[duxmilitum]

           Head bobs to Guns N' Roses. 

[duxmilitum]

          "I'm alive."

[duxmilitum]

[duxmilitum]

(im going to stare at you.)

#smugstaretbh

[tritusaugeous-archived-deactiva]

"… ?"

His head moved in silence before he found a young, built man before him, it seemed he knew of his quite well, somehow. For now he wouldn’t ask the man how he knew him.

"—Yes?"

[duxmilitum]

          He actually responded to the call? Maybe he was just in character or something. But the voice is all too familiar to John's in the game and just-- maybe. Responsiveness continues in lieu of mutuality.

          "Nice--uh--get up y'got there. You a big fan o'Halo or somethin'?"

[duxmilitum]

          "Master Chief?!" Though it was probably just some top-dollar junkie in a suit they made themselves. Kinda like some Tony Stark b.s. 

[duxmilitum]

[notcaptainbritain-deact]

duxmilitum started following you

"…Look, I know this must look really dodgy from where you’re standing, but there’s a perfectly logical explanation - honest."

[duxmilitum]

          "Dude--drop the sledgehammer. Just drop it and it won't look so damn dodgy."

[duxmilitum]

DEAN WINCHESTER                         “I don’t care that I don’t care.”

NEW Independent, Canon Dean Winchester of Supernatural rp blog.

8+ years of role playing experience. 

Script, para, novellas, etc.

Chemistry ship.

Female mun.

Mun is older than 18 (19, honestly. Not much of a difference). 

Icons.

Fairly active, depending on work. 

Restarted SPN, so portrayal will vary ( depending on the episode or mood the mun is in ). 

Open to OCs, AUs, etc. 

                                                 Home Ask Submit

[duxmilitum]

          "I deserve a damn medal for gettin' through that job. Holy shit."

[duxmilitum]

          "That took a hell of a lot longer than it should've."

[duxmilitum]

SCREAMS TO THE HIGH HEAVENS A SAM IS FOLLOWING ME BLESS

[duxmilitum]

"Why does it always have to be alcohol?"

                                   Carry on my wayward son,                                                  there’ll be peace when you are done.

          And it’s one hell of a timed question to ask, because masculinity’s limb lifts with grasp on a wide bottle. It was whiskey. Didn’t matter what brand it was, so long as it worked. The demons and the spirits and hell itself trying to tear Winchester siblings asunder, rip them into nothingness like heaps of fabric no longer necessary in the quilt of life—it all took its toll. Didn’t matter how strong he kept that front up, didn’t matter how he was able to hold his walls together when they were back in Lawrence that one day. Hell, he even cursed himself for the tears shed over a voicemail to his father.

          In that moment, he felt like the proud and youthful Icarus when wings of wax melted into nothingness. The way the sun embraced a boy in flight and took him away. He can only imagine the screams that this boy did let loose for his father. The father who made him those wings, the father who said it would be okay and that he could do it on his own. So that’s why he fucking cried, right? Asking for daddy’s help because he couldn’t do it on his own. Because he went back to the very place he promised himself he’d never go back to. But now it was different. What with hell and all, and Crowley, and the hounds, and the angels, and God going on a pissy little tantrum.

          He’s still holding the whiskey to his lips, having already downed half of the bottle. Doesn’t even bother his liver anymore. Malachite orifices are flooded with the things he’s seen, but he doesn’t care too much for her tone or her question alone. But finally, the base of elongated glass is set down midst the table before him—papers and laptop strewn across its top. Wayward is his glance to her, tufts of brunette furrowing accordingly.

          “Oh sweetheart I don’t do shrinks.” Spoken with no pauses where one would think there to be any. It’s all a single flow, not even slurred after such a consumption. 

[chodesh]

   ”I will admit, we don’t see too many    Americans around here that aren’t    part of the military base. What brings    you to Okinawa, sir?”

[duxmilitum]

               To ward off masculine typicality, for she was           of renowned beauty, would be a battle in and of           itself. But there is no room, no stability in romance           for a hunter so willing to lay it all down for the good           of civilians. Henceforth, let gruff-articulation rise past           supple tiers painted in natural roseate. Lie.

               "I'm with the FBI. I've been hearing about strange           occurrences going on around the base. Was wonderin'           if you knew anything about that. Just some extra entail           that wasn't already passed along, maybe?"

[duxmilitum]

''I hear dead people.''

          “What, like the movie quote or are we talkin’ actual ghosties?”

[narcissistic--monstrosity]

{ Place One in My Inbox - Questions Edition }

Can work as an ice breaker, starter maker, or just a simple little ask meme.

"Am I dead?"

"Another one?"

"And what if I don’t?"

"Are you afraid of God?"

"Are you crazy?”

"Are you lost?"

"Are you really that shallow?"

"Are you sure it’s okay?"

"Are you sure there were no survivors?"

"Can I trust you?"

"Can we go now?"

"Can we not fight tonight?"

"Can’t or won’t?"

"Do you even care about how I feel?"

"Do you expect me to believe that?"

"Do you have any idea what you just did?"

"Do you love me?"

"Do you trust me?"

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"How could you do this?"

"How did you escape?"

"How long has it been since you last slept?"

"How long have you been there?"

"Is that blood behind your ear?"

"Is that really a gamble you’re willing to make?"

"Just go, alright?"

"Mind if I sleep here tonight?"

"Really?"

"Tell me: have you ever been afraid like this?"

"That’s the best you could come up with?"

"Wait, were you being sarcastic or…?"

"Want to hear a secret?"

"Was I the only one who thought that?"

"Well, that’s what I said, isn’t it?"

"What are you?"

"What are you doing here?"

"What do I have to say to make you understand?"

"What do you keep writing in that notebook?"

"What do you want with me?"

"What happened?"

"What if you stayed this time?"

"What if… what if I don’t want to be free?"

"What’s in it for me?"

"What’s in it for you?"

"When have I ever lied to you?"

"Where did you go?"

"Where did you last see it?"

"Where’s the rest of the body?"

"Who are you?"

"Who did this to you?"

"Why are you so angry?"

"Why are you so calm about this?"

"Why do you have this urge to control people all the time?"

"Why do you keep doing this to me?"

"Why do you have to make everything about you?"

"Why does it always have to be alcohol?"

"Why don’t you come over here and prove it?"

"Why is the truth so important to you?"

"Why should I help you?"

"Wouldn’t that be nice?"

"You don’t remember me?"

"You expect me to believe you haven’t done this before?"

"You’ve been pretending all this time?"

[bowsandsongs]

Hit my muse with personal questions. I will answer them all.