#scott smajor
kukury111 · 2 days ago
Inspired by Scott and Cleo's Secret Widows League in 3rd life.
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antimony-medusa · 2 days ago
OSMP Denizens Get A Haircut
Tubbo: Has to be bribed by friends, family, and/or loved ones to sit still (someone sits on him), and they cut his hair as fast as possible. Usually this looks like he lost a fight with a weed wacker. He thinks it looks great and sees no problems with this technique.
Ranboo: Hasn’t been able to find anyone good enough to replace the royal barber, cuts it himself with the aid of many mirrors and a pair of nail scissors. This process takes an entire evening, involves several weeping meltdowns, and usually looks very good. He has many problems with this technique.
TommyInnit: Phil cuts it. He uses a straight razor. Everyone else thinks this is terrifying. Tommy thinks his dad is just cooler and more deadly than yours. 
WilburSoot: He goes to a fancy barber and pays him extra so he can collect the hair and use it in potions (phantom body parts are useful, magically). He has not told anyone that he’s using his hair in potions. The barber is paid enough to not ask questions. 
Badlinu: The absolutely cheapest haircut he can find. Gets his hair cut (buzzed) for 2.95 by a guy in the back of a pizza parlour that’s a front for the mob.
Philza: Gets his hair cut by someone in the mob, but they’re an expert with a razor who also kills people on the side. This person loves their work. They still work out of a pizza parlour. 
Jack Manifold: Bald.
Shubble: Went to a professional salon once, asked lots of questions, now styles and colours her hair in her kitchen every so often. She makes a day of it, lights nice candles, has friends over.
CaptainSparklez: Military regulation haircut every two weeks. Quarter inch sides, half an inch on the top, buzzed around the bottom.
James Marriot:  He’s a cat, it just kinda goes to one length and not longer. He did have it shaved by Wilbur when he was sleeping, once. It did not look good.
Niki Nihachu: Shubble cuts it for her, she’s trying to convince her to add extra colours, but right now Niki’s happy with the pink. They have a lovely spa day together.
Jschlatt/Fragrance Man/Man: Fragrance Man has a bowl cut he does himself, and then he hacks bangs into it. Absolute nightmare to look at, worse than his spider legs.
Charlie Slimecicile: Hair is slime, every night he just pulls it into two handfuls above his ears and squeezes off the long bits. 
Sneegsnag: Has a home-buzzed mohawk. No one has commented on it because of the hood. He resents this. 
Smajor: Hair resets to short when he dies. He’s trying to grow it out. 
Technoblade: Has never cut his hair. If the universe wants his hair to be shorter, a stray mob can slash at it or something.
Fundy: Has never technically planned to cut his hair, he wants to grow it out. He keeps getting it set on fire and then has to even it out, complaining the whole time. 
Beau Beautie_: Cuts her hair with a steak knife in the kitchen at 2am.
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morganitey · 2 days ago
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Merling Scott but he's a ribbon eel
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wishua-dv · 2 days ago
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Starboy, but in a different style than what I normally do
Recently I realized that I haven't painted/rendered any art since literally last year, and after being inspired and getting encouragement from my friends I wanted to do it. Of course I had to go with o!scott on this one, my ideas for starborne designs aren't really done justice in my main style. In the end I'm pretty content with how it came out! I dunno if I will be painting more often but I will at least sprinkle some here and there. Maybe
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alsmp-headcanons · 2 days ago
Vamp!scott loves shows like castlevania and has shadow!shubble and wither!sausage over for sleepovers to watch crappy horror movies. (au where they are all vibing and not dead ofc)
Movie sleepovers!!
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alsmp-promptstuff · 2 days ago
Scott: I see you’ve been hanging out with Shelby lately.
Sausage: Scott, it’s not what you think!
Scott, hitting Sausage with his umbrella: I want hesitate bitch!
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thetomorrowshow · 2 days ago
poisoned rats in a pot of grain - ch. 5
Masterlist - Previous
it's a rough chronic pain day so i will try to make this quick!
within this chapter is a scene of attempted sexual assault. it is not heavily described, occurs in brief italicized flashbacks, and no sexual assault actually occurs, but the character it involves is very distressed. to avoid this section entirely, it will begin after a line of three tildes and end before the second line of three tildes (~~~).
additionally, the first scene contains suicidal thoughts and plans. please stay safe.
cw: suicidal thoughts/actions, depression, abuse, torture, depersonalization, attempted sexual assault, blood, dehumanization, manipulation
They’ve just finished another fight.
Blossom, he thinks. Does it really matter?
He didn’t pull any punches. He can’t afford to, anymore—not after the incident with Major. He hopes she’s all right. He hopes he never has to fight anyone ever again.
He knows his master will make him.
He’s alone in his room, sitting on the bed, staring numbly at the floor. His leash hangs on the hook by the door. An untouched piece of bread is on the floor.
Jimmy sighs, shifts, but doesn’t move. He knows he should be asleep. This is when Xornoth will be resting, cooling down from the fight. He’d done good today, had been rewarded with extra sleep time. He’s not sure what that means. He doesn’t know how much he gets in the first place, and it varies every night. Extra means nothing with no baseline.
The weather’s getting warmer. It must be spring.
He’s so tired.
It’s hard to think of himself as a person with a name, these days. He recognizes the pet names Xornoth’s so fond of easier than Jimmy or Solidarity, something that he never even imagined could ever happen. Jimmy doesn’t exist anymore.
He doesn’t exist anymore.
The handle on the door is heavy, locked so that it won’t turn. The hook on the wall is big and made of steel, likely originally held something far heavier than his leash. He’s been staring at them for a while. He thinks it will work.
He stands, limps over to the wall (Xornoth likes aggravating his bad leg, his leg that’s been bad since he first tried to escape and he dislocated his hip), removes his leash with shaking hands. It’s heavy, a familiar weight, and he’s still for a moment, running his fingers along the chainlinks. It’s long enough, too.
He wraps one end around the hook, ties it as well as one can tie a chain. He does the same with the door handle, pulls as hard as he can, puts his entire weight on the length of chain between the two points. It doesn’t fall, yet isn’t long enough to hit the floor.
If he loops it around his neck, lets his weight fall onto it. . . .
He’s tempted. He’s sorely tempted. He’s been contemplating this for so very long. The chance to just be gone, just like that, to no longer be a pet, to no longer be anything. . . .
He pulls a little on the chain again. It holds his weight. He would finally be free. He wouldn’t hurt anymore. No one would ever hurt him again. No one would ever control him again. It would work, and so perfectly at that.
He stares at it for a long time, bouncing the chain lightly in his hands. All he has to do is wrap it around his neck. If he’s right—and he’s fairly certain he is—it will still be high enough off the ground that he’ll be too high up to kneel. As long as he has the presence of mind to not lean back onto his feet, the deed will be done.
He could be free in a matter of minutes.
After he sleeps, he finally decides. He’s going to sleep so that maybe he has a good dream and therefore a good memory to be his last of this world.
Slowly, painfully slowly, he unwraps the chain from the door handle. He loops it over the hook, limps past the lone piece of bread on the floor, and to his shelf of a bed. There he lies, staring at the ceiling, thinking of nothing but the darkness of the end, until he falls asleep.
When Jimmy wakes up, he’s already halfway to the door only to realize his leash is not in the room.
He falls to his knees beside the newly-placed peanut butter sandwich and breaks apart.
It’s hard to care about anything. Jimmy barely flinches when Xornoth carves into his arm, he doesn’t do more than blink when they pull hard on his hair, he lies motionless when they beat him.
He feels like he’s died, and his body just hasn’t caught up to his mind yet. When his master summons him, he moves as if in a trance, following those holding his leash without complaint. Sound comes to him as if from underwater, muffled and indistinct.
Xornoth takes him out to fight and he knows he’s off his game, but there’s nothing he can do to fix it. He’s not even sure who they’re fighting, all he knows is that they catch the uncontrollable car that speeds toward them. When a streetlight tips over onto them, they catch it too and prop it back up in its place.
Jimmy lets out a shuddering sigh and allows Xornoth to drag him away by the arm. He allows them to throw him across the meeting room. He allows them to hold him up with a tentacle and whip him. He doesn’t do anything. He can’t do anything. Fighting back will get him in more trouble. Everything gets him in more trouble.
When they’re done and Jimmy’s vision is blurry, they drop him onto the table and tell him to speak and Jimmy can barely muster a “Yes, master.”
They must be able to tell something is wrong, then, because they rub something into his back that numbs the stinging wounds and they ask him to tell them what’s wrong. Jimmy only stares blankly through the haze of pain and the incessant buzzing in his ears.
Instead of being disappointed, Xornoth smiles and pulls him off the table, onto the floor in his normal spot, and there they keep him on their knee until he passes out and wakes back on the floor of his cell.
He’s not sure how long he goes about the routine in such a disconnected fashion. He only knows that his wake-up call is terrifying, overwhelming, and takes what little of him that is left and scatters it to the wind.
“He’s dead,” Xornoth whispers, holding Jimmy close. “I killed him, puppy. He can no longer hurt you.”
Jimmy sobs drily into their shirt, hands curled against his chest.
It’s a normal bath day, Jimmy’s in the room with the drains and the freezing blast of the hose, the place he normally blocks from his thoughts and memories because of just how terrible it is, and the man spraying him is the one named Helmer who would call him Birdie in those tunnels and with the way he’s looking at Jimmy, he knows something is going to be bad.
He can’t fight back. He’s too weak.
“Oh, darling.” Xornoth rubs his bare back, everything about them screaming safesafesafe to his frantic brain. “Shh, it’s all right.”
It’s not all right, because Jimmy is soaking wet with freezing water and shivering uncontrollably, and instead of dragging him by his collar back to his cell like normal, Helmer watches him for a long time before stalking closer. His breathing is heavy, he’s muttering something Jimmy doesn’t have the presence of mind to understand, and then one horrible hand is caressing his masked face and the other is on his chest. . . .
Now his master touches his face, and his master doesn’t slip off his mask like Helmer had, they don’t drag him up to their lips by his hair, and Jimmy knows he’s supposed to hate Xornoth and just yesterday he’d wanted to not exist anymore if it meant being their pet but he can’t help but lean into their touch.
Helmer doesn’t recognize Jimmy, that’s for sure, but his eyes rake over Jimmy’s features hungrily and he growls “All mine,” before doing more, his thumb on Jimmy’s waistband—
Jimmy takes the memories, puts them in a little box, and hides them away in a dusty corner of his mind. It wasn’t that bad. Nothing even happened. Xornoth stormed in before anything went really bad, leaving Jimmy huddled in the corner holding his mask over his face protectively while he listened to the tormented screams of Helmer as Xornoth killed him slowly. . . .
“Mine,” Xornoth growls, and it’s nothing like how Helmer had said it because he belongs to Xornoth, this is just Xornoth protecting their property and it’s so much more right.
They’re still in the room with the hose; Jimmy’s still dripping water, his lengthening hair just barely beginning to dry. They’re both in the corner that Jimmy had crawled to, Xornoth holding him in their lap without a care for how damp he’s making their blood-stained suit. He’s fairly certain that Helmer’s body is still in the room with them. He buries his face further into Xornoth’s chest.
“No one gets to see your face but me,” Xornoth says, rubbing a gloved hand over the back of Jimmy’s head. “No one gets to have you but me. My pet, so good for me, my pretty bird, so perfect.”
Xornoth is still seething at Helmer; Jimmy can tell from the tension in their arms and the underlying anger to their cloying words. They’re holding back, though, and Jimmy is intensely grateful that he’s not being punished for this (it wasn’t his fault, he gets punished for things all the time that aren’t his fault and he shouldn’t be punished at all). He’d tried to stop it. He’d cried for help. He’d been a good boy. He’s a good boy. He’s a good boy.
“Yes, you are,” his master assures him, and Jimmy realizes he’s saying it out loud, an over-and-over stream of “I’m a good boy, I’m a good boy, I’m a good boy. . . .”
His stomach warms at the praise and he sighs slightly, his shoulders relaxing, his words fading into silence. That’s enough for him.
“Only I get to see your face,” Xornoth says, but they still don’t pull off his mask. Only Xornoth gets to see his face, but Xornoth never has.
Jimmy pulls away a bit, and with trembling fingers and eyes on the floor, he pulls his mask up onto his forehead.
He feels naked, terrified, and before he knows it he’s whining a little bit, entire body shaking. He chances a glance up at Xornoth, who is gazing at him, not predatorily like Helmer had, but almost adoringly. There’s something else in their eyes that Jimmy can’t quite discern, but before he can try, Xornoth sweeps him back into their arms, rubbing slow circles into his back.
“So good, so obedient, so perfect for me. . . .” Xornoth croons, as Jimmy sniffles into their shoulder. “Oh, pet . . . you know you belong to me, don’t you?”
Jimmy nods. He’s so tired. He’s so cold. He feels so empty.
They stay there, on the floor of the room where Jimmy was hosed down, until the chill of his body slowly fades as he is lulled to sleep.
What happens next is vague—he thinks Xornoth picks him up, because one moment he’s in their lap and the next he’s in the air, but he doesn’t really wake until the arms leave him and he blinks open his eyes to see Xornoth turning away.
“Master,” he whimpers, stretching his hands out after them. They can’t leave him, they can’t, not when anyone could come in here, not when anyone could do anything to him. . . .
Xornoth looks back to him, crouches beside Jimmy’s head. “I have work, puppy,” they say softly, ruffling his damp hair. “You’ll be a good boy, won’t you?”
Jimmy nods sleepily, wrinkles his face to find his mask back in place. Before he knows it, he’s drifting off.
When Jimmy wakes, he doesn’t have the energy to feel disgusted with himself.
Scott’s finally off bed rest, and he couldn’t be more ready to get out of his house. He legitimately thinks he’s never been this anxious. Solidarity had been right there, literally in his hands, and then his powers had made a building collapse right on top of Scott.
He’s been analyzing the fight for days, turning it over in his mind to see from all angles, and he’s come to an infallible conclusion.
Solidarity is being mind-controlled. 
His stiff walk, his relentless pursuit after Scott, the pain in his eyes. Xornoth must have another villain working with him, one with mind control capabilities to keep Solidarity in check.
Scott has no clue if there’s a way to tell—is there some sort of trace to be found in close contact with the mind-controlled? He really doesn’t have the expertise in this area.
Luckily, he knows someone who does.
It’s always been notoriously difficult to contact the Mad King, so Scott bides his time, waits until he hears reports of a fight in midtown, Mythics against the Mad King. He’s out of his house in mere moments, still clipping his cape on.
He finds the two of them in the same area where he had fought Mythics that one time last summer, when Solidarity had interrupted. Mythics’s performance is surprisingly lackluster today, just him and a dog summoned with his powers, smoky vines pulling down on the Mad King’s ankles as he struggles to reach Mythics. Mythics is dancing just out of reach, his dog hopping around behind him.
“C’mon, King, come and get me!” Mythics taunts, and Scott rolls his eyes. Mythics would be far more dangerous if he knew what he was doing. His powers are legitimately terrifying, but he tends to use them for trivial and fantastical things like dogs and dragons instead of a gun. Or an army, or something. Something actually useful.
He’s still dangerous, of course. Even a fake dragon’s fire leaves a burn. But he’s not as much of a challenge as he could be, and Scott ignores the way the small crowd of onlookers perks up at the sight of him and shoves Mythics into the Mad King’s arms.
The Mad King wraps his hands around Mythics’s head, waits until the villain’s eyes slide together and the dog and vines vanish, then he throws him to the ground. He frowns down at the limp form for a moment, then looks up and shrugs at Scott.
“I had it handled,” he says grumpily. The crowd groans slightly, begins to disperse. Scott waves at them cheerily, then beckons the Mad King forward.
“I have some questions for you,” he says lowly. He glances around; nobody is paying much attention to them. Mythics stirs slightly. “You’ve fought the Canary?”
The Mad King’s expression goes wary, his eyes guarded. “Yeah. Why?”
Scott looks around again. Still no one paying attention to them. He leans closer still. “It’s Solidarity. And I think he’s being mind-controlled.”
The Mad King doesn’t look surprised, for some reason. He just looks tired. “Right,” he says, running a hand down his face. “Sure. Major, would you be able to come with me to meet someone?”
Scott expects to go to the Mad King’s house, a couple of streets away from his own. Instead, he finds himself weaving around crumbling buildings and shady alleys. After maybe two miles of avoiding broken glass and moldy trash, the Mad King takes him into an abandoned apartment building, down a dumbwaiter, and into a grimy basement with a handful of furniture pieces: two folding chairs, one card table, and a mattress. Scott grimaces at the empty pizza boxes stacked by the door, but climbs out of the dumbwaiter behind the Mad King anyway, who looks around sheepishly.
“It’s not much, just a temporary base of operations,” he explains. “Li—my partner can’t exactly been seen around our neighborhood, so we meet up here to plan things.”
Before Scott can ask who the partner is (and what the Mad King means by partner), there’s a soft, high-pitched voice calling down the dumbwaiter shaft.
“Joel? Are you down here?”
The Mad King groans. “Yeah, I’m here. And we’ve got a guest.”
A moment of silence. “Oh. Sorry.” Then there’s creaking as the dumbwaiter is raised, during which Scott turns to the Mad King. “Joel, I presume?” he asks. Joel sighs, nods.
“Usually I’m the one who’s bad at keeping up our secret identities. You’ve no idea how many times I’ve taken off my mask in public when I see Lizzie.”
Scott raises a brow. A moment later, Joel’s jaw drops as he realizes what he’s just said. He lets his face fall into his hands and grumbles, “Maybe I should just erase that. Gosh, I’m such an idiot. . . .”
Scott laughs, but still takes a wary step back. The Mad King is powerful; he doesn’t want to underestimate that. It would be so easy for him to manipulate Scott’s memories, cut the names as if they’d never been said. He doesn’t want anyone poking around in his brain, thank you very much.
The dumbwaiter creaks and Scott spins around to see a very familiar someone with pink hair stepping out. Oh no. 
He leaps back, hands up protectively in front of himself. A supervillain. That’s a supervillain in close quarters with Scott, he’s been lured into a trap—
“Major, calm down, she’s fine—”
“I should’ve known,” Scott spits at the Mad King, turning one hand toward him and the other toward the supervillain (who has raised her own fists, ready to fight), “you’ve always been so shifty, you think I’ve never noticed—you’ve messed with me, haven’t you? You’ve made me not want to look into you—” “Wow, that’s a harmful stereotype,” the Mad King says loudly, and Scott stumbles over his words for a moment in confusion. 
“I—there’s enough of you to have stereotypes?”
An offended scoff falls from Joel’s lips as he and the so-called Lizzie exchange a look. “Oh, so you never get anyone asking you to put ice cubes in their drink?” asks Joel. “Or everybody assumes that you ice skate to travel everywhere?”
“I—I do ice skate to travel everywhere. It’s sort of my thing.”
“Yeah, whatever. Point is, there’s more of us than you think, and most of us are just normal people who don’t dip into minds without consent,” Joel finishes hotly, eyes fixed on Scott’s outstretched hand. “I swear I’ve never done anything to you, and you assuming so is a really awful preconception that you were likely raised with.”
Scott can’t help but snort. He’s more right than he knows. “Oh, I was raised with a lot of awful preconceptions. Doesn’t mean I would team up with a supervillain.”
“What, exactly, makes me a supervillain?” the supervillain in question asks drily, and Joel hurriedly nods his agreement.
“Lizzie’s fought heroes and villains indiscriminately, if you’ve ever paid attention to her,” he says. “If anything, she’s an antihero, or a vigilante. Is it because she’s a woman, that you just assume she can’t be that complex? What are you, a misogynist? Don’t care about the women, just shove ‘em wherever you like?”
“I—” Scott sputters. What?! “My best friends are women!”
“Just what a misogynist would say. Bet you’re close with all of ‘em to try and get in their beds.”
“I’m gay?”
“Oh, really?” Joel looks surprised for a moment, then smiles kindly. “I didn’t know that, good for you! Live your truth.”
“Thank you,” Scott says drily, ice crusting over his knuckles. His mind is spinning trying to keep up with everything happening. “You wouldn’t believe how many homophobes still exist.”
“Bringing me back to my point!” Joel pumps a fist triumphantly. “There! There are people who are like homophobes, but for Mindnipulators. Which, by the way, is not a word you can use—it’s sort of a slur that we’re working on reclaiming.”
Scott blinks. He has no idea what they’re talking about anymore. He thinks he started out angry in this conversation, but he’s not sure why.
“Tension defused, no need to thank me,” Joel says, moving away from Scott’s hand. “And I didn’t even do anything to anyone’s head. Proud of me?” “Sure,” Lizzie replies, hands still up as she stares at the ice curling around Scott’s fingers. “Are we good, Major?”
They’re right. This Lizzie character has fought against villains as well as heroes—Scott’s never been pitted against her personally, but she did interfere with that one fight, taking care of Xornoth while Scott. . . .
He lowers his hand, gives her a sharp nod. “We’re not friends,” he clarifies when she relaxes. “We’re temporary allies. I’ll turn you in in a heartbeat.”
He doesn’t want to work with a villain. Heck, he hates working with antiheroes—fWhip is one of his least favorite people in the world, and the few times they’ve had to collaborate on something, Scott had been counting down the hours until he could ditch the man.
But he has to work with her. Solidarity is counting on him to break him out of Xornoth’s control. He has to save Solidarity, just like he’d promised himself he would.
Lizzie smiles thinly, points to one of the two folding chairs. Scott shakes the ice off his fist and accepts the invitation, sits down. Neither she nor the Mad King sit.
“So here’s what we know,” Joel starts, shuffling through the papers on the table. He throws down a screenshot of a local news website, printed out in black-and-white. “Solidarity’s been missing since around the twenty-fifth of August—that’s the last mention we can find of him in the news. The next time we saw use of his powers was . . . the twenty-ninth of January—that was when Gem and Xornoth’s fight got interrupted by the surprise earthquake.”
That’s—that’s five months. Five months that Solidarity has spent in Xornoth’s clutches, likely experimented-on and mind-controlled. Scott can’t—he can’t even comprehend—five months?
“We weren’t sure it was him, but we noticed that you were tracking the line of so-called accidents following Xornoth’s fights. We know you’ve got a rivalry with Solidarity, so we just sort of assumed you knew more hallmarks of his power than we did. You giving up was interesting, but we just sort of rolled with it until—” Joel pulls a newspaper clipping out of the pile of papers. The headline reads, ‘NEW VILLAIN WORKS WITH XORNOTH TO WREAK HAVOC’. Below it is a grainy black-and-white photo of the Canary leaping off the side of a collapsing building.
“March twelfth. That was when we knew for certain who it was,”  Joel says, tapping the date on the paper. “I was in this fight. Since we figured it out, we’ve been trying our best to interfere with other heroes’ fights, try and separate Xornoth and Solidarity or anything, but it never seems to work—they’re both too slippery.”
Scott sits back. What’s the most surprising, he thinks, is that his stakeouts had been noticed and he hadn’t noticed being noticed. That’s a little disconcerting. If these two had seen him, who’s saying Xornoth hadn’t? Maybe that’s why he had never been successful with that line of investigation.
Then what Joel had said about watching battles, interfering when possible. Scott thinks back to his own fight, two weeks ago. Lizzie had turned up in the middle of it, distracted Xornoth enough that Solidarity was left to fight on his own. He wonders now if the Mad King had been there too, watching from the shadows, waiting for a moment where he could hop out and grab Solidarity.
“He’d never willingly work with Xornoth,” Scott interrupts, right as Joel starts speaking again. “He wouldn’t do that. That’s why—”
“Why wouldn’t he?” Lizzie steps closer to Scott, arms folded. Joel pauses as well, turns to him.
Scott hesitates. He has no qualms telling the brief details (nothing in-depth, that could be disturbing), but he has some irrational fear that they’ll use what he says against him. Or against Solidarity.
“Solidarity’s had bad business with Xornoth before,” Scott decides. “Left him in pretty bad shape.”
“Yeah, but villains make alliances arbitrarily,” Joel points out. Scott rolls his eyes. 
“I know Solidarity better than—”
“That does bring up an interesting question,” Lizzie says. She exchanges a look with Joel. “How do you know the Canary is Solidarity?”
I took off his mask, I broke code, I did what no hero or villain ever does and I took off his mask—
“Recognized his body language and the sound of his voice,” Scott says, nonchalant. He’s good at bluffing. It’s part of the business. He shrugs. “He’s been my nemesis for two years—three, almost. I know what he’s like.”
He already knew what Solidarity looks like. It’s not a huge deal that he took off his mask.
“And because I know what he’s like, I know he’s not in his right mind,” he continues. “He’s being mind-controlled, I’m sure of it. I just need your help breaking him out of it. It’ll be easier to stop Xornoth if they aren’t working together.”
He doesn’t mention the obligation he feels toward Solidarity. He doesn’t mention the words Xornoth had said to him, the serious threats they’d made that have haunted him ever since.
Joel and Lizzie exchange another look, one in which a wealth of silent communication occurs. He frowns, glances between them.
“Solidarity’s not being mind-controlled,” Joel says eventually. Scott can’t help but scoff.
“Right. And I’m just supposed to—”
“I know he’s not being mind-controlled,” Joel talks over him, “because I’ve touched him. I grabbed onto his ankle in our first fight—the Canary’s first fight—and his mind is clean. Clean of any sort of powered manipulation. These are choices that he’s making—”
“No way,” Scott mutters, shoving the chair back and standing. The Mad King is lying to him, or doesn’t know what he’s talking about, or something. There’s no way Scott’s wrong about this.  He paces the length of the basement, frost shaking off his cape. “No. I know he wouldn’t, he would never—”
“He’s a villain,” Joel says shortly. “He kills people—he killed Aeor—”
Scott whirls around, ice falling like crystals from his fingertips. Joel takes a cautious step back. “You think I don’t know that? You think I just forgot that he killed my—my mentor?”
“Look, Major—” “No, I won’t—I’m not going to—”
“It doesn’t matter!” Joel shouts, and Scott goes silent more out of confusion than being cowed. People don’t yell at him frequently enough for him to be ready to respond to that.
“What matters,” Joel says, more quietly, “is that we all want to get Solidarity. We’re all willing to fight Xornoth to get him. We need to work together, I think, to do that.”
He’s right. Scott hates it, but he’s right. They do all want Solidarity, and the only way to get him is to take out Xornoth. Solidarity escaped once before, and Xornoth got him again. The only way to ensure his safety is to make quite certain of the fact that Xornoth is incapacitated for the rest of their life.
Scott takes a deep breath, rubs his hands together to stop the ice. Joel may be right (not on the mind control, he’s never been more wrong there), but he isn’t going to say so directly. “So, we’re working together. What plans have the two of you come up with?”
“Not much, to be fair,” Joel answers, once again looking down at the papers on the table. “We really need to figure out where Xornoth’s lair is, and from there we’re certain we’ll find Solidarity. Problem is, we’ve checked all of their old places and any spot similar. We managed to track down the shady realtor that got them the old spots and she’s not seen them in almost a year. It’s possible that they’ve got new friends that they’re mooching off of, or they’re working independently, or a million other options. We just don’t know. We haven’t been able to find anyone they’re in direct contact with right now.”
Scott sits back down, flips through the papers after a permissive nod from Joel. Everything that Joel has said is there, as well as various maps—one big one of the whole city, other more detailed maps of certain neighborhoods. There’s some red circles and black x’s drawn on the maps, representing what he assumes is places they haven’t and have searched.
“What do you need from me?” he shuffles through all of the papers a second time to look for something he might have missed, a frown growing on his face. This is more information than he has. Having someone within the circle of villains is likely a much bigger hand than he could ever be. “I’m not sure how I can help.” “You know Xornoth better than anyone,” Joel says. “We were hoping you could give us as close as we can get to inside information. You’ve also got quite a bit more influence in the city than either of us do. You know the mayor—”
Scott snorts. “Right. Mayor Shubble has pretty much forbidden me from looking for Solidarity, so that’s a no-go. As for knowing Xornoth. . . .”
He thinks back to any interaction he’s ever had with them. There’s always been less banter than with other roses, each blow feels somehow more personal. They hate him, more than they hate probably anyone in the city, and not just for foiling their plans at every turn.
When I win, I will keep you locked in a cage like my Canary, Xornoth had said. The implications of knowing who the Canary is makes Scott sick. Whatever Joel is saying, he’s wrong. There’s no way Solidarity isn’t being mind-controlled.
But there’s something else important in that memory, because Xornoth wants something other than Solidarity.
“They want to torture me,” Scott says slowly. “They won’t kill me in a battle. If they beat me, they’ll drag me back to their lair. If we track me in some way—”
“You’ll lead us straight to it! Genius, Major!” Joel exclaims, pulling a pen out of nowhere and scribbling something down on a map. “So we let them beat you—maybe somewhere less public, so that people don’t get too worried—or maybe not, that could be really good publicity for me when I swoop in and save you—and then we follow you to their lair where we find Solidarity and we can ambush them in their own home!”
It’s a little bit of a terrifying plan, to be honest, one that makes Scott’s stomach turn over unpleasantly and the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He doesn’t really know what Xornoth is capable of in that sort of instance.
But this isn’t about him. It’s about rescuing Solidarity. And Scott is nothing if not a hero.
“Okay. I get captured, you follow, we beat Xornoth. Missing a few steps, but overall a dangerous and possibly deadly plan,” Scott summarizes. “Anything else?”
“Oh, it’ll be deadly all right,” Lizzie says, her voice low. Goosebumps prick up on Scott’s arms as he looks over at her, almost having forgotten that she was in the room. Her eyes are dark, face tight. She looks up from the floor, up into Scott’s eyes, and there’s no humor or falsehood in her voice when she says, “Because once we find him, I am going to kill Solidarity.”
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bleuberriies · 4 hours ago
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Osmp character designs :)
Reblogs > likes
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theflippedpages · 2 days ago
Happy Birthday Jimmy!
But I'm SO glad I did!
(Read below if you want to read how I found out about the birthday boy!)
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I first met him (indirectly) through Last Life, where I watched Mumbo and Grian in Southlands. I knew who the Hermits were, but I had no clue who Martyn (InTheLittleWood) nor who Jimmy was. Still, I enjoyed the A-HA!'s, and all of their antics, and I watched both Grian's and Mumbo's perspective.
Anyway, I found Martyn's video about him copying Mumbo's intros, and the lore he did for Ep. 8 made me immediately fall in love with his storytelling.
I knew almost everyone in the Southlands now, and loved all of them.
Now, it was only Jimmy left.
I noticed the hype on Empires SMP, but at that time, I immediately thought of it as overrated, and paid no attention to it.
(I was still a DSMP fan at that time, and I thought that the corruption from Xornoth was way too similar to the corruption from the Egg-)
When I saw it on Jimmy's profile, I finally decided to give it a try.
And I immediately clicked with him. With his way of building, always looked down upon (lore-wise), and him not knowing what he's doing half the time, I found myself relating myself to him on a whole other level.
And then, I started 3rd life.
And that's when I completely broke.
I finally understood all the Flower Husband things I stumbled upon. I finally understood why Empires SMP was so hyped up.
After the series ended, I wanted to find more fan-content. And I noticed that most of the fan-artists of Hermitcraft also had a Tumblr.
And so-
Here I am.
Thank you so much, Jimmy Solidarity, for showing me Tumblr. I'll stay here for a while.
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ch1ckennoodlesoup · 2 days ago
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sydney said something weird so we drew it part256
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montgomery-moods · a day ago
A stimboard for Moth!Scott (after life smp) with no knives or blades for 🎠 Anon!
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Hope it's okay for you! Let me know if you need anything changed!
Credit to @kisekiii25 for the amazing moth Scott art!
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24cardpickup · 23 days ago
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Do you love the colour of Smajor?
Based on: This
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floweroflaurelin · 2 months ago
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Here is my piece to commemorate the Empires finale! I’ve had this idea bouncing around in my head for ages and I’m excited to finally show you 😄 I loved all of season one, so hype to see what the next has in store! I can’t wait to get painting 💪🏼✨
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bansq · 7 months ago
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Origins SMP!techno because i dont think cc!techno is going to do much on the server and i am sad about it:
Origins SMP Techno is just a dude who got lost on his way to the farmers' market. Everyone thinks he's some rare powerful hybrid because he has pink hair, they refuse to believe him and just think he's being annoying and secretive abt it. Meanwhile the dude has no idea what's going
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alsmp-headcanons · 17 hours ago
Vamp!Scott liked sending people gorror and jumpscares, Angel!Scott preferred sending body horror and Mer!Scott just sends pictures of the really weird fish he finds deep within the ocean
They are all just little shits
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alsmp-promptstuff · 22 hours ago
Lauren: You fuckers don’t know about my knife stick. It’s a knife taped to a stick and it’s the ultimate weapon.
Scott, not looking up from his book: Spear.
Lauren: BLOCKED.
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esmeblaise · 7 months ago
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Origins Season 2: Electric Boogaloo
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cocoabats · 2 months ago
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winners calling
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normaltimeswithscar · 2 months ago
scott is so funny to me. his channel is called Dangthatsalongname but no one calls him that. his real name is Scott Major, which he compressed to Smajor because Dangthatsalongname didn't fit into minecraft character limit. now people treat Smajor as his last name, so he is now Scott Smajor. i might be the only one who finds this funny
gonna call him Scott Dangthatsalongname Smajor 1995 for maximum long name comedic potential
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ch1ckennoodlesoup · 2 days ago
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everyone looks good in wedding dresses. lizzie’s wedding dress.
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