leave some there for me @dacelonovae - Tumblr Blog

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muses (this is a very loose list, i might write other chars and/or update this list occasionally)

astarion (baldurs gate 3)

natanael (baldurs gate 3 tav oc)

emet-selch (ffxiv)

symphanie (ffxiv wol oc)

annaleise (oc, can be in any setting)

muse grab bag (not my main muses but ill probably write them if you want to interact with them)

[bg3: shadowheart, karlach], [ffxiv: thancred, g'raha tia, venat, wuk lamat] [warframe: ordis, lotus, operator/drifter, eleanor, quincy]

rules/bios under cut

#{ chirp chirp }

(@artificialconstruct x) It's a mercy that she at least waited until the Drifter was out of the room to start on him. Arthur sighs hard through his nose, nearly growling at her, swatting his sister's hand away as her voice echoes in his skull. "'Baby brother' by two sodding minutes, and--and shut up." Sol, he hasn't been teased about a crush since... hm. Since before Aoi, certainly. Everything with her happened so fast that he's not sure there was ever time for Eleanor to tease him about it, and then... well. What happened, happened, and there was no humour to be found in any of it. He would never classify his--feelings--for Drifter as a crush. In a perfect world he'd never have to classify them as anything at all, because he'd be too busy getting drunk to ever think about it. But this is the farthest thing from a perfect world and there is something there. Stupid to deny it to himself when he has a twin who can see it in his bloody head. Much as he wishes she wouldn't look, he knows she doesn't have much more choice in that than he does. Like an idiot teenager, he imagines asking Eleanor: how do they feel about me? It would be easier than having to ask them himself... and a huge bloody violation of their privacy. Anyway, he's not ready for the answer. No matter what it is. "I don't want to talk about it," he grumbles instead, voice pitching low. But the corner of his mouth is twitching into a smile. Fuck. He's not even irritated, not really, still coasting the strange high of talking to them. What have they done to him?

Her smile softens as she sees his, sees how easily he brushes off her teasing rather than teetering on that precipice of anger or despair she's seen him fall into much too often, especially when it comes to the horrifying idea of wanting to be close to someone.

Her heart warms, and she puts a hand on his shoulder, squeezing, trying to put everything into the touch that she knows he won't stand to actually have spoken out loud. Comfort. Encouragement. The reminder that she is always here for him, if he needs her.

And then, because she is--above anything else--his sister, she says; 'Oh, it's adorable that you think I needed to read your mind to figure that out.'

#artificialconstruct #{ artificialconstruct: arthur nightingale }#and like tags or whatever.

📖 give me symphonies or else. wow autocorrect close enough

It's a small, leather-bound book roughly the size of one's hand. The fact that it's still bound firmly is a testament to the skill put into its fabrication--by any other indication, it should be falling apart. The cover is well-worn, and the pages are warped and tattered from long and frequent use in less than sterile environments. The pages themselves are filled with rough drawings and scribbled notes, both faded and fresh in equal measure, things crammed into the margins of previously full pages. One would be hard-pressed to understand the meaning of anything in it without the viewpoint of the busy mind that created it.

One page has a long list comparing the taste and acidity of a certain ingredient, noting the particularly harsh texture and flavor of it when grown in an environment with no sun or rain--and questioning how such a thing could even exist. But if one were to turn the book to catch the light in a certain way, holding it firmly to not drop the many items pressed between the pages, they might see two lines written in a substance that has not stood the test of time as an ink, barely present in the margins of the page.

Who does he see when he looks at me? they wonder.

I wish it were me.

#{ elpiphoros }#nightmarecountry

memeasaurus-promptus

Send 📖 and I will share an entry in my muse’s journal/diary!

Feel free to specify a certain topic, person, date, or anything else you’d like to see!

#oh interesting #{ play with me! }

( x ) @artificialconstruct

So, it can talk. Well, there go the more obvious answers as to what exactly it is. Is there a human in there somewhere? Like, a whole, alive one? Whatever it is, they're at least grateful that it's no longer pointing a weapon at them.

They tilt their head in a vague acknowledgement/agreement at the question, not sure how they should respond. Their immediate instinct is to say no--it sounds like it's asking if they're with the Corpus, or something like that, but without knowing what this thing's affiliation is, it seems prudent to keep their options open.

"Seems like we've got a shared goal, then," they offer in not-answer. "I've seen something like this before." They want to ask more about this not-familiar-enough infestation, what it's like, what seems to drive it, but they also don't want to give away how little they know about it. "Are you having any luck?"

Maybe they can at least get some information about how It is trying to deal with things.

#{ artificialconstruct: murderbot }#artificialconstruct #two cagey freaks with no names. this will go so good

what are you the patron saint of?

Symphanie; patron saint of blood patron saint of the life that flows through our bodies. patron saint of violence. patron saint of love. something that does not watch over but exists within: not for protection but for vitality. there is no passion without a beating heart at its core. when that heart breaks open, someone has to be responsible for what it bleeds. Operator; patron saint of horror you're the patron saint of the dawning moment of realization. the patron saint of comprehension, maybe. the patron saint of understanding. the patron saint of knowing exactly what's going to happen. of seeing clearly. of not being able to look away.

Drifter; patron saint of relics patron saint of remembering. patron saint of holding something close. patron saint of holding on for too long. for a saint, a relic is often a part of the body, kept for some physical memento of their holiness. they are all in your hands, now: does it feel like remembrance? does it feel sanctified? are the dust and blood as precious as they're supposed to be?

#{ chirp chirp }#{ elpiphoros }#symphanie being both violent and loving feels right. i will love you. and so i will bleed

fadedpagesandworldstages

truth serum !

send “ Truth Serum + [ a question ] ” , and my muse has to answer truthfully.

#{ play with me! }

shhh-secret-time

Fuck it, OC brain rot won. Get ready for the Secret Ask List

1) Does your OC have a voice claim, if so who?

2) Who's your OCs best friend? How did they become best friends?

3) What song describes your OC?

4) What song describes your OC and their partner/love interest?

5) Do you ship your OC with a Canon character? If so who?

6) If your OC is in a fantasy setting, what profession would they be in the modern day?

7) Vice-Versa! If your OC is in the modern day, what fantasy class would they be? Would they be a different race?

8) What hobbies does your OC have? What do they do to unwind?

9) How does your OC handle their physical health? Do they take care of themselves?

10) How does your OC handle their mental health? Do they take care of themselves?

11) What was your inspiration for your OC?

12) Does your OC interact with other people's OC? If so, who's their best OC friend?

13) Does your OC have a rival? How did it start?

14) Who's a character your OC cannot stand! It's on sight when they see them!

15) Will your OC ever retire? Do you see them making it?

16) How's their relationship with their parents? Are they alive?

17) If your OC has kids, are they a good parent? Do they ever feel guilty if they have to leave them?

18) What are their pronouns? What would they like to be called?

19) What's their sexuality? What's their love language both giving and receiving?

20) If they fight, what's their weapon of choice?

21) What song best describes their relationship with their enemy?

22) Fight or Flight? Are they a lover or a fighter?

23) Is your OC reliable? Can I call them up at two in the morning if I have a flat tire?

24) Can they play any instruments? If so, what do they play?

25) Are they the kind of person who can't resist a good song? Can I catch your OC singing to themselves while they do the dishes?

26) What flower do you associate your OC with?

27) What's their spirit tamagotchi? Or an animal you associate them with?

28) What clique would they be in? (Draw them in the clothes of said group!)

29) Imagine a mood board for your OC! What's on it? (Make it if you want!)

30) My OC and your OC are friends. This isn't a question. I'm not asking. (How do they respond?)

#this seems manageable #{ chirp chirp }

notmorbid

allegedly.

dialogue prompts from allegedly by tiffany d. jackson.

are you hungry? can i get you anything to eat?

no one's ever bothered to explain anything to me.

i don't know why god does a lot of things.

don't ask questions and keep praying.

no house where you fear for your life can be considered a home.

we shouldn't let good wine go to waste.

your feelings are showing.

where'd you get the money? did you steal it?

it's okay to cry, you know. you can cry in front of me.

i don't cry.

i've been waiting my whole life to meet you.

i googled you.

it's easier to keep an animal into cage than to play with it.

you think i'd let anything happen to you?

i always feel better when you're around.

don't ever let anyone stop you from bettering yourself.

you scared of change? good. change is scary. get used to it.

who really knows what they're doing, with a baby?

do you love your parents?

what does it mean when you love and hate someone at the same time?

what's your favorite childhood memory?

i almost didn't recognize you.

you look at me like you're happy i'm alive.

you know i love you, right?

haste makes waste.

what kind of trouble is worse than what i'm in now?

you're the first one i've told the whole story to.

you don't have to tell me about your life, if you don't want.

if something happens, you won't leave me, right?

no one is nice for no reason.

something doesn't feel right.

are they mistreating you? you can tell me. just say yes or no.

what's it like, having a dad? a real dad?

go on. it's okay. i'm here with you.

role reversal could be good for us here.

why do you do what you do?

i forget, sometimes, how young you are.

you ever been pregnant?

where's your mama? it's dangerous out here.

i'm getting us the hell out of here. no matter what.

cut the crap. you were never a good liar.

what are you thinking up in there?

you're different. i saw that from the very first day.

i didn't get you anything.

you really believe me, don't you?

it was no accident. it was fate.

'i'm sorry' doesn't seem like enough.

maybe i never knew you at all.

you think i'm going to hurt you, don't you?

i just hate surprises, that's all.

you're as far away as the moon.

you were trying to tell me something, and i didn't listen.

when can i see you again?

promise me you'll fight. that you won't give up.

i had a lot of dark thoughts about you.

that's my biggest regret: not taking more pictures.

i knew something was wrong. i felt it.

i wanted to hurt you the way you hurt me.

it just happened. it was nobody's fault.

we're all too broken to be fixed.

i want to hate ____, but i can't.

all that i am is what you have molded.

i want to remember the details.

i'll be good. i'll be better.

#damn these are some good prompts #{ play with me! }

"an out of place crewmember on a small janky spaceship" hey tell me about this immediately

it was off that thing someone was planning on concorde... i forget who.... about just throwing a bunch of muses into a spaceship together or something. the logistics scared me off but i kept thinking about the context in which someone like annaleise would find herself in that situation and have basically only come up with two key scenes which are basically just

this lady with really long hair and high heels comes on this shitty secondhand ship as a new employee and everyone already there is immediately like. what the fuck is this persons problem. does she even know where she is. and they kind of make snide comments behind her back and she gets snippy with them really easy

annaleise's (long, loose) hair catches fire somehow and after the initial panic of putting it out she starts crying like a Lot and is obviously really really upset about this so the crew kind of realize like, oh she's actually going through some stuff huh....on second thought we probably should have known that some fancy lady isn't going to take a job like this of her own volition.... so then they start being nicer to her and trying to like, meet her in the middle wrt aesthetics and practicality and trying to be more patient while teaching her The Ways Of The Ship

#{ chirp chirp }#then everything is happy and nothing is ever bad again #byteing #asks

my muses fit into three categories:

fancy sad men

pretty girl

natanael

#{ chirp chirp }#i added one other woman onto my main muse list so now it's a category

💋 i think your astarion and my g'raha should kiss somehow. right now, actually.

He has been watching the group for a while, now.

Each and every one of them is more than meets the eye, that is certain, carrying themselves in a self-assured way that contrasts with the habitual business and tired familiarity of the rest of the inn's patrons. But one member of the group interests him in particular -- the lone shock of red hair standing out, the tip of his tail calmly twitching from side to side.

Astarion prides himself in his ability to read people, but this one is a puzzle he can't quite put together. He looks young, and there's an air of restlessness about him that matches his appearance; but there is something else there, as well. An...attentiveness. A depth that Astarion can't help but be curious about.

So when the figure finally parts from his group to speak to the woman at the counter, Astarion abandons his untouched flagon and follows suit, stepping up alongside him.

The moment his business with the proprietress is finished, Astarion slides his hand over to take the strangers', and lift it up to his mouth, pressing a chaste kiss to his fingers.

"Hello there, darling," he--well--purrs. "Who might you be?"

#spraying him with a water bottle. no astarion. down #byteing #{ byteing: g'raha tia }#{ astarion }#you know krile is sitting back at the table like OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

💋 sorry emet is getting a kissy from poyoyo actually. they'll climb up him if they have to

There's a tug at his overcoat, and he looks down to see the lalafell standing on their toes, head tilted up and lips pursed expectantly.

He stares down at them with a blank look of disbelief. Why he should comply with such a request, he can't even begin to fathom. And yet...

Their steady insistence is so horrifically familiar.

He sighs to no one in particular, and kneels down, tilting his head towards them, and they place a noisy *SMOOCH* on his face.

All these years and he hadn't managed to grow resistant to their requests.

#byteing #{ byteing: poyoyo }#{ emet-selch }#get smooched .idiot.

( x ) @byteing The Exarch makes a pained, breathless sound that could be a laugh. It isn’t that he’s unaffected or unafraid. He hurts more than he thought a soul could hurt, and he fears and dreads the coming torment more with each passing moment. He laughs only because he is past crying, and because Emet-Selch asks the impossible of him yet again. He must seem close to breaking, he thinks. Perhaps he is. But he will endure. He has endured much pain already, long before Emet-Selch, though it was of a different kind. He cannot fail now. He closes his eyes, shutting out the Ascian and the deep, quiet realm around them. Thinks of the Warrior, moments before the searing pain in his back, his name on their lips. It isn’t enough to drown out the pain, the blood, the bruising that seems to cover every inch of him now—but it’s a welcome reminder that he cannot give the Ascian what he wants. “You know my answer,” he says, as calmly as he can. It’s the first time he’s spoken in a while, at least coherently. There has been screaming in the awful moments where he couldn’t swallow it down. His throat still hurts from it. He wonders if Emet-Selch enjoys inflicting pain or if he is as bored as he looks: if this is simply a means to an end for him, with no particular benefit other than the result. “What would you do with it, if I told you?” A feeble attempt at delaying the next onslaught of injuries, perhaps—but a worthwhile question, nonetheless.

Emet-Selch's eyebrow quirks when the Exarch speaks. He is perhaps surprised--or impressed, or irritated--at the fact that the creature still has the presence of mind to speak clearly, and yet still won't answer his one simple question. But whatever emotion it is quickly fades into a dull backdrop of ambivalence.

That is, until the next question is raised. Before he is wholly aware of his actions, he waves an arm and sends the Exarch flying backwards into a wall with a dull thud, something altogether more persistent gnawing its way into his mind.

What would you do with it?

His steps are unhurried as he walks over to his victim, collapsing onto the floor. His posture, his expression, neither seem to change -- but a cold fire is burning behind his eyes now as the Exarch's quest rises to his mind. A calamity, a massacre. The death of his friends, his comrades--

The death of his shining, guiding star.

Emet-Selch crouches and takes the Exarch's jaw in his hand, pulling him upright to meet his eyes.

How is it that these mockeries of personhood managed to do what he could not, not in a thousand thousand years?

"The same thing you did," he says with mock gentleness, an edge to his voice that he cannot smooth out.

How is it that he managed to bring them back?

"Set things right."

#byteing #{ byteing: the crystal exarch }#{ emet-selch }#i can't do clever tags anymore i surrender #suffering. suffering suffering.

palerick

Send me 💋 to receive a new year’s kiss from my muse!

#:3 #{ play with me! }

i too am attached to symphanie KJNSDFJKSNDF

#{ chirp chirp }#i was going to find a picture of her smiling but this seemed more appropriate SDJHFG #nightmarecountry

thegreatyin

ffxiv really is just an oc maker that happens to be prepackaged with a jrpg mmo. after playing it for long enough you automatically sign a waiver saying you are now emotionally attached to this jrpg protagonist you made up. and you are

#yeaah. yeah #{ chirp chirp }

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leave some there for me