A little context: I run a homebrew 5e campaign for my school’s DnD club, so all the players are students. The regulars are a Human Paladin named Yang, a Teifling Sorcerer named Eldernoct(who was gonna for this), and a Drown Rouge named Griff. Yang has a modified sheild made specifically for sheild sliding so, naturally, I included a surfing contest. Yang joined it immediately. These are the events that transpired.
DM(Me), as Contest Announcer, on a podium: “Welcome to the 512nd Annual Sheild Surfing Competition! Are there any dudes out there rad enough to take on the Verbanian Mountains!?”
Griff, OOC: “Something is off about this guys tone. I’m going to roll Insight.”
*gets a 2*
DM: You can tell he plans on standing up there trying to recruit people for this contest.
Yang: “Hey, Buddy, I don’t know what this “Rad” thing is, but I know for a fact that’s what I am! I’m joining right now. How do pal?“
DM, as CA: "It’ll cost approximately 250 Gold my dude! If you win, you’ll get a sweet secret prize!”
Griff and Yang: “Deal!”
So they enter and I threw in two in other NPC’s to play too, for a challenge. In the end Yang won by a long shot and Griff came in second, but the Announcer had different ideas. He was distracted by
CA: “Woah dudes and dudettes, sweet moves! That was a close race! Anyway, let’s give out those ranks. In third is a… Cliff? Bummer dude, shoulda surfed better. In second place is… Yang! First place goes to the Baker lady with the sweet buns, if ya know what I mean. Yang, here’s your prize.”
*Sticks out fist for a fist bump.*
Yang, OOC: Do I know what he’s doing?
DM: Go ahead and roll Wisdom.
*Yang rolls a 1*
DM: You think he’s both attempting an attack and insulting your mother.
Yang: You son of a… *rolls to slug* *1*
DM: You end up punching the Baker Lady and her falls over and *1* smashes her face on her sheild. You now have the blood of a winner on your hands.
C is nothing like any other concert Nursey had ever been to. It isn’t loud so
much as full, as if every one of
Nursey’s senses is just bursting with sensation and he can’t do anything but
experience it. He doesn’t remember if he had anything to drink, but he feels
loose and happy like when he steals some of Dex’s tub juice because he really
doesn’t appreciate it as much as he should. Of course, the feeling could just
be from dancing, screaming lyrics he doesn’t know, being anonymous, other
worldly, immortal, just for a bit.
A hand curls itself around his wrist and he turns, grinning
widely when he sees Dex standing there, flushed from head to toe, jumping in
time with the beat. Dex grins back and Nursey laughs for no other reason than
he’s happy and needs to let the world know.
“Come on!” Dex shouts over the music, though Nursey still
doesn’t hear him. The only reason he knows what Dex is saying is because he’s
staring so intently at Dex’s lips. A little on the thin side, but sometimes
when he fusses with them the bottom one gets all red and kiss bitten, puffing
up a bit, and Nursey could write sonnets just on that bottom lip.
THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR ENTERING!!! This has been a lot of fun! Look forward to more of these in the future! I’m coming up on a follower milestone, I’ll probably do something special for that.
Everyone’s art and writing was truly lovely and special in its own way and I fully encourage you to keep doing what you are doing. It’s a little overwhelming to know that there were enough people that liked my fic enough to want to make art for this contest, but it makes me really happy. I didn’t expect this good of a turn out! You are all wonderful, talented people and I love you! <3
Expect a message from me within the next couple of days!
felt like someone had boxed her ears and all she could hear was the
ringing in the back of her head and the warbling sound of classic
rock from three floors below. Her stomach turned over and she stood
there, looking into too-green eyes she’d only seen in pictures and
dreams, with a face that was sporting a new, still-healing scar that
slashed under his right cheek. She shifted her weight, looking around
the room for a moment to just keep herself grounded. He was like
staring at the sun, and Jason’s stared felt as though it contained
the weight of the world - like he was reliving every one of their
conversations from his dreams.
Her voice nearly cracked, and Raven took a moment to gather
herselfout of sheer embarrassment. She never found herself without
words - finding herself without wanting or needing to say
yes - but never words.
And yet here was Jason, making her forget everything she should have
been saying to him. Shifting, she took a cautious half-step into the
small apartment and kept herself as calm as the situation would
allow. “You left breadcrumbs, and I figured I was supposed to
Background. Not quite a traditional War and not quite like Apocrypha, in this war, Heroes have been placed into pairs to work together for the ultimate glory, both summoned under one Master. Can the greatest heroes in history cast aside their pride to work as teams? Will some Heroes prove that they really are better off alone? The Geminus Holy Grail War is nigh.
Rules. Randomly assigned pairs are teams, and these teams square off against all other teams. Any team you are not a part of is an enemy. Alliances can be made, but in the end, only one team will be victorious. A Saber could be randomly paired up with an Assassin to work as a team to annihilate another pair. A Lancer and an Archer. Berserker and a Caster. Perhaps even a pair of two Sabers, two Riders. The Heroes don’t have to work together at all times, and can go their separate ways — it’s all up to the muns. Perhaps there will even be betrayals.
How do these teams get set up? Orrie mun will handle the random selection using a generator. To hold this event, we need two muses, canon or oc, of each Class. If specialty Classes (Avenger / etc ) wish to participate, we can make adjustments. If no participants volunteer from a certain class, then participants will be taken from other Classes (a Lancer will take the missing Assassin’s place, possibly leading to three Lancers in the war, etc.).
It would be NICE if we had seven Masters to handle the teams, but as Master muses are harder to come by, if we cannot find a Master for a team, the Master will have to be a NPC, or something of the sort — the muns of that team can decide themselves.
The War will take place starting July 01, when the Heroes are Summoned (you would be expected to begin your threads relating to the Geminus War on July 01; there is a level of commitment expected from participating). The War officially ends at midnight (EST) on July 31, granting an entire month for everyone to write their threads and get their action in. Threads that take place in this War should be tagged a certain way to separate it from other verses. The phrase ‘faterp geminus’ or ‘geminus’ should appear in the tag somewhere for ease.
IN NEED OF:
Master x 7.
SABER x 2.
LANCER x 2.
ARCHER x 2.
RIDER x 2.
CASTER x 2.
BERSERKER x 2.
ASSASSIN x 2.
Getting a spot in the War is by random selection. I ask that people who are extremely selective about who they rp with consider it carefully before joining, as they may end up writing with people that they are not typically mutuals with. Essentially, this event may force you to temporarily and selectively lift a mutuals-only rule to be able to write with the other members of the War. Cooperation and communication is HIGHLY encouraged and will be VITAL to this event.
Fight threads are expected. Violence is expected. It is expected for teams to be knocked out in threads, and for those knock-outs to be made KNOWN, but if all are still standing by the end of the month, a way to fairly determine the ‘winners’ will be used.
BOTH Servants need to be defeated for a team to be considered out. A Servant can continue on without their partner and still stand a chance.
★ THE WINNING TEAM WILL RECEIVE A SECRET PRIZE. ★
If you have any questions or wish to participate, please message Orrie mun ( NORDIIXA ) ( BRYNHILDR ) and I will answer everything as best I can. =)
THOSE WHO WISH TO PARTICIPATE MUST MESSAGE ORRIE (@ NORDIIXA) AN ASK AND I’LL BEGIN A ROSTER IMMEDIATELY. EACH MUSE WILL BE ASSIGNED A NUMBER, THEN A RANDOM SELECTION WILL PULL THE PARTICIPANTS. TEAMS WILL BE SET UP FRIDAY EVENING, JUNE 30.
You meet him at the grocery store. You were there doing the grocery shopping for you and your roommate when the list that she gave you said that you needed some cereal. You turn down the cereal aisle and spot a guy.
Not just any guy. A gorgeous guy that has the face of Channing Tatum and the body of Dwayne Johnson. As you check him out, you can’t help but to check his grocery cart. You were surprised by the MANY boxes of cereal and jugs of milk within his basket. Captin Crunch, Frosted Flakes, Cinnamon Toast Crunch, you name it. ‘That is a ton of cereal. Surely he’s not gonna eat all those boxes by himself is he?’ you thought, as you picked out a box of Apple Jacks for yourself.
You kept watching him as he stared really hard at a box of Cocoa Puffs. It was kind of hard for you not to stare at him and watch as he was reading the back of the box. He looked like he was totally into it.
Suddenly, a smile broke out on his face. “There is a secret prize inside. Sweet!” he said.
You couldn’t help but giggle as he said that. That is where you made your mistake. As soon as that sound came out of you, the hot Adonis turned towards you.
You instantly blushed from his gaze. “Sorry, Sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh. It’s just that…that was kind of hilarious. You almost sounded like a little kid.”
“Well my family always said that I was a kid at heart.” He replied as he put the box of Cocoa Puffs into his basket.
“Oh.” You were kind of surprised to find out he had kids. He seemed a little young to be raising them. ‘Well I guess that explains the cereal.’
“So I guess your kids really like cereal huh?” You asked, pointing at his cart.
He kind of blushed a little and rubbed the back of his head. “Oh no. I don’t have kids. This is for me actually.”
You were sort of embarrassed when you thought he had kids, but that soon changed when you realized what he just said. “That much cereal?”
“Is for you?”
You both stare at each other for what seemed like an eternity before you spoke again. “That is unhealthy.”
You take his cart and put the cereal back. “H…hey. What are you doing?” he asked.
“You…Mr. Diabetes, are going to shop with me and are getting more healthier choices.” He was about to argue back before you shut him up with your index finger. “You have no choice whatsoever in the matter.” You took his cart and left the aisle, leaving a smirking boy behind.
You spent the rest of the day hanging out with gorgeous boy and talking to him about certain vegetables and fruits. Even talking about certain recipes he can try at home. Cause you can tell just by looking at him, that he has no idea how to make a decent meal.
“So…can I get your name or are you gonna be the “Girl who took my cart.” from now on.” he asked, as we both went to check out aisle.
You smiled at him, putting out your hand. “My name is Y/N”
He smiled back and took your hand, shaking it. “Nice to meet you Y/N. I am Dick Grayson. Thank you for your help and the VERY persuasive advice.”
“Well I don’t take no for an answer.”
The cashier gives you his receipt. You take out your F/C pen and write your name and number on it. “If you need any more help with your shopping. Here’s my number.”
He grabs it from you and kisses it. “I’ll sure to do that.”
You blush as he takes his bags and leaves the store, looking back at you and winks. As you watch him leave, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself. That only lasted a few seconds though as you totally forgot to do your own shopping. “Got Damn it!”
100 FOLLOWER GIVE AWAY TIME!
#1, K, so I already made this post, but mobile tumblr deleted it, so I’m making this one shorter! Prizes are the same as I originally intended tho! Any fandom, but if I’m not in it it’ll probably take longer to make.
#2, If you win a charcoal portrait and want it of yourself or a irl person, please, SEND A BLACK AND WHITE PIC! It’s hard for me to shade with charcoal judging by color.
#3, I personally think lineless doodle posts turn out better than lined, and they’re easier for me to make.
#4, likes AND reblogs (as many as you’d like) count!
#5, you DON’T need to be following me, but it would be nice if you were
And now, thE PRIZES! :D
1st place; up to 2000 words, a lineless or lined tumblr doodle post, and a charcoal portrait!
2nd place; up to 1500 words, and a charcoal portrait!
3rd place; up to 1000 words, and a lineless or lined tumblr doodle post!
4th - 10th places; up to 500 words, and a pencil sketch, and a lineless tumblr doodle post!
Ps, there’s a secret extra prize if you’re following me, new followers included, each bonus different acc. the prize you got
Edit; I’m doing ALL the notes on my account, so even if you’re not aware of this, you still might get stuff, and I’m adding prizes for other places, like…
11th - 25th places; 250 words, and a lineless doodle post!
26th - 50th places; 125 words, and a lineless doodle post!
A five point star lay at the crest of his collarbone, inked with careful, needlepoint precision from tail to tip. The guardsmen had seen dozens of them, carried by inmates at this rotting old Gridanian dungeon of a prison as a sign of status; a high-ranking thief among the Shroud’s scattered bandit-gangs.
They’d never exactly seen one inked so well as the one on this blonde, sun-simmered miqo’te’s skin. It didn’t fit. Frankly, neither did he - that’s why he’d found himself, for the third time in a week, with a black eye, a ripped-off shirt, with his arms chained behind him and his indignant, glowering expression face-to-face with the prison’s Warden, a hefty, scar-tattered elezen man with one eye.
The warden looked like he’d lost more fights than most men had ever been in; like he carried more scar tissue than regular tissue. He carried himself with a hard-nosed dignity, his jaw rigid as rock and his expression a permanent scowl; his uniform, unimpressive silks of black adorned with only a single golden badge at the chest to indicate his position, fit molded to his body as if they’d been tailored to barely fit his considerable, muscular bulk within. Ragged gray hair hung like a lion’s mane along his head, across his jaw and to his chin. He didn’t wear an eyepatch over the lost eye - the socket had simply been battered shut, collapsed by whatever crushing blow he’d taken to the face.
Most noticeable of all, though, he was out of place. Just as out of place as the cocky, black-eyed Seeker sat upon the rickety stool on the other side of the warden’s desk. A man bearing this many scars didn’t belong here. He belonged on the field of war, dying under the thrust of a Garlean’s blade or some such. He didn’t belong here, staring begrudgingly at troublesome convicts.
“Three times,” a gruff voice finally quaked from the elezen’s throat, like the tremble of an earthquake through a rocky canyon. “Three times.” The words hung in the rather unremarkable chamber, gleaming fireflies pulsating bright with echoes briefly before glinting away again. Inked arms, a bloodied nose, scar-scattered skin and an indignant glare of muted, almost petulantly childish rage on his expression, the prisoner held his chin aloft and took in the increasingly-familiar surroundings - a great oak cabinet behind a crumbling wooden desk, stacks of yellowed, moldering documents beneath oddly-shaped rocks, the most rudimentary sort of paperweights. A musk of rotten food and feeding fungus and vibrant moss choked the air, with sunlight peering through only a single haphazard hole at ceiling-height.
Shifting in his creaking old wooden chair, the elezen’s gray eyes ran along the scrawlings on the paper cockeyed in front of him, two young men in heavy blackened armor flanking the door. The prisoner’s eyes scanned the only thing worth looking at in this hole of an office - lofted a good eight feet into the air, trophies and medal cases gathered dust atop the oak cabinet, with one particularly peculiar piece standing out - a lockbox. Jeweled and colored far too ostentatious for the man at the desk, its gilded lock gleamed as a few beams of sun bounced through the prison-barred hole above the desk, before dusky clouds swallowed the glow as quickly as it had come.
“A’kaan– it just says A’kaan,” the elezen grumbled, fists tightened, laid out across the table. “Don’t you bloody breeders have last names?”
‘A’kaan’ just wriggled angrily, the snarl in his expression silent but palpable.
“Burn your tongue on some sandworm meat?” the elezen asked, his eye twitching.
Again, A’kaan just stared, defiant.
“I don’t make speeches, breeder,” he huffed, the chair squealed beneath the broad-shouldered man’s weight. “Wouldn’t care how many times a week you swung fists with the other animals down in the hole, but when you swing on my men three times in a week, things get ugly for you, quick.”
“Ugly as you?” A’kaan broke his silence sharp, like the knife’s slice across supple flesh. The elezen tried to muster a smile, though with the dozens of jagged scars cut across his face, it looked more demented than anything.
“I’ve cleaned scum worth far more than you from the heel of my boot, breeder,” the old man grumbled. “Thieves, killers, miscreants, stuffed like rats into this sinking ship - and I’m at the helm. Don’t think I’m above drowning every last one of you stains of pelican-shite if you so much as look sideways at me.”
“I’ve been here three times in a week, and all you’ve done is talk,” A’kaan bit back, drawing his gaze upward - towards a dusty display case carrying an array of tarnished Wood Wailer medals. “What’d you do to earn those, junior scout-ranger? Build the best campfire? Sell the most pistachio bread for the fundraiser?” The towering elezen’s response came slow at first - another stewing, demented grin.
“Valor, aptitude, bravery,” he grimaced.
“Which one of those got you the job here?” A’kaan taunted. “Hiding behind a desk. Like a coward.”
The elezen chuckled. With a nod, one of the guardsmen swaggered up behind the miqo’te, grinning sadistically; with a quick flick of the keys at his wrist, the chains tumbled free of A’kaan’s hands. Eyes wide and gaze flicked towards the warden, he notices the barrel-chested brute advancing on him with a slow, deliberate stride.
“What? Do you want a hug?” A’kaan sniped, shooting up from the stool with a bounce in his step.
“I thought I’d give you a fighting chance,” the warden smiled that demented smile, knuckles crackling with a twist of each wrist.
“I hope you hit harder than those two half-witted goosenecks,” A’kaan glanced over his shoulder. The swoosh of wind cut across his ears and he acted on honed instinct, dodging at the most fortuitous second; the warden’s fists, like chiseled granite boulders, swung one-two at the swiftly-eluding Seeker.
The miqo’te, of course, had no interest in keeping this fight on its feet - against a tower of meat and muscle like this, he had no real choice. A’kaan charged, and while he clearly didn’t match the strength of the warden, he was not but a head or two shorter, and lanky arms and strong legs he wrapped himself around the monolithic mountain-man’s chest and pushed.
The scuffle didn’t last. Bodies twined together, it took one good shove and a fist like a hammer against the scoundrel Seeker’s cheek. Lights bloomed explosive across his eyes while the stunning strike shuddered along his spine, twisting his neck and sending him, dazed, clattering to the floor. He gasped for breath, the blow having momentarily shocked the air from his lungs, and shocked the ‘oh, fuck, i need to breathe’ sense from his rattled brain long enough for him not to notice that, fuck, he needed to breathe.
When the ringing stopped at the grogginess came back, all he could feel were two arms dragging his leaden weight of a body along rough cobblestones, and the echo of a rumbling laugh shaking the walls of the darkened prison.
“In the hole, scumbag,” one of the two guards hoisting him through the dark grunted. In unison, they tossed A’kaan’s weight into the bleak darkness of solitary isolation - no lights, no windows; a straw cot to lay on, gruel to eat. No one to speak to, no one to listen to except the skittering rats.
Grumbling miserably in the darkness, A’kaan dragged his ragged body along the musty stone, slumping half-dead atop the muck-stained pillow pushed into the corner of the cell, the loud, ironwrought clatter of a gate slamming shut barely louder than the hum of pain still whirring in his ears.
A glint of torchlight flicked across his face while he curled fetal against the blackened corner, and the astute eye could see just the most fleeting of expressions chasing across his face.
Embarrassment? Anger? Frustration? Fear?
Nope. A smirk.
His shaking hand snuck into the pocket of his tattered white slops, and his fingers fondled the prize secreted away during the brief meeting of boisterous bodies and bruised faces.
A key. A single, golden key, attached to a small copper wire. Bright, bejeweled; far too ostentatious for a man like that.
Braden had gotten himself into this mess when he’d heard tell of an impossible job. Nothing’s impossible, and proving that was almost worth more than the boatloads of gil he’d make once he finished this. Lots of brave idiots had gotten themselves locked in prisons for life trying to break in to prison - but the Seeker knew a much easier way to get his paws on the warden’s key - which his shady employer had promised him, ‘only one key exists, and he keeps it on himself, at all times.’
Manufacture a fake identity, get himself caught for a petty crime, and make some noise on the inside. And it had worked wonderfully.
Bray knew the score now. When the warden dressed down for bed, he’d notice the key missing. That gave the smirking scoundrel a few minutes to pry himself free of solitary confinement, sneak through the twisting halls into the warden’s office, snatch the lockbox’s contents, start a prison riot, and slip out in the chaos.
Since I’m still thirsty for my best ship, I’m opening BetoMotsu May! This will be a contest open for everyone too and like the first contest, no need to follow if want to join~♪Drop me a message for any questions!
※Tumblr exclusive contest※
Rules are also the same from my previous contest! Make fanarts or fanfics with BetoMotsu as the theme! Must be your own work! Multiple submissions is ok too. This time there will only be one(1) winner whether from fanart side of fanfic side. There will be 3 judges for fanart. For fanfic I’ll jugde alone and still I’ll be using my ‘feels’ as my main criteria for it. So no need perfect grammar for fics as long as I can understand♪ Btw MotsuBeto is of course ok too♡
Below are some guides that might help! Especially to non-followers^^
- pairing of Beto or Motsu-kun with other chara because need in the plot(message me if need clarifications)
- language aside from Japanese or English
- original character
- digital or manual art(doodles ok!)
- long or short fanfics
- R18(for fanfics only and please put it under the cut)
This time no need to submit! Post it on your blog on or before deadline and mention classica-mozart with the form below!
Entry:(Fanart or Fanfiction)
※If fanart, don’t forget your sign and also write BetoMotsu May@classica-mozart on it!※
Deadline will be on May 20, 2017.
Prize: BetoMotsu doujin: Rot unt Rosa by Paranoia 440, one(1)selected item of choice from Muchakucha Musik(can be not BetoMotsu) and omake(official ClassicaLoid merch). Shipping will be handled by me. BetoMotsu cluster exclusive: Additional secret prize♪
※members as of May 10, 2017※
※this post might be edited during the duration of the contest without notice※
Night Elf Cities: The Rainforest of Feralas and Eldre’thalas
Once part of the great
expansion of Night Elf power, the forest of Feralas holds many ancient ruins as
well as the great city now known as Dire Maul that have long since been
overgrown by the native plant life.
Feralas is home to one of the most infamous Highborne cities
currently known to Azeroth, as well as a large portion of their empire. After
the Sundering all but Eldre’thalas fell to ruin in the rainforest, and was left
untouched and cut off from further night elf activity until after the Third
War, leaving beasts and ogres to run amok in the wilderness among the wreckage.
Eldre’thalas and the rest of Feralas were home to an upstanding aristocracy,
full of powerful mages and a highly influential court of nobles. The area was
also the south-most reach of the ancient kaldorei empire of note.
The following is a mix of in-game excerpts and personal headcanons, all for fun!
It’s a me! Mari- i mean, its your local tumblr survivor flop and first boot Duncan!!!! I’ve finally accepted my flop reputation in survivor and decided to see if I can not suck so hard at big brother. The game I’m in is called House of Shade: Arcane. LOOK HOW PRETTY THE LOGO IS!!
Antyways! We were assigned with the task of creating a post and trying to get the most notes on it to win a secret prize. I’m really hoping its a signed photo of Leah or Dan, two of the hosts, it would really make my day. It’s only week two of the game but i don’t want to dismiss this challenge! If you’re a fan of the spy girls, yekaterina petrovna zamolodchikova(your dad may just call her Katya), or want this guy to raw you
then we already have a lot in common!
So if y’all thotties could reblog or even just like this post i’d super appreciate it!
As a hunter traveling with Sam and Dean Winchester, your lives were always at stake, and your emotions were always on edge. However, when they notice you aren’t acting like yourself, they enlist the help of their Angel friend, Castiel, an Angel who you had feelings for.
The next couple of days, you were careful, not wanting to draw any more suspicion to yourself. You tried to eat normally, interact normally, and even worked hard at the hunts, making sure you were on top of your game. It was exhausting. Never good at pretending, you were doing your best to make sure Sam and Dean, and Cas, didn’t notice anything else out of the ordinary.
You would have thought Cas would have given up by now, but the Angel had stayed true to his word, hardly leaving your side, even going so far that he almost followed you into the bathroom when you had announced you needed a shower. You had lost it then, yelling at Cas, but the poor confused Angel didn’t totally didn’t understand what he had done wrong. Shutting the door in his face, you listened to Dean’s laughter at the expense of the poor Angel.