mors irrumat omnia

we are witches. we should be able to help people.

Thought I'd make a list of some useful websites for those of us who enjoy roleplaying and what have you here on Tumblr and whatnot.

roleplay formatter: Made by the awesome @rpclefairy. I honestly can't recommend this one enough. Great for adding color, changing the font size, and the whole shebang with bold + italics + underline + strikethrough. 10/10 always use

fsymbols + emojipedia: These are both great for making your tags fancy and whatnot.

alt codes: This is genuinely great for teaching you how to make the symbols with your keyboard for everyday use so there's that. It's especially useful if you and/or your muses speak a second language so that's a bonus.

text color fader: *marge vc* I just think gradient effects on text is neat. *end marge vc*

list of colors (wikipedia): Has a list of an infinite number of colors and their hex codes. Very useful if I do say so, myself. But that's just me.

screencapped.net: Great for getting all sorts of screenshots for making icons, GFXs, promos, and whatnot.

fancaps.net: Also great for getting all sort of screencaps for making icons, GFXs, promos, and whatnot. My only complaint is that it's a little annoying to navigate so here's the proper links to movies, tv shows, and anime.

photopea: Great if you can't afford Photoshop and/or don't like using GIMP.

hakuneko: It's not so much a website as much as it is a program. You can download manga, comics, webtoons, doujinshi, etc. for making your icons, GFXs, promos, and whatnot. It's also just a great way to read stuff and catch up on everything.

✦        THANK THE HELLS AND EVERY SINGLE  demon therein for the face of a corpse he doesn't recognise.  this is small praise, considering he remembers nothing of his life beyond the sum of a year ago — but it's better than nothing!  this is no-one of consequence to recent history, which keeps their party's travels uncomplicated to some extent.  some.  it still is . . . a corpse.

once his irritation has — not cooled, solidified! — tempered itself somewhat, teddy fixes jez with a glare full of harsh judgement, and a slight hint of approbation.  his hidden voice croons,  oh, but it is beautiful, and he is forced to avert his eyes from the gore.  no, no!  gaze!  devour!  by our hand or not, it feeds us!  this is how we bid our bosom friends to commend their flock to the slaughter!

if he cannot look at the body without inspiring the horror from within, then he must fixate on something else.  a tremor in his periphery draws attention.  her hands.

“compose yourself,”  he says, sharply,  “and then we will bury your corpse.”

owlbear might not have understood the words — it is an unsophisticated baby, a neophyte to any skullduggery that doesn't feed its ravenous appetite — but it understands teddy's guarding stance, and it howls its objection.  hoots?  howls, hoots — it sounds off like an angry toddler and trumpet combined, and teddy turns to hiss, stop that now, or it'll be bath time immediately.  this seems to work part way.  

to jez, he directs a terse:  “you should probably bathe all that off.  i assume you don't want the others to know,”  which prompts a further,  “but why?  did this creature attack you?”

i didn't fucking ask for any of this.  i didn't even mean to.  her words after all this.

She isn't. She's coming undone around the edges from the simple act of being known. Recognized. Is that not threat enough? Shouldn't Teddy, with all his similarities, fucking understand? That out here in this gods-fucking-forsaken wilderness, right below their bloody tadpoles, is fear of the familiar waltzing into their ragtag party with their damned issues. What a curse it would be to have her past proclaimed, even if her sins remain buried alongside her family.

The owlbear's sudden sound is nearly enough to make her startle, and it is only through sheer force of will that Jez is able to turn it into a glare, one hard enough to turn Astarion to ash. Teddy, of course, remains un-withered. With no death ray to be had, she settles for regaining use of her voice, shaping each word like a blow.

He had been proud of that, then. Now, with her blood on his kitchen tiles and her fingers digging into his hand, it feels less like something to be proud of and more like a loaded weapon he handed her himself.

He could have prevented something like this from happening. He could have pushed harder for protections, insisted on wards, backup, anything. But she chose to blindly trust him, and he was okay with that. Relieved, even. Now he realises he shouldn’t have been.

“I miscalculated, and now you’re hurt. Let’s not get distracted by whose fault it was. Not when I’m responsible for you being there in the first place.” The words taste like metal in his mouth, bitter and useless. Is this a sign I should back out of this deal altogether? Walk away before I get her killed? The doubts keep circling like vultures, but now is not the time to feed them. Not when she’s bleeding out right in front of him and squeezing his hand like it’s the only thing tethering her to consciousness.

The package thudded to the floor when she shoved it at him, and he barely spared it a glance. He acknowledged it because she said so, because this was what they had agreed on. And yes, it’s important. Important enough that people were willing to pull a trigger over it. That alone should have told him everything. Aiden had told her this would be low risk. And he’d been so wrong. 

I’m so sorry. 

Now, with her blood soaking through the makeshift bandage and the weight of the bag sitting forgotten by his feet, it seems mundane—pathetic, even—compared to what he could have lost. What he could still lose if he was not careful.

Just like any other case on a busy shift, he had to put his patient first. That’s what he told himself, anyway, clinging to the familiar script. Jack is his patient now, and it’s… jarring, realising how she’s so much more than that. A partner. A risk he asked to take. A person who chose to trust him.

But right now, he didn’t need to be the man who made the deal or the idiot who thought this would be simple. He needed to be the one who doesn’t flinch. This situation required his surgical precision, not his emotional attachment.

“It’s going to hurt,” He warned her quietly, adjusting his grip on the forceps, feeling her nails bite into his skin. “But it’ll be over soon.” There’s no point in sugarcoating it, and Jack wouldn’t appreciate him honeying it up when she could bleed to death at any moment. The least he could give her now is the truth he promised her from the start—and hope, for both their sakes, that this time it’s enough.

The thoughts rattle through her head, a myriad of confessions and promises that make Jack grateful for the towel between her teeth so they don't spill out. They are the kind of words that breed trouble and complications. The kind that Queenie had made them swear off. And though her crew is long gone, Jack finds that she is still listening to their rules.

They've become her own.

Even so, it feels wrong to leave his statement unacknowledged and she shakes her head hard, her eyes burning with the weight of everything she can't say. The movement brings a new wave of pain and Jack wishes she could be strong enough to ignore it as the edges of her vision stain black. Her grip tightens and her tears soak into the towel.

He promises that it will get worse.

There's nothing to do but give one clipped nod and with great reluctance, let him go. He needs both of his hands and she needs to be brave. Her fingers curl around the edge of the table, scratching against the material. Her chest heaves and she fixates on a lock of his hair, tracing its path with her eyes.

And then the metal digs into the wound and Jack bites down hard to keep from screaming. A choked sound escapes, muffled, but clear. The tears fall hot and fast and it takes every ounce of willpower she possesses to not shove him off. The world blurs and she grips the table harder, knuckles white.

The forceps burn under her skin, prying her open and scraping at blood and sinew as they root deeper. The sounds coming from her throat are indescribable. Her body trembles against her will and the desperation rolls over her in waves that match the pain. The desire to beg him to stop, to find a place to put the burden of fear, to take refuge in a warm embrace are all enticing and overwhelming but she persists and. And the forceps clamp around the bullet and then it's out.

Jack yanks the towel out of her mouth and retches, emptying her bare stomach across her own lap and his shoes. The room spins in a kaleidoscope, probably from the blood loss, but maybe from the pain. What does she know, she's not a doctor, just a nobody. A foolish girl in over her head.

" Fuck... " She coughs, feels her stomach lurch once, twice, then settle. The lights are so damn bright and the words barely make it past her lips. " I'm sorry. Shit. God, sorry. "

send 🌵 and i'll recommend a canon rp blog

send 🍀 and i'll recommend an oc rp blog

send ✨ and i'll recommend a multimuse blog

send 🌼 and i'll recommend a blog with beautiful writing

send 🍄 and i'll recommend a blog with incredible graphics

send 🌲 and i'll recommend a blog with thought-provoking headcanons

send 🌹 and i'll recommend a blog that makes me happy

send 🌴 and i'll recommend a blog i haven't spoken to yet but admire from afar

send 🌺 and i'll recommend a blog i've followed forever

send 🐚 + [A FANDOM] and i'll recommend a blog in that fandom

send 🍁 and i'll recommend my favorite blog duo

send 🌱 and i'll recommend a blog that's always positive

send 🌿 and i'll recommend a new blog

send 🌳 and i'll recommend a resource blog (memes, rp help, etc)

send 🌷 and i'll recommend an rp graphics maker

send 🌙 and i'll recommend a blog for my favorite character

he called for it with a low whistle, and got only silence in return.  he tried again, and again, until the quiet became absurd; he began to stalk its tracks in a bid to find it, when finally, his eyes alighted on — enormous golden eyes, and a blood-soaked beak.  it had a guilty look about it, like a chastised child brought home after running away, and it had left a few smears of blood and tissue in the dirt behind it.  

“you were — hunting?  who took you hunting?”  shadowheart and wyll had left camp hours ago, and they were the only ones who willingly entertained the beast;  no, it had killed something, and something large enough to coat the damn thing in gore.  

the owlbear gave him no sign of understanding so he bid it to lead him to the carcass it had been ransacking, praying to whatever god might deign to hear his profanities that he had hunted an animal and not a wandering child, when @roseburied stepped quickly into view.

“i killed him but, now there’s a mess.” 

teddy's brows rose for his hairline, his whole forehead felt taut from the sheer force of just looking at jez, as if she'd announced her plans to wed the netherbrain, and then towards the owlbear cub, now licking its paws in a bid to get the most of its — jez's? — kill.

Her hands still shake.

She's actually fucking grateful when the owlbear comes along, a frequent follower and nuisance on her hunting trips, and begins to make a meal of it. Him.

Even so, the creature does not start at the face, with those dead eyes boring into her, lips still forming her father's name. No, it starts with the chest, making a mess of entrails, and Jez finds she can't manage to sheathe her knives.

Time drags on and the encounter keeps replaying in her mind. Her hunt for dinner revealing some fellow traveler. A wayward True Soul. Her father's business associate. One who called her by name and remembered her mother's dress over dinner, her father's laugh. And when he'd promised power, reached out to her tadpole with his own, and invoked the Absolute, she'd acted. It'd only take a single, brutal blow.

She forces a careful exhale, the world finally coming back into focus. The owlbear is gone and there are expletives heading in her direction. Her knives are still coated with blood in a white-knuckled grip as she steps out, prepared to do who even fucking knows what, when she comes face to face with a very cross Teddy.

And un-fucking-surprisingly, he is not satisfied with her half-assed explanation.