Let’s dance until our feet hurt more than our hearts
cross posted on ao3!
thanks to @lelilawesell for beta reading :)
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Scar likes to waltz, Grian finds.
He discovers this by accident, on the night after the battle of the red desert.
He’s yellow now and his nerves are too jittery for him to sleep(one slip up, one, and he’s red. Red like Scar with his ruby eyes and too gray pallor). So instead, he opts to spend half the night staring at the ceiling of his room, wide awake. But exhaustion is heavy on his eyelids and the ceiling is starting to get boring. Eventually, his exhaustion lulls him to sleep.
He’s in the bunker(the bunker isn’t there now), there are vague shouts and screams and explosions near him but it’s muffled, almost like he’s underwater–there’s Jimmy, in the fort, an arrow in his neck and blood is pouring out, it’s not stopping–Scar here now and–oh god–he’s dead too, his bright eyes are glassy and empty and there’s no life in them now, not like before. and he’s so limp, he has to get them out of there, somewhere safe–why won’t Scar move.
Grian wakes up sweaty and shaking and tangled in his sheets. He’s just barely holding back the urge to vomit(he doesn’t only because it would be a pain to clean up in the morning). So he lays in bed trying to stifle unshed tears and calm his breathing out of fear of disturbing Scar, who sleeps in the room down the corridor.
He’s still trembling when he hears a faint melody drifting through the halls. It’s a soft song, quiet and unassuming, with a soothing piano and violin duet.
Grian’s heart is still beating a little too fast, and his breathing is a little too quick for comfort. He’s sick of lying in bed and whatever is downstairs has to be better than what’s in his mind right now. He stumbles out of bed on his too-wobbly legs and down the rickety spruce stairs of their home.
He’s on the last step when he spots the source of the music, a jukebox, or more specifically, Scar dancing to the tune of the jukebox’s scratchy music. He’s humming along quietly, not loud enough to overshadow the tune but just enough to compliment it nicely.
His steps are slow and calculated, arms are wrapped delicately around an invisible waist. As Grian watches, Scar spins his partner around and sidesteps the dining table set in the middle of the room all in one smooth motion.
And yet—despite all the grace his body carries—at that moment, he looks so impossibly sad, waltzing alone to the tune of scratchy music.
“Scar?” Grian startles at the sound of his voice, it’s quiet and hoarser than he likes.
The silence after his interruption is just long enough for him to cringe in embarrassment. He didn’t mean to disturb the peace.
There’s a quiet cough from Scar, “Care to dance?”
“I can’t,” Grian mutters, “Don’t know how.”
Instead of offering a reply, Scar pauses his steps and spreads his arms invitingly, holding them out for just a second before Grian makes up his mind and joins him.
He guides Grian’s hands to his shoulders, resting them so lightly that his fingers only ghost over the fabric of his shirt. He moves on to adjusting Grian’s posture, and after a few tweaks, he settles his hands on the curve of Grian’s waist.
Then—they waltz.
It’s almost effortless, the way Scar carries him. They just about glide over the scuffed wooden planks of their living room. His feet fall into place perfectly in time with the lulls and swells of the music. Scar doesn’t even need to tell him where to step, he just knows. Right foot there, tap your left heel, spin twice, let Scar dip you low enough for your hair to brush the floor, back up again, and repeat.
He lets himself get lost in the dance because letting someone else lead is so easy, and Grian is so very tired. The battle is fresh in his mind and Scar’s dead, bleeding body is all he can see every time he closes his eyes. But for now, he can forget that because he’s here, Scar is alive and well and dancing. He’s here, not dead, not like Jimmy, six feet under and buried in an unmarked grave (it was all they had time for). Grian feels his breath catch, and before he could stop himself, a sob rips itself out of his throat.
He’s quiet as he cries, muffles his tears in Scar’s shoulder even though there’s no one to wake. He latches desperately onto Scar’s sleeve, holding onto him like he’s the only anchor he has to keep himself afloat.
Distantly, he’s aware that they’re not dancing anymore. At some point, Scar’s set him down on the floor and he was now curled protectively around him. Scar’s rubbing circles on his back and whispering sweet nothings in his ear even as Grian’s shoulders shake and Scar’s shirt dampens with his tears. Scar feels like home, warm and safe, and nothing like the red life he’s supposed to be.
Grian cries until he’s run out of tears. His breathing is still uneven, but he’s cradled against Scar’s chest, the steady thump-thump of his heartbeat is loud in his ear. He can feel Scar running his fingers through Grian’s hair. It’s comforting, to be touched like that. He hasn’t been held like this in a long long time.
Tomorrow, they’ll wake and attack dogwarts. But tonight, they’ll savor each other’s warmth for a bit longer.
having being anti death penalty as one of my core beliefs is fun because it really makes me realize how even progressive people want soooooo badly for there to be a category of people they can kill. I'm sorry but "group of people okay to kill" does not exist.
KILL YOUR PAST SELF: C!QUACKITY AND ALL OTHERS FOR WHOM IT MAY CONCERN; YOU WILL KNOW WHEN THE TIME HAS COME
Based on "LET YOUR DAD DIE ENERGY DRINK" by Daniel Lavery and Cecilia Corrigan. Check it out! I love it so much! Credit for all the creative commons images used is here.
"Tom has one of the strongest backbones of any creator I've met in the space. To say he has no backbone is just to show that you didn't really know him as a person when you did know him (...) He really idolized Dream and idolized Wilbur, and when he found out how these people were, he cut them off, BECAUSE he has integrity and BECAUSE he has a backbone." - Tubbo (paraphrased)
Sometimes I forget that mcyts have tumblr accounts and then I'll see like pearls blog and I'll get jump scared.
Like what if they know who I am? NO????? Stop observing me you famous individual.
And the fact that some of them don't have known accounts they're just lurkers??? HELLO??? What do you mean that there is a small chance that smallishbeans has seen a drawing I made of him and liked it? What do you mean that joehills could have possibly seen my post at some point in time??? It's extremely unlikely but 0.0000001% is still a percentage.
Thank god mumbo doesn't have a tumblr (as far as I know) because then he would know how crazy I am 😔
New York State Parks official IG posted about an owl they rescued but decided to use only the most wretched photos of this creature, including what EYE think is the best bird photograph ever taken
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
But—there’s a figure on the horizon, distinctly Grian shaped with his stupid puffy sweater. And the coil of anxiety is unspooling in his chest. Of course, he stayed. It’s Grian.
or it goes like this: Scar doesn’t trust Grian.
dusted off on only slightly moldy and spoiled from the closet! thank you robin for the feedback <3
funky little block men @thatgrainfellow - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
