#u and i are the same anon <3

[inkykeiji]

Touya-nii being an actual psychopath and getting off on fucking me till im actuallyyyy in tears then cuddling me after while watching my fav movie like ily my princess. what is better than that?!?

this is an actual dream anon <333 he has those asshole to the world sweetheart to his girl trope type vibes when he’s not being emotionally abusive and manipulative ofc <3 exactly tho!!! like that’s the thing; touya-nii would be so fucking good at aftercare like 90% of the time (aka when he deems you ‘deserve’ it, which is most of the time after punishment—even if he was really furious at you. if you take your punishment for him, he’s proud of you, he loves you, he’s going to treat you like the precious lil princess you are; his precious lil princess <3—and all of the time after sex, always). whatever you want, whatever you want to do, it’s all yours in an instant <3 anything for his baby! you do have to sit still like a good little girl while he cleans you up first though, meticulously examining your body for any wounds that need to be treated, bites that need to be cleaned, bruises he needs to be aware and weary of, no ifs, ands, or buts about it! as he takes inventory of your injuries, he also makes a mental list of what you need, whether it be water/food or medication or words of affirmation or a bath or your favourite fluffy pjs + matching plushie, and he’s sure your needs are fully met before he allows you to begin making requests <3

[hinamie]

to moving forward

[hungharrington]

something about teasing steve in public to the point where he's just flustered and so whiny and can barely keep a conversation... aaah

MMMM ANON U ARE SPEAKING MY LANGUAGE 

it won’t even be your fault in the beginning, he’s just a little more keyed up than usual - a steamy dream of your lips stretched around his cock that felt a little too real, had him squirming in his sleep— and worse is, he slept later than usual because of it so he hadn’t even been able to get out of his system before heading to work :( so yeah, his hormones might be flowing a little easier today but steve is fine! he’s fairly confident that the boring lull of his solo shift is precisely the boner killer he needs. 

except, of course, you decide to visit him— because you’re so nice to your boyfriend! and somehow, it’s like you manage to look actually mouth-watering today, like steve does a double take when the chime of the door goes off, head looking up twice and it’s like a visceral reaction, a pulse of heat that runs through his body. steve out right groans a little bit, covers his face with his hands for a moment and then runs them through his hair. you’re frowning a bit because what kind of welcome is that? and steve’s like “no no! not like that!” but fuck, wait those shorts you’re wearing are quite short— showing off your thighs sinfully and steve actually can’t control how he eyes you up and down unashamedly, tongue darting out to wet his lips — you clock the horny in him in a second

“my my, what’s got you in a such a mood today?” you ask, an elbow meeting the front counter as you lean on it, but you might as well be purring the words to steve- the way you just read him in an instant does not help all of the morning’s unforgotten feelings from crawling back into his body— steve groans aloud again when he feels his dick twitch in interest in his pants. 

“don’t,” he warns, jabbing a finger in your direction as his other hand as subtlety as he can readjusts his pants, “i was already nearly late to work because of you!” that makes you frown a bit in confusion, moving to round the counter to properly greet him since it’s so quiet in store- you plunk down a bag containing some lunch of him that you’d brought with you. steve arms are waiting and twine around your waist as your sling over his shoulders and round his neck, a sweet embrace with his back to the door. you smirk up at him just a bit, “late because of me? and how did i manage that all the way from my own home?” 

steve glances at the front door, dutiful in checking there’s no one coming, but even so his voice drops a bit quieter when he says, “you… i had a dream about you.” his face manages to get a little warmer, given away by the colour in his cheeks, and if you weren’t clued in before you definitely are now. steve’s funny about dreams, even though you assure him you’re quite flattered he searches for you even in his subconscious— but he always admits them a bit shyly, like you might react badly.

“a dream?” you echo, slithering your hands from around his neck down his chest purposefully — and steve shivers at the motion. before he gets a moment to tell you knock it off, you’re speaking first, hands travelling to trace over his tummy, “what sorta dream?” you ask, even though you know. steve glares at you because he knows it too. he glances out the front window again and speaks in a hushed voice when he turns back, “y’know,” he says, face somehow growing redder. “like a… a sexy dream,” 

and that makes you laugh a little bit, because how can he be so good at dirty talk in bed and still call it ‘a sexy dream’ like a 13 year old? you’ll never know. all you do know is that you’ve decided mischief is what you’re after today, hands slipping under his polo to scratch lightly along his v line — and it’s enough to make steve’s breath stutter. “what are you—?” he asks, his hands around your waist beginning to move, like he might seize your torturous hands. “what happened in the dream?” you ask instead, cutting him off. you pair your question with a hand that runs down his front, not at all subtle with the way you brush against his cock. it shoots a thrill through you to feel he’s already half hard in his pants- your hand ends up atop his thigh, fingers rubbing the sensitive inner part of it as you ask him again, before he can catch up, “what got you so worked up, stevie?” steve’s eyes scrunch closed, whether from the memory of the dream or your inching higher hand— the other stays on his tummy, thumbing light circles on his happy trail. 

“you-“ he starts, cutting himself off with another little shiver. one hand leaves your waist like he’s going to grab your own but you’re already trailing further up, beginning just lightly palming him through his jeans - and his hand just hovers instead, clenching into a fist. his gaze has moved to watch your hand work him intently “fuck, wait,” he says, breath a little heavier than before. “you— you were,” he’s scarlet in the face by this point, words getting a little weaker. you properly rub him, curling your fingers around what you can feel and giving it a good squeeze and steve audibly swears, some pathetic noise escaping his throat before he can stop it. 

“you gotta stop,” he manages to exhale through a jagged breath, even though his hands stay exactly as they are, flexing through his pent up hormones. “it’s— someone could…” he trails off breathily as you dip your thumb beneath his waist line as you give another delicious rub along his cock, enough that another strangled pitiful noise comes from steve’s mouth, along with a whisper of your name. you can’t tell if it’s lucky for him or not that nobody has come into the store in the time you’ve been toying with him. you pout exaggeratingly, “but you didn’t even tell me what happened in the dream?” 

you choose that exact moment to retract your hands, pulling back just a bit and standing on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his scorching cheek. steve’s blinking, confused by the whiplash of suddenly having so much touch turn to none but you’re already rounding the corner— “you’ll have to tell me later, i guess! enjoy lunch, baby” and he’s like stammering, turning in time as you approach the door and barely get out his own goodbye before you’re gone, the bell chiming as you go. steve huffs, taking one glance at his pants and resigning himself to spending the next hour pressed against the counter and not moving at all. “little minx,” he curses, tugging his collar away from his neck to try cool off even just a bit. he swears that is the longest shift he’s ever worked - but can’t even be too mad about what you did, considering you were well & truly waiting for him when he came home, ready to bring his dream to life 

[fatuismooches]

HAIIIII... I'm so crazy rn I need to give Dottore SO MUCH AFFECTION...

I need to KISS HIM SO MUCH!!! all over his face.... I need to give all the segments so many kisses. Just absolutely SMOTHERING them in love and affection. ITS WHAT HE DESERVES!!!!! he's a silly lil pookie bear (He would be so confused if I uttered that nesr him)

Uagughdbidib imagine a reader who will constantly call him cute petnames like "snugglebear" and "cutie" 😭😭😭

like Webttore will walk in and then reader will be by his side in RECORD TIME giving him affection (any fatuus who are nearby are to ignore the scene completely, or they get killed)

Reader who gives Omega kisses on his lil red gem eye <3 and loves to snuggle against him (even if he is busy. reader CANNOT be stopped. It probably fuels his ego tbh)

AND OG DOTTIE!!!!!!! he gets SO MANY KISSES.. and so much love. He is DROWNING in readers affection.

I need to give them all so much love.... I am clawing at the floor violently. - 🐓

Most people are unsure of how someone as affectionate and doting as you managed to get with the Harbinger who seems to be averse to touch and love. However, mysteriously enough it seems that Prime and the segments are used to your antics... Well, no matter how much the poor agents question it, all they can do is keep their heads down as they file out of the room speedily once you start to get a bit too handsy with their Lord Harbinger.

Webby relishes your attention and kisses, often times he has to deal with situations that he lacks the patience for, unlike his older selves... so being able to huff and complain in your arms is most definitely something he looks forward to. Even if it's not physical affection, he talks a lot and it pleases him to have someone to listen, who will genuinely listen, unlike the agents. (Poor Krupp, he's had to deal with you stealing away his Lord's attention far too many times and has suffered the consequences.)

Omega is far too composed to give you the reaction you want (you think you're in control by how lenient he is, meanwhile he has the situation in the palm of his hands) but you probably don't care too much, so long as he lets you continue your very important work (giving him kisses.) You've probably done some experiments with his mechanical area too... can it overheat? Does it have fans?! Will he flinch if you randomly blow on the area? Is that glowing gem of his sensitive? You need to know this. All while you're snuggled into him while he does work, entertaining your nonsense. Truly the efficiency meant for a segment.

The Akademiya segment is not interested in being part of your little experiment... he is actually busy, unlike you, and has far better things to do with his time, he says as if he doesn't miss you if you're gone for too long. Chastising you in his own way, just give him the kisses.

Prime Dottore is tired, old, overworked, sleep-deprived, does not have time to receive your affection (as he claims) but that's all the more reason to give it to him!! You just gotta get creative! Is he trying to pour something? He gets many kisses on the cheek as he can't swat you away... Is he intensely focused on writing something? Your cue to hug him from behind and watch as the pen snaps in half.

Dottore doesn't really appreciate you calling him a... "pookie bear" (he continues to be amazed and irritated at the incompatible combination of words that seem to slip out like second nature) but what is he going to do? (Probably ignore you and kick you out but that happens regardless anyway.)

[pcktknife]

theres an early/scrapped version of that cover art as well 0v0 https://static(.)wikia(.)nocookie(.)net/sonic/images/b/b5/IDW22CoverRIEarly(.)jpg/revision/latest?cb=20191031224952

JAW DROP

my old friend 🥺

[kookjinnies]

JIN winning at TMA ft. some shenanigans for @cordiallyfuturedwight and @rkivedfiles  layout cr usergif // vid cr verritaee inspo: (1) (2)

[suledins]

CHRISTOPHER & EDDIE DIAZ | 04.09 “Blindsided”

[shukakumoodboard]

I don't mean to offend, but Temari is the useless one of the sand sibs. She literally does nothing in Shippuden, whereas Kankuro is at least given some stuff to do in the arcs that matter (the one where Gaara was kidnapped and basically killed and the big war arc thing at the end).

whats shippuden

[swordheld]

how did u choose your username?

oh, this is a fun one!! i think i considered being swordtold at first, for that very ancient myth vibe of the sword being this narrative tool for adventure and structure and physical time, the parable being passed down through the centuries until it meddles into modern day rhetoric and ideology – a kind of fantastical tool, a spark of magic, of possibility.

i like the arc of the story of a place being physical / having it be held by time and hand alike, wearing with the years and having it become something different to each holder, each reader, each experience fantastical and individual.

having that kind of physicality to it; swordheld is the action of taking up and holding the sword yourself, choosing your own narrative, leading your own story. self-identity has always been something i struggle with (a novel concept i know, i know), so it felt right for this blog, since most of my older blogs before this one have been just me silently reblogging and never really posting anything myself, and i wanted this to be the change to that.

i've always had trouble wranging my social anxiety, esp. on the internet, and previously thought that keeping my words to myself helped keep the timeline cleaner, in a way, no messy thoughts for others to sort through, especially ones i believed no one would want to read anyway? but it never felt right, keeping myself apart from it all, esp. not in the way i so avidly enjoyed reading others' posts and additions, keeping their words close to my heart.

i wanted it to reflect that this was a space i was holding for myself? and i'm a little slow on the uptake sometimes, but this - this i think i got right. i love being here, on this blog, and the joy that it brings me. everyone else enjoying it too has been a wild ride that i never expected, and still surprises me, one that brings a little extra thrill to my heart whenever i think about it.

i had other urls that i liked, but i didn't want this blog to be tied directly to any of my fandom/story interests, since i wanted it to really just be a sort of archive of artistic inspiration and resource, like a little library or museum. i use them now as lil sideblogs of more niche interests now, which is rather lovely.

it hasn't always felt like it fit perfectly, the way that i'd like, but for some reason i can't think of really wanting to change it anytime soon. it feels mythic yet modern in a way that feels like puzzle pieces finally slotting into their place, something my own and inspirational to me, like a lantern i'm holding to make my way by. my own kind of light, if that makes sense – a star i know by name.

[angeart]

Aaaaange, why doesn't Scar feel safe at that moment? More Tease pretty please? -🎀

oh i can do more than tease for this one :3c

[1,2k ramble + 8,5k rp snippets]

you know how we talked about the post-return situation, with the hermits raising potential allegations against scar? worried that he might be hurting grian, that their relationship is not safe?

that is pre-wedding. that is before scar proposes, but he already has plans to. he's always dreamed of a big, fancy wedding. it'd be picturesque and grand and wonderful! there'd be lots of flowers and music, laughter and dancing. and they'd be surrounded by friends who would be happy for them.

all of this is actively crumbling in scar's hands as hermits shy away from him as if he was dangerous and unpredictable. they're wary, unsure. they no longer see their cheerful, clumsy, harmless friend. they see an unfamilair vex.

they are not happy for them. and, right now, they do not approve of their relationship either.

scar thinks this is not how home should feel like. this is not what he wants. and he doesn't know how to convince them that he's not that scarecrow they have constructed from their lack of understanding. he doesn't know how to get through this.

but it's more than that, right? all their concerns, however well meaning, also make grian spiral. there's so much stress put on the two of them suddenly, their relationship straining.

none of this was ever meant to happen like this.

it's at a point when grian starts finding his stability, after that big breakdown, that scar decides he's done hiding and running, too. if he has to convince everyone to like him again, then he will. he'll fight for this. he'll do his best so that they can overcome this.

him and grian decide to host a little sleepover. for selected hermits! that way, they'll be opening themselves up to others. they want to try and show the others who they are now. to invite them back in. to let them get to know them all over again.

they arrange for it to happen within a week or so, as they still have to make a dedicated room for it. it's a lot of people to hang out and sleep!

they dedice to repurpose their old bunker. yes, the one they constructed shortly post-rescue. the one that was their hideout, their safe place.

it's underground, its walls drenched with anxiety and uncertainty. grian itches from it all, now used to spend time in their nest-tower, high up above the ground. underground feels stifling, all of a sudden. it feels wrong.

the first thing scar does is break the ceiling, to make a big skylight. it's left open for now, sand smelting into glass.

they struggle with the concept of hosting an event for many people. they can't seem to remember what they need. desperately, they try to figure out ways to make the place seem cozy and non-threatening, both for show and for their own sanity.

they talk about a little flower patch in the middle, right underneath the skylight. something bright and nice smelling and alive. they talk about mood lighting, about fairy lights and a fireplace. and—

they talk about sleeping arrangements.

grian says he doesn't want to make a big nest. he... doesn't want the others in their nest.

they're not flock.

they no longer feel like family.

so instead, they try to figure out how many beds they need. except, grian still wants a nest! for him and scar. and, maybe that's good! that'll be another stepping stone, showing the others the new them. who they are. what they now need. things like that!

while scar is tasked with making the small garden, grian goes off and gathers things for beds. he starts making them, quickly becomes overwhelmed, and instead starts putting together a big net that will hold their nest-bed suspended in the air.

he might be ignoring some symptoms of sickness that he simply brushes off as stress. a bit of tension. a couple of anxious, sleepless nights. it's fine.

(it isn't fine.)

it's when they take a break that grian finds himself too lightheaded and needs to lie down.

it's only about half an hour or so later, in the middle of them talking about some of scar's previous relationship experiences, that grian starts to feel really dizzy.

he has a fever.

and he succumbs to it fast after this.

scar wants to take him to the nest upstairs, but grian says he is too nauseous to be moved, so scar does the next best thing: cocoons grian's shivering, curled up form in blankets.

and he messages the hermits.

the hermits, who think he might be doing bad things to grian.

he tells them they need to postpone the sleepover.

he tells them grian is sick.

he asks for soup, but says not to come inside.

it... doesn't sound good. it rings some alarm bells in the heads of those hermits that are Very Concerned and Very Confused and maybe a notch paranoid. but scar stops replying. he's busy dealing with a sick grian.

and hoo boy.

grian's fever climbs sharply and mercilessly, making him delirious and disoriented. he can't tell where or when they are. he keeps talking about things that have already happened. he asks if the world is ending again. he thinks him and scar will be tossed to different servers this time. he asks for [REDACTED]. he asks for flock. he asks for kane and nico, where are they????

scar's heart is splintering and tearing to shreds as he tries to keep a grip, navigating heartache and mirror panic, trying to calm grian down.

it's at this time there comes a knock at their door.

scar can't deal with the others. not right now. not now, not now, not now.

they don't ask for permission to come in. they don't take silence as a no.

grian chirps in distress, from beffudled memories alone, and— they're worried. they can't leave it be.

they find the hole that was meant to, eventually, be a skylight.

they drop down.

mumbo, worried out of his mind. tango, here to help. impulse, last-minute joining them just to keep things reined in.

scar knows grian is out of it. he knows grian didn't want anyone else in their nest.

these are intruders.

and all grian registers are voices. all he thinks of are hunters. he sobs, terrified.

but to the others? scar's shifting into a vex form, flickering and dangerous, clutching grian who's making distressed noises, shielding him from sight.

they need to check up on grian, but they're not allowed any closer.

of course this escalates messily. and scar's afraid and hurting, but he needs to protect grian, and they aren't seeing him anyway. they don't see that he's scared. they don't see that he's cornered and helpless. they don't understand grian's current headspace, or his experiences that dictate his feverish panic.

and there's no space to explain.

... you know what. have the rp bits. as a treat <3 (this starts at the impromptu end of conversation about scar's past relationships, just for context.)

i decided not to redact some bits, for your enrichment. and to feed into the chaos. you're welcome :3c

------ RP STARTS HERE ------

SCAR

Scar takes another moment just to run his fingers over Grian’s forehead, then back into his hair, carefully folding his bangs back. In a lot of ways, early days with Grian were like that. Sharing their passions, enjoying each other’s company, nothing but fleeting touches between them that Scar would be left thinking about for days. 

He thinks he may have always been a hopeless romantic.

But is it really hopeless if the man of his dreams is here before him now? Curled up in his lap and cooing so soft?

Scar hums, pleased, even if he obviously wishes the sickness weren’t part of it.

“Eventually she was invited to some exclusive server, real far off. She didn’t know when she’d be able to see me next, so… we decided to go ahead and split.” Scar says it all so casually, because it truly was a mutual decision. One of the few relationships that ended with no misunderstandings or disappointments.

Well, it was still a little sad, but they knew it was for the best.

She didn’t want to leave Scar waiting, and he wanted her to feel open to exploring her relationships to the fullest with her new server mates. 

“I knew dating was always sort of secondary to her. Not as important as her art. She could do without it easily, especially if she was going somewhere with a bunch of other artists.” Scar looks down, carrying that soft smile and directing it toward Grian. “And she wanted me to be able to move on, so I could eventually meet, as she called it, the One.” He grins, remembering that being her exact phrasing. “…and that’s you.” Scar flushes a bit at his own cheesiness. “I know it.”

--

GRIAN

grian sighs softly at the touch through his hair, relaxing even through his shivers. his teeth chatter a little, a small frown forming between his eyebrows, but it softens a little as scar continues talking.

he tries to slot the information somewhere in his head. that this was an amicable breakup, brought on by insurmountable distance, diverging life paths. that this is something scar can still remember fondly. that this person had every trust that scar will find someone right for him, and that scar is convinced that someone is grian.

but somehow, his thoughts snag and loop, a faulty wire somewhere. distance and far away servers. distance and—

all of a sudden, he's thinking about the apocalypse that took everything from them. everything but each other, eventually. 

he thinks of distance, and a faraway server.

and scar not being with him in that scary place, or grian not being there with scar.

he takes a sharp breath, head shifting and eyes opening. his gaze is feverish and intense as it finds scar. "i would've look'd for you ev'rywhere," he says, hushed but urgent, completely nonsensical.

--

SCAR

Scar tilts his head, confused. He can tell what Grian is saying is drenched in adoration, but it feels misplaced, like it doesn’t belong here in this particular conversation.

Scar isn’t so sure he’s going to get an explanation with Grian in this state.

“I’m right here,” Scar decides to say instead, voice soft like flower petals placed over his skin, hoping to ease whatever tension is lingering in Grian’s thoughts.

His thumb brushes just in front of Grian’s earwing, not quite touching, but grazing over those tiny feathers that permeate his skin. 

“Right here.”

--

GRIAN

grian's gaze softens, some intensity fizzing out, even if the feverishness stays. "right here," he parrots in a weary but fond whisper, audibly relief laced. his eyes close again and he tilts his head further, chasing the touch of scar's gentle fingers.

-- 

SCAR

Scar’s glad to see Grian close his eyes, knowing he likely needs the rest. To think he was building beds and nets when he was slowly succumbing to a fever just makes Scar sad.

“For good, too,” Scar adds on, humming. “If you’ll have me, of course.”

He sees his communicator buzz— it had been a few times during his story— and wonders if that means soup is here already. With a name like soup group, maybe they had it ready-to-cook. 

Slowly, he shifts one hand over to take it, just to make sure he was clear about not entering the house. He’s careful to maintain soft patterns with his other, not wishing to disturb his mate.

--

GRIAN

for good. that sounds wonderful. it feels like a nest built around him.

grian coos, velvety and quiet, nuzzling weakly against scar. he feels him shift, but the attention to such details is slippery to grian's mind, especially as scar's touch remains on him, tracing gentle patterns.

--

SCAR

Scar stills for a second upon reading his messages, only drawn back into focus by the soft coo that escapes his mate’s lips. He’s quick to continue his soothing, setting the communicator down atop a half-squished pillow with a plop. 

<PearlescentMoon whispers to you> Soup delivery!

<GeminiTay whispers to you> Anybody home?

<Skizzleman> anybody seen G?

<impulseSV> Skizz

<impulseSV> Don’t

<Mumbo> Did something happen??

<GeminiTay> He’s just sick!

<Tango> …sick huh?

<impulseSV> Here we go again… 

--

GRIAN

with no idea about the turmoil spreading across the server-wide chat, grian stays curled up, leaning on scar. the silence stretches, making the space feel heavier somehow, time oddly slippery.

grian doesn't like it.

he lets out another coo, this one less stable. there's a questioning edge, something insecure and sorrowful and afraid.

--

SCAR

Scar blinks rapidly, eyelashes fluttering a bit as he tries to recalibrate. He can't bother with that nonsense right now, Grian needs him. That's his only priority.

"You okay, G?" Scar asks, carefully curating his voice with his practiced honeyed tones. "Soup's at the doorstep. Should be fine to leave it there, though."

--

GRIAN

soup's here?

grian forgot all about the soup. why's it at the doorstep?

he can't think.

he lets out another coo, pitched similarly to the last.

--

SCAR

"...Are you hungry?" Scar tries to guess. "I told them to leave it there for now. I'm sure it'll stay hot."

-- 

GRIAN

grian's getting increasingly more confused. who brought the soup?

they're... underground, right?

there's this horrible moment when grian can't tell where they are. or when.

"... why d'n't they c'me in?" he murmurs, thinking feverishly about flock. about nico and kane, and their worried faces.

--

SCAR

"You...you said you didn't want anyone in the nest?" Scar replies, nervous now. 

Did he misinterpret that? Did he just cause turmoil in the chat for no reason?

--

GRIAN

grian looks at scar again, his gaze unfocused even as he searches scar's expression for answers that evade him. he's so confused. flock is allowed in the nest?

he chirps, unable to put the mess of his feverish, disoriented thoughts into words.

--

SCAR

"Shoot," Scar says, doubting his actions now. "I—I can message them again? I think the messages from Pearl and Gem were only a few minutes ago—"

--

GRIAN

grian stiffens, his eyes widening with more confusion.

peal and gem?

it takes him an odd, hollow moment to place those names, and then he's unthinkingly moving, rolling over, chirping in a higher pitch. the cocoon of blankets tangles around him, keeping him right where he is, unable to flare out and flap his wings.

--

SCAR

Scar is about a moment away from grabbing the communicator when Grian begins thrashing, and he quickly shifts to cradling him with his arms, trying to keep him in place. "Hey, heyyy, whoa... easy there, birdie, what's wrong?" Scar tries to imitate a small chirp, trying to say that it's okay if Grian can only make noises. He'll try to interpret to his best ability.

--

ANGE ( :D )

--

GRIAN

grian breathes heavily from that small amount of exertion, completely placated by scar's tight hold and the familiar rumble of his voice. dark spots blotch out his vision, and he lets himself go limp, cradled by scar's arms. safe. safe, safe, safe.

his head is so jumbled, and everything feels like a horrible dream. they're underground. there's meant to be flock here. there's meant to be—

with eyes flooding with confused tears, he whimpers. "scar?" his voice is hoarse, breaking midway through. "where's avi?"

--

LINK

--

SCAR

Scar's huddled over Grian, as if he wanted to shield him from the world. (He does.) He keeps his grip firm and shushes him softly, trying to reign him in as much as he can so he can get some sort of coherent answer, when—

Oh.

Oh no.

"Where's—" Scar chokes out, completely caught off guard by the question. He pulls away, catching sight of those tears, and suddenly his eyes are stinging as well. "I—Grian, we're..." He can't answer that. He can't, he can't. "Grian we're home."

--

GRIAN 

grian's gaze jumps between scar's eyes. incoherency threads through his veins, spilling across his nervous system. the word home makes no sense to him.

he chirps, a quiet, mournful, quivery sound. confused and afraid.

--

LINK

--

SCAR

Scar chews at his lip, trying very hard not to lose himself to the sudden flood of panic that surged through him at those words, not to mention the sheer misery of it all as well.

"We're not there, Grian," he continues to try. "We're home. We're—"

He hears knocking at their door upstairs. 

Scar's ears twitch, honestly unsure if Grian will hear it as well with how Scar is huddled over him and with the less acute hearing. 

Muffled voices pool in from beyond the stairs.

...not gonna answer. ... just wants to be sure ... if it makes him feel better...

"...on Hermitcraft," Scar finishes, the word almost bitter on his tongue. 

--

GRIAN

"i— but—" grian's oblivious to knocking or potential intruders. he sniffles, a tear falling free. he's shaking, the fever ravaging, the world gently spinning off axis around him. 

he thinks scar looks a bit panicked, and it just pushes him deeper into his disoriented confusion. because— aren't they hiding? from danger? aren't they in a hideout? in a bunker, or a cave? aren't they in a nest that's incredibly makeshift, put together in a rush?

... isn't there meant to be flock here?

he chirps again, louder, still that higher pitch. fear sears through the sound, his breath turning rapid as his heart beats wildly against his ribs, even as fever presses the heavy weight of exhaustion right over his chest. 

he's scared, because he can't remember. he can't remember what happened—

"where are they?" he insists, his voice verging a sob. "where is flock?"

--

SCAR

Scar thinks the voices stopped for a second after Grian chirps, and the reality of the giant hole in the ceiling sets in on Scar all at once. All they’d have to do is walk about the back and there’d be nothing keeping anyone from seeing the two of them. 

Scar’s wings flare out around Grian as an instinctive shield. 

Grian is asking about flock, and…

Well, the reality of that is that there is none here, Scar concludes dismally. 

Grian didn’t want the hermits in their nest when they were constructing the party room. Grian asked for Avi. Grian’s probably thinking about Kane and Nico, too.

The hermits haven’t gotten there. They don’t know avian-brained Grian.

“[REDACTED],” Scar answers, trying to give Grian a shred of reality to grasp onto. [REDACTED]

--

GRIAN

[REDACTED]? 

grian's mind spins, the same way the room spins around him. he feels as if the whole ground tilted with them on it. there's sea underneath the raft of the floor. 

he feels sick.

he wants to close his eyes, but he finds himself staring at scar, helpless. floatingly, he remembers words about distance and faraway servers, and he thinks of hermitcraft imploding, whole chunks being lifted up into the air.

his stomach twists and lurches. the spinny feeling makes him think even more vividly of those floating chunks. maybe they're on one now?

he ducks, as if the ground really moved from underneath them. he tries to paw at scar, but his hands are still trapped, and it just makes him thrash again against the blankets, whimpering.

he wants his flock. he doesn't understand where they are.

"call them back," he whimpers. "call— avi. can— avi can come too?" he pauses, his breath stuttering as he looks up at scar with so much pleading. 

he wants a bird flock. he wants to tuck him in the middle of the makeshift nest and make sure he's safe.

--

SCAR

Scar stares at Grian, heart actively tearing itself apart at his words and tears threatening to fall. 

He hears footsteps.

He can’t do this. If they find them he’s not going to be able to untangle all of this in time, he—

“They’ll be back,” he lies, chest aching. “Shhh, shhh, listen, they’ll be back, okay?”

The words taste like acid on his tongue, burning his throat like rotten bile. 

“You’re sick, Gri, let me take care of you,” Scar pleas, shutting out his surroundings so he can focus. Focus. Grian’s the only thing that matters. “Why don’t we go upstairs? If— if you puke on me, fine, I just— you should have a bath. And more blankets. And Mr. Beak.”

And medicine on his way up. And soup. 

And away from the approaching hermits. Away from danger.

--

GRIAN

"they'll... be back?" grian repeats, in the smallest voice, each syllable threatening to snap and let it all crumble. he sniffles, another tear tumbling down his cheek as the confusion continues to tear a path through him like wildfire.

scar says their flock will be back. 

he says grian is sick, and oh, maybe the world isn't ending, then? 

grian feels weird. everything's fuzzy and nonsensical, memories fading and time slipping and everything melting together.

there's a sob, and it takes grian a moment to realise it came from it. "it— it feels like—" his body shakes and trembles, barely a separate thing from the shivers. he's curling up again, making himself small. with a ragged breath and tears glistening in his eyes, he looks at scar, completely missing his point about upstairs and a bath and mr beak. what leaves his lips instead is a question that's white-hot, shaking him to his core. "scar...? is the world ending again?"

--

SCAR / MUMBO

“What—“ Scar is reeling from all of this. It doesn’t feel unlike being trapped in a cramped terracotta bunker listening to Grian murmur thoughts of death and despair. “No, Grian, the world isn’t ending.”

Scar thinks he knew how to handle this better once upon a time.

This world has ironically shaken his confidence. 

“We’re perfectly safe.” Scar continues. “We’re in our home— our house that we built.”

“Grian?” comes a voice from above, causing Scar to bristle.

His eyes flick upward and catch sight of a nervous pair of eyes peeking over the dirt hole.

Scar does not want to talk to Mumbo right now.

--

GRIAN

grian's eyes close and he blindly curls towards scar, deeper into his hold, lost and despondent. nothing makes sense, not even scar's reassurances. 

out of all the words scar says, grian wants to hold onto one the most: safe.

and yet incoherent threats continue sinking teeth into grian's flesh. sending panic signals about how he's weak if he's sick, and they're a target, and they can't run from danger. about how their flock is missing. about how they might be hurtled into different, faraway servers this time, and— and grian doesn't know how to survive without scar, and—

he sobs loudly, his breaths becoming erratic. he hears his name, but it's not scar's voice, and he flinches hard, whimpering, until some instinct catches up and tells him to run. to grab scar and abandon the nest.

he tries to flap his wings, but finds them bound.

he doesn't process that sensation right, pitching straight into memories of traps and nets, chirping high pitched and distressed. the blankets don't hold too hard, but he just can't figure them out, unaware of what they even are.

--

SCAR / OTHERS

“Grian!” Mumbo exclaims, calling the attention of his other unwelcome companions. 

Scar snarls, luckily muted and hidden from view by his bright wings. This is not what he needs right now. This is not what Grian needs. He needs peace and quiet and warmth and soft things—

Scar hurries to try to still Grian, shushing him as calmly as he can manage. “Hey, hey, Grian, it’s me, it’s okay, shhhh, please calm down.”

Grian said he felt nauseous. This has to be about the worst thing possible for him.

“Scar, what’s—“ Mumbo is babbling, sounding nearly as panicked as Grian. Scar doesn’t care about that though. 

He thinks maybe Mumbo has fallen onto his knees up there. He thinks he might be considering popping down into their space.

Scar is not having that.

Strangers are not allowed in the nest, get out, get out.

“Grian, look at me,” Scar tries, urgent and insistent. “We’re safe, we’re okay, I— I’m gonna take you upstairs.”

“Whoa there, skippy, I don’t think you should be taking him anywhere!” comes Tango of all people.

Scar eyes glow a faint blue, feeling cornered, while all of his body language shifts into that of defensive and protective, wrapped around Grian fully with his wings blocking the intruders from view. 

He desperately attempts to lift.

--

GRIAN

grian sobs, quieter, against scar's soft, frantic shushes. he wants to believe that everything's okay, but scar doesn't sound okay, and there are all these other voices, rising up and loud, coming closer.

scar pleads for grian to look at him, and dizzily, he does, his eyesight blurred by hot tears. he's breathing too fast, which is just inviting more lightheadedness; he shakes in scar's grip, whimpering as scar repeats the promises that they're okay.

desperately, grian tries to hold onto that.

he chirps, still distressed but now also pleading, a sound meant only for scar's ears but all too loud and grating to not be heard by anyone else in the vicinity. 

his wings still feel so horribly bound. 

he chokes on a sob. "scar, help." 

he needs to be freed and— and they need to run, right? they need to go? scar says they'll go upstairs. grian tries to get his hands free, wanting to hold onto him, but he's bundled up too tight in scar's arms to really manage with his feeble strength.

his stomach churns, acidic, turning and twisting with the uptick of stress and panic. he sobs again, terrified that they're about to be caught.

--

SCAR / OTHERS

Focus, Scar thinks frantically. Focus, focus. 

He can’t let the anger from the intrusion overcome him. He can’t get defensive here, even if he’s certain one unwelcome step into their makeshift nest will set him off. 

Grian is squirming in his arms, chirping as he relives some phantom experience, and Scar knows this can’t look good. He has to stay calm, he has to keep him under control.

But then Grian begs for his help and it’s like the mirage shatters around him, except this time it’s reality fragmenting before his very eyes, twisting and mutating into something horrible and so much more dire. 

Grian’s sobbing, but for a second Scar sees him despondent, face torn open and wings drenched in blood. He hears voices and it’s like white noise, a vague threat, unwelcome. 

Scar looks around frantically.

He doesn’t know which way Nadia is—

“Scar, buddy, hey, why dontcha just put Grian down and we can aaaaaall relax—“

Scar’s wings flare out to their full span, one dipping over Grian as a shield. No one can see him. No one can ogle those feathers. No one, no one.

“Sc–Scar, what’s going on?”

Scar sees movement. Someone jumps down and instantly he’s crouched low, holding Grian tighter as his eyes glow blue.

“Scar…”

He’s supposed to be calm, he’s supposed to be gentle, he’s failing, he’s failing, but he can’t let them near—

Scar’s entire body flickers blue and he bites his lip hard enough to draw blood. 

“Stay back,” he strains through sharpened teeth, voice low like a snarl. “You—“ 

(You aren’t welcome here.)

(You’re making things worse.)

(You’re lucky I don’t slay you right here and now.)

Scar’s voice breaks, desperate and frightened by his own shattering psyche. “You’re scaring him.” 

--

GRIAN / OTHERS

the sense of danger continues building up around grian, fueling his fear, overexerting his already sickness-weakened body. his heart continues ramming a fast, painful rhythm, and the ache across his chest just serves to make grian more scared.

scar's hold on him is firm, and grian doesn't know whether to feel comfort (he's protected, it's okay, scar's got him), or more panic (there's a threat, scar can't fight if he's gripping grian, why aren't they running?) choking on sobs that he's unable to stop, grian presses his forehead into scar's shoulder; the heat of his fever can surely be felt through scar's shirt, scalding hot. there's a familiar, faint tingling, something grian's learned to attune himself to and recognise—the electrifying current of scar's magic, a warning, a preparation. a wing slings in front of grian like a glowing shield.

mumbo's standing in the bunker, jolting still at scar's accusation and the display of his vex magic. "i'm scaring him?" he stammers, incredulous and not understanding. "mate, i think he's asking to be let go," he hazards, navigating the distressing pitch of chirps and sobs with anxious misguidedness. 

tango's now crouching at the edge of the hole, also intending to descend. "yeah, just let us see him. you've got nothing to hide, right? why make this worse?"

a third pair of footsteps makes it to the unfinished skylight, peering down at the situation with a tense "uhoh," trying to read what exactly is happening here. he isn't sure yet, but some alarm in his head goes off.

with straining breaths through his sobs, grian's dizziness only gets worse. even as he's securely held, he can't escape the violent sensation of the world spinning fast. his stomach tightens, burning with acid, stress overloading all of grian's already muddied senses. there are voices around him, louder, closer, but they don't process right; they're just an incoherent noise, a call of hunters saying we found them, making everything collapse in on him and scar. it feels like they're surrounded and, fearfully, grian presses himself further against scar, burrowing in as much as he can with all his limbs still tangled into the blanket net. 

he should've been more careful.

he shouldn't have triggered the trap.

his eyes are tightly shut, overflowing with tears. behind his closed eyelids, he can see, vividly, avi's terrified look as he's caught in another trap.

a vile kind of panic spreads through him, sharper and more damaging than the previous one, drawing a terrified chirp out of him. the sound breaks on a sob like waves violently crashing into a jagged cliffside, and he desperately tries to take a breath through it all. to speak. 

it's awful; he's so horribly lightheaded and nothing makes sense. but he has to— he has to say this, has to make sure scar hears, has to beg for this one thing above all else. he chokes out, wobbly and halting and small enough to be coherent only for scar, and only if he can spare enough attention to listen. "ple— please don't— don't le— leave him behind—" 

--

SCAR / OTHERS

Scar tenses, briefly glancing down at Grian as he wonders whether or not he truly has been misinterpreting it all, if Grian wants to be let go like Mumbo claims. But no, Scar can feel that feverish haze pressed into his shoulder, desperate and clingy, and his expression sharpens, eyes narrowing in Mumbo’s direction. 

No, Mumbo knows nothing. 

Still, Scar shrinks under Tango’s accusations, reminding him that he ought to have nothing to hide. He doesn’t, just— he can’t let them see. He can’t let anyone see the tears and the panic and the bright violet hues. 

Scar knows he’s being irrational but his wings simply won’t budge, one flung out in some innate danger response and the other curled around like a very necessary shield. They twitch but don’t move.

All Scar can manage is to turn them slightly transparent. A barely willing compromise.

Even his vision is flickering blue.

…Grian’s words make him see white.

He’s vividly tossed back in time, hobbled over and bloodied, barely hanging on, watching as [REDACTED]

Grian’s begging him not to let history repeat itself, he knows, he—

Scar takes a stumbling step backward, blankets curling around his feet and threatening to drag him down. 

“Hey, hey, hey, let’s not go going anywhere, pal,” Tango insists as he leaps down to join Mumbo, carefully touching his shoulder in solidarity. He’s jittery here, not liking he prospect of staring down an angry vex in the slightest, a totem gripped in his other hand. “We’re just here to help.”

Tears break past Scar’s eyes and he hiccups, struggling to stay above water, barely grappling with reality as it continues to shatter before him. 

He can’t do this alone. He’s scared, he’s slipping, he’s making it all worse. 

He… he should have nothing to hide.

“He’s sick,” Scar pleads again, voice hoarse and not at all his own. Blue wisps escape with every word. “He–e has a fever, he’s not— he’s not thinking straight.”

God, are they going to believe that?

Do they believe anything he says? That a crazed vex says?

Scar looks at Grian again, desperation hanging off his tongue. “Grian, you— I—“ He doesn’t even want to suggest it, but they probably need to hear from him. “We…we’re safe, okay? I promise, I… d-do you want me to put you down?”

--

US

--

GRIAN / OTHERS

scar's suggestion is the only thing grian hears with any semblance of coherency, and it makes his lungs spasm and his heart ache. he shakes his head in panic, forehead still pressed against scar, the sharp motion rapidly destabilising the world around him until it spins in a nauseating blur. "no no no don't leave, please, don't don't don't," he chokes out, crying.

the sharpness of that reaction freezes mumbo, sends everything in him careening into doubt.

it's this moment impulse takes his cue to join in. he jumps down, touching tango's arm just as tango is taking a breath to speak, feet moving to step forwards. impulse stops him, gently, even as tension drips from his voice. "tango, wait."

grian's sobs fill the air; the transparency of scar's wings doesn't offer much more clarity. all impulse can tell is that the avian is shaking.

but his eyes draw higher, meeting scar's. his gaze softens at the sight of tears, and he lifts his hands up placatingly, the gesture feeling like lowering of a weapon. "scar." his voice is quiet, just loud enough to be heard. he tries to keep it calm, even as his nerves are fraying with the situation. "you aren't going to run off with him anywhere, right? it's okay. we won't hurt you guys."

mumbo's eyes widen at that, gaze whipping from impulse to scar—for the first time noting the tears in the vex's eyes. "oh, gosh, no, we aren't here to hurt anyone!" he echoes, distraught. 

--

SCAR / OTHERS

Scar tightens his grip, pulling Grian up higher and whispering soft nothings, assuring him that he’ll stay, that he hears him, he wouldn’t leave him, not ever. 

Scar tenses up when yet another person enters their space, but visibly relaxes when he recognizes Impulse’s voice, something steady and yielding to the way that he speaks. It’s the only voice that doesn’t distort into that of a hunter’s call in Scar’s rattled mind.

Slowly, Scar pulls his leg back in, shaking as he gives up on the half-step he was taking away. “I… I know that,” he fibs, because part of him doesn’t believe them. “But Grian doesn’t. N–not right now.”

Tango appears unconvinced, making a short grumbling sound that Impulse cuts off with a light shove. 

Impulse recognizes this scene. Maybe it’s just the flicker of Scar’s wings, but Grian appears to have that same glossed over look in his eye that he had the day they found them— unrecognizing, inconsolable. 

It isn’t good.

--

GRIAN / OTHERS

grian's sobs quiet down a little at the soft assurances, but the world keeps swirling and swimming. 

mumbo lets out a choked noise, not willing to reconcile with the idea that grian might not recognise them as safe—despite all the hints of their early days on the server post-rescue. he thinks of grian, bruised and bitten and flinching, and he can't let this go. he can't. "please," he begs. "i just want to see him."

impulse looks at mumbo, then back at scar. he's holding out his arm, in case the others would have the stupid thought of moving forwards.

he needs to bargain here, and it's hard.

he tries to hold onto the way scar let pearl at least somewhat close, that day when they pulled scar and grian from that awful world, grian's wing tangled in a horrible trap that tore at it. pearl wasn't allowed to touch, but she was allowed to help, and maybe they could arrive at something similar here, too.

"scar...?" impulse says, gentle and calm again. (it's only the smallest of wobbles that betrays him.) "do you think you could sit down? you don't have to let go of him, just, let us see? we don't have to come close." and then, after a breath, he tentatively pushes with another suggestion: "i think if you're calm about it, it might help him calm down too. you don't have to get away from him."

"yes he does!" tango protests.

impulse whips to face him. "tango!" he snaps back. 

grian flinches in scar's arms at the raised tones, letting out another loud, terrified chirp, curling into scar for protection. he's back to sobbing louder, all of scar's comfort undone in one swift go.

--

SCAR

Scar’s wings sag the slightest bit, drawn in by the soft promises Impulse is laying out, but still hesitant to follow. 

Sitting down would mean giving up an easy escape route. They could be lying. He could be cornered. This could all be a ploy to get him to lower his guard.

Tango’s outburst does not help settle that fear.

Scar grits his teeth together, a few stray tears falling as he struggles to form words. “Stop yelling,” he demands, light blue magic slipping past sharpened teeth. 

He’s back to soothing Grian, not yet yielding and not at all regarding Mumbo’s request. 

“Shh, shh, I’ve got you, okay? I’m—“ He looks over the three pairs of eyes— fearful, disdainful, concerned— and focuses in on Impulse. “They’re… friends.” (Not flock.) “I’m just gonna… kneel down here, okay?” (A small compromise.)

--

GRIAN / OTHERS

grian continues crying, albeit a little bit quieter again. just a notch. it's hard to tell if scar's soothing is working, or if he's just tiring himself out.

tango, to his credit, seems a bit alarmed by the reaction he's gotten. but he is still relentlessly wary, suspicious of this whole situation.

impulse can tell, and it keeps him tense. he wishes he could just tell tango and mumbo to leave, but he knows they wouldn't budge. not now. not when things are like this.

he holds back a sigh, looking grian's way. "yeah, we're friends," he echoes, soft, trying to sound harmless and encouraging.

he isn't even sure grian's listening to him. he isn't sure he can recognise his voice. it feels awful.

he doesn't think tango and mumbo realise the extent of what's happening. that if grian's mind is scrambled with the sickness, he might not be mentally present here. on hermitcraft. he might be stuck somewhere else entirely, and the thought of it pains impulse. 

the least they can do is play along.

the least he can do is try to deescalate this whole thing.

"c'mon," he tugs at tango and mumbo, voice low. "let's sit down."

"wh— i don't want—" tango starts in protest, but impulse holds his gaze, steady. 

"shh," he reminds him, shutting tango up.

"oh gosh," mumbo lets out, wobbly, and slowly lowers himself down to the floor.

impulse does the same, dragging tango down with him.

"see?" impulse looks back at scar, trying to offer a small smile. "we're not gonna go closer if you guys aren't ready. we're at the same level here. it's okay." he's willing to be patient here, but he worries that tango and mumbo might not be. 

--

SCAR

Scar stares for a long moment, fidgeting between trust and opportunity, wondering if he could run. If he could take them down if they’re going to make themselves vulnerable like this.

His ears twitch with alarm at the mere thought, catching himself before he can spiral further into delusion.

Carefully, he lowers himself to the ground, knelt down on both knees so he could easily spring back into action. 

“We aren’t ready,” Scar confirms, warily eyeing the lot of them. 

His eyes are still bright blue, though slightly less fiery. His chest flickers occasionally, a warm white light. His wing lowers by only an inch. 

He allows himself one moment of weakness, eyes flicking back down toward the shivering avian in his arms. “… I promise a warm bath after this, okay?” he whispers, though his voice carries, still too ragged from pressed together fangs. “W–we’re gonna be fine.”

--

GRIAN / OTHERS

impulse nods. he knows they aren't ready, but he hopes hearing that helps the others settle too. "we'll wait. take it slow. make sure he's okay," he coaxes, tone soft. hoping, desperately, that tango and mumbo won't mess this up. that they understand and will follow his lead. "we're not getting any closer. you have space." he pauses, and then he adds, a bit of heartache slipping into his voice: "you're safe, i promise."

grian recognises that they went down, slow and controlled. scar's hold is still tight and secure, and he's talking to him softly, and grian scrambles to understand what's happening. they're... not in danger anymore? scar says they're going to be fine. 

with a tired coo, grian nuzzles into his shoulder. he trusts him, even as he still sniffles, tears dripping down. 

his body feels awful, and his wings twitch, only to find themselves still tangled. it's that sensation that prompts another miserable sob from him, albeit less panic-driven. "take it off," he pleads, begging scar to untangle the trap that restricts him. "take it— scar, hurts," he whines.

the blanket doesn't actually hurt. his body aches from the fever and extertion, but his head tells him that pressure against his wings ought to be painful, and so that's what it is. the fear mistranslates into pain—or maybe just inevitability of the pain if this goes on, he isn't actually sure—the memories more vivid than reality itself.

--

SCAR

Scar nods slowly, wings lowering just a little bit more. He can see the tension actively begin to roll off of Mumbo, but for some reason that doesn’t comfort Scar in the slightest. 

He tries to offer gratitude toward Impulse in some way, but then his attention is dragged back to Grian, ears flicking as he grows rigid and attentive once more.

“Take…?” Scar questions, looking Grian over in confusion before it finally clicks. “The— oh.”

He shifts a little, resting Grian’s weight firmly on his legs, and slowly peels away a few layers of blankets, trying to simply loosen them up and allow for his wings to slip free. 

“It’s okay, you’re okay,” Scar assures him, voice already growing much softer, no more wisps escaping when he speaks. “There you go… ‘m sorry.”

--

GRIAN / OTHERS

it's the word hurts on grian's tongue that has mumbo jolting, and impulse has to react fast, grabbing him and keeping him still. "stay calm," he hisses under his breath, quiet enough to be intended only for their trio.

"do you really expect us just to sit here," tango hisses back, "when grian just said he's being hurt?"

impulse exhales, long and tense. "that's not what he said. and he asked scar to fix it. he said," he stresses, somehow still managing to keep his voice hushed and low, "he wants scar to stay near him. so sit. still. and wait."

grian, in the meanwhile, squirms as the blanket layers gets peeled off, feeling the pressure relent. he breathes out, a bit more steadily, forehead still firmly against scar. some of his crying tapers off once he can twitch his wings and feel no resistance—and the loosened blankets let his hands free, too. he uses this immediately to grab onto scar's shirt, depletedly holding on. 

"thanks." he sniffles. and then he asks, feeling small and vulnerable, his heart still frightened: "are we safe...?"

--

SCAR

“Yes,” Scar replies, even if he doesn’t feel safe in the slightest. He feels under attack, though perhaps at least not physically. “…we’re having a sitting party.”

It’s a bit of a nonsensical thing to say, but Scar is trying desperately to reel himself in here. His eyes are only barely green, a blue sheen still hiding them away. He feels tense and uneasy, watching Tango in particular now with narrowed vision.

It flicks to Mumbo, accusatory in his stare. “I said we didn’t want visitors,” Scar states, guarded. “So why are you here?”

--

GRIAN

it is a bit nonsensical, the words sitting party taking a while to slot in grian's mind. but if they're having a party, that means there is someone else, right? the memories of the confusing, threatening voices feels fuzzy to grian. the danger has passed, the hunters are gone. they wouldn't be sitting down, wings released, having a party of all things otherwise—and scar confirmed they're safe.

which means...

maybe scar called them over, like grian asked?

he relaxes a little bit more, even as he still continues to wade his confusion. "flock...?" he asks in a tiny coo. 

he's leaning his head on scar's shoulder, staring blankly off in the direction of scar's other shoulder, not focused on anything in particular. his vision still swims. 

--

SCAR

“… Friends,” Scar corrects, because they’re not. “… They’re just—“ Scar swallows down some bitterness, trying to stay calm. “—worried about you.”

And then he looks back to Mumbo, eyes glowing a bit brighter again as he waits for his answer.

(They’re worried about Grian. Not him. Unless being worried of him counts.)

--

GRIAN / OTHERS

"mhn?" grian makes a confused sound at the word friends. it doesn't want to slot anywhere in his head. who?

mumbo, in the meanwhile, shrinks under scar's sharp attention. "we were worried," he offers, nothing more than a repeat of what scar's just said himself. 

tango steps in, pointing out: "you said he was sick. we wanted to check in on him."

--

SCAR

Scar’s ears droop at Grian’s clear inability to recognize the concept. But frankly, he doesn’t blame him.

With a sigh, Scar scans the three of them again, looking them over for any sign of trouble, but he notes a distinct lack of anything, which makes him frown.

“So, what? Did you bring medicine?” he asks rhetorically, because he knows the answer. “Soup? Blankets? Bath salts?”

His eyes narrow with each question.

--

OTHERS

there's a very clear faltering across the whole group. they exchange glances, slightly nervous. 

"i— we—" mumbo stammers, face flushing. he's suddenly feeling very uneasy. chastised. he stares at the bundle scar's holding, what he at first was so sure was a distressed avian probably really just a feverish one, and it makes him deflate. he didn't think past the anxiety enough to consider that scar might be telling the truth. (he's still not sure. he still needs to see grian, properly. he still wants to check.) (but the scales of probability are tipping in a way that makes him feel off balance and out of place.)

impulse sighs. he didn't have time to stop them long enough to ask them to be sensible and bring something for grian if he truly is sick. he is here as a chaperone and—oh boy is he glad he came. he can't imagine how this would've panned out otherwise.

"you weren't replying on the comms," tango soldiers through, still frowning, still a touch confrontational. he doesn't like the way scar's looking at him. doesn't like all his sharp edges. doesn't like the feeling that scar's still hiding something. "we didn't know what you need." he pulls slightly back, straightening up. "do you need anything?" he challenges. there already was a soup delivery by the front door, and it certainly doesn't seem like they're low on blankets.

--

SCAR

“I was a little preoccupied,” Scar replies dryly, frustrated that he’s still being questioned. “I’d think it’s customary to bring at least some sort of gift,” Scar continues to pry, not letting it go. Not letting it slide that they clearly came here out of fear instead of assistance. “But sure, sure, we certainly wouldn’t say no to some minty bath salts or some tea leaves.”

Scar briefly wonders if that’s all it would take to make this unwelcome trio leave. He doubts it.

“Or, you know, some peace and quiet so he can get some rest,” Scar concludes, tight jawed and eyebrows furrowed. At least his eyes are back to green.

--

OTHERS

mumbo recognises that they're being thrown out, but it just makes him dig his heels in. "we can bring some tea, but— but scar—"

it's tango who breaks this line drawn in the sand again, encroaching on a minefield territory. "we still haven't seen grian." because this sliver they can see right now doesn't count. it doesn't say anything about whether or not grian's hurt, underneath it all. even if grian begs for scar to be close. honestly, tango doesn't consider grian the best judge of that right now. unhealthy attachments exist!

--

SCAR

Scar exhales through his nose, slow and barely steady. 

Reluctantly, he lowers his wing, allowing an unobstructed gaze, though he makes no effort to close the distance between them. He doesn’t want that line broken.

“…happy?”

--

GRIAN / OTHERS

grian registers scar's wing falling away, and it makes him feel oddly exposed. grian isn't sure to whom; scar said their flock isn't here, but that they're safe. still, he ducks, hiding his face in scar's chest. that way, he can pretend he's still shielded. that way, he can pretend the world can't hurt him. (the way he can feel scar's breaths is just a nice, soothing bonus. scar's right here, alive, right next to him. perfectly in reach, as grian's fingers tug at him.) (he closes his eyes, willing the surroundings to stop tipping around them. his feathers fluff up lightly.) 

mumbo makes another strangled noise, and he moves as if to stand up, compelled to go closer. to check. to— 

to be there. 

grian's his friend, and there wasn't a time when mumbo wasn't allowed to be near. to take care of him when he feels unwell.

with blankets and grian's wings still firmly in the way, and grian's whole body turned away from them, mumbo still can't see anything. so no, he isn't happy.

"... grian?" he tries, calling out to him, coaxing him to look his way as he gets up to his wobbly feet.

--

SCAR

Scar bristles again, wings twitching as he instinctively growls, low and mercifully non-threatening, but it certainly doesn’t sound that way to an untrained ear. 

These are untrained ears. 

Scar registers the flinch in varying degrees from all three of them, and his ears twitch, then droop again in shame.

He can’t do this. He can’t let someone else close. It doesn’t matter how fidgety and awkward Mumbo is, Scar doesn’t trust him to come close.

Mumbo who says foolish things; Mumbo who looks at him like a stranger; Mumbo who cares so much that Scar can’t help but feel strangled by it as it weaves around him, passing him by and threatening to smother Grian in his disturbed state. 

--

GRIAN / OTHERS

grian makes an inquisitive mewl, a soft and small sound, unworried at scar's growl. he knows it's not threatening, so he just gently prods, inquiring as to what's wrong. what's bothering scar?

pointedly, he doesn't react to mumbo's call at all. as if he didn't even register it.

tango's rising to his feet now, too, but impulse puts a hand on his shoulder.

it doesn't deter tango, and they both stand up. still far away, but in a way the three of them are now towering over kneeling scar, looking down with varying emotions. 

"we'll get you some tea," impulse says, quiet, measured. he's looking directly at scar. he's trying to tell him that he sees him. that he doesn't blame him, no matter how stifling and explosive this situation is turning out to be.

"impulse!" tango squeaks, indignant, protesting. "he's hiding something!"

impulse's gaze cuts sharply to tango. "keep your voice down!" he hisses, frowning, then sighs. he understands they're anxious, but lines do need to be drawn.

for grian's sake as well as for scar's. 

impulse looks back at scar, tries to soften all the jaggedness from his pooling tension. "do you think you can get him to sleep? rest a little?" he suggests. "we will come back with the tea. if grian's asleep— we can look at him then? so he won't be scared of us?" he bites at his lip, and then adds: "just look. and we can help if you'll need anything else from us, yeah?" it's a gentle proposal, an attempt to find a tightrope that won't send them all careening towards some awful abyss.

--

SCAR

Scar feels so horribly small knelt down like this in front of people that are seemingly hellbent on misinterpreting his every move. His wings fall to the ground at the insinuation of him hiding something once again.

He’s not. He’s hiding Grian maybe, but he was scared— he asked for help and this is how Scar would help…

Scar trembles under the spotlight of their gazes, even if Impulse’s is softer. He feels like he can’t move— like he isn’t allowed.

“I… I want him to rest,” Scar agrees weakly, nodding once in exhausted misery. “You… yeah. You can check on him then.”

He still hates it. Hates the idea of someone in their nest. Hates that he’s still being more or less monitored, hates that he can’t be trusted with what he knows best.

Scar looks down to Grian, eyes big, barely holding back the fear that seeps into that forest green. “Can I take you upstairs? …nest?”

--

GRIAN / OTHERS

impulse softens further at scar's agreement, hearing the fatigue and defeat in his voice. it makes his heart ache, even more when he thinks about everyone else overlooking that. "alright... thank you, scar," he says gently.

then his eyes flick to find the exit, realising they're going to have to walk past. 

"can we... leave? or do you want us to wait until you go first?" impulse checks nervously, gaze jumping between scar and the avian he's cradling. he has a feeling scar doesn't want them here any longer than necessary, but impulse isn't sure if getting closer only for the sake of walking out is what he needs.

"or we can dirt pillar up," mumbo suggests with a nervous little laugh, attempting nonchalance and jokes, even as everything in him still rails against this. he's drawn forward, towards grian, like a moth to a flame. he wants to check him over, touch his skin, care for him. he doesn't realise he's completely disregarding scar in this scenario. doesn't realise he sees him as nothing but a mad guard dog, standing in his way for no reason. 

"you're giving up?" tango huffs, tail swishing. 

"i— what?" mumbo laughs again, more nervously this time. "we'll be back."

"what, so he can cover up his tracks?" tango pushes, frowning. all too aware that a potion or two are enough to hide most injuries. and an asleep grian can't answer any check-up questions.

it's impulse who growls now. "tango. scar isn't our enemy. he's our friend. maybe you should start treating him as such."

"i— wh— but—" tango stammers, completely taken off guard, ears pulling low.

grian, in the meanwhile, reacts to scar's careful, gentle question. his unfocused gaze lifts up, seeking to anchor in familiar green, feeling fragmented and vulnerable and still sick. "nest," he echoes, impossibly sad and hopeful, yearning. he sniffles, not paying their surroundings any attention; the memories still swirl through him, and nothing quite feels real.

nothing but scar.

he tips forward, wraps his arms around scar's shoulders in a weak hug, clinging to him in a position that makes it easy to carry him. 

"... can the bucket come with us?" he half-jokes hoarsely.

--

SCAR

Turns out it doesn’t feel good being spoken about like he isn’t right there, and Scar finds himself slumping forward in defeat, misery seeping deep into his bones.

His chest flickers once more, eyes clouded with a blue fog that only fades when Grian wraps his arms around. Grian, who does trust him and is deserving of his love and attention.

Wretchedly, Scar swallows down his anxieties, does his best to ignore the unwelcome surroundings. He doesn’t even provide them an answer, instead leaning down to kiss Grian’s (still dreadfully warm) forehead.

“Anything you need, G,” he croaks, rising on incredibly wobbly feet and hooking the handle of the bucket with his pinky. 

Wordlessly, he turns his back to his intruders and begins walking upstairs, unable to bear their presence any longer. His wings flick and tremble, uncomfortable being exposed to what he still inevitably seems as enemies. 

(It’s only fair considering how he’s actively antagonized.)

“So sorry about all this moving around…” Scar continues murmuring, feeling entirely off balance, but managing to stay steady only because Grian is in his arms. “We’ll get nice and comfy, alright? And our guests can bring the soup in.”

That’s the only acknowledgment they get.

--

GRIAN

grian lets out a soft noise at the kiss, a mix of comforted and still absolutely miserable. he isn't sure if he feels hot or cold, and his body aches. the nausea is ever-present, making any move a wretched matter, especially when coupled with his still spinning head.

he tries to hold onto scar a bit firmer, but his strength isn't there. he groans, whimpering. "slow," he pleads, not knowing how else to mitigate this.

he really doesn't want to puke if he can help it. although maybe having it over would feel better than this.

--

SCAR

“Slow,” Scar parrots, purposely stilling himself for a moment before continuing at a steadier pace. He didn’t realize he was rushing, honestly, but it makes sense.

He wants those eyes off of his back.

He thinks he hears the sound of pillaring blocks, and that’s likely for the best. 

“Nice and slow,” he confirms again, trying to keep Grian level once they’re past the steps. 

--

aaaand i’ll wrap it up with that. :3

[eldritch-nightmare]

I honestly love your depiction of Slenderman and the mansion. As much as I love the whole Slenderman treating everyone with love and being a found family with the residents of the mansion, it feels so refreshing seeing Slenderman act similar to how you portray him! Also, I’m very curious hearing more about slender and Sally’s relationship in the future (or now lol)!!

i'm glad to hear that!! i feel like i've never really given slender much thought or attention before so i feel like my depiction of it is rusty compared to a lot of the other creepypastas so i'm glad to hear that you enjoy it <3

as for slender's relationship with sally:

we all know that slender does Not like children. it goes out of its way to harm them, and actively avoids them in the case that it can't. that's what it did with sally for a really long time.

it avoided her, and treated her mostly like a pest it couldn't get rid of. seeing as she was a permanent resident of the mansion, it can't exactly get rid of her. and the mansion enjoys her company too, so alas. it was stuck dealing with her.

like i said, it took a lot of time and patience for slender to even view sally as something worth its time and attention. it took even longer for it to grow to care about her.

but sally is stubborn when she wants to be, and when she decided she wanted to befriend the strange, faceless, tall man well buddy pal there was nothing that could stop her. she had a goal in mind, and she was determined to achieve it.

and the mansion helped out, of course. because the mansion was, at this point, the only real 'companion' that slender had. she wanted it to make bonds with people it could actually communicate with.

and in the beginning, slender hated that everywhere it went when visiting the mansion, sally would be there with a bright smile on her face, eagerly asking questions about its existence and asking whether or not it wanted to join her for tea and even going as far as to introduce it to her toys one by one.

it was annoyed, at first. it would brush her off, maybe even vanish the moment it saw sally approaching.

honestly, slender wouldn't be able to tell you when it started to care for her. maybe it was the first time it saw her crying, or maybe she had worn it down so much that it just didn't have the energy to ignore and avoid her anymore. but at some point, it did grow to care for her.

it stopped vanishing whenever it saw her. it answered her questions when she asked it. it started to remember all the names and titles of her plushies. and one day, it had even hesitantly agreed to accompany her for tea. she was ecstatic at this, and thus the tea parties became a frequent whenever it was around.

sally is the only child that slender cares about. it tolerates ben and lazari, but every other child? no. it will more than likely never grow to care for one the way it cares for sally.

sally is basically slender's daughter now.

[potetosaradas]

In Prickcest, did they have lazy days where they don’t go anywhere and stay in bed watching tv and eating and drinking (and being romantic of course hehe) do you ever wonder what Morty’s life would’ve been like with 2 grandpas?

HEY ANON!!!

They absolutely have lazy days doing nothing together!!! to be honest, i headcanon them making each other worse. This means that bedrotting can go for days and days culminating in trash dump levels of mess. (if anyone watches/watched bojack horseman, you know when BJ and sarah lynn go on a month(lol) long bender??? yeah its like that) listen, they are not healthy being together! they feel good together but they are not healthy. they actively encourage each other to be worse, this includes being lazy, gluttonous and more lol

they eat, they fuck, they sleep and the cycle continues until they find something new to hyperfixate on lmao

re: morty with two grandpas

if we are talking canonically, here are my thoughts:

I dont think Rick Prime is a family oriented man, to be honest. He is selfish and self serving. If it's not something that benefits him in any way, he will not entertain it. To be honest, Morty sort of falls under that for me. I think Prime is fascinated in Morty as an object/tool, but as a grandfather? nahhhh....

I think this because:

his last speech to Rick: "I made you! I showed you infinity! And what did you do with it? Hang out with my grandson? Raise echoes of my daughter?" he's using 'family' as a way to mock Rick and his 'attachments' (also the emphasis on MY shows a lot of possessiveness but more like 'thats MY toy not yours' kind of way imo)

the way he abandoned Beth at 15 and according to Beth, he was not a present father

there is no way (canonically) that i see Prime being a grandfather to Morty

NOW FOR MY OWN PERSONAL HEADCANONS <3

my GOD i would LOVE morty to have two loving grandfathers ;w; again, i don't think Prime would be around very much. I see him more like the eccentric uncle that visits every now and again. he would definitely bring morty souvenirs from his adventures in outer space. I love the thought of Rick and Prime taking Morty out on adventures, or playing games at Blips and Chitz hehehe i could also see Rick and Prime arguing over who is the better grandfather/competing for the title lol

[hinamie]

❤️🧡💛💚💙💜💖

[fatuismooches]

hii, its 💌 anon coming reallll late but happy anniversary :)) i was gone for so long bc i had school and so much other things but i am back‼️ with pantalone thoughts….and dottore thoughts ofc teehee.

akademiya zandik writing reader letters but then he was like “okay no, im not that whipped (he is) i’m gonna toss it somewhere else” but he ends up keeping it in a box. fragile reader on the other hand used to always write him letters :(( and ofcourse he kept them all. they were always well decorated and had the most beautiful wiring but after reader got sick, he didnt get them anymore. the younger clones would probably make little get well soon cards while the older ones write letters and all :(. (also fits reader literally writing him a letter in the case,, yk,, they die)

meanwhile, in pantaloneland, reader and him watched barbie together!!! he wore pink and the entire shebang, probably even rented….bought an entire theater for the private viewing for the both of you. (its actually js a theater version of the barbie movie. no movies back then so…play! arlie would love it too). BUT!! he js hates ken in the middle of it. “i would never ever get rid of your barbie dream house, darling :(“ because honestly? it makes him sad. how can someone just strip things that their lover likes away just to be better? it reminded him a bit of his own bitter childhood, and because of that, he buys you even more things after <3

“pantalone, i dont need that many outfits-“

“just indulge me darling :) you’ve been with me since i was young, its only fair i return the favor”

- 💌

HI 💌 ANON! Welcome back ❤️ I hope you've been doing good and taking care of yourself!! AND AGHHH THANKS FOR YOU FOR THOUGHTS 😭🤲

ZANDIK WRITING LETTERS 😔💖 He thinks that instead of verbalizing his feelings, he can water them down and make them all professional like he does in his notes/research reports... WRONG. Within the first sentence, he looks at it and stops because wtf there's no way he's gonna continue writing this sappy shit (it wasn't even sappy he was showing that he cared about you a bit more than the average person) But you on the other hand? You don't care if you sound too emotional or sappy or in love or not. You just write what you wanna write. Zandik will scoff and make fun of you but you know he keeps all of them. Where? You don't know, but you just know.

But it's only after it's too late that he realizes how much he likes the little letters he used to receive from you. (UR EVIL FOR THAT LAST PART.) Stop now I'm thinking about bb Zandy giving you a card... he drew you two with crayons 💖

NOT PANTALONE AND YOU WATCHING BARBIE... I haven't seen it yet but I'm beyond excited to go and watch it whenever I'm able to!! Psh, he doesn't even need to buy a theater because you know he been had one for years!! But OUCH not the angst at the end ;( Ugh he literally loves and respects you so much, he can't fathom the thought of ever hurting you on purpose.

In your closet, there are two types of outfits. The ones you wear regularly, and the ones you wore only once because Pantalone makes you try on everything he buys you. Oftentimes you have to enlist your husband for help choosing outfits and accessories because you probably get overwhelmed by your closet being the size of a big bedroom 😭

[faebriel]

I thought it was interesting what you said re the for good nonnie, and I’m really curious on what you mean when you say c!rainduo never fully understood each other. Would love to hear abt that!

yea for sure!! honestly it's a big factor of how i personally interpret their relationship. i don't have the vods on hand so this is gonna need an element of "trust me bro" but it's there

i think wilbur and niki were very good friends, but there were fundamental things to how they each operate that the other never really... grasped? it's something that isn't always explicitly said in canon, but always stands out to me. some parts aren't exclusive to just them, but it forms this broader pattern that spans them from day 1 to the end of the server.

the starting key to all this is the manberg-pogtopia era - wilbur is exiled, niki offers help, and he asks her to stay. there's a really telling interaction imo when wilbur and tommy are scampering around manberg (i think they were stealing supplies iirc?) and wilbur and niki have a conversation over in-game chat. wilbur asks niki to stay in manberg, and niki responds in-chat that she will, but she's visibly upset by the response and mumbles as such to herself afterwards. and after that, wilbur kind of falls into a mental pit, and he stops considering niki's safety in manberg until she is literally about to die right in front of him. and then he doesn't explain the "let's blow up manberg" plan at all, so niki is left with the realisation that wilbur tried to blow up manberg, presumably with her in it, without knowing just how quickly he sabotaged his own plan to save one of her lives...

and on niki's side, she's in the same box as everyone else when it comes to not understanding wilbur's issues in pogtopia. she agrees with fundy on nov 16 that wilbur has changed, and he's not the same wilbur from l'manberg anymore - she's still loyal to him, but she (like everyone else) doesn't really piece together that wilbur is suffering from mental problems that have spanned back to the presidency. he's just changed. he's not the same wilbur who was her friend (even if she still looks out for him the same way).

then when niki unearths the TNT underneath the presidential podium, she doesn't say anything or actively try to seek wilbur out (although they were all pretty quickly distracted by techno) - she trusts him, but she doesn't understand that wilbur has been giving off suicidal red flags all day (two of them explicitly onscreen, towards her - leading her to mushroom and giving her the blue, and arguably whatever happened with that coat offscreen) and that wilbur going missing right as she discovers the TNT is there and ready to blow is a massive, massive danger sign. and i mean, why would she. like everyone else, she thought that they won and that there was no reason why wilbur would want to destroy the place anymore. she didn't get quite how far he had spiraled.

it's that seed of misunderstanding that lets niki's feelings fester from doomsday onward. wilbur didn't kill himself, he abandoned her. it wasn't because he was dealing with suicidality, paranoia, delusions and pretty steep mood changes, it was because he actually never cared about her or anyone and all he cares about is chaos and destruction and he always thought she was a stupid, foolish dog at his heel. ghostbur's existence is an offence that tips her entire perception of what is real and what isn't. and when the target of niki's anger - tommy - is killed and revived, she has to shift all that unresolved grief and anger and misunderstanding onto the specter of wilbur.

starting to get into more fanon territory, i think wilbur puts niki on a bit of a pedestal. pre-death, even pre-spiral, the thought that she may struggle in manberg - that she's physically safe (which let's be honest, she was not) and that she will be fine - doesn't even cross his mind. despite being good friends, he never goes to her with his stress and worries as president. post-revival, he hems and haws over his apology to her for weeks before he makes it, and ironically he's been out of her life for so long that he doesn't even know she tried to murder his little brother. niki is a bit more proactive, but she doesn't understand wilbur's nature - largely, she doesn't understand his struggles with mental health (and he never shared them before pogtopia, and in pogtopia he was a whole other kettle of fish, so why would she?) and how it influences his behaviour. wilbur does a lot of shitty things, he does a lot of scheming, but he's never directly trying to fuck her over in the way she comes to believe he did. she was collateral. and that is it's own kind of pain, but it's not the mustache-twirling kind of disdain that she seems to think he had for her at doomsday and when she responds to news of his revival.

anyway. i think that wilbur's apology to her stripped back some of those misunderstandings between them (esp because niki had gone through her own mental health gauntlet by then, and come out with a stronger support network for it), but it was moreso about re-establishing that despite everything else, they still care for one another and that's what important.

[coquelicoq]

Hello! I just saw you post some Maitre Gims, and I know you like Stromae, so I was wondering what are french/french speaking singers that you like the most? You may have answered smtg like that already but i couldn't find it and I am, as always, very curious ^^ -☆

mc solaar!!!!!! and stromae for sure. and i had a whole renan luce phase in college. otherwise i mostly just listen to individual songs and don't tend to know a ton by the same artist, but i've liked some individual songs by christine and the queens, lous and the yakuza, tryo, kana, bénabar, vianney. some other artists but that's a sample. currently only know two french-language songs by mika but i like them. always looking for recs if you have any!