@lostgrimesgirl​

After the war with the Saviors, Sanctuary had changed. With the help of his lieutenants, Logan had planned out expansions for the gates surrounding the community. Reserves of precious gas had been used to secure travel RVs and every scrap of building materials within a fifty mile radius. Workers that had previous life experience in construction, farming, craftsmenship, and even sewing found themselves the new brand of Saviors, working side by side with the old.

Looking out over new Sanctuary, as new crops were being planted and some workers were going about building a new, larger chicken coup, Logan felt pride.  A worker approached him, holding a worn looking clipboard and the leader of the Saviors turned to address him. Building reports, lists of inventory, and columns of what they still needed. They were still talking when his radio crackled on his hip.

“Boss?” Logan reached up and clicked the button, turning his head to talk into the speaker.

“Yeah, Arat?” 

“Someone’s here for you.”

“Me specifically or just whoever is in charge?”

“You specifically. By name.”

A sigh. He nodded to the worker, handing back the clipboard and telling him to put it in his office. He would look it over in detail later.

“On my way.”

Plutonian Shore Version 2.0

Now on the Twine engine, it features two different memory paths, two different endings, sound effects, and has been extended beyond just Angela's room.

Unfortunately, not all of the pictures in Angela's diary have been updated, and I just don't have that kind of time or patience at the moment (I want to share it this Halloween, not Halloween 3 years from now), but I will slowly work through and update everything.

CW: Blood, second person POV, music and sound effects.

Read @ ofthedark.org

crown of midnight (because I am always weak for a masquerade)

crown of midnight. sender dances with the receiver at a masquerade.

There were pros and cons to an event like a masquerade. The dress code calling for elaborate, eye catching attire was, to Alaric, a pro. The downside came in the intentional obscuring of identity, a hindrance for one who liked direct credit for his looks.

The dancing though, that made up for everything else. Ala stopped only long enough for a new partner, rarely for drink. If he wanted for the intrigue or debauchery, both established features of an event based in anonymity, well, he'd found both still achievable on the floor to those with experience.

That didn't leave him completely without wants, however. He'd tried all evening to catch the eye of a certain dancer, but poor timing and the man's clear talent had made the match impossible. Ala had nearly given up, settled for watching with discreet envy when close enough. Ala didn't lack for partners himself, but quantity was not quality.

When finally, and by chance, Alaric found the chance to cut in, he was grateful for the mask that hid his expression; excitement, and for a mere offer to dance, was embarrassing- especially for a stranger.

"I was beginning to believe there was some form of registration I'd missed, for the honor of your time." His tone was light, as was his touch, when they moved together.

@draconiclotus | plotted starter feat. gepard

As Gepard strolls through the museum with a few visitors in tow, gesturing to various exhibits and explaining what they are as well as their history, the discussion he'd had with his parents over breakfast that very morning keeps replaying itself in his head.

"You're 32 now, Gepard. Don't you think it's time you started thinking about settling down?" "What do you mean?" "I mean finding a wife and having a family. Serval has already expressed her disinterest; her duties lie with the workshop. And Lynx is of a similar mindset, despite my best attempts." "What about MY duties, Father? My service to Belobog. Doesn't THAT come first?" "Yes, son, and it always will...but the Landau line also must continue." "That responsibility now lies on your shoulders."

That last line, said by his mother before she oh so casually sipped her tea, had stuck out to him the most...and also hit him the hardest. Gepard already has quite a few responsibilities to tend to. Being captain of the entirety of the Silvermane Guard is no easy feat in its own right, but it also branches off into other tasks: leading his men into battle against enemy threats, of course, but also making sure morale for those men is high, handling any internal problems that might rise, teaching new soldiers in the art of combat, keeping himself in shape...

All of it leaves Gepard with very little time to have much of a social life...and now his family is pressuring him to make time in the name of the Landau line.

That responsibility now lies on your shoulders.

"Thanks, Mother," he mutters to himself.

"Beg pardon?"

That was one of the visitors. Gepard stands straighter and clears his throat. "My apologies. It's nothing. Shall we continue the tour?"

He's still thinking about the conversation as he leads the group through the rest of the History-Culture Hall, but he keeps his commentary to himself. Ironically, this is exactly what he'd done during breakfast; instead of speaking his mind, he'd remained silent. Perhaps he should have mentioned how his parents' expectations of him are a bit high, but Gepard knows it wouldn't have done any good. Ever since he was a child, they had both made certain that their son did as they thought was best, no matter what he personally thought of it.

The tour ends, his group disperses, and this gives Gepard a few minutes to spare before he's due for another walk through. As he looks around, the captain spots a familiar figure standing near the scale miniature of the Stellaron Imprisonment Device, making him once again stand straighter. This time, instead of doing it out of politeness, he does it out of recognition and curiosity. A genuine smile crosses his lips as he walks closer, his boots clicking pleasantly against the tiles during his approach.

"Pardon me. You're Dan Heng, correct? I don't believe we've spoken one on one as of yet."

for @butnobodyhome!

he did not have a hand in showbiz, not yet at least. the man who had an interest in las vegas as a whole, especially its flourishing economy, did have some interest in getting into it, however. it was on the flight back over from california that his assistant had laid out several potential prospects to absorb into his ever-growing economical empire. this actress who was unimportant, that one who he discovered already had other opportunities; and how would any of them fit into robco?

he didn't care for entertainment in the economical or political, but he cared for it when it came to the venues. the lucky 38 was sorely lacking a good source of it, and house was unsure if that spot would ever meet his standards. but ... a blind actress, who already had experience singing? she was almost perfect, only in concept. great, excellent.

but he is sitting across from her, and does not know what to make of her, and that in itself feels ... stressful. she was pretty, absolutely, but she was blind. what could he do if he was busy holding her hand through the inevitable apocalypse?

❝ some stories allude sight to something much more than vision. ❞ he breaks what feels like an awkward silence after a few moments of idly watching her. ❝ how do you do it? ❞

@maestrojax liked for a starter.

          PARTIES HELD IN GAELTHEMAR by House Maeafin were known to be as lavish as they were enjoyable. True, the point had always been to draw in present, past, and future clients and allies, but the fact remained that the easiest way to do so was to offer forth a night of delight regardless of having to talk business. That meant no expense spared on the booze, the entertainment, or the food. Shame, really, that Mourndax hadn't been to more of them; it was, truthfully, only his successes in recent years that afforded him toleration from his most beloved parents, and in turn, the privilege of being allowed to dress in his most flamboyant finery and mingle amid those who'd taken up the invitation.

          "It's about time someone else had an inkling of taste." For now, he'd opted to swoop in beside the unfamiliar drow, albeit far enough away to offer escape were his presence unwanted. Measured eyes make quick work of sizing the man up a moment, before adding, "Say, but isn't that choice in hats familiar... I wouldn't happen to have the honors of greeting Jarlaxle Baenre, would I?"

Plotted starter for @electric-ecclectic

Evil coalesces deep in the bowels of the chasm; a squirming dark miasma gathering power by the minute. It bides it's time in the shadows and seeps out above ground in tendrils, polluting both land and sea.

Following the events that led to the traveler and their companions being trapped in, visits to these parts did not particularly thrill the Yaksha. Nevertheless it is his duty to purge and vanquish that which sought to destroy the nation. So when his investigation of the negative energy drew him deeper into the structure, Xiao does not hesitate.

The abyss mage's shrieks echo in the vast stone caves hauntingly as he drags it by it's collar.

"I will not ask again. Where is the miasmic entity?"

His threat is only undercut by movement in his peripheral vision and the Yaksha reacts accordingly, pausing his interrogation to fling his jade spear in the intruder's direction.

"Halt. Who goes there?"

@electric-ecclectic

since a lot of ppl left the rpc that were in joshua’s circle and his existing circle is now much smaller and things are slower/fandom lull etc i’m considering the prospect of wiping his memory. he’d still be in his usual thing with sanae and his main verse with him and @dandybarista remains unchanged, but i think a clean slate could make for fresh and more enjoyable interactions. that said, if you don’t want anything to change with joshua and your muse can you please like or reply?

@khalesci

She had never liked being this far inland. The sea was in her blood, and even now it called to her. On horseback, she could close her eyes and pretend the rolling waves of grass were an ocean. When the khalasar made camp, she was afforded no such comfort. Still, it was not the first sacrifice Shaera had made for her cause, and she doubted it would be the last.

Weaving through tents and campfires, it didn't take her long to reach her destination.

"Might I request an audience , Khaleesi?"

is it an adhd thing to need to reinvent the concept of a study space so you have any chance of actually studying or just a facet of being alive that no one warned me about

theres a lot abt post-ph ive never really mentioned. grants theres also a lot i havent figured out

Plotted RP with @wexarethewalkingxdead

Logan did his best to retain his calm, cool demeanor as the gates of Alexandria screeched shut behind him. He did his best to stand tall and unbothered by the people of the community almost staring at him. He resisted the urge to fidget and move under their burning gazes, forcing himself to breath slow and steady, showing a confidence that he certainly did not feel at the moment.

He wasn’t stupid. He knew what he looked like. Almost a carbon copy of his father. Fuck... the idea of Dad still hurt. He blinked quickly, feeling his eyes burn with unshed tears. He naively thought that after a year, he would of mourned and grieved enough, but every reminder of Negan was a painful wound that never refused to heal. Even if the man himself was dead and buried. Logan had done it himself, refusing any help from anyone else. It was his job. 

As a Savior.

As a son.

Logan wished he had Lucille, but he had left the bat on Shadow’s saddle. It was not wise to bring the weapon into Alexandria. Especially when he was here to beseech Rick for another mercy. All he held was a worn notebook of plans and ideas, idle comforts in ink and paper of a future he wanted to build for himself and for the people who wanted to follow him.

A nervous swallow, and Logan forced himself to speak with a self-assuredness he garnered from his mother and father’s memories.

“I need to talk to Rick.”

" nothing on earth can silence that quiet voice inside you ”| - Argo Faer, talking to Rhaya about wanderlust and the need to keep moving.

Upon hearing the words spoken, Rhaya pulled a face of thinly veiled ire. It was less eloquent than the situation called for, perhaps, but conveyed what she was feeling well enough without the need for words to sour the air further. Regardless, she opted to go for broke and drove the point home with a matter-of-factly muttered, “Well, that sucks.” She wasn’t entirely certain what she was looking for in venting her frustrations. Reassurance? An ear to simply listen? The rest of the crew often talked about their plans for the future, with the majority intending to retire in a safe port or a peaceful, cozy village with the savings they made sailing – if they survived. The concept of retirement genuinely baffled Rhaya, the young druid unable to grasp a world where she would be content staying in one place for any extended amount of time. “So, what then…? I just keep moving, never staying in one place or putting down roots anywhere? Forever?” A discernable tinge of bitterness crept into her words as she stared intently at her hands, nimble fingers beginning to furl and unclench. In the moment, she couldn’t decide what was more distressing: The idea that one day she might grow out of this ingrained wanderlust and grow bored of the world, or the notion that she never would.

(Plotted starter for @archerwhiterp !)

    Diamond leaned against the door frame, tugged fruitlessly at the anti-casting collar around his neck, and tried to decide whether the person strapped to a table in the next room was breathing. 

    They were hooked to something that looked remarkably like a crude apheresis or dialysis machine, aside from the glaring absence of a return line. The attendant vampire had apparently been peckish and impatient, because they were drinking directly from their prisoner as well, leaned over the prone figure on the side opposite the machine. Diamond was lucky they were occupied, or he would have been noticed already.

    Diamond could handle one vampire. It was how he’d escaped his own imprisonment. The damned collar certainly prevented him from casting any spells, swallowing down any active magic and delivering a blinding shock of pain besides: enough to completely wreck his focus and leave him dazed and confused for several long seconds. But his telepathy...

His telepathy was right on the border between magic and physiology. There were parts of it Diamond genuinely could not turn off, and that seemed to confuse the thing and keep it from fully engaging even when he did use active telepathy. It had been unpleasant in the extreme, but he’d been able to control one of his captors for long enough to get them to unlock his cell door, enter the cell in his stead, and go to sleep.

He could do something similar here.

(...it would be foolish, and Diamond knew it. The person on the table was too pale, too still; even if they were still alive, and even if he did intervene, they likely weren’t in any shape to survive much longer.)

(And yet… a chance. There was a chance.)

Diamond gathered his strength, reached for the vamp’s mind, and threw his entire will behind forcing the blood drinker to sleep. A vicious buzz ripped through his body from the collar. He gagged and hunched over, sliding to his knees, but clung to his focus on the vampire’s mind with stubborn tenacity. 

The collar muffled both his perception and his influence; the best Diamond could manage with it on seemed to be a powerful compulsion, not the outright control he was used to having against untrained minds. There now, turn the damned machine off, doesn’t the floor look inviting, you can take a break…

The vampire blinked and drew back from their victim, giving their head a woozy shake.

It felt like it took a fucking eternity. But eventually the vampire palmed a control on the machine and sank to the floor, curling up to sleep. As soon as their thoughts grew muddled with unconsciousness, Diamond dropped the compulsion with a shuddering gasp.

It was harder to catch his breath than it had been the first time. Still, there were bigger things to worry about. Like whether all that effort was for an actual person or a corpse. (Or a soon-to-be corpse, because Diamond sure as hell didn’t have the resources to deal with decompensated shock right now.)

Diamond swallowed, hauled himself to his feet, and…

…and the victim already looked less like death and more like death warmed over, a bit of color returning to their complexion and their eyelids stirring. Diamond slid into the room and pressed himself against the wall out of easy view of the hallway, but didn’t approach any more closely. He wasn’t sure what was going on, here.

“...hey,” he said softly, not wanting to disturb the sleeping vampire. “Anyone home?”

sister, sister

@wormholxtreme plotted for a starter!

---

"And press!" Ally stood at the front of her small classroom at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, sun shining in from floor to ceiling windows on the eastern wall. Her classroom was decorated with all sorts of posters and strings of paper DNA, molecules, and cells. She watched with a big grin as her class of fifteen or so eight year olds pressed inked thumbs onto a piece of paper in front of them, lifting them up to reveal their fingerprints.

"Whoa! That's cool!"

She walked around and helped any of the kids who needed some extra pressure for a better print, her own fingers stained from her demonstration she had given. "Now look at your print versus the person next to you. See how different they are? Everyone's finger prints are unique to them, just like your powers."

"Or a zebra's stripes!" A little girl with purple eyes called out.

"Or a zebra's stripes! Exactly."

As she scanned her class, internally thrilled the kids were this interested, she noticed someone standing by the door.

"Oh, speaking of unique." The kids turned around as Ally started to walk back to the young woman who matched her in height, but was a bit younger with blonde hair and the same smile. "What are you doing here?" She opened her arms for a hug. "Guys, this is my sister!"

for @key2earth | accidental concert-crashing <backdated a few months>

wooseok doesn't mind going to concerts alone; in fact, he's used to it. being an avid enjoyer of music of all types meant that his most indie, underground musical interests were just that—his, and his alone. occasionally he'd meet others at venues, but these were usually fleeting interactions that didn't continue.

usually. ziying is a notable exception, but even then, it's not like they're friends. after they met a few weeks ago at a different indie band's show, they ended up chatting, going home together... but she had made it rather clear that this was a one-time event only.

wooseok was fine with that. he's still fine with that. but that doesn't change the fact that he'd thought to invite her to this very show, too. would that be weird? is it weird to try and be friends after a one night stand?

he notices ziying's presence near the end of the show. he never claimed to be an observant individual, especially not when he's lost in the music, paying attention as they play a slew of his favorites. it's not until his nullivi patch starts to wear off, and he can hear her in his head. he's found that familiar voices can wiggle their way through the nullivi barrier as it's nearing the end of its effective period; it's quiet, but it's there, and he's certain that he'd recognize her voice anywhere.

what's weirder: going over to say hi, or acting like he doesn't know she's there? maybe it doesn't matter. maybe she hasn't seen him yet; after all, she doesn't have the telepathy benefit to finding others in a crowd.

maybe? maybe. there aren't many people there, though, so it's hardly a crowd. he drinks from the plastic cup in his hand—it's some gross, cheap beer, but maybe it would make him less all in his head about this. he's overthinking it, as he tends to do. he turns his attention back to the finale songs. he doesn't hear her anymore.

for a bit, at least. then, curiosity gets the best of him, and he wonders if she's noticed him, too—he focuses back in, straining to hear that familiar voice through the nullivi-induced haze.