#and then grian kicks him in his knees and he dies

[zishu-arts]

“SCAR PUT YOUR CLOTHES BACK ON”

i rewatched 3rd life :(

[autumnmist101]

C!Pearlescentmoon Head-cannons

First thing first: She is favored by both Watchers and Listeners. She is not one or the other, however they each did give her some kind of titaness powers.

______________________________________________________________

Trigger warning: Mentions of blood and sharing food with animals.

Hybrid forms/how they were gotten:

Magpie: Born with the wings, however instead of red eyes, had dark blue with light blue pupils. Once she had escaped Evo with the others, her eyes changed, and wings stopped growing due to a methionine deficiency developing. She can no longer fly with them but continues to preen them.

Moth: While in Legacy, Sausage was trying to find an alternative honey and tried using Moths to make it. Had Pearl drink some, effects never went away.

Wolf: In her tower in DL, the few crops she had grew slowly and her food supplies dwindled. Desperate times called for desperate measures. Rotten flesh it was, even if that meant sharing her last piece with Tilly.

Alien: (There's a couple for this one)

-She fell out of the sky on her first (Evo) smp. You could say she's been hiding this since day 1.

-Impulse's chocolate bar that he had her try in season 8 had some effect that remained dormant till she was around the alien plants in season 9.

-Used some weird plants she had found in some soup and it transformed her into one.

Salmon: Salmon blood got into a cut she had gotten by skinning her knee on day 1 of season 10.

Spider: Bitten on a fresh wound while on Fantasy smp or could argue it was a cave spider that had gotten her in a trial chamber a week before. Either way she was bitten on a fresh wound

Bat: One had bit her out of fright and when she had killed it, its blood got into hers.

Bunny: Was harvesting carrots and hadn't noticed the teeth marks till after she had bitten into it.

______________________________________________________________

Trigger warning: Mentions of needles.

Youngest Skybling. Grian is the oldest and Jimmy is the middle child.

Has actually cursed out multiple people. They, however, didn't understand what she was saying due to her accent getting thicker when she's angry.

Deathly afraid of needles. Will barricade her base and buff up her defenses, usually turning into her full wolf form. Takes at least 7 hermits to get her one shot and they all die afterwards.

Likes old raggedy worn-out things. Says that when things are tattered and patched up, it shows the love that has been put into that thing, so the person didn't have to throw it out.

Would visit Empires almost weekly in Season 9, and when she couldn't visit would give Gem the letters to pass out to the others.

Likes helping with Sausage's lore, however, still feels weird about playing the role of a goddess.

Laughs every time she sees Skizz's Tasmanian devil creation that got him kicked out of heaven. The first time she seen it, she had died from suffocation because of laughing too hard. Her ribs hurt for fifteen minutes after she had respawned.

Takes Gem ice-skating even though she herself can’t skate.

Her eyes will revert back to how they were in Evo some days. Would hide them behind sunglasses because she was afraid that they would scare people.

______________________________________________________________

Double Life and Aftermath Head-cannons

Trigger warning: the t-word, implied self-harm, implied eating disorder, and . . . trauma induced mutism?

Would get cheer up tickles from Cleo and Scott when she was sad in Last Life. i.e. when she couldn't stop Joel from killing Scott/when Scott turned red and left the yellows. This is what lead to Pearl's lines of 'doing a little tickle' in Double Life

The DL mechanics would let soulmates feel whatever the other felt physically. When Scott missed the old Pearl, he would trace hearts on his ribs. He didn't know it, but Pearl felt every stroke, and this drove her deeper into madness.

Despite everyone thinking that she got the scar across her eye from Joel when he killed her, she had actually gotten it when Cleo had critted Scott on the second week of DL. Joel's axe had lodged in her forehead.

The Watchers hadn't known what to do with the boogie man curse during DL. However, noticed that it was attracted to Pearl, while in her vulnerable state. They believed it would be satisfied after her first kill. . . They were wrong.

Stopped talking after her DL victory. Only communicated with gestures.

Stayed in Gem's castle for multiple weeks. Spending most of her days staring in a mirror. Making sure that the face she saw back had no purple in her eyes and was recognizable as her own.

Had restricted/supervised access to powdered snow and cacti, and later berry bushes, pufferfish, and fire.

Would ration all her food. Impulse secretly got her three farming villagers and a whole box of emeralds she could use to trade for carrots with.

Cleo was the first one to find out about her wolf form and helped her through adjusting to it.

I'll make a new post if I come up with more for her. As of now this is what I've got. Hope you enjoyed! <3

[thetomorrowshow]

“Didn’t expect Scott and Pearl to go down like that,” Martyn says.

Cleo says nothing.

“I mean, I always had some inkling that it would be Grian and Scar at the end, but I thought that they would be right up there with ‘em, you know?” he continues. “Not us. I mean, I’m happy it’s us! I just—”

“Martyn,” Cleo says, and Martyn almost makes an audible sound of relief, because they’ve been sitting here for quite some time and he’s tired of talking to himself. “There’s an entire world out there, with no one trying to kill you for once. Go out there and talk to a sheep or something, and leave me alone.”

Ah. She’s mad at him. Which is uncalled for, frankly, because she’s been mad at him this entire season and he’s finally done something right! He thinks a little kindness is in order.

“C’mon, Cleo, we won!” he says, leaning back, hands finding support on one of Pearl’s long-since raided chests. He kicks his legs where they hang out the window. “It’s over! We won!”

Cleo snorts. “Is that what you call it?”

“What? I—well, ‘course it is! We won!”

She turns away. He really thinks he doesn’t deserve that. Martyn pinches the skin of his wrist—lightly, but enough to hurt. She jumps, smacks his arm.

“Stop it, you—you—” The emotion dies before the insult is complete, and she just sinks, absolutely sinks into herself, and the lighthearted air he’d tried to bring is snuffed out before it can really take hold.

Martyn’s not sure how to help. He doesn’t really know Cleo, doesn’t know what cheers her up, doesn’t know what he can do to make her at least smile.

Scott would know.

“Would you prefer it be them?” he asks quietly, scanning her face for any kind of answer, affirmative or not. She just looks tired, the glint of Red in her eyes dull.

“No,” she says eventually. “Maybe. I don’t know. I’m just . . . I’m not sure what to do, you know?”

No. He doesn’t know at all what she means, honestly. He’s never understood her. “I mean, we won,” he says, grinning again. “We can do anything! Celebrate! Burn down the server! C’mon, I know you like a little arson here and there!”

“Right, burn down the last remnants of our friends,” she says drily. Then her head tilts. “Might be therapeutic to torch that eyesore hanging over the valley, actually. Do you have a flint ‘n steel?”

“No, my art piece is off-limits,” Martyn says loudly, surreptitiously shoving the tool in question deeper into his pocket. “It wouldn’t burn anyway, only the floor’s made out of wood. So don’t even try.”

She doesn’t even smile.

He wonders, if he had let her burn it, if she would.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts suddenly, and that gets a reaction. Cleo’s brows reach her hairline, an astonished laugh bursting out of her.

“Finally? You’re finally going to say that to me?”

Martyn can’t tell if she’s angry or surprised or what, but anger seems to be a good bet so he holds up his hands, making sure she sees that he’s weaponless. “I—”

“No. No, tell me what you’re apologizing for. Go on.”

She’s waiting, one knee pulled up to her chest while the other dangles over the windowsill. But he can’t say it. Because he still isn’t sorry for what she wants him to be, and what he is sorry for is something that will hurt her more than anything else he can say.

I’m sorry it’s you.

What he says instead, is,

“I’m sorry I’m not him.”

“Which one of us would’ve survived, then?” she asks, a sarcastic twist to her lips. “Is you being Scott killing me, putting Pearl in my place?”

“No, not that—not that I wish he was here instead of me or whatever—” Martyn sighs, looks out over the world. “I’m sorry that the universe or—or whatever—chose you and me, instead of you and him. I know—I know that he actually meant something to you. I know you and him were meant to be soulmates.”

“Don’t be bitter,” Cleo tells him disdainfully, and Martyn wants to be annoyed at that, but he just can’t be.

“I’m not bitter, I’ll tell ya that,” he chuckles, and maybe he had been, long ago, but he’s past that. He’s not bitter.

He’s sad, a little bit.

“Honestly? Don’t think I should’ve been here,” admits Martyn, and Cleo laughs again. “No, I’m serious!” he insists.

“Why? You won. What more could you want?”

A partner. A house to share, a friend to travel with, a hand to hold when things just got to be too much. Someone. Anyone.

“I mean, not to be axe-critted every morning would’ve been nice,” he says instead. When Cleo rolls her eyes, he adds before he loses courage, “And it was lonely, all right? Sitting there by myself while you and him were all—all buddy-buddy, all best of pals, cutting your strings and tying ‘em together and all that—”

“Oh, you—”

“Maybe I just wanted my soulmate, and it didn’t have to be you because you and him were—well, you were destined or whatever, so maybe I just oughtn’t—”

“Did it ever cross your mind,” Cleo says icily, “that maybe I just wanted my soulmate too?”

Martyn falls silent, mouth still open to say whatever it was he’d been about to go on about. She sighs loudly.

“Finally, something shut you up,” she mutters, and she still looks tired, more tired than he’s ever seen her. The lines in her face are deep and weary, the shadows under her eyes dark enough that Martyn’s surprised a Phantom hasn’t swooped in, no matter the fact that the sun’s not quite set yet.

“W-well,” he stutters, trying to pull together his composure, “I still wish it’d been him who was your soulmate. Not me. Then at least one of us would’ve been happy.”

Cleo actually frowns at that. “You weren’t happy? You—I mean, you certainly looked like you were having a good time.”

Martyn scrubs at his face, glances over at her. “Right, because building a bleeding heart reaching out to my soulmate just screams ‘happy’.”

They’re both quiet after that, neither knowing what to say. Martyn lies back, legs still dangling but head resting on the chest, the ends of his bandana hanging to the floor. He sighs, closes his eyes and finally acknowledges the fatigue pulling at his bones. It’s been so long since he’s gotten a proper night’s rest. Most of his sleep over the past week has been caught in dozes, sneaking into abandoned bases or climbing up tall trees for a chance at safety.

Cleo must’ve done the same, after Scott and Pearl went. Funny. If they’d met up before the last possible moment, they would’ve been able to watch after each other. Then maybe they wouldn’t be so exhausted.

There’s a creak, and the chest underneath him bends a bit then settles, and he knows without opening his eyes that Cleo’s lying beside him. No matter what they both wish, they’re both here at the end.

“Scott’s won before,” Cleo says eventually, her voice breaking the first length of silence Martyn’s had in a long time. “If we’d been soulmates, he would be here again.”

“Or me and Pearl,” Martyn points out, but at Cleo’s obvious judgmental silence, he relents. “Yeah. He would know what you’re actually meant to do, once you win.”

“That’s not what I meant,” she says. “I meant he’s won before. He doesn’t need two wins. And if he’d been my soulmate, he would’ve had them.”

Oh.

“Don’t need his head getting any bigger,” says Martyn, and Cleo’s snort of laughter encourages him. “I mean, c’mon. Can you imagine how awful he’d be if he won twice in a row?”

“He’d be absolutely insufferable,” Cleo agrees, and at least they’ve found common ground over this, as ridiculous as it is.

“Did you know that I’ve still not won a canon MCC event? Not a single one? He’s always lording that over me. I can’t imagine him having this as well.”

They fall into silence again, but this time it’s far more comfortable than whatever it was before. Martyn blinks open his eyes, looks over at Cleo.

Her tangled, greasy hair flops over the chest, the single flower still in it now wilted. Blood is splattered across her chestplate that she hadn’t removed, despite Martyn having shucked his off as soon as she landed the final shot on Grian. Her eyes are closed, something that’s not quite a smile playing on her dirt-stained face.

“D’you think we ever could’ve worked?” he asks softly. For once, his remark isn’t cheeky or drowning in dramatics. It’s vulnerable, genuine.

Cleo cracks an eye open, her gaze on him sympathetic. “Maybe in another life,” she says, voice almost kind—but it’s clear she doesn’t believe her own words.

Martyn doesn’t believe them, either.

He makes himself sit up, disrupt the sleep that his body had slowly been sinking into. “Well,” he says, forcing cheer into his voice, “are you gonna jump, or shall I?”

“I thought you won,” says Cleo, rolling her eyes. “In a hurry to leave, are we?”

“This winning thing? Not actually all that great,” he says nonchalantly. “Don’t tell anyone I said that, of course—I plan on bragging to Timmy for years about this. So—you jump, or me?”

The unspoken third option hangs in the air—or both of us together—and Martyn hopes, for the second it takes that Cleo bites her lip and thinks, that she’ll pick that one, hopes that they can at least be united in their final act—

“I’ll go,” she decides, and the whoop Martyn lets out doesn't quite hide his disappointment as he shoves her off one last time.

[redorich]

Soooo.... is there more of that Hermit!Tommy battle?

here’s the last part :)

Xisuma stalks through the rubble of the Dream SMP, armored boots crunching on gravel and broken glass. Fundy, as far as he knows, is still face-down in a river somewhere. As rain pours down his visor, seeps into the cracks, and sparks his electrocuted skin, Xisuma wonders what’s drawn him to water so much today; here he stands, watching the water below him churn underneath the docks and eat away at the shore. Xisuma himself stands high above it all, atop a small, jagged mountain.

He hears the tell-tale shing of a riptide trident. Thank every star in the void-- if Xisuma has to deal with a channelling trident right now, after his last fight, he thinks he may just sit down and quit. Even though he can already tell who’s behind him from their warped presence alone, Xisuma turns wearily to face his next opponent.

Dream stands before him, breathing oddly in a way that indicates at least one cracked rib. His mask is shattered, and more of his face is bloody than clean. From the looks of things, Techno must have scratched him on the thin skin above his eyebrows. Xisuma knows intimately how that wound bleeds profusely, how it gets into one’s eyes and makes it impossible to see. Dream’s obviously coming down from a potion high, and his netherite chestplate is in shambles.

"So much for 'Technoblade never dies', huh?" Dream says confidently. Xisuma can see right through him; despite Dream's easy smirk, he's barely able to stand.

Xisuma's long past the point of asking nicely for his opponent to surrender. He says nothing, and a purple glow oozes up from out of the ground; the stone beneath the men's feet is overlaid with a runic circle: a tell-tale sign of admin magic.

Dream's not as experienced in admin magic, but he's an excellent fighter. Instead of meeting Xisuma's magic with his own, Dream bursts forward in a bout of speed that causes his fractured ribs to shriek in protest, and knees Xisuma solidly in the solar plexus. The hermit wheezes and his runic circle falters, but he does not respond. While he pours all his being into this work of admin magic, Dream is free to ravage his physical form, already battered as it is by Fundy. Dream’s axe is long gone, as is his sword, but his fists are more than enough.

“So you’re just going to give up?!” Dream demands. “You won’t even bother to fight me head-on, you’ve got to waste all your energy on some magic attack that won’t even work? I’ll kill you before you can set it off. You’ll have died for nothing. All your people will have died for nothing.”

Again, Xisuma says nothing. Rage bubbles up from deep inside him. He allows Dream, the vile admin, to rain strike after strike upon him while Xisuma musters the power necessary for his magic attack. Fuck Dream. If Xisuma focuses enough, he can convince himself that the rain hurts worse than any pain Dream can inflict. Even as Dream claws at Xisuma’s throat, digs his fingers into already-bleeding wounds, even as Xisuma’s vision grows steadily darker, the electricity sparking through his veins keeps him wide awake. He will win this fight-- there is no “or die trying”. He will win. He will survive. He will persevere. He will...

Xisuma stumbles. The magic circle dims for a moment. How long can he keep this up?

“Just die already!” Dream growls out. “There’s nothing you can do--!”

From high in the sky, obscured by inclement weather, a red blur divebombs rapidly and throws all its weight into kicking Dream in the head. He falls like a stone, groaning. “What the fuck..?”

Grian stands proudly, elytra fluttering in the harsh wind. Behind him, Tommy launches up into the air with a riptide trident and lands at Grian’s side.

Dream’s mind is overheating. It’s firing on all cylinders and then some, trying to process and calculate everything. Tommy’s escaped from prison. He’s got a trident, but no armor-- Grian must not have had a spare set, and as it is Grian’s vulnerable because he’s wearing an elytra instead of a chestplate. Damn it, why didn’t he keep track of the sky? How many other enemies are hidden within the dark storm clouds? Can he kill Xisuma before Grian attacks? Does Grian have a weapon? He must have been the one to give Tommy the trident, but Tommy’s been away from where he belongs-- under Dream’s heel-- and Dream can’t predict whether or not Tommy will attack him.

“Hello, Dream,” Grian says mildly, breaking Dream out of his own head. It’s an almost friendly tone, but it still sounds ominous.

Dream is instantly proven right when Grian holds out his hand for Tommy to return the borrowed trident. The moment the weapon touches his fingers, he yanks Tommy in front of him, pins him in place from behind, and holds the deadly gleaming trident prongs to the teen’s neck.

“Grian, what--?!” Tommy yelps, then whimpers when Grian roughly jostles the trident.

“No,” Dream breathes. His heart drops into his stomach. “Don’t you dare.”

Grian smiles. “You were right, Dream-- I never cared about Tommy. None of us did. We hermits always want what we can’t have. Diamonds are too easy for us. Netherite means nothing. We saw Tommy, and we knew he was running from the man who owned him. Now we own him. And I’m the one who gets the privilege of killing him, so you can never have him!”

Dream’s face, bare as it is, is painted clear to see with fear. Horrified, he wheezes through his pain with wide eyes. He’s still on the ground.

“Do you have anything to say, Tommy?” Grian asks sweetly. “Any last words for Dream?”

Through teary eyes, Tommy looks down at Dream. He bites his lip, fists his hands in the spare fabric of his pants. “Dream...” he says hesitantly, then grins widely. “Get fucked, green boy!”

The purple runes at their feet flare brightly. Dream snaps his gaze to Xisuma, who has gone completely forgotten in the whirlwind of revelations. Tommy and Grian, who Dream now understands faked the whole hostage situation, both tackle him to keep him from exiting the magic circle.

Dream wakes up when he does not remember ever losing consciousness. He's still in the exact same position was was in last he remembers, so he can't have been out for long. There’s a beat-up guy in armor, a guy in a red sweater, and... Tommy. Oh Lord, Dream thinks, what has he done?

He looks down from the mountain and sees blood and bodies everywhere. He did this. This is his fault.

“Stand down!” he yells as loud as he can. It’s not like it’ll make much of a difference; there’s not many people left alive to stand down.

Grian edges closer to Dream, who still hasn’t gotten up. Dream doubts his legs will support him.

“Hey, shh, we can fix this,” Grian says.

Dream fists his hands in his hair, tears beading in the corners of his eyes. “There’s nothing left to fix! Why aren’t you killing me? Your people are dead, too!”

Xisuma flinches, but Grian’s face hardens slightly. “You’re the admin here,” Grian says, “all you have to do is bring them back.”

“But-- but they-- canon lives--”

Tommy interrupts Dream. “Canon lives?! Who was it that came up with the idea in the first place, huh? Was it you?”

Dream’s shoulders slump and he hangs his head in defeat. “...Yes.”

Grian slaps him upside the head. It’s not hard enough to do any damage, but Dream is already so wrecked that it sends his head spinning.

“Idiot,” Grian says. “It was the dreamon, not you. Nothing’s stopping you from reviving everyone.”

“They’ll just start fighting again,” Dream says, grasping at straws.

Xisuma shrugs, though it looks painful. “Then turn PvP off.”

“...They’ll kill me. I’d deserve it.”

Tommy puts his arm around Dream’s shoulder, helping him sit up all the way. This is so fucked, that the kid-- literal kid-- Dream tortured and manipulated is showing him pity.

“It wasn’t you, who did those things,” Tommy says, as though he can read Dream’s thoughts. Perhaps he can. Dream’s face is very expressive, he knows; it’s part of why he wears the mask in the first place.

“It was, Tommy. You of all people should understand this, you should hate me the most! I remember everything I did to you,” Dream cuts himself off, takes a ragged breath, and continues. “I remember planning out what I did, feeling satisfied with it, the blood was on my hands.”

Tommy frowns sharply, though his arm still hasn’t left Dream’s shoulders. “So that’s it, then? You’re too much of a pussy to even try? If it’s really your fault, then you should be the one to fix your mess.”

Now that, that Dream can understand. He nods shakily, calling up an admin console. “When I’m done, put me in the prison. I don’t want to hurt anyone like this ever again.”

The two hermits look at each other unhappily over Dream and Tommy’s heads, but say nothing. They watch as all across the server, mutilated corpses dissipate into fine white pixels, and people begin to respawn. The hermits and Dream SMP citizens alike raise their weapons, but find that PvP does no damage any longer.

Dream is crying.

“Come with us,” Grian offers on a whim. Xisuma startles, but sees where Grian is going.

“Yeah, why don’t you come to Hermitcraft? You can be alone there.”

“Why can’t I be alone here?” Dream asks sullenly.

Tommy grins. “Think of it like a therapy vacation.” When the two hermits laugh, he laughs with them. “Worked for me, didn’t it?”

Holding out a hand for Dream with deceptive casualness, he waits with bated breath for Dream to take it. Dream hesitates, wondering if he should, if he deserves it.

Fuck it. He may not deserve it, but he wants it. To Hermitcraft he goes.

[starcrossedkaiju]

Kingslayer AU: Chapter Four

I would say this is where the plot really kicks up. Especially next chapter.

\\ Warnings: blood, violence, guns //

Home was quiet under the overcast winter sky. A blanket of snow covered everything in sight. Scott shoved his hands in his pockets and shivered away the chill creeping down his back. It was beginning to snow more heavily as the evening set in on the server.

Winter never faired well with him, it made his hands and knees weak, and stuck him with a near constant headache. Most ailments rendered him bedridden if it was cold enough outside. He hoped he wouldn’t get sick.

Jimmy had hurried them into Scott’s home quickly after entering the walls. It wasn’t really Scott’s anymore as both of them had been sharing the space for quite a while. There was evidence of each of them strewn about.

It could do with some cleaning but the clutter made it feel more natural.

Safer, perhaps.

Scott took his shoes and jacket off. He left them near the door so no muck would get tracked into the house. It was cold inside from a week of being neglected, not a lamp had been left on after he went to see the Sand People.

One glance at his bed proved to be the nail in the coffin. He climbed into the loft and lay down, his head hit the pillow and he was out.

*****

Water trickled across the ceiling. It dropped down and landed on Scott’s cheek. Plunk Plunk Plunk.

Scott blinked into awareness and looked for the source of his awakening, only to find that it was completely dark. Panic surged through him and he sat up quickly only to hit his head on a hard surface. His hands flew out in surprise and hit two stone walls.

“What,” he breathed.

The floor beneath him was damp from perpetual rain seeping into the cell.

“No,” he whispered repeatedly.

The darkness was suffocating this time, he couldn’t calm down, he knew he’d run out of air eventually. Maybe the lack of oxygen was finally making him go crazy, imagining the walls were getting closer and closer. Scott pushed himself up against the corner and hugged his knees to his chest.

The water that woke him up seemed to flow more like a waterfall now. It hit the jagged floor and slowly approached the corner Scott had decided to glue himself to, but it didn’t stop. The water only grew deeper and deeper. He was too tired to even care. Death seemed like a more peaceful option then trying to escape.

He would drown in his tomb alone, and they would get away with it.

*****

Scott’s eyes flew open. This time not to a completely dark stone tomb, but a softly moonlit bedroom. His bedroom.

A weight from behind him made itself known.

Jimmy must have gotten into bed with him earlier that night. The covers were pulled over both of them.

Scott turned around and leaned into his sleeping husband’s arms, taking a few moments to assure himself of his surroundings; and that he was safe at home.

Sensing that his night of sleep had been cut short, Scott meticulously unwrapped himself from Jimmy’s arms and replaced himself with a pillow.

His socks masked most of the noise he made as he exited the room and partially closed the door behind him. It was deathly silent when he unhooked his coat (the one he didn’t ruin) from its place on the wall, equipped his boots, and slipped outside.

The contrast of warmth from inside to outside made Scott’s eyes water. His hands were safe inside his mittens when he brushed some snow off his front steps and sat down.

It was a bit windy outside, breeze funneled through the valley and into the Hobbit town. It bounced off the hills and dissipated into the air. Scott wished he’d brought his telescope so he could admire the sky, which was clear at the moment. A lonely band of the Milky Way sliced across the cosmos to the west.

Stargazing always filled him with a feeling of yearning. He couldn’t remember why, or even when it had started, but ever since he found himself on this server with borders and rules he felt out of place. Not just in the way he looked, but being grounded for so long. Scott had trouble understanding the ways of this world. It was obvious that he didn’t quite fit.

The snow had died down since they arrived hours earlier, nobody had cleared it for a while so it was near shin deep. Every inch of the landscape was buried, including the entrance to their enchanting room, and all the flowers that would typically adorn the forest floor.

Something was wrong.

Scott couldn’t put his finger on it. Coming to alertness, he scanned the scenery like a hawk until he saw it.

Footprints.

Fresh. Footprints.

Directly in front of his home, they came right up to the first step and no further. There was multiple sets fanning out across the lawn area. He could see all three sets from his perch.

Scott froze with fear. Someone had paid a visit in the middle of the night while they were asleep. He wondered why, but he knew.

He was about to get up and lock himself inside when he felt something step on the creaking stairs right behind him. Scott’s eyes flicked to the side for a split second before he instinctively stood up and attempted to flee down the remaining steps, but he didn’t make it.

A hand instantly wrapped around his forearm and wrenched him backwards, he fell into an armored torso. A gloved hand clapped over his mouth, and an arm snaked under his own to render them paralyzed.

“It would be in your best interest not to scream Major,” a terrible Scottish accent made itself known. Scott nearly rolled his eyes.

Of course, this dramatic fool had to come and ruin his night. One thing was for certain, he was not getting kidnapped again.

A sharp object poked at his ribs.

“Just a precaution,” someone said in a falsely apologetic tone. No doubt it was Skizzle.

That meant that he was being immobilized by Martyn. He should have known really, that man followed the Red King anywhere. Upon the ladder’s orders, he escorted Scott down the steps and across the snow stricken grounds, just next to Jimmy’s “house” that they’d mainly been using as storage for the odds and ends that didn’t fit in Scott’s place.

The hand was removed from his jaw and he jolted his head away with a mirthful expression. He fixed his eyes directly where he assumed Ren’s were beneath his sunglasses; which he was wearing in the dead of night. Asshole.

Skizzle stood next to Ren with an imposing posture, as Martyn had a free hand to hold his own weapon with. The weapon being an enchanted diamond axe which he held with a sort of pride.

“You know,” Ren began, “I must give it to you Major, that escape you pulled off was impressive,” he spoke in an unbothered manner and ground his foot upon a rock somewhere under the snow.

“Why are you doing this, Ren?” Scott cut to the chase. He was uninterested in games.

“You aren’t even a red lifer. You can’t kill me,” he added.

Ren scoffed. He adjusted his glasses, “and who exactly is policing that rule?” he said with a knowing quirk of an eyebrow.

“Grian?”a beat passed, “you?!” he began to laugh to himself. Skizzle and Martyn joined in momentarily.

“More green lifers have killed people than red at this stage, so don’t get on me about that,” he said.

“These are my walls,” Scott pointed out.

“That’s funny, you didn’t seem to have much respect for our walls earlier did you,” Martyn said close to Scott’s ear. He pulled away.

“Can I at least be let in on why you’re picking on me of all people?” Scott asked with no enthusiasm.

“Don’t tell me you went on and forgot that Timmy dearest is responsible for the deaths of myself and Skizzle,” Ren shot back, leaning into the other’s personal space.

Everyone looked between each other, “among other things,” Ren added.

Skiz nodded in agreement and sent a meaningful glare towards Scott’s house, where a dim light was on in the bedroom.

Scott’s mouth hung open in rueful shock, “that’s what all this is about? It was an accident,” he shouted. Which earned him a light punch in the side.

“Be quiet,” Martyn warned.

“You know he didn’t mean it! He was sorry and you know it. The only reason you’re even here right now is because it was an accident. Don’t do this to him,” Scott half pleaded but he was more angry.

“Oh yeah, I almost forgot. You’re buddy buddy with the people who want to kill us too. Hmm, maybe you are familiar with the term ‘covering our bases’?” Ren added.

“This isn’t all about your perfect little life Major,” Ren dropped the accent and took Scott by the front of his jacket.

“Things are going to change around here for all of us, and it starts with your Timmy paying his dues,” he said.

Scott’s face pulled into a scowl. He thrust his head forward vigorously, the plastic CRACK of Ren’s sunglasses on impact split through his ears as he saw the “Red” King stagger backwards.

Before his goons could decide their next moves Scott lifted his foot up behind him quickly, glad he’d decided to wear his heavier boots on a whim as they collided with an unfortunate set of unmentionables.

The owner of the unmentionables keeled over. He all but threw the axe out of his hands, which Scott graciously took for himself. He tore himself free and swung around, bringing the back of the axe down on Martyn’s bowed head. Purposefully omitting the sharpened blade from the equation.

Skull met stick with a loud THWACK; and Martyn’s body went limp. The Hand fell on his side into the snow with a muffled thump.

Scott admired his work for a moment and considered it even for the lingering purple bruise still on the side of his own face.

There was no time to waste though, he turned back to the remaining members of Dogwarts with a new feeling of control.

Ren’s face was still buried in his hands. No doubt sporting a wicked nosebleed from being head-butted. His glasses were nowhere to be found. Somewhere in the deep snow.

Scott’s attention turned to Skiz now. Who was in battle position.

It was not a fair fight by any means. The Red Army was decked out in their signature crimson dyed armor (not great for sneaking around but they weren’t much into that) and their iconic shields which Scott thought were a bit ugly.

Nobody was immune to quick thinking though. Even with all that armor, a man can’t be immune to a kick in the nuts.

Skizzle made the first move. He pushed off his heel and swung his sword vertically in Scott’s direction. The ladder, shieldless, jumped out of the way. Skizzle regained his composure and ran after him like a blood sniffing shark. Scott ran away from him in as dead a sprint that can be achieved in knee deep snow, letting his pursuer gain some momentum before he sharply turned around and plunged his axe blade into the thick wood of Skiz’s shield.

The aforementioned momentum caused Skiz to keep moving while his Sheild was ripped from his arm attached to the sharp blade of Scott’s (new) shiny axe. Both of them fell over in the snow.

Wanting to get the jump, Scott staggered to his feet and sat on top of Skizzle to keep him on the ground. They pushed back and forth with their respective blades until Scott was thrown off the other, who immediately slashed his sword at him but missed by a hair.

Scott rolled away clumsily with the shield on his arm and used the handle of his axe to stand up just in time for another barrage of slashes that audibly cut through the air. Scott blocked them with his shield and with the hilt of his axe, managing to repel his opponent for enough time to get his share of hits.

“You’re using the wrong side of the axe, man!” Skizzle pointed out after being beat a few times with the non-lethal side of Scott’s weapon, which he was using his armored forearms to fend off.

“Would you rather me use the other?” Scott replied.

They went back and forth in a struggle to gain control of their respective fights, of which had seen them travel to the corner of the Hobbits’ walls where two hills flattened out and created an amphitheater with a perfect stage in the center.

The metallic clashing of weapons filled the area, Skizzle managed to wrap Scott in a chokehold, the shield had been thrown to the sidelines amongst the struggle, with a blade growing ever nearer to his throat. Scott held off the oncoming sword by brute strength alone, his hand braced against his opponent’s forearm and shook with the effort.

“This is it for you,” Skizzle strained, “no more games,” he said.

Scott answered with a war cry. He knocked the other’s chest with his elbow and threw both of them forwards a bit, just enough to wriggle free and get away from the blade. While Skiz wasn’t guarding his midsection, Scott jabbed the handle of his weapon into the space between Skiz’s chest plate and armored leggings.

A breathless cough was all that came from the man behind him, followed by a drawn out whine, then a satisfying thud and the clunking of armor as it fell into the snow.

There was no place to celebrate his victory however, when a very angry, bloody nosed king strode up to the crime scene. Ren’s expression told Scott that he wasn’t a fun target to play with anymore. Tougher than he looked, perhaps.

The leader of Dogwarts trudged menacingly up to Scott, who made to raise his weapon but instead was greeted by a fist in his face. The force threw him to the ground, where Ren’s heavy red boot descended upon his chest. A blade sliced into the hard ground next to Scott’s ear. His axe was yanked from his hands and thrown somewhere behind them by Ren.

“Alright Major. Perhaps I underestimated your capabilities,” Ren practically spat, “It’s a shame really. You would have been such an attractive addition to the Red Army,” he said with a mocking sadness.

“That was supposed to be your sales pitch?” Scott strained.

Scott could feel rivulets of blood flowing down his face from his nostrils, it seeped into his mouth and tasted like he’d eaten iron shavings. His hands were clasped around Ren’s ankle and foot, trying to alleviate the stress that was on his rib cage. He liked being able to breathe after all.

“You’ve clearly proven too much for my army to handle,” Ren jerked Scott by the front of his shirt, as if he was the one to blame for his army’s failure.

“But I digress. I guess I’ll kill you now,” the Red King smiled down at him with a devious grin, and shoved him harshly to the ground.

Scott could see that his eyes were a striking yellow, set back in his head a bit so that they were perpetually shadowed by his eye sockets. Strands of white and brown hair fell around his face, and his right ear twitched upon his head.

His vision was swimming dangerously close to blacking out as Ren hoisted his weapon, a glimmering diamond axe with a gold accented handle, above his head. Scott shut his eyes and prepared for the cold hard inevitable when a loud POP ricocheted off the amphitheater walls. Followed by a dull plunk.

The axe fell from Ren’s hands like it was knocked away. He jumped like he’d been startled. His eyes were blown wide, and Scott thought he might look scared.

Ren raised a shaky hand to his right shoulder, turning it a bit so he could see, he gently touched the surface of his arm. His fingertips came back covered in a layer of blood.

He began to slowly turn around, Scott sat up on his elbow to follow his line of sight.

Standing in the entrance to the amphitheater, in the snow that had been disturbed by the previous altercation, was a furious looking Jimmy.

His hunting rifle was still raised and aimed at the Red King, smoke poured from the barrel and floated into the frigid air.

Ren stood up and faced Jimmy, an out of place smile gracing his countenance.

“Well! Looks like we have a full party now, I was wondering when the special guest was going to show up,” he teased.

“Your little friend here put up quite the fight,” Ren took Scott by the back of his hood and lifted him out of the obfuscating layer of snow.

“You just don’t stop talking do you,” Jimmy said sternly. He didn’t move an inch, and his finger was poised on the trigger of his father’s old gun.

Ren had stopped talking. He resorted to staring down his nose at the other man.

“Get out of my walls, Ren,” Jimmy demanded.

“Now hold on dude, we’re not finished here,” Ren prefaced.

“No, I think we are done here!” Jimmy raised his voice.

“You’re going put him down right now,” he ordered, “take your men, and leave my home,” Jimmy yelled.

“Or what?” Ren asked, although it was more of a last ditch effort than a promise of more to come.

“Or I aim for your head next time,” Jimmy deadpanned.

Ren chewed his bottom lip pensively, seeming to consider his options before rendering himself rightfully defeated. He nodded curtly, and tossed the battered Scott at Jimmy’s feet. He strode over to Skizzle and kicked him encouragingly in the side, gathering him up and then going to retrieve Martyn, whom he had Skizzle sling over his shoulder.

The Red Musketeers vacated the Hobbit’s walls, going through the door they broke down on the way in. Jimmy kept his rifle trained on them until he was sure they weren’t coming back. Then he turned back to Scott, shakily flipping the safety of the rifle back on.

“Scott,” Jimmy called out, “hey, can you hear me?” it was too familiar.

“I’m fine,” Scott assured; but his husband wasn’t having it. He took the other’s face in his hands gently and assessed the damage.

“I think you have a concussion,” Jimmy observed.

“I think I could have used your help a bit earlier,” Scott joked, but Jimmy didn’t smile, “I mean I knew you were a heavy sleeper but this is ridiculous”, he added.

Jimmy helped him up and he wobbled a bit before taking in the scene he’d made. A clear path of action stretched from the front door of Jimmy’s house to the Western Wall where the amphitheater was. Some of the snow was red with blood.

Jimmy took Scott’s arm and pulled him into a half embrace, “let’s go back inside. You’re freezing,” he whispered.

“Wait,” Scott said.

He started sifting through the snow, eventually pulling out the axe he’d stolen from Martyn. Ren had retrieved his and Skiz’s weapons before leaving. He held it up and flipped it over in his hands a few times gleefully. Then, he trudged over to Jimmy’s front door and found Ren’s discarded shades under some red stained snow. The right lens was cracked down the middle, hairline fractures branched off of it.

He held the sunglasses up for Jimmy to see with a proud grin, waving them around in the air.

“How’d you manage that?” Jimmy asked, dumbfounded.

“I went like BAP!” Scott articulated as he pretended to head butt Jimmy to demonstrate, “and they must have come right off! Look at that, a perfect trophy,” he bragged.

“You know, I didn’t question why he wasn’t wearing them because I didn’t think that even he was enough of a dick to wear sunglasses in the dead of night,” Jimmy said.

“Now, inside,” he pointed to the door.

[scribbling-dragon]

Early Hours

Summary:

Nightmares are most often experienced during the early hours of the morning, normally due to a specific type of sleep pattern. Jimmy is no different.

(AO3 Link)

(Masterpost)

(3,141 words)

He scuffs his foot along the rooftop, feeling as the edge of his boot catches on one of the bricks, slightly higher than all of the others, uneven. The rest of the roof is perfectly flat, and he kicks at the slightly larger brick again, wondering if he’d be able to shift it, even if it’s only a little.

He looks up as Grian moves closer, the red flashing in the corner of his vision and drawing his eyes towards him. Grian’s eyes meet his, eerily blank as he continues to stare at him, sword gripped loosely in his hand, diamond sword shimmering beneath the light. Obvious enchantments ripple over it, and he manages a small, slightly uneasy grin as Grian takes a step closer.

He brushes past him though, his touch feather-light on his shoulder. He takes a small step back, a wave of anxiety washing over him, from just that small touch. He’s not sure why, they’re allies, they’re on the same side. He should feel safe around Grian, not watching, eyes wide and heart stuttering a little in his chest as Grian leans closer to a hole in Mumbo’s roof.

He pokes his crossbow inside, leading with it, pointing the loaded bolt around. He’s not sure what they're doing, and he watches, taking a step closer until he’s just beside Grian, peering in through Mumbo’s roof. He can feel the man watching him, eyes steady on his back. He doesn't turn to face him, hand instead reaching out, palms itching with the urge to grab ahold of the sweater and-

He shoves him instead, pushing him forward before he can think it through, watching as he flails, sword clattering to the stone roof. He sees a few people startle forward, as though to help Grian as he clings to the edge, feet kicking below, inches above the floor. No one actually helps him up, they stop a few steps in, instead watching him with a curious interest, as though wondering whether he would fall or not.

Grian’s hand scrapes across the stone, the metal of his crossbow screeching against the stone as he hauls himself back up, arms shaking as he lifts himself out of the hole. He watches as the people surrounding them relax back once he gets a knee over the edge, securing his grip on the roof and continuing to pull himself out of the hole.

He relaxes too, even though he was the one that shoved him in the first place. Even now, as he takes a small step back, tucking his hands behind his back and looking away, he can still feel the urge to grab Grian’s jumper. He can almost imagine the way his nails would catch on the loose threads, and he could pull and pull and pull, watch as it unravels in a mess of red, each of the threads tangling around each other and ensnaring his hand until he’s completely swathed in crimson.

“I don't think I need to reintroduce you to the boys, do I?” Grian grins a little as he grabs his sword off the ground, and his teeth look a little too sharp as the light flashes off of them, and the eerie emptiness of his eyes is replaced by something more sinister. He blinks, and the illusion has disappeared, like Grian shrugged a cloak off, turning back around, readjusting the bolt in its hold, fiddling with it a little.

He’s not looking at him, but he can feel the threat, especially as Grian doesn't release the sword, keeping it in his hand, even as it grazes over his knuckles, threatening to scrape the skin there. Grian allows his crossbow to fall to his side, swinging it a little absently as he spins in a short circle, crouching beside the hole this time, rather than leaning into it.

He’s still tempting fate, and something itches in the back of his head, screaming at him to push him again. That would be it, it would be over just like that and he could watch as he died. His hand curls in the back of Grian’s jumper again, and he hears someone’s short intake of breath, barely loud enough to be a gasp.

He shoves forward, directly between his shoulder blades, watching as he begins to teeter forward, barely balanced on the edge of the hole. His foot slips, and he takes a step backwards, shoe scuffing slightly on the stone beneath him.

Grian twists with an almost horrifying speed, hand latching onto his wrist in a tight grip that threatens to crack the bone. He stumbles backwards, shock overtaking his mind as he reels backwards. He stumbles, foot catching on the outcropping piece of brick he had been kicking earlier.

Grian releases his wrist as he falls to the ground, elbows cracking against the stone as he lands. He jerks his head backwards as Grian’s sword presses against his throat, tip threatening to pierce the skin there. He feels the gills on his neck flare, and he knows everyone around him also does, as Grian pushes forward, a slow smile overtaking his features.

He scrambles back a little, moving as best as he can while flat on the floor, elbows scraping over the stone as he hurries. Grian keeps up with him easily, footsteps slow, yet heavy for such a small person. His presence looms large over him, pressing down at him from all angles and pushing the air from his lungs.

He manages to sit up halfway, words half formed on his tongue. He’s not really sure what he was going to say, maybe a joke, maybe something that would hopefully get him out of this situation, make Grian back away with a laugh and a grin as he sheathed his sword. He doesn't get the chance to find out what he would have said, when he shuffles back a little more, words dying on his tongue as Grian prods his sword forward.

His hand slips off of the edge, and he feels his stomach plummet as he begins to slip off the edge, head first. He lunges forward, heart hammering in his chest as his vision begins to go red, clouding at the edges, reaching for anything to anchor him on the roof.

Grian takes a step backwards, watching, with a gathered audience of two, as he slips from the edge, twisting midair to even attempt to catch himself. He hits the ground, jolting upright with a shudder, tremors wracking his body as he sits there, hands gripping his arms, fingers curling and nails digging into the skin hard enough to draw blood.

Static rings in his ears, filling the silence with an oppressing buzz, pressing in on him from all corners of his mind as the red in his vision refuses to fade, clouding it further, even as he blinks, tears forming in his eyes. The static buzzes louder, and he feels his breath catch in his chest a little, caught halfway up his throat.

Someone grabs his arm, hand wrapped around his wrist, tightening and twisting and shoving him backwards. He twists it first, yanking the person forward and pressing them into the bed, keeping their arm firmly behind their back. He blinks, and the red in his vision clears, even if it’s just a little bit.

His chest continues to shudder, breaths coming in short, wheezy gasps, blinking back the tears that threaten to spill over and blind him. The person he’s holding down lets out a soft groan, face sinking further into the duvet, wings shifting a little behind their back.

He releases him in a hurry, snapping his hand back to his chest and holding it there, fist just above his heart, feeling the way it thunders and roars in his chest. He feels a little dizzy, staring at Scott silently as he slowly sits up.

“Good morning to you too.” He mutters, but he’s smiling, despite the grumpy tone of his voice. “I had expected a little less violence, but, well.” He shrugs, only now looking to him. The smile quickly slides off of his face, instantly replaced with worry. “Hey, hey,” he reaches out, hand hovering just beside his face, “What’s got you all upset now?” His voice is soothing, and he feels the static disperse, leaving the room dizzyingly silent.

He leans a little into the touch, feeling the way Scott cups his cheek, slowly, comfortingly, brushing a tear from his eye. Scott pulls him a little closer, and he allows himself to be pulled into the embrace, resting his head against Scott’s collarbone.

He opens his eyes again (when did he close them?) staring towards Scott’s throat, eyes tracing over the scar that blooms on his throat, skin pink and warped around the centre of the impact. It curls, spirals outwards, and he can still see the way blood dripped from his neck, staining his clothes a deep crimson that looked so wrong on him. The matching one on his neck begins to sting and burn the longer he stares at it.

“Oh Jimmy.” Scott whispers, running a hand through his hair. “You're not okay.”

“I don't know what you're talking about.” He protests, though he can hear how congested he is, and he feels as though he’s speaking past a lump in his throat. Scott hums a little, wings shifting around him in a flurry of white and gold, metal clanking as he moves his wings.

“Do you wanna tell me why you're crying?” Scott asks, and the softness of his voice is beginning to get irritating, slowly grating on his nerves. He pulls away from his embrace a little, and Scott allows him to, arms lax around his back as he looks at him, concern shimmering in his eyes, obvious, even in the darkness of their room.

“I’m not crying.” He lies, wiping at his eyes, ducking his head a little to avoid seeing the disappointment in Scott’s eyes.

“You're allowed to cry. I'm not going to judge you for it.”

“I know. I know,” he wipes at his eyes again, “It’s just embarrassing.”

“How is it embarrassing? I've cried before. I cried when you died.” Scott’s voice turns a little thin towards the end of his sentence, and he shuts his mouth with a small click, cutting off whatever he was going to say next.

“Yeah.” He mutters, interrupting the silence, even as images surge forward. “I know.”

“How would you know?” Scott asks, tilting his head a little, green eyes glimmering as they catch the light. “You weren't there for it, you were-” He doesn't finish his sentence, looking away again, the hold on him loosening a little bit more.

“I was still there. I was able to watch you, spectate with the dead as you finished the game.” He spits the word out. “I watched you die once, then twice, and I watched as you buried what was left of me, because there wasn't a body to grieve over.”

Scott stiffens a little, arms growing tense around him. “We’re not talking about me, just- tell me what happened?”

“I had a nightmare. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“I’ve never seen you have a nightmare like that.” Scott shakes his head. “There has to be more to it.” He falls silent, watching Scott, almost challenging him to see how long he would wait before giving up, before pulling him close enough that he can hear his heartbeat again. He doesn't, and they both wait in a silence that buzzes, watching each other, halfway holding each other in an almost comforting embrace.

“Have you ever felt an odd, really deep sense of grief for something you've never had, something you never can have, and yet you still mourn something that could have been?”

Scott stares at him, the worry and concern clear in his eyes as he watches him, unblinking. “No.” He breathes out, after a short moment of silence. “I can't say I ever have.”

“Me neither.” He sighs, leaning forward a little until he’s resting his head against Scott’s shoulder. He smells like earth and rain, the odd and nostalgic feeling of sitting in the rain, feeling it thunder down around and on you, yet being completely unaffected. He finds Scott’s hand, wrapping it in his own, holding onto it tight as it feels like he might fade away.

“Jimmy.” Scott’s voice is soft, but prompting, a gentle reminder. “You can speak to me.”

“I know, it’s just...kind of embarrassing.” He breathes out, a short laugh following his words. “I don't even know where to begin.”

“How about at the start.” Scott pulls him closer, into his lap until he’s leaning up against his chest. His wings don't close around him, encircling him in a soft wall of feathers that feels indestructible. He hates the beings that bound his wings even more now, missing the comfort that comes with Scott’s wings. “The start is always a good beginning.”

“I've been having...nightmares since the beginning of this world.” He admits, the word ‘nightmare’ feeling childish on his tongue. He says it anyway, but he still can't help but feel as though he’s a small child turning to another for comfort in the dead of night. “They vary a little. Sometimes I'm back in the bunker, watching as you're shot, watching as you look to me. Then I'm climbing the ladder, and then just...nothing. I wake up. Sometimes I'm back in the lava again, and I can feel it around my legs, climbing higher and higher until I'm waking up, but not in the Southlands, and you're next to me. I hate that one, I always wake up cold, and you're not there anymore.”

“Why didn't you come to me?” Scott asks, grip tightening around him, holding him more securely. If he leans his head against him, he can hear his heartbeat, listen to it thrumming, steady and even in his chest. “I would’ve taken you in, I would have welcomed you with open arms. Me and Pearl both would have.”

“Like you did yesterday?” He mutters, less of a question and more of an accusation. Scott slumps a little at that, wings fluffing a little as he shifts them this time.

“I wasn't- haven't been doing great. I missed you probably more than I thought I would, and it was taking its effect. How do you think I would have coped if I had provided care to you, opened my heart back up, only for you to turn your back on me and return to the Southlands? I couldn't do it, I couldn't do that to myself.”

“Seems like we've both messed this up a little.” He laughs, wiping at his eyes a little. His laugh is a little too watery, and when Scott laughs with him, his is watery too.

Something thuds against the wall behind them, and the both jump, heads swivelling towards the source of the noise. “Can you keep it down?” Pearl groans, voice tired and thick with sleep. “It’s early, and I'm glad that you're resolving your problems, but I would like to sleep, please. These walls are thin.”

“Go to sleep Pearl.” Scott raises his voice a little, leaning towards the wall. “I'm sure you can sleep through us talking.”

“I'm sure I can.” Pearl mutters back. “I don't want to be sleeping through anything else though.” Him and Scott look at each other, eyes equally wide, before they both start laughing. He can hear Pearl groan from the other side of the wall, and Scott does as well, if his grin is anything to go by.

They quiet down after a moment, deciding to take pity on Pearl and allowing her to attempt sleeping some more. He leans a little further, listening to Scott’s heartbeat, counting the seconds between the beats, using it as a soothing rhythm.

“I'm sorry.” He breathes out. “Again.”

“I am as well.” Scott squeezes him for a few seconds. “Seems like a lot could have been resolved if we just spoke to each other.”

“Yeah. I guess we were too good at convincing ourselves.”

“Oh my god.” Scott groans suddenly, “Pearl’s going to be insufferable about this.”

“Why’s she going to be insufferable?” He asks, a laugh building his chest as Scott covers his face with one hand, the other still holding his.

“I complained to her about you. She called it my therapy for marital problems.” His voice is slightly muffled as he speaks from beneath his hand.

“Marital problems.” He laughs. “Oh that’s too good.”

“Yeah. I'm amazing.” Pearls’ voice echoes through from the room next door. “I get it, can we please just go to sleep though.”

“You're the one who dragged him back in like a stray dog.” Scott replies.

“And you married him?” Pearl sounds confused. “Why are you likening your husband to a dog?”

“Have you seen him?” Scott laughs, looking down at him. “He’s like a golden retriever.” He elbows him in the ribs at that, frowning as Scott’s breath escapes him in a wheeze but he still continues to grin.

“He’s a cod, actually. Little fish boy.” Pearl’s voice turns teasing, laughter bubbling just beneath her words.

“Oh my god.” He groans, covering his face with his hands, feeling his skin grow warm with embarrassment.

“You made him blush, Pearl.” Scott crows, and he hears Pearl laugh from the other side of the wall. “You made the little cod boy blush.”

“No she did not.” He protests, even as his face burns even more, likely a rather bright shade of pink. “And I'm not a little cod boy.”

“Yes you are, actually. Me and Pearl are both taller than you.” Scott grins down at him, and he shoves at his face, pushing it away.

“You don't count. You're freakishly tall, no one grows to seven feet without something being wrong with them.”

“And Pearl’s over six feet, you're a little cod boy, and I bet we can both pick you up if we wanted to.”

“That’s nice, but I’d prefer to test that in the morning, actually.” Pearl yawns, voice sounding more and more tired as she continues to speak.

“Yeah, yeah, we’re going to sleep now, don't worry yourself.” Scott rolls his eyes, but he lies down anyway, burying them beneath the blankets again. “You going to be able to sleep now?” He asks, voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah.” He wraps an arm around Scott, pulling him closer. “I'm sure I'll be fine. Now that you're here.” Scott hums in response, curling around him a little, arms wrapped around him, holding him securely.

He feels safer here, and it’s not long before sleep begins to tug on his mind, an insistent urge he can’t help but give into.

[theres-an-impulstor-among-us]

Can I ask for 3rd Life Scott angst? Idm who with, thank you :)

cw: blood

i feel like this one is a little darker than usual but that may just be me lol

…

  “Ow!” yelps Jimmy, pulling away from his friend.

  “Hold still,” Scott chides, continuing to clean the jagged cut in Jimmy’s neck. 

  “It hurts!”

  “Well then, you shouldn’t have tried to disarm a bomb by jumping on it!”

  Jimmy sulks. “You’ve got no sympathy for me. I died twice in half an hour and all you’re doing is telling me where I went wrong.”

  Scott gives a quiet sigh. “I’m sorry. I do have sympathy for you, but it’s hard to express it when both deaths were caused by your own stupidity. And the second time, you took two other people out with you.”

  “This is just making me feel worse, Scott!” Jimmy snaps. “I don’t need you to remind me that I’m stupid, okay!”

  “Jimmy, you’re not stupid.”

  “You just said I was!”

  “Well-.” Scott breaks off. “Okay, I kinda did. I’m sorry; I didn’t mean that. I just meant that sometimes, you don’t think before you act. There’s a reason I didn’t do Tango’s death game, you know.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” mutters Jimmy. “Whatever.”

  Scott takes this as his cue to shut up and get on with his task.

  Just as he’s patching up Jimmy’s last wound, they both hear a voice from above: “Hello there!”

  “It’s Scar,” Jimmy whispers. “Pretend we’re not here.”

  “I know you’re there,” comes Scar’s voice. 

  “Darn.”

  Scott gets up and heads outside Jimmy’s house to find Scar and Grian standing on the hill above them, in the middle ground between the valley and the highest point. 

  “Great,” he mutters. “What do THEY want.”

  Jimmy comes up behind him. “I only just turned red a few minutes ago. Surely they don’t want to finish the job… right?”

  “Well, only one way to find out.”

  Scott and Jimmy go up the hill and meet Scar and Grian near the edge that overlooks the river. “What can we do for you?” asks Scott warily. 

  Scar ignores him and goes straight to his companion. “Jimmy! I’m sorry to hear about your unfortunate death, and so soon after your first one. How are you doing?” 

  Jimmy shoots a panicked look at Scott, who shrugs back. “Um… it’s been a rough day, but… I think I’ll be okay.” 

  “That’s not what I meant,” says Scar. “I meant how’s the bloodlust?”

  “Wait, what?” 

  “The feralness stirring inside you, the desire to go after people and kill them, the lust for blood. You’re not feeling it?”

  Jimmy slowly shakes his head. 

  Scar frowns. “Huh. It usually kicks in pretty quick.”

  “I don’t want to hurt or kill anyone,” Jimmy says nervously. “I just want to carry on with my life.”

  “Oh! Maybe it’s not kicking in properly because you went from green to red so quickly. We might need to give it a bit of a kickstart.”

  Jimmy frantically shakes his head. “Nononononono, I don’t want you to. I don’t want you to! I don’t want to be bloodthirsty like you!”

  Scar ignores him and turns to Grian. “What’s the best way to activate the red life bloodlust?”

  “Well… the easiest way would be to actually spill blood, I guess,” Grian replies reluctantly.

  “That’s a good idea.”

  Scar turns to face Jimmy, who fearfully resumes shaking his head. “No, no, no! Please!” 

  “I can’t hurt YOU, Jimmy, don’t worry.”

  Jimmy relaxes slightly, until he realises what that means instead.

  Scar turns to Scott, who has been watching this in silence. As he walks slowly towards him, Scott realises what’s about to happen and backs away, but quickly bumps into the cliff face behind him. He reaches for his sword, but Grian appears on his other side and snatches it from him.

  Left with nothing, Scott is unable to defend himself as Scar grabs his wrist and forcibly stretches his arm out. 

  “No, leave him alone!” Jimmy yells desperately. “Scott!”

  “Get off me!” Scott snarls, struggling to pull his wrist out of Scar’s grip.

  In response, Scar lifts his sword and slices a deep cut diagonally across Scott’s forearm. 

  Scott and Jimmy both scream in unison as blood gushes from his wound. Scar releases Scott, who automatically drops to his knees and clamps his hand over the wound to try and stem the blood flow, but the injury is larger than the area his hand can cover. He hangs his head, trying to hide the tears leaking from his eyes at the horrific stinging pain.

  Scar turns to Jimmy, who is staring at Scott with both hands clamped over his mouth in shock. “Do you feel it, Jimmy? The sight and smell of blood. Has it awakened something in you? It has, hasn’t it?”

  Jimmy’s eyes flash red. Scar’s words ring true; something HAS awakened in him. Something has snapped. Red hot anger is starting to surge through him, threatening to explode outwards at any moment.”

  “Let it out, Jimmy,” urges Scar. “Let it out.”

  So Jimmy does.

  But instead of targeting Scott like Scar expected, Jimmy charges straight at Scar and knocks him to the ground, his hands flying to Scar’s neck.

  Before he can do any damage, however, Scar quickly regains his senses and wrenches Jimmy’s hands off his throat. The two grapple on the ground for half a minute or so, before Scar finally manages to shove Jimmy off him and scramble to his feet.

  Jimmy immediately attacks him, raining blow after blow on him. Scar lifts his shield but the pure fury behind the red lifer’s strength breaks it within seconds. 

  As Scar twists round to start attempting to flee, Jimmy charges at him again and knocks both of them off the edge of the cliff. 

  They both roll down the side of the cliff for at least ten seconds before they finally hit the river at the bottom. Jimmy grabs hold of Scar under the water and tries to hold him down but Scar manages to get free and escape the river, leaving Jimmy to drag himself out on the other bank.

  Battered and bruised from his fall, Jimmy determinedly climbs back up the hill, passing Grian running in the other direction on his way, and finds Scott still bent over, clutching his arm. A worrying amount of blood has pooled on the grass under him.

  “Scott!” Jimmy calls, stumbling over to his friend. 

  Scott looks up as he approaches, his face pale. “J-Jimmy? Are you g-gonna kill me?”

  “What?! No! W-We gotta get you back to your house, Scott.”

  “No,” Scott responds shakily, through gasping breaths. “Go get the first aid k-kit. Quick.”

  Jimmy immediately dashes back to his house, almost falling over several times in the process, and retrieves the first aid kit. He brings it back to the mountain, where Scott has managed to move himself away from the patch of drying blood, sitting propped up against the cliff face.

  Kneeling down beside Scott, Jimmy takes out an antiseptic wipe and starts cleaning up the wound. Scott hisses with pain as it stings his skin, tensing his whole arm. 

  “Hold still, Scott,” Jimmy says teasingly. 

  Scott lets out a quiet chuckle. “How the tables have turned. As I recall, I was the one patching you up less than fifteen minutes ago.”

  “Yup, you were.”

  As Jimmy works, Scott clears his throat. “So, um… That was a thing that happened…”

  “Yeah.” Jimmy takes a deep breath. “Scar tried to get me to turn against you by activating my… my red life bloodlust, I think he called it.”

  “It really backfired on him,” remarks Scott. “I reckon he’ll think twice before trying to mess with you again.”

  “And you,” Jimmy says, starting to wind a bandage around Scott’s forearm. “I hope he knows now that if he tries to hurt you again, he’ll get another butt-kicking.”

  Scott nods approvingly. “You really did kick his butt. Honestly, Jimmy, I’m really proud of you. I think it’s fair to say you’ve never been the strongest fighter but I was really impressed by the way you handled yourself. I’ve never seen someone’s demeanor change quite as fast as Scar’s changed from smug as hell to absolutely terrified in about half a second.”

  Unable to hold back a proud smile, Jimmy finishes bandaging Scott’s arm and sits back on his heels. “There we go. That should be good.”

  Scott inspects his friend’s work. “Wow, this does look good. Thanks, Jimmy.”

  “No problem.”

  As Jimmy helps Scott up, the latter grips his arms for support, sudden dizziness overcoming him. “Oh boy…”

  “Looks like you lost a lot of blood,” says Jimmy worriedly, steadying his friend. “You should rest and get your strength back. Come on, I’ll help you back to the base.”

  “Wait.” Scott takes a deep breath, fighting against nausea. “Before I become delirious, I need to say something, so you know I mean it. Thank you for saving me, Jimmy. And just for being my friend. I get that I’m not the easiest person to live with, but I just need you to know I really appreciate you.”

  Jimmy blinks back sudden tears. “Oh, Scott… That means a lot. Thank you. But you probably are getting delirious so let’s get you back home, okay?”

  Scott gives a quiet chuckle. He’s never felt safer than he feels with Jimmy right now.

  “Okay.”

[waterfall-ambience]

Void Fog (Cosmic Horror AU), Part 3

Deeper, yet deeper still.

- A few days later,  Grian found an unfamiliar door in his base. 

As soon as he opened it, the truth was clear to him. He didn’t think it was possible, but as he peered into the darkness, he found himself in an all-too familiar library. 

He fumbled around for his communicator. 

- Joe and Xisuma received the message and immediately headed over to investigate.

- EX had passed out well into the afternoon, and Joe decided not to wake him.

- According to Grian, this library was part of the Infinite. The Watchers sometimes used it for research, and there was a section within the expanse that led to their archives, but it was unlikely that they’d find it, especially because the dimension was just so...vast. 

- Joe, Xisuma, and Grian ventured into the library and lit up their way as they went. They weren’t necessarily hoping to reach an endpoint- when they ran out of torches, they’d just head back. 

- Xisuma periodically checked their coordinates. The numbers started off stable, but they shifted and grew erratic as they wandered deeper into the library. 

- The rooms continued as normal, but deep within the library, they found a rift between worlds. Upon going through it, they found themselves standing in front of an unfamiliar portal frame.

- It stood tall, despite its incompleteness. Its frame was made up of layers of obsidian, crying obsidian, and bedrock. 

- X checked their coordinates again. This was where EX’s portal was. 

- They destroyed the frame, or at least what they could of it. Even with a brief dip into Creative Mode, they couldn’t break the bedrock. 

- They hid a camera in the area to monitor the portal. Just in case something weird happened.

- Xisuma went back to his base for the night. Grian and Joe went back to the vineyard to compare notes about the Infinite.

- They found EX sketching out what he remembered from his dreams. He drew some of the events in the hopes of finding a pattern, but wasn’t comfortable in showing them due to how several related back to...personal issues. He let Grian see the pieces that were more focused on the erratic landscapes, most of which Grian recognised as the Infinite. 

- They discussed their experiences with the Infinite, and what it meant for the server if it were to bleed into it. Nothing good. 

The Strait of Joebraltar saw no phantoms that night, but Joe dreamt of the Infinite. 

- A few days later, a server-wide meeting was scheduled. EX was apprehensive about attending, but Joe convinced him to go.

- Several Hermits reported that the errors were back. Chunks they were working on unloaded and reloaded. They found rooms they hadn’t built. Maps didn’t update. Items went missing. Scar lost his gear to flames when he died, despite only dying from fall damage. Grian’s doorway to the library disappeared. 

- Other admins like X, Cub, and Tango also reported vivid dreams in what Grian, EX, and Joe believed to be the Infinite. 

- The server was becoming near impossible to live in. The season was going to have to end early.  

- They originally planned to travel to the next season through a portal, but that put them at  risk of getting separated if it got corrupted.The proposed solution was to build a starship- an ‘ark’ of sorts. They could sail it out of the world and open a stable portal from there.

- EX considered the facts- the errors started with his arrival back onto the server. They got worse when his nightmares grew more vivid and the voice from the Infinite grew louder. The Infinite was bleeding into the world, and it was corrupting itself. 

…This was all his fault, wasn’t it?

- Joe woke up one night to the sound of shuffling in the hallway. 

- After some investigation, he found EX wandering through the winery. Joe tried to lead EX back to his room, but he swatted him away without a word. 

- EX made his way to the front door and teleported out of sight. 

- Joe searched the surrounding area, just in case EX was still nearby, but he was gone.

- Joe checked on EX’s portal, and found him building it up. He tried to stop him, but he reacted violently when Joe tried throwing whatever blocks he had onto it to disrupt the frame. 

- ‘EX’ teleported away again, leaving Joe behind.

- EX woke up in a distant field the next morning. Stress found him hopelessly lost and led him back to a more familiar part of the server.

- EX thanked her for watching over him when he first arrived. He apologised for ‘being a hassle’, and for anything ‘weird’ that happened while he was unconscious. Stress smiled and told him that it wasn’t a problem. 

- EX made it back to the vineyard. He was clearly possessed the night before, and they had to do something about it before the portal was finished. Joe broke the obsidian, but the bedrock remained.

- EX recounted how Xisuma freed him from the Wither back in Season 5. He killed him in the mindscape, and it left. 

Surely, it couldn’t have been that simple.

- According to Joe, to get to the mindscape, X had to use bedrock, which he got from Ren in ‘Creative Mode’. 

- The server was already under strain, and entering ‘Creative Mode’ had the possibility of making the errors worse. However, if EX’s connection to that…’Entity’ grew stronger, it could corrupt the server into oblivion in a matter of days. If it remained once they left, it could continue to follow them. It’d better to sever the connection for good.

- They met up with Xisuma and Grian that night. Xisuma briefly went into ‘Creative Mode’ to get the bedrock. He was to monitor the server and watch for errors. Grian tagged along to help navigate through the Infinite.

- EX didn’t want anyone to see his mindscape. Only Joe and Grian would see it, and while he didn’t entirely trust them enough to let them see inside his head, they could save the server.

- If severing the connection to that...Entity meant redemption, he’d take it.

- EX’s mind, to put it lightly, was a cluttered mess. 

- It somehow managed to be empty and full at the same time. Flashes of colour and obsidian pillars filled what should’ve been the sea. What should’ve been stable ground was instead made of arrays of potted plants, scissors, and villainous looking masks. The sky hung above them, deep orange from the smoke. Red strings littered the ground, seemingly pointing to...somewhere. 

- They decided to follow them. 

- Grian told them not to worry about getting injured. While they were in the Infinite, everything was, at its very core, all a dream. They should be more careful of making deals with things that wanted to bring themselves into their world.

- EX figured that he made a deal with the Entity at some point, but couldn’t exactly remember when. 

- The string that they followed led back to the remnants of the town that EX built during his exile. His old rustic house stood tall in the middle of it, ever-expanding, encompassing the town.

- Grian and Joe pointed out how it was similar to Grian’s Hermitville house from Season Six, only for EX to look at them in confusion.

- As they approached the house, they realised that it was covered in vines. They grew over the doors and windows. Grian, Joe, and EX managed to break down the door, and found that the interior of the house was relatively intact, were it not for the vines creeping down the stairs. 

- They followed the vines. The hallways twisted and turned, and open spaces became narrow passages. Joe found himself ducking under some particularly low arches and spaces where the roof jutted into the house. 

- Eventually, they came to a door to one of the towers. EX mentally kicked himself- this was the way to his old room. The vines grew thicker as they climbed the stairs to the platform. The door to his room was sealed shut, but after tearing the vines away and some effort kicking it down, it swung open. 

- Beyond the door was a dark void. Through the darkness, they saw something bright in the distance. As they walked, it became clearer.

A body lay on the bed. It was covered in the same vines that swallowed the house. EX crept closer to try to see if he could identify it.

        It was himself.

        He should’ve known. 

- Joe and EX tried to cut the vines in an attempt to free this version of EX, but they just grew back thicker. From the way this EX slept through all their grabbing and pulling at the vines, EX thought that he could just be dead. While trying to free this EX’s arms, Joe caught a glimpse of what looked like- what, a tattoo?

It was definitely a symbol of some sort. Vaguely circular, with some sort of detailing to it- holes and lines, something that looked like infinite eyes. Joe got dizzy the longer he looked at it- were the patterns shifting? Growing outwards? It was impossible to tell. 

- Grian stared into the darkness. Something was off about this space. Empty voids existed in the Infinite, but more often than not, they weren’t this...blatant. 

- The void opened up, revealing its countless eyes. The vines turned to shadowy tendrils, tightly gripping the sleeping EX. He didn’t stir. They looked up- some of the larger eyes turned blank, and similar to a tv screen, a projection played. 

- Old memories, ridden with pain and sorrow, jealousy and anger. Scenes of destruction, fire, and storms. Nightmares from the past week and months of exile spilled onto the screen, all part of some twisted, pathetic story that kept repeating.

- The last nightmare that played wasn’t a recent one. EX only had vague memories of it. This one showed him crying out in desperation as something crept through the walls of his lonely tower. Eyes. Darkness. A mixture of laughter and pained screeching from what sounded like millions of people. Shouting. At the end of it, a promise. It was a promise of belonging somewhere, no matter how dark. 

- EX started shaking. His weakness brought the server to its knees yet again. No matter how hard he tried, he was still trapped in an endless cycle of failures and destruction. He didn’t hear the dark tendrils squeeze his sleeping form even tighter. 

- Joe tried to calm him down. After all, EX hadn’t intentionally caused harm to anyone, and while his methods of stopping the Entity were far from efficient, Joe saw that he was at least trying. The Entity latching onto him wasn’t his fault, and he was even trying to save the server by entering the Infinite head-on. 

The void started to crack and break apart, even if it was just a little bit.

- Of course, a cosmic, nigh-incomprehensible Entity couldn’t be defeated with love, but it could at least dispel some of the fear it preyed upon. The destruction of the server was imminent. Joe hoped that the Entity would sever its connection to EX once it was done, but he’d still need the time and space to recover. 

The void’s infinite eyes fell away, and the trio found themselves back on the Hermitcraft server. 

[prismarine-parrots]

Grian (Short Story)

I don't count this as angst because it's really technically not but it's going to be interesting to see reactions >:3

The pressure of the cable connected to the back of his neck disappeared and he immediately started his usual startup procedure. He found that the codes running through his mind before he really woke up was much smoother- but also more complicated than he remembered... even if that wasn't much more than a feeling since he wasn't technically conscious yet.

"You alright there?"

He slowly sat up before releasing a breath. He felt so loose? He had never been able to do that before.

"How do you feel?"

"...Loose. Flimsy," his voice was soft, barely a whisper- how? He had always only had one tone.

"Yeah, welcome to your muscles actually communicating with your brain. Amazing how then human body is when you're actually functioning. Now get up, I'll teach you the basics. You have a lot to learn before you can completely your half of the deal. I hope that three weeks straight of completely rewriting your shoddy code was worth it."

NPC Grian's eyes finally focussed to see the person he had made the deal with for this to be possible. Glancing down, seeing his body laying on the bed, then seeing his savior sitting looking bored in his rolling chair.

He held up a hand and wiggled his fingers. He had never had this type of maneuverability- it was strange. It was foreign. It was a miracle.

NPC Grian grinned.

Objective set.

—————

Grian was sitting in the cool shade of the Sahara storefront. They had recently installed a noteblock loop playing some soothing music and tables and chairs and a café in the previously-empty space up top, and the mass amounts of white concrete and large windows kept the inside of the building cool in the rising summer heat.

Grian didn't have much to do today- the building of Sahara was done, his latest advertising campaign had been completed, his base was finished except for the spur-of-the-moment interior builds, and all of his friends and current collabs were offline. He decided for once to just take it slow and chill instead of be going, going, going with his chaotic energy.

He took a long, slow sip of his tea- really just heated water with crushed flowers and a couple of flavorings, but it was still good. He closed his eyes, content with the peaceful quiet that surrounded him.

But suddenly Grian got shivers down his back. His soft smile fell as his eyes snapped open and body froze. Nothing has changed, as far as he could tell, yet something felt wrong and all his half-developed survival instincts were on high alert.

"Hello?" Grian called out. He set his cup of tea down and rested his hand above his phone in case he needed to pull out a weapon from the virtual inventory.

The Sahara Café stayed silent.

Grian realized that it was too quiet- the noteblocks has stopped playing.

But the noteblocks were looped.

"Whoever's here, this isn't funny..." Grian called. He didn't want to look down and check the player list to see if one of the redstone pranksters were online. He slowly stood up, waiting for someone to make themselves known and announce that they got Grian good and then continue on with whatever they needed from the builder.

There was a slurp sound from behind Grian. He spun around, only to be met with a face way to close for comfort- an evil smile and malicious glint in his red eyes.

Grian nearly screamed.

"YOU—?!"

Then there was a whoosh and something hit Grian in the head. He crumpled to the ground, dazed and disoriented. He tried to get up, but his limbs wouldn't respond.

"N... no... I won't..."

A rough cloth of darkness consumed his blurry vision, and Grian irritatedly realized they had tied a sack over his head like a cliche kidnapper.

He tried to stay conscious and to fight back, but his arms only slapped the ground pitifully instead of push himself up and his legs only stubbed his toes instead of kick the double. He felt his wrists be tied together and his entire body be picked up.

Grian's head knocked against something in the sudden movement he was blind to. Despite his clever skills and fast wits, they were useless when he was out like a light.

—————

Iskall had noticed something weird going on with Grian for the past few weeks.

It wasn't obvious, but little things. The way Grian would freeze and his eyes would go hazy for a second or two before he continued with whatever he was doing. The way his normally lively movements recently seemed a lot more controlled and calculated. There was rarely that little hop Grian did when he was excited, or the skipping while he walked with someone to a new location. But he sounded fine, and acted normally- flew with mass amounts of rockets, danced with parrots, hummed some of his little ditties from the beginning of the season. Iskall had brought it up with Mumbo, but Grian's closest friend hadn't seen anything out of the ordinary.

So Iskall hadn't brought it up again. As much as he wanted to let it go and allow himself to assume that he was over analyzing things, his gut wouldn't let him. Something just didn't feel right about Grian- which was weird, because usually nothing felt completely normal with that little gremlin.

Iskall was fixing up the Sahara ordering system to connect Mumbo's item transport tube as he was finishing that up. He had just finished recording the clip that would go before this when he got a text from... the War Talk channel on their communications?

DocM77: is Grian alright? He just asked me what kind of a blank space he's in and if it's a war prank

Zombiecleo: the war is over? It has been for a while?

DocM77: which is why I'm concerned

ImpulseSV: where is he? I don't know of any reason he'd be at the war zone, but maybe he sprang a leftover trap like he did with that TNT right after the war ended

DocM77: he says Sahara???????

Iskall looked up and in the direction of the warehouse. He quickly put two and two together, and his doubts were basically confirmed as he realized his bad feeling may actually be right.

Iskall85: there's an infinity room in Sahara. He built it. I think something's up with Grian.

DocM77: so then why is he confused about being in one of his own pranks?

Iskall put his phone away and crawled out of the hole to the redstone and took the elevator up the second floor and marched out the path to the warehouse. Along the way he passed Mumbo and called out to him.

"Mumbo! We need to go interrogate Grian, you're coming with me!"

"What? Why?"

"Just come."

Iskall took no time in leading Mumbo to the main meeting room and telling him to sit down before sitting in Grian's chair and reaching over the armrest to hit the button. The duo fell from their seats and into the infinity room, where Grian was curled on the floor with wide eyes.

"Grian?! What happened?!" Mumbo demanded and immediately dropped to his knees.

"I- I don't- all white, no difference— does not compute—" Grian stuttererd fearfully. Mumbo had a confused look cross his face as he hesitated in helping Grian up for a moment.

"It's just your infinity room. You build this yourself?"

Iskall narrowed his eyes at Grian's panicked face as the builder immediately tried to get himself together.

"I-I...? I mean, yeah. I just, uh, woke up here and was confused. I thought I had died or something crazy," the strawberry blonde chuckled awkwardly, pushing himself away from Mumbo.

The mustached man and the Swede shared a concerned look.

"Now, how do we get out of here...?" Grian asked, looking around and infinite walls nervously.

Mumbo gestured to Iskall, tapping at a nonexistent phone, before pointing to Grian who as looking away and covering his eyes, then pointing to himself.

What the heck? Was Iskall's first response, before he realized that Mumbo was trying to say. Text the others, he'll try to restrain him or something.

And so Iskall did that while Mumbo talked to Grian, pretending to feel around the walls for a hidden button or something before Iskall got a confirmation that the other hermits were coming and Mumbo "accidentally" fell down the hole in the floor to the sub-infinity room. Iskall feigned surprise and jumped down with him, and then they called up to Grian to tell him it was safe to come to come down and that there was an exit down here.

"When he comes down, we wait for him to bounce and then we grab him," Iskall planned under his breath.

"Are you sure we need to be that drastic? This IS Grian," Mumbo questioned.

"Who was scared out of his mind in his own infinity room? I've been seeing other weird things about him. I'm getting to the bottom of this," the Swede growled. He knew on the inside he was trying to hide his worry with aggression, but that feeling of wrongness was only growing stronger each minute something was wrong with Grian.

The builder bounced down and after disappearing through the white ceiling a couple of times, Iskall lunged and tackled Grian to the spongy ground.

"Ah! Iskall! What the heck?!"

"Alright, game's over, what's up, Grian? Why you acting weird?"

"Nothing's wrong with me! I'm fine!"

"I think I'm with Iskall in this one, Gri. Something is wrong. The war has been over for a couple months now, and you made the infinity room maps forever ago. How could you forget? I... I don't know, Gri, and I'm scared to find out what else you've been hiding from us that's not normal," Mumbo said quietly. Grian looked over his shoulder at his friends. Iskall cringed inwardly at the shocked look on Grian's face, but he held firm, knowing that Mumbo would cave in before the issue was solved.

"Let's head up, the others should be meeting us upstairs." Mumbo suggested nervously.

Iskall nodded and held Grian's hands behind his back and lead him up the water column to the normal part of Sahara. There were some of the other hermits wandering the warehouse- Doc, Cleo, Impulse and Tango.

"Grian! Iskall? What's going on?" Tango asked.

"Grian's acting up, and I don't trust it," Iskall summarized.

"This is completely uncalled for..." Grian muttered. Tango, Mumbo, and Cleo all seemed to agree. 

"Grian is our friend, Iskall. No need to put him in in handcuffs!"  Cleo exclaimed. 

Iskall shook his head. "I just... I don't trust him right now. Things don't make any sense."

"Give the man a chance to explain himself? Maybe he hit his head or something and has amnesia..." Tango offered.

"Don't give him an excuse to get out of this!" Iskall snapped. Grian had been rather quiet this entire time, and the Swede didn't like it. Another thing out of character for him. Normal Grian would have been yelling his head off right about now. 

Doc's good eye was narrowed and he was glaring at either Iskall or Grian, it was hard to tell. 

"Iskall, let him go." 

Doc's voice was dangerously low and steady, and for once the hitman actually listened to the hybrid scientists. Grian immediately stepped away from Iskall, shaken eyes glancing over his shoulder...

Only to walk into a headlock by Doc. 

"HEY!"

"Doc, what are you doing?!"

"Stop it! You're choking him!"

The two were on the ground and the others had jumped back while Grian struggled weakly against Doc's green arm and the creeper hybrid pinned him to the ground. Iskall rushed forward and pulled against Doc.

"Doc! Let him go! Too far dude! I was just being yelled at, now you're going past me!"

Doc sat back and released Grian's throat and the builder immediately gasped for air. 

"What the heck, man?!"

Doc's face was neutral. "I don't think Grian has an LED in the back of his head," he announced firmly. 

This caught everyone's attention. 

"What...?" Cleo breathed and slowly approached the mess of limbs. 

Iskall hesitantly glanced over Doc's shoulder, feeling like this was an invasion of privacy but also a needed investigation. 

Indeed, there was a red glowing LED light, along with a single small port lined with silver, just under the hem of Grian's sweater.

"What in the world?" Tango asked, suddenly turning to Grian. The strawberry blonde hadn't moved further, as if he weren't sure how to react beyond this point. Tango kneeled by Grian's face. "What's going on, Grian?"

The demon then jumped back in surprise and Iskall reached out to instinctively help him. Tango's red eyes were wide and arms pressed against his chest as if pulling away from something disgusting. 

"Red eyes?!"

Cleo's head shot up. "But isn't that only a demonic trait?"

Tango nodded while Mumbo slowly drew a distressed breath. 

"That's not Grian... That's NPC Grian... I'd only heard about him once before..." the redstoner explained slowly, not taking his wide eyes off their false friend. 

Iskall watched as "NPC Grian" suddenly threw Doc off him as if it were nothing (which was no small feat) and got to his feet. He scanned the gathered hermits and Iskall shivered as he made eye contact with unnerving red eyes on his usually-chipper friend.  They were bright and calculating and malicious and excited, nothing like the soulful dark-brown-almost-to-the-point-of-black that belonged to Grian.

"Finally, I've been so bored of pretending to be that organic version of me. Grian is so boring! All he does is yell and cry and try to talk to me. And all he ever seems to do here is fly and build and talk. Does no one appreciate calculated thinking time anymore? But I'll admit, with a fully-organic body, one needs a lot more time to function than basing everything on numbers. Anyhow, I should really be going, I need to catch up with some friends..." 

NPC Grian casually waved and turned on his heels to walk out. 

"Get him!" Cleo yelled and chased after the false Grian. Doc was already a step ahead and was aiming his electified trident at the fleeing figure and Tango seemed to be chanting in something or another- Iskall honestly had no idea. He didn't have any idea of what to think of any of this.

Mumbo slowly turned to the last Architech with genuine fear.

"Iskall, if that's not Grian..."

"Then where is he?"

-----------------------------

Word count: 2430

This turned out longer than I thought it was going to. It's also very stiff and awkward :/

And I'm not doing a part two :P but if someone wants and ending bad enough, go ahead and make up your own!

[prehistoriics]

Legend’s Land.

words -; 1,868 characters -; my own sona, mentions of the hermits, apathetic xisuma (practically xisumavoidd’s character :]).

    She’s heard talk about the ‘legends’, as they were called, who were in Icepick many years before the current group was. Many great builds were risen up from the ground on that island and its surrounding archipelago, it seemed, and after a long while they were left behind. Not very many have visited the island in the world, mainly because it was over a million miles away, but a select few had been brave enough to take on the trek.              But that number was about to go up by one.

The redhead had gathered up an overabundance of food, rockets, and everything in between. Before you ask; no, she wasn’t crazy. Hardly anybody in this universe was.. although, I could end up being ultimately wrong. Leaving absolutely no word of her leave at her base, her shops, or anywhere, she started heading off. 

Who knows how long it’s been, she stopped keeping track a few nights ago, so only a omnipresent entity knows. She’s seen hundreds, thousands, maybe millions of messages go by on her communicator, and she’s seen no concrete structures in the ocean ever since the Icepick shopping district. She was tired, and it showed - phantoms would soar behind her every night, but luckily, she would fly fast enough to not get her arse kicked. 

Letting out a yawn, she nearly fell out of the sky and out of the clouds, but that’s when she saw it; the tall, monument-like structure. Eyes widening, she softly coasted down onto the weathered ceiling of the top floor, kicking away some of the leaves and other debris on it. “H-Holy shit..” She muttered, glancing down into the structure, before jumping down onto the second floor, staring at the huge, faded machine before her. She slowly approached it, wiping cobwebs away.

She pressed the button, waiting for the small jingle to play it’s melodic, yet choppy tune, and it did! But.. it was also somewhat distorted. Still recognizable, but distorted. She backed up slightly, trying her best to ignore the crunching of cyan glass below her sneakers. Suddenly, the moon went back to hiding and the sun rose. Nobody was on right now, not on Icepick, but.. what about this part? Shaking her head, she dismissed the thought. “No, no, silly! They all left many many years ago! Xisuma, Grian, Joe- all of them! N-None of them can be here..” she told herself, furrowing her eyebrows afterwards. “..right?” She added quietly, before going down to the bottom floor. The base was less freaky in the sunlight, sure, but with it being abandoned? It was still freaky. 

Taking a deep breath, she started to head off toward the rest of the island. Wait, no, what about Mumbo's base, you may ask? We'll find that out next. She just forgot, that's all! Head turning to where Mumbo's base would and should've been, was nothing. A little bit down left of it, however, revealed where it was: partially sunk in the water. Eyebrows furrowing, she flew over to the architechs railway stop, immediately hoping off once it swayed, unstable. She towered herself up, just so she wouldn't fall into the ice cold water, which was bound to be littered with drowned. She perched on the cobblestone pillar, furrowed eyebrows scanning around at the massive circular base. She wouldn't dare to touch it, it could possibly ruin it! So, instead, she got finished looking and flew off. I'm not quite feeling up to describing the ruin of everyone's bases, so, let's just skip that, shall we?

Second to last, but certainly not least, she ended up next to the battlefield of the Civil War. It was raining by now, but yet the flames on the ground never seemed to extinguish. Coasting down to the ground, she stuck one of her hands out to the flame, and.. immediately brought it back, because holy shit, that was hot. Even with the pouring rain falling on her hand, it still felt like it was burning, hell, it looked like it was blistering. Ignoring the pain, she got ready to fly up to the G-Team base, but noticed it was about to collapse on itself. It probably wasn't a good idea to explore it. Turning her head to the team S.T.A.R. base. It was in way better shape than the opposing base, due to it being built out of stone bricks, but she still didn't trust it. 

Taking off to go look at Xisuma’s base, Em let out a hefty sigh. It was sad to see this world in ruin; no sign of life anywhere, except for the flora and fauna that had overrun the entire place. Every base was a death trap; she had almost died five times trying to tour Stress's base, but failed miserably and nearly died. 

Flying over the shopping district, something- someone near the stock exchange caught her eye. Curiosity getting the best of her, she flew down to the weathered ground and structure, cautiously approaching the figure. They appeared to be non-responsive at the moment, completely still, leaning against one of the pillars, but breathing yet. Thunder roared in the background. Taking her trident out of its holster just in case, she went on her tip-toes and tapped the man on the shoulder. 

The man seemed to jerk awake, sending a shocked Em back a few steps. Sipping the drink that was on one of the slightly raised up mounds of quartz, he groaned quietly, seemingly out of annoyance. “Alright,” He began, wiping his hand on his face. “Who's here, I know it isn't one of ya Hermits; Xisuma said y’ wouldn't be back for a.. long while. Until an anniversary stream,” he paused once more, taking another sip of the drink. Then, he glanced at Em. “Ah. Don't think I've seen one of you, before. What are you, a gremlin?” He asked, laughing after, as the redhead calmly wrapped her hands around her trident, eyes narrowing at the neutral colored man in front of her, electricity buzzing through the three points of the prismarine weapon. Ooh, this should be interesting; a clash of colors!

“I'm not a gremlin,” calmly stated Em, the other just laughing more in return. “..but if I'm a gremlin to you are you a giant to me?” She asked, raising a suspecting eyebrow. The taller one stopped laughing, eyes narrowing at the shorter one, grabbing his sword. She had only said practically same thing he had said to her; just in her eyes, yet he was resorting to violent retaliation. Tightly gripping the trident, she took a few steps back, ready for whatever would come next, sword in a comfortable position to come out at a moment's notice. 

Hand on the sword, and hands on the Trident, the two were ready for a battle. AX made the first move, which cut Em's sweater. Eyebrows furrowing, Em jabbed the trident at the other, one point jabbing him. She swiftly pulled out the weapon, put it back in its holster, switching to her sword rather quickly. Of course, she wouldn't attack two times in a row; that'd be rude. She's not rude. Swinging his sword at her, AX managed to swing it into her side, swiftly taking hit out. Wincing in pain, Em gritted her teeth, and swung her sword at him, which he parried with his own sword. Immediately after, he swung the diamond sword at Em again, putting a deep gash in her shoulder, making it apparent to her that he was not playing nice. Em made one more swipe at the other, which put a gash in his stomach, then she switched her sword for her trident and quickly scrambled up onto the hill behind the stock exchange, catching her breath afterward. Ignoring the excruciating pain per usual, she shakily aimed her trident at the other. Squinting her eyes to try to find him easier, which didn’t work out too well.

But somehow, with luck, the trident hit the other and so did a crack of lightning. Grinning ever so slightly, while also gritting her teeth, she grabbed her trident as it flew back to her. “What the hell?!” AX shouted, glaring up at the other on the hill. “That wasn't fair! You're not supposed to do two attacks in a row when th-” He started, but Em cut him off. “You do know that either side isn’t s'posed to cheat, right? You parried my attack and then swung at me. By simple and universal rules, I should do an unfair move in return.” She finished, grinning mockingly down at AX, who was furious. 

“Oh, you liittle shit..” He grumbled, climbing up the hill to the redhead. She stared him up, daring not to show her fear and her anxiety in her face. Muted blue eyes stared down into light green ones, both full of malice, even though this was the first time they had met.

With AX focused on her, Em brought her trident back a bit, slow enough that AX wouldn’t notice, as if to throw it slightly. On the other hand, with Em focused on AX, the rat man himself slowly brought out his sword. Taking a gentle step back, Em released the fully charged trident from her hand, letting it fly into the other’s side. In the blink of an eye, the other’s diamond sword was at her throat, but it hadn’t moved any further. 

Taking another step back, she remained cautious of the sharp edge, and walked around to the side of the man who was now on his knees, seemingly frozen. She quickly pulled the trident out of his side, eyebrows furrowing. She grinned even more, breath hitching. The sun started to rise, the rain letting up, allowing the thunder and lightning to subside. She wiped the trident off on the overgrown grass, putting it back in its holster. Taking off her sopping wet sweater, she grimaced at the large blood stains, but wrapped it around her waist nonetheless. 

Xisumaa was impaled by pastelcomputer.

“Maybe next time, you shouldn’t be such an asshole.” She spat out at the body, eyes narrowing. Hair extremely wet as well got pulled up into a messy bun, the multicolored roses in it only moving slightly. Taking a deep breath, she quickly ate a few golden carrots, which instantly made her feel better. She coasted down to the ground of the shopping district, and started rummaging through the various chests. 

A while later, her satchel was full of extra stuff, but mainly stuff she would need. Glancing around once more, she lifted off to visit Xisuma’s base. Nearing the base and almost going down, she noticed the state of it. Using rockets to easily keep herself up, she looked down. 

Inside the base, there was an overabundance of guardians, along with a baby Elder Guardian in the middle. Gritting her teeth, she decided to start heading back home. After a while, however, she realized something: she was out of rockets. She sighed, feeling herself fall already. She shut her eyes, bracing for impact. 

pastelcomputer fell from a high place.

Well. She was back at her base. Time to wrap up her wounds...

[prismarine-parrots]

Tree of Life Pt. 2

Part 1

Part 3

Part 3.5

Part 4

Part 5 (1) Part 5 (2)

Originally posted: 26 Feb. 2019

Grian's breathing was raspy and broken. He had fallen into unconsciousness a while back, and his symptoms had only been getting worse. The hermits that we're trying to help him were split into two teams- the ones at the top of the base trying to fix Grian's tree, and the ones beside his bed in the main floor trying to keep him alive.

The newest hermit seemed to have been trying to use regeneration and healing potions on his tree to heal it, but they had no effect. Now those potions were being splashed periodically on Grian by Mumbo, Doc, Cub, False and Stress, trying ANYTHING to get the strawberry blond to at least lower his temperature. The ice queen of the server had placed ice blocks around the bed, False had tried giving him a golden carrot and DocM ran and got a spare golden apple from his base, but nothing was working.

In the aviary, Xisuma was tapping away furiously, trying to get the tree to heal using his Admin controls. Iskall had been pouring a couple of potions around the roots of the tree and JoeHills had tried repairing the tree with blocks, but because most of the trees weren't actually vanilla the oak blocks did nothing but slide down the tree when placed next to it. X had even spawned in a command block that Tango was using to try and try different commands to heal the tree that way. The situation was dire and the hermits were starting to panic.

It was a silent, tense atmosphere in Grian's base.

"Why isn't this WORKING?!" False growled when the effects of the golden apple wore off without seeming to have any effect on the sick strawberry blonde.

"Probably because his tree is so sick, it's trying to keep itself alive by not regening Grian," Cub responded seriously as he watched a potion brew before grabbing the flask and dousing Grian with the pink liquid.

"Grian's going to be so mad that his clothes are ruined when he wakes up. That's his favorite sweater," Stress sighed. She hadn't had much to do with Grian, but for the fact that he ALWAYS wore the oversized red sweater with the rolled up sleeves it was obvious he liked it.

"He'll thank us when he's not dead," Doc said simply.

"At least he smells fruity in the meantime..." Mumbo murmured. His wide eyes hadn't left the body of his best friend since Grian had crash landed above. He had been by his side ever since.

Normally someone might have snickered at the random remark, but the situation was too dire to even consider humor.

"Anything?"

"Nope."

"Try now."

"It's not working, X!"

Tango and Xisuma had been going through that sequence for nearly ten minutes now. Using the power of command blocks and server management, they had tried healing the tree, healing Grian, even completely replacing the tree, but the group had horrifically watched the tree deteriorate back to how it was before their eyes.

"How did this even happen?" Joe wondered with a stressed frown. While the pacifist normally would be concerned with his server mate's antics that would give him a heart attack (Grian was a key member of a full-on WAR,) seeing him so far out of it and not healing would make anyone worried. Joe wished that his poetry might help, but even he knew that words couldn't heal a physical body.

"If we knew, we would tell you, but we don't know, so shut up and help us brainstorm," Iskall snapped. "What other ways of healing are there? Beacons have regen," he realized.

Tango shook his head. "They're already using the potions downstairs,"

"What about strength? Could that help?"

"That's physical strength, like punching. I don't think it would help him in that way..."

"You think if we kill him he'll respawn back to normal?" Tango offered hesitantly. Iskall glared at the blonde demon and gestured to the tree.

"Does this look like it would be able to respawn him?" the Swede asked sarcastically.

Tango sighed. "It was just an idea. An unlikely one, but an idea..."

"Yeah well right now we need reasonable suggestions that won't end in a permanent death," Iskall growled. Joe looked between the two nervously, sensing that an argument might break out.

"Have you ever even heard of a permanent death? Even in hardcore mode, you just get plopped into the community hub to continue on with your life after you die."

"What else can we do though? Force food down Grian's throat and hope he heals?"

"Guys, shut up," X muttered, "Your arguing isn't helping either."

Tango sighed and ran his hand through his hair in between his horns and while Iskall continued to glare at Tango, he too did not continue the argument.

"We're all worried, but it's not something to fight each other for," Joe advised with his classic Joe Hills father voice.

Xisuma nodded silently in agreement and looked at the tree in thought as the others went back to brainstorming solutions.

"Does something sound different?" Cub asked, breaking the silence that blanketed the echoey, cool space at the bottom of Grian's base.

"Yeah, I noticed that too," Stress agreed, "But we've just been sitting here, what changed?"

Doc stopped messing with his trident in nervousness and glanced around. The group had all been sitting on the assortment of chests and shulker boxes thrown around the corner of Grian's base, everyone keeping an eye on their sick friend but also being tired of standing on their feet. They had been making sure that Grian stayed under the effects of the healing potions, if only to keep him from losing what little health he had left rather than getting him better, as without the tree being healed that seemed to be impossible.

Mumbo has been sitting closest to Grian, watching over his friend but also slowly starting to zone out in the quiet and stillness of his base. The moustached man blinked and shook his head and watched as the pink swirls around Grian faded away.

False tossed Mumbo another potion, having been the one now manning the brewing stand Cub had gotten from his workshop that he had used to make potions fo the ConCorp War Store when it had been in business.

Stress gasped. "Wait, no!" She stood up with her eyes wide.

"Grian's not breathing!"

That kicked everyone into high gear.

"What?!"

"Oh my gosh you're right!"

"What do we do?!"

"Grian?!" Mumbo exclaimed, reaching over and shaking his friend's shoulder. "Grian, wake up!"

No response. The builder's face was calm and relaxed, his mouth open just the slightest as if he were still trying to struggle to breathe. But Stress was correct- his chest was no longer rising and falling and the quiet Cub and her had noticed was Grian's stillness.

Mumbo took a shaky breath. "GRAIN!"

"XISUMAVOID YOU BETTER HAVE THAT TREE HEALED!" DocM yelled as False was already taking off with her elytra to tell the tech team what was happening.

The hermits across the server felt their phones go off as Cub was frantically texting the server group for anyone who knew some unconventional healing methods they could use. Zedaph, who was online but not involved in this, was asking what happened, and Scar who had been working at the ConCorp Country Club was asking his partner where he had been if he wasn't at the golf course as well. They suggested most of the things they had already tried with no success and time was running out.

The team that had been working on the tree swooped down with their elytra- except Iskall, who decided to fall down and quickly placed down water that he splashed into before the rest of them got down. He didn't stop as he sprinted to Grian's side and did the same that Mumbo had done.

"Grian! Grian, can you hear me?! Do something, dude!"

Mumbo had sunk to his knees beside the cyan bed. "Y-yeah, cmon dude, you're just... pranking us, that's it. But it's not funny, so cut it out and tell us how to help you!" He was trying to convince himself of that, but it was obvious even he didn't believe it.

Doc looked urgently at Xisuma, a silent question being asked. X shook his head, his shoulder sagging and head hanging.

Everyone's phones rang once- a server notification, not chat.

Grian died.

A death message, but not a standard one. No accompanying reason why to tease the hermit about them dying to something stupid.

Just that Grian was dead.

Mumbo dropped his phone and let out a sob. Iskall stepped back in horror. The Brit's body was still there, it hadn't disappeared or turned into puffs of smoke.

There was no respawn for Grian this time.

The server chat was blowing up with questions from the other online hermits, but none of the gathered even had their phones in hand.

JoeHills was the first to answer the others- to tell them the bad news.

joehillsays: Rest In Peace, Grian. We don't think he's coming back.