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@laikalike
I'm coming home...
Rules | About | Ask
Current M!A - None!
Crossover interests below the cut
Does this mean you're an angler fish? Or one of those deep sea squids?
[DrRGrace via EARTHCOMM]
I prefer to think of myself as one of those little sea slugs with the pretty colors ^-^
[ROCKY replied]
This conversation stupid. Grace like Grace.
Can eridans still feel touch when they're sleeping. it was mentioned that they don't really hear, but i was wondering if touch was another. Obviously probably not enough to wake with, but...?
[Rocky via EARTHCOMM]
No.
If Eridian feel touch, hear, think, anything while sleep, something wrong. Something bad bad bad. Eridian awareness while sleep is symptom of isolation. Body have nobody to protect while sleep, so protect self. Is bad at protect self. Heal slow. Heal wrong. Sleep long. Paralyze. Feel every second.
Is frightening.
What's the latest song you've found that reminds you of your muse?
Is there a muse you never want to write again?
How important is it to you that muses, whether yours or a partners, are accurate to their canon selves?
//
• Ohhhhh man. So. Finding songs for grace is Weird because theres songs he'd listen to and there's songs that are about him and those two very rarely overlap. Like, grace listens to they might be giants, flight of the concords, very. typical goofy white dad music. But. About grace?? Harder ask.
I Will Follow You Into The Dark by Death Cab for a Cutie. As a reflection of grace's willing sacrifice of himself to save rocky.
• I swear I will never sans undertale again. I swear I will never sans undertale again. I swear I will never same undertale again. I s
• Brother as long as you can imagine your muse saying what you're writing, that's what they would be saying. Others characterizations are none of my business and! in fact. canonbreaking can be. quite fun on occasion. As a hobby.
Good thing there is a long time to April so we can still enjoy your great Grace roleplay
//The Clock Is Ticking Motherfucker
//for april fools im turning this thing into a barbie movie ken blog and never changing it back
Dr. Ryland Grace.
He's a strange one, isn't he? Woke up one day with a life. A life he'd apparently been living for a month or so without forming any memories.
He just showed up in town one day, apparently. Walked in from the south, shakily sat down at a booth in the diner, ordered a hot cocoa.
Any new human was big news in Hometown, but an adult was borderline unheard of. He was smart, kind. Easily startled, or so he'd had to be told.
Got an apartment in a building a block or two away from the school, started substituting once word got out he was fairly knowledgable and decent with explanations. Slowly graduated into full-on teaching, using a renovated playroom in the schoolhouse as his classroom.
But.
He's always been kind of. Empty. Separate.
Maybe he always will be.
//would i be flayed alive if i focused on writing and fleshing out deltarune grace for a lil while,,,
A scoff, clearly overdramatic. Worth a shot!
"I much prefer more physical puzzles than math ones.
Moving blocks and stuff."
The SOUL was the one figuring them out, after all. All they had to do is move in the right place and push the right stuff when asked. If anything, they don't mind leaving the thinking part of all that to it. And as for the calculator comment, one that certainly their parents, if not even Asriel heard over and over, well...
[ be normal ♥ be sassy ]
...yeah, they just take out their own phone and place it in front of them, keeping eye contact. Nothing in that thing other than their home's and ▇▇▇▇▇▇'s numbers... and a conveniently recently downloaded calculator app.
"Oh, actually-"
He pauses, waits for the moment to pass. Pointedly does not look at the phone on his desk. He already knows the punchline. Half the point of the joke is that it's outdated.
Silence until the screen fades to black. He would've waited hours if he needed to. Anything for the bit.
"...-there's a type of puzzle I think you'd enjoy. It's called a nonogram. Kind of a happy middle between logic and art, seems like your type of thing. Numbers on a grid tell you where to color in, and you make a picture at the end of it. Usually a fox or bear or something. I can print some out if you want, but they make apps for it too."
Bright was the first word that came to her mind when she looked at the variety of selections in the vending machine. Was it because she was reviewing black and white reports for the longest time? Possibly. Or perhaps it was because of how brightly lit the inside of the machine itself was. With such selections available, it meant that the budget allocated for food was being put to good use.
Unfortunately though, all the variety made her decision that much harder.
Mentally, she looks at the selections and starts crossing them out in her head. Since the salads were packed in a similar manner, the easiest way to narrow the field was to look at the ingredients. Anything messy was out. Same thing for any pungent ingredients, as well as anything she couldn't pick at with a fork. Most importantly though, it had to go with her coffee (at least on some level). That helped to narrow the options for her.
Yet even with those self-imposed restrictions, she found her eyesight drifting upwards to the chef salad with the leafy greens. It met none of the restrictions she had given herself with its inclusion of sliced meat, cheese cubes and sliced onions, but she couldn't help it. It reminded her of a dish she hadn't thought about for a while.
Dr. Grace's words chimed in on her thoughts, reminding her where she was and who she was with. He was behind her. To her, it still made no sense as to why he was so insistent on literally watching her make a decision on something so simple. Once the project is over, details like this would be the first things to be forgotten.
"This one." She pointed to the granola option with the fresh fruit, her eye drawn to the pop of color from the strawberries and their apparent freshness. It seemed to meet her self-imposed requirements, and it balanced out her coffee.
She navigated the touchscreen, made her selection, and turned her head towards Dr. Grace's direction. "And you, Dr. Grace?"
"I'm good, actually."
He'd just had a soggy starbucks sandwich, and it was settling like a brick inside him. Might not eat for the rest of the day at this rate.
...Hopefully Stratt wasn't the type to get upset when others didn't eat with her. He'd get a drink to balance out the-... whatever was going on, but all the drinks in the machine were the type of kale-cauliflower-protein smoothies that made his nose crinkle just looking at them.
A few years ago, he took his students on a field trip out to a watershed. They took samples, put them into microscope slides, and drew the little squirming things they saw.
Those drinks are all, mostly, the same color as the mudwater he'd had them collect.
He swipes his card, the machine chimes. Thunk.
Seems like a stupid idea to make a vending machine filled with glass jars drop its contents into a slot about a foot below, but to its credit, it doesn't shatter. He gestures to the pushbar. Doesn't really know if she'd prefer him to get it or not, but it felt safer to let her do it.
Do you like your muses to stay the same as they are in canon or grow into something new as you write them?
Does a blogs graphics make a difference in whether or not you'll RP with them?
What's an AU you really want to write?
//
1.) GOD i am so susceptible to muse drift. Yall have already seen it happening on here but its always been a thing with me. Its less a preference and more a natural result of rotating them in my head in different scenarios for long periods of time. Rocks that tumble more wind up smoother.
2.) Yyyyyyes? Kinda? But not in the usual way. I'm not a guy who formats a lot primarily because I can't carry my laptop with me everywhere and mobile doesn't support a lot of the stuff I'd like to do. Plus. It's a massive pain and I hate consistency. But you'll notice all of that is Internal, so really my opinion on others' blogs is if you don't mind my Basic Ass Text on your Beautiful Curated Theme then I'm 100% down.
3.) There are a few different takes on swap verse I really like that I'm trying to rationalize in my head and my heart. Obviously there's species swap between grace and rocky, but once you get into the iron lung crossover world, it. Expands. A Lot. Eridian Grace and Simon with Human rocky and ellie, Simon on the HM with a little blobby fish Ellie while Grace is in a tank with an eldritch rockspider chasing him, that kind of thing. I am quite interested in these concepts and have been playing with them in DMs for some time now.
The wake-up is slow and uncomfortable. Every part of Doctor Grace's body is stiff. The air smells so strongly like piss that he wishes for a drowsy moment that he could turn off the air recirculation just to get some fresh air in.
His face is sticky. Hair clumped together in a crusty-wet chunk on one side, vision blurry in a different way than usual. Worse on his left side than his right. He'd think it was blood if there was any pain. Mary's emergency lights flash, bold red against a dim room. With his face pressed into the floor, he can hear the nannybot fidgeting downstairs. Downladder? Below.
The Doctor sits up.
Oh.
There's the pain.
A shot of agony up his left side, focused on his head, shoulder, and neck. He starts to reach up to feel at the skin there, but his arm won't listen. Fingers twitch. Elbow shivers, shoulder cracks and pops. Doesn't bend further. Can't keep his left eye open all the way.
He touches his arm.
...It's numb. Or- not numb, not in most places, but. Fuzzy. Reduced to pressure, stiffness. The sensation is so distant it feels like holding someone else's hand. Unnaturally warm flesh. Blisters. Fat pus pockets weaving up his arm.
There are words for this type of injury, and he used to know them, but every time the light flashes, it sears his mind clean open. Splits his retinas in half and scatters his thoughts to the wind. Something is wrong with his head. That it took him this long to realize is enough of a sign.
Evidence. Need evidence. Piece it together. Figure out what needs to be done. He can't twist his neck. Trying only brings tears, tears hurt his eye, so no more attempts. He uses his good arm to feel around behind him, instead.
Blood on the floor. The smell of iron beneath the sulfur. Why does it smell like sulfur? It's hot, too. Sweat swirling with the blood on his face to make a disgusting ichor. His mother would lose her mind when he got home. Scrubbing his face with that stupid pink rag and telling him he needed to be more careful, that she couldn't keep doing this. That one day he'd hurt himself and she wouldn't be there to...
It drifts away in the next flash, and he can't find the energy to miss it.
Painkillers.
Legs still work. Thank god.
If he moves slow, doesn't move his head or most of his torso. Sticks to one arm on the ladder, and keeps his eyes shut, he can make it to the arm, and it can fix whatever's happening.
Just focus on that, then.
Not completely different atmospheres, no, so admittedly that part of the comparison is a little bit of a stretch. The air inside their enclosure just has to be kept at a particular humidity so that they don't get dehydrated. So, it's still a matter of making sure the atmosphere is just right for them, you know?
[DrRGrace via EARTHCOMM]
i guess. but if th
wait. wait.
Fish.
I'm a deep sea fish. Different atmospheric conditions. Weird diet. Fragile body. High maintenance. Can't see very well compared to Eridians.
Munday Questions
Is there a muse you would love to write again?
Is there a muse you never want to write again?
Do you like your muses to stay the same as they are in canon or grow into something new as you write them?
Does a blogs graphics make a difference in whether or not you'll RP with them?
What's an AU you really want to write?
Do you prefer crossovers or AU verses?
Are there any topics you refuse to RP?
When RPing with characters from other fandoms, do you prefer to stick to fandoms with similar genre's to your own or do you like to branch out?
How much does what a blog ships that doesn't involve your muse influence if you follow them?
Do you prefer to make graphics yourself or commission them/find premade ones?
How do you feel about duplicates?
How easily do you block people people?
What's a pet peeve you have about the RPC?
How important is it to you that muses, whether yours or a partners, are accurate to their canon selves?
How do you decide what order to work on drafts in?
What do you do when you feel overwhelmed by the amount of drafts and asks you have?
What's the latest song you've found that reminds you of your muse?
What hobbies do you have besides RP?
Scarification and tattooing are two different methods! They both involve damaging parts of the skin, but tattoos are a very small amount of damage with ink injected under the skin, while scarification is with the intent to cause scarring to produce a different texture.
Rocky peeks over the little rock's shoulder(?) to check the screen. Since they got the EARTHCOMM system set up, the poor thing's been practically inseparable from it. Rocky appreciated it too- liked the chance to talk to Adrian again most of all- but most days, Grace had the keys.
The little stone grumbles in frustration. Something about the pointlessness of ink, about the natural pigments in skin. He only realizes Rocky is there when he sets a hand on his suit.
"Here, let me show you. Might be easier with a visual."
Grace had done little visual shows for him before, so it only felt fair. His shirt comes off. Grace staggers, his vents opening and letting out a hiss of steam strong enough to fog the suit.
...Ah, well. The little guy can see through steam anyway. Rocky presses on. Holds up his forearm, takes Grace's claw, and presses a few digits against the old tattoo along its length.
"This one's ink. Black. The skin's a little numb there because it healed a little strangely. That's the kind people get most often. Here-"
He moves the claw to a spot on his chest, above his pectoral.
"-Is a UV tattoo."
'Feels same, statement.'
"You cut me off, Grace. It is the same, technically, but it's invisible to humans unless certain conditions are met. That is, under a blacklight. People use them at parties sometimes to make colors look brighter or more interesting, and there are some colors that are only visible under them. You can see it, but I can't."
The sandstone eridian chimes in intrigue.
"-Now, last thing. Here."
He doesn't have any scarification tattoos, but he does have scars. Should be good enough for a demonstration. He sets Grace's claw on a three-fingered handprint boiled into his palm. The reason he doesn't have any feeling there. Grace flinches.
"It's okay. This is a scar. Feels different, right? This one's a little deeper than most scars people get for decoration. Feel how there's no ink in there. It's all body-made. Same as your star charts."
The little eridian is silent for a moment, then shivers and backs away.
Rocky's not certain why that upset him, though.
Auditory hallucinations are the most common. Ever felt your skin itch? How your start scratching at your skull when someone mentions having lice.
Feeling something brush against you that isent there?
His fingers twitch. Has he ever had lice?
The sense memory's there. Distant and blurry, with a taste in the back of his mouth like saltwater and sugar. Childhood, then.
Something taps his shoulder. He doesn't turn. He's alone here- his only companion is trapped in an atmosphere he's fundamentally incapable of sharing. Any noises Rocky makes as he travels through the ship are loud by the very nature of his body, of the sharp edges of Xenonite.
He can ignore it. Like he's ignored so much since being alone.
It doesn't make the feeling of the hand go away, though.
Another step. A shaky breath of his own.
I can see fine. I'm right in front of you, Sunshine.
Close enough now that he can reach out, hand hovering over her shoulder for a few seconds.
What if he can't touch her? What if he's not real anymore, just some strange ghost? What the fuck even happened?
He drops his hand, squeezing her shoulder in what he wants to be a reassuring manner.
Don't really like it either, but we'll figure it out.
She jolts, flinches. Her hands rush up to cover her face on instinct, palms out.
Squeeze.
Simon.
Pain wells up in her core. Boiling emotion. It hurts. God. Why was she afraid just then? Simon tried to warn her. Let her know he was there. Why didn't she believe him? She should be better than that. A better partner. More capable of trust. Stupid.
Tears start streaking down her cheeks before she can stop them. It's been a few weeks since her last cry. They were getting rarer. They were.
Broken thing. Losing your mind. Flinching at ghosts. Stop it. Stop. You're above acting like this. You're an adult. There's always a reason.
"Please come back. Please. Simon, please, I need-... This isn't fair, I need to see you."
Her voice is quiet, cracked. Trying to choke down sobs. Tears are flowing, but she's forcing her breathing into rhythm. Hanging on by a thread.