Hi wow holy shit I know I haven't been here in a long time and you all probably thought me dead or MIA or something along those lines but if you're reading this, I'm sorry to say that I am not back here to continue indie roleplay. It's something that I have given up (or at least on this account with this set of muses) and I've accepted that. However, I am never going to delete this blog because I'm selfish and I like to go back and cringe at my horrible writing. (But I also like to read my old threads to cry over my old ships.) The last time you all saw me, I was, well, suicidal, in a word. My whole world was crashing down and I didn't know what I was doing with my life. I've made peace with my demons (somewhat) and I'm going to start counseling soon to deal with my problems. You all also probably remember me being in love with someone else when I left, as well. I can say now that I've fully moved on and am in love with the beautiful and wonderful Miss Carly. I mean, who wouldn't be? Look at her.

Please, if you ever need to contact me, my kik is skiddedrow and my blog is furbypocalypse or mucasclemmings . You guys were and are so fucking important to me, but I've learned through Carly that hard times pass and you have to remember the good instead of regretting the bad. Thank you all for being a part of my life. 

It wasn’t until Benji tried to shove his hand in his pocket that he even noticed the smaller one tucked in there. The tiniest movements of the short males fingers told Benji that his little pick pocket was stealing a cigarette from the crumbled packet. “You do know you can just ask, right, Punk?” he laughed, rolling his bright eyes playfully as he extracted his lighter from the front pocket of his extremely tight jeans.

"I do want to know something though," Benji mused, peering over at the smaller male with a bemused expression. "How come you always pick pocket my cigarettes and not the gross guys at the venues?" he teased, nudging Danny.

They were on their way to yet another venue for a shitty little punk band that neither of them were all that interested in. Benji went though, because he enjoyed watching his boyfriend lose himself in the movement. Of course,  Danny pinning him some place and grinding him into oblivion moments later was just an added bonus to having a whirlwind as a boyfriend.

Benji pushed his long fingers through his own hair, lit and puffed on a cigarette and tipped his head back a little as he walked; the fingers of his free hand clenched in the shoulder of Danny’s leather jacket.

---

"I'm not used to just asking," the punk mumbled shyly. Danny had to pick pocket just to get by for nearly four years of his life, and it wasn't something he was proud of, but it had become a terrible habit. Now, when he needed to borrow a lighter from Hunter or from Benji, he'd do it and have the lighter back before they even knew Danny was in the same room. He was good at being invisible, with his dainty hands and light steps. 

Danny shrugged as he took his boyfriend's lighter out of his hand, lighting the cigarette he managed to take before Benji noticed where his hand was. "Because I know that you won't give me herpes. I hope you won't give me herpes. Do me a favor and don't give me herpes, sugar." 

The punk had honestly stopped looking at the bands that were playing before telling Benji that they were going to some shitty hole in the ground to see a show. The band didn't matter to him much, just the rush of adrenaline he got from being in a crowd, the feeling of being knocked around and being able to get back up, and being able to pin the elder up against a wall and grind on him without being questioned.

After taking a short drag from the cigarette and letting the smoke burn in his lungs for a few seconds, he blew the cloud of smoke near Benji's face. But, because of their height difference, it separated at his jawline. 

iamtherevelation

Oliver raised his head to see the Careers, staring at him as he worked in the corner on a hand-made bow and arrows. They were provoking him on purpose, just to try to get him to react. He couldn’t. He hadn’t spoken to a single person since arriving in the Capitol, including his worthless trainer or his blind stylist. Hell, he could arrange a better outfit. The other tribute from his district, 12, was disappointingly a twelve year old girl who’d never once taken food. Oliver, though, he might as well have been asking to get in the games. He didn’t want to get too attached to the girl, or feel remorse when she would die. He, with his trained body, had a damn good chance of winning and could out-fight any of the careers in hand to hand combat. Still, he didn’t dare show his skills in training, for fear of someone figuring out his plan to hopefully win the Hunger Games and live in peace in the Victor Village of District Twelve.

what not to do at 1 am: