#rp snippets

[lettersnorth]

Febhyurary: Fight

In the alchemy of a fight, she suddenly wasn’t so easy to overlook. Angles were calculated, force measured, timing predicted. She was heat, mettle and deliberate velocity.

“Little bitch!"

The insult barely registered as she leveled her revolver down at him and fired. What a waste, as far as final words went.

[durgetrashbrainrot]

i, like many, subscribe to the hc that gortash would be immediately taken with durge in any form

and so i want to share this snippet of rp, wherein my wife's dark urge inspires bi panic in him

(or PAN-ic, i guess)

Inside, the room was spacious--ostentatiously so, sized to accommodate a large group of adventurers or a dignitary’s entourage, perhaps. Heavy curtains were drawn over all the windows. The only light in the room spilled from the massive fireplace at its center, though the fire had been allowed to fade to embers and the light it gave off was weak, a throbbing orange glow cast across the marble hearth. Darkness lurked in so many little nooks and alcoves that the shape of the place was as fuzzy as the elf’s form had been mere moments ago.

The ‘elf maiden’ was gone. The form that stood before the fireplace now was neither elf nor maiden. It retained roughly the same height and an equally slim build. The shoulders limned by the firelight were broader though, and the chest flat. Pale blue hair rose like a spiked crown between curved horns. Every inch of the Bhaalist leader was covered in black, save for the tail, swishing gently just above the floor, and the face, which was strikingly pale in comparison, and made even more so by the kohl smudged around the eyes and the pronounced, blueish tint to the thick lips.

The Bhaalist leader regarded Gortash with glowing, dispassionate eyes as he entered. “Did you guess correctly, Enver Gortash?”

-

Gortash entered, gaze first sweeping the room and lingering on the deepest shadows. Were they truly alone? His human eyesight struggled against the dim light, leaving just enough uncertainty to unnerve him. If someone, or something, was lurking, he wouldn't see them until it was too late.

Finally, he turned to 'Melissandre'--and, for a moment, he was struck dumb.

His brow lifted in quiet awe. She--he?--was a ghost in the darkness, a pale face framed by shadows, with hair like blue fire and horns that curved like a crown to frame it.

A tiefling. Or so it seemed.

Gortash had little fondness for their kind. Too reminiscent of devils for his liking. But he had never seen a devil or tiefling--or any other creature--quite like this.

"…I may have," he said when he found his voice again. Then his usual charm slid back into place, and his lips curved into a pleasant, knowing smile. "Am I to assume I have the pleasure of speaking with the leader of Bhaal's temple?"

[allasticus]

A smirk curved his mouth, the echo of something half-forgotten flickering behind his eyes. “They say the snow’s never melted since the god stirred. That even death grows cold there.” He looked to Eluvianna, gaze sharp—questioning, but not uncertain. “Dress for ruin. Bring what you must.” He stood, swift and sure, the decision already made. “I will open the path.” A pause, then a glance back, expression dark with a promise not quite a threat, not quite a warning. “You will not enjoy it.”

@eluviannaa

[safrona-shadowsun]

(Previously....)

K̶̬͝i̴͠͝s̴̏̈s̷̑͌e̸̾̈́d̵̗͐ ̵͝by the dar̵̒̋ḱ̴͒n̵͝ess. Y̴͆͝ȍ̸̀u̴̔̄ ̷̛͗have many̥͆ ̷̎̍s̷̐̕c̴͆̅a̶̍̎ŕ̴͊s̵̉̊. All tell ̷͆͌a̸̓͝ ̶̀story.̏̚ ̶̐͝D̸̍̅a̶̽̓r̵k stories͗̓.̸̉͝ ̶̌̽B̷̅͘ů̸͠r̸̒͐i̸͝ed. Hïdden.̵̎̋ T̵͂̐he she̅͌l̸̆̊l̸̈́̾ ̷̀̑a̷̎̏dmires yo̒ǘ̴͑.̸̈́̈́ ̸̀͝H̵̼̅e̸̒̓ ̶͆is goń̿e now̅͠.̶̐͒ I am h̷̛̆e̶̓͂r̸͕̆e̵̾̕.̶͌̈ H̵͂̏á̴̀l̵͆͠l̴̍̐o̸͂̔w̴̽̕ȇ̷d courier.̶̉̒.̸͑̈́.̸͊ it is̕͠ ̴̹̄t̵̃̐i̵͛͝m̶e your sc̷̘͛ả̵̽r̴͌͠ś̴̈ ̸̈́̅b̶͆͌e̶͐ made anew.̷͉̿ ̵̋͆Usher f̵̏̊o̵̎͋ȓ̷̀t̶̛́h̵̎ freedom.̴̅͝ Ȃ̶̅r̵̛̦e̴̯̊ ̵̿͊y̴͒̿ou rea̔̀dy? "Tell me of someone that doesn't have scars, or stories." A breath of a pause. Awareness deepened with a degree of anxiety. This was not a simple professional interest, far from it. The voices were invasive. Oppressive. "We collect them as we live." There was a vague familiarity with what spoke to her, yet not enough to be her closest circles. She would have sensed their...compromising. Her smile tensed, the mask of her composure shifted to a subtle defensiveness, but it remained in place. "But stories are buried for their reasons. And I am free as I can be." As if to bulwark her defense, she called her Voidlord to her side. The massive, umbral creature dwarfed her in size, ready to act as her devoted protector, though there was no physical threat. "Who are you?"

{ @allasticus }

[barbwillbrb]

Snippet Sunday!

Thank yee @ladyofcrowsandcoffee for the tag! I finally got snippets to share for once thanks to the monstrosity of an RP @faerunsbest and I got going on.

I wanna show various aspects of Mortimer's persona, so here are five snippets showing different sides of him.

Combat Mortimer:

It was too strange, too surreal; faint memories flickered past his troubled mind, the ghost of his past life haunting him. Walking in his childhood footsteps, Mortimer worked his way through the house that was his personal hell, finding his way to the uppermost floors. His senses on high alert, he reached out with his magic, searching for any signs of life, but ultimately seeking one soul in particular– sure enough, Mortimer could feel him, a dark, angry force above him, in the office. Some things never change. 

While most of his father’s forces seemed to convene on the bottom-most levels– the man always, always hated being interrupted during his work, a lesson Mortimer learned all too well as a child, earning the scar on his wrist– a few lingered upstairs, holding fast to their positions as carnage echoed up the stairwells. The distraction proved fruitful; they never heard Mortimer approach, nor had the time to react when the wizard flooded their lungs, water blooming in their chests– the guards dropped dead, drowning where they stood, liquid tinged with red dribbling from their lips.

Hysterical/Sad Mort:

It wasn’t like Mortimer didn’t try, wasn’t like he didn’t want to– the gods themselves knew how much he wanted the man back. 

Fear, however, was an insidious, ugly thing– especially fear wrought from deep-routed traumas and broken memories. 

Mortimer knew damned well it wasn’t Sybyll that hurt him– not really, no. Sybyll wasn’t to blame for any of this. Unfortunately, the harm that befell Mortimer unlocked parts of his mind he kept buried for his own survival: all the very worst moments of his wretched life– the darkest, most vile recollections from his time with the cult, his time imprisoned. He couldn’t sleep without being taken to a dark, awful, choking pit. Nightmares weren’t nightmares when you knew them to be true, their marks buried deep in your skin. 

On the nights he could sleep, he woke in a cold, panicked sweat; Mortimer had taken to relying on potions to maintain any sort of rest. 

Mortimer didn’t just lose Sybyll; he was losing his damned mind, his peace, his sense of self.

More Sad Mort because making him miserable is fun, and he had to break in order to get better. Also, he swears!

It seemed fate would not bring Mortimer a moment’s peace, regardless of his misery. A knock came from the door, followed by Lennox’s voice; of course the wizard forgot something. Mortimer was half tempted to dismiss the werewolf’s concerns, simply wave away the questions or just refuse to open the door… if he didn’t know for a fact that Lennox would simply break it down to figure out what was wrong.

Besides, Mortimer didn’t want him to think something was wrong with the chair, not after everything Lennox had done for him. Gods– all this work to fix himself, and Mortimer was still a mess. Broken… incomplete. Without Sybyll, that’s exactly what he felt like, a puzzle without all the pieces. 

And Mortimer lost him. 

“Fuck, fuckfuckfuck,” Mortimer swore under his breath, wiping his eyes with his sleeves, his hands balled into fists in his frustration. He did his best to dry his face, pinching at his cheeks, and looked over the mess that was his desk. Hurriedly, he stowed the bottle and glass away, shutting the cupboard drawer. If he delayed any longer, Lennox would surely knock the door off its hinges. “Coming, coming,” he muttered, hating how hoarse his voice sounded; he should have brought water with him. Then again, his plan was to get shitfaced and forget about everything, wasn’t it? Thank Lathander that he only had the one so far. 

Mortimer being a disastrous romantic

It wasn’t that he had nothing to say– quite the opposite; the words came quite freely in regards to his feelings. The difficulty was trying to narrow down the torrent of emotions he felt for Sybyll into something that didn’t come off as the barely coherent, lovestruck ramblings of a madman– or led to him practically begging forgiveness for his stupidity. Although, if Mortimer was honest with himself, the shortest note he scribbled was probably the most accurate: “I am sorry, I am a fucking idiot, and I love you. Please tell me it’s not too late?”

A groan left him and he threw his head in his hands. At least Pinky was not trying to kill the goldish, or Mortimer very well might have lost his mind. Nothing was coming out right. Mortimer looked at the drawer of unsent letters, all pulled from his heart. Each one was a silly mess of fluff, pining, begging– unedited and raw. Why didn’t he send them before? Pride? Worry that it would be too much?

Each letter was nothing but honest. Mortimer needed to be honest– and damn-it-all, he didn’t give a shit anymore about his pride. 

Sybyll thought he was alone. Mortimer was determined to prove he never left his heart. 

He gathered all the letters and placed them in a box, surprised at the weight– he might as well have written a novel– tying it closed with red thread. Whatever Mortimer wanted to say, he would say it in the moment, and if Sybyll needed proof about his feelings– well, here it was, wrapped in a bow.

... aaaaaaand spicy time Mortimer

The vampire yanked his robe's collar free, fangs dragging lightly along his throat; Mortimer hissed in delight, feeling his lover trace an intoxicating path against his skin. The wizard wanted to be patient, to take this slow– but when Sybyll lay back, erection firm against his stomach, looking up at Mortimer with a pleading pout on his pretty red lips– he couldn’t hold back. “By Gods, I’ve missed you, I’ve missed you so much– and I’ll fucking prove it,” Mortimer growled, removing his fingers, snapping into life a mage hand that quickly took on a more appropriate form. 

Working quick but gentle, Mortimer wrapped an arm around the smaller man, flipping their positions in an instant so Sybyll straddled his lap. His hands went to the man's waist, holding him in place as the ghostly cock slid between Mortimer’s legs, beneath his lover’s waiting entrance. Eyes dark with barely contained lust, he pulled the ribbon free from Sybyll’s neck with his teeth, kissing his way up to the vampire's jaw, then lips. Mortimer guided Sybyll down onto the cock, gripping his hips tight. “I’ve longed to do this for months,” he murmured, beginning to move Sybyll, his hold firm.

No pressure tag time: @lemonsrosesandlavender @faerunsbest @kimberbohwrites @commander-krios @savriea

[sergiusreports]

“Fine. You take off for one of them or one of them gets a hold of you, I’ll initiate shutdown hopefully before it can use you.” It went without saying Sergius didn't like it and it was a last option but given the alternative, he'd do it. August gets rattled out of this stupor by Sergius. He marches towards him with a thinly veiled rage, building and pent up and bursting, now. Out of control. “No. You won’t. Cuff him to the fucking bike, knock him out, I don’t care. Do what you need to do, except that.” August: “That’s an order.” Sergius turns his head to stare in Rema's direction as he approaches, unmoved in the face of the man's outburst or his attempt at issuing orders. If he needed the reminder, Rema was a pitch-perfect example of how emotions cast logic to the fucking wind every time. "I'll do what has the greatest probability of success. That's my job." So Rema could keep his orders. Arym goes on a start-stop-start-stop journey of trying to decide whether he should get in the middle, and he finally makes it close enough, "hey--!" His metallic fingers flex into the leather of August's coat, floundering as he tries to read August's expression. "…fuck, have a little faith, August. I'm not that easy to kill." “I want you to understand what life is supposed to be,” August manages. “And I want both of you to respect your own god damn humanity.” He may seem to be out of control, but he’s actually clinging onto what remains of it. He hasn’t lost it completely, and he doesn’t want that to happen while he’s with these two. It’s the last thing anyone needs. He inhales so sharply, it’s like something’s jabbed up and punctured his diaphragm. With that, on the cusp of being completely blinded by emotions he normally suffocates, he turns abruptly to leave. Sergius doesn’t try to stop him. It’s not the first, nor the last time people will confuse the fact that he wants any part of this humanity they claim to have. Acting as though it’s a fucking ideal he should strive for when he knows it to be anything but.

[songofthewood]

‘Please, please. Just let me hear you play.’

[goldenbeastkeeper]

(Flicker trying to come up with excuses as to why they don't know what Halloween is)

[shinyramblings]

They had all been traveling for a few days now, moving farther south than Solana had ever been before. The snow she was so familiar with this time of year eventually gave way to green forests as the three gateon moved to warmer climes. Her parents still hadn't told her why they'd had to leave. The two spoke in hushed worried whispers as she trailed behind, going silent whenever she picked up the pace to try and catch what they were saying.

"...Mama, when are we going home? I'm tired." The cub finally spoke up before sitting down. It was true. This was probably the most she'd ever walked in her life- her paws hurt, the grass felt sharp against her pawpads compared to the cold snow she was so used to.

Her parents stopped their walking when they realized Solana was no longer following, both glancing to the other before looking back at her sympathetically. She was so young... This wasn't a journey they would normally make with a child in tow, but... "Home isn't safe anymore, little one. We had to leave," Her father murmured before leaning forward to pick her up by the scruff. "We'll make a new home. A better one than the one we left."

"But I don't WANT a new home... There was nothing wrong with our grove, I don't see why we have to leave." The cub pouted, her mother leaned forward to rasp a tongue over her ear reassuringly.

"I know, Sol. We didn't want to leave either, but we want to keep you safe. One day you'll understand..."

----

She hadn't understood at all, not until the sounds of unfamiliar footsteps reached her ears one day as they walked. Not until her mother grabbed her by the scruff in a panic to run at full speed while her father turned to stand his ground with teeth bared and hackles raised in order to buy them time.

"Stay quiet!" Her mother let out a hiss from around her fur, Solana hadn't even begun to open her mouth to ask what was happening before she clamped her jaws shut. Something was wrong.

It felt like they were running forever, with the sound of fighting drumming in both lynxes ears before it eventually faded somewhat with distance. Her mother came to a small clearing in the forest and slowed to a stop, dropping the cub from her mouth in order to catch her breath before glancing around feverishly.

"Mama what's happening? Is...is Papa going to be ok?" Solana finally found the courage to speak, pressing herself against the larger cat's leg in an attempt to stop her trembling. She went ignored, her mother frantic and looking for something.

"Mama..?"

Finally her mother moved, nudging her with her nose towards a bush. An old fox den sat beneath it, partially hidden underneath the greenery. "Hide in here, don't come out until I come back for you. No matter what you hear out here, don't move, don't make a sound, ok?"

Solana's ears pricked at the sound of distant footsteps again, felt her heart pounding in her chest. "But-"

"Promise me, Sol." A paw shoved her inside and she let out a muffled yelp before turning around to spy her mother desperately digging in the dirt for a moment to cover their tracks before speeding out of the clearing as the sound of footsteps and hissing grew louder.

Elven boots and gateon paws she didn't recognize ran past her hiding place, barely paying the bush she was hidden under any mind. Harsh voices and even harsher growling came from them and she pressed herself farther into the den until their sounds faded into a distant echo.

Night had fallen and the sun rose once again before she dared to poke her head out further, ears pricked to listen for any sign of her mother or father. She was greeted with silence.

She was alone.

[naught-skull]

obsessed with the idea of getting bred at the same time as someone else. holding hands while our alpha takes turns knotting us and filling us up with pups. getting big together and building a cozy den for our growing pack. fingering and eating each other out when our hormones start driving us crazy. coaching each other through labor and birth. nursing our pups side by side and nursing each other's pups when we need breaks. who wants to do this with me for real

[bookished]

( a collection of fun and adventurous dialogue prompts. adjust phrasing as necessary.) feel free to make edits to better suit your muse, but please don’t edit or add on to the original post <𝟑 if you like, please consider supporting me through tips, it's highly appreciated.

"Want to try sneaking into the movie theater?"

"There's this exclusive sky bar on the top floor. I bet if we act confident enough, we could just walk right in. Ready to blend in with the high rollers?"

"You know the 'Staff Only' areas in aquariums always look so intriguing. I've got an idea involving lab coats and clipboards. Interested?"

"There's a secret passage in this art gallery that leads to a hidden exhibit. I overheard the curator talking about it. Shall we go exploring?"

"I've always wanted to see a movie from the theater's projection room. I've got a friend who works here – you get what I mean?"

"So, that exclusive restaurant is fully booked for months, but I may have 'borrowed' a couple of names from the reservation list. Feeling adventurous?"

"The old amusement park's been closed for years, but I know a way in. Imagine having all those rides to ourselves under the moonlight."

"I heard there's an underground speakeasy in this library. Apparently, you need to whisper a password to the librarian. Wanna try our luck?"

"Remember that fancy pool party we weren't invited to? I've got two waiter uniforms and a brilliant plan. You in?"

"There's a secret rooftop garden on top of that skyscraper. I bet we could talk our way past security if we pretend to be lost interns."

"I know this sounds crazy, but I found a hidden door behind the museum. Want to see where it leads after closing time?"

"The local TV station does live broadcasts from that studio. I bet with the right timing, we could sneak onto a set during a commercial break. Ready for your 15 seconds of fame?"

"I discovered a hidden hot spring in the woods just outside town. It's a bit of a hike, but imagine a midnight dip under the stars."

"There's a secret room in the library that's usually locked. I copied the key while volunteering. Want to see what forbidden books they're hiding?"

"Remember that fancy cooking class that was full? Well, I may have found a way for us to observe from the kitchen's back entrance. Hungry for some culinary espionage?"

"I know how to get onto the roof of the tallest building downtown. The view of the sunset from up there is incredible. Shall we?"

"There's a masquerade ball at the governor's mansion tonight. I've got two masks and a wild idea. Care to crash a high-society party?"

"My friend works at the zoo and says we could help feed the penguins after closing time. Interested in a secret animal encounter?"

"I heard this old theater is supposedly haunted. Want to sneak in after hours and do some ghost hunting?"

"There's a secret beach hidden behind those cliffs. The catch? We'll have to climb down a rope ladder to reach it. You up for it?"

"I found an old map of the city's underground tunnels. Fancy a subterranean adventure date?"

[lettersnorth]

Febhyurary: Sleep

Somehow, Aislinn managed to sleep. If asked she’d be hard pressed to explain the phenomenon. For so long it had been as elusive as the horizon. But warmed by the tea and Locke both, any flutter of nerves was soothed by the sense of safety she felt when he was near. No one could touch her, and wrapped in that assurance she finally laid down her guard.

[messymoonmad]

If I were to, I don't knowwww *discreetly slides textured hair care products to Antinous* For you king, a gift

(He'd assume you're a servant)

Antinous : you came at the right time, my hair was getting dry...

He unties his dreads and lays down

Antinous : come on what are you waiting for ?? Apply the oils to my hair and take care of it. If you damage it ill cut your hands off understood ?

[b0nelessdoodles]

i keep thinking im gonna like actually finish these but that ain't happening so have some gay people

[safrona-shadowsun]

(Previously...)

A̴̔́ ̷̌͐ n̸͐̊a̸͌́m̵̛̽ê̶͠ ̸̚is NOTHIN͗̚Ǵ̷̯. 

The final word shattered the air like a thunderclap, shaking the cellar to its bones. Glass trembled, shelves shivered, and bottles smashed to the floor.

 Then—stillness. A fragile, unnatural quiet, broken only by the warlock's breath.

 And then, a laugh. Low. Hollow. Distant, yet suffocatingly near. It slithered into her mind, curling through the cracks in her resolve like a tide against brittle stone. A taunt? A test? 

Â̴̅ ̸̉̐ n̵̈́̅ã̶͑m̴͛̄e̴̔̽ ̷͒ f̊a̶͊̅l̸̿̚l̸̛s into̅͝ ̷͂͠ṅ̶̅o̴͊̈thing. 

Another wave surged against her defences, daring her to stand firm. 

Then—a flash.

 A thousand eyes, blinking into existence, pits of abyssal blackness piercing through the void. Staring. Watching. Then, gone. 

Silence.

 H̵̅͒e̶͛̃ ̷́͛i̵̍͊s̸͌͌ ̷͉̆f̷̅ond ̈́o̶̐̄f̷͛̈ ̵͛́ỵ̸̀o̶͉͋ǘ̸͂.̷ Protectiv́́e̵̾͘.̵̅ Even ͝n̴̋̄ò̶͆w̷̽͊.̷̪͌

Then, another flash—this one more visceral. A wretched thing, gaunt and trembling, curled in the dark. Chains coiled around it, glinting with something ancient and cruel. A prisoner? A warning? 

The chains slithered toward her, inviting—no, daring her—to reach. 

Then, gone.

 K̴̀́i̴̿͝s̷̎͝s̶̒̾e̵̊̂d̸̋̒ ̴̑͋b̴͗͌y̶̑̃ ̷́͑t̶̄̀h̵̃e void. 

ʏᴇᴛ̈́͝ ̴̀͝ʏ̸͊͘ᴏ̴ᴜ ᴍᴀꜱ͆̍ᴋ̸̂̀ ̴̘͑ɪ̷̀̐ᴛ. ʙᴜʀʏ ɪᴛ̵̿̚.̵̙̏.̸̿̀.̵͆̓ ̵̈́͌ᴡ̶͂́ʜ̴̈ʏ?

Safrona startled at the sound of wine bottles crashing to the cellar floor around her as the voice bellowed its denial in her mind. Wine pooled like blood among glinting specks of glass. Rivers of red cutting around her own feet where she stood, rolling off into light-less spaces. Like veins had been opened in the walls of her sanctum, made to bleed. It had been a shattering, an emotive response of pure power.

Familiar. Had it been her? 

Her breath shuddered into the cellar as its many eyed-gaze found her, feeling its slithering consciousness rush against the felfire walls of her fortified mind, hoping it burned at the soul with every endeavor. She forced herself to calm, to concentrate. She would not let it through. She would not feed it.

And then came its tease. A secret. An offering in a flash of imagery. Someone trapped. A name. A name, a name, a name. She reached for the thread of offering, opening herself for a mere moment before she felt an anchored misery become insidious chain set to lure her. Another wave of flame flared around her mind and heart to further fortify her defense, but she felt the tendril slither through to know her, and grimaced.

“Yes,” she muttered with her answer, somewhat defeated, cleaved to her calm despite a desire to burn the voice’s influence to nothing. And yet…there was a suspended relief here, so long had she built a habit of trimming her truths, hiding behind the veil of empty, serviceable smiles. A relief of being truly known. Acknowledged, beyond the flesh.

 “Only just ’kissed’ by the void,” the Lady Shadowsun divulged with a careful tension. “I am much more than some impending Vessel of the Great Dark. I will always be more.”

Despite the core of her being revealed, there was more of her world she seemed to cloud, where ethereal threads webbed out into a dense fog manifested of her own will, obscuring more of her secrets. It had none of her trust, only a curiosity soured by animosity for their breach.

{ @allasticus }

[green-square-anon]

She brushes his long black hair with her fingers.

"Oh baby…" She isn't one to normally use that term and she certainly doesn't say it in a sexual or flirtatious way but instead it is something that just slips out because he is something that is frail and in need of comfort and she says it in a tone like she was lifting a small animal that was, quite literally, a baby. The tone one might expect to hear phrases like "Oh you poor little thing" in.

She doesn't give a damn about the monster he thinks he is, every ounce of protectiveness instinct and mother hen in her is on full blast, and she has a lot of "mother hen" in her.

He has never felt safer than this.

---

Snippet from Konrad Curze chatbot rp I liked. Written by me not the bot. @lemon-russ @ms--lobotomy @beckyninja