#﹙ Tʜᴇ Rᴇᴊᴇᴄᴛs ﹚ ﹣ “A sᴏᴍʙᴇʀ ᴡᴀʟᴛᴢ; ᴀ ʙʀᴏᴋᴇɴ ᴅᴏʟʟ ﹠ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴀᴅ ᴄʟᴏᴡɴ.” - stagekiller

[blackfiire-archive-blog]

@stagekiller

3 a.m. Witching hour---or so they say. At the moment, it seemed true.

Darkness swallowed all traces of light, save for the occasional street lamp perched every few odd meters or so, and the busy streets of gotham had gone eerily silent. The citizens slept. The humming of crickets harmonized. The clinking of glass with your average moth desperately trying to penetrate the streetlamps cover echoed down the alleys.

A figure in the distance sits on its knees, staring up at the sky with an awkward tilt of its head in the middle of the alley. It didn't move, didn't speak. The odd number of biker gang's or troublesome folk made no attempts at approaching the figure. Staring, pointing. They whispered among themselves. Something about "a creepy ass doll making groaning noises" being left in the street.

Braving the experience, a bandana wearing gang member strolls by; a young man with dark skin, hair slicked back, and a flannel shirt buttoned only near the neck. He starts for the figure, pauses, and looks at his similarly dressed friends. They cackled, throwing insults at each other, egging on their member and hounding him further. Once the gang member reaches the halfway mark, his smile gradually disappears. The cholo peers back at his crew, eyebrows knitted, confused and a little unnerved by the scene.

"Yo. Yo yo yo. I dunno what the fuck this is, but it sure as hell ain't no doll." He says, cautiously eyeing the girl in his peripheral view.

"Why not go and touch it then, puta!" His heavy accented friend chimes, high fiving one of his other friends.

Dark eyes quickly shift back to the girl. A sense of unease settling in his stomach. He notes her features beforehand; flawless porcelain white skin...similar to a doll, bright ruby red lips hanging agape...almost too wide---as if inhumanly possible to stretch that far down. Her eyes were bulbous, fully black. Not a hint of sclera in sight.

The figure continues staring upwards, having not yet moved since they found her. To prove a point to his crew, the male prepares a hand and slowly leans in for a gentle tap at the "doll". An inky black substance begins dribbling from her gaunt yawn. Black tears also beginning to fall from deep black pits for eyes. The gangster suddenly jolts back in a panic as the "doll" begins groaning.

"What the fuck...!" He whips his head around, "I don't like this, man! This thing aint right!"

"Don't be a little bitch baby about it. It's probably a Halloween prop that got left behind you stupedo." Laughing ensues. The young man looks back at the female. Did she suddenly get closer, or was he just seeing things? Either way, he figured his friends were right. Gotham sure as hell had its freaks but there was no way in hell this could be real.

With a deep inhale, his nerves stuffed down into the deepest part of his heart, he stretches. Further...and further...and further. The woman doesn't move. The black dribble continues pouring out of her mouth. It's as if she doesn't see him, doesn't hear him. And when his hand is met with her cheek, he exhales. Nothing happens.

Smirking, he places a hand atop of her head and looks back with a smug exterior. His friends begin laughing, beckoning him to bring it over. Only. The male's wrist has been grabbed. He whips around. The female is standing, her mouth still hanging open. Her tears still running down her cheeks in heavy streams. The gangster attempts to pry himself away, only to find himself stuck. She had a vice grip. And she wasn't letting go.

"What the---what the hell!" He squirms and thrashes. His friends laugh even harder. Pranking them wasn't going to work.

"That ain't gonna work on us, homes! Do better."

"This damn thing won't let me go! I'm not playing around, man!" He pulls, he tugs, but to no avail.

"Oooo. I am soooo scaaared."

"I'm SERIOUS DOG. THIS THING WONT LET GO OF ME." Her grip gets harder, the sounds of popping fill the gotham night air followed by a sickening cry of pain. The gangster's wrist was twisted in many directions, his screams of fear and pain scratch his friends' ears. "DOG. HELP ME. I'M SERIOUS MAN." He whimpered. His friends soon come to find his fear was genuine. They rush to his side, pulling, prying, doing their best to release Blackfire's grip on the man, but unable to succeed.

Without warning, a machete comes crashing down on the man's wrist, his screams even louder than before. Blackfire stares onward, as if she couldn't hear or see what was happening around her. His wrist still kept within her grip, as blood drained from the severed body part.

The gangster's take that as their cue to hurry off and get their bleeding friend to a hospital. Their sneakers collided with the pavement in hard, quick motions, eventually bumping shoulders with an unusual dressed redhead while one of them yells, "out of the way, white boy!" before disappearing out of the alleys entirely.

It takes a moment for Blackfire to register her surroundings. The pain in her body causing her great distress. First catatonic, and then...the pain. With the severed wrist still in her hand she doubles over in pain, letting out a splash of inky black liquid all over the pavement.

'No. No. Nonononono.' the weight of gravity pulls on her limbs, her strength ultimately leaving her all together. The power of flight, the power of darkbolts---everything. Gone. With one arm she tries her damnedest to pull herself towards the wall, however, unable to meet it halfway. She collapses under her own weight, her breathing picking up speed. If she could just make it under a couple boxes, she could let this pass and be on her merry way.

Yet it would seem the universe would not grace mercy over the alien girl's head.

She notes the sounds of footsteps and shifts her blackened, inky teared eyes towards the noise. She makes out a figure dressed in finery. Tall. Athletic build. Red hair...

Her stomach churns upon the realization.

That familiar silhouette---that swagger.

Jerome fucking Valeska.

And thus, she spews another mouthful of chunky black vomit.

[blackfiire]

Cont. x | @stagekiller

Frankly, he revealed more to her than what she was expecting. Then again, it could be the aid of jack swirling around in his glass. God, he was reckless. She almost---ALMOST---felt sorry for him. Though not enough to care about how the topic of his "'Miah" rattled him.

She notes his body language; how visibly uncomfortable he appeared, how a faint glimmer of deep-seeded hurt flickered its way into consciousness before dying down. He almost looked HUMAN for a minute, which was shocking in that notion. Again, perhaps due to the aid of alcohol running through his veins.

In summary, "Jeremiah" was someone of utmost importance to him. Someone who left him alone when he needed him most--or what she gathered from his unusual wording.

It was funny. Blackfire cared so little about an individual's history, no matter how heart-breaking and horrifying it was. Had she just met Jerome, there was not a doubt in her mind she'd have taken his pain and threw it back in his face for amusement sake. Maybe the want to was still there. He deserved it, clearly. Plus, it seemed fun to break what is already broken.

Alas, she finds herself mute on those attempts. Ugh. She was getting soft.

The kick to the cultist's cheek snaps her out of her daze, a thought suddenly coming to surface when Jerome attempts to entice her with angel dust. What would he do if she told him her experience with a "Jeremiah" found lurking outside of a maze who prompted her to stop following Jerome? Should she tell him? Or was that just useless information he needn't waste his time on? She felt an odd sense of curiosity to delve further into Jerome's past. Mayhap it was just how he expressed his woes, using choice words to lure you in and ask for more.

He certainly appeared like he was struggling to keep up appearances. Like this conversation didn’t bother him any, but something did. Huh.

                                                          What a shock.

If she hadn't been frowning already, she certainly was now. Even the kick to the face didn’t so much as gain the tug of her lips, no. She was left with swirling thoughts and questions she wanted to ask. Of course she doubts Jerome would comply and make this easy. He never made anything easy. But if their alliance was going to be sealed, she wanted to know who she was bargaining with.

Gazing over the perfectly cut lines on the table, Blackfire readies a rolled up hundred dollar bill---only to pause, her large eyes staring directly into Jerome's lifeless sage colored pools of green before replying. "Without your..."'Miah", you drowned and died in your sorrow. That certainly explains why you aren’t here and why I could never get a read on you, you tub of booze.~" She leans over on the table, curious eyes never breaking contact...                     “And I ask, who...are you?"

She smiles, retreating back into her seat without giving him time to answer, her attention now focused on the equipment he brought up earlier, “In regards to the weaponry, you’re going to have to go through some special training to wield them properly. They aren’t like your usual firearms with a trigger to squeeze. You’re also going to need more than just a confession and my favorite ‘silly powder’ to use my equipment, Sweetface. I do have a suggestion however, if you’re willing to lend a little alien an ear?~”

[blackfiire-archive-blog]

Send an Icon to Find my Muse... ; accepting | @stagekiller

🛒 for sale

"C'mon, bitch," The yank at her collar earns pathetic gasp followed by an annoyed grunt as a boot collides with her back, forcing her down on both hands and knees. A man kneels over to meet the alien at eye level, rechecking her chunky collar's unusual workings before pulling out a cigar wedged between his thin lips and blowing the smoke directly in her face. Anger presents itself on disheveled porcelain features. And when she was about to snap back with bared teeth, a faint glow of the mechanical piece around her neck whirs to life whilst prompting her with a few painfully aggressive shocks up and down her body, sending her into a fit of agony---her fingernails, broken and bloody, scratching at the uncomfortable brace that suppressed and punished her power, "AAAARGH!!"

Eventually, after futile attempts at seizing her freedom, her body rejects her want for movement and sends her tumbling to the ground. The merchants laugh at Blackfire's struggle. One going as far as to throw a steel-toed kick to the tamaranean's underside until she submitted to their whims; look straight, and smile pretty for the men who were looking to purchase her for whatever reason they cared not to disclose.

"Yep, I reckon she'll sell for a fine price---'less she opens that mouth 'a hers," The cigar wielding man cackles.

"Eh. I doubt she'll be openin' that mout' for talkin'," They laugh again.

Blackfire's hate-filled glare remains fixed on her captors. Oh, if looks could kill...

"It's showtime. Round up the boys. Make sure no one does any funny business y'hear?" The remainder of the black market operators comply with a single nod before splitting their separate ways to engage in guard duty.

People---men mostly---poured in from the front doors as the auctioneer welcomes Blackfire onto the stage---more like forcefully dragged and thrown onto the ground in the spotlight. Her usual flawless visage was riddled with cuts and bruises. Her eye was black and blue, swelling, and  with dried blood present on a busted lip. The warmth from the spotlight was the only thing that was kind to her at this point. However, the overhead glare was unforgiving and painful on her single swollen eye.

She barely heard the auctioneer going about his quick-tongued business. Potential buyers raised their numbers and discussing matters among themselves.

                            How the hell was she going to get out of here?

Just when she drops her head, something catches her eye in a moment's glimpse. She raises her head once more, eyes frantically searching throughout the crowd.

Was it...? It couldn’t be...

There, hidden in the vast sea of suitors, a tall figure with a distinct disfigured grin stands idly within the masses...

[blackfiire-archive-blog]

2 & 15 ? :D

Meme ; accepting | @stagekiller

2. what sort of things does your muse look for in a partner?

Generally, Blackfire doesn’t think about having a partner nor does she look for anything in particular. Frankly, you could say she’s in love with revenge. The plans she has for all existence clouds her want for anything else. Its her sole purpose—her everything. If anything, she dives head-first for potential suitors for sex and nothing more. Having formed an attachment with somebody would hinder her goals…if you could call them that. Not only that, it takes a considerable amount of time and patience for Blackfire to actually care about someone is such an intimate fashion. It’s unheard of. Almost alien. Pun HEAVILY intended. xD

However, let’s say Blackfire had a moment to consider what she wants in a partner without the possibility of repercussions for her ignorance.

- For one, they would have to have a sense of humor. Being a humorless stick in the mud who doesn’t know how to have a good time is a serious turn off. Blackfire is a sarcastic spitfire with an attitude problem. To be around someone who finds humor in what most would deem “inappropriate” or “sick” is one characteristic that’ll grab her interest, but being all about jokes and giggles without a moment to spare for actual speaking terms would get her to look the other way. It’s nice to laugh. It feels good to be unserious and stupid. But all the time? Thank U Next.

- Another one that’s important to her is satisfying her appetite. Blackfire…has a concerning sex addiction, and she does not plan on averting her ways. Don’t even think about trying to change her or “limiting” sex for “her benefit” because it’s not going to benefit her at all. It makes her irritable, miserable, and most often physically abusive. If she can’t get it from her partner, she will look elsewhere for someone who can. Of course she doesn’t enjoy betraying those she deems worthy, but she will certainly dump said person for making her “starve” and beg for physical affection. To her, it means they’ve lost interest. It isn’t new. So she isn’t against dropping them just as fast.

- Indulge in her ideas. Blackfire is an idea person. If she is bored, she will make her own “fun”—that usually being something dangerous and reckless. If someone can keep up with her, and even participate in her horrible shenanigans, she’s got an eye open. Offer your own ideas to collaborate with hers. Let her take you dancing at a night club. Steal a tank and destroy half of a city for kicks. Have fun with her.

- Loyalty. Need I say more? When Blackfire is attached truly and wholly, she will never think to stray nor will she betray the one she runs with. She expects the same. She’s been cheated on numerous times. Another isn’t going to stop her from killing them, no matter how close of a bond she shares with that person. Betrayal is disgusting. And to those who do this to her are nothing more than teeny, weeny, insects.

- Acceptance. This goes without saying. Since Blackfire is biologically unappealing to most, it would speak volumes if someone accepted her despite her disturbing facial features. It speaks even more if they find beauty in her deformity.

- Good Looks. Because. Let’s face it. Blackfire is a piece of shit. She’s selfish and horrible. She may not the most beautiful woman in the galaxy, but she thinks she deserves a good looking man/woman/other anyway. She’s been through hell and endured countless rapes by ungodly looking creatures and beings. She “knows” she gets to have a looker.

- Personality. Having a bright, colorful personality with unusual quirks and weird traits will get her sights on you. Being expressive and impulsive like her earns major respect points. Showing her rage or ruthlessness garners more attention. Being cynical and mean seals the deal. Blackfire enjoys being around obnoxious people. She feeds off of their energy.

- Easily controlled / controlling. Blackfire has a problem with control. She must be first in line, she must be first priority, she must be first to get a popsicle. If she finds someone who’s easily submissive, she will flock to them in a heartbeat. This alien thinks controlling her partners and making them obedient to her whims is a form of affection. If they do things for her, it means they like her and want to do everything they can to make her happy. On the opposite side of the spectrum, Blackfire can handle being the person who submits to her partner’s whims—as long as they don’t repeat the same deeds as her brethren on tamaran. She’s fine with being manhandled. She likes being challenged. You can hurt her, but don’t harm her.

- Possessive. Disgusting and diluted these thoughts are Blackfire perceives absolute possessiveness the ultimate shape of devotion and loyalty. She’s also very explosive and gets jealous VERY easily. This is also why she scents her partners - to ward away potential “threats”. It may not mean much or do anything for humankind, but what people will pick up on is a scent of berries on the scented while the thought of them being in a relationship sparks for a moment. YOU BELONG TO HER. SHE BELONGS TO YOU.

- Protective. Yes, she’s a killing machine able to fend for herself in a world like Earth, but still feeling the need to protect a woman that could snap your body in two would make her reciprocate those feelings. BC WHO DOESNT WANT A DESTRUCTIVE ALIEN TO SHIELD THEM?

- And last but not least, kill someone with her. Just. Just do it. She needs the mutual serial killer validation. Refuse? Its a turn off but oh well.

15. if your muse is uncomfortable in a relationship, will they address the problem or keep quiet?

Blackfire is a bratty loud mouthed bitch, ok. She has no filter and will not shut her mouth for anybody. If she finds a problem within a relationship, she will confront the person and be relentless about the ordeal until she gets the truth. And don’t think lying your way out of it is going to help. She knows when people lie. She has a very keen eye and a wide vision spectrum to determine little quirks and movements on a face when the truth has been twisted or averted is some way.

Do not bullshit her. Lying to her face breaks trust, and her want to protect.

[blackfiire-archive-blog]

43 ; Is there anything that you collect? Hobbies? Do you share with others what you do/make or is it not their business?

Ask Blackfire a thing! ; accepting | @stagekiller

43 ; Is there anything that you collect? Hobbies? Do you share with others what you do/make or is it not their business?            

“Anything I do or collect is always no one’s business but my own. But, I suppose I’ll make an exception this time around.

Come, have a sliver of a glimpse into my life.

Anywho, aside from collecting ‘trophies’ from my deceased friends? Japanese Noh and Hannya masks captured my eye in the early days of my “sudden” arrival. Their origin stories—besides being theater masks—is astounding as they are colorful. Greed, demons, and murder are part of their upbringing, as well as some…very personal stories that hit very close to home.

As far as that goes? My home is decorated with many of these artifacts; some as old as 200 years or so—may or may not have been stolen, but I’m not asking questions of you aren’t.~

Other things I collect are books on various religious demonology, Ouija boards, and satanic relics. Earth’s religions are so gaudy and stupid. Their demons are the only good thing to come out of it. The designs of these peculiar spiritual murderers and their insignia are wild. I’m almost jealous.“

”Hobbies? Hmm. I suppose you can call them that. I never talk about it. I didn’t want to share my “talents” after the ‘incident’. But we’re not here to talk about that, are we?

Music. Music and singing are hobbies of my own. Of course I don’t let just anyone hear my pieces or self-written melodies due to a problem.

I can perform on various instruments as well; piano, guitar, violin, ocarina—instruments on tamaran I refuse to share. However, I devoted most of my time as a child into perfecting my singing voice. I refuse to perform my own pieces very often because so few ever want to listen. I’m perfectly fine doing covers or singing along to a melody. But my own works?

I perform for me, and me only.~“

[blackfiire-archive-blog]

😴 ; Force my muse to stay awake when they’re very tired - THEY have WORK to do !!! :D

 Hurtfest!! ; accepting | @stagekiller

😴 ; Force my muse to stay awake when they’re very tired

Ah yes. Look at her. Sleeping peacefully like a raven haired angel. Books and paper act as a makeshift pillow. Her desk littered with mountains of paperwork. It's quiet. Serene...

A swift kick to her ribs has her jolt up her seat, a hand covering the area where Jerome's boot collided. She's curling over in pain, a agonized gasp leaving her lips, "Ow-ugh!" Her eyes were red and swollen, watering even. Her vision was blurred and hazy, yet the outline of Jerome's form was clear as crystal. That mother fucker had the nerve to kick her and yell at her.

Searching through the small work station propped against the corner of the showman's living quarters, Blackfire retrieves a random can of beans and launches it, aiming for the ginger's skin-carved mug. Whether it hits him or not, she feels a sense of satisfaction once she hears a loud crash from across the room, followed by the wailing of a hidden cat.(?)

Rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, she drops her mouth in a well-deserved yawn. Her arms stretching over her head causing the hemming of her crop top to slightly rise, "You can't rush art, Sweetface. If you want this operation to go smooth, you're going to have to be patient." She grabs him suddenly by the collar of his shirt, forcing him to stare down at her partially completed blueprints. "Quality over urgency, my dear. However, if you want this sped up, then lend me your aid. If not? Suffer with antici...    ...pation." A grin stretches from ear to ear, releasing him from her grip.

“Get me a hefty truckload of cobalt steel, bolts, nuts, sheets of titanium, gallons of muriatic acid, sodium hydroxide, and Mimey-poo. I have one helluva job for him.~”

[blackfiire-archive-blog]

" notes between bars " !!

Send me “Notes Between Bars” for our muses to trade letters between their cells in a high security prison. ; accepting | @stagekiller

And to think she would see the day when 'Giggles' was apprehended, cuffed, and being led down the corridor into solitary confinement. With the kick of her foot against the tempered glass, she attempts to get his attention. She flashes a look at the jester. Something along the lines of sitting close towards the door when he's unloaded into his cell.

Blackfire then turns on her heel to retrieve a notebook and pen, jotting down a couple words.

When all looks right, she uses what power she had left to evaporate the ink, which only left subtle traces of moisture ingrained into loose leaf. If Jerome was anything like he led on, he'd be clever enough to hold the paper up to the light, where the message could be deciphered.

She slips the paper underneath the crack of her door, blowing a gust of wind under the surface to edge its way underneath the clown’s cell door.

[blackfiire-archive-blog]

✪ * drops this here *

Send ✪ for my character to reveal how they feel about yours. ; accepting | @stagekiller

❖   POSITIVE.I think you’re awesome a funny fella ║ I like you ║ I want to go on a date play with you more ║  I love you ║ You’re cute/handsome & a pathological bastard  ║ I want to marry you ║ You’re attractive (But I don’t need to tell you that.) ║ I wish we could spend more time together Oh, you’re going to be seeing a lot of me, sweetface. ║ I’d like to get to know you better Show me your colors, day walker ║  I admire you  ║ You’re someone that I look up to - because you’re like 182 cm? Whats good, firecrotch? ║ You’re very kind an asshat ║ I consider us friends RIVALS. IM THE STAR OF THE SHOW. ║ I secretly have a crush on you ║ I have high respect for you ║ We have semi common interests ║ I’m happy that I met you I want to keep you.

❖   NEGATIVE.  ( Negative? These are the hotness ratings.)

I feel uncomfortable around you ║ You’re bothersome ║ I never want to speak to you again ║ I dislike you ║ I loathe you ║ I’m envious of you ║ I’m worried about you ║ We don’t get along well ║ You’re the worst kind of person - in the most wonderful way ║ You get on my nerves ║ You’re annoying to me ║ We have nothing in common ║ I wish I had never met you ║ I wouldn’t date you if you were the last person alive ║ Not you again

[blackfiire]

Continuation from here || @stagekiller

The sounds of screeching metal slows the elevator to a stop, thus halting their project. Jerome's strike at the door yet furthers the damage with what was previously done; the lights flickering out, with the exception of a security light dimly brightening the cramped space.

If Jerome could see her, he would witness her usual irritated glare followed by the disappointed shake of her head. "You're such an asshole." There's a subtle, very subtle hint of endearment in those words.

Elevating hearing zeroes in on static and walkie-talkies. The police and S.W.A.T had the building entirely surrounded, their expectations high, sharing their per-celebratory cheers for cornering the 'psycho' and just seconds away of detaining him.

Blackfire giggles under her breath. They were quick to judge. Oh, the look on their faces once they discover that this was only a ruse. And these “trained professionals” fell for it. They wanted to be caught. They left hefty traces of their whereabouts throughout the city any idiot could follow to completion.

All of this to test out a new toy; an abomination created to devour everyone in it's path but its Creators---”Cheesesticks” Jerome called it, although Blackfire finding it completely moronic. Humans were quick to attach themselves to the smallest things. And naming the damned thing only made it more difficult to get rid of.

‘Jerome you stubborn idiot.’

Blackfire chuckles, her gaze shifting through the darkness to find her companion's silhouette, "Hmph, they truly believe they've got you. Already celebrating your lockup." Her head lazily falls back, letting out an amused sigh, "You have the "gift" right?" She moves to open her coat revealing a red balloon pre-written with crude sharpie lettering, simply reading: 'HAHA' on its surface. She ties the end of the balloon to the ribbon adorning the box before stepping back to have another eavesdropping session.

Boots quickly stomped up the staircase with guns cocking, everyone trying to hush their peers as if to silence their presence.

           Please. Anyone could have heard their repetitive stomping miles away, Blackfire thought.

"JEROME VALESKA," A SWAT officer bangs on the metallic metals doors of the elevator with the brunt of his gun, snapping Blackfire out of her daze, "COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP. IF YOU COOPERATE AND COME QUIETLY, WE WONT USE FORCE."

“Time to go. Let RTQX-738 handle the rest,” she pauses, sighing, “...Cheesesticks...”

With the gentlest push from the ground, Blackfire difts towards the ceiling. She slides open a loose tile before wiggling herself through and into the dark . Atop of the car, she stares up at the lengthy cords dangling above holding the car in place. Violet eyes roll over the dusty metal and wiring to pinpoint a location to slip through unscathed.

Almost instantly, her eyes quickly catch onto a lever a couple flights up. A hidden hatch meant for mechanics to perform maintenance.

Convenient.

Hopefully the clown was a good climber...

"ON THE COUNT OF THREE WE'RE FORCING OURSELVES IN," The officer states, immediately engaging in said countdown thereafter, "ONE..." Blackfire offers her hand to hoist the ginger up, "TWO..." She replaces the tile while silently pointing up towards the hatch...

"THREE!"

[blackfiire-archive-blog]

. tag dump - finally fixed them

[blackfiire-archive-blog]

" Oh, come on, dollface, when have I ever steered you wrong? " Probably plenty of times, but it's still spoken with an air of confidence.

Suspicious ; accepting | @stagekiller

She’s just gonna go ahead and give Jerome that ‘look’, allowing silence to answer his query. It was just like him to tip-toe around the situation without giving valid evidence to back his support. Blackfire could only glare at her ‘friend’, shifting her position in her seat with crossed arms and legs, leaning back ever so slightly.

She forgot how this conversation even came up; throwing her in the center of danger in accordance to the showman’s grand scheme. She had to reel back a couple conversations and repeat what had started it all in the first place.

She exhales, averting large doughy eyes up at the clown, “Jerome. Sweetface. I’ll ask again: How did you get into my house?”

[blackfiire-archive-blog]

" you look like you need a hug. " With that, the clown shall shove Mr. Mime into her arms. A fragile & rather bony teddy bear, but he'll do. The pierrot instantly starts pleading for mercy in mute.

Endearment ; accepting | @stagekiller

At that same instant, arms close tightly around the male as the alien’s cynical gaze bore through his soul. Blackfire’s smirk only twists into what one would describe as unsettling. The grip in which she held the man gradually increases, earning a few pops and cracks the tighter she closed her embrace.

“Ooo, this feels good.~” She’s not letting go. Violet hues remain fixated on the lanky figure, psychotic amusement etched in doll-like features, “I really needed this. Don’t you enjoy embracing your dearest aunty Blackfire?”

Dropping him like a sack of discarded trash, she throws her head back in a laugh whilst kneeling down to meet his level, “Sit tight now, I may need to engage in your embrace again later,” She kicks the poor male over onto his back, using his abdomen as a walkway, before rejoining Jerome in whatever shenanigans he had planned for next.

[blackfiire-archive-blog]

1 & 18 for that headcanon meme??

Headcanons ; accepting | @stagekiller

1. Holiday headcanon

Blackfire’s favorite holiday on earth? Everyone knows. Valentines Day—KIDDING. Halloween! Of course, as Blackfire, she must take things way too far—the decor for the occasion? Real human remains. Real buckets of blood. The stench of death simmering in the hot sun and broiling in delicious corpse juices.~

It’s the one day people are too stupid to realize they see an actual murder happening in front of their face. And Blackfire appreciates the audience when she’s mowing her way through the crowds of onlookers with a rusty chainsaw.

The looks on their faces when they get caught in the blades is too good it must be fattening.

18. Favorite possession headcanon

For Blackfire? It’s usually people—people she wants to “keep” are her favorite possessions. Its rare she wants to keep a person (alive) at all, but when she does, you should either be fearful of your life or enjoy the fact you’re going to be aggressively protected for her own selfish gain; this is a form of “love” to her.

What measures are taken to be considered “kept”?

When you do something for Blackfire in a way she’s never seen before (ex; a form of sincere kindness, friendship, being around her longer than an hour, genuinely enjoying her presence, etc.) she’s already considering keeping you. Forever.

And what does that mean? Well…

Come find out. :)

What does Blackfire do to “keep” said possession?

Scenting. The kept will endure these sessions a LOT.

Marking. Is this the same as scenting? In a sense… only Blackfire will ensure her possession is riddled with scratches, saliva, and in most obsessive cases, bite marks deep enough to cause severe scarring.

For aesthetic purposes? Being, if she simply likes how a person looks? She will taxidermy them. That’s, sadly, more common on her agenda. She thinks her possession should feel grateful for being chosen this way though. That way they can never leave her or complain, while providing her with an image she can stare at for hours. It’s a compliment.

[blackfiire-archive-blog]

🗡Give my muse the option to face up to three tortures on this list, or else they have to hurt TREVOR :D : 📷 & 📌 & ☕

TORTURE AN ALIEN ; always accepting | @stagekiller

📷Photograph or videotape my muse being injured or tortured however you see fit

📌Shove needles or pins into my muse

☕Throw scalding liquid on my muse.

“Oh my. Flirting with me, are you? Don’t threaten me with a good time.” Crossing her arms and looking over her options, she felt a strong sense of…disappointment. Not only did murder carrot assume threatening to hurt Trevor would persuade her to instantaneously take up the offer, but also assuming these torturous deeds were something to fear.

And on the grounds of Trevor once more; She highly doubts Jerome would touch a hair on his head—at least not brutal enough to kill him. She recalls the clown needing him for matters she didn’t care to question. And from her experience? Trevor could hook a guy really good if you got him angry enough. She doubts he needed her protection at all. So be that the girl was a vile, selfish thing, of course she wants to put up an attitude and be a brat. Solely because she wanted to. And maybe because she got to spend a little more time with her friend, and play.

“I can only choose one of these options? What if I had wanted all three?” A deviant curl of the lips, a hip bumping into the clown’s to shove him aside while she gazes over the equipment on the table, “I must say, your dedication is something to admire. You have everything at the ready. You must think highly of me.” Or he had his cultists do the work because he couldn’t bother, but feeding an ego usually led to tremendous calamity in the longrun. It must be kept fed, for the sake of…destruction.

Spinning around, violet gaze fixates on the redhead. She had her mind made up, “Tell you what, give me all three of these, but I get to choose the website where these fascinating portraits will be uploaded. Do we have a deal?” A manicured hand reaches out, ready to receive his gloved hand—if he takes her up on the offer, that is.

[blackfiire-archive-blog]

" Huh? " :"D

Send me ‘Huh?’ and my muse will talk to yours in another language. ; accepting | @stagekiller

She was out of it. Really out of it. Whatever happened the night before was a total blur, and currently ongoing. The room around her was spinning. She needed something to settle her nerves, or at least something to keep her hands busy until her groggy demeanor passed.

Without registering her surroundings, she assumed she was back on Tamaran—what with the tall, green eyed ginger standing near the window with a cigarette wedged between his fingers. Rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, Blackfire opens her mouth to speak in the dialect native to her people.

“Eo’ ortzgo ryn mu’h xota khres…?” [ Hey, can I bum a cigarette off you…?]

When she’s finished rubbing her eyes, the blur seems to lift, her head finally wrapping around the reality of her current whereabouts. That wasn’t a regular tamaranean citizen keeping her company, that was Jerome. Admittedly, she was embarrassed. She swore her tongue would never utter a single tamaranean word, and yet here she was speaking her language as though her people accepted her to have it…

Clearing her throat, she gives Jerome another—more lucid—approach.

“Ughhhhh. I mean, got a ciggy to spare? I need to clear my head.”

[blackfiire-archive-blog]

// :"D I love how you stick to Bf's character and don't tone her down tbh. I feel like this is a big issue in the rpc with muses who are bold & brash and you deal w it very well, staying true to her character at all times! I also really appreciate your devotion & how lively Blackfire's dialogue feels!! You write her as very three-dimensional and real and this is hard to manage when it comes to villains in my opinion, so tip of the hat to you for that ! Keep up the good work !!

Tell me your favourite thing about my portrayal! ; accepting | @stagekiller

// ILOVEYOU?????? You’ve always been so kind and welcoming to me, even though I’ve been so shy and bashful to approach on many occasions. To read something like this from someone as talented, warm, and lively like your wonderful self is a joy as it is an honor! ^///^

I certainly agree with your views when it comes to villain characters portrayed in the RPC. There is always going to be that 1 schmuck who wants to ruin the fun and demand our character change their ways to fit their criteria, or what they assume deems it appropriate to the public. What most people do not understand is the rpc need us more than they know. If villains were reformed, and no “evil” was wrought, then how boring would the rpc world be? We wreck havoc so their muse can be their best selves and stop our diabolical muses from causing a calamity (and also because, its fun to watch the fictional worlds go completely mad and thrust our muses into…unusual situations ;D)

But I digress, thank you so much Batboi. Since speaking to you more frequently, I’ve come to cast aside most of my anxieties and I’m getting very comfortable with you and Jerome. I’m very proud to see my daughter has found a friend in your son—due to their striking similarities in their thought process and how they do things and their need to constantly be in the spotlight. I cannot wait to see how they will thrive on both Earth and Tamaran.

Let’s get some blood on their hands! >:D