#killing floor rp

[suiteofspades]

Okay but only because you asked nicely~ No more poorly thought out jokes for now :3

What's the first lesson, teach?

🃏

Well, for you, I would start with being harsher with your words. Standing your ground. You caved quite easily under my scrutiny, which left you vulnerable.

And please, 🃏anonymous, do not use emoticons in your text. It makes you look, excuse my childish language, stupid.

[justmemethings]

𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐋 𝐌𝐄 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐇 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄 !

A miscellaneous collection of headcanon questions for multi-muse blogs / rp hubs / RPers with more than one blog. Warning for mentions of alcohol / drugs.

Which of your muses is the best at cooking?

Which of them is the worst at cooking?

Which of your muses is more likely to burn their food, whether or not they can cook?

Which of your muses is more likely to eat something even if it has fallen on a dirty floor?

Which of your muses is more likely to talk in their sleep?

Which of your muses sleeps the most?

Which of them is more likely to suffer from insomnia?

Which of your muses is more likely to have sleepwalking episodes?

Which of your muses drinks the most / is more likely to get drunk?

Which of your muses doesn't drink at all / drink the least?

Which of your muses does drugs / is more likely to develop a drug problem?

Which of your muses has the highest "body count" when it comes to sleeping around?

Which of your muses is the most talkative?

Which of them is the quietest?

Which of your muses is the most sociable?

Which of them is the shiest / less outgoing?

Which of your muses would win, if all of them had a drinking contest?

Which of your muses is the worst sore loser?

Which of your muses is the most likely to survive an apocalypse?

Which of them would die first?

Which of your muses is the biggest gossip?

Which of your muses is the romantic at heart?

Which one of them is the most cynical?

Which of your muses is the most likely to murder someone just to prove a point?

Which of them is the most likely to endanger their life for a stranger?

Which of them would throw anyone (including a loved one) under the bus to save themselves?

Which of your muses is the quickest to fall in love?

Which of them is the more disillusioned when it comes to romantic relationships?

Which of your muses would kill to prove a point / that they are right?

Which of your muses is the biggest pet person? How many pet did they have in their life?

[boyfriendismywingman]

This episode had me absolutely crying on the floor. I dont think Isaac is homophobic or similar but the look Colin gave him? That terrified expression on his face kills me. The description for the next episode too. How are we supposed to wait another week for the continuation?

Anywaysss anyone want to rp? Some friendship rp between colin and Isaac or any shop between colin and someone i dont mind:)

[im-a-total-trash-mammal]

Moonlight knight

A Wolfs Tale

Closed RP with @daddyhiccup

Silver moonlight reflected off of battle-hardened steel. Skalli Silverfang waited just outside a small group of shoddy cabins. His violet eyes gaze around the settlement, taking note of where the heathenous enemy was hiding. He had his own longsword with golden engravings on the hilt in its scabbard though his right hand drifted to it. He typically stayed out of combat as he had capable men under his charge. Wolf, Boar, Ox, and even a few humans were within his crusade group and followed his command. He had been sent out to follow the border and make his way to the guard city of Myrewood before going to the capital city of Belfalas. He nodded as 2 of his knights approached the cabin door and dispatched the guards

The lifeless bodies of the enemy crusaders were dragged from the doorway to the side of the cabin. The 2 knights kicked in the door and clashed blades with the crusaders within. Steel clanged, and bodies fell, staining the shoddy floors in crimson. Several knights entered the cabin and noticed the captive within. There, on the floor, bound and gagged in nothing but a ragged tunic and trousers, lay a strange dragones. A large knight, an ox, moved over and lifted the dragoness over his shoulder, carrying her like a sack of potatoes. He and the other knights took the captive to their base camp not too far away. She was dropped by the fire to warm her as the knights discussed what to do with the captive. She had seen too much. One knight, a Boar, suggested killing her to avoid any risk of her revealing their location. The boar lifted his blade up, preparing to slaughter the bound captive. A silvery flash was seen, which stopped the boars sword from meeting the dragons throat. The towering wolf in glistening armer held his blade out to stop the boar from killing her. He spoke in a deep, commanding voice, "This one stays alive and comes with us. She may become an asset. Do not be so eager to spill innocent blood." He said, his violet eyes darting from the bound dragoness to the Boar as the Boar lowered his blade and obeyed. The towering wolf untied the captive females gag and pulled it away for her to speak. "Speak, who are you dragon? Your kind is rare, even this far north. He demanded, seeking her answer

[lucifersresources]

taylor swift // the tortured poets department : the anthology rp meme. part one. part two here.

edit/alter/change pronouns etc as you see fit!

fortnight.

i was a functioning alcoholic.

i hope you're okay.

no one here's to blame.

but what about your quiet treason?

for a fortnight there, we were forever.

i wanna kill her.

all my mornings are mondays stuck in an endless february.

i took the miracle move-on drug.

the effects were temporary.

i love you, it's ruining my life.

my husband is cheating.

i wanna kill him.

the tortured poets department.

i think some things i never say.

you're in self sabotage mode.

i've seen this episode and still loved the show.

who else decodes you?

who's gonna hold you like me?

who's gonna know you, if not me?

this ain't the chelsea hotel.

we're modern idiots.

you awaken with dread.

i chose this cyclone with you.

i wonder if you're gonna screw this up with me.

everyone we know understands why it's meant to be.

who else is gonna know me?

that's the closest i've come to my heart exploding.

my boy only breaks his favorite toys.

here we go again.

my boy only breaks his favorite toys.

i'm queen of sand castles he destroys.

i should've known.

we could've played for keeps this time.

i know i'm just repeating myself.

he runs because he loves me.

i knew too much.

there was danger in the heat of my touch.

he saw forever, so he smashed it up.

once i fix me, he's gonna miss me.

i felt more when we played pretend.

he stole my tortured heart.

told me i'm better off, but i'm not.

down bad.

did you really beam me up in a cloud of sparkling dust, just to do experiments on?

i was the chosen one.

this world is bigger than us.

i knew cosmic love.

for a moment, i knew cosmic love.

now i'm down bad.

everything comes out teenage petulance.

fuck it if i can't have him.

fuck it if i can't have us.

they'll say i'm nuts if i talk about the existence of you.

for a moment, i was heavenstruck.

i was heavenstruck.

i loved your hostile takeovers.

how dare you think it's romantic.

fuck it, i was in love.

fuck you if i can't have us.

so long, london.

i kept calm and carried the weight of the rift.

i pulled him in tighter each time he was drifting away.

my spine split from carrying us.

i stopped tryna make him laugh.

how much sad did you think i had in me?

you'll find someone.

so long.

i didn't opt in to be your odd man out.

i founded the club she's heard great things about.

i left all i knew.

you left me.

i stopped cpr, after all, it's no use.

the spirit was gone.

i'm pissed off you let me give you all that youth for free.

two graves, one gun.

i'll find someone.

you say i abandoned the ship, but i was going down with it.

my friends said it isn't right to be scared every day of a love affair.

every breath feels like rarest air when you're not sure if he wants to be there.

how much tragedy did you think i had in me?

just how low did you think i'd go 'fore i'd self implode?

you swore that you loved me.

you swore that you loved me, but where were the clues?

i died on the altar waiting for the proof.

you sacrificed us to the gods of your bluest days.

i'm just getting colour back into my face.

i'm just mad as hell coz i loved this place for so long.

but daddy i love him.

i forget if this was ever fun.

these people only raise you to cage you.

these people try and save you coz they hate you.

they slammed the door on my whole world.

but daddy, i love him.

you should see your faces.

floor it through the fences.

no, i'm not coming to my senses.

i know he's crazy, but he's the one i want.

growing up precocious sometimes means not growing up at all.

he was chaos, he was revelry.

stay away from her.

the saboteurs protested too much.

i'd rather burn my whole life down.

i'd rather burn my whole life down than listen to one more second of all this bitchin' and moanin'.

i'll tell you something about my good name, it's mine alone to disgrace.

i don't cater to all these vipers dressed in empath's clothing.

god save the most judgmental creeps who say they want what's best for me.

they think it can change the beat of my heart when he touches me.

you ain't gotta pray for me.

it's just my choice.

scandal does funny things to pride, but brings lovers closer.

we came back when the heat died down.

fuck em, it's over.

time, doesn't it give perspective?

no, you can't come to the wedding.

he's the one i want.

fresh out of the slammer.

i'm running back home to you.

he doesn't understand me.

handcuffed to the spell i was under.

it's gonna be alright, i did my time.

now that i know better i will never lose my baby again.

my friends tried, but i wouldn't hear it.

he kept me going.

i swirled you into all my poems.

ain't no way i'm gonna screw up.

ain't no way i'm gonna screw up now that i know what's at stake here.

florida!!!

they said i was a cheat.

this city reeks of driving myself crazy.

your home's really only a town you're just a guest in.

can i use you up?

me and my ghosts, we had a hell of a time.

i'm haunted but i'm feeling just fine.

i did my best to lay to rest all of the bodies that have ever been on my body.

i need to forget.

tell me i'm despicable, say it's unforgivable.

love left me like this and i don't want to exist.

guilty as sin?

this cage was once just fine.

am i allowed to cry?

what if he's written 'mine' on my upper thigh only in my mind?

i keep recalling things we never did.

without ever touching his skin how can i be guilty as sin?

there's no such thing as bad thoughts, only your actions talk.

we've already done it in my head.

i've screamed his name.

they're gonna crucify me anyway.

what if the way you hold me is actually what's holy?

they don't know how you've haunted me so stunningly.

i choose you and me religiously.

who's afraid of little old me?

you don't get to tell me about 'sad'.

if you wanted me dead, you should've just said.

nothing makes me feel more alive.

who's afraid of little old me?

who's afraid of little old me? you should be.

the scandal was contained.

at all costs, keep your good name.

you don't get to tell me you feel bad.

is it a wonder i broke?

i was tame, i was gentle, till the circus life made me mean.

don't you worry folks, we took out all her teeth.

they didn't do it to hurt you.

i wanna snarl and show you just how disturbed this has made me.

you wouldn't last an hour in the asylum where they raised me.

i'm always drunk on my own tears, isn't that what they all said?

i'm fearsome and i'm wretched and i'm wrong.

you caged me and then you called me crazy.

i am what i am coz you trained me.

i can fix him (no really i can)

the jokes that he told across the bar were revolting and far too loud.

i can fix him.

i can fix him, no, really, i can. and only i can.

he had a halo of the highest grade.

good boy, that's right.

i'll show you heaven if you'll be an angel.

trust me, i can handle a dangerous man.

loml.

who's gonna stop us waltzing back into rekindled flames?

we were just kids.

i thought i was better safe than starry-eyed.

i felt aglow like this never before and never since.

you and i go from one kiss to getting married.

we're never quite buried.

you told me i'm the love of your life.

you blew in with the winds of fate.

you took me to hell too.

you shit-talked me under the table.

i wish i could un-recall how we almost had it all.

should've let it stay buried.

our field of dreams engulfed in fire.

you're the loss of my life.

i can do it with a broken heart.

she's having the time of her life.

i can show you lies.

i'm a real tough kid.

i can handle my shit.

you gotta fake it till you make it.

lights, camera, bitch, smile, even when you wanna die.

he said he'd love me all his life.

he said he'd love me all his life, but that life was too short.

all the pieces of me shattered.

the crowd was chanting 'more'.

i was grinnin' like i'm winnin'

i was hittin' my marks.

i can do it with a broken heart.

i'm so depressed i act like it's my birthday every day.

i'm so obsessed with him but he avoids me like the plague.

i cry a lot, but i am so productive.

you know you're good when you can even do it with a broken heart.

i keep finding his things in drawers, crucial evidence i didn't imagine the whole thing.

try and come for my job.

the smallest man who ever lived.

was any of it true?

now you know what it feels like.

i don't even want you back.

i just want to know if rusting my sparkling summer was the goal.

i don't miss what we had.

could someone give a message to the smallest man who ever lived?

you hung me on your wall, stabbed me with your push pins.

you didn't measure up in any measure of a man.

were you sent by someone who wanted me dead?

did you sleep with a gun underneath our bed?

were you a sleeper cell spy?

in fifty years, will all this be declassified?

confess why you did it.

good riddance.

it wasn't sexy once it wasn't forbidden.

i would've died for your sins.

i would've died for your sins, instead i just died inside.

you deserve prison, but you won't get time.

you said normal girls were boring.

you were gone by the morning.

in plain sight you hid.

you are what you did.

i'll forget you, but i'll never forgive.

the alchemy.

this happens once every few lifetimes.

what if i told you i'm back?

i'm coming back so strong.

i'm the one to beat.

the sign on your heart said it's still reserved for me.

who are we to fight the alchemy?

clara bow.

did you know you'd be picked like a rose?

i might die if it happened to me.

this town is fake, but you're the real thing.

the crown is stained, but you're the real queen.

you're the new god we're worshipping.

beauty is a beast that roars.

it's hell on earth to be heavenly.

[writing-whump]

Bleeding silver

This is a Christmas present for my lovely friend and RP partner @clickerflight. Great writer and artist, your work lights up my day.💙 Hope you enjoy!

Summary: Flashback fic, when Isaiah was 17, an executioner in his family pack. Insight into his secrets about his father, brothers and the deal with Reuben. Angst, captivity, torture, mentions of war, mentions of death, mentions of abuse.

Father’s office was big, dark with lots of massive wood a fireplace and two smaller rooms for waiting and parallel meetings, but very few wolves knew about its greatest advantage - that it had a stairway leading to another office downstairs.

The basement office had no windows. It was that far in the ground and the walls were of thick cement. No sounds came out of there. 

Isaiah made sure no one was at the meeting room, before he went down, closing the secret door behind him. 

Reuben was in the same position as Isaiah saw him in the morning. Hands in silver chains leading back to the wall behind him. He could  sit upright, but he could not move up from there. Silver cuffs on his feet served no other purpose than to cause more burning pain. He was bleeding where silver touched him, the skin rough and blistered. 

“I brought you food,” Isaiah said, putting the plate next to his limp feet before stepping away to lean against the cluttered table behind him.

Reuben tilted his head slowly, eyes glassy and feverish as they focused on him. His brown curls were greasy from sweat and matted with old blood and he was shivering without his shadow. He still managed a sarcastic: “How very kind of you.” 

It was a bowl of soup. Isaiah figured Reuben’s last bouts of sickness could be traced back to the ongoing strain from the silver burns and that maybe something easier on the stomach could help. He could not simply give him whatever they had at dinner so he made the plainest chichen broth he could. 

“It’s such a shame,” Reuben rasped, leaning his head back, “you go through all that trouble to keep me alive, but I’ll have to say no.”

“I don’t care if you are alive,” Isaiah said on reflex. 

“Yes, you do. You know what will happen, when my dad finds out about this, right? Can you Wolfsons afford another war? I hear you are preparing for one right now.”

“You couldn’t have heard that,” Isaiah said, folding his hands on his chest. No way someone would reveal such sensitive information…

“Your daddy dearest sounded pretty sure,” Reuben said, a small smirk playing on his chapped lips at Isaiah’s discomfort. “He talks a lot like I won’t survive to tell the tale. I guess he’s right.”

Isaiah’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. His shadow rose angrily though, slashing down on the ground. He didn’t like to be left out of decisions of that magnitude. Neither did he agree with Reuben getting killed. The guy was 17, the same as Isaiah and the oldest son of the Jäger pack’s leader. It made no sense to kill him. Isaiah knew he could have easily been the one on the floor in his father’s office. 

“You should really decide already,” Reuben rasped. “You are in conflict, that’s clear as day. You bring me food, you come watch me when you father all but forgets, you worry about my survival although you shouldn’t. You want to release me, but you also want to do what daddy says. You don’t understand the logic behind his plan to torture me. If he killed me, it would be a quicker way to start a war. And your father obviously wants to start one.”

“That’s not true,” Isaiah said sharply. “Father only does what’s best for the pack.”

“So why did he kidnap me? Why this whole ordeal?” Reuben lifted himself up, hands automatically tugging before he winced at the movement and sagged back again.

“There is surely an explanation I’m still not worthy or smart enough to understand.”

“Ha! You still believe that? There is no way your father does things for the greater good of anyone but his bloodthirsty shadow. I told you. This is not how a leader acts.” Reuben coughed then, his whole torse shaking with the cough until it blew into a whole coughing fit, wracking his frame.

“I’m going to escape from here,” Reuben continued, voice breathy and ragged. “One way or another.” He looked at the bowl of soup in disgust, head lolling to the other side.

Isaiah snorted. “How? By starving yourself? That’s the big plan?”

“Why not? I can’t keep doing this forever.” He squeezed his eyes shut, sweat running down the side of his face although he was shivering. “I want out.”  

Isaiah was silent for a long time, shaken by the sheer despair in Reuben’s otherwise talkative arrogant voice. It’s been two weeks. He was running thin, constantly in pain from the silver, the beatings and rolled down shadow that came in irregular intervals not helping.

“It’s just because you are not used to the silver,” he said quietly. 

Reuben’s eyes closed in exhaustion. “No one is supposed to be used to silver. It freaking hurts. It’s poison to us.”

“See? That’s why father training me with silver is such a good move. Silver with shadow, without the shadow, seeing how quickly you recover. Look at this.” Isaiah crouched down and rolled down the right sleeve on his coat to show the ugly red welts on his arm. 

Reuben opened his eyes to slits to look, eyebrows furrowing together.

“Silver knife with a rolled down shadow. But my shadow is already back up. I have grown stronger since he did it to me last time. Every time I get used to the pain more. I know what to expect. And I can call my shadow to come back to me sooner instead of being paralyzed by the pain.”

“Why do you sound so bloody happy?!” Reuben said, face contorting into an angry grimace. “That’s not normal, Isaiah! That’s not something a father does to his son, or a wolf does to his pup. That’s not something a parent’s shadow is supposed to be capable of doing to its child!” 

Isaiah recoiled, covering the slashes with his good hand. “You don’t understand. He doesn’t like to do it. It’s a necessary sacrifice for him, but he does it for my sake.”

“For your sake!” Reuben exclaimed, lifting himself up in the chains again only to break into another coughing fit. Isaiah felt the unexplainable impulse to steady him, to touch him. 

“That’s such nonsense, Isaiah. This is not part of the training of a successor. Or an executioner. It’s just plain sadistic torture.”

Isaiah bowed his head, staring at the carpet. It was dusty, covered with patches of dried blood.  

“And you know it. Deep down you know it. Why else would you prevent your father from training your younger brother?” 

Isaiah flinched at that, looking back at Reuben. “One executioner is enough. This kind of training is for me. I’m the strongest in the pack. It’s a burden and a blessing. And mainly, it’s my duty.” For the greater good. For the good of the pack. They need someone like me, who can bear the pain, inflict the pain, understand it and protect them from it. 

“If you truly believed this was a strength, you would have trained your brother yourself. Instead, you made a deal. Your father told me. Gloated to me, really. That you think you can do everything on your own, so much your brother won’t be needed for the job at all. That you made a deal that you would not protest any mission if Hector were excluded from the training. And that Hector himself hates you for it. Stupid bastard, not knowing what he is missing.”

Isaiah’s eyes widened. He had no idea father told Reuben such intimate family affairs. 

“You won’t protect him forever. He complied to motivate you, but he is sure your qualms will disappear. The more you do it, the more your shadow tastes the blood, the more it will crave it. Until you become like him. And then he will train Hector too. Make him into another you. And you will enjoy it, just like your father enjoys it right now.” 

Isaiah stood up abruptly. His heart was beating fast in his chest, his shadow swelling beside him, reacting to his fear, to his pain. It wanted to claw into Reuben for saying that, it wanted to tear him to shreds, taste his blood, bite deep into him just like father would into Isaiah, to calm down, to feel in control…

Reuben smiled, blood in the corner of his lips, eyes glittering with fever and irony. “See? You are on your best way to get there. To the shadow madness.”

Isaiah stepped closer to Reuben, towering over him. He was so weak and pitiful. Isaiah could break his ribs with one kick, smash his teeth together to make him shut up, he could strangle him with his shadow…

Reuben said nothing else, staring invitingly in the way of a wolf making a challenge. Isaiah realized then Reuben was truly serious.

He wanted to die. And he wanted to provoke Isaiah into doing it. 

Isaiah walked away. 

After he closed and locked the basement office door, he all but ran up the stairs, into the office, through the side exit into the courtyard.

Isaiah braced his hands against his thighs, gulping in the taste of fresh, cold air. He needed to clear his head. He needed his shadow back under control. 

**

Isaiah sat in the smaller of the adjoined offices, doing paperwork, when Marek walked in. 

Although Isaiah was younger, Marek waited patiently until Isaiah acknowledged his presence. That’s how it was these days. Marek was a Wolkenstein, he had a powerful shadow and great skill. But no wolf could measure up to Isaiah’s shadow or his control or his skill with it. None of the older wolves, not even those leading their own fractions, their own little allied groups. Not even Isaiah’s uncle. No one but father could do it.

Isaiah lifted his gaze. His shadow was up, covering the ground around the table and climbing the walls. He liked to keep it in the open when he didn’t want to be disturbed. He felt safer with it.

Marek bowed his head, eyes glued to the ground, head tipping to the side to show his throat. It was more of a symbolic gesture, but an important one, showing his submission and acceptance of Isaiah’s power over him. 

Isaiah’s shadow wiggled in satisfaction, sizzling like water dripping on burning coals. 

“You may speak,” Isaiah said, voice carefully neutral and devoid of emotion. 

“The leader said you are in charge of picking wolves for the battle,” Marek said, lifting his gaze tentatively, though looking somewhere over Isaiah’s shoulder. “With the Specter pack. They send us their challenge already, right? You have the date?”

“The date and place have been decided,” Isaiah allowed. He didn’t like where this was going. He had been put in charge of picking the pack members for the battle and he decided not to pick anyone. He would go there alone or with father at most and handle it.

“Then…who is coming?”

Isaiah gave him a measured stare. It usually scared wolves enough not to ask questions and leave him alone. Especially with his shadow up like that. 

Marek gulped a little under the pressure, but continued: “You mean…no one? Do you seriously want to go alone?”

“That is my decision to make,” Isaiah said coldly. His shadow hissed like a snake, not liking the disagreement in Marek’s voice. 

“Of course, it’s your decision,” Marek said quickly, shoulders hunching. “But Isaiah, come on. Wars are about numbers. Specters are coming after us with at least 10 of their strongest members. We should do the same. We have manpower to choose from, wolves eager for battle and we are strong, Isaiah. If you said a word…”

Isaiah said nothing, just glaring.

Marek looked up before quickly bowing his gaze again. “Isaiah, please. If you don’t want to pick, I’ll ask. Only volunteers, what do you think?”

They both knew there would be plenty of those. Isaiah disliked it. This was a great opportunity to let go of some anger and accumulated aggression, but wolves would always be eager to fight. It wasn’t civilized and it brought nothing good to fight between packs. Isaiah wanted to do it alone, so no one else would bear the risk. 

“There is no point in having a pack, if you don’t let it fight for you when it counts,” Marek said, voice low and soothing. 

Isaiah didn’t answer, but he let his eyes go to the side, conceding the point.

Marek straightened up at that, voice relieved. “Thank you. Nothing bad will happen, Isaiah. Don’t worry.”

Isaiah narrowed his eyes. Suggesting he was worried was not acceptable, even if Marek had been his friend and had seen him train long before he became the executioner. 

Marek winced, backing away. “I’ll be going then.”

But executioners didn’t have friends. Marek understood that, yet still felt like he needed to look out for him. Isaiah didn’t manage to scare him away as well as he intended. 

Maybe it was the Wolkenstein ability to tell lies and truth. And Marek was well-tuned to Isaiah’s masks, somehow able to read between the neutral expressions, threatening looks and cold tones. 

Isaiah didn’t like it. It was as if Marek could see through his defenses, all the way to the little boy he used to be, when they first became friends with each other. 

Marek went to the door, only turning at the last second, eyes briefly meeting his. “It’s okay, Zaya.”

I know you are in there somewhere. You won’t fool me. I know this is a kindness from you. It’s okay. You don’t have to do it alone. 

Isaiah said nothing as Marek disappeared out the door, staring at the spot for a long time. 

***

Isaiah walked briskly through the halls, shadow slashing behind him. Wolves and humans and witches quickly cleared the way at his approach.

He walked as quickly as he could without outright running.

“It was a necessary loss,” his father said. Isaiah could still see his ruthlessly calm green eyes staring holes into his head. “People die in wars, it is to be expected. It was an acceptable sacrifice. We only lost two people, Isaiah. This is a victory to be celebrated.”

Isaiah fumed. He said nothing, only getting out the door, shadow lashing. He needed to get home, he needed to get out of the public eye. Away from celebrating wolves, from victory yells and champagne. 

The victory wasn’t worth Marek’s life. 

Isaiah was coming to think no victory could have been worthy of it. 

It was an unnecessary war. For territory, for not forgiving a slight offense. It was entirely father’s fault. And it was Isaiah’s, because he let Marek talk him into taking more wolves.

Isaiah let Marek come. To die.

Isaiah burst into the apartment he shared with his brothers, shadow trailing behind him, long and angry.

Hector and Arnie were both in the living room, eating. They had the meet and mashed potatoes Isaiah cooked in the morning. He always cooked for them, finding it the most and if not only enjoyable time of his day. Doing something with his hands that created instead of destroyed, something enjoyable that could be shared.

Hector stood up from the table. “Ah, there he is. Father didn’t even want me at the celebration, because I wasn’t part of the war in any way. You all happy about that, huh? Keeping him and all the good techniques to yourself, you selfish prick.”

Isaiah ignored him, getting out of his coat and removing his shoes. 

“You can’t keep me out of every interesting fight! I know this is your fault, that you keep me away from father on purpose - but I’ll get strong anyway. Stronger than you and then you’ll regret-”

Isaiah turned. There was blood on his suit, Marek’s blood, as he kneeled beside him as he bled out from a silver bullet. His shadow rose around him, spilling over the living room, swelling with anger.

Hector stopped abruptly, taking an involuntary step back. 

Arnie hunched into himself at the table. He was just 11 years old, used to his brothers, their shadows and their fighting. To the good kind of fighting, the playful one. When they weren’t trying to hurt each other.

Nowadays Hector tried to hurt Isaiah whenever he saw him. Lashing out in anger, not understanding what was wrong, why he was being left out. He was 15 years old, a very sensitive age for a shadow wolf. They needed guidance and direction, a clear example and goals to follow, so they could discipline their shadows into submission. Shadows that reacted to every hormonal emotion with a vengeance and aggression. 

This was a sensitive age. And Isaiah nor father could be there for him. Isaiah made sure of that. 

“Shut up,” Isaiah said, fighting the urge to just roll his little brother's shadow down and take the peace and quiet he craved. “Shut up for once. No one is interested in your whining.” 

Hector went pale, bowing his head in submission and fear.

Isaiah’s shadow wiggled in excitement at the gesture. Isaiah felt sick.

Arnie stood up then, a little hesitant before stepping closer to Isaiah. His green eyes were wide in his childish face, blond hair messy and shining under the kitchen lamp.

“Was it bad? Are you hurt?” Arnie said quietly, reaching for his arm. He knew he had to be careful with wolves, although he was never afraid of the two of them. At least that was ingrained into Isaiah and Hector both by their mother, when she was still alive. Isaiah never worried about Hector doing anything to Arnie and until now the trust turned justified.

Isaiah fought every instinct in his body not to recoil or shove him off, when Arnie gently touched his forearm. All his muscles clenched inside him. Arnie was all softness, round and vulnerable and kind, looking at him with those trusting big eyes…

Isaiah tolerated the touch for a few seconds, revulsion and disgust swirling inside him. His shadow steadied though, pulling back and down.

The oldest wolf stepped away from the human boy and then hurried into the bathroom at the end of the hall. Fortunately, they had two bathrooms and this one Isaiah liked to reserve for himself. 

He locked the door behind him, then opened the faucet to full blast and let the shower run. His hands were shaking so badly that he barely managed to unbutton his shirt and strip down from his bloody clothes. 

That was all he managed before the tears came.

The grief and pain flooded him like a tsunami, crashing the air out of his lungs. He slid down the door, curling into himself, hoping the running water would disguise the sounds.

He held onto his composure during the battle. He held onto it when Marek got shot, and when his mother bled out next to him, trying to save her oldest son. There were still two kids she left behind. Marek’s little brother and sister. 

Isaiah’s insides shook and twisted. He buried his face into his knees, wailing quietly, while his shadow clawed at the bathroom tiles. But he wasn’t worried it would do anything anymore. This was a way to let out a strong emotions, and he would rather let it out through tears than through someone’s blood. 

At least this time around.

***

Isaiah went down the stairs. It was deep into the night, the sounds of celebration still loud. 

He went down the steps with newfound determination. The conflict in him was gone, his shadow calm at his side as he opened the door. He didn’t switch the light on.

Reuben was sleeping fitfully in the chains, but was quick to wake at the sound of his approach. The bowl of soup was untouched. 

Isaiah had no time to be hesitant. He went down to one knee beside him, taking out the keys and unlocking his cuffs.

Reuben’s eyes widened, but he pulled his bleeding hands away, pressing them against his chest. “What's going on?”

“We’ll wait till your shadow comes back and heals you. I’ll replace the chain with a steel one, so the silver doesn’t burn you. And when the time is right, I’ll help you escape,” Isaiah said, voice hard and clipped.

Reuben’s face lightened up. “Isaiah, this is the right choice. You won’t regret-”

“In exchange,” Isaiah interrupted harshly, “you won’t tell your father what happened to you or that the Wolfsons had anything to do with it. Tell him you were on a trip or spent the time passed out drunk. I don’t care. But there will be no other war, you understand?”

Reuben frowned, lowering his voice. “That bad today?”

Isaiah stood up, leaning back against the table like he did before. Reuben slid away from his usual place by the wall, as if wanting to exercise some of his new freedom, though he was weak and didn’t get further than a step.

“I won’t let another war happen. No one else has to get hurt in this. You know what my father is. You know the only ones suffering are you and me. And you said it yourself, it’s not my fault. We don’t have to make it a pack business.” 

“Am I just supposed to forgive you? Just like that? What about my suffering, huh?” 

Isaiah rubbed at his face tiredly. “Can’t you just be happy you won’t end up dead?” 

“What about the consequences? What about the silver scars, what about the pain to my shadow, Isaiah? What am I supposed to do if there turns out to be damage I can’t manage on my own? It wants revenge and-” 

“If we go to war, I’ll go and kill your father.”

Reuben froze, mouth open.

“I don’t want another war. But if you won’t help me, there will be one and more Wolfson wolves are going to die. Jäger wolves are going to die. But I’ll make sure to kill your father, so your pack is hit the most, losing its leader. So no other pack ever tries to fight us again. You want to go that road?” 

Reuben snarled at him. If he went to his father and started the war, he would not be strong enough to fight in it. And he couldn’t defeat Isaiah the first time anyway, though they were very closely matched. 

“Fine. I won’t tell anyone what happened was your and the Wolfson pack leader’s doing. But I can’t let your shadow mad father run free, Isaiah, you have to under-”

“Give me a year,” Isaiah said. “Give me one year and I’ll deal with him myself. Just don’t tell anyone.”

Reuben would always have the knowledge that could destroy his pack. Once he was free, the bargaining advantage would be in his hands. 

Reuben raised an eyebrow at him, features hard. “Fine. In exchange?”

Isaiah sighed. “Anything you want.” 

@bellysoupset

[saphirafoxgirlspost1]

(Open Rp) Dbz King Kong Au in "The legend of the Mighty Great Ape"

On the Dark and Raining Night in the City of West City, Saphira was Coming home from the grocerie shopping until she sees the strange car that she doesn't know was parked on her Drive way Near her Massive manor…as she began to parked into the garage..and began to walk inside..there she sees some clothes scattered onto the floor as the sound of Moaning echoing into the hall ways and she began to follow to the Sorce..and notice the door was opened..and she saw Her Now "Soon-to-be EX-" Fiance Name "Timothy Conney" making Love With His Mistress….Her Blood began to Boil when she sees Him doing this..and all the 7 years of Relationship has been Gone Down the Drain, So She began to Speak in rage,

Saph:"TIMOTHY LANDUS CONNEY! WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOUR DOING!?"

Tim froze and so does his mistress in fear seeing saphira all in rage and all..and Saphira's eyes was now like an angry fire burning Right at him..and then he said,

Tim:"Saph! I can Explain! this wasn't Looks like!"

Saph:"OH! This Wasn't Look like huh!? Well It Looks like you've been making love with This BITCH And Throwing all this 7 years of OUR relationship Down the Toilet FOR THIS!"

Saphira Said Coldly While Pointed at the Mistress Who is Clearly Scared of Saphira's Fury And then She said that will make him begged for Mercy,

Saphira:"Thats it! I'M CALLING OFF THE ENGAGEMENT And I'M KICKING YOU AND THAT BITCH OUT! And also..I'm calling your parents and tell them everything you've done and Including this!"

Tim:"SAPH! No please! I'm sorry..I've begging you..I'll treat you better this time…I'll break up with her! Just please..My parents will punish me For this!"

Saph:" I don't care! I knew your parents Hated Cheaters and it'll be really Shocked if their son is a Serial Cheater and tarnish the families name for it..and also I'll be suing you for this as well along with your Whore!"

Saphira Did call her parents as she was told him, So His parents grabbed him and the mistress and tore timmy up into a new For what he had done to saphira for mistreatment and Cheating as well…after that…Saphira the next day..try to work at the theater as a lovely actress..but the theater was closed down Due to Bankrupt and Now..She was desparate to find it..until this Explorer wanted saphira to be part of this "Act" in the movie..by taking her to an adventuring cruise..So Saphira accepted..as the Long Voyage of the sea..Fog was appearing almost looks like it came from the Horror story but they discovered an island that No one ever been there..or Live to tell the tale…after they landed on the Unknown island…where they sees the Giantantic walls and ruined villiage..until…it was an ambush by the natives..as one of them was killed..Made Saphira screaming bloody murder…but the Sound of the mighty beast Roars as the Natives Knew that She was Chosen to become the sacrifice of the Mighty beast itself but then Other Adventurers Came to the rescue..but that night..the natives taken Saphira for the Ritual of Sacrifice..She was tied up to the poles as She screams..and struggles..hearing the drums and Chanting…until silence was sudden…She hears the Loud Rustling and trees fallen..as she sees the Giant Dark figures…as She screams Louder and echoes through the island as the great ape looked at her with a piercing red eyes and he began to touched her cheeks with his finger gently and he began to grabbed her and tore the rope up..as he roars loudly…and runs to the jungle with her in his hands..and then..Something shocking that saphira heard..and This beast said…

[mxbenz]

The Music Shall Caress You

A Tarn/Pharma RP - Mature Content

this is an RP written by my friend @mal-co-holic and me. if you like it, follow both of us for updates! and let us know your thoughts

Summary: Shortly after beginning their (rather one-sided) “deal,” Pharma tries to seduce Tarn to lessen the burden of cogs. The attempt is largely unsuccessful but is just the beginning of an affair that could very well ruin Pharma’s life.

Warnings: Manipulation, dub-con, abusive behavior, you know. Tarnma-typical

PHARMA:

Pharma was at his wits end. There were only three deaths that season. Three.

He needed five cogs.

Tarn was due to come to Delphi any day now, expecting one surgery and the four remaining cogs safely packaged for his trip back to the Peaceful Tyranny.

He did his best not to let his worry show, to keep himself as strict and stoic on the floor as possible to avoid arousing any suspicion from his staff, but internally, Pharma was panicking. There was simply nothing to be helped though, he couldn't just magically procure new cogs out of thin air. Unlike most parts, T-cogs and other vital organs were pure sentio metallico and could not be manufactured in mass production.

And even if they could be, it wasn't like he was a blacksmith capable of such a feat.

So what could he offer in their place? What would appease a merciless sadist like Tarn?

If he didn't think of something, they'd all be slaughtered. Everything he'd worked for, all the people he was trying to protect would be...would be-

Images of corpses flashed before his eyes, some of the most heinous damage Pharma had ever seen. Some of them, the less fortunate ones, were even still alive, but there was no saving them. Nothing more they could do aside from snuff their spark in a mercy-killing.

Do no harm. He had harmed...but it was always necessary. Not like Tarn.

Swallowing, Pharma stared down at the three cogs he had managed to procure.

Perhaps...if he prostated himself enough, humilated himself in front of Tarn, they might be spared? The tank certainly seemed to get a kick out of frightening Pharma and having an Autobot under his boot. If he just leaned into the torment, maybe...just maybe-

Or Tarn could simply humiliate him and then kill him anyway. Pour acid into the wound.

Pharma swore and covered his face with trembling hands. He'd managed to do this for a year now with each visit escalating the number of cogs. It was always unsustainable, but Pharma had hoped he would have figured a way out of the dilemma before now.

Now here he was...two cogs short and running out of time.

TARN:

Once Tarn had realized that he could stretch this little deal just as far as he wanted with few if any consequences, well…he was hardly the sort of mech one should allow free reign.

And besides, even with the greater number of cogs at each turn, he still would return to Delphi in more or less the same amount of time. He was going through his cogs faster and faster. Turned out that having the access had only allowed him the pleasure of indulgence.

In more ways than one.

Seeing Pharma had become nearly as sweet as the cog replacement itself (that blissful rush of fresh chems to his processor). The medic was always a sight for sore optics— a beautiful, sleek flight frame that was as well-maintained and the care with which Pharma handled one of his precious cogs. The desire to get his servos on that frame— let his digits prod unwelcome in the chinks of his armor. It was nearly impossible to give in at times. Especially when he watched the medic’s flawless servos work practiced magic on his cogs, each transplant smoother than the last.

He came his usual path that day, taking his altmode most of the journey to the facility from his ship. He arrived at the lower level door where Pharma had directed him the very first iteration of their little deal. An unmanned service entrance. Standing outside the steel door, he sent a comm to his favorite good doctor: I have arrived for my profference, Pharma dear.

PHARMA

Pharma twitched at the notification, already knowing just who was comming him at this hour. Well...the moment of truth. He would either die tonight or live along enough to suffer through the next cog delivery.

At this point, he honestly wasn't sure which was worse.

Exhaling, Pharma unlocked the door and packed up the two remaining cogs, leaving one out for immediate replacement. Then he waited, his spark pounding in his chamber. A few minutes passed and then a familiar set of footsteps could be heard, followed by the sound of the door to the secret lab unlatching.

Tarn emerged and Pharma stiffened, standing up as straight as he could given the circumstances. "You should have given me a bit more notice," he muttered, crossing his arms over his chest. "You're lucky I was already down here." He hoped the snark hid his underlying fear, but somehow he knew Tarn would pick up on it.

It always felt like the tank could hear his spark even without using that torturous outlier ability of his...

TARN

Tarn only smirked as the doctor immediately began his typical charge of chastising him. This was, what Tarn had fondly come to think of as, their pre-surgery banter.

“Of course, Pharma,” he soothed as he walked inside only when entrance was offered. He, of course, attempted to maintain cordiality with Pharma even if the other mech was at times less inclined. Tarn preferred to keep things civil if possible.

“I will attempt to give you an hour or so notice in the future.”

Nevertheless, he could practically feel the other mech’s spark shuddering in its chamber. As always, he would attempt to soothe the doctor’s fear, at least to the extent it was advantageous.

“It’s been some time, though. I thought you might appreciate a surprise drop in from a friend and colleague.”

PHARMA

"The keywords there being friends and colleagues," Pharma said with a pointed frown. "You are neither." Perhaps he shouldn't be so crass with Tarn. He probably should be sucking up to the other mech in preparation for the prostration to come...but he just couldn't help rising to the bait.

He gestured loosely at the medical slab and said, "Shall we get to it then?" At least while Tarn was being operated on, he could broach the...news and not get mauled. Tarn wouldn't dare attack him mid-surgery so it was the best protection he could give himself.

Stepping back, Pharma allowed Tarn to inspect the cog he'd left out, knowing the other mech would not let him install anything without manual confirmation. It was simply protocol at this point for them, just as habitual as the banter.

TARN

Obviously, Pharma wasn’t willing to make nice today. Tarn had learned it really depended on the day whether he could get even an humored scoff out of the jet. He did enjoy such moments nonetheless.

He looked over the cog with a practiced eye and a concentrated frown.

Determining it passable, he turned away and headed for the medical slab.

“In such a rush, Pharma? I thought we might engage in some pleasant conversation.”

Even as he spoke though, he sat on the slab and laid back, bending an arm behind his helm.

“Admittedly, you’re a much better conversationalist than I usually have access to. I quite enjoy our visits.”

PHARMA

Pharma scowled and waited for Tarn to get onto the slab before he began to prepare the tools he'd need. He set everything down and took stock before applying some nerve blocker to Tarn's hip. "Actually, I did want to talk," he muttered, doing his best to affect an air of nonchalance as he took his favorite laser scalpel and began to cut into the metal. "About our deal."

Slow and steady, both with his knife and his words. Pharma didn't look up at Tarn as he continued. "In the case where not enough patients die to meet the quota. I was hoping to discuss a possible alternative. Something else that could be exchanged and make up for the difference."

His spark pounded against his chest, each word feeling like a weight pressing down on him until he was metaphorically pinned to the floor. He knew Tarn was looking at him, but he refused to meet those red eyes, instead removing the burnt out cog and placing it on the tray he'd set aside.

"I..." Pharma swallowed, furrowing his brow as he reached for the new cog. "I've seen the way you look at me, Tarn. If it will save my staff and my patients-" He fit the new cog in, linking it to Tarn's systems. "I'll let you...have me..."

TARN

Have me.

Tarn froze, staring down at the doctor who seemed to avidly be avoiding his gaze. And then he smiled, despite the twinge of anger that burned in his chassis at the suggestion. So Pharma was already trying to weasel his way out of the deal?

And after Tarn had been so generous.

He stayed silent. Long enough for Pharma to question himself. For him to get a feeling that the medic’s spark was beginning to tremble in fear. That was where he preferred to keep him. Just on the Edge of being actually scared. The threat of real consequences hovering on the horizon.

“My dear doctor,” Tarn said finally. “That’s rather presumptuous….unless, of course, you’re fully prepared for today’s trade off.” He hummed, leaning his head back against the slab. He’d watched the surgery enough times to know the steps well.

“I take my deals very seriously, Pharma. I would expect you not to presume a negotiation unless you think the alternative is truly just as valuable.”

[blackjackkent]

OK, grabbed the bark at the sussur tree. (In the spirit of RP, I broke Wyll off from the group and had him go grab it, because after what that thing did to her magic, Rakha did not want to go anywhere near it.) Now off to the Arcane Tower.

Rakha is acutely aware, right from the beginning, that the area around the tower is extremely dangerous.

Like the sussur tree, Rakha has definitely been aware of the presence of the arcane tower even though they haven't yet approached it. Thankfully, unlike the sussur tree, it is not a void of magic, but rather the opposite, an overwhelming focus of it contrasting to its usual background hum elsewhere in the Underdark. But she can also feel a hint of that same prickling numbness coming from somewhere behind it.

Either would be mildly uncomfortable for someone with her sensitivities. Both at once is decidedly unsettling. And the power is concentrated in many identifiable spots within the small structures dotting the front courtyard.

"What is that?" Wyll asks in a low voice.

Rakha shakes her head. "I don't know," she mutters back. "Power. A lot of it. It funnels from the structure there."

"A weapon," Lae'zel says curtly. "Like those guarding the fortress where we arrived."

"Not Selunite," Shadowheart puts in. Rakha considers, looking around for a moment. She's right - the building ahead, whatever it is, was clearly formed by different hands than the building that met them on their descent from aboveground. "Probably no less dangerous, though."

"Keep close to cover," Lae'zel says. "There may be another entrance behind."

Rakha shakes her head. "No. Behind would be... bad. There's another tree, like the one before." They can all see the way her whole body tenses at the idea; that numb void around the sussur tree rattled her very badly.

Lae'zel juts out her jaw thoughtfully. "Then there is only one approach."

Rakha smiles very slightly. She and Lae'zel have always been very alike in this.

(A/N: And that's how I learned the arcane turrets are vulnerable to lightning damage. ^_^ )

------

Like many of Rakha's combat decisions, this doesn't work out completely smoothly. Both she and Lae'zel suffer a few blasts from the turrets and look considerably worse for wear by the time the entry floor of the tower is clear. But they do manage it, and the others follow them in unharmed.

Rakha flatly refuses to investigate the tower's lower levels, as they press too near the small sussur sapling that they can see in the back courtyard. Wyll, equally troubled himself by how troubled the tree's influence has made Rakha, volunteers to go himself, and as such, he is the one who figures out that using one of the sussur flowers can disable the rest of the defenses and turn the elevator on.

(He also loots quite a few interesting-looking mushrooms from the third-lowest floor. I think this is less about him having particular interest in them - certainly eating anything that grows down here seems like a bad idea - and more because it has been on sight with Rakha every time she's seen a mushroom since the first one blew up next to her; she's destroyed every one in her path since. So on the off chance she does descend to this floor, he doesn't want her setting the place on fire.)

(A/N: The real reason is I don't want to have to come back here when Omeluum wants the mushrooms later. Assuming Rakha doesn't uh. Kill him.)

Despite the unsettling presence of the sussur tree, Rakha IS fascinated by the rest of the tower. The elevator is an astonishing bit of magical workmanship; she does not understand how it works at all and aggravates Lae'zel by insisting on riding it up and down several times while she watches the Weave ripple and churn in vertical streams.

But she is most fascinated of all by the constructs on the upper floor.

"New sounds through damp and dark oppression break," the machine recites. "Is it the foe, that foul contemptuous heel?"

Rakha stares. It is most certainly not alive, but the magic woven through it carries speech and movement as surely as a beating heart does. In her Weave-attuned vision it glows like a candle flame.

She is quick enough to recognize that its statement - a rhythmic, rolling line, a verse, poetry - is clearly a request for some sort of passphrase. She's even quick enough to know that the answer likely lies in one of the books she has seen lying around the place. But she doesn't know what it is.

And this actually saddens her... because the beast urge has no interest in killing this thing which is not alive, and she does not want to destroy it - she wants to know how it works - but she suspects she will likely have to.

"Out of my way," she says curtly. "I'm not interested in riddles."

She could almost believe there's a touch of sadness in the construct's mechanical voice too, as it answers: "An unbeknownst command by fools that would intrude./Now steel shall ring; false tongue will speak no more."

(A/N: Even on easy this fight kind of sucked; Bernard is resistant to basically everything Rakha can do. XD )

She peers intently at the creature when it is "dead", rolling it over with her boot toe so she can examine the broken clockwork mechanisms. But they are now devoid of any magic; whatever power animated them is gone.

"Damn," she mutters.

Wyll stands next to her, looking down at it as well. "Perhaps Gale could tell you something about it," he says, but his tone is doubtful.

"Perhaps." Rakha scowls. "We should move on."

[ilexdiapason]

"what is the pearl the bard au, ilex?" im SO glad you asked: a primer

first of all, hello jon, apologies for the deception, but i thought it was necessary to get the traffic people in through their scrunkle, so i didn't call the au by its proper name. this is eswap, the empires swap au, featuring pearlthebard. but i'm gonna tell it from her pov so it's all good

the following is a brief summary of what i refer to as "season one" of pearlthebard, and can be read in its entirety by going to @pearlthebard and reading through the linked directory, but if you don't have time for three months of tumblr rp then here's the gist of it!

Once upon a time, cruel gods named Watchers brought in just over a dozen people to play participants in a sick little game of death and betrayal. Pearl was not there. She was there when they did it for a second time, but she didn't win, so she can't remember it. The third time she prefers to forget, for the most part: it's a big awful blur of self harm and mania and dying and killing and losing everything she ever loved without ever really knowing why.

At the end of Double Life, she stands on a hill and watches the man who would not be her soulmate light himself ablaze, and when he blows up it takes her with him.

At this point, we step out of the narrative briefly, because Pearl the Bard doesn't actually begin with Pearl, not really - it begins with my friend Al going "hey i should make an au where the empires smp season 2 characters are role swapped", and hitting number thirteen Oli TheOrionSound, and going "ah shit well i guess i'll swap him with santa perla that works". Thus, Saint Oli, and Pearl the Bard. However, notably, Pearl cannot map neatly on to Oli's backstory of being isekai'd in from the end of Afterlife SMP, because she wasn't there.

At the end of Double Life, Pearl is blown up, but she does win. And a winner, by the usual metrics, earns a prize.

Saint Oli catches her when the blast flings her soul from her lifeless body, looks this incredibly wet cat up and down, and decides to give her a second chance.

She lands in the Empires SMP.

If you've seen Oli's episodes, which you probably should there were only four of them for the entirety of ESMP S2, you'll know roughly how the story goes from here, but the faces are a little different. She steals a goat horn from Princess Katherine of Dawn, she is jailed by Deputy Sausage of the Goblands, and while she awaits her judgement by the Sheriff Smallishbeans, she hears an awfully familiar voice from the floor of the cave asking what she did to get put in there.

Mayor Smajor of Animalia is a normal man. He runs his empire with a fairly loose grip, but he's proactive about developing a safe space for all animal folk to live among the pretty amethysts and not have to conform to the standards of human society. He, though, he's not an animal, no way, behind this dark mask he's completely human and not a cat. He has a life here, has lived in the Empires for years and founded a community with his own paws hands that he's very proud of.

The weird girl in the cage, the woman who brought two HUGE dogs to his lands and then somehow decided it was his fault for hissing at them that they didn't get on, and the new bard his neighbour Sausage has been gossiping to him about all seem to be disconnected, until they very suddenly aren't.

Pearl is a mystery to Scott. Despite him never having seen her before in his life, she seems convinced that he's either a regret or a danger, and she even goes so far as to stab him to death rather than tell him what the hell is her problem with him. He gets a little bit obsessed, if he's honest - finds her house to show up at it, insists that Sausage keep him updated on her, even starts to lose sleep. And when he does sleep he has strange dreams, dreams of being far taller, being tailless, being ten times better with a weapon than the Mayor of Animalia would ever need to be.

Pearl, steadfast in the conviction that the best thing she can do is get far the hell away from this weird, tiny Not-Smajor and never speak to or of him again if possible, runs to the distant shores of Sanctuary. And then squats in the Eversea. And then borrows Joey's spare room in the Evermoore. And every time, some coincidence sends Scott dangerously close to her escape path, forces them to make small talk, gives them both another nightmare of another time that Scott can't remember and Pearl wishes she could forget.

And then eventually they do catch up with one another in the streets of Chromia, and Scott refuses to back down until Pearl admits to him the truth of whether she really belongs in this world and what her connection is to his dreams and why he feels so weirdly, encompassingly guilty when he looks at her, and... well, i won't spoil that, that was a good one, i liked that one, you should go read it.

But yeah! Pearl the Bard! It's good! Soulmate drama forever :D

[animentality]

People warned me that act 3 of baldur's gate 3 wasn't great...and I honestly...agree.

It's so many...really boring side quests.

Like act 1 felt like it was really exercising your roleplaying. You have decisions to make and a pressing plot concern, which is the parasite in your brain. You're getting to know your fellow adventurers and learning a lot about them and yourself, depending on what race or class or origin you picked. It's also well paced and you can really explore the world and the wilderness, getting into shenanigans and adventures that are plot related and less plot related.

Act 2, while dreary visually, is still fun because you're part of this big epic mysterious plot and you're learning a lot about the villains. Ketheric and all the thorms are all very distinct and have fun designs too.

Plus you don't even have to fight most of them, you can convince them to kill themselves, which is really fun. You can also be a great hero or a great villain, depending on whether or not you kill isobel.

It's also epic in scale. You're fighting in this great war and assaulting moonrise and then entering the oubliette, which is a very fun dark zone.

But act 3?

You have all the information...and then the story grinds to a halt as you do random side quests like investigating murders.

Which you know are literally all Orin.

There are a shit ton of buildings and places to go, but they're scattered.

They don't share anything thematically.

Like oh here's a dumb house with nothing in it except some useless garbage you can steal, but someone will definitely yell at you for doing it....ok???

And there are way too many buildings like this, with nothing of interest in them at all.

And some of the areas are just so unbearable.

One of the worst places is this mansion owned by Lady Jannath or whatever?

Just completely miserable fighting these sturdy skulls and poltergeists on every floor, who bug the fuck out and stop attacking.

It's kind of like you're wandering through the city, just hoping something attacks you so you can get the plot moving again.

Because otherwise, you could go anywhere and do anything, and it doesn't matter.

And that kind of sucks because bg3's greatest strength is the roleplaying decisions you get to make.

But in act 3, your rp barely matters. There's not much you can do to move your character forward or the plot.

You kill orin and gortash, do some character related quests, and then it's over.

So I get people who say that act 3 is anticlimactic. It is.

It's a series of side quests that aren't even fun.

The only ones that I'm actually interested in are stealing the orphic hammer from Raphael and killing cazador.

Otherwise, I've just been forcing myself to go do sidequest 3.4, paragraph 5, as is my contractual obligation.

[slade-of-the-art]

(Continued from a DM RP, corrected for thread formatting.)

During the brief half-second between her charging and her uppercut making contact, Slade’s narrow eye widens a touch. He was provoking her, obviously, but he wasn’t expecting her to really go for a second round so soon after the first. As different as she certainly was from the Titans, he supposed he saw a bit of his past opponents in that choice; incredibly foolhardy, but inevitable. It was in the nature of some, he thinks, to place pride above common sense for better or for worse.

“My my.”

That battle cry of hers leads into the first blow that he doesn’t block or deflect. Instead of pushing back against it he rolls with the motion, utilizing the momentum that would have struck his chin to vault backwards. He braces his hands against the floor when he lands, balancing himself briefly in something like half of a horizontal handstand. He kicks out hard, the impact set to land at her rib cage or a bit below. Perhaps as a way of following through on his first promise and last warning, he doesn’t pull this blow as much as he had with the others.

Slade doesn’t mean to kill her, but he has no need to leave her fully intact, especially since he is no longer feeling charitable. For the most part he is a man of his word. And he did say that her next foolish attempt would not be met with mercy.

@missazura

[shimmerbeasts]

RP: Found Culprit

"What?! Are you telling me you, brat, do not even have the galls to finish me after all of this?!"

Despite the man's attempt to yell as loudly as possible, his voice was hoarse and shaky. His body had exhausted itself screaming in agony over the last couple of hours. He was marked by signs of torture. Bruises, the size of balled fists and knuckle imprints bloomed across his torso, belly and back. One of his eyes had swollen shut, blood dropped from a busted, split lip and his hair had a sweaty dampness to it.

The man was kneeling on the floor with thick ropes binding his hands behind his back. The cap of one of his knees had jumped out to the side, making the entire knee swell and turn dark purple-blue. It stood in stark contrast to the man's chalk-whiteness.

Jinx had disappeared outside of the front door of the almost empty warehouse. As soon as she had left, Sevika turned around with a far greater speed than expected. The brown woman crossed the space between her and the man, whose nose was still crusted up with the snot of his not-yet-healed disease. Without any hesitation, Sevika shoved two of her metal talons into his nostrils and pushed his head up. The sharp metal cut and irritated the slimy tissue and the man let out a sudden wail.

"She's not a brat", Sevika spat out, "She's the boss's daughter! You watch your mouth around her."

She scowled as she inspected the sniffling man below her before she eased her claws out of his nose. The man sneezed, his body bending forward as if he wanted to protect his vital organs and his face from the sharp metal arm hovering far too close for personal comfort.

However, he wasn't even granted that comfort for as he curled in on himself, the Chompers attached to his belly sunk their iron teeth deeper into his exposed flesh. Tears welled up in his eyes before he uncurled himself. The grenades continued to jiggle in him but remained blissfully untriggered. His dried blood had mixed with the smell of the urine, he must have let go off in the early hours of torture.

Sevika scoffed in disappointment. The men working for other Chem-Barons became more lacklustre as time dragged on. Silco was right. The whole rabble had turned into parasites, dulling their claws and fangs in the process. Lowlife vermin, which could not even stick to something as simple as a quarantine during the Sickly Months for their safety. And look where it had gotten them!

"A word of advice:", Sevika spoke and her lips pulled into an unfriendly smile, dark eyes blackening with bile, "Once Silco finds out who's behind his current state, you are going to wish that Jinx in her impulsivity had just killed you."

The door to Silco's office was open with such gusto that it banged loudly against the opposite wall. Only one person would ever have the courage and nerve to barge into the Eye of Zaun's office unannounced and unhindered like that, and that very same person was now standing in the doorway, her chest heaving for she had sprinted from the docks all the way back to The Last Drop.

Where Sevika was tall and a muscular, dark behemoth, Jinx was small, lean and as pale as a ghost. The only stark detail about her appearance was her long cobalt-blue braids, which swayed behind her trembling legs like the nervous tail of a cat. She was dressed in punkish attire from a black tank top to purple striped pants to purple sleeves, ending in a pair of dark, finger-less, leather gloves with golden brass on the knuckles.

Right now, Jinx looked even more dirty than she was anyhow from her experiments and misfiring explosions, covering her in soot and smudges of ash. Her utility belt missed two Chompers and Zapper's barrel tip was darkened from dried up blood. Some blobs still trickled down the edge. Jinx's huge, sapphire-blue eyes were darting around, looking for Silco with an expression of concern, alarm and excitement.

Back when Silco had gotten infected with Noxian Flu from an envoy from another, back then unidentified territory, Jinx had been in a lot of alarm. Most diseases during the Sickly Months could bear quite the fatal results. However, Singed had assured her that with enough Shimmer, some additional medicine as well as lots of rest, her father would recover swiftly, provided he stayed quarantined.

It had only been a couple of days ago that the eerie doctor deemed Silco healthy enough to come back to The Last Drop to do some mild work. Yet even so, Sevika had pulled double duty to ensure none of Silco's plans were delayed. The gang had also done its hardest to ensure that the common people had no idea that the Eye of Zaun had gotten sick to the point he had been bedridden for weeks.

Even so, it was still hard for Jinx to see her father in the state, he was in now. Silco could work mostly normally, however, he still relied on a highly decorative cane to get from one place to the next. Still, the Doctor had said that her Papa had survived the worst of the disease and was well on his way to recovery.

Jinx tried to steady her excitement. Letting the door fall shut behind herself, she rushed over to the desk and with hands slamming upon the wood, she leaned forwards, balancing on the tip of one foot, the other leg kicking up, as Jinx announced with a bright smile:

"WE FOUND THE CULPRIT, PAPA! He works for Finn!"

Starter for @zaunseye.

[theminecraftbox]

It's so interesting to think about. Like what did Dream do during those hours in limbo? What was his initial reaction upon being killed? Did he panic? Was he angry? Annoyed? How long did it took him to calm down? And how fast did he start preparing/revising the plan of action for after his revival? Coz there is no way he was thrown into the world of living redy to fight, no confusion or panic whatsoever.

/dsmp rp

Dream grits his teeth against pain ripping him apart, and blinks red out of his eyes, and he is in his cell.

This is as familiar as breathing, to be curled against the lectern in this cell with his blood soaked into the floors, dried so deep into gaps in the obsidian that it will never be washed away. He’s a part of it as much as it is a part of him. They’ve come to an understanding, the two of them. His hand slips in something wet. These walls don’t hurt him.

He blinks again. His heart pounds, gallops, he gasps, he gags. That’s not unusual. It will take awhile for the adrenaline to leave his system, to remind his body that there’s nothing he can do, no way to fight back.

But his stomach still curdles. Something is wrong. Deep in his bones, something is off. The lava is too loud or too quiet. The light is filtered through bloody gauze. Weren’t there blocks here? Wasn’t there—a faint impression of a sound, a whiff of red fabric. Where’s his bell?

He retches. Sam won’t like the mess. Aww, poor mister Warden.

For long minutes Dream kneels where he had fallen, totally silent, head bowed, every muscle pulled taut. Something, some terrible feeling, crests, and swells, and crashes back again. He can hear the ocean. No. What is it?

He strains his ears. Is that redstone, just at the edge of his hearing? Breathe. Remember, the mantra: You’ll live. You’re alive, no matter what he does to you, you’ll live—and then the thought stutters in his chest, and a wave of acid agony crashes across his back, and his hands clutch at his gut, and red spreads across them.

As long as you’re alive, you’re fine.

Up, up, get the fuck up, on your fucking feet, bitch, can you fucking hear me? Up, you need to move, now, or you’ll be caught here forever. He stumbles to his feet and nearly screams, he claws at the lectern to steady himself, ignoring the missing nails and the missing fingers. You’re fine, Dream, you’re not dying, oh my goodness, stop overreacting. You know how to end this. You’ve had worse. It’s not even that bad.

Fight for your goddamn life. It’s yours, and no one can take it from you.

The redstone clicks, pistons activate, although the lava has not parted. Dream is silent and he is not afraid. Nothing and no one can touch him unless he allows it.

[hxdrostorms]

@eternalstarlights has sent: 🌸 = my roleplay petpeeve, 🌵 = a disliked canon character in my fandom,💐 = my favorite part about the fandom, 🌿 = my least favorite part about the fandom

Send me a symbol and I will tell you… [Accepting]

🌸 = my roleplay petpeeve

// Bc this has been happening across several blogs, not just here:

Reblog karma: If you have no plans of sending something back, then the least you should do is reblog them, from the source or look elsewhere in the posts' notes to reblog from.

I'm constantly going back in my prompts tag to delete old reblogs. BUT THERE ARE STILL, complete strangers who dig through it and reblog it from me. Like?????????? That has the same effect as a 'fuck you' in my DMs. It's 10x funnier, if it is one of those blogs with a long ass pinned/rules page. And they still had no qualms in doing this shit. It's not quirky, let me tell you that much.

Notice, I'm not complaining about not receiving asks whenever I reblog something. That's not an issue for me (mutuals/rp partners should only send stuff, when they genuinely feel like doing so, without any obligations). All I'm asking is to not make me feel like, I'm just a RP memes archive type of blog, that's only there to provide writing prompts & nothing else. I may not be the most active RPer, but none of my blogs are abandoned.

This has been a long running peeve I've been having to deal with, for YEARS. And it made a resurface as of lately.

🌵 = a disliked canon character in my fandom

// Hades & his spectres/Judges are overrated as fuck IMO LOL I say as a clown, bc I'm a classic golds dweeb fan. Clearly, I'm not in a position to say what is or isn't overrated.

Jokes aside. It may have been a result of the way I tried watching the classic series (by binge watching the entire thing). BUT when I got to the Hades arc, I got SO mad when I realized they brought back those drawn out battles. Like those were my least enjoyed bits of the early parts of the anime and the Sanctuary arc, meanwhile the Poseidon arc didn't have any of that (which is why I rate the Poseidon arc as my favorite one of the anime adaptation. 15 episodes with NO filler??? HELL YEAH.).

You can say I was already pretty burned, and should have slowed down with the final part of the series. But even then, I don't think that would have changed a thing about my general disinterest towards Hades' servants. Visually speaking to me, they are the messiest and most boring looking characters from the classic series (they only ever wear 1 color and look way too much like a toy, than some form of proper armor).

Rhadama.nthys is the biggest bitch in the club, to me he was the most insufferable. "He is the strongest*tm of all judges." *= only when Hades is straight up cheating and the story feels like unnecessarily drag things out. Reminder that Kanon killed him without any cloth equipped, and he went out the way HE chose to. He literally didn't even have to TRY.

My favorite part of the Hades arc was seeing Kanon wipe the floor, with everyone he crossed paths with. This feels 10x more satisfying, after reading the Destiny & Origins extra chapters.

💐 = my favorite part about the fandom

// I truly mean when I say, this is the chillest community I've been in a long time. Case in point: I haven't felt THIS artiscally inspired in YEARS. I've been doing so many works, I'm literally running an event in the main fandom. I've been brimming with inspiration to do so many things, that goes beyond the RPing aspect. And it has improved my general mental health SO much!

I'm forever thankful for getting into Sts LOL

🌿 = my least favorite part about the fandom

// If you exclusively speak English, you will suffer to find anything or anyone else from this fandom. Which isn't a problem for me at all but, I can see how frustrating or sad it must feel like, you can't get into a community due to a language barrier.

And the community itself isn't exactly the friendliest one towards gringos. Which I mean............ You can't blame us for feeling defensive, when literally every other fandom went down to shit, when things became very American-centered.

Not to start the whole Anti vs proship debate. BUT It is a fact that all antis (ppl who want to be cops/have no qualms with harrassing or policing others/etc.) I've come across are an American, who's way too enthralled in their lil bubble they call world. Then they have a breakdown bc as it turns out, the rest of the world isn't AT ALL like them. And there's genuine pushback/retaliation from the community, against these kinds of whiny bitchass mfers LOL.

Obviously, this doesn't mean the fandom is perfect nor it's an Utopia, where there isn't drama at all. BUT when compared to others, it feels a lot tamer in comparison. Unfortunately, it comes at the cost of coming off as a very closed off fandom, that's centered around overseas things for a change.

[yourstruly-thenarrator]

An introduction to this narrator.

Warnings; cursing

The narrator sat on the floor of his studio, clothes disheveled and hands in his hair, sighing and mumbling to himself. "Damn internet people, damn stanley, stupid fucking button."

He began to rock himself back and forth as he continued to mumble. Stanley had pressed the button again, despite being told he had been standing there for long over a year the last time. "That un-greatful little..." poison dripped from the narrators words.

He sighed, stilling himself. He stood up and glanced at the door exiting the room, then shook his head. He couldn't leave, no! Not while stanley stood there in silence. Not that he cared about stanley, or how the man would react to returning without a narrator, oh no. He would stay because when this was over, stanley needed to learn a lesson.

Yes, that was it, surely. He needed to punish stanley. The narrator walked over to his seat, and sat back down. He watched stanley through the screen as the office worker stood still, hands inches from the button where he was frozen.

"How selfish" The entities words hung heavy as lead as they reached deaf ears. The narrator continues to speak aloud to himself, filling the silence. "I make this wonderful story, I oh so graciously give you the opportunity to be apart of it, and this is how you repay me?"

The lights in the studio flicker as he speaks, omnipotent voice deepening, rumbling everywhere it reached. The narrator took deep breath to ground himself. He took a look around the room for somthing to do. It was a small, candel lit room reminiscent of somthing one might imagine a rich man from the 1700's to own.

The room held many beautifully carved bookshelves, brimming with hand written literature. Stories of the narrator that he'd read time and time again, ingraved in his memory as much as the parable had come to be.

In front of the narrator sat a desk carved of the same mahogany as the rest of the rooms furnishings. An oil lamp was set to the side of his many askew papers and scripts. And yet, standing blazingly apart from the rest of the room, was many sleek screens on the wall ahead of the desk. Monitors showing different angles of stanley and the rooms he used to frequent.

The narrator huffed as slumped back in his seat. No, no ofcorse there was nothing to do in this room. This room was ment for him to do his job, for him to narrate, and to write. Things he couldn't do whilst his protagonist stood frozen in time.

"I could just kill him now... retire this story for good." The narrator said quietly to himself, all previous confidence and rigour gone from his voice. He felt somthing in his chest, almost like a pain or an empty feeling at the thought. "No..." he breathed

"No, that would be too good for him. Yes, yes thats why I shan't do it. It would be an ending far too bland! Of course. Yes, stanley needs to learn the errors of his ways. Thats what this has always been. A lesson. Yes... I can wait."

He sat stairing at the screens for days in silence, hardly a thought crossing his mind. He would've stayed like that too, until his mind broke at the drowning lonlyness, if it hadn't been for...

CRASH

"What in the-?!" The narrator whipped his head around to the exit of his study, where the noise had seemingly originated outside the room. He stood up slowly, the first movement he'd made in days, and walked over to the door. He stood still infront of it, as though considering the door.

He slowly reached out for the handle, grabbing it lightly. He turned back to the monitors for a moment, looking at the man on the screen who hadn't moved an inch, and who he knew deep down wasn't going to for a very very long time.

"I'll be right back..." he said quietly, turning back to the door, and opening it cautiously. There he was met with a world that was not his own, and with people that he might find a little... Familiar.

End of intro, Open to rp! :]]]

tldr?; the narrator is waiting for stanley in the skip button ending but opens a door to find other ppl, like, narrators and Stanley's or whatever. Whoever ends up responding to this for rp basically lmao