The Prince's Lips Come Close To Blitz's Ear, Feather-light Touch To The Back Of His Horns; There, And

The prince's lips come close to Blitz's ear, feather-light touch to the back of his horns; there, and gone within an instant before they settle instead on his feral lover's shoulders. ❝ I thought of you today while I was out, ❞ he begins, lips curving into confident and fond smile. Stolas steps away to pull a heavy velvet bag from within his pocket. He was grateful for it provided the gift it carried. From within, Stolas produces an intricately crafted knife that was almost black, were it not for the shifting sheen of its blade. It changes upon movement like the iridescence of corvid feathers. At the base where blade met hilt, was a singular engraving - a B for his name. ❝. . . one can never have too many weapons, in your case at least. ❞

Blitz had closed his eyes at the wonderful contact from his lover, leaning his head back and reaching up to caress his head with his claws, but he didn't try to hold on. He watched as Stolas moved around him--and then, when the knife came out, his lips parted and his breath caught.

It was beautiful.

There had to be a catch to something so stunning, but it didn't matter. If Stolas trusted it? That was enough for Blitz. He would let his prince ruin him, ruin every last part of him, without hesitation, if that was ever what Stolas needed. It would be a hell of a way to go.

Hand closing around the hilt, a pleased shiver moved through him. The knife fit. It fit in his hand like it was made to be there, and he could practically feel it hissing with eagerness to be christened. Thoroughly charmed by the beauty, the imp turned the blade from side to side for a moment, just watching the way it shimmered, how dark the reflections were, before he looked back up and met his baby's eyes.

"The first person it kills will be in your honor." Leaning up, he kissed them tenderly--even as his tail wrapped hard around their waist, the spade angled away so as not to cut him, but the grip tight. Possessive. Unyielding.

"What can I give you in return, my love? Would you like a prisoner skinned? Would you like to be tied to your throne and toyed with? Parts of you... sealed with wax?" The words were crude, but they were also love, pure love.

Blitz's eyes were never brighter than when he looked at Prince Stolas.

Don't just be pretty, be present. Write with the world like it's real.

There is a lot of beautiful writing in the RPC, a myriad of wonderfully different styles and preferences, and that is an excellent thing! If this tip doesn't feel like it is for you, that is okay! Everyone has different styles and desires; it may resonate with some people and not with others and that is absolutely okay. No one needs to be an expert at anything--I'm certainly not! I almost never edit replies, sometimes I just babble pure nonsense, and I'm a tiny bean of an RPer in a sea of amazing artists. These are just thoughts that have been kicking around in my head for a while, and that I hope will help someone here and there.

Don't just be pretty, be present.

Rather than stressing over how pretty your reply is, whether that means word choice or the actual formatting of the post, consider how present your character is in that post. Are they just passively reacting to a situation or a statement? Or are they really interacting with whatever is going on? Whether it's purple prose or stripped down simplicity, for some people things will feel a little flat, a little hollow, if a reply is especially passive--if a character responds but gives nothing back.

Is one of the characters carrying something weird around in the scene, like a chunk of 2x4 or a broken trumpet? Whatever it is, consider having your character interact with that element. Since it has been introduced, it exists, and there is nothing wrong with having your character notice it. Maybe they interact verbally, by asking about it. Maybe they interact through the narrative, by thinking something about it, or having an emotional response to it if it might be something they have previous experience with. Or, hell, if it really feels too random, you can have your character think that. Just like, What the hell is Joan doing with that trumpet? I don't want to deal with any more weird shit today.

React to what is around you in the scene. Interact with the world. If you're in a castle, maybe consider having your character touch the wall and make note of the texture. If something horrible is happening, don't just repeat a list of the events that happened, but show how your character reacts. You can show reactions internally or show reactions externally, and you can absolutely do both! Showing internally could mean demonstrating through their narrative or their thoughts how they feel about whatever just happened. Does it terrify them? Is their heart pounding? Do they want to run? Are they struggling to continue to stand next to their best friend? An external response might be describing their actions without touching on what's happening in their head--like taking a few steps back, a sudden gasp, stepping in front of their loved one--or even just describing how they look. Maybe they go pale, maybe their hands shake or their voice shakes. You don't have to state everything, you can show them however you want to, but for a lot of people, an RP experience is going to feel much more interactive, much more immersive, when you have the scene get to your character.

A beautiful character standing there and observing events is great, and it can be absolutely in character for them to be completely bored about whatever it happening, to show no reactions whatsoever... but that can be boring for your writing partners, especially in an action scene, and not leave them feeling inspired or feeling they have any sort of a hook to respond to. There's a line from an old song that always comes to mind when I think about this: If you're bored then you're boring. Not necessarily always true, there are ways to keep a bored character engaging, but it can be true. It can be very true. If a character has no more reactions than a plank of wood, then the other characters in the scene might as well walk away and go find an actual plank of wood.

A beautifully written reply that ultimately says nothing of significance to the situation can be wonderful, a gorgeous bit of almost poetry--but for some, it may leave your partner feeling like their efforts to create or support an important moment in the plot have fallen flat.

[Adding: Vivid descriptions are interacting. You're interacting with the world when you do that, you're making it more real. Flashbacks are interacting, you're showing how the events affected your character and what is happening in their mind suddenly. Try to give something for your partner to work with, of course, but don't hold yourself back. Chase your inspiration!]

Write like actions have consequences; play with the world like it's real.

I know a lot of people can be unsure how to react, because they don't want their characters to fail, but that is a trap that may lead to a stagnated scene. Your character doesn't need to win all the time. Let them be imperfect, let them fuck up, let them make mistakes, let them fall on their face, let them be in danger, let them risk it all, let them need help sometimes--

Let them be alive. (Or, you know, whatever passes for alive in their particular canon!)

It's RP. It's okay to take risks. It's okay to not be sure what the perfect response would be, it's okay to experiment, to go with what you feel your character would really do--even if that means they drop everything and bolt out of there, even if it means party members don't see eye to eye on something. It can be daunting to write a character with significant flaws, and it's not for everyone, but for a lot of us? I think it can be super rewarding to go through those little arcs and moments, the ups and downs, the times when your character is doing well and the times when they're just--lost. Flailing.

Write like everything matters. Even if you just do it in tiny little ways, use the scene around your character; let the weather affect them, let them idly pick at some grass if they're sitting in a meadow, let them be sore from a particularly chafed feeling spot because they've been sweating in their armor in an arena all day. Let them be cranky. Let them have headaches. Let their intentions, thoughts, preferences, and vibes not always match their lover's in any given moment; there's a lot to be said for characters who aren't always in perfect harmony with each other. Maybe one wakes up cranky and the other wakes up wanting to burst into song, bathe in coffee, and tackle ten new projects before the birds even start singing. Let them clash, let their love show through how they both respond to those little clashes.

And don't be afraid for your actions to have consequences. Write knowing that your character might be absolutely saying the wrong thing and digging themselves an ever-deeper hole here. Write as if your partner's reply has consequences: if the other character is a dick to yours, don't feel like your character must remain unaffected. Maybe they have the kind of personality where that can roll off their back, but then again, maybe they don't. Let your character be affected by things. Let them be hurt, let them be angry, let them be confused. Let them laugh. Let their minds wander.

Let the world, and the people in it, affect them.

If a bus goes by, maybe your character misses a few words of what the other said. Maybe those words are important.

Maybe it's a hot day and your characters have been out and on the go nonstop; it's okay to let your character be cranky, overheated, and dehydrated and just need to get somewhere cooler and quiet to decompress.

And then for big plot moments? If something terrifying happens, or something amazing, don't pretend it isn't happening, don't ignore it in favor of just replying point-by-point to every bit of dialog from your partner's last post. Conversations aren't always perfect. They ebb and flow--and they can absolutely be interrupted. Have fun. Talk with your partners. Don't try to control them, and don't use "it's what my character would do" as a way to trash a plot or ensure someone else has a bad time. Don't use RP replies to punish them. Keep it genuine in-character, whatever that means for your muses, and keep it kind out of character...

But don't keep your writing or your characters behind glass.

Let the world interrupt your character. Let the world move your character. Let the person with them have an impact on them, for better or for worse. Let them be hurt. Let them do the hurting. Let little things annoy them. Let them be distracted. Let the world matter. Let their emotions and reactions show.

They don't need to be a pretty, perfect, porcelain doll to be an incredible roleplay character. They just need to be present in their own scenes, in their own stories <3

Eris didn't need to look to guess at exactly who had made Queen Elsa falter, and a smirk touched his lips--just the hint of one, as he knew she wasn't one to be trifled with--to his senses, she blazed like a white flame, cool and contained but dangerous, and likely far fiercer than she seemed--but a smirk all the same.

"It may be worth discussing," he said, although whether or not that was genuine agreement was anyone's guess. Touching a hand to his chest, he bowed to her--a respectful, elegant bow, but a small one. They were in the heart of his Court, after all, and the winter ball was about to begin. Eris was not inclined to bow deeply to anyone, least of all a foreign queen--and one who was arguably human, at that. Still, he had invited her here, and couldn't bring himself to be outright rude... even if the only reason he had invited her was an idle curiosity. How would she react to discovering that he had made a pet out of one of her own? He knew by now that there was some connection between Hans and Elsa, and stirring this particular pot seemed like a delightful way to deepen the game.

"Welcome to the Autumn Court, lovely queen. It is but one realm of many, within the land of Prythian--although we do not often welcome humans, I hope you find yourself invited to the other Courts during your stay. Partial as I am to my own," this time his smile was genuine, "each is more beautiful than the last. Spring is doing well, finally; the flowers bloom without shame after too long dormant. But can a flower truly compare to a tree touched with every shade of red and gold?"

This place was alive with magic, even the air itself seemed to dance with magic, awake and aware of itself, fierce and free--and all of it tied to the High Lord. Everything in Autumn, from the greatest oak to the tiniest pebble, was a part of this man, a magic ever renewed by his presence, drawing life from him, tied to him.

"Enjoy the festival. Unless you have a strong head for drink, may I suggest you avoid any wine that seems to shimmer? And the sweeter a fruit may seem to be," added, picking up a heavy, ripe blackberry from a passing tray, "the more intoxicating, and the more you will crave, the more you will need. Yet just one? I think the risk will be... minimal. For one such as yourself."

Eris held it out to her on his palm, rich golden eyes gleaming as he studied the beauty. "What is it the humans say? We must not look at goblin men, we must not buy their fruits--who knows upon what soil they've fed their hungry, thirsty roots? But," he smiled, "this one does not come from goblins. Please. Enjoy it, as a gift of welcome; let it please you, and you will be able to see through any glamour tonight, until sunrise."

Although the truth, Eris privately thought, was all too often worse than the dreams. Sometimes it was better to look no deeper than a deception offered.

"Lord Vanserra," Elsa bowed respectfully, a smile on her face. "I'm honored that you've invited me to your court. An alliance between our peoples would be most ---" her voice trailed off for a moment. That smile faltering. She could swear she saw someone familiar among the crowed ballroom. "Most welcome, it would be most welcome."

( @doublejango )

"Not at all. I never open a can of worms unless I wish to see them squirm," Vepar answered, unable to stop smiling. Vox loved them! He loved them, clearly loved them, and so this was all worth it. "And they do indeed. As far as each shark is concerned, they are in an environment they've always known--the temperatures, the salinity, the types of food, even the angle of the light they perceive. It has been... a complicated bit of magic to pull off," he said, well-aware that he probably sounded like an ass for putting it that mildly, immediately blushing, "but well worth while. They are from different oceans, and some..." He nodded towards a massive shadow far off to the side. "Such as that giant, no longer exist on Earth. Still others never have at all, but evolved all the same in other worlds.

"And just as the sharks experience their own physical realities, so does each guest. Even if there are a hundred Sinners in this particular exhibit, they'll only see the party they come in with; every group will have a staff member with them, of course, to ensure safety--for the sharks. No offense intended, of course, but I don't particularly care if one of my sweetlings takes a bite out of a Sinner for misbehavior.

"Each party is always in their own pocket of reality, so this can be an escape from the... rather crowded confines of Hell, at least for a little while... No, my love. Let go of my finger. Thank you." A disappointed little chain catshark swam up and settled onto Vepar's arm instead. He stroked it idly. "And while I am delighted to share this with you, I won't pretend not to want something from you in return, Vox, nor will I wait to spring it on you at the end. I do not... anticipate my own death happening anytime soon. But if it does? I do not want this place to fall into the hands of just anyone. If you are amenable, I would like you to be my heir. It will take some doing, of course, for me to create the necessary magic that will prove self-sustaining and yet malleable by your will, but I will gladly craft such a thing if you will consider accepting it.

"And that is it. That is all I hope to gain from you: assurance that if I am killed, you will do your best to care for this place. The magic and the funding will be provided for, but the creatures within? They require not just care, but caring. Love. An eye to notice if one is ailing. Even if you were only able to stop by for a brief while each night... it would be a comfort to me, to know that there is someone who understands--inherently understands... how beautiful all of these lives are.

"You needn't answer now, of course. There is much more to see. But I do not wish to--leave you wondering when the proverbial trap will be sprung, or the pitch made.

"While you consider... do you shapeshift? Or would you enjoy being shifted? I thought we might swim with them, take on their forms for a while. Conversation will not be possible, but it might be... pleasant? To taste and feel the ocean as they do."

There’s a first time for everything, Vox reflects, apparently even being bowed to by a Goetia. He raises his eyebrows slightly, but otherwise takes it with as much grace as he can muster in the moment. Already this particular bird has leapt to the top of his list for the handful of Goetia he’s dealt with thus far (not that it was hard, as the few he’s met were generally pompous stuffy sticks-in-the-mud who felt that they could demand very niche shows out of his networks).

Such polite behavior is a rare commodity in hell, and Vox will admit that after seventy or so years he’s been guilty of stooping below on more than a few occasions. Sometimes it’s all other sinners respond to. But moments like these pull out the natural businessman in him, and he thinks that he’s going to get along with Vepar just fine. Even if it turns out to be an act– well, he can appreciate someone who understands the power of basic respect.

Vox tilts his head back to the waiting car. “Hey, Jordan. Free food, or do you want to head home for the night?” he calls.

The driver seems to consider this for a moment before stepping out of the car, revealing herself to be a muscle-bound Sinner of mostly humanoid shape, bar the miniature stoplight that takes the place of her head. The bottom light flashes green, resembling a half-lidded eye with its movements.

“Cool. Enjoy yourself, then. No need to wait up on me.”

The pair of them leave Jordan behind in the lobby, with Vox only lingering on the reef for a moment. He doesn’t want to hold Vepar up from whatever he has planned, but he shamelessly casts his gaze around to take everything in. The candles in particular make his processors stutter for a fraction of a second, the barest flicker of his screen. Were this anyone else but a Goetia, Vox would place a substantial bet on the individual in question wanting to either fuck him or kill him. (Or both.)

He supposes both options are still technically on the table, but he’ll give Vepar the benefit of the doubt for the moment.

Though the comment Vepar makes about seeming forward does seem to tick the needle in favor of the former. Vox listens patiently, his gaze bouncing between the tank and his companion.

...Offering a hand to help him down also adds another point to the ‘fuck’ category. Vox is rarely on the receiving end of such gestures, but hey, he can work with it–

The moment he’s underwater, Vox gives a yelp that is rather unbecoming of an Overlord with as much power as he holds.

It’s a fleeting second of mostly shock, not even lasting long enough for a proper fear to set in. None of his sensors are screaming; there is no water rushing into his hollowed-out corpse seeking to corrupt the electronic components within.

There is no freezing lakewater rushing into his lungs, no television tied to his ankle to assure his descent to the depths-

No warning of imminent shutdown.

He is fine.

Well–he is fine, apart from the abrupt understanding of something he had been warned about many times before and never truly understood until now.

This was what they meant when they said Goetia were more powerful than sinners. Here his companion holds the power to drown Vox, to render him stuck and unable to regenerate for as long as he wished. Nevermind the consequences that would follow: for Vox, being submerged was second only to angelic weaponry itself. No hope of escaping on his own, no awareness, not even a subconscious mind to immerse himself in in the interim; just pure nonexistence.

Instead... Vepar uses it to show him sharks.

...Huh. He hasn’t been humbled like this in quite some time; at least not in a way that he’s willing to admit to himself.

“...Holy shit,” Vox mumbles. His eyes are enormous, filling up most of the screen, and it takes him a moment to remember himself, to find his foothold as an Overlord again. “Apologies for my language.”

“...Heloise.” Lovely. Fuck, he fucking loves hammerheads and their goofy-ass heads. A small smile fights for screen real estate with his eyes, winning out the battle for a space at the bottom. “No harm, you have my word.”

He follows Vepar’s movements, his hand held out and still, claws relaxed. He won’t reach for any that come by, but allow them to come to him if they choose– and some of them do, such as the black-tipped reef that seems as fascinated by Vox as he is by it. Oh, he loves it. He fucking loves it.

He’s unaware of his smile pushing bigger, sincere in a way that had become rather rare for him.

“This is… kind of amazing? I mean. Not kind of, just amazing. Full stop.” Vox laughs, his fans kicking up speed a notch. “Shit, I’m usually better with words than this.”

When the black-tipped reef noses against him, his haptic sensors register the roughness of the skin. Vox can’t help but marvel. After all, this is the first time he’s ever actually touched one–well, one from topside, anyway.

Not many chances to touch sharks in fucking Ohio.

“...You know, I can’t believe you think this wouldn’t appeal to more sinners. All the magic and beauty aside, most of them would jump at the opportunity to see things from their old lives, or even to see things they never got the chance to in life. This place could be packed tomorrow with the right advertising, if you wanted.”

Maybe he doesn’t. Vox would understand that; he already feels a deep-seated satisfaction in his bones, having not only this experience but in private with the man who’d made the whole thing possible. No other racous patrons around to disrupt the view, cracking crude jokes, tapping on the glass and doing whatever the hell else the worst of sinners down here could do in a place like this. He’d freely admit to the part of him that wants to sink his claws into the building foundations and never let it go. No one else would –could– appreciate it like he would.

But he also likes a crowd. And moreso, Vox loves being the intermediary, the educator, the entertainer. The person to introduce others to the next big thing, to show them something new, to point them to the experience that would put a light in their eyes and a smile on their face. Not the artist, necessarily, but the curator.

And oh, would Vox happily do that for this. Easily, willingly, paid for in the entertainment value he’d get and maybe garnering some goodwill with Vepar if he’s lucky. The whole of Pride Ring would seethe with jealousy if they knew just how quickly the Duke of Loss had been able to gain Vox’s approval–no, his enthusiasm, even.

“All these species from different parts of the world… How do they all live together? Do they all experience different temperatures and salinity? Are there any ecosystem conflicts you have to account for?”

“...I have so many questions. I hope you don’t regret opening up that can of worms.”

"You haven't? That's too bad. Cause I don't even know you," Blitz stretched, getting comfortable, "but I'd probably put you on a list. Hot chair guy, something like that." The imp was tired, his body pleasantly limp after an absurdly long and hard day, and draping himself over someone felt incredible. Granted, draping himself over an absolute stranger who may or may not want him there was questionable at best, but it sure felt nice.

Choosing not to worry about it, Blitz closed his eyes and leaned his head back over the man's shoulder, tucking his horns in comfortably against his back.

"So. If we're gonna cuddle," as if it wasn't all Blitz's ridiculous doing, "you gonna tell me your name? Mine's Blitz--the O is silent."

@doublejango

"Means you might be a little sus," Blitz said, hopping directly into the guy's lap, "but someone thinks you're fucking doable."

"Luckily I haven't seen my name anywhere, yet." He chuckles watching as the imp climbed on his lap. It did kind of catch him off guard though he didn't object.

"Damn right. Nobody gets to take you away from me an' Millie. And hey, I'll just be the warm-up act anyway. Millie will take those fuckers down. I'll just soften 'em up for her." Blitz nuzzled him one more time, then helped him get a little more comfortable before he changed the channel to one that kept the sound level low and the visuals simple: insects fluttering around in the sunlight, sometimes birds, squirrels.

Blitz went around and shut off most of the lights, leaving the dim one over the stove on in case Moxxie needed to get up in the middle of the night, or if he had nightmares. That done, Blitz curled up in the little nest he had made for himself on the floor in front of the couch, tucked an arm under his head, and gazed contentedly at the television screen. Soon enough, he felt himself drifting off... but before he did, he flopped his tail up there and wrapped it loosely with Moxxie's tail.

Friends forever, Blitz thought, loving him with all his heart. Even if you're an alien. Even if you turn crazy and evil. I love you, Mox. More than you'll ever know. I love you.

Moxxie squeaked as he was wrapped into a blanket burrito. But he did not struggle, by now trusting Blitzo only meant to help. Blinking widely and listening to Blitz's suggestion about resting and getting his mind off of ruminating, slowly his face broke into a cautious, bashful smile. Something about hearing that he would still be accepted even if he was an alien comforted him. It was an outlandish fear, he knew. But other things were not. He could become sick. He could be injured. A whole number of things could happen that would upset the balance of what made him the Moxxie that people knew and loved. So having this reassurance? That was nice.

"Yeah, I...uh. Probably could use some sleep, ha ha. I think I might have hyper focused on some...existential horrors..." he let Blitzo bite his horn, giggling. The reassurance that Blitzo would fight aliens that tried to take Moxxie away got the smaller imp's tail swishing, the only part of him that was not wrapped up in the blanket. "I'm sure if anyone would make them give up, it would be you, sir. "Thank you."