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@roseburied
Buried in grief, drowning in flowers — roseburied ( formerly intcashes, follows from thekillercoffeeaddict ). Independent, low-medium activity, semi-selective multi-muse featuring original and canon characters. Written by Beth ( 26 - she/her ).
Carrd.
Warning. Everything is under construction.
Warning. This blog features heavy topics including death, violence, past se.xual assa.ult, ab.use, and ptsd. Tags will be used accordingly.
The 'yes or no' game.
Send my muse "❓+" alongside harsh hitting questions, scenarios, anything question-related really, but they can only answer with "yes" or "no". Nothing more, nothing less.
Just a little fyi in case I suddenly stop responding to discord or ims for a few weeks, am much slower than usual with replies, or start posting more vents. Real life is highkey pretty fucked up for me rn, but I'm still gonna try to be here cause I do want to write and truthfully I need the distraction. Thank y'all in advance for being patient with me ❤️
Just a little fyi in case I suddenly stop responding to discord or ims for a few weeks, am much slower than usual with replies, or start posting more vents. Real life is highkey pretty fucked up for me rn, but I'm still gonna try to be here cause I do want to write and truthfully I need the distraction. Thank y'all in advance for being patient with me ❤️
✦ HE DOESN'T NEED THE ADDITIONAL VENOM from her to know this is a bad idea — hells, half their escapades could be termed bad ideas by dint of tav simply existing in their periphery and hatching harebrained schemes, wandering into places all by themselves, picking up the first dangerous fucking item their eyes landed on. for all tav's battle-readiness, teddy feels as if, sometimes, he's being led around by the hand of a very determined toddler. they make him feel ancient and gory; their kindness wears him down.
jez, eternally flinty, no soft side to speak of, was an odd balm on his nerves. he doesn't know if it was kindness that pushed her to agree to this particular jaunt, but — he's grateful. the gratitude makes him nauseous just thinking about the possible ways this could all fail, but he makes himself a stern promise: whatever the cost, he would make sure jezabel escaped alive, intact, to complete her own mission in baldur's gate. he owed her that, and more.
“you won't die,” he snaps, meaning it sincerely, “we've beaten ethel before, and we'll do it again. there has to be a way to put down a hag forever but — think about it. if we can corner ethel, we can bargain: we could ask her anything. isn't there anything you'd want an answer for? at all?”
Isn't there anything you'd want an answer for? The words reverberate in the hollow of her chest, swimming as treacherously as the tadpole past her vision. She thinks of her mother's smile, her sister's laugh, her brother's hand ruffling her hair, her father's loud steps on the stairs. Her movements slow and then stop, her eyes closing as the anger and grief and answers she can fucking taste fill her mouth sharp as blood. For a moment, Jez finds herself living in the fantasy that Teddy has promised.
And then she remembers fucking Mayrina and her dead fucking husband.
Her eyes snap back open, teeth grinding her mouth into a tense line. Still, she feels too exposed, her edges now dulled as a deep exhaustion bows her neck and cheats the aggression out of her voice. " You can't promise that. " Without the bite, she sounds more than tired, she sounds almost forgiving. Maybe, for him, she wants to be.
" Of course I have something I want fucking answers for. Who fucking doesn't? But I'm not trusting them from a gods damned hag, no matter if she's screaming them as you disembowel her inch by inch. " Jez forces herself to resume packing, shoving a couple extra knives and health potions into her bag. A stack of the papers strewn across her bed makes it in there too, abruptly, like she can't stop herself from bringing them. She doesn't meet Teddy's eyes. " When we corner Ethel, you fucking end her. And on the way back, you buy me a drink and... and we make a stop. Deal? "
Late to this trend but finally put together some character bingos <3 please feel free to send even just for fun
Would anyone be interested in doing the little bingo / are you x character’s type late lol or should I wait for the trend to come back around?
I'm craving hurt/comfort but will also take deep emotional angst
For every "♡" I get I'll give a tip on how to win my muse's heart.
Saw a bunch of "I'm an (impulsive, forgetful, etc) roleplayer posts going around and wanted to say! I love to reply to everything in my inbox and drafts, even if it takes a while for me to get muse or inspiration for it. I very rarely delete things and prefer to wait for the right idea to strike to write my replies.
All that being said, I very much realize that I'm an outlier! And I do not expect everything I post or reply to will be turned into a thread. The only thing I do ask though is that if you want to drop a thread, please just send me a quick message so I'm aware. I totally understand dropping things for whatever reason and I don't mind it at all, but I do appreciate the heads up or the opportunity to talk it out especially if it's a concept we (or just me lol) were really excited about.
Saw a bunch of "I'm an (impulsive, forgetful, etc) roleplayer posts going around and wanted to say! I love to reply to everything in my inbox and drafts, even if it takes a while for me to get muse or inspiration for it. I very rarely delete things and prefer to wait for the right idea to strike to write my replies.
All that being said, I very much realize that I'm an outlier! And I do not expect everything I post or reply to will be turned into a thread. The only thing I do ask though is that if you want to drop a thread, please just send me a quick message so I'm aware. I totally understand dropping things for whatever reason and I don't mind it at all, but I do appreciate the heads up or the opportunity to talk it out especially if it's a concept we (or just me lol) were really excited about.
ended up being too tired to do any writing tonight, but i should be around more often! excited to get into drafts and finish up some of the other projects i've been working on
Send a 💬 to hear how my muse feels about yours.
Source: a deleted blog
My fiance took me to a restaurant called tequila Willie's. That's it, that's the post.
The cruise ship is crawling with her fellow kids and campmates, none of whom Jez particularly likes and all of whom she is desperate to avoid. Still, even the most secluded corners are bound to be discovered since they're all stuck out here on a floating death trap in the middle of the godsforsaken ocean. This fact only makes her anger unwarranted, but does nothing to quell the flare of her temper.
She turns away from the training dummies she's all but shredded, sword glistening in the afternoon sun, as she faces the voice of her intruder.
" Who trained you? " @altruprism asks.
" I did. " It comes out a bite, a snarl, angry and terse, and a lie. " Not like anyone else would give a shit. "
Jez scrapes the sweat from her brow and pauses, taking in the much younger girl she barely recognizes, undeserving of her quick venom. Her tone is still hard but the raised hackles and aggression has been locked up tight. " Who didn't train you? "
Perched on the corner of his desk and almost certainly blocking the light, Jack leans in to examine the hand-carved flute. It's well decorated, though not enough to create an obstruction that would influence the sound. The little magic she can decipher from it is thick and sticky, though what kind of spell or curse that translates to is lost on her.
Despite her limited knowledge and his endless supply, she can't help but disagree with @proditeur on both the item's actual origins and magical ones, which prompts him to ask:
“ Are you trying to start a fight? ”
" No, " Jack scoffs. " I'm just trying to tell you that you're wrong. That writing is for ornamentation, not the source of the magic. And whatever it's supposed to do isn't wicked, it's misunderstood. I can feel it. " The last comment makes her flush, almost embarrassed instead of irritated, the uncomfortable result of referencing her magic in front of him. " Look, I didn't come here for an academic debate. Is this thing safe to return or not? "
he recognizes that particular act of pacing. oh the contrast alone feels like it’s enough to kill him. they’d discuss their plans back then when things were simple. how to perfectly execute the next heist or job. it was fun. he felt invincible & his cause to help out his mother with extra cash fully justified, even if she always told him to stay out of trouble.
❝you have nothin’ to apologize for.❞ Peter answers with an even tone because, to him, this is a hard fact.
how can he summarize what happened? where would he even start?
fuck it —the ex-agent lets his instincts lead him, not holding back whatever his string of thought decides to shape into. ❝i was dumb enough to fall in love with the agent the CIA assigned to me to basically, keep me distracted, i guess. but the problem was that it was REAL. we knew too much so they let us live.❞
they should have run then, not that they could have outrun them, but somehow whatever the alternative was could have been better. too late now.
❝only so that they could come up with a good plan to eliminate all of us. i was on assignment in Europe. the CIA came after her and our kid. it was a cover up.❞ if Jack asks for details on anything, he will try to explain no matter how painful it may be to him.
❝this is going to be a lot. the CIA did not recruit me to give me a second chance. they did it ‘cause they want to get to my dad who is apparently at the top of their most wanted crime lords list. they planned this for years.❞
" You're damn right I don't. " Jack means for the words to snap, but they come out soft, bloodless. Almost erratic like she's skipping from one emotion to the next, a stone bouncing across a pond, ripples and storms she can't quite get a grip on. There's too much anger and guilt, pity and sorrow, regret and nostalgia. And love. Worn a little thin under the ache of memory and covered with dust, but still there.
The weight of it is enough to make her stay and listen. She continues to pace, focusing on the rhythm of her steps and the creak of the wooden floors as though it will ground her and stave off the fear that is sweeping through her bones and sapping her strength. Fuck, she's tired. But his story has only begun.
" So, let me get this straight. You got recruited by the CIA to get to your dad who's more than an asshole, he's some kind of insane crime boss, married the agent assigned to keep tabs on you, and then had a kid. The CIA has a problem with I don't know, all of this shit, so they tried to kill you and they did kill your wife, but maybe not your daughter? And now you're here to lay low while the CIA and God fucking knows who else hunts you down, all of who will definitely put a bullet in my head and my family's for helping you. Fuck, am I missing anything? "
The tired bleeds into her voice, she recites the facts like a test she's practiced for one too many times. The reality sinks in anyway, leaving her dizzy like she's the one polishing off the alcohol on the table. Jack has no choice but to stop moving, white knuckles on the back of her chair, rocking it back and forth like the motion will soothe her.
" Peter, how do you know your daughter might be alive? And where do you... where do we go from here? "
