#Link writes

[angeart]

the promised hhau confession rp/fic

this got a bit out of hand. as per usual.

here's 21k words of raw rp between me and link about these idiots. <3 spoiler alert: they have Feelings. they're also very gay for each other.

[linkito]

Soft scarian thoughts from hhau make me so /pos

eeheehee me too 💖

I had this idea, back before the Disaster™ —

They’re in Boatem and Scar is having a particularly bad flare up after going a little crazy on building. Grian hasn’t really seen how bad those can get, but he hasn’t spotted Scar all day and that just won’t do!

He pops straight in through the Swaggon window with a bright “Hello there!” and scares Scar half to death, but Scar is happy to have the company.

Grian gets him some things from the kitchen and helps out a bit but then he just plops right onto Scar’s bed and makes himself at home, reading some weird dusty old book.

When Scar asks what he’s reading, Grian explains he’s looking into ways to enchant items that don’t normally get enchanted because he wants to have floating candles in his Midnight Alley! But he’s having no luck with it and it’s frustrating him to no end. He even sets up an enchantment table in Scar’s room to test with.

“Maybe you just don’t have the magic touch,” Scar teases, and he’s completely kidding but Grian perks up suddenly and sits up in the bed to look at him.

“Wait, you’re a vex!” Grian exclaims, shoving the book into his lap. “You’ve got magic practically flowing in your veins. You try it!”

And Scar wouldn’t dare say no. Certainly not to Grian.

Scar gets it to work, and Grian is thrilled. He’s excited and claps and urges Scar to do an entire stack of them for him, and it gets easier each time not just due to practice, but because Grian is so adorably giddy and it’s making Scar’s magic react so positively and strongly.

Eventually Grian sprawls out over Scar and reads with the book propped up on his chest and they both end up falling asleep. 💕

man if only they talked about their obvious crushes on each other before it all went to shit

[howdoyoudothedew]

Ivy teaches Carmen to drive date?

“Alright, so you want to take it slow-” Ivy starts, cutting off as Carmen touches the accelerator too hard too quickly and they jolt forward a few inches before Carmen panics and slams on the brake. It’s good Ivy remembered to put on her seatbelt. That combo almost put her through the windshield.

“I’m so sorry,” Carmen says. She’s all scrunched now so her shoulders come up to her ears, but at least her legs are still loose and stretched out for the pedals.

“It’s fine.” Ivy waves it away. “You should’ve seen it when Zack started.

“Really?” Carmen asks.

“Yeah. Nearly sent us into the harbor.”  Though it was also because they were starting off with plans to race, old games of Hard Drivin’ dancing in their heads. Zack drifted when he should’ve braked, and they had to spend that summer working for Old Man Murray to make up for the shop window. Carmen smiles, unscrunching just a bit. Ivy looks back at the asphalt in front of them as Carmen slowly lets off the brake. They’re in a parking lot, Zack and Ivy’s own first attempts at driving making her think teaching Carmen in an empty lot would be for the best. So far, she’s pretty sure she was right.

“Okay, so touch the pedals lightly. This car’s a smart gal, she’ll know what you want without you forcing her,” Ivy says and Carmen snorts a little as she does what Ivy told her, making Ivy look over at her with a raised brow. “What?”

“You sound like Zack,” Carmen says.

“Eugh. If anything, Zack sounds like me,” Ivy says, making a face, and Carmen shakes her head. She’s calmer than she was a few seconds ago. It makes Ivy smile despite herself.

“Turn here,” Ivy says, pointing right, away from the shops. Carmen hesitates a moment before she turns, yanking the wheel slightly too hard and running the wheel slightly over a curb. She grimaces as all four tires touch asphalt again. “It’s fine,” Ivy assures. Carmen gives an unsteady laugh and Ivy puts a hand on her shoulder. “Do you want to take a break?”

“Yeah,” Carmen sighs. She breaks, then throws the car in park so she can hang her head.

“You’ll get there,” Ivy says with a smile. Carmen turns to her, her own smile wry.

“Thanks for being willing to teach me,” Carmen says.

“Of course! It was a pretty awesome date idea,” Ivy says, reaching over to punch Carmen’s shoulder, and Carmen’s cheeks turn a soft pink.

“Player suggested it.” Carmen says with a shrug.

“Smart kid,” Ivy says. “Now what about we swap seats and I take us to get ice cream?”Carmen pushes herself from the wheel. “That sounds great.”

[thepinklink]

What’s this? Link is posting an update on her fan fiction…?

I’ve been having a little bit of trouble regarding prompts and writing so I’m doing a bit of organizing just to make it neater and hopefully spark some creativity. This also means that there are two prompts I’ll be outing:

#7: self-sacrifice—I have no idea what to do with this one and I’m not sure if I can kill Legend, it’d make me cry

#26: knights—I’m aware of Legend’s past regarding knights, but only in the exact sense of the word “aware.” I don’t know all the details about it, so this one baffles me to no end and I’m afraid that at this moment, I’m not equipped to use this one.

Overall they’re both sorta just “dead” prompts so to say; they don’t speak to me at all and I feel like I could get incredibly stuck on those. I do apologize for that, and I hope it doesn’t trouble anyone too much :’

I’m also going to be re-writing chapters 1, 2 and 5 of the entire fan fiction! The first two chapters could use some serious polishing, and I feel like I just let people down with chapter 5. The prompt is “torture” after all and there is none in that chapter so like. What gives, Link? 🤨🤪

Finally, I’m changing the published format. Currently, I release the written prompts as chapters of an entire fic, but I’d like to change that. Instead, I’ll publish each written prompt ad an individual fic that will be part of a series. (Fused prompts that stretch over multiple chapters will appear at fics with multiple chapters, if that makes sense?? Idk I’m bad at words orjanfnkfowjdnncnekfkdjs)

So that’s the plan! Let me know if you have any questions 🥰

[liquid-geodes]

Okay since @you-are-a-superstar and @glitchysquidd both asked for it, here's whatever the fuck my brain decides to give you of blind springtrap au (don't worry @lo-batt I see you and ily and I'm gonna get to it)

No I will NOT be reading this before I post it, it's up to you to decipher whatever happens next ♡

Footsteps. Two pairs, only one recognizable as yours. He never cared much for the other employees to bother trying to discern them from one another, but you had been different. You, who hadn't been afraid of his hulking form the day he had been wheeled into the attraction.

You, who had worked tirelessly trying to restore his eyesight after discovering he had been functioning without.

You, who treated him with a kindness he didn't deserve.

It had been a week since you'd last been to work, some sort of family thing that had you out of town that whole time, though he would admit he didn't care enough to remember what said thing was. All he knew was that it left him alone for a week without you.

But, now you were back, further confirmed as your voice carried down the halls as you laughed at something the person you were walking with had said. The excitement at getting to spend time with you again had sent Springtrap eagerly towards the door of his room. In this excitement, he had forgotten that the door was still closed, a loud, metallic banging sound echoing through the halls. This noise alone set everyone on edge, their movements halted as they glanced between one another in fear. Everyone except you.

A few seconds later, a low groan left the room as the old metal door creaked open, a green hand slowly creeping around its edges until the cause of such a noise slowly revealed himself. A smile worked its way across your face as you approached the door, leaving your petrified associate behind as you resisted the urge to laugh.

"Hey buddy... forget you locked the door?"

Your question was, as always, meet with silence, a glare being sent in your general direction as he tried to pinpoint the location of your voice.

"Here, let me grab your hand and get you out into the light. Gotta make sure you didn't crack anything, yeah?" You warn him before gently taking his hand in your smaller ones.

He'd never say it out loud, but he appreciated the way you'd state your intentions before grabbing him in any way. At least now he knew to expect your hands on his, even going as far as to offer his hand through the gap in the door, allowing himself to be dragged into the main hallway.

After making sure nothing out of the ordinary was broken, you walked him through your schedule for the day, letting him decide if he wanted to tag along or not. Of course he decided to follow, he missed you after all, not that he'd say that to your face. Instead he just listened as you talked about your week, the chaos that followed with your family getting together like that, the drive back, anything you said had his undivided attention.

"As much as I love seeing them again, it wasn't as fun as being here with you. Not a lot of three hundred pound rabbits running around back home... was starting to miss always having someone around." You finally admit, and you don't miss the way his ears, or whatever's left of them that is, perk up at the confession. You missed him too? You liked having him around? You didn't just tolerate his existence?

Huh-

That almost made running into the door earlier worth it.

"Obviously I didn't miss it enough to run into a door or anything."

Almost.

He wished he could see the smile on your face as you failed to contain your giggles at his expense, the way the corners of your eyes crinkled as you smiled biggest around him.

Instead, he settles for feeling your grin against the palm of his large hands as he gently pushes your head to the side in a feeble attempt to make you stop laughing. He doesn't dare pull away when both your hands grab his wrist as you settle your cheek into the palm of his hand. He can feel your gaze on him, adoration he'd never get to see flooding your eyes as you settle into a peaceful silence.

"I really did miss you y'know." The conviction in your voice left no room for protest, no room for him to deny and convince himself he was a nuisance in your life. He was loved, whether he liked it or not. And maybe one day he'd be okay with that.

Just as you think you'll never get a response from him, his raspy voice finally cuts through the silence around you, his eyes looking through you as you look into the faded LEDs that tried to face your direction.

"I missed you too."

[heroofhyrulelink]

Chapter 8 of A Rito Is No Good At Romance is up! Enjoy all the warmth and good feelings in this update, the next may be a little less happy :)

[mr--link]

Oh hey, my first piece of writing!

To preface, this story is about one of my RWBY OCs, Jackal Rena. He is a member of Team RIFT, alongside Arcano Irmlen, Furnus Fulgun, and Amethy Topazi. This story is told from his perspective during his second year at Beacon Academy. There will be the fantasy equivalent of discriminatory language at some points in the story, just to warn any readers now. With all that out of the way, let’s get started!

When White Fangs Turned Red: Jackal’s Story

By: mr–link

“Hey Jackal, I got a question for ya.”

My team and I had just gotten back to our dorm room after classes to relax and do our homework when my pyromaniacal teammate and friend Furnus spoke up.

“¿Qué es?” I asked.

“Ok first of all, you know I don’t fucking understand that language.” he retorted. “Second of all, I know it’s an odd question, but…what’s your story, man?”

“That is odd, coming from him” I thought to myself. “What do you mean, my story?”

“Like, back home. The hell was it like for you back in Vacuo?”

“Yeah, you never did tell us, lad!” said Arcano, my loudmouth combat partner.

“I agree.” spoke Amethy in her curious and docile voice. “I have wanted to know for quite a while as well.”

“*sigh* It doesn’t seem like I have much of a choice. Alright, sit down.” I said as my teammates sat down on and around my bed. “I’ll tell you some of the memories I have. I don’t like talking, so listen up.”

Protests, running, sand. That’s what I remember.

Protests. It was early summer in Vacuo, and I was about 13 at the time. Back then, I was part of the White Fang. When they were still good. That day, I chose to attend one of their protests for the first time. I don’t remember why, maybe because back then I still had some faith in them. I think I knew in the very back of my mind that we weren’t actually getting anywhere though. Still, I went. Massive crowds and loud chanting were never my thing either, but still, I went. Both were present, to no surprise. I tried for the most part to stay at the edges of the crowd, going along with whatever the phrase of the moment was. Looking back, it all seemed so foolish. I remember there were also people holding signs with the same theme, particularly a bull Faunus about 5 years older than me; his name was Adam Taurus.

“Wait, you mean THAT motherfucker?” Furnus suddenly interrupted.

“Sí, ese bastardo.” I replied.

Anyway, his sign was much different than all the other sign carriers’ were. It read “TREAT US RIGHT OR ELSE” in red with the old White Fang emblem at the end, but with 3 slashes through the head, like it is now. Then I remember some balding old fat man stumble out of his store up to the crowd and yell “Go back ta the desert, ya pack ‘a’ wild animals!” I don’t think I’d ever seen someone turn around as fast as Adam did in that second. He was livid. He dropped his sign and reached behind him for what I’m certain was a knife, then a little cat Faunus about a year younger than me grabbed him by the arm and pleaded with him to stop. He did…after about 10 long seconds. I’ll admit, I was a little scared at the time. He let his hand fall and glared at the store owner, saying “One day, old man. One day we’ll rise.” I never liked Adam much; I always knew there was something up with him. I left the protest a few minutes later. Wasn’t much there for me anyways.

Running. I attended the White Fang meetings sometimes, again, this was back when I felt that what they were talking about meant something. The last one I attended was a year after the protest incident. That meeting was one of my last few days in Vacuo. That was the day that Ghira Belladonna stepped down like a damned fool, and with him gone, a new leader. The old flag came down, replaced by one with the emblem that Adam had on his sign from the protest. Then the new leader stood at the main podium and spoke: “BROTHERS AND SISTERS. For too long now, we’ve done nothing but feebly ask for equality! And for what? To be mistreated, spat on, even called monsters!” I’ll never forget what happened next. Adam and two others came up to him with big boxes in their hands. Adam then knelt before him and gave him a mask that looked like the bone plates on the head of an Alpha Beowulf. He held it up for everyone to see and cried out “They called us monsters! LET’S SHOW THEM MONSTERS!” His intention was clear; the White Fang had begun the descent into terrorism. He then donned his new mask and had all of us form lines to receive masks as well, though they were little more than visors. I could remember being in a state of denial getting into my line; I knew that there was a point to what he was saying, but it felt almost surreal that we had gone that far off the deep end without anyone even questioning it. I kept thinking “This isn’t happening. There’s no damn way.” Thankfully I snapped out of it by the time I neared the front of the line. Having fully broken out of my stupor, I walked up to the very front to get a mask. As if by some fluke, I ended up in Adam’s line. He handed me a mask, and I took it. Then came one of the biggest turning points of my life. Holding it in my hands, I looked at it, then up to the new flag, then back at the mask.  Adam impatiently spoke: “what are you waiting for, Jackal? Put it on!” I thought to myself “I need to make a decision, and I need to make it now.” And so I did. I don’t think I was ever more scared than I was in that moment, but I flipped the mask over and looked right at Adam. I said “No.” right to his face and snapped the mask in half over my right knee (with surprisingly little effort,) turned tail, and ran.

I ran as fast as I could out of that building. I was always fast, even in those days. I felt I wasn’t going to be safe in Vacuo anymore, so I ran. Before I fully got out of there, I knew that I’d need some sort of tools to survive in the Vacuo desert. I wasn’t as levelheaded back then as I am now, but I wasn’t an idiot, either. I ended up running into the store of the same old man who harassed the crowd back at the protest. As soon as I walked in that evening, he barked “Get out! We don’t serve your kind here, animal!” I immediately responded with “I-I just need a few things, senor. I’ll be right out when I’m done!” I went to grab a pair of identical knives from one of the shelves when I looked out the window. Somehow, Adam had pursued me, and he was getting close to the store. I started panicking at that point, so I put my hood up and hurriedly walked to the front, tossed some Lien at the counter, and ran out the door. I think I heard the store owner yelling something about “not enough cash,” but I had tuned him out. I was too focused on getting out of there and away from Adam. I saw him a few meters down the street, and he saw me as well. He reached behind him and grabbed something from his waistband. I didn’t stick around to find out what it was, I turned and ran. I heard him yell “DEATH TO DESERTERS!” and then a shot rang out and a bullet whizzed right over my head. He almost killed me in cold blood. A few minutes of terrified running later, I reached the edge of Vacuo. I climbed the wall under the cover of darkness, silently relieved that the guards that night were human. Then I dropped down on the other side, and so began my self exile into the Vacuo desert.

Sand. *sigh* The Vacuo desert. Barren, arid, dangerous, and for a while, my home. I don’t remember how long I stayed there, but I know it was at least for a few years. Looking back, it was horrible, but it taught me how to survive. The morning after I fled, I went to pull down the cords on my hoodie to tighten it, only for them to fall out into my hands. I then tried to grab the middle of my hood to pull it off my head, only for my hand to meet empty air. I took my hoodie off to reveal that the bullet that Adam tried to kill me with had managed to rip most of the top part of my hood in half. It also tore off a few strands of my hair. A few millimeters lower and that hijo de puta would’ve ended me. That’s why my current hood’s stitched up: to remind me of how close I got to death.

Anyway, life in the desert was hard, and I really don’t like thinking about it. I had to scavenge for food and water everyday just to survive, but I managed somehow. I can still remember one day I had the choice of either killing and eating an actual jackal or risk starving. I chose the former. To this day, I’m still not sure if it counts as cannibalism. I actively tried to avoid any travelling caravans that I could, fearing bandits or White Fang members that I was certain would’ve recognized me. I’ll admit, I was paranoid. Having your life completely flipped upside down and losing any sense of safety in your homeland in the course of a day will do that to you. Those two knives I stole weren’t just for hunting; there was the ever-present threat of the Grimm and other predators. Those two blades eventually became part of The Rippers. I guess it wasn’t all bad, though. One time I came extremely close to death by starvation, but got rescued by an old wandering shaman. He nursed me back to health, taught me how to trap animals, and as a parting gift, he unlocked my Aura. After leaving him, I learned Fantasma del Desierto, my Semblance. It was both a blessing and a curse: I could escape almost anything as a ghost, but as I used it in my solitude, I felt like I was slowly losing myself. After almost totally fading away one day, I decided it was time to rejoin civilization. I made my way north to a remote fishing village and stowed away on a cargo ship bound for Vale. As soon as the ship made it to harbor, I jumped out and ran into the city. I met Furnus two nights later, and well…you guys know the rest.

“Wow, dude. I thought my life in the Boltshots was shit…” Furnus weakly responded after a few seconds of silence.

“Well it could’ve been a whole lot worse, lad!” Arcano quipped. “He could’ve stayed in the White Fang and became a killer!”

“I agree. You did the right thing by running, Jackal.” Amethy assured me. “You have been through a great ordeal no one should have to endure and survived. That alone speaks volumes of your strength. Thank you for telling us.”

“Thanks, amigos.” I responded, smiling in spite of myself. “It was hell, but it made me who I am, and I don’t regret it.”

“I’m glad to have you as a teammate and friend, man.” said Furnus. “Now let’s get to work! I got the feeling Goodwitch’s gonna shove that riding crop of hers up my ass if I miss another assignment.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t ya, lad?” Arcano remarked with a smirk on his face.

“FUCK OFF!” Furnus angrily returned, to which we all laughed.

Yeah, I made the right choice…

Author’s Notes: HOO BOY, this was a doozy! This was made as my final project for my college Humanities course. We had to make either a song, short film, or piece of literature that tied into one of the themes we discussed in class. I saw this as an opportunity to expand on Jackal’s story, so I wrote this! It fit the criteria, don’t you worry. I’m really happy with the end of the first paragraph, as well as how I split the story into Jackal’s three memories: protests, running, and sand. I’m also kind of proud of the scene where he almost got shot by Adam. Fun fact™: this is the second time I’ve posted this! My laptop restarted on me earlier today because I left it alone for a few minutes while an update was pending. Isn’t :) that :) fun? :)

Spanish Translations (in order of appearance):

¿Qué es?  “What is it?��

Sí, ese bastardo. “yeah, that bastard.”

Senor “sir”

Hijo de puta “son of a bitch”

Fantasma del Desierto “Desert Ghost”

Amigos “friends”

[linkito]

👀 this au/start of thing is intriguing, I am interested and would totally read more of it if you ever worked on it more.

-🎀

Well hello there—

Turns out I had more thoughts about the caged vex au

So, Scar introduces himself and tells Grian he can ask for anything he wants, right? And he promises he won’t cut corners or search for loopholes— he genuinely wants to repay Grian for freeing him!

I think the first thing Grian would ask is if Scar can hide him from the Watchers.

To which Scar replies, yes. If you tell me to, I’ll do it. He can’t promise whatever ward he creates will hold, necessarily, but if Grian asks for it, he’ll do it to the best of his ability.

And I think the second thing Grian would ask for?

A place to sleep.

The man is tired. He just escaped an angelic nightmare cult, scrambled away into some shady cave, and got scared half to death by a vex. More than anything, he wants a big fluffy bed and to sleep without fear of being found in the middle of the night.

“One lovely bed coming right up!” Scar cheers, and to Grian’s surprise he… conjures up the supplies to make a bed, but not an actual pre-made bed.

“I thought you said no tricks,” Grian huffs. “Do you expect me to craft it?” He doesn’t have the energy for this.

“Oh gosh no,” Scar replies, getting to work on it himself. “But I also said no cutting corners! And let me tell you, a magically conjured bed is no good. Never up to standard in my experience, no, no.”

And Grian just watches in astonishment as this ferocious-looking creature slowly and carefully constructs a king-sized bed in front of his eyes, occasionally using magic to aid him but— he’s using his hands. His sharp, scratched-up, calloused hands.

And oh my god if it’s not the most comfortable thing Grian has ever laid down on.

He almost passes out immediately, honestly, but then he notices Scar just sitting very awkwardly on the corner of the bed, fidgeting with his tail like it’s some kind of stress toy. It’s kind of adorable. A creature so scary shouldn’t be allowed to be adorable.

Grian tilts his head in question and, well—

“You, uh, only asked for one bed,” Scar mumbles, averting his eyes. (His cheeks flush a light blue when he’s embarrassed.) “Soooo I could only make one bed.”

And ah, right, of course. Scar’s magic is limited to what he’s instructed to do.

But Grian is tired and the bed is enormous and the nest of torn up clothes and rocks that Scar must have been sleeping on doesn’t look comfortable and he’s not about to ask Scar to make another elaborate bed and—

Screw it.

If the vex wanted to kill him, he’d have done it by now.

“Make yourself cozy,” Grian says instead of any direct request. A dangerous game to play with a vex. There are so many ways that could possibly be twisted and yet…

Scar crawls into the bed with Grian, offering ample space between them, and the only magic he uses is just enough to light a small campfire beside them.

And they both get to rest, falling asleep to the peaceful echoes of the crackling fire.

original caged au post here

[linkito]

Kiss prompt #10 desperately for Scarian <3

this went in a direction i didnt expect so hopefully it's enjoyable<3 also ft. a very scribbly doodle at the end

Scar tilts his head, baring his neck in offering to Grian’s blade. His words almost don’t register to Grian. 

"You may slay me—"

And he was about to, wasn’t he? He already struck Scar once, only hesitating because of the man’s clear unwillingness to strike back. Why wouldn’t he fight back?? 

Nothing stopped Scar before, when a stupid piece of paper escaped Grian’s grasp. 

After everything they’d been through, nothing stopped him then, so why now?

Why is Scar smiling, laying down his life for Grian like it’s the easiest decision he’s ever made?

“I can’t,” Grian stammers. “I literally can’t.” His  sword slips from his grasp, cutting a thin slice down Scar’s neck as it falls. Scar doesn’t as much as flinch. 

His eyes do travel upward, however, a weakly hopeful look flickering across the crimson red. “Oh,” is all he says at first, as if he still doesn’t believe what Grian said.

Grian doesn’t either, to be honest.

Not because it isn’t true, but because it ultimately might not be up to him. 

He’s heard them— the voices of players passed. Their cacophonous rage has been blaring in Grian’s ears from the moment he awoke on his last life. A symphony of violence calling for blood, for an end to this nightmare.

The spectators want a fight.

They want blood. A victor. An end.

“Then—“ Scar says tentatively, that hope still alive and blazing behind his red eyes— eyes that should crave violence, not— “do you want to fix the sand castle? Can we… can we win together?”

Grian can hear the symphony rise, a unanimous no ringing through the air, suffocating Grian where he stands. They won’t have it. The ghosts won’t allow it. But—

Grian’s legs buckle, falling to his knees before Scar, meeting him down at his level. Scar’s hands hover on either side of him, worried he may faint. The gesture isn’t lost on Grian, that Scar was still ready to catch him if he were to fall. 

It only makes everything hurt that much more.

Fight, fight, fight, FIGHT.

Their chanting is relentless and Grian looks up at Scar with such fear, he— can Scar not hear them? Does he not feel the pull? The call for death and destruction?

Or perhaps Scar grew numb to it long ago.

“Scar…” Grian says, his voice hoarse, entirely drowned out by the grating shrieks of those they have killed. 

Scar’s hands are on him in an instant, fingers threaded through his feathered ears, sheltering him from the cacophony. “Shhhh,” he says, and against all logic, the chorus subsides, merely a whisper carried along the ripples of the pond. 

With what little clarity Grian can grasp in the momentary silence, he grasps onto Scar the same way, hands tangled in his hair, palms covering his ears— urgent and desperate— and he pulls. 

While he can still hear the rapid heartbeat in his throat, Grian kisses Scar with all the sanity he has left, taking this moment for them alone— no care for the audience they never asked to have. No trace of violence they never asked to embrace. 

Just lips against his, passionate and dear, loving and anguished— something urgent, yet drawn out, neither of them willing to part, the awareness of what is to come burning at their insides. 

Please.

Not yet.

[linkito]

Kiss Prompt Scarian 30 …as comfort? :3 -🎀

ange asked for this as well, so it’s gotta be hhau, right? ft. some unused dialogue from our Big RP™

Scar hates seeing Grian like this— curled up and miserable, wings tucked so tightly against his back that they may as well be invisible. His hands fidget with the ribbon tied around one of his wrists, body mostly hidden under the length of his cloak. He’s pressed up into the wall in a way that can’t be comfortable and Scar just can’t take it anymore.

He needs to do something.

“Grian,” Scar tries, and though his ears droop slightly when Grian barely twitches in response, he still continues. “Did I ever tell you about my idea for a cookie shop?”

Grian does perk up slightly at that, but it’s mostly to cock an eyebrow in confusion, wondering why Scar would possibly think to bring up such a thing now of all times.

They hardly ever talk about Hermitcraft. And for good reason— it usually results in nothing but pain.

But something about Scar making cookies brings warmth to Grian’s frigid, aching heart, and despite his better judgement, he mumbles, “…cookie shop?”

Scar smiles, feeling successful already and deciding to ride that high. “Yeah, and I was going to bake them myself! None of that villager crap.”

Grian doesn’t reply directly, but he nods, eyes now regarding Scar with renewed interest, glad to tether his attention onto something that isn’t his own self-loathing and despair.

Scar is happy to take what he can get. He also scoots in closer to Grian, craving the closeness, just wanting to be within his orbit. It takes a moment, but Grian returns the casual affection by idly running his fingers over Scar’s knee, which is more than enough to keep Scar going on with his daydreamy nonsense.

“I was gonna grow out my hair and have this whole elven theme going— live in a tree, work right out of my house.” Scar runs a hand through his messy hair, noting that it’s already begun to grow out quite a lot, even if it looks nothing like how he would have intended. He probably looks more like some sort of goblin than a lustrous-haired elf.

Grian chuckles softly, pulling Scar out of his thoughts. “What, like a Keebler Elf?”

“What’s a Keebler Elf?” Scar asks, entirely genuine.

That gets Grian to laugh fully, and even if Scar doesn’t understand why, it makes his heart about melt. He loves Grian’s laugh. He doesn’t get to hear it enough these days.

“You know,” Scar adds, feeling cheeky now that he’s already earned this small victory. “I had a particular cookie in mind that I bet you would have loved.”

“Tell me,” Grian says, eager for more of this delightful distraction.

Now that he’s got him, Scar begins a long-winded explanation, theatrical and exuberant: “Well, I make a delicious chocolate chip cookie, of course, but you can’t have those—“

“I’m not allergic to chocolate, Scar.”

“You’re not??” Scar gasps, earning a small eye roll from Grian (he’s still smiling though, so still a win). “Well no matter! Because I had an amayzin’ idea for incorporating chorus fruit into the icing for sugar cookie.”

“Chorus fruit, really?” Grian replies quietly, now weirdly finding himself craving the odd, purple fruit that he likely would have never eaten otherwise. He feels the edge of doomed nostalgia begin to creep in, but only for a moment because Scar keeps talking, snagging his attention back to this fantasy of a quaint little cookie shop.

“Yeah! A treat and a surprise!” Scar exclaims proudly. “One little bite and zzzzzooooop!”

Grian laughs again, weaker, but still amused by Scar’s antics. He wants to let the daydream linger, to picture bright purple frosting and a fantastical treehouse without feeling a sense of great loss of what could have and should have been. He struggles, but Scar’s smile keeps him grounded, leaves him leaning in, gravitated toward that unbridled joy he somehow manages to hold onto.

But maybe his sorrow still shows through, because Scar leans in closer, presenting that smile so it fills all of his vision. “You know what I was going to call them?”

Grian blinks, barely able to process anything other than the closeness of Scar’s smiling face. He manages a small shake of his head, eyes still anchored on Scar’s bright green ones.

Scar’s smile widens, seeming incredibly pleased with himself and whatever this answer may be.

“Elven kisses,” he coos, closing the distance and pressing their lips together, softly, like a feather brushing over skin.

The name hardly makes sense, if Grian is being honest, but he doesn’t care in the slightest. Something about the prospect of a simpler time, where Grian is surrounded by the fresh smell of cookies and a beautifully woven treehouse and the image of Scar presenting him with that name just as proudly, a shy little blush scattered across his cheeks.

He should have kissed Scar a long, long time ago, he thinks, somewhat sadly.

But Scar’s lips are on his now, and it’s possibly one of the only good things left in this wretched nightmare of a server— an uncomplicated affection, something genuine and pure. Something gentle and loving when everything else is coarse and cruel.

Grian moves, grabbing both sides of Scar’s head with desperate, yearning hands, and kisses him fully, hungry for the comfort of Scar’s breath against his own, lips intertwined, passionate and unwavering.

Alive. Alive. Alive.

He feels Scar’s mouth curl upwards into a joyous smile, pressed into his own, private— theirs alone to enjoy— and for a moment, everything feels like it might be alright.

For a moment there’s sweetness dancing across his tongue, and Grian willingly falls into the illusion of its simplicity.

[linkito]

ok listen. listen. i need this. i love this.

kiss prompt #22 in a rush of adrenaline. (scariannnn)

“Scar!” Grian exclaims, rushing toward his soulmate with newfound urgency.

The death was already wholly destabilizing, made worse by feeling every ounce of pain and panic Scar was experiencing while being unceremoniously torn apart by zombies, but to make matters even more terrible, Scar hadn’t slept in the same bed as him to respawn. 

Of course he didn’t. 

They hadn’t shared a bed at all since this whole game began, even though they had before, almost as if the soulbound only served to drag them apart.

That meant that after the agonizing experience of a shared death, the two of them woke up separated. Grian has no idea where his partner was, left alone with their pursuers, who luckily decided to show an ounce of mercy as he picked up their scattered supplies with trembling hands. 

But as soon as he spotted Scar on the horizon, he dropped everything and ran, heart pounding in his throat from lingering fear and the ever-growing anxiety that maybe Scar wouldn’t return at all.

Which leads to him calling out his soulmate’s name in desperation, leaping to meet him the moment he sees Scar open his arms in a slightly reserved offering. His eyes are downcast, pointed ears drooped in shame, but Grian barely registers it before he’s flapping his wings with what little strength he can muster in their clipped state and practically tackling Scar. 

Scar stumbles backward a few steps with a slight yelp, momentarily startled, but then more pleasantly surprised than anything to find his partner cling to his chest, hands gripping tight to any bunching of fabric he can find.

“G?” Scar asks, voice almost timid, and Grian finds that he doesn’t like that tone at all.

It doesn’t belong. It isn’t right.

He grabs Scar’s face and kisses it right off of him, leaving his soulmate absolutely reeling to catch up with the rush of adrenaline Grian is experiencing right now.

It’s rushed and awkward, lips pressed together a little too hard. And though it takes a second, Scar snaps out of his stupor, grabbing hold of Grian’s cheek as he leans in further, returning the kiss much more softly, but with an equal amount of fervor--

And then Grian is immediately pulling away, as if the mere concept of Scar actually returning the affection was not something he had accounted for, causing him to recoil as his face flushes red, eyes quickly averting Scar’s gaze.

Suddenly, he’s terrified once again.

[linkito]

HI LINK. here's a kiss prompt: scarian #19 - for luck <3

Scar stares with growing unease as Grian continues piling sand atop TNT in an alternating pattern, readying the entire desert to blow. It’s something they both agreed upon, sure, but Scar cannot help but have second thoughts as he watches his green-life partner set the rest of their home up for destruction. 

The castle itself, of course, is already trapped— their own base reduced to nothing more than a weapon, no longer livable. All they have is a bed and a few chests crammed into a bunker laced with obsidian and surrounded by the sound of popping lava.

It all changed so fast.

Scar was starting to really enjoy their life here in the desert. And maybe it was foolish to grow attached to something that was always destined to fall apart, but...

He sighs, eyeing the sweat dripping down Grian’s brow as he finishes covering up the last few holes in the sand. He looks determined, as always, while he carries out the final few steps of his design— his grand plan to take Dogwarts down at any cost (aside from Scar’s own life).

Scar wishes he could feel moved by that fact, but all he can think about is what will happen when Grian turns yellow.

Not if, when. 

Because Grian speaks of it with certainty. He told Scar to pull the doomsday lever even if he’s inside the blast range. His final debt paid at the cost of his own life.

And then Scar really will have lost everything. The desert, the base— neither of those things are truly home in the way Grian is to him. Every build within this death game was always meant to be temporary, after all, but it’s those nights spent curled up together for warmth that Scar wanted to hold onto. To be worth something. To be permanent. 

Those wordless mornings where they wake up in a tangle of limbs, neither of them willing to bring attention to it. Both of them swallowing down whatever feelings their sleep-dazed brains may have concocted, whatever weaknesses they may have displayed. 

Soon that dance will be over. No conclusion, no fanfare, no closure.

He spent too long convincing himself there would always be a tomorrow, another chance to admit how he feels.

“Scar,” Grian says, somewhat exasperated but with that familiar, fond roll of his eyes. Judging by the tone, it’s not the first time he called Scar’s name. He was just too lost in his own head to notice.

Scar snaps to attention with a theatrical grin and a salute, which makes Grian scoff, but it’s far too close to a laugh. He doesn’t even bother hiding his own smile. 

“I asked if you were ready,” Grian says, eyes flicking over toward the horizon as the sun begins to set, scanning for any sign of their enemies. When he looks back, his green eyes are weary, but bright, looking right at Scar with a complicated mix of worry and steady resolve. 

Scar pauses. “Almost,” he says, taking in the sight of those very eyes widening in surprise as he takes hold of Grian’s arm— warm and coated with sticky grains of sand where his sleeve is bunched up—and pulls him in close. 

For a moment, Scar waits, faces close and bodies closer, giving Grian more than enough time to pull away if he so chooses. 

But he doesn’t. His eyes remain fixed on Scar, stunned, but no longer so afraid— a firmness in his gaze that wasn’t there before.

Scar leans in and finds Grian meeting him halfway, lips pressed together in what is ultimately a very brief, yet dazzlingly suffocating kiss that leaves them almost staggering backward to regain the breath that was so instantly stolen from them both.

Neither of them say anything as the sun fades behind the mountains, and for a moment Scar wonders if this will just be another thing neither of them choose to speak about, but it’s Grian that breaks first, letting out a still-breathless chuckle as he tears his eyes away from Scar, glancing down at the sand beneath them as his cheeks glow a rosy red.

Scar can’t help but grin.

“For luck,” Scar says, holding out his hand for Grian to take as he motions toward their bunker.

Grian snickers in response, taking the offering and following Scar inside. He gives Scar’s hand a squeeze, but keeps his face ducked down, smiling softly at the sand beneath their feet. 

“Right. ...for luck.”

[howdoyoudothedew]

Jaune (Ordinary)

Rated: G

Pairing: Archester (Jaune Arc/Cardin Winchester)

Word Count: ~600

All Jaune can see is wide, scared eyes and the largest sudden burst of aura he’s ever seen from Cardin. From anyone not in a fight. There’s still pressure on his lips, but he knows it’s not really there. It’s just a phantom. A phantom of lips that are warm and chapped and just a little wet. That press just a little too hard. He buries his face into his hands. It felt like a dream. It still feels like a dream. He knew Cardin felt something for him. Despite what Nora says, he isn’t that blind, he sees the looks. Even if he didn’t fully suspect…

It hurts to be pushed away. And not just emotionally, Cardin barely held back his strength. If he hadn't caught himself, he would've hit the floor. Jaune scratches his hands into his scalp, letting his fingers catch and pull at every tangle in their path. What does he do? If he wants to, he can just forget about it. Completely let it go and act as if it never happened; as if the press of Cardin’s lips on his doesn’t linger like adrenaline. The thought’s tempting. Just be a mostly normal student, make it through school without being the student who was kissed by the boy who blackmailed him during the first quarter. It’s so tempting Jaune feels guilty for it. But he lets himself think about it as he sits there, looking at his hands clasped between his knees, until he huffs and shakes his head.

He can’t. He can’t pretend it was a dream, can’t act as if nothing changed, when that one kiss flipped his entire world inside out. When his lips still tingle with it. When there is a boy, who blackmailed him for their first quarter and has since become his friend, sitting in his own dorm. When the thought of that boy makes Jaune nervous. Makes his palms sweaty and his heart light.

Jaune looks up at the door, and he finds his feet moving toward it, out of the room and into the hallway in the space of a single blink. A single thought. Fuck it. Never once has he wanted to be plain, or normal, and this boy who’s slowly become his friend– who he’s slowly developed a crush on through days and weeks and months of time– has kissed him. He’s not going to let Cardin just— Just get away with it. He’s not stopping with just one kiss.

Jaune refuses to just let them move past it. To forget. He’s not letting it be just a dream.

He enters the dorm without knocking and doesn’t stop until he’s in front of Cardin. The other boy looks up at him from Russel’s shoulder with dry eyes and whipping aura, bright with confusion. Jaune grabs him by the collar and pulls up at the same time he leans down, until their lips press together again, firm and hard, fireworks lighting up behind his eyes. Real. When he pulls back, he breathes, and watches Cardin do the same.

“I want this,” Jaune says, voice firm as his kiss. “I want to be here, I want you.”

Cardin grips his forearms, fingers pressing into Jaune’s skin till it crinkles and Cardin’s nails leave moon-shaped indents. His mouth opens, but nothing comes out. Jaune leans down, pressing his lips to Cardin’s again, brushing them softly together in answer anyway. When Cardin’s hands loosen, and he pulls back to see the disbelieving smile, Jaune kisses him again just to taste the curve of his mouth. This time, Cardin kisses back, soft.

[howdoyoudothedew]

Cardin (Little Miss Perfect)

Rated: G

Pairing: Archester (Jaune Arc/Cardin Winchester)

Word Count: ~700

Despite having blackmailed Jaune, Cardin was rarely ever alone with him. As was his own plan. If he ignored Jaune as much as possible, he could ignore the way his heart fluttered around him like something small and weak. Cliched. Falling for the straight guy. Even after they formed a weird friendship, after Jaune stood up to him, after Cardin apologized, he kept that space. Still, they end up alone in Cardin’s team dorm, at the little bench he’d set up next to the window within his first week at Beacon so he could watch the stars. Neither of them are in armour. Like they can actually trust each other enough to be vulnerable. Though Cardin knows it’s only because it is night. As soon as Jaune leaves this room, he’ll probably get ready for bed even if he won’t sleep. A socked foot nudges his own. Cardin looks up to see Jaune standing over him. Wisps of blonde frame his face unevenly and the lights from outside play in his eyes like glowing stars. There’s a chuckle. A smile much softer than Cardin could ever deserve gets directed down at him. His body warms, spreading out from his chest and into his extremities like a campfire. Jaune tilts his head and his hair brushes his collarbone.

“You’re not paying attention, are you?” Jaune’s voice isn’t accusatory. If anything, it’s amused. The corner of his mouth lifts in a smirk. “Am I not entertaining enough? Do I have to get you to blackmail me again?”

Cardin snorts. A harsh, inelegant sound that makes Jaune’s smile widen so Cardin can see the incisor that grew in crooked. Whatever breath that’s in his lungs feels like it gets stuck there. Jaune’s eyes are closed. He reaches out and his hands grip onto the collar of Jaune’s shirt. There’s a confused noise from Jaune, but it gets cut off as Cardin pushes up at the same time he pulls Jaune down. Their lips connect. His brain blocks everything out except the pressure. Except warmth. They're soft. They’re chapped and smooth in uneven patches. Just as Cardin figured they’d be from all the times he’s seen Jaune biting at them. Once they part, the air stuck in Cardin’s lungs finally releases. Opposite it a shaky breath is taken. Cardin’s eyes snap open and all he can see is his own reflection in Jaune’s wide eyes as Jaune stares down at him.

Every bit of warmth leaves at once. He pushes Jaune away hard. No no no. This isn’t something he can do. He can’t. It’s not- It’s not good, it’s not worth it, he won’t be the gay guy who falls for the straight guy. He won't be. He can’t be. Love isn’t even anything he really knows, not like this. Jaune looks confused and Cardin turns his head to look out the window. “Get out.”

“Car-”

“Get out!” Cardin barks. It’s quiet for a moment, an audible indicator of Jaune’s hesitation, before footsteps and the door closing. The second it does Cardin curls into himself. The glass is cold where he presses his side to it. He breathes deeply until it stops hitching oddly.

In the quiet he drifts. Eventually the door opens behind him again, but he’s not clear on how much time passed. It feels like a lot. At the same time, it doesn’t feel like enough. He doesn’t look over. The possibility is so low because of his actions tonight, but he doesn’t want to take the chance Jaune actually came back. A hand settles on his shoulder. He glances at it just enough to see chipped, sparkly silver nail polish. Like a balloon he deflates.

“Cardin?” Russel asks.

“What did I do?” Is all Cardin can say. There are no tears in his eyes nor emotion in his voice. When Russel sits down next to him and wraps an arm around his shoulders, Cardin leans into him.

[liquid-geodes]

Ya know what?!

FUCK IT WE BALL

TURN THAT POV INTO A PROMPT, LET'S SEE HOW YOU WRITE ONE OF THESE BAD BOIS.

FUCK IT WE BALL

It wasn't supposed to be this way. You weren't supposed to be here right now, not when he was certain you had left the building almost an hour prior.

In truth, you had, but upon arriving home you realized you had left your charger at work, so you made your way back, knowing Dave would still be there to let you in of needed. You should have called first, let him know you were coming back, maybe then you wouldn't be in this mess.

The building had been awful quiet when you walked in, but that wasn't out of the ordinary. Freddy's was closed right now, and the night guard was the only person in the building. What was out of the ordinary, was that Dave hadn't made it around to locking the front door yet, though you brushed it off as simple carelessness on his part. He always did seem aloof around other's, always hanging around quietly, eyeing the room and the people in it with an almost scrutinizing gaze. Everyone always said there was something a little off about Dave Miller, but you never saw it, not until tonight at least.

Dave wasn't a man of many words around others, but he always found time to talk to you. It was incredible really, how he seemed to come to life when it was just the two of you alone. The normally quiet and reserved night guard would become animated and theatric in your presence, with a bizarre sense of humor you found endearing. He had really grown to like you, and you him. If only you had known the man he truly was, but then you'd leave him, wouldn't you?

So he kept his secret as far away from you as possible, at least he had.

Until tonight.

Now he met your wide eyed gaze as blood covered himself and the floor behind him, his latest victim lying lifeless on the ground behind him.

"Oh Darling..." came his frighteningly calm voice. You couldn't help but notice the drop of his accent, or rather, the invitingly smooth addition of a British accent you didnt even known he had.

"I really wish you hadn't seen that."

You both knew what would happen next, and you both knew that you should be running for your life right now, yet you stayed planted firmly in the same spot in shock.

It really wasn't supposed to be this way, and what he had to do next would haunt him for the rest of his life.

[liquid-geodes]

H E R E ✨

I'd say his backstory is relatively the same as canon, the only thing that changes is that he decayed realistically.

I don't think this one needs any warning, but you can still ask to tag

Had he known the morning prior would have been the last sunrise he'd ever see again, William would have admired it longer. Now he was trapped, in a prison of his own making no less. It wasn't his fault, was it?

No. No he was only trying to gather the rest of the family... the rest of the lost souls.

Perhaps this was for the better, perhaps this was exactly where he needed to be. They would be together now, until the end of time. Never aging, never dying. Finally, he could put them all back together except...

He wasn't sure where he was.

He had known, at first at least, despite his sudden loss of vision, something the springlocks must have taken of course, or perhaps the years of decay is what took his sight from him. Whatever it was, it didn't matter now, not when there was still work to be done.

He had been moved, that much he knew, away from Freddy's, away from the family he had finally managed to gather. The voices that took him were unfamiliar, but undoubtedly young. Too young to have ever remembered his name, too young to know what they were dealing with.

Too young to know that they never should have taken him to something involving Freddy's.

Fazbear Frights. That was the name of the location he had been brought to. At least, that is what he was certain he had overheard. It was true what they said, that losing one sense heightened the rest. His hearing had become incredible after decades of living in darkness, so much so that he was certain he could hear their heartbeats quicken in fear as they approached his seemingly deactivated form if only he'd focus hard enough.

Disgusting. Authentic. Springtrap. That was what they had called him. How... fitting, the name had been, although they wouldn't know just how on the nose the nickname truly was. No one seemed to notice the mummified remains that made their home inside the old suit, writing off the smell as nothing more than years of abandonment. After all, it wasn't unreasonable to assume mice had found their way inside the contraption to make their home, right?

William, no. Springtrap spent his nights acclimating himself to his new surroundings. An old arcade cabinet here, a hallway there, an entrance to the ventilation system next to what he assumed was an emergency exit door on account of the alarms that would blare whenever he tried to open the door. He had been able to get a good lay of the land before their first nightguard had been hired, though he didnt stick around long once Springtrap decided to have his fun.

Then of course there was the next one, slightly older than the last, but still unwilling to put up with the animatronic's games.

Then there was Hudson, his favorite little play thing by far. How he wished he could see the look of terror on that one's face. Hudson wouldn't even approach him during the day, while he was feigning inactivity, for fear that the animatronic would come to life and hunt him down.

No, he couldn't hunt him while the lights were still on. Where was the fun in that? How was it fair that Hudson could see what Springtrap couldn't?

It wasn't. So he'd wait, until the clock chimed and alerted him that it was midnight. Six whole hours to make the nightguard regret applying to this job.

He hadn't even meant to kill Hudson, then again, he never really laid his hands on the kid. How could he? The closest he had ever gotten was during a chase in the hallway one night, but the kid had thrown so many objects in his panic, masking the sound of his retreating footsteps... Springtrap never did figure out which direction the kid had ran. The next morning was when he had discovered that he had hid in an oven in the makeshift kitchen area. Someone or something had turned it on while the kid was hiding inside, burning his favorite nightguard alive.

Of course, Springtrap had a certain... inclination towards who could have been to blame, but he could never be sure. He could feel her presence, the same as he had the night he had been springlocked, but he had no way of knowing if the Marionette was in the building with him currently. Seeing was believing after all, and Springtrap didn't exactly have vision on his side. He could feel his way around the various decorations on the walls all he wanted, but nothing would tell him with absolute certainty that the thing he was touching was connected to the proper vessel.

Before the new nightguard had been hired, a sound system had been installed throughout the building, "to heighten the customer's experience with these old tapes" the manager had said. It, however, only served to disorient and distract Springtrap while he tried to navigate his way around. Between the new audio cues and the incessant sounds of the subpar ventilation systems, he wasn't sure how east his next hunt would be.

The new nightguard did eventually show up for his first shift, and Springtrap knew the faulty ventilation would go out eventually, giving him a brief moment of blissful silence to try and locate his new prey's location. He had made it all the way to the room just in front of the fake office, a thick piece of glass being the only thing standing between him and his new playmate. He brought his hand up and loudly slammed his open palm against the material, if only to confirm his location based on the sound the two materials would make when they collided, but the startled shriek of terror that tore from the nightguard's lips told him everything he needed to know.

In the distance, he could hear the quiet question:

"Hello?"

It successfully drew him away from the office, if only to try and find where the noise was coming from, or more importantly, whoever had made the noise.

Had he been able to see through the glass in front of him, he would have been met with the familiar face of someone from his past.