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ᴡᴀʀʙɪʀᴅ

12/03/2021 11:30 PM 

Skin Deep

People always think it's the memories that aren't a part of her. None of them really understand, though, that the memories are the easiest part of being Rogue. Memories are just thoughts attached to images attached to feelings. Marie can absorb those, make them her own. It doesn't matter where they come from—from her own past, from someone else's. Once they're inside her, they're hers. But doesn't it get confusing? Bobby asked her once, squinting at her as if he'd already decided the answer was yes. She'd searched for words to tell him, tell him no, don't you see? Once they're in there, it's not like havin' someone else in my brain. It's all just me. But she could tell from his expression that the meaning would be lost on him. Marie also doesn't bother trying to explain to them that it's her skin that's no longer her own. She can handle the strangers in her head; she can handle the powers that shouldn't be hers. What she can't handle is the stranger that covers every inch of her body, and keeps her at arm's length from herself. * Afterwards, after needles and condemnations and dirty looks, it's like meeting an old friend after years of separation. She keeps the gloves for a few months, still scared of what might happen—what she might do—but after a season has turned and she hasn't hurt anyone, she starts to trust. Maybe she's really at home, again. She sits in the new summer sun, feeling as shy as an eleven year-old just becoming aware of her femininity. It's an appreciation she didn't have growing up, an acute self-consciousness forced upon her by image after image of pain caused by her touch. The names and faces well up behind the specks in her eyes when she glances up at the noon-day crest of light. She sighs with the wind on her skin. No needle can grant her asylum from this, from the layers of guilt that are the basis of the power she had. She's not sure she can excise it, not even one cell at a time. * She didn't do it for Bobby, but she's sure as hell ready to kill him when she catches him with Kitty. They don't even have the decency to pretend they're doing something innocent—he just looks down, unable to meet her eyes, and, really, that's all the answer she needs. She didn't do it for Bobby. But she'd be lying to herself if she tried to pretend that she hadn't thought—hadn't hoped— Well. None of that really mattered now, did it? Marie's used to being on her own. * She's ill at ease with the X-Men. They don't quite know what to do with her, anymore, and she doesn't quite know what to do with them. Logan tries to include her, come up with ways that she can be a part of the team even without her powers, but Ororo waits for no woman, and certainly no "misguided young girl who has alienated half of her classmates." She wants to tell Ororo that being able to wear a tank top and dance until her chest burns at a club doesn't make her any less a member of the team. That losing the last traces of chains around ankles and claws emerging from her knuckles doesn't make her human. The absence of power isn't what makes her human. It's not in her genes, or in the crest she wears on her uniform, or in the political party she votes for. She isn't sure yet what will make her human, or if she even wants to be. * She gravitates to other mutants, a moth to new flames. There are others who don't compare her to what she was, all the things that they think she could have been: she likes meeting someone and not seeing a hint of disappointment flicker in their eyes when she can shake their hand. They don't challenge her right to call herself Rogue. She goes to a support group, meets some others who've been cured. Marie stays quiet, for the most part, but loves to listen, absorb the stories: here, she can do that, and no one has to get hurt. And it's nice not to feel alone. * She meets Carol outside the building on a rainy Wednesday night; between closing her umbrella and juggling her backpack, Marie can hardly see where she's going, and they would have been a fast tangle of limbs on the ground if not for Carol's hand on the small of her back. I'm so sorry, she says breathlessly, straightening up. Carol's smile widens the more Marie tries to apologize, and Marie stops when she realizes that the woman's hand hasn't moved although she's completely steady on her feet now. I'm so sorry about that, she says again, swallowing, her throat dry despite the high humidity in the air. I'm not, Carol tells her, her fingers smoothing over Marie's waist when she does let go. I'm not sorry in the least. * Carol, Marie finds out later, was there for a group of her own. Joe, she explains over coffee. They told us he died in battle. It's another six meetings (at which point Marie is thoroughly tired of talking about her feelings) before she has the courage to say yes when Carol suggests a movie. Dinner takes another three, but by then, it's Marie doing the asking. * Carol's strong—stronger than anyone Marie has ever known. She let nothing stand in her way: not her father, not the instructors who told her women weren't meant to be pilots, and certainly not Ms. Marvel. Each obstacle in her life she overcame with a single-minded determination and refusal to acknowledge that anything less than victory was an option. Marie's glad she'll never have to face Carol on the opposite side of a battlefield. * Some nights, she wakes up in a cold sweat. Her dreams are vivid splashes of color—faces she's not supposed to remember, places she's never been. Her skin crawls, goosepimples rising all along her arms, but there's no cool air coming in. She keeps her window closed at night. She scratches until pale pink turns to red, until she can't feel her heart pound with the knowledge of the last time her skin felt like this, and tosses and turns well into the dawn, swatches of light showing her things she doesn't want to see. * Y'all don't think…don't think it was only temporary? She's braved the beige-and-blue meeting room again, gloves bunched nervously in her hands, knees locked tightly together. It's the question she refused to ask those first few months, sure she already knew the answer. But a room full of heads shake at her, and Mrs. Hertzfeld tells her it's completely normal to still feel ghost sensations. Like phantom limbs, she tells Marie, patting her comfortingly on the hand, give them time and they'll go away. * I don't know what to tell ya, kid. Logan neatly slices the apple in half, eating one-half of the green fruit with a decisive clench of his jaw. If Hank couldn't find anything, why're ya still worryin'? Marie shrugs, her chin resting in her palm. He offers her the other half, and shows no fear when her fingertips brush his knuckles. Then again, he never has. It's why she likes him, and why she'll never completely trust him. * I don't think it's safe, she tells Carol, looking out the window so that she doesn't have to see the effect of her words. She's seen more than her share of disappointment and pain for one lifetime. At least this time it's for the best. But Carol's strength, the same strength she admired, refuses to hear her. Carol's hands are sure, and they know all the places that Marie—that Rogue—can't say no to, those places that she's still getting re-acquainted with, the ones Carol has helped her make home again. Carol tells her that Marie doesn't have the right to make this choice for her, and Marie knows she's right. And she finds she can't say no when her body says yes. Even now, she's the weaker of the two. * She's known all along that Carol has precognition—it's the excuse Carol used to take her on dizzying flights through the city, barely dodging buildings and trees in a mad aerial roller coaster ride. I sense immediate danger and avoid it, Carol said, with her cocky fighter-pilot's smile. I won't let anything happen to you, love. And she didn't. Every flight, they landed unscathed. Marie hadn't seen Carol's pre-cognition as it was happening, but she recognizes it immediately, even before her skin screams out with a thousand pricking needles bursting up from under the surface, even before she collapses against Carol in a helpless throe of joint-wracking pain. Carol looks at her, takes Marie's face in her hands; her eyes tremble, glaze slightly, and she just has time to whisper this my gift before the world goes white and Marie stops being Marie and Rogue is born into a world of searing agony and power. So much power. Carol hadn't lied to her: every flight, Marie lands unscathed. But in their last one, skin to skin, it's only Marie who lands, and Carol who keeps flying, aware of the danger, and shooting straight up into the white-hot glare of the sun. * Rogue knows hospitals. She knows the sound of heart monitors, the squeak of sneakers on linoleum when the uninjured party standing at the bedside can't stand to look anywhere else. She went into County General a young girl unready to face the consequences of actions she hadn't made the choice to commit, unwilling to believe that a kiss could really be responsible. She apologized through glass and didn't make it past the door until he'd been discharged. She enters New York Presbyterian three years older and lifetimes wiser, clothed from head to toe in black. She has made a vow that she will never again set foot outside without this uniform again. She recites the names to Carol, each and every one: they are a line, not a path, but a living and breathing lineage that her skin remembers. Carol's brow feels cool even through the material of the gloves; she doesn't stir when Marie's lips press down on the velvet barrier. She flies, that night, for the first time, crazy with Carol, crazy with grief, but the wind is on her skin, and then she knows, as sure as she knows the hum of power: they're all with her. There are no strangers in the map of her skin, anymore, no doubts about who she is. She is Rogue, and is everyone she has ever touched. She isn't alone. They'll always be with her.

ᴡᴀʀʙɪʀᴅ

12/03/2021 11:17 PM 

Little Schizophrenic Girl

Little Schizophrenic Girl, heavily medicated so she can't feel the pain.She will never leave that hospital, never again feel snow or rain.Tears rolled down my cheek the very first time I looked into her blue eyes.3 a.m. she's in the hallway hugging an old woman while she cries.The mental hospital is a holding cell for God's rejects,A place you will feel nothing but sadness and neglect.Only 17 years old, a beautiful young girl so sweet and innocent,Doing life for a crime she didn't commit, there was no sin committed to repent.Just the way things are, that was 11 years ago and it still hurts me.A wonderful heart with a tortured mind, something I wish I didn't see.It still weighs heavy on my heart, it still makes me cry.I can't forget the sadness I felt the first time I looked into her glassy eyes.I'm not sure she knew where she was, never be someone's girlfriend or wife,'Cause she'll never leave that wing of the mental hospital; she'll never experience life.How can the hospital workers have the strength to do that job?They're trying to help the cursed, while other lazy people steal and rob.She barely ate, the medication took away her sense of taste.I don't think she even knew where she was; counseling sessions were a waste.A living, breathing, caring heart, a mind with no thoughts like she's brain dead.The emotions were unbearable, never comprehended a word she said.Don't worry, you'll feel bliss in heaven, because you were tortured in this world.I'm still praying for you, Little Schizophrenic Girl. 

ᴡᴀʀʙɪʀᴅ

12/03/2021 11:14 PM 

Roleplay Starter

A giant plume of billowed into the skies of an abandoned, devastated New York city. Rusty, dilapidated buildings surrounded the two contestants. Trash and debris lined the roads of a desolate city street.Two women of valor stood on either side of the street. Two titans that transcended universes prepared for a battle.Carol’s palms lit up as she ascended into the air.“Look honey, there’s a thousand ways I can kill you right now. How ‘bout you just come with me quietly, and maybe-”Diana dived at her adversary, slamming her shield into the woman’s face before she could finish her sentence.The Captain spun through the air and crashed into the ground floor of a building a few yards off. She struggled to a sitting position, attempting to shake off the pain now searing through her skull. But Carol would be allowed no time to rest. As she recovered, a golden lasso swirled around her feet, catching her by the ankle before throwing her into a nearby car.She coughed and heaved as she slammed heavily into the vehicle’s chassis, before falling on all fours.Wonder Woman took a few steps towards her downed adversary. “That’s for calling me honey!”Captain Marvel shot her head towards the Amazon princess. Her gaze was filled with anger. She raised a fist, gathering a ball of energy into her hands, before sending a yellow beam towards her enemy. The photon blast hit Wonder Woman square on the ribs, staggering her for a moment.Enough time for Carol to jump to her feet and fly towards her distracted opponent, sending her hurtling with a massive blow to the face. The Amazon crashed and skidded on the tarmac, raising ridges the size of her body as she slid down the road. 

Cfriday101ArtsReborn/CVF

12/03/2021 07:17 PM 

New ((2022)) Character List
Current mood:  animated

Complete redo of new accounts. Starting with each genre, max for each month is 10 characters. Starting today, all accounts will be handled in the utmost care.((Character List)): Dec 3 2021, Friday ((Updated)) ((Max 10 For all genres for this and next month)) ((Some may have less or more))OC (Max 5)1  Scrapper The Scowndrel (Oc) (Furry)2 Palidin Woman (Fantasy) (Oc)3 Phantom Chaos: Caper of The Void (Fantasy) (Oc)4 Poison Tip The Shaman (Furry) (Medevil)5 Wild West Kid (Western/Fantasy) (Oc)Pokemon (Max 5)1Nezu Kakuzaro (Kakuna Ninja) (Pokemon/Mystery Dungeoun Jade Edition)2 Oecen Spray (Kabutops Sea FisherWoman) (Pokemon Mystery Dungeoun Jade Edition)3 Black Gardvior Scoria SpellWeave (Custom Canon Character) 4 Black Bolt (Team Rocket Pickachu) (Custom Canon Character)5 Haze Shadowstar (Pokemon Mystery Dungeoun Jade Edition)LegendofDragoon12345678910MyLittlePonyFriendshipIsMagic12345678910PoxNora(Max 5)12345Spyro12345678910Klonoa12345678910Urban Rivals12345678910Squirrel And Hedgehog12345678910Undertale12345678910Dragon Quest12345678910Baloon Towe Defense (Max 5)12345Wizards 101 (Max 5)12345Musashi: Samurai Legend12345678910Book of Eli (Fantasy Version)12345678910Rouge Galaxy (Max 5)12345U Are Umasou (Max 5)12345Monster Rancher (Max 5)12345Neopets12345678910Duel Monsters12345678910Warriors (Max 3)123Union City: The Last Stand (Fantasy Version)12345678910Dungeons And Dragons12345678910Kingdom Hearts12345678910Dragon Ball/Z (Max 6)123456Fire Emblem12345678910Megaman (Max 5)12345Drone Tactics (Max 5)12345Final Fantasy(Max 7)1234567Law of Talos (Max 3)123Digimon12345678910Ape Escape12345678910Yugioh12345678910

Character List (New) (Cfriday101ArtsReborn)

♡𝑹𝑬𝑷𝑬𝑵𝑻𝑨𝑵𝑪𝑬.♡

12/03/2021 06:44 PM 

For my haters <3

THIS IS A PLAYLIST IS DEDICATED  FOR MY HATERS. KORN - HATERAshnikko - MaggotsMindless Self Indulgence - You'll rebel to anythingYUNGBLUD - Kill SomebodyIN THIS MOMENT - SEX METAL BARBIECOMBICHRIST - SKULLCRUSHERKORN - HERE TO STAYJIMMY EURINE - BE AFRAID OF WHO YOU AREJIMMY EURINE - PIECE OF MEQVEEN HERBY - VIOLENCECARDI B- UpMEGAN THEE STALLION- THOT S H I TRICO NASTY- STFUNEW YEARS DAY- COME FOR MEANGIE-BASICPRINCESS NOKIA- S.H.I.TNIKI MINAJ- BARBIE TINGZBABY TATE- PEDITODRICK HALL- Y.A.SLIL MARIKO- BORINGLIL MARIKO- HI, I'M A S L U Tppcocaine- S L U TBELLA PORCH- BUILD A B I T C HASHNIKKO- TOXICEGO LIKENESS- NEW LEGIONMASSIVE EGO - HATERS GONNA HATE ANGELSPIT - SKY HIGH COMBICHRIST - WHAT THE F U C K IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?NIGHT CLUB - GOSSIPNIGHT CLUB - YOUR ADDICTIONSNOW THA  PRODUCT - TELL YOU LIKE THISSNOW THA  PRODUCT - COULD NEVER BE ME 

♡𝑹𝑬𝑷𝑬𝑵𝑻𝑨𝑵𝑪𝑬.♡

12/03/2021 05:56 PM 

My issue With RPERS In General

This is Part two of the whole "Issues" post and this is simplified for the morons on the site who don't realize that they all look the f u c k i n same you know who you are so I don't have to explain it. (this Groups OC and Canon Writers In General) 1. The s m u t / e r o Seekers.2. The "No s m u t/ ero" seekers. (Please, you're really looking for s m u t/ e r o, you're just in the closet about it)3. The people who just say "hello" or "Hi" and then ghost you- yeah you, f u c k you.4. The s h i p stalkers, f u c k you 5. The "Let's Discuss" and then you send the starter and they ghost you... F u c k you too. 6. The "Plastics" The people who have a clique and act like the high school mean girls (Boys do this s h i t too) 7. The Weeboo These are people who Literally eat, sleep and breathe Japan but don't understand the culture and only their love for anime8. The K-pop Stan These writers try to force their love for the abusive K-Pop industry onto other people 9. The Fanfic writer, These writers literally try to force their ships onto other people10.  Problematic Fandoms ( Such as Series written By pedophiles for Pedophiles "Fate/Stay" as an example   Series written by Racists "Genshin Impact"/ "Honiko Impact" as examples) 11. Tournament Junkies People who are always seeking fighting roleplays for their tournaments which don't really prove anything except for how addicted they are to fighting other writers. 12. The Trolls, Adults who act like Immature f u c k i n' children. 13. The Clout Chasers- These types of people are obsessed with the Gold Standard writers who are amazing at the craft and will do ANYTHING to gain the clout, such as trying to befreind them and then stab them in the back. 14. The Stalkers, these are  people  who  view  but never  add, yeah go f u c k yourself. You're  wasting  your  time,  not mine. 

悪者

12/02/2021 09:40 PM 

Character Bio

//The following is the general Biography of the major events in Satsuji's life. If you don't want to know and would rather learn about him as stories we write unfold, or if you just don't like to know a killer's motivation/origin, don't read further. It will spoil everything. If you're alright with that, read on, keeping in mind that this is largely a rough draft and subject to change.--------------------------  Satsuji was an entirely normal child, born to a mixed-race American and Japanese couple. Taught to speak fluent English and Japanese alike, the first few years of his life passed with little incident. He was a good kid; listened to his parents, had friends, did well in school. As he came into his preadolescent years, however, his family began to notice that he wasn't quite as normal as they'd believed. In contrast to a bright and excitable personality, his interests grew more morbid.His Mother thought it was a phase that he would grow out of, while his Father wondered if there was just something wrong with him. In his early teenager years, the latter proved to be right when he was found with some birds whose wings he’d clipped, tossing them off the roof of the house just to see how far they’d go before they hit the ground. Clearly, something had to be done. He was made to go to therapy, but it seemed to make little difference. Satsuji seemed to enjoy hurting living things, and no one could figure out why or how to discourage him from doing so before he moved on from hurting animals, to hurting people.As he came into the later teenage years of adolescence, he finally found an outlet for those terrible urges. He discovered that he liked to write. He wrote poems and short stories about all manner of awful things, and found that putting the words on a page cathartically satisfied the urge to act out those very same actions. It worked for him, and it worked well enough to get him through his High School years without incident. Beyond that, he truly enjoyed it. Satsuji wanted to stick with it, improve his writing skills, perhaps even become a proper published author someday. He’d move out of his family home and move on to college, focusing on the arts. Beginning to make friends; date, even. For a time, he was finally allowed to feel normal.If he’d been lucky, it would have worked out. He would have become a published author, his dark tendencies kept in check and limited to the world of fiction. Unfortunately for him, there are greater forces in the universe, one of which had other plans for him.Purely by existing and going about their lives, humans naturally emit evil. The spiritual byproducts of mankind are invisibly left behind in their wake, like a trail left by a slug. It accumulates; building and growing. To prevent this, it must be managed, thus all of that negative energy is channeled into a specific point where it can’t cause harm. It can be anything, points in space, objects. These points become a prison to that negative energy. Each of these waste-prisons has a lock assigned to it. Something alive, whether human or animal, through which that evil is channeled into its prison. A ceaseless flow of mankind’s most awful and vile impulses, run through the mind of a being that would never know what it was doomed to be.Satsuji had the misfortune of being chosen to be one such lock.  Ordinarily, these waste-locks are the quiet sort. Introverts or small animals of no real harm to anyone.  Satsuji will never know who runs this undertaking, or why they chose him of all people to be a waste-lock, but they must have been ill to have done so. As Satsuji was quite sick to begin with, having all of that spiritual sludge run through him caused him to degenerate further, and quite rapidly.For a time, it was manageable. His writing was his release, and that was good enough. Evil, however, is eager to breed and to coat everything in itself. More importantly, it was also eager to escape. Not exactly self-aware, but capable of acting; not on the outside world, but on the lock that kept it restrained. It fed off of his mind, devouring his creativity, taking advantage of the human mind’s power of imagination. As Satsuji’s ability to write diminished, the voices he heard grew louder, making themselves more real with every ounce of creativity it drew from him.As with all things, there was a finite amount, and eventually that building evil had sucked him dry. He could no longer write, at least nothing of substance. His efforts became more and more frustrating and disappointing, flowery yet articulate prose devolved into short and basic lines that even a child would be unimpressed by – when he could even manage to get beyond a handful of words. His outlet was gone, and so too was the sole thing that he used to define himself as a person.Opposing voices in his mind urged him – kill others or kill yourself.The former ultimately won out. His memory of how it happened is all but gone. He vaguely remembers a girl, but does not know who she is. It was in her bedroom. He did something to her, and left with her blood on his hands. The first person he’d ever killed, and he felt whole once more. That void that had been left behind filled, replaced by something more violent. He left, enough self-awareness remaining to know there was no conceivable redemption from the line he'd finally crossed.He found a home that seemed abandoned in the suburbs of the city, and moved right in, spurred by the voices that ever pushed him further. Despite being run down, everything in the place seemed to work. Upon going down into the basement, he found all manner of torture devices within, as though waiting for him. Doing awful things became an impulse, his only creative outlet, ranging from quick slashes of a throat to weeks of extended torture. The more evil funneled through him, the more ghoulishly obscene the acts he committed became, and the more his mind degenerated. Memories gradually became lost or hazy at best, left with little to do but keep degenerating and losing his grip on reality, as well as which voices in his head were his and which were not.Over time he came to realize that no matter what he did, or how publicly he did it, no one ever seemed to try to stop him. Witnesses who left the scenes of his crimes called police, who never came, and never seemed to have records of those calls at all. On those lowest days where he listened to the other voice in his head, where a depression hit and he managed to feel some remorse for his actions, when he tried to kill himself; something always seemed to get in the way. Rope would snap, electrical devices would short out or have dead batteries, guns would jam or be unloaded. Whatever force had saddled him with this burden ensured he could keep going – or rather, ensured that the lock on that evil held together for as long as possible in spite of the toll it took on him, or the endless bodies that piled up as a result of it.He suspects that some supernatural force, demons perhaps, are meddling with his life, yet has no way to ever know for certain. Satsuji lives largely on impulse now, finding some scrap of fulfilment in his atrocities; anything but quiet, having become almost an extension of what he was charged to contain. One way or another, he will eventually die, as all living things do. In solipsistic fashion, the universe will cease to exist without him there to perceive it; leaving nothing but endless nothingness, a bottomless void for the evil that his death releases to fall into, removing it from existence. The universe will then be reinstated by the higher power that runs this system, with all of that accumulated evil removed, at which point a new prison, and a new lock will be chosen, and the whole process repeats once more.A cruel yet efficient system as old as evil itself. 

ᴡᴀʀʙɪʀᴅ

12/02/2021 05:43 PM 

Why Do You Push

I lay there looking at the ceiling hoping something would stop youWilling the words to come out from the back of my throatIt seemed so easy to say no beforeSo simpleBut that day in your room it changed everythingI laid there as you kept going and you kept asking if it was okayI guess you took the look of horror and fear on my face as a yesYou kept going further furtherUnbuttoning my pantsSliding down my underwearRemoving the condom from you drawerAnd finally right before you started to pound out my soulI got out that one little word, noBut that wasn't enough you played it off like it hadn't been saidI lay there as you took what little self-esteem I had leftLooking at the clock, begging the minuets to go fasterSo it would all be done and I could homeFinally after 30 minutes you were finally finishedA grin flashed across your face and you told me how great you feltYou pulled out, I lay dazed and confused, unsure what was nextYou told me "Next time you owe me,This was all about you." 

ᴡᴀʀʙɪʀᴅ

12/02/2021 05:32 PM 

My Virginity

I think back to when it happened,think back to that awful day.The day when it all happened,the day he took "it" away.Fighting. Yelling. Crying.It didn't matter how loud I screamed.Nobody came to help me.Nobody came to set me free.I still dream of running,of trying to break away.Of feeling him catch me,every damn day.I see him in the shadows,even while I'm at home.I close my eyes and pray he's gone,only then I can't help but feel him.To this day I feel him,his tight grip on my wrists,The pressure of his bodyas I tried to resist.He continued to thrust away,as I fought and yelled and cried.It didn't matter how loud I screamed,Nobody came to help me.Nobody came to set me free. 

ᴡᴀʀʙɪʀᴅ

12/02/2021 04:29 PM 

Here The Flower, Here The Lamb

God did not mean to give me a mouth.He meant to give me hands, eyes, a heartbut not a mouth.When I speak something in me bleeds. When I-I speak, and my eyes fog over like glass.  I can't see you standing there, I'm so sorry. Show me again, where did you put the bread?  I feel like a thing that needs to be forgiven.I feel so fragile sometimes.I am trying to understand theweight of the evil inflicted upon me.It is heavy. I never understood that 'till now.I wasn't meant to carry this weight, but I do.I wasn't meant to speak the way Iso often will, but I do.What can I say anymore?I can't write without bleeding. I can't speak without knowing it is a wound. How can I communicate without tearing something open? I'm afraid of shutting up and looking for my language. If I decide to leave behind every word that hurts me, would I have any words left? Will it **** the little bit of connection with people I have left?Listen.I hope you forgive me for the little sadness I'll inspire in you.I am afraid, but don't pity me. I am blossoming and becoming something else.This, apotheosis, this becoming closer and closer to my own light.It is a process that requires allowing death.What must die must die. Allow grief.I'll leave you with this:If you slept next to me, it would bemuch like sleeping with a letter under your pillow.Every night, every night...*"Here I write to you a list of cruelties I am capable of.May you never forget:I have made the flower so that it may blossom, and I have made the lamb so that it may eat it.Blessed be the one willing to become.Here, the flower. Here, the lamb."- God

𝓡𝓐𝓓𝓘𝓐𝓝𝓒𝓔

12/02/2021 10:02 AM 

𝐅 𝐥 𝐢 𝐠 𝐡 𝐭 . {Writing Entry}
Current mood:  accomplished

      { Do play the music track above for some melody to go with this entry of mine. ^-^ }      To float a bit and carelessly hover from one place to another is already hard. To soar high and sail the gales like a proud eagle, now, that is a much steeper and more daring act on its own. But she has to commit to performing the latter, even if she has failed time and time again throughout the years.    Through the cruel and calculated control of an ancient devilish space-ferrying empire, the means to use the sky as another plain to travel on was laughably fleeting. In this day and age, removed from the many privileges of being an unholy puppet, this maiden is denied the ease of those godlike feats. Some, if not all, she would want to regain, oh yes. At least, they would make her long aching life a tad less unbearable.    On a tall mountain cliff, this doll in rags is staring at a sea of clouds, nearly still in their presence. Bluish-green eyes seem lost in all the large clumps and puffs of white. Birds, scaled legends and angels can glide well through the milky realms. So did she, eons ago. That feeling of freedom far away from the earth was only achieved through long horrific imprisonment. Yes, she could do those extraordinary things that would make rulers in many worlds envy her badly. But those privileges came with many strings, strong, sour and sinister ones that resulted in countless exploitation and agony. The memories of old do still hurt.    However, on more than several occasions, she has been told that she can restore some of them, including the means to soar the heavens again. That would be swell. And so, close those lovely eyes. Take a deep breath. Recall a heartfelt encouragement from prior millennia. It is still there in you, Astrid.The marvels and majesty of a goddess.What you believe to have been lost.You need only to reawaken them.    Astrid slowly brings herself down on her right knee while still on the protruded edge she has been standing for a while. Soft fingers of her right hand are placed on the hard dirt. It is cold and coarse to the touch of someone who is quite delicate. A dear damsel who had gone through so much that to speak had become a genuine hardship for her.    She takes another deep breath; creamy pink lips lightly parted while she cools her lungs. Feel the many flows of energy in the cosmos making their way into her flesh. Let her nerves feel the faint sting of those tiniest specks that were ushered into existence by the primordial forces of creation.    Think of her sisterly friend. Think fondly of that loveliest doting Witch-Queen who brought her salvation and true liberty from that wretched empire that treated them both like nothing else but deadly weapons and delicious whores. Think of her kindness, her smile, her desire to make this maiden feel better even if things are bleak, her sacrifice, her love. She would not want her younger sisterly friend to remain in torment and know that she still suffers greatly to this day, does she not?    Another deep breath is taken; her soft whisper of each release is sultry. The air around the kneeling maiden begins to rumble, wind swirling gradually until it gets faster. Her nerves ache. Her spark to not give in to fear and futility grows more ferociously inside her. Strands of her strawberry-blonde hair in a bun, long and flowing if brought down and loose, flail up and down from this overture of something ancient and astral being awakened from such a long slumber. Slowly clench the fingers on the rocky surface into a fist. Many specks of dirt near this lass are rising. Perhaps, even just saying her name, despite the crippling coyness, can encourage this lone doll to push on. “A-Azz-...zzaaa......”    She brings herself a bit more down, perhaps an inch or two, from her lowered stature. The icy wind spiraling around her is stroking her smooth skin, tickling her cheeks that had been drenched in tears many times before. Clench that little fist tighter, forlorn shy lass. One last deep breath. Bring in the goodness. Let go of the sadness.    Astrid opens her eyes as she cast that liberating breath, her voice quite crisp. In one fell swoop, the lone doll in rags pushes her entire kneeling up into the nothingness before her, vigorously and violently. The rocky edge she was kneeling from is brought into a small crater from the might that came with her powerful leap. The path of her self-induced toss is wide and arched, but soon she begins to plummet after leaving the high earth more than a hundred yards behind her. The roar of the air is nothing short of loud, growling on her ear as the minty push is giving her sullied princess face a bit of sting.    She is falling through the sea of clouds. The green and brown of the great distant earth is before her sight. Lines and shapes of the many things down there are still blurred but can become clear fairly soon. One of them is a large lake bigger than the bustling town she left had from a month ago. If she fails at this latest chance to not simply float but to actually fly, the rich wonders below await her with a nasty fatal kiss and her being a lifeless corpse so soon, pretty and pathetic. Muster your bravery, almighty as the sun.Keep training your body, mind, heart and soul.Through those moments of pain, you will see it.The grand opportunity to reclaim what is rightfully yours.Temper yourself well, dare not wither and whittle.Your godhood will be yours again, dearest Astrid.    Once up high on that mountain edge, the woman is becoming dangerously closer to the lake below. Even with what a watery plain to greet her, she is sure to die or have her unholy body put her to sleep for months, if not years, before she recovers enough. Cease clinging into inhibitions. Spark up and more those tiniest living blocks that may as well belong to a crowd of celestial beings that can move the heavens and the earth. The lake is becoming larger to her gaze. Her soft voice cracks as she brings herself nearly in tears, trying her very best to finish speaking the name of her sisterly friend who she misses so achingly much. “......-Vela.”    Just a few yards before the lake surface, a mighty crack of thunder rattles the air for miles! Branches of nearby trees by the hundreds sway from the wall of gale that blasted from the center of that madness which is Astrid herself. Even the lake itself awakens from this explosive drama through a tall white tower of water! She gradually directs herself from a sheer downward drop to a new forward path in long wide swerves. She zooms ahead; her speed is much faster than the raging winds around her.    The once-fixed bun falls off, revealing her beguiling fiery-blonde hair that flails along with the edges of her tattered cloth soaring so swiftly ahead. Miles are covered in mere seconds as this lonely lady has reawakened what she has been dying to regain for ages, after much trial and more errors that she can possibly count.    Joy comes with sweet sorrow, for tears are soon shed from her narrowing eyes. The waves of disbelief are surreal, but so are those of her bliss and pride.    Astrid pirouettes to change her formless road from forward to up. With another rich thud of something only the heavens should be able to sing, there goes another thunder! Astrid hurls herself up high, her right arm raised up with its fist fairly clenched. The cool battering breeze is sensational.    A new curiosity manifests itself on this momentous occasion. White flames soon surround this skyward beauty, gnawing through her dreadful pauper’s clothing until it is no more. This searing force hurts her a bit, but she endures it. Perhaps, she is aware that it is a transformation she must go through. Astrid may be reawakening more than just her gift to travel these higher plains, after all.    Left bare while up high, the gleaming flame dresses this young beauty in something slimming and shimmering. A slender gown-like ensemble fitting what she may probably is. Two pairs of pellucid seraphic wings come into form on the back on her back. Truthfully, they are not needed for her heavenly journey. They are extensions of her celestial form to store in and brew the power of the stars in the event that they are needed on her command. Astrid soon towers past the mountain she tossed herself from. She curves her path again to explore what is ahead rather than just what is aloft.    Astrid gently wipes her tears with a curled finger while her lovely watery eyes are gawking at the far horizon. That blend of joy and woe is still on her face turning a bit rather around the nose from her silly weeping. It should not be a shock that this heavenly doll with her dazzling dress and wondrous wings is thankful for this incredible freedom she is given. She dares not give it away without a fight.    O, how the exceedingly elegant Aza-Vela would have been so proud that her sisterly companion from eons ago can also achieve what that elder Witch-Queen had done so prior to her passing. Awaken and reclaim her godhood for her own.    As her tears lessen, Astrid stirs a bit of her pride awake, letting out a sultry smirk providing more intrigue to her glamorous visage. One that many below will desire her madly at the mere sight of her right now. She springs parts of herself forward to let out another loud crack of thunder. Astrid pierces through the heavens in pirouettes every now and then. Roar on and away through her skyward sail while feeling as unstoppable as a storm and perhaps faster than one. The angel delights herself once againin a divine privilege she lost eons ago.The gift of flight.   a n i r o l e p l a y / B r o k e n A n g e l    

𝓡𝓐𝓓𝓘𝓐𝓝𝓒𝓔

12/02/2021 08:30 AM 

Prompt: Pursuit.

       The red-haired maiden finds herself in a grand hall, leaving the slim passage behind her. Her greenish-blue eyes marvel at this citadel of turning wheels, cogs, and rods. Most are colossi in contrast to her young damsel of a stature.    Darkness is kept at bay by spots and stripes of yellow lights placed in nooks and crannies to guide and give light to anyone servicing certain parts of the monolithic machinery. The symphony of hardened steel, brass, and copper is rich as a roar of the open sea. The path ahead, a long bridge with guard rails on both sides, seems to lead to a distant wide landing and branches into different shorter bridges and even staircases going up and down.    Her friend has been onward for half an hour who she is in pursuit of. The spirited fellow is dutiful to give the big cheese of this place a stern talking, even if it means awakening his steel to make a sharp point. While he can keep fending danger on his own, he will still need all the help he can get to bring into life a noble goal.    This sky fortress they are both in is bearing on a kingdom that had just recovered from a harrowing assault by land. The same head minds of this astonishing modern marvel were the cause of much grief that led to ruined properties and lives lost. This maiden and his friend are among the band of brave souls who must infiltrate and disable this hovering island before it can be used to usher in the worst for the good folks below.    The clap of metal on leather is crisp as she goes for a brief stroll further into the long narrow path ahead. Her eyes wander left and right, high and low, searching for the respective path her friend took. A gloved hand is holding onto the highest rail to ensure her balance and safety. A fall into what distant darkness is underneath her feet would be nothing short of horrifying.    He did say early on that he will leave a clue of sorts for her team to see, so they can catch up. Those who need or want to, of course. Her eyes narrow at the sight of something protruding from a platform two stories above going into a doorless passage. The lights on top of the doorway give enough for her gaze to understand that it is some sort of broken piece of machinery. It lets out a rather rhythmic spark, making nearby walls glow every several seconds. The sides of the door frame seem to have been licked by fierce swordplay judging from the lengthy slash marks on the left and right of that entry. And she knows how ferocious her friend can be if he is given time and focus to unleash his skill with a blade.    How curious. And she, a wandering cat on a dire quest, must be fed with such a curiosity. The red-haired maiden goes onward further into this long narrow bridge, carefully treading with a hand on the rail. She tries not to get distracted by the big moving pieces and their deep grinding noises and sharp squealing. What manner of help she can actually give him, she has to first catch up and be by his side again.    Behind her, several stories up and coming out of a different passage meant for smaller things to come in and out of, something is watching her. Six pairs of red eyes and faint skittering of something inhuman. Through those round rubies, they feed information to be sent away, bouncing off from walls and into other apparatuses. Surveillance in a different part of the fortress is at work, doing well to assess the level of threat this other intruder may bring. The former is indeed formidable. And so, what about this lone doll in slimming leather?    The feeling of being watched embraces her. The maiden stops to look around, minding the wheels and cogs, the large spinning rods connecting one portion of machinery to another. Steam hisses once in a while, adding more noise for her ears to drink. Her eyes are nearly lost from all this hustle and bustle of inanimate objects. Alas, the watchers are too far from her and they are able to easily crawl away from direct sight if necessary.    Deeming that she is wasting precious time with her wandering eyes and glued feet, she snaps her right out of her spellbound pause and takes a deep breath. The large patch of metal landing where staircases and smaller bridges meet is getting closer; the former which does go up being is something she would want to follow to be with her friend. The spies also pursue this wandering doll. Given time, other odd assets will arrive to greet her, perhaps even capture her. It would be such a blight to her noble quest if she fails to realize too soon and act accordingly that her presence is in this sky fortress is quite unwelcome.   a n i r o l e p l a y / 5 4 3 9 0 6    

Koneko

12/01/2021 09:10 PM 

Character Bio

Name(s): Shiro ToujouFake Name: Koneko Toujou Nicknames: Hell-Cat, Runt, Little Midget, Little Kitty Trap, Shirone (Only his sister calls him that.)Likes: (Chocolate, popsicle's, punching those that try to touch him in any way without his consent, protecting those he cares about)Dislikes: (Cruel people, anyone who tries to use him for their benefit)Appearance: Koneko is a petite boy with white hair and gold eyes. His weight is [31 kg] [68 lbs]. The front of his hair has two long bangs going past his shoulders and several loose bangs hanging over his forehead, while the back has a short bob cut. He also wears a black cat-shaped hair clip on both sides of his hair. Koneko's height is 138 cm (4 feet 6 inches). In his Nekomata form, he grows a pair of white cat ears and a pair of matching white tails, and his eye pupils become more cat-like.Personality: At the beginning of any potential new friendship or towards those he doesn't know, Koneko will have a cold personality, rarely showing any feelings or emotions, even when speaking. If someone gets him to open up more to them, he will smile and show varying degrees of emotion depending on how close he is to that person, though it will be more challenging for someone who is perverted to get him to like them since Koneko doesn't like perverts. When it comes to showing concern, most of the time, it will be shown only for those he has become close to when they are in trouble, often lending his strength in fights. Koneko has a problem with people calling him a midget as he has a complex about his small size. His somewhat normal cold personality is due to being forcibly yet unknowingly separated from his sister Kuroka. However, if someone gets Koneko to fall in love with them, he will start acting like a cat sometimes and often showing romantic affection towards that person, though if that person is a pervert and displays perverted tendencies towards anyone but Koneko himself, Koneko will insult his lover out of a bit of jealousy.

Drista

12/01/2021 07:29 PM 

Have fun!

Text me when you can I'll be leaving for 1 week quackity will take over Bye

Drista

12/01/2021 07:29 PM 

Have fun!

Text me when you can I'll be leaving for 1 week quackity will take over Bye

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