- ̗̀ IN THE NEVERLAND ̖́-

She had nothing left to lose with a pen in her hand and a voice in her mind. multi-muse indie roleplay, penned by lotte (twenty six, cancer, she/her/writer)

[alotofwrittenwords]

Dream of a mermaid lagoon underneath a  m a g i c  moon!

To all of you, who dare dream too, let me whisk you away to the shores of a bay where all the mermaids lay. Tails splash in starry lakes and hair glistens under a magic moon  — hold my breath, hope you visit soon!

*°:⋆ₓₒ mobile muses  ⋆  mobile guidelines  ⋆  mobile navigation ₓₒ⋆:°*

[recsbylotte]

ELOPEMENT IN SORRENTO via Maria Balueva

[dolutufegiterstut]

[leave-her-a-tome]

[tolerateit]

that's just what being a writer is like

[alotofwrittenwords]

then it needs just one more

[cinematv]

THE BUBBLE (2022) dir. Judd Apatow

[hornyfrogboy-deactivated2023011]

i will make your life worse but the sex will be great

[muse-a]

[alotofwrittenwords]

“Well, my job here is done.” Matthew wiped his hands together as if the marker stains on his right palm would magically be rubbed off. Not a minute after he left the rows of lockers behind, the napkin he’d so uncharacteristically gentle had balanced between two doors, slipped out. Softly swirling to the ground, it landed right in front of Lena’s locker. As had been obviously incalculated, neatly planned, fully intended, for sure.

@stcrshiine

[ceejoules]

not writing, not not writing, but a secret third thing

[lady-grace-pens]

letting my stories spin around my head like a microwave

[jaegonsmoon]

currently

[alotofwrittenwords]

stcrshiine​:

⌜ ✧ °˖ ╾ ⌟

The expletive rings into the quiet space of the atrium, hollowing out against the large wooden beams that stretch across the ceiling. Her heart skips, beating once, twice, against the strain of her ribcage, before settling back into its rhythmatic cadence. His shaken stupor, playing in time with her own, was an added incentive for her racked nerves. But she couldn’t blame him, she had, after all, trespassed into the reserved confinement that the theater brought. Barely anyone came here during free periods. All opting to disperse outside, hiding around the corner of the school to roll cigarettes and swap Xanax, drinking a weird mixture of Redbull and Mountain Dew. Some of them would disappear deep into the bleachers on the football field, all giggles and smug smiles. The theater had become a sacred location, a calm place to find reprieve of the chaos that high school life provided.

Not that she minded said life so much. But there was something trivial about trying to sneak in a quick release underneath some metal benches, while the rest of the school could hear exactly what you were doing. She often wondered if there wasn’t more to life, more to this provincial way of existence. More to trying to be remembered as ‘most likely to…’ in a yearbook that no one would ever glance at again. Or maybe she was just sour that Mick had never dared to to drag her behind those stalls, but she’d spotted him, distinct and clear, with some pretty little blonde that looked too perfect to be real. She shook her head, banishing the thoughts. Neither were at fault. He was free to do what he liked, or who, for that matter. If it chiseled away at her heart than that was her problem.

Glancing back at her substitute teacher, Lena regards him. He has an air of nonchalance about him, having recovered from his earlier shock like she’d never even gotten to him in the first place. His whole disposition screams of a familiarity, an ease with which he heeds the space. It’s jarring and intriguing at the same time. And she’s reminded again, why he’s the hot topic among her friends and classmates alike. Her brow rises a little at the casual way he dismisses her, the end of his cigarette sizzling, a few stray shreds of ash dropping to the ground. He shouldn’t be smoking in here, something about fire hazards and the safety measures put in place regarding expensive props and the red linen curtains of the stage, but she isn’t about to tattle on him like a fifth grader. What good would that do? Beside get her an irate supervisor for the rest of the year. And it‘s not like it’s in her interest to judge him. She’s sure her eight year old self would strongly disagree, but she’d grown from that perspective. “Deal.” She accedes, easily, giving a small nod. “Bit of an odd place to get away, though. Most teachers like to smoke in their car by the parking lot, or behind the locker rooms across the football field.” She figures that’s still new information for him. She isn’t supposed to know, either, but everyone in the school was aware that even the faculty liked to layoff sometimes.

She almost responds with another concession. It feels automatic, ingrained into her system, like taking another breath. But she clams her mouth shut when the implication of his words hit her. He’s right, of course, and this wasn’t the first time she’d been told so either. Instinctively, she knew there was nothing to apologize for, she certainly didn’t need to atone for her own presence, – something that she still has to tell herself, but it was a force of habit that was hard to break. “So does not saying it enough.“ Lena concedes. She could recall the few times she’d wished for an explanation, a sign of remorse; When it had eventually come, way later, as more of a confused stutter, it had lost its significance. A bubble of laughter slips passed her lips when Matt speaks again. “Uh, yeah. I-I know that. – I have played before. I’m not as good as I am on an acoustic but I can …strum a few tunes.” Trailing off, inwardly questioning her choice of words, and why she’d even tried to come across as something akin to cool, Lena shifts on her stool. “Why? Are you offering to teach me or something?”

The abrupt need to laugh overtook him so, Matthew almost choked on the smoke he sharply inhaled with. “Does it say ‘kill me with a living death’ on my forehead?” A Shakespearean mock. Or so Matt remembered from the drama syllabus he most definitely did abandon in his car. His Shakespearean days were far behind him, only to touch surface on those rainy nights the BBC’s feeling more murderous than usual or European girls in glasses hit the bar. He pitied the fool having to teach those chapters. Hell, he needed Aubs here by his side for a reason. Knowing how to entertain – and do it well – was not nearly the same as having any educational qualifications pertaining entertainment. This promising scholar infront him would find that out sooner than later. “Look, I’m gonna be honest with you. I’m not a teacher. I’m just the temp. I’m not planning on staying around long enough to protest the smoke regulations of this school or find out what the hell’s going on behind its locker rooms.” His nose scrunched up a little at the thought.

“And before you have any more helpful locations in mind, know that I don’t harbour enough student gossips to keep up with any conversation in the teacher’s lounge and well, every other corridor’s riddled with your fellow peers who I’ve heard drop grossly inaccurate sex brags just in bypassing. Not even a one time thing. It’s like... do you ever realize, sometimes, that... someone was given the blessing of speech and... they shouldn’t have it?” He swore the internet made kids dumber. Matthew even had had many a millenial agree with him on this, accidentally igniting rants on the spread of misinformation via social media platforms, and what not. Though the world was not ready to hear his argument was really about writing the generation off as dumb for not availing themselves of online porn. It was freely accessible and they still get basic brags wrong? Somehow. He cleared his throat, “Anyways in here it’s quite nice, nicely quiet, so, thanks for letting me hog your space.”

As the girl threw his advice back at him, his hands raised in defense. An automatic reaction to triggered women (or girls on the verge of being riled up in this case). But before he could add salt to the wound or laugh it right off, being overly annoying with his ‘it’s no big deal, chill.’, her words made their landing. They made him think. Some sorries could change the course of life, fix past relationships and entire asshole personalities. He knew. He’d been waiting a lifetime for one. Without a hint of his usual irony, Matt told her, “Damn, you’ve got a point.” Feeling the weight of his upbringing threaten to bring him down, he was quick to join back in with the laughter and steer right away from the daddy issues lane. It was much easier to focus on other’s problems than his own. Though being ‘only slightly good’ at playing a third musical instrument was definitely first-world shit. “Oh, a multi-talent? Of course.” He shook his head with a lopsided smile. “Nah, unless you’re looking to add drunk karaoke to your repertoire, I can’t teach you much more. You’ll have to knock on Aubs’ door - I mean, miss Damiani - she’s the musical wonder. I only dabble in words. Documenting the drama, maybe adding lyrics to your sheets, the useless skill of creating prime rhymes, that sorta stuff.” He wasn’t embarrassed to say. It were only readers of his work, who all pretended to understand each vowel’s ‘deeper meaning’, who should be embarrassed. “Maybe also giving unsollicited advice to impressionable teenagers like yourself, I’m sorry. Though to fall back on the topic one last time... a sorry that’s owed will never lose its meaning. So save your sorries for those who demand them, they’re the ones who need them the most.”

[olliviacooke]

— JOHN REYNOLDS IN SEARCH PARTY S01 / PART ONE

HERE you can find 277 high-quality gifs of John Reynolds in Search Party (episodes 01-05) as Drew Gardner. All of the gifs were made by me; please respect my rules and do not repost them and/or edit them. Do not use my gifs for taboo themes and hollywood roleplays. Please, like or reblog if you find them helpful or use them. Thank you and enjoy! Trigger Warnings: Food, alcohol.

[alotofwrittenwords]

nvrlcnd​:

⌜ ✧ °˖ ╾ ⌟  

The station, of course. Authority had been running amok for days, gathering evidence and questioning any witnesses they could find. They were overturning the town, better than Pan could ever dream of, and all for one silly old woman. It was a remarkable prospect, one he didn’t quite understand. What value did the baker really have? Sure, she made some mean pie, and she’d fed some of his lost boys when they were on the verge of starvation, but other than that Peter couldn’t find much use for her. She was, at best, dispensable. What could she have possibly done to warrent such loyalty? Regardless of their motives, it was an enjoyable spectacle to watch. The way they dug through grim streets, desperate to find a shred of a clue, a sign of life. He wondered when he’d be summoned for questioning. He knew they would eventually come crawling. They appeared to think anyone in town could be linked and he did have a reputation. He looked forward to answering their queries.

“A boring, dreadful place.” Pan accedes, impassive. Watching the girl rummage with a rather intent contemplation; There aren’t many people that dare to turn their back on him, at least not as carelessly as Tinsley Bell, and he has a grudging respect for her callousness. He supposes that’s why he likes her; She isn’t quick to shy away from him, not too scared to defy him. “What’s wrong? Did they not believe your innocence?” Peter taunts. He can see the tension in her bones, feel the apprehension she emanates. It’s almost too easy of a target. “What could a tiny, little girl possibly do to a harmless old lady? –If only they knew who you really are.” He steps across the old planks, dabbling the ceramic doll in his hands. “I wonder what they’d do. I mean, besides locking you up of course. Stripping away the only chance you have at a life, a home. –I guess we’ll have to wait to find out.” There’s a connotation laced within the impassive way he speaks. A clear reminder of the power he holds, of Tinsley’s place in this elaborate game he’s playing.

He waits for her to finish her calculations, quietly. She’s good with investments, he knows. Tins could be messy, at times, but when it came to her business she ran it quite adequately. She has a sharp mind and an easy incentive for motivation. Why she bothers with notepads he couldn’t be sure. He only ever keeps account of things he knows need to be imprinted. Anything else is trivial or a way to compromise his plans. Her unease is palpable and he grins. She’s wary. Good. He relies on her distrust. It’s part of what makes her so useful.

The conclusion draws his attention, eyebrow rising. He’d already done the calculations in his head. She is holding back. Ready to bargain, demand what he’s owed, Pan stops in time for her own barter to grace the air. The worm had teeth. How interesting. “What could you possibly want from me?”

*: ･ﾟ∙ * Tins was no stranger to Peter’s threats. She’d seen them, up close, from watching over his shoulder how his words crawled under the skin of lowlifes and ranking officers alike. This little powerplay parade of his’ wasn’t all that. Just mere reminders of what she’d heard and learned before. The hard way? Sure, sometimes. But not the hardest way, surely, as it wasn’t her disappearance poster shining on some caffeinated desk jockey’s wall. Maybe Tinsley should quietly stay grateful for that. Though then again, maybe Peter shouldn’t land such low blows, threatening to take away her idea of home so loudly and proudly. 

Her nostrils flared as a puff of air pushed through them. Little fists by her side, Tins tilted her chin up in offense. Tiny; helpless; incapable;... the oh so brilliant leader seemed to have forgotten these perceptions were her assets in the first place. “I do would love to find out how your word holds up against mine. A tiny, little girl getting three to five for a crime no one will even believe she could pull off? She’ll probably break before the first week of interrogations, pulling out scared tears as she promises to fully cooperate with any investigation, don’t you think? And if for some reason the agents at the station won’t be her buddies, don’t even doubt she’s got a big mouth. I’m sure she can spin a big enough tale with just enough detail, hell, even Netflix will buy it. There’s no time like the time behind walls to dwell on past mistakes, after all. Remind me, do first-time offenders get out on good behaviour after one half of their sentence or one third?” 

Barely raising her eyebrow, she slides off the countertop. She’s visibly smaller but visibly angrier. “If you plan to pin Winnie on me, or anything else, remember that I lose everything. And you’re too clever to have someone with nothing left to lose against you, Peter – or so we’ll have to find out.” With a small click, her cross cut paper shredder roared to life and swallowed up the notes.

Even as she moves about, every step she takes looks like a small stomp in protest. The most frustrating part was knowing how much he probably enjoyed riling her up, and how easily he still accomplished it despite this knowledge. If her frown grew any skewer, she was sure his shifty smile would follow. That eventually stopped her. That, and realizing she was at her most vulnerable when she was highly emotional, volatile, to some even crazy. No one believed crazy. At this point, she’d rather cut the conversation short and ask to cash in the favour later. But he’d never allow her to hold something over his head. Rather reluctantly, Tinsley held back an eye roll, accepting she could only ask for the best trade-off she could get right now, “If I put in the hours you need to get the job done, I’d like some extra stash. Of the stuff. Free of charge. I’m throwing a party, and I want it to be fun.” 

[alotofwrittenwords]

stcrshiine​:

@alotofwrittenwords​

She doesn’t notice the clang of the automatic door as it settles back in its hinges, or the shuffling of shoes on the old floorboard planks, until they’re in her peripheral view. Her fingers slam down on to the keys with a brutality she doesn’t intend, and the piano she’d been playing on shrieks in response; A shrill, harsh sound enveloping the theatre. Lena darts back her hands, curling her fingers in to fists. She stares at the source of her mishap, startled. His floppy, brown curls bounce sweetly on the crown of his head, and her heart flutters a little. He reminds her of her best friend, the very same person she’d first fallen in love with, and it’s a little jarring, but Matthew Bay is nothing like Mick; He’s lean but toned, considerably taller, stretching to 6 ft. His shoulders are broad and he usually bears a charming grin. There’s a twinkle in his eyes that feels wicked and Lena can see why all the girls fawn over him. He screams trouble.

“Mr. Bay.” She breathes out, regarding the substitute. It’d been strange, having the two young adults replace their old drama teacher. Both seemed out of their depth in a high school and not very keen on their new positions. While they sported a degree in Arts, she couldn’t help but feel like this hadn’t been their first choice when it came to branching out in the work field. Nothing had been disclosed about their sudden arrival, other than the need for a new teacher, but high school gossip spawns fast and there had been plenty of rumors and theories about the odd duo. Some more crazy than the others. “I didn’t think anyone else was here.” She sweeps on, fiddling a little on the stool. She’d wanted a moment of reprieve, but she didn’t mean to trespass. “I’m sorry, I can leave, if you want. I was just.. playing around. –Trying to distract myself, I guess.”

The first thing Matthew did, was clasp his chest in the same manner many faint-hearted folk do when he jumpscared them. “Jesus- goddamn!” Jesus didn’t scare him, however, a tiny brunette molesting the piano had. There seemed to be no escaping people here at this hellhole school. Whatever happened to spending off-time in huddles on the playground or alone in bathroom stalls? Matt regained his calm, cool posture as quickly as if never having lost it in the first place. At least this brunette couldn’t be compared to any of the drab figures in the teacher lounge. Trying to avoid those watchful eyes had been the sole reason he had been on edge to begin with. Now, he could finally light that cigarette from his jeans pocket.

Admittedly, to be referred to as ‘mister Bay’ by anyone but a disgruntled nun who ran the neighbourhood watch was rather weird. The authority it bestowed upon him did not go unnoticed. Though nothing cool had come from the power yet, he was certain that soon the suck-up bidding for better grades or the party invites for showing up like a minor celebrity would flow in. Casually, Matt pulled a chair around and sat on it backwards. “You’re all good, hon. I was just looking for a quick breather so...,” Legs spread and arms folded over the backrest, he shrugged, pointing at the lit butt, “guess if you won’t tell, I won’t tell.” Perhaps he was even glad to have found himself some company. Apart from the shenanigans he could pull alongside Aubree, he did occupy a rather lonely position – neither student nor teacher. If he wanted his sentence to go by any faster, surely he could attempt to fit in more with the least worst crowd. Meddle a little, make nice with some of the kids. Divide and conquer and all that. He would start with this one.

“You know, you shouldn’t say sorry too much,” Matt advises before taking a first slow drag, “makes it lose its meaning.” He’s just about respectful enough to puff the smoke anywhere but straight into her face. It wouldn’t be smart to agitate and underestimate someone who could still tattle or become some other form of trouble. That thought aside however, her face felt familiar and considering she was about to cope with sheet music for crying out loud, Matt soon realized she was one of his bunch. The drama troupe. Dear lord. Even with features as fair as hers, it’d be a tough sell – or no, rather a hard pass – to invite someone like her over to check out his father’s Steinway grand. He, for one, already knew enough classmates, cliché dates and other clowns that smashed the ivories to weep away their sorrows. The world wasn’t waiting for another Adele. “In fact, have you considered picking up the electric guitar? Those are great for saying ‘fuck you’ instead,” he chuckled, “something tells me that’s the kind of distraction you actually need, though you tell me.”

[baharsahin-deactivated20221205]

DENIZ CAN AKTAŞ & AHSEN EROGLU Menajerimi Ara

[alotofwrittenwords]

nvrlcnd​:

⌜ ✧ °˖ ╾ ⌟

The rattling of the lock tips him off, a clang of metal against iron. The sound scrapes against the hollow walls of the apartment and he’s reminded just how shitty these suites are; The floorboards creak under the lightest weight, dry wallpaper flakes down from grim, grey stone, and the air permeates a damp and musty smell. The Hangman’s Tree isn’t much better, but at least it’s warm. The manor had been abandoned when he’d first encountered it. It stood tall and proud in a forgotten glory on the east side of the harbor. Close enough to Hook’s territory to provoke the man, but far enough to give his crew the liberty they needed. He’d quite managed to appreciate the run-down house. The brick work had been coated in charcoal black, the windows had gaps wide enough to let the wind and rain in, and the gabled roof had collapsed in on itself at the far west end but it had been sufficient. And these days, it served as home. A place where his lost boys could hole up and find exemption; A hot meal or respite when you were wounded.

Turning to the door, Pan leans back against the window sill, one of Tinsley’s ceramics dolls still in his hands. He’d found the baubles derivative, but in a town where everything was a poor imitation of something greater, he supposed it befitting. At least as a way to keep anonymity. Tinsy’s little display of an entrance is nothing short of entertaining and Peter cocks an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth tugging up. He can always count on the fairy to amuse him. “There’s no fun in that. Where’s your sense of adventure?” Pan retorts, pushing away from his leisured position against the window to move closer. His strides are firm but light, imposing, as if he owns the place. “Business. When have I ever come to you for pleasure?” Derision. He would have gone to his bird if he wanted something more stimulating than business transactions. “I’m in need for more of your –wares. They’re in high demand these days, and I don’t like disappointing customers. ‘Specially not now their favourite baker is gone.”

*: ･ﾟ∙ * When a person makes light of a situation, it’s supposed to put the other at ease. Not raise every hair on the back of their neck. And even though Tinsley would fight everyone who didn’t believe she was tough enough – twice, she could really, really, really have done without Peter’s visit tonight. The only thing worse than his timing, was his sense of adventure after all. “Left it at the police station. Like seriously, what do you even want me to say to that?” With the lingering line of questioning still on her mind, Tins was rather exhausted from biting back the most interesting story about her all day. So she had no problem speaking her mind now to the scamp she couldn’t even match heights with when hoisting herself up, on the kitchen countertop. 

When Peter dismissed her idea to share lunch as quickly as he did, she even had a hard time remembering any motives for their endeavours together beyond money for art school. Twisted loyalty? Delusional memories? The unforgivingly good feeling of safety and protection that came with trailing behind this town’s apex predator in spe? Pathetic, really. In a huff, she turned her back towards him for the first time since she’d walked through the door, and busied herself rummaging through her backpack in search of a snack.

Perhaps pride mingled itself amongst her motives as well. There was nothing quite as satisfying as hearing her product was high in demand. Her idea was a success, more so than most other ideas. There was no fuzzier feeling than that. 

Shoving the bag aside, she bend herself over her notepad, “Alright, let me work some magic on the numbers...” Some scribbles for current inventory were followed by some scribbles for the shopping list, and some slipped her lips as she quietly calculated the biggest profit margin, “corn starch in bulk... adds 90 per bag for half the price...” There was a slight pause. Her ears turned slightly warm and red. As Peter mentions Winnie’s disappearance, Tins barely manages to keep her face still. “Yes, it does seem to weirdly hold everyone’s attention...” Many questions lay in her raised eyebrows but she knew better than to test his whims with only half her focus. “...no more lemon juice... saves 15%,” She clears her throat, “Okay, how does an estimated 8% increase in supply sound if I can get it to you by the very end of this week? Actually, it could be up to fourteen, but then I’ll want a favour.”

[alotofwrittenwords]

@stcrshiine

“We beat you! Suck on that!” Two kids looked like they were ready to cry. Or at least Matt liked to imagine as such. As he triumphantly filled in a row of empty dashes, a stick figure hung by its neck still graced the white board. A reminder of his victory. Floccinaucinihilipilification. They would’ve never guessed that and he had known. Then again, he could’ve written a simple word with unpopular hangman letters, like boondoggle, and they probably wouldn’t have gotten it. This theatre posse of fourth-grader-looking-brats probably never learned how to think without a smartphone glued to their fingertips. One of them started nitpicking, clearly upset she didn’t get a straight answer out of him or out of life – who knows at their age? “Of course it’s a real word. I’ve been doing it to this whole production all week and will continue my floccinaucinihilipilification till the curtain falls.” Now it was just a matter of who would find out first that this gorgeous concoction of the English language means ‘the act of deciding something is of little value’, not to say deem it worthless.

He remembers when making a deal with his arresting officer had sounded like a good idea. No picking up trash in exchange for saving Mr. McBadgeWaver’s daughter’s school performance. How the deal was brought up exactly is a complex story, but no deal was ever closed easier. In hindsight, Matt should’ve clarified some things before agreeing. Like, why did the previous director quit? When saying “school performance” were they talking about secondary school or actual college? And were high school girls even allowed to drink already? Oh well, at least they were all miserable together – as Matthew made sure of.

“Street smart beats Shakesy P smart.” Matt shrugged, as if resigning himself to his own made-up rules. “So the trees stay. Right, Miss Damiani?” He looked at Aubs with lips pursed, barely holding in a snort. “Say yes, I bet the blonde on the left will cry.”