londonfalling

[londonfalling]

Honestly, I love it when characters relapse. When someone who’s gotten over their anger issues falls into a situation so out of their depth they fall back on their old habits. When someone who’s learned to open up becomes a recluse again in order to cope with something outside their control.

There’s just something so horrible, so toxic, about watching a character grow and then slip back into their old selves in order to cope, bc you know they still care, that they’re the same inside, but watching them hurt so hard they don’t know what else to do brings a sense of catharsis.

[londonfalling]

Queen Victoria's take on her appearances in the hit game series Fallen London

[londonfalling]

spitballing for Ruth and Rosie's reflection. This is Briar (singular), she/her. Two bodies, one person.

[londonfalling]

Fop surgery. It's like top surgery but it turns you into a Victorian dandy. Is that anything

[londonfalling]

crazy thought but what would a black wings absinthe and cardinal honey cocktail do to you

[londonfalling]

Rough colored commission of @violant-apologia's character Briar Hathaway. Thank you again for commissioning me.

[londonfalling]

I’ve been considering a Master AU for Shaw on and off for the past couple days - there’s no way in hell he’s having a good time, don’t get me wrong, but the idea compels me.

Mr. Tongues, in constant conflict with Pages - after all, it’s not the written part of the word Mr. Tongues cares about, but they come into conflict over books nevertheless. Phonographs, cipher wheels, musical instruments, infernal telephone technology, instruments used to transcribe language, phonological data, and, yes, actual tongues, taken and preserved to whisper forgotten and lost dialects on command in their little jars. One of the more social of the masters, or at least, one that seems to enjoy listening to people. Most that fall under its wing aren’t… particularly chatty after, though.

[londonfalling]

the rituals are intricate etc

[londonfalling]

Honestly if you live in one of those places where winters are really dark, it should be socially treated as night time. Fuck going to work or school when it's still dark out there. As soon as the sun sets, you're getting night shift pay. Socially acceptable to go to bed at 5:30 pm and not get up before 9 am. Let us fucking hibernate you bastards.

[londonfalling]

So, earlier today @dearest-anhedonia pointed out that when you go to check what's going to be the Rat Market rotation for the next weekend, you receive a very odd message instead:

I also noticed the world quality that causes this message to appear seems to be new, too:

... So, what do you think is going on with the ratket?

[londonfalling]

📕

Sometimes you've got to take a break from the busy life of a Londoner to read a romance novel with a cat on your lap. That's just how it is sometimes.

(Also fun fact- the book she's reading is Belinda by Maria Edgeworth- this novel was even mentioned in Jane Austen's Northanger Abbey, and known for featuring an interracial romance)

(Thanks for the ask, this was super fun to do <3 <3)

[londonfalling]

Worth afternoon dress ca. 1876

From MCNY

[londonfalling]

Woman wearing long skirt and high-necked blouse sits next to piano, reading a book; top of piano is draped with fringed cloth; framed painting of sailboat on wall; desk and chair next to piano. Recorded in glass negative ledger: "D/Interior decoration."

Burton Historical Collection, Detroit Public Library

[londonfalling]

I like when the ministry of public decency and censorship is taken seriously as the threat and evil it is. back then, and most certainly now, time and time again censorship is used to control and limit the spread of information, as well as to keep a grip on the minds of people, sow discontent between others, and fully control what people do and do not engage with.

the masters are no different in this right, the control of paper and the content produced a strong theme. especially as they push against revolutionaries and people trying to make a difference. even as they control the arts and what people can and cannot do.

top it off with Mr Pages using this as an extra way for it to claim and hoard over the written word it wants to have [and no one else to have], the ministry is a very serious force of danger.

[londonfalling]

This is just a solid day to day mood

[londonfalling]

Did a big brave thing over the weekend and entered the daytime Afrovictorian ensemble in the Masquerade at Arisia

Guess what?

I won a Best in Show for both Workmanship and Presentation!

Hopefully they'll upload the professional photos soon but now I have to go plot for next year. I'm considering a riff on the Baddest Boss Babe in Bridgerton, Lady Danbury.

[londonfalling]

In the 7th City there will be a Girl.

Born from Gold and Silver stumbled out of a Dream, dripped from a Mirror.

She doesn't know who she is or what.

She knows a name, though: Hiram.

She'll meet a Blind Pianist young and ambitious.

And this Unknown Girl will listen to songs and stories and understand she's an illusion, a mirage. A fata morgana. And she will call herself Morgana.

A Violant tear will stream quiet and unseen down an old man's cheek for it has been quite a few years since he last heard that name. Or at least a very VERY similar one.

Morgana will fall in love with the Pianist and she'll sing blues about things she could not possibly know about.

A sunless sea. A mountain made of light.

Violant burns, scars, tears.

Of a heart of Stone and a Soul of fire.

Of a Deviless and a Solicitor, an Esteemed Excellency.

And the Pianist will back up her song with sweet and sour notes on the ivory and ebony.

"For me, I'm just the Singer singing this slow and bloodied love letter to nobody."

And in the dim lights, far in the back you will almost swear that you met an Old Zalt, someone drinking hard booze in quick shots listening to her and humming along, looking at her like a proud parent.

Someone who's eyes have been a dull deep green and are now the color of the depths of the sea where Light goes to die.

And you'd surprise yourself scribbling "Francis Morgan" on an abandoned matchsticks box, signed:

"We shared a song and a glass of meadnight at the Skye Palace".