I might just leave it then. Thanks @Hank
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8 yrs ago
I'm like Nemo's dad when I'm trying to write and Dory's song is my motivation.
9 yrs ago
Back. Will try to finish RPs.
9 yrs ago
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So I'll need to leave this here forever?
Hello
I might be missing something here, or else I'm requesting an account deletion for this one. Please and thanks.
I might be missing something here, or else I'm requesting an account deletion for this one. Please and thanks.
A sense of invincibility enshrouds me in the frenzied state. Pain doesn't register to me. I bare my fangs in retaliation at her vice-like grip on my throat and strain forward to sink them into her. The wild smell of her blood inches from my frothing mouth induces an uncontrollable urge to tear into her chest and rip out her fast beating heart for a feast. She shoves me away and I am made to slide a few steps back. The moment is enough for her to escape to the mouth of the cave and stand under the shine of a bright crescent moon. The cloudless sky backs her. Coiled to strike for a second time, I instinctively assess the situation for a split second.
She is shouting unintelligible words at me. Her features are in sharp relief as if lit by the afternoon sun, seen through my nocturnal vision. Clear blue eyes are fixed on me without fear and underline the sense she is a hardened veteran skilled in close combat; she blinks and from the minute change in expression a vulnerability is unwittingly shown. I know it is my chance to overpower her now. Her skin begins to sprout hair everywhere - I can see the fine down on her face lengthen and coarsen - her muscles ripple and twitch of their own accord like they want to grow in mass.
I tense my legs and pounce to grapple with the werewolf without any caution, relying on heightened agility and peak savagery to offset my amateur fighting moves. All I need is one bite: my saliva will seep into her nervous system and work its deadly poison.
She is shouting unintelligible words at me. Her features are in sharp relief as if lit by the afternoon sun, seen through my nocturnal vision. Clear blue eyes are fixed on me without fear and underline the sense she is a hardened veteran skilled in close combat; she blinks and from the minute change in expression a vulnerability is unwittingly shown. I know it is my chance to overpower her now. Her skin begins to sprout hair everywhere - I can see the fine down on her face lengthen and coarsen - her muscles ripple and twitch of their own accord like they want to grow in mass.
I tense my legs and pounce to grapple with the werewolf without any caution, relying on heightened agility and peak savagery to offset my amateur fighting moves. All I need is one bite: my saliva will seep into her nervous system and work its deadly poison.
Righto, I think I needn't do a check. Looking at people's Last Online status, less than half were here in the last three days. I'm going to have to announce this dead. It was a good try, I appreciate all of your effort. :) See you next time hopefully, in a more cohesive RP.
@Amy@Ferris@vFear@SouffleGirl123@Mivuli@Pundii@Suzuiya
@Amy@Ferris@vFear@SouffleGirl123@Mivuli@Pundii@Suzuiya
I am trapped. I can’t catch my breath. The engulfing smoke, of burning wood - the persistent loud threat of crackling - and the fiery heat in every direction disorientate me. I choke out a cry for someone. Any movement I make to get away from the fire is met with a roaring flame, a sense of futility saps my strength. There is no way out.
“Aiden!” somebody yells. I whip towards the source that has come from my right with a renewed burst of desperate hope. Shielding my dry eyes from the stinging heat, I try to see if he is nearby. My response ends up in a cough. “Aiden!” he calls again, a strangled mewl this time. I know the fire is eating him alive.
My urgency to get to him makes me kick at a towering hellish obstacle. Ember falls on me painfully but I dash through the small opening created just before a beam collapses where I was standing. He doesn’t make a sound anymore and I don’t know where he is. I try to scream for him; I try to claw my way to him in the inferno.
Gripped in the remnants of my nightmare, I snarl with clenched fists in a half-wakened state of frustration and intense need. Pain gnaws at me. Mastered by a ferocious instinct, I rush unseeing with an unnatural speed towards the seated figure, intent on devouring them.
“Aiden!” somebody yells. I whip towards the source that has come from my right with a renewed burst of desperate hope. Shielding my dry eyes from the stinging heat, I try to see if he is nearby. My response ends up in a cough. “Aiden!” he calls again, a strangled mewl this time. I know the fire is eating him alive.
My urgency to get to him makes me kick at a towering hellish obstacle. Ember falls on me painfully but I dash through the small opening created just before a beam collapses where I was standing. He doesn’t make a sound anymore and I don’t know where he is. I try to scream for him; I try to claw my way to him in the inferno.
Gripped in the remnants of my nightmare, I snarl with clenched fists in a half-wakened state of frustration and intense need. Pain gnaws at me. Mastered by a ferocious instinct, I rush unseeing with an unnatural speed towards the seated figure, intent on devouring them.
I love my current RP partners. Two are on here, one's on another site. My cravings have been satiated and I'm not restlessly scrolling through interest check and interest check anymore. :D
Imma wait till the holidays are over and do a check. If nothing much happens then weema declare this dead.
The thief followed Ploward and quickly caught up to the ambling man, squeezing between his bulk and the brick wall to create an opportunity to pickpocket in the momentary scuffle. Hurrying over, Clare drew her wand and cast “Locomotor Mortis!” at the back of him scurrying away when Ploward unwittingly stepped into the fray. Struck by the purple light, his legs bound together, shocking him, he fell like a log onto the wet cobblestones.
“Dammit!” she swore under her breath. The thief escaped. Ploward sputtered yells into the puddle.
Clare turned him over - “I’m gonna getchu! You’re going to pay for this!” - whose eyes widened in surprise at the sight of her, a long-time family friend; his nose was smashed crooked and bleeding. “I’m sorry Mr Ploward, I’m so sorry!” she apologised, feeling genuinely guilty for the accident. “I was aiming at the thief! Now hold still.” She pointed her wand at the injury. “Episkey.” The bridge mended itself straight to leave only the dark red blood dribbling from a nostril down his lips and chin. Clare reversed the curse on him: his legs unstuck themselves and he immediately struggled to get up away from her with his bags.
“What are you talking about, Clare?!” Ploward hissed after he had wiped off the stain on his face. “There was no thief!”
“I saw him steal from you when he passed you by!”
“Do you mean Miss MacAlistar?” he asked with sudden realisation. “She is a star, why would she want dirty old herbs and skins?” Ploward opened his satchel and checked it over. “They’re all here.”
“MacAlistar?” Clare repeated the familiar sounding name.
“The Prides’ Chaser, that’s who!” Ploward was beaming and swept away in the excitement, he carried on rhetorically, “I’m going to ask her for an autograph. It isn’t too much, is it? I won’t take up too much of her time, wouldn’t want to bother her. Just a quick scribble will do.” He absentmindedly fingered his scarf coloured in the Prides’ royal purple. It had been carefully tucked away from the rain.
“Mr Ploward,” Clare said hesitatingly with a touch on his forearm, worried if the fall had knocked his wits out. “Are you sure it’s Ainsley MacAlistar?”
“Of course I am!” he insisted with utmost certainty. “She looked at me dead in the eyes!”
Clare absorbed the revelation that it had been her own misunderstanding with some small measure of relief. It was pure luck that she had done no lasting harm to a friend and had missed a curse at the popular quidditch player. Clare wondered aloud, “What is she doing out here this late?”
“Off to see Betty - good ol’ Betty, gotta get her a bunch of pink wineberry for this. She sent me an owl to tell me that she’s picking up supplies tonight.”
“Supplies?”
“Well,” he moved in closer to say in a lower voice, “Betty wouldn’t tell me what she’s buying, apothecarist confidentiality and all, but MacAlistar comes by regularly just after the shop closes. I suppose it’s hard to get around being a famous Chaser. So I thought to myself, why don’t I bump into her? And I did! But flobberworms! Lost my bloody tongue right when I needed it.”
The quick light footsteps returned. Clare and Ploward turned to see Ainsley MacAlistar carry a box under her arm, head down and hooded to keep her privacy. Clare had never known Ainsley to be the friendly sort and now didn’t seem like a good time for Ploward to ask a favour from her. The cliquish ex-Slytherin, as most of her House were wont to stick to their own haughty, dark kind, was flagrantly contemptuous of non-pure-bloods; the likes of Ploward, a squib, weren’t taken kindly to either. While Clare didn’t think Ainsley would offend them with more than a few choice words, she readied her wand hidden beneath her sleeve for defensive spells should the notoriously ill-tempered witch decide to send one of them to St Mungo’s. Clare never forgot the dazed, drooling boy and his mother crying at his bedside.
Ploward went to meet Ainsley, shy like a schoolboy and holding the end of his scarf, now exposed and trailed on his chest. “Good evening, Miss MacAlistar,” he greeted, sounding uncharacteristically formal and polite. “I’m terribly sorry about before, bit clumsy I was there. If it isn’t too much to ask of you after that….” He held out the scarf getting rained upon. “It would mean so much to me and mine.”
It had been more than a decade since they had last met in person, but Clare thought it would be best to assume Ainsley remembered her from their quidditch days in Hogwarts. After all, they had been frequently neck-and-neck in the air, quaffle in hand, and Ainsley would elbow hard into her ribs and face or try an unscrupulous curse. More than once Clare had gone home bruised in tender areas, usually after a visit to the hospital wing, and ranted to whomever would listen about the foul, incorrigible Ainsley who, as the darling of the Slytherin Head-of-House, had been penalised far less than what should have had been fair. And from what sports journalism reported, age didn’t mature the hard-nosed Chaser whose nasty underhandedness had been normalised as her insignia, much to Clare’s disdain.
Putting aside the deep-rooted grudge, Clare said simply with a courteous smile, “Hello.” She didn’t expect a decent response from the snobbish MacAlistar whether to herself or Ploward.
“Dammit!” she swore under her breath. The thief escaped. Ploward sputtered yells into the puddle.
Clare turned him over - “I’m gonna getchu! You’re going to pay for this!” - whose eyes widened in surprise at the sight of her, a long-time family friend; his nose was smashed crooked and bleeding. “I’m sorry Mr Ploward, I’m so sorry!” she apologised, feeling genuinely guilty for the accident. “I was aiming at the thief! Now hold still.” She pointed her wand at the injury. “Episkey.” The bridge mended itself straight to leave only the dark red blood dribbling from a nostril down his lips and chin. Clare reversed the curse on him: his legs unstuck themselves and he immediately struggled to get up away from her with his bags.
“What are you talking about, Clare?!” Ploward hissed after he had wiped off the stain on his face. “There was no thief!”
“I saw him steal from you when he passed you by!”
“Do you mean Miss MacAlistar?” he asked with sudden realisation. “She is a star, why would she want dirty old herbs and skins?” Ploward opened his satchel and checked it over. “They’re all here.”
“MacAlistar?” Clare repeated the familiar sounding name.
“The Prides’ Chaser, that’s who!” Ploward was beaming and swept away in the excitement, he carried on rhetorically, “I’m going to ask her for an autograph. It isn’t too much, is it? I won’t take up too much of her time, wouldn’t want to bother her. Just a quick scribble will do.” He absentmindedly fingered his scarf coloured in the Prides’ royal purple. It had been carefully tucked away from the rain.
“Mr Ploward,” Clare said hesitatingly with a touch on his forearm, worried if the fall had knocked his wits out. “Are you sure it’s Ainsley MacAlistar?”
“Of course I am!” he insisted with utmost certainty. “She looked at me dead in the eyes!”
Clare absorbed the revelation that it had been her own misunderstanding with some small measure of relief. It was pure luck that she had done no lasting harm to a friend and had missed a curse at the popular quidditch player. Clare wondered aloud, “What is she doing out here this late?”
“Off to see Betty - good ol’ Betty, gotta get her a bunch of pink wineberry for this. She sent me an owl to tell me that she’s picking up supplies tonight.”
“Supplies?”
“Well,” he moved in closer to say in a lower voice, “Betty wouldn’t tell me what she’s buying, apothecarist confidentiality and all, but MacAlistar comes by regularly just after the shop closes. I suppose it’s hard to get around being a famous Chaser. So I thought to myself, why don’t I bump into her? And I did! But flobberworms! Lost my bloody tongue right when I needed it.”
The quick light footsteps returned. Clare and Ploward turned to see Ainsley MacAlistar carry a box under her arm, head down and hooded to keep her privacy. Clare had never known Ainsley to be the friendly sort and now didn’t seem like a good time for Ploward to ask a favour from her. The cliquish ex-Slytherin, as most of her House were wont to stick to their own haughty, dark kind, was flagrantly contemptuous of non-pure-bloods; the likes of Ploward, a squib, weren’t taken kindly to either. While Clare didn’t think Ainsley would offend them with more than a few choice words, she readied her wand hidden beneath her sleeve for defensive spells should the notoriously ill-tempered witch decide to send one of them to St Mungo’s. Clare never forgot the dazed, drooling boy and his mother crying at his bedside.
Ploward went to meet Ainsley, shy like a schoolboy and holding the end of his scarf, now exposed and trailed on his chest. “Good evening, Miss MacAlistar,” he greeted, sounding uncharacteristically formal and polite. “I’m terribly sorry about before, bit clumsy I was there. If it isn’t too much to ask of you after that….” He held out the scarf getting rained upon. “It would mean so much to me and mine.”
It had been more than a decade since they had last met in person, but Clare thought it would be best to assume Ainsley remembered her from their quidditch days in Hogwarts. After all, they had been frequently neck-and-neck in the air, quaffle in hand, and Ainsley would elbow hard into her ribs and face or try an unscrupulous curse. More than once Clare had gone home bruised in tender areas, usually after a visit to the hospital wing, and ranted to whomever would listen about the foul, incorrigible Ainsley who, as the darling of the Slytherin Head-of-House, had been penalised far less than what should have had been fair. And from what sports journalism reported, age didn’t mature the hard-nosed Chaser whose nasty underhandedness had been normalised as her insignia, much to Clare’s disdain.
Putting aside the deep-rooted grudge, Clare said simply with a courteous smile, “Hello.” She didn’t expect a decent response from the snobbish MacAlistar whether to herself or Ploward.
In
Let's B!tch. I feel it's a healthy release for our roleplay annoyances 2.0
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8 yrs ago
Forum: Roleplaying Discussion
Something that is really starting to tick me off on this website specifically is people who post 1x1 interest threads, and keep bumping their threads but don't respond to PMs.
Seriously, the couple of months I've been on here I have PMed a dozen plus people about their 1x1s and wanting to RP with them. And I think three have responded. One of which flaked out after a couple of posts. A lot of those people I PMed and never responded are active, I've seen them bump their threads.
COME ON PEOPLE! If somebody PMs you about an RP, even if you don't want to RP with them. Fucking respond.
I blacklist them. I hate that. It's rude af. And it doesn't happen only on this site.
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