#nycblacklistprompt

[nyc-blacklist]

HAPPY HALLOWEEN, BLACKLISTERS! Let’s help each other get in the Halloween spirit. Send a spooky word or emoji to other character(s) of your choosing. To let others know which of your character(s) you'd like to receive questions on, reblog this post to that character's blog. Anon is optional!

👻 Ghost: Do you believe in ghosts? Who would visit you as a ghost? 

🍬 Trick or Treat: What did you dress up as as a child? What is your favorite costume to wear now? 

🐺 Werewolf: What makes a monster in your eyes?

🎃 Pumpkin: How is your home decorated for Halloween?

🧙🏼‍♂️ Wizard: If you could have any magical power or superpower, what would it be? Why? 

🐈 Black Cat: What are you superstitious about? 

🔮 Cauldron: What kind of potion would you drink if given the opportunity? 

🎭 Costume: What quality, trait, or characteristic do you mask in yourself? 

🧟‍♀️ Zombie: It’s the middle of the zombie apocalypse - what three Blacklisters do you want by your side?

🦇 Bat: What would happen to you in a stereotypical horror movie? Would you survive? How would you die?

💀 Tombstone: How do you want your eulogy to read? 

✨ Witch: If you could put a curse or a hex on someone, good or bad, what would it be and who would it be for? 

🧛🏽‍♂️ Vampire: What sucks the life out of you? What drains your energy? 

🕸 Cobwebs: Dust off an old Halloween memory and share it with us. 

🌕 Full Moon: What are your Halloween traditions?

TAGS:  #nycblacklistprompt #nycblacklisthalloweenprompt

#nycblacklistprompt #nycblacklisthalloweenprompt #ask meme #rp meme #rp #rpg #city rpg #town rpg #mature rpg #active rpg #established rpg #halloween ask meme #roleplay #original rp #oc rp #bio rp #skeleton rp

[tcmmykane]

It’s 1972, you are 21 years old, and you’re celebrating your first wedding anniversary to your high school sweetheart. You’re going to Columbia University to get a degree in children’s psychology, and you feel good. You’re a go-getter, a trendsetter, a woman who stays up with the times and demands to be seen as her own person rather than an extension of her husband. He’s a very capable man, yes, but he’s also supportive, and he wants what you want: to be an equal pair.

Your first pregnancy comes a year later, the natural progression in your relationship. You are equal parts excited and scared. Excited for the new life you and Tom are bringing into the world but terrified of what you’ll have to sacrifice. Will this baby cost you your education? Your career? They’re fears you don’t mention to anyone because you don’t want to be seen as sacrificing your womanhood for who you want to become. You are the portrait of happiness on the outside, exuding joy as your husband sets up the nursery in your little Queens apartment. You pick out the color scheme – something neutral since you won’t know the gender until birth. You’re hoping for a boy. Tom’s hoping for a boy.

You’re twenty-three when you become a mother for the first time. The labor is intense and lasts much longer than you had anticipated, but it’s well worth it. Your body is trembling from the effort, flushed and dewy as you reach for your daughter. It doesn’t matter that she’s not a boy, you think, because you’ll have time for that. You’re too elated to think of anything else, and when Tom suggests the name Matilda, you agree with tears in your eyes. This little creature is perfect, and your resignations about being a mother are instantly wiped free.

When your maternity leave is over, you entrust your mother – who has never had a job in her life aside from being a homemaker – with the care of your daughter. It’s difficult, at first, to leave her for your studies, but you know it’s for the best. And you know that you can lead by example, you can teach your daughter to be strong and smart and opinionated. The time of docile girls is long gone.

Your next pregnancy is easier, and the next child is born almost exactly two years after Matilda. It’s another girl, but Matilda has been so joyful that you try to mask your mild disappointment. You want a son very badly, but if daughters are in the cards, you will do your best with the hand you’re given. You will make sure they have an ace up their sleeves. Theodora, you name her, but everyone calls her Theo. Theo and Matti, almost like you have two sons already.

You’re in graduate school when you become pregnant the third time. And this is the last time, you say very vehemently, and your husband agrees. Three children are a lot. And you will have to upgrade. This apartment is no longer big enough for a family of five. You are in your third trimester when you and Tom purchase the townhouse you will live in for the foreseeable future. Four bedrooms – just exactly the right amount – and a nice little enclosed backyard. You paint the front door red and call it home.

Olive is the last of the lot, you think as you hold her in your arms and smile down at her wrinkly, baby face. Your hair is a mess on your head, and you’ve just given birth, but Tom looks at you like the sun is shining right out of you, and he tells you you’re the most beautiful person in the world. You believe him. And he’s so good that you feel terrible for not giving him a son, but he never complains. He loves his girls, and he’s a damn good dad.

The next few years fly past in a breeze. You were meant to be a girl mom, it is clear, and even though your heart still yearns for that son, you put all of your energy into your budding career and into your girls. Matilda, Theodora, and Olive are all strong, independent young ladies already, and you’re practicing your skill at home, on them. Maybe it’s not the right method, but you think that it’s probably the norm in your field. Tom has a great job, you have a great job, you’ve both just pushed past thirty. Your life seems solid.

And then you find out you’re pregnant.

There are two years separating Matilda and Theo, two years separating Theo and Olive. There will be five years between Olive and this one, and, damn, you were just getting used to not changing diapers, and you’ve thrown out all the bottles and baby things. It’s just god awful timing.

But what are you going to do about it?

You and Tom and the girls have a somber talk, and the girls are immediately excited. Of course, they want a new baby, and they’re all hoping for a baby sister. Tom, who is nervous at first, seems to soak up the girls’ energy, and he’s swinging them around the room, asking them what they’re going to name the baby before you can even feel it moving inside of you.

You feel sick.

The first had been a nervous excitement, the second a thrill, and the third a raw hope. This fourth child was no something you have the time or energy for, not with a practice with your name on the door, not with three other children and a husband to entertain.

All you can do is go through the motions and hope for the very best. But that’s not what you get, is it? No. You get an awful pregnancy, where the morning sickness seeps into the afternoon. You’re praying for that second trimester break, but it never comes, you keep vomiting. You see the doctor, but he tells you these things happen sometimes. Just stay hydrated. Just keep down what you can. You’re angry. You hardly sleep. Some of your blonde hair is falling out, and it’s the god damned 80s. A woman isn’t a woman without her hair.

Tom is worried about you. You’re worried about you. But you feel like all you’re doing is giving. Giving your body to this fetus that keeps growing. Giving your time and energy and effort, whatever is left of it, to everyone but yourself. You feel like a husk, and you’re starting to regret it all, starting to wish you’d done something about this… this parasite before it was too late. You’re not going to make it to the third trimester, you can’t.

Snap out of it, Pamela. You’re a strong woman.

The weeks blend together, and the wretched sickness doesn’t end. You’re eight weeks out of delivery and in the middle of your workday when something goes horribly wrong. This isn’t a faux labor, it’s very real, marked by the contractions you’ve been ignoring, having been through the motions three times, because it’s too early, and, fuck, did you manifest this shit? They’re only a few minutes apart when you call Tom, tell him to meet you at the hospital because you’re pretty sure this baby is coming. And you hang up, because you don’t have time for explanations or being precious about his emotions right now.

And you were right. It was labor. They can’t even try to stop it now, and you blame yourself for not acting sooner. It’s not that early, but it’s early enough for discomfort as you fight your way through this one who delivers only the weakest mewl of a cry upon its arrival.

It’s a boy! Is the first thing they say, and you sit up on your elbows, heart racing, hair a limp, damp mess on your head. You exchange a look with Tom, and you can see his excitement, too. A son, finally. But there’s something wrong. They don’t even let you hold him before they’re taking him away, and you’re calling after them. A nurse is by your side, trying to calm you, telling you they have to run some tests, and he is premature, after all. This does nothing to ease your wild heart, beating against your ribcage like a desperate knock against a locked door.

You’ve finally got your son, and now this.

Tom slides into the bed with you, and he has his arms around you in no time, without you having to ask, which you’re grateful for. And you know it’s the hormones, and maybe a little bit of guilt, but you’re sobbing, and he’s just letting your tears soak up his shirt, rocking you. No empty it’s okay words because Tom doesn’t say things he doesn’t mean. God, you got a good one.

The minutes tick by and it feels like days but really, it’s only an hour, give or take. A doctor comes in to speak with you and Tom, and there’s no baby in sight, so you know it’s bad, and your heart clenches in your chest like that fist ready to knock again, pleading with the universe or God, if she exists, for him to not be dead. Anything but dead.

Anything but dead is what you get because the news is bad. Very bad. He’s got a congenital heart defect which has led to a series of issues with the vessel which will require immediate surgery. Which is where he’s about to be taken – somewhere better than this shithole he was born in. If he survives, the doctor says, and that little two letter word knocks the breath right out of you. If he survives, he has a lifetime of surgeries ahead of him – for however long he lives.

They don’t have a definitive diagnosis yet because so, so many illnesses fall under that ‘congenital heart defect’ blanket with life expectancies ranging from 1 week to 70 years. Tom wheels you out because you’re not staying here if your baby boy is going somewhere else. A hospital is a hospital, and he’s not going to be alone.

They take you to New York-Presbyterian Hospital-Colombia and Cornell, where you wait anxiously with your husband’s hand grasped in yours while someone meticulously works on the tiny, tiny heart of your 3.8lb baby. You hold your breath the whole time, or at least it feels that way, and, later, you’ll feel guilty for forgetting about the girls, but they’re with they’re grandmother, and someone else needs all of your attention right now.

You haven’t even held him yet, haven’t even given him a name. You look up at your husband, “We should name him after you. But not junior, because that’s tacky.” He laughs a little and squeezes your hand, thinks that’s a great idea, and you can see the hope in his eyes.

He makes it through the surgery, and you get to see him, but you can’t hold him yet. He’s too fragile. All you can do is touch him through a little box, and smile through the glass at your precious little miracle. He squeezes your finger, his tiny little hand all wrapped around your index finger, and your heart swells in your chest. You think he’s a fighter, he’s gonna make it much further than this. At least if you have anything to do with it.

You are discharged before he is, which is a low blow. But you get to see your girls and tell them they have a new little brother named Tommy. They’re all so very excited until you tell them that he’s sick and he’s small, and it’s going to be a while before they can hold him or play with him. You haven’t even begun to think of the financial burden that lies ahead of you. One day at a time, that’s all you can do with this baby.

That first year is filled with surgeries and appointments, illnesses that nearly take him from you, feeding tubes, wounds all over his swollen, yellow body. Where the girls were cute and bubbly at this age, Tommy is on the small side with a face swollen from surgeries and medication, a feeding tube down his nose and taped to his chest which is already wracked with scars. He’s got dark circles under his eyes, too, and he’s in pain a lot. It’s difficult to watch, but it’s worth it for those gummy smiles and those genuine giggles.

The next year is more surgeries, and you’re not working as much as you were before because Tommy is taking up all of your time. Tom can’t really foot this bill on his own, so you’re left in debt that just keeps piling up. But how can you worry about that when, at any moment, this little ball of life could be gone? He was given such a small percentage rate for surviving, but here he is.

When he’s four, you’re a little worried because he’s small and he’s fussy, but you take him to his appointment and he’s in better shape than some of the other kids, and the doctor is just thrilled that he’s willing to eat food and hasn’t needed a feeding tube in a while. While the doctors have always been honest with you, that he’s not likely to survive to adulthood, your hope has blossomed out of control. Tommy seems to be beating the odds at every turn.

He starts school on time, but there’s one problem. The girls are a little resentful of him, you can tell, and you know it’s your fault partly, because it’s like they’ve been on the backburner while everything, everything has been poured into Tommy. But they’re healthy. They’re older, too, they don’t need you as much. Besides, your career is right back there with them.

You’re very particular about everything when it comes to him. You have to be careful. Because he gets sick easily, and he has to have so many surgeries, and so he can’t do a lot of things that the other children can do. He’s charming from a young age, which should make making friends easy, but he’s also different, and he’s fragile. It’s only when you meet little Brody Levi and his respectable parents that your son has his first true friend. And that’s thrilling to you, because you know Tommy needs a little light in his life.

Your son, he keeps growing and thriving, for the most part – at least as well as he can. The surgeries keep coming, though, and the bills pile up to the metaphorical ceiling. The doctors have told them not to hope for high school graduation, but Tommy’s urging you to go back to work, so you do, in earnest. But so much time has passed, and so many things have changed. Your little boy is growing into a preteen, and your daughters are all teenagers themselves. They’ve long ago lost the lifestyle they were accustomed to, and they have a main target in their view: their little brother. Their anger and resentment, you know, should be directed at you, but instead, it’s on him, and you carry the guilt of it like a token of shame as you turn back to your career with the hope of digging you and your husband out of debt.

You’ve gained the son you wanted so badly, yes, but at what cost?

#nycblacklistprompt #nycnpcprompt #pamela kane #yikes this is long #i'm not doing tws bc of the tag blocks so enter at your own risk

[stella-lunden]

🧟‍♀️

Zombie: It's the middle of the zombie apocalypse - what three Blacklisters do you want by your side? (part 2)

“The second part to surviving the apocalypse is long term settlement right? So someone who knows how to garden would be ideal. I think Arthur has a green thumb and he probably knows a whole bunch of random trivia that would actually save our asses. A doctor would be amazing so Billy has to be there. I know he isn’t a doctor yet but he’s got to have learned a lot so far. Maybe Silas for backup. Firefighters know first aid.”

@arthurgustin @heybillywatson @silas--black

#nycblacklistprompt #nycblacklisthalloweenprompt #《 𝙝𝙚𝙡𝙡 𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙙𝙨 𝙤𝙣 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙞𝙡 𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙤𝙣𝙘𝙚 𝙖𝙜𝙖𝙞𝙣 ┋☆┋ asks 》

[irisorchids]

🐺 Werewolf: What makes a monster in your eyes?

"If you were to look up the definition of the word monster it would simply state that it is an imaginary creature that is typically large, ugly and frightening." Esmeray speaks, even though she is sure that isn't the real question at hand. He wasn't asking her about the imaginary creatures created to ensure that children came home before curfew or kept their sticky fingers out of the cookie jar. They were adults now and the realization that the real monsters look exactly like us... in some cases they are us had already dawned on them.

“It’s hard to pinpoint just one thing that makes someone a monster.” She starts “I mean I could go the easy route and say that anyone who purposefully harms others is a monster but wouldn’t that make us all monsters? I believe that in one way or another we are. No matter how innocent or helpful you might be in life you will always be a monster in someone's eyes, simply by existing. “

#nycblacklistprompt #nycblacklisthalloweenprompt #|Esmeray's ♡ Answers| #don't mind her cryptic ass

[legatumhominis]

🌕 Full Moon: What are your Halloween traditions?

Tommy asks and for a moment there's no real good answer. So he plucks the cigarette from the other man's mouth, takes a long pull and sighs a moment. Smoke and ash float lazily between them and Matthew hums contemplative. There's memories of one or two Halloweens spent as a kid, bright eyed in wonder at the jack-o-lanterns lining the streets as the chauffeur took him to and from the private school upstate.

It lasted only a year.

Boy won't fit in unless he grows a spine, his father spat out before Archie could cover his ears and turn his face away from the open door. Cmon Matty, I'll read Scary Stories again huh? Another drag from the cigarette and he's leaning close, fingers hooking around Tommy's nape as he blows smoke between their lips. "I used to read this book, well my brother did, it kind of stuck." Blue eyes skim the other man's face a moment, shrugging and flicking ash to the side. It was the little things.

Lips quirk up and his fingers hook a belt loop.

"Do you like scary stories, Tommy?"

#// i really ought to sit down and write out all the cute halloweens the trio had together #ch . tommy kane #nycblacklistprompt #nycblacklisthalloweenprompt

[jessxwestward]

🔮

"Definitely a potion that would let me read minds or something. Like, even if temporarily. It'd be cool to hear what's going on in someone's head as opposed to what they tell you."

#nycblacklistprompt #nycblacklisthalloweenprompt #answeredask #mail

[heybillywatson]

🔮 Cauldron: What kind of potion would you drink if given the opportunity?

Easy. The potion that Shrek and Donkey drink that makes them handsome.

#nycblacklisthalloweenprompt #nycblacklistprompt

[callie-boseman]

💀 Tombstone: How do you want your eulogy to read?

"Something simple and positive, like..."

'Callie did everything in her power to keep an optimistic outlook and always came prepared. She was loved and will be deeply missed.'

"...and then if I had any secrets to spill, after I am gone, tip the cup over and let them all out."

#nycblacklistprompt #nycblacklisthalloweenprompt

[jeremylodge]

𝐆 𝐋 𝐎 𝐑 𝐈 𝐎 𝐔 𝐒 𝙰 𝙹𝙴𝚁𝙴𝙼𝚈 𝙻𝙾𝙳𝙶𝙴 𝙿𝙻𝙰𝚈𝙻𝙸𝚂𝚃

oh my dear lord the unlikely candidates  //  glitter & gold barns courtney  //  grave digger matt maeson  //  king saint phnx  //  since the day i was born lostboycrow  //  point of no return starset  //  knife edge martin luke brown  //  man or monster sam tinnesz  //  i can’t breathe bea miller  //  silhouette aquilo  //  out of the dark dia frampton  //  cold skin seven lions & echos  //  am i the only one jackie  //  nvm faith marie  //  breathe luke cusato  //  the war syml  //  clean eyes syml  //  inconsequential austin blue  //  you don’t know katelyn tarver  //  serotonin call me karizma  //  the man who this high  //  the mystic adam jensen  //  wolf boy epic  //  the hearse matt maeson  //  bury me low 8 graves  //  little poor me layto  //  voices glooms

#nycblacklistprompt #nycblacklistplaylistprompt

[abbygodfrey]

𝖇𝖚𝖗𝖓 𝖒𝖊 𝖉𝖔𝖜𝖓. 𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚋𝚒𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚕 𝚐𝚘𝚍𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚢 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

devil in me halsey  //  find me teza talks  //  sad sad girl terror jr  //  conscious broods  //  crazy gnarls barkley  //  devil on my shoulder faith marie  //  the drowning elsa & emilie  //  burn me down sophie simmons  //  you don’t know katelyn tarver  //  freedom emm  //  my way tom walker  //  learn to let go welshly arms  //  bad luck adam jensen  //  nice girl syence.

#nycblacklistprompt #nycblacklistplaylistprompt

[nyc-blacklist]

Happy Pride Month, Blacklisters! In the spirit of love and self in all of their many forms, we've put together a little ask meme for you all to get involved with. Just send a colour to any amount of characters of your choice and let's find out what love and identity looks like to our fellow Blacklisters. Anon is optional!

Pink: How do you flirt? How do you like to be flirted with?

Red: What are you passionate about? What do you love?

Orange: How have you changed in your life? How would you like to change for the future?

Yellow: What qualities do you look for in a friend? What qualities make someone a bad friend in your eyes?

Green: Where or when do you feel the safest and most at peace?

Blue: What makes you anxious or sad? What can pull you out of that?

Indigo: How does someone gain your trust? How does someone lose it? 

Violet: What do you like about yourself? What do you dislike about yourself?

Black: If you had one hour left to live, how would you spend it?

White: If you could talk to your younger self, what would you say?

Brown: If you had to swap lives with another Blacklister for a week, who would you choose and why? 

Please remember to send out asks to other members if you'd like to participate in this yourselves. Ask away!

Tags:

#nycblacklistprompt

#nycblacklistprideprompt

#nycblacklistprompt #rpg #established rpg #active rpg #bio rpg #skeleton rpg #oc rpg #lsrpg #literate rpg #mumu rpg #mature rpg #nycblacklistprideprompt

[stella-lunden]

🕸

Cobwebs: Dust off an old Halloween memory and share it with us.

Sunday, October 30, 2011

She doesn’t know whose house this is. All Stella knows is that it’s very underwhelming to walk into a party knowing she’s designated driver tonight. The three of them- Stella, Sunny, and Ryan- are dressed as greasers. The matching jackets look good. Being the only one of the three to have any experience behind a steering wheel, Stella didn’t have a choice. And it had been her idea to come to this specific party anyway. A town away, hopefully to avoid any undesirable interactions with classmates from their own high school. So Stella’s the sober greaser; Sunny’s the sexy blonde greaser; and Ryan is the dumb greaser who was definitely gonna get himself into a mess by the end of the night.

The door’s wide open, people filtering in and out- some looking like they’ve been at the party for hours, makeup streaky and smudged, face paint and fake blood chipping off their skin, but others were just arriving. It was messy and loud and the only reason why the party hadn’t been shut down yet is the fact that most the street’s residents were at the party.

“It’s a college party,” Ryan says to her right, as if the realization had just dawned on him. Clearly he hadn’t listened to Stella’s explanation of how she’d found the party. Miguel told me that Alex told him that he has a classmate at ASU who’s buddies with the guys throwing the party, get it? Apparently he didn’t until just now when he saw how scrawny he looks compared to all the other guys. Ryan was sporting a fake drawn on sideburns, poor kid.

“No shit.” She nudges his shoulder with hers. Next to her, Sunny is looking a lot less apprehensive about this party than any other they’ve been in the last year. Probably because she doesn’t have to be the caregiver tonight. Stella owes it to her to take over for once.

Inside, Stella’s immediately dragging the two over to where all the drinks are. If she can’t drink then she’ll damn make sure they will- someone has to have fun around here. Of course she wouldn’t force them to drink more than they want, but Stella wants them to know that both of them can loosen up tonight. She’s got their backs.

It’s a little while later and Sunny and Ryan are talking up a storm with some of the college kids. They’re just on their second drink and Stella’s a few feet away sipping on a coke zero feeling worse by the second. Turns out its not underwhelming to be at a party completely sober- actually the exact opposite. She doesn’t have a drop of alcohol in her and she doesn’t have an ounce of relaxation in her either. It’s not about the drink though. It’s about it being so loud. So crowded. There’s too much going on and she feels like she’s on edge. Thinking too much, getting to the point where she might just shutdown. She feels claustrophobic- or is it agoraphobic? One of those. None of those? 

Fresh air would be nice but it’s just as crowded in the backyard. She can’t make Sunny and Ryan leave with her now, it’s not fair. And Stella can’t just leave on her own. Glancing around the room, she’s trying to spot maybe a quieter spot to sit. No luck.

There’s a flimsy doggy gate on the stairs to the second floor. An attempt to keep people from going up and Stella bets that’s where she can find a bit of calm. Just to reset and join the party again. She taps Sunny’s shoulder, telling her she’s off to find a bathroom and heads towards the stairs. 

The first door she tries upstairs is logically the one that would be the bathroom in these types of houses. But it’s locked and over the music Stella can just barely hear the sound of people fucking inside. She tries one of the bedrooms instead. Going for the one furthest down the hall. Furthest away from the noise and the mediocre music selection. It’s unlocked but it’s not vacant.

“Sorry,” the apology comes out in a mumble. “Didn’t think anyone would be here.” 

“Oh, I was just using the bathroom.” The girl points over her shoulder at a slightly ajar door. Her hair is pink. That’s the only thing Stella can focus on right now. Her green eyes are looking Stella up and down but she hardly notices it. She almost misses it when the girl speaks, “Are you okay?”

Stella’s eyes snap to hers, mumbling out an instinctive “What?” while her brain catches up.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” 

[[ ooc: this thing is far from finished but here y’all go. this is her meeting a girl named Savannah and they end up kissing lol. the beginning of a very messy situationship for high school Stella who always refused to acknowledge feelings. ]]

#nycblacklistprompt #nycblacklisthalloweenprompt #《 𝙝𝙚𝙡𝙡 𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙙𝙨 𝙤𝙣 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙞𝙡 𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙤𝙣𝙘𝙚 𝙖𝙜𝙖𝙞𝙣 ┋☆┋ asks 》

[daedeimos]

                       ♕ ᴀʀᴄʜɪʙᴀʟᴅ ᴍᴀʏᴄʀᴏғᴛ II ♦ 𝚙𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚗 𝚊 𝚜𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚎 ♕

the world we left behind // KSHMR feat. karra ☻ the business // tiësto ☻ can’t cheat death // the ballroom thieves ☻ hellfire // barns courtney ☻ people change // mipso ☻ if i go, i’m goin // gregory alan isakov ☻ the only boy awake // meadows ☻ to hear you talk // meadows ☻ cradles // sub urban ☻ cirque // sub urban ☻ ashes // stellar ☻ real thing // la felix ☻ aawake at night // half·alive ☻ the story of tonight // lin-manuel miranda ☻ one last kiss // hikaru utada ☻ circles // post malone ☻ my ex’s best friend // machine gun kelly feat. blackbear ☻ bloody valentine // machine gun kelly ☻ all about you // the knocks feat. foster the people ☻ habits of my heart // jaymes young ☻ graveyard // halsey ☻ almost // hozier ☻ rescue me // one republic ☻ doom days // bastille ☻ HEY CHILD // x ambassadors

╘ l i s t e n .

#nycblacklistprompt #one two GO . playlist

[whereverigo-hegoes]

pink

How do you flirt?

I give you my full attention, darlin’. Trust me, or trust who came before you, it’s not something that anyone can handle. I know what I want when I see it, and I go for it. Pin you in place with my gaze as I come closer and break in your space, slow and smooth and without urgency, because you wouldn’t move, your breath’s hitching and your pulse quickening and you can see only me, big and tall enough to cover you from everything else. And I’d smile, just for you, leaning over, whispering in your ear, lips brushing against your skin. You’re picturing it, aren’t you?

How do you like to be flirted with?

Knowing it would make things too easy for you, sweetheart.

#nycblacklistprompt #nycblacklistprideprompt #ask

[bigapplebottom]

11:11 - A Jack Croft Playlist

Far Too Young to Die Panic! At The Disco • this is me trying Taylor Swift • 7 Catfish and the Bottlemen • leaf pile The Front Bottoms • successful Ariana Grande • The King Conan Gray • Broken Machine Nothing But Thieves • In Bloom Neck Deep • Ain't It Fun Paramore•  Little Bit of Love Tom Grennan

#nycblacklistprompt #nycblacklistplaylistprompt

[heybillywatson]

🍬 Trick or Treat: What did you dress up as as a child? What is your favorite costume to wear now?

B for Billy, B for Batman. He was my go to for ages, I used to sit by the window and look outside, waiting for the bat signal to call me for duty. Never happened, though.

I'd still go for a Batman costume this year, but I don't think I have the dark features needed to properly portray him. This year I'll be going as baby Yoda.

#nycblacklistprompt #nycblacklisthalloweenprompt