#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.

[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...

[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)

[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

[angeart]

hhau mimic arc rambles - part I

(~3k words)

One of the hybrid races is a mimic/changeling, a shapeshifter that can take the appearance of another person. They are the most likely to live in relative peace, as they can trick their way into looking human, but they live in constant fear, as one single slip-up can mean their death. 

There is another fate for a found-out mimic, though, and that is being used by hunters, as a lure for other hybrids. If the mimics want to live, they have to do what the hunters say, and bring prey that dies in their stead. 

At a time when Grian and Scar stumble upon a mimic, they’re already kind of  notorious in this world – a vex with a kill count and a rare violet-winged avian, greatly desired by hunters for trophies and rewards. (There are wanted posters and everything.) 

Now, our mimic for this story arc is one that is being used by hunters, and has been used by them for quite a while. But now he’s posed with the reality of Scar and Grian, two hybrids who have managed to escape hunters for so long, and— He thinks maybe, maybe he could swap his place with Grian. Maybe he could take that safe spot by Scar’s side, this vex who has killed his pursuers before, clearly capable of defending both himself and his avian. If the mimic could take Grian’s place, he could be protected. He could get away—

He is sent in as a lure, but he decides to take his fate into his own hands. (For better or worse.)

 The mimic finds an opportunity when Scar and Grian are slightly separated, and ambushes Grian. Doses him with weakness potions (he needs him quiet and still), copies his look, and hides him in a ditch under a pile of leaves. He uses maybe one too many potions, because Grian wouldn’t stop trying to move (he’s so so so terrified), but he also makes sure to take the time to hide him properly. (He doesn’t really want to sacrifice anyone to the hunters anymore—but he also knows where to go looking if this fails and he needs to make a sacrifice anyway.)

The mimic finds Scar, and tries to lure him in a different direction. (Away from Grian. Away from the hunters.) Scar instantly knows something is wrong; he knows Grian’s face by heart, and this isn’t a perfect copy. It’s too clean. Freckles slightly wrong. There are no deep bruises under Grian’s eyes from sleepless nights, no wear from countless tears that Scar’s vigilantly brushed away. 

But it does look like Grian. It sounds like Grian, afraid and pleading and vulnerable. 

Scar’s so hopelessly weak to it, so lost, so conflicted.

So while Scar asks where the real Grian is, he has next to no cards in his hands for this bargain. He can’t threaten violence, because he isn’t capable of it, not against a Grian-lookalike. All he has is despereate pleas, hands trembling, heart panicking, and eyes filling with tears.

The mimic is reluctant to release answers, clinging to the charade. He needs Scar to believe he is Grian, to protect him. To take him safely away from here. (But that ship’s sailed.) (He screwed up.) But if Scar won’t take him away from here— well, then the hunters are going to kill him. He’s terrified, and it isn’t even an act.

Two different kinds of honest, open desperations clash, and a deal is made.

Scar promises he’ll protect the mimic. Not only until he has Grian back, but after that, too. (He recognises the mimic is just scared. He’s a hybrid in distress, just like them.) It’s a heavy promise, but worth it if the cost is Grian’s life.

They go back to Grian, barely conscious but safely buried under leaves, and Scar immediately gathers him in his arms, relieved and reassuring, holding on. Lifting him up (something he’s intimately familiar with now; carrying Grian’s weight is so easy and natural to him at this point), he notes that they need to go. They – all of them, including the mimic.

The mimic trails after them like a cleaner version of Grian, holding himself timidly and one step behind, like a lost puppy. He’s relieved he wasn’t left to die; that the promise really holds. That despite everything, Scar is still willing to help him.

The situation that follows is difficult for everyone involved. 

Once the weakness wears off, Grian is very unhappy with the circumstances. He’s willing to deal with the situation, because Scar gave a promise, and Grian wants Scar to be able to keep his promises. They’re in it together. They’ll see it through. 

That doesn’t mean he isn’t unnerved and uneasy about this whole thing. Mainly because the mimic still looks like Grian. He’s anxious at every little interaction Scar has with the mimic. Watching and waiting, for the moment when the line blurs. For the possibility of Scar not being able to tell them apart.

Scar can tell them apart, so innately and intuitively. There’s a difference to their words. To the way they hold their wings. To the way they reach for him, the way they apply pressure with their touch. The way they say his name. (Grian always puts so much in just Scar’s name.) (It’s more timid and unfamiliar on mimic’s tongue.) But he can still tell that Grian is uncomfortable with this arrangement. He sees the way Grian goes withdrawn and quiet. He doesn’t like it.

The mimic tries to understand their dynamic, and he finds himself jealous and confused, something in him aching. He sees the way Scar cares for Grian, the ease with which he provides reassurances and affection, and he hurts to have a sliver of that too. 

But Scar is kind to him. He’s gentle and soft. The mimic doesn’t remember last time anyone came close to caring about him, and this staggers him to no end. Touch-starved and desperate, he quickly finds himself craving for more. 

There is a lot of missteps that happen. And a handful of things that go right.

The mimic grew up in this world, and is much better at scavenging and recognising safe food and hidden cracks in terrain for possible shelter. He helps out whenever he can, eager to please, wishing so much to be able to at least somehow return the favour. 

And yet when Grian and Scar curl up for the night, he’s still alone, on the sidelines. He looks on with so much painful yearning, but also knows that it’s not his place. It will never be his place. He’ll never get to know how that feels like. 

He can’t slot into that place that Grian gets to have. He knows, viscerally, that if push came to shove, he wouldn’t be the one Scar’d save, between him and Grian. They are letting him stay, but he’s disposable.

He understands.

Or— he thinks he understands, anyway.

(He really wishes to be Grian.) (He isn’t, he can’t be.) (He— who is he, though?) 

Over time, as he realises they aren’t going to chase him away at any second, he grows bolder and more curious. He’s more at ease with his wings than Grian is, not having the burden of associated trauma. They’re clean and brilliant, and they brush against Scar so very easily. He seeks out his presence often, feeling the safest when he’s next to Scar’s side—a spot that was never meant to be his. 

Grian watches, and he wonders. He wonders if this other version of him isn’t better for Scar. Without panic attacks and inaccessible wings and soul torn-apart by wounds that bleed through so easily. This version of him capable of getting them dinner and recognising hunters’ traps from a distance. 

He wants to ask Scar again, if he wouldn’t be better off without him.

He asked him once, all the way at the start, back when they found each other in this horrible world. He told Scar to leave. And Scar said, never.

And yet. Here Grian is, wondering again.

On top of all of this, there’s also a ribbon incident, one which I will write separate rambles about. Or maybe a oneshot fic. We’ll see which way my hand slips. What you need to know about it, though, is that it results in the mimic adjusting his appearance. 

And oh boy. Does that open a whole another can of worms.

The mimic can’t change his appearance completely at will. He can borrow, and steal, and, well, adjust, to a degree. 

The adjustments he makes, when asked to stop looking like Grian’s exact copy,  are—

Make his hair slightly darker than Grian’s. 

And—

Make his wings dull brown.

(you can see how that looks like here)

This is a big deal, in a world where Grian’s wings are a beacon and a burden and his greatest source of fears and insecurities. To see his look-alike take that vulnerability and overwrite it so easily, strip it down and turn it into something muted and unassuming. Take the cursed wings and twist them into something much more safer, when he himself can’t do a damn thing about them— He isn’t sure how to deal with it. How to bear having this display rubbed into his face every day. How to swallow down the building nausea and the ever-increasing doubts.

This mimic is a better version of him.

Scar would be so much safer with him, instead of with Grian. Grian and his wings that attract trouble and enemies and—surely, inevitably—death.

He has a front-row seat to what it could look like, if only his feathers were different. But he’s powerless to change them. He just grows more upset with them, with himself, with what he is. (A burden a burden a burden.) (Going to get Scar killed.) 

So, quietly, Grian withdraws further.

This all amounts to: the mimic grows attached to Scar, and craves some form of love and safety, in a world that was only ever scary and hurtful to him. But through this all, him and Grian never really build a bond. That’s not to say there aren’t good moments between them. But the missteps outweigh them. It’s all too complicated. Too stifling. There’s no easy way to untangle it or fix it.

They carry on like this for a while, but it’s clear this isn’t working. It’s clear to Scar, because he can see that this hurts Grian. And he feels helpless, because he doesn’t quite know how to fix this. All he knows is he needs Grian to be okay. And his gentle reassurances and soft affection and tight hold at night? They aren’t enough.

So one night, they talk. 

Scar asks if it isn’t working. And Grian shakes his head to dismiss it, even though clearly it isn’t working. He’s reluctant to say he wants it to be just the two of them again. That he can’t bear the sight of this other version of himself, interacting with Scar with such ease, earning softness from him. Imagining what it would be like to be replaced. He just doesn’t want it to be like this. He can’t stand it. But he doesn’t want to forsake another hybrid. He knows how scared the mimic is. How harsh this world is. How unforgiving. So how can he say any of it?

Scar doesn’t force him to explain any of it. He takes the scraps Grian gives him, and lets them be enough.

Quietly, in the depth of night, they throw around a tentative suggestion. Maybe they could leave the mimic somewhere safe? Maybe that would be the best course of action? To keep Scar’s promise and to stop them from falling apart? It feels like it might be something to consider. But it’s late and they’re tired, and maybe they should think on it some more. They leave it hanging on a fragmented, bitter hope with a maybe.

The mimic, curled up on the floor with his back to them, wide awake, hears all of this.

He can’t go back to being alone, fending for himself. He’ll get captured again. He’ll get killed. But more than that, he can’t stand the idea of losing that gentleness Scar steadily provides. He doubts he’d be able to survive on his own in a cold, cruel world without anyone looking out for him, and he doesn’t know how to live without that scrap of kind softness. Shared evening meals and sprinkled laughter and fleeting touches. Someone to talk to. A hand to hold when afraid. 

He doesn’t know how to be without those things anymore.

So he makes a plan. Terrified and desperate and sick to his stomach, but finding himself cornered and at a dead end. He’s grasping at straws. He’s—

He’s going to make this work. 

He won’t be abandoned. He won’t be discarded. He won’t be left to die.

 Once they fall asleep, the mimic copies Grian’s look. Properly copies it. Every bruise and scratch. Every freckle and misaligned feather. And he tucks it away for later. Waits for his chance, for Grian to be out of sight.

He still has a couple of weakness potions on hand.

All it takes is one moment. One moment of Grian being on his own. 

The mimic drops weakness on Grian—a lot of it. He incapacitates him properly, hastily steals the ribbon and the cloak, and then he sneaks up on Scar and uses another weakness. This time just one, before ducking away. 

His little plan whirring to life, the mimic shifts to his perfect Grian copy and approaches from a different side. He drops to his knees, frantically asking Scar if he’s okay. Convincing him that the mimic tried to ditch them, he saw him running away and they need to move in case he went to snitch to the hunters. He sounds terrified. Playing the perfect role of Grian in distress.

He’s using everything he learned from watching Grian—all the things Scar used to so easily, so naturally tell them apart. Voice inflections and touch pressure and the way Grian holds his wings, all of it. Pushing fear and urgency into his voice, constantly calling Scar’s name, checking on him, asking if he is okay, if he can walk, insisting in a panic-pitch that they need to go.

He sounds so so afraid. (He sounds Grian-afraid—Grian is terrified of hunters.) He’s begging Scar to move. He knows it’s hard, he knows, but please please Scar, try anyway. 

Scar is dizzy and sick and confused from the potion, head foggy, too sluggish to think. He’s correct in a guilt-riddled realisation that the mimic betrayed them, but completely wrong as to how the mimic betrayed them. (He tells “Grian” that he’s glad he’s safe. He’s sorry for trusting the mimic. He’s sorry this happened. He trails off. Everything’s spinning.)(Grian is panicking and Scar is so weak to seeing him like this. He listens. He does his best to stand up. To reassure. To help. To go, go, go.)

The mimic swallows the guilt, the raw, bitter awfulness of what he’s doing. And, desperate to put enough distance between them and the real Grian, so that Grian could never trace them, never find their way back to them, to never shatter his lie, he leads Scar deeper and deeper into the forest. 

And oh, he’s doing such a good job of pretending to be Grian. Even if Scar is dazed, perception hazy and thoughts unstable. The mimic is stellar in his performance this time, not leaving space for doubt. (Grian’d hate that he has him copied so awfully well.) (And oh, wasn’t he always afraid this would happen? Wasn’t he terrified that one day, Scar won’t be able to tell them apart—?)

Grian didn’t get the courtesy of being pulled  into a ditch and covered up by leaves this time. He was left lying in the open, bright wings helplessly sprawled, unable to do anything. (There was no time—) He’s scared for Scar, not knowing if he’s okay. He’s terrified of the forest and his own utter defencelessness. He’s lowkey having a panic attack, but his body is too numb to do anything about it.

The potions don’t wear off completely yet when he’s found and attacked. 

Weak and sluggish and stumbling, and so very alone, he scrambles to fight for his life.

--

On the mimic’s side, a week or two pass, filled with him sneaking diluted weakness into Scar’s water supply, to keep him slightly dazed just enough so that Scar doesn’t look at him too closely. And they keep going, further and further away. Scar doesn’t know why he’s still feeling so weak and off. He isn’t sure where they’re going, either. He thinks Grian seems anxious, as if they were possibly being pursued (not an outlandish idea at all, in this world), and Scar doesn’t quite know how to unknot his own guilt about this whole situation. (Oh if only he knew, right?) So he goes, because going is all they’ve done these months anyway. Constantly on the run. Constantly hiding.

But the weakness runs out.

Scar is finally feeling clearheaded again, and he’s so relieved. He will be able to pull his weight now, take some of the burden off Grian. They’re okay. They’re okay and—

One wrong reaction. One misunderstood question. One anxious, scared, paranoia-riddled heart jumping too fast. That’s all it takes. 

One wretched  apology.

One pause. 

One small, shaky, uncertain “... Grian?” Begging to be wrong.

The possibility is snaking its way into Scar’s brain and he's terrified.

It’s been days. It’s been days since they ran away from the mimic. It— Surely, Scar is wrong here?

Scar’s fingers brush over Grian’s earwings. He’s not allowed to touch them. Grian wouldn’t let him. Grian—his Grian—would spiral into panic at the lightest touch against any of his feathers. And—

And this isn’t his Grian.

Anger, fear, hopelessness. Pointless apologies. Questions Scar isn’t sure he wants to know the answer to. (He needs to know.) (He needs to—) (Where is Grian?)

“We left him behind.”

We.

Scar wants to argue there’s no we, but… It’s true, isn’t it? They both did.

They left Grian behind. Days ago. Alone and without supplies. In a world that desires nothing more than to slaughter him. 

Anger topples into despair. Scar feels like he’s losing himself, vex magic thrumming through his veins, wild and uncontrollable. Nails shift into claws. He’s ready to tear this wretched world apart if it’d mean Grian is safe—if it’d mean Grian is alive.

Reaching out, Scar yanks the stolen ribbon off mimic’s wrist. He grabs the cloak and pulls it off of him. (He needs to return them.) (Where is Grian where is Grian where is Grian) 

Not knowing which direction to go, Scar goes anyway.

The mimic doesn’t follow.

--------------

find more in the hhau au masterpost>> here

[puhpandas]

steel wool has the hugest opportunity in the world for a sb 2 like. vanny cassie plotline of her having been manipulated by mimic to be its new minion by framing Gregory during the elevator scene to cut off her one support system. gregory vanessa and freddy protags fleshing them out with dialogue as characters but also their motivations and what theyve been doing for years. have their long absence in games period but also in universe from helping the glamrocks/setting up mxes be explained by showcasing their fear and trauma by them just wanting to get away and they thought they were safe but they werent. have cassie be the reason they have to jump back into the fray and realize no matter what they do theyll have to kill mimic for good to be truly free even if they're afraid. plot of the game is Gregory trying to convince cassie he didnt do it and that shes being tricked and it takes all campaign to get through to her, probably after an intense dramatic climax. have Roxy be there by Cassies side to show how Freddy abandoning them at the Plex affected her and the 2 sides of the same coin the 2 of them have going on regarding sentience and their relationship with the characters they were designed to be with Freddy who got to be free and roxy who didnt. the actual vanny comes back as a big betrayal towards mimic after killing glitchtrap in hw2, either to become an antihero or to try and take over as mastermind. superstar duo reunite and names cleared. throughout the campaign Gregory finds out about ggy and its revealed in a room with documents about patient 46 and tapes where a final tape is found and Gregory speaks in it or is addressed by name. he grapples with it and not remembering it. btw setting is a modern day fallfest which is like amusement park size instead of small festival. boom peak game

[viceroy-jericho]

(Old.)

Q: Are there followers who have fully joined the Glorious Evolution so far?

(09.2021)

[fure-dcmk]

[trace] throwback to my favourite arc ever

[kalcium-yippee]

Being a Vita Carnis fan and also a Latin student kills me. Part of me dies whenever I hear "veetuh car-nes" but another part of me doesn't want to be an 'erm, akshually' abt something as stupid as pronunciation 💀