Kiana Khansmith
untitled
tannertan36
Not today Justin
š
No title available
EXPECTATIONS
Fai_Ryy
taylor price
Xuebing Du
No title available
Andulka
izzy's playlists!
Love Begins
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
Noah Kahan
Cosimo Galluzzi
Cosmic Funnies
Keni
No title available
seen from Brazil
seen from Pakistan
seen from Vietnam
seen from Malaysia
seen from Libya
seen from United States
seen from Bangladesh
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Russia
seen from Australia
seen from Bangladesh
seen from Malaysia
seen from Germany
seen from Malaysia
seen from Uruguay
seen from Saudi Arabia
seen from Canada
seen from Belarus
seen from United States
@precicusmcments
Reblog if it is totally, 100% fine to send anonymous comments to your muse pertaining to the events in your RP
Example, if your muse kisses another muse, it is totally fine for you to get on anon and congratulate my muse, or to say that the other muse isnāt right for them. I will answer ic.
If the mun involved in the threads with me wants to send anons acting like someone else feel free to do that as well!!
{ ā x Eleanour x}Ā ā:
She looked up from the letters, folding them neatly before putting them in the inside pocket of her coat. She mustāve looked a mess. She went straight from the bakery to the pub, almost like she knew if she had gone home first she wouldnāt have gone back out. That wouldāve been the case. She had taken the beer, nodding, a silent thank you before she took a sip, eyeing him, thinking of what to say and how to say it. She knew who he was. If she didnāt she had either lived in the woods, or was new. But even new people had heard gossip of the Shelbys. Just returned from war. They were part of the lucky few. Of course she wasnāt bitter, not at all. She knew what losing family, in both the literal sense of death, and in losing both of her parents to the devilās desires.
She set the glass down, looking back at the table before she spoke. āYou knew my brother?ā Her voice soft and almost at a whisper, almost like she was afraid if she asked the question any louder sheād break. There was hope, she called it hope but in reality it was denial, that he was still alive, by some force. But very few, if any, people survive a shot to the heart. She knew that if she had read anymore that night, or said anything else once she was in the comfort of her own home sheād break down. She forgot how exhausting work was, in as little as a month. Imagine if she had gone on longer without work, she would probably be hopping from place to placeāmaybe even contacting her parents. She still hasnāt told them. Not that she intended to not tell them on purpose, she just wasnāt ready to hear or face them again after over twenty years of no contact.
Sheād down the rest of the beer in front of her, closing her eyes for a second as she leaned into the booth. āI miss him. Things havenāt been the same. All I get is pity, everywhere I go. I donāt liked to be looked at like Iām a kicked puppy when Iām trying to grieve the loss of my brother.ā For some reason, whether it be the couple of beers she drank there, or the opium she smoked on the way, whatever gave her courage to finally speak her mind came out. āThey know Iāve handled myself for four years without any man. Itās different now though, because heās not coming back.ā
āI had hoped he was just missing. But then I realized, if he was missing, why would they have all of his belongings sent back, all they could find on him.ā Sheād frown, her head slumping against her arm. Perhaps some of the ways she handled grief, made people pity her, or they thought that she shouldnāt have acted so childish, or brashly at work. Perhaps she shouldāve asked for another week before going back.
Tommy was about to turn back around and return to his brothers, very well aware that a single beer wasnāt going to solve the problem, but unsure of what else to do. The wounds from the war were still raw, talking about it impossible and far too painful. Not that any of them would admit that. o the habit of drowning it in alcohol - or other things - had quickly become a habit for many of them. Even him. But at the same time he felt like he owed the girl something, and that was, ultimately, what stopped him from walking away.Ā
Standing there in silence for another few moments, Tommy then slowly nodded his head. āYeah, he, uh.. He was in my unit.ā Most of his men had survived and returned, but not all of them. And it was the ones that hadnāt that haunted him the most. Always there, always on his mind, questioning him why he hadnāt protected them as he had the rest. A question he knew heād never find the answer to. And that was something heād have to live with for the rest of his life. It was his punishment for failing them.Ā
Clearing his throat, he pulled out a cigarette, put it between his lips and lit it for the sake of having something to do.Hearing about grief was nothing new to him. Not only did he hear about it from everywhere, but he carried his own fair share of grief. How many men, comrades, brothers had he lost? None of them had been blood family, but they had been family nonetheless. The only family heād known for the past four years. And each and every one of those losses had hurt; until heād shut down emotionally, leaving him cold and distant now.Ā
āHe isnāt missing.ā Hearing the truth was going to hurt, he knew. But it was the truth, and living in a definitive state, rather than with hope thatād never amount to anything, would be easier in the end, he figured. āI was there when he died. It was me who packed his stuff. Heās not coming back.ā
"I know that. It was just wishful thinking." She'd look up at him, crossing her arms over her chest as she sighed softly. "Sure we're not in ancient times but we've still got a long way to go when it comes to medical equipment and such now don't we?" She hoped that hadn't come off as harsh.
She'd fidget, trying to distract herself from the stares and silence, by messing with her fingers as she looked at the glass. "I almost wish I told him he couldn't go. He'd still be here." She'd bite down on her bottom lip, letting her hair down. She was done for the day anyway. She had thought about getting home soon, before any of the fighting, if there was any fighting that night started. "He was a good man. I was surprised that there weren't lines of women at our door when we were younger. Guess if there was one good thing our dad passed down to him was his looks. Everything else he gained, work ethic, loyalty. He sure as hell earned himself."
Nobody had to really talk about what happened in the war. She didn't know much, not that she really wanted too. But she could see it, in the eyes of most men she'd happen to pass on the way to work, or home. Like they were lost, somewhere else even though they were back home. She never left, but that's how she felt at least now. Maybe, just maybe, she'd be willing to listen to him if he had more stories about her brother and how he was.
ā„Ā Ā šššššššĀ Ā Ā [Ā Ā šĀ Ā ššššššĀ Ā ššššĀ Ā ]Ā Ā .
designedĀ forĀ musesĀ withĀ aĀ bitĀ ofĀ unresolvedĀ tension betweenĀ them ,Ā Ā butĀ canĀ beĀ usedĀ forĀ anyĀ circumstances youĀ seeĀ fit !!Ā Ā
ā”Ā Ā ššššĀ :Ā Ā addĀ Ā āĀ +Ā šĀ āĀ Ā toĀ reverseĀ theĀ roles .
šĀ :Ā Ā myĀ museĀ discoversĀ yourĀ museĀ readingĀ aĀ diaryĀ entryĀ thatĀ myĀ museĀ wroteĀ aboutĀ yours .
š Ā :Ā Ā yourĀ museĀ paintsĀ myĀ museāsĀ nails .
šæĀ :Ā Ā myĀ museĀ accidentallyĀ moansĀ whileĀ yourĀ museĀ washesĀ theirĀ hair .
šĀ :Ā Ā yourĀ museĀ helpsĀ myĀ museĀ getĀ dressedĀ afterĀ myĀ museĀ sustainsĀ anĀ injuryĀ orĀ illness .
šļøĀ :Ā Ā ourĀ musesĀ areĀ forcedĀ byĀ circumstanceĀ toĀ shareĀ aĀ bedĀ forĀ theĀ night .
š§¼Ā :Ā Ā yourĀ museĀ bathesĀ mineĀ afterĀ myĀ museĀ sustainsĀ anĀ injuryĀ orĀ illness .
šĀ :Ā Ā ourĀ musesāĀ handsĀ brushĀ asĀ theyĀ walkĀ sideĀ byĀ side .
š¢Ā :Ā Ā yourĀ museĀ picksĀ mineĀ upĀ Ā &Ā Ā carriesĀ themĀ overĀ theirĀ shoulder .
šļøĀ :Ā Ā yourĀ museĀ isĀ watchingĀ mineĀ sleep ,Ā Ā whenĀ myĀ museĀ suddenlyĀ wakesĀ upĀ Ā &Ā Ā catchesĀ them .
š¬Ā :Ā Ā myĀ museĀ stealsĀ aĀ cigaretteĀ Ā (Ā Ā or lollipopĀ Ā )Ā Ā fromĀ yourĀ museĀ Ā &Ā Ā putsĀ itĀ inĀ theirĀ mouth .
šĀ :Ā Ā ourĀ musesĀ slowĀ danceĀ together .
š§¦Ā :Ā Ā yourĀ museĀ walksĀ inĀ onĀ myĀ museĀ changingĀ clothes .
šĀ :Ā Ā yourĀ museĀ brushesĀ myĀ museāsĀ hair .
šĀ :Ā Ā ourĀ musesĀ areĀ mistakenĀ forĀ aĀ coupleĀ byĀ someoneĀ else .
šĀ :Ā Ā yourĀ museĀ noticesĀ thatĀ myĀ museāsĀ shirtĀ isĀ openĀ Ā &Ā Ā goesĀ toĀ āĀ fixĀ itĀ āĀ .
šĀ :Ā Ā myĀ museĀ seesĀ yoursĀ allĀ dressedĀ up .
šŖĀ :Ā Ā myĀ museĀ isĀ Ā āĀ forcedĀ āĀ Ā toĀ sitĀ onĀ yourĀ museāsĀ lapĀ Ā (Ā Ā dueĀ toĀ aĀ lackĀ ofĀ chairs ,Ā Ā faulty seatbelt ,Ā etc .Ā Ā )
šĀ :Ā Ā yourĀ museĀ makesĀ aĀ suggestiveĀ jokeĀ butĀ myĀ museĀ actuallyĀ actsĀ onĀ it .Ā
I got locked out of twitter rp version of Eleanour and have to wait until tomorrow to try to use my phone number again. Thankfully I can use it this time.
im literally so terrified of someone being a part of my life for a long time bc i know itās gonna hurt like a bitch when they leaveĀ
{ ā x @precicusmcmentsā x}āā
Continued from here
The Garrison, one of Small Heathās pubs, seemed to have become somewhat of an escape for many of them. Every night theyād find their way there, him and his brothers and a handful of others they had served with, and theyād drink until Harry told them he was about to close, oftentimes sitting together in nothing but silence. They mightāve been home, but their minds were still at war.
Tonight was no different from any other. Tommy and his brothers had just entered the pub and ordered their first round of drinks, when he noticed someone at one of the tables. It was rare for girls to come here to drink, so it made her stand out like a sore thumb. But it wasnāt only that that drew Tommyās attention to her; he knew her, or rather, he had known her brother. They had served together, had dug countless tunnels together, in fact. At least until a set of German soldiers had breached through one of their walls and ambushed them, shooting him in the shoulder, and her brother square in the heart.
He became painfully aware of the wound in his shoulder that hadnāt quite healed yet, and the guilt that started to creep up in him. Her brother had been one of his men. Heād been responsible for him, and he had failed him. Contemplating for a moment, Tommy then drained his glass and ordered another round, as well as a beer.
Grabbing both, Tommy walked over to her table and sat the beer down in front of her. For a moment he considered sitting down, but thought better of it in the end. Especially when he recognized what she was holding in her hand. It had been him, after all, who had packed his belongings. He also considered just leaving again, without saying anything at all, but knew he had to say something. āYour brother was an exceptional man, you know. He saved my life, and many others.ā
She looked up from the letters, folding them neatly before putting them in the inside pocket of her coat. She must've looked a mess. She went straight from the bakery to the pub, almost like she knew if she had gone home first she wouldn't have gone back out. That would've been the case. She had taken the beer, nodding, a silent thank you before she took a sip, eyeing him, thinking of what to say and how to say it. She knew who he was. If she didn't she had either lived in the woods, or was new. But even new people had heard gossip of the Shelbys. Just returned from war. They were part of the lucky few. Of course she wasn't bitter, not at all. She knew what losing family, in both the literal sense of death, and in losing both of her parents to the devil's desires.
She set the glass down, looking back at the table before she spoke. "You knew my brother?" Her voice soft and almost at a whisper, almost like she was afraid if she asked the question any louder she'd break. There was hope, she called it hope but in reality it was denial, that he was still alive, by some force. But very few, if any, people survive a shot to the heart. She knew that if she had read anymore that night, or said anything else once she was in the comfort of her own home she'd break down. She forgot how exhausting work was, in as little as a month. Imagine if she had gone on longer without work, she would probably be hopping from place to placeāmaybe even contacting her parents. She still hasn't told them. Not that she intended to not tell them on purpose, she just wasn't ready to hear or face them again after over twenty years of no contact.
She'd down the rest of the beer in front of her, closing her eyes for a second as she leaned into the booth. "I miss him. Things haven't been the same. All I get is pity, everywhere I go. I don't liked to be looked at like I'm a kicked puppy when I'm trying to grieve the loss of my brother." For some reason, whether it be the couple of beers she drank there, or the opium she smoked on the way, whatever gave her courage to finally speak her mind came out. "They know I've handled myself for four years without any man. It's different now though, because he's not coming back."
"I had hoped he was just missing. But then I realized, if he was missing, why would they have all of his belongings sent back, all they could find on him." She'd frown, her head slumping against her arm. Perhaps some of the ways she handled grief, made people pity her, or they thought that she shouldn't have acted so childish, or brashly at work. Perhaps she should've asked for another week before going back.
Meet your Mun
Name: Kat
Age: 21
Location: US(Central Time Zone)
Likes: Historical Dramas. Wartime Dramas, Good Cartoons(Bob's Burgers, Rick & Morty, Solar Opposites)
Years of Experience: 5+
Platforms I Use: Tumblr, Twitter
Other Things to Know: I am a full time college student. I'm studying history education and theatre. I will also be working part time come this fall.
[ @alreadybrcken ]
The Garrisonāalmost a second home. It was where she had been for at least the last hour. She knew it wasn't the best place to read her brother's letters that he never got to send to her, but she felt more comfortable in a place full of strangers than she did alone in her own home. It had been her first day back to work, after a month away. She was surprised that they had let her come back. Though, she was certain it was out of pity. It was the look she'd gotten from most as of late. Word traveled fast, too fast for her liking. She should've been at home, sleeping, preparing for another day of work but she felt like she should celebrate it the one way she knew how. To get drunk, and or high enough to be able to sleep comfortably. Though, after reading the contents of her brother's letters, she thought getting high would be the better choice. What she had heard on the radio or read in the papers was no where near what he had written about.
Now, this wasn't the first time she had to support herself on her own. She had too, ever since her brother went away to war and, sadly never came back four years ago. Four years ago, he left to defend their country, what did she get back? Her letters, a couple of his, his medals, which she saw no point in, and his dog tags. The only way she knew for sure it was her brother. She had hoped, for the first week he was just missing, and they gave them to her as just a precaution, a sick precaution. But a week turned into weeks, and then it turned into a month. She knew she couldn't sit around longer.
She took her usual booth in the back. Nobody looked her way or bothered her, well except for the barmaid and she didn't bother her. She was just doing her duties. She was greatful for the lack of attention. She kept her eyes either on the table or seat in front of her, not wanting to start any fights.
WŠ½ere Are TŠ½oĻ Dear BroŃŠ½er, WŠ½en I Need YoĻ MoŃŃ?
Men had been coming back to Small Heath in waves. She'd never seen the Garrison so packed, well she had before the war. She'd written to her brother, a couple weeks ago. But she never heard back. That might have been due to her not being able to check the mail. She had taken extra shifts at the bakery to keep her distracted.
Her brother had been appointed major in the fourths in France. Of course she knew he might not have had time to write back, or even open the letters she sent. She at least hoped he appreciated the sweets from work she'd sometimes send out. There was a nagging voice in the back of her mind that told her that there was a small chance he wouldn't be on the next train. She fought against it. She knew he was strong. He couldn't leave her. She'd bascially become an orphan if he were too.
Their parents left them when she was five and he was seven. They were two years apart. Although, to her, he seemed decades older. Perhaps it was because he was forced to grow up and raise her, because their parents were too much of a coward to do so. Their mother left them due to their father having an affair, and their father left them for the woman he cheated on their mother with. She never even thought of how she would react if he never came home. If she got the damned letter that would change everything. That was in part because, she hoped she'd never have too. He was so excited when he told her he was off to fight. But even then she was afraid, even then that voice in her head seemed to taunt her.
She had finished her shift that day at the bakery. Everything seemed odd to her. Like people knew something she didn't. Or maybe it was her mind playing tricks on her, that was it. Her mind was just messing with her. One last what if situation before she'd walk through her door and see her brother. But she knew that wasn't the case. Somehow the air felt heavier today, and it wasn't the smog from the factories or the smoke from people smoking cigarettes in the streets. Of course, she had heard stories of wives turned widows and families losing a son. She hoped, she still had a small bit of hope that wouldn't be the case with her.
Yet when she approached her house, a man she didn't know in uniform, clearly a soldier had been knocking on her door. He didn't seem to notice her behind him or that it was locked. "Excuse me sir. This is my house. I would think one would know that if someone doesn't answer after the third knock pattern, a person isn't home." The air around her seemed like it had started to wrap around her. "Who are you here for?"
She'd watch as the man turned around, it wasn't her brother. Surely he was at the wrong house, and she could point him in the right direction. He would look at her, an expression she couldn't quite read etched on his features. "You must be Miss Davis, am I correct?" She'd nod, furrowing her eyebrows. "Yes. Why?" She watched as he pulled out a small envelope, along with two chains and medals. "These are for you. I'm sorry for your loss. But major Davis lost his life at the battle of the Somme. He wanted me to give these to you." Her hand started to shake as she took the envelope, trying to remain strong. She thought that if she remained strong that, maybe this was just a dream, a really bad dream. "He went quick right?" She'd stutter, of all days she decided to leave her cigarettes and snow at the house, it had to be today.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It had been a week. A week since she's gotten everything. A week since she'd been to work. A week since she'd last seen the letter that was still left unopened and shoved in the back of one of her dresser drawers. She thought, that if she didn't open it and read it, that she'd believe this was some test. Some nightmareish test that God was putting her through.
She knew it wasn't true though. If God were real he would've made sure her brother had come home. She knew she had to read the letter some day, although the contents in it were explained by the man who gave it to her. She thought this was some sort of karma, what for she didn't know. All she knew was that the matches sitting on the bedside table seemed to taunt her. Maybe if she burned one, the heat from placing the light match underneath her skin would wake her up.
ā¢Peaky Blinders OC
ā¢Mature Content Warning
ā¢Ships w/ John, or Thomas w/ Chem
ā¢ 21+
