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gaylotusthatexists · 4 months

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(read on ao3 here)

She was dead.

Scar stared down into the ravine, at Pearl’s lifeless body sprawled out on the ground, not quite able to tell where her red cape ended and the blood stained stone began. He hadn’t even noticed at first - he’d heard her scream, but had barely even processed it. Thought that maybe she’d just slipped, fell a couple blocks at most. He called out her name when things went silent. She hadn’t responded.

He sat down on the edge, unable to tear his eyes away. Everything was so quiet, far too quiet. No laughter, no screams, no metal piercing through the air, no heavy footsteps pounding towards him. Not even the wind howling in his ears.

That was it, then?

He…

He brought a hand up to his mouth, clasping it shut, holding back the sob that racked through his body. He didn’t feel like he had the right to mourn. Pearl hadn’t even really been an ally, let alone a friend, not until the very end.

(That’s just how it goes for him, huh? Finally makes a friend, and she dies by his own hand.)

But, even if only for a brief moment, she had fought by his side. She’d been willing to protect him, to give up her own life for him. And now she was gone, and so was everyone else, and Scar had never expected to get this far. So he let the tears roll down his cheeks, shoulders shaking, and… well, it wasn’t like there was anyone around to see, was it?

(Was this how Grian had felt? With the harsh desert sun beating down on him, staring at Scar’s lifeless body, blood soaking into the sand, at the edge of a silent world. Had he mourned? Or had it been a relief?)

He forced himself to take in a deep breath, lowering his hands and reaching for the scroll tucked into his pocket. He unrolled it, stared down at the red ink, eyes tracing across those three words. Win Secret Life. He’d…

Huh.

It occurred to him, in that moment, that he’d succeeded. Right? There was nobody left, so…

“Oh my gosh,” he muttered, a smile creeping across his face. “Oh my gosh, I-”

He took in a shaky breath, then stood up, stumbling more than walking over to the Secret Keeper. It almost felt like a trance, his feet somehow carrying him forward whilst his mind raced a million miles an hour, trying to process what had just happened. He’d won. And he’d…

Gosh, he’d done so many things he now regretted to get there, but he made it out. He was still alive.

Everyone had been against him. Everyone. The very world had been against him, this stupid world had wanted nothing more than for him to be hated, to be alone-

Well. He supposed the world had got its wish, hadn’t it? He was alone now, more alone than he’d ever been. Not like he wasn’t used to it, at least.

The thought crossed his mind as his hand landed on the button, a surge of newfound energy rushing through him. He tossed the thought to the side, his smile moulding into a grin. He’d won.

He laughed. “Take that, Secret Keeper!” He turned around to face the rest of the world, his smile dropping just a smidge as he finally took in all the destruction. He tried not to think about it. “I did it. I beat your stupid game.”

The sun set behind the statue, bright blue skies ahead beginning to darken to a deep purple. He headed towards the stars, back over to his home. Trying his best to ignore the corpses that lined his path. The blood on his hands.

Scar stopped when he arrived at what used to be his home, realising that… right. It’d been destroyed. It’d been destroyed for a while.

The world was growing cold, darkness spreading overhead, wind beginning to nip at his skin. He tugged his shawl tighter around himself, eyes landing instead on the courthouse, still mostly intact, somehow. That… That would work for now.

He settled into the far corner, taking a few moments to gather himself, taking in deep breaths. He hadn’t realised it between the adrenaline of the final fight and grief that had taken hold of him as he came to understand it was over, but he was exhausted. His bones ached, his eyes felt heavy. If it wasn’t for the wounds that still littered his body and the cold that seeped into his skin, he would’ve fallen asleep right then and there.

Instead, he curled up into a ball, trying to preserve as much heat as possible, shut his eyes, and waited. Tried not to think about all that had happened, tried to pretend it was a normal night.

(Once again, his mind drifted back to Grian, wondering if it had been like this for him too. The desert had always grown cold at night, and gosh had Grian complained about it, every single night without fail. But with their home destroyed and Scar dead on the floor, what had he done? No walls to protect him from the wind, no strong arms wrapped around him to keep him warm.)

Scar shivered, curling further into himself, shifting on the hard cobbled floor in an attempt to get comfortable. Nothing was really working.

(Had Grian even stuck around long enough to find out? Or had he immediately moved on, found somewhere new, a place that wasn’t tainted with memories, both good and bad? Should Scar have done the same?)

But with exhaustion settling deep in his bones, he ended up drifting regardless, in and out of a not so great sleep.

When he managed to convince himself to wake up the next morning, all the sunflowers surrounding his home had wilted away.

Days and nights passed, and he made himself busy.

He started repairing Trader Scar’s, filling in the holes in the ground and rebuilding the walls, so he at least had somewhere somewhat comfortable to sleep at night. (Even if the building itself didn’t really matter anymore, since there was no one around to stop by and peruse through his wares. He kept it stocked anyhow.)

He went around the server and gathered up all the bodies that remained, burying each and every one in whatever spot they cherished most. (Even the ones that had died by his hands. Even the ones he’d been unkind to, the ones who’d been unkind to him - in all honesty, he’d deserved it. The least he could do was allow them now to rest.)

He did his best to repair the rest of the damage, or at the very least clean everything up, allowing the memory of everyone else to be preserved. (Even as those memories haunted him at night, his dreams filled with blank faces and blood stained clothes. As the days wore on, he found it harder and harder to convince himself to sleep.)

Since no new tasks came, he started to make up his own. Happy ones, this time. Picking flowers, creating art, sending compliments, leaving gifts at the graves of those who had fallen. Tasks that he wished he could’ve gotten during the duration of the games, so that maybe things would’ve turned out differently. Maybe people would’ve liked him more, maybe he’d find less swords or arrows plunged through skin, wouldn’t have found his hand on the sword’s hilt or the bow’s string.

They all ended up bittersweet. A dead body couldn’t cherish a gift, hear a compliment, admire a piece of art. Flowers wilted beneath his feet and in his hands.

The world he inhabited was dying, but refused to drag him down with it.

Months passed, and he continued to live, wandering an empty, dying world.

(He wondered, again, if it had been like this for Grian. If he’d tried to make amends, build their house back up, repair the rest of the destruction that had been caused by their hands. If he’d buried Scar’s bodies next to Pizza’s grave, laid out a bouquet of poppies and lilacs, sat and cried as he remembered the time that they had shared. Or if he’d moved on immediately, ran off and found somewhere new.)

Scar thought about it sometimes, running away. As far away from the Secret Keeper as he could get, beyond where the border used to lie, carve out a new life for himself. He could never bring himself too.

(The desert began to invade his dreams. Grian’s lifeless body at the base of Monopoly Mountain, so small in the place so vast and endless. Dead before he could see the stars one final time, the world now dying around him.)

He couldn’t remember the last time he spoke. He was used to feeling lonely, when he pressed that button he thought he’d be able to handle it, but this was so much different.

He didn’t know what he was supposed to do.

Wait?

For how long?

Every other time, the moment his heart had stopped, his eyes had opened and he’d be back home, back to his normal life. And eventually he’d be pulled away again, of course. The games would continue forever and ever and Scar was fine with that, he itched for it, wanted desperately for new allies and new enemies and a new world to discover, a world that was living.

When would everything start over again?

Had he not been punished enough?

(He remembered seeing Grian after they’d left the desert. Remembered how he’d thrown himself into Scar’s arms, sobbed on his shoulder, clutched the back of his shirt so incredibly tightly, like he was scared to let go. He hadn’t understood it at the time, didn’t know why Grian was so upset - they were both safe now, Scar had been willing to die for Grian to live, he hadn’t been upset by it. Now, he understood.)

He was caving when it happened. His pickaxe had finally broken a few days ago, and he needed a couple diamonds to replace it - sure, he could’ve taken one of the many swords left behind by the others, but that felt… wrong, for some reason. (He’d never been above stealing before. He couldn’t quite figure out why this time it felt different.)

He hadn’t been paying attention. He very rarely paid attention, nowadays, but up on the surface that wasn’t such a bad thing. His efforts to fill in all the holes around the server made travel relatively easy, and actually being able to sleep through the night for a change definitely helped. Down here, none of that mattered.

He didn’t even see what it was in the end. He wasn’t convinced he would’ve fought it off if he did.

Scar died, and the world finally went with him.

He awoke to bright sun shining through a window, and warm sheets covering his body. Noises outside, laughter drifting through the air.

It didn’t feel right, but still, finally hearing something other than his own breathing brought him to tears. (He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried, he thought his tears had all dried up by now.)

He was home.

And despite being the only one who’d lived in the end, it was only then that, for the first time in months, he actually felt alive.

#i'm normal about secret life scar i swear #*hands u just under 1.9k words of post sl scar angst*#i'm very proud of him but oh my gosh #secret life spoilers #traffic spoilers #secret life #trafficblr #third life #goodtimeswithscar #my writing #my fanfic

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avocad1sh0w0 · 1 year

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I was thinking

What if when Scar lost his second life during the 3rd life series in that ravine, Grian jumped with him trying to save him, try and put water so he didn't died, not so early in the season.

What if Grian was the one upfront and fell, would he have left Scar? As he would've lost his first life, and didn't have to follow Scar everywhere, would've he stayed?

What if, in double life all Grian wanted was to not hurt scar, as the desert was already enough damage done, as lying to him about giving his life right back was already enough, he'd sit looking up, thinking what could've changed, if he never led the creeper into the group and ended up killing Scar, if he had made a bridge at that crack, not letting it claim innocent lives.

What if Scar knew, knew they were meant to be soul bounded for this series, they always have their ways of manipulating things just to make them suffer, knew that no matter what, they'd always be together, soul bounded or not.

What if the Watchers only ever put them together in the red velvet mountain to see them trying to apologize for each single life game till now, to look at each other and see more than dried blood stained clothes and sand, to help them, as they proved that they're stronger together.

What if Grian, every end of a life game would come to the higher power and plead for Scar be with someone not so dangerous, as he knows he only brings death to people who get too close to him, and yet all he wants is to hold Scar, make sure for himself that he's still there, that they left the endless, hot desert, that all of that weren't just mirages of the red desert high sun, and still, he goes there, tells them his woes but nothing. ever. changes.

What if, at that first sunset the saw at the desert, at it's early days, could be seen more often with the same peace and feeling of safety as it was.

What if they'd just let it be, as it was meant to be, projected to be like this, bended, destroyed, constructed again and again and again, just so they could assure themselves that the other they so much loved at the tower, during it's cold nights, was still there, look at the other, love and fear, fear for what might come, fear that one might be the death of the other, even if accidentally.

WHAT IF ALL THEY EVER ONLY WANTED WAS TO LOVE WITHOUT BEING SCARED THAT THEY MIGHT DIE AT ANY MOMENT, WITHOUT BEING AFRAID OF CREATING ENEMIES OR HAVING TO BUILD ALLIANCES JUST SO THEY COULD LOVE, YET WITHOUT THE SAME SAFETY THEY ALWAYS EVER DESIRED.

What it every other night they'd cry for each other to be safe when one wakes up...

What if all they ever wanted was to go back to hermitcraft and be able to love, with the assurance of countless respawns and security....

What if they never left the moonlight soaked, cold tower, the bloodied and burnt cactus ring, the death stained desert....

What if?

#grian #desert duo #hermitcraft #gtws #hc grian #last life smp #trafficshipping #3rd life #hermitcraft s8 #scarian #double life smp #desertduo

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nervoussuitangel · 1 year

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“And The Winner Of Third Life Is...!”

OK SO WE GOT THIS NOW I DEEPLY APOLOGIZE FOR THIS HAHAHAHAHAHAH IM GONNA GO CRY NOW

Characters: Third Life Scar & Third Life Grian

Prompt: Angst.

Trigger Warnings: Gore, Violence, Blood, Character death, G has a breakdown at the end

Authors Note: I am so sorry but it was stuck in my head I had to write it

Word Count: 618

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It’s a wonder how two people can go from being super close, to enemies with just one act. It could be something one says or does, or often, it’s due to betrayal. But how close can one be? Comrades? Teammates? Friends? Lovers? It all depends on the person.

Time and time again, lovers pull through the odds. Even when one gets on their “third life” before the other. That bond stays, no matter which life they’re on. Of course, Scar didn’t act how “red lives” should act. He seemed to become more lovey-dovey rather than homicidal. Instead of acting out in an attempted murder, he bestowed flowers upon Grian. They weren’t desert roses, but they were still just as beautiful.

“I’ll never go against you, Grian!” Those six words. It wasn’t much, but it was something that meant the world to him. Scar made him feel alive. With him, Grian could do anything, as long as he had Scar’s support. After all, Scar wouldn’t go against him! Right?

It was the last day. Most of the server was either on yellow, or red. It was survival of the fittest. Everyone resorted to violence, erratic plans, irrational actions. It was anarchy.

And yet, despite the chaos of everything, Grian stayed by Scars side like a loyal servant. He refused to go against scar.

But when Scar killed Grian, al because of a stupid “no-kill pass,” it hurt far worse than the original pain of death. The feeling of betrayal was one thing Grian hated. SCAR, the man that Grian LOVED, killed him, and put him on his red life. A betrayal he just couldn’t get over.

That put them here. In the very desert they called home, in a ring of cactus, for a battle to the death. Much to the reluctancy of Scar. Grian didn’t know what to think of it. In his eyes, he saw the betrayal as Scar’s weird way of ending things. Ending them. Breaking the contract. And with the contract broken, everything was on the table.

Grian was the first to attack. It was a fist fight. No weapons, no armor, and no healing items. Grian may be small, but man he could certainly throw a punch. Scar fell backwards into the sand with a thud.

“You’re not holding back, huh Sunflower.” Scar commented with a laugh.

“...No. And DON’T call me that. You lost the honor of that.” Grian’s words shot with venom. Right now, Scar was his enemy. And he had to eradicate all enemies.

“…What? What do you mean…?” Scar wasn’t fighting back. He was confused.

“YOU KILLED ME SCAR! YOU SAID YOU WOULDN’T GO AGAINST ME BUT LOOK AT US.”

Scar went silent. Grian swung again, and scar stumbled back. He felt a light poke of the cactus behind him, not realizing how close he was to the ring. Scar gave a weak smile.

“…You’re right, G. I betrayed you. I accept my fate.”

Grian hesitated for a second, before grabbing Scar’s head. He then proceeded to force it backwards, directly into the cactus. He repeated the motion over, and over, the crimson of Scar’s blood staining the cactus, and running down onto Grian’s hand. Scar’s body quickly fell limp, yet Grian kept slamming it against the cactus, in a pitiful, sad chance to let out his frustration. Once he stopped, he looked down at the corpse that was formerly his boyfriend. Grian let out a gasp and collapsed down to the ground.

“Scar…? Scar c’mon… please… wake up… I’m… I’m sorry…” Grian choked out through tears eyes, and a raspy voice. But he didn’t get a response.

Scar was long dead.

And Grian was the winner of third life.

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skitter-kitter · 3 years

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hullo! for the prompt if you’re still taking it: grian’s return to scar’s mountain with his items, except by the time he arrives scar has gone back to yellow already

You got… angst!

Grian feels the communicator buzz against his leg. He ignores it. It’s probably just Martyn trying to convince him to take Scar’s things and run. It’s probably Mumbo asking him why is returning his items so important?

He wouldn’t have an answer for Mumbo, if he did ask.

Because— it’s about the principle of things. It’s about graves left at the site of an accident. It’s about life debts. It’s about murdered pets.

It’s about the chance of seeing those familiar red eyes and getting a moment to return to happier times. It’s about Scar smiling and showing him his latest pets.

It’s about seeing that familiar mountain, one last time.

Except, when he scales the mountain— something is wrong. The obsidian box is still there. It’s redstone still functional.

And Scar is inside his wizard hut.

Grian steps inside.

“Grian! My buddy, my pal,” Scar talks loudly, overwhelmingly so. He walks around the counter to greet Grian. His eyes are yellow now.

Like gold.

“Are you here to buy some crystals? Talk more about the contract?”

Fool’s gold.

Grian was a fool once, with rose-tinted glasses hiding Scar’s crimson eyes and dull skin.

Now, his glasses are clear. And… Scar is yellow.

Scar’s smiling, as if he never died. As if the scars aren’t a violent splash of paint across his face. As if he can’t see the way they go all the way down his arms, legs, and chest.

“I came to return your things.” His voice is softer than he means it to be. Gentler, kinder— vulnerable.

Scar frowns.

“You did? Oh, thank you! You know, I left all my crystals at home. That’s why the lava got me the second time!”

He’s half-tempted to ask second time? but the disappointment is crushing. It burns like blood hidden under his nails. Like Scar’s pleads.

Like sand stained red.

Scar is yellow, and somehow… Grian is disappointed.

Maybe, if Scar was red— it would be different.

Maybe, if Scar was red— he would suggest an alliance.

Maybe, if Scar was red— Grian wouldn’t leave.

But… the world wasn’t that kind. It was easy to hand Scar the pack filled with his items (and two pieces of TNT, as a gift) and leave.

It was harder to walk back to the Southlands, feeling fool’s gold crystallize around his heart.

Maybe, when he hit red again, it would shatter— and Monopoly Mountain could be restored to its former glory.

(Send me an ask with a prompt and I’ll flip a coin on if I make it angsty or fluffy!)

#skitty asks #artanogon #last life smp #grian #scar #skitty fics #i love me some mm angst lol

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square-blunt · 3 years

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Don't trust english boys with far too much free time (SPOLIERS FOR 3RD LIFE SMP)

its that time again, i wrote a fic run in here come get y'alls juice. 3rd life smp fic that i threw together rq. (HUGE SPOILERS) Basically, during Scott's 7th episode, I make everything worse than it was.

Tw- Death, major gore/blood mentions, suidical intentions, but it's only a few lines and it's nothing explicit, and overall hurt. Wc: 2994 AO3: here!

It had all happened so fast. The battle of- Scott couldn’t be bothered to remember what Grian had called it. Why should he? It was the battle where he lost everything. Fuck, it had all happened too fast. He and Grian were killed. Him by Ethos, Grian by Martyn, and then- and then Jimmy. Jimmy was shot by Skizz. Scott had respawned somewhere outside of the flower kingdom, running back to the desert as quickly as he could, but when Jimmy’s- when the message popped up- Scott stopped running. He could feel it, too, a ringing in his ears, a phantom pain in the right side of his head- he didn’t need the message to know that his husband was dead. He becomes lightheaded, vision blurring, and he stumbles into and leans on a tree for stability. He- he didn’t- he couldn’t- he shouldn’t have- just left Jimmy there- how could he have been so stupid? If he just hadn’t died- if he had just told Jimmy to stay home- if he had just told Grian and Scar to fuck off- he stumbles down the hill towards the desert. Why hadn’t the TNT gone off yet- Scar wasn’t dead why hasn’t he pulled the lever? As the desert comes into view, Scott sees that the lever had indeed been pulled. Dogwarts just got lucky. None of them died. He sees some of them still hanging around the bunker where Scar and- no, Jimmy- Jimmy- his husband was more resilient than that- he- Scott knew- Jimmy wasn’t dead he couldn’t be that wasn’t how this worked- no, no, no. No- no- it’s not- he’s not-

/msg SolidarityGaming: [This user doesn’t exist]

No- no, fuck-

“Jimmy?” Scott whispers to himself. He needs- he has to- Jimmy’s name- he needs to hear someone say it. If he has to say it himself then so fucking be it. “Jimmy- Jimmy, Jimmy I’m so sorry, Jimmy- please- I’m sorry please, Jimmy, please come back, Jimmy, I can’t-” he doesn’t want to alert the Dogwarts people- he has extra potions behind the desert house. He avoids any Dogwarts that stayed behind and snags his extra potions. He feels numb. He doesn’t know where Scar is, he doesn’t know where Grian is, he doesn’t know what’s gonna happen next but quite honestly he doesn’t care. He doesn’t want to go back to the bunker- but he doesn’t have a choice. He makes his way back over, and he hears Grian worrying over Scar inside,

“Grian?” Scott is surprised at how horse his voice is.

“Scott? Scott- what- it- what happened? ” Grian climbs out of a hole in the sand, dirty, bloody, and worried

“It all went- horribly, horribly wrong-” Scott pushes down the massive pit in his stomach, and tries to put some lightness in his voice.

“Oh- all is- all is lost- what happened? Did the explosion- the explosion- what-” Grian starts to sprint towards the massive crater in the desert- and Scott follows closely behind.

“The explosion went off but it didn’t kill any of them- Cleo was shot by Ren??” Scott sees the message pop up on his communicator- the pit in his stomach expanding as he tries not to look up at- or not to think about what Bdubs might be thinking. He ponders reaching out- but he doesn’t think he could handle that right now. He knows Grian is talking, probably going on, and on about the explosion, maybe wondering where Scar went- if he was anywhere he’d be in the bunker- where Jimmy…. Where Jimmy was supposed to be. The ringing in his ears grows louder.

“-all is lost.” Scott slowly regains his bearings and hears Grian fretting over… everything that’s just happened. “We must- Do- ugh- Is there any stuff here to get back? Are we completely dead?”

“Um, I have this, I- I’m- I was smart in my excess potions, I put away-” Scott says, opening his bag and handing a few to the other.

“As you can see I also had a backup room-” Scott does notice that Grian has iron armor, which was more than him at least.

“Yeah, I have a few more diamonds- oh-”

“Tango was shot by Ren- Tango is out-” Grian says, calling attention to yet another death message.

Scott responds, but he doesn’t know what he said, he doesn’t understand what Grian says next, because they’re standing at the doorway to the bunker. It wasn't the doorway Grain had built, just a hole in the wall. 2 blocks high, one block wide, beckoning for Scott to go in, to see what had happened. Scott knows his husband is on the other side of that wall.

"-Scott?" Scott snaps back to reality when Grian places a hand on his shoulder.

"I’m- I'm okay, really-" Scott rushes, feeling a familiar sting in his eyes. Do not cry do not cry do not cry-

"Do you want me to go in with you?" Grian says, as soft as can be. Fuck, he hates that. He's supposed to be this battle-hardened warrior- do not cry do not cry- Grian wasn't supposed to remind him of how vulnerable he is. Grian wasn't supposed to see how vulnerable he could get.

Scott shakes his head, putting on a smile, do not cry, "What do you mean? I'm just gonna go see if there's anything we can salvage-" his voice shakes, but he hopes Grian doesn't notice.

Grian notices

"Scott, I'll be waiting out here." Grian gives Scott a friendly smile, "Here." Grian offers him a water bottle and a washcloth. Scott chokes back a sob and takes it, his smile wavering. He nods, not trusting himself to speak. Grian walks a few paces away, out of soft speaking distance, and Scott turns back to the gap. He takes a deep, shuddering breath. Fuck, he doesn't want to do this. He wants to turn around, run back to his kingdom, lock himself inside his house and pretend that all of this never happened. That Jimmy- that Jimmy was still across the pond, making a fuss over the cows and the chickens, asking him to mine, and then mining for hours and finding nothing but companionship. Scott wasn't ready to face the truth. Scott wasn't ready to face his last two lives without him- Scott wasn't ready to face anything without him. He takes another breath, and steps in. He looks down at his feet- that was a mistake.

There's so much blood.

It's everywhere he looks.

Everywhere he looks is just… red.

Fuck, there's so much blood.

It's smeared on the floor, a sign of struggle? There are footprints. Maybe- no, the footprints lead out the door- they're Scars. Any hope Scott had left leaves his body in a sob. He covers his mouth and backs up against the wall, squeezing his eyes shut.

He knows what's in this room.

He knows.

He doesn't want to accept it but he knows.

He opens his eyes, and it's like a stab to the gut.

He can't look further than Jimmy's hand.

That hand that Scott took as he pulled him out of a hole the first day, the hand that Scott shook to promise friendship, the- the hand that Scott held, last night, under the stars, listening to an owl far in the distance, trying not to fall asleep, confessing to each other that they might be more than friends. The hand that quickly fashioned a makeshift ring out of a red tulip stem. The hand that couldn't build for shit, but somehow built the most important thing to Scott- a bond. The hand that laid limp, lifeless, grey, covered in its own blood.

Scott wishes it were him.

Scott wishes that he was the one whose blood was all over the floor, the walls, the ceiling.

Scott was tough, blunt, sarcastic but Jimmy was bright and happy and his smile lit up the entire world- he was Scott's entire world- fuck, why'd it have to be Jimmy? Jimmy was so… unapologetically loving. Scott loved few and far between. Jimmy was carefree. Scott was a pushover. Jimmy couldn't give two shits about what other people thought of him. Scott was meticulous and worried over the slightest details. Jimmy was willing to hear everyone out, to give people second chances. Scott was toxic and everyone knew it. Jimmy was loved by everyone. Scott was loved by Jimmy. Why did it have to be Jimmy?

Scott's stomach is turning itself inside out, his head is spinning, his lungs won't take in enough air, he sobs again. He falls to his knees. He can taste the salt and iron that hangs in the air, its sting seeping into his skin. His hands are stained with blood- with Jimmy's blood- he crawls over to Jimmy. Grasping his hand- somehow it's colder than Scott remembers. Jimmy's hand was already cold due to him being a red-life but now it's so cold that Scott can barely take it. He sobs again, but this time he can't stop. The sobs won't stop, the tears won't stop, the pain won't stop- as they roll off Scott's cheeks and fall to the floor, to his hand, to Jimmy's hand- they fall and clear circular patches of blood away. It reminds Scott that the blood hasn't had time to dry yet.

Scott sobs harder.

Scott makes the mistake of looking up.

Jimmy really does look like he's sleeping.

His eyes are closed, his lips, soft and slightly parted.

He'd look so peaceful.

If it weren't for the arrow in the side of his head, and the gashes in his chest.

Those fucking- they raided the bunker and made sure- that's where all the blood came from- they fucking- Scott moved to cradle Jimmy's head in his lap, wiping away the blood on Jimmy's face. Scott wants to believe he's sleeping. Jimmy just… fell asleep in his arms. They were up on a ridge top somewhere, and Jimmy just fell asleep. He can almost feel the landscape around him, the cool breeze… he can hear Jimmy's laughter and indignant protests over the simplest things, he can't feel a phantom hand cupping his cheek. He can hear Jimmy say 'I love you'.

Scott screams.

Scott screams until his voice feels torn to shreds.

In honor of a voice he'd never hear again.

He screams as many 'No's and utter denials and one can muster, he screams at those- those bastards that took Jimmy from him, he screams 'If I had' after 'If I had' after 'If I had', he screams for the tears that drown his vision, the tightness in his chest that feels suffocating. He knows Grian can hear him through the sandstone walls but he doesn't care. He hadn't cared for a long time. Not until Jimmy. Jimmy, his fucking starshine, his morning glory, his fucking dumbass husband, who didn't hesitate to protect Scott from the most powerful people here- because Jimmy didn't want to lose him.

It should have been Scott.

But the universe is cruel.

He hunches over, sobs tearing through his body, protecting what's left of his husband, watching his own tears leave clean streaks in the bloody mess. He takes the water and the rag and wipes away what he can. Scott clears Jimmy's face, his beautiful fucking face, wipes the blood from his lips, nose, hair. Oh, his hair. Jimmy never did anything with it. Never brushing it, leaving it in whatever state it was in when he woke up, starting a few days ago, Scott would hold him down and fix it for him. 'No husband of mine is going to walk around with hair as bad as that.' It didn't matter, Jimmy's hair was still matted to the side of his head. Scott couldn't even look to that side of his face without almost throwing up-

The arrow despawns.

Scott pulls his sword from his inventory with hysteric breaths and unforgiving sobs. He holds it at arm's length. He's still a yellow-life, this wouldn't fix anything. He'd become a red-life, and then have to do it all over again. He doesn't have the energy. He wishes he had the energy, but… he knows Jimmy would be appalled. That is, if the afterlife would be kind enough to put them together. But Jimmy would still be upset. That's one of the many things he loved about Jimmy. If you did something for him, a gift, rebuilding his house, doing his hair, he'd get so flustered. He'd get red in the cheeks and would start stammering and it was the cutest thing. Scott would start teasing him about it and Jimmy would sheepishly smile and hide his face in his shoulder.

But that smile is gone now.

Scott lets the sword clatter to the floor.

"I'm so sorry, Jimmy" Scott whispers, rocking back and forth, his thumb circling Jimmy's cheek. "I never wanted it to end this way." Scott lets his head hang, his hair brushing Jimmy's forehead. Jimmy loved Scott's hair, too. He would constantly tuck it behind Scott's ear for him, sometimes adding a flower. He would constantly complement the blue, make up little nicknames. Jimmy's favorite color was blue.

"It's because of you," Jimmy had said, "blue being my favorite color, it's because of you. Your eyes, your hair, everything about you is blue in the best way. The flowers are jealous." Scott saw blue in everything after that. He sees something blue in his jacket pocket that hadn't been there before-

It's a hyacinth.

Jimmy must have slipped it in before the fight, how it stayed in his pocket he has no idea, but it's the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for him. He gingerly pulls it out, some of the petals are stained, but it doesn't matter to Scott. Jimmy put it there. Jimmy put it there. Jimmy saw this flower, thought of him, snuck it into his pocket, and- maybe Jimmy thought it would bring good luck? Scott starts to sob again, holding a simple blue flower in one hand, his best fucking friend in the other.

Scott tucks the flower behind Jimmy's ear.

Scott's chest and hands and legs are red, his eyes are red, he is broken beyond repair. But he still sees the blue. It stands stark against the red. The blue in Jimmy's clothing, the blue of the hyacinth blending with his hair. Jimmy's eyes were blue, too. He wants to see that blue again more than he's wanted anything in his life. He wants to be mad at those who took it away from him. He can't bring himself to be mad. He should be blind with rage, but he's just tired. If Jimmy were here, he'd make him tea and tell him to stay inside, Jimmy might have even stayed with him instead of going out to farm or mess around with Joel or Impulse.

Why, why, why, why did it have to be Jimmy. Jimmy was the last person who deserved this. Jimmy honestly deserved the world. Jimmy… he made the world a better place. The world feels wrong now.

"I'll be back to bury you, my love, but I can't stay," Scott whispers. He lightly kisses Jimmy's forehead. "We've had each other since the beginning, I will see this through to the end. They won't get away with this. I can't let them. You were everything to me, you still are. I love you with everything I have, even now that death has parted us, I can't stop loving the memories we shared." Scott can't recognize his own voice. It's strained and raspy and it hurts to speak. It hurts to breathe. It hurts so fucking much. Scott has to tear himself away. If he had his way, he would stay there until someone came along to kill him, too. But Grian still needed him. He- he let Jimmy down, he wasn't going to let Grian down. Scott kisses Jimmy's cheek one last time and picks up his sword, planning vengeance. He'd have to survive that long, but he would. He can't give up. He only realizes how bloody he is as he steps out of the bunker. Sure enough, Grian is waiting for him as promised. Before Scott can say anything, Grian runs over and scoops Scott up into a hug.

"You're gonna have blood on your clothes now, too" Scott rasps, Grian laughs lightly.

"I'm so sorry. We'll kill Skizz, I swear on it." Grian says, rubbing Scott's back. Scott tucks his head into Grian's neck.

"What am I supposed to do without him?" Scott whispers, barely audible to either of them

"Kill Dogwarts. Bring them down. Make them regret everything they've ever done." Grian whispers back. No one's around, they have no need to be whispering, but neither of them wants to raise their voice.

"They deserve it, they're homophobic," Scott says, some of his trademark sarcasm creeping back into his voice, Grian giggles.

"There he is. I missed you, Scott." Grian smiles, pulling away.

"This is gonna suck, isn't it," Scott says, sniffing, chest tightening again, a sad smile on his face.

"It might- hey, hey, it might, but Scar and I are here for you. We'll fight tooth and nail for you, and for Jimmy, I swear." Grian offers some armor, which Scott gladly accepts.

"Well, we have to find Scar first," Scott and Grian both laugh, "I'll come back for him, to take him and bury him back home. But… I just can't do that right now." Scott sighs.

"Take all the time you need, Scott," Grian says. Scott was lucky to have him and Scar. Scott knew they were his friends, his allies, and Jimmy trusted them until the end, and so too would Scott. They- they were all he had left of Jimmy.

He wasn’t gonna lose them too.

He can’t.

He couldn’t.

He didn’t.

#tag time yayyyyyyy #3rd life spoilers #3rd life smp #3lsmp #flower husbands #jimmy solidarity #3l!jimmy #3l!solidarity #scott smajor #3l!scott #3l!smajor #angsttttt #blood tw #death tw #Grian tries his best #gremtalks #my fics

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lechairpourriedegrianri · 3 years

Text

Untitled Shulker Box Fic!

I said that I’d tag you in this so @redwinterrises

Words: 1728

Description: Seven scenes of Grian contemplating his partnership with Scar

Warnings: Descriptions of blood, injuries, and violence

Though Grian hoped his partnership with Scar would end well, deep down he knew that things could only turn out badly. Case in point, the tree issue. “If we made an iron farm, do you think we could get enough iron shovels to dig up the desert,” Scar deliberated, deep in whatever constituted thought for him as they moved towards the desert.

“I keep telling you, trying to dig up the desert is a waste of time. If we get the dark oak forest then we’ll have a monopoly. How are we even going to make an iron farm? There’s like three villagers and Impulse has them all.”

“We're smart guys! We can think of some-OH! There’s a bee over there.” Scar bounded off on a detour and Grian gritted his teeth. Scar was great, but when he was taking such a lackadaisical approach to things. having to follow his orders was unbearable. He couldn’t wait to die the first time so he could get away. Scar ran back up, “Had to kill the bee; so you think we could just steal everyone’s iron and diamonds and stuff to make shovels?”

Feeling something in him tense, Grian turned to Scar and did his best to feign calmness and control, “Scar, where on the server can you find sand?”

“The desert, obviously, the bottom of lakes and the river, and the beaches too I guess.”

“And where can you find dark oak?”

“Just the one forest but-” he trailed off when he saw the piercing stare Grian was giving him, “Okay. Forest it is.”

——

Grian stood on the edge of the sand dune, sun beating down on him as he watched Scar and Etho haggle over shoes. “Those are awfully nice shoes, Etho. Surely they’re worth some good reputation.”

Grian sighed, sick of watching Scar scam people for worthless garbage, “Don’t take him up, Etho. He’s cheating you.”

“No I’m not. You’ll get fifty whole reputation points, Etho.”

“What even are reputation points?”

“I’ll take it,” Etho kicked his shoes off and took the scrap of paper from Scar, making Grian groan in frustration.

After happily waving Etho off, Scar turned to Grian. The way the sun glinted off his scar from the creeper explosion still made it look like it was fresh and bleeding red. “Don’t interrupt my dealings,” he muttered, the shadows turning his skin a twisted grey. Grian nodded, having no intentions of doing what he was told.

——

“How do you make a tnt trap?” Back home the question would have been completely innocuous, but here, with his torn pants exposing the deep gashes on his legs from the fall, highlighted on his dead-looking skin, Scar’s words gave Grian cause for concern.

“Where are you going to use it?”

His eyes glowing with malice, Scar clenched his fist, “Dogwarts is going to pay. I’ll use the enchanter as bait and wipe them out in one quick blast.”

Immediately, images of Scar blowing himself to pieces rolled through Grian’s head. As nice as that would have been earlier, now….it was too dangerous. He had no idea which one of the others he could trust, and which could trust him. Love him or hate him, at least Scar was loyal to him. As much as he didn’t want to, Grian placed down a chest, “Give me the tnt you got.”

“Um, sure.” Scar tentatively dumped the tnt in the chest, as well as a spattering of minecart, observers, and pistons. “Are you building the trap or are you just taking this away from me?”

“I’ll….I’ll build it,” Grian shook his head, “It’s preferable to having you build it.”

“Good,” Scar placed a hand on Grian’s shoulder. It was rough, less a friendly gesture and more holding his lackey in place. “I’m glad you’re finally listening to me for once.”

——

Smoke billowed from the gates of Dogwarts, and Grian laughed. Jimmy had been stupid enough to nudge the tnt while the were disarming Grian’s trap, and and he, Skizz, and Ren himself had been turned into an ashy crater. Just the thought of it made Grian turn from giggled to unrestrained, ridiculous laughter. Scar and Ren grappled on the edge of the hill, and with a sickly crack Scar slugged Ren in the face, sending him toppling over the edge and letting him hit the ground with a thud.

Blood trickling from his forehead and a nasty scrape across his arm, Ren bellowed furiously, “You’ll pay for this, desert fiend!” before limping back to Dogwarts. Scar scampered away as well, likely to recoup in the desert. Feeling giddy, Grian turned to follow him, but Martyn grabbed him by the wrist.

“Grian, wait. I need to ask you something.”

“What is it?” Grian glanced back at Martyn, who was a mix of worried and hopeful.

“Big B and I were talking and…as the Blue Sword Boys we think we should try to rescue you from Scar. We’re going to ask Skizz to kill you so that you can get out of your deal without suspicion.”

Something in Grian churned, and a frown curled over his face, “What makes you think I want out of my deal?”

Martyn tightened his grip, “What are you talking about?”

“Right now Scar trusts me completely, and I’d rather have the most powerful wild card on the server in my palm than at my throat. So,” he broke free of Martyn’s grasp and drew his sword, “That’s,” he slashed his sword across his opponent’s knuckles, leaving a thin trail of blood, “A no.” A boot to the stomach sent Martyn tumbling backwards, and Grian ran.

——

Grian and Scar sat on a hill at a safe distance from the Crastle, deep in thought as they watched Bdubs and Cleo move about inside of their stronghold. “There has to be a way to get to them,” Scar pondered aloud, “A full attack isn’t an option, and I’d doubt they’d fall for the tnt trap again.”

“What if we trap their bubble elevator,” Grian proposed, trying to avoid eye contact with his partner.

“They don’t have a bubble elevator.”

“Then we build them a bubble elevator, act like it’s a big gift from us, and trap it to kill them when they actually use it.”

“That’s…actually pretty smart,” surprised, Scar glanced at Grian, who was looking at the tower with a calm intensity. “Let me grab the materials for it and-“

“No.”

“Excuse me?”

“No, I’m building this. You keep them busy while I get the job done.”

“You actually want to help me kill them?”

“Of course,” Grian flashed him a teethy, soulless smile.

——

Screams of pain and anger wafted in through the window of the bunker and blood stained the desert sands red. Grian sat huddled against the wall of their bunker, hand hovering over the lever to the kill switch. Almost the entire server was out there, playing capture the flag on the largest death trap the server had ever seen. A body thudded against the bunker’s iron door, and blood trickled through the crack beneath it. Blood………

Blind to Scott’s tearful screams of “Jimmy!” Grian pulled the lever.

The sound burst one of his eardrums almost immediately, and the blast caved in the wall he was leaning against, sending him flying across the room and slamming into the opposite wall, fracturing his skull and shattering the bones in his left arm. Ignoring the mind-breaking pain, Grian rolled over onto his back, listening to the sounds of panic as the final small explosions fired.

“Grian.” Ren shouted as he stumbled in through the collapsed wall. His right arm seemed to have been torn open, and his mane of hair was matted with blood and sand. An ugly crack ran through his crown. “You did this. You have to pay.”

“And he will.” Before Ren could comprehend, Martyn leapt into the bunker, driving his sword between Grian’s ribs and twisting it to double the pain. Grian’s vision blurred, taking on a yellow tint as it faded.

——

“Where are you, Scar?” Grian called softly as he stalked through the charred ruins of Dogwarts. He carried the sword of the Red King and was coated in the blood of the King’s Hand. He stopped in front of where the Renchanting building once stood and eyed it whimsically, “We did it, Scar. We made it to the end. Final two, bud.”

“I’d count that as a win-win.” Scar’s voice was weary, and Grian caught sight of him entering through the main entrance, one of the few remaining pieces of wall. An explosion had clearly taken a chunk out of his leg, and deep gashes painted his skin. Barely able to walk, he slid to the ground, leaning against an undetonated pile of tnt. “Is this the end?” He said something else that Grian couldn’t hear as he crossed the way and sat down next to his partner.

“I guess it is. We….we killed them all.”

Something in Scar chilled at the way he said it. With a trembling turn to look at Grian, he quietly asked, “So who wins?”

Grian stood up slowly, blood rushing through his head so loudly he couldn’t hear anything Scar said or what was happening around him. He held Ren’s sword carefully in his hands, admiring the etchings on them. In a slow, contemplative movement, he took the hilt and gripped it tightly. Whirling around in a single heartless move, he ran the Red King’s sword through Scar’s neck, killing him. “Me.”

Blinded by fierce, undeniable red, Grian scanned Scar’s battered corpse as it crumbled to dust. He noticed that Scar had been holding something behind his back as he died, something that he hadn’t wanted Grian to see.

As the rushing in his head faded, Grian’s hearing returned and he froze at the quiet, but all too familiar hissing he heard. Scar had had a flint and steel in his hand. He had figured out what was going to happen and set one last fire, a fatal insurance policy.

Grian laughed as the tnt detonated, obliterating him and finishing off the last life on the server. At one point, Grian had hoped that his partnership with Scar would end well, but he had known deep down that it could only end badly for them.

#third life smp #third life #3rd life #3rd life grian #Grian #shulkerboxfic #goodtimeswithscar

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writing-the-end · 3 years

Text

LoL Chapter 34- Leyline

Masterpost

A Wizard Hermits tale (AU, designs, ideas belongs to @theguardiansofredland)

The hermits rush to save Grian from the precipice of death, and discover the locations of their next great fight.

Warning: Mentions of blood, wounds, death

______________________________

Hypno runs his finger along the map. “We noticed it here, by the Midnight harbor. The ground was all…”

Scar takes up the mantle. If there’s one person who knows dirt and landscaping, it’s him. “I saw that the grass was wilted, just a little bit off color from the rest of the area. At first i thought maybe it was just a ditch or something, but it was too perfect a line to be natural.”

“Scar and his dirt.” Cub chuckles. His fellow convex knows about soil and land better than anyone. It’s how he became such a natural S-Class.

“Yeah, he ate it too.” Hypno shudders.

“It didn’t taste right, it didn’t feel right. The ground I mean. It was all dry and crumbled on my tongue.” Scar ignores Hypno’s shaking head, focused on remembering what he, Beef, and Hypno had seen. Trying not to get distracted and lose his train of thought. “I followed the line, and it led straight to-”

Lightning crackled through the sky, interrupting Scar mid sentence and sending all of the hermits skittering under the tree. But not a cloud is in sight, the blue unmarred by anything except sunlight. Xisuma is the first to check the horizon, to watch for a husk storm or impending invasion. Nothing there either.

A wave crashes up against the hill, surging over sand and grass. From the sea, four figures appear. Beef transforms into a massive, beastly bull, snorting and ready to charge whoever dares disturb the hermits. Hypno and Xisuma summon their magic, while Scar is still getting over his spooked stumble.

The strangers run past the guild hall, running directly into the village half of Eremita. Beef takes off after them, chasing the red fabric that quivers in the wind. He lowers his horns, his speed buffeting his brown fur. Intense, tunnel vision only for the angry, vibrant color. Even ignoring the splatters of red on the dirt and grass. Beef is mere inches away from goring the four, til something constricts around one of his horns and pulls.

“Stop, Beef!” Hypno calls, digging his shoes into the ground and pulling the lasso taut. “It’s our friends, look!”

Beef blinks, taking a deep breath through his snout and blinking back the feral mindset his form dares to take up. Indeed, xB stands between Beef and the other three. Iskall and Mumbo are soaking wet, continuing without the kipling. And in their arms is Grian, limp and unresponsive. It was his cloak that enticed Beef into charging. The bright red of the fabric mixes with the dark stains of blood.

The taurus mage returns to his human form. “What’s going on?”

“Grian’s hurt. Real bad.” xB looks over his shoulder, waiting until the door to the infirmary shuts tight. Xisuma races after, grabbing Joe and Wels. “They called for me to help them cross the sea. We lost him for a few minutes on the way here.”

Hypno, xB, and Beef watch the other hermits scurry across the island. They were a family, each and every one of them willing to do whatever it takes to help the others. Beef’s voice hitches as he speaks. “L-lost him? Like… you misplaced him, right? What do you mean lost him? He couldn’t have… he didn’t die, right?”

xB’s silence is answer enough. Hypno pulls his hand through his hair, running across the black material that keeps wayward locks from his face. “For being our guild’s only healer, he sure knows how to get himself in harm’s way.”

“Maybe that’s how he keeps the rest of us safe.” Beef follows after TFC, joining the other hermits in the crowded infirmary. Almost every hermit is in the tiny space, crowding in to try and help stabilize Grian.

“-killed us. Dolios ambushed us a-and killed Iskall and me.” Mumbo’s stammering cuts through the orders coming from Wels, Joe, and Ren.

“And then Grian used his archangel aura to revive us.” Iskall adds. “He was already so hurt, all I remember is waking up and seeing him resurrect Mumbo. Then pass out.”

Everything the hermits were talking about before has been abandoned. Scar’s discovery is the last thing on their mind. Right now, all they can focus on is keeping Grian alive. Ren mimics Grian’s magic, hands glowing with light, and gets to work. Healing the wounds, both internal and external. Wels casts a healing buff, aiding Grian’s body in the process, and Joe writes just about every medical supply the hermits could ever need.

Xisuma filters out the hermits, until it’s just the necessary bodies filling the small infirmary. TFC, Xisuma, Iskall, Mumbo, and the three that were fighting to keep Grian from slipping away.

And Scar. He sits in the chair beside Grian’s bed, leg bouncing as he tries to understand what Iskall and Mumbo told him. “Dolios had another crystal? He was using it against you guys?”

“He lured us in, and attacked us. He was there. He didn’t even flinch at killing.” Mumbo shakes his head.

“He’s a bastard, and a mega one at that.” Iskall adds. Silence falls over the infirmary, only the sound of Grian’s healing, his shallow breath filling the air between the hermits.

“Did he mention how he corrupted that crystal? Why?” Scar finally whispers, not taking his eyes off Ren’s glowing hands. He knows that Grian’s healing magic isn’t easy. It’s painful, forcing the body to heal itself. The fact that Grian isn’t even moving worries him.

“He said it took him weeks to make that thing.” Iskall answers, since Mumbo is too preoccupied watching the procedure. His teeth worry his lip, making the mustache dance on his face. He just wants his friend to be okay. “And...and he said something about a- a creation? That he needed the power for him and his creation.”

Scar’s brows furrow, deep in thought. Piecing together all the parts of the story. It’s like he’s reading a book in random order, finding scraps of the tale and gluing them to make one full line. “The crystals are sending the stolen magic somewhere. They can’t be holding that much power, they’re like...like…”

“Like redstone redstone torches.” Mumbo breathes, eyes lighting up. “So there has to be something it’s powering.”

“And that line of dirt and grass, I think it’s got something to do with the stolen magic. It’s a circuit. A leyline of magic.” Scar crashes backwards in his chair, rolling out and slamming the door out of it’s frame. He returns a second later, holding the map. He lays the parchment over Grian’s legs. It’s not like he’s moving anytime soon anyway.

“Leylines? Like what the ancient ones used?” Joe picks his head up from battling a roll of gauze. Leylines haven’t been used in eons. No one knows how to tap into their energy. It was magic lost with the ancient civilization, pre-Lairyon.

“Not exact leylines, but more… artificial ones, I guess. Hand me some charcoal.” Xisuma pulls a pencil from his pockets. Always prepared. Scar snatches the pencil, and begins to draw across the map. Straight lines connecting crystals and husk storms. The more lines that Scar adds, the more apparent that his crazy, wild line of thinking becomes. Lines begin to connect, three hotspots appear.

“The evernight forest.” Ren breathes, hands drifting back from Grian’s body.

Scar ignores the whisper, continuing with his work. Another hotspot rises from the straight lines, this time on the other side of the kingdom. TFC shakes his head, as if it was obvious. “The Crystal Mines, of course.”

One final place, and Xisuma growls from beneath his mask as the lines intersect, right in the broken heart island that is nestled within Lairyon’s moon-shaped continent. “Heartbreak Trench.”

Scar shakes his head. “The power being stolen by those crystals has to be going to these places. Routing power to these for Dolios to use.”

“What does he need all of that power for? What could he be using it for?” Iskall looks across the map, noticing something else. “It’s in three corners of Lairyon. North, east, and south. Does that mean there’s one to the west as well?”

Xisuma traces the lines, but they lead to everywhere and anywhere within the western hemisphere of lairyon. “If there is one, we don’t know where it is. For now, we should go on what we know. We should go in search of these hotspots, follow the leylines.”

“Sounds like a fun new adventure.” All of the hermits present look down, a weak, aching voice joining the conversation. “Where are we going next?”

Grian is awake, wincing with only one eye open. Iskall and Mumbo are hovering over him, while Grian observes the white bandages that cross over his body, wrap around his arms. He looks around for his shirt and cloak, relieved to find them in decent condition. Otherwise, BDubs is going to have another sewing job.

Scar hugs his friend tight, until Grian is practically squeaking from the pain and pressure. “So good to have you back among the living, my man. No dark mage can hold you down for long.”

“If it means giving Dolios a taste of his own medicine after our battle, I’m in.” Grian smiles, already attempting to sit up. Ready to get back to saving the world. “So…. what wild adventure waits for us now?”

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