roleplayerscoffeeshop:

Hey, roleplayers, do me a favor and REBLOG THIS if you are willing to roleplay with a strictly human character. No bells and whistles. Just a regular human trying to get through life same as anybody else. OC, Canon, Fan, or otherwise. 

skinnylittletwit:

freckledloudmouth:

“Oh, fuck ye.” Iris retorts, automatically. “Ye ken see well ‘nuff tae aim a stick through a window, but ye cannae see a - stop fuckin’ derailin’ me!” Iris throws her hands up in utter exasperation, her hands no longer anywhere near the shotgun’s trigger.

The safety’s on.

“I ain’ got nothin’ ‘ere but paranoia an’ an overstocked pantry full’a salt an’ leftovers. Ye wan’ a bite tae eat? I ain’ gonnae fuckin’ stop you, hell -” Having been growing more and more animated the longer she’s been talking, Iris now turns on her heel entirely, and starts towards the kitchen.

Bee follows, his attention intent on mum, now. She’s worked up, but she doesn’t seem to want to kill the strange, bloody stranger, so neither does he.

” - I’ll get et m’self!”

He couldn’t have asked for a better chance.

Iris gets two steps before Lee throws his weight into a backwards roll. Stick meets floor with a clack as he tucks and curls his body back and in. Feet point at the hole, and as momentum carries him backwards he flattens, just about sliding through the gap and shoving himself unsteadily to his feet.

Not that he bothers taking the time to get his footing. He’s half-running half-tripping away from the windows and towards the opposite alley the moment he’s mostly upright, sprinting for the safety of shadows.

Iris spins around at the sound of glass shifting, and stares at the empty spot on her floor. She doesn’t even bother to chase him.

She just drops her forehead into her palm so hard one or the other is bound to bruise, and utters a string of swears that such a gesture deserves, setting down the nigh-forgotten shotgun and dropping - spent - onto her couch.

Until, out of breath, she can’t help but, just…. laugh. And raise an invisible glass of invisible drink to the broken window. “Better a thief’n a murderer, right? Fuckin’ hellfire an’ brimstone ye arse-backwards son of a rot-gut blight-bag full of swamp gas an’ mucus, I owe ye one, whatever the hell yer bloody name is.”

“Gave me a fuckin’ heart attack.”

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[Two grumpy, pessimistic, drunk dorks from different sides of the Atlantic with a mutual car fetish, more guns then sense, a proclivity for cursing and the tendency to say ‘I’m okay’ a lot hide their problems from their friends. Secretly they resent everyone they love.]

Asked by askcecewells

[Cheese and macaroni.]

silvertonguedgod:

askcecewells:

murakioao:

a goofy guy with a sweet tooth who guiltfully kills people and wants to kill himself as well and a serial killer with an obsession for first mentioned and a strong hate directed to a head with a spine.in a glass.

(Already described one OTP, let’s do the other this time)

Two uptight neurotics with far too much in common latch onto each other and thus spare the rest of the world their rigor.

((A genocidal psychopath with murderous delusions of grandeur and a psychology textbook worth of complexes marries a mutant with PTSD, formerly employed by the people who were trying to stop him from taking over the world. 

But not before he accidentally orchestrates her murder and she tries to kill him for it.))

[Purposefully spoiled, coagulated, filtered and fermented lactate of filthy, smelly, quadrupedal land mammals is re-liquified via exposure to temperature capable of spoiling it a second time and smothered atop a re-hydrated compound of plant matter, chemical bonding agents and artificial colouration shaped obfuscatingly into little tubes.]

skinnylittletwit:

freckledloudmouth:

Iris sighs, with clear irritation. “Fuckin’ hellfire, skinny twit like ye ken - ?” but her sentence cuts off at his expression, his body language. The barrel of the gun drops, points to the floor at her feet, nowhere near him,  and she just watches him for a moment.

She shifts uneasily, rubbing the back of her neck with her free hand. “Look, kid, I ain’ gonnae fuckin’ kill ye. Ye gave me a god-bloody-damn heart attack, I - it ain’ fuckin’ importan’, all right? The hell ye expectin’ bustin’ in on sommat wot’s as locked up as my place anyways, a pile’ve gol - fuck, ye wanted t’rob me.” She blinks twice.

“Tha’s it, innit. Bite t’eat or sommat. How the fuckin’ hellfire did ye miss a wolf-sized dog through a window wot’s half the size of th’wall?”

The gun going down gives him a little string of hope to grab on to.

Not hope that she’ll spare him - whatever she says. Her word isn’t worth shit.

A hench’s word never is.

But if she’s softening, he might just find an opening.
(All he needs is a second.)

He glances from her to the dog, shifting and wincing as his torn shoulder sings in protest. That’s the real problem. People are easy. Dogs aren’t.

“S’called fuckin’ darkness, ever fuckin’ hear of it?”

“Oh, fuck ye.” Iris retorts, automatically. “Ye ken see well ‘nuff tae aim a stick through a window, but ye cannae see a - stop fuckin’ derailin’ me!” Iris throws her hands up in utter exasperation, her hands no longer anywhere near the shotgun’s trigger.

The safety’s on.

“I ain’ got nothin’ ‘ere but paranoia an’ an overstocked pantry full’a salt an’ leftovers. Ye wan’ a bite tae eat? I ain’ gonnae fuckin’ stop you, hell -” Having been growing more and more animated the longer she’s been talking, Iris now turns on her heel entirely, and starts towards the kitchen.

Bee follows, his attention intent on mum, now. She’s worked up, but she doesn’t seem to want to kill the strange, bloody stranger, so neither does he.

” - I’ll get et m’self!”

skinnylittletwit:

freckledloudmouth:

Iris rounds the corner then, and Bee no longer seems intent on ripping Lee to shreds - at the sight of his mother, he simply holds the intruder still, only jerking his head on the occasion that the interloper tries to break free.

Ch-Chk makes for one of the simplest, most meaningful greetings known to man, and she slowly advances, gun leveled (more or less) steadily on Lee, but it’s not until she’s within his line of sight that it clicks.

She half drops the gun, and simply stares. “…Ye’re a fuckin’ kid.” It’s a statement, one of surprise, a tone that’s mirrored on her face as her shoulders relax, and all the paranoid tension drops from her shoulders. “Ye’re a motherfuckin’ - ye’re just a fuckin’ kid.”

“Bee, get off.” She barks about as impressively as the pup did, and the dog, whining, lets go obediently, slinking behind his mum with his tail between his legs. “Ye… fuck. Right.” Iris’ eyes don’t leave Lee for more than a second, as she looks over the damage he’s done to her home, her windows, what he’s carrying. She lets out a low sigh. “How the fuck’d ye break in with a fuckin’ stick?”

Gun.

Hello gun.

Not for the first time in his life, Lee suspects he might be more than a little bit utterly fucked.

He doesn’t move even when the dog lets go of him, keeping his stick held in place - partly to keep his hands visible, partly just because he’s too afraid to so much as twitch.

His eyes, though. They’re fixed on Iris, with an expression of mixed frustration, resignation, and terror.

“Slammed it through the fuckin’ window. How the fuck d’you think.” There’s no real note of defiance in his voice. More acceptance.

Things are adding up in his head, and they’re adding up in a decidedly unpleasant manner.

Iris sighs, with clear irritation. “Fuckin’ hellfire, skinny twit like ye ken - ?” but her sentence cuts off at his expression, his body language. The barrel of the gun drops, points to the floor at her feet, nowhere near him,  and she just watches him for a moment.

She shifts uneasily, rubbing the back of her neck with her free hand. “Look, kid, I ain’ gonnae fuckin’ kill ye. Ye gave me a god-bloody-damn heart attack, I - it ain’ fuckin’ importan’, all right? The hell ye expectin’ bustin’ in on sommat wot’s as locked up as my place anyways, a pile’ve gol - fuck, ye wanted t’rob me.” She blinks twice.

“Tha’s it, innit. Bite t’eat or sommat. How the fuckin’ hellfire did ye miss a wolf-sized dog through a window wot’s half the size of th’wall?”

angeladellamuerta:

allo-nsy:

Transparent Salt Ring

Put this on your blog to protect from demons

Hey, Iris…?

“Aye, thank’ee.”