#God of Teeth event.

[hellcab]

Other Roth RP starter!

{{ Hello everyone! This post is regarding Roth's "God of Teeth" event. Basically, Other Roth has replaced Roth. So, if anyone wanna interact with a murderous, psychotic doppelganger. Please give this post a like and I'll write up a starter. }}

[transmechanicus]

Sometimes love feels like you’ve splattered yourself against a wall and there’s really no dignified way to get back up from that

[bloodcoveredgf]

longlegs is a movie about mother/daughterhood for real. throws up thinking about it actually

[soullessjack]

it genuinely kills me very slowly to think that some people can only ever think of jack as the destiel kid and not like an actual person with a myriad of maladjustments or silly funny personality quirks. like he has a whole special red and white fleece lined Christmas jacket and is canonically acknowledged as looking like a stupid hot white boy without any thoughts behind his eyes. He killed a whole fucking archangel and then decided that he really wanted to try making some friends like a week later. they wanna be normal and nice so bad and pretend to be some normal small town boy next door all the time but they were literally so angry once that it took three gunshots fired in the back to make him calm and reasonable.

he stress eats and stays in their room for weeks on end when they’re depressed or upset. they line their shoes up and fold their shirts and wear bright yellow vans and red hi-tops. he’s narratively paralleled to Anakin but his favorite character is Ahsoka. he pretended to be a coke addict and pretended to be a pretty new boy next door again to flirt with a hopelessly romantic girl. women want him and he’s absolutely clueless about it. women and men and probably fish fear him too. he dresses like a combination between an elderly man and a 70’s sitcom hippie. he was literally called Bieber and Suite Life. they like stripe patterns and Hawaiian pizza and movies and computers.

they’re literally an autistic person who just explodes shit when they get overstimulated. They watch riverdale and constantly sweep their hair back in a specific stylistic choice bc he likes looking like that. he fucking decapitated a whole Gorgon and then stole the guy’s snake as a trophy. he says shut up when he’s mad and calls things stupid and says they suck. he’s a teenage girl. he’s. A Teenage boy. He’s non-binary. He sat on the throne of god in grass stained jeans and clunky grandpa sneakers and left it all behind without even blinking as soon as his shitty bunker home called out to him. He sticks his tongue out when he’s focused on something and his left eye pulls up into a squint when he smiles reallt wide and his smile is crooked and he has sleepy eyelids . They decided to defy death herself just to rescue someone he mildly remembered caring about once and then blackmailed a reaper into helping with said rescue plan.

He got turned into the tiniest ugliest dog ever and got a thermometer shoved up his ass in the same episode where he’s narratively symbolized by the ouroboros symbol and makes the deliberate choice of destroying his soul just to selfishly keep his family bc he legitimately cannot handle thinking about losing them without going insane. his nicknames are sweetheart and darling boy and pal and buddy and Jackie Boy and slugger and he apologized to a girl for upsetting her like two episodes after ripping a man’s heart out and eating it raw. He literally actively wants to be a silly little guy that everyone likes but he’s so insane and unwell at the same time. he’s the best character ever and I need the entire world to understand this and to see him as more than just the destiel baby or I will also explode. .

[dnalt-d2]

So QSMP Prison, right??

Super exciting, and I super wish I'd been able to find that full subtitled Fuga Impossivel to prepare for it mentally, but oh well, time to start thinking

(And note: I wrote this yesterday and just straight-up forgot to post it, so if anything's changed since then and contradicts what I said, whoopsies)

Now for starters, am I the only one who thinks this is a bit out of nowhere?

The Islanders have been committing crimes for QUITE a while, (Especially Tazercraft lmao) so why only now are they imprisoning all the Islanders?? And why are the Eggs being imprisoned too??

If this is for some crimes they committed, then damn they sure took their sweet time on that, huh??

So what if this is for another reason?

Before, when the Black Concrete was being spread around the Island, the Federation sent the Islanders to Egg Island, thinking it would be safe for them. But it wasn't. It got hijacked by the Watcher, and ended up causing way more problems than it solved

Idk if the Black Concrete is still an issue (Though it seems to have mostly resolved for now) but there is ANOTHER issue of the Eye Workers and Purgatory attacking

And the Eggs are in danger, with Empanada even losing a life

What if this isn't necessarily meant as a punishment, but a way to protect the Islanders and Eggs while the Federation tries to figure out a way to defend them from the Eye Workers?

What if this IS how they defend them from the Eye Workers??

They tried sending them off to a nice place, but that wasn't controlled enough, and it ended up becoming the horror show that was Purgatory. So now, time to course-correct in the opposite direction, as hard as possible

Instead of an Island where they can have some semblance of freedom, thus causing them to be vulnerable, they get the incredibly strict environment of a Prison, where they can control everything they do, and everyone that comes in and leaves. They control every threat, thus ensuring that no matter what, the people inside are as safe as possible, to prevent anymore disasters from striking again

And if there's some other psychological effects, making them easier to control afterwards, then so be it. Anything for their Perfect Island, right?

(And just to add, we saw the images of the Eye Workers looking for someone, right?? It's easy to assume that they're looking for Luffy, but I think that maybe they've lost sight of where the Islanders are, specifically because the Federation hid them. I'm not sure on that entirely, since they looked like they were trying to find something yesterday specifically, and the Islanders were obviously still on the Island. For all we know, they're trying to find someone else entirely, and we just don't know who at the moment)

[the-professional-cocomeloner]

old math doodle of the one thing that always happens

[the-eldritch-it-gay]

Here's some screenshots from today. Lots of things happening in Baldur's Gate. I don't think a single thing Majexatli's been thrilled about.

[hellcab]

Pricking Thumbs - God of Teeth Start.

He dreams but doesn’t sleep.

Roth stirred and groaned, knowing the time. Half-asleep, Roth rose like some limp puppet hoisted by strings. He sat up, allowing his senses to catch up. Shower then breakfast.

Cold water sputtered then came in full. Roth tested the waters, then joined. The shower water washed over his weary frame. Soap in hand, he scrubbed his bluish skin. His mind longs for the warmth of his bed. Little by little, he convinced himself the day could be his. That he can do this.

That kind of thinking pushed him out the door. Kept him behind the wheel for about four decades. It came with self-loathing and bitter spite.

Cereal was all he could afford. He reused old coffee grind for another cup of joe. He forgot about getting groceries again. The mind was bothered by escapism. After work, he drinks and smokes. He gambles and finds love for the night. He finds his escape on the tip of every needle. Roth has yet to find his true escape from everything. That eludes him. So now, he must numb the pain of being.

Headphones blasted music into his ears. Elton John was his morning pick. The cassette was weathered but the music played. He finishes and gathers his clothes. Out of date fashion and weathered black boots was his uniform. Other clothes from another time were in the gloomy closet. Memories from another time when he could accept things. He could find joy, even in this place. That was long ago, far behind.

Unwilling, Roth exited and locked up his place. The hallways and stairs were dead silent. Nobody around, everyone was fast asleep or stranded. He preferred the morning quiet as he walked. The horrible, geometric carpet hurts his eyes. The elevator awaited him. Closing the lift doors, Roth pressed {“ground floor”} and started descending. The elevator rattled and moaned, as weathered, rusty steel grinds.

He dreams and is awake.

Roth thought about quitting for the umpteenth time. Then again, where will he go? What will he do? He wasn’t good at much. Not much at all.

He waited out of sight. He gripped his truncheon with nervous energy.  

Roth reaches the ground floor. The doors have trouble sliding open, but Roth frees himself. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he sees someone. Before Roth could turn, he’s struck across the head. A police truncheon smites his head, sending him back. Roth falls back, feeling pain and blood. He tries his best to get up. To fight to do anything. He yelps and screams, as the figure attacks again and again. Fear overcame Roth.

He could see the other’s face. The face was his. The other was him. He was grinning. He was grinning as he attacked him.

Again and again, the truncheon came down upon Roth. Other Roth strikes Roth again and again and again. Until Roth couldn’t move. He was knocked out cold, with blood on his crown. Once finished, Other Roth entered and pressed {“basement”}.

Roth arrived thirty minutes before his shift started. A strange sight, but nobody questioned why. He tackled the work and ferried passengers. He ate lunch with his coworkers and laughed and cackled. He worked. He laughed. He smiles. Roth consorts with the usual crowds he frequents and says every line. Yet, beyond the actions, there was something underneath. A kind of strange mimicry. Nobody could see. A soulless impression. Nobody could care. He had them all fooled.

They all shall dream.

[z00r0p4]

Been progressively getting more depressed and weepy on a daily basis about the hopelessness and meaningless of my life n situation n just today realized "oh it's because I go back to school on monday" and I associate school with pain because the seats are always fucking horrible and I always have to do sooo much work and coordination with accommodations, and I have a 3 hour long class this semester that I have to take in order to graduate with my minor and I cannot sit almost anywhere for that fucking long given my health problems. So I'm going to have to probably talk to this professor and beg them to let me stream in-- which will probably not work. My spanish class is in a room with god awful seating. I have one class more than I usually do and even though its a 1 credit class it's still another hour I have to spend in pain.

So all that said, my brain is apparently so traumatized by how awful my pain has gotten in the last 2 years that it's basically triggered by just. school. Probably need some sort of cptsd diagnosis. And lots of therapy. idk guys. I hope I can actually make it to my graduation.

[cetoddle-archive]

hi

[soullessjack]

it’s 3am I’m extremely dehydrated and ate poorly but I m having severe autism symptoms and cannot keep this to myself or I’ll die . I need you to understand that I am irrevocably haunted by these two quirked up artsy male actors and the entire epidemic of quirked up artsy male actors who are all about making real weird slutty art in the name of true cinema and being a slut and also being silly. They’re like an invasive species. I need to smash them with mallets. I need you to just know that. . Thank you

[aromanticasterisms]

DAIN LORE???????

[highgodstoresl]

All Gods Welcomed Sale

This month, Highgod Originals has in-world sales for the holiday season.

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[evandore]

halfway through...

[mr-ribbit]

not to keep harping on this but if you HATE shaving your body or any other part of your "beauty routine": stop doing it. just stop doing it, at least for a little while (maybe when you don't have a lot going on if that helps) and HONESTLY gauge how it makes you feel. is this feeling better or worse than the amount of time, stress, and money the routine takes? do YOU actually prefer how you looked before, or are you only worried about what others think? if you stopped doing the routine forever, could you find other ways to feel better about yourself with that energy?

when I was like 19 and the idea of not shaving my legs anymore first occurred to me (bc I had a Cool Progressive Boyfriend that Didn't Care) i just stopped and it was immediately like... a quantifiably large chunk of unnecessary anxiety just sloughed off my life forever. instantaneously I got rid a bunch of effort and stress I had been accepting as normal, and replaced it with more time to do what actually made me feel 'ready' in the morning, like hygiene, coffee, preparing for my activities etc.

and i DONT feel self conscious about body hair personally but even if I did, no amount of shame over hair could outweigh how much easier my life is. not just bc 'shaving annoying' or 'long showers' or whatever, but like. yeah I don't waste as much time getting ready anymore, and I also don't have to realize last minute before some leg-showing event that im unfit for display and have a whole self-esteem plummeting anxiety attack about whether I should rush it unsafely and risk being late, cut up, and stressed out before the event, or go With Hair and feel judged the whole time. i don't have to go through any of those emotions and when anyone does comment on my hair rudely, im in a much healthier place to deal with it and tell them to fuck off rather than validate THEIR fucked up standards by feeling bad.

once I realized I didn't give a shit and neither did anyone I cared about, it also gave me the freedom to cut out a bunch of other shit I was only doing (or Thinking I Should) bc it was what girls Have To Do to be presentable. fuck shaving fuck waxing fuck eyebrow shaping fuck concealer fuck multi step skincare fuck shapewear fuck lip fillers fuck contouring fuck teeth whitening fuck all of it, you do not need to change ANYTHING about how you look Every Single Day.

for those of you about to say "but I like being shaven/wearing makeup/literally pulling hair out of my face painfully every day etc etc etc":

have fun and mod your avatar all you want but for gods sake if you hate it and complain about how long it takes and all the stuff you "have" to buy or do just to "get ready" - you do not have to. you're not just having fun. you are not getting Ready, you are making your mood and experience worse for yourself, which is going to make you feel unready and unprepared for actually being yourself comfortably.

[hellcab]

Movie Night - God of Teeth Prelude.

“Wendy, I’m home.”

Roth snacked on salted popcorn, while watching Jack Nicholson give his best performance. Nearby, several casualties of drained beer cans laid scattered. He was alone. The mess never bothered him. It just grew around him and he never thought about it. Just like so many things.

Grasping a handful, Roth greedily devoured the popcorn. Some spilled onto his Mammon Rock Tour shirt. It just occurred that this was his only meal today. Drinking some stale beer, Roth waited and watched for his favorite scene and line. Jack at the door with the axe. Wendy inside, having just sent Doc outside into the cold. Armed with a butcher knife, she waited for Jack.

It was Roth’s favorite scene next to the sea of blood exiting the elevator. He watched with glee while Jack taunted his family.

“Little pigs! Little pigs! Let me in!”

Roth remembered showing the film to several friends. One, being an Imp who found the film hilarious. Different cultures, Roth assumed. Besides, some down here found the concept of familicide hilarious. A staple of comedy that brought the house down. This day was spent on movies. Roth had so many, so many to choose and watch. The bounty from the store was beer, popcorn and candy bars. He remembered Lute saying his diet was worse than some teenagers’. Or was that some teenagers ate better than him? He couldn’t really remember.

All day long, Roth watched all his favorite movies. He escaped into every movie and into every shot. He wanted to escape and never go back. More importantly, he wanted to escape his memory. He was nearing the day of the ritual. The night when “Ultima Discordia” died with another chance for freedom.

He remembered the room. The voice beckoning him to enter. He entered and witnessed it. He couldn’t describe it, but he could see it. Sweat builds on his brow and cheeks. The sensation of ants crawled around inside him.  Inside him, every atom screams in rebellion. Roth’s eyes become glassy, as if becoming entranced. He stares ahead, while Jack takes the axe towards the door. Wendy screams as she holds onto the kitchen knife. More and more, Roth could hear the teeth.

The phone rang and snapped Roth out. He dropped the popcorn onto the shag carpet. Cursing his luck, Roth looked at the phone, then at the mess. Back to the phone then the mess. Back and forth and back. Roth chooses the phone first. Picking up the receiver, Roth continued watching the film play out.

"Yeah, yeah who's this?"

“Heeeeeere’s Johnny!”

“Roth, it’s me Vincent. Vincent Andras.”

Frozen, Roth sat there, not believing the voice he had just heard. He wanted to escape that voice. To escape that man. He waited, just listening to the travelling static on the landline.  He mustered enough courage. Enough politeness, to answer. Though, warmth was missing. The cold of Roth’s voice shared his opinion. He wanted Vince to know how he feels. After so many years of silence.

“Hi, Vince. It’s been some time . . .”

“Yes, yes it has. I . . . I’m calling for something important. Necessary, even.”

Roth gripped the receiver. He clenched his mouth, while he sat on that couch. He stared ahead, watching the film. Yet, his mind remained curious on Vincent. Why was he calling? Why after so many years since the ritual.

“Roth . . . I know we have differences. Differences that-”

“Fuck. You.”

Roth interrupted, while he gripped the receiver even more. His blood was rushing and burning hot. He delved into his venom and wanted to drown Vincent there. Vince coughed on the other end and remained silent. He speaks again, trying his best.

“I wanted to call you . . . to hear you again. I needed to hear your voice. Roth . . . It’s about the ritual.”

Now, Roth flew up from his seat. He screamed into that phone and wouldn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. The night of the ritual, in 1998. The manor house and the dark room. The fear was behind Roth’s every agonizing word. Words of anger and pure fear.

“TALK! TALK about fucking what? We got out by the skin of our fucking teeth! What about Lazlo! Cyntha? Magret and Josh? What about them? THEY’RE FUCKING DEAD BECAUSE OF YOU! You killed them with a false promise!”

In many ways, Roth was speaking about himself and Vincent. He blamed himself for what happened on that night. At least, he could blame himself. Vincent always downplayed his part regarding the tragedy. He coped through shrugging the pain off. Then again, that’s all that Roth could see with him. That his old friend couldn’t care anymore than he could afford. The pain was buried inside him as with Roth.

Vincent’s anger was now speaking through the phone. Pain carried over the phone line.

“We were close, Roth! Closer than anyone before us. The door was open, and we could’ve made it! But . . . you choked. You were always a coward running from yourself. You blinked and everyone failed. You. Failed everyone.”

That hurt him more than anything. Roth felt it was true but . . . Vincent always played these games. It was how he controlled people, how he controlled Roth once. He still could even after all these years. Roth just had the benefit of being out of range. Calming his voice, Roth growled and gritted his teeth. Trauma was more present than anger.

“You expected too much. You . . . you demanded too much. You and I . . . . we shouldn’t have survived. Hell . . . the price was too much. What more is there than that . . .”

Vincent sighed on the phone and relented. He speaks again, trying to sound mighty and noble. But his tone betrays his every word. The divide between him and Roth . . . was too much.

“Fine. Stay in Hell, you bastard.”

Before Roth could get his own insult in, Vincent hung up. Roth seemed shocked and insulted and slammed the phone down. The anger remained and burned into his every waking moment. He sat there, breathing and searching for peace. But he found nothing. He wanted to forget. He wanted to forget Vincent and the ritual. The doors and the darkness beyond his own understanding. The thousands and thousands of teeth.

He starts to cry.