#shatteredxndbroken

[runes-menagerie]

Home Sweet Den || Closed

It had been nearly half a year since Halsin and his mate had visited the Emerald Grove. The visit had gone well but it had also confirmed for Halsin that his place was no longer there. Upon returning to the recovering Shadowcursed Lands he spoke with Thaniel and Olivar. As expected Olivar didn't want others living in the house he had claimed as his own. He did agree to having it rebuilt and preserved as a sort of shrine for the pair so they could more easily keep in touch with the people who would one day settle this area.

With that decided Halsin began work on both the shrine and on the home he planned to share with his mate. It took time and effort to restore and convert what had been a mill and guard tower into a comfortable home but it was well worth the effort. Thankfully there was plenty of material to be had as buildings in the old town were taken down and repurposed to suit the needs of the current community.

Now the ruined structure was a home with an herb garden and workspace for Haldir. There was also a small bee farm that Halsin took care of that produced honey, most of which he kept but he also traded some with others for various supplies. There's wasn't a real market yet but more a loose system of battering where everyone traded what they had for what they needed.

Presently Halsin was sitting on the porch, relaxing after a long day's work with his pipe and some tea sweetened with honey of course.

@shatteredxndbroken

[bewitchedmuses]

@shatteredxndbroken liked for a starter from Sephiroth //accepting!

"I heard that there's need of a witcher's services in this town." Sephiroth asked the bartender when he stepped up to the counter

"We did but he already took care of the beast." The bartender says and points over at Vesemir. "Don't you witcher's communicate?"

Sephiroth looked over to the table that was pointed to and he laid eyes on the other witcher. A muscular brute looking man, undoubtedly attractive. His gaze lingered a moment before glancing back to the bartender. "I think that is needed, thank you." He says to the bartender and makes his way over to the other witcher.

This witcher was tall and had a more lean figure, his features elegant and flawless. His eyes vibrant teal with slitted pupils like a reptile and long silver hair down to almost his knees. Wearing all black and leather and on his hip wielding two katana style blades, one of steel and one of silver. Around his neck over exposed skin was his witcher pendent. Where Vesemir's was a wolf, Sephiroth's was a serpent.

He came to Vesemir's table and sat down at the empty chair. "Its been awhile since I've found a witcher. I'm Sephiroth, the last surviving witcher of the school of the Viper."

[stcries-untcld]

@shatteredxndbroken : "You insult me, Mr Tealeaf..." a little glare from the Dunamancer. (I couldn't resist xD)

[🔮] He chuckles, "Like I said, it is nothing personal! The question is merely a joke~"

[johnmarstonrp]

Closed Rp wirh @shatteredxndbroken

It all started with a phone call. Who the fuck calls these days? Marston grunted as he stretched to grab his phone from the coffee table as he was resting on his couch after a long day of work. When he saw who was calling, he sighed— seeing the name, he already knew what it had to be about.

"I'm retired, dammit. Retired from that job."

Between sighs and complaints, in the end. Marston agreed.

'You're out best unifficial agent, Mister Marston."

A scoff.

"Ah, fuck you, Marshal Johnson. It's past 10pm. I'm getting old, I need to sleep"

He went downstairs to drive his car to the noir little cafe where he was supposed to meet his new partner for the investigation. Wearing his suit, hat, like going on a date. A date with a job he hated and wish that was long gone.

John Marston. An orphan to ended up in crime after shooting a guy who tried to harm him when he was a kid— one of the mafia bossess of the town grew affectionate to little John's potential— he became part of the Van der Linde Gang so early, and when their days ended, he was one of the few who managed to escape with his identity preserved.

Scars and regrets. That's what he carried. The marks of being attacked by police dogs on his face, and ironically, the decided to join the law force after he had lost everything— maybe he'd find a purpose. But he couldn't stand the dirty system, the egos, the hierarchy, all the trash— after a huge operation, Marston ended up eliminating the remaining members of his old gang, the files were burned: dead couldn't talk— John was free from his dark past, but even serving the police, he found his hands covered in blood, he found himself in a dark present now, which he wanted to abandon. He quit the job, returned his badge. Went to teach at some college, about criminal justice, which he had studied along the years.

But he was a killer and a decent investigator. One of the best. And the police always remembered that when the case was too special to be handled by the usual team and had to stay away from the news.

John arrived at the cafe, it was still raining, late as heck. He ordered a capuccino and some croissants. He deserved it after a tiring day, now waiting for his new partner.

[goldentemplariumcrow]

ʘ‿ʘʘ‿ʘʘ‿ʘ It was very confusing for Ollie in the beginning xD

@shatteredxndbroken || Send a 'ʘ‿ʘ' if your muse finds my muse attractive.

"To be honest, it was very confusing to me too. I came to Star City looking for three Apples Of Eden and one of them had managed to attach itself to a robber and turn him into a minotaur. I was under so much pressure that you irritated me more than anything, Ollie. When I first took you was literally my limit being reached... I only stopped to process and think about it all after that."

"And I'm glad you came to the airport that morning to ask me to stay. I don't regret any of that."

[chainedbychoice]

@shatteredxndbroken asked:

"Get back up! Get up! You're not dying yet!" (because... hurt xD)

The strike came unexpectedly: a forward thrust from the two-hander the damn bastard—his lover’s tormentor—wielded. By pure instinct, Curumë’s hand shot up. Grating and terrible, metal clashed against metal, and for a moment the world held its breath. Then came the burning numbness. It spread from Curumë’s hand down his arm and up to his shoulder as his wrist bent sideways, and the dagger flew from his grip with an ear-deafening clatter. Eyes wide, his lips parted in a final gasp before the blade found its mark, piercing the middle of his torso just below his sternum.

Curumë staggered backward, breath hitching in his throat, when the other man pulled the sword from his abdomen with a sickening noise and kicked him to the ground. Pain washed over him like he had only ever known under the agonizing caress of his own tormentor, years back when he had been young and imprisoned. Tears in his eyes, he folded in on himself, one hand pressed against his wound, the other reaching out to grab his dagger. He had wanted to protect Caligo, to tear the man to shreds who had caused his lover so much harm and suffering. Now, however, all this self-confidence and rage spilled out of him like his lifeforce that pooled around him on the floor, crimson and thick and smelling of iron.

Somewhere, in the seemingly far distance, he heard the Tiefling shout at him: to get up. To stay alive. To fight. Then he felt more pain as Caligo’s abuser stepped on his searching hand.

“A fine plot you have devised, demonspawn,” the man said to Caligo, and kicked the roguelock’s dagger across the hallway, far beyond Curumë’s weakening reach. “But under all of this intent to kill me—” He set one foot on the Half-Elf, pinning him to the ground effectively, “there is still the same fearful boy who cried and begged when we shared him among each other for a bit of pleasure and a quick reminder of what we do with folks like you.”

Curumë, blind with agony but even blinder with rage and hatred, drew the sign faster than the man could act. The air smelled of burnt ozone and flesh when the eldritch blast singed his skin and sent him jumping backward.

“Don’t you ever dare talk to him like that again.” His voice was hoarse, as he lifted his gaze to glare at the injured guard with bloodshot eyes. “He is worth so much more than any of you pitiful lot.” Trembling, he shambled onto his knees, face pale and clammy and lined with disgust.

His insides were on fire, but he had no intention of dying any time soon.

[adventurepunks]

@shatteredxndbroken liked this starter call

"Your staff needs to do better work at dusting"

An entire mansion to 'admire' so of course Nick had not moved out of the library picking book after book after book. Would he spent the entire week just reading? Maybe. Maybe. It would be easy to get overwhelmed at the sheer proof that not only was Oliver living in an entirely different tax bracket so perhaps it was a good thing that instead of focusing on the opulence he focused on things he liked.

"Look at this" Nick showed Oliver the severity of the situation.

"You know what...hold these." When Oliver said make yourself at home did he imagine that his partner would grab dust cloths and complain about house keeping?

"Give me those" Nick bossed him about and grabbed the chair to start pulling books to dust the shelves. "Either grab a cloth or go. Standing in the way is not an option my Adonis" Every shelf that had been neglected caused him to huff and complain under his breath.

[cuckoo-among-beasts]

semi-plotted starter for @shatteredxndbroken

Huaisang is uncertain for how long he has been running. Longer than he ever has in his life. Longer than should be possible and with minimal breaks. It's amazing what pure fear can do to you. Even to someone like Nie Huaisang.

Although he can't see any of the Wen cultivators anymore, he doesn't dare to stop, to relax. They can still be close, since they seemed to have decided that the Nie heir is the one they should follow. He can understand that, since his brother is the biggest thorn in Wen Ruohan's side.

The teen is running. Or trying to, but his feet stumbles and he falls, tumbling down a hill and smacking into something, or rather someone. The person is speaking to him, but Huaisang finds it hard to focus on the words. Finds it hard to focus on anything. A part of him is telling him to get up and continue running, but he is exhausted and his body refuses to obey him. His lungs hurt, there's a taste of blood in his mouth and everything aches. If he had a little bit more sense, he would've realised what a horrible sight he is, dirty in ripped and bloodied robes, eyes wide with fear and his hair mostly loose.

Blinking a few times, a young man, just a little older than himself, dressed in white robes. "S-sorry..." he manages to say, breathing laboured and uneven. "Leave... danger..." he adds, trying to move. To get away, but his body has had enough. Hopefully da-ge will avenge him.