Claire Keane
Love Begins
h
wallacepolsom
No title available
Aqua Utopia｜海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
roma★
ojovivo
trying on a metaphor
Monterey Bay Aquarium
Mike Driver
Acquired Stardust
d e v o n
No title available
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
Keni
YOU ARE THE REASON
Game of Thrones Daily
art blog(derogatory)
祝日 / Permanent Vacation
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Israel
seen from Canada
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Japan
seen from United States
seen from Kazakhstan
seen from T1
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
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seen from United States
seen from Singapore
seen from Singapore
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@jelliouss
𝐉𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐒 ->
independent all - female multimuse blog, mun is 28 and she/her pronouns. i've been writing for a long time, just have been taking a bit of a break. there will be NO SMUT written on this blog.
all muse info and faces are found collected in pinterest boards. 𝘊𝘓𝘐𝘊𝘒 𝘏𝘌𝘙𝘌! FADE TO BLACK / SMUT RULES. OPEN ROLEPLAYS.
Open: any Connection: anything really, he's based in the Mission Impossible universe, pls read his bio first Muse: Kian Fischer. 35-43. Former CIA, current Syndicate member.
"Uh-uh. I wouldn't try anything stupid if I were you." Kian smirked slightly as he looked at them, gun aimed in their direction. "I'm sure you're smarter than that."
"Hey, hey, hey now." Celeste raised her hands before pushing them forward a little to try to calm him down. "I don't know what you think is going on here, but I think you have the wrong girl."
open to: m/f/nb connection: one of quin’s clients plot: your muse is a powerful criminal and had hired quintessa to be their criminal defense attorney. they visit her office for [insert reason here] quin's bio page
“I mean no disrespect when I say this but I don’t necessarily enjoy drop-bys. I’m more privy to appointments as I am a busy woman.” Quin sat back against her leather office chair, harsh eyes penetrating the person in front of her. “What is it I can help you with?”
"i'll try not to take too long," svetlana had already eased herself into the chair opposite of quin. her legs cross, revealing pristine black heels as if they were polished every day. "you told me you would get them off my back, yet here we are." she lifts her shirt a bit to reveal a slice from a blade in her soft skin, bandaged and sewn back together. "you came highly recommended... it's unfortunate."
heading off for birthday lunch with my grandparents <3 be back later. some of the open replies are in my queue and will be posted soon!!!
open to. ; everyone
" the apple pie isn't going to change the more ya' stare at it so hurry up and decide what you want, darlin'. " don't be fooled by her cute southern accent, she is impatient and beyond done with her shift today.
apple pie does sound good. with ice cream? hmm. the more she looked and examined the rest of the menu, she seemed to find herself trailing off in her mind. the woman's words and the specific accent she had brought her back. "uhm. a cheese burger and fries, ketchup and mayo only." call her a child, but veggies & her never mix. (scarletta's pinterest)
hey everyone! if you're good with fade to black / chill rps, LIKE this so i can go through your opens! <3
muse: kavi singh (he/they), early 20s, panromantic demisexual, biology student & twitch streamer
"you were in my dream last night," kavi admitted at first, not realizing how odd those words sound until they were already said. "not in a weird way, before you ask."
"dream, huh?" there was a pause and a sip of her coffee before she spoke again. "did i win something in it? was it cool? did we get into trouble? lay it on me. give me the story." (magaly's pinterest)
He swayed involuntarily, just standing there. He was seconds from passing out, and he probably would have, but she had the damnedest way of setting him off course. Wordlessly comprehending where to go, he moved to the table and grasped at the underside. The gun was in his hand, but as he tore it away from the duct-tape rig, all that ‘fluff’ she’d spouted unrelated to its location made him stop and think, his mouth hanging open.
The layout was small, but he still made a wrong turn before finding her on the loveseat. His eyes were ringing and his ears static—yes, in that order—but he had to tell her. He clutched the long profile of the shotgun to his chest and just… slumped to the carpet.
“I never thought…” He crawled, slinging the shotgun over his shoulder, and dragged himself on his belly over to her blanket-covered legs. It felt like he was moving in slow motion, but he reached her. When he did, he pulled himself up by her legs and stopped. He couldn’t move anymore. He clung to her legs, screw it if she thought he was insane.
“… you were… shoot me. And I… not… shoot you…”
She takes a swig of the beer again, trying to keep herself from hiccuping from her harsh crying session. She was still staring, she had to. Anywhere else she'd look would cause more tears to pool and fall down her cheeks. Bethany didn't want to look back at him, she knew he had pulled the pump shotgun out from under the side table when she kept her keys and purse.
"I'm not goin' to shoot you. I would never shoot you." Her eyes were pulled from their view of the night sky down to him as he pulled himself up by her legs and held her. Without a thought, her hand came to rest on his head, gently threading her slender fingers through his hair and over his scalp. "I'm so sorry Derward... I - I know you're going to run off now. I'd recommend you too, because he's not going to stop." she muttered, frowning. "This is how it always goes."
"I find someone who I really care about, who treats me really nice." A few tears fall again but she doesn't wipe them. "And Trevor either runs them off, or kills them... maybe you should leave San Andreas, find somewhere else. It's ..." she's sobbing again now, hand having put down her beer and came up to cup her eyes, her opposite hand still resting on his head. "T - This ... I don't know."
He rode the rest of the way to her apartment in a suffocating silence. Only an hour ago, his mind had been filled with clay-colored dreams, Diet Coke, and the gentle urge to touch her face. Now, he just wanted to rub his torment in it.
He stayed behind in the car. The moment she vanished from sight, he ground his teeth so hard he heard the faint, sickening chip of enamel. The tears came then—bitter, devastating sobs that racked him to the point just before blacking out.
But the grief snapped, replaced by a jagged mosaic of facts: the car, the maniac, the addiction pretext. They were dealers and movers. No matter how dainty she was, people like that kept weapons within arm's reach.
He ransacked the car. Glove box, dashboard, under the seats, the trunk. Nothing. The apartment, then.
The car door slammed as he broke into a run, taking the stairs to 2A in bounds so desperate they only served to stun him further. He threw a reckless kick at the apartment door; it was a punishing blow to his bones, rattling his entire skeleton as well as the door in its rusting frame. He burst across the threshold.
“WHERE IS IT?” he demanded, wild-eyed. “You have to have one!”
Bethany had gone into the kitchen to rummage through her fridge for something to drink. The bottle of Corona seemed like the only thing she could find in this shit hole of an apartment. She never really comes down here. Only when selling nearby. In her fist held a few tissues, black and wet from her makeup. She can't believe this happened. This is why no one could ever get close to her. A quick fuck is all she ever gets, because everyone else always goes missing.
She ran from the kitchen when he broke the frame of the door, the white paint crackling door swung open. Bethany watched him, frown deep on her features. "Have what?" she sniffled. "Whatever you think I'm going to do I'm not going to do it." she cracked open the bottle and took a swig to help her drying throat.
"There's a gun taped under the table there by the front door, take it. I'm not going to do anything to you with it." she shrugged and sat down on her second hand loveseat. The sound of old r&b music came from the radio in her bedroom, something she always kept on even when she wasn't there.
Pulling a blanket over her lap she stared out the window of the balcony, looking up at the sky. Trevor ruins everything... "Take it and go if you want..."
He lingered over his cigarette for a few beats longer than he wanted to, reluctant to crush it out the exact second Bethany extinguished hers. Doing so would have looked deliberate, and he was already being scrutinised for not belonging.
A deep sigh formed in his throat, but he let it die before he could release it. Her words stung. Even knowing she meant them as a compliment, they gave him the exact confirmation he needed to leave. He didn’t know this woman—the woman currently holding his hand as if he were someone dear to her. It was that simple. So why did walking away feel like an excuse?
“I’m not from here, that’s true," he said. “I’m not high. That’s true, too.” He hadn't meant to imply he lacked kindness by leaving it out of the conversation, but touting his own goodness felt like admitting, yet again, that he was entirely different from everyone and everything around him in this harsh landscape.
He ground his cigarette against the sole of his shoe, having passed up a good piece of concrete a few paces ago. But that was only one burden he needed to cross off his list.
“Plans after the Monster?”
Energy drinks always meant plans. Even if the plan was nothing more than staying awake.
"Don't ever get high," Bethany said sternly as he spoke about not being high on his end. "It's not fun." Yet she does it nearly on the daily, frying her brainwaves. The only pick me up she gets is energy drinks and some disgusting take out food, mostly pizza... Trevor liked pizza so she usually did too. He liked mushrooms on his. She always picked those off.
"No plans." A simple answer. "I guess I was just going to drink it and sit down somewhere. My dad isn't home yet. There's no telling when he will be and he has he only key to the trailer. So I'll probably find a good place to sit out here, leave the cool air of the night desert hit me and maybe nap. Energy drinks make me sleepy sometimes." And she had already been up for a couple of days. She had gone to sell a few pounds of coke for her dad earlier in the week. Though she only gets 20%, she ends up spending it on silly things... Like Monster Energy drinks.
"What are your plans?"She asks, "Certainly not go to the store to get a Dr. Pepper and stay with some girl that's coming off a cocaine high." She laughed at herself a little, groaning before finding a old bench to sit down on by one of the roads they were walking on. She's tired. From lack of sleep, and coming down from her high.
Okay, the muscle car was badass but right now he was fighting for his life and he couldn’t just start fanboying over a sick ride. Besides, he suspected that it had been bought with dirty money—he wasn’t judging but—
“FUCKING SECOND HAND SHOES FUCK TRIED TO KILL ME!”
Dee pounded the roof, his knuckles bruising deeper each time his fist flew back to rap against the felted-over steel.
“Where the fuck are you taking me, anyway. huh???” He was almost spastic, sloshing against the door and the console as he furiously lifted and rolled parts of his clothing to expose old testimonials of Trevor’s terror upon his skin, and though normally Dee would’ve been gentlemanly about his body, he just didn’t care if she saw pieces of his dick or ass or whatever. She was a big girl, if she put up with a guy like Philips.
“LOOK! Look what ‘dad’ did to me!” At first glance, it was a tattoo. But closer inspection, it was a humdinger of a scar. Twisted, complicated, a massive centipede of hate and violence. Oh, it had to have hurt.
She's snubbing, little sobs escaping Bethany as she drove. "I - I'm taking you t - to my apartment." She drove quickly through the city streets, running red lights as she drove just as if she was a drag racer or pro street racer. She keeps her eyes away from police officers, easier said than done but she was quick with it.
Brown eyes glance over towards Derward as he began to shed his clothes, seeing the large scars on his body. When he said it was from Trevor, it made her sick to her stomach. Trevor was a bad guy, a really bad guy. Honestly, she was surprised that Derward even stood a chance against T. If she was a drifter, she would easily be dead in minutes.
"I'm sorry..." she muttered before pulling under a carport, getting out of her car and she lets out another sob. She felt terrible. It was all Bethany's fault. "Room 2A upstairs... I'll uh... I don't know. Just come up if you want. He won't find us here."
happy birthday!!!! 🎂
thank you so much!!! i really appreciate it!!!!!!!!! <3 <3 <3
it's my birthday. :) everyone has to work today so i'll be around here since i don't have anything else to do so i'll be here for replies.
five mins until my b-day :)
happy birthdaaaaaaaaaay meeeee
five mins until my b-day :)
It took him a while, but eventually he noticed her bell bottoms. Ah. She tripped on her goddamn pants. Yeah, it all makes sense to him now. Her style was different than the gold-happy tourists and regular desert dwellers he’d seen in his time in San Andreas. It was too hot for him here, considering he didn’t have a steady supply of AC and that drinking water was scarcely free. He could buy one of those straws that filter water to make it fit for consumption, but he’d have to have like 30 bucks; all in one place.
Long story short, he’d been planning to ditch San Andreas soon, but now he was contemplating sticking around another day or two—just to make sure Bethany didn’t pass out in the dirt. Leaving would only mean worrying, and escaping worry was sorta the whole reason he’d hit the road, back when. That, and the fact that he couldn’t keep draining himself for a parent who couldn’t even remember his name half the time… When she did remember, it was ‘DJ, get my lighter!’ or ‘Durh! … Yeah… Should’a called ya’ Durhward!’
“I like the shoes,” he coughed, but what he really wanted to say was: Do you know WHY you do it? Why... she chased whatever high. What she felt she had to escape, over and over, and maybe what—besides her so-‘70s style—was dragging her down.
Hand brought the cigarette to her lips a few times before she stubbed it out on a nearby piece of concrete. She yawns for a moment sucking in some clearer breath as she walks with him. She's holding his hand pretty tight. Bethany doesn't really feel good now. But she knew that a monster would perk her up more than likely. She lived off of energy drinks and cigarettes. She loved to party too, has a lot of "friends" that she went to clubs with in the city, but she also had a lot of the hillbilly and biker friends that she just drank and snorted with. Trevor hated that even worse. The bikers were his enemy.
"Oh, thanks. My dad bought me them for my birthday once. Second hand but it's whatever." They had scuffs all over them, more likely wore but some sweet dressed prostitute. He had encountered.
"What are you doing in San Andreas? It isn't really the place for someone like you. Meaning like, kind and not high off of something weird."
