hello! i’m amy (28; she/her), 18+ yrs experience in rp. foradnama is a selective, independent multimuse blog containing triggering topics, nsfw content, and canons/original characters. low activity. please specify which muse starters/memes are for. (main blog / @galaeus )
NAVIGATION // click below for more information.
RULES
CHARACTERS
WANTED PLOTS
MEMES
INBOX
EASE OF ACCESS // see rules under the cut.
01. I am mutuals only. I don’t mind if non-mutuals dm me!
02. I only write with 21+ muns. I will not follow blogs that do not disclose their age. I also typically don’t follow anime, animated, or animal-related muses.
03. I do not follow side blogs and I also do not really continue to follow muns that constantly remake their blogs -- it’s a personal preference, I just don’t like the ping-ponging of new urls and feeling like nothing will ever stick.
04. If you wish to unfollow me, please hardblock! Softblocking makes things awkward. If I unfollow, I normally hardblock to avoid any re-follow confusion.
05. If you wish to add myself or my portrayals to your connections, affiliations, or overall blog information, please ask first to make sure this is okay. I find it creepy when my name is out endorsing blogs I never gave consent to.
06. I don’t enjoy drama. I block blogs involved in anon hate, excessive negative ooc posts, trauma dumping, guilt tripping followers, etc.
07. This blog is friend-driven, meaning the more we chat ooc, the faster I tend to respond to threads! Sometimes organically friendships don’t work out, and that’s okay. But please don’t hound me for replies if you see me quickly responding to threads I have muse for and I’ll be respectful of your time as well :)
08. Plotting is key! I enjoy it more than writing tbh. I post a lot of starter/plotting call opportunities to start plot conversation so trust me, your ideas are always welcomed and I don’t mind reaching out if my posts are engaged with!
09. Sometimes I drop threads without telling my partner. It happens. However, I love to multi-thread and jump around plotted timelines or creating AUs, so let’s boogie.
10. I do not auto-ship and only ship with friends. If you would like to ship, it will most likely be a slow burn through lots of ooc plotting. It’s very obvious on my blog that my chosen ships fuel my soul, though, so @ me..
11. I write heavy violence, death, physical/mental/emotional abuse, and other disturbing content. I do tag tw violence, tw abuse, tw death, tw assault, tw suicide. Any other tag, mutuals can ask for. If we choose a plot with dark themes, I will only write it over discord vs. the dashboard. I no longer follow blogs that engage ABO, noncon, or breeding kinks.
Iggy’s words sound otherworldly, like she’s found her head underwater and can’t remember how to swim to the surface. Bad -- according to social media, the fight had crossed over from professional to a dance with suicide. She doesn’t remember wailing on her opponent. Hell, Maeve doesn’t even remember getting to the makeshift medical room in the back rooms.
His voice, however, drags her back to Earth.
What have you done to yourself? So much. Too much that he wouldn’t be proud of, too little in which her own father would approve. Defending a name only helps when you don’t die before it becomes a legacy.
“I don’t know,” Maeve finally speaks, though her throat is hoarse. Through a bloodshot gaze she looks up, surveying the face she once knew better than she knew herself. If he’s disappointed, then she can stomach that. If he pities her? Then she doesn’t want to see it.
ok but who is going to a) write andor stuff with me bc i want to write bix caleen and b) who will give me a ship where i get to finally write my adria arjona oc
The thing about going home is that it often meant being alone with one’s thoughts.
So instead, Martin found ways as often as he could to just be away from home. Some nights that meant sitting in the corner of a bar. Some nights that meant going to the store and buying something he absolutely did not need.
Tonight, of all nights, that meant taking a walk through the busy city streets and emotionally drafting off of the energy of the people around him. It wasn’t exactly the best method for staying out of his own head, but if there was anything that Martin knew how to do, it was staring at any odd thing that might interest him, and the people of the city were certainly interesting if nothing else.
Sitting down at the first bench he happened upon, Martin tried his best not to bother the woman who had already been sitting there, but not long into his people watching he couldn’t help but let slip a thought about a performer across the street.
“Don’t think I’ve seen a real life clown in years. I thought we all collectively decided they were creepy and moved on.”
@foradnama
Sometimes being out here was a good thing: she spent so much time and energy living and breathing her own gym that she forgot how crisp the night air could be. Fresh air, the kind that doesn’t come dirtied with boxing gloves and hand wraps, sweat and tears. Maeve West doesn’t intend to talk to anyone because very rarely do people talk to her; something about a resting bitch face or another.
Yet this person does. When he sits down beside her, the gym owner thinks nothing of it. Public property means anyone can sit anywhere, but she’s sat with her fist pressed to her temple as she leans against the bench armrest, watching. What she’s watching, Maeve cannot articulate.
So the stranger graciously does it for her.
Giving a half-smirk at the rogue commentary, Maeve turns her chin just so to look at him. “We did all collectively decide they were creepy. Some people just don’t listen.”
She nods once to the performer, shifting her weight to cross her legs. “I’ve seen him out here a few times, but thank God he’s never tried coming over this way. Too many precious confetti bombs that could be stolen by rotten kids.”
This could have waited until morning, but there’s something so satisfying about coming home from a late-night shift only to annoying the fuck out of your childhood best friend. Funny how the memories seem to blur now that they finally share a place to call home, yet Maeve has been on edge since the first time she’d seen his face in what felt like eons.
With a closed fist, she doesn’t knock. She bangs once, twice, three times, until the door opens.
“Hey.” Dry. Flat. “Thought I saw the Big Dipper on my way home and figured hey, why Google it when I got a dear neighbor who paid the big bucks to know about it?”
Maeve’s chin tilts up, pointing one finger to the sky. “So? Is it Big or Little Dipper?”
“Yes, Maeve, your match.” There’s no point trying to deny, biting at the inside of her cheek to stop herself from welling up with tears. The real challenge would come as she is watching Maeve throw her body around without care or concern for her own wellbeing. The vitriol spewing from Maeve is swallowed with a tremble of her mouth, Jolene attempting to sharpen her own tongue when it’s hard to be anything but made of soft edges when she is around Maeve. “Of course you can do this, but why does life have to be a constant uphill battle for you? What do you feel like you have to prove anymore? You own TRANSCEND. Why do you still have to participate?”
Sometimes she hates this, how easy it is to double-down and act like the world is out to get her. That Jolene, of all people, would be out to get her when she’s been nothing but supportive -- and Maeve isn’t a stranger to how hard that can be, if not always. Maeve doesn’t shout, instead stewing on the words of her friend with a lump in her throat before throwing a half-hearted shrug. “Because maybe I don’t know how to quit? Maybe I’ve always done this, so it isn’t just about having a gym and my story’s over, Jole. It ain’t just over.”
Leave it to Jovi to make her outright snort in the middle of a public space. “I mean, for once I was nice about saying nothing, but -- someone has to tell Sticky Thighs she’s never going to serve in those Shein cut-outs. Remind me next time we come to one of these things to start serving red cards in every room for fashion offenses.”