HI @galaxystt SORRY YOU HAD NUMBER LUCK SO BAD but I really like this song I think wilbur soot puts something in his songs that makes it impossible not to listen to them. I had a lot of fun coming up with an idea for this one!! this one's on my d&d character's playlist, so less plays than normal but still a few :3
(632 words)
You know how this story goes, don't you?
You know Grian, and you know how this game starts. Grian stands in a field full of people, each of them friends, associates, known by acquaintance, known amongst each other, and explains the rules. The rules are very simple—you know this too. And Grian knows them just as well.
He doesn't mean to kill Scar. Not the first time, and he means to turn him away the second time, but he can't bring himself to. There's a look somewhere in there, from his friend. His friend? Was he certain, then, that Scar was just his friend? Or was even his friend at all? There was sand in Scar's bed so they cleaned together and when Scar ached too much to continue he slept in Grian's bed. The desert night was sharp and windy on the cliff and a fire was only so big and Scar was warm enough to sit against without an issue. Grian can't have him though. You know this. Scar is a foil. Much like Jimmy is a foil. Much like Ren is a foil. There is a red and a green, and none of them can be together. Does this look like love, to you?
Scar apologizes when he dies. It's like he forgets that he knows how to hit back—like he forgets that he's larger and stronger and that he could push Grian to the ground with much less force than Grian has to muster to even slam himself into Scar's chest. There's a point where tears are indistinguishable from spit and from blood. You know this—you were there. This story is told many times, again and again. This is not the first time this story is told.
What you might have forgotten is the aftermath. The next try. The way Scar lingers in the frame of Grian next time. The way he tries to come close and holds back, as if he's afraid Grian will sink his teeth into his hand when he extends it.
Grian will see this again. You know this.
When Mumbo trusts enough to reach, he too will find sharp teeth. Grian will ask and beg for companionship and clamp down as soon as he can. Again, and again, and again.
Grian sharpens the edge of his sword.
"Are you thinking about something?" Etho asks, sitting next to Grian on the grass. Grian blinks, coming back into stark reality. He hears Etho's jacket shhf in the breeze as he sits, leaning back against his hands. In some ways, he thinks he wishes he was Etho. The blood on Etho's hands is from a wound he refuses to close. The blood on Grian's hands is from a wound he keeps opening. Does that make sense?
Grian pauses sharpening. The whetstone sits on his knee as he examines his sword, how it glitters just a bit.
"A little," he says, shrugging his shoulders. Etho hums quietly.
"Anything you need to talk about?"
Grian shakes his head, sighing.
"I'm worried about the next week," he says. "I'm worried I know what's coming and I can't stop it."
Etho hums again.
"If it makes you feel any better," he says, reaching out to pat Grian's shoulder. "I think everything will be fine. I trust this."
Etho's hand pulls away from his shoulder as Etho rises. Grian is going to sink his teeth into his hand when the time comes. He can feel the urge tickling the back of his neck. All eyes on him. But you know that, don't you? Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Grian still hopes that this will be different. But doesn't it feel so good to play a role that fits? Don't you know no one gets what they came here for?
(spotify wrapped ask meme)
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