#the crow roleplay

[ncrthernl1ghts]

" when sorrow comes, they come not in single spies, but in battalions. i've allies in heaven & comrades in hell....

SAY HELLO FOR ME. "

ind. sel. multimuse penned by gabriel

[rphunter]

Maybe a long shot but - I’m on my knees begging to write Eric Draven from the 2024 version of The Crow! Preferably in a non-supernatural, slice of life type thing whether it’s against a Shelly or if you want to play an oc!! Open to pairing him against male or female ocs in that case too. I think Eric’s character in that movie is just so sweet and I’d kill to write him and flesh him out with some hcs I have for him. Looking for some sweet fluff, angst, growth, misunderstandings, struggles, whatnot. I write multi-para on discord, have few limits and am open to smut, usually reply a few times a week! I’m 21+ and would like my partner to be so as well! I’ll reach out and we can throw about some ideas together, I love plotting with my partner and chatting ooc together!🐦‍⬛

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[roleplayfinder]

Hi! 21F here, recently watched The Crow (2024) and am obsessed with the lovestory between Eric and Shelly, anyone else?✨

I would love to write about their time at the rehab center/later down the line in the movie. I don't mind playing either Eric or Shelly for this and have no problem with adult scenes. I prefer writing over discord. Leave a heart if you're interested and I'll shoot you a message. Thanks!!

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[handfulxfhearts]

      ❝ You know, provoking those guys like that could have got you killed ❞ Eric says. His tone is gentle; he knows that they were just trying to stand up for themselves, but you’ve got to know when to pick your battles. Of course, they may well have been able to hold their own against the group of thugs, but considering the way they had been being pummelled when Eric had arrived, he felt glad he had stepped in.

     ❝ This town isn’t known to be forgiving to people who try to stand up for themselves the way you just did. It’s like a friend of mine once said… it’s like wearing a big ‘kick me’ sign ❞. He holds his hand out for the other to take, hoping they’re okay.

[sawbonesources]

✶ BLOOD BATH ✶ 𝗙𝗥𝗘𝗘 𝗣𝗦𝗗 .ᐟ ₍+adjs₎ credit is 𝙖𝙥𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙞𝙘𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙙 but not necessary.

DOWNLOAD IT HERE

[lucius-official]

CALLING ALL NRC STUDENTS/STAFF

Are you sick and tired of being a pawn in Dire Crowley's twisted game?? Of being used to boost his own ego? Of always fighting his battles while he cozies up in the safety of his office neglecting to pay his child support??

Then join the rebellion. Rise up against the birdman. And take back your freedom.

We will storm Dire Crowley's office on the morrow and remove Crowley from his position of power by force.

(Bring your own pitchforks/broomsticks/nukes-and prepare to lay down your lives for the cause)

It's time for the Crow to fall 🐦‍⬛❌️✊️

[siomdead]

Drawing crow from neon barbarian again bc hes so cutiepie

[starlight-carousel]

Roleplay Partner wanted

Hello there! I am a 26 year-old female looking for a roleplay partner, preferably 18+! I absolutely love plotting, coming up with headcanons, moodboards, etc. with my partner so that is an absolute must! I am fairly descriptive and often write 3-4 paragraphs or more depending on your length! I do most of my writing on Discord so please prepare for that! I can do canonxcanon, ocxoc, and ocxcanon! just ask me what you'd like to do! I am also happy to double up or to play the female role! NSFW is welcome, but I still want the story to have a plot as well. We can discuss triggers and other things as well! Currently, these are the fandoms I am looking for along with my love interests!

Shadow and Bone-Kaz Brekker

Phantom of the Opera-Erik Destler or an OC

Bridgerton-Benedict Bridgerton

Harry Potter- James Potter, Teddy Lupin, Draco Malfoy, George Weasley

Stranger Things-Steve Harrington or Eddie Munson

Hunger Games/Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes-Finnick Odair or Coriolanus Snow

The Lost Boys-David Powers or Dwayne

Umbrella Academy-Luther Hargreeves

Game of Thrones-Robb Stark

The Witcher-Geralt

HOTD- Harwin Strong or Aemond Targaryen The Vampire Diaries-Niklaus Mikaelson For Non-Fandoms, I have a lot of plots but usually prefer slice of life, mafia/crime, supernatural, grumpyxsunshine, next door neighbors, greek mythology inspired, university au's, etc. ! If you are interested and I hope that you are, please leave a like and I will get back to you ASAP!

[nrc-therapist]

THE DAWN OF REVOLUTION IS UPON US!!

WE SHALL ALL UNITE AND FIGHT FOR WHATS RIGHT!!and my paychek

DOWN WITH THE CROW!!🔥🔥

[sairastuff]

Three similar but very different pieces. One for a challenge, one for creativity and one for plain and pure fun. The emerald and gold d20 is in the hands of my friend Noelia, who wanted a bag with a nice marbled design but left all the creative decisions in my hands, trusting me blindly. The blue d12 was commissioned by Ana with very specific specifications: inspired by the game Coyote and crow, with the corporate colours and a specially designed typology. And the antique bronze d12 came about while watching my friend Capitán Yelmo playing a game with a very Ancient Roman aesthetic, and where I tested the viability of a semi-invisible half meat seam (with a satisfactory success). Three pieces that sum up very well my creative capacity starting from the (almost) same pattern.

[grunklefordpines]

Peck peck. CAW

Ow—Ow! Stop it!

[catricksanchez]

i was marking. my territory.

fuck you crow.

Im going to shit in your shoees.

[misericorsalvator]

An Epitaph

Henry didn't know where he was. It was cold, freezing, but that was all he could tell, from the sharp chill that tore through his damp clothes, to the frigid air that felt like icicles in his lungs when he breathed. Even if he was someplace familiar, it would have been impossible to tell through the veil of rime in the air, the thick hoar that coated the ground. But wherever he was, he had to find shelter. soon, before his limbs grew any number that they already were and he lost the three fingers he had left on his right hand to frostbite. It took a good deal of walking, trudging through the snow, before he found something resembling sanctuary. A rocky hovel dug deep into a mountainside he hadn't even noticed was there. The crooked mountaintop loomed far overhead like a wind-swept pine tree, towering over the barren expanse and shielding the small patch of land near the cave's entrance from the worst of the snowfall. It was a narrow fit, the opening more narrow than a coffin, but it opened up into a wide chamber beyond, dark, lit only by the little light reflecting on the snow outside.

Panic stabbed at him suddenly. That chamber felt familiar, though he couldn't recall from where. The rockface of the walls was smooth, man-made, and the stalactites hanging from the domed ceiling above were unnatural, all the same length, jagged and sharpened to fine points. But he had no time to waste on the unnerving interior. The weather outside was getting worse, the wind howling like wolves on a hunt, and soon his shelter would be just as cold and dangerous as the outside. He had to think, find a way to keep the warmth in. Henry returned to the entrance. He twisted around in the narrow space as best he could and began piling up snow with his numb hands, stacking it, pressing it into shape, mouthing breathless curses to himself, until he had built a solid wall halfway up to his neck. It should last. He didn't know for how long, but at least for now, until he could catch his breath. It had to last.

Henry slumped against the wall of the cave. The barrier he had built offered some protection, but he could still feel the cold creeping in, seeping through the gaps and cracks in the snow. A damp chill gnawed at his bones, freezing the air in his lungs. He knew he had to keep moving, to do something, anything, to stay warm and awake. He couldn’t afford to fall asleep. Not here. Not now. But his limbs were leaden and his body creaked in protest with every movement. His teeth chattered as he tried to think, tried to remember where he was and how he had gotten there. The harder he tried, however, the more his thoughts seemed to slip away, like sand through his fingers. Panic clawed at his chest once more as he looked around the cavern. The walls seemed to close in, the smooth stone shimmering with a thin layer of rime frost. The ceiling above with the unnaturally sharp stalactites, loomed over him like a mouth full of fangs. He had to get out.

Henry pushed himself off the wall, his legs shaking beneath him. The snow was piling up faster now, further in through the entrance than the wall he had built, and he frantically began to shovel it away with his hands, trying to clear a path through the narrow gap. He shovelled harder, floundered, grappled til his fingers were too numb to move, but for every tiny hopeful opening he made, more snow took its place, as if the storm outside was determined to bury him alive. The cold was unbearable now, seeping into his very soul. Outside, the wind roared, a feral sound that echoed through the cavern and made the air thick with cold. Each breath now was a knife to the chest, each inhale burning his lungs. The snow crawled closer, blocking the entrance fully, and began to cover the cave floor inch by painful inch, forcing the hunter back step by painful step.

Henry's mind was reeling. He stumbled further into the cave, away from the encroaching cold, the bones of his legs creaking in protest. The deeper he went, the more the walls seemed to close in on him, the smooth rock pressing down, suffocating. The quiet there was unnerving, an oppressive stillness that made him painfully aware of his own laboured breathing and the pounding of his heart. The silence of the grave. For what felt like an hour, he pushed himself forward against the stone walls, cowering under the stalactites which were now low enough to graze the top of his head. No matter how far he went, the snow followed close behind, blocking the way back. Henry's movements grew slower, more sluggish, until he could no longer outrun it, and that white frost began piling up around his boots. He felt the fight leave him, his breathing weakened, his heartbeat slowed.

Then, from the corner of his eye, he saw it—a single snowflake, delicate and perfect, drifting down from the ceiling above. His breath caught in his throat as he watched it fall, impossibly slow, through solid rock. It glowed faintly in the dim light and Henry’s eyes followed its descent, almost hypnotized, until it landed softly on the ground. On something dark, something that wasn’t stone. He crouched down, his stiff knees cracking in protest, and wiped away the snow, his fingers brushing against a cold, unyielding surface.

A hand.

His hand.

His breath caught in his throat. He was looking at himself, at his own lifeless body, crumpled and broken, half-buried in the snow. The wounds were horrific—deep gashes and punctures that were draining the life out of him-- and the realization hit him like a sledgehammer.

This wasn't real.

The snow, the cold, it was all in his head, growing blurry as his brain ran out of oxygen. And the cavern wasn’t just familiar—it was the place he was dying, right now, in the real world. The place where his body was lying, bleeding out into the cold ground, his blood darkening the stone ground.

For a third time, panic surged through him, but it was laced with a deep, bone-weary exhaustion. The wind howled louder, and now Henry could make out voices, battle cries, screeching and yowling in twisted satisfaction. The snow now poured into the cave through the solid ceiling above, burying everything in its path. He wanted to claw his way out, to escape this nightmare, but his limbs wouldn’t respond. The snow was too thick, too heavy, pressing down on him from all sides. As his vision began to blur, the walls of the cave pulsed, breathing with a life of their own, in tandem with his own slowed breaths. The snow continued to fall, endlessly, burying him, until all he could see was white. And then, from the heart of the storm, he saw a figure—a tall, imposing silhouette that moved with unnatural grace, cutting through the blizzard as if it were nothing. Henry tried to focus, but his mind was slipping, the edges of his consciousness fraying like old cloth.

His final thoughts drifted to Bran. A deep guilt welled up inside him. He wouldn’t make it home for Christmas this year. He wouldn’t see his boy’s face light up when he opened his presents, wouldn’t hear his laughter echoing through the house. Regret gnawed at him, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. In his last moments, as the darkness closed in, Henry barely registered the sharp pain in his chest—a bite, cold and searing, as if winter itself had latched onto his heart, and his eyes froze over with unshed tears until the world faded and he breathed his last.

In a long-forgotten catacomb in Wales, as the last drop of Henry's blood soaked into the humid ground, something ancient stirred. Beneath the layers of earth and stone, within the crypt that had long been forgotten, a pair of eyes snapped open. After centuries of entombment, something awoke. The blood of the dying hunter seeped into its consciousness, filling it with the remnants of Henry's life, his memories, his regrets. And once the blood had ran dry, the ancient knight rose from his tomb, his eyes burning with a cold, unholy fire.

He tore through the killers, the blood-thirsty beasts who had chased their prey to the ancient tomb, splattering the walls with their undead blood that burnt to ash, until none were left. Then, he looked down at the broken body of the hunter who had unwittingly become his saviour. With a grim sense of purpose, the knight knelt beside Henry’s lifeless form. He whispered words in a dialect long dead, a prayer, perhaps, or a vow. Then, with a reverence reserved for fallen comrades, the knight lifted the hunter’s body and carried him deeper into the crypt, where heroes were once laid to rest, where the knight's own tomb stood, broken apart from within. The hunter was gone, his spirit entwined with the ancient knight’s own, but his legacy would live on, honoured by one of the very creatures he had once sought to destroy.

The knight sealed the tomb with a final, solemn gesture, then left the catacombs behind and stepped out into the warm summer night, into a world which had long outlived him.

[roleplayfinder]

I need to write Shelly from The Crow (2024)! Her and Eric's lovestory had me hooked from the very start so I'm looking for an Eric. If possible in a non-hyper-action but slowburn type of way. Shelly's character is just so divine and grounded with a playful twist. I write on discord and reply a few times a week, also open to smut. I'm 21+ and would love to have a similar partner. Like and I'll message you!

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[escapedaudios]

Understand that when I kill a character, I have KILLED THEM. They are DEAD. With the singular exception of the supernatural/undead characters in my Slasher series, if someone dies they are finished. Kaput. Muertos.

I can not abide by the writing convention that comic-bookified media has made, where death is only an inconvenience. It betrays heroically self-sacrificial deaths by turning their ultimate sacrifice into a minor setback. It eliminates the ability to write stories about loss, grief, and moving on when the audience believes that the loss setting that plot into motion can be simply reversed.

There is no half-measured angst here. I do not make non-canon AUs for character deaths to occur consequence-free. I do not let magic forces return them to life. I do not let time travelers appear to prevent their deaths. I send them directly to the grave. I write weapons-grade angst. We don't do diet death here.

[bigmack2go]

“I’m not Merican, this election doesn’t affect me” bullshit. America is the most influential nation on earth. Trump WILL affect us. Directly and indirectly. So even now that its to late, still spread awareness even when you’re not American. You might just reach someone who is.

Putting a bunch of random tags so ppl see this