#nrpgtask

[never-rpg]

For one week, beginning the day you reblog this post to your character’s blog, any anonymous questions you receive that are directed at your muse must be answered honestly. There is no time limit to when these asks must be answered, but if they were received within the one week window, then they must be honestly answered. You can do this in-character or out-of-character as long as the answer is truthful. This is an exciting way for the rest of the group to peer inside the mind of your muse and it makes for some great reflection and character development for you! 

Participation in these tasks are by no means required. They’re fun things meant to enrich your rp experience here at NEVER RPG, not stress you out. This isn’t homework. You won’t be graded. There’s no test, I swear! To participate, simply reblog this post and take not of when your week will be up!

[exiled-eyes]

Who provokes your curiosity?

On the island? Nearly everyone provokes curiosity in Cecco, though the merfolk and Pan in specific are the main fascinations. Merfolk had always just been a myth, a superstition that had no real evidence behind it, something used to scare young sailors and those who hadn't seen true horrors yet. Now though, seeing them, being able to speak to them? Cecco is truly amazed and in awe of them, though, it makes them wonder what other myths and folktales hide truth.

Pan however, he truly irks Cecco to the very core. A foolhardy, careless, selfish and arrogant self proclaimed leader who shows no remorse for any lost soul under his care. Cecco doesn't understand how he can be so heartless, but how so many fall under his spell and blindly follow him. Surely there's some sort of secret to it?

[banditnate]

What do you remember about the other place? Do you miss anything?

The boy rubs at his forehead, as if in attempt to jog his hazy memory. He filters through fragmented thoughts, stills of a film long forgotten.

In an effort to brush the nosy questioner off with a simple "nothing," words involuntarily slip past his lips of their own accord.

"I remember my old man," he mutters. "Bastard." The ghost stench of stale beer on his father's breath wafts through his nostrils. He clenches his eyes tightly; even safe in his mind, he's too close.

"...My house." Snapshots of a tiny tenement building roll into view. Paint peeling from the walls. Water leaking from the ceiling when it rained. Three dining chairs around a small, round table, one of them perpetually empty. "--If you could even call it that."

"...And her." She smells of flowers and soap, her long red hair bouncing wherever she goes. The memory shifts to the scent of iron and blood, of hurried footsteps through the grass, panting and running through the trees until he loses her in the forest.

He clears his throat, stinging eyes finding a pebble on the ground much easier to stare at.

"Do I miss anything?" The carousel of nightmares in his brain stops. He pauses, releasing a breath as his shoulders drop. "No, I don't."

honesty week || five days left

[ifyouwaltzwiththewildthings]

What piece of yours are you most proud of creating?

The question brings them a big smile, even a short chuckle. "What an impossible question! I've made so much to be proud of over the years. Hmm..."

As they recall many of their most prized works, they feel that dark pit in their stomach crack open. The vast majority of their work was lost with the fire. So many projects that they sunk hours labouring into with such love and care. Just ashes now. They were most proud of when they solved some puzzles for people by making personalised tools, then seeing them in action... Those people were gone, too. Statues of animals that were bigger than them, ornaments that fitted in the palm of their hands... All gone, all gone.

Their smile faulters just for a moment, you'd miss it if you weren't paying close attention. "Honestly, I don't think I can give a proper answer. Why, we'd be here all day, ahaha," they return to their usual radiant self. "I'd go back on my answer every time I remember something else, I think."

[blackdirtinthestreet]

Do you ever wish of returning home?

Home.

The word gives them pause. "Returning... You mean to the other place, yeah?" As they think, they turn their attention to the world around them. Lush trees, long stretching planes spotted with flowers, full of life, full of death. They attempt to make some comparison to the other place, however all they can recall is a feeling. A deep, dull feeling that makes it harder to breathe. That was everyday, every night.

Was that home?

No, surely not. They shake their head with confidence. "This is home. With the Lost Boys, here in Neverland. I'm not going back, not ever."

Peter gave them this chance, why would they throw it away? It made no sense.

[t-horns]

Will you ever forgive and forget? Even for the sake of Tink?

"For the sake of Tink?" Thorn opens his mouth, thinking for a few moments. "What does that mean, for the sake of Tink? If they were holding her at knifepoint?" He has to laugh, dryly.

"Would that even be real forgiveness, then?" He shakes his head. "I will not. There's no forgiving for circumstances like these. There's certainly no forgetting. Tink isn't worth more than my family was."

"Even if she begged me, I will not. I can't let them go like that."

[heartlcssboy]

NRPG TASK 002: Nightmares and Daydreams

Peter Pan cannot dream, so instead I offer up a playlist about being unable to rest and the waking nightmares he’s plagued by while others slumber. 

includes themes of: insomnia, sleep paralysis, violence, death, gaslighting, manipulation, child abuse, verbal and physical abuse, blood, victim blaming, and probably other upsetting themes that I’ve missed by mistake.

listen to it on spotify.

[tristan-najjar]

What habit is consuming you right now?

Habit? Consuming?

Tristan leans back, thinking. "All the typical ones, if you mean the real... nasty ones," he says with a sigh. But he holds up a finger. "I'm working on it still, though."

After a moment of thought, he nods. "In a more positive sense... I think I'm finally getting the hang of fishing. It helps to try doing it away from the merfolk."

[wndybyrd]

NEVER TASK 001 :     f a v o r i t e   s p o t   !

             “ haunted by the dead . haunted by the living and the graveyard of memories they leave in our head . how terrible it is to love something that death can touch . “

as a child , wendy loved the jewel-like pool that was mermaid lagoon. now, however, the thought of stepping foot in its waters makes her skin prickle & throat close up — though, she can’t fully remember why the sudden aversion came to be. in its stead, she found comfort within the graveyard. 

the girl didn’t realize that’s what it was at first, thinking the stones & wooden markers to be props for one of the lost boys various made-up games. someone had to clue her in on the morbid history behind the secluded site, though that didn’t hinder her from slipping away there frequently. it’s quiet & remote enough, tucked deep in the forest, that she tends to successfully avoid any bother from the boys . . . or unfriendlier creatures laying deep within the island. 

there, in that special, sacred spot, she reads her books & writes her thoughts, or, occasionally, letters to her loved ones ( offered to neverbirds or tucked in glass bottles & sent to sea in hopes they miraculously, magically find a way to their intended recipients ). 

often, wendy reads aloud. after all, within those sad, shallow graves lie children who will never grow up. children whose eternal souls will always be young at heart. some may think it a delusional waste of time, but was she not brought to neverland as the lost boys’ storyteller ? dead or not, lost boys are lost boys; she will give to them her love, eternally.

if only. if only. if only she knew  how many “ wendy’s “ laid beneath her feet, too.

[t-horns]

Will you ever get Tink’s attention away from Peter?

"No."

He doesn't know what more to say to that. It's not going to happen. He's not suffering any delusions. And even if he did, what would happen after that? He was miserable company, she deserved better than that -- and turning Peter's fury on them...

He shakes his head. "No, I won't. She'll never care for me the way I care for her. Why should she?"

[blackdirtinthestreet]

Who do you hope the next person you bury will be? It's going to be someone.

That's right. It's always going to be someone. People live, people die, and Bones puts them to rest in Neverland's soil. It's just how it is. It's natural, it's needed. That doesn't mean Bones doesn't sorely miss and mourn some of those he buries, but...

They shuffle in discomfort, a shallow breath through shuddering lips. "What do you mean? You mean who do I hope is next to die...? Everyone I know, I will bury them eventually. Until I am buried myself..." It's not a day they're afraid of, perhaps it's even a day they're looking forward to, however they just hope it's not too soon. There's so much for them to do while mortal.

Despite their discomfort with the question, names start popping up in their mind. "...I've never buried a pirate," they hum quietly. "I've never had the opportunity. Those pirates that are killed are left with the others of their kind. I wonder what they do for their dead... But I'd be happy to bury one of them." As they look down, they see their hands trembling ever so slightly. Holding them up into the moonlight, Bones peers through their fingers with a blank expression. "It would be fun. A pirate..."

Perhaps the others would be against it. A pirate of all things buried with their precious dead... But the dead are dead, all the same to Bones. All equal in the end.

[t-horns]

What if it never works? What if all of your effort, all your scheming, all of that blood, amounts to nothing?

It's almost impossible to answer. "What am I supposed to say?" He asks weakly, voice husky with emotion. "That I'm prepared for that? That I've known it from the moment I made this my purpose?"

He leans forward, trying to pull himself together. "Sometimes I believe that they're doomed, and it'll all be because of me. Sometimes I think that I'm only hanging from a thread, I'm living in denial. You've caught me on a bad day, I'm afraid." He firms his jaw. He needs to be bold.

"I'm not sorry. Whatever happens... I lived to atone, for surviving where more deserving people didn't. Every loss was worth it. All the blood was worth it." He swallows, then nods. "I'll never see my family again, but if there's any afterlife, they'll know that I didn't sit back and let them go."

[t-horns]

What would be an ideal death for Captain Hook?

Anything.

"In all honesty..." Thorn leans back. "I don't care." Hook is the captain; he knows that. The one with the hook for a hand. Easily distinguished. "The fires were all his fault, he did it. And yet I really don't care how he dies. I just want to know it happened. If it was me that's even better." He takes a deep breath.

"Peter wants him for his games. I don't want to bother with that... I just want to know he's gone, that he's paid for feeling so free to slaughter all my people."

"I suppose something slow would be nice. Maybe a fire, like what he did to my family?" A small smile graces his lips. "But... once he's dead..."

There'd be no use to Thorn anymore. No purpose left.

It leaves him with a dark feeling.

[exiled-eyes]

You seem convinced that you will die on the island, can you even picture a happy life for yourself in the Other Place?

"Truthfully?"

"I don't quite think I could. As much as I hate this island, the fact that there is no reason or rhyme to anything that happens here. . . there are people I care about here. To go back to 'the other place' or home, as I'd rather call it, would feel like jumping ship. Italy is a cozy place, what with the museums, taverns and all, but here, well, Anna is here. Wendy, Charlie- I could go on and list the names of those who are keeping me here, but we would be here for a while."

Chapped lips cracked a slight smile. Truthfully it was the people who primarily kept them here, but there was one other thing that clawed at their mind, every single time they had a moment of silence.

"I should have died when The Righteous Harpy burned. There are many points in my life where I should have died, and after what happened to my- the crew of the Harpy . . . I don't wish to return to the main land. As it seems death follows me, like stench on rot. Unshakeable. Inevitable. To die here, locked away in time, or to disappear in a plume of smoke and ash, would be a better fate than anything the main land could offer me. A husband? Wife? 10 more years to live? 10 more years to remember that I failed to keep people safe, that I abandoned the crew of the Jolly Roger? At least here, there is physical torture to distract me from the mental hell I cannot escape. The main land, the 'other place' cannot provide me anything worth living with that pain."

[exiled-eyes]

Never Task : 0 0 2        Nightmares

{ TW: Body horror, eye gore, mouth horror }

it isn't uncommon for Cecco to suffer from nightmares. Regardless of what they do before laying down, nothing prevents the nightmare from creeping into their skull. Warm tea? Nothing, but it is nice for their throat when they can get their hands on it.

The smell of burning oak and ignited ale fills their lungs, as though they were back on the cursed ship that they had lost so many loved ones to, are the first things to greet them. When their eyes open, the skies, which should be decorated with the silver glisten of the stars against the otherwise blackness of the night, was instead flickering with a radiant orange hue. Their stomach drops, faster than a corpse with cannonballs tied to their ankles. No. Not here. Not again. A tightness forms in their throat as the hand of fear crawls up their spine before firmly grasping the back of their neck. Just like that, it is in control, once again. In their nightmares, no matter how hard they try or how much they desperately attempts to sober up their comrades, even just a little bit, the drunken hold is never loosened.

Shaking, slapping and doing everything short of physically harming their comrades, the same response greets them. Cecco is either ignored, or scorched by the flaming mugs of grog that are raised towards them. Their throat tightens, stinging as the fumes of burning leather and paper begin to rise from below decks. Like a fireplace, cracking in a pub, inviting those from the outside to step in, the sound of splintering and cracking wood grows ever louder as more and more of the deck is engulfed in flames. Unable to get their comrades to acknowledge the danger surrounding them, Cecco pushes past the crew in hopes of finding something to use, anything that would help save their lives. They call out to those who are nearby, to any who can hear their voice, their call to arms, praying, damn near begging for someone to join them in their attempts to extinguish the fire that threatened to consume the ship. Bucket after bucket, they rush around the burning deck in an attempt to douse the hungry flames.

A hiss dissipates in to the air as they dump the water on to a trail that is leading to a barrel of grog.  It is a fruitless task as the water simply evaporates as soon as it leaves the pail. A plume of smoke that disappears in to the air, not even a drop will ever reach the ground. No matter how much they try, there is nothing they can do to even dim a small fire. Trying to spit on it only shows that they cannot produce any saliva from their dried mouth. No one seems to even notice them, or their efforts, for the crew is too caught up in the moment, cheering and drinking from mugs that burn no sooner than the grog leaves the charred cask. To watch their friends drinking from burning mugs, seeing the skin of their lips boil and melt, dripping into the fiery drinks, it is enough to make their stomach twist. Brothers and sisters in arms, attempting to then smile at them, with chunks of their noses caved in, entirely hanging off, or missing.  Their words turning in to garbled murmurs of what cannot be deciphered, what should not be heard by mortal ears.

As they search for any sane person, praying to Neptune that someone is capable of helping, they discover that Anna is plagued by the same affliction. Cecco's heart stops for a moment. She sways alongside their Captain, Bowen the Bloody, as the sails overhead begin to rain down blackened ash. What was once a symbol of their joy, now aglow with hellfire. They celebrate their bounty, oblivious to the searing heat that begins to surround them. It is always them, that go first. To watch the flames take hold of both Anna and the Captains pants before they are engulfed by the blaze that rapidly crawls up their bodies. Their silhouettes revealing through the bright fire, how quickly it will consume them all. For it takes very few moments before the two are nothing more than skeletal remains, the skin that is home to their numerous scars, each one a thrilling tale, melts away. Falling in thick clumps that mix with hair, and the smell . . god the smell. Bowen's face begins to slide, as though he were made of nothing more than pig fat. Anna is disfigured by the intense heat. It leaves unnatural dips in her arms and figure, as though something had taken large bites out of her.  In their last moments, they are waving their arms in glee before collapsing onto the deck. The two turn to look directly at Cecco. It is the first time anyone really notices them, the only moment where it not longer feels like a nightmare, but as though life before this had been a dream they were just awaking from.

Cecco's tortured screams are drowned out by the rest of the crew beginning to sing or laugh jauntily. The quartermaster falls to their knees, surrounded by their peers as tears attempt to fall from their features. Nothing comes, however. The  heat that is circling them immediately dries out their eyes, forcing them to hold their eyes tightly shut. The sounds that fill their head however, are much different than what they have seen. They can hear desperate calls for help, pleas, crying from their brothers in arms. A horrific reality where the illusion before them holds no power. Bartering with what possessions they had, crew members begged for the gods to spare their lives. People called out for Cecco, and yet, when they open their eyes, returning to their feet . . . the noise is replaced by the facade of singing and cheers. A reminder of how little, how insignificant, they really were, no matter how hard they tried. In this hellscape, they are the only one who can see the destruction of the ship.

A snow storm of ash and soot falls down from above. Burning pieces of the crows nest begin to fall towards the deck. Some pieces will fall on top of oblivious crew. If they are lucky, it will knock them out, otherwise, it will lodge itself in to their melting scalps. Shielding their face, Cecco listens to the laughs of the crew and clanking of metal mugs. For those who are drinking, their mugs are char, faintly glowing red as they embed into the palms that should only know the feeling of swords and pistols. They are rendered helpless to watch the skin of their crewmates slosh off, chunks landing on the caving deck with a sickening wet sound followed by harsh crackling. Stairs collapse, causing those who were leaned against the rails, to fall below deck, some pieces of them remaining on the upper deck or on the railing. A loud creaking grabs Ceccos attention, causing them to look up, only to discover that one of the mast has snapped, weakened by the raging inferno.  As it falls, towards them, a slightly familiar figure steps in front of them. Someone who once brought them such delight, made them feel as though they were able to have a home regardless of where they were, now brought nothing but fear and a desperate desire to flee. The sight is grotesque. Danik attempts to smile at his friend. Heat radiates off of his burning body, causing Cecco’s nostrils to flare as they struggled to breathe. Their friends hair has become tattered, singed and choppy. Pieces of his scalp having melted in to his neck, the long hair now decorates various parts of his body, like a monster. The brown eyes Cecco had always found warmth in were deflated, for they had burst and left mangled shreds of the vitreous body, dangling from the sockets. His jaw was hanging loosely, as though it were barely holding on.

No matter how hard Cecco tries, they cannot form a word. Each attempt to speak just fills their lungs with more smoke, and the desire to cough in an attempt to expunge it arises. Flames lick at Cecco's legs, the pain ricocheting up through their gut as Danik steps closer. The heat radiating off of their friend burns, causing their body to beg them to step back, to retreat in hopes of finding a cool breeze. But their body won't move. For they are paralyzed. Danik places a burning, mangled hand on the quartermasters shoulder. Warmth grazes Cecco's cheek as their friends hand melds with their own skin. As the burning mast prepares to collapse on top of them, a woman's voice calls their name. It is barely above a whisper, but it echoes as though the owner was surrounding Cecco on all sides. When they turn to look, piercing eyes are gazing from just over the railing of the ship. It is the blonde woman from the shores water. Locking with her gaze, their chest tightens, breathing becomes harder. Between wheezes for air, Cecco watches the woman disappear from sight, sinking back down in to the glowing waters below. The feeling of heat grows intensely, their eyes shut tightly, preparing for the crushing impact, and then-  and then, nothing. Shortly after, they will awake in a cold sweat, breathing hard and gripping at their pained shoulder.

[never-rpg]

Neverland had always begun to look a little dark and threatening by bedtime. Then unexplored patches arose in it and spread, black shadows moved about in them, the roar of the beasts of prey were quite different now, and above all, you lost the certainty that you would win.

Neverland can do strange things to a person’s mind. Dreams tend to be more intense to those who slumber on the island. Pick a nightmare your muse has had to explore deeper and describe it for us in whatever way you’d like. It can be a drabble or a graphic or maybe a playlist inspired by the nightmare. Maybe you want to do all three! Whatever you feel inspired to do, go for it! And for our returning players who might have already done this task, give us a daydream that your character indulges in. And don’t worry, it’s not like there are people in Neverland who can peek in on these nightmares and daydreams..... ;)

Participation in these tasks are by no means required. They’re fun things meant to enrich your rp experience here at NEVER RPG, not stress you out. This isn’t homework. You won’t be graded. There’s no test, I swear! To participate, answer the prompt above in a new post and tag it #nrpgtask. Nightmares and daydreams may play a part in future plot drops and events.