a chance to rest for a week straight—a week of moving, of running, of adrenaline and stress and, literally, fighting for his life. He’s frayed, barely holding on. 

Scar assures him he can sleep. Despite the syrupy way everything feels, despite the disconcerting flicker of magic hue crawling across his skin, despite the lightheadedness that terrifies him because it reminds him of the weakness potions— He still intends to take the first watch. To guard Grian and let him rest. 

Grian doesn’t need to hear more than that little assurance. Scar is warm and he’s here and Grian finally—finally—feels safe. Hopeful, even. Like maybe things will start looking up now. Like as long as his arms are draped over Scar, holding onto him, things will be okay.

He blacks out pretty fast, slinking into a deep pit of dreamless sleep.

Scar tries, he really tries to be a good guard. To stay alert and ready for any potential threat. But as he’s slumped underneath Grian’s reassuring weight, feeling his small even breaths against him, he can’t help it. His own exhaustion’s gnawing at him, stripping him of choice, and he finds himself drifting in and out of consciousness.

Thankfully, nothing attacks them.

Grian sleeps for hours, and he wakes up dazed and disoriented after a much needed rest. It’s chilly, but not outright cold, and it takes him a moment to parse through everything to realise it’s Scar’s warmth and the weight of the cloak securely over his wings that make things so much better, curling a tentative, fragile safety behind his ribcage. 

His wounds throb and his stomach churns, running on empty, but it all feels distant as Grian shifts and looks up at Scar’s sleeping face. The familiar map of scars stretching across muddied skin. Long lashes fluttering gently as Grian lifts his hand and lightly touches the stubble on his jaw, feeling the flood of fondness and grounding at the familiarly prickly texture.

His gaze jumps higher, tracing everything, taking Scar in.

Until he snags at a patch of white.

Grian jolts.

He pushes himself up and with careful hands brushes through Scar’s hair, letting his fingers slip through the white streak that starkly contrasts with the brown. He makes sure it’s not just dirty from something; that the white is real, not smudging across his fingers; a permanent mark left on Scar, a touch that this world now left on him forever.

He waits with uneasy patience, pressed close to Scar, refusing to put any distance between them. (He needs to see and feel and hear that Scar is here. That this isn’t a trick of his mind. That this isn’t some wretched half-dream.) (Scar came back. Scar came back, he found him, and— And his skin pulsed in pale blue (something that’s now thankfully gone), and his wings were tattered, and he’s got a white streak in his hair.) (Grian’s insanely worried.) (He can’t take it. He can’t take it if Scar leaves him again after all of this, in any way shape or form.)

Once Scar’s awake, with a tense little bird curled in his arms, the first thing he does is kiss the top of Grian’s head. (It feels natural.) 

Grian squirms and looks up at him and he asks him, quietly, if he’s okay.

He gets back a grimace, a faltering pause, a clear hesitation.

He points out Scar’s hair, and notes how Scar’s equally as surprised as he was. 

Scar blames the magic. With an awkward laugh, he says he probably overdid it. It’s gonna be fine. 

Grian’s suspicious and still uneasy, but lets the explanation pass. Says they need to go find some supplies, food, maybe a better shelter.

Scar, usually eager to follow any plans that lead directly towards their survival, falls silent at that.

What falls eventually past his lips is a quiet, “I can’t.”

The sheer amount of weakness potions, the overextertion, the overuse of magic—it all culminates into an awful flare up, leaves Scar depleted and immobilised and incredibly vulnerable. And Grian’s seen a bad flare-up before. Only once when it was really bad, back in Boatem. 

But back then, there was a big bed, and safe walls, and a fridge stocked with food. All Grian really had to do at that point was to keep Scar some company and occasionally fetch things from the kitchen. 

Now? Now they have nothing.

They have a shelter that could barely hold upon inspection of alert eyes. They have a few sips of water left. It’s cold and harsh here, nowhere to really rest comfortably, and there’s nothing to eat.

Grian hates this. Feverishly, fervently, he hates this. He wants to make things better for Scar, but that means going out. It means losing sight of Scar and simply hoping he’ll still be there when Grian returns. (A fear that makes him feel viscerally nauseous.) (He thinks of returning back to an empty shelter, Scar and Juni both gone without a trace.) 

It also means leaving Scar behind when he can’t defend himself. 

The fate is stringing them up and playing with them as it twists their very first encounter and shakes it upside-down—back when Scar tucked Grian into a makeshift hiding place and had to tear himself away from him, leave him alone and defenceless without being sure Grian will still be there—or be alive at all—when he returns, as he had to go get supplies for their survival.

Now it’s on Grian to return the favour.

He pushes down the clawing edge of panic, gently brushes Scar’s hair aside with a shaky hand, and presses a soft kiss to his cheek. Asks him to sit tight for him. Promising he’ll be back.

The words shouldn’t feel like farewell, but they’re bitter on his tongue, and even worse in Scar’s exhausted mind. (He thinks about how he left Grian and didn’t come back to him. Leaving him completely alone, without a weapon or supplies. He thinks of the wounds that now mar Grian’s skin as a result, a reminder of a time when Scar should’ve been there but wasn’t.) 

Grian always felt like he’s the burden. Like he’s the beacon, the weak link, the one to constantly drag danger and doom to them. He wonders if now Scar’s mind awfully echoes those thoughts that always plague Grian. (A distant memory of Grian asking Scar to leave him behind because he’s nothing but a dead weight slithers and burns through Grian’s mind.) (He’s not going to accept or even entertain those words should Scar ever utter them back.) 

With a hastily put-together screen of dead branches and rocks, Grian tries to hide Scar away, telling him to rest. 

(They both try to ignore the spike of anxiety. The way it feels final. The way it feels like this is it, another cliff edge that crumbles beneath their feet and gives them nothing to hold onto to prevent the fall.) 

As Grian moves, he’s overcome with lightheadedness that threatens dark spots across his vision. His own body is depleted, barely working. Starving. He grits his teeth, takes mental note of where the hideout is, and delves deeper into the forest all on his own anyway. (He has to. He has to.)

There’s something absolutely horrible about the way he recalls the best ways to forage for food in a pinch. It’s something Juni taught him. An ironic thing, to be taught survival skills by a person who never cared whether Grian lives or dies. A person who abandoned him so very easily, leaving him in a way that almost guaranteed Grian’s demise. (And yet here he is, pushing on.) (And he’s going to keep pushing, until he’s back at Scar’s side. Until he knows Scar is okay.) 

The only reason why he can now finally gather some scraps of food is because he has the cloak, shielding the violet hues of his feathers, enveloping him in muted tones that match the wintery deadness of the world around. He’s still careful as he stumbles around on unsteady limbs, crouching through his dizzy spells, trying to keep track of directions.

He makes it back to Scar, instantly welcomed by needy arms pulling him closer. Scar’s heart was tearing itself to pieces every second that Grian was gone, terrified. (What if Grian needs him out there?) (What if something happens to him?) (What if Grian never was here actually, what if that was all a weird fever dream, a lingering effect of too much magic and weakness potions?) (What if Scar is alone, and Grian’s also alone, and nothing will ever be fixed?)

Scar is insanely clingy after being separated. (Grian is too, to be fair.) With a chest full of heartache, Grian is aware of why Scar’s like that—that he’s afraid and guilty—but it does feel nice. It’s so very needed. Grian’s been alone and barely keeping himself alive through the horrors—the wounds and scars are there to show it—so when he has Scar back? He’s so desperate to reclaim that tiny fragment of safety. He keeps thinking it’ll slip through his fingers. That the moment he looks away, the moment he stops holding on, Scar will be gone again.

This all makes Grian’s repeated foraging trips that much harder, for both of them. 

At one point, Grian finds a better hiding place, but doesn’t mention it, knowing Scar wouldn’t be able to make the trip. It doesn’t need to weight on Scar, that pressure of failure; the last thing Grian wants is for Scar to push himself more when he already came so close to a complete collapse. 

And then there comes a day when Grian doesn’t return for far too long. Scar is worried sick, mind spinning with scenarios, each more horrible than the last, the anxieties taking over. 

What if Grian doesn’t return at all?

But he does. 

He comes back at the brink of dusk, coated in blood which, for the most part, isn’t his. (>> bonus ramble about that titled hunted <<)

No other incidents beyond that occur as they try to recuperate, pulling themselves together and trying to slot back into a semblance of normalcy, curled against each other’s side in their little, barely-sufficient shelter.

-- please stay --

They spend a couple of days stay put, Grian attentively fussing over Scar, chastising him whenever Scar feels like maybe he should help with things. Once Scar sleeps less and is more aware and awake, their new dynamic truly settles into place: the over-eager clinginess underlaced with guilt and fear and endless stumbling for reassurance. 

One night, Scar whispers a soft, mumbled string of words into Grian’s hair. He’s thanking the worlds, the gods, the fate, anything and everything, that Grian is alive. His fractured, fragile gratitude spilling out of him in a string of half-formed sentences that aren’t meant to be heard by the sleeping avian in his arms.

Except Grian shifts and, turns out, he wasn’t quite asleep yet.

Scar shifts his words, redirects them to ones that belong to Grian and Grian alone: a string of gentle praises. That Grian stayed alive, he was so strong, so brave. Scar is so sorry. 

And somewhere amidst it all: “Thank you for waiting for me. I’d never leave you, never, never—” (Except he did, even if unwillingly, unintentionally, unknowingly, and the reality of it is killing him.) 

Grian has that But you did on the tip of his tongue. It tastes acidic. He doesn’t want to say it.

Instead, he just burrows closer and tightly shuts his eyes. Trying so so so hard not to think about just how long Scar didn't even realise that Grian wasn't there.

Of course Scar tried to explain, over and over. That he was weakened, dizzy, confused, scared. But it just feels like hollow excuses on his tongue. It doesn’t change anything about it, about the fact that it happened. That he didn’t even know it was happening, until it was almost too late.

In the end, Scar’s intentions and his promises amount to nothing.

He often trails off. He feels like he doesn’t deserve to cover up the searing guilt with a pile of feeble explanations, his eyes drawn to the wounds and scars that litter Grian’s skin, marks that might’ve not been there if only Scar was around. A dire reminder that Grian could’ve died, and Scar would be none the wiser. 

He swallows down the excuses and tries to make up for it, to show rather than to speak the volume of his feelings. The reverent touches to Grian’s scars, his affection, his tight hold and kisses pressed into Grian’s hair.

Grian doesn’t know how to feel about any of it. It’s a tangled mess that feels too heavy and painful to untangle. 

During his time alone, he didn’t know if he got abandoned, or if Scar got killed. Somehow, those seemed like the only options in his mind. To have it turn out that Scar was tricked away from him—tricked so easily—that he didn’t mean to abandon Grian, and yet failed to realise that Grian wasn’t by his side for days… 

Scar finds himself apologising frequently, quiet, somber. But Grian doesn't really want those apologies. They don't make it stop hurting. They don't put lid on that thick, overflowing uncertainty that took root in his soul. 

Whenever his feelings slip and spiral a bit too much, he keeps begging Scar to stay. He pleads for him to not leave him again, in a choked, broken, terrified voice. 

He tells Scar he won't be able to take it the second time. He won't, he won’t.

That breaks Scar’s heart. It’s suffocating, absolutely horrible. Scar can’t even vocalize a decent response. He just shakes his head, holds Grian tighter, and weeps.

-- a familiar face --

It takes Scar a while to realise just how traumatising the whole thing was for him. Because it was more than just being terrified of losing Grian or overexterting himself. He was basically kidnapped. Tricked. Poisoned. His trust betrayed in such an absolute, irrevocable way. And the worst part of it is that Juni used Grian’s face to do all those things to him. 

It keeps tripping Scar up, in unguarded, jolting moments. He finds himself sweepingly overcome with doubt, abruptly terrified that this is all a lie—that he’s still with the wrong person, being strung along, stuck in a trap he doesn’t know how to escape. 

When Grian offers Scar some water, Scar finds himself hesitating. Should he drink it? What if it’s dosed with weakness? Is this just another trick? — But he doesn’t know how to check. He can’t touch Grian’s feathers. He can’t ask.

He can’t admit he’s not sure.

Grian searches Scar’s eyes, confused why Scar wouldn’t take it from him. He calls his name softly, a question that goes unanswered.

But he thinks he knows. 

He knows, because Scar looks at him with the kind of unsure, frightened expression teetering on distrust that could only be rooted in one cause.

So in the evenings, Grian slots next to Scar and talks. About Hermitcraft. About past memories and plans that never came to be. About things only he would know.

He aches talking about it, but once he connects Scar’s hesitation to the fact that the mimic was wearing Grian’s face (a fact that he hates; it makes him sick to his stomach, he feels tainted, violated in ways he can’t express), he knows he has to.

First time, it all comes out wobbly and fragmented. He doesn’t get far. He can’t. The memories hurt.

But he keeps trying.

It makes Scar feel so much better. He holds Grian close and whispers an emotional little “thank you.”

-- anchor, memories, and self --

One evening, all that Grian offers is a quiet, sorrow-riddled “I miss Mumbo.” Just that. (It has to be enough.) (He doesn’t want to keep talking.)

It makes Scar choke-sob a laugh. It’s so sad, but it’s so honest, and familiar. (He misses him too.) He nods, and lets the confession linger, fill up the space between them where another person should be.

Grian curls against him, falling silent. Sad. Clingy.

They don’t say anything else that night.

But the issue persists. Of course it does, Scar himself still wrangling with the aftermath of everything, processing it and trying to find his footing. To look at Grian and really, truly understand who it is he’s looking at, without a sliver of doubt.

Grian hates that confused, searching look Scar gives him sometimes without meaning to. In little moments like when he’s tired, or just after waking up. Groggy from sleep that feels like a dose of weakness. 

It feels like something was stolen from him and Grian doesn’t know how to repair it. It just hurts. 

But he can’t keep talking about Hermitcraft to make it better every single time. It sets a vicious kind of pain alight within him, traps it in his ribcage for it to bloom and grow razor-sharp thorns, reminding him of everything they lost and aren’t getting back. He’s been avoiding thinking about Hermitcraft for so long, and now it’s here, pressing against the edges of his skull like wildfire.

It tastes like ashes on his tongue, like grief-drenched nostalgia, like everything he wishes to have back—every single person they lost along with their safety and home.

They’re never going to hear Mumbo’s awkward laughter again. They’ll never hear Doc grumblingly chastise them for being crazy and annoying. They’ll never see Pearl’s eyes crinkle in laughter, or Impulse’s eyes widen as they set some prank right at his feet. 

They’ll never again make silly meeting rooms and pointlessly huge builds constructed for no other reason than a whim. They’ll never run to each other with inspiration chasing in their footsteps, feeling free, toppling into their friends’ arms along the way. They’ll never again hear the sound of their laughter melding in with others’, mingling into one big melody that keeps them trapped in a mutual giggling fit.

Never, never, never.

It’s all gone, and remembering hurts.

He can’t keep thinking about that, day after day after day, even if it’s to keep Scar afloat. It would consume him.

So even though it seems like the best tool to prove to Scar who he is, and he’s always glad that it helps Scar feel calmer and more secure, ultimately making it worth it every time, it doesn’t mean it’s easy—not in the slightest.

So Grian tries to implement other things. Subtle little gestures. Nonverbal language that is still closely rooted in their own intimate experiences—namely brushing his fingers over Scar’s ear. 

And then he builds on it, adds to it, lends it some habitual intricacy like a secret code only the two of them will ever understand. Tracing the same swirly pattern under Scar’s ear with his fingers each time, then kissing the spot. (A little I love you ritual.) Interlacing their fingers while purposefully gathering the ribbon between their palms, or wrapping an end of it around scar’s finger. 

He tells Scar his favourite spots to kiss. 

He kisses them often, in a pattern.  

All these things, gathered like a silent plea. It’s me. Please believe me. I love you. Stay.

Scar adores this little ritual, but he also realises why Grian is doing it—that Grian knows Scar is confused sometimes when he sees his face. And it breaks his heart, because he never got it wrong before. He wants to believe he couldn’t be fooled in his right mind, but how can he be sure, after everything that happened? 

 Eventually, Scar says it. He grabs Grian by his cheeks, looks at him seriously, and instead of this dance they’ve been doing around the topic, he says: “I know it’s you.” 

He kisses Grian in that pattern they’ve come accustomed to. Kisses him on the lips. Keeps holding his face so so gently.

Grian tears up, gaze jumping between Scar’s eyes. Breathless and wavering, he shoots back a challenging but afraid, “Do you?” 

That breaks a stitch in Scar’s patched up broken heart. He swallows hard, but insists. “Yes, I do.”

“Okay,” Grian whispers, and it’s still so wobbly. So very raw and emotional. He closes his eyes and leans into Scar’s touch, and it’s so trusting. So giving. He wants this to be true. He wants this to keep being true. “I’m here,” he manages to murmur. He is here, and so is Scar.

Scar nods. “You’re here.” And he normally says “I’m here”, but right now it feels more important to show how sure he is that Grian is.

It sucks how easily that asuredness was overwritten. Scar never mistook Grian and Juni for each other before. (Not even before the mimic altered his appearance slightly. Those moments when he’d look like Grian, approach Scar and touch his arm. When Grian’d bristle from across the way, just barely out of sight. Scar always responded accurately. He always innately knew it wasn’t Grian.) (It soothed Grian then, to see that. To have that sliver of security when everything else felt so awful.) (And yet… And yet.) The one time it did happen, it was so devastating, and now they’re both left in the warzone of the aftermath, trying to pick up the pieces and rebuild something that could hold.

Because now sometimes when Grian touches Scar, Scar reacts slightly off. 

Because now Scar doesn’t know how to trust himself (or Grian) anymore.

Grian watches Scar slightly flinch, that miniscule, unsure, instinctive recoil, and he feels sick to his stomach.

But they’re in this together. They’re here, both of them, and they’ll keep building from ruins until something sticks.

-- scars and permanent damage --

This is also the time when they acquaint themselves with the permanent damage marks on their bodies. 

Grian has new scars, some of them facial. They’re something Scar is forced to see all the time, knowing he wasn’t there for it. Knowing they happened while Grian was alone, struggling, fighting for his life. (If Scar was there, maybe it wouldn’t have happened—)

They don’t have mirrors, only murky water at best. Grian doesn’t even know how his face looks like now, for a long while. He can feel the scarred skin, once it stops being too tender to touch, but he prefers to keep his hands off it.

Scar touches Grian’s face, though. Gently, tenderly. He caresses the wounded bits of skin. There’s sadness to it, but also determination and acceptance. Because it means Grian’s survived. It means Grian is still alive, and Scar is now here, and he isn’t going to let anyone else touch him again. (Or, he will do his best, anyway.) (Wounds are a harsh inevitability in this world, after all.)

Once Grian gets a hint of his reflection, staring at himself and hardly recognising his face—for multiple reasons—he traces a hand across his own cheek, in a pattern he recognises from Scar’s soft touch. Feels the difference. Explores the edges, everything that’s now going to be forever a part of him. (Until he dies. Which will probably be sooner rather than later anyway, he thinks.) 

He can’t exactly say he hates those scars—it’s not like he doesn’t love every inch of Scar’s face, scars regardless. But it still feels different and strange. Foreign. It makes him feel vulnerable. It makes him realise he’s been hurt, in some deep, irreversible way. (The ugly damage on his heart is finally visible—) He’ll never be the same.

He tries not to touch his face too much, or look for his reflections. But at the same time, he craves Scar’s touch against the parts of him that are so clearly broken and changed. Scar’s fingers are soft and comforting, filled with heartache. Loving, despite everything. And Grian needs that.

He’s so used to tracing Scar’s scars and kissing the pattenrs of his skin, adoring every single bit of it. But this? This is new to him. He feels unsure and shy, fragile under Scar’s fingertips. 

Scar’s vulnerabilities also get revealed at around this time. When they met up, Grian caught a frantic glimpse of Scar’s wings, but there was too much panic and choking emotions to really process and address it until later. 

Scar’s wings were torn to tatters months ago, and he’s kept quiet about it. Meticulously hiding them away from Grian’s sight, the secret heavy, burning through him like a lit coal. But Grian doesn’t know that—not at first.

He thinks that Scar’s wings got hurt while they were separated. While Scar was left with Juni. But as he thinks about it more… When was the last time he saw Scar’s wings?

Sheepishly, Grian asks Scar about it.

And Scar is forced to admit it happened a long time ago. That he was hiding it from him.

It stings Grian, the knowledge that Scar felt like he couldn’t tell him. That he suffered alone, tucking something so significant away. 

(And it’s true the circumstances of it all were horrible—when it happened, Grian certainly wasn’t in a state to process it correctly or deal with it; he was barely alive and in the depths of a rising fever. But there were still plenty of weeks and months since, when Scar could’ve taken the chance and tell him.) 

(He didn’t know how.) 

(Scar himself was afraid to face the damage. To see the tattered remains of his wings. To feel what’s happened to them.) (It was much preferrable to hide them and pretend it away.)

Softly, Grian asks if he can see them. (He wants to see it; he wants to bear it together with Scar; he wants to be there for him and show gentleness, especially because this is about wings of all things.) He instantly backpedals, saying Scar doesn’t have to—especially if it would hurt. 

But Scar does it before Grian can fully take it back.

It feels like a deep breath after holding it in for so long, but it’s also like a broken choke on that very same air; it feels so wrong to let them loose, but he does it. He shows Grian the extent of the damage, offers the vulnerable undersides of his shredded wings so willingly.

Grian half reaches out, then pauses. Looks over their state.

It’s horrible.

He asks, very quietly, if it hurts.

Scar’s heart leaps in his chest at that small reach, but then he pulls himself together and shakes his head. It doesn’t hurt. (Not anymore.) 

Grian retracts his hand, falling silent. He doesn’t want to touch uninvited, but he isn’t sure how else to show Scar some softness and comfort. He settles for leaning in and pressing a kiss to his jaw.

It feels like an apology, and like love. 

His hands wrap around Scar’s torso and he buries his face in his shoulder, simply holding him. He asks, muffledly, if they will heal? Do vexes heal over time? Scar has plenty of scars on him, but his wings are technically made of magic, so maybe they’re different?

Scar doesn’t have the answers to those questions. He doesn’t know.

Grian hugs him tighter around his middle and kisses his shoulder. He thanks Scar, for pulling them out at his request. For showing him. (There’s a lump in his throat that tells him that Scar hid this from him, for so long. He swallows it down.)

Scar mutters a quiet “Of course.” 

Slowly, he’s realising just how much he wants Grian to touch his wings, but he has no idea how to ask for it when it’s something Grian can’t fathom in reverse. He can’t bring himself to ask, but he opts to wrap his wings around the both of them, even if they’re broken and offer practically nothing. (And, truthfully, it does hurt a little to strain them after all the time of them being put away with unhealed wounds, but he needs this.)

Grian shudders, taking a choked breath. He presses himself closer against Scar, trying to navigate the abrupt onslaught of emotions. Something about hurt wings and vulnerability and pain, and— The feeling of wings wrapped around him is so comforting, even despite their state. Even despite everything. His brain goes a bit haywire, thinking flock and protection.

-- kindness that persists --

They eventually talk about Juni. Little fragments of conversations that feel like tripping over uneven ground. 

Scar admits he doesn’t know what the mimic wanted from him. If it was security, or something else entirely. He’ll never really know. 

At some point, Grian asks, quietly. “Is he dead?”

Scar sighs, not sure how to feel about his answer. “... No.”

It’s a weird and unpleasant mix of feelings for them both. 

Part of Grian wishes the mimic was dead—it would end some of the anxiety. But of course Scar didn’t do it, and another part of Grian is immensely glad for it. There’s something incredibly soothing about how much of Scar’s humanity remains intact despite everything this world throws at them. But even then, the awful feeling in the pit of Grian’s stomach remains, acidic and conflicted. 

Because if the mimic is alive, he might return.

Because as long as he breathes, this might not be over.

Scar feels vile, admitting Juni is alive. It’s the first time he’s ever felt sick about not killing someone. Because what if not killing the mimic means failing in protecting Grian? It leaves too much room for this to come back and harm them again. 

Being soft is what got Scar into this situation to begin with. Trusting too much, giving too much. 

He felt sure about it before. Relieved he didn’t kill him. But what if he should have? Because that was once again being too damn soft and maybe he shouldn’t be.

He becomes quieter again after this. Feeling like he needs to try to be stronger, less like himself. His vex instincts rumble beneath his skin as he spirals, urging him to kill anything that threatens him and his partner.

Scar is convincing himself softness truly is a weakness. That he needs to change.

One night, he’s swelling with too many emotions as he holds Grian tight—guilt, affection, a little bit of doubt again. His chest flickers with blue light, a sign of distress, and he croaks out, “Am I—” What’s the word even? Weak? Too kind? A fool? He goes with, “Do I need to change?”

Grian squirms in his arms, peeks up at him. “No, Scar. No, nono.” His voice is stitched through with a mixture of emotions—urgency and confusion, a soft shushing and deep, rich tenderness. His fingers gently brush Scar’s face and he presses a kiss to his jaw. “Don’t change. Be my Scar. Not somebody else.”

Scar’s eyes well up with tears and he ducks his face into Grian’s shoulder, breath hitching with a sob, overwhelmed by an abrupt tide of feelings—especially upon hearing the words my Scar. It makes him ache, but in a good way.

Grian wraps his arms around him and lets him cry. He caresses and kisses his hair and murmurs soft, reassuring things to him, hoping to make it all at least slightly more bearable. To anchor him somewhere safe. Somewhere where Scar can remain himself, despite all the horrors that suffocatingly pile up on them.

Scar’s voice is small and muffled against Grian’s sweater. “What if… I get us hurt?” There’s a shaky breath afterwards, sounding quite a bit like a choked “Again.”

Grian holds on a little tighter. “It won’t be your fault.” It would be the world’s, and those who actually hurt them. He needs Scar to understand that. With another kiss pressed to Scar’s hair, he pulls away slightly, urging Scar to look at him, to meet his eyes. “I need my Scar. I need—” He chokes up a little, his vision turning blurry. 

Instead of finishing whatever he was going to say, Grian leans forward, pressing their foreheads together. Murmuring a small apology that all this pressure was on Scar. Promising he’ll do better, that it’s the two of them against the world—that Scar isn’t alone in this fight.

Scar doesn’t want Grian’s apologies, but… he likes this way of putting it. Them against the world.

He doesn’t need to lose his kindness. He just needs to focus it on the only person who matters.

[thedenofravenpuff]

Have some hurtcomfort for the 'Peas on EAPS.

Sunpea still dealing with the traumatic experience of fronting while body snatched. Moonpea can only try his best to comfort his other half in the aftermath.

They are both still just baby AI still developing, the world is a scary place even without mimics and other unexpected threats. Precious things.

Enjoy!

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[misstoodles-doodles]

Paint study feat. Echo✨

[stagefoureddiediaz]

The Helena diaz of it all has me fascinated. I’ve said for a long while that Eddie’s real issues are his mommy issues and this episode just cemented for me that we’re gonna explore that and deal with it.

Because it’s Helena who forced Eddie to grow up to fast - because her husband wasn’t around much - so she pushed Eddie into de facto parent and husband role ls - selfishly filling her needs and ignoring the damage it was doing to her son (it is a form of abuse in my book).

Eddie then had the audacity to fall in love with and marry Shannon and get her pregnant. It’s why Helena was always so off with Shannon - she was punishing her. She is also punishing Eddie for all of this and his refusal to return to El Paso only cemented further her bitterness and resentment.

Now she does have Ramon back she doesn’t need Eddie any longer to fill that role so she is still punishing him and part of that is tied into her glee over now getting to parent Christopher - something she has always been intent on doing the doppelgänger just gave her the opportunity- as well as allowing her to further punish her son and his love of Shannon.

Her barbed comments about building a pool were all about showing what she can provide Christopher - how she is parenting him better than Eddie - it’s part of her mind games - making Eddie feel like more of a failure as a parent to his son.

The reality of course is that the reverse is true - Helena’s parenting is all superficial, flash and showy - it isn’t the hard day to day parenting when things get tough and you have to be the bad guy. While Eddie has made mistakes, there is nothing superficial, flash, or showy about his parenting. It’s why bucks comments about Eddie being a great dad are so important.

Eddie feel like a failure right now and that he is entirely to blame for everything. But in reality, while he does bear a bit of the responsibility, the truth of the matter is that he needs to learn and deal with the fact that all of it actually stems from Helena and her abuse of her young son - Shannon never stood a chance just like Eddie never has.

[beryllineart]

Thinking about how much fun it would be to have Flowey DM a game of Dungeons and Dragons. Technically the vote's not done yet, but quite a few people have expressed interest in seeing the Undertale gang play D&D, so I've been reading up on the rules, working on a cohesive art style, creating characters and so on.

Like, I homebrewed a "living skeleton" species modifier so Sans and Papyrus can play skeletons that aren't as weak as the enemy skeletons, and they can choose a species from the player's handbook because Papyrus likes the human +1 for every ability, while Sans is partial to the halfling "lucky" trait, but they also get unique weaknesses and strengths because they are also skeletons.

I wish I was better at drawing maps though...

[tealmagicmoon]

I LOVE CLIPPY it's soon cuteee ❤️❤️❤️

The fact the Mimic rubbed in that Eclipse didn't reliece the first gift his sons made is diabolical dude.

The mimic will probably keep a closer eye on Jake and Andrew from now on since it seemed at least momentarily uncomfortable with the fact it didn't know they were making Eclispe a gift.

I live this arc, don't get me wrong i love Eclispe but I live for Eclispe angst.

[beeshoesometimesdraws]

The more Ruin episodes that come out, the more and more I find myself liking Ruin.

I found him kinda interesting before don’t get me wrong, but now seeing this side of him has been very… eye opening? I guess would be the word— I feel like because we’re seeming more of the actual him instead of just an act that it’s pulled me in a little more (his friendship with Ballora is everything to me).

[aroaceacacia]

My Joe Hills, for @mcytblrsexymen

i went into this project expecting that i would synthesize a lot of the more ""sexyman""-style joe designs that have popped up recently. I thought, "I'll draw Everyone's Joe Hills". and then i found myself adding references to the things he did and made when I was an active Joe fan, and going for a more updated joe look but retaining the energy and mortality of the Joes I drew before, and I quickly realized I'd been drawing My Joe Hills all along. So here he is: a tribute to many of my favorite Joe works that I've done. Most of the colors were either picked directly (or then slightly modified) from my old fanart - the neon green of his gloves came from my 2020 jhost, the color of the chains came from the super hostile joe, the roller toaster pin used the browns from "the box" joe zine piece, etc. It ended up meaning a lot to me, being able to draw it.

And yes, the green glass pane and shirt are transparent. Yeah, it's on purpose.

[videogamelover99]

U should drop your reverse skk designs

It's funny of you guys to ask~

[llamaisllama777]

My THEORIES ON WHO THE EAPS KILLER COULD BE?

Since tomorrow's Friday and the killer always strikes on Friday and I have a feeling we may learn who the killer is in tomorrow's episode I wanted to get my theories out on who I think the killer really is...

(This will either age really well or really poor.)

Suspect 1. Michael Afton(of the EAPS universe)

So, in either episode 3 or 5 of EAPS Eclipse briefly mentions that Michael Afton does indeed exist here in this universe too and that he build something that's down in the basement that they should keep an eye on. (Ominous and foreboding), and since then, we haven't heard about since. Either Michael has been fired from Henry's fazbear, or Michael still has a job there.

I can see Mike being the killer in this world cause in this universe his mom, Wanda Afton, was accused of being the killer back in the day. (She might have been the killer back in the days of the MCI Incident, but nothing was ever confirmed) Mike might be following in his mom's footsteps. Either Mike is doing this to make his mom lose her business cause ever since the deaths of the children. Fazbear has been losing the case. Mike might be doing this to spite his mom. Or maybe Mike was ALWAYS the killer in this world, and he either let his mom take the fall or she tried to take the fall for him to protect him. Mike might be the psychopath in this world, not his mom. Mike is also a likely suspect cause Mike knows how to build animatronics. He's built animatronics. He would know about the recall code. And the ins and outs of the building, seeing as how he's worked there for a while.

Problems with this theory

-Mike hasn't been mentioned since ep 3 or 5

-Why would Henry even keep Michael on staff? Maybe Henry is just genuinely a nice dude, but letting the son of your arch-enemy work for you during a lawsuit where you are actively suing their parent for their business feels a little... dumb.

-If Mike is doing this: WHY? What would drive a guy like Mike to homicide? Spite? Revenge? Pursuit of Science? Remnant?

Chances of it being Mike 7/10

Suspect 2. Henry Emily

The lawsuit has really been going in Henry's favor since these deaths have been happening. Maybe Henry is willing to let a few eggs get cracked if it means he wins. The killer does know his way around the animatronics and since Henry did help build the animatronics he would know about the recall codes and that flashing lights could blind them temporarily. It's possible Henry IS the killer from the MCI incident in this world. Maybe Henry and W.A.'s roles were swapped, so Henry lost Sammy and went mad, trying to find a way to bring him back. He's restarting the remnant experiments perhaps and needs more remnant

Problems with this theory.

-Henry is too old. There was no way he could never be the killer. Unless he is surprisingly spry for an old dude.

-Would he really risk his whole life and winning the lawsuit just for a chance he'll win the lawsuit by murdering a bunch of kids?

-Henry seems to care about his kids. Why would he take someone else's from them.

Chances of Henry being the killer 4/10

Suspect 3. Charlie Emily

Okay..... so.... this is probably the least likely-est one(but also the coolest and angstiest one). Charlie is mentioned once in this series. She is alive in this world! She was never killed by Wanda in this world. From what we've heard, she's in college, I think? She seems to be doing good, but what if she is helping her father win the lawsuit by making things look really bad for Fazbear. She is the daughter of one of the founders, and Henry did take her to work a lot, I'm sure. Meaning she would know the ins and outs of Fazbear. The buildings, the animatronics, Everything! It's likely she could be the killer.

Problems with this theory

-she's in college

-She has literally only been mentioned once in the show(then again, so has Michael)

-I mainly want this to happen because the angst would be delicious!

-In TSBS main universe, it's been shown Charlie isn't really interested in her dad's work, so there is a chance it's the same here in the EAPS universe.

Chances of Charlie being the killer 3/10

Suspect 4. The Mimic!

Okay, while yes, the suspect appears to be human. There's a chance it could be a skin suit!(Possibly from a missing person)

The Mimic is known to steal suits and even people's skin! (I.E. Burntrap.) The Mimic has been known to mess with tech and manipulate his voice. So, there is a chance the killer really is an animatronic, not human. Eclipse did mention he saw something the Michael of this universe in the basement of the Lefte Pizza-plex. He said it looked like a kinda like a rabbit. One of the Mimic's most popular fan designs was a tall bulky animatronic with bunny ears. (I LOVED THAT DESIGN, SO MUCH! The Canon one is cool, too.) It's possible the Mike of the EAPS world created the Mimic, and now Mimic is going on a killing spree. The Mimic knows a lot about the pizzaplex it would know every escape route. The best places to hide. Where the cams are. Plus, the Mimic can copy voices so that could explain how it lures kids away from the animatronics and their folks.

Problems with this theory

-Mimic is not yet confirmed to exist in this world, but if Detective Larson from the stitchwrait books exists in this world, then there is a high probability that the Mimic exists here too.

-No adult has been reported missing. So, no free human flesh for you Mr. Mimic.

-The Mimic is known to be more brutal and violent with its kills more messy, not a clean stab like how I assume the kids have been killed.

Chances on the Mimic being the killer 7/10

These are all my current suspects.

I highly doubt it's Vincent. 1. Vincent has kids and seems pretty broken up by these murders. 2. Just cause Vincent is named after a very popular variant of William doesn't mean he is the killer.

So, let me know your theories and any evidence you may have to help confirm or denie my theories.

[raayllum]

And then you called me a mage, and that felt right. (1x04) / Callum, I know you love magic, but I hope you're careful. Because it can change people. (4x04) / Who am I if I'm not a mage? (Callum's Spellbook)

[angeart]

hhau mimic arc rambles - part IV: the inbetween (hot spring bath)

(~5,5 k words) // other parts & au masterpost here

-- a piece of warmth in a cold wasteland (a piece of hope in a nightmare) --

It takes some time, to slowly patch up the wounds on their souls and bury the incessant fears. Scar and Grian have each other, and they aren’t letting go. Not this time. Not again. Never. (Unless we get our hands on this au which, oh, we have. Funny thing—)

It’s now the midst of winter, and they huddle from shelter to shelter, clothes wet from snow, progress slow as they have to constantly try and cover their marks. The food is scarce, and they’re using every trick Juni taught them in late autumn to stay safe and not starve. (The thought feels bittersweet, but they don’t linger on it.)

And one day, the sun disappears. [This will be the eclipse bonus ramble, dw about it rn <3]

In the aftermath, they’re both feeling destabilised and unsafe. Grian in particular grows to feel like even more of a liability, becoming quiet and withdrawn. Terrified Scar’d leave him, despite feeling like maybe it'd be for the best if he did. (Best for Scar, that is.)

Scar does his best to divert Grian’s attention from bleak thoughts. He talks about hope, and possibilities, and—most importantly—future. He remembers that one time [in a bonus fic we never finished kjxnb bUT ONE DAY] when Grian mentioned wanting a treehouse. Wanting a permanent place. Somewhere to stretch his wings. Somewhere to be.

He tells him, softly, that come spring, once the trees are less barren, they can try building one. They will do it! Scar will build as many as it takes. Each better than the last!

And one day, they’ll get far enough. And they’ll build one that’ll last. And they’ll be able to stretch their wings, free.

Grian isn’t sure how much he believes that. But he wants to. He wants to.

They wander through the lands, seemingly directionless. The winter is harsh. The violet is bright against the whiteness of the snow and the dark brown of the bare trees. Still, with stolen cloaks, they do their best with the circumstances, never feeling warm or relaxed.

That is, until they stumble upon something rare.

They find a cave that is warm and, curious and seeking shelter, they go in. 

Inside, they find a large cavern with the ceiling caved in, sunlight pooling from the hole down onto a steaming surface of… a hot spring.

Scar gets immensely excited and, without hesitating, dives right in. The warmth is blissful, melting away all the aches and coaxing frost out of his bones. It’s the best thing he’s felt in a long time.

“I’m never getting out of here. You’re gonna have to drag me out. I am willingly turning myself into a raisin.”

Grian, unlike Scar, hesitates. His wings are still dirtied and full of debris, never preened, never touched. Kept dishevelled and dull to try to hide their desirable sheen. Flaring up with discomfort and aches, muscles tense and never stretched, in an attempt to turn them into something that’d be less of a beacon.

Getting them wet would mean washing off months of that effort. (Months of held-in suffering.)

And Grian wants to sink under the water and feel its warmth, relax into it just like Scar does, but he can’t. He can’t get through that mental block. So he just crouches on the side, sad and torn and wistful.

Scar tries to coax him in by assuring Grian they have enough time to dry them (he doesn’t use the word wings). But drying them isn’t the problem. The problem is making them bright again.

Scar doesn’t quite understand what is holding Grian back, but he tries to offer him ways to sidestep it without tacking a name to it. He holds out his hands and opts for goofiness, asking if Grian is shy, promising he’ll close his eyes, as if it was a simple act of undressing that was the problem. He’s trying to offer a simpler anxiety to latch onto, one more easily dealt with.

And despite the anxiety, Grian laughs a little at his antics. It’s barely a laugh, strained around the edges, but the fondness rings so clear through it.

But Scar’s suggestion doesn’t solve Grian’s problem, and Grian is wholly unwilling to name it and put attention to it—to the hopeless way he feels about the weight settled on his back. 

Scar is stubborn and determined, trying to read Grian without pushing too much. He wades to a more shallow part of the pool and softly—and still so very lightheartedly—points out that Grian could take a dip there, feel the warmth, “And only half of you gets turned to raisins.” Endlessly aware of what they’re not saying, words tucked between the lines: Your wings don’t have to get wet.

 Grian eyes the side Scar pointed out with enough suspicion, as if he expected the ground there to be playing a trick on him, in fact not solid at all. Slowly, he uncurls and shuffles over to peer at it, taut yet curious, unsure yet hopeful.

It’s timid, at first. The undressing, the reach for water. But as soon as his skin meets the warmth, yearning shoots through him and he can’t stop himself.

The water splashes in his rush to get in, something that delights Scar immeasurably.

And it’s quickly clear the water is only going to incite him to give in further, setting alight a craving for more. To keep sinking, to submerge all of his body, to melt against its warmth and let it make him stop aching. 

Unable to resist but still unwilling to get his wings wet, he ends up opting to slump himself over Scar’s shoulders, letting most of him dip into the enciting warmth of the water.  

The effect is instant: the warm water eases the hidden pains and tension right off, making Grian huff in relief as his hold on Scar turns lax, trusting Scar to keep him safe. It’s only Grian’s back that keeps some semblance of tension, wings held up above the water line even as the rest of him helplessly melts into it.

And Scar has to ask. Inevitably, the issue cannot be skirted around anymore. “Why don’t you want them wet…?”

Grian’s breath hitches, and just like that, all the tension and anxiety is back. Just like that, he’s pushing away, back upright into the shallow water, and then further, splashing as he goes, until he’s perched at the edge of the pool, safely out of its depths.

Arms wrapped around himself and shivering, Grian tries to breathe through the reminder of everything that’s wrong, everything that he doesn’t want fixed—can’t have fixed—attention pinned to his feathers that he reslots against his spine, dry and as small as possible. 

But there's no sidestepping this anymore.

It’s only when he admits, words miserable and broken, muffled into his palms and edging a sob, that washing the wings would turn them into more of a beacon, that Scar truly starts to understand this.

It was always only implied and never spoken—the topic of feathers always carefully avoided to sidestep the panic lurking just beneath those words—now broken and brought up to the surface for the first time since Grian's freak out on that very first day so long ago. 

It slots together in Scar’s mind now: It’s not just trauma and fear keeping Grian from allowing anyone (including himself) to touch his wings; it’s his unwillingness to brighten what he believes is to be a spotlight that’s made a home on his back. It explains weeks and weeks of unpreened, tucked back wings hidden uncomfortably under the cloak Scar gave him the day they found each other. What Scar thought was a deep-rooted anxiety born from the time they spent apart actually goes much, much deeper. The fear is a constant in Grian’s mind.

Scar pauses, taking the new pieces to the puzzle he’s been offered and pressing them into place, considering the proper approach. “Grian,” he tries again, voice soft. “One little soak isn’t going to make a difference.” (He wishes it would. He wishes Grian would wash them out properly, let them shine like they did before. He’d fight off the whole server if he had to in order to see that once more.) 

Something desperate in Grian is latching onto Scar’s words. He’s begging himself to listen, to give in, to let go, to succumb. He sniffles, dropping his hands a little bit, looking over at Scar, silent plea written into his eyes. Please. Please please please. 

He wants Scar to win him over. To convince him. To yank this tight knot of anxiety and let him breathe.

With a sigh, Scar continues. “We don’t have to wash them, just…” He hates going along with any part of this, but he’s not about to change Grian’s mind so easily. He has to bargain. “... One hour. One hour where you don’t worry so dang much. Just relax, forget everything else. Let me—” He doubts his word choice for a moment, but commits to it, considering them appropriate. “Let me watch your back.”

There’s a pause. And then, from his curled-up position, Grian asks: “One hour?” It’s small, a word just shy of crumbling to dust. He wants this. He needs this. He needs Scar to sway him here. But he can’t just give in. So he asks for more. He asks Scar to promise that this won’t cause anything bad. 

"Nothing bad," Scar assures immediately, even if he doesn't truly have the power to promise that. He'll make it true. He's determined to. "I'll make sure of it. And you just relax."

The words bounce around in Grian’s head.

Nothing bad. I’ll make sure of it.

He sniffles, wrangling the ever-present constraints of anxiety, and then, ever so slowly, he uncurls. His hands drop from his face and his glistening eyes find Scar’s, locking onto them as if Scar was his life raft. “Okay.” 

He isn’t sure he knows how to relax, not where his wings are concerned, but he’s been tense and scared for so long, he’s so tired, so greedy for the idea of it. And if Scar can somehow will it into existence, Grian will do his best to give himself over to him.

It’s slow. Every move hesitant and unsure, every Scar’s word soft and reassuring. He tells Grian it’s just the two of them here. He leads him, step by timid step.

Grian ends up draped over him again, arms wrapped around Scar's shoulders, trying to stifle his fears into his hold of him as they tentatively make progress into the warmth that begs Grian to surrender completely.

Grian’s coherency is slipping from his grasp as the warm water and the security of Scar’s presence take over. He hasn’t allowed himself to relax in so impossibly long, only ever forced by the circumstances. (Feeling faint, being wounded, dizziness pulling him to his knees—) This is different. This is so very different, and he finds himself simultaneously nuzzling against Scar and entirely letting go, his grip growing weak as Scar holds him with his back above water.

Grian’s wings falter and droop the littlest bit. He barely notices it. They’re hovering so, so very close above the waterline.

He hums, and they dip further, and—

He twitches, startled at the sensation of water against his feathers. Running on nothing but well-trained instinct, his wings flap, frantically splashing water.

Scar pulls Grian a little closer, keeping his hands firm and tight so he doesn’t drop him altogether. “Hey, hey, hey it’s okay. I’ve still got you.” He slides one leg out a little wider to maintain balance, continuing to mumble soft shushes. “The water won’t hurt ya, G.”

Grian pulls himself tight against Scar, his wing movements calming somewhat at Scar’s reassurance. They’re left treacherously hovering over the water again, unsure, as Grian buries his face in Scar’s neck, eyes tightly shut. He’s tense again, back at square one, and even the warmth of the water isn’t working enough to lull him out of it.

But Scar says the water won’t hurt him.

He knows that, right? He’s— The water won’t hurt him, it’s just the consequences he’s meant to be afraid of. But Scar already promised those will be okay.

Grian knows Scar doesn’t have the power to promise that.

Still, he tries to wrangle both the rational and irrational parts of his fear.

He breathes heavily, pressed close to Scar, and he whimpers a quiet, very unbrave sounding word: “Down?”

“Yeah?” Scar asks, a little unsure. “Do you— want me to let you down?” He doesn’t move his hands yet.

Feeling the steadiness of Scar's hands, Grian is sure that there won't be anything unexpected; not unless he agrees, nods, gives consent. But his head is so messy, not knowing how to communicate, and he's not sure he won't misstep.

"The wings?" Grian asks, and it's not much more coherent than the original question.

“The—“ Scar tuts his tongue, remembering to take the time to think. He glances over at Grian’s wings, something he very purposely tries not to do typically, but with Grian’s head tucked against his collarbone, he looks them over, curious. “Yeah, yes— you can let them down, G.” A small reassuring press of his fingertips. “Really.”

Grian takes a breath at the encouragement; it's damp and hot, water and scar's skin heating him up, both working on stealing all the tension out of him.

Gingerly and with a tinge of fearfullness, grian relents.

He lets his wings drop.

Tentatively, the feathers meet water. Calmer, this time. Expecting it. 

Grian’s hold on Scar doesn't exactly tense up, but his fingers curl, feebly looking for a tidbit of purchase, something to hold onto as his wings spread and sprawl, rippling the water, floating atop it, and— And it's so warm and it feels so good to stretch them, to let them be without force and without pressure and—

There's a half-sob, something small and all too relaxed and relieved, as looseness floods through Grian. His fingers uncurl and he sags further against Scar, whimpering quietly without any real distress. 

Scar can’t help the bright, genuine grin that spreads across his face at this success, even despite the small sobbing sounds—because he knows, he knows it’s from overwhelming relief. He had half a mind to cry when he first stepped foot in the water, so he can only imagine how Grian feels right now. “Shhh, good, good,” Scar coos, pressing a soft kiss into Grian’s hair. “Still got you.”

Grian makes a jumble of incoherent sounds at Scar's praise, melting further into the warmth. His eyes are closed and his muscles loosen bit by bit, aches stolen from them. He's not working to support any of his weight anymore, surrendering it all to Scar and to the water. He doesn't even register his wings fully; they float, and it makes them feel numb and nonexistent in the best of ways. 

Loose feathers and dirt drift across the surface, the spot near Grian growing murkier.

“Nice, isn’t it?” Scar whispers, not wanting to disturb Grian’s moment of bliss here. He eyes the spot where the water darkens from the dirt and debris coming free from Grian’s wings, trying not to let it affect his mood, tug at his heart. 

He wishes he could rake his fingers through the feathers and dislodge all the uncomfortable things that poke and prod at Grian on a daily basis. We wants to hold him closer and take care of him, wash all the troubles away, but—

Baby steps, he reminds himself. 

Grian's mind is hazy, all of him melting into the warmth bit by bit. (He doesn't remember the last time he was warm.) He feels engulfed and cradled, held and supported, and it makes him want to drift off. He's melting further into it, eyes closed and mind pleasantly dazed. He thinks he might just stay here forever. (The insides of his wings are warm warm warm; the water gently bobs them, the muscles loosening after months of being stiff and taut.)

It reminds Grian of what it feels like to be comfortable. (He isn't sure he can quite grasp it; the feeling seems too big for his comprehension.) He lets out a long, reverberating hum, almost purr-like, sinking further into the water. His eyes are still closed. He's secure in the knowledge that Scar's still here, he's got him. everything is okay.

Everything is more than okay.

"'m gonna live like a raisin," he says as a vague threat, or a promise, or— or something. Something mildly delirious. He's never getting out of this lake. It's too nice. He's going to stay here and submerge himself in bliss and escapism.

“Yes!” Scar croaks out amidst some airy laughter. “Join me in the raisin life, Grian!” 

Scar's laughter echoes around Grian, setting bright, joyful sparks behind grian's ribcage. He could listen to that sound forever.

While keeping his arms in place, supporting Grian so that he doesn’t sink entirely, Scar ducks his face back underwater and blows some bubbles, loving the feeling of having semi-clean skin for the first time in far too long.

Grian hears the bubbles. Curiosity gets him to crack one eye open, only to see it's just Scar being silly. Unbridled, a laughter spills from him and— He's laughed before, sure. Here and there, they’ve had their moments. But never before has his laughter felt so light in this world. Unburdened.

Scar’s ears flick attentively and he pokes his head back out to share a grin— practically beaming at Grian due to the delightful sound. It’s a genuine Grian giggle and Scar is loving it. It rings like victory, dancing across the air. Scar feels like he’s won a tiny battle. (And it’s a much-needed win at that.) 

“Seriously,” Scar says, smile still pressing at the edges of his cheeks. “Dunk your head in— it feels amazing.”

The idea doesn't seem as daunting as before. Encouraged by Scar's delighted grin, Grian can't help but wish to oblige.

His wings flutter a little, and then he's tilting himself, taking a breath. No more warning is given before he fully submerges his head.

The water rushes around him, muffling the world instantly. It's warm all around him.

Just like Scar before, Grian also brings his arms to rub at his hair, reveling in the feeling until he needs to come up for air. He pushes his now-wet hair out of his face and blinks, before he settles with twinkling eyes set on scar, a wild grin on his lips. "I did it!" And he finds that he wants to do it again.

“Isn’t our hair disgusting?” Scar says, laughing and smiling like that’s somehow a good thing. 

"It’s sooo gross," Grian agrees with a laugh. He drifts closer, reaching out to run his fingers into Scar's wet hair and rub at his scalp, wanting him to feel nice.

Scar makes an approving, happy hum and leans into the touch. “And you’d touch the gross hair? Wow, you must like me or something. How embarrassing,” Scar croons, grinning with all his teeth as he pesters Grian.

A growling noise rolls out of grian, but it sounds wrong, soft and unthreatening. He grins right back, and he moves closer, gaze flicking to Scar's lips. "Yeah. I guess I do like you. Or something." And then he presses on Scar, pouncing to use his own weight to push Scar under water. "But you should really wash them some more," he notes playfully with a laugh.

Scar barks out a half-yelp half-laugh as he’s submerged, bubbles rising to the surface until the noise escapes the watery prison when he comes back up. ”Wow,” Scar grumbles, absolutely no bite to his bark. “And here I was being so nice.”

Completely unphased by Scar's grumble, Grian cackles. And then he leans forward, hands settling on the sides of Scar's jaw as both of them drip water. 

Grian's eyes close and he kisses Scar.

“Oh,” Scar’s mouth barely forms the words before he’s pressing closer, greedily kissing back. There’s a bit of whiplash from going from being dunked under to being kissed, but it’s a pleasant sort of ride, the kind of dizzying back and forth he would have always expected from Grian. Part of the reason he was always so drawn in.

Bouncing lightly in the water, Grian breaks the kiss only to press a laugh against the corner of Scar's mouth. He's holding onto him, fingers finding their way back into Scar's wet hair. His feathers trail ripples behind him. "Do you want to help me wash my hair?" he ends up asking, sounding so very hopeful and impulsive, eyes alight as he peers up to meet Scar's gaze.

“Yes!” Scar exclaims, instant. Because he really does want to. 

Grian's expression brightens and softens simultaneously at Scar's quick agreement. Eager excitement settles abuzz under his skin, oddly fitting alongside the newfound looseness of his muscles. 

Scar removes one of his supporting hands first, testing if Grian isn’t still melting into the water too much to handle it without them.

Grian shifts to readjust, to carry his own weight and stay floating. He gives Scar a small nod. "Floating raisin-in-training," he reassures, wildness tipping into an almost timid grin.

Scar snickers, highly amused by the continued bit. "I'm very impressed with the raisin's progress," he teases as he removes his other hand, allowing Grian to wade freely. "I wish we had soap. I still don't understand how to make soap." It's a mournful statement, but Scar manages to keep his tone light, as if it's a joke and not a genuine problem. He opens both palms and wiggles his fingers in a goofy invitation, letting Grian lead the way on how he wants to do this.

Grian doesn't, in fact, know how to do this. He just knows he wants Scar's fingers rub at his scalp and brush through his hair and he wants it all to be nice and good. (He wonders if his hair will be fluffy when it dries. Fluffy hair and somewhat clean skin. A luxury.) (He wonders how will Scar look at him, then.) "Should I... turn my back to you?" he wonders.

But turning his back carries many things with it. (Namely his wings.)

Scar’s eyes flick to the sprawled out feathers—a lightning-fast glance, trying not to be noticed—before he hums in thought. He doesn’t want Grian to have to reel his wings back in. He likes that Grian is finally relaxing them like this, having them splayed out without care. 

So instead, he tries to say that this is good. That he likes facing Grian and looking at him. He steals a kiss, quick and gentle, drawing Grian’s attention away from any implications turning around might have.

Grian lets Scar's affection easily distract him; for once, he's not hyper-aware and hyper-vigilant about his wings, and so the warning thought dissipates before it even has a chance to form properly, everything in him instead paying attention to Scar's adoration and the promise of getting his hair washed. He giggles quietly into the kiss at Scar's exclamations. "Alright. All yours." 

Scar’s heart swells at all yours, the words satisfying something small yet primal deep inside his chest. 

But as it turns out, Grian floating in the water on his belly really isn’t a position suitable for hair washing. They fumble, Scar trying to throw out some pointless, dead-end suggestions, staying lighthearted even as it’s becoming clear that there’s no way around this.

Grian hums, glancing at his wings—the top feathers are still dry, as his wings float the inner-side down. The seeping warmth from the water keeps them relaxed and feeling good, and Grian doesn't even realise he's considering them without the usually instant flare up of anxiety.

"Let me try something," he murmurs, an edge of experimental pensiveness to his tone. He pushes himself away from Scar, using him solely for momentum, so he wouldn't have to wade to get more space. He spins, water rippling, feathers gliding across it.

He doesn't make enough space. His primaries almost brush against Scar.

Scar flinches back to avoid the wings, shocked by the casual nature in which Grian is currently treating them. He’s relieved, certainly, but slightly nervous as well. “You better not be trying to escape, you have a good fifty-some minutes of relaxation left, mister.”

Grian glances over his shoulder, chuckling at him, but doesn't deign to answer. He's climbing to the shallower part again; his wings are heavy, dragging him down as he fights them and flaps them around, sending droplets through the air. He curls them, bringing them forward, and with a squinted focus, slowly lowers them back down.

The water turns murky again in an instant, as the backs of grian's wings hit water. He almost slips off the perch of the platform as a wave of weakness rushes through him at how good the warm water feels on those spots. His eyes flutter shut without him intending for it, and a groan leaves his throat.

And then he's slipping off the edge back into the depths, this time purposefully. his wings are spread around him, messy and wet and wide, and—

He semi-floats on his back, his hair now dipped in water. It feels so insanely relaxing—a word he was forgetting even exists; he lets out a dazed hum, eyes still closed, temporarily forgetting his mission is to get back to scar.

Scar chuckles quietly to himself, trying to shield the sound with the back of his hand. He’s able to ignore the distress the muddied water caused him last time, too enthralled by the wide span of Grian’s wings, which he hasn’t seen in so long. 

 Even dirtied and drenched in water, they’re beautiful.

“Should I leave you alone with the water for a bit—?” Scar teases after another moment of admiring Grian. “Would hate to interrupt.” 

Despite saying that, his hands itch to touch. They twitch and he hides them underwater, remaining patient.

"Mmmm." Grian lets the water gently push him around, and he keeps his eyes closed for a while, staying silent after Scar's question. But then he remembers: he's going to get his hair washed. Scar's fingers are going to press and rub against his scalp and—

"Please do interrupt," he begs, dark eyes dazedly finding Scar.

“If you insist,” Scar says like he’s not equally as antsy. He approaches with caution, careful to wade between any scattered feathers, then wiggles his fingers on either side of Grian’s head. “Any requests? Gentle? Deep tissue massage? Kisses or no kisses?” He hovers over Grian’s head as he asks, grinning.

Grian peers up at Scar, upside-down, and even though he appreciates Scar’s silliness and him offering choices, decision-making feels a bit overwhelming right now. 

And yet as soon as he catches sight of Scar, he can’t help but tilt his head more, desiring more closeness. His hair submerges, obliging towards the task at hand, but there’s far more than that in the simple gesture: Grian’s throat is bare (so is the rest of him, to be fair) (exposed wings included), and there’s something eager about the way his lips fall slightly apart. “Kisses. Definitely kisses.”

Without hesitation, Scar leans down, smiling. “Oh excellent, that was my recommendation anyway!” He plants a kiss on Grian’s forehead to start, just a taste of what he’s offering, then threads his fingers into Grian’s flowing hair underwater, keeping his touch tentative for the time being.

Grian hums, both at the kiss and at the touch, a sound that reverbs in his throat. His wings spread a little more. He’s feeling pleasant and pleased, edging that state of melting into everything.

Scar starts by running his fingers through Grian’s hair, mapping out the territory and smoothing out his locks to make it easier for the proper cleaning. 

Helpless to stop it, Grian finds his eyes falling shut again. Everything's so pleasant and lulling, he can almost imagine falling asleep here. (He's certainly tired enough for it, the dark bruising under his eyes speaking volumes about that.) He wants Scar to keep touching him, to keep brushing his fingers through his hair, to— to be here, in this, with him.

“Good?” Scar checks even though he knows the answer, his fingers still gentle; he wants to hear Grian say it, confirm that this is happening, that this moment is real amidst this server of hostility and cruelty.

“Good,” Grian purrs mindlessly.

Scar slowly adds more pressure, lightly scratching at Grian's scalp for maximum effect, trying to provide as much relief as he can. 

Grian lets out little noises—sleep-laced, groggy little things—as he melts against every Scar's touch. He wants to tell him how really, really good it feels, but he can't find coherent enough words, nor make his vocal cords work. He just floats, in more ways than one. "'m sleep," he murmurs, as a warning. 

He wants to look up at Scar, but his eyelids are heavy, his body gently bobbing in water that keeps him warm and relaxed. Scar continues effortlessly lacing his fingers through curls and working small bundles of hair through his fingertips to loosen any pesky dirt that's made home there, finding almost as much pleasure in this little routine as Grian does.

"Gosh, making it my job to keep you from drowning?" Scar scolds lightheartedly with absolutely no disdain. Truthfully, the wings might be working as enough of a feather floatie for Grian anyway, but Scar doesn't mind making up for where they slack. 

"Mmmmhm," Grian confirms. His muscles are so lax. He forgot this was even possible. He hasn't felt pleasantly sleepy in so long—so many horrible dreams and endless fears and never-ending tension. This hot spring is tempting him to succumb to everything it offers, and Scar's hands are breaking the last of his resistance. "Won't let me..." he trails off, meaning to say won't let me drown. The sentense stays broken, sinking out of Grian's reach. "Trust," he murmurs, barely audible, word slurred with sleep.

Scar's about to ask who won't let him sleep, but understands that's not what's being said after he continues listening. He smiles. "Of course not," he confirms, lightly scratching behind Grian's earwings, a spot he himself took great relief from.

The scratch behind Grian's earwings sends something in him skittering and haywire in the best of ways. He chirps through the haze of sleep, unable to catch himself. His earwings flutter against the water, sending a small spray of droplets around them, but they settle back down quickly enough, limp like the rest of him. A drawn-out coo is coaxed from Grian's throat as he blindly tilts his head further into it, chasing the pleasant touch. 

There's no tension to Grian’s expression, no fear marring the space between his brows.

It feels like a dream, if this world ever knew such a thing as good dreams.

Scar chews at his lip, swallowing down all the comments we wants to make about how adorable Grian is all relaxed and bird-brained. He's not so sure Grian is sleepy enough to resist groaning and quipping back at that, so he resists, wanting him to continue drifting. 

He directs his fingertips over Grian's temple and to the top of his forehead, grazing his nails over the skin as gently as he can and massaging into the base of his hair. And he lingers. Keeps rubbing circles and tracing across Grian's hairline, taking his fine time as if he intended to clean each individual strand.

The way Scar is touching him would make Grian go positively insane if it wouldn't turn him into an incoherent puddle first. He hums, quiet, the sound barely there, edging dreamy delirium under Scar's attentive guidance. 

He really does feel himself drifting, sleep latching on and consciousness waning. The combination of stacked-up tiredness and the wholly complete relaxation are taking him over and, before he even fully realises what's happening, he's completely limp, breath evening out. 

He dips a little in the water, but stays mostly afloat anyway. Scar preemptively lifts one knee to catch Grian if his body starts to dip too far underwater, but he seems steady enough for the time being. 

Content with his successful attempt to get Grian to relax, Scar goes for softer motions, just enough to keep the flow of pleasant sensations going without doing anything that could wake his sleeping bird. 

After a minute or so, Scar sneaks a proper glance at Grian’s splayed out wings, how they fill the water around them with dirt and smaller pieces of debris. He has to resist plucking a twig from a close-by cluster of feathers, praying the water will do it for him. He settles for what he can do for now, not willing to abuse the trust Grian is offering him here by pushing his luck.

He hums a soothing, soft melody as he works, filling the space as he gets Grian’s hair clean, hoping to keep the avian’s sleep relaxed and nice. Without nightmares, for once. Warm and safe and spoiled. 

Such strange concept for this world.

And yet even those things can exist here.

Scar watches his sleeping bird and he thinks that maybe there’s hope for them still after all.

[thedenofravenpuff]

Joining the trend of drawing heavily traumatized Sunpea/Moonpea, after the ordeal they been through on EAPS.

Sweet of Lefty to offer his room and couch for the time being, while the Peas need time to recover.

Enjoy!

The Roan RPG Project Leave a Tip on Ko-Fi

[linkito]

I am here to beg and plead for Vex arc tidbits. Link pls, pls share things? Tell me more about all the people? Any art I can convince you to share? I beg?

-🎀

ok ok fine<33

I was going to work on full character sheets for them but yknow? maybe those can wait until the vex arc proper (gives me more time too—)

BEHOLD! THE OCS! [Nico, Kane, and Nadia, in that order]

Without spoiling too much, let’s see—

Nico and Kane are two of the strongest warriors at the vex village Grian and Scar find themselves in, and they’re a pair of mates as well. They’ve known each other a long time and grew up on this server, so fighting is certainly ingrained in them.

Nico is a swordsman, very laid back and somewhat snobby, but he has a huge soft spot for Kane. Likewise, Kane is loud and brash and often speaks without thinking—causing many problems with Grian and Scar early on— but he’s smitten as hell for Nico.

Both very typical vexes with more violent natures than what Scar is used to. The stereotypes he was forced to reckon with when coming to this server. And yet, both are still very human, both so very full of life and love.

Nadia is not native to this server. She used to live a primarily peaceful life with her mate until, one day, he met with an unfortunate end. Now a widow, she migrated to this server, though somewhat unintentionally. She’s made a name for herself here though, being the one who founded the village and the unofficial leader of the vex.

She’s very fond of Scar and his more peaceful ways. She has high hopes for him and Grian and their unshakable bond between one another. 💕 (very much a mother figure to them, Scar especially)

Honestly, there’s sooooo much more about them, especially Nico and Kane as Ange and I keep developing them more and more.

I’m so excited for the vex arc. It’s maybe my favorite.

[pandoraarti-fnaf-blog]

Down memory lane.

-

At some point maybe the mimic starts manually going through Williams memories to the point of even unlocking ones he forgot.

Unfiltered version below so you can see all the memories more clearly.

[0vergrowngraveyard]

this arc has me clawing at the walls istg