Origami Around
Product Placement
Cosimo Galluzzi
Monterey Bay Aquarium
Andulka
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
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cherry valley forever
Today's Document
hello vonnie
trying on a metaphor
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"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
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Mike Driver
sheepfilms
shark vs the universe
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DEAR READER
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
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@bitemarkzrp
multi-muse, semi-active english and spanish this blog is for fun, i don't take it too seriously.
you can message me about anything! and i'm also down to rp on discord (if anything, i'm more comfortable over there)
page under construction!!!
muses | preferences | starters
"I dressed like this for me." She can feel his eyes on her-- the careful appraisal, and for a second she almost preens. She hates that she likes it the sound of jealousy in his voice, but it gives her butterflies (or maybe it's just him). "Imagine thinking I dressed for a man-- it's like you don't know me at all--" She teases, a small smile on her lips. She glances at the girl behind him and her smile fades slightly. "You can't just ditch her-- Oliver--" She lets out a frustrated sigh-- but she doesn't turn him down. "Negroni, please."
Billie could say whatever she wanted, but everyone was trying to impress someone. If Oliver pointed that out, he’d come off as the bad guy, so he let it slide. At least now he knew she hadn’t dressed up for that random guy. He rolled his eyes when Billie pretended to care about the girl. Neither of them did. “She’ll be fine. She’s with my friends,” he said dismissively, tightening his arm around her waist as he guided her to the bar. His grip was firm, possessive—a silent message to everyone: she was off-limits. With a wave, he called over the bartender and ordered her drink, adding whiskey for himself. He knew he shouldn’t waste his limited cash on something that likely wouldn’t lead anywhere, especially since Billie had made it clear before that she didn’t tolerate bullshit. And that’s all Oliver really had to offer. But they had fun, and Billie intrigued him, even if he had initially gone after her for the attention it got him. “What do I have to do?” he asked, his voice low, eyes fixed on the side of her face. “You should stop pretending you’re done with me.”
Casey was trying to make Oliver jealous and he wasn't going to pretend he wasn't. "Come on, Oli. Isn't me flirting with other guys not even riling you up in the slightest?" He wanted the other to get mad and irked and frustrated that he wasn't all over him instead. "Didn't you see that really hot guy getting me to kneel in front of him as he poured alcohol down my throat and called me his good boy?"
"Hot is debatable." Oliver just stared at Casey, making a great effort to appear unfazed by the situation. “If anything, I found it barbaric,” he said coolly, his tone dripping with condescension, really aiming to make Casey feel the sting of embarrassment. He should feel embarrassed. “Now you’ll reek of cheap beer for the rest of the night. Are you proud of yourself?"
"...I didn't even know you were coming tonight-- " That's not completely true, and they both know it. "I broke up with you to avoid the embarrassing tantrums, Oliver." She does her best to sound bored, exhausted-- but having his interest was always a high she chased. even when she knew better. "What I'm after is a stiff drink. So go slobber all over your date and leave me alone--go on. she looks cold."
Oliver let out a humorless laugh at Billie’s words. He scanned her from head to toe before his eyes met hers, a smirk curling on his lips. “So, you dressed like this… for him?” he asked, couldn't hide the bitterness in his tone. If that were true, he might be out of luck—but there was no way someone as simple and dull as that guy could hold her interest for long. When Billie mentioned his own date, he glanced over his shoulder at the girl waiting for him at the table. “I just met her… honestly, I’ve already forgotten her name.” Turning back to Billie, his eyes locked on hers. “C’mon. I’ll buy you a drink.”
open to: f/nb/m +18 muse: oliver murphy. manipulative, toxic, but oh-so-charming aspiring actor. absolute man-whore, all the red flags. connection: exes, a one night stand, fuckbuddies, fuckbuddies that had a falling out... open to taboo.
"You trying to make me jealous? It won't work." That was a lie, and Oliver could feel the heat rising in his chest. "But I can play along and throw a little fit for you—if that’s what you’re after."
Matthew couldn't care less about sports. He hated them. In fact, nothing made him want to blow his brains out more than a game on the TV, but a very handsome man made him want to blow something else, so it sort of balanced out. He had flirted quite a bit with Peter; sometimes, the man was quite receptive to it, other times, not so much. He rolled his eyes a little as the man locked eyes with him, "And you're too alive to be acting like you're a corpse." He placed gently placed a hand on the man's leg, close to his knee. Definitely an intimate sign but not too invasive compared to higher on the thigh. "And maybe I want to look at you like that." He leaned in a little closer to the man, "Maybe I notice you looking at me like that and I want to... make you very satisfied." He hummed with a slight smile on his face. He did have to censor his words a little because he figured Peter was a little skittish for what he really wanted to say.
Peter held Matthew’s gaze, watching him approach dangerously close. He raised a hand, lightly pressing his palm against Matthew's chest—not to push him away, but to keep him from coming any closer. He needed to be the one to stop this… though it was proving much harder than he thought. Setting boundaries was never his strong suit. He knew he wasn’t fooling anyone, least of all Matthew. It was obvious he wanted this too, but that didn’t change the fact that it couldn’t happen. "I'm not a corpse… I’m not saying I’m dead," Peter murmured, his voice low. "I’m saying I’m too old for you." Matthew was a temptation—someone beautiful to look at, someone he could daydream about but never touch. At a certain age, you just get too old for indulgences like that. When he invited Matthew over, he never intended for things to go this far. Peter sighed deeply, offering a tired smile. "You want to satisfy me? Why don’t you behave and keep your hands to yourself?" His voice was soft, almost gentle, even as he rejected the man. Or tried to.
open to: m/nb +18 muse: peter holm. 67-year-old veteran, recently divorced. raised conservative and in denial about his sexuality, he's just starting to explore by going to gay bars, though he's still hesitant. connection/plot: they’re at peter’s home, watching the game. they met at a bar, where peter made it clear he wasn’t looking for a sexual or romantic relationship, mostly because of his age. he's "past his prime". despite this, he still flirts and gets touchy from time to time. after a few drinks, the boundaries between them seem to blur.
"You're…" Peter's eyes locked onto the other's, his attention drifting from the game. He no longer cared, he stopped caring a while ago. "You're too young to be looking at me like that. Cut it out."
Did this guy go looking for misery? He had expected the thought of a DISCUSSION with terms to intimidate the other and yet here he was offering to enter the apartment. Well, not directly, but the entering was implied with the usage of the remote.
“… It’s a Roku TV from about ten years ago…” Roku TVs, it should be said, needed their own type of remote or you couldn’t work them; it also should be said that Mads knew this and didn’t care to share the information with Jo.
“I’ll give you three options. Pick one.”
He crossed his arms, ankle, leaned against the door frame.
“First- You can drop the remote off at my door, leave, I’ll drop it at your door when I’ve finished with it. Second- You can bring the remote over, come inside my place and test it yourself. Third- There’s this patched piece between our two walls I know of. I can knock it out and you can fire the remote from the other side.”
Jo’s confusion deepened as the man laid out his bizarre options. He wasn’t stupid; the red flags were glaringly obvious, practically begging him to walk away and forget this ever happened. But as the man kept talking, Jo found himself shaking his head in disbelief. Sure, he could hand over his remote and leave, but there was no way he was about to let this guy walk all over him, with that tone. Well. He did consider it for just a moment before rejecting the idea entirely. No, this was about standing his ground. Who in their right mind just hands over their remote like that? ...Or was that totally normal and he just was overthinking everything? Jo sighed shakily, adjusting his glasses. "Okay. Okay," he echoed, amusement coloring his voice. This guy had to be a little crazy. "I’ll pass on that last option, and between the other two… I’ll go with the second one. Yeah, I’ll get—I'll go get my remote," he said, retreating a few steps toward his own apartment.
The man on the inside of the door had his own smile to give away, but it wasn't warm, and he didn't care to excuse a colder temperament by nature. His eyes were blank as he regarded Jo, thoughts that the man was sexy ( and for that reason and that reason alone not entirely an unwelcome sight on his doorstep ) did not show.
"—My TV is, not me." A moment of deep consideration as to closing the door in neighbour's face but he recognises Jo for the type that he is; it seems like coming over here and working up the nerve to complain has taken a lot out of him, and so a reappearance likely won't happen again. Not soon, anyhow. One good excuse ought to send him away for good, even if the initial chit-chat should keep him here for a while longer.
"Control's busted. Had a guy set up to swing by and fix it but he's sick and will be sick for quite a while, so... so I guess maybe a schedule could be discussed... Stuff like I watch TV when you're not in, etc..." No supplementary smile, no handshake of goodwill. Not even a name. Not yet.
This was already a disaster, and Jo couldn’t tell if it was his fault or not that the guy seemed irritated, even though everything he was saying sounded perfectly reasonable. Jo nodded incessantly as the man talked, feeling like an idiot who didn’t know how to carry a conversation, his hands fidgeting nervously. He’d expected something shorter, like 'Wow, you're loud,' and 'Sorry! I'll lower the volume,' and 'Thanks! Have a great day.' But this problem seemed to go beyond that, and now they were stuck in a longer conversation they really didn’t want to be a part of. The only silver lining was that the man was handsome, but even that made things worse, because the chances of him being cute, gay, and single were slim to none and it only served to distract him. A schedule sounded torturous, but the TV was so loud in Jo’s apartment that he couldn’t hear his own thoughts. There was a secret third option. "Uh, maybe I could help?" he offered, despite knowing the normal instinct would be to just leave and deal with it later. Jo rarely took the easy route—mostly because he didn’t realize one existed—so here he was, involving himself in a situation that was none of his business. "What kind is it? If I can ask. I have, uh, one of those generic remotes. It might work on your TV."
open to: m 23+
plot: mateo kissed your muse absent-mindlessly and now he is confused cause he never thought he was gay?
"you seriously cannot tell anyone about this. not a fucking soul."
"I… I wasn't planning on telling anybody." He licks his lips, still tasting Mateo's on them, which brings a smirk to his face. "But now that you're freaking out, it kinda makes me want to."
open to: m/nb +18
muse: johan ‘jo’ murray. nerd that barely leaves his apartment. introvert that hates confrontation. connection/plot: your muse lives next door and they're loud. whatever they're doing is up to you!
At some point, he has to say something, right? It's not normal to let someone get away with it, and if he keeps postponing it, it'll only get worse. He's spent sleepless nights because of the noise; it just can't continue. He hypes himself up in front of his neighbor's door, hesitating to even knock. But he finally builds up the courage to at least do that and not run away like a kid playing ding-dong-ditch. When the door opens, he tenses up but offers his neighbor the warmest smile he can manage... which ends up being a very awkward, distorted smile. "Hey! Hi. I'm Jo… I live next door," he lets out a strained chuckle. "Wow, you're—you're noisy."
open to: m/nb +18
muse: reagan bauer. silicon valley millionaire. needy, romantic, a tad obsessive. weirdly grativates towards avoidant-dismissive attachment style types.
connection/plot: they hooked up last night. could be someone he met the night before, ex-boyfriend, friend with benefits... anything else you come up with that makes sense for the story!
"Where do you think you're going?" Reagan croaks, his face puffy from sleep. "Come on, are you seriously trying to sneak out after last night?"
