Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
Andulka
trying on a metaphor
Monterey Bay Aquarium
Janaina Medeiros
No title available
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
Cosmic Funnies
Show & Tell
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@theartofmadeline
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let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
Discoholic 🪩
❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
noise dept.
Not today Justin
DEAR READER
wallacepolsom
#extradirty
seen from T1
seen from Germany
seen from Malaysia
seen from Brazil
seen from Canada
seen from United States
seen from Indonesia
seen from Brazil
seen from United States
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seen from Greece
seen from United Kingdom
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@withouthcpe
|| WITHOUTHCPE || << ──────── >> an independent , somewhat divergent & selective roleplay blog for Dinin Do'Urden from The Legend of Drizzt. written by Soap, 30+, she/her. Minors please DNI, thank you!
content warnings: potential sexual content, abuse, violence, general drow fuckery. Please contact me with any required TW before roleplaying!
XX. ABOUT .XX XX. VERSES .XX
Everyone has something they wish for. Her gaze dropped to the flames as he poked at them. What did she wish for? She wished... she wanted... For a moment, a hand raised, physically thunking the heel of her palm against the side of her head a couple of times in frustration, grinding it against her scalp. Gods, her head ached...
"I don't know what I am, so... so how can I know what I want?" Lips pursed into a thin line as doe eyes flicked back to Dinin. "I know what the Urges want, but the Urges aren't me. I'm just..." A ghost. A shell. A husk that needed to be filled by the acceptance and love and happiness of others. "If I do good things... people will want me." Those words slipped out unintended, a near whisper of a thought.
Dinin watched her thump her hand to her head with a curious look. Head tilted and eyes sharp over the snapping flames, he wondered what she was thinking at that moment. What thought did she wish to shake free of her mind? Or was she trying to conjure a thought, grasp her fingers into some desire that would satisfy his question.
As she spoke, he felt a measure of pity for her. She did not know who she was. Dinin was not a stranger to this feeling. He spent 150 years as a drider, half mad, lost in a haze of who he once was and what he had become. Their struggles were not the same, but he could find a touch of compassion for her. It was a burden to not know who you were. It was burden still to not know what you wanted, not beyond some pulsing, violent need within.
But her admission surprised him. Dinin's eyebrows rose as he lowered his gaze, returning to his duty of managing their dying fire. For a moment, he was silent. He let that truth soak between them. "So you want someone to care for you?" he asked, finally looking back at her again. She seemed smaller then, for a moment. "You want to be wanted?"
Jarlaxle couldn't contain the grin when the other drow walked over to his side. He did so enjoy teasing him. Especially when it was so easy, just a few words that Dinin could tell were for him. Try as hard as he did Jarlaxle heard the whine. Which did nothing to quell the grin on the leaders face. "I need you to accompany me. I do not feel like doing errands on my own." Couldn't go out and handle business without his bodyguard after all.
"Errands?" Dinin had no belief at all that these were simple "errands". Jarlaxle certainly had many servants and lower ranking mercenaries to take care of mundane business for him. Then again, he supposed it hardly mattered. He would accompany Jarlaxle in whatever task he needed done. Dinin considered it an honor, a sign of respect and trust that the mercenary leader had in him...and perhaps a show of affection as well. He could still feel the tease coiling in his belly, but he ignored it in favor of crossing his arms over his chest. "Very well. I will come with you. What do we need done?"
ᒥ🕷ᒧ— Rinnill raised a brow, and where he'd be offended by speaking of Lolth, he couldn't find it in himself to find the young drow offensive in his drug-induced delusions. There was a twinge of pity in his gut to see just how deep the indoctrination ran in Dinin, but there was more amusement because it was silly for him to believe the Goddess would waste breath on him.
"Yes," Rinnill was never one to lie, but was it lying if he was only teasing? "Lolth has come, and she demands a sacrifice--A sacrifice of your rations. The Spider Queen hungers for your Kuo-toa skins." Nym began to run her feet down his body, opening pockets and feeling inside for anything she could snack on.
"Will you give the skins to her, Dinin? She seems very intent on receiving that gift." Rinnill was smiling, both for the fun in messing with the noble drow and the mockery he was making towards Lolth. "She may even allow you to feed her, a blessing indeed. You will be the most celebrated male in all of Menzoberranzan."
Was the other drow seeing this as well? Dinin blinked slowly. Perhaps...not a vision? Did Lolth send him an actual messenger of her will? His addled mind tried desperately to fight through the sludge of the Spiral, but he couldn't pull a single coherent thought together. Only one truth remained, and that was the creature on his body. "Rations?" Dinin repeated, and the word was heavy in his mouth. It dropped out of him like a lead ball over his lips and it took him a moment to register the meaning of the word. Rations. Yes—his food. The creature hungered.
His hands lifted, though they moved slowly. He felt like he was dragging them through sucking mud, but he managed to find his way into the top pocket of his torn leather armor. He pulled the wrapped kuo-toa skins from his chest and held them up. "This?" He asked the creature. He was never very fond of beasts, but spiders were certainly an auspicious sign to be respected. "You can have this."
Rinnill was speaking to him. Dinin turned his head toward the man, but he turned it way too quickly and his world violently spun. He dropped the skins and grabbed onto the edge of the bed as if it were trying to buck him off of it. "Blessing?" He asked, breathless, so confused and disoriented that Rinnill could have slayed him where he laid with ease. He was, perhaps for the first time in his life, extraordinarily vulnerable. "Yes...blessing. Yes. Celebrated." He repeated the words, though it was unclear if he understood the meaning of any of them. Instead he looked back to the spider, trying to focus his eyes on her features. "Pretty," he hummed.
"The minotaurs failed to be warning enough," the sorceress adds dryly, wiping the underside of her boot clean of some unspeakable filth. Annoyance darkens her features, rendering the look she throws at the intrepid fool leading them into a glare hot enough to sear flesh from bone. Save her from the idiocy of heroics, that suicidal urge to do for the weak what they cannot achieve by themselves.
"Yet persist you will," she continues, an ill prophet. "With eyes that cannot see as ours do, with ears that are not trained to catch the footfall of underbeasts." The Underdark is full of danger, yes, but much of it can be avoided if proper caution is taken. Unfortunately, such cleverness is only present in precious few of their lot. "I suggest," a hiss - this is no suggestion, "you follow the male if you hold your sorry lives dear. This place will see you dead if you do not."
Her fingers curl into quick sign meant only for the other drow: Lead, she commands.
He does not need to be told twice. He quickly signs back the affirmative, as he had been trained to, and assumed the lead without confirming with their fellow companions. Surely, her warnings would suffice, and he had no great desire to meet his end in a land that he knew much better than he did the stinking, blazing surface. Truth be told, despite all the dangers of the Underdark, he felt comfortable here. It showed in the fluidity of his movements and the ease of his steps as he crossed the rocky path.
When he came across a corpse, so fresh the heat still radiated off the body, he held his fist up to stop the crew. As the others carefully proceeded, inspecting the fallen and trying to piece together what had transpired, Dinin glanced to the drow woman and rose his hands to speak in the intricate sign language once more. "Duergar, and deep gnomes. We follow the correct path—though I believe we are wasting our time." They had a mission, after all. Moonrise would be no closer to them with their current objective, and though he hardly cared to see a duergar slain, he was impatient to find a solution to the squirming in his head. His attitude shone through the sharp movements of his fingers, unable to quell his irritation even through sign.
Durafein shouldn't have hit him. He expected it to be like his brother, lolth eat him in the demonwebs. Where he would dance away from his blade and mock him. Then come in and knock him down.
But oh when he did hit him. When he did feel the wooden sword smack against him the trained fighter. He was shocked for a moment not even registering Dinins words after. Even dropping the training blade in his excitement and shock.
Bad move Durafein.
Once he realized the other man was ready again and he infact didnt have a sword. Welp there goes bis victory celebration.
Tch. First the younger drow hits him, then he drops his sword. Dinin remembered the many, many hours he spent with Zaknafein in the training room. The warrior would have had his head for dropping his weapon like that. He could almost feel the stinging smack against the back of his scalp.
It was a lesson Dinin once learned, so it was a lesson Durafein would learn as well. Distracted, the wizard had left quite the opening for the older fighter, and Dinin quickly took advantage. "Don't," a smack to the leg "Drop," a smack to the arm "Your weapon!" a final smack to the chest. The hits would smart, but they were minor, perhaps even gentle compared to the training they both knew drow went through. Dinin took a clean step back and crossed his arms. "Pick it up, foolish one. We go again. I want to see if your talents should have been used elsewhere."
easily amused, emme leans in, inspecting his battle scars with intrigue. ( she hadn't been adventuring long enough to earn some of her own yet, though she was certainly on her way. she never stayed in one place for too long -- the whispering over her shoulder was more than enough to play into her paranoia. though she tries, and she honestly does try, to ignore the pangs in her stomach... sometimes it's better safe than sorry. )
still, right now, she's... comfortable. and maybe happy. and when dinin asks the question who are you, she can't help the way she laughs. it's loud, her body rocking with the motion, and emmalyn shrugs a shoulder lightly. ❛ i don't think you'll come across many more, ❜ she teases. ❛ i believe this is my first time talking to my kinfolk in a long while. ❜ her shoulders roll as she straightens her posture, and she gives a hand willingly, smile pleasant and wide.
❛ emmalyn, ❜ she offers. ❛ and i find your stories quite entertaining! as someone who hasn't had much of a chance to get as many under her belt, i find it fascinating what other people can do. tell me. ❜ emme pauses, leans against the bar as her eyes widen. ❛ how long have you been living on the surface? ❜
Hm. That was likely true. He rarely encountered drow outside of Bregan D'aerthe, and he'd certainly have remembered her. She would have been difficult for him to miss. There was something very charming about her smile—perhaps it was the ease of it, or the honesty of it. Dinin could count on one hand the number of times he had smiled in his life out of joy or genuine connection. How unburdened she seemed. How light, like the wind may blow and carry her away. Or perhaps it was just the liquor that turned him into something softer around the edges.
"No, I think not," he agrees, eyes scanning around the bar for a sign of any other drow. He saw none, though a few patrons cast the pair nervous, wavering glances. Good. They should be afraid of him. He was no mere drunken underelf in the bar. He was Dinin, former elderboy, former drider, former...many things. But that meant that he was foremost a survivor. And everyone should be threatened by a man with a chokehold on the will to persist in any circumstance.
He was startled out of that thought by her hand extended in front of him. He blinked at it, then squinted at it, then stared up at the woman, wondering if this was some sort of test. These kinds of greetings were mostly shared between equals, were they not? And on the surface though they might be, Dinin was not fool enough to believe himself on equal footing with any daughter of Lolth. He stared again for a long, pressing moment before he decided it would be worse to ignore her offer. "Emmalyn," he repeated, and took her hand in his. "It is a pleasure," he offered, though his bow was cut short by the table in between them. He dipped his head nonetheless. "I am Dinin."
Just Dinin. He preferred to no longer carry the weight of his surname anymore. Not when Drizzt had so thoroughly claimed the surface. He did not want to be so attached to his brother and his deeds, whatever they may be. "Have you not travelled much?" Ah. Perhaps this is why her smile remains honest and her hand stayed outstretched. "I have not been on the surface long. About a year now. And you? Have you come from Menzoberranzan?"
Whatever there is between you two I don’t want to know about it.
@withouthcpe
Jarlaxle had been talking about one of his other partners. Nothing sexual or even about the relationship he shared with them. Just about them, he often bragged about his lovers. Though he didn't not realize right away that it had bothered Dinin. such was the way of drow they hid it all behind a mask. Though his voice pulled him from his rambling.
"I apologize. What would you like to talk about?" He was happy to change the subject.
Dinin laid on his side in the bed, head propped up on his elbow as he stared at the man beside him. He hadn't considered himself the jealous type before, but perhaps that was from lack of things to be jealous of. Now, more often than not, Dinin found himself growing increasingly possessive of the older drow. He was not blind or led astray, he knew the man had many lovers and had no interest in bearing the full weight of Jarlaxle's attention on his own—but in times like these, in the private, quiet moments in Jarlaxle's chambers, Dinin preferred to have the man to himself. He would share, but he would not share while he was in his bed.
Dinin hummed and finally rolled over, resting on his back as he stared up at the ceiling. He liked it in here. It felt truly secluded, with all the magical protections Jarlaxle had Dinin could be sure no spying eyes listened to their thoughts or watched their movements. In response to that comforting thought, Dinin stretched himself out, stretching his arms high above his head. He gripped the headboard for a moment to lengthen the stretch before he spoke. "You leave tomorrow?" Dinin asked, though he knew the answer. He knew Jarlaxle's schedule. At least, the schedule Jarlaxle saw fit to share with him. "For how long?"
SHE WATCHED HIM, TRYING HER BEST TO READ HIS EXPRESSION. it made her sad to hear him say she should have let him die. there had once been a point in narcelia's life where she had believed every life was worth saving. the dark maiden loved all drow, even those who were wicked enough to follow the teachings of lolth. but after those same drow had so cruelly cut down the one person she had loved most in this world, she found herself struggling to see how. it was difficult to see the value in the lives of those who were so… monstrous. & yet, she had saved this man's life. the cleric easily could have left him there. instead, she had struggled to get him back to safety. hells, she was nursing him back to health.
& then what? something told celia that he would simply return to the surface once more to incite even more violence & wickedness. as much as she liked to think she could help him find eilistraee's light – a part of her didn't even feel inspired to. as the days rolled on, so did her apathy. most days, the drow didn't even see her own purpose. so why in the world had she saved this stranger to begin with? as he struggled to bring the spoon to his own lips, she could feel herself wanting to protest. though something told her that her words would only fall on deaf ears.
a small smile spread across the cleric's lips as he finally conceded. despite her conflicted feelings on the present matter, she was still happy to help him eat. she could only imagine how hungry he must be. despite herself, the woman's smile grew when he remarked on the soup. celia was almost tempted to make a jest about the contents of the meal – but something told her that present company wouldn't appreciate it. ❛ i wouldn't say that, no. i've honestly encountered very few other drow. but i try my best to aid those in need. ❜ she replied softly. she scooped up another spoonful before bringing it to his lips.
❛ i couldn't just leave you there like that. it… wouldn't have been right. ❜ narcelia paused, letting him swallow again before she spoke once more. ❛ i know i told you my name. but might i ask yours? ❜
The soup might not have been good by her own measure, but to Dinin it was delicious. It warmed his body as it slid down into his stomach, he felt the heat of it radiate in his chest. His eyes closed briefly and he took a long, deep breath, finally allowing himself to settle back into the bed. He wouldn't be going anywhere tonight. It would be best to play his cards safely until he was strong enough to make the journey back home. He needed this woman.
When she brought the spoon back up to his lips he swallowed another gulp of liquid and another shred of pride. It was silly to be embarrassed, but he remained so. He had never been so weak before. Another sign that surely this woman was not of the Underdark. What drow woman would tolerate such a pathetic display, let alone from a male? When he opened his eyes again, he watched her almost suspiciously. She had a lovely face, with the fine features he had learned to associate with nobility. Who was she? Narcelia. He turned the name around in his mind and tried his best to find a foothold on it, but the truth remained as elusive as it had before. "This is very kind of you," Dinin said finally, wincing as his voice faded and crackled through his speech. "I am in your debt."
Or so he said. In truth, Dinin planned to leave as soon as he was able. He would not return, nor would he consider owing this woman anything at all. Should she seek to help him out of kindness, then surely his survival would be gift enough. But even as the thoughts came to him, even as he glanced around the room to understand what would be his quickest exit when the time came, he couldn't help but feel a strange, lingering guilt. Rare for the man, who often felt no guilt at all in the pursuit of his own survival. Then again, no one had ever taken much of an interest in his continued life but himself. Himself, and now Narcelia.
"Dinin Do'Urden, elderboy of House Do'Urden," he said quickly, the title rolling off his tongue. He wondered if she knew. She may not have, he imagined those frail, traitorous surface drow had very little care for the politics of the city they had left behind. "We are the ninth ruling house of Menzoberranzan," he added, tinged with pride as he struggled once more to sit up, previous acceptance forgotten.
❛ it is a black omen to journey in poor health. you will remain and well rest yourself. ❜
❛ ⸻ 🕸️ ₊ ⊹ @withouthcpe | 𝐍𝐎𝐒𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐔 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒
𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐋𝐓𝐘 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐇 is a mortal failing, the likes of which the sorceress pretends herself above. She is careful to avoid contagion, to pray properly to gird herself with an unholy vitality against harm. There is far too much work to be done for mere illness or injury to undo her.
And yet, fever now sets her aflame with what must be all the vigor of the nine hells. Her clothes stick with sweat that alternatively chills and heats her aching bones. She licks moisture from her upper lip in an attempt to parch her throat. A longing gaze flicks to the pitcher of water near her, but pride stills her. She does not trust her hands, they tremble so. Gods above and below forbid if she were to spill the glass on herself.
That same pride pushes her up into a sitting position, far less vulnerable should the other drow take offense to her weakness. The soft-bellied lot they travel with may be kind enough to let her rest, but drow do not coddle weakness; it is culled.
A foreboding not unlike fear creeps upon Iraestra like a thief in the night. She turns enough to hide the hand she slips beneath her pillow, fingering the rubied hilt - a precaution, for now. Despite the care another might read within Dinin's words, she cannot help but wonder. Would he be so bold as to take advantage of this obvious opportunity? Foolish, to be certain, as she is not completely without protections, but it would be difficult to defend herself as she is now.
Iraestra throws the male a glare (a wilted, wavering thing with how she stinks of sick), chin up despite the absurdity of the gesture. An attempt to grasp her slipping control with both hands. "As much as your concern -" doubtful, he is likely testing her, "touches me, that will not be necessary." Must even her voice croak? Curse the body that would betray her so! "There is no need. I will not hinder our progress," she persists.
Even as the words leave her, she feels the lie within.
He was as eager as anyone to continue pushing forward. Every second that ticked by with that violent and invasive squirming in his brain was a labor. It took him great, great resolve for him to not take matters into his own hands—smashing his head to bits on the hard rocks of the mountain slopes seemed a much better fate than the hell that could befall him should their companions no longer find them of use. Their companions and their mysterious little artifact that squashed the cavernous echo of the Absolute in his head.
So he made his choices in kind. Dinin was no fool (except on the occasions wherein he absolutely was a fool). Had this been a patrol of drow in the Underdark, he would push her forward. A drow showed no weakness, no matter what illness wrapped around their bones. Even now, he could see that determination in her as she struggled to right herself against the sickness that must have weighed quite heavy on her shoulders.
But they were not in the Underdark. Their companions, though many of them holding their own secrets, were soggy with compassion and care and other kindnesses that Dinin did not quite know how to react to. They would surely insist that she rest, and Dinin was not opposed to the idea. They were a stronger travelling party with Iraestra in fighting shape, and he hardly knew what they would face beyond the cool breeze of the mountainside. In truth, the air carried a hint of death—a sign of the rotting, pustulent woods they were about to enter. Dinin saw the dead creatures on the road; a blue jay, a rabbit, and some other unrecognizable surface rodent all bore the signs of the darkness they were to cross into. And he had a feeling she knew those shadowed lands better than any other at his side.
"You will hinder our progress should you continue in this fashion," he said, daring to step beyond his station while the proud drow woman was weaker with fever. He saw her eyes linger on the pitcher of water. To spare her the frailty, he reached out and poured her a glass. "Rest now, and we will be on our way. Push yourself forward, and you will fall in battle or faint on the road. Neither of which are very befitting of a woman of your status, hm?" He handed her the water, red eyes squinting as he waited for her to take it. "Do not mistake this as concern for you," he added. "This is concern for myself. My chances are better should you be in good health." This, though maybe harsh, was the way of the drow. And he figured his honesty may give her more comfort than some pathetic attempt at gentle care.
Though it was not the complete truth. He had grown fond of the woman in their travels. Fond of her in a way that he could easily place—in a world of unfamiliar things, beings, and places, Iraestra was a comforting familiar. She knew his customs, they shared a language and a longing for home. And while she could set him on edge like no other, he also found himself sticking closer to her than the others. With a slight sigh, he sat on the edge of her cot and reached for his pouch. "There is an herbal remedy we used to use on patrol missions outside of Menzoberranzan. I can prepare this for you. It may make you stable enough to travel."
Soap! you cry You are playing a canon fantasy character this is no place for your modern day aus!
but alas.
You shall have them anyway.
i. Emergency Room Co-Workers: Nothing like working the nightshift together. Long hours, difficult patients and lives in their hands can really bond some people together.
ii. Underground Fighting: broken noses, swollen eyes and bloodied knuckles. Have you come to fight, bet, or try to stop someone before they end up really hurt?
iii. Space Flight: On a mission into space with a small crew, they only have each other to rely on for company and to keep each other sane as the months tick on and paranoia creeps in.
iv. Slasher Survival: Someone is hunting them. Now two unlikely allies must outsmart their hunter as they struggle to make it to daylight.
v. Mayday: The few survivors of a plane crash, they must learn to depend on each other to survive as the weeks pass by and hopes of rescue become ever slim.
vi. Football (Soccer) Team: As the players of a well-known and championed team, there's a lot of pressure on them. Find some sweat, tears, determination and passion!
@withouthcpe asked:
Is that what you really wish?
A long ear twitched at the question, as if bothered by a gnat. Those big brown doe's eyes stared blankly before dropping. What she wished. "I don't know." Nimue's gaze flicked back up. "I don't really stop to think about what I want or wish for." It wasn't important and she doubted she'd survive her conflicts, anyway. "I want to do something good... but that's more for the sake of others." How did someone want something for themselves?
Dinin stoked the flames of the campfire with a long stick. The sparks drifted up into the night sky and evaporated into the starry sky. "What do you mean," he asked dismissively. He continued to prod the wood that crackled and creaked in response. Smoke billowed with the wind and he wisely angled himself away from it. "Everyone has something they wish for, it is what makes you a being with higher thought."
Red eyes flick up to the woman, shining with the reflection of the dancing flames. "You waste your time on an ambiguous good. Far better to know what you want in this life, and pursue that instead." But Dinin knew better than to try and convince her otherwise. He'd grown used to the morals of the surface world. He adapted.
"Dinin, won't you be a good boy and come here. I need a hand."
The words nip at him as he fights against their caress. The phrase normally cradles him, warm and plush like the soft silk of a large canopy bed. Right now, it grated against his skin, rough sandpaper in the face of the large, fully staffed warehouse. Surely no one else would pay any mind—everyone in the mercenary crew was used to the way their leader spoke. But Dinin knew this was special for him, meant to make him squirm in his seat, meant to make a shiver fork up his spine and crawl over his scalp.
For a moment he considered turning his back on the man to prove a point, but Dinin respected Jarlaxle far too much to dare. Besides, no matter what their situation was behind closed doors, Dinin hardly thought any grace would extend to open disrespect. So, with lips pursed, he came to the older drow's side. Head tilted close, he did his best to keep a petulant whine from his voice. "I know what you're doing, and it will not work," he whispered, before he straightened. "What do you need?"
Restarted the boy's game we're out here looking so mean and so pretty. Watch out Baldur's Gate here comes A Bitch.
– 𝗨𝗡𝗨𝗦𝗨𝗔𝗟 𝗛𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗖𝗔𝗡𝗢𝗡 𝗤𝗨𝗘𝗦𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡𝗦 ! a list of headcanon questions that are rarely asked
if your muse had to survive a zombie apocalypse, what’s their role in the group?
what’s one incredibly mundane skill your muse is secretly really good at?
what’s something your muse would absolutely fail at doing?
if your muse had a pinterest board, what’s on it?
what snack food would instantly win your muse’s heart?
what’s the pettiest argument your muse would pick a fight over?
what’s a smell that reminds you of your muse?
what’s a “blink and you miss it” detail about how you write your muse?
if your muse could get away with any crime, what would it be?
what’s one useless fact your muse definitely knows?
if your muse got isekai’d into a fantasy world, what class would they be?
which emoji do you think best represents your muse?
what’s a conspiracy theory your muse would totally believe in?
if your muse had a theme park ride, what would it be like?
what’s your muse’s go-to karaoke song?
what video game would your muse get way too competitive about?
what’s the most petty thing your muse has ever canonically done?
if your muse had to wear only one outfit forever, what would it be?
what’s the dumbest injury your muse could realistically get?
if your muse owned a pet, what would it be and what’s its name?
which fictional universe would your muse absolutely not survive in?
if your muse ran a youtube channel, what would it be about?
what’s a random bit of slang your muse would overuse?
what kind of terrible reality show would your muse end up on?
if your muse was a drink, what would be in it?
A collection of Trapped TM plots for us to play with:
i. Lost in the Woods - very Blair Witch of us. For days, they've been roaming around this mysterious forest, a forest that does not seem to want to let them leave. At night, strange things happen. Are they starting to go a little crazy? Have they passed that downed log for the fifth time?
ii. Snowed in - It's cold, they're running out of supplies, and this tiny little cabin seems to get smaller and smaller by the day.
iii. Kidnapped - Who has taken them? What do they want? Neither of them wants to stick around long enough to find out.
iv. Cave in - With the way forward blocked, the only way out is through the very narrow, suffocating, dark tunnels. But who knows where those will lead?
v. Shipwrecked - Stranded, survival hinges on their ability to work together and survive.
vi. Prisoners - How long has it been? Days, weeks, months? Time blurs down here in the dungeons. Awaiting execution, torture, or both, they may have to work together to get out alive.
We're nothing, and nothing will help us Maybe we're lying, then you better not stay But we could be safer, just for one day
@withouthcpe asked: 🎟️
