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Chapter Text

Grian knew he didn’t have the nicest of voices.

The added bird-like changes to his throat caused it to be sharper and brighter than a human’s, carrying bubbly undertones of mischief no matter the situation. His tongue was the same way, able to curl and arc in order to produce melodious strings of chirps and clicks.

His noises were nothing new. For as long as he could remember, he’d chirr out a rapid alarm in case of danger, hum a buzzy warble for joy, whistle a piercing tune to locate his friends. The most recent time it had happened, he had been bugging Mumbo as the other man worked on some redstone contraption or another. Too caught up in his teasing, Grian had failed to notice Mumbo spark the machine to life, and had let out a startled series of frightened squawks before shooting into the sky like a bullet.

It took several slow, steady minutes of gliding for Grian to get his heart rate back to normal. When he deemed it safe enough to return, Mumbo was in hysterics with laughter, clutching his sides and wheezing out giggles between breathy gasps of mirth.

Grian had blushed furiously, lightly whacking him over the head with a wing and pouted, though it didn’t take long until Mumbo was comforting him with a pat on the head and a promise of oatmeal cookies. Grian had perked up, the two had made their way to the nearest bakery for some treats, and after a short hour of baked goods and banter, the entire encounter had been nearly forgotten. 

That hadn’t been the first time his bird voice had gotten him into trouble, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. He knew he wasn’t the only one with a unique vocal range. Tango’s shrill rasp could easily turn into popping and crackling roars. Doc would occasionally shift into a deep, menacing growl. Ren had a habit of barking and snarling when angry, Zedaph bleated sometimes…the list went on and on.

But Grian’s squawks were different. They weren't scary, or soothing, or special. They were just…his.

The point was, Grian knew his voice had a lot to be desired.

So why was he here, singing to Mumbo and Scar?

An impromptu rainstorm had led to the three bunking in Mumbo’s base. The rain came with a chill that cut Grian through to his bones, though the heaps of blankets he was buried under and the steaming mug of tea clutched in his hands kept the cold at bay. A steady patter of rain thrummed a slow rhythm on the windows, but instead of irritation at the constant background noise, Grian whisked it to the back of his mind so he could focus on his song.

He wasn’t singing in a conventional manner, but rather, allowing his throat to tense and relax, chirps spilling out of him as easily as breathing. It was nothing more than a handful of breathy little trills repeated and changed a bit every time, and it was clumsy, hesitant and stilted as his tongue stumbled to form the right sounds.

That didn’t seem to matter much to Mumbo and Scar. Mumbo had long stopped paying attention to the tiny redstone contraption he was fiddling with, instead just letting the device dance over his fingers as his eyes slipped shut and his head dipped with the slightest bob to Grian’s tune. Scar was lounging on the couch next to Scar, his hands running down his cane. Every so often, he would hum a bit in time to Grian, then fall silent just as quickly, almost as if he was scared to join in. When he did, though, the rumble was rich, hearty, and warm.

Grian didn’t know how long had passed when his windpipe gave one last squeeze, pumping out a final chorus of peeps before stilling at last, faint coils of discomfort and soreness sticking in the back of his throat like sugar. Grian coughed into his elbow awkwardly, attempting to clear the feeling. It was suddenly far too silent in his base, even with the clatter of Mumbo’s device and Scar’s fingernails tapping against the wooden handle of his cane.

“That was beautiful, G.” Mumbo piped up after several heartbeats. He set the gadget on his lap, mustached face split in a wide grin. 

A hot blush crept up Grian’s neck to his cheeks, and he hid the red by taking another sip of his tea, though the pleased ruffle of his feathers betrayed his joy, even as he tried wrestling them back down. “It-it was nothing. Just a…” His voice trailed off, because here came the hard part, the part where he told Mumbo and Scar that he wasn’t singing any old song.

He had been singing a mating tune.

A mating song was a specialized melody that was from the heart, for the ears of your beloved, and them alone. They were a private and revered thing to avians, which was why he had only ever seen one. During Double Life, trapped above the Red Velvet Keep and being shot at by Reds, Tango and Jimmy had been clutching onto one another like they’d slip through their fingers and evaporate into mist at any second.

Tango, despite all his bravado, was clearly scared out of his wits. Grian still vividly remembered his ruby eyes, stretched wide with fear and dread. His hair had been sparking so fiercely, Grian was nervous it would ignite the very wooden, very flammable platform they were tucked away on.

With a few shaky inhales and a quick mental pep-talk, Jimmy had let loose an almost haunting trail of sounds from his throat, the chirp slicing into the air and bringing a momentary spell of calm over the fighting and blood. The song was like a cup of ice-cold water after years wandering a desert, a warm bed after an exhausting day, a bubble of safety that couldn’t be popped with even the sharpest weapons. Jimmy had sung, and Grian, between his panicked shouts at Scar, had listened and watched the tension slowly be chased from Tango’s taut body. Not fully, but so he was no longer on the precipice of a panic attack, and instead, ready to jump down and cut down whoever he needed to if it would keep Jimmy safe.

The song of an avian was beauty and rage rolled into one tune. A promise of giving your whole self to protect your love, giving them your life, giving them your soul. One of the deepest and most sincere bonds an avian could make, raw and pure and utterly terrifying.

And it was what Grian was singing to his two best friends.

“Don’t sell yourself short, now,” Scar hummed merrily, sitting up and snapping his legs and arms out in a full-body stretch that sent shivers of tension racing up and down his limbs. Grian forced his eyes away from the patch of exposed bronze clavicle that peeked out from Scar’s shirt collar with the motion. “That was really good! Who knew our little birdie had such a musical side?”

Grian grumbled, tucking his wings sharply to his back and focusing on his drink. “You don’t have to pretend you liked it,” he hissed before taking a swig, the scalding liquid doing little to help his pained throat.

“Don’t think we’re pretending, mate.” That was Mumbo, the man’s eyes creased softly with amused concern as the tips of his moustache quirked up. “You should sing more often. Er, well, if-if you want to, that is,” he rushed to add. “Not if you don’t want to, you know, we’d never make you-” He was full on rambling now, hands flying all about and words spilling out of his mouth. 

“Mumbo?” Scar said pleasantly, bringing the rant to a shuddering halt.

“Yes, Scar?”

“Shush.”

Mumbo’s shoulders slumped with mock sadness, lips curling in an overdramatic pout. “Yes, Scar.”

A warm glow ignited in Grian’s chest, despite his best efforts to choke it back down into nothingness. “You-you like my singing? You mean it?”

“We’d love to hear your singing, Grian,” Scar assured him.

Love.

Grian opened his mouth to respond, and suddenly, words were weighing down on his tongue, cramming against his teeth, pushing and clawing to get out. 

I love you both. You mean so much to me. I want you to be mine. Please please please. I love you both so much. 

“I suppose I could serenade you two a bit more often,” was what came out instead. Grian pasted a wide beam on his face, so tight it pulled painfully on his cheeks and tugged at his lips, but Mumbo and Scar didn’t seem to notice his discomfort, instead just sporting matching smiles while Grian’s heart ached.

He couldn’t ruin this friendship with his own selfish wishes and wants.

He couldn’t lie to himself and keep pretending that Mumbo and Scar were his mates, because they weren't . 

He couldn’t dare to dream.

Chapter Text

Grian didn’t think of himself as a particularly violent soul.

There was no doubt he was a prankster, yes, but his mischievous jokes rarely resulted in death. Even when they did end with respawn, it was always a ridiculous death loop that had everyone involved cackling with laughter, even the target of Grian’s scheme. He didn’t find himself getting furious often, either. Most things just rolled off his back, and on the occasion something got to him, he would stay level-headed for as long as possible to solve the problem. And sure, PvP was fun, but Grian was almost always just in it for the harmless sparring and playful banter.

The point was, it was hard to get Grian angry, and it was even harder to get him in a  murderous mood.

And yet, Grian wanted nothing more than to throw Skizz off the nearest cliff at that moment.

It wasn’t even the man’s fault. They had just been joking around with the session’s Wild Card, gnawing on random items in their inventory and shrieking with joy or horror at the effects. Skizz had quickly discovered that eating dirt made one float around gently in the sky, and in classic Skizz manner, began cramming dirt down his throat as he bobbed over Grian and Mumbo.

Grian tried to keep him from doing anything dangerous or stupid, but with such a fun new thing to do and the feeling of being invincible when you were with friends, it was only a matter of time before Skizz was making a game of how far he could fall before eating more dirt and calling on the hovering mechanic seconds before colliding with the ground.

Mumbo loved this. Grian did not.

“Skizz is falling awfully fast, Mumbo,” Grian hummed, desperately trying to paste a layer of nonchalance over his strained voice. The tiny pinprick of gray that was Skizz  was plummeting down at breakneck speeds, heading straight for the ground with no signs of slowing.

“I know! It’s so cool!” Mumbo cried delightedly, his hands a blur of anxious fidgeting as he looked up, eyes locking on Skizz’s descent. 

Grian’s lips pursed in a displeased line before he could stop them. Jealousy, dark and ugly, reared its head in his heart. He didn’t have anything against Skizz, obviously, the man was one of his closest friends, but why was Mumbo looking at him with such joy? The blazing excitement that was usually reserved for Grian’s pranks and tricks was now spilling off Mumbo in waves as he stood below Skizz. It wasn’t even that cool a trick. Grian could do far better maneuvers than this in his sleep.

A shriek yanked him out of his bitter spiraling. Grian’s head snapped up just in time to see Skizz swallow a bite of dirt a mere couple of inches above the grass. The soles of his feet brushed the stalks of green before he began to float upwards, though the motion would be more majestic if he and Mumbo weren’t screaming at each other excitedly.

“Oh my stars, Skizz !”

“Dude, did you see that!?”

“You absolute legend!”

“That was so cool!”

“I’m gonna lose my bloody mind!”

Grian’s temple feathers pressed back against his head, pinning his hair to his skin with annoyance. What was Skizz thinking ?! Being so reckless and irresponsible with his lives! “That was, like, a sub-one intelligence! You have less than one brain cell, Skizz!” The second half of his sentence was a bit too sharp for a joke, a bit too curt to be lighthearted, but he was basically ignored as his teammates continued to jabber.

“Yeah, but that was plus-one awesome!” Mumbo exclaimed, and something possessive sparked to life in Grian.

Mumbo thought that was awesome? That basic display of dumb luck that had no real skill or talent? That bit of clumsy flailing and desperate chewing that just happened to kick in before Skizz turned into a pancake?

Grian wasn’t about to let that slide.

Before he even knew what was happening, Grian’s wings were unfurling to his sides, the sleek feathers catching moonlight with a harsh gleam as the muscles tensed, and then he was off, churning the air with massive flaps of his wings that flattened the grass around him. He climbed higher and higher into the sky, leaving the startled squeak of Mumbo behind him. Skizz, who was still floating around, shrieked with surprise as Grian erupted from the barrier of fog, little wisps of white clinging to his skin. He was paid no mind as Grian continued to soar towards the blankets of stars.

For what felt like forever, Grian was suspended in midair, just him and the night sky and the desperate urge to prove himself as the superior stuntman. His feathers and hair rose to waft slightly in the cutting breeze. Grian’s wings spanned out behind him in one final, powerful flap that pushed him up before tucking in to fold tightly against his back, and then he was falling down, down, down towards the ground below. 

Tears were ripped out of his stinging eyes as he shot through the wind, streaking in angry lines down his face. That drop of intense emotion had melted into a raging ocean that churned his stomach as Grian shot into layers of fluffy white clouds. He allowed that energy to spill out of his stomach and flood his entire body, racing down his arms and legs, lighting up his blood-

Whorls of deep purple-indigo light sparked off his fingertips, and though the first few ones were quickly lost as Grian tore downwards, more were rapidly taking their place until Grian’s entire hands were engulfed in azure. The purple tongues lashed Grian’s skin, yet he was unharmed, a blazing comet sent to shake the earth.

The Watchers may have been bastards, but damn if their powers weren’t a nice bonus.

Heartbeats later, Grian struck the ground with the force of something far stronger than his small body possessed. Tremors of shuddering impact throttled him, any coherent thoughts scattering to be replaced by blank shock. When he snapped out of his stupor, the first thing he noticed was that dirt had replaced the cold wind biting into Grian’s skin, smothering and choking and burying. He coughed out a clump of grass, pried an earthworm away from his elbow, shook himself off, wings puffing out, then craned his head back to peer out of the chunk-deep crater he had split. The sky was reduced to a tiny gash of royal blue-black dusted with stars that clashed against the muted brown of dirt. Grian heaved out a sigh, the previous burst of magic gone now and leaving him exhausted. Regardless, he latched onto the wall of the crater and scrambled up.

When he crawled his way out, covered in grass and mud, the sudden shock of lanky arms wrapping around his chest and pulling him into a tight hug was what dragged him back to reality. “Mu-Mumbo!” he laugh-squealed, futilely whisking the air with his limbs in a feeble attempt to wriggle free. 

Mumbo opened his mouth to speak, and Grian’s eyes were drawn to his lips, slightly chapped and a harsh contrast to his pale skin, and past that, sharp fangs neatly slotted together, and was it bad that Grian wondered what it’d be like to have those teeth grinding against his lips in a kiss-

“You spoon ! You scared me!” Mumbo scolded, and despite the chastising tone, he couldn’t mask the astonishment in his features. His arms tensed around Grian, pulling him closer into a tight embrace, though he wasn’t complaining. “How’d you-why cou- what ?!”

Laughter bubbled out of Grian’s throat, and he just shrugged sheepishly, grateful for his windblown feathers hiding his blushing face as it pressed against Mumbo’s shoulder. “Wanted to do my own flying thing,” he mumbled into the suit. “Just got a bit carried away.”

“A bit carried away?” Mumbo demanded, twisting so Grian’s face was no longer mashed into his shoulder. His eyes, stretched wide with wonder, were matching Grian’s as he stared. “Mate, that wasn’t just a flying thing! That was-that was plus- fifty awesome!” he proclaimed, then quickly followed it with a “no offense, Skizz”. 

“None taken, dude! Gotta give credit where it’s due.” Skizz laughed with a lighthearted smirk, striding over to ruffle Grian’s hair, though that sent a shower of dirt tumbling onto his shoulders. 

Grian barely noticed it, too busy soaking up the pride and attention of Mumbo. He had done it. He had performed a breathtaking aerial show for his-

His mate. 

Grian’s grin froze on his face. 

He was no stranger to the flashy flights that avians would perform for their mates. As opposed to the songs, which were a quiet and personal affair, the soaring was a public and showy spectacle. In all the ones Grian had witnessed, there had been no mistaking the careful thought poured into each wingbeat, each puff of feathers, each swoop and dive and twist of the flying dance that proclaimed love.

Skies, Grian was pathetic.

The flaming passion in Grian’s gut died out to be replaced by a sour puddle of guilt. What was he doing? Showing off for Mumbo because he was acting like a jealous little kid? Performing some flying tricks and draining his magic so he could pretend he was making his ‘mate’ proud?

But during the next couple days, as Mumbo started chattering to anyone who would listen about his stunt- “I was positively chuffed to bits, it was fantastic!” -Grian couldn’t say it didn’t feel nice as Mumbo puffed up with pride and gazed at him with admiration.

Grian wasn’t stupid enough to think Mumbo might share his feelings.

But he could pretend, if only for a little while.

Chapter Text

Preening was an intimate thing for avians.

Deemed one of the highest honors to do for a birdlike person, it was a privilege reserved only for family and mates. The process required the precise, focused actions of threading fingers through quills and plumes and feathers, straightening crooked shafts and plucking dead clumps of fluff out of skin.

It wasn’t like they couldn’t do it themselves, either. All avians were granted extra flexible bodies and limbs, able to curl and stretch and twist to reach those spots on their wings that would have been impossible for any other species (this resulted in a few hilarious moments when someone would walk in on Grian twisted up like a pretzel while he cleaned out his feathers, bending over backwards and looking completely ridiculous). They rarely needed the help of another when preening, not unless there was an extra difficult itch to reach or a specially tangled clump of feathers. And even then, it was rare that help was needed. Even since childhood, Grian had only required assistance with preening a handful of times.

No, when an avian asked for the aid of someone else, it was often because they just wished for companionship. Preening was a way to bond an avian and their partner, strengthen their relationship, whether they be a sibling, parent, child, or mate. It was an incredibly important ritual to trust someone enough to have them preen you.  

If you put a dagger to his throat and demanded him to tell you why he chose to call Scar and Mumbo to ask for them to preen his wings, he couldn’t give a solid answer. A fit of insanity? Possession by a ghost? There were many reasons, and Grian liked none of them.

But regardless of why, it doesn’t change the fact that Grian’s sitting here, his two best friends preening his wings with painful obliviousness. 

Soft, quiet music chimed from the jukebox that Mumbo had tucked in his room. They were currently reclining on top of piles of blankets and soft rugs, Grian sitting cross-legged and leaning forward so his forehead rested against the ground, his arms splayed out to his sides. The position looked uncomfortable, yes, but it was perfectly acceptable for Grian, especially if it meant he got to get preened. Mumbo and Scar were lounging on either side of him, both diligently working on the wings resting in their laps.

Mumbo’s hands were combing through his right wing, Scar working diligently at his left, their hands digging through fluff and feathers that were ready to go. A small pile of discarded plumes had formed between them. Every time their fingers brushed against him, it evoked another electric shiver of pure joy and contentment that wracked Grian’s body, and despite his best efforts to tamp down the happy warbles that bubbled up in his chest, Mumbo would still quirk a smile with every chirp.

Scar was much less subtle, instead settling on affectionately ruffling Grian’s hair with an obnoxious coo after the third or fourth birdlike noise. “Aww, is lil Gri-Gri happy? Is lil Gri-Gri gonna chirp for us?”

“Lil Gri-Gri’s gonna throw you out the window,” Grian retorted while batting his hand away with a head wing, though the threat lacked any bite. 

Scar only laughed in a rich, deep rumble that sent shockwaves through his hands and into Grian’s wings. He squeezed his eyes shut as his heart screamed with love. Keep it together. Keep it together .

“Grian?” Mumbo’s voice held a string of concern, and Grian’s head twisted so he could peer at Mumbo’s worried face. “One feather’s all bent and tangled. I think it might have to get pulled.”

With a grumble, Grian lifted his wing to examine the feather. The shaft was crooked, causing it to poke at the sensitive skin beneath and disrupt the neat rows of feathers growing in. If not dealt with, it would block the down surrounding it, leading to more of an inconvenience. It was beyond help, the only thing left to do being to remove it.

Grian let his head thump on the cushion below, scowling into the pillow. “Yeah. Just give it a good yank.”

“That’s what she said!” Scar trilled without hesitation, earning a light swat and exasperated sigh. Once his giggling had subsided, though, one of his hands trailed down to grip Grian’s in a firm hold. Grian’s breath stuttered.

“Count of three?” Mumbo asked.

Grian could barely hear him over the roaring in his ears. His eyes were locked on the bronze-skinned fingers wrapping around his own, knuckles sharp and strong, calloused yet gentle… “Em. Yeah. Sounds good.”

“One, two-” Pain flared to life in that wing, and Grian bit back a small whimper, his feathers puffing up. His fingers reflexively constricted around Scar’s, and though the man winced lightly, he made no attempt to pry his hand out of Grian’s grasp. In just a few heartbeats, the stabbing hurt was gone, replaced by just a dull throbbing that was easy to ignore. Cool cloth rasped over the feathers as Mumbo pressed a rag to it, bringing it away to reveal a small patch of crimson blood. “Three! Nicely done.”

Huffing out a laugh, Grian’s muscles untensed as the pain washed away as he allowed himself to faceplant the pillow again. “I’m just too good,” he boasted.

Mumbo dropped the offending feather into the pile of down, giving it a glare before returning to his work. “Whatever you say, mate,” he hummed, moustache twitching with a barely-repressed grin.

Scar’s hand tugged lightly as his fingers began to slip away. With a panicked hiss, Grian clamped around his hand before it could leave entirely, fingernails digging into leathery skin. 

Scar’s froze, and Grian briefly panicked. Was that too obvious? Of course it is, what kind of ‘platonic’ buddy wants to hold the other one’s hand- Scar huffed out a laugh tinged with warm amusement. “Grian, I need both hands to preen you.”

“You can do it with one,” Grian said stubbornly. He moved so his face was no longer mashed into the pillow to stare at Scar with what he hoped was an intimidating glare.

“Okay, okay. Bossy bird,” Scar scolded lightly. His hand went back to sifting through rows and rows of brilliant crimson-purple feathers, and was it Grian’s imagination, or was his face just the slightest shade of red?

Nope. Nope. Grian wasbanishing that train of thought to the far reaches of his mind. He tried to lose himself to the comforting feeling of hands combing out feathers, but it was tinged with sourness now, his mind too busy spiraling to return to that previous state of numb relaxation.

“That was a bit of a nasty one,” Mumbo remarked, gesturing to the bloody feather that lay on the pile of fluff. “Good thing we’re here, huh?”

Grian could have gotten that feather by himself. Easily. He’d pulled hundreds, hell, probably thousands of wayward plumage without so much as a wince. Preening wasn’t something he needed help with.  He was a grown-ass adult, he had no reason for dragging his two best friends into this.

Scar must have misinterpreted why he stiffened. “We don’t mind at all, Grian!” he rushed to say, his remaining hand sweeping past armies of feathers. “This is great!”

“Quite soothing, really,” Mumbo chimed in. “If you ever want help again, just ask, and we’ll be there.”

Grian swallowed down the urge to scream, cry, and laugh hysterically all at once. “You mean it?” he croaked.

“Of course we mean it,” Scar said, his fingers giving Grian’s a small squeeze. 

No. Grian shook his head as he burrowed into the cushion. He forced that happy little buzz in his chest to flicker out.

Grian knew better than to get his hopes up for nothing.

Chapter Text

If there was one thing Grian was known for, it was his skill at building.

And his devilish good looks. And his charming sense of humor. And his superb pranking ability. 

…okay, so he was known for a lot of things.

But even with his list of skills, one couldn’t deny that his construction prowess was truly something to behold. 

Years of practice building had turned him into one of the most skilled creators, probably in the whole world. From quaint little cottages to grandiose manors to everything in between, any passerby could see the love put into his designs, the careful consideration poured into each block and the dedicated detail to even the smallest features. Each of his builds held a special place in his heart.

But this one? This one was special beyond words, because this was the one that was going to finally get him over his ridiculous crushes on Mumbo and Scar.

He couldn’t really explain why he was building this. His closest guess was some half-baked, shitty way to get closure. He’d build the stupid thing, he’d allow himself one more gesture of pining, and then he’d be done . He’d friendzone himself, close off his heart, and be on his merry platonic way.

It wasn’t because he wanted Mumbo and Scar to reciprocate the gesture. Not at all.

At around lunchtime, Mumbo had arrived at the scene, his eyes gently creased with soft concern as he handed Grian a bottle of water. Scar was just a few minutes behind, his arms full of fruit for snacking on and juice pouches to sip while Grian worked. When Scar offered to help with the build, Grian had adamantly refused. It wouldn’t be a very good courtship gesture if it was partially made by the one he was courting, would it? They had stubbornly stayed by his side all throughout the building process, despite Grian saying they could leave at any time if they got bored. Scar’s endless chatter and Mumbo’s constant giggles quickly drove off the possibility of dullness, though.

Grian dragged his hand over his forehead, panting as he stood back from the finished build in front of him. His wings puffed up, allowing a cool breeze to sift between his feathers and kiss the sweaty skin beneath.  At this point, the moon was steadily climbing higher and higher, bathing the sky in dark hues of blue and purple. Puffy pale clouds floated lazily past a sprinkle of stars. It was evening, and in all the hours of working beneath the burning sun, it seemed the heat had gathered specifically in Grian’s bubble of the world to bug him.  

It was worth it when he took in the build in all its glory.

Tucked between two massive branches of a cherry blossom tree was a nest. The nest was huge, easily wide enough to fit five people shoulder-to-shoulder and deep enough to completely vanish over the brim if you laid down. Interwoven in tight, complicated braids were vines and twigs of those mangrove trees that Mumbo had been fond of using and the spongy foliage of the redwoods Scar had crafted. Every few feet, there would be a shred of cloth from Scar’s crimson tailcoats or Mumbo’s suit jackets. 

Flowers were braided in the strands, brilliant explosions of petals sparkling against the rust-colored nest. Grian had managed to integrate red tulips, their petals glossy and bloodred, which was why Grian had chosen them, thinking of Mumbo’s sharp scarlet ties and his bloodlusting when the vampire urges became a bit too strong for him to ignore. 

For Scar, Grian selected poppies and lilacs, because those nights in the desert were so strong, so full of passion and love and pain, yes, but all the agony was worth how Scar had smiled when they took over the server the glimmering red poppies were perfect reflections of Scar’s coats and the lilac’s specific green stems were a bit too similar to his emerald eyes to be ignored.

The inside of the nest, Grian had stocked with heaps of plush blankets and soft pillows that made his bird brain sing with happiness when he ran his fingers through the fluff. Here and there, he had sprinkled dashes of redstone and tiny green gemstones that Scar gave him, claiming to have enchanted them with his elf magic. Windchimes made of seaglass hung from protruding branches, their reflective surfaces bouncing light of every shade imaginable all over when the sun hit it just right. Littered between the blankets were tiny trinkets; a necktie, a few leaves. 

Grian had kept a few of the tiny bones and skulls from the animals that Mumbo would tear into when he urgently needed blood. The white shards glittered like gold from their positions strewn about on the bottom of the nest, each one polished so they were smooth as velvet and all the jagged edges sanded down so they were no sharper than a twig. 

Grian glowed with pride as he admired the creation, his heart feeling close to bursting as he crossed his arms. It was messy, it was misshapen, and it was perfect . 

“Are you done?” Mumbo called from his position leaning against a nearby tree trunk. He had to be quiet, though, because Scar was passed out, draping his limbs over Mumbo’s body and snoring loudly as drool trailed from his mouth.

With a nod, Grian spun around, beaming. “Do you like it?” Please, please like it. 

“Is that a genuine question?” Mumbo began, his moustache quirking up over a smile. “It’s beautiful!” He gestured at the nest with one hand, and Scar twitched, his eyes blearily opening as he looked around in confusion.

“H–huh?” Scar blinked rapidly, his emerald eyes flashing open and shut. “I’m awake! What did I miss?”

Mumbo nudged his shoulder gently, then tilted his chin in the direction of the nest with a smile.

“Oh.” In an instant, all the bumbling amusement was gone from Scar’s face, replaced by soft awe. “You-you made all this?” he demanded to Grian.

His head bobbed up and down in a quick nod.

“I love it!” Scar slurred between a large yawn. “You know, I don’t really wanna go home. Can I sleep in it?”

Grian’s brain short-circuited, and for several seconds, he could only stammer. “Well–I–mean–uh–if you–it’s not really–I guess–”

“Perfect!” Without any more preamble, Scar was standing, stumbling over to the tree. He gripped a branch and started to haul himself up, feet scrambling to find purchase on the smooth bark. It took a little while, and it was by no means graceful, but Scar somehow ended up in the nest.

Mumbo was a second behind, his lanky arms and legs climbing up the trunk. His dress shoes slipped on a knot, and Grian wasn’t even thinking as he lunged forward, his arms coming up to grip Mumbo around the middle and stop him from falling.

The man's shoulder blades were digging into Grian's face, his spine dug painfully into Grian's chest with each inhale, Grian's muscles strained with the effort of holding him up, and it was glorious. Mumbo blinked a few times, then beamed widely, the white glint of his sharp fangs barely visible in the dim light. “Thanks, mate.”

Grian couldn’t breathe. Grian couldn’t think. The world had been reduced to his arms around Mumbo. Nothing else could have mattered.

With a soft grunt, Mumbo managed to pull himself up, seizing the sides of the nest and shimmying inside where he settled next to Scar.

Grian toyed with the idea of going home, but that would require leaving these two alone, and he couldn’t do that, could he? What if there was a monster? He had to be there to defend them. His mind made up, Grian snapped his wings open and beat them once, propelling himself into the air. He tucked his body into a roll so he landed neatly in the middle of his nest. Fighting back a yawn, Grian curled up in one of the blankets, burrowing under the soft layers. His eyes slipped shut, sleep rushing to greet his tired mind the second he relaxed.

Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t ignore Scar, a few inches away and very comfortable-looking. After a few seconds of internal conflict, Grian allowed his head to rest on Scar’s shoulder. His fluffy hair had barely ghosted over the man’s skin before he was being yanked into an embrace. “Scar!” he squawked, arms and legs flailing in distress. 

He was met with laughter. “Yes, Grian?” Scar replied through deep, warm rumbling chuckles. 

A heartbeat later, Mumbo was sliding up next to them, wriggling his way under Scar’s forearm so he was pressed up against Grian. “How dare you two hug without me?” he scolded, though his voice was bright with lightheartedness.

Grian went still, barely breathing as if the smallest motion would send Mumbo and Scar away. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. They’d compliment the build and go home, and Grian’s night would end with him asleep in his house. It certainly wouldn’t end with him sandwiched between his crushes.

Oh, well. It wasn’t like there was much he could do now. If he were to push them away, they’d get concerned, and worrying them was the last possible thing Grian could resort to.

Warmth seeped into Grian’s bones as he allowed himself to go limp and be cuddled by the two men. As his eyes fluttered shut, he folded his head feathers tightly against his temples, as if he could muffle the thumping heartbeats of Scar and the gentle snoring of Mumbo. He couldn’t allow himself to pretend that this could become a regular thing. He couldn’t allow himself to pretend that he deserved this. Grian didn’t deserve this.

Grian didn’t deserve them.

Chapter Text

To commemorate the creation of the Fanart Museum, Xisuma and Keralis had decided to host a party at said museum. The entirety of Hermitcraft had shown up, leading to what Grian was sure would be an entertaining night at best.

Already, Xisuma was looking like he regretted the decision. When Grian had last seen the admin, he had been gripping a bottle of wine while rubbing his temples and muttering under his breath. Ren was manning the bar, his hands a whirlwind of motion as he poured, mixed, and gave out drinks with a toothy grin. The air was thick with the scent of sugar and wine, though the massive open windows that spanned ceiling to floor kept it from getting unbearably stuffy. Controlling the music was Cub, the man’s speakers pumping out a pulsating bass rhythm that seemed to shake the ground. 

Spotlights shone hues of pastel pink, gold, and blue onto the crowd below, bathing the entire room in the glow. A large ring had been cleared out for dancing, where Cleo, Joe, Impulse, Skizz, Tango, and Zed were gathering.

Grian had chosen to wear a deep crimson sweater vest over a billowy white dress shirt that cinched at his wrists to make way for matching crimson gloves. Adorning his legs were a pair of black trousers that ended in chunky gold cuffs above his talons. He was currently standing around on the edges of the crowd, clutching a cup of water and scanning the hordes of people. Several hermits were dressed to the nines in full-piece suits and ball gowns, but Grian barely spared them a glance. He was searching for someone in particular.

The conversation picked up to a louder murmur, and Grian arched his neck to see what the commotion was.

It wasn’t difficult to spot.

Scar and Mumbo had arrived. They were currently sweeping through the grand doorway, Scar preening under the attention and shaking everyone’s hand while Mumbo looked like he wanted to disappear.

A gold ruffle blouse was tucked over Scar’s chest, the neckline dipping low so his clavicle was exposed, glimmering with jewelry and necklaces. Emerald green harem pants swished around his ankles, swallowing his legs with each step. Stilettos clacked loudly from beneath the hem. Dangling from his long, tapered ears were a plethora of clip-on gold rings and studs in the shape of teardrops and flowers. The real beauty of the outfit, though, was Scar’s tailcoat. The sleeves of the coat had been removed and seamed, revealing Scar’s bare, muscular arms that were coated in cuffs and bracelets. The coattails splayed out, the hems covered in blossoms that ranged from marigolds to buttercups to sunflowers. Petals rained down with each step, though each fallen petal melted away to mist after hitting the ground. Despite the constant flurry of flowers, the coat never ran out. Elegant gold makeup painted his eyelashes and cheekbones, and he wore green eyeliner, highlighting his emerald eyes glow every time he blinked.

Mumbo, though? Mumbo was a whole new level of gorgeous.

For the event, Mumbo had chosen a white gothic-style dress that surrounded him in an ethereal glow. He was practically swimming in waves of deep silk and gossamer cloth. Patterns of deep scarlet spiderwebs stretched over his abdomen. A black leather corset cinched around his middle, causing the fabric to swoop in and accentuate his figure. Gleaming red teardrops that looked like pinpricks of blood hung from his pointed ears. Silver rings were wrapped around his fingers, and he wore a black choker around his neck that was adorned with a shiny chunk of redstone. The train of his dress was styled with a ragged appearance, making him look like the cloth had been torn at. When Mumbo spotted Grian and grinned widely, his narrow fangs had tiny gold bands wrapped around them flashed cheerfully in the spotlight. He grabbed Scar’s arm and darted over, dress streaming out behind him.

As what seemed like an eternity stretched by, Grian could only sit there in shock and stare at the two men in front of him. His heart felt like it was flying laps in his chest. That was completely normal, right?

Mumbo was saying something, and Grian had to give himself a little shake to draw himself out of his stupor. “-thought the dress was too much, but I mean, he insisted!” Mumbo laughed, though his voice was a bit pitchy with nervousness. “What do you think?”

Grian blinked owlishly. “About what?”

“About our outfits, mate,” Mumbo said.

You two are more glorious than the sun and moon. You could put the stars to shame. You could make gemstones jealous. You’re too beautiful to exist.

“You both look great!” Grian managed. At this point, he could feel the hot blush creeping onto his cheeks, and he tried hiding it by taking a sip from his drink.

Scar smirked before giving him a little curtsey. “Why, thank you, my good sir!” He said in an overly pompous voice, drawing giggles from both Mumbo and Grian.

Once Mumbo had gotten over his laughter, he looked around, perfectly combed black hair swishing as he turned his face. “What do you guys want to do first?”

Grian’s head turned to the space cleared out in the center of the room. “What about dancing?” he asked.

He was a good dancer, and that wasn’t just him bragging. Years of being a Watcher with nothing better to do than to learn all about random topics had left him with an impressive amount of knowledge on the subject. Granted, he hadn’t had the chance to practice with another person too much, but it couldn’t be that hard, right?

So color him surprised when a massive grin spread across Scar’s face. “That sounds great!” he said delightedly. 

“No, anything but that!” Mumbo groaned dramatically, collapsing on Grian’s shoulder. “In these heels? You just want to watch me fall on my face!”

Scar just wrinkled his nose, a fake scornful look making its way onto his features. “If I can do it, so can you,” he said before twirling on a dime and landing flawlessly, his stilettos flashing in the disco light. “Why don’t you go first, Mumbo?”

“Me?” Mumbo exclaimed. Before he could protest further, though, Scar’s hands were landing on his and Grian’s shoulders, then gently shoving them out towards the dance floor. “Go, go! Have fun! Cut a rug! Don’t die!”

“Jerk!” he shouted at him, but when he turned back, any trace of annoyance and irritation was gone. “You’d better teach me how to do this, mate,” he chuckled.

“Of course,” Grian stammered. “Here, hold this.” He threw his cup at Scar, smiling to himself as the man fumbled to catch it without splashing any of the water on his outfit, and then turned back to Mumbo. “How does waltzing sound?”

The man just shrugged, grinning. “You’re the expert.”

“Cool.” One of Grian’s hands rested on Mumbo’s waist, the other falling on his shoulder. Grian’s eyes narrowed playfully, relishing in the flustered blush spreading across Mumbo’s face. The man’s hands trailed to mirror Grian’s. The cold feel of his rings bit into Grian’s skin beneath layers of clothing, but the chill was instantly chased away by burning warmth smiled at him. “What next?”

“Just do what I do.”

Mumbo nodded, nervous but determined, his eyes shining.

Not needing anything more, Grian began moving, his foot lifting off the ground and planting behind him. Mumbo scrambled to move his heeled foot forward, the toe of his shoe nearly bumping Grian’s, and Grian moved his foot forward, forcing Mumbo’s back.

Grian repeated the movement a few more times, then lifted his other foot and did the same thing. Once Mumbo had gotten the pattern down, Grian increased the speed, thumping the soles of his feet on beat with the music.

Once he felt confident enough, Grian let go with one hand, splitting apart to strike a pose. Mumbo followed his motions, pulling a twirl while his dress spun out around him. They carried on, moving slowly and carefully as they stepped around each other in delicate patterns. The world shrank down to Grian and this moment. Mumbo’s previous fear was gone, nothing but pure joy in his face.

What must have been minutes passed, but to Grian, it wasn’t enough. He doubted it ever would be. Mumbo took a deep inhale, his face flushed from exertion, and he stepped back to the crowds of hermits. “Let me just catch my breath, mate,” he puffed.

Grian probably should have been tired, but at the moment, there was nothing but energy and strength pulsing through his veins. He slowed to a stop, though, ending the whole dance with a small curtsy. “It was my pleasure.”

He was barely allowed a second to breath, though, because then Scar was strutting over, a wide grin cracking his lips. “My turn,” he declared.

Scar’s hands closed around Grian’s, and without any preamble, he was off, his limbs whirling out and bringing Grian along. He was a flurry of silk, dizzying and fast, yet his hands were nothing but gentle. It was clear he didn’t really know what he was doing, but Grian wasn’t complaining, not with the warm press of Scar’s hands against his body. Scar’s hands moved to support Grian’s back, just below his wing roots, and then he was dipping him, flurries of petals surrounding them in a storm of gold-orange haze.

Grian laughed, then pulled himself back up, his face coming to rest a few inches from Scar’s. The man’s eyes widened with shock, clearly not expecting him to be so bold, and Grian just beamed before leading.

Cub had clearly picked up on the shift of mood, and the music was changing, the slow thumping bass morphing to a quick electro swing-style that rattled Grian’s bones. Around them, hermits had gone from swaying slowly to stomping all around in time to the rhythm, spinning around one another in upbeat motions. 

“You’re great at this,” Scar hummed between twirls. “We should dance more often!”

Grian’s heart stuttered in his chest, and he missed a step, nearly falling over if it hadn’t been for Scar’s steady grip on him.

Dancing was something special to avians. It was a unique thing, with each dance specialized for a mate. Grian had been able to watch plenty, with the most main ones being Jimmy’s with Scott and Pearl’s with Gem. Jimmy’s had been slow, gentle, and graceful. It involved lots of dipping and sweeping motions and soft touches. Grian thought it was a bit boring, personally, but he wasn’t about to say that.

Pearl and Gem’s, on the other hand, was every bit the wild, upbeat dance that he had expected. Pearl had taken the lead, tugging them all around the room, but Gem was quick to match her energy, swaying her antlers and stomping her hooves in time with the music. 

Grian had spent several nights dreaming about what his mating dances would look like. A flashy but careful waltz? A delicate foxtrot? A bouncy swing dance? There were many choices, and each one was packed so full of love that Grian had given up on them ever happening.

But now that it was actually real, Grian just felt calm, cold certainty. He was happy, in a way. Now he had some closure. He was a friend to Mumbo and Scar. Nothing more. At least now, he could give up on his fantasy of being their partner. They had made their feelings abundantly clear. And that was okay.

So what if Mumbo and Scar would never be his mates?

This was good enough.

Chapter Text

Grian’s world fell apart on a very lovely day.

It had been during a perfectly, gloriously domestic moment. The three of them were lazing about in Grian’s nest, occasionally commenting on some small thing and taking a few seconds to chat about it before falling back into a comfortable silence. 

Grian’s wings were splayed out to his sides, the feathers ruffled slightly with each burst of chilly wind. Scar, who was currently lounging under one, kept playing with the feathers, his fingers threading through the quills before smoothing them back down again.

A soft fog had rested over Grian’s mind, the delicious sort of bliss that he only felt when he was purely safe. The whole scene was sweet and bright, carrying the kind of warmth that made Grian feel like nothing bad would ever happen to him again as long as he was with his friends.

And then he saw the skirt. It was unimportant, insignificant, really, but to Grian, it may as well have been a bolt of lightning that struck him where he sat. 

Mumbo’s skinny legs were swallowed by the skirt, the material pooling around his feet. It shone a deep emerald green, tiny embroidered golden leaves glinting as they caught the sunlight. He occasionally fiddled with a swath of the cloth between flipping pages of the book he was reading Grian instantly recognized it as belonging to Scar.

Clothing swapping for the first time between avians was like the equivalent of asking someone out on a date, with all the following times just being ways to show affection. Whenever he saw Scott or Jimmy, it was a coin flip on whether they’d be wearing a borrowed item. It was a gesture of love, of claiming a small piece of your partner and announcing that your things were their things, that you trusted them wholeheartedly with your possessions.

 If the two of them were together, maybe there was still a sliver of hope for him. One more time. He could try one more time.

Grian cleared his throat, trying to chase the tremors out of his voice. “Hey, Scar?”

Scar hummed to show he’d heard, still carding through Grian’s wing.

“I started crocheting a sweater a few weeks ago, but I think it’ll be too big for me. You interested?” Grian’s voice lilted up at the end of his sentence, masking his anxiety as a question.

With a small smile, Scar shrugged, his eyes lazily fixed on the feathers in his hands. “Nah. Thanks, though.”

The pain didn’t hit like he expected. It wasn’t the dramatic kind of heartbreak or a sudden twist of his chest, but rather a sudden, cold feeling of loss that washed over him, like he was a candle that was being put out after burning through the night because morning had come, and he had served his purpose, so there was no real reason to be sad, was there? It was just the inevitable happening! Mumbo and Scar were together, so it made sense they wouldn’t want him butting in on their relationship, right? Because who could ask for a message any more obvious than that?

It was fine. Grian should be happy for them–he was happy for them. Scar and Mumbo were perfect as a couple. They just slotted so perfectly, Mumbo’s head coming to rest on Scar’s shoulder, Scar’s hand settling on the crook of Mumbo’s hip. They were two puzzle pieces that just clicked. They fit together. They belonged together.

So why did it feel like Grian’s world had just ended?

It wasn’t that he wanted them not to love each other. That was what hurt the most–the guilt. He wanted them to be happy. He loved them both enough to want that. But the selfish, ugly, awful part of himself had hoped…what? That they would maybe look at him the way he looked at them, that they could ever want him like he wanted them, that they could ever love him like he loved them?

Stupid. Delusional.

Selfish.

He couldn’t help the teary warble that squeezed out of his throat. He bit down on his cheek, hard enough that the metallic tang of blood quickly flooded his mouth, but the damage had been done.

It was soft, nearly silent, and would have gone unnoticed had Scar not been sitting right next to him.

Scar stiffened, his hands freezing in Grian’s feathers. “G? You good?”

At the mention of Grian and the small string of concern that hummed in Scar’s voice, Mumbo looked up from his book, eyebrows knitting together. Just like that, all the attention was on Grian.

Their care just made his gut twist more. Why were they being so kind to him? They should have just sighed, writing it off as Grian being dramatic again, and went back to their own happy lives.

Grian should have waved his hand and said he was fine, it was just a hiccup. Grian should have shrugged and said it was over some minor inconvenience. Grian should have raised an eyebrow and asked if Scar was imagining things, which was certain to lead into a funny argument that would put this whole thing behind them.

Grian did none of that.

Instead, Grian started crying.

They weren’t obvious tears. Grian had spent enough time beating the emotion off his face to make sure he kept his expression perfectly placid and calm. The only crack in his mask was a tear rolling down his cheek, and even that was roughly wiped away with a sleeve. “I’m fine. I swear.” He scrubbed more at his face, trying to write it off as an itch. “I’m–I’m happy for you, really.” Grian’s wings had started to hike up around his shoulders, head wings pressing tightly against his skull, the feathers partially obscuring Mumbo and Scar from his vision. “You two deserve each other.”

“Why do you say that?” Mumbo asked cautiously.

Grian gestured at Mumbo. “You know. The–the skirt.”

Mumbo’s hands, which had been lying on the pages of his book, moved to rest on the hem of the skirt. “What about it? I mean, I know I don’t look as good in it as Scar does, but we can’t all be winners,” he joked in an obvious attempt to clear some of the awkwardness.

“It’s a…um…it’s a courting thing.” 

“So exchanging clothes is courtship for avians?” Scar questioned, still looking confused but clearly determined to understand. There was a glimmer of something in his eyes, something hopeful, but Grian didn’t catch it for more than a heartbeat before his gaze was flickering to his talons. “Like. Like, uh, giving a sweater that you knitted yourself.”

Bitterness rose in Grian’s throat as he nodded. His stomach was burning with hot shame. “Yeah.”

“Grian,” Scar began, voice taking on a soft gentleness, like he thought Grian would shatter if he spoke too loud. “Are there other avian courting rituals that we should know about?”

“There’s. There’s singing.” Grian’s throat squeezed in memory of the melodies he had chirped out. “Preening and cleaning wings.” Grian’s feathers ruffled at the phantom feel of warm hands in his wings. “Doing flying tricks.” Grian’s eyes fluttered a few times, the bitter sting of wind in his face surfacing. “Building a nest.” Grian’s hands crunched into fists, crushing tiny twigs and leaves in them. “And, uh, dancing together.”

Grian could see the second it clicked. He hunched in on himself, mentally bracing for the onslaught of fury and disgust that was sure to come his way.

“G…” Mumbo began, speaking slowly and solemnly. “Have you…uh…have you  been courting us?”

“I mean…I guess.”

“You guess?” There was no true anger in Scar’s words, just confused bluntness, but that little bit of force was all it took for Grian to snap.

“I’m sorry!” Grian’s voice spiked with sudden emotion. His wings puffed up, pinning to his body as if protecting him from some invisible threat, the feathers bristling. “Yes, okay?! I’m sorry, I’ve been courting you two! I’m so sorry!”

Scar and Mumbo stared at him, their expressions perfect mirrors of shock. Scar’s mouth flapped open, but nothing came out, which was probably for the best, as Grian was still speaking; or rather, screaming

“I’ve been courting you two because I love you! So go ahead, laugh it up!” Grian swore his heart was going to stab right through his chest with how painfully it was smacking against his ribs. Guilt was a living, biting creature in his stomach, writhing against his gut and digging its claws into his flesh. Words kept spilling out of his mouth, little chirps of dismay peppered between them. “Laugh at the stupid lovesick avian who thought he could be wanted! Because who would want to love me? No one, not you, so just forget about it. Just forget it and–”

“That’s not true!” Mumbo burst out, his red eyes shining with distress.

Grian’s eyes widened, and he shook his head fervently. “Yes. Yes, it is. You had no idea what I  was doing. You should–you should be mad at me. You should hate me.”

“We’d never hate you!” Scar cried. “Why do you think I asked about the other courting rituals? Because I wanted to know how to court you! Because I love you! Me and Mumbo love you so much, Gri.” 

The words hit with all the strength of a meteor crashing into earth. It took Grian a second to register them. “What?” he stammered the word out. 

Mumbo reached out, gently clasping Grian’s hands in his own. “Grian, me and Scar have had feelings for you for…what, years?”

Scar nodded enthusiastically. “We didn’t do anything about it because we thought you…well, we thought you weren’t interested. Me and Mumbo knew we liked each other, but it didn’t feel right dating without you.”

“But now that we know we all love each other, we can be together!” Scar exclaimed, then cleared his throat. “I mean, if you guys are okay with it, that is.”

He was dreaming. He had to be dreaming. There was no way this was really happening. “Do you mean it?” Grian gasped. Fresh tears started rolling down his face, only this time, it wasn’t with sadness. It was with blinding, crushing relief and joy. “We can—can we be boyfriends? All three of us?” As soon as the word boyfriends left his mouth, he tensed slightly as if preparing for Mumbo and Scar to laugh in his face and write the whole thing off as some elaborate joke.

That never happened. They just looked at him happily, eyes burning with love.

“I would be honored to date you guys,” Mumbo announced, glancing at Scar. “What do you say?”

As an answer, he pulled all three of them into a hug, earning an indignant yelp from Mumbo and a squawk from Grian. Scar ignored the noises, instead just beaming proudly as he smushed his face into Grian’s shoulder. “Definitely!”

“Scar!” Mumbo shrilled, playfully swatting at him. “Let me go, you spoon! You’ve—bleh—you’ve got your bloody hair in my face!”

“Hey, don’t ruin the moment! This is our first official hug as boyfriends!”

“We’ve hugged before,” Grian said between giggles, a bit lightheaded with giddiness. His world had been shattered into a million smoking, awful pieces, and now it was slowly starting to stitch itself back together, brighter and shinier than it had ever been.

“Yeah, but this is different. It’s a milestone! A historic moment that will be reminisced of for years to come!” Scar declared.

Mumbo huffed, wriggling around so his face was no longer planted against Scar’s head. “Well, I don’t want to be reminded of choking on your hair every time I think back to this second,” he admonished, though the upward ends of his mustache betrayed his grin.

Grian felt like he was flying. More than that, he felt like he was living for the first time, like his heart had finally gotten the message and kicked into gear. Just a few minutes ago, he had been determined that Mumbo and Scar could never love him, and now they were his boyfriends.

His wings were slightly stiff from being in the unusual position, Mumbo was still complaining about being able to taste Scar’s shampoo, and Scar was trying to headbutt Mumbo in retaliation. Before long, all three of them were a mess of giggles, collapsed on the bottom of the nest while laughing.

It was a little unconventional, a little chaotic, but it was beautiful.

And Grian wouldn’t have it any other way.