#Excited and happy Grian is very healing

[hopepetal]

Sky: Children of the Light au I've been working on with the lovely @applestruda! We've given it the name Desert Skies AU :)

--

Grian was, in his humble opinion, far too kind for his own good. 

He'd risked light and limb to guide moths through the treacherous golden wastelands, to hold their hand and to run while the dark dragon wasn't looking. He guided moths through the storm to the red thunderous skies of Eden, through the rocks and the krills and finally, through the stars. All so that they wouldn’t have to be alone– not like he had been, on that first fateful journey through the storm.

So yes, Grian was far too kind. He couldn’t help it; when he saw a moth asking for help or struggling through the sands, he saw a bit of his younger self in them. He was always willing to lend a little light to those who offered their candles. He was always willing to hold out a guiding hand, to shine his directing light toward sanctuary. 

How could he resist offering a healing light to the moth that had just flown face first into the wall?

…wait. That– that was most certainly not a moth. The shimmering green cape told Grian otherwise, as did the soft giggle that rang out as his new companion shook out his wings. “Thank you very much, friend! My name’s Scar, how about you?” Scar stuck out his hand, and Grian stared for a moment before reaching out and taking it.

“Grian.” He offered a smile. “Sorry, I mistook you for a moth– had quite the landing there, huh?” 

Scar shrugged, dusting the sand off his pants. “Yeah, that happens! Quite a lot, actually. You know how you just get distracted looking at all the pretty things and thinking to yourself and then–!” He clapped his hands together– “wham! Wall to the face! That’s how I got this lil thing, actually!” He pointed to the crack in his mask.

“I see… well, I was just about to start regathering the winged light I lost in Eden.” Grian shrugged his shoulders, letting his wings flutter slightly with the movement. “It gets lonely, traveling without a companion.” And more dangerous. Traveling alone meant you didn't have another person to recharge your wings, meant you were alone if the krill caught you, meant the darkness was just that much more scary. “Would you like to come with?”

Scar hummed in thought. “Well, I did lose quite a bit of light to that silly little dragon in the wastelands… and you seem pretty nice, so yeah! I'll join you on your perilous journey!” He struck a heroic pose. “The spirits will tell of our heroic deeds for eons to come!”

Grian let out a weary chuckle, shaking his head slightly. He wasn't very used to the excitement and energy that he was getting from Scar, not from people who weren't moths at least. “I really doubt we'll be doing anything very heroic, Scar. And it's not all that dangerous, for the most part. Even the wastelands have their sanctuaries.” He offered his hand to Scar. 

Scar took his hand, letting out a happy honk. “Well then, I'll be putting my trust in you!” Light shimmered down his green wings, reflecting off the glistening cave walls. “My light is in your hands!”

Grian snorted, leading them toward the exit. “A terrifying thought.”

The Isle of Dawn was a peaceful place to fly. Calm skies stretched over golden sand, sunlight glinting off of the rocks and shining from old spirits that Grian helped with soft words and a guiding hand. It was not his favorite place to fly; nor did it boast the sights of the prairie, the mystique of the forest, the entertainment of the valley or the knowledge of the vault. Nonetheless, Scar seemed so taken in by the land that Grian had to laugh softly. Scar's reaction reminded him of when he was a moth, and of the many moths he had guided before. 

They had just landed in front of the last winged light before the temple, and Scar glanced over at Grian in mild confusion as he gathered the light into his wings. “Somethin' wrong?” he asked, tilting his head slightly to the side.

Grian shook his head, waving Scar off. “No, no, I just… you just… It was like this was your first time here, in the isle. It just reminded me of… me, I guess. When I was a moth.” And what a time that had been. Back when he was new to the world, when he wasn't aware of the dangers that lurked not only in the darkness but in the children of light themselves.

Scar seemed to perk up at that. “It's just so fascinating to me. I mean, there's so much empty space, it's like a blank canvas!”

Grian let out a confused note. “What do you mean by that?”

Scar made a grand, sweeping gesture with his hand. “I've always wondered what it was like, building everything. I mean, of course, things didn't just pop up out of nowhere, right? It's all pretty much ruins now, but some things are still around! It just makes me wonder…”

Grian laughed softly. “Our job isn't to build, Scar.” It's to bring light to the ones lost to the darkness. 

“Yeah,” Scar conceded, before gazing toward the sky, “but what if it was?” He turned back to Grian, practically jumping up and down. “I've always pictured myself building these huge castles in the sand. Ones that stretch toward the sun, with big bells and shining inscriptions and–!”

“And what would you call these castles, Scar?” Grian asked, a light humor in his voice. 

“Oh, I dunno. Monopoly Mountain has a nice ring to it, don't you think?”

“What– what even is a monopoly? Are those even possible?” Grian did have to admit, though. The sound of Monopoly Mountain was quite pleasing for a reason he couldn't quite place. 

Scar shrugged. “No idea! I just like the word.”

After that thrilling conversation, Grian had once more offered his hand to Scar before taking off into the sky. He had to admit that the skies did seem a little brighter with Scar's hand in his. It has been a while since he had flown with someone who didn't struggle to keep their wings extended, who didn't quite know how to steer yet. It had been a long time since Grian had flown beside someone who spoke with such ease and a cheerful, carefree attitude. It had been so long since Grian had let himself relax while flying with another person. 

Something about Scar was different. He hardly even knew the man and yet already he felt a sort of kinship to him. It made Grian wonder. Had it not been for his original group of friends and that fateful trip to Eden, would he have turned out like Scar? Happy, carefree, dreaming of a world in which he could build towering structures? If he hadn't been so desperate to prove himself, to keep the only 'friends' he had, what would he have been like?

No point in thinking of that now. Bitter words tasted like sour candy in his mouth, and Grian let out a quiet sigh. Stretching out his wings, he felt the wind buffet against him as he slowly began their descent to the temple. Landing gently on soft grass, Grian gazed up at the temple for a moment before leading Scar in. 

They briefly split to light the candles on either side of the temple before lighting the door, and stepping into the elder spirit's room. It was a simple matter to light the candle placed at the shrine and watch as the door opened with a loud rumble, to stifle soft laughter at Scar's enthusiastic interest in the workings of the door. Then Scar was taking Grian's hand again, and they were off once more into the sky. 

Scar let out an excited woop as they soared over the clouds, stretching his arms out as far as they could go. He didn't let go of Grian's hand, and the warmth was a welcome one. Despite the clouds, the air currents were easy to navigate, and to Grian flying was second nature. “Have you flown with others before?” he asked, his voice cutting through the wind. 

Scar glanced up at him, white hair whipping around and blowing in his face. “Huh? Uhh, yeah, a couple times! Mostly by myself though, or just following someone. It's fun!” 

Grian laughed alongside Scar this time, shaking his own pale hair back. “Yeah. Ever fly with moths?”

Scar gasped melodramatically, the sound almost lost completely to the wind. “Nooo, never.” His voice turned sheepish. “I tend to avoid moths. Don't want them thinking I'm a good role model, now! If I helped guide them, you'd see a lot more people smashing head first into walls.”

Grian snorted. “Yeah, not many people wanna deal with moths. I know those who will help out when they can, if they see someone struggling for light in the hidden forest, but when it comes to actually guiding them? Taking them through the Wastelands or Eden? Yeah, they're running away faster than you can offer your light.”

“Exactly!” Scar's wings fluttered as they began to descend, tucking in a little closer to help reduce their air resistance. Once they were close to the ground, Scar spread his wings when Grian did, slowing their descent so that the landing was soft. “Hey, we make a good team!” 

Grian's wings fluttered into place as he took in a deep breath, turning his face toward the sun. After a moment, he snapped out of his trance and glanced over at Scar before leading them down the worn path. “I didn't have to yell at you to not slam yourself face first into the ground. That's a plus in my book.” His tone was light hearted and teasing, but there was an air of relief around him. 

Scar waved his hand, tutting softly. “Pshaw, do I really look like someone who would– uh oh–!” Before he could even finish his sentence, he tripped over a rock, let go of Grian's hand, and fell face first into the grass. “...don't. Don't you start–” 

Grian had to hold back laughter as he helped Scar up, silent as his shoulders shook. “You have to admit,” he began, his voice shaking from contained laughter, “that was quite the comedic timing on your part.” He almost lost it at the way Scar huffed and crossed his arms. “Oh, come on, don't be like that!”

Scar turned away slightly, grumbling loudly. “How am I supposed to have a sense of pride in these conditions?” he complained, though his tone made it clear he wasn't actually upset. “The spirits must have something against me. You know, I bet they were talkin' to themselves, saying how 'oh, it would be super funny if Scar tripped and fell!' Well, I hope it was! I hope they're all laughing!” Scar spread his arms as though he were pleading to the sky. “Oh, dear ancestors, why have you forsaken me?!”

At that, Grian could not hold back his laughter. He bent over, clutching his sides as he howled with amusement. “Scar!” he got out, gasping for breaths in between laughing fits, “Scar, it's not– I promise you, the ancestor spirits do not hate you. Oh my– oh my goodness, okay. Oh, man…” He straightened back up, running a hand through his hair as some leftover giggles worked their way out. “You're a dramatic one, aren't you?”

“You know it!” Scar's exclamation was every bit of pride, and he once more struck a heroic pose, putting his hands on his hips and taking a wide stance. “Drama's what they call me back home.”

Grian tilted his head slightly, offering his hand again. “And where is home, exactly?” Despite trying to put on an air of casual indifference, Grian was curious. Where has someone like Scar come from? Were there others like him? What was his life like? Grian found himself unusually intrigued by his new companion, and he really wanted to know more. 

The answer was a slightly disappointing one, though it was common. Scar simply shrugged. “Wherever the wind takes me!” he said, taking Grian's hand and making sure to watch where he was walking.  

“Hear, hear,” Grian mumbled, and that was the last of that conversation. 

Their time in the prairie was spent, for the most part, collecting winged light, candles, exploring the area, and talking. Given that they were going to be traveling together for the next spirits know how long, the more they knew about each other the better. More for them to relate to, more for them to talk about. Silence was a traveler's greatest enemy, after all. 

Of course, Grian got sidetracked once or twice when a moth asked him for help– he had always been too kind for his own good. Nevertheless, it was a successful trip, and Grian found that he had laughed more that day than he had in a while. When they both began to grow tired, Grian suggested that they go to the Sanctuary Islands to rest and recover, which Scar happily agreed with. 

“Oh man, let me tell you. The first time I came here I was all like 'woah, this is so cool, I'm gonna fly around here forever' but it's just so peaceful that all I wanted to do was lay down in the sand and sleep.” Scar glanced over at Grian, who was relaxing in the white chair next to him. “Do you come here often?” 

Grian hummed softly. “It really depends on if I'm with a moth or not. Most of the time I am, so then it's a question of whether or not the moth has the patience to gather four spirits. Sometimes they do, a lot of the times they just want to run straight ahead for the next area.” He chuckled. “I've learned not to push it with those types. Little speedsters, that lot.”

“So you've just made it your job to guide moths, then?” Scar shifted so that his elbows were resting on one arm of the chair, leaning closer to Grian. “What made you choose to do that?”

Grian's steady breathing hitched ever-so-slightly, unnoticeably, and if Scar had been looking closely, he would've noticed how Grian briefly tensed up. “Oh, you know.” His voice was a little more strained when he spoke, though he hid it with practiced ease. “I don't want some fresh faced moth to get caught up with some not so nice people. And besides, I have plenty of time on my hands! I've done… pretty much everything there is to do.” He tried to ignore how he sounded a little sad with that last statement. 

Shaking his head, Grian turned to Scar. “What do you do, Mister Drama? What areas do you frequent?”

Scar sat back in his chair with a big sigh. “Oh, y'know! The usual, really. I pretty much just stick to the Isle of Dawn and the prairie… sometimes I go into the wasteland but…” He sat up and turned to show Grian the back of his wings and the few light marks that ran down the middle. “It usually doesn't end very well. You'd think I'd learn to dodge. Or run. Or, well, not get seen by the krill in the first place but–!” He stretched out as he leaned back into his chair. “Just another learning experience.”

Grian nodded, gazing off into the distance as a light creature breached from the water, soaring into the sky before arcing gracefully back into the waves. “Learning experience indeed.”

Silence may have been a traveler's worst enemy, but the silence that sat between Scar and Grian was a comfortable one. There would be time for noise later, but for now, it was time to rest. 

And so, the sun set, marking an end to the day that would forever change the course of their flight.

[lavender-verse]

secret husbands- grian and nesting instincts, i think for a while after he returned from evo his mind and body is in like a survival type of mode, so his mating instincts are mostly dormant, focused more so on comfort and survival, at most he wants scar in his nest (and jellie) so he can protect them easily, keep his most precious family close. but after he starts to heal more i feel like scar and grian are introduced to this new thing that grian hasn’t had to deal with before, that being wanting to be railed into next week by his mate into his nest, and perhaps mumbo is a little confused why jellie needs a babysitter for a week, especially with how out of it scar looks, outfit disheveled and hair messed, but surely he’s just a little under the weather.

oh poor mumbo… yeah, surely scar just needs mumbo to watch after jellie for a week because he’s a bit sick!

but oh my god, grian’s heat doesn’t come around for a long time. I’d say maybe not until toward the end of season 6 or the very beginning of season 7. they’ve been slowly learning about the changes grian has undergone since he got back, and by now they thought they figured everything out

nothing shows up for a while because grian is so focused on survival, and his body is reacting to that. so his heats don’t appear at all. at most they figure out that grian’s wings are very sensitive and petting his back gets him all fuzzy and excited (whoops)

the week leading up to it hitting him, he’s suddenly a lot more clingy and kinda moody. he wants scar near, will pull him into his nest and keep him there when he wants snuggles. he follows scar around a lot and has an urge to be near him. scar doesn’t question it all that much, but he does ask if grian is alright.

he gets his answer when they wake up one morning and grian is flushed red and won’t let scar leave the nest. at first they think grian’s sick with a fever because he’s really warm. it’d explain why he’s been so clingy lately. and they treat it like he’s sick, scar takes care of him. grian curls up in his nest and hugs scar’s pillow close and the thick of his new instincts hit him and oh. he’s restless and needy, and scar needs to mate him now

when scar gets back in the nest grian practically jumps him. and scar isn’t… upset about it (though he is worried about grian’s ‘fever’ — to which grian tells him about the probable heat through scattered and frenzied kisses), he’s quite happy to tend to his needy husband (he’s got loud service top vibes. to me)

the first chance he gets he’s taking jellie in a lil shulker box of stuff and heading to mumbo to ask to watch her for the week and he’s so sorry it’s last minute, but mumbo waves him off. sure, the redstoner is a little confused, but he’s happy to watch after jellie

(suspiciously, no one sees grian or scar all week — and no one questions it)

[sysig]

The return of AtUS feels

[lightblueterracota]

Tenderness, Undescribed

hermitcraft grian x mumbo jumbo. i don’t have a fully established and intricate universe for this storyline, but basically it’s their hermitcraft characters and grian also has wings :^)

another note is this is in no way shipping the irl people, this is absolutely only for their fictional characters! please don’t ship real people and/or harass the actual people behind these characters :)

/

There’s a certain tenderness to Mumbo that Grian finds fascinating.

For his long legs, clumsy mobility, and dark eyes above a bold mustache, Mumbo is not often associated with the word tender. More often than not, other Hermits know him for being the friendly neighborhood Redstoner that often finds himself in disasterous, life-threatening situations, often needing to call for other Hermits to dive in and save him last second. His general obtuse nature and lack of direction make him seem like a friendly yet out of control aircraft helicoper with styrofoam blades. 

But there’s no denying that Mumbo is a genius as well. Almost on par with Doc, Grian would say that Mumbo is one of the brightest people he knows, despite his daftness. Even if he gets his Redstone wiring mixed up terribly sometimes, there’s a brilliance beneath that mustache that shines through everytime Mumbo eagerly invites Grian to his base to show him another massive and impressive machine. 

And when he talks about his Redstone -- he’s all over the place. Big gestures and waving arms, loud exclamations of excitement as he eaglerly jumps around and points out each piece of Redstone and its wiring, it’s hard for Grian to keep up sometimes. But there’s something oddly fond whenever Mumbo gets insanely proud of a build, and even if Grian doesn’t understand it 100%, he listens attentively anyway as Mumbo explains it to him.

It’s hilarious, sometimes. Mumbo’s fingers are big and clumsy sometimes, and he struggles with piecing together intricate Redstone wiring that require small pieces. When he’s impatient, sometimes he has to ask Grian’s sharp eagle-eyes to help him piece together a particularly tricky part of a machine, and Grian is more than happy to help.

All in all, while Grian is very fond of Mumbo, he’s not someone Grian would consider gentle and tender.

There was a moment though, when that changed.

It happened on one of Grian’s worst nights. Upon visiting a nearby village, he hadn’t realized that he had accidentally triggered a raid, and at that time he had no combat gear on him. As the mobs swarmed from the hillsides and Grian desperately tried to protect the villagers and herd them indoors, arrows and slashes of melee weapons cut across Grian’s body. Even when he decided to draw back, trying to make his escape by flying away, several arrows were shot into his wings, and he almost didn’t make it.

He was on low health and bleeding when he crash-landed into Mumbo’s base -- the only other person that was also active at that time of night. He had scared the crap out of the man, Mumbo jumping out of his focus on his Redstone as the winged individual crashed through his window, heavily injured and weak.

He was too faint to respond to Mumbo’s frightened, “Jesus, Grian, what happened?!” as he collapsed onto the floor, wings spread across the floorboards of Mumbo’s base. He blearily watched as the man jumped up, immediately rummaging through some storage for healing supplies.

“Your wings,” Mumbo had said, and there was some saddening awe in his voice. “Oh Grian, your wings. They must hurt so bad. Hold on a second.”

Grian didn’t want to think about it. He could feel blood dripping from his wings and could see a few scattered feathers that had fallen off in his crash-landing. His beautiful wings, ruined.

“Can you stand?” Mumbo asked, and Grian was about to protest, when Mumbo continued, saying, “Wait no, you probably can’t. Hold still. I’m going to pick you up, okay?”

Grian cringed, expecting to be hauled like a sack of potatoes and bracing for impact, but was shocked when he felt Mumbo’s gentle hold as the taller hoisted the winged man up, moving him to a nearby bed. Mumbo seemed to be very careful of not brushing his damaged and bleeding wings, gently shouldering Grian so that his limbs were comfortable and his wings had room. 

The closeness of Mumbo’s body caught Grian off guard and he silently let Mumbo gently place him down onto the bed. Then Mumbo got to work, grabbing some healing supplies and bandages.

“I’m sorry,” Mumbo warned in advance as he disinfected his own hands, “but there’s a couple of arrowheads still in your wings. I need to take them out before I bandage you. This is going to hurt.”

Before Grian could react, a sharp, excruitating pain blossomed from his left wing as Mumbo carefully removed the sharp object, the scalding pain shooting up his spine. A pained yelp came escaped from Grian, only to be sizzled away by Mumbo’s gentle shushing as he immediately started applying pressure to the wound.

“Shh,” Mumbo said softly, disposing of the arrowhead and cleaning the area. “Shh, I know it hurts a lot. It’s okay. You’re alright, I got you.”

It wasn’t often Grian heard Mumbo speak in such a soft manner. Oddly enough, his words were comforting, settling over Grian’s tired bones like a blanket, and Grian forced himself to relax as Mumbo continued to softly speak some encouragements.

Whimpers of pain continued to come from Grian as Mumbo continued to clean him up, his normally clumsy and large hands now extremely gentle and intricate as he delicately plucked the damage out of Grian’s wings and applied healing salves to his wounds. As Mumbo gently worked through patching up Grian’s wings, he made sure to inspect the rest of Grian’s body carefully, checking for other signs of bleeding and wounds.

Once he was doing bandaging him, Mumbo told him, “Lean back, please.”

Grian obeyed, settling back carefully into the bed and watched as picked up a bottle of healing potion. Grian groaned in protest, not in any mood to digest anything, but Mumbo simply leaned forward to place two fingers underneath Grian’s chin and lifted, making Grian’s mouth aim upwards.

“I know you probably don’t want to drink anything right now, but this will make you feel much better, I promise,” Mumbo said gently as he held Grian’s face up firmly and lifted the cool glass edge of the bottle to his lips. “Please drink.”

A feeling of tenderness, undescribed, washed over Grian as he became acutely aware of Mumbo’s fingers underneath his chin, and the way his thumb barely brushed against his bottom lip.

Too weak to fight against the gentle push of Mumbo’s hands, Grian let Mumbo slowly feed the potion into his mouth, obediently swallowing the restorative liquid. Mumbo let out a pleased hum as he watched Grian consume the potion.

Once Mumbo made sure Grian drank every last drop, he softly released Grian’s chin, letting his face fell back softly.

There was a belated, blurry moment where Grian realized he enjoyed Mumbo’s warm touch on his face.

Falling back into the bed pillows, exhausted, Grian felt his eyes go heavy. It seemed that the healing potion Mumbo fed him had a drowsy side-effect, likely to encourage overnight healing. As sleepiness slowly ebbed over his brain, Grian watched as Mumbo cleaned up, the warm light from the nearby lantern seeming to frame Mumbo in an entirely new perspective.

Who knew Mumbo would have such good bedside manners as a doctor, Grian thought lazily.

“You can sleep here for tonight,” Mumbo said. “I wouldn’t want you flying around in the dark now anyway. Your wings will be okay, they just need some time to heal a bit.”

Oh. Yeah. 

“My wings,” Grian whined softly. “They look so damaged...”

“No,” Mumbo cut in gently. “Your wings will be back to beautiful once you rest up for a bit. I promise. You’ll be back to flying in no time, don’t worry.”

“They’re so ugly now,” Grian lamented miserably.

“They don’t,” Mumbo insisted. “You look beautiful right now, Grian, I promise. Now go to sleep.”

Grian knew damn well he was in no good-looking shape. He could still feel the dirt on his face and the way his hair was still curled and messy from crashing. But he was too tired to open his mouth and argue against Mumbo, so Grian let his eyes shut, the last thought drfiting in his mind being:

He thinks I’m beautiful.

/

After that, Grian could only ever see the tender side to Mumbo.

After nursing him back to health, Grian had thanked him countless times, with Mumbo simply giving him a kind smile and insisting it was no problem. From then on, Grian could only ever see that gentleness in Mumbo, and remember the way he tended to his wounds and cleaned his wings and held his face that night. The kindness and way he had jumped up immediately to take care of Grian. The gentleness and how he soothed his pain.

So maybe to other Hermits, they know Mumbo as a clumsy, bumbling human being.

But to Grian, he knows him as someone tender, undescribed.

/

[martuzzio]

The idea of Ren joining the Amputees-Only club sounds so bittersweet... cuz before he knew they were having fun, but also knew that they were allowed to have a bond like that. He never expected to join them.

I can honestly imagine in his first few meetings there's a few times where Ren just cries, poor guy...

Rendog's first Amputee's Only Club Meeting (written under the cut because this one is longer than normal)

Despite what the universe seems to think, Doc is a pretty easygoing guy. Yes, he does look scary as hell and yes, he was a mob boss at one point, but that doesn’t mean he’s a violent person. Well, he’s violent when he needs to be, but that doesn’t mean he enjoys it. In reality, his favorite moments are all from quiet parts of his normal, boring, daily life as a hermit.

In these everyday moments, Doc likes to process things. He likes to sit in the greenhouse and watch the bio bees work alongside the robot bees. He likes to brush his fingers on the plants and let his half-robotic brain process the data into something that resembles touch. He likes to listen to Grian and Etho chat as they work.

He observes small moments like these because that’s all he really does. He takes in data and processes it. He uses the processed information to judge his surroundings and react accordingly. Sometimes this means that he uses his data to laugh at his friends who make dumb jokes. But sometimes he uses the data to run, hide, or fight back. When all you do is process data to keep yourself alive, it becomes very hard to ignore incoming information.

This is how Doc eventually locates Ren. He wasn’t planning on finding where his longtime friend wheeled off to, much less go searching for him, but Doc unfortunately decided to take a more leisurely route to the bridge and his camera eye caught the slight movement anyway. Doc has to give it to him; the man knows how to hide. The werewolf is in a lesser-used community room, curled into a dusty couch that’s been shoved into the corner. The chrome wheels of his temporary mobility aid reflect off of the window overlooking deep space. Ren has his left leg drawn up to this chest. His stump of a right leg rests on the couch cushion, shunned. Ren’s obviously hid because he doesn’t want to be found, but unluckily for him, Doc was specifically altered to notice things.

Ren’s flinch when Doc claps his hand on his shoulder is almost unnoticeable. Ren looks like he’s either been crying or had a bad allergic reaction to the dust. Doc assumes the former.

“Cub was working on your new parts earlier today. They look pretty sick,” he ventures.

Ren looks like he has the entire universe on his shoulders. “That’s wonderful,” he mumbles. He opens his mouth as if to say more, but instead sighs and slides his eyes shut.

Doc plops down on the couch and slings his arm over the back of the rest. The action makes Ren recoil again, this time more visibly, and Doc pointedly ignores it. Instead, he says, “As much as I want you to come see what Cub is making, you will go to him when you feel like it. There is nothing you need to do right now besides heal.”

Ren barks out a wet laugh. “Bro, I appreciate you so much, but how can stumps heal?”

Doc’s cybernetic hand twitches in sympathy. “You know what I mean, man, and we both know it.” Doc replies. He looks down at the sliver of space between his leg and Ren’s and chews his words. Ren shifts his gaze to Doc’s arm, then to gaze directly at the creeper’s face.

Doc feels uncomfortable in a way he’s never felt before. All of the other amputee hermits were already amputees when they joined the crew. They had time to heal, be angry, and let go in their own ways. He did, too. But now, with Ren sitting next to him, suffering through the same kind of anguish Doc felt when he first woke up from being operated on, Doc suddenly doesn’t know how to act. How do you comfort someone who literally lost a third of their body? As much as Doc knows what that feels like and as much as he wants to help his friend, he might not be able to. He might not ever be able to.

It’s the single most heartbreaking thing that Doc’s realized in a long, long time.

This revelation causes the duo to sit in silence for a long while. Then, Doc gets an idea. His eye shifts to look at his friend. Ren narrows his eyes tiredly but waits anyway.

“The Amputees-Only Club meeting is in a few minutes.” Doc murmurs. Ren is silent, but he plows on. “I think you should come,” he pleads. “I think everyone would be very happy to see you.”

Ren’s throat clicks as he swallows. “I’m sure they would.”

“I would be very happy to see you.”

Ren’s eyelids squeeze together. “I know you would.”

“Then let’s go,” Doc insists as he pushes himself to his feet. He turns around and smiles as much as he can at his friend, still curled up on the couch. Ren gazes exhaustedly back. “I think it would be a good idea.” He wishes his smile weren’t so frightening.

Ren moves to rub his eyes with his hands but remembers he’s missing one of his arms a little too late. The resulting crumpled expression immediately burns into Doc’s deep storage memory. “I don’t know, Doc.” The werewolf manages after a long moment. “I appreciate you trying to help, but…”

Doc understands. Of course he does. When he first joined the hermits, the idea of a weekly club meeting exclusively for amputees sounded farfetched at best and belittling at worst. Hell, he didn’t even think there were enough amputees on the team to warrant a club. Imagine his surprise when three other people showed up to his first session, all excited he was there to hang out with them.

With this in mind, all he can do is repeat, “I think it would be a good idea.”

Ren stares up at him, and in that moment, he looks as old as Xisuma. But then he gently closes his eyes, inhales slowly and shallowly, and motions for Doc to drag his mobility aid closer. Doc complies immediately.

The journey to the meeting room, like every other journey on the Hermit Craft, is long. It’s made even longer because of Ren’s inexperience with his aid, but Doc doesn’t dare to offer his help. They eventually end up in front of the elevator that Doc remotely called beforehand with his brain chip. When the doors open, Doc lets Ren wheel in first.

Ren is silent in the elevator. Doc tries to catch his expression, but his friend’s unruly hair blocks his vision. “We’re playing cards tonight.” He mentions.

“That’s what you do at every Amputee-Only Club meeting.”

Doc shifts his eye back to the elevator door. “…Correct.”

Ren doesn’t reply.

When the duo finally reaches the Club meeting room, Doc pauses outside for a moment instead of directing his brain to open the door like normal. He glances down at Ren again and murmurs, “if you don’t want to go back, or to your room or something, that’s—”

“It’s fine,” Ren interrupts. He sounds defeated. “We walked all the way here, so we may as well go.”

Doc activates the door without another thought.

The door slides open and reveals the club room. It’s small, smaller than the average community space on the Hermit Craft, but it feels warm. The soft yellow color painted on the walls matches pleasantly with the yellow of the couch cushions. Joe definitely was the one to orchestrate that. There’s a small kitchenette in the corner that’s set up to have nice views of outer space. Various game tables fill the rest of the room, a few surrounded by five chairs. Doc wonders if Ren will notice the new chair addition. Maybe he already had.

The most interesting part of the space, though, is the people within it. TFC is bundled up on the couch, snoring pleasantly and covered in at least ten blankets. His usual plate of cookies is already half eaten. Iskall is standing at the kitchen counter, fiddling with a teacup filled with a mysterious bright pink liquid. His outfit has a few suspicious-looking singe marks at the hem. Finally, Scar is sat at the poker table in the middle of the room, crossed legs resting on an adjacent chair. He’s sorting through a pile of yellow and orange chips. To Doc’s continued wonder, the stack of bright blue cards resting near Scar’s elbow have miraculously not been knocked onto the floor yet.

When the doors open, Scar and Iskall look over. Ren immediately shifts at Doc’s elbow. Doc waits a moment to let Ren speak if he wants to, but when his shorter friend remains silent, he clears his throat in a grinding noise and announces, unnecessarily, “We’re here.”

Scar is so excited that his eyes have turned into little slivers of green. “Ren, I’m so happy you decided to tag along!” He kicks one of the chairs out from the table and clonks his foot on it for emphasis. The blue cards wobble on the edge of the table but still refuse to fall. “Sit down! Iskall can get you something to drink. Have you ever played poker?” He leans forward with the question. “It’s difficult, but I think it’s fun!”

“Uh, I haven’t.” Ren replies awkwardly, still at the door alongside Doc. “I’ve never even heard of it before.”

“Yeah, I would be surprised if you knew about it. It’s one of those old-timey games from TFC’s era.” Iskall says from across the room. He is now by the couch and is gently patting TFC’s fluffy hair to wake him. “Don’t worry that you don’t know. We’ll teach you.”

Ren tries and fails to make a pointed noise of interest, but he still seems intrigued. Doc feels the knot in his chest loosen a little. He rolls his shoulders to relieve some tension and moves to sit down. By the time he turns his head to look back, Ren is already wheeling forward to join him but looks lost as to where he should sit.

“Howdy, Ren. Sit next to me so I can teach you, but I’ll only teach if you’re willing to listen.” TFC, now awake, grumbles good-naturedly as he heaves himself off the couch. With his large frame still wrapped in a dozen blankets, he looks like a huge bear compared to Iskall. Which is impressive, Doc thinks, since Iskall is nowhere near frail. TFC’s metal prosthetic clonks on the floor as he walks over to the poker table. As he sits down across from Scar, he says, “There’s no point in just sitting there and gawking at us. Grab a seat.” He uses his leg to nudge the chair to his left.

Ren blinks and maneuvers his aid to let him sit down next to the astronaut. TFC procures a blanket from his pile and offers one to him. Ren, after slowly settling in his chair, accepts the pink fuzzy blanket. Doc accepts a purple one.

TFC lances over to Ren as he saves the blue cards from the edge of the table. “Poker’s good fun. You’ll get it in no time.” He snorts and flicks his gaze to Scar, who is busy stacking the chips into a pyramid. “This one always makes sure we have a great, long game.”

Scar looks up and winces minutely in a false apology. “Sorry about that.”

TFC chuckles. “Boy, I’ve never had better games than when I play with you.”

Scar’s grin almost sparkles. TFC and Doc grin back and Iskall hides his laugh in his shoulder.

“Anyway, ready for your first game with us amputees?” TFC brings the conversation back to Ren, who suddenly looks a lot more uncomfortable.

“I,” he begins, his eyes flicking to TFC, then Doc, before looking down. “I, well, uh…”

The table is silent. Iskall is staring at the table with his hands in his lap. TFC sighs and begins shuffling the cards. Doc, as much as he wants to clear the air somehow, can’t seem to find a way to do so. Scar just looks sad. He looks right at Ren, almost through him.

Ren stares back, eyes wide.

“You don’t want to be here.” Scar says quietly, finally. It’s not a question. Ren’s choked response makes the ex-convex smile slightly. “You can say so, Ren. You’re not going to hurt our feelings. None of us want to be here. But, as much as we may want to, we can’t change what happened to us.” He falls silent again as he looks at a particularly twisted scar on the back of his left hand. He rubs at it harshly with the pad of his thumb before Iskall stops him. “This might be selfish,” Scar continues, softly, “but I’m happy that I at least don’t have to sit in here alone.”

For a long moment, the table is silent. Then, with a rush of noise, Ren makes a sound like he’s dying. In a certain way, Doc thinks, he is.

“I don’t want to be here,” Ren confesses as his open mouth contorts and tears roll down his face. “I don’t want to be here.”

All Doc can do is wrap his arms around everyone else, encasing Ren and his other amputee friends in his embrace, and wish he could do more.

[strawberrylemonz]

Family

Part 9

Part 10 [CURRENT]

Part 11

DT: @petrichormeraki @applepie1000 @jump-in-the-cadillac

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Fundy was always brilliant with “coding,” this was something Tommy was always aware of. What he wasn’t aware of was how passionate his nephew was with everything. He soon found out a few days after he showed Fundy and the kids the amusement park, wanting them to be familiar with the layout before the grand opening. He noticed Fundy mumbling and taking notes, but he didn’t think much about it. It wasn’t until he was sewing on the finishing jewels for Theo’s little formal vest, that he found out the meaning behind Fundy’s behavior. 

“You should update the ride about L’manburg. You should also add giant screens that blend into the environment, sorta like pixels. And I drew up some concepts for possibly adding extra content? Like maybe activities or rides or themes based on things like the Dreamon Hunters! Like me! And I was thinking of adding more of a kid zone? I also have concepts for that. Oh! There are these too.”

Tommy was grateful that he finished the vest when he did. As he added the vest to the stand that held the rest of Theo’s royal fit, he listened as Fundy began explaining concepts that Tommy didn't even hint at. Tommy didn’t ask or expect his nephew to throw himself into adding and improving his park, but here they were. He, if he were on Dream’s server, would have usually thrown a fit about how his work was being degraded. Not that he blamed his younger self, who would? He had been a child who was forced to live and deal with traumatic shit left and right. Hell, he still didn’t fully heal from his past, but he knows that one day, somehow, he will. Smiling as Fundy showed his concepts with so much excitement, Tommy agreed to upgrade his park. Smiling an even bigger smile, he agreed to letting Fundy help with the upgrades. 

--------

Fundy adored spending time with his grandma, something that she recuperated. As the two were shooting targets with nerf guns, they raced to see who could rack up the most points first. As they knocked over the props used to represent points, they did their best with attempts to hinder one another. Finally, after a final shot, Fundy let out a playful groan as Kristin shot her final point, winning. Smiling at her enthusiasm, Fundy couldn’t help but be happy. Their bonding exercises were always fun and interactive, no matter what they were. Fundy’s smile grew as Kristin pet in-between his ears, causing him to laugh with joy. She smiled brightly up at him, speaking up as he handed her nerf gun back to her.

“You’re getting better! Soon enough, you’ll have me beat! Although, maybe if you had your own nerf gun...”

Fundy gasped in excitement as Kristin handed him his very own nerf gun. She had gone out of her way to get him his own, spending longer as she custom painted it herself. As he held the gift in his hand, he couldn’t help but tear up as he pulled her into a hug. He let out a shaky sigh as she hugged him back, Fundy felt like he was safe in her arms. 

--------

At the very beginning, Fundy was very careful with what he said or did around Grian. He still remembered the decent to madness that his father did. He still remembered how his grandfather disowned him and told him how he was dead to him. He remembered how scary Technoblade was, especially when he was influenced by the voices. So one didn’t really need to blame him for not knowing what to do once he found himself in a situation where he and his uncle could bond together. What he didn’t expect, however, was Grian to be so, different. The man was obviously family, seeing how he shared similar things with his father, grandfather, and uncles, that much was evident. He was also very chaotic and unpredictable at times, something that caused both Grian and Tommy to bounce off each other with ease. But, Grian was also understanding. He took the time to listen and understand the meanings behind his nephew’s actions and viewpoints. Much to Fundy’s sadness, however, his uncle was very persuasive and adventurous. 

“What if the elytra doesn’t work? What if I forget what to do? What if I start falling?”

“You’ll be okay, Fundy. I’ve got your back. I’ve got you.”

As he stared into the eyes of his uncle, Tommy’s statements about finding comfort in them started to make sense. Nodding his head to his uncle, Fundy found confidence hidden within himself, beginning to spill out. Trusting his uncle, he put on the elytra. Trusting his uncle, he stood at the edge of the port. Trusting his uncle, he allowed his feet to leave the ground

--------

He was very grateful for his father’s choice. Being brought into the world at a rough time, Theo didn’t have many pleasant, fun memories so far. He remembers having to stay quiet, having to stay still. He remembers not being able to go outside, as much as he wished to. He remembers hiding inside father’s sack, staying quiet and still as his father gathered their little amount of belongings, leaving to the Hub server as night fell. 

“Theo! I’m home!”

Freezing from coloring with his younger cousin, Clem, Theo smiled as he lifted his gaze from the paper. There, standing with pride, was his father. Smiling as he scrambled to his feet, Theo took off, running into the arms of his father. And as he nuzzled into the fur of his parent, he never felt more safe and happy. His happiness grew as he heard his father’s loud laughter, letting him know what he always wanted to know. All those nights talking to no one paid off. Theo’s wish for his father’s freedom and happiness had finally come true. His wish for family came true.

[writing-the-end]

LoL Chapter 3- Gildara

Master Post

A Wizard Hermits tale (AU belongs to @theguardiansofredland )

In the Northern fields of Lairyon, Gildara waits for the Order of Hermits. The land around them is different...dying. Is this what the Magistrate sent them to discover? What kind of creature, what kind of plague causes this? The only way for them to find out is by going deeper- literally.

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

“It’s like a sea of grass. Look at how it rolls like waves.” Scar whistles, watching wheat dancing in the wind. 

Doc nudges Grian. “I see where you stole your hair now.” 

Grian takes off after Doc, shrugging off the hybrid’s attempt to puppeteer him and tackling into the ground. Iskall steps over the two, deep in conversation with Ren. The two share a fistbump, before Iskall casts his magic circle. A molded rod of radioactive material, which he’s dubbed iskallium, appears before them. Iskall grabs his creation and gives it a flourish. Ren attempts to mimic Iskall’s magic, his own magic circle starting red before turning a muted green. 

Just behind Iskall and Ren practicing, Cub, Scar, and Joe are deep in a conversation about the land around them. Wide fields of wheat, surrounded by row after row of carrots, potatoes, and more. This is the breadbasket of Lairyon. At the edge of the fields that surround the road, tall pines loom at the base of rocky mountain climbs. They’re south of Foresta, yet to cross Turtle River, but still within the fertile soil that the city is known for. 

A shadow passes over the traveling guild, before red wings flap to the ground. Tango turns around, red eyes anguished as he grips his flaming hair. TFC notices the body language of their scout, and steps forward. The entire road goes quiet, the guild the only travelers on this route. “What did you see?” 

“Its… I don’t know how to explain it. It’s big.” Tango’s wings fold away and disappear. 

“The monster?” Zed asks, creeping closer to his friend. 

“The destruction?” Impulse adds, following. Both trying to comfort Tango. He looks like he’s on the verge of tears.

Tango shakes his head, his fiery hair half a step slower than his initial movement. “It looks like a black scar, like a dark bruise against the land. But nothing is destroyed. It- I can’t describe it, man. You just gotta keep walking. We’ll see.” 

And so they do. Tango seems shocked by what he saw, and the hermits try to ease his fears. With time, the emotions are eased and everyone relaxes when Tango can smile again. They’re more than just a guild. They’re a family. Most of them only have each other, and as chaotic as their guild can be, they’ll do anything to make sure each person is happy and safe. They care about each other, comfort each other. 

Ren stays near Tango, telling jokes and stories to keep up everyone’s morale. His brown ears prick up as he hears a change in the wind around him. He feels something brush against the skin of his feet, and looks down. “Whoa, my dudes.” 

Everyone stops, turning to look at Ren. He’s gazing beyond his sandaled feet, to the ground. A swirl of grey, clawing along the dirt like a vine reaching for a tree to choke from life, reaches out towards the gilded fields and verdant forests. Ren scrapes the sole of his shoe against the dirt, trying to scrape away the ash. But no matter how deep he digs, it remains monochrome. And it’s growing before their very eyes. 

Another skein of grey reaches past Joe’s feet, and he hops away from the strange phenomenon. He shivers, pulling his cape closer to his body. Despite being a warm summer day in north Lairyon, he feels like an icy breeze has just dug right into his bones. Into his core, striking at his heart and soul. He looks around, but Stress is nowhere near him. 

“There’s more.” Scar whispers, pointing down the road. The creeping darkness reaches out towards them. Out from Gildara. “This has to be that ‘discrepancy’ that the magistrate spoke of.” 

TFC bites his lip, but nods for the team to move forward. “Keep a tight watch, gang. Report anything out of the ordinary.” 

They continue forward, walking into the monotone ground. Around them, the fields wither to ashen plains. BDubs steps off the road, picking up a stalk and looking closer at it. The color looks like it was burned, but he can still see each individual grain on the wheat. It looks like it wilted, poisoned or left without the ability to grow. The entire field looks the same way. Every field. Dead farms on colorless land. 

The small town of Gildara rises in the distance. Tucked against the safety of a pine forest, with the open plains as it’s front yard. A short bridge rises over a dried creekbed into the village. 

“It looks like they had a drought.” False whispers, pressing forward with the braver souls. Mumbo and Jevin slip into the middle, spooked by the village. 

“It’s not a drought.” Grian responds, fingers playing with the ash colored needles of a tree. “These trees still look like they got a recent rain. That creek should be flowing.” 

“And things just beyond this grey stuff are well fed.” Zedaph adds. 

“Guys?” Iskall calls out, hurrying back to the group as they continue through the monochrome town. “Wh-where is everyone?” 

TFC stops, looking around. The town is small, but the houses look warm and welcoming. With large windows and open porches, but not a soul is to be seen. There’s no voices, no wails or whimpers. Not even a birdsong. No bodies, no bonfires. Doors remain closed, but shops are propped open, inviting customers to peruse wares. It’s like the entire town just simply...vanished. Everyone, every moving creature is gone. 

“Cleo?” TFC looks over his shoulder, but she’s already on it. Turquoise blue magic wisping and waving across the open air, Cleo’s arms and fingers moving in a choreographed series until the spell is cast. But the circle goes nowhere, hanging in the dead air with nothing to attach to.

“There’s no bodies anywhere. No ghosts either. There’s nothing.” Cleo reports, letting the magic fizzle away. Beneath her, the ash colored ground sparks and swirls. 

“It doesn’t look like a monster or bandits came through.” Xisuma notes. “There’s no sign of a fight, no claw marks or blood even.” 

“So where is everyone?” Keralis rubs his arms, looking around. He coughs, his throat feeling tight and lungs feeling heavy, his body exhausted. Like a storm is moving in, the wall of high pressure sending them into lethargy. Well, most of them. Grian gets excited, but even now he looks pressed. 

“Let’s check town center. If there’s anywhere we’ll find clues, it’ll be there.” TFC points down the road. The guild stays silent, as silent as the world around them. Devoid of color, until one of them looks up the mountainside. Beyond the clawing darkness, they can still see the dark green of alpine forests. The further into town they walk, the more the pressuring feeling rises. Like they’re being crushed, like air trapped deep within a mountain. Far underground, and just as dead and unmoving. Even the wind has stopped blowing. 

“What is that?” Etho questions, pointing towards the well at the center of the town square. The grey turns as black as ink, crawling free from the stone well and dispersing out into the grey blemish across the land. Etho tries to slip into the shadow of the darkness, but there’s nothing. It’s not a shadow- this is something else. 

Cub peers down the well, into the dark hole. “It’s coming from the water supply. Are we sure this isn’t some plague or poison?” 

“It’s not like anything I’ve ever seen.” Doc points out. Beside him, Scar activates his magic and creates a series of steps. Down the well’s stony walls, the hermits descend into darkness. Into the maws of the beast. 

“Anybody got a light?” False questions, the only visible thing before her being Cub and Scar’s eyes as they glow a faint blue. 

“I got it.” Impulse pushes Tango forward, his hair illuminating the cave system they are within. Following the underground stream that terraforms the rock. 

Tango sighs. “I think I can do better than just my hair, man.” He draws his scrawling magic circle, summoning up flame that dances just above his hand. 

“And this is why having the explosives mage and a fire mage living in the same house is a bad idea.” False groans, but let’s Tango take point. He directs the flame, funneling the light as best he can forward. 

“Or we could just make Grian get his archangel aura.” BDubs adds. 

“We’ll be blinded then.” Mumbo adds, feeling his friend shift beside him nervously. He’s still healing from the last time he used his ultimate power. 

The cave around them opens up into a cavern, and Tango’s torchlight stops. Tango pulls his hand down, blowing on the flame. Trying to get the fire to burn brighter. But no matter how fierce the fire burns, it can’t make it through the darkness around them. 

Because the crystal before them takes it all. Absorbs all his light, leaving none to bounce along the walls of the cave. It hurts to breathe, the air thick as water and as heavy as rocks. The crystal hovers in the air, just above the spring of water. As soon as the creek wells, it evaporates. Turns to darkened ash, neutralized by the crystal above it. Tango steps back, behind TFC. “Alright man, this is your thing. What kind of creepy crystal makes water and color disappear?” 

“And what did it do to the town above us?” Cleo finishes, watching as TFC steps closer. He raises a gloved hand, pressing it against the cool, smooth crystal edge. He immediately retreats his touch, waving his hand like it burned him. 

“Whatever it is, it isn’t good. We should break it, and hopefully it’ll break whatever curse it’s causing on the town.” He steps back, feeling dizzy and fatigued. His head feels fuzzy. Impulse steps up first, a bright yellow circle quickly drawn and tossed onto the crystal. Seconds later, the magic explodes and the air shocks outward. 

The crystal is unharmed. Impulse tries again, this time with Ren mimicking him on the other side. The gem is as smooth as before. Xisuma steps up, snapping his fingers. But the destructive void magic is useless. Even when Ren’s imagination magic tries it’s hand in joint with Joe’s poetry, the crystal remains. 

Things get more aggressive. BDubs wraps a vine around the crystal, but upon touching the gem the plants wither and turn to blackened ash. Scar tries to pierce the jewel with stone, but it falls apart like silt, raining over the guild. Finally, False gives in and charges the gem. With a two handed sword raised, she leaps and swings the blade into the ebony stone. And immediately, the metal rusts and decays. 

“How do we break this?” Stress questions, picking at the rusted remains of False’s sword. 

“I don’t know, but Magistrate Dolios needs to know about this.” TFC steps up, despite the sickening feeling he gets near the crystal. He feels weak, tired. Using a diamond and his magic, he’s able to break off a tiny piece. Hardly even bigger than his pinky fingernail, but the best he can do. For a second, he swears he can feel the crystal vibrate beside him. “Let’s get out of here. I don’t like this.” 

The whole guild is in agreement, turning back the way they came. But the way is blocked. Grian’s face lights up as he sees the faces of farmers and villagers. “Look, this must be where the townfolk have been hiding!” 

“Grian wait-” Iskall reaches out, grabbing Grian by his cloak and pulling him back. “They...something doesn’t look right.” 

Tango raises his flame, trying to see the strangers. Trying to get a better look through the black and grey air. But they’re the same color, and the edges of their bodies, their fingers and limbs flaking away like embers and ash. “I… I think the crystal has grey-ificated them as well.” 

The woman’s eyes snap open, revealing haunting white eyes. The iris is gone, only glowing luminosity remaining. Her hands raise up, and a magic circle appears. It doesn’t look right- her motions are sloppy and the inscriptions are poorly drawn. Magic snaps and seethes across the air, uncontrolled and uncontained. 

The ground beneath the hermits feet turns soft, rock and dirt turning into quicksand and engulfing the legs of the hermits. A farmer behind the wizard raises his hand, pointing blankly to the crystal. And behind the struggling guild, the swearing and grunting to escape the mud scape, the crystal awakens. A black mist swirls around the crystal. 

Then strikes towards the captured hermits.

[orionsces]

Thank you for everything. But endings have to happen.

Hello, I’m just really emotional and wanted to write something for Summer’s Reality, more under the read more.

Hey. I just want to say something. Summer’s Reality is ending soon. I’m writing the different endings, next chapters and everything else. 

Good things have to come to an end, I just want to thank all who’ve stayed with me for this amazing adventure of a story, it’s characters and everything else. 

I want to thank my boyfriend evo-grian and my many friends Zummy, Cephie, Tord, Coffee, Percy, Rylan, Wither and everyone else who kept me going.

I want to thank people who live in the past too for loving my story, even if they don’t live with me today in the future it never meant I forgotten about you. 

I want to thank everyone who loved and went through all the args. 

I want to thank the people who went through the trouble of staying up with my story even with every break and unknown updating being very well... Bad and forgive me for that. 

I want to say.

Goodbye to Summer’s Reality. 

Thank you for everything, this one story clearly meant the world to me, it shall stay with me forever. It makes me really happy to know that one of something I’ve made touched so many people, Summer’s Reality was just something for me to cope with my uncertain reality of the future with living with my trauma and past relationships. Being scared, confused and that feeling of not being about to leave it all behind still stays but it’s more tender and small. 

Thank you Summer’s Reality, for helping me heal along with you, watching me be happy along with my new and old friends. 

But. You and I will always be back then. That’s why. I’m ever so grateful to feel those many emotions, sad, happy, depressed, excited and loving and being with everyone and knowing that I could make others happy. 

Goodbye old friend.