#poppies for his death and lilacs for his hopes

[mari13606]

Oh nothing, I'm just thinking about how Scar started secret life with his poncho showing sunflowers, which symbolize loyalty, longevity, and the sun. Y'know, the sun like the way we equate Grian to being due to him living and winning in the desert and being a disastrously bright person. And the loyalty he pledged and kept to Scar even after his debt was repaid. The longest standing players. I'm just thinking about the way it switched to lilacs and poppies when he went red. Y'know, like the lilacs and poppies he offered to Grian when he turned red hoping they could stay a team. Lilacs, which symbolize love, rebirth, and new beginnings. And poppies, which symbolize peace, sleep- and death. And I'm thinking about how he won Secret Life once he turned red, when he threw off the sunflowers and donned lilacs and poppies to pave a bloodstained path.

And I don't think that was an accident.

[pedgito]

𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐁𝐔𝐒 | General Acacius x reader x Emperor Geta

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summary | living under emperor geta's rule was never supposed to be easy, but he aims to make it nearly impossible, even if he has become fond of you.

author's note | i never really intended for this to get another part, but since seeing the movie and wanting to expand on these characters and possibly writing for geta on his own, i thought i would turn this into a little passion project. i know there's a niche group of you that have asked for a second part to this, and as much as i crave chaos, i hope you enjoy where i took this and know that i am all for the crazed man that is emperor geta. (can be read as a standalone, but the first part can be read here)

content warning | 18+ mdni, DDDNE - heavy dubcon (due to sex work, ect), heavy themes of abuse under the rule of a vile emperor (mention of injury, slapping, ect), normalized degredation, exhibitionism and exchange of bodily fluids, smut galore (oral, unprotected piv, ect), choking tw, death tw, use of opium poppy, drugging tw (not against reader), named side character, marcus acacius being the real knight in shining armor. this is unbeta'd so i apologize for any spelling mishaps.

word count — 8k

You live within him, it feels. 

Geta never let you stray farther than a touch, within arms distance. 

You were no longer yourself, rather an extension of him.

He prefers you naked. But, he often dresses you up in gowns; modest sometimes, occasionally leaning toward more revealing fabric—sheer lace, high slits, deep-cut necklines that accentuate your breasts and hips, the soft but tight curve of your ass. Sometimes you wondered if he liked the clothes more accessible to his wandering hands, his fingers fluttering under your gown during public meetings, even.

The men never said a word, they wouldn’t dare.

If you were given the opportunity to be away from him, it was always under the watchful gaze of his guards, and only to complete tasks he has ordered to you—fetching food when he was too lazy to leave his bed and when you were feigning the grimace in your face, itching to wander.

Your relationship is complicated in the beginning but easier to manage as you become accustomed to his personality and outbursts, learning what makes him tick. He’s easier to manipulate with sex, something you have no issue taking full advantage of.

And he fancies an audience, usually. Other servants, less privileged women that trembled in his presence, fearful that his next move would be their last, somehow comforted by your confident and guiding touch. It made no sense to not enjoy what you could while you were imprisoned here, even if Geta and his brother did nothing to soothe the discomfort they left in their wake, making your skin crawl as his fingers drifted along your skin.

Caracalla could not touch either, his brother forbade it. An eager boy, riddled with a brain-eating sickness, he was dutiful to his brother but harmful in his own ways, fickle with thoughtful choices and often making important decisions on impulse. 

They were destroying Rome, that much you knew to be true.

-

Geta’s hand guided up your stomach, his palm curling around your breasts as he squeezed, your own hand flat against his chest as you rode him with fervor in the early morning hours, dawn peeking over the warm, lilac sky. 

In this light, he seemed almost normal. Eyes drifting shut in the silence of his quarters, just you—just him, he often made the mistake of weakening his defenses like this. He growled, low and quiet as his hands traded your breasts for your hips, spinning you in an instant and pinning you beneath him, soon his hand like a vice grip on your neck as he thrusts into you with little care or regard, a string of spit connecting his parted lips as he laughed, an eerie cackle as he came inside of you, admiring the tremble in your lip as he released his grip on your throat, subtly intaking the breath you had been deprived of as he pulls away from you, falling against the mattress and pulling the silk bed sheet over himself.

You move to do the same, but he grips the sheet.

“Make yourself come,” He demands, a sneer across his face as he yanks the sheet away completely. 

It was routine, now. You part your thighs without hesitation, leaning back on your elbow to allow him an unobstructed view, a tired but amused expression on his face as you play with your clit, fingers sliding through your folds, eyes drifting shut as they often did. 

It was easier to picture him this way, brown curls buried between your thighs and the tanned-skin of his backside as he stretched out below you, rutting his cock into the sheets as he ate you like his final meal, eyes like warm honey as they peered up at you.

Acacius, sweet Acacius. 

You were thankful you could remember his face, a memory you would pray to the gods to stick with you forever, a blissful crest of pleasure as your middle finger circles over your clit in a hurried manner, heels digging into the sheets as you feel it—fuck, it’s there, right there—

“Look at me,” He leers, his hand twisting into your hair at the crown of your head, a searing pain that makes you gasp, but your eyes fly open, mouth parted in a mix of pain and pleasure, “tell me how generous of an emperor I am to be so kind to a little whore like you.”

You nod shakily, swallowing as your mouth dries, “You have given me everything, your highness. Everything. I may never be able to repay you such a debt,” It was a script, one you’ve memorized and dare not forget, “May I—” You’ve learned to ramp up the dramatics when he’s lips part in anticipation, fingers itching as his thigh as they curled, his dick twitching beneath the fabric, “may I come?”

So fucking full of himself.

Whether you did or not didn’t matter anymore, but he allowed it. Insists. Your eyes never leave him.

–

Even as you dress, again, he hovers. 

You’ve learned the proper customs and rules, always making sure you look perfect. Pristine. Scrubbing your body down so harsh and deep that it makes your skin feel raw, because if Geta noticed anything—anything at all, it would mean punishment. 

He liked lashings, but that was too exertive for him.

His handmaidens aided the swelling and cuts as well as they could, ice and creams, clever ways to cover the wounds to your face. You were starting to feel a numbness when the anger would rise and explode, only praying that he would remove his rings before doing so.

“He’s visiting,” Geta speaks as though it was a secret, squeezing your chin between his fingers before they predictably fall to your neck, squeezing in the perfect spot to make you feel light, airy, and not in a good way, “I best not get a whiff of contempt, understood?”

“I am yours, Geta,” You knew he liked the more relaxed approach, his grip easing up, “he is nothing, nothing compares to you.”

His nostrils flare, a half-hearted smirk crossing his face as he shrugs.

“I have a task for you,” Geta teases, before his finger trails toward your nose, thumb rubbing against the soft, bulbous curve and down your lips, pushing his fingertip inside, prying your lips apart, thumb tucking against the inside of your cheek as you mouth falls open, “but, not in this moment. The timing must be…perfect.”

Your eyes squint slightly—he was up to no good, that much you could decipher. 

–

He gave the other servants a look, shooing them away as you stayed on his heels, your dress flowing at your ankles, feet bare against the marble floor. He pulled faintly at your wrist as he took a seat, maneuvering you into his lap, his own legs outstretched, fingers traveling up the center of your chest before his hands curving around the back of your head, his thumb rubbing at your jawline.

“Try anything, I will kill him first. Then you.”

You smile, syrupy sweet, playing with a thin strand of his fiery locks underneath the lip of his crown.

“You worry so much, Emperor,” Your own hand covers his, a bold touch as you stare him down, “It does not suit you.”

He’s emotionless for a moment too long, fearing you may have finally overstepped, before he breaks out into a laugh, one final squeeze before he relinquishes his hold.

The General and his entourage arrive soon after your conversation, Caracalla having joined shortly before the approach of many guests—most thanking their Emperors for no apparent reason other than because they enjoyed watching people kneel before them, confessing their undying loyalty.

It was pathetic, but what you were doing—forced or not, was no better. It was much like being stripped bare, the way the others' eyes prowled, watchful of Geta’s wandering touch.

“Quite the whore you’ve acquired,” One embolden man comments, his slimy smirk coming moments later, before calling over his shoulder, “General Acacius, you must tell me where you acquire such…toys. Such a generous gift you gave.”

You smiled with faked confidence, sat in his lap, one leg draped over his own, the other dragging along the floor where it rested through his split thighs, a kneading hand dragging along your inner thigh. Your fingers drag along his own, his tongue shoving into his bottom lip and over his teeth, a tick you’ve learned meant no good, his eyes turning quickly to rage.

You could hear the deep timber of the general over your shoulder as he is called forward, your eyes never leaving Geta, even as he straightens in his throne, his palm flattening against the arm of the chair digging into your back. You slide a hand inside his robe, fingertips dragging along his collarbone, “He knows I am yours now, Geta.”

“General Acacius,” Geta greets with a poorly faked kindness, one that Acacius returns with a curt nod and the usual bow that one of higher ranking would offer, the traditions were different for townspeople, but it was still ridiculous in any manner, “I take you have good news to share.”

Otherwise, he would not be here.

“Austria will be conquered within the next fortnight, Emperor Geta,” He explains with a rigidness that oozed discomfort, ignoring the smarmy look of another nearby general, one of much lower important, but nonetheless—

“Ah, it must feel strange,” The man suddenly interjects, a finger circling the steel goblet in his hand, filled to the brim with wine, “trading whores, doing business—rather messy…”

Geta’s jaw tenses, his anger suddenly directed elsewhere.

But, as usual, Acacius knows how to defuse a tense situation.

“She was a gift to the Emperor,” The general clarifies, “for what he does with her is none of my business, I only knew her as a loyal servant,” not a whore, never had those words left his mouth.

Geta’s chest rumbles softly, his hand squeezing painfully tight at your thigh.

Your teeth clench to silence the pain, dreading his next words as they leave his mouth.

“Call her what she is, Acacius,” He goaded, “a whore—and she excels.” 

His other hand slides through the open back of your dress, slipping one fold of fabric down your shoulder as he grins, all of the lower society bystanders having filtered out of the palace by now, leaving a large group of generals waiting for Geta's official dismissal.

“Give them a show,” He boasts, shoving you off of him rather abruptly, but you quickly plant your bare feet into the flooring, steadying yourself as you kneel before the Emperor, spreading out the spare fabric of your dress to act as a temporary comfort to your knees as you work at Geta’s robe, hesitant as you peer up at him briefly, he nods slightly, but taunting, “go on.”

It wasn’t the first time you’ve performed for an audience, feeling eerily normal now—but in a room full of generals? Acacius? You could hear your heart pounding in your ears, deafening everything else around you as you split his robe apart and dragged your fingers up the inside of his thigh, his tongue peeling slightly through his lips as you wrapped your delicate fingers around his cock, watching as he hardened under your skilled touch, despite how incredibly awkward the air felt, some of the men murmuring around you quietly.

His fingers dig into your hair at the start of your scalp, unhappy with your pace as he grips, pulling you forward until you get the idea, your tongue licking slowly along the head of his cock, the reddened tip glistening with a small drop of precome. You circle around it, slow and tantalizing before you run down the length of his shaft, having memorized every ridge and vein by this point that it has become second nature to instinctively know what pulls him toward the edge faster, easier. But, he wasn’t even looking at you. He was staring through you, behind you.

He was staring Acacius down, guiding you down his cock without much relief as your eyes flutter shut when his cock head nears the back of your throat, using practiced breathing as you focus. He didn’t like it when you gagged, eventually allowing you up for air as you claw gently at his thigh, but the process is repeated over and over again until you’re tearing up, drool collecting down your neck and chest, hand still secured tightly at the root of your hair as he pulls you off suddenly, demanding a tense, “Open, tongue out,” as he comes in short, but forceful spurts against your tongue, swallowing the heady taste of him without another thought. 

He pats at your cheek lightly when you open your mouth, showing it empty.

“Stand,” He ordered, adjusting your dress back up slightly to cover your breast, chuckling underneath his breath at how disheveled you looked otherwise, hair an absolute mess and your chest slick with spit, “oh—why don’t you give him a kiss? As a thank you for his generosity.”

Geta covers himself lazily, uncaring as if a dozen or so men hadn’t just watched him come down your throat. You turn on your heels, approaching Acacius who was simmering with rage, it was subtle, but you could sense it as you came closer.

You smile softly, a silent apology as you touch him first, fingers curling around the side of his neck as you press your lips against his in a chaste kiss, knowing Geta would allow nothing more. And it doesn’t surprise you how easy it feels to fall back into his touch, the polite press of Acacius hand at your hip catching you by surprise, feeling the faint adjustment of fabric, invisible to the naked eye, but you feel it.

Geta doesn’t appreciate Acacius reciprocity, cutting the moment short.

But, Geta is more relaxed that night after Acacius departure than he’s ever been.

He’d won. 

At least, he thought so.

–

“An entire limb seems harsh,” Geta thinks, twisting the rings on his finger as you dry from the bath he had ordered you take before lying in bed with him, always wanting you perfect and clean, “maybe a few fingers would suffice as punishment.”

You keep your silence, letting him think aloud as you squeezed the water from your hair with the cloth, but eventually Geta’s hand wanders, pulling at the cloth covering your body, forcing it to drop to the ground, “What do you think?”

Your eyebrows raise in faint shock, that he was legitimately addressing you about a concern, a choice he would happily make himself—so, why? Why was he asking?

Whatever, you’ll bite.

“What did they do?”

“The general—from the other day, who had such choice words for your dear Acacius—”

“Geta, I have told you—”

“Do not interrupt me,” He seethes, pulling at your wrist, forcing you to be done with your hair and climb over him in bed, “He assaulted a maid of ours—or Caracalla’s specifically, we had caught him up in his room, trespassing, touching things that did not belong to him—”

People, he means. But, he would never be so generous.

“And, you think a few fingers? An arm? That taking away a limb would keep him from doing it again?” You clarify, rolling to your stomach as you crawl toward him, your face level with his own as you rest your head into your open palm.

“Unless, say, you suggest something different.”

“Kill him,” You offer lightly, “If you think one less appendage would teach him a lesson, your highness, I hate to speak out of term, but—”

Geta considers the thought, head tilting to the side before he slowly opens his mouth to speak, “No…I do understand. But, he is a general. It would be something to discuss with a council.”

Your fingers slide across his chest, fingertips rubbing against the small patch of auburn hair at the center of his sternum, slowly crawling up his neck, idle movement that you didn’t think about at all anymore.

“You are an emperor. The people of Rome listen to you,” He and his brother were burning it to the ground, but that wasn’t something you could stop alone, “you are powerful—and, forgive me, but watching you command a room,” It amazes you sometimes how easily it was to play into his weaknesses, a smile spreading across his face as you boosted his ego, “—it does things to a woman.”

His hand, like a magnet, attaches to your thigh to spread you out on top of him, straddling his groin, your bare pussy pressed tight against the cloth of his robe, your hands pressing into his naked chest.

“You are smart,” Geta notices, “educated—a keen eye unlike I have seen on someone of your social status, I do not know much about you.”

“You have never asked,” You reply honestly, “though, it does not matter. I am here for one reason, to serve you.” His grip shifts your waist slightly, aiding the slow, but gentle rock of your hips against his hardening cock and if you closed your eyes long enough, you could enjoy it.

“Yet, you may be of more use to me than I suspected,” Geta teases, his hands rising to massage at your breasts, casually nodding to the maid who had peeked her head inside after a quiet knock, nodding as he answered, “—yes, bring them in.”

A line of varying women filter into the room with somber faces.

And just like that, the moment was lost.

–

Geta was such a heavy sleeper, fortunately. Gently prying yourself away as he rolls onto his side, mumbling something unintelligible in his sleep as you quietly step toward the the attached room where you bathed, pulling at a loose tile in the floor where you had stowed away what Acacius had slipped into the fold of your dress, withholding for the right moment to peek.

It was a tiny scroll, rolled up with a thin string and no bigger than your thumb, your nails pulling at the slab until it pops free, quietly unfurling the curled up paper as you read what was carved onto the thin paper, an overuse of ink smudged in spots.

It listed a place, a monument he knew you’d remember and a promise that he would visit every night after the sun set for a small window in time, hoping to catch you. 

He was still trying to reach you, to provide himself as a comfort in such a time.

You had to plan accordingly, find someone you trusted enough, and convince Geta of your undying loyalty—though, it seemed that you were breaking him down. 

And luckily, you did have a maid you trusted, to a degree—a young woman of similar age, meek but unsuspecting, she often sensed your displeasement and unease, didn’t fit in like the rest of the women that bowed so loyal to the emperors. But, she was a gossip, a troublemaker like Caracalla who she served loyally. She tended to him more regularly, often dealing with his breakdowns and tantrums caused by Geta or, lately, anything. There was never a way to know when he would blow a fuse and cause more bloodshed, he was unruly. 

There was only one hour of the day when you see her—morning proceedings, food served to their royal highness, the two brothers chatting amongst themselves as everyone moved fluidly around them. Caracalla had requested fresh squeezed juice, a rather tedious task, but you sneak away with her as the opportunity arose, digging through the oranges without prying eyes.

“I must ask you a favor,” You begin in a hushed tone, rubbing your thumb over the skin of the orange, “and I will owe you immensely.”

She looks at you curious, but expectant.

“The stuff…that helps Caracalla sleep,” You hint at out of habit, paranoia getting the best of you, “I would…I require it, for Geta. He sleeps heavily, but I need…to be sure.”

“He is insatiable as of late, that act in front of the generals—”

“Irene, I am at my end, please—do you have any remaining?”

It was opium poppy, it had many forms but the one you knew most of was powder. Easy to slip into a drink, often undetectable. It was worth a shot, even if it meant your life.

“At dusk, by dinner. Is that enough time?” She answers easily, a sigh of relief breathing past your lips as you nod, cradling a few oranges in the crook of your elbow.

You had only prayed Acacius hadn’t given up hope, that he might still be lingering in the shadows in wait, hoping for a glimpse of you again.

-

As promised Irene delivers, dousing both of the boys inconspicuously as you kept watch, tainting their wine with the sleeping drug, watch as his eyes began to tire before you as you slipped a grape between his teeth, a sated and happy smile on his face. 

You hate it, but he almost looks normal. Like he wasn’t slaughtering people for entertainment and ruling like a madman—he was still young, just beyond his teenage years and into adulthood, like yourself. You wonder where things went wrong and why, that someone could be filled with such unrestrained rage and hate.

Caracalla beckons for Irene eventually, Dundus hopping from her shoulder to his as she trails alongside him to his quarters, suddenly feeling the nudging of a sharp nose into your neck, a faint sniff and a hum as Geta appreciates the flowery smell, a faint lavender on your skin.

“I need you,” He speaks against your skin, nearly sliding your dress down then, your hands grabbing at him quickly and his reaction is delayed, almost confused, “did you not hear me?”

“Let us retire to your bed,” You suggest, dragging your thumb along his bottom lip, watching as his wine-stained tongue licks at the digit, “and you will have all night to ravish me as you please.”

Thankfully, it doesn’t take much convincing. Though, he’s less coordinated than you’re anticipating, draping himself over you lazily as he kneads at your breasts, cupping your cunt over the fabric of your dress, the silk halfway down your body as you step beyond the threshold and Geta is on you without a moment to breath, peeling his clothes of layer by layer before he’s bare before you, a surprising gentleness to his movements.

He takes a seat on the side of his bed, at the edge as he pulls you into his lap, hands spread out against your spine, fingers digging into the skin and begging to make it ache, hurt, but he doesn’t have the strength, his kisses become increasingly more lazy as the opium takes hold.

Eventually, his eyes flutter as you pull back, your lips barely brushing against his as he fights the exhaustion, but eventually succumbs, falling slack on the bed as you climb off of him, leaving him sprawled out in his bare state to your valiant amusement, given the amount of times he’s taken to shame you rather than show sympathy, it seemed fair.

Sneaking out of the palace is easier than you expect, having spent endless weeks being mindful, watchful of even the smallest of things. Paths, open windows, learning the schedules of staff and guards, it was almost too easy as your feet fell against the broken pavement, the quiet footfalls following in your quick departure, praying to whatever deity above that General Acacius believed in you enough that you would fight to see him.

–

When you show, it is quiet. Dark, not a soul in sight, tugging the cloak hastily over your shoulders, sending a chill up your spine against the bare skin underneath, a small inkling of doubt seeping into your thoughts as you stare around aimlessly, wondering if you were too late.

Your frame slumps against a nearby pillar, secluded in the shadows, the cold night biting at your feet, the faint sound of hooves off in the distance, realizing just how noisy the streets could be outside of the palace—it was comforting, in a way.

“You came,” The words come from your left, behind you as your head whips over your shoulder and he’s touching you before you have time to take him in, a gentle but firm press against your clothed arms, holding you still, “you are here, dove.”

It was a tone of disbelief, like he had lost hope.

He wouldn’t tell you that he almost didn’t come tonight. It didn’t matter, because you were here.

The visceral reaction you have at his endearing name for you is like a vice grip on your heart, mouth opening to speak but words falling short.

Eventually, the tears fell.

“I am sorry, General,” You speak with a shaky timber, “I am—that act, his performance the other day—“

The general soothes your worry, dragging his thumb along your cheekbone to catch a stray tear, “That has no meaning to me, if anything, it was his mistake for allowing us so close. Otherwise, you would not be here with me now.”

You peer at him through tear-soaked lashes, feeling as if you would be snatched away at any moment, your fingers curling into his similar clothing, a cloak covering what you could assume to be a more relaxed attire, a toga that he would often where around his home, strolling barefoot through his atrium. 

“Why am I here, Acacius?”

“You must trust me,” He urges, “that when the time is right, I will come for you.”

“We could go now,” You plead, “he would never know, he does not care enough to go after me, I swear—“

“Little dove, he cares for you much more than you know,” The general counters, “you are valuable to him.”

“He asked something of me the other night,” You speak absently, rubbing a fingertip along the frayed thread of his cloak at your eye line, “what a fitting punishment I thought would be of a man who assaulted a servant—I believe he was testing me.”

Acacius furrows his brow, “You loyalty, it seems. You are getting under his skin, I see it. He knows of your value to me and that as much as he tries, you will not be tamed. But, he is trying.”

You chew at your bottom lip quietly, a nervous tick that Acacius picked up on long ago, both of his thumbs pulling your lip away from further mutilation.

“Little one, what is on your mind?”

“I have to go back soon,” You say with an obvious bitterness to your tone, “though, I do not wish to.”

His large hand curls around the side of your face, cradling your head as you lean into the touch, warmth spreading like fire over your skin, “You will be with me again.”

He barely registers as your lips touch his, a blink and you were there, lips pressed so tightly against his own that they might bruise, leaning into him like he was the only thing keeping you upright, pulling at the fabric of his toga as his hand wanders beyond your cloak, in search of a touch.

“Dove,” He breathes at the realization of skin, “you are bare, your clothes—“ 

“I rushed,” You stare at him impishly, “I did not think, I know, but,” the general smiles, cheeks dimpling with the show of emotion as he shakes his head.

“You have me wanting what I cannot have,” He sounds somber, his hand still lingering against your hip, “I know he does not cherish you the way he should.”

You laugh softly, your stomach fluttering at his wandering hand, drifting along your public bone before the full expanse of his hand was cupping your cunt, welcomed by warmth and the sticky wet sensation of arousal that he’s been longing for, like an addict.

“General, would you like to know something?”

“What is it?” He inquires to your obvious amusement, his and cradling your head back, neck exposed slightly, thankful that the streets around you were empty.

“He likes to watch me pleasure myself,” You admit, “mostly because he cannot achieve the feat himself, but as I close my eyes I picture those mornings when you snuck under the sheets and spread my legs open,” Acacius leans forward greedily, hot breath fanning over your face as he yearns for another kiss, moving away from him tauntingly as you finish your speech, “that sweet look on your face as you taste me, thankful that you expertise was not contained to only battle—“

“Careful,” He warns, “I am not against a reminder if you continue.”

You peer over the broken set of stairs behind him, attached to an abandoned structure, eyebrows raising expectantly, “A parting gift, General?”

—

The discomfort was nothing compared to a general kneeling into the dirt and stone without a hesitation to please you, a whore, a servant—your title no longer mattered, having carried so many. 

He’s still hooded, your legs hanging over his shoulders as he kneeled against the steps, forcing you down flat against the concrete as he licked a slow line through the seam of your cunt, again, again. A teasing trace over your clit as he pressed two thick fingers inside of you, lapping at you loudly.

“Did he bed you tonight?” Acacius inquires curiously.

“Nearly,” You sigh, a high-pitched breathy noise as his pace quickens, knowing that you both were on a time limit, “he—huh—was far too tuckered to be fulfilled.”

His brows raise subtly at your choice of words.

“I drugged him,” You admit, an unexpected moan ripping from your throat as his tongue flicks over you sensitive clit, fingers digging into his cloak-covered shoulder, “seems the Emperor is not as untouchable as he thinks, and tricked by a whore—he would have a fit.”

His fingers dip into your thighs as you squeeze them together around his head, his tongue working quickly over your clit until you’re breathless and whining, feeling the rushing wave of your climax as it crashes into you, Acacius licking up the mess like a starved man.

It takes you a few moments to come back to earth, feeling a gentle tug at your hand as Acacius helps you up, readjusting your cloak over your naked body without much of a word, knowing your time with him was up.

“Wait for the bells,” He tells you, “light, delicate—look for me, I will be near.” 

You begin to speak, but are silenced with a kiss. 

A final goodbye. 

“Remember what I told you?”

Live.

You nod.

“At whatever cost, little dove.”

—

You go to great lengths to make it back to the palace before dawn, hiding behind every pillar, sneaking around corners, somehow managing to slip back into Geta’s bed without so much as a sound, his body still mostly laid out as you had left him, aside from a little rousing around.

When morning breaks, Geta wakes with an obvious grogginess to his tone, forcing his eyes to stay open.

“You stuffed me full of wine,” Geta jokes, “I cannot remember anything from our night prior.”

You’d tried to look particularly exhausted, hair slightly disheveled and the satin bed sheet askew, “It was quite a night, your highness. Such a shame,” You reply mockingly, though there’s a sweetness to your tone, almost teasing.

And if Geta suspects anything, he doesn’t say it.

It takes a day, two, silently mulling over the events.

He wasn’t a half-wit like his brother, his brain like mush beyond repair, useless by result of the infection in his loins. He was helpless, spiraling deeper into madness.

Geta had his wits about him—his eyes drag along your body, the deep swooping fabric showing off your exposed back, the soft skin and gentle slope of your spine, a look shared between you and Caracalla’s most trusted maiden.

Along with the lightness in your tone, a revered outlook, a bounce in your step that most people wouldn’t catch, but Geta—he’s just as much an observer as yourself.

He suspects, no—senses, feels, the deceit in your challenging gazes, the additional touches with an air of confidence, too cocky for someone who has been nothing more than a whore and housemaiden.

He’d always known you were particularly special; smart by means of General Acacius, knowing how to read and write and many other things that others of your station did not have the luxury to learn. And you were hard to break, though Geta had worked at it for weeks, he’d gotten you there.

Obedient, compliant, merciful. 

At least, he’d thought so.

He knows he won’t get a word out of you.

So, he goes for Irene.

-

The guards corral you at dinner, sitting silently with Caracalla as Dundus perched on his shoulder, eating quietly. They aren’t kind either, grabbing hard at your bicep as they drag you from your spot on the floor, Geta’s throne eerily empty.

Your stomach turns at the slow realization as you’re dragged down the hall, tossed beyond the threshold of Geta’s room as you stumble to the floor, groaning at the impact, head hitting the ground first as you roll over in pain, opening your eyes to an even more horrific sight.

Geta, hovered over Irene, lifeless eyes staring back as he dropped the thick cord from his hands, something he must have ripped from the curtain as one drooped down from its normal placeholder. 

There was no blood, no mess, but the light in her eyes was gone, and Geta stumbled over, crawling—hunching down to intersect your bleary eyesight as you slowly came to the realization of what was happening.

“You have betrayed me,” He announces calmly, despite the eyes of a crazed man staring straight through you, face void of any emotion, “after all I have given you.”

“Geta—“ You plead, pushing up on your palms to sit up, his foot coming in contact with your shoulder as you roll into your back forcefully.

“I AM YOUR EMPEROR,” He seethes, spitting as the words left his mouth, “YOU—BETRAYED—ME!”

And left a mess in the process, unfortunately.

“If you would…let me explain,” He stalks closer, watching as you rise slowly before his hand is striking across your face, the sting almost immediate, “I—think…that you—“

“You do not think,” He spats through clenched teeth, shaking with rage as he kneels to your level again, like a rabid dog, “whores do not think, they are fucked until there’s nothing left and then they are tossed out. Like trash.”

In desperation, the words slip out.

“I love you,” You say softly—it was a careful bundle of words that you’ve never spoken before, not even to General Acacius, “whatever she has told you, it is lies.”

His silence isn’t an answer, but you took the opportunity, unsure if he was stunned or gearing to explode.

Convince him, at whatever cost.

“She knows—of my past with the general. She was jealous of me, you. She drugs your brother, you must know. And she tried it with you too, it is why I did not leave your side, why I insisted we come back to your room.”

“But, you knew—“

You reach for him, a hand circling his wrist.

“No, no,” You speak softly, “It was small things. Your speech, it was slurring. You were drifting away, almost as if you were floating. I could see it. I have seen it before, with your brother. The nights when he is unruly, she…calms him.”

“Her story is entirely different,” He challenges, “you see my issue, yes?”

“Geta,” You challenge him, reaching forward to cradle his face, surprised by his willingness to allow it, watching you carefully, “I am loyal to you—no one else. I do not know another way to show you, but I will. I will, you must—“

“Strip,” He orders, “—on the bed,”

It makes your stomach twist, but you follow his orders.

His demeanor is unreadable as he watches, mirroring your movements before he’s climbing over you in bed.

He settles on his calves between your open legs, a blanket of silence falling over as he reaches for your hand, a surprisingly gentle touch as he brings your fingertips to his cock, slowly hardening at the sight of you.

Your fingers circle his shaft as you lean up on your elbows, ignoring his intense eye contact as you drag your palm along the velvety soft skin, feeling him grow to a stiff hardness within a few minutes—it should disgust you.

It does, to a degree. It wasn’t that Geta was unattractive in a physical sense, but the mental picture was hard for you to overlook. But, for the moment, you could pretend like he wasn’t the worst human being to walk the earth.

His fingertips brush against your cunt slightly, fortunately your body has adjusted to the pleasure of such a complicated predicament. You’re sure if you tried hard enough, you could truly enjoy it. But, you’re thankful that your body connects with the severity of the situation, quivering slightly at his touch, mouth opening in a small gasp.

“Are you nervous?” Geta inquires.

You shake your head, “No—it is only, we have never…”

“Let us try something new, hm?” He offers with a grin and you nod instinctively, feeling two thick digits dip inside of you with no warning, not so much grace as Acacius would have, but it isn’t uncomfortable.

It seems Geta has his wits about him, fortunately, diminishing you to nothing but a whimpering mess after a while, some of it a little bolstered for his benefit, but the pleasure was real. 

And god, did you crave that release.

Soon, his hand is gripping his shaft, sliding between the folds of your pussy as he coats himself, mouth twitching at the sight as he speaks, “I want you to watch.”

And you do, his cock pressing into you slowly, “It is such a generous act, you see, feeding you my cock like this,” another slow push, “you should feel special, little dove.”

The words are jarring, but you try not to react. 

“It is not everyday you are fucked by an emperor,” The dichotomy to his words almost makes you chuckle, as if he wasn’t fucking you every day, sometimes even two or three times, “you should be thankful.”

“I am.” You quickly appease.

“Then thank me,” His voice was tense again, his neck flexing with the tightness to his words.

“T—thank you, Emperor Geta.”

“For?”

One last forceful push and he’s seated fully inside of you, your brow pulling together at the pressure, lips parting open, “For your cock, for making me feel so—oh,” His thrusts are careful, calculated, your head falling back at the divine angle he’s found, “for—oh, gods—so good.”

You fist the sheets in desperation, back arching up slightly, watching his jaw tense at the way your breasts bounce, his eyes darkening over time, only a shell of himself as he thrusts into you, two firms hands on your hips slowly making their way upwards, wondering if he was following the path toward your breasts before they are bypassing and going straight for your neck, his hands encircling your throat.

It is merely a second too late before your brain catches up, too overloaded by pleasure that you don’t see the definite switch, quickly going from gentle pressure to the type of force that makes your vision white out.

You choke, gasping for air as you try to speak his name, plead, anything—his eyes are locked on your face, a sick determination as your stronger, forceful blows to his chest quick become weaker, weaker, feeling yourself teetering on that edge before he’s releasing his hold, forcing you to gasp for air.

“Do you still love me?” Geta asks.

And despite yourself, you lie.

“Yes, I love you, Geta.”

He was a sad boy, you’ve come to realize, wanting love but also craving unyielding power. He did not want equals, he wanted subordinates, fans, people that would sacrifice everything in his name. But, underneath it all, Geta was just as broken as you suspected.

—

A parade of the gladiators wasn’t a normal occasion, but it was quite the event—a way of wealthy men showing off their new toys, dangerous murderous machines out for blood.

It was the entertainment before the big show, sitting in the expansive throne room underneath the colosseum as the rich drowned in wine and food, you and several other servants surrounding the two brothers, eagerly awaiting your next order.

At least, for you, it was being obedient.

It felt like a collar around your neck, his fingers tracing along the back of your spine and up, fingertips resting against your shoulder, his thumb rubbing against the column of your throat.

Geta spots him from a mile away, that trademark white against gold, gaudy armor fit so perfectly for a man like Acacius, you bow your head at Geta’s push, the footsteps approaching steadily.

Your throat ached still, eyes slightly bloodshot. He hid your face, the evidence, speaking to the line of approaching generals as they greeted the two men with high regard.

“I commend you, your highness,” A general speaks, faceless but you sneer at his tone, fists balling into the fabric of your dress, “she is so well behaved, you must teach me your tricks.”

You bite down at the inside of your lip as Geta pets your head, tilting your head to the side slightly as you close your eyes, his thumb pressing against your cheekbone.

“There is no trick,” He retorts, “my little dove is loyal, a hard thing to find in a world full of deceit.”

It was laughable, coming from the emperor. 

The moniker is an even lower blow, knowing that General Acacius was a few feet away, the white fabric of his traditional armor dragging along the ground.

“Ah, Acacius,” Geta boasts, “I hope you have come to bring me good news.”

It best only be good news.

As he approaches, Geta’s grip tightens, curling around the side of your neck as a show of dominance as his finger digs into your skin, daring you to defy him. 

The soreness is pertinent, causing you to grimace in pain at his actions, something that Acacius spots but does not acknowledge.

“Yes, our army is nearly ready, Emperor Geta,” He nods before acknowledging his brother, “Emperor Caracalla,” but Geta is not amiss to the way his eyes drag toward you for a brief moment.

“Careful,” He warns, “doves are…so sacred, yes?”

Your sideways gaze peeks through as his eyes bore into Acacius, the subtle glimpse of broken capillaries and a plea for help as you lock eyes with Acacius is all he needs.

It would be tonight—it had to be tonight.

—

He’s a horrid mess, drunk off his ass as he drags you back toward the room. His brother and he were always more rowdy after gladiator games, riding the high of an entertaining act of violence, slaughter for mere amusement. Geta nearly topples over you as he opens the door, pointing hastily toward the bed with a slurred speech, “Naked, on the bed.”

He’s heading for more alcohol, a table tucked away in the corner of the room with a plethora of choices, pouring lazily as he stumbles, the utensils from an earlier meal falling to the floor as he bumps into it, looking displeased at your state of dress. He grimaces, nose scrunching as he reaches for the knife that had clattered to the floor, twisting it in his hand to point it at you.

“You dare—you dare to defy me?” 

Your eyes squint, narrow as he jabs at you sloppily, dodging the action with ease.

“You cannot even see straight, your grace,” You jeer, watching as he gulped down the crimson liquid, remnants trailing down the side of his mouth as he threw the glass away carelessly, the glass shattering against the floor as he charged at you, pressing the tip of the knife under your chin as he backed you into the wall, his eyes capturing the similar essence of rage when you knew there was no saving him, determined to cause bloodshed no matter the consequence.

You can hear the soft lilt of bells in the distance, the sky as black as the darkened state of Geta’s eyes—if he had any humanity in him, it was gone.

“You are…broken,” You speak to him, accepting the consequence, even if Acacius failed to save you, “A poor, poor boy with no one to love him—your confidence, it will be your demise.”

The knife knicks your skin, a subtle sting.

“Are you unaware of Caracalla’s plans?” You inquire, privy to Caracalla’s incoherent babbling, often feeling like Geta’s scapegoat, the constant source of blame. It was true, Geta had never accepted responsibility for anything in his life, “You should be careful, Geta. He has a slippery hand and a temper. If given the opportunity, I am sure he would do away with you. I cannot say I blame him—you are a disgrace of an emperor, ruling Rome like it is a playground—”

His eye twitches, the slight hesitation. It gives you enough time to react, twisting his arm away from your neck and on himself, “Unfortunate that you cannot do that as a dead man,” You bite, pushing against the force of the knife, knowing that Geta had no instinct of survival, a feeble man raised in a glass house for the entirety of his life.

The blood quickly pooled in his mouth, pouring out as his body slumped. 

You had prayed it would be slow and painful, that the misery would last.

The rustling near the window pulls your attention, the city quiet and unsuspecting of the violence having just taken place, Acacius' frame obscuring the view of the stars as he climbs through the window.

“Oh, dove,” Acacius sighs, taking in the sight of the slowly dying emperor, his fingers weakly grabbing for you as he choked on his own blood, “you have made a mess.”

“I could not survive him any longer,” You admit, feeling his arm encircling your waist as he tugged you away, “—what—what is to happen now?”

“It is a fate he would have met eventually, if not at the end of my own blade,” Acacius admits, “–—come, we must go. We only have a few moments, my lady.”

Your breath catches at the words, nodding in agreement as you allow him to tug you along, met with a few men on the other side of the wall, catching you as you dropped, draping you in a thick cloak.

“General,” You breathe, sensing his overpowering frame behind you as he grabs the reins of the horse in front of you, assisting you in climbing on the creature, “where are we going?”

“Away,” He promises, “somewhere we can both be free.”

“But, your status—does it mean nothing?”

It never did, not since the minute Geta had stolen you away.

You peer over your shoulder, his eyes soft.

“I love you,” He utters, answering your question without direct confirmation.

And for the first time, you say it as you mean it, feeling the tug at your heart, “I love you, too.”

[ice-lice-and-2-many-dice]

I love Desert Duo because both of them are so fucked up in ways that only the other can handle.

Scar is careless with his own life, he doesn’t understand where the boundaries lie and puts his own impulsive wishes above others. But also he’s so selfless, he’s a stupid goofy dude with a silver tongue and a heart of gold. He will scam the shoes off your feet then offer to carry you home instead. He’s emotionless yet filled with so much more love than can possibly be shared. His word can mean life or death on the few times he actually stays true to it.

And Grian? He’s loyal until his final breath and doesn’t understand why others aren’t the same. To him, people are either enemies or those he would die for. He’s happy to lay down his own life to help an ally but has no remorse in the brutal killing of those he things are against him. He may not be the best charmer but he’s smart and conniving enough to lure a fish from water and then watching it drown. The moment he loses trust in someone they are at the top of his kill list, past be damned. He’s bossy as fuck and will happily go behind your back if you don’t follow his instructions. Or honestly, he’ll do it anyway. But also, he builds homes in the sand, gathers supplies and food not only for himself. Grian is the definition of All or Nothing, in the best and worst ways.

Neither are healthy, but somehow, in some fucked up universe, they make it work. Grian scoffs and gathers food for Scar as he works on gathering allies with nothing but a salesman’s smile and maybe a few threats. Grian kills Scar and swears his life in exchange, and Scar takes the reins with a gentle grasp. Grian watches him fall and doesn’t shy away from blood red eyes, because before he even sees them, he spots the pale hands holding flowers of guilt.

Because Lilacs means a first love, but they also represent the cycle of rebirth.

Because Poppies mean a hopeful future, but they also symbolize death.

[mimuta-muta]

A SCARRED HEART // a secret & last life artpiece, minific, and headcanon

dedicated to those desertduo scar-focused angst enojyers 🍷 THIS IS FOR YOU GUYS!! I LOVE YALL!!! I AM YOU. I AM YOU ALL. im going insane anyways,

first tumblr post i think? dropping a more refined version of my secret life / last life scar headcanon/art/minific from twt here, praying that someone as insane as me will see it 🙏

[Based off of Last Life and Secret Life, in which Scar was intentionally permakilled by Grian the season prior.

Minific in italics first, followed by official headcanon transcribed & slightly modified from art ^^ taking this much more seriously than i should hehehe

Might make a full fledged fic on Ao3 if this turns out well though!! Hope yall enjoy <3. - mimuta]

- The desert. The betrayal. It all comes back to him in a dream, lucid and laced in sorrow…

And as he awakens from his slumber, he’s left shrouded and alone.

Again.

Perhaps they were a cruel mockery, these “secret”scrolls. A bitter reminder of the contracts he’d never be able to control. Of the friends he’d never be able to keep.

It’s almost as if some god up above had descended from their watchful throne to spit in his face and show him how it should be done.

Or… perhaps they were a sign.

Perhaps, by experience or some strange instinct, or by insight or spite, he took it as such.

And perhaps that’s why he emerged victorious this time around.

Alone, of course, as always.

Alone, but alive.

-

Following the desertduo divorce arcs in Third and Limited Life that end in Scar’s death by Grian’s hand (double life dont count that was the warden), Scar returns to the next season as a cloaked iteration of his self, doomed to insanity and isolation: first in Last Life, and second in Secret Life.

Cloaked Scar/Scarred Heart Scar’s (i cant think of a better name ToT these sound so bad T_T will take suggestions aldbskshxbsk-) “friendship/ally” contracts in Magical Mountain also inadvertently influenced the secret task/contract of sort kinda gimmick in Secret Life, what with the life reward system for tasks and etc.: only this time, people can’t get away without consequence.

Through the tasks given to him in Secret Life, Scar was outcasted as an enemy to all, loyal companion to none. Similarly, the contracts Scar made in Last Life granted him half-assed “allies,” but never a true friend. Like the one who had killed and betrayed him all those years ago. wink wink. wink wink.

Secret Life Scar, being the second version of his cloaked self, retains an “instinct” or like muscle memory but.. idk how to describe it- hazy underlying memories from Last Life scar, and later realizes this w/ the winner’s theory (or whichever hc out there that says that they remember past seasons upon winning) *kaboom*

TLDR: desert duo divorce arc so bad it results in grian killing scar, and scar’s left as a reclusive cloaked maniac in last life, returns as same maniac in secret life and learns from his mistakes, and wins secret life through nuances left over from last life 💪💪 or something or other

ALSO//side headcanons::

grian’s life given in servitutde to scar + scars life given to grian in 3rd life somehow influenced their soulbind in double life- although this may not be as solid as a hc due to the fact scar was giving hearts away like crazy moneys in last life iirc… buuut it kinda still works either way

lilacs and poppies on scars skin, yet another callback, another reminder of his loneliness, of the desert, of his death, of the desert, of the desert, of the desert, of the desert, of the dese-

if scar dies to grian in wild life i blame it on secret scar being left alive and he cant return as hes permanently stuck in secret life this crap is staying canon to me no matter what trust 🧍‍♂️

theres a similarity in appearance between scar and the secret keeper (hood) ik its watcher evo stuff,,, but… do with thatbwhat you will hehe—

oooh bou that was a lot :,) if you made it to the end, thanks for reading through all of this!! im totally normal!!! please like or whatever the equivalent is and feel free to leave comments or whatever im desperate for traffic interaction 🧎🧎🧎 i might take a bit to respond but KSBDKDBSKSBS

i shall be off to do ap bio work now before i fail my test tmrw WOOOOOO thanks again for reading this far if you have :Df and i hope you have a wonderful dayyyyy <33333

[starryylies]

Hi! I’m fairly new so idk how this works but I’ve been thinking of the set of lines from Isle of Dogs that goes “I am not your pet. I never liked you. I don’t care about you. I won’t wait for you. I bite.”. I think it would be interesting to do something with that kinda prompt that can be like angst or angst + happy ending or something idk. I don’t have a character preference so whatever works for you. I hope this makes sense. It’s making more sense in my head lolll. -🐞

Love me nots?

simon dating price’s daughter

Angst with no comfort (sorry) Age gap, reader is prices daughter, forbidden love, Tw:SH, death

Note: Please Google the meaning of the flower names, they’re all related

That movie was so sad

and thank you for the awesome ask!

It’s my first time writing angst I hope it’s ok

She loved him, she needed him, without him she wasn’t one.

But for him she was his best kept secret, his own well done

she wept his name out loud for the world to hear

but he wept hers with a whisper like the mist that disappears on a heated day.

She was tired. She was wasted

But how could she not love this man for how he had saved her that day,

For when her wrists were slit with blood flowing out, touching the marble floor he was the one who,

protected her. loved her. Took her

Oh But no one could know. Oh no,

How could the captains daughter so tender and mild fall for a man who is destined to die.

He loved her she was his and he was hers.

For She was the girl broke down his walls and crawled in like a worm.

His heart was tormented but she patched it up and took the pain as her own.

He loved her like her own since she was the one who owned his soul.

Their love was like a dream, a dream with a rosemary field

But Alas!

That dream came to a halt just as the poppy shot up

She yelled and yelled till her own throat bled,

Crying and yelling she said, “I am not your pet, I never have ever once liked you. No longer shall I care for you neither will I bother to wait and if you dare try to lie to my face again, I shall bite.”

She left slamming the door. His face sagging down

Would she still have slammed the door knowing her lover had got a plan, a plan to write to her father tonight and asking him to finally make her ‘mine’.

A plan to buy a white dress with a Lilac in his hand.

Would she still have slammed the door knowing her lover was going for war?

Would she still have slammed the door knowing he’s passing the bridge that leads to another life?

[marzghost]

It's that time again where I over think block men. In this edition of the God forsaken desert duo I'll be over thinking the flowers.

In 3rd life we all know Scar gave Grian those god damn poppies and lilacs and now in Secret life Grian has given Scar god damn sunflowers. Poppies in the sacred language of flowers mean death or rather could mean sleep, peace, death, and or remembrance and as for lilacs, specifically purple lilacs, they mean the first emotions of love and or simply first love. With a simple gesture Scar changed their partnership forever. It was a red name looking a green name in the eyes and confessing something he could never say out loud in a death game without even realizing it. It was an acknowledgment of a weakness and where that weakness would lead them one day. In a death game death is unavoidable but he hoped that when his death came Grian could keep going. Never once thinking that those flowers would foreshadow the way their partnership would end. Never once thinking that his future killer was staring right back at him with a worried smile on his face. Now in Secret life it is Grian who gives Scar the flowers but this time they're sunflowers, do you know what sunflowers mean in flower language? Well let me tell you what they mean. They , in the sacred language of the flowers, mean a long life and lasting happiness and or could mean loyalty and adoration. Watching back the video you can clearly see these flowers weren't given to Scar in some big meaningful gesture like Scar had done all those life times ago. In fact they were given to Scar as if those flowers were garbage because to Grian that's what they were and yet Scar still takes them and makes it his entire thing if those namemc spoilers are anything to go off of. It isn't a promise. It isn't a confession. It's simply a flower. And yet and yet not. It's everything. It's nothing. It's two green names looking at each other with smiles on their faces. It's a new foreshadowing that I'm hoping comes to pass. It's a cactus deal in the middle of a field. And do you want to know what a cactus represents? It represents endurance, courage and power in the face of adversity. It represents two souls that finally understand. It represents Grian finally leaving that god damn ring.

[hermitscratch]

6., and Scarian please!

Send me a pairing + a number! || Accepting

6. A desperate kiss, Scar/Grian, 639 words

Grian hailed Double Life as one of his greatest ideas yet.

The concept presented so much potential: bind the players in randomly generated pairs and make surviving a them problem. Sharing a life so completely opened doors to new strategies, new necessities, and most importantly, new collaborations. Grian had worked out the odds. With their group of fourteen, the likelihood was that most of the pairs would be between people who had never before teamed in the game, or in some cases, never really spoken outside of it.

Joel and Etho were a great example of the former. They'd both flown the Dogwarts banner, back in Third Life, but their interactions were brief and non-committal. The only unified front Grian can recall them ever posing was when a TNT cannon had been involved. They shared a common goal now, and it didn't take long for them to fall in step with each other, especially when they wanted to drum up some mischief.

On the other side of things, there were Tango and Jimmy. The only pair to be united in death, and as much as Grian would like to write them off, once the dirt of their explosive meeting settled, they took to being soulmates like fish to water. Losing everything would do that to you, Grian supposed; Tango and Jimmy returned from that respawn with nothing gained but each other, and that was enough.

Grian probably wouldn't break up those pairs. Maybe some of the ones that weren't as enthused about their matches, like Scott and Pearl. Or the ones that didn't seem to click at all, like Cleo and Martyn. In the long run, it didn't matter much. Grian would take anybody, so long as it wasn't Scar.

Scar, who went the entire session thus far laying claim to other soulmates.

Scar, who misconstrued Grian's concern for his wellbeing as plain early-game kindness.

After the second failed attempt at telling Scar that the universe's sick sense of humor had seen it fit to tie them together, again, Grian started to wonder if the ignorance was willful.

They didn't have much longer before session hours ended. At least Scar was easy to find, sat at the edge of the jungle and surrounded by the odd, cat-like pandas he'd taken a liking to.

The first try was a bust. Scar looked away when the pandas followed him, the flash of damage shooting through them both going entirely unnoticed, and Grian made a frustrated sound. Four hearts gone, for nothing.

They could only afford one more hit. Grian reset the dripstone, repositioned Scar beneath it, and told him firmly, look at me.

Scar looked up.

The dripstone's point nailed him between the eyes and crumbled. Scar yelped, brushing blood and residue from his face, not even noticing Grian in the same position. They were down to two hearts. They were too hungry to regenerate.

Grian felt a hair's width from losing his mind. He took Scar's face and forced them to locked eyes. It's me, He wanted to scream, Not the allay or the stupid pandas, me. It's always me, always us, don't you see that?

It's been that way since the desert, back in Third Life. Together in the beginning, together in the end. Scar was flippant, clumsy. He was also strong, and clever, and fiercely protective of what he valued. Resources, bases, allies.

Grian.

Grian recalled a handful of lilacs and poppies, and an uncharacteristically small voice asking if they could still be friends with the same look in his eyes that Grian was seeing now. Cautious, hopeful.

He pulled Scar forward. It's us against the world again, He thought desperately as he stole Scar's very breath. When Scar kissed him back, hands holding his waist and pressed chest to chest, Grian thought Scar might have finally understood.

[mcytgirly]

Non talked about opinion, but ‘Cool About It’ by Boy Genius is so desert duo coded and I haven’t seen anyone talk about it. So please take part in me analyzing the lyrics of ‘Cool About It’ to show you why it’s desert duo.

Met you at the dive bar to go shoot some pool (Found each other always, even if unintentionally. Always there to play the games.)

And make fun of the cowboys (ie. ranchers??) with the neck tattoos (I like to think soulmate marks in double life were on their necks.)

Ask you easy questions about work and school (every single small talk they’ve had in the life series since 3rd life)

I'm trying to be cool about it (the two of them literally haven’t mentioned what happened in 3rd life since like double life. I know as actual people their lives didn’t change obviously, but as characters they did. They were completely changed because of that desert, and yet they’re expected to be ‘cool about it’)

Feelin' like an absolute fool about it (idiots in love?? Need I say more.)

Wishin' you were kind enough to be cruel about it (Scar has never once gotten mad at Grian for all the times he’s hurt him. Outside of double life Scar hasn’t even really confronted Grian about it. Yes, Scar said the “you stab a man in the back” and “it’s for your secret soulmate” but he’s never fully been mad at Grian.)

Tellin' myself I can always do without it (I like to think that yes, both Grian and Scar never left the desert. But Grian tried to and failed, just like him trying to convince himself that he doesn’t need Scar. Well Scar never left the desert out of choice, he always goes back to Grian.)

Knowin' that it probably isn't true (Neither of them can do this without each other. Just Grian still tries to get away and Scar hasn’t. They need each other.)

I came prepared for absolution, if you'd only ask (The entirety of third life was the two of them literally against the world. The two of them would go anywhere with each other if the other asked. Literally all of their deaths in double life was an adventure they went on either separately or together.)

So I take some offense when you say, "No regrets" (They both hurt each other, and made each other lose lives. Though Grian pushes away Scar because he doesn’t want to hurt Scar again. Well no matter what Grian does, Scar still goes back! Scar doesn’t regret any of it.)

I remember it's impossible to pass your test (The entirety of every scam Scar has committed. Grian has never fallen for one, it was always Scar who fell for Grians. For example, Scar giving Grian a life in last life, and the entirety of their cactus trade in secret life.)

But I'm trying to forget about it (GRIAN WANTS TO FORGET, SCAR DOESN’T. NEITHER OF THEM EVER DO)

Feelin' like I'm breaking a sweat about it (“Scar put your clothes back on!”)

Wishin' you would kindly get out of my head about it (Grian being the one to tell Scar, “She’s dead Scar. You won.” in Secret life. And the entirety of “the voices want a fight” in third life)

Tellin' myself one day I'll forget about it (Once you win all the tiny details come back, but during the games you remember everything. So Scar remembers third life in last life but not on Hermitcraft. So every single season Grian always hopes he’ll come back and he’ll have forgotten what happened, he’s stuck having every single detail swallow him whole. He wishes he could use his hands again without seeing blood on them. But forgetting meant forgetting those lilacs and poppies, and Grian couldn’t live in a universe where he didn’t remember what those flowers smell like. Scar wishes he could remember everything yearns to never have to forget again, until he then wins secret life and realizes winning is to much to carry. Not when the memories haunt him everywhere and everyday for the rest of his life. He yearns to wake up one morning and forget everything, to never feel that loneliness again, but that would mean forgetting the desert, Scar can’t live in a universe where he doesn’t miss the feeling of sand underneath fingernails.)

Knowin' that it probably isn't true (Though contrary to the prior statement, both of their biggest fears is the other forgetting everything)

Once, I took your medication to know what it's like (After Scar won Scar was able to understand why Grian was so avoidant and never spoke about the life series outside of the games)

And now I have to act like I can't read your mind. I ask you how you're doing and I let you lie (Never apologized outside of 3rd life. They just don’t bring it up, they lie. Just like when Grian asked Scar if he wanted to be friends and Scar HAD to say no because he had to LIE)

But we don't have to talk about it (They never actually talked about what happened outside of the games!! They’ve never fully brought up 3rd life since the beginning of last life. They were never going to talk about it. )

I can walk you home and practice method acting (The both of them act like it doesn’t matter, but it does. It does matter. It eats them alive. It’s what brings them back to each other in every life, is every game, in every universe. They’re just ACTING)

I'll pretend being with you doesn't feel like drowning (Whenever they’re around each other they just have the memories of everything before this. They would forever be trapped by the memories of every moment they’ve ever been together. They will always go back. They will always feel like they’re drowning.)

Tellin' you it's nice to see how good you're doing. Even though we know it isn't true (They just want life to go back to how it was before. They’re just idiots in love. They just want to be a part of each others lives. They hate each other, they love each other more than anything. They want to be a part of each others days, yet they’re going to betray each other in ever lifetime. They’re going to avoid each other for the rest of their existence, they’re going to find each other again in EVERY SINGLE LIFETIME.)

Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk.

[mochiwrites]

There’s a whoosh from beside him, and Grian tenses as a figure appears next to him. He stills, seeing the man from the corner of his eye. He recognizes the brown hair and green eyes, and his stomach drops. Though his outfit is different from last time, brown jacket replaced by a maroon tail coat as a green corset covers part of his shirt.

He wears that picture perfect smile again, and it sends shivers down Grian’s spine.

For some reason, his mind whispers for him to keep walking. So he does, keeping his stride normal. He wonders how long it’d take him to get to Mumbo from here.

“A fine day, isn’t it?”

Grian’s eyes narrow, “What do you want, Scar?” He questions, not in the mood for entertaining the man’s games. The circus is still a very fresh memory.

Scar pouts, “Aw, c’mon Grian, don’t be like that! Can’t a man pay a visit to an acquaintance? See how he’s doing?”

A harsh laugh escapes him like air leaving a balloon, “The last time you ran into me you kidnapped me and nearly killed me for your circus act! Forgive me for being hesitant to trust you.”

“Gosh, you humans and your grudges.” Scar grumbles in return, shoulders sagging slightly.

“I think I’ve earned a right to hold a grudge against you.” Grian huffs at him, and it’s only then that he becomes aware of just how his heart is beating nervously against his chest. “And you owe me the truth. It’s the least you could do after trying to kill me.” He says, glancing over at him. “It may be the middle of the day, but I can get Mumbo here if you’re going to threaten me again.”

Scar seems to pause at that, a million different emotions flickering across his face. Grian can hardly read any of them. Finally, finally, does that picture perfect smile of Scar’s drop just slightly. His lips twitch.

To Grian’s surprise, the man stops walking entirely, green eyes flickering around them. Grian freezes in place, watching him carefully. He narrows his eyes at the other.

“Right, one moment.” Scar hums casually, forcefully keeping a bright expression on his face. He looks around until he finds whatever it is he seems to be looking for, forest green eyes going bright. Grian follows his gaze and finds a flower bed.

His face scrunches up in confusion.

Scar walks over to the flower bed, reaching into it. His face goes soft, “Well hello darlings.” He murmurs to the flowers before his hand gingerly plucks two of them from the dirt. The flowers are pulled up, roots and all. A bit of dirt spills out of the bed. Scar grimaces before holding the two flowers in front of his face and using his nail to cut the roots away.

Looking pleased with the result, he turns back to Grian. Grian, for his part, watches Scar approach him feeling nervous. What did he want with those flowers? Is it another plot to kidnap him? Another murder attempt?

“Now just hold still.” Scar singsongs to him, reaching out with the flowers. Grian goes stiff, shoulders hunching up to his ears as Scar’s hand moves toward his face.

His eyes screw shut as he waits with baited breath for something to happen.

A beat passes.

His feels gentle fingers in his hair, carefully brushing the strands behind his ear. The gentleness surprises him, and as he feels a weight against his ear, his eyes open.

He finds Scar rather close to him, a serene smile on his face. It’s nothing like his previous smile, the one that was just a smidge too perfect. This one is gentle, soft. And this close, Grian can see the regret woven into his lips, the gentle upturn of his mouth that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

And his eyes, Grian can hardly believe it. In those emerald green depths he sees guilt. It causes Grian pause.

“Lilacs and poppies.” Scar says, speaking rather quietly. “Lilacs can represent a few things, like innocence, purity. Or they can represent spring, renewal.” He smiles, slowly pulling his hand away. “As for poppies, they’re the traditional flower for death. Though they may also mean remembrance and hope.”

Grian finds himself too stunned to speak, no longer afraid or nervous, oddly enough.

“The reason I’m here, songbird, is because I’d like to offer you an apology. I had no personal interest in killing you, though my employer thinks differently.” Scar hums.

“You?” The words are leaving Grian before he can think about them. “Where does your personal interest lie?”

Scar looks surprised, green eyes widening for a minute before softening, “Well, that’s a fine question that is!” He exclaims, some of that grandeur returning to his demeanor. Grian finds that Scar acts larger than life. “I suppose my own personal interest lies in getting to know you. You’ve caught my eye, little bird.” Scar winks, “Though that’s only if you’ll allow me.”

Scar is putting the choice in his hands, Grian realizes. He’s leaving the next move up to Grian, and is opening himself up to the chance of rejection.

The thought softens any kind of bad feeling in his chest.

He speaks his next words carefully, “I’m not going to forget what you did.” He watches Scar’s face, but doesn’t see any changes in his expression. Though he notices a hopeful glint in his eyes. “But I’m a believer of second chances, and Mumbo seems to know you so… alright. You’ll have to earn my trust though.”

Scar beams at him like he’s just hung the sun for him, and it catches Grian completely off guard. “That, I can certainly do.”

[mayvora]

So. How do we feel about the spring coming again?

________________________________

blur thoughts, bad english, also kinda drunk and still shaking from the finale. sorry.

________________________________

The winter is the beginning. And it was the beginning of traffic - first season, start of the "year", the freaking RED WINTER aka Ren and Dogwarts. I kinda feel like you get my point.

So. Scar and Grian (and Bdubs, I love him deeply) defeating Dogwarts aka winter = the start of spring. Am I right? And our first spring started with Scar falling by Grians hands... And Grian falling to his death, first death, but definitely not last.

And now... Secret life, season 5... It's like Third life. It's the fifth season. Winter came, spring did, summer lasted, fall went away. We starting the new year.

That's why the curse is broken. It's not. It stayed in the year it belonged to. The new year came... the new rules are here.

And they came with the winter, slow and comforting in the beginning, like a little party, like a holiday. Fun start, slow start, little deaths. January with its "after the Christmas and New Year" stuff.

And then. First permadeaths, and that's how you feel that February is here. Angry, cold, evil. Snowstorms. Freezing to death. Short but crazy.

Ending with... yeah. You knew it, didn't you?

It's spring.

And it came with lilacs and poppies, soft memory of the first spring we had together. Memory of the start. It came with a person who ended the winter before and did it again. But last time it was Ren and this time it was Gem.

Last time it was Grian. The one who fell. This time it was Scar. The one who rised up from the hole, went all the way to the secret keeper and succeeded. And got the same task, like the Keeper is reminding us.

It's not the end. It's the beginning. Year passed; are you ready for a new one?

________________________________

More thought about traffic = year!! (suggest yours maybe..?) (pleapppse)

I don't have much about Last Life... BUT THE DOUBLE LIFE. OOOH MATES.

Summer is the time of warmth!! Everything is blossoming, shining, nature is awake, it's full of LOVE. and the season is dedicated to CONNECTION which some of players portraied as love. Yes impdubs and ranchers I'm looking at you.

But the person that wins Double Life. She doesn't feel this warmth. It was stolen from her. And she takes it from everyone else (ONLY RETURNING IT TO SCAR IN THE SPRING, YOU FEEL ME RIGHT?) as a symbol of Fall taking summer down. And the only thing Summer (aka SCOTT THE WINNER OF LAST LIFE AND THE SYMBOL OF SUMMER TAKING DOWN SPRING) can do is to. watch his warmth (Cleo) die. From the hand of his own soulmate. And fall as well.

ALSO, SUMMER SCOTT IS SO REAL. He is warmth. HE IS THE SACRIFICER. he is that one guy WHO GIVES. who dies to Martyn aka winter and dies for Pearl aka fall. who dies to Gem, the February storm, the killing coldness. WHO DISAGREES WITH LAST LIFE AND THE BOOGEY RULE. HE IS THE SUMMER. I hope you understand me. My English vocabulary is bad. Sorry again.

SO, THE FALL COMES. AND IT'S LIMITED LIFE. the season when families come together to sit near the fireplace cause the outside is too cold and they actually prefer the warmth of their own home. The season of CROPS HAHAH BREAD BRIDGE FITS NICELY. the season that comes before winter AND LOOK WOOW MARTYN WON. THEY GUY WHO STOOD WITH THE WINTER FROM THE VERY BEGINNING. killing the summer btw. Like. Guys. I'm insane the symbolism is just TOO GOOD.

I love it deeply.

I know you have your own thoughts. The parallels you noticed that fit this concept. I beg you on my knees! Share it! You watch more people than I do, you know so much!! Share what you think!! I NEED symbolism it's like a drug for me I LOVE IT.

Happy Scar winning secret life day everyone 🎉🎉🎉

[ladyjuquia]

[YUMEJOSHI/OC X CANON CONTENT]

『𝑀𝑎𝑦 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑛𝑒𝑥𝑡 𝑙𝑖𝑓𝑒 𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑏𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟...』

⠀:¨ ·.· ¨:⠀

⠀ `· . ୨୧⠀

『𝐸𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦𝑡𝘩𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑏𝑒 𝑎𝑙𝑟𝑖𝑔𝘩𝑡 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑜𝑛...』

Art by @shokansen

Two sides of the same coin. Tristan who belongs to the Death, bedded in a field of Poppies symbolising Death, and Juquia who beloved to the living, laying down in the cold water, surrounded by Water Lilies standing for resurrection and Re-Birth, but also being her Birthflower. On Tristans Chest are white Tulips symbolising new beginnings, forgiveness, as well as honour and respect. On his Chest, where his heart his beating and the scar of his death lies, the white Tulips which him the best in his new life, after all a Servants Summoning his a chance and second Life for them. 11 Tulips in the number, because the straight numbers belong to the dead, showing how Tristan is accepted and embracing his new gained Life. Juquia meanwhile as a blue Cornflower around her neck. The blue Cornflower symbolising Hope and Patience. It can also stand for genuine happiness and tenderness. The blue Cornflower places on Juquias Neck shows how long she was isolated and „held on a leash“ during her time at the Clock Tower, not giving her any freedom. But she took it with patience. She was hoping for something better to come soon, she was waiting for the Change that would bring her happiness.

Now the biggest parallel is Tristans flower-covered eyes and Juquias flower-covered ears. As they both symbolise what they are so sensitive for. Tristan who is selectively blind, he chose to close his eyes, not facing the cruel world and the suffering that came along with it, the ugly and the sadness - And Juquia who chose to stop listening, to disappear in her own world, not hearing terrible voices and noises anymore that could hurt her.

The Flowers on Tristans Eys are orange orchids, standing for spiritual growth, yearning, courage and new beginnings. They are put on his eyes by Juquia who is is standing for his new beginnings. Juquia who is helping him with the spiritual growth and Juquia being the reason he found courage to face his own anxieties and negative thoughts about himself and his past to move onto a better life. His eyes are healing and ready to accept witnessing Beauty and Purity again. When giving the Flowers to someone you also express „Admiration of ones Beauty“ - Something Juquia always saw in Tristan, no matter how much his thought of himself as a Monster.

Meanwhile Juquis ears are covered by white-lilac mallows standing for healing, protection, love, serenity or gentleness. Tristan is the one hear who is protecting her, he is the one who offers her healing, not only mental healing but also easing her pain with his harp that is caused by her Fairy Curse. Juquia is able to love and accept love, she is able to embrace positive things, thanks to Tristan not being affected by her curse and showing care and love to her like nobody else did.

There are also other parallels found. Like Juquia having cooler colours and Tristan having the warmer ones. As he is dead but he is receiving the warmth of the new Life while Juquia is stressed by the painful life torturing her but having a moment of calmness. Tristan being in the Sun and Juquia being in the Moonlight. Not only does Tristan symbolise the Night and Moon as shown in several official promotional Artworks, meaning she is bathing in Tristan’s Grace, it also shows Juquias Nature of rather hiding in silence and in the dark but also not complete darkness as it scares her away. Tristan on the other Hand is in the Sun, in the Spotlight like a brave Hero, the Hero we know through many tales, always ready to go into a new adventure. Needless to say; Juquia is his ray of sunshine, a warm light bringing calmness into one’s heart and mind.

Tristan being upside down, while Juquia facing the camera straight. It’s additional to the „living and the dead“ plus it’s shows the POV of the other. Tristan’s image is from Juquias POV, where he is resting on her lap. Juquias image is Tristan’s POV, where he holds her gently while she is floating on the water. Tristan smiles while having his eyes closed, showing more trust and carelessness around Juquia, while Juquia has a genuinely smile, feeling love and loved while and being able to feel after long time at all, something that’s not pain.

Tristan being on a flower field, meaning he is lying on a ground. He was always connected with nature such as the forest which is showing here - It’s his home. It’s something Tristan always wanted in life. A place on earth where he belongs to and can always return to. Juquia, while also being connected with the Forest, once mentioned that she often visited the seaside for her poor health, showing also her yearning for health.

Both are dressed in white and very plain clothes, the focus is on the flowers, not the Accessoires or anything. Yet you can see Juquia wearing Tristans Ring for example.

Both paintings are part of the flower series you can find also on my Account when looking for flowers. These two are very important pieces since they explain a lot about the characters and their story while also showing unity and capturing their essence. It’s one of the most important TrisQuia Pieces.

• Clean Full Pictures;

Art by @shokansen

[cleocatrablossy]

Looking at the meanings for poppies and lilacs because desert duo and:

poppies can mean remembrance and hope for a peaceful future, and specifically red poppies like seen in minecraft mean consolation, remembrance, and death. Since red poppies are the only poppies in minecraft it’s possible to count them as both or just the red ones.

Lilacs(or specifically purple ones since there’s no general meaning seemingly) are the first emotions of love or spirituality.

And as a whole yeah the flowers work for the two of them, but… don’t they also work individually? I mean As in both flowers together make up a good encapsulation of the desert duo but each one matches one of the two. I think Scar would be the poppies, since he was the first one to ask for peace and kept trying to be friends with Grian throughout Double and Limited Life(to a lesser extent but still). He also dies a lot, so many of his relationships in the life series are related to death(the desert duo, anything to do with life giving in last life, trying not to die in double life, being hunted down in double life, and then in limited life death is pretty much everywhere and at first mostly joking), and also he’s deadly. He’s the one who’s the most obvious about remembering past series, and he tries to at least sorta comfort anyone he’s teamed with. Meanwhile Grian is constantly trying to avoid being attached, fearing those first feelings of love(In whatever way you take it) and is questionably a watcher which well and ticks the ‘spirituality’ box I think, but for more there you can see the whole control over the game thing. He’s actively trying not to remember the past to not get attached.

But it isn’t quite perfect, Scar follows that ‘first feeling of love’ thing quite well- immediately going with Grian and clinging so tightly to that bond, being murderously protective of Pizza and Bubbles, (can’t remember last life), going off with the allay because it was interesting(a love of adventure counts), the jellie pandas, and yet again immediately going off with Grian upon finding out about being soulmates, and then the love of his family. And Grian is very much followed by death(mostly of those around him) and he does remember everything, he says “this is the ultimate betrayal” as if he and Scar are still teamed up and wears mourning clothes in remembrance of the Bad Boys.

[cactusringed]

hi! its t! i hope you dont mind me spamming your inbox abt this, i dont have any other scardubs shippers who i can talk to. you can let me know if you do! :]

youre so right about bdubs not being cruel and calculating enough

just imagine bdubs not quite understanding the weight of scar offering him his life. to scar, it feels like lilacs and poppies and can we still be friends. to bdubs the offer feels like no kill passes, clocks covered in blood, and scar's fire aspect sword burning through his back. salt on top of a ready existing wound

bdubs furious in a way nothing but scars blood on his hands could ever describe or soothe. but he can't do it yet. all he can do is snap at scar about, 'just you wait until im red,' and tell him that hed really appreciate it if scar went and jumped off a cliff or stood on a cactus.

but it all just rolls off scars back like water with a laugh and a joke. it makes bdubs see red, but hes not red. theres nothing he can do to get it through to scar that hes serious

i dont know if its better or worse if scar knows hes serious or not

maybe scar is completely clueless. sure, the ribbing is angrier than he remembers, but the routine of teasing and joking around an anger that doesn't really mean anything is familiar enough. and its not like the world theyre on hasnt made everyone darker, scar's done things to people hes not proud of too

but maybe scar knows. hes not an idiot. its a right there in your face answer that someone hates you when they keep threatening to kill you when they can and asking you to just go die already.

maybe scar thinks he can fix it. even after he makes himself useful to bdubs, dedicates himself and this life of his to bdubs, it doesn't make him any less angry. and i think scar knows that it doesnt, but just cant accept that he cant fix it. cant accept that he hurt bdubs, someone he cares about, so greatly that bdubs hates him and wants to hurt him. wants to kill him. is going to kill him, and no amount of making himself useful is going to change that

either way, whether he sees it coming or refuses to, i think when bdubs does turn red and kills him it hurts the exact same. it stings with betrayal and grief and, worse, the knowledge he deserves it. that he's the villain in bdubs book. that the only redemption hes getting is through death

i cant decide what route from here i like better

1) bdubs feels completely satisfied. the bloodlust in his veins is gone. none of it matters to him anymore... but it still matters to scar.

scar being terrified that even dying couldn't fix things, only to find out that his death fixed things and feeling worse. he pledged his life to bdubs (it feels like im sorry im sorry im sorry) and that means nothing to him.

scar means nothing to him anymore.

scar thinks hed prefer if bdubs hated him still. at least him pledging his life means something then, at least his death means something then, at least this whole situation means more than scar pulling one stupid prank

2) bdubs is still angry

scar thinks it's fixed now, with his death, but hes wrong. bdubs is red, and he wouldnt be if scar hadn't taken his green life

when scar comes back to bdubs smiling and asking if its all even now, bdubs sees red. scar thinking this is all something transactional, an eye for an eye, a debt he can pay off, pisses him off

scar treated bdubs' death like a joke. then his own like a joke. and bdubs decides hes going to make sure scar isnt laughing by the time hes done with him

3) bdubs feels horrified

seeing scar getting torn apart by the zombies was what he wanted. and for a long moment he feels euphoric.

until he realises scar isnt yelling or screaming or anything. just quiet pained grunts and heavy breaths

until he realises that scar doesnt even bother trying to fight back

until he realises the heavy breaths are sobs, and the look on his face is betrayal not pain

he realises just a moment too late and scar is dead. bdubs doesn't even have time to say he's sorry, let alone try and help. all at once scar pledging his life to bdubs feels like when grian attacked the two of them in third life screaming betrayer, his voice so heartwrenching bdubs felt bad for him even on red

scar pledging his life feels different

it feels like an apology, utter devotion to making things right with someone you care for, trust and love built on a pillar of death.

and bdubs doesnt know if he can fix it

Hiii don't worry I love talking to people I just hope u don't mind how slow I can be replying to asks ^_^ hehehuhu my ask box or dms are always open either way xoxo

See your idea of Scar third lifing in and pledging his life to bdubs is to tasty when, well, you take third life into consideration. Scar who knows what it's like to die to a prank but who was quick to forgive in exchange for complete and utter devotion. Scar who believes he can offer the same, and receive the same forgiveness he once gave Grian.

Only to realise he isn't trusted. It's a transaction. The same as a no kill pass. Meaningless unless given value by the person receiving it. And bdubs giving it no value, not believing in Scar anymore, not after he was burned one too many times.

For Scar to think he can fix it with what anyone else would call a 'deal' is an insult, after all the lies and frauds and betrayals - and bdubs, who should be familiar with in-the-moment, hot blooded betrayals for one's own safety - has none of it.

I think he would regret it and feel not only pity but horror, after killing Scar. He'd think of killing Tango in last life, and Skizz in limited life. How even in his rage Skizz offered a fair battle to settle scores. How he didn't afford the same kindness to Scar, whom one could argue pushed Bdubs (and Impulse!) into the zombie horde as a means to self preservation, with the same sort of red hot fear that a boogeyman might have. But whom one could also argue did it out of a bout of sadism and cruelty instead.

It's that uncertainty that hurts, and makes it difficult, in the end, to know if his anger was warranted. It's that uncertainty that makes it difficult to feel true satisfaction as he's torn apart just like he was.

[all54321]

Underneath the Moon (Scar POV)

Grian POV

I tried so hard for a clever title for this, but struggled so much. But some of my workshop titles made me think of “Dear Fellow Traveler” so… I just went with it.

Neither of them speak about remembering what happened until after Last Life, where they learn that Ren remembers, who gets them to tell Xisuma. They soon learn about Scott and craft the theory of the 1st and 2nd placers remember. So Pearl gets dragged into the group immediately after Scott remembers Double Life.

—————

Scar isn’t sure what to make of his dreams last night. They were horrorific, but oh so real. Is that what they went through when they vanished? He saw Impulse soon after leaving his house that morning, after he regained his composure, he looked and acted normally.

Scar found reasons to encounter most of the others from the game. That are in Hermitcraft anyway, he doesn’t know how to find the others.

Either they’re great at pretending or don’t know. Was it just a dream?

He tries to go about his days after normally, but things just feel wrong with his knowledge. He doesn’t know if he should tell everyone, or if they were better off not knowing.

He thinks back to Grian, who was his partner in crime, who stuck with him through everything, who he betrayed, who killed him in turn. Scar shivers, remembering his last death. He can’t really blame Grian, it’s not his fault, it’s the fault of whoever put them in that game.

As much as he hates what happened in that ‘game,’ he misses many of the moments he spent with Grian. Just them, together, no one else. He sighs wistfully.

Thinking of the avian made Scar realize he hasn’t seen him in days. He’s been too wrapped up in what he remembers that he didn’t notice that he hasn’t seen Grian since.

Scar exits his home and looks around the Boatem clearing and, just like it has been the past week, Grian isn’t around. Mumbo is however.

He hurries his way to Mumbo, trying to not look desperate. “Hey, Mumbo, have you seen Grian around lately?”

“I… have,” he starts hesitantly, “but only a couple of times recently, and every time he’s extremely skittish and finds some reason to leave. I’m worried about him but he always leaves before I can ask what’s going on.”

“I haven’t seen him recently at all, it’s worrying,” Scar tells him. It’s unlike Grian to just vanish like this.

“Are you talking about Grian?”

Scar jumps as Impulse suddenly joins them. Mumbo nods, “something feels wrong…”

“I haven’t seen him around much at all, it’s like he just vanished,” Impulse tells them. “I only know he’s still here because I occasionally see him around, but he’s always gone before I can even think of approaching him.”

“Have any idea what’s bothering him?” Mumbo asks, looking at them both, clearly anxious.

Scar gets a sinking feeling in his chest, is he not as alone as he thought? He needs to find Grian.

“Scar?” He startles as Impulse speaks, both him and Mumbo looking at him with concern. “You okay?”

“Y-yeah, just wondering what’s wrong with Grian.” It’s not exactly a lie, but it sure feels like it is. He can’t tell them, can’t let them know.

~

The moment he can, he excuses himself from the conversation. There’s one surefire way to confirm if Grian remembers without asking.

It takes him longer then he wants to find the flowers, picking a handful of each. With a nice bouquet of lilacs and poppies, Scar returns to Boatem.

By the time he lands, the sun is setting. He lurks around Grian’s starter base, trying to hide, he has to return to sleep, right? Both Mumbo and Impulse have seen him, so he has to at least be nearby. Scar just hopes he hasn’t missed him.

Just as darkness settles around Boatem, Grian suddenly lands right in front of his door. Immediately going to enter his house. “Grian!” Scar exclaims, faux cheerily. He can’t just dump his worries on him right away.

The avian flinches, staring at Scar with wide, panicked, eyes, one hand still on the doorknob. “Uh, hi Scar!” He responds, smiling widely, as if trying to hide his nervous step back as he lets go of the door handle. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes, and his wings are slightly spread as if he’s about to take flight.

Scar closes most of the distance between them, still leaving some space to not make Grian panic, the hand holding the flowers behind his back. “Haven’t seen you around lately, what have you been up to?” He tries to keep his tone casual, to not scare away Grian. He just needs to find a good way to give him the flowers without it being suspicious in case he doesn’t remember.

“Uh, just working on some stuff,” he replies vaguely, taking another small step back, like he doesn’t want Scar to notice. His eyes flicker to the hand behind Scar’s back but doesn’t mention it. Grian seems to be looking anywhere but at Scar’s face.

“Like your mega base?” Scar offers.

“Y-yeah!” He agrees, eagerly taking that excuse. “Just planning stuff and gathering materials.” His response is rushed as he tries to elaborate on a whim. He takes another step back.

“Well, I have a gift for you, I’m glad I just caught you now.” They both know he was waiting.

This gets Grian to pause, finally looking him in the eyes before looking away again, “a gift?”

“Yup,” Scar says, holding out the bouquet.

Grian’s eyes widen when he sees it, his eyes flickering between it and Scar, recognition clear in his eyes. His wings spread out a little more, betraying what he’s about to do.

Scar surges forwards and grabs his wrist, causing him to freeze, “wait!”

Grian stares at him with panicked eyes, completely frozen. Tears quickly well up in his eyes, and Scar barely manages to catch him before his falls, dropping the flowers in the process.

Grian clutches him tightly, sobbing into his chest. His voice cracks, broken up by the sobs, “I’m sorry Scar… I’m so sorry.”

Scar holds him close, “it’s okay, I don’t blame you, not for anything.”

Grian’s sobs only get louder, even if it’s muffled. Scar just holds him close.

[steampunkedparm]

rb'ing with the pointing out what is a nod to what cus their simple but im still proud of them (and more thoughts cus they just keep on coming):

-green heart on grians thumb is a nod to him tricking scar into giving him on his his lives so G could have 3 in last life (in a silly little note, it'd be fun if scar was the one to paint that on grians nail wouldn't it ;) i definitely didn't think about that a lot while painting this. like im getting way too in detail but like. consider the painted nails a reflection on their images? or at least how i imagine it: grian is slightly meticulous so he might constantly repaint/redo them. scar doesn't entirely care about his image. if it chips oh well. yk. i dont know what im trying to say with this but there is something)

-the "string of fate" is a similar nod to that, more correlating to the lives they started off with in last life (despite going their separate ways they're still tied together. could also lead into double life where they're damn ear literally tied together in health. it kinds leans the two series' together)

-the hearts are quite literal for double life. I'm not sure if the deaths came across the best but i tried :'

-THE. FLOWERS. i H O P E they at the very least resemble poppies and lilacs. which i also hope comes across as a nod to third life :) which damn scar by chance chose some Interesting flowers to give to grian as hope to still be friends :) poppies and lilacs huh :)?

I’m. really proud of this??? got hit with the sudden and intense brainrot about the last life series’ again thanks Cherri Fires Tongues and Teeth animatic so bam, finally out of my way too long artblock.

i’ll try harder to make scar more muscular next time :’ but! holy fuck! holy fucking fuck!! I did my best to implement nods to the 3 different life series’

[beeindaclouds]

Hiya, can I request c!DSMP with a reader who has the power of Chlorokinesis like Isabela from Encanto? The reader can conjure and grow flowers, they can also manipulate plant life.

-🥀 anon

Hallo again 🥀 anon, hope you enjoy <3

C!DSMP w/ a Chlorokinesis!Reader

Includes C!: Dream, Georgenotfound, Sapnap, Badboyhalo, Skeppy, Quackity, Karl Jacobs, Wilbur Soot,Philza,Technoblade, Nihachu, Eret, Punz, FoolishGamers, Awesamdude

Click here before requesting, please ^^

Reader: GN - They/Them

Your powers give you the ability to create any type of plants that exists in the world

So obviously you made a job out of it by opening a flower/plant shop

It's true that in the SMP not many bought your flowers, but you were always happy to give out some for free since you basically made them with your powers

You gave each and every people in the SMP a different type of flowers, with meaning close to how you saw them

Dream received a Poppy flower; it's said that in the chinese culture this flower signifies the inability to control one's worst urges

George, the one time he visited before dissapearing from the SMP completely, received a Phlox; the flower has alot of meaning connected to love, but you merely gave it to him because it also means "sweet dreams", something he has a lot of

Sapnap is always attracted to one flower in particular, one that you always gift him, the Lily of the Valley; the flowers means pain and loss, and between Dream, George, Karl and Quackity, you weren't surprised by this choice of "attraction"

Bad always liked to buy Orange Lilies from you; a very ironic choice, considering the prideful and hateful meaning

You once gifted Skeppy a flower, after hearing about his constant quarells with Bad, a Chrysanthemums; as a way of comforting him for the loss of his once close friend

Quackity liked the Petunia's a lot, and always bought tons of them to put in his casino; it seems like the anger he held also translated into the flowers he liked

A bouquet of Periwinkle, Lilac and Pheasant's eye always waited for Karl at your shop; all three of them holding a meaning regarding memories

After the destruction of L'manburg, and the death of Wilbur, you threw a flower in his memory in the n9w destroyed Nation, a Yellow Rose; just as a reminder of how infedel he was to the people closest to him

Phil always liked to buy Violets from you, most of the time they were for his wife; they really showed how tranquil the couple were

Marigold was a flower Techno always admired in your shop; sometimes he would mumble about the closeness of death and the counting days

You always gifted Niki Blue Iris whenever she visited; a way of complimenting her for her strength and hope in the SMP

Eret always commissioned his servants to buy a few Purple Asters from you; of course a king like them deserved the royalest of flowers

After the imprisonment of Dream, you gifted Punz Black Dahlias; he thanked you happily, if only he knew the meaning...

Amouranth seemed like the perfect flower to gift Foolish, especially after gaining immortality

The only flower you seemed ro gif Sam was a single Lone Daffodil. Togheter they meant luck, but alone they meant the opposite