Hello there ~ !

Feel free to send a short prompt or request! I’ll try my best

[triplehearts]

<3

[zabo-writes]

Bad Boys Fae Bakery Part 1

Tango was feeling tired and sluggish and overall terrible. He was far due for some caffeine. After all, it was only 10 AM. He’d been up all night doing redstone, and he couldn’t very well stop when he was on a roll! This seemed like a good time to check out that cafe Etho was always going on about…

What was it he had said again? “It’s a pretty good cafe, but watch out for those baristas! There’s something going on with them, if you know what I mean.”

Tango nodded solemnly at the cheeky vision of Etho that appeared in his brain.

The “Bad Boys Bakery and Cafe” was quite a sight. The sign appeared to be hand-painted. In a rush. By a blindfolded second grader. Respectfully. The inside was warm and inviting, decorated with some nice lanterns. It seemed nice ish. Tango wasn’t really a decorations type of guy. There was an Etho seated in the corner, Tango gave him a wave.

“Welcome to the Bad Boys Bakery! We’re the Bad Boys, and we make a mean cup of coffee, or whatever you fancy!”

The barista at the counter had fluffy blonde hair and big brown puppy dog eyes. He wore a black leather jacket and dark sunglasses — that was certainly a choice, but Tango thought he pulled it off pretty well. He was pretty cute. Maybe that’s what Etho had been talking about, the thing going on with the baristas. Too charming for their own good.

“Hey there! I’d like whatever has the most caffeine, please and thank you.”

The barista— “Jimmy” according to his name tag— laughed and pulled out a cup and a sharpie. “Okay, okay! I’m picking up what you’re putting down. How’s an iced coffee?”

Tango pretended to think for a second, “Hmmm, I suppose! You’re the expert.”

Jimmy gave him a shy smile. Now, maybe it was the 18 hour fugue state talking, but Tango was starting to think this guy was into him.

“You got it, boss! And can I get your name?”

Already on a name basis? Total score! Or not. Maybe that’s just how coffee shops worked. “The name’s Tango!” He paused, winked, and continued, “of the ‘Tek’ variety.”

The barista looked far too ecstatic for someone taking a name for a coffee order. “TangoTek? Is your name TangoTek?!”

Tango laughed. Maybe his sleep-deprived charms were more effective than he’d thought. “You got it, buddy!”

“Oh my god. Yes! Okay! Thank you. Thank you so much, you have no idea. Uh, your coffee will be right out.” The barista practically ran into the back of the cafe shouting, “JOEL, GRIAN!! You aren’t going to believe this, but it WORKED!”

Tango shook his head fondly, and walked over to sit across from Etho.

“Did you see that, dude? That barista was totally into me.”

Etho peeked an eye out from between his fingers— his face had been buried in his hands for some reason. “I dunno Tango, but I think you’ve definitely made his day.” Etho responded, holding back breathy laughter.

“What? What do you mean? Why are you laughing at me, huh?!”

Etho smiled his stupid smug grin that he did when he knows something you don’t. Jerk. “Oh nothing, nothing! You’ve just given me some… interesting data for a theory I’m testing.”

Tango groaned, “Ugh, fine, fine, spare me! ! I can barely understand your wack job social experiments when my brain isn’t spaghetti.”

After a few minutes, Jimmy called his name at the counter.

“There you go! Uh, just a sec though, I have a bit of a request for you Mr. Tan-go-tek, is that okay?” Jimmy seemed nervous. No clue why, though. Also, Tango liked the way he said his name. Made him feel like he’d do anything in the world for this guy he just met.

“For you? Anything. What’s up?”

Jimmy looked at him intently, “when you come back some time, do you think you bring some wheat seeds? I know it’s a bit of weird ask, but it would help me out enormously.”

Tango grinned reassuringly. Wheat seeds. That was easy! He could do that next time he stopped by, no problem. “You got it! A stack of wheat seeds, coming right up.”

He tried to wave at Etho as he left, but Etho was currently shaking from a fit of uncontrollable laughter. What a weirdo. Tango picked up some wheat seeds on the way home.

[its-shells]

“So,” Grian says, “this is awkward.”

Scar says nothing. Scar had said nothing for quite a while, honestly, sitting cross-legged in the void and playing with the hem of his cloak. Or with the flower stems woven through the hem of his cloak, as it were. Lilacs and poppies. Grian had thought it painfully ironic the first time he saw them. Scar hadn’t. Not until now.

“So,” Grian says, again, “I can explain? I think?”

He can hear stifled giggles behind him, Scott and Pearl discussing the last moments of the fight. He feels Martyn’s heated glare between his shoulder blades too, knows that he’ll be getting an earful about taking his final life whenever the fourth winner can get his hands on him, but at least Martyn’s been kind enough to leave him at the mercy of the fifth for now. Or not kind enough, as it were. Whether or not Scar has any mercy for him is an open question.

“Explain what,” Scar says. It’s not a question, which is just as well, since Grian doesn’t really have an answer.

Can he explain?

“Well,” he says, “there’s these death games.”

The death games he technically started, and then technically couldn’t stop. The death games that weren’t meant to be blood sacrifices, but probably count as happening on somebody’s altar. The death games that no one ever wins, but technically–

“Technically, the people who win them get to keep their memories.” He scrunches up his nose. “Or, uh, recover their memories of the previous ones, I suppose. Which is what’s happening to you. And Martyn, and Pearl, and Scott, and I was the first, so–”

“One heck of a headache, right?” Pearl yells behind them. “Was even for me, and you’ve got four whole timelines to deal with!” She flops backwards onto the floor, which is the void, pressing the back of the palm to her forehead theatrically even as she peers up at Scar through parted fingers. Scott rolls his eyes and grabs her hand.

“Give them a moment, Pearl,” Grian hears him whisper. “I know you weren’t there for Third Life, but I’ve explained it to you a dozen times, so–“

“So,” Scar says. “Third Life was real.”

It’s a strange way of putting it for someone who hadn’t remembered it at all until now.

“That’s a strange way of putting it for someone who hadn’t remembered it at all until now,” Grian says, because he’s always loose-tongued after dying. Scar stares at him, unblinking.

“That’s a strange way of thinking for someone who declared the first ever game a double victory,” he says. His head is tilted to the side.

Grian stares back.

“That didn’t count.”

“It didn’t not.”

“You didn’t remember until now.”

“I didn’t not.”

“That makes no sense.”

“Doesn’t it?” Scar shrugs. He plucks a flower from between the dark threads. It’s a poppy. “No less than the rest of it. No less sense than me waking up with sand between my toes, or burns on my arms, or bamboo in my pockets. No less than the dreams. Those didn’t make sense either.”

“It’s not like you ever asked me to explain.”

“Would you have?”

“Not the point.”

“Isn’t it?”

Pearl is still giggling. Martyn is still staring. Scott is quiet.

“Maybe it is,” Grian admits, quietly. It’s not an apology. It never will be.

Nor is it forgiveness, when Scar leans forward to tuck the poppy behind his ear. Nor will it ever be.

Sure feels like it sometimes though.

[theminecraftbee]

Afterwards, they do a race. They don’t talk about it, but it’s there, between them still. Something settled between them. Cleo doesn’t know how to say it; they never know how to say things like this. Still, they need to, so they wait until Ren’s race is over and then hike through the jungle to go sit on top of Etho’s base and wait for him to show up as well.

He doesn’t. He’d gone to their base. Instead of just showing up for each other, they have to somewhat awkwardly coordinate over text which base to meet at. It forces everything to feel more real.

When they finally meet up, it’s in the shopping district, leaning against the button. A dangerous game in theory, but Cleo’s not fully convinced it can explode at this point, so.

Cleo breathes. They’re both quiet for a moment.

"Okay, so like, are we doing this?" Cleo says.

"I don’t really know, uh, what this is," Etho says, "but I… care about you. I think. So I think we’re doing that."

Cleo nods once. "You know I don’t fall in love, right? I’m not going to fall in love with you, I don’t do that. Might say something about loving you, but it’s not the same thing. Different sense of the word. It’s different, loving people and falling in love, got it? And I won’t do that second thing. I’m never going to do that second thing. I don’t--"

"Okay. I know," Etho says.

"Do you?" Cleo asks.

"I mean, not entirely, but I’m frankly surprised we’re having this conversation in the first place. I never expected you to be in love with me."

"But I’m not," Cleo says. "I’m attracted to you, and I love you as like, a companion and friend or whatever, but I’m not in love with you. I’m. Ugh. I wish I knew the right words. I just--I also don’t let go of things so if we’re doing this you’re going to have to get used to that real fast. Me not being in love with you but me not letting you go, both of those things."

"You're attracted to me? Aw, Cleo," Etho says.

"Don't be an ass," Cleo says.

"Sorry, sorry. It's just, geez, this is--a heavy conversation, huh?"

Cleo sighs. "We'll work on the deflection."

Etho rubs the back of his head and looks away. "Uh, in that case. If I'm maybe a little in love with you--"

"I can't--I can't reciprocate that, Etho," Cleo says, and their voice cracks as they do.

"I know," Etho says. "I just want to make sure it's okay, then."

"You can't help that, can you? Just like I can't help that I still sort of want to kill anyone who hurts you."

Etho seems to think about it for a while. Cleo resists the urge to fidget. She's a zombie. She shouldn't have the urge to fidget; she should be too dead for that. Besides, it's hardly like it's a secret she doesn't fall in love, exactly. It's just... it's only relevant sometimes. Feeling like, as she watches Etho and Bdubs dance around each other, she's on the outside looking in. She'd kill to hold their hands, to protect them, hell, even to kiss them--but that's different. She just can't summon the same emotion of... she doesn't know.

Martyn had almost gotten it, for all he didn't get anything else, in the end. Scott was never going to fall in love with her in the first place, for obvious reasons. Whatever attraction she and Pearl have going on, it's definitely not love.

But this...

"Okay," Etho says.

"That's it?" Cleo says.

"I mean, does it need to be anything else?" Etho says. "It's not like we can just... not do this. I think it's too late for that. Whatever 'this' is. I'm in love, and you aren't, but we'd both be pretty upset to lose this, right? So I'll... figure it out."

Cleo swallows. They feel small. "Will you? Do you understand?"

Etho shrugs. "I understand that it's you, and it's you that this happened with, not anyone else."

"Okay," Cleo says. "Okay."

"Is it okay if I kiss you? Just to try it, I mean. Not like, as a--this is a bad time, actually, I don't want to try to make any kissing we do romantic, I mean, you just told me this won't be romantic, I--"

"Yeah, sure, you can kiss me," Cleo says, and he leans in to kiss them. It's nice. A little soft for what they'd want, really, but nice. He leans back. He looks them in the eyes.

"I get it a little more now."

Cleo is baffled. "How? Kissing is just like, a thing we did? How does that have anything to do with any of the rest of this."

Etho laughs. "I definitely get it a little more now. What do you want to tell the others? I know they're definitely gossiping."

"Ugh. Can we just, like, not?" Cleo says. "I don't want to have to explain it."

"I'll just be confusing then, got it," Etho says, and Cleo can't help but laugh themselves.

"This is why you're my favorite," Cleo says, and they think maybe this will work out okay, after all.

[artsekey]

Disney's Wish

Look, Disney's Wish has been universally panned across the internet, and for good reason.

It’s just…kind of okay.

 When we sit down to watch a Disney film—you know, from the company that dominated the animation industry from 1989 to (arguably) the mid 2010’s and defined the medium of animation for decades—we expect something magnificent. Now, I could sit here and tell you everything that I thought was wrong with Wish, but if you’re reading this review, then I imagine that you’ve already heard the most popular gripes from other users across the web. So, let me focus in:

The biggest problem with Wish—in fact, the only problem with Wish—is Magnifico.

Whoa, that’s crazy! There’re so many things about Wish that could’ve been better! The original concept was stronger! The music was bad--

I hear you, I do. But stay with me here, okay? Take my hand. I studied under artists from the Disney renaissance. I teach an adapted model of Disney’s story pipeline at a University level. I spent a ridiculous amount of time getting degrees in this, and I am about to dissect this character and the narrative to a stupid degree.

First, we need to understand that a good story doesn’t start and end with what we see on the screen. Characters aren’t just fictional people; when used well, characters are tools the author uses (or in this case, the director) to convey their message to the audience. Each character’s struggle should in some way engage with the story’s message, and consequently, the story’s theme. Similarly, when we look at our protagonist and our antagonist, we should see their characters and their journeys reflected in one-another.

So, what went wrong between Asha & Magnifico in terms of narrative structure?

Act I

In Wish, we’re introduced to our hero not long into the runtime—Asha. She’s ambitious, caring, and community-oriented; in fact, Asha is truly introduced to the audience through her love of Rosas (in “Welcome to Rosas”).  She’s surrounded by a colorful cast of friends who act as servants in the palace, furthering her connection with the idea of community but also telling us that she’s not of status, and then she makes her way to meet Magnifico for her chance to become his next apprentice.

Quick aside: I'm not going to harp on Asha as a character in the context of Disney's overall canon. Almost every review I've seen covers her as a new addition to Disney's ever-growing repertoire of "Cute Quirky Heroines", and I think to be fair to Asha as an actor in the narrative, it serves her best to be weighed within the context of the story she's part of.

As Asha heads upstairs for her interview, we're introduced to the man of the hour: Magnifico. He lives in a tower high above the population of Rosas, immediately showing us how he differs from Asha; he’s disconnected from his community. He lives above them. He has status. While the broader context of the narrative wants us to believe that this also represents a sense of superiority, I would argue that isn’t what Magnifico’s introduction conveys; he's isolated.

Despite this distance, he does connect with Asha in “At All Costs”. For a moment, their goals and values align. In fact, they align so well that Magnifico sees Asha as someone who cares as much about Rosas as he does, and almost offers her the position.

… Until she asks him to grant Saba’s wish.

This is framed by the narrative as a misstep. The resonance between their ideals snaps immediately, and Magnifico says something along the line of “Wow. Most people wait at least a year before asking for something.”

This disappointment isn't played as coming from a place of power or superiority. He was excited by the idea of working with someone who had the same values as he did, who viewed Rosas in the same way he does, and then learns that Asha’s motivations at least partially stem from a place of personal gain.

Well, wait, is that really Asha's goal?

While it's not wholistically her goal, it's very explicitly stated & implied that getting Saba's wish granted is at least a part of it. The audience learns (through Asha's conversation with her friends before the interview) that every apprentice Magnifico has ever had gets not only their wish granted, but the wishes of their family, too!  Asha doesn’t deny that this is a perk that she’s interested in, and I don't think this is a bad thing.

So, Is Asha’s commitment to Saba selfless, or selfish? I’m sure the director wanted it to seem selfless, wherein she believes her family member has waited long enough and deserves his wish granted, but we can’t ignore the broader context of Asha essentially trying to… skip the line.

Then, we get our first point of tension. Magnifico reveals his “true colors” in snapping at Asha, telling her that he “decides what people deserve”. This is supposed to be the great motivator, it’s meant to incite anger in the audience—after all, no one gets to decide what you deserve, right? But unfortunately for the integrity of the film and the audience's suspension of disbelief, at least part of Magnifico’s argument is a little too sound to ignore:

Some wishes are too vague and dangerous to grant. Now, there’s visual irony here; he says this after looking at a 100 old man playing the lute. The idea that something so innocuous could be dangerous is absurd, and the audience is meant to agree.

... But we’ve also seen plenty of other wishes that might be chaotic—flying on a rocket to space, anyone? The use of the word vague is important, too—this implies wording matters, and that a wish can be misinterpreted or evolve into something that is dangerous even if the original intent was innocuous. His reasoning for people forgetting their wish (protecting them from the sadness of being unable to attain their dreams) is much weaker, but still justifiable (in the way an antagonist’s flawed views can be justified). The film even introduces a facet of Magnifico’s backstory that implies he has personal experience with the grief of losing a dream (in the destruction of his home), but that thread is never touched on again.

              What is the audience supposed to take from this encounter? If we’re looking at the director’s intent, I’d argue that we’ve been introduced to a well-meaning young girl and a king who’s locked away everyone’s greatest aspiration because he believes he deserves to have the power to decide who gets to be happy.

              But what are we shown? Our heroine, backed by her friends, strives to be Magnifico’s apprentice because she loves the city but also would really like to see her family's wishes granted. When this request is denied and she loses the opportunity to be his apprentice, she deems Magnifico’s judgement unfair & thus begins her journey to free the dreams of Rosas’ people.

              In fairness, Magnifico doesn’t exhibit sound judgement or kindness through this act of the film. He’s shown to be fickle, and once his composure cracks, he can be vindictive and sharp. He's not a good guy, but I'd argue he's not outright evil. He's just got the makings of a good villain, and those spikes of volatility do give us a foundation to work off of as he spirals, but as we’ll discuss in a bit, the foreshadowing established here isn’t used to the ends it implies.

              While I was watching this film, I was sure Magnifico was going to be a redeemable villain. He can’t connect with people because he's sure they value what he provides more than they value him (as seen in “At All Costs” and the aftermath), and Asha’s asking for more was going to be framed as a mistake. His flaw was keeping his people too safe and never giving them the chance to sink or swim, and he's too far removed from his citizens to see that he is appreciated. Asha does identify this, and the culmination of her journey is giving people the right to choose their path, but the way Magnifico becomes the “true” villain and his motivations for doing so are strangely divorced from what we’re shown in Act I.  

Act II:

His song, “This is the Thanks I Get!?” furthers the idea that Magnifico’s ire—and tipping point—is the fact that he thinks the people he’s built a kingdom for still want more. Over the course of this 3:14 song, we suddenly learn that Magnifico sends other people to help his community and doesn’t personally get involved (we never see this outside of this song), and that he’s incredibly vain/narcissistic (he's definitely a narcissist). I think feeling under-appreciated is actually a very strong motivation for Magnifico as a character-turning-villain, and it works very well. It’s justified based on what we’ve seen on screen so far: he feels under-appreciated (even though he’s decidedly not—the town adores him), he snaps and acts irrationally under stress (as seen with his outburst with Asha), and he’s frustrated that people seem to want more from him (again, as seen with his conversation with Asha in Act I).

              But then… he opens the book.

Ah, the book. As an object on screen, we know that it's filled with ancient and evil magic, well-known to be cursed by every relevant character in the film, and kept well-secured under lock and key. But what does it stand for in the context of the narrative's structure? A quick path to power? We're never told that it has any redeeming qualities; Magnifico himself doesn't seem to know what he's looking for when he opens it. It feels... convenient.

I think it's also worth noting that he only turns to the book when he's alone; once again, the idea of connection and community rears it's ugly head! Earlier in the film, Amaya-- his wife-- is present and turns him away from taking that path. In her absence, he makes the wrong choice.

This decision could make sense; it contains powerful magic, and if it were framed in such a way that the people of Rosas were losing faith in Magnifico’s magic, as if what he can do might not be enough anymore after what they felt from Star, going for the book that we know contains spells that go above and beyond what he can already do would be logical. Along the lines of, “If they’re not happy with what I do for them, fine. I, ever the “martyr”, will do the unthinkable for you, because you want more.”

            It would keeps with the idea that Magnifico believes he's still trying to help people, but his motivation has taken his self-imposed pity party and turned it into resentment and spite.

 But, that’s not the case. Instead he talks about reversing that “light”, which has had no real negative or tangible consequences on Rosas. Everyone had a warm feeling for a few seconds. Again, it’s meant to paint him as a vain control freak, but… he hasn’t lost any power. The citizens of Rosas even assume the great showing of magic was Magnifico.

Act III

              Then, we get to the consequences of opening the book (and perhaps my biggest qualm with this film). The book is established as being cursed. Magnifico knows it, Asha knows it, and Amaya—who is introduced as loyal-- knows it. The characters understand his behavior is a direct result of the book, and search for a way to save him. This is only the focus of the film for a few seconds, but if you think about it, the fact that his own wife cannot find a way to free him of the curse he’s been put under is unbelievably tragic. Worse still, upon discovering there is no way to reverse the curse, Magnifico—the king who built the city & “protected it” in his own flawed way for what seems to be centuries—is thrown out by his wife. You know, the wife who's stood loyal at his side for years?

              It’s played for laughs, but there’s something unsettling about a character who’s clearly and explicitly under the influence of a malevolent entity being left… unsaved. If you follow the idea of Magnifico being disconnected from community being a driving force behind his arc, the end of the film sees him in a worse situation he was in at the start: truly, fully alone.

              They bring in so many opportunities for Magnifico to be sympathetic and act as a foil for Asha; he’s jaded, she’s not. He’s overly cautious (even paranoid), she’s a risk-taker. He turns to power/magic at his lowest point, Asha turns to her friends at her lowest point. Because this dichotomy isn’t present, and Magnifico—who should be redeemable—isn’t, the film is so much weaker than it could’ve been. The lack of a strong core dynamic between the protagonist and antagonist echoes through every facet of the film from the music to the characterization to the pacing, and I believe if Magnifico had been more consistent, the film would’ve greatly improved across the board.

I mean, come on! Imagine if at the end of the film, Asha—who, if you remember, did resonate with Magnifico’s values at the start of the film—recognizes that he's twisted his original ideals and urges him to see the value in the people he’s helped, in their ingenuity, in their gratitude, & that what he was able to do before was enough. Going further, asking what his wish is or was—likely something he’s never been asked— and showing empathy! We’d come full circle to the start of the film where Asha asks him to grant her wish.

Pushing that further, if Magnifico’s wish is to see Rosas flourish or to be a good/beloved king, he'd have the the opportunity to see the value in failing and how pursuing the dream is its own complex and valuable journey, and how not even he is perfect.

 The curse and the book (which, for the purposes of this adjustment, would need to be established as representing the idea of stepping on others to further your own goals/the fast way to success), then serve as the final antagonist, that same curse taking root in the people of Rosas who’ve had their dreams destroyed, and Asha works with the community to quell it. Asha’s learned her lesson, so has Magnifico, and the true source of evil in the film—the book—is handled independently. Magnifico steps back from his role as King, Amaya still ends up as Queen, and Asha takes her place as the new wish-granter.

This route could even give us the true “Disney villain” everyone’s craving; giving the book sentience and having it lure Magnifico in during “This is the Thanks I Get!?” leaves it as its own chaotic evil entity.

All in all, Magnifico's introduction paved a road to redemption that the rest of the film aggressively refused to deliver on, instead doubling down on weaker motivations that seem to appear out of thin air. Once the audience thinks, hey, that bad guy might have a point, the protagonist has to do a little more heavy lifting to convince us they're wrong.

Look at the big-bad-greats from Disney's library. There isn't a point in the Lion King where we pause and think, "Wait a second, maybe Scar should be the guy who rules the Pridelands." Ursula from the Little Mermaid, though motivated by her banishment from King Triton's Seas, never seems to be the right gal for the throne. Maybe Maleficent doesn't get invited to the princess's birthday party, but we don't watch her curse a baby and think, Yeah, go curse that baby, that's a reasonable response to getting left out.

What do they all have in common? Their motivation is simple, their goal is clear, and they don't care who they hurt in pursuit of what they want.

Magnifico simply doesn't fall into that category. He's motivated by the idea of losing power, which is never a clear or impactful threat. His goal at the start seems to be to protect Rosas, then it turns into protecting his own power, and then-- once he's corrupted-- he wants to capture Star. The problem is, there's no objective to put this power toward. Power for power's sake is useless. Scar craves power because he feels robbed of status. Ursula believes the throne is rightfully hers. Maleficent wanted to make a statement. Magnifico... well, I'm not really sure.

[theminecraftbee]

"Doesn't count," is the first thing Jimmy says when he opens his eyes again.

YOU WILL FIND I DECIDE WHETHER OR NOT--

"Nope! Doesn't count," Jimmy says. "Fuck you--I can swear no one's watching I'm dead--fuck you, doesn't count, I wasn't first, baby!"

WHAT? NO, AS I SAID, I AM THE ONE WHO DECIDES WHETHER IT COUNTS OR NOT. AND YOU WILL FIND--

"Doesn't count! And don't try to--I'm not sad about it. I mean I am, I'd have preferred not to get obliterated by a warden, but like, as I said, fuck you, it doesn't count."

YOU'RE DEAD.

"Yeah well, I mean, that part counts, sure. Pretty familiar at this point, right? And--man okay now that all the, the game is wearing off, I do feel a little bad about Lizzie. I really didn't mean to kill her last session. Except I don't feel that bad. Because it doesn't count baby."

The figure standing next to Jimmy shuffles its incorporeal feet. I ADMIT I AM VERY CONFUSED RIGHT NOW. YOU ARE DEAD.

"Yep."

YOU ARE NOT ARGUING THAT.

"I mean, sort of hard to at this point, right?"

WHY DO YOU KEEP SAYING IT DOES NOT COUNT. IT DOES. I AM HERE WITH THE SCYTHE AND EVERYTHING. I HAVE DRESSED UP TRADITIONALLY. MOST OF THE TIME YOU'RE SCREAMING ABOUT HOW IT'S NOT FAIR AND YOU DON'T WANT TO DIE AND ALL OF THAT.

"Yeah, well, it doesn't count, so I'm not going to do that."

IT DOESN'T COUNT AS... DYING?

Jimmy shrugs.

THAT ISN'T--YOU KNOW THIS ISN'T HOW THIS WORKS?

Jimmy laughs, and all at once, it's bitter and exhausted and everything else he's been feeling for two years, since he stepped into a circle with Grian to start a game and stepped out again the first casualty on a battlefield. He's not sure he can name what the emotion is. He just... does.

"Doesn't count," he says.

VERY WELL. THAT DOES NOT CHANGE WHAT MY ROLE IN THIS IS, EVEN IF YOU ARE... EXTREMELY CONFUSING.

"I want to go say thanks to Lizzie. Maybe apologize for the whole accidental murder thing but mostly thank her for being bad at the game." Jimmy pauses. "Is that mean?" He pauses again. "No she'd totally do that to me in my place. So yeah. Here you go. Take me away, big man."

The incorporeal figure shuffles its feet again. I. AND THAT'S IT? THAT'S ALL YOU'RE GOING TO SAY?

"I mean, yeah," Jimmy says. "It doesn't count. I don't have anything else to say because--well, it was unremarkable, wasn't it? That's the good bit about it."

MOST PEOPLE PREFER DYING REMARKABLY.

"Most people are stupid," Jimmy says, and he grabs Death's hand, and they leave.

[pastelitey]

Hold Me Tight (Tell Me You'll Miss Me)

Desert Duo week 2023, Day 1: Dancing/Holding [AO3 Link] @desert-duo-week

Scar picks through the wreckage of Monopoly Mountain as the sun slowly rises over the desert. The battle ended last night, but Scar hadn’t had it in him to survey the damage until just now. The desert landscape has been devastated by the landmines, the Sand Castle isn’t in a much better state, and the only casualties that were suffered were on their own side.

And the worst of all? Grian’s on his yellow life, now. Scar is no fool, he knows that it means Grian can leave him behind now. The only thing keeping Grian at his side this whole time had been the pledge he’d made to Scar after taking his first life. But now that Grian’s lost his own first life, he’s free to go wherever he pleases. Nothing’s holding him down, anymore.

That’s the real reason Scar has put off looking through the wreckage of the Sand Castle. He worries if he sticks around for too long then Grian will track him down and break the news. Scar has been preparing himself for it all night, but it’s still going to hurt when he has to look into Grian’s coffee-brown eyes filled with pity, guilt and maybe a little bit of excitement, and watch his sun-chapped lips form the words Scar is terrified to hear, and accept that his crossed arms will no longer wrap around Scar during the cold desert nights.

So Scar takes his time surveying the damage, preparing himself for what he’ll say when Grian shows face. He’ll take it in stride, pretending he doesn’t care that Grian is leaving him. Grian hadn’t even wanted to team with Scar in the first place, Scar has no right to be this upset over it all.

The walls of the home Grian built for them are reduced to rubble, some having crumbled or cracked or caved in altogether. Their things are strewn about on the floor, marred by the explosions and fires alike. The ceiling has been pockmarked and floorboards are pulled up here and there, scorched by the heat of explosions. A mere few days ago they were eating rabbit stew at the table in the corner, but now the walls have caved in and the table is reduced to splinters and ash. Just yesterday Scar picked a bushel of flowers and put them in the vase there on the windowsill, which he molded out of clay from the riverbed, but the flowers have been crisped by the fire and the pot is chipped and the glass in the window is all blown out. Scar looks at the faded purples and reds of the flowers and wonders if there’s any symbolism there in their destruction, but he immediately forgets about it when he sees a head of sandy blonde hair walking up towards the house and his heart hides in his throat.

Scar disappears into the back of the house, or at least what’s left of it. He’s not prepared for this, he needs more time to choose his words and practice a smile that doesn’t give himself away. Grian had always said Scar never really had a poker face, after all.

The front door creaks on its busted hinges. A voice rings out through the wrecked building and Scar squeezes his eyes shut. He turns his back to the doorway as he hears footsteps pick their way through the house. His hands curl into fists and he keeps his focus fixated on the corner of the room, the only part of the Sand Castle to go untouched. The little dark oak side table is pristine, as well as the phonograph record Scar had dug out of the sand on the far side of the desert. He’d managed to get it back into working condition with some time and care, and even if Grian never enjoyed the music as much as Scar he still entertained Scar looking for discs to play on it—

“There you are.” Grian stands in the doorway and Scar has to work up the courage to turn and face him. “I’ve been looking for you all over.”

When Scar looks at him he can already tell that the man before him is different. The charring on his sweater and trousers fits right in with the chips and scratches on his patchworked armor, stolen from the battlefield. His hair is all messed up and dirt cakes his face, very uncharacteristic to the man Scar knows so well. And then, of course, the ID band around his wrist is no longer cactus-green, it is a sunny-yellow. Scar’s lips nearly set into a frown simply upon seeing the new color, knowing what it means, but he catches himself and dons a pleasant smile instead.

“Look what it is!” Scar says, stepping aside and gesturing the phonograph in the corner. “The phononogram survived!”

Grian steps into the room, expression unreadable. “Yeah, I know.” His throat bobs and Scar looks away, preparing for the blow he knows is coming.

“Maybe when all this has blown over we can enjoy some music and celebrate our victory!” He tries to sound jovial as he says it but his words lose some of their impact. They both know that victory won’t be shared between the two of them, because it’s over after this. No more Scar and Grian.

Scar waits for a response from Grian, who has gone quiet. He inhales sharply and mentally prepares himself for it, thinking this is it.

“It’s funny you say that,” Grian says, “because I just found this out behind the house.”

Scar watches as Grian pulls out a flat dark piece of vinyl, holding it gingerly between his dirty fingers. A record, Scar realizes with surprise. Grian holds it out to Scar and he takes it, inspecting the disc and reading the title of it inscribed on the middle.

He looks up at Grian with a heaviness hanging over his heart. “This one is my favorite.” He had assumed they’d all burned up or warped beyond saving during the explosion, but this one somehow survived. And Grian just so happened to find it.

Was he looking for it? Why would he do that?

One of the corners of Grian’s lips quirks upward and Scar does his best not to stare. “Go ahead, put it on.” He gestures to the corner of the room and Scar doesn’t need to be told twice, dashing forward to prepare the phonograph. Grian watches quietly as Scar sets it up, stepping back to listen as the soft music fills the air.

For a moment everything is right with the world. The house isn’t in tatters, their things aren’t burnt up or stolen, and Grian is still loyal to Scar and Scar alone.

Scar turns and looks at Grian and catches his eye. They’re standing side-by-side, their shoulders nearly touching. A warmth spreads through Scar just at being subject to Grian’s gaze. Feeling a little brave, Scar reaches out and squeezes Grian’s hand.

“Thank you,” he says, the words small and quiet, meant only for Grian’s ears.

It’s beginning to feel like a day for miracles, because Grian squeezes back and then smiles at Scar. “You’re welcome.” He steps away and drops Scar’s hand but keeps his gaze on him. “Let’s dance.”

Scar’s brain fills with static, worried the heat is finally getting to him and that he’s heard Grian wrong. “What?”

Grian’s demeanor shifts and he looks a bit panicked. “It’s a waltz, isn’t it? They’re meant to be danced to.” He holds a hand out to Scar like there’s nothing left to be said about it; Grian’s made up his mind about it so now they’re dancing.

Scar hesitates, which isn’t like him. Usually he’d take any excuse he could to be close to Grian, but this feels like the setup to some elaborate trick. If there’s one thing that Scar knows about Grian, it’s that he doesn’t dance. It’s not a super obvious thing, just something Grian has casually brought up now and again. Despite the fact that he moves in a graceful way, like he’s been classically trained in a way Scar could never imitate, Grian doesn’t dance with others, and that’s that.

Yet here he is, offering to dance with Scar in their ruined home in the middle of a sweltering desert.

And Scar, always the optimist, takes his hand and they assume position.

They step in time to the music, Grian easily taking the lead. His hand on Scar’s waist is foreign and familiar at the same time, making Scar feel giddy. The music swells with them as their feet carry them across the decrepit floor. Scar almost expects himself to trip or mess up the steps, but he finds himself striding confidently in a way he never has before.

Grian pulls away and spins Scar, which Scar executes with only a slight tremble as he finds his footing. Grian laughs as he pulls Scar back in, a noise of elation and fondness that makes Scar’s heart ache. He loves the way Grian laughs, how his smile forms and the way he tips his head ever so slightly.

They continue dancing until the song dwindles to a stop. The dance slows and Scar finds himself already missing this moment. As the music cuts out Scar expects Grian to pull away, so he counteracts it by pulling Grian close into an embrace. Grian stills as Scar wraps his arms around him, resting his chin on top of the other’s head and taking advantage of their height difference.

Will you stay? the silence says, as Scar waits to see whether the embrace will be returned or not.

After a moment, Grian slowly reaches forward and wraps his arms around Scar in turn, pressing himself against Scar and sighing against his chest.

I’m staying, the silence says.

Scar smiles, closing his eyes and breathing in the peace of the moment, the proof that Grian isn’t abandoning him. He doesn’t care whether they win or not, as long as they stick together, that’s all that matters.

When the embrace is broken there’s a moment where their gazes catch and Scar considers leaning back in and doing something unspeakable.

But Grian pulls away and the moment is gone, thankfully before Scar can do anything he might regret later.

“Come on, we should go figure out what allies we have left,” Grian says, turning on his heel and exiting the dilapidated room. Scar softens, because it’s just the confirmation he needs to hear.

“Right behind you, Grian,” he says, following after his teammate, his ally until the very end.

Grian turns on him as he exits the room, gaze turned serious. “You tell anyone that we were dancing and I will take your final life.”

Scar can’t help but smile. He mimics zipping his lips shut. “Our secret is safe with me!”

[progesteroil]

Jimmy loved play fighting with Joel.

It was comfortable, so you can't blame him. Why it's comfortable is because they'd done this so many times before. Jimmy was used to this, and knew how to do it well. He hated change, like a bird.

Joel loves play fighting with Jimmy. He loved bothering Jimmy in any way possible and making Jimmy groan whenever it happens. He loves wrestling Jimmy for whatever he's got in his hands and then giving it back to him immediately after taking it, if it gets Jimmy to hang out with him.

Recently, though, Joel has been feeling a bit soft. It isn't your average run of the mill growing soft for someone' trope. Nah, Joel had gone soft for Jimmy years ago. So, he devised a little plan to bother Jimmy with this softness as much as possible.

In all honesty, he didn't have to devise a plan for it to work on Jimmy (as much as Joel loves him, he's easy). He did anyways, likes putting the thought in.

So, one night in the mansion, Joel antagonized Jimmy again. They were both on the bed, and Joel was trying to pull something (Joel didn't actually know what it was) out of Jimmy's hands.

Jimmy pulls his hands up higher than Joel can reach, while Joel clambers into his lap to reach further for it. They're both batting at each other like a cat fight, pushing each other by their faces and biting.

Just as Joel grabs the object- leaning onto Jimmy in his lap- they both fall. Jimmy falls backwards onto the bed, and Joel lands on top of him. It takes Jimmy by surprise (you can tell cause he squeaks), so Joel successfully pulls the object away from him.

Jimmy groans and tries to push Joel off of him, to no avail. Then… Joel sorta.. goes slack on him. He melts onto Jimmy's chest all of a sudden.

Jimmy blinks in confusion.

"Wait- hold on a second.. Joel."

Joel hums out a response like a purr. "Hmn?"

"What're you doing?"

Joel adjusts to look at him, his chin resting on Jimmy's chest.

"Cuddling."

Jimmy narrows his eyes, huffs.

"...cuddling."

"Yeah. S'nice innit?"

"it's--" Jimmy cuts himself off, feeling his face heat up. Rosy red spreads across his face like blush brushes dancing on his skin. His ears turn a similar shade. His eyelashes flutter.

Joel changed all of a sudden. He went all soft and cuddly on Jimmy instead of trying to be an asshole on purpose.

It's odd. He does that sometimes- getting all mushy on him. Jimmy is pretty sure he's the only person who's seen Joel like that. Maybe Grian has- he doubts it though.

"It is.. nice."

Joel raises an eyebrow. "You good there, babe?"

Jimmy makes a noise in his throat, sounding almost strangled as he says, "i... you..."

He lets his head fall back onto the pillows. His arm wraps around Joel, with a snort. "You're a menace."

He can practically hear Joel's grin. His stupid handsome smile and his odd sharp teeth. He can feel that stupid look in his eyes. The one that Joel uses when he's making fun of Jimmy. It feels more like.. he was being admired right now, at the same time.

"That's me!" Joel sing-songs. "But- you love me, don't ya, Jim?"

Jimmy rolls his eyes. not that Joel can see it, but he did it anyway.

"You just rolled your eyes, didn't you?"

Oops! Jimmy snickers.

"I love you too, Joel."

Joel hums. He buries his face back into Jimmy's chest, muttering something Jimmy doesn't quite catch. He hears something about Jimmy being like a pillow. He assumes Joel was calling his boobs a nice pillow. Again.

Maybe change isn't so bad?

(Massive credit to @zedif-y for the dialogue section and also inspiration. Writers block? Not my friend anymore :3)

[angeart]

With interest, Grian watches Scar heave breaths and clutch at his chest. The surrounding caves full of lava pops and hissing mobs fall away, bringing them somewhere dark and misty instead. The ground is smooth and pitch black, some blocks of it gently floating away in a way that’s entirely disturbing; a picture of a quiet and broken world. Glancing appraisingly around, Grian takes a step away from Scar, swishing his tail impatiently as he waits for him to calm down.

“Gee, Grian. Can’t you bring us somewhere nice for once?” Scar huffs out breathlessly, still slightly bent forward. His messy brown hair falls into his eyes, partially covering up his expression.

Grian itches to step closer and push Scar’s hair away, so he can see his face in full. “I can’t,” he lies, a hint of sulkiness in his voice. His nose scrunches up a little as he wrangles the strange urges nestled in his heart, and he takes one more step decidedly away from Scar.

 Taking a final deep breath, Scar straightens up. “Can’t or won’t?” he presses.

“Can’t,” Grian insists, even though the words feel like gravel in his throat under the scrutiny of Scar’s gaze. There’s something in Scar’s eyes as he looks back at Grian, and Grian can’t quite identify it—something veering on expectant. Something hopeful, maybe. Something strange. His tail sharply swishes again, agitated, and he blurts out: “What are you the most afraid of?”

“What?” Scar startles, visibly flinching under the abrupt ambush.

“What are you the most afraid of?” Grian repeats, pinning him down with his gaze. “We went through plenty things. You scare easily. But what is The Big Bad Scary Thing for you? I can’t quite figure it out.”

Scar feels his heartbeat in his throat. He purses his lips and stays silent.

They stare at each other.

Swish, swish, swish. Grian’s tail flicks from side to side as he waits.

Scar thinks Grian might explode if he won’t give him something. He releases a breath, wilfully loses the staring match and stammers out: “I—I’m not telling you that!”

Grian’s tail droops, suddenly weighted as he pouts. “Aw, why not?”

It’s a display of innocence, but Scar knows he’d be barking up the wrong tree if he wanted to find a shred of innocence in the demon that stands in front of him. (And yet a part of him wants him to willingly let himself get deceived. A part of him wants to think that it’s not as impossible as the rest of him makes it out to be.) Gritting his teeth, he pulls up every defence he can muster; unease sings in his veins, ready to be called upon once again in this dreamscape, always so, so very close to surface here. “You’ll use it! You’ll use it against me!” he accuses.

“I’d never,” Grian says simply, his lips twitching into a toothy grin.

“Pfhshs, you would, you absolutely would, you menace!” Scar protests, taking a stumbling half-a-step back, as if having physical distance ever helped him in here. (It never helps. Sometimes he feels like closer is the only right place to be. Like the further he runs, the more danger he’s in.)

The familiar sound of giggles bubbles out of Grian; his eyes are bright when they meet Scar’s again.

Running on some faulty setting, Scar’s heart skips a beat at the sight. He blames it on adrenaline—on the constant looming feeling of awaiting terror; on the lingering fear that so stickily clings to him whenever he dreams—but somewhere deep down in the pit of his stomach he knows that’s not it.

He watches Grian quiet down again, eyes grazing the surrounding dreamscape almost contemplatively. There’s a small tilt to Grian’s head as he thinks, a curve to his throat and jaw that makes Scar’s fingers twitch. He pries his gaze away and forces himself still, instead watching the world slowly float away around him and get swallowed by the void.

Is that what’s going to happen to him if he keeps standing here?

Dread curls through the spaces between his ribs at the thought, even though he’s aware it’s better than most alternatives.

Grian’s hum interrupts his thoughts, and the dread in Scar’s chest grows thicker and more insistent.

“I noticed,” Grian starts musingly, “that you don’t usually dream about other people.”

Scar blinks, trying to regain his footing in the seeming randomness of the topic. “So?”

“Well, most people dream about other people in their lives now and then,” Grian notes. His dark eyes hold Scar hostage. “Bad dreams, you know. Them getting hurt? Or getting hurt by them? Things like that.” His tail swishes. There’s something both grim and intrigued in his expression as he continues hungrily watching Scar. “But you don’t.”

There’s a flash image rushing through Scar at those words: Mumbo, drenched in blood, sobbing helplessly as he collapses on the floor and curls up on himself. Scar, hovering around him, not knowing how to help.

He tries to cover up the shakiness of his breath with false bravado. He isn’t going to let Grian have that.  “I don’t see anything wrong with that,” he retorts, his voice carrying only a hint of his fraying nerves. He doesn’t think he could bear that kind of nightmares.

Grian cocks his head, eyes still lingering on him in that scrutinising way. “Is it because you don’t have anyone? Is that what you’re secretly afraid of? That you’ll die completely alone?”

Scar’s brows pull into a bemused frown. “Are you insulting me?”

“What?” A genuine confusion disrupts the intensity of Grian’s gaze.

“I have friends!” Scar huffs out defensively.

“Wait,” Grian shakes his head, feeling like he’s suddenly two steps behind Scar in this conversation. “Why would that be an insult?”

This whole time, Grian thought there’s simplicity in fears. Everyone was scared of something. And Grian did so very much enjoy putting his hands in that particular jar of honey, so tantalising and rich and sweet. There was fascination in watching it all unfold, so raw and terrible. Seeing the frantic urgency, the rising swell of overwhelming emotions ready to consume. Yet at the end of it, there was nothing. Always, always. Inevitably, it’d end. They’d all wake up.

All but him.

They’d wake up and none of it would ever be real.

He was just playing. It didn’t mean anything.

Scar is looking at him as if maybe it meant something.

“Well, you’re—” Scar starts, a baffled edge to his voice. Wasn’t it obvious? He thought it was obvious. But Grian keeps looking at him with that same confusion etched into his features, and so Scar fumbles for a way to put his knee-jerk thought into coherent words. “You’re saying I might die alone. Isn’t that kind of like suggesting that I’m unlovable?”

There’s a beat of silence when Grian parses through his words, slots them somewhere within himself.

Scar can’t tell where Grian’s slotting them. He just wants to be understood, and for them to move on.

But Grian doesn’t swiftly move from it quite like Scar hopes.

His tail once again gravitates straight down; his wings droop and his bat-like ears twitch and pull back. “Oh.” It’s a small sound, timid and fractured and just a little bit guarded.

Scar watches Grian’s face scrunch up again, in a way that’d be completely endearing if it wasn’t so alarming. Because Grian doesn’t usually make a face like this. He’s sulky, sure, and he’s chaotic. He cackles and sighs and swishes his damn tail and—

He shouldn’t look timid. He shouldn’t look like he’s about to get hurt.

“Grian…?”

When Grian speaks, his voice is even quieter, cracking with something unsure. “I didn’t know it’s…” He stops, the words hitting some dam within him. I didn’t know it’s bad, is what he almost says. His frown deepens, and he’s not looking at Scar anymore; he’s staring at the ground, as if it held the answers he so desperately needed. “I didn’t…” He trails off again, sheepish. I didn’t mean that you’re unlovable hovers on the tip of his tongue, but he bites at it until it dies in his throat.

A sharp urge to step closer and lift Grian’s chin sears through Scar.

Before he can do anything, Grian lifts his head on his own accord and meets Scar’s gaze.

Grian’s dark eyes are full of some deep pitfall, a ravaging emotion that Scar fails to identify.

“Am I?” Grian asks, words imbued with painful desperation. Am I unlovable? echoes through him, thrums through every part of him with the wild force of his heartbeat.

He shouldn’t be asking this. Why is he asking this?

It shouldn’t matter.

Why does it hurt to think it?

He should be coating the words in sharp edges. He should be using them as knives. He should be digging his claws into Scar, mocking him that yes, maybe Scar is unlovable. He should be trying to see if that scares him. If it hurts.

Isn’t that what nightmares should be about?

But instead, Grian’s the one in pain.

And yet.

And yet it looks like Scar is hurt too, somehow, anyway. There’s a faint fragrance of fear in the air, an unfamiliar tinge to it that Grian can’t quite pinpoint.

A part of Grian wants to stay and figure it out. It wants to indulge in the way Scar looks right now; it wants to step closer, to put his sharp, clawed fingers against Scar’s pulse point and find out what makes it beat like that.

The other part of him is cacophonic and loud, ringing alarm bells and frantically trying to get him to run away.

Run away from what? Run where?

This is his world. This is his place.

He isn’t supposed to hurt here.

He isn’t supposed to hurt here.

He doesn’t realise his breaths are turning rapid and shallow; his heart is throwing a tantrum, causing havoc within him. All he knows is that he has a strong urge to hide. To protect himself. To stay safe. Deeper, deeper in the dreamscape. That’s where he should be. That’s where he needs to go.

He steps away from Scar and with wide eyes and too-loud heartbeat, he watches Scar follow.

“I’m done playing for today,” he lets him know, the words raspy and wrong as they barely make it past the lump in his throat. He doesn’t wait, doesn’t give out any more chances; he turns around and runs.

The ground rumbles in the wake of his footsteps, walls pulling up behind him, blocking Scar’s path to him and rendering him unable to follow.

[seasonal-writes]

“old heartbeats die hard” (ao3 link is here!)

pairing: grian / scar cw: none! a quick programming break from our usual team rancher-related postings for a short and sweet scarian/desertduo fic! as i mentioned in the ao3 tags, this can be read as /p or /r, though be aware i did definitely write this with lowkey /r in mind. enjoy, and thanks for reading! ~

Did you know that listening to someone’s heartbeat can have a calming effect on your own heart and breathing pattern?

Grian knows this. And he knows it’s working right now, even if it’s not enough to lull him to sleep quite yet. Though, there is still relief in knowing that one is still thumping away in Scar’s chest. Its pace is still fresh and lively and steady, just how he likes it—even if he’d never say something like that out loud. His ear is pressed up against his chest, rumbling with soft snores and other breathing sounds. But he’s locked on target: the heartbeat.

Ba-bum.. Ba-bum..  

Sleep doesn’t come. He can’t find it in him, just in-case. You never know. No one knows at this point, with how things have been going.  

As his head rests on Scar’s chest, he’s got his arms wrapped tightly around his waist. He’s clinging to the taller figure, and hasn’t let go since he first laid down.

Grian came back from the escapades at the pool party to find Scar asleep on their little make-shift mattress on the floor, just as he said he’d be when Grian left. After a couple soft pokes to the face and arm, Grian knew he was sleeping deeply enough that movement wouldn’t disturb him. So, the little winged man crawled up beside him and practically attached himself to Scar. There was risk of him waking up, asking what he was doing. And Grian knew that after all he’d done the past few days, it wouldn’t be an easy answer on the fly. But he clung to Scar anyway.

He wasn’t planning on finding such an infatuation with his heartbeat, but once he found it, he couldn’t seem to move after that.

The night crawls on, taking its sweet time. But he doesn’t care. He doesn’t mind the silence, or the safety, even if it isn’t their keep.

He can feel Scar’s every move, little twitches and shifts every so often as dreams or sleep cycles take their hold. Grian can’t help but smile, just a little, when he mumbles and even talks occasionally in his sleep. He just listens. Nighttime noises creep in from the outside, with some occasional shouting far in the distance. It feels oddly nostalgic until he remembers where they are. The little space he put together for them isn’t as home-y, but it’s safe and far from everyone else for the time being. They’re both safe.

Scar is safe, he keeps reminding himself.  

He takes a deep breath, his own nerves kicking up when he thinks about the tower earlier that day. The smoke and the panic and the death that surrounded them. They got lucky, he knows that full well. Then there’s that memory again, floating back, the clear image of his soulbound leaping from the side of a tower and plummeting down. Arms too short to grab him, time moving too fast. The loud screams erupting from his throat, which now seems to twinge with a bit of soreness now that he thinks about it.

Just a few seconds of admiration of Scar’s compassion, only for it to be consumed by stress. His stomach drops even as he remembers. He tries to ignore it, leaving his head completely still as he closes his eyes and focuses on the heartbeat.

Ba-bum.. Ba-bum.. Ba-bum..  

There’s flashes of falling from other tall places, all that time ago. More screaming, more devastation. More heartache as the worst was revealed, only for Scar to pop up moments later, shocked but thankful to have another go. Even as Grian was still on his knees, lungs caught in his throat.

He’s so used to it, yet it never does get easier. Now, they share their life source, and it feels even worse. He’s concerned for himself, sure. But Scar. The one who always ends up in his hands. He’s the kicker. The tug on the strings.

Their heartbeats are in sync, and feeling them both nearly stop before the luckiest save he’s ever seen..something like divine intervention, or kismet.. Well, it’s shaken him up a bit.

As the memories flitter in, Grian’s arms squeeze lightly around Scar’s torso. He holds him tighter—desperately—like letting go would mean he’d never be able to keep him this safe again. Like some void would open up and send Scar into another freefall. There is security found when he’s within reach.

He knows that the morning will greet them with separation. The concern for safety poking at the back of his head as the days go on, their hearts stumbling and the phantom pain haunting every misstep or accident. Constant wonder of when the other shoe will drop.. when it’ll suddenly be over and starting again.

Things change when people die, and in this place, it’s so fast. It’s so fast and hard and nerve-wracking, and narrow escapes are the only difference between life and death. And they were lucky. But he wonders if their luck will ever run out. Fate has played such huge roles here. It’s been sticking its fingers in and playing with all of their soulbound strands like ribbon, knotting it and yanking it taut. And it’s exhausting. It brings the two together, like always.

Grian thinks about how he’s not sure if he wanted this, and he’s been so frustrated with what’s been put in front of him that he’s tried his chance at cheating the game. Finding a path that was not laid before him. His own heartbeat starts interrupting the peace, quickening and creating a cacophony of thumps.

Ba-bum, Ba-bum, Ba-bum, Ba-bum!  

“..Grian?” A very low, sleepy voice suddenly asks. Grian freezes. He slowly lifts his head for the first time in hours, looking up at Scar’s face as a bit of soreness spreads across his neck. He can see fairly clearly, even in the dim light of the cave. Scar’s eyes are barely open, squinting at him with a curious glance. He has a slight goofy grin on, as if he knows he’s caught him. Grian’s stopped in his tracks, his mouth hanging agape for a moment. Finally, he speaks. “Sorry.. Do you want me to—” Grian starts to ask, ready to move. Scar doesn’t let him finish his sentence before turning onto his side and scooping Grian into his arms. He wraps him up equally as tight, habitually careful to avoid his wings. His hands rest at just the right place on Grian’s back, as if he knows exactly where to put them, even while half-asleep. The slight grin blooms into a brief, sleepy smile as he closes his eyes again.

“I’m.. glad you made it back..” Scar mumbles, his voice falling off as he falls right back to sleep. Grian’s entire body still feels stiff, suddenly consumed by the hug. He still has his arms wrapped tightly around Scar as well, the nerves having created a rather solid grip on him. He isn’t sure what to do as the seconds pass. He feels.. oddly comforted, now. Like he doesn’t have to hide. Scar knows Grian cares, deep down.

Moments like this are inescapable at the end of the day, and so are Scar’s hugs. But even with his disdain for destiny’s choices, even with the semi-begrudging care and concern for his partner in crime.. Grian doesn’t try to leave. He allows acceptance. He stays, nestling in a bit and pressing his forehead to Scar’s chest.

Scar’s breath slows once again to a relaxed pace, and Grian finds that his own breath does the same. His shoulders relax, the oh-so-familiar warmth enveloping him. He even welcomes it. The silence returns, the heartbeat no longer right in his ear. It feels a little sad without the sound for a moment, but the loneliness in his senses disperses quickly.

That safe feeling finally reaches him, too. He feels at enough ease to sleep, his eyelids suddenly feeling heavy before he starts to drift off. He can still feel Scar’s chest rising and falling. He’s still breathing, still safe.

There is an acknowledgement. A silent agreement between them. Whatever comes next, even as the last of their kind, can be tackled together. If they don’t make it to the end, or even if they do.. it’s together. He doesn’t have to face it alone.

Suddenly, tomorrow doesn’t feel so dreadful.

And two heartbeats fall into sync. Fresh and steady and lively—just how Grian likes it.

[zabo-writes]

Hanging Around (Scar + Grian)

Grian gets spooked and his avian tendencies make him stress grip the ceiling of the Barge. Scar encounters him in this awkward predicament.

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

Grian was in a bit of a pickle.

His day had been fairly normal:

He mined ten full shulker boxes of sand and gravel to restock at the Barge. 

He avoided the back of his base like a plague. 

He fed Mumbo’s weird sentient base… all very normal, non stressful activities.

Inside the Barge, as Grian was opening the chests to collect his diamonds, he suddenly slipped and set off a firework rocket. It made a loud BANG sound, and left lots of pretty purple paper bits all over the floor that were going to be a pain to get out later. It had been mostly harmless really, only a tick or two of damage, but on instinct Grian jumped and grabbed onto the campfire-thatched ceiling of his upper floor for dear life.

This would not have been a problem, were it not for the fact that his talons had caught the wood in a stress grip, and now he couldn’t let go.

Grian was stuck on the ceiling.

He sighed. It wasn’t often that his avian behaviors interfered with his day to day, but boy did they choose the most awkward times! Grian stretched his wings in annoyance.

Okay! Let's assess the damage: 

His entire left foot’s talons were wrapped securely around the campfire wood on the roof of the barge. He had no control over the vice-like grip strength that his talons held in these situations. Depending on the level of stress that induced it, this could keep him stuck for anywhere from minutes to hours. 

His right hand had grasped a fence post on the wall to stable himself in his fright. That grip was less… grippy? His knuckles were still white with tension, but in his experience he was usually able to gain control over his hand far more quickly. Grian wasn’t really sure why, maybe it was because his feet were more bird-like, and his hands were less so? He wasn’t going to question it.

Right foot, left hand, and both wings free to flail idly while he waited. And bump awkwardly into all his chests.

With a bit of focus and begrudgingly calm breathing, Grian managed to dislodge his other hand. Great! Now he could hang upside down like a bat while he waited for his foot to be less grippy. Nothing to see here, just an average day at the Barge, doing his stretches… 

Grian really hoped no one came in to see him like this.

But it seemed luck was not in his favor today, as he began to hear singing in the distance growing slowly louder as someone approached. And singing generally only meant the arrival of one person in particular.

“Why, hello there! What are you up to on this fine afternoon Grian? Hanging around?”

Grian leveled Scar with his most unimpressed expression, though the effect was slightly diminished by his predicament. Scar shamelessly eyed the avian down and up, undeterred.

Growing a little self conscious of his jumper slipping and showing his stomach, Grian adjusted his arms so he was leaning extremely casually against the wall. Very casual and also comfortable. He hoped Scar left soon because he could not keep this up for long.

“Hello Scar. I’m doing quite well actually! Just doing my daily stretches.”

Scar nodded sagely, “Ohh I see! Always good to stay fit, that’s good, keep the muscles strong.” 

“Yes, precisely! So, did you need something?”

“Hmm, I actually came by looking for some lanterns, but I think I’ll do some leisurely shopping around the Barge! I’m sure you don’t mind, do you, Grian?”

Grian did mind, actually! He minded very much, Scar! Grian cursed his bird luck under his breath, but gritted out “Don’t you have some mayoral duties to attend to? More evil lasers to build?”

“It’s not evil! It has solar panels,” Scar said as he brought himself face to face with the hanging avian, placing his hands on the sides of Grian’s shoulders, “And besides. I’m much more intrigued on what’s going on with you. I think you’re lying, pesky bird.”

Grian felt his face grow hot. He tried to shift away, to no avail.

“Scar…”

“C’mon! You can tell me, what's up?”

“..... I’m a bit stuck.”

“Really?!” Scar gasped, “Stuck in your own shop? If this isn’t Grian-safe, it surely isn’t Scar safe… I may need to write you a citation!”

“No, no, it's like a bird thing. I got spooked by a rocket and then I stress-gripped the ceiling.”

Scar’s face lit up in a way that usually did not mean good things for Grian.

“Oh, I can help you calm down! Hold on right there Grian, I’ve got just the wizard crystal for this occasion…”

“I really don’t think that's needed here,” Grian protested as Scar rifled through his enderchest, coming out triumphantly with a pink piece of glass. 

“Here we go! A one of a kind calming crystal just for you! Oh, and I can go get Jellie for you as well, she’s very calm…”

In the midst of Scar’s rambling, Grian felt his talons release from the ceiling. He tumbled gracelessly to the floor, taking out Scar in the process and landing them both in a tangled heap on the ground.

“You deserved that,” said Grian fondly, making no move to get off of Scar.

Scar looked up at him with a smile, “Another satisfied customer! Can I interest you in a bulk deal?”

[zabo-writes]

Mumbo’s buildswap self portrait (slightly cursed but it’s ok we’re proud of him) from his buildswap with grian

As mentioned in god mumbo au!

[zabo-writes]

Mumbo is a God (He thinks everyone else is also a god, but that they’ve just been really good at pretending to be human)

Mumbo was beginning to suspect he was on the receiving end of a remarkably complex prank.

This put him in a predicament. Should he go along with it? He knew it was more fun if he did. If Mumbo Jumbo knew one thing, it was how to commit to a joke.

However, this had been going on for years now. Mumbo was starting to get one of those feelings in his gut that was the kind of gut feeling people describe when they say they have a “gut feeling” about something.

And being that Mumbo did not have a gut, or any human body parts for that matter, one could see why this was distressing to him.

Mumbo Jumbo was a god. Specifically, the god of redstone. All of the other hermits were gods as well. The crux of the issue here was that all of the other hermits had been pretending to be humans for about 10 years now. And by pretending, Mumbo meant seriously, seriously roleplaying. He’d tested it! There’d been multiple instances where he had tried to convince another hermit to break character and do something godly. And they never cracked!

Truly, Mumbo was impressed. He himself was not quite as unshakeable. There’d been a few moments where his facade had cracked: the time he accidentally made a perfectly circular pumpkin (big problem in a world made of squares), the time where he put too power into the redstone AI for grumbot and gave it an existential crisis, the incident where he may have slightly consumed Grian’s soul…

All that was to say, Mumbo wasn’t the best at pretending to be a human, but he was giving it his best effort. And it seemed like the other hermits, in some sort of years-long prank, were keeping up the joke until Mumbo got it right.

Well if that was the case, he’d finally caught on! Haha! Take that, other hermits! Mumbo finally figured out the prank where everyone else pretended for a very long time that they weren’t actually—

Gods.

Wait.

They were gods, right?

Scar with his magnificent terraining skills, Cleo with her armor stands…

And surely Grian was some sort of trickster god. Right?

All of his friends were so talented, he had simply assumed it was related to some sort of godly domain.

Come to think of it, did he have any confirmation that they ever were gods in the first place?

No, no, no… surely…

Mumbo paused his task of mindlessly mining out a very large area under his base. He blinked. The netherite pickaxe clattered as it hit the floor.

Oh, he was an absolute spoon.

———

Grian grumbled as he shuffled through every chest and shulker he owned for what felt like the billionth time. He could’ve sworn he left the materials to make a beacon somewhere around here. Did it “lag” into someone’s inventory again? He pulled out his communicator to put a message in the chat.

“Grian! Incoming!”

Grian looked up just in time to see Mumbo collide with his face, sending them both sprawling across the floor.

“Ah! Hello Mumbo, fancy seeing you here! Do you happen to know where my beacon is?” Grian laughed as he dusted himself off.

“This is not the time! Grian! Grian I’m having a crisis.” Mumbo lamented,

“Yes, so am I! My beacon is gone!”

Mumbo continued, undeterred, “Grian, I have a very important question for you, and I need you to be completely honest with me.”

“Okay?”

“What does your true form look like?”

“My what?”

“Alright, alright. So you know how I’m a god?”

Grian stated incredulously at the mustachioed man before him. “WHAT?”

Mumbo groaned and put his head in his hands. “No, I really need you to be honest. I’m a god, you’re a god, bdubs is a god… we all are, right?”

Grian was not sure how to respond to this. He was, to his knowledge, as human as they come. “I think this is a sitting down conversation.”

After a long, long chat inside of Grian’s bedroom, Grian felt he was finally understanding the situation. He was taking it pretty well! As well as one can take your best friend explaining to you in the same breath that he is a deity, and oh— by the way, he thought this whole time that you were as well.

“Okay, okay. Let me get this straight. You’ve been pretending to be human this whole time because you thought you had to?”

“I thought it was a game!” Mumbo exclaimed, burying his face in the pillows on Grian’s bed. “I thought it was a game, like an ‘I’m not going to kill anything for a season’ type of game!”

“Right, but in this case the game was ‘pretending to be human for multiple years without mentioning the fact that you’re a god’?”

“…. Yes.”

Grian cackled “Well, Mumbo, I can assure you, if that ever was a game, you’ve certainly won! I would never have suspected you.”

Mumbo nodded sagely. “Yes, it’s the mustache. A classic human disguise.”

“You don’t really have a mustache?!”

Mumbo cocked his head. “Grian, you’ve seen my real form! Or, a depiction of it, I suppose. The redstone god? From the buildswap we did?”

“That was ages ago! And wait, did you just make a self portrait for that prompt, then?!”

“Yes! That’s why I thought you knew!”

“Somehow that feels like cheating. I should go get Pearl and have her re-evaluate the results of that build swap with this new information”

A look of concern crossed Mumbo’s face. “Oh, I didn’t even think that. I’m going to have to explain this to everyone, aren’t I?”

Grian shrugged, “I’m sure it’s fine. Say, could I see your ‘god’ form, O great and powerful Mumbo Jumbo? Now you have me curious.”

“Well I could, but I might destroy your ceiling.” Mumbo looked up at the rafters sheepishly.

“Back outside we go then”

Safely on the grass behind Grian’s base, Mumbo transformed into his full form for the first time in what felt like ages.

The form was that of a large humanoid figure, as tall as Grian’s house, made of red terracotta and loose redstone dust that fell and scattered like sand with every movement Mumbo made. His eyes were two glowing redstone lamps that flickered with emotion, reminiscent of a certain robot they had built before.

It occurred to Mumbo at that moment that if his friends were truly human, this form might be quite scary to them. He knelt down to look at Grian, bracing himself to handle whatever fear was in his friend's eyes.

Instead, Grian was grinning like a madman.

“Oh, we are SO pranking Scar with this.”

[zabo-writes]

Bounty Hunter Grian AU (Scar is the bounty but he makes it difficult)

Grian was good at his job. As a bounty hunter, it paid to be adaptable and efficient. He could spend weeks at a time playing the role of someone’s friend only to kill them when the time was right, or deliver them to the highest bidder. And he didn’t even feel bad about it, for the most part!

Above all, Grian prided himself on his ability to remain calm and collected in any situation.

Unfortunately, his latest mark was making that extremely difficult.

“Scar, put your clothes back on! You’re going to get yourself killed”

Grian shouted with exasperation at the man who he was attempting to gently shepherd in the direction of the nearest city. Who would be crazy enough to take their armor off in enemy territory? There were bandits in this desert! Not to mention the giant worms and the countless undead…

“Ah, I’m sorry Grian! It’s just that the sun feels so nice today. These muscles just can’t be contained!”

Scar flexed from atop his alpaca, and gave Grian a wide grin and a wink that inspired very little confidence. Grian looked away pointedly.

The client for this bounty was mysterious, and quite tight-lipped about their identity. They went by the title “The Jangler,” and communicated only through written messages. Normally Grian wouldn’t take a job from such an untrustworthy source, but the Jangler had paid a handsome amount of diamonds up front.

The bounty also specified that Scar was to be kept alive.

Alive. Somehow.

That was how Grian had come to be in his current personal hell.

‘It’ll be easy,’ he had said! Just pretend to be friends with this guy, kidnap him, deliver him to a safe house, and get a bunch of diamonds out of it! Done and dusted.

That was before he had met Scar. The man had an uncanny ability to flirt with danger at every turn.

Traveling the same road Grian has navigated for years? Would’ve gone swimmingly, but Scar insisted on taking the scenic route instead! Right into the middle of a zombified village that Grian promptly had to save them from.

Making camp for the night? Scar insisted that Grian trust his “Unbeatable camp-making skills” before promptly sticking the tent poles right into a burrow belonging to a venomous snake.

Stopping at an outpost for supplies? Pretty routine job, but Scar tried to scam the owner into buying some shiny pieces of glass. The owner caught on, and the whole place pulled crossbows on him. Grian had to break Scar out of a jail cell before the town quite literally executed him, AND he had to pay three times the normal amount for their supplies. Not to mention, he now couldn’t show his face in Tumble Town for a good while.

But miraculously, after many many long days, they were finally riding into the city where Grian was to deliver his mark.

And that meant it was time for him to finally show Scar his true colors.

“Grian— I don’t understand, what’s going on? I - ah, not so tight!”

With practiced motions, Grian used a lead to bind Scar’s wrists behind his back.

“I’m sorry Scar, I’m just doing my job. Though I am impressed! I’ve never had to work so hard to keep a mark from getting themselves killed.”

Scar was quiet, for perhaps the first time since Grian had met the man. He let himself be lead around the outskirts of the city to a large old mansion. Grian knocked on the door, and stood awkwardly for a few minutes with his tied-up quarry.

Grian sighed, “Well, that was a bit anticlimactic… I had my whole cool betrayal moment and everything! Did I get the address wrong?”

He began to reach for his pockets to find the note from the Jangler, but froze when he felt a blade against his neck.

His blood went cold.

“Well done, Grian! Now just hold still for a moment, I need to get my keys…” Scar spoke softly by Grian’s ear.

Grian was not a fan of being threatened, thank you very much. He began to reach for his sword “What on earth, Scar?! When did you untie—“

His struggle was thwarted by a surprisingly strong grip that wrestled his arms behind his back. With only one hand, apparently, because the other one reached around his shoulder to unlock the door.

In a much shorter amount of time than Grian cared to admit, he found himself inside the mansion and sitting across from Scar at an ornately carved wooden table.

And he was smiling that stupid grin of his again. Grian met his gaze with a glare.

“So I take it you are the Jangler?”

“The one and only! But please, Grian, we’re friends now aren’t we? You can still call me Scar.”

“Scar. Why on earth did you hire a bounty hunter to kidnap yourself?” Grian grumbled with his head in his hands.

“Well it was certainly safe, wasn’t it? I mean, you did such a good job saving me from all those threats, I don’t know what I would’ve done without you!”

“I’m not a bodyguard!”

“But it certainly paid well didn’t it? Oh, speaking of which, now that you’ve passed your interview: I have a job offer that you simply can’t refuse,” Scar remarked smugly.

“Interview?! That whole thing was—“

Scar slid a chest of diamonds across the table.

“Oh come on, Grian, for old times sake? For your friend Scar?”

Grian stared silently at the table for a moment, before meeting Scar’s eyes with a fierce gaze.

“Okay, I’ll bite. What’s the job?”

[zabo-writes]

Part 1

Grian threw a flurry of punches, and Scar dodged each of them deftly. One final blow across Scar’s blocking arm sent him careening into the wall behind.

“You never we’re good at hand to hand combat, Scar. Your skill-nullifying ability is useless if I can beat you this easily”

“Ah, what inspiring confidence! Unfortunately, I know your methods, your timing — every one of your moves.” Scar smiled, barely breaking a sweat. “If I didn’t, I could never be your partner, now could I?”

A memory crossed both of their minds of a similar scene, full of punches, apologies, and cacti. Better to let the ghosts of the past rest.

With lightning speed, Grian changed tactics, leaping at Scar with an arrow from his belt. He aimed for the other man’s gut with his right fist, and held the arrow to his neck with the left. “What are you wait for, hm? Why did you let yourself get caught?”

Despite his position, Scar appeared unperturbed. “Actually, I’m here to ask about Jimmy! What’s the mafia want with him to put such a large bounty on the poor guys head, anyways?”

Grian laughed and relaxed slightly. “You risked your life over that? What a shame. The youngest leader in the history of the mafia… we could’ve done so much Scar!“ the arrow pushed harder against his throat “A pity it has to end here.”

Scar smiled, “Let me tell you something Grian… do you know that the Watcher council is set to meet today?”

“What? That only happens once every few years.”

“It’s due to a letter that was sent a few days ago. And if I had to guess, I don’t think you’re going to kill me. In fact, you’re going to release me and tell me about the bounty.”

“What?!”

Scar held his hands up harmlessly, “and as I’m sure you know Grian, my predictions always come true.”

“In this situation? Don’t be stupid.”

“The council received a letter reading as follows - ‘If Scar is found dead, all of your secrets shall be made public’”

Grain recoiled in disbelief, “would the council just execute you in that case?”

Scar shrugged “Maybe! But while they decide, if you take the initiative and kill me before they decide, you’ll be dismissed… or worse, killed”

Grian put his head in his hands “How you are so flippant with your own life, I’ll never understand…”

“Ah, does that mean you give up? Wonderful, I’ve won again!”

“You jerk, did you get yourself caught just to force me into a situation like this?”

“Mmhmm! It’s our first meeting in so long, Grian! I had to prepare a surprise deserving of my lovely ex-partner.”

“I swear to god I will kill you”

[zabo-writes]

Scar sighed, slumping against the wall and letting the chains attached to his wrist go taut. Really? Chained up in a dark cell? The mafia had really lost its sense of style ever since he had left. Maybe they’d take some pointers if he mailed them in anonymously? First of all, the lighting was terrible… He was interrupted from his interior designing woes by the sound of footsteps clacking dully against the (overused, uninspired) cobblestone.

“Ah, just the man I wanted to see!” Scar exclaimed, grinning as Grian descended the stairs into his dreary cell.

“Oh I assure you, the pleasure is mine!” Grian smirked. “To think, the great Scar captured and and in my basement! Is it my birthday? Am I dreaming?”

“I decided it was time for a visit! Clearly you need my help, just look at this place…”

Grian’s smile turned malicious. Reaching out, he grabbed the other man’s hair, forcing him to meet at eye level. “Cut the crap, Scar. You, playing a helpless prisoner? I’ve seen billboards that are subtler.“

“Well actually, funny you should mention that, the art of a good billboard requires a good bit of subtlety because—“

Grian tightened his grip. “You might be able to con the rookies but I know how you work. What’s your aim here?”

Scar rolled his eyes, “Whaaat, isn’t it obvious? I’m here awaiting my execution!” He rattled the chains, for effect.

Grian pulled away, and all of the lights in the room flickered. For the briefest of moments, Scar could see the thousands of watchful eyes that indicated Grian’s unique skill. Grian was pissed, which was exactly where Scar wanted him.

“The Scar I know would never let himself be captured out of negligence. If you were that incompetent, I would have killed you long ago.”

“Ah Grian, Grian… Don’t worry that pesky waffle of yours! Nothing you need to worry about, I assure you.”

Any trace of humor has left Grian’s eyes (or the two Scar could see anyways. Did the watcher eyes have other emotions? And interesting thought for later). With a deep breath, Grian punched the wall behind Scar, fracturing the stone behind his head and breaking the shackles from their foundations. “I don’t know what your scheming but it ends here. Fight me.”

Scar looked bewildered for a second before donning a much more dangerous smile. With a shrug, he broke the chains holding his wrists together. “You think you can stop my plan, Grian? That’s cute.”

“You could’ve escaped at any moment?!” Grian exclaimed. A pair of spectral purple wings appeared behind him as he lunged at Scar

Part 2

[ink-ghoul]

🎃 welcome to hermittober 2022 edition!

I tried to make the themes applicable to both hermitcraft and the life smp series, feel free to interpret them on your own way :]

more info under the cut

to answer some frequently asked questions:

- yes, feel free to combine prompts or skip some days

- take things at your own pace, this is for fun, don't stress over completing the 31 prompts if you don't have the time for them

- any kind of art form is welcomed, skin/modeling, fanfic etc etc