NASA
cherry valley forever
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Noah Kahan
we're not kids anymore.
@theartofmadeline
Jules of Nature
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$LAYYYTER
tannertan36
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wallacepolsom
Fai_Ryy
#extradirty
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
Sade Olutola
Origami Around
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PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
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@girlsiren
#GIRLSIREN ⋆˙⟡ selective ind multimuse roleplay blog written by lu. 21+ and mutuals only. send memes (specify muse!) or drop a message if interested !
rules under the cut. roster. memes.
active muses inc . . . ramona st. claire, evan arceneaux, fawn fletcher, the vampire etheldreda, jasper brown.
THE VAMPIRE ETHELDREDA!!!
@girlsiren liked for a starter
divina is not subtle about her double take. her head whips around to the small stage behind her then back to the man behind the bar. a perplexed frown is etched on her brow.
"you were just there." astute observation. surely he's never heard that before. "do you all work here?"
“and you’ve not left your spot,” jasper retorted, head dipping below the bar momentarily to fetch a glass for the customer beside her. he pulled the tap, gaze fixed on divina.
“d’you think these dead-end job coworkers of mine are all capable of so much as staying on beat?” he took a cursory glance; frankly, a few of them did look more than capable of rocking on the stage, but his sights were set on his middle-aged, been-bartending-longer-than-you-were-born coworkers. “well, hopefully my drink pouring abilities are as good as my music. what am i getting for you?”
@girlsiren
mutt's eyes sharply flick back up to reestablish eye contact. he either makes too much, or not enough. he leans heavily towards the former.
"it's ten to four. your watch's fast."
jasper cocked a brow, taking a slow glance at the silver watch on his wrist. it was four and he was gonna call it four.
“real smart,” he scoffed. “anyway. you’re trespassing.” jasper wasn’t exactly not trespassing, but he had the high ground — he was there first. “and you’re gonna get frostbite if you keep shivering out here.”
frankenstein (2025) sentence starters.
‘ captain! can we talk? ’
‘ we cannot keep up this pace without consequence. ’
‘ we signed up for a mission & we will see it to completion. ’
‘ then where does all this blood come from? ’
‘ what is that thing? ’
‘ what does it want? ’
‘ bring him to me! ’
‘ i killed it. ’
‘ how many of your men did it kill? ’
‘ it will come back & kill many more. ’
‘ whether you believe me or not, it will come back. for me. ’
‘ you must promise that you will put me out on the ice & let it take me. ’
‘ what manner of creature is that? ’
‘ what manner of devil made him? ’
‘ i had determined that the memory of my evils should die with me. ’
‘ some of what i will tell you is fact. ’
‘ it was my father who gave me that name. ’
‘ stand by my side & do not leave me. ’
‘ their voices filled me with fear. ’
‘ the man despised us both. ’
‘ ivory does not bleed, [name]. flesh does. ’
‘ she who was life... was now death. ’
‘ all of you, leave! ’
‘ he was the breeze, i was the storm cloud. ’
‘ an idea took shape in my mind. ’
‘ you let her die, did you not? ’
‘ i did everything in my power to save her. you must know that. ’
‘ no one can conquer death. ’
‘ everything you know, i will know. & more. ’
‘ i was born anew that night. ’
i thought i saw you in a dream. ( etheldreda / lucian ) // @girlsiren
across his face, there is a brief flash of intrigue that colours the vampire's features-- that lights up eyes and has the very edge of lips pulled into the starts of a smile. it is gone in an instant, hidden, suppressed beneath the intricate and ever shifting layers of lucian's many masks. but there is still an echo of warmth to be found about the vampire as he looks to the other.
lucian was good at keeping people at a distance, at arms length. a thousand years at this, it came like second nature now. an act that was needed in order to survive. but sometimes, there would be moments like this... moments where he couldn't lie to himself and couldn't deny his curious heart that longed to know people and perhaps one day, to be known in a similar fashion.
"and did i have three heads in this dream?" sharp smile that doesn't quite reach the eyes, but a practised charm that would verge on a kindness and lucian moves, reaching through the very fabric of reality around him, nudging at the magic he feels so deeply woven with, and in a blink there are two glasses floating in the air, fresh drinks for them both.
"or..." there is a more genuine pause now, lucian's eyes lingering-- deep red to meet icy pools and he feels caught in a wondering. was there something just out of frame? "do you think... perhaps our paths crossed before? some other lifetime?"
etheldreda's head sat in her palm like a trophy piece, the ghost of a smile returned. she felt no need to offer a false version of herself, to contort her face into the human shape it was supposed to be. not around lucian. regardless of her expression, a rarely felt enjoyment buzzed in her chest; it made her hungry, like she was reborn a new vampire.
"are you the priest i confess to?" past lives, or what was left of them. etheldreda had been alive so long, decades became different eras. she should have been entering a bird-shaped phase of life by now, or perhaps one of non-sentience, but she remained in her immortal coffin. "the rats i confide in?" she had been alive a little ways longer than lucian, but it was merely numbers now. her eyes seemed to shimmer, gaze transfixed, as though fighting to remember something impossibly buried. had they encountered one another before in some different century, masked by the fashions and essence of a time gone by?
"i was sitting at the perimeter of a forest laden with bodies." dreams, a trick of the mind. how she hated them, and slept so little but remained haunted by them. her mind was too full of memories to rest. "an effeminate satyr spoke to me, garbled tongues that lifted my body off of the ground." her head tilted to one side, almost playful. "his eagan scinon swa leohte swa morgensteorra." his eyes shone as bright as the morning star... she could see it, him, now. the eyes unaging. "do you remember me?"
“ did they bring me here as bait? ” ╰ @girlsiren, FAWN & LUCY.
A MOUTH FULL OF PEARLY WHITE TEETH SHOW, FANGS FLASHING THROUGH THAT GRIN. fawn isn’t bait. there’s worse things, and this might be one of them. JACKPOT! cheers, the sounds of coins overflowing onto casino carpet, someone thanking god for their new bounty … god can’t hear through hellfire, or maybe he simply ignores it. lucy looks over his shoulder, he sees the hunchback of a gambling addict, and he rolls his eyes. this is his doing, and he doesn’t regret it, yet he scoffs at human weakness … “ no. i believe you were brought as an offering. ” and he takes pity upon her … the flash of a past, present, future, the scrawlings of an articulate writer, vows being exchanged between, what looks like, literal fucking infants. and he could heave, he could voice his disdain, but he chooses to compose himself. lucy finds that composure at the bottom of a dirty martini. “ i have no interest in you. i’m interested in your talents. ” and for what? to have a bible written about him? to have someone wax poetic about his evildoings? he has plenty of that. he’s seen it in leatherclad metalheads, greasy nerds with low ponytails, and rebellious teen girls. and it’s all so … lame. he’s showed his kingdoms, he’s tempted the son of god and got curved like a desperate ex, he’s tried to charm his way into getting a little recognition by an apostle or two, but here he is, two crocodile-leather loafers upon tacky carpet, and drenched in the golden glitters of vegas. “ i hear you’re a wonderful poet. ”
when fawn was young, she used draw patterns in the psychedelic carpet while her father would spend his commission paycheck on the slot machines. the security guards knew her by name, which she supposed (as an adult) was nice in the way drug dealers are. "an offering? does that make me a bargaining chip?" with a red winter scarf around her neck, fawn wondered if this entity was nice in the way the executioning vet is. she wondered if she had been taken to this casino because he was playing some kind of joke on her memories, or if the symphony of nostalgic cha-chings were making her mind play tricks on her.
she found her composure in his gaze; it remained a conscious practice, forcing herself out of daydreams, ignoring the whirring inside her head. maybe that was the talent he referred to.
"wonderful? i think it was the new york times that called it a profound acknowledgement of human disconnection that doesn't always land." fawn laughed, though she could recite the article from memory. she was tempted to ask have you even read my work? but that seemed both excessively vain and futile to the purpose, even here. the next question on the tip of her tongue was always, did you like it? do i have any value as a poet? as a person? her fingers tugged on the strings of her scarf, the betrayal of her nerves. "so, i'm at a casino because you want me to write about you? or all this?"
permanent plotting call!!
here ye here ye!!! give a like & i will reach out or just send me a message if you’re feeling brave! (open whether we have written already or not, i love yapping.)
@silkplay as lauren: i could throw a car farther than i'd trust that rat fuck.
ramona offered a studied look before pressing the orange of her cigarette into the soft skin of lauren’s bicep. “not with those little arms, you won’t.” she broke into a laugh, girlish and giddy, stamping her feet with delight. ramona had this way about her that made even the cruel acts of a highschool superiority complex seem innocent. perhaps she was too often seen as the eighteen-year-old girl posing half-naked on the telly to be taken seriously; not that she often got away with that when she was speaking to lauren.
“you say that about every man.” because it’s true, she could hear lauren’s voice ringing through her skull before she could get the words out of her mouth. “his daddy bought him out of an embezzling investigation one time.” lie. ramona got her daddy to do a little stalking but beyond the insider trading and sorority rituals, he seemed like a good person (by her standards). “that makes him the least interesting person in new york… well, it would if he didn’t speak like mr. darcy and have stacks of books in every room of his house.” she flashed a grin of sparkly veneers. “aren’t you excited to meet him at lucretia’s? you’re coming to that, aren’t you?”
mun questions, have you ever accidentally given a muse a trait from yourself without realizing it? (number two from @bnjmin)
all the time. i hope everyone does this and i'm not excessively vain. sometimes i'm writing and realise i'm processing something. i guess it's about being a girl, facades, childhood, fears of the future and the dark and god and everything else. also i realised they all smoke cigarettes which was not intentionally close to me but i am british so.
(number thirteen) do you tend to write long or short replies without thinking about it?
it's massively mood and reply dependent but they're probably on the longer side. if the reply is dialogue heavy, i'll probably give a longer response; if it's emotionally heavy, it will definitely get rambley, i'm heavy handed with figurative language. i enjoy short responses though! i don't think there should be limitations.
(number twenty-five) what’s your guilty pleasure genre to write in rp?
fantasy and supernatural! i think it's tricky because i prefer to keep things grounded in reality, i like the othering and the ability to relate things to the real world, but i find fantasy so fun and the supernatural so exciting. (also, obviously, romance.)
@curseplay: i'm in your corner, champ. knock 'em dead.
“you’re not in my fucking corner, paris. you took a wrong turn and ended up at a dead end.” so maybe he wasn’t in the mood for a pep talk. jasper needed his mum to smack him across the face. he needed to lean against a wall and push until his brain popped into place like a plastic water bottle. paris harrow of lesbians and better music than him was not the cure to pathos. the stage loomed large and his forty minute opening act was pitiful by comparison. second opener, too; not good enough to open, never going to effectively hype the crowd up for the thing they came for. “nobody gives a fuck out there for this. will you slap me across the face, paris? would you? please?”
mun questions, what’s a piece of advice you’d give to your past self as a roleplayer? (number eight from @joyousdefunct)
this is a tricky question. i think the answer is something about losing the recurring shame i’d fall into about it as an invalid writing habit. i’ve been roleplaying since i was maybe eleven? i found an account on an old website dated back to then. i’ve only realised in my adulthood how integral that was to my ability as a writer now.
(number fourteen) what’s a detail you always try to slip into your writing?
this forced me to have a little flick through. the detail might be cigarettes, but i’d like for it to be location. i cannot write in a void. i like for characters to exist in a place that has meaning and that i can interact with, i think it sets the tone without having to say it, and it means i can always move our characters around if the conversation dries out.
(number twenty-two) what’s a piece of media that permanently changed how you write?
answered!
@vitalphenomena as claudia: we don't have time for torture. i'm hungry.
etheldreda was not hungry, she was bored. that was all eating meant to her now. a vampire so ancient needed little more than the moon to remain in their purgatory of life. she could not stir herself into rage that excited; love was so transient, sorrow like the seasons. this thing put something like feeling in her, the fauntelet vampire, but she couldn't place it. perhaps this was the only reason she lifted her head at claudia's voice, spitting rope out from between her teeth.
"i thought you would like to play." her voice was unkind, not with malice, just misplaced intentions. she had tied up a boy for the evening, hoping they might be able to enjoy the meal for a few hours without the fuss of screaming and capture. she softened, "we have all the time in the world, my sweeting." with a claw-like pinky nail, she stabbed the boy's sweating thigh, watching the blood begin to pour down his leg like syrup. "drink, then, but do not get ahead of yourself." etheldreda sucked her pinky finger dry. "just a taste, it might give you the appetite for sporting."
where she sat cross-legged by the boy’s ankles, etheldreda beckoned claudia to her lap, fingers keen to hold back her hair. it would be a shame to make her lovely curls all mucky.
mun questions, what’s the most emotionally intense thread you’ve ever written? (number sixteen from @evilanew)
what springs to mind is a thread between a couple of emotionally tortured brothers. i love writing sibling relationships and every reply felt incredibly personal. however, me and a partner wrote a fantasy thread that we completed over the span of a year (lockdown was good for free time). i cried reading the death of her knight oc!
@janedoez: nice sweater. where'd you lift that?
a flinch at her upper brow. pinched, too quickly for the unobservant to catch. all face, no words. fawn had never lifted anything in her life. in fact, the very thought of it discomforted her; not the act, but the getting caught. unneccesary guilt worked its way into her unfixed gaze. "it was my dad's. it shrank in the wash." a glance at the traffic lights, a glance at calamity; an invitation to cross together. "you dress cool. where do you... get your stuff?"
mun questions, what’s the most unhinged late-night idea you’ve ever actually written? (number nine from @niratias)
nsfw warning. the witching hours… harking back through various images… (blueballed angel oc wanking and waxing biblically on the bathroom floor)(peanut butter jar… penis butter jar…) nothing springs to mind really.
IT WASN'T HIS IDEA. She needed the smoke, the fresh air (though he does smirk at the ironic contrast between those two things). He doesn't mind. He followed willingly. He's been attentive to Fawn for a few weeks now. Made small talk when he could. He felt brave, at the time. Now, he's concerned he was just one of many—easy to reduce to a blur in the crowd. Usually, he would be satisfied with this ability to blend in effortlessly. Here, with Fawn, he finds himself wanting to be a whole person. Tangible and distinct.
It's strange.
He chuckles, puts up a hand dismissively but semi-politely. "It's fine. It's fine." He's not sure what the polite thing to do would be, either.
I gave you a look when I was on stage. Cullen is very conscious of controlling himself. He does not perk up. He scratches his cheekbone idly. He's trying to force away a flush. "Yes. Yeah. Uh, Cullen.—I didn't want to assume," he adds hastily. He is referring to the look and to her memory—he worries she had forgotten his name. Which is fine! But he wants her to remember it, going forward.
Cullen listens carefully. He isn't quite following, but he smiles like he understands. "I've never been married, but I can imagine that's, uhh. Unpleasant." He tries to sound sympathetic.
He's quiet. He has to admit: "I can be a little pretentious. I'm no postmodern poet, but. You've been warned."
"fawn," she replied easily. "cullen. like edward. i remember." fawn took another drag of the cigarette, blowing smoke away from him. the cold was refreshing, though her fingers were quickly turning pale outside of her pockets. "i bet you hear that everyday." identifying an ash tray atop a lonely bench, fawn met his gaze before walking across to it. a silent invitation. she weaved through fellow patrons with ease, little thing. a brick wall beside the favoured bench, she leaned.
a laugh broke her face in two, white teeth cared for dutifully in her recent years. (she had internalised the belief that her mouth was disproportionally big against her other features after mother told her she should smile without teeth in photos.) a cigarette-wielding hand covered the lower half of her face quick.
"do you want to? i'm very familiar with the process. let's get married. it might be the inspiration i've been needing."
hidden depth, she felt his orange rind beneath her finger nails. "yeah?" her smile grew, lips closed. "what are you pretentious about, cullen?" it'd be a crime to punish him for it. she, herself, was the most pretentious of them all.
