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Moved to @troublebringer

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Gonna be archiving this blog and moving to a Main Blog by the same name of Troublebringer. I’ll reroute everything, rn working on the blog theme

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Kimiko Glenn photographed by Shervin Lainez

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“Alright alright! I won’t bring it up again. If it makes you feel better I’m a Veronica.”

"Aw Eustace is such a nice name though." @troublebringer

@troublebringer

    “No….? It’s not? It’s such a shitty name. Look at me. Do I look like some eighty year old farmer? Do I look like an old man who gives people hard candies? I’m not. I’m not a Eustace.”

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Send Me A “👗” And My Muse Will Dress Yours

notquitethehack:

They’ll put together an outfit for yours based on their personal tastes using This.

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“Boring?!” She crowed, putting a hand to her chest in mock offense.

“I’ve got stories that put writers to shame! I’ve been stranded on a beautiful island full of slavers and pirates.” Her memory was foggy sometimes but she was pretty sure ol’ Hurk had mentioned being there too, though she hadn’t had the good fortune to meet him at the time.

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“That is my kinda fun! I can handle a croc or two I think. I’m not that old yet.”

“You could have fooled me!” All said in good fun, quite the difference the last time the two of them have talked. Anything to keep Prosperity’s mind off of New Eden. They weren’t the threat anymore, despite what they might have done years earlier.

“All BORING these days.”

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u ever wake up from a dream like “damn i guess i’m not coping with THAT as well as i thought i was”

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Reblog if it is okay if your muse is hurt, severely injured or tortured in RPs.

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He was right, Emery knew it as much as she didn’t wanna admit it. It hadn’t been her problem. It wasn’t her blood. Yet. Did she trust this stranger as far he could probably throw her? Nope. She’d sooner trust a politician who claimed to have her best interest in mind.

Still, with a slight bitter smile, Emery stumbled along blindly, hands up in surrender.

It felt wrong, giving up so fast, every fiber of her being was screaming for her to try something that could help her escape whatever nightmare she was about to experience. She tightened her jaw and took a shaky breath. Surviving was the absolute top priority.

She had to remind herself of this as she was suddenly yanked down, letting out a small, strangled yelp against the chokehold he still had on her. The clink of metal had her retracting her hands in defense, trying to avoid the hands she assumed were trying to lock cuffs around her wrists.

“L-Listen pal.” She tried as he clicked them into place. “I’m not a big deal! You let the cuffs off, I can walk myself out. I’ve made it pretty clear I’m willing to play along.” Her voice started to quiver as anxiety built in her chest. She could hardly breath, despite her airway being entirely clear. The last time she was handcuffed it’d been a day that almost sent her packing again. “Sure no yelling got it, yeah just- fuck oh fuck.”

She was gonna die. Die a terrible, lengthy, grotesque death that would leave her corpse disfigured and unrecognizable. She was never gonna see her father again or that cute redheaded bartender and she was never gonna see another spectacular place.

“Fuck.”

She’s Not Supposed to Be Here

He was relieved he didn’t have to take care of two bodies. He would have been indifferent if he had to kill her, disappointed in her choices maybe but this was a part of his job and there was no use crying over every person he came into contact with on his jobs. 

“It’s not your blood. Not your worry. Now, keep those eyes closed.” The gun in her side kept its pressure, reminding her death was a trigger pull away. He walked with her to his black duffel and, with the near choke hold still around her throat, lowered them both down to the ground until they were both kneeling. Maneuvering with hostages was always difficult, but if done just right, he could bind them and they wouldn’t be dumb enough to try and get the better of him thinking he was too preoccupied.

Wells removed the pistol from her side and placed it behind him out of her reach. He continued to keep her throat tight in the crook of his arm, but with his now free hand he was able to rummage through his duffel and pluck out handcuffs, a gag, and a blindfold. 

Handcuffs were first and he clicked them tightly around her wrists, all with one hand. They were too tight to dislocate a thumb and escape (he’s had that happen before), but not so tight that they cut off the circulation to her hands.– it was a fine line, though. 

“Eyes closed.” He reminded, just in case she thought she could take a peek. “I’m going to let your throat go,” he picked up the gun behind him and thrust it back into her rib cage, “No screaming. No running. Clear?”

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Suspicious Sentence Starters

Send me one of the following sentences regarding suspicion, trust, and paranoia.

“I’m not sure you have the best intentions.” “When have I ever steered you wrong?” “What makes you think I can trust you?” “I don’t trust you. Not yet.” “It’s hard for me to believe anything you say.” “It hurts that you still can’t trust me after all this time.” “I made a mistake, okay? Are you going to distrust me forever?” “It takes me a long time to open up to people, I’m sorry.” “There’s someone outside watching the house.” “I have a weird feeling about him/her/them.” “Why do you always think people are up to something?” “I won’t give you my trust. You have to earn it.” “You can’t live your life being suspicious of everybody around you.” “I know we just met, but you have to trust me.” “What on earth are you up to?” “So, what were you whispering about?” “You’ve been keeping a secret from me.” “I’m not crazy, we’re being watched!” “Why do I get the feeling you’re not telling me the truth?” “I’d rather be safe than sorry when it comes to people I don’t know yet.” “I trusted you once and I’m never doing it again.” “You see that person? I think they’re following us.” “I just get this feeling that someone has been watching me.” “Who are you and why have you been following me?” “I used to be a very trusting person.” “Where were you?” “I’m sorry I didn’t trust you.” “You won’t call me ‘paranoid’ when you realize I’ve been right all along.” “You were right, okay? I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you.” “Give me one good reason to trust you.” “After last time, I’m not sure I should listen to you.” “Nope. Nuh-uh. I’m not trusting another one of your bad plans.” “How can we trust this person?” “How do I know you won’t just stab me in the back?” “I’m sorry, I just can’t bring myself to trust you again.” “You were right. I was a fool to trust them.” “I’m not suspicious. I’m just cautious.” “I told you that they were bad news.” “No, facebook stalking isn’t ‘creepy’, it’s called ‘being careful’.” “I get a bad feeling about them.”

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Emery watched the downcast look he shot at the ground, looked at the way the jitters passed through his body like he was septic or seizing. With her bottom lip between her teeth Emery noticed something she hadn’t originally seen.  

There was an aura of muddied blues, black and grey, swirling like the stars in Starry Night. Now, it’d been a while since Emery devoted any time or energy into really seeing someone’s aura, even longer since she bothered to really look into what it meant but standing on the sidewalk, she figured it wouldn’t hurt to think back.

Emery considered looking through her old notes when she got home, ones she’d packed away ages ago to get a proper sense of what this actually meant, more accurate than foggy recollections of things she did when she was 13. No, that would be rude, prying. Emery had put those books away for a reason. Auras were cheating, they picked out pieces of a person and put them on clear display to people like her. And as nosy as Emery was, she preferred to use other methods to discover secrets, ones that were more concrete and exact. 

“Hey, listen. I was running to the cafe anyway, I could get you a refill?” As much as she liked to pride herself on not judging a book by its cover, his aura brought up old memories. Muddied colors like that usually meant it was a bad day. So she threw on her brightest smile and gestured for him to follow. 

Aggressive Progression

Things were off. Like maybe he was a step behind everything. Like when you use the slomo function on a VHS player and everything moves on jagged lines with a terrible film grain that caused headaches and eye strain. It certainly didn’t do anything to help the quality of the tape, but moving at a slower, nauseatingly jerky speed, he was able to figure a few things out.

Bryan’s hands shook like he had Parkinson’s. It wasn’t all the time that they shook, but when they did it was noticeable. 

He had stopped for a coffee on the way to the park. He needed something warm in his system and something serene to look at while he muddled through blurred thoughts. There were no tremors on the way to pick up said beverage, and no tremors when he paid and picked it up. It wasn’t until he was walking that he started to feel that wobble he couldn’t control.

Hot coffee spilled out from his cup and onto the person that had been walking towards him. Hands continued to shake and he gazed miserably at the mess he’d created. He wore sunglasses so nobody could see the soulless look in his dark-circled eyes, but there was embarrassment in them. Despair. Things were getting so bad so fast.

“S-sorry…” He struggled to speak because when his hands shook, the rest of his muscles took the day off. Shaking hands were shoved into his pockets where they continued to jiggle without any sign of stopping. “M’sorry…please–” He cleared his throat weakly. What was he even trying to say? It frustrated him to be so inarticulate. 

And then he…just turned to leave. The outing was a bust.

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reblog this if your muse is Not Straight

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Emery had lost track of time, busying mulling over a report that needed filing, until Staci bumped her shoulder and she nearly spilled her coffee over her desk. Setting the mug down Emery whipped around in her chair, cocking her eyebrow.

“Staci this isn’t another grand plan—“ Cut off, Emery listened to his idea, folding her arms across her chest. She had to admit, some good, wholesome fun like carving pumpkins was the kind of thing she could get behind.

“Alright, deal!”

@troublebringer  liked the starter call!

    “Hey. Em, Rook, I got an idea!” Staci strolled across the room, moving from the filing cabinets over to Emery, nudging her on the shoulder with a gentle fist bump. Well. Fist bump to a shoulder. Would shoulder bump be the correct word? Damn semantics, that didn’t matter! Staci had big plans.

    “It’s fall. It’s Hope County. It’s not a fucking snowstorm outside. You know what that means? That means Rae Rae’s Pumpkin Farm has gotta be ready for the consuming public. And that’s us! That means it’s pumpkin season and we can get pumpkins and carve those lovely bastards! How about it? Sounds like a fun idea after our shift is over?”

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