#specifically that one line to mumbo

[ariapmdeol]

grian, 63!

It's not that complicated, no matter what they say. I'll never meet another you - Stalker's tango - Autoheart

this gave me such last life vibes hehe

#grian #last life smp #mcytblr #trafficblr #last life grian #last life!grian #llsmp #last life #ll grian #specifically that one line to mumbo #my art #aria draws #anon #aria answers #ask game #spotify wrapped #FIRST MCYT RELATED POST IN AGES OOPS #life series

[locusfandomtime]

see the fandom has this thing where the hermits are different species and when they’re part animal/mob they’re a hybrid but nobody talks about the even funnier canon lore that they’re all the exact same species. Their species is hermit.

[long post - lots of worldbuilding and speculative biology below]

Jevin looks like a slime, Doc looks like that, most of them look human, but in actuality they’re all just hermits. The only information we have about this is that hermits are shorter than the average player, some references to hobbits, some references to hermits being hardworking, the fact that gem isn’t a hermit and had to wear antlers to pretend to be one, and that’s it.

I love biology and worldbuilding and this is fascinating to me. When you take into account previous seasons and events and throw-away lines this gets even more insane. Grian and Hypno are acknowledged to not have mouths (and even more hermits don’t have them on their skin). Mumbo turned into a potato. Cleo had snake hair at one point. There are a million other weird things I’m forgetting. You could handwave some of this with an explanation like “hermits are shapeshifters” or “hermits are gods” and that is a very valid and fun take but I think it is SO much funnier if these are just normal things that happen in the hermit species, which aren’t fantastical at all and are adaptations with elaborate mechanics and explanations.

Perhaps hermits, similar to bugs, regularly shed their skin (or a process similar to it) and change their appearance. Some insects change colours/appearance due to their environment rather than genetics, ie macleays spectre stick insects can turn lichen colours when raised around lichen. Maybe the hermits shed their skins on a regular basis, including during their adult life, and this allows them to better match their environment- causing physical changes related to what they have been exposed to. This causes potato Mumbo and medusa Cleo and DM Tango and any other example of a specific skin change. For more constant differences in appearance - maybe life cycles could be considered?

this may be the weirdest thing I’ve ever made. For those that don’t know, “n” is the number of chromosomes, where n is the haploid number, so 2n is diploid. Diploid cells are necessary for sexual reproduction. Of course, a lot of these life cycles are centered around reproduction, as is the nature of a life cycle, but in reality the hermits are in no rush and are happy to stay at whatever point of the life cycle they’re at, this is just an outline of the species’ mechanics.

I mean, most of this diagram is conjecture… but I think it is interesting to consider! Jevin especially reminded me a lot of slime mould life cycles so this is heavily inspired off that, but also inspired by bug life cycles as well.

If you want to get even more indepth we can consider the gender roles of hermit society (remember that clip where Grian implied builders were housewives and redstoners were breadwinning husbands?). Perhaps we can get meta and consider respawn an aspect of being a hermit as well - are they able to regenerate after death? What is Cleo’s place in all this, being undead? Is arm thickness, where your arm can either be 3px or 4px wide, an example of sexual dimorphism?

but. well. tldr: the hermits being one species is a very fun idea we should be doing more with, i think

#this started out as haha funny the hermits are one species and ended with me making scientific diagrams #decided to call those stages imago. like insects. best fit i could find for what i wanted #please ask me about my thoughts on courtship and evolution and early life stages and respawn and anything else please god #locus fandom time #i should have a tag for my insane antics #locus worldbuilding time #hermitcraft #long post #hermitblr #speculative biology #the ideas here are heavily biased towards slime moulds and insects because. well. autism.

[furrysmp]

decided to go sunbringer designs for once. I have so many words oh my god

so. uh,

I am so normal about sunbringer joel smallishbeans so normal I swear. he's planning to throw the o from his name at scott btw.

... he and scar are related but I'm not explaining further until the actual fic about it comes out because there's so much plot significance in the smallishbeans.

... grian. has a book. that he borrowed from the Library. it's very relevant I swear the concept of the library is a plot point.

Also grians eyes are technically green! With a bit of purple and just. a layer of Dark over them to make them less neon green. its not in his genetics to have neon eyes. unlike scar and I swear their eye colors are relevant but like in a weird queerplatonic scarian dl based bit in the grian chapter of the fic

Mumbo is a long cat and being held by me specifically those hands are how I draw my mc skin. I wanted to draw him as this meme since 2021 but he's very hard for me to draw so I took the one time I'll ever draw him and did this.

Jimmy is. a creature. that has bird features but also cod features bc again half of the plot of sunbringer is based on empires 1. Also the bird he's holding is singing. And joel is stealing the song bc he has music type magic.

Scott! Is the one guy I can talk about! Because he already appeared in the fic. He's part ender dragon and like. a child of stars? I have a lot of times I drew him before I think but idk how much of it I uploaded before so yeah. Please ask me about sunbringer scott smajor he's one of the only ones I can talk about and he has so much lore going for him he's so dear to me

impulse is. technically part ender dragon too? the specifics will be explained in his chapter of yhiwu (alongside. a lot of magic lore. like a lot. I have half that speech written already it's basically looking the empires fic in the eyes and going "fight me uwu")

And because impulse is aligned to shadows skizz gets to be some form of light dragon descendant? Like light isn't directly an element in the magic of this universe but it does have an equivalent in the element of Life, which connects to truth and love, whereas shadows and theatrics (and storytelling in general) is always aligned to whatever element is considered dark; in this magic system, being Void.

Tango is looking up at mumbo. thats all. I don't have a lot of notes because my tango is just a little guy.

(Etho is checking smth on his smartwatch and also doing his best to ignore bdubs rn bc bdubs is in his villain arc/hj)

... ngl the only note I have on the bdubs design is that it's accidentally inspired by my human design for the main character in the show I'm writing. Bracelets and sparkly eyes and a t-shirt and. Crimes.

also not much on the cleo design she was just fun to draw but the implications of her existence are spoilers and also not really visually indicative bc idk what a "zombie hybrid" would look like so she just looks. funky. her background is all stitched together btw I finally had a use for the dashed lines brush :D

martyn and ren are. BIG spoilers. But only to like chapter 5 of the current fic. I will say I highly enjoy their existence tho. Also my ren designs always have hawaiian patterned shirts its a personality trait he seems to possess. Also his glasses are like. a hologram? bc his ears are Dog so he cant have normal glasses w like. the things that go behind ur ears.

lizzie is. also very important. she gets the two animals thing like jimmy bc axolotl and cat were her empires animals. also her buns are heart shaped I saw some fanart of that and its really cute so I also have that. and she's also looking at the long mumbo! very confused.

bigb. scares me. like yeah secret life really be mans villain arc. I tried to reflect that by actually straight up mirroring his eyes and having him be. the only guy looking straight at u. he can see u. u can run but u cant hide. also he gets cookies. also also drawing facial hair is hard he's the only time I ever managed to make facial hair look. normal. ever. wont happen again.

gem is being adorable and also definitely a deer hybrid dont mind the magic or stuff its fine (her chapter is. third in the roster. I literally just need to finish the impulse chapter to convince myself that its ok to upload her immediately after ch2).

and pearl! who we know bc she gets first chapter of the fic and thats already out. her eyes are a bit like moons btw. also she's doing magic back at gem which is cute I think. idk.

also half of them have fancy hair shines. like joel having beans that get progressively smaller. or pearl having moons. :D

#trafficblr #traffic smp #secret life #traffic series #life series #empires smp #empiresblr #mumbo jumbo #hermitcraft #joel smallishbeans #jimmy solidarity #grian #scott smajor #smajor1995 #smallishbeans #gtwscar #gtws #goodtimewithscar #goodtimeswithscar #solidaritygaming #impulsesv #skizzleman #tangotek #tango tek #ethoslab #bdubs #bdoubleo100 #bdouble0 #zombiecleo #martyn itlw

[theminecraftbee]

so, first, accountability statement: I plan on trying to finish the “zedaph steals a baby” fic by the end of the month and god is that one-line summary no longer accurate but we’re sticking to it, said here publicly so now I have to do it. obviously I also have recursive exchange and the writing I have for hotguy comics zine, but I am not SUPER worried about either of those time/inspiration-wise at the moment and also for Reasons I know it won’t be long until I have more free writing time after that, SO.

various items that are on my potential writing docket, I am curious which of these appeal most:

I dust off the supervillain support group au. two ways this could go: I chip away at the second arc of my original outline and acknowledge this will be like a 300k fic I’m not ready to feel “done” with or “ready to post” with for ages, or I re-work it into something a little more doable and less ambitious keeping the same premise (ren runs a support group for supervillains, doc pov as he starts to heal and redeem himself). this MAY honestly be a target for “if I don’t hate the first 50k on re-reading it and I can actually make my brain write the second arc, do a slower release schedule and then start releasing chapters before I’m done writing”? but this ALSO runs the risk of “I stopped writing it, which is often a sign I was having trouble writing it”.

pearl monster au, which has been cooking in my head for a long while. the basic premise is “one day, pearl, with no memory of how or why this happened, wakes up in a facility as a monster and must try to figure out how she got there, escape, and find her way home, even knowing she may be irrevocably changed”. now with bonus season 10 fish flavor to add to this creature design I’ve been iterating on in my head for forever! this one is ALSO an experiment for me in “can I write a fic where I can’t write dialogue for basically the entire first act”, which would be interesting to see from me, you know?

the related “bigb folklore au”, where after secret life bigb is woken up by Cat and Dog by the tracks of the King Snake, which bigb can recognize as the railroad track, and decides to journey down the railroad to see if he can figure out what the fuck is going on. I need to do video review of life series bigb for this one. this is my excuse to get Weird and Metaphorical and also assign everyone to various animals for no reason, along with using some very specific aesthetic I have wanted to use for some worldbuilding but hadn’t gotten around to yet in any of my stuff. man walks through the desert with animal, confronts train that might be the watchers, might be death, and might just be a train. also, realizes that “confront” is the operative word there and has to deal with that. you know how it is.

““office au””, in air quotes because it’s not REALLY what anyone going to an office au is looking for so much as an excuse to write weird horror. iskall, normal-ish software developer man in a boring office job who does game jams in his free time, goes to work one day to work in his boring downtown office on a payment system for a client. and then things, uh, Take A Turn. this would be a LITTLE me going “what if I wrote an au with a guy who works in tech but like, the boring side of tech I’m in. like, banks and consulting and manufacturing and shit. where you sit in meetings all day and tweak java 8 code even though that language is ten years out of date. but THEN. something exciting happens in the worst way possible.” I’m doing to iskall what I did to mumbo stuffed bird is what I’m saying. it’d be fun.

DO ANY OF THESE PARTICULARLY INTEREST ANYONE. your input will be valued. like 50% chance i get hit with a strong bolt of inspiration then IGNORE that input but it’ll be valued all the same,

#note that me telling you about these ideas is ALSO accountability #on account of both ‘anyone can make whatever based on my things forever’ meaning one of you could make one now #and on account of people will start asking me about them on rare occasion now lol

[fountainpenguin]

Ahasbands are great in Last Life because you get Mumbo throwing out fun lines like "Wanna kiss?" with no build-up and he calls their marriage "tactical" and he just wanders around being happy-go-lucky, giggly, and throwing his husband under the bus.

Then there's Martyn who covers Mumbo during a crime scene, canonically wears some kind of commitment ring, is one button click away from trading his life for Mumbo's, and he kinda tails Mumbo around the map and occasionally mutters things like "I get it- I'm your husband, so I'm just supposed to know" and "Did you forget you're married?" and "Yeah, whatever- I'm taking the ring off."

Mumbo is married first to his commitment to the bit. Specifically the part of the bit where Martyn spontaneously announced they're married and no one else knows what's going on. It's a secret; a gag; a hidden easter egg. Mumbo's not going to play it up in front of people lest he break unspoken rules or be embarrassing. Mumbo keeps flitting around while Martyn dogs his heels with the first-aid kit like "?? Why is he not playing with me?"

Mumbo never denies the marriage or rejects it it any way. He pretty much just asked Martyn "Are we friends?" and Martyn told him "We're married" and Mumbo was like "Oh, okay" and went skipping off again. Mumbo doesn't even dispute it, he just thinks it's hilarious and satellites around Martyn for a while because he makes him laugh.

The marriage bit survives only as long as Mumbo's entertained and Martyn's willing to overlook how little he's getting back. Mumbo contributes nothing but puns and attempted murder.

I've never seen such a peculiar dynamic... Like, possibly unrequited love but also happily married for easy access to jokes and laughter?? One husband trying to keep this marriage together while the other is like "I am silly and have no thoughts except how much I want to blow you up, please it would be funny." incredible, no notes.

Martyn would stab himself to give a life to Mumbo, but if Mumbo had the power to kill Martyn in a snap of his fingers, he would. but also he loves him because Martyn's silly and killed too many chickens and covered up a horse theft. It's like if a god kept a mortal around for offerings and entertainment. you get me.

#trafficblr #Ahasbands #Last Life #MumboJumbo #Martyn InTheLittleWood #I just think they're neat #traffic life smp #mcyt

[amethystfairy1]

Soo uhm.... this might be a short question and a long awnser.

How tall is everyone in ttsbc?

HEIIIIIIIGHTS

Ok. I don't like putting super specific numbers on these sorts of things IN STORY because I know I will forget and mess up, so I usually just describe in terms of how tall they are in relation to the people around them. HOWEVER I will make an exception so long as everyone promises not to make fun of me if I get these mixed up in the actual stories at some point. These are their heights as I have written down on their lil character sheets in my notes for the AU.

The Oddball Family -

Doc - 6'11

Etho - 5'6

Jimmy - 6'3

Grian - 5'7

Pearl - 5'8

Tango - 5'2

The Clockers -

Cleo - 5'10

Bdubs - 5'5

The Humans -

Scar - 6'1

Scott - 5'8

Martyn - 5'11

Zedaph - 6'0

Katherine - 5'6

The Squad -

Ren - 6'2

Shelby - 5'7

Joel - 5'5

Lizzie - 5'11

Mumbo - 6'5

Impulse - 6'4

Gem - 5'9

Cub - 6'1

Xisuma - 5'11

The Empires Family -

Pix - 5'11

Sausage - 6'3

Fwhip - 5'0

False - 5'8

Oli - 6'0

Bonus Content - The TTSBC OCs!

Seb - 6'6

Wes - 6'3

Lea - 6'1

The Director - 5'6

I hope you enjoyed this bullet pointed run down of numbers! Now we can put them all in one of those police line ups with the rulers behind them or something! 😆

Thanks for coming by! 💖

#fanfic #ao3 fanfic #hermitcraft #traffic smp #worldbuilding #through the sky blue cracks #life series #traffic series #empires smp

[braxiatel]

You know that “if it were a drawing I would call it a doodle or a sketch” incomplete fic I posted a while back?

Well here’s another from a few months ago.

Mumscarian (shocking, I know) hunger games au except instead of being told from the POV of someone in the hunger games it’s told by someone they left behind.

Content warnings are all similar in style and detail to the hunger games books, anx include injury (with specific mention of broken bones, spinal injuries, eye injuries, burns), references to genocide, displacement, and loss of a parental figure. Child- and animal endangerment, dissociation, non consensual body modifications, and possibly more that I cannot recall at this moment. Proceed with caution.

———

Cats have healing powers.

Scar was the one who told him that, on a cold winter’s day in front of the fire. Had it really only been months? It felt so much longer…

Something about their purring, Scar had said. He had been more specific than that, but Mumbo’s head was somewhat hazy at the moment.

But the purring healed you, Mumbo could remember as much.

Still, he was pretty sure Jellie alone wasn’t going to get him out of this one, not for lack of trying.

It was her fault he was here anyway.

… No, that wasn’t true. He would have said as much to himself if not for the fact that even moving his lips to take in gasping breaths was agony.

They had been warned before the bombs started to drop. There has been time to run, Pearl’s hand in his so they did not lose each other in the crowd.

Until he saw a woman carrying a goat in her arms and remembered-

“I have to go back,” he panted through strained breaths - he was nowhere near as fit as Pearl, who had been washing the coal-smeared clothes of half the Seam since age eleven to make ends meet.

“What?!” Pearl asked, continuing to pull him towards the hovercraft that was waiting on the green. “Mumbo if we stay we’re going to die. Whatever you forgot it isn’t more important than your life, if can be replaced, I promise. Just-”

“Jellie,” he interrupted her. “We forgot Jellie.”

Pearl’s grip slackened. The crowd kept moving around them, indistinct bodies pushing them forward and together.

“It will break Scar if he comes home and finds out she’s gone. I’ll just… two minutes, okay? I’ll be two minutes. I’ll go to his house and if she isn’t home I’m leaving without her. I just have to try.”

Pearl had looked as though she wanted to argue. She was practical though, in the same way Grian was, in the same way every child that grew up in the Seam was

“No sense in wasting time then. Go. Two minutes, Mumbo, and no more.”

Jellie continued to purr in his arms, unaware of the danger they were still in.

Suppose he had fancied himself a romantic, running back into a doomed town to save his sort-of-boyfriend’s cat.

Grian would laugh and call him an idiot… or he would have once. Grian didn’t do a great deal of laughing these days.

Mumbo could taste blood on his tongue. He wondered if any of the animals that lived in the forests beyond District 12 could smell it, if at any moment a mountain lion might finish him off, defenceless as he was.

He wondered if any of the animals were even still alive.

There had been blood on his tongue the day it started too.

His father - his adopted father that was - always chided him for the habit of biting on his cheek when he was nervous. But not today. Xisuma may have been smiling under his breather, but the Mayor of 12 was anything but calm. Wishing that another boy - any other than Mumbo - would be the one whose name was drawn today, did not sit well with Mayor Xisuma, who had been appointed to keep the citizens of 12 in line and dedicated himself to keeping them safe instead.

Today Mumbo bit his cheek, lined up with every other boy age twelve to eighteen in the district.

Well, almost. Scar had offered him a wink from the line of girls, standing out like a sore thumb in his trousers and the white shirt that had long ago been tainted a greyish brown by wear.

Although Scar was only a little more than a year older than Mumbo, he had been towards the back with the other seventeen-year-olds, while Mumbo was perfectly in the middle, still two weeks shy of sixteen.

“You look as if you’re about to implode from sheer stress,” a familiar voice has said from behind him.

Mumbo couldn’t remember what he had replied anymore, but he did recall how the hints of blonde in Grian’s hair had stood out in the sun that day. Pearl, he knew, always insisted on both of them having a proper bath before the reaping.

They would have shared the same banter they always did. Grian would tease him for being nervous when his name was barely in the draw at all, and Mumbo would mentally assure himself that Grian was right, he was safe.

That had been the day he learned what he should actually have been fearing all along.

The world had stopped turning when Scar’s given name was called out.

It had taken a moment before anyone had recognised it, it had been years since he used it last after all.

“I prefer Scar, actually,” he had corrected, stepping out of the lineup with a smile on his face.

Scar’s nose wrinkled when he smiled and meant it. Mumbo had admired it a thousand times in breaks between lessons and walking home through the Merchant’s section of the district, had tasted it on his lips far too few times for Scar to go off to his death now.

Grian’s hand was a steadying presence on Mumbo’s back for only a moment before the next name was called.

“Grian Xelqua.”

This time the world had stopped spinning altogether. In Mumbo’s memory it did anyway.

His next real memory was sitting opposite Grian, in a room adjacent to his father’s office, babbling about making sure Pearl wouldn’t be left alone through sobs.

He had felt so awful about those tears. There he was, crying about the prospect of losing Grian and Scar, when his best friend and his boyfriend were both about to leave to die horribly in the Hunger Games.

He had only been given a moment with Grian before Pearl arrived. Even thinking about the look on her face as she went to tell her twin goodbye still chilled Mumbo to the bone.

Next, he had guided to see Scar, the seat still warm from Cub having sat there only moments ago.

Most people would have put Cub’s quick departure down to the fact that he and Scar were cousins so many times removed they were only barely more related than anyone else in the Merchant’s section.

Mumbo knew the truth to be something else entirely. Cub was a man of few words and a practical one at that. In the coming weeks, many would look sideways at his apothecary as it continued to be open even as Scar fought for his life in the games. Mumbo understood, though, and so did Scar.

“I love you,” it had been the first time either of them had said it, their romance still new. Now Scar spoke the words carefully, stroking Mumbo’s tear-stained cheek before he continued to add: “But when I leave this building I am going to have to forget that, and I want you to do the same. I love you, Mumbo, and that’s why I’m going to make sure you don’t lose both of us.”

At the time he hadn’t thought he would ever know greater pain than having to hide his feelings away, watching Scar use his golden tongue to charm the masses of the Capitol, convincing them of his undying devotion towards Grian, never once mentioning Mumbo in all of his interviews.

He was certainly in more pain now... Mumbo had always been a bit of a spoon, though, so it was no wonder he was wrong about that too.

Jellie crooned in his arms and Mumbo forced his right eye open - the left remaining stuck shut just as it had since the fire had licked across his skin.

Jellie’s fur may be a little singed, but Mumbo’s blood had put any fires that had touched her out. He almost wanted to laugh at that, but his lungs were stinging from the smoke and the ash in the air and it was all he could do not to choke on it.

Above the chasm he was lying in the wind blew harshly, stoking the fires consuming the forest around him.

It was definitely ironic that he should die this way. For months now he had had nightmares of flames, ever since that fateful day when the 74th Hunger Games had ended.

Grian had all but dragged Scar through the forests, Scar’s left leg trailing after him like deadweight and his right barely able to support him, fire chasing them ever forward.

Mumbo had been sick three times that day. When the fire started, again when a dagger was wedged into Grian’s right eye, and finally when the game makers had announced that Grian and Scar could not win together after all.

He had missed the part where they took each other’s hands and walked to the edge of a cliff, ready to throw themselves off together instead of either of them winning alone.

The fire crackled above the chasm again.

“Go,” he hissed through uneasy breaths, nudging Jellie with his shoulders. “Please.”

Scar would be devastated if she were to die this way, and he had only just started smiling again…

Hollow. That was the only word Mumbo had known that might describe Grian and Scar when they returned from the games. Facades, stitched together and polished by the best the Capitol had to offer, the very picture of Capitol beauty with none of what mattered left.

Scar had smiled and joked that hey, at least they had taken the tits while they were rearranging his skin to cover the fact that his leg had been mangled beyond recognition by a trap once meant to hold a fully grown bear. Mumbo had laughed. It hadn’t been funny in the least.

And while the things Scar said rarely failed to make Mumbo feel sick to his stomach, it was Grian’s silence that disturbed him.

That had come to a head one evening when Grian had torn the prosthetic eye from its socket, hurtling it so hard against the marble walls of his house in the victor’s village that the plastic had cracked. A new had arrived within the week.

Mumbo coughed and hacked, pain wracking his body as the smoke clawed on the inside of his throat and his lungs.

Stupid, stupid Mumbo. He had known the chasm was here, he had seen it on his adoptive father’s maps of the district enough time that he should have known to run the other way.

Granted, it had been more than half a year since he had last stepped foot in the mayoral office, when his father had disappeared overnight and his uncle had been put in charge of District 12 in his stead.

Xisuma’s brother had never been fond of either of them, and he paid little mind when Mumbo simply moved into one of the many spare bedrooms in Grian’s house in the Victor’s Village after they returned from their victory tour of Panem.

Officially he had become Cub’s apprentice, the district still needing medicine even though their one apothecary was now living with his cousin-nth-removed in luxury.

Unofficially he and Scar had finally talked again, combing out the tangled knots of their relationship and what it could even be now that Grian and Scar were only alive because of their status as the star-crossed lovers in the eyes of the citizens of the Capitol.

Mumbo loved Scar enough that he did not mind only holding Scar’s hand in private, did not mind how Scar looked at Grian in public view and in quiet moments at home when he thought no one would notice, did not begrudge Scar a single bit of the patience and space he needed before he was ready for Mumbo to kiss him again.

Scar, in turn, had not minded how Grian latched himself to Mumbo, how Mumbo and Grian would share a bed when nightmares kept them awake, and how Mumbo could not help but blush whenever Scar spoke of Grian.

In another world, they might have spent years dancing around the issue before they developed the emotional maturity to recognise that there was love enough between them for all three of them to share.

In this world, however, they were not afforded the luxury of time. It had felt as though Mumbo had only just gotten his two favourite people back, only for it to be announced that in a few months time, he would have to see at least one of them leave again, off to compete in the 75th Hunger Games as the only two living tributes in District 12 apart from Impulse, whose experience as a mentor was the only thing standing between Mumbo and the very real possibility that both of the boys - the men - he loved would return to him in a coffin.

Mumbo sobbed at the thought, then sobbed again when he continued to shake, muscles tensing and untensing around broken bones and ruptured organs as the morning sun rose to greet him, crimson red through the not-so-distant fires consuming his home.

Surely Grian and Scar were dead by now. The games… Mumbo was not politically savvy the way his two partners were, but he knew well enough that they had been supposed to die in the arena.

“Go,” he begged Jellie again, the burns on his face stinging as salty tears ate away at them.

Scar wouldn’t want her dead. Scar wouldn’t want anything, because he was no doubt dead in a box somewhere far, far away in the Capitol, but he wouldn’t have wanted her dead had he been alive.

The fires were close now, the air so thick even Mumbo’s desperate attempts for air seemed to yield none.

No one would miss him.

It hit him just then.

He was going to die, a broken body left to rot or burn in a chasm by a broken District. Grian and Scar would die too, his father had been dead for months. No one would even know that he was gone, just one name on a dizzyingly long list.

Silly, silly Mumbo, running back into a town doomed to burn to save a dead man from a broken heart. Pearl had been right, he shouldn’t have gone back.

Oh, Pearl! She would know he was gone. How had he managed to forget her? He felt he ought to know but his mind was providing nothign but static.

Another pang of guilt. He had promised Grian she wouldn’t be alone once, and now she would, all because he had been too sentimental. Because he had been too slow, clinging tight to Jellie as he watched the hovercrafts take off. Because he had taken a wrong turn, getting himself thrown into this stupid chasm by one of the countless bombs that had devastated the only home he had ever known.

“Go away,” he hissed at Jellie while he still had air left in his lungs to do so. “Shoo.”

Jelliw finally rose from her position at his side, earning herself a wet sob when her fur rubbed against one of Mumbo’s burns.

She yowled back at him, a familiar tone of complaint that most often harbingered-

Mumbo cringed when the first drop of rain hit his ruined skin, but instantly felt a wave of relief as water cooled his burns.

Soon the air was clearing too, his breaths less ragged but just as wet as it travelled through his ruined chest.

His one good eye fixed on Jellie as she sought shelter under an outcropping of rocks, looking expectantly at him, unaware that he couldn’t move to join her.

For now he was enjoying the relief of the rain anyway. His burns cooling, fat drops of rain slipping between his cracked lips to wet his tongue. He was certain he was far too calm when he congratulated himself on the fact he would likely bleed out rather than die of thirst.

Above him the fires hissed and sputtered, and for the first time since the alarms had sounded, he allowed himself to disengage from the situation.

His mind floated to the town he had grown up in. Would any of the Merchant’s Sector still be standing? He very much doubted it, given how long the bombs had continued to shake him to his bones and make his teeth clatter even after his tumble to the bottom of the chasm.

If any parts of the Seam were still standing it would only be because it covered a far larger part of the town than the Merchant’s Sector ever did, most of the houses barely able to withstand normal wind and weather.

Mumbo had called the Victor’s Village home for the past several months, but he found himself hoping it had been destroyed as well. There was nothing left for him there, even if he had held any hope of surviving.

Mumbo opened his eye with a start realisation: he very much did not want to die.

Silly thing to forget, really, but as had been established Mumbo could be rather silly.

He must have been drifting in and out of consciousness, because by now the crackle of the fire had grown distant, leaving a deadly quiet in its wake. The rain had stopped, and the clouds cleared enough to allow him to see the last rays of the setting sun painting the sky bruise purple.

He heaved in fresh air, his whole being shivering and shaking with the cold rain soaking his broken body.

His eye drifted to the side, to where Jellie was lying on her paws, watching him intently. She had a cut on her ear he had not seen through the haze of the smoke, but seemed otherwise unharmed.

Here were his choices:

He could stay where he was, dying of exposure or to his wounds.

Or he could try to move, and at least die somewhere slightly more dry and comfortable.

The choice would have been easy to Grian and Scar, he thought. Grian would have clawed his way out of the chasm by now, and not even death could have stopped Scar from holding Jellie in his arms.

To Mumbo it was far from simple.

See, Mumbo didn’t want to die, but he very much didn’t want to be in pain either and he had a feeling moving would hurt a great deal.

His mind was hazy, something that had been vivid earlier unclear to him now. Why did the thought of Grian and Scar make his eyes sting with sticky tears?

He didn’t want to leave them…

With a sob Mumbo realised he really had no choice at all.

“Jellie?” he asked. “Get Scar, won’t you? I need you to get him… I need you to get Scar so that he’s here when this is over.”

Jellie for her part stood and stretched, and that was enough to convince him that somehow the cat had understood his pleas.

Okay. This was it…

He flexed his toes but otherwise had no luck kicking against the ground.

No other thing for it, then…

If pain had weight the one that hit him must be hundreds of tons.

His lungs screamed for air, seizing as he dragged himself one little bit forward. The bone clicked in his arm, but far worse was the white-hot burning radiating through his spine and into his legs.

He wouldn’t have made it much further than half a metre when he collapsed against the wall of the chasm, his ears ringing… or perhaps that was simply the screams echoing through the chasm?

With each thundering beat of his heart panic spread further through his body, seaping into every muscle and every fibre.

“Help,” he called, voice hoarse and throat dry. “It hurts.”

A noise from above his head. A flicker of hope.

The rain had washed the blood from his face, at least enough that he could force his other eye open and locate the source of the sound. Jellie, despite her age, was quite athletic and had made it almost all the way to the top of the chasm.

Well, it wasn’t help, but it was a start, right? Jellie would run home and get Scar, or Grian, or maybe even Xisuma. Someone would find him…

The sun rose and at some point in the night Mumbo had stopped feeling the bite of the cold - in fact the chill dew on his skin was quite refreshing, as was the trickle off water next to his head.

He couldn’t move to drink it all, but with a tilt of his head he was able to gulp some of it down, soothing the dryness in his throat.

The forest was so quiet today. Mumbo had only ventured beyond the fence with Grian and Scar twice in his life, but what he recalled most clearly was how alive it had been compared to the stifling settlement they called home.

There were no birds now, no rustle of the wind in the leaves, not even the distant sound of hares and other small animals skittering through the forest floor.

Mumbo’s stomach churned. Was that roast meat he could smell on the wind? When had he even last had something to eat…?

He wished his clothes were not so heavy. If only they were lighter, he might be able to move and remove his shirt. When had the sun become so warm?

He tilted his head to drink more water, mud and ash sticking to the sides of his mouth.

The moon, too, was warm tonight. Mumbo had never known it to be as much before, but nonetheless, it was even warmer than the sun had been. He felt as though he was burning up.

The stars were so bright, as bright as Mumbo had only ever seen them through his father’s telescope. It had been the nicest thing they owned, the lense scratched but still functional enough that he had been able to look through it and dream himself far away.

They moved oddly, reflecting in the helmet of the person standing at the top of the chasm.

Their language was garbled too. Mumbo never knew there were animals that looked like people in the forest…

He blinked, tilting his head a little for a better look.

The person-animal recoiled and Mumbo wanted to shush it, tell it he grew up sheltered in the Merchant’s Section and had no idea how to harm it even if he wanted to.

It made another garbled sound. Except…

Except…

“-Nd a survivor. I repeat I have found a survivor. Requesting urgent medical attention.”

The person-animal - who may in fact just be a person, come to think of it - climbed down the side of the cave.

First they removed a glove, revealing pale skin, and then their helmet. A cascade of red curls fell out, framing a young woman’s face.

“My name is Gem, Scout for District 13. Can you hear me? Can you tell me your name?”

He blinked, certain he ought to know how to respond to that. His tongue, however, remained unyielding.

“Mumbo! MUMBO! Let me go! I need to see him!”

Mumbo wished he had the energy to turn his head and look up and see the owner of the voice, but he was simply too tired.

“Get him out of here and start working on getting a stretcher down here, I think his spine might be broken,” Gem said over their shoulder. Their tone was far softer when they turned around and spoke to him. “Mumbo? Is that your name? Mumbo, listen to me, you need to hang in there. Whatever you saw during the bombing of 12 could be very valuable to the resistance, so you have to hold on a little bit longer so we can get you to a doctor.”

The bombing of 12…

Mumbo knew he should feel something. Panic, grief, anger, anything at all.

In reality, he just felt tired.

“Grr… ggi,” he tried.

“You want Grian?” Gem asked. “Sure, sure. He’s on his way to the hovercraft and in a moment you will be too. I’m just going to give you something for the pain and the fever, okay?”

Fever? Since when did he have a fever?

A weight on his chest lessened a little, relief flooding through him as the dull throbbing of pain he had been feeling from his everywhere began to subside.

“Don’t fall asleep,” Gem instructed. “You might get a little tired but it’s very important that you don’t fall asleep.”

Mumbo wanted to open his mouth to tell them that of course, he wasn’t going to fall asleep. Instead he blinked and a moment later he was somewhere new. It looked like home, looking like the Market Square, only not at all. The Market Square should be bustling with late afternoon activity, judging by the sun being in the west. The market Square was surrounded by buildings on all sides, whereas this place barely had any rubble worthy of being called ‘walls’.

There was a mask over his face, one that reminded him of his father’s breather, its edges digging into his flesh.

“Let me go this instance or I swear I walk - and don’t think Scar won’t do the same. We both care about him and- Mumbo!”

Grian’s face entered his view. The Capitol liked to style him in a way that made him look older than a mere seventeen, but that was not the reason Mumbo could see no trace of the boy that had once sat next to him in school barely more than a year ago.

His one remaining eye was dark, clouded by unbridled fury.

His gaze softened a little when he sat next to Mumbo.

“Can I touch him?”

Yes, Mumbo wanted to say. His body felt so wrong, cold and hot and numb and aching, all of it all at once. He wanted Grian to hold him, wanted Scar to join in as well. Come to think of it, where was Scar?

“If you’re careful.”

Hold on, that voice was familiar. Cub? Why was Cub here? And where was ‘here’ anyway?

That train of thought died as cold lips pressed against Mumbo’s temple. Odd, Grian normally ran hot.

“Hey.” Another kiss, this time on his forearm of all places. Then again, it was one of the few places that didn’t tingle with pain… “Thought I’d lost you for a moment,” Grian whispered, one of his fingers trailing over the part of Mumbo’s arm he had just kissed.

The world shook, and Mumbo’s body went slack with pain.

“Gently,” Grian hissed over his shoulder. He looked at Mumbo again, and he looked so very human. “Be gentle… Mumbo? Mumbo?! Mumbo, you have to-”

If Grian actually told Mumbo what he wanted him to do, it was lost somewhere between the humming of the world around them and the static in Mumbo’s ears. His eyes had slipped close, and for the first time in days he felt safe to rest.

—

Mumbo was aching.

That was the first thought that crossed his mind. Next was this: he was not at home in the Victor’s Village, nor was he in the small apartment in the Justice Building that had been his childhood home.

The bed was too short for him, the linen too coarse, and most offensive of all there was an incessant beeping next to his right ear.

Heavy footsteps - familiar ones at that - approached and a door swung closed with a whir.

Right. The door opening had woken him in the first place.

He opened his eyes and had to blink when he saw the familiar face of his dead father.

“Xisuma?” he tried to ask, the name muffled by the mask sitting on his face.

“Oh, Mumbo, thank goodness,” his adoptive father said in the same tone as he would normally use when Mumbo came home half an hour late after taking the long way home from school with Grian and Scar. “Grian, he’s awake.”

Mumbo strained his eyes, only barely able to make out the bright red colour of a familiar sweater.

“What?” Grian, too, seemed to just have woken up. “Oh! Mumbo!”

A chair scraped across the floor and a moment later Grian came into view too.

“You’re alive,” Mumbo tried to say, trying to enunciate the words as much as he could with his mouth being as dry as it was.

“We could say the same to you,” Xisuma told him, pushing a lock of hair out of Mumbo’s face just as he had done when Mumbo first came to him at age seven. “I don’t know if you have the worst or the best luck in the world. Falling down a ravine like that, and staying safe from the fires and the bombs. Do you know the scouts only found you because Jellie found them and insisted they follow her? She’s getting a well-deserved rest now, but you’d better thank her when you’re up and about again… or well… Well, yes, when you see her.”

Though his father’s rambling was a comforting background noise Mumbo had missed dearly, one thing stuck out to Mumbo.

The bombs. The fires.

“12 is gone,” he shuddered.

“Some of the people made it out,” Xisuma told him. “The ones smart enough not to go running back after lost pets.”

Oh, had he really done that? Mumbo was certain he must be blushing with sheer embarrassment.

He couldn’t bring himself to regret it, though. Scar would have been devastated if anything had happened to Jellie.

Scar.

The thought struck him and the beeping sound increased.

“Gri?” He asked. “Where’s S…”

Mumbo choked on the words, his throat aching from the smoke he had inhaled and the dry air flowing through the breather covering the lower half of his face.

Grian waited for him to finish coughing, his hand resting on Mumbo’s right arm as a steady presence.

“He’s okay,” Grian told him, though the waver in his voice told Mumbo otherwise. Grian had always been a terrible liar, and Mumbo knew him far too well to believe him.

Judging by Grian’s expression he realised this too.

“He’s alive,” Grian corrected. “The Capitol have him. But we’re already looking into saving him. We’re going to get him back, Mumbo, I swear. You came back and he will too…”

Grian rose to his feet, kissing the same part of Mubmo’s forehead he had earlier.

“I’ll fix it all,” Grian promised him. “The two of us, we’ll find a way to bring him back, even if it means burning the Capitol to the ground.”

#hermitcraft #hermitshipping #mumscarian #mumbo jumbo #GoodTimesWithScar #gtws #Grian #Pearlescentmoon #geminitay #XisumaVoid

[autumnwhistles]

Audition Masterpost and Song Info (2/2)

Part 1

Right at the end of the week, here's Part 2 of the information I promised. This talks about the styles of various songs of the roles, again to give more information before the audition form comes out.

Note: there's a chart I made of voice types I imagine different characters to have under a cut below. Please read the notes above it before looking at it, though!

General info:

More major (ie Wither), serious, or Watcher-centric events will be in a similar style to the first song, Middle of Nowhere (which is already on Youtube). A lot of the other songs focusing on delving into the lives of players will be in a more folky style.

Excerpts of people's songs, when necessary, will be posted in the coming days!

The deadline for the first round of auditions is 00:00 UTC on the 20th November. People who are in contention for parts will be notified about further processes after this date.

Part-specific info:

The three main parts are Martyn, Scott and Grian, in this order. Information about styles of their songs is listed below:

Martyn – you can actually hear an excerpt of his first song here – he'll sing in a similar style for more than just this. In general I've been inspired by a lot of Oh Hellos music (eg Where Is Your Rider). When focusing on the Shadow Alliance and Watcher lore side of things though, songs will be more in the style of Middle of Nowhere. I can post an excerpt of another of his songs if necessary (In Spring We Met).

Scott – his songs are generally quite regal and collected – though it doesn't necessarily embody the second aspect of it, you may find that Honour Bound from the Death Note musical has quite a similar atmosphere. I will be posting some excerpts from his songs played on the piano (not necessarily in the key they'll be in).

Grian – I haven’t found a specific song for him, but his style and songs are VERY clear, sharp, and punctuated – definitely more on the modern musical theatre end of things. A lot of the later ones are more angry (slightly unhinged, though not nearly as much as Joel, ie When Will You Learn. The others are quite charismatic (ie telling tales because he Watches things, acting as a leading figure to the Southlands, trying to get people to gather wither skulls eyc). If necessary, I can send recordings of me improvising/trying to figure out some of his songs. I'll also be posting a wordless excerpt with live singing of some of his part in the third song, which he shares with Bdubs, to get across some of the stylistic differences I have for them right now. Note that Watcher!Grian is canon to this, as we're following Martyn's lore.

Throughout the musical, we'll be dwelling on the Southlands and the Shadow Alliance quite a lot, and as such the information in this paragraph applies to BigB, Lizzie, Ren, Impulse, Mumbo and Jimmy. The songs of the Shadow Alliance are quite similar in style to Middle of Nowhere, whereas a lot of the Southlands songs are more similar to (though not exactly the same as) the excerpt of the Martyn song I linked and posted. I will be posting a piano excerpt of 'A(ha)lliances' as well.

(Note that with Ren in particular, I imagine the atmosphere of a lot of his lines to be similar to that of Hellfire from the Hunchback of Notre Dame (though obviously... without the same message).)

Other roles with either solo parts or large roles in duets consist of Pearl, Tango, Bdubs, Scar, Joel, Jimmy and Cleo. Song information for these roles is below:

Pearl – livelier and more chaotic than Scott, but they share quite a few of their songs together. However, her solo – as well as letting her be more unhinged – is somewhat dance-like (she’s killing people on a dance floor after all — it's more modern as opposed to things like waltzing, but it isn’t 'dance music’). Again, I'll send excerpts of me working things out in that style if necessary.

Tango – very showman-like, quite jazzy (think the music of his intro). An excerpt of You Bet Your Life, his solo, has been made and will be posted shortly.

Bdubs – similar to Tango, an excerpt of his song will be posted – it's in a similar style but not as jazzy. I imagine him to be quite loud and vocally powerful.

Scar – I imagine his parts as having an atmosphere quite similar to Jack’s Lament from The Nightmare before Christmas – and to a lot of Jack's songs, actually.

Joel – VERY unhinged. Though I don't imagine the voices being too similar, I imagine the atmosphere of his parts being quite similar to The World Has Gone Insane from the 1994 concept version of Jekyll and Hyde the musical.

Jimmy – this isn't set in stone, but I imagine his song (about being worried about dying first again) being quite similar to the atmosphere of the first 35 seconds of Waiting In The Wings (Reprise) from Tangled: The Series

Cleo – their solo is Die For Me, so you can rewatch the scene to get the atmosphere (her episode 5 – not sure about the exact timestamp). Again, I'll try to send excerpts of me working out things in that style, but note that I don’t have it pinned down as much the others.

Voice chart

Notes about the chart before you see it:

THIS IS NOT SET IN STONE. This is what the characters sound like in my head right now, with no reference points. Though it may stay like this, it can and probably will change based on who I hear – this has already happened with one character! So don't be afraid

Range-wise – I did put higher and lower there. HOWEVER, I can adjust the range as needed for each part. This is more to do with your voice sounding deeper or higher as opposed to actually being lower or higher – I can demonstrate this in a recording if necessary.

These are rough placements! Even if things do stay like this, there's a range of values each voice could be placed at – imagine a wide circle around every name.

In general, remember that though I have some ideas, I have not written most of it – I'm continuously working on it. There's always a possibility that things will change (although if you get a part

#trafficblr #last life smp #3rd life smp #life series smp #martyn inthelittlewood #grian #Scott smajor #smajor1995 #dangthatsalongname #(because those are the three main characters) #(also help scott why do you have so many tags) #auditions #info

[wixelt]

Btw, I've been working to flesh out characterization and worldbuilding for the Player Culture AU but, due to that technically being a mostly completely seperate AU from Hermitphibia, I'm probably only going to update you where it's relevant as to not flood your inbox with unrelated lore. I've been mostly going through SMP's to see if they have anything lore relevant and seeing where it would apply.

...

So anyway, Pirates SMP Scar is almost explicitly HC8 Scar and also shares the name of his previous sailing ship with New life!Scar's plane and I think The Hermatrix may have done essentially the same thing to the Hermits' memories The Core did to Marcy's memories to ensure they were for the most part versions of themselves that wouldn't catch on to being in a simulations, with the exceptions of Doc and Ren, who were made into versions of themselves that would catch on quick. Yes, this is rather the big assumption to make based just on Scar having continuity, but it's either this or decanonising The Hermatrix.

It also goes to explain some of Season 8's weirdness as a whole and opens the season's lore up to be used again... just not in it's surrounding context. Mumbo is probably a formless shapeshifter with half a soul, but it probably isn't Grian's and he's probably been that way since before joining Hermitcraft. The reason The Hermatrix accounted for Pearl's connection to the moon is because of the subconscious memories she still had but hadn't recalled. Impulse eats rocks because he both is and isn't a dwarf due to existing in like two or three points of his life simultaneously. Pearl's megabyte resembles the human settlement in S9 because, well,

Tl;Dr: either The Hermatrix is explicitly noncannon or it was fucking with the hermits' memories to make them relive moments of their pasts because otherwise I can't see how the entrepreneur who traveled by wagon went on to become a pirate and possibly later an air pilot.

Also Pirate!Scar's pirate hat is in Scar's room in Scarland and Pilot!Scar's head is in Cub's meuseum if I'm remebering correctly, both shown in Sausage's world tour.

(Glad to hear your culture interpretation's going well. Always interested to hear about it in relation to the Hermitphibia AU.)

I like the idea that the Hermatrix fundamentally shifted the Hermits' inherent selves to keep them safe (& that it echoes Marcy in canon/False in the AU), though I imagine its less making them different in personality & more unconsciously nudging them away from certain lines of thought they'd usually have.

The idea that this process embellishes or reinterprets certain traits of each Hermit is fun, too.

I don't know if some of the specific interpretations line up with the way I view things, though, but lets work through them one at a time:

Scar's timeline in my mind happens as released & I don't think too much Hermatrix shifting would be needed, nor would it be non-canon. The Hermits take on personas all the time (RenTheKing, etc.), & Scar of all people is very inclined towards that.

I don't know where the interpretation of Mumbo as a half-soulless shapeshifter comes from (aside from the potato thing, maybe), but I'm not sure if I buy it over, say, the view of him as a vampire. I'd be interested in hearing more, though.

Pearl's connection to the moon in the sim - name aside - stemming from her past lives is something I like. Makes it more than just a symbolic connection, & that'd be especially important in the AU as unless Pearl chose her name (which is plausible), Grian's surname would also be Moon.

Impulse eating rocks coming form his dwarf phase is something I'm going to steer clear of, unless we interpret that the Hermatrix was somehow predicting the future as well, since that was still a season away.

#hermitphibia au #hermitcraft #hermitblr #hermitcraft au #amphibia #amphibia au #player culture au #goodtimeswithscar #marcy wu #amphibia core #hermatrix #docm77 #rendog #mumbojumbo #grian #pearlescentmoon #impulsesv #cubfan135 #mythicalsausage #falsesymmetry

[angeart]

And 29!

--from ao3 wrapped [writers edition]

29: Favorite line/passage you wrote this year?

this is a very interesting question! and also very difficult, given the amount of things i've written in combination with my bad memory. so of course i went and dug through things, overthinking this, even though, really, i know exactly what to answer. still, let me take the long route. (because i'm an idiot and there's no other way.)

so first i'll ramble about things i like.

starting with the phrase that always makes me weak, and i don't think i use it enough, but characters just dissipating into giggles—that exact wording. like. c'mon. that. whenever i get to use it, i'm so happy. it's such a lack of control and overflow of joy. the best thing ever.

but if we move into specific passages... (i go on a bit of a tangent, so the rest is under the line-) (dancing scene at the end there and a bit of a hmtb spoiler/sneakpeek/preview for you guys)

i looked over the cursed forest au fic (even with death haunting your footsteps, your flowers will bloom again), looking for pretty sentences, and the problem is, that fic is full of pretty sentences. (i honestly don't know how i did that, but it does make me happy.) something about words like the warzone of his good intentions, you know? (i had more. i'm trying to be concise.) (i promise.)

but really, there's one phrase in that fic that i do think about sometimes still. so it needs to be mentioned. here:

It still hurts, to be treated so gently, but unlike everything else, it hurts in a way he thinks he might be able to survive.

------

i also want to bring up a sentence from Elegy that lives in my head rent-free (this is from chapter 3, which i'm aware is unreleased as of now, but shh):

The grief is a guillotine, and he’s bending forward, hair falling away from his neck, baring skin and bracing for impact.

there's just something about that that refuses to let me go.

------

but! i also enjoyed writing happy things. (shocking)

especially this passage from these flowers will wither (like you and me), but they're not dead yet was very fun to write:

-

Grian grins at him, something bright and cheeky. “Do you want to try that again?”

There’s a pause when Scar attempts to recalibrate. (He fails.) (He absolutely fails.) 

He tries to grab something rational in him, tries to tell himself that Grian means dancing. But his traitorous heart supplies a wholly different answer to him. 

Scar pushes himself up and, with fingers sliding along Grian’s jaw, he presses his lips to Grian’s.

(They’re warm. They’re chapped. They’re Grian Grian Grian Grian.)

He feels the vibration of Grian’s laughter against him before he really registers the sound.

“That’s not what I meant,” Grian scolds, but there’s no bite in it; he sounds entirely too pleased and amused, even as he piles a handful of sand on top of Scar’s head in playful revenge.

------

and this honestly now brings me to hmtb. which is where we anchor.

believe it or not, there is a happy scene that i can't stop thinking about (just the sheer power of it, across all the pain and messes and saddness—scar making grian laugh like this.)

------ hmtb chapter 49:

Scar looks at him innocently and presents his question: “What is a romp, Impulse?”

Grian bursts out laughing.

A big, toothy grin spreads across Scar’s face at the sound.

Impulse’s eyes briefly flit to Mumbo and he feels his face get hot. “I— What— That’s not fair!” he whines. “That’s not a truth, that’s a, Scar, I’m not a dictionary!”

At that, Grian laughs harder, bending over. His giggles tip over proper cackling, a bit breathless around the edges, and Scar thinks it’s the most wonderful sound in the whole world.

------ and of course this moment from chapter 47:

Neither of them can help it; their lips treacherously stretch into smiles where they’re pressed against each other, before they both helplessly dissipate into giggles, feeling lightheaded and high. 

“What are we doing,” Grian huffs out through his laughter.

“Kissing,” Scar replies cheerfully and demonstratingly places three kisses along Grian’s jaw.

It’s the best thing in the world.

------

bet you didn't expect me to pull out the happy scenes out of this mess of a fic. ha.

but also! one the things i really like and enjoy is throwing anything to do with explosives, tnt, fire, etc, at scar and grian. like this:

Skin tingling and heart feeling like TNT on the verge of explosion, Scar moves to follow him, blindly, willingly, the way he’d follow him anywhere.

and this:

Watching him, Scar laughs quietly. He thinks of the sound the flint and steel makes, of the little click, of the hiss of TNT as it readies itself to cause damage. It sounds like his heart feels. He thinks of sparks that catch on leaves and grass and bark, a tree going up in flames, the catastrophic heat spreading violently to anything it touches, and he wonders if that is how Grian’s heart feels.  

------

now, since i'm already rambly. there is one bit of hmtb i keep thinking back to constantly. and it's a particular conversation from chapter 21 (the talk in the middle of a crisis). this bit in particular:

 “He wasn’t afraid then. He knew you could kill him, but he wasn’t scared. And you know what, Grian? You didn’t kill him,” he finishes softly. 

“I… didn’t kill him?” Grian repeats, dazed and wobbly. 

“He wasn’t scared, and you didn’t kill him”

(you guys should keep this in mind too. it might get a callout sometime, uhhhhh, around chapter 100 or so at this rate—)

(don't worry about that, ofc.)

and now for the real answer. (wow.)

because here's the thing. you're asking what's my favourite passage. and really, i love all those other things too, but there's one particular bit of writing that hits closer than any other.

the dancing bits.

the heartachy, complicated, painful dancing bits.

and yes, this ties to the whole fic i wrote about them dancing in the desert, but listen. the purely-hmtb bits? those? those. okay?

here we go:

------ hmtb chapter 37: call of the desert

Scar sighs a little and says: “I miss it.”

“Scar,” Grian’s voice is absolutely unsteady.

They haven’t really talked about the desert, not since it was over.

Nobody ever talks about life games, if they can avoid it.

But now Grian sits here and he has to forcefully remind himself that the skin over his knuckles isn’t torn raw and that Scar’s blood isn’t coating his hands and he has to accept that Scar misses the desert and Grian also misses it, in a way, and it’s all so dizzying, it makes him lightheaded.

“We used to dance,” Scar says thoughtfully. “Why don’t we do it anymore?”

“I forgot how,” Grian barely manages to get out. He didn’t forget. In fact, he remembers every step Scar taught him. He remembers them stumbling together into a fall, a small giggling heap on top of the warm sand, limbs tangled. He remembers the moment when Scar grinned wildly at him, joy bright in his eyes, as they completed a couple of steps without a hitch for the first time. He remembers how they laughed and danced, giddy and high on life in a world that promised nothing but death.

He doesn’t want to remember. It hurts his heart.

“I can teach you again,” Scar suggests softly.

The pain in Grian’s heart just gets worse.

Scar reaches for Grian’s hand, then. Even if they’re both sitting on Grian’s bed and they can’t dance like this, he still slides his fingers underneath Grian’s palm and brings it up, in exactly the same way he held it when they danced. With curved lips, he hums a melody.

Grian looks at him, absolutely wretched. His hand twitches in Scar’s grasp, but he doesn’t pull it away. “Scar,” he half-whispers, in a miserable tone. He meant to say stop, but he can’t bring himself to. So he just pleads, using Scar’s name itself, hoping the other man will get it.

Scar studies Grian for a second, before he lowers their hands. He huffs out a small laugh. “It’s okay. We can leave it for some other time.”

Grian purses his lips. He doesn’t say there won’t be another time. He doesn’t say he doesn’t want this. He doesn’t say that something in him desperately wants this, actually, please Scar please.

------

but, you know what. it isn't over.

this answer has been long enough. i know. i know. (i appreciate and love everyone who bothered to read this far <3 ) but. but there's more.

there is more, and it's so closely related, these scenes are entwined and live snugly side-by-side in my heart. but. here's the thing.

this next bit is 1,2k long, and it's from a chapter that, as of now, hasn't been released yet. for the curious, greedy, hungry souls (love you all to bits), here it is:

------ hmtb chapter [unspecified]

Scar blinks and recalibrates under the scrutiny. His eyes dart to the jukebox and he lets a smile spread across his lips, as he reaches out a hand to Grian. “Hey, G, you wanna dance?”

Grian’s eyes widen a fraction, thrown off by the abrupt suggestion. “I’m… not sure,” he manages to say, eyes dropping to Scar’s invitingly outstretched hand, palm-up and ready for him. 

His emotions wrangle in him—a need to be close, to give in, to accept everything Scar’s giving him, pushed violently against the sharp memories of sand and desert, something happy tiding over into blood and pain and misery.

He flexes his fingers, pulls them into a fist and then stretches them out, trying to unknot the tension and release the slight tremble that courses through them. His throat feels dry, all of a sudden.

“It’s okay,” Scar says in the softest tone that never fails to tug at Grian’s heart. “I can lead.”

The music turns mildly cacophonic, askew and sick. It buzzes and pitches and tilts, in a way music isn’t supposed to be able to. And Grian realises that he’s told Scar before that he forgot how to dance. 

Scar taught him all the steps, back in the desert. A lot of hours spent in the stifling air upon sun-warmed evening sand, stumbling and laughing and holding onto each other. Their skin was more tanned then. Their eyes were brighter, their souls wilder. They felt unstoppable.

Grian feels anything but right now.

He doesn’t know if he can take it.

But Scar’s reaching out to him and Grian finds that he cannot turn away from it, his body shackled and chained, unable to resist. And so even if everything in him screams no, he still finds himself reaching back, meeting Scar’s hands with his own trembling fingers, trepidation sinking its teeth into him.

Scar’s smile brightens and oh, maybe it’s not trepidation that Grian feels.

He feels Scar’s fingers take hold of his hand, secure and warm; they pull at him, but not in a destabilising way. It’s the opposite: they tell Grian exactly where to be. Scar’s other arm finds Grian torso and seamlessly slides across to his back, sending shivers down Grian’s spine; his wings stretch out and shudder, before they fall back, feathers lightly brushing over Scar’s skin.

Everything about this is electrifying, and it’s driving Grian haywire. 

He thinks maybe he needs to stop thinking. Maybe he needs to give in to the part of him that wants to let Scar have control of the two of them now; the part of him that wants to trust and believe that he’s safe; the part of him that craves affection with ugly, hungry desperation. 

Scar leans closer and with a rumbling baritone wrapped in velvet, he checks: “Ready?”

Running on nothing but instinct, Grian squeezes at Scar’s hand.

With a low chuckle, Scar lets go of Grian’s back and Grian almost gasps at the abrupt loss—but all Scar does is guide Grian’s free hand to his waist. “Like this,” he murmurs, his voice just a step away from purring, and then his hand slots back against Grian’s spine.

A trembling breath leaves Grian’s lips and he dips his head, leaning forwards, inching closer to Scar. He feels the response in the way Scar’s touch on his back turns firm, accepting the new closeness with reverent neediness. He can’t see Scar’s face, but he can tell Scar’s lips are curved in a smile, cheeks slightly dimpling.

He almost wishes to look, but he can’t, he can’t, it’s too much. 

He takes a deep breath though his nose. The air isn’t dry and hot. The ground doesn’t shift underneath his feet.

It hasn’t shifted underneath his feet in ages, but right now in this very moment, a part of Grian distantly thinks that it should. That if they’re going to dance, it should be atop a mountain, feet sinking into sand.

They’re standing on carpeted floor, and the music disc is one they didn’t have in the desert, the sounds of it wrapping around them in a rhythm completely discordant to the fast beating of Grian’s heart. 

With gentle and deliberate move, Scar directs them to sway. Their feet shift, steady on the solid floor, something learned and simple. Scar leads them in careful, basic steps, the ones he used at the very beginning to teach Grian. Back when even that was too much, and Grian kept stepping on his feet, and Scar kept catching him.

Scar doesn’t need to catch Grian now, because Grian knows these steps. They’re imbued in his muscle memory, something sunken and anchored, a part of his soul that’s reserved for things that feel like home.

Testingly, Scar throws in something more complex. He pulls Grian along, turning them in circles, every step confident and filled with joy. The music is the background rhythm, but they’re both locked somewhere else, in a fragment of a memory—something that used to be; something that Scar believes could be again.

With a curve to his lips, Scar hums and remarks: “You said you don’t remember.”

Grian’s breath hitches and it’s only now that he lifts his head to meet Scar’s gaze. Despite that, his feet do not stumble; he doesn’t need to watch where he steps, he knows it all by heart. His gaze anchors in green eyes and something rises within him so tidally and overwhelmingly that he feels hot wetness blur his vision all of a sudden. “How could I forget?” he manages past the lump in his throat.

Scar gently lets go of Grian’s hand and instead reaches to touch Grian’s jaw, brushing his thumb soothingly over Grian’s cheek as he takes in the raw, ravaging emotion in Grian’s eyes. 

Grian moves his suddenly free arm around Scar, fingers finding purchase in the fabric of Scar’s shirt, digging into it until he has a firm grip. His lungs spasm in his chest, his heart stutters, his wings droop then lift and spread. A loose feather drops to the floor and Scar sidesteps it expertly, as if it was somehow too precious to damage. 

“You remember,” Scar murmurs, an odd inflection to his voice. 

Grian’s skin buzzes where Scar touches it; a tingling, warm sensation spreads from Scar’s fingertips and robs Grian of breath. “Of course,” he murmurs, quiet, destabilised. 

Scar’s eyes crinkle in joy, lips spreading into a bright, toothy smile that ends in dimpled skin as he looks at Grian. He makes no attempt to call out Grian’s earlier lie; he seems content in knowing that this is the truth, warm and alive underneath his fingers, guided by his steps. “Oh, I wouldn’t mind teaching you again, but this makes me so happy!” he admits openly, fractionally heightening their tempo as he leads them in spinning circles, everything in him attuned to the music even as it becomes nothing more than a background noise.

Grian isn’t ready for those words. Nor for the way Scar looks at him.

He feels like he’s drowning, and Scar’s both his sea and his oxygen.

Scar starts humming in tune, the happy expression lingering on his face, and it’s only then that the discordant rhythm of the song disentangles and starts making sense to Grian. It’s only the reverb of Scar’s voice that puts coherency into Grian’s existence; into their steps across the carpet that doesn’t give underneath their weight; into the way the room sways around them, full of warm shadows and flickering flames and muted colours not quite matching sand.

#ange answers #a “bit” of a tangent eh? #i am so so so sorry #got carried away #why am i like this #head in hands #ao3 wrapped ask game #did anyone make it this far? #xbkjnb #thank you for asking <3 #(sorry) #hmtb #ange rambles #honestly yeah this needs that tag too #something possessed me #hermitshipping #scarian #desert duo #please those dancing bits #those #wah

[quaranmine]

The Incandescence of a Dying Light (Chapter One)

It's 1988. Grian and Mumbo are roommates living in the US. Mumbo leaves on a solo camping trip at Grian's suggestion to get away from his job for a while. But when he fails to check in at the end of his trip, Grian is forced to report him as a missing person. And now the clock is ticking.

It's 1989. Grian takes a job in Shoshone National Forest as a fire lookout, prepared to spend the summer alone in the wilderness. But his primary goal isn't finding forest fires: it's finding Mumbo, who went missing in this location a year ago, alive and well. He expects to be alone. What Grian doesn't expect is having the company of the other nearby lookout, a man named Scar. Their relationship grows through their conversations held via two-way radio, as Grian finally begins to let Scar into the truth about why he's really here and mystery he's unraveling.

A Hermitcraft Firewatch AU.

Chapter One: 7,162 words

Masterpost | Chapter Two >>

Welcome to the Firewatch AU! It's okay if you've never played the game, since the plot of this story is different than in the game. If you have played the game, you'll notice some similarities, especially in the setting. If you plan to play the game, this fic will not spoil it. I just really really like fire lookouts :]

Content warnings will be added per chapter as needed. I've done a lot of research on this topic so some there will also be some notes on a reblog. This fic will be Grian and Scar centric, but it's also very much about Mumbo as well. There will also be the inclusion of art with the chapters.

May 31, 1988

Grian remembers it because it’s 7:30 PM on a Tuesday evening, and he’s sitting at his desk in front of the window trying to catch the early evening slanted sunbeams on his sketchbook. The light is golden on the page and his hand casts a shadow on his work. 

That’s when Mumbo crashes through the front door–quite literally, too. The door swings shut with a bang. It’s a heavy door prone to closing on its own.

Without looking up, Grian calls out, “Remember not to slam it! Mrs. Grant complained last week, you know.”

“Right! Right, sorry!”

“Bad commute?” Grian asks. 

He hears Mumbo drop his bag in the corner with a sigh, and the sound of him flopping down on the couch. Grian turns around to look at him sympathetically. Mumbo has dramatically put his palms over his eyes, slowly dragging them down his face.

“Ugh,” he groans. “It was the worst. Someone wrecked on 25.”

“That sucks.”

“Oh, shut up,” Mumbo says. “How long have you been sitting here? All day?”

“Nuh-uh, I had a meeting today with Mr. Perry.”

“Did that go well?”

“Yeah,” Grian says, lying through his teeth. But only just a little. 

Mumbo hops up off the couch and walks over to Grian’s desk. “Is that what you’re drawing now?” he asks. He picks up the sketchbook. 

“Yes,” Grian says sagely. “I have many ideas.”

Mumbo squints at the page. “You’ve only got a tree, Grian.”

“Hey!” Grian says, snatching his sketchbook back. “Look around! There’s plenty of trees out here! Well, maybe not on this street specifically, but give me like 20 minutes and I’ll drive you to a big forest.”

“Oof. Make it an hour. The traffic’s awful today, I told you.”

Grian and Mumbo stare at the tree drawing for a few seconds. “Is it at least a nice tree?” Grian asks. 

“You’re supposed to be drawing houses, mate,” Mumbo says, amused. “Your meeting went terribly, didn’t it?”

“I have absolutely nothing,” Grian says. “Zilch! Zip! Nada! Empty brain. I can tell you there will be at least one tree next to his house, though.”

“Imagine that,” Mumbo says. “Million dollar house on a mountainside. One tree guaranteed.”

It’s Grian’s turn to use the shut up line. “Shut up,” he says. 

There’s something ticking in Mumbo’s brain, and Grian can tell. He looks past Grian through the window with the streaming gold light, out at the mountains in the not-so-far distance. And Grian remembers it, even when he doesn’t want to.

“We should go camping,” Mumbo says. “Get out of the city for a few days. See some trees with no houses next to them. Get away from all that highway traffic.”

“Yeah, that sounds nice,” Grian says. “This weekend? Do you want me to call and see if I can reserve a spot in the national park? Or a little more west and hit a national forest?”

Mumbo screws up his face a little at that. “Let’s go a bit further this time,” he suggests. “Do several days instead of just a weekend. We could even leave the state. Go someplace we haven’t already been a million times. Maybe even a little more remote.”

“When?” Grian asks. 

“Is next week too soon? I could just take off midweek and we could go drive somewhere. Please? Think of all those early summer wildflowers up in the mountains.”

“Dude, I can’t take off mid-week,” Grian says sharply, suddenly feeling very frustrated. “You know that. I need to be finishing these designs! You gotta give me more notice than this, Mumbo.”

“Right,” is all Mumbo says, and he looks so tragic that Grian already feels bad for snapping at him. 

“Is it that bad at work?” he asks. 

Mumbo looks away, past Grian back back out into the mountains in the distance. “I just don’t know if I can take another week,” he admits. “I need to take some time off. And hey, maybe he’ll even fire me this time for giving him only a week’s notice that I’m taking vacation time!”

“You need that job for your visa,” Grian points out softly. 

Mumbo rolls his eyes. “Fine, I’ll try to keep my job I guess. No trying to get fired. I’m still taking that time off though.”

“He wouldn’t fire you anyway,” Grian says. “You’re much too useful.”

That causes Mumbo to crack a little, and he starts to smile again. “Yeah, mate, that place’ll burn down without me. If I leave for a week they’ll be begging me to come back and fix everything that went wrong.”

“If anything, that’ll just ensure your job security!” Grian says. “Hey, maybe you could just go without me. I’d love to go, I really would, but I can’t lose this deal with Mr. Perry. I’m the project leader this time and he’ll likely drop the whole project if I don't so much as answer the phone on the first ring…”

“Rich people,” Mumbo says with a nod.

“Ugh, yes, rich people,” Grian says, and throws his head down on his desk for dramatic measure.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” Mumbo says. He thinks for a moment. Grian lifts his head and watches the way contemplation flashes across Mumbo’s face. 

“Dude, just go by yourself,” Grian urges. “I can’t stand to watch you drive yourself insane another week. You’ve done it before, right? And why don’t you bring the bike? That way you can do all those difficult trails you’re always trying to drag me down without worrying about me wrecking it.”

“Should I?”

“Yeah,” Grian says, and he remembers this too, for as long as he lives, “I bet it’ll be fun."

»»———-��　———-««

June 16, 1988

Grian is bouncing his leg, trying to bleed off nervous energy with every shake. He’s bouncing his leg because at least his leg is hidden under the table he’s sitting at, whereas the pen he’d been tapping earlier was about to have resulted in an annoyed client and lost job. 

The table is large, and oval. He’s in some weird conference room-home office place in Mr. Perry’s gigantic house, discussing the floor plan for yet another gigantic house Mr. Perry wants to build. Mr. Perry, of course, hates half of the floor plan Grian has proposed. 

Grian hasn’t quite figured out why Mr. Perry needs two gigantic houses, but it really isn’t his business considering he’s being paid. And he’s being paid very well for this. It’s probably the best job he’s landed since he started and he’s grateful his boss let him take this client, annoying as he is. This newest house would be within walking distance of a ski lift though, and this house isn’t, so Grian can at least see the value there.

He bounces his leg. He tries to count how many times he bounces it in a minute, only to find that he can’t really keep up with the passage of time, number of bounces, and the bouncing itself all at the same time. He loses track instantly. But if he can just get through this meeting, then he can make an excuse to go home. Only 4,000 leg bounces until he’s passed enough time to leave. He’ll be out of this stuffy room like a bullet. 

He’s thinking so hard about leaving this meeting and going home that he forgets that he has to actually be in the meeting first. 

“Excuse me?” Mr. Perry says sharply. “Did you hear any of what I just said to you?”

“Hm?” Grian says back, before suddenly being slammed back into reality. “Oh, apologies sir. Can you repeat that, please? I must have been a little distracted.” He gives a wan smile. 

Mr. Perry gives him a long look. “I was saying that I don’t think I like the placement of this room.” He jabs a finger at the blueprints. “I mean, who needs a parlor these days, let alone a second parlor? I want to change it.”

Grian squints at the room in question. “I think we could open it up to the kitchen and living room,” he offers. “Open concept and all that. There’s a lovely view to be had that’s being blocked by the walls right now.”

“Let’s make it a pool room,” Mr. Perry says. 

“Uh, a pool room sir? On the second floor?”

“Not an entire pool, that’s nonsense,” he says. “Just a large indoor hot tub. It’ll be cold out when I’m visiting this house.”

“I…I think I can do something like that, sir,” Grian responds. “We’ll just ensure that the engineers clear it for the amount of water weight it would put on the floor and add extra support if needed.”

“Can there be some windows or screens in the room?”

“You mean on the inside wall?”

“Yeah. So I could see the hot tub from the living room if I wanted.”

“Um, sure. We can do that.”

He sneaks a glance at his watch. Only 35 minutes to go now. 

He just…doesn’t want to think about it. He just needs to leave. He’ll get home, make the phone call, and it will be okay and he’ll feel silly. But every second he’s stuck in this godforsaken massive house is just another second he has to spend knowing that he’s delaying something very, very important. 

If he thinks about it, he’s going to spiral, so instead he keeps trying to channel every bit of the nervous energy into his right foot. 

“Grian,” Mr. Perry says, and Grian snaps his head back up from the blueprints, a little surprised that the man has used his first name. 

“Yes?”

“Would you like to leave early?” Mr. Perry asks. “Since you clearly have somewhere else you want to be.”

Grian freezes. “My apologies sir, I’m not trying to make you feel rushed in this process. It’s very important to me that you feel like everything in your future home is exactly how you want it, no matter how many tries it takes for us to get to the perfect result.”

“I don’t appreciate it when my employees lie to me, you know,” Mr. Perry says. “Save the corporate spiel for later. You’re making me exhausted just looking at you. I think if you bounce that leg any faster it’ll fly off.”

“Oh,” Grian says with a hint of a nervous chuckle. “Suppose that’s true.”

“You can go home now,” Mr. Perry says. “You’re not paying attention anyway. Just get me some new ideas for that hot tub room and we’ll reconvene on Monday.”

“Yes sir, thank you so much,” Grian blurts, and grabs his papers off the desk, and tries to walk out of the door at a normal speed instead of sprinting.

»»———-　　———-««

He arrives home a little after 3:30 pm, tossing his bag and papers haphazardly on the couch as soon as he runs in. The door accidentally slams again, but he doesn’t really care what Mrs. Grant thinks today. His goal is the phone on the table by the kitchen; even all the way across the room he can see the message light blinking on the answering machine next to it. 

He pulls the phone off its rack and presses to listen to the message on the tape. It plays, and…he sets the receiver back down. 

It’s just his landlord, calling to say that he won’t be around to fix the door for another few days. 

Grian paces once around the living room, then twice. 

He pauses in front of the window. It’s clear and sunny out, with very little smog on the horizon. The mountains are in clear view. 

Grian returns to the phone, and dials 411. Directory assistance. He’s not quite sure the number he needs to call for this, and his local phone books are of no use for out of state numbers. An operator picks up. 

“Hello? Yes, I’d like to place a call to the Shoshone National Forest Ranger Station. Location? Uh, I think it’s in Cody, Wyoming. Yes, thank you.”

A minute or two later with the correct number for the office scribbled on a notepad, Grian is patched through. A young woman answers the phone. 

“Good afternoon, how may I help you?” she asks. 

“Erm, hi,” Grian says. “I’m calling because I’m worried about my friend. He was in the National Forest and he’s missed his check-in.”

“How long has it been since he missed his check-in window?”

“Several hours at least,” Grian answers. “He told me it might be late, or really really early, so I was expecting a call last night or this morning. But I didn’t receive one. I left for work early, thought maybe he’d taken a bit more time than he told me, but it just nagged at me. It was supposed to be hours ago. When I came home just now there’s no message on the answering machine.”

“I’m very sorry to hear that, darling,” the ranger says. “Can you please give me some information about him? Full name, age, appearance, vehicle, license plate if you know it, and the trails or locations he told you he would be hiking in? We can pass that information on and begin a search.”

A knot in Grian’s throat forms at the word search. “Of course,” he replies. 

He rattles off the information as she asks for it, from Mumbo’s somewhat rickety AWD sedan that he was always convinced he could drag down any road he wanted, to his dark hair and mustache. He gives her Mumbo’s full real name, and feels a little silly when he includes the nickname right along with it, but he figures Mumbo might appreciate it. He tells her the trails Mumbo had mentioned doing, and how many days he planned to spend hiking. 

“He brought his mountain bike too,” he says. “I don’t know if he took it with him on any overnight hikes but he had a setup for that, where he could strap his pack to the bike.”

“Thank you,” the ranger says. “Being on a bike could extend the range he could be in, but it could also limit which trails he could be on due to terrain. Here, I’m going to patch you into the local Sheriff’s office to make a report too, is that okay? I’ll call some of the field offices and get some rangers on this. We’ll start by checking for his car at the trailheads.”

“Thank you,” Grian says.

He calls the Sheriff’s office and makes a report. He tells them much of the same information he told the ranger, and the second time repeating it only makes it seem more macabre. He answers all the questions to the best of his ability. Yes, Mumbo was an experienced hiker. No, he was not having a personal crisis, just wanted a few days off work to unwind. 

And then he sits and waits. The whole process had only taken a little over an hour. 

He paces some more for a while. He goes to the kitchen to get some water, drinks that, and finds it only killed a couple minutes, so he goes and paces some more. He stares out the window for a while again. Then, he organizes some of the papers he hastily threw down when he got home, because it’s still probably not a good idea to risk losing or bending any of Mr. Perry’s documents. 

He gets another call around 8 pm. 

“We found his car,” the ranger says. “It's still at the trailhead.”

“So he never made it back to his car last night.” So he’s not just a spoon who forgot to find a payphone and give his friend a call. 

“I’m afraid not.”

“So…so what now?” Grian asks. 

“We’ll start sending some rangers and volunteers down the trail to look for him, in case he’s hung up somewhere and needs a little help. His bike wasn’t in his vehicle, so he must have had that with him.”

“Thank you,” he says. “Please keep me updated.”

That night, Grian doesn’t sleep, and the next morning Grian doesn’t go into work. He’s already driving northwest. 

»»———-　　———-««

May 1989

11 Months Later

He’s grateful when he finally rolls up to the trailhead after being jerked around on the rocky, uneven road for the last 19 miles. He’s the only one in the small lot, which is less of a parking area and more of a clearing at the terminal point of the road. 

He lays his head back on the headrest for a moment just to rest, eyes closed, and sighs. The sun through the windshield is warm on his forehead, but the day outside is pleasantly cool with the bite of winter still on the wind. There’ll still be snow on the mountaintops for a while yet. 

It’s noon. He spent the night in Cody, in an old motel but different room and left in the morning with his whole life packed in a bag. He has a long hike ahead of him this afternoon, and he won’t get there tonight. But he might as well start. 

Grian gets out of the car and inspects it. It’s a 1978 Chevy Blazer he picked up two weeks ago when he realized he was going to need a 4x4 to even make it to the trailhead and traded in his old sedan. Its red and white paint is covered completely in a coat of dust and topped off with several mud splashes from snow meltwater on the road.

Fortunately, nothing rattled off the vehicle during its inaugural off-road journey, so Grian is just left to hope it still has air in its tires the next time he hikes back out. And that might not be for a while, so he’s stocked it with a spare and patch kit. He has an elementary knowledge of how to fix a tire but he figures the motivation of being stranded 19 miles back on this empty road will breed enough desperate ingenuity to fix any problems he encounters. 

Grian grabs his pack from the backseat, and starts down the trail. 

Grian loses himself for a while during the hike. It’s easy to do that–to just walk and turn your brain off completely. One foot in front of the other over and over. The motions over and over tune the rest of Grian’s brain into a nice numbness. He listens to his boots crunch gravel and dry leaves. He looks at how the sun dapples the trail. 

He hikes onward.

The forest is loud in a way the city isn’t. It’s not the type of loudness that announces itself, but the longer Grian hikes onward and alone the more its presence makes itself known. It’s like Grian’s brain is getting rid of the noise that’s filled it for so long and allowing him to really listen to the sounds of life. 

The wind whistles through the trees, shaking the pine needles. It doesn’t blow on Grian; the taller trees around him shield him from the gusts. He hears the light gurgle of a creek well before he comes down a hill to cross it, and when he approaches it a frog leaps away from the bank. 

At one point, Grian’s dragged out of his silent contemplation by the commotion of rattling leaves in the undergrowth next to him. It spikes his heart rate and he freezes in place, until a medium sized brown spotted bird explodes out of a bush at the side of the trail and flies away, low to the ground. 

He smiles a little to himself. Just a bird, startled by a person. He is trespassing, in a way, it seems, to intrude his presence upon such a wild area. This is the bird’s home, not his. He’s just being offered a place in it to protect it. 

He hikes onward as the sun dips lower in the sky.

»»———-　　———-««

June 17, 1988

Grian arrives at the Forest Service office in Cody, Wyoming at half past ten in the morning. The sky is blazing blue and cloudless, but there’s haze on the horizon. 

He stumbles into the office, brushes a piece of greasy hair that’s fallen on his forehead back up, and tells a slightly-startled looking lady at the front desk: “I’m here to join a volunteer search. My friend’s missing.”

She looks him up and down with a critical, yet sympathetic eye. “What’s your name, sir?” she asks, in a way that suggests she might already know. 

“Grian.”

“Grian, where did you drive in from?”

Grian stares at her. “Denver. Why?”

“Denver’s eight hours away,” she says. “Isn’t it?”

“I don’t see why that’s relevant.”

She sighs, and gives him a look. A pitying one that he hates. “Darling, how much sleep did ya get? It’s not even noon yet.”

Grian huffs. “I don’t know. An hour or two. I’m fine!” He looks at her pleadingly. “Please, just let me know where I can go to help out.”

She just shakes her head, and picks up the phone on her desk. Grian watches her dial it, and hopes for a second she’s calling another ranger to come escort him or something, but that hope is crushed the moment she speaks again.

“Hello?” she asks on the line, and waits while the other person answers. “Yes, I was wondering if you had a room available. You do? Good. I’m going to send someone over your way. Yeah, I’m doing good, how are you? Glad to hear it. Thanks, darling. Yeah, he’ll be coming in a bit.”

She hangs up and scribbles something on a notebook, before tearing out the page and handing it to Grian. It’s got a short list of directions. Down the road two miles, turn right on the second road after the bridge.

“It’s a nice little motel not too far from here,” she says. “They’ll give you a room and you can get some rest.” 

Grian shoves the paper back across the desk at her. “No. Tell me what I can do to join the search for my friend, please.”

She smiles saccharine-sweet and hands the paper back to him again. “Take it. I don’t want to see you back here for at least another few hours. In fact, I won’t give you any information unless you come back in a few hours. Get some sleep, you stayed up all night and just drove eight hours straight. You’ll be much better equipped to help out if you aren’t too tired to hike.”

Grian feels frustration well up in his chest, consuming the ball of anxiety in his chest. It threatens to break him too, so he looks away from the ranger and at the floor instead, though. Finally he speaks again. “My friend,” he whispers. “Will he be okay?”

The woman answers, “All our rangers are trained in search and rescue. They’re professionals. This is what they do, Grian, and they’re good at it. They’ll do everything in their power to find him.”

Grian nods tightly. 

“Now get some sleep, darling.”

»»———-　　———-««

May 1989

It’s night when Grian arrives at the tower, on his second day of hiking. He’s been backpacking many times before, but the rough terrain on this hike was still a surprise. It’s difficult to scale rocky hills with a bulky pack, and his shoulders are sore and his walking is slower now–so it’s night by the time Grian arrives at the place that’s going to be his home through October. 

It’s a wooden tower built on a hill. A staircase winds itself around, leading to the top where there’s a single room surrounded by boarded up windows. Nearby on the ground is an outhouse, small storage shed, a generator, a water tap, and nothing else. 

Well, at least he’ll have electricity. He’ll have water too, but it seems like he’ll have to haul it. He knows from his lookout orientation a few days ago that there’s a water tank with rainwater catchment and filters, but there’s no way to pump it 30 feet to the top of the tower.  

Grian turns on the generator, and heads up the steps with the single-minded determination of an exhausted man who knows there’s a bed waiting for him. When he arrives at the top he throws on the lights, tosses his pack down, and surveys the place. 

He was expecting it to be pretty dusty and ill-maintained, but it seems pretty clean. There’s bedding folded up neatly on the mattress–Grian had been expecting to just use his sleeping bag. It looks like someone had been sent to the tower recently to clean and stock it in preparation for his arrival, which he appreciates. 

He’s not really sure the level of effort it takes to maintain this place out here in the wilderness, and his mind goes down a brief rabbit hole. How was all this wood hauled out here? What about the nails, the rivets, the glass, the tanks? Was it hauled up on the same trail he just spent a day and half walking down? They must have used horses to carry materials but someone still had to assemble all this. He has a lot of respect for that. 

Grian is just starting to lay out the bedding when something over on the table begins to crackle. He walks over to inspect it. It’s a small black handheld radio sitting on a charging stand. He was told he’d have one of these. 

It’s not set on the frequency he was told to keep it at, but before he's able to tune it to the correct one, it crackles to life anyway.

“Two Forks, Two Forks come in! This is KSNF, broadcasting to you live from Thorofare. Your host on this fine spring evening is-”

Grian picks up the radio. “Hello?”

“-none other than Scar.” 

Grian sighs. Of course, this is a two-way radio. He can’t respond until the other person on the line has stopped talking. He waits as the so-called Scar keeps going. It occurs to him that he might be trapped out here all summer with this guy.

“He’s brilliant, he’s handsome, and he’s calling you dear listeners, hoping to hear your thoughts. What ails you tonight? What are your hopes, dreams, loves, losses? Or perhaps, what is your name, Two Forks?”

Grian, sensing the pause, jumps in. “Um, hi,” he says. “This is Grian. The new lookout at Two Forks. And you must be…Scar, I presume?”

“Grian!” the radio chatters. “What an interesting name. Yes, I’m Scar. I’ll be your supervisor this summer, ‘cause I’m so good at this. I’m also practically your next door neighbor.”

Grian looks out the window, but it’s dark and the windows just reflect himself. He looks away. “Uh, yeah. How did you even know when I got here? Where are you?”

“I saw your lights flick on,” Scar replies. “Been keeping an eye out for when you’d arrive. Go outside, you’ll see my lookout to the north.”

Grian steps outside, feeling the chill in his bones again. Once he stopped hiking and rested for a few minutes, the warmth from the movement wore off and he’s reminded again how cold spring nights in the mountains are. Sure enough, out in the distance, snuggled amongst the dark peaks, is a tiny orange light. 

“Oh,” he says. “There you are. I see your light too.”

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Scar says. “We’re the only lights out here tonight. Nothing else for miles around. Not even a campfire–well, of course not, ‘cause those are banned right now. Please report any of those you see.”

“I’ll be sure to do that,” Grian says. “That is the job, is it not?”

“Oh, we've got a smart one,” Scar replies, and it’s a sentence that would probably sound acerbic in anyone else’s mouth, but Grian detects no sharpness in the words. Just friendliness. 

There’s an awkward few moments on the radio, before Grian speaks again. “Okay, erm, I’m gonna call it a night, then. See you in the morning.”

“Goodnight!” Scar calls, and then, “Wait, wait, don’t go yet. Your radio, um, write down the frequency band we’re on right now. Keep that.”

“Um, okay,” Grian says. “It’s different from the one I was told in orientation.”

“Yeah, we’ll use that one too. That’s the one you need to report on. This one’s just for us. You don’t want the whole Forest Service to hear us chatting all the time, do you?”

Great. This guy wants to chat with Grian.

“I guess not,” he says finally, not untruthfully. He doesn’t really want anyone to overhear him talking, because he doesn’t really feel like talking to anyone in the first place. Half the point of taking this job was the distinct lack of human contact in every possible aspect, after all. 

“Good! Anyway, talk to you tomorrow, um….Grian. Your name was Grian.”

“Yeah. It is.”

“Goodnight, sleep tight, don’t let the mosquitoes bite, Grian!”

He flicks the switch on the radio to the off position before Scar can say anything else, and runs a hand tiredly through his hair. This might be a long summer, and he cannot allow this guy to distract him from the other half of the reason he took this job:

He’s here to save Mumbo.

»»———-　　———-««

“Two Forks! Two Forks come in!”

Grian wakes up to the tinny sound of his radio across the room, and streaming golden sunlight over his face. But mostly the radio. 

“Oh wonderful lookout of the tower over yonder, wake up! It’s a beautiful afternoon today, the sun is shining, and I can let you sleep no longer! Alas, our duty calls. Two Forks, answer your radio.”

Grian rolls over and puts a pillow on his head. Scar continues. 

“Perhaps this is like a fairytale,” Scar muses. “Are you sleeping beauty, locked away in your tower, desperately waiting for true love’s kiss? Well, I can hardly speak for your true love, so you’ll have to settle and wake for me instead. Do you like Disney, Two Forks? What’s your favorite movie?”

Grian kicks his blanket onto the floor and slides unceremoniously out of bed. He sways for a moment. His legs aren’t really sure they’re ready to support him today, not after all the mountain climbing he did the other day. Then he strides resolutely to the other side of the room, picks up the radio, and turns the switch off. 

Ah, peace. 

Grian wanders over and sits on the bed for another few minutes, letting his mind spin out and gain traction again. He takes his glasses out of their case beside the bed and puts them on. The sun is bright and high in the sky, so it’s not early. It casts the room in a nice light, and Grian takes his first opportunity to look over his new home. It’s painted an old and slightly chipped white, with little posters and photos pinned to open spaces on the walls. The room is mostly filled by its spacious windows. They frame every side of every wall, almost as if Grian is living in a glass house. 

The view is, of course, spectacular. 

The mountains are both jagged in some places and rounded in others. He can see hills upon hills for miles, wrinkling out into the horizon like a piece of crumpled paper. There’s pockets of meadow and open woodland that contrast with thicker pine forests, creating a patchwork. The hillsides are painted in different greens–an aspen grove there, fir here, golden spring grass, or the bright spring flowers he can see coloring patches of the meadow. The sky is a blazing blue, and there is no haze on the horizon.

It would be spectacular, wouldn’t it? Something so beautiful would have to be so cruel. Grian is already familiar with these views in the way of someone scorned. He’s been here before, and this time he isn’t leaving without dragging the secrets from the darkest valleys. 

Grian stands up again, a little more clear headed, and heads to the stove. It’s propane powered, and he’s grateful it exists at all. He takes out a small metal pot and, upon finding it dusty, casts it aside and pulls his own camp pot from his pack. He’ll wash things later. He pours some water in it, sets it to boil, and tries to figure out where he’s set his tea. 

With a mug of tea in hand–tragically no milk and a supply of sugar he’s decided to use very, very sparingly–and the radio in his other hand, Grian steps out onto the wraparound walkway at the top of his tower. It makes for a nice deck. 

Lazily, he flips the radio back on. “This is Two Forks,” he says smoothly. “I’m awake now, what do you need?”

“G-man!” Scar nearly shouts on the other end. “It’s great to hear your voice this afternoon.”

“Ugh, afternoon,” Grian groans. He checks his watch. “It’s what, 12:30? Lunchtime? Already?”

“You’ll be okay,” Scar says. “You’re not really officially on duty until tomorrow anyway. I always like to check on the new lookouts on the first day anyway, though. You doing good?”

“Fine.”

There’s a pause, like Scar was clearly waiting for more than that. Grian is giving him nothing. After a moment he gets the memo and proceeds. 

“Good to know, good to know. So, G-man,” he starts. “You’re a lookout now. That means your only job, from now until October, is to keep an eye on this forest for any fires. If you see a fire, report it to me, or to the rangers on the official channel. I’m talking campfires, fireworks, lightning strikes, everything. You got that?”

“I believe I can handle it,” Grian says drily. “I’m pretty good at looking out windows.”

“Do you see the round thing on a table in the center of the room?” Scar asks. Grian does not, because Grian is outside on his deck, but he’s seen it before already and doesn’t feel like walking back inside to play along.. “That’s your Osborne Fire-Finder. I assume they taught you how to use that?”

“Yeah. Always keep it calibrated, locate the fire in the rotating sight, and use the tool’s measurements to determine its location and precise angle.”

“Wow, you’re going to put me out of a job!” Scar says, and somehow Grian just knows he’s genuinely beaming on the other end of the line. 

“I can’t be in two lookouts at once, now can I?” Grian says, words sharp. It doesn’t phase Scar.

He continues. “The only other real thing is that you need to report daily first thing in the morning with the weather conditions at your tower. This helps us keep track of what the fire danger is on any given day or week, so I expect you to take that seriously. Additionally, you’ll be expected to keep logs of conditions in your area. Anything else, well, I’ll just help you with it if it comes up!”

“Cool.”

“Any questions, G-man?” Scar asks. 

“Um, yeah,” Grian says. “Just one. Have you been calling me ‘G-man’?”

“Yep!”

“Alright, follow up question. Can you stop?”

“Nope!” Scar says brightly. “Every lookout needs a nickname, it’s only fun. I suppose if you had a nickname you’d rather be called though, I can consider it.”

“Uh, no,” Grian says. “I don’t have another nickname for you to use.”

“Aw, too bad. I guess it’ll just stay G-man, then.”

Grian is nearly overcome for a moment, and, despite the objectively peaceful surroundings, desires to tear his hair out. He does not. Instead he replies, in his most carefully snarky tone, “Fine. Is Scar your nickname, then? What’s your real name?”

“Grian!” Scar exclaims, in mock offense. “I’ll have you know that this is my legal name, thank you very much.”

“I have so many reasons to doubt that.”

“I would never lie to you, G-man.”

Grian rolls his eyes at that, but he can’t stop the corner of his mouth from turning up. He takes a sip of his tea. It’s nice in his hands, warm, and the smell alone is making him feel more at home. There’s silence on the radio for a long time, and Grian almost assumes that Scar has gone. He’s fine with that being the end of their discussion for the day. 

Scar isn’t gone, though, and after a while the radio crackles again. “Say, G-man,” he starts. “Now that you’ve asked me your questions, mind if I ask one of my own? A little equivalent exchange, you know.”

“Go ahead.” Grian sips his drink. 

“Where are you from?”

“Denver.” It’s not untrue. 

“Um, I don’t mean to be rude,” Scar says tentatively, “but…where are you from before that?”

Grian sighs. “England.”

“I knew it!” Scar cries. “Uh, sorry. Didn’t mean to shout, there, my bad! It’s just interesting to me, that’s all! You’ve got such a lovely accent.”

“I guess,” Grian says. “You never met a British person before?”

“Oh, sure,” Scar says. “I’ve met several tourists from the UK. But between you and me, most people flyin’ across the ocean for a vacation tend to just stop at Yellowstone or Grand Teton instead of here. And the ones that do don’t stray too deep into the Forest.”

“Yeah, well, s’bit far back here. Took me two days to hike in and then I slept until noon afterwards.”

“Yeah, that hike tends to beat people up,” Scar says. “So. What on earth brings someone from England to Colorado to Wyoming?”

“Maybe I just like the mountains.”

“You don’t have mountains in England?” Scar gasps in horror. “Oh my goodness, that’s a tragedy. I wouldn’t know what to do with myself.”

“No, it’s like, well–we do have mountains in England. It’s just, well, they aren’t exactly like this are they? It’s a different sort of landscape. And besides, the place I grew up in just had hills.”

“Oh,” Scar said. “You know, I’ve never been to England. Never really left the western half of this country, actually. Is it pretty there?”

Grian thinks back, to cobblestone streets in town and misty mornings. He thinks of the way everything was just drenched in vibrant green in the summers. He thinks of old churches with ivy on the walls and fields of grass hemmed in by stone fences. 

“Yeah,” he says. “It’s pretty there.”

“Man,” Scar says. “I’ll have to go one of these days. I am wondering, though–it’s not, uh, very common to meet, um, someone from another country working this job. Since the Forest Service is a federal agency, you know.”

Grian scoffs. “Isn’t this line of question a little forward for a first introduction?” he asks. “Whatever. It’s not like they didn’t poke into my background enough during the hiring process. I have dual citizenship–free, clear, whatever you wanna call it, to work for the US government.”

“That’s so cool,” Scar says. “So does that mean you like, came here and applied for citizenship and got it or–or were you like born here, and then moved to England. Or, even, you got it through marriage? Are you married? Like how does this work?”

“I’m not going to tell you all the details of my life.”

“Oh. Sorry,” Scar says. 

“It’s fine.”

“Hm,” Scar says. “You know, it’s interesting that I met you, almost like a coincidence, right? I remember hearing about another British guy in the park last summer–a tragedy, I tell you. I heard the rangers still haven’t–”

Grian’s blood instantly runs cold at the mention, and the warm mug in his hands isn’t doing enough to pull the heat back into his body. For a moment he wants to dash the mug onto the ground dozens of feet below, and cut his hands on the ceramic when he goes to pick up the shattered remains–leave no trace–on the forest floor, dripping blood onto the leaves.

He doesn’t do that. Instead, he flicks the radio off with shaking hands, cutting Scar off mid-sentence, and stalks back into the cabin.

»»———-　　———-««

Grian’s sitting on a rock next to a lake. The sun is slanted now, casting golden orange rays across the water. The air is crisp and, although Grian hasn’t touched it, he knows the water is cold. It’s snowmelt-fed, afterall. 

He’d turned on his radio again an hour or two after he turned it off earlier, once he’d recovered enough to have a normal conversation. Scar had been worried, but he’d accepted Grian’s excuse that he’d left some water boiling on the stove and needed to attend to it immediately. He hadn’t known Grian long enough to see through his excuses yet, unlike Grian’s old supervisor. 

Scar had been quiet the rest of the afternoon, though, as soon as Grian told him that he was going out to explore. Grian appreciates the peace. 

He pulls a map out of his bag to study it. It’s not the map he was given of his lookout area when he started. No, this one is worn on the edges from countless foldings and unfoldings. It’s not so much a map as it is several maps–it’s several detailed topo maps taped together into a square. 

In one map, the Two Forks lookout is circled in red marker. Grian did that a few weeks ago, when he’d learned which lookout he was assigned to. It’s a beacon on the page, his new base of operations for the next few months. And it couldn’t be in a better location. 

The rest of the map is marked-up too. There’s highlighter along some trails, penciled in areas of interest, and shaded areas. They’re search areas. It’s not the first time Grian has been here. 

He examines the maps, cross referencing his with the topo map he was given as a lookout. The Two Forks domain covers much of the locations that Mumbo’s search did last year, but more. There's still a lot of blank space on the maps, especially in areas that were inaccessible by trail. Just because it was off-trail doesn’t mean Mumbo never went there for some reason. 

Grian takes a pencil out of his bag and begins to mark up the map once again. It’s something he’s done before, and there’s spots on the map where his eraser has rubbed off part of the ink. He pours over the contours, thinking, this valley has shelter from the wind, or there’s a source of water here.

When he’s finished he stares at the page for a long moment, and then back out at the lake in front of him. The shadows are even longer now. On the other side of the lake, the ground is cast in shadow already, with the sun disappearing early behind a mountain. 

Did Mumbo enjoy these views, too? Was he here?

Grian would ask him when he found him.

Masterpost | Chapter Two >>

#hermitcraft #grian #mumbo jumbo #goodtimeswithscar #gtwscar #hermitcraft fanfic #hc_firewatch_au #quara fanfic

[rusty-courage]

Finally watched Found and I ABSOLUTELY ADORED IT! The way they all rushed in to protect one another, scar grabbing grian's reaching hand, mumbo protecting them with the crystal as well as impulse and pearl with the wither, grian at the end with his wings and powers and ahhhhhh I love it so much ❤️❤️❤️❤️

also rewatched the time's up animatic and wanted to ask: i know you linked the music for the video, but how did you come across it? did a friend recommend it, were you specifically looking for clock related music, or did you find it randomly? because it's absolutely amazing how you managed to relate it to the life series, especially the discordant sound at the end with the winners/watcher related scene

anyways you're amazing thanks for the really cool animations!!!!!

Hey, thank you so much!!! I'm glad you enjoyed Found : )

I was searching Uppbeat for a song to use, and I put in a lot of different keywords until I think I searched something along the lines of "clock" and found it that way!

[hybbart]

i love your art and the distinction between all the characters in shapes and colors. is there a specific reason you dont fill in the whites of pearls eyes why you draw her? it always gives her a sleepy look, which i think is neat.

That's exactly why! It started with Grian, who I gave small black beady eyes as many Grian designs have, and half the time his eyes are half-lidded to give him that mischievous/annoyed mood is is often in, and I decided not to give him whites.

When I went to design Pearl, honestly that design aspect was already in my head it was my first instinct to give her these droopy sleepy eyes that fit with her chill vibes and sleepy aesthetic, and it went well with the fluffy straight bangs. I accidentally tried it with whites one time when I forgot who I was drawing and it just did not look right at all. It makes her match Grian, too, which is nice. (She looks just a bit like both her brothers.)

(I started rambling about the rest of her design below oops)

Honestly MOST of Pearl's design was first draft instinct and it just ended up basically exactly what I wanted. The black legs/leggings and the long hip-length sweater that match Griand and Jimmy's legs/clothing lines, but in her own style. The more urban style that I thought went well with her alien base, and the sleeves that have thumb holes cause she feels like she needs to have her hands in pockets even when they aren't.

In particular there was a piece of double life 'welcome home cheaters' art where she looked exactly like a college stoner and especially with the beanie I love that vibe for her. The other aesthetic inspiration I pulled from was a picture of her (and the rest of boatem) jacked in sleeveless tops. It's probably just a muscle lady appreciator in me but she goes well with the industrial age streetbrawler/lesbian lumberjack vibe too, so even though she usually looks skinny she's also very fit and well muscled. (I put more heavy muscle on False, Stress, and Katherine, I simply cannot help myself)

I knew I wanted her to have a human design first and foremost unlike Grian and Jimmy, for reasons that I don't get to draw often- I really wanted to give her big chunky overly-detailed shoes. There's a specific style of anime girl that is quite small and wears simple urban fashion and then will emphasize these brand sneakers that look big and stompy on them, and for some reason I really liked that vibe for her with hold long and skinny she is. (problem is I don't draw her feet very often lol)

I also made her tall because, well, Pearl is tall, irl and fanon, and I'll take any excuse to make a lady tower over literally everyone else. The only person whose (base design) is taller than her is Mumbo. (And sometimes Lizzie, because I decided Lizzie can be whatever height she vibes with in the individual picture)

#ask #notes

[starleska]

would you like to hear some rare Mad Mod content? 👀 in 2005 there was a Teen Titans video game, wherein you could fight a bunch of our favourite villains - Mad Mod included. however, gameplay footage was hard to come by, and it seemed no one had compiled the high-quality voice lines from the game. well, until today:

i downloaded an emulated version of the game and used some specialist tools to isolate the audio files from the .iso (as they were not in any folder/in any typical audio format) and ended up with nearly 5000 files...none of them labelled 😭😭😭 however, there are wonderful tools online which allow you to stitch together .wav files, so after converting these thousands to .wavs...i ended up with 12 minutes of audio from the game, including Mad Mod's voice lines 🙈💖 much easier to search through;;; the funny thing is, his voice lines were all distorted!! thankfully all they needed was a speed change...however, this is my best guess as to Greg Ellis' interpretation of Mad Mod, and it may still be slightly too fast or slow. i think it sounds very close either way 🥰💖 so yes, here we are!!! Greg Ellis' lovely take on Mad Mod 🥴 i'm quite a fan of this haughty, pompous, self-important version of his voice...he has quite a lovely Cockney drawl, and i appreciate how his voice pitches when he's angry 🙈 these are Mad Mod's voice lines:

"Looks as if the sun is setting on your empire, duckie."

"Time for you to bow down before your new ruler!"

"Take that for Queen and country!"

"You're beginning to annoy me, you little snot!"

if anyone is looking for the full audio file from the game, or specific lines from certain characters, let me know!! Tom Kenny's Mumbo comes through loud and clear 🔥💖

#here you go fellow Mad Mod simps - high quality berating from our favourite bastard 🥰💖 #mad mod #teen titans #teen titans game #neil richards #dc #dc animated universe #dcau #starleskatalks #yes i do believe this is the most autistic thing i've ever done thanks for asking

[mof17]

please more apocalypse au please pretty please

(I almost fell out of my chair and broke my neck from how happy I got seeing this lol)

So so for the Aau, there’s a lot to explain. But I should get the ground rules of before the infection that spreads (this is technically an infection AU but eh, apocalypse seems more fitting)(this AU was in help with one of my friends in the beginning of it)

so- let me just dig deep into my Google doc real quick

Before the apocalypse starts, life is normal. There’s a small town, which has most of the characters mentioned in the entirety of the characters living in it.

scar lives with the clockers (minus etho, he left, BUT he will show up later…)(also his attire is his normal skin, BEFORE the apocalypse begins)

(I will be making a post as to why his outfit changes into what was seen in the drawing I made)

grian lives with Pearl (Who is a college student)

Pearl is very much into arts and crafts, so they tend to have very bizarre stuff around the apartment (like gas masks from when Pearl would spray paint things)

gem works at a diner, with Skizz being a cook and Tango being a waiter (alongside Gem)

the four of them don’t know each other EXCEPT Grian and Scar

(Scar, Grian, Pearl, and Gem are pretty much the main four, although more people join on in later)

who used to be in the same middle school and sat next to each other in math class. They would talk occasionally, mainly just Grian helping Scar read the problems and make sense of them or just lending a pencil to one or the other.

one day, Scar gets bullied heavily (it usually happens, but it’s more of a tease). Why does he usually get teased? Because he brings Jellie to school, who is licensed as his emotional support animal and the school just doesn’t care if Jellie is there or not.

but this time, someone took is too far. We’ll call this guy ‘bully’

bully gets a bit psychical taking a book binder from Scar’s bag and tracing it along his face, saying some things, the cut draws blood (and eventually turns into a scar later on in his life)

but out of nowhere, the bully get shoved into the ground, by who? None other than Grian! Grian is one of the only hybrids in the school, him being an Avian, or more specifically Macaw, he draws a lot of attention. see, the town isn’t exactly fond of Hybrids, it’s more discriminatory than most places. So the chances of the bully getting expelled is lower than Grian getting expelled

Grian continues to fight the bully, and the bully fights back

it’s eventually broken up by a teacher, and they’re sent to the office. Grian gets expelled, and is never seen again by Scar

that is until a faithful day in his senior year, where after school, he goes to Theatre, the only place he’s really accepted in. Ren is the teacher.

As Ren is teaching the Theatre club and gives them just a scenario to get a feel for the play they’ll be doing (a mock of third life)

the people in the theatre club include

Scar (18)

tango (19)

Mumbo (on sound)(18)

Katherine (yes, she’s here, it’s important I have to include Nature wives in here somehow, but that’s all of Empires that will be in this AU probably. Other than that, it’s a mix of the life series and Hermitcraft)(18)(set)

Joel(18) (EYYY IT’S THE ONE WITH THE EGO!)

and more

They all take turns being the “lead” in this script, Joel voltuneers to go first

as they’re performing lines, Joel happened to forget a prop, so he calls out to someone who is sitting by the prop table that’s next to Ren’s desk.

that someone happens to be Grian, Grian panics as he didn’t expect to be called on or spoken to at all during this. He throws the prop (a wooden sword) and accidentally hits Scar in the head (Sound familiar? COUGH first death COUGH lol)

Scar passes out and luckily, he doesn’t get a concussion because author logic. While he passes out, there’s a flashback scene (AKA THE FIGHT FROM MIDDLE SCHOOL THAT WAS STATED EARLIER :D)

Scar wakes up and sees Grian, who is apologising but Scar’s ears are ringing, he points to Grian and just says “You look familiar…” and then closes his eyes again. When he wakes up, Theatre is about over and there’s an ice bag on his head and the mysterious “stranger” (grian) that he saw, is now gone. Scar goes up to Ren, and talks to him about him

Ren mentions that that was a brother of a friend from college (Pearl). He tells Scar that he doesn’t go to school and is technically homeschooled but borrows stuff from here. Ren also let’s Scar know that Grian feels like he owes Scar a favour or anything because he feels bad that he hit him in the head with a wooden sword.

Scar leaves the class with Jellie and his stuff and takes the bus home, on the way home he can’t help but think about what favour he would owe this guy, or if he’d ever see him again?

he goes home and Cleo asks him about his day, he brushes it off as a normal one, but it really wasn’t. Scar lays on his bed, too tired to change and ends up falling asleep.

(Then there’s a time skip, but that should be saved for a whole different post)

that’s basically like a prologue I guess? Idk, I can turn this into a proper Ao3 chapter, and maybe have a whole fic for this

this whole thing was taken out of my doc, from the section labeled “CHAPTER PLANS” lololol

#Aau! #my au #hermitblr #desert duo #grian #gtwscar #geminitay #pearlescentmoon #rendog #apocalypse au #a little tidbit in my mind

[definitelynotshouting]

whats ur favorite scene in lost in the dark so far?

OH i love this question so much thank you for asking!!!! i gotta say, i think the mumbo argument is my favorite scene right now, at least out of whats already been written. That's got my very favorite line of dialogue so far in it, which is this one:

“Well, a fat load of good dying would do for anyone at this point, bud, I hate to tell you,” he snaps, taking another stilted step forward.

It's not even about the content of it so much as i am just SO pleased with how Mumbo's voice comes out in that line. I really feel like i just nailed his cadence right there specifically, and it makes the entire scene feel so sharp and on point to me

Also, im just really a big fan of writing Mumbo's specific brand of scared-angry right now. I feel like this particular type of reaction isnt written very often, so im excited to put it out there because i feel like it really makes sense for his character. He wont always be like this, but in the face of this crisis he is NOT handling his composure very well and i think thats a really neat thing to portray :]

#shouting speaks #asks #mumbo jumbo #hermitcraft #hunger au #i just really love the nuance in it i think. like he's angry but its because he's scared out of his MIND #about losing somebody he really really cares about #also i just like displaying the messiness inherent to this kind of situation. not everybody is gonna act like a therapist #sometimes people get angry. and its not great but it is realistic and i LOVE diving deep into emotional realism #AAAAAA THANK YOU SO MCUH FOR ASKING THIS #i LOOOOVE these kind of questions SOO MUCH u have no idea #txt