#fallenlondonoc

[incautiousdriver]

here we go

[mopomoko]

The last Fallen London commission I did before. The client's D&D character was reworked from FL and you can still see her Correspondence tattoos peeking through! Interested in a Fate commission? DM me! 100 Fate = Coloured Waist-Up 50 Fate = Coloured Bust #artistsoninstagram #digitalart #digitalpainting #instaartist #artistofinsta #art #drawing #illustration #originalartwork #madebymoko #commission #fanart #digitalfanart #fancharacter #failbettergames #fallenlondon #sunlesssea #sunlessskies #browsergame #fallenlondonoc #fallenlondonart #fallenlondonfanart #dungeonsanddragons #dnd #tabletop #fantasy #elf https://www.instagram.com/p/B0deIecpHg6/?igshid=y7xs8dc6b59d

[incautiousdriver]

rn the Unrepentant Poet is girlbossing her way through an archipelago doing some Totally Legal research. aside from that she's slowly but steadily grinding up Persuasive for POSI Tier 2 and biding her time till Christmas so she can get that sweet sweet 5 card lodging and finally progress in Heart's Desire :P

Meanwhile, the Ineloquent Theorist is having a GRAND OLD TIME grinding out Searing Enigmas in the Underclay and betraying alts unsuspecting Londoners in preperation for St Arthur's candle.

ok enough about fbgs cringefail founder. what's everyone's fl ocs up to? tell me about them

[mopomoko]

A Fallen London commission for @bewerethewoof in the Failbetter Games server! Her Felicia Voight is very clearly not a lady to be trifled with. I'm gonna be offering Fate Commissions for the duration of the Election! 100 Fate = Coloured Waist-Up 50 Fate = Coloured Bust IG Name: Mopomoko #artistsoninstagram #digitalart #digitalpainting #instaartist #artistofinsta #art #drawing #illustration #originalartwork #madebymoko #commission #fanart #digitalfanart #fancharacter #failbettergames #fallenlondon #sunlesssea #sunlessskies #browsergame #fallenlondonoc #fallenlondonart #fallenlondonfanart https://www.instagram.com/p/B0GjAk5JaEO/?igshid=4jk2jvftdx3l

[incautiousdriver]

shoutout to fallen london for telling me how fucking bad the mr eaten plotline would be for my character

and then offering me the option to do it two more times

[incautiousdriver]

ive decided my seeker character, The Ineloquent Theorist, is going to be an absolute certifiable dumbass who just wanted to learn a neat new language

[incautiousdriver]

👀 someone say bandwagon?

Some Fallen London ocs in modern clothes (x)

[incautiousdriver]

i havent even been seeking for that long and the weekly smen has already started feeling like that ‘packige’ post

[incautiousdriver]

ah.

[incautiousdriver]

pog

[incautiousdriver]

from this post, just wanted to draw it :P it’s been too long since i’ve drawn her..

[incautiousdriver]

it begins.

[incautiousdriver]

for the ask meme: stones & spices!

stones: which quirks (ruthless, melancholy, etc.) would be their top three? which chiropteromantic zodiac sign do they have?

Maril / The Unrepentant Poet: Heartless, Hedonist, Daring, the Spider Allison: Steadfast, Melancholy, Austere, the Hunter The Ineloquent Theorist: Magnanimous, Melancholy, Subtle, the Shepard

spices: do they indulge in any of the neath’s many vices? if so, to what extent do they do so?

The Unrepentent Poet: Her entire character was built around an indulgent hedonist, so...yea. A lot. Started off with mostly honey, since that was the ‘trendy’ vice within the circles she flirted with. Since becoming a PoSI, however...laudanum has become more and more her indulgence of choice. It helps with the nightmares. She’s also recently picked up gambling on cards, an addiction which started off as practice for the Marvellous, but has since evolved into a bit of a guilty pleasure.

Allison: She doesn’t get too much chance to try much of London’s vices, since most of her time is spent out at Zee, but she’s dabbled with substances like honey thanks to her girlfriend being the aforementioned Poet. The drug she’s most familiar with is laudanum, taken in small amounts out at Zee to calm her nerves. Later on in Skies she has more of an outright alcohol problem, again to help deal with life as a sky-captain, but nothing life-threatening.

The Ineloquent Theorist: Not much, to be honest! They tried red honey once, to assist in their Nemesis ambition, but never touched the stuff afterwards. Their vice of choice is less of a choice, to be honest - they tend to get Unaccountably Peckish every now and then. And at time of writing they haven’t began to get stains on their soul, yet. I suspect a laudanum addiction might arise from that Fun Time

[incautiousdriver]

thanks mr sacks very cool

[incautiousdriver]

Messy drawings of my Fallen London main, Maril. She’s a true-neutral honey-addicted hedonist poet, mostly concerned with making her experience in London as pleasurable as possible.

Her best stat is Persuasive and her worst is Dangerous - she claims her honey habits haven’t had any negative effects, but her stance certainly isn’t as steady as it used to be.

She’s not entirely sure what to label her sexuality. Men, women, those of indeterminate and mysterious gender, devils, tomb-colonists; she’ll find romance anywhere and everywhere (though she does have a slight preference for gals).

[incautiousdriver]

home from zee

wrote a hurt/comfort somethin for my FL and SSea characters featuring gay zee captains, orchids, british cuisine and good ol fashioned Cannibalism Trauma. enjoy!

Maril knows Allison’s returned the moment her boat graces London’s waters - call it intuition, perhaps, or just blind luck, but when the Captain of the Orchid’s Lie steps onto shore, Maril is waiting at the docks with a bundle of the boat’s namesake. Well, glass replicas, but a nice gesture all the same.

Usually Allison would smile, zee-worn and shaken but happy all the same. She’d start across the pier at a jog and, once Maril had laid whatever present she’d brought down, collapse into her arms, and whisper pleasantries and milder zee-stories and whatever else came to mind. They’d go back to Maril’s home and catch up, and make up all the time lost to the zee, and love.

Today Allison does not run down the pier to her lover. She does not smile at the orchids, or at Maril. She doesn’t smile at all. Her walk is slow. She’s got a limp now, her left leg carried slightly above the ground and almost buckling whenever she has to bear weight with it.

When she gets to the end of the pier she still collapses in Maril’s arms, but she’s silent save for the sobs.

They leave the orchids by the docks - Allison protested for a moment, but Maril needs both arms to fully support her - and make their way home. She’d had no tissues, so on the way there Maril rips a small square of fabric from her dress and dries the tears (and the blood, she notices with a sharp sting of newfound concern) from her face. They don’t speak. 

The couple reaches home a good 20 minutes later and by then Allison is practically being carried, near unconscious. They slump into the flat and Maril lays her on the sofa, gets that lovely flower shawl she crocheted a while ago and covers Allison with it. They’ll worry about changing clothes and getting out the smell of sweat and blood and fear later. 

Only then, in a safe, controlled environment, does Maril speak.

“I’ll fix us up some dinner then. Expect you must be starving - two months on those dreadful cracker things and not a steak or salad in sight would fester anyone’s appetite.”

There’s no response from the bundle of blanket, and Maril doesn’t expect one. She busies herself with getting out pans and oil and a long, fat strip of meat from the pantry. Out comes the potatos and the peeler, the flour, milk and eggs. Luxuries. She doesn’t cook toad-in-the-hole often, and admittedly it isn’t a proper one without sausages, but it’s Allison’s favourite.

She feels eyes on her back and turns, smiles at two dull eyes watching from the dark of the blanket. Allison gets in these moods sometimes - when it’s all been a bit too much she quietens, preferring to sit in one place, watch Maril intently and fiddle with her hands, or flap them as if drying them. Maril doesn’t mind one bit.

Maril beats the eggs and the flour together, humming, and preheats the oven. Her home starts to warm, and she can hear her love’s breathing relax. She brings out a knife, her favourite one, and begins slicing the meat into shapes reminiscent of sausages.

Allison sobs, sharp and violent.

She’s over there in an instant, peeling back the blanket and drawing her close, muttering comforts.

For the first time in two months Allison speaks to her.

“The meat.” She tries to say more, but her voice is swallowed up by the wailing, and all Maril can make out are 5 words, over and over.

“The meat and the prophets, the meat and the prophets.”

Maril stays there, holding Allison close and muffling the desperate mutters.

Perhaps they’ll go vegetarian for tonight.