a semi-selective multimuse indie rp blog loved by riva, 27, est. minors dni. sporadic activity due to school and working. please read my rules before interacting. ♡
rules ▸ muse list ▸ open starters ▸ wishlist ▸ memes
Peter Solarz
KIROKAZE
tumblr dot com

@theartofmadeline

No title available

blake kathryn
Xuebing Du
cherry valley forever
Mike Driver
RMH

PR's Tumblrdome
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
Sade Olutola

pixel skylines
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
wallacepolsom

Product Placement
hello vonnie
trying on a metaphor
Misplaced Lens Cap

seen from United States

seen from Malaysia
seen from Canada
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from Mexico
seen from Malaysia

seen from Malaysia

seen from Malaysia
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Romania

seen from France

seen from Malaysia

seen from Malaysia
seen from United States

seen from Romania
@tragiclike
a semi-selective multimuse indie rp blog loved by riva, 27, est. minors dni. sporadic activity due to school and working. please read my rules before interacting. ♡
rules ▸ muse list ▸ open starters ▸ wishlist ▸ memes
to: @thegoodestwitch mah beluved muse: apollo luxfero, 300, high fae (seer), youngest son of the high ruler & the day court's emissary
He found her walking alone after dark and fell into step beside her. He didn't care if she chose not to acknowledge him again. He reached out and caught her elbow, an effort to slow her down. His skin was warm, pulse loud in his ears. This was reckless. This was exactly what he wanted.
"Are you done pretending to ignore me?" Apollo stepped in front of her, blocking her path. "Or are you still being careful? Still watching over your shoulder? Still worried he might see?" He felt a rush of something. Excitement, maybe. Or hunger. He didn't care what he called it.
to: anyone open to a fantasy setting! muse: apollo luxfero, 300, high fae (seer), youngest son of the high ruler & the day court's emissary (NOTE: this does NOT necessarily have to strictly adhere to acotar, just a general fantasy setting!) plot: apollo is known for two things: his agility and precision with the sword, and his arrogance. ym has been training with him long enough to know both, and to know they can't stand him. the feeling is mutual. so is the attraction. essentially a blossoming hateship that'll turn into some messy situationship.
"Have I got your attention now?" He had cut them on purpose. Not deeply, just enough to remind them that he could. That he was faster. That no matter how good they got, he would always be better. Yet, they hadn't given him the satisfaction of a flinch. Just blood and teeth and the next strike. He waited until they looked at him, then smiled. "You're here because I allow it. Remember your place."
hateship situationship when??!! im foaming at the mouth for this!!
to: @dxmnedderelict muse: sefira, goddess of reincarnation & guider of souls, unknown age.
Her feet barely touch the ground. They never do. She is the space between bodies, the breath before a first cry. But tonight she walks like a mortal, each step deliberate, her white gown whispering against the stone. The fabric is thin, almost sheer in the low light, gathered at her waist then falling to her ankles in soft, endless waves. Her hair spills past her shoulders, uncombed, unbound, because she ripped the pins out before she left.
"I hate you." The words feel small the moment they leave her mouth, childish. The heat of embarrassment crawls up her throat, but she doesn't take it back. Their figure stands familiar against the pale light. She knows the slope of his shoulders, the way his weight settles on his left leg. The exact angle of his jaw when he's listening to something he doesn't want to hear. And that's what makes her burn in a different way. Because they were here. Close enough to touch, to scream at. He may as well be a constellation. Beautiful, distant, made of light she'll never hold.
"Did you hear me?" Her voice rises, cracks. "I hate you." She steps closer. Her gown drags the stone, hair swings forward, half-hiding her face. "I hate your stillness. I hate that you won't say my name. I hate that I came here..." Her breath hitches. "I hate that I'm begging you to notice me like some pathetic mortal girl left at an altar."
" suit yourself, " alphonse shrugs, leaning back into the cushion of his chair. his hand closes in on his own glass of wine, not quite bringing it to his lips yet. " i'll say this. it's not a terrible thing to admit that you do want someone to love you. " he tilts his head, takes a slow sip of the wine, a thoughtful expression on his face. " it gets lonely being an athlete, especially with all the travelling. " they're on the road too much, always a competition or another to get to, living in hotel rooms and on mini fridges. never really calling anywhere home. what's wrong with a little permanence? with knowing that there's a person on the other side of the earth who is staring at their own phone, and waiting and willing for yours to find reception? " always a nice feeling to know that there's someone, who isn't your parents, who cares and loves you. personally, i can't have my mother be my only pinned contact on whatsapp. "
"Needing implies a weakness. A dependency. And I don't depend on anyone for anything." He sets the glass down with a soft clink. "I'm sure love is nice. But you know what else is nice? Never having to explain why fencing comes first. Never having to apologize for a missed anniversary or a forgotten birthday because I was in a training camp overseas." He pauses, jaw tightening. "Besides, even if I wanted it, some people just aren't wired to love you back. Doesn't matter how many medals you have. Doesn't matter how many flights you rereoute. You can't make someone need you the way you need them." He glances sideways at Alphonse, almost amused, but the smile doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Trust me. I've tried."
🌙 || continued from here for @tragiclike
To say the femme was surprised by his comment would be to put it mildly. Aditi, as someone who never really learned how to hide her emotions all too well, felt her eyes grow wide as if to solidify the other's well educated guess. "What do you mean? Why would you think something is bothering me?" she asked, even if she was stumbling clumsily through the words.
"Because you're a terrible liar," he says, amused but not unkind. "And honestly? I like that about you. Most people are too polished." He tilts his head. "Fencing teaches you to see what people don't want you to see. Tiny tells. Micro-expressions. You've got about four of them happening right now."
Maggie glances over at him in her makeshift lawn chair. In her head pretending that the deserted island they were currently stranded on was a beach getaway was the only way she could cope without losing her mind. “Apology not accepted,” she huffed, turning her head away from Miles for extra pizzazz. She usually got upset over the smallest of things. The combination of being trapped with a total stranger and hunger only made it worse. “Do you expect a steak dinner when we’re surrounded by nothing but water? I don’t care if you’re cranky and your skin is burning, it doesn’t give you the right to shout at me.”
"Yeah. Sorry." He paced a few steps one way, then back, restless. The sand shifted under his feet. "I don't actually think you're useless. I was just... frustrated. Which isn't an excuse." Miles dropped onto the sand, legs stretched out, and leaned back on his hands. The sunburn on his shoulders protested. He was quiet for a moment, then leaned forward, picked up a stick, and started drawing in the sand. A lopsided heart. He scowled at it, scratched it out immediately with the back of his hand. Drew a sun instead. Then a stick figure sitting in a chair. "That's you." A pause. He added a crown on the stick figure's head. "Queen of the island. Which means you get to order me around instead of me yelling at you."
“i didn’t realise you were keeping score.” it takes some effort to release the tension from her muscles, but she does her best to not be on the defensive for once; drops her arms to her sides with a sigh and lets her shoulders relax an inch. it isn’t often that max feels comfortable enough to let her guard down even this much and that alone should show that she’s trying. “look, what was i supposed to do? just stand there and take it? if i did, you’d be having this conversation with a corpse instead.”
He laughs, short and humorless, more an exhale than amusement. "Keeping score. Right. Because I have nothing better to do than tally up your mistakes while my family tries to marry me off to a stranger." He leans against the wall, arms crossed, expression flat. "You managed to survive. Congratulations. Now my name is in every briefing about you. My advisors are having concerned conversations. My father looked at me like I did something wrong." His voice sharpens, irritation bleeding through it. "I'm not mad you defended yourself. I'm mad that I'm standing here pretending I don't care when I clearly do because I'm still standing here." He stops himself, jaw tight. "Next time, maybe warn me before I find out from a room full of diplomats."
to: anyone! our muses survived a plane crash and have been stranded in a deserted island for 5 days. muse: miles dennen, 30, veterinarian. (available in a supernatural verse!)
"Hey, so... I just wanted to say sorry. I didn't mean to yell at you earlier. I'm just... cranky, I guess. I'm also sun burnt and I really hate fruits and fish but we can't really be picky anymore, so."
Her eyes remained on him, shifting only to follow the gesture of his hand before returning to his face. While she noted the reverence with which he carried himself and his memories, she found it quietly amusing. “And I’ve seen even the most devout brought to their knees by the sins this world offers,” she countered, taking a slow, deliberate step toward him. “Even the strongest, those who place more faith in the divine than in themselves; can be tempted.” She continued, a devious glint in her eyes as her hand lifted to ghost across his cheek. “I don’t have faith, angel. I have certainty- that, in the end, chaos reigns.”
His skin was burning. A trail of ice and fire where her fingers had ghosted over his cheek. He kept his hands steady, his mask perfectly intact. He could not stop the shiver that traced its way down his spine, and he hated her for it. Hated himself for letting her close enough to cause it. "You speak of certainty, of chaos, of bringing the devout to their knees. Is this your grand design?" He caught her hovering wrist, not harshly, just holding it suspended between them. His thumb pressed once against her pulse, feeling the rhythm there, and his lip curled. "You are not chaos. You are not temptation. You are a spider who has forgotten how to spin."
anonymous requested ⤵ DYLAN O'BRIEN as MITCH RAPP — AMERICAN ASSASSIN (2017) dir. Michael Cuesta
the mountains were a dangerous region. archaic tree roots thrust from uneven terrain like the mountain's lifelines and claim victim to those who aren't vigilant. criminals and marauders stalk visitors, comparable to starving wolves, anticipating a chance to pounce. villagers are averse to enter, but rabbits are lucky creatures, capable to outrun the mountain's threats and locate it's delicacies with a sharp nose. lin dan follows her own to herbs with medicinal uses for the pharmacy, and edible vegetables for keeping. the mushrooms are a favourite. she traverses the mountain with such regularity that stories pertaining to thieves and rockfalls no longer caution the rabbit.
except on this winter evening, with snow descending like spring petals from the night sky, lín dān catches a glimpse of someone unknown, visage obscured with untamed shrubbery and snow drifting like cotton. she rests against a boulder overlain with moss, the surface cool against her palm as the other hand reaches out with purpose, brushing a length of glacial vines away to reveal a figure's back in the distance. frost - nipped eyebrows knit with curiosity. what's that person doing? lín dān begins creep onward. the woven basket she carries — stacked with mushrooms and astralagus — smacks against the side of her thigh with an obtuse thud. are they human? they must be courageous to wander the mountains alone — or dumb, or maybe even both.
lín dān eventually comes to a halt a few paces away and observes the stranger for some staggered moments. when realization dawns upon the rabbit, her eyes gloss over with excitement and caution is thrown out the window, potential marauder or not. "can you teach me how to do that, @tragiclike?"
He doesn't turn, not at first. The snow continues to fall, undisturbed by his presence, passing through his form in a way that should be impossible. A flick of his fingers, a whispered word, and the flurries had been dancing to his will, spiraling into shapes that dissolved before she could quite name them. His voice when it comes is a low, silken thing, laced with amusement. "Teach you?" A puff of white breath fogs in the air. He finally looks over his shoulder, and even in the gloom, his hair is unmistakable: a spill of white that catches what little light the winter sky offers, stark against the dark bark of the trees. He turns fully, leaning against a gnarled trunk with casual grace, and his eyes, a pale honey with warm amber, glitter down at her.
"Little rabbit," he says, the endearment rolling off his tongue like he's tasted it and found it sweet. "I've spent centuries perfecting this particular art. The villagers down below," he gestures vaguely with one hand toward the valley, a flick of elegant fingers. "They leave me offerings at their little shrine. Rice, sake, the occasional sweet bun. In exchange, I'm supposed to watch over their travelers, guide them safely through the pass." His grin turns sly, self-aware. "Terrible investment on their part. I'm a dreadful guardian spirit. But they don't need to know that."
His gaze flicks to the basket at her hip, sharp with curiosity. "They end up owing me a rather significant debt for the privilege of the show, you see. The shrine is just for appearances." He pushes off from the tree, closing just enough distance to brush a clinging strand of snow from her sleeve. "Are you sure you want to start down that path? I hear rabbits are very good at running." His smile breaks free, all sharp teeth and wicked delight. "But I'm excellent at chasing."
quick lil update that i am very much alive & have just been soooo exhausted :/// i may hold off on longer replies and can offer short threads for now?! ty for bearing with me friends <3
in the source link, you’ll find TWO HUNDRED FORTY-FIVE gifs of the actor CHARITHRA CHANDRAN in ONE PIECE (SEASON 2). all gifs were made by me from scratch, therefore i’d appreciate if they are not edited, redistributed, added to other gif hunts or claimed as someone elses. if you enjoy or plan on using them, please like or reblog the post. if you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee! tw: violence
“Oh, really?” Suspended disbelief, a brief moment of surprise filled in by a shit eating grin. “I never would have guessed. I didn’t blame you though. It’s not the most ideal situation for me either. I’m letting down a lot of friendly faces. Could be worse though. You could be ugly.” A sideways glance is cast towards two families in deep discussion of treaties and the merging of borders. Bor-ring.
“Well then. I’ve grown tired of their monologues. Would you be a good host and show me around before I die of boredom? I’m also privy to snooping around myself, but,,, that doesn’t make much of a good impression.”
Yozora tilts his head, expression unchanged. What an odd back-handed compliment. "Didn't expect you to blame me. Would've been inconvenient if you did." He glances toward the treaty discussions, then back at him with complete indifference. "You're not wrong, though. Could be worse. You could be ugly." A pause. No smile. No warmth. Just flat acknowledgment.
"Fine. But I'm not a guide. I walk, you follow, we both pretend this is productive. If you want stories and anecdotes, talk to a servant. I just live here." He starts walking without waiting. The door clicks shut behind them, and suddenly the night is quieter. Crickets. Distant music from somewhere in the palace. The rustle of wind through trees Yozora's known his whole life.
"You're weird." He walks in silence, letting the night do most of the talking. The path they take curves slightly, lined with lanterns that flicker in the breeze. "Not in a bad way. Just... weird."
{ open to m/f/nb {selective with f) | any connection welcome, assume away. legit go wild. t*boo/forbidden welcome. | please read rules before interacting. | can be supernatural or not, lmk. }
"It's always so fun being around you, watching you try and act like you don't feel a single thing for me," Arachne spoke, head tilting to the side as she examined the other. “If I came closer... Tried to touch you, kiss you, would you stop me..?”
"I have watched civilizations turn to dust, have held secrets in this hand that would unravel the fabric of reality itself." He lifted his palm slightly, as if weighing the memory of such power. "I have stood in the presence of the divine and felt my own light dim in comparison. And you believe your touch would be the thing to finally move me?" A pause, feather-light. "Tell me, demon... do you truly have that little faith in your own chaos?"