#sia character rp

[obsidiancreates]

Dissonant Magics

(Perhaps. The most Niche thing I've ever written. Icebound crossover with me and my friend's own RP.)

Queenie had been prepared to kill when she's spotted the unusual bright yellow moving through the sparse and hardy bushes the group was camping in.

She'd drawn her bow, notched her arrow, taken aim...

And then a human man had become visible.

Not what she had expected. Especially not after sensing some kind of Fey creature nearby.

And this human man was strange. She'd never seen clothes like his before. A bright yellow hat of some sort, with a strange brim only at the very front and only above his face, a sort of... flat-cap. He had a jacket the color of ground mustard seed in a style she'd never seen before, oddly unlived in and a material she couldn't begin to identify. His pants, at least, were familiar- the same material her own overalls were made of, though his shoes... laces, yes, familiar enough, but again, the style, and a strange material that made up the soles and the tips where the toes went, something white and shiny but not solid nor firm.

He had caught sight of her then, and just... stared. Only the slightest widening of his eyes betraying his startle.

"Alright now, friend," she'd said, keeping aim at the spot between his eyes, "Now I ain't interested in killin' you and I sure hope you ain't interested in killin' me, so just introduce yourself and I'll return the favor."

He nods. "My name is Yellow, and I'm lost. I don't know how I ended up here. My brothers and I were conducting an experiment with a strange artifact we'd uncovered and I was too close when the energy surged from it. I woke up here."

"Uh-huh. Can ya prove it?"

"No."

"What'd ya just say?"

"No, I cannot prove it. I can show you evidence of my brother- four of us are identical and one involved is not, but I have over a dozen of what I consider to be Siblings in total- but I cannot prove the circumstances surrounding my arrival here. I can promise on my soul that I do not mean anyone here harm, however."

Queenie peers at him.

(In another world, someone rolls a 2, and her Insight check of 7 fails.)

"Well I don't think I can risk it. You're the first person we've met out here who can talk while bein' human and your clothes are like nothin' I ever seen."

"Yes, you are also... unusual, to me. What are you?"

"You never seen a Harringon before? Now you're gettin' real unbelievable."

"Harringon." There's a look to his eyes, something Queenie doesn't like. It's searching, but it's not searching her, or the environment around them- it's just... searching. Like he's seeing something she isn't.

She pulls the arrow back a little more.

Yellow nods to himself. "I believe I understand, to a degree, where I might be. Please tell me the name of the planet we are on."

"What in the nine hells kinda question is that?"

"Nine hells. Noted. Name?"

"... Avantris."

"... That is not the expected answer. I'm lost again." He holds out his hands. "If you would like to bind me and take me as captive or prisoner, I am allowing you to do so. I need more information to work with here- these pine trees are like none I've ever seen."

Queenie squints in suspicion once more.

(The author, with xeir shitty d20, rolls a 6 for an overall Insight check of 11. Good thing the dc is set to 10 and Queenie had advantage on this willingingly open individual.)

"Alright, fine. But you keep quiet unless we ask you somethin', 'cause I still don't trust you."

"Understood. I wouldn't either."

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

"Well I didn't find no fey," Queenie hollers as she gets withing sight of the campfire.

"Oh, thank the gods," she can hear Skrimm exclaim, and then the telltale thud of him falling over onto his bedroll in relief.

"Nope, just this weird human guy who can talk," she shouts again.

"WHAT?!"

She walks up to the campfire, still smoldering for heating the breakfast rations on, with a hogtied Yellow in tow. It's tough work, dragging him along- he's heavier than he looks by a staggering amount.

"Aye, I gotcha, Miss March." Barnabos walks over and easily picks Yellow up by the rope coming out of the knot binding his four limbs together. "Wha' in the hells are you wearin', lad?"

"Are you insulting my fashion sense, or experiencing genuine confusion as to the make and style of my clothing?"

There's a sharp inhale from Daisy, otherwise soundless surprise stealing her breath away.

"Do you know him?" Skrimm asks.

"No," Daisy signs. Yellow tilts his head as he watches her hand movements. "I've never met a human here who could speak. I never thought I would."

"I am not te-"

"Where did you find him?" Jornir stands, leaving heavily on his walking stick to do so- they're all especially tired today. It had been a harsh night. He moves closer, examining Yellow as he might examine a strange rune on a wall.

"Out in the thickets." Queenie crosses her arms and taps one foot rapidly against the ground. "Says he got here by messin' with some magic doohickey with his family."

"You're a... firbolg?" Yellow tilts his head yet again as he observes Jornir observing him. "And the one holding me is a... triton. The small screechy one is a goblin-"

"Well that was a little uncalled for-"

"-and the one tending the fire is a dragonborn. Am I correct?"

Jornir nods, slowly. "Why must you check?"

"I am not from Avantris, as she- I did not get her name, and I will not refer to her as the name the triton has addressed her as due to the familiar seeming nature of the method of addressing- has told me this world is called. I am from a world where we do not have goblins, tritons, harringon, firbolgs, or dragonborn- well, we do have dragonborn, but not in the same way he exists. They appear mostly human with dragon souls where I am from, but again, not in the way they do in Skyrim. ... You do not know what Skyrim is, and I've muddled the topic further. Dammit."

"Speakin' a lo' o' nonsense," Barnabos growls. "Are you a witch?!" He shakes Yellow a bit.

"My brother is, as is my grandpa, but I am not."

"But you are not human," Jornir rumbles. His blind eye glows with magic as he looks for the same in Yellow. "Your are.... encased, in a.... strange, unnatural magic."

"Yes. I am an artificial being- I am made of metal and glass and electricity, lightning, and also contain a magic stone as a secondary power source that has given me an approximation of a living soul, or a soul by the standards of my own world. I do not know if it qualifies as one here."

"A-a man made of metal? Like that fuckin' thing on the horse we keep seeing?!" Skrimm summons the Brutal Blade to his hand. "Why do we keep running into these bastards?!"

"I am not aligned with anyone."

"Besides, Skrimm," Taishen says, finally joining the conversation now that he has tea to pass to everyone (and a cup set aside in case the currently hogtied man becomes an ally). "This man isn't metal. He has skin!"

"It is synthetic- made with chemical combinations. ... Alchemy. You may peel it off of a part of me, I will not feel pain and there will be no blood."

"Ah... no, I don't I will."

Daisy, setting her jaw, walks up and pulls out a hunting knife. She hesitates as she holds the blade to the man's cheek- the only thing accessible to her as Barnabos keeps Yellow suspended in the air.

"Gods, I'm gonna be sick."

"Do it." Jornir keeps his eyes on Yellow. "We must know."

Daisy breathes out, and cuts the skin on his cheek, deep.

No blood. And it scrapes against something that is not bone.

"Peel it," Yellow says again.

She does, just a little.

Underneath is something incomprehensible. colors and metals and materials she's never seen before, even more foreign than whatever makes up his clothes- and it's all so warm. It's only now she realizes how ill-suited his clothing truly is for the weather, and how he's shown no sign of freezing, and the heat she feels as she almost trance-like traces her finger against the... casing, under his skin and strange non-muscle muscle, makes that no mystery.

The camp is speechless for a moment.

"Three of my brothers are the same," Yellow says in the silence. "One was once human, then infused with similar technology, what our world calls a cyborg. We are all magic in some sense or manner, though magic in our world works very differently to how it works here- assuming, of course, I have correctly identified the kind of universe we are in."

Skrimm looks a little like his own brain is overheating. "... Well, what the fuck does that mean?!"

"It means I would like to be set down, though I do not need to be untied. The snow will help keep me cool as I work to download all the D&D guides I can find using only magical connection and not Wifi."

"What the fuck is D&D??!"

[a-vamp-and-a-half]

It does not go smooth

Neora was confident, self assured, aloof and seemingly unbothered in most things

But teaching her to bake, was teaching a penguin to fly

“There’s no way so little vanilla extract can flavour a whole pot”

This was an entire new language of confusion for her

Eric and Jamar are patient, Green chiming in occasionally with internet-researched additions.

[who-scrambled-my-ocs]

*Addendum/update to the RP for one my ocs*

I have decided I’m renaming Mairae, the mother of Sia and Evan, to Maera, a spelling I actually prefer a lot more.

This isn’t something I believe I’ll do often, but sometimes another name just meshes better with the character in my head and thus just really needs the change ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ so voila

[the-radience-of-the-moon]

Alert alert!!

Pulp fans!!

Pulp musicals rp server is made!!

(Quick server ad!)

Oh god, president thomas is at it again! Finding an orrery, turning the entirety of new york forwards in time to 1974!! What will our heroes do now?

This server is the first of its kind! It has lots of different channels, characters to claim, oc’s to make, and people to befriend! It also takes place at the start of episode 3 :)

Taken characters!:

- rose

- margaret

- kal

- anna

- sia

- dakkar

- AJ

- addison

Join us today and start your adventures!!

[cadrenebula]

You! You there! Do you know you're awesome? You are!

I greatly appreciate your OCs. All of them. They are all so interesting and well designed and I'm just invested in all of them. I love your posts, always brightens my day. THANK YOU for taking the time to share them. My favorite is Aryn though. Roleplaying with him on Bram is just an absolute delight and I hope you know how much joy it brought me. <3 But really, your characters are amazing. Your writing is awesome. And I love your screenshots too!

You are very much appreciated.

Thank you. Q_Q I am so glad you love all my gremlins but especially Aryn. It's definitely a challenge to write characters that are much more of a social creature than I am. I too very much enjoy Aryn and Bram's chaos gremlin interactions. (Watch out, Rulian!) Hopefully I'll be able to start coming to Glitter/Story Hall stuff more soon. Once I get over whatever cold I picked up that is kicking my butt right now. (Man I hate being sick right when I want to be creative. Ideas but no energy to write with.)

I definitely appreciate you as well and love your characters an writing. Bram & Rulian are definitely a fave in XIV universe. (Shh don't tell Sia I said that. XD I do still love Sia, just not as much as Bram and Rulian.) Thank you for giving me a space to bring my gremlins to for light RP when I have the energy for it.

[crescentcityhellmouth-rpg]

Out Of Character

Name/Alias: Koya Age: 29 NSFW Personal Preference: I’m comfortable with smut, but I prefer to keep it short and sweet under most circumstances or we can fade to black. Series/Season: TVD S3-S5, TO S1-S5. Canon Changes: TO S3-S5 are not canonical. Activity Level: Mostly on afternoons. Time Zone: EST. RP Experience: 17 years on various sites. Best Mode of Contact: Discord.

In-Character

Desired Character: Rebekah Mikaelson Age: Forever 19 OTP / NOTP: Jace x Rebekah Housing: The Abattoir.

Interview questions.

01. Give us your thoughts on New Orleans?

》°•♡ "New Orleans is one of the many places my family has called home over the centuries, and it holds a particularly special place in my heart. 《•°♡

02. Tell us how you feel about your species, and if you could change it what would you choose to be and why?

》°•♡ "I never wanted to be a vampire; I would take the cure in a heartbeat. There are both pros and cons though, of course. None of which I was able to weigh prior. That choice was taken from me by Mikael and Esther centuries ago, but I would do most anything to get it back." 《•°♡

03. Please describe the most important person to you and why?

》°•♡ "My brothers are the most important to me. We've been together for over a thousand years, through thick and thin, always and forever." 《•°♡

04. Detail a specific point in time that has detrimentally changed you?

》°•♡ "The night my father turned us into vampires quite literally changed all of us." 《•°♡

05. Explain (a few) bad habit(s) in detail that you’ve picked up over the years, if you remember when you started it describe that pivotal moment as well as what you’ve tried to do to cope with it?

》°•♡ "Most of my so-called bad habits stem from the innate heightened emotions contributed to vampirism. The worst of them being I have a temper like my father and little to no control over it." 《•°♡

Playlist.  

• Bloody Creature Poster Girl — In This Moment • Devil I Know — Allie X • Elastic Heart — Sia

Paragraph sample.

Rebekah stood before the archway of the abattoir, gathering what little courage she could find to face her family empty-handed once again. Since her darling niece Hope went missing, nights in the Mikaelson compound had been restless, to say the least. Niklaus was ever the more paranoid and broken, his redemption slipping further and further from their fingers with each passing moment, as Hayley fell into a deep and spiraling depression. Elijah, of course, remained the glue that held everything together, as much one could after losing a child to your enemies that is. The lot suspected their aunt Dahlia was not dealt a finishing blow in their most recent confrontation. However, now it seemed no one was quite so certain she was responsible for the abduction. That's when Rebekah heard a rustling coming from the shadows behind her, and she let out a loud, exasperated groan, bracing herself for either a violent encounter or an endless lecture. When she heard the voice of an unfamiliar man, she turned quickly to face him. "The bloody Clave," she repeated. Freya and Kol had mentioned something of an organization that protected the balance of the supernatural world. Something Marcel tried himself to do himself in the big easy, only this was on a much larger scale. 》°•♡ Rebekah looked the boy up and down for a moment. He was both radiant and rebellious somehow, dirty blonde tousled hair, tattoos covering his arms hands and neck, dressed all in black. "Where in the gods were you lot when someone forced their way into our home and kidnapped Hope?" ♡•°《

[yveschanceux]

Yves takes his time placing his objects into the simple stained box. A harmonica reed, a petrified flower, a small quill with the ink still staining the tip, a long blade of grass that could carry a whistle, a rock, a shell, a small coin, and a few other odds and ends. He tries to work quickly, so as not to dwell, but gently enough to tuck the small objects away where they won’t be rattled around too much. He wants nothing more than this to be over, and the debt to be paid.

Finally, he dives into his life to try and cut out the parts that Dahlia didn’t ask for, anything that doesn't directly provide context for his house and the way he is, he tries to remove.

In the end, he does an okay job, they aren't as cleanly cut as Dahlias, he watches the reel back, trying to force cold indifference. It’s hard, but not nearly as hard as it was the first time.  He does trust Dahlia, he supposes, but not enough to give more than asked, not yet, so he slaps the lid closed with a sigh and places the box on the table before her, nervous energy bouncing his leg.

With barely contained eagerness, Dahlia nods and opens the box.

Her vision blacks out, all she has are her other senses and it’s strange not being able to fall back on her mage’s vision. She feels his life thrumming in her veins.

Yves has always made the best of life, she can feel it in his ribs, knows that he’ll always be okay, as long as he has Felix.

It immediately feels like a dream.

-----

Dahlia wakes up on the stairs of the back porch, it's a late spring evening and shes reclined down the steps in an awkward but mostly comfortable daze watching the dust pick up and settle in the warm breeze. Even laying down, Yves body feels too long and wide on her consciousness. She can feel the high of fatigue holding down his limbs and the sun lulling him to sleep. Soft footfalls thump slowly in the house and then out onto the porch. Ilya drops down next to Yves, slightly higher up on the steps and takes his head into her lap to play with his hair and rubs a hand down his bare chest.

“Hey, babe.” “How are you feeling?” Ilya asks, looking out at the pollen swirling in the road. “Your fevers gone.”

“Mmhmm.” Yves lets her eyes flutter shut and grasps for Ilyas hand on his chest, the additional warmth of his wife lulling him further into a doze. “I’ll be back to work soon…”

“Let me know when you’re ready to finish the eel,” she traces the black and green lines across his shoulder.

He makes another content noise. “How’s Felix been?”

“Hmm. Felix is doing well in the city. He’s taken on an apprentice it seems, has high hopes for her. He’s glad to hear we’ve settled in and keeps threatening to visit.” She grins and plants a kiss at his damp temple. “We should clean up your old room for guests-”

Her voice cuts off as Yves falls into a soft sleep.

-----

They wake on the beach in the late afternoon, Dahlia is overcome with a moment of Deja Vu, but Yves seems content with the routine. Ilya rouses beside them, much less burnt and they sleepily gather their belongings and make the familiar journey up the bluff-side to watch the sunset.

They can see just the top of the farmhouse roof behind them. In the distance, the outlying docks of the town a mile away can be made out against the blue water, and facing directly into the ocean is the sun, seconds from setting. A small strip of exposed sandbar is the only obstruction breaking up the endless expanse in this direction, and the water surrounding the sliver of sand is aglow with glowing green algae and ocher and purple bioluminescent animals.

Ilya’s hand worms into theirs and Dahlia points out at the dim glow as the bright flashes of golden sun begin to cut across the water in a swath of dancing light. The few clouds above turn purple, pink, then red as the sun dips halfway below the horizon line. The purples and greens seem to intensify in its wake, and all along the darkening coast, the last flecks of orange light give way to purples and greens and intense sparkling gold all the way out to sea.

All Dahlia can see is Ilya’s face as she watches the lights replace each other, her dark skin catching each colour of the sea. She turns to make eye contact and all Dahlia can see are her green-grey eyes flecked with nearly imperceptible spots of gold, like sunbeams in a storm. Ilya cups her face and taps their foreheads together. “I love you.” She kisses Dahlia in the violet burn of the false sky with all of its glowing specks. Aside from a few grey clouds far off in the distance, the night sky and ocean seem to become one vast void of lights with no horizon to separate them.

Dahlia tries to think of something romantic to say to that but her eyes flutter shut and she focuses on the points of contact between them, on the heat of Ilya’s fingers running across her cheek and neck, still warm from the sun. She’s so happy she could cry.

“I love you too, smudge.” Dahlia grins as the kiss breaks and nuzzles into the crook of Ilyas neck, taking in the smell of sand and sun, of ink and paper. It smells like home.

They sit there forever as the lights sparkle and fade….

“I just think it’s dangerous what you’re doing.” Dahlia spits a little too harshly. She’s sitting up on the counter between the sink and the icebox while Ilya works furiously over the kitchen table. Paper and ink are spread everywhere in a map of words and glyphs, coded beyond anyone's comprehension. Ilya stops suddenly and looks up to her slowly, placing the quill down gently. “Yves, baby,” Ilya stands and walks over to Dahlia, forcing eye contact. “I understand,  But you’ve known for a long time that this is a huge part of me. Helping these people is a calling - especially-”

“-Because we’re in a position too, I know, I know, but still-” Dahlia interrupts the familiar...discussion, a swirl of bitter embarrassment wells up in her gut. “I just…there’s talk of a witch hunt in town this week. It’s got me on edge is all...I’m sorry smudge.”

“You are forgiven,” Ilya grins and runs her nimble stained fingers through Dahlia’s hair and cups her face. “I would never put either of us in danger, neither will Felix. I need you to trust me, and trust that I know what I’m doing.” She plants a kiss on her forehead and steps away back to her papers.

“I do.” Dahlia lies with a small smile. The guilt is thumping in time with her heartbeat, outmatched only by the dread building up in her chest, pooling hot and sickly just beneath her war wound - now scarred over. “I do.”

Outside the fall wind howls through the trees and splatters wet leaves against the shutters.

Dahlia knows in her soul, with unheard of clarity that she’ll always be okay, as long as she has Ilya.

------

Dahlia isn’t present for most of the winter. They don’t get snow as far south as they are but the freezing rains and grey skies take the warmth away. It's far too cold to swim and even the green grove at the beach is devoid of colour. Ilya is patient with her, used to the routine after three odd years of being together.

They work as a team maintaining the animals, even though there’s less to do on the farm it still takes much of the late morning before Ilya returns to her limited invoices and Dahlia can return to the comfort of the warm bedroom. She nestles into the covers and sleeps until she's woken by Ilya retiring to bed. This pattern continues for the whole season, broken only by the occasional illness, mostly on her part. But as the weeks proceed Ilya gets to bed later and later.

“Is everything alright?” Dahlia asks on one of her better days when her fever has gone down. “You seem so stressed, I’m sorry I haven't been he-” the apology is cut off by an abrupt kiss. Ilya holds her fast and close, a little tighter than necessary. She buries her head in the crook of Dahlia's neck in the centre of her chest and clings for a very long time.

“Hey, Ilya what’s wrong?” Guilt and fear swell up in her gut, she had been barely cohesive the past few months, and the idea that Ilya needed help while she was off living life underwater was wretched.

She clings a bit tighter, her voice muffled in Dahlia's chest. “...You know that I love you right? I love you and I would never do anything to hurt you?” She's shaking as she threads her hands under Dahlia's shirt for warmth, for proof of life. Dahlia is overcome with a deep sadness compounded by her recent emotional instability, a sob overcomes her and like a switch is flipped they are both sinking to the floor in a weepy embrace.

“Of course I know, and I love you too, of course I know.” Dahlia assures her as best as she can, “please Ilya, I love you so much but you’re kind of scaring me right now.” She holds Ilya out by her shoulders so they can look at each other. She looks exhausted, worn thin.

“Nothing’s wrong, baby, I’m just tired is all.” She seems to avoid eye contact but a smile comes to her lips trying to reassure. “I think we both need this winter to end.” Dahlia doesn’t know how to interpret this encounter and is really in no condition to, post-illness. At a loss, she also smiles and hugs her wife close. “Yeah.” They sit there for a while longer before the frigid air gets to  be too much, “common, let's go to bed, Smudge.” As Ilya proceeds, upstairs Dahlia takes a minute to lock up the house and close the curtains for the night. She glances at the documents on the table with little interest but can make nothing of the correspondence between Ilya and her customers. She slides away to lock the back porch, with one last look outside to make sure the barn door is closed.

Out on the lawn is a spot of red on the pale frosty grass. She steps outside to investigate in the as the sun dips below the trees. The shadows of the orchard reach out like long fingers towards the house. A line of ocher feathers connects the spattering of red to the treeline behind the fence. Beyond the thick oaks surrounding the property, something moves in the brush.

This isn’t the first time they’ve lost a chicken to wild animals, but the trail of gold feels so much like a bad omen that she can't help but shudder in the cold wind.

Dahlia inhales deeply, the sharp air cuts into her weakened lungs like glass. She diligently gathers water from the creek and washes most of the blood into the ground, then flicks the feathers off into the forest before turning in for the night. She double checks the locks on the door and doesn't tell Ilya about the chicken, she’s under enough stress already…

----

Spring rain comes, and with it a high the Dahlia still hadn’t gotten used too. She’s over-productive in many ways and a tad destructive in others but Ilya seems grateful to have her husband back in full health though she seems older despite high spirits.

“Let's plan a trip.” She suggests over lunch after the chores are done. “Oh yeah? Business or pleasure?” Dahlia looks away from the treeline, interested.

“Hmm…” Ilya leans over to rest her head on Dahlia’s shoulder, looking up into her dark eyes. “Most definitely pleasure.” She smiles and Dahlia couldn’t say no if she’d wanted too. “I think we should see the far west… just for a couple of weeks? Sebastien can watch the farm can’t he?”

“Why the sudden wanderlust, babe?”

Ilya inhales deeply, a weariness settling in her features, “I think we just need...a change of scenery is all…” they’d talked before, about going the way of Irene and Louann, shuttering the house and retiring to travel the countryside in their old age. Dahlia didn’t think would happen so soon, couldn’t fathom a nicer place to be, but something about this last winter had added years to Ilya’s face.

“If we butter him up first.” She kisses her wife on the head, noticing a grey hair here and there. “I think Sebas would be happy to get out of that dirt shack for a bit.”

“Oh yes, I think  so too.” Ilya agrees matter of factly, but Dahlia can hear the relief in her voice as they begin planning their trip...  

----

Two months before they leave something goes horribly wrong.

Dahlia wakes up alone for the first time in years. It's early spring, frost still threatens the grove, but the rains have started. It seems like a dream at first, she dresses like normal, an uncomfortable itch in the back of her throat. With sleep still clouding her vision, she makes it down the stairs to the first landing before she notices something is wrong. There’s mud tracked all over the stairs, looking up, she can see prints in the hallway as well. Not panicking she hurries downstairs.

“Smudge, is everything alright?” She yells as she descends, mind scrambling to come up with an explanation for the mess, perhaps they’d forgotten to take off their boots before tracking mud into the house last night? The papers on the tables are missing. “Ilya!”

Outside in the fresh spring mud are streaks of red and a trail of golden feathers.

The next few months are like one long nightmare, Dahlia can feel the life draining from her body every day.

She starts out fine. Terribly worried and angrier than she’s ever been in her life, but not panicked. Not for the first few hours.

It’s easy to piece together what happened. The boot tracks throughout the house, the missing cypher, the dead fowl. She begins the search on the grounds of the farm, fanning out from the house to circle the grove, then the property, then the beach. It's long after dark when she returns home shaking and wired and itching for violence. It’s not even a thought to grab at the bottles of wine on her way into the kitchen and spend the rest of the night awake, alternating between restless sleep and paranoid bargaining.

The rest of the week is a blur. She spends a great deal of time switching between overwhelming panic, unparalleled rage, and unwavering determination to find Ilya. She writes in a shaky hand to Felix and Sebastien, her words are basic and sharp and spelt wrong and barely legible, even to herself. Its nothing like Ilya’s deft grace and control. Dahlias used to not having the vocabulary to get her emotions across but the fact that she’s writing at all - she hopes - conveys the urgency that her words can’t.

She goes to town first, gives them the news, asks for help looking, for information, for sightings, for any kind of lead. Everyone offers their sympathies but remain ignorant of her whereabouts and no one seems to meet Dahlia's panic.  She has no new information and her sense of urgency only increases. Aside from the occasional comments about how she hasn’t quite been the same since ‘the accident’ Dahlia can’t find any trace outside of the farm that Ilya had ever existed at all.

Ilya is still in the house. Dahlia can see her sometimes, out of the corner of her eye, in the folds of the bedspread in the early morning, or in wafts of fresh ink that still circulate around the bannister. Like if she runs back upstairs, Ilya might be there, sitting at her desk by the window, crunching numbers and doodling in the margins of her notebook. She's not there though, not in any way that matters.

She tries to gather the remaining papers in Ilya’s study and the rest of the house. Whoever took her and her code didn’t seem to know it was there. It occurs to Dahlia that she likely can’t trust anyone, given the illegal nature of Ilya’s hobbies.

She trusts Felix with her life but stops herself from sending him the papers for fear that the information they hold will make him disappear into the night. She hides them instead when she’s sure no one is looking.

----

It’s been almost two weeks since Ilya’s been abducted and no one in town will mention her name. She hears people whispering behind their hands about how tragic it is that she’d been seduced by a witch and how tragic it is that she’s probably cursed, but mostly no one says anything at all and that feels worse. She knows she’s being watched, can see shapes in her peripheral but they always move before she can look at them.

Many of the memories are jumbled here, some of them could be dreams, many of them feel like hallucinations. There is one moment that stands out among the rest. Dahlia is sitting on the floor of her bedroom, unable to move. It feels like she's been through a meat grinder and one eye is swollen shut. She can feel a hot dripping down her face and neck. Above her stands a figure so still, it could be a shadow.

The figure snarls through an old gnarled scar across its nose. “Stop making trouble.” It warns as Dahlia’s vision fades out, then in again. It’s morning now, aside from her black eye there is no evidence that anyone else was in the house last night.

The dead animals keep piling up-it feels like one every day, one morning she wakes up to find the roof of the bard smouldering, the spring downpour likely smothered it in the night. She’s too stupid to stop asking questions, or care, or whatever.

They sneak into the house while she’s away or at night. They move things, take things, stand over her while she sleeps, weird shit like that. Sometimes she wakes up with bruises or cuts or really bad headaches, stuff that doesn’t just happen. Sebastien would probably say its stress, some kind of fucked up grieving process, but Dahlia knows better, she doesn’t give away where Ilya’s work is hidden.

Finally, they get sick of playing games and one night while she’s drunk off her ass because she can’t sleep anymore and her goddamn wife is missing, they break in and drag her out back behind the barn. They dig a hole and bury Dahlia in the mud. It’s not a whole six feet, but she sobers up pretty quick underground.

Dahlia hyperventilates for a long time. She watches her body struggle through someplace just above her, lodged in the fresh packed dirt above. The rain seeps down into the heavy soil and turns her grave into slick mud and the distant thunder rumbles the earth.  She doesn’t know how to get out, doesn’t know how close the surface is or even if she’s digging in the right direction. An unknowable amount of time passes but she can hear morning birds chirping through the roaring in her ears. Finally she breaks the surface, freezing and wet and delirious.

The morning mist collects and swirls at her feet. Her thin, quick breaths steam in the cool air as she vomits mud. Something is moving upstairs in the window of Ilya’s study. Trembling, she sloughs her mud-caked clothes off into a pile on the porch. She moves in slow motion through the house and stops at the bottom of the stairs. Shadows coalesce around an eerie red light striking the landing wall. Outside the sun is rising, there are no birds left to greet it.

It feels like it takes all morning to climb the stairs, she jumps and freezes at every noise. At the top, each step feels like walking through mud as she approaches the open study. Small tendrils of smoke curl upwards from burned spots in the floorboard. Nothing is on fire but the room smells of ash and ink. Her books are scattered around and torn up, her chair is knocked over and her utensils spilt. The smoke drifts from gouged lettering on the floor, and Dahlia has bad eyes but the words reach across the floor in terrible black letters.

S T O P

L O O K I N G

She can’t even clean it up, Dahlia just stomps out the wisps of smoke and shutters the window. She locks the door and hides the key away. It's impossible to be upstairs without seeing something out of the corner of her eye.

Thieve. Abductors. Undertakers. Ilya.

She stops going upstairs all-together, can’t even get near the bannister without dozens of eyes on her, peering out of the woodwork. Time bleeds together, she can’t sleep for the paranoia, for the bedsheets dragging her back underground, for Ilya watching her from the between the rails upstairs. she jumps at every sound regardless of the source. Her brain feels sick.

She keeps drinking and gets it into her head that maybe - well maybe if they had buried her, that they might have buried Ilya somewhere on the property. That maybe she was still alive underground this whole time, waiting for someone to find her.  Dahlia begins to dig holes in the yard because if they wouldn’t let her ask questions the least they could do was let her burn out trying to turn over the orchard looking for some kind of closure.

She knows it’s irrational but she feels hopeless and possessed, looking over the property they had built a life on and only seeing a ten-acre grave.

She digs during the day, at night she listens for intruders,  a part of her knows they will leave her alone now, knows that they’ve done all they need to do to keep her from asking questions, but the damage is done. In every shadow is a thief, every creaking floorboard warns him not to cause trouble.

----

Before Ilya became a cartographer she was raised on the bow. She’d been a decent shot but had ultimately preferred to explore over hunt, so she came to him with a lovely heirloom of a crossbow to be used as a party trick to win bets or scare off coyotes. Dahlia’s hands shake as she loads the bow, as she’d seen Ilya do a million times. She levels it at the door and waits through the night.

Sometimes when she’d drift off she would have dreams where it had all been a nightmare. Ilya would be next to her and she would just stay in bed and watch her sleep, watch her chest move when she breathed and the sun would cross the bedroom and then Ilya would wake with a mumble and Dahlia could think for just a minute that everything was alright.

They felt like a curse in her waking hours.

----

Days later Felix finds her, he’d been across the country working and dropped everything as soon as he’d gotten the letter, it still took weeks of travel to arrive. Dahlia has been beside herself for nearly a month and she almost puts a hole in her brother with her wife’s crossbow. She’s a terrible shot, but it gives Felix enough time to yank the bow from her hands and embrace her.  She panics at first, then realizes who it is. She cries for the first time in years.

Eventually, Sebastian arrives at Felix’s call.  The two pack up everything up while she mopes around and jumps at shadows. They try to get her to sober up too, but it doesn't take.  

She never sees the crossbow again.

It takes weeks to clean the mess, weeks to get Dahlia back into her right mind, Sebastien grounds her immensely with old stories while Felix makes arrangements. They are moving her off the farm, to the city with Felix. Dahlia watches numbly as they pack up everything into neat little boxes and scrape the dried mud from the floor. They leave the study alone.

-----

For the next few months, she lives with Felix in the city, recovering mostly, getting back into a normal sleep schedule. The noise helps, being around other people helps, Felix helps when he’s not at work. Slowly, she comes to accept that Ilya is gone, in order to live with that Dahlia also comes to accept that Ilya is dead, and takes the time to mourn properly.

Most of her time alone was something of a blur. She tries to explain to Felix what happened but so much of it was spent in the throes of a drunken paranoia that she isn’t really sure what was real and what was just a bad dream. Felix doesn’t force her to make the distinction even though that leaves a lot of gaps in the story.

In the end, Felix believes that there is some foul play at hand, but has no leads to pursue. Many words are explained, Dahlia has never yelled at her brother in genuine anger before but she's been so frustrated and scared and angry and drunk for weeks now and no one knows how to help. Felix takes it all with grace and pity on his face. He holds her close and she apologises.

They have a proper funeral at some point. Dahlia can’t remember it but she’s sure it was nice.

-----

Months pass and she slowly moves closer to herself. She doesn’t quite fit back into her body but the perspective is nearly the same, she thinks. Drinking helps somewhat.

Felix is very proud of her for finding her body again, though he doesn’t quite word it like that. He says things like “I am glad we are eating breakfast together,” or “It looks like you got some sun today!” In his cheery, relieved voice. Dahlia feels like a child, or a spooked animal being pitied, but something about Felix’s gentle way of handling her is comforting.

He wants her to stay as long as she needs too but Dahlia’s skin begins to crawl with wanderlust. She’s grateful for everything Felix has done for her but she feels like the world is stagnant now, with an absence of colour or sound. She bids Felix goodbye with solemn determination. Her brother is nervous and reluctant to let her go, but all the same optimistic that travel could be a good thing.

She knows that she’ll be okay, she always has Felix, after all.

----

She stops by the farmhouse before truly leaving, needs to say goodbye to it now that she’s said goodbye to Ilya. She goes in the middle of the day, alone. It stands solitary and warm in the summer sun, she can hear the creek babbling through the orchard and smell citrus on the breeze. Dahlia takes in the view, closes her eyes and inhales the smells of the property. She can still hear the wind-chime on the porch, made from small rocks and shells, there is laughter in the wind.

The holes she’d spent days digging up are still present, like scars on the property, though they have filled in somewhat from the rain and are grown over with grass now. In a few years, she knows, it will be like they were never there at all.

It feels like she’s just come home from the market as she slips in the backdoor easily, for just a moment, Ilya is sitting at the kitchen table, pouring over her work. She looks up with a smile on her face, they’re going on a trip soon.

Dahlia shudders and moves through the space, careful not to touch anything. It feels wrong how barren the rooms are, never in her years of living here has the place felt so empty, not even when the old birds had moved out. She avoids the stairs entirely to find some of Ilya’s papers in the spare room. Waves of melancholy wash over her, looking at their life together packed up in neat little boxes and stored away, it all feels so wrong.  She pulls a bundle of paper from a box, gently leafing through the parchment. It smells like home.

Dahlia spreads the papers over the kitchen table. She finds a vial of ink and a half dozen quills to place delicately between the pages of almanacs, half made maps, and first pass translations of various texts. She steps back with a nod, it isn’t quite the same as Ilyas organized chaos, but looking back at the kitchen as she locks the door, it feels like she’s still home, it feels less like bidding adieu and more like she’s just... going on a trip.  

----

The memory fades out and back in, she doesn’t experience first hand but knows that she spends the next few years wandering from city to city, revisiting old friends and customers from before the farm and the injury and the conscription. It’s easy to fall back into what she used to be, even if it doesn’t feel real. She stays out of the way of the law as best she can, avoids all talk of mages and witch hunts and crowns guards for fear of having to do it all over again. To repeat the last year of her life, she knows, will probably kill her.

She comes back into herself in a familiar apartment, a terrible melancholy interrupts her, a longing for this place that was her home inside a body that feels too tall, too wide, too different from hers. There is a resounding whiplash that stuns her as she sees her body, her real body leaning over her with a potion, pouring it into her leg wound that feels both numb and like white-hot pain at the same time.

She’s talking in a playful tone, telling him - telling Yves that she doesn’t need payment for the priceless potion in her hand.

“Just take me to that summer festival we talked about last night. Win me something nice, buy me snacks, whatever you can manage.”

Dahlia can tell Yves can’t remember what ‘last night’ means, but he doesn’t miss a beat in agreeing, Dahlia can feel in his gut that Yves will probably do whatever she asks of him (within reason) for the potion. But that's truly all she’d wanted at the time, and the world seems brighter for it, at least from his perspective.

The memory starts to fade there as if Yves had let it run too long on accident and hadn’t wanted her to see this far in. She fades out of his memory one last time and comes back into her real body, back in the kitchen. It feels like the breath has been knocked out of her for a long moment. Yves slaps the box shut the second she pulls away. He looks absolutely perplexed - on his end the whole thing took less than a minute, not the months that Dahlia had experienced.

“Is it really supposed to be that fast?” Yves mumbles to Namir, who is nearly in Dahlia's lap in worry, he paws her potion closer to her hands. “It feels so much longer from the other side.”

“Hey fireball, you doing alright?” He leans back a bit to give her some breathing room, remembering how claustrophobic he’d been coming out of her memory box.

[lumaroza]

💖

windstorm by school of seven bells AND empire ants by gorillaz

[teamrocketmemes]

NIJIAU QUIZSHOW RP MEME

Taken from the Youtube stream “NIJIAU QUIZSHOW” hosted by Maria Marionette and guest starring the Aussies of Nijisanji EN. Change if necessary.

“YOU’RE MUTED!!!”

“Yaaaay we’re live!! Pretend that didn’t happen!!”

“I don’t know why I’m here as I’m clearly an American.”

“I can hear your accent, yeah.”

“Who’s ready for a poggarrific show??”

“Whoever breaks their table first, wins.”

“The loser of this show has to eat a spoonfull of Vegemite.”

“Wait, there’s eight??”

“I know my outdoors.”

“Uh, [name]! I forgot my name.”

“You don’t have to touch grass to know that one.”

“Yes, it gets harder.”

“I don’t mean to butt in but I think I have 200 points.”

“In Australia, there’s actually a mountain called Mount Disappoinment.”

“I don’t know, I just wanted to buss in.”

“Australis Boralis.”

“Unfortunately, you are now at a –150.”

“I have two answers for this.”

“[name] gets no extra points.”

“When you said Australis I was like— HOH.”

“[name] is dominating this right now.”

“I don’t want the Vegemite…”

“Looks like your mouth is watering for it right now.”

“There are twice as many kangaroos than humans in Australia.”

“Isn’t that why they say that humans can never win against kangaroos??”

“You see them already dead…”

“Starting up with a sports question—”

“Yeeeah… I love sports…”

“No. I’m fine with –150.”

“I don’t think anyone has died from a spider bite since the 90s…”

“Don’t be scared. The spiders are not a threat.”

“He just smiled and gave me a Vegemite sandwich.”

“I’ve been studying all day today.”

“The Australian alps get more snow than the alps in Switzerland.”

“How long is a golf course??”

“I didn’t expect anyone to know.”

“How do you afford that much land??”

“I don’t know what significance that has but that’s why they were chosen.”

“So that’s why they were chosen, because they can’t walk backwards.”

“How do you even end up… Searching this question up??”

“I’m sorry, that’s so dumb.”

“Do I lose points if I get it wrong??”

“Can I guess without losing the points??”

“He’s at –200.”

“The crocodile rock??”

“[name], you might be –600.”

“It’s ACDC. C’mon, it’s gotta be.”

“Was that a bing-bing or a dut-dut??”

“Hey, I didn’t get any hints!!”

“Sia’s Australian??”

“This next question is about plants!”

“Let me search up what ‘fragrant' actually means.”

“The stinkiest flower.”

“It looks like pepperonis, actually.”

“People often say it smells like rotten corpse.”

“This last question is linked to your fate.”

“I think they were trying to make… Yeast, bread yeast. And they fucked up.”

“It was invented using left over yeast.”

“If you like Vegemite, you like Vegemite.”

“Yeee mate.”

“Your prize is… Nothing!!”

“You stepped up… And I stepped down.”

“At least me and [name] are both negatives together.”

“As a Californian, I’m very glad I’m not last.”

“Oh, you were standing on a box the whole time?”

“You light up our lives.”

“The POG man himself.”

“I’m SADGE man now.”

“I love touching grass.”

“Make koala noises while you’re at it.”

“I thought koalas were cute.”

“You can actually pet kangaroos too.”

“It can probably beat someone up.”

“Maybe they’re photoshopped. Maybe they’re not real.”

“You know so much about wildlife.”

“You talking about mommy long legs??”

“Who called it Daddy Long Legs??”

“Why were you throwing around a chair??”

“They’re more scared of us than… Uh, how does the saying go??”

“Where do you think Finding Nemo is from??”

“P. Sherman something—”

“I was gonna say that I don’t recommend it.”

“That’s the pig one!!”

“If we’re talking about Australian films, you have seen Kangaroo Jack right?”

“Dude, I want [name] to be like a movie critic.”

“I just had a forbidden memory unlocked—”

“This sounds like you’re making this shit up.”

“Who names these characters?? What the fuck—”

“Black and white Teletubbies??”

“It sounds like a Harry Potter spell.”

“I feel like a lot of the shows are British or American…”

“[name] just deals with it.”

“It’s the pinnacle of entertainment—”

“FRIENDS 2, the sequel.”

“That’s the least Australian TV program…”

“Was Shaun the Sheep British??”

“What are they teaching kids??”

“Why is she stealing shoes??”

“I was so invested in that meme.”

“Have you seen the remake of her??”

“The older one has flavor—”

“Did they change the recipe for Strawberry Shortcake??”

“I used to record One Piece in the morning—”

“The greatest accomplishment of Australian TV was airing Japanese TV in the morning.”

“At least you got the proper sleep.”

“Isn’t Arthur an armadillo??”

“And then he starts sniffing you…”

“What if it’s your first time watching the show?? That’s terrifying.”

“Maybe he invited himself into my house…”

*Starts singing the original Ben10 opening song*

“I didn’t even know what anime was.”

“It’s all Blu-Ray now.”

“CDs… Nuts.”

“Don’t trigger me, [name].”

“It’s literally a show about aliens and stuff.”

“It’s hard to come up with them out of the blue…”

“Wombats have square poop.”

“It’s literally a big banana.”

“I think it’s got a theme park now…”

“I used to play basketball but I got too competitive.”

“Imagine having Batman as a last name.”

“[name], can you do a Joker impression??”

“I did not audition with talents like that.”

“I didn’t know I could do Goofy until I did.”

“[name] is the impressionist guy…”

“Do you put anything on your meat pies??”

“AAAA YOU YEETED ME OUT OF HERE.”

“Nutella on bread is kind of weird.”

“[name], you’re cancelled.”

“Stop talking sense. Stop.”

“I’m just talking out of my ass.”

“Doesn’t Ferrero Rocher have… Nutella in it??”

“I’m gonna send you just audio clips of Goofy.”

“Ferrero is Nutella??”

“I learnt a lot in this stream.”

[obsidiancreates]

Eric and Jamar have enlisted your help making a Pride cake!

[a-vamp-and-a-half]

Is the ask still open?

For new RPs and stuff? Yeah! Sia RP may be taking center stage these days, but I used to RP with Anon Jim all the time too at the same time! I can't garuntee I'll always be consistent in timing of replies, and I do usually prefer to discuss fine points of RP objectives, plot points, desired character reactions, etc over DMs if that's something you'd be comfortable with, but if not I'll just let you know via the answer what I need clarification on and you can always send an ask about it that I just won't post! :D

[savingitathia]

part 2 of an emotionally stunted rp

[celestial-benediction]

Behind The Character

Answer and tag 9 people you’d like to know better/catch up with.

LAST SONG: Musical portion of the FFXIV 2021 FanFest. Soken's LaHee. Lol. Non FF related it was Roots by In This Moment. Bird Set Free by Sia.

CURRENTLY READING: I'm that person who buys books and doesn't read them and then writes RP. Last one I bought was Black Moon Rising.

CURRENTLY WATCHING: Rewatching Witch Hunter Robin for the first time since I was a kid.

CURRENTLY CRAVING: Sleep. Some kind of tasty smoothie. RP. Detailed character interactions. More contacts. Tagged by: @sundered-souls  Thank you! Tagging: Anyone.

[paramliv]

-booty scoots into your ask box for the url thing-

MOTHY WOTHY.

I say it many times but you are a fantastic friend and a great rp partner!! Even if its only little threads. You write so well and put words together so eloquently. YOU ALSO ENTERTAIN my complete and utter clownery from What If Wahisietel Was Evil to Kharshai’s Lovecore Instagram to What If Mahjarrat Had To Lip Sync For Their Lives. Even past all the character stuff I like talking to you and having a grand old time doing dramatic readings, discussing anime, or screwing around on RS

Being around you is fun! It feels like we’ve been friends forever and I like that feeling. I think your interpretation of Wahisietel and his own insecurities is so well done from what I’ve seen so far and the amount of growth he does in ghe process makes his story even better. I can’t wait till Sia and Palmer are able to get him out of the house!

[aureliariley]

on your radar

name: aurelia

age: 28

pronouns: she/Her

favorite decade: 2010

favorite TV show from that decade: the haunting of hill house

favorite music artist from that decade: sia

favorite movie from that decade: coco avant chanel

favorite food from that decade: lemon spaghetti

favorite fashion from that decade: girlfriend jeans

favorite emoji: lipstick stain emoji

favorite thing about rp:  getting lost in a story line, developing ships and characters

what do you look for in a site: reliable longterm drama free community to write and develop ships & friendship with.

type of plots you enjoy/like to see: sucker for romance (fluff & angst mixed together) & cute friendship plots. love conflict so tend to make my characters and put them back together. the journey is more important that the destination. i like final plots only when there's a lot of complications in between and it's all about getting there and going through all the ic drama & obstacles. not interested in a finals plot where everything is sunshine, rainbows and happy babies to cradle.

when did you start rping: properly rping continuously from 2019 but got acquainted to it in a good ten years ago?

[robot-airforce]

{Get to Know my Muse in 8 Songs or Less}

Music is a great way to get a sense of a character’s personality, history, or general vibes. You might only have a handful of songs you associate your muse, or you could have a massive playlist that’s impossible to list. Songs make it for all kinds of reasons: the lyrics, the genre, or maybe you just found the song at random and it stuck. The purpose of this meme is to introduce your muse in the span of one album or less, share some of your musical inspiration, or even stuff you’re into right now while you write! You can explain as much or as little as you like (multimuses are welcome to do one track per character too!).

Reed:

1. Son my Son - Milo Greene - This was actually shown to me by an old RP partner when we did a similar meme and it stuck with me for him. I feel this is a song from Camden to Reed of how he acknowledges the responsibility he’s put on him and how he’s proud of what he’s acheived. One day Cam wants Reed to be able to follow his own path and walk a way of peace.

2. On my way - Axwel Ingrosso - From the same RP partner. The lyrics in this very much feel like an anthem for Reed, expressing his determination through life to pick himself up again and keep going no matter what.

3. Icarus - Trash80 - An 8bit remix song to fit the theme of Megaman X. It’s also really floaty and upbeat which fits Reed. I kinda feel this would be his unofficial theme or musical motif in a game.

4. Starlight Brigade - TWRP - Dan Avidan is definitely my choice of english voice canon for Reed. Also a sci-fi song about fighting for justice and a video with star ships. What’s not to like?

5. Summer nights - Siamese - This song just reminds me of the freedom of youth. It has Reed vibes.

6.High above the land - gvgkid (Shovel Knight remix)- Bit of a throwback to Reeds origins as ‘Glider Knight’. His humble beginnings as a leonardo da vinci inspired Shovel Knight oc. I always loved propeller knights stage music and can really imagine Reed facing someone off in an epic dog fight in the sky to this song.

7. Flames - Sia and David Guetta - Just more nondescript Reed vibes for this song.

8. Nakama No Tame - Assassination Classroom - An epic and dramatic score that I just picture Reed flying in Red Wing to. Maybe before an intense mission or even returning with the wind in his sails from an amazing victory.

Avianna:

1. Lifelight - Lieandlee cover - I can’t put my finger on why this one fits exactly but it does. I feel maybe the Lyrics could refer to after Sky Corona fell to the destruction of the colony crash. While Avi lost a huge part of herself, she eventually found a new freedom and a fire in her core to keep fighting which very much sums up her spirit.

2. Snowing in venice - Elizaveta - “Maybe my song isn’t happy enough... but I see you take flight with the snowflakes above me...” Just resonates Avianna to me.

3. Bismarks theme - FF14 Heavensward - This song just has a high paced serenity to it that I can imagine would work as a battle or boss theme for her.

4. Core (orchestrated)  - A lot of industry and urgency that I feel would be a good accompanying stage theme for Commander Avi as you fight your way through the work yard, gunner turrets, mechanicaloids, cunning machinists and soldiers blocking your path over a treacherous fall from the air ship. 

5. Set fire to the rain - Adele - I don’t currently have a VC for Avi but I feel that its something like this.

6. Icarus - Mythos - Just some chill out Avi vibes that I imagine accompanying her in flight.

7. Touch me and I’ll break your face - Mick Gordon - I needed something to sum up the hidden firecracker that Avi can be and this fits wonderfully. She’s small but packs a punch. There’s a reason she holds the position of Commander.

8.Locus - FF14 - This feels to me like a representation of the Synergy between Avianna and Sky Corona itself. It almost feels like the one thing Avi was created to build and maintain traps and mocks her at times when she wants to fly free.