#ft. maureen

[jakob-muller]

📸+ (💋& 😬) xoxo

send  📸  for  an  instagram  post  about  your  muse

send  💋  for  a  flirty  text  from  my  muse

JAKOB → MAUREEN: Do you know when I knew I liked you? JAKOB → MAUREEN: When you put getting in trouble and safe in the same sentence. JAKOB → MAUREEN: And when I found out you don’t always wear bras. JAKOB → MAUREEN: 😘

send  😬  for  a  worried  text  from  my  muse

JAKOB → MAUREEN: So, not to freak you out or anything, but my mother wants to invite you to Baer’s birthday dinner. She invited my grand parents. All four of them.

JAKOB → MAUREEN: Maureen? Are you freaking out? Do you want me to call you?

[dr-monroe]

starter for @maureenkeaton

Winter wasn’t the best time to tour the garden, most of the boxes lay fallow and the bees were hunkered down in their boxes to protect from the cold. But about a third of the boxes had winter frames on them so there was still some to show. Plus she figured the young journalist might want a tour early, and if she really wanted to write an article she could come back for spring planting. Her phone pinged, letting her know the woman had reached the building, and Monroe stepped into the freight elevator, letting her know she would be down in a minute to let her in. 

“Maureen?” she asked, calling out with a wave to the woman who matched the pictures Monroe had seen beneath the articles she read online in preparation for the interview and tour. She didn’t think she was the ideal person for this, Musaline would have been better but she refused to talk to the journalist so Monroe was here instead. 

[theodorechoi]

LOCATION: OUTSIDE OFF THE RECORD TIME: EARLY EVENING WHO: FOR @maureenkeaton​

He hates hanging around politicians almost as much as he hates hanging around reporters — but alas, his love for primo blow takes precedent over any of that hatred, so he finds himself back at Off the Record once more. The guy he goes to for this particular strain always insists that Theo meet him here, probably because the rest of his clientele already frequent the bar, and so Theo, like the obedient little consumer he is, waits in the street in front of OTR and the deli right behind it. Wafts of dead pig clog his nostrils and the sweltering summer evening has sweat dripping down his back, all of which is to say that he’s not having a good time. His dealer said he’d be twenty minutes tops, but that’s suddenly feeling like multiple business days in these circumstances. 

It gets worse. Theo doesn’t know any of the people walking in and out of the bar or down the street it’s on, and it’s supposed to stay that way, but a flash of blonde hair and he lets out a groan. Not this one. “Keep it moving, Keaton. I know what your question is and you know what my answer is. Isn’t it almost past your bedtime, anyway?”