Yanadere

The 100 Group RP

I'm working on them now! I'm getting caught up with all my replies ^^

The 100 Group RP

I'm only on like Season 2 but i'll be fine.

@ChronicleMan

Youll be fineee. It's actually a good start

The 100 Group RP

❝ From the Ashes, We Will Rise ❞
A Roleplay Inspired by The 100

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SETTING

Nearly a century ago, nuclear fire consumed the Earth, leaving it uninhabitable. The only survivors were those who fled to space aboard a collection of orbiting stations, known together as The Ark. But now, with oxygen dwindling and systems failing, the Ark's leaders have made a desperate decision:
Send one hundred juvenile prisoners to the surface.

They were meant to be expendable.
They became something more.
Now they must fight to survive not only Earth—but each other.

This RP will begin just after the drop of the 100. Though inspired by the show, we are creating our own canon with original characters, new factions, and fresh political twists.

Overview:
This is a character-driven, multi-arc group RP inspired by The 100—but with a fresh cast and room to explore new factions, conflicts, and secrets. The RP begins shortly after the drop of the 100 to Earth, but diverges from canon events, allowing us to shape our own version of the story. Expect political tension, survival challenges, wild terrain, ancient ruins, warring clans, and moral dilemmas around every corner.

You do not need to have watched the show to join(but it certainly helps!) I welcome both fans and newcomers to this gritty, emotional post-apocalyptic universe.

This is my first time running a group RP, not to mention a LARGE one. I would love help!!

New Horizons (BunniesofDoomxHyliaIncarnate)

Adelia accepted the chilled root beer with both hands, wrapping her fingers around the can like it was something precious. Her expression softened. It wasn't just from the cold metal against her palms, but from the gesture itself. He even wiped it off on his jacket. That was thoughtful in a way she hadn’t expected from someone so boisterous. She liked it, oddly enough. But surely this was normal, right? For friends to do this for one another?

Did they even qualify as friends yet?

“Thanks,” she said quietly at first, her voice half-lost in the ambient noise of the mixer. Then her eyes flicked up to his as he leaned in close and whispered that he had no idea what he was doing.

She smirked and tilted her head.

“Oh, good,” she whispered back, voice laced with dry amusement. “I was starting to think I was the only one winging it.”

With a soft clink, she tapped her root beer can to his soda and added, “To new friends and beautiful disasters in the making.”

Adelia took a sip, savoring the bite of carbonation. The root beer fizzed lightly on her tongue as she glanced out toward the rest of the room. The mixer had grown louder around them, voices rising in laughter, music playing something upbeat in the background—nothing she could name, but it had that polished, easy rhythm made for social spaces like this.

But somehow, she didn’t feel like she needed to scan the room anymore. Eliot had a way of anchoring things.

She turned her attention back to him, letting the silence between them linger just long enough before she moved again—stepping around him to reach for a toothpick full of pineapple and cheese. She took a bite, chewing thoughtfully, then gestured at the little pile of snacks on his plate.

“So, tell me the truth,” she said, mouth half-full, “do you judge people based on what they pick at these things? Like, is there some kind of snack hierarchy I should know about? Because I definitely just made eye contact with someone who saw me choose pineapple over pigs in a blanket, and I felt like I committed a crime.”

Her tone was teasing, but she wasn’t completely joking. She’d always been careful—of how she acted, how she moved, how she was seen. Being the oldest of five taught you that people were always watching, and sometimes watching meant expecting.

Now, for once, she was the one asking if it was safe to be a little weird.

Then, just to deflect any suspicion, she gestured broadly to the room. “So what do you think? About the whole… forced-fun welcome party thing? Worth it?” Her eyes flicked sideways toward him. “Or just a place to gather tabs you’ll forget about later?”

What Are You Listening To?

A Veil of Lies

Eryndor stood by the open window, veil trailing along the marble floor like morning mist. Beyond the balcony, Solencia sparkled like a jewel too long worn. It caught the light, yes, but it was chipped at the edges. The wind that reached him from the tide was warm, but heavy. He missed the salted breath of the Pearl Isles. This place smelled like lacquered ambition.

He did not adjust his dress again. The seafoam green gown flowed like mist from shoulder to heel, embroidered in sigils of moon-thread and salt-silk, the bodice catching hints of starlight even in dim light. A veil trailed behind him like seafoam dissolving. The final touch was his own doing—a piece of lace snipped from the hem, wound now around his left wrist, a thread of calm in the tempest of ceremony.

He had insisted on no fussing, though the chambermaids still hovered like bees, plucking stray strands and offering powders he declined with a glance.

Then, the knock and the voices came. All of a sudden the calm he felt, the days of self-built confidence that he could successfully pull off this fraud went out the window.

Could he truly go through with this? Could he truly smile and lie his way through a sham of a marriage?

“When flame meets tide…” An old verse came unbidden. He exhaled through his nose, then turned from the window. Before he could spiral any further, Azariah entered his view. This was going to be harder than I thought.

Eryndor schooled his expression instantly. No flicker of surprise, no stutter in his posture, but something in him went still. Golden and laughing, Azariah moved like someone who had never learned the weight of silence.

That irritated Eryndor more than it should have. Perhaps because…he envied it.

Eryndor did not move until the other was close, watched him with all the cocky grace of someone raised on compliments and coin. His bow was elaborate, but not mocking. His words treasure like you dripped with charm, and yet....

It wasn’t false. That was the problem.

Eryndor could tell when someone was performing. It was one of his survival skills.

But Azariah was genuine, in a reckless, heat-bloom sort of way. It threw him completely off balance.

Still, he didn’t smile. Not outwardly. He tilted his head, pale eyes studying the rose as it was offered to him like a token. Red and flushed, full of scent and summer. Entirely the opposite of Eryn.

He took it, fingers brushing Azariah’s for the briefest moment. Delibrate or accidental, he didn’t know.

He turned the rose in his hand, slow and thoughtful. “Red does not suit me,” he said, soft. “But I’ll wear it anyway, if only to match you.”

That, at least, earned him some ground back. Something about turning Azariah’s own play back on him gave Eryndor the illusion of control.

But then came the question “Will you give me something green in exchange?" and Eryndor hesitated.

A thousand rules of Lunevere restraint pushed against him.

"You don’t offer pieces of yourself. You don’t yield. You don’t give symbols to men with heat in their eyes."

But something about the way Azariah said it—playful, yes, but almost…honest. He tugged at the lace around his wrist.

He reached up, carefully unwinding the scrap of green. It was cool against his skin. Moon-silver thread shimmered through the fabric.

He didn’t look at Azariah as he held it out. Not at first. “For the record…” He looked up then, voice lower. There was a flicker of something in his expression, guarded but real. “…this shade isn’t for just anyone.”

The lace slipped between Azariah’s fingers. Soft, gossamer, personal. It was a trade, but not a fair one. Eryn stepped back before he could second-guess himself. Arms folded, gaze composed, tone neutral.

The room emptied slowly, like tide retreating after a storm.

Eryndor's attendants had given them this moment under the guise of “final preparations.” In truth, most knew what it was: the only privacy they would be afforded before the rites bound them together. A final chance to speak as strangers.

Eryndor stood still, hands lightly clasped at his front, the rose Azariah had given him rested in his palm now.

"..It is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, my lord," he said, his voice barely more than a whisper, as though the room were still crowded with attendants. The silence that followed felt too recent, too hollow like a stage after the curtain has dropped, but the actors haven’t yet left the wings. "A strange way to meet, perhaps—but such is the world we live in, is it not?"

He dared a glance up, just long enough to catch the other man’s expression, then dropped his gaze again. "I confess, I had imagined something... different. Brighter rooms. Fuller greetings. But I suppose those belong to another time." His hands were folded neatly in front of him, the only sign of tension the slight tremor in his left thumb. Still, he stood his ground. He had waited too long for this moment to squander it with doubt.

A Kingdom of Broken Names (Kensai x HyliaIncarnate)

@Kensai

A Kingdom of Broken Names (Kensai x HyliaIncarnate)

There were no birds here..Not anymore.

They used to come in the early mornings—sparrows, thrushes, the occasional bold jay. They'd perch on the crooked fence posts, steal the seeds from her planter boxes, and chatter as if they were part of the family. But one by one, they stopped coming. Whether it was the wards or the silence that drove them off, she didn’t know. Now, even the wind felt cautious here.

Leah crouched among the garden rows, fingers sunk into cool, dark soil. Her hands moved with quiet rhythm, tugging weeds from between the roots of her Philomena's. The petals were soft and shimmered with an iridecent shine, reflecting colors of pinks and purples. She hummed softly under her breath—an old tune, maybe a lullaby, maybe something she imagined once in a dream. It helped fill the stillness. The garden was thriving, at least. It always did. Maybe the magic that kept her trapped also nourished the land, or maybe it was her. Either way, it bloomed while the rest of the world remained out of reach.

Her gaze flicked toward the edge of the property, where the low fence stood like a threadbare seam between this space and everything beyond. Runes glowed faintly along its posts—an almost imperceptible shimmer, easy to miss unless you were looking. But Leah had always been looking. It was the kind of magic that didn’t hum loudly or shine bright. It whispered, breathed, even waited in silence. The kind that didn’t just keep people out—it kept her in.

She’d tested it once. Just once. Her fingertips had brushed the barrier and heat surged like wildfire through her bones. She could still recall the scent of singed fabric and the sharp ache that lingered for days after. No marks. No scars. Just the memory, branded into her nerves.

They said it was for her protection, but she didn’t believe them.

With a sigh, Leah sank back on her heels and wiped her hands on the fabric of her skirts. The dirt left soft smudges across the mossy green. She liked this dress—it made her feel like a part of the garden, even if she was just another rooted thing within it. She tilted her head up toward the sky. Pale blue stretched overhead, scattered with slow-moving clouds. She liked to imagine what was beyond them—forests, mountains, cities bustling with life. People who didn’t speak in riddles or magic or measured silence. People who didn’t look at her with pity… or fear. She closed her eyes. For a moment, she let herself pretend she was somewhere else.

But today..something shifted.

A breeze stirred, not like the usual gentle wind that carried birdsong and the smell of damp earth, but sharp, unfamiliar. Leah stilled. Both of her parents were home, and she knew for certain that no one was meant to visit. It wasn't time for the weekly trip into town nor the postman leaving notary..

Someone was here. Someone new. The wards hadn’t flared, yet. That meant they weren’t a threat. Slowly, Leah stood, brushing soil from her palms. Her eyes flicked toward the treeline just beyond the shimmer of the boundary. Someone was approaching, but who?

"Hello? Is someone out there?"

A Kingdom of Broken Names (Kensai x HyliaIncarnate)

Once, the kingdom basked in the light of the Twelve Goddesses. Now, it rots beneath veils of corruption, secrets, and blood-stained thrones.

The throne is a lie. A beloved princess sits where another should. She is the face of divinity, adored and prophesied, but those sacred words were twisted long ago. Behind it all, Kizoh—the sorceress of forgotten rites and dark blood-oaths—pulls the strings of crown and court.

Estelle, a once-loyal member of the King's Guard, has turned her back on the crown. Haunted by doubts, loyalty, and an unspoken bond with Princess Lilith, she walks a treacherous path. Her journey leads her to Leah—an unknown girl, quiet and unassuming… and possibly the kingdom’s last hope.

Together they must work together to free not only the kingdom, but Princess Lilith from the dark, twisted grasp of Kizoh the Red Witch.

How high can we count before a mod gets involved?

30!