#once I'm on summer break.....

[mochiwrites]

last life au

in light of third life turning two years old today, I offer a wip I've had sitting in my google drive since february! if any of you remember this post I made a while back, all you need to know is that third life!grian has swapped places with last life!grian somehow. without further ado, here's my very unfinished and very rough last life au wip (pls don't judge it too harshly LOL)

happy two years to the series that changed me as a person! :D (edit: now posted on ao3! read here)

if you enjoyed, please reblog! reblogs do more than likes <3

To Grian, the desert was once a home.

It wasn’t perfect, not really. Perfection is nearly impossible in a game of death, but what he and Scar had came close. The desert was the farthest thing from a good location, all things considered. The days were hot, far too hot, and the nights were so cold that it left Scar and Grian curling up close for warmth. There was nothing but sand for miles, which made gathering materials a constant challenge. 

But they had their home. Their tower, their place of respite. Dogwarts was a constant threat barreling down their door, but together they made it work. Their home was far from perfect, but it was theirs and that’s what Grian came to love about it. 

Except now, as he stands in a ring of cacti, he has destroyed his home. 

His home is filled with lava and craters, a reminder of what they did to survive. Their desert was ruined days ago in what they had hoped to be the final showdown with Dogwarts and The Red King. They blew up their desert for a win they never achieved. 

Maybe that was the first sign that things were going wrong. Their desert, their home, their small temporary sanctuary in this hellish game was blown apart. 

Ends justifies the means, no?

After all, to Grian, their home was more than just the desert. Their home was with each other. The desert never mattered much to him, not when he had Scar, and vice versa. The desert was a symbol, more than anything. Of Grian’s debt, his guilt. He’ll never admit it, but it felt a bit liberating to destroy it. 

And maybe that’s why things went oh so horribly wrong. 

Maybe that is why his fists are shaking, knuckles raw and covered in blood. Maybe that is why he stares down at the bloodied corpse of what was once his partner, his other half. His insides twist and turn, creating a mangled mess of emotions within him. The sun beats down on him, sweat and blood mixing together as one. His hair is in his eyes, but he doesn’t care much. His tank top feels like too much but also too little all at once.

His knuckles ache, his body is sore. He’s hardly covered in bruises and scratches, and yet he still feels like he’s just been beaten half to death anyways. 

He can’t bear to look at Scar, to meet his gaze and see his own brightly shining eyes reflected in lifeless, empty ones. 

“For everything you’ve done to keep me alive this long, you may slay me and take the enchanter.” 

Scar’s words ring in his head, accompanied by his laughter. Grian puts a bloodied hand up to his mouth as a wave of nausea rolls over him. He doesn’t pay any mind to the copper twinge that fills his mouth. He tears his gaze away from anywhere remotely near Scar, instead turning and looking over the mountain. 

Their home is in ruins. Their home is gone. The last of their home has been destroyed by his own two hands, killed for the sake of winning some pointless game. 

His victory feels hollow. Empty. 

He had wanted to win together. Winning without Scar felt… wrong. It feels wrong. After all they’ve been through, after establishing something between them, winning alone just… didn’t look as appealing anymore. 

“I’m getting you! I’m getting you good!” “I don’t think you are!” 

His hands ache. His chest feels tight, as if his ribs have been coiled tightly around his lungs to constrict his air flow. He takes a slow step back, as if trying to escape the scene of the crime. His legs shake from the weight of both his body and his actions. Grian takes a shaky breath. 

“Can we win together?” 

He stumbles as he walks backwards, his world dipping and tilting. 

Grian won alone. 

He doesn’t feel like a winner. 

He doesn’t even want that title. 

The guilt is eating at him. Why? Why is he the one that survived? The point of all of this was so that Scar could win! That’s why Grian stayed with him! 

(He won’t admit to himself that there’s more to it than that. He won’t admit to himself that somewhere along the way his feelings changed. No longer was he staying by Scar’s side out of guilt or obligation. Without Grian even noticing, Scar grew on him. Scar broke through his walls with his ridiculous yet charming nature, and Grian found himself wanting to stay with Scar because he wanted to see him win. Because somehow, somewhere, Grian’s heart had been swayed and stolen. Somewhere, he had fallen in love.) 

For a moment, he’s angry. He’s angry at the blood lusting ghosts for demanding a final fight. He’s angry at Scar for letting him win, for making him win. Frustrated, bitter words lay on his tongue as he turns around to admonish the man, emotions getting the better of him. 

Only to turn and be met with his corpse. Blood pools around Scar’s body, bruises littering his face and chest. Grian had been throwing punches wildly. 

His stomach lurches, and he covers his mouth again. Copper fills his nostrils, heavy and thick. “Oh… I don’t feel good,” he mumbles, but there’s no one around to hear him. 

He tears his gaze away, instead surveying the desert around him. His blood is rushing in his ears, making it hard to hear. His head swims as he stands still, looking over at the rivers of lava throughout the desert. 

Grian’s eyes settle on the cliff face.  

This desert isn’t a home anymore. It’s vacant, empty. Pointless. His home doesn’t exist, not without Scar. 

He walks toward the cliff. 

“Scar, I’m so sorry!”

“I’m sorry too!”

The desert is unfamiliar, morphing and twisting into something dark and unwelcoming. It has become  a monster of Grian’s own creation. It has become something that Grian has ripped apart with his own two hands. Something that once brought him warmth is now cold and barren. The desert is a shadow, a weak imitation of what it once was. 

He stands on the ledge. 

He wonders what was going through Scar’s mind during all of this. What was he thinking? Does he hate Grian for being the one to survive? Is he at peace, having been the one to die? Does he hate Grian for killing him? Does he hate Grian for ruining their home? Or is he happy with the way that things have gone? Grian supposes he’ll never get to know. 

He shuts his eyes and jumps. 

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

Muffled noises surround him.

He can’t quite make out what the noises are, not when it feels like his head has been submerged under water. One by one, his senses return to him and huh, that’s weird. He’s dead, yet he can feel his body? That… shouldn’t be normal. Granted, Grian has never been permanently dead before. Do most dead people still feel their body? Is that even possible? 

The next thing he feels is something soft underneath him. Now Grian knows that isn’t right. The last thing he remembers feeling is his body slamming into the hard ground below, shattering his bones. The pain had only lasted a few seconds before Grian fell unconscious, but it had been excruciating while he could still feel. Darkness had come to claim him quite swiftly. 

But whatever he’s laying on… it feels nothing like the harsh sand. It’s softer, almost silky. Plush. It only serves to confuse Grian more, seeing as once more, he isn’t sure if feeling things still is normal for a dead person. 

Ever so slowly, Grian slowly opens his eyes. His eyes are met with a stone ceiling, which… is that supposed to be there? 

Grian had a few ideas of what the afterlife would be like – if he even has one. An empty void, or maybe the End. Perhaps he’d return to the wasteland that was once his home and haunt it as a ghost. (A kinder part of him had hoped that he’d reunite with his friends, and they could all cry and hug one another. And maybe he could see Scar again, and shake him around for making Grian kill him, and then hold onto the man so that he’d never lose him again.)

Experimentally, he wiggles a finger or two. Yup, there’s still a body attached to him. Alright. Though to his surprise, he isn’t in any sort of pain. Maybe that shouldn’t be surprising, all things considered. 

Something wet touches his hand then, and Grian leaps up with a shriek. He pulls his hand back and looks at whatever touched him, finding a dog sitting on the ground. “Huh?” He looks at the dog, seeing a red collar around its neck. “Why is there a dog here?” The animal simply tilts its head to the side in response. 

It’s then that Grian actually takes the time to look around at where he is, and he pauses. The first thing he notices is that he’s laying in a white bed. There’s a chest and a crafting table in front of the bed, and there are dogs just about everywhere. Ah, so that’s what all the noise was. A furnace is set on the floor against the wall, and Grian finds himself feeling very confused. 

This is… definitely not the afterlife, that’s for sure. 

Did someone rescue him? How? Grian was the only one left on Third Life, everyone else was… 

Lips curling in a frown, he moves to slide off of the bed. Just as his foot touches the ground, he pauses, recognizing the extra weight on his body. Looking down at himself, Grian finds iron armor on him, which only worsens his confusion. Why is he in armor? 

Standing from the bed, he looks around at the room. He’s certain that he’s underground, if the walls of stone and dirt are anything to go by. He watches as one of the dogs (a pup) clambers onto the bed and circles the pillow before curling up and laying down. 

It leaves him feeling very confused. 

He casts a glance around at the stone box he’s in, looking at each of the dogs. Some of them don’t pay him any mind, and others are staring right at him. Who’s dogs are these? And why are they here, wherever here is. They seem friendly with him at least, but Grian doesn’t know if that makes him relaxed or more nervous. He remembers Joel’s pack of wolves. 

While looking around, he spots a ladder tucked against the wall leading down. He doesn’t go toward it, in case it’s trapped. Instead, he looks at the pickaxe he has on him and uses that to cautiously dig a little staircase up. 

It takes him a few minutes to get to the surface, considering he’s trying to dig out and also listen to his surroundings. When he finally pops his head out from the dirt, he does so carefully, peeking out to look around him. There’s no one around him besides trees and mountains. He sighs softly in relief. Though he still has to remain vigilant. 

Climbing out of the hole, he covers it back up with dirt (just in case if he was saved by someone, they won’t immediately notice he’s gone). Standing at full height, Grian takes a look around. The first thing he notices is how the landscape is completely different to Third Life. What is this place, he wonders. The terrain all looks different.

Lips dipping in a frown, he sets his hands on his hips, “Definitely not in Kansas anymore…” he mumbles to himself. If this is the afterlife, it’s quite odd, that’s for sure. 

While looking around, he catches sight of something in the distance. It looks like some kind of cobblestone building with roofs of dark oak. From where he is, he can spot four of them. One is at the very top of a mountain, being the most visible. 

The idea of approaching it leaves Grian hesitant, but maybe a little investigation wouldn’t hurt. He’s going to have to check it out if he wants any answers as to what this place is. So he makes a journey toward the direction of the towers. Trekking through the trees, he uses the branches for coverage. 

And when he gets to the big entrance of the four towers, he pauses. 

Grian stares at the front entrance, watching as pistons move up and down in front of him. Watching it, his eyes follow the movements curiously. Surrounding the entrance are walls of dark oak and cobble, wrapping around the base completely. He considers walking inside, maybe exploring whatever this new structure is. There was nothing inside the chest within the bunker for him. 

His inventory is an assortment of different items, none of which Grian knows what’s important and what isn’t. By now he’s ascertained that he’s in fact not dead. Which is… confusing. How is he alive? And where is he?

“Oh, Grian!” Someone’s calling his name, and the sound of someone else’s voice makes him jump. He looks up, seeing a familiar blue and red jump suit and dirty blond hair. 

Grian’s eyes widen, “Tim..?” The name escapes him with a sharp breath. No longer does his skin look sickly and gray, instead healthy and free of blood. His hair is vibrant, as are his brown eyes. A diamond chest plate sits over his upper body, iron leggings and boots. Grian almost feels like he’s seeing a ghost. The last time he saw Jimmy, it had been in the desert. Right before he died. 

It feels weird to see him again, considering he wasn’t meant to die in that fight. He was meant to stay safe. With Scar. 

Grief and regret crashes into him at once, nearly knocking him over. Images of that battle flicker in his mind, as well as the aftermath. They hadn’t spent long at Jimmy’s grave. 

(Grian paid Jimmy’s grave a visit late that night. He had been fully aware of the risks, knowing that anyone from Dogwarts could attack him. But Grian could bet with certainty they were too busy enjoying a perceived victory against the Desert. 

Jimmy’s grave was nothing fancy. Extravagance was a privilege they didn’t have there. Simple cobblestone walls and a poppy planted in the ground was all Scott could give him. 

Grian sat down, and apologized. He hadn’t even been there for Jimmy’s death. Jimmy wasn’t supposed to die. And Grian hadn’t even been there to help him. He apologized for that. He promised revenge. His death would not be in vain. 

At some point, someone had joined him. A warmth slotted against his side, and the smell of sweat, burnt sand, and summer heat filled his senses. He relaxed. 

Neither of them spoke for a while. Grian leaned against Scar, letting his thoughts wander. 

“I’m sorry the trap got messed up.” Scar apologized with a low mutter. 

Grian huffed quietly, gently knocking his head against his arm,“I don’t care about that. I mean, I do since the only one it got was me, but — I’m more thankful you survived.” 

“…I’m sorry you died,” was Scar’s response, “But on the bright side, your debt’s been repaid! You’re a free man!” Grian knew Scar well enough by then to know when he was forcing himself to act cheerful. He could hear the underlying sadness in his voice, the way he was holding something back. But most of all he could hear the fear. 

To that, Grian only pressed himself more firmly against him. “Then my first act as a free man is to see this through with you until the end.” 

He heard Scar take a breath; shaky and rough. An arm wrapped around him, and he heard a murmured, “Thank you.”)

Jimmy looks a little nervous as he stands on the other side of the pistons, “What’re you doing all the way over there for? Get in ‘ere already!” he exclaims, gesturing for him to come in. “Mumbo disabled the trap!” 

His body moves as if it’s on autopilot, legs carrying him toward the gate. He clumsily hops over the pistons and line of stone bricks, landing on the other side. His footing is a bit clumsy as he hits the ground, wobbling slightly. Jimmy laughs at him, and Grian tries to process the sound. 

Jimmy isn’t dead. He’s alive. 

What in the world is going on? 

Grian goes over to him, staring at him with something akin to marvel. Jimmy turns to him, still looking nervous. “So uh… I’m not going to be kicked out, right? I know we had the vote and all yesterday but just wanted to triple check you didn’t change your mind overnight,” he rambles to Grian, shifting back and forth on his feet. 

“What?” Blinking in confusion, Grian looks at him. “Why would I be—”

“Oi, Tim! Give the man some space to breathe, would ya?” Another voice joins them, and Grian tenses at the familiarity. “He only just got back last night. At least wait an extra five minutes before you start pestering ‘im.”

Glancing to his side, he spots The Red King’s right hand man approaching them. He’s dressed in iron, a shield attached to his arm. The familiar black bandana peeks out from underneath his hair and his blue eyes are creased with amusement as he looks at the pair. “Martyn?!” The exclamation escapes him before he can stop it. He takes a small step in front of Jimmy, knowing that Scott would be crushed if he lost him a second time (The memory of Scott in his mind would be, anyways). He keeps himself on guard. 

Martyn smiles at the pair, “Good morning to you too, fellow Southlander!” He grins. “How’s it feel to be yellow again, eh Grian?” he questions, which makes Grian bristle slightly. He remembers Martyn taking his first life very clearly.

“I’m–”

“Watch out!” A voice calls out, followed by the sounds of feet hitting the ground. Grian jumps as someone barrels past himself and Martyn, cutting right through them in a blur of black. “Hot lava bucket in my hands!” 

“I told you to wear gloves!” A second voice follows, and Grian catches a glimpse of yellow and black. He turns his head in the direction the two voices went, seeing them both by the entrance of the fort. Almost instantly, Grian recognizes Impulse from behind. But the one next to him… 

Grian feels his entire body freeze. His breath is punched out of him, eyes widening. 

The man next to Impulse is setting the bucket of lava down with a large sigh, shoulders sagging in relief. He straightens up, taking a moment to glance around. His eyes lock with Grian’s, and Grian feels rooted to his spot. His throat feels dry, as if he hasn’t drank anything in weeks. He swallows, but it does little to rid the feeling. 

Oblivious to Grian’s freezing, the man smiles wide at him, hurrying over. “Grian!” he exclaims, “Glad you got here before I reset the trap, mate, “ he greets cheerfully, but Grian feels too stunned to speak. 

Why is Mumbo here? Why? 

A multitude of emotions crash into Grian’s chest at the sight of his best friend. Relief, horror, guilt. They each roll over him, loud and vicious as they threaten to overwhelm him. He can’t look away from the man, the feeling of confusion holding his head above water. 

(“Do you think Mumbo would be proud?” The question had been half nonchalant as the pair ran through the desert, digging deep underground. The true meaning of the question was a secret, one between only himself and Scar.

Scar paused to consider it. He had lifted a finger to his chin as he thought, “Oh! Mumbo would be crying from happiness!”

“Be honest with me.” Grian had said. 

Scar hadn’t been.) 

Standing in front of the man, Grian does not share the thought. Not after the blood staining his hands. And isn’t that ironic? In a game where your aim is to kill and survive, he feels guilty over killing. But maybe that’s because of who his final kill was. Because of how it all ended. Grian had hoped he’d never have to face Mumbo after that, but apparently fate had other plans. 

“Speaking of getting here early,” Martyn’s voice cuts through the fog of confusion settling over Grian’s mind, causing him to look over at the other. Grian forces his gaze away from Mumbo with a painful pang, meeting Martyn’s eyes, “I see you’ve gone and scored another life on your way back from Scar’s.” He wiggles his brows.

Just hearing Scar’s name causes Grian’s stomach to curl with grief, “W-What?” he asks, the shock of Martyn’s statement sending him back a small step. 

“Don’t you try and fool me, G, the last time we saw you you were on yellow life. And now you’re green!” Martyn points at his wrist, and naturally, Grian’s gaze follows. 

His heart squeezes uncomfortably tight as he sees the familiar line of hearts down his wrist. There’s three hearts on his wrist, green, yellow, and red. Nausea rolls over him like a blanket, wrapping around him and tightening around his neck. He feels sick. Why? Why?! He thought he was done with all of this! Was killing Scar not enough? Was winning an empty, meaningless victory not enough?! 

Is this his punishment? Or some sick kind of joke?! 

He clenches his fists, watching the way they shake from how tightly he clenches them. Burning hot anger runs through him like lava, melting his insides. The warmth goes from top to bottom, engulfing him in an angry, vicious flame. He feels too much, yet too little all at once. He wants to scream. To cry. Maybe break something, or blow something up. Blood is pumping in his ears; his heart feels like it’s going to burst. 

This isn’t the afterlife. This is hell. 

“Grian?” Mumbo’s gentle, concerned voice breaks through the anger threatening to overtake him like a light. The sound of his voice snaps him from his spiraling thoughts, and he notices how his fingers dig uncomfortably into his skin. As if his nails can break the hearts on his wrist, shatter them. He lets go instantly, seeing angry red lines left behind. 

Lifting his gaze, Grian sees four pairs of eyes watching him. Yet the only eyes he focuses on are Mumbo’s, it’s been so long since he’s seen the man. His presence is normally a comfort for Grian, something grounding. But right now, all Grian feels is conflict. His grief and guilt is suffocating, and Mumbo’s presence does little to help that feeling. Mumbo looks at him with nothing but concern and kindness, with the way his eyebrows dip and lower, a worried frown marring his face.

Mumbo takes a step closer, hand reaching out to him, “You alright, mate?” Looking down, Grian sees the man’s wrist. Four hearts go down his wrist in a line. Two of them are already gone, looking faded and cracked. The sight of the hearts on his wrist sends his stomach dropping, heart lodging in his throat.  

Grian recoils from his outstretched hand as if it were a weapon, and Mumbo freezes in place. He pulls his hand back. His face falls, and Grian pretends he doesn’t see. 

“I’m fine.” Grian hastily replies, ignoring the burst of pain in his chest. He scans the people around him. Mumbo, Impulse, Jimmy, and… Martyn. He takes a breath. So he’s stuck in another life game. Great. And it looks like these four are his… alliance. 

A sudden thought strikes him. If those four are here then… who else is here?

His communicator pings, and he pulls it up, heart still firmly lodged in his throat.

<GoodTimeWithScar> oh team BEST~

<GoodTimeWithScar> A wizard *never* forgets his promise.

If seeing Mumbo made him sick, then seeing Scar’s message in chat plunges him into freezing cold water. Scar’s name is red (of course it is), and it sends nostalgia and grief tearing through him all at once. Everything suddenly feels like it’s too much, his head swimming. He stumbles slightly, nearly falling if it hadn’t been for Jimmy taking hold of him. “Seriously, you alright?” Jimmy questions, and Grian… Grian doesn’t know. 

All he can think about is his final moments with Scar leading up to that stupid duel. The splashing of water below him as he jumped down to meet him in that shallow pond. 

“Betrayer!” he had screamed. 

Well look who’s laughing now. 

Grian had thought about it very briefly, in his final moments, what it’d be like if he ever met Scar again. He had wondered if Scar would scorn him, or if Scar would pull him into his arms and congratulate him on a battle well fought. He had also considered keeping his distance, as far away as possible, as to never hurt Scar again. 

And yet, just as usual, his heart never listens to his brain. 

Because as he looks at his communicator, watching the others reply in chat, his eyes only focus on Scar’s name. There’s a part of him, a very deep part within, that cries out for him. It sees Scar’s name, and it reaches. It reaches far and wide, and it doesn’t concern itself with the logical side of Grian’s brain. No, it simply sees the fact that Scar is clearly alive and well and it wants to run right toward him. 

Seeing Scar’s name makes Grian’s chest ache with a deep yearning that he knows can never be satisfied. There is an ache in him that he knows will only continue to eat away at himself, until he is rotting and reaching. His soul is crying, begging for Scar at his side, and though Grian knows that he will only be the catalyst to Scar’s ultimate demise, he is weak to the pull of his emotions. 

Grian’s other half is alive! He is alive and that part of Grian feels incomplete without him. Empty. His heart aches at the thought of being with Scar again, of being able to give him the apology he deserves. Just the thought of being able to apologize to him is enough to break Grian down. 

“S-Scar,” he stammers, completely forgetting that Jimmy even asked him a question. “He’s – I have to get to him,” he says, turning to the others. 

He’s met with varying expressions of confusion, though it’s Impulse who says something, “Didn’t you already bring him his stuff after he died?” he questions, and Grian quickly shakes his head. 

“No I just – where is he? I-I need to see him, I–” he stammers, thoughts running far too quickly for him to actually think coherently. 

“Up north dude, where he always is.” Martyn replies, though he’s looking at Grian with… something. If he weren’t so distracted by the thought of Scar, he’d probably look closer into that. However, distraction is the card he’s been dealt, and he lets it play. He spins on his heel for the exit, walking briskly with purpose. “Make sure he doesn’t kill you!” Martyn calls after him, “Remember the guy’s on red!"

Grian knows he won’t. 

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

If Grian is being honest with himself, he probably should have put more thought into this. He didn’t even come here with a plan! He had just heard that Scar was north, so north is where he went. He was moving too fast for his brain to actually catch up. 

It was a bit of a journey, getting from the cobbled towers (the Southlanders, his mind supplies) to the big mountain in the north. But the second he saw the hut on top of the mountain, he knew exactly who lived there. 

Maybe what made the journey so difficult was the thoughts that accompanied him. 

Grian won’t say that he ran to Scar’s — because he didn’t. Not really. He had walked. And his thoughts consumed him with every step. 

He’s stuck in another life game. Scar is here. Mumbo is here. He doesn’t know what it means. This game isn’t Third Life, he knows that much. His mind is scrambling, trying to come up with some kind of plan. A strategy. He’s trying to lay out a safety net for himself but he should’ve known from the start it’d be pointless. 

There are no safety nets in a game of death. There are no “plans”, despite how badly Grian may want to use one. He learned in Third Life that plans don’t work, even the most carefully planned strategy blows up in his face. It won’t stop him though. A plan gives him something to fall back on, a faux comfort. 

A plan keeps him from running headfirst into danger, a plan keeps him alive.  

Which is why he probably should’ve come up with a plan before going to Scar. He doesn’t know what kind of state the man will be in. He isn’t sure how to even approach a reunion with him. It’s obvious that he’s in some kind of… who even knows where. Obviously his friends all know him here, but he isn’t sure if they remember him. Who he is. What he’s done. What they’ve all done. 

It doesn’t help that he’s apparently been dropped right in the middle of this new game. 

He doesn’t know how to handle an approach to Scar. Hug him? Smack him? Ask him if he knows who he is? A no on that last one, Jimmy and the others have already answered that. Besides, Grian isn’t sure if he could handle Scar looking at him like Grian was a stranger in every sense of the word except the literal one. 

He settles on just seeing what happens. Sometimes no plan is the best plan! 

But just — not in a death game. 

His thoughts trail off as he approaches the bottom of the mountain, and he looks up. He grimaces as he gets a clearer view of the hut up top, sighing. “Of course Scar had to put his base in the most precarious spot ever,” he grumbles before beginning to make his way up the mountain. He makes sure to be careful with each step, keeping himself aware of where he’s stepping. 

When he makes it to the top of the mountain, he’s rather out of breath, chest heaving from exertion. This mountain is a lot bigger than the one back in the desert. But he reaches the top, and is face to face with a hut made of wood and dark stone. The roof on top looks like a wizard’s hat, and Grian can’t help his fond huff. 

He focuses his gaze on the entryway, finding it wide open. This is it. Scar is beyond that doorway. Grian’s hands shake just at the thought of seeing him again. Anxiety runs through his blood like water, filling him completely. His heart picks up, beating against his ribcage. He swallows thickly. 

A small part of him wants to run away. A small part of him wants to turn around and head right back down the mountain and forget that he even came here. A small part of him is afraid to look Scar in the eyes. It makes him feel like a coward. 

And yet despite that small part of him, Grian walks forward. 

He walks right into the hut, and promptly stops. Right in front of him is none other than Scar. He’s digging around in a barrel, humming to himself. Grian isn’t sure what the tune is, or where it’s from, but the scene feels familiar. His chest aches. 

“Scar?” he says, causing the man to yell out. 

He jumps up in surprise, letting out the typical fearful scream he does whenever he’s snuck up on. It makes Grian smile softly, and god he misses this man. Scar spins around on his heels, turning to look at Grian. Grian gets a good look at his eyes, and he sees a dark red haze swirling in them. There is not a hint of warmth in his eyes, no kind of recollection or even joy at seeing him. Grian isn’t sure what he sees in Scar’s eyes, but he knows that there is anger in them. Bloodlust. 

(He thinks he might see hatred. And that is a thought that shakes him right to his core. He does not want to live in a world where Scar hates him, even if it is justified. Does that make him selfish?) 

“Oh, Grian,” Scar eventually says, and his voice is cold. Empty. He takes a step forward, something whimsical about his footing. Scar is dressed in dark robes, stark white hair peeking out from underneath. “If you’re here to nab another life from me, Grian, I’m afraid you’re out of luck,” he says, his voice low and dangerous. There is a promise of a threat in his voice. 

Grian frowns at that, chest panging. “I’m not interested in your life, Scar,” he says matter of factly. He’s already taken one (two, if his guilt counts the creeper), he doesn’t want another one. 

A laugh spills from Scar, something lacking any real humor. “Oh, don’t you play with me!” he exclaims, voice sharp and angular. The sound of it causes Grian to jolt in surprise. “You can fool me once or twice! Or…” he trails off, thinking. “Three times, whatever, it doesn’t matter!” 

“Scar…” Grian says, and he quickly realizes that he probably should’ve prepared himself a bit more. He lets the other approach him. There’s something different about him compared to Third Life. Something bitter, cynical. Grian isn’t sure if it’s because of the nature of this new game, or if it’s simply because Scar is on red. 

“No, Grian!” Scar exclaims, reaching for his diamond sword. “You know, I was planning on hitting Team BEST first, give ‘em a real good thrashing. Send a message and all that! Can’t mess with ol’ Scar! Not anymore, no sir!” He takes another step toward Grian. 

It’s the instinct of green life, Grian knows, that has him backing away slowly. He takes a few tiny steps backwards. 

Scar looks at him, something angry and hurt in his gaze, “But I think you’ll make a good first message to the masses. You were the first to take advantage of me, after all.” 

Grian’s back slams into the wall behind him, crushing his wings. He cringes at the feeling, but he doesn’t move. Scar is cornering him, holding the blade to his throat. He easily towers over Grian, putting just enough pressure on his sword to spill a bit of blood. 

Looking at him, Grian doesn’t see a hint of the Scar he once knew. He isn’t quite sure what’s going on here, what the Grian of this game has done to wrong Scar, but what he does know is this. 

He killed Scar. 

And the hatred in Scar’s eyes isn’t misplaced or even misdirected. 

He doesn’t fight back against the blade on his throat, the blade that is spilling his blood. He simply stands there and meets Scar’s hazy red eyes. To Grian, he thinks this is good retribution for the cactus ring. He sees no point in fighting against Scar when this is something he believes he deserves. 

Yet Scar thinks otherwise. 

See, he had expected a lot out of today. He’s on red now, and he had a goal in mind. He was going to make everyone on this forsaken server regret thinking they could just use Scar as they please. He was going to start with BEST, and then work his way to the others. But then Grian just came waltzing in like they were old buddies and Scar wasn’t going to let a golden opportunity slip past him. 

He has a whole separate issue with Grian, after all. 

But as he stares into Grian’s eyes, he sees something odd. Firstly he stares up at Scar with blatant confusion and hurt. It makes him want to laugh. What does Grian possibly have to be hurt over? 

Though that isn’t what makes him pause. No, what makes him truly falter is the guilt he sees in Grian’s eyes. 

He observes the green life in front of him (Wasn’t Grian yellow? Did he swindle someone else out of a life?) and notices that there’s no fight. Grian isn’t pushing back against him. He’s not arguing or drawing his own weapon. Not even as Scar draws blood and pushes the blade harder. 

Suddenly the appeal of killing Grian leaves him. What fun is a kill that rolls over and exposes their weak point? 

Scar scoffs at him before making up his mind and taking a step back. So much for that perfect message in chat. Looks like Team BEST is back as his number one target. He lowers his sword completely. 

Grian watches him with confusion, “Scar?” 

The red life meets his gaze, a deep frown settling on his lips. “Who are you?”

[albino-parakeet]

so is anyone else thinking about Yoshiki having pictures he took of Hikaru (actual Hikaru, not "Hikaru") and being sad about that or is it just me.

[anneofgreengablesthings]

Ok so I found SUCH a good deal on a cruise to Italy but I still want to go to Prince Edward Island too ahhh my parents are helping me pay for it as a little treat for my masters’ graduation and getting into Med school but I can go only certain dates til Med school orientation starts in June, and PEI won’t really open til late May. So I’m thinking about picking the Italy deal but I really still want to go to PEI someday!! So hard to pick!

[queerplatonicdiaries]

we talk softly in the kitchen and, in a way, it's everything I've ever wanted.

it's been a bad day. I'm reheating dinner when you walk in, not to grab anything, but just to talk to me because we haven't seen each other in a while.

you know things aren't going well but you don't immediately ask why I've been distant (i'm silently grateful for this small grace). instead we talk about this and that, and the microwave pings distantly in the background but I couldn't care less. you show me the tattoo that you got today, and I can't help but be excited at your excitement despite despite despite the raging black hole inside of me. I can't help but smile at your easy radiance.

I wasn't planning on it, but I make myself a cup of tea, just to have an excuse to stay here a little longer. to bathe in the fragile peace and bask in your presence.

I always did ache for your company.

you ask me how my day's been, eventually, and whether I want to talk about it. I laugh and say it wasn't great, and the light admission balks in comparison to the storm of the last week, but its an admission nonetheless. it's more than i thought i'd be able to give. its nothing compared to what i want to say but can't.

you see it anyway. in the way my hands shake and my smile is brittle around the edges, I meet your eyes and I know that you know.

and so we stand there, in the warm light of the kitchen nestled in a long, tight hug, and in a way, it's everything I ever wanted. there are a million battles raging in my heart and maybe nothing's okay at the moment, but you hold me close and tell me to take care of myself and for a moment I can breathe again, I can remember my own name.

there's a long way to go to get out of this mess, but when we softly say goodnight I carry the memory of your gentle smiles and warm embrace all the way to my bedroom and think maybe, just maybe, things will be okay.

in a way, it's everything I've ever wanted.

(you always were gentle with my heart.)

[hollywoodsargeant]

boyish - chapter 8 14.1k words | 75.7k words total | loscar

“Good,” Logan muses. He picks their hands up, lifting his head just so, enough to press a kiss to Oscar’s knuckles. “You’re mine first, baby.” Oscar laughs again, inching a bit closer as Logan drops their hands. “Obviously.”

hello. as promised... boyish chapter eight <3 for some reason it ended up being fucking. fourteen thousand words. which is a whole the red parts this time!! spiraling out of control welcome to hell ANYWAYS look at me posting before midnight my time?? that is crazy?? when it comes to me and this fic?? idk man enjoy several more thousand words of the idiots being idiots <3

+ here is a link to chapter one if you would prefer :)

[supercantaloupe]

musicology comps are officially on my horizon. and it's apparently four back to back one hour exams 😩

[adore-gregor]

ayyy

[immortalsins]

the way i've had so much longer to study for exams and yet i'm nowhere near ready for my first one (tomorrow) ... bit of a failure tbh

[resonabilis-echo]

.

[encrucijada]

can someone tell my brain we aren't waiting for anything and we can sit down and write in peace

[beperoncin]

i might be a fucking lesbian!!!!!

[one-blaze-of--glory]

I'm going to start fantasy high i am totally not scared of how long these episodes are i can do this

[patriciavetinari]

I genuinely don't know what's wrongn with me. I'm trying to fogure this our. First I thought I was wronged and now I feel ashamed of my horrible luck with people. People who call themseves my friends all seem to have out of sight out of mind attitude with me.

Noone in rela life seems to remeber I exist. If it's not me trying to organize a meetup – they don't text me, they don't ask me to their houses or to have a coffee on a weekend. And if it is me tugging on them and suggesting things – in most cases they are Busy even if I text a month in advance or they are hanging out with Better Friends.

It's not even about getting set up for a date anymore. I'm genuinely freaking out that I'm secretly a horrible person that noone wants me unless it's work-related where most my acquaintances these days come from.

Is it me not being on social media? Is it me not being able to give them my insta where they could comment on my photo of a coffee I'm getting? Is it me being opinionated?

I'm doing fucking everything I ever heard as an advice on being personable charming agreeable people-person. I notice their interests, I smile and give compliments and give praise when warranted and make sure all proper people get proper credit for their achievements, I recommend things I know about and am curious about things they can recommend, I've had one person not believe me saying I'm a lonely introvert, I look at baby pictures and congratulate people sincerely on getting their house or having their wedding, I have colleague who shares stories about her teenager kids and I listen and I offer advice and symathy. I'm fat and have been fat as a child so I had to be a clown to be accepted so I can make people cry with my jokes and I know it's not faked and it doesn't matter.

And yet none of those people want me elsewhere. Even if we have each other on whatsapp and with some we are even in group chats, but if it's not me tugging and timidly asking if they'd like to go somewhere sometime, maybe check out that new coffee place – it's radio silence. I try to start a concersation on how Someone is – I get an answer that they're fine, busy, and nothing else, not even a question back, no details, no offer to discuss over a drink or even have a bloody phone call just to chat away.

Noone tugs on me, noone asks me out, noone wants to make plans, noone wants me at their houses or in their existing friend groups, noone even sends any memes or anything. Nothing that I was told would happen if I learned to make friends.

I don't understand what is so horrible about me or what am I doing wrong or not enough of. Do I need an instagram account to be considered easier to reach or what? What is the secret that I'm missing?

[batsplat]

don't really have time at the minute but do feel like. it's perhaps worth at some point just kind of going into a little bit more detail for that stretch of 2015 between assen and phillip island because there's just some little bits of context here and there that are worth keeping in mind

[loudmound]

we already discussed this in our dms but i'm like chomping at the bit knowing that my partner's favorite silent hill game WOULD be sh3.

[lcngdays-arc]

my draft count is BELOW my queue count i call that VICTORY!!!!!!