not fair @immortaiem-blog - Tumblr Blog

Raise a glass to freedom

@anomalious

This is not her preferred method of mourning. She was a fighter, always swimming against the current of fate until she gets what she wants or it drowns her. She has challenged the toughest fighters her home had to offer, she stared down Gods themselves and she never, ever backed down from trying to do what she felt was right.

And she lost. Now there is nobody she can fight anymore. Nobody she can force to fix this, to make him love her again.

So Salem sits and watches the thick liquid fill the glass in front of her with unfocused eyes. She doesn’t know how many she had, not that she cares about it either. If the bartender decides to cut her off, she is just going to find a new place, leaving another unpaid tab behind her. Or maybe she’ll fall asleep outside in the snow again and freeze to death, only to wake up in her ‘house’, alive and well. It’s become somewhat of a routine for her.

What would he think if he saw you now?

She knocks back her drink to make the thought go away and lowers her head into her arms. A temporary solution, but it works. Then again, isn’t everything temporary for a being that cannot die?

A cold breeze runs through the bar, making her shiver in a dress that was not made for this weather. Someone new must have walked in. Without opening her eyes, she can hear heavy footsteps approaching her, the person seemingly intent to take a seat next to hers. Without opening her eyes, she curls her fingers around her sceptre - it’s hers now, he doesn’t want it anymore, just like he doesn’t want her anymore - and she slams it hard against the neighbouring barstool.

“This seat is taken. Find somewhere else to sit.”

Just let her drown.

#anomalious #*claps hands* here we go

headmastering‌:

Pale hands tighten their grasp around an all to familiar scepter painfully.

“W-what?” That voice. Immediately a hand clasps over his mouth. Shaking like a leaf, his arm reaches back to pull some pale blonde hair more clearly into view. No. No. How could it get it even worse? Unsteadily standing, the figure dashes out of the arrival area, still clutching a memento that shouldn’t be there. Hyperventilating they turn looking about desperately for something- anything... There! They reach the reflective surface heaving with effort only to fall to their knees.

“I-… I’m really- How?! Why!” Sadness and anger crash over him in waves with the realization, horror clutching his chest. “Why is this happening?!” Hasn’t he suffered enough? Hasn’t she? Hasn’t everyone? Overwhelmed tears spill over her cheeks before the second realization hits.

Salem is here, before her encounter with the pools of Grimm. He’s in her body. Salem is in his body, with his memories, at his home.

“No.” This can’t happen. What if Oscar comes home? What if anyone runs into her? “No. I won’t let it.”

Off he runs again, a clear destination in mind.

She can’t say exactly how she manages to get out of the house, nor why there is now an unfamiliar cane in her hand (it proves to be very useful in the task of keeping her upright though). Outside the streets are crowded and with the ever-growing irritation, she realizes she doesn’t recognize them at all. Why is this happening?! Hasn’t she been through enough already?!

Magic flows through her as she raises her hand, a man from the street being pulled towards her against his will. Salem holds him in the air, glaring coldly as he struggles.

“Where am I.”

The man side-eyes her, a bemused expression on his face not helping her anger. He seems to think she will not hurt him. Or maybe he thinks this body’s former owner will not hurt him? Whatever it is, once an invisible grip against his throat tightens painfully, he understands how dangerous that assumption was.

“Where. Am. I.”

A look of fear finally appears on the strangers face and he gasps out something about a ward, within- a city? A home? She loosens her hold on him and the stranger starts rambling on and on about how the place works, about the people of different places - different worlds - are being dropped off in here every once in a while. It doesn’t make sense at all but somehow she knows he isn’t lying. Then this is some kind of divine intervention, except this one done seemingly at the hands of different gods. Figures.

Once her temporary hostage stops to breathe, he is tossed back towards the street, with no consideration for his well-being. She has heard enough for now. This was... a lot to think about.

Not that she gets a chance to, as all her thoughts stop dead in their tracks when she hears her name called out in her own voice.

#headmastering #ir event: empatheorem #i have contemplated killing an npc in oz's body but i will show mercy this one time

me? posting an rp ad on meme day when everyone’s asleep? more likely than you think. capped at 5 with castmates exempt.

#isola rp ad #they won't be long #but not minis #can't write minis to save myself

Salem | RWBY

RWBY’s main antagonist to-be. Still hasn’t reached her full badness potential.

Fucked up real bad and pissed off Gods, who cursed her with immortality.

In her defence, the Gods were assholes.

Very old and tired at this point.

Still very in love with Ozma.

Doesn’t give a damn about literally anyone else though.

Will be nice to you if she needs something from you; will also shove you into traffic if that becomes more convenient.

#isola follow #i needed to go to bed like an hour ago but #i wanted to finish this

@headmastering

Overwhelming.

This all was too overwhelming. She remembers falling into the pool of darkness, her last resort and only chance at ending her life. Yet she can not tell how she ended up at the edge of a bottomless pit, hands clutching Ozma’s scepter, crowds of living people swarming around. Before she can even try asking someone what is happening, her world swims around her, and she is no longer there, wherever there was; instead she is sitting in an armchair, eyes (no, one eye, she notes absentmindedly) focused on a half-empty cup in her hands.

Looking around doesn’t help her get her bearings, but it does help her understand that whatever body she is inhabiting now is not her own. Could this be another one of the Gods’ punishments? Still slightly dazed, Salem places the cup uncharacteristically gently onto the table and stumbles towards the closest reflective surface. The face she is seeing in it she doesn’t recognize, yet there’s a sense of familiarity she can not shake off, the warmth of magic within this body is almost painfully nostalgic.

“What... is happening?”

#headmastering #ir event: empatheorem #slams my hands on the table #i am ready to hurt