#You are not allowed to leave; You are embedded. (RP)

[abunnyandherchao]

Hello! Welcome to the blog!

Other blogs:

Main Blog: @moonsnowsheep

EXE blog: @thedevoidlamb

TD Solo Cream blog: (not made yet)

This is a Cream the rabbit roleplay blog with Sophia included. Only 2 main Muses. (I will bring in alternate versions of Cream here)

(You can also ask me things here)

This includes my headcanons and other things.

Rules:

Don’t send NSFT to either characters. These are minors and I will block you if you do. Direct that kind of stuff to the ghost queen.

No proshippers or any disgusting people allowed here (sexist, racist, homophobe, transphobe, Etc.)

I do not know everything about Sonic lore. I may end up getting some things wrong.

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There will be angst and other serious things in this blog. A lot of the info I have is also Headcanons.

Characters:

Cream: a polite and kind Rabbit. Incredibly empathetic and cares about her friends deeply, Yet struggles with severe mental issues. (I will try to write in character for her but I suck at these kinds of things.)

Sophia: a friendly yet protective Lamb who lost her family and friends all when she was very young. Reprogrammed Mecha Sonic to act as a parental figure and is very efficient with technology. She is however emotionally unstable and will completely lose her mind if Cream were to die or be fatally hurt (this also applies to if anyone tries to destroy Mecha Sonic or the Amulet).

Ms. Emeralda: the spirit of a former Queen and the mother of Sophia. Died in the inferno that destroyed Sophia’s village, she is still around due to the amulet Sophia wears letting her mother’s spirit stick around in the mortal plane. She can interact with a lot of stuff and has gotten used to being a ghost.

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Secondary characters:

TW: Violence mentioned.

Insane Cream: a shadow of a once kind Rabbit. When Cheese died to rabies, she lost it completely, Vanilla tried to get her to move on but it only made Cream more angry and she decided to take it into her own hands, she took a hammer and went to a chao garden where she bashed in the heads of multiple Chao before she was stopped by authorities, she was locked up in a mental institution but escaped due to a mysterious friend’s help, now staying in a area unknown to the cops. Still polite but is way more dangerous and less kind, she will kill any Chao she can get her hands on and will attack anyone who mentions Vanilla. (Note: I will go absolutely insane when writing this Cream. Do NOT expect me to properly write in character for insane Cream.)

TRV (Tungsten Rampage Virus) Sophia: a Sophia caught in a second round of the Metal Virus. Eggman “Ingenious” plan led to him being mauled and eaten by Zombot Chao, and now the entire world is in danger because a man couldn’t give up. Traumatised and feeling helpless, she tends to cling to anyone she has left and not letting them leave her grasp. She has Dissociative personality disorder and it manifests in response to stress. This Sophia is a Rabbit and not a sheep. She wields Amy’s Piko Piko Hammer and has upgraded it with more powerful attachments to kill Zombots.

(Since I cannot draw at all even to save my own damn life, I’ll just put her appearance here too.)

Appearance: some appearance qualities are the same (like the Green rings, shield device and the purple eyes). She has white fur with black spots, overgrown fur on her head hides her eyes to other people, she wears a purple and blue dress, she has bandages on her left arm with increased technology on her right arm and an electrical link return device embedded in her hand to pull back her weapon after throwing it.

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Mod: The person running the blog. If you want to ask something, use (🐑).

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Just for a note: I will probably not post a lot. It’s a thing where I feel like I’m not good enough and therefore what I write isn’t good enough.

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There will be more characters, probably OC’s or canon characters I know how to RP as.

[brymstcne-a]

Continued from here! @agcnt1ne

---

...Even Davoth could feel some kind of dread washing over him. He was warned of what would happen if he kept pushing someone long enough for them to retaliate.

Guess it fell on deaf ears, after all. But despite all that, the Dark Lord stood his ground.

“You and your companions-- And even your bloodline, bring violence and war to thwart the Dark Realm. But conflict was born in Hell; It is inevitable.”

“...A fire that fuels creation, and gives purpose, where there is none.” The bane of Wesley’s existence finally came down, jumping right into the arena bounds.

“Stand and fight, bearer of the Maykr Key. Show me what you’ve learned. Do *not* dishonor me as you did before.“ Oh, he remembered HOW this man humiliated him last time...

“If only that cerulean runt was here to witness this fight...” This would take Wesley a while to figure it out. “But he doesn’t have to be upset if I do end up killing you right now. He’s too busy rebuilding his little world, after all...”

And thus, a sword and shield of gargantuan proportions came to life. Just like old times.

[hellsinvestigativereporter]

Story Time/Open RP: Dying does wonders for one’s health

Daigo made his way down the road. The sky had cleared since the night before and now he was making his merry way towards the capital city. It was a good distance from the collective’s strong holds and he figured he could operate in peace doing what he did best. He wondered at how his friends within that guild were faring. How was Damakos? Moira and Nyx? Did Harold still wield his ax for that fool paladin? And what of his sworn brother, Dhun? He had been gone a long, long time now. At least so it had felt. But regardless of all that he was back now. Having cheated the reaper once again and returning to the land he loved. The land he had called home. Daigo eventually made his way to the main walls of the city and saw white stone stretching far off into the distance on either side. He kept his hood drawn up. Perhaps shaving had not been the best idea as he was now more recognizable from the old days. Would the guards at this tower even let him through? He would have to see. He eventually made his way to the main gate. It was open and allowing travellers to come through, though they did have to go through a checkpoint first. When it was time for him to approach, he stepped up, and kept the hood drawn over his faintly glowing red eyes. 

“Name.” the guard said loudly. 

Daigo responded, “Daigo Belfir.” 

The guard slowly looked up and his mouth was in a firm line. “Oi is this some kind of lark mate?” he said unamused. “Calling yeself by that rat bastard’s name? Likely to get shot friend!” 

Daigo grinned. “Oh I dont know....I’ve been told Dying does wonder’s for one’s health.” 

The guard stared at him for a moment..and then burst out laughing. “well well guess we have a jester in our midst. Well friend I’m sorry to say that you wont be entering the city with jokes like that. Now be on ya way vagabond.” his tone took a more deadly tone now. “Before I snap me fingers and send ya to hell myself-” 

Before the man could finish, Daigo reached into the back of his belt and drew his Knife. Removing it from the sheath caused him to turn invisible, vanishing into thin air in the eyes of those watching. The guard shouted in alarm and Daigo quickly made his way past him and the guards rushing towards the door to hear what the commotion was about. Daigo could not help but grin to himself. A smart thief of criminal would not so boldly announce his presence to the guards, but instead simply sneak in and stay out of the public’s eye. But Daigo wanted the city to know, indeed the whole country to know... That he was back. And he was ready to prepare the way again for his work. Damn the collective, the circle, and all others who tried to end him those two years ago. He had been living in exile, growing, learning, developing his pyromancy, refining the powers given to him by the creature known as spawn, and had also obtained the physical prowess of the vampire lords themselves, though their magics were lost to him. He was not going to hide any longer. He was not going to fear any longer. Those fools and all who allied with them were more than welcome to try and stop him. But he would not flee again, even if death’s icy breath should lay hold of him at last. He made his way into the city’s heart and eventually found what he was looking for. The poor district. Where beggars, layabouts, lollygaggers, vagabonds, and other such characters widdled about their days. In such districts it was easy to hide. Like a rat in a castle. 

some time later Daigo found himself a nice little hovel to sit down and catch his breath. All that he owned in the world he carried on him, which was not much. But that was just fine. As he had before during his years chasing the bottom of a bottle he would rise up from nothingness again, and once more forge a name for himself in the land. He would need allies though. Resources. Wealth. Favors and black mail. He had a lot of work ahead of him, but this was work of a most wonderful nature. This was the work of a man who like a phoenix would not remain dead for long. He looked up at the castle where the ruler of this land lived. He then drew his hood back and smiled visciously at it. “Enjoy your soft beds and warm meals now my friends. Because very soon the bill will come due, and I will rebalance the scales once again.” He then took out a grail that he had tied to his belt, and then took out a water flask and emptied its contents into the grail. The water flask was in fact filled with blood and the grail began to glow from the ruby’s embedded in its cup. He then held up the cup to the sight of the castle. “To New beginnings. May that which was dead live again, and may that which now lives, taste its icy kiss.” he then drank the blood from the grail and laughed, unsheathing his magical knife and vanishing like smoke in a forest. Leaving only his foot prints behind...

-----Open RP! feel free to join, but please keep it civil. 

[colony22graphics]

            ❝Shine on,                  diamond.❞

◆ member since: nov. 22, 2013 ◆ longest character: alexander donovan ◆

@alexander-donovan, Well, here we go. 

Rory, there's no way on earth I could possibly describe what you've done for this community. Aside from making it all in the first place, constructing the post-apocalyptic sandbox we all hold so dear, you also pay attention to how it's executed---from basic principles of operation and how we ought to respect each other as players, down to the smallest, weirdest headcanon. It matters to you---which I think is probably the best way to summarize your energy and wisdom, the Rory-ness of it all: 

Things matter. People matter. Caring matters. 

In a world where we're pretty damn used to moving from one diversion to the next at a moment's notice, you make something that's absolutely set apart by saying, resolutely and passionately, that what we do here really matters.

And you're right, to think that. If you need any further proof that you---Rory---matter, you can look at me writing this damn letter (and swearing every three sentences, sorry). But you in your extremely Ro way, said hey, six years fucking matters, and so do all the people we play with, so let’s get mushy on the main and tell them. And I can tell you to your face you're right and this was a stellar idea because... I do that now. Because of your influence, I'm a better person, one who does actually try and tell people what I think. 

You challenge people to care, and to translate their caring into something others can recognize, and reciprocate. You’re never afraid to point out the importance of saying things and leaving a meaningful mark, becoming an active part of our community instead of staying in our own heads (as introverts on the internet are prone to doing).

You're also a hell of a writer, which is inspirational in itself, and I can’t leave that out of it. Your dedication to your characters, to their motivations and struggles, shines through in every post you make, and you don't let fear or insecurity take root or stop you from doing what you love. You know it's not about achieving perfection, but about collaboration and growth. The way we write is an exercise in discipline and embracing the joys of language, it's not meant to be fine art (though a lot of the stuff you come up with off the cuff blurs the line between the two on a regular basis.) It's really very rude how talented you are. 

I won't talk too much more about you and me personally because you already know it pretty well, but I will mention that when I offered to help out with tech stuff, you don't even know how impossible being a full mod felt for me, at the time. I'd just come out of some rough experiences and was ready to never do that again. But over the years, you gave me steps that I could take only when I felt comfortable, and let me accept only the responsibility that I thought I could manage (though you always told me you knew I was more than capable of handling it). In a very real way, with your patience and understanding, you gave me back my confidence, and my willingness to be vulnerable. That's something I won't ever forget.  

You have my respect and my friendship, always.

And dear lord, if Tumblr has managed not to self-destruct in the next five or ten years, I really hope we're still around doing this shit. No place I'd rather be.

Love you, Ro.

<3 Lottie.

(Oh, by the way, I took the liberty of adding something else, under the cut. I knew that I would never be able to cover everything, and that I’d run out of words, so I turned to others to fill in the gaps and maybe it’ll help convey it all a little more properly. Many thanks to everyone.)  ❤

         —-     Happy Colony 6th Anniversary      —-

     RO, YOU ARE AN ABSOLUTE GIFT. I’m incredibly grateful all those years ago I saw that Bones bio and decided to join this crazy little family because that is exactly what you have created with the Colony: You have made a family. You have always been a pleasure to write with, a hard-working and careful admin, and now this second go-round I'm happy to call you a good friend. I wanted to mirror your sentiment on my anniversary post, it is amazing how time rewards our patience with this second meeting! I owe you a very real debt because thanks to this group when a friend let me down whilst I was on a different goddamn continent, thanks to you, I found Cassie there to help me out! The group is an extension of you: thoughtful, kind, emotional, and funny as hell.                                                                                                             - Nicola

     Rory, your dedication to the Colony (and previously Belvedere) astounds me every day. Writing with you is an absolute joy, thank you for all that you do for us!!                                                                                                             - Cassie

     RO HOLY COW!! It's insane to think of being part of something so wonderful for so long, I can't imagine how proud you must be to call this place home. I absolutely love writing with every character I've gotten to interact with, you approach your characters and this RPG with such a passion, it's always made getting to be part of it all the more special to me! To many years to come!                                                                                                              - Molly

     The things I admire most about you are your kindness, your compassion, your understanding and the way you always make the best of a situation. You've been nothing but welcoming and kind to me since I've had the privilege of joining this insanely talented and incredible group, and every day I am in awe of the love and care and detail you pour into the rpg. You have been so supportive over these past few months, every day I consider myself insanely lucky to have met you. I adore you and I'm so happy for you that you've come so far in your own personal journey, you truly do deserve all the happiness in the world.                                                                                                             - Lou

     Ro, you’re an absolutely wonderful mod and person. I’ve never met a more dedicated and creative mod in all my years on this website. You’re an astounding writer and creator who leaves me wanting to be better. You’re a wonderful person to write with and an even better friend. I love you and all the work you do for everyone in this group. Thank you for creating this fantastic place and starting this wonderful family.                                                                                                              - Lee

     Thanks for always being so open and welcoming! It's been such a blast writing with you.                                                                                                             - Ren

     Your commitment to this game and its players is absolutely next level, and it shines through in literally everything you do for us. I haven’t felt so at home and so comfortable in an RP in such a long time, possibly ever, and I know so much of that has to do with the amazing environment (both IC and OOC) you’ve spent such a long time painstakingly and lovingly cultivating. This RP wouldn't be the incredible space it is without such an incredible and dedicated team of mods. I hope you know how much I appreciate all you do, and how much I flippin' love ya!                                                                                                              - Alex

     Rory, you're a perfect admin and an amazing friend! You've always made me feel so welcome here, from day one, and my heart feels warm and fuzzy when I think of you. I utterly adore all your characters and your writing is just brilliant, it's always so much fun to brainstorm and write and plot with you. Thank you, thank you, thank you!                                                                                                              - Ellie

     When an rp has a lifespan of not just a year or two, but SIX FREAKIN YEARS, you must look to your leader. Ships don’t sail without a captain, and you have been the most loyal, loving, and adventurous captain to your crew. Congratulations on this amazing accomplishment, love. xoxo.                                                                                                              - Amy

     Rory, I just wanted to thank you for how welcome you've made me feel since I joined the group. It takes a special person to be an admin (dedicated, patient, and just a little bit weird), and the six years you've been running this group is a testament to how well you do it. You've got incredible creativity and passion, and I know I'm not the only one that feels so lucky to write with you in this world you've built. Congratulations on six years! Here's to many more.                                                                                                             - Nick

     RORUUUUU. I literally have no idea where my life would be now if I'd never met you. I've said it before and I'll say it again, you inspire me to be braver and stronger and more self-loving. Thank you for being my friend even after all these years.                                                                                                             - Mika

I don’t think I can concisely put into words how much you mean to me, but I’ll try: we first met in 2012 and through all these years you’ve continually inspired me with your talent and hard work. You’re more than just an incredible friend, you’re an ICONIC leader that has the determination and talent to keep this group running for six amazing years (with the help of your equally talented and wonderful co-mod, naturally, wink wonk). The Colony is a family to me, and I think to all of us, even before it’s a writing group. It couldn’t be what it is today without someone as tirelessly understanding and creative at its helm. You’re an absolute gift, you’ve been there for me through thick and thin, and I’m grateful every day that I get to call you a friend.                                                                                                             - Maddie

     Ro, you have been so kind and amazing since day one! You have this astonishing energy and a kindness that honestly makes the colony feel like another home. You’re such a phenomenal writer, and have made this rp a community like no other. I can’t quite put into words how much I appreciate you, and how much effort you put into everything you do. You’re so talented and I feel incredibly lucky to say I’m a part of this community. Thank you for being you. xxx.                                                                                                             - El

     The Colony has been a living, breathing world in which to create, and the key piece - creativity - is embedded in your DNA. You aren't just an enthusiastic mod. In some aspects you are the Col. I know you want everyone to feel included and allowed to be inspired by the writing of others rather than hemmed in by rules and egos so many other groups have. Thank you for throwing all your characters at me when one of mine has some wild scheme. I've said before your writing is cinematic in its expression and it always challenges me to want to (try to) write on a higher level. I'm grateful to have you as a sounding board when I get stuck in the mud of my own self-doubt with writing. Thank you for just being a friend as well and letting me ramble too. It is impossible to sum up this wildest of rides out of all my writing adventures so, much love, as always. xx.                                                                                                             - Cat

[the-phyrexian-is-a-part-timer]

Fanwalker Bio: Xelos Vekka (return of the re-cont.)

Part four. This should be it. I hope.

The exhaustion from the planeswalk knocks Xelos unconscious. When he comes to, he is resting in a room made of curved fine metal. He notices the areas that were burned by the chemicals’ explosion are covered in a lattice work of more metal. The spots where it touches his skin tingle and feel numb. Thinking it is like a cast or splint, he realizes it is more flexible and moves with him, almost floating against his body. He is greeted by a tall blue skinned being with most of their body missing, replaced with more of the same metal on his body. The vedalken tells him that he is safe and lucky to be living. He also explains that his injuries weren’t just outright replaced due to them considering he would want to have a say in how and with what. With this, he leaves. Xelos, still amazed at everything he sees, goes out the doorway the stranger went through. Everywhere he turns, he’s met with more filigree structures and stared at by more impossibly prosthetic people. As he reaches a wide open window overlooking the cityscape, his vision is briefly blurred by a large object flying by his view. As it lands he sees it’s a huge sphinx clad in more of this metal. He has arrived in Esper.

He is escorted back to his room by some of the healing staff that find him. There, he is met by many people. Most look at his “untouched” body and the strange happenings of his arrival. After a few more tests and questions, he is released from his “recovery harness” with new, restored flesh underneath. He is offered an apprenticeship in one of Espers’ artificer guilds. He quickly learned what they taught him, mostly due in part to the magic he had learned on his home plane so many years ago. Seemingly impressed by the progress made, the guildmaster offers to give him enough resources start replacing body parts with etherium. Instead of full on amputation and replacement, though, Xelos wants a full treatment to take place instead. He explains his plans and the guildleader agrees, though finds it a tad strange. After much planning and getting ready, the procedure goes as follows. First, his entire body is placed in a concoction of etherium and a magical gel-like substance. The substance is heated up to a high temperature for a long time. When Xelos emerges, his entire body is stained a grayish color. Every hair, nail, and patch of skin is infused with etherium to a small degree. Second, a liquid/etherium mixture is given to his eyes. Third, his veins are punctured in multiple spots and mages start to channel etherium inside his body. Things are mostly calm here. Then the hard part, infusing it into his circulatory system. The process is grueling work and torturous to Xelos. Before the metal reaches his chest, though, his spark flares and he planewalks away.

Conscious this time, Xelos lands in a rain forest. This one, though, is huge. Not just the forest itself, though. The foliage, too, is huge beyond compare. He was standing on a leaf the size of a decent sized sail boat. Amazed at the sight, he reminds himself of the predicament. Using his metallomancy, he forces the rest of the etherium that didn’t bind to him out of his body. He then heals his incisions and starts to look for shelter of some sort. As he continues to walk, he notices the horizon is curved upwards on the ends. Tired of the weird feelings and sights he’s experienced, his thoughts drift towards his homeplane. As his thoughts become more and more intense on the situations that he left there, he suddenly walks back. Again, amazed by what just happened, he tries to use magic there, hoping that whatever he gained away from there he kept. His magic does work, but he is confused why. After exploring the plane a bit, he finds out the faceless were outed in his absence and that their meddling was the last straw that let magic return to the plane. Overjoyed that things turned out alright, he was confused when he also heard no gods actually came back also. After searching for any signs of them, he only finds some rocks that were claimed to be the hammerscale from the making of the gods’ belongings that fell to earth. After finding nothing more, he gathers the rocks and uses the metal within to make himself some armor. Not seeing much else to do, he planeswalks away vowing to master his new transporting ability.

Many years pass as he goes from plane to plane, always staying long enough to gain something useful and then leave. As he goes, he starts researching way to summon a soul and encapture it, thinking of his son and love. He finds many different ways on many different planes to do these actions so he spends alot of his time trying these in his home plane. As one after the other don’t work, he becomes more and more disheartened. After his failure on his home plane, his walks start to become more like idle drifting.

In a few years, he starts to realize that he still has to do something with his life. He begins to research more and more into the original endeavor of sealing a soul for safekeeping. As he does, he also tries to figure out more about his planeswalker spark. He returns to Esper after many years of being away. When he goes to his old guild, he is greeted by a new guildmaster, kinda. His “guild” was actually a front to study him orchestrated by the ethersworn. When he left, they had to wait years for a new planeswalker to show up so they could continue their research. Xelos vigorously begins to go over the data they had collected on planeswalking and the spark. With the knowledge he had acquired throughout the planes and the notes they had, he asks if they can spared one last procedure unto him. He gets the divitium armor he made and pulls it apart and shapes the pieces into runes. Then, he goes to a plane to get a particularly hard crystal. He gets it shaped to the desired size, then leaves. Next, he goes to a plane of metal and flesh abominations he had studied earlier. After luring one away, he kills it at drains it of the substance it held, confident that the “oil” would help stabilize the body and make it last. After gathering everything, he sets up the plan. His sternum is removed, replaced with a chamber that holds the crystal that is covered in embedded runes of divitium. After putting that in him, the attendants are to do a specific ritual to bind his soul and spark within the crystal. After that, they are to inject the liquid he procured into his bloodstream. When he awakens, he finds out it all came out well. He allows himself some time of acclimation, while checking to make sure everything is really alright. With his departure, he pays for the procedures he as given by giving them more data on planewalking and departs.

Now free of the restraints of time, he goes to think of the next step of his plan when a voice in his head starts demanding things from him. It gives him an all consuming need to spread the oil he has in his body everywhere he goes. Knowing something is wrong with the oil, he goes back to the plane he got it from before starting work of a way to fix it. As he tries to find out how, he is captured by beings on the plane. These ones are of chrome and tools that find him quite interesting. After some negotiating, he employs them to help modify his body just a bit to make it more secure and less likely to be influenced by the oil. In exchange, he will bring a device when he planeswalks away and comes back to give them data on other worlds. As everything is done, and he is debriefed on the modifications done, he immediately planeswalks away.

Xelos goes to Ravnica to try and setup a base of operation, as he can’t trust the the allies in esper to not interfere (not to mention the problems that plane seemed to be having anyways) and his homeplane is a place of too many emotions for him. He starts work as a doctor to make his funds enough for his first construct on the plane. It was small, simple, and had one job: to find any scrap materials no one was using and bring them to him. From the first came supplies for the second, and the third. As his little army grew, so did his ambition with them. He started outfitting them with the ability to relay their senses to him and store them for later use. He started selling some of his findings to the Dimir, who found his information “worthwhile” and “always available”. He grew his operation with the ties he obtained to what it is now, a network of tunnels accessible to his little drones and a central command that he can defend reasonably well. The voice, still there no matter how hard he tries, still feeds into his paranoia that he needs to prepare more.

Finally done. Jeebus this was long. Hope you like my character’s backstory. Any questions are welcome. Available for rp.

[brymstcne-a]

Oh, that was fear Davoth could feel just coming out of this particular mortal. He was basically basking in it, if anyone were to question that sickening grin he just made.

"With that pathetic toy you call a shotgun? Not a chance." After all, his presence in front of B.J was just a projection. "I have seen a far more lethal weapon than what you hold right now." He wasn't lying though-- He observed one of this man's descendants carrying around the Super Shotgun and massacring demons with it.

Deep down, this man reminded him so much of an assistant he created, eons ago. And he loathed him with every fiber of his being right now for his betrayal.

"If you really want to know where your little friend is, he is in Immora." He really hated having to spoon feed info on someone he shouldn't give any away to. "It's not like you'll be able to reach him-- Not without enduring the rest of the Dark Realm first. But let me tell you something, boy."

"You can never hope to comprehend what Hell has in store for you, nor will you be able to save Wesley. He has chosen how his life would end, and by my hand it would be done." Was that a challenge? That could as well be one.

"I will tell you what I told him when I visited a little room of his, a while back." This bastard was still at it with the taunting, wasn't it? That was such a face waiting to get shot at this point. "Neither his bloodline, nor yours, is safe. You both have doomed yourselves the moment you took down one of my subjects." One of his subjects? What could he mean?

"I have said what I needed to say." The dark entity turned away to leave, but not before having one last look at Blazkowicz. "If you think you or your bloodline has what it takes to reach Immora, I will wait for you there."

And the Dark Lord's visage faded away, as if it was an illusion.

@brymstcne​ – continued from here

–

As soon as the man (was he even human?) spoke of Wesley, Blazkowicz visibly tensed.

The words the stranger spoke only served to confuse him as to just what the hell he was even talking about. The City of the Undying? Hell? Not a single one of them rang a bell in the Nazi-killer’s mind - although since he’d mentioned Wesley by name…

But when the entity, Davoth, spoke his name - it sent an ice-cold chill crawling up his spine. His pupils narrowed, his breath hitched oh so slightly - and he didn’t know why. Why was he familiar? Why did he vaguely recognize him? Why did he know, deep down in his gut, just how dangerous this thing was?

He cocked the shotgun, aiming it towards the being’s torso, finger resting on the trigger. “Listen, pal. I don’t know half of what the hell you’re even referring to, much less anything about half-bloods or a City of Undying, but I’m going to make it clear. You tell me just where you have Wesley or I won’t hesitate to blow your head clean off your fuckin’ shoulders.”

[marconixon70]

The Best Pruners for Gardening

Every person who loves gardening always wants their garden to blossom with flowers. But for that, you need high-quality pruners. Gardening pruners are the need of everyone, whether you are an amateur gardener or a professional horticulturist. They are accommodating when it comes to sustaining the beauty of your garden by maintaining its state. These pruners are invaluable to all those interested in handling plants, whether big trees or small flowering plants. Pruners are meant to give life to the plants. They are used to remove unwanted elements that can hinder the thriving potential of the plants. Pruning activities include eliminating certain parts of the plants like branches, buds, and roots.

Here is the list of some of the best gardening pruners for all those who love gardening and want to see their gardens full of well-maintained flowers. Our selection of these pruners is based on the research and reviews received by these pruners.

Felco 2 Classic Manual Hand Pruner

Felco 2 has topped among all gardening pruners due to its features. The pruner is not only easy to use and repair, but also it is durable and smooth. It will require you to exert only a slight force while cutting thick branches due to its soft opening and bypass blades. The plastic coating of forged aluminum alloy on its handles has made it unbreakable and easy to repair. Besides, it has strong blades of hardened steel, making it capable of withstanding sharpening even dozens of times. You can most significantly find replacement parts very quickly and widely for your pruner if its function has been worn out. The lovers of gardening and gardeners widely admire it. It serves the best when it comes to trimming and clipping delicate branches, shrubs, flowers, and perennials due to its specifically designed blades.

ARS HP-VS8Z

If you are yearning for the perfect pruner, then ARS HP-VS8Z can give you the utmost satisfaction. It’s worth getting due to its significant features. The tool is excellent when it comes to getting perfect cleaning, flat cutting in soft stems, hardwood dowels, woody growth, and even crushing and tearing of buckthorn branches of about 3/4 inches. The stunningly sharp blades made of high carbon steel have been modified for resilience and hardness. Besides, the availability of tight and precise tolerance between the two edges of the pruner makes its cutting action smooth. The presence of aluminum handles in the plastic coating has made it easy for the users to hold it and move as per their needs and get easy cutting. However, its pricing is inconsistent, but it is available widely everywhere.

Corona BP 3180

Corona BP 3180 can be considered as a great budget pick. It has enough sharp blades that can slice through thick branches and spindly stems efficiently and swiftly. Moreover, you can cut branches of about 2/4 inches one-handed with this pruner. Also, it accepts replacement springs, blades, and screws. The pruner has large enough handles splaying out widely. The introduction of forging compact molecules of steel in the pruner has made it the most durable and most robust to give maximum performance. The pruner’s hook and blade design are of much use for the users for providing precise, close, and clean cuts.

Our other picks that are giving tough competition to these pruners

The Felco 6 is the smaller version of Felco 2 with the same sharp blades and efficient functionalities. However, the handles are slightly shorter, giving a smaller capacity and lighter weight. The pruner can be an excellent option for users whose hands are fast. The other Felco model is Felco 14, a smaller model but an excellent one for consistent performance. Apart from these, the Tierra Pro 38-1713 7.5 and Tierra Pro 38 1710 8.5 bypass pruning shears are equally swift and efficient in giving clean cuts.

Our next favorite pick includes the Okatsune 101 7-inch bypass pruners, which can be the favorite for the bonsai enthusiasts. The pruner is made of Izumo Yasuki Japanese steel delivering a Rockwell hardness of about 60+/-1. In simple terms, the pruner can stay sharp for a longer time than the other pruners. The pruners can cut the dowels and live branches correctly and quickly. The Burgon & Ball Professional compact Bypass Secateur GTO/PRL gives similar performance as Okatsune. Similarly, the Tierra Garden 35-1731 Ergo Forged bypass pruners do also not have the same level of performance as the Tierra Pro model, but they can cut scallions swiftly and correctly; however, they tend to crush the Norway maple branches and dowels.

The Burgon & Ball RHS GTO/SC Bypass Secateur is respectable, opening wide and snapping hard at shutting. It can cut dowels of about 1/2 inches and buckthorn branches of about 3/4 inches when you will force it with your two hands. Besides, it can make flat and good cuts in live branches.

The Fiskars Quantum Hand Pruner can’t cut scallions but can shorten the Norway Maple branches of about 3/8-inches unevenly along with tearing bark. Regarding Fiskars PowerGear2, its manufacturers Fiskars have said that it can give up to 3.2x power on every cut. The Gardena 8757 Classic Vine Bypass Hand Pruner can cut materials up to the thickness of 20mm and cut the branches dowels of 1/2 inches and buckthorn branches of 3/4 inches. The Tierra Pro 38-1707 7 inches bypass pruning shears can barely cut the buckthorn branches of 3/4 inches and leave the uneven surface with torn barks and cuts.

The Corona BP 3350 Bypass Pruner has an adjustable grip, and it is economical too. Moreover, the replacement blades are also available if you want to buy it. However, you will need to exert more pressure while using your two hands to close it on the buckthorn branches of 3/4 inches and dowels of 1/2 inches. The Corona BP 6310 required more force while cutting scallions. On the contrary, Kenyon Forged Bypass Pruner 41406 is very much decent on slicing raspberries and scallions; however, it requires you to exert more force while cutting live branches and wooden dowels.

You can get AM Leonard 1286 Traditional Bypass Pruners at a slightly lower price than Felco 2. These pruners are very much comfortable as that of ARS HP-VS8Z, and also you can get replacement parts. However, the Fiskars 7936 PowerGear Pruner required more force than any other pruners while cutting raspberries and scallions cut dowels of 1/4 inches unevenly. Still, you can cut the branches of Norway Maple with your one hand only. The ARS HP-VS8R Signature Heavy Duty Rotating Handle Hand Pruner is very resembling the ARS HP-VS8Z featuring the same sharp blades and smooth and perfect function. The EZ Kut Heavy Duty Ratchet Pruner can slice the raspberries canes of about 1/4 inches efficiently and effectively without ratcheting. It can also ratchet through the dowel’s of 1/2 inches and branches of 3/4 inches without any fuss and with little force.

The Gardener’s Friend Ratchet Hand Pruners are the easiest ratcheting pruners for cutting. It can cut branches of 3/4 inches and dowels of 1/2 inches with a little force. The tool also comes with a sponge saturated in mineral oil and embedded in the handle to oil and clean the blades. The lightweight Corona RP 3230 Ratchet Action Anvil Pruner is quite an economical choice and can cut through easily even thick branches. The Flexrake LRB205 Ratchet Anvil can do a mediocre job of slicing scallions. The Gardena 8798-U Smart cut Ratchet Pruner is the most expensive one, but it comes with a specific feature. It has the lever that can switch the pruners from the direct bypass mode to ratchet mode. In the end, the Gardenite Ratchet Pruning Shears are, however, more extensive than any other pruning shears, and you will need to squeeze twice at the end of every snip for engaging it to perform a clean cut.

How have these Pruners been Picked?

Several key points were taken into consideration before preparing the final list of these pruners. Pruners are required to make clean and straight cuts without hurting the hands of users. If any pruner is cutting unevenly, then it can create several problems. Uneven cuts make it difficult for the plants to get healed and expose them to disease and insects, creating the crevices in which water can get collected and increase the chances of rotting and infections. So, we need a pruner that can cut the branches and stems reliably without hurting your hands.

To find out the best gardening pruners, we first consider the quality of its blades. The blades made of high tempered carbon steel or carbon steel last longer. Some companies put chrome coatings or titanium on edges for rust resistance. The second thing that holds importance is the overall design of the pruners. The system should allow the pruners to cut accurately and evenly.

Moreover, it should come down to the middle nut. Also, the screw should control the distance between the blades. If the pruners’ edges rest very tightly against each other, then blades will become unable to do cuttings. Besides, a pruner must fit the user’s grip for smooth opening and closing with one hand. In the end, you can find two types of pruners basically in the market. These two types include anvil pruners and bypass pruners.

Source: The Best Pruners for Gardening

[brooks-schreave]

Brooks: Ficlet 2 (Part 1)

HI! Last Brooks fic was really used to progress a storyline, SO this one will be more fun! I wanted to show off his relationships with the girls but the fic was kinda long and I'm not totally done with rps, so I decided to put a part 1 and 2. Thanks @clove-teasdale and @eloiseduval for the rp 💗 Sorry for typos :)

------------------------------------------------------------

“Prince Brooks, wake up. Prince Brooks!” Bertram, my butler, exclaimed, trying to get me out of bed. However, knowing his attempts would be fruitless, he resorted to ripping the covers from me. “Really, your highness? Pokémon nightwear?”

My face heated. “My mom got them for me!”

Bertram nodded, clearly unimpressed. “You need to get dressed quickly if you want to arrive to breakfast on time.”

I groaned inwardly. “Yeah, yeah. Gotta get that morning protein.”

“Precisely, sir.”

I walked over to my dresser to pick out my clothes for the day. It didn't require much thought as I wore different variations of the same thing most days. A button down, khakis, nice shoes, a sweater, and a tie. It's what was comfortable but still looked presentable enough. Admittedly, I found myself trying a bit harder with my looks when the Selection began. I wasn't interested in any of the girls, of course, but it was almost reflex to attempt to impress the women. So far, no one had mentioned it, which I appreciated. That'd be far too embarrassing, even for my standards.

“Alright, Bert, I'm headed out.”

“Yes, sir. And Prince Brooks?”

“Yes?”

He gave me a advising look. “Try to speak to some people. You really should work on your social skills. I've been telling you this for years."

I rolled my eyes, nodded reluctantly, and headed out the door.

:-:-:-:-:

I stepped into the dining hall and looked around for a moment. Not everyone was here yet, so some girls were standing around talking. Should I engage? God, definitely not. But should I? I sighed to myself and headed to my seat. I saw Eloise sitting in her chair silently. She was usually pretty lively but I guess since Clove wasn't there to chat her up, she was left high and dry. Okay, you got this.

I attempted a short wave, cursing myself on how awkward it must've looked. She waved back. “Morning, Elle,” I offered her what I assumed to be a polite smile. “Where's the other one?” By other one I meant Clove Teasdale: the bane of my existence.

She smiled and raised a brow. “Morning. And I think she should be here soon. Concerned, are we?” Concerned? God, no.

“Eh, more grateful,” I shrugged. She let out a small laugh. Alright, new topic. “How are you?”

“Pretty good today, what about you?”

“A little tired myself. Glad I'll have a palace-perfect-meal to brighten my day.”

“Well they always brighten mine. Keep me strong,” she joked. It was comforting to know she had at least some semblance of humor. It made for easier conversation.

“Obviously. You'll be a bodybuilder by the end of the month,” I laughed. She returned the response. Oh, I'm funny…. Cool.

“I'm sure Nate will love a bodybuilder as a possible wife. He'll come to appreciate my bone crushing hugs.” Gosh, they even sounded similar.

“His dream girl,” I sighed dreamily.

I was enjoying my conversation with Elle, but not enough to not notice when Clove waltzed in. I didn't spare her so much as a glance. She stopped as she saw me and rolled her eyes before taking her seat. “Good morning, Eloise.”

Eloise looked between me and Clove and pressed her lips together. “Morning Clove.” Clove nodded and seemingly refused to allow her eyes to fall on me, instead focused on the rest of the room.

I ignored their beginning conversation and carried on my own. “So, Elle, how's your stay been?”

I heard Clove scoff. Typical.

Elle took a sip of her juice. “Very lovely, thanks. Lots to do, making new friends.” She glanced at Clove. The corner of Clove’s lips lifted in a brief smile as she spared Eloise a glance, then returned her stare back at the room.

“Who've you made friends with?” Poor girl, I thought. Hopefully there were other girls besides Madame Satan over there.

She lifted one shoulder. “Not too many girls, mostly just passing conversations. Evelyn, Avalyn, to name a couple. Clove, here, is the one I've spent the most time with so far.” Of course.

I ignored the last part of her response. “Oh, I've met Evelyn. I've read a book of hers. Have you?”

Clove gave me an offended look. Could she read my mind or something? Jeez.

Elle fiddled with her fork. “I just started it the other day, actually. She gave me a copy. I've never been too much of a reader but I like it so far.”

“You're more into music, right?”

She nodded. “Been surrounded by it my whole life, I love it.”

“Lucky you. With Nate playing all the time, I'm almost sick of it,” I smiled.

My dearest oppressor, Clove, decided now was the perfect moment to truly make her presence known. “Maybe because you can't play,” she muttered. Elle raised an eyebrow, once again.

Alright, I had ignored the looks and the scoffing, but no more. I turned towards her. “I'm sorry, am I bothering you, miss... I didn't catch your name.”

She glared at me. I repressed a smirk. “Not a surprise. Not many things you catch on.”

I faked a laugh. “You'd know exactly what's that like, wouldn't you?”

“I'm not the one who couldn't catch a ball, actually, but sure.” I nearly rolled my eyes. Of course she's resort to childhood taunts.

“I'm not the one who's couldn't throw one,” I said nonchalantly, taking a sip of my juice.

“Hmm, maybe if I'd had your face as target I would've had a better aim.”

I slightly choked on drink from laughing. For some reason, I loved when she got mad. It was like something had been embedded in my brain when I was younger that her anger was the response I was to hope for. “Claws are out, I see.” I turned to Elle. “I apologize for her behavior. There's just no excuse.” Elle let out a small unsure laugh, looking back and forth between us.

Clove’s mouth dropped but she closed it again and looked away, setting her jaw, then back at me with a proper smile. “I'm not sure you want to talk about proper behavior, Prince Brooks, since you barely understand the definition.” Oh, it's like that?

“I understand just fine, I assure you.” This freckled young miss couldn't appreciate my wit, but I knew someone who could. “Lady Eloise, would you say I'm polite?”

She bit her lip. “I think it best I don't answer that.”

Clove looked at me as if to say ‘two can play at that game'. I grinned at the challenge. “Lady Eloise, would you say assuming someone else stole something from you without proof is polite?”

She gave Clove a wary look. I nearly felt bad for the girl. “I'm assuming you already know that answer to that question.”

“Would you call stealing polite,” I interjected.

“I never stole anything from you, you idiot,” Clove gave me a flat look. Eloise sighed.

“How could I believe a thief,” I countered.

“I'm not a thief!” She crossed her arms with defiance. “Like I would want anything from you.”

“You'd been eyeing that solar system replica for months!” My pride and joy… ripped from its rightful place in my room, never to be seen again.

Elle furrowed her brows. Damn, I probably sounded really geeky. Eh, I'm used to it.

Clove threw her hands in the air. “You sound as stupid as when we were seven, my God!”

“You sound as bratty as when we were seven, dear Lord!”

“Well, smart ass,” Oh shit, “please do tell me how I stole a freaking solar system with a blinking sun-that I couldn't even carry--WITH NO HELP!”

Good point, but I refused to lose. “I don't know! You have man hands!

“I'm surprised you know how man hands look like since you don't have a sample of those,” she retorted.

“So what if I have soft hands!” Gosh, that didn't sound very manly. “At least they don't look like bear paws like yours. How's your roar, Clove?”

She stood up. “Excuse you?” Haha, I'm dead.

I stood up too. “Wanna go? Let's go.” Who do I think I am? An MMA fighter?

She clenched fists with anger, but said nothing, as her expression went flat. She headed for the door. “Grow up.”

I flinched. Not the reaction I wanted. “I'll be right back,” I said to Elle and followed Clove. She was so to kill me. “Clove, wait up! Clove.”

She spun around quickly and brought her hand swiftly across my face. Did she just...

I stood there stunned and held my cheek. “OW!”

She glared at me with fire in her eyes as she took a threatening step towards me. “You want bear hands, I’ll show you what they look like.”

I took a step back but she kept advancing. Even though I towered over her, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't slightly terrified. “I was jokin-”

She spoke without a single waver in her voice. “I don’t care what you thought you were doing. You don’t want to call me out for a fight Brooks, trust me.”

My eyes flickered at her newfound confidence I hadn't seen as children and at the threat. “Why, Clove? What would happen.” I was definitely playing with fire.

She was silent for a moment and turned to leave. “Good luck getting that journal back.” Crap. She still had my journal filled with my notes and codes about the possible corruption within the Selection.

I grabbed her hand pulled her back towards me. “I need the journal, you know that.”

She pushed me away and pointed accusingly. “Then stop acting stupid. I agreed to work with you because it’s convenient, that doesn’t mean I can’t go at it alone and spare myself your annoying presence.” She ran a hand through her curls, the same curls she's always had, exasperated as she looked down the hall, and mumbled, “I’ve got enough on my plate as it is.”

I kicked at the ground, knowing what I should say even though the idea went against everything I wanted to respond. “Sorry,” I muttered.

She spared me a glance and crossed her arms, frowned, and stared at the hall again. “Right.” She stood a bit straighter. “How’s this going to work then? As far as I understood we were working on this together. Some,” she gestured with one hand, “teamwork will be involved.” She didn't sound too pleased.

I cleared my throat. “Yeah, right. I know you're busy and I don't usually have the chance to talk to you... So what if we came up with a signal? Y'know, if we ever need to meet.”

“Alright, so what’s it gonna be?”

I thought it over for a moment. “I don't know, it could be something like tucking your hair behind you ear. Like this…,” I spoke a bit quietly as not to scare her and reached forward to tuck her hair back. Why did I just do that? That was weird, oh God. She moved her head back a little and gives him a surprised look followed by a confused frown.

I snatched my hand back. Why am I like this? “O-or… a quick brush against our noses?” I demonstrated.

Clove watched me warily with remaining confusion on her face. Move on, woman! “I guess that could work. So we use it whenever we have a breakthrough of sorts?” I nodded. “I might have something before dinner if you want to check. You should get back to breakfast though.” She turned to leave.

“Are you not going to eat,” I asked.

She stopped walking, her back still to me. Her sight fell to the ground for a second or two before she kept going. “I’m not that hungry.” That was clearly a lie, but I wouldn't press.

I frowned as I watched her retreating figure. For the first time, it finally clicked. She wasn't 10 years old anymore. I ran a hand through my hair. I should probably stop acting that way, then. But that'd probably prove itself to be quite difficult.

[ryleigh-swain-blog]

Business As Usual [Past Self-Para]

Word Count: 1258

ooc notes: this was made in the original iteration of the RP. I wanted to post it still since I enjoyed it so much then.

The creaking of the old wood floors irritated Swain somewhat. As they threaded closer into the shop, Swain took notice of the peering eyes. Many analyzed their feminine build, probably wondering if they could try to fraternize with them. Others merely gawked for weaponry. The fewest amount of the prying eyes belonged to those who started to get out of dodge. To them, the fun-loving air of the Powder Keg Tavern had changed dramatically. The imposing figures of Holy Wench pirates barricaded the doors, but all eyes were more focused on the exact steps of Ryleigh Swain. Several people began to get up, but the gloved hand of the Quartermaster rose up to stop them.

“Please,” Swain said, with a gentle air impelling their voice, “you may remain seated. My affairs have nothing to do with you,” they followed with a smirk. As they continued deeper into the tavern, namely towards the central countertop, their smirk brimmed with an irreverent nature. “Yet,” Swain exemplified, letting free a guttural giggle as they turned their focus on the nervous barmaid. 

The barmaid, a buxom lass of late adolescence, protected her chest with a wooden tray. Swain rested on the counter, assuming a comfortable position. She rested her chin on her hands, watching the barmaid with a particular interest. They didn’t share words for quite some time. The barmaid didn’t move from her spot, but her hands tried to silently maneuver towards a flintlock. Swain stood up and padded behind the counter. They held out a gentle hand, placing it over the barmaid’s hand. “No, darling, there’s no need for such horrible manners.”

“Now where is your,” Swain examined the barmaid’s features for a second, before continuing, “Father?”

The barmaid backed away, which allowed Swain to take the pistol for herself. They held it up for a moment, inspecting it. “I’m glad you didn’t try to fire this at me. It’s in such poor condition. It may have fallen to pieces in your trembling hands,” Swain spoke to the barmaid, slowly turning to the mass array of the alcohol bottles. Swain reached for one, perusing it. With a nod, they threw it back into the hands of a nearby crewmate. “It’s yours; it’s your reward for tonight,” Swain said, before turning her eyes back to the barmaid. More distance was created between over the small amount of time.

“I do not like to repeat myself,” Swain said, the once calm tone dissolving into a sterner one. Their eyes began to hone in on the barmaid, radiating antagonism. They stepped slowly, but with authority over to the barmaid. “Where is your father? Is he here? Did he abandon this tavern? If so, we need to have a conversation about the debt that he owes us.”

“He-he’s in the back,” the barmaid’s face paled as Swain’s domineering nature overpowered her. She even pointed, nervously, to a single door on the side. Swain looked, then motioned for it. Two of the four crewmates that came with Swain rushed the door. They kicked it in with a gleeful noise. The scream of an older man echoed throughout. Swain walked into the room, noticing that it wasn’t an official place of work. It was the tavern owner’s bedroom.

A scraggly looking man sat on his bed, covering his bareness with his blanket. He resembled a pig, with his alcohol-influenced physique. He looked aimlessly around, but when he saw Swain, he immediately reached for a pistol. Swain briskly moved and interrupted his endeavor with a knife to the hand. A wail of pain ripped from the tavern owner’s vocal chords. Swain looked on with expressionless, but evident irritation. They reached over and grabbed a stool and took a seat in forth of the bleeding man.

Swain grabbed their pocket watch, opening it slowly. They rested their elbow on the top of the knife. The man grimaced and moaned with pain. “Tsk, tsk, no groaning now; you’re the one who tried to shoot me,” Swain said, chuckling darkly as they did. They presented the pocket watch to the man. When he didn’t look up at it, Swain reached over and forced him too. 

“It is past the time that I expected the parcel. We are set to leave within the next hour, before sundown,” Swain returned the pocket watch back into their coat pocket. “Did you expect me to forget about our deal?”

“You never told us what I’d get!” the man managed to speak up beyond his pain. He reached for the knife handle, but Swain swatted their hand away. 

Swain sighed out, rolling their eyes. They reached over to the man’s hand, took a grip of his wrist, and took the knife out. A slight exhale of relief came from the tavern keep. “I thought it was evident,” Swain mumbled, taking a glance at the bloodstained knife. They positioned the blade over the man’s hand again.

“What are you doing?” the man asked. 

“It’s a game that I found,” Swain said, before tapping the knife on the makeshift nightstand. In between each of his fingers, Swain tapped the knife. They increased the pace before they slipped up. A bit of flesh came off the man’s index finger. “I apologize; I am not very good at this game,” Swain said, “it requires precision that I sometimes don’t have. Especially when I’m infuriated by someone’s incompetence.”

“I’ll try again,” Swain said, raising the knife up, “unless you have something to say.”

“You can’t just take it! I need the gold to keep the tavern up,” the man exclaimed, his fear developing into general franticness. Swain paused briefly, then started again. This time when they failed, the knife was embedded into the fingernail of the man’s middle finger. He reached a new octave when he yelped. Swain left it there. “Please! I got to…” he whimpered.

Swain surveyed the damage and then lifted the knife back up. “I hate repeating myself. The deal was that”, Swain laid the knife down over the man’s little finger. “you give us what we want. Your gold, supplies, and a bit of alcohol to hold my crewmates over,” Swain said, their voice falling upon a lower register. 

Without blinking, Swain lobed off the finger. It flew upward from the sudden force. The man managed to pry his hand away from Swain’s grip, hurling about from the raw pain. Swain stood up, wiping the knife off with their handkerchief. As they put it away, Swain took out one of their pistols. They looked at it and smiled. Taking aim, Swain closed one eye, to perfect the shot. 

“And you keep your life; the deal was in your favor. But now you’re refusing our deal, so I have to settle your debt for you.”

“What a nuisance,” Swain’s disdain showed itself in their final words. The screams of the man were interrupted by the loudness of gunfire. Blood splattered upon the owner’s chamber walls. A shriek came from outside the room. Swain looked over to see the barmaid, covering her head. Swain looked over at the crewmates. 

“Take what we were promised, take what you want, and burn this place to the ground,” Swain commanded, before leaving the room. As they exited, they caught the eye of rising patrons. With a heavy sigh, they brandished two of their four pistols, firing shots into any approaching individuals. Swain casually walked out of the tavern, taking out another handkerchief to wipe some blood off their face. 

“What a shame. This was such a cute, little tavern.”

[crimsonrevolt]

Congratulations Fallon you’ve been accepted to Crimson Revolt as Thorfinn Rowle!

↳ please refer to our character checklist

Death Eaters are always chilling to me, especially when written well, and Thorfinn was no exception. I loved how you balanced the subtle edge between charming and vengeful and constructed a character who uses everything he can to his advantage and spares no mercy. Your interpretation for him was everything that I didn’t realize he was lacking in skeleton form alone, and it was beautiful (and terrifying) seeing him come to life in your writing! We’re so excited to see what you do to build him further and what kind of impact he’ll have in the rp! *your request to age Thorfinn up has been accepted

application beneath the cut; tw: death, violence, murder, torture, abuse

OUT OF CHARACTER

INTRODUCTION

Hello! I’m Fallon, twenty-one, reside in the CST, and go by She/Her pronouns. And for that optional fact: I am originally from Germany.

ACTIVITY

Between a 1-10 I would currently set myself at a 6 or 7. I do run two roleplays of my own, and university is back in session as well as me having work.

TRIGGERS

*removed for privacy

HOW DID YOU FIND US?

Your confessions blog showed up on my recommended blogs, and clicking it out of curiosity, I found myself very much appreciative of all the kind words your members left there. Hoping the roleplay was still active I clicked onward to the main, thus discovering your exquisite roleplay! Also sidenote hi Jen Boo Bear.

WHAT HARRY POTTER CHARACTER DO YOU IDENTIFY WITH MOST?

Hang on to your wands, kids, because this is about to get deep (sorta). I identify most with Sirius Black (alright, so maybe I haven’t been to Azkaban, but we’re disregarding that bit). Being considered as an initial outcast, especially amongst his family, is something I can greatly relate to. With a family that has always ventured on a certain path, holds strict values, and expects their descendants not to differ, both my brother and I haven’t always been received in the best of light. But in the end this unfortunate upbringing didn’t discourage him, but shaped him, and I like to believe that like Sirius, in the end, will be sure of my chosen path.

ANYTHING ELSE?

Just to age up Thorfinn to twenty as earlier discussed, and thank you for considering my application!

IN CHARACTER

DESIRED CHARACTER

Thorfinn Aesir Rowle

Thorfinn: ‘thunder’

Aesir: ‘of the gods’

Rowle: ‘renown, wulf, wolf’

FACE CLAIM

Dominic Sherwood

REASON FOR CHOSEN CHARACTER

I’m a sucker for the dark, battle-worn antagonist, and most likely lack the ability to play anything but. I often play Antonin Dolohov or Amycus Carrow, but one of the things that drew me to Thorfinn Rowle was the simple fact that I’ve never seen him as a character in an HP roleplay before, and that I was instantly drawn to give his character a voice that I have yet to see. I immensely enjoyed all the carefully chosen aesthetics for your characters, but the dark princeling aura I was struck with by Thorfinn’s stuck with me.

I see him with wicked grins and darkly promising smirks; donning a crimson, cracked crown. He is not the calm before the storm, or the storm itself. He is the devastating aftermath; what the world left for others to see. A loose cannon, an army’s artillery, the Coliseum walls, and possibly the tragedy of Pompeii. Rage is his conquerer. I see him a strong-willed and brutally honest; with a sharp dose of unforgiving. He is prepared to move hell and earth to obtain what he wants, obliterate anything in his path no matter the consequence. Socially, he prefers isolation; volatile actions being the loudest thing about him. He’s apathetic, and considers emotions a distraction, a waste of ability. People tend to avoid him due to his cynic and unpredictable nature. However, if he likes you— though you would never find him admitting it— then he’s more inclined to make an effort not to piss you off. He wears vengeance without a cloak, and has swept over lives with its very existence. His charming persona is often a ruse, a swift way to invite you in before the killing blow.

PREFERRED SHIPS // CHARACTER SEXUALITY // GENDER & PRONOUNS

Thorfinn identifies as a male with the use of He/Him pronouns. Though he is demisexual, he has found that he holds a preference for men. Romance is a falsity, and sex is as simple as intoxicated convenience. With parents that married due to bloodline, had a child for the sole purpose of an heir and lineage, he does not hold the best views on relationships. He considers them a ruse, and strongly believes he lacks the emotions to pursue them (or hold the patience to achieve them).

As for ships, Thorfinn, I believe, would do well with someone of similar mind and position. A death eater, as merciless as himself, would cause an initial, gravitational pull. Someone that has known their share of tragedy, and that holds a pension for volatile behavior. Someone he can kill with, but also, in the end, perhaps trust and self-teach a fondness for.

CREATE ONE (OR MORE!) OF THE FOLLOWING FOR YOUR CHARACTER:

You can find headcanons, aesthetics, a playlist, and more on a mock blog right HERE!

IN CHARACTER QUESTIONNAIRE

♔ If you were able to invent one spell, potion, or charm, what would it do, what would you use it for or how would you use it? Feel free to name it:

His mouth twisted with vile intent. There were plenty of spells for inducing silence; to singe the worthless tongues emitting mindless, dimwitted banter. “Perhaps a spell that removes your tongue,” he proposed, mismatched eyes flickering toward his inquirer, “so that when the silence is lifted, you will be forced to remain mute.” He sunk into the leather sofa — his seat a throne wherever he sat— and hoisted legs crossed at the ankle atop a crystalline table. Someone’s priceless heirloom, no doubt. Thorfinn pictured his knuckles testing the strength of the glass, and the force needed to fracture its history. How little he cared, and how much he urged to set ablaze someone’s foundation of precious memory. “Or,” he continued, a dark chuckle bubbling within the cauldron of his hollow throat, “I could simply cut out your tongue.”

♔ You have to venture deep into the Forbidden Forest one night. Pick one other character and one object (muggle or magical), besides your wand, that you’d want with you:

His grin was a trap; a feigned charming persona a fallacy. It was an invitation to lean toward the wolf’s bloodied maw and bare their jugular to ivory fangs; their life forfeit to his usurping snarl. Camaraderie was a long lost, archaic concept to the bloodied prince. Who would he have beside him in war, if not but himself, the only being he knew to depend on upon a genocidal battleground? “Freyja.” At least she was loyal. “Scarier than any bloody werewolf, and knives have never done me wrong.”

♔ What kinds of decisions are the most difficult for you to make?

His brows furrowed, and a dramatic, over-exasperated sigh was its accompaniment. “The decision to answer this question.” He could feel his hands become coated in oil-slick scarlet, sticking his palms together with familial blood. Then his fingers, curling around the dagger’s hilt, and its silvery blade embedding its sharp structure into an unmarred canvas. Again. And again. And again. The parental slaughter had been the most effortless decision of his life. What could be difficult, when your actions were comprised of reactive ideas? Decisions for my wellbeing, he thought, the realization tasting acidic.

♔ What is one thing you would never want said about you?

Flames licked behind mismatched irises. That was rather personal. Through his stoic demeanor came a feign of allowance where discord stood vigil. The query posed could never truly hold a valid response. To allow a crack disrupt his fortress? The idea was built on an inferior man’s principles. His voice captured a death eater’s generic principle: “That I was merciful.” What priest in their dutiful confessional could possess his true answer? Oh, how Thorfinn’s words could set its frame ablaze. The presence of his sins could ignite it, perishing the priest to embers, leaving the scene to ash.

WRITING SAMPLE

(Flashback, Age seventeen, Christmas Eve)

Outside, the Rowle mansion was an exquisite portrait; its estate’s entirety blanketed by a delicate layer of frigid snow. Dusk had sunk the brightest globe, and engulfed the elegant architecture in a fine veil of twilight. Inside, the shadowed hallways were ablaze with screeching, humanoid howls. Inside, a chamber’s immoral walls were drenched by a garnet-tinted paint.

It had begun with his vision of a mother— an empress in her evening silk. A son had ascended stairs which rose toward heaven, yet truly descended into hell. She was seated upon her deep-violet, ornately carved throne, the tip of a feathered quill peeking through a curtain of ashen hair as her cranium dipped to write upon parchment. “I am busy, Asger.” The son had taken another, sinisterly determined step. His mother’s head lifted, and he was met with her porcelain features through a mirror’s reflection. She swiveled around to face him. “Thorfinn.” Her tone was riddled with surprise; had he ever intruded her chambers before? Or, perhaps, the shock withdrawn from her siren-song voice was the result of his wand, steadily directed toward her. She rose with  years of practiced grace, and he, the birthed puppeteer whom cut her fraying chords by a whispered, fatal curse. And then, she cascaded, her elegance smite. She looked like the angel she never was. And him? Only demons soaked themselves in blood.

The man convulsed beneath the wand’s volatile scrutiny. Its possessor stalked felled prey, predatory gate circling the pursuit of an oncoming kill. The last of his lineage, brought low.  “How does it feel?” he queried, tone level, voice failing to rise above his father’s ceaseless war-cries. “Does your blood feel frozen? Do your bones feel shattered? Does your body feel ripped apart?” He wished to pluck his tendons, incinerate his veins. How does it feel? he thought, to be the receiver of such senseless, merciless brutality. He’d known its pained definition for seventeen years— a length that which confessed itself a millennia of accursed onslaught. His father had swallowed lucifer’s luck; he’d only tasted its iron for mere hours.

And then he unsheathed a bladed heirloom; meant for crystalline encasement, yet selected for insidious motive. Thorfinn knelt beside his father’s mangled figure, the torturous curse subsiding, paying tribute to its subterfuge. “How does it feel?” he repeated, the inquiry infested with sadistic promise. “I’ll teach you.”  Like you taught me. There was a spray of pink mist as he drove the dagger home, discoloring his ivory flesh. Turbulent wrath. Barbaric savagery. Ferocious fury. Colossal sin. The blade rescinded to his potent rage with a sickening shing and squelch. The knife committed its massacre; a rerun of sharp steel embedding itself into a shallow-breathing frame.

The host’s mouth parted to expel a current of blood; staining loathing lips with death’s lipstick. Again, a caged voice whispered, rattling his vandalized skull. Again. Again. Again. The battlecries no longer echoed from his father’s frozen throat. They were his elicitations, tearing through his system with each thrust of the weapon.

Exhaustion finalized the deed. At its release, the knife struck the earth with clattering force. The victor rose, armored in liquified rubies. His victim lay in grotesque mutilation, a corpse devoid of its proper casket. The wraith vanished from its demolishing destination, and sought an eloquent alternative.

Deft digits slipped upon the keys, revealing red smears upon their stark notes. The kneazle’s lioness paws left perfect, scarlet-printed shapes atop the piano’s glossy roof. She sat poised on charcoal-colored haunches, sharing a piercing gaze with her murderous owner. “Happy Christmas, Freyja.”

[sassytimemachine]

will you tell us more about ari :D

Of course!!!

Thank you for asking Sun, that’s so sweet of you!

So in there’s this German fairytale, collected by the Grimm called The Two Brothers, there are a lot of similar fairytales about this, but the one from which Ari is based is about a pair of brothers one very poor and the other very rich. I puted the link there, but basically in the orginal a pair of twins eat the heart and liver of a bird and are throw out of their house and adopted by huntsman. Then they go for adventures, they found a hare, a fox, a wolf, a bear and a lion, and each of this animals give them a pair of their babies so they’d let them live, so the each of the brothers have one of the babies.  Then they go separated ways and leave a mark so the other would know if they’re in trouble (in this kind is a knife that rustles on the side of the one who’s in trouble).One finds a princess and kills a dragon and becomes kind, but then is tricked by a witch that makes him turn his animals in stone, so the second brother goes to save him and does that because he refuses to strike his animals therefore the witch can’t trick him into turning them into stone.

That’s a rough sketch of the story! The point is that this is a universe were Grimm Brothers take tales and twist them. Aristaeus (Ari) and his brother (Casius) did eat the golden bird (unkowingly) and did were thrown out of their home, but eating the golden bird cursed them to have the souls of five animals (the hare, fox, wolf, bear and lion) embedded into them so they’d always live being hunted. They were raised by a cursed huntsman that understood they situation. And then leaved to have adventures.

Casius was tricked by a power hungry king and his daughter into killing a dragon, who was a nice princess that was in love with a witch, and the witch set a second curse on him for it: He’d lost everything he loves. The king and the princess that tricked him into killing the dragon gave him a dark stone that contains his inner animals, so he’d be just human. 

 Ari found the rustling sword and ran to safe his brother, but when he found out what Casius had done (he ran into the witch himself) he confronted him, begged him to take off the dark stone and accept who he was and what he was. But Casius wife didn’t want to lose him, so she told him that Ari had pretended to be him. :c Casius  was a bit paranoic, and though Ari wanted to take everything he had built, and so he deadly hurted him (in the tale he cuts the other’s head lmao). At the end he had a spark of recognition and allowed Ari to escape, but Ari has to live hiding.

They’re very nice! He uses they/them or he/him, he doesn’t takes anyone bullshit and actually just wants to be left alone in the forest and have some peace. Maybe someday help his brother. 

Also is not like he can transform in those animals, THEY ARE those animals. 

They have a lot of trouble eating, for the part of him that is a lion and a wolf demand meat, but the hare is often offended by how unatural it’s. 

He can’t quite transform his shifting, so if he’s scare he might just turn into a hare. Or if he’s hurt and needs to heal he might just become a bear. 

He’s best friends with Goldie (Goldilocks) who’s actually a reckless chaotic neutral woman, who just wants to be recognized like a great adventurer. (she’s super offended that she’s protrayed like a little girl in the Grimm’s version. And keeps calling Ari ‘King’ like a name, because at first she confused him with his brother. He’s being introduced as King to many of the characters, but he’s too done with it to try to correct them lmao.)

His mum leaved when they were very young  becauser her life with their father lacked passion. Ari doesn’t remember her face but remembers she sang some german lullaby about a bird. He never resented it. And always hoped she lived her dreams.

Of his animal mothers he only  met his bear mom and she teached him to follow traces and go fishing without net. And his lioness mom, who hates him because of her cubs being combined with lesser creatures.

Ahhh I’m so sorry to speak so much, Sun, I just really like this character, and I’m afraid I’m not gonna be able to develop him much if the RP dies. :’(  But yeah, Ari is super fun to write. <3 I’m so thankful you asked this, again sorry for ranting! Don’t feel like you need to read this, it was just fun writing it!

[brymstcne-a]

"Blazkowicz..." Came the weak voice of the Welshman, fingers twitching, his body covered in blood-- and beneath him, the bodies of many, many Nazis.

"... h-help me?" //agcnt1ne

Oh, what's this? A deranged mortal, mistaking Davoth for William?

He could pull a fast one and kill him right now. But that would cause B.J to try and hunt him down faster.

On the other hand...

"Oh my, look at you-- A Mess-ley." Now he wasn't a big fan of puns, that was more like Kahann's thing. But he wasn't averse to pulling one or two occasionally. "Tasteless joke aside, you certainly are in need of a hug. Then I'll get you out." Here, he was hoping that this would work out. But then again, the man before him was unable to think properly because of his current situation, so this being used to advantage would be much easier. "C'mere." Davoth opened arms for Wesley to embrace.

[hotcocosharing]

Second Chance Part 11 (IM RP)

Shunichiro Tachibana 

[ Free Saturday night? I need someone to accompany me to a product launch and everyone else I know is free. ]

I should have waited till morning to read this or at the office with coffee in hand and no one around. Covering my face and shutting my eyes for a few long seconds before I turn to watch Sachi again, how is she always so peaceful?

My head could not work out what it is that Midori wants- a date? I went. Something more, been there done that and backfired. She avoided me and I played along. She came back to apologize, I aceepted it then she kissed me on the cheek like we had never broken up.

I am far too old for the chase, yes the bachelor’s life has given me all kind of freedom and flexibility but I by no means enjoy any of it. Who am I to blame her while I’m the one who has another girl naked in my bed? Do we have the time and luxury to dance around till we figure out what our heart truly desire? Sachi deserves a better man and so does Midori.

The product launch isn’t my concern but what it implies if I say yes and go with her. What is she hoping for? Does she want me to go or is she making an excuse? I move a step forward she takes the opposite, I follow her lead then she spins around and surprises me. I used to love that about her, always knocking my socks off and made me laugh till work consumes me and all it’s left was the dull and predictable conversation.

Resting on my allow as I stroke Sachi’s hair gently, I want simple, someone to lay next to me, laugh and share with me, love me and be there for me. With that in mind, I reply Midi and pull Sachi close to me, inhaling her sweet scent before my eyelids feel heavy and drift off in hope that I’ve made the right decision.

[ Okay, send me the details. ]

Midori Katayani 

*A few days later*

Give a woman the right lipstick and she can conquer the world – I wasn’t sure exactly who that quote was said by, yet right now, it’s how I felt; only problem being, I couldn’t find the lipstick I was after. It had been an overdramatic race against time for this launch party to come – for Saturday night to arrive – in between the one and only response I’d gotten back from Shunichiro saying that he’d been here I was caught up in a web of overtime, lack of sleep, every single staffing issue possible to happen and of course near forgetting that tonight was even happening at all.

Rummaging through the make up bag on the bedside table of the suite I’d booked for the night, I let out a long groan like sigh.

[7pm, Oriental Mandarin Hotel. I’ll be in room 1609. See you then.]

The text I’d message through days ago was still running as if freshly embedded in the front of my mind. A nervous twitch washed over me for the third possibly fourth time tonight wondering whether or not Shunichiro would make it – and my mind was making excuses incase of a let down - perhaps work would come up or he’d find a better commitment to attend to or maybe, just maybe; he’d forget and I’d have to show up alone; but no… I couldn’t think like that, I shouldn’t have been thinking like that. The way that I saw it, tonight was the last and only chance I had left to show, tell, act upon how I was feeling, how I had felt, how he made me feel– and get everything sorted between us, even if it ended not the way I wanted or would have preferred it planned.

Playing with my wrist at where my watch would usually be, instead there a small silver bangle that I was still getting use to wearing, I finally came across the perfect shade, pulling the tube out and taking off the cap to only be disappointed at there not being much left. Darn – it was my ‘lucky’ lipstick in the most gorgeous cherry shade I’d ever laid my eyes on and years ago, I’d brought it on a whim for our first date. It’d had been discontinued now – the brand become defunct but it had lasted me for years – I promised myself I’d only wear it on special occasions: birthdays, award nights, anniversaries, perhaps even our wedding day if we ever got there.

Tucking some loose hair I’d curled neatly behind one ear, I painted the lip stick on in one clean swoop and put it away, quick to last but not least slip into the little black cocktail dress I’d decided on wearing; again, just by pure coincidence what I’d also worn to my first date with Shun – surprised that I still even fitted into the thing. The alarm-clock on the dresser opposite the bed read 6.57pm. I wanted to break out into a sweat but I knew that it would just be a waste of all the effort that I’d put in. 3 minutes – he still had 3 minutes.

Stepping into a pair of heels and dropping back against the bed, I reached over to grab my phone which was resting on top of  a pillow and checked my emails and texts one last time before giving up and laughing at myself.

[7pm, Oriental Mandarin Hotel. I’ll be in room 1609. See you then.]

That damn message had gotten the better of me again. Why had I booked a suite? Was I expecting something to happen? Was I wanting something to occur? Perhaps we’d come back here after the party – after we’d had a drink or two – things could get interesting for the wrong or for the right reasons. Oh c’mon now Midori.. pull yourself together, you booked a suite because the walk of shame after a half dozen glasses of champagne was less embarrassing to a suite rather than a cab parked outside where the world could see you.

Tossing the phone across the other side of the bed, I rolled onto one side; catching a glimpse in the mirror of how I looked. My reflection - not too bad. The lipstick colour had been a perfect choice. The dress? Mhm… I wonder if he’d remember the significance? I sure remembered our first date; how could I forget – I could remember if as if it was just yesterday. I remember the awkwardness between us that vanished within minutes of being together. I remember the smell of the cologne he wore and how it perfectly complimented by sheer coincidence my perfume. I remember being self conscious of being walked up to my front door at the end of the night. I remember the ways he’d made me laugh and I remember not wanting Shun to leave. The feeling of all this was overwhelming – no other guy had gotten even close; not that I think I’d ever want someone else to.

I could feel the beginning of a racing heart beat.

Deciding to get up and walk around the room instead as a change of pace; I started getting antsy.

Shunichiro, c’mon – where are you?

[kristie-rp]

If you could not die, that’d be great

Original by @cassandra-rp / @coloredinsanity

The scythe gleams silver, moving entirely on its own: it has launched itself through the air, evading the chaos its master is currently suffering. December, the owner and master, has been launched after it, the strike from the creature she has hunted causing it. The scythe has become caught in a branch, and she catches herself on it, breaking her fall. Her own momentum is enough to swing her back towards the monster, weapon in hand.

“Thanks, Raquelle,” she mutters, an aside to her scythe. It only gleams in answer, not daring to provide any greater distraction as the master sprints towards her target.

December has vampirism in a manner that makes her purer than most, granting advantages turned individuals such as Syrus cannot dream of. She has enhanced speed and resilience, and her senses can rival the most perceptive beasts; there’s a spiffy intelligent name for it, known by Intella but not December. Apparently, it is a trait that has been lost in the last few centuries. The veins and bloodlines of anything at all are visible under her gaze, and the beating hearts around her are completely unique. She can count the number of people in a room and pick their locations based entirely on subtle differences in the beats of their hearts. It makes her a brilliant fighter, granting her unique insight into weaknesses and effective targets.

The beast she is fighting also has a spiffy long-ass name, one Paimon and Intella will no doubt use at the drop of a hat. December does not know it, and does not care enough to try to rectify that. She knows it is dangerous, and she knows it needs to die; that is all she needs.

It is possible that this is why she gets along so well with Rikku, compared to most other people. She is presented with a creature and sees it as a demonic monster, one with no intelligence aside from an urge to kill, eat, and hunt for flesh. She is presented with one such monster, and she decides it needs to die.

She has already injured it, and badly. One more good blow, and it will die: she has it lined up as she jumps again, slicing the back with her scythe. She doesn’t expect the spikes in its’ back to separate and launch at her, several impaling her, and shards of those that miss – exploding against the trees – embedding into her skin. It’s instantly painful and she can feel it burning, and it tells her exactly what it is, and that she has made a mistake in assuming it is bone.

It’s not bone. It drives her to the ground in response to the pain, to her hands and knees, already a mess. But in her defence – why would she assume some random monster has adamantium spines?

Raquelle withdraws from the scythe to check on December, who she considers both her owner and a friend. She touches her back as gently as she knows how, touch feather light, and assesses her condition. The wounds are bad, fatal to most, but December – predictably – refuses to let it show, drawing herself upright. Two of the largest spikes are embedded in her stomach, but December refuses to acknowledge them, drawing her phone before she is forced to double over again.

The phone is caught before it hits the ground by Raquelle. She knows exactly what to do: it’s moments like these that she’s glad her master made the decision to hire a lackey. December had been reasonable enough to tell Asher where she was going before disappearing into the woods, and he is not far, lurking nearby in case he is needed. Raquelle tells him to hurry up, because there’s nothing else to say.

December has a stubborn streak several miles wide. It is this that allows her to hold herself together when they reach the hospital, because she does not want to catch attention: she covers herself with a heavy jacket that hides her wounds. She is walked into the hospital by Asher, leaning heavily on his arm. Raquelle is forced to stay outside, because they cannot bring the scythe into the hospital, and because she is bound to it. She trusts Asher to get her master to where she needs to go, because Asher helped Charlie all those years ago, and knows better than most which buttons to press to take the elevator to the basement. He does not comment on the fact that December’s jacket is doing nothing at all to hide the blood trail.

The drips catch the gaze of a passing doctor. Garrett hadn’t noticed the woman, distracted with signing off something for the receptionist before he starts his lunch break. It is as he looks up from the papers that he sees it, crimson against the sterile white floor, and clearly leaving a trail. He follows it with idle curiosity, glimpsing the source of the trail as the elevator doors shut.

He’s instantly struck by her. She’s beautiful, of course, but it’s not just that. There’s something else, something entrancing, and clearly she’s not entirely human. She will be going to see the expert in the ‘secret hospital’, he guesses. He decides he needs to find out what is happening, and learn who she is. “Page me if anyone needs me, but I’m on break,” he tells the receptionist with a warm smile, ignoring her blush to head to the stairs. He takes them cautiously but quickly, two at a time as he heads down to the ‘hidden’ hospital that Vincent maintains.

She has no idea that she is being followed when Asher helps her collapse onto an examination table. She passes out immediately, blood loss and pain becoming too much for her. Asher rolls his eyes as he makes sure she is laying on her back; Vincent looks up. It is the  body hitting the table that caught his attention, not the elevator chiming or the footsteps: his book is too interesting for anything less than an emergency to distract him.

His eyes are disinterested as they pass over Asher, and he completely ignores whatever words of concern are falling from the lackey’s lips. Vincent has long since forgotten human emotions and concern, dismissing them as a waste of time. He turns his attention to December as the familiar scent reaches him. His steps are near silent as he approaches, adjusting the coat to examine the wound. The adamantium spikes are immediately revealed, and he contemplates them. “Well. That’s rather unfortunate.”

He shoos Asher out of the way and reaches for a pair of scissors in the same gesture, intent on removing the bloody blouse. The scent of a werewolf – woody, warm, and dog – assaults him as the door swings, and he glances up as he sets the scissors aside. Garrett has been brought by curiosity, it seems, and his fellow doctor notes that he is entirely focused on the woman on the table. Vincent’s lips twist into the vaguest hint of a grin, which he quickly hides as he adjusts his glasses, turning to his collection of medications and ingredients. “Vampire, adamantium spikes imbedded.”

“Adamantium?” Garrett asks. He’s still learning, but from what he has been taught by Vincent and the remains he has been allowed to examine and autopsy, he is under the impression that vampires should be dead from a wound that severe, at least when made with adamantium. “Shouldn’t she already be dead?”

“You have been paying attention,” Vincent notes with some approval. “The answer is yes. Why do you think she’s not yet?” He has selected a particular liquid, a potion from his stores, by now, and pours it to neutralize the metal as Garrett considers. Neutralizing it will both prevent it from doing further damage to December, and from doing anything to harm him as he operates. Garrett is good, but he does not trust the werewolf to do what needs doing if Vincent harms himself.

“You said – before, you said something about pureblood vampires. If that causes it – is she like that?”

Vincent nots and directs Garrett to hold her and prevent her from moving, waiting until he obeys. The two are surprisingly in sync, considering how averse Vincent is to working with others. Garrett trails a hand along her arm and it sends a shiver reverberating throughout his body, something incredibly familiar in it. It feels, he thinks, like a memory – but that cuts out as he has to focus, ready to restrain her more as Vincent removes the spikes.

One is ripped away, and she tenses in response. Her body twists as if that will help her to escape the pain, and Garrett’s expression twitches in sympathy. He watches as the wound begins to heal, muscle and fat and skin slowly returning. Vincent applies some more of the liquid to speed the healing process, watching to ensure it completes. He repeats for the second large spike and gaping hole, before moving on to carefully picking the smaller shards from her torso, arms and face.

Vincent has an unfortunate tendency to be ‘quirky’. This is the nice way of saying it: the fact is, he is erratic and unpredictable. Garrett has, sadly, gotten used to this, having to make a choice between adapting and leaving. Given the number of fascinating discoveries Vincent has enabled, he’s been willing to adapt. When his unpredictability kicks in and Vincent reaches for Garrett’s wrist, Garrett allows it with a sigh. He flinches when Vincent nicks his wrist with the scalpel, ignoring all training and hazardous substance warnings they’ve been through, and guides Garrett’s wrist to December’s lips.

Asher is a completely viable alternative, but he doesn’t protest either, alternating between watching quietly and texting updates to Raquelle. In reality, Vincent probably has hundreds of spare bags of blood in the fridge down here, pillaged from haematology. Unfortunately for Garrett, they live in this reality, where Vincent puts his amusement above all else. And this? This is going to be amusing.

“Is it really okay for her to drink from me?” Garrett asks uncertainly, wide eyed and not entirely expecting an answer. She’s a vampire, after all, and he’s a werewolf.

He doesn’t get an answer, which is fine, because December’s eyes shoot open the instant she tastes blood on her tongue. She shoots upright and clutches at the hand that feeds her, instinctively careful. She does not want to damage it, after all; she knows better than that.

For a moment, she is convinced this is a dream. After all, she isn’t Paimon. She isn’t blessed. It doesn’t seem to matter how many years she searches for: the fact is, the love of her life has lived once, and has been gone ever since.

But – as soon as her vision focuses – her breath catches in her throat. Her eyes are stinging with tears as she focuses intently on Garrett. “I – it’s you,” she stammers quietly, stunned.

Garrett frowns at her, because  he doesn’t even know her name, but he’s looking at her the same way he looked at April when she landed in his custody. It’s the look of someone with a loved one returned, even if they’re sure they’ve never met them in this life. He glances up at Vincent and at Asher, who he knows from his own semi-regular visits to the room, but both of them are watching him expectantly, and showing no sign that this is unusual. Asher is definitely smirking.

“Sure, it’s me,” he says at last, shrugging. He can play along.

The smile she gives him in response to that is almost worth the confusion.

[vldtropesfest-blog]

Fest FAQ

What's a fest? What are tropes?

A fest is a fun fandom event where writers and artists sign up to create a new work based on the theme of the fest. This fest is all about popular fandom and writing tropes (or better known as cliches). We challenge participants to create a fresh new spin on a time-honored trope, whether they are subverting their trope assignment and turning it on its head or just creating a fun new work featuring their assigned trope! Participants are encouraged to interpret these tropes however they would like. The trope assigned to the creator needs to be the main trope featured in the fic or art, but tropes can sometimes bleed into each other, and we realize that more than one might subtly make an appearance. Just keep this in mind: the main trope in the fic/art is the plot device that keeps the story going, brings two characters of a ship together, or is the main issue the character(s) face.

So it's like an exchange? What's the deal with the anonymous part?

Yes, although this fest does not have exchange gifts/giftees involved. Participants who sign up will be assigned a trope from the list provided and will create a piece to be posted anonymously during the duration of the fest. While this is not a gift exchange, this is still an event and the final work should be completely unknown for the duration of the fest posting schedule. All participants will be revealed at the end of the fest with a big masterlist full of all of the creators! For more information on this, please visit the post about our AO3 Fest Collection!

Who can sign up?

@vldtropesfest is open to ALL authors, artists, ships, characters, content, and ratings! We welcome veteran creators as well as those who are newer to writing/drawing who would like to participate in a fun fandom event.

How do I sign up?

Writer and artist sign up posts will open up on September 25, 2017 and will remain open until October 2, 2017. There will be two separate posts for writers and artists. Sign ups will be on a first come, first served basis, and we will have a writer participant cap of 50 participants. There will be no cap on artist participants. Pinch hitters and beta readers will also be welcomed to sign up at a later date. Proxy sign-ups and 24 hour placeholder sign-ups will be accepted.

If sign ups are on Dreamwidth, does that mean I need a Dreamwidth account?

Nope, not at all! Anonymous comments will be turned on when the sign up posts go live, so anyone who wants to sign up will be able to comment. Dreamwidth accounts are free if you would like to have one to make commenting slightly easier on yourself, but we do not require participants to have a DW account. We will also be accepting sign ups sent to our fest email, vldtropesfest@gmail.com once the sign ups go live.

Can I sign up to do art and fic?

Go for it! We love your enthusiasm! Be sure to submit separate sign up forms on the writer and artist sign up posts. We recommending signing up on the writer sign ups first, since there is a cap for writer participants.

Can I sign up with a partner to collaborate with?

Absolutely! Writing partners, artist-writer collaboration teams, and RP groups are more than welcome to sign up together! We just ask that you only submit ONE sign up form filled in with information for each person participating in your group (ie: usernames, AO3 accounts, emails).

How will assignments work if there are a lot of participants?

No more than 3 authors/artists will be assigned to each trope (unless we end up with a ton of sign ups, and then we may allow more creators per trope).

What about different character/ship variety with the list of tropes available to choose from?

Because this fest is open to all ships, we will do our best to not have more than one of the same ship assigned to each trope. (ie: Secret Relationship assignments: 1 Klance fic, 1 Hidge art, 1 Shallura fic) In the event that we receive a large number of sign ups there may be some repeat ships, but we will try to keep that to a minimum for the sake of variety in the tropes represented.

How will check-ins work?

Check-ins will either be through a google form or a post with screened comments on our DW community where participants can let us know about their progress.

If any content and ratings are allowed, does that mean NSFW content/ratings are ok?

NSFW is welcomed! NSFW content for this fest will only be accepted if you are over the age of 18. Attempting to submit NSFW content if you are under the age of 18 will result in a ban from this fest as well as any future fests hosted by the mods. NSFW content must be tagged appropriately and contain any relevant warnings for squicks and/or triggers.

Are there any content restrictions?

No, we allow for any content in works submitted. The only requirement is that everything is tagged/warned for appropriately to ensure that readers who would like to avoid specific content are able to safely do so. We highly encourage all characters to be depicted as 18 or older if they are involved in sexual content, but will allow characters depicted as 17 or older with the stipulation that creators tag their work with the AO3 "underage" tag and any relevant warnings. If you’re unsure if something’s okay, feel free to ask!

What counts for a submission? Can I create anything I want?

Only Fic and Art submissions are eligible for tropes fest. We will not accept graphics/edits/playlists/moodboards/etc as a submission. We will only count traditional or digital art mediums for artists.

Is there a minimum requirement for fic/art submissions?

For fic: 1500 word minimum, no upper word count limit. For art: We ask for the equivalent effort level of the minimum word count for writers. This just means that we ask for artists to submit something more thought out than very rough sketches.

Can I submit a WIP, sequel/prequel, or something part of a series I've already started?

No. Works cannot be a WIP or part of a series, submissions must be a newly created stand alone work for the fest.

Do submissions need to be beta read?

Yes, all fic submissions must be beta read. We encourage writers to utilize the @vldbetareaders tumblr directory to find a beta. We will also have sign ups for beta readers. Artists are not required to have a beta, however we encourage you to have a friend look over your work anyway when it's still in the progress stages!

What if I can't think of anything to do for my submission?

We're going to have optional prompt claiming for participants that would like to work from a prompt. We'll be opening up the prompting post and will collect prompts throughout the weeks leading up to the fest. You do not need to sign up for the fest in order to leave a prompt, and you do not need to leave a prompt in order to sign up. Once sign ups are over and assignments are sent out, we will post a claiming post with a compilation of the prompts collected for participants to claim a prompt if they would like to. Prompt claiming will be on a first come, first served basis.

What if I need a little longer to work on my submission? What if I have to drop out?

We understand how life gets. It’s ok to request an extension, or even to drop out from the fest if you need to. We hope if you do need to drop out that you’ll come back for the next round! Extension requests will be granted on a case-by-case basis. Email the mods at vldtropesfest@gmail.com with the subject line "Extension Request; yourusername". When making your request, include your draft and a timeframe for how long you think you’ll need to complete it. If you think you’ll need an extension please let the mods know ASAP so that we can work out the posting schedule accordingly.

Can I share excerpts or sneak peeks of my WIP for my submission before the fest deadline like I can with Big Bangs and Zines?

No, don’t post your entry anywhere else on the Internet for the duration of the fest until after reveals, then you are free to post it wherever you’d like. We know you're going to be super excited to share your work with your friends + followers, but because this is an anonymous fest we ask that you do not share your work with anyone except your alpha/beta readers or your collaboration team until reveals.

How will submissions and posting work?

We will have two separate posts that will explain the submission and posting process closer to the deadline. To give a brief overview of both processes, participants will submit their filled out art/fic header (which we will provide in the submission post) in an email to vldtropesfest@gmail.com with the following subject line: "SUBMISSION; yourusername; your assigned trope" along with a link to their work already posted to the AO3 collection or with their attached art file. All submissions will be cross-posted to Tumblr and Dreamwidth with a fic/art header and a link to the work on AO3 or the art embedded in the post.

Got a question for something not answered?

Send an email to vldtropesfest@gmail.com with your question! Please do not PM the mod account on Tumblr or Dreamwidth, as mods will only be checking the email account for questions and we will not receive your question otherwise. This FAQ will be updated with more information in an effort to keep the blog feed free of extra clutter.

View this post on the vldtropesfest DW communities

[icarusdusoleil]

Out of Context Character Conversation Time!

Since I’ve actually been playing around with my own characters recently, I wrote down a scene that’s been playing through my head for the past few days. And even though this is “out of context”, I’m actually gonna give a bit of context:

Ophelia and Gil were made up for a Superhero RP with my friends a couple years ago, but we haven’t been able to continue it because we’ve all been really busy. Sometimes I play around with them on my own. In the story, an evil empath named Carolina gains control over Gil and makes him do all sorts of bad things. This takes place after they’ve defeated Carolina and Gil’s brain has essentially been turned to soup. c:

“This is your room,” Ophelia said as the thick metal door closed behind them. The click of the lock seemed to echo throughout the small space and it made Gil flinch slightly.

She watched as Gil silently took in the room. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking anymore—they used to be able to read each other so well—but he was a completely different person now, and anything that he felt or thought was so closely guarded. Without any change in expression or posture, he wandered around and examined his new home.

There wasn’t much too the room, really—there was a bed with grey sheets and pillows, a single table with two chairs, and a nook for the toilet and shower. There weren’t any decorations on the walls, no shelves holding books, and not even a nightstand with a lamp. Everything was painted white or grey and it was all either plastic or metal. There was no glass anywhere of course, not even a mirror in the bathroom. The lights were embedded in the ceilings, protected by thick slabs of plastic. And the most depressing part: there were no windows. The room was just a drab grey and white box.

Even though they assured her that they didn’t view Gil as a threat anymore, this room was obviously a prison. There wasn’t anything in the room that he could use to hurt himself or hurt anyone else. The doors were locked and guarded at all times, and he wasn’t allowed to leave. And there were cameras to ensure that he closely monitored at all times. The only people allowed to visit him were Ophelia, the doctors, and the Principal. They obviously still didn’t trust Gil and this was his prison.

Ophelia hated it.

But she couldn’t tell how Gil felt. He placed his singular bag on the bed and stared at it, as if not knowing what to do now that he was here. The old Gil would have hated this room too, and he would have voiced his opinion instantly and loudly. He also would have hated being so alone.

“So,” Ophelia said tentatively and Gil looked up at her passively, “It’s not much, I’m sorry. I’m sure I can get some books for you to read. And I’ll visit every day too.”

Gil nodded. His eyes were glazed in the thousand-yard stare. His nose started to bleed. Ophelia felt herself twitch, then had to mentally stop herself from reacting. The nosebleeds now didn’t mean the same thing they used to. Carolina was dead. He wasn’t under her control anymore. But Ophelia couldn’t help but feel that slight pang of fear and paranoia.

“Is… everything okay?” Ophelia asked.

“Yeah,” Gil said absently and wiped at his nose. He glanced up at the ceiling and asked, “Are those really necessary?”

Ophelia turned and looked up, staring straight into the lens of one of the cameras. She heaved a sigh and glared at it, knowing that there was at least one person watching—probably a group, though, making sure nothing happened. “I’m sorry, Gil,” Ophelia said, “I didn’t know… I don’t think it’s—”

“It’s not your fault,” Gil said flatly, “I know they don’t trust me.” He looked down and quietly added, “I don’t trust me.”

“I trust you,” Ophelia said protectively. She meant it. She wanted him to know that he had someone on his side. Gil didn’t respond to that, but wiped his nose again. The blood trailed down his lips and beaded at his chin.

Ophelia worked her jaw and sighed. There was so much she wanted to say, but she didn’t know how to say it. She missed him and she desperately wanted things to go back to the way they used to be, but she knew that wasn’t possible. They just had to make a new normal. She had to discover what this new Gil would be like.

“If you need anything, just ask, okay?” Ophelia said and walked over to him. She glanced at the camera, but didn’t care what they thought. She didn’t care if they thought he was too dangerous. She pulled her friend into a hug and quietly said, “It’s good to have you back, Gil.”

Gil let himself be hugged, but he didn’t reciprocate. She saw his jaw clench briefly, but otherwise he stood still and tense. She let go of the hug moments later, but held his shoulders. “Get some rest, okay? I’ll see you tomorrow and I’ll bring your favourite books too. I kept them just in case… you know.”

Ophelia turned and made her way to the door. She spared one last look over her shoulder at Gil, who was looking at the blood on his wrist like it was the first time he had seen it. Ophelia didn’t think her heart could break anymore, but it did.

“Good night, Gil.”

I might continue writing this... exploring a bit more of Gil’s recovery and Ophelia’s coming to terms with the change. Also, if you’re interested in learning a bit more about these characters, I have some info about them on my Charahub. And er, if you have questions, I’d be more than happy to talk about it!