Come down from Oklahoma with a pistol in my boot;

NSFW and potentially-triggering content. Browse at own discretion.

[bootpistol]

i miss writing a lot of my characters that i’ve largely abandoned after losing writing partners. on the one hand, i wanna bring them back and move caleb to a multimuse and on the other, a. i’ve not had the traction i wanted with my former multimuse, and b. people will obviously recognize these other muses (and hence also me) and there are enough of ‘em that i either want nothing to do with or am not interested in knowing who i am/that i’m still around and can be contacted. i’ll probably end up making the multi bc that’s just how i roll, but… idk. thoughts?

[bootpistol]

WELP, i’ve decided to go through with it bc i’m weak. caleb will hopefully be transferred to the new blog by the end of the week.

[bootpistol]

i miss writing a lot of my characters that i've largely abandoned after losing writing partners. on the one hand, i wanna bring them back and move caleb to a multimuse and on the other, a. i've not had the traction i wanted with my former multimuse, and b. people will obviously recognize these other muses (and hence also me) and there are enough of 'em that i either want nothing to do with or am not interested in knowing who i am/that i'm still around and can be contacted. i'll probably end up making the multi bc that's just how i roll, but... idk. thoughts?

[bootpistol]

bold themes you are interested in playing italic themes you would consider strike themes that are absolutely off the table

CHARACTER TWEAKS

a/b/o (omegaverse) † aliens † androids/robots † demi-gods † gender bending † genetic experiment † immortals † magical transformation † pirates † reincarnated soulmates † shapeshifting † telekinesis † telepathy † vampires † werewolves

MATURE THEMES (some 18+)

abduction/kidnapping † addiction † adultery † alcoholism † asphyxiation † assault † betrayal † blood lust † chronic illness † co-dependency † cults † death † depression † domestic abuse † edge play † espionage † gore † major character death † murder † night terrors † non-con † one night stands † organized crime † personality disorders † psychopathy † PTSD † religion † sex work † slavery † smut † terminal illness † torture † violence

FAMILY & RELATIONSHIP THEMES

accidental pregnancy † adoption † best friends with benefits † established relationship † first kiss † i have had a crush on you forever and i finally come forward about it † left at the altar † long lost relatives † male pregnancy † pregnancy † we hooked up one time and now it’s awkward † we’re only friends but everyone thinks we’re together so we give it a shot

Tagged by: @thefvrious  💓 Tagging: @lambshcrn @neontgr @blasphimy @southern-gothics

[voglaz]

Visit Original Link

Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds /// Thirsty Dog

“I’m sorry that I’m always pissed I’m sorry that I exist And when I look into your eyes I can see you’re sorry too”

[bootpistol]

“Telling you for the last time -- you’re barking up the wrong tree.” Still hungover from the previous night, the cowboy sucks on one cigarette after the other, barely allowing himself room for fresh air between extinguishing one and lighting another, bloodshot eyes narrowed against the harsh Texas sun even from under the wide brim of his hat. The police badge that had been presented to him (because he demanded that it would, refusing to speak to the man otherwise and, even now, keeping his words few and well-chosen) has him on-edge, jaw clenched, knuckles white as his hand wraps tight around the reins, still mounted atop his roan grey horse just so that there remains some barrier between the detective and himself, just so he doesn’t have to meet the man at eye-level. Cops make him nervous and he fucking hates them. Dog, aware of the shift in his master’s behavior, but needing to keep watch over the cattle now that the cowboy is distracted, barks in the near distance. “The King boy comes here to visit on account of how we've been friends for a long while now. He ain’t got no business here.”

@thefvrious, sc.

[bootpistol]

neontgr:

    nurse is a role she’s terribly unfamiliar with. she tries to help, anyone or anything that might require help — she gives bits of herself with no care as to how many she’s left with. still this is different; this is physical, this should be easier. yet a terrible notion paints itself in her mind, bright & yellow like a warning sign: what if all the pain he’s in will be tied to the memory of her forever, & he  won’t ever again be able to tell one from the other? what if this is a sign, & all she’s ever gonna bring to him is ache & worry & rash decisions?

     “ yeah — here, i’ll help you ”. there’s gotta be a metaphor in this, but she’s struggling to find it. all this while, in whatever this is ( a relationship, an adventure, an experiment in mutual healing; she’s not sure yet, perhaps she’d like it to be all three & more, or perhaps she just doesn’t care ) — all this while it’s been him carrying her, her mistakes & her faults & her weaknesses. all the little things that weigh her down, he’s picked them up on his shoulder. poor atlas. he’s crushed now, she should’ve seen it coming: never should have asked him anything in the first place.

     ( maybe she’s carried parts of him too; she’s not sure. it isn’t in any way different from what they used to do before he became a more consistent part of her daily landscape; they’d share burdens with one another & never really talk about them out loud, just split the difference & pretend all their troubles could wait outside with the wolves when they were together. maybe she’s done that with a light heart too, ‘cause it’s hard to not want to give him anything when he looks at her & all she sees is a peace she’s longed for all her life. maybe caleb’s been the summary of every single effort towards goodness she’s made: but what if it’s all for nothing, & she’s just nothing but bad news, anyway ? )

      “ here. easy now ”. one hand stretching to clear the bed — the few pillows not necessary to keep him up thrown to the floor to be taken care of later. a doubt settles, that perhaps he’d want someone else to take care of him, now; maybe his ex wife, so ella could be with him, or any affordable version or a hospital. selfish, she doesn’t ask yet — afraid of the answer. ( afraid that maybe there’s a reason she loves plants that don’t need watering so much: there’s a sign there, she’s barren land, unfit to take care of anything, not even herself ). nasty thought quickly shoved to the back of her head, she gently eases him down & then makes an art of avoiding his eyes — guilt burns on her face. “ do you, uh, do you want me to get you anything ? some water, another pillow — ? ”

This is normally the part where he retreats to his trailer like an injured, feral dog; hurt, exhausted and defeated (even if the fight had been won), to curl up in his little corner and lick his wounds and remain alone and unloved -- for what master would want an aging, battered attack dog that knows nothing but anger and hurt? True, Mr. Santos would have probably sent someone to check up on him when he wouldn’t show to herd the cattle the following morning -- but albeit strict, Mr. Santos is also fair and, really, only gave Caleb the job on a whim -- charity hidden in an act of dignity, so that Caleb will actually take it rather than turn it down on account of his honor (very little of which, if at all, still remains).

To make a long story short: to be taken care of is something he is wildly unfamiliar with. He doesn’t lean into her when she helps lead him away from the bathroom -- doesn’t weigh her down when she lowers him onto her bed but, rather, does so on his own -- not due to lack of trust but, really, merely on account that he truly does not know any other way. This is how things have always been, intentionally or unintentionally getting himself hurt because it is the only way to cope, to experience some sort of relief from the overwhelming tide of emotions that well up deep in his chest -- then remaining alone to deal with the consequences.

When he’s finally horizontal, back against the mattress, the pressure in his chest relieved some, he shuts his eyes and tries his hardest to find his breath again. Slow, measured inhales; patient exhales, his chest visibly rising and falling with each one.

“It’s alright, darlin’,” he whispers a hoarse sound, barely capable of anything more (though still an improvement nevertheless), head only slightly swaying from side to side as he shakes it no, “this is alright. Just gotta put my head down, is all. Don’t gotta worry ‘bout me.”

[bootpistol]

thefvrious:

Her eyes light up with unadulterated delight when the Texan speaks her language. It’s slow, typical of an American attempting Spanish, but she understands what he’s saying, and he is bridging a divide between them – he’s the one trying, and that overjoys her. She’s almost giddy with it. “Didn’t know you knew any Spanish.” Ari says with that twinkle still in her eyes as she takes the empty plate away and brings him a Coke instead of a whiskey refill.

“Pastellilos, tostones, rellenos de papa, arroz con gandules… you’re in for a treat.” She hasn’t been able to cook much for anyone but herself lately, so to expose a friend to the food of her culture, to her comfort, will be a happy experience. “You can come over. I’ll make some chile, too. Do you like spicy?”

“Kinda oughtta when you’re living in Texas, huh? Not as good as I’d like to, though. Guy I work for mostly makes fun of me if I try this shit out on him.” Though all too aware of the lack of booze (after all, an alcoholic would notice), the cowboy makes no mention of it -- at least not yet. Perhaps to appease her or, perhaps, to take her advice -- he takes a large sip of soda without protest, then proceeds to cross his arms and prop them atop the counter.

“Mm-hmm,” Caleb confirms, but is soon to add, “-- not sure I can handle your kinda spicy, though -- don’t need you making fun of me neither.”

[bootpistol]

thefvrious:

Ari can sense him crumbling, though her hands on him never leave.Sometimes, a person needs a physical touch to ground them to the spot. She feels like, if she lets go, he’ll wander out that door and when will she see him again? She truly cares for this man and believes, deep down, that maybe no one else does. And that hurts her, but it also scares her, because she feels like she’s only got a few people she can rely on, too. Still, those number more than one. Poor Caleb, she says to herself, looking up at him with worry and care.

She nods as he begins to speak. He needs to know that she understands and, oh, god, does she understand. So many things she has done wrong in her life and not a damn single one of them was she ready for. She squeezes his shoulders then and keeps on nodding, letting him get it out, even if the words are jumbled and mixed up and not really at all what he wants to say. But this is hard for him, and she’s giving him credit for how much effort he’s putting in.

“Oh, papi, no…” She says, cupping his cheek. She’s given up trying to get him to look at her. Her thumb runs over the stubble now. “No. You won’t put her together wrong, she can make her own choices. You’re a good man that made some bad choices and ended up in a bad place. You’re not going to ruin her, I can tell you that much for certain. You mean the best, you care about her. That’s more than a lot of girls can say about their fathers. Don’t you beat yourself up for that…”

“Road to hell’s paved with good intentions.” Unfortunate, but true. A man isn’t measured by his thoughts -- his intentions -- no, a man is measured by his actions. He thinks he read it in a book somewhere, long ago -- Mozart isn't measured by the pieces he intended to write -- only by the ones he actually wrote. But wherever, whenever he read it -- the notion still rings true. Lots of bad things can happen when someone means well. He knows what Ari is trying to do -- knows she only means the best, that she only wants to help -- but just like his own good intentions, hers can be misguided as well. He needs to keep this in mind, to be alert - to treat his daughter with special care reserved only for the finest of china because, if he doesn’t, if he slips up -- he might change her more than he ever means to, and he’ll be one lucky son of a bitch if she ever forgives him.

“She’s just a kid, Ari... she ain't even ten yet. She can’t make her own decisions. If she could, she’d be an adult -- and even then... shit,” voice much quieter, just slightly more than a whisper, rubbing one palm with the thumb of the other while still averting his gaze from her, the cowboy twists his lips and sighs, “don’t want her making the same mistakes I have.”

[bootpistol]

                          ⚞ starter call ⚟

[plotbunnie]

Nonverbal RP Starters

I’m finding it difficult to find memes for nonverbal characters ( be they mute, or just not fond of talking ) so I thought I’d make a few!

Neutral

☝️ Tap my muse on the shoulder

👉 Point to something for my muse to see

🤙 Bump into my muse

😊 Sit down next to my muse

🤨 Sit down across from my muse

📓 Push/Slide [an object] across a table to my muse

✍️ Pass my muse a note

🙄 Roll their eyes at my muse

🚪 Tap on a table/door/wall/chair to get my muse’s attention without speaking

Aggressive

🐺 Growl at my muse

😬 Snarl/show teeth at my muse

😠 Death Glare at my muse

🙌 Push/Shove my muse

👊 Punch my muse

👖 Kick my muse in the shin

👠 Stomp on my muse’s foot

😵 Knee my muse in the gut

💀 Knee my muse in the groin

🔪 Point a weapon at my muse

🖕 Flip my muse the bird/a similar gesture

👔 Roughly pull my muse down by the collar

💢 Bang on a door/wall/table to get my muse’s attention- angrily

Angst

👩‍⚕️ Put pressure on my muse’s wound

🌡 Push my muse down to give them medical attention

🥣 Bring my muse soup/medicine when they are sick

🤢 Hold my muse’s hair back/Rub my muse’s back while they are sick/throwing up

👐 Hold my muse when they are badly wounded/dying

👁 Wake my muse up during a nightmare

🐱 Hold my muse after a nightmare

😭 Hold my muse when they are crying

😢Touch my muse’s shoulder while they are crying in secret

💧 Wipe away my muse’s tears

💥 Try to calm my muse during an overwhelming emotional moment

⛈ Find my muse after some kind of trauma

Soft

👕 Tug on my muse’s sleeve/shirt/skirt

🐈 Lean against my muse’s side

🤝 Hold my muse’s hand

🤗 Pull my muse into a hug

🐕 Rest their head on my muse’s shoulder/knee

🐶 Nuzzle my muse with their nose [specify a location]

✋ Touch the back of my muse’s hand

🤝 Reach for my muse’s hand to hold it

👗 Fix/Straighten my muse’s clothes

😴 Stand by the bed to see if my muse will let you under the covers with them

🛌 Crawl under the covers with my muse

🥪 Set a plate/tray/bowl of food down for my muse

😚 Kiss my muse on the cheek

Playful

🌸 Put a flower in my muse’s hair

✨ Playfully shove my muse’s shoulder

💃 Pull my muse onto a dance floor/up to dance

🤞 Come up beside them and tap the shoulder opposite where they’re standing

😈 Jump out of the shadows to scare/startle my muse

😛 Stick their tongue out at my muse

😱 Make a silly face at my muse

🤭 Tickle my muse

👃 Poke my muse’s nose

💪 Pick my muse up

Sensual/Sexual

💘 Pull my muse in for a rough kiss

💕 Pull my muse in for a tender kiss

💞 Pull my muse in for a messy/desperate kiss

💖 Lean in to give my muse a sweet/chaste kiss

❤️ Lean in to give my muse a tender kiss

🔥 Pull my muse down by the collar/by their clothes - in a sexy way

😉 Pull my muse in by the hips

😲 Smack my muse’s butt

💋 Kiss my muse’s neck

👌 Push my muse down and give them a massage

👙 Pull [an article of clothing] off my muse

👀 Push my muse down on the bed

👄 Pull my muse onto the bed

[ellet0mkins]

[bootpistol]

                          ⚞ starter call ⚟

[dailychrispine]

Chris Pine as Toby Howard in ‘Hell or High Water’ (2016)

[bootpistol]

                          ⚞ starter call ⚟

[bootpistol]

                          ⚞ starter call ⚟

[bootpistol]

[museinspo]

“I can’t talk about it because if I talk about it that means it matters. If it matters that means it’s real, and if it’s real that means it’s going to hurt.”

— I can’t talk about it. (via insanely–crazy)