#that part is the reason i decided on making it scarian

[mochiwrites]

Putting Scarian in situation 36. Make those fools cuddle!

36. Avalanche/huddle for warmth (put that guy in situations!)

reblogs do more than likes!

"Welp, we're definitely gonna be stuck here for a while." Scar glances back at Grian, finding the avian tucked against the cave wall. His wings are wrapped around himself, trying to use the feathery appendages to block out the cold.

"Brilliant," Grian grumbles in return, much to Scar's amusement.

The pair had decided to go caving in an unexplored part of the server, much to the joy of their friends. They've been acting all weird with Grian and Scar lately, and Scar would be willing to bet that there's some correlation between their friends weird behavior and the heaps of powdered snow blocking the exit of the cave. And of course, neither Scar nor Grian have any proper tools for escape.

They have no choice but to wait until the snow either melts or some other plan comes to mind.

"Not much else we can do besides wait, I'm afraid my dear!" Scar sing-songs, turning on his heel to walk over to his husband. He joins him on the ground, sitting beside him. "Though I think I know a way to pass the time." He wiggles his eyebrows at Grian, causing the avian to roll his eyes.

Grian shoves him playfully, "I'm not sure if I want to know if you've got that look in your eye." The edges of his lips quirk up, teasing in nature. "It spells nothing but trouble, Scar."

Scar gapes at him, "Trouble?! I can't believe you'd call me trouble!"

"Scar, I say this with all the love in my heart, you live up to the name," Grian replies, moving to drop his head against Scar's shoulder. "I think I have good reason to doubt you."

"Well fine then." Scar moves to cross his arms over his chest. "I guess you don't want to cuddle for warmth with your nice beefy husband."

Grian makes a face, nose scrunching up as he whacks Scar with his wing. "First of all, never call yourself 'beefy' again. That was just... wrong," he demands, earning a fit of giggles from Scar. "Second of all, how dare you assume I don't want to cuddle for warmth with you, Mr. Goodtimes." He goes for a scandalized look, earning a bright grin from Scar.

"Oh well, I don't know, Mr. Goodtimes, I think I should withhold on your cuddles since you said I'm trouble!" Scar huffs in return, trying to look affronted but the act falls apart incredibly easily. His smile is a dead giveaway.

Warmth runs right through Grian at their shared last name, starting at his chest and expanding across his body. His gaze softens before a mischievous look overtakes him and he crawls right into Scar's lap. "You wouldn't."

Scar's arms settle around his waist, pulling him in, "Oh, but I would!" Yet he contradicts himself by pressing Grian against him, sharing his warmth. Grian lets out a soft, content sigh, wrapping Scar in his wings as comfortably as he can. "But maybe not when it's freezing like this."

"Mhm, sure Scar," Grian chuckles, leaving a kiss under his jaw. "You're really warm." He snuggles further into the man, humming contently.

"So are you, lovebird," Scar murmurs softly, laying his head against Grian's. "The warmest I've ever met."

[tearsonmarz]

Scarian Flirting and Fishing pt. 2

(I know I said I wasn’t going to be adding onto the one-shot-- but that was before Grian’s latest episode came out, so here we are. Don’t hold your breath for another part. Also, I decided that it wasn’t going to be a modern setting, but I’m also too lazy to make either of these historically accurate. I wrote these for fun, they weren’t meant to be anything too thought out. Here's part one if you haven't read it yet. I was also too tired to edit it, but I need it out of my docs because it'll consume my thought otherwise.)

“So, why do you want this book so badly?” Scar was curious since he hadn’t seen Grian before. He had never imagined what would stem from a simple encounter with the sandy haired man.

He’d been following Grian for about a month now. They’d go to nearby streams, scrounge around for the book, spend hours getting excited only to be disappointed once again.

After the first two days, Scar bought a fishing rod to help out. But Grian had insisted that he wanted to be the one to find it, nevertheless Scar fished because it bothered Grian.

“I need it for something important that I’m working on. You know you can leave whenever you want.”

“Still trying to get rid of me, don’t you get tired of it?”

“Don’t you get tired of following me?” He shot Scar a look that only caused him to burst out laughing.

“You just aren’t going to give up.”

“I should be the one saying that.”

Why was he staying this long? There was no reason for him to continue bothering Grian. It’s simply something that had integrated into his daily routine. Every day without fail they would link up, take a walk down to the river and start fishing. They’d eat together, talk together, and enjoy each other’s company. It mainly consisted of Scar ranting to his hearts content, while Grian pretended not to listen. Every now again Grian would forget and chime into the conversation to Scar’s surprise.

Through it all they continued to hang around each other. The other’s presence because comforting and routine. Though Grian would never admit it, he was happy that Scar stuck around. Even if he wasn’t ecstatic about Scar in the beginning, each fishing trip felt a little more fulfilling even without a mending book. He hadn’t wanted to spend this month any other way.

“I don’t think this is the spot.” He dejectedly spoke as he reeled in another fish.

“Are you sure? It’s barely been an hour.”

“No, I’m not sure, but I’m just so sick of getting nothing every single day. It’s so infuriating.” A sigh left his lips as he tossed it onto the pile and put down his fishing rod.

“Why don’t we just take a break. Let’s head into town to eat for a change.”

“Yeah, maybe you’re right. Finish up while I start packing up our stuff.”

‘Our.’ Just that simple word stuck in Scar’s head, enough to distract him from the pulling on his line. Snapping out of it, he reeled in is line. Much to his dismay it was a book. He walked over to his pile, but before he could inspect it, Grian called out to him.

“Ready to get going yet?”

He hid the book in the pile of items he had acquired pretending to sift through it. “Yeah, just let me finish putting everything away and I’ll be good to go.”

“Oh… Alright, I’ll just wait for you then.” Without another word Grian started towards the fishery.

Scar brought the book back out. It had a royal purple coloured cover decorated with golden trim, and an ominous aura to it. Besides, he already knew it was what Grian was looking for. Just in case, he was going to allow it to dry. Once he had gathered himself, he made his way to where Grian was.

“What are you in the mood for?”

“Anything as long as it’s delicious and filling.” Grian sulked as they strolled.

Scar just smiled, leading the way to the nearby tavern. They grabbed something quick to eat, not paying much mind to the time. Scar’s priority was to cheer Grian up after all. Well, that was before he had found what they had been searching for. It felt like it was looming over his head. He knew he had to tell Grian eventually.

“So, G. What are you going to do when you do find that book?” That question earned a coughing fit from Grian. “Oh, sorry I didn’t mean to startle you. Here-” He passed Grian his handkerchief, urging him to drink water as he tried to calm down.

“Why… Why do you ask?” Grian replied in between coughs. He cleared his throat, quietly thanking Scar and beckoning him to continue.

“Well, I just got to thinking. We’ve been fishing for a month, and it has to come to an end. I was just wondering what would happen to us when it does… End I mean.”

“Oh. I hadn’t really thought about what we would do. I guess, we’d probably go our separate ways.”

They sat there in silence for a moment. Wondering what the other was thinking. The thought of this coming to end was bittersweet and heartbreaking. Scar didn’t want it to end, but he’d be lying if the thought didn’t cross his mind. What was he to do after this? What was his life lie before hanging around Grian? That thought has only caused him more grief.

Scar never stayed in one place for very long. There was never anything keeping him tied to a single area. He was free to do as he pleased without a care in the world. For the first time, he had something to look forward to. Casual conversation, playful pranks, and a type of warmth he hadn’t experienced before. He liked the sense of security he began to associate with Grian. His home.

The thought of something changing, or Grian leaving him was devastating. And the fear began to set in. If he were to show Grian what he had found there was a large possibility that he’d leave him. He couldn’t take that chance. Maybe, if he held onto it for a little longer, he could find another reason for Grian to stay. Just maybe.

[boundbysand]

never so much blood pooled through my veins (scarian)

i'm getting very excited about my overly convoluted and long scarian au so i decided to post a blurb of a part that i wrote! reblogs and any other support are always welcomed <3 fic below the cut!

Grian has had a front row seat to illusions of others' deaths for years. He's grown used to it, come to accept how fleeting his connections with people are due to it, and is relieved to simply still be alive. His world begins to shift when he meets Scar, and subsequently starts realizing the extent of his visions.

cw for violence/light gore (not present here) & derealization (somewhat present here) <;- subject to change/additions

The scarred man is in the store again.

Grian thinks he should be used to it by now, but he isn't. He doesn't know when or if he ever will be.

The man, with a tilted grin and fluffy hair, his skin littered in scars of varying sizes, has been coming into Grian's bookstore multiple times a week for about a month now. He always checks out a different book, oftentimes sitting in the shop to read even though he already paid to take it home. Grian's beginning to wonder how long it'll take him to breeze through the entirety of his inventory.

When Grian first saw him, he could only think that he was annoyingly pretty. He observed the man as he skimmed through titles, lightly running a finger across the spines until he found the one he wanted. He watched the man open the book and flip through the pages until the sight before him changed.

It was quick, ten seconds at most, but Grian watched the man die. He fell into a hole, deep and dark and seemingly unending, and when Grian leaned over the hole to see what happened, he was met with the undeniable view of the void. The man fell to his death into the vacuum of space.

Grian felt his wing twitch, and he was back in the store. The walls lined with books and plush sofas and chairs scattered around were the same as usual. The only difference was the man standing by one of the shelves, but he was there before. He was still alive.

A single shaky inhalation followed by a smooth breath out brought Grian from his daze. It was easy to shake off the visions nowadays. They still stung, and some of them still clung to him during bad nights or in his dreams, but they were commonplace enough for Grian to be able to brush them aside in the moment.

That had been weeks ago. Every time the man has come into the store, Grian has seen him die. It's different every time, never the exact same cause of death, but they all end the same way.

What's odd about this man in particular is that Grian is always somehow involved in his deaths. He sees the man die, and is always moving to stop it before it even happens. His lips form the shape of a name he has yet to be able to remember, his hands reach out in a feeble attempt to help, he feels like he's actually there when he dies.

Grian had long ago become accustomed to feeling like a constant audience to death, but being a participant seems to be exclusive to this man. It's unnerving, quite frankly, and the main reason Grian has yet to make conversation with his most frequent customer.

That, and Grian refuses to make a fool out of himself.

So he decides that he is content just observing, or at least that he has to be content this way. Visions this frequent and abnormal, however slightly, surely can’t mean anything good. Grian has gotten far enough in his life not challenging the rule of his existence or making it worse, and he’d be damned if some random guy with interesting scars changes that.

Unfortunately, Grian has always been a glutton for punishment.

-

thank you for reading!! i hope you enjoyed and im very grateful if you made it this far :) this is just the very beginning bit of a (seemingly very) lengthy au fic im working on rn in nonlinear order. i give no promises as to when im posting the actual fic, all i can say right now is eventually,,

[sleepless-in-southlands]

The House Always Wins (With You, I Never Lose)

Ao3

Summary: A look into both the pasts and presents of Grian, Mumbo, and Scar. Content: Content: AU- Mob Bosses, violence, homoromanticism; blood, drugging, protectiveness, codependency, caretaking, kissing, unconventional flirting, obligatory characters not CCs Ships: Romantic scar/mumbo, fruity as FUCK grumbo + scarian they just refuse to say it admit to it Notes: Part four of the Bloody Fruits au, chapter two (mumbo) of The House Always Wins (chap1 grian - chap3 scar)

~

Past

       In retrospect, Mumbo should have refused the invitation on the basis that Grian couldn’t be there as well. Wanting to meet with a boss alone wasn’t unusual, no, but ever since the Radius take-over, the norm of meetings with the Desert had always been Mumbo and Grian. Trying to arrange otherwise was suspicious, and he knew that.

       But one-on-one meetings between organizational bosses with no right-hands, no employees, no weapons, nothing but themselves, were a respected affair between organizations, something akin to honor among mobs. Violating the agreement of neutrality in them was a serious offense that would have every group in town against you- after all, how could anyone else trust you after that? Refusing to come to one wasn’t much better, a declaration that you didn’t trust the boss making the arrangements.

       So despite his doubts, and Grian’s shared uncertainty when Mumbo informed him of his choice, Mumbo had agreed to the meeting. He chose to take what little comfort he could in the fact that the choice of restaurant for the occasion was fairly close to Grian’s house, knowing he would have somewhere near and discreet to go to should anything with the dinner go wrong.

       Now, doing his best to clutch at both his side and chest as he stumbled through dark streets, it was Mumbo’s only chance of making it through the night.

He should have known something was off the second he began to feel faint. The only luck he had in ignoring the obvious red flag was that he had put it off to illness instead, deciding that the food wasn’t sitting right with him and therefore not eating anymore. Whether it had been poisoned or just drugged, Mumbo wasn’t sure, but having so little of it was the only reason he had made it out of that place. It had knocked him out for a bit, but it hadn’t been enough to prevent him from waking up to the pain of a knife slicing through his chest.

Mumbo’s hand pressed harder against the wound said knife had been carving into him, the cut long and deep and right over his heart. Mumbo had opened his eyes just barely in time to stop Pulse’s head from digging her hands into his chest and taking her gruesome trophy. Too many of her employees were crowded around her and Mumbo as she worked, dressed like the other diners who had only moments ago been sitting peacefully and inconspicuously at their own tables. Logically, he shouldn’t have been able to make it out of there, not when he was dazed and injured and so completely out matched.

But there was no logic in survival, in the business or not, and everyone knows a wild animal only becomes more dangerous when it’s wounded.

So now he was here, forcing himself to keep walking down cracked sidewalks lit by dying lampposts despite whatever was running through his veins, despite the cut his heart was pushing blood out of directly and the slash through his side he had gotten when he escaped. His speed was slow at best, but he doubted he’d be followed. Pulse likely thought he’d end up collapsed and dead in a ditch somewhere, and they had their own injuries to lick. Mumbo wasn’t the only boss whose chances of seeing another sunrise were getting slimmer by the second.

Although, by the time Mumbo had reached Grian’s house, he wondered if he really had any chance left at all. He didn’t knock so much as he fell on the door, only just managing to shift his weight more onto Grian’s door frame before the door itself was pulled open.

Grian was dressed casually, as if he had been relaxing or preparing for bed, but the speed at which he answered the door and the gun at ready in his hand suggested otherwise. Mumbo watched his expression change in microseconds as he took in the full situation- defensive, shocked, curious, concerned, extremely concerned.

“It was a trap.” Mumbo managed to say, as if that wasn’t already abundantly clear. His support on the door frame, weak from the start, failed him before Grian could reply, Grian nearly flinging his gun to the ground as he caught Mumbo.

“What happened?” Grian asked as he better took in Mumbo’s injuries, blood seeping into his white sweater as Grian supported him. “How did you make it here?”

“Something in the food.” It was getting harder to speak. Correction- it was getting harder to do anything. With nothing else to hold his attention, the pain was coming into full focus, along with the exhaustion that seemed to be settling on his mind like a fog. “Walked.”

“Walked? Of course you- you need a doctor, Mumbo, not me.”

“No doctors. Can’t trust them.” It took more effort than it should have for Mumbo to reach up, loosely wrapping a hand around Grian’s arm, tilting his head up just enough to look Grian in the eyes. “Please, Grian. Only you.”

Grian met his gaze, holding it for a long second- but still only a second- before agreeing. “Okay. Just- try not to pass out on me?”

Mumbo hummed something that he hoped successfully communicated he didn’t think that was something that could be avoided. Even so, he grit his teeth as Grian half-lead, half-pulled Mumbo inside, ignoring the blackness wandering into the edges of his vision as the motions jostled his injuries. Grian was trying his best to not aggravate the wounds, Mumbo could tell, but given their size and location, it wasn’t an easy task, and there was only so much Mumbo could force his body to endure.

Grian was attempting to talk to him, possibly ask him something, but it was hard to hear anything over the static in his ears. In trying to make out what he was saying, Mumbo’s focus on keeping himself upright wavered, and he tripped over- presumably- his own feet.

The sudden change in his balance, despite Grian stopping him from entirely falling, was enough to take out what meager resistance he had been putting up against the inevitability of passing out. Again, Grian was speaking, sounding more urgent this time, but Mumbo was unable to make out so much as a word as his vision- and his world- fell into darkness.

~

Coming back to awareness was a fight.

Mumbo’s body was clearly content to remain unconscious and give itself more time to recuperate with rest, but Mumbo refused to entertain the thought. He had to make sure that all was still as it had been when he passed out, that Grian was fairing alright. If nothing else, he owed Grian at least half an apology for leaving him to deal with Mumbo’s situation by himself for however long.

So, despite the exhaustion that seemed settled into his bones and the ache lingering in his every nerve ending, Mumbo forced his eyes open.

It took him a moment to start actually processing everything, his body still protesting the idea of remaining awake. The first thing to run through his mind once anything was able to was this is a good angle for Grian.

Mumbo was laid out on what he presumed to be Grian’s couch while Grian leaned over him, attention focused on Mumbo’s chest. His side injury was wrapped up, Grian seemingly having finished with it and moved on to stitching the wound over Mumbo’s heart. The stitches were halfway done, Grian’s hands steady and expression set as he worked. Neither were sights Mumbo was unaccustomed to seeing, but he had yet to grow tired of either of them.

Grian didn’t realize Mumbo was conscious until he started on the next stitch, Mumbo flinching minutely at the pain. It wasn’t enough to ruin Grian’s work, but it did draw Grian’s attention, eyes widening when he met Mumbo’s.

“You’re awake.” Grian said in a mix of surprise and relief, pleased to see Mumbo conscious even if he hadn’t expected it. That was, until he remembered what he had been in the middle of doing. “You’re awake, uh- could you, perhaps… do that later?”

Mumbo just barely shook his head enough for Grian to tell it was a no. He appreciated Grian’s concern for him, but it was nothing he couldn’t handle.

“This won’t exactly be pleasant.” Grian warned, frowning when Mumbo made no indication of changing his mind. “Could I at least give you something for the pain? I don’t have much, but-”

Grian cut himself off when Mumbo froze.

The action was near impossible to spot, but Mumbo could feel the way every muscle tensed, his breath catching in his throat before he had processed the threat his body was reacting to. Not Grian. No, he wouldn’t have come to Grian with his heart quite literally exposed if he didn’t think he could trust him implicitly.

But that didn’t mean he trusted Grian’s medicines.

Or what could happen in the interval if he were to pass out again.

“Mumbo?”

“Don’t need any.” Mumbo’s voice was weak, words shaky as he put what little energy he had into speaking. Grian looked as though he wanted to argue, and Mumbo tacked on, “Please, Grian.”

“...Alright.” Grian gave in quietly, understandingly. He glanced back at his work, as if reminding himself how many stitches he had left. “Tell me if it’s too much.”

Mumbo nodded slightly, although he had no intention of doing so. It wasn’t as though there would be anything either of them could do about it.

Grian let a moment pass before he resumed his work. The pain of the needle was nothing compared to the pain of his injuries, and it was easy for him to block out the sensation.

Although the stitches were uneven, it was clear Grian had experience with closing wounds, pulling the needle through quickly but carefully. He paused after finishing each stitch, giving Mumbo a chance to say something if he needed to. Mumbo never did, however, and soon enough Grian was tying off the final stitch.

“Sorry if it’s a bit messy.” Grian apologized while he cut the end of the thread, putting away it and his needle on a table just out of Mumbo’s line of sight. “Normally I’m just patching myself up.”

“What?”

“Sometimes the Desert medics are too busy to help low-level grunts.” Grian said detachedly, amusement briefly replacing the concern in his expression when he turned back to Mumbo and found him frowning. “I wasn’t always the boss’s favorite, you know. It’s not been a recent issue.”

Grian’s reassurance did little to address the fact that Mumbo’s problem was that it had happened at all. “Where?”

A small laugh, neither humorous nor cruel. “Do you think that’s the most important thing right now?”

The look on Mumbo’s face must have fairly well expressed that he did, indeed, consider that the most important thing at the moment, because Grian’s expression softened. With the hand not holding the roll of gauze (the roll of gauze Mumbo hadn’t noticed him pick up), Grian brushed his fingers along the edge of Mumbo’s jaw under the guise of checking his pulse. “I’ll show you later, okay? After I’m done with this.”

Mumbo had half a mind to argue the point further, to not let it be put off, but Grian’s touch lingered as he waited for a reply, distracting, and Mumbo decided he could let it wait a short bit. He nodded slightly, Grian looking relieved as he went back to his efforts.

They lapsed into silence as Grian wound the gauze around Mumbo’s chest, Mumbo not even having to put in the effort of lifting himself up as Grian used one arm to support his shoulders. He was likely hoping that Mumbo might fall back asleep, and between the gentle motion of the bandage wrapping and the way Grian gripped Mumbo’s upper arm like he didn’t plan to let go anytime soon, Mumbo nearly did.

But he continued to fight off the exhaustion doing its best to take over. There was still more to be done, to plan for, to be on guard for.

“The Desert’s not going to make it much longer.” Mumbo said as Grian taped down the edges of the white cloth, clarifying at Grian’s startled look, “You know we’ve been losing respect ever since the Radius merger. Tonight’s just confirmed that. The Desert will be lucky to make it another month before we’re the ones being merged.”

“...I know.” Grian’s tone was resentful as he put away the roll of gauze. “Although I continue to disagree with the logic of it.”

Despite the pain it caused, Mumbo couldn’t stop himself from chuckling. “I’m aware.”

“It just doesn’t make any sense. If you had gone for Radius as a power move, they wouldn’t have any problem with it, but just because it was about a person-”

“Not just a person.”

“-alright, yes, it was about me, but still. That shouldn’t change anything. The exchange of power is all the same.”

“Making such drastic decisions for such… emotional reasons…” Grian’s grip on Mumbo’s arm increased ever so slightly. “It’s unpredictable. It’s dangerous.”

“And they’re afraid.” Grian finished for him, in a flat humour. A moment passed, and the bitterness in Grian’s expression dropped as he looked at the bandages he’d just finished applying. “I should have been there.”

“Grian-”

Grian shook his head, cutting off Mumbo more effectively than any threat or weapon could. “I don’t care if it would’ve been poor form, or insulting, or anything else. We knew Pulse’s request was suspicious. I should have been there.”

“I took the risk willingly. What happened tonight isn’t your fault.” Mumbo countered, frowning at the way Grian looked away from his face. “Even if you had been there, they would have had us outnumbered a dozen to one. What would have happened if we were both injured, with nowhere to go?”

“I should have been there.” Grian repeated, free hand coming to rest light as a feather over Mumbo’s heart. His fingers were stained red, blood drying under the nails, shaking so minutely Mumbo almost thought he imagined it.

Ah.

Finding the energy to raise his hand and lay it over Grian’s wasn’t easy, but Mumbo managed it. Two beats of his own heart passed before Grian flipped his hand over, fingers easily slotting between Mumbo’s. 

“I’m not going to die, Grian.” Mumbo assured, softly, watching Grian let out a breath Mumbo doubted he knew he had been holding. “Not tonight.”

“Not tonight.” Grian echoed. “But you’re right. The Desert is out of time. That means we are too.”

“Only if we stay.”

Grian turned back to look at Mumbo’s face then, confused. “What do you mean?”

Mumbo did his best to shrug. “I’ve never been too partial to the captain going down with the ship myself. I’d rather just get another.”

“You mean-”

“We start over. Leave the Desert behind.”

“That- we’d need money for that. A lot.”

“We’ll take every cent from the Desert that we can. I know where it’s all kept, after all.”

“And your personnel?”

Mumbo scoffed. “As if I care about anyone other than you.”

“Where would we even go?”

“Somewhere far from all this. Somewhere they don’t know about Radius.” Mumbo squeezed Grian’s hand. “Somewhere they’ll fear us for the right reasons.”

For a long moment, Grian didn’t reply, still looking at Mumbo, expression neutral. Mumbo met his gaze evenly, confident in the way Grian hadn’t let go of his hand.

Then a smile broke his poker face as he squeezed Mumbo’s hand back, without hesitation, as if his pause had been in reflection rather than consideration. “Mr. Eris, are you asking me to run away with you?”

Mumbo returned Grian’s smile, wishing desperately he had the strength to sit up and see just how closely they matched up. “Only if you’re willing to be my getaway driver, Mr. Penemue.”

Luckily, it seemed Grian had the same thought in mind, leaning over close enough that Mumbo could feel his words as well as he could hear them. “For you, always.”

There was something unique about the kiss that Mumbo couldn’t define in exact words, in the way Grian didn’t press too hard, in the way he left their joined hands over Mumbo’s heart, as if wary of the chance of it escaping Mumbo’s chest. Unnecessary caution, treating Mumbo like something fragile. Coming from anyone else, the sentiment would be an insult.

Then again, there’s no one else he would allow to get this close.

“Show me, now,” there was a mismatch in Mumbo’s words and his tone, an order spoken like a request, “where the wounds you had to patch yourself are?”

“I still don’t think it’s that important.” Grian said even as he acquiesced, guiding Mumbo’s hand half an inch under the hem of his blood-stained sweater, pressing his fingers against an expanse of skin both soft and rough.

“Of course it’s important.” Mumbo traced the jagged line of the scar, as if he could commit the size and location to memory from touch alone. “This shouldn’t have happened, either.”

“I already told you, I wasn’t always the boss’s favourite. It’s alright.”

Mumbo glanced up, meeting Grian’s eyes. “You have always been my favourite.”

Grian let out a breath that might have been a laugh, might have been a sigh. “I can take care of myself well enough.”

“You don’t have to.” Grian’s face was still so close to his own. “I won’t let you.”

This time it was certainly a laugh. “Oh, you won’t?”

“Consider it part of the job.” Mumbo joked even as he ran his fingers over Grian’s self-stitched scar once again, delicate as if it were a fresh wound. “You have to let me take care of you.”

“As long as I can protect you.” Grian said as he kissed the edge of Mumbo’s lips, as though he couldn’t help himself. Persuasive. As if there was any chance Mumbo would refuse.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” 

Present

The fact that Mumbo hadn’t so much as tasted the drug was surprising. Only the truly tasteless of poisons could get past him without his noticing these days, and he had discarded more than his fair share of untainted foods and drinks due to nothing more than an odd flavour.

But nothing had seemed off with his drink until it was too late, the sickening dizziness that began to settle on him causing his heart to race in a way that was unrelated to whatever substance he had unknowingly ingested. It set in fast as well, too fast for Mumbo to react before he was stumbling, panic spiking as his thoughts turned sluggish.

He was fairly certain he never actually passed out, but he may as well have for all he remembered between realizing something was wrong and wherever he was now. He had the vague idea that he had been moved, but that was to be expected- Grian wouldn’t leave him lying on the floor.

After some indefinite stretch of time, Mumbo was able to determine he had been moved to his office. His vision was blurred, the details of the room hard to make out, but he had been placed in the corner by his bookshelves, filled with tomes either hollowed out to hide back-up weapons in or heavy enough to pose a danger all on their own. He could recognize the line-up of their paper and leather spines even in the dark.

Touch and common-sense told him he was lying on a cot as well, the surface too soft and too elevated to simply be the floor. His jacket had been removed, and it seemed his shirt had been unbuttoned, for the sake that his left hand was resting against his bare chest, right over his heart.

So far, everything made sense: his office was the safest room in the End Crystal, and the bookshelf corner was the most weaponized area. His hand over his heart let him reassure himself that the scar there was still shut, his heart still beating steadily within his chest rather than without. Grian would know it was the best place and way to situate him.

The only problem was that Grian wasn’t there.

Mumbo could only see so much of the room, and nothing was exactly clear, but he could tell that there was no one right beside his cot, and he knew Grian well enough to know that if he was anywhere in the room, he would be there. Grian would know that Mumbo wouldn’t immediately have a full view of his surroundings. He would know to keep close.

Which meant that Grian wasn’t with him. And Mumbo could think of precious few reasons why Grian wouldn’t be with him (especially in such a… familiar moment), none of them good.

Mumbo had only just gone through the full chain of logic when enough of his vision had returned to offer him a second terrible realization: there was someone else in the room with him, leaning against his desk and watching him.

Someone who couldn’t be Grian.

With surprising speed given his condition, Mumbo reached for his nearest book hiding a gun.

“Mumbo? Are you, er, fully conscious?”

Mumbo’s hand stilled, book halfway pulled out. He recognized the voice. The figure moved forward, off his desk, shifting their weight onto a cane in their hand- Scar, that was Scar’s voice, that’s who was in the room with him. Scar Chronos.

Not Grian.

“Where’s Grian?” Mumbo asked, mouth dry and throat scratchy. He did his best to ignore the strain it put on his voice, stomach churning at the thought of drinking anything.

“He’s perfectly okay.” Scar reassured, taking a few steps towards Mumbo, careful not to get too close. A smart choice, given Mumbo felt a bit like a coiled up animal, waiting for any opportunity to strike. “He had to chase down your- presumably former- bartender. Although at this point he’s likely introducing his face to the concrete or something of the like.”

“Bartender?”

“The one who drugged your water.” Scar managed to make the six words sound like venom. “He managed to escape your people. Grian almost let him get away, but I managed to convince him to let me keep watch over you for him. Really, I’m a bit touched he actually agreed.”

Mumbo’s grip on his hidden gun book lessened slightly. Scar’s explanation made sense, and he had no doubt in Grian’s ability to take care of the issue. The room had come into better focus as well, letting him assess for himself that he and Scar were the only two there. Logically, all was as well as it could be in light of the events that had just transpired.

But he still couldn’t sit up without the room spinning, an aftertaste of nothing coating the back of his throat, and there was nothing logical in the way he could feel the absence of Grian.

“How’d it… happen?” A sealed water bottle handed off to him by his right-hand man himself. No signs of tampering. No foul taste, no discolouration. If he were anyone else, Mumbo might have simply assumed that nothing more malicious than an unexpected drop in his blood pressure had occurred. 

“We’re not sure yet how he got his hands on the drug, but it seems he added it to the water by making an incision right underneath the lip of the bottle’s opening.” Scar answered. “Completely unnoticeable if you didn’t have an idea to look for it.”

Mumbo grimaced. Scar was right, he hadn’t thought to check the slim ring of plastic shadowed by the bottle cap. A fatal mistake. He needed to be better. “Who was he working for?”

“Uh… he was your bartender, so… you?”

A corner of Mumbo’s mouth tipped up, the unintentional humor oddly grounding. “Of my rivals, Scar. Whoever had him poison the drink?”

“Oh. Oh!” Scar’s expression turned sheepish. “Sorry, sorry, it’s just- well- he wasn’t working for anyone.”

“...What?”

“That’s all he really said before he ran. Something about how he was sorry you drank it, but it wasn’t meant for you. He had wanted to get even with one of your patrons, I think.” Scar shrugged, looking as though he didn’t care much about what the bartender had meant to do with the drugged water. “That’s about when he realized it didn’t matter if he had intended for you to drink or not. Fleeing has only dug his grave deeper, of course, but I suppose you can’t fault a man for trying.”

Mumbo only half heard what Scar said. It wasn’t surprising that the poisoner would deny Mumbo being his target. No assassin, be them loyal or paid enough to mimic it, would be as foolish as to reveal their target, or who they worked for. But that was fine. Even if Grian couldn’t drag it screaming out of him later, Mumbo would figure out who had set this up. No respectable mob tried to place a hit without leaving any kind of signature, and none of the unrespectable groups would have the funds to so expertly worm their agent into Mumbo’s ranks.

But the signature of the hit didn’t match any of the main contenders in Heremita. The Armory couldn’t use something as subtle as poisoning in their mayoral campaign. The Guild did work with poison, but that was contact poison- used in fights, not drinks. The Seventy-Sevens didn’t strike without reason, and the last time their groups had interacted had been months ago.

Poison wasn’t connected to the Glass Empire either, not that it would have mattered if it had been. After all, if Scar had wanted Mumbo hurt, he had easier ways to go about it.

(There was, as well, the fact that when Mumbo had realized the only person in the room with him was Scar, he hadn’t felt afraid. Not of Scar. His hand at ready on his hollowed book had been a precaution, but not against him. That, however, indicated something Mumbo wasn’t quite ready to think about in-depth, so he stuck to his logical reasoning instead.)

The conclusion to this was that the hit hadn’t been placed by anyone in Heremita. The possibility that it truly was nothing more than a terrible mistake came back to Mumbo’s mind, but he only had a moment to contemplate it when another terrifying idea presented itself.

Whatever he had been drugged with hadn’t been fatal. It wasn’t meant to kill him. Rather, just incapacitate him long enough for- presumably- the assassin to finish his job. And Mumbo knew exactly which organization used that method.

Pulse had found him.

Despite how long it had been, despite how far he and Grian had run, despite the fact that he had collapsed the Desert and left it to be torn apart and gutted like roadkill by the vultures of Pulse and everyone else, it hadn’t been enough. Pulse wanted revenge. Pulse still wanted him dead. And Pulse had found him.

As he thought through what that meant exactly for him, for Grian, for the South, Mumbo was oblivious to the way his breathing seemed to drop off entirely, his focus stolen by the past and the feeling of his heart jackhammering against his rib cage. In theory, Grian would be safe- it was Mumbo Pulse wanted, not him- but what if they saw Grian as too much of an obstacle to their goal? What if it was easier to take him out as well? And the South… while Mumbo had inherited his position in the Desert, he and Grian had built the South themselves, from the ground up. Would he have to abandon it all again? He wasn’t as ready to leave as he had been in the past. He liked Heremita. He liked the South, the spot in the nightlife that had been carved out for it with sweat and blood. He liked Scar- was Scar in danger now too? He had no connection to Pulse except through Mumbo. Would that be enough? What lengths would Pulse go to for this years old grudge? And what could Mumbo do about it? What defense did he have against the one rival he hadn’t defeated, merely fled from? What-

“Mumbo!”

Mumbo startled in the same manner as one who’s life might be forfeit if he flinched instead of punched. He dropped the book he had been holding so that it fell open, gun in hand and finger on trigger before he had a chance to process if such measures were necessary.

Given the only change in his surroundings was Scar having moved forward, now next to his cot and holding his free hand, their joined hands still laying over Mumbo’s heart, they didn’t seem to be.

“Grian did warn me that getting too close when you first woke up would be a bad idea unless I was looking to get shot.” Scar said after a moment, the little amount of amusement in his tone overshadowed by concern. Mumbo forced himself to lay the gun in his lap, fingers twitching around the grip. “But at one point you kind of stopped listening to me, and then a bit after that you- well- you stopped breathing. I thought you were having a delayed reaction.”

Mumbo managed to shake his head. He had been gradually recovering from the lightheadedness of the initial drugging, and there were no signs that there would be a secondary effect.

“What is it, then? Something I said?”

When Mumbo didn’t respond, Scar squeezed his hand, the contact helping to keep him from being entirely absorbed in his thoughts. Mumbo returned the gesture, appreciation for the lifeline.

“Rivals from an old town.” Mumbo finally said, well aware the roughly spoken sentence fragment was hardly informative and barely an answer. “It’s been years, but… they must have finally found us. It’s the only explanation that makes sense.”

Scar frowned. “I can assure you, Mumbo, that bartender was no hired hitman. At worst, he’s just a malicious idi-”

“They’ve found us!” Mumbo insisted, cutting Scar off. His words were panicked, too panicked for the always collected head of the South, but Mumbo couldn’t bring himself to care in the face of such pressing matters. “So long as I’m here, neither you nor Grian are safe. We- I have to leave. I have to leave.”

To Mumbo, the silence that followed his declaration seemed to stretch on for eons. Scar’s frown remained, and after a moment he moved to sit on the edge of Mumbo’s cot, not letting go of Mumbo’s hand while he settled.

“Do you want to leave?”

“W-what?”

“Do you want to leave Heremita?” Scar expanded, watching Mumbo carefully.

“I have to, it’s not-”

“That’s not what I’m asking.” 

“...No.”

“Then you won’t.” Scar said decisively, as if it were simple, the sort of thing that could be put to bed without any thought.

“You and I both know it isn’t that easy.”

“Do I?” There was a spark in Scar’s eye, mischievous and dangerous all at once. “See, here’s what I know: In Heremita, there are only five powers that matter. Whoever you think hurt you is none of them. Whatever rules there may have been when you were rivals in the same town, whatever protections they may have had… they don’t have them here.”

Mumbo didn’t speak as Scar paused. Scar lifted their joined hands, briefly looking away from Mumbo’s face as he turned his gaze to their interlocked fingers, as though there was something there that he could see but Mumbo couldn’t.

“So should this group ever find themselves in Heremita, be that on purpose or the result of a wrong turn,” here Scar dipped his head slightly and brushed a kiss against the back of Mumbo’s hand, another grounding point, as though Mumbo’s attention in that moment could be anywhere other than on him, “the Glass Empire will make short work of crushing them like the bugs they are. I’ll personally see to it.”

“And if they come for you?” Mumbo asked after a long moment. Adrenaline was still thrumming through his veins, fear-driven and hard to kill, but Scar thus far had been largely successful in calming it.

To that, Scar laughed. “Well that would be their mistake, wouldn’t it?”

“Anyone trying to hurt you would be making a mistake.” Mumbo agreed with a fervor he didn’t fully feel, physically weak and only having partially gotten his breathing back under control.

“Love you too, dear.” Scar teased. “But I was referring more to how, thanks to my boyfriend and his right-hand’s favourite form of flirting with each other being tortuous execution-”

“Scar.”

“Fine, fine. Thanks to my boyfriend and his right-hand’s favourite form of expressing professional respect for each other being tortuous execution, I’ve become much more of a menace to upset.” Scar grinned. “Especially if the one trying to upset me happens to be a member of a certain rival group.”

Despite himself, Mumbo matched Scar’s smile. “I don’t think you’re taking this as seriously as you should.”

“Oh, I’m deadly serious about it. It’s just that it seemed you were also being deadly serious about it.” Scar’s voice softened even as he kept his tone light. “Panic doesn’t really look good on you.”

“No, I wouldn’t think so. Doesn’t go with my suit, does it?”

Scar laughed again. Mumbo let his shoulders relax. The nagging fear of Pulse remained in the back of his mind- he still didn’t believe this had been an accident, or that the bartender hadn’t been targeting him- but between the Glass Empire’s promise, and the ease with which Scar spoke of the whole matter, he found he was able to keep from focusing on it.

“So… what now?” Mumbo asked after some time, putting his gun back into its book as he did so.

“Well, Grian will be back any minute now.” Scar replied. “He’ll want to check on you first, of course. But then, if you’re feeling up to it, we can watch him reduce your former employee into a bloodied slab of meat.”

“How romantic.” Mumbo joked. Scar shot him an amused look that suggested he didn’t really think Mumbo was kidding. “But, I must admit, a bit disappointing.”

Scar raised an eyebrow. “You think Grian won’t do his job well enough?”

“Grian always does his job well.” Mumbo corrected, lightly hitting Scar’s side when he looked as though he had something clever to say about that. “Grian, however, is not the one who just promised to crush my rivals like bugs.”

“I think Grian would still like to do that for you.”

“Most definitely, but as you pointed out, he’ll want to make sure I’m alright first. You know how he can get.” Mumbo said, politely ignoring both the fact that he didn’t at all mind Grian’s concern and that he tended to be part of the problem. “And, really, I don’t think I should have to wait to see my enemies crushed.”

Scar pretended to think over Mumbo’s words, humming before he responded, “No, you really shouldn’t. Guess I’ll just have to lend you a hand with it, huh?”

Mumbo’s smile grew. “I’d certainly appreciate it. Grian, too.”

“In that case, I really can’t refuse.” Scar let their hands rest against Mumbo’s chest once more, a few of his fingers pressed against the skin so that he could track Mumbo’s heartbeat with him. “The Glass Empire doesn’t deny their allies anything.”

“The Glass Empire’s only ally is the South.”

“Maybe that’s why we can’t help but give everything asked of us.” Scar’s words were only affectionate. Mumbo squeezed his hand again.

“Thank you, Scar.” Mumbo didn’t try to explain everything he was thanking Scar for. Mumbo had a feeling he knew.

Scar squeezed his hand back, still smiling. “Just like I said, Mumbo. Anything to help you.”

[melon-wing]

The Kissing Challenge 7/8

[PART 1] [PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4] [PART 5] [PART 6] Grian grinned happily as he landed in the Hermitcraft Challenges area next to Mumbo. Apparently Mumbo had finished his challenge, which meant that Grian was also done with his, didn’t it? He’d be done with all the kissing… Not that it was that bad. He’d really gotten used to it and most of the other Hermit’s seemed to be more amused than annoyed by his new behaviour. He also didn’t know how he felt about suddenly stopping. It would mean he wouldn’t get to kiss...

“So I need to show you what I got”, Mumbo greeted him and then pulled out item after item from his shulker box. Grian wouldn’t admit it, but he was slightly impressed at how fast Mumbo had acquired all those things. Well… All those things except the bell maybe. That was rather unimpressive.

“I also brought something to show my progress”, Grian replied proudly once Mumbo was done and pulled out his book to throw it at his friend who barely managed to catch it. Turning the pages, a tiny blush began to appear on Mumbo’s cheek. Whether that was because he saw his own name or because of how many names were in there, Grian wasn’t sure.

“Well, I see Scar’s name in there quite a lot. Any Explanation?” Mumbo looked at him curiously, but Grian just shrugged.

“He is my neighbour, you know? I see him more often than the rest of you guys. And I don’t like to pass up any opportunity to make you happy.”

Mumbo raised an eyebrow, looking at him doubtfully, but he didn’t say anything else on that matter and Grian was thankful for it. He didn’t want to think about any of those kisses meaning anything. It was just a prank after all.

He took the book back after Mumbo had read all the pages.

“Now that that is done, I think I won my challenge, right? You need to ring the bell!”, Mumbo finally concluded, a bright smile lighting up his face again.

Grian grumbled a little, looking at the bell like it had personally offended him. But he still punched against the metal. Mumbo laughed and then hit the bell as well. This whole thing was so absurd. “Congratulations Mumbo, you won. You got good. Now that this is over,  I can stop with the kisses as well, right? You won, I didn’t.”

Mumbo only shook his head. “Oh no. Hermit Challenges is not about winning. It’s about the challenge. And I did challenge you for the whole season, didn’t I?”

“But you rang the bell!”

“Oh yeah I did… To tell you, good job so far, keep going!”

Grian frowned, but then a wicked grin appeared on his face. “Well you see Mumbo, if I’m not finished yet, that means I still have to keep going, right?”

Mumbo looked at him in confusion, but as he nodded something dawned on him and he shook his head. “Don’t you dare.”

“Oh but Mumbo… You said it yourself. I need to keep going.” Grian walked up to Mumbo, who was standing with his back to one of the pillars now. “So I’ll keep going until you ring that bell announcing my victory”, he finished, grabbing Mumbo’s tie to pull him down. “And until then I think I need to visit you more often.” Grian pressed his lips onto Mumbo’s and enjoyed the blush that appeared on the other’s face. He kept the kiss short and chaste, but it was still enough to get Mumbo pretty flustered.

~

Grian was whistling a cheerful tune on his way back, walking through the forest instead of flying, just enjoying the soft breeze blowing through the trees. Sure, he had to continue that stupid challenge, but somehow he didn’t mind. He had fun and he hadn’t even gotten to all of the Hermits yet. He really wanted to put all of their names into his notebook at least once before the season was over. If he did something, he always did it right.

A beep came from his communicator and Grian looked at it, a pained grimace appearing on his face. So Scar was fighting the Wither, huh? Why would he do something like that now? Guys like them were supposed to buy their beacons. They weren’t good enough at the whole fighting thing… But well, maybe Cub was helping him. They usually partnered up for stuff like that.

Grian couldn’t help but grumble a little at the thought. Cub should really be more careful at protecting Scar if they were really fighting together.

Grian kept walking and another death message popped up on his screen, making him wince.

<Grian> You alright? Need any help?

Grian kept walking into the direction of their bases, mentally already planning what he would need to gather to join in on the fight. A few minutes passed without a reply, but there had been two more death messages and it made Grian worry a little. Tango had now also send a message, offering his help.

<Grian> Scar? Tell me where you are! I’m coming over to help. Respawning so often can’t be good for you.

And finally – finally – there was an answer. Just the coordinates and a short thank you, but that was enough. Grian flew off towards his base, gathering his stuff and almost crashing through his door in a hurry to get to the mine Scar must be in.

He jogged through a long tunnel and the sounds of fighting and a Wither on the lose grew louder.

“FUCK!” Scar’s voice echoed through the tunnel and Grian’s communicator beeped once more. He didn’t have to look at it to know that Scar had respawned again. Grian reached him a minute later, next to a makeshift quarter.

“You alright Scar?”, he asked, startling the other a little.

“Yeah sure...”, Scar replied, slowly turning away from the chest and looking at Grian with a weird look in his eyes, looking him up and down, as if he was searching for something. “You came to help me?”

“Of course I did! I can’t have you dying here! You had me really worried. And we still have a dinner date to get to this week after all. Can’t have you miss that.”

Scar’s eyes widened and whatever had bothered him seemed to disappear, as he smiled again. He gently grabbed Grian’s arm and pulled him into a hug, resting his head on Grian’s shoulder. “I knew he was wrong...”, Scar murmured so quiet, that Grian wasn’t sure, he had even understood that right, but before he could reply, Scar had raised his head and pressed a soft kiss onto Grian’s cheek.

“Scar… Why are you even fighting that thing alone? You know it’s dangerous.”

Scar looked a little guilty at that, but he simply shrugged. “I just I needed to get some steam out of my system, you know?”

“Couldn’t you have gotten Cub to help you?”, Grian asked.

Scar’s face hardened after that, turning into a scowl. “We… No, he’s the reason for this. We had a fight. Just… some differing opinions on,” Scar took a deep breath. “things. He’ll come around and see how wrong he was. I don’t really want to talk about that now. I know I’m right and everything will turn out fine. I just… I… Let’s go and kick that Wither’s ass. And after that… Maybe we could celebrate together.” Grian smiled at the pleading look Scar gave him and nodded, leaving Scar’s embrace reluctantly.

Grian stood in the destroyed cave, trying to catch his breath. He hadn't thought battling a Wither would be this hard. They had managed, but it had cost him a lot. His armour had been blown to pieces and he had to retreat more than once to get suited up again. Not to mention the trouble Scar’s ridiculous bed placement skills had given him. Just as the dust of the Wither blew away he could hear loud footsteps and Tango came rushing into the cave, all decked out in shining diamond armour, sword ready in his hands, looking like a dashing hero right out of a fairytale.

“I’m here. I’m…” He looked at Grian, then at Scar and then to the Nether Star in Scar’s hands. “Oh…”

Grian laughed a little and pushed one singed strand of hair out of his face, before walking up to Tango. “Thank god, Tango. You saved us all. You are my saviour”, he said and pretended to faint right into Tango’s arms, putting one of his own arms around Tango’s shoulders.

Tango looked at him in confusion and then to Scar, who just shrugged, and giggled. “You are welcome?”

Grian grinned and put his free hand onto Tango’s cheek. “Let me give you a token of my gratitude, dear knight”, he whispered in a low voice and then put his lips onto Tango’s. He had planned to make it a chaste kiss. Nothing special. He wasn’t sure if it would make Tango uncomfortable. But Tango seemed to have other plans. Confused, Grian noticed, that Tango’s eyes were still on Scar for a few more seconds, before he buried his hands in Grian’s hair and pulled him flush against his body.

Grian gasped in surprise and a tongue entered his mouth. Well… That was unexpected. Unexpected, but not unwelcome. He’d just never thought Tango to be up to a spontaneous Make-out session. He felt his heart beating faster, pressing his mouth harder against Tango’s, their tongues moving against each other. He could taste Tango in his own mouth and it was exhilarating. All thoughts left his head as he just tried to get even closer to the other body. He felt one hand wandering under his jumper and he let out a tiny moan into the kiss. Oh god… This was good. This was…

“Guys?”

Oh damn. Scar!

Grian broke the kiss a little abruptly, completely out of breath. Tango seemed unaffected, still grinning happily, his eyes wandering from Grian to Scar and back again.

“Well that was nice. I need to save you more often, Grian”, he said mockingly, planted another soft kiss onto Grian’s lips and laughed. “I’ll leave you two to it then. I bet you have a lot to talk about. Call me when there’s another Wither to fight, alright?” Grian was still slightly dazed as Tango looked past him at Scar, his grin becoming almost demonic, before he turned around and left them.

Grian’s heart was still beating unbelievably fast. But no longer because of Tango. He suddenly dreaded turning around and facing Scar. And he didn’t even understand why he reacted like that. He surely must have kissed someone in front of Scar again. They were neighbours after all and if visitors dropped by he never passed up the opportunity for a kiss. And why would he care about how Scar reacted anyways? Why would Scar care? Grian took a deep breath. He was no coward. He had no reason to be scared. Slowly he turned around and for a second there was an absolutely devastated look on Scar’s face, but it disappeared so fast Grian almost thought he must have imagined it.

They stood there in an uncomfortable silence for about a minute, uncertain what to say or how to proceed. That was until Scar finally spoke up.

“So Cub was right, huh? You really do go around the server kissing everybody just for fun?”

Grian looked at Scar in confusion, but then shrugged. “It’s just a joke. I mean you must have known about Mumbo’s challenge. Almost everybody does. But don’t worry, I try to keep it all in fun. I don’t want anyone to be uncomfortable. Tango was a little unexpected though”, Grian replied, feeling even more heat rush to his face thinking about what had just happened.

“I see. Well… It’s all good then. Just some fun…” Scar smiled at him, but for some reason it felt off to Grian. He just couldn’t put his fingers onto it though. Maybe he was just tired after they fought the Wither together.

“Scar…?”

“Let’s go, Grian. We still have to talk payment for helping me with the Wither.”

Grian looked at Scar’s retreating back in confusion, but then shrugged it off. He was probably reading too much into it. Scar would have told him if something was wrong, wouldn’t he?

~

Grian slowly crept into the Guardian Shop. He needed Dark Prismarine. Again. It felt like the moment he had some of the materials he needed, there were already gone again. And the building of his mansion didn’t progress as fast as he had hoped. Impulse probably earned all of his diamonds from him. The problem was, Grian was almost out of diamonds. Between the building and planning he barely had time to go mining any more. And because his own shop wasn’t done yet he had no other real source of income. He was willing to sacrifice a lot for his base to look just like he wanted it to.

As he opened the chest an impressed whistle left his mouth. He was lucky. Impulse had restocked and nobody else had raided the shop yet. If he got all of the blocks, he might be able to finish the front. Then it would at least look finished from one angle.

In a rush, Grian took all of his diamonds from his Enderchest to switch them out for a few stacks of Dark Prismarine. He didn’t even get half of what Impulse had in stock. Maybe… Maybe he could take a little more. Maybe he’d just write an ‘I owe you’ note and get away with it. Such a note could be far more valuable than diamonds sometimes. Impulse could get almost anything from him with that note.

Having made up his mind, Grian put a paper onto the shulker box, bending over it to write. Just as he was finished he felt the warmth of a body against his as someone was leaning over him to read the note.

“‘I needed some more Dark Prismarine. I owe you, G.’… Well look at that. So early in the season and you are already getting into debt? That isn’t healthy at all, Grian. I can’t support that bad habit of yours.”

Grian hurriedly turned around, looking straight at Impulse, who smirked at him just like he always did, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

“You could have just asked, you know. I’m sure I would have come up with a really creative payment method. Just like old times, when I helped you with your redstone and you got down onto your knees and…”

Grian hurriedly shut up Impulse by pressing one of his hands over the other’s mouth. He didn’t need to hear anything about that time. It had been just once and they had both been high on some stuff Ren had smoked with them.

“That was just once! You agreed that we wouldn’t talk about that again! I won’t ever pay you like that again. ‘m not that easy…”

Impulse eyes still looked amused and suddenly a tongue darted out of his mouth, licking over Grian’s hand. He pulled it away as fast as he could, stumbling back and landing in a sitting position on the barrel he had just emptied.

“We only agreed to never talk about it again in company. I don’t see anybody around here. But it’s fine with me. I only have fun with those who want to have fun. Not even an ‘I Owe you’ note changes that. I’m just wondering, what you are willing to do if I offer you a Shulker filled with Dark Prismarine for free… What is it worth to you, Grian? How badly do you need it?”, Impulse asked in a low voice, leaning against the wall, basically looming over Grian.

“I mean...” Grian felt heat rise into his cheek, as he averted his eyes. He had meant what he said, about no longer paying Impulse like that, but he couldn’t get the memory out of his mind. But that still left the question: What was he willing to offer? “What would you give me for a kiss?”, he finally made his offer, not sure if Impulse would really be satisfied with that. But hey, it would help Grian with his challenge… And he’d rather not repeat the failure that had been his experience with Doc… Though he was still pretty sure, that it had just been the stress getting to his head that time.

“Well if we talking of a peck I’d give you a stack. I’d say half a barrel for-”

Grian didn’t let Impulse finish, pulling him down by his shirt to smash their mouths together. He could hear Impulse chuckle against his lips and then Impulse pressed back with even more enthusiasm. They separated a few times only for their lips to meet again. Somewhere in between kisses Impulse had moved from his looming position to sitting in Grian’s lap, the barrel creaking below their combined weight, but none of them cared enough to notice.

Suddenly there was a hand on Grian’s back, moving lower and lower and making its way under his waistband. And Grian just froze. He didn’t even know why. It was like back at Doc’s mansion. It felt like he was doing something utterly wrong here and it all came crashing down on him.

Impulse’s hand retreated at once and he broke the kiss to look at Grian in worry.

“Sorry. I guess I misinterpreted the mood there. You alright, little guy?”

Grian shrugged helplessly. Was he okay? He didn’t know. He had always done these casual hookups before. Why wouldn’t they work for him anymore? A thought tried to come to the forefront of his mind, but Grian pushed it down as hard as he could. He was alright. He was just a little off, that’s all. He had been losing too much sleep over building. It had nothing to do with...

“It’s alright, Impulse. I’m… just not… I don’t know… feeling it?”

“You wanna talk about it?”

Grian opened his mouth, so close to spilling all of those things that had been on his mind lately. He really needed someone to talk about it and a sudden burst of courage overcame him to say aloud what he hadn’t even dared to think about before.

“I think I might be fall-”, Grian started, when someone slammed open the door to Impulse’s shop and froze. Etho stood in the door frame, with wide eyes, taking in the scene before him. The way Impulse still sat on Grian, both of them out of breath, their lips an angry red.

“Oh… Well that is interesting now isn’t it? Not the place I’d pick to get into the mood for a quick-” “Etho!”, both Impulse and Grian interrupted in unison, looking at Etho, who just shrugged, grinning at them.

“Hey, you fuck in the shopping district, you gotta live with the audience… Gotta admit, it’s a nice way to draw attention to your business, Impulse. Will that be the new add campaign? Buy this Prismarine and the hot guys will be falling for you?”, Etho kept on teasing, the smirk clearly visible below his mask. “I wouldn’t mind to have you sit on my lap as part of a business deal.”

Impulse groaned and finally stood up, turning his back onto Grian. “You are an idiot! I swear the next time you buy something here I’ll double the price!”

“Ooooh, so I get double the amount of kisses? Done! You got a deal, sir. No take-backs now!”

The two kept on bickering and Grian used the opportunity to compose himself, standing up slowly and taking a deep breath. “Sorry to interrupt, but I’ll leave now. I’ll just pick up the Prismarine next time I’m here.”

“Grian, wait...” Impulse tried to stop him, but Grian pressed past him and Etho, hurrying to get out of the shopping district. “Grian, please. We should talk. You’re not okay. I’m sorry, I...”

But Grian shook his head, fumbling to get his rockets out and soaring into the sky. The small moment in which he had almost been ready to talk about his feelings, or whatever was going on with him, had been long gone. Now all he wanted to do was throw himself head first into some more building.

Flying high over the island, he suddenly noticed a huge stage that hadn’t been there before and it caught his interest. Turning around once more to make sure Impulse had stayed back, Grian landed in the middle of the stage, looking at the signs. A head hunting game? Well that sounded like something that would help him relax a little. Nothing better than an opportunity to cause some chaos.

~

Grian smiled to himself as he put Zedaph’s head onto the board at Cleo’s minigame. He felt pretty good about his little stunt there. Nobody had expected him to interfere. He wasn’t that good at fighting after all. But being sneaky was probably the only way he could win this game at the moment. He wasn’t a total asshole, though.

He finished putting Zedaph’s stuff into a shulkerbox, intending to just leave it here for him to find. He didn’t want to be hit for being a nice guy after all. The only thing he had miscalculated was Zedaph’s spawn point. Apparently it hadn’t been in his base but right here in the shopping district.

The blonde was running up to him and Grian readied himself for another fight. That was until he saw the broad grin on Zedaph’s face. He also wasn’t armed at all. If Grian wanted to be mean, he could kill him all over again and get a few more points for a second head.

Well, it looked like both he and Zedaph knew he wouldn’t stoop so low.

“I collected your stuff”, he simply said, gesturing vaguely to the shulkerbox next to him.

“Thanks, mate! It would have been annoying to lose everything.”

Grian had never really interacted with Zedaph much last season and seeing him up close like that. Well he was nice on the eyes… And still missing for his challenge. Some small voice inside him, tried to hold back Grian, reminding him of his encounter with Impulse the day before, but he decided to ignore it.

“Hey how about a little thank you.”

“… For killing me?”

Grian blushed a little. Yeah, that might have sounded utterly stupid. “No for sticking around to get your stuff and risking being killed by you, Cleo or Keralis. I mean I am a good guy and do it out of the kindness of my heart, but if you were to give me a little thank you kiss, I wouldn’t say no to that.”

Zedaph stopped rummaging through the shulker, apparently frozen at such a blunt request. “What?!”

“Well you don’t have to, if you are scared…” Grian’s grin widened and he tried to look as innocent as possible. I just thought it would be nice to find out who’s the best kisser of Team ZIT. Tango and Impulse weren’t as reserved as you. Amazing kissers those two. But if you aren’t as brave as…”

Grian never got to finish that sentence as soft lips pressed onto his. And while Zedaph wasn’t as aggressive as Tango or Impulse had been, he wasn’t shy by any means. It only took a few seconds for a tongue to enter his mouth and hands to land on his butt.

When they separated, they both were a little out of breath, lips red and wet.

“So… Who is the best kisser of Team Zit, huh?” Zedaph looked at him in amusement before stepping back, a cheeky grin on his lips.

Grian couldn’t help but grin as well. Zedaph’s good mood was really infectious. “Would you let me kill you once more if I said you’re the best I ever had?”

Zedaph just laughed, shaking his head. “You probably say that to all the guys you kiss.”

[hermitblurbs]

Writer’s cut??? 👀 I for one would adore a writer’s cut of your latest blurb, or literally anything you’ve written so far that you have Thoughts on. I love me so writer’s cuts.

Writer’s cut for the sleepless nights at Botem! I couldn’t make a decision on which to do myself due to having thoughts all of the time, so I went for the latest post at the time!

When the members of Boatem can’t sleep, they end up at the Boatem hole.

The idea of Boatem sleepovers lives oh-so fondly in my heart. Where would they have it other than around their pet void?

At first it was him and Scar, and typically at each other’s starter bases. And then Last Life came and went and before they knew it, they had Impulse showing up at Grian’s, Pearl to Impulse’s, Mumbo to Scar’s, and they all eventually agreed it’d just be easier to end up at the hole. They’ve ended up at empty bases one too many times.

The notion of going to find someone for comfort after the death game that is Last Life only to find the base empty is a very traumatizing experience, maybe. The notion of going on a wild goose chase to find which base your buddies all ended up on, however, is a bit more amusing.

So far, tonight was just him. A lone bird in the grass.

I was thinking of Miraculous Ladybug, Chat Blanc and his little song about being a lonely cat on a roof. Good thing Grian won’t be alone for long!

The bloated moon glares down at him, but somehow, the world is peaceful.

I dabble a lot in art, and maybe it’s that part of me speaking but I positively love drenching things in moonlight. It’s prominent in my Scarian post-last life blurb, and it’s prominent here. There’s something about that midnight light that hits different.

He’s bundled up in the ever-growing Boatem blanket pile, staring into the void.

Boatem blanket pile! My favorite forms of affection especially in large groups of people is a dogpile. Lotta blankets, everyone’s just kind of lying on top of each other and relishing being in each others’ presences.

He doesn’t bet on being alone for long, and his suspicions are confirmed when a quiet meow reaches his ears.

Scar is never far behind his cat, and Jellie’s just curled up in his lap. Not even a minute goes by before he can hear the rhythmic tap of a cane.

No way I’m leaving Jellie out of this! My beloved!! Also, depending on the world, all of my Scars have different designs. Grians stay relatively the same but might have an extra detail or two.

“Why hello there, my dear Grian,” his friend greets before collapsing in a tired heap of Scar at his side.

“What’d you dream of this time?” Grian asks, bemused. The others were a bit shaky when it came to sharing, Mumbo in particular,

Mumbo’s plenty open! Just not to Grian, since, y’know, the mans killed him.

but it was Scar here alone, and they weren’t ones to keep a secret. Secrets. He’s got one secret that he’ll keep right here, and one day he’ll die.

Yeah, that’s a crush.

He shifts to fit them both under the blankets, Scar a line of welcome warmth along his side.

“You,” is the mumbled reply. “Still mostly you.”

A shiver runs up his back at how Scar’s breath fans over his neck, and he brushes it off with a laugh.

Kinda gay bro

“Seeing me’s not making them worse, is it?”

“Not seeing you’d make it worse.” Scar and Jellie somehow manage to coordinate the same quiet, content sigh, and Grian decides that he’ll simply die right this moment of their combined cuteness.

Pet owners and pets mimic each other. I’ve seen my friend do that, and I can confirm that it is very cute.

“What’d you dream about, G? What scenario keeps you from lady sleep’s welcoming embrace?” It was a familiar dance, made back when it was only them.

They sought out each other’s comfort after 3rd life. It was a little rocky at first, but like with every new thing in life you find a pattern. Their dreams would almost always have each other in it for obvious reasons, good or bad.

“You.” He rests his head on Scar’s. If he felt like being honest, which he rarely did, he’d say that he knew tonight would be quiet, and Scar was always up when Boatem got quiet.

Last life loneliness. Magical Mountain got pretty quiet and when it wasn’t, that meant trouble. That experience brews a certain concoction of emotions, none pleasant. So when it gets real quiet, sometimes Scar needs a reminder that he hasn’t been left alone again.

That tied back into him being up for Scar though, so he’s at least half-honest. It was better than dream after dream of beating his friend to death.

Grian seemed a lot more closed off during last life, and I do think killing Scar would’ve been carried with him even all this time later. Makes you wonder—oh shit I just got a new idea. Stay tuned for that I guess?

“It’s always us, huh?”

The moon’s close enough to trace her craters, and Grian finds himself doing just that. He reaches blindly, and Scar takes his hand without hesitation.

I’m telling y’all, there’s something about moonlight. The moon in general. There’s also something about hands, about reaching and someone taking it like they have their whole life.

“It’s always been us.”

It’s always been you.

This entire blurb was written to try and embody the phrase “Alone together.” It’s about knowing someone deep enough that you feel complete in their presence. It’s about saying ‘I love you’ in every little action you do and in every part of them you remember enough to keep with you.

Staying awake on quiet nights, knowing where you can find their hand to hold… romances for me aren’t all about loud declarations. They’re about the quiet moments, too. Ones that no one really wants to put on camera. Honestly, it’s a bit difficult for me to write because of how unconscious it is. But really.

There’s something about moonlight.