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#thebiggestlies
brooklynislandgirl · 5 months
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Sinday Ask: The latest circulation of newspapers sit in a tidy line along Lawrence's desk. Small neon tabs stick out from various pages, marking where an executive or Mary believes may be of interest. Nothing flags the front page, the headline and a photo cropped by the fold screaming the scandal of an embezzling CEO. A downfall that Lawrence had no part in, and only now gives attention to for curiosity's sake. "What would be the worst sin you could imagine displayed for the world to pick at, Beth? An infidelity on your brother's part? Patricide by your very own hands?"
Spare a Sinday Thought || Always Accepting
She's draped casually against sumptuous leather, just another pretty thing in Larry's collection of beautifully bizzare trinkets and curios. What passes for a casual Sunday visitation ~after church but not quite in time for brunch~ and for a few moments, she continues to read one of the alternative papers that speak more on the concerns of the average citizen than the big Five that he occupies himself with. She really had expected better from the Times after their journalist strike but it is what it is. An elegant hand turns the page. Another brings the bone-china cup to her lips and she moistens them, lubricates her tongue, with rich dark coffee. "Unfortunately," she says meticulously and at long last, "you probably see my braddah's name or picture in dere often enough. Man no can do wake up in da mornin' wi'out someone wan make commentary in it. Mos' of da time it's about his closure rate, or a scandal comin' from him catchin' somebody bein' stupid." A pause before her eyes flick to meet the arctic tundra of his profile. That crystalline blue of his gaze never fails to steal a touch of her breath. "Which is likely why dey nevah link bo'd ya names in a single article." She knows he has more skeletons in his closet ~perhaps even figuratively~ than she can make an accurate guess of, but then again…a good many of them don't come with jail sentences and press conferences. Instead there are whispers amongst the Traditions of the Janissaries, of the New World Order {and how THEY would love to get their hands on someone like Larry} and a whole host of self-policing entities that neither one can fathom. Perhaps that's why she's so inclined to walk beside him into his sorcerous endeavours, taking on the unrequested Role of Virgil to his Dante. For whatever reason she feels responsible for him. "Hardly t'ink da kine about who he's seen out wi'd or who might be in his bed is really notewor'dy. He's single, properly divorced, and so free to frolic wi' whomevah he likes so long as dey also not marry. An' my braddah would make sure dat his paramour doesn't bring a spouse into da relationship. Oh…oh…wait. Is…is dat somet'ing concerns you? Is he your type, Larry?" She giggles at her own joke. Deep down she suspects that maybe the man has even less interest in a physical relationship than Beth, regardless of the body it comes with. "As f' da Admiral, I can promise you one t'ing. If I were da one t' harvest him from dis ear'd? No one would evah know, nor would dere be any evidence left behind. Be like he nevah existed, an' good riddence." She's never recorded any of the thousands of times she's conceived of, plotted out to the finest detail, and not carried out her red-soaked dreams of murdering the man in question. She has no guilt or stain on her soul for having fantasised so deeply about it that sometimes she's truly disappointed when he turns up within a few days, largely to spend time with his son. "I t'ink da worst sin evah I could commit…is not one dat would make da papers. In circumstances I have hard time imagining, would be…how sleeper might say it… fall t' da Dark Side, as it. One of our mos' sacred rules an' it carries a sentence worse dan death," she enunciates that word carefully so to avoid misunderstanding, "says 'Conspire not wi' an Enemy of Ascension'. T' actively work against da wonder of what is, an' what could be… t' join our enemy in war… I mean I can't say it nevah could happen. Dat's wha' make dem so insidious. In a more….mortal kind of way…somehow my mana gettin' away from me…hurtin' people or environment or somet'ing like dat… I'd turn myself in. Not able to live wi' doin' somet'ing dat could hurt innocent people." Immaculate brows furrow above her eyes, the corners of her mouth down turned, Beth is clearly disturbed by even just the idea. She pushes it away with something she tells herself is equally unappealing but not nearly as devastating. "Dat is if sweepin' ya papers off ya desk an' havin' you right here an' now is off da table."
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tabbyrp · 5 months
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Day 17: Poison
"I've heard it said that poison is a woman's weapon"
-Ned Stark, Games of Thrones (2011)
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morgansmornings · 9 months
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The noise is endless. Footsteps shuffling down mint-green tiles. Doctors paged over a tinny intercom. Alarms beeping. Nurses padding in and out, checking readings, making both notes and reassuring noises towards Eric. Loudest of all is the echo inside his mind. The pop of a gun firing. The faintest whisper of bullet hitting flesh. So much of what happened remains a blur, like a blob of Vaseline had been rubbed over his memory, but he remembers those details with crystal clarity.
Beth had been the first to arrive. Her brother soon after. Neither added to the noise with the questions Eric had expected. Something accusing like Why had Jayden stepped in between a shadowed figure and her boyfriend? Why had someone shot at them to begin with? Whatever the siblings had wanted to know, they found it in Eric’s silence. Riley didn’t linger. He pressed a kiss to his sister’s brow, then one to Jayden’s forehead, and left. Words made about how he was going to talk to the local officers, yet somehow, they didn’t ring true.
Neither who remain have slept during their vigil. Beth leaves to obtain some coffee for them both, and it is only Eric by the bed when he finally hears the softest of sounds. Or maybe he imagines there is a breeze when Jay’s lashes flicker open, stands brushing over strands, and a parched graze as her lips open, dry throat trying to make a sound.
“Hey, hey.” Eric takes her by the hand, squeezing softly. “It’s okay. You’re in the hospital.” A pause to let the woman he loves adjust. A million reassures he wants to make kept still. A million things he wants to say, put on pause. Right now, he is simply grateful she is awake. Alive. Still with him.
This Meme: Accepting @thebiggestlies
~~*~~*~~
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She is in and out of it. A patchwork quilt of memories floating over her in the depths of her mind.
Walking with Eric, hand in hand. Laughing over something. A shift in the shadows. Feeling like someone hit her with a sharp pebble. Feeling weak as the shadow fled. The look of horror on Eric’s face. Burning feeling in her torso. Her next memory being unbelievably bright light and the flash motion blur of various hands. The last being opening her eyes and seeing Eric sitting in a chair.
She hears the beeping, feels the cold push of air into her nose. Smells the distinct smell of concentrated sanitising cleaning agent that all hospitals are perfumed with. She’d come to pick up Beth enough from one that she is adjusted to not immediately want to gag on the smell. When she went to say something, only a strangled wheeze escaped. Her throat was dry to the point she was a bit worried that the tissue would crack and bleed. Not the ideal way to lubricate unused vocal cords.
Then he’s up whispering to her. Talking at her really. She still feels the hot burning from her torso. Her mind is slow to process what has happened and how she ended up in the hospital. But one thing she is sure of, is that she had been shot and was one of the lucky few that survived.
Ripping the forced oxygen tubes off she sits up enough to bury her face in her hands as she begins to cry. Relief, fear, guilt, and an overwhelming need for release of some kind. So she gave into her body's demands and just wept. Flushing herself of the initial trauma.
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therealgamble · 5 months
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"It's all a facade. Deep down, they're just as flawed as the rest of us." - from Larry because why not.
Brian stared over at the group of stuffed suits that Larry was talking about. They definitely looked like they had the opinion that their shit didn't stink, but Brian already knew better. He'd been dealing wth politicians and social climbers his whole career.
"Speak for yourself, man." Brian grinned. "I don't have any flaws." He gave his eyebrows a lift, daring the man to try to point something out, even if he knew he was completely full of shit.
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tarnishedhalo · 2 years
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❝ Allow me to show you the inherent humor of factoring polynomials. ❞ {optional one from Hannah because she would (a) say it and (b) probably mean it}
A Little Conversation || -
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"Wrong Riley," he says. The look on Riley's face pretty much sums up everything he's thinking right now which is a: who is this little redheaded muppet exactly, that Noah's asked he pick up from school, with a long story about him needing help and hinting that her homelife is pretty terrible ~the kind of terrible he breaks up with handcuffs and restraining orders~ and b: he understands each individual word that comes out of her mouth, more or less, but when put together makes no sense. This is the sort of conversation his sister would get into, begging for the joke, because she's always been a math genius and she actually finds shit funny. It isn't that Riley is stupid, far from it. His ASVAB score had been 93 out of a possible 99, and twice what he needed minimum to get into medical, and thus the pipeline. But math had never been his strong suit, he'd been more comfortable with the written and spoken word. "How about I propose a counter-offer. You get into the pretty, pretty car and buckle in, and I stop by the Tasty-Freeze. We pick up some burgers, fries or onion straws, shakes for the whole family ~you do eat meat, right?~ and then you and Noah can do your homework at the kitchen table or out in the backyard. And if you two get done before eight, I'll let him take the car and give him some cash so you two can go to the movies, or something? That way you don't have to explain nothin' and you're taking it easy on an old man who probably wouldn't get the joke anyway. How's that sound to you, kid?" A split second pause before he says "Hannah, right? You're Hannah?"
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luckyme713 · 5 years
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THIS IS WHAT COLONIZATION LOOKS LIKE FOLKS! Ps. NOTICE THE COLONIZED RELIGIOUS PIECE AROUND INE IF THE FEMALES NECK🤭 #blackrepublican #blackchurch #cognitivedissonance #nofreethinkers in these pics💯 #blacktrumpsupporters #makeamericagreatagain #thebiggestlie #conservatives4change #hiphop #rap #reggae #melanin #theygonegetthiswork #irepafrica #freethinkers https://www.instagram.com/p/Bsob74lnjiI/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1haguqmntoclo
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foreverinmyhead · 5 years
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Obscure of Acacia - The Biggest Lie
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tizianomazzilli · 3 years
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STEAL THIS T-SHIRT!🟠THE BIGGEST LIE🟠HAND PAINTED T-SHIRTS @art_rave_customisatio@art_rave_customisation DM ME FOR PRICES AND SIZES #thisisnotalovesong #thanksgiving2020 #thebiggestlie #bullshit #stopkillingpeople #americannative (at London, United Kingdom) https://www.instagram.com/p/CICaN9rnJud5rMPDHR5dddFC0LUbxj8isoTECw0/?igshid=1ly5e0cg1fav3
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adamrazzo · 4 years
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“So there was no going back......... The problem with the truth, is that once you know the truth you can’t unknow it... It will haunt you, you will see it in everything and it will consume you” ..... #adamtheonenonly #thebiggestlie #goddosentneedmoney #nomoneytochurch #faithasnoprice #therealsinister #nochurch #faithisintheheart #notinbuildings https://www.instagram.com/p/CDDYYo7DSV2/?igshid=1f58frdo6x7bs
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psafavoritemusic · 4 years
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facecastlive-blog · 5 years
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“What’s the biggest lie you ever lie to your mom?” Join #thebiggestlie challenge and share your stories. Confess to your mom and tell her the stories that she didn’t know before. Record the moment and share your Mother’s Day video! #FacecastApp #MothersDay #MothersDay2019 https://www.instagram.com/p/BxQ93BRAkJq/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=19fkzhnowtksr
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brooklynislandgirl · 3 months
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🥂💋 because Mikhail can never say no to this kind of thing.
Champagne Kisses || Accepting
Beth has never been the sort to be wholly interested in fashion. She has closets full of designer dresses that were mostly foisted on her by the Admiral for this event or that, gifts from her Auntie because every girl simply needs millions of dollars to look pretty, and her own comfortable threads are considered by most to be vintage classic but that look is so twenty or more years ago. But tonight she even with a princess's dowry worth of jewels strewn at her ears, wrists, and fingers, Beth feels like a tiny brown sparrow. It isn't that he's done anything more than worn a stylish, classic tuxedo. The black raw silk strikes the same wound against his shirt as his hair and eyes do the pallor of his skin.
He is lush.
He is the very flame that can take him away from her.
She is dust-motes and ashes as he takes her securely by the waist and the hand and loses them both between the music and the onlookers. She half wonders if he would be so flawless amidst his own kind, and what whispers would arise. Certainly there'll be comments in the morning's paper about them though no photographer will be able to sell the once in a lifetime photo of the heiress and her beau. A little magick amongst the sleepers, the Kine, takes care of that. "…It was in this apartment, also, that there stood against the western wall, a gigantic clock of ebony. It's pendulum swung to and fro with a dull, heavy, monotonous clang; and when the minute-hand made the circuit of the face, and the hour was to be stricken, there came from the brazen lungs of the clock a sound which was clear and loud and deep and exceedingly musical…" When he dips her, her hands become stronger than they appear, and she pulls herself up to be but a breath away from his lips. "S novym godom, lyubov' moya." She seals the kiss between them with the faintest prick of her teeth as the twelfth chime dies.
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tabbyrp · 5 months
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Day 15: Post-Apocalyptic
It's the end of the world as we know it (and I feel fine)
R.E.M. (1987)
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morgansmornings · 2 months
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If I Gave You My Hand...
Closed Starter for @thebiggestlies
~~~*~~~
It was a new year. One that held infinite possibilities. So many choices that could rewrite the path a person could take. Often, most fell through. Some stuck by it and followed the trail they chose to walk. Yet if effort was taken then that was what mattered.
For Jayden she found herself wrapping up on the last of the major things she was packing. Cloth had been draped over most of the furniture. The piano she kept for her mother moved into the guest bedroom. She had scheduled a technician to come once a week to keep it tuned and maintained. Her library nook was backed and left barren. The pool table was covered and stored. Bills would continue to be paid as she was leaving the shop open. Left in the capable hands of manager’s she had trained and worked with since she opened. 
The kitchen was cleaned out for the most part. Matters had been settled for Jenna after a very long draining argument. One that Jayden was the victor. Her closet was mostly packed up, her bathroom would be left for last. She would need to talk to Beth and make sure that her older sister knew that this was what she wanted. Her truck would be staying behind, her bike was still parked at Eric’s place as she had decided to fly back rather than drive. 
She thought up of all the ways this could go wrong. But that was part of the thrill of moving. Though this wasn’t from one part of New York to another. This was a move that would take her halfway across the country. Away from the place she had made for herself. A new beginning. 
If it didn’t work out in the long run, then she could finish out her lease and move back. Could turn a trip to being closer to her boyfriend into a trip to reconnect with her family. Of helping out Jessica with her new firm. Spending time with her cousin John now that he was back from his tour of Doctors without Borders. 
Yes, even if this wasn’t meant to be with Eric, she was content that this was a needed step. 
All of that was thought as she placed the most recent box of nick nacks that would be living in storage with the rest of her belongings that she wasn’t taking with her. The space felt empty as it had been when she bought the building. Though restored it was almost as if the brickwork was whispering their goodbyes everytime she took another book or picture down. Yes she would miss her home. But she had faith that it would work out as it was meant to. 
Setting the box by the spare bedroom, she made for the fireplace, stoking the logs to keep the loft warm in the early evening winter of the city. Making for the kitchen next she set up a cup of tea to steep for a bit on the coffee table. Shuffling over to the couch she picked up her laptop and busied herself with double checking her restock order until she knew that Eric would be off work, home and fed. Video calls made things a bit easier for them, but it wasn’t the same as when they could be face to face.
When it was time, she started the call, pulling her sweater around her shoulders with a time smile on her face.
“Hey there handsome.” She said after seeing his face light up her screen.
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therealgamble · 10 months
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Does your muse want to have kids? If so, how many and what’s the reasoning behind the number? (from any muse or anon, as a lol)
"Oh yeah, I want a whole school bus full. You know, to drive off a cliff." He laughed and shook his head. "Fucking hell, Larry. You really know how to start an incredibly awkward conversation. Hey, how was your last colonoscopy?"
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tarnishedhalo · 2 years
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❝ You’ve made your choice… and so have I. ❞ {Optional from any of the boys}
A Little Conversation || -
Riley eyes Dylan up and down. Then he slowly reaches for the shot of whiskey that his fingertips have been hovering around for the last tense sixty seconds. The other man's words are ominous, taken with a certain kind of gravity that could be imparted to words of doom perpetually suspended in the air, or as a threat of immediate and utmost concern. Dark green eyes narrow when they rise up and meet Dylan's on a even playing feel. They're of an age with each other. Riley is taller, they've got a similar build. Which one is faster, which one is more determined would be left up to fate but it'd at least be an even match, something Riley isn't terribly used to. The whiskey burns its way down his throat but the smoky aftertaste is sweet and lingers there. Lips peel back from his teeth as he hisses out a breath then smoothly waves a hand for another one. The bartender seems to take his sweet ass time in refilling it, but at least he's choosing to mind his own business. The bar itself is one of those non-descript kind of holes in the wall. Been in the Tallman family for as long as anyone around these parts can remember, and despite being about two steps from being a sagging shanty, will likely remain. Deer Creek is a fly speck, doesn't even exist on maps, with the closest city being Gatlinburg. It's the one place though that townies and hillfolk like himself can meet in relative peace. Riley knocks back the second shot, and for a few seconds his hand strays toward his hip and the knife that is sheathed there. Then he breaks into a grin and shakes his head. "Shit, son. You ought'er relax. It's just a game'a eight-ball, not like we're settin' up a duel at dawn." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the requisite three quarters needed to claim the single table.
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