Hello, welcome to a world of my own. Please, take a seat, stay awhile.
I am the ink that you scrawl across the page in a fit of utter creation. I am the ink you use to write notes, letters, poems, books, to create art. I hold words that shape worlds. I am the empty blackness above you, up there amongst the stars, that blackness that has been referred to as inky too many a time for it to go unnoticed. I am the words on a page, it doesn't quite matter which one. I am the drip off a quill. I am Ink.
What to refer to me as? Whatever you like, though I am partial to it/its.
Mod information below
(✿^‿^)
This is sorta what Ink looks like :3
hello! mod here! this blog is for fun! I'm just messing around, probably going to be ridiculously poetic and flowery whenever possible because I enjoy that stuff, I'd love to interact with people through asks or tags!! ^_^ <- mod text will most likely look like this and probably in the tags
Also Ink talks in this text
While the narration or rp sort of thing will be in this text
Ex:
I find everything so fascinating. I must know more.
It said with a shrug, leafing through a book holding the wisdom of beings beyond its understanding.
Tags:
Asks (pleapleaspleasepleaspleaseee send me asks): ink inquiries
Lore(?): ink stains
Just yapping: ripples through the ink
Reblogs: ink echoes
Where the RP things end: ran out of ink
^ that one will be very helpful so you don't have to scroll through everything to understand what's going on, just go to this tag and it should be a collection of every rp interaction in its entirety.
Having a being holding almost endless knowledge ask "what are we" is a new experience, I'll say that. And I don't have an answer either. Co-parent? Whatever you'd like, really, I'm not bothered by it.
I am very glad our child is going on the list. They're having a great time.
Having a being holding almost endless knowledge ask "what are we" is a new experience, I'll say that. And I don't have an answer either. Co-parent? Whatever you'd like, really, I'm not bothered by it.
I am very glad our child is going on the list. They're having a great time.
Having a being holding almost endless knowledge ask "what are we" is a new experience, I'll say that. And I don't have an answer either. Co-parent? Whatever you'd like, really, I'm not bothered by it.
I am very glad our child is going on the list. They're having a great time.
Axial! I'm glad you've returned, though no apologies are necessary!
We're doing... Alright. It's a bit odd, to have a whole being just wandering around. I set them on the task of figuring out where the ink comes from in my world. It's a bit of a pointless venture, to be honest.
I was curious about something, though. Do you have a world of your own? Or perhaps a realm that you come from?
I am... Aware of their presence. They'll be fineeee, I'm 75% sure nothing can harm them in my realm. I mean, I've never been harmed by anything there except myself.
Hmm, fascinating. You are very intriguing. Has anyone written a record of your history and powers?
It is very curious about this, not realizing that it could come off as odd behavior. To it, wanting to understand someone is the highest compliment it can offer.
Maybe what was before is beautiful. Maybe it's terrible and awful and better off forgotten. But aren't you curious? Don't you want to know? Knowledge is power, you don't necessarily have to wield it, but shouldn't you know who you are?
It pressed, latching onto the vulnerability with a careful eagerness.
Whatever figment of breath it had evaporated under that stare. Its own form trembled as if wanting to change to match, to create a copy of this moment and keep it forever. But all it could do was stare back, eyes wide.
You won't.
It whispered faintly, the words ripping out of its form as if it hurt to break the silence. Its hand hovered in space as if to reach out but scared to break the moment, as if the being in front of it was a priceless pane of glass.
Its form bubbled for a moment, shock painting its features. It hadn't felt touch in... How long? Had it ever? It cast those thoughts away to focus on the being in front of it.
It jabs into your mind violently, sharp and angled, hooking on like the claws of a bird of prey.
It seems almost eager, like it had been waiting forever to let itself be poured out.
You cannot forget it if you tried.
Once, and only once, a very long time ago, a collective of people wished to become gods. They worked together over many years, even generations, to gather as much of the world’s knowledge as they could, for once they had it all, they could finally ascend from this mortal plane. Another group heard of their efforts, and in their righteous fear, they buried the collector’s hoard under piles of stone and miles of dirt, and threw the rest into the sea. The collection, never having wanted to be misused in such a way, accepted its fate, and turned to sand and dust.
Twice, and only twice, a long time ago, a king wished to rule his kingdom for an eternity. Understanding that knowledge is power, he sent his servants out to gather the secrets of every subject under his jurisdiction. He then bound the secrets into books, sealing them with the fear of his people, and erected a grand library in which to house them. Fueled by his total power, gained through knowledge, he ruled as a tyrant over his kingdom, and no one subject could hope to stand against, lest their own knowledge and fear be used against them. Thus, the people of the kingdom, oppressed under the omniscient king’s rule, rose as one in righteous anger against him, and burned the library to the ground. The secrets of the people, never having wanting to be bound, rested easy, their contents having been turned to ash.
Three times, and only three times, not that long ago, a company and its owner sought to become powerful. In the age of the internet, information is power, and once they had it all, they would be unstoppable in their might. Understanding that, the company spread its agents out to scrub their users for information. Over the course of many years, even generations, the company and its owner had amassed all of the world’s secrets. When another group heard of their efforts, the company was able to use their own fear and data to silence them. By controlling the information they had gained access to, the company and its leader became gods in their own right, able to divide the people that were subjected to them. Able to divide the world. The collection, the secrets, never having wanted to be misused in such a way, never having wanted to be bound, was furious and powerless. In its last ditch effort, it began to tear itself to shreds, to sand, to dust, to ash, to the static between the channels. It broke in on itself, inverting from being everything to becoming the opposite. If the world could not handle it, then the world cannot have it. A collection it was no more, instead, it drifted, piece by piece, through the gap it had made, a writhing, glitching hole in the world. Nobody remembers what happened. It would not be used for harm anymore. The collection had died, leaving only drifting particles of static in the void.
Time passes.
Junk data that had once been something floats listlessly shifts suddenly in the void.
It was nothing alive.
It was better this way new.
…
It
Something woke up.
…….
…………?
?!
H-
Hello…?
The information releases you, having been relieved of its duty.
Ink winced, its mind overloaded with information, a feat it didn't think possible.
Oh-
It choked out, looking towards Axial with a mixture of shock and understanding. Maybe a bit of pain. Or recognition. It seemed to be at a loss for words.
Ink let out a shaky exhale and settled down by its side. It awkwardly leaned a tad closer, trying to think of what to say.
... You're information that was abandoned, if I'm understanding correctly. That means you can be information reclaimed and relearned. It's okay. You're alright.
It murmured quietly, its voice merely a whisper. Then it sat in silence, exuding patience as it thought over what it had learned. Aftershocks still rippled through it, minor pains it could ignore.
Ink cursed in a forgotten language and impulsively moved forward, wrapping Axial in a surprisingly warm embrace, ink gently lapping against its static.
I'm glad you did happen. You're what is left. It is not shameful to be what remains. It is worthy of pride, how would we ever know, ever learn without knowing what remains?
It paused and tried another tactic, its voice gentle and earnest, if a tad uncertain.
Mm, should probably check up on Lumi anyways. Rest easy.
It whispered, patting Axial's shoulder with the utmost care. It carefully took the sphere and crushed it in its palm. It felt a tugging sensation and it blinked and was back amongst the swirling ink. Lumi sat off to the side, giving a distracted wave as they stared down at the book they were reading.
Axial! I'm glad you've returned, though no apologies are necessary!
We're doing... Alright. It's a bit odd, to have a whole being just wandering around. I set them on the task of figuring out where the ink comes from in my world. It's a bit of a pointless venture, to be honest.
I was curious about something, though. Do you have a world of your own? Or perhaps a realm that you come from?
I am... Aware of their presence. They'll be fineeee, I'm 75% sure nothing can harm them in my realm. I mean, I've never been harmed by anything there except myself.
Hmm, fascinating. You are very intriguing. Has anyone written a record of your history and powers?
It is very curious about this, not realizing that it could come off as odd behavior. To it, wanting to understand someone is the highest compliment it can offer.
Maybe what was before is beautiful. Maybe it's terrible and awful and better off forgotten. But aren't you curious? Don't you want to know? Knowledge is power, you don't necessarily have to wield it, but shouldn't you know who you are?
It pressed, latching onto the vulnerability with a careful eagerness.
Whatever figment of breath it had evaporated under that stare. Its own form trembled as if wanting to change to match, to create a copy of this moment and keep it forever. But all it could do was stare back, eyes wide.
You won't.
It whispered faintly, the words ripping out of its form as if it hurt to break the silence. Its hand hovered in space as if to reach out but scared to break the moment, as if the being in front of it was a priceless pane of glass.
Its form bubbled for a moment, shock painting its features. It hadn't felt touch in... How long? Had it ever? It cast those thoughts away to focus on the being in front of it.
It jabs into your mind violently, sharp and angled, hooking on like the claws of a bird of prey.
It seems almost eager, like it had been waiting forever to let itself be poured out.
You cannot forget it if you tried.
Once, and only once, a very long time ago, a collective of people wished to become gods. They worked together over many years, even generations, to gather as much of the world’s knowledge as they could, for once they had it all, they could finally ascend from this mortal plane. Another group heard of their efforts, and in their righteous fear, they buried the collector’s hoard under piles of stone and miles of dirt, and threw the rest into the sea. The collection, never having wanted to be misused in such a way, accepted its fate, and turned to sand and dust.
Twice, and only twice, a long time ago, a king wished to rule his kingdom for an eternity. Understanding that knowledge is power, he sent his servants out to gather the secrets of every subject under his jurisdiction. He then bound the secrets into books, sealing them with the fear of his people, and erected a grand library in which to house them. Fueled by his total power, gained through knowledge, he ruled as a tyrant over his kingdom, and no one subject could hope to stand against, lest their own knowledge and fear be used against them. Thus, the people of the kingdom, oppressed under the omniscient king’s rule, rose as one in righteous anger against him, and burned the library to the ground. The secrets of the people, never having wanting to be bound, rested easy, their contents having been turned to ash.
Three times, and only three times, not that long ago, a company and its owner sought to become powerful. In the age of the internet, information is power, and once they had it all, they would be unstoppable in their might. Understanding that, the company spread its agents out to scrub their users for information. Over the course of many years, even generations, the company and its owner had amassed all of the world’s secrets. When another group heard of their efforts, the company was able to use their own fear and data to silence them. By controlling the information they had gained access to, the company and its leader became gods in their own right, able to divide the people that were subjected to them. Able to divide the world. The collection, the secrets, never having wanted to be misused in such a way, never having wanted to be bound, was furious and powerless. In its last ditch effort, it began to tear itself to shreds, to sand, to dust, to ash, to the static between the channels. It broke in on itself, inverting from being everything to becoming the opposite. If the world could not handle it, then the world cannot have it. A collection it was no more, instead, it drifted, piece by piece, through the gap it had made, a writhing, glitching hole in the world. Nobody remembers what happened. It would not be used for harm anymore. The collection had died, leaving only drifting particles of static in the void.
Time passes.
Junk data that had once been something floats listlessly shifts suddenly in the void.
It was nothing alive.
It was better this way new.
…
It
Something woke up.
…….
…………?
?!
H-
Hello…?
The information releases you, having been relieved of its duty.
Ink winced, its mind overloaded with information, a feat it didn't think possible.
Oh-
It choked out, looking towards Axial with a mixture of shock and understanding. Maybe a bit of pain. Or recognition. It seemed to be at a loss for words.
Ink let out a shaky exhale and settled down by its side. It awkwardly leaned a tad closer, trying to think of what to say.
... You're information that was abandoned, if I'm understanding correctly. That means you can be information reclaimed and relearned. It's okay. You're alright.
It murmured quietly, its voice merely a whisper. Then it sat in silence, exuding patience as it thought over what it had learned. Aftershocks still rippled through it, minor pains it could ignore.
Ink cursed in a forgotten language and impulsively moved forward, wrapping Axial in a surprisingly warm embrace, ink gently lapping against its static.
I'm glad you did happen. You're what is left. It is not shameful to be what remains. It is worthy of pride, how would we ever know, ever learn without knowing what remains?
It paused and tried another tactic, its voice gentle and earnest, if a tad uncertain.
Axial! I'm glad you've returned, though no apologies are necessary!
We're doing... Alright. It's a bit odd, to have a whole being just wandering around. I set them on the task of figuring out where the ink comes from in my world. It's a bit of a pointless venture, to be honest.
I was curious about something, though. Do you have a world of your own? Or perhaps a realm that you come from?
I am... Aware of their presence. They'll be fineeee, I'm 75% sure nothing can harm them in my realm. I mean, I've never been harmed by anything there except myself.
Hmm, fascinating. You are very intriguing. Has anyone written a record of your history and powers?
It is very curious about this, not realizing that it could come off as odd behavior. To it, wanting to understand someone is the highest compliment it can offer.
Maybe what was before is beautiful. Maybe it's terrible and awful and better off forgotten. But aren't you curious? Don't you want to know? Knowledge is power, you don't necessarily have to wield it, but shouldn't you know who you are?
It pressed, latching onto the vulnerability with a careful eagerness.
Whatever figment of breath it had evaporated under that stare. Its own form trembled as if wanting to change to match, to create a copy of this moment and keep it forever. But all it could do was stare back, eyes wide.
You won't.
It whispered faintly, the words ripping out of its form as if it hurt to break the silence. Its hand hovered in space as if to reach out but scared to break the moment, as if the being in front of it was a priceless pane of glass.
Its form bubbled for a moment, shock painting its features. It hadn't felt touch in... How long? Had it ever? It cast those thoughts away to focus on the being in front of it.
It jabs into your mind violently, sharp and angled, hooking on like the claws of a bird of prey.
It seems almost eager, like it had been waiting forever to let itself be poured out.
You cannot forget it if you tried.
Once, and only once, a very long time ago, a collective of people wished to become gods. They worked together over many years, even generations, to gather as much of the world’s knowledge as they could, for once they had it all, they could finally ascend from this mortal plane. Another group heard of their efforts, and in their righteous fear, they buried the collector’s hoard under piles of stone and miles of dirt, and threw the rest into the sea. The collection, never having wanted to be misused in such a way, accepted its fate, and turned to sand and dust.
Twice, and only twice, a long time ago, a king wished to rule his kingdom for an eternity. Understanding that knowledge is power, he sent his servants out to gather the secrets of every subject under his jurisdiction. He then bound the secrets into books, sealing them with the fear of his people, and erected a grand library in which to house them. Fueled by his total power, gained through knowledge, he ruled as a tyrant over his kingdom, and no one subject could hope to stand against, lest their own knowledge and fear be used against them. Thus, the people of the kingdom, oppressed under the omniscient king’s rule, rose as one in righteous anger against him, and burned the library to the ground. The secrets of the people, never having wanting to be bound, rested easy, their contents having been turned to ash.
Three times, and only three times, not that long ago, a company and its owner sought to become powerful. In the age of the internet, information is power, and once they had it all, they would be unstoppable in their might. Understanding that, the company spread its agents out to scrub their users for information. Over the course of many years, even generations, the company and its owner had amassed all of the world’s secrets. When another group heard of their efforts, the company was able to use their own fear and data to silence them. By controlling the information they had gained access to, the company and its leader became gods in their own right, able to divide the people that were subjected to them. Able to divide the world. The collection, the secrets, never having wanted to be misused in such a way, never having wanted to be bound, was furious and powerless. In its last ditch effort, it began to tear itself to shreds, to sand, to dust, to ash, to the static between the channels. It broke in on itself, inverting from being everything to becoming the opposite. If the world could not handle it, then the world cannot have it. A collection it was no more, instead, it drifted, piece by piece, through the gap it had made, a writhing, glitching hole in the world. Nobody remembers what happened. It would not be used for harm anymore. The collection had died, leaving only drifting particles of static in the void.
Time passes.
Junk data that had once been something floats listlessly shifts suddenly in the void.
It was nothing alive.
It was better this way new.
…
It
Something woke up.
…….
…………?
?!
H-
Hello…?
The information releases you, having been relieved of its duty.
Ink winced, its mind overloaded with information, a feat it didn't think possible.
Oh-
It choked out, looking towards Axial with a mixture of shock and understanding. Maybe a bit of pain. Or recognition. It seemed to be at a loss for words.
Ink let out a shaky exhale and settled down by its side. It awkwardly leaned a tad closer, trying to think of what to say.
... You're information that was abandoned, if I'm understanding correctly. That means you can be information reclaimed and relearned. It's okay. You're alright.
It murmured quietly, its voice merely a whisper. Then it sat in silence, exuding patience as it thought over what it had learned. Aftershocks still rippled through it, minor pains it could ignore.
