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accidentalrebellion2013-12-31 11:18 pmALWAYS OPEN RP POST- 2013 EDITION
Are you ready, dudes? ARE YOU EXCITED? It's time for.....--
THE 2013PARTY OPEN RP POST
SO HERE'S WHAT YOU DO:
One: Comment here with one of your own characters! Any character in the world; I literally do not fucking care who it is. Go nuts and follow your heart's desire :'). After all, here at![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
randomshit, that's exactly what we are all about... RANDOM SHIT.
Two: For the comment itself, you can either request a character of mine, or leave it up to me. In addition, you can either leave a prompt, or just leave a blank comment and I'll come up with a scenario.
Three: Have fun! This post is meant for chill, relaxed, low-pressure RP c: I'll probably hit these tags slower than game tags, but this post is always open. ♥
THE 2013
SO HERE'S WHAT YOU DO:
One: Comment here with one of your own characters! Any character in the world; I literally do not fucking care who it is. Go nuts and follow your heart's desire :'). After all, here at
randomshit, that's exactly what we are all about... RANDOM SHIT.Two: For the comment itself, you can either request a character of mine, or leave it up to me. In addition, you can either leave a prompt, or just leave a blank comment and I'll come up with a scenario.
Three: Have fun! This post is meant for chill, relaxed, low-pressure RP c: I'll probably hit these tags slower than game tags, but this post is always open. ♥
accidentalrebellion2013-01-03 12:58 ammoving on is impossible when i still see it all in my head (closed;)
["And that, my friends, is how a revolution dies."
It's that, that and a laugh, the cruelest and most grating imaginable, that have spent an entire night in her thoughts. For once, instead of nightmares, she saw images of a sneer and a pair of judgmental eyes that only made her blood boil under her skin.
Haymitch, who betrayed her. Haymitch, who betrayed them both. Haymitch, who lost any right to an opinion, any right to call himself a mentor (not that he was ever much of one in the first place), the moment he decided to double-cross her and lie to her.
But he's right. He's always right.
And that's the worst part.
By the time she trudges toward Command the following afternoon, her anger hasn't abated. Far from it. It's set in every line of her face, apparent in a hard glint in her eyes and in the way her breaths continue to come shorter than they should. When a stray glance alerts her to his imminent presence, for the first time since she clawed his face on the hovercraft, there's no incentive to stop or change her course.
She's prepared to keep right on walking.]
It's that, that and a laugh, the cruelest and most grating imaginable, that have spent an entire night in her thoughts. For once, instead of nightmares, she saw images of a sneer and a pair of judgmental eyes that only made her blood boil under her skin.
Haymitch, who betrayed her. Haymitch, who betrayed them both. Haymitch, who lost any right to an opinion, any right to call himself a mentor (not that he was ever much of one in the first place), the moment he decided to double-cross her and lie to her.
But he's right. He's always right.
And that's the worst part.
By the time she trudges toward Command the following afternoon, her anger hasn't abated. Far from it. It's set in every line of her face, apparent in a hard glint in her eyes and in the way her breaths continue to come shorter than they should. When a stray glance alerts her to his imminent presence, for the first time since she clawed his face on the hovercraft, there's no incentive to stop or change her course.
She's prepared to keep right on walking.]
accidentalrebellion2012-12-25 12:23 amtall trees bend and lean, pointing where to go | closed to exacerbate
[Over the past several months, she's settled into a routine.
Not an easy one, by any means; willingly sharing what's so dear to her was never something she was born to do. After all, her first impulse has always been to be wary rather than trusting, guarded rather than open, an impulse that only strengthened exponentially after her father's death. But the boy she met in the woods that day had knowledge, knowledge she wanted and needed, and she'd had no choice but to agree to this arrangement. Shooting lessons and secrets in exchange for snares.
An arrangement that, despite its obvious associated reservations, has served her well. Food is on the table more consistently than it has been in a long time. She's been able to navigate the woods much more effectively than she ever did on her own. And, some part of her, buried deep, barely touching conscious awareness, has to admit that the company hasn't been unwelcome.
Complete trust, though, is not something she's ready to give to the boy with the snares.
It's spring now. The morning air doesn't have quite the same bite to it as she sets on her way, passing through the Meadow before slipping under the fence. Refreshing, really; just a few lungfuls is enough to practically make every cell in her body come to life. To add a quickness and lightness to her steps that's usually missing through most of winter.
There's no one else in sight. Just her, and some of the snares she'd set up the day before. He's supposed to meet her here soon, if he isn't somewhere around already, but for the moment, she doesn't look for him, instead opting to bend down for a closer look at the snares and beginning to set about her day's work.]
Not an easy one, by any means; willingly sharing what's so dear to her was never something she was born to do. After all, her first impulse has always been to be wary rather than trusting, guarded rather than open, an impulse that only strengthened exponentially after her father's death. But the boy she met in the woods that day had knowledge, knowledge she wanted and needed, and she'd had no choice but to agree to this arrangement. Shooting lessons and secrets in exchange for snares.
An arrangement that, despite its obvious associated reservations, has served her well. Food is on the table more consistently than it has been in a long time. She's been able to navigate the woods much more effectively than she ever did on her own. And, some part of her, buried deep, barely touching conscious awareness, has to admit that the company hasn't been unwelcome.
Complete trust, though, is not something she's ready to give to the boy with the snares.
It's spring now. The morning air doesn't have quite the same bite to it as she sets on her way, passing through the Meadow before slipping under the fence. Refreshing, really; just a few lungfuls is enough to practically make every cell in her body come to life. To add a quickness and lightness to her steps that's usually missing through most of winter.
There's no one else in sight. Just her, and some of the snares she'd set up the day before. He's supposed to meet her here soon, if he isn't somewhere around already, but for the moment, she doesn't look for him, instead opting to bend down for a closer look at the snares and beginning to set about her day's work.]
accidentalrebellion2012-12-24 09:30 pmEntry tags:
A trolling we will go.... (for Blaine)
[A teenage girl passing through with a bow, a quiver of arrows, and a serious expression on her face isn't exactly the kind of thing that's warm or inviting. This one, in particular, conveys the general impression that she's deadset on some kind of mission. That distracting her attention for a simple instant could result in violence. (Maybe.)
Most people would keep their distance. Probably.
But that fact alone doesn't guarantee her safety.]
Most people would keep their distance. Probably.
But that fact alone doesn't guarantee her safety.]
accidentalrebellion2012-12-23 05:44 pmEntry tags:
STUPID OPEN POST GET
[That is your prompt. Do with that what you will.]
accidentalrebellion2012-11-11 10:06 pmCan't take the speed it's moving in
[Back and forth. Back and forth. Her restless feet walk the corridors over and over again, pacing with anxious energy as the rest of her follows behind in a dazed, sleep-deprived fog.
Maybe more than anything, the traveling days are the worst.
The stops are unbearable, true. Crowds full of families with now-murdered children. Pageantry, superficial speeches, cheering crowds that mask a hint of something much darker. Hints, flickers of that spark to which President Snow referred, the one she knows that, for the sake of everyone she's ever cared about, she must contain. (Convince.) Then, though, at least her feet are standing on solid ground, and there are motions to go through. Motions that, reprehensible as they are, manage to keep her anchored to her last shreds of sanity.
But on these days, there's nothing else. Nothing to distract her from her thoughts as Panem whizzes by at over two hundred miles per hour. Nothing to stop her acute awareness of the physical markers of her constant anxiety, lost weight and darkening circles under her eyes, as her only outlet is to wear tread into the carpet. Nothing but the darkness.
The fact of the matter is, they're all trapped on this train.
And she's never been one to deal well with feeling trapped.]
Maybe more than anything, the traveling days are the worst.
The stops are unbearable, true. Crowds full of families with now-murdered children. Pageantry, superficial speeches, cheering crowds that mask a hint of something much darker. Hints, flickers of that spark to which President Snow referred, the one she knows that, for the sake of everyone she's ever cared about, she must contain. (Convince.) Then, though, at least her feet are standing on solid ground, and there are motions to go through. Motions that, reprehensible as they are, manage to keep her anchored to her last shreds of sanity.
But on these days, there's nothing else. Nothing to distract her from her thoughts as Panem whizzes by at over two hundred miles per hour. Nothing to stop her acute awareness of the physical markers of her constant anxiety, lost weight and darkening circles under her eyes, as her only outlet is to wear tread into the carpet. Nothing but the darkness.
The fact of the matter is, they're all trapped on this train.
And she's never been one to deal well with feeling trapped.]
of popsicles and soul damnation | closed to hatestherain
It wasn't going to be as easy as climbing through a second-story bedroom window. And it had nothing to do with the fact that Bella now lived on the third floor of the University of Alaska Southeast's residence hall.
Height was far from the issue.
It was that Bella now had something she didn't have when she'd lived at Charlie's house back in Forks: a roommate.
He'd spent most of the first day of classes tuning out as much as possible; the introductions, the syllabuses, and the gung-ho professors who'd wanted to dive right into the semester's material - all of it became background noise. He'd heard it many times over. It varied little from the high school routine (and he had attended college a few times, though never for more than a year or two. He couldn't get away with more than that). He did make the obligatory effort to listen for any signs that anyone suspected he was anything but an ordinary freshman. The ones who did take any notice of him quickly got swept up in their new-found student life and didn't give him a second thought.
So far, so good. But none of that helped his predicament, what he'd spent most of the day worrying about instead of paying attention.
The roommate was going to notice him eventually, because he had every intention of continuing his nightly routine of watching over Bella while she slept. He would be discrete about it, of course. No one would ever see him enter or leave the residence hall at unsavory hours of the night or day. But as long as he didn't know the roommate, how often they would be in the dorm or what their sleeping patterns were... He would have to take precautions, the first of which were to only enter the dorm after the roommate had fallen asleep. He'd told Bella not to wait up for him, should the roommate be a night owl. He promised he would be there as soon as he was able - if that was an acceptable arrangement to her. She could choose to sleep without him by her side, if she wished. And he had made that option perfectly clear. College was a time for new beginnings. Maybe that would be one of them. Although he hoped not. He didn't want to miss out on the sleep talk.
So. In the meantime, while he waited for her signal - if she gave one, and if she chose not to, he would wait all night in case she changed her mind - he camped out in a small cluster of nearby trees, trying to keep tabs on the roommate's thoughts. The sooner he became acquainted with their mind, the easier it would be to pick out, which would surely come in handy in the following months that comprised the semester. Bella's first semester of college. He couldn't help smiling at the thought.
Height was far from the issue.
It was that Bella now had something she didn't have when she'd lived at Charlie's house back in Forks: a roommate.
He'd spent most of the first day of classes tuning out as much as possible; the introductions, the syllabuses, and the gung-ho professors who'd wanted to dive right into the semester's material - all of it became background noise. He'd heard it many times over. It varied little from the high school routine (and he had attended college a few times, though never for more than a year or two. He couldn't get away with more than that). He did make the obligatory effort to listen for any signs that anyone suspected he was anything but an ordinary freshman. The ones who did take any notice of him quickly got swept up in their new-found student life and didn't give him a second thought.
So far, so good. But none of that helped his predicament, what he'd spent most of the day worrying about instead of paying attention.
The roommate was going to notice him eventually, because he had every intention of continuing his nightly routine of watching over Bella while she slept. He would be discrete about it, of course. No one would ever see him enter or leave the residence hall at unsavory hours of the night or day. But as long as he didn't know the roommate, how often they would be in the dorm or what their sleeping patterns were... He would have to take precautions, the first of which were to only enter the dorm after the roommate had fallen asleep. He'd told Bella not to wait up for him, should the roommate be a night owl. He promised he would be there as soon as he was able - if that was an acceptable arrangement to her. She could choose to sleep without him by her side, if she wished. And he had made that option perfectly clear. College was a time for new beginnings. Maybe that would be one of them. Although he hoped not. He didn't want to miss out on the sleep talk.
So. In the meantime, while he waited for her signal - if she gave one, and if she chose not to, he would wait all night in case she changed her mind - he camped out in a small cluster of nearby trees, trying to keep tabs on the roommate's thoughts. The sooner he became acquainted with their mind, the easier it would be to pick out, which would surely come in handy in the following months that comprised the semester. Bella's first semester of college. He couldn't help smiling at the thought.
accidentalrebellion2012-09-06 01:01 amPROMPT POST
Post: A character/pairing/fandom/whatever + a prompt
Receive: A ficlet in return!
accidentalrebellion2012-08-14 02:32 pmAnd you'll ask yourself, where is my mind | closed to asaraindrop
[When the lights power down, a film replays in her mind. Over and over again, stuck in a horrifying loop she's helpless to stop.
It begins with an image behind a wall of glass. A Peeta who isn't Peeta. Even from a distance, she knows everything is wrong. Though similar in appearance, nothing remains the same. His eyes are dark, completely devoid of anything she associates with them. His face contorted into something wholly foreign. It's enough to make breath catch in her lungs, a lead weight to drop to her stomach, a chill to run down her spine.
But the words are the worst, the words that aren't his own. That can't be his own, for the sake of any kind of fractured grip on reality she makes one last desperate attempt to cling to. A grip that slips even further from her the more his voice, his but not his, echoes in her thoughts.
"A mutt! She's a stinking mutt!"
By her request, they're sending her to Two tomorrow, but that knowledge isn't enough to bring her any kind of relief tonight. This tiny compartment has never felt more stifling and claustrophobic.
Yet she has nowhere to go.
She knows she shouldn't; if Prim is asleep, she doesn't want to disturb her. But she just can't spend another minute alone with her thoughts. Another minute, and they might very well consume her.
So she chances a whisper into the darkness.]
Prim?
It begins with an image behind a wall of glass. A Peeta who isn't Peeta. Even from a distance, she knows everything is wrong. Though similar in appearance, nothing remains the same. His eyes are dark, completely devoid of anything she associates with them. His face contorted into something wholly foreign. It's enough to make breath catch in her lungs, a lead weight to drop to her stomach, a chill to run down her spine.
But the words are the worst, the words that aren't his own. That can't be his own, for the sake of any kind of fractured grip on reality she makes one last desperate attempt to cling to. A grip that slips even further from her the more his voice, his but not his, echoes in her thoughts.
"A mutt! She's a stinking mutt!"
By her request, they're sending her to Two tomorrow, but that knowledge isn't enough to bring her any kind of relief tonight. This tiny compartment has never felt more stifling and claustrophobic.
Yet she has nowhere to go.
She knows she shouldn't; if Prim is asleep, she doesn't want to disturb her. But she just can't spend another minute alone with her thoughts. Another minute, and they might very well consume her.
So she chances a whisper into the darkness.]
Prim?
accidentalrebellion2012-08-11 03:25 amIt's 3 AM, I must be lonely | Closed to peeta_bread
[It's not like this is unusual by any circumstance.
Like clockwork, she returns to consciousness with a jolt. The kind of jolt that has her gasping for breath while her heart pounds, so intensely it practically leaps out of her chest. This nightmare. Again. No matter how frequent it is (and by now, it occurs at least two or three times per night), her reaction will always be the same. She'll never be used to it.
The afterimage still burns her retinas even minutes later, the same one that has haunted her incessantly for months on end. Her little sister, not even fourteen, transformed into a human torch right before her eyes, with nothing she can do to stop it. No matter how hard she tries to run, something always pushes her back. No matter how hard she tries to scream, something always strangles her.
And, if anything, that image has only become clearer over time.
Fire always burns brighter in the darkness.
The darkness. Something that a part of her, some deep-seated part of her that she can only just barely acknowledge, doesn't want to combat alone.
Before she's even aware of what's happening, her feet touch the floor, guiding her over to the window that looks onto the house nextdoor. Peeta's house. She doesn't know what she's searching for. A light? Some kind of sign of life? None of those things are there, yet something keeps her standing still, just watching.]
Like clockwork, she returns to consciousness with a jolt. The kind of jolt that has her gasping for breath while her heart pounds, so intensely it practically leaps out of her chest. This nightmare. Again. No matter how frequent it is (and by now, it occurs at least two or three times per night), her reaction will always be the same. She'll never be used to it.
The afterimage still burns her retinas even minutes later, the same one that has haunted her incessantly for months on end. Her little sister, not even fourteen, transformed into a human torch right before her eyes, with nothing she can do to stop it. No matter how hard she tries to run, something always pushes her back. No matter how hard she tries to scream, something always strangles her.
And, if anything, that image has only become clearer over time.
Fire always burns brighter in the darkness.
The darkness. Something that a part of her, some deep-seated part of her that she can only just barely acknowledge, doesn't want to combat alone.
Before she's even aware of what's happening, her feet touch the floor, guiding her over to the window that looks onto the house nextdoor. Peeta's house. She doesn't know what she's searching for. A light? Some kind of sign of life? None of those things are there, yet something keeps her standing still, just watching.]
cosmicpretzel2012-07-12 08:57 pmWHATEVA WHATEVA I DO WHAT I WANT, or Open RP Post
Exactly what it says. Got a character of mine you want to hit up for some random shit in the true spirit of this community name? BRING IT OOOONNN.
There are no rules in this post, okay? I'm a cool
badassdatadog2012-01-28 07:44 pmidek
[See hungry dog.
See hungry dog staring at a literal mountain of unopened dog food cans in front of him.
With no one around to help.
Don't you want to help? :(]
See hungry dog staring at a literal mountain of unopened dog food cans in front of him.
With no one around to help.
Don't you want to help? :(]