☆ 🧠 ☆

ooc. So sorry I rp aoba more on discord than I do on here . I poke in from time to time but if u want consistency … write w me on discord lololol

#dmmd
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'Time to know me, don't you think?'

a bunch of blue flowers with wonderworldmotion.tumblr.com in the bottom right corner ALT: a bunch of blue flowers with wonderworldmotion.tumblr.com in the bottom right corner

ɪ ᴊᴜsᴛ ᴄᴀɴ'ᴛ sᴇᴇ ᴛʜᴇsᴇ sɪᴍᴘʟᴇ ᴛʜɪɴɢs ɪ ᴄᴀɴ'ᴛ ᴋᴇᴇᴘ

ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴀᴍ 『 ɪ 』 sᴜᴘᴘᴏsᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ?

💧 #PersonaRP | #MVRP
💧 Written by #AzunaFrost

❝SHE IS THE ONE NAMED SAILOR MOON.❝

››› usagi tsukino. also known as the pretty guardian sailor moon. mainly crystal/manga portrayal with elements from the 90's anime. set post-stars/cosmos arc. a roleplay account set in the sailor moon verse. another muse of #pαѕтelpαlleтeѕ.

Howdy! After debating for a while, I made an 18+ #DMMd discord for my fannish needs. If you want a relaxed space to fandom with other non-antis about DMMd (and, to a lesser extent, any of the games published by #NitroChiral), I'd be happy to have you!

🔗 discord.gg/8BWr5muyy5

ooc. i joiiinnedd waiting for approval ^^

🧠 ✩ timeless classics

( Of course he’d passed—he’d spent his adolescence mired in conflicts with other youths. Muscle memory was a universal language, though Wataru was fortunate that instinct had been ‘catch’ and not ‘shove’. )

Like I need you to test something like that!

( Though he tolerates the embrace. For now. )

🧠 ☆ waoba is so back

H-hey! hey—wait—!

( Exceedingly far too late. He can’t help but catch the other as he collapses into him. Aoba sighs in exasperation, but keeps them both steady. )

Seriously… you can’t just throw yourself onto people!

🧠 ☆ umm… st… starter call ? Starter call if they work like that lol

( … it feels like an eternity since he’s last seen @maskotraumereii.bsky.social . Aaah… so even a guy like him can end up in a place like this! )

🧠 ☆ helloooo!!! I’ve been pretty good!!! Enjoying the fall weather!!! How are you omg

🧠 ☆ friend of mine talked about playing dmmd and I’ve been wanting to replay again and was thinking about it on my work drive… once I figure Bluesky out.. it’s over

🧠 ☆ I’m mainly focusing on writing my own stories lately but i do miss aoba. What a decade long fixation does to a mfer.

🧠 ☆ hello Bluesky nation. I’m so sorry I check this account like a neglectful mother once every 6 years. I don’t really rp anymore but if I were to, I wouldn’t be going back to twitter. I do not love the idea of my writing being used for AI lmao

Yaaaawn. Slow day at the shop, fingers rapidly twirling a pen between them.

It's happened before, if it makes you feel any better 🌀

( itatatatata. What a pain. His tongue caught between his teeth while he haphazardly bandages himself in an alleyway. Oozing, split knuckles; it's almost nostalgic while motionless men were scattered around his feet (not by Scrap, mercifully—silenced by fists, their chests still rising.) )

🧠 ☆ i'm so sorry if my writing is rough i havent had a lot of time to read or write lately jhjkdskhj i can feel my rust i'm so sorry

"Sly... you..."

Concern lit his gaze immediately, Aoba not hesitating to jerk the other closer by his arm, surveying the litany of bruises. He clicked his tongue, eyes narrowing before he tossed a glance over his shoulder, scanning the encroaching alleyways for any thugs worth kicking.

"... who?"

... ah?

( Aoba's tone carried gentle surprise. Then, tangible relief. He settled the chopsticks down, approaching to gingerly brush his fingers through where the nerves in Sly's hair were weakest. )

... that's good then!

( A smile followed, warm and breaking the prior nagging tone. )

He was more than relieved to take the sticks and a generous helping of napkins, returning to Noiz to proffer his yakitori. 

"Here, but don’t complain if you end up not liking them.” 

Aoba then side-stepped beneath an awning where the crowd had thinned, motioning for Noiz to follow.

More beats of silence passed between them, broken by the gruff cry of an order number and the silhouette of their food.

“Yes!” Aoba’s voice carried cheerfully, vaguely reminiscent of his customer service cadence.

His throat worked like he wanted to say something but nothing came out. There was little point in forcing conversation, especially not one for answers Aoba wasn’t certain as to whether or not he even wanted (why him, why Rhyme, why, why, why—a choir of questions worth gagging for the moment).