“we need someone to go in there; clear it out, tell us what’s there.”

  there’s grunts of agreement, and then, silently, all the eyes in the room drift to the dunmer petting her dog in the corner. she doesn’t look up, but she does sigh, even if a grin pulls at the corners of her face, even if the noise is mildly good-natured.

   “… well, don’t all volunteer at once.”

active-ish blogs right now

Aella. Star Trek alien empath OC. A quiet empath who fights between the logic of her upbringing and the intense, overwhelming emotion of her heritage. Will release queue list and be open to more drafts, potentially, when current drafts are done ( down to single-digits, y’all!! ).

Willow. Fandomless alien OC. An exuberant, boisterous, excitable thief who travels the cosmos and, truly, just wants to have a good time. Mostly on queue, need to rebuild drafts.

Kara. KARA / Detroit: Become Human android canon. A good-hearted, tentative android who is excited to live and make her way in the world. Very selectively open. 

Eric. The Little Mermaid movies canon. The sweetest sailor of the seven seas who believes in just about everything good – including true love and a beautiful voice from the sea. Open upon request. 

Anne Carson (via quotemadness)

about my inactivity...

   Have you ever worked super hard on a reply, only for your computer to randomly crash and have the entire thing deleted?

   That sort of happened to me, but like, ten-fold. 

Keep reading

Abusive plots;

"Eh.. no.   None of that.

        Snow Elves are a.. rare race of         mer. The only that I know of now         is Gelebor.                      How is it you do                          not know?”

   There was a flicker of personal   embarrassment at not completely   knowing or understanding the words   that were being portrayed to her, but   Romy attempted to keep a level head,   even still, as she replied.

                          “You said sey vere rare, no?” She didn't                          wait for an answer. “Sen I may not have                          heard of sem, of somesing rare. It's – not                          very important to my own life.” Knowing                          whether or not Snow Elves existed  didn't                          put bread on the table, after all. 

[ Amir rubs the back of her arm over her  forehead and wipes away the sweat.  She’d start getting cold quick enough.  Her sweat paired with the cold and  unforgiving nature of Skyrim would  assure that. ]

"Fair enough."

[ And with that, she pulled a rag out of  her bag to wipe down her sword before  returning it to it’s sheath. ]

"They might as well be. They’re those cat people you see walkin’ around. From Elswyr. Something like that.”

   A cat that was a person   and walked? It seemed like   something from a fevered   dream. Romy had not been   in civilization long enough to   either spot nor notice one, and   she felt her face wither and retract   in confusion.

   “Vhat do you mean? Do sey talk?   Sink? Are sey... intelligent?” Sooner   or later, she'd be bound to see one   traipsing into her tavern – but until then,   all the curiosity and confusion she had   needed to be satiated from the words   of this... stranger. She was so focused   on her new queries that she hardly   noticed the other cleaning and putting   away her weapon. 

Open RP

"Jamiel. My name is Jamiel" The young Nord went to the woman’s side with great speed, her hands glowing a warm, yellow hue. With her hands pressing on the other’s side she healed the wound but she knew it would take some to really patch up. "I don’t know. You were just kind of lying there and I wanted to help."

   There was a feeling that began to wash over Romy's body – warm, gentle, as if she had stepped into a temperate geyser, and the water was gently seeping into her skin. But as she was lulled away into the feeling, a memory striked her fevered and injured mind; she was not in water. She was dry, and there was a girl talking to her, and she felt so tired...

   Eyes opened, in curiosity – and immediately, she'd wished she'd kept them shut. The small woman's hands had been cupped over her sopping side, exuding bits of sunshine and moon.

   A squeal erupted from Romy as she jerked away from the hands, the stranger that seemed to make the pain more bearable, more easily lived and breathed through. “V – vhat ahre you doing?” She could hear her own accent thickening in her head in mere horror.

   “Don't – vhat – no!” 

          “And you like to think you could.”

He looks amused by the idea. Oh, yes, she may be able to beat him in a fair fight, but that doesn’t mean that Balfour has to acknowledge it. There is absolutely no fun in admitting you might be second best.

                      “That’s adorable.” 

         There's a light laugh released by the young      woman opposite him, still leveling her iron sword.      It's too blunt to even stab through a wolf's pelt, she      knows just by weighing it with her eyes, but still strong      enough to sting skin. Though Vater does not approve of fighting,      she feels that his rules might slack if he realized that in play, she      uses weapons that can't bleed.

                                       She should be home. Cleaning. But she only raises the                                       weapon higher, taps at his with hers. “I've bested beasts                                       far worse san se likes of you.” Her eyes flicker down to                                       his feet, then back to his face. “Besihdes, your sword's                                       too low to even strike propehrly.”

           A furrow of his eyebrows.              A small shake of his head.                           ” No —- “                           A frown.                    ” But they’re hurting. “

           “So are sousands of people every day.”

          So had she been, as a child – most of her life – alone.         Pain and loneliness were ways of life. Consistencies people     had to get used to. This was a world where only the fittest survived.           If one could not stomach the world, they did not get it.

                                  “Vhy are sese any different?” 

[ Her lips quirk up in a grin, and she chuckles.

Her grip on her sword loosens as her shoulders slacken, a tell tale sign she doesn’t feel entirely threatened. She doesn’t sheath it, though, no it stays out and ready in her hand. ]

"Women as well. In my experience, women tend to be more vicious. Women fight dirty like Khajiit.”

[ One hand goes to her hip as she breathes deeply, and she takes a few steps in a small circle to walk off the work out her body just got from that sudden rush of adrenaline that came with the fighting. ]

"I’m sorry if I frightened you.”

   The woman before her relaxes   – a sign that Romy, too, is not   unjustified in the relaxation she   had already allowed to fall over her   slim body. It is a good sign, at least.   A sign that a weapon need not be   drawn too quickly, leveled at the   stranger. Romy's hands run over   her body, as if to dispel dirt that   does not exist there.

  “If you had frightened me, I vouldn't   have put avay my veapon.”

   Her eyes move to the dead again   – not out of pity, but curiosity. Having   not spent long in the civilized world,   sometimes Romy does not understand   what justifies as a person that one could   kill, and what justifies as a person that   one could set free. Why was her blood   seemingly more precious than the others'?

   … Probably best not to question a   good thing.

   And once again, like nearly every day,   a word that she can't remember entered   phrasing. Khajit? It sounds like another   language, rolled in her head.

   “Vhat is a Khajit? Are sey like... an animal?”

         ”Those are brave words,” comes coupled with a small chuckle. He takes a tighter grip of the weapon in his hand, more than ready to be used if need be. “Think you can back them up with skill?” 

         Romy cocked her head at the companion next to her.        In her boot edged a dagger, tongue sharp against even her        woolen covered feet – in her arms, a rather blunt iron sword,        something she oft did not fight with, but had more than enough        skill to swirl above her head once.

                                    “Ah, you know... – I vould.” A smile touched                                     her features. “But I vould not vant to hurt you.”

Meet The Muse

Name: Rosemarie Fabel Nickname(s): Romy Age: 22 Species: Nord

Morality(Bold One Per Section): Lawful / Neutral / Chaotic ||| Good / Gray / Evil Religious Belief: Though she has no true religious beliefs, she believes in the nature and the land like one would follow a religion.  Sins: Lust / Greed / Gluttony / Sloth / Pride / Envy / Wrath Virtues: Chastity / Charity / Temperance / Diligence / Humility / Kindness / Patience / Justice  Primary Goals In Life: Half of her wants to domesticate herself; the other half wants to return to her "home" Languages Known: German, English Secrets: Who she is, where she comes from, the fact that the inn family is not hers, etc.  Quirks: She curls and uncurls her fingers often, as well as bushing off her clothing in a sharp downward motion, and running her hands through her hair.  Savvies: Hunting. Shooting an arrow. Lying, I suppose. 

|| Physical ||

Build: Slender / Scrawny / Bony / Fit / Athletic / Herculean / Babyfat / Pudgy / Obese / Other Height: 5'4''  Scars/Birthmarks: A few miscellaneous freckles, and a scar on her left thumb Abilities/Powers: N/A Restrictions: N/A

Favorite Food: She really loves fish. It was always harder for her to catch, for some reason, so she'd seen it as a treat always.  Favorite Drink: Probably water.  Favorite Color: Green. Favorite Book Genre:  Favorite Season: Spring. Favorite Swear Word: Verdammt.  Favorite Scent: Morning touched with dew

"Boss" Theme Music: This thing? Bottom or Top:  Doesn't care What’s their laugh like?: Abrupt and full, before disappearing as quickly as it came.  Sings In The Shower: Yes / No Likes Bad Puns: Yes / No

Their Opinion On The Mun: 

            “'Ho? Do I know sem?”

She was scared— wandered too far from home and got herself l o s t. Time seemingly standing still while submerged in a sea of floral splendor. It was true, all life’s greatest joys were free, and there was not much that could compare to the untarnished beauty of mother nature. It’s captivating strength and majesty.  However, with all grace came equal amounts of danger— these lands as cruel as they were captivating, for a young imperial armed only with a dagger most of all.

        Gott!

    It had taken the still blossoming child most of her life to    realize that her mind was not a sanctuary. It twisted and   turned uncomfortably, brought up things that she'd rather    lay dead. It befuddled and lost her, filled her soul with aching    dread. The only place she was safe was outside of her mind.    Focusing on the rolling hills... the never-ending forest... the    whispers and whistles of the birds and the trees...

                         But Romy had gotten lost. Not in the surrounding                          area – no, she knew where she was, and could plot                          it out with her eyes quite easily. She had fallen into                          thoughts again, thoughts that skewed all others, forgot                          to make her feet lift and fall lightly, forgot to watch the                         surrounding area. Wrapped up in past wars and blood                          splatter, she nearly walked into another human, crouched                          near the ground, on in her forest. A squeal of horror spilled                         from Romy's mouth before she darted away from the stranger                          and disappeared behind one of the trees.

       Holden Sie sich Ihre Bogen aus. Her hands moved like       lead to her bowstring. Sie sah, wie Sie. Es gibt keine       Möglichket sie tat es nicht. Slowly, her bow was removed.       An arrow was sought for, in numbed and shaking fingers.       She killed animals every day – why was this one so different?      Tun Sie es, du Narr! Tun Sie es!

          S C R E A M I N G.                          B L E E D I N G.                                     ” We have to help them! “

           A glance.

                       A blink.

                                   A stare.

                                          “Vhy? Do you know sem?” 

Open RP

"A-Are you dead?"

   “I sure hope not.” The words were graggly, broken beneath blood and pain. “Sat vould be... very unfortunate” She attempted to sit up – but found she could not move. Her eyes stayed sealed shut, squeezing in the darkness splayed full of colors and shapes, dizzying jumping and dancing. “Vhat happened? 'Ho... ho are sou?”