It’s been a super long time since updating this askblog, and I’m sure you’re all aware that at this point, this blog is dead. It had to come to this, unfortunately, because now I’m in college! And as all you college-goers know, the assignments that we get here is HELL on time and scheduling.
Now that tumblr is kinda forcing me to pay attention to my blogs (for a little while, with the whole ‘you keeping your url, bro?’ email), I figured I’d take this chance to officially announce a hiatus/closing of this blog.
This means that the ask and submission boxes are closed, and all rps that didn’t have a conclusive ending are finished. I’m sorry if there are some of you that were holding out on the hope that I might come back and participate again after all these years, but I also have to thank you for sticking with us for so long.
I wish good health and good times for you guys! Stay safe, stay awesome.))
((P.S. — I occasionally revisit my mod-blog, thebeardedguys , and am more active on my instagram, @inkymonolith, if you guys want to see more of my other content. This blog potentially won’t be updating anymore, but I’m going to keep this blog up for archival purposes, if you still want to stare at some of the work and rps I already have on here. Thanks again, folks!))
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Aside from the car accident, Marlise questions whether she should have encouraged her parents to quit their habits rather than push them away as punishment. She feels she disrespected them and put them in the mindset to continue smoking.
20. What is a self-inflicted misery of theirs? (i.e. something they perpetuate themselves)
Toby continuously is reminded of his old self, the one that had no qualms about treating others like crap and used his social status to justify it. Though, he sees old self as a separate person from him, as a way of coping.
When in the early stages of speech therapy, his past prejudices make him extremely hard on himself, nearly driving him to self-harm.
Z symbol for Khalil and Stanley (Lets see how he responds to this little surprise)
There were times when Stanley dozed off while he hid from the Narrator. And when he awoke, he would always be met with the cramped space underneath the desk and a clear view of the Office.
This time was different.
Stanley was, rather suddenly, ripped from the clutches of sleep when he sneezed. Something was tickling his nose a second before, and when he groggily opened his eyes, he found the culprit red-handed.
Some strange hybrid between an animal and a human stood over him with curiosity, pale eyes watching him cautiously, but intently. Stanley tried to press himself further into the recesses of the desk, wary of the stranger that most definitely did not come from the Office.
((please forgive me if this sounds bad ;>; i tried))
“Astrology is a very precise science. We know this.”“Let me get this straight…you want me to come with you…”
—Douglas Adams, The Ultimate Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy: Mostly Harmless, pg. 666
——
“Allow me to start by saying that astrology is a very precise science. We know this, yes? Then I cannot help but note that what you’re asking of me is something of the opposite nature.”
The incredulous tone betrayed the fact that he, in fact, understood the request very clearly. His dialogue amounted to nothing more than a verbose version of an “are you kidding me”. He even accentuated that point further by concentrating himself into a humanoid silhouette and giving the Serious Look.
“Let me get this straight.” Said the Narrator, who began to walk toward the person as an apparition outlined by shadows. “You. Want me to come with you.” He stopped. And stood near to a foot away from the stranger’s face. A very short clearing of the throat could be heard from him, and he looked up at the other with a literally transparent expression.
“I by no means imply that I accept, but I’d like to know why you require my presence in the first place.”
Send me 😰 for a glimpse at one of my muse’s nightmares!
Jon:
They were jeering, laughing as Jon watched, his eyes wide and full of pain. He struggled, but their hands held him back, covered his mouth, restrained his feet.
He was helpless.
Stanley was reaching out to him desperately, screaming his name as they dragged him away.
His pleas never got any quieter, though, begging Jon to save him, to come help him and as Jon cried out of his love, his purpose, the agony of helpness as Stanley sobbed in pain and terror was greater than the wounds on his body, tainted the carpet beneath him a stunning red.
As the blood dripped down, he could feel it pooling at his feet, sticking uncomfortably to his skin.
It stank of rot and death. Jon knew, as it crawled up his legs, the puddle turning to a small lake and then a literal flood threatening to take him over completely, that this wasnt his own, but Stanleys.
Bradley:
As consciousness overtook him, the first thing he noticed was that his body had been completely restrained. From head to toe, there were ropes and chains binding him to the cold, steel table, keeping him fully trapped with little room to move.
Vaguely he realized he had been gagged too.
Glancing around as much as he can, Bradley started to recognize his surroundings.
In the Basement of the Office, someone had tied him to a rusty, twisted version of his beloved machine Gretel, except that she no longer had her roof, giving him full view of the rest of the room.
There were all kinds of torture instruments, ranging from futuristic sorts to medieval kinds, some being machines, others stainless tools.
Someone was planning on torturing him, for what, he didnt know, but it appeared like they had planned for a very, very long night.
Bradley let his head rest back against the table and waited. He could try teleporting out of his binds, but he couldnt deny that he was curious as to who his capturer was, and why they had planned to torment him like this.
Minutes passed and no one appeared.
No footsteps were heard, nor were there any other signs of human activity.
It wasnt after sometime when Bradley started to get impatient, that he realized why.
He was completely alone here. No one was coming for him, to free him, or to hurt him.
He'd be stuck here forever, until he goes insane from anticipation or finds a way to kill himself and restart.
He struggled and yelled, but it was futile.
No one was coming for him, period. He was trapped here, staring at one thing he needed the most, but he was never going to have it.
Freedom, pain, they were close, but they werent for him.
Even his cries sounded lost in the large, empty Office.
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The harsh lighting from the sun nearly obscured his form, leaving only the scarcest of shadows to indicate his presence there. It wasn’t as if there were any settings to make himself more noticeable. Either that or he never bothered to look for one.
“This is certainly a wonderful view.” He remarked, looking up at the clouds that lazily trudged through the sky. He wondered if they were truly real or just simulated like everything else in and around the Office. “Do you really find pleasure in staring at large collections of water vapor all day? I don’t see the point in this activity at all.”
What would the narrator look like in a human form?
“This is as much of an accurate representation as I could find in relation to how I feel toward this question right now. But if this animated visual does not compel you to walk away, satisfied with my rejection, then I hope this artist’s interpretation will do a better job at doing so.”
