floral teeth.

you said i killed you. haunt me, then.

[lamentmournanddespair]

Is it hard finding limbus rpers?

well on here i can't say i've really gone looking... but on places like Disboard you'll definitely have some luck. though like 99% of limcom/projmoon rp servers are original character only, so i tend to check various multifandom rp/crossover servers instead. i've been able to consistently find at least one person who rps projmoon in those places

if you ever find me, i'll probably be writing v-rgilius or arg-lia :)

(also quick note - i'm pretty unmedicated right now, so i'm going to be very slow to respond to any threads. but i have seen them!)

[lamentmournanddespair]

Devastation, such sights should have meant little to her by now. She's seen tons of it, but this? This was something else entirely. The main hall was decorated in a crimson shade, bodies littering the once lively room of the manor, the sight almost made her nauseous despite the fact it shouldn't. Maybe it was the feeling of seeing the place she grew up in destroyed like this, even if it wasn't her Wuthering heights. It almost made her wonder if Gretchen had been lying about this mirror world being normal. Cathy moved further into the manor, the more she did so the more apparent just how violent what had happened here really was, and from the looks of everything, such horrific events had occurred quite recently, causing a knot to form in her stomach. She might not be alone.

Bodies, breathing so lightly as they lay upon the ground. Blood and gashes against the walls. The windows are smashed in, letting rain and wind rush inside. Soaking carpets are caked in muddy footsteps both human and animal, a quicker set followed by a much slower crowd.

Several color lamps have been smashed, trodden upon. The crunching of glass slowly comes up from behind her...

"You... there..."

A halting, slurred voice speaks.

"You... -uldn't... here..."

A person dressed in the maid's uniform reaches out with grasping hands. Their eyes are barely visible in the slowly-decaying light of colors, but it's there: a deep, sick-looking purple. But... purple?

[lamentmournanddespair]

Wildcliff, killcount?

"... Many Wuthering Heights have fallen to me. I have lost count... but I am refracted across too many realities at this point. So I don't care to know. Why should I care, when the only one I never meant to kill..."

"... will die, at my hands. Again, and again."

[lamentmournanddespair]

Your writing style is very tasty, hence to say I really like it

why thaaank you! i appreciate it, especially since i've been worried that i've been slipping lately. ♥

[lamentmournanddespair]

Mutuals only?

this is a sideblog, so there's not much i can do in the way of mutuals - but you're free to reach out and roleplay with me if you'd like! we don't have to be following each other. :)

[lamentmournanddespair]

"Where was I."

"... Mm. Right. The campaign of destruction."

[valtsv]

why listen to these so-called "experts" when you could listen to me, a guy who visibly isn't well

[grimwicks]

[lamentmournanddespair]

Those two names get a response from Vergilius that Sinclair hoped he wouldn't have to see again, after what happened to Don Quixote. Red eyes blow wide open, something raw and furious stirring in the depths like a monster rising from the sea. It's not even a second later that Vergilius has stood up, wrenched Dante's body from Faust's hold, and slammed them against one of the walls of Mephistopheles (much to Charon's monotone complaint). The atmosphere practically thickens as he leans in, a hand wrapped around their throat, to snarl at the unwanted passenger. "You."

big big thank-you to @beeholyshit for this fantastic comm, it worked out fabulously! please consider commissioning them if you can!

[art-is-kayos]

Happy Halloween

[greelin]

i really do feel like a majority of my self has died

[greelin]

but what can you do!

[lamentmournanddespair]

"It's getting closer to the end of the month and I cannot even hunt vampires. This is why I'm depressed."

[lamentmournanddespair]

This presence, approaching... Familiar, foreboding.

The chains that bind them to him tighten. The Erlking holds those who harmed him in a contemptuous grip. And these new stragglers are only just spared the same.

"Pour your rage upon this realm. Mourn with me... for your new loss."

[jakuniku]

“Then turn selfishness into a weapon! Make all things yours! Make other lives and dreams and hopes yours! Protect them! Save them! Bring them into the sheepfold! Walk the gale for them! Keep away the wolf! My dreams! My brother! My family! My land! My world! How dare you try to take these things, because they are mine!”

— Terry Pratchett, Discworld (via onceuponamusing)

[lamentmournanddespair]

...

...

...

When the Wild Hunt emerges, all is still. The stormcloud above has ceased thundering, though the rain still lightly falls. The number of the Hunters... has grown.

They are still the restless dead... and many of Port Obello's fallen still walk with them.

[lamentmournanddespair]

There is a seed in the ground.

Will the seed survive?

Will it grow?

[lamentmournanddespair]

A low rumble of thunder across the sky punctuates many heads turning as one.

And as the echo sounds over the great growth, a split second...

Turns into several more seconds, when a blade plunges into that instant and tears it open. That gap in time, between potential and destination... was all that he needed.

Wuthering Heights can hide in many places, but he will always find them, no matter where they go. No matter what ends to which timelines they conceal themselves within. They will be found.

The gap between seconds closes.

They will return with their spoils soon.