Indie Multi-Muse RP blog 21+ Mostly folkore and mythology inspired OCs, but might be some fandom affiliated OCs and canon characters showing up eventually. Written by Seamus - He/Him
Pronouns and gender:Â Uses he/him pronouns and their equivalents. Man. But itâs a long story and best boiled down with âhis gender is performative but whose isnât?â and then left alone.Â
What they are: A kind of wild fae - debatably.Â
Style and Appearance: Lot of corduroy and knits. Brings a sort of âformer hippie who became an english professor in a wes anderson filmâ vibe to things when out in public. Thick dark hair, typically styled up and back, and at least a few days of stubble growth. Has light hazel eyes.Â
Piercings and tattoos: None.Â
Scars and distinguishing marks: None.Â
Sexuality: Closest human equivalent would be pan or bi. Not got a lot of experience, but is up for trying most things, and is also very open about his lack of experience in all things romantic or sexual.Â
FC: X
Abilities: Travel between worlds with total ease using the in betweens. Shadows, rivers, bridges, thresholds. Anywhere he wants at dawn and dusk. Physically alter shape and appearance to that of a human. Tough skin, a bit of a resistance to some physical harm but nothing huge. Wicked good sense of smell for all kinds of things, but especially good at finding magic.Â
Weaknesses: Iron. Perfumes fuck him up, too strong, too much of a chemical feel. Creature brain says you hide when things are scary, so he is prone to spooking and then destroying things to disappear. Seems like a weakness.Â
As said, the human look is an ability. One he will keep up under almost all circumstances. He knows people who are aware of non-humanoid fae do not take them seriously in their real appearance, and heâs invested a lot into being âWilloughbyâ. It is a physical form.
Comes from the inbetweens. A sort of refuse pocket between realms, where things that get lost might end up, and which exists more strongly within the transitional parts of realms. Sometimes you lose something and it ends up there on its own. Findable by its original owners, or by something else, making it gone forever to the person who lost it. Itâs sort of a junkyard.Â
Sells things he finds in the in between, both in fairy markets and human ones. Stall is always called Lost and Found. A mix of genuinely interesting stuff, and total crap. Sort of a dodgy antique dealer, because sometimes things need some help getting lost before he claims them.Â
Considers himself a gentleman thief.Â
Only part of his inhuman appearance that's seen occasionally are the claws, four of them on each hand, two long, two short. For digging and climbing. They can do some harm, but arenât meant for it. Potentially people might feel a roughness to his tongue, too, which is definitely a normal human length at all times, donât look any closer, take my word for it.Â
Has a true name in a fairy sense. A name that has power over him. But thatâs a lets talk ooc if you want your muse to know it thing, cause he isnât someone whose real name would be a known entity. Not important enough to be recorded anywhere.Â
Temper can show when things donât go how he wants and expects. Prone to tantrums and outbursts. Petty, vindictive, hissy fit throwing.
Wants to be taken seriously. Sticks to his idea of what is proper and respectable regardless, even though it was informed by literature, and almost exclusively things written before the 1930s.Â
Actually isn't completely ignorant to a lot of human things, he lives in a world of lost crap after all, he's seen more and read more than what he's latched onto as 'Will'. There are still major gaps in his knowledge though, putting people together through trash isn't the best method of getting a full understanding.
Long form backstory and bio (Least necessary read, you can skip these bits):
Willoughby is just a little creature. Born into a junk pile of lost and unwanted belongings. Not considered a fae by most of faerie, but humans who donât know better would see him as one. Initially raised with a family, and then isolated over the years. Itâs a lonely existence just scuffling around an endless field of trash searching for stuff to eat. Incidentally, part of why theyâre so good at snuffling up magic is because spirits that get lost are a staple part of their diet. Usually itâs parts of spirits, full human or fae donât usually wind up with them.Â
At some point in the endless repetitive cycle of searching, they stumbled upon something quite unique. A house. An entire home. A large country house at that. Something that couldâve been used as a filming location for a bbc miniseries based on a Jane Austen novel. Maybe itâs not landed gentry, managed by the national trust levels of big, but it was clearly a home with money and worth. Left to moulder and rot for a few decades, totally abandoned and untouched. Furniture, belongings, everything.Â
Exploring the house brought them to a library full of crumbling and poorly cared for books, hallways of portraits and little bits and pieces to uncover and learn about the people whoâd lived there. All subtly covered in the smell of fae magic. Whatever got the house lost, it involved some kind of pissed off fairy.Â
So they created a character, for fun at first, built from the stories theyâd read. Name picked from the pages to fit the home. He became âhimâ, not really having any connection or relationship to human concepts of gender before, but âhimâ seemed the most fun when it came to stomping around an empty home and playing pretend. Willoughby wasnât the only voice, he was just the one that lasted, that became more than just play.Â
He thinks he can duel, swords of guns, that he's a deft hand with a bow and arrow, and an accomplished piano-forte player. Reality might say otherwise. Only having himself to please and impress. Also likes croquet, cross stitch, writing by hand, pretending he knows what horses are and how to ride them,
The appearance of 'Willoughby' wasn't taken from the portraits, they didn't look like the humans and fae he saw scavenging in the inbetween, so he took the softness, delicate features, and incredibly pale skin, to be an art style. It's never occurred to him that his human build and appearance is incongruous with the clothes, the language, the character.
Realizing their opportunity, their position, Will decided to change up how they were living and existing. Why scrounge around endlessly for survival when he could build something better for himself. Sell what he found. It wasnât unheard of, he saw and ran away from numerous scavengers from other realms looking for goods to sell or use. So he decided to do that. You can find him at antiques fairs, flea markets, car boot sales, bring and buys, anything and everything where he can set up a little stand and sell the crap heâs found.Â
Overtime, he realized itâd be easier to find stuff worth selling if he could help it to get lost. Using the ability to move through in betweens - shadows and thresholds in particular - to start finding things to make lost, only to âfindâ them later back home. And sometimes flat out steal stuff, cause itâs easier.Â
Profoundly, deeply, lonely. Very isolated. Wants to gain connection, but is always acting and playing a part, so finds it difficult because people donât react how he expects. For the sake of RP, if weâre rolling with pre-established relationships, we can bypass getting through that outer layer, and have a more genuine connection where Will can just be them. Not Willoughby Clay, human.Â
Even alone. Will stays as a human. Stays as Willoughby. Sure, if completely alone he might dress a bit less reserved, but he will always look human. It is a choice, and a part of him. Started more for respect and work. People don't take inhuman fae seriously in his line of work, even others who also aren't humanoid by nature. Fae hounds, redcaps, cat sidhe, he'd been laughed at by more than one when trying to make deals as himself. Even if they can tell, and not all can, what kind of creature he is, it made a difference.
Very much a work in progress, haven't even posted his bio cause i'm waiting for The Right gif - and haven't made it yet. But Willoughby is over here.
He's a weird little guy who lives in the junkyard of lost items between realms, in an abandoned and disappeared country estate of some human that pissed off a fae. Created the character of Willoughby Clay for himself to pass the time pretending to be a human stomping around the large collapsing building all alone. Got a bit lost in the sauce and now is very attached to his larp.
last few days, every tim i used my laptop it sounds like its takng off. Like the drive is suddenly turned into an angry electric tooth brush
it seems to function fine besides that, and the smart check shit says the drive is healthy - and itâs definitely that not the graphics driver or fans i took the dang thing apart to confirm and clean out the fans to see if that would help. I do nnot trust that itâs actually okay tho, so im trying to only use iit when i need to and itâs stressful cause i defintely cannot afford a new laptop right now, especially not one on par quality wise for work and gaming
itâs after 9 and im only just sitting down to have dinner, so odds of me getting to replies are pretty low. And itâs family stuff tomorrow for parental birthday, so will be busy tomorrow, too.
Robin had only managed to get himself a quarter of the way up the tree before his claws got him stuck. He really should have known better than to hide up a tree. Back at the house he got stuck all the time and had to rely on Oriol to get him down. But he didn't have an Oriol right now. He didn't even have Felix to rely on. He just had something that every instinct told him was bad. He tried to hide in his tail, the fluffy mass always being a good spot for hiding. But when he was stuck, there really wasn't much he could do except let out a small whining noise.
"I.. I don't know what you are but instinct says to hide." Robin admitted from his failed hiding spot. He struggled to keep up with the words and excitement the man had. But then Marc made a comment that somewhat made sense. It had to be Oriol, that was who he'd just been with. He'd been learning more about what he was and about the fae generally before they house started getting busy and he got overwhelmed. "Oriol? Is that who I smell of.. he helped you? He's been helping me too." Robin said softly with a small smile. "I don't want to fight you.."
âGood to hear, cause I donât think itâd be much of a fight.â Marc's honesty wasn't meant as a threat or an insult, only honesty, as he saw it. "Not sure, boss, didnât get a name, too busy running.â He shrugged and took a few bouncing steps around the tree, then back to where heâd been. âYou got a bunch of smells on you, everyone does.â He offered up. Whoever Oriol was, it couldâve been the right one or one of those he didnât even recognize. To Marc, it just meant that the wild fae had been around them, an enclosed space or close proximity. They wouldâve smelled like their knight for a long time. Peopleâs smells lingered in shared spaces, handshakes, hugs. Discernible, but blended together to varying degrees.
Marc pushed up onto his toes to get a good look at where and how they were clinging to the tree. âAin't you meant ta go all the way up?â He asked, brows knit together in confusion, leaning in and pushing up onto his toes to get a good look at their predicament. âYou got a bit of a ways to keep going there....â A wide grin cracked across its face, âYou stuck, boss?â
muses asking each other about the people they love.
note this was written about romantically entwined muses but platonic love also applies! ask about the receiver's friends as much as about their partner(s) <3
"How did you two meet?"
"Do you love them?"
"When can I meet them?"
"I've never seen them as happy as they are when they're with you."
"How long have you known them?"
"[Name] has told me a lot about you."
"You two were made for each other."
"I didn't realise you guys were together."
"So are you gonna introduce me to your boyfriend/girlfriend/partner?"
It wasnât uncommon for Robin to leave the house. Heâd get overwhelmed by everything, pack a bag, and head towards Felix. It was almost routine for the changeling now. It was predictable, but it was where he felt safest. He had his bag and was walking in the direction of Felixâs when he bumped into Marc. Well, more completely walked into the hound. âIâm sorry.â He started to mumble before looking up. Almost instantly, every prey instinct he had kicked in. This was a hound. Hounds chased things like him. Without any further words, Robin had bolted to the nearest tree in an attempt to climb to safety. All hairs on his tail were stood on end. Of course climbing wasnât his best ability and was soon stuck partially up the tree without a way to get down. âDonât hurt me.â He whimpered.
Marc let out a startled grunt, but before it could really react, the wild-fae had retreated to higher ground. It was a type of fae he knew. Something that court fae would set hounds on, get them treed until a bow made the final blow, or they tried to run and the pack could get them. Either way, it was rarely a fair fight.
âNot gonna go telling you that aint a good instinct, boss, but you donât gotta worry bout me.â He hopped back a few steps and rocked on his heels, head cocked curiously up, trying not to make it obvious he was getting a scent. There was a lingering sting of court fae. At least two he recognized, one from stale trails and pools of it at Cyrenâs, the other from blood, a knife, and a sudden change of occupation. âGot myself off duty. And, leveling with you here,â He took a bounding step forward, unable to stop his curiosity, âYou lot ainât really my old masterâs quarry. He liked a fight. Fight got him dead, got me free. Got that guy you smell like to thank for it.â
Chester had heard the rumors of a scaled beast nearby and from that moment on, he was on high alert. His worries were getting the better of him and instantly he had a feeling in his gut what it could be. The only scaled creatures he knew of were his own kind. The kind heâd left without a word to years ago. The kind he knew for certain were still tracking him. He did as much digging around as he could before going to the spot where heâd heard the creature was. Seeing a man he didnât recognise but that didnât throw him off. It would be easier to be tracked by someone he didnât recognise and know the habits off. âState your business.â He said firmly, finally acting like how heâd been expected to all those years ago. âIf youâre here to take me back. Then Iâm not going anywhere.â
Frank was blissfully unaware of the rest of the world, sitting where he always did, his quiet little break from the near total isolation and silence of work. Everyone needed that peace and quiet from their peaceful and quiet job, right? He glanced up enough to see someone marching vaguely towards him, but put it aside, people had their own lives, and whatever that was about, well, it wasnât about him, was it?
The manâs voice cut through that misconception pretty quick, startling Frank enough to draw out the bloom of scales pulled through his skin. In his panic to hide them, to roll down his sleeves and look away, his sad premade salad clattered to the ground before Frankie had time to remember it was okay. Where they were, it wasnât a problem if people saw.
âMy business?â He laughed in disbelief and looked up at the total stranger, âIt was lunch.â He stressed, âNow itâs wondering what your damage is, if youâll pay me back, or if you just have some kind of vendetta against lettuce.â Frankieâs lips thinned, and he stared, wide-eyed, up at them. âI think youâve got the wrong guy, and I donât have any money, so if this is some really niche panhandling technique, youâre barking up the wrong tree.â
Even dead asleep, the scent of a fae was enough to jolt Marc awake. Ready to run, or fight, or hide, whatever he needed to do. There was no real rest out there alone. It sniffed at the air, feeling the slight breeze and correcting for it.
A park. How stupid could they have been? No real coverage, not that worked, trees were a bad place to hide from fae, it was far from universal, but enough could talk to them to make it worthless. Well.. There was always door number two. Move where there was no hiding for them, either, let them try to ambush him in the open of a human park. Explain that to the dog walkers and families. They stepped through the veil to appear near the fae, and took a few loping steps, checking around him before focusing on the young woman.
âLet me tell you, boss, you wanna go sneaking up on a man, best stay down wind.â He huffed, eyes flitting around him, constant vigilance, if he was going to be cocky and taunting, he couldnât go getting caught. The irony alone would kill him. Â âOr you got that wrongheaded idea bout your lot not having a scent?â Heâd met a lot that did. Usually only once. Unlike the woman in front of him, theyâd all been decked out and clearly on the hunt, a look it knew all too well. Still, even if she didnât look the same, that was what they did, and he knew better than to let down his guard around a fae based on appearances.
âWay I see it, boss. Whatever deal youâre looking to make, or favor youâre hoping to earn, well, it ainât gonna happen if you gotta catch me. That good with you? Or I gotta say it again but with the teeth out?â Was it possible she wasnât there for any of those reasons? Sure. But it was safer for him to assume otherwise. Even if it made for a bad first impression.
