In Pearl’s dreams, sometimes she says this to Gem:
“Sometimes I think you’d like me better if I actually were an attack dog.”
The actual answer she gets back differently depending on the dream, and the day, and what kind of things that Pearl had last done. Sometimes Gem tells her:
“Aww, Pearlie, don’t be like that. You’re more useful than a dog would ever be.”
Sometimes Gem tells her:
“You can be a dog now, if you’d like.”
Sometimes Gem tells her:
“You’re more important than that, really.”
Sometimes Gem tells her:
“You wouldn’t be nearly as scary if you were! Isn’t what makes you scary that you’re human, but not?”
Sometimes Gem tells her:
“I do too.”
None of these are what Pearl wants to hear, of course. Even in Pearl’s subconscious, Gem is never going to give her an answer that works. Gem is never going to give her an answer that’s real. Pearl isn’t that prone to self-delusion. Gem is never going to, in these dream conversations, hold her and tell her “that’s not true” and mean it. That’s why she’s never said it.
Well, that, and that Pearl isn’t sure that’s what she wants either. She’s not sure that’s an answer that would get at the hunger. At the thing she needs. That would get at something that’s burned her, and burned her, and burned her, and burned—
Well, that and she’s dead now. So. You know.
Even if she wanted an answer, she isn’t getting one.
Gem's voice breaks him out of his stupor. She's standing in the doorway, and looks a mess; her hair is wild and untamed. There are bags beneath her eyes.
He can't bring himself to smile. “Hey.”
Gem chokes up. Tears shine in her eyes, and spill over the next time she blinks. She takes one step forward, then another, then collapses to her knees, clinging to Grian's tunic.
Grian's vision blurs. He can't see the bed he's sitting on, or any defined form. Just orange hair, dancing like fire, and blank space where she should be.
There's nothing he can do. She's gone. Dead. And for what?
it's not exactly the same every time. it's altered by what they went through, and why they’re asking, and how it all ended. but it's always close enough that it may as well be the same.
100% inspired by this incredible post by @thirdtimed! it had me by a chokehold i had to do something about it
it's not exactly the same every time. it's altered by what they went through, and why they’re asking, and how it all ended. but it's always close enough that it may as well be the same.
the first time, it was unprecedented.
blood on his hands, tears in his eyes, we expected it to be over—a failed experiment, one that only he would ever remember to save the others the pain. too much grief wracked his body for him to even choke out the words for a long while, but we waited. it isn't an unusual thing for us to do, to wait.
smearing sand on his sunburned face, he wiped away his tears and said,
"give me another chance."
the second time, we were curious.
shaken and silent, he stared into our face for a long while, as if trying to decipher what in void we were. the crown of crystals were still and a kind of grey that isn’t truly grey, but every colour at once, and his breathing was shallow. the bloodlust drained from his eyes, leaving them as grey as the crown.
we asked, because he would not have thought to answer otherwise. he flinched, and hesitated.
"i.. can i see them again?"
the third time, it was almost expected.
still smoking from the explosion, she sunk to her knees, sobbing and clutching herself as if she feared literally falling apart. it took a long while for her screams of grief subsided, and longer still for the weeping to fade into sniffing and hiccups. she hadn't looked at us once, as if she didn't know we were there, but we did not wish to interrupt—she was entitled to her unraveling in private.
wiping her eyes, she didn’t bother to compose herself much more. she lifted her face, littered with gashes and scars, and with agony in her voice-
"i want my friends."
the fourth time.. well, it was a little surprising.
a victor had not yet arrived so high on adrenaline and confidence, and the blood that stained even his mouth seemed to be a trophy. the sword had not left his hand, and still dripped with what remained of the last two, the drops vanishing into the abyss below. he was grinning, and this was the most surprising part.
not needing any persuasion or suggestion, he looked us right in the eye—as none had done before, crowing,
"come on, give us another go!"
the fifth time, it wasn't the request that was new.
alone in a field of sunflowers is where we eventually found him, after waiting fruitlessly for his arrival. he startled a little as he realised we were there, but soon calmed at the understanding of what we meant for him. after all, it had been almost a year since he became stranded—and stranded was the word for it. the shawl was still the red and purple of the flowers he had once given to his partner, and we suppose one could say they started this whole chain of events.
setting aside his gardening tools, he smiled almost sadly. perhaps he would miss what had become his prison, despite everything it signified. he sighed,
"i think i’d like a better try at companionship."
the sixth time.. it almost didn’t count.
surprised to have even been considered for a crown, they laughed in delight when the paper version settled on her head, clearly pleased with our creative flair. we were pleased as well—it isn’t often creative flair ends up being a positive part of our abilities. they looked around, as if deciding whether or not the place was real, and seemingly settled on an answer. we didn’t ask what the answer was.
adjusting the paper crown, she laughed, clearly finding the whole situation amusing. when we asked, they seemed to be even more surprised.
"i get to choose? well- let's do it again!"
the seventh time, it became amusing. they did know they could choose something else, did they not?
whooping and throwing his arms around in celebration, came the second victor to be genuinely pleased by his victory and subsequent death. he spent a considerable amount of time pretending he was at an awards show, thanking his family, his wife, his best friend and so on. it was refreshing, after all that misery we witnessed at the beginning of the games, to see the tides changing. especially with him; rage used to be his fuel. now it seemed to be love.
grinning up at us, he waited for something. perhaps one of the others had mentioned it, but he did not seem surprised when we asked.
"what do i want? of course i want more!"
the eighth time, we don’t have to even introduce ourselves.
considerably more pleased than he had been the first time, he seems to think that taking his own life was the ultimate show of power against us. of course, we have changed our ways since his game, but he is not to know that. like his predecessor, he too seems amused by the paper crown.
cracking his knuckles, and stretching his neck, we already know what he’s going to say, but we let him ask it.
In the wake of the lavacast, after the fire had eaten away at the walls and spread across every beam, it’s a miracle the base is still standing, extinguished as it is. The parts of the balcony that hadn’t tumbled off the cliff lay in a charred heap in the ruined garden, and there’s hardly a window left that hasn’t cracked or shattered entirely.
The lighthouse is in ruins. Its brightest keeper is dead. Gem wonders if it’s worth repairing it at all.
She sits, slumps, sags onto the crumbling stairs. The sun has just started to set. The weight of the day’s events press heavy upon Gem’s shoulders, heavier than the lives she herself has lost. She tries not to think about it.
A pair of footsteps crunches carefully around the exposed Square Hole. Gem knows exactly who it isn’t, but she doesn’t manage to tamper down her knee-jerk expectation fast enough.
Grian braces his head against his palm and sighs. Gem doesn’t quite catch her disappointment in time, either.
A moment or an eternity could’ve passed by the time Grian speaks up; such irrelevance is lost on Gem. “I keep waiting for her to walk up that staircase any second now, and make fun of us for looking like fools sulking here,” he says, staring out over the horizon. His hair is messy and his sweater is torn. Gem’s sure she looks no better.
Pearl wouldn’t tease them. She’d fit into the space between Gem and Grian and point out the tiny figures scurrying around down below until their conversation would turn to how they’d get their revenge on that triple kill. Her shoulder would be warm, pressed against Gem’s, and her laughter would reverberate along the contact.
“Me, too,” Gem says. What else is there?
The sunset’s soft oranges and greys give way to a star-speckled night. The server shines beneath the moon’s silver glow. Pearl does not come home.
I was paired with lavenderjellies10 for @mcytblraufest this year!
phases of the moon
Rating: Teen
Relationship: M/M, Gen
Archive Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Status: Completed Oneshot
Word Count: 5,388
Summary: Scott is the Tribal Prince of the Northern Water Tribe and he's not allowed to leave Agna Qel'a. Oh yeah, and his health is connected to the phases of the moon. Jimmy, on the other hand, is an ambassador, traveling back and forth between the Earth Kingdom and Scott's home. He wants nothing more than to settle down and cement his life by Scott's side. There's just one little thing he doesn't know yet...
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
@lavenderjellies3 created the ATLA AU fanart as seen above and I wrote the Flower Husbands fanfiction inspired by/based off of it ^^
This is a writing/drawing challenge for specifically platonic scarian, the pairing of Grian and Scar from hermitcraft/the life series! Once a week, there will be a new prompt to fulfill, giving all of you lovely participants time to complete them :]
The event will begin on January 4th and end March 1st, but you are free to start working on the prompts now and finish them whenever you like! I will make a post every Sunday with the prompt of the week, as well as with the alternative prompts, so that you all can be reminded of the weekly prompt without having to go back to this post or the prompt list every time.
If you choose to post your work here within the week of the prompt, tag it with "#platonic scarian season" and I'll reblog it here! I can't promise I'll see everyone's pieces but I will try my best!
What are the prompts?
Here is the prompt list + some alternate prompts!
Week 1: Nap Time
Week 2: Winter Wonderland
Week 3: Date Night
Week 4: Domestic
Week 5: Rough Day
Week 6: Alternate Universe(s)
Week 7: Hybrid Instincts
Week 8: Soulmates
Alternate Prompts:
Hug, Preening, First Meeting, Picnic, Cooking, Holding Hands, Magic, Gift Giving, Hot Chocolate, Fire
Why am I doing this event?
Within fandom, there's a lot of emphasis on shipping and romance between characters, and oftentimes the platonic interpretation of characters gets forgotten or put to the side, and it can be extremely difficult to find queer platonic relationships in any media or fandom space. This event is an attempt to help queer platonic fandom creators find each other and allow more platonic interpretations of scarian to reach more people!
As someone who falls on the aromantic spectrum, platonic interpretations of characters are extremely important to me, especially scarian! I've been writing platonic works for the two of them for over two years now, and they mean so very much to me. I've pretty much solidified myself as a platonic scarian writer, and I would love for more people to join me :]
If you have any questions about the event at all (or with anything), please feel free to leave me an ask, or shoot me a message over discord (@gladumf). I'd be happy to answer them!
