#just btw..

[funnythingsidk]

they say there are five stages of grief:

denial,

anger,

bargaining,

depression,

and acceptance.

well, i’d like to add one more:

revenge.

[astrowarr]

“We should get out of here,” Grian whispers, but he is unmoving as his gaze stays pinned to Scar. Something about Scar’s eyes, so impossibly green, keeps him rooted in the crannies of the cobbled concrete under his feet. The glow of the street light over their heads paints a sharp, clear image of Scar and the toothy grin he flashes. The bustle of the city center ever permeates the air; a loud, boisterous laugh here, an angry, affronted shout there. 

But when Scar smiles at him like that, the noise cottons into nothing but a dull thrum in the back of his skull. Scar is smiling. Despite the fact that every bone in Grian’s body should be screaming in alarm, they do not. Instead, they pulse with something warm, something content. Grian is surrounded by enemies the way he always is, but Scar is four art-adorned walls and a worn shingled roof to match. Nothing can reach Grian here, in the safety of Scar's gaze.

There's little to no space between them, and Grian does nothing to change that. Out of the corner of his eye, he tracks the gentle, methodical movement of Scar's curled hand, so slow as he reaches up. The backs of those crooked fingers brush against his face, so light Grian nearly loses it to the night's warmth.

And then, like a moonflower, his hand unfurls; he doesn't quite cradle Grian's face in it, wracked with some sudden hesitance. Scar's palm stays just a hair's breadth away: the ghost of a touch. It drives Grian crazy, how the two of them keep pushing and pulling at all the wrong moments. 

Still, Scar doesn't stop looking at him, drinking in the sight of him like he's some sort of mirage. Like the night will sweep him away if Scar dares to even blink. Grian doesn't complain— thinks, actually, that maybe the comparison is more apt than he wants it to be. Instead, he loses himself in the miles of blue skies and flower beds that explode to color in the home of their prolonged eye contact. Truthfully, he's scared to look away too.

This is it, Grian knows as his heart roars in his chest. This is it.

“Say what you mean,” Scar breathes. 

They stand in the middle of the busiest section of the city but Scar's smile is private. It is Grian's, and Grian's alone. Say what he means? What is there to say? It’s written in the brief, rare silence of Grian’s mind; the swath of stars swirling overhead, infinite in their post apocalyptic glow; the solar-powered streetlight casting its fiery light over Scar, morphing him into something divine and untouchable. There is no word in his lexicon that truly encapsulates the feeling pressing against his ribs now. It isn't safety, or contentment, or peace. It isn't even love. 

He's sick of words. They don't mean anything. They aren't enough. He locks eyes with Scar and leans in, because if Scar isn't going to touch him, he'll just have to take matters into his own hands. Grian buries his fingers in Scar's button up shirt and shuffles him backward, until his back collides with the solid metal of the lamppost. If it hurts, Scar doesn't notice; he's looking at Grian with wide eyes, dumbstruck, lips parted in wonder and maybe something else. He's never been very good at taking what he dishes.

“What I mean is,” Grian murmurs against the buzz of the streetlight as his gaze flicks down to Scar's lips. His wings shift against his will, tucking around Scar, sheltering them from prying eyes. It’s only him and Scar. “You're an idiot if you don't kiss me in the next three seconds.”

For once, Scar’s tongue of gold is heavy and unmoving; he has no quick-witted words to throw in Grian's face. All he has is awe, and some self-imposed duty that has him deferring to Grian without question; he abandons his hesitance in the shadows of this too-public street. Finally, his clammy palm cradles Grian’s cheek, tattered and pitted like the worn leather of Grian's favorite jacket. 

The kiss, though, is soft and a little uncertain, at least until Grian yanks hard at the collar of Scar's shirt. When their noses clash under the urgent force of it, Scar chokes out a shocked laugh before he's responding in kind. And Grian thinks to himself that this is the first time the two of them have ever truly eclipsed, have ever found themselves in the lines of the same page, and he thinks he wants to live here. Forever, maybe, or for as long as the universe allows.

[jerrydevine]

supernatural -> riverdale -> shadowhunters -> mortal instruments books -> heartstopper -> merlin