#janeromeroshow

[leadxxr]

@janeromeroshow

Dwight found himself seated in silence on the decaying log that served as their only real sitting area by the crackling campfire that never seemed to burn out completely. Sometimes the survivors would collect logs to feed it when the flames would die down, but the embers never seemed to die completely.

He stares at the stars, wondering if they were real or fabricated -- he didn't know anymore -- before glancing up to notice he wasn't alone.

[manufactoredxbyxdesign]

“  who did you kill?  whose blood is that?  ”

"You ask that as if it truly matters."

A sound dies on the tip of his tongue. Mirth so laced with cruelty that it cuts through the stagnate air. Were he in a more impatient mood there would never have been a reply. After all - the role was to butcher not to speak.

Even in all black he can never hide the red. It stains everything in particularly violent chases. The scent of blood is mixed with rust and old books. A smell that feels so synonymous with the Midwich realm that he no longer experiences a visceral reaction to it.

Turning, he eyes her from across the room. Gripping the knife in one hand and he steps forward, pausing when his bright gaze briefly falls on the large wood pallet propped neatly against the wall between them.

"Only you and I are left now." He taunts. "Do you plan on begging or running this time?"

[mxlevolence]

6, 9, 13 for the mun questions!

MUNDAY QUESTIONS / accepting !

6. is roleplaying the only writing-based hobby you have, or are there other things you like to write?

Currently, yes, but I've done personal writing many times before and maybe one fucking day I'll actually write my novel (series, really), but I'm still recovering emotionally from a lot of bullshit that led to me RPing a violent psychopath (looking @ GF) and pulling me from the characters that were once my creative outlet. Sobs.

9. when you look at a new blog, what is it that makes you press the follow button? is it the muse, the aesthetics, the writing–?

Answered!

13. what themes/motifs do you hope other people notice most about your character?

Death. Not just literal death but death figuratively. Death as change. As an entity. As a god. A catalyst. The unknowable. Something GF reveres (maybe even worships) and yet he, too, is a figment of death. A creature of the night taking lives based on a judgment card only he knows. The themes of death on this blog run much deeper than what may be initially presumed.

[ask-renato-lyra]

" you didn't have to take that hit for me. "

source - prompts for patching up wounds

You're my rock, Renato.

That’s what his mother had always said. It wasn't a turn of phrase he immediately understood—there were rarely any that he did, especially the English ones clumsily converted to Portuguese. When Thalita had elucidated the exact meaning to him, though, bereft of their mamãe’s parables and proverbs, he’d clung to it like…Well, his rock. Someone all around him can lean on, that they can depend on and anchor themselves to during a storm. Maybe he couldn't enchant and captivate people like his sister, but he could be a comfort, work to hold them up and soothe them. It was a role he’d embraced fully in the nursing home, and had explored further in supporting the community at Fun Kites Rio.

The Fog had brought a different aspect of that out, though. A much gutsier version, with a lot less guitar.

Murky red spread along the front and back of his blue shirt, staining it the colour of an angry, bloody bruise. It saturated through the light fabric, soaking onto the palm and through the gaps between his fingers he pressed against his wound. A lethal pursuer's cruel tentacle had struck out, aiming for nothing less than evisceration. There was no question in Renato’s mind when he saw the vicious appendage creep out the Killer’s gaunt, patchwork flesh. He had to put himself in its path—he had to protect Jane. In through his back and out through his abdomen it went. Mercifully, the strike was prepared for someone else: Renato’s shoving himself in the way meant its murderously precise aim was for naught, and anything important was missed.

Still, he bled all the same.

Renato flashed Jane a pained smile, doing little to disarm his angry, bloodsoaked wound. He wobbled against the base of a sturdy, gnarled tree, knees buckling as he focused his energy to persevere through the pain. The prey had shaken their predator: He could afford to rest.

“Don't mention it,” he countered, unconsciously flattening his accent for such an Americanism. His usual glow was tarnished from the ordeal they had faced, like sunlight in a mire of choking smog. “I’ll be fine, really, just…”

He gritted his teeth, squinting through a grimace as he took his palm away. His shirt held on to his skin, slowly peeling away as a sticky film of drying blood broke. The tentacle had torn his shirt where it had torn his skin: His deep, ragged wound and the pulsing red within could mercifully be reached with any sort of medical implement. The Fog restored his wardrobe all the same, but he’d be just as torn up as his shirt if it had to be destroyed.

“Be careful with those tools, please," he shifted uncomfortably in place, inching away from what he knew he had to face. "I hate those pincer things…You won't take long, will you?”

It seemed Renato was equally as concerned with protecting Jane’s peace of mind as he was with protecting her spleen.

[wanderingsongbird]

✦ Has your own interpretation changed from when you first began playing the character?

Honestly? I think, if anything, she's grown more feral in her reactions. Close to the start of this, I had her chucking boots like she was giving away free boots. I have calmed down on that aspect for the time being, but I promise, this country gal still yeets them at killers (and survivors, if needed).

Still amazed at how many people let their muses get hit by boots.

I've also not let the dark eat away at me when it comes to playing her. For a time I was really iffy with it, though there as a lot going on in my life at the time. Now? I have a lot of fun with it. The way I think about it, is that she was still new to the fog at the start of that, so the darker aspects of the fog (and herself) were scary and not to be touched.

[ncmither]

we haven't interacted really at all yet, but i second what other people have said! the way you write david is so compelling and it's so nice to see a character who's often underrated by the roleplaying community being written with such clear passion for his story!

anonymously tell me (or not) what you think of my character portrayal. i can't respond; i can only publish.

Breaks rules. TBH. I save these to answer on days where I feel like I am feeling horrible. I don't try to bring attention to my conditions but there are days where they weigh so heavily on me that I cry. Getting these helps me build up a defense (along with my medicine) to fight those demons in my head. The medicine acts as a shield but messages like this gives me a weapon to wield and it makes me feel strong. It's why I'm so positivity with other people. Because, I never want anyone to feel how I do everyday.

So, thank you. Thank you for being beautiful and being present in my world now. I needed this today. I really did and thank you so much for your words. You beautiful soul. I hope the day goes well for you and just know that I can't wait for David and Jane to become ride-or-die besties.

[solitarysurvival]

@janeromeroshow said: ❛ you wanted to be left alone, right? ❜ 

yeah, he'd definitely said something like that. had hissed it between his teeth after she'd been courteous enough to rescue him from a meathook. it hadn't been personal; but it had been quick, sharp. when he knew the killer would be breathing down his neck for the rest of the trial, it was usually better to stay the hell away from him.

❝ okay, ❞ he relents, quietly, making vague surrendering hands. it makes his expression flinch with a staccato pain — from where myers' knife had pierced clean through shoulder. the same place hook had found him, next. and just now, jane had stumbled upon him fighting, visibly, to work a generator one-handed. but mostly, he was bleeding all over it.

jake inhales, sharply — slightly frustrated — and turns to face her. takes that time to think, before he speaks, this time; ❝ i'm sorry, for before. i was being an asshole. ❞ there had come a point, with all the survivors that joined the campfire over the years, had become a blur. it isn't her fault that he didn't have much more space in his chest, but being left alone was easier. he didn't have to worry about anyone, and they didn't have to worry about him.

... didn't change that they had to, as ever, get these fucking generators going. he searches her face for a moment; jake felt like he understood her a little better, suddenly. jane had an objective view of things, from what he could tell — might as well not waste time. ❝ i'm fine. just, help me with this. please. ❞

[idolkills]

⬄ : [sender] starts a chase with [receiver]

@janeromeroshow  ( 𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒅 𝒃𝒚 𝒅𝒂𝒚𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 )

            usually  jiwoon  knows  to  ignore  the  clicking  sounds  of  a  flashlight,  especially  when  it  just  sounds  like  car  blinkers  at  this  point.    but  tonight  is  one  of  those  nights  where  he's  bored  enough  to  do  literally  anything  —  just  to  do  something  different  once  in  a  while.    he'll  take  on  anything  that  wants  to  grab  his  attention,  and  golden  eyes  just  happened  to  spot  jane.    ❝  well,  i  guess  since  that's  what  we're  going  to  do,  let's  have  a  bit  of  a  party.  ❞