#ALL.

[arcandoria]

my toxic trait is imagining all my otps slow dancing with their foreheads touching or with one's head laying on the other's chest even if slow dancing is just swaying softly to the sides

[edengarden]

Drawing session with @lairu got a little unhinged today

[oxbowridgehq]

Old wounds open the past that can no longer be run from. 

STATS.

NAME: Amina Wright-Jones GENDER & PRONOUNS: cis woman & she/her AGE: 39 OCCUPATION: Doctor AFFILIATIONS: Civilian FACECLAIMS: Gugu Mbatha-Raw

ABOUT.

TW death, murder

Amina is a native of Oxbow Ridge. She didn’t grow up with any siblings, but that didn’t mean she didn’t feel like she had family from those she grew up around. Her father worked closely with the Walkers when it came to training their horses, which is how she spent a lot of her time on the ranch. There was a calmness when it came to working with the animals, which eventually led to her to barrel racing at the age of eight. 

There was a thrill that came being on a horse sprinting down the arena and around a barrel, adrenaline that pumped through her veins. It didn’t come without the trial and errors, the trips to the clinic falling off her horse. It was the Walkers that allowed her to follow this dream growing up, that she had somewhere to keep her horse, though she paid them back in coming to help around the stables, doing the grunt work. That is how she met Sterling; not that many would know him by that name. 

He intrigued her. Quiet and kept to himself, but that didn’t stop her from getting to know him. It all started as a friendship, where she would keep to her duties at the ranch, but then drag him out beyond the limits of the town, almost keeping them out of trouble. A friendship budded at their age that only blossomed into her first love. 

Most were surprised that out of high school she didn’t end up at a veterinarian school, instead, she picked a university close to town where she could study in the medical field. Amina loved animals, but over the years, she found herself helping those that were hurt from the races at the Steveson. 

Eight years went by in what seemed like a blink of an eye and she could start to feel a slight strain on her relationship with Sterling. It only seemed to deepen when it came time for placement for residency and she was placed in New York City. Amina contemplated taking a year off and waiting to see if she could be placed closer to home, but then there had been talk about them both going to New York together, that all was left in his hands; hands that tore her heart into pieces. 

Amina could recount that night word for word, everything he said to her, the love he no longer had for her and he would never be good enough. It felt like she was staring into the eyes of a stranger that the only option she had was to pack up for residency. It was two months into her residency that she learned she was pregnant. It was the world reminding her of everything she had lost, but a small miracle came out of it. 

She met her future husband, Noah, who didn’t turn away when she shared her news and when asked about the father, she lied saying she didn’t know who it was. They married shortly after, before the baby was born, allowing him to have his name on the birth certificate. After their wedding, three months later, Sterling Wright-Jones was born into this world and Amina carried on with her life with her husband and daughter. 

Her life wasn’t perfect, but it was her life that she built in New York, never looking back at the decisions she made in life, because there was no room for the past. 

Life had moments of cruelty, fourteen years later her husband was murdered right in front of her. It left a hole in her heart and after a few  months of trying to grieve and survive in the city, her parents convinced her to come back home. A position opened up at the clinic and she would have a support system to help her through this period of time. Amina hated taking her daughter away from the only place she had called home, but there was no other choice. Sterling protested, but the state her mother was in, she didn’t drag her heels too deep. 

Worse than grieving the death of her husband, Amina was going home to a place she had put behind her for fourteen years, where she would have to confront the past she was running from. Would Remy and Sterling ever forgive her if they learned the truth?

[flareboi]

hi i caught up on suitor armor all i have to say is

AGAFFAGHRGGHHHGHAGAGSAAAAAAAAAGAHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

im normal. im fine. im normal. im normal. im so normal.

[bluedevilsrpg]

UNDEAD BLIGHT

BEAST TAMER. M. ( 35 ) Sen Mitsuji.

HISTORY

YOU HAVE BLOOD ON YOUR HANDS, HOW DO YOU PLEAD? Everything forward backwards read entirely new to you. In the reflection of a mirror you find yourself staring inquisitively, lost in the silhouette of the human that returns the same curious glance. Who are you? What are you? Where are you? The prodding buzz of your mind only uncovers one memory: something godly and unnatural - is this what divinity tastes like? Was it Genesis who returned you back to life? Why is that the only thing you can recover from the chambers of your mind? The past is blotted out in black. And you find yourself crawling through every crevice of your existence in search of answers. The agony of your own mysterium acts as its own chasm of eternal perdition. Was this design made for mercy or for cruelty?   This flesh mask face of yours is recognizable to the upper echelons of society. Whispers are made in awe as they tell you who you are to be. "Don't you know? You're the son of a world council elite." Glowering eyes and hungry fangs exposed - you smell the scent of insidious beasts circling you like hawks to prey. You accept your identity, convinced your feet are in the shoes of the wrong man. The tales that unfold from their lips are grotesque as they are wicked; but they laugh. Beneath the skin that coated your bones was a tremor of fear. They call you terrible and wonderful and you could only bite down on this tongue of yours. Were the eyes that looked back at you a monstrosity? Were you a beast rattling in a forgotten cage? Was this your damnation or your resurrection? 

CONNECTIONS

ATLAS VOID ⌱ I CAN NOT REMEMBER THE KNIFE THAT WAS PLUNGED NOR THE ANGUISH AND TRAGEDY OF US

Several footsteps made in the dirt trailing a path of war and crime, all so unfamiliar to you. And yet while your mind denies, your body remembers the pedantic routine of a trained killer. You see them and you see what grief does - what it eats. A twisted sense of relief unravels from your finger tips, they know all of you and you rejoice at the thought of puzzling together the fragments of your mind. What was the difference between delusion and illusion? This face of yours survived and it comes with a thousand burdens. You recognize the hollowness in your heart as you swallow the sins that "you" made. Would they see you as a terror to cut through once again?  Would they despise the stranger you are? After all, you’re convinced, you were not the one they slaughtered and fed - you are something entirely different, something deranged and severed. Was this not hell itself?

SAINT GUILLOTINE ⌱ FROM THE ABYSS, I RETURN

Your silence ceases to exist now, through the forests, through the darkness - you are no longer in slumber. He buried you beneath the rot of all other murders - a shame when the pair of you had once shared a conjoined history. Is this how you love your friends? with an empty grave and a shovel for the last of your remnants. You look at him, an eery familiarity drawn up on the features of his face - ah so it's fear. But what horror are you that even the monster trembles? Even you can not answer the question. All you know is that in their company, there's an insatiable hunger to gnaw. Devour, kill, the sound of each death toll electrifies all corners of your body - this is intimacy, this is survival.

MADAME MASSACRE ⌱ DEFINE YOUR HURT FOR I AM BUT A DULLED BLADE

Charity cases were common for someone of your caliber - at least, this is what you were told. And she was no exception to the promise of better; the world government decimated and the aftermath was left to its ruined people. But somewhere in the splotched out points of your past, she exists. You are familiar to her voice, something alarmingly comfortable yet foreign. Between the flickers of light, you wonder who the ghost is. You can see there is loss and tragedy. But nothing stirs from the bottom of your concave heart, no matter how much you claw. Between feigned smiles, you flatline, half empty, half pretend as you bare the weight of your null recollection.

LITTLE MISS RED ⌱ OUR HISTORIES ARE TIED IN A COMPLICATED TANGLE OF WEBS

Her family and yours were connected - the details in which your blood were the same was never made clear. But the mafioso baron family had always been loyal to the interests of your family's in particular. The prestige of being a part of the world council elite had guaranteed a beneficial relationship built on blood, gold and insipid corruption. She is the key to the other half of your identity that you know so little about. But you also wonder what kind of childhood you two shared that spawned two feral anomalies. There's something particular about the way she carries herself - her underhanded lethality admirable. But in the back of your mind, you can sense a desperation for help. Will it be yours to offer this time?

UNDEAD BLIGHT IS CLOSED & THEIR SPECIAL STAT IS AGILITY.

[switchytransboy]

normal body chub and tickles 🖤

i remember years ago when i was younger in this community (and identifying as a female at the time so that and dysphoria on top of the dysmorphia i had probably played a huge role) i used to be SO hyper conscious of my body here.

i used to position my body in whatever ways made me look skinnier, i used to compare myself to other skinnier bodies that got way more attention, i used to think my body hair and stretch marks were ugly, i used to think i wasn’t as appealing to ler’s if i didn’t have the ideal lee body i saw in videos and so on.

its so refreshing to see how much acceptance of ALL body types are here in the community now. videos featuring not just the typical model status/unattainable body, text posts EVERYWHERE going on and on about how all body types are perfect on lee’s, and even extending to trans bodies now too.

i wish there was this much love and content back in my day when i was younger on here but regardless it’s just so nice to see. that is all.

all lee body types are perfect.

all ler body types are perfect.

all switch body types are perfect.

[caedescorvirpg]

RED WARBLER. CYRUS HAN   —   28,  M.

Fear Paralysis: (+) you can inflict the feeling of fear into your target (+) no matter if the person’s fear is great or small, it will consume their thoughts (+) your opponent is trapped in place while the power is in use (-) the user must know the person’s fear (-) eye contact must be maintained (-) only works on one user at a time and can only be used on that individual once in their lifetime (-) the power is noticeable to individuals in a close radius (-) influence begins to start fading after 3 minutes (-) the more the user activates their power, the more they begin to hallucinate their own fears

HISTORY

YOU STARED INTO THE FACE OF THE BEAST AND SEE NOTHING BUT YOUR OWN SHATTERED REFLECTION STARING BACK AT YOU. You were a boy born from the hands of hubris and shaped into a pillar of envy. The shadows have always been your birthright, the whispered echoes of their caress comforting you like a mother comforting an aching child. You broken, feral thing, saw the darkness as your salvation, but you didn’t realize that salvation and destruction walked a fine line. You sat by as your desires were met one by one, watched as shadows disappeared under the earth until you were the only one left, yet the feeling left behind wasn’t one of fulfillment— it was emptiness, like a black hole consuming all in its path. But what does one do when there’s nothing left to consume? Simple: you turn around and destroy yourself instead.

CONNECTIONS

ROBIN﹒

You look at ROBIN and see your mirrored image. You were twin flames, beings meant to wander the same path set forth by the beast, and the two of you embraced that role wholeheartedly. There’s a certain allure to chaos, and when the two of you are around each other, danger seems to dance at your fingertips. You feed each other’s toxicity, but perhaps that was your relationship’s true destiny— to rot the earth and turn it to dust.

FALCONET﹒

You pride yourself on knowing what makes people tick— what they love, what they fear— but FALCONET has always been that code you could never quite crack. You’d hover around him in college, trail after him like one’s shadow, yet he only revealed himself to you in rare glimpses. A part of you finds him frustrating, but another part of you finds him exciting— for who doesn’t love a challenge?

BLACK HERON﹒

You made your desire known to the beast, listened as news of your siblings’ deaths arrived one after the other, yet there was a nagging feeling that there was a ghost who still wandered the earth. You hired the shadow to track down this soul, but when they arrived empty-handed, declaring your siblings dead, you turned your back on your end of the bargain. Why should you pay when they gave you nothing of substance? If anything, they should pay you for wasting your time.

This skeleton is TAKEN by ALYX, and is portrayed by PARK TAE MIN. Their highest stat is INTELLIGENCE and their specialty is MENTALISM. This skeleton was written by ALYX.

[glitteringrp]

⧼   barbara palvin, artista viajante, auracinese, ESMERALDA   ⧽     —     Eu, MIHAELA ZOGRAF, 25 anos, vinda de BALANQUA, me comprometo a realizar o requerido junto à Corte de Luz, deixando minha antiga vida para trás, e assumindo, desde já, os encargos deste serviço, nos termos deste contrato.

𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐑      —

Mihaela Zograf nasceu em uma família de artistas viajantes em uma época em que as crenças religiosas eram tão importantes quanto a habilidade artística. Desde muito jovem, ela foi incentivada pelos pais a realizar pequenos roubos durante as apresentações, como forma de garantir a sobrevivência da família. Aos oito anos, descobriu que tinha o dom de ver a aura das pessoas, o que a tornava uma excelente mentirosa e manipuladora. Seus pais eram alanzanos em segredo e, quando descobertos, foram detidos e Mihaela, enviada para a Corte de Luz, onde seria treinada para ser uma verdadeira dama da sociedade. Não foi uma adaptação fácil, contudo, as tragédias de sua vida a haviam lhe ensinado a ser resiliente e se preocupar consigo mesma; queria o melhor para si mesma, uma vida sem dificuldades. E, determinada a se destacar e garantir sua própria sobrevivência, ela foi além do que era esperado de uma jovem dama da época.

Mihaela se tornou uma estudante exemplar, dominando várias línguas, música e etiqueta, além de se destacar em outras habilidades consideradas apropriadas para uma dama. Além de sua excelência, é conhecida pela elegância, delicadeza e cuidado com os demais  ——  mas não se engane! Esta última não é nada mais do que uma máscara que ela própria criou; Mika não deseja o mal alheio, no entanto, é muito egocêntrica, e tampouco tem pudores de usar seus poderes para manipular aqueles ao seu redor para atender às suas próprias necessidades. Embora Mihaela aparente ser delicada e cuidadosa com os demais, ela sempre colocava a si mesma em primeiro lugar. Ela não hesita em pisar nos outros para alcançar seus objetivos.

Não se preocupa muito com que tipo de homem será pareada, somente que seja o melhor. De preferência, fácil de manipular.

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐔𝐈𝐓𝐄      —

Mihaela é uma personagem que passou por muitas dificuldades em sua vida e, em vez de enfrentá-las diretamente, aprendeu a ser mais dissimulada e estratégica. Ela prefere se fingir de boa e obediente, acreditando que pode manipular as situações de forma mais eficaz por trás das cortinas. Seu passado difícil a tornou astuta e manipuladora, mas ela não é tão resistente ou corajosa quanto gostaria de ser. Ela ainda mantém traços de sua personalidade anterior como parte da trupe de artistas, como a alegria e a criatividade, mas esses traços muitas vezes são mascarados por sua necessidade de sobreviver. Ela sabe que precisa cuidar de si mesma e que não pode contar com ninguém, o que a torna cautelosa e reservada. Seu dom de ver as auras das pessoas a torna mais sensível e empática, mas ela muitas vezes usa esse dom para obter vantagem sobre os outros. Ela não confia facilmente em ninguém e é cuidadosa em suas relações interpessoais. No geral, Mihaela é uma personagem complexa que aprendeu a se adaptar a situações difíceis, mas que não é tão forte quanto gostaria de ser. Ela pode ser tanto gentil e alegre como amarga e manipuladora, e suas características muitas vezes entram em conflito. Sua necessidade de sobrevivência e adaptação pode ser um ponto fraco, mas também pode torná-la uma personagem interessante e imprevisível. 

[radio-charlie]

One day when we’ve made it through, lets all go to an all-day breakfast place, sit down, point at the menu and say: all.

[projectorpheus]

SAGAN ⋅𖥔⋅ 28, NB ⋅𖥔⋅ CONFIDENTIAL

trigger warnings: human experimentation, implied violence, gore

Running. You are always running. You run from a story that is faster than you. It nips at your heels, drags you off to sea — or maybe your body is the sea, and you're washed upon the shores of it. Crashing waves, bones bleached death-white, eyelids cut open until the world is nothing but a kaleidoscope of red, of pain — of your open mouth with no throat attached, trying to scream WHY, WHY. And only silence as an answer.

Endless time. White walls, white sheets, white pills. You remember nothing but this endless labyrinth. Some nights you swear that if you press your ear to the ground, you can hear the delicate breathing of the minotaur. SOME NIGHTS YOU SWEAR THAT IF YOU THINK JUST THINK HARD ENOUGH, YOU CAN REMEMBER THE SOUND OF YOUR OWN NAME. They call you by a string of numbers and letters here but you've long lost the combination.

Your ribs are full of rabbits and they've taught you how to hide. Not even in your dreams are you safe — your eyes sunken and set in an expression you don't recognize. Your hands upon cool metal, heart beating to a song on the speakers that plays over and over — there's a language to be learned somewhere in there, but your reflection in the mirror puts a finger over their mouth and grins, jaw opening like a snake about to swallow you whole. You alone the prey, the hunter, and the forest.

[ note: Sagan's history has been hidden for plot purposes. Players interested in this skeleton should contact the main for undisclosed details. ]

DYNAMICS

ATLAS  ⋅𖥔⋅ BLOOD DRIPS FROM YOUR CHIN & I KNOW IT IS MY OWN

Sometimes, you remember them. Peering at you through a glass window muscle memory tells you is thick to shatter with your bare fists. They have many faces, morphing into beasts; into sirens; into gods — but there is only one that has stuck with you. Sometimes, when you sit upon your bed and stare at the walls, their image comes back to you. Downturned mouth, furrowed brows — it's an expression you turn around and around in your mind until their eyes are nothing but the fragments of a tiered chandelier, crashing into your consciousness and cutting your chest open little by little, a thousand tiny paper cuts, raw and bloody until your organs peek through. In this dream, you laugh. Hurry, hurry, you whisper in a voice that you aren't sure belongs to you. Hurry and tell me what you've found inside.

NAIAD  ⋅𖥔⋅ I CLUNG TO YOUR HANDS SO THAT SOMETHING HUMAN MIGHT EXIST IN THE CHAOS

A lifetime ago — or maybe just yesterday — it doesn't matter, anyway; you escaped. For once, you stopped running. If only because the world around you was no longer white, no longer sterile — but rather, warm. Buildings steeped in the sun's blood; air that scratched at your lungs like flies buzzing to mangled flesh. They found you sprawled on the ground, watching the world as dust settled on rusted metal. They took you in — baptizing you with words; with stories — and for once, you felt your mind quiet. You wanted to stay in that haloed glow forever. You wanted to peel their skin away from its membrane, if only to live within them and know how it feels to be full. To have a beginning end. Is this another dream? you almost ask them, but before you can part your lips, you are staring back at the wall and tapping your feet together. Three clicks. JUST THREE CLICKS, AND MAYBE YOU CAN GO BACK.

VOYAGER  ⋅𖥔⋅ I DELVE INTO WORDS AS IF I WERE PAINTING NOT JUST AN OBJECT BUT ITS SHADOW

There are times when his voice escapes the crack between your door and the floor. Cheerful. Laughing. Far away somehow, as if transmitted through another world. You don't connect it to any of the faces that blend together in your memory. Not his voice — his voice can't belong to any of those cold eyes, analytical and disappointed. You've taught yourself to imitate him. To sound happy. To make jokes and laugh; use your fingers to curl the corners of your mouth upwards. It makes those other faces shift uncomfortably; to scurry away and leave you alone. But somehow, you are sure he won't. He's different. HE HAS TO BE.

TAKEN BY TARYN ⋅𖥔⋅ TAMIKA FAWCETT

[amethystsoda]

Time to play “do I Iike boys who are sad and tsun and pretty or do I just like a specific type of haircut” 🤣

[marlborohq]

INTRODUCING  ...  SUN BLEACHED FLY.

UTP PREAKER  AS PORTRAYED BY  UTP,  MUST RESEMBLE RAMI MALEK   /   30+,  MUST BE FEMME PRESENTING.

NARRATIVE

(  cw:  mentions of grief,  teeth,  substance abuse,  mental illness,  childhood illness.  )

you had always been a spindly little rose,  luscious from first glance but when people were close enough to touch you they could feel that dry,  hollowness you exude even now.  the withering bud your ma had managed to overwater in the dry season.  even with a pink teddy perpetually tucked beneath an arm you were still all teeth.

of all the preaker children,  you were thought to be just about the finest.  your mother had mulled through you with a fine tooth comb,  ensuring that you and you alone would be the one she would pour all her efforts into.  there is little care for your elder brother and the smaller one who would soon proceed you.  rather,  you would be doted:  the one better loved from the top shelf of ma’s china cabinet  ---  she thought life was too abbrasive for you so you were kept tucked away.   you are the startling difference between your sibling’s extremes:  the soft one and the wild one.  always too sickly to grant any true promise,  you happen as the median between their obtuseness  ---  the pageant-queen-to-be strung up with all of your gilded trinkets.  little had your folks known that you had taken your brother’s peach fuzz softness and casted it over the vile bits you would go on to pass down to your little sister.  too many teeth where they shouldn’t be,  and too sharp to be just that.  even in a childhood turned crime scene,  you were the rabid thing that had been tied up in the powder blue bow.

CONNECTIONS

PRAIRIE DOG   /   OLDER BROTHER.

the one to tend your mother wounds and hold your hand at the dinner table when you spilled your milk at breakfast.  PRAIRIE DOG is your brother,  and once he had dug graves for the both of you.  because even when covered in dirt,  and especially with something still bleeding and mangled in your teeth PRAIRIE DOG is the one who loved you enough to clean up your messes.  the only thing he asks of you in turn is not quite forgiveness,  but that you erase the mar of this grief from yourself and allow him to shoulder it.  you bid his wishes and become the untrustworthy narrator,  the unsightly source detached from a reality you can hardly call your own.

MOURNING DOVE   /   EX-CHILDHOOD BEST FRIEND.

the one who knew you before you went all sour.  it’s hard to think of the niceties of such a short-lived childhood when all you’ve harbored is grief.  this loss was merely another skeleton to bury behind ma’s tomato patch in the backyard.  you convince yourself that this is how you will flourish:  by nourishing yourself with all the ugly things.  but all you did was rot, inside and out.  it didn’t take much for MOURNING DOVE to notice, even now.  she’s always noticed.  especially now,  in this town that seems to have only become two sizes too small the longer you stayed.  at one time or another, you were one of the same.  knowing that whatever had been wrong with you, had also been wrong with MOURNING DOVE. you’d like to think that is what had attracted to you to MOURNING DOVE, swiftly you had become the wild thing she’d thrown steaks to from the comfort of her porch.  it was only a matter a time before all you allowed her to do to you had been flipped on it’s back.

SWEET NOTHING   /   UNLIKELY ACQUAINTANCE.

you are not only a prisoner of self,  but one of nostalgia.  as it happens,  SWEET NOTHING is the one who has unknowingly freed you.  or at the very least,  you have allowed them to see you for what you really are.  nothing more than a slate begging to be scrubbed clean.  you ignore each other’s bad parts because you both have the same taste in pills,  and the forest is awfully quiet when you’re not wading through it alone.  your brother warns you that they’re no good,  but you both know you’re no better and isn’t that nice somehow?

THIS SKELETON IS OPEN.

[texaschainsawmascara]

links to the donations mentioned

https://unrwa.org/

https://www.instagram.com/gazamutualaid

https://campusbailfunds.com

[bluedevilsrpg]

LITTLE MISS RED

SCHOLAR. W. ( 30 ) Stav Strashko. TW: implied abuse, violence

HISTORY

WHAT BECOMES OF KNOWLEDGE WHEN IT IS ALL-CONSUMING, THE FATE OF INEVITABILITY CREATING A CHASM OF ENDLESS DESPAIR. You were born into an extravagantly wealthy family with a legacy of horror - one that only permitted your existence through cruel tests of worthiness. It was a family that prided itself on its many children, and you were nothing more than another extension. You will never forget the tragedies that you were subjected to, the rigorous trials and the desperation to survive. And it was in that very hell that something new was born in you, the flicker of a fractured soul cracked into mirrored pieces. It was you but divided into halves. One where your temperament was sweet and childish, as if you had never accepted the loss of your youth, fluttering brightly like the wings of a butterfly. This was the you that was protected from harm and adored by your porcelain doll-like mother, the you that believed in fairytales and dreams where books were your companions and intellectual thought your sparring partner. 

But look again when it becomes dark, when the candles fade and there is nothing left but the reflection of yourself, your hair stained with droplets of bright, crimson blood. Everything heightened when you were required to fight for your life - for the permission of existence. Here you were a more terrifying version of yourself, where ruthless calculation and precision played out in perfect, melodic harmony. Gone was the visage of a loving daughter, you had to prove yourself and your purpose to your deranged father. He made his empire in the artistry of murder and you have every desire to inherit. Without it, you will be mere ashes in an urn. So you learned the craft of death, the knowledge of everything your ears could reach. You do not hesitate to exhibit ruthlessness as you act with sadistic joy - a vicious, merciless mistress dressed in blood, dressed in red. 

CONNECTIONS

BELLS OF HELL ⌱ MY HEART SPLINTERED IN THE DECAYING FLOWERS OF MY RIBCAGE

You never had the chance to live a good life - not since the moment you were spawned in a household that signed its name in carnage. You had little to no hope of becoming something more until she stretched out her hand for you to hold. BELLS OF HELL was a rare face that was permitted within the proximity of your family sheerly out of her own stellar reputation. She became your friend, your confidante and eventually, your dearest lover. You promised to take her through the galaxies to witness every star. You adored her. Your painstaking love was shattered one day when she left you in the cold when you awoke. You remember little of the events that followed, only the terror driving through your bones while you walked every trial and tribulation for the chance to see her again. But when you survived through Hell to catch the attention of your angel, she had forgotten you completely. It dawned on you that perhaps the love you treasured had been nothing more than a machination of a game your family dictated. You dislodged your chest of love, sparing nothing but the desire to kill her for the agony she has caused. 

CHILD OF FLAMES  ⌱  STITCHING TOGETHER THE WORDS BETWEEN THE TRUTHS AND LIES

Their lethality was one that was sharpened over the years. When you first approached them, they were hardly the horror they’ve now become. You know the part you have played in indulging the lunacy of their wicked ways. You provided them with wealth and an accommodating life while they in turn showed you how to slaughter like a butcher, like a killer. Each new trick was enough to sate the loyalties of your family but just when you had believed you had crossed the safety line, they challenged you to push further. So you had no other choice but to do the same to them. It wasn’t long before you watched them succumb to a madness that reminded you of your own father. And like your father, they turned their back towards you and you were once again reminded of your unworthiness. They pledged their loyalties to another stronger sibling, while you were left to fend for yourself like a cockroach amongst the dirt.

MOON BLADE ⌱  I RETURN WHAT IS GIVEN TO ME, WITH THE FURY AND PRECISION OF A THOUSAND SUNS

It all went to hell when you discovered the death of your favorite brother. He was the one who had always protected you from the grasp of your other family members. He was the knife that you stood behind, the only time when you were given peace and safety to breathe and simply be. And yet, all that shattered when he had left you. There were so many questions left unanswered until you began to probe through the unknown and you found the culprit at her side. MOON BLADE, who worshipped her sister like you did your brother, would do anything to keep her sister safe and sound. It was your brother who was deemed wrong in his ways and for that, it cost him his life. The pain you felt was incomparable and thus, to return the feeling, you too showed her what it was like to lose a part of her life.

MADAME MASSACRE ⌱ DECAY IS WHAT YOU ARE AND WHAT YOU WILL RETURN TO

You weren’t blind to the way she looked at you - the way her nostrils flared in indignation and the clenched fingers that shaped themselves into a fist. You see a girl who has been left to be consumed by soil and rot. She underestimates you like all the others in your family. Your harsh upbringing has always served as an incompetence and MADAME MASSACRE further reminds you of all your faults with her nails and tongue sharpened to remind you of your idiocy. But looks are deceptive and you find envy lodged in your throat - what would life be like if you burned with bellicose umbrage at every turn? You imagine if you had been like her - would your father have approved? You hate her for being so naturally inclined in strengths that you so desperately yearned for. Perhaps to understand your enemy you must become her. You’ve clawed your way out of the history that has written you into existence and you can’t bear facing the demons in your memories.

LITTLE MISS RED IS CLOSED & THEIR SPECIAL STAT IS MAGIC.

[sadclowncentral]

the city where we live doesn't allow public barbecues so my brother fucking welded a grill to a handcart and now hosts "chill and grill sessions" where he sends all his friends his live location so they can hunt him down on their bikes with sausages in their backpacks while he carts it around evading the police like some sort of barbecue vigilante, grilling on the run. i have never been prouder of him

[omegasmileyface]

realizing that sticking to the "do it bad" "do it scared" mentality implies theres also a "do it bored"