#tw: derogatory language

[xanthi-of-ithaca]

Open roleplay starter: Hold Them Down

Planning was not something he liked. He usually just went ahead and did whatever came into his mind and took it as a base. But he really couldn't do that now, could he?

Antinous had been eavesdropping on the conversations amongst the nobles, hearing their schedules, the upcoming events between kingdoms.. but none of them seemed like the moment to strike. There was always something that could go wrong.

Until that day. A diplomatic mission for the young prince while the rest of the nobles were entertained by some sort of dinner. That would be his chance. And what was even better, Penelope had recently given them a challenge.. which had only made them frustrated. Everything seemed to align so.. perfectly.

After watching every single suitor fail at their attempt of stringing that ancient bow (which he thought was going break after 2 attempts), he stood up. As usual, they expected him to say something; he was their voice, the only one who dared voice his thoughts without regard of who he might hurt by doing so.

"Screw this damn competition, we've been here for.. what? Hours? It's obvious we can't string that thing."

Antinous spoke up, playing with his dagger as his eyes darted around the room. His breath still had that scent of wine, despite having been sober for a week or two now.

"Fuck this damn challenge. We don't have to accept any more delays from her.. can't you see she's just playing with us?"

He asked the rest, watching their expressions change at the thought of being deceived by a woman, no less. He knew them to well.. just enough to make them upset about the whole thing.

Though, as he stepped closer to the center of the room, he began getting second thoughts.. he quickly suppresed them, knowing it was too late already.

"This is how Penelope is holding us down, like we are no better than animals. She's waiting until the prince is finally considered fit to rule. Where the hell is our pride and rage?! Where did our domain over this situation go?!"

His steps were calculated, he had planned this for weeks and he was not willing to let it all go to waste because of a miscalculation. Soon enough, he found himself in front of one of the tables in the middle of the room. He didn't even bother asking the rest to move, he just pushed through them and got on the table, just to make sure all 107 suitors could hear him speak. Despite feeling nervous as fuck, he tried to play confident as always.

@the-epic-amphinomus @sonofpolybus @bright-side-of-the-moon-tele @penelope-is-waiting @thetorturedsuitor

[justice-bringer]

heyyy nemmyyyy

Hello aeolus. *Nemesis said taking a sip of black coffee like it was saving her life at that moment*

[night-itself]

Your youngest is partially blind, that bitch can’t see shit

1. Call her that again and I will put you through eternal suffering. 2. She'll be fine I'm here.

[the-epic-amphinomus]

The bitch that stabbed your crush is Antinous’ kid. The bastard’s gone soft

SOMEONE STABBED HER!? I mean.... who's my crush👀 BUT SERIOUSLY POINT ME IN THEIR DIRECTION NOW!

[night-itself]

YOU BETTER FIX THIS OR ILL KILL YOU PERMANENTLY LUCAS'S HUSBAND OR NOT!

Did you make my kid cry!?

@night-itself

SHE'S MY KID TOO BITCH

and i didn't mean to I'm working on fixing it, using whatever means necessary

[sonofpolybus]

What do I do now?

The kid broke all the bottles od alcohol and now I've got to stay sober!

“Stay sober bitch.”

[system-of-a-feather]

I think a thing that is frustrating about neurotypicals as someone with autism and auditory / language processing issues (yet to be explicitly diagnosed to my knowledge) is how little they understand neurological differences and disabilities in processing things like hearing and yet they feel like they understand it to a sufficient level.

Case in point, today at work one ofbmy coworkers got all mad and offended because I was "rude and disrespectful" because in the morning, while thinking about the things I needed to do and thought of an important question before I could start my question to ask my mentor, asked the question and she was talking and thus I interrupted her. Yes, rude now that I KNOW she was talking and so I apologize, but I really hate the implied intent or lack of caring put with the "autistic interruption" shit

Ignoring social cues and rules aside, I *literally* didn't realize / process she was talking. Of course, I'm not deaf or HoH so I can't say that because "How could I not hear her? She was speaking loud enough to know" and there is a HUGE difference between *hearing* and *processing* and so when they always give the advise of be more considerate / think before you speak or tell you the social rule to not interript cause its rude, it doesn't help like at all

Cause yes, I KNOW that and I DO think before I speak. I just *literally* didnt process her speech as speech and it was filtered as white noise.

Its like going into a busy and loud club and saying "dont speak if the guy two tables down is talking"

Like yeah, maybe I COULD hear that he is talking among the 50000 other people talking, but Im not processing him talking as distinct from the ambient noise around me.

[penelope-is-waiting]

I think you better!

Open RP Starter: Drunk?

[Antinous was sitting on the floor, a large glass of wine in his hand, and was babbling nonsense. There were papers sprawled out on the floor, and empty bottles stacked into a neat tower in the corner. What in the hell happened here?]

//taglist! uh just some folks I think might wanna interact, ask if you wanna be added or removed!!

@the-true-telemachus @bright-side-of-the-moon-tele @childofkindness @god-of-smithing-and-cozy-vibes @penelope-is-waiting @the-great-emperor-commodus

//idk who else,, yippee have fun good luck

[ashintheairlikesnow]

BBU Community Days

@bbu-on-the-side * {Day 8} Barcode

-

CW: Police harassment, derogatory/demeaning language, prostitution, implied dubcon

The asshole officer shines a flashlight right in his face, half-blinding him, and he winces and turns his face away. "What the fuck-"

"I said turn it over. Show me."

"Show you what?"

The officer sighs, sounding wearied, and the runaway pet wants to punch him in his stupid smug face. He thinks he's tired? He didn't spend the last day hiding from pouring rain that has streets flooded and people in rain boots half-wading when they have to go out. "You know what. Turn your wrist over and show me your barcode."

"I don't have to do anything." The pet's chin juts out, eyes narrowed to slits against the glare of light still aimed right at him. "Come back with a fucking warrant."

"Okay, I would, but you aren't in a house. You aren't even inside. This is an alley. This is public space and you are causing discomfort to the people who actually do live here. Come on, Boxie, wrist out. Let me see it."

"I don't have a fucking barcode. What, is it illegal to sit now? I'm just sitting. I'm not harming anyone."

The officer looks like he might just sigh so heavily with irritation that he blacks out. The pet waits, a little hopeful, but it doesn't happen. "Listen. Look. You get up and walk away, I'll pretend I never saw you. Nice people in this neighborhood, they don't want you whoring around for your dinner, got it?"

His heart stops - for just a second - before it beats again. He swallows, hard. Some of his defiance has faded before he finds a retort. "What-... What makes you think-"

"I've seen you before, buddy. Down by the warehouse district."

"Why not arrest my John?"

"Your John?"

"Well, how the hell did you think I got here from the warehouse district in the first place, numbnuts? We were having a good time til his fucking girlfriend called."

"... Jesus. Come on. Up you go, get outta here and I won't even look. Just get."

He doesn't have a choice. The runaway pushes himself uneasily to his feet, watching as the cop backs up to give him some space. There's that, at least.

His stomach growls.

When did he eat last? Shit. A day ago? Two?

The flashlight is pointed down, now, and he can see the cop's face. Honestly, he's seen worse. The guy looks pretty fit, too. And Jesus, he's so hungry...

"I don't suppose you'd give me a ride," He says, cocking his head to the side. Defiance slips into practiced seduction with only a shiver of self-loathing down his spine. "I can pay for it."

"Don't bribe me. You don't have a fucking cent or you wouldn't be a whore, Boxie."

"I didn't say I'd pay with money." He smiles, like this is a silly flirty joke between them. "Trust me, I'm good at this. I'm so good. Don't you ever wonder what fucking a Romantic is like? Like a Lamborghini with spread legs, yeah? You drive me back to the warehouse district, you don't check my barcode, and I make this the best shift you've worked in days..."

The cop thinks, jaw working, looking off to one side and then the other. The pet watches him take off his wedding ring and slip it into his pocket with a mix of triumph and hatred.

"Right. Yeah. Get in the back. We'll find a place to park."

His heart thumps and his wrist itches under the ink as he slides into the back of the squad car, with doors that don't open from the inside and a screen he can't break through. Maybe he'll be murdered and dumped in a ditch somewhere. Maybe the cop will just take him to jail.

Or maybe he really will drive him back.

It's always a roll of the dice when he offers himself for a ride.

Sooner or later he'll run out of luck.

[the-epic-amphinomus]

IF YOUR PREGNANT YOU ARE GOING AWAY FOR NINE MONTHS AND WE'LL SAY EURA HAD TWINS!

OH SO THAT WAKES YOU UP??? MPREG????

”YES AND NO???”

[errrr-vent-blog]

bro about pelles wife account or whatever that could seriously be mental illness coming from a mentally ill person on the schizospectrum. like them believving pelle is in love with them is a sign of erotomania, a delusional belief in which someone is in love with them. but the best thing to do isnt to bully tgem and say "touch grass" but for them to genuinely get some help because it could be a psychotic breakdown/them experiencing delusions. im not 100% sure, but it does look alot like erotomania in my eyes (im not here to diagnose people, just saying the situation looks pretty similar to erotomania)

.

but also please stop replying to them with ableist comments. ive seen many people in their reblogs say stuff like "any sane person would know youre not dating him" or "youre delusional and insane" or "stay in lala land" which by the way id NEVER fair on a psychotic person's behalf, its still ableism and sanism and even if they say the rudest things to you it does not give you the right to be sanist. psychotic and schizospecs deserve to be treated like actual beings instead of monsters. alot of these people arent treating the situation well, and its obviously making it worse. if youwant to talk to them, dont bully them because that wont do anything. dont reality check without consent, that'll only worsen the situation. maybe ask them about pelle, listen to them, but dont reality check or feed into delusions. anyways the point is, this person isnt great but neither is your sanism.

[the-epic-amphinomus]

*Wes repeats him* EURA IS GOING TO KILL ME WHY!? THATS EVEN WORSE!?

Well well look who it is.

~ @the-epic-amphinomus

”Oh my- Amphinomus, heyyy.”

[yandere-daydreams]

tw - nsfw, physical/psychological abuse, wildly unhealthy relationship dynamics, and derogatory language.

Most days, Bailey struggles to decide whether you're an idiot or a masochist.

He’s leaning towards the former, but it wouldn’t take much to sway him towards the latter. That doesn’t make you special on its own, though – no, most of the stupid brats in his orphanage have shit for brains and the survival instincts of pre-splattered roadkill, but you manage to make your peers look like shining pillars of intelligence and caution and all the good, important, necessary traits that you were tragic enough to be born without. If he didn’t know better, he might think that you’re doing it on purpose, that your behavior is just the product of some misplaced cry for attention. You should count yourself lucky that he’s a hell of a lot smarter than you’ll ever be.

He should’ve gotten rid of you the first time you failed to pay your rent. He should’ve, and he tried to – selling you off to the highest bidder, leaving you blindfolded in alleyways and restrained on the edge of town, but like a beaten dog too stupid to acknowledge that its master left it for dead, you always seem to drag yourself back, always bruised, most often bloody, and occasionally soaking wet. More than once, you haven’t made it all the way back, and he’s had to go out of his way to pick up ‘his precious ward’ from the intensive care unit at Harper’s request. He would leave you there, if he thought his reputation would survive giving that freak of a doctor a free lab rat.

 You can’t hold down a job. That part, he can’t entirely blame on you. If going outside is risky, then trying to earn a living is all-but a death sentence in a town like this. He knows you have a few minor gigs, pick up odd jobs every now-and-then around the wealthier neighborhoods, but it’s never more than petty cash, and having to watch you drag yourself through the orphanage halls with torn clothes and that distant, glazed-over look in your eyes almost makes what little rent money you can scrap up not worth it. You’re wary enough to keep your head down in school, so you don’t have a lot of friends, either. Most of your time is spent at home; toiling in your weed-infested garden, trying to pretend you aren’t hiding in your room, and when he lets you, curling up in the smallest, darkest corner of his office – your legs pulled into your chair and your eyes fixed on the floor. He asked, once, why you thought you had to waste your time sulking in his peripheral like some poor, attention-starving kitten. Despite help from the better half of a bottle from his vintage stash, he can still remember your answer.

“I don’t know,” you mumbled, with a smile so delicate, he was almost tempted to see how easily it shattered. “I guess I just feel safe around you.”

He stopped asking for rent, after that.

He tries not to think about you. It’s a constant effort, but he tries the hardest when he’s standing in your doorway hours after midnight, fucking his fist as you pretend to sleep less than a full ten feet away. He still hasn’t made up his mind about the masochist part, but you have to be an idiot. A pretty, empty-headed idiot.

His pretty, empty-headed idiot.

He decides, as he finishes to the sound of your muffled sobbing, that he’ll soak it in while he can. Even if he does his best, even if he keeps his distance, even if you never come to your senses and run far, faraway, he knows he won’t have long left to enjoy this.

He knows that, no matter how hard he tries to hold himself back, you’re not going to feel very safe around him for much longer.

[tragcdysewn]

@mcrcki asked:📱- abigail and marley lmao

your muse’s contact name in mine’s phone

annoyance 3

my muse’s contact photo for yours

x

how often our muses text each other

same as francesca, she only has marley's number to occasionally start problems

a text my muse never sent

nope, none

the last messages my muse did send

[text: annoyance 3] - gonna complain more about how i'm a cunt? would love to hear it :)

[goddess-queen-of-not-cheating]

... and she didn't tell me where he is!?

A letter arrives in your mailbox, it's from Pandora

Open it?

-@pandora-from-another-world

*she almost doesn't open it before remembering Pandora had promised to help her and it could be about her kids. She hesitantly opens it*

[ladyrosemone]

The Other Side Of Paradise

Using Google Translate here! 🗣‼️‼️ This is an intermediate of part one, as the Batfamily's point of view just like you had yours, official part two coming soon! Also my question box is open (I think) and without further ado, enjoy the read! (Thanks for enjoying the read 😭🫶🏼)

Tw!: Profanity (use of prostitute as a derogatory insult), murder, murder scene described, negligence.

Tag List: @tsuniio, @simpingpandas, @dakotali, @softycheol.

Dick is always first.

The first child acrobat of the circus, the first son of Bruce Wayne, the first Robin, the first brother, the first everything.

And he was proud of that, from being an orphan to the pride of Gotham it was not an easy path and much less a happy one, but amidst so much pain and loss he is grateful for having a constant; his family.

Dysfunctional and somewhat shaky, where violence and beatings are the language of love, they find comfort in knowing that they have each other.

He has Alfred as his honorary grandfather, who is the wisest person he will ever meet again.

Bruce, who even with his flaws is his father, who gave him a chance and never abandoned him, making him the man he is today.

Jason, the most distant but beloved of his brothers, knows that he can always count on him and his strength at all times.

Tim, his chair boy, his best confidant, and the best detective in the world, trusts him with his life over anything he can't find.

And Damian, his little brother, his favorite boy in the whole world, the Robin to his Batman, what he wouldn't do for his sharp-tongued brother; even when he came to the mansion threatening and stabbing everything, never gave up on him and the result was completely worth it.

His sisters are also dear to him; Stephenie and Cassandra are strong and independent, but also loyal and loving. Barbara may not be a sister -she still has her father- but she has earned a place in the family and is considered sister as much as Steph and Cass.

Of course he will never leave Duke behind, the newest, the ray of sunshine among them all, he expects great things from him.

Dick is always first.

Dick is the last one to remember you.

Jason hates remembering his life before the well.

He doesn't want to forget, there are memories that still keep him sane; his mother, when Bruce adopted him, his first patrol as Robin. You.

But if it were up to him, he would never talk about them again or even acknowledge their existence. They are chains that bind him, quicksand that make him sink whenever he tries to move forward and personally he is fed up.

Because no matter how many villains he catch and how many more kill, how many people save, nothing will take away the guilt of not having saved that person. Don't save you.

Of not finding the strength in himself to look for you now, because for you, there is nothing but shame and shame for himself. The first friend he had, the first brother he had, his first great loss, his only great regret.

Jason hates remembering his life before the well.

Jason hates being the first to discover your new identity.

Tim is a genius.

Genius falls short, his brain works like a computer within a computer within another; Wires instead of neural conduits and electricity instead of energy is what happens in that brilliant brain of yours.

He was never an ordinary person, he is ambitious and resourceful, intelligent and determined to get what he wants.

That started with the mantle of Robin.

When Jason was still in the portrait, he wanted to be part of the duo; He trained and prepared, ready to help from the Batcave until the Joker thing happened. And even when it felt bad to carry the title of the bat's henchman, he felt proud that his perseverance took him to the top.

And it was the beginning of his destiny.

Robin, Red Robin, the robin's mantle is and will be a part of him that he will never let go, but he is also the one who remembers every detail of every case of every villain of every attack in Gotham, is the one they turn to when they need to confirm exact information. Nothing escapes him, ever.

Tim is a genius.

Tim passed you by and lost.

Damian is the perfect heir.

His father is the most powerful man in Gotham and Batman himself, his mother is a skilled and lethal assassin, daughter of a dynasty of the world's fiercest assassins, and he is the result of the cross between the two.

He is perfect.

That is why he will never deign to look down on the unworthy; Richard is fine, Jason is worthy because served his mother and grandfather, Tim still doubts it, women are strong allies and that new boy has potential. Alfred and his father, of course, are worthy of his obedience.

And you? You are worse than a disappointment.

A stain, a mistake, someone who should never have existed, rotting his perfect legacy, you should be thankful he didn't kill you when he had the chance.

It's not that you deserve it, you don't deserve anything from it.

You are so insignificant to him that not even in his dreams did he worry about your whereabouts, of course he knew that you were no longer there, he had to watch you in case you stole something when you left like the thieving prostitute who was probably your mother, but when you did not return, he felt triumphant for having taken care of -without killing- the family problem.

Damian is the perfect heir.

Damian feels like his throne means nothing in front of you.

Bruce is a father.

He never considered himself one, maybe he wanted it once, when his own father was alive to learn from him, but that dream died when his people did it in the alley.

Despite everything, he tried to be a father to Dick, and his efforts, although questionable, worked. Then Jason with his bright eyes and bubbly personality, taken away too soon, let go too soon.

Even now, so near and so far, it is his greatest loss as Batman, as Bruce Wayne.

Tim was...complicated; arrived when he had not overcome his grief and treated him in the most atrocious way he had ever imagined treating his children. Still, he proved to him time and time again that was more than expected.

Damian was unexpected of an unexpected union; son of Talia Al'Ghul and grandson of Ra's Al'Ghul, he awaited a bloodthirsty and indomitable child. Which started badly ended well, his youngest son is on his way to writing his destiny far from his ancestry, and in his heart knows that did the best he could.

Barbara, although not their daughter, is part of their family, Stephenie and Cassandra are their beloved daughters, and Duke is officially their new son.

Bruce is a father.

Bruce is not your father.

Do others really have a voice in this narrative? You barely remember them, you barely knew them, much less you care about them. Yes, even Alfred.

"I don't understand, there's nothing more" Tim murmurs, looking at the images on the Batcomputer, reading the documents at the same time, his eyes bloodshot and his fingers trembling from the coffee laced with an energy drink that just drank "There must be more"

"You searched enough, you should get some sleep" Barbara intervenes, in her wheelchair "I'll cover you"

"No, there's something I'm overlooking" he insists "I know, I just have to look carefully"

"Tell me it's not that thing again" Jason complains, arriving at the Batcave with his Red Hood suit on, barely removing his helmet.

Dick nods, his usual smile not drawing his face, just a grimace "We're close to finding it, just...something's missing"

The image is clear; a party room, with people dancing and laughing, as precise as a painting but recent that appeared in the newspaper. All of these people are families of dangerous underworld groups.

Lords of drugs, weapons and human trafficking, ex-convicts and people who work for villains are...enjoying the party.

It wouldn't be relevant if it weren't the photo before the tragedy.

⚠️ Description of crime scene, bodies and blood under the cut ⚠️

All of them, women and men, young and old, nothing more than a combined mass of blood and bones, guts scattered on the walls and decorations of the room.

The floor, the stairs, everything contaminated, women's bodies -which were getting smaller, then only limbs such as arms, hands and finally, fingers- arranged on the main staircase. They all point to something;

⚠️End of scene⚠️

A painting.

In the two photos, the painting of a house is what steals the attention; nothing special, nothing grand, just a painting of a gray wooden cave house, with the background of a distant city and without a signature, almost overlooked as another photo if it weren't for the canvases and the paint under his fingers when he touched it.

In both photos the painting is at the top of the stairs, in both the light was shining on them and in both it draws attention before anything else.

Why? What does it mean? What does it tell them?

"There must be something more than that, hidden among the corpses" says Damian, the most obsessed -besides Tim- in discovering the identity of the one who, for months, has left them clues after helping them anonymously, only a pseudonym in your name; The Savior.

Or that is how those who bring your messages to them have referred to you, speaking of you as a Saint, a savior among men, God himself who came down to protect them.

And they can't let that continue.

They must know if you are dangerous, if you are a potential threat or potential ally. They must discover you.

Alfred arrives with more coffee, because he knows his words won't be heard at that point; When the family becomes obsessed with something, they hardly let it go until they get their fill of it.

His eyes pursue that house; small and misaligned, painted in a very specific way, too specific.

Jason doesn't like to remember the past.

"Wasn't there a phantom surcharge on the accounts months ago?" He says in a low voice, almost lost if the echo of the cave had not returned the word to him.

"There are many like that" Tim murmurs without thinking about the matter "Hey-!"

Jason pushes him aside, typing furiously and searching through files, searching and searching remembering remembering until...A contract, simple and almost empty, with a late date and an unknown signature, the name blank but with an address and a photo; the photo of the painting.

The house.

"How did you...?" Tim was surprised, looking at that contract as if he had never looked at it before, reading carefully, sleep and fatigue fleeing his body.

Bruce looks on without speaking, but those who know him know that a war of insecurities is raging inside him; How did it happen? Who was it? When did do it? Has access to all he private accounts? Do has know their identities?

The clue has been revealed, the answer discovered, and the game is just beginning.

"I think it's time to arrange the pawns on the chess board" you say in your luxury suit, the highest in the tallest building in Gotham, looking at the flashing lights that fill the streets, looking at the outskirts of Gotham, looking at your next move, looking at the wide-screen camera that's embedded in the painting's window.