SEHNSUCHT

do i even exist?

[maskend]

a plot-focused and minimalist multimuse tended to by sam. low activity. also found at @ofdruigh and @crzrl.

some rules.

here to write and have fun. i am interested in thoughtful and nuanced discussion and exploration of themes and characters. no tolerance for bigotry. i welcome feedback and corrections.

this blog is 21+. adult themes are present and tagged, but are not a major focus of this blog. i use standard 'tw/cw' tags and the adult content flag feature. i don't write dub/noncon, incest, etc.

i am plotting heavy. i want to build varied character relationships and write best with some communication. i will not write or request starters without at least a little bit of plotting beforehand.

i prefer minimal formatting and standard size/font/colour text.

in a similar vein, i will softblock if i don’t see us interacting or am generally at my current limit for capacity. if you keep refollowing me within a short timeframe after that, i will hardblock (* exceptions may be made in cases where we've been mutuals before, or some time has passed).

writer. sam, 25+, they/them, white, queer. im on fluxer, trying to move away from discrd. i write on fluxer as well, if you're interested.

characters. muse inspiration will vary, but any muse listed here is open for plotting. you are welcome and invited to approach me for more information.

aiden. the witcher. he/him, 60s, appears late 30s. tag / board. heavily affiliated with misaentropy's lambert.

clive wu a.k.a. clover. cyberpunk 2077 oc. he/him, 30s. tag / board.

d, hunter of the dead. elden ring. he/him, 30s. tag / board.

iorweth. the witcher. he/him, 200s. tag / board.

diallos hoslow. elden ring. he/him, 30s. tag / board.

kara. oc. they/them, 30s. tag / board. affiliated with 4tunes' caesar.

maglor. the silmarillion. he/they, 5000+. tag / board. affiliated with findile and lastsons.

malenia the severed. elden ring. she/her, age unknown. tag / board.

song so mi a.k.a. songbird. cyberpunk 2077. she/her, 30s. tag / board.

valentina 'v' ortega. cyberpunk 2077. they/she, 30s. tag / board.

+ SOME REQUEST MUSES, IYKYK

[maskend]

not to steal niki's bit but why the fuck is novigrad such a good place to set stuff in

[maskend]

do you guys pronounce messmer with a voiced z like mesmerize or voiceless s like in messy...

[maskend]

☾, for d (or, malenia.)

D was, for all intents and purposes, a measured man. It took a certain kind of undeath or a particular determination to push him out of his stern calm. It was a demeanour carefully maintained, the very opposite of his other half—irascible Devin, whose anger felt like cold flame in the depths of their soul. Faith made patience come easily to Darian. Grace would guide him without fail, of that he was certain, and the light of the Erdtree drowned out the dark of a life before it. Faith steadied him and he carried his grim mission with quiet certainty. It was only betrayal he could not abide. Betrayal and heresy, which came so often in pairs.

His back hit the ground with a thud, knocking the air out of him for longer than he would admit. The uneven plating of the Twinned Armour meant it pushed against his body below in awkward angles. Caught between them, the silver imitation of the other D's head could not protect its twin from the man above. "How long have you lied to me?" The pressure on his chest distorted his voice, to where it had to squeeze its way out. He had placed the helm aside not long ago, and now the golden mask could not hide, with its unmoving expression, the pained anger in D's pale eyes.

"I thought you a friend ... I thought you guided by Grace! To what end, say ! To what end did you turn to heresy?!" D groaned, wrestling still with Kenneth above him, to no avail. Again and again, friendships had shattered at the altar of his salvation. Still, he could not turn from it, stubbornly choosing a solitary life over the uncertainties of the Erdtree's shadow. Yanking his hand free, the Hunter gripped the Tarnished by the back of the neck. As if he could still regain what had split from him now.

He would still welcome him back, Darian thought, if this all turned out to be some great mistake.

☾ - wrestle/pin my muse to the ground, from manhandling starters, with @daylighter

[goldhunt]

this idea that darian is an aggressive dominant lover is so funny to me. where did that come from

[maskend]

#not to say he can't top but have you listened to this man#'dont worry about it bro just do my quest when you're ready man <3'#you're talking about THAT guy ?

[maskend]

times are tough but u are loved ♥️ happy pride

[maskend]

soul elden ring verse could actually work... former famed assassin from another land, now some new kind of undead. not tarnished, not twlid, but a secret third thing (cursed heart), roaming the lands in search of his once sworn brother..

[maskend]

iorweth in witcher 3 can still happen. it could happen in 2027. it's not too l-

[maskend]

❛  04 .   a  kiss  to  apologize . lambden.... 🫢

If ever a week passed that they didn't argue, Aiden thinks he should make an offering to some sort of god. But he does not suddenly find religion this week. Maybe it's the heat, or the strange mood in the last village, or the fact that they're quickly running out of money, but tempers have been short for days, with neither of them quite innocent in the explosion that was bound to happen. When a routine drowner contract almost goes sideways, the tension boils over.

He's licking his wounds, nursing a nasty cut on his arm, when he feels more than hears Lambert coming up behind him. Pretending not to notice, Aiden continues changing the bandage. Arms sneaking around his waist seek his attention and still he ignores him. The Wolf's breath is hot against his ear.

"Lamb..." Aiden sighs and half turns around. He considers pushing the man away, but then Lambert is kissing him, and he can't find it in himself to pull back. He knows his Wolf well enough by now to understand the intention, and is hardly still angry enough to turn away even a wordless apology. So he returns the kiss, gentle and perhaps a little apologetic himself. Theirs is a rocky path, but there is no one else he'd rather walk it with. "Damn you, bastard. Don't think a kiss'll fix everything now." The Cat mumbles against his lover's stubble with a small smile. "At least help me wrap my arm again."

kisses, with @misaentropy's lambert

[maskend]

✂ - olrox points sternly at a chair and tells diallos to sit down

Weeks have passed since Diallos Hoslow first found shelter here. Time has slowly accustomed him to this new life, bound by laws he had no trouble keeping and finding new purpose in the healing house. His gentle hands do not shame him here. And slowly but surely he has begun to feel like walking on steady ground, rather than stumbling blindly through unknown woods. He has not forgotten his gratitude, often coming to visit the lord of the land and his host for conversation. Tonight is such an occasion, but he is late. Diallos walks as quickly as pride allows, finally ducking into the right door and knocking softly to announce his arrival.

An apology is half formed on his lips when he enters. "Forgive my tardiness, there was a holdup at th-" Barely a few words in, he is interrupted by a stern command that drops his heart into his trousers.

He feels at once as if frozen. An ice cold shiver runs down the vampire's back, eyes widening in a rush of fear. It seizes up his throat and cuts his breath, to where all he can do is obey. Diallos moves quickly over to the chair and sits stiffly on the edge of it. His cowardly heart races quicker than his mind, which knows Olrox to not be a cruel man. Yet his body braces for punishment, while he desperately tries to think of whatever transgression he may have made that would have angered his host. It finally returns his voice to him, tight in his throat and stammering. He glances at Olrox apprehensively. "I— if there is anything I have done to offend you, I ... it was a mistake, I assure you—"

manhandling starters, with @skrimslis' olrox

[rp-memes-atyourservice]

Manhandling symbol starters

Send one for your muse to…

★ - drag my muse by the arm ⁂ - grab my muse by the front of their shirt, possibly shoving them back ✱ - take my muse by the hips to carefully move them out of their way ➜ - smack my muse upside the head ⌧ - grip my muse by the back of the neck © - put a hand on my muse’s back to steer them somewhere ✂ - point sternly at a chair and tell my muse to sit down ✉ - push my muse back down when they try to get out of bed (perhaps involving illness, injury, or sleep deprivation) ☛ - press a finger to my muse’s lips to shut them up ♚ - put a hand on my muse’s knee while sitting next to them, to discourage them from standing up ♧ - slap my muse’s hand away from something they shouldn’t touch ♦ - grab my muse’s hair and yank ♤ - slam a door shut before my muse can leave the room ♞ - physically pick my muse up and carry them ♭ - grip my muse’s jaw to make them look yours in the eye ♨ - rub my muse down with a sponge/wet cloth  ☀ - pin my muse with their arms behind their back ☠ - slam my muse into a wall ☾ - wrestle/pin my muse to the ground

Add as much or as little context as you’d like!

[lyeofhell]

Daybreak - Robert Carolan

[sangreals]

with each step towards the castle looming over her, celine feels as though she is taking a step further into the mouth of a great, hungry beast. of late, she has been come too accustomed with sharp tooth and ragged claw and desperately learned all the ways to avoid gaping maw after gaping maw. however, this beast is a slumbering one according to the tales that have swept through the land. had it not been, she suspects she would never would have made it so far as a single step within its sprawling shadow.

better a sleeping monster, she thinks grimly as her eyes trace dark turrets staining the pale morning sky, than one awake and ravenous. besides, there is no turning back - not when there is nowhere left to turn back to.

she stills at the threshold of the castle's stairs and allows herself to peer up at vast doors and the dark stone soaring seemingly endlessly above. it stands at the intersection of beauty and dread, this place, and she grits her jaw against the shiver that threatens to creep down her spine. pushing hair messied from the road over her shoulder, her worn boots click softly against the stairs as she ascends towards the doors.

a hand lifts to press to against the door only to pause a hair's breadth away even as the cold of the stone seeks to curl around her wrist. the last village had spoken to her of a golden haired creature inhabiting the castle, something only glimpsed in brief flashes from the corner of one's eyes in the woods and along the river. celine had attributed their tale to the results of a poisoned well or moldy grain but, for the first time, she finds herself considering whether to at least exercise some level of courtesy, however unnecessary.

"hello?" she calls out to no one as her hand retreats to her side & immediately feels an utter fool for it. "is there anyone here? i don't mean any-," celine sighs and rubs at her brow, though she continues with words that feel mortifyingly futile, "i mean no harm to any within." @maskend

[maskend]

The world has settled, as of late, or perhaps the guardian prince of Castlevania has simply begun to lose touch. It is the allure of immortality to grow distant from the world, and though Alucard is yet young, they have begun to feel the magnetic attraction of solitude. With every generation passing them by, the weight of time seems to grow heavier. Lately, they've considered retreating altogether into slumber. They would sleep—lest life turn them sour—awaiting instead another day they might be needed.

It is a thought on their mind this day as many before it, lingering in the back of their mind as they go about menial tasks that were once sufficient in keeping their spirits together. Only, they've started waking when the sun is low and find themself restless all night, a ghost haunting its own home. Morning breaks ere they know it. As Alucard peers out of the window of one of the sitting rooms, movement on the ground far below catches their eye.

Still as a statue, the dhampir watches the figure approach. They wait, bracing themself for the deep reverberation of a knock, echoing through the castle. But no knock comes. Instead, a voice calls out, unable to breach the castle walls. It reaches its keeper's keen ears nonetheless.

With the death of its true architect, Castlevania has lost much of its former power. And in truth, Alucard held no desire to keep up all the various enchantments in place. They have kept it from falling to ruin entirely, but otherwise let the castle become its own tomb perhaps slowly burying them, too. But some of its old magic still remains and so, after a minute's silence, as if the castle itself were deliberating granting her entry, the heavy doors begin to slowly open. The mechanism creaks and groans after years of disuse, iron dragging loudly along stone. On the inside, Alucard's tall figure appears out of mist on the stairway.

"I haven't had a visitor in quite some time," the dhampir remarks quietly, though their voice carries effortlessly down the long hall. They speak her language with no trouble at all. "What brings you here?"

[lastsons]

"is that what you do?" the words rolled off his tongue before he had the time to think through them. no matter. for elros found a steam that he was not hurried to stop. "do you hold to the vow not because you believe in it but because you wish not to be cruel to your brother? or is that what maitimo does for you?"

elros stiffened his spine, planted his feet to the ground and found—not for the first time—that he did not flinch from sharp words or targeted strikes. it was more curious in their childhood, where he puzzled over what set a gloom over elrond's mood. now it was just what he saw when he looked into himself; his reflection had looked distinct from elrond's not for their self-same faces, but the differing materials they reflected off of. while elrond was often tranquil and pensive, elros had found his face in choppier waters.

"we knew what you spoke of, you know. we might not have understood the tongue, you cared to converse out of our earshot, but you could not hide the mood between you from children who were on edge and looking for signs of discord. if it were nelyafinwe alone, we would not stand here now at this shore. " he frowned, not from anger or pain, but some long-held vexation and perhaps frustration. "i could not figure which is more perplexing: why you did not heed your brother's advice, or why he indulged your fancy despite his objection."

elros crossed his arms. like a rock tumbling down the hill, or water reaching the edge of a fall, he barreled towards a metaphorical gravity. "will you not speak of your own hope? the one that you hold or the one that you protect? what would you not forgive yourself for?"

[maskend]

Questions like carefully aimed strikes, Kanafinwë stiffened under Elros's barrage. He knew precisely where to prod, how to sharpen a loving mother's name to reach him through his brother. He intends to irritate me, the elf thought to remind himself, though it did little to quell the pained anger in his chest. "Enough," he warned quietly, though it was nothing but an empty threat. The tides had turned; the boys were no longer dependent upon their guardians' mercy. Makalaurë knew he could do little to rein him in, nor did he wish to.

He stood, and for a moment considered leaving. Had he not said enough for one day? As he studied Elerossë, his own brows knit, the elf felt suddenly that this was a fork in the road. That if he turned his back now, they might never find their way back here again.

"I have heeded my brother's word in all things, but I have not once regretted staying his hand against you." There was a cool edge to their voice. Maitimo, my brother, who turns not to me when he is in pain. He had not done so in nearly an age. Instead they both held some carefully coordinated play, believing that by keeping themself together, the other would be protected. It was only ever Makalaurë who broke from it, seeking the comfort of the older brother he once knew, but in the end retreated, knowing it a lost cause.

"My hope is you, Elerossë." Anger had faded from his eyes, leaving them softer. "You and your brother, who are the first hope I've had since ..." He broke off, unable even to utter his lost love's name. "I had been so blinded by purpose, this goal that seemed to escape us further the more we reached for it. The jewels would finally return the light to all this darkness, I thought. They would release us. For once I would not have failed. It would not all have been in vain but they are lost. And you ... I see a future again, in you."

[maskend]

on this father‘s day i‘m thinking about how the twins are such an essential factor in maglor‘s story. cannot overstate how much he loves them. complicated as it may be.

[lastsons]

"no." a sharp edge to his voice, like a hook. a fishhook, unseen under the surface of the water, until the light catches it just right to find a chilling glint. "hope does not weaken my brother. it hurts him." behind him, the water ebbs and flows, glittering like some kind of scaly creature lurks under the waves. is that not the truth for them? that there always lurks in the background a nameless beast, at times dormant, at times emerging to the surface of their life? maglor ignores the beast; elrond wants to tame it; maedhros in his stately and arrogant fury must've named it and tried to claim it.

elros just wants to look it in the eye, size up its shape and mass, and each roams these waters, knowing one another.

there are worse things in the world than a sea beast, the young elf lord surmises, just like there must be greater treasures than the three jewels, and graver tragedies than having fathers who are not dead but flawed, or a people who yet lives but never knows you as grown. sometimes his world feels so small, not because of the vast sea calling him from the mythical west, but because those he loves have convinced themselves that their chosen fates are inevitable.

elros feels himself miffed, working to control his temper as the memory of the argument with his brother comes to the surface.

"do you care that he might be weak, or that he hopes? i admit i would rather his hope extinguished, for i cannot stand to see him hurt, and i am not one who could make his hope true—...a world as kind as he; i can't make it, for i cannot see it." he pauses, letting out a short snort. "does that make me more a son of fëanor, or what?"

[maskend]

Hope had grown strange to him. It had been a flighty friend since the Darkening, at times escaping him entirely for decades. Each time it returned, it was new wind beneath his wings, pushing him away from the brink of surrender. And yet every year and every battle wore away at it, until the news of Laurefindelë's death dealt a final blow, extinguishing its light. It had only been the twins, bringing to his life new purpose and futures, that had returned to him an echo of hope. Makalaurë clung to it desperately.

They studied Elerossë, his fiery reaction, and wondered if Maitimo shared his sentiment.

"I care that he hopes," Makalaurë answered earnestly. As if to look for him, they turned their gaze over their shoulder, back to the house upon the island hill. Yet there was naught to see but the thin line of smoke from the fire and Maitimo's cloak hung out to dry, fluttering in the winds. "It is a gift to see such pain and still find hope. It will bring him strength, just as it will cost him. Time will teach him lessons, and yet ..." With a brief sigh, they turned back to Elerossë and his stormy eyes. "I admit I wish he would keep his hope. Tempered, perhaps, but alive."

The young man's bitterness was an uncomfortable truth held up to its perpetrator. Yet he could not, this time, choose the comfort of turning away from it. "You love him, therefore you wish to protect him from pain. And yet you know, as I do, that that is a false dream. That try as we might, he will know pain again. Do not think him blind to that, Elerossë. But you are his brother; let him turn to you when he is in pain. You may not share in his hopes, but take them not from him. It would be a cruelty you may never forgive yourself for."

[maskend]

♥️ this for an ask from v?