#spaceapples writes

[space-apples]

i buried my teeth in everything good

hi chatters sorry for dying. thanking @dakedo0o @loveroped @angeart and @sunieraes for beta-ing i appreciate you <3

here it is on AO3 x

and if you want to read it here you can do that !!

He’s succeeded his task, and the wind was faintly blowing in his ear, almost sounding like laughter.

He’s succeeded his task, and the sun was just peeking over the mountains. He didn’t even realize he’d gone the whole night without a blink. 

He’s succeeded his task, and the cold air was gnawing against his skin. He could hardly care anymore. 

Win Secret Life. Win Secret Life. Win Secret Life.

He was drowning now, and felt the familiar sense of life being drained from him before arriving back at the Secret Keeper. He stared at it coldly (everything was cold.)

A skeleton was somewhere in the distance. It was shooting at him, but Scar couldn’t be bothered to care. The arrows buried themselves into his skin, but as he bled and whatever remaining life source once again drained out of him, Scar didn’t recognize the pain as much as he should have. All he really felt was numbness, a fucked up sense of relief. He closed his eyes, exhaling softly, wishing, hoping, praying for release.

If he died now, he would be gone. He would be free. 

Of course the Gods above cared too much about their entertainment to let him go. So when he opened his eyes, the arrows were gone. The only mark left that showed they were ever there were the scars. More to add to the collection, he supposed, bitterly staring up at the Secret Keeper statue. 

Scar wanted to scream at it, to get TNT and blow the stupid thing to dust and rubble. 

He pressed the button once more, wildly, angrily, and cursing so much that a sailor would cringe away. 

Win Secret Life, it said. As always. He did win. As always. 

Pressing the button over and over again wouldn’t do anything, but he did anyway, something in him snapping. Only getting more desperate and upset with each hit as it gave him more and more books. He didn’t care that his hand was getting splintered, that a nasty bruise was starting to form, that he felt it breaking. He didn’t care. He couldn’t care about anything anymore, he couldn’t focus on caring. Scar just wanted to go home. 

He didn’t even realize when he started rapidly hitting the stone instead, putting so much weight and force into his attacks that the button had broken. When he paused long enough to realize, he swore he couldn’t feel himself breathing anymore. The books were splattered around, his hand was bloodied, and his legs crumbled from underneath him. 

Scar prided himself on being resilient, only crying once or twice after a Life Game. But seeing his own blood on a half beaten rock where the button should have been, feeling the cold air biting at his skin, the awareness that he was irrefutably alone, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to do anything in order to go home, shattered any resolve he so wished to keep. 

His hands didn’t seem like his as he laid them, shakily, gently, carefully, on pedestal once more. His whole body shook, wracked with impending doom. He was sobbing, he realized, though the tears never seemed real. None of this seemed real. He couldn’t breathe through it, and some sick part of him hoped that it would continue, that his body would finally collapse and allow him to be detached from this world. 

But maybe he deserved this. 

Maybe with how many people he killed, how many people he made suffer, this was his punishment. A permanent loop, a permanent limbo, forever cursed to be alone. 

Maybe that was the reason for his time here; showing that his destiny, his purpose, his fate, was to be on his own. Where he grew up, it wasn’t exactly an option to talk with other people, and perhaps he got too comfortable in Hermitcraft. Last Life should have been his reminder, his push in the right direction, but he wanted the interaction. The comfort of being near someone was too tempting to turn down. Yet the bite of cold he felt constantly growing up in the apocalypse, it was the same he felt on that horrible mountain in Last Life. It was the same he felt now. He couldn’t escape it, no matter how many blankets or campfires he had, just like how he wouldn’t ever be able to be relieved of the crippling isolation that threatened to overflow and drown him. 

He didn’t know when time started to blur even more, he didn’t know when he started to feel so numb that it felt like he couldn’t move his legs. He couldn’t care for it. He wasn’t sure if he was capable of doing just that. The sun was blaring, it might have stung to look at, yet he just kept staring upward, blankly. There wasn’t much else he could do, anyways. He broke the button. He probably broke his hand too, but he was floating too much to really register it.

He didn’t notice when his legs became anchored to the ground. The hope that the possibility of his opponents (they were friends, they were friends, they were friends) cared enough to come back, to check in on him, was of course foolish. They wouldn’t. It should have bothered him more, and maybe some part of him was uneasy. But a bigger part of him was tired. 

Now, his legs didn’t just feel heavy, they felt like stone. 

And that’s when he noticed he couldn’t sit up. That everything was so much colder. That he was so much more aware of the world. He could make out every grass blade being eaten by grazing animals, the fish wading through the waters, and he didn't even flinch at the desperate snarling of the Undead– the zombies. They were hungry, ravenous, and all he could really do was shift his energy away from it. 

He still felt like he was being stared at, yet he couldn’t detect the stare of the Secret Keeper anymore. It bothered him in the back of his mind. In the dark corners, it felt more than simply wrong. His eyes felt sluggish, but somehow he knew he wouldn’t be able to close them. Now he had to watch, to feel more than the ground below him, the suffocating air around him. It was dark. It was bright. It was hot, but so so so cold. 

All he could do was stare into the sky, watching the sun reach into his peripherals and watch it fade away into a cold night, stars tracing each speck of his vision. It should have been the only thing he saw. He didn’t know how he saw everything. But the statue wasn’t there anymore, it wasn’t watching along beside him. 

He tried to regard it as a good thing. That he didn’t have to feel that prying stare bear into him. But all he could think was that he was now those intrusive, intense, invading eyes. It wasn’t that it was gone, it was that he took its place. He didn’t know if shattering that stupid button was the cause, but he didn’t even mean to break it. He had just wanted to go home.

He can’t even think of how he’d do that now. He barely remembers the faces of his opponents. No, no, they were his friends. Yes, his friends. He couldn’t remember the faces of his friends. They were all muddled and blurry, just like the memories of their time together, hardly resurfacing when he tried to remember. He remembers a boat pole? Bluebells— no, that wasn’t right. He couldn’t frame it correctly, but akin to. A flower of sorts, poisonous to something. He remembers vague things about vexes, though they were just a– a mob with no real significance. He can’t quite... God, why can’t he remember. They were his friends, he said it himself, they were kind and funny and. He wished he could remember more about them other than their bloodshed, than their violence. There were pieces he was missing.

(He misses them. He needs them. He doesn’t know why he’s here, why he’s had to isolate and disconnect from everyone he knew for the sake of Watching. But it isn’t his job to question it, if he could even do such a thing. At least not anymore.)

Time passed on, he knows it’s passed on. There’s little, in this world at least, he doesn’t know at this point. But as far as the people who are gone, the people he killed, he doesn’t know where they are now. How long it’s been for them. He knows there’s not much he can do about it. There’s not much they can do to save him. He thought, he hoped, the numbness was back.

He didn’t know how much he even felt anymore, he wasn’t sure he was capable of feeling. So why, why, is there so much dread in the pits of his stomach. Why is there nausea building in his body, his head throbbing with a migraine. Why did his fear come back all at once, his disquiet of being so utterly alone solitary abandoned abandoned abandoned being seemingly worse than before. It’s not like it ever left, but if it did, it came back stronger than it ever was prior. He didn’t mind being numb, really. He half-heartedly wished for it back. He vaguely realized in his mind he won’t be going home anymore. And this wasn’t at all what he wanted. To be trapped in a never ending loop of pain and pressing buttons was hardly on anyone’s bucket list. He didn't even know what he wanted now, other than to simply rest. 

Though now he figured this was why he was here. Why wouldn’t they want someone already contiguous to not one soul— someone so bloodthirsty— in their grasp. Playing their sick games until he could only regurgitate futile means of escaping. Watching for them. Commanding for them. Succeeding for them. Maybe he should have felt horrified at the prospect, and maybe he did, but if it wasn’t at the forefront, he could hardly be expected to feel anything other than that flooding sense of numbness. Maybe he didn’t want to be here. Maybe he did. It didn’t matter now. He had a job to do. 

He succeeded his task, and it was then he noticed the button on the stone pedestal was back. It was nicer than the old one. Engraved in markings he recognized. It was the traditional Elven designs that coiled around harsh stone, though he could already feel the connection to his identity fading away.

He succeeded his task, and yet when he tried to reach out for it, he couldn’t move his hand anymore.

He succeeded his task, and now he’d be making sure when others came along, they’d succeed too. 

He could vaguely remember that he was Scar, but even that was fading from his mind. Now he was the keeper, the beholder, the Successor of the thing that was here before.

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They had no idea how long they were trapped in there. They tried to glance around, and though they could technically see, they couldn’t See, not how they were used to. They didn’t wish for it back. Or perhaps they did. But the harsh transition made it difficult to look around at all.

They knew they were not envious of their replacement— though it was still hard to grasp that they could feel, really feel again. The sensations latched onto them like they'd always been there; like it was coming home— but they couldn’t remember anything to match it, or anything at all. It had been too overwhelming to have so many of them, to notice and detect sensations other than stone and that icy cold that swallowed them whole.

 It had been far too long to even remember their name. They were trying awfully hard as well, to remember the identity they had left behind. Before all the buttons, before all the colored names and hopeless faces showed, before all the cravings of violence just to get a sick taste of what being angry meant. They had a life, surely. 

They looked down at their new body. This one couldn’t have been their old one– Staring into the reflection they remembered the face of their Successor, eyes still red and running rampant on Red Life urges. They weren’t in that world, and yet. They wondered if the bloodshed would ever stop.

 It was rather warm here, they noticed, but for some reason they could still sense that bite of cold they felt as the Keeper. 

They didn’t quite know where they were, but they could hear someone approaching. They almost expected a button to be pressed, for them to make a request. Of course that didn’t happen here, and instead a voice called out. 

Excited, concerned, afraid, afraid, afraid—

“Scar, oh my god.” The person, upon seeing them, ran over much faster than they had expected. And to their own surprise, they recognized their– her– voice. She was hard to forget, really, because admittedly, she was one of their favorites. The Newbie, the first to truly find the End in their domain. (Their old domain. It wasn’t theirs anymore.) One with such promise, such potential. Of course now they’re rather glad she didn’t win. “Scar, where have you been?”

They forgot they were in place of the Successor, they forgot that was even his name. They tried to open their mouth to respond, but it turns out after spending what felt like centuries with their mouth made of literal stone, it was a bit harder to get words out. They were sure it’d be raspy anyway, from the misuse.

They remembered her name now, and vague recollections of Scar’s memories came back from when they Saw him. Her name was Gem. 

Gem frowned at his silence, and Scar– not Scar, they’re not Scar– tensed, worried that they’d already be found out within five seconds. 

“I won’t– I won’t push you into talking, Scar,” she said, to their surprise. She surveyed them with such concern that it made them discern… something. Guilt? Embarrassment? She continued, spurred on by them remaining silent. “It’s just– you’ve been gone for almost, uh, two months now. I think.”

They didn’t have to pretend to shudder at the time frame. 

It had been way longer than just two months.

Honestly, they really did try getting their mouth open to speak, to demand, but all they could manage were raspy grunts. Gem winced, yet kept her relatively calm demeanor. 

“It’s okay, I don’t want to force you.” She reaches over slowly, maybe so that if they wanted to back away, they would. They didn’t. It could have been because moving was so unknown, unfamiliar. Or because they regarded Gem as more than just trustworthy; as safe.

The touch burned before it felt like a regular mortal being was actually holding them. She gently encouraged them to move forward, for them to follow her, a smile now plastered on her face. 

 “Come on, Scar, let’s get you home, yea?” 

Home. 

In their last moments before the Successor took over, they remembered his last thoughts were wistfully praying that he’d be let go. Back to wherever here was, where they could pretend his past was long gone and have fun and play— not dangerous— games. Where they could have just a little company. 

The memory made them feel like something was twisting in their gut, their throat closing up with such a tightness it felt like they were forgetting how to breathe. They didn’t remember what that feeling was. But they needed to get rid of it, and Gem’s words were so warm, such a drastic change from the icy wind clawing at each part of them, threatening to freeze them over. 

Gem’s offer didn’t seem to hold the same malice, but when they tried to see into it, see her intentions, they were swiftly reminded their abilities were no longer with them. The similar sensation in their gut came back, and it screamed and yelled at them to run, to get far away. Logically, though, if they were to run, Gem would most likely catch them a lot easier than they’d like to admit. They were not used to having legs that— more or less— work. And if she wanted to kill them she would have already done so. 

So they nod, following her carefully after she takes her hand off their shoulder. She let go, and it still felt like it was there, still felt like it was burning, still felt like it was there to keep it burning. Gem’s touch wasn’t bad, at least they didn’t think so. They hadn’t had any contact with anyone or anything for so long, and perhaps that was why it felt so sudden. So much. They tried to trail behind her as best they could, only becoming more overwhelmed with each step. 

They’re not familiar with so much of this, so many textures, so many potential people around, so many so many so many—

It wasn’t her fault, really. 

She just kept leading on, adding little comments here and there. It was hard to keep paying attention to her when she wasn’t the only one making noise. Grass crunched from underneath them, water was crashing a little while away, Gem’s armor was rattling against itself with every step, there were probably people in the distance, not bothering to keep their voices down. 

Their vision got blurry after a while, their legs felt like mush. They didn’t think it had been that long, though that didn’t make them feel better. They could barely make out Gem’s face, her antlers being the only thing that they could really see. 

Everything was spinning around them, going too fast. Or it could have been that they were going too slow. It hurt to keep their eyes open, but the worry that if they closed them now, the worry it’ll be like before made them try so very hard to not blink.

And despite their best efforts, they felt the impact of hitting the ground before anything else.

And despite themself, they knew their eyes were rolling back into their head. 

At least it wasn’t everything all at once, but now it was— once again— nothing. 

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They woke up, not expecting to be able to feel the softness of whatever they were laying on. They were laying down as well, a position they hadn’t been able to be in before. Though they half expected to be frozen like that, it was certainly a lot more comfortable now than it used to be. They didn’t try to move, at least not for a while, unsure they even could. 

They were talking about them. Not them. Well, maybe it was them technically, but it was still about Scar. The Scar they knew.

“—Just overwhelmed, maybe,” a voice— they could recognize once more as Gem— said, most likely contributing to a conversation that had already started. “I don’t know. He’s been gone for months.”

“Oh, trust me, I’m aware, Gem.” 

Grian. That voice belonged to Grian. They didn’t have the same excitement towards the man as maybe some of the Others did. They didn’t want to like Grian, and as much as They tried to make them favor him, they had leaned towards Gem. 

They thought she’d be smart enough to figure it out. Clearly, they had thought wrong.

They still weren’t moving, afraid to even try, and instead waded through the waters of their mind, through every crevice of newfound sensations, newfound thoughts. It still felt they weren’t their own, as if they were still rifling through someone else’s head. 

They couldn’t tell if they still felt like it was burning, and they were once again worried they were back there again because even with however many sensations their body may have been experiencing, it still felt so far away. 

They realized they were shaking. 

Which was good, they thought. Good that they could move, at least. They couldn’t think much of anything else when trying to refocus on Gem and Grian, whose voices had become slightly raised. 

“That’s not what I meant,” she huffed, inhaling sharply. “I am glad he’s back, I was just— concerned.”

“We all had this after the first Death Game, Gem. Scar shouldn’t feel more violent than, you know, he usually is.”

“But his eyes— even if they weren’t red— they were so empty.”

“Winning a game can be a lot. And Scar was by himself that whole time, even before his, uh, extended hiatus. I think we both know that Scar being alone isn't his favorite thing in the world.” 

“You— Okay, I can see that. I mean I think the Death Games can be a lot for anyone, just on its own. But sure.” She let out a long sigh, as if she hadn’t taken a breath throughout that entire conversation. “I care about him too, Grian. It’s not just you.”

They were both silent for a moment, and for a small second, they thought they had walked away. That was until Grian spoke.

“I know.” His voice was so soft, almost a whisper. “I know. I just— Let’s just make sure to make something fun for when he wakes up. Or at least a cup of water.”

Gem lets out a hum of agreement, and they can’t help but feel that pain in their chest. One that seems bad at first, yet seems to feel more comforting. Even as they hear the door being opened and closed, it remains.

It’s a feeling that, although they barely remembered anything, they know they craved and strived to have it. The feeling of being cared for, of knowing that you’re cared for. 

It was ridiculous, especially as they weren’t even Scar. It was only a matter of time before they found out, before they kicked them right back out for very justifiable reasons. And yet it was hard to deny the temptation of staying, just to feel wanted for even a little while. To have a connection with a real person, a real being. They know it won’t last, as things usually do, but they didn’t see why they couldn't savor this. 

It’s not theirs to savor, they know this. But there’s no one else to provide that connection to them anymore. Even if there was, they don’t remember. It’s frustrating how much they don’t remember, how much they remember about Scar more than they remember about themself. 

They knew they should say something, but the thought of being cast aside was enough to replace the feeling in their chest with a much heavier weight. 

They knew they weren’t Scar, but for now, they could pretend. 

They knew they would be forced to leave eventually, but for now, just for now, they could stay.

[space-apples]

“Are you okay, Scar?”

Scar never wanted to be left behind before. Scar never wanted to be alone before. Scar didn’t think he’d ever want to be away from people, away from connection more than he had already. He didn’t want to do this. Lizzie was frowning, and he didn’t want to do this. Lizzie was asking the very question he had asked so many times— Why, why, why. He couldn’t make himself stop, he couldn’t.

“Oh, I’m— I’m—”

Scar’s breath staggered as Impulse explained more and more, wishing Skizz could have gone somewhere else— anywhere else— for a Heart. His own was beating out of his chest, and he couldn’t stop his hands from shaking as he took out the stick. He had to do this. He had to do this. He wished he didn’t. The explosion of shouts full of righteous rage dragged the fear he tried to keep buried deep and Scar couldn’t do anything else but bolt, making himself even more apprehensive by apologizing. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe.

“Neutral!” Scar nodded his head, refraining the urge to run off again. He couldn’t bear to lock eyes with Grian, he couldn’t, he couldn’t. He smiled weakly.

Joel was yelling at him. They all were yelling at him. He could only hasten his pace, trying his best not to be even more of an idiot and lose health over fall damage. It was hard to focus when the only thing he could hear were screams telling him to take it off. He couldn’t. Of course he fucking couldn’t. He felt sick to his stomach, he felt sick in the head. His body was moving on its own, because of course he couldn’t control his anything he did.

“No— bad! I’m bad—” Grian wouldn’t stop staring at him, the confusion on his face wouldn’t go away, Grian wouldn’t go away, and naturally the one time Scar didn’t want Grian to go near him, the one time— Scar would do anything Grian asked. At least he would if it meant to feel wanted.

(He couldn’t now.)

“Good!” He corrected hastily, chuckling softly. “I’m good!”

Normally Grian saw right through him, and he hoped this time was no different.

Normally Grian would run away from him, and he hoped this time was no different.

It’s never the same. It’s never the same, and that is what will be no different.

[space-apples]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/47493238

if you want to read it here and not on ao3, it’s under the cut !!!

The sun was just rising from the horizon, but Mumbo was awake. It wasn’t the first time– it wouldn’t be the last either– yet he could feel his eyes ever drooping. Despite that, he remained awake, not particularly doing anything but observing, noticing, discerning. Scar was asleep, of course, next to him, and it was times like these that Mumbo was reminded just how beautiful Scar was. His long brown hair, slightly tangled but still woven around his head so delicately that Mumbo could trail his fingers through his husband’s– husband, husband, husband, oh gods his husband’s– hair. The sun’s light was not quite reaching his face, but Scar had still radiated warmth. Even the things that weren’t typically seen as “perfect,” or what wasn’t societally deemed charming, Mumbo paid attention to each detail as if it was the last thing he’d ever pay attention to. Mumbo could only hope that he gave as much warmth to Scar as he did him.

What if Mumbo didn’t? What if he wasn’t enough?

A short yawn and a couple blinks broke Mumbo from his trance, and Scar slightly jolted, giggling softly to himself.

“Well, hello there,” he said groggily. “It’s so early, why’re you awake already?”

Mumbo’s soft smile grew ever more sheepish as he tried to think of a legitimate reason other than ‘I thought my husband was pretty.’ or, ‘I thought you were pretty.’

“Oh, uh– I dunno– Uh– I was– I was looking at– Looking for uhm–”

Scar was waiting patiently, although his eyes were still half lidded, and his blinks were getting longer each time he started to close his eyes.

“Oh geez. I’ve bored you already.” Mumbo brang a hand up to his forehead, probably attempting to hide his face, but Scar grabbed it before he fell down a self-hatred spiral.

“No, my love, you’re not boring me,” he started. “It’s just that it’s five– six o’clock in the morning, and I was too busy staring at you last night to actually go to sleep.”

Mumbo could only get out one word of surprise.

“Oh.”

But his thoughts clouded and interrupted each other in a fit of… excitement? Being Flustered? Either way, all he could think of was oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, he was looking at me, he was looking at me, he was looking at me, I want to hold him and never let him go. Mumbo cleared his throat.

“O-Oh,” he repeated, simply. His ears had turned bright pink.

“Oh,” Scar also said, another giggle escaping his lips. Scar kissed his forehead, and Mumbo’s ears turned even redder as he went back to sleep.

Mumbo flipped out his communicator, quite almost immediately, in a frightful mess.

< Mumbo Jumbo > Whispers to Grian… Oh my gosh, dude. What do I even do, oh my gosh.

< Grian > Whispers to you... well. you could always use tnt?

< Grian > Whispers to you... give them a little scare. touch their redstone. start wars.

He rolled his eyes, chuckling softly to himself. Mumbo supposed he should have given context, because of course Grian would suggest something like that if he didn’t know what was going on. To be honest, Grian probably would suggest something like that even if he did know what was going on.

< Mumbo Jumbo > Whispers to Grian… Sorry. I’m talking about Scar.

< Mumbo Jumbo > Whispers to Grian… He’s just so sweet, Grian.

< Grian > Whispers to you... oh

< Grian > Whispers to you... im guessing youre not going to use the tnt then?

< Mumbo Jumbo > Whispers to Grian…Definitely not.

< Grian > Whispers to you... boring

Mumbo rolled his eyes, and thinking that was the end of it, he closed his communicator. Until it buzzed again.

Grian blew up.

< Grian > Whispers to you... see? im not boring like you gay people

He cackled before putting it away– really, this time– and traveled quickly to see if Grian needed any help getting his stuff back.

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The day had started out well enough, but that high of being near his husband and having fun with Grian was slowly fading. Mumbo needed to finish this stupid project. It was so close to being finished, all he had to do was set all of the redstone to be in its place, but Mumbo’s head started hurting after a few hours. He couldn’t really understand why. Sure, he was sleep deprived, but it shouldn’t have been as terrible as he felt at this current moment. He felt a buzz from his communicator, and while he really did want to check it, he decided against it in an attempt to stop the repeated pulsing that was going on in his head. He needed to focus on trying to get this redstone pulse to start going, anyways.

The comm buzzed again, and he forced himself to place it where he couldn’t see it; he couldn’t finish this project if his migraine got worse, and he didn’t want to think about how bad it would get if he stared at his electronic device for too long.

It faintly buzzed for a third time while Mumbo put it in his bag, and he bit his lip, wondering if it was important. He faintly wondered if he didn’t answer now, would he get in trouble? Would people be mad at him?

What if whoever was messaging him was in trouble, and all he was doing was setting up pointless redstone contraptions. What if whoever was messaging him was dying, was asking him for help, and he wasn’t looking because if Mumbo so much as blinked too hard, his head would scream at him.

This was stupid. He was stupid. He should just check the goddamn thing.

And– No. It would be fine, Mumbo thought. It wouldn’t be that big of a deal. People don’t answer messages all the time, and so far nothing tragic has happened. Mumbo compelled himself to keep going, to avoid checking whatever messages he had gotten, and to just take a deep breath. It would be fine. He would be fine.

Still, still, that nagging voice that had stuck into his brain kept asking him the same thing; what if he wasn’t good enough?

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Mumbo, per usual, wasn’t sure if he knew what was going on. His migraine had alleviated over the next few hours, albeit slightly, but coming back home had made it spike right back up again. Scar was sitting at the table, spinning the small spoon in his tea. Scar looked at the cup so intently, it was like he was trying to memorize each individual tea leaf. Normally, Mumbo would come home before Scar. Normally, Mumbo would notice the slight tremble in his partner’s hands, the slight quiver in his voice as he said his greetings, the nervous and terrified look his eyes seemed to possess.

Normally, when Scar would ask Mumbo about his day, he’d go on about all the different changes in the flowers scattered across his and Grian’s base, about the changes he made in his vault, the work he’d done, the redstone that gave Scar a headache when Mumbo would try to explain. But now–

“It was good,” was the short and simple reply to Scar’s question. Scar seemed to deflate in response to his words, and normally– normally– Mumbo would notice. But his head felt like it was splitting into pieces, and he couldn’t act the way he ordinarily would. On any other day, he would have wanted to ask what was wrong, what he could do, but right now? All Mumbo wanted to do was sleep.

“Have– Have I done something wrong?” It was so quiet Mumbo almost missed it. Almost.

“What?” Mumbo finally, finally truly opened his eyes to see Scar nervously fidgeting with the different sets of earrings. “Not– Not at all, dear. Have I done something to make you feel like you’ve done something wrong?”

Scar shrunk a bit more into himself. Ah. So that’s a yes. Guilt poured through his chest, and despite not knowing what he did, Scar was upset. He was the one who made Scar upset. He wanted to cry, he wanted to berate himself and never show his face ever again. Mumbo’s head was screaming, shouting at him– not enough, not enough, not enough, not enough– before he shut that down. This was about Scar. He could resolve his own guilt later.

“What’s going on, love?” Mumbo’s voice was soft– partly because saying things too loudly made his headache worse, mostly because he didn’t want Scar to feel more upset than he already was.

Scar bit his lip, as if he was hesitant to share. At that, Mumbo continued, trying to ignore the blaring spikes in his head.

“I want to help soothe whatever is making you feel–” Like you’re not enough. “–whatever it is you’re feeling right now. But– But I can’t stop doing something that makes you feel bad if– if you don’t tell me. I’m a genius, but erm– I haven’t figured out how to read minds yet. Unfortunately, erm– Unfortunately Minecraft Redstone For Dummies doesn’t exactly cover it.”

Scar gave a half smile, and that should have been enough to make Mumbo’s headache go away, if that was at all how headaches worked. But– he frowned again, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

“I don’t want to make a big deal–”

“Sorry to interrupt, my love, you know I really enjoy hearing what you have to say– But this is a big deal,” he said, and rushed to his next words upon seeing Scar’s expression. “And that’s alright! Things are– Things are allowed to be a big deal.”

A few seconds passed, then a minute. And though Mumbo’s migraine was getting ever so worse, he stayed, patiently waiting for Scar to share however little or however much he wanted to.

“We– Gods, this is going to sound so stupid, but I got really– I got really nervous when I woke up by myself this morning, because I– I didn’t know where you went.” Scar wasn’t looking at Mumbo in the eye, yet Mumbo hoped Scar knew that he wasn’t angry at him as he was talking.

“I’m not– I don’t really know why it bothered me so much, but then I messaged you after I had a scary time in the nether, but I didn’t get a response, and then– I guess– I guess I’m just used to hearing a lot about your day. I love hearing about your day, because you just– you have this contagious excitement whenever you’re talking about random redstone mumbo jumbo that I have absolutely zero clue on what you’re talking about. Redstone mumbo jumbo–” he repeated the words. “–it makes you so happy, and you, Mumbo Jumbo. You make me happy. But today– it might be an off day, or something, because I just– I was worried that I wasn’t making you feel happy anymore.”

Near the end, Scar became more quiet, slumping even more, and looked down at his hands self consciously. In return, Mumbo gently cupped Scar’s face with his own hand, tracing his cheek lightly tracing one of Scar’s horns with the other.

“Scar, I don’t think you understand how happy I am when I’m with you, Just– just thinking about you makes my chest beat a little bit faster.” Mumbo gently grabbed his husband’s hand, putting it lightly against his own chest. “Honestly, I don’t even know if you can feel it. I don’t know how that works, but I– I hope you get the sentiment.”

Scar’s face crinkled in small amusement, and Mumbo continued.

“I– I’ve had a horrid migraine this whole day,” he admitted. “I’m sorry I didn’t communicate that.”

Scar’s eyes widened, and he broke Mumbo’s hold by placing his head in his hands.

“O-Oh gods, that– Makes a whole lot more sense.”

“No need to be upset with yourself, love–”

“I’m not– I mean, I slightly am, but only because I didn’t notice.”

“Scar, it’s not a physical thing, I don’t expect you to notice a physical thing,” Mumbo said lightly.

“It’s not a physical thing, but you do physical things when you’re in pain,” Scar murmured. “You furrow your eyebrows sometimes. You– you do this thing where you pinch your nose with your fingers. Your voice gets really strained when you try and talk, and–”

Mumbo’s ears were turning pink in embarrassment.

“I– I didn’t realize how you– how much I– Am I that predictable?”

“Mumbo, I don't think you understand how much I love you.” Scar softly smiled, lightly bonking his forehead against Mumbo’s. Ow. “You’re not predictable– Well, maybe you are a little bit– but that’s only because we’ve been together for so long.”

Mumbo’s ears turned a darker shade of red.

“O-Oh,” he fumbled over his words. “G-Gosh darn it, Scar, I was trying to help you, and now you’ve– Oh gosh–”

Scar stifled giggles before responding.

“You have helped me. You’ve helped me more than you know.”

“...Really?” Just like Scar previously, Mumbo was hesitant to believe it. He didn’t think he was particularly helpful. He didn’t think he was particularly good enough. Scar pulled away from the hold to kiss him lightly on the forehead, as if that would cure his blazing headache.

“I mean– all of my silly little insecurities won’t go away in an instant, but I– you being around me at all just makes me feel a bit better. You don’t even have to do anything, if I know you aren’t tired of me or something.”

“I could never be tired of you,” Mumbo hastily said, and Scar softly smiled.

“And I could never be tired of you, sunshine. You– You make me happy, is what I’m trying to say. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone who’s made me as happy as you have.”

Oh. Oh. That. Oh.

Mumbo didn’t know how to respond, and apparently Scar knew that, because he stood up, walking with his cane over to the kitchen. He came back after a few seconds, holding a couple of Advil pills and a glass of water.

Mumbo was amazed, to say the least.

“Can you– Can you mindread?”

Scar giggled.

“No, sunshine. I’ve been married to you for two years,” he said fondly. “Now go to sleep.”

Mumbo wanted to stay up later, but the pain in his head made it pretty difficult to argue, plus, Scar was warm, and he didn’t want to leave that alone.

Sometimes Scar’s heart was so warm it burned himself, and Mumbo knew this.

He was really hoping Scar wasn’t deflecting his own issues to comfort Mumbo’s, but once he remembered the words his husband had spoken he couldn’t stop thinking about them.

“You have helped me. You’ve helped me more than you know.”

And maybe– just maybe– Mumbo’s worries about not being good enough lessened.

And as Mumbo snuggled in closer towards Scar, maybe his worries about being unloved had lessened, too.

Like Scar had said earlier, it wouldn’t be rid of right off the bat, but maybe– maybe they didn’t have to get rid of their “What if”’s– at least, not completely.

Because, as much as Scar wonders, “What if he doesn’t love me?” he should counter with, “But what if he does?”

Maybe that would be good enough for now.

Either way, Mumbo would be good enough– not just for now, and he wasn’t just good enough– he was more than that. He was Mumbo; and that made him ethereal.

[space-apples]

because i have issues im going to talk about the most minuscule thing i noticed in the first limited life regarding desert duo, and since im a theatre kid, im making it dramatic skdjskd

i saw a user on here (unfortunately i don’t know the @ but i know i’m following them </3) have one the best takes about desert duo.

grian will sacrifice other people for their safety, and scar will sacrifice himself for other people’s safety.

the sheer symbolism of scar having a diamond hoe and grian having a diamond sword in regards to said take.

scar wants to live, rather than survive. he’s tired of being alone. he’s tired of feeling like at any moment he’ll fall into a dark spiral. he’s tired of being tired. he’s trying to fix it. he’s trying to move forward.

grian isn’t as self aware; he’s trying to survive. he’s willing to betray, to lie, to kill, anything. grian will be the first person to admit he has issues, but whether he does something about it is a different story.

all i’m saying is that there’s a reason why grian was the one who killed and scar was the one who died. which brings me to my next point; scar’s self destructiveness.

his many deaths are seen as normal, as comedic. even in limited life when he died almost every pov i watched were something along the lines of like “scar died??? oh, well, that’s very on brand.” everyone’s so desensitized, even scar himself. we’ve seen in almost every traffic varient how reckless and impulsive scar can be, but grian?

grian’s reckless, but not in the way scar is. his reckless acts are rationalized to make it sound like a good idea, because some of it is based on logical things. man uses stacks upon stacks upon stacks of tnt because it’s bound to kill one of the dogwartz army, right? as long as that happens, it’s worth it to destroy his (and scar’s) home and blow it into smithereens. it might be something to note that grian’s normalized this violence, not just people doing it to him, but to him doing it to other people.

in other words, they’re both in desperate need of therapy and i am also overthinking this small little detail.

also grian cut out the desert duo moment that scar included in his video and i am So Upset/nam.

[space-apples]

writing some of the posts that i had on my other account lol. (@stiffyck @cryptic-bee hope you don’t mind the tag, but you two seemed to like this one lol)

———

after grian talks about his watcher trauma to scar, he says he doesn’t really want comfort, and so scar, a genius, goes:

“i’m sorry that happened. i’m sure you couldn’t have seen it coming.”

and grian calls him an idiot, but scar can see the small smile that he attempted to hide.

the thought of making grian smile, even after talking about his incredibly horrible experiences with omnipotent beings was enough for him.

and unbeknownst to scar, the way the joke was so out of pocket made grian feel like he was… normal, for lack of a better word. scar made him feel like he was normal, even tho they both were far from it. still, still, it was enough for him. scar was enough for him.

maybe one day grian would be able to tell him.

————

on the flip side, scar starts talking about his his backstory (tcd), and grian trying to do what scar did, goes.

“wow- uh- i bet you wouldn’t be found dropped dead near one of those then, huh?”

but it goes very very wrong because scar starts actually crying and grian’s like fuck man, that did not work sjsodhskdh.

he apologizes, but doesn’t stop scar from crying his heart out because grian knows that it’s the first real cry he’s let out in a long time. if he held on tightly to his hand as if it would disappear at any moment, grian wouldn’t mention it. no, instead he would reciprocate that touch.

and for the first time in a long time, scar would feel warm.

[space-apples]

@loveroped :] <3

“You’re still here?”

He was so cold. He shouldn’t have been able to recognize this as the void, but he did. He’s been here too many times— more than anyone should ever be there. Maybe he deserved it.

A soft shaky sigh of regret left his lips, anyway. Just because he deserved it doesn’t mean Tango did. Jimmy couldn’t feel pain anymore; not in a physical sense, anyhow.

“It’s over.”

Everything was gone. The void was so overwhelmingly vast. He didn’t want to go somewhere new. It was his fault everyone kept losing their lives.

“Go home.”

Double Life was too long ago. He couldn’t remember how long, but all that was left was the scar on his neck where the Enderman had given the final blow. A couple more were littered across his legs, but he couldn’t remember how he got injured. There were a lot of things he wished he could remember.

There were a lot more he wished he could forget.

But here he was, standing at the edge of his own empire, lonely staring down across Tumble Town. He wouldn’t let himself hope— it was futile. Jimmy knew better than to hope. Even so, a portal had been opened. Way bigger than any one that would lead to the Nether. Still, still, it wouldn’t be fair to hope. But… he missed Grian. He missed Tango. Hell, he even missed Scar.

Even though he probably would have killed them all. He did kill them all.

No. Especially with whatever’s been happening with Joel, with FWhip, with being a toy, with death being ever so constant, why should hope be a feeling that stays with him. He was an idiot for thinking, even for a second, that it would be worth dreaming.

“Home.”

This wasn’t real. This definitely should not have been real. Scar, in the flesh, obliviously enjoying everything around him. Grian, he was here— he wasn’t bloodied or lifeless, he was here— absolutely, positively annoying. And-

Oh.

“Is that—” He was alive. Suddenly it didn’t matter anymore. “Is that my rancher?”

Maybe, for the first time in a long time, Jimmy beamed.

[space-apples]

Scar could feel his strength diminishing as he tried to push himself back up, and the horror finally sunk into his chest. His hands were clammy, his heart was breathing too fast for him to focus, his head was too muddled and convoluted to even pick a single thought out. The wind was biting his neck and he wouldn’t bear to let himself look down. Maybe he should. Scar was known for getting himself out of sticky situations, why should this one be any different?

He let his chin meet his chest as he looked down the ravine below him, and a shiver rose up his spine. Pearl had fallen down first. The small hope that she might be okay was evaporating into the air, the hope that he would be okay was evaporating into the air. Mumbo begged them not to go. They didn’t listen. Scar felt sick. His whole body was burning. His head was throbbing, his fingers numb from holding tightly for so long, and he could still feel the blood dripping down his neck.

Then a bird trill; a very, extremely angry bird trill. In response, Scar’s shrinking hope steadily started to grow.

He could identify Grian no matter how far away they were— their wings being one of the most prominent attributes. The vibrant tricolored wings were there and it was usually so comforting, the sight of Grian was usually enough to make all of Boatem feel a little bit lighter.

But just as soon as that came, it crashed back into minuscule pieces. Scar could feel his hand slipping again, and this time, he couldn’t catch himself.

He was going to die.

He was going to die.

Scar would never be able to apologize to Impulse for the bitter words he spoke. All five of them brought something to the table, and he had felt like nothing; they both had felt like nothing. Now he was going to die, and he felt sick. He felt sick.

He just hoped it would be a welcoming embrace.

He couldn’t hope for much anymore, anyway.

[space-apples]

@hopepetal hi <3

“Pearl? Are you al—” She didn’t even let Grian finish his sentence as she walked passed him, slightly shoving their shoulders together. It was childish. It was foolish. It was petty.

But Pearl was upset. For Grian to be completely oblivious to it felt… demeaning, almost. She supposed the only emotion people would ever be able to get from her was ferocity. She felt her ears tug, and she wanted nothing more than to stay still.

“I’m fine,” she snapped, turning around so Grian couldn’t see her shaking hands. Unfortunately, she knew her friend-basically-brother well enough to know that he wouldn’t leave this well alone. Fuck him. Fuck this. She didn’t have to listen to this, she was Pearl. The one who was avoided during seasons because— because she was wild.

A wild card. A wild animal. 5am Pearl. Wild. Wild.

“That clearly isn’t true.” True to her words, Grian pushed. He meant well, truly, but Pearl still felt as though she needed to get out of here. “Come on, Pearl, I know you like the back of my hand— I can— I can see that isn’t true. We’re— we’re friends, remember?”

The words were barked out like an order, as if all she could understand was fucking barking.

“Pearl, friends— Pearl friends, stop, stop, stop, stop, stop, stop—”

She supposed that wild ferocious scary feral— would all they’d ever see her as. She was a wolf hybrid, but— but she certainly she couldn’t have—

“You’ve got a wild one on your side, Grian.”

“Pearl?” Grian repeated in response to her silence, startling Pearl out of her thoughts.

“I’m fine.” Lie. “I just— I need some time for myself, I think.” She never wants to be alone again, she never wants to be alone again. But Grian probably was lying— Grian probably hated her, he probably hated her so much.

“Are you— Are you sure?”

“Yea.” No. “I’m sure.”

Grian bit his lip, clearly debating with himself.

“You sure you’re alright with me leaving?” Fuck him for knowing her so well. Fuck her for wanting him to leave, for wanting him to stay, for wanting… Pearl didn’t know what she wanted anymore. Her gaze shifted back to Grian as he spoke again. “I just— I just remember you, erm, you didn’t like being left alone when we were back on Evo—”

“You did leave,” she blurted, before she could stop herself. He hates you, is all the reason she could think of then. Now she knows the reasons, but still, still; “You left. When I was back on Evo.”

He flinched. “Pearl—”

“You don’t know me, Grian!” She wanted to sound angry, but it came out more like a desperate cry. It didn’t help that her ears drooped involuntarily. “All we’ve ever seen each other do is watch, and right now I need you—”

His eyes looked so sad, so hurt, so guilty.

“—I need you to go.”

Grian looked down at his hands.

“You’re right, Pearl,” He murmured, and it was only then did Pearl realize he was shaking. “Maybe I— Maybe I don’t know you.”

With that, he splayed his wings, hurriedly flying off and leaving her alone.

Alone.

Alone.

[space-apples]

ive done it again folks! made angst about when i laughed the hardest.

(@hopepetal )

“I’m cursed, Zera, you can’t—”

“I can.” Zera’s eyes turned purple, and Space never thought he’d be scared of them until this very moment. It was for a split second; Space’s fear dissipated as soon as it came, but it was long enough for Zera to notice.

Zera always saw everything, after all.

“I thought you said you’d do anything to survive,” he said, taking a small breath to calm themself down. Their tone was bitter, but Space didn’t care.

“I would, but why would I—” He lowered his voice, as if They wouldn’t be able to hear this conversation. They would. They always would. He mirrored Zera with his own sharp words. “Why would I want you to put yourself in danger, Zera? I— Honestly, I’m fucking fine with being red, and, you know, I’m feeling way less dizzy now.”

“You think you can lie to me, Space? Of all people— I literallycan see. Everything. It’s sickening.”

“I erm… hope you feel better soon.”

“Space.”

“What—? it was getting too serious for me,” he scratched the back of his head sheepishly. “Last session I couldn’t crack one joke cause my head was too busy cracking itself open—”

“Space.”

“Zera.”

“It’s getting serious because I need you to take this seriously.”

“I am. I- I do,” he murmured, bringing themselves to talk how they would normally; loud, with a tint of fear, light enough to go unnoticed by almost everyone. “You know that just because they’re heartless monsters doesn’t mean you are.”

“…I know.”

“Do you?” At Zera’s silence, he switched gears, trying his best to keep them as safe as possible, even though he knew it was a lost cause. “I really, really, don’t want you to do this for me. They’re going to be angry, and— it doesn’t go well when they’re angry. For you and for me.”

They didn’t respond once again. Instead, they closed their eyes, and Space knew what was coming. Zera was too stubborn to back off, anyway.

He felt the life coming back with the warmth that started sprouting in his chest. It felt like a breath of fresh air, like he’d been stuck underwater and finally got pushed to the surface.

Red Life symptoms can consist of homicidal ideation, urges, and actions towards oneself and others. Is often sadistic and reckless. Their self preservation all depends on the individual, but most of the time, it becomes much smaller. Affiliations with such people is a cautionary tale at best.

Space wasn’t red anymore, thanks to Zera, but he couldn’t bring himself up to look at the admin.

“Thank you, Watcher Zera.” Xiara. “Say hi to Jay for me.”

He didn’t hear a response, nor did he notice the full body flinch of his friend. Space finally turned around, only to find that he was now alone in the caves.

-

“Open the door, open the door, open the door now.” Space’s breath was shaky, his body racked with terror. He was so close to death, and there was a husk right behind him, there was a husk right behind him, there was a husk right behind him.

The bottom cobblestone block broke, and he ran inside, crashing into the rest of the sillies confused and concerned faces.

“Want some enrichment?” Elle said, offering some in the form of bamboo. Her eyes sparkled concern, but she didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to.

Space took the bamboo, smiling softly before hearing the groans of desert zombies and the rattling bones of skeletons.

“The husks, they’re— they—“ Space took a breath. “—killed me before.”

“It’s true,” Wilm whispered, as if they all didn’t see the death message on their comn. “I was there.”

Space was given cooked rabbit, he didn’t know from who (Brandy had slaughtered so many rabbits, it was probably them), but now they all were out of food.

Unfortunately Elle’s enrichment bamboo could not keep them fed.

This was stupid. Space was stupid. It was just a husk, he’ll be fine to just kill some stupid rabbits. It was fine. There was no reason to be scared of anything.

A husk appeared out of nowhere. He screamed, agony filling his chest the same way Zera had given him life before. The cruel irony of yet again being killed by the same undead creature, but this time he didn’t have the excuse of a migraine, was sick.

Zera had given Space a gift. But as everyone should know, throwing something into the void was wasteful. Space wasn’t just space, he was Empty Space, quite similar to the void. Cursed to forever take, cursed to forever lose.

Space knew that to the Watcher’s above that it was entertaining, and he could hear their laughter echoing in his ears.

[space-apples]

@hopepetal and @happy-hermit are involved in this post, but others have been mentioned.

context: zera is an eight year old prince, and jay is the new ruler of the kingdom. jay’s married to stiff there’s also magic, and space can read auras. it isn’t actual aura reading like irl, so take everything with a grain of salt lol. that’s all you need and that’s all i’m willing to give <3. skskjdodjs hope you enjoy <3

if i write more i’ll explain zera and jay’s aura in more depth lol

-

Space, like usual, had no idea what was going on. Their ruler was in the gardens, glaring at the pristine manicured rose bushes as if they personally betrayed her. Normally, this wouldn’t have bothered Space. Rose bushes hurt to run into, and he should know. What was strange was that neither Stiff nor Zera was in sight. Jay was normally not without the two, ever since— Well— things happened, and they had returned from the war. He couldn’t blame them, really. Jay never expected to become ruler so early.

None of them did. Jay had become one of the youngest rulers in history, yet no one batted a goddamn eye. She was a good, reliable ruler. Maybe that’s why Space’s heart hurt as much as it did. It wasn’t like Jay was twelve, but they were so young.

He didn’t know where Stiff was, but Zera was in their room. The tell-tale sign was the sniveling, the yellow aura emanating even from behind the door. This, too, was strange. Zera was crying. Alone. Jay was not with them, Stiff was no where to be seen.

He knocked gently, and the quiet sobs were immediately brought to a stand still.

“Go away, Jay, I don’t— I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Lucky for you, then,” Space said softly. “‘s just me.”

“…Space?”

Their aura sparked. Orange, blue, orange, red, red, red.

“The one and only! Well— technically there’s a whole lot of space, but—”

“I don’t wanna joke right now.”

“Okay.” Space frowned, but accepted the request nonetheless. “Okay, kid, that’s alright. Serious talk time. Could you let me in?”

Silence. Then the small pitter-patter of footsteps. Then the rustling of a doorknob. Then the door tentatively opening.

Zera wouldn’t look up at Space, instead, their gaze was aimed at the floor as if he was ashamed. Only a few moments later, Space was holding one of Zera’s bee plushies.

“Jay’s gonna leave soon, I think,” they blurted, shrinking into themself. “They love Stiff now and they don’t need me anymore.”

“I’m sure that isn’t true.”

“It is! It is! They’re gonna go and they’re gonna leave me like everyone else.”

“Well,” Space started. “Have I left you?”

“…No,” Zera admitted, his aura spiking green, orange, green, red, green, red, red, so much red. “But you almost did. And it was cause of me.”

Oh. Oh dear. Oh dear.

“Kiddo—”

“It was my fault!” Red, orange. “It was my fault and you don’t even know it!” Green, red, yellow, red. “You’re saying it’s okay when it isn’t! I don’t deserve it, and Jay—”

“Kiddo, you know I don’t normally like interrupting you, but please, hear me out, okay?” There wasn’t normally this much red in their aura. The red barely ever overpowered the yellow.

From outside the door, Space could sense the green and black warm aura, but he didn’t pay attention to it. This was more important.

Zera nodded, albeit hesitantly, and Space continued. “Remember what I said about the bad men?” He shook his head. “That’s alright, I’ll repeat it. The bad men didn’t care if you were the best or the worst, and they didn’t care if I was the best or the worst. They just wanted to hurt people to hurt them.”

“They hurt me, firefly. Not you. This wasn’t your fault, okay?” Zera’s frown grew, and Space quickly carried on. “And even if you were bad, which you’re not, who says bad people don’t deserve love either? You don’t need to be worthy to be lovable, kiddo.”

“But—”

“Again, your highness, you know I don’t like interrupting, but I want you to listen to what I’m saying, yea?” Another nod. Spikes of blue, green, blue, red, red, yellow. “You don’t have to believe me, but I urge you to consider it. You do not need to be worthy to be loved. And Jay? Jay’s heart is so so big, kiddo. It holds the kingdom and all the people in it. Stiff, Bee, me you— especially you.”

Just then, there was a knock at the door. The aura from before— dark green, black, splashes of what could only be described as warmth. Jay.

“It’s your sibling,” he whispered. “Can I let them in?”

Zera fidgeted with the bottom of his shirt. Red, red, yellow, purple. Instead of nodding, the prince got out of his bed, and apprehensively opened the door themself.

“Zera, I came to apologize to you,” she said immediately. Their eyes spiked in nervousness, in fear, in regret. Bending down to Zera’s height, her words became ever more soft. “You’re growing bigger. And I— well I didn’t think you’d want me around as much. I suppose I just thought because of what—”

“Please, I don’t want you to leave, Blue Jay,” Zera said. “Please stay, please stay.”

“Oh, love.” Jay wrapped their arms around her little sibling. “I wasn’t going to leave you, I was just— trying to give you some room to breathe.”

“So you— so you still love me?” Zera asked desperately, his voice trembling.

“I could never stop.”

Zera sobbed, and Jay could only hold him tighter. And Space— well, Space felt like he was intruding. So he tried to quietly get out of the room, doing his best to scooch out and back into the hallway. Before he could reach the door, a hand grabbed his arm, pulling him into the hug that he definitely didn’t think he should be a part of.

But it was nice, so he didn’t pull away. Zera’s aura (yellow, orange, blue, yellow, yellow, yellow) entangled with Jay’s (dark green and black shouldn’t have been as warm as it was, but Jay was living proof that it was possible).

.

.

.

.

.

.

..

Zera had basically fallen asleep in their bed, and Space couldn’t help but sigh fondly at the peaceful deep breathing the kid had started doing.

“Thank you.”

It was so random, so sudden that Space jerked back.

“For— For what, Your Majesty?”

“I think you know,” she said, smiling gratefully. “I— I heard what you were saying before, and just— thank you.”

“It— I mean— it wasn’t a problem. Zera’s a good kid.”

“He is.”

After a little while, Space leaves Jay alone in Zera’s room, turning left in order to go back to the knight barracks.

He was supposed to go to the right, and he came back a while later, itching his head, quite confused. Sheepishly asking Jay how to get back, she narrowed their eyes.

“I think it’s right.”

“Yea, I thought I went the right way, too.”

“No— Space—”

It took a bit longer to actually get back, to say the least. How Space managed to know so much emotional intelligence, yet still doesn’t know his left and rights will never not be a mystery.

[space-apples]

along with zera, i also wrote a silly little thing <333

@whilmsy :D

Space’s head hurt.

He had been getting more and more nauseous throughout the day, periodically blanking out and needing to sit down for a while.

“Don’t wait for me, man,” he had told Wilm, getting frustrated with himself by needing to stop to hold a hand to his head. “I’m just gonna get some sand for some TNT.”

He grinned softly to himself before wincing. It said something about him to know he found comfort in a block that caused nothing but carnage. Space didn’t remember where they met Zera, or perhaps Zera came to them. Either way, it didn’t matter. It never did with Space, did it?

The world had froze— or at least to him it did. Space didn’t even have the chance to feel the pain of losing a life until it was gone.

Space’s head hurt, his head hurt, and he couldn’t see the skeleton. Was he burning? It felt like every inch of his skin was engulfed in something he couldn’t name, and suddenly—

Suddenly Space was back in spawn.

He wanted to scream in frustration. Maybe he did, maybe he didn’t, he couldn’t remember.

Space couldn’t register the messages that were spamming in his comn, he was too light headed, was floating too much outside of his body to even register.

It was fine. He was fine. Everything was fine. Everything was fine, and— Zera. Zera. The parrot spawned next to him, fresh burn scars littering their face.

“Z-Zera, oh my gods, how did you—”

“Lava.”

“O-oh.” Space scratched the back of his head awkwardly. “Was the erm… was the boogey chosen?”

“Yea, actually! Chem, they- it’s how Wilm lost their blue life.”

Space was Yellow, but they felt like seeing red. How dare they, how dare they. It was a Boogey, it wasn’t like Chem had much of a choice, but Wilm was his friend, Wilm was his friend, and Space wasn’t there to help, Space wasn’t there to help, Space wasn’t there to help; maybe it wasn’t Chem he truly was angry at.

Zera had left, probably back to Jay, but Space couldn’t remember. His memory tended to worsen when he had migraines. Space opened his— not really his, not really his, it was his little brother’s— comn, quickly messaging the friend that had gotten… in their words, “sillied.”

< bleedingpheonix4 > whispers to 0rPh3u5_… where are you?

(Space’s little brother liked the imagery of a being who’s reborn from death, that to even be reborn in the first place you have to bleed. The motherfucker was poetic.)

< 0rPh3u5_ > whispers to you… -222 18

< bleedingpheonix4 > whispers to 0rPh3u5_… i can come to you?

< 0rPh3u5_ > whispers to you… sure!

He put the comn down only to put a hand to his forehead once more. He couldn’t look at the thing right now, not with this ridiculous migrane.

-

Everything was fine. Truly, it was! He was on two hearts, but it was fine! He had a bird now, that’s all that mattered. Space creatively named it Feathers, because he couldn’t think of anything else. In fact, his head was throbbing too much to even think.

Which is why when the zombie snuck up behind him he once again didn’t have the chance to defend himself.

Gods, there was something wrong with him. There was something incredibly wrong with him. He woke up at spawn for the third time that day, oh gods the third time that day, the third time that day, he was an idiot, he was an idiot, breathing heavily. His frown grew he brought a hand to his forehead for the umpteenth time.

Space’s head hurt. His head hurt so much.

[space-apples]

coughs in 3rd life sk8 the infinity au

i don’t know who reki or langa is yet, but joe is gtwscar and cherry is grian.

i will be thinking about this for the foreseeable future.

[space-apples]

intro post !!

hi !! you can call me space. i use he/they like a baddie. my ao3 is sp_aceapples :]

#spaceapples writes is where you can find my writing !! i’ll add some more lol. my ao3 is sp_aceapples, and i haven’t posted anything on in for a while because of silly insecurities, but i will be posting on it more !! :D

#spaceapples rambles is pretty self explanatory i’d say !! just rambling :]

#space asks is also self explanatory haha

BYI/BYF:

im an angst writer. very rarely i’ll give comfort lol. i’ll mostly give it an #angst tag when it is there, and i’ll give comfort every two to three millennia (/hyp).

sometimes i do in fact do ship posts (not real people, just characters), so if you’re uncomfortable with that, i don’t suggest following.

im not a very big dsmp person! actually, im not a fan of c! or cc!dream at all haha. it’s very much a comfort reason i’d rather not share, especially not on here. so yea lol, hermitcraft and good omens (and sometimes the owl house, tma, and don’t hug me i’m scared content) is what i mainly do/post/reblog

speaking of reblogging, i spam reblog. quite a lot.

[space-apples]

i lost my tumblr account right as it started to get popular im gonna sob.

[space-apples]

@stiffyck helllooooo

postung this bc as much as i love scarian angst (i indulge myself and a lot of what i post is hurt/no comfort (which might change actually don’t tell anyone) but you know shhhh) i would like to see them happy

(qpr scarian btw <3) (bc i’m aroace <3) (and i headcanon scar as aroace <333)

have some fluffy headcanons:

- they do lots of forehead kisses !! almost every night, even before they became anything they gave each other a forehead kiss just all the time

- grian sometimes he cards his fingers through scar’s hair very very softly as they’re going to sleep

- they’re extremely clingy. like extremely annoyingly clingy /pos

- scar likes to fall asleep after grian because he likes to admire how pretty he is

- they talk about star wars for hours upon hours upon hours and then stop talking about it and then start again

- grian carefully and softly traces scar’s scars a lot :3

- when scar is having a nightmare, he tries to hide it from grian (but since i hc gri as a light sleeper he normally wakes up even when scar doesn’t say anything about it to him), but grian knows he’s upset anyways and unless scar starts to talk about it himself (bc he knows scar might get uncomfortable if he asks) he makes tea for both of them and gets out a book to read and just sit with him until they fall asleep

- sometimes scar doesn’t like physical touch that much, and when he doesn’t, he interlinks their pinkys :D

- grian wakes up early. but also cannot cook

- one time he tried surprising scar with a breakfast in bed and half of the things he made were burnt LMAOO

- grian kills every zombie he sees in hopes scar never sees or hears them (tcd scar <3)

i’ll post more if they’re wanted, i have lots in my notes app LAWKSKAJDKDBEHE