Let's have some fun.

Pardon me if I don't shake your hand. ASK/RP blog for WORTOX from DON'T STARVE TOGETHER.

[tinkering-survivor]

The blood-hungry man-thing lunges forward to snatch the corpse off the blade, and just as fast he pulls his prize under the blanket.

It's perhaps not quite as bad as Wortox had likely anticipated. Yes, the feeding was… quite squelchy at first, but this soon diminished into a more subtle suckling noise. After a short while the now-desiccated remains of the spider were ejected from under the furry cover. Shortly after Wagstaff himself finally reemerged. He was looking more "there" than he had before his meal despite the reddish-purple running down his chin - honestly, he probably looked better than he had even since the start of the morning.

"Thanks for that," he says, wiping the mess from his face, "Felt like I was gonna faint for a moment there."

He tried not to think about how many favors he was racking up. He didn't like the idea of being indebted to this odd fellow.

[impsflute]

They hadn't anticipated needing earplugs today. D'oh, they should have snatched some while they were gone just now! He probably wouldnt have even noticed they were gone. Maybe there's still time.

Oops, nevermind, they made eye contact. Probably too late now.

"Of course; I was getting hungry myself. Hyuyu." The words fall from their tongue in cacophany, their teeth snapping shut into a smile, pulled thin and tense. Then they turn to the fire once more, brows furrowing in contempt.

When they speak again, hands crossed in front of their turned back, their tone has lost some of its melody.

"That hunger. You feel it too, don't you?"

[inkpressedpetals]

[rpcarticulation]

PSA: STOP IMPOSING 'INVISIBLE RULES' UNTO YOURSELF AND OTHERS.

For those who have been writing in any capacity, especially in communities such as the tumblr rpc, you quietly get certain... Mindsets instilled into you. Ranging from small tripwires like 'oh I need icons for every reply', to larger 'I can't reply to this, it won't make sense for the plot timeline'. Anything of the sort.

Please remind yourself that this is not a job. If someone doesn't want to write with you because you don't use a 100x100 or whatever picture of your muse on the actual meat of the response (the writing), they are abiding by too many invisible rules, bluntly speaking. It is perfectly fine to enjoy making icons and using them. It is perfectly fine to try to keep a concrete timeline of events. But when you actively restrain yourself or stress out about the smaller details... You aren't getting paid for this. For what purpose are you stressing out?

The tumblr rpc is a niche hobby that has an extremely high barrier to entry AND often wears down on long timers. Of course abide by people's actual written rules (ie: mutuals only, please don't interact if you're a minor, tag x,y, and z), but please stop enforcing these 'quiet, unwritten rpc rules' that should've died off years ago, both for yourself and others.

[rpcarticulation]

PSA: Please never be afraid to send asks.

We've all been there. We open someone's ask box to send an anonymous message to a muse you want to see on the dashboard. You get ready to type... But nothing comes to mind. You, yourself, sort of want to get asks as well and start some dashboard commentary, but your mind is at a blank.

Asks are a great jumping point for writers who aren't feeling like writing a thread / ic post on it's own. Here's some suggestions for what types of asks you can send to muses when you can't think of much;

Ask the muse about a recent muse interaction. For instance, go 'Mario, how could you let Bowser talk to you like that?'

Pry at a muse about some internal narration they had. Go 'Mario, why are you doubting yourself?'

Ask an everyday question! Saunter in and go 'Mario, how's the weather today?'

The worst thing someone can do is not answer something since they can't think of a good reply, but the notion is always appreciated. If you ever wonder if it's okay to send an ask, you can always go 'hey mun, is it okay if I inform muse of x or y?' and go from there. Foster your niche community. Do unto others what you would want for yourself.

[impsflute]

what is your fate?

nomad's fate

you are a traveller, a wanderer, you move around and circle back and leave all over again. this isn't necessarily physically, but generally. you may have friends all over, or maybe a stranger where ever you go.

[hopecrossed]

Art drawn by @quinns-art-box

...this stupid prophecy?

ASK/RP sideblog for SUSIE from DELTARUNE. will contain spoilers for chapter 4. please read the rules before interacting! follows from IMPSFLUTE.

Like something like that would happen. I wouldn't let it happen.

[hopecrossed]

Art drawn by @quinns-art-box

...this stupid prophecy?

ASK/RP sideblog for SUSIE from DELTARUNE. will contain spoilers for chapter 4. please read the rules before interacting! follows from IMPSFLUTE.

Like something like that would happen. I wouldn't let it happen.

[impsflute]

send me 🎶 and i'll give you a song that reminds me of your muse. lala

[impsflute]

[🎶 lala~

[MUSE-ICK ASSIGNMENTS]

YOUR ASSIGNMENT: THE TOXHARDS / DIE! DIE! DIE!

Dog of the universe You’ve got an omnipresent friend But no one’s keen on being seen As a means to an easy end Don’t you love the feeling when her song comes on the radio And it sounds like she wrote it for you? Yeah it sounds like she’s singing to you You’re lookin’, you’re lookin’ You’re lookin’ for someone to save you You’re lookin’, you’re lookin’ You’re lookin’ for some explanation But you’ll be gone before you find it out You’ll be gone before you find it out You're gonna die before you find it out!

EXTRA: HADESTOWN / CHANT

Every year, it's getting worse Hadestown, hell on Earth! Did you think I'd be impressed With this neon necropolis? I recall there was a time We were happy, you and I In the garden where we met Nothing was between us yet Back before your factories Before your electricity Back before you built the wall It ain't right and it ain't natural

[impsflute]

im extremely exhausted today and i need a nap which means this is the perfect time for me to decide i should write wortox for some reason,

[impsflute]

*feels my tendons* ohhhh

[impsflute]

send me 🎶 and i'll give you a song that reminds me of your muse. lala

[impsflute]

@restlessrevery // WX-78

Snowfallen - Our muses are lost in a blizzard together.

Wortox hadn't much experience of his own with the norms of the winter season; the snow and ice, while often delightful, was quite alien to him. He was to dwell in warm climates, lounging with shades and a cool drink that would never once pass his lips. But from what he'd heard from the mortals - even the more experienced of the bunch - the weather in this realm was extreme, even to them.

So, it was suffice to say that he'd been quite poorly equipped for the snow to roll in so swiftly and harshly.

The frigid air howled in his ears as they blew around, even threatening to topple him over with its strength, despite his large stature. The snow around him was so thick, he could hardly even see; creating a fog of its own.

But squinting past the blizzard, he could make out a silhouette in the distance. Small, human-like, but only an imitation of such.

He was cold, he was hungry, and he was tired. Well, that last part wasn't abnormal, and he certainly can't feel much of his exhaustion through the icy chill that pierced through his light, fluffy coat and settled into his bones.

Yet, despite all this... Seeing the figure in the distance, so very little, their height challenged by the winter's cold embrace... Well, it was just silly, was it not? It was absurd. The way the warmth spilling from the cracks of their shell visualized in the air, as though they had been angered so that steam blew from their figurative ears. It was a comical display.

As he trudged forward, the frost numbed him so, yet Wortox still finds a warmth in his chest that wriggles its way up his throat, laughter ringing out through chattering teeth.

His pace quickens, and he reaches out with trembling paws, reaching and grasping to envelop himself in the little tin can's radiating warmth.

He'd long since lost things like better judgement.

[alltimesos]

“are you ok?” no but I’m funny

[impsflute]

im extremely exhausted today and i need a nap which means this is the perfect time for me to decide i should write wortox for some reason,

[impsflute]

It's all a joke to you.

You keep repeating it to yourself. Justify yourself. Act as if it's normal. As if you couldn't truly hurt anyone, not even if you actually tried to, not even if they cry and bleed. It's a way to cleanse you from your mistakes. It's a way to see the world under different lenses.

From the prespective of the moster.

The worst part isn't that you actually believe it, but that it's true.

Does it even matter, if they're alive in the end?

Their pain, their hurt, their strife, all mended over time. Existences viewed through the lens of impermanence. A funhouse mirror serving no purpose but mockery.

A world where everyone is like you, but without the wisdom of a true immortal.

And despite it all you always come back in the end, acting like you're still their friend.

How selfish.

[tinkering-survivor]

When Wagstaff finally caught his breath after his ordeal he craned his neck up; despite everything he'd apparently been through he wasn't so shaken as to forget his manners and wanted to apologize for his little episode - however involuntary it might have been. He choked out a single syllable before finding that he was alone. The old fellow took a step back, confusion growing into worry. He'd scared away the one being who might get him some sort of help, all because he couldn't control this sick body's impulses. God, he was so pathetic.

There was an odd sound behind him. Feeling a shiver up his spine, he slowly turned around. Lo and behold, just as he had resigned himself to solitude, there was Wortox, approaching rather sheepishly. He tried not to look as grateful as he felt. The old fellow heaved a quiet sigh of relief, and-

-that smell.

Just like before, all sense seemed to leave him as soon as it hit his nostrils. His eyes dilated far too wide, then contracted nearly to pinpricks. If he didn't have a blanket draped over himself Wortox would have seen the sparse hair running down his hackles raise on end.

"Give that to me."

[impsflute]

They hop back a short distance - they consider it best to keep eachother at arm's length it would seem, for both their sakes - quick to supply his demand; Wortox holds out a carcass on the end of their shadowed sword.

(It was a spider. The legs still twitch erratically, even without a soul to give it life.)

"Why of course - I've no need for it." Their ears pin back, fur standing on end in anticipation; they've picked up on the pattern, they've braced themself for what comes.

It still runs warm.

[tinkering-survivor]

Wagstaff became lost in thought, trying to recall anything that might answer the other's question. Again, it was worryingly difficult; his attempts to recall anything made his mind feel like a thick, swirling quagmire in his head. He found that if he fought through the mental muck hard enough that he actually could start to remember things. Only brief fragments of memory at first - mostly flashes of himself down in the caves - then more complete scenes as he went further back. He remembered dark splotches beginning to cover his skin, then a wound that refused to heal, then finally an attack by an unknown creature in the dark of the night.

He was about to answer, but as soon as he opened his mouth he felt his guts lurch horribly.

He began to retch uncontrollably. Before he could stop himself his feast from before forced its way back up his throat and was violently expelled from his mouth. This went on for minutes and minutes.

The poor old thing was left shaking, hands braced on his knees and out of breath, by the time his stomach had finally finished purging itself. The smell and lingering aftertaste of the undigested mess of half-chewed food and brown-swirled bile made him gag, but he was mercifully empty and so only dry-heaved. Much to his disgust he hadn't entirely missed the blanket he'd been shrouding himself in.

[impsflute]

Goodness, as if it couldn't get any worse.

Wortox's wandering eyes quickly snapped back towards Wagstaff, staring in abject horror before squeezing tightly shut.

With a shake and a shudder they rise to their hooves, and they disappear in an instant.

And as Wagstaff pulls his head up, he will find himself alone.

…

...For a few long moments.

A sound, whispy and ethereal, echoes through the thicket behind him, followed by the familiar crunching of snow underneath cloven hooves.

Carefully, they approach Wagstaff from behind, claws behind their back - and, well, it's careful until the smell hits their nose, and a glimpse catches from the corner of their eye, electing a horrible and loud gag from their throat. How lucky are they to be so empty, so completely dry, lest they join in on the fun, so to speak.

Even they could realize there was no quip appropriate here; it was just gross and terrible.

Wortox drops something on the ground next to him, pushing it towards him with a hoof until the hot stone makes contact with his leg.

(…They're holding something behind their back. He can smell it.)