#pa!mumbo

[geojester]

everything dies (but only if you let it)

Fandom: Hermitcraft/Life Series Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Setting: Destiny AU Info/Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort Words: 4.4k

Summary:

The Emissary insists that he is no longer Grian. Scar knows better.

OR

Scar's POV of the aftermath of shifting sands chapters 5 and 6.

[fic link]

[dmwrites]

Gem wasn’t sure how she’d been roped into this, but she was standing outside, at night, with a flashlight and a hoodie from Pearl over her dress. Grian, Scar, and Impulse were gathered around a map as she approached the bridge between Grian and Mumbo’s bases.

“Ah, there’s our other G!” Grian said, turning when he heard her footsteps and waving Gem over.

“Guys, what on earth are we doing? Old houses and buildings are one thing, but Hermitcraft? Nothing here was built over two years ago! What kind of ghosts could you possibly think exist here?”

“I don’t know, but there is some serious evidence that there is a ghost on this server.” Impulse said seriously. “We have freezing temperatures in some places-”

“What, like on top of mountains? Or in ice biomes?” Gem scoffed.

Impulse gave her a withering look and continued. “Scar swears he’s seen ghost orbs-”

“I saw them with my own two eyes!” Scar said.

“I thought you could only see them through cameras?” Gem asked.

“And, most importantly, we have a witness.” Impulse said proudly.

“A witness?” Gem asked.

“With bottled proof of this ghost’s existence.” Impulse continued proudly.

“If this witness has actual, real proof that ghosts exist, this could be groundbreaking for the world of ghost hunting.” Grian said, zipping up his backpack. “Okay, let’s go! Lead the way to the witness, Impulse!”

——

The second team GIGS landed in the hole in the ground, Grian made his thoughts known.

“Zedaph is our ghost witness? Impulse, please, you’re supposed to be the brains here. It’s not that I don’t like Zed, but he’s kind of…”

“How do we know he hasn’t been sniffing his test tubes as a zedvancement and hallucinated this all up?” Scar finished the sentence for him.

“Just wait and see.” Impulse replied.

Zedaph came out of a side tunnel moments later, holding a lantern in one hand and a small jar of fluorescent green liquid in the other. He was wearing a frankly horrifying dress (or just a really long shirt) that consisted of stitched-together clothing of all the other hermits.

“Hello, hello!” Zed called to them. “If it’s ghosts you’re looking for, I’ve got the spooks!”

“Zed, what on earth are you wearing?” Gem asked.

“Oh, this is my Halloween costume! I’m all the hermits, in a horrible amalgamation of cloth!”

“Well, he’s got the horrible part down pat.” Grian muttered to Scar.

Zed didn’t seem to hear the comment, as he looked at the four ghost hunters, counting them two times over.

“My friends, aren’t you missing someone?” Zed asked. “Where is the ‘S’ in GIGGS?”

“Skizz isn’t whitelisted on this server, duh.” Scar replied.

Zed grinned, and pulled a square-shaped item from his inventory. “Well, lucky for you, I have him right here on this i-pa- hi- hi-pad. A hi-pad, yes, that’s what this is.”

“Hi there, friends! Who’s ready to hunt some Hermitcraft ghost ass!” Skizz exclaimed from the screen, waving at his friends.

“Skizz!” Grian, Gem, and Scar exclaimed.

“Now that you’ve all assembled, I can tell you my spooky tale.” Zedaph said mysteriously, handing the hi-pad to Impulse. He pulled a campfire out of his inventory and set it down on the ground between them. “It was a dark and stormy night. I was up late, finishing up wiring my newest zedvancement trophy display. I came out to stand right in this very spot, on this ledge, looking over my hole, when something flew past my face!”

Gem gasped as Zed leapt forward, wiggling his fingers at his audience. Grian rolled his eyes. Scar was looking at the dangling animals, clearly not paying attention.

“It was glowing green, and this thing fell directly into the water feature around my bed!” Zed continued, pointing down into the hole, where his bed was. Around the bed were small streams of water, clearly so Zed wouldn’t take fall damage getting down. “I, of course, scrambled to get a lead, thinking it must be dangled at once.”

“I don’t like that your first thought when seeing anything is ‘can I wrap it up in rope and dangle it’, Zed. I would hate to psychoanalyze you.” Grian said.

“But when I got down there,” Zed continued, still acting like he didn’t hear Grian’s comments, “the lead went right through it! It was translucent, clearly a ghost! A green ghost of a man covered in chains! He gave me such a fright, speaking to me with a frankly grating American accent about pinball machines and other odd things. And then he left, floating up into the air and away! And all that was left behind was… this mysterious ghost substance.” Zed finished his story, holding out the bottle of glowing green liquid.

“Mysterious ghost substance?” Impulse asked.

Skizz gasped. “Dude, maybe that’s like the ghost’s sweat, or his p-”

Impulse muted him before he could finish.

“Scar, I dare you to drink that.” Grian said, pointing at the glass.

“Okay.” Scar said, and took the glass from Zed’s hand, popped the cork, and downed the whole thing in one gulp.

“SCAR!” Grian, Impulse, Gem, and Zed cried.

“Grian, why did you dare him to drink it?” Gem asked, smacking Grian’s arm.

“I didn’t think he actually would do it!” Grian cried.

“Don’t lie, you knew he would.” Impulse said, shaking his head. “Oh, sorry Skizz, did you want to say something?” He unmuted Skizz again.

“Is Scar okay?” Skizz cried. “And also, what does it taste like?”

They all looked to Scar, who was smacking his lips thoughtfully. He looked up at all of them. “Why is everyone looking at me?” He asked.

“You just drank ghost bath water, dude.” Skizz said.

“Ohh…” Scar said, looking at the empty glass. “I zoned out, sorry. So this was the ghost evidence?”

“And you drank it, yeah.” Gem said.

“This tastes familiar. I know where the ghost is.” Scar said. “Follow me.”

He took off, leaving Gem and Grian to stare at each other in disbelief, then follow, followed by Impulse thanking Zed for his help before taking off too, holding Skizz on the hi-pad. The ghost-hunting group followed Scar all the way to the middle of the ocean, to a huge pinball machine that lit up the night sky. They landed on the top, looking around.

“Why are we at Joe Hills’ place?” Grian whispered.

“Because that’s where the ghost is.” Scar said, pointing down at a glowing green ghost on the pinball playfield, moving around, placing blocks, trailed by chains. “It’s the Beetlejoest, it’s what Joe Hills turns into sometimes. Bit of an odd guy, but he still bleeds if you use the right arrows.”

“Wow, a real ghost! On Hermitcraft!” Impulse exclaimed. “Let’s set up our ghost hunting equipment, get as much information as we can! Quick, someone grab the parabolic mic!”

“So are we just going to ignore the part where Scar knew what Joe Hills’ ghost tastes like?” Grian asked. “Was I the only one that heard that?”

[jamsofdeath0]

you know that YouTube comments thread that's like:

Pa: Grians married

Pb: To who Mumbo

Pa: No to his wife.

do you think that'll be Doc and Ren in like 3 years?

[life-winners-liveblog]

Watching Last Life- session 7

Part 4

Grian: And now everything is on fire.

Scar: Arson!

Pearl: And It's not Cleo or Scar this time...weird.

~~~~~

Martyn: Robbing Joel? Sounds fun.

Pearl: Second time you do that Scott.

Scott: Yep!

Grian: And Cleo wants to burn it down...makes sense.

Pearl: Oh finally! I was almost starting to worry.

~~~~~

Martyn: You really had to get the dogs first? Now Joel knows you are in his base. So smart Scott.

Scott: I don't need that sort of attitude from someone who can't do basic addition.

Martyn: ... I hate you...so much...

...this is all your fault Pearl.

Pearl: Oh yeah I know, one of my best moments I believe.

~~~~~

Pearl: Burn it down! Burn it down! Burn it down!

Scar: Burn it down! Burn it down! Burn it down!

Grian: You guys have problems.

Pearl: Duh! But so do you Grian!

Grian: Thats very true.

Scar: Want to join us?

Grian: You know what? Sure. Burn it down! Burn it down! Burn it down!

Pearl: Yeah! Arson!

Scar: Arson!!!

Scott: Oh gods we all need serious mental help here.

Martyn: Took you a while to notice, I tought it was pretty obvious to anyone with more then zero eyes.

~~~~~

Martyn: Well that's a yikes.

Scar: Ouch

Pearl: Scott?!? What did pas you just say!? I must have heard wrong mate.

Scott: I don't know why I said that to Lizzie! It was an accident! I didn't think about it at the time.

Grian: You did Joel so dirty... *bursts out laughing*

Martyn: Didn't know you had it in you. Sucks to be Joel though.

Scott: Guys!

Scar: Giant ouch. Poor Joel.

Pearl: I don't know what to say mate. That was cold.

Scott:... Wait... was...was that a pun on my ice magic? Really Pearl?

Pearl: Mayyyybe.

Scott: Pearl!

Grian: Did you *pftt* really have to imply that Lizzie made a bad decision by marrying Joel? *giggles* Shameless really.

Scar: You shouldn't talk about people behind their backs Scott. *shakes head in fake disappointment*

Pearl: he wasn't, he was in a different part of the map, completely different.

Scott: This isn't fair, you guys are just bullying me at this point!

Martyn: Now you know how it feels to be me.

~~~~~

Grian: Wait Jimmy died! He's out!

Pearl: I litterally blinked and now he's dead!?

Scott: Yep, from here on out It's just chaos.

Grian: He died first... AGAIN!?

Martyn: Uh...interesting...

Pearl: Wait did Jimmy die first in all of our games!??

Scar: Ah no! Not mine! That was- wait no I shouldn't tell you that...

Pearl: Oh well then-

Scar: He died ten minutes after though-

Grian: And Mumbo as well... wait Last Life me killed Mumbo? Why?

Scott: I'm not... sure?... I wasn't there to witness it you know?

Grian: ... I know It's just- nevermind.

Previous

Next

First

[novemberfyshenuke]

Robotic Playtime

I may or may not have done something bad again....I'm not sure if this is ooc (This wasn't originally supposed to be Vash but I had to make it about him)

Summary: Turning off his pain sensors don't seem to affect his other sensations as you work on repairing his wiring. (Cy!Vash/reader) (This does have wire play; read with discretion) Shift in perspective from third to second for some spicier stuff.

Here again he sits on the cold metal frame. It tilted diagonally, almost hard to balance on when one was seated on the wider sides. The room was filled with walls of tools and machinery and gadgets. Elendira, being the occupant, was quite fond of tinkering with all things related to scientific reverie.

However, it was not the her who dragged Vash down from the airpad to the tech room. It was a this angry little creature who began dragging him along without letting him slip a word in. Stubborn to a point that rivaled Knives, they were someone Vash believes could actually stand against his prideful brother.

Many on this planet were odd. From all kinds of diverse backgrounds with troublesome pasts that chase them down.

And example was this individual that stood at the workbench a few meters away. They tinkered with all things there, mumbling jargon and other mumbo jumbo while they worked. Was this the first time they had done this?

Vash remained unaffected, or at least as he let on. That boyish smile never parted from his lips, or the child like curiosity that runs across his features as he observes them.

He doesn't remember when exactly they joined their merry bunch. His memory had never once failed him. It couldn't. Parts of him are still plenty biological, but for the most part...he's aware that he's a build of cogs and coded. So he asks;

"Uh, is this really necessary?"

The cyborg receives a silent glare from the mechanic. "Vash, what part of, 'Don't overwork your unit' did you not understand?"

There was something in them that made him want to continue pushing buttons. He'd never really found any interest to egg someone on like he did this mechanic of his. He leans forward, his smile twitching as he remembers to turn off the pain sensory nodes in his system. God, it hurt like a bitch.

"I was simply following mission orders. Evacuate civilians to the nearest relief site. They were endanger, and I have parts to spare. I wasn't even that damaged, I don't see why this is necessary."

With a low growl, the mechanic brings over the tools they were studying to the metal bed. The trolley squeaks, the wheels most likely uncared for by the owner. "If I don't do a general checkup or at least repair what need be, you'll just run off before the research department can make any proper repairs.

This way, you can atleast perform alright without leaving with deeper injuries." He tilts his head to the side, expression unchanging. Surely when he lets go of his next words, they would understand that he was simply a piece of scrap metal put together to fight for humanity's cause. "Damages." He corrected bluntly.

They lock eyes. As best as the they can that is. With the goggle in place of their sockets, Vash can only imagine what they were thinking under the layers. The silence breaks as they nod in agreement. "Right. Your damages. I'll fix them up temporarily."

They treated these robotic humanoids like their equal, something the association member, Meryl, and them share. Both of them are all too willing in acting as if they were human. All too willing. It made him question his humanity on occasion. Or at least the person who once handed control of this body to him.

He wanted to argue. It was so stuffy and terribly boring whenever he had to be put in maintenance. He craved excitement! Fun! But he just couldn't. For some reason, he always found himself following the whim of this particular person.

What was it? The air of mystery? The attitude problem? He can't begin to describe how his morbid interest wants him to inch closer to this particular being.

He lies back on the cool surface, staring up at the fluorescent light held up on the metal plates of the ceiling. The clinking of tools and the smooth touch of human skin on his arm were things he paid attention to, but didn't mind much of.

He glances at them from the corner of his eye. He had heard a number of rumors moving about in the busy SEEDS ship. It's a miracle they had time to gossip with how many refugees are still to be retrieved on Earth.

A part of an elite squad full of s-ranking units, this simple human had gone long and far compared to him. He wonders how much bloodshed stains their hands, how many times they had to pick up fallen comrades and desperately try and repair them.

What interested him right now though, wasn't their team or whatever other reason there needed to be. It was the clenched jaw that guided his eyes back up to the goggles perched on their face.

Gods, he was so curious to know what was under there. Hundreds if not thousands of images played in his mind.

They cuss, brow furrowing in frustration. Instinctively, he asks what's wrong. They shake their head, pressing fingers down on their temples.

"Your wiring might be fucked inside. I'm guessing it was fried when you went overboard during the switch. Usually, the Science Department has the tech to mend it without cracking you open. We should head over there."

That frustrated expression was one they made often. Especially around him. Did he cause such frustration? Could the grays in their hair be because of him as well?

His pupils dilate and shrink in a speed that was hard to catch. He closes his eyes, pausing his chatter for a while. Not that it mattered. He was quiet during the time he spent with them. Wolfwood would tease him about being shy, but it always was out of place coming from his aloof captain. Perhaps that's why he laughed along when the joke was mentioned.

The metal rubs up against the other, pulling open the compartment of wirings and other technology hidden away in his body. He nodded in their direction.

The weariness in their expression, puzzled him. He was simply doing what was best in the situation.

"You should probably power down for a while." They explained quietly. He could sense the insecurity in their tone. Was this truly the first time they had fixed up any units?

Vash shakes his head, all the more steady willed to stay online. "It would be better to have someone guide you, tiny. I can turn off my pain sensors for the time being so you can focus on the repairs."

His words don't seem to comfort them much. Their hands shook when they hovered above his open chassis; their teeth chattered louder than the built-in cooling systems in his body.

He slides his hand on top of their vacant one, winking playfully. He had enough trust in them to know they were more than capable to complete the task. Even if sweat started to build in their palms.

His grin was reflected back to him, the goggles glinting in the horrid lighting. Swirling with anxiousness but a determination mingles. Vash sharply inhales, hardening himself as well.

"...then I'll get started." You pull and move closer, almost scared to make a move. A few times, you would inform him of what part would be tampered with next. Through his guidance, the maintenance goes along much smoother than it started.

Vash jolts, his arm moving up to hold onto your wrist. A gritted apology passes along between the two of you. He had turn off the pain sensors in his frame, but for some odd reason his body continues to send signals to his central unit.

Good ones. He's aware of the difference, even if he's never really experienced those painful pleasures before.

"Easy." He hissed, flashing a lighthearted smile. It didn't quite reach his eyes, not that he was aware.

Had it always been so hard to focus when you had your hands on him? You slows their movements. That results to your palm hitting a particular module that causes a shiver to run down his systems.

He grunts, gripping onto the metal surface below him. "No fair, tiny. Are you teasing me?" He meets with your gaze slowly.

You don't even seem aware of what you were doing to him. Figures, he didn't even understand why he was feeling this way himself.

"Vash, is anything uncomfortable? Should I call Doctor Conrad?" You asked, dropping the wrench onto the trolley.

He gulps down his nerves, placing your hands back into the chassis. Vash smiles brightly, hunger dancing around in his eyes. He knows what it is. It was a curiosity to see where this would lead.

"It's alright. Keep going."

When the warmth of your fingertips glaze over his wirings, he almost let out a sound prematurely.

Your hands moved around, repairing a few disconnected lines and then going back up to the wires that hadn't been damaged. He guessed that you were ensuring that the placement was correct.

He grins, fighting the urge to squirm as his chest rises and falls. Sloppy engineer or otherwise, he loved the way your hands were delicate with their touch.

"Vash, I'm going to reach for an inner wire. That okay?"

He nods. If he said anything now, he'd be drooling like a dog. You pushed away a few loose wires, his back arching from the way they tugged gently at the inner wirings of his mechanical body.

"...shit." He murmurs when you squeezed his side for support. He moans softly, eyes wide while his lenses try and adjust to the hazy blur of his surroundings.

You rubbed your hand along the tubes, offering a few comforts as you continue to examine him. Vash jerks forward, grabbing hold of the small of your back.

"Vash! Hey! What's wrong?!" your words were distant. His head struggled to adapt to it. Funny, he had adapted to the harsh conditions of Earth many times before, yet he couldn't handle a simple mechanic running their hands through his wires?

Panting hard, he whimpers when you pull your hand away. The next moment those two warm hands were pressing against his cheeks, concern ever so present on your features.

"Tiny..." He leans in, pushing his lips onto yours. The other reciprocates without much fuss. He loved that about you. His spontaneous actions never surprised you by the slightest. Yet you never seem tired of his shenanigans.

"Tiny, I'm so...turned on right now." He whispers into your ear. And you give him a look. One crossed between confusion and intrigue.

He pants, grabbing hold of your hands to place back inside his chassis. "When you touch me here. It feels so good."

They follow the shape of his system, your eyes never straying from his. Just that look alone could make him melt. It wasn't far from happening. His cooling systems felt a little too hot for his liking.

"If I were human, I would have made a mess by now." He adds, moaning without much restraint. He wants them to know that it felt good. He wants them to feel good too. He puts out there like a young man who just lost his virginity.

...could this be considered as him losing his virginity?

"I see." your hands move away, retreating back to your side. Vash managed to noise out a complaint, pouting childishly when a hand was placed on his bicep.

A complicated expression fits on your lips. He knew this look. The researchers often eyed him just like that. Doctor Conrad being the most prominent in his thoughts.

To have piqued tiny's interest...that was definitely an accomplishment. The aloof responses from previous advancements he performed were more than a little disappointing for the cyborg. Perhaps this rather humiliating venture was worth it.

You scanned him, hand squeezing the fabric of his windbreaker in an attempt of a comforting gesture. 'Be patient' he could almost hear the voice in his head coo.

"Current theory, it's because of the advancement in construction technology. Hands on work with the wiring and frames haven't been done in forever." He could practically read your mind. You were worrying about mindless things. How units who defected survived on Earth, away from the technicians of the SEEDS project; What causes the tingly sensation that has him surfing above the clouds; why it took this long to be discovered.

He's sure you've come up with a few answers already. He's more curious on what you plan to do next.

His fingers drum onto the metal surface, watching as your hand cautiously drags over his wirings once more. "Vash. Please continue to be honest."

That artificial heart of his, whatever a human heart was a equivalent to, (he wouldn't know. Those scientists aren't exactly people he gets along with.) sends signals right up to his central control.

Whatever is to happen, he just hopes it won't end up with him overloading and breaking down.

Guys, is it obvious I reworked this from my PGR fic?

[hmshermitcraft]

On the border of E, but you can go full E if you wish. The Watcher Kingdom was throwing a royal ball and decided to invite royals from The Royal Vex Court as a show of peace.

Scar and Cub, the royal next in line princes, want to mess with The Watchers. The Watchers have way too much power over way too many beings including Vex, and they wanted to get one over on them.

They were able to sneak out of the ballroom and into the living quarters with no problem. The problem came in when they did get to the living quarters. Grian was the next in line prince for The Watchers. He was not staining around outside the door. Instead his brother Mumbo was, most likely waiting to talk about his brother for something.

Cub walked up to him to "distract" him.

When Mumbo was fully distracted, Scar slipped into the room.

His goal? Cover the whole room in glitter.

The problem? Grian just stepped out of the closet in his best after Scar covered the bed.

Scar was about to do something similar to what Cub is doing right now to get out of this.

Cub and Scar knew this ball wasn't a 'show of peace'. It was a show of power, like it always is. A way to show 'look, we're so much better than you! look at our power and might, aren't we cool?' Cub and Scar aren't falling for that propaganda. A ball where there's so many people that nobody would suspect the princes? Nevermind the social faux pas accusing them would be. It's the perfect opportunity.

It turns out they might be falling for something else, though.

Scar and Grian stare at each other. For a long time. Scar and Cub knew the Watcher Princes existed, but they'd never actually met them. Now Cub is outside making out with one, and Scar is staring at the other. Who's completely naked. Whilst Scar is wearing his finery and covered in glitter - totally unrelated to the bed being covered with glitter, by the way, that's nothing to do with Scar!

They make an agreement. Scar won't talk about... Whatever Grian is doing, and Grian won't talk about whatever Scar is doing!

The problem being is that, uh... Scar maybe shouldn't mention the whole 'by the way, your brother is making out with my brother' thing. And Cub and Mumbo are getting awfully into it. So, he guesses it's time for some distraction tactics of his own!

[atherix]

What would mumscarian’s future kids call them? (names like dad, pappa, etc)

I've been pondering this, actually!

Mumbo would be a simple "dad" or "father" ("daddy" when the children are really young) and they would probably call Scar the Fae word for dad/father or an affectionate parent-nickname in Fae (like how in English we might call our fathers "pops") which I haven't decided what that word is yet. But the two of them are pretty straight forward.

As for Grian, I'll either keep with the trend of language (aka "Ancient for dad") or go with papa/pa or hell maybe break expectations and the kids call him mama (perhaps me referencing Mother Spore and Mama Bird :'D) after Scar or Mumbo jokingly call him a mother hen and the kid(s) start parroting it. Grian would totally embrace it.

[gunslinginnhogtyin]

@dragonskxn replied: "Hey, no, it's okay," Annalise reassures him, taking a seat next to him in the grass. Looks like this wasn't going to be just be a simple answer. "You can take all the time you need, okay? I'm more than willing to listen.”

A brief smile crawls onto his face at her reassurance.

“Well, t’answer yer question, I…I wasn’t born with it. ‘Fact, I was born a normal ol’ human. It wasn’t until I got put away in that magic book that I started t’change.” Butch admits, seeming to just now realize that he hadn’t even mentioned that damn book, had he? It’s sweet though, to think she hadn’t questioned it before now because she saw him no differently because of these features.

“Shit, I ain’t even mentioned all that, huh?” The cowboy releases a sheepish chuckle before continuing on, “Back in my century, when I was still workin’ on my Pa’s farm, I met this woman an’ she was a witch. Not a mean kinda witch but I mean literally, this woman could cast spells an’ shit. She was… well, at th’ time it was th’ kindest anyone’s ever been t’me so I thought she was as sweet as could be an’ I couldn’t stand my Pop’s so I high tailed it outta there with ‘er. She was my best friend fer a long time,” though ten years held no candle to all the time lost in that book.

“We ate together, fought together, travelled together, robbed a bank or two together—everythin’ was just peachy. ‘Least… I didn’t have any complaints.” His tone suggests his partner in crime must have felt differently. “She had this magic book she took with ‘er everywhere where she’d trap away evil magic t’protect this world. We’d ventured int’ it a few times fer th’ hell of it an’ it was dangerous but we never went alone. It was…its own world in there. Dark an’ creepy, an’ it was always changin’.” As Butch continues, his tone grows a bit more serious, as does the look on his face as he revisits these events in his head.

“I dunno why or where it came from but one day, she told me there was danger an’ I needed t’hide. So, she did her whole magic thing an’ put me in there—I didn’t wanna go in alone an’ I tried t’get ‘er t’come with me but…” A soft sigh followed by a pause as he shakes his head, eyes finding the ground. He plays with some grass as he begins an again.

“…She said she’d find me later but, uh, that…never happened. She never came back fer me. I thought… somethin’ horrible happened to ‘er fer a long time. That place was… somethin’ else. I’d say worse than Hell but I ain’t ever been, heh.” He tries to toss a little joke in there to keep the air lighthearted though it’s a bit too late for that.

“It…changed me. I dunno how but I could feel it, an’ there was nothin’ I could do about it. These horns an’ tail, they hurt when they first grew in, real bad. It was…” he peers up in thought, momentarily squinting an eye shut. “Oh, I’d say a year or so ago when I finally was let outta that thing… by one’f her relatives. An’ that was by accident. That’s when they told me… she was dead.”

“An’ I know it ain’t much NOW… but it ain’t over. I’m… one’f them now, I jus’ know it.” Though he’s not even sure what ‘them’ is. An evil spirit of some kind? A demon? An honest to god demon? He didn’t know. His old partner in crime was the one who knew all that magic mumbo jumbo. I don’t feel th’ same as b’fore, I—“ Seeming to realize he’s been rambling, he stops himself, looking to Annalise a bit embarrassed, his head tilted down some.

“Er, s-sorry this is… it’s a lot. I jus’… want ya t’know everythin’ so ya understand. You’f all people deserve t’know… I dunno how much longer I got lookin’ like this. I dunno… what I might become. I figured maybe leavin’ that place stunted that weird ass transformation, but…” Butch trails off, averting his gaze. It’s obvious he’s been holding this all in for a long time. It’s hard to be so terrified of his unknown fate when he was raised to ignore such feelings.

Absentmindedly and without another word, he plucks out a cigarette from behind his ear and lights it up with a match.

[definitelynotshouting]

Nobody seems to know what i mean when i tell them i'm "letting an au percolate" which is already funny, but whats funnier to me is that whenever i do percolate on a fic concept i always end up with insane ideas such as: "scarian au inspired by iron man where scar is both mayor and a scummy business man turning over a new leaf as a masked superhero, MUMBO is his AI who is becoming better friends with the new PA Grian, and Grian happens to be performing industrial espionage on behalf of the Watchers which are actually a mega corporation trying to buy Scar out and influence his policies. This is in fact a commentary on capitalism and men will be kissing about it."

[fdelopera]

Welcome to the 22nd installment of 15 Weeks of Phantom, where I post all 68 sections of Le Fantôme de l’Opéra, as they were first printed in Le Gaulois newspaper 114 yeas ago.

In today’s installment, we have Part I of Chapter 9, “Le mystérieux coupé” (“The Mysterious Carriage”).

This section was first printed on Wednesday, 27 October, 1909.

For anyone following along in David Coward’s translation (the link is to the Kindle edition on Amazon US), the text starts at the beginning of Chapter 9, “That fatal night turned out badly for all concerned,” and goes to, “But now he suddenly understood the mind of a young woman raised by a superstitious fiddler and this lady who believed in mumbo-jumbo. He shuddered to think of the consequences."

There are some differences between the standard 1st Edition text and the Gaulois text. In this section, these include (highlighted in red above):

1) Chapter IX was misprinted as Chapter X. This numbering error was made in Chapter VII, and was not corrected, so it was propagated throughout the Gaulois publication.

2) Compare the Gaulois text:

Quant à Christine Daaé, elle avait disparu. (As for Christine Daaé, she had disappeared.)

To the 1st Edition (indicated by the 1st Red Arrow above):

Quant à Christine Daaé, elle avait disparu après la représantation. (As for Christine Daaé, she had disappeared after the performance.)

3) This section was added to the 1st Edition, and does not appear in the Gaulois (indicated by the 2nd Red Arrow above):

Il ne faut pas confondre cette première disparition, qui se passa sans scandale, avec le fameux enlèvement qui, à quelque temps de là, devait se produire dans des conditions si inexplicables et si tragiques.

Raoul fut le premier, naturellement, à ne rien comprendre à l’absence de la diva.

Translation:

One must not confuse this first disappearance, which went by without scandal, with the well-known abduction which, only a short while later, would occur under such inexplicable and tragic circumstances.

Naturally, Raoul was the first to find the diva's absence baffling.

4) This section was added to the 1st Edition, and does not appear in the Gaulois (indicated by the 3rd Red Arrow above):

Leurs amis eux-mêmes ne les reconnaissaient plus : ils avaient perdu toute joie et tout entrain. On les voyait traverser le théâtre, tête basse, le front soucieux, et les joues pâles comme s’ils étaient poursuivis par quelque abominable pensée, ou en proie à quelque malice du destin qui vous prend son homme et ne le lâche plus.

La chute du lustre avait entraîné bien des responsabilités, mais il était difficile de faire s’expliquer MM. les directeurs à ce sujet.

Translation:

Even their friends no longer recognized them; they had lost all their enthusiasm and good cheer. They could be seen crisscrossing the theatre, heads bowed, brows furrowed, and faces pale, as if they were pursued by some horrible thought, or prey to some evil trick of fate which takes hold of a man and never lets him go.

The chandelier's fall had incurred them numerous liabilities, but it was difficult to get the Managers to discuss the subject.

In the Gaulois, the text reads:

Il trouva des directeurs fort préoccupés, sans doute à cause des responsabilités qu'avait entraînées pour eux la chute de la lustre.

Translation:

He found the Managers quite distressed, no doubt because of the liabilities that they had incurred due to the chandelier's fall.

5) This section was added to the 1st Edition, and does not appear in the Gaulois (indicated by the 4th Red Arrow above):

Et il me faut bien dire que MM. Richard et Moncharmin apparurent à cette époque si changés, si lointains… si mystérieux… si incompréhensibles, qu’il y eut beaucoup d’abonnés pour imaginer que quelque événement plus affreux encore que la chute du lustre, avait modifié l’état d’âme de MM. les directeurs.

Dans leurs relations quotidiennes, ils se montraient fort impatients, excepté cependant avec Mme Giry qui avait été réintégrée dans ses fonctions. On se doute de la façon dont ils reçurent le vicomte de Chagny quand celui-ci vint leur demander des nouvelles de Christine.

Translation:

And I must say that at that time, MM. Richard and Moncharmin seemed so changed, so remote ... so mysterious ... so unfathomable, that many of the subscribers imagined that some event even more horrible than the fall of the chandelier had altered the Managers' state of mind.

In their daily interactions, they seemed to be exceedingly impatient, except with Mme Giry, who had been reinstated in her duties. One can guess the manner in which they received the Vicomte de Chagny when he came to ask them for news of Christine.

In the Gaulois, the text reads:

Ils firent à Raoul mauvaise mine quand il leur parla de Christine Daaé...

Translation:

They gave Raoul an unpleasant look when he spoke to them of Christine Daaé...

6) Compare the Gaulois text (highlighted in red above):

Il en tremblait en sonnant à sa porte, la porte d’un petit appartement de la rue Notre-Dame-des-Victoires. (He was trembling as he rang at her door, the door of a small flat on the Rue Notre-Dame-des-Victoires.)

To the 1st Edition:

Il en tremblait en sonnant à la porte d’un petit appartement de la rue Notre-Dame-des-Victoires. (He was trembling as he rang at the door of a small flat on the Rue Notre-Dame-des-Victoires.)

7) Here in the Gaulois text, Mme Valérius refers to Erik as the "génie de la musique" (the "Spirit of Music") instead of the "Ange de la musique" (the "Angel of Music"), as in the 1st Edition. (I have highlighted both instances in red above.)

Note that in French, "génie" means both "spirit" and "genius"; however, in this context, it refers to a spirit and not to someone of great intellectual prowess. Mistranslating “génie” as “genius” instead of “spirit” was one of Alexander Teixeira de Mattos' favorite errors in his 1911 translation. Thus Erik's statement to Christine in Apollo's Lyre should read, "It is true, Christine!… I am neither angel, nor spirit, nor phantom… I am Erik!" (Though I'm pretty sure that Erik would approve of de Mattos’ mistranslation in this case. ;-P)

8) Minor differences in punctuation and capitalization.

Click here to see the entire edition of Le Gaulois from 27 October, 1909. This link brings you to page 3 of the newspaper — Le Fantôme is at the bottom of the page in the feuilleton section. Click on the arrow buttons at the bottom of the screen to turn the pages of the newspaper, and click on the Zoom button at the bottom left to magnify the text.

[weaselishmcdiesel]

hola grian soy mumbo pero en español

je parle français, désolé 🤷 et mon nom n'est pas grian >:(

[mochiwrites]

songbird's blood au -- master post

welcome to the collection of important posts to the songbird's blood au! the au is centered around scar/grian/mumbo. the universe is set in aqua town, a place full of more supernaturals than humans. grian and pearl are new in town, and have quite the surprise waiting for them.

the au takes influence from the most recent seasons of hermitcraft (6, 7, 8, & 9), as well as the traffic series.

(note: there is also hermitshipping/trafficshipping involved in the au, so if that isn’t your cup of tea, dni).

warning(s) for the au: violence, death, trauma, blood, dark themes, possible (n)sfw. warnings will be updated as the au goes on.

main tag for the au is #songbird's blood au

any asks about the au that don't contain heavy lore will be tagged with #songbird asks

main playlist: songbird's blood

fics.

night life. - mumscarian focused; main storyline

arts.

ringmaster scar 1, ringmaster scar 2, ringmaster scar 3, welcome to the circus ch3, grum and jrum, grian with jrum ; by @halfapersob / sb!grian art, sad grians from enchante ; by @musiccallanon / mumbo carrying grian in wttc ch3 ; by @angeart / grian’s first circus act ; by @appleciyder / scott meeting grian , grian doing mumbo’s hair , scar ; by @cookiecatshroom / some mumbo’s and a grian by @graysonorson / grumbo hug ; by @pa-rou / grian and scar holding hands ; by @fairyyybread / a songbird grian, “his blood is on your hands” ; by @treesaplingtwig / the swaggon dealings ; by @smallishobeans

lore things.

treebark lore dump / vampires in songbird / grum and jrum’s dynamic with mumbo / scar and tubbo head canons / immortal supernaturals / canon heights / totems / mumbo, scar, and martyn's magic / purebloods and halfbloods 1 / purebloods and halfbloods 2 / layout of mumbo's study / ages / glyph visuals and inspo / the meaning of 'humanity' /

drabbles.

grum and jrum intro / out of context scene / scarian meeting / grumbo drabble / mumscarian scene / grian and mumbo play uno / drabble by 🦕 anon: part one ; part two /

this will be updated as the au is more developed!

[sleepless-in-southlands]

How to Accidentally Date Your Servant

Ao3

Summary: Scar is the second prince to a thriving kingdom. Grian is his new handservant and illegally charming. Oblivious gay fluff ensues. Content: Royal AU, gay fluff, obliviousness, flirting, courting rituals, avian Grian, wing grooming, kissing, purposeful use of ‘my highness’ for gay reasons, obligatory characters not CCs Pairing: Romo scarian

~

    To start this all off, one thing needs to be clarified: being a prince isn’t easy. Have you ever seen Barbie: The Princess and The Pauper? It gets it. You may live nice, but there are responsibilities up the ying-yang. It’s a tough life.

    …for the crown prince, anyway. Which is Mumbo. Who this story is not about. This story is about Scar, who does still have responsibilities, but has mostly slipped through the cracks while dearest ma and pa made sure the future monarch wasn’t going to future run things into the ground.

    Which left Scar free to do a good many things, like amass a crystal collection with mystical properties only he believed in and cultivate a wardrobe of the most dramatically stunning outfit choices. It also gave him plenty of time to acquaint himself with the majority of the castle staff, though the chefs never really did warm up to him (perhaps because his kitchen visits had the uncanny tendency to coincide with times of high cookie disappearance rates. odd).

    So when the castle took on some new staff, Scar noticed. Mumbo’s strategical marriage had been arranged, and with its approach came a wedding and a coronation and a joining of kingdoms ceremony. More help was needed for preparations, even with everything still being months out.

    Most of the new castle hands, predictably, were designated to work under Mumbo, but a few were brought in for routine staff replacements. One of these replacements included Scar’s handservant, who had been poached by Mumbo for what Scar believed to be solely cruel and petty reasons.

    (“They’re a tailor, Scar, I’m not quite sure how they even ended up in that position.”

    “The power of the crown has already gone to your head.”)

    Regardless, Scar was excited to meet his new help. Trips outside of the castle were rare for the royal family, and even then it was hard to interact with anyone when they were too busy bowing and staring at your crown to hold an actual conversation. Castle staff tended to be the same at first, but once they had some time to get used to the royal family and their very human eccentricities the effect would fade.

    It took a while to sort out whose job was whose when the newcomers all arrived, Scar waiting patiently to the side with Mumbo and their parents while various heads of staff read through lists and marked names. But soon enough the groups were being sent off towards their respective royalties. Mumbo walked out of the hall with a good dozen or two following him, looking a bit overwhelmed by the amount, and the king and queen headed off with three more each.

    Scar was left in the hall with the few remaining newbies. Two were new chef’s assistants, who were looking at him intensely while the head chef muttered what Scar assumed to be warnings as to the fact he was never to be allowed in the kitchen to them, and the last one was who had to be Scar’s new handservant.

    It should be noted here that, typically, Scar does not, as you say, ‘mix business and pleasure,’ which for him means everything, which is because when you’re a prince everything in the castle is your business, which is to say he’s never really been worried about any castle business before, which could be interpreted as Scar simply never before having been interested in any member of the castle staff in any manner past friendship and/or mischievous enemyship, which is quite possibly because no member of the castle has ever looked like that.

    He was currently talking with Scar’s head of staff, grinning broadly in a way that felt warm to Scar even when it was directed at someone else halfway across the room. A pressed and gleaming white shirt stuck out over the collar and sleeve cuffs of his very soft looking red sweater, and out of his back sprouted large, colourful wings. They twitched and fluffed slightly in a restless manner, the shine of the vibrant wings mesmerizing.

    Scar was still trying to take in as many details about the person as he could when he turned to face Scar, his smile growing as he waved at the prince. Scar managed to return the gesture, trying to be subtle as he leaned against (minorly swooned into) the wall behind him.

    He didn’t have any time to recover before the newbie was approaching him, still smiling as he stopped only a few feet in front of Scar. He only got more stunning the closer he was, with tousled brown hair and charming dark eyes and-

    “Hello!” Oh, that voice, bright and cheerful and Notch he was doomed. “I presume you’re Prince Scar?”

    “Uh- yes, yes, you’d be correct, I am- I am Prince Scar.” One chance at a first impression and that’s the best Scar could come up with? He should’ve brought his luck crystal with him, why didn’t he bring his luck crystal with him-

    “Great! I’m Grian, new handservant.” Grian stuck out his hand, wiggling his fingers. “Nice to meet you.”

    Scar took his hand and shook it with perhaps a tad too much enthusiasm. Second chance to say something cool, and note-worthy, and princely. “Aren’t you supposed to bow?”

    ‘Princely’. And he ends up with one of the lines from the etiquette book.

    Throw him in a pit of silverfish.

    Grian took the question much better than Scar himself was, cocking an amused eyebrow. “Oh, I suppose.”

    And then he bowed in perhaps the most dramatic fashion Scar has ever seen, which is saying something coming from Scar. It’s possibly a perfect ninety degree angle of a bend, with Grian throwing his arms out to his sides in a mock courtesy pose, wings unfolding so as to fully display their plumage. And as if that wasn’t enough, he looks up then, smirking at Scar as he asks, “Is that satisfactory, your highness?”

    Was this how assassination attempts were being undertaken these days? No longer with poison slipped into royal meals but with carefree, proud, pretty boys?

    “More than.” Scar managed after a too long moment, forcing himself to focus on the wall behind Grian while he attempted to put some semblance of his wits back together.

    A move that proved pointless once Grian straightened up, once again within Scar’s line of sight, but it wasn’t like he had been making any progress anyways. He was fairly certain most of his brain was fried out at this point, forever gone. He’d have to have the next group out of the castle fetch him some brain coral to shove in the gap.

    “Now that that’s out of the way,” Grian started, brushing non-existent dirt off of his sweater, “care to show me around? Or am I to manage that myself?”

    Technically, that task was meant to be taken care of by one of the staff who already knew the castle. Not that Scar was going to let it stop him from getting more time with Grian (as if Grian was a visiting guest and not now in Scar’s direct employ as one of Scar’s most relied upon servants).

    “Oh, well, of course! My bedroom first, though.” Scar said. Paused. Considered his words. Blushed scarlet. “For my chair- my wheelchair! Not because- I shouldn’t- it’s a big castle-”

    Grian laughed, thank Notch that for some reason he considered Scar’s flustered social ineptitude humorous rather than sad or embarrassing or rude. “It’s alright, Prince Scar, I’m certain I’ll be in your room plenty anyways.” He paused for a moment as well, roughly as long as Scar had, though he looked much less abashed by how he had left his statement when he casually added, “To assist you as your handservant, obviously.”

    Scar forced a laugh that would’ve been much more believable if he didn’t have a hand over the majority of his lower face, trying (and miserably failing) to at least hide some of his blush. “Obviously.” He repeated, clearing his throat before he turned in the direction of the bedrooms. “Anyways, uh- follow me!”

    Despite its size, the touring of the castle wasn’t that lengthy of an affair. At least, according to the clocks it wasn’t. It felt like an entire day- or several- to Scar, who was quickly learning that there was very little Grian could do that he wouldn’t find interesting in some way or another. And that Grian was very funny. And very nice. And very handsome. And-

    “So, that’s the castle then.” Grian commented, pulling Scar out of his thoughts. He realized they had ended up back at the door to his room, having made a complete circuit of the building. “It’s nice, though it seems a bit easy to get lost in.”

    “Wouldn’t be a castle if it wasn’t.” Scar joked, idly moving his wheelchair back and forth. “It’s not that bad though, you get used to it soon enough.”

    Grian nodded. “And that’s my room?” He pointed to the door next to Scar’s, one Scar had indeed mentioned on the tour.

    “Yep.” Scar confirmed. “I can leave you to unpacking, if you’d like, your duties don’t really commence until tomorrow…”

    Grian chuckled. “Prince Scar, would you like to keep talking while I unpack?”

    “Why yes, yes I would.” Scar replied, pushing himself into the room while Grian held the door. It was pretty bare at the moment, with only some basic furniture (bed, side table, dresser, desk) and Grian’s bags piled by the door. “You’re allowed to decorate in here as much as you want, by the way, just as long as nothing’s permanent.”

    “What, don’t want me as your handservant forever?” Grian asked, winking at Scar when he leaned next to the prince to grab his things. “Not planning on having me in the same room my entire stay?”

    Another thing Scar was fast becoming accustomed to: feeling like his face was on fire. In part due just to Grian’s appearance, yes, but also due to the handservant’s ability to make seemingly random, joking comments sound so… personal. Only a bit earlier Scar had been talking about a book he liked when Grian referenced that paper was the traditional first year wedding anniversary gift, the out-of-the-blue comment leaving Scar speechlessly red and Grian smirking. Scar was starting to think Grian had been allowed to get away with too much throughout his life.

    Not that Scar was going to put a stop to that trend. Obviously.

    “My parents just like things as they are.” Scar finally responded with a half laugh. “Can’t let every stranger that comes through mess with their family heirloom.”

    “I’m a stranger to you? Have our two hours of castle touring meant nothing to you?” Grian joked, pulling one of his bags over to the dresser. “I suppose that hasn’t really told you much about me. Question game?”

    “Why not?” Scar shifted his chair, settling near to the door and facing Grian’s back as he packed his clothes away.

    “You can start.”

    “Alright… what’s your favorite food?”

    Grian opened his bottom drawer, beginning to fold pants into it. “Oh, that’s easy. Melon berries.”

    “Melon berries? I’ve never heard of those.”

    “They’re pretty rare.” Grian acknowledged. “They’re a hybrid of watermelon and sweet berries. You plant the two next to each other and hope you get lucky, basically. I’ve only ever had one, but it was incredible.”

    Scar mentally noted the response. “Your turn.”

    “Same question.”

    “Oh, chocolate-chip cookies, definitely.” Scar replied, grinning as he remembered the chef pointing him to the new assistants. “They’re why I’m not allowed in the kitchens!”

    “A necessary sacrifice.” Grian said with a laugh. “Alright, you again.”

    “Hm… favorite flower.”

    “First favorite food, now flower- you planning something over there, Prince Scar?” Grian joked, laughing again as he shut his bottom drawer and moved onto the next.

    Scar nearly made to deny the suggestion until he realized his next question was going to be ‘favorite activity’.

    He opted to clear his throat and avoid the question instead. “That’s not an answer.”

    “Neither is yours.” Grian pointed out, though he continued on. “But I’d say roses. Yours?”

    “Lilacs. Or maybe poppies.”

    “A good selection. Next?”

    “No, it’s yo-” Scar paused, realizing Grian had technically taken his turn already via flipping Scar’s question back on the prince. “Alright, no more question-reversing-stealing. A good handservant should be creative.”

    Grian snickered. “Fine, fine. No more repeats.”

    “Thank you.” Scar said with as much of a haughty air as he could manage, as if the matter was really that important. “Now, let’s see… favorite genres?” 

    “Romance and adventure.” Grian answered, and before Scar could make any comment on that Grian was continuing on, turning his head and making eye contact with Scar over his shoulder as he asked, “Do you prefer men or women?”

    It took Scar a moment to fully process the question, but he was fairly certain his flush when he did was instantaneous. 

    “I-just-forgot-I-have-prince-things-to-do-love-your-room-it’s-men-by-the-way-okay bye!” Scar said in a singular rush of words, nearly slamming into the side of the doorway as he spun out of the room.

He heard a tiny bit of laughter from behind him as he fled, but not as much as he would have expected after what must have been a well-picked joke on Grian’s part had elicited such a response. Maybe Grian hadn’t expected Scar to leave, though he wasn't going after the prince to try and explain himself either.

    Whatever Grian was doing, he was clearly an expert on it. To figure out what it was, Scar would either need another expert… or the exact opposite of an expert.

    “Why do I feel as if I should be insulted?”

    Scar had found Mumbo out behind the castle, far enough past the gardens he wouldn’t have any groundskeepers coming after him for all the redstone dust he was spreading. Scar wasn’t entirely sure what sort of contraption he was attempting to put together, but he seemed to be fairly busy trying to properly set up part of the circuits.

    Hence right now being the absolute perfect time to talk with him.

    “I don’t know why you would!” Scar replied cheerily. “For I am not insulting you at all! Really, I’m complimenting you, you and your complete lack of expertise in the relationship arena.”

    Mumbo did not seem consoled by Scar’s explanation. “You know we’re both royal shut-ins, you hardly have any room to talk-”

    “Now is not the time to worry about unimportant details.” Scar cut-in, ignoring Mumbo’s unamused expression. “Besides, I’m too close to this. He’s my handservant!”

    “...Alright, alright let’s uh.” Mumbo let out a sigh, putting down the repeater he had been fiddling with and leaning back on his hands. “Why don’t you say whatever it is you’re itching to say, and then I can get back to this in peace?”

    “Your selflessly offered brotherly advice is greatly appreciated and treasured.” Scar replied, making a point of shifting in his wheelchair as if he was settling down to begin his tale. “As you know, today the castle received a new batch of workers.”

    Mumbo shot a glance to the castle behind Scar, as if said workers might begin to materialize out of it at their mention. “I was there, Scar, of course I know.”

    “Proper storytelling involves laying the foundation.”

    “Yes but if I already know the foundation-”

    “Within the throng of the people,” Scar continued, leaving Mumbo looking resigned as he sat back on his hands, “there was a single man… if one could even call him a mere man… he was the one destined to become my handservant… and his name is Grian…”

    The response Scar deserved for his fantastical storytelling was, of course, a great amount of applause and a look of wonder in his audience’s eyes. However, his audience was instead, at current, looking at him with a very unappreciative-of-art expression.

    “Scar,” Mumbo started with a small sigh, “you’ve known barely known this man a few hours.”

    “It’s not my fault he’s causing problems!” Scar protested, crossing his arms in a pout. “He just keeps saying things like, ‘oh, a book is a good first wedding anniversary gift’, and ‘I’m your handservant, of course I’ll be in your room plenty’, and ‘Prince Scar you don’t happen to need your heart do you because I’ve stolen it’, and-”

    “Did he really say that last one?”

    “I may be paraphrasing somewhat.” Scar waved his hand dismissively. “But that’s not the point! The point is I’ve hardly started this!”

    Mumbo scrapped at the edge of one of his redstone lines, seemingly uncaring that his hands were beginning to look like he had created a murder scene. “Do you know if Grian's family has much money?"

    Scar gasped dramatically. "Are you daring to suggest my handservant and courter of a few hours is interested in me only for my money and title?!"

    "Well, not to imply you aren't utterly charming and quite put together, but-"

    "I think you're just jealous.” Scar said, looking away from Mumbo and hoping that would hide his frown. “Just because no one wants to flirt with your messy, murderer-looking self doesn't mean my charms are nonexistent.”

    With a grumble, Mumbo wiped off his hands on his pants, apparently missing the fact that it didn't really help his case. “I'll have you know at least half of my new staff has already made their advances at being royalty.”

    "Yeah, well, I have a 100% rate, so-"

    "I'm just saying, Scar.” Mumbo cut off his gloat, probably because he knew Scar would win the fight of bragging rights if he didn't. "Be careful. Mom and Dad not minding if you don't marry royalty is not the same as them inviting the first smooth-talking gold digger to dinner.”

    Scar huffed, rolling his chair back and forth a bit as he considered Mumbo's words. He wasn't wrong, frustratingly. There were always non-royalty personas who would do whatever it took to woo themselves into a well-off marriage. And it didn't help that of Mumbo and Scar, Scar was the more attractive target- not just because he was actually more attractive, but also because he was so free in his marriage choices. Mumbo had a duty to his people to marry into another kingdom's royalty. Scar didn't.

    "Fineeee.” Scar finally said, slumping in his seat. “I won't immediately marry the stranger who might just be after me for my throne."

    "Your sacrifice is greatly appreciated.” Mumbo responded, mimicking Scar's earlier tone. "May I please be left to my redstone now?"

    "I guess.” Scar glanced down at the mess of redlines and metal on the ground, nudging one of the lines with his foot. "What is this thing even supposed to-"

    At his poking, the redstone line disconnected from its ends, the action almost immediately being followed by the low hiss of ignited TNT. The look Mumbo shot Scar as it went off, destroying a section of the grass off to his right and sending dirt and redstone dust flying, could possibly be considered homicidal.

    "See you DO look like a murd- and I am wheeling away I am wheeling away-”

    Thanks to the power of fast wheeling and Scar's ability to get lost in the castle, he managed to escape Mumbo and go back to thinking about what he had said. If Grian really was just in it for his money, Scar did have to be careful, as little as he liked it. That couldn't be too hard though, right? Surely Scar, prince, wizard, general cool guy, could deal with a pretty guy.

    Or surely he couldn't, it seemed.

    Sure, he could handle seeing Grian every single day (he couldn't), and he could even deal with Grian's evidently constant complimenting and flirting (if flushing and stumbling over his own words every time Grian spoke counted as 'deal with'), but Grian was a man of many talents, and, really, there was only so much Scar could be expected to deal with sensibly.

    Like when Grian went and stole Scar chocolate-chip cookies from the kitchen, what was Scar supposed to do but order a box of melon berries and present it to him the moment it reached the castle? Scar was allowed to give his people gifts! That was an admirable quality of a leader, even.

    (Perhaps less admirable was how quickly he folded when Grian insisted he try at least one of them, or how he's fairly certain you could have fried an egg on his face when Grian furthermore insisted upon popping the berry into Scar's mouth for him.)

    Or when Grian offered to help Scar back to his room when he realized it wasn't as much of a no-wheelchair day as he had thought it was, an offer that changed from being an arm to hold to being carried to being flown (perhaps, just perhaps, because Scar had asked if it would be possible, if Grian could even lift him like that, and when Grian smirked and said they could certainly try it Scar found he had no way to back out).

    And- well- that had to have been a lot of effort on Grian's part, Scar couldn't just not find a way to say thank you! Plus the bracelets he got him were lined with emeralds and diamonds, the kingdom's primary exports, so it was a double-sided gift, even, both a thank you and a way to further represent Scar's kingdom, which was a very valid thing for Scar to be doing, gosh wasn't he a good prince.

    Such a good prince with such good ideas that Grian wore the bracelets every day after Scar first presented them to him, the colours a perfect contrast to his wings and the shine a perfect compliment to his grin, wow, Scar really could pick them, as in bracelets, he could pick bracelets, not, bracelets he meant bracelets-

    Now, if any of that sounded even the slightest bit completely disastrous to you (which how could it, Scar was so incredibly put together), well, just wait until you hear about the grooming incident.

    It was one of Grian's days off, so Scar hadn't interacted with him much that day. Of course, day off or not, Grian still lived at the castle, so Scar wasn't too surprised when he ran into him eventually, walking in the hall just outside of his room. Something had seemed off, with Grian rolling his shoulders a lot as he paced, occasionally reaching back and scratching at his wings as if he was trying to achieve something with the motion.

    "Are you okay?” Scar asked, accidentally startling Grian into turning around almost too fast.

    "Oh- Prince Scar, apologies, I didn't hear you approaching.” Grian said. Scar had told him weeks ago he could drop the title as long as no one else was around to hear, but Grian had refused to. Typically it was he could put a bit too much emphasis on the word and draw an easy blush out of Scar, but now he just said it regularly in the rush of his words. "It's nothing, really, just- uh- my wings.”

    "Your wings?” Scar frowned. “Are they injured? I can fetch the court medic-"

    Grian waved his hand dismissively. "No, no, nothing like that, they're just a bit… dirty.”

    "Don't you groom them?”

    "I do, but there's only so much of them I can reach.” Grian admitted, once again making to scratch at some point on his back and seemingly missing. "It's not a problem for the most part, but it does get a bit annoying as it builds up."

    "Oh.” Scar's frown deepened. Grian was trying his best to make the issue sound minor, but the way he kept shifting and grimacing suggested otherwise. "Would you like some help with it?"

    Despite Scar thinking it was a fairly reasonable and understandable offer, Grian's eyes widened in- surprise? shock? disbelief?- at the words. “I- well- you don't have to-"

    “Nonsense, I insist. You're clearly uncomfortable.” Scar pointed out. “Though I admit I'm not too experienced, I'll be careful to do my very best."

    Was that a blush on Grian's cheeks? Scar almost couldn't believe his eyes, but there was no mistaking the light, but definitely present, shade of red now colouring a good part of Grian's face. This is what it took to get back at Grian? Offer to help him out? No wonder Grian had made sure he was the handservant and Scar was the prince, trying so hard to hide his one weakness,

    "Alright.” Grian said, derailing Scar's train of thought with his much-quieter-than-usual voice, looking at Scar in a very odd way. "I mean, well, if you insist, it'd be rude for me to refuse you.”

    There was clearly something about the situation Scar was missing, but without any clue as to what that was, he decided to focus on the matter at hand. “Your bedroom, then?"

    Grian nodded silently before moving in the decided direction, heading for his bed while Scar followed and closed the door behind them. By the time Scar turned back towards Grian, he was laying fully out on his stomach, wings stretched out while he pillowed his head with both his hands and his pillows.

    It was hard for Scar to not feel supremely awkward as he settled on the bed with Grian, even harder when he realized the prime position to do this would be with Scar resting on top of Grian's lower back, but he managed (he didn't manage, not even a little bit).

    He was trying his best to distribute his weight between Grian's back and his own legs when Grian laughed quietly, sounding more like himself but still a bit too soft to be just right. "Your highness, please don't strain your legs on my behalf. I'd prefer this be a pleasant experience for the both of us."

    Scar acquiesced, trying to decipher the full meaning of Grian's statement. It almost sounded like more flirting, but his tone was all wrong, too quiet, not teasingly put on. He shook his head. He's looking too much into this, Grian's most likely just tired from all the gunk build-up.

    "Tell me if I do something wrong, okay?” Scar said before he started, lightly resting each of his hands at the base of each of Grian's wings. Middle back was the hardest spot to reach, he presumed, so he would start there before moving out to touch up the outer edges of the wings as needed.

    Grian nodded into the pillow in understanding before adding, in a voice that was muffled yet gentle, “You’ll do great, I trust you.”

    Trust? Grian was bringing trust into this now?! Wing grooming must be harder than Scar had thought.

    Regardless, it was too late to back out now. Instead, Scar took a deep breath, and slowly started working.

    Scar quickly found the build-up in the area he had suspected, being careful not to literally or figuratively ruffle any of Grian’s feathers as he cleaned out what dirt and grime had wedged themselves under them. He straightened each feather back into place after he was done with a certain area, having never admired the vibrant colours of the wings as much as he did then.

    That was until one of those vibrant coloured feathers detached from the wing in his hand, where Scar was fairly certain it was not meant to be.

    “Oh- oh no, Grian, I’m so sorry, a feather came out, I didn’t mean-”

    Grian, who had begun propping himself up on his arms in reaction to Scar’s panic, let out a small laugh. “Hey, calm down, it’s alright.”

    “But your wings-”

    “-shed a few feathers every week, it’s natural. I always take some out during grooming.” Grian explained, laying back down on his pillows. “Just place the loose ones by my head. You’re doing wonderfully so far.”

    Despite Scar’s still remaining worry, he smiled at Grian’s sincere compliment. He placed the feather by Grian’s head as instructed, taking care that its edges didn’t tear or catch as he did so, before he went on with his work.

    It was slow work, due in large part to how cautious Scar was being, but Scar didn’t mind it. It was relaxing in a way, and not just for him. Grian’s eyes had slipped shut at some indiscernible point, and outside of small flaps of his wings whenever Scar removed a particularly nasty piece of dirt, he wasn’t moving much. Scar wouldn’t be surprised if he had fallen asleep.

    Eventually, Scar reached the end of his work, pulling one last feather from the edge of a wing and mentally declaring his mission accomplished. Grian’s wings shone even more than usual, all neatly laid out and well arranged, if Scar could say so himself.

    Scar added the final feather to the small pile that had accumulated beside Grian’s head, but hesitated to leave. Logically, he had no reason to stay any longer, with the wings cleaned and their owner dozing. But the moment was so… calm. It felt right to stay there.

    Grian’s eyelids fluttered open after a few minutes passed with Scar doing little more than sitting and staring. He smiled sleepily and despite the hour Scar had just put into his wings, he was fairly certain he had never seen a more perfect sight.

    “Finished?” Grian asked.

    “Oh, uh, yeah. Yeah I’m finished.” Scar made a pointless gesture at the feather pile, as if that backed his statement. “I can go now if you want.”

    “You can stay.” Grian replied, softly, moving the feather pile to the table at the side with a motion and lightly lifting up one of his wings. “If you want.”

    Scar would hate to be a liar.

    As soon as he had slipped in next to Grian, the wing lowered once again, the soft feathers Scar had just set right now warm against his back and tickling the base of his neck. Grian himself didn’t move much, clearly content with the position he had been resting in for the last while, but he did slip an arm over Scar’s shoulders and shift his head to rest beside Scar’s.

    “This is nice.” Grian murmured, breath pleasantly fanning Scar’s chin. His eyes had slipped back shut. “I’m sorry I didn’t ask you to help with grooming sooner. I didn’t know if you’d want to.”

    “You don’t need to apologize.” Scar responded, equally quiet, pretending he had any idea why Grian would be apologizing in the first place. “I’m happy I was able to help.”

    Grian had apparently fallen back asleep, not saying anything back, but a small smile remained on his face as he pressed closer to Scar, wing curling in closer. Scar returned the smile, closing his eyes as well. No such thing as too much sleep (and no such thing as too much time spent with Grian).

    That affair had been a few days before it all really came to a head, and it had gone perfectly well, thank you very much. Sure, Scar had woken up later that day to find Grian sitting up and running light fingers through his hair, casually asking what they should have for dinner, but that hadn’t affected Scar, alright? He was completely level-headed and thinking right and not distracted at all.

    And then one day he woke up. And he was fine and normal and not at all thinking about how dearly he wanted to awaken to Grian, beside him, hands in hair, smiling, making plans. And he got up. And he saw his crown.

    It was in the same area it always was, but now there were flowers woven through its metal arches and around its gems. Lilacs and poppies, interspersed with roses. And tucked into place beside each rose?

    Feathers. Grian’s feathers. Grian’s vivid, radiant, treasured feathers. In his crown. Right next to his and Grian’s favorite flowers.

    After the allotted time given to Scar for determining that what he was seeing was not a dream (repeated pinching), he did the two most obvious and crucial things in response to such an event:

    First, he put the crown on. Obviously. Typically he only wore it for special occasions, but this definitely counted as a special occasion.

    Second, he immediately raced out of his room.

    Sub-second step, he made it four steps before he more or less crashed into a wall, retreated to his room, secured his wheelchair, and once again raced out of his room via wheels.

    To his luck, Scar found Mumbo not only in his room, but trapped within it, thanks to the wonders of having to stand still while tailors did their work.

    “Mumbo!” He exclaimed the moment he was within his brother’s room, ignoring the twin glares he received for it. “I am terrible at being careful!”

    “Clearly!” Mumbo huffed, checking the seams his tailor (Scar’s poached handservant tailor) had been working on when Scar burst in and startled them both. “Can I help you with something, or are you just bored?”

    Scar gestured emphatically at his crown, grinning.

    It took a few moments for it to register with Mumbo, but Scar could tell the moment he did, eyes widening as he frowned slightly. “Oh, Scar. Your handservant?”

    “Why would a gold digger remember my favorite flowers, huh?! Or decorate my crown with feathers I had groomed off of him?!”

    “To get your gold, obviously-”

    Before Mumbo could continue, he was cut off; not by Scar, but instead by his own tailor, who had begun tutting at him. “Oh, Bumbo."

    “I thought I told you to stop calling me that."

    "Bumbo, Bumbo, Bumbo.” The tailor repeated, making Scar snigger. "Your concern is understandable, but unnecessary.”

    Mumbo raised an eyebrow. “And why's that? Scar's flower theory?”

    "No, his feather one.” The tailor replied, moving around so that they were facing Scar while they worked on Mumbo's sleeve. “Avians are very particular about their wings, and even more so their feathers. The chances of one allowing someone they don't actually consider close to groom them are incredibly small, and giving feathers away, especially in such a manner? Not even the most gold digging of them would ever do such a thing under false pretenses.”

    "Why's that?” Scar asked, reaching up to gently brush a finger along one of the feathers as he did so.

    "Their feathers are very important to them, Avians only give them to those they care deeply for and feel they can trust with them.” The tailor answered. “Family members often give them to each other to signify being connected, and, as in your case, partners give them to each other both as a sign of trust and a way to display to others that they're dating.”

    "Well that's- wait.” Scar processed the tailor's full statement. “In my case?”

    The tailor cocked their head at Scar, as if Scar was the one missing something. "You said you groomed his wings, right? Avian partners do that to bond and, again, show they trust their partner.”

    Scar wasn't entirely sure what his expression was at that moment, but given how amused Mumbo was looking it probably wasn't good. “But- wait- no- I- I just said I wanted to help him! He didn't ask me or say it was about- about courting- just apologized for not asking-”

    “If a relationship goes on for a while without one partner asking the other to groom their wings, it's often considered rude, as if you don't trust your partner or don't consider your relationship serious. He probably didn't ask because he didn't know if you would know how to help or would even want to, and felt bad when he realized you did.” The tailor explained with a wave of their thread-wielding hand. They smirked then, glancing at Scar. “It's actually rather forward for one partner to ask to groom the other rather than waiting for an invitation."

    Scar thought back to the moment when he had offered to groom Grian's wings, the seemingly random blush he developed. Scar shoved his face in his hands. “Oh, Nether.”

    "You should probably get back to your handservant.” The tailor said, tone teasing nearly to the point of mocking. "He'll want to know if you accepted his gift, I'm sure."

    "You know, I've changed my mind, Mumbo, I'm glad you've stolen away my old handservant.” Scar bemoaned. "They’re very rude.”

    “And they somehow know more about your relationship status than you do.” Mumbo pointed out, now also smirking, because Scar was the only one in that room who cared about his hardships. "Go on, then.”

    For the record, it should be noted that Scar did not leave the room because he was being repeatedly told to get out. He left because the energy was bad and he had to talk to Grian. It was his own choice.

    He did manage to make a dignified departure before he once again began racing down the halls, fairly certain he'd be getting grief for the wheel tracks over all the rugs later but deciding to make that future him's problem. Soon enough, he was back where he started, but now a door over. Grian's room.

    Scar managed to stop himself from once again bursting into the room. He took a deep breath, trying to channel the spirit of someone who had a clue what he was doing. Only then did he (slowly) open Grian's door and let himself in.

    Grian was reclined on his bed, laying against the headboard as he flipped through a book. He looked up when Scar entered, eyes quickly drifting to his crown, smiling wide when he realized it was still just as he had decorated it.

    "There you are, Prince Scar.” Grian greeted cheerfully, putting his book down. “I was starting to wonder where you were, since you're normally not out of your room this early-"

    “Are we dating?!” In all fairness to Scar, he had managed to go a solid ten seconds before blurting it out. That was pretty good given the situation.

    Grian, for his part, looked as if he understood what was going on just as much as Scar. “I- well- I mean- yes? Is this-"

    "Yes? Yes?!” Scar decided this could be added to the list of things that would catch Grian off guard enough to ruin his composition, going by his wide-eyed expression, though Scar wasn't sure exactly when he would want to go through this again. "Since when?!”

    "Since- I mean- since you got me the melon berries?” Grian responded, now frowning in confusion, as if Scar was calling into question something he had been concretely certain of. Which would be rather impressive, given Scar hadn't known about it at all. "I mean- I guess I wasn't absolutely certain of it then, but you also got me these bracelets, and helped me groom, and you've put on my feathers so- yes?"

    "But what about- I don't know- kissing! Or pet names!”

    “I didn't know how 'known’ you wanted our relationship to be.” Grian said, still sounding bewildered. "Didn't know how the prince and his handservant would look.”

    "Well obviously it would look great with you involved!” Scar exclaimed, getting a brief glimpse of Grian turning the same red as his sweater before Scar was hiding his face in his hands again. “I can’t believe we’ve been dating for so long and I am the last to find out.”

    Scar lamented to himself for a few moments more before he heard Grian clear his throat. Scar gave Grian his attention, finding that his handservant- and boyfriend, apparently- was still looking very awkward but now somewhat aware of what exactly the situation was.

    "Seeing as I have failed to make my intentions clear…” He started, sounding a bit stiff before he smiled sheepishly. "You said something about kissing?”

    The speed at which Scar moved from his wheelchair to Grian's lap was likely not medically advisable.

    "Pet names, too.” He reminded as Grian's arms wrapped around his waist, wings copying the motion and blocking out the rest of the world as they came to rest against Scar's back. Scar's arms moved to settle over Grian's shoulders, one of his hands running over the spot where the soft ends of his hair met his neck and relishing the obvious way Grian leaned back into the touch.

    “I wouldn't dare forget.” Grian said under his breath, since it seemed, unfortunately, he had regained his composure and was ready to (sweetly, wonderfully, gaily) torment Scar with it.

    "Love,” he kissed Scar's forehead.

    "Darling,” he kissed Scar's cheeks.

    "Dearest,” he kissed the tip of Scar's nose.

    "May I?” He lifted one of his hands to cup Scar's cheek, thumb running over the edge of Scar's lips.

    Scar chose to skip an actual answer and instead moved in close to take his turn at kissing-your-boyfriend.

    “I think you said something about, uh, not staying in this room long? Or staying in mine a lot? Or something?” Scar mumbled in a breath, half of the sounds lost right against Grian's lips.

    Grian laughed, lightly scratching Scar's scalp, his hand having once again moved from Scar's cheek to bury itself in his hair. "You're a very forward man, my highness.”

    Scar felt breathless. “Oh, you really are not one to speak.” And then he wasn't speaking, neither of them were, and somewhere in the back of the mind Scar was trying to calculate how long it would take to get the bed in his room made a double and the gardens seeded with melon berries and roses.

    He was going to need yet another handservant.

[helloliriels]

Fake Fic Titles

1) Lost

2) In His Name

3) But…clowns???

Haha!! Ty for the epic title suggestions! Gonna start with this, cause - yeah! 💕xoxo - Liri

But ... Clowns??? 🤡🪄

John could hardly bring his feet to cooperate. Yes, it was Sherlock's funeral. Yes, he was his best friend ... Yes ... he had to be there ...

But this was the hardest day of his life.

Save the day he actually watched Sherlock jump.

Admitting that Sherlock was truly gone ...

That. Was the hard part.

As John stepped into the small chapel, he couldn't help but recall with irony, how Sherlock had felt about a higher power. And yet they had chosen a chapel. A traditional burial. A casket even. No doubt there would be a marble headstone involved.

John halted as he saw the casket there. Unopened.

He swallowed. Trying to choke back the lump now forming in his throat. It was all too real ...

He lowered his eyes and began his slow progress down the aisle.

He tried not to think about another situation ...

Another chapel

Another aisle

Maybe even the same crowd ... ?

All watching as he met Sherlock at the front of the church.

Standing before the chaplain.

As he swerved left, to take his seat instead. The tears already streaking down his cheeks. His hand fumbling in his pocket. For the ring he held there.

He had bought it.

Just before the fall.

"Dearly beloved," the chaplain began, "we are gathered here today ..." John's head immediately whipped up. Anger like molten lava, spreading through his veins. They dared to begin a funeral with such words??!!!

He was furious.

Seething, as he looked around. Was he the only one offended by this faux-pas? But ... he blinked. Everyone seated appeared to be unsurprised by the opener. Oblivious even? John clenched his fist. But then ... he blinked again. Who were these people?

He saw Mycroft. Saw Mrs. Hudson sitting next to himself. Saw Molly, Lestrade, even Donovan and Anderson had dared to show their unwelcome faces ... but ... Clowns?

If John wasn't mistaken. There were clowns in attendance? Actual, hired clowns? And ... what the -? Magicians???!!!

John found himself rising in anger, until Mrs. Hudson tugged on his arm. Pulling him back down.

"There, there John. Don't mind them. It was Sherlock's last request," she said, sniffling and wiping her nose into her kerchief.

"Sherlock's last ... what?!" John harshly whispered back to her, "why would Sherlock ask for this??"

"One supposes he liked magic tricks, dear?" She tried, feebly.

"But ... Clowns? Mrs. Hudson?!" He was incredulous.

"Oh, the clowns are to scare Mycroft," she nodded solemnly, and John found himself nodding along with her before shaking his head in utter disbelief ...

Why would Sherlock want this?

The ceremony was brief. Little to nothing said about Sherlock himself ... and John found himself behind the group following the colourfully clothed clowns, and the inappropriately white clad magicians out to the gravesite. His thoughts still rumbling. Ready to blow.

The clowns for some reason bearing the casket between them. Another offense.

John found himself less feeling like he was at a funeral for his beloved flatmate, and more like he was at a circus! The clowns pretended to drop the casket a few times! The magicians kept pulling rabbits and doves out of their hats! And as they went to lower the casket down - one stepped forward. A regal red lined cape billowing, as he flourished a bouquet from thin air! And then proceeded to recite some mumbo jumbo as he undid the cape and swirled it to rest over the casket. Not unlike a flag.

"I need a volunteer!" The magician then cried out. Loudly.

John could have spit nails.

"Ah! You, young man!" He pointed at John, waving him forward. John rushed forward. Hands gripped to his sides to prevent himself from punching the bloke right in his stupid face! He knew he must be red all the way to his temples with the humiliation of it all!

"Do you have ANY idea - who THAT MAN in the coffin IS???!" John asked through clenched teeth. The hand that pointed, shaking ...

(continued beneath the cut ...)

The magician seemed to sense that he was standing on thin ice and stepped back a pace.

"Why don't you say a few words?" The man prompted, waving his hand at where the cape now lay. Crisp white linen hiding dark polished wood ... John heard a few encouraging words behind him, all suggesting the same thing.

John stepped forward.

Placed his hand on the corner of the casket.

And looked up.

Eyeing Mycroft shaking a little. Fear of the clowns ... or of John? He could not say ...

John straightened his collar. Straightened his spine and stood to speak.

"Sherlock Holmes was the best, and kindest, and wisest man ... I ... have ever met. True. He liked a little drama," he eyed the magicians and clowns again warily, "and he knew how to put on a good show."

John looked around at everyone there. Deflating a little as he realized this was it. The last chance to say anything ...

Just say it, then Watson?

He cleared his throat.

"I fell in love with Sherlock Holmes."

There were a few gasps.

"Not because he was bloody brilliant, which he was ..."

A few titters. Many nods.

"Not because he was unearthly gorgeous, which was true ..."

Molly giggled.

"Not because he could make a man half mad, while showing him a perfectly logical answer ... which he did many a time!"

He heard an, "AMEN TO THAT!" shouted from Lestrade.

"But because he was HUMAN," John gripped the sides of the podium. Leaning on it a little for strength, "he was the most human, human being ... I have ever been privileged to know! OH, he hid it all behind the cold, calculating mask. The - high-functioning sociopath - was all a lie! And we all knew it!" He smiled at Hudders. Agreed with Lestrade and Molly's sweet grins in reply.

"And I will never again meet anyone like him."

John reached into his pocket and pulled out the ring.

"I had planned to propose ..." he said solemnly now. Wiping his eyes and noting that everyone else in the room ... even a few of the clowns were getting misty ...

"I had it all worked out you see?" John laughed. A sad, wet little laugh ... "we were gonna go to Angelo's ..." he heard a small whistle from the back of the crowd and saw Angelo waving at him. "I was going to get down on one knee ..." John looked up at the sky, and sighed, "and he was going to call me an idiot." He closed his eyes. Swallowed. Shaking his own head as he said at last, "I doubt he would have said yes."

There were some gasps from the crowd.

John plowed ahead, eyes still squeezed shut as he got the last few words out, "but I at least needed him to know that I wanted it ... that I wanted more ... and ... maybe-"

The gasps had become a bit of a scuffle and John was half-afraid to open his eyes. How had his confession upset them? He hardly cared anymore. It was out there.

"-maybe he would have said, 'yes'."

John felt a hand touch his face.

John's eyes fell on the open casket and then at the magicians and back up at Sherlock? As they caught their breath.

Felt a pair of lips on his own.

Even as his eyes opened in shock, and he was staring at the beautifully ALIVE face of one William Sherlock Scott Holmes! Brilliant and beaming, and KISSING HIM?!!

"I told you," Sherlock said, again taking John's face in his hands and kissing him more thoroughly to applause, "it was just a magic trick."

The light dawned on John, and he was beaming! This had been the plan all along???

John lowered himself to one knee and before he could even get the words out, Sherlock was pulling him back to his feet! "Yes, John," Sherlock replied between huffed breaths ... laughing, happy, "Yes! Yes, forever!"

Then he kissed John again, slow and sweet. Spinning them away from view ...

>>>>🕊️🕊️🕊️🕊️🕊️🕊️🕊️<<<

As a flock of doves ascended into the sky from the hands of magicians all around.

Going to answer | Lost | In His Name | separately, as this went longer than expected! haha 💕 Also a big huge ty to @lieutenant-columbro for the images!

[thelionbyname]

Hermit island (part 1)

(I’m back! I’m gonna stop making excuses for why I take so long between posts. I hope you enjoy!)

Grian sank back into his chair and flipped open a magazine. He hadn’t gotten further than the first sentence when Mumbo, in the seat to his left, said, “I hope I didn’t forget anything… I always feel like I’ve forgotten something when we go on a trip.”

Exasperated, Grian tousled his dirty blond hair out of his face and looked at him. “That is the sixth time you’ve said that, not counting the 14 times you said it in one breath while we checked in our luggage.”

“I’m surprised you counted. Actually, no I’m not.”

“No, 14 is just when I lost count.”

“Oh.”

A stifled giggle draws their attention to the man on Grian’s right. Green Eyes quickly look away.

“What’re you giggling about, Scar?” Grian asked innocently.

“Nothing… your magazine has a funny cat in it.”

Grian glanced at the second page and saw that indeed, a cat with fingered gloves on looks quite silly.

A strand of long ginger hair announces a fourth person making her way into their conversation. Grian looked up and saw Cleo leaning over the back of his seat, eyes fixed on the apparently now popular cat. Without looking away from the subtext, she asked, “Do any of you know where we’re going?”

“Xisuma just told us to pack warm clothes, we weren’t even allowed to look at the flight-board.” Mumbo said, slightly annoyed.

“There are twenty-six of us, how do none of us know where we’re headed?” Cleo sighed, and let herself fall back into her chair. Grian, thinking the conversation is over so he can finally immerse himself in whatever his magazine had to say about the best way to treat your cats on Christmas, unfolded his table and propped it up.

“How did Xisuma get this jet all to ourselves anyway?”

“Did you know he had a pilot’s license?”

Grian ignored the new talk topic and let the world wash away. Just him and his christmas cat facts…his eyelids heavy…

Grian is shocked awake by a loud bang. He wasn’t the only one. Next to him, Scar had lurched forward, apparently still asleep, but it was the sound of his nachos spilling that seemed to wake him.

On the other side of the aisle False was already in fight pose, with a knife she got from who knows where, and all the way at the back of the plane, Zedaph, Impulse and Tango were prepared to jump out the emergency exit, parachutes at the ready.

Over the PA a soothing, but currently slightly panicked British voice said “This is your captain speaking, but you knew that already, because who else would be talking from above, it’s not your time yet… anyway, we seem to have a slight problem with the engines, in the sense that one of them is currently on fire. Grian, you wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with this, would you?”

“For once, no. I was asleep.” Grian responded, though there was no way Xisuma could hear him from the cockpit.

“I knew this thing wasn’t Scar safe!” came the exclamation from beside him.

Grian turned to peer between their chairs and to the seats behind them, where Joe was tightly clutching Cleo’s arm as she stroked his hair in an attempt to calm him.

The plane was rocking wildly back and forth, like some insane turbulence. They were quickly losing altitude, as was clear by the way the ocean sped towards them and the pressure in their ears. As if it all wasn’t bad enough, a second explosion announced the loss of the other engine, blowing out a large chunk of the wall on the right side of the plane, covering Cub with shrapnel. Everyone had buckled back into their seats, including, in whatever whim had caused them to believe they’d rather die with their family than stand a chance at survival, team ZIT, parachutes and all.

“My Nachos are everywhere now…” Scar moped, right as they plunged into the deep blue womb of mother nature.

[hmshermitcraft]

(Trafficshipping takeover~)

You wanna know how all of Hermitcraft (and Empires, technically) found out that not only were the Ranchers a thing, but the Jolly Ranchers Trio is a thing?

Cub challenged Jimmy and Tango to a duel, and went hard on them.

Cub and Scar are a couple you cannot separate. Sure, they aren't as intensely intertwined as they used to be, but they're still devoted to each other. The convex are always loyal to each other.

So, when Scar, Tango and Jimmy became a thing (in Double Life of all times - no one else understands how but them) and Cub learned of that, he did what he also did to Mumbo, Grian amd BDubs.

Challenge them to a duel and absolutely go all out. Cheating, dirty fighting, everything.

Tango and Jimmy (after Jimmy was taught about it all and learned that wanting to solve this by surrendering first would actually be a huge faux-pas) did the same. Fought tooth and nail.

And honestly, it was a close match. Closer than even with Grian.

Cub approves of them. Not that he needs to, Scar is his own person and can make his own choices regarding partners. But still. He approves.

(And definitely is not thinking about how good Jimmy and Tango looked covered in blood after they killed the ravagers he sent in as a distraction.)

The pair work great as a team, and Scar is pulled into that dynamic with frightening efficiency. He was cheering them on with a bright grin as he watched the fighting, and truthfully, that's what Cub was looking for. Scar to be engaged and excited to see his lovers succeed.

Jimmy is still a nervous wreck afterwards, though he hides it well. Scar jumping into his arms and kissing him eases his concerns that the hermits won't accept him in an instant. Cub even claps him on the shoulder!

It's nice. Being accepted by the people Scar cares about.