Indie RPer

[indierper-cristine]

@disgosteng is a clout‑chasing asshole who came to me pretending to care. they wanted to know about what it felt like to be bullied, to be ridiculed, to be misunderstood — and they acted like it mattered. they spoke words that sounded kind, that sounded empathetic, that sounded like they might actually see me. but the second it required them to actually engage, to respond to what they asked about, they disappeared. completely. like i was nothing more than a passing thought, a story they could wave at their followers before moving on to the next performance.

they framed themselves as a safe space, a thoughtful listener, someone who “understood” the weird and fantastical things i create. and i believed them. i answered honestly, vulnerably, trusting that the curiosity they claimed was genuine. and then? silence. no follow-up. no acknowledgement. just disappearing into thin air, leaving me staring at a blank screen, wondering if any of it ever mattered to them at all. it wasn’t a miscommunication. it was intentional. performative. hollow.

and then they have the audacity to act like none of it is their fault, like ignoring someone the moment they stop being convenient is somehow neutral or forgivable. it’s not. it’s lazy cruelty disguised as performative empathy. it’s clout. it’s attention. it’s entirely self-serving. they wanted the appearance of caring without ever having to do the actual work of empathy.

i blocked them. i don’t owe them any more space in my brain, any more words, any more trust. they are exactly what they presented themselves as: a hollow, self-interested person who wanted the spotlight, and anyone who followed them thinking they were genuine should take note.

[indierper-cristine]

it’s honestly refreshing to see others call out @mollyrpt, not because i needed a chorus or a crusade, but because it confirms i wasn’t imagining what happened. watching people independently clock the same behavior — the bad-faith framing, the steering, the way “jokes” were used to light the fuse — has been grounding in a way i didn’t expect.

and weirdly? freeing.

because now that the air’s cleared a bit, i can say this without it feeling like a retreat: i can rp as this bear again. 🐻

not as a concession. not as hiding. but because i want to.

the bear was never the problem. the problem was being made to feel like anything i touched would be twisted if the wrong person got their hands on it. the problem was feeling watched, interpreted through someone else’s punchline. that tension is gone now. the spell’s broken.

so yeah. i’m still strange. i still like my heavy, quiet, emotionally loaded stuff. but sometimes i also just want to be a bear again — solid, warm, legible, playful in a way that doesn’t require a thesis defense. and it turns out i’m allowed to move between those things without it meaning anything is wrong.

accountability helps with that. clarity helps with that. seeing people say “no, actually, that wasn’t okay” helps more than i can neatly articulate.

i’m not reopening old wounds. i’m not relitigating. i’m just stepping forward lighter than i was a few days ago, claws out, heart intact, bear-shaped and unashamed. 🐻❤️‍🔥

sometimes you don’t need an apology. sometimes you just need the noise to stop so you can play again.

[indierper-cristine]

hey besties 🖤✨

so i wasn’t planning on posting a plotting call right now but inspiration hit me like a truck and i simply must be insufferable about it. i’m looking for deeply character-driven, slow-burn, emotionally devastating dynamics only (no pressure).

i’m thinking of playing a character who is, like, very flawed but in a way that’s interesting and misunderstood. she’s sharp, a little guarded, maybe sarcastic as a defense mechanism, but also secretly soft and loyal once you get past the walls. she’s had a complicated past (not trauma-dumping here, just saying she’s layered) and tends to be the kind of person people project onto unfairly. she’s not perfect and doesn’t want to be, which is kind of her thing.

physically she’s… not important… but hypothetically she’d have expressive eyes, an unconventional kind of attractiveness, and a presence people notice without knowing why. again, not important. personality is what matters.

i’m really interested in exploring dynamics where the other character sees through her immediately in a way that annoys her. like someone who clocks her bullshit but doesn’t judge her for it. bonus points if they’re older / more put-together / emotionally constipated / morally questionable. enemies-to-reluctant allies-to-“oh god why do i care about you” is the vibe.

i don’t do self-inserts obviously 🙄 but i do write characters who feel very real and grounded and who might coincidentally share my sense of humor, worldview, taste in music, communication style, and exact emotional blind spots. that’s just good writing.

i’m very chill OOC, not intense at all, i just like plotting in detail and talking about characters constantly and sending long messages and occasionally screaming about scenes at 2am. no pressure if that’s not your thing.

if this resonates, feel free to message me with your character, your vibe, your star sign, and a brief explanation of why our characters would ruin each other’s lives in a narratively satisfying way 🖤

[indierper-cristine]

okay. okay. okay. i’m just gonna scream this into the void because apparently a single goddamn screenshot of me thinking creatively has metastasized into a full-blown internet circus and now i’m here holding the remains of my dignity in one trembling hand and a cup of cold coffee in the other.

the rp idea? yes. it involved adults. adults. nothing sinister. nothing illegal. nothing aimed at anyone who didn’t consent. it was a fantasy, a sparkling, weird little magical realism concept that literally nobody should have lost sleep over, and yet here we are, with people acting like i personally summoned a demon into their dashboards. scroll past it. mute me. burn your eyes out. i literally do not care. but stop turning my whimsical brain vomit into some public clown show.

and the speed at which my harmless little idea was twisted into a joke? unbelievable. it was instantaneous. like someone hit “laugh at me” on repeat in a cosmic joke machine. nobody asked me anything. nobody tried to understand. they just ripped me into pieces in the middle of their reblog chain like i’m some kind of digital pinata. and yes, it stung. yes, it feels like someone shoved a cactus in my chest and laughed while i tried to breathe.

i’m not angry. well. maybe i am a little. maybe my soul is a flaming inferno right now. but mostly i’m utterly horrified by how casually people can dehumanize someone for a few cheap notes. i was literally sharing an idea. an idea. an innocuous, fantastical, weird-ass, magical nonsense idea. and suddenly i’m a villain in some imaginary morality play written by bored strangers.

so let me scream this into the void again for clarity: i am allowed to be weird. i am allowed to create strange, surreal, goblin-fairy-cursed nonsense. i am allowed to enjoy shapeshifters, curses, magical bodies, impossible creatures, whimsical absurdity, the whole chaotic buffet of fantasy imagination. my concept was not a crime. it was not shocking. it was simply… different. and apparently that is a capital offense now.

i’m not defending myself to strangers. i’m not explaining my creativity to people who weren’t even in the conversation before they decided to dunk on me. i’m just asking, begging really, that people stop misrepresenting me. stop turning harmless fantasy into grotesque caricature. stop making my brainwaves your entertainment.

to the kind humans who actually reached out: you are angels in human skin. to everyone else: enjoy your dopamine hit while i reconstruct my mental framework from the ashes of your laughter.

i’m closing this chapter. i’m returning to the people who get it. i’m not shrinking. i’m not silencing. i’m not letting a few bored, joyless trolls convince me that my imagination is a weapon. this is my space. my hobby. my creative outlet. my chaotic, unhinged, magical little corner of the universe, and i will defend it with my teeth, my fingers, and probably some small, unnecessary yelling. 🩷

[mollyrpt]

indierper-christine is into rping 18 year old girls stuck in stuffed bears (like paddington). the latest "vocal fc" she wanted to use was millie bobby brown from stranger things.

girl, the only thing on indierper-cristine's blog is some really fucked up post fndjkasfnbjdka what are you TALKING ABOUT

[indierper-cristine]

@mollyrpt i have some words.

hey — i saw the post going around about me. just to clarify, i mentioned a fantasy rp concept between adult characters, and someone chose to twist it into something to mock. that’s okay — not everyone has to like my ideas — but i’d appreciate people not misrepresenting what i said.

i’m not interested in fighting or turning this into drama. i just want to rp with people who enjoy the same strange, whimsical concepts i do. 🩷

thanks to anyone who reached out kindly. i’m moving on.

[indierper-cristine]

everyone hates me because i have two vaginas. that’s how it feels anyway. it’s not something i talk about casually, because most people wouldn’t understand, or they’d recoil, or they’d make a joke, or worse, they’d make me feel like there’s something inherently wrong with me. and maybe that’s how i’ve been conditioned to feel about it.

it’s a rare condition — medically it’s called uterus didelphys. it means my body is literally built differently. two vaginas, sometimes two uteruses, two cervixes. it’s a lot to process, even for me, and it’s even harder to explain. people don’t see the logistics, the confusion, the awkwardness, the medical appointments that feel invasive just to confirm i exist as i am. they see the difference and they judge.

sometimes it feels like everyone notices it before i even say anything. the stares, the whispers, the assumptions. people assume i’m exotic, sexualized, cursed, broken, or some kind of science experiment. and in reality, i just want to live my life without feeling like my body is a spectacle. without feeling like my very existence is a reason for someone else to be uncomfortable or cruel.

it’s lonely. it’s isolating. there’s no handbook for navigating life when your body refuses to fit into the boxes society hands out. relationships feel complicated, intimacy can feel like a minefield, and medical care can be a labyrinth of disbelief and confusion. people say things like ‘wow, that’s so rare’ and it’s supposed to be a compliment, but it rarely feels like one. it feels like a reminder that i am different in a way that makes most people uncomfortable.

so yeah, in my head, it sometimes feels like everyone hates me. maybe they don’t literally, but it’s easier to carry that thought than to fight against a world that constantly reminds me that my body doesn’t belong to their idea of normal. and maybe one day, someone will see me — all of me — and not flinch. until then, i just exist, quietly, trying to reconcile my body, my identity, and a world that wasn’t built for either.

[indierper-cristine]

everyone hates me because i have two vaginas. that’s how it feels anyway. it’s not something i talk about casually, because most people wouldn’t understand, or they’d recoil, or they’d make a joke, or worse, they’d make me feel like there’s something inherently wrong with me. and maybe that’s how i’ve been conditioned to feel about it.

it’s a rare condition — medically it’s called uterus didelphys. it means my body is literally built differently. two vaginas, sometimes two uteruses, two cervixes. it’s a lot to process, even for me, and it’s even harder to explain. people don’t see the logistics, the confusion, the awkwardness, the medical appointments that feel invasive just to confirm i exist as i am. they see the difference and they judge.

sometimes it feels like everyone notices it before i even say anything. the stares, the whispers, the assumptions. people assume i’m exotic, sexualized, cursed, broken, or some kind of science experiment. and in reality, i just want to live my life without feeling like my body is a spectacle. without feeling like my very existence is a reason for someone else to be uncomfortable or cruel.

it’s lonely. it’s isolating. there’s no handbook for navigating life when your body refuses to fit into the boxes society hands out. relationships feel complicated, intimacy can feel like a minefield, and medical care can be a labyrinth of disbelief and confusion. people say things like ‘wow, that’s so rare’ and it’s supposed to be a compliment, but it rarely feels like one. it feels like a reminder that i am different in a way that makes most people uncomfortable.

so yeah, in my head, it sometimes feels like everyone hates me. maybe they don’t literally, but it’s easier to carry that thought than to fight against a world that constantly reminds me that my body doesn’t belong to their idea of normal. and maybe one day, someone will see me — all of me — and not flinch. until then, i just exist, quietly, trying to reconcile my body, my identity, and a world that wasn’t built for either.