#home alone rp

[homealcne]

this family makes me sick ! when i grow up . . . i'm living ALONE ! did you hear me ? I'M LIVING ALONE . I'M LIVING ALONE !

#𝙷𝙾𝙼𝙴𝙰𝙻𝙲𝙽𝙴. independent writing blog for 𝐊𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐂𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑 from 𝑗𝑜ℎ𝑛 ℎ𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑒𝑠 films 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝟏 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝟐. a study in . . setting traps, tricks, mischief, being independent, finding courage, warding off moronic burglars, love for christmas trees, being clever & witty, the meaning of family and sometimes what it doesn't mean, left home alone much like always feeling alone, black sheep of the family, always feeling unseen and unheard, tendency of acting out but truly has a golden heart. a love for CHEESE PIZZA, christmas, snow & winter, golden retrievers and his home. located in the chicago suburbs , 𝟼𝟽𝟷 𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚗 𝚊𝚟𝚎 !

‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎❝ . . . 🏠︎​​  home. rules. memes.

[silent-seductress]

Merry Christmas and happy new year✨🎄🎅🏻

[enduranceofsurvival]

new headmaster

open starter: luther hargreeves

open to tua muses/ocs or modern crossovers

It had been a few years since Luther had parted ways with his siblings at Oblivion. And well the parting lasted about as long as the temporary loss of their powers. Only a few days later had the former Number One reverted back to himself (unfortunately with the modifications his father had once given him) and they were all back together again.

It had been tricky at first, fresh start new universe. But with no impending apocalypse, it had given Luther a lot of time to think. And well, sure he'd never had a happy childhood or a good role model when it came to father figures... But that didn't stop him. He wanted to provide a good home for kids who needed it - a stepping stone to set them up for a good life. Okay it was chaos a lot of the time, but Luther enjoyed it - it gave him purpose again. A way to do some good for others (and well sometimes he roped his siblings in to help).

So of course these days he was usually in a good mood. Today in particular, he took advantage of being up before the kids and shoved on his Walkman. Music was blasting through his headphones he didn't even hear someone approaching. Not until he had a tap on his shoulder causing him to turn around abruptly.

[technikki]

modded minecraft smps are so fun iwant to be in one so bad. i would kill anything to play the fun blocks game with a bunch of friends and get into strange situations together and if i end up getting emotionally invested well that is just a fun bonus

[your-local-grinning-cat]

@brokensenseofhumor

Dear Altair,

I don’t think you have any right to be emerging, slimy, to to tease my Highness and I and call us gay when I can easily scroll your blog. 😼😹

Also…

We are not “damn gay!”

We are “dam gay!”

The ‘n’ got lost somewhere. If you find it, please return it. It may be scared all on its lonesome. 😿

Signed (but not really because this is Tumblr and so I’m typing this on my phone),

Che’nya

[lars-pinfield]

Might stay late tonight. I want to work on the extractor, put some much needed safety measures in place.

[lime-spid3r]

Some cord's broken and I can't hear shit on the radio... I guess it's that time again (break into battery city to steal replacment parts). Anyone wanna join me?

[housedeaubemarle]

Les Yeux d'Une Mère (The Eyes of a Mother)

~~

It is uncharacteristically late when Oudine arrives home. Unable to find the man she’d tried to chase after, she’d meandered back in a confused state. By the time the front door opens to her, and she heads upstairs as quietly as possible, her confusion has become a strange roiling mass of embarrassment, frustration… and melancholy. 

Her brother meets her at the top of the stairs unexpectedly. One look at her face tells him the evening hadn’t exactly been smooth sailing. “What happened?”

Oudine gives him a tired look. Her voice is flat. “Everything.”

“What?”

Some minutes of explanation later finds Remont trying to suppress laughter since his mother’s bedroom is just some yards away. His sister slaps him on the shoulder at such amusement.

“It’s not funny!” she hisses. “He could have been called out for a duel, and for what? Being a fool? It’s not worth it!”

Remont has to take a few moments, despite the sting in his shoulder, to calm down enough to ask, “Did you catch any names at all?” When she shakes her head, he says, “At least tell me what these noblemen looked like.”

The description - whatever Oudine can remember past the haze of humiliation - is enough to trigger a memory of Remont’s. An acquaintance who spent more time at Le Renard had pointed out the man in the street one day; it wasn’t difficult to remember that distinguished figure. 

“That sounds like Viscount Armand de Courcelle, which means the man whom Ross… propositioned was likely Le Renard’s owner, Evreux Mouraut. Makes sense why my lord became upset - they’re lovers.”

“What?” A cold fear runs through her entire body; she groans. “By the gods Rem… I shouldn’t have interfered…!”

Remont pats her on her shoulder gently. “You weren’t to know. You just wanted to save Ross from a potential duel.”

“He saved himself! He literally turned and bolted, and just left me there, so I ran too!”

Remont presses his lips together to hold back a smile. His sister running is a rare thing, and thus in this light, amusing. 

Oudine’s voice is almost a wail at the sight of Remont’s face. “It’s really not funny!” she says again, as if that would get through to her twin.

“Calm down, Dine. It’s not as bad as you think it is.”

“I just embarrassed myself for nothing in front of a viscount and his lover–”

“You’re also a viscount.”

“That’s not the point-”

The sound of a door opening sends nearly the fear of the Fury shooting into both Aubemarle twins. The sight of the Dowager Viscountess does send the fear of the Fury directly into their respective bloodstreams.

There is an unnerving pause, before the older lady says, “Ah Oudine my love. You’re home. A word with you if you please.” She heads back into her room before either of her children can say anything.

Oudine barely stops herself from a wince. She throws an alarmed look at her brother who shakes his head, trying not to smile. They both know that tone – disobey and at least four out of seven hells would break loose. 

“Courage, ma soeur,” he murmurs, a grin escaping him as he does so.

The alarm in her face instantly becomes an annoyed glare before she turns around to enter her mother’s bedroom, schooling her expression into something more neutral. 

Inside, the dowager is already sitting in a comfortable armchair by the fire, the Enchiridion on the side table next to it. Oudine prays quietly not to be read a homily; she doesn’t feel equal to the task. Not tonight. The dressing gown her mother wears, and the silk cap on her head, signals the dowager is close to retiring for the night. Or at least, she would have been if she hadn’t clearly been waiting for the viscount to return from whatever gallivanting she’d been doing. 

As Oudine approaches, the Dowager looks up with a (deceptively) pleasant smile. She holds out a hand, which Oudine takes gingerly. She leans forward to kiss her mother’s cheek. 

“I thought you’d be asleep by now, Mamma,” she says, keeping her voice light as can be, as she sits at her mother’s feet like she usually does.

“How could I possibly do so when my darling girl sent a message at the eleventh hour of the day, saying she wouldn’t be home for supper? When the same child of my bosom returns to the house smelling of whiskey and cigars?” The older woman wrinkles her nose at her. “It is entirely one thing when Remont does it, but it is not done for one of your status.”

Oudine does not sigh outwardly though she does slip her hand from her mother’s hold. “Because he is a man?”

“Because none of the Twelve have seen fit to equip my son with the proper sense of sobriety and propriety of his station, despite all his natural and nurtured advantages,” says her mother without missing a beat. “You on the other hand have. Or at least ought to have.”

The viscount looks up at her with some restrained annoyance. “I have been out many nights before, Mamma. And at twenty seven, I don’t believe it warrants such critique.”

The Dowager’s smile disappears, replaced by a disapproving frown topped with a raised eyebrow. “Mais Le Renard Argenté, ma chérie? C'est aller trop loin.”

Oudine stares at her, in disbelief first, then dismay, before finally resignation. There are only so many ways her mother could have found out, and all of them are named Remont de Aubemarle. This betrayal would be remembered. “It was your son’s suggestion, mamma. He would never send me into danger.”

“Danger, never. Impropriety, usually. You are not obliged to take up those suggestions which are unsuitable, brother or no.”

“It wasn’t unsuitable. He was just… trying to cheer me up,” she says, eyes moving to the fireplace. A weariness has settled in - the whiskey and its accompanying artificial bravery has long since receded. 

The ensuing silence speaks volumes about how absurd the older woman finds this statement. The Dowager’s eyebrow, which has gone impossibly higher, adds a crescendo of incredulity. 

Oudine doesn’t see it since she keeps her eyes on the glow of the fire, continuing with, “Mamma, it is a perfectly legitimate establishment – beautifully appointed, filled with people of titles galore, and all above board.” She pauses for a moment. “Even if it isn’t exactly the kind of place you would patronise.”

The Dowager sniffs. “My dear girl, there are a dozen hundred places in this city filled with the creme de la creme of Ishgard I would never step foot into, yet I have never deemed them unseemly. What I hear of this Le Renard has me fearing for Ishgard’s future.”

“One would think the revelations of the Holy See’s lies would have done that already,” is Oudine’s dry answer.

“There is no need to be blasphemous, child,” says the Dowager with some severity. 

“It isn’t,” retorts her daughter, finally looking back at her mother with obvious annoyance. “Why does it matter? I am Viscount Aubemarle, and I ought to be able to go where I please.”

“You are Viscount Aubemarle, thus you ought to go where you must.” The Dowager’s lips thin into a grim line. “What business could you possibly have at Le Renard? It could hardly be to find a prospective husband.”

“Don't think me such a fool as that!" snaps Oudine in sharp exasperation. "Of course I had no business being there at all! That’s precisely why I went-” She sees her mother’s eyes widening by a fraction and abruptly stops. The last time Oudine had raised her voice at the Dowager was before her coming of age, many summers ago when there had been plenty of fighting to do between a young woman and her headstrong mother.

“I…” She visibly deflates, sinking her face into one hand. “I’m sorry, Mamma. I’m just tired.”

The Dowager looks on for a moment, then with a quiet sigh, rests one hand on her daughter’s head. Those who didn't know her would have said it was done far more gently than thought possible. “There is more to this, yes? Tell me.”

The touch on the crown of her head makes her look up. The weariness is written all over her face now, along with a frustration that she could not allow herself to show beyond the walls of Aubemarle manor. 

“This propriety you speak of, the position in which I stand, ought to be of more use. Yet I feel so helpless, and clumsy… and ineffectual. Papa did so much, and I have done so little. I am twenty seven – five years have I been viscount, and what have I to show for it?

“I am so inadequate, Mamma. I fall short of so much – there are people I ought to be able to help, yet I cannot. There is so much I don’t know, and cannot see – for Fury’s sake, I can’t even see Moogles. The world has so much to offer… and I haven't enough wit to grasp them.”

She bends her head again, but rests it against her mother’s knee. The dam has broken now, and the waters come forth in waves. “I went tonight… to try and prove something. To prove to myself that I could take what I’d learned in the East - the ability to hold myself up comfortably in such a different environment - and bring it here. Apply it here at home, where there are places as foreign as Othard to me.”

Oudine closes her eyes, awash with shame and discontent at her conduct. “I think I failed. And it makes me feel…”

The Dowager waits, gently brushing her fingers against her daughter’s hair. It is still in the braid she had returned from the East with – and hadn’t pinned back up. The older woman had naturally voiced her doubts about it but Oudine had persisted.

“It makes me feel like Papa would have been disappointed.”

There is a moment filled with nothing but the crackling of the fire. Then the Dowager speaks, firm and assertive.

“Your father would have been proud of you.”

Oudine doesn’t raise her head, shaking it instead. The Dowager reaches down slightly to tweak her ear. That gets her to look up at her mother with some distress. “Mamma.”

The Dowager lifts her eyebrow admonishingly again. “Listen well, my girl. Your papa has never been anything but proud of you. And to see you trying something new would have given him more reason to feel that way. I doubt he would have allowed me to scold you as I have tonight if he were here. Just as I doubt very much if he would have allowed you to wallow in your self-pity.”

Oudine doesn’t quite know if she’s being comforted or being reproached again, but then, that’s par for the course with her mother.

“Whatever transpired in that place is hardly worth mentioning. I do not wish to know. However,” she settles back into her chair. “I can see you’re trying to be your father again, dearest. And that will never do. You must be Viscount Oudine de Aubemarle. If you insist on anything else, it will only backfire, as I suspect it did tonight.”

Her daughter stares up at her, absorbing this strangely encouraging advice. “...Papa would have tried to help a stranger in distress, Mamma.”

“I’m sure he would have.”

“He would have succeeded too. Instead of… embarrassing himself in front of nobility.”

The Dowager shakes her head. “That I would not be so quick to decide, my dear. The fact of the matter is that he isn’t here, and thus we will never know.” She raises an eyebrow. “Which nobility?”

A very faint, utterly humourless smile touches Oudine’s lips. Here it comes – the mortification of looking like an ass in front of an influential member of the ton wouldn’t be complete without a reprimand about said mortification. “Rem tells me one of them was likely Viscount Armand de Courcelle.” 

Yet instead of the reproach she expected, the Dowager snorts expressively. “My lord Armand at Le Renard? I should have guessed.”

Instantly, Oudine's eyes widen to their fullest; she sits up to stare at her mother. “You know him?”

“I know of him, to be precise. We come from the same generation after all.” She tilts her head at her daughter. “His late wife was a Dzemael, you know, and his mother a de Borel.”

The colour seems to drain from Oudine’s face. Gods save Ross; he’d offended more than either of them had anticipated. “Then… why are you so calm?”

“Because,” says the Dowager dryly, “your brother is a newborn babe compared to that man’s proclivities. He’s not let dragons, war or embarrassment stop him for over sixty summers now. If he himself doesn’t acknowledge the emotion of shame, I doubt he’d bother about it in others.” She shakes her head. “A handsome enough man in his day – handsome still for some, though he reserves it for his paramours.”  

“...paramours? I only saw the one earlier-” Too late. Her mother has already heard the words. 

The Dowager rolls her eyes but refrains from comment. Clearly her ladyship has seen and heard more than her children expected of her. “Don't worry yourself about them. ‘Tis more than likely Armand de Courcelle and his… partner have forgotten you by now.”

“...I can’t tell if that’s good or not,” says Oudine with a slightly stronger smile now, and some reassurance within her heart. 

The Dowager smirks. “Discretion is the better part of valour, my treasure.” She chucks Oudine under the chin. “Ma cherie, I did not want you visiting Le Renard not because I think you incapable. I did not want you visiting because you are not yet settled.” Dark brown eyes meet grey ones head on. 

“I am not yet such a doddering old fool that I do not see your restlessness. Your body is home – your soul is not. Not yet. And to fling yourself into such a place as Le Renard – it is aptly named, look you – when you are not wholly yourself is foolhardy behaviour (which explains why your brother encouraged it). Of course you tried to be your father tonight. You always do when you do not feel you can be yourself.”

Oudine blinks. She hadn’t realised the Dowager had noticed. “...Mamma… how could you know all that?”

The answer is so matter-of-fact, the question seems almost ludicrous. “You are my daughter. Of course I would.”

Oudine’s smile stretches. “And about Le Renard. If you’ve never been…?”

“Do you really think this manner of gentleman’s lounge is anything new?” The Dowager snorts again. “They went by different names and much more subtlety when I was younger.”

“...are you saying you went-”

“I do not pretend to understand the draw of such places,” says her mother out loud, bowling over Oudine’s would-be question. “But then, it is not meant for me to understand; that is perfectly clear. To demand comprehension would be the height of impertinence. Whatever they do behind their beautifully appointed walls is their business. But if it affects my daughter, then it becomes mine.” 

Oudine smiles amusedly at that. Sometimes – just sometimes – her mother had her own charms. “I think I’ll be alright now, Mamma. I promise.”

The Dowager eyes her for a moment, then gives a decisive nod. “Very well.”

“And regardless, I don’t think I’ll be visiting again anytime soon. Even if my lord de Courcelle wouldn’t recognise me.”

Her mother shakes her head. “It is his loss.” When her daughter’s grey eyes twinkle at that, she smiles at last. “Ah, la voilà enfin. C'est mieux. Now, it is high time we were both in bed. Goodnight, child. I will see you in the morning.”

Oudine rises, kisses her mother on her cheek, then on the other. “Merci beaucoup, chère maman.”

She steps outside, walking down the corridor to where she knows her brother waits in her study. Remont looks up with some concern and contrition at her entrance. He can already guess some of the conversation, which is why he starts to say, “Now, Dine, before you harangue me, Mamma would have had my head on a spike if I hadn’t told her-”

“Traitor,” says his sister, crossing the room to swat him on the shoulder. It’s a light hit however and he blinks at this lack of force compared to earlier, and the absence of heat in her voice. In fact, her expression has lightened up quite a lot from before.

“...what did she say?”

Oudine smiles fondly. “She knows I’ve not been myself. And that’s why she didn’t want me to go.” She grins, a particular light stealing into her eyes. “Did you know there were gentlemen’s lounges like that back in her day?”

Remont stares at her for a moment then also grins – a mirror of his sister’s. “Do tell.”

-

End.

Note: To be very clear, IC =/= OOC. I for one find LRA very cool, and its patrons exceedingly intriguing. Also whatever is written here about my lord Armand is based on their carrd, and past conversations in the Discord I happened upon. Not to mention the Dowager doesn't know him well, if at all, so what she has are general impressions, not certain knowledge. She's also blatantly biased towards her own children as much as she reads them the riot act regularly. Which all means to say: take her with several pinches of salt. God knows I do, as do her kids.

Though to be honest, this Dowager of mine surprises me with her nuances each time she insists on talking (which she did today after Oudine's little escapade to Le Renard). Unfortunately, her nuances only emerge when she's with her family. Otherwise, she's a cantankerous, difficult noblewoman for all the world - but that's also the kind of image she wants to project so I can't quite say no to that.

Oudine is beginning to uncurl; Remont is starting to become more careful. I look forward to what this family shows me in the future.

@escherstrange-ffxiv's Ross is - and I say this with nothing but affection and well-wishes - so unhinged, you may as well rip off the door and install curtains instead. Especially when he's spiralling and has no idea how to deal with Emotions (big mood honestly). Long may he keep his skin intact for us to enjoy his antics.

[gothamghostwhispers]

[ @bugboi-of-gotham ]

Oh no….

[untitledducklett]

Am I a coward for being afraid to confront Yves? I know where he is, I know what he's done. I know that I need to finish this but I'm scared. I can't take Berior with me, I'm not going to risk losing him. I can't. I could take mom with me but..

Does anyone have any suggestions? I can't really call the police either because, let's face it, 'hi so this war criminal from 2000 years ago has apparently made his way here and I need you to arrest him' will likely end up with ME getting locked up than him.

[highseaskxng]

“My love, I was wondering if you’d like to take a boat with me and go fishing.” Granted the ocean depths surrounding Sindria were plagued with monsters but her husband knew the paths to take in order to avoid their presence quite easily so there was literally no risk taking her and his beloved baby daughter out. “I think the trip might prove beneficial for Rhea too. Hmmm?” He then slowly leans downwards towards the young girl held in her mother’s arms, leaning his ear at her lips. “You think Papa has a good idea and you’d really like to go on this fishing trip with him? See my love? Two on one.”

liked for a starter / @belliautore​

[freys-goblin-kid-lokis-spy]

Unfortunatly I have learned the hard way that water gun fights dampen my powers

So I am currently unable to cause fire/heat based trouble :(

No one use this knowledge of weakness against me

[sealanrory]

Moray!

Thank cod I stopped to check in on the way to the hospital. No wonder he was panicking when you showed up. I wasn't too fond of you before, Cubby, but I left you alone because getting into an argument was useless.

Not anymore. Kidnapping someone who should be in the hospital is downright dangerous. From what I've been able to gather, you were part of the reason he got sick and then pushed him to keep putting himself in that environment. I don't trust the idea that you're "curing" him. If he trusted you with that, he wouldn't be tied up with tape over his mouth.

I'm usually a pacifist, but this is too far. You understand? I was content watching from the sidelines and giving Moray a shoulder to lean on, but not anymore. I'm not sitting to the side this time. If Moray's going to be cured, it'll be without you, Cubby.

Moray. Me and Rory are coming to get you. Promise.

🐻 HELLO TO ALL OF MORAY'S FOLLOWERS! YOU DON'T HAVE TO WORRY ABOUT THIS GUY'S SAD LITTLE HEALTH PROBLEM ANYMORE BECAUSE I'M CURING HIM! FEEL FREE TO COME JOIN US AT THAT ONE TOWER IN SPLATSVILLE (YOU KNOW THE ONE) AND I CAN FIX YOU TOO!

[hey-i-am-trying]

I want to make a love letter here to Xandão.

If you guys don't know Xandão is a portuguese(as in european) admin.

They play a lot of characters including Alexandre(the capybara), Agent 18, portuguese speaking Cucurucho, it looks like they played at different times as Bobinho(the portuguse speaking bunny) AND Ronnie (I believe it is the name of the english speaking bunny), not sure if the characters have more than one admin playing them but he did played them both, they also played Coco(one of the white creatures of the egg island), also Pon Pon(the penguin)

They occasionally also become a pig or a bear just to mess with Bagi in her new home.

They created both the feather enigma that made Cellbit almost lose his mind, and the flower enigma that almost drove Bagi nuts.

They were also the admin responsible for the enigma twins lore during the murder of the workers, including writting Cellbit's childhood letter.

It seems they were also responsible for Em's moms' lore during the prison event.

They spend a lot of time in Bagi's pov, and although Bagi is loved here on Tumblr, I know she is not even closed to be a popular main, so I don't think people notice how much they have done for this project.

They spent time with Bagi when most creators were on the Vegas trip, and Bagi was alone a lot on the server because of that

They were the ones to try to calm Bagi down after the loss of the naval battle during Purgatory 2.

They and Bagi always have this playful banter dynamic, no matter the character they play, Bagi almost every time recognize their writing pattern and when she doesn't they end up dropping hints about their identity.

So thanks to Xandão for always trying to be kind to Bagi and making efforts to make her laugh, Xandão is so funny and their rp is also very incredible.

[isa-ghost]

I genuinely intend to remain reinforcing that Phil Does Not Want To Do Lore On The Realm because I don't want the community's pushing to send him to the point of never doing anything like it again (I've seen this lowkey happen before in other fandoms).

BUT...

I see such a clear pipeline from trPhil's "no fuck you go away I'm burying previous trauma and pain in logging obsessively" to some sort of "fine, I admit I'm miserable because I lost family and friends AGAIN, and I will begrudgingly try soothing it with letting people in my bubble again" type surrender moment brought on by trSneeg because he's so persuasive and makes excellent points with pure logic and reason and the idea makes me salivate.

Obviously it's all 100% ooc jokes and even if it WAS intentional rp, we have no guarantee that trPhil is "main" (specifically q) Phil, but technically trPhil HAS vaguely opened up to trSneeg about the grief and scars he has in the wake of losing his children. trSneeg knows trPhil is bitter and still grieving. He can see that logging, no matter what trPhil insists, is Not helping him actually heal. It's just barely letting him cope.

It's the same old tricks rpPhil has always turned to to deal with baggage, immersing himself as much as he can in physical labor of some kind. His projects back home in Hardcore, the "trains in his basement" in DSMP after he had to kill his own son, all the building and looting and protesting he did on QSMP any time the kids were taken away from him.

And I think we've seen more than enough evidence to show that trSneeg could 100% keep his cool through all the stubborn and heated refusal trPhil would meet with his attempts to convince him to just be willing to socialize and invest in people again. Not even to join Yellow, just let himself have meaningful connections again, rather than sticking to tolerating his and trFit's presences (most of the time). Even though trPhil's evasive behavior has been reinforced (probably tenfold) after The Keepers assaulted him and destroyed his wings AGAIN, I think with the tenacity and confidence trSneeg exudes, he could slowly eventually coax trPhil into opening up again. Even if just a tiny bit.

Especially because he sees why trPhil is so adamant on sticking to his guns rn, he knows it's not JUST the factions and snails. He'd see it even if trPhil hadn't straight up told him multiple times already. Right away, trSneeg would make it very clear that trPhil would have no obligations to anyone or anything, that socializing doesn't mean he HAS to save people from the peril they face or take a side in the interpersonal conflicts they have or help them all figure out what the deal is with the eyes or the Keepers or anything else.

He doesn't have to put up with a snail that reminds him of his lost kids, he doesn't have to choose a side like it's Purgatory again, he doesn't have to get involved with the horrors people are going through like he often did with the islanders, he doesn't have to help solve/understand whatever is going on in The Realm like he did with The Federation and The Codes and everything else fucked up and strange on Quesadilla Island. If having friends is all he wants, he can have that.

And even if trSneeg STILL couldn't sway trPhil with All That, that would mean we'd get a gut-wrenching storyline about how after so many years of loving and losing again and again throughout his immortal life, rpPhil knows that pain is a part of love whether you want it to be or not, you can't have one without the other. He can't make connections here without signing up for the stress and pain that comes with it because that's what it means to care about people.

It's not just the most recent time putting him off from it all, it's an entire cycle he's been forced to suffer in for as long as he can remember, because that's what being immortal entails. He wants the cycle to end already. He can't stand being fully alone right now whether he admits it or not thanks to QI. His determination to isolate himself as much as he can while he's in The Realm is to slowly reacclimate himself to being alone so he can tolerate it in his home world again. When the loneliness gets unbearable, that's when he has no qualms with being pestered by people or goes to see what everyone else is up to. As that happens less over time, he'll go home again now that complete isolation doesn't hurt anymore (or more accurately: now that he's reconvinced himself it doesn't).

All of this is to say, trSneeg is 100% the guy that would break the ice under trPhil and get his story rolling, whether that means he embraces the pain of loving and caring again, or reinforces how hellbent he is on trying to escape it.

[askthedrunkanimator]

"Well, here we go I supp- JULIE GET OFF OF ME!!!"

WELCOME TO THE OFFICIAL FIONN FINNIGAN ASK BLOG!!

Where you can ask the one and only grumpy deadbeat puppet dad from the Real World AU any questions you’d like!!!

WHO IS HE THOUGH?

“Once a friendly, thoughtful and hard working goofball with a heart of gold, Fionn worked as one of the Playfellow Company’s best employees, working his way from Apprentice to Head of Animation. Oh how he loved Welcome Home, it gave him a purpose in life, introduced him to the love of his life.. and unfortunately brought him so much pain he became an isolated shut away who refuses to recount the day Playfellow came crumbling down…

It is now 2007, that heart of gold now a heart of cold steel, Fionn lives alone. Every night spent smoking or drinking, no lover and a job he barely tolerates since it pays well. He laments about his past, yet he tries to forget…

But no matter what, his past always comes back to him, in the form of the 8 inky puppets he once knew and loved…”

BLOG BOUNDARIES

It’s primarily a Fionn ask blog, but I will bring in the puppets, his ex and love interest Cassidy and his niece Peony for some asks! Gotta mix it up a little!

Welcome Home DOES NOT belong to me, nor do the puppets! Fionn, Cassidy, Peony and the Real World AU belong to me, but we will follow Clown’s boundaries as well.

No NSFW questions, at all - Fionn and I may be of age, but minors are likely lurking or actively following the Real World AU, so refrain from such. Plus Peony costars in this blog, and she’s 6 soooo… none.

Absolutely NO proship, AppleCest, comship, or anything of the sort. You’re all disgusting.

There will/might be some triggering topics in this story, including (will continue to be updated):

Substance abuse (alcohol and cigarettes)

Gore/Death

Disturbing imagery

Unreality

Some AUs may be brought up for fun (like crossover AUs, or such)

Do not RP with Fionn in the ask box

I will often doodle something for asks, but sometimes I will either just write it or I will answer it as the creator.

That's all for now, character references shall be belong, but I hope you lot enjoy!!!!

References:

FIONN

THE PUPPETS

CASSIDY (To be updated)

PEONY (To be updated)