pretty little fears

indie multi muse rp blog. written by tea, 18+. literate. selective. slow activity.

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your girl made a love quinn from s2 of you 👀

@lovedquinn

[lovedquinn]

You  have  a  way  with  people.  They  just  like  you.  Your  shirt  is  faded,  but  fresh.  You  like  to  take  CARE  of  things.  Your  shoes  are  clean  ,  but  more.  You  walk  in  a  town  where  nobody  walks.  Are  you  really  who  YOU  seem  to  be  ?  Could  anyone  be  that  light  and  fearless  ?  Are  you  the  ONLY  woman  in  Los  Angeles  not  showing  off  for  STRANGERS  ?

love quinn. netflix’s you. show / hc based. selective indie. ©

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your girl made a love quinn from s2 of you 👀

@lovedquinn

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@theyforget​ ♥️’d for a starter

𝐓𝐖𝐎 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐒 𝐀𝐆𝐎 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐒. She had stopped coming back in general. Minhee was a ghost they’d see flit through the town for a brief second before she was gone with the wind once again. It was fear of her own consequences that had her keeping her loved ones much further than an arms length away. She doesn’t understand what compels her to return this year. What puts her in this situation. Sitting on the swings of their favourite park , kissed with ice , bottle of liquor within arms reach to keep her warm as she stares down at the text she had sent.

『 sms: ji 』at the park. Leaving if you’re not here in an hour. 『 sms: ji 』 hurry up i miss you 𝚍𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚍  『 sms: ji 』 hurry up.

She only pries the bottle from her lips when she hears the crunch of snow under footfall. The light in her eyes in unmistakeable but the feeling in the pit of her stomach is hard to digest. She shouldn’t be here and she wants to leave , but she digs her heels into the ground under her to stop herself from fleeing. She needed this. They needed this.

“ Hey , ” Is all she says for a while. She hasn’t seen them in years and it’s all she can muster. She shoves the swing beside her as a welcoming gesture for them to join her. “ Bet I can still go higher than you can. ”

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@throatkissed​ ♥️’d for a starter

𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄. Looming like the shadows , dark eyes piercing into the man before him , disdain written all over his features. His sigh shakes his bones , each joint in his body relaxing with an exhale that lifts burdens off his shoulders. But as soon as the tension is relieved , the fire is ignited. He sees red , fingers curling into fists at his side if only to keep himself from wrapping them around the other’s neck. “ Explain this , ” His voice holds weight ,  booming and yet chillingly calm. When he speaks , it’s like his tongue wraps around each syllable , dousing it in poison before it slips past his lips. 

“ What happened here ?? ” This time he’s louder , seemingly growing in size but an illusion that drops within the blink of an eye. “ What fucking happened ?? ”

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hi so a bitch feels mad rusty and i can’t seem to tackle drafts because of that. so y’all wanna give this a LIKE and i’ll make you a short starter. i’ll come to you for muse or reply in the comments please !! two muses i have yet to add but can be requested are kovu ( from lion king 2 ) and my rich spoiled child mia. 

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Merry Chrysler to all those who celebrate ❤️ I hope the year brings y’all joy and light ✨ and to the bitches like me who don’t do crismus hope y’all enjoy your day off and happy new year 🌟

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syncronistics·:

for @disconnectng·· /// mia !

“ we’re doin’ just peachy, i promise, ” rhett drawled to the reporter. as soon as the laptop was shut and the reporter was away, though, the easy smile fell from his face. he hated pretending, he hated lying — he hated all of this. it was baffling that this could be beneficial to his career, but the ratings didn’t lie. he and mia were the dream celebrity couple. people wanted them, wanted to be them. except they were believing in a lie. it made him feel sick. still — “ ready to lie through our teeth at the premiere tonight ? ” he said it with a grin, mirthless, and he let out a huff. she could play pretend at this better than he could. he was sure they both knew it. “ we’re going to have the times of our lives. ” the roll of his eyes was unnecessary, but he couldn’t help himself.

𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐒 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐊 the entire time the two had eyes on them. Every now and then a soft giggle would leave her lips and she’d rest her cheek against his shoulder like nothing else in the world mattered besides them. Isn’t that what they wanted to think ?? So just before they wrap up the interview, she presses her forehead to his arm, a dreamy sigh that cuts short the minute the camera went black. 

Like a switch flicked off, she untangles herself from him to lean back in her chair, phone pulled out instantly to see what the next big rumour about them was. His voice catches her attention, brows furrowed as she squints at the star. “ Uh duh – literally what I signed up to do. It’s just business, honey. ” ‘It’s show biz baby’ is what she was going for, but the thought leaves her head as she soon as it had entered. She’s quick to turn her phone screen to him, tapping at the latest picture of them walking down the street with fingers interlaced. A much more pressing matter than his internal dilemma. “ We can fake laugh all we want later , but don’t I look fat in this photo ? Why do the paps always make you look so good ? Are they just jealous of me ?? ” She nods to herself as if confirming her own inquiry before groaning – bored already of social media – as she pushes herself off the chair.

“ So anyways, what were you saying again ?? Something about why you care too much again ? “ This time it’s her eyes that are rolling as she walks over to the nearest mirror to make sure her hair had stayed in place during their interview. “ You’re an actor Rhett, isn’t this your job ? ”

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ofelegies·:

@disconnectng.     gets a holiday starter!        ❄.

Her first Christmas with the Blakes had been one for the books. Her grandfather was big on the holiday and thus passed on his Holly Jolly Gene to Margaret once she became a Blake. Everything with the Blakes had been wonderful and would have been picturesque had she come from the orphanage unscathed. Life in the orphanage was–  haunting. From the various nights she spent waking up in peculiar places to the dark nightmares she still suffered whenever she fell into a deep enough sleep. Still, it could have been worse. She could have been stuck back there like her best friend. Living without Ava had been difficult but now they were older and Ava was coming over. Her grandfather’s bookstore was almost done being decorated, Margaret just had the tree left once she finished with the lights. Looking out the window she was framing with Christmas lights, she spotted a familiar face. “AVA!” she shouted excitedly before spinning around out of the window to grab her tank and hurry outside. “Ava! Ava, you made it!” she cried happily immediately pulling the brunette into a hug, a smile splitting her face in two. “Merry Christmas! Welcome to Harrisville!” she chirped pulling back to look at her childhood friend. “I saved the tree for last, so we could decorate it together. Come on!”

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐊𝐒 𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐘, wondering if it came from the bite of cold or the heat radiating off the twinkling lights that seemed to wrap around every corner of the house they could cling to. Doe eyed and star struck, she stares down at the welcome mat under her feet, collecting snow that melted off her boots like a mother soaking up the tears of their child. Something about the bookstore felt alive, filled with warmth and security. A tight embrace in the form of walls and floorboards. The last time a building had felt alive was the orphanage, a burdened soul whose gasps would take the breath out of their occupants’ lungs. The thought immediately has her feeling hollow, and the telltale sign of her nervousness kicks back in as she chews incessantly at the skin on her lips. It’s the sight of Margaret framed by the light behind the open door that has her worries melting instantly, weight lifting from her shoulders as she melts into the embrace.

“ God, I missed you so much Mars, ” The words sound like they’ve been sitting in her chest for years. Had it been that long ?? Her grin mirrors Margaret’s – maybe even wider – as she’s invited in. “ I don’t think I’ve ever decorated a tree before, ” She trails off, quick to chime up again when she has her arm intertwined with her friend. Ava didn’t like to linger on her own misery. “ But !! I couldn’t think of anyone better to do it with. ” A pause as she takes in her surroundings before turning back to look at her friend. “ How’ve you been ? How’s life been ?? How much have you missed me ? “

[slimetony]

*doing a tarot card reading* uh oh… this guy has a sword… better watch out for that…

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   the haunting of hill house    sentence meme.

   episode 4 - 6

they never believe me.

you believe me, don’t you?

when i was a kid, my brother taught me how to spot faces in clouds.

and i mean… that fucked me up pretty bad.

it’s normal for kids to have imaginary friends and nightmares.

we could have a heck of a yard sale.

big boys know the difference between what’s real and what’s imaginary.

that one doesn’t exactly keep me up at night.

i know we’re all going to have a lot of feelings about that.

we’re not in a relationship.

how the fuck do you expect people to get through this without friends?

i just wanted to make sure you were okay.

i’m gonna fix this.there are moments you kind of remind me of her.

the only other person that believed in me like that was you.

nothing left to do except maybe fill this place up with kids.

i mean, you know the definition of insanity. doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.

when we decide to get clean, it’s not because we expect it to be fucking exciting, you know?

you ever seen someone in withdrawal?

just because you care about someone, it doesn’t mean they won’t burn you.

thirty days clean so you can make me feel like shit again.

it’s taken me ten years to get ninety days clean.

i’ve been called a lot of things in my life, but “fearless” is not one of them.

i was always a scared little kid, and i thought i’d get braver as i got older, but i didn’t.

any addict alone is in bad company.

listen, i know i fucked up.

please, please let me come back.

they say she’s a nightmare, but she’s real.

if she comes back, you come find us, okay?

i was planning on waiting until the end of your visit to ask you out for coffee.

i’m gonna have to get used to that, but i like it.

it’s perfectly normal to want to find something to blame.

don’t worry. i don’t expect you to believe me.

i’m not supposed to have things that are fragile.

use your cup of stars. insist on your cup of stars.

can we have a tea party?

i’ve been having a hard time sleeping in that house without him.

i need to get well before i go in.

it’s just you and me. that’s it.

i always believed in you, you know that?

we all just need a little help sometimes, right?

that is not the way you help an addict.

i am feeling serious fucking concern.

i thought we might get drunk and fucking cry.

you look worse than you did four months ago.

he’s not exactly impressing me and i know what the fuck i’m talking about.

i’ve got your back, but i also have my limits.

you never cared about anyone more than yourself, and that’s sad.

my family is just like any other family; we don’t always agree on everything.

you’re supposed to protect me, but you say the meanest things to me when i try to tell you.

you don’t come in here and embarrass me like that.

are you off your meds?

you don’t get to just start smashing up our lives because you’re transitioning into a new treatment.

this was not the time or place.

the problem is that you haven’t confronted your past.

how can a house, just a collection of bricks, wood, and glass, have that much power over people?

i don’t know what i saw.

you should get some sleep. you’ve had a rough night.

it’s just a carcass in the woods.

we were going to have a tea party.

we always knew. we always believed you.

i’m so sorry that we fought.

it’s time to wake up, sweetheart.

in movies, they always say that they look like they’re sleeping. she doesn’t look like she’s sleeping. she looks dead.

you did a really good job as usual.

you might want to slow down. it’s going to be a long night.

please. don’t fuck this up.

she was always trying to get all of us together in one place. someone should’ve told her she didn’t have to try this hard.

still not a hugger?

if it’s all the same to you, maybe we can save this conversation for a little later.

if you were married, you’d know that sometimes people need a little room.

i’m drinking every time i feel like punching something.

it’s not like we were really talking each other’s ears off before that.

this is his coping mechanism. he turns into a waiter.

you weren’t in bed. where’d you go?

i had the strangest dream.

you guys hear a scary noise?

but you know what storms do? they pass.

stay down here and stay away from the windows.

you wearing those gloves to bed now?

they’re not here to hurt us.

it’s okay, we’re totally safe.

this house has been here for a long, long time. it’s seen plenty of storms and worse than this.

i was holding her hand the entire time.

i know you’re scared.

i won’t let anything happen to her. to any of you guys.

all words are made up at first.

i know those stories ‘cause i was there for those stories.

i’m trying to drink her back to life. would you like me to stop?

you know some religions won’t let you be buried in their cemeteries if you kill yourself?

she knew the price the rest of us pay when someone does that, and she did it anyway.

i don’t know why she didn’t feel like she could talk to me.

there’s nothing she was going through that wouldn’t have been okay.

we’re all aware of how you like to hold back information.

we’ve all got questions and i think it’d be swell if you gave us a few answers for a change.

any psychiatrist worth their shit would’ve kept her on a much shorter leash.

she wasn’t worried about herself, she was apparently worried about you.

why do i need protection from the truth?

you’re entitled to your anger.

it’s very generous of you to allow me to feel my anger.

what else am i entitled to while you’re being so fucking generous?

you might want to check yourself before you start talking about the truth.

she’s drunk. i’m just pissed.

you took all that paranoia and craziness and you mass-marketed it.

you were happy enough to exploit all of us for some blood money.

you don’t know what i felt. and you don’t know what i feel. and i am allowed to process that any way i want to.

don’t touch me!

i have enough of my own grief. i don’t need yours too.

you’d have to be a real stubborn bitch not to, so.

you don’t get to lie to me, and live off me at the same time.

if i were you, i’d get off that high horse before i fall off.

if you were me, you wouldn’t be such a fucking asshole.

do you have any idea how much you’ve humiliated me?

i can’t look at either one of you right now.

i need some more vodka.

you think this is cute?

i don’t know why she’d go anywhere else by herself.

i don’t want to upset anyone any more than we’re already upset.

anything i did, i did it for a very good reason.

i was screaming and shouting and none of you could see me!

don’t do that ever again.

i’ll never let you go again. i promise.

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i need this.

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The warmth of the summer nights’ mold perspiration into beads that trail down his spine, lodging between grooves where skin meets bones. Every so often, an insomniac driver passes by the gaping entrance of the car wash, peering at the two men circling around the beat down Corolla with hose and rag at the ready. At some point, the taller of the two ends up on the hood of the car, legs crossed and arms grasping at the bulky sweater hanging off his body – shivering. He peers up at the fluorescent lights that flicker every so often, blanketing them in darkness within the eerie self-wash station. It smells like gasoline and chlorine and smoke. 

He always smells smoke. It’s suffocating.  

Hugging his knees to his chest, he blinks hard in an attempt to focus on the man lazily wiping the windows of his car. His motions are groggy and Jason wonders if he’s all there. Is he ever all there? Were any of them?

“Why do you even bother?” When he speaks his voice seems to travel through a tunnel as the sound of chattering teeth swallow his words whole. He blows into his hands in an attempt to warm up frigid fingers, the friction between calloused palms doing little but drying out the scarce moisture left on his skin.

He’s met with dark eyes that mirror his own, distant and yet focused. Kahlil doesn’t have to speak for Jason to understand. Periods of silence were their mode communication because sometimes the truth weighed down their tongues, and neither had that energy anymore. “Why do you even bother?” He asks again; as if that adds clarity to the first time he had said it. This time he can hear himself, and he’s sure Kahlil can as well. It’s evident with the heavy sigh that releases all the tension from his body.

He’s melting away and no one knows whether it’s from intoxication or exhaustion that has him leaning against the side of his car. Freshly washed soap seep through the thin tee shirt. He looks up at the vessel of his friend, or whatever was left, and can’t help but crack a grin. Brief moments like this when he was talking to Jason rather than everything else that plagued him were infrequent. Kahlil had grown to cherish them.

“You think I’m gonna drive around with dirt all over my ride?” He doesn’t offer any other explanation for why his car was covered in such filth when they lived in the heart of a bustling metropolitan. Jason doesn’t ask. It’s not like he’d remember after they made it through the night. The deterioration of his memory had started young and worsened as the years – and the terrors – dragged on.

Another lapse of silence has him going back to scrubbing the sheen back into the vehicle far from saving. When he has his head under the driver’s seat he hears a mumble. Popping his head back out he looks up at the man expectantly. Another second of stillness.

“I meant with me.”

Jason wonders if Kahlil was still high with the way he stares blankly at him. There’s nothing behind those eyes. No sign of confusion, anger or regret. All the emotions that constantly swam in his head were absent in the other’s. It’s as if he hadn’t even heard him.

But he hears him cry. 

Wail out as if he was stabbed through the heart and clutching desperately for the last bit of his life. Kahlil has him by the ankles to hoist him down and back into the passenger seat of the car, careful not to buckle him in. Not with the way had almost choked last time. They’re driving away at 4 am and anyone passing by in the middle of the night shoots the vehicle a look of concern as the pale face of a boy presses against the window, tear streaming down his face. A look of ghastly horror as if he’d seen death himself.

Kahlil writes it down in his notepad when he’s home and has put Jason to sleep after four hours of keeping him away from anything that he could put him in danger.

3 am. Self-service car wash 3 blocks away. Said he saw the girl with no eyes again. Gave him meds. He’s asleep. Or dead. Check back at 9am again.

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                      LIFE IS LIKE A BOX OF CHOCOLATES .

indie   selective  multi-muse  ft  predominantly  female  muses  because  we  support  our  local  girl  gangs .  a  whole  box  of  flavours  ranging  from  many  ocs  ,  greek  mythology  muses  ,  totally  spies  canon  muses  ,  &&  haunting  of  hill  house  inspired  babes  .  loved  on  by  tas  . cred . 

          YOU NEVER KNOW WHAT YOU’RE GOING TO GET .

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Dropping the following muse ( & reasons why / mini rant )

Yonghwa

This is a long rant with a bunch of triggering topics, so feel free not to read. I just had to verbalize why this took me so long to do and why it bothers me so much.

So uhh for anyone who’s plotted with me, or attempted to, with Yonghwa, you’ll realize that I strived to make him an incredibly realistic serial killer. Hence why he’s based off of so many real ones. I love love LOVE true crime stories, and serial killers and their psychology always fascinate me. However, with a serial killer comes some heavy truths about who they are as a person. So for those who have spoken to me about Yong know that I tried to get into his head every single time I wrote out a response, and that’s why I got real drained every time I wrote out a reply. Because he’s a lot. He’s a misogynist, has disgusting views about women, has disgusting fantasies about women, and at the very end of the day he is a necrophiliac. Mainly because I didn’t have the stomach to outright say that almost all serial killers have sexually abused their victims -- cold hard fact: most serial killers are rapists. I don’t know if that fact in the back of my head is what bothered me so much, or whether the crimes that the serial killers he’s based on bothered me. But at the end of the day, the more I get into his head, the more discomfort he gives me.

As a case study, incredible. Would read over and over again. As a muse to roleplay with -- not only is he very hard to write with because of all these triggers and what not -- but also just uncomfortable. For those who know me know I love blood, guts and gory. i love all things that make your skin crawl, but I think I’ve found my line here. I can’t do this one lmfao. I’ve written serial killers in the past, but never to this extent so now I know why.

So now rant wise, this is for the rpc really. I’ve seen many serial killer muses -- oh so many. And kudos to those who can do the full disconnect between muse and mun in order to write them. But I think we need to be really aware of the tendencies of most serial killers. Yes, of course, you can choose to not have your serial killer be as heinous as all others. Yes, of course, they can be whatever you want them to be. But I don’t think we understand the full weight of their morality and psychology in the rpc. If you can write them unapologetically, hats off to you because I could not. However, let’s please not romanticize them. Please. It’s one thing to be heart eyes at the mere idea of how a serial killer functions ( exhibit a: me and my true crime problem ), but it’s another to ignore the implications of such a twisted psychology of someone who kills humans. They’re not just “trails knife down pale skin” and “calm eyes stare without emotion”, they’re irate, unhinged, and should be terrifying -- at the very least during the moment of their kill. I know in the rpc serial killers are often just described by exactly what they’re doing in that present time, no description of their thoughts and what not. And that’s a great way of writing them, because not writing it like that is what got to me. But that being said, we cannot ignore the thoughts they do have. The way they value -- or really don’t value -- human life. The way their actions have external motivations. 

Idk man, I’m tired and I don’t have the energy for Yonghwa so goodbye my trash son. Maybe another day when I have more energy to put so much into his twisted head, but not today. I can’t do it. Will def miss writing him and you might see self paras here and there, and feel free to cry to me about irl serial killers. But ya girl is drained and this was a v hard decision to make but i’ve made it and we out.  

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📂 @yonghwa;)

Send “📂“ for a random yet completely useless headcanon I have

For the sake of context, I would like to point out that in 𝐘𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐇𝐖𝐀'𝐒 world/lore, the serial killers that he is based off of do not exist. In fact, he – himself – is an amalgamation of all these serial killers. He is Israel Keyes, Charlie Brandt, Gary Ridgway. So now that being said, let’s talk about “kill buckets”. This concept is taken from Israel Keyes are his kill buckets, so entirely not original but a crucial part of how Yonghwa does what he does. Yonghwa is a consultant, and as such, it requires him to travel to a number of countries. He always enjoys travelling, something about being in a plane gives him much joy. So after that plane ride, when his feet land on the ground, he grows anxious. It’s then that he takes this feeling of discomfort and channels it towards making his buckets. These kill buckets are buckets containing everything he would need to successfully execute a murder and clean up its aftermath. Ranging from guns, knives, ropes, to bats and chloroform. Depends on what he can get his hands on in the country he’s in. These are hidden away in a secluded area and are not touched until he’s in the same country again, and his discomfort of landing from a plane is channeled to bloodlust. Sometimes this is within the span of a week, sometimes years. But Yonghwa never forgets where he put his buckets.

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📂 for rani & kahlil !

Send “📂“ for a random yet completely useless headcanon I have

𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐈 is no stranger to the demons that continue to haunt her. And even less of a stranger because she has a peculiar habit of naming them. She tells her patients to let go of the monsters in their head, because attachment will ruin you from the inside out. And yet, she bathes in hypocrisy as she wields her trauma like a shield. There’s no rhyme or rhythm behind how she names the creatures she sees, it’s the first thing that pops into her mind, and the first thing that causes her heart to sink to her stomach. There’s no reason she does it, asides from the fact that they keep popping up and she’s bound to get acquainted at some point or another. However, another fun fact, she’s never seen the same demon or spirit twice, so the naming scheme is pointless. Paranoia even, but useless all in all.

As for 𝐊𝐀𝐇𝐋𝐈𝐋, he has a habit of counting when he works on a tattoo. Never outloud, but in his head. This stems from the hauntings of the orphanage. When he’d frantically scribble the visions they saw, and all the while, counting away the seconds. It’s become habit now, and he requests his clients to not speak to him as he works. Partially because Kahlil is not one for small talk, but mainly because a break in his count is a break in his train of thought. When Kahlil stops counting, Kahlil is done that piece. However, if he is interrupted in his count, his mind goes blank. He forgets what he was drawing, and it takes some time for him to regain his thought process. Sometimes it never happens, even when a template of the tattoo is given to him. Angry customers have stormed out before, but he always rings it back to their inability to keep quiet in the first place.