─── selective blog for an original vampire southern gothic character 𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐏𝐀𝐆𝐄 set in the sleepy louisiana town of port eloise in 1974. this roleplay blog is 20+ only & plot driven. the author of this project goes by moonie.
𝙖 𝙨𝙩𝙪𝙙𝙮 𝙞𝙣 : living a life that's not your own, GOD LOVES YOU - JUST NOT ENOUGH TO SAVE YOU, houses that eat, generational trauma, losing yourself in the pursuit of god, a grief that cannot be healed, the horror of dying alone.
𝐁𝐈𝐎. 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐃𝐘. 𝐔𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆. 𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐊'𝐒 𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘.
𝐦𝐨𝐛𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬
i. i used to go by mr. moon a lot online so you can call me that or moonie :) i've been around this rpc a looooong time and if you recognize me from my decade writing (also under the name of burns) hannibal at goremade or robert plant, come say hi <3 i don't bite. i go through periods of writing on and off but my roddy has been around for a full 5 years now! whoo!
ii. standard rules apply here. if you don't like something i post, please unfollow or soft block if you'd like. posting hate anons, vague posting about other roleplayers, negativity, etc is something i soft block for if it's a constant thing. a note on soft blocking during follower clean up - if i ever soft block a blog that you come back to in the future, even years down the road, please feel free to refollow! soft blocking is never personal. i do not hate the people i soft block, i simply curate a space where i feel comfortable.
small note: you get what you put in. if you are the type of roleplayer that never sends asks/answers my asks or likes/reblogs the asks you send me? that's the treatment you get back from me. if i am constantly interacting with your blog and i notice that there is never reciprocation? i will be soft blocking you once this becomes a pattern of behavior. the old roleplay community knew that reciprocation was the key to collaborative writing. that's why it's called that. if you can't be arsed to treat your partners like you value them, i will dip immediately.
iii. LIKE MY HEADER AND PROMO's? of course you do! click the 🐄 to be redirected to sereg0re's delightful blog full of goodies you'll wanna check out :)
iv. shipping. romantic ships are welcome, but sexual threads and conversations will be slow burn; no exceptions. if we are regularly chummy with one another, go ahead and make it known that you'd like to ship! i love shipping! i'll even throw ou a post here and there to see who'd be interested in that! however, i do require sex and the like to be on the back burner until there's a palpable chemistry between rodrick and your character. there will be no instant shipping or smut threads until there are multiple threads between us. this is to cut down on the problem of my muse being used as someone's kink.
v. following. if i follow you, i'll most likely make the first move to interact but if you like, don't be shy! hop into my IM's or my inbox with meme's.
vi. trigger warnings / content. this blog will cover many triggers in meta, but you'll very rarely find me writing the content that's heavy. all posts regarding these unsavory topics will be tagged! if i miss a tag, and it's one of your squicks, you can always ask me to tag it! common topics on this blog: religion, incest, generational, sexual, physical trauma. internalized homophobia. period typical language/use of vernacular, sexual/physical abuse on a minor, minor gore (mentions) ie; mentions of being thrown down a well/brutalized physically, hospital level injuries.
vii. HEADS UP: if you've read this far, please be aware that this is NOT a midnight mass blog. in the past, those who have not read my rules (or about section. or pinned posts. or any posts. OTL) have gotten to the writing stages with me and assumed i am writing paul hill/john pruitt. i am not!!! my url references the song 'devil in the midnight mass' by billy talent. i suggest watching the video, it's great.
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independent roleplay blogs for the trinity gate coven, 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄, the diabolicule. beloathed by the author's 𝐬𝐚𝐦, 𝐣𝐚𝐦, 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐡 & 𝐧𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐚. 18 + only, dead dove themes present.
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“You’ve got that look—like you’re either about to confess something or start a fight.”
fix yer' face - that's what his daddy used to tell him, fix yer' face 'fore i fix it for you. the reminder that he has a body that cannot be controlled is not lost on him, there are threads coming loose everywhere; rodrick can't tell what his face is doing and it causes his expression to turn sour before softening, eyebrows raising, the mouth pulling taut. even now, when he meets those translucent pale eyes, he doesn't rightly know just what look is on his face. only that it stretches uncomfortably when he attempts to fix it. ❛ — that obvious ? ❛
❛ ain't never been in'a fight. ❛ wouldn't know what to do with himself. he's seen what his hands can do, he's witnessed the carnage of a human body breaking under his jaw. it weighs on him. the preacher inhales, pursing his lips. ❛ more of a confession man, mys'lf. ❛
the frown deepens on pete’s face, his old curmudgeon reputation in full swing now. the man grumbles something under his breath, slapping the cloth he was using on table with an extra force as he crosses his arms to stare at the holy man. “y’in the habit of insultin’ people who could actually piss in your drink?”
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❝ you cannot tell me that you haven't eaten and then refuse what i bring you. your hunger is palpable. do you not feel it, father? ❞
the blood seeps over the lip of the glass. his fingers, his rings, covered in it. stuck to the carved edges, made one by way of a stray breeze that further dries the blood, the very scent of it crawls and lops for the priest. ❝ your starvation tastes of ash and guilt. come, let me nourish you. drink of my blood. eat of my flesh. ❞
panic. panic like acid in the throat - a heat so intense and invading that the preacher feels it grip him from the inside. without so much as a word, or a whine, rodrick quickly wraps his gargantuan hand around his mouth, his nose. it does not quell his ache. it sits in his body, ugly, heavy, and soon his fangs fall. rodrick, too, almost falls. his knees weak, thighs vibrating like a new, slick calf. for good measure he places his other hand on top of the other.
the preacher's mouth waters without him meaning for it to, saliva pooling under his tongue and it forces a choke to swallow it down, the very ACT of swallowing anything but blood making his stomach cramp uncomfortably.
it's too late. he's smelled it already. internalized the thick, syrupy sound that comes from the glass as armand's enclosing figure causes it to jostle. wanting, but not wanting to want, this coffee-eyed apostle makes a sound not unlike a gag; from behind his hands, rodrick tries to loosen his fingers so he can say something. anything but the panicked bark that's threatening it's way up his throat right that moment.
I have given up the ability to feel pain for Lent! Suffering is what makes us human, so now, I feel more alienated than ever! I have broken three toes, and I only noticed when my foot became so swollen I could not wear my Favorite Shoe anymore! Sad. Can't wait for Easter!
shock spreads across delicate features, leaving behind trimmed brows, now raised & a mouth held open. disbelief did not typically arrive with such warmth, & yet here stood blunt acceptance. it twists his expression. momentarily. before a beat takes hold of his thumb, tapping into chocolate-toned linen. feigned serenity emerges once more: a dance, between the vampire & his own doing. ❝ well, father. does not every man pray for forgiveness ? ❞ in another life, he could have enjoyed louisiana, arrived not shrouded in guilt-ridden clouds of europe. ( imagination can only take him so far, his reality as a stranger pleading to a priest too fervent ). despite all this, something more genuine tugs at the corner of his lip.
a crack in the marble. a sliver of the real armand, rod thinks as he's scrutinizing the way his thin features turn into something aloof right after, a flash of genuinity before it dissolves before his very eyes. a hand is pressed against his hip and his belt line, taking that question in and, without so much as a second thought, rodrick says, ❛ yer' forgiven. ❛
❛ yep, even for that thang that jus' came'a mind. that one thang that weighs you down, yer' forgiven for it. ❛ it's simple to him. it hasn't always been. ❛ yer' gonna get over it sooner'er later - migh's well get over it now. ❛
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