#lot rp starter

[thestoriesincoffeestains]

Heroics [Sara Lance]

Sara smiled and leaned forward, a knowing spark in her eyes. They had every reason to doubt themselves, every reason to feel fear, but she wouldn’t let that stop them. “So we’ll keep fighting,” she said. “And we’ll win. That’s what heroes do, right?”

[mcflymemes]

PRIDE AND PREJUDICE (2005) PROMPTS *  assorted dialogue from the film, adjust as necessary

you must know... surely, you must know it was all for you.

you are too generous to trifle with me.

if your feelings are still what they were last april, tell me so at once.

my affections and wishes have not changed, but one word from you will silence me forever.

you have bewitched me, body and soul, and i love... i love you.

i never wish to be parted from you from this day on.

i have struggled in vein and i can bear it no longer.

these past months have been a torment.

i came to [location name] with the single object of seeing you. i had to see you.

are you too proud, [name]? and would you consider pride a fault or a virtue?

we're doing our best to find a fault in you.

i have fought against my better judgement, my family's expectations, the inferiority of your birth by rank and circumstance.

you really do love him, don't you?

please, do be seated.

this is a charming house.

all these things i am willing to put aside and ask you to end my agony.

how are you this evening, my dear?

may i have the next dance, [name]?

my brother gave it to me. he shouldn't have.

i wish you would not call me "my dear."

what endearments am i allowed?

what should i call you when i am cross?

i cannot believe that anyone can deserve you... but it appears i am overruled.

are you out of your senses? i thought you hated the man.

have you no objection other than your belief in my indifference?

i do like him. i love him.

only the deepest love will persuade me into matrimony, which is why i will end up an old maid.

i love you. most ardently.

please do me the honor of accepting my hand.

i appreciate the struggle you have been through, and i am very sorry to have caused you pain.

believe me, it was unconsciously done.

are you... laughing at me?

i wonder who first discovered the power of poetry in driving away love?

i thought that poetry was the food of love.

what do you recommend to encourage affection?

i'm very fond of walking.

i do not have the talent of conversing easily with people i have never met before.

perhaps you should take your aunt's advice and practice?

so this is your opinion of me. thank you for explaining it so fully.

those are the words of a gentleman.

from the first moment i met you, your arrogance and conceit, your selfish disdain for the feelings of others made me realize that you were the last man in the world i could ever be prevailed upon to marry.

forgive me for taking up so much of your time.

maybe it's that i find it hard to forgive the follies and vices of others, or their offenses against me.

my good opinion, once lost, is lost forever.

i cannot tease you about that. what a shame, for i dearly love to laugh.

i will not and i certainly never shall.

you have insulted me in every possible way, and can now have nothing further to say.

i must ask you to leave immediately.

i have never been thus treated in my entire life.

i can admire you much better from here.

do you talk, as a rule, while dancing?

i prefer to be unsociable and taciturn.

i dare say you will find him amiable.

it would be most inconvenient since i have sworn to loathe him for all eternity.

no one would suspect your manners to be rehearsed.

i've come to tell you the news.

not all of us can afford to be romantic.

i've been so blind.

they are far too easy to judge.

i was wrong. i was entirely wrong about him.

i am well aquainted with you, [name], to know that i cannot alarm you, even should i wish it.

your skills in the art of matchmaking are positively occult.

i've never seen so many pretty girls in my life!

i do not deny it.

has the pig escaped again?

we are all fools in love.

[tumkink]

loosely based on this. this is a little about my son. open to (f/nb) 19+, gradeigh is like 24, so there's that.

You would think gradeigh lived to disappoint his parents at this point. All he ever did was cause a scene or encourage others to do it. He refused to take over his father’s company, despite them paying for his degree, he even graduated with honors and yet, no employment. He was a smart guy, but he liked to think of himself as too smart for the system overall. He liked being the center of attention, telling the truth to the masses. He had been an influencer since he was in diapers and he thought that he might as well make use of his soapbox. That’s how he had met her, after all. He was protesting in front of a show she was performing in on Broadway. He hadn’t been protesting the show, but he knew there would be a lot of press and took the time to strike. He thought himself quite the romantic, sending her a wink as security pulled him away at the stage door. He slid into her DMs a few hours later, once his father got him released from the clink. He wasn’t surprised when she responded, taking him up on his offer to go out sometime. It had been about a week since then, spending all the time they could together outside her busy schedule. Like now, he had told her how badly he needed to see her, be able to feed her some sushi and hear her laugh. He was a desperate man in love, but never ashamed. “I’ve never seen anyone more beautiful.” He confessed, leaving in to plant a few more kisses all over her face between feeding her. They were both covered in the lipstick she had decided to where that night by now, not that he minded. The press had already gotten so many pictures of them together this week, he didn’t care what they saw. Someone had tipped them off that they were sharing a meal together here as well, somehow beating them.

[angeart]

hhau mimic arc rambles - part IV: the inbetween (hot spring bath)

(~5,5 k words) // other parts & au masterpost here

-- a piece of warmth in a cold wasteland (a piece of hope in a nightmare) --

It takes some time, to slowly patch up the wounds on their souls and bury the incessant fears. Scar and Grian have each other, and they aren’t letting go. Not this time. Not again. Never. (Unless we get our hands on this au which, oh, we have. Funny thing—)

It’s now the midst of winter, and they huddle from shelter to shelter, clothes wet from snow, progress slow as they have to constantly try and cover their marks. The food is scarce, and they’re using every trick Juni taught them in late autumn to stay safe and not starve. (The thought feels bittersweet, but they don’t linger on it.)

And one day, the sun disappears. [This will be the eclipse bonus ramble, dw about it rn <3]

In the aftermath, they’re both feeling destabilised and unsafe. Grian in particular grows to feel like even more of a liability, becoming quiet and withdrawn. Terrified Scar’d leave him, despite feeling like maybe it'd be for the best if he did. (Best for Scar, that is.)

Scar does his best to divert Grian’s attention from bleak thoughts. He talks about hope, and possibilities, and—most importantly—future. He remembers that one time [in a bonus fic we never finished kjxnb bUT ONE DAY] when Grian mentioned wanting a treehouse. Wanting a permanent place. Somewhere to stretch his wings. Somewhere to be.

He tells him, softly, that come spring, once the trees are less barren, they can try building one. They will do it! Scar will build as many as it takes. Each better than the last!

And one day, they’ll get far enough. And they’ll build one that’ll last. And they’ll be able to stretch their wings, free.

Grian isn’t sure how much he believes that. But he wants to. He wants to.

They wander through the lands, seemingly directionless. The winter is harsh. The violet is bright against the whiteness of the snow and the dark brown of the bare trees. Still, with stolen cloaks, they do their best with the circumstances, never feeling warm or relaxed.

That is, until they stumble upon something rare.

They find a cave that is warm and, curious and seeking shelter, they go in. 

Inside, they find a large cavern with the ceiling caved in, sunlight pooling from the hole down onto a steaming surface of… a hot spring.

Scar gets immensely excited and, without hesitating, dives right in. The warmth is blissful, melting away all the aches and coaxing frost out of his bones. It’s the best thing he’s felt in a long time.

“I’m never getting out of here. You’re gonna have to drag me out. I am willingly turning myself into a raisin.”

Grian, unlike Scar, hesitates. His wings are still dirtied and full of debris, never preened, never touched. Kept dishevelled and dull to try to hide their desirable sheen. Flaring up with discomfort and aches, muscles tense and never stretched, in an attempt to turn them into something that’d be less of a beacon.

Getting them wet would mean washing off months of that effort. (Months of held-in suffering.)

And Grian wants to sink under the water and feel its warmth, relax into it just like Scar does, but he can’t. He can’t get through that mental block. So he just crouches on the side, sad and torn and wistful.

Scar tries to coax him in by assuring Grian they have enough time to dry them (he doesn’t use the word wings). But drying them isn’t the problem. The problem is making them bright again.

Scar doesn’t quite understand what is holding Grian back, but he tries to offer him ways to sidestep it without tacking a name to it. He holds out his hands and opts for goofiness, asking if Grian is shy, promising he’ll close his eyes, as if it was a simple act of undressing that was the problem. He’s trying to offer a simpler anxiety to latch onto, one more easily dealt with.

And despite the anxiety, Grian laughs a little at his antics. It’s barely a laugh, strained around the edges, but the fondness rings so clear through it.

But Scar’s suggestion doesn’t solve Grian’s problem, and Grian is wholly unwilling to name it and put attention to it—to the hopeless way he feels about the weight settled on his back. 

Scar is stubborn and determined, trying to read Grian without pushing too much. He wades to a more shallow part of the pool and softly—and still so very lightheartedly—points out that Grian could take a dip there, feel the warmth, “And only half of you gets turned to raisins.” Endlessly aware of what they’re not saying, words tucked between the lines: Your wings don’t have to get wet.

 Grian eyes the side Scar pointed out with enough suspicion, as if he expected the ground there to be playing a trick on him, in fact not solid at all. Slowly, he uncurls and shuffles over to peer at it, taut yet curious, unsure yet hopeful.

It’s timid, at first. The undressing, the reach for water. But as soon as his skin meets the warmth, yearning shoots through him and he can’t stop himself.

The water splashes in his rush to get in, something that delights Scar immeasurably.

And it’s quickly clear the water is only going to incite him to give in further, setting alight a craving for more. To keep sinking, to submerge all of his body, to melt against its warmth and let it make him stop aching. 

Unable to resist but still unwilling to get his wings wet, he ends up opting to slump himself over Scar’s shoulders, letting most of him dip into the enciting warmth of the water.  

The effect is instant: the warm water eases the hidden pains and tension right off, making Grian huff in relief as his hold on Scar turns lax, trusting Scar to keep him safe. It’s only Grian’s back that keeps some semblance of tension, wings held up above the water line even as the rest of him helplessly melts into it.

And Scar has to ask. Inevitably, the issue cannot be skirted around anymore. “Why don’t you want them wet…?”

Grian’s breath hitches, and just like that, all the tension and anxiety is back. Just like that, he’s pushing away, back upright into the shallow water, and then further, splashing as he goes, until he’s perched at the edge of the pool, safely out of its depths.

Arms wrapped around himself and shivering, Grian tries to breathe through the reminder of everything that’s wrong, everything that he doesn’t want fixed—can’t have fixed—attention pinned to his feathers that he reslots against his spine, dry and as small as possible. 

But there's no sidestepping this anymore.

It’s only when he admits, words miserable and broken, muffled into his palms and edging a sob, that washing the wings would turn them into more of a beacon, that Scar truly starts to understand this.

It was always only implied and never spoken—the topic of feathers always carefully avoided to sidestep the panic lurking just beneath those words—now broken and brought up to the surface for the first time since Grian's freak out on that very first day so long ago. 

It slots together in Scar’s mind now: It’s not just trauma and fear keeping Grian from allowing anyone (including himself) to touch his wings; it’s his unwillingness to brighten what he believes is to be a spotlight that’s made a home on his back. It explains weeks and weeks of unpreened, tucked back wings hidden uncomfortably under the cloak Scar gave him the day they found each other. What Scar thought was a deep-rooted anxiety born from the time they spent apart actually goes much, much deeper. The fear is a constant in Grian’s mind.

Scar pauses, taking the new pieces to the puzzle he’s been offered and pressing them into place, considering the proper approach. “Grian,” he tries again, voice soft. “One little soak isn’t going to make a difference.” (He wishes it would. He wishes Grian would wash them out properly, let them shine like they did before. He’d fight off the whole server if he had to in order to see that once more.) 

Something desperate in Grian is latching onto Scar’s words. He’s begging himself to listen, to give in, to let go, to succumb. He sniffles, dropping his hands a little bit, looking over at Scar, silent plea written into his eyes. Please. Please please please. 

He wants Scar to win him over. To convince him. To yank this tight knot of anxiety and let him breathe.

With a sigh, Scar continues. “We don’t have to wash them, just…” He hates going along with any part of this, but he’s not about to change Grian’s mind so easily. He has to bargain. “... One hour. One hour where you don’t worry so dang much. Just relax, forget everything else. Let me—” He doubts his word choice for a moment, but commits to it, considering them appropriate. “Let me watch your back.”

There’s a pause. And then, from his curled-up position, Grian asks: “One hour?” It’s small, a word just shy of crumbling to dust. He wants this. He needs this. He needs Scar to sway him here. But he can’t just give in. So he asks for more. He asks Scar to promise that this won’t cause anything bad. 

"Nothing bad," Scar assures immediately, even if he doesn't truly have the power to promise that. He'll make it true. He's determined to. "I'll make sure of it. And you just relax."

The words bounce around in Grian’s head.

Nothing bad. I’ll make sure of it.

He sniffles, wrangling the ever-present constraints of anxiety, and then, ever so slowly, he uncurls. His hands drop from his face and his glistening eyes find Scar’s, locking onto them as if Scar was his life raft. “Okay.” 

He isn’t sure he knows how to relax, not where his wings are concerned, but he’s been tense and scared for so long, he’s so tired, so greedy for the idea of it. And if Scar can somehow will it into existence, Grian will do his best to give himself over to him.

It’s slow. Every move hesitant and unsure, every Scar’s word soft and reassuring. He tells Grian it’s just the two of them here. He leads him, step by timid step.

Grian ends up draped over him again, arms wrapped around Scar's shoulders, trying to stifle his fears into his hold of him as they tentatively make progress into the warmth that begs Grian to surrender completely.

Grian’s coherency is slipping from his grasp as the warm water and the security of Scar’s presence take over. He hasn’t allowed himself to relax in so impossibly long, only ever forced by the circumstances. (Feeling faint, being wounded, dizziness pulling him to his knees—) This is different. This is so very different, and he finds himself simultaneously nuzzling against Scar and entirely letting go, his grip growing weak as Scar holds him with his back above water.

Grian’s wings falter and droop the littlest bit. He barely notices it. They’re hovering so, so very close above the waterline.

He hums, and they dip further, and—

He twitches, startled at the sensation of water against his feathers. Running on nothing but well-trained instinct, his wings flap, frantically splashing water.

Scar pulls Grian a little closer, keeping his hands firm and tight so he doesn’t drop him altogether. “Hey, hey, hey it’s okay. I’ve still got you.” He slides one leg out a little wider to maintain balance, continuing to mumble soft shushes. “The water won’t hurt ya, G.”

Grian pulls himself tight against Scar, his wing movements calming somewhat at Scar’s reassurance. They’re left treacherously hovering over the water again, unsure, as Grian buries his face in Scar’s neck, eyes tightly shut. He’s tense again, back at square one, and even the warmth of the water isn’t working enough to lull him out of it.

But Scar says the water won’t hurt him.

He knows that, right? He’s— The water won’t hurt him, it’s just the consequences he’s meant to be afraid of. But Scar already promised those will be okay.

Grian knows Scar doesn’t have the power to promise that.

Still, he tries to wrangle both the rational and irrational parts of his fear.

He breathes heavily, pressed close to Scar, and he whimpers a quiet, very unbrave sounding word: “Down?”

“Yeah?” Scar asks, a little unsure. “Do you— want me to let you down?” He doesn’t move his hands yet.

Feeling the steadiness of Scar's hands, Grian is sure that there won't be anything unexpected; not unless he agrees, nods, gives consent. But his head is so messy, not knowing how to communicate, and he's not sure he won't misstep.

"The wings?" Grian asks, and it's not much more coherent than the original question.

“The—“ Scar tuts his tongue, remembering to take the time to think. He glances over at Grian’s wings, something he very purposely tries not to do typically, but with Grian’s head tucked against his collarbone, he looks them over, curious. “Yeah, yes— you can let them down, G.” A small reassuring press of his fingertips. “Really.”

Grian takes a breath at the encouragement; it's damp and hot, water and scar's skin heating him up, both working on stealing all the tension out of him.

Gingerly and with a tinge of fearfullness, grian relents.

He lets his wings drop.

Tentatively, the feathers meet water. Calmer, this time. Expecting it. 

Grian’s hold on Scar doesn't exactly tense up, but his fingers curl, feebly looking for a tidbit of purchase, something to hold onto as his wings spread and sprawl, rippling the water, floating atop it, and— And it's so warm and it feels so good to stretch them, to let them be without force and without pressure and—

There's a half-sob, something small and all too relaxed and relieved, as looseness floods through Grian. His fingers uncurl and he sags further against Scar, whimpering quietly without any real distress. 

Scar can’t help the bright, genuine grin that spreads across his face at this success, even despite the small sobbing sounds—because he knows, he knows it’s from overwhelming relief. He had half a mind to cry when he first stepped foot in the water, so he can only imagine how Grian feels right now. “Shhh, good, good,” Scar coos, pressing a soft kiss into Grian’s hair. “Still got you.”

Grian makes a jumble of incoherent sounds at Scar's praise, melting further into the warmth. His eyes are closed and his muscles loosen bit by bit, aches stolen from them. He's not working to support any of his weight anymore, surrendering it all to Scar and to the water. He doesn't even register his wings fully; they float, and it makes them feel numb and nonexistent in the best of ways. 

Loose feathers and dirt drift across the surface, the spot near Grian growing murkier.

“Nice, isn’t it?” Scar whispers, not wanting to disturb Grian’s moment of bliss here. He eyes the spot where the water darkens from the dirt and debris coming free from Grian’s wings, trying not to let it affect his mood, tug at his heart. 

He wishes he could rake his fingers through the feathers and dislodge all the uncomfortable things that poke and prod at Grian on a daily basis. We wants to hold him closer and take care of him, wash all the troubles away, but—

Baby steps, he reminds himself. 

Grian's mind is hazy, all of him melting into the warmth bit by bit. (He doesn't remember the last time he was warm.) He feels engulfed and cradled, held and supported, and it makes him want to drift off. He's melting further into it, eyes closed and mind pleasantly dazed. He thinks he might just stay here forever. (The insides of his wings are warm warm warm; the water gently bobs them, the muscles loosening after months of being stiff and taut.)

It reminds Grian of what it feels like to be comfortable. (He isn't sure he can quite grasp it; the feeling seems too big for his comprehension.) He lets out a long, reverberating hum, almost purr-like, sinking further into the water. His eyes are still closed. He's secure in the knowledge that Scar's still here, he's got him. everything is okay.

Everything is more than okay.

"'m gonna live like a raisin," he says as a vague threat, or a promise, or— or something. Something mildly delirious. He's never getting out of this lake. It's too nice. He's going to stay here and submerge himself in bliss and escapism.

“Yes!” Scar croaks out amidst some airy laughter. “Join me in the raisin life, Grian!” 

Scar's laughter echoes around Grian, setting bright, joyful sparks behind grian's ribcage. He could listen to that sound forever.

While keeping his arms in place, supporting Grian so that he doesn’t sink entirely, Scar ducks his face back underwater and blows some bubbles, loving the feeling of having semi-clean skin for the first time in far too long.

Grian hears the bubbles. Curiosity gets him to crack one eye open, only to see it's just Scar being silly. Unbridled, a laughter spills from him and— He's laughed before, sure. Here and there, they’ve had their moments. But never before has his laughter felt so light in this world. Unburdened.

Scar’s ears flick attentively and he pokes his head back out to share a grin— practically beaming at Grian due to the delightful sound. It’s a genuine Grian giggle and Scar is loving it. It rings like victory, dancing across the air. Scar feels like he’s won a tiny battle. (And it’s a much-needed win at that.) 

“Seriously,” Scar says, smile still pressing at the edges of his cheeks. “Dunk your head in— it feels amazing.”

The idea doesn't seem as daunting as before. Encouraged by Scar's delighted grin, Grian can't help but wish to oblige.

His wings flutter a little, and then he's tilting himself, taking a breath. No more warning is given before he fully submerges his head.

The water rushes around him, muffling the world instantly. It's warm all around him.

Just like Scar before, Grian also brings his arms to rub at his hair, reveling in the feeling until he needs to come up for air. He pushes his now-wet hair out of his face and blinks, before he settles with twinkling eyes set on scar, a wild grin on his lips. "I did it!" And he finds that he wants to do it again.

“Isn’t our hair disgusting?” Scar says, laughing and smiling like that’s somehow a good thing. 

"It’s sooo gross," Grian agrees with a laugh. He drifts closer, reaching out to run his fingers into Scar's wet hair and rub at his scalp, wanting him to feel nice.

Scar makes an approving, happy hum and leans into the touch. “And you’d touch the gross hair? Wow, you must like me or something. How embarrassing,” Scar croons, grinning with all his teeth as he pesters Grian.

A growling noise rolls out of grian, but it sounds wrong, soft and unthreatening. He grins right back, and he moves closer, gaze flicking to Scar's lips. "Yeah. I guess I do like you. Or something." And then he presses on Scar, pouncing to use his own weight to push Scar under water. "But you should really wash them some more," he notes playfully with a laugh.

Scar barks out a half-yelp half-laugh as he’s submerged, bubbles rising to the surface until the noise escapes the watery prison when he comes back up. ”Wow,” Scar grumbles, absolutely no bite to his bark. “And here I was being so nice.”

Completely unphased by Scar's grumble, Grian cackles. And then he leans forward, hands settling on the sides of Scar's jaw as both of them drip water. 

Grian's eyes close and he kisses Scar.

“Oh,” Scar’s mouth barely forms the words before he’s pressing closer, greedily kissing back. There’s a bit of whiplash from going from being dunked under to being kissed, but it’s a pleasant sort of ride, the kind of dizzying back and forth he would have always expected from Grian. Part of the reason he was always so drawn in.

Bouncing lightly in the water, Grian breaks the kiss only to press a laugh against the corner of Scar's mouth. He's holding onto him, fingers finding their way back into Scar's wet hair. His feathers trail ripples behind him. "Do you want to help me wash my hair?" he ends up asking, sounding so very hopeful and impulsive, eyes alight as he peers up to meet Scar's gaze.

“Yes!” Scar exclaims, instant. Because he really does want to. 

Grian's expression brightens and softens simultaneously at Scar's quick agreement. Eager excitement settles abuzz under his skin, oddly fitting alongside the newfound looseness of his muscles. 

Scar removes one of his supporting hands first, testing if Grian isn’t still melting into the water too much to handle it without them.

Grian shifts to readjust, to carry his own weight and stay floating. He gives Scar a small nod. "Floating raisin-in-training," he reassures, wildness tipping into an almost timid grin.

Scar snickers, highly amused by the continued bit. "I'm very impressed with the raisin's progress," he teases as he removes his other hand, allowing Grian to wade freely. "I wish we had soap. I still don't understand how to make soap." It's a mournful statement, but Scar manages to keep his tone light, as if it's a joke and not a genuine problem. He opens both palms and wiggles his fingers in a goofy invitation, letting Grian lead the way on how he wants to do this.

Grian doesn't, in fact, know how to do this. He just knows he wants Scar's fingers rub at his scalp and brush through his hair and he wants it all to be nice and good. (He wonders if his hair will be fluffy when it dries. Fluffy hair and somewhat clean skin. A luxury.) (He wonders how will Scar look at him, then.) "Should I... turn my back to you?" he wonders.

But turning his back carries many things with it. (Namely his wings.)

Scar’s eyes flick to the sprawled out feathers—a lightning-fast glance, trying not to be noticed—before he hums in thought. He doesn’t want Grian to have to reel his wings back in. He likes that Grian is finally relaxing them like this, having them splayed out without care. 

So instead, he tries to say that this is good. That he likes facing Grian and looking at him. He steals a kiss, quick and gentle, drawing Grian’s attention away from any implications turning around might have.

Grian lets Scar's affection easily distract him; for once, he's not hyper-aware and hyper-vigilant about his wings, and so the warning thought dissipates before it even has a chance to form properly, everything in him instead paying attention to Scar's adoration and the promise of getting his hair washed. He giggles quietly into the kiss at Scar's exclamations. "Alright. All yours." 

Scar’s heart swells at all yours, the words satisfying something small yet primal deep inside his chest. 

But as it turns out, Grian floating in the water on his belly really isn’t a position suitable for hair washing. They fumble, Scar trying to throw out some pointless, dead-end suggestions, staying lighthearted even as it’s becoming clear that there’s no way around this.

Grian hums, glancing at his wings—the top feathers are still dry, as his wings float the inner-side down. The seeping warmth from the water keeps them relaxed and feeling good, and Grian doesn't even realise he's considering them without the usually instant flare up of anxiety.

"Let me try something," he murmurs, an edge of experimental pensiveness to his tone. He pushes himself away from Scar, using him solely for momentum, so he wouldn't have to wade to get more space. He spins, water rippling, feathers gliding across it.

He doesn't make enough space. His primaries almost brush against Scar.

Scar flinches back to avoid the wings, shocked by the casual nature in which Grian is currently treating them. He’s relieved, certainly, but slightly nervous as well. “You better not be trying to escape, you have a good fifty-some minutes of relaxation left, mister.”

Grian glances over his shoulder, chuckling at him, but doesn't deign to answer. He's climbing to the shallower part again; his wings are heavy, dragging him down as he fights them and flaps them around, sending droplets through the air. He curls them, bringing them forward, and with a squinted focus, slowly lowers them back down.

The water turns murky again in an instant, as the backs of grian's wings hit water. He almost slips off the perch of the platform as a wave of weakness rushes through him at how good the warm water feels on those spots. His eyes flutter shut without him intending for it, and a groan leaves his throat.

And then he's slipping off the edge back into the depths, this time purposefully. his wings are spread around him, messy and wet and wide, and—

He semi-floats on his back, his hair now dipped in water. It feels so insanely relaxing—a word he was forgetting even exists; he lets out a dazed hum, eyes still closed, temporarily forgetting his mission is to get back to scar.

Scar chuckles quietly to himself, trying to shield the sound with the back of his hand. He’s able to ignore the distress the muddied water caused him last time, too enthralled by the wide span of Grian’s wings, which he hasn’t seen in so long. 

 Even dirtied and drenched in water, they’re beautiful.

“Should I leave you alone with the water for a bit—?” Scar teases after another moment of admiring Grian. “Would hate to interrupt.” 

Despite saying that, his hands itch to touch. They twitch and he hides them underwater, remaining patient.

"Mmmm." Grian lets the water gently push him around, and he keeps his eyes closed for a while, staying silent after Scar's question. But then he remembers: he's going to get his hair washed. Scar's fingers are going to press and rub against his scalp and—

"Please do interrupt," he begs, dark eyes dazedly finding Scar.

“If you insist,” Scar says like he’s not equally as antsy. He approaches with caution, careful to wade between any scattered feathers, then wiggles his fingers on either side of Grian’s head. “Any requests? Gentle? Deep tissue massage? Kisses or no kisses?” He hovers over Grian’s head as he asks, grinning.

Grian peers up at Scar, upside-down, and even though he appreciates Scar’s silliness and him offering choices, decision-making feels a bit overwhelming right now. 

And yet as soon as he catches sight of Scar, he can’t help but tilt his head more, desiring more closeness. His hair submerges, obliging towards the task at hand, but there’s far more than that in the simple gesture: Grian’s throat is bare (so is the rest of him, to be fair) (exposed wings included), and there’s something eager about the way his lips fall slightly apart. “Kisses. Definitely kisses.”

Without hesitation, Scar leans down, smiling. “Oh excellent, that was my recommendation anyway!” He plants a kiss on Grian’s forehead to start, just a taste of what he’s offering, then threads his fingers into Grian’s flowing hair underwater, keeping his touch tentative for the time being.

Grian hums, both at the kiss and at the touch, a sound that reverbs in his throat. His wings spread a little more. He’s feeling pleasant and pleased, edging that state of melting into everything.

Scar starts by running his fingers through Grian’s hair, mapping out the territory and smoothing out his locks to make it easier for the proper cleaning. 

Helpless to stop it, Grian finds his eyes falling shut again. Everything's so pleasant and lulling, he can almost imagine falling asleep here. (He's certainly tired enough for it, the dark bruising under his eyes speaking volumes about that.) He wants Scar to keep touching him, to keep brushing his fingers through his hair, to— to be here, in this, with him.

“Good?” Scar checks even though he knows the answer, his fingers still gentle; he wants to hear Grian say it, confirm that this is happening, that this moment is real amidst this server of hostility and cruelty.

“Good,” Grian purrs mindlessly.

Scar slowly adds more pressure, lightly scratching at Grian's scalp for maximum effect, trying to provide as much relief as he can. 

Grian lets out little noises—sleep-laced, groggy little things—as he melts against every Scar's touch. He wants to tell him how really, really good it feels, but he can't find coherent enough words, nor make his vocal cords work. He just floats, in more ways than one. "'m sleep," he murmurs, as a warning. 

He wants to look up at Scar, but his eyelids are heavy, his body gently bobbing in water that keeps him warm and relaxed. Scar continues effortlessly lacing his fingers through curls and working small bundles of hair through his fingertips to loosen any pesky dirt that's made home there, finding almost as much pleasure in this little routine as Grian does.

"Gosh, making it my job to keep you from drowning?" Scar scolds lightheartedly with absolutely no disdain. Truthfully, the wings might be working as enough of a feather floatie for Grian anyway, but Scar doesn't mind making up for where they slack. 

"Mmmmhm," Grian confirms. His muscles are so lax. He forgot this was even possible. He hasn't felt pleasantly sleepy in so long—so many horrible dreams and endless fears and never-ending tension. This hot spring is tempting him to succumb to everything it offers, and Scar's hands are breaking the last of his resistance. "Won't let me..." he trails off, meaning to say won't let me drown. The sentense stays broken, sinking out of Grian's reach. "Trust," he murmurs, barely audible, word slurred with sleep.

Scar's about to ask who won't let him sleep, but understands that's not what's being said after he continues listening. He smiles. "Of course not," he confirms, lightly scratching behind Grian's earwings, a spot he himself took great relief from.

The scratch behind Grian's earwings sends something in him skittering and haywire in the best of ways. He chirps through the haze of sleep, unable to catch himself. His earwings flutter against the water, sending a small spray of droplets around them, but they settle back down quickly enough, limp like the rest of him. A drawn-out coo is coaxed from Grian's throat as he blindly tilts his head further into it, chasing the pleasant touch. 

There's no tension to Grian’s expression, no fear marring the space between his brows.

It feels like a dream, if this world ever knew such a thing as good dreams.

Scar chews at his lip, swallowing down all the comments we wants to make about how adorable Grian is all relaxed and bird-brained. He's not so sure Grian is sleepy enough to resist groaning and quipping back at that, so he resists, wanting him to continue drifting. 

He directs his fingertips over Grian's temple and to the top of his forehead, grazing his nails over the skin as gently as he can and massaging into the base of his hair. And he lingers. Keeps rubbing circles and tracing across Grian's hairline, taking his fine time as if he intended to clean each individual strand.

The way Scar is touching him would make Grian go positively insane if it wouldn't turn him into an incoherent puddle first. He hums, quiet, the sound barely there, edging dreamy delirium under Scar's attentive guidance. 

He really does feel himself drifting, sleep latching on and consciousness waning. The combination of stacked-up tiredness and the wholly complete relaxation are taking him over and, before he even fully realises what's happening, he's completely limp, breath evening out. 

He dips a little in the water, but stays mostly afloat anyway. Scar preemptively lifts one knee to catch Grian if his body starts to dip too far underwater, but he seems steady enough for the time being. 

Content with his successful attempt to get Grian to relax, Scar goes for softer motions, just enough to keep the flow of pleasant sensations going without doing anything that could wake his sleeping bird. 

After a minute or so, Scar sneaks a proper glance at Grian’s splayed out wings, how they fill the water around them with dirt and smaller pieces of debris. He has to resist plucking a twig from a close-by cluster of feathers, praying the water will do it for him. He settles for what he can do for now, not willing to abuse the trust Grian is offering him here by pushing his luck.

He hums a soothing, soft melody as he works, filling the space as he gets Grian’s hair clean, hoping to keep the avian’s sleep relaxed and nice. Without nightmares, for once. Warm and safe and spoiled. 

Such strange concept for this world.

And yet even those things can exist here.

Scar watches his sleeping bird and he thinks that maybe there’s hope for them still after all.

[rpvlix]

"So here's the deal-" he points over his shoulder to a surly-looking brunette. She keeps glancing at them, trying and failing to look disinterested in whatever conversation is happening here, out of her earshot.

"My sister's too stubborn to admit she thinks you're hot. I like pissing her off, though, so I told her I was coming over here to 'make a move'." He laughs, probably. It's very hoarse and sounds more like a quick cough, but it's probably a chuckle. "Anyway, she gets real jealous. If you pretend I said somethin' funny she'll probably stomp over here to 'interrupt'."

It isn't exactly the classic wingman maneuver, but he can kill two birds with one stone; having a laugh and potentially getting his sister some action. Regardless of the results, who could say no to that kind of efficiency?

[scinglives]

like for a starter from my muses !!

[burninglovefm]

Trying to get out of my writing funk and this terrible depression that has been hitting me the whole week, so like this for me to plot something with you? Can be period / modern / romantic/ smutty and either with any of my sorely neglected girls or lemme look at yr female wanted opps and give you someone from there?

I would especially love it if we're mutuals and we do something short bcos my muse for my drafts are at an all time low at the moment, I'm so sorry!

[stardustprompts]

the texas chain saw massacre ( 1974 ) sentence starters change tenses/pronouns as needed !!  some lines have been edited for clarity / length / ease of roleplaying tw ;  death , murder , blood mention

'it just means that saturn's a bad influence. it's just particularly a bad influence now because it's in retrograde.'

'people shouldn't kill animals for food.'

'it is possible we could talk about something else?'

'put the knife away.'

'there are moments when we cannot believe that what is happening is really true. pinch yourself and you may find out that it is.'

'you're liable to get hurt.'

'you don't want to go fooling around other folks property. some folks don't like it and they don't mind showing you.'

'you think that's blood?'

'you think that guy's just trying to scare us?'

'it looks like the birth place of bela lugosi.'

'hey, I'm scared.'

'if I have any more fun today, I don't think I'm going to be able to take it.'

'he's gonna kill you.'

'are you mad at me?'

'I'm just tired. it's been a long day.'

'everything means something, I guess.'

'quit goofing on me.'

'I'm not leaving here without (name).'

'I think we ought to go.'

'I don't think that's a good idea.'

'I thought I heard something.'

'what are you doing?'

'I told ya to stay away from that graveyard.'

'you can make them stop.'

'you can't let them kill me.'

'you're crazy!'

'I understand you ain't nothing.'

'I just can't take no pleasure in killin'.'

'there's just some things you gotta do. don't mean you have to like it.'

'it won't hurt a bit.'

[cinememed]

₍ 🎞 ₎   men   (2022)  rp  starters  ! featuring toxic relationships, explicit language, violence & mature themes . some lines have been slightly adjusted for rp purposes .

i'm starting to wish i'd let you help.

it's exactly what i hoped for.

this kind of thing is going to happen again, and again.

what promises did we make?

you can't say something like that. you can't say that to me!

i'm saying it because you will have to live with it. on your conscience.

stop saying please. stop pleading.

it's not a threat. it's a warning.

i'm sorry you will have to live with my death on your conscience, but it's the truth.

that is last thing i would ever want. ever.

how is my life worth so little to you?

it's horrible. it tears me apart.

i'm scaring you?

how do you make yourself into the victim? you scare me.

i don't want either of us to be scared of the other.

you hide. i'll seek.

you're in pain, yes?

you should be finding somewhere to hide.

i realized you weren't praying. you're tormented.

i didn't approach, but i should have.

it felt like we could see each other. i'm not even sure if that's possible.

i think you need to be understood. and i do understand.

i can fully imagine it must be dreadful for you.

it's not nice, but it's not a capital offense.

do you prefer things to be comfortable or true?

settled in okay? no gremlins?

you and me, we're gonna have a fucking good time.

oh, you poor thing.

you don't strike me as a liar. i believe you.

i don't know what you think you're playing at, but it's not gonna sit well with me.

what are you going to do now? hurt me again?

i don't think you will, but you probably should. it'll be the last chance you get.

you're gonna stab me again? you're so mean.

this is your power. this is the control that you exert.

you are singing to me. to dash me to pieces.

[touchbased]

muse: zain barnett. late twenties. investment banker who just moved to a new city for a promotion. driven and vain, but also loyal and charming. open to: m/f/nb plot: our muses dated in college and had a fairly bad breakup. years later, zain unknowingly moves to your muse's city, and becomes coworkers with a mutual friend. that coworker sets him up on a blind date... with your muse.

"i, uh..." all he can seem to do in this moment is laugh. not out of amusement, but more shock and bewilderment. of course he managed to befriend someone that knows his ex in a city this fucking big. "shit, i swear i didn't know this was gonna happen." because, yeah. had he known he was gonna be set up with them, he'd have said no fucking way and ran for the hills.

[persephonyed]

hiiiii cuties and happy friday! woohoo !! ♡

okay, it's that time again where i caught up on all of my drafts, and i'm finally allowing myself to get some new threads going. below the cut are muses that i really, really want to write with lately ( as well as a couple test muses ) + little descriptions of each of them. give this post a like if you're interested in writing / plotting / etc. with any of them and i'll come to you! you can even just treat this as a like for a starter even if u wanna. i'm really excited to write some new things and potentially find some new people to write with. ☺️

*** if u like the post, when i message u, i can and will ramble on and on about character descriptions and what everyone is like. i just didn't want to put it here because the post is already so long!

arden henderson — olivia cooke fc. late 20s, bisexual, forensic criminologist.

blair bennett — katie douglas fc. early 20s, bisexual, university student.

camille st. clair — jessica alexander fc. early 20s, bisexual, aspiring actress.

cora devlin — daisy edgar jones fc. mid 20s, bisexual, hair stylist.

darby davies — hailee steinfeld fc. mid 20s, lesbian, film & tv actress.

erin nichols — jessica chastain fc. mid 40s, bisexual, housewife.

eve lawson — willa fitzgerald fc. early 30s, bisexual, historian.

jillian "jill" walsh — alva bratt fc. mid 20s, bisexual, freelance photographer.

laia aguilar — fiona palomo fc. early 20s, bisexual, university student.

malia dixon — greta onieogou fc. early 30s, bisexual, indie film director.

margot jensen — sydney sweeney fc. mid 20s, bisexual, diner waitress and cult escapee / survivor.

maude morgan — ella purnell fc. mid 20s, bisexual, unemployed rich girl and secret drug dealer.

nora giuliani — victoria pedretti fc. late 20s, lesbian, true crime journalist and podcaster.

preston fox — rudy pankow fc. mid 20s, bisexual, university student, fraternity president, and lead singer / guitarist of his band.

palmer mckenzie — erana james fc. mid 20s, lesbian, professional athlete.

piper novak — samara weaving fc. early 30s, pansexual, coffee shop owner.

ramona "romy" park — adeline rudolph fc. late 20s, bisexual, professional concert photographer.

ruby brodsky — gideon adlon fc. late 20s, bisexual, arts grad student.

siena norwood — florence pugh fc. late 20s but is really centuries old, bisexual, vampire.

( the ones below this are all test muses ! )

bellamy caldeira — alba baptista fc. mid 20s, bisexual, will take any job that pays the bills.

katia garcia — camila mendes fc. late 20s, bisexual, competitive cheerleading coach.

penelope "penny" sosa — camila morrone fc. mid 20s, bisexual, team usa professional soccer player and secret onlyfans / cam girl.

valeria "val" quintero — rachel zegler fc. early 20s, bisexual, musical theatre university student.

[faruzxn]

hm? what did you say? i'm old now, so every other phrase escapes my ears. try calling me "madam faruzan," and i'll see if i can pick that up.

est: 07/26/23 - 9th genshin official account to be established! (SCREAMS THAT IS MY BIGGEST FLEX)

faruzan-official! an rp blog central around rp(duh), crack, and multipara rp. Now faruzxn!

regarding shipping for ALL my accounts, every ship will get it's own verse unless mods involved are okay with drama or want drama. Please do inform me if you'd like to establish any sort of romantic connection between your muse. (but trust me I am giggling and kicking my feet if you ever ask I am very welcoming to the idea...)

DESPITE BEING RELATIVELY EXPERIENCED WITH MULTIPARA, I HAVE A PREFERENCE FOR CRACK. I AM ADMITTEDLY SILLY. SORRY. BUT I WILL STILL DO MULTIPARA THAT'S FUN TOO

a. Mod will not accept anything of the sort like ableism, homophobia, transphobia, racism, etc. IMMEDIATE block. b. Keep it PG13. Mod herself is relatively young and a minor. So no nsfw. Mod is okay with suggestive topics, but please keep it to a minimum. c. Try not to mention any triggering topics? If you don't know what these are, mod being absolutely so honest with you, mod doesn't either. So if anyone is triggered by anything, please don't hesitate to send me a dm. Mod'll make a list of things to be wary of so she can keep a nice environment, okay? d. This legitmately all boils down to just... Just be respectful.

known for having a gazillion accounts

runs the news blog @charlotte-official

(past pinned post here.. it's really ugly)

layout is mod's own, actually! (took her a gazillion years to make a remotely nice looking pinned.)

Oh! Final silly little quip! Mod's always around! even if it's not on my main (faruzan official) I have a few sideblogs and an oc blog where I fuck around with some other mod friends of mine, if you find it you're always welcome to interact!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1

tags:

faruzan speaks -> in character posts.

ooc -> out of character posts.

and who said a little bit of fun would hurt an old woman? (crack)

let me clear my throat. i tend to speak a lot. (multipara)

starter -> the beginning of a thread.

finished -> the end of a thread.

reply -> the replies in a thread, crack or not

[mcflymemes]

PROMPTS FROM CASINO *  assorted dialogue from the 1995 film, adjust as necessary

you beat him with a knife, he comes back with a gun.

i don't give a fuck about jail.

you only exist out here because of me.

don't make me a bad guy.

what's the matter with you?

it looked like a gun!

are you out of your fucking mind?

i really think you're overreacting.

i've had it with you!

you're firing me?

this is not the way to treat people.

would you mind taking your feet off the table and putting your shoes on, please?

that's what you fucking tell me?

it wasn't very scientific, but it worked.

you can't talk to me like that.

you gotta be kidding me!

go! get the fuck out of here!

you make me sick.

don't make a scene, all right?

i tried to do everything i could for you, even though i knew, deep down inside, you would bury me.

it's the only thing that saved my life.

you didn't see what was going on?

it's a casino! people gotta win sometimes!

now you're insulting my intelligence.

do you remember what i told you?

this guy could fuck up a cup of coffee.

i'm just curious.

i gotta listen to people because of your fucking shit?

you better get your own fucking army, pal.

i didn't do anything!

from now on, i want you to put an equal amount of blueberries in each muffin.

do you know how long that's going to take?

i don't care how long it takes.

i lost control? look at you?

so in other words, i'm fucked.

back home, they would have put me in jail for what i'm doing.

the longer they play, the more they lose, and in the end, we get it all.

you want me to get out of my own fucking town?

let the bullshit blow over for a while.

you understand that. you know that. come on!

i'll squash your head like a fucking grapefruit if you don't give me a name.

don't make me have to do this, please.

you're making a big fucking spectacle of yourself.

when you asked me if you could come out here, what did i tell you?

listen to me very carefully. there are three ways of doing things around here: the right way, the wrong way, and the way i do it.

everybody's gotta watch everybody else.

when you love someone, you've gotta trust them.

there's no other way.

that's my business.

you're one of the most gorgeous women i've ever seen.

thank you. thanks for that compliment.

a lot of holes in the desert, and a lot of problems are buried in those holes.

who know who's gonna come along in time?

you could be there all fucking night.

where the fuck do you get off talking to people about me behind my back?

did you think i wasn't gonna find out?

i don't even know what you're talking about.

what's the point?

the town will never be the same.

in the end, i wound up right back where i started.

why mess up a good thing?

i think in all fairness, i should explain to you exactly what it is that i do.

if you don't have my money for me, i'll crack your fucking head wide open in front of everybody.

i'm fucking stupid.

can you do that with both hands?

if you beat him with a gun, you better kill him, because he'll keep coming back and back until one of you is dead.

[blcssom]

open to: f/m/nb ft. elise harmon (she/they) plot: she's absolutely hammered and thinks she scurried up the fire escape and landed in her friend's apartment when she's actually ended up in their neighbor's apartment by mistake

the climb had taken more out of her than she'd anticipated (why was it that she always felt so invincible after a few too many shots of patron?), and elise was relieved to finally fall back onto the familiar soft surface of their couch when the lights suddenly flicked on. "jesus, warn a girl before you blind her!" she groaned, forcing her body into an upright position while her fingers pressed against closed eyelids for relief. "and why weren't you answering your phone? i waited downstairs for half an hour waiting for you to buzz me in before i decided to—" the words died off as her hands fell back to her lap, brows furrowed in confusion. "———-who the fuck are you?"

[valtiels-darkness]

.:Silent Hill inspired Starter:.

Feel free to change the pronouns. Please give credit. My first time doing this, cause...? ADHD. That's why. From Silent Hill 1-3.

•"Thus one's life turns to riches:”

•“They look like monsters to you?”

•“But this is the one we deserve.”

•“I am… if you want me to be.”

•"Which do you prefer; to give pain, or to receive it?"

•“Beware that, when fighting monsters, you yourself do not become a monster… for when you gaze long into the abyss, the abyss also gazes into you.”

•“Don't want to be involved with the likes of them anymore, but…”

•“Still alive, but with wounds that won't heal.”

•“This is the road I came in on. There's no point in going back.”

•“It’s just…I guess I really don’t care if it’s dangerous or not. “

•“I didn’t do anything. I, I swear! He was like this when I got here…’

•“Or perhaps you are a fool. The truth usually betrays people.”

•“After I made my decision, it became the only thing binding me into this world.”

•“If things had worked out differently, I was hoping to adopt you.”

•“And so I wait, wrapped in my cocoon of pain and loneliness.”

•“Don’t you know? Your power is needed.”

•“That figures. He’s a pretty sneaky guy.”

•“I know everything. I know about your past too.”

•“Enjoy?! I feel like I’m going crazy! Does this place get to you at all?!”

•“My line of work, you hear a lot of nasty rumors.”

•“Is every person here a mental case? Well, I guess you’re not a person anyway.”

•“I know about the pleasures of this world. And I want to find my happiness while I’m still here.”

•“Why did you have to do that for me? What’ll I do if you die?”

•“I’m just looking out for myself. Everyone does it.”

•“Don’t stand there looking so smug. You’re the worst person in this room.”

•“You come here and enjoy spilling their blood and listening to them cry out. You feel excited when you step on them and snuff out their lives.”

•“Do I look like your girlfriend?”

•“Anyway”!? What do you mean “Anyway”!? You don’t sound very happy to see me.”

•“See? I’m real. Don’t you want to touch me?”

•“Come and get me. I can’t do anything through these bars.”

•“Or maybe you think you can save me? Will you love me? Take care of me? Heal all my pain?”

[maxpaulll]

I beat Pokemon Sword after 4 fucking years so here's what my champion league card would look like if I had it my way >:[