A Guide to dA's Dangerverse This is the Dangerverse on deviantART, the corner where anything and everything related—and perhaps some things that are not so related—to Gerard’s Danger Days concept is roleplayed.A Guide to dA's Dangerverse1 year ago in Articles & Interviews
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First of all, I understand that most people in the Dangerverse roleplay for fun, and to relieve stress, etcetera; I don’t mean to be presumptuous and tell people how to roleplay, but there is a point where casual intentions are overreached, and the RP just becomes a drag.
I’ve already brushed over the more basic points here, but I will most probably reiterate, and this time in more depth. I am also mostly going to be using the male pronoun throughout this article when referring impersonally, because repeating “his/her” or “he/she,” etcetera, is not only inconveniencing for myself but also hard on the readers.
Think.Think with me.Think.2 years ago in Personal
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Picture. Picture it.
The sky, a hazy blue from the lethargic heat of summer, not a cloud to be seen. You're reclining on your stomach on a smooth rock worn from time and warm from the continual sunshine beating down on it. Throw in a little moss, there, too, just for extra comfort. Some form of vegetation—a cactus, a scrubby tree—rises near you, casting part of its cool, still shade over your relaxed form.
A soft breeze, neither warm nor cool, caresses your cheek every once in a while, playfully smoothing your hair from your face before dancing away over the sands. A glass of something cold is nearby for your sipping pleasure. Utterly content, you pillow your face on your arms and you close your eyes, the only sound being that of your steady respiration.
Someone gives you the mother of all pelvic thrusts from behind.
Now, is this your face, or is this your fuckin' face? http://i.imgur.com/B8lHL.jpg
Aaand, that's all I've got for you guys to
Epilogue: The EndEpilogue: The EndEpilogue: The End6 months ago in Short Stories
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Ashes fall, spiraling slowly downward like hordes of minuscule angels drifting in clear liquid.
A soft breeze disturbs small mounds of white on the ground, sending portions around debris, blowing small white flecks from alleyways and onto a wide, smooth path―a path which cuts like a rigid river through jagged banks of shattered wood, metal, and stone.
Throughout a long section of the pathway, people mill—aimlessly, it appears, their bare feet padding without destination over dark pavement. Pale sunlight arrows through endless gray clouds, flashing and gleaming over the contours of the parade float seated in the wanderers’ midst.
Quiet reigns, the only discernible sound being the occasional clink of a piece of rubble sent tumbling over the paved street from a careless foot. The stillness of the realm seems to extend end