#of different sorts yknow I very briefly mentioned each of my hcs for this trio :]

[captainschaos]

dreaded grin, cold light

wrote this fic for @k-asternix for the @mcyt-halloween gift exchange!! it was a little out of my comfort zone since I really only watch mumbo/scar/grian through life series, but I decided to go for it anyway and had a blast :] a little platonic soulmate action with some spooks on the side, hope you enjoy!

(also worth noting, this will likely be part 1 of 2 for your gift!! unofficially since I don't think it will be done by tomorrow, but I do have a second piece in the works and can tag you when I post that too ^_^)

word count: 3851 This will likely be posted to ao3 too! I'm new over there tho so wanna make sure I get all the parts right before I put it up, will edit to link that here when I do ---/---/---

The atmosphere of the Deep Frost Citadel has always made Mumbo feel at least a little on edge. Sure, he often felt such glee here too, laughing with the other hermits outside the dungeon door, smiling and barely containing their excitement as they all wait for their turn to run the game, but there’s also… an unease. It is not hidden that the Citadel is a hostile place, with its spines and glaring eyes abounding in the crevices of its stonework walls, but it’s deeper. Maybe it’s just the chill that always makes it a bit uncomfortable to sit in one place for too long inside it. Maybe it’s the groans that come from deep in the place’s belly where the dungeon churns with hunger. But no matter how much he loves Decked Out, and how often he will always return to this place with joy, Mumbo just can’t seem to shake the underlying twist at the pinprick in the center of his belly that something is not quite right here. 

But still, it’s a place he loves, and he loves being with his friends here. So right now, he sits with Grian in their shared room, listening as Grian goes through his deck. 

“I mean, I’ve just about got all the commons covered, so I get to get into the fun stuff now, y’know?”

“Mhm,” Mumbo hums in response, smiling down at his own small deck he’s shuffling through while he listens to Grian. 

“I’m just not sure…” Grian sighs, though Mumbo can hear that it’s a playful kind of half-feigned irritation. “It’s nice to be able to choose, but now I have to make decisions, which-”

Grian’s words are cut off, and Mumbo glances up quickly as he hears the feathers of his wings rustle slightly. The harpy’s wings and shoulders are tensed for only a fraction of a moment as Mumbo looks at him, but he quickly shakes it out and picks up another of his cards. 

“Are, uh- you alright, Grian?”

“Oh, yeah.” He shoots Mumbo a reassuring grin. “Scar just tripped over a berry bush I think. He’s running the dungeon right now.” 

“Oh, uhm… Right.” 

Of course. Ever since Double Life, Scar and Grian have had a soullink which lets them feel the other’s pain. There had been signs they were soulmates for a while before that, but it was that iteration of the great death games that had cemented it in a way that was unignorable. Mumbo sometimes wishes he had been there, wonders who he might have been matched with, but it is what it is. He and Grian are soulmates too, even if they don’t share this. 

Less than a minute passes before Grian hisses with a shallow gasp of pain again, and this time Mumbo catches the momentary glow of the pale, spiked halo that signs the action of his soullink. It’s silvery, like the vex magics that line Scar’s smile, but with a bronze undertone that complements Grian’s dusty-brown hair and feathering. It almost looks thorned. Certainly painful. 

Even before Mumbo can say anything, Grian laughs about it. “Scar’s just fallen off something, the idiot. He’s not going to be able to take a hit from a ravager, I can tell you that much.” 

“Sounds like Scar,” Mumbo says with a half a chuckle in response. But it’s hard to cover up the unease he’s feeling. 

It’s always hard to watch though. Seeing Grian in pain, when there’s nothing to do about it… it makes Mumbo’s stomach twist. But there’s an element of love in it, and Grian always says it’s fine, not to worry, and always laughs and shakes his head affectionately after he winces. So as Scar continues his run through the depths of the dungeon, Mumbo watches and listens, biting his tongue, as Grian narrates each unfortunate twist of the vex’s journey. When Grian grabs his arm and announces Scar must have healed up, because that couldn’t have been anything but a ravager bite, Mumbo’s insides twist in knots. The Citadel feels colder than ever around him when Grian shakes out another berry prick, but there’s an affectionate smile that Mumbo just can’t quite understand. There’s an unsettling feeling of watching through a window that shouldn’t be there while Grian narrates with uncanny specificity as Scar trips and fights through the dungeon, a journey that should be known only to the stomach of Decked Out, but has wormed its way through the soullink to Grian and now squirms in Mumbo’s gut. He feels off. So when there’s a shudder, and Grian clutches his chest and his wings spread in automatic response, Mumbo can’t help but jump to his feet and go to his friend. 

“Grian!” 

“I’m fine!” As Mumbo reaches out for his soulmate, Grian’s hand comes up to block him through a flat-palmed gesture, and he shakes out his feathers. “You don’t need to worry, Mumbo, I’ve told you this! It’s all–”

“Well THAT was a nightmare!” Scar says with an enormous smile as saunters up to Grian and Mumbo’s cubby. “All the ravagers in all the wrong places, just awful. I do not recommend trying to get an artifact through there right now.”

“Seemed it, buddy!” Grian says jauntily. He looks at Mumbo with one last look, clearly trying to calm him, but it somehow just makes him feel more queasy when Grian goes back to talking to Scar like it’s all fine. “It was Willy who did you in at the end there, wasn’t it?”

Mumbo knows what just happened though. Scar barely had to feel the dying, the world snatching him up as soon as his soul cried out and shuffling him comfortably back to the bed to respawn. That’s part of how they all set up their respawns, it’s all designed to mitigate the pain. But Grian… 

What did he feel?

Mumbo can’t help but feel sick at the thought of it. 

But deeper down, in a more selfish part of him, he wonders if it’s the fact that he’s the only one who has no way to know that makes him feel sick to the stomach. 

Maybe it’s just the Citadel getting to him. 

Yeah. That must be it. 

---/---/---

Scar hums to himself as he shuffles through a shulker box, pulling out a bundle of pumpkins to set out between himself and Grian. 

“There we go! Where would you like them, buddy-ol-pal?”

“Pretty much everywhere!” the harpy announces giddily. He’s already got rolls of black and orange and green wool streamers wrapped around his arms as he looks up at the entrance of his base with both hands proudly on his hips. The Halloween colors are blooming all around Grian’s base, and with Scar and Mumbo’s help, they’re just coming to pop more and more. 

“You got it!” Scar hefts up a pumpkin under each arm, tutting as the enchantment on his leg braces fizzes under the weight. Not his fault he’s so strong! He taps his foot to realign the runes, and then whistles as he picks a nice spot by the door for these two lovely golden gourds. 

“Hm… do you think that should go a bit higher, Scar?” Grian asks. 

“What should?” Scar responds as he straightens up and brushes the pumpkin-dirt off his hands. He looks over to Grian, then follows the line of where he’s pointing. The harpy’s gesture leads up to where Mumbo stands up in the ring surrounding Grian’s nether portal. A bit precarious, but his elytra is folded snugly against his back, ready to catch him should he fall, and he keeps at least one lanky arm clasped to the stone ring around him at all times. More specifically, Grian is pointing to the enormous fake bat the mustached changeling is holding up, showing where he plans to hang it from the top of the portal. “Oh. Hm hm… probably just a bit! Don’t want it to hit your head if you come rocketing out of there with a piglin on your tail, you know.” 

“Good point. Alright–” 

And with that, Grian locks eyes with Mumbo across the distance, and there’s a glow. Soft and warm, almost violent in hue with the depth of the shade, a red light seems to pool in Grian’s mouth as he looks up at Mumbo, lips parted slightly. The changeling in turn looks back, and even from this far away Scar can see the glow that shows the message has been received, and sure enough he shifts a bit so that he can raise the decoration higher before securing it with string. Scar turns to see Grian blink a few times, and then he gets back to his own work throwing streamers over everything in reach, smiling softly to himself. 

Scar knows, there’s no need to be jealous. Grian and Mumbo have their soulmate bond, and Scar has his own with the harpy, but… he still wonders. He can’t help it, shoving words in different spots to create every configuration of what might pass between them that he can’t hear, through their sharing of thoughts. It is nice that at least there’s the glowing sign when it happens, so he’s not completely left out of the loop, but there’s still… there’s just still some unshakeable feeling about it. Something uneasy. Something that makes the ground feel unstable under Scar, like he doesn’t quite know where to step without falling. It’s silly, he knows. But knowing what he doesn’t know doesn’t seem to help much. 

But nevermind all that! He has pumpkins to throw around after all, and he delights in putting them in as many ledges and nooks as he can reach without Grian being able to. Realistically, the harpy has the wings to reach any of it, but that doesn’t stop Scar from laughing as he has to hop to readjust one of the jack-o-lanterns Scar’s placed a bit askew. But like punctuation throughout this, there are the moments where Grian looks over Scar’s shoulder, and there’s a momentary rush of adrenaline as he wonders if there’s a creeper behind him, and then he sees the glow in Grian’s mouth. 

It casts shadows that seem to accentuate every sharp edge to the harpy’s teeth. 

“Mumbo’s just about done,” Grian says after one of these moments. “You think we’ve done our work here?”

“Oh, for sure!” Scar announces, putting his hands on his hips as he looks over their handiwork. “Looking mighty spooky here, friend. A nice spread of tricks and treats.”

“Perfect. Let’s get out of here and maybe grab a bite to eat then, huh? All this work has certainly got my appetite up.” 

Scar keeps smiling, but as Grian talks, he can’t seem to look anywhere but at his teeth. There’s a pinch in his stomach. 

“Sounds good.”

---/---/---

Mumbo sits alone in his vault, at a desk he tends to keep reserved for redstone planning. There are sketches laid out in front of him, pages and pages of blueprints that are more like redprints with the lines of redstone scrawled across them, but none of them are right. His head is in his hands, his changeling claws just barely pressing into his scalp as more of a grounding pressure than anything, but there is something bothering him. 

And the maddening thing is, he doesn’t know what. 

It’s an aching, something that he keeps thinking is hunger, but he’s been eating. Golden carrots at first, he always keeps a bundle of them at his desk for this purpose, but they didn’t help. He snapped his teeth through piece after piece of the clicking-crunching things, the sound of them breaking rattling like brittle bones, but they seemed to glide right past the sensation rolling in his gut. After biting through a handful of them, he thought maybe he was just having a different craving, so he went to find some steak, but that did little besides give a new ripping instead of the crunching. He even tried golden apples as his desperation grew, but he almost felt he was being taunted. He was hungry, and yet eating did nothing to help him. 

And the churning in his stomach is only growing. 

---

Scar sits in one of his many workshops hidden throughout the back areas of Scarland, looking over the plans for the latest and greatest ride to come. Or at least, he’s trying to. At the moment he’s holding his head in his hands, palms pressing into his forehead, the heels of his hands smothering his eyes as he tries to rub away the weight that seems to have settled on his eyelashes. He can hardly even look at his plans, much less process them, as his vexish wings flicker behind him in a visual representation of his struggle to just keep himself upright, as something tugs at him. 

But he has no idea what. 

He’s trying to keep on his smile, despite the fact that there’s no one in the room, just to keep himself sane. It’s solidly into the evening hours on the server, sure, but he’s had plenty of rest. And yet there’s an aching when he peels his eyes open, and it feels like folds of weight have been hung over him to pull him, smother him, to the earth. Every bone in his body feels like a support beam about to snap, and he would swear his spine creaks as he tries to straighten up. It seems like fatigue, but he knows he should be fine. He makes sure he rests, he knows he should be fine, and besides, he even tried sleeping. He laid down in one of the spots he has set up in case of occasions like this, closed his eyes, and… nothing. The silence was maddening. There was nothing to disturb him, and yet, no sleep came. So now he sits here, listening to nothing, looking at nothing, and yet he remains. He feels chained to the ground itself, every movement is a dragging, and yet his mind remains, stagnant and stale in this state. 

And the weight around his neck is only growing. 

---

Mumbo is trying to focus. He is desperately trying to focus. But it feels like something is trying to rip him in two, the way this strange, poltergeist of a hunger is clawing at him. 

Still, nothing is working. Mumbo’s tried potions now, splashing them and drinking, hoping for something to put even just a dent in the hunger tearing at his insides. It did nothing for the aching in his gut, the tightness in the back of his throat, like a hand clenched around his neck. He leans now against the door of his vault, trying to use the coolness of the metal to drag his mind away from it, but there’s no thinking about anything but the hunger. It’s grating at his mind. Panic is starting to form a new core to the grinding in the pit of his stomach. A fear, a wondering- what if this never leaves? What if there’s no answer, what if this is it? He has no idea what’s caused it, so what if there’s no way to end it? There’s a hopelessness beginning to emerge, like an animal crawling out of a cave. He doesn’t want it to be there. But even worse, he’s scared there’s no defeating it. 

His gut drops if he thinks too much about it. 

---

Scar wants to focus. He really, truly wants to focus. But it’s just impossible, it’s impossible! He’s absolutely positive now that there’s nothing he can do about it. 

Nothing has worked. Scar’s flipped on every beacon in the area now, hoping their powers might do something to rejuvenate him, but it did nothing. It had no effect on the horrid grip around his temples, the feeling dragging him toward the floor. His limbs feel like lead, and he now sits in his wheelchair, just trying to ignore the feeling of weight and dulled senses pulling at him. A kind of claustrophobic desperation is welling up at the center of it all. The dread of not knowing how this will end, the panic of having no idea what’s happening to him, the cause of this weariness. He should know how to fix this. He should be able to fix this. But still…

His chest tightens if he thinks too much about it.

---

There has to be a solution. There has to be. 

The changeling just wants to fix this. He just wants to know what’s wrong with him. He just wants to know what this is, haunting the space just under his ribcage. 

It’s consuming him. He hardly even realizes when the hunt carries him out into the night. 

---

There has to be a solution. There has to be. 

The vex just wants to end this. He wants to know what’s happening to him. He just wants to know what this is, consuming the space just behind his eyes. 

It’s haunting him. He hardly even realizes when the need takes him out into the night. 

---

Two figures tumble into opposite sides of an alleyway. Teeth bared, stomachs snarling and snatching, skulls lolling toward the ground, they lock eyes with one another. And in their horrid torments, enveloped in the cold night, something snaps in place. 

---/---/---

Grian happily carries a shulker box full of building materials as he walks down the path toward the shopping district. He knows he could fly, it’d be much faster, but it’s such a nice day! He wanted to enjoy it. 

“G!” a voice calls, and he stops and spins to try and find it. There are no buildings around this part of the path, but he quickly spots two figures not too far off the road, waving to him. He jogs over, and finds Mumbo and Scar laying on a blanket in the grass, side by side in the laziest of friendly ways. 

“Hello, you two! Enjoying the beautiful day, are we?”

“Certainly better than last night was,” Mumbo says with a lighthearted but slightly concerning chuckle. Scar pipes up to help clarify, or at least attempt to, before Grian can say anything concerned though. 

“Oh, don’t worry about that, it’s all fixed up now! And it did us more good than bad, didn’t it?” 

Mumbo laughs again, this time with a bit more vigor. “Very, very true.” 

“Wait- what happened? Everything’s alright?” 

“Yeah, yeah! Here, we can show you,” Scar pipes up again. “Watch this.” 

With that he rolls over a bit to look at Mumbo, who just smiles and keeps still. After a moment of Scar’s concentration, there’s a glow, and Grian looks down to Scar’s hand where the light seems to be cupped in his palm. Matching, Mumbo’s own palms seem to mirror the glow, and Grian would recognize that silverish light anywhere, though this particular iteration seems to have a very slight green undertone, copperish and almost mimicking sunbeams underwater. 

“Soulmates?!” 

“Soulmates!” Mumbo and Scar affirm, in sync, causing a ripple of giggling. 

“Not sure exactly how recently it, y’know, popped up, but yep! And I can use it to tell you that… Mumbo needs to talk to you.”

Grian finally moves to sit, making a spot for himself between his two soulmate’s legs, but leaving the near-touch they have between their shoulders so they can all sit as together as possible. “So the link’s something need related?”

“Yeah, well,” Mumbo begins, somehow managing to twiddle his fingers even with his hands making a pillow under his head, “I think it might have been at least partially shaped by… what we were missing, from our soullinks with you. Not that you aren’t amazing!” Grian nods understandably, waiting for the explanation to finish. “It’s just- Scar and I were both seeing how you connected with the other, and it- it made something to be left out of, I guess? Or maybe just made it easier to notice what we were missing, I’m not sure it just-” 

“We were missing the link to each other,” Scar finishes for Mumbo. A glow fades from his palm again, not as strong as when he was focusing on it, but a sign Mumbo may have been in need of a bit of silver-tongued rescuing. “I had the pain, he had the thoughts, and so we bridged the gap.” 

“Thinking about each other’s pain,” Mumbo says with a grateful smile given to Scar. “That’s the way I’ve been thinking about it, at least.” 

“So… how did you figure this out, exactly?” Grian asks. 

“Oh, ah- well, Scar hadn’t eaten in far too long, and I thought I was getting ripped apart from the inside out!” Mumbo laughs, rolling so his elbow can jab into Scar’s shoulder. 

“Hey! At least I take all the cat-naps a man could need, one of us needed some shut-eye so bad it was driving me up the wall!” 

And at this, Grian laughs. He was asleep plenty early last night, and must have stayed asleep through any inkling of this event. But of course, these two managed to get supernaturally attuned in precisely the right way to bully each other about taking care of themselves. As much focus as Mumbo had on him, he knows Scar and Mumbo have their very own, very unique friendship. And he has no need to be jealous- he knows they love him in equally wonderful ways. 

“Oh, you wonderful idiots! How’d you get that mess sorted out then?” 

“I practically tackled Mumbo into bed of course!” Scar says with his hands thrown in the air. 

“But not before I shoved about a stack of steak into your mouth!” Mumbo shoots back through giggles. 

All three of them are laughing, and Grian pats a hand on each of his soulmates’ nearest knee. “Well, glad you seem in much better spirits now. Can I see the soullink work again?”

“Sure! Here, I’ll give it a go this time.” Mumbo turns to Scar and scrunches up his face comedically as their palms glow once more, and the two barely hold back giggles as their foreheads nearly press together. “Hmm, I think Scar’s hungry. For… Grian brainsss…!” he announces with a punctuating wiggle of his fingers for extra spooky effect. 

“What! No no no, that’s your thing, Mr. I-Am-What-I-Eat!” 

The group collapses into a fit of giggles, and Grian falls onto his chest between his soulmates, wrapping an arm around each in a wonderfully clumsy hug. Scar throws an arm up over Grian’s head to reach around to Mumbo, and the changeling in turn reaches across Grian to playfully swat at Scar’s other hand as he gestures wildly. They remain like that for a while, safe and comfortable in each other’s presence, smiling and talking all too loudly for reasonable interaction. But affection has no need to be reasonable, in the face of unreasonable obstacles, even if those obstacles have been thoroughly overcome. It’s the absurdity that will keep them running strong. It’s the laughter after the dark that will always bring them back to each other.