#self rp

[askachroma]

Faba, we need to have a child.

[running-till-the-sun-sets]

*pokes the echo pokes the echo*

[silly-astral-being]

Oh hello! Your interesting....your theories are ....interesting

I swear if you're another sinister, I'm going to beat your ass.

[poems-and-wine]

Oi, weird water thingy, you're new here, right?

@the-lurking-waternymph

[obayozo-nolongerhuman]

And since when did YOU get an account?

[the-puppeteerr]

ZELURA WHAT DID YOU DO??

"Oh? why would that be my fault?"

[twtangel-arts]

So Koro and Aguri had fuked up my mind, so yall get to have this.

They are very, doomed by the narrative

[windyskiez]

@poems-and-wine

Thanks for coming home.....twice :3

[nightmares--child]

closed. @laughing-hellblazer

Dark. Dark and cold and empty were the halls of this nightmare. Pain and loathing clung to the wallpaper like mildew, peeling it up from the edges. The sick, grey light that illuminated the corridors came only from the struggling lamps above his head. Distant sounds of screams and wailing permeated the air as he glided down the path toward his destination.

He looked out a passing window to make certain he was right. A wrought iron gate in the distance, through woven metal, spelled out 'RAVENSCAR ASYLUM'. This night terror was used to be one of the dreamer's more common, feeling like a painting one passed by every morning on their way to the kitchen. It had long since faded into a nothingness of background clutter, and only though his arrival did the painting get another glance.

He knew this dreamer only through the tales in the libraries of Castle Dream -- flickers on pages in books in shelves. It was a forbidden act to him; climbing into the dreams of others outside of the castle. It was too dangerous, he had been told. There was no going back now, was there? He was almost there. The faint sounds of a mid-century ECT machine crackling with strain gave it away.

Pain was here. Fear followed. He fought the urge to feed upon it as he passed through it like a fog and into the room, lit by a single overhead lamp. Piggy. He stood at the side of the table, turning the dials with a subtle, knowing smile. Writhing on the table, ankles and wrists reddened under the hold of four-point restraints, was his target. He was younger here, in this place. Memory did that. There wasn't much time before the dream would tear itself apart for the sake of his sanity. "John..." he called as he reached out to touch the man's head, leaning down over into his vision, "John Constantine..."

[running-till-the-sun-sets]

@obayozo-nolongerhuman

You and Takeishi :3

fellas is it gay to nurse your best friend back to health after he becomes feverish and delirious with the horror of his actions

[silly-astral-being]

*absolutely not having it.*

*is laying upon a bed that seemed to be changing ever so slightly, like a cloud almost. Though it was staying in a very solid form of a bed.*

[poems-and-wine]

Hey tiny vampire turn me into one again I feel like biting someone and napping on the ceiling in the library.

@itty-bitty-bram

[jourquet]

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," a warning perhaps ━ or worse. Izaya's hand froze Yohan's movements with immediate effect. Stilled the motion of a punch. Yohan turned on his heels, attempting to kick into the solar plexus. Only to meet with an invisible barrier that vibrated at the pressure. "As I said," Izaya realized his grip, observing as Yohan's face visibly paled. "I'm an actual demonic Prince, unlike your pale imitations."

"... No." Izaya shrugged, "you can rest assured, your beloved Isaac isn't burning in Hell." He flickered the knife around his palms. "Though, I'm certain Kim Gaon is enough punishment for you." Yohan's gaze narrowed into slits. "What do you want?" "That's the wrong question," Izaya tsked. "What's your deepest desire, Yohan-nim?" He let the silver blade dance across his fingers. "I could grant you anything." Yohan's masquerade briefly fell ━ the depths of yearning, as in swimming to the bottom of the ocean. And to never find the sands that laid there. Unseen for everyone. "Anything?" "Anything," Izaya said matter-of-factly. There were limits to his powers of course; but nothing the human required to know about. "Nobody can do that," Yohan snapped. "I'll be sure to inform God of that." Izaya shrugged. "It does take a while to get through those channels." The Judge glanced dumbfounded at him. "You're serious." "Always been," Izaya dissolved the barrier between them with a snap of his fingers. "Bureaucracies are a headache. I'm aware about all of yours."

[frogyjones-art]

Lots of you seemed interested so now you can buy this as a print on my shop! 15% off rn :3

Here's an alt version of "Velvet"

[iwritesmutnottragedy]

The Fire-Woman

The Fire-Woman

Amoukar watched the fire. The flames danced and cracked, their light flickering against the darkened valley. His body was still from the long day of walking, hunting, and watching—but his mind was not still. His mind was full.

The fire was theirs again. Strong. Alive. It had been many days since the Wagabu took it, many days since the Ulam had gone without its warmth, its protection. Now, it burned before him, feeding on wood, whispering in tongues only the wind understood.

Amoukar exhaled through his nose, rolling a smooth stone between his fingers. The fire was back. But something else had come with it.

His eyes flicked to where the others lay, curled beneath thick furs. Naoh and Ika were pressed close together, their breathing slow and steady. Gaw lay apart, though close to the fire, his heavy brow furrowed even in sleep. He was always thinking, even when he rested.

And then—her.

The fire-woman.

Sara.

Amoukar’s fingers twitched, his grip tightening slightly on the stone. She had curled up beside him again tonight. Close. Like before. Like the first night, when the dark had stretched too wide and the cold had pressed too deep, and she had crept toward his warmth with hesitant hands.

She had been afraid that night. Afraid of the night, of the world, of them. But not anymore.

Not of him.

Amoukar’s lips curled slightly, the ghost of a smirk crossing his face. He had felt her small body relax beside him, her breath steady against his arm. She was not as afraid now. She trusted him.

That pleased him more than he would admit.

The others had accepted her. Naoh tolerated her, Gaw still watched her with wary eyes, and Ika—well, she was like her. Different. Sharp like a new stone blade, quick with her hands, quick with her thoughts.

But Sara… Sara was softer.

Amoukar had never met a woman like her. She was weak in body, but not in spirit. She could not hunt, could not fight, could not eat raw meat without her belly twisting in pain. But she did not break. She learned. She tried. She was small, strange, not built for this world—but she had survived.

That was strength.

And now… she spoke.

Amoukar glanced down at the pendant she had shown them. The stone, smooth and cold, had changed something. Her words had once been broken sounds, nonsense that meant nothing. Now, they meant everything.

The first time she spoke to him in Ulam’s tongue, his whole body had stilled. The words had fit in his ears, in his mind, but not in his understanding. Fire-woman had done something. Made something.

He had laughed. Gaw had not. But Amoukar had laughed because he had understood.

And now… now he wanted to understand more.

His eyes returned to her sleeping form. The firelight flickered over her face, painting her in warmth. Her lips were slightly parted, breath slow, steady. Her strange dark hair was tangled from the wind, bits of grass still woven through it. Amoukar had pulled some of it out the night before, fingers combing through her strands like he did with Gaw. She had not stopped him.

Another small smirk curled his lips.

She was close. He liked that.

He would speak to her when she woke. Now that the words were not broken, he wanted to hear her. Really hear her. He wanted to ask where she had come from, what she had seen. What she was.

And he wanted to tell her things, too.

The fire popped, sending a small spark into the air. Amoukar’s eyes followed it until it faded into the night.

Tomorrow. He would speak to her tomorrow.

For now, he let his eyes close, his body settling into the earth. The fire warmed his skin, but the warmth against his side—the small presence breathing steadily beside him—was something different.

Something new.

And Amoukar liked new things.

Especially this one.

[cigsrettws]

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀© @cigsrettws

⠀⠀⠀জ⠀⠀៹⠀⠀𝐂𝖺𝖽𝖺𝗏𝗋𝖾⠀⠀⠀⠀٫̷⠀⠀﹙ 𝑚𝑢𝑒𝑟𝑡𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑟 ﹚

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𝗀𝗈𝗎𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗌⠀⠀⠀𝖽.⠀⠀𝑠𝑎𝑛𝑔⠀⠀⠀⠀ّ⠀𝗅𝖺⠀𝗺𝗼𝗿𝘁.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀মন্দ⠀⠀⠀𝖽𝖺𝗋𝗄𝗇𝖾̄𝗌𝗌.⠀⠀──⠀⠀⠀𝟣𝟪𝟢𝟢⠀⠀𝖅 ٬

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀. .ㅤ𝗆͟ᧉ ?ㅤㅤ 𝖎𝗀𝗇𝗈𝗋⍺𝗇𝖼ᧉ.⠀⠀𝒇.⠀𝒉𝑒𝑙𝑙

苦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𝗉𝖾𝖼⍺𝗍𝗈𝗋𝖾𝗌⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀/⠀⠀⠀𝐈nfame⠀⠀⠀♱

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀──⠀⠀⠀𝗆ɥㅤ𝗆ı𝗇𝖽⠀? ⠀⠀𝗀𝗈𝗎𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗌ㅤd. ⠀𝑺𝘢𝘯𝗀

Caso pegue alguma comente "pg"