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bloop-im-a-frog-now · 1 year

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If The Gods Were Kind — pizza

Second hurt/comfort story! I loved writing this one. I’m a bit scared I wrote the bad day like, too stereotypical. I’ve had bad mental health days, but just health wise? Not really. So, hopefully, I didn’t mess up too badly. But like I said, I really liked writing this scene, it’s filled with hurt but soooo much domestic fluff, like, just them <333

Master Post

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Content warnings: Panic attack, meltdown, internalized ableism, ableist language. The beginning is rough, pls stay safe <3

Scar bolted out of bed, hyperventilating. He clutched the blankets, closed his eyes and tried to hold back tears. He wondered if that ever worked for anyone, holding back tears that were about to spill any second now. He swallowed a sob and gasped a breath. His eyes glanced to the bed on the other side of the room. Wings ruffled against the sheets and a small noise came out from them, but they stopped after a couple of milliseconds.

His hand trembled as he pulled the covers away from his boiling body, trying desperately to put the dream in the back of his mind. Pizza wasn’t dead, Etho confirmed it, Tango even pointed out the sign on the little shack Scar built for her. He ignored the amount of strength he used to get rid of the blankets, and tossed his legs at the edge of the bed, taking deeper breaths, just to calm himself, to remind himself everything was fine, it was just a dream, get a grip on yourself .

His mind didn’t register the ache and the heaviness in his hips and calves when his feet met the ground. He was too busy trying to stay silent, trying to make the horrible nightmare go away, to really register his body was trembling and was struggling to even hold him up tight. He carded a hand through his messy hair (was it getting longer?) and took one deep breath before getting up. His body immediately slumped back onto the bed. He groaned, rubbing his hands against his face and pulling his hair. Was now really a good time?

His eyes searched for his crutches, his cane, anything to distract him from his dream and from his stubborn body, as even moving his neck took too much energy. He rolled his shoulders back, but it only aggravated the ache. When he realized that not only hadn't he fallen asleep in the bedroom but in the kitchen, his cane was probably also there. It’s not a far walk, but he couldn’t remember where he last put his crutches. Why weren’t they in this room?

He wiggled his toes, hoping his legs could support his weight until he reached the kitchen. His mind started to look for places he could hold himself to, while wondering how he wound up in his bed if he fell asleep in the kitchen. Was it Grian? Grian was by no means an early bird, and Scar would much rather he slept the most out of the two of them, but was he strong enough to carry Scar all the way to their bedroom? He had to remind himself, as he used the last energy in his arms to clench the bedpost, that the kitchen wasn’t really that far. It gave him hope he could make it without waking Grian up.

The house was boiling when he finally arrived in the kitchen and sat on a chair. He didn’t have anything in his inventory, he doubted he could make his body move once more to get the food in their storage system, and he was so glad he had foregone the armor yesterday. He was overheating, he might need some water, but he just let himself feel the cold furniture coarse with sand.

His eyes caught his cane and his crutches side by side close to the ladder, and he let out a sigh of relief. Grian just placed them together, in an obvious spot. Scar wished he had put them to his bedside, but the last time his body gave him trouble, it was eighteen days ago.

After settling on Monopoly Mountain, Scar could barely walk, let alone do other tasks that were needed to do that day. Grian had simply forced him to sit on a chair and brought Pizza up the mountain, so Scar could do something with his hands.

His throat clogged at the thought of Pizza, petting her fuzzy fur, already infested by sand and dirt, feeding her carrots they had stolen from the village, calling her a good girl, and adjusting her headband and her saddle. He missed Pizza. He missed her so much, she didn’t deserve all the hate and the teasing the others inflicted upon her. He just wanted his llama back. His mind wandered back to his nightmare, and he pulled his hair to stop thinking about it, it was only a dream, she didn’t die .

A sob escaped his mouth and he let his head fall on the table. His shoulder blades and hips complained, a gnawing feeling between them and on his waist. He really didn’t know how he should sit. Should he slouch? Should he roll his shoulders back and sit up straight? Maybe he needed food and water. Should he yell at Grian to wake him up? No, his companion needed sleep, who knew at what time he went to bed.

“Scar?” A rough voice called.

Scar froze. Did he wake up Grian? He turned his head slightly to the entrance of the kitchen, not too much so that it required all of his lasting energy, but enough to see one macaw wing stretching out, looking fluffier than the last time he saw it. Grian sat down and inspected him, arms crossed against the table. Scar barely moved.

“What are you doing sitting here, looking into nothingness?” Grian’s face lightened up a bit, slightly amused.

Now that Scar thought about it, it was kind of silly sitting here, doing nothing. But he did not appreciate the lighthearted remark when he was hungry, frustrated, thirsty, boiling, and cursing at his body for making his life ten times more complicated.

He simply sighed in reply, looking at the table instead of those lightning green irises. Grian hummed and stood up.

“You hungry?”

Scar hummed. He wasn’t sure if he simply didn’t have the energy to form words or if the morning dryness in his throat clogged the words in it. He did cry, it might’ve contributed. He heard Grian rummaging in their food barrel.

“What do you want?”

Scar did not reply. He was simply hungry. He would eat anything at this point. He was mostly thinking how to relieve this ache, this soreness in his muscles. A piercing pain traveled through them, it hurt and he did not want to deal with that, did not want to think about it.

“I’m making applesauce, the apples are getting bad.”

Grian showed him the apples, asking him if he was actually holding the fruit, and Scar nodded. Grian squinted his eyes as he concentrated on making them food. Scar focused on the noises Grian made around the kitchen. The pots and pans clanging together, the harsh chopping noise, the swish sound the knife made against the peel, the bubbles of the boiling water, anything to distract him from the muscles spasms and the weight on his shoulder, the tension around his neck.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, listening, picking at his nails, while Grian cooked. His head perked up when the bowl clanked against the table. Grian sat down and started eating, eyeing Scar. Scar tried to pick up the spoon, he really did. His upper arm didn’t stop spasming, he couldn’t control his movement, so he kept his arm close to his side, letting it pass. He looked at the applesauce and just wished his body could fulfill its own needs without throwing a fit.

Grian stood up, placed his chair next to Scar’s, and sat down with a big thunk , making Scar jump in surprise. Grian took his bowl and almost shoved the spoon in his mouth. He moved back, a grunt bubbling in his throat and his muscles whining at the sudden movement. Grian rolled his eyes and sighed.

“Scar, you need help and I am offering said help.”

Scar glared at the spoon in Grian’s hand, wishing all the deadly curses at it. Grian huffed, frustrated.

“Sometimes you just need a break and there’s nothing wrong with that. Look, nobody is gonna come bother us if you don’t want to see people. Heck, I’m sure if I explained the situation to everyone, they would totally understand.” Grian’s shoulders slumped, and Scar wondered if that’s how puppy eyes looked. “Please, Scar?”

Scar hesitated. He was hungry, but he really didn’t want Grian to actually be his servant. It was a fun concept, at first. He really hoped Grian was doing this out of the goodness of his heart. He cleared his throat.

“Not part of the debt,” he murmured, making sure to look deep into those electric green eyes, even if they intimidated him.

Grian blinked at him owlishly. “Of course not!” His accent was more pronounced than usual. “You’re not well, let me help.”

Scar shifted his gaze to the bowl and nodded. Grian fed him, making sure he wouldn’t choke on the applesauce. It was quite good for smashed boiled apples. He could taste some of the sugarcane they started cultivating close to the edge of the roof of the mountain. It sweetened the aftertaste of the acidic flavor the apples left. Scar was quite impressed, and it did fill a hole in his stomach, even giving him a bit more energy.

After being satiated, Grian moved behind Scar, rolled up the sleeves of his red sweater and dug his thumbs on Scar’s lower neck. Scar winced and inhaled through his teeth, making Grian stutter in his movements.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

The movement became gentler, rolling his thumbs against the tense part of Scar’s neck. It was quite relaxing, but a lingering pain made the gesture quite uncomfortable, as if someone was applying pressure to a newly formed wound. Scar didn’t complain though, he appreciated the physical touch and was glad to know Grian became comfortable with him enough to touch him like this. He hummed in pleasure when Grian’s thumbs massaged his shoulders and traveled against his biceps, feeling the tension loosen up. Grian let out a chuckle.

“Jeez, Scar, are you stressed or something?”

Scar tensed, immediately thinking of his nightmare. The thumbs stopped circling his deltoid, and Grian’s long nose appeared in his peripheral vision.

“What are you worried about?”

Scar sighed and looked up at the ceiling. Grian’s right hand left his shoulder while his left hand rounded the other before squeezing it reassuringly. His gaze landed on wide bright emerald eyes, on a slightly freckled nose that almost looked like a beak without looking crooked, on rosy cheeks, on dirty blond curls that frame a concerned face. Scar never realized how majestic Grian looked.

“Scar?” Grian inquired.

Scar put his hand on the one holding his shoulder, to touch where he was permitted to.

“Pizza,” he let out. Grian quirked an eyebrow. “Had a nightmare about her dying,” he confessed, closing his eyes and rubbing his thumb against Grian’s knuckles.

“Oh, Scar.” A warmed hand wormed itself close to the base of his hair. He shuddered.

“I miss her, G.”

“I know.” The hand nested itself in his hair, bringing his head to Grian’s shoulder. He stuttered a breath.

“Why did they take her away? She didn’t do anything, she didn’t deserve that.”

Scar let out a sob, his body slack from easing tension out with his crying. Grian shushed him, playing with his hair, scrubbing his scalp. It felt amazing, even if the tension in his neck was back. He grabbed the hand that was playing with his hair, stood straighter on his seat, and brought the hand closer to his chest, letting his other hand fall and grasp Grian’s thigh. Grian’s hand was now slowly rubbing circles, and Scar couldn’t be more relieved to receive physical touch.

Grian shushed him again, whispering “I know ” over and over, reassuring Scar that Pizza was alive, that she probably got lost. He took his hand out of Scar’s grasp and brought it to his cheek, wiping the tears away as they came and tracing his scar that jagged his cheekbone. He leaned in closer and Scar could smell the faint applesauce in his breath.

“You’re so strong, Scar,” Grian murmured, landing his forehead against Scar’s. “I’m so proud of you.” Scar did a whole body shiver at the praise, not realizing his cheeks got warmer with the already warm room. Jade eyes locked on his sunflower’s ones, barely an inch between their faces. “Can I kiss you?”

It was so quiet, but it echoed in Scar’s ears. He slowly nodded, not knowing what to expect. Grian wiped dry his cheeks and leaned his lips slowly against Scar’s. When their lips met, Scar wasn’t sure how to respond, what he was supposed to do. Grian’s lips were warm, chapped by the dryness of the desert, and were pressing harder. In order to not lose balance, Scar pushed back and wondered what was the purpose of this action.

Grian pulled back and surveyed Scar’s face. He smiled, placed his arms around Scar’s neck, and hugged him, face buried in the crook of his neck. Scar was taken by surprise and placed one hand on Grian’s waist, while the other rested on his shoulder blade, not sure how far or how close his hand should be to the wings.

“We’ll find her, Scar. We’ll find her and prove to everyone to never mess with us, and that’s a promise.”

Scar sniffed and let out a choke sob, circling his arms around Grian’s waist and muffling his cries of joy in Grian’s sweater. Grian petted his hair once more and they stayed there in a long silence, sometimes interrupted by Scar’s sniffles and Grian’s reassurance and praise.

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