[vvisteriagrows]

AURORAS AND SAD PROSE. lowkey, low - activity indie rp blog, written by cat. ( she/her, 29, central ) guidelines below the cut.

muses. wanted plots. open starters. wanted opposites.

this blog is purely for a little fun writing outlet. my activity might be pretty sporadic, but that isn't indicative of my interest ! i just work weird hours lol

roleplaying is for everyone, and i also will only write with others who are 21+ for my own comfort.

i generally avoid taboo / kink plots ( incest, significant age gaps, etc. ) but i will tag all of the common triggers and any that are requested by my writing partners !

i don't have any personally banned fc's beyond the usual. in general, i won't write against fc's that have been subjects of major controversy or are deceased. i prefer not to write against muses with fc's that are not actors ( ex. athletes, musicians, models )

while i may be pretty shy in regards to reaching out first, i'm open to all ways of starting an interaction ! i'm not here to take this super seriously. send in a meme, respond to an open starter, or shoot me a dm, whatever is most comfortable !

i have zero tolerance for and zero interest to write with anyone who uses AI for roleplaying. the whole point is to connect and be creative with other human beings !

[gldnhour]

run-ins like this happen few and far between; if ryan didn't know any better, he'd guess his roommate had been actively avoiding him. yet the intuition that brews beneath her frosty exterior is palpable — he's a kid at heart, through and through. "isn't there no such thing as bad press?" he shoots back, grin slanting across broad features. if he hadn't cut ties with his family ( and the wealth attached ), one might almost call him a total cliché : the popular jock among his peers, combined with conventionally good looks and a sense of humor. the caveat being that he'd been expected to follow his father's footsteps, groomed all his life to take over the family's real estate empire, despite his clandestine desire to forge his own path. all this to explain how he's come to find himself flipping pancakes in a cramped apartment, though he's doing it with a slight flourish — likely a futile attempt at showing blaire he isn't a lost cause. not a complete one, anyhow. gaze flitting to the half-empty carton in her hand, he deadpans, "i kid you not - if you ever catch me caring about what kind of milk goes in my coffee, lobotomize me. 'cause i guarantee you that isn't me talking, but an alien who's invaded my body." a tad overdramatic for a response? maybe. he slides one perfectly round pancake onto a plate before stacking them one by one until they form a picturesque stack. one pat of butter and a swirl of maple syrup later, it looks straight out of an ina garten cookbook ( in his not-so-humble opinion ), and he can't help himself, waving the plate under her nose, letting the sweet aroma waft in the air. "sure you don't want a bite? there's enough for two."

[vvisteriagrows]

confirmation slips between crackling defenses, and blaire all but smiles with the hubris of a correct assumption. "depends on how you get it," she shrugs, "bad press for a good cause and bad press for attention's sake are different things. one's a lot more admirable." and what good cause could he possibly be gunning for ? some six-foot-something blonde whatever that she'd been suckered into living with couldn't possibly be feeding the homeless or mentoring at-risk youth, right ? call her pious ( the grad degree had to be worth something, dammit ), but after a lifetime of hard-earned callouses, eyeing a sweet-talking man with healthy dose of skepticism came as second nature. a child untouched by a system that could've made a difference who's grown and polished herself into someone fighting it from the inside might make for one hell of a tedtalk someday. in the present, it's left her buried beneath loans and working a nearly-illegal amount of unpaid overtime. "you're about 60 years too late for a lobotomy." she eases a fair portion of milk into a mug that isn't hers, so must be his, and watches the espresso bloom to the surface. eyes drift, though, to the growing stack of picturesque flapjacks at his end of the counter. he closes the distance between them, and blaire's stomach flips. the steam warms her face, flushes her cheeks, and for a treacherous half-second, her expression betrays her hunger. she swallows dryly and lifts the mug between them, a comically thin veneer of diplomacy "this was about two dollars' worth of espresso and fifty cents' worth of oat milk. add tax, and sure, a bite or two of pancakes would be a fair exchange."

[malboraslihangifs]

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[gldnhour]

a natural instinct for self-deprecation leads the brunette to give a hasty shake of her head, gaze narrowing into a squint at bea. "it must not be that big of a brain, seeing as how he led me on for a good six months." eventually, padma had snapped out of it. it was similar to coming out of a trance, like she'd been brainwashed into the man's cult, but had left it at long last. "no, i'm more... ashamed than sad." a heavy sigh expels past her lips. "but anyway.. good fuckin' riddance, right?"

[vvisteriagrows]

padma wears the regret like a heavy blanket over her shoulders, and bea swoops in to relieve her of it. "no, no, no, we're not going there." she can see where the road ends, the quiet, exhausted fizzle of her light. bea takes her hands to direct her focus back outward. back to her. skin on skin, the anger flares anew. "fuck that. fuck him. why are we suddenly acting like it's okay to victim blame someone who thought the person they were with was a decent person ? just because it's you, you don't get a pass. especially because it's you !" words tumble in quick staccato, leaving little room for padma if she even dared to try. "he had no idea what he had when he had it. you don't want or deserve someone like that."

[vvisteriagrows]

congratulations to my close personal friend and the cia agent who lives in my diary, mrs. taylor alison swift kelce

[vvisteriagrows]

never let anyone tell you tumblr rp doesn't have transferable skills bc i'm now the baddest bitch at my d&d table for my very elaborate pinterest boards and playlists

[endangeredsceneries]

sight of Esme retreating to bathroom sent a sharp pang through Isaac’s gut. for one brief, deeply unreasonable second, he was struck by the unbearable urge to walk few doors down, interrupt whatever.... Kyle and his new girlfriend were doing (not that he didn't have a guess), and punch him, squarely, in the face. an impulse Isaac was, frankly, proud to have resisted over the course of their friendship. he sure had wanted to, enough times. instead, came to linger just outside of bathroom door, shoulder settling against it, with a sigh. “hey,” he offered, quietly, “you have... nothing to be sorry for," stared ahead, searching pattern of cheap motel wallpaper, as if it might offer him the right words to absolve her upset. it didn't. tragically, that meant he would have to come up with them, himself, which wasn't exactly Isaac's strong suit. “the truth is... as much as this trip may look... different... than it did, when we all.... agreed to it,” Isaac rambled, words leaving lips almost as soon as they came to him, “you were... always... who I was most looking forward to spending it with, anyway," relieved that she can't see cheeks turning red, "so, you know, as much as my lanky arms are... so... not engineered to share a full-sized bed, I’ve actually... kind of... hit the jackpot." as he waited to hear something, anything, in response, his eyes flicked toward clock hung on the wall. it was late, sure; though, after the day they’d had, it felt even later. still, Isaac’s mind was working on hyperdrive, turning over every possible option at their disposal to salvage the evening, before they officially called it quits. “you know, I’m actually... not even that tired, really,” he lied, straightening up, a little. “we could always... hit that bar, next door. maybe... after a drink, or ten, this place won’t seem so bad.” a beat passed, thoughts drifting to her, and the sort of thing she tended to notice first. “sure, based on what I saw... in passing, I doubt the place has... ever passed a proper health code inspection, but...” He couldn’t help but laugh, a little, at his own rambling efforts to cheer her up. “I mean, I think we could both use a lil’ something to... take the edge off, right about now, don’t you?”

[vvisteriagrows]

esme leveled her gaze in the mirror as isaac spoke to her from the other side of the door, as if she would find the best reply in her own reflection. fragmented sentences pieced together to paint as much of a story as everything leading up to them — stolen glances, brief exchanges, a painfully long car ride. he was honest. it wasn't the worst thing in the world, everything else about this trip considered. "i was ?" she struggled to consider that she'd been invited as a deliberate participant and not some awkward afterthought, some obligation in the wake of a gruesome breakup that threatened to splinter their group down the center. she didn't exactly make for the best company anymore. she had, at one point, been someone different. maybe that was where isaac's hope was still nested — in the brilliantly charismatic, quick-witted esme that she'd been months ago. she was there somewhere. eyes narrowed at her doppleganger. his question, like an open hand, offers the opportunity. not fancy, but the sort of thing that old esme would've found charming ( even if she'd refuse to sit on any of the stools ). she was a responsible adult. they would walk back. anyone texted either of them, and they'd be welcome to join, but they were just as likely to revel in a two-person pity party. a slow drag of fingertips beneath her eyes to erase smudged mascara, and she tipped the door open. she considered a showy display of a return. ( "see ? she hasn't fallen apart yet !" ) the humor still evaded her, just out of reach, but she manages a polite smile, an acknowledgement of his best efforts. "if i die of botulism from the lime garnish on my vodka cran at a dive bar in the middle of the desert, maybe that's a sign that it's my time to go." she fished the essentials from her bag; ID, wallet, pepper spray; and gave a resolute nod. "you've got a deal."

[gldnhour]

she may not be cognizant of it, but she's only feeding into the so-called exhibitionist in him with every quip she makes. nothing in her reply makes an impact other than the term undressed, and it's mental gymnastics for the man to snap out of picturing her in a state of undress in his very imaginative mind. too imaginative. "that's a whole lot of words just to sum up the fact that i must've made an impression." she wouldn't be going on about it otherwise, but he'll keep that tidbit to himself for now. it'd been an innocent gesture, one that comes without strings, a change of subject. but the refusal comes too quickly for him to offer it again, so he doesn't press. better to keep things civil, or something close to it — even though it can't be clearer that she hates his guts. it's not a skill he advertises, but he's pretty damn good in the kitchen, and it takes no time at all before the pancakes are simmering in the pan. he almost misses the question; part of him thinks he must be hearing things because there's little chance she'd address him directly without spite. the attitude is still ever-present in her composure, but it's a start. "if you're offering..." he shrugs, trying to seem noncommittal, in case too eager of a reaction will only turn her off.

[vvisteriagrows]

"you sound like a little kid," blaire counters, "any attention is good attention, even the bad kind ?" eyebrows tilt upward, exasperation teetering on the edge of amusement. she toyed with the possibility of some psychoanalysis joke, armed with years of clinical experience and a knack for the difficult ones, but she hesitates between the fridge and the counter. he hasn't burnt the pancakes. quite the contrary — they look pretty enticing, but she only lets herself linger for a moment before turning attention back to her coffee. there was half an avocado and maybe some peanut butter in the pantry if she felt so inclined once he left for the day. besides, in the momentary pause for question, she's had technically offered, hadn't she ? not like she'd ask his preference and only make some for herself. she wasn't raised in a barn. she shakes the carton of oat milk and does the math. ( consider her willingness to share the little she has left a bid for sainthood. ) "are you one of those guys that's weird about non-dairy ? because your options are that, or straight espresso."

[gldnhour]

closed starter for @vvisteriagrows

"he wasn't smart or funny, i convinced myself he was."

[vvisteriagrows]

"because inside of that big brain of yours is a beautiful imagination," bea hummed, veil of ego opaque enough to smother whatever other emotions were fighting their way to the surface. relief ? the dude was a loser, of course she'd be relieved padma wasn't settling. whatever else could remain unexamined for a little longer. "are you okay ? i'll withhold my judgment if you're actually sad about this."

[gnawseate]

merritt motioned a nod of acknowledgement; quick, curt, all in place of a verbal thank you. distractions are sought in place of an awkward morning exchange, both stewarding themselves out of their own zombie-like daze — for annika, a hangover or exhaustion headache at the least, and she? well, two, maybe three hours tops doesn't bode well when she feels responsible for someone else's well-being. " sleep well? " she offers, a pitiful attempt at trying to fill the silence, now uninhibited by the white noise of sizzling eggs and the dull whirr of a toaster oven. " you're not vegan, are you? i made eggs and toast. can make y'something else too, if i've got it. but, honestly, you probably came at the worst possible day. today's grocery day. " smooth, merritt. she laughs to herself, back turned to the other still settling in her surroundings, cringing at her own indiscretion and overstepping. " no! no. oh, fuck, that made it sound like i was, like, slut shaming you or something? no, totally, more power to you, or whatever. just want to make sure your head's in it, you know? " and a pause. " wait, you don't just have sleepovers for fun? like, staying over at people's houses? your friends? " impassioned, but misdirected, turning around to face her again with a furrowed brow. " no, seriously, what the fuck? you're missing out, dude. — just... eat up before you ask anymore questions, 'kay? "

[vvisteriagrows]

for every word annika offers, merritt volleys three back to her. the wayward enthusiasm disorients her into alertness. it's a distraction from the heavy hum of her hangover between her ears. merritt's chatter strikes something different within her with the glow of the morning behind her. it's not something she can name. "i'm not vegan," she answers simply. heavy eyes linger on unbroken yolks until the direction is given. mechanically, she tears at the corner of toast to poke through the surface. lets it bleed golden across her plate. she feels like a child again. to be fair, she'd probably acted like one to end up at her bartender's house without sleeping with her. "is this how you usually make friends with people ?" a softer question than the knee-jerk reaction: that was fun ? she chews thoughtfully, thoroughly, before attempting directness without sarcasm. "i haven't had a sleepover since middle school. just wish i would've remembered this one." punctuates with another long drag of coffee. stalls for time. prays to the altar of the caffeine to guide her to greater hospitality for this near-stranger who's kindly taken her in and served her, sunny-side up. a long, humble silence, then annika turns the barrel of questioning around to herself. "what happened last night ?"

[sostarsick]

so grossly averse to confrontation, a meek man in the in-between fibers of a rope about to break — digits furl and unfurl around nothing, he has nothing to offer in the way of sense and solid accountability, accountable for nothing but wishy-washy half-promises, he can promise to want to try but can’t commit to actually trying, can’t handle failure so won’t even try, just — “i’m sorry,” he breaks, voice thick with emotion he hasn’t touched since he was only yay-high and still believed in the good of himself. alex’s expression crumples, wide brown eyes welling. “i don’t know - i’m sorry. i’m sorry, maren. i don’t know what i’m doing, i -“ shame, ugly and cold, drawing a fat rivulet from the corner of his eye. he kills it with the heel of his hand quickly, scowls at his display and angles himself away. mess, facade cracked, mess. he drags a heavy palm down his face, shoulders shuddering around something he won’t let out in full. “it wasn’t supposed to go this far.” the conversation. the situation. either or. when he turns back to face her, his face is torn between desperation and contrition. “i don’t know what to say. tell me what to do. what should i do?” 

[vvisteriagrows]

apology fractures her resolve like a pebble flung just right against a window, leaves deep creases between her brow like cracks spidering from its impact. typically, she's the one with a hundred atonements at the ready. ( even if it wasn't her fault, if she could match just the right solution, she could always fix it, she swore. ) alex beats her to it this time. steals them right from under her and leaves her with nothing but lips parted mutely in their absence. regret spills heavily from him and she averts her eyes. to spare his dignity and to keep her composure. call it the hoult family motto — you'll get a turn to fall apart, but you can't fall apart at the same time. she swallows past the thickening lump in her throat, though it leaves voice raw with her own emotion. "i'm sorry you regret it so much." was it regret in his confession, or just fear ? if it was regret, was it for her ? so tightly locked that it would've been better to have kept her at arms' length ? "why are you asking me ?" it's not anger, but genuine curiosity, that peeks through before the full onslaught of fast-descending humiliation. expression open like a wound. "why are you asking me how to tell me you didn't want me ?"

[vvisteriagrows]

thread tracker beneath the cut ! it's been a long time coming for me to get my shit organized. i will clearly be locking myself in draft jail to work on the threads that i owe replies to (italicized). please let me know if i have missed any active threads or if you have lost muse for any of our threads listed below and we can switch things up !

atlclanticwaves

micah & kit

dakotaslimes

ryan & margot

divinetenebris

teo & gwen

nila & maren

dukeland

scott & annika

endangeredsceneries

isaac & esme

gnawseate

merritt & annika

misja & margot

ivygrcws

emrys & rhosyn

xena & maren

moonrvier

adam & lennon

kiko & bea

sostarsick

alex & maren

skinnydippeds

ethan & annika

[vvisteriagrows]

hittin that time of the season where i consider nuking my blog and starting over :')

[atlcnticwaves]

When he agreed to be her fake date this weekend, he wasn't sure what he was getting up to. He didn't even know her so well; it was just a matter of helping one another. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips as his gaze adverted down towards her. Matter of fact, no. I haven't heard this story before. Is that your way of telling me you want to encourage them to follow the rules of safety?"

[vvisteriagrows]

slow breath, and she tore her eyes from the group to eye micah instead. "that obvious ?" as if subtlety had ever been a gift of hers. it was that exact overzealous discretion that had left her in the position of needing a fake boyfriend for the trip home. "i don't know. you see enough people after they get hurt doing stuff like this in the ER, and you start looking at the world different, you know ?" kit eyed the half-empty seltzer nested between her hands before taking another sip. "i've been told it makes me super fun at parties."

[divinetenebris]

teodora paused when gwen did. not as quickly. there are heavy breaths as the other speaks. but she wanted to give her the moment. because above all else, this was meant to be something that got them on the same page. even if teo had felt cornered by the sudden accusations from her girlfriend, none of this was meant to be anything more than boundaries and understanding. deep down. past all of the anxious movements and yelling apologies and confusions. "this felt like meeting in the middle to me." it's quieter, but still edged. there are still tears. her face is still red. it was calmer, but only on the surface. "i knew you weren't a big social media person. but i am. if it were up to me, i'd post you the second i could. all the time." another pause. "to me gwen, this was finding that-that compromise. one post. one time to brag about you. to talk about us. no specifics. no tagging. you're not even on there, i figured you especially wouldn't care because of that."

[vvisteriagrows]

gwen was acutely aware of the small noises of teo's feelings, barely restrained like an overflowing suitcase, stuffed to the brim, having to be sat on to crush the contents into submission. wasn't that what she'd once loved about her ? the big feelings, the passion, the presence of everything right at the surface, when everyone else was so difficult to understand ? but it tangled gwen up all the same, standing across from a girlfriend who . . . didn't understand. might never understand. arms crossed across chest like a shield, and she considered next words with clinical precision. "i know you are." exasperation slipped into her tone. she didn't stop it. "i just wish sometimes you'd stop to ask yourself who you're doing stuff like this for. because it's not for me."

[vvisteriagrows]

every year the tony awards roll around and remind me that you can never outrun being a theatre kid

[dukeland]

He tried to rearrange his face, finally putting all those acting classes to good use as he managed a look of cool neutrality, but it didn't last long. "Oh, come on," he scoffed in earnest, eyes rolling and head going with the motion, shaking back and forth. "Uh-uh, no, don't do that. Don't twist my words into some bullshit I didn't say." Even if maybe -- maybe! -- Annika was just saying the quiet part out loud. "It's not like I actually thought you were a virgin when we first linked up." See? Scott could come up with plenty of dumb bullshit on his own! He shrugged, stubbornly crossed arms unfolding and shoulders relaxing. "You're seeing this guy again, though, right?" he asked, like there was any real point to him knowing. It shouldn't've changed a thing between them, and yet... Scott still stood there frowning at Annika, mutely expressing his big feelings.

[vvisteriagrows]

lips parted, a subtle indictment of every argument, one after the other, that came to mind with each of scott's rebuttals. "so you're saying that you wouldn't have believed if i'd told you i was a virgin ?" did she care much about the implication ? not necessarily. she hadn't been -- there'd been a few flings in college. nothing serious, nothing mind-blowing. but enough to make her not a virgin. enough to send her farther away from the annika that he'd once known, toward someone worth knowing. ( had he ever really known her back then ? ) "maybe," she breezed over the answer. call it a power trip, but something in edge to his tone stuck a match in her chest. "why ? we aren't dating." neither of them, technically, but she couldn't settle on which argument she'd tried to make. 'i'm not dating this new guy.' 'you and i aren't dating.' regardless, it shone clarity on the same implication: neither of you have claim to me.