#They're both hurting
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angeart Ā· 3 months ago
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hhau mimic arc rambles - part IV: the inbetween (the wing spiral)
(~5,2 k words) // other parts & au masterpost here
this comes right after the hot spring bath, still the same setting. and once again this is based on our discord rp so most of it is going to be a lengthy back and forth for a scene that could be summed up much shorter <3 hopefully youā€™ll enjoy!
[cws self-destructive tendencies, like seriously, a LOT. this is all kind of just that. and trauma. and going nonverbal.]
~~~
Itā€™s once Grianā€™s wings become properly waterlogged and start sinking him that Scar pulls Grian back to the shore and wakes him up. And he worries, for many good reasons, that the moment of peace will be gone as soon as Grianā€™s feathers dry up.Ā 
He doesnā€™t expect the end to come much sooner.Ā 
Grianā€™s body feels like mush after sleeping in the warm water, relaxed for the first time in forever. He feels weak, heavy. His wings are leaden. He isnā€™t sure he can actually walk. With trembling legs, he slumps down, instantly getting his damp skin dirty. The air brushes his damp body and sends him shivering.
Even though itā€™s winter, the ground outside frost-painted and frozen, the cave is somewhat warmed by the pool of hot water. Itā€™s something, but it's still far from ideal. The walls provide them enough shielding though, and theyā€™re relatively hiddenā€¦ So Scar gingerly dares to set up a fire for the night.
Sitting down on the spread out cloak, Grian hunches up while Scar works.
Grianā€™s feeling Bad. Frustrated with his wings. He canā€™t lift them up and spread them over the fire; theyā€™re too wet, too heavy. Everything itches So Much Worse now that the debris got dislodged from the spots he's learned to ignore. He's swarmed by an overwhelming pile of awful sensations that make him hyperaware and overstimulated in the worst ways, and he wants it to Stop.Ā 
He needs his wings dry now, orā€”
Or he needs them gone.
His hands hover over his feathers, expression drawn. He considers squeezing them to get the water out, but thatā€™s only bound to damage themā€”and he isnā€™t entirely sure if he could stop himself from yanking at them right now if he so much as touches them.
Scar watches him, uneasy, trying to figure out how to help. Tentatively, he offers to help spread Grianā€™s wings out close to the fire. He could cover his hands with fabric! It wouldnā€™t even be skin-on-feather contact! And he wonā€™t move unless Grian moves him, and andā€”
Heā€™s just rambling nervously. He doesn't actually know what to do.
Grianā€™s a shivering mess at this point. His nerve-endings are firing and flaring up and heā€™s quickly growing so tense again and he doesnā€™t know how to fix it.
He begs Scar to help, but at the same time he doesnā€™t want his wings to be touched. (He can only comprehend painful touches. If Scarā€™d grab and pull instead of be gentle, maybe thatā€™d be something Grianā€™s mind could comprehend.)
Scar tries to soothe him. ā€œHey, hey, weā€™ve got plenty of time to let them dry! Itā€™s fine. Itā€™s fine! Iā€™ll help however you let me!ā€
But Grianā€™s mind is already spiralling, overtaken by the sensations that donā€™t let him calm down. Thereā€™s an encroaching feeling, something sharp and unpleasantly familiar. His hands curl. He whines and cries that his wings are heavy and they feel wrong.
Self destruction brushes against the nape of his neck, ghosts over his feathers. He canā€™t help but misguidedly crave pain against his feathers, because maybe that would feel right. Maybe that would make sense. Maybe they deserve to be punished. Maybeā€” Maybe they should be cut off.
Justā€” Please. Please make it stop feeling like this.
He needs Scar to do something, but he doesnā€™t know what. Canā€™t articulate it either to release them from this stalemate of an awful moment.
Not for the first time in this world, Scar is convinced he completely messed up for suggesting the bath at all. It was a bad idea, clearly. Why was he so eager? Why did he have to insist, even though Grian was clearly hesitant? Why did he have to go ahead and drag Grian into it, only for it all to end up like this?
Heā€™s a bit frantic, but heā€™s trying to keep his suggestions level and calm. He offers Grian to lie down so he doesnā€™t need to keep his wings up too much in his attempts to reach the warmth of the crackling fire.
With a weak whimper, Grian curls up on the cloak. With a sharp flinch, he nudges his wing a bit too close to the fire. (He doesnā€™t care; heā€™s so upset with them. He watches blankly, sees it happen, but doesnā€™t move away.) (His wing is so heavy.) (What has it ever done for himā€”and Scarā€”in this world but bring suffering?) (Maybe it'd be better if it burned.) (Maybe it should.) (It deserves whatever happens to it, he thinks dazedly.)Ā 
Scarā€™s stunned, locked in place at the sight. What is he meant to do here?? He canā€™t move Grianā€™s wings. Heā€” Does he move the fire? Orā€” Or he could scoot all of Grian, maybe. But now heā€™s convinced all of his ideas are garbage now. He doesnā€™t want to make things worse, and heā€™s aware that he tends to inadvertently do that far too often.
Grianā€™s mind continues spiralling, untethered, in free fall. Heā€™s blankly looking at his feathers near the fire; the sparks fly nearby. The glow illuminates the damp mess of his feathers.Ā 
In the quietest voice, barely audible, he asks: ā€œ... Scar, do you want to cut them off?ā€
Scarā€™s lungs seize up. Surely he heard that wrong? ā€œWhat?ā€
Grian purses his lips, a small frown settling between his eyebrows. Heā€™s still staring in the direction of the feathers and the flame, not turning to look at Scar.
Something in Scar shifts then, so adamantly. Where he was trying to work with Grianā€™s spiralling before, now he just has outright refusal flowing through him. ā€œGrian, no.ā€ His voice is stern instead of that squeaky, panicked gentleness from before. ā€œListen to me, you are fine, we are safe, they will dry. I told you Iā€™d watch your back, okay? I told you it was okay to relax, so let me figure this out.ā€
Grian doesnā€™t move. He stays lying quietly, not looking at Scar, fingers slightly curled but left with nothing to hold onto. Scarā€™s words swirl through him, but they refuse to take hold.
ā€œScar.ā€ Itā€™s quiet, so incredibly quiet. Wobbly and blank, somber and so horribly factual. ā€œI donā€™t need them.ā€
ā€œYeah I donā€™t need my hair either but that doesnā€™t mean Iā€™m gonna shave it,ā€ Scar grumbles. His voice isnā€™t angry exactly, but he is not playing this game. ā€œI can make another fire if you want. We have enough fuel, weā€™ll just have to gather more soon. And then we either wait or you let me help.ā€ Heā€™s gone full diplomatic, spending all his energy on remaining calm and certain.
Grian squeezes his eyes shut, pulling himself tighter into a ball. Scarā€™s voice is flatter than usual, not the coaxing gentleness he usually uses, and Grian silently blames himself for that tonal shift, further unease blooming under his skin.
His wing twitches, feathers moving just the slightest bit towards the fire. Itā€™s not an intended motion, and with his eyes tightly closed and mind fuzzy, Grian isnā€™t even fully aware of it. (He wouldnā€™t correct it anyway.)Ā 
The wings are wet and heavy and cold, and everything in them feels dislodged and damaging, and he wants to tear at themā€”
He curls his fingers tighter, nails digging into his palm as a whimper breaks past his lips.
Even if Scar is upset with him. Even if Grian is feeling and saying wrong things. (Things that scare him but sink into him like daggers anyway.) Even then, he still wants Scar to help. Heā€” He needs Scarā€™s help, because he isnā€™t sure heā€™s going to win this fight with himself.Ā 
Grian sniffles and looks to him, all wretched and pathetic. ā€œHelp.ā€
Ā The tension tugging at Scarā€™s features as he racks his brain eases slightly when he meets Grianā€™s eyes. His expression immediately softens, utterly weak to it.Ā 
ā€œOkay,ā€ Scar says softly, even if heā€™s not sure what that promised help entails quite yet. He scoots a little closer, purposely putting his foot in between the fire and Grianā€™s encroaching feathers. ā€œAnother fire or do you want me to help you dry off?ā€
Notably, Grianā€™s feathers donā€™t shy from the barrier of Scarā€™s foot. Theyā€™d usually flinch back, maintaining distance, but Grian canā€™t muster up enough will to care right now. Heā€™s willing to get them hurt.
The way Scarā€™s voice softens chips at something in Grian. Abruptly, his eyes flood with tears and his fists loosen, hands twitching up. (To cover his face or to reach for Scar, he isnā€™t sure.) ā€œI just wantā€” I just want them dry. Scar, please.ā€Ā 
Itā€™s not an answer to a preferred method, but it is an answer to the scale of urgency. (And thatā€™s not even it. Grian wants more. He wants them clean but without being bright. He wants all the things lodged in them to be pulled out without them being touched. He wants them to stop feeling so awful all the time. He wants them to stop being beacons. He wants them to stop being such an incessant burden. He wants people to stop so hungrily wanting them, as if they were an object to take. He wants to stop being afraid of the day when they will inevitably be hacked off his back while he screams and can't fight back. He wants them to feel like a part of him again instead of just something unwieldy and wounded he carries along. He wants them to stop feeling so inflamed and scratched up, so tense, so big and visible, so untouchable, like a dead space around his back that has to forever be navigated around. He wantsā€” He wants it all to stop. He wants them gone, now, on his own terms.)Ā 
ā€œOkay,ā€ Scar says again. His voice is steady but his hands, notably, are not.Ā 
Aside from the fire, every suggestion he has involves touching Grianā€™s wingsā€” which as far as heā€™s concerned, is something he is never allowed to do.Ā 
ā€œOkay, justā€¦ let them down? Um, droop?ā€ Scar slides his leg firmly between them and fire, though. ā€œā€¦ And not too close to the fire.ā€ Heā€™s no longer beating around the bush with that. He knows what Grian is thinking about. He can sense the self destructiveness.
Grian tries to follow what Scar wants from him while wading through the endless suggestions his own mind spews at him. He shifts, a bit clumsy, and his wings sweep across the floor. Theyā€™re so heavy to move. To adjust. To redirect. Itā€™s ungraceful, fumbly.
Despite Scar banning the proximity to the fire, the feathers lightly crash against Scarā€™s legs anyway, a small pressure leaving nothing but a despondent suggestion of Scar moving out of the way as Grian sobs quietly while his mind spins. (Tear rip destroy cut get rid of them get rid of them make them GONE pluck them out claw them off anything just gone gone gONE) (Make it stOPā€”)
Whileā€”as Scar presumes, anywayā€”Grianā€™s mind is preoccupied dealing with the task of moving his wings, Scar goes ahead and tears the other band-aid off. ā€œā€¦Grian, Iā€™mā€” Iā€™m going to have to touch your wings to make this work.ā€ Again heā€™s fighting down his nerves, forcing his voice to remain even, but he struggles.Ā 
He hates this.
Grian blinks, not looking quite at Scar. His vision is blurry and something in his chest tingles, plunging him into uncertainty. He doesnā€™t know how he feels. His ears ring. ā€œOkayā€¦ā€ he says, a bit too quiet, a bit too flat.Ā 
His brain fumbles through nonsensical half-sentences. He considers asking Scar to yank the feathers. He considers asking him to make it hurt? He thinks maybe he should tell him again to cut them off, get rid of the problem at the root.Ā 
What he ends up saying instead is something else entirely, and his voice is small and incredibly off while he delivers the line.
ā€œ... Do you want them?ā€
ā€œ... What?ā€ Scar says again, entirely thrown off by that nonsensical question. But he quickly decides he doesnā€™t want Grian to explain that, actually, and keeps talking. ā€œNo, Grian, I want you. All of you. I justā€”ā€œ The gravity of those statements weighs on Scar after a moment and he stutters slightly over his words, but still powers through. ā€œI just want you to be okay. This was supposed to be relaxing.ā€
It takes a second for Scar to realize Grian did provide consent for the idea of his wings being touched, which is wild, and it sets off a whole bunch of other questions he doesnā€™t want answered flying around his brain. ā€œSo Iā€™ll be as fast as I can, okay? And then we can enjoy some nice warm clothes and a lovely campfire.ā€
Grian grows both more sheepish and more numb, quieter. It feels like surrendering. To what exactly, he isnā€™t sure yet. Heā€™s just done fighting. Whatever happens, happens.
His voice is tiny and hollow, but he gives Scar another nudge, another confirmation that heā€™s listening and Scar is allowed to carry on. ā€œOkay.ā€
ā€œā€¦ Okay,ā€ Scar repeats, somewhat terrified. Heā€™s never known Grian to give in so easily to anything, even when itā€™s good for him. ā€œI wonā€™t hurt you, you know that?ā€ Itā€™s meant to be a statement, but it comes out far too close to a question.Ā 
The words are out there andā€” Grian knows Scar wouldnā€™t hurt him, but his brain is screaming at him anyway, and he thinks heā€™d welcome it if Scar did something horrible to him. (Heā€™s verging on doing it himselfā€”) Instead of answering, he just closes his eyes.
Scar fumbles his hands about, looking for his clothes that he set out to get warm, taking his vest for starters because itā€™s the thickest. He wraps the fabric over and around his hand, taking this time to steel his nerves. He really shouldnā€™t build up to this whole thing, even if he wants to preface it with about a dozen apologies.Ā 
Grian can sense Scar getting ready. It sets his nerves alight, and he wants to retreat, back into that numbness, even as the anticipation builds up under his skin. He takes a shaky breath, brings his arms up and ducks his face in them, hiding himself.
Itā€™s okay itā€™s okay itā€™s okay let it happenā€”
Scar really doesnā€™t want to prolong this any more than necessary, so he gets right to it, placing his wrapped-up hand on the wing closest to him and moving it in line with the feathers, trying to place as little pressure as possible for this first pass.
Grianā€™s wing barely twitches, startled as Scar starts touching it. Grianā€™s biting into his lip, trying not to tremble, trying not toā€” He isnā€™t sure what. (He wishes Scarā€™d pull his claws out and dug in.) (The lightness of the touch is driving him insane.)
Restless with mounting tension, Grian shifts a little, moving to curl on his other side, effectively turning his back to Scar. It seems practical: it helps the angle, gives Scar easier access to the wing. But more than that, it also means relinquishing even more controlā€”something Grian usually never does. (The idea of someone behind hisĀ  back usually spirals him into panic. He never really allows it. Not anymore.) (And yet.)
Scarā€™s surprised he isnā€™t given much resistance for doing this. He feels like he ought to be slapped, or in the very least shouted at for causing this whole mess. Heā€™s miserable, not at all enjoying this disaster of a preening session, if you could even call it that.
Grianā€™s chest feels horribly constricted and his hands shake. Turned away from Scar, he presses his hand against his bare, damp chest, nails clawing at his skin, clutching at the pain he canā€™t quite get to.Ā 
Scar presses down a little more with each pass, letting the cloth soak up as much water as it can, and after a few successful strokes down the entire length, Scar lifts ever so slightly to let it drip off the bottom, testing if he can get away with drying there as well. He doesnā€™t exactly want to, but it would get this done faster if he could.
The firmer pressure on Grianā€™s wings, oddly enough, feels better than the light touch. Grian doesnā€™t want Scar to be gentle. (He doesnā€™t know how to make him understand that.) (He thinks maybe Scar knows and just doesnā€™t want to understand.) Nonsensically, he wishes itā€™d all be worse.
Ā He doesnā€™t react to Scar manipulating his wings in any way, doesnā€™t twitch or flinch them away. The wing isnā€™t relaxed, not in the slightest, but it obliges and obeys, surrendered just like Grian. (Please please please make it hurtā€”)
As he works, Scar takes a breath to speak. Itā€™s shaky, just like his hands, but he pushes past it. ā€œI wasā€”ā€œ His voice catches in his throat, and he quietly curses himself for failing on his one strength hereā€” his words. But he tries again, pushes past the wobble in his voice. ā€œā€¦ I was gonna build a castle this season. I know Iā€™m always on about how I hate big castle builds, but I had a block palette ready and everything.ā€
When Scar starts talking, voice faltering, Grian feels an abrupt rise of emotions clog his throat. Itā€™s the first time since the start that his wing really twitches, threatening awareness on him. He fights down the uprise of panic, breathes through his mouth, a long and steady exhale.
ā€œWhā€” What palette did youā€” have in mind?ā€ he manages to say in bits and pieces, voice hoarse and thick, sounding like heā€™s been crying. He can barely comprehend what heā€™s saying, half of him switched on autopilot.
Scar is so relieved to hear Grian speak, even if his voice is more pained than his own. It just feels like something more manageable than the task at hand, however, so he clings to it, continues on.Ā 
ā€œI was gonna use blue ice for the roof. Maybe a little impractical butā€”ā€œ he almost chuckles, trying to ease into the easy conversation. ā€œI think the worst part of castles is everyone goes for the medieval look. They suck the soul right out of the build with it. Thereā€™s no magic!ā€Ā 
He scrubs more methodically, even offering the occasional squeeze to get the water out. He still hates it. The enthusiasm of his words rings false to his own ears. To make up for his frustration, he frees a small twig that had been driving him crazy before back in the hot spring. ā€œI would go for a more pastel color paletteā€” sandstone, terracotta, no deepslate allowed.ā€
Grian presses his forehead against the cloak thatā€™s underneath him, just trying to hold himself together. (He still wants to grab the wing and do bad bad bad thingsā€”) (The freed twig sends a toppling sense of relief through him that he canā€™t quite decipher or understand.) He tries so hard to follow Scarā€™s words, instead of the unending scalding avalanche of things his mind keeps suggesting and burying him under.
He wants to tell Scar to rake his claws through his feathers.
He wants to tell him to just tear at the joint, right where Grianā€™s exposed back lies defenceless.
He wants to tell him to bite and tear and takeā€”
He swallows thickly and says, instead: ā€œA fairytale castle.ā€
ā€œExactly!ā€ Scar says, the excitement partially real this time. ā€œA proper castle isnā€™t just a build, itā€™s an experience!ā€Ā 
It feels like this might take an eternity, but Scar does recognize progress. He continues taking out anything he sees stuck in the wings, deciding heā€™s at least going to make Grianā€™s wings feel better if he has to do this to him.
Grian's curling up tighter, shivering despite himself, but his wing is still and willing in Scar's hands, nothing but an object to be manipulated. (To be taken.) He still wants this all to get worse. He also wants it to be over. He can't stand this in-between.
With effort, Grian drags his other wingā€”the one Scar isn't currently working onā€”across himself. He hasn't purposefully touched his wings in so long, but with a stutter of his breath and mind burning, his fingers find the feathers now.
ā€œCareful,ā€ Scar warns, like heā€™s the one that should be offering wing advice somehow. ā€œIā€™m almost done with this one, I think?ā€ He lifts his hand, seeing the vest is properly soaked already.
ā€œMm.ā€ Grian doesnā€™t really process what Scar means by saying careful. Doesnā€™t catch the warning. His wing tucks around him, fingers curling into the feathers without care. Heā€™s playing with the idea of yanking as if he was playing with fire, but somehow it seems like the option that will burn him is the safe one. The letting go. Like he should pick this destructive option instead to make it all better.
His earwings shield his face, even as all of him is turned away from Scarā€™s sight anyway.Ā 
They muffle the quietest, choked sob.Ā 
Grianā€™s fingers pull.
Just at that moment, Scar turns to grab his undershirt, figuring he may as well. The clothesā€™ll dry easier than the feathers, clearly.Ā 
When he looks back, he sees the slight pull Grianā€™s fingers make and he narrows his eyes, wanting to be wrong about what he just saw. He decides against bringing attention to it, instead grabbing Grianā€™s hand and unthreading his fingers altogether. ā€œLet me,ā€ he says, though he leaves little room for argument.
Thereā€™s no fighting back; Grianā€™s self destructive, but entirely given up otherwise, still surrendered to Scar fully. (His mind is a tangled mess of contradictions and warnings and pleas.) He lets Scar do what he wants, a sense of blank numbness descending back over him. (He wants to keep it. Itā€™s easier. He wants to tuck himself in it and never emerge.)
Scar doesnā€™t bring up what he thinks he just saw, not now. Heā€™s not so sure Grian is fully with it, something heā€™s become more familiar with than heā€™d like to be.Ā 
He gets to work on that wing, leaving the drier one spread out near the fire. (Though he keeps a close eye on that.) The undershirt is a tad worse at collecting water, but itā€™s longer and still does the job. And he wants that job done as soon as possible. ā€œHow did you ever bathe back homeā€¦ā€ he mumbles, not expecting an answer.
Grianā€™s completely resigned, his wing fully in Scarā€™s control. Heā€™s staring blankly ahead at the darker part of the cave, not really seeing anything. His soul feels like a warzone, littered with exploded landmines.Ā 
He isnā€™t sure if thereā€™s anything left to explode. (There probably is.) (He doesnā€™t want to think about it.)
He hears Scar asking something, but he doesnā€™t quite catch and process it. The word home makes it through to his awareness though and, quietly, without a word, his eyes flood with fresh tears.
Despite not expecting an answer, it still hurts Scar not to receive one. He feels like heā€™s talking to the void when Grian gets like this. Like his heart is about to tip forward and fall into it.Ā 
ā€œIs there likeā€¦ a hair dryer for wings?ā€ His attempt at a joke doesnā€™t make him feel any better. Again he moves the wing to work on the underside, carefully pinching when he needs to squeeze the water out.
Numbness tingles through Grian, but contradictory, the tears continue to overflow and silently drip down his face. He doesn't know what he's feeling. Is it emptiness? Is it pain? Is it fear? He thinks of the campfire and feathers. He thinks of blood and screaming, arms and blades and being pinned down. He thinks of Scar's soft voice and of his hands massaging Grian's scalp.
He can't untangle himself.
He continues staying quiet, not reacting.
ā€œI guess youā€¦ could just use a normal hair dryer.ā€ Scarā€™s heart aches. His vision is getting blurry with tears as well. Heā€™s still doing well drying the wings, but his chest feel likes itā€™s splintering. With a small sniffle, he adds on, far too quiet: ā€œGrian, Iā€™m so sorry.ā€
The apology, barely audible, elicits a small twitch of Grianā€™s wing in Scarā€™s hold.
He doesnā€™t understand. Why is Scar sorry? Why is Scar hurting?
He canā€™t get through the fog that surrounds him. (He thinks it shields him; he isnā€™t sure he wants to venture out.) He thinks, disorientingly, of warm beds and tight cuddles.
He wants to ask if this is over yet. He wants to ask if Scar is okay. He wants toā€”
(He wants to discard his wings andā€”)
His eyes close, eyelashes wet. His hand weakly paws at the cloak thatā€™s still underneath him, a feeble layer shielding him from the coldness of rough ground.
ā€œMaybe notā€” not one of my better ideas, the whole bath thing.ā€ Releasing his inner conflict is comforting to Scar in some way. It makes his tears feel like less of a waste. It helps him keep going somehow.Ā 
He might rush somewhat, but only because he can barely take it anymore.Ā 
Softly, he croaks out: ā€œIt was nice to hear you laughā€¦ā€
A shaky breath leaves Grian. He itches to reassure Scar. To tell him the bath was absolutely wonderful. To thank him, for letting him laugh. To press a kiss to his cheek and genuinely thank him for it, for that moment of reprieve.
But he canā€™t.
He canā€™t, not now, not now, because if he does try, everything will fall apart and the carefully held back dam of panic will break and heā€™d suffocate.
So he just silently waits for it to be over, even as the heartache builds and builds and builds through the numbness in his heart, a desperate aching leading straight back to Scar, yelling at Grian to fix it.
Scar continues in silence after that, words entirely failing him either wayā€” whether he opts for sentimentality or distraction.Ā 
After a while longer, he feels like he stops making progress, like the rest will simply have to be air dried.
The wings are let go and thereā€™s a lull, an empty moment, and Grian hazily realises he doesnā€™t remember most of the wing drying. Something in him skipped over it and buried it deep down, the sensation of harmless pressure over his wings lost to some void.
Scar slowly shifts to be in front of Grian as he wrings out his shirt. ā€œIs itā€”ā€œ His voice breaks painfully and he has to pause to clear his throat. ā€œIs it okay?ā€ He sets the shirt down near the fire and offers his empty palms, his usual placating gesture. ā€œI could help you up?ā€
Grian hears Scar shift to the front of him, and it draws a small questioning sound out of him. He opens his eyes, finding Scarā€™s, noticing the rawness of his expression, the wetness of his eyelashes and cheeks that mirrors Grianā€™s own.
Scar is checking up on him, but he sounds so wounded, and itā€™s absolutely destroying Grianā€™s heart. His breath hitches, and his vision blurs anew. (Fix it fix it fix it fix itā€”) He still canā€™t quite find words. He still canā€™t quite find himself.
But he wants to give Scar something, and Scar didnā€™t take his wings, andā€”
Timidly, he reaches for Scarā€™s offered palms, but remains pressed to the ground, not attempting to get up. ā€œScar.ā€ Itā€™s hoarse and small, pleading and broken. Thereā€™s an edge of fragmentation to it, a cracked glass too sharp to not get cut on accident.
Scarā€™s breath hitches again at the sound of his nameā€” god, how he loves hearing Grian say his nameā€” and he chokes out a small sniffle, bordering on a sob. ā€œHi,ā€ he says lamely, meeting Grianā€™s outstretched hand and taking it. His other hand immediately finds Grianā€™s cheek, brushing aside a few stray tears and cradling his head gently.
ā€œHi,ā€ Grian echoes back so, so weakly. (He wants to give more more more more moreā€”) His hand squeezes against Scarā€™s, but itā€™s feeble. He feels taken apart into pieces, unsure how to put himself back together.
But he looks at Scar and he thinks that Scar also needs someone to put a scrap of cloth over the wounds scattered across his heart. (They donā€™t have bandages. They donā€™t have stitches. They have hands and words, tears and prayers, and some scraps.)Ā 
So Grian does his best to pull through the thick fog, to attempt a tiny, tiniest, weakest smile. ā€œThe bath felt nice.ā€ Itā€™s hoarse and precarious, but it rings sincere.
Scar coughs, choking on a small bark of laughter thatā€™s hardly even joyful. Itā€™s still pained. But itā€™s something.Ā 
ā€œIā€™m glad,ā€ he replies softly, eyes flicking downward. ā€œYour sweater should be all warm by now.ā€
Scarā€™s small laughter is more than just something. Grian holds onto it, wraps it up in his mind, protects it from the tingling fog as if it was the most precious thing.
ā€œMm.ā€ His sweater might be warm, and gosh, what a tantalising though that is. But it isnā€™t within his reach.
Scar is.
Lightly, questioningly, he tugs at Scarā€™s hand. ā€œCā€™mere?ā€
This time the laughter is a touch more sincere. Scar canā€™t help it. That simple word warms his heart enough to melt away a bit of the ice he was letting freeze over him.Ā 
He slides his legs down, ignoring the cold ground, and adjusts himself so he can lie down in front of Grian, leaning his head close. ā€œIā€™m here.ā€
Without hesitation, Grian shifts towards him, yearning. Thereā€™s that string between them, a bond that tugs, dictating that thereā€™s only one direction for Grian to go to reach safety.Ā 
His feathers are lighter. They tuck behind him loosely, still semi-sprawled, still siphoning the warmth of the fire to dry off the remaining bits. He feels a little bit silly for how violent he wanted to be with them. (He thinks he might end up wanting that again. But not now. Not now, when Scarā€™s lying in front of him after just laughing unsteadily, looking so vulnerable after trying his absolute best for Grian.)Ā 
ā€œMm.ā€ Grian reaches out his free hand and lightly brushes over Scarā€™s cheek. ā€œYou are,ā€ he confirms in a whisper, and then he sniffles. ā€œIā€™mā€” Iā€”ā€ He swallows down the apology, buries it deep within his heart as he tips forward, wanting to tuck himself against Scar. ā€œThank you.ā€
The returned gesture manages to get Scar to smile, however weak it may be. He leans into the touch, needing it desperately. ā€œMm, Iā€” ā€¦Yeah.ā€ He wants to say of course like he normally would, but it doesnā€™t feel right. ā€œā€¦ Is it any better?ā€
Grian nuzzles himself under Scarā€™s jaw, searching for his spot at the crook of Scarā€™s neck. ā€œItā€™s better,ā€ he reassures, soft and quiet and unsteadily sincere.
Even if he's still hurting. (Even if Scar is as well.)
Even if his wings still feel off and he's still scared.
Even if he still feels exhausted and numb, a little bit volatile and a whole lot fractured. With a bruised heart behind his paper-thin ribs.
Even then, this one thing is a truth he can concede.
It's better.
It's better, because Scar was here to make it so.
And Scar is still here.
Abruptly, Grian shivers, because his skin is still exposed, and so is Scarā€™s, andā€”
Maybe rashly, on impulse, he swishes his wing up, where it falters.
ā€œScar.ā€ He pulls away just enough to be able to look at him. Thereā€™s an edge of fear in his wide eyes, something so desperately shackled, and an endless pool of vulnerability. ā€œDonā€™tā€” Donā€™t touch them anymore, notā€” Justā€”ā€ He starts tripping over his words. He opts to duck back into the safety of his spot andā€” His wing slowly, so very slowly drapes across him and Scar, like a blanket. ā€œJust. Is thisā€”ā€ He wants to ask if itā€™s okay, but the words donā€™t make it past his throat.
ā€œI wonā€™t,ā€ Scar confirms immediately, and heā€™s glad he did, because those words would have definitely been broken up and choked out if he had waited for Grianā€™s wings to be draped over them. ā€œIā€”ā€œ he still stammers, hopelessly endeared and emotional by the touch. ā€œā€¦ Oā€“okay.ā€
ā€œOkay,ā€ Grian echoes a little breathlessly, and on nothing but instinct and yearning, the wing presses against Scarā€™s back in a gentle tug. And his feathers still flare up, overstimulated, but it feels different now. Like this might be something he can handle.
Like maybe this could help, too.
And it's him initiating this whole touch, perfectly aware of where his wings are and what they're pressed against. He's in control here, like walking on a tightrope, begging Scar not to unexpectedly shake it underneath him.
Being cocooned in feathers feels very natural and comforting to Grian, even though itā€™s something heā€™s been denying himself for the longest time. They shield them from the cold air, trap the warmth between them, quite like a literal blanket would, even as some of the feathers are still damp. (He hopes Scar doesnā€™t mind.)
Maybe clothes would be warmer, but this makes Scar feel so much lighter. His heart feels like it could spring out his chest, a mixture of relief and gratefulness stirring within him. Immensely glad that the awful part is now over, quite honestly struggling to catch up to this jump in development.
But heā€™ll take it.
Heā€™ll take this over Grian asking him to cut off his wings any day.
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love-laugh-daydreamarevolt Ā· 5 months ago
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I will fight the blitzo haters with a sword
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bespectacled-bookwyrm Ā· 1 year ago
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2023 Whumptober 9
Summary: They sit upon a cliff's edge in silent contemplation.
Written for the 2023 Whumptober event!
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the-ominous-owl Ā· 8 days ago
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I can arrange that. I can get him to the finish line and deliver him to you.
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cry-ptidd Ā· 4 months ago
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ā€ Am I not right to weep? O my children, cursed children of a hateful mother - ā€
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jknox11 Ā· 2 months ago
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they love each other so much. i feel so sick. guys they love each other SO much what the hell
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your-turn-to-role Ā· 2 years ago
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moment of appreciation again for what is possibly my favourite later game percy quote that everyone always forgets about
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(said to vex, of course)
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dlartistanon Ā· 25 days ago
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The shadow that protects you
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sysig Ā· 9 months ago
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How much of me is me? (Patreon)
#Doodles#UT#Handplates#Sans#Papyrus#Another one that I cried to while drawing hehe ā™Ŗ Hhhhh I love their dynamic so much <3 <3 ;;#Sans' apparent disinterest in hurting Gaster is deeply interesting to me - we see him punch Gaster in Mercyplates even! :0#I can't help but feel that a good portion of it is Papyrus being there with him when Gaster gives them his arm haha#Would he have been as well-behaved if he'd been by himself? I wonder :)#But generally I read it as him having grown up <3 They've both matured so beautifully by that point it's just ah- such a treat to read#Their transition from their childhood to their teens and young adulthood into themselves is just jdlksafhdsfd it's incredibly well written!#I say ''I wonder'' quite a lot lol but that's just speculation - watching them grow into themselves is So Incredibly satisfying <3#It feels so natural to watch them become themselves ā™„ It's beautiful ā™Ŗā™«#And their sibling dynamic is truly unrivaled <3 They support each other! Lift each other up! Where one stumbles the other catches him!#I love them so much ahh#Papyrus' emotional intelligence gets me so bad <3 The sweetest lad#I feel like it would bother Sans that he/they have Gaster's memories and not their own#It makes me especially sad to think about everything he missed of them - if only you hadn't fallen behind on the footage Gaster! >:0#They already have some pretty incredible identity issues just throw being pieces of him in every sense into the mix#They're grown from him and even when they got away and built themselves that still got subplanted with memories that aren't even theirs!#It's a rough spot#Papyrus though ā™„ Always knows what to say hehe#Reaffirming that Sans is the most important person to him - that they are to each other - that no matter what they're brothers#And that no matter what - even having Gaster's memories or being without memories at all - that Sans is a good person#That it's not out of self-preservation or trying to do it for Papyrus' sake (even if that is a lot of it haha)#That /Sans/ is the one making that decision of his own volition and his own morals and beliefs#And that he loves and supports him no matter what <3#''I know you can be a good person. You can choose to do the right thing'' and ''I see you being a good person. You're doing the right thing'#Hhhh <3 I love them <3
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silusvesuius Ā· 3 months ago
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testing out drawing maormer šŸŖøšŸššŸŖø and a nelvas šŸ§£šŸ“œšŸ©· i'll ramble about maormer a bit in the tags
#tes#skyrim#my art#do you like my nelvas emojisšŸ§£šŸ“œšŸ§£šŸ“œ get it? scarfšŸ¤— and scrollšŸ¤— Everything hurts sofucking bad#anyways i talked about them wif my friend quite a bit i basically 'agree' w/ everything that is written about them && their biology in -#- canon; except tes is very much all Talk and no good actual visual presentation of what it's talking about#cus all of the maormer look like garboooo likeee what am i looking @#but since this is just a first test i think i'll keep playing around with their looks later; they are most close to altmer obvi in the -#- sense of how 'mutated' they r. however maormer are more gross looking for the typical human#they do have flat faces and alldat in canon already but i want them to just have nostrils and no real nose bridge#and they have no lipsšŸ˜ they also have very visible gums. && have anglerfish teeth#what would be fur on other mer is just scales on them and is placed is scattered in the same places#i was thinking of making swimming most comfortable for them so i gave them more fins#they'd have them on arms and legs and the hair on the tail for them is just a big finšŸ #as for hair i'm thinking of them having none of it at all bcos it looks sooooo ugly on them it's very unnerving to see hair on fish#either no hair at all or something with a different texture. like slimy silky thin seaweed#or the hair that m*necraft striders have LMAO#webbed fingers is cuuuute they'd have webbed armpits like they're those flying rodentsšŸæ lol#i'd place their gills on both the neck and their ribs#whenever they wear clothes they tie their arm and leg fins up ; i think from birth they just stay in water until they hit puberty and -#- r able to actually walk around#another cute fact is that males and females wud look literally the same almost (women are flat chested too)#fish fish fish#maybe i'll rethink some stuff. i still wanna draw fish babies#but in reality i think even the mere existence of maormer is very pointless bc they don't really matter at all do they#tes lore is soooo overstuffed that's why i don't know anything about it my time is so valuable to meLMFAOAOOO#saw a typo in this sorry i'm just chill like that
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tsukk1 Ā· 2 months ago
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[senfrogs band au] boyfriend guitar lessons šŸ’‹šŸŽ¶
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makiswirl Ā· 5 months ago
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can i just say. and this is probably a niche hill to die on. that i am so gobsmacked every time someone vaguely hints at the idea that jotaro doesn't care meaningfully for the other crusaders, usually particularly kakyoin and joseph, when those two actually tend to be the ones he reacts to being hurt the hardest
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like he cares for his loved ones!!!! that literally plays into his character motives in every single part he shows up in!!! stop lying to me!!!!!!!
#me.txt#jjba#i'm going to ramble in tags actually. excuse me#ok. rereading sdc and so confused at the general perception of jotaro and his friends/family. he's not NEARLY as flat or as dickish#i understand that the anime (particularly the dub) tends to slander him but even then he still clearly cares for them! i'm confused#i also understand that a lot of people dig against jotaro and kakyoin as a dynamic because 'they're popular' and that generally disliking#popular things across media is a thing that i've seen consistently everywhere but the discredit to them simply as a DUO and not even as a#pairing is so..... odd..... like they're considered to be a duo that clicks for a reason. i enjoyed them even before i got into the fandom#every time i see someone say jotaro is overrated/dull i take a shot and assume they're an anime-only or only read the manga like once btw#joseph and jotaro also have a neat dynamic and they obviously both love and care for each other. like they're not going to go around loudly#or anything but literally the entirety of the lovers and the prelude to the dio fight IS jotaro being worked up over joseph getting hurt#equally i don't know if it translates to the anime as much but joseph is VERY complimentary when it comes to jotaro. like he sings his#praises so often and reminds everyone that he's his grandson so frequently (d'arby the gamer is a good example of this). either way it's so#peculiar....... there's not enough avdol and jotaro content btw (also in canon) because jotaro obviously looks up to him and avdol jokes#around with him on the occasion they interact after their intro which doesn't start very well. it's very cute#i do think an important thing to note about jotaro's character is how he acts AFTER his intro because he's so drastically different. early#jotaro and later jotaro aren't the same character and i do not mean this in a character development way. excluding the jail incident he's#completely different and probably shouldn't really be taken into account (especially considering the amount of slapstick in araki's intros)#and i think that's really???? what people center on for his character? Which sucks balls bad!#anyways. i could ramble more about this if asked i have so much to say but sigh. jotaro cares so much for his friends and family he's not a#flat fully cold asshole character regardless of whether you watch the anime or ova or read the manga. you just have poor media literacy#i wouldn't recommend watching solely the anime for his character though. the dub also changes a lot so it's... questionable#i love the anime and it's still important for him though. also adds neat stuff. i need to stop myself. i have many thoughts on the matter#jotaro kujo#joseph joestar#noriaki kakyoin#adding in case anyone sees: i am not saying that he is perfect about this. in fact he is very ass about it with jolyne and holly and that's#very important. he also is in fact an asshole sometimes. NOT as much as you guys are making him though!#please don't get me started on how much of a dick etc people make kakyoin to veer away from the 'woobified' characterizations of him#in fact i think that's bad if not worse because it CLAIMS to be in character. hes a prim asshole at times but not that angry or dishevelled
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captainofthetidesbreath Ā· 1 month ago
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one of my favorite parts of speculating ahead of the Veilguard is the number of people talking themselves around and around in the loop of "Illario is extremely suspicious and the most obvious choice for who betrayed Lucanis ā†’ However, Illario seems like he genuinely cares for Lucanis and seemed sincerely distraught in The Wake ā†’ I know in my heart it must be Illario: there is no one else with means and motive ā†’ If Illario did it, I understand why given how Caterina has treated him and them, and he has arguably earned a bit of a villain era ā†’ The situation is ultimately caused by Caterina and Crow politics and, again, Caterina ā†’ I don't want it to be Illario because I want he and Lucanis to have a good relationship given all they've suffered together ā†’ However, there is already an existing bitterness between them because of the succession question and in Illario generally because he's seen as lesser ā†’ Illario is the most obvious choice"
#so many of us are like it's gotta be Illario I don't want it to be Illario it makes sense it's Illario#It's like... it's a tragic situation because no matter whatā€”even if it is Illarioā€”the root cause is Caterina and she's already dead.#Speaking for myself. *I* keep doing this loop bc even if it was Illario it's hard with what we know so far for me to hold it against him?#Yes he had different choices. Obviously he could have done anything else. But like it isn't just ambition and spite.#Assuming it is him [points at the loop] it feels like a situation fostered by the way Caterina raised and hurt them both.#What methods do you feel you have when the only thing you know is knives and murder?#How else to feel when the cousin you love like a brother eventually convinces himself he doesn't hate the grandmother who ruined you both?#She is only ā€œCaterinaā€ in your mouths and you are ā€œcousinā€ in his but he is choosing her over you and how else is there to feel?#After all: she's sharpened all your emotions into knives. They're only ever knives.#ANYWAY that got away from me there for a second#I think that's why we're doing this loop. It's gotta be Illario but it being Illario resolves little. It's not a complete catharsis.#It's really the facts of their lives. It's really what Caterina did to them. It's really the yawning pit at the center of House Dellamorte.#Illario Dellamorte#Lucanis Dellamorte#Caterina Dellamorte#Dragon Age: The Veilguard#Dragon Age The Veilguard#Dragon Age#DATV things#DATV spoilers#Veilguard spoilers
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puppetmaster13u Ā· 10 months ago
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Have a Ghost are Dragons Prompt
Danny hadn't seen Vlad's other form. Not in the entire time he'd known him, nor at any point during a fight.
Oh sure, he'd gone into a ghost form, but never anything else, never anything more. Even Box-Ghost changed sometimes, usually to sit contentedly in one of said boxes until a ghost hunter started to shoot at him. Usually Danny's parents.
He'd never seen it until now, his own leg torn through by an unlucky shot and wings too small to fly as he tried to run. Tried to flee from his parents- tried to get out from the lab while green spattered everywhere.
He'd never seen it until they were trying to cut into him, even if they didn't know it was him. That it was their son. He just needed to get to the Portal, just needed to get out where they couldn't reach.
And then Vlad had arrived, almost seeming to stutter and freeze, everything growing cold. And then burst into flame.
Everything was a blur after that. Everything hurt, more than it should have compared to the injuries he'd suffered before. Painful enough that his vision whited out.
The next thing he knew, he was in the Zone. Not in Amity, not anywhere familiar either. He tried to ignore that fact, just as he tried to ignore the ectoplasm green dripping from slowly (too slowly) healing wounds.
"Where are we going?" he found his voice, however small.
Vlad was quiet, an unreadable expression on his reptilian face, head turned away from him. "Somewhere," he eventually answered, not sounding anything else but exhausted. "I'll figure it out."
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salty-an-disco Ā· 3 months ago
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Cuz like. Nightmare didn't choose to become this. She didn't want to be this. But no matter what, no matter how good of an impression she makes, no matter how nice she first appear, you can still say 'No. I don't trust this, actuallyā€“' and from that point on, it doesn't matter what she was before, she might as well never have been anything else before, because all you see now is an untrusting figure who can somehow end the world through unknown methods.
And so, that's what she becomes.
And despite it all, all she wants is for you to understand her.
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kwillow Ā· 9 months ago
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Ambroys and Hyden being rich cads together, chatting about golfing, fine cigars and country clubbing.
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