its tnt 'anon' here again to give you random scarian thoughts that probably originally appeared in my mind at 3am and i just remembered them now :
scar not being able to sleep without grian and soo in last life he has to sleep while hugging a pillow and tries to convince himself its him *dies*
and thenn grian goes to bring back his stuff after he goes to red and just walks into his house like "?? where is he" and he goes over to where his bed is just to find him sleeping (bc it WAS like the middle of night when he died and. well he just died, the mans gotta be a lil sleepy) with the pillow in his arms
scar HAD told him while on hermitcraft that hes ended up being unable to sleep without grian in the same bed, but grian had only remembered that then and then he felt really bad ofc
grian decides to move the pillow out of scars arms and then replaces it with himself <33
scar wakes up in the middle of the night (probably from a nightmare) and is just VERY surprised at grian being there but hes deffinitely not complaining and he quickly goes back to sleep after now he knows his partners there with him vfhuvfuvfuv
- 🧨
AAKSKNCNFJF Scar wakes up to Grian still there.. Just watching him sleep in his arms until Grian starts to stir.. They both don't speak for awhile because when they do they'll have to go back to playing their silly game..
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a desertduo fic based on the songAugust by flipturn
it’s so them right im not delusional
August: a song about a relationship that only works out during the month of august, wherein it seems perfect. After august it falls apart, until the next august comes around.
title: octagonal
wordcount: 971
rating: T
ao3: HERE
“Hey, catch.”
Grian barely had time to finish pulling off his sweater before something equally as red entered his peripheral. He jumped backwards with a squeak and a fluff of wings, the object landing by his feet with a thud. An apple, shiny like glass under the desert sun.
“That wasn’t… you can’t just throw things at me, Scar—” the words were annoyed but laced with amusement as he adjusted his tank top. “—and expect me to react on time.”
“Well,” Scar bit into his own fruit like an animal, juice running down his fingers, down his wrist, down his arm. “What if I’d been an enemy?”
“You aren’t.”
“And…! —And what if that had been TNT.”
Grian sighed. “Then I wouldn’t have wanted to catch it, would I?”
Scar took a second, canting his head and staring at him, apple frozen in motion towards his mouth. Then, the lightbulb went off. “Oh…” a chuckle. “Oh, I guess not.”
It was contagious; the way they bickered and laughed, the constant back and forth as they worked. Hands splintered from planks of wood, then calloused from rough sandstone bricks. The foundations of their new …home… were beginning to take place.
(Really, it was Grian doing the work. Scar stood around shirtless and thought up ways to scam people.)
The sun, high in the sky, unchanging as they changed beneath it.
————————————-
The new world was different.
Grian noticed it from day one; the shift in tone, they went from orange to blue.
It didn’t help that there was the looming threat of what everyone was calling ‘the boogeyman’. As if they were twelve. As if the insatiable, sudden need to kill one of your friends was as light as the stories parents told their children so that they would go to sleep.
Maybe it was, Grian hadn’t experienced either.
But he felt the effects. People stood further away during conversations, hands itching by their sides ready to draw. No one wanted to be alone, either, but it was worse to be alone with another. Anyone could turn. Anyone could kill.
The curse brought on an ultimatum: them or you. And who in their right mind wouldn't choose the former?
It was dark when he saw Scar for the first time. Part of him knew he should be cautious, memories burnt fresh into his brain of blood on his sword, in his hair, his skin. Together they had taken down everything and everyone, including themselves. Behind that annoying lopsided smirk and fake diamond armour, Scar hid what he was capable of.
Grian wasn’t scared of his violence. No, no. His words, they were a completely different thing to fear.
“...So I can’t put you on the back of a llama and take you to the desert?”
It hurt, in an unexpected way. The type of way where you end up angry at yourself for not preparing on time. His mental walls were only half constructed, architecturally weak, and Scar had found the point to prod on his first try. Grian laughed, shrill and light as his heart crawled further inside.
He needed severance.
“Hey… have you tried transferring a life yet?”
The new world was different.
“No, I haven’t!”
He would be different.
————————————-
His throat stung, dehydrated lips cracked. Grian’s scream would unendingly echo throughout the ravine.
He waited, and waited, and waited. Alone in the desert, dizzy with heatstroke, uncertain of what was to come. When Scar finally showed up, he wasn’t sure if he was real or a mirage; he spoke to him anyway.
The flowers. Lilacs and poppies. Grian clutched the wilted bundle in his fist, torn between them and the new shade of Scar’s eyes.
“Can we still be friends?”
Could they? Did Grian care if they couldn’t? It was just stupid rules of a stupider game. Half of everything was made up on the fly, and the other half broken whenever someone felt like it. They were too carefree, when nothing was there to enforce them.
Grian didn’t want to admit it, but somewhere along the muddied lines, his obligation had grown into greedy devotion. He needed Scar, and Scar needed him. At least if they got any more parasitic the vultures would have something to feast on.
“I think so? I still owe you my first life,” and the one after that, and the one after that.
They rearranged their sleeping quarters that night, silently communicating as they pushed two beds together. It was sticky and humid, but their hands stayed entwined until morning.
Grian left the flowers on the windowsill, with thought that they would dry.
————————————-
Grian had never experienced the boogeyman curse, but he had felt the effects.
“At least his bed is out here, so we don’t have to ruin his lovely house.”
That was something, right?
They had built the obsidian spawn-camping death trap OUTSIDE of his lovely house. For that, Grian deserved a pat on the back. Joel gave him a funny look as the words left his mouth, the absurdity of the situation crawling down his spine.
They needed these lives. Scar… Scar had too many. He didn’t need them like him and Joel did. —- Hell, he would lose them himself soon enough. All they were doing was stopping such an important resource from going to waste.
The method was… justified.
So when Scar refused their offer, backing away from his beloved mountain, spewing lies, silver tongue tangled, Grian didn’t feel bad, loading his crossbow with bolt after bolt. Each one finding a place in flesh, in armour. Scar had made his choice.
At the end of the day, his heart was just a muscle behind his sternum.
And Grian only knew how to touch skin when it was to brush away stray grains of sand.
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A single “ding” resonated in his head – a new cursed beginning for him to live through, for him to force others through; but he couldn’t keep blaming himself for the unrelenting watchful eyes. No, not now – he didn’t have time.
Oh, so many thoughts and so little time.
Time was flowing from an hourglass like sand from an old forgotten castle; time was counting down like willingly given lives; time was being wasted like a two-in-one feckless prize. Time was running and so was Grian.
In no more than a barely wasted second, Grian made a decision – he would run. Oh, he would run from his terrible repeating fate. He would be bad. Oh, he would defy and rebel – this time, he promised himself, it will be different.
No more scars would dare to pester and smear his old partner’s face and body. No more rips would tear and split his lost friend’s soul. No more would he be able to break his true soulmate’s heart.
Doing well – hells, doing good – failed him time and time again; made him fail Scar time and time again… Oh, but this once “time” isn’t a thing they can feel free to waste so easily. Oh, no.
No; this time Grian was going to be bad – that was his all-mighty promise whispered like nothing more than an oh-so-feeble secret. Grian was going to be bad so Scar could remain good.
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cursed to love you (again and again)
(made up fic title)
There’s blood on Grian’s hands. It drips onto the sand, Scar’s final, cut-off words still hanging heavy in the air. The sun sets behind his clipped wings which tremble as he reaches forward to gently close Scar’s eyes.
“Everything from last season is null and void, okay? It never happened,” he tells Scar when they stumble upon each other in the forest in the next life. Scar’s name is a deep green, which brings Grian some kind of relief. But no. He won’t let himself... Not again. This is about self preservation.
So why does he keep finding himself by Scar’s side? Why does he keep finding himself lamenting over Scar’s deaths? Why does he keep finding himself protecting him?
And in the end, he finds himself dead. Far from Scar. But at least he doesn’t have Scar’s blood on his hands.
“How long have you known?” Scar’s question is innocent enough, but it feels like it holds the weight of the world to Grian. “... And what was the ‘no’ for?” Grian stumbles over his words, mind racing to hide the truth.
The truth that he’d screamed “Not again.” That he’d watched Scar on the mountain and thought, “We live together, or we die together.”
They’re the last greens, and the entire server is after them, and Grian can only blame himself. It doesn’t matter that Scar has the enchanter. It’s Grian’s fault. They’re huddled together with a nauseating cactus outside their dirt hovel. Grian dreams of blood and sand and ghosts in front of him. They lose a life, and Grian screams for Scar to do something because Grian can’t, and it’s his fault he can’t and it’s happening again and— They’re yellow. And they have a funeral to hold, and Scar is going to invite people and Grian screams for Scar as the TNT ignites, but Scar can’t hear him, and it’s Grian’s fault again. It’s happening again.
They’re reds, and Grian is going to kill everyone. And then he has another funeral to hold. Alone, apologizing to a man he wanted to love, but in the end... There’s blood on his hands. But this time it isn’t Scar’s.
He’s tired. He is so, so tired. He is tired of reliving that fucking desert. He is tired of there being blood dripping onto sand and cactuses prickling his neck. He is tired of Scar being a living ghost in front of him every day, because all he can see is blood and all he can hear is a cut off apology, and all he knows is that it’s all his fault.
It’s late at night when he finally returns to their new home, where Scar sits awake, tending to the baby Jellie he carries with him.
“Scar?” he asks as he crosses the threshold. “Are we cursed?”
. . .
A fic in which Grian and Scar finally have a conversation about themselves. Where Grian explains why he was so adamant about keeping separate from Scar in Last Life, and Scar learns about the heavy guilt that Grian carries around with him. Where Scar forgives Grian for something he never blamed him for in the first place. Where they heal, and come out the other side stronger. Where they finally curl together in the same bed, for the first time since 3rd Life, and Grian dreams of a desert— but this time it’s not stained with the blood he spilled.
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