#CLOSED.

[fearhidden]

muse — henry monroe. retired hockey player. thirty7.

open to — preferably a muse older than him, but twenty7 and older please.

plot — henry owns a sports bar & he's a retired hockey player. whether or not your character knows this is entirely up to you.

having spent most of his life on the other side of the bar, he’d taken the time to learn how it worked from the bartender’s angle. he watched as patrons ordered round for round, but his attention returned to a particular customer time and time again. “i don’t mean to be a bother,” he hummed smoothly, a smile lifting crookedly at the corner of his mouth as he adjusted the bar towel that he’d lazily tossed over his shoulder, “but i can’t help but notice that you’ve checked the clock every five minutes for the last half hour. are you waiting for someone?" he knew the answer, but he sparred the other the unnecessary arrogance of his assumption. "how about that next drink be on the house?” a boyish grin hung on his lips as his palms fell flat against the top of the bar's cool surface.

UPDATE: THIS STARTER IS OFFICIALLY CLOSED.

[fadinglights]

“it’s  okay  now.”  his  voice  carries  a  warmth  that  feels  almost  foreign,  a  stark  contrast  to  the  man  he  has  become  —  the  soulless,  hollow  shell  honed  into  the  finest  of  killers  over  the  past  decade.  “you’re  okay.”  as  breaths  still  heave  in  desperation,  seojung  responds  to  noah’s  frantic  cling  by  enveloping  him  more  tightly  in  his  arms.  the  aftermath  of  the  mayhem  and  bloodbath  scatters  around  them,  remnants  of  chaos  and  violence  now  silent,  but  it’s  all  over  now.  a  deadly  stillness  fills  the  space,  once  vibrant  but  now  upheaved  by  crimson  stains.  they’re  safe  now  —  he  will  keep  him  safe,  no  matter  the  cost. / @phiilautiia

[everseens]

"i should've married you." / @fadinglights

[brianbradley]

CLOSED STARTER.ㅤㅤ@limitsofdoubt.ㅤㅤKYLE HYDE.

NILE IS EVERYWHERE. From New York City, New York and Los Angeles, California, to the smallest of towns in the state of South Dakota. Deadwood, South Dakota. Fifteen miles and twenty minutes from Spearfish. It's a small town, but it isn't a noticeably small town. Bradley could blend into the crowd. Bradley had blended into the crowd for two months. He stayed at an older couple's bed and breakfast (the older man reminded him of Dunning — couldn't talk to him, though, how he'd talk to Dunning) and worked at one of the casinos in town. He hadn't stayed anywhere for longer than a month. He'd become complaisant. He'd become careless. And Nile is every-fucking-where. From New York City, New York and Los Angeles, California, all the way out in Deadwood, South Dakota. Two hundred and thirty five residents and eight 'tourists' in the dead of the South Dakota winter: one of the 'tourists' is Bradley, and the seven other 'tourists' are, evidently, Nile operatives. (Who knew South Dakota was a popular hideout spot?) The one who pistol whips him in the parking lot is familiar. Twelve hours tied to a chair in a warehouse, Bradley'd had the time to remember who that pistol-whipping Nile operative is: Ethan Riley. Nothing more than a small time criminal, committing white-collar crimes before committing even whiter-crimes with Nile, who thought he was everything. "You haven't changed much," earned Bradley an open-palm slap that cracked through the warehouse, and Bradley earned another, after being blindfolded, for saying, "Did I embarrass you?" It was worth it, then; two days tied to a chair in a warehouse, with bruises, with a busted mouth, with hair matted with dried blood — it wasn't. Two and a half days tied to a chair in a warehouse, time's becoming blurred. It could be three days, three and a half days. The light that spills into the room through the opening door says to Bradley, even through the blindfold, that it's sunset, that it's six in the evening and is becoming colder and colder. (It's been three days.) But the man who walks into the room is different: the leather soles of loafer shoes, the scent of shampoo and conditioner with cologne that's so familiar that the breath seizes in Bradley's throat before the coughing laughter that follows. The sound of those leather soles, the scent of that soap and that cologne — it could be a delusion born of blood loss and dehydration. "... you stubborn son of a bitch." But, knowing Hyde, it really is that stubborn son of a bitch, that bulldog.

[dogsrotten]

"i just want to go home ."

[dogslosing]

welcome to toujours, an experience of a lifetime.

bare with me as it's been a while since i did something like this, but it's that time of the year where i'm itching to write, develop and world-build and there's no better place sometimes to do that then in a group verse.

that said, there are a couple of rules. pretty self explanatory of course but if anyone has any questions, feel free to message me!

no god modding.

ic interactions do not equal ooc. if something happens in character, it is important to remember that it is not personal nor directed at the mun, it is the reaction of the muse only.

inclusivity is important. no one should feel left out. this is a group effort.

that being said, just because something is plotted does not mean it is set in stone. sometimes chemistry happens between muses when you least expect it and everyone should be able to explore connections without feeling tied down / fear of upsetting someone.

try not to bubble rp. we understand that our muse can fluctuate and be stronger for one connection over another sometimes. sometimes, you feel like writing one muse over another, but please use your best judgement and be open to others.

life can get busy, but please don't join if you don't think you can be on at least 2 days out of the week. in order for a group to thrive, the group needs to be active.

you can apply for a max of two muses.

taken fcs: lucien laviscount, leah halton

reserved fcs: amataalp, matheus claus, madison beer, jacob elordi, olivia holt, justin bieber, sophie nelisse, chico moedas, cindy kimberly, austin butler, lexi wood

app count: 14

application: [ fc, gender, pronouns ] is that MUSE NAME i just saw checking into the hotel ? the AGE IN LETTERS year old is known as TROPE, which makes sense given they’re both + POSITIVE ╱ - NEGATIVE and associated with 3-5 AESTHETICS HERE. don’t tell anyone, but i heard SECRET HERE. i wonder what will happen now that they’re in paris … [ alias, timezone, url ]

applications will close on sunday, july 21st. if anyone needs an extension, please let me know. when the time comes, i will send through the server. please submit your applications here. if you're afraid it won't go through, feel free to dm me!

general plot: the verse is set in the south of france. bennett is a renowned hotel that doubles as a sex club called toujours.

the feds have been tipped off for corruption and are now keeping a close eye -- curious about what could be going on behind closed doors at the hotel. so be careful, not everyone is your friend and not everyone knows how to keep a secret.

the hotel is an infamous spot where the 1% come to visit -- whether to have lunch, use the pool, or grab a couple of drinks at the rooftop. they could be a guest of the hotel, work for the hotel, or work for the club. they could also be a member of the club. the options are endless!

listen here.

[createdbymightyscissors]

based on this nsfw gif

open to: f/m/nb (21+)

muse: maxine. mid 30s

plot: maxine gets a new dildo - a bigger dildo than what she was used to. your muse walks in to maxine’s orgasm taking over.

after a bit of working, maxine finally sat completely down on the dildo, taking the entirety of the toy inside of her. it was bigger than what she was used to, so there was a sense of pride in fitting it completely inside of her. she let out a soft moan as she wiggled her hips slightly, the pleasure immediately coursing through her entire body. she begins a rhythmic thrust of her hips as moans escaped her lips. her breasts bounce ever so slightly as she put the pad of a finger against her clit, even more pleasure coursing through her body as her bundle of nerves got the attention it needed. she let herself work herself up as her pace continued to quicken, bringing her closer and closer to her climax. just as it overtook her, she heard footsteps in front of the door she had conveniently forgotten to close. “shit,” she said, her thighs shaking, her back arching, her breasts bouncing as her hips bucked with pleasure, her juices running along the large dildo. 

[dinotoro]

signing off...

okay this post was long due but i kept stalling it because i was hoping my feelings regarding this matter would change but it didn't. first of all, i would like to thank each and everyone of you who supported me in this journey. all the likes, reblogs and comments made me so so so happy. but at the back of the mind something else kept on working too...

if you are familiar with booktok, you must be aware of the whole hockey romance drama. it was a really famous one. incase you didn't know, here are some videos - link link. all of this made me question about if i should be writing fanfics in the first place.

let me make it clear though, i am not attacking my fellow fanfic writers. you all are some of the best people I have met, even better than some irl people. fanfic writing is therapeutic, it helps in practicing our writing skills - there are so many pros to it. however, i am losing my interest in it. the whole ethical pov of fanfiction is a bit of grey, but a little bit of daydream scenarios never hurt anybody. what i want to say is basically it's a me thing and why i am deciding to leave.

high school is almost ending and i will become busy with my academics. my craze about k-pop is slowly dying too. dw, i am not being entirely detached from the genre. it's just, studies are taking a toll and time and i don't contain the energy to write and fangirl properly.

i hope you don't hate me for what i said, and i am sorry if this offends anyone - I promise you I didn't mean it. your writings still bring me joy and some fanfics are better written than most of the published books out there. however, I just wanted to depart from this part. I guess my phase is slowly leaving as I am taking baby steps towards adulthood. I wish all of you a very happy future and thank you for loving this little blog and giving it so much love and support. I love you more than anything <3

tagging : @euncsace, @mochamvgz, @mangocustard16, @in2fly, @bluriki, @rsmura, @rizzkisworld, @cyberiwoo, @slytherinshua, @bunreis, @flickqr, @k-films, @kflixnet, @nyxvrse

[smckesprite]

❝    @anchoragestarters     —     STARTER  DELIVERY     ;     CLOSED ! LOCATION:  LAST  PIN  STANDING    ↯    DATE:  FRIDAY,  JANUARY  12 CAP: 7/5  ( NIKOLAI, SAYLOR, BAMBI, BRYN, ARLO, TOMO, & LEO )

       a visit to the bowling alley after a FUN, EVENTFUL drag show was called for, especially during discount game night! well, maybe not the day of, but certainly the next day. they were likely mixing up the place’s offers, or whatever, but they wanted to have a good time. he invited a few people he knew and didn’t oppose the idea of having random patrons of the bowling alley join in the fun. so addison wasn’t entirely there, but he was present, and that was all that mattered at this point in the evening. “i dunno if anyone else is gonna show up; if you’d like, we can go ahead and start a game of our own, you know. just you and me. what do you say?” if their company wanted to, they could order food for themselves and their party; it was all just assumptions at this time. anything to make the air feel less stuffy and awkward for addison and the other(s). it was rather challenging for them to make friends, let alone keep a conversation going, but they were open-minded with just about anything and anyone, and the other’s presence was, of course, appreciated nonetheless!

[fadinglights]

it  feels  like  she  is  stuck  repeating  the  same  cycle  again.  they  would  have  a  fight  and  she  would  cry  her  heart  out  in  the  backdrop  of  a  fancy  gala  where  everyone  couldn’t  care  less  about  each  other,  before  they  make  up  and  he  promises  to  never  hurt  her  again.  rinse  and  repeat.  the  remaining  rationality  in  her  tells  her  that  she  should’ve  walked  out  long  ago  already,  but  when  someone  is  stuck  in  something  so  toxic  for  so  long,  it  impairs  their  judgement  and  perception  of  their  own  worth.  “i  told  you  to  fucking  leave  me  —  ”  she  lashes  out  when  she  hears  the  footsteps  approaching,  before  she  halts  when  she  realises  that  it’s  just  an  innocent  stranger.  “oh  my  god…  i’m  so  sorry.”  she  attempts  to  wipe  away  her  tears  quickly,  fully  aware  that  she  must  look  like  a  mess  right  now.  “i  didn’t  know…  i  thought  it’s  someone  else.”  she  wishes  she  could  disappear.  / @gcholdtrops

[everseens]

her grandfather's ranch looked just as it had the day she had moved out to sunny la. upon arriving with her multiple pieces of luggage, she was struggling a bit to even get one bag up the driveway. it looked like an unfamiliar figure was standing in front of the ranch, only to wave him down for some assistance. "this is so embarrassing but do you mind helping me carry some of these inside? maybe it was a bad idea to wear heels today..." she referenced down at her feet, letting out an embarrassed chuckle. / @slumpcd

[undivinelys]

                    “    it's    a    simple    question    ,    is    she    a    better    fuck    than    me    ?    ”

[cultsplush]

“That guy? — you can’t be serious.” @getsevens

[anquenin]

closed.

astarion sits neatly out of his tent, most of his traveling companions have retreated off for the night. and he enjoys the night, probably he would enjoy it more if he wasn't absolutely dreading what came when it was time to rest, cazador is waiting for him as always, haunting him despite the amount of distance he suspects there is between them. he's iddling a book, turning the pages more than reading them. his ears flicking at the slight sound of movement, he is lost deep in thought, the past few weeks he's found himself in a whole ordeal, tadpole in his head, walking under the sun, the world regaining color, his hunger, the wilderness, nearly getting killed by what seems to be their designated leader, she quickly made herself to be something different in his head, something new. something he hadn't experienced before. calling to him, but astarion does not need another close encounter with death.

he hears her come closer, and he is very much lounging, looking up with slow movements, and a tilt of his head, he can't read her entirely. but he senses something is wrong, off. and astarion cannot deny it, he is slightly intrigued in knowing what could possibly be troubling someone like her. (whether it is out of kindness or fear, it's only for him to know) "oh hello, darling." he does not sound annoyed, even if he could be. no, he's very much interested in her "-are you looking for some late night chit chat?" he opens up with a question, mainly to point out that he isn't entirely used to being approached at this time of the night. he has half a smirk on, still, he has a facade to upkeep. even if he tends to find himself not caring that much around her. (after all, she knows, she figured out his secret, he, stupidly, gave the play away. ended with a blade to the neck. what else could go wrong?)

@victo1re

[ormir]

@blightedmikhael location: on the road to Nornwatch, some weeks ago

Emerging from the birthing canals of the mountains was hardly the deliverance Iskaldrik’s people had hoped for. The light they’d yearned for was blinding and flesh-scalding as it reflected off the hardened snow. The air here formed in heavy, violent bursts that split lips and knuckles. The land stretched on into an unending wasteland rarely punctuated by trees or the odd jut of volcanic rock. The caravans shambled through the Stygian badlands, feet falling heavier and stomachs growing louder with every wagon wheel’s rotation.

The night was lethally cold, so camp was made early before the sun could slip the leash on them. A cluster of camp fires spit high in the air, their smoke channels buffered by the shiplike crag the Witchers had found refuge in. The interim king squirmed in its shadow. At least on the plains we’d be able to see danger coming. Worries soon to be surrendered to exhaustion. Ormir attempted to warm himself by a fire, fighting to undo the cold, even as it gorged on the remaining sensation in his extremities. The mead, what little they had left of it, was a necessary balm for the pain. He drank deep, and lowered his cup to find that a flickering figure had manifested on the other side of the flames. Beneath its layers, light struck upon armor of a make Ormir did not recognize.

Alarms immediately bellowed between his ears. An assassin? After a hair of thought, he shrugged the foolish notion off. Every second before the badlands would have provided an easier mark. He searched for the Guild’s heron brand on the stranger’s blade, but stopped short as he didn’t find a weapon to search on. An odd, conspicuous kind of mercenary?

The Raven-feeder closed the distance to investigate further. His fingers brushed the reassurance of his hatchets nestled at either hip. “You’re a long way from home, are you not?” Ormir started, congenially. Just another lost soul sharing purgatory. “You must have earned the wrath of a wicked god to have been sucked into all this.”