Misplaced Lens Cap
Sweet Seals For You, Always
KIROKAZE
cherry valley forever
@theartofmadeline
Not today Justin
hello vonnie
No title available
occasionally subtle
𓃗
blake kathryn
d e v o n
Andulka
sheepfilms
we're not kids anymore.
Monterey Bay Aquarium
The Bowery Presents
ojovivo
Product Placement
Kiana Khansmith
seen from Malaysia
seen from Malaysia
seen from Canada
seen from United States
seen from Russia
seen from Bangladesh
seen from Germany
seen from France
seen from United States
seen from Slovenia
seen from Vietnam
seen from Bangladesh
seen from Bangladesh
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from T1
seen from Switzerland
seen from Austria
seen from United Arab Emirates
@pcperthin
dree, she/her, 25+ / low level activity indie rp blog. literate & selective. please shoot me a dm if you’d like to write with me! happy to explore with my existing muses or come up with new ones together ♡ ( plotting mostly done on d*scord. )
rules · muses · wanted · pinterest
B.I (비아이) — Keep Me Up, 2022.
Miyeon x Espoir
you should be addicted to shutting the fuck up
You wanna fuck me so bad it makes you look stupid
SOFT. @pcperthin
men are pathetic. but the women who love them? even worse.
Keep reading
today marks his thirtieth day of sobriety. he’ll cheers to that, he derides as he tilts his whiskey neat.
see, it’s hard to take them seriously when they’re always spouting bullshit in those pathetic meetings, always so uselessly concerned about the greater meaning of things when there aren’t any to be had. like today’s focus being on the origin of things, how one’s boyhood bleeds into their adult vices—or something like that.
( pity he was drunk for most of it. )
so he doesn’t remember much from before he hits eighteen—before these anti-fun club meetings filled with a bunch of nobodies, visits to that good-for-nothing ass-kissing joke of a doctor, and grandmother’s revolting spittle all the fucking time—but sitting here now in this club, he remembers one thing. he’s six when father takes him to a zoo, and he doesn’t remember much of it, but he remembers the pride. the mane perched atop skull rock is surrounded by his underlings, and he’d realised then how people crowd around power.
for the most part, he’s used to it. how his ears ring all the fucking time because chanwoo can’t tell the difference between a scream and a whisper, or how hansol’s lopsided grin pisses him off but he keeps him around just to have someone to pick on. until he catches a pretty blonde eye fucking him from across the club and juntaek’s fresh buzzcut blocks his view when he chortles, and he starts looking a lot like a balding fucking vulture.
a kettle of vultures circling a mane, what does that make him? that festering, fractured thing dangling within his rotting innards, what does that make him?
“shut the fuck up.”
chul glances at him, brief and threatening, but by the time he glances back, eunsol comes into view. and there’s nothing more he hates than how his body reacts to her, how he catches himself sitting up as he takes a quick gulp of his drink like he needs it. he tells himself he keeps her around because she’s pretty and perky and that’s what he likes about her, but there’s something about the way they fuck, when his hands are around her throat and he feels her pulse against his thumb and it makes him feel like he’s in control. but then she’s on his lap and he’s parting his lips for her like a fucking dog, and he wonders what that control really means.
“i’d love to hear all about it, love,” he says the words but they’re absent of meaning, and he likes it this way. because the truth is that when they spoke of the greater meaning of things, all he could think about was her. a fist around his dick as she sighs and flicks the limping tip. “…but that requires talking—” he slips his hands under her skirt like there isn’t a crowd around them, digs his fingers into her flesh as he pulls her closer like he owns her, “—and you know i don’t like talking.” and he cups her jaw and pulls her lips back to his.
SIMPLE ACTIONS
hello, I'm a new RP prompts blog! my first post is just some simple actions; plenty of room for you to decide what the reasoning or emotion behind the action is. feel free to make edits to better suit your muse, but please don’t edit or add on to the original post 💛 nice to meet you all!
[COLLAR] - sender reaches out to smooth down / fix receiver's collar.
[RUFFLE] - sender ruffles receiver's hair.
[BRACE] - sender braces receiver under the elbow.
[FOREHEAD] - sender feels receiver's forehead.
[HANDS] - sender takes receiver's hands.
[NECKLACE] - sender fastens a necklace around receiver's neck.
[SHOULDER] - sender lays a hand on receiver's shoulder.
[SIT] - sender guides receiver to sit down on a chair / bed / wall / etc.
[LAY] - sender guides receiver by the shoulders to lay back.
[TUG] - sender tugs receiver's hand in an attempt to get them to follow.
[WAIST] - sender rests a hand against receiver's waist.
[SUPPORT] - sender pulls receiver's arm over their shoulder for support.
[DRINK] - sender sets something to drink down in front of receiver.
[FOOD] - sender sets something to eat down in front of receiver.
[BACK] - sender rubs a hand up and down receiver's back.
[COAT] - sender zips / buttons up receiver's coat for them.
[CHEEK] - sender brushes a thumb over receiver's cheek.
[NUZZLE] - sender nuzzles into receiver's neck.
[HUG] - sender tugs receiver in for a hug.
[CHIN] - sender tucks receiver in under their chin.
[LIFT] - sender lifts receiver off the ground (or attempts to).
[CARRY] - sender carries receiver to another location.
[HALT] - sender gently pulls receiver to a halt.
mobiivs:
if she tries hard enough, it’s almost easy to forget she’s homesick. the lights blinking along the skyline aren’t so different from barges on the midnight horizon, returning to their district. a shade different, but saeri’s feet are bare against cold metal and if she squeezes her eyes tight enough, it feels like she’s back on the lighthouse, waiting for the boats to come in. the filtered air from this high up isn’t any less unfamiliar, but it cuts just as sharp as the sea breeze can.
and part of her district has come with her, she reminds herself, her smile soft when she finds beomseok behind her. “i’ve only had wine once,” saeri replies, looking down at the glass by her feet. her father makes wine glasses and champagne flutes, but they rarely see the liquid gold they’re meant to hold. it’s rich, thick as blood and darker than, not at all the sort of spirit she’s snuck tastes of. the moonshine of their district is sharp and clear, and sweetened over stolen giggles with kitae. but there’s no moonshine in the capitol, only the glare of opulence and a burn when she swallows her wine. “i don’t think i like it very much,” she admits.
she knows his reputation, the whitewater dazzle of the ocean shaking up the capitol, leaving a shipwreck of treasures in his wake. but beomseok, up close, looks more like the tide at the end of the day to her, that inescapable pull to the ocean. the space between them is as thin as a fishing line, and she can feel the warmth beneath that unbroken, fragile surface tension. it keeps her there instead of pulling away. saeri wonders what the tide has seen, ebb and flow of conversations in the capitol. wonders if the tide misses home—and tries not to wonder if there’ll still be a home to miss, come tomorrow.
“the view is pretty, isn’t it?” it’s a relief the city isn’t cruel in its architecture. it helps to stave away the fear, as does the wine. cold and bitter, but not unkind. “i’m grateful.” even though she knows they save that for the games.
“to you, too,” she adds, turns to the once-victor and her eyes soften. there are colourful corals tucked into her hair. to represent their district, the stylist had explained. fragile and fickle, like the memories she’s trying to hold onto. saeri slides a piece of one from her hair and holds it out to beomseok, her hand stopping before they make contact. a gift—or penance—of sorts. it feels futile to ask to be remembered, or to pretend they might return to the lighthouse, but. the word hangs between them, spoken unacknowledgment. “visit the lighthouse more often, then,” saeri asks of him instead. her eyes are bright, reflecting pools of city lights and twinkling smiles, and memories unshed. “you looked happy there.”
the capitol’s darling wears a dimple on his left cheek. it comes with every teasing smirk, bright as the sun they liken to the twinkle in his eye. and his marbled likeness stands here—heart of the capitol’s museum, victors exhibit—all ten feet and six inches tall. but in person, the things to remember are the sweet nothings he whispers in one’s ear, that faint glimmer in one’s eyes as they eagerly take a bite of his hook.
park beomseok always knows what to say. they know this much in the same way as they make him of rubble, when he’s always been the ocean’s tide.
and what this means is there’s always a part of him that they’ll never get to see. it’s little, but it seeps right through the gaps of their fingers like saltwater, and in this way, he tells himself that they’ll never truly have him. this part of him is raw, sure, lacks the structure they’ve come to know, but it’s the same part of him that would come home to four’s beach on that rickety fishing boat, well past midnight. he’d chuckle in relief as he embraced kitae, and he’d see her then, an arm’s length away, smiling softly back at him.
it was that little part.
“it wasn’t the lighthouse.” he holds his features in a frown, accompanies it with a small headshake. it’s guilt, like how she’d been there every night, an understated, steadfast comfort to both him and kitae, and yet he’d been so quick to toss her aside. how he’d bet all his coins on his brother and doomed her to die, no matter the warmth of her smile against his saltwater shiver, no matter the twinkle in her doe eyes that reminds him too much of ocean and moonlight.
“saeri, i haven’t—” so here lies the capitol’s darling, choking on the gravity of his confession. he places his wine glass precariously atop the balcony’s banister and runs his fingers through his once well-kempt hair, eyes darting past her gaze because he doesn’t know if he can look at her. to stare into her endless doe eyes, or to catch the sickening sight of his reflection in them, “—there’s no more time—”
he shuts his eyes. pinches the bridge of his nose and there’s that composure coming back, the one that the capitol finds familiar. “just… just come back, okay?” the rhetoric comes out soft, defeated, as his fingers slip gently around her extended wrist, “just promise me you’ll come back.”
he places his hand beneath hers, wraps her fingers around the hairpiece.
“you can give me the coral then.”
She was so tightly wrapped in herself, her own misery and dark thoughts, that she was blind to everything else.
Redeeming Love, Francine Rivers (via lovecleanses)
in light of recent events, fuck
KIM TAEHO, 33 “the person within me has abandoned me.”
the Bridgertons + sibling dynamics per episode 2x02, “Off to the Races” [all]
some things are not so easily forgotten.
like the paradoxical nature of saltwater and how sometimes, it can feel like a third degree burn running down the larynx of one’s throat. like realising that human and fish are not so different, how one can run a trident through its chest and still watch its muscles twitch long after its heart has stopped. like that first touch of a woman from the capitol, her fingers running dangerously down one’s navel and how it can sometimes feel like saltwater, cold enough to bring about the shiver and yet it burns all the same.
like how the sound of ocean waves rushing ashore once soothed him, but now, all he hears are screams, gurgles, and that liminal deafness to follow when his head is pulled underwater. he learns, then, what it means to love and hate something at the same time.
see, beomseok’s not typically the sort to reminisce, but a ghost from the past brings back memories like the violent waves of a rising tide. and as he watches her, brushed locks falling down her pale shoulder like draping gossamer, he realises then that he, too, had been only a child, far too young to be dancing so intimately with the spectre of death. why, it had been at this very spot that he stood, leaning against the balcony as he begged for the capitol’s skyline to distract him from death’s kiss, a saltwater stain pressed upon the back of his left ear like a promise. breathtaking as the view is, it hadn’t worked then, too.
“you’d think,” in this pitiful way, he tries to be there for her, approaches her the way the capitol’s taught him how to—that is, weaponised distraction from the brutalities of their hellish president, “that with all the wealth the capitol has, that they’d be able to produce some better tasting wine.”
his gait is an easy saunter, wine glass balanced precariously between the base of his fingers, and that hint of a tease gleaming at the corner of his lips feels like that saturday night on that beach, all those years ago. they’d been a lot younger then, but she’d always possessed that twinkle in her doe eyes. ocean and moonlight. it begs him to look away, so he tips his glass pointedly towards the skyline, “at least the view is nice.” and there’s this rustle that exists between their picture perfect moments, when he’s finding his spot beside her, propping his arms against the balcony and he’s close enough to feel her against him, even without the skin-on-skin. he holds the wine glass at the tip of his fingers, studies the reflection of city lights against its curvature as his voice lowers to the sorts of whispers that hold a secret, “well, nothing like lighthouses from a beach, but…” the trail off begs an apology, so he offers it up in the form of twinkling smiles to accompany a fond memory.
( after all, is it not fitting to reminisce with a ghost? )
@mobiivs
HWANG MINHO, 23 “told you it was real.”
JADEN ‘DONGMIN’ PAGE, 22 “are you bored yet?”
MIN JAEHEE, 21 “all the rumours are true.”
