"the centre cannot hold"

 Sometimes, at the very periphery of your sight, I sit silent and patient. Inside me is a universe, writhing and dark, simple and diffused—yellow. It is this thing inside me I cannot understand. It is this thing inside me that I love. {indie RP blog for Rachel Brook; selective-ish}

[spectral-twin]

Illya & Rachel | Sense and Reputability

[spectral-twin]

russiasredperil:

One man is taller than the others, broader in the shoulders than his male compatriot, filling out the scarlet of his uniform in such a way as to make him seem a bit too big for the space he inhabits. This visit is a family matter, though he cannot seem to summon up the same degree of enthusiasm as his companions for meeting with distant cousins he has never known, and may very well only ever see once in his lifetime. 

He senses eyes on him periodically, but sticks mostly to the side, hesitant to dance with the rest of the party. Eventually he is bullied into it, and while he does know how, he is not particularly fond of joining in. Illya is paired with a brunette who barely manages to come up to him mid-chest, swathed in a rather stunning silver gown. 

“You are Rachel Moriarty,” he says, rich voice thickly accented, by way of greeting. He bows, then reaches his hand out for her to take. It isn’t quite an introduction, but it’s a start; he would not dare have shown himself here without being weighted down with all relevant requisite knowledge. He knows names, and is slowly matching them to faces as the night wears on.

“I have met your brothers. Good men.” This dance is simple enough, requiring measured steps that are slow compared to some more energetic step sequences, and it should not be difficult to focus on conversation without putting a foot wrong. 

Rachel rolls her eyes at the man’s comment. While he may be incredibly attractive, and tall, tall enough to make her swoon (though she doesn’t swoon in public, as a rule), the last thing Rachel wants to do while she dances with a man at one of these balls where she’s supposed to find her husband is talk about her brothers. Men love to talk about men. It’s a thing that she simultaneously understands and despises. Would it be so difficult for a man to ask her something about herself? To tell her that her mother is a good woman?

Yet she understands. So she rolls her eyes as she looks away, so he won’t see it. He’s obviously foreign, probably knows very few people, and just wants to find some common ground between his dancing partner. But he didn’t even want to dance with her; he had to be forced to do it. Forced conversation isn’t going to make it a very pleasant experience for either of them. But Rachel has been brought up to observe the utmost etiquette. 

“They are quite good men, yes,” Rachel says, effortlessly weaving through the moves. As she spins, she catches eyes of acquaintances, a friend or two, a few men who have recently been courting her, and smiles in a way that takes place of the customary wave. “But again,” she says, turning toward the man, “I may be biased. And I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve been formally introduced? I haven’t been blessed with the knowledge of your name.”

[spectral-twin]

Gaby & Rachel | Roadside Assistance

[spectral-twin]

chopshopchic:

“Please do,” Gaby murmurs, sounding a little distracted again while she tinkers. In time Rachel will learn that it is nothing personal, that she merely gives her full attention to her work, waiting until she has completed a task before daring to divide it again.

The crack is not a large one, and it doesn’t immediately begin to leak when water is added; Gaby is confident it will hold until her new friend makes it home, and after that it will be replaced before the weekend is out. It only takes a moment, and then Gaby is straightening up again, fastening the cap back onto the bottle.

“It’s been some time since I’ve had the chance to work ono someone’s car. I don’t mind.”

Rachel watches her work. The determination in her face is astonishing; Rachel wishes that she could bottle that up to use for later. When Gaby finishes, Rachel is still stuck somewhere in between awe and wonderment, if there’s even much of a difference there. 

Rachel takes out a piece of paper and quickly scribbles her name and number in what she hopes is handwriting that makes her seem like her life is put together. She knows, realistically, that this woman won’t think twice about her handwriting, but Rachel feels a deep need to leave a good impression, to not be just the woman who’s car was broken down and didn’t know how to fix it. She wants Gaby to know that she is smart about some things—albeit not cars—and that there is more to her than just this state of being clueless and helpless. But if there is a handwriting that can convey all that, it probably isn’t hers, Rachel thinks.

“Thank you so much for this. Just, give me a call when you want to come take a look at it. I’ll make sure I have cookies or something. Or money, if you prefer?” 

[spectral-twin]

Max & Rachel | Who Let The Dogs Out? Who?

[spectral-twin]

doublycursed:

Like hell it is. 

Max doesn’t growl, doesn’t bare his teeth, and most certainly doesn’t lunge at her again. Time is not of the essence at the moment, as he’d worked quite diligently to dig up everything he’d stashed in the yard. What he needs now is to get inside, which he knows he can’t accomplish with people roaming around, whether it’s a crew hired to fix the garden or a family considering the house for purchase. He’s more than willing to wait until the new moon, but he needs to be sure nobody buys the place before then.

She’s cute enough, and if they weren’t mortal enemies, he might keep an eye on her for possible pursuit as soon as he’s able to manage it. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s showed up man-shaped, pretending to be looking for his lost dog. Judging by the way she is gentle and soft with him now, she must be the type to fall for that sort of thing. Max has foiled her more than once now, and she doesn’t seem to want to bash his brains in with a shovel.

Interesting.

He wags his tail at her bit sits several feet away, just to be an asshole. If this woman wants to pet him and scratch his ears, Max will make her work for it just a little bit more. 

Rachel frowns. Well, he doesn’t seem to be lost. If he had been a pet who got out and couldn’t get back home, he would most likely be eager for human interaction. He must at least be used to being on his own. So in some ways, Rachel is relieved. There’s no little girl crying somewhere waiting for her dog to come back. But he just looks at her, content to stay by himself. 

“Not so much for the cuddling, huh?” she asks him. But then she feels foolish. It’s not as if he can understand her and no one is around to hear them. She rolls her eyes at herself and stands up again. “You did a pretty number here, didn’t you? Not that I blame you. If you live around here, you’re probably used to this being your home. Not so fair when people just come in and move everything around.” Rachel turns toward the gate when she hears her name called and sighs. What could they possibly want now? 

She makes her way toward the back, reaching out to pet the dog as she passes. “You’re soft, huh? You could use a bath though, from all that digging.”

[spectral-twin]

Sebastian & Rachel | Unlikely Colleagues

@hiistiger

When Rachel had first read Sebastian Moran’s file, she wasn’t impressed. He seemed to her to be the standard English military man with a dark side. There was nothing incredibly unique about Sebastian Moran on paper, and that was why she suggested that her brother hire him. Jim didn’t always as her opinion when he was reviewing possible employees, but he had been between two options for at least twelve hours and needed to bring in some extra eyes. 

Rachel had a specific method for weeding out potentially good employees. Generally, any file she read and thought “I would like to hang out with this person,” their file went in the bin. Sebastian Moran didn’t pique her interest at all, and so she handed his file to her brother. 

“Him.”

When she met the man, she saw exactly what she expected. Tall, muscular, rough-looking, and probably ready to kill on the spot. Ruthless, book-smart, but willing to follow orders. Exactly what her brother needed. 

When he walked into the room, Rachel was still drinking her morning coffee. She smiled a little sharply at him and gestured to the coffee maker. “Help yourself. Mr. Moriarty will be right will you.”

[spectral-twin]

Illya & Rachel | Wake Up Call

@redxwolf

Rachel woke up that morning with burning eyes. Maybe it was her allergies; maybe her 30-day caffeine detox (that she would definitely end up ruining later that day). Outside the bedroom she had at Jim’s flat she could hear movement, more movement than just her small brother would make. Rachel groaned and turned over, hoping to force her body unconscious for a few more hours yet. She’d been up late catching up with Jim--which they did about every two weeks or so--and she wanted to sleep until at least eleven in the morning. 

Yet the voice in Jim’s kitchen drew her attention. Who the fuck? The voice was thick, definitely...Eastern European. And mad. Boy, was the voice mad. Rachel was intrigued. Not that many people could yell at her brother like that and survive. And the voice had gotten through at least three sentences without dying away in a mess of dying gurgling. 

Rachel rolled out of bed, pushing her hair out of her face and peeked out of her door to watch the two men look at each other. Drama in the morning? Yes, please.

[spectral-twin]

[ooc: hi lol. I’m horrible. I started a job eight days ago and have worked every single day and had no energy to do replies. i am also leaving for firefly festival tomorrow for four days so... i am going to bang out all my replies tonight please continue loving me]

[spectral-twin]

Max & Rachel | Who Let The Dogs Out? Who?

[spectral-twin]

doublycursed:

Max sleeps in. The weather is nice, the birds are chirping, and Lottie is just beyond the front door bustling about in the kitchen. He can smell her making breakfast through the screen door, and his twitching nose is what eventually awakens him. 

They’re back. The wolf makes a beastial sounding groan and rolls over, flopping like a petulant child who does not wish to get out of bed. He’s still got some things hidden up in the attic of the house this woman is trying so hard to take from him, and he’d hoped the place would stay clear until his next change, so he could venture up there and get what he needs. Obviously, he can’t accomplish this with four paws and no thumbs.

The crew looks small, when Max slinks down off the porch and leans around the edge of the house to spy on the interlopers, but he doesn’t think it’s worth trying to chase them all off. They’re liable to come at him with shovels or other worse, sharper gardening tools, and that’s not something he wants to deal with on an empty stomach.

He’s about to turn away when he sees her again; she looks furious, grasping at the end of a fraying rope, and she’s wearing sneakers. Max snickers to himself, tongue lolling, and he’s got to know more. It’s a bold move, but he saunters right out into the open, crossing the front lawn as if he owns it. She’s alone out here in the front just now, the crew she’s called in finishing up their work in the back garden, and he knows he can be gone by the time someone responded to her calls for assistance. 

Rachel is replying to an email when the dog first steps onto the lawn. She has a small smile on her face: the email consists solely of exclamation points. It’s from Jim. She’s unsure what he’s so upset/excited about, but the fact that her brother sat down to send such an email, with obvious intent to imply some kind of meaning, thinking that she would immediately understand. Rachel types back “Yes.” and presses send. 

It’s then that she sees the dog. 

Rachel stops in her tracks, eyes narrowing slightly as she looks at him. As they look at one another, she can start to feel her heart in her throat. Is the dog going to lunge at her again? He must want something, but he’s not trying to tear anything apart. He looks skinny, homeless, and a little attention-starved. As scared as Rachel is now or had been of him, she can’t help but fall immediately in love with him. 

She takes a tentative step forward, eyes wide and worried. She extends her hand just a little and crouches down so that they’re level-height. If she screams, she’s sure one of the guys from the back can run around and tear him off her before he makes too much a mess of her face. 

“Hey, there,” she says softly, pressing her hand forward. “Come here. It’s okay.”

[spectral-twin]

Gaby & Rachel | Roadside Assistance

[spectral-twin]

`chopshopchic:

She looks surprised for a moment, though she has gotten quite good at hiding that sort of thing. It’s a slight widening of the eyes and a gentle tilt of the head to convey how caught off guard she is, but nothing more. It’s masked with another smile, this one less hesitant and slightly more understanding. It hadn’t been obvious at first, but now? She thinks she’s got this figured out.

“It’s Gaby,” she replies easily, weighing the bottle in her hands for a moment as she considers the invitation. She allows her gaze to linger for a few seconds longer, giving the impression she knows she’s being stared at in an appreciative manner, and that she doesn’t mind it at all.

“And yours?” Gaby returns, opening the bottle and leaning carefully back over the engine, “So I know whose home I’ll be visiting this weekend?”

Rachel laughs a little. It’s loud, a little brash. She thinks maybe she sounds a bit hysterical for one second. But it’s pure relief that rushes through her and pulls the laugh, involuntarily, out of her throat. She had meant it as an off-hand comment. She hadn’t meant the woman—Gaby—to take her seriously, especially since they don’t know each other, but there she is, a smirk on her face that means something, and handing it right back to Rachel. 

Rachel is happy when she bends over, as it gives her a chance to hide her blush. She can feel the blood rising to her skin all over. Suddenly her shirt is tight, the sounds of London around her escalate until her ears feel heavy. 

“Rachel,” she says quickly, holding out a hand and then, realizing that Gaby’s hand are occupied, drops it. “I can, er, if you’re serious, give you my number.”

[spectral-twin]

Illya & Rachel | Sense and Reputability

@russiasredperil​

“Ow,” Rachel hisses, yanking her head forward and out of her mother’s reach. She throws a look at her mother that is pure pain, pure betrayal, and cradles the back of her head. 

“Oh, come now. You can’t go looking like that. We need to put your hair up.” 

Rachel hmphs and leans back, fingers clawing her chair underneath her. It’s not often that her mother deigns to show up at a town ball. Usually they go to London, someplace fancier, someplace where they can really spend most of their yearly earnings. But every time they do go to a ball, Rachel’s mother has a gown custom-made. Rachel’s dress is silver and fitted, the bustle on her rear not as big as her mother usually gets them. And Rachel does feel gorgeous in it, but the hair? Not so much. It’s painful and long, and while she may look pretty after, her scalp will burn for days. 

When her mother finishes, Rachel is strapped into the dress and paraded around their parlour. Her brothers, most of them military men home for a few weeks, admire her appropriately. Her twin brother, a university student with a not-so-secret love of balls, for many reasons, hms at her appearance and nods curtly. 

“It’ll do nicely, yes,” he says, and Rachel smiles. She wonders if there will be anyone new there that she hasn’t seen before, but generally it is the same guys. Men she won’t marry and men who are already married. At twenty-three, Rachel’s mother is getting desperate. But Rachel isn’t. Their family is rich enough to support her, and she knows she always has a place to stay at James’ house. 

So Rachel is surprised when she enters the ballroom and someone new immediately catches her eye. There are a few of them, actually. They must be visiting someone they know. There is one woman and two men, and each of them catches Rachel’s eye. As she moves into the masses of people, Rachel keeps an awareness of where they are, hoping she might be introduced to them eventually.

[spectral-twin]

[ooc: replies/starters are coming soon, guys. having a bit of a rough start to my day sooo. gonna try to get some stuff done to make myself feel a little more...myself. then will be back tonight <3.]

[spectral-twin]

ROLEPLAY PREFERENCES SHEET!

PLEASE REPOST, DO NOT REBLOG!  Feel free to add to any of your answers!  The purpose is to tell your partners about the way you write!  For the multiple choice ones, BOLDall that apply and, if you want, italicize if it’s a conditional answer!

– B A S I C S –

NAME: Brianna ARE YOU OVER 18?  YES / No IS YOUR MUSE?  YES / No WHEN WAS YOUR BLOG ESTABLISHED? Like a year ago but then I abandoned it but now I’m back.

– W R I T I N G –

ARE YOU SELECTIVE ABOUT WHO YOU WRITE WITH ON THIS BLOG? No (anyone) / Semi (most people) / Yes (some people) / Highly (few people) / Private (mutuals only)

ARE YOU SELECTIVE ABOUT WHO YOU FOLLOW ON THIS BLOG? No (anyone) / Semi (most people) / Yes (some people) / Highly (few people)

IF YOUR MUSE IS CANON, HOW MUCH TO YOU ADHERE TO CANON? Not at all / A little - She’s not really canon so? But some fanon stuff I adhere to / Some / Mostly / Strictly / NA

WHAT POST LENGTHS DO YOU WRITE? ONE LINERS / SINGLE-PARA / MULTI-PARA / NOVELLA

DO YOU USE ICONS AND/OR GIFS? No / GIFS / ICONS

DO YOU WRITE ON OTHER PLATFORMS? No / Yes (Skype)

WHAT LEVEL OF PLOTS DO YOU WRITE? UNPLOTTED / OPEN-ENDED PLOTS (set up a meeting and see what happens) / SEMI-PLOTTED (ONE OR TWO STEPS AHEAD) / Fully Plotted Epics (plotted beginning, middle, and end)

HOW QUICKLY DO YOU USUALLY RESPOND TO THREADS? VERY SLOW (MORE THAN A MONTH) / SLOW (3-4 WEEKS) / AVERAGE (1-2 WEEKS) /FAST (LESS THAN ONE WEEK) /VERY FAST (LESS THAN THREE DAYS)

WHAT TYPES OF THEMES DO YOU LIKE? (feel free to add!) FLUFF / ANGST / SMUT / ACTION  / TRAGEDY/ DOMESTIC / FAMILY / CONVERSATIONAL/ HURT-COMFORT

WHAT GENRES DO YOU LIKE? (feel free to add!) High Fantasy / Supernatural / Science Fiction / Historical / Horror / Comedy / Romantic/Drama / Action/Adventure / Espionage

ARE THERE ANY THEMES YOU’RE UNCOMFORTABLE WRITING ON YOUR BLOG? (not triggers) No / Yes - Self-harm

DO YOU HAVE ANY TRIGGERS?  HOW DO YOU REQUEST IT TAGGED? No / Yes

– S H I P P I N G –

WHAT TYPES OF RELATIONSHIPS ARE YOU OPEN TO? ROMANTIC / PLATONIC / FAMILIAL (CANON) / FAMILIAL (OCS)

WHAT TYPES OF PRE-ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIPS ARE YOU OPEN TO?

Romantic / PLATONIC / FAMILIAL (CANON) / FAMILIAL (OCS)

DO YOU HAVE OTPS? No / CHEMISTRY ONLY / YES

DO YOU HAVE NOTPS? No /Yes

WHAT IS YOUR MUSE’S SEXUAL ORIENTATION? Heterosexual / Heteroflexible / Bisexual / Homoflexible / Homosexual / Pansexual /Demisexual / Sapiosexual / Asexual

WHAT IS YOUR MUSE’S ROMANTIC ORIENTATION? Heteroromantic / Heteroflexible / Biromantic / Homoflexible / Homoromantic / Panromantic / Demiromantic / Sapioromantic / Aromantic

ARE YOU COMFORTABLE WRITING SMUT? No / SELECTIVELY / YES

HOW EARLY IN A RELATIONSHIP DO YOU SHIP ROMANTICALLY? AUTOSHIP / DURING PLOTTING / AFTER A COUPLE IC INTERACTIONS / SEVERAL IC INTERACTIONS IN / SLOW BURN / Never {not open to romantic ships}

ARE YOU OPEN TO TOXIC SHIPS? No / Selectively / Yes / NEVER TRIED IT

ARE YOU OPEN TO PROBLEMATIC SHIPS? (canon history, age difference, complicated, etc.) No / SELECTIVELY / Yes

ARE YOU OPEN TO POLYSHIPPING? No / Selectively /Yes (!!!!!!!!!) - adding more ! to Casey’s answer

ARE YOU AN EXCLUSIVE SHIPPER? NO / Sometimes / Yes

DOES CRACK SHIPPING EVER HAPPEN? No / Yes

I don’t have anyone to tag because they all tagged me :( 

[rpmemes-gallery]

Symbols for the mun

💝 I ship our muses, but we’ve never interacted

✨ I think your portrayal is on point, but it also intimidates me

💍 I want to be exclusives with you 

⭐️ We don’t rp, but I desperately wish we did

☀️ I want to rp with you, but I’m not sure how

💔 We’ve rp’ed in the past, but now we don’t

🎂 I’m new to your blog, and I want to be friends

🎉 We’ve been mutuals for ages, and this makes me so happy!

💡 I have a thread idea for us!

💌 I just think you’re amazing

💥 We’re not mutuals, but I wish you’d notice me

[alannasroleplaymemes-moved]

Write your Muse’s Tinder Profile Bio in my Inbox and my Muse will respond with either “Swipe Left” or “Swipe Right”

[spectral-twin]

|| ooc: heart just ripped out. only one third way in. can only type in lowercase to mimic the heaviness in my heart right now. (but the main character is bisexual and I wasn't expecting that, so. silver linings.)

[spectral-twin]

Gaby & Rachel | Roadside Assistance

[spectral-twin]

chopshopchic:

Bottle in hand, she’s about to step back over to tend to the radiator before she’s stopped, lifting her brows and glancing down at the other girl’s hand on her own before realizing what is happening. Gaby’s lips quirk ever so slightly, and she remains still while the grease is gently wiped off her cheek.

“Thank you. Old habits.” She doesn’t look much like someone whose habits would have anything to do with dirt and grease; her dress is expensive looking, nails immaculate, makeup flawless. Gaby is used to defying expectations, and in fact, it’s something she strives for. Something she wears like armor.

“Let me just fix this for you,” she says, watching the expression on this woman’s face carefully, trying to decipher it. “So you can be on your way?”

Rachel smiles back and nods. It isn’t often that beautiful women stop her on the side of the road to offer her help. She was worried, when it began, that the man who would eventually stop to help her would make everything rather uncomfortable. But surprisingly, she’s never had a car break down be this pleasant.

“Yes, please. Thank you. I can take it to my mechanic in the morning. That is, unless, you want to come fix it for me?” It’s a joke, but Rachel is half-serious. This woman must be unreal, right? No woman in that kind of designer dress has ever bent over her car engine like that. Do beautiful women do that? Rachel doesn’t want her to walk away because she’s like a mirage. If Rachel blinks, she might disappear forever. But Rachel has to blink, because otherwise she’ll look like an insane creep. She blushes a little and moves a step back, handing the woman the bottle. “And your name? Just so I can remember the woman who saved my weekend.”

[spectral-twin]

Max & Rachel | Who Let The Dogs Out? Who?

[spectral-twin]

doublycursed:

Max is sure that’s the last he’ll see of that family, and he feels confident that the woman he’d terrified within an inch of her life hadn’t seen where he had gone off to. At any rate, she doesn’t come searching, and no one shows up with a badge and a snare trying to drag him out from under Lottie’s porch, so he counts the venture a moderate success even if he’s managed to dump half a bag of promo product all over the goddamn lawn.

He waits until he is absolutely sure that no one remains before slinking back over and busying himself digging a fresh hole under the fence beneath some bushes, giving him another out in the event he should run into people again, preparing in advance in case he should find his path blocked. By night fall he’s sniffed out and unearthed his other treasures, leaving at least half a dozen wide holes across the garden, dirt heaped every which way from his digging.

Max holds vigil again the next day when a crew of landscapers comes to tend to the back garden, and he knows how lucky he’d been to fetch (heh) his things before anyone could find the buried treasure he’d scattered through the yard like expensive landmines. That the landscapers are here at all can only mean that the house has sold, or else the agent is not about to give up trying. They’ll see about that. 

Around midnight, he slams himself into the first trashcan. The sound of his body hitting the container causes enough noise in the quiet night to turn on several lights in the neighborhood, a few dogs all along the street barking in alarm, but he doesn’t stop. The can tumbles over and he gets busy scattering garbage all over the front lawn. By the time he’s finished there are three cans’ worth of trash scattered creatively about, though Lottie’s lawn remains curiously pristine. He stinks to high heaven when he heads home, and sleeps outside that night. 

Rachel is not prepared to drive up to the house the next morning. She’d gotten two calls last night: one telling her that the landscapers had finished up and that the house would be ready the next morning for the family to come back and look at it. The second comes an hour later, right in the middle of what Rachel likes to call “bubble bath-opera and chill.” It’s her boss.

“Apparently there’s a loose dog. He’s created some kind of disturbance and ripped up the entire yard. You’ll have to reschedule tomorrow’s appointment while the landscapers come back to fix it. This bill is going to be fucking tremendous. I’ll shoot the dog myself.” 

Rachel is silent for a moment. Then: “A dog?” There is a very small chance, Rachel thinks, that it is a different mischievous neighborhood dog. She’s furious—though not as furious as her boss; she doesn’t yet have any murderous intentions. But tomorrow is going to be fucking hell.

And she's right—it is. She arrives at the site (of the crime) at eight am sharp; she doesn’t plan on wasting a minute of daylight. She beats the landscapers there, double-fisting terrible, burnt coffee from the first petrol station she’d passed on her way from home. There’s no sign of the dog, but she knows he’s probably here somewhere, watching her. She gives a glare to the general area around her. She’s wearing sneakers this time, prepared for the wet ground. 

What she isn’t prepared for is how fucking terrible the front and back lawns look. Jesus Christ. It looks more like several tiny landmines went off than just one dog with a mission and some vengeance trying to ruin her life. She feels like screaming, but a reputation is hard to make and easy to lose. With a sigh, Rachel waits for the landscape men to come and directs them on how to go about fixing this...mess. Should they put up a fence? That might lower the value of the house, but if she can fucking sell it there might be some worth in the idea.

[loneozner]