#RP.
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@angeliclute
Pain was necessary. Blood was currency.
With his ceremonial knife, Roth carves a line to freedom on his palm. Clenching his fist, blood seeps through his tensed fingers, dripping onto the sigil. That ancient circle, of strange and eldritch words cautiously inscribed in chalk. Here, Roth intends to defy Hell and Heaven. To escape his mistakes and to choose his fate. His bags were packed, and he was ready to leave in the midst of chaos.
The Extermination serves as the perfect smoke screen. Roth’s absence ( if even noticed ) will be attributed to the Angels.
Nervously, Roth started chanting the ancient words. A dead language, spoken once by terrifying beings now dead and gone. Every word, EVERY syllable, was like pulling teeth with rusty pliers. Yet, Roth suffered for it, as he suffered for so much.
Outside, he could hear The Angels. Screaming “banshees” showing his kind the sword, without mercy. The threat of being found loomed over his mind. He was certain, however, that he was safe for the time being. This warehouse was abandoned, nobody was here. The Angels should move on, to join the slaughter elsewhere.
Roth’s chanting grew louder and vigorous, the blood he spilled burned. It sizzled and boiled, as the letters around him became fire. All around him, the power of unnatural magic intensified. It became a beacon to attract unwanted attention. Still Roth shouted and screamed, repeating those strange words again and again. Soon, he shall be free. He shall be home once more, away from Hell. He shall leave all his failures behind.
On the brink of freedom, someone arrived. Roth sees them and his heart crumbles.
It was an Exterminator. It was Lute.
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long have i seen folks in the writing community write and create DNIs on their rules for folks to abide from. which, in itself, is okay! however, people often mistake a DNI as being a boundary when the reality is that they are not.
DNIs are not boundaries, they are requests.
Please understand that what i am referring to here are DNIs that are more PERSONAL to an individual.
General DNIs that most people have the same or similar names for extremely valid and warranted reasons due to their obviously hostile, toxic, and harmful behaviors are NOT what i am talking about here.
While the reasons for personal DNIs are indeed VALID for individuals, what is discomforting for me about many that i have seen are the 'make or break' attitudes that often come with them.
i do truly believe that people should normalize making boundaries for themselves without forcing it upon others and creating ultimatums or asking for requests.
People are allowed to block folks who they do not vibe with. people are allowed to set up said boundaries. But, please DO NOT gatekeep people. i simply do not believe anybody is within their right to force people's hands without being toxic.
Remember, making a boundary is allowed but there is a difference between healthy boundaries and controlling behavior. By definition, a boundary is about YOUR own actions, not somebody else's. There is also a difference between setting a boundary, asking a request, and creating an ultimatum.
setting boundaries is fine.
asking for a request is okay, sometimes.
creating an ultimatum is not healthy.
A request is: i do not like this person, do not follow them.
A boundary is: i do not like this person, if you follow them, then I will not follow you.
a DNI, which stands for 'Do Not Interact' is an explicit request for folks to NOT INTERACT with them if they write X or follow Y. DNIs are not always bad by themselves as they do often come with boundaries:
'dni if xyz because i will not engage in those subjects or want to be close to this person' (notice how the boundary given here is in bold.)
Please remember that DNIs alone are not boundaries though, they are requests. which, i cannot stress this enough, are not always bad. you are allowed to do whatever it is to create a safe place for yourself and curate your dashboard to your own liking.
you are allowed to have a personal DNI. it’s always okay to have them, and i am not saying that anybody shouldn't have them. ultimately, it is how you want to curate your space for yourself. folks are allowed to have their own social circles where they feel safe and comfortable and welcomed.
I also do believe that folks should be allowed to make decisions for themselves as well when it comes to personal relationships outside of social groups.
while you may not get along with a certain individual, that does not necessarily mean that it is the same for others. forcing another to 'pick' between you or another person is a very harmful mentality to have.
yes, you are allowed and you are so valid in whatever feelings you may have towards/about somebody, but that is YOUR relationship/opinion about that person alone, not anybody else's.
Folks really need to normalize that it is okay if their friends talk to somebody that they don't like on a personal level. its okay if your friend wants to remain a neutral party because they would rather not get involved. its something that shouldn't be and isn't going to be a subject of discussion for the two of you, and it should be respected by both parties.
you can have healthy relationships with boundaries without making ultimatums or requests from others that may put them in an awkward position, especially since personal DNIs are often just personal for yourself. at the end of the day, it is still up to you on what YOU want to do to curate your internet safe space, but please don't do it in a matter where it forces folks into a 'its me or them' decision. that is not fair and it can be controlling and uncomfortable.
i do believe people are allowed to feel safe, but they should not do it with a forced decision of another or make them feel like they have to make a choice between you or another.
#metal health.#therapy.#rp.#psa.#rpc psa#rpc advice#rpc help#healthy relationships#i really do want folks to understand that DNIs are truly not bad or evil#because they are not.#but people must understand that a DNI is a request#and they CAN be included with boundaries#but are not boundaries themselves#and if people do not want to follow through with said request#they should not feel forced to do so
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for @umbane, from here.
the first text flying in is all it takes for ahri to feel the immediate punch of guilt cut her clean in her gut. they are fast, they are incoherent and gibberish, and yet, she understands every visceral, intoxicated word. they are vicious fangs sinking down deep into her flesh, injecting her veins with a poison, a sickness so nauseating it makes her feel unclean. she sees the filth on her hands, raw with twisting vines growing from the dirt that cloak the ivy. she can't seem to move her thumbs fast enough as the pit continues to sink deeper in her chest, so cold that it feels disgustingly lukewarm, so hot that she's chilled to the bone.
she hasn't slept all night out of worry, and even spent the last few hours wondering if she shouldn't have sent that last text, after all. ahri knows it's a sensitive time, and tried her best to add some lightheartedness between the threads of worry.
[ from : ahri, 3:55 am. ] wait, kayn, i'm sorry, i don't mean it. i'm just kidding. please home home. i'm not leaving you. i'm not going anywhere. please just come home. i'm worried. i love you. please come home. please.
she sends it and throws her phone back down into her bed.
maybe she just screwed it all up.
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Well... this was certainly different.
This place was a lot darker than he was used to. And a lot less colorful, the only light seemingly that of blue LEDs and whatever ceiling light hung over him.
Wilford fidgeted with his hands as he roamed about, not knowing where to go or why, of all places, he'd ended up here.
Eventually, he stumbles upon a door. One that feels intriguing enough to open.
"Hello?" He calls into the room, hoping to find... something. Anything, really.
-@wilfywarfy
Cold machinery hummed and something was rhythmically thrown at the floor. P03 was sorting through its cards.
It turned its frustrated expression towards the intruder. "Can I help you?"
It wasn't sure how he got in, especially undetected. It would have to review the security footage at some point, after this guy is dealt with.
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dead last — it's almost strangely poetic, isn't it? culled first from the herd, and she has the slimmest of points to show for her time. they burn like a brand searing into her skin, like it is a mark tarnishing her name for the entire universe to see. with the cleanly awarded victories with little points awarded for each round she has since been in, the viewers upon earth and around the intergalactic seas would know the extent of her merits and wits, no? that she is capable, that she had everything it would have taken, if only the emperor weren't so flawed in his methods from the start. she would have won — morgana knows this, deep in the swelling depths of her raging soul.
no, she cannot sit still. there is a vessel burgeoning with anger bubbling high in her chest, with so much pressure that she's become a ticking time bomb, ready to explode at any given moment. the passengers upon the ship could hear it in the thunderous clatter of her heels beating against the floor, the howling winds of her dress snapping with each sharp turn down every corridor in search of the emperor. morgana had bullied a horde of guards until someone finally croaked and revealed the location of kayn's personal quarters. she doesn't bother with pleasantries or knocking, nor does she care for the consequences, especially now that his ridiculous little show was over.
morgana barges right in.
" you. you. now, you are going to listen to me, and you are going to listen well, " she starts, vicious in her furrowed brows and snarling lips and fingers that curl so tight that her nails dig into the bed of her palms. " aren't you the least bit curious about my answers for all the questions i could've answered? you owe it to me to listen. " oh, she is audacious, bold and brave, reckless to speak so carelessly and to take such a tone to the emperor of the universe, but morgana is past caring. he will hear her. " i could have been your champion, and i think you know it. "
a lil somethin' for @umbane, because, you know, we want our dinner.
#umbane#hi we're here to follow up about your insurance claim?#evil emperor bachelor#ic.#rp.#i will. figure out. a verse tag.#i might just#actually i need to just make a whole odyssey verse don't i#smilessss#R don't look at when i posted this
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FROM HELL'S HEART
@themosthatedbeingg
“Welcome to the Hazbin hotel— do I know you ?”
Cold eyes stare at Lucifer, while Ares smoked his last cigarette. He discarded it, crushing the coffin nail with his boot. He’s been around . . . just standing near the hotel, minding his business.
It was recon. Investigation to determine the threat. Ares might be lost to time, but he won't ignore evil. Nor allow it's continuation.
The target was right here, just one of many targets. Ares knew who he was yet could barely believe it. The Devil was like his kingdom, bizarre, flashy, and colorful. Most poisonous creatures were colorful. Inside Ares burned a hatred for Lucifer, for this entire bizarre and annoying place.
“I don’t believe you do.”
Ares was lucky to look like a sinner. He resembled the corpse demons, those unlucky few who rotted away inside their human shells. They carried the decayed and distorted look of their human appearance. Only as rotting, festering corpses resembling zombies and ghouls. Ares blended in nicely.
“I’m actually leaving. So, goodbye.”
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@bizzarrra said: "healing must come in handy with this line of work," abbacchio muses, eyeing the girl. leaning on the table nearest to her, it's a slow day. bruno and the others are off running a mission that doesn't require any replaying, so here abbacchio is — making small talk, which she isn't really great at. "do you like what you do?"
Fran lets a low, vague hum of acknowledgement sound in response to the initial observation. As for the second half, it's an unexpectedly complicated question, and with a touch of paranoia Fran wonders if that's deliberate--if it's some attempt to measure her morality, or nerve, or loyalty. If so, is Abbacchio doling it out at her own discretion, or was she directed to do so by Mr. Bucciarati himself…?
...No. She'll get lost in the weeds if she zeroes in on that unknown aspect of the inquiry. What matters more is how she answers, not why she's been asked. She needs to consider her answer carefully, though, all the same.
Despite herself, she thinks back to when she was a child; back when administering the clumsiest press of an ice pack to a classmate's bruise or a bandaid to a scrape set her aglow with a quiet sort of pride (doubly so when her handiwork was praised by her mother, who she considered the expert among experts in such matters, as many children do--as she still does, even if she knows that's objectively rather silly). She recalls the drowsy bob of her head against her mother's chest, of blinking bleary eyes over the simplified anatomical charts spread indulgently in front of her in the evenings. She recalls her father passing the two 'studying' and the way he would idly sound out the syllables for bones and organs and appendages in whatever languages were closest to the forefront of his mind at the time, and the somewhat-mangled tongue Fran tried to parrot them back in so he would be impressed with her budding expertise in his field, as well.
Heart. Cuore. Shinzou. Herz. Moyo. Corazón. And so on.
Fran can't put that same tender feeling to the work she does now. In fact, there are times when she finds certain people who end up on her operating table so detestable that she spends most of the procedure on something close to autopilot; imagines the hand of God descending from on high, re-parting the sutured flesh down the middle, opening them back up, undoing all her work; some sort of divine retribution in the absence of any justice of the mortal kind. It soothes her, sometimes. Only sometimes, but it's better than nothing.
"…It's like any other job. Some days are more pleasant than others," is what Fran settles on saying, quite diplomatically she thinks. Her index finger draws a line down the open spine of her book, then thumbs and fans at the pages, occasionally snagging an errant, dog-eared page. With a turn of her wrist, she presses the anatomy textbook closed and looks at Abbacchio (or, to a vague spot at the corner of her forehead--close enough to count as basically eye contact, she thinks) with a tilt of her head. "...I'll confess that I don't like the squirmers. And the ones who make a big deal about not being squirmers even less so at times."
And then, partly because it feels like the polite thing to do, and partly in a bid to redirect attention, she asks: "Do you enjoy what you do?"
#ic.#ic asks.#bizzarrra#2 dead-eyed women who r bad at small talk dfskghkldsh#tysm for this and the trish ask as well!! hoping to write a response to it sometime this week as well!#sorry if this one is sort of rambling fdskghkdsh i'm still getting a lil back into the swing of writing fran#rp.
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continuing from here -- @raytm
the former statement -- howbeit , hasn't brought bewilderment to one's ears . from dogs to clocks , even demons with dices , broken rules long since summoned outsiders of the law , yet all matters resolved in the soul's most favorable fashion .
" i think i had enough work bringing emotional resolution to everyone. i prefer resolving things in the ' bat way '. " if as such was permitted within the craft of a bartender , yet even if not , as the hound's utterances would clue; rules are meant to be broken . all those excusing a break , even within the corpus of dreams , surely had an unresolved matter within soul's midst. just like exploring the depths within sionban's heart , unrevealing layers of mute tales to dig out & share with her world , he would be left to wonder whenever a peek within this one's broken clock would be requested as the former. alas , one shouldn't abuse own's powers if not desired -- although , per usual , the traillblazer would care little of a given permit. lips parted to question , only to lock again without a mutter. curiosity may kill the cat , but enough trouble been dealt with at the time. better keep the discourse as warm.
an oppoturnity shone by , however - when keeping one's secrets , oh , he was best at so , at certain cost ( although , never such trickering words brought self any benefits at all -- the humor behind attempting couldn't be casted ). " and what is it in for me keeping your secret ? " just hand the menace a free drink .
#ic; caelus.#raytm#rp.#/ caelus. the batman#BUT with a baseballbat instead costume#i dont want to write ever again goodbye#its been so long i feel like a fossil
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[ palm ] sender places a hand on receiver to stop them from doing something
@themosthatedbeing
(( first one was from me forgot to tag my blog ))
The Overlord was begging as he scurried back. The Sinner’s face was marked and bruised, bleeding from the nose. Fear was in his eyes, fear of death.
Just a moment ago, he was so proud and flaunting his power. A lowly worm, with delusions of grandeur and relevance. He spoke out of turn to Lucifer, to the king.
Before Lucifer could reply, Sargatanas stepped in. The Overlord’s words were silenced when The God-Moth smite him. The proud Overlord was reduced to begging and screaming for mercy. He stopped, his back against a marble column. Sargatanas stood tall, breathing like some primal and powerful creature.
A Sinner offending royalty deserved death.
Grabbing The Overlord, Sargatanas hoisted him up and prepared his talons. Black, sharp talons, ready to slice open the sinner throat to stomach.
Yet, before he could. He was stopped.
Lucifer stepped in, grabbing Sargatanas’s hand before he could strike.
“UNHAND MORNINGSTAR, LET ME TEACH THIS WORM THE ERROR OF HIS WAYS. JUST ONCE!”
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Lockdown - Scratch/Buzz - Closed RP.
@nebula-gaster
Corporate. Industrial. Ruin.
Scratch thought he was smart enough for this scavenging job. The place was ACME robotics, one of the old-world corporate juggernauts. The place was some sort of factory, or research hub, he wasn’t sure which. All he knew was some good stuff waited inside for him.
Enough good stuff to sell for his fix. He just hoped this was worth it.
Crawling around the ventilation ducks was torture for his knees. In his mouth, he bites down on his flashlight, that dimly lit the cramped darkness. All the while, the metal bends under his weight.
He wasn’t sure about the danger. The corpo floors were cleaned out, but the basement was locked up. As of yet, nobody could have cracked the lock. Nobody knew what was down there. Somehow, that troubled Scratch. Yet, greed and the idea of chem-money drive him onwards.
Finally, he leaves the cramped ventilation and enters the lower floors. He was near, he was certain about that. With him, he carried his needed tools. A crowbar, including a lockpick created from metal wiring. He moves on, shining the light cautiously around. He wasn’t certain about the danger but knew nobody was down here. Yet, that alone brought him no comfort.
Suddenly, without any notice, Scratch trips a silent alarm.
The whole facility goes nuts. Alarms start blaring wildly and Scratch soon starts to panic. Running back to the ventilation shaft, Scratch realizes he cannot reach it. Then suddenly . . . .
He hears someone coming.
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@brckensteel
The center cannot hold.
The fighting was rough . The Brotherhood was suffering for every inch of the factory. Yet, despite their pain and blood, they kept pushing. The juggernaut marches. Right now, Ares could only hope to slow their advance down. To make sure the wounded gets out through the service tunnel underneath. The NCR commander was dead. Right now, Ares had command. A burden he didn’t desire but knew he must shoulder.
So, the ultimate practitioner carries on the ultimate trade. War.
In the rubble and ruined structures, Ares had teams of two with rockets. They carried an assortment of anti-armor and grenades. Some carried LAWS, small and useful launchers. Others carried anti-material rifles and anti-tank grenades. There were also improvised explosives spread out throughout the factory.
For every inch, there was pain. For every building secured, there were casualties. Ares intends on bleeding the strength of The Brotherhood out. Just make them hurt enough. But they could not hold the factory forever.
Ares was in the heat of battle. With two NCR soldiers, they advanced through the ruined facility. Stopping, they soon heard the mechanical sounds of power armor approaching quickly. Readying themselves, Ares and the other soldiers waited for their enemy to show up.
Four knights entered the fray, alongside several squires. A relief force, Ares thought. Soon, they opened fire, launching their LAW rockets at the advancing brotherhood. One Knight was down, a rocket impacting his leg and severing it. He screamed out, as another rocket was launched. This time, missing the other knight, but impacting near the squares. Three squares were knocked down, wounded with shrapnel.
Soon, a barrage of laser and gunfire impacted around them. Ares and the soldiers withdrew, attempting to relocate somewhere else and stock up again.
Then, they came face-to-face with trouble. A brotherhood Knight was in their way.
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" What the Hell do you want?" (LOL thinking back to Roth and Adam and I'm like....I think they need a talk. XD)
“My question exactly.”
Adam’s arrival drew a deep, resentful glare from Roth. The Sinner downed his absinthe, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. Slouched in his chair, Roth’s eyes peered up at Adam with a manic curiosity.
“Since you asked . . . . I want peace on Earth, goodwill to men and to have The Mets win the next world series. Oh, maybe also, the keys to the front door of Hell, pretty please.”
A quick, toothy grin graced his blue and weary face. That last part wasn't entirely humor, more or less. He relented, frowning at Adam, while his eyes drowned in thought.
“But . . . something tells me you won’t accept that answer. So, instead, what do you want Adam?”
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@nosomatsu // starter.
One thing about Hachi is that if she's asked to go along somewhere, she'll go. It's the agreeable thing to do! So when her idle chatter with her around-the-corner neighbour turns into an invite, she agrees without much thought. And really, Osomatsu seems like a nice enough guy despite how awkward she worries her first impression had been (she'd been kind of hoping one of his parents would answer the door instead when she came to introduce herself--she's better with the older crowd, you put her with a 20something and she feels immediately inadequate and kind of lame, like she's bothering them just by existing in their space--he'd been nicer than expected, though! she feels kind of bad for assuming he'd be rude).
Anyway, about 10 minutes into the walk it occurs to Hachi that she has no idea where they're going, but at this point it feels too awkward to ask (and when she tries to imagine doing so, her mind just supplies her with about 6 separate, equally devastatingly exasperated ways he might respond). No, she definitely missed the window on this one. Luckily, Osomatsu's steps slow to a crawl as they enter a crowded building, and as they queue up for... well, something, Hachi takes the time to look around and strain her ears to listen for clues about what exactly that something is.
Hmm. Scoreboards, tracks, race numbers, betting amounts, whoa, some really weird names--hold on. Pause. Rewind. Replay at half speed. Pause again. Zoom. Enhance. Colour correct. Remove noise. Betting amounts? As in, money?
"Heeh--ah--um...?!" You can pinpoint the exact moment realization strikes her--the leisurely shift of her facial features (politely curious, puzzled, back and forth between amusement and surprise depending on what name she's looking at) cleaves abruptly in two, replaced with an expression of dawning shock and horror beneath it. Lightning strikes, thunder rumbles [only in her head]. She turns to Osomatsu in small, slightly jittery increments, pointing limply to one of the places detailing odds that she can't make heads or tails of. "O-so-mat-su-san, is this horse betting? Like, gambling...?" The last word is spoken with such conspiratorial quietness that it actually loops right back around to being conspicuous somehow. Hachi's head whips around nervously, struck with the sudden fear that she's about to be caught out in a sting operation any second, or maybe star in some impromptu after-school special about underage gambling. The lead role?! But I'm Girl B! "Am I allowed to be here?! No, more importantly--"
More importantlyyy, why is this the activity we're doing?! Osomatsu-saaaan?! Does she seem like a big gambler? She guesses gamblers can be anyone--and actually, it's pretty progressive and open-minded of him to think a terminally dorky teenage girl is some sort of high-roller at the tracks, but c'mon! Or, wait, is it because of that...?
Over the course of her turbulent thoughts she's changed expressions several more times (stricken, thoughtful, admiring, back to stricken, then sudden understanding), head tipping from one side to the other. Finally, she turns back to face Osomatsu (hopefully he didn't say anything important while she was going on that face journey), expression too earnestly serious by half for the situation she is actually in right now.
"A--hh... is it because of my name...?" Eight is meant to denote good fortune, isn't it? That's right, something about the way the kanji for it flares out at the bottom... She holds up a palm, and then ducks her head a little with a nervous laugh (the self-imposed weight of the world on her shoulders). "Um, I don't know if my luck is that strong, though... I think it's about average, you know? ...Sorry to say it at this point."
#disclaimer i have never bet on the ponies so i am just guessing at what this looks like KFHDSKLSGHKLSDHG#ic.#rp.#nosomatsu#verse: osomatsu-san.
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wow something cute for the emperor @umbane
in the ever endless sea of darkness, the stars have never felt so weightless. even back in the studio with all the contestants gathered together, everyone beautifully dressed as they awaited the emperor and the final broadcast that would reveal to the world what they have all surely been dying to know ... it isn't suffocating. though the seasons are absent within the vacuum of space, ahri feels summer warmth blooming over her skin, and winter chills racing down the length of her spine with excited anticipation. all the preamble seems to last for an eternity, and when her name is called, she stands frozen. not in shock, but almost ... relief.
when kayn kisses her hand, her cheeks burn red. she doesn't get a moment to collect herself or react before ... he's kissing her, in front of everyone bearing witness before them, in front of the entire universe. she blinks in shock when their lips part, and it seems like yet another eternity, still, until the moment passes and production shuts down. ahri still basks in his radiance, in the heat that still lingers on her lips. she looks up at him as though he is the world, the only planet in existence, and she, his loyal devotee, revolves around his orbit. pressing a palm to his chest, a smile unfurls over her lips in her quiet, lovestruck stare.
" tell me, my dearest emperor, " ahri murmurs, quiet in her subtle allure, " were you playing fair, or were we meant to win each other's hearts all along? "
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"Heeeeellooooooooo." The mech was standing with a basket of cybertronian baked goodies.
He opens the door of his habsuite looking sluggish as if he had been sleeping "hm? Oo goodies... Whats your name little guy ?"
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band au starter for [ . . . ] @kalinai
the burning, incandescent glow of the limelight is never what anyone expects it to be, is it? it's blindingly scintillating at first, an exhilarating adrenaline rush to live a life unlived and tread upon unpaved roads, uniquely individualized with no other soul in sight. then, the enveloping warmth descends with its swathing heat, comfortable until it starts to burn too hot. some are built to withstand the heat and endure the pressure of pinprick needles biting into the soles of their feet, but for morgana, as much as she seems to flourish beneath the light of every star, she chases quiet and solitude. she wonders if akali does, too.
" the party's a bit much, if you ask me, " morgana begins, her voice catching a low drawl as it creeps out with rolling mist. her heels tap softly against the stone of the poolside patio, stopping just short of the water's edge. the crystalline water shimmers under the veil of stars and the waxing crescent moon's faint light pouring down. the mansion brimming with life and bells of laughter seems so distant, now. morgana keeps a tight grip to her wine glass, giving it a quick swirl before tipping it to her lips and swallows the merlot with as much grace as anyone trying to get rid of their drink could have. " sometimes i wonder why i let the boys convince me to come out to so many of these things. "
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