Kiana Khansmith
sheepfilms
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Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
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@carnivalheart
#𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭: an independent, semi-selective rp blog featuring slice of life, fantasy & horror writing. multi-muse & multi-verse.
call me fey, 21+, she/they. guidelines under the cut.
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delivered with a note to @carnivalheart for devon ochoa
devon,
my mother presented me with this poker chip when i was a little girl after the first game i'd ever won to her; she had installed a small mirror on one side and told me to always keep it close. you know, i've never really believed in luck or coincidences; i believe in choice and skill. but the more i've come to know you and the connection we share, i find that maybe there are things at work that i do not understand. because i never once thought that anyone could make me feel the way that you do. you are my biggest improbability and my greatest gamble.
forever yours,
akari
the thing about speaking more than three languages is coming to the fact there are days you'll inevitably find yourself illiterate in all of them
there's a slight flicker of amusement on her eyes at the order, eyes narrowing in his direction. rosemary takes a few steps towards him, head tilting to the side slightly. "and if i do? what are you going to do to stop me?" as far as she's concerned, vincente should be lucky that she didn't kill the man anyways. but, the last thing she needed was someone who knew her family to know the truth about her. she's spent the last two years painting herself as the victim ; a traumatized widow who survived an abusive marriage. her face scrunches up in a mocking look of sadness, brows furrowing slightly. "would that make you feel better about yourself? if i told you that he had it coming? that i've been planning to get my revenge on him for months?"
ah, there she is. vicente had his share of morally dubious clients for a lifetime. he’s climbed a big-ass ladder to get to the position he is today where he chooses who to work for and who to offer his loyalty to. hidden skeletons in closets are no novelty, and the norths had a few of their own, but nothing like this. by his standards, they’ve always been as decent as people with that kind of financial power could be. marital problems, sure, and the apathy and social disconnection that comes with owning so much money you detach yourself from the outside world and lives in a constant state of navel-gazing. their harm to the people around them is rooted in passivity, but it’s a moot point: with these families, there is always a split in the foundation, a crack in their picture-perfect structure, and look, he just happened to find the one. not a crack: a wild card. he wonders how much they know. the man’s eyes assess her face, understanding, finally. “no, i’d be very impressed,” he answers, plain and simple. “and i’d wonder how you plan to go after him now that he’s escaped. did your plan have no room for failure, rosemary?” he understands the irony: him being the one to provoke this. but then again, damage control. a misfired gun he’s trying to recharge. “or you consider yourself to be above it?”
"and how am i looking at you ?" hanna asked carefully , stirring her drink in order to have something to do with her hands. devon always managed to get a reaction out of her , even with just one look. "and , isn't you having a dream about me more telling than me just looking at you ?"
devon’s answer is a smile, small and quick as her eyes flicker to hanna’s hands. she sips her own drink. “maybe. a little bird once told me dreams are cyphers. they must mean something, don’t they?” a blatant deflection against deflection; though she’s not taking her confession back. call it testing the waters. “my dreams often feature people with a recurring presence in my life. important ones.” for better or for worse, sometimes. “are you surprised to star in one of them?” an implicit question: wouldn’t you like to know what the dream was about?
muse: akari takahashi // heiress // lesbian open to: f/nb plot here
it started off, as most things do in akari's life, with a bet. i bet you can’t make my ex fall in love with you, they’d said confidently, i bet you can’t break their heart. it had been a bet made from an obviously spiteful heart and akari had smiled that cunning little smirk and they had negotiated terms on the how’s and the when’s whilst akari put together a plan to harbor their way into the others heart. akari was a compulsive gambler, everyone knew that, and everyone knew that she didn’t back down from bets lightly - if ever. so, of course, she took this one with the same importance as the others. she’d thrown herself into being the perfect friend first and was well on her way to being seen as the perfect partner, she was sure. but there was one problem; she never expected to actually like them, to fall in love with them. now, when she should have been celebrating her victory, she was mourning the relationship that would inevitably break when the truth came out. akari cherished the time they spent together, knowing that one day it would be a memory. it hurt - god it hurt - but she tried not to let it taint what they shared with them.
a single flower - a white rose - was held between her fingers. she let the thorns prick her skin as she waltzed her way towards where they’d agreed to meet. the college was a sprawling, old collection of buildings, but she knew this place like the back of her hand. her father had been the dean here once before moving on to better and bigger things, and akari had spent her childhood walking the grounds. feet light in their steps, she twirled on her heel and entered with a flourish of her coat. stepping forwards, an indulgent grin twisted her lips into something gentle. “hi you,” she greeted, sweeping towards them with her hand outstretched, the white rose on display. “for you.”
as detached as devon presents herself, she’s someone who likes to feel deeply. it’s a way of experiencing life—moving through the world not by impulse but by sheer curiosity, by the nauseating tenacity of looking and seeing—truly seeing—things as they are, as they come. it’s a fetish, in a way. or a particular kind of self-harm one learns to enjoy. either way, it gets her going. when akari first approached her, she knew something was wrong immediately. it was this curiosity that made her stay. indulge. enjoy.
you don’t grow up in a house full of people whose next smile might just be the giveaway to premeditated backstabbing and whose life is presented like a propaganda show and don’t learn to differentiate what is real and what isn’t. she’s got to give it to akari, though: she’s good. cut from the same cloth as devon, a little more colorful, just as sharp, a baby born blue. devon found in her a kindred soul and let herself be charmed, and along the way they weaved the most delicate drapery of lies and fantasies, thin enough so they could see each other from the other side: i know you know. what does that make us?
she also knows akari would eventually find her. devon’s sitting under her favorite tree on campus. it’s a secluded place, a little spot you can only find by going through the library and sneaking into the courtyard. they’ve been here together countless times by now.
“hello, you,” she throws back, the corner of her lips pulling at the telltale of a smile as she rests her book on her lap. “i was looking for you earlier this morning. do you make yourself so hard to find on purpose?” devon reaches for the flower, fingers brushing at the soft skin of akari’s hand. she doesn’t move back, instead, turns her palm around so she can see where the thorns had prickled akari’s skin. just a little bleeding. “last time i got these, it was at a funeral,” she muses, letting her thumb brush at the blood, wiping it clean. “thank you.” devon lets go of her hand, and when a finger touches the petals, white is smudged with a faint red. “what do they mean to you?”
muse: ricky romano
open to: anyone, 23-27 (connection: strangers, classmates, exes; give me popular x loser )
plot: ricky and your muse are at a party. ricky sees something sus and acts accordingly, getting his ass beat as a result.
ricky doesn't know why he's still at the party. his tolerance for social activities wore out hours ago. now, the only thing he could manage was sticking to the wall and drinking his luke-warm beer. he's about to call it quits when he notices something out of the corner of his eye. at first, nothing seems out of the ordinary. y/m is talking to a guy over by the stairs. when y/m glances away, ricky sees the guy put something in y/m's drink. "shit," he says, looking around- hoping someone else would intervene. seeing no one step up, he downs the rest of his beer and moves forward. he slides in between y/m and the other, before punching the guy squarely in the face. to outsiders, it might have looked like an unprovoked attack. ricky is not so lucky to get out unscathed. he takes a few hits to his face and abdomen before knocking his opponent down. once the party's chatter settled down, ricky wipes his bloody nose and gestures vaguely to the ground. "he put somethin' in your drink."
dude, what the fuck is what gets stuck in sawyer’s throat the moment she finally looks at ricky. she spreads her arms wide, palms up in silent exasperation and ready to give him an earful when the explanation comes.
this is the kind of shit they consider themself too smart to fall for, and yet, here they are—the fact sawyer was about to drink from that cup makes her blood boil. her eyes land on the dude she’s been talking with. trevor-something, big fan, according to himself; all smiles while carrying the kind of sleazy confidence that exudes small-dick energy. should’ve known. “you little fucker,” is what she hisses before going for a kick straight into the man’s balls. even doubled over, the painful moan he lets out is utterly satisfying. not knowing where else to aim her anger, she grabs ricky by the arm and pulls him into a safe room, away from prying eyes. “i could’ve handled that just fine,” they snap once they’re both alone. “you didn’t need to do that, man. you could’ve just warned me.” but the anger is simmering to something else as they see how bad ricky’s got it. instinctively, her hand goes to his jaw to tilt his face up. “shit, you’re bleeding.”
open starter: lale tuncer & any muse. plot: based on this.
there was a chance following them into the bathroom wasn't the best idea she'd ever had. alcohol ran through her system, leaving her a little buzzed and clearly at risk of making bad choices. the door closed behind her, back hitting against the wood to stop them from leaving. " you're avoiding me. " jumped straight to the point, ensuring they knew she was hear in case somehow they hadn't noticed her skip right in behind them.
if sawyer wasn’t already high, they would’ve jumped. it still doesn’t stop her from muttering a lame shit the moment she hears lale’s voice. well, so much for trying to be subtle. not her strong suit, she must admit. “of course not,” they lie through their teeth, and doesn’t make the effort to look in lale’s direction. it’s a coward’s move, to so casually keep cleaning the smudgy makeup under her eyes, but they’re buying time to figure out how the hell to get out of this situation without doing something stupid. “i’ve just been busy, babe. not everything is about you.” uncalled for, but when you don’t know what to do, go on the offensive. “whatever you need, you can text me.” finally, sawyer turns. “you don’t need to do—this. whatever this is.”
open to: anyone! muse: devon ochoa, twenty-four, she/her, pansexual. college student, fiction writer & playwright. estranged daughter of a very corrupt politician at least once in your muse’s life they must’ve heard about. possible connections: exes, ex-friends, secret crush, academic rivals, co-workers, a casual hookup, whatever you feel like.
“i had a dream about you last night,” she confesses, mostly to gauge a reaction out of them than anything else. devon may have had a few drinks, but not enough to let go of the habit of carefully measuring her words. she’s poking at something. “you were looking at me the exact same way you’re looking at me now.”
open to: anyone! muse: louise ‘lou’ lévesque, twenty-six, she/her. cybersecurity engineer, grey-hat hacker and vigilante. secretly a technopath. plot: your muse got injured, can’t go to a hospital and asked louise for help by showing up at her doorstep in the middle of the night. possible connections: someone she occasionally works with as a vigilante, ride or die (platonic highly encouraged, give her a best friend), rivals who saved each other more than once, just an acquaintance who needs help, whatever fits.
“jesus, how is that a scratch?” louise is already back with her first-aid kit. she promptly points to the nearest chair so she can better assess the damage. “sit down. you’re gonna bleed all over my floor.”
i know i've said it in my rules that this is a relaxed activity blog but i didn't mean it to be this relaxed cxncjdj it's just that life's been so weird and hectic that even when i'm free and feeling inspired my mind finds a way to drift elsewhere and i can't lock in for the life of me
i'm officially moving out to work and study in germany in a week and a few days, and for the last month i've been dealing with a really harsh breakup just fine, but there are days that things just hit out of nowhere and i'm left feeling a little numb at the whole 180 turn most areas of my life are taking
i can't chance taking my adhd meds when my mood is fluctuating this badly bc adhd is comorbid with my bipolar disorder, and triggering a hypomanic/manic episode right now is the last thing i need, so i'm left having to take things really really slow
so anyway, this will keep being a low activity blog, but unless i've warned you i'd be dropping something i still plan to go on with the things we have and i'm always down to plotting something more. i just ask for a little patience. <3
( a collection of too close for 'just friends' prompts. adjust phrasing as necessary.) feel free to make edits to better suit your muse.
They’ve always hugged, but lately those hugs linger just a beat too long.
Sharing a bed during a trip—neither of them sleeps much because they’re too aware of the other’s presence.
Accidentally slipping into couple habits (buying each other food, remembering their exact coffee order, fixing their collar, etc.).
Friends teasing them for acting like a couple… and both of them freezing because it hits a little too close.
One notices the other’s dating profile and feels irrationally territorial.
The line between “friendly banter” and “flirting” has gotten blurry.
A partner/bystander points it out bluntly: “You know they’re in love with you, right?”
A fight about boundaries—because one of them wants more, but is terrified of losing the friendship.
A drunken kiss that neither of them can stop thinking about.
Everyone else assumes they’re together already… and they can’t quite correct them.
“Do you have any idea what it does to me when you look at me like that?”
“You’re supposed to be my safe place, not the reason my chest feels like it’s going to explode.”
“We can’t—God, we can’t cross that line.”
“Say it. Say you don’t feel it too, and I’ll drop it.”
“You don’t get to touch me like that and still call it friendship.”
“Stop smiling at me like I’m yours.”
“If this is just friendship, then why can’t I breathe when you’re this close?”
“You’re going to ruin me, and you don’t even know it.”
“One more second like this, and I’m not going to be able to stop myself.”
“Tell me you don’t want me, and I’ll believe you.”
“Don’t kiss me like that and pretend it means nothing.”
“We’re not supposed to do this. We’re not supposed to feel this.”
“I’d rather lose my mind than lose you, and right now I think I’m losing both.”
“Do you want me to beg? Is that what this is?”
“If we cross this line, nothing will ever be the same. And God help me, I still want to.”
“If you keep touching me like that, I won’t be able to stop.”
“Friends don’t ache when the other leaves the room. So what does that make us?”
“Tell me to go, and I will. Please—say something before I do something we can’t take back.”
“Don’t call me your best friend when you’re looking at me like I’m more.”
“If this is nothing, then why does it feel like everything?”
“You don’t get it, do you? Every time you smile at me, it feels like a promise.”
“You’re in my head all the time, and it’s killing me. Friends aren’t supposed to feel like this.”
“If we cross this line, you’re not just my friend anymore. You’re my downfall.”
“You’re standing too close.”
“Do you even know what you’re doing to me right now?”
“Stop making me want something I can’t have.”
“I can’t lose you to this, but God, I can’t stop wanting you either.”
“You’re looking at me weird.”
“That wasn’t a… friendly thing to say.”
“Do you always stand this close?”
“Why does it feel different when it’s you?”
“You’re supposed to be my best friend, not the one making my heart race.”
“That… didn’t sound like a joke.”
“Stop holding me like that. Friends don’t hold each other like that.”
“Do you even realize how you’re looking at me right now?”
“Don’t call me yours. You don’t mean it.”
“I can’t breathe when you touch me like that.”
“Say we’re still just friends. Lie to me.”
“We’re not supposed to want this.”
“If this is nothing, then why does it feel like everything?”
“One more second and I’m not going to be able to stop myself.”
“Every time you laugh, I forget we’re not allowed to be more.”
“Tell me you don’t feel it. Please. Tell me I’m imagining this.”
“You can’t just kiss me and act like it means nothing.”
“I’m trying so hard not to want you, and you’re making it impossible.”
“If you keep looking at me like that, I swear I’ll ruin everything.”
“Tell me to go, or I’m not going to.”
“You’re mine. God help me, I don’t care what we call it—you’re mine.”
“I’d rather destroy this friendship than pretend I don’t want you anymore.”
“Do you want me to beg? Because I will.”
“We’ve already crossed the line. The second I realized I loved you, we did.”
“Stop staring at me like that. You’re my best friend.”
“You can’t just… say stuff like that. We’re supposed to be friends.”
“Friends don’t make my heart do backflips when they smile.”
“Why does it feel like I’m cheating when you go on dates?”
“Don’t hold my hand if you don’t mean it.”
“We’ve been friends for years, so why does it suddenly feel different?”
“Don’t kiss me like that if you’re going to pretend it didn’t happen.”
“You’re supposed to be the one I tell about my crush, not be the crush.”
“That’s not a friendly kind of jealousy.”
“If we’re just friends, then why do I feel like you’re mine?”
Characters that are absolute lovesick disasters but also brutal killers are... definitely something
Ops... I'll need a bath. You're invited.
LAURA DUTRA as CELINA MARTINS episode 1 of VERMELHO SANGUE
DAISY EDGAR-JONES as KATE CARTER TWISTERS (2024) dir. Lee Isaac Chung
