#ramshackle roleplay

[that-alcoholic-stone]

will you adopt me

-sincerely, the person running this blog :)

"Ah-...sure."

[divineordiabolical]

⋆˚࿔ Anastasia Salvador— Ramshackle OC 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

ramshackle oc, roleplay blog 🤍🪽— penned by s.

“In the hallowed halls of the Holy Order, bathed in golden light filtering through stained glass— exclusive to the Church and otherwise kept from the city of Ramshackle, sunken in filth and depravity, illuminating sacred texts and the whispered grievances of the citizens knelt in sorrow, resides Anastasia Nikolai Salvador—a name exalted in reverence and appraisal, yet laden with an unspoken suffering. Anastasia, a vision of adolescent ideal and promising youth untarnished, is not merely a member of this divine congregation; she is its beating heart, its most precious gem. Glorified, she stands as a testament to the potential of her tender age, yet beneath the gilded exterior lies a soul caught in the crucible of expectation and sacrifice.”

Anastasia's world shattered with the sudden departure of her parents, leaving her an orphan and a wanderer in the cruel streets. Cast out from her home, deemed unworthy of even the basic provisions, she roamed as a specter amidst countless other forgotten souls.

In a twist of fate akin to a dark fairy tale, Anastasia found her way to the Ramshackle's ancient Church, its walls steeped in whispers of both salvation and damnation. Her presence, a haunting echo among the pews, caught the eye of the Church's enigmatic leader, drawing his interest like a moth to flame. Without hesitation, she was taken under his wing, a prized possession in his collection of lost souls.

Yet, with this newfound shelter came a heavy price. The Church showered her with gifts—scholarships, privileges, a semblance of security—but each offering felt like chains binding her to an unattainable ideal. They demanded perfection, a flawless facade to mask the darkness within.

Anastasia, now known as Asya in the Church's hallowed halls, became a living enigma—a haunting beauty with eyes that mirrored ancient sorrow. She danced on the edge of perfection, her every move a calculated performance to appease her benefactors. Her days were a calculated trajectory of meticulous actions, each note a plea for acceptance in a world that demanded nothing short of perfection.

Behind the veil of her immaculate facade, however, lay a soul drowning in melancholy. The weight of expectations bore down on her like a leaden cloak, suffocating her true self beneath layers of artifice. Asya's smile became a mask, hiding the cracks in her fragile psyche, a testament to the high price of perfection in a world where darkness lurked just beneath the surface.

p.s/mod’s note: omg omg hiii first post !! i hope to make some good friends and possible roleplaying buddies 🥹🫶 about the mod here:

[askcherrysocs]

[Continuation of This Roleplay, Started a new chain due to my blog lagging from how long the previous one was]

Charlie fell back as Reese twitched and tried to move but it was too late as the others were already gone

-

"Wonderful job, Ro-" Ditch paused and narrowed his eyes at Rochelle's face "Something's different..." He mumbled

"Is that a new makeup-" He cut himself off "HOLY SHIT THATS BLOOD" He exclaimed

"Didn't I say not to come back with too many wounds?! Getting your head bashed in isn't a good thing!"

"Just-... Patch it up soon, Seeing your blood makes me want to throw up in a bad way" He sighed

He turned to the others a tried to cover up his concern with a cocky grin "Good job though. Although I don't know that one but she'll work, the more the merrier" He shrugged pointing at Cinnamon

@sugarpuffzsstuff

[small-world-au]

✨The iconic 4✨

Og:

@baileythebean @thesilliestofallqueers @schnozzlebozzle

[themooncake0708]

"A soft, cold night".

- It was late, and it was time to close the small bakery. Moon, as every night, decided to close it and organize the place, silently, calmly..

- Once she finished her job, she left the bakery, with some desserts in a basket for her Nana.

- The sky didn't have clouds, it was just full of stars. The streets were barely inhabited by civilians at that hour, and the silence was something strangely comfortable.

- But suddenly, Moon heard some slow steps going closer to her. She wasn't afraid, but a hint of curiosity invaded her, making her turn around to see who, or what it could be...

[ I can't deny I don't have anything better to do and I'm bored. Anyone can keep the role if u want, no matter how XD ]

[plushiejelly]

pov:your me trying to comfort rem and it ends up as rem comforting me (check reblogs for the rest of the conversation)

[baileythebean]

“Hello. My name is Bailey…. What? My last name? Unnecessary. Not to mention, unimportant. Get to the Point already, What do you want?”

“Facts about me, I guess.” -19 years old

-He/They

-Demiboy

-Uranic

-taken by Pebble (@candy-for-the-win) and Toniø (@toniolovesfish)

-5’4

-Born January 9th

ANONS:

🟠 anon

💖 anon

OOC:

Hi everyone! So this is my OC account for Bailey, My Ramshackle OC (HEAVILY based on myself) and you can ask him anything! His voice claim is Zuko from ATLA with hints of Wanderer and Xiao from Genshin Impact mixed in! A few ground rules: -please use he/him or they/them pronouns when referring to him

-No NSFW to mod, I am a MINOR - suggestive is allowed for Bailey, as he is not.

-if you take inspo from my art, please tag me so I can see!

-I do take recommendations/suggestions for art and lore.

-please do not disrespect me or use my OC without permission

-he will be a little rude/sarcastic at times, but that’s just his character! I’m not tryna disrespect anyone.

-Remember that he is based off and run by a REAL PERSON.

-have fun!!

Boundaries for asks: No serious NSFW

Comfortable with most anything! Cuddles, hugs, high-fives, idk just anything!

Bailey is clingy (as long as you can get him to warm up to you) so have fun w/ that :3

Extra info: Singing Voice Claims here Some Bailey and Jay (@trimalchiooframshackle) lore here Info on Bailey’s past here and here Art refs here Compilation of random Bailey facts: Here!

Genshin selfship analysis here!

Genshin self-insert designs here!

[squshiejelly]

the life of a ramshackle student/song of the day

SORRY FOR NOT POSTING HERE IN A WHILE, I WASNT ABLE TO POST HERE FOR SOME REASON anyways i am going to do song of the day here now!!!!!

[witchwitchy]

FINALLY GOT TO GO BACK TO RAMSHACKLE but i heard of the solar eclipse happening and wanted to dress for the occasion ★~(◠ω◕✿)

no that isnt a monster energy drink in the corner what are you talking about ALSO IGNORE HOW DIRTY MY MIRROR IS, i still need to clean it ╥﹏╥

///OOC AHHHHHH I HAD TO DRESS FOR IT, HOPE YALL LIKE MY OUTFIT !!!! anyways forever grateful that i unintentionally look like my oc to post this

[thehollowwriter]

I made a roleplay blog! Here! Enjoy ya'll!

Tagging: @krenenbaker @distant-velleity @minteasketches @twisted-wonderland-but-gayer @whspermy-name @cheezy-moon @honey-milk-depresso @adarkenedforest @jaylleoo14 @cynthinesia @azulashengrottospiano @officialdaydreamer00 @theleechyskrunkly @the-banana-0verlord @oya-oya-okay @kitwasnothere and anybody else who would like to join ^^

[that-alcoholic-stone]

“Am I allowed to wrap Pebble in a blanket like a cat?” :3 -Bailey

"Do whatever you want to that walking gumball machine."

[divineordiabolical]

This is How a Girl Becomes Holy: First, She Must Become Empty.

The visions began at six, the lime bitter in your mouth, the elegy for all, you wanted to become breaking across the water like a storm — Prelude to Becoming Holy by Brynne Rebele-Henry.

In the grand, gilded, and yet somehow hollow halls of the manor where Anastasia was raised, luxury dripped from every surface like honey from the labor of a fruitful comb. The velvet drapes, the marble floors, the crystal chandeliers— all stood in sharp contrast to the grimy streets that sprawled beyond the iron gates. Anastasia, the delicate, beloved, prepossessing charm of a girl, often traversed through these halls of her childhood, reckoning her travels as those of her storybook heroes— her fingers grazing the cool surfaces of opulence, her eyes wide with the wonder only a child can possess.

One afternoon, Anastasia found herself drawn to a room bathed in the glorious setting sun, where luxurious prospects sat in stately repose, testaments to her family’s wealth and perhaps also to their depravity. Among them, a delicate porcelain vase caught her eye, its surface painted with an intricate pattern she wished most ardently to inspect up close— although, elevated to a height her body could not strain. Standing on her tiptoes, she extended a hand in reach for her object of interest, her small fingers just brushing the vase’s smooth surface. In a moment of precarious balance, the vase slipped from her grasp, shattering against the marble floor with a sound that seemed to reverberate through the very bones of the house.

The profound crash echoed across the hollow halls, a clarion call summoning the nearest housemaid. The maid, a woman with kind, tired eyes and rough, work-worn hands trembling from decades of service, hurried in, her face blanching at the sight of the broken heirloom. A kneel, or at the moment, appearing to Anastasia as a resigned collapse, was in immediate succession. Gathering the pieces, her hands trembled with the knowledge of the consequences she was to be subject to for fault that was not her’s. Blood on her hands, for a sin she did not omit.

“What has happened here?” Anastasia’s mother, an imposing figure of elegance and grandeur, dominated the still tension– her voice as sharp as a prosecutor's blade, brutally slicing through the thickened air.

Anastasia stood frozen, her heart pounding in her chest, words dying on her lips. The maid, eyes wide with fear, began to speak, although was met with an immediate dismissal of Anastasia’s mother a sharp, gesticulating gesture.

“How could you be so careless?” she demanded, her gaze and consequent accusation fixed on the maid. “This vase was a priceless heirloom, a treasure of our family! A family you owe beyond what you can repay!”

The maid’s voice trembled as she tried to explain, “Madam, I apologize, I didn’t—”

“Enough!” Anastasia’s mother cut her off, her instantaneous oust brooking the vaguest notion of proposing an apology, let alone an explanation to be believed in. “You are dismissed for today. Leave at once.”

The maid, her shoulders bowed under the weight of unjust blame, cast a fleeting, sorrowful glance at Anastasia before she slipped from the room, the door closing softly behind her.

And it hurt like nothing else.

Anastasia’s mother turned then to her daughter, her expression softening into a mask of almost tender concern. Kneeling to meet Anastasia’s eyes, she spoke with a voice that epitomized silken condescension. “My dearest Anastasia, my miracle, you must understand,” she began, her words dripping with the poison of the prejudice she bore. “You must stay far away from our house help. They are malicious, harboring thoughts of revolt against their betters. Purity such as yours must not be tainted by such forces of evil. You are a treasure, a miracle amidst their filth.”

The words enveloped around Anastasia’s young mind, subsequently tightening their constriction of her impressionable age— embedding themselves to tenacious belief. She stood there, a small, fragile figure in a vast room, her heart heavy with the weight of unspoken guilt and the beginnings of a trajectory of thought that she was by some means regarded as somehow different, somehow better, somehow untouchable by the grime of the world beyond the confines of her mother’s arms and the golden room.

From that moment on, the seeds of division and superiority took root within her, nurtured by the insidious whispers of those who exalted her as superior. She began to see herself as a fragile gem, too precious to be sullied, too exceptional to be tainted by the lives and struggles of those deemed beneath her. And so, Anastasia grew elevated to an impossible pedestal, her heart an aching juxtaposition of imposed identity and the desperate desire to escape the very height she was placed upon.

“Yes, Mother.”

Her life then unfolded like a series of vignettes, each scene a profound attestation to her supposed purity and the constant adoration she received from those around her— although, merely given, never earned.

The suffocation of the grandiose manner marked only the beginning. Time after time, Anastasia found herself in the center of incidents wherein blame she rightfully provoked bounced from her assumed innocence to any nearby scapegoat. She did less, but was praised more, was admittedly less propense in certain regards, but offered opportunity otherwise denied of the dejected deserving— never the best, but treated as such. In school, when a daring moment of mischief goes awry, she was never reprimanded— it was always someone else who had to answer for the consequences.

Instead, she would be gathered into the laps of her doting betters, her slender limbs held above the air as a paragon of virtue, and intertwining with the adoration she was bestowed as she was enveloped in their embraces.

“Such a good girl you are, aren’t you, Asya?” The adults would coax, pressing the appraisal slipping from their lips into her flushed cheeks, pink from the discomfort of their proximity and from the incessant affection expressed. But of course, she would never say anything— her muscles taut in zealous effort not to squirm. “Nothing like those wretched children that can never stay out of trouble, hm?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Each instance of this would only further solidify the inescapable narrative of her apparent superiority, supposedly unsullied by the impurity she was surrounded by. Her peers, deemed below her, would grow increasingly leery and hostile, and deprived her of friendship— deepening her isolation and yet, her sense of precedence.

Unlike any kind of pain she endured, ever before.

Upon the untimely departure of her parents, the illusion shattered— the bloody shards of glass almost resembling gore, and mirroring that horrid vase from her childhood. Expelled from the comfort of the manor, adjudged unworthy of the most basic provisions, and without the gleaming, brilliant prospects she had always yielded, she found herself a dweller of the very filth she was taught to abhor.

Although, in the harsh streets, proving ruthless and unpitying to most, her perceived division from the other Scrap children further shielded her from the onslaught of ferocity of her new life. Anastasia never went hungry, never lacked for kindness. There was a sense of immediate discernment of something special in her, an unspoken promise of purity and goodness. Her time on the streets, though most difficult, was softened by the constant stream of help from strangers, further feeding the narrative of her exceptional nature. She never had to endure a modicum of struggle the others had lived all their lives.

This was not a virtue, of course. Not a testament to how much she was loved, not of anything at all good. But a brilliant, flaming, red mark of the city’s depravity. Appointing beauty in the sunken dearth of it and it’s subsequent exaltation.

The knowledge of this made her ache— a keen and unfamiliar turmoil brewing in her heart. She was a stranger to the sensation. Never felt a lash, never deprived of anything, not ever even subject to a scolding.

"Such a pure soul, a beauty too," they'd whisper, pressing coins into her palm. "It's a crime for someone like you to be out here."

But God, did it hurt.

“I thank you most high for your kindness. I am indebted to you.”

But the one, true, turning point that altered the succeeding trajectory of her existence was when she stood afore the grand Cathedral, it’s opulent spires and adorned pinnacles extended in reach for the Heavens above— an obnoxious, almost revolting departure from the dilapidated squalor it centered.

Father Matthias, figure of imposing sanctity, a man of whose faith was only paralleled by his fervent, compulsive obsession with purity, bore witness to Anastasia— venturing cautious steps within the Holy establishment, her eyes engrossed in fastidious, keen observation of the Order’s opulent interior, and lips parted agape in the bafflement of the beauty beckoning her, drawing her in.

He looked upon her with a gaze most penetrating, piercing through her very being— until her heart caved from the sharpness of his eyes, her pulse so adamant in her chest upon the discernment of his gaze that it might have brought her further forward.

Taking Anastasia in was a swift succession of events, nearly instantaneous to the decision made. Her residence and custody was bound to the Holy Order, the comforts and luxuries she had known all her life replenished without a moment spared, and now, elated to an unprecedented height of status and the expectations they constrained.

"Anastasia," he declared, the deep, ancient tones of his voice resonating through the darkness of the nave, "you are a gift from the divine. Pure, innocent, sinless. You shall be our guiding light, our symbol of hope and righteousness." His words bordered on worship, his reverence clear in every gesture and glance. She was clothed in the finest robes, given a place of honor, and her every step was met with awe and admiration.

The church, with its rituals and reverence, amplified the adulation she'd known all her life to a near-divine level. The head of the church exalted her in sermons, her name whispered in prayers, her presence considered a blessing. She was not merely a pretty gentleman’s daughter favored over those deemed below her; she was now a living saint, untouched by sin, untainted by the world's corruption— appointed miracle.

No sane person would have not been quailing, appalled by the enormity of the events transpired in such a short duration— swift and fleeting, but lasting beyond what one might see. There was no feasible escape from this, there never was.

It’s not like there was anybody else for her to be.

Anastasia was most terrified, mortified by the rapid course events that wrought immense destruction in the life she’s always known and the sudden worship she was devoted to that appeared too much like a cult. Overcome by tremors and shudders the entire duration of the endeavor, fear ensnaring every sense— nearly paralyzed, but not to the extent of failing to endure the imposed divinity.

This was always how it’s been.

Bear it.

“It is my honor, Father.”

Like you always have.

p.s/mod’s note: i HATE rhis naurbody look !! this is naurn’t as elaborate or cohesive as i would like tbh BUT honestly just wanted to get this out of my drafts i am saur SICK of looking at my gdocs pageanyway ASYA LORE finally AUGH god’s favorite sacrificial lamb blessed girl voted most likely to be slaughtered !! expect art with religious symbolism >:) maybe or maybe not actually school has already started for me ermmmmm ANYWAY i am taking this ramshackle oc too seriously it’s a COMEDY SHOW and i am over here integrating religious politics 😞😞

thank you for reading !! really appreciate it :))

[blazzyistrying]

I made a Stone roleplay account

@stoneidk

The premise is: Stone gets tumblr to see the fandom and doesn’t know how it works

That’s it

Feel free to DM (weirdos will be blocked‼️)

[small-world-au]

[You were going about your day, when suddenlyyy you're teleported into a white... void? The place looks like it stretches out endlessly.]

[Just when you were about to panic, a shadow looms over your shoulder.. you felt someone staring daggers at you. And suddenly-]

"Boo."

{{HEY CHAT!! OH EM GEE!! ROLEPLAY SHENANIGANS OUTSIDE OF THE RAMSHACKLE AU THINGY NO WAY}}

Mod: “AYO, WT-!!!!”

*composes self*

“Oh! Hola!”

👋👋👋

“Where am I? How’d you get inside my room?! Am I going INSANE?!!”

[poorlynamedrpblog]

Welcome to my little corner of madness! This is my, @thehollowwriter 's, roleplay bog dedicated to my Yuusona and oc!

Finn will be in purple

Quinn will be in green

And I (also Quinn lol) will be in black

Please be respectful and enjoy your time here! I'm happy to rp with your ocs ^^

Rules///Characters

Tagging (so I have a taglist):.@distant-velleity @krenenbaker @kitwasnothere @the-banana-0verlord @theleechyskrunkly @whspermy-name @cyanide-latte @officialdaydreamer00 @boopshoops @ramshacklerumble @cynthinesia @oya-oya-okay @br3adtoasty if you're alright with being tagged ^^

[plushiejelly]

to anyone wondering why my typing is so fucked up in the screenshots, i am currently high

as in the words of @deveralogl, RAGE AND DESTRUCTION❗❗❗❗

thats all