indie MULTI-MUSE attempted by adam ( he/they, 30+). highly selective and private. MUTUALS ONLY. 21+ up for following and interaction. (S)LOW ACTIVITY. please read rules below the cut before interacting and have a good day!
NAVIGATION muses ✦ musings ✦ prompts ✦ signal boost
FAVES Blogs listed here will get priority (because I love them):
Knox (OC) ✦ alleyspat
Armand, Hellboy, with other muses to be specified ✦ multiplicitous
Various sad men ✦ traansversal
more to be added ✦ check back soon
BLOG CREDITS graphics created by me unless stated otherwise with icon border , icon PSD , and icons made by alleyspat
DISCLAIMER This is a fan-made, independent, roleplay blog. I am in no way associated with The X-Files, 20th Century Fox Television, Chris Carter, IDW Publishing, David Duchovny, AMC+, Marvel, Disney, or any other intellectual property or persons referenced on this blog. All opinions, headcanons, drawings, and writing are my own unless otherwise stated. Anne Rice especially do not sue me posthumously, I am just a little guy.
MUN I’m Adam and I had a Mulder blog many moons ago but I am back on this hell site to write even more fictional freaks! I work full-time and have a life outside of tumblr dot rpc so this will be a very low-key endeavor for me. Thank you for your interest in writing with me and let's have some fun!
ACTIVITY For my own peace of mind I will be keeping this blog small, so please don't take my not following back personally. This is my first time attempting to juggle a multi-muse so I thank you for your patience in my possible ebbs and flows with muse and blog organization.
ETIQUETTE I am here to have a good time yelling about fake people that make me smile so please be kind. I will not interact with anyone who perpetuates bigotry of any kind. Muse does not equal mun, I just love a fucked up character study.
INTERACTIONS I prefer to plot out threads before writing them, so that we both know where our story is headed, but the characters I am interested in writing are OC, duplicate, and AU friendly. There are never any time limits for replies, prompts, or ooc responses. Prompts, dash games, and simply IMing me your ideas are great starting points to write with me!
WRITING Usual RP rules apply: no godmodding, force shipping, etc. I understand that getting words out is hard sometimes and this is all for fun so if a thread no longer sparks joy, please do not feel pressured to continue replying. Formatting and icons are also not mandatory to write with me and my own such graphics will be minimal.
SHIPPING Honestly, I am mostly here to write fandom characters with my partner and more than likely will not be prioritizing romantic ships with others. As stated, I like plotting so if our characters hit it off we can discuss more romantic plots but NSFW threads will not be happening with me. Platonic and found family relationships are also cool but so are sworn enemies, so let's play dollies and find out what works with our muses!
CONTENT WARNING This blog may contain possibly triggering content such as, but not limited to: blood, violence, mentions of religion, childhood trauma, horror related subject matter, and other mature themes. While I support sexually explicit content I will not be writing such topics in detail on my blog but some NSFW subjects may still be referenced and tagged accordingly with cw: usfw .
TRIGGERS If we are mutuals and you would like me to tag a specific trigger, please let me know what it is privately and I can format trigger warnings as “cw: trigger” for easy blocking. I kindly ask that my mutuals please tag your graphic visual depictions of gore with "cw: gore" for me.
THANK YOU for reading all of that! If you have any questions, comments, or concerns about my portrayals, posts, or rules, please feel free to reach out to me. These rules may update or change as I get a feel for rpc again. I am always learning and want this space to be comfortable for everyone who wants to write with me (but also for me too)!
"YOU! DRESSED IN RED! YOU MUST BE EVIL!" mojo jojo stamps forward toward the red-masked man, "HAVE YOU HEARD OF THE POWERPUFF GIRLS?"
"Pfft, do I know the Powerpuff Gir-- FIGHTING CRIME / TRYING TO SAVE THE WORLD / HERE THEY COME JUST IN TIME / THE POWERPUFF GIRLS!" Deadpool belts out the show's classic ending theme song chorus in response to the brainy ape's question.
After a quiet beat of fourth wall misunderstanding the mercenary adds an approximation of the instrumental staccato to finish off the song.
"No. I do not know them personally," Deadpool finally admits but quickly adds, with an emphasizing crossing of his arms "And I'm not gonna hurt Blossom, Bubbles, or Buttercup if that's what you're about to ask me, Mojo JoJo!"
Starting some villainous hijinks with @multiplicitous
"C'mon, lil' buddy, you know my line of work!" Deadpool explains to the shark inside his phone. He had sent that text to Jeff hours ago but the poor guy wasn't very good with phones so here they were, catching up on video call.
Our merc was mid-slice through a baddie but angling the phone so that Jeff, sweet little Jeff, wouldn't see any of the carnage DP had wrought this fine Tuesday. One handed katana-ing made cutting through flesh and bone a skosh difficult but that's why he got paid the big bucks-- just a couple more thwacks and this guy would be down for good!
"Maybe when I'm done here? Grab a bite, catch up, teach you more swear words?" DP suggests, the drops of blood multiplying across his mask with each one-handed slice. There simply was not enough leverage to be doing this with one hand, but he wasn't going to ignore a call from Jeff The Land Shark! Hopefully the mark's muffled screams weren't getting picked up on the shark's end.
as the mercenary speaks, his words slowly turn into gibberish in knox’s ear as a single phrase repeats itself in his mind: ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ғᴜᴄᴋ. ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ғᴜᴄᴋ. ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ғᴜᴄᴋ. ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ғᴜᴄᴋ. methodically, he walks out the front door and locks it behind him as the man continues to speak. there’s a humor in his tone that knox can’t meet, especially when noticing the merc’s hand rest at his gun. ‘but I would love to hear your side of this story’ knox turns, taking one last drag of the cigarette as he blinks in confusion. the absurd desire to laugh hits him, but knox ignores it and turns to walk again instead.
once they’re a good distance from the apartment complex, and toward a more secluded portion of the st. pete pier, knox stops. the water is churning against the cement of the pier and from where he’s led them, they can see the brilliant sunset in full view. he leans against the railing, looking down at the water a moment. when knox turns to look at the merc, he starts with a curt, “kody is a big ass bitch.”
“i’m not gonna give you a sob story,” knox says, turning so he’s leaning back against the railing. the sound of the water calms his strung out nerves. he imagines nora will check on the apartment after a couple days, and that the cats will be fine. that makes knox feel a little better, until he realizes how fucked he is. clasping clammy palms together, heart hammering hard against his ribs, knox cuts off the talking mask to continue, “kody’s father pulled me out of a pretty desperate pit. i thought i owed him my life, so i did whatever he told me to.”
he has to pause long enough to let an irritated huff out, at himself, at this situation, at all of it. knox is exhausted with this, tired of having to beg for his life or fight every desperate bounty hunter that comes his way. a slow, agonizing death by a thousand dull cuts. the paranoia he’d held in the first year or so dissipated into a manageable feeling of impending doom. everyone had to die someday, right? at least, that’s what he tells himself.
“two years ago, noah asked me to kill a kid and her mom,” knox speaks bluntly, looking toward a couple walking together down the pier, “i refused. kody killed noah because he was willin’ to let me go. now, here we are. not much else to it.”
Deadpool follows Knox through a bustling little city on the bay. There's fancy museums, rainbow flags in just about every window, and a place with huge fucking crepes that he had to remember to go visit once this was all over. Finally, at the very public killing floor of Knox's choosing, he starts his story off by calling Kody a big ass bitch and the mercenary can't help but laugh. Sure, Wade can practically see this guy's carotid thumping away with the stress of being so casually teased toward death but he did have a way with words.
"That is usually how sob stories start thou--" Wade comments, more to himself (or perhaps you, the reader), but he's immediately interrupted with the sob story in question. Toxic father figure. Tale as old as time. Tragic. In the meantime that Knox no doubt counted down the seconds of his life, Wade waited, listened to the waves. The mark finally starts talking again, sharing the necessary tid-bit DP had been waiting for, and the audible groan that leaves Wade's masked mouth causes a passing tourist to stare-- not a kid!
"Not a kid!" Wade echoes his internal disgust. Despite what he said, there were actually some morals, deep down, that weighed heavily on Deadpool's teeny tiny conscious and anything involving bad things happening to kid's was one of them. That Knox refused to take that job makes the little unicorn in his mind start to gallop up some ideas.
"Patricide is one thing but what's a kid gonna fucking do to topple a real estate empire?" he continues, leaning against the railing beside his target. He looks out at the water, continuing to think. What a beautiful place this hell state was. Not anything like what the TV, internet, news, or people themselves would have you believe. Floridians were pushed into hard situations, thanks in part to the unforgiving climate of the peninsula itself but also the astronomical wealth disparity. Thank you, evil rat overlord, for contributing to that hardship. But maybe this Florida Man deserved another chance.
"What if I pretended to kill you?" Deadpool offers, hands moving to emphasize the half-baked nature of his plan, "Bring Kody some burnt out skull, because it looks like you've had a taste before, and then you can actually have your second chance!"
The middle of January in upstate New York is not a particularly great time to be outdoors, especially in the middle of the night, but Bucky Barnes does not appear to give a shit about that right now, because he is sprinting at full speed with his flesh palm pressed hard over his left side. His breath comes quick, puffing in the cold, and his boots, despite his best effort, crunch through the snow and detritus under him.
It is a terrible night to be Bucky Barnes.
Behind him, three shooters, maybe four, are still firing suppressed rounds in his direction. He needs to get somewhere out of the cold and out of their sightlines so that he can deal with the hole under his ribs. The closest place he can think of is a safehouse he’d been given the address to nearly six years ago. He angles himself in that direction, pushing himself to run harder, and cuts through a dense copse of trees.
The safehouse, unbeknownst to him, had been given up and sold four years ago. So when he comes around the back, low and careful, and picks the door open, he cannot see the vehicle in the front drive, and he does not realize someone else is home.
He gets the door shut and locked behind him and slides down it, bleeding onto the floor, trying to catch his breath. His head tips back against the door, eyes squeezing closed.
Wade Wilson lounges on a couch he does not own in a recently gentrified AirBnB. He was on vacation. One week to himself. No murder, no mayhem, just a few days pretending he was a used car salesman. In his mind, of course, no one would survive him working a traditional 9-to-5.
On the TV, fake couples feign interest through a wall but trained ears can't help but perk at the distant sound of muffled gunfire. Maybe it had been an assumption that upstate New York would be quieter than New York, New York. It was quieter but this was America and gun violence was a constitutional right any time, any state. Average suburbanites may not have even heard the suppressed shots but DP sure as shit did. The mercenary pauses his trashy show and listens for more shooting but instead hears something at the backdoor.
A small glimmer of hope shines that this sound is unrelated to the dampened chaos outside. Perhaps this was simply a raccoon breaking and entering instead of a proper call to action! He grabs a gun (because of course he brought weapons on vacation) and heads for the back door. Wade was not dressed for a fight but he would if he had to. Masked, yes, but his armored suit was at the dry cleaners and it being the middle of the night in the middle of winter in the middle of his vacation, all he had on was a big fluffy robe and Hello Kitty slippers. Quiet steps, gun at the ready, and-- oh fuck, that's not Jimothy!
"Bucky Barnes?" Wade asks, thoroughly flabbergasted, gun immediately lowered with the finger well away from the trigger. This Winter Solider was supposed to be dead! Yeah okay, obviously, Deadpool was not important enough to be kept in the loop of the most secret superhero plot lines but he had seen the obituary. And yet, here he was, Wade's all time favorite hero's problematic boyfriend bleeding out in his AirBnB. All he had to play it cool and help however he could and maybe, just maybe, he could meet Cap.
"What happens next, Buckaroo: I patch you up or go deal with those bad guys?"
prompt: "i don't think they exist." from Carlisle to Mulder
"Look, I know it was before your time but you really don't believe the Mount Rainier sighting? The term flying saucer came from that '47 report," Mulder explains, a little too adamantly despite the kind doctor's stated denial. He was in Forks following up on an anonymous tip about a "family" of vampires, but Mount Rainier National Park had been on the way from the Seattle–Tacoma International Airport.
About an hour detour anyway. Then a couple more hours gone snooping around the base of the mountain before the four hour drive to Forks. The Bureau would be getting the bill. He was paid to investigate unexplained phenomena, which is what he was doing. Two birds, one stone. He hoped.
"Rainier aside, you've probably seen some pretty strange cases in this part of the country though, haven't you, Doc?," the agent asks, a side long glance at his name tag before focusing on those golden eyes. His lead had told him to find a Cullen. He had, easily enough, and if this guy really was a vampire then he must have it made. There's always plenty of blood in a hospital.
i admit it, you are better than i am. (hellboy to abe)
A bemused little sound sticks in Abe's throat. Their shooting charts weren't that different. Maybe his had a few more head shots on the BPRD's custom frog targets, but in the field both of these beasts would be dead. That's what was important. That's why they trained. By virtue of assignment load though, Abe just had more time at the shooting range than Hellboy.
"You've still got me when it comes to close combat, Red," the Ichthyo Sapien resigns, handing Hellboy back his target with a smile. How silly that The Torch had given Hellboy a gun when that right hook of his was far more lethal. He was pretty good with a sword too but he could definitely use some more practice with that old gun-- maybe rig a scope to the old thing.
apparently youre supposed to perform. they love it when you perform. but it has to be authentic. they hate it when it's not authentic. but you have to perform.
i don't suppose you could speed things up? (armand to lestat)
"Speed things up," Lestat mocks under his breath. They were about to run lines for an in-development show and Lestat was doing his artistic due-diligence and studying the source material before rehearsal. The question had already gotten under his skin though and he could not help but huff at the interruption.
"You want to rush art, Armand?" he asks, louder now, voice carrying across the theater. Their theater. He could sense the perking of the many vampiric ears around him. The boys were fighting. Again. Two owners with wildly different points of view when it came to theatrics. Maybe not in public arguments such as this, this was fun for both of them, but in manners of showmanship.
Lestat was, perhaps, a fool. Always attempting to fail upward, taking chances with his ideas and being rewarded with an audience so quick to share it's opinion (usually positive). Which left Armand to rehash the same old stories, in the same old ways, to dozing newcomers and wrung out fans. There was a bias, yes, but Lestat liked to perform his own shows and they were currently working on one of Armand's.
