#cookies served!(crack RP)

[sleepywtch]

The witch is very sleepy but can’t sleep for some reason

[specialpatientedna]

This isn’t canon to my RP blog, but I thought I’d share a dark fanfic AU I’ve been working on for a retelling of Edna & Harvey: The Breakout. NOTE: this is only the first chapter and it’s not finished yet.

Outside, two children were playing. One, a shy and mostly quiet boy who often read books, kept a butterfly collection, collected stamps, but most of all, loved to follow the rules and do as he was told. The other was a girl no more than eight years old, who on the other hand, seemed to have a disdain for authority and rules, often finding ways to stir up mischief for the day. She played with firecrackers, smashed up her toys, tinkered with sharp objects, skipped school, blew up frogs in her backyard she’d catch, wandered abandoned buildings late at night while her father slept, but what really fascinated her, was fire.

The young girl loved to watch the flames dance around and crackle, it’s light so beautiful, bright, and hypnotic, consuming whatever it burned, the flames so full of life. She loved to burn wood, books, insects, toenail clippings, blades of grass, action figures, broken chair legs, leaves, trash cans, jars of old marmalade, broken old toys, scraps of clothing, marbles, bushes, almost anything within her reach. The girl wasn’t sure why or how she came to have this morbid fascination with fire, she just knew it was always there.

And so were those ugly and impulsive urges buried deep inside the back of her head that would worm it’s way up, turning into intrusive thoughts.

“Children! Dinner is ready!” a voice called from inside the house.

“Awww! But it’s too early dad!” the girl whined.

And she was just about to win at a game of marbles too. The boy stood up from the ground, picked up his bag of marbles, and ran up ahead, playfully laughing.

“Race you first!”

The girl brushed stray blades of grass and dirt from her skirt, picked up her half of the marbles that were left on the ground, grabbed her blue ragdoll rabbit she called Harvey, and began walking up the porch towards the backdoor.

“Oh boy!, oh boy!, oh boy! I can’t wait for the dessert Mattis will serve! All the cake! All the ice cream! And cookies! Yummy! Heehee!” an unusual and hyperactive voice giggled.

The girl’s violet eyes gazed at her ragdoll. There it was again, the voice that spoke through her rabbit. She smiled and hugged it close to her chest, it’s warm terrycloth feeling comforting. As a small child she always talked with her ragdoll rabbit Harvey, confiding in it whenever she needed to, seeking comfort when her father was busy working late night shifts again. One day when she was five years old, she was surprised to find her ragdoll had spoken back, greeting her cheerfully as if they had always known each other. The young girl felt she and Harvey were destined to be great friends, and they had remained close friends ever since. Laughing, playing, talking to one another, stirring up mischief together, cracking jokes, finding amusing ways to make her father swear, and, lighting fires.

The young girl opened the sliding glass door and stepped inside for dinner, gently shutting it closed behind her. The girl’s father, Mattis, had prepared an early dinner to welcome the boy and his father, Marcel, in their neighborhood, having just recently moved in. The girl took her seat, served her plate of food, and began to dig into her potato salad and sausage. Mattis and Marcel were busily blabbing about boring grown up topics the girl couldn’t be bothered to listen to, and the young boy was eagerly eating his sausages. The girl started to feel uneasy with a strange feeling in her gut, and a bizarre sense of deja vu.

“Hey! Edna! Alfred’s pretty boring, huh?” Harvey snickered as he sat in the young girl’s lap. “Shhh!” Edna shushed the ragdoll rabbit, glaring at him.

“Be quiet Harv, you know dad can’t see us talking, he’ll think I’m a loon.” “Sorry Edna...” Harvey apologized.

Alfred, Marcel, and Mattis looked up from their meal and stared at Edna with concern. Edna awkwardly stared back before her eyes slowly gazed over to her dinner plate again and she resumed eating her meal.

She felt like she was going to be sick.

Alfred, Marcel and Mattis went back to chatting away, but Edna could barely touch her food. She tried to listen in on the parent’s conversation but she couldn’t focus well. Their voices felt so distant, so far away.

“Hehehe! Edna!, Edna!, Edna! Look at this!” Harvey exclaimed in twisted delight.

Edna froze in her seat, but felt her arm slowly raise up over her head. When did she hold a glass of water? She didn’t remember grabbing it. Edna struggled to put it down, trying not to spill it all over Alfred.

“Harvey! PLEASE!” Edna angrily shouted, but it was too late.

It happened so fast. Her hand, as if being puppeted, attempted to pour the water all over Alfred, but spilled it all over her head and clothes instead. Everyone was now staring at her blankly.

“Is your daughter….always so maladjusted?” Dr. Marcel whispered.

“I’m so sorry for her behavior Dr. Marcel. Edna, go to your room.” Mattis scolded her sternly.

“But it wasn’t my fault!” Edna protested.

“Edna, I’m sorry, but I have to do this.”

Mattis reached in a cabinet, grabbing a bottle of prescription medicine. The label was marked as Chlorpromazine, for Edna Konrad.

Edna felt so humiliated, angry, and scared all at once as she tried hard to fight it, crying, shouting, struggling in her father’s tight grip as he grabbed her by the arm, forcing her to take her medicine before sending her off to her room. And then the world was spinning, pulling her away from consciousness.

She woke up in a cold sweat as her eyes opened in darkness. Gently, she pulled a thin white sheet off her and sat up. Where was she? What did these nightmares mean? Why was she in a locked bedroom in a hospital bed?

She wearily rubbed her eyes. Everything felt so confusing and disorienting. She moved her hand and felt around her bed before feeling a familiar soft material. Touching it, she picked it up, who turned out to be her ragdoll rabbit. At least she still had Harvey to get her through these awful nights. Edna softly stroked his blue terrycloth fur while humming to herself before she lied down in bed covering herself with her thin sheet, shifted into a comfortable position, and went back to sleep.

***********

Edna awoke at 5 AM the next morning to a needle rudely stuck in her arm as the nurse began drawing blood and taking samples, looking over test sheets and paperwork on her clipboard. Edna hadn’t slept well the night before and had dark circles under her eyes, her long violet hair an even bigger mess more than usual, those nightmares and odd visions plaguing her and still fresh on her mind. The nurse smiled sweetly, a genuine smile and turned to face her.

“Good morning Edna, how are you feeling today?” nurse Gretchen asked kindly.

Edna sat up in bed, clutching Harvey by the ears and hugged her knees. She didn’t look up at the nurse, but mumbled something the nurse couldn’t hear.

“It’s alright dear, we all have our bad days.” nurse Gretchen gently told Edna, soothing her like a mother would to her child.

Edna kept hugging her knees, rocking in her bed quietly, but turning to face the nurse, would slowly glance up at Gretchen now and then with one eye, still rocking herself holding on to Harvey with a tight grip. When she was finished getting Edna’s blood sample, nurse Gretchen cleaned and bandaged the wound, tending to it carefully. It reminded Edna of when she was a child and she scraped her knee after a kid pushed her at the playground, her mother Helene patching it up. The memory always felt comforting even though her mother vanished from her and Mattis’s life years ago when she was just five years old. Gretchen leaned against the wall and sighed.

“You know, I can’t even begin to imagine how you really feel. Losing your parents like that.. It must have been so awful for you, and so young. Eight years old..” the nurse murmured.

Edna stopped rocking. Still she spoke nothing, but she studied the nurse carefully with her eyes, moving her long violet locks of hair out of her face. She wanted to speak up, to say something, but she couldn’t find it in her to. Nurse Gretchen moved away from the wall and placed a hand on Edna’s head, gently rubbing the girl in comfort like she was her own daughter, if she had one.

Changing the subject to something more lighter, Gretchen said “Dr. Marcel will be seeing you in two hours, so try and get ready, okay? He’ll be taking you and the other patients to the cafeteria for breakfast. It’s free choice day, I know how much you like that. I’ll be on my way now dearie.”

Nurse Gretchen gathered her medical equipment and strolled out the room, shutting the door behind her, and Edna heard the lock click.

If anyone looked at her right now, they’d see Edna smiled for the first time in years.

***********

[sirendrowns]

Things I like to know about RP partners!!

FILL IN:

i like to be called: gigi

my favorite color is: pink

gender: female

one thing you should know about me: i am super slow but that doesn’t mean i’m not excited about our threads and/or conversations!!!! i am just super busy and don’t always have the muse, time, or energy to be on here. i’m 17, a junior in university, have a demanding job, a social life, and lots of hobbies other than tumblr. especially this summer, i’m doing some traveling and have a LOT to do when it comes to my university because i’ll have an apartment, also i’m turning 18 so that’s an ordeal in itself. long story short, i’m busy.. u can always ask for other ways to communicate though ! my discord is available to mutuals, and other social medias are available to closer friends

one thing you should know about my muse(s): lizzy is NOT a pushover. she is strong willed and will not be bullied into anything ( especially post-campania ). annie is a sweet soul, she’s soft but is well aware of how people underestimate her, and honestly it hurts her feelings a little bit. daisy will always be much smarter than she lets on. she likes to sit and observe, and while she can spot the flaws in just about anyone, she tends to idealize those closer to her. cashmere is a tough cookie. she is outwardly hard and borderline cruel when she’s tested, but past the top few layers, she’s deeply hurt and scared. she’s never matured mentally past around 16 or so due to her trauma in the capitol. heather is petrified of the social hierarchy. she doesn’t like being left out, and she could sense the destruction of the heather’s clique long before the death served as a catalyst for their own little apocalypse. wanderer is fearful of her own growing cynicism. she wants to love and trust like the souls always have, but her lives on earth tear away at her morals and beliefs about goodness and her niche in the world. sabrina is a force to be reckoned with. though she doesn’t fully understand her own power, she should be feared and respected, because she can cause the end of the world with the snap of her fingers. eliza cares so much. so much. she wants to kiss everyone on the head, which is hard for someone as little as her. she adheres strongly to feminine and traditional values herself, but admires the strides others take in their feminism. sandy needs love, it’s as simple as that. she doesn’t have a concept of what’s happened to her, and she likely never will. it’s been blocked out for her own mental stability, and she will argue to her death that she was treated like she deserved.

first language: english

second language: french

HIGHLIGHT:

age range: under 13 | 14-17 | 18-22 | 23-25 | 26-29 | 30+ | 70+ ( i’m less than 2 months away from 18 sue me )

am i okay with nsfw?: yes | no | sometimes | but not for this muse 

my favorite/most common thing to rp is: angst | fluff | smut | comedy | crack | action | other

oc friendly?: yes | no | depends

rp blog: does contain some ooc posts | doesn’t contain ooc posts

TAGGED BY: stolen from the loml @soulofsea TAGGING: you, babey!

[kristie-rp]

Questionable Responsibility

Original (middle section) by @cassandra-rp / @coloredinsanity

Sequel

“Your parents are great,” Elissa says from where she is sprawled across his bed.

Cethin hums his agreement from where he is scanning college brochures. Melina and Isaac are, objectively speaking, pretty fantastic foster-turned-adoptive parents, and Elissa thinks that more than most other people their age. She’s been raised next door by servants and nannies and tutors after her own parents, who died mysterious deaths either before Cethin lived here, or before he can remember. “What about your new bodyguard, ‘Lissa?” he asks, his voice taking on a teasing lilt.

“Kachim? He’s – he’s not my bodyguard,” Elissa protests immediately, predictably. Cethin laughs, knowing she is probably blushing again. “He’s just – I found him on the ground while I was out riding and he’s been staying ever since, you know that.”

“That’s what you claim,” Cethin taunts, because he can be a jerk at times, and because he likes the way it makes Elissa more flustered than usual.

She is still stammering defences over Cethin’s laughter when Melina comes upstairs to get her to come downstairs to go with Kachim, back from wherever he goes when he’s not being a shadow with a smile. Cethin trails after her downstairs to swipe some food before his mom closes the kitchen in the lead up to dinner, waving at the bodyguard but not approaching. It’s not that he doesn’t like Kachim, it’s that there’s something vaguely unnerving about the way he looms. He’s a perfectly nice person, but he smiles like he’s got a secret, and in Cethin’s hyperactive imagination he swears he caught a glimpse of fangs in amongst that heavy Russian accent more than once.

Anyway.

“Don’t spoil your dinner,” Melina instructs, amused. “Have you picked a college yet?”

“I haven’t even decided on a course yet, mom,” he laughs half-heartedly, rifling through the cupboard until he finds an apple that isn’t green and sour. “Engineering? Teaching? Social work? There are so many options, I don’t know how anyone chooses, let alone how I’m going to.”

“You don’t want to be a social worker,” his foster mother assures him. She’s pulling the ingredients she’ll need to prepare dinner out of various kitchen cupboards. “No thanks go to those poor people.”

“’Specially the ones who try to convince you to take more than you signed up for, right?” Cethin says it without any bitterness, but it’s not a happy comment. He’s a foster child, yes, and technically it’s thanks to an overinvested social worker that he’s now with the family he is. But then, according to everything his parents have told him – and his own hazy memories and the crying that haunts his too-vivid dreams at night – he has a biological sister. The social worker following his case tried to get them both in the same home, but the McKinley’s weren’t interested in a second child, or a daughter, and as he’s said – his parents are single-minded people. They took him. They didn’t take the girl, with a name his parents claim to have forgotten.

“Cethin...”

“Where’s dad?” he asks, cutting through the comment. Melina immediately turns away from him, the way she tends to when she’s hiding something. It’s common around his birthday, and around Christmas.

“He’s picking up a surprise for you, hopefully,” she says, her voice soft and warm. It’s full of love. He’s lucky to be in a house like this, not that he was deprived of affection before – he ended up in the system because a social worker had been concerned that his biological parents couldn’t afford to feed their two children. The couple – or the mother, at least – was coerced into giving them up, and Cethin has never forgiven the womans’ nosiness, even if she is owed some thanks. Cethin can learn to be single-minded, too.

“It’s not my birthday though?”

She snorts and pushes him off the counter, shooing him out of the kitchen. “Let me cook. We’re probably having company for dinner – go narrow down your course list, hm?”

“Fiiiine.”

Port Lyndon is cold enough during the summer, with constant rain and a sea breeze keeping everything crisp. In winter, any water that is not loaded with salt becomes ice. The cold is brutal, intense enough that even the most weather worn person is hesitant to brave a walk to the store.

Nobody wants to think about the light haired girl on the park bench, and how she isn’t going to be inside. They don’t want to look at a guilty face in the mirror when they go to bed tonight, tucking themselves into a soft bed in a heated home.

Her clothes are a mix of things, threadbare and stolen. She doesn’t remember the feeling of a warm bath, and she cannot recall the security a locked door might bring her.

Life is hard.

There are some who show kindness, as much as they can. There is a man who steps of of a closed cafe, leaving a box and a capped white bucket in a silent transaction. It’s a rare treat, the latter at least. Giselle picks it up with stiff fingers, forcing herself to her feet and starting on her journey. She considers being selfish, keeping the bounty for herself – but she isn’t that cruel.

Port Lyndon doesn’t only have its’ name because of the rich family who live on the hill. The Port part refers to the fact that the successful port remains, taking up large parts of the harbour. But time results in change, and the original shipyard is no longer used for business. It’s safe for people like her, the lost and the poor. They gather in metal forts built from abandoned shipping containers, and keep each other as safe as possible.

(She’s been abused so often in the past that she doesn’t feel safe, even among her own people. It doesn’t matter how deep the reassurance runs, it fails to reach her in a manner that will have an impact.)

The shipping containers make good homes and dependable roofs, but they’re cramped. The metal traps the heat from fires lit in barrels better than anything else they have found. One of them is near a table with nothing but a bell on it; it is here that she sets down her day-old pastries and leftover coffee, tapping the bell until it rings. She opens the box eagerly, picking out her favourite of the selection – a vanilla cupcake with raspberry icing, covered in cookie crumbs – as is the rule: deliverer gets first pick.

The adults begin to ration out what she has provided and what they already have, one of the younger adult men preparing a metal can that will serve to warm the coffee arm. Giselle lingers to watch, soaking in the warmth as she examines the scene through the cracked lenses of her glasses, before turning to walk through the shipyard. She can visit, but she cannot stay the night, not when she has already given her spot to a mother and her baby.

She finds the rotted old row boat she tends to store things in in as good condition as she expects, crawling into it and pulling the tarp back over. She flexes her fingers to work some mobility into them, and removes some pills from her bag. She forces them down dry, unwilling to brave the world outside for the frozen rainwater that might make it easier, and curls into a tight ball.

The drugs numb her enough that the cold won’t have her body shaking itself apart in the night, and her body relaxes slowly. Her sleep is deep, deep enough to last even with the snow that starts to fall again, pushing down on her tarp. It will eat into her bones in the morning, might make her sick again, and she remains out cold in every sense of the world, shivering and coughing even in her sleep.

She doesn’t feel the snow lighten, or the rush of cold as the tarp is removed. She certainly doesn’t feel the press of warm, gentle fingers to her wrist. Her body is numb all over, cold and the medication causing it, not that she could tell you what the medicine held.

What wakes her, just the slightest amount, is warmth enveloping her trembling frame. She is too tired and too close to sleep to bother with the anxiety she should feel, and she can see the edge of a car door as it closes. She is resigned to it: she expects to be used and abused, at this point. It won’t change anything. Nothing ever does, not for her.

“Mel?”

Cethin closes the brochure for PLU with a huff, more interested in his dad pulling into the driveway than he is in choosing his future. The black towncar is a cliché for the upper class, but Isaac loves it, and Cethin didn’t hate learning to drive in it, although he prefers the small coupe he has now. He gets to his feet to go look out the window at the drive, but his contacts aren’t designed for seeing things at a distance. He swears he can see his dad removing a bundle from the backseat of the car, something bundled in the picnic blanket that lives in the boot in case of the minor miracle of a sunny day in Port Lyndon, but that – that doesn’t make sense.

He’s tempted to go downstairs to investigate, and he does, lingering halfway down the steps to peer into the living room, where everything seems to be happening. His parents are leaning over someone on the couch, apparently, someone bundled in a picnic blanket, the throw rug, and worn fabrics in earth tones and blues. “Dad?”

Isaac ignores Cethin, which is unusual in itself. Melina turns, catches Cethin’s eye. “Bring down the space heater please, would you, Cethin? I need it in the bathroom.”

“Isn’t that a fire hazard?” Cethin asks empty air, Melina disappearing into the kitchen. He sighs and troops upstairs to remove the heater from the guest room, carrying it to the downstairs bathroom. It’s this one that has a bathtub, the only one in the house. His mom loves it, with Melina spending hours with the jets pummelling her aging body. She calls it soothing, but Cethin’s never liked baths.

Melina and the bundle disappear into the bathroom to the tune of running water after Cethin turns on the heater, and Cethin really, really doesn’t like not having answers. He comes into the living room to put his hands on his hips and stare at his dad – Isaac – until he gets attention. “What is it?”

“Who’s here?”

“Her name is Giselle, I believe. Or it was once.” Isaac frowns. So does Cethin, except his is less a frown and more a suspicious squint. His voice becomes wary.

“Dad?”

“Mm.”

“If you kidnapped someone, you wouldn’t drag mom into it, would you?”

“It’s not kidnapping!” Isaac protests a little too loudly for his liking, startled by the accusation. Cethin snorts. “Well, it won’t be. She should be sixteen, seventeen, something like that. Hardly a kid.”

“Those blankets were the tiniest not-kid I’ve ever seen,” Cethin points out. It’s Isaac’s turn to scoff. “Dad, why’d you bring them - her here? You should’ve taken ‘em home.”

“They don’t have a home.” That sounds incredibly ominous. Cethin stares at his father some more, until Isaac seems to realize what he said. “She’s homeless, Cethin. Let me – let me start again. Remember what we said when we asked if you’d like to be adopted?”

Sure he does. He calls his parents out on it all the time, when he wants a little guilt to help him have his way. “I have a sister that you didn’t want.”

“Right,” Isaac agrees, though it clearly pains him to do so. He never does like being seen as a bad person. “You want her, though.”

“Of course I do. She’s family. She deserves nice things, too.” She deserves to be as much of a spoilt child as he can be, actually, but he doesn’t say that. He thinks, instead, that what she – his almost-imaginary sister – deserves is to know she is loved unconditionally, and he knows enough horror stories to know not everyone in foster care gets the happily ever after he’s ended up with.

“Well – that’s her.”

Cethin snorts, because that seems unlikely, and his immediate thought it not likely. Then it pauses. Stops. He stares at his father yet again, because this is – what? “You kidnapped someone you think is my little sister?”

“She’s hardly in a state to provide a coherent response to any offers,” he protests. It’s defensive as anything Cethin has ever heard.

It’s ridiculous, is what it is. Cethin rubs under his eyes, the closest he can come to the exhausted rubbing at his eyes he can do with contacts in place. “You abducted someone because you think they’re related to me?”

“I know she is. Just – I do.”

Whatever protest Cethin has been planning on is interrupted by a sudden splash and an alarmed, wordless outburst. Both Cethin and Isaac look to the bathroom door in alarm, expecting yelling. None comes, just the soothing hum of Melina’s gentle voice, too quiet to be made out as she reassures this – Giselle. Supposed Giselle. Supposed sibling of Cethin.

“My parents are child abducters,” Cethin says hopelessly.

It’s probably a good thing Kachim took Elissa home when he did.

[jessethejoyful]

The Auchenai Tome

(( Reposting this because the old version got messed up. Working on continuing this with @thetomatofaerie because I miss wow RP and Yuulis. Check it out if you’d like! Closed thread ))

Yuulis

The city was dark, all the lanterns glowing with only a few embers. Yuulis was not sneaking; she was perfectly entitled to enter the Aldor’s library after dark. Still, each clack of her hooves made her wince. Perhaps I should consider purchasing a pair of the silencers that woman tried to sell to me a few weeks back.

The slightly snoozing guards at the entrance to the library nodded at her; they were used to the anchorite’s night time wandering habits. She smiled, and withdrew two small parcels from her bag, which she handed to the peacekeepers. As she entered the building, they opened the packages to find several cookies and a small potion, which rejuvenated their bodies and allowed them to finish their nighttime watch without falling asleep.

In the soft light of the lowered braziers, Yuulis flitted among the shelves, dragging her fingers lightly across some of the bindings. She adored the feeling of a bound book, and the smell of new parchment. The priestess stopped at the end of one section of shelves, a small frown upon her smooth, clear face. Her nimble fingers reached out and plucked a book from the shelf. She looked at the book, and the thought that it might be aware flitted through her mind. When she focused, the tome seemed to have a slight glow to it, similar to the light she could detect around many people. How can a book have such an aura? For some inexplicable reason, she felt nervous as she cracked it open.

She really was not sure what she was expecting to be inside. The words were in a language she could not understand, and she could speak and read Eredun, but the symbols and letters seemed to come off the page, dancing before her eyes. Light sparked off the sheets, disappearing into the shadows around her. Her eyes were wide and full of awe as she flipped through a few pages. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she could hear a soft, distant singing…

With a gasp, she opened her eyes. She had been unaware that she’d even closed them. With a quick survey of her surroundings, she realized she was still in the library, but settled in a plush armchair in one corner of the main room. Yuulis looked down at her hands, and realized instead of the strange book, she held a handwritten note with a pendant attached to it. The note was very short, written in smooth, scrawling letters.

There are many things in this world that are likely best left alone. A gift for you, for your trouble and your concern.

Frowning again, Yuulis looked down at the mentioned ‘gift,’ which she assumed was the pendant that had been carefully attached to the parchment. Upon close observation, she noted that the pendant was a very intricate design, made of similar metals to match her prosthetic, and glowing with a soft light she could only see when she concentrated, just as the book had. To say she was baffled by the situation was a bit of an understatement.

She stood and ran her fingers through her long silver hair and glanced out the nearest window. With a start, she realized the light outside signaled the early morning. Moving quickly, she untied the string around her neck which already held several different pendants, and added the new one to the bunch. Then, she collected herself and hurried out of the building, her mind buzzing with so many questions she might never find an answer to.

Surala

From the shadows cast by the dawning light, Surala watched as the Anchorite hurried from the library, no doubt wondering a thousand questions upon the origins of the gift. There would be hell to pay later… but the innocent curiosity of an unsuspecting Anchorite could wait. What truly mattered was the book.

With a relieved sigh, she murmured a protection spell and slipped it into her satchel. Drawing her cloak across her thin shoulders, she briskly walked past the prying eyes of the guards and into the Lower City.

The pale sun of the Outlands began to rise across the broken horizon, casting Shattrath in a dreary light. Once, the city shone in the sunrise, with thousands of crystals catching the rays of the morning… and now, all that remained were the broken remains of the crown jewel of Draenei civilization, corrupted by the presence of the sin’dorei. She quickly brushed past several Scryers, returning their haughty gazes with a cold smile.

Surala reached the World’s End Inn with a relieved sigh, thankful to avoid other anchorites in her haste. Nodding tightly at the innkeeper, whose name she could never remember, she sat in the darkened corner of the tavern and began to inspect the book.

It held a curious aura and to an unsuspecting reader, it would appear the book glowed with the Holy Light, but under the gaze of an Auchenai, the book practically pulsated with the burning corruption of Shadow. Powerful spells written in Eredun decorated the delicate pages, written for rituals in binding souls to vigilant constructs, for calling upon the Dead to serve their needs…

The curling tendrils of dark magic whispered to her, beckoning her with promises of power. Centuries of hardening her heart against such temptations made it easier for her to resist, yet it troubled her that such a dark artifact was found in the library of the Aldor. If some unsuspecting youngling happened upon it… or perhaps a curious Anchorite simply browsing the shelves…

She shut the book abruptly, standing up and nearly knocking the table over. The book was clearly Auchenai in origin and yet the Aldor somehow possessed it, though it was believed all artifacts of the Auchenai had burned. Perhaps there were more spell books to be found among the ruins, more artifacts left in the rubble than she hardly dared to imagine.

She needed to return to Auchindoun. That much was certain. With a determined nod, she rushed out of the tavern to prepare for the oncoming journey.

~

She stood before the Exarch Council. The High Vindicator was an enormous man in shining plate armor that almost hurt to look at in the afternoon light, and he carried a crystalline mace bigger than herself. It held a wicked glint like broken glass and she wondered how many unfortunate souls found themselves on the receiving end of it. Swallowing hard, she forced herself to maintain eye contact, despite feeling the curious gazes of the other Draenei upon her.

There was the grand arcanist Tunk’halor, who gave her a smile that chilled her to the bone for reasons she could not fathom, and the sorceress Astaylia, who bowed low before her and gave her a kindly smile. Beside her was a small child who seemed to inherit her mother’s serene features, shyly waving and hiding behind the mage’s long skirts.

“…and this is Grand Anchorite Yuulis,” said the High Vindicator, gesturing to the female draenei beside him, who bowed her head in greeting. The anchorite was exceptionally beautiful, with silvery hair and golden eyes that shone bright with intelligence, but there was something familiar about her that Surala couldn’t quite place.

“An honor to meet you, sister. I welcome you into our order,” said Yuulis, smiling at her, yet Surala simply stared for several moments. She had met this woman before, she was absolutely positive, but not from Auchindoun nor Telredor.

But that silver hair… could it be… the anchorite from the library?

It was her, the unfortunate who nearly fell into the clutches of the shadow book still safely kept in her satchel. Realizing she was beginning to gape stupidly at the priestess, she quickly bowed low before her and gave an unsure smile of her own, still nervous at what precisely she was getting into.

“I look forward to working with you, Grand Anchorite. The honor is mine.”

Yuulis

With some heaviness in her chest, the small priestess stepped through the portal that would take her to the Shattrath she knew, not the alternate one that was still so pristine. Pristine, but so wrong in her eyes. Yuulis felt some guilt, the weight on her chest, because it had been so long since she had returned to the place she once called home. Months, honestly; the last time she was there, she had experienced a great confusion that she could not puzzle out.

Absently, her slender hand reached up and touched the detailed pendant she wore around her neck as a reminder. A reminder that there were still many things in this boundless world that she did not understand, and perhaps never would. Still, this priestess was not the type of person to leave such mysteries alone.

She felt a tug on her dress, and looked down at the small draenei beside her. Yuulis’ adopted daughter, Melena, stared up at her with wide eyes. “Can I go now, mum? They’ll be waiting for me!” The girl had spent most of her childhood in the orphanage of Shattrath’s Lower City, and upon deciding to make a trip there, Yuulis encouraged Melena to inform her friends who remained that they would visit. Touching the girl’s hair lightly, Yuulis nodded and smiled.

“Go on, sweetheart. You know the way. I’ll come and find you in a bit, okay?” Barely pausing to nod, the girl raced off, tiny hooves clicking on the stones. With furrowed brows, Yuulis turned her head toward Aldor Rise, silhouetted in the late afternoon light.

Thinking about the book always set Yuu’s nerves on edge. On her way up the elevator, her mind strayed to it, and the way the book had reacted to her energies. Something about it had seemed so off, a small discrepancy that still baffled her, as she could not put her finger on it.

Yuulis gave a small wave to the bored looking peacekeepers stationed outside the Aldor’s library, a different pair than the last time she visited. They smiled and dipped their heads in respect for her rank, but offered nothing else in the way of a greeting.

The soft natural light of day still filtered in through the library’s many windows, and this small difference from her last visit soothed her. This was a place in which she had always felt comfortable; to come in here and feel upset would have been far more stressful to her. The anchorite walked through the rows of books, a small frown on her face and her hands by her sides. Slowly, the smell of books and the even light of the cluttered rooms calmed her.

As she began down one row, Yuulis saw another draenei leaning close to a shelf, peering. A woman, from the cascade of curls hiding her face and the smooth curves of her body. Yuulis waited, watching to see if this other woman would move and reveal her face, but she remained where she was. Finally, impatient as she tended to be, Yuulis approached quietly, her hoofsteps light, and gently touched the other draenei’s shoulder. “Archenon poros, sister.”

Surala

She had spent weeks in the library, tearing through the shelves in a vain effort to find more tomes of the Auchenai. A few scattered prayer books were left behind, in between varying random collections, but nothing of particular value had been discovered… yet.

The library was massive, a shining jewel in the ruined city, and it was miraculous the orcs hadn’t burned the archives in their bloodlust. It was, perhaps, one of the few buildings to survive the siege, though scorch marks of felfire could still be seen on the stone walls… a reminder of the tragedies the solemn walls had witnessed. For this, she was grateful– however comforting the library was, it was a reminder of vigilance. Of the need for awareness of her surroundings and that the relative safety the gentle light of the sanctuary provided was merely an illusion.

She held the book tightly to her chest, almost afraid someone would snatch it from her grasp, as she browsed the seemingly endless shelves filled with dusty tomes.

“Archenon poros, sister.”

She whirled around, startled out of her thoughts, only to face the Grand Anchorite herself. Gaping stupidly for a moment and hastily hiding the book beneath the billowing silks of her cape, Surala awkwardly cleared her throat.

“Greetings, High Priestess,” she said, her voice assuming a forced formality as she bowed low before the other, secretly hoping her eyes didn’t betray her guiltiness and need for secrecy. “Is there something I can aid you with?”

Yuulis

Blinking, Yuulis takes a step back and peers at Surala, recognizing the girl from the order. “Oh! Soulbinder.” She seems somewhat taken aback by the greeting, noting the speed with which the other woman hid the book behind her. “Ehm… you can’t aid me, no, I’m just looking around…”

She raises her eyebrows at the Auchenai, nodding toward her back. “Something you have there? You seem a bit harried.” She chuckles; Yuulis is many things, and observant is definitely one of those. Her tone remained flippant and light, trying to not stress Surala out.

Surala

Surala bit her lip, briefly considering whether or not to share her discovery with the Grand Anchorite. After all, they remained the highest-ranking priestesses within the Nor Kure and were under orders from the High Vindicator to collaborate on religious matters and no doubt she would find the book of shadows simply fascinating to explore, if puzzling in its appearance… Slowly drawing the book out from her satchel, Surala pulled her hood down to face Yuulis. “I found this in the library of the Aldor,” she said, trying not to rush her explanation all at once and hoping she didn’t recognize it or inquire on how precisely she obtained it. “It contains Auchenai lore, soulbinding constructs and necromatic rituals and other spells of shadow magic… though I was told that nothing remained of Auchindoun after its destruction.”

[sleepywtch]

“....Vampires are weird sometimes” she munches on her cookies and just...looks

[sleepywtch]

Gonna pat the younger witch

She liked being patted. She stays in place and just enjoys 

[sleepywtch]

Oh. It seems Fritz is too busy having a deep existential crisis on the couch to notice the thicc. Go figure.

She is poking the person having an existential crisis on some couch. it seems like she teleported into someone’s home again. “Excuse me….do you want…something to eat?“ When you feel awkward, FOOD

[sleepywtch]

She sees a pretty lady with the hair of the same color as her favorite fruit and she just beams, observing the pretty lady intensely. 

[sleepywtch]

Stares at the thicc because what the actual heck — is the world even ready for it??

No one can fight the THICC

[sleepywtch]

“What’s a fuck and why do people say it? Never....knew that...to be...honest” she just watches in confusion

[sleepywtch]

fckebiitch replied to your post ““Why are…they talking about heads….in such a…weird fashion” Don’t...”

:eyes:

“....what?” Look at those innocent eyes, the poor soul really does not understand a thing. 

[sleepywtch]

Mari is attacked by some weird monsters!

Mari uses “my cat is an actual Nyarlathotep”

IT IS SUPER EFFECTIVE

[sleepywtch]

“I wonder why everyone thing my shirt is weird” Because of course she would not understand the innuendo with the giant words “MEGA MILK” planted directly on the area of where her chest is even if she was hit with it on the head. 

[sleepywtch]

“I...wanna be a bird too” She heard someone speak about birds and took it absolutely out of context. Again.

[sleepywtch]

bxd-kxrma replied to your post: “I fell asleep…did i miss anything?”

“You sleep for a long time!”

“I do? Ah....well...i suppose i tend to ignore...the passage of time....it’s of no meaning to me....anyway” She is mostly busy yawning, but she seems relaxed .As always.