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I promise you do not want me to write for taeyang, especially for the soulmate project.
#sf9#sf9 x reader#sf9 scenarios#sf9 imagines#taeyang#yoo taeyang#taeyang x reader#yoo taeyang x reader#it will be sad.#everything i write and rp#for him#is sad#i will break your heart
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Happy Birthday to Fallen London; My favourite British people beefing it with bats simulator.
#fallen london#ambition: nemesis#mr.cups#Happy belated birthday to me: I finished my Nemesis ambition. I get to make a fun comic about it. THAT WAS THE DEAL!!!#...Is what I would have said had I not spent *four* days trying to draw a cool dramatic comic. This is all I have to show for it.#I also missed posting this on the Flondon anniversary so I'm double Smad and frustippointed at myself.#This is niche content but I know there are flondoners following me who will understand.#I had to make a second account because all my friends who I played with *also* picked Nemesis and dropped the game at various gates.#I failed every possible check at Knifegate. I was on the verge of madness. And yet I still love this game.#Little known secret about me: over 70% of the blogs I follow on tumblr are flondon rp blogs.#The cool art and character lore brings me a lot of joy!#With that said; what the hell is the coincidence that right as I finish Nemesis -#The flondon community starts a Nemesis Race.#Guys. it’s not worth it. It is a revenge quest about losing everything you have to see your task through.#All to culminate in the discovering that you are beefing it with a fanfiction writing bat.#That said; I do feel like this story was very satisfying for my melancholic doctor.#I knew I would get the choice between sparing or killing my nemesis (the bat) and I had a long time to think it through.#Someone who wants to save lives and (does as much as possible to do make things better for others) choosing against mercy?#Someone who never permitted themselves to let the city truly become a home because they were not a person - they were a tool for grief.#Alright..Yeah the ending was really good.#I will be back with a part two. Clearly I'm tenacious enough to commit to what I started.#If I am not excommunicated on sight by the flondon community I will be back with comics for the other ambitions.
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On heartbreak, homunculi, and the small yet very awkward matter of shooting one's girlfriend in the neck over your ex
OR: How The Doomed Scientist has been coping in the aftermath of his ambition (Badly. The answer is very very badly indeed.)
OR: A loosely abridged summary of an RP between myself and @superoffbatter, posted on Tumblr for OC lore purposes.
OR: Major spoilers for the entirety of the Nemesis ambition, as well as minor spoilers for Bag a Legend and a brief spot of blog-typical spoilers for a certain "powerful" ending of Heart's Desire.
OR: What The Plutonian Shadow's deal actually is.
So.
In order to explain this long and complicated tale, we're going to need to set a good bit of groundwork first. For some, this will effectively be a recap. For others, it will be important new lore that will harm us later.
Let's dive right in, shall we?
The Doomed Scientist- also known by his real name, Caeru- has a long and storied history of obsessing over serving others. He's always had this concept in his head that he needs to help, he needs to give himself up for the good of everyone around him, and if he's not doing that then he barely deserves to live at all.
This is the mindset that drove his quest to kill Mr Cups. He wasn't doing it for himself. He was doing it for everyone Cups has hurt, everyone Cups has murdered, every other victim that died so it could fulfill its need for stories of vengeance and misery. During his ambition, he very much saw himself as nothing more than a tool and a weapon to be pointed and used as the dead saw fit.
His own emotions didn't matter. His own grief, all-consuming as it was, didn't matter. Cups needed to die.
Cups- Cups needed to-
Oh, fuck.
He couldn't do it. He couldn't take it. He had an obligation towards those that died, towards his lover, towards everyone who ever wanted the beast dead. He couldn't take it. He just couldn't.
No matter how much he desperately, desperately wanted to.
For the first few weeks after his ambition concluded, Caeru was inconsolable. He was wracked with guilt over ""failing"" to save his former paramour, even more than he was already- for god's sake, the man could've been revived! He could've lived again! He deserved to live again!
And Caeru failed him. He failed to serve him. To be useful. To be good. To be worthy of living.
He... lost it, just a little bit. He became obsessed with fixing this perceived flaw in himself. This perceived flaw in everything. He couldn't sleep yet, he couldn't die yet, not when his love deserved to live.
Deserved to come back.
And. I mean. Well.
How hard could it be, really?
Cups was a Master, yes, and the Masters are lying conniving tyrants- but this was a promise it staked its life upon. A promise it gave on its deathbed. It clearly knew that Caeru could kill it, will kill it, and thus it had no reason to lie-
Cups could have brought his lover back. The Scientist knew that, intimately.
What he didn't know was how. But... well, that's alright, isn't it? He's created life before.
Lenses are arranged, corpses are arranged in a circle, their skin parted carefully with a knife. When the lenses are aligned correctly, the flesh will coalesce into the correct shape.
There are some venge-rats that dedicate themselves to a vengeance so thoroughly that there is nothing left of them but this one desire. When they die, their corpses are saturated with this emotion- but nothing else. When the Academic's machinery leaps to life (more slowly then the one at Station VIII, of course) it drains this, and leaves only withered shells in its wake. Perfect vessels.
Soon, the Knot of Tails reappears in the mirror. In its little coils of many paws, shimmering lights rest- memories. Reflections of rays of light long forgotten by the waking world.
And the false-Noman twists.
It turns.
Second by second, it looks more and more like a person.
When it looks up and smiles a shaky smile, its face is human- and two delicate flowers adorn its hair. The snow lacing its body curls like silk, the nails on its hands delicate and precise and perfect
It doesn't move, for a second. Two. Three.
And then the Rosette Yearner opens her eyes.
All he has to do is perfect the process.
The Yearner reaches a trembling hand up to her head, pursuing her lips in thoughtful silence. She blinks, slowly- once, twice. The silence is finally broken when she speaks, a trembling lilt, her words falling like petals from their stem.
"I'm alive.”
It's cold, unfeeling, distant. Like she's only talking about the weather.
Caeru's first attempt at artificial life, The False Yearner- she who would later be dubbed The Vake Yearner- is a complicated figure. Born out of an insanely long RP exchange with @superoffbatter, she is a ghost in all but name. A failed attempt to replicate a certain Scoundrel's past self, all while her makers were unaware that her and the Scoundrel were one in the same.
Except while the Scoundrel pursued ambitions of power, glory, and transformation, the Yearner ultimately took a different path. A darker path.
The Yearner stumbles over the mirror as they both exit through the window of the Royal Bethlehem. She sighs. "Where to go, now?" she whispers. "I can't stay here. I don't want to stay like this. I want to... do something."
The Silverer shrugs. "It's up to you. I suppose you could hunt the Vake if all else fails?" It's an offhandedly thrown joke, but the Yearner stops moving.
She considers it in her head. She takes a deep breath.
The Vake, huh. The Vake.
She became an avid hunter of the Neath's most infamous monster.
Her relationship with her creator is strained at best. For the most part, they've refused to acknowledge each other- they've hardly even spoken since the incident of her creation, save for a brief yet notable encounter at the Captivating Princess' last masquerade ball.
Someone steps closer to the Scientist, staring him in the eyes. The atmosphere grows colder.
It's a woman in a large fur-trimmed overcoat, with thick gloves and a staggeringly realistically furred marsh-wolf mask. The cosmogone shade of her eyes reveals her identity- the False Yearner- or, as some have taken to call her, the Vake-Yearner. The mask, now that the Scientist gives it a better look, is very obviously made from a real marsh-wolf, but the expert skill behind it... it's Snuffer-made.
The Yearner got a Snuffer to pull off a wolf's face for her. How curious.
"My other self's fiancé." she says, in a monotone. "And their pet Drownie. How curious. How droll."
The Scientist's face may be hidden behind a mask, but nothing could ever hope to conceal his alarmed blanch, the widening of his eyes, the shift of his stance- distinctly defensive, like a prey animal ready to flee at any moment.
"Yearner." his tone is one of forced detachment. "I never took you as someone who'd.. enjoy this sort of thing."
A glance to the side, where violant eyes (albeit from a distance) still gleam amidst the other invitees. Their mask is smiling, even if their lips are pulled into a wickedly fanged frown.
His mask tips downward. He doesn't retract this statement.
It ended... well. Shall we say. Poorly.
He is allowed in the scene- and witnesses the frozen corpses.
Dead, for sure, though how permanent it will be is yet to be tested. A thin layer of frost clings to their skin, and the scene is obviously filled with signs of struggle. Eight bodies, all trying to leave the room as they were cut down- all trying to escape.
Signs of a blunt instrument. Some of them were smashed against the walls, against the ground- one had both arms torn off. Frozen splatters of blood cover the walls.
The Yearner is nowhere to be seen.
The Yearner, after all, is what can best be described as an immortal and unmelting Noman, sustaining herself off of nothing but sorrow and human hearts. Her very existence is built upon blood and misery. She thrives off it. Needs it to survive, to live, to flourish.
Nobody deserves that kind of existence. Not even the Scoundrel's very own doppelganger.
But she's alive. And she did come back from some sort of death, hellish and ironic and false as it may be. It can be done.
The Scientist has done it before.
He can do it again.
He will do it again.
And so Caeru works. And works. And works.
To serve. To fix. To help. Finally, he's going to rectify his mistake, going to make everything better, going to give his lover the life he knows they deserve. This is a noble service. A noble obligation. The last attempt may have failed, but this- this cannot fail- he will not let himself fail, not again, not ever.
And nothing can stand in his way. Nothing except-
"Caeru?" a voice can be heard, knocking on the door to the Scientist's laboratory. "Are you there?"
Were one to look through the one-way glass window, they would see the Silverer, looking worried. "Where were you?" she says. "I haven't seen you all week. What has got you locked in there?" she taps again, more hurried-
-His current paramour, The Snowswept Silverer.
A loud crash echoes at the Silverer's sixth knock. Someone curses. The door slams open harsh enough to send her flinching back, the Scientist standing in the doorway with a look of pure vitriol- then, far slower than his typical reaction speed, his fury ebbs.
"Louise." his voice is gratingly hoarse, his hair tied in a half-hazard bun via a thoroughly exhausted ribbon struggling to keep the strands together (it would be a cute look, if not for the blue hue in his cheeks and the blood and dirt caking his arms). His laboratory is- cold. Blisteringly cold. He's barely even shivering, but- surely it can't be healthy, staying in there for so long-?
"I'm... working." he stresses the word as though it's an obvious and irrefutable explanation. "Can we talk in-" he looks back, "A month?" he has the audacity to pause thoughtfully. "Two?"
And thus the preamble concludes, and the pieces and players of our play all finally fall into place.
"...Caeru, I’m not stupid." Louise replies, giving him a throughly unimpressed look. "Is this yet another Yearner situation?"
The accompanying dumbfounded expression that her paramour produces would cause her some amount of delight, were this any other situation. As it is, she is simply more worried- and a fair bit annoyed, as well. "Yes, I know you were involved with her creation, somehow. You and the Academic were rather obvious about it. Whatever you've been doing inside this laboratory, Caeru, it's not nearly as discreet as you think it is. You have a budget, and whenever you ask for it to be extended or spend carelessly on a new batch of supplies, people see it happen-”
Her paramour squirms uncomfortably. She continues her rant unabated.
“-The GHR is in fact a major supplier of experimental materials for the University. As long as it's an import from the Hinterlands, I know what comes in here and what comes out. And I know for sure a certain Yearner has also been looking around your laboratory. I would have left you to your devices, but this will lead to a disaster if I don't interfere."
Her hand- which he notices is clawed- is putting quite a lot of pressure on his shoulder. "Tell me, Caeru. What have you been doing?"
He gulps. The look in her eyes is... serpentine in its wrath, even. Like a Knot who's just caught a scout from the Court of Cats intruding into its home. It's a look that demands an account.
His expression twists- regret, guilt, frustration, desperation. "Louise," he says softly, "Please, just- just give me more time. A week or two more, and- and this will all be done and over with. You'll never have to hear about it again. Please."
He tries to shy away from her hand and take a step back- it's not exactly successful, given his strength relative to hers. His hands tremble. His arms are slick and ruby red- weeping scars, never bandaged-
"I don't want to fight you." a rustle, as one hand drifts down to his pocket, so quiet as to be barely noticeable. "Please." he begs again. "Please don't make me fight you. It's not like the Yearner, it's- it's important, I can't just- please don't make me. Please."
Needless to say, things quickly go from bad to worse.
"Go ahead. Fight her." another voice, intensely recognizable, echoes through the corridor. The Scoundrel's voice- but colder. Less shrill. Less amused. "She won't leave you alone, and neither will I."
The Yearner stands there. Her feathery black dress is covered in blood- fresh. Going by the faint gurgling sounds, someone tried to block her way- and she reacted as she often does.
"I could feel something happening down here. I didn't know what it was, but it felt... important. Thank you for the confirmation that it was very important indeed." she steps forward. In her hand is a large spike of ice, the size of a sword. "Will you let me see it, Caeru? Or shall I tell your husband of what you’ve done? Of how I came to be? I still have that to hold over you, at least. I wonder if they would like to know what happened to that cufflink." the word is hissed, and she smiles in delight at the way he flinches.
(It's... so recognizable, Caeru realizes, and yet so twisted. They sound completely identical. If one were to ignore the face made of ice, they would even be able to identify the similarities- and the sharp differences. It's a little bit disquieting, to see her face. The Scoundrel does... does not make this kind of expression, even at their worst. The only kind of person who does is a certain Mr Veils. It's the sort of look only someone who delights in misery shows.)
He has no other options. No other way out.
He will not fail again. He will never let himself fail again.
A thousand possibilities run through his mind, all at once, before he can even so much as blink. The window- no. The door- terrifyingly fragile. The mirrors- if they weren't already swarming with serpents, he'd be shocked. No solution comes without violence, without- he can't lose again, he can't leave again, he-
The Scientist draws fast as a lightning bolt and shoots his paramour square in the chest, flipping the pistol and shooting a second time for good measure. The desperate scream of his apology can barely be heard over the slam of the door, the clicking of several dozen locks, the mad dash to retrieve something before what little safety he has inevitably gives way.
His prize is bundled in rags, apocyan soaking through the white cloth, pieces of shattered diamond and wood clippings scattered half-hazardly all over the floor-
Run. Run.
Thus the infamous girlfriend shooting incident. Don't worry, she gets better. For the most part.
Everyone else, well... they get substantially worse.
The Scientist acts on instinct, cradling his experiment against his chest. Not again. Never again. He turns when the door inevitably gives way and fires again, futile as it may be.
The bullet does not do much- not when the door is promptly kicked off its hinges, the locks snapping and shattering as the sheer force of the Yearner's kick propels it forward. In that moment, Caeru realizes that while the door was very secure, the frame is nothing but a few planks of wood. It wouldn't hold.
On the floor, bleeding profusely through the wound in her neck (though the ambery growths around it show it will be closing soon, whether it wants to or not), is the Silverer- who stares at the Yearner in horror. "This was not our deal." she hisses.
The Yearner shrugs. "I don't care."
And then she lunges for her prize like a woman possessed. Her eyes gleam, staring fixedly at the bundle in the Scientist's arms. "Either you tell me what that bundle is and why I feel so intensely that I need to see it, or I'll make you tell me." she purrs. "Make the choice, my dear creator.”
He desperately curls around the bundle, hugging it close enough for it to nearly bend under his grip- nearly. Whatever it is, it's sturdier than it looks.
"You can't take him." he gasps without thinking. "You can't- you can't take him, you can't hurt him, you can't-" he backs up against the wall and trembles. The weight makes him stagger with every step. When the Yearner approaches, he flinches. "You can't hurt him."
A delirious sob. The room is freezing. His skin is tinted such a vibrant shade of blue. It's a miracle he isn't already dead from hypothermia. Slowly, carefully, still keeping his gun aimed at the Yearner, his other hand pulls back part of the cloth- and the hand that dangles free is clawed and formed almost entirely from lacre.
Just like her.
"He's mine." Caeru whispers, pressing his head to the apocyan stains with equal parts guilt and adoration. "He's mine. And nobody will ever take him again."
The Silverer stumbles into the room, a gun in hand. The Yearner waves dismissively- and fractal spikes of ice erupt from the ground to block her advance. From the mirrors in the room, Fingerkings hiss and spit in fury- the Yearner should probably stay away from Parabola for a few weeks. She turns to look at the Scientist in disdain.
"Bringing back the dead." she spits. "Once again. You should know it gets you nowhere. Look at what you did before. You tried to return me to the world, when I wasn't ever real at all!" she yells. "An illusion. A dream! Delusions of high society and bohemian dreams of a waif that was never anything but a facade!" she roars, coming closer. "Who was it this time?! Tell me! Who was-”
She pauses, before smiling. It is not a nice smile. "Your lover, wasn't it? The seventh victim. Did you realize that killing Mr Cups would never return what you lost!?"
The words sting. They sting, because she doesn't know, how could she know. Her eyes are wild and mad. "Drop it. Let it go. You don't deserve to have them back.”
The Scientist chokes on a sob. He doesn't deny a word. His knees buckle- he slides down to the floor, holding the bundle like a lifeline and a precious piece of treasure, all rolled into one. "I know." his voice is calm, even with the tears sliding down his cheeks. "I don't deserve him."
He's- the Silverer recognizes the look in his eyes. He's never been more confident about anything else in the world.
"I'm not doing this for myself," the words ring slightly hollow when he's clinging to his creation on the floor, "I'm doing it for him. When Cups died, it-" his tone wavers. Caeru swallows. The despair and guilt in his voice is intoxicating, especially to a Noman standing so very close indeed.
"It begged for its life. It gave me an offer. It could bring him back, if I spared it." he looks beyond the Yearner- staring intently at a shadow on the wall, as though somehow it could stare back. "I couldn't- I couldn't, for everyone else it murdered, I couldn't-" he chokes. "I failed him. I failed him. He deserved to live, he deserved to come back- and I failed, and-"
He kicks at a spare diamond on the floor, watching it twist and freeze into place within moments of making contact with the Yearner. "I'm fixing it. I'm fixing him."
A kiss to his prize. To his magnum opus. His eyes stay fixed on it- nothing matters so long as it is in his arms. "I'm serving him. I'm fixing him."
🐈💙🐺
"No." the Yearner snarls. "No, you're not fixing him. I'll be the one doing that. Give him to me!"
She moves before he can say a word. Only a Licenciate's instincts save his head from being separated from its shoulders by a sharpened spike of ice. He dives out of the way of a furious flurry of stabs, and stumbles to keep hold of his prize- only to see the Yearner tear off her dress in front of him.
He blinks in disbelief before seeing it- connected to her body are numerous pulsating hearts. The blood vessels tear holes in the thin shirt she wore underneath, and wet the fabric in frozen blood. Nourishing her as they draw ever closer to death. How many people have been killed- perhaps permanently- to sustain her existence?
She grins wickedly, cosmogone eyes shining with Parabolan light. "You won't bring him back. Cups wouldn't have done it either, I'm sure. The Masters have experience with bringing the dead back- done it five times now. But it never works, not really, does it?" she spits out the words. "You don't know what it's like. To live knowing you are a failure. A failed attempt to bring someone ELSE back!? Do you want him to live like this, you bastard?! Give him to me. I'll give him life- his own life! He doesn't deserve to be the monument to your vanity!”
🐈💙🐺 🔫⛄
“You barely know how-" the Scientist curses and ducks around another flurry, flailing in a desperate attempt to keep his 'lover' close. He ducks and weaves around the room with expert precision- but his movements are more than slightly hindered by the weight of a corpse larger than he is tall. That... no, that can't be right-
"He won't be a failure." Caeru spits back, pressed against the spikes still binding the Silverer- can't she hear, some part of his mind wonders? What does she think of him? Of what he's done?
He gasps for air that comes stiff and frozen solid. His pistol is long-since discarded- useless, now, but he can't help looking at it and swallowing down his guilt. All the more reason to throw himself down the nearest well, really. At least it's worth it. At least he's worth it. At least it'll all be over soon.
"He's not finished, he's not fixed yet-" he dives away from yet another attempt to spear him in the head. "Do you really think I'd attempt the same experiment twice without learning from my mistakes?! He'll be better. He'll be- he'll be different. He'll be everything." he sounds utterly delirious. "He'll be everything you were meant to be."
The Yearner hisses- and her blade moves for the Scientist's neck with unbelievable speed. There will be no dodging this one. Encumbered as he is, he has to drop the bundle if he wants to dodge- and that he will never do. He closes his eyes-
And only opens them a second later, after the sound of flesh being cleaved resounds. He is- he is not on the slow boat. He sees the Silverer before him, blocking the Yearner's blade with her own arm. A steady trickle of blood is falling from the grievous-looking wound- the cut was such that it exposed the bone.
"Oh, hello. Does it hurt?" the Yearner remarks.
"Not... at all." the Silverer scoffs.
"What if I do this?"
The Noman wriggles her arm and the blade twitches on the spot it's stuck on. The Silverer yelps and wrenches herself free, before falling. There are holes torn all over her legs- even the Shapeling Arts couldn't hold back the blood loss indefinitely. She collapses, overwhelmed by pain. The sound that emerges from the Scientist's throat is one of near-inhuman agony.
For no reason in particular: Did you know Caeru's biggest fear is watching his loved ones die in front of him (especially while he's unable to save them?)
The Yearner laughs. "Guess it's just the two of us again. Now, hand it over. Or I'll tear your arms off.”
Caeru drops the bundle without thinking, kneeling over the Silverer and cradling her in his arms, barely acknowledging the Yearner's presence. Louise's name is all but chanted under his breath- he struggles to breathe. Blood soaks through his coat. Her head is held close against his heart. His hands scramble to stop the bleeding, to fix her, to save her, to- to-
His head darts up as the Yearner takes a step towards the bundle. His eyes are wide. An utterly distraught sob. He doesn't stop her. He only turns back to his (still living) paramour and desperately tries to keep her that way.
"Idiot." he mumbles into the Silverer's hair, still on the verge of delirium. "You didn't need to- you didn't-"
And thus, the Yearner wins this round. But the story isn't over quite yet.
He looks back just long enough to glare up at the Yearner. He spits. "I should've fed you to the Knot of Tails when I had the chance."
"You should have." the Yearner nods. "I agree on that, now."
She kicks the Scientist square in the jaw. Her delicate shoe goes flying off into the distance, and she leaps for the bundle. Before the Scientist can recover from his daze, she rips the cloth around it, and then her arm moves for one of the hearts in her chest- tearing it off in one clean motion. Blood- deathly cold- sprays everywhere. She shoves the heart into the chest of the Scientist's project, and it- horror of horrors- twitches. It opens its eyes, and gasps- before once again falling into utter silence.
"It worked." she grins. "That's what it needs, right? Life. You've been working with mountain-sherds, trying to breathe life into it- but you don't know anything. You don't know what you are doing, you've been getting nowhere. Your love needs life to come back. Life has to come from somewhere."
The many hearts on her body twitch and wriggle as she turns to leave, the body still in her hands, bathing her in apocyan light. "Don't worry. I have a lot of life to give."
She runs off, and Caeru can see-
The body is half-lacre, half-skeletal, and all mannequin. A horror of sable wood casings enveloping the lacre beneath like a shield, virtually impossible to separate without ripping it all apart. His chest is exposed just enough to betray the underlying array of cracked ribs, and inside lays a diamond shining brilliant apocyan. The light floods his body and leaks freely out of an exposed, half-finished eyesocket.
He's sturdier than the Yearner, clearly. Built to last. Built to survive. Not an accident, like she was, but something else entirely. He shudders, white hair flowing in waves down to her feet- his hands dig into her shoulders on instinct.
He meets Caeru’s eyes. He doesn't say a word.
Caeru watches them go, and tries not to scream. He fails spectacularly.
He stumbles to his feet, still cradling his paramour- he takes one step after them, then sobs. The Silverer twitches in his arms. His mind races.
If he leaves her, if he fails again, if he-
He turns tail and shoves coils of hissing Fingerkings aside, ducking into Parabola as the Yearner escapes. He'll regroup, he swears, he'll come back, he'll fix this, he'll fix everything, he'll-
He sets his paramour down and frantically sets about bandaging her wounds. The past can wait. He only has one Louise.
"I love you." he whispers uselessly. "I'm sorry. I love you. I'm so sorry-"
The Scientist's involvement in this tale ends here- left with many regrets, many things to answer for, and many wounds to try and heal.
Some, he succeeds at. Others, he does not.
But this was never about him in particular.
Far away is the Yearner, retreating to a lair in the swamps. A knock on the door, two knocks- and the Scarred Naturalist looks at her in disbelief. "What on earth is that?"
She enters, and places the body on the dining table without a word, knocking wooden plates and silverware (a strange contrast, indeed) aside. The body twitches, the sole heart connected to its chest pulsating madly as it slowly but surely withers into nothing. Her hand hovers over a cracked rib.
"We'll have to find replacements." she whispers.
The Naturalist shrugs. He doesn't know what this is all about, but he supports her interests, as always. He finds the Yearner is a surprisingly good influence on his master. Why, the master of silks has been startingly cheery since they've started their rivalry. "The swamp will provide," he notes. "Plenty of bodies around.
The Yearner nods. "Tell Veils I'm calling in that favour, too. It can provide far better materials than that fool of a scientist could. Ask it for wood- sturdy. Elder Continent- something that soaks in the light of the Mountain." she pauses. "Keep him safe. The box of hearts is under my bed- feed one to him every hour. I'll be leaving. I believe Fires had a shipment of apocyan lanterns sent over to Varchas? Surely nobody will notice if I take one..”
She takes a heavy coat, and steps out of the shack. She has a mission.
-
The body does not move for... quite some time. It merely stares up at the ceiling in idle bafflement, digging its claws into the table. It opens its mouth. All that emerges is a sickening click-
He closes his mouth. The heart shudders, and he goes with it. He rolls to his left and spends minutes on end staring at his hands in open fascination- another click.
He twists the joints on his fingers. He lifts his head, and while he may not have proper eyes- the empty stare of his eyesocket and the sickening glow of the apocyan leaking from his face is nothing short of disturbing.
He watches at the Naturalist for a long moment. Another click, as he opens his mouth, and then closes it. A claw unwisely pokes around the heart on his chest, another hand gesturing vaguely to the house around it. Finally, it manages to croak in a low rumble, like an oncoming storm- "Where?"
The Naturalist raises an eyebrow. "Bugsby's Marshes." at the confused look he gets back, he raises it further. "Watchmaker's Hill?" a pause. "The Fifth City, Fallen London? The Neath?" he chuckles. "My my. You're quite uninformed. I suppose it's just fair..."
He walks over to a cabinet, and takes out- is that skin? Human skin. A face. "You've just been born, haven't you?" He offers the face. It's fair-skinned and pudgy. He grins devilishly. "Perhaps a trip to the city would alert your senses."
(The Yearner didn't say he had to stay in the cabin. Just that he had to be kept safe- and that he needed the hearts.)
The Naturalist looks at the homunculus in front of him expectantly, and smiles again. It's not a nice smile.
The body's own face is carved from wood, and thus, cannot blanch- but its face certainly does scrunch up in noticeable revulsion. "No thank you." he says quickly, practically shoving it away. "I'm," he pauses, "Not, hungry?"
He reaches up- the heart beats faster. His finger dips into his eye. He could swallow, if he knew how. He sits up and stares down at his own body in obvious bafflement.
London. He's in London. In... what was it? Bugsby's Hill? This must be a dream.
He slides off the table, trips over his own hair, and falls facefirst onto the ground with a loud thud. A very strange dream indeed.
"...a trip would be appreciated, thank you..." oddly polite, for a newborn homunculus. If a bit laughable.
"My, you're clearly not fine." the Naturalist says. "And you can't go out like this, either way. I'll find you a suit. I have... one." the fact it belonged to someone the Yearner had hunted and killed probably doesn't matter. "Hm. But it's not your size. Maybe..."
He leaves the room to fetch something while the homunculus twitches on the ground. The body practically claws his way up to the wall as he tries once more to get his footing. 'Practically', of course, meaning 'leaves stark grooves in the wallpaper as though he was a particularly rambunctious kitten'.
Finally, the Naturalist returns with a cloak- torn in several places and repaired with careful carelessness. A trophy of war, a legendarily expensive article of clothing torn from the body of a Master and carefully, extensively defaced. Reworked and remade. He offers it.
"Thank you." a stiff sigh as he wraps the cloak around himself, tugging the hood over his head without a second thought. The illusion of anonymity is only slightly marred by the apocyan glow and uncomfortable resemblance to a Master of the Bazaar.
One hesitant step, then another. One more, for good measure. The homunculus looms above the Naturalist, voice rattling like gravel. "Who did you say you were..?" he looks at the door. "You and that- ah. Ice...? Ice. Woman. With the. Eyes." his tone reeks of disbelief.
"Quite tall..." the Scarred Naturalist mutters. "Ah, well. I am a Scarred Naturalist, just a humble scholar living here after my... let us call it an involuntary exile from academia. Unfortunately, prejudice tends to get in the way of scientific advancement... no matter." he coughs. "My associate is the Yearner, a hunter living on the marshes in search of a particularly elusive beast. She brought you here. Given by your state you must have been in quite a situation! Do you remember anything in particular? Have you an address to return to, perhaps?"
The body tilts his head roughly 45 degrees and ponders for a moment. "I run an inn," he looks up, vain as it may be, "Quite far from here. My, ahem, business partner- last I recall, I was bidding him farewell for the morning..."
He trails off and stares into space, not lost in any specific memory, but simply caught in a wave of utter bafflement at the holes in his own mind. "Next I remember, I was carried here by the Yearner. And now I look like-"
He stops, and raises a hand once again. The lacre coats his palms- fresh, vulnerable spots where his mannequin-like casing has not yet been applied. The apocyan dims. "-Like, this." he stands in silence for a long minute. His gaze, though unreadable, is inevitably drawn back to the face- the. Face.
He takes a step back. "Well! Now that I think about it! I really must be going!" he spins on his feet and twists the doorknob with forced cheer, barely able to keep the tremors out of his voice. "It was lovely meeting you, I'm quite grateful for your assistance, tell your associate she's a delight, but if you can just direct me to the nearest path back upwards-?"
He smiles. His mouth is full of uneven, half-formed teeth. "I'd hate to take up too much of your time. I'm sure you're busy doing... busy marsh things."
"Upwards...?" the Naturalist mutters. There's a grudge here. "Never been upwards." he says, too low for the homunculus to hear at all. "Not like they'd take us. The sun hates us more then Stone does. No, no path upwards for me…”
He composes himself, and gives his conversation partner an amused look. "I am loath to inform you, but there is no path upwards. Have you seen yourself, young man? The sun would scour you utterly. To ashes. It does not take kindly to Neathy things- and perhaps you should take a look at yourself? Thoroughly Neathy, that body of yours."
He reveals a mirror, and on it, the cloaked shadow can finally see his face. He tugs down his hood and stares. He's quiet for a time. A trembling hand caresses his cheek (hollow and wooden and false), then scratches at his beard (snow-white and soft as silk), then traces along his scars (carved deliberately and carefully into his face, as though replicating something that was already there).
The Naturalist continues, regardless of his guest's confusion. He sounds quite amused by the whole affair. "Do not worry. I am sure my roommate could not let you go without a shelter for the night- and when you wake up, Penstock's Land Agency will be ready and waiting. We could find you a home here- and perhaps arrange for mail to the Cumaean Canal? I'm sure that ‘business partner’ of yours might have explanations for what happened- and for these apparent gaps in your memory."
A soft sound escapes the body's mouth, indecipherable. He brings a hand up to the apocyan-lit hole in his left eye- and flinches on instinct when his claws dip into it with ease. "Thoroughly..."
There's awe, yes. Horror, most certainly. A hint of amazement. Most of all, complete and utter bafflement.
"But- I have people to get back to, I can't just-" he blinks. "Mail... that. Would be appreciated, yes. Thank you kindly." he looks back at the door. Without speaking, he steps outside- and stops, staring up at the false stars in open awe.
One tentative step, then another. He marvels at the world like a newborn babe.
"What is this?" he doesn't particularly expect an answer. "What... am I?"
The city is alive. Even at this hour, Watchmaker's Hill bustles with activity.
The Starved Embassy's ambered glow and the visitors from the Roof who walk the streets, the Clay Men who pass in stoic silence- the hawkers, the conmen offering rostygold for whoever beats them at arm-wrestling (hiding brass tacks between their fingers as they brag about their prowess), the marksmanship competitions for prizes of jade! The scholars debating the nature of the stars, taking blind steps towards the observatories. The criers announce Feducci's fighting rings, the chittering of surprisingly articulate insects and the growling of the marsh-beasts.
Fallen London stands before the Shadow in all its glory, this strange and wild city of a thousand stories. It gazes at him with mirth.
The Shadow gazes back.
He tugs up his hood and strolls along in absolute wonder- his hand dwarfs a wrestler's own as he pins their arm with ease, barely noticing tacks against wooden 'skin'. His voice is eager and enthralled as astronomers entertain each and every one of his questions about the 'stars' in the 'sky'. A sorrow spider creeps up his elbow- he plucks it by the leg and dangles it in front of his eyes. A half-hearted smile. It disappears into his cloak, and does not return.
Everyone gives him a wide berth, but if this bothers him, he doesn't voice it. This must be a dream- it is a dream, surely, but even so, there's no harm in enjoying it while it lasts.
He'll wake up eventually. He'll see his partner eventually.
Anxiety dies as he stops on the edge of a hill and gazes up at the firmament. London's invitation is easy to accept- after all, in a city of a thousand stories, surely an explanation lies within one.
Barely glancing at the Naturalist behind him, he wanders off into London's heart. Lacre trails in his wake.
It's a beautiful day to be alive.
#FINALLY. THE BACKSTORY POST. FINALLY REALIZED!#aka a caeru callout post with extra steps. everyone who's ever said he's more normal than the scoundrel: you owe me money#yin-thoughts#fallen london#fallen london spoilers#nemesis spoilers#yes this is all one elaborate backdrop to explain the existence of my bag a legend character. ur all welcome#you have no idea how many posts ive been sitting on just bc this information wasnt public yet#i was gonna write a proper fic about it but the writing Could Not Get Into Gear so this outcome happened instead. im fine with it tbh#the shadow being the yearner's new weird fucked up bestie is the funniest outcome ever#i might still finish and post that extended fic someday. it'll just be retroactive lore lmao#also for those new here: the small + indented text format is how i differentiate quoted rp stuff from normal typing#everything in that format is quoted from Insane OC Roleplay Lore. ur all welcome#scoundrel rp shenanigans#........now not featuring the scoundrel even remotely. she doesn't even go here. it's kinda funny ngl#this whole thing is happening and meanwhile he's Literally Just Chillin#scoundrelventures
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Whump Symbols Masterlist
Beneath the cut is a list of symbols. Send one or more of the following for receiver's muse to discover sender's muse... (or include a 🔄 for the reverse!)
😈 ...being tortured.
🩸 ...bleeding out.
🦴 ...with a visibly broken bone.
🪡 ...patching, stitching, or cauterizing their own wounds.
🩹 ...beaten and left to die.
😵 ...unconscious.
🪑 ...collapsed or unable to stand.
⚡ ...being electrocuted.
🔍 ...suddenly returned after having gone missing.
🍽️ ...dying of starvation.
🥤 ...dying of thirst.
🕳️ ...fallen into a deep pit, hole, or ravine.
⛰️ ...dangling from a ledge.
👐 ...being strangled.
🔪 ...stabbed.
🔫 ...shot.
🌊 ...drowning.
🚬 ...covered in cigarette burns.
🤕 ...covered in bruises.
🫗 ...poisoned.
🥃 ...drunk.
💊 ...drugged or overdosed.
🐴 ...whipped.
⭕ ...branded.
🐍 ...bitten or stung by a venomous creature.
🤧 ...severely ill.
😨 ...having a dangerous allergic reaction.
🤰 ...suddenly going into labor at a bad time.
🔇 ...mute from trauma, shock, or conditioning.
🧍♂️ ...paralyzed.
🙈 ...blinded.
❓ ...suffering from amnesia.
💥 ...caught in an explosion.
🔥 ...trapped in a fire.
❄️ ...suffering from hypothermia.
🥵 ...suffering severe heat stroke.
📸 ...being publicly humiliated.
🗣️ ...being verbally assaulted.
💪 ...being physically assaulted.
💋 ...being sexually assaulted.
🪢 ...bound and gagged.
⛓️ ...chained up.
‼️ ...forced into a stress position.
🐶 ...collared and kept like an animal.
⚠️ ...having a panic or anxiety attack.
👹 ...experiencing sleep paralysis.
🛌 ...having a nightmare or night terror.
👁️ ...severely sleep deprived.
🛞 ...unable to drive safely or at all.
🚙 ...struck by a car.
🛻 ...in a car accident.
🏚️ ...trapped beneath a collapsed structure.
💣 ...with a bomb strapped to their body.
🚨 ...arrested and taken to jail or prison.
🚑 ...rushed to the ER.
⚰️ ...buried alive.
💀 ...on the verge of death.
🪦 ...dead.
Feel free to change whatever you like to make the wording more specific for your muses or desired scenario!
#i tried to include everything i could think of but i probably missed some stuff.#whump#whump meme#whump askbox meme#rp memes#roleplay memes#whump rp memes#writing memes#writing prompts#whump promts#askbox
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A quick something I did for an rp
#identity v#luca balsa#unconcerned art#this is the weirdest set of tags im writing because ive never done this before HAHAHAHA#its all i have at the moment tho#super experimental. i feel like if i wanted to go harder on the shadows i could#but i got pissed at the blending brushes in procreate so i called it a day#rps are like the one thing keeping my sanity at work rn#replies on this blog will be slow!! since i prefer to do these on my laptop instead of my ipad#will probably try to get to them during the weekends#anyway the last part of the modern ghost comic is going to be in limbo ive rewritten it like ten times n i still hate it. head in hands#whatever whatever not everything needs an explanation as long as ive resolved the most glaring plot im good#i say as if i had a plot at all
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To My Dearest
Three letters from Haku Kusanagi to Zenji Kotodama that he did not send and one that he did. Thank you @danieyells for the inspiration. This is dedicated to @zenji-kotodama-official, for hopefully obvious reasons.
[unsent]
Zenji,
This is the sort of thing you would do. But now I find myself sitting at my desk, the weight of the time spent apart hanging over me like an axe about to drop, and I'm writing a letter you'll probably never see. I'm pretending to write to you anyway. Rui said it might help me figure my feelings out if I wrote them down like this, but after ten of these already I'm starting to think I'm doing this just because it feels like the only way I can speak my mind to you while you're not here.
It reminds me of the time I found a poem left on your desk when you weren't there. You wrote of a ghost of a poet and an heir to a shrine. I didn't read it all—I won't pretend to have had the patience or the nerve to try at the time—but I still think about it. You were trying to tell me something and I wish I knew what.
I shouldn't have told you what I did, that I wished I had kissed you when I had the chance. I should have said that I'd still try. You still reach for the people around you with such reckless love, like that time you moved for my hand and fell through your own bed. Your embarrassment was priceless. Oddly beautiful, too. And if you'd let me try to embarrass myself, just once, I'd try to kiss you, ghostly air and all.
It's shameful. Sometimes I lay awake at night, curled up on my side and staring at my door, asking myself what I did wrong. But I know I've done plenty wrong. Even so, I wish you'd just talk to me. I miss you. I hate that I miss you.
You're so annoying, but why did I have to get used to your annoyingness? Why do I miss it? Why do I yearn for just one more obnoxiously loud song, one more melancholic poem, one more masterpiece played on your biwa with your imperious voice demanding I record?
I hate you. I hate you for making me cry. I hate you for being gone. I hate you for not talking to me. I hate you for your silence more than your noise ever annoyed me. Please come back. Please be silent somewhere I can see you again. Just please come back. Come back and be your annoying self and I won't complain again. I won't roll my eyes. I won't tease. Just come back to me, Zenji.
Why do you avoid me? Is it so terrible if I want you, alive or dead? Is there really no other way for us to have our happily ever after? Is there a reason you won't try with me?
Haku
[unsent]
Dear Taro,
Do you remember the day we first met? It was the start of second year for us both, though I didn't really know you until I first stepped foot into Hotarubi, my new dorm at the time. To be honest, I don't really know why I chose it when I'd hardly spent any time there before I left Frostheim. I guess it just reminded me of home.
That first day though, it didn't feel exactly like home. It felt a bit like betrayal when I walked in, knowing who I'd left behind. I was quiet, and then there you were. An explosion of colour and fabric, pale skin glowing even in the dim mists of Hotarubi, and I could swear your eyes sparkled. You were all smiles and friendly chatter, welcoming me like I was just some childhood buddy you hadn't seen for a long time. You didn't even know me.
And you wouldn't leave my side. You said "hi" to at least a dozen people on the way to showing me my room, but stuck by me. At mealtimes, you were there. In the evening, you walked me back to my room even when I said I remembered the way. You did the same the day after that and the day after that and, seemingly, almost every single day forward. I'm not sure you knew it, but you made those first months bearable for me. I'm not sure I ever thanked you for that.
I've always been ungrateful when it comes to you. For your life, your company, and your smile.
What I'd give to see your smile again.
Sorrowfully, Haku
[unsent]
Dearest Taro,
I see the way she looks at you. I see the way you look at her. I've never been a jealous man. At least, not until now. She brings so much more life to you, and for someone always on my case for flirting, you certainly charm the hell out of her.
We talk now, but it doesn't feel the same as before the ball. I wish we'd never gone. I wish I hadn't asked you to dance. I'd undo it all if it meant you wouldn't keep averting your gaze from me when I'm in the room.
What does an honor student have that I don't? Why will you entertain her and not me?
How much longer will this go on?
Yours, Haku
[the downturned card]
Haku didn't show up to the wedding. How could he go on pretending to be perfectly serene and happy, seeing two of his friends get what they always deserved and he selfishly wished against?
The closest he made it was a short distance from the reception, under the shade of a tree grown into the form of a bench. It was wrapped in white and soft indigo ribbons, purple roses tucked among them. That was where he left his folded-up letter.
He glimpses Zenji in the distance, dressed down for this part after the ceremony, considering it was only for close friends. Who would have thought that all the ghouls would not only help lift not just a curse, but a spirit from the dead to allow this newlywed couple to stand here today? Zenji moved and interacted with the world with so much grace and enthusiasm. Every step, every wave of his hand, every turn of his head filled Haku with a love so deep and aching that it hurt.
Love. He had fallen in love with his old friend. It was a terrifying, tragic feeling.
If not for the pain, Haku wouldn't have had the means to walk away, leaving the letter in the tree for Zenji to find if he went looking.
To My Dearest,
There's a poem I've been thinking about. A few lines specifically:
Trees outside the window and a big band sound that makes you feel like / everything's okay, / a feeling that lasts for one song maybe, / the parentheses all clicking shut behind you... I sleep. I dream. I make up things / that I would never say. I say them very quietly.
Sometimes it's easier to use a poet's words when I'm lost for ways to articulate just how I'm feeling. The full poem is more hopeful, but I keep coming back to these lines. It's like he knew, somehow. Precisely how to describe the way grief feels, where you stand in one place but time moves on anyway. Contentment is fleeting, the situation is final, and I betray my own healing by whispering all the words I wish I had said long ago and clinging to them like they might impossibly change the present.
I fear I have become the ghost in bringing you back. I'm stuck somewhere between that night and all the nights after where something got lost in translation.
You deserve this happy life. I'm writing this letter to say goodbye. I have always been a selfish, selfish man. I can't watch you love someone else anymore and live the life with her that I wanted with you.
I'm sorry, Taro. I'm so sorry I never did anything right by you.
Yours, still, Haku
[the upright card]
Haku went through the motions of the day in a kind of stupor. A few years ago, if you told him that he was going to get married one day, he'd laugh self-deprecatingly and ask if you were planning to propose to say such a thing. If you told him he was going to marry Zenji Kotodama—to him, Taro Kirisaki—he would blankly demand what gave you that ridiculous idea, arms crossed and unimpressed.
Currently, his arms are draped over Zenji's shoulders as they slow dance in an empty garden party. All the guests had left. Soon, Haku was going to clean up before he and Zenji collected their bags to board the late train. But right now, he's content just dancing to a song Zenji hummed sweetly in the quiet.
The moment feels so surreal. Zenji's buzzing solidness after years of growing stronger, the rise and fall of his chest so close to true breathing, the fact that they could still hold each other even while one remained a ghost. But the sound of his voice remains the same as always.
"You seem lost in thought, my dear." Zenji's ruby eyes glitter with gentle affection as he observes Haku. "Will you tell me about it?"
"It's nothing," Haku says, only for the rest of his excuses to melt away at a kiss to his forehead. It feels as real as anything.
"Tell me anyway," Zenji replies once he pulls away, smiling encouragingly.
Sighing, Haku glances off to the side at the curved tree. "It's... not something I can say aloud right now."
"But we are alone!" Zenji says, incredulous.
And Haku finds himself chuckling. "Yes. I know. But it's because it's for you that I'm struggling to say it." They stop dancing and, with a tremoring hand, Haku draws a folded piece of paper from a pocket in his coat. "Here. Read this, please. I should start cleaning, or we'll never make it to that train."
"But these are not your vows from earlier?"
"No," Haku says, wandering off to start collecting glasses to take inside. "Just read it and you'll see!" he calls back before leaving.
To My Dearest,
While I like poetry, I've never been all that good at it. I've written this letter probably a dozen times already, trying to quote every Romantic poet you could name. And many of them, I find, are so sad in their works. It just wouldn't do because I find myself so incredibly happy.
I'm writing this version the night before our wedding. You're asleep in the next room over (I know this because I can hear you snoring) and the moon is bright. I have the window open and the breeze is so nice, even if it's also messing with the paper right now.
You know by now that I'm stalling. You've always known me better than anyone else, particularly my own family. And while you've felt like family for a long time now, I can't believe I'm—and yet I look forward to—officially making you mine tomorrow.
You don't know it, but I've been writing letters to you for years. It started in our third year at Darkwick Academy, when I thought I had ruined our friendship for good. Ruined any kind of relationship we might have had. I wrote to you almost every day for a month, and then I continued to write after, but I never sent anything. You know me, after all. I couldn't be openly honest if my life depended on it.
Keats wrote once about the harmony in silence—or something close to that. After years of writing to you what I cannot say, I think I've finally reached that harmony. In my silent missives, I've found a new appreciation for your endless songs. I want you to sing until I go deaf. I want to love you until the end of my life, and then even after.
I used to scorn fairy tales. They weren't real. I had experienced the real world with all its unfit couples, doomed lovers, and sex addicts. I thought that was all there is. You may remember that there was a time I never thought I'd marry, simply because I didn't think a happy marriage was possible. But I want to make a promise to you, Taro. The vows I read out tomorrow are for everyone else. But this promise is for you only, in the beautiful simplicity of silence as you read.
While it is within my power, I am making this our happily ever after, my dearest. I owe it to the both of us to believe in fairy tales again. And I promise you that in this one, the moon and the fisherman can devote themselves to one another, the heir to the shrine can know of the ghost's love, and the beast can marry the princess.
We will have bad days. Someday I might find I grow tired of noise again. You might detest my criticisms. But I promise to never forget the love that's bound us through life and death. If you ever fear that I will, come to me with this letter and we will read it again together until we both remember our happily ever after.
I'm going to marry you tomorrow. You'll see.
With love, forever yours, Haku
#haku kusagani#zenji kotodama#zenji kotodama x haku kusanagi#zenji x haku#tokyo debunker#tokyo debunker rp#tokyo debunker fanfic#🎀 references to meanwhile by richard siken and ode on a grecian urn by john keats#🎀 apologies for any mistakes I barely proofread this cause it took way longer than I thought it would to finish#🎀 everything is a rambly mess but that's kind of the way of letters isn't it??#🎀 also a lot of this is building off of prior zenji x haku rp threads#🎀 I was gonna write just one letter but decided we could have five. as a treat. the downturned and upright cards are a nod to tarot reading#🎀 and also represent my idea of the “bad” and “good” ending for zenji and haku here#the honor student is referenced but never named
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my main problem with the silm fandom is that i can never tell who's roleplaying and who's serious
#like.. are you seriously saying that feanor's fans are bad ignorant people that shouldn't exist#or are you just roleplaying a die-hard ñolofinwëan?#do you genuinely think that everything feanor &co did is justified and fair or are you just roleplaying as a die-hard feanorian?#i think we should put a disclamer before writing certain stuff.. idk maybe im just too sensitive#just so we're clear. i rp as a feanorian and feeno IS my favourite character but he was not perfect lmao#that fucking loser (/aff)#gil-galad best high king of the ñoldor#tolkien#silmarillion#the silmarillion#the silm#feanor#fingolfin
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The Tower
DWC November 2024
Day 1: Haze/Sexy
OC: Lilliana Whitedawn, Sindorei 'Felblood'
(I never wrote about the fall of Dalaran, and there's a couple characters who have feelings about it, so now is as good of a time as ever.)
@daily-writing-challenge
It was early enough that the morning haze of fog still kissed the sea's gently rolling surface, as it lazily lapped at the shore – well-worn leather boots carrying the fair-haired Sin'dorei deftly along the damp sand of the beach. Her gaze swept the strewn rocks, and debris – still in shock. One moment, all was well – the club had been as it was every other day, or night... teeming with gyrating bodies – while wishes were fulfilled in the shadows of her insidiously sensual domain.
And then all the lights had come on, the music coming to an abrupt halt as the crushing press of flesh below began to blink out of the fog of pleasure and lust, the exits blazing with a soft, red-tinted arcane glow – the emergency features put in place long before her time had cut the party swiftly short, and... with relatively little harm done, security had escorted all those in attendance either out of Dalaran itself through portals, or back into the underbelly to make their own ways to safety, family, or whatever else called to them in these frantic, confused moments of invasion.
It had been so fast. One moment, bodies pressed hotly against one another – dark secrets traded for dangerous desires; drugs, alcohol, flesh, magic... or simply a release from the expectations of every day life... this was the legacy she'd been handed. The club she'd practically been shaped within, herself – the walls therein holding secrets the likes of which she'd no doubt have killed, to keep.
It was the one, big thing that had still tied her to those now forever gone from her life.
“Was it too much to ask for just this?”
The waves shushed her as gently as they could.
“Not only was a whole city I loved utterly destroyed – a symbol of what we can achieve with alliances, instead of war. A testament to our prowess over magic, and our ability to bring that power to everyone...”
What was she even trying to say? That not only did it hurt her, as an Elf... but that it felt like a knife in her gut. It felt personal. It felt like Ythgar leaving all over again. It felt like Iloam's goodbye, in which he had accused her of being a demon in disguise - in which he had told her to never speak to him or his again. It tasted like having had love at her fingertips, only to lose it over, and over again.
It was a whole era of her life being ripped away from her again.
It was an anchor to the young woman's humanity that had allowed her to not only stay rooted in a safer mindset, bound up in memories and legacy...but it had allowed Lily's demonic side to be sated in a convenient manner without causing anyone any real harm. It was a tie to a part of her life that had felt so safe, in the early days – a time that, despite the turmoil it had all ended in, had forced her to take shape in her first days truly on her own.
And so Lily let herself grieve there on the shore, by herself – she let herself grieve in a way she never really had had the time for, since all the loss. She'd been busy mourning herself – her mortality, and her fel corruption - and raising a daughter, and fighting to save Azeroth, and sating her demon, and getting her estate back on its feet in the strain of the years since the fall of Quel'thalas... and she'd barely been an adult, when it had all begun. She grieved for the that girl, too – the Flower Girl. The one who hadn't known any better. The one mocked for her naivete.
She was a mother to a preteen now; beloved friend, and trusted ally of dragons; half a demon; still, as ever, a Crusader to be called upon by the Argent Crusade; a hobbyist historian, a professional relic-retriever with her own ship and crew, now... who would have to return to piracy on the sly, with the club now removed as a 'hunting ground' to sate the demonic side of her.
Lilliana was all those things, and more – this towering woman, who now sank to her knees in the sand... one hand firmly in the moist earth, gripping the sand tight between her fingers, as the other clutched at the 'silver' pendant of a lioness that she'd worn since the day Ythgar, the Marquis of Vynguld, had gifted it to her.
As the pendant dug into the flesh between her knuckles, the Elven woman shuddered – taking a steadying breath, as the memories... as the anger and the grief washed over her... and she let it pass, pushing down the demon it rankled to life in her breast.
“But a bilge rat always survives.”
Soft and hoarse, these words to the empty beach – and yet, the lessons Iloam had taught Lily as a naive, young paladin had buried themselves deep in her psyche, and still held her in their grip. One knee comes up, plants a booted foot under her, and she hefts herself up in a singular motion – the hand that cleans her face leaving a smear of sand in its wake... and behind her, the pristine, damp sand is broken only by steady footprints that lead away from the messy disturbance she'd left in the sand, in her moment of delayed grief – all that hurt put neatly back in a box, and away out of sight to haunt her another day.
#dwc2024#novemberdwc2024#sin'dorei#blood elf#dalaran#wow rp#wow writing#mourning who you were#fall of Dalaran#I still need to write for my mage as well#but this was such a weirdly personal loss for Lily in a way she finds hard to explain to people#so many deeply defining moments happened within those walls#and she had risen to take Ythgar's place in his old demesne with some measure of pride in bearing his legacy#But sometimes you need to cut away everything to truly start fresh! Maybe it'll be a good thing & she doesn't know it yet.#And she'll do just like Iloam taught her in other ways too! Like bottling up ALLLL of that hurt & letting it fester!#How else does one move forward???
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I HAVE STARTED
Uhm
Writing something 👉👈
#it's been SO LONG since i could sit and write like a person#i rp often enough but creating a full story with plot and everything?#my heart feels a little bit fuller#i missed writing a lot
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today on hhau rp:
the threat of loss is a guillotine and grian is chained and shackled, unable to move from underneath it, begging for it not to fall.
#ange teases#of course just as per usual this is nothing to worry about#don't mind that i almost made myself cry while writing a rp reply#(that is RARE guys)#it's funny how me and link made an Angst Plot for vex arc a while back#and ever since then as we build up everything that happened in the vex arc in between#it just gets Worse and Worse#which is a side note really! that's not what's so heartwrenching about this particular rp#although it does add a sprinkle of particular flavour of unavoidable doom#haha. fun stuff. aNyway how's everyone doing today :3c
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Heterochromia
Felt inspired to do some cringetober prompts on my oc Skid cuz theyre from MY cringe 13 year old artist making mary sue half demon half angel ocs phase
#my art#my ocs#skid was here#the reason i tag skid art with that is cuz i used to write it on EVERYTHING when i was a tween/teen#and its cuz skid would carve it into random walls and shit during rps with my friends#good ol days#i have a couple more in the works but i thought id post this one first#cringetober
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"I suppose I'm representing Blueberry Academy in this battle. I'll try not to disappoint!"
Semi selective, HC based RP blog for Lacey from the Indigo Disk dlc for Scarlet and Violet
Loved by Aster [he/him], and follows from @/despairs-memorial
Please like or reblog if you would like to interact
#pokemon rp#lacey pokemon#video game rp#rp blog promo#//note: i never played s/v due to lacking a switch but I read over everything about her character and I can confidently say#she is like enough characters I already write for to be able to do this in a mediocre way
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ENTANGLEMENT | Part I, Chapter I
A Portal/Half Life Universe Fic from Chell's Perspective Rating: Explicit Overall Word Count: 10,730 Chapters: 1/20 Where to Read: AO3 | Google Drive | // ?UN?/KN@?#WN
SYNOPSIS
Location Unknown, Michigan, USA. Aperture released her, set her free. That ought to have been the end of it. But cast out into a world rendered unrecognizable after a mass extinction level event, Chell is forced to fend for herself, navigating a war-torn world in the aftermath of the seven hour war that devastated the states in a bygone era. Mere days into her newfound experience on the surface, Chell finds bizarre technology inside a Michigan radio tower, discovering that the same interdimensional forces that started the war were still around, scouring the area in search of technology from the facility she hoped to never see again — Aperture Science. With no choice but to go back to the facility to deliver a dire warning, Chell tightropes on the cusp of two worlds, unaware of the consequences of pursuing the past and surviving an uncertain future alongside an unlikely ally.
It's finally here!! A former roleplay thread with @sarcasticgaypotato turned novel, this story follows the events of Half Life 2: Episode 2, and is an inspired continuation of the ending of Half Life: Alyx from the perspective of everyone's favorite Aperture-dwelling characters. Chell, whose mission is to protect Aperture technology from getting in the hands of the Combine, must also act as GLaDOS's protector and keep her safe. GLaDOS, on the other hand, has to figure out the complicated ways of the world from a new perspective - literally. This story is friendly to those who don't know Half-Life lore, and a treat for those who do! This story is a close-to-canon survival novel fic with ChellDOS as a major focus. Full of survival, interactive elements, complicated feelings, and a beautiful slow burn robot/human love story. <3
#portal 2#half life#chell#GLaDOS#ChellDOS#I CAN FINALLY SCREAM ABOUT THIS OMMMGG#nearly a fucking DECADE LATER AHHHH#words cannot explain how excited I am to finally release this project into the masses I could explode#Chell was my first muse my first comfort character my first love#this rp to novel that me and sarcastic worked on for ages is without a doubt the most research I have done for a story EVER in my life#and I love the absolute most out of everything I've written#I have been wanting to write ChellDOS fanfiction for a very long time#and while I've done rp stuff#I wanted my first ChellDOS fic to be so fucking astronomical#I'm finally satisfied#and I hope you all love this story too! thank you all for reading <3
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headcanon that edgy Nevermoorian teens make cringy wundersmith ocs with wildly inaccurate lore and there’s a whole forum dedicated to role playing them. Morrigan finds said forum.
This is actually what the group from the blurry Silverborn snippet is, tbh.
JK, but I was inspired. Enjoy.
Text version of the chat:
MaximillianMårtensson: Finally, I’ve mastered all 9 of the Wretched Arts….. tch *shadow clouds his face, and he starts to chuckle* Lyd1aDr1sc0ll: i mastered all 10 :3 Xx_EsterOtten_xX: SKILL ISSUE. I’ve mastered 12 🔥💯💪 GigiGrand: hi i;m famous singer gigi grand MaximillianMårtensson: // STOP. Xx_EsterOtten_xX and GigiGrand are typing…
#asks#nevermoor#nevermoor headcanons#nevermoor meme#nevermoor fanart#‘why did you write it out when you had it in text form’ ummmm next question please#layers for mog: one yet layers for everything else: a billion trillion#thank you for the funny ask#I love thinking about nevermoorians online#what is squall’s whole deal w the gossamer traveling but cyberbullying?#the names are from behindthename’s generator. always useful lol#this is inspired by ye olde text edit hp rps between my sisters and I#we started out by just each of us trying to give ourselves better brooms than the previous person loll#and so I think the equivalent for cringe wundersmith ocs would be how much of a prodigy each of them are lol#does anyone else think that the horrified mog with the transparent .png of a computer is the funniest thing ever or am I just delirious#bc I find it hilarious and kept getting distracted from the rest of this to giggle at it at the bottom of the canvas lol
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Looking for some Homicipher peeps to roleplay with me!
I've just finished the game and my minds been running with all different types of scenarios and need to yap about them to someone or else I'll explode!!
Love the game to bits and the characters are so cool. I'm looking to double and can play any of the spirits that you want :3
My tolerance for dead dove, smut, and other fucked up topics are pretty high so come at me with the nastiest scenarios youve got and I'll make em come true!! That is pls be 18+ considering these topics are adult.
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#homicipher#homicipher roleplay#homicipher rp#discord roleplay#discord rp#I wanna yap#I wanna write#I wanna do anything and everything in between
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ETA on 12/3: I am currently not looking for any more roleplays. I will open this back up in the future. Thank you for everyone’s interest!
tl;dr
Thoughtful, literate Suguru looking for thoughtful, literate Satoru for romantic, plotty discord roleplays.
Hello everyone,
I’ve recently fallen into the emotional black hole that is Satosugu and I’m looking to pick up a few roleplays exploring different stages of their relationship.
I am looking for a Gojo, and I am looking to write Geto.
I am 27 looking for 23+ folks to write with on discord. I really enjoy building long-term plots with folks, so I’m looking for people who are either in it for the long haul or don’t mind saying they aren’t.
I’m hoping to find other thoughtful writers who have a fondness for the characters. I’d love to share things like playlists, tumblr posts, and develop headcanons and plots together.
I also like to foster friendships with my writing partners, so I’m looking for folks who are into that, too.
More about what I’m looking for in particular:
* Quality over quantity. I’d rather have less posts that are longer and more thoughtful than more posts that aren’t.
* About 1-3+ posts at 300+ words a day, depending on work schedules and energy and the like. I am in MST and work full time, so that would be a conversation we’d have.
* A high level of literacy concerning being able to write metaphors/flashbacks, engaging plots, dialogue, etc.
* Someone who really loves the ship and the characters and wants to lean into the romance!
I’m open to a lot of tropes (soulmates, a/b/o if we agree on roles, fake dating, arranged marriage, etc), and I’m looking to write either the time they were students (with the understanding that smut would not be an option if they are minors) or around the events of Jujutsu Kaisen 0, either before or after.
I’m not looking for smut and I’d be extremely picky about doing smut, but we can have that conversation.
If you like this post, I’ll reach out. Hope to write with you!
#jjk roleplay#jujutsu kaisen roleplay#goge#satosugu#roleplay#literate roleplay#literate rp#please write with me the brain worms are taking everything I have
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