#rp: breathing life into a stone

[onyxmilk]

Senku Ichigami x gn!Reader; “Our Daughter”

notes; 110% based off an rp plot i have w a friend AGAIN :3 (ps beta reader is in fact the rp partner of the aforementioned rp and i am proud) tw; minor character death mention (just a made up character), reader gets called ‘mama’ but isn’t specified with a gender, senku and reader adopt a kid after the mother goes kapoot wc; 1k

Senku looked out into the distance, watching the sun rise. He smiled before he heard a twig snap behind him, making the seventeen year old look behind him. Senku couldn’t help but let a warm smile grace his face when he realized it was his partner, [YourName].

“What are you doing awake?” [YourName] asked, wrapping the blanket they had around themselves. Senku just chuckled, bringing his partner closer. [YourName] unwrapped one side of the blanket and allowed Senku to join them under the blanket. “You know I enjoy the sun rise.” Senku chuckled, kissing [YourName]’s head.

Senku doesn’t know what he would have done if [YourName] didn’t also break out of the stone. Senku looked down at his partner from High School, smiling warmly, the smile just made [YourName] look over and at him confused.

[YourName] smiled, “What’s on that magnificent brain of yours, Senku?” they asked finally making the couple laugh. Before Senku could reply, there were rushed foot steps coming up behind Senku and [YourName]. The noise made [YourName] immediately go into attack mode, pushing themselves off of Senku.

When it was revealed to just be a a villager, [YourName] visibly relaxed. “What’s wrong?” Senku then asked, “It’s.. It’s Iolite.” was all the villager had to say to make both [YourName] and Senku to rush back to the village.

Iolite was a villager within Ishigami village that Senku was 99.9% sure had cancer, but even when proposing her with medicine to halt the affects of it for just a little bit- the woman refused. She had just had a daughter and wanted the course of her life to go naturally. Senku had to respect that.

The three rushed back to the village and into the hut that Iolite and her daughter slept in, as Iolite’s husband had died just a few weeks before her daughter’s birth. “What’s happening?!” Senku asked as he attempted to catch his breath, “I think it’s time, Senku..” Iolite whispered weakly.

Senku knew even if he were to whip up a drug for Iolite, it wouldn’t do jack. The cancer had spread to unknown areas now, and if Iolite truly thought she was on death’s door- then she must’ve been. Iolite was such an optimistic woman, but she wasn’t dumb.

“What?!” [YourName] asks quietly, noticing the thick layer of seriousness that had just settled into the atmosphere around them. “But your.. your daughter, Iolite!” [YourName] said worriedly, Senku just threw an arm up to shush his significant other.

All Iolite could do was smile as best as she could, “Senku, [YourName]..” the woman spoke before coughing catching both’s attention. “I’d like if you took Opal, I don’t trust anyone else.” Iolite said, making [YourName] gasp and cover their mouth. “Iolite, surely an elder is a better option-“ Senku attempted to reason but the woman shook her head.

“I’ve entrusted you with my life since day one of meeting you both, it would be an honor for Opal to be raised by you both” Iolite said, watching as the two almost young adults look at each other. She smiled when both of them nodded their heads, “Please… I’d love to hold her one last time..” Iolite requested.

Senku hesitated for a moment but he made his way to the crib, gently picking up the mere four month old and gently placed her into the arms of her biological mother. For the next hour, [YourName] and Senku sat around with Iolite until it truly was her time.

Iolite’s grip got weak on her daughter and [YourName] immediately swooped in and collected Opal from the woman’s arms. Opal began to cry as Senku confirmed the death, as if the baby just knew her biological mother was dead.

[YourName] stepped out of the hut and began comforting Opal, gently rocking her and whispering promises of protection to her. Senku soon exited the hut too and walked in [YourName]’s direction. Senku, now known as Papa Senku, gently placed a hand on the back of Opal.

Opal slowly stopped crying now that she had two people comforting her. “I don’t know if i can do it, Senku.” [YourName] spoke, doubting themselves. Senku shook his head, gently wiping Opal’s tears from her face. “You’ll do amazing.” Senku comforted.

A few months had passed since the death of Opal’s biological mother. Opal was now nine months old, and everything began to fall into place. a routine was set so that Senku and [YourName] could try and even out the amount of time they got with their daughter.

Senku was holding a crying Opal while [YourName] was out doing small chores. “I don’t get whats gotten you so fussy..” Senku said gently, trying to offer a bottle to Opal which she pushed away. “M…Mama!” Opal finally cried, Senku choked on air for a second trying to process that his daughter had spoken her first words.

“Mama?” Senku then questioned confused, he had to think for a moment- Opal wanted [YourName]. Senku sighed and shook his head, “Nuh-uh, Opal, Mama is busy. They’ll be back later.” he spoke gently to the crying baby. The news seemed to have made Opal even more upset.

Thirty minutes later, [YourName] had rushed into the room. “What happened?!” They asked, offering their arms to hold Opal. Senku gently put Opal into his partner’s arms, “I could hear her cries when I was outside the hut, what the hell happened?!” [YourName] asks gently rocking their daughter.

“You left, she’s been upset, and get this- she called for you.” Senku laughed, itching the inside of his ear to try and coax them to relax. “She.. She what?” [YourName] asked now that the room was silent as Opal realized who was holding her.

“Mama..” The nine month old repeated from earlier, this time more clear than before. “Oh! Oh my goodness! I’m sorry that I left, baby!” [YourName] said sadly, gently swaying their body to rock their daughter.

Senku simply laughed, “I’ll let you two bond.” he said. He made his way over, kissed Opal’s head before kissing [YourName]’s lips. “Love you..” Senku whispered, “Love you more.” [YourName] replied quietly.

[saltnpepperbunny]

BEACON- Prologue: Awakening

Hey all, and welcome to Beacon! This fic like actually exists again, hiatus is (mostly) over! This is a PMD story about my mareep character Calamus (he/they). Calamus started as a RP character, and thus his story is written. I plan to write this story in a similar style to Till World's End, but it will be a lot longer than TWE!

I'll probably start posting regularly when I have a substantial number of chapters written. I'll try to post weekly when I'm ready. For now, enjoy this rewrite of the prologue! This chapter remained public during the hiatus, but the prose was three years old, so I decided to just write it anew.

Last note, this story is rated TEEN AND UP! The content warnings will be made available on the cover when I post it. Also please note that the content warnings may update as the story goes along (I'll notify when this happens). Sensitive readers, take care!

NEXT: Chapter 1: Perfection (coming soon) >

COVER AO3

This story is rated Teen+! Content Warnings listed on the cover!

* * *

In the depths of the gorge beneath a fallen castle, where within a kingdom thousands of years strong had collapsed in a single night, a body opened its eyes.

What had lay dead now sparked to sudden life. Its lungs twitched with the beginnings of breath. The electric spark of impulse returned to its muscles. A tremor ran through its limbs, bringing sensations of stiffness, a dull ache. Movement, at the moment, was impossible. The body saw nothing around it but darkness. It blinked slowly, registering its eyes had opened, and yet still, surrounding it, a relentless pitch black. Its ears registered silence. As it scanned the environment, the shadows bent into the shapes of tall stone walls, ridges of black sedimentary rock, the shallow divot of the dry riverbed like a wooden manger. Regained, slowly, was the ability to feel.

That trembling dull ache gave way to agony. It realized it was in pain.

The corpse sucked in a shredded breath. Its lungs spasmed to life. It coughed and gagged and wheezed as excruciating pain convulsed through its limbs, its flanks, its head. Good Zapdos, everything hurt! It had never hurt like this in all its terminated life! All it could do was tremble, squeeze its eyes shut as tears pearled at the corners of its lids. Every gasp of air racked the body with pain. Though it had once known comfort, no gentle hand reached out from the darkness to pull away his hurt with delicate fingertips. No helpful other stirred.

Just a dead body, returned to life. At the bottom of a gorge. Alone.

It tried to remember, looked into a brain swamped in darkness. Where had it come from? Why was it here? Why was it now alone? It pulled into its memory, traced along a synapse into the story of the being that had become this corpse. Around it, still darkness. The night had yet to lift. It was night, wasn’t it? It had been night when…

Its eyes stretched wide. The corpse remembered another life.

“No force on earth can quash that which is absolute. My child, my life, through our blood, you are immortal…”

“Shhhhh, my golden, it’s okay. You have all the time in the world…”

“Promise you’ll never leave me, Cal. Promise me…”

“For Zapdos’s sake, Calamus, RUN—”

No…

No…!

NO!

A new kind of pain washed through it like black clouds rolling in. Despair rose in it like rain filling a storm drain, an agony that came streaming to its eyes and in burning streaks down its cheeks. From its throat came a hiccupping sob. It laid its head down, covered its eyes with its hooves, and cried. The pain came out in snot and in tears, in wheezing gasps, in shaking and clutching and its tail wrapping around the body. In its life it had never known a pain like this. It had never known an agony that threatened to rip its body open on its way out, that dragged its mind down into unyielding black, became the whole world in that dark place. It threatened to drag it back to death.

Day had yet to break. That meant it was still this night. This single night had been all it took to destroy the immortal kingdom. To destroy the Immortal Dynasty. Only hours before, the setting sun had cast the castle above in a golden aura, and from its highest balcony, the King had stood tall. The Queen had stood at his side. And behind them, back behind the great glass doors, the Prince had watched from their shadow cast. He saw his parents look out over that which was theirs: The city sprawling wide and far past the castle gates, beyond it the peaks of gray stone mountains cutting into the clouds.

Last evening, the setting sun had cast the monarchy in the blinding light of the gods.

And when the sun inevitably rose once again, that monarchy would be gone.

One night. One night. It didn’t even seem real. How could anything change so fast, let alone what was supposed to be immortal? It grasped at broken promises, the crumbling picture of a future now brought to ruin. Its chest, wet with the pain of a home lost. It wept and wept, despair weighed over it like a heavy black cloak, and in its mind coalesced the single question of what to do now. With bruised muscles and wet cheeks, amidst the rocks and the dust, there seemed to be no answer. And that made it afraid.

The body wished it could fall back asleep and wake up in a better world, a place where burdens need not be carried. A place without pain.

Then it realized, it could.

The body was still in pain. Its bruised muscles tremored, its head split, its breaths sagged. Everything it had ever known and loved was gone. Someone had once told it that it was the body of the kingdom. Its voice, its blood, its heart. If that kingdom was now gone, and with it, the monarchy… Surely that meant it, too, should now die?

Its vision became fuzzy. The black faded into something darker. The pain began to ebb. In that moment, the body realized that it could be okay, perhaps, with dying. It would be so easy, wouldn’t it? The burdens it carried, now with the added weight of this night’s events, would lift. Its worries, its loathing, its pain: All of it would be gone. A corpse, after all, was not supposed to breathe or hurt. Maybe it was just being stupid. Why had it even awoken in the first place? Wouldn’t it have been so much easier just to run, fall, hit the ground, and never wake up again?

But now, unfortunately, it had a choice.

It faced a crossroads, and neither path called. Did it risk the unknown of death or the unknown of life? It was one thing to long for the sleepful embrace of the end, but another thing entirely to stare the choice down. To become the one who held the scythe to your own throat. Sleep called, and oh how it longed, but to reach it through the sharp bite of the blade into his neck… The idea drew fear as much as the other choice: To step into a new world ripe with terrors and challenges the likes of which it had never dreamt. The unknown terrified it to the core, but the choice was in its hooves. It had fallen. But would it rise?

Could it?

. . .

It shifted a hoof to connect with the ground.

Another hoof shifted into place.

And then, steadily, shakily, gritting its teeth through the pain, the body rose.

Why did it rise? The question had no answer. Was it weakness that turned it from the reaper’s hand? An unwillingness to face a comforting unknown, to commit? Or was it a newfound strength? It couldn’t be sure, and it never would. As it limped across the stone, sniffling, trembling, it turned its back on the temptation to lay down and let the world wash away. Maybe there would be help. Maybe that was possible? It seemed like a joke, but that single, small idea brought this dead body back to life.

A spark of electricity cracked across its wool.

As a corpse awakened and dragged itself up from the bottom of the world, with such a long journey ahead, it remembered five things about itself.

Its name was Calamus. He, sort of, was a boy. He was a mareep. He was heir to the throne of Lightbeacon, the eternal kingdom of the northeast.

And Lightbeacon’s ruling family—no, HIS family—as of this night, had ceased to exist.

[6em4k]

" 'Sup."

(indie RP blog for Lego Monkie Kid's interpretation for the Six-Eared Macaque. Living Details below)

Character Overview:

The Buddha once revealed the existence of Four Celestial Primates, existing outside of the natural designation that all other creatures were divided into. Of these four, the Intelligent Stone Monkey and the Six-Eared Macaque were sworn brothers, their deep friendship going beyond even the bonds of blood they did not share, nor had need to.

This was until the death of the Macaque, at the hands of the Stone Monkey - now Sun Wukong, the Monkey King and Great Sage, Equal To Heaven.

---

The past year hasn't been the worst to Macaque - or, well 'The Six-Eared Macaque' is, y'know, his full name.

His re-emergence in Megapolis - the city that the heroic Monkie Kid, MK, makes his home and ward - was one that brought change for the world as MK knew it. While his return to obtain the powers of the Monkey King for himself was successful, it unintentionally heralded the return of a long-sleeping enemy. This enemy was the Lady Bone Demon, to whom Macaque had sworn his insincere and easily-abandoned fealty in exchange for being brought back to life.

A person who would swear loyalty to different masters to get what he wants, Macaque's ultimate loyalty is to himself and his own desires, abandoning bargains and promises as easily as he makes them. It was then a true pain and labor for him to have bargained for his resurrection with her of all demons. Not only did she have a strong sway over his life, and the ability to pin him down and force him in ways no one else could, she was also an enemy to MK, for whom Macaque developed a sincere fondness for. His attempts to defy her orders to bring him in, do away with the Monkie Kid and King, were quickly realized and neutralized by her, forcing him at crystal-shard point to do her will.

Despite his deceits and aggression, despite the near-destruction of all life on earth, MK's faith in Macaque's 'deep, deep down, not a bad guy' self was rewarded with rare genuity and devotion. Macaque agreed to risk his life in order to help the student he'd deceived and save the world he'd aided in ruining.

With the end of the end of the world, Macaque had been granted a long-abandoned goal of redemption.

S5 Update: Now, resting on his laurels, Macaque finds himself in a transitory period, should he allow it to be one. His long-gone dojo home leaving him wandering and to the elements, his relationship with the Monkey King in a state of mutual uncertainty rather than vicious gnashing of teeth, and a pseudo-student to think of him, and deliver a fresh bowl of noodles on occasion, for no other reason than he could. But with his powers suddenly morphing into something unfamiliar and chaotic, these new progresses in his life could become even more unstable than they currently are.

(That's quite unstable)

[Icons are a combination of my own screengrabs and icons from poms-resources ]

Macaque Power-set:

Very good hearing, up to a thousand miles standing still.

Mastery of martial arts and kung-fu.

Incredible speed, strength, reflexes and agility.

Shadow manipulation - the ability to control the shadows movements and solidity. A great tool for combat or other stealth situations.

Shadow-transportation - the ability to slip into the darkness literally. He can either hide in those shadows, moving through them, or emerge through another side, within knowledge and range. This makes him extremely hard to get ahold of - Macaque, mostly, cannot be held down when he doesn't want to be. Notable exceptions have been Wukong, the Lady Bone Demon and her personal lackey.

Immortality, to an extent - Macaque can still die from battle or other extreme situations such as a particularly aggressive poison, but old age and sickness cannot touch him.

Underwater breathing and communication - no, really, he can do and has done this. Though this may be less an innate ability and more to do with him having...

"All Of Monkey Kings Power"- having stolen the abilities of the Monkey King's protégé MK, Macaque has obtained copies of many, but not all, of the abilities of Sun Wukong. These include Self-transformation into various animals and people, flying, superior strength (than what he'd had before), the ability to create multiple clones of himself, and more.

Shadow-puppetry - in the artistic and transfigurative sense. Macaque can puppeteer his own shadow into a tangible, physical entity, mirroring himself. This ability has expanded to creating more than one, after obtaining MK's powers.

"Smokey" - A colossal manifestation of smoke and shadow into a solid entity. It does not seem to move or operate itself outside of direct influence and action from Macaque. While it is overwhelming and powerful, the true extent of it's strength, ability, and history, are largely unknown to all but the person who controls it.

Mecha-Monkey - Macaque is able to construct a massive themed mech for himself to pilot and operate.

[More added when needed]

Mun Rules:

Anons accepted, don't be shy, he only bites Wukong [<- threat, not promise]

Mutuals preferred, but if you're following me and wanna try some RP, feel free to send anything over, interact with memes or hmu for conversation! I don't interact first unless we're mutuals just so I know I'm not crossing any boundaries and because I'm a tad shy.

Relationships discussed after development.

Related to the above - I am not exclusive, multiships encouraged.

Outside of roleplay/direct interaction, bog runs on a 'default setting' -posts/other roleplays where he mentions tormenting Wukong do not mean your Wukong unless specified.

This meaning, this blog is multiverse unless asked about a specific scenario/'verse.

Related to the above, specify a particular blog/person if you send asks about someone else's played character - aka Specify which blog I'm playing with that you're curious about, otherwise I will answer with blog-lore. Don't tag them if they don't want to be tagged (check their rules first)

Be aware - Mun is an adult (32) and prefers to RP with other adults. Minors can follow/interact with meme games, but no rp.

Personals are similar - follows are fun, so are asks/anons, but please don't try to RP with me, nor reblog my rp posts.

Headcanons abound! I try to keep as close to the character as I can, but I do play Macaque in my own way based on these as well as the canon. I try to integrate and adhere to both equally.

Mun has bipolar II and this can affect my roleplay timeliness, due to how replies/roleplay can affect my energy and excitement and how those things impact my judgment, my characterization/writing and other factors. Sometimes I'm in a good place and can reply right away, other times I need to step back for hours, or a few days, in order to reply properly and in character.

If I'm answering others before you or you before others, it's not preferential treatment and I am excited/interested to play. It's related to the above.

I won't shy away from darker themes if they come up, but I prefer fade-to-blacks for sexy stuff.

I will not do pet death. Please tag animal death. Particularly with dear pets. Hard no for dogs and especially cats.

Mun has no patience for proship/antiship BS. Follow/softblock/block at your own desire, I sssssssuper do not caaaaaaare about this discourse.

Obligatory American-Leftist disclaimer about basic human rights here, you know the drill, I will cut any shitty behavior to the quick.

[More to be added if needed]

This Macaque's Timeline/default blog canon:

-Was, in fact, killed by Wukong. No ifs, ands or buts. It's a complicated mess that resulted in Wukong killing Macaque.

-Resurrected shortly after the death of Tang Sanzang, spending some time recuperating under The Mayors care. After a short while, he absconded and ditched the key at the same time, on the run from him and her ever since.

-Immediately went to torment Wukong over it, going so far as to mock Sanzangs death and provoke Wukong into an out-and-out brawl.

-Spent a good hundred years in a state of recurring grief attacks, coping with this new life without Wukong backing him up, and a newfound, deep and true loneliness. Realizing Wukong wasn't going to come apologize to him anytime soon, he picks another fight - and likes it.

-Stirring slightly from his fugue state, spent the next, approximately 300 years in an unhealthy cycle of picking brutal fights with/bullying Wukong, a significant depression spiral, get somewhat okay, bully Wukong and lose it all again.

-Got his wits somewhat about him about his health, about 100~ years ago, enough to leave China and try to expand himself and Get Over It (Didn't Work, but he's well-traveled at least - try to ask sometime). Found a bit about himself, but it really amounted to running away from his Wukong problem more than facing it.

-Eventually came back to town and found out about MK, series begins.

-Blog is a general post-s3 canon, with S4 and onwards incorporated in play/asks. General posts will behave between s3 and s4, with timelines/relationships changing within roleplay, as deemed fit. This is because I like writing out Macaque's development from pathetic, vicious and dangerous into reliable, mean ally, even if we're doing threads post S4 or post S5

Mac Deets:

-Clones are literal shadowpuppets - they don't move without Macaque's intention nor do they talk without Macaque throwing his voice. If he's not conscious, they aren't able to be conjured.

-Can only shadow-portal to places he's been to before. If the location is gone (building destroyed, streets changed, etc), he can no longer access that spot.

-Thief-y and bum-ish. Don't be surprised if he's used your shower without you knowing - he likes your shower pressure better than the bathhouse.

-He's not open to details about "Smokey" (large, spiritual form), but speaks about it/treats it like a pet (it is not)

- He's a dick. You know he's a dick. Soft spots don't make him less of a dick. To Wukong, he will be even more of a dick, potentially downright hostile.

- He likes abundantly sugary fruits - plums and mangoes are a given, but you can coax him with pomegranates, figs, watermelons, and pineapples too. Basically search 'sugariest fruits' and you have his diet.

Tags:

Macaque tags for himself! All brackets are mun tags. Out of brackets, it's Macaque.

[The one and only] (Selfie/pictures of Macaque)

[and others] (images of people not Macaque - typically tagged in tandem w/Macaque pictures)

[sign of a good story] (planned/in-depth roleplay)

[Stoned in paradise] (Havoc in Heaven, Brotherhood and before)

[You are the weapon] (RP games/prompt posts/memes)

[the sun and the moon] (blog-lore related asks/posts/headcanons)

[Shadowtalk] (asks)

[Shadowchatter] (Macaque original posts, talking on dash, light/unplanned/unplotted roleplay. Not directly anything. Chatter can become a plotted roleplay and will switch tags when it does)

[Shadowplay] (opener/open roleplay)

[Flair for the dramatic] (Vibes/mood/Macaque-core without being Macaque-intended)

[Under Moonlight] (nsfw/raunchy stuff. anything explicit/more intimate but not fade-to-black worthy will be tagged this. Anything beyond will still be tagged nsfw)

[backstage]/[anything in brackets] (important details about the blog)/(Mun)

[gatheredfates]

the wolf / the lamb | koret swan

Do you want to read all of my FFXIVWrite prompts? You can do that here!

GRAVE. a hole dug in the ground to receive a coffin or dead body, typically marked by a stone or mound | used as an allusive term for death. This is a soft WOL-verse? I'm still WEIRD about writing it proper outside of an RP space but it's fine, it's whatever, I live my best life. Uhhh also hidden lore if you're the right people and you know where to look. :)

There were few earthen graves in La Noscea.

The purpose behind this was twofold. The volcanic soil sprung fresh from the land’s heart wasn’t soft enough to dig low beneath the surface, rendering such burial and disposing methods useless, and the lore of pirate lords was ever as true now as it was when the first men broke berth on foreign shores: we emerged from the sea; to the sea we shall inter.

The sea was as much a mother as she was a murderer, birthing and reaping in the same breath; a metaphor for the lightless place between the stars; swirling aether deep within the heart of Eorzea where the souls of men were made anew. She could nurture, but she could also rage.

She raged the night she took Lily, twisting her body against rocky shores until she looked more siren than sister. A tangle of seaweed in blood-red hair, wreathed in green sea-glass churned from rolling waves. She was beautiful — no, she was still beautiful, as you didn’t look long enough; if you didn’t stare for so long to notice the crab emerge from her parted mouth or the way her blotted skin hugged her tight in three-day rot. But Koret stared. She stared for far too long — so long the sight of it embedded itself into her very consciousness, until she could see it with her eyes closed, and long after the mortician had tried to usher her on.

What a cheat it was to return her to the sea, knowing full well it had chewed her up already. What a joke to push her coffin back over the side of that cliff; to watch it swallow and sink beneath the waves. What a farce it wasn’t her.

Over and over again.

It wasn’t like she could spite it. She couldn’t throw things in to harm it. She couldn’t make it hurt the way that it had hurt her — she couldn’t resolve how the same thing that invigorated her in one breath could kill her in another, and it haunted her. It was always that same sight: the darkest place, the three day rot, the mouth agape as if to scream.

It never stopped. Not even when they called her the Warrior of Light. Not even when she saved the realms. Not even when she traveled beyond the rift.

‘You were always too protective,’ said deep within the Aitiascope, where the muddied lines of life and death carried the tides back to her. ‘This is not a penance, Kor. You were made to live.’

You were made to live. You were made to live, to laugh and love. You were made to fight, to suffer and to carry on. The answer to the universe is not apathy; it is not annihilation or atrophy. You were made to live, so live.

I want to live. Finally, I want to live.

There were few earthen graves in La Noscea. Koret preferred it. When she climbed that same cliff face, overlooking the foamy spray of salt and sea, she was hit with the strange thought that she preferred there was no marker here. It wasn’t like her sister was there. There was no grave, she did not die. She existed in the ocean and moved with the tides; she watched in joy, grief and (gods be good, she could only imagine) second-hand embarrassment as she stumbled through her life.

And, when the time was right, she would find her way back to her. Not in the same way, no; how a caterpillar becomes a moth.

How a wolf becomes a lamb.

[poorks]

I was tasked by boyfriend with writing a little thing about RP Sylvain. Its not that horny but it is a little horny. Enjoy what my real writing looks like when I'm trying and not just writing horny little drabbles.

The innkeep always seemed to think it such a blessing when the legendary Hero would stay in one of their beds. The Hero of legends old and stale, battles so long ago it was difficult to trace kinfolk back. Battles won and lost. Battles written in shame to those with a taste for glory.

The ebb and flow of time splashed Sylvain awake by the face, drawing him back to Now from  a dream of Then. Dreams gave him the clearest visions, and as his eyelids peeled open to sunlight masked behind muslin curtains his drowsy mind did its best to commit the scene to memory. It was easier now, a habit his brain had adjusted to so dreams wouldn’t be lost anymore. A scene from the past of the innkeep’s wife and the birth of their first child, forever unnamed under the Goddess’ eyes as it hardly took a handful of breaths in this world. He knew the keeping couple had four children presently, so the tragedy did not hang over them and they remained blessed. No logic could stop the empathetic tear that greeted him in consciousness, though.

It was important to let himself feel these things. Five hundred years would not turn him to stone yet, so long as he stayed vigilant.

Sylvain pulled the blankets back to let the initial cold rush of morning wash over him and awake him fully. On his back, his belly protruded outward from beneath his nightgown like a monument to something important forgotten by time. Nimble swordsman’s fingers brushed along it, cradled it, rubbed their thumbs up and down with great affection for the unborn life inside. His not-so-secret secret; every so often he wondered what people would start to say when he showed more, when he was so round and slow it was impossible to ignore. And when he would remain at that state through lifetimes, cursed to wait generations to meet his one child. No seer could see themselves, and he was no exception. Things were more exciting this way. He’d rather not know how long it would take, how large he would get, if he would ever even give birth. It will matter when the time comes.

Dressing himself was so automatic that for a moment he was lost, staring blankly at the wall while his body moved.

A knight, a nun, a thief. He recognized none of them, but if he was seeing them, they must be related to him somehow. There was never a need to ask questions; time had a way of answering any before he knew to ask. So he watched them talk, eat, frolic and play among some sort of festival. For the Witchslayer Heroine, it seemed. A whole day of merriment passed by the time he finished buttoning his vest. The sun had hardly moved from its place in the sky. With lucidity restored, he gathered his belongings in a bag and headed downstairs with a small smile, an expression of grace as every step tiptoed on the edges of time’s shore, just enough to keep his feet wet.

He greeted the inkeep’s wife and asked how the eggs were coming before she could tell him what was for breakfast. She seemed stunned, and he winked with a charming grin when he claimed he could smell breakfast from the top of the stairs. It put the mortals at ease when he didn’t put on powerful airs. He liked them most when they were comfortable, calm. The last thing he wanted was to be an inspiration for fear.

The inkeep’s wife laughed at his grin and gave him a pat on the belly. “You might be enjoying my cooking a little too much,” she said. Sylvain’s grin grew genuine with a tinge of blush to accent. She had no idea the appetite he had been fighting the last hundred-and-fifty-or-so years, nor the two hundred year sickness before that, so intense he hardly left his home the whole span of time.

In a flash of a moment, when she touched his protruding belly he saw her, decades ago, heavy and full with child herself and balancing a toddler in her arms, supported by the funds from the family inn business she married into. Her husband was raised here, his father was raised here, and her sons would be raised here too. Devotion and love was etched into every panel of wooden supports and would keep it standing for the rest of time.

He then saw this inn in shambles. A burning mound, completely destroyed. No sign of when, if it was an hour from now, a day from now, five thousand days from now. It would do no good to mention. The vision did not show on his face.

Another inn patron walked by them and tripped on the edge of the rug. Sylvain turned around to catch the apple he had dropped without missing a single beat.

“I’d just like some hot cider before I go, actually,” he said. “I should be getting home before it snows more.” There will be a blizzard tonight if he stays on this side of the lake. The flakes were light right now, and sun dappled through the winter clouds. It would be hard to believe a hard snow would come tonight. “Did you get my coat dry from last night? I can wait if I’m rushing you.”

“Absolute nonsense. You know we would never keep you waiting.” The innkeep’s wife cupped his face in her hands like a grandmother, so used to his presence she forgot for a moment that she was coddling a demigod. Sylvain enjoyed the affectionate touch, and he rested his hand atop hers.

When she touched his face, he saw a minor illness that would sweep through the town, ravaging the bodies of those too weak to fight. She’d be in bed, surrounded by her children and her children���s children. By siblings and cousins and friends. Her husband wasn’t present. It would be difficult, but end with ultimate peace.

Her hand left his cheek to fetch his coat, a long fur lined with soft wool for winter travel, along with a thick canteen of cider that ought to stay warm for hours.

To pay for his visit, he told them her second’s son will father a daughter sometime next year, then went off on his way back home from the lakeside town of Malva, the farthest travel he was often willing to go away from home.

A sip of cider helped dull the ache in his belly as he walked to keep it from punishing him further. It wouldn’t be so upset with him if he sat down for a meal, but it would be so difficult to get himself back up and on the road if he stayed with such a gracious host who would surely keep him so fed he’d end up bound to his seat at the table or burst trying. Accepting a meal felt dangerous these years; the little creature inside him seemed to demand more and more of him every year. As a soldier one serving would do him more than enough, but its become easier and easier for him to pack away more for his extra guest.

Again, he imagined himself walking this route centuries from now, attempting to make the walk through the woods back home while heavy, waddling, and hungry to satisfy his growing child, large enough to be born any minute. He felt large even now, with his belly pressing up against his belt and pushing it downwards to make space, already crowding him. Gentle flutters like butterflies from within plagued his senses. He already had to get new pants made twenty years ago when they simply wouldn’t clasp over his growing body anymore. Every day he’s larger than he’s ever been in his life, and he will only get larger.

Ryuuji was so good about hiding his intentions when it came to personal excitement. He wondered how much his partner liked his own growing body. Was it just a means to an end? An unfortunate circumstance to endure? Or did he relish seeing his darling fatten and swell like this? Ryuuji would never answer proper if Sylvain asked him up front; the topic seemed to embarrass and fluster him. The warmth of the cider distracted Sylvain from the tingling warmth tucked away beneath his coat between his legs. He would ask Ryuuji about his thoughts anyway when he got home.

There was very little bustle in the town this early in the morning, this deep into winter. Very little sound beyond the gentle crunch of his boots into fresh powder on dirt pathways. Through the continued crunch, snow melted away into flourished springs and sweltering summers. Through a plentiful year, and a year of drought and a poor harvest. A summer of fewer fish than last year. Less wolves and more deer another spring, bothering buds and saplings and spurning a bountiful hunting season.

At the edge of town, Sylvain stopped to briefly behold an old home, overgrown and abandoned, overtaken and broken by saplings and ferns and bushes and grasses, housing rodents and anything else small enough to use it for shelter. He remembered once, in his own memories, this house belonging to an old man who would periodically be taken care of by his adult children who lived further into town. Sylvain would sit with him and listen to stories, of the man’s own life and others. Stories Sylvain knew, maybe even lived, but touched with a vibrance that made them feel like adventures.

He liked the Sylvain that lived in stories. The Goddess’ boon, the Hero that would slay the dark serpent-man that terrorized any living creature from the mountains to the sea. The handsome God-prince, the savior, the blessing. But also the tales of the coward, the monster-lover, the traitor. The worst hero history had ever seen, a disgrace to the Goddess and mortalkind, a slut that let himself be seduced. They all amused him, because they were never him. And he had heard them all.

When he pressed his hand to the building’s door, it was painted in a fresh coat of red, and the smell of a freshly baked meat pie wafted from a pristine open window. A homely and middle-aged woman with the face of a mother opened the door and voiced a greeting. Sylvain flinched back, recoiling his hand, then apologized and scuttled away into the snow. The woman didn’t look at him in the eyes. The house was warm like late summer. She called him Devon.

Into the forest, the aging young man trekked along paths between the trees he had walked for hundreds of years. Trees he had greeted once as saplings were now old growth and firmly rooted. Their branches spread to protect him from the snowfall and the winds like dear old friends ought, and he felt a kinship among them.

High in the canopies, some still bore the scorch marks from battles long ago, battles bathed in fire and destruction. It was in these lands that his final battle was fought, where he looked in the face of war and threw down his blades, unable to slay the dragon. Cold, burnless fire swept past him and melted the thicket away before his eyes.

A cloak was left behind from his enemy one day, retrieved and brought to him so that his special abilities of Sight may be able to give the armies information. Every day he would touch the cloak let himself be absorbed in a vision, and record it for intelligence.

He saw the present: A powerful young man leading a zealous army into destruction in the name of conquering. A cunning tactician with an inhuman command over flame and a beastly visage reflecting his corrupted origin. A ruthless leader with nothing else but his ambition, his goals, his duty. A man who would take meals by himself, speak to no one, confide in no one.

He saw the past: A boy brought up in bitterness, a boy desperate for the approval of the only parent he has. A boy trained harshly for domination. Not a boy, but a weapon for war.

He saw the future: Through the enemy’s eyes, gazing into the pink-violet hues of the hero.

Sylvain would touch the cloak, eventually grip the cloak, and eventually still hold it in his arms like it were a brother in arms. His heart ached for this poor monster-boy who was not so different from him, desperate to prove something to a parent who assigned them a destiny at birth. This boy was his kin, his friend, his new destiny. He couldn’t destroy this creature that had captured and enraptured him so completely. No godly force could make him do it.

It was on these grounds, face to face with the Dragon General, that he cast his weapons, his armor, his duty aside to declare his love, to end this war on behalf of Goddesses and live for themselves. When he lost everything and gained everything more. His hands drifted down to his belly again, full and growing with new life he couldn’t have possibly predicted. A life with a future to themselves that he had no way of seeing, something new with the blood of all three worlds mixed into a beautiful new thing he was proud to house in his round belly, even if it was for another five hundred years and weighed him so heavily he couldn’t walk these paths anymore.

The flames flickered away. There was no need to look back with sadness or nostalgia. The possibilities of the future were endless, the past was the only thing set and unchangeable, even with Sight.

After minutes, hours, days, years, Sylvain arrived back at the doorstep of his home.

[psychobitchdying]

RP Partner Wanted!

Hi and hello! I’m Mark and looking for some RP partners to occupy my very free schedule. I don’t got much going on in my life so I’m free most days and would love someone that could respond a few times a day. If you're interested there's more info below the cut.

I’m 18(19 in December) and I'm willing to rp with anyone around my age. I’m fine with literally any kind of RP, just ask. My writing style depends on my partner so I’m very flexible. 

I’m in a lot of fandoms like

MHA

Haikyuu 

Demon Slayer 

One Punch Man

Black Butler

Dr. Stone 

Hazbin Hotel

Helluva Boss

Marvel

Obey Me 

Owl House

Eddsworld

Zelda: Breath of the Wild/Tears of the Kingdom

Hermitcraft 

Lego Monkey Kid

Amphibia

Heaven’s Offical Blessing

Undertale/Deltarune

FNAF

Sonic the Hedgehog

Camp Camp

And probably more I can't think off the top of my head. Just ask and I will either know it or watch it soon. I also do OCs if that is what you want

You can dm me on Tumblr or add me on Discord at psychobitchdying. See you then!

[handlingvashsgun]

Vash x Nai royal AU

Closed RP with @surevive

The day their father died and left them alone was a grave day for Nai and Vash but also for the kingdom of Phylla. King Arden had been a just and merciful ruler and his passing was sudden. With his 568 years, their father had been an elderly male but other plants reached an older age before they returned to the earth. Nai got woken up in a manner that was so unlike the usual wake-up call he got, that he immediately knew something was wrong. A urgent voice called his name and hands shook his shoulders. His body immediately reacted to a possible threat and thick vines with sharp blades attached to them, came slithering from his spine as he sat up. “Rem.” He said, legs swinging over the edge of the bed as he got up, the vines and knives retreating for now. “Vash? Is my brother alright?” Was the next thing out of his mouth as he immediately slid his feet into his boots, ready to tackle whatever was happening. If Rem woke him up like that in the middle of the night, something was wrong. Rem looked at him with a sorrowful expression and for a second Nai thought he’d surely die on the spot if she told him something had happened to his twin. After all, how was he supposed to live without his other half? But Rem took his hand gently, the way she’d done when he was still a boy. “It’s the king, Nai.” She said softly, foregoing any titles when she addressed the young man. This was the nursemaid who had raised him and Vash, who had nourished them as only a mother could, and on a night like this, titles were of no matter between them.

Nai knew there were only two possible outcomes of this night. One, he’d be king come the morrow. Two, he’d be regent come the morrow. Either his father had died while Nai slept or he would succumb to whatever illness suddenly plagued him. “Is he… is he dead?” Stuttering wasn’t what a king did but Nai was yet to become king.

Rem squeezed his hand. “Yes, my dear boy. The doctors are saying he died in the early morning hours.” Nai took in a deep stuttering breath, straightening his back, pulling his shoulders back. So it was time. Time to grow up, time to take custody of every single subject in this kingdom, time to become king. Still, Nai’s brain was always quick to circle back to Vash. “Does he know?” He didn’t have to specify, Rem had known him all his life. She knew the workings of his mind better than his own mother had, second only to the way Vash understood him. “Brad is telling him as we speak.” Vash’s brows furrowed. Why the hell would Rem come to him while the head of their guard went to Vash? Vash was more sensitive than him and loved their father more than Nai did. He needed someone with more emotional intelligence than a stone telling him that their father had died. Were they already focusing their efforts on him, now that he was king? He’d have none of that. “Go to him immediately. He needs you, not Brad.” He barked out a tad harsher than he’d meant. More evenly he said: “I’ll meet Vash in the king’s chambers, bring him there when he’s ready.” Nai knew the process that was to take place once his father died. This wasn’t supposed to happen for a long time yet but alas, death had called their father to her side earlier than anticipated.

Rem nodded, turning around and leaving Nai. He stepped out of his room after her, only throwing on a robe over the clothes he wore to sleep, closing his door and stopping abruptly. Instead of his guards, he looked into the faces of the king’s guards. They bowed to him, but none of them spoke. They knew their crown prince well too, knew he was a silent man, who didn’t appreciate much talk or greetings, especially on a night like this.

He started walking down the hall towards the king’s rooms, instead of two guards 4 guards were following and guarding him. In front of the door to the king’s bedchamber stood 6 guards, guarding the king’s dead body. They let Nai step inside the room immediately and the heir was greeted by two priests and the doctor. “Leave. Wait until I call you back in. Tell the guards to only let Prince Vash inside.” He said quietly, but his voice rang through the room. Where the king’s presence had always been bigger than life, there was now only the shell of the man. Nothing but his body left.

Nai waited until the three men left him, then he sat down in one of the armchairs in front of the fireplace. It was lit, providing warmth and light. Nai crossed his legs and leaned back in the chair, closing his eyes and letting it sink in. He couldn’t even look at the body. The dead king lay just a few feet away from him but he couldn’t do this without Vash. As much as Nai was colder than Vash, less affected by the things happening around him, this cut him deeply. He’d loved his father, he really had. But their relationship had been more complicated in the past years. The king had tried forming Nai into the completed carbon copy of himself but that just hadn’t worked. Nai had his own mind, his own wishes and goals. He did what he had to do to satisfy their father to some degree but he’d never become the heir he had wanted. Now, it was too late to tell him that he loved him, that he appreciated all his lessons. Now both Vash and Nai were orphans. They only had each other now.

[burntsecrets]

Slept So Long: Heart of Stone Ch. 1

Summary: It was a love story between the boy who was drowning and the girl who helped him breathe again.

Damon has been alive since 1864–as a vampire. While strolling through Mystic Falls, he spots the love of his life and the reason why he’s a monster–Katherine Pierce. Only now she’s human and calling herself by the name Elena Gilbert. Damon doesn’t care. He’ll get his revenge on Katherine. Whether she remembers him or not.

Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Angst, Kidnapping Relationships: Elena Gilbert/Damon Salvatore & Katherine Pierce/Damon Salvatore Additional Tags: Human Elena Gilbert, Human Katherine Pierce, Human/Vampire Relationship, Vampire Bites, Possessive Damon Salvatore, Inspired by The Vampire Diaries, Stockholm Syndrome, Ripper Stefan Salvatore, No Humanity Stefan Salvatore, Protective Damon Salvatore, Sassy Damon Salvatore, Damon Salvatore being Damon Salvatore, Elena Gilbert & Damon Salvatore Friendship, Humanity Switch (Vampire Diaries) A/N Note: This was part of a role play that I started under my Damon Salvatore RP blog. It was never finished, so I thought I would finish it.

As Damon strolled down the streets of Mystic Falls, a figure caught his attention, causing him to stop and stare in disbelief. There, jogging down the street, was Katherine Pierce. His heart skipped a beat, a mix of shock and disbelief washing over him. He couldn't believe his eyes. He had thought she was dead.

Yet, here she was, alive and well, taking a run through Mystic Falls. Damon's mind raced with questions. Why had she let him believe she was dead? Why had she returned now, after all this time?

Damon pondered his next move, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts. Should he stalk her? The idea seemed tempting, but he shook his head, realizing it was foolish and could lead to more harm than good. Instead, he decided to confront her while she was out running. No one would come looking for her immediately if he nabbed her now.

With his decision made, Damon took a step forward, but his foot snapped a twig, catching Katherine's attention. She looked back and saw him, immediately realizing she was being pursued. She picked up her pace, attempting to outrun him.

Damon's smirk widened. Apparently, Katherine was human now and, therefore, no match for him. With the speed of a vampire, he surged forward, snatching her and knocking her unconscious.

Elena's eyes fluttered open to an unfamiliar sight. A shiver ran down her spine as she realized she was lying on a cold, dirty cement floor. Rubbing her temples, she sat up, her head spinning from the sudden movement. The last thing she remembered was going out for a run and encountering a man. 'What the hell...' Her voice was barely audible, raspy from her dry throat.

Pulling herself up slowly, Elena took in the sparse room. There was a thin, old-looking cot off to the side and not much else. Fear gripped her as she wrapped her arms around herself, imagining something far worse than being locked up happening to her. She swallowed, trying to moisten her throat, and went to the small, barred window on the iron door, attempting to look out. "Hello?!" Her yell echoed faintly. "Hey! Let me the hell out of here!" It felt pointless, but it was the only natural thing to say at that moment.

"Don’t you watch horror movies? Nothing good ever comes from yelling ‘Hello!’ You should know better than that, Katherine," Damon snarked, peering into the cell.

His eyes traveled slowly over her, taking in every detail now that she was awake. Damon hadn’t had the chance to feed on her yet because he wasn’t sure if she was full of vervain. He was waiting for her to wake before he tested her. But first, he wanted to hear what she had to say about her sudden appearance in Mystic Falls after 145 years.

"So, Katherine, the last time we saw each other, Stefan and I were trying to save your ass from burning in the church. Care to elaborate on where you’ve been for the past 145 years?"

Elena jumped back a couple of feet when he appeared on the other side of the little window, her eyes wide as saucers. Katherine? She had no idea who this Katherine was, but she was sure as hell wasn’t her.

The way he looked at her made Elena feel completely uneasy as if she were on display like some animal in a cage, which essentially she was. He kept calling her Katherine, so hopefully, when he found out she wasn’t Katherine, he would just let her go on her merry way, and they both could forget about this misunderstanding.

"Listen, I don’t know who you think I am, but you have the wrong girl. My name isn’t Katherine, it’s Elena… and 145 years? I’m only seventeen…" Elena was unsure how to approach him, especially after he brought up horror movies, making it difficult to determine the appropriate course of action for dealing with someone who may be a murderer.

"Please, just let me out of here. I’m not going to tell anyone about this," Elena pleaded, holding her arms even more tightly around herself as she moved back from the door another step.

Damon's eyes narrowed as he stared at Katherine, who stood before him, trying to persuade him to let her go. He began clapping his hands slowly, a mocking smile on his lips. "Sorry, Katherine," he said, "but you'll have to do better than that if you want to convince me to release you. Your performance needs a little more rehearsal. As it stands, you're not going anywhere anytime soon."

With a firm grip, he inserted the metal bar into the slot and turned it, causing the cell door to creak open. As he stepped inside, his eyes fixed on Katherine, who shrank back instinctively from his ominous presence. With each step, his pace quickened, his movements predatory and deliberate, until he stood before her, a towering figure casting a long, menacing shadow.

"Okay, I’ll bite. If you really aren’t Katherine and just a seventeen-year-old girl, then what’s to stop you from telling anyone? How am I supposed to know that you won’t go scampering to Mystic Falls’ Finest if I let you go?" Damon asked with a flirty smirk.

Elena’s brows creased as the man on the other side of the door began to clap, calling her by a name that wasn’t her own. It was all incredibly odd and downright terrifying. She wondered what in the world she did to deserve this—or, more accurately, what this insanely old Katherine could have done to deserve it.

As he entered the cell and started moving towards her, Elena took a few steps back, her heart pounding with fear and confusion. Her big brown doe eyes widened, taking in the sight of the stranger who had invaded her personal space. The cold, hard wall at her back offered no escape. She couldn't understand the meaning behind the flirty smirk playing on his lips, or what he hoped to achieve by being here. All she knew was that this situation made her uncomfortable and scared.

Her heart racing with fear, Elena spoke in a trembling voice, "I have no reason to tell anyone. You haven't hurt me, so why should I hurt you?" She desperately wanted to escape and return to the safety of her home, where she could come up with an excuse to justify her absence. Despite her fear, she tried to remain calm and composed, hoping that her captor would release her unharmed.

Damon advanced towards her with a slow, measured gait, his movements graceful and almost cat-like. With every step, he inched closer to his prey, his eyes fixed on her with an unblinking intensity, like a predator stalking its prey. He stopped a few feet away from her and cocked his head to the right, taking in her scent, her fear, and her vulnerability. He could hear her heart pounding in her chest, almost drowning out all other sounds, and he could practically taste her fear on his tongue. The scent of her adrenaline was intoxicating, and it made his blood boil with excitement. Perfect, Damon thought to himself. Fear and adrenaline always made the blood taste sweeter, and they were the main reasons why he loved to chase his food rather than compelling it.

In the dimly lit room, Damon gazed at Elena, wondering why he had never considered having fun with her before. As the dimly lit room cast its shadows, he leaned closer, his piercing eyes locking with hers. Suddenly, he stepped aside and gestured towards the open door behind him, compelling her to stay.

"You will not leave this house for any reason," Damon compelled her, then he stepped aside and gestured towards the open door behind him. He held her gaze for a moment longer before finally saying, "Run."

[theseamaiden]

What if recognizing diamonds was enough to make them yours, and you saw them now everywhere? On the sunlit ocean; in the moonless sky and the tips of branches after the rain. anywhere life glimmers and light glints; flights of fancy, feathers, words, breath… Diamonds, diamonds, all diamonds. Would you see then in truth the very richness that you are?ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ - Ingrid Goff-Maidoff

⸺ ✧˖° Introducing the noble LADY EUN SUAH, a charismatic AQUATIC ELF with a fondness of sailing and gem stones. Their admirers endlessly praise them for their skills as an intelligent ROGUE & their work as a the court of crystal's AMBASSADOR OF TRADE and the OWNER OF "SILVER TIDES TRADING CO.". On the contrary; their rivals will warn you of their tendency to be calculated and unyielding.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ❴ ⟡ ❵ profileㅤ❴ ⟡ ❵ plotsㅤ❴ ⟡ ❵ ooc (below)ㅤ❴ ⟡ ❵ jangmi

-ˋˏ ༻ mun note. ༺ ˎˊ- Hello you can all call me zuzu and my discord is available upon request, it is much easier to plot there if you are open to it. I am still adapting to tumblr rp so please bare with me while if I make mistakes. Replies typically are done within 48 hours of being received, please never feel rushed to reply at the same speed I am actually very patient. Below is my reply tracker, it may be worth a nudge if you are waiting for a reply and this is not updated...

kanda; plotting.

daesung; plotting.

seongmin; drift away. writing reply.

sora; the silks for shou lung. replied.

yejun; the tempest roars. replied.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ❴ ⟡ ❵ 𝐿𝐼𝐾𝐸 𝑇𝐻𝐼𝑆 𝑃𝑂𝑆𝑇 𝑇𝑂 𝐵𝐸 𝐴𝑃𝑃𝑅𝑂𝐴𝐶𝐻𝐸𝐷 𝐹𝑂𝑅 𝐴 𝑃𝐿𝑂𝑇.

[horsegamesins-old]

Just a story with my sso oc and her horse, I might continue this but no promises

The sun rose over the tall trees of Mistfall, warming the dewkissed grass and mossy stones. Songbirds slowly broke the early morning silence with a ballad for a new day, and soon again the woods were full of life. I had always loved mornings like this, when I could just sit in silence until the world caught up to us again.

The kettle let out an angry wheeze, signaling the water was ready for coffee. A brief stretch later I got up again and took the kettle off the campfire, then put my frying pan on the grill. "Now.. What to make for breakfast", I muttered to myself, trying to remember what I had remaining from last week. "There's a few eggs left, perfect."

I had just finished my breakfast when the static of my radio hissed on. "Sparrowhawk. Sparrowhawk, do you copy?" I fumbled a little trying to get the walkie-talkie off my belt, "This is Sparrowhawk, loud and clear sir. Over." "We have a report of a lost rider and horse somewhere in the deeper Wildwoods. Can you help us on the search? Over", I grabbed Quicksilver's neck rope and my bags while he was talking. "Copy that, where were they last seen? Over", I respond. "According to the source, they left Firgrove yesterday afternoon in order to cross the Northern Gorge before nightfall. They were headed to a town east of Wildwoods but she has since lost contact with them. Over." My heart dropped when I heard that. I hesitated a little before responding. "Copy that. Sparrowhawk, over and out." Two long and two short whistles, our emergency call. Hopefully Quicksilver would show up soon, but while I still had time it was best to restock my saddlebags. My gut told me this was gonna be a long ride.

After packing extra rations I heard the sound of familiar hoofsteps approaching. Quicksilver rustled out of the bushes just as I turned to greet him. "I came as soon as I could", my friend said. It was obvious he was a bit out of breath from galloping here on such a short notice. "Thank you", I pat him on the neck and offer him an apple, "Sorry to wake you, the rangers called me. It's serious". Quicksilver perked his ears at me, busy chewing on his apple. "Someone's lost in the woods, they might be at the Northern Gorge." I could see him stiffen as I said that. "You're kidding, right?" Quicksilver whispered and finished his treat as quickly as possible. Meanwhile I fetched his tack from the fence and laid the saddle on his back "No, we need to leave right now", I muttered while tightening the girths. Once I was done Quicksilver walked over to the rocks to wait while I put my jacket on, and I wasted no time getting on. "They left from Firgrove, let's see if you can find their tracks." "On it, boss!" he snorted, and we took off. part 2

Sidenote for anyone who read this far, I am open to critique about my writing but please keep it civil. This is also the first time in a long time I have written anything that isn't either Warriors rp or Hetalia fanfiction so I have no idea what I'm doing.

[mysticjourneys]

A Bizarre History

(closed rp with @hopefromadoomedtimeline)

Destruction and carnage. That is what humanity knew for yeas since the arrival of the cybernetic beings. Merely two entities that were human in their own right, but their actions and cold cruelty towards life left them to be more considered as androids, their soul mission to kill all in their path.

People screamed and ran in panic as another shelter for humanity was being overrun by the destructive force of the androids. Amongst the crowds of fleeing citizens was a young woman named Joanna. Clad in a red jacket, shorts, a black top and leather boots, she pushed pass the crowd not away from the energy blasts but towards it. A determined look on her face to save as many lives as she possibly could.

"Hey, sis, I'm at thirty-seven," the black haired teen with a orange bandanna around his neck said, his black t-shirt over his white striped long-sleeved shirt sporting a Red Ribbon army insignia. Along with the jeans and sneakers, he was very casual.

"I'm already at fifty," the blonde haired woman said, her fashionable blue jacket having the same logo on her back, while she wore a denim skirt that matched her jacket, black leggings, and boots that stopped at her calves.

"What? No way, you're cheating."

The two androids, 17 and 18 respectively, were having a killing score contest. The value of human lives lost to them as it was nothing more than a game.

Ripping a metal pipe from a wall, Joanna would rush in and with surprising strength hurls the pipe like a javelin at 18. The android would stop her blasting as she saw the incoming pipe, catching it just in time from getting her face smacked.

"You think it's your lost love?" 17 asked with a teasing tone. To which 18 would crush the pipe and slam it down.

Joanna resorted to hiding in the rubble of buildings, moving quietly as she now had their attention. Years of nearly escaping these monsters, to a point they developed some sick relationship together. Like owners trying to find a lost dog.

"Come on red-shirt. We know you're out there," 18 said, who proceeded to start blasting rubble away. Shot after shot, destroying land mass that provided as hiding spots for Joanna.

Joanna was behind a stone wall, heart pounding as she had a lighter in her hand. She took deep breaths, trying to calm her nerves at staring death in the face. She had a means of attack, a strategy that could disorient them. She began to count down...

"5..."

Boom!

"4..."

Boom!

"3..."

Boom!

"2..."

Joanna began to rush out, flicking the lighter open as everything began to move in slow motion. The eyes of the androids meeting hers as they were ready to trade blows.

[imaginarianisms]

alias / name : angel ( singletsona / core / host; only if we're close ) / arcana ( singletsona / core / host ) / ansale'wit ( my name translated into mi'kmawi'simk ) / ᐋᓐᔐᓃ ( my name translated into anishinaabemowin, literally spelled aanzhenii ) ; the imaginarians galaxy ( system name; please refer to us& as this when you're not sure who's fronting & please don't refer to us& as one person, everyone in the system deserves to & should have the equal amount of respect, love, dignity, honor, care & undivided attention & it's disrespectful to only ever refer to me& especially if i've& known you for years at this point; that's my& firm boundary. ). birthday : july 13th. zodiac sign : cancer sun, sagittarius moon, libra rising & leo venus. height : 5'2. hobbies : it depends on who you ask because we're& a system but we& collectively like gaming, writing/rping, worldbuilding, learning our& indigenous languages, true crime, psychology, criminology, sociology, philosophy, intersectionality, history (especially during the medieval period but certainly not exclusive), eastern history/civilization, indigenous history/civilization, ancient history, loveletters, queer shit, fashion, acting, transhumanism, alterhumanity, plurality, the occult & magick & witchcraft, the concept of apotheosis, enlightenment, fate, folklore, godhood, hope, humanity, & monstrosity, virtual reality, traveling, asmr, being a boujee native & being an educated heaux.

favorite book : a song of ice and fire series & gangsta. last song : dust bowl by ethel cain. last film / show : the love witch / gangsta. recent reads : arianne martell & sansa stark / alayne stone; the winds of winter.

inspiration : honestly for the longest time i didn't want to return to the tumblr rpc bc it made me feel bittersweet bc a lot of my old friends were moving elsewhere or inactive & on top of that it reminded me of someone i used to know & i have. a lot of bittersweet feelings around this person so. but some of us& wanted to get back into it again. tthe vast majority of our& interpretations on our& muses are heavily based in both headcanons & our& fictives' ( 4 singlets: a fictional introject ) exomemories which honestly most of the time they tend to overlap, the latter meaning that this actually happened to them & isn't something that just happened in a book or a movie or a tv series or a videogame, they're living, breathing people & for that individual, it all happened & it was all very real !! additionally, a lot of my& own personal life was used as major inspiration. being a survivor of multiple traumas that most people can't even fathom ( to the point where my doctor told me most would've kermited if they'd experienced the things i went through ) & that did unspeakable things to my brain chemistry ig so. i use writing to cope. so. yall have to deal w/ that ig. at least i aint boring. /lh furthermore ethel cain & nicole dollanganger are major inspo. & as much as i& write / rp for fun, i& also write & rp to educate others especially on topics like indigenous peoples, disabilities, neurodivergencies & mental health, especially around stigmatized disorders like did bc honestly i'm so very tired & demoralized bc of the constant stigma around did & other stuff like npd, bpd, etc. & both the media & people treating us like we're some kinda fucking soulless monsters when we're literally people who were hurt & failed in childhood & had traumatic upbringings only to be demonized, trauma & other shit so it's v important to us&. representation matters & so does keeping the light of humanity alive & well. story behind url : our& system name the imaginarians galaxy + isms! fun fact about me : my great aunt & technically a cousin of mine was a witch in the family; she passed her knowledge onto her granddaughter, my cousin, & she passed her knowledge down to me so i'm a hereditary witch. my mom dated a serial killer years ago when she was 19 & she had no idea so that was fucking wild bc i was 8 when she told me about it, thanks mom. lmao. i was also born 24 weeks premature & i quite literally died before the doctors resurrected me. basically i made death my bitch. i'm all the letters in 2lgbtqia+ at once & ppl can die mad about it lmao. i'm clusters a ( schizotypal personality disorder / schizospec / psychotic / stpd ) b ( {mild} antisocial personality disorder / aspd, {mild} narcissistic personality disorder / npd, histrionic personality disorder / hpd,, borderline personality disorder / bpd ) & c ( avoidant personality disorder / avpd ) as well as autism & adhd; i also have cptsd & h.c-did bc yknow. trauma did shit to my brain, this shit fucks with me on such a deep level & uh. the comorbidities have me fucking insane up in the club. on the physical disabilities side of things i have cfs / chronic fatigue & pots (so like. don't take it personally if i dont respond quickly) & am hoh. so i'm hoping to get a multipurpose psychiatric service dog & eventually get a wheelchair as an ambulatory wheelchair user. my paternal grandfather fought in wwii & killed nazis. my& clans are mouse / apukji'j ( mi'kmaq ) & wolf / yanariskwa' ( huron-wendat ), it basically represents a family & it has nothing to do with a spirit animal, & in the huron-wendat's case a clan is like an ancestor, who you're descended from in the huron-wendat creation story & they shared a longhouse & traced their lineage from the female line from a female ancestor bc the wendat were matriarchal so wolves are my ancestors.

tagged by : stole it from @noctuafought ( hi aphy lmaoooo ) ! tagging : @velcryons / @brokcncrowns @loyalpromise @helbroth @gutsing @sevynhells @inmydrcams @dethdvncer & anyone who breathes !!

[thorneyes]

Fic: Shallow Soil

Characters: Rohesia and Q'ndai

Summary: A rough night in the Ala Mhigan Quarter.

A/n: a fic I wrote a while back when I was still working out Roh's backstory, before I even had q'ndai as a RP character, I think.

Contents: Description of injury, life in Imperial-occupied Ala Mhigo, homeless orphans.

Cold seeped into Ala Mhigo at night, settling over the salt flats, soaking through the stones of the city that had been warmed by the light of the sun through the day. In the hottest days around midsummer, the cold was a blessing when it came in the early hours of the morning. On these nights crawling their way away from midwinter, though, the cold made sleeping uncomfortable. Rohesia hunched her shoulders in her thin shirt and tucked her hands under her elbows. If she’d had her druthers, she’d be retreating to the back room of the hideout, where they’d piled every scrap of fabric they’d ever scavenged into the little sandstone hollow, making an insulated bunk. The younger kids were already tucked away back there, warm and sleeping soundly as Rohesia waited out here. 

She’d be warm and sleeping herself, if Q'ndai weren’t late. 

The Seeker boy was overdue by hours, and the more time passed, the more tension piled up in Rohesia’s shoulders. Her jaw was clenched as she glared into the dark alleyway that hid their little hideout, nurturing a little spark of anger against the cold. “Godsdammit, Ndai,” she whispers to herself. “Bastard. Shite-headed selfish Seeker…” 

A thud from the entrance of the alley had her biting down on her tongue as she stiffened, listening intently. There was another thud, a muffled groan. The scraping sound of stone on stone. Then, a figure barely outlined against the night skies. 

“Thorneyes,” whispered a familiar voice. “Thorneyes, you there?” 

The little spark of anger caught. “Ndai,” she hissed as she jerked to her feet. “I’m going to strangle you with your own tail—” 

“Shh,” Ndai interrupted hastily. “Don’—don’ do tha’. Don’ freak out.” He was slurring his words, and swaying in place. As she watched he stumbled, his shoulder colliding hard with the brick wall of the alley. “Thorneyes—”

“What did you do?”

Ndai nearly fell over when she grabbed him by the shoulder. “Don’ wake them up,” he stammered, then, when she gripped him hard, gasped. “Ah—” This close, she didn’t smell the fumes of ale or the sickly sweet of somnus, but the bitter tang of copper. Ndai’s hand closed over hers, clumsy and weak. He breathed in, quick and shallow. “Roh, help me.”

In the faint light of the stars, she could barely make out his eyes, wide and dark. 

“Siddown,” she whispered, pushing at his shoulder. He gasped and wobbled but moved with her, sliding down the wall until he was slumped against it. She reached out to push his hair back from his face, only to find it sticky and matted with blood. “What happened?” 

His breathing hitched and his arms curled around his ribs. “Imperials,” he said. “Jus—Jus’ fix it, Roh.” 

“R-right.” 

Rohesia closed her eyes. She could feel his pulse beneath her hand, beating rapidly, fluttering with the churn of his aether. She could feel the damage like dull bursts of red light behind her eyes. Bruises, heavy and dark, mottled the pattern of his skin, from his shoulders to his sides to his face. Deeper than that, the damage was worse. Sharp, bright lines webbed along his ribs, and a hollow throb swelled within his skull. She bit her tongue. None of these were injuries she hadn’t seen before, but the severity of them was new and frightening. She’d never had to heal so many at once before. 

She took a shaky breath and reached out to the aether around her. The earth was easiest to draw on, surrounded as they were by stone. She pulled it into his chest and his head, layering it over the weakened bone. Then she reached for air, and further, straining her limits to pull on the feeling of the water of the lochs, brackish and salty as it was. She wove them together, to ease the swelling, to soothe the pain and heal the cuts. On the edges of her awareness, she heard his shaky breathing begin to ease and could feel the tension of pain begin to ease away. 

When she finally opened her eyes, she thought for a moment that the white specks in her vision were the last motes of healing light until she registered the feeling of hovering somewhere above her own body. She blinked hard, and with careful, shaky movements, slumped against a nearby crate. 

“Roh?” She heard Ndai say. “Hey, Thorneyes?” There was a rustle, then he pressed something into her hand. “Eat that, c’mon.” 

Mechanically, she lifted the object to her mouth. Only halfway through a bite did she recognize the texture of a Faerie Apple. It amazed her, how quickly the tart taste dragged her back into her own body. By the time she had eaten down to the core, her fingers felt like hers again, rather than a puppet’s. 

Ndai was still leaning back against the bricks, his eyes half-closed. The cuts and swelling were healed, though some of the bruises remained, and his hair and face were still stained with dried and drying blood. When he realized that she was looking at him, Ndai’s ears flicked. He mustered an echo of his usual confident smile. “So, what’d y’ think? Not bad, right?”  

She looked down at the core in her hand, little more than stem and seeds. “I think you’ve answers to give me,” she said, leveling him with a glare, “about what in the seven hells y’ did to get the Garleans on your tail.” 

Abruptly, Ndai’s expression sobered. “If I stole from them, y’ mean.” He shook his head slowly. “T’weren’t nothin’ like that. I just…” He waved a hand in the air. “I was hanging ‘bout the western markets t’day, and I picked up some work. Real, honest work. Just haulin’ boxes an’ all, but it took longer’n I expected. By the time I left the markets, it was dark.” 

“So…” 

Ndai’s laugh was weak. “Aye. Bloody curfew. I got caught slippin’ cross the main road, an’ they didn’ like it when I told ‘em I was headed home.” 

Rohesia looked the Seeker over again. His clothes were dirty and bloodstained, clearly worse the wear for his encounter, but he held a rough sack that clearly wasn’t empty. “They didn’ take anythin’?” 

“They threw it all on the cobbles, but I guess they didn’ care much for fruit,” he shrugged. “A few bruises, is all. I think I got it easy.” 

A heavy weight sank into the pit of Rohesia’s stomach as she looked at Q'ndai’s still-bloody face, the bruise that lingered on his cheekbone. “Ndai…” 

The smile on the miqo’te’s face was faint and cold in the dim starlight. “I reckon I’m sixteen summers by now, maybe older. That’s near enough to grown to be a conscript, or a Resistance spy, by their thinkin’.” 

It felt like the cold of the night settled into her bones. Rohesia clenched her fists as she fought down a shiver. She glared at the boy. “Next time you’re not goin’ alone when y’ look for work,” she said stiffly. 

“Thorneyes—”

“I’m not askin’.” 

Ndai huffed something that was as much a laugh as it was a sigh. “You goin’ to save me from th’ Imperials, Thorneyes?” 

Her eyes were burning, but Rohesia managed a scoff. “Twelve, no. I’m goin’t remind y’ to run like hells.” 

This time Ndai definitely laughed, a startled, wavering sound. In the darkness she caught a glimmer in his eyes before he rubbed a hand across his face. “Don’t know what I’d do without you, Roh.” 

[better-name-for-rp-blog]

What do you need to hear right now?

Stop looking back

You're wasting your time pondering the what-ifs and the have-nots. So much has happened in your past, I know, and it has your attention so much that you forget to cherish the presence of the present. Trust me, I know it’s much easier said than done, but once you get over what could've been and start creating the life you want to live now... when you start to look where you're going instead of where you've been, you’ll find it much easier to find the right path.

You’ll find your person eventually

So many people you trusted enough to allow into your heart have taken it and eaten away at it, piece by piece, then spat out its remains and left you to sort it back together yourself. Because of your past relationships, platonic or romantic, you feel the need to protect yourself from any further damage, and that's understandable. But please don't give up on finding the person who, instead of shattering your glass spirit, will help to protect and rejuvenate it. Eventually you'll find someone who will sit next to you and piece the segments of your heart back together, and then seal it with their own. I wish you the best of luck in finding them.

It’s okay not to know

You've spent your days finding a sense of security in planned events and times, nothing out of place. This tendency to need things set in stone carried over to every aspect of your life. Losing this feeling of control - whether it be regarding your schedule or your life in general - overwhelms you greatly. Take a second to breathe, loosen your grip on the reigns. Have trust that sometimes the answer is better unknown.

Tagging: @coldazure​, @sweetcobaltblue​, @mutogamingco​, @little-yugi-muto-rp​, @kurai-honoo​, and anyone else who’d like to participate!

[fate-is-woven-and-cut]

Mobile Navigation;

Rules and Mun:

Guidelines

RULES:

Verses and Character About are separate

Do Not God-mod, unless discussed beforehand

Do Not Metagame, unless discussed beforehand

Do Not Auto (Autohit, etc), unless discussed beforehand

Do Not Lorebreak, unless discussed beforehand.*

Do Not Powerplay, unless discussed beforehand

Do Not continuously bother Mun for Replies/RPs, occasional gentle reminders and inquiries are okay

Do not be rude when reminding Mun of a thread

Do Not Lie about your age, NSFW ( especially smut) requires both Mun and Muse to be 18+

Other dark themes will be present and tagged accordingly. If I miss something or you have a specific trigger please respectfully let me know!

I do not RolePlay: Underaged Sex/romance, noncon, dubcon, explicit heavy abuse, IRP roleplays (Meaning where people just flat out play as living, breathing people to fulfill some fantasy or whatever. Historical figures and characters based off people are usually fine.)

If those things (Aside from the IRL rule obviously) are a part of your characters past, that is fine. It can be brought up in memory or conversation, just don’t expect me to play it out with you

I am chronically ill and mentally disabled, I have 30 other blogs, I follow over 2200, so forgive me if I mess something up for forgetting a thread or rule

Feel free to respectfully remind me if I do any of that

I am fan-character/OC/Canon Character Friendly

No yandere based romantic relationships, nothing against the Mun or Muse but I ain’t good with it.

I am not mutually exclusive, but I do have the right to NOT want to RP with you

I am a multiship blog, each relationship will occur in their own universe unless discussed and agreed upon by ALL involved

Please trim your posts if they get too lengthy

If trimming is not possible (or you just don’t feel like it), please make a new post and tag me in it

I do not RP with those who use real-life people as their Muses. Such as YouTube radio or musicians.

This is not solely an RP blog, interaction with Mun and Muse is encouraged, as it helps character development and it’s fun

Anon hate will be deleted or in extreme cases, published and discussed. I will turn off anon if needed, it is Not a right.

——————————————————————————————————

THE WRITER

NAME:

Yam, Yam Mun, Sol, Macabre

AGE:

Born 1992

INFO:

I am a chronically ill, mentally ill yam who like video games, art, horror, writing, and animals. I am very shy and anxious so forgive me if it takes 1000 years to talk to you directly and not like a robot. I do always love learning lore and talking muses. I have been RPing since the Earth was made.

RPing for: I was RPing when the world was young, when dinosaurs traded stone tablets and wrote epic tales of survival

-I am a shy, chronically ill, mentally disabled yam person. I RP for fun, stress relief hobby.

-I have never actually done an RP involving dice surprisingly

-I like Horror, video games, sometimes I do art, I enjoy riddles, dark chocolate, tea, and other things

-I have an awful memory

-----------------------------------‐---

Muses:

Rave

North

Oyaì

Jubilant

Dèsireé

Madd

----------------‐------------------

World Lore:

STRINGS

[d3mon-ology]

choose a writeblr and pass it on! what's your character creation process?

i feel so bad that i didn't see this until just now! sorry to the anon who sent this <3

my PROCESS is really nothing special, but here we go:

01. Initial Concept(s). I keep a discord server w/ just myself in it, and I use it to keep track of character ideas. A lot of my characters begin with this stage, but it's also probable that I'll find a song, a pin, a line in a book, etc. that inspires me. Side characters also have a way of creeping up on me and making themselves into concepts I'd like to develop further.

02. Pinterest Board + Playlist. I don't always start here, but I really enjoy the way making a playlist or a board can let me sit with the initial concept(s). I work and attend uni, so its hard for me to find the time to sit w/ ideas and actually ruminate on them. This step is just killing two birds w/ one stone.

03. Character Sheet. My interest in writing was, in part, born from rp, and I think I will always rely on character sheets. Donovan Hohn, an author and former writing prof of mine, told our class something along the lines of "You should know everything about your character, even if it never comes up in your story." And I think that writing a sheet really does that. I like knowing my characters inside and out, and even if something never becomes relevant, I know it is there and how it has impacted the character. There's a bit of life that gets breathed into a character when you know their motivations, their interests, their past, etc.

04. Rewrites. I don't think I'll ever reach a point where I am 100% satisfied with a character, and at this point, I just embrace it as part of the process. The more I rewrite a character, the more I know about them, the more I know about what they aren't, etc. A lot of the characters I write about presently have been rewritten 3-4 times at the time of writing this, and I'll probably make all the more rewrites in the end.

Thanks for this ask! It was really fun