Chapter Text
The world was silent, wrapped in the gentle misting of rain that descended from the artificial clouds. The tranquility remained undisturbed, save for the delightful chirps of birds playing amidst the raindrops and the rhythmic rustling of leaves as the wind whispered through the trees and plants so lovingly taken care of.
It was a serene and peaceful ambiance, allowing Scarab’s thoughts to be nothing more than a contemplative echo against the quietude.
“Hey, Scrabby?” The peace was shattered by the voice of the old man beside him, prompting a groan from Scarab as he turned to the human companion beside him.
“Must I remind you that Scrabby is not yours to say?” Scarab retorted, his head slightly turning. His gaze remained fixed on the rain-soaked surroundings, reluctant to acknowledge the human beside him. The old man chuckled, the jingle of his accessories accompanying his movement as he rose to rub his neck.
“Right, sorry, old habit,” the old man laughed, prompting Scarab to suppress the urge to retort that it wasn’t his habit at all, simply sighing instead. Silence settled once again, Scarab half-waiting for the old man’s next words, half-absorbed in the soothing patter of raindrops.
The old man eventually broke the silence with curiosity, “How do you make the rain fall like that?” He asked, his golden accessories tinkling as he shifted. “I thought we were in some giant cube?”
“We are,” Scarab replied, a subtle frown creasing his otherwise peaceful expression. “If I tell you the answer, will you shut up?” His words carried a faint hiss, quickly stifled as he took a deep breath, swallowing back the anger that threatened to surface. It wasn’t meant for the old man, it was no fault of his that he was just the dreamer. No, it was Scarab’s for letting Chronosia-
Scarab cut off that train of thought, shifting his gaze from the leaves blocking the rain to the simulated clouds. The old man gave a hum of approval, prompting Scarab to continue. “We are in a specialized room of the Time Cube that I have fashioned into a terrarium dome. Once I figured out the mechanics of time passing through it, creating the atmosphere became a simple task. The rain is merely a manifestation of my control over this environment.” Scarab explained, noting the old man’s genuine interest.
“So you can turn off the rain at any moment?” the old man inquired. Scarab nodded, still avoiding direct eye contact, focusing on the task at hand. Although he hadn’t fully mastered his control over the weather (he still mourned the loss of his alocasia), he had gained enough proficiency to halt the rain. After a few minutes, the weather transitioned from a downpour to a drizzle, then a mist, until finally dissipating entirely, revealing the light of the Time Core overhead. Scarab was grateful for the trick he’d discovered to move rooms beneath the Time Core, making it easier to care for the small plants.
“That’s cool, dude,” the old man remarked. Scarab heard him get up, and he shut his eyes as the human came into view. The old man turned, and Scarab tensed when he heard a gasp before the man spoke. With a thought, the grass-covered floor opened (gently, he didn’t want to damage the clover) and allowed the old man to fall in with a yelp. Once the floor closed with a small click, Scarab reopened his eyes and sighed, silently setting the timer to track how long his solitude would last before the inevitable return of the talkative human.
A distant knock echoed, drawing Scarab’s attention to the Cube, sensing that a wisher awaited at the door. Scarab sighed, rising from his comfortable spot beneath the willow, and summoned a yellow wall in front of him. It had taken him longer than he’d care to admit to grasp the false 3D form after fully accepting he was (the only) Wishmaster. And even longer before he’d become accustomed to the sensation of his 2D form transitioning into the 3D plane. Nevertheless, Scarab had mastered the shift in form.
With a simple thought, he opened the door to the Cube, granting entry to the creature that had knocked. Scarab placed his hand on the wall he had summoned, gently pushing into it. The wall phased in, returning to its 2D state as the rest of his body followed suit. (Scarab didn’t understand why the Boss insisted Wishmasters be 2D, perhaps to rid the desires of the body?)
He checked his appearance, ensuring his mask, a new version that was adorned with tiny star and comet beads, with chains hanging from some, was secure and safely protecting his face from sight. Scarab was proud of the design. The rest of him intentionally took on a shade of blue, adorned with delicate golden lines that traced constellations across his carapace. Streamers trailed behind him like ethereal tails, connecting to a sizable belt adorned with glittering stars that chimed melodiously when he moved. The same starry ornaments adorned his shoulders and chest, contributing to the celestial ensemble. Scarab recalled the old man’s comment about looking “boring.” While the old man’s dream was quite literally a simple pink blob with blue eyes, Scarab believed his appearance wasn’t dull. With sharp edges and geometric shapes, Scarab was far from boring. Yet, the streamers behind him still swayed like tails of comets.
Scarab phased from the wall, splitting into little stars that floated around in his void. Thousands of eyes focused on the creature in the doorway. Stars in his void came to greet him, twinkling joyfully. Scarab pushed them away gently, fixating on the wisher who remained frozen in the doorway. He sighed and opened his mouth.
“Come in,” His voice was loud, echoing through the void from everywhere and nowhere at once. The creature flinched, eliciting a low chuckle from Scarab.
“This was not in the book,” the creature muttered to itself before hesitantly stepping onto one of the many paths offered to it. Scarab followed as the wisher began aimlessly wandering and jumping between paths, venturing deeper into the winding nothingness of his void. A few stars curiously approached the wisher, causing Scarab to chuckle as they screeched when the wisher attempted to touch them.
As the creature navigated the intricate paths of the Time Room, several hours passed in its perception of time. Eventually, it found itself standing at the center of the paths, facing a colossal cube affectionately dubbed the Visitor Cube by the old man. The cube, a blank canvas, awaited the wisher’s command.
“Welcome to the Time Cube,” Scarab’s voice resonated through the void, causing the creature to flinch and scan for its source. A low chuckle escaped Scarab, rippling through the emptiness before he materialized on the cube. His form, grander and larger than Prismo’s, forced him to tilt his body to peer down at the creature. Turning from the void to the cube, the creature yelped when it noticed the yellow had transformed into blue. It had to crane its head to look up at Scarab, who raised the stone below it. Another yelp escaped the wisher as it flailed its arms before regaining balance.
“U-uh,” the creature stammered, hesitantly sitting down on the pillar and looking up at Scarab. Scarab watched patiently, waiting for the creature to speak. “Um, great Wishmaster?” The creature’s voice shook, likely from nerves, and Scarab nodded slightly, encouraging it to continue. “Er, you look a lot different than what I thought you’d look.”
Offering a warm chuckle to ease its nerves, Scarab responded, “Many mortals say that.” His voice, now quieter and calmer, echoed slightly through the void. “Now, do you know where you are and who you stand before?” he asked, prompting the creature to stumble over its words in response.
“I-I- um- I’m in the Time Cube,” it spoke slowly, gaining confidence as it went along. Scarab inwardly sighed, his claws tapping on his arm. “And, uh, n-no, I don’t know who y-you are.”
Humming contemplatively, Scarab spoke, “I am Scarab, a Wishmaster,” earning a nod from the creature. “Now, I assume you know everything there is to wishing?” The wisher offered a meek nod. Satisfied, Scarab was eager to expedite the process. “Then what do you wish for?” The wish itself was Scarab’s favorite aspect of being a Wishmaster. He relished the way he could twist and turn a wish, molding it into the wisher’s greatest dream or their worst nightmare. Whether he distorted the wish through vagueness or incompleteness, or crafted perfection from a clear and concise wish, the thrill of wielding such power exhilarated him. Knowing that Prismo once wielded the same power only intensified the experience.
The reminder of Prismo’s dream intruded on Scarab’s thoughts, darkening his mood beneath his mask as he observed the creature hesitate. “I wish…” The creature’s words trailed off, and twinkles of sound emanated from Scarab as he uncrossed his arms and tilted his head slightly. “I wish… I wish for my planet’s eternal safety.” Simple, yet intricate and advanced, it presented itself as a canvas for Scarab’s creative manipulation. Scarab offered a simple nod, opting to be benevolent in this instance. He orchestrated words, shifted realities, created new paths, and broke others—all in the blink of an eye.
“Wish granted,” he declared, snapping his fingers. The mortal looked surprised as it faded away, offering a gleeful wave towards Scarab. He simply nodded in response.
Alone once more, Scarab found himself in familiar solitude, a state he had grown accustomed to. Deciding to make the most of his brief respite before the old man inevitably appeared, he opted to wander through the vast expanse of the Time Cube. Shrinking his form back to its usual size, he placed a hand on the wall and pushed it outward with a resonant pop. The rest of his body followed, and now his 3D guise, albeit a simulated one, he roamed through the vastness of the Time Cube. Each step resonated in the void, coaxing twinkling stars to dance in response. Unlike Prismo, who seemingly haphazardly scattered universes like stones, Scarab approached his creations with meticulous care. The little worlds he crafted became stars, adorning the cosmic canvas of his realm, and over the eons, quite a collection had amassed.
A gentle smile graced his features as a star descended toward him, prompting him to raise his hands and cradle the miniature universe within his grasp. Faint echoes of childlike laughter and joy accompanied the celestial visitor before he tenderly released it back into the void.
Continuing his aimless stroll, Scarab allowed the smaller stars to accompany him, some persistently following despite his attempts to push them away. He found the diversity in the personalities of each universe fascinating. It almost made him comprehend Prism’s inclination to create Fionna & Cake’s universe—a realm imbued with its own unique personality, marked by determination, vigor, and kindness. A universe worth protecting, had it not been created illegally.
“Hey Scrabby!” The familiar voice sliced through the quiet ambiance of the void. The corners of Scarab’s mouth turned downward, the fleeting joy stolen by the intrusion. The stars around him sensed the shift in his mood and, like distant companions, distanced themselves from the beetle. A few, however, stayed close, offering their subtle forms of comfort in the form of gentle twinkles. Sighing, Scarab closed his eyes, his form of vision shifting to the non-universe stars, navigating the path ahead without needing to see the details of the old man.
“That’s not my name,” Scarab asserted, creating a new path beneath him. He effortlessly jumped onto the fresh trail, distancing himself from the old one. The soft thud of the old man’s landing echoed behind him. Scarab kept his eyes closed, only vaguely aware as the human caught up and walked beside him once again.
“Right, sorry, don’t know why I keep calling you Scrabby,” the old man apologized, twirling his robe’s (Scarab had to force the old man into clothes, ignoring the protests of ‘I’m covered by my beard!’) sash absentmindedly. Scarab observed the human’s actions without giving him a direct gaze. “Nearly got me with that one, by the way. Took me a good couple of hours to find my way out of wherever you dropped me.” The nonchalance with which the old man spoke about Scarab’s attempts to distance him never failed to perplex the beetle. He had exhausted every conceivable method to keep the human away, from confining him within the Time Room to casting him into the void to mingle with the stars. Yet, without fail, the old man somehow reappeared after a few hours, unwavering tethered to Scarab’s side. It was as if the human were an unshakable companion, the longest period of separation being a mere eight hours, achieved accidentally when Scarab had thrown him out of the Cube into the surrounding space. Even then, the old man found his way back.
“A shame,” Scarab remarked, his voice a low murmur that echoed in the vastness of the void. “I was hoping to trap you forever.” The old man’s laughter, a buoyant melody, rippled through the quiet expanse. He playfully jabbed at Scarab, the gesture directed more at the beetle’s thigh than anything else; the human was notably short.
“Can’t get rid of me that easy,” the human responded, his voice carrying a teasing note. “Ah, that reminds me of that time when we first met. Remember that?” Scarab did, vividly. It was a memory that vied for the title of the worst day of his existence.
Scarab stared at the old man standing before him, pain and shock twisting in the beetle’s chest. The beetle knew his expression was one of shock, wide-eyed and mouth slightly ajar, conveying his stunned silence. Fresh tears welled up in his eyes. The old man, oblivious to the turmoil, greeted him with a warm smile and a friendly wave.
“Hi!” the old man’s cheerful greeting hung in the air. Scarab was unable to muster a coherent response, overwhelmed by the shock of witnessing Prismo’s host body awake and walking. Prismo was dead, the death of the dream should have shocked the human enough to stop the human’s heart. His immortality stemmed from the connection to the Time Core, without which the human was merely the greatest mortal wizard ever to exist. Yet, here he stood, vibrant blue eyes locking onto Scarab with innocent curiosity, completely oblivious to the anguish he stirred.
“Do you know where I am?” he inquired, the harmless interest in his eyes reminding Scarab uncomfortably of Prismo. Before Scarab could answer, another sob threatened to escape, and he abruptly cut himself off. The old man’s eyes widened further, mirroring Prismo’s expression in a way that sent shivers down Scarab’s exoskeleton. With a quick wave of his hand, Scarab manipulated the surroundings to ensure he was alone.
“Trapped me in that box for well over a week until I figured out I could move the walls a bit,” the old man reminisced, bringing Scarab back to the present. “Looked at me like I was someone that came back from the dead!” The laughter that followed echoed through the void, the old man blissfully unaware of the stark similarity to the past event.
“I wish I had that peace again,” Scarab muttered, forming another path and leaping down. The path abruptly terminated before the human could follow suit, yet Scarab still perceived the grunt as the old man made the leap. He felt the warmth of the human beside him as they walked once more.
"Aw, come on Scarab," The old man said, chuckling. "You'd miss me." Not you, Scarab thought bitterly. But he refrained from speaking instead to shift the paths back to the miniature pocket of life he had created.
They walked in silence, the old man humming some small tune in beat with the beetle's steps. Of course, the silence was broken by the old man's aggravating voice. "Hey, Scrabby- er, Scarab?" Scarab offered a simple hum to show he was listening. "Do you think you could maybe play your violin again?" he asked.
"Why do you want that?" Scarab asked, tilting his head slightly. He formed another path before him, jumping down onto it. The old man followed quickly, taking a bit longer to catch up to the other than before.
"Just wanna hear your playing," the old man replied, casually shrugging. "Also I'm kinda feelin' sleepy." Scarab stifled the budding hope that dared to surface. It had been squashed one too many times by the old man's return. The human often took short naps throughout their days together, and Scarab had long given up on hoping. Perhaps Orbo was right. Perhaps Chronosia had truly extinguished the dream.
Before delving into the darker recesses of his thoughts, the path led Scarab into a hidden crevice within the void. It unveiled the massive white dome, his miniature ecosystem concealed in plain sight—an artful camouflage that pleased Scarab. Shifting his vision from the stars to his real eyes, he blinked, dispelling the slight blur that accompanied the transition. As they entered the room, the old man eagerly trotted into the small forest Scarab had cultivated, disappearing into the lush vegetation. Scarab welcomed the short-lived peace this brought him and chose a random path, navigating effortlessly among the flourishing plants. Birds greeted his presence with joyful tweets, small animals observed him with curiosity, and every living thing regarded him without fear; he was an integral part of the dome, even if he didn't truly belong.
Approaching a small clearing, Scarab blinked against the brilliant light of the Time Core flooding his vision upon stepping out from the forest shade. Pausing at the edge, he looked up at the muffled and distant hues above him, creating almost rainbow-like clouds that enhanced the room's beauty. After a moment of quiet contemplation, he redirected his attention to the large weeping willow standing majestically in the center of the clearing, acting as the heart of the forest. Scarab navigated toward the tree, skillfully avoiding the many potted plants that surrounded the clearing, forming a nurturing environment akin to a nursery.
Under the willow, the old man patiently awaited Scarab's arrival. Ignoring him, Scarab found his spot next to the imposing tree. Silence enveloped them, the soft whispers of the wind carrying away any sounds they might have made. After a few moments, during which Scarab leaned his head back against the rough bark and closed his eyes, he spoke.
"What would you like to hear?" Scarab was in the mood to play anyway. He heard the old man clap softly in celebration before the sound was replaced by a low hum. As the old man pondered, Scarab summoned his violin, accompanied by his bow. His fingers, cautious of the claws, traced the small engravings he had personally added to the wood, outlining the intricate beetle that adorned the front.
“How about Nausicaa Requiem?” the old man finally spoke, and Scarab's fingers instinctively found their way to the strings.
“Why that one?” he asked, bringing the instrument to rest comfortably against his neck and shoulder. The old man's accessories shook as he shrugged.
“I just feel like listening to it,” the old man responded.
“That one would sound better with a piano,” Scarab replied, scanning the bow to ensure it had no damage. “You can easily watch one of the big concerts.”
“Nah,” the old man replied. “I wanna hear it alone.”
“Fine then,” Scarab responded and brought the bow up. With delicate grace, Scarab positioned his ebony bow just above the strings. Scarab’s fingers aligned perfectly on the strings, carefully tilting his claws to avoid tearing at the reinforced material. With a soft sigh, he began, the first whispers of the notes emerging. He played slower than the song required, not excessively so, smoothly gliding the bow over the strings with his right hand and coaxing the sound into existence. His left hand danced across the neck of the violin, navigating with precision, finesse, and occasional trembling of his fingers when necessary.
As the melody unfolded, weaving its hauntingly beautiful strains through the silent forest, Scarab added a few other parts, including the cello's melancholic notes, in the spaces between. The old man sighed, a smile apparent in his breath as he absorbed the music. Scarab gradually accelerated, effortlessly returning to the original tempo, his focus entirely on the strings. Music had always served as a refuge for him, a fact he had known since his mortal days. The song, quick by nature, yielded to Scarab's influence, slowing in parts to assume a mellower tone, infusing the melody with a touch of sadness. Scarab stole a glance at the human resting beneath his tree, his features softening as the old man hummed in tune.
How long had he been waiting now? Scarab's fingers glided over the notes with practiced ease, and the beetle's eyes slipped shut as he simply listened to the song. It had been far longer than a thousand years, perhaps an eon or three. Scarab couldn't fathom why he waited for the old man to fall back asleep and revive Prismo. There was so much Scarab needed to say, so much left unspoken during that time. His thoughts drifted to one of the first times he had spoken to the old man, recalling the moment when he discovered the odd emotion in the Wishmaster's eyes before they dulled and lost all vitality.
Scarab was furious. That was certain. A wisher had come through, disrespecting him and demanding things that Scarab couldn't or wouldn't grant. The mortal's wish wasn't even entertaining to twist, as Scarab was too preoccupied with what it had said to him before he retreated to the Time Core to avoid harming it.
"You're not a real Wishmaster," it had declared, words painfully true. Scarab didn't feel like a Wishmaster. He knew he was undeserving of the title. Scarab hadn't earned it, hadn't worked for it. As much as he hated to admit it, it was nothing more than a small reward for completing a target on his hunts. Sure, it was a lifelong reward, but a reward nonetheless. And Scarab despised how he didn't even deserve the reward.
The song reached its midpoint, where vocals would typically join. Scarab softly muttered the la's that accompanied the song, his thoughts still lingering. He wondered if Prismo didn't truly die that day. What if Prismo was still partially present, disoriented and lost, as his dreamer woke up and sealed him away with simple magic? Did Prismo suffer after he faded away? Glob, Scarab hoped not. He couldn't fathom how agonizing that must have felt, how dreadful it must have been.
"Are you alright?" the old man had asked that day, a few years after Scarab had become the only Wishmaster. The beetle was still unaccustomed to hearing a voice so similar to Prismo's yet so horribly different. That voice didn't belong to the old man who addressed him, nor did the eyes, brimming with compassion, that looked at him so intently. Yet those features belonged to the old man; they were his. Prismo was nothing more than a dream of a wrinkled old man, so why did it hurt so much to think that the dreamer didn't bear the memories of him?
"Leave me alone," Scarab had hissed, truly hissed. He recalled the way his carapace seethed with irritation, his throat constricted with anger. He remembered the pain as the old man spoke to him in a voice he both wanted to listen to forever and cut off forever, the pain he was all too familiar with.
"You sure, Scrabby?" The old man had asked, tentatively raising a hand to place it on the beetle. The touch burned Scarab, prompting him to whip around and screech at the human.
"YOU DON'T CALL ME THAT!"
Scarab's fingers naturally slowed, drawing out the conclusion of the song. Purposefully, he seamlessly transitioned into one of his all-time favorite pieces. Inspired, primarily, by a piano but enhanced by the delicate strains of a violin. The tempo was slightly faster, but with over three eons of free time, Scarab had honed his skills.
He had hurt the human. Scarab remembered that. He remembered pushing the human away, swiping at him when he got too close, screeching at him whenever he tried to speak. He recalled the way the walls shook around them with his anger. He remembered the desire to just kill something, anything to alleviate the pain. He remembered the soft flesh grasped between his hands, squeezing, squeezing, squeezing. He remembered staring at the human, held tight in his hands clamped around his neck, looking down with pure hate. He remembered the human's hands, calmly, unshakenly rising to gently cradle the beetle's wrists. The warmth against the cold in his limbs was all he needed to release the human. The old man's body fell like a ragdoll, collapsing onto the floor as he coughed. Scarab took a step back, two, three, breathing heavily as he stared at the human before him, limbs trembling with barely contained rage and guilt.
"...I'm sorry," the old man rasped, his voice quiet and hoarse from the pressure, a black bruise beginning to form on the wrinkly brown skin.
The song he played required two instruments to reach its true beauty. Scarab summoned his second pair of arms, his fingers instinctively paused, causing Scarab to blink in momentary confusion. Oh, right, he had developed a habit with this song. He summoned his cherished treble viol and nestled it against the inside of his legs.
Why are you sorry?" Scarab asked, his voice shaky with guilt. "I tried to kill you."
"I've seen grief before," the old man responded, rising to his feet and gingerly rubbing at the bruise. "It's not your fault you're hurting."
"But it is," Scarab retorted, remembering the day clearer than the ice that trapped him. "If I hadn't knocked away that spike, he might've lived." Guilt bit at his fingers, trailing up, higher, and higher, causing a burning desire in Scarab to rip off the affected limbs and just grow them back.
"You can't change the past," the old man responded, looking at him with something akin to empathy. But Scarab, in his rage, assumed it was pity.
"I know that," Scarab hissed, glaring at the human. "But that doesn't stop me from wishing it had gone differently. You weren't there that day; you don't know what it's like to taste the greatest happiness you've ever had. To have it on the cusp of your life, there, right in your fingers, yet so f*cking far away."
As his fingers moved with an ingrained muscle memory, Scarab delicately plucked at the strings of the violin, coaxing forth enchanting notes that reverberated through the surrounding trees. The melodies danced on the simulated wind, creating an ethereal symphony in the quiet forest. Summoning the viols matching bow, he held it over the strings, the subtle tap of his foot keeping time.
The old man simply stared at him, his gaze encouraging Scarab's outpouring of emotion. "Have you ever had something right there," Scarab's voice wavered, a raw edge cutting through each word, "so damn close that you could touch it, yet so damn far away because it's the end of it all? I gave it all up in that moment. My reputation, my hatred, my name. I gave up my damn name just to have that happiness. But no, I just had to lose it!" Scarab ranted, tears glistening in his eyes as he shook with the urge to do something. The old man watched in silence, offering Scarab the space to express himself.
"I lost everything I ever wanted in a single moment! Not even ten minutes! I was too damn stuck in the past to realize I had it right there! And when I finally relized, fully relized, that I cared for him, it was years after he died! And I got stuck with you! You! You're him! You're his dreamer, possessing his voice, his habits, his quirks, even his damn eyes! Yet you're not him; no, you're so different. Do you know what it feels like? To have everything in your hands in one moment, only for it to be snatched away in the next, returning to the place you were starting to call home, only to encounter a mimic of the one you loved?"
His words cracked with the weight of his anguish, and a deep sob escaped him. He raised his hand to muffle the sound, his legs finally giving in under the overwhelming emotions. Scarab remembered the old man approached slowly, knelt beside the beetle, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. And he remembered the old man pulling him into a tender hug.
Scarab concluded the song with a hauntingly drawn-out note, allowing its lingering melody to entwine with the whispering wind and eventually dissolve into the realm of fleeting moments. Slowly reopening his eyes, he gazed out into the dense forest, his vision seemingly unseeing, as a solitary tear traced a path down his cheek beneath the mask. The passing hours marked the automated daylight timer of the dome, initiating the gradual closure of its cover. Blinking back into focus, Scarab observed the simulated sunset casting its warm hues across the surroundings.
Against his better judgment, Scarab stole a glance toward the old man. Bathed in the soft palette of pinks, purples, and golden lights, the human bore an expression of peace with his closed eyes, acting as a living canvas of beauty. The sight evoked a pang of sorrow within Scarab's chest.
Turning away, Scarab swiftly banished his instruments with a zap, rising to his feet. Exiting the dome, he embarked on an aimless stroll along the intricate paths he had crafted. A small, contemplative smile graced his features as a star descended toward him. Raising his hand, he cradled the miniature universe within his palm, absorbing the echoes of winds and markets it carried before releasing it back into the void.
Continuing his meandering journey, Scarab indulged in touching each star, reveling in their unique sounds. The variety was immense, each star a distinct universe unto itself. Gradually, multiple stars began to gather around him, twinkling in their endearing way. Scarab chuckled softly as one playfully collided with his mask, prompting him to shift the faceplates to the back of his head, revealing the vulnerable pink flesh underneath. The stars twinkled joyfully, a few nestling into the curves of his neck and shoulders. One daringly nuzzled into his cheek.
In that moment, Scarab simply stood there, immersed in the symphony of universes surrendered by the stars. His eyes slipped shut as he softly petted one on his shoulder, its unique sounds reminiscent of a summer day. Abruptly, the stars began to float away from him, some choosing to linger in proximity while others trailed behind him. Tempted to turn and investigate, Scarab resisted, opening his eyes to focus instead on gently plucking the universes off of him and tossing them back into the void, each one returning to its cosmic home.
“Wow, Scrabby, love what you’ve done with the place,” came the familiar voice, and Scarab’s serene demeanor crumbled into a frown. Without turning around, he continued pushing stars away, a futile attempt to keep the cosmic ambience undisturbed.
“I have repeatedly told you not to use that nickname on me,” Scarab stated, his tone tinged with irritation. An affable chuckle slipped from the lips of the old man as they strolled in the cosmic tableau. Stars oddly converged around them, as if drawn to the interaction.
“I thought I’d get a special pass,” The old man’s playful retort echoed, and Scarab could already anticipate the headache that awaited him in the old man’s company.
“Go back to the garden and leave me be,” Scarab insisted, his desire for solitude palpable.
“Wow, you hurt me, Scrabby,” The old man paused, and Scarab felt a twitch in his brow. “I just noticed you changed your outfit! You look hot—er, very good. Very—very nice.”
A resigned sigh escaped Scarab. “Will you ever shut up?”
“But why are you short? I mean, not that it’s a bad thing, you look—”
“Human,” Scarab interjected, cutting off the old man behind him, hearing a confused sound in response. “I have told you over and over; I chose this form while I wait for someone else. Now, if you’ll leave me be, go on and do whatever you old humans do.”
“Scrabby—”
Finally, Scarab turned with a snarl, ready to deliver another reprimand. However, his words evaporated, and shock replaced his anger. Instead of the old man he had tolerated for years, he beheld the one person Scarab had longed to see. “Prismo?” Scarab whispered, tears welling up in his eyes. The human before him smiled, rubbing the back of his neck, adorned in long, flowing robes with golden accessories, showcasing that familiar chocolate skin and hot pink hair.
“Hey, that’s me—!” Prismo’s words were abruptly cut off as Scarab rushed forward, enveloping the human in a tight, desperate hug, as if fearing he might vanish at any moment. Scarab couldn’t contain the surge of emotions, and tears flowed freely down his face. He made no attempt to suppress them, choosing instead to bury his face into Prismo’s shoulder. The human responded with warm, comforting arms, holding Scarab close as he sobbed.
“H-hey,” Prismo spoke gently, patting the beetle’s back. “What’s with the waterworks?” Scarab pulled back, his expression contorted in a snarl as he glared at the human.
“You idiot! Why the hell did you go out and die when I specifically told you to return to the Time Cube?!” Scarab yelled, his caws digging int fabric on Prismo’s shoulders, fiercely shaking him. Despite the intensity of his words, there was an underlying vulnerability, a lack of the usual sharpness in Scarab’s actions. “If I wasn’t so happy to see you came back, I would kill you myself!”
Prismo’s dizzily charming smile met Scarab’s scowl as the beetle reluctantly allowed his hands to be pried away. Turning away, Scarab crossed his arms, attempting to conceal the telltale signs of tears and embarrassment. He didn’t anticipate revealing such vulnerability upon meeting Prismo again. He didn't expect to see Prismo again at all, and he was still in shock that Prismo was right behind him.
A soft laugh escaped Prismo, and he made another attempt to engage the beetle. “I’m sorry, Scrabby,” he said, but Scarab remained stoic, pushing away inquisitive stars and wiping away tears.
“Sorry that I died,” Prismo tried again, stepping forward to place a comforting hand on Scarab’s shoulder, causing the beetle to shiver slightly at the warm touch. “Should I say more?”
Scarab shot a stern look over his shoulder, brushing away the hand in a attempt to keep up apperences. “You should say that you should’ve listened to me, gone back to the Time Cube, and not ended up dying like a complete fool,” he hissed, swatting (gently) away a star that dared to approach.
“I’m sorry that I didn’t listen to you, go back to the Time Cube, and ended up dying like a complete fool,” Prismo repeated, the smile evident in his voice. “Happy now?”
Scarab hummed and then shook his head. “No.”
“Okay, okay, no need for the dramatics,” Prismo teased, moving to stand beside Scarab, who continued to avoid eye contact. The beetle swatted away persistent tears while Prismo chuckled. “Besides, it’s not like I planned on dying, you know. Stuff happens.”
Scarab huffed, his refusal to face Prismo still firm. “Stuff happens? Stuff wouldn’t have happened, and you would have been perfectly fine if you had listened to me.” The beetle was beginning to get overwhelmed by the reaperence of the human, causing him to take a few deep, albiet shakey, breaths to calm himself.
“I said I was sorry, Scrabby,” Prismo smiled. “I promise to listen to you and not die in the future, okay?”
Turning his head for a side-eye, Scarab grumbled, “You better. I’ve had enough of that nonsense.” Prismo laughed and draped an arm around Scarab’s shoulders, pulling him into a half-hug. The stars twinkled around them in celebration, amplifying the blush on Scarab’s face as Prismo curiously observed. He raised a hand, inviting the stars in, and immediately got swarmed. Scarab smiled slightlly at the pure panic on the human’s face.
“Don’t worry,” Scarab reassured, gently lifting one of the stars. He tossed it into the void, accompanied by the sounds of rivers and lakes. “They won’t hurt you.”
Prismo, curious and bewildered, asked, “What are they?” as he tried to coax the stars away. Scarab chuckled.
“Universes,” he replied, shooing the stars off Prismo. Holding a smaller star, he presented it to Prismo. The sounds of rain, wind, and a dog’s bark emanated from the star. Scarab grabbed Prismo’s hand, placing the star in the palm of his hand, admiring the wonder in Prismo’s expression.
“Wow,” Prismo uttered, releasing the star after a moment. “I didn’t know they did that.”
“There is a lot more to being Wishmaster than just granting wishes, Prismo,” Scarab teased, evoking a surprised look. He blinked, tilting his head.
“Okay, one, what did you do to my Scarab?” Prismo inquired, earning a soft chuckle from the beetle. Then his face warmed when he realized what Prismo had said. “And two, I just realized you don’t have your mask on.”
Scarab had forgotten that he'd removed the mask. Growing self-conscious, Scarab tried to pull the faceplates back over his face. “Oh, right. Sorry, I’ll—” Scarab’s words were cut off as Prismo released him and grabbed his wrist with both hands, brining the limb up and holding it gently. He looked at the human, surprised to see that very same emotion Scarab witnessed all those years ago. After a moment of recognition, his face went aflame when he identified it.
Love.
“You’re beautiful,” Prismo whispered, sliding his hand up Scarab’s arm before it rested on his elbow, easily avoiding the sharp spikes. Scarab didn’t move, allowing the human to slowly raise a hand and cradle his cheek. “Don’t ever cover yourself up, please.”
Scarab stood frozen, his senses attuned to the warmth of Prismo’s hand on his skin. The human maintained a steady gaze, thumb gently wiping away the traces of Scarab’s tears. The touch elicited a profound warmth within Scarab, emboldening him to find his voice amidst the emotional turmoil. “Prismo,” he uttered, the word delicate, wispy, laden with unspoken emotions. Prismo blinked, his face suddenly aflame, and he instinctively withdrew.
“S-sorry! Don’t know what—” Prismo’s words were cut short as Scarab seized the human’s face, gently pulling him down. Scarab didn't know what he was doing, having only imagined meeting the other in locked away written drafts and fantasies of his. And despite that, he couldn’t resist a fleeting glance at the lips he had only dreamt of feeling again.
“Can I try something?” Scarab hesitently whispered, his voice fragile yet miraculously devoid of stutter. Prismo’s eyes flickered downward before swiftly returning to meet Scarab’s gaze.
Prismo managed an awkward nod, hindered by Scarab’s hands still on his face. “Sure,” he responded, his voice oddly breathless.
“Then close your eyes,” Scarab instructed, embaressemnt heating his cheeks. Prismo complied, allowing his pretty blue eyes to slip shut. Scarab withdrew one of his hands, a small smile forming as he observed Prismo’s furrowed brows. Hesitant yet determined, Scarab gently took hold of Prismo’s wrist and guided it to his waist, the other hand quickly following suit. Scarab inhaled deeply, seeking to quell the rising nerves, relying on a thousand-year plan before tilting Prismo’s head downward.
With a hint of hesitation, Scarab brought their faces closer, causing Prismo to draw in a breath through his nose. It was a fleeting moment, just a simple peck, but when Scarab attempted to withdraw, Prismo chased, his hand rising from its previous place to cradle the back of Scarab’s neck. The human held him in place as Prismo initiated a full-fledged kiss. Scarab froze in brief shock before responding promptly, meeting the kiss with equal enthusiasm as his mandibles found their place on the human's cheeks.
Prismo’s lips felt soft and warm against Scarab’s, carrying a hint of salt from lingering tears on their skin. Behind the salt, there was a sweet taste of cotton candy and other delectable treats, a flavor as addictive as poison—an intoxication that Scarab found himself eager to indulge in. His heart thundered in his chest, creating a near-deafening rhythm that paradoxically made him feel overwhelmingly alive. Prismo’s hand glided from Scarab’s neck to his cheek, deepening the kiss. A small trill escaped Scarab, prompting Prismo to break away, a soft laugh resonating against his face. When Scarab opened his eyes, he found Prismo gazing at him with a warmth that nearly burned.
“What’s so funny?” Scarab inquired, his voice hoarse and filled with longing.
“Nothing, lovebug,” Prismo replied, and the endearing nickname set Scarab’s cheeks ablaze. “You just made a cute noise.”
“I did?” Scarab asked, pulling away slightly. His reaction rewarded with a small kiss on his forehead, causing him to chrip softly. He bit his lip to try and stifle any other noises he might make.
“Mhm, is this alright?” Prismo inquired, planting tender kisses all over Scarab’s face. Scarab offered no verbal response, only closing his eyes and sighing contently as Prismo continued with delicate kisses on his eyelids. A small trill escaped him when Prismo placed a gentle kiss at the base of his antennae, prompting Scarab’s eyes to snap open as he instinctively covered his face. Prismo chuckled softly, reaching up to gently remove Scarab’s hand and proceeding to pepper more kisses on each talon.
“That’s new,” Scarab whispered, earning a warm smile in response. Scarab looked away, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Prismo, ever perceptive, gently guided Scarab’s hand to rest on his shoulder and used his free hand to turn Scarab’s face toward him.
“Do you want some more?” Prismo asked, relinquishing control to Scarab. Scarab hesitated, nerves flaring up in his stomach, before he indicated his desires with a subtle nod. Without further words, they reunited, their bodies and lips pressed together. Scarab’s hands found their places—one tangled in Prismo’s soft pink hair, eliciting a pleased noise from Prismothat Scarab eagerly swallowed, and the other pressing firmly against Prismo’s back, drawing them even closer. Prismo’s hands mirrored the intimacy, one resting on Scarab’s waist and the other caressing his cheek in gentle circles. Scarab sought more, more, more, pressing closer, searching for that high.
A soft gasp escaped Scarab when he felt Prismo nip at him, opening his mouth in anticipation for more, only to emit a soft whine when Prismo pulled away. Overwhelmed and embarressed, Scarab leaned into Prismo’s chest, his breaths coming in heavy, labored gasps, and his face burning with a deep blush. The world seemed to spin around him, and he clung to Prismo, listening to the comforting rhythm of the human’s own accelerated heartbeat.
“T-there’s a wisher that’s been waiting for the better part of an hour,” Prismo said, his voice hoarse and breathless, an undertone of delight evident in his words. The realization filled Scarab with a sense of accomplishment before he fully registered what Prismo had said. Groaning into the human’s chest, Scarab reluctantly pulled away, took a step back, and examined the situation for himself. Indeed, there was a wisher patiently waiting. With a casual flick of his wrist, Scarab opened the door and turned to face Prismo.
“You are still the Wishmaster, Prismo,” Scarab reminded him, his own voice slightly breathless. “Do you want to handle this one?”
“Nah,” Prismo responded, wrapping Scarab in a hug and resting his head on the beetle’s head. “I did just come back from the dead.” Scarab huffed and peeled the human off of him.
“Then go back to the garden,” Scarab instructed, earning a hum and a nod from Prismo.
“We’ll continue this later,” Prismo added with a wink before manipulating the floor beneath him. The yellow surface enveloped him, and a moment later, they fell back into the floor, leaving Scarab alone with a few curious stars. Scarab buried his face in his hands, a mix of positive emotions and embarrassment flooding over him for appearing so desperate.
After taking a moment to collect himself, Scarab conjured a wall and pressed his form into it, reverting to his 2D state. He appeared at the visitor block and scrutinized his own appearance. Good, he didn't look desprete or flustered. Adjusting the paths to expedite the wisher’s arrival, Scarab impatiently tapped his talons against his arm while he waited. As soon as the wisher appeared, offering a respectful bow, Scarab cut to the chase.
“Great Wishmaster! I am-”
“Do you know who I am and what a wish is?” Scarab interrupted. The creature paused, then nodded. “Good, make your wish.”
“Forgive me, great Wishmaster, but may I request some time to refine my wish?” the wisher politely asked. Scarab silently cursed his luck. Of course, one of his absolute favorite types of clients would show up now.
“Fine,” he spat, “but hurry up.” Thankfully, they thought quickly and collected their words, pausing just before revealing their wish.
“Great Wishmaster,” they said, earning a glare from Scarab. “If I may, why is it that you look so… flustered?”
“You interrupted me at a very important time,” Scarab responded, sharpening his glare. “Now hurry up, what’s your wish?” The wisher smiled and nodded.
“I wish for the power to protect my loved ones, ever changing to suit the time I need to protect them, and never running out.”
“Wish granted,” he declared, fortunate that the wish was so detailed. The wisher faded with a smile, finally leaving Scarab alone.
Now, it was time to return to his garden.
