ripetersi-blog

[ripetersi-blog]

hiatus

congratulations. you won.

i don’t know if i’m coming back. i want to. god, i want to. but let’s be honest, there’s no point in me being here, and i’m not wanted, either. i’ve said that for months now, and it’s never been a cry for attention or an attempt to start some drama. it’s been how i genuinely feel. for a while, i was using this blog to cope. that’s why so many of my headcanons were like that; they’re mostly based in my experience and my problems with mental health. this blog was active some of the objectively worst times in my life, and i used it to help get through that. being able to vent here in character is one of the few things that stopped me from killing myself in january. i don’t want to say i’m leaving for good because of how much this blog has meant, but it only goes so far.

i don’t have a passion for this blog anymore. i don’t even know if i like the source material anymore. i associate being on here with being hated. i associate being on here with being shunned. i don’t feel like anything i do on here could matter to anyone, because i feel like no one wants me here in the first place, and i feel like i’m being constantly talked about behind my back to the point of being blackballed. i’ve been sent into major episodes by logging in, and it’s happened around once a week for the past month. i don’t feel safe here. no matter how much i want to get back into the place where i was here and having fun, i don’t think i can. and it breaks my heart that it’s leaked into where i can’t even muster the motivation to rp in other places because i’m just so scared. 

i want to be here, but i feel like i’m not allowed. i’ve had similar situations, but i’ve never had a fanbase as a whole make me feel this alienated, both inside and out of the rp community. i want to stay. i don’t know if i can.

i might come back. maybe. once my work has slowed down and im not having panic attacks on the job, i might try. i just don’t know what the response will be, and i don’t know if it’s worth my time to be so stressed and so heartbroken over something as dumb as a hobby. 

[ripetersi-blog]

hiatus

congratulations. you won.

i don’t know if i’m coming back. i want to. god, i want to. but let’s be honest, there’s no point in me being here, and i’m not wanted, either. i’ve said that for months now, and it’s never been a cry for attention or an attempt to start some drama. it’s been how i genuinely feel. for a while, i was using this blog to cope. that’s why so many of my headcanons were like that; they’re mostly based in my experience and my problems with mental health. this blog was active some of the objectively worst times in my life, and i used it to help get through that. being able to vent here in character is one of the few things that stopped me from killing myself in january. i don’t want to say i’m leaving for good because of how much this blog has meant, but it only goes so far.

i don’t have a passion for this blog anymore. i don’t even know if i like the source material anymore. i associate being on here with being hated. i associate being on here with being shunned. i don’t feel like anything i do on here could matter to anyone, because i feel like no one wants me here in the first place, and i feel like i’m being constantly talked about behind my back to the point of being blackballed. i’ve been sent into major episodes by logging in, and it’s happened around once a week for the past month. i don’t feel safe here. no matter how much i want to get back into the place where i was here and having fun, i don’t think i can. and it breaks my heart that it’s leaked into where i can’t even muster the motivation to rp in other places because i’m just so scared. 

i want to be here, but i feel like i’m not allowed. i’ve had similar situations, but i’ve never had a fanbase as a whole make me feel this alienated, both inside and out of the rp community. i want to stay. i don’t know if i can.

i might come back. maybe. once my work has slowed down and im not having panic attacks on the job, i might try. i just don’t know what the response will be, and i don’t know if it’s worth my time to be so stressed and so heartbroken over something as dumb as a hobby. 

[ripetersi-blog]

ooc; —— i love having similar but different muses like one of them would make a cocktail and calmly tell you why you’re wrong and the other will break a bottle of cheap wine over your head in a dark alley

[ripetersi-blog]

[ripetersi-blog]

Hey Abba I’m love you *smorch*

[ripetersi-blog]

I want to remind every roleplayer of a few things that we tend to forget far too often.

You don’t have to have good edits to be a good roleplayer.

You don’t have to have small font to be a good roleplayer.

You don’t have to do quick replies to be a good roleplayer.

You don’t have to impress everyone and be popular to be a good roleplayer.

You don’t have to be multi-ship or single-ship to be a good roleplayer.

DO NOT ROLEPLAY TO IMPRESS.

Roleplay to be happy and write for your love of the character and for your love of writing. In fandoms, you get caught up in popularity and quality. Quality doesn’t come with fancy themes, fonts, paragraphs, words, edits, etc, etc.

It comes with your personality as the mun, your appreciation for the character, your love for your followers and your friendlyness as a fellow roleplay partner. So, next time you feel the urge to bow to someone else for their ‘quality,’ just take a moment and think about what you’re doing. You’re just as good as they are.

You have your own style. You have your own way. I love you just as much as I love the ‘quality’ roleplayers, and your most loyal and loving followers will feel the same way. Do your best at all times and that’s all that matters!

KEEP UP THE GOOD WORK, EVERYONE!

[ripetersi-blog]

[ripetersi-blog]

ooc; —— i don’t have an excuse for this

[ripetersi-blog]

❝ You brush yourself off, you get up, and you keep going. When do you stop to remember why you were on the ground to begin with? ❞

         —— IT RESONATES LIKE a singing bowl; haunting, echoing tone bouncing around the hollowness outside the black iron shell, vibrating in his bones and turning them to ice, to stone, to dust — it curdles in his emptiness to thick, mealy paste.                    the mud is in his soul, now, dust and rubble crushed with blood, painted on the outside of a heart until it hardens like a concrete prison. he brushes the dust off his jacket. he feels the paste turn to sticky tar in his veins, dark and poisoned. there is dust where blood once ran. in every artery, the tar flows with molasses-slowness of a life that refuses to end.                     leone abbacchio grits his teeth, and when the light hits his eyes, it strikes them up like stained glass, the only barrier between the corrpution within and the gaze of a watchful, uncaring god.                      “ you don’t, ” he says, simply. “ you stay on the ground where you belong. ”

[ripetersi-blog]

[ripetersi-blog]

pressurecooked.

✿ This could have gone a lot worse than Mio imagined. In her mind, she could clearly envision what was to come next; the man would push himself out of his seat, grab a fistful of her hair, and promptly slam her face into the table, pinning her down.    All food-related incidents would be immediately be blamed on her, and she would likely wind up dead before she could even begin her retort.

   But that simply didn’t happen. Rather, he stares at the glass and does nothing more. It’s relieving, but it doesn’t do anything to ease the tension in the room.    His questions give her pause - for a brief moment she just sits there with her brows knitted tightly together, trying to decipher what Abbacchio is asking her, and suddenly it hits her like a train running at full-force

   He can see it, he can see「UNDER PRESSURE」. Mio is  of course, taken aback by this revelation; and it’s faint, but she can feel a moment of understanding between them as he asks her to put the glass back down.    Stand? Despite having never heard the term before in her short life, it resonated with her deeply. Was this fate? “You mean the, um, thing from earlier, right? It’s been with me for as long as I can remember…”

   When she first tried to introduce her parents to it, they thought that it was an imaginary friend of hers. How nostalgic. “You saw it, right? I’ve never met anybody who could see it before in my life. I thought we were all alone…”

           —— OH. OH, SHIT.  he’s not the best person to talk about this. he knows damn well he’s not the best person to talk about this. when the realization hits, it slaps him full-force and leaves him shaken. she doesn’t... know. she doesn’t know anything. she doesn’t know anything.                         ( for a moment his mind flashes to a darker time, a simpler time, but infinitely darker - shadows on the wall and mocking reflections, that intense feeling, sensation, plague of deja vu - that feeling of having something else be there and when it showed its faces the horror in it, the terrible weight of the lead yoke around his shoulders, razor of an albatross around his neck—)                        for a split second, he considers revealing that — the demented mirror he’s been cursed with — but the weight of it presses and the feeling subsides, and moody blues stays hidden.                         “ yeah, ” he manages, finally, brain blanking. “ the thing. they’re called stands, at least, i was introduced to them as stands, and sometimes they ... uh, happen. ” ripped from childhood, stabbed into existence, come as a mockery of sorrow, but he really doesn’t want to go into all that. a man with half the facts struggling to give a straight answer. “ if you have one, you can see them, unless everyone can. i know quite a few people, but with different powers. it’s like a ... personality. no two are really quite the same. ”                          and all of them criminals, he doesn’t say, all of them the reason why the supernatural managed to skyrocket a new group to the most powerful family in italy, all of them willing to use them to fight, to kill — a stand has never been a good omen, and her total ignorance shocks him more in reaction to everything she hasn’t been through in her whole life, and all that, in the past three years, he has.                         “ ... you’ve really never met anyone else? ”

[ripetersi-blog]

my brain: you’re worthless and no one will ever love you

me:

[ripetersi-blog]

ooooo

[ripetersi-blog]

an authority figure: [expresses slight, arguable disappointment in me]

me, shaking: Wow. Can’t Believe I’m The Worst Person Alive

[ripetersi-blog]

galdrc:

     “alright, let me put it this way; if I’m a witch and I’m mocking christ at two in the afternoon wouldn’t that also qualify as a witching hour? or does it really have to be at a certain time at night?”

            —— “ I MEAN, IF you’re a witch, i think you’d get to decide when the witching hour is. that’s sort of your whole thing. kinda like if i give the big ‘ fuck you  ’ to an uncaring god every chance i get, which i do, that’s a mockery too, right? i don’t think time really matters in that case. ”

[ripetersi-blog]

galdrc.

     “does the witching hour have to start at midnight? or does it still count if I’m mopping up demon goo at 9:48 a.m.?”

            —— “ I THOUGHT THE witching hour was 3 in the morning? like, bastardization of the holy trinity, ‘tis the hour which christ is mocked, not by soldiers, but by witches, kind of shit? is that... the catholic church is just lying to us, isn’t it. i’m genuinely curious here. ”

[ripetersi-blog]

instagram