Recent Statuses

8 days ago
Current I'm glad Zach Snyder gets to put out his cut of Justice League because it's rare that a director gets to fuck up the same movie twice.
9 days ago
I'm watching it for the first time since it's on Netflix but Avatar: The Last Airbender seems like it sucks.
11 days ago
I've been nursing a headache all day and before that usually meant taking some aspirin and getting some good sleep but now it basically means I have to cook and clean but with a fucking headache.
12 days ago
Popeye's chicken is more crowded during a pandemic than normal times. Impending doom and gloom makes people desire shitty chicken I guess.
16 days ago
The internet would be a way cooler place if people just admitted that they enjoy the occasional naughty picture or video instead of acting like people enjoying adult content is outrageous and awful.


Look, I got lost on the way to getting some jajangmyeon and it'd be foolish to leave now.


Most Recent Posts

Sure, why not

There was always a certain vibe when stepping into a local establishment as an outsider - like introducing a new specimen into an ecosystem there were risks involved. Brandy could tell right away that a place like this, a place she might as well have been a unicorn for her rarely she was in a local dive joint such as this, that she was out of her element. In the dance clubs with reputations for their lines and their overpriced drinks and the buffet of hairspray and powder in any given bathroom, Brandy would've been a hot commodity. Not quite a star of the Hollywood silver screen but more glamorous than the dreamers and the day shift workers who needed to unwind after a day of insider trading or hocking foreign wares at marked up prices. But here everyone knew each other's name. The guy behind the bar was Sam and every local girl was Diane. Brandy? She wasn't Carla or Cliff or even Norm. No, she was an extra.

Right now the vibe was palpable. Dozen conversations going on, old friends discussing old habits, new arrivals ordering old favorites, patrons stepping out of the bathroom looking guilty as if people were ignorant of the fact that they weren't going there to take a piss. Well, not exclusively anyway. There was something about a local pit, the lack of an obnoxiously loud dance floor, the smell of dried waste and human misery, the last call for dreamers and believers to drown their daily failures in a glass of amber and ice while working up the courage to get back out there and make it happen. That was ultimately the vibe at a place like this compared to the tiring, boring clubs in the cities. Here, the customers came back out of a sense of loyalty, camaraderie, to be lifted up and encouraged, a truly inspiring tale of humanity; out there, in big city clubs, it's less about supporting local businesses so much as it is supporting individual desires.

And here was Brandy Valentine, a tourist leaving her little world and entering theirs. Brandy was certain no fewer than a dozen people holding their drinks or wiping their nose on the sly would give anything to walk a day in the sphere of familiarity Brandy had; the ironic thing being they absolutely could if they got rid of their morals and compromised what counted for integrity. Brandy was hardly anyone special, just someone who saw a window of opportunity and decided to break a door. But when morals were all the separated her from them, it was good that they kept theirs. That's why they came to a place like this, drinking shots and pining lots, because no matter what happened out there in the world, this place was welcoming.

Brandy didn't know if she belonged, but sooner or later someone was going to recognize her, be awkward about it, and that would be that. It wasn't so bad, being recognized, but this was their place, not hers. She was the intruder. The tourist. People she could only assume were locals were talking or getting hit on. The last time Brandy was here was...months ago and she had one drink and walked out for no other reason than it was one in the afternoon and drinking while the sun was up was a kind of depressing she didn't want to deal with. She would order a drink in due time, but her goal was near the back of the bar. A place like this having nothing playing from the juke was a cardinal sin.

She was sauntering her way through the bar, ears open to all manner of things. Someone ordering water at a bar. Something about contractors. This and that about a guy named Jed - and not the Clampett variety. Screaming Orgasms on the house. As she approached the jukebox, the sound of someone doing a spit take tickled the ears. Turning her head, she saw it. An unfortunate accident that could explode into something beyond control. Fortunately the one who had done the spit take had the good sense to vacate the scene and for a second Brandy was sure their eyes locked. The spitter seemed like she wanted to look Brandy's way while Brandy was just observing in general. Still, it didn't stop Brandy from cracking a smile down the way before turning back to the jukebox.

As the music started to play, so too did Brandy, placing her hands on the top of the jukebox and moving her body in tune and time to the intro rhythms. As the voice of Laura Branigan started to play, Brandy mouthed the words right along. "Oh, the my world. City light..painted girl...In the day...nothing's the night..time that matters..."

It might not have been a dance club kinda place, but that wasn't going to stop Brandy from putting her mark on the mood of the place, even if only for as long as she danced alone by the jukebox as the night continued around her.

Unless Cthulu is a sexy god like the female ones in Smite then I ain't interested. I want my Lovecraft monsters to have big yabbos.
Free, Casual, and Advanced are not good ways to divide the RP line anyway
I'm curious
In Shelter 13 days ago Forum: Casual Roleplay


One step at a time. That was a good way to look at things. A better way would be to take more than one step given the situation but that was inching closer to mixed metaphors. Elliot shared the sentiment, at least, of focusing on specific, immediate goals rather than plan for other possibilities or eventualities. She assumed everyone in the group had read Of Mice and Men enough to know the significance of the title and how deviating from the idea of 'one step at a time' in a situation like this was just asking for everything to go tits up. Elliot wasn't going to bring that up, the last thing anyone wanted to hear was that planning ahead was just as likely to fail than succeed. Optimism was the name of the game. Well, that and survival, but optimism was slightly easier in the here and now.

"Right, I'm not keen on stepping softly or whatever, so stick close." Elliot was given the reigns to take point and take point she did, stepping out in front of the group and heading down the hallway with steps that could be described as 'striding'. It was stupid to break into a sprint or a run or even a jog when conservation of energy was of utmost import but Elliot was walking a bit above casual. There was a deliberate pace and had it been just a regular school day it was doubtful that she would even stand out - on any given day there were no fewer than five students trying to hurry to their next class or to lunch without any consideration for other students. There might've even been a similar scene but with panic and screams as students fled in terror down the halls but if Elliot thought of that she would only ruin the optimism she was trying to express.

The important bit was that while Elliot was making a beeline to her locker, she wasn't rushing there like she was running the mile in gym.

Thirty seconds. That's how long it took for her to arrive in front of her locker, but in this climate thirty seconds might as well have been thirty minutes. If some of the others were taking the time to check the classrooms en route and around the locker that was their right, Elliot hadn't looked back to see if anyone had followed until she arrived - and even then she just checked her sides before making one more request. "It'd be cool if nothing came up from behind and took a bite outta my ass." Sensible. Reasonable, she figured, and set to work opening her locker.

The inside of Elliot's locker was as plain as the outside. She never quite saw the point in putting up pictures or mirrors or stickers or whatever on the inside. It was a locker, it was meant to store shit not hang out in front of and gossip. "Ah, perfect." Elliot reached inside her locker and pulled out the thing she had made the group detour for: a simple black guitar case which she promptly slung onto her back, slamming her locker shut behind her.

"Right. What's the plan now?"

Weeks Ago

"So, what's your passion?"

As far as studio spaces went, Brandy had seen better. Of course, she had seen worse but that didn't exactly change the fact that she had gotten a raw deal from the real estate company. That was the worst thing about this town, everyone was out for themselves. Everyone was willing to walk on the backs of the little guy if it meant climbing a slightly higher fence. Brandy wasn't sinless, she'd gotten where she was on the backs of all the midwestern suburban girls who thought they could be the next Cheryl Ladd or Goldie Hawn just because they did a crappy school production of Romeo and Juliet. They, like so many, had dreams but lacked passion. Lacked drive. Lacked the good sense to throw away their morals for their own benefit. There was a reason those wannabe dreamers worked in crappy diners or reception gigs while Brandy was renting office space and had captured the libidos of young boys peeking in the shoebox under their older brother's bed as much as she had the fathers and bachelors who still had time for fantasy.

Why should she take the time to mourn those who clung to something as pointless as integrity? The ones who refuse to compromise were the ones who only saw their dreams come to pass when they slept. Everyone thinks they're talented until they leave the comfort of friends and family.

The studio space, located on the third floor of an office building with nothing on the second floor and a laundromat on the first, was a good first step for Brandy. She still had her day-job of performing various other sorts of jobs for the camera and select lucky individuals whose sole contribution to the world would be telling their friends in ten years that they were in a porn once but having a place to call her own was how she would turn from being in front of the camera to being behind it as well. Just because she was established, in comparison to the busloads of dreamers anyway, didn't mean she could rest on her laurels. She already took the adult world by storm in her debut, how historic would it be to do it again. A woman running her own little adult entertainment company...imagine the possibilities there.

Of course, it wasn't all sex and fun. She had her legitimate side and what could be more lucrative to the dreamers, schemers, and true-believers than doing professional head-shots? Brandy had connections. Kind of. More than most and certainly more than the jerks who take advantage of girls fresh off the bus with promise that they know a producer if only they do them a favor...but who would be stupid enough to fall for that trick? Put an ad in the papers, offer a huge discount for anyone who brings said ad, and Brandy was in business. Of course, that it was also a way to gauge potential talent for her enterprise was a little known secret. Either way, even with her crappy studio space, Brandy was on her way.

"Wait, don't tell me. You...want to be an actress, right? You and every other pretty face around here. Well, you've got beautiful skin, but your clothes? Totally unflattering. You're hiding your God given assets. We're women in a man's town, we have to make them want you as much as you want this. But I've got a good feeling about you. You've got a look." Brandy's words of wisdom were aimed at a young girl with porcelain skin who seemed equal parts nervous and excited about head shots. What aspiring star of the silver screen didn't have that? Producers and agents loved passing around the pictures of would-be starlets. Brandy liked to joke that the more producers who popped a stiff one with the shots, the better chance the girl had at getting cast in a picture.

None of them found it quite as funny as she did.

"What'd you say your name was, by the way?"

"Nikki. Nikki Entwhistle."

"Well, look to the left for me, Nikki Entwhistle. And smile. You'll be in the papers one day."


"I hate it when I'm right."

For a town obsessed with bright, flashing lights no one really wanted to see the blue and red ones shining down the street yet there was always a certain morbid, macabre curiosity that bade onlookers to sneak their peeks. It was worse in a community where people knew each other. Where people talked. Brandy wondered if anyone would claim the body, if anyone knew who Nikki Entwhistle was. The boys in blue were starting to pull people back, but it was a scene many were familiar with. If it wasn't suicide then it was someone a little too friendly with the lines and thinking they were invincible. In a city full of dreamers, nightmares are far too common.

"Did you know her?" A curious, old gossip stopped Brandy as she turned away from the scene.

"I bought her that dress."

What more needed to be said? The cops wouldn't be interested in talking to Brandy. It was a suicide, not a homicide, and Brandy wasn't exactly friends with the girl. Nikki Entwhistle's head-shots would be in the obituaries tomorrow courtesy of the photos Brandy took. The ones being passed around a studio would be crumpled up and thrown in the trash like so many others. Brandy couldn't bring herself to mourn for the girl. The city had broken her. Another dream dashed, another hopeful discarded with the hopeless. Just another day in paradise. In the same corner shop selling papers with Nikki's obituary more people would purchase a skin rag with Brandy on page thirteen, finger crooked in the mouth. The irony that both Brandy and Nikki would be photographed in similar positions was not lost. Both women weren't strangers to getting fucked.

Brandy needed one of two things, both stiff, and one was more readily attained. It was almost instinct that carried her feet away from the grizzly scene towards the familiar. The Pit wasn't her typical haunt, she'd lived on the fringes between Oceanside and the city for long enough to dart between worlds, but beggars couldn't be choosers and it wasn't as if she would be paying for it anyway. There wasn't a bar in the state Brandy would have to pay for, such was the way of the endless parade of hopefuls with more cash than sense.

As she rounded the corner towards her destination, she arrived just in time to see the bouncer tossing someone. What a dive. If he was drinking here by choice then he was some kind of desperate the then get himself tossed. "Rough night?" Brandy made no attempt to stand in the queue, such as it was. She was getting inside because she was Brandy Valentine.

"No more than usual. You in town for a shoot, B? Don't see you around often. What's it been...couple weeks? Months?"

"Well you know me. I can't keep away from a dive den of depravity. If I stick around, I'll buy you a drink when your shift's done. We can get off together."

"So you are working."


Brandy Valentine left the bouncer grinning as she sauntered past, stepping inside The Pit with all the poise of a celebrity, and considering where she was and who she was...she might as well have been one.

Oh that's easy. Queen of Hearts by Fucked Up. I turn it up and I can't stop myself from belting out the chorus every time, especially the Veronica chorus and the Veronica verse.

Of the suggested three meals a day, which is your favorite and what is your favorite thing to eat for that meal?
Anyway I'm working through the backlog and Grand Theft Auto 5 is a bad game. Thank you.
<Snipped quote by Fabricant451>

Lol you got any others on your list you wanna watch?

I've been watching Elementary which I don't know why I slept on for so long since it has two of my favorite things: police procedural mysteries and Lucy Liu in killer fashion.

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