#swynwrimotina2022

[rowsandrows-of-roses]

SwynWriMo Day Twenty-Eight – Extreme Makeover: SwynRP Edition

A Fresh Look

Plot a thread where two characters are giving something — or someone! — a makeover.  

@genevieve-davenport​

Genevieve was the perfect choice for the start of her “fresh look” series! She was a fellow influencer, recently come to town, and had a cute little following of her own! Which meant that Isabela could get some new followers and so could Gen. It was a win-win, really! Plus, it seemed altruistic and nice and Isabela wanted to welcome the new influencer to town. She wasn’t competition! She was a potential new friend!

“Okay, so,” Isabela said as they walked into the boutique that Isa had a deal with. She held the door open as they swept in from the busy London streets. “This place is, like, so cute. I found it a few years ago and it is totally Magick-friendly, which is so rare for London. Obviously your style is super cute, but is there a different vibe you’re thinking of for this? After all, it’s a fresh look! We could do something like...European. Since you just moved?”

[outfit]

[vixey-chakraborty]

BDRPwrimo Day Twenty-Four – Personality Aesthetic

Clementine’s Characters as ASOIAF Houses

Make a personality aesthetic for 3 characters or 3 different personality types.

Vishaka Chakraborty as House Velaryon

“The Old, The True, The Brave”

House Velaryon is a vassal family of the Targaryens that followed them from Valyria before its destruction. According to some accounts, they settled Driftmark island as a trading outpost to mainland Westeros long before the Targaryens settled on nearby Dragonstone. The Velaryons were lower-ranking nobles and never dragonlords themselves, instead seeking their fortunes as merchant seafarers. Over time they came to command the Targaryens' fleets, and after the Targaryen Conquest, a Velaryon served as Master of Ships for the Targaryen kings so frequently that it was practically a hereditary office.

[lou-bonfightme]

SwynWriMo Day Fourteen – Neighborly Plotting

Signed, Sealed, Delivered || [Loulette]

Plot a thread with your neighbor(s) using the demographic sheet.

@paulette-moi​

Toulouse had never lived in an apartment before. It was more of an adjustment than he had thought, not that he would admit that to anyone. It was lonely and quiet and thankfully no one lived above him. The sounds of people in and out of their apartments at all hours was disconcerting and Lou found he was having trouble sleeping. It almost made him miss his ramshackle cottage on the edge of town, but it was far too close to the Acherons for his comfort. He’d rather take the lack of sleep, thank you.

And he, certainly, would not admit that without having lived at the Acherons for the last year or so, he would’ve been entirely, hopelessly lost.

Sure, he still took his laundry home to the mansion for Nounou to do and she still brought him most of his meals...but other than that, he was entirely self-sufficient. He even got his own mail, instead expecting it delivered on a silver platter in the early evening at tea time.

After taking Victoire out for her evening walk, just before tea, he stopped in the mail room to unlock his mailbox. There were a few letters of inquiry for commissions. Bills, blech. And then--

How interesting.

Lou sighed through his nose and then climbed the stairs, Victoire’s leash wrapped lightly around his wrist. When he reached his door, he stepped across the hall and raised his hand, Victoire’s leash dangling from it, and knocked on the door.

[outfit]

[prince--thomas]

SwynWriMo Day Eight – 160 Characters or Less

Worth a Shot ~~ [Bellas]

Write a story using either Tweets or entirely in texts emails between characters.

To: bacheron@interpride.co.uk From: tomharrington@gmail.com Subject: Services Inquiry

Dear Mrs. Acheron,

Hullo. My name is Thomas Harrington. We have been acquainted before, previously. I am writing because I am interested in hiring you for a case that I am involved in. I didn’t do anything wrong, just for the record. It is a custody case.

I know that our history may give you an unfavorable view of me but this isn’t about me. You are a good lawyer. A local lawyer and you are familiar with the intricacies of my case. Please let me know if you are interested. I am willing to pay, of course.

Thank you for your time.

Best, Thomas Richard Edward Harrington III

[labellerose-acheron]

SwynWriMo Day Twenty-Eight – SwynRP Character Wishlist

Join My Family Please 🥺🙏

Julieta Madrigal: Listen, I have considered playing her but I cannot because I want my mama. I want all the interesting, juicy plots and tension of a mom who accidentally put a lot of pressure on her oldest child. But, also still very caring and a good mom. Not to mention her magic is literally wicked cool and could bring so many interesting plots.

Camilo Madrigal: The bestie! (After Lo, of course.) Imagine the spa days! Imagine the gossip! I HC that Isa and Camilo are super close, he is her little brother and BFF. He stars in her Instas more than anyone else and maybe even mooches off her fame a bit? UGH. I just want him, he’s the best.

Luisa Madrigal: MY SISTER! Trust me. I am such a good big sister. I have a very long resume to prove it. Luisa is the thing keeping the sisters together! Imagine all the drama. Playing peacekeeper between Isa and Mira. Being the actual golden child. Also, VFD people!!

Antonio Madrigal: Light of everyone’s life. It is so fun to play the baby of the family and he’d be a great Swynlake Secondary addition! Maybe he wants to be a vet! Or maybe his dreams don’t have to do with his magic at all and he is struggling!!

Gaston LeIDon’tRemember: Someone take him before I do. Please. PLEASE. He is such an amazing C Grade villain. Plus, he could be a native! I just think there is so much fun potential with him and the Hunted Deer as a shady haunt. I would really love for someone to bring him in so that I don’t. 

Giselle McAdams: Watching Disenchanted gave me major Giselle brainworms. Seriously she is so fun. I love light, flirty, girlie characters and if you did her as an Order lady...they are SO juicy and fun to write. Untapped resource, I am telling you.

Abigail Gabble: UGH my perfect darling. She is potentially on my list to get back but new people keep shoving her down, so I think that someone should pick her up and play her! Don’t you wanna be involved in the Bonfamilles? C’mon.

Jasmine or Aladdin: I have such a cool plot I wanna do with them at some point and it is evergreen and honestly I would play either of them so--if you’re interested in demons and time travel...hmu!

Tod or Copper: I think either of them would be so fun to have around. Mostly for Vixey, yes. Having friends from home could be complicated. Or, maybe, they aren’t natives at all and she met them in London. It’d be super fun if t hat was the case because I think having her London life clash with her Swynlake life would be very stressful (for her, fun for me.)

Any Muse of Hesiod: I am eying one myself...won’t say which but I think they have such a cool magic and such a fun, dramatic history to play with. What with the cult and all that. Just really great vibes and all the magic is so cool to try and developed because they’re sorta OP but also kind of not. I just think they’re an under the radar resource of fun plotting!

[i-want-candy]

SwynWriMo Day Twenty-Nine – LinkedIn

Candace’s Resume, as part of her application for NASA

Create a resume for one of your characters!

[mamabear-elinor]

BDRPwrimo Day Twenty-Four – Personality Aesthetic

Clementine’s Characters as ASOIAF Houses

Make a personality aesthetic for 3 characters or 3 different personality types.

Elinor Aisling DunBroch as House Mormont

"Here We Stand”

"She was a Mormont of Bear Isle, and no lady by your lights, but she took an axe to a pack of wolves when she was twelve, killed two of them, and sewed a cloak from their skins. She gave me two strong sons as well, and a daughter as sweet to look upon as any of your southron ladies.”

[gem-morey]

BDRPwrimo Day Twenty-Four – Personality Aesthetic

Clementine’s Characters as ASOIAF Houses

Make a personality aesthetic for 3 characters or 3 different personality types.

Gem Morey as House Targaryen

"Fire and Blood”

“Like their dragons the Targaryens answered to neither gods nor men”

[darling-lost-boy]

BDRPwrimo Day Twenty-Four – Personality Aesthetic

Clementine’s Characters as ASOIAF Houses

Make a personality aesthetic for 3 characters or 3 different personality types.

Daniel Edward Daisuke Darling as House Tully

“Family, Duty, Honor”

“Let the kings of winter have their cold crypt under the earth. The Tullys drew their strength from the river, and it was to the river they returned when their lives had run their course.”

[thorns-ofthe-thistle]

BDRPwrimo Day Twenty-Four – Personality Aesthetic

Clementine’s Characters as ASOIAF Houses

Make a personality aesthetic for 3 characters or 3 different personality types. 

Prince Thistle of the Fenlands as House Martell

“Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken”

Like their Rhoynar ancestors, House Martell styled its rulers as "princes" instead of "kings", and kept using the titles, resisting the Targaryen invasion and keeping local laws and traditions even after joining the Seven Kingdoms after a matrimonial alliance. The Martells resisted the Targaryen conquest by resorting to guerrilla warfare: if a dragon came the Dornish hid in the desert until it left, then ambushed the Targaryens' supply lines, until they eventually withdrew.

[simba-bonfamille-lyons]

SwynWriMo Day Twenty-Three – "It’s time to BeReal”

Simba’s BeReal

Post five BeReals from a random time of day in your character’s life; give us a front-facing pic and a pic of what they’re doing.

featuring: @ber-bonfamille-lyons, @marie-a-bonfamille, @aquata-the-champ, @isaac-morey

[vixey-chakraborty]

SwynWriMo Day Twenty-Seven – Community Flyer

Vixey’s To-Do List for December 2022

What does your character’s work/school day look like?

[evangelinee]

SwynWriMo Day Twenty – Short and Sweet One-Shot

Eleven Wishes Evangeline Hears...and can do nothing about

Write ten short-short stories of no more than a paragraph long.

I. I wish I knew what I did wrong…

II. I wish we didn’t have to leave Swynlake…

III. I wish things would have been different…

IV. I wish I was a better father…

V. I wish I was better at this…

VI. I wish I could just give up…

VII. I wish I wasn’t this way…

VIII. I wish I could protect them…

IX. I wish she would just listen…

X. I wish I’d never said it…

XI. I wish I didn’t have to do this…

[prince--thomas]

SwynWriMo Day Three – The Gift That Keeps On Giving

10 Gifts for Levi John Phillip Tremaine Harrington

From Uncle Phil: a stuffed octopus that Phil had bought for Levi in anticipation of giving it to him in the hospital. It is currently Levis’ favorite toy and some of the tentacles are really gross from Levi chewing on them.

From Uncle John: a small swtichblade that is more of a joke for the boys than anything. “It isn’t for until he’s older!” - John when he gave it to Tom and Tom told him you can’t give babies knives.

From the Love Witch, Hera: teething rings enchanted to stay cool for extra relief and comfort. Hera has given Levi many things, but right now, Tom is most grateful for this.

From Kristoff: a few onesies that Kristoff bought with the help of a nice lady who took pity on him in the supermarket. These are perfectly adequate onesies and, honestly, at this point they’ve been shuffled around too much for Tom to remember which ones they are, but he still remembers the gesture itself and was very touched by it.

From the Princess House: baked goods and meals from Princess House, when Levi was first born the girls across the street took it upon themselves to feed Tom, Phil, and John for like the first week. It was so helpful and Tom still thinks about those meals as some of the best in his life, lol.

From the Qin Girls: a vintage music box that is magically enchanted to soothe the listener. It is very pretty and sits currently on Tom’s nightstand. He uses it on nights when Levi is really having a tough time sleeping. And,  sometimes, secretly, he uses it for himself.

From the Fire Department: a stuffed dalmatian and a toy firetruck that everyone in the firehouse pitched in to get for Tom. Captain Denim organized it. He thought the gesture was incredibly kind and really appreciates his firehouse fam. <3

From Aunt Elinor: hand-knit baby hat from his aunt...he was surprised to get anything from her but was very happy to. After all, in the Order it is customary that a new baby receives all sorts of handmade gifts from the women and heirlooms from the men. It was nice to get just a piece of that culture, even if he knows he shouldn’t want it.

An Unmarked Box: a few days after Tom got Levi back from the Order, a box without a returned address showed up on his front porch. Inside was a very old baby blanket that he recognized as his own. He still doesn’t know who sent it. Melody says it wasn’t her. And he doubts it was Eloise or Olivia...

From Thomas, himself: a promise...to always try to do his very best by Levi. To make sure that Levi doesn’t make any of the same mistakes that Tom did and that he is always protected and loved, no matter who he grows up to be. Tom promises it to him every night as he’s tucking little baby Levi into bed.

[labellerose-acheron]

SwynWriMo Day Twenty-Five – SWYNRP Memes

Memes from the Clementine Vault

Create memes (there are websites where you can do this) about characters, places, or things that happen in Swynlake!

this is ancient, from like 2 gastons ago

p sure i made this when lou sent phineas to be destroyed by hades lmao

it’s true

this is a niche admin meme lmao -- me any time the demo sheet is not accurately updated

toulouse

pretty sure i posted this last time but it’s a classic (it’s jun)

lmao i made this when we realized all of sav’s characters could be the dad from mama mia

tbt to al’s avengers board dream

an oldie but an always true-ie

^ always, please

[lou-bonfightme]

SwynWriMo Day Five – Family Ties One-Shot

une raison de vivre

Write a one-shot revolving around your character’s family, include 3 family members minimum.

Takes place between October 03 and October 25...

Toulouse caught a 3 Line out to the 20th arrondissement, arriving at Porte de Bagnolet at 11:00 o’clock precisely. He had a single suitcase for an overnight stay at his grandparents’ city home on the rue Irénée Blanc, a former mayor of Paris and Toulouse’s great-grandfather. The street was familiar, although he had never spent much time at the mansion situated atop the hill. His grandparents had another house that they frequented more often in the French countryside. And they had never particularly cared for children.

Arriving at the mansion, he was greeted by the doorman who led him into the sitting room where his grandmother sat at the window reading. His grandfather nearby with his hands behind his back, watching the birds outside on the feeder.

“Announcing Monsieur Toulouse Bonfamille,” the footman said as he opened the door. 

His grandfather turned and his grandmother looked up from her reading. 

“Bon jour, Grand-mère, Grand-père,” Lou said, bowing his head slightly.

“Oh, good. You are here,” Celeste LaBlanc said, closing her book and setting it aside in a movement fluid and practiced before reaching over and ringing the silent buzzer on the wall. 

“Shall we go into the dining room?” Henri LaBlanc suggested. The line was old, scripted. In the handful of things that his grandfather had ever said to him “shall we go into the dining room” was top of the list. 

Henri LaBlanc was a tall, thin man but he had not allowed age to round his shoulders. His hair was a sleek gray and the places around his temples where it had thinned, you could see that his scalp was liverspotted. As he reached for the door, his hand trembled slightly, but he did not fumble. 

Celeste LaBlanc was a picture of old world elegance. When she walked, she glided, as if a stack of books rested upon her head. Her diamonds flashed in the light pouring in from the windows and her silk whispered quietly. Her white hair was done in a smooth twist in the back of her head. Toulouse had never seen it down. 

In the dining room, his grandparents spit, one going to one end of the long, oak table, and one at the other. Toulouse followed his grandfather, sitting to his right, as he knew he was supposed to. If his mother was here with him, then as a child he had sat next to his grandmother, but now that he was older, it was always his seat to the right of his grandfather.

As soon as they were seated, the butler arrived to pour their tea and with a plate of sandwiches. They were served quietly. It was not until his grandfather had taken his first bite that he turned his sharp eyes on Toulouse. 

“Madame LaBlanc and I are leaving in the morning for Aruba. You are welcome to stay for as long as you would like. We will not be back for a month.”

“Merci,” Toulouse acknowledged. 

“Toulouse, how have you been faring?” his grandmother asked as she took a delicate bite.

The truth had no seat at this table, Toulouse knew, so he smiled and pretended. “Very well. It is nice to be home. I missed the city.” 

“Oui, I can imagine. Do you have plans for this evening before supper?” 

“I was planning to go for a walk. I have always preferred the quiet to the bustle of the city.” 

“Mm,” Celeste hummed, “I quite agree.”

Lunch passed in clinking silver against porcelain. A few more scripted exchanges were had and then, Toulouse excused himself for his plans. 

He had lied about those too and as he stepped out into the brisk, autumn air there was only one place he was going. The sun was fighting to shine behind gray clouds, but Toulouse did not mind the weather, his walk would not be long. He ducked into a fleuriste for a bouquet of red poppies before crossing the street and passing through the solemn gates of the Père Lachaise Cemetery. 

The garden cemetery was quiet. All of the 20th arrondissement of Paris was quiet. As soon as he had stepped off the metro, it had been a relief to his senses. The air somewhat cleaner. The roar of traffic distant. There was no hustle and bustle in this corner of the city. It was peaceful. 

The countryside of Paris, indeed. 

Even still, the cemetery was bustling with tourists. He could not blame them, for when he was young, he would come here often himself. Often with his tantine. They would walk hand in hand and go down the many rows. She would point out all of the artists. Oscar Wilde, with his desecrated grave. People kissed it in acts of love, but all that love did was erode away the stone. There was a metaphor there--love as violence, he presumed. 

Somehow, he still found it romantic. 

He wondered if Oscar Wilde did. If only there was a way to ask…

There was Edith Piaf, Sarah Bernhardt, Chopin, Honoré de Balzac, Gertrude Stein, Theodore Géricault, Pierre-Joseph Redouté, Marie Laurencin, Vivant Denon, Georges Seurat…

But the most important to Toulouse was a simple, lovely grave tucked in a corner away from tourists and the monuments. 

Duchess LaBlanc et Celeste LaBlanc.

His grandmother and grandfather had given up the plots they’d been holding onto their whole lives for their daughter and her daughter. It was, possibly, the only thing that they had ever done that let Toulouse know that they had a heart. Perhaps only one shared between them like the eye of fate. 

Toulouse had never visited a grave before. Only when burying people, but even then, he had not been to many funerals. The last had been Daisy’s grandfather, a year or two before his tantine died.

He had not been allowed to attend her funeral. He had not been allowed into the country…he was still unsure if his grandparents would have let him come if he had been. He had never asked. He did not want to know the answer. 

The overwhelming feeling he had as he stopped in front of it was--awkwardness. 

The upper class had no script for this part of grief. When someone died, there was, of course, a script: I am sorry, they are with God now, how tragic, is there anything I can do for you?, I will keep your family in my thoughts. 

But after? Once someone was buried and all the grieving guests gone? It was not talked about. Everyone was expected to move forward. If the deceased was brought up, it was amongst wistful smiles that were quickly swept away for more pleasant conversation. 

Toulouse had never been able to mourn Duchess. Her death was quick and sudden, her funeral even moreso. He had not been here to watch her lowered into the ground. Had not been here to pour a handful of dirt on her grave. And he did not know what to say now to this empty plot of land. Or if he should say anything at all. 

Stepping forward, he lay the poppies on top of the large headstone which contained both his tantine and her daughter’s names. Then, he brushed off a few fallen leaves from the cool, rough stone. The top of it was not polished as the front was and water that had gathered from rain in the edges of the design had darkened the stone. 

Taking the handkerchief from his pocket, Toulouse knelt before the headstone and gently wiped the dust from it. And then, he rubbed harder, and harder, until his arm ached from polishing the stone. Next, he reached down and plucked up the dead leaves from the grass. He went meticulously, the way he cleared out the gardens he once had so loved to tend to. There had not been a garden for him in months. His fingers remembered, though, as they brushed through the grass like hair.  

When he was finished the plot was free of debris and his fingertips were black with dirt. He wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his coat. A strong gust of autumn wind came through and blew some of the foliage back onto the grave again. 

It was then that Toulouse began to cry. He lifted the handkerchief to dry his eyes but realized it was dirty at the last second. He could not wipe the tears, just as he could not wipe away the missing in his heart. 

For a very long time, Toulouse had tried not to think of his tantine but it had been so long now that Toulouse almost forgot that when she had died they had not been speaking. When she had died, she had thought Toulouse a monster. 

|| || ||

When Toulouse returned, he requested of his grandparents to see Claude, who had just gotten home from school. They shared a look, but then acquiesced, leading him to a wing of the house separate from the main quarters. In the back garden, a boy was running about, chasing a ball that his nanny was throwing for him. 

“Claude,” Lou called across the lawn. 

The little boy on his long, spindly legs stops and turns and drops his ball with a bright smile.

“Oncle Lou!” 

Lou knelt and opened his arms for the boy, who jumped eagerly into them, squeezing tight about his neck. Lou held back tightly until the little boy let good and stepped back. 

“Look at you! You will be as tall as Grand-père soon.”

The boy laughed delightedly at that. He had bright, sparkling eyes and golden hair. His cherub cheeks were rosy from the brisk wind, but he did not seem phased by the cold. He was slightly breathless and happy. 

That was the main thing: he was very happy.

So was Lou, glad that the little boy recognized him. He had not seen him since he was young. Only a year or so old, before his grandparents had decided it was best if Claude grew up in Paris, with them. Looking at him, Lou wondered how different his life would be if he had felt in a position to argue. To take Claude on as his own. His tantine would have done that for him, had the situation been reversed, he knew. She used to promise him, when he had first moved to Swynlake, that he could go and live with her in Paris. 

It had never happened, of course. Tantine had been young, in her twenties at the time, and living a life  that was not suitable for a preteen boy. Lou did not begrudge her this, but--it did make him regret. 

He spent his afternoon kicking a ball for Claude to trip delightedly after. Over and over, until he grew too tired and flopped into the grass. Lou lay down with him, their heads touching as they looked at clouds, Lou pointing out shapes for the boy. He listened quietly, not participating much. Lou was not used to that. When he did this with Opal, who was just a few months older than Claude,  she often found more shapes than Lou. They were made up ones, of course. Dragons and princesses and big black dogs, but she was not shy about sharing her world. 

Claude was quiet and when Lou rolled over, propping himself on his elbow, he found that the little boy had fallen asleep. It was getting late anyway, the sun starting to set, the clouds hiding behind the darkness. Getting up, Lou scooped the boy into his arms.

“Monsieur, I can take him,” fussed the nanny, who had been sitting in a corner of the lawn, reading. 

“I have him,” Lou said. “Show me his room.” 

The nanny looked reluctant, but eventually led him to the boy’s room. It reminded Toulouse much of his own. It was a neutral, cream colour. Bright, high windows with sensible curtains drawn over them. Toys sat high on a shelf, out of reach. There was no clutter. No mess. No colour. 

It was so different from the children’s rooms Lou was now used to, which were always a bit messy. With murals he had painted, bright and colourful for them. Baskets of soft toys and bookshelves full of books. 

He laid Claude in bed, kissed his forehead and went down to dinner. 

|| || ||

His grandparents left the next day and Lou spent most of it sleeping. He did not wake up until the evening and had a mind to read to Claude before the little boy went to bed.

“I am sorry, Monsieur. He is already asleep,” said the nanny when he appeared in the children’s wing of the house.

“I see.” 

|| || || 

The next few days, the pattern repeated. Claude was at school. Claude was with tutors. He was napping or sleeping or otherwise engaged. 

For a child, he had an impossibly difficult schedule to work around. 

“I am planning to take Monsieur Claude to the Louvre with me on Sunday morning by 7:30am and dressed appropriately.” 

“Monsieur, the museum does not open until nine.” 

“For regular patrons. I know many curators and am able to arrive an hour before the crowds.” 

“Is the Louvre really a place for children?” 

“Certainly. His mother used to take me all the time as a young boy.” 

“I am just…not sure that is what His Excellency and Madame would want.” 

“You do not believe that my grandmother and grandfather would not want their grandson to experience one of the biggest collections of humanity? To not become more educated?”

“Uhm.” 

“I do not see the problem. We will be back by tea time.” 

“It’s just that, well, monsieur--His Excellency told me that, uhm, you are not to be alone with the boy.” 

“What?” 

The woman shrank slightly from the sharpness of his tone. “B-before they left. They told me that you should not see him unsupervised and, and it was best you do not see him at all.” 

Toulouse blinked. He felt the wolf in his chest, loud and insistent. It did not like to be kept from ones it loved. 

“Are you going to stop me?” Lou asked coolly, drawing himself up to his full height. His eyes flashed, the wolf behind them. 

“I-I suppose…if you--you don’t tell His Excellency o-or Madame. I could lose my job!” the nanny began to weep.

“Ach. Do not worry about that. If you lose your job, I will get you a better one,” he promised, even though it was, perhaps, a lie. He could not tell if the woman was simply being intimidated, in which case she could never be trusted with someone’s child, or if she saw the injustice of the situation. Toulouse found he did not care.

All that mattered was that he was able to take Claude with him to the Louvre and walk the same halls that his mother and Lou had once walked, hand in hand.