⋆˙ᝰㅤ20*26. @okultists - Tumblr Blog

⸻ㅤ OKULTISTSㅤ ㅤan independent, descriptive + private multi - muse blog presently operating on weekend - only activity. curated with adoration by dawn, twenty - four, an ever - enthusiastic bookworm forever moving at their own pace — disc. available upon request, please note that i'm unable to respond on working days.

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wandering the forest with — wolf-out ,ㅤ ㅤ+fullmoons ,ㅤ ㅤ+crossrode ,ㅤ spiritsplit ,ㅤ ㅤㅤ huckberries ,ㅤ ㅤ ㅤthrillrot ,ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ+dopplgaengerㅤㅤ★

#📌#drafts: 005 #♱　..　dawn　⋆　t͟w͟e͟n͟t͟y͟4　⋆　gmt

apricxty

Mo Qing never thought she would take on an apprentice. This path was, after all, one that demanded blood long before it offered glory.

And yet fate had placed Qiangcai before her.

"You are not so much older than a child yourself," she said, a faint warmth in her voice. From within her sleeve, Mo Qing withdrew a square of white silk, its edge embroidered with faded silver thread. She dabbed it against the young woman's sweat-damp forehead before stepping back, her expression turning contemplative.

"Patience is a virtue, but perhaps..."

Her gaze lingered upon Qiangcai's increasingly steady hands.

"Very well. I may have a task for you. Complete it well, and you may join me for your first hunt by the next full moon. Fail, and a year will pass before I consider you again."

“The choice to accept it is yours.”

okultists

a whole year? that's not even an option to qiángcái. the prospect is intolerable, chasing the same goal every second for another year without making real progress: one that's gone to waste. obsidian locks spill over qiángcái's back as she squares her shoulders and moves forward, catching the sunlight's golden rays in it's lustre. she regards mo qing with a serious expression, mouth set in a firm line — one that gave her the false appearance of a battle-worn soldier, rather than a magistrate's daughter. the only comment that falters this hard - set reflection is the one about her youth, which makes her gaze flicker toward the ground, like this fact was some great set - back in her endeavour for mo qing's respect.

"then i'll strive for excellence. not only shall your task be completed, but it will be done beyond expectation." qiángcái adopts mo qing's contemplative expression, shoulders becoming more slack as she turns her head towards the trees that scrape the sky, chittering with life from within. she watches the clouds roll onward in a steady course, listens to the breeze that catches the wisps of her hair, grounds herself on her two feet upon the soil as the sun dips lower into the horizon. she closes her eyes and savours the gentle dab of mo qing's silk. "one day, i'll be strong enough on my own to leave here. when that time comes, i don't want you to worry about me. my greatest desire is to become a person that you are proud to claim as your student, that these months you've spent teaching me haven't been for nothing. i'll work hard as a way of saying thank you, for everything that you've done." a small smile flickers onto her face, like a match being lit from within. "i accept your task."

#ᰍ　｡　𝗾𝗶𝗮𝗻𝗴𝗰𝗮𝗶 　──　 𝒕𝗁𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗌.#feat.　mo qing #apricxty #of course it's okay!!#<3 #also happy to receive cang yuan!! :DD #we can progress to him or you can even send me a random starter from him if u like!#im ok with multi threads <3 #i loveu mo qing ouuu .. she seems so nice :(

slashcrz

maybe he would have loved her, if his soul hadn't been sold to the devil already. if his world wasn't so dangerous, his lifestyle precariously hanging in the balance of disaster. if he were a better person. the kind that didn't chase his bad decisions down to the bottom of a bottle. that had gotten worse since he left her, and there was a lingering scent of it now as he tried to back away but only cornered himself more. without weapons, unprepared, and trapped. the worst possible combination to be in, and angel was trying not to panic. he was trying not to think about her leaning across the sink with her popped open, applying mascara. her hair all fuzzy first thing in the morning. he tried to think of escape, right here && right now.

" i left because i don't let people in... and my door was open, for you. " honesty, raw and translucently given. what else was there to do, what else was there to lose? angel smiled, hands pressing again the wall his back had finally come to bump against. " i was always going to get caught, viv. you think i don't know that? " no one runs in this circuit of crime if they didn't understand the consequences. but right now, he couldn't decide which was more important - discussing the past, or deciding the future. " it was always gonna be you, too, huh? "

okultists

the past kicks up like dirt in vivian's face. warm honey trickling through curtains with the melody of a bird's morning song, sunlight in liquid gold, illuminating two bodies underneath sheets. the way vivian would always rise with the sun, awake first, content to just watch angel's restful expression and listen to the soft snores as she combs wandering fingers through his obsidian curls — pathetically domestic, so removed from where they are now. vivian tries to keep her eyes on angel, but she can't help the quick, dismissive glance taken at her boots. a familiar itch creeps up vivian's skin, makes her hand crawl up to her neck and scratch the nape. she wants to ignore the situation completely, pretend she doesn't know angel as well as she does, slap cuffs around his wrists like someone that hasn't shared a bed with her and be done with it. her therapist has concluded that she is avoidant: vivian can see it now, even though she doesn't like to agree with the older woman.

she's close enough now that she can smell the remnants of alcohol on angel's breath, it's wretched hand curling her stomach with desire for her own sip. vivian regards angel with disappointment. "you're full of shit, you know that? why the fuck would you even think about getting involved with me?" her brows pinch together and form angry lines on her forehead, lower lip trembling for a fraction before she steels her expression. "this isn't a fairytale. we were never going to beat the odds you stacked against us. and... you- you knew—" vivian poked his chest harshly, voice finally crackling. "—you knew this wasn't going to work and you let me look like a complete idiot. maybe you just didn't care what would happen when you inevitably disappeared?" voice returns to it's natural cadence, firm. "you're trying to sweeten me up with this shit, so you can find a window of opportunity to escape when my guard's down."

#ᰍ　｡　𝘃𝗶𝘃𝗶𝗮𝗻 　──　 𝒕𝗁𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗌.#feat.　angel #slashcrz

loredrops

shiloh watches the pale gold stream ribbon into her glass, one wrong word and the ring on her finger becomes shrapnel. the way the other womans hand tightens around the bottle was a message. she was sure of it. “thank you.” crystal kisses her lower lip; she sips, lets the quiet fold into them again. "normally i'd agree that it was nothing but something about him was off." heat blooms behind her sternum then the memory flashes. the mans grunt, the wet thud, the way her wrist hummed afterward. she smooths an invisible wrinkle from her top. keep the seams straight. "but you are right about dwelling on it. there's no use now. tonight, i’d rather… indulge in something else. you." her gaze flickers to selin’s legs, traces a long line of her calf. subtle tension there but she'd still like more proof. wine’s bloom still lingers on her lips when shiloh rises again — slow, unhurried, each movement a promise meant to look like desire until she behind selin's chair. she bends, letting her breath fan across the shell of selin’s ear before her mouth drifts lower. a feather light graze at the hinge of jaw, down to the pulse point where skin thins over artery. lips part; she presses a slow kiss just beneath that delicate curve. beneath her mouth: thrum thrum thrum. another kiss, slightly lower. tongue flicks heat against vein, masking the subtle shift of her fingers as they settle on selin’s waist—thumb angled inward, finding the precise spot where diaphragm rise can betray shallow breaths. shiloh counts her heart beats, one… two… irregular skip. adrenaline or desire? “your heart,” she whispers against the pulse. “is working overtime.”

okultists

there's a sense of momentary solace that coaxes selin's muscles into relaxation, the tension pulls away from them like waves that embrace the shore. the brunette nearly expels her anxiety with a sigh — nearly. shiloh was not an easy woman to dismiss, nothing ever seems to get past her gorgeous little head. breath catches in selin's throat again. she hopes that an indulgence in champagne will release the tension that chokes her up, but when the bubbles glide down her throat, it only burns. "you've always been a smart woman." she bristles at shiloh's touch, a pleasant sensation that makes her stomach flip with anticipation. cinnamon eyes lock onto her wife's sensual movement, tracing shiloh's curves until she looks back up to meet her gaze for a fleeting moment, before she disappears from view. selin has always been a professional: been in this line of work since before she can remember, receives endless praises for her capability. but, as shiloh's breath is hot against her neck, she can feel every lesson that's been woven into her persona unthread itself. each technique slip from her grasp and muddle her mind.

selin knows what she reveals with her body language, the way her pulse quickens under shiloh's delicate lips, and yet she can't seem to reign herself in, exposing more of her neck to shiloh on pure instinct. the room sings with selin's quickening breath, mingles with crackles from the fireplace and the quiet fizz from their abandoned drinks. "why shouldn't it?" an unsaid dare on trembling voice, for shiloh to reveal what she's hiding. "i'm crazy about you, of course my heart's doing leaps when you're playing with me like that." it takes enormous concentration for selin to create a distraction, shaky hand snaking up in an apparent endeavour to grasp her wife. instead, she bumps the table hard, glass collapsing over white cloth with a sharp smash. shards clatter onto the ground, a golden stream slipping over the edge like a waterfall. somewhere in all the chaos, selin gasps and rises to her feet. "oh! i'm sorry to ruin the moment, my love. you know i'm too clumsy. let me pick that up..."

#ᰍ　｡　𝘀𝗲𝗹𝗶𝗻 　──　 𝒕𝗁𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗌.#feat.　shiloh #loredrops #happy pride to THEM!#she really said “i want her so bad i gotta lock in” bro 😭#she was ready to risk it All for a moment

⸻ @gnawseate ★ closed starter : vivian liang + bennett combe.

vivian's voice is laced with adrenaline and carries more power than the gunshot moments prior: it's raw and assertive and tries to rouse bennett's conscious back to where it should be. crimson smears his face where vivian's hand cracks against his cheek, returning to place pressure on the wound upon his arm. "combe!" voice firm, professional in a way she's never quite regarded him with before. "comb—! bennett, are you with me? you're bleeding. they're gone, but you're bleeding. come on, gather yourself, get your shit together. that's not a suggestion." vivian searches his expression, makes an assumption that he's in shock, sucks on her teeth in frustration.

the ringing in her ears prevents vivian from deciphering bennett's breathing pattern, sharp eyes measuring the way his chest swells and falls instead. "breathe in, breathe out— you're going to be fine, you're with me. come on, look at me..." she begins to demonstrate her own breathing, calm and collected, despite the erratic beating in her chest. the scent of burnt rubber, gunpower and smoke assaults her nose, strips the sensitive lining until it's raw and she can't smell anything else.

stick your nose where it's not wanted and you'll get caught in the crossfire.

vivian must've told him a million times. emotion locks an iron grip on her throat and closes it up: anger because he never listened. solace because he's alive despite that. shame for letting him get injured in the first place. the base of it all, panic she's trying to hide with intense effort. this will be the last time he's allowed anywhere near the case while it's active.

#ᰍ　｡　𝘃𝗶𝘃𝗶𝗮𝗻 　──　 𝒕𝗁𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗌.#feat.　bennett #gnawseate #benny boo back in my drafts we are so back..

⸻ @nouvelis ★ continued from here : kang nahee + nolan romero.

if there's anyone who knows the score, it's nolan romero. the man who always seems to have a point — at least, that was nahee's perception. she looks up to nolan as a detective, though her admiration is considerably less than when she was a rookie. it's sharpened into a quiet respect, rather than a miniature obsession. a tree's shadow obscures nahee's figure some, though with sharp eyes one can decipher the soft curves of a grey hoodie that hangs loose on her form, both hands shoved into the pocket that runs across the stomach, and a mess of umber hair that gathers near the hood. she wears a matching cap that's seen better days, a gift from her father when she was first accepted into the department. the circles under her eyes are visible in the shade. she hasn't found the courage to call her parents in weeks.

"you can let your guard down a little when you're not on duty." she reminds carefully, though she has never taken her own advice. there's an everlasting and overactive awareness of your surroundings that doesn't waver even when you clock out.

nahee was different before — more alive, maybe. there was a spark in her eyes that's dimmer now: her expressions are more careful, more internal, much less animated. when she first joined, she possessed that sweet naivety all rookies seem to have before the case that inevitably exposes them mankind's cruelty. previous excitement when a new piece of evidence is found, or when a secret connection is unforged and binds two people together, always asking every question that pops into her mind — now, she speaks mainly in statements and asks questions like she's bracing herself. she has matured with the profession, has been worn down by it, had every limit she didn't know existed tested by it. "i'm in the area, getting... coffee." she lies rigidly, always piss-poor with that particular skill. actually, the case she was recently working on before being sent on leave was keeping her up all night, thoughts unable to be occupied with anything other than the addictive whodunnit?

"there's a new ube flavour i'm excited to taste." nahee forces a painfully awkward smile that does not reach her eyes, then pauses and takes a look around, like it's her first time considering they're outside the victim's empty house, on the sun-baked curb. "what are you doing here?" she shoots back, turning slowly on her heel to face nolan again. "not a huge fan of peaceful, stress-free weekends?"

#ᰍ　｡　𝗻𝗮𝗵𝗲𝗲 　──　 𝒕𝗁𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗌.#feat.　nolan #nouvelis #she's a Great detective but Cannot lie for shit. comedy #i would luv to plot this if you'd like!

fateguardian

Daniel's not quite sure why he agreed to this interview. Maybe it's because his friend had insisted he should try being more.... normal, whatever that was supposed to mean. Or maybe he was just tired of everyone believing demons were the creatures from Hell, brought up to torment the mankind. He agreed on a whim and now he was sitting across from a woman asking him strange questions. "I don't know..." he admitted, arms crossed. "Do I look that different from your average person? I walked around just like you guys, I use public transport. Sometimes." The last sentence was followed by laughter. "I don't suppose you find an ability of skipping traffic very thrilling, so you can fill that most captivating aspect gap in with something like... flight? That's what people usually like to hear, no?"

okultists

octavia hums in thought, mirth curves her lips as she scratches the response down on a fresh notepad. she takes note of daniel's body language, the way his arms cross, which usually creates emotional distance from the situation, perhaps even from octavia herself. "are you nervous, daniel?" her question pokes at daniel's walls, tries to find a way through them despite knowing him for... two clock ticks, really. "well, you're sitting across from me like an average person, whatever that means. i'm much like yourself, i exist on the fringes of society. my opinion may not align with another person's. they might sense something different about you that i cannot." she leans back, thoughtful as the moments slip between them. "my notebook will be satisfied with that." she mumbles, concentrating on keeping her handwriting neat and readable. "and... what else? don't tell me you're a demon who can't perform a more interesting tricks."

#ᰍ　｡　𝗼𝗰𝘁𝗮𝘃𝗶𝗮 　──　 𝒕𝗁𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗌.#feat.　daniel #fateguardian #hello! no problem at all <3 #im excited to have u!

dakotaslimes

"The witching hour? Sounds fake." A term he'd heard a lot actually, picking up a few things from the horror movies watched over the years, (his sister's own indulgence into all things the occult, before she disappeared.) So hearing it off Antonio now, piqued an indifferent sort of interest — though, he did check the flashlight in his pocket, giving it a couple dabs and direct contact with his own pupils for good measure. Antonio was so serious about this. It was ideal given the situation, but it was also unnerving in the same way the smart kids posed a particular threat, looking down on him and his friends. That box is entirely paralyzing. "Riiight, well. That's all imagination running wild, people get themselves worked up too easily. I've never not wanted food. Beef sticks, Gushers —" he thrilled at the reserves Antonio could've possibly meant. "And that's on varsity soccer. State! So I've got loads of adrenaline. A rat in the dark can't ruin my appetite."

If he was being honest with himself and with Antonio, every dusty step closer to the property sent a chill down his spine. Afraid of what they might find. "Ah-ha, yess — I gotchu my friend," Jackson swiveled backpack first, held tight against his frame, eyesbrows raising as he tapped it's contents, "And a little somethin' somethin' for when shit gets boring as fuck."

okultists

antonio's pace quickens as the evening envelopes the two in a dull, cerulean hue. as they move onward, the night's denizens begin to rouse from their slumber. if antonio strains for a pocket of silence, he can hear an owl calling in the distance. "the witching hour is not fake, but it's fine... once we're on location, you'll be able to observe how real it is. and i'll be able to say i told you so." he grins, a little away with himself in his own element. the house begins to manifest in the distance and antonio stops to clean his glasses with his wrinkled orange shirt. "well, i've got some leftover trail mix...? it's not beef sticks, which are disgusting by the way, but it'll do." antonio cringes at the sensation of meat stuck in his teeth, all the way out here with no floss in sight. makes his skin crawl more than any ghosts would.

then, as the house is a few paces away, he stills and turns to jackson with a solemn expression. right on cue, as jackson rakes through a backpack. "the heck did you bring...?" he asks, a little wary. "anyway, did you bring... the thing?" back on point, a reference to what he sent in an earlier text message: a defensive weapon. "you know? 'cause what's really scary are squatters and general assholes," antonio frowns. "i brought a screwdriver, just in case. what else is in that bag?"

#ᰍ　｡　𝗮𝗻𝘁𝗼𝗻𝗶𝗼 　──　 𝒕𝗁𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗌.#feat.　jackson #dakotaslimes

mysticcls

" are you going to kill me, princess? " tianfeng asked directly, lips curling into a sneering smile. he hadn't come with flowers or blessings or sweet whispered nothings. the alliance was all but stabilized, the wedding merely a performative gesture to give the people something to celebrate. an army, small but loyal, had accompanied the acclaimed warrior prince. " i'd hate to discourage my wife in any of her endeavors, but i regret to inform you, you'll me quite difficult to eliminate. "

he had not come toting fear, either. a spoiled girl who inspired desire from every court, this fated legacy of the who couldn't be tame, wouldn't stand in the way of becoming a savior.

okultists

a spoiled woman, indeed... a vision in jade - green, wearing the finest silks the lands have to give, woven with precision and adoration, each thread a devotion. splayed around the greedy woman's lap, poetry from lands far away, and on the walls are artworks from the masters. everything in the princess' residence glitters like a precious jewel, yet she feels small in tianfeng's ferocious presence: like her darling jewels, and expensive silks, and favourite artworks mean nothing along with her authority. she purses her lips, closes the book in her grasp, and aligns herself to hold tianfeng's gaze. it wouldn't be so easy to rattle tian ying's nerves. "what must be done, must be done." an elegant response, though she certainly hopes it won't come to violence — it's not in her nature. if pressing a blade against the delicate flesh of the prince's neck is what must be done to scare him away, she would certainly try.

tian ying rises to her feet, squares her shoulders and lifts her chin with defiance. "you haven't earned the pleasure of calling me your wife, prince tianfeng, certainly not in private." the notion sends a wave of uncertainty through her, makes her limbs feel unstable. what would it mean to really be his wife? if nothing can be done to scare him away, would she abandon her status and run for the mountains? the only consolation is that, perhaps, he wouldn't search for her — the prince would have everything he needs with the kingdoms already locked in an alliance. maybe tian ying should be the one running, not vice - versa... but it's unlike her to give up.

many of tian ying's previous suitors had been scholars, men with gentle and inexpedient souls. a warrior was certainly rare and, when tian ying is being quite honest with herself, it's a little frightening. she can observe the way tianfeng's resolve sharpens his expression down and garners an unwelcome intensity to his aura. "i'll make sure you're gone by week's end."

#ᰍ　｡　𝘁𝗶𝗮𝗻 𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴 　──　 𝒕𝗁𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗌.#feat.　tianfeng #mysticcls

dexxcinesis

✶ 　𓏼　 𝑪𝑳𝑶𝑺𝑬𝑫 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐑 [ . . . ] @okultists .

█ ⎯⎯⠀ 𝗶𝗻𝘀𝗽𝗶𝗿𝗲𝗱 𝗯𝘆 THIS .

the oldest diner of saint helen sat crouched at the edge of the county line, a rusted ribcage of chrome and corrugated tin sinking slowly into the red clay. to the passing traveler, it was a low-slung predator in the tall grass; but tired and wasting away. a long time ago, this diner would have caught the attention of tourists, serve it's purpose and help with the town's economy. it was built with that in mind, a pretty woven web to grab more money than that place ever deserved. now ... now there's no one else here but locals. and to the locals, this place was a clock that had stopped ticking decades ago, preserving a singular, greasy moment in time.

rhyannon always picked the farthest place within the booth seatings. close to the jukebox, a silent monument to a forgotten liturgy. its neon tubes bled a bruised purple onto the floorboards, illuminating the dust motes that danced in the stagnant air like microscopic debris in a silted pond. she didn't know if it still worked. her church prohibited contact with certain types of music. her church, the same one the townspeople called a cult; which made everyone look at rhyannon like she was some brainwashed naive girl.

❝ sorry. this place is trash. but it's the only one that still lets me in. ❞ she shrugs, fingers playing with the sleeves of her jacket. in front of her, the only one in saint helen that would talk to her aside from the church members. colton. he's fucking weird, but rhyannon couldn't be picky. and ... maybe she liked it. maybe she was the weird one here. myers liked to talk to him because it was easy to judge him; to say anything she wants to because the man didn't seem bothered in the slightest by the things leaving her mouth and she didn't really care about what someone like him would think. ❝ you ... you want to order something ? ❞

she cleans her throat awkwardly, averting her gaze to the window. outside, the southern evening begins to press its heavy chest against the glass. the humidity blurred everything. rhyannon wasn't interested in the view anyways, but it makes it awfully obvious now that she's avoiding looking at colton. it's always like this. faking normalcy, pretending this is supposed to be two friends hanging out before rhyannon finally founds the courage to speak about what matters.

❝ it happened again. it's ... shifting and getting angrier ... i don't know what to do. what should i do ? ❞ she told him it was something divine trapped inside of her. rhyannon can only hope he believed it, because she's not so sure. if she was, this would be a conversation to be had in her church. a miracle. but she's terrified of it being something else.

okultists

an outsider wouldn't venture far into saint helen's without encountering the graves surname. prominent, for how many generations have witnessed saint helen's infancy, it's prosperity, and it's gradual decline. caroline mae, colton's grandmother, was once considered to have more influence than the town's politicians — but years have crept up on her, leaving the matriarch with little more to do than gossip. it's just colton and his grandmother now, no parents in sight, and a brother he never knew that left saint helens in the rearview. clammy afternoons spent drinking lukewarm iced tea on a worn porch with flaking paint, listening to his grandmother trill over who said what in an old friend's company while he slinks back, a silent observer with nothing much to offer the conversation beyond, i'm doing fine, yourself? it's during one of these meetings that colton first caught rhyannon's name and whimpers of: what a shame on that poor, naive girl.

colton roils the memory from the back of his conscious as he stands outside the diner, the humid evening without a breath of wind. eyes, a shock of ice-blue, trace the diner's lifeless cursive before settling on rhyannon's figure inside smeared glass. he grimaces. just because the place is a relic doesn't mean it shouldn't be cleaned, he thinks as he pushes the door open with some caution.

inside, the diner buzzes with muted energy, quiet but somehow breathing. like a carcass; no traces of a soul, an active decay only kept alive by maggots. ancient posters frame the wall, once vibrant colours bleached from exposure to the sun. the day's earlier heat has drained colton which leaves him a little dazed. when he reaches the table he slumps into the splintered chair without ceremony and without greeting.

"i've seen worse," he says, but actively struggles to think of an inferior example. "the zapper adds a nice touch to the ambiance." colton makes a small gesture towards the aforementioned machine, coated in thick layers of grime, full with charred bug corpses. he then watches her play with her sleeves, aware of her apprehension and keeping the information in his pocket for later. something tugs at him in the curious need for a cigarette, though it's likely the diner's fragrance of what can only be described as old man: heavy with tobacco and the undercurrent of alcohol. he ponders what the 'ole caroline mae would have to say, if she found out her prim and proper grandson was loitering around a place like this, with a girl like that. the fan above them creeks with age, electric motor giving it's final whirs. colton shivers when he thinks about how much dust would coat his finger if he dragged it along the blades.

"you're not winning any popularity contests, are you?" he asks sardonically, leaning back in the chair with a low squeak to consider her question. this place wasn't always terrible, in fact, he's got a few memories here from a time when he was younger — more innocent. it's almost enough to make him order a plate of fries for old time's sake, but when he considers what might be living in his food, the hands that might handle it, his stomach churns. "i'll pass. you're welcome to, though. don't let me spoil your fun in the only place that lets you in." he laughs, quite genuinely.

the man tilts his head, frizzy copper curls shifting on broad shoulders, in the direction of rhyannon's gaze through the window, dusk's coral brilliance muted through waves of heat and cigarette smoke. it's probably the only place in town that still allows indoor smoking because they can't afford to be picky with their customers. he waits, patient, knowing. when the question finally strikes, a lighter's metal wheel on flint, colton exhales his patience. "there's nothing you can do. besides, i'm not the one who can decide that for you: make your own decisions and be confident with them. i'll give you this — what satiates it, what does this thing have an appetite for?"

colton believes in the supernatural — he serves it, acts as it's crimson hand. the graves have a past entwined with the town's darkest act, know it's disgusting secrets, the ones that scream under the swamp's surface unheard. colton's not sure what occupies rhyannon's body — whether or not it's wicked, or truly divine. a thought flickers behind his eyes like candlelight. "...are you willing to hurt someone, rhyannon?"

#ᰍ　｡　𝗰𝗼𝗹𝘁𝗼𝗻 　──　 𝒕𝗁𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗌.#feat.　rhyannon #dexxcinesis #we are SO back..#ive decided to make colton Slightly younger in this verse #maybe just turned 30 #can u tell he's a neat freak :/#ill give u the lore in dms! we dont have 2 be faithful to it but #its fun for a guieline + gives u insight into colton's family :D #I LOVE U RHYANNONNNNN #he's DEFINITELY wondering if it's the heron #which is why he's like DO U CRAVE VIOLENCE . BE HONEST!#went crazy went stupid with the length sawwwwrryyy i'll cut it down next time trust #just a girl + her freak who's probably about to be a loyal dog to her if the heron's actually inside her ou!

cryptinspo

𝗗𝗔𝗥𝗞 𝗙𝗔𝗜𝗥𝗬𝗧𝗔𝗟𝗘 / 𝗚𝗥𝗜𝗠𝗠 𝗜𝗡𝗦𝗣𝗜𝗥𝗘𝗗 𝗣𝗥𝗢𝗠𝗣𝗧𝗦 !

❝ the forest listens child, and it remembers. ❞ ❝ don’t touch the thorns unless you wish to bleed for her. ❞ ❝ she promised me a crown of bones, and i said yes. ❞ ❝ keep smiling, wolves don’t like unhappy meals. ❞ ❝ your shadow is walking faster than you. ❞ ❝ the well doesn’t echo; it whispers back. ❞ ❝ every mirror lies, except the broken one. ❞ ❝ the prince isn’t asleep, he’s waiting. ❞ ❝ if you hear music in the trees, run. ❞ ❝ she braided her hair with human veins. ❞ ❝ he swallowed the moon, and now he can’t die. ❞ ❝ the feast is for you… and of you. ❞ ❝ they buried me under the roots, but i grew back. ❞ ❝ the wolf asked me to wear red. ❞ ❝ the fairy’s gift was teeth. ❞ ❝ mother said never to stray from the path, but the path itself moved beneath my feet. ❞ ❝ the witch’s cottage smells of sugar and smoke, but it is the silence inside that makes me afraid. ❞ ❝ he said he would marry me when the roses bloomed black, and this morning i found one in my bed. ❞ ❝ the king offers gold for my hand, but the shadows in his court offer freedom. ❞ ❝ i thought i was dancing with a handsome boy, until i saw the hooves beneath his cloak. ❞ ❝ the villagers smile when they give me bread, but their eyes linger on the knife at my throat. ❞ ❝ a wolf at my door is one thing, this one came wearing my father’s voice. ❞ ❝ when i kissed him, his lips were warm, but his heart was already soil. ❞ ❝ they told me the forest was cursed, yet the trees bowed as i entered. ❞ ❝ the queen said she loved me, but she keeps me locked in a tower of mirrors. ❞ ❝ i thought the song would save me, then i realized it was luring me to the river. ❞ ❝ his smile was kind, until i noticed the teeth were not his own. ❞ ❝ the fairy blessed me at birth, but i’ve been starving ever since. ❞ ❝ the beast asked me what i feared most; i answered, ‘becoming you’.❞ ❝ they told me the story ended happily, but i saw the blood beneath the wedding veil. ❞

#prompts.#specify muse!

OPEN!ㅤ ㅤ★ ㅤ ㅤlín qiángcái, a new demon hunter on a quest for revenge, has been training under your muse for some time to learn the basics and increase her power. unfortunately, she's impatient. open for masc, femme, nonbinary muses over twenty - one.

the mountain air is cool on qiángcái's face. perspiration clings to her forehead from a vigorous training session a half - hour ago and she perches outside the humble residence with a knife to peel a lotus root for dinner. other vegetables are held in a basket at her feet as dusk begins to fall, painting the sky in shades of lavender and coral, her favourite time to ponder the endless questions that plague her mind. "what did you think about my performance today?" voice barely more than a mumble, eyes downcast. "don't... you think i'm ready for more? you assign me these tasks that are so easy it's pitiful — i'm beginning to wonder if you think i'm not capable." the crisp scraping of qiángcái's knife increases in speed as she continues, "i don't mean any disrespect. i'm just frustrated with these techniques you're teaching me, even a child could master them..."

#indie rp starter #open starter #open rp starter #open indie rp #indie rp #indie fantasy rp #ᰍ　｡　𝗾𝗶𝗮𝗻𝗴𝗰𝗮𝗶 　──　 𝒕𝗁𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗌.#feat.　???

niziui

two sons live to bare the ji name, nation once prosperous under a king and his youngest — a fierce war general who'd taken the helm when asked of him. the eldest falls into limbo, trained alongside his brother but cast in the shadows. one stood under the sun, born for greatness. the other stood in overcast, reminder of his shortcomings. while the youngest deals with their land's turmoil, the oldest is sent into the arms of what had only been described to him with words he wouldn't be so callous to speak aloud. he's intended to be a pawn, weakened and brought to his knees for the sake of alliance. the problem is, yufeng had always had a terrible sense of pride. brazen and nothing but his grit to keep him standing. nothing to lose, everything to gain. there was no love in the palace he'd once called home — only turmoil that had spread beyond the royal grounds. a wiser man would heed tian ying's words. yet he's never been wise. instead he only knows to dig the knife deeper, to sink them both lower until the sun no longer shined and the familiar comfort of darkness consumed him. he won't yet admit her tricks might have the opposite effect — it would not be auspicious to unsettle his wife on the first day. future wife, of course. "i am neither noble nor timid." if not for a striking resemblance to his father, many would doubt his royal status. unkempt, not nearly so poised to be a prince. callouses roughed up from years of traveling, running in every direction he'd known of. eyes that gleam with too much mischief, taught to scheme rather than rule. challenging tian ying so early, someone with more power than him. "if you must waste your energy with tricks, by all means. i would only hate to see you disappointed." the tip of his tongue mocks, somewhat of a grin offered alongside double edged words. "i respect you. i'm have no doubt if anyone stood in my place, you'd face no problem unbinding them from you." he's sincere in that much. a formidable force she was. in another life, perhaps he would have pursued her more earnestly. instead heavy words spoken by the princess herself only make him smile, silently taking a sip. "how ... romantic." a full fledged smile forms over usually sullen and abrasive features, amused with warning surely meant to scare him. "if you want me to run, sinking closer to me sounds a bit counterproductive." he is unlike tian ying, reputation of nothing more than the eldest, yet fiercely independent prince. his own tricks remain spoken at nothing more than a whisper, contemptuous nature only unraveled when one got close enough. yet his true nature seeps through his skin, from the glint in his eyes to the way his lips curl upward. he doesn't bother to pretend in the presence of someone he doesn't plan to leave. "you mistake me," he corrects. "the only game i intend to play is your own." for now. an omission he'd deem necessary. best to tackle one test at a time, for one day yufeng believes they'd have plenty of time for a new one to be started. "i wish you good luck, tian ying. some day, you'll come to realize you may need it."

okultists

it must be confessed: where others might've come across whispers pertaining to yufeng's lineage, the princess was instead oblivious. their once prosperous nation was a tale likely more familiar to her father. she does not know the first thing about ji yufeng, only that he's an enemy to her independence and an obstacle in her way. in many nights to come, the princess would inquire with scholars on yufeng's kingdom and dispatch a small number of scouts to gather more intimate details on the man and his family. where there is nothing to be found, tian ying's mind will occupy the blanks with speculation.

"then how would you describe yourself?" there's a spark of curiosity that strikes tian ying like a match, a surprise to both parties no doubt. they are both wrought with mischief, despite this, tian ying continues to believe that she is somehow better than yufeng — that her schemes are lily - white, incomparable, on a higher moral ground. "impudent, selfish... mundane?" dark eyes make a critical descent down yufeng's person, lingering on the callouses and the imperfections he wears. "i was not aware that my father's hopes were so sunken that we would allow people in from the street. you are not worthy, prince yufeng, not worthy an alliance with us, nor are you worthy of my time and tricks. save yourself the humiliation and save me the endeavour. return to your kingdom now and perhaps i'll be merciful enough to send aid to your kingdom for a time."

the princess turns her back, glides away on lacquered wood as if she were a swan with her head held high, gilded silk chasing slow footfalls like ripples in the water. it was cruel, picking out his flaws like spun thread — but she must be merciless to preserve her dignity and free-will. there's a droplet of sympathy weighing her down. she cannot face yufeng after renouncing him so vehemently. in truth, the appearance matters little to tian ying, it's instead the soul that captures her attention.

the princess comes to an eventual stop across the room, still facing the opposite direction. the announcement of yufeng's respect rearranges tian ying's features into a frown, the soft curves to her face illuminated in the flickering, golden warmth of candle-light. the flame burns into her vision as she wanders from her mind. unbinding ... the expression stirs the princess' heart. threads woven into a knot, more than a simple crossing, a promised parting; to be interlaced, entwined, woven into the same gorgeous tapestry. where does one come to and end and where does the other begin?

she lets out a hollow breath and spins to face him, with astonishment and wide eyes. "romantic?" she gawks. what in the world? there's no words. none. goose pear incense smoulders for long, undisturbed paces before the princess can even think to speak. the languid breath of time comes to pass. "you are a madman, ji yufeng, and you overstep your bounds. if there's even a fraction of rationality left within you, consider my earlier proposal.. go back home." her chest constricts like the wind's been knocked from her. there's an unspoken promise on his well-wishes, the power shifts from tian ying for a moment, tangible and chilling.

#ᰍ　｡　𝘁𝗶𝗮𝗻 𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴 　──　 𝒕𝗁𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗌.#feat. yufeng #hypontize #ur writing prowess far exceeds mine i fear..#i think a fake freak just met a real freak Ou...#I MIGHT!! shorten myself after this because it takes me 5 Million years to gather the Mindset to respond to longer threads ACK!

tiantangs

@okultists // cont. from here !

as is tradition among the zhūyàn apes of xiǎocì mountain, every tall tale begins with the same three words: 我听说 ...

wāng líng, of course, is not a zhūyàn ape --- as far as he knows, he's a mere human, crafted of far weaker stuff than they are --- but he's nevertheless come to enjoy these little idiosyncrasies. it was only last night that he'd sat huddled by the warmth of a roaring fire, listening to the rhythmic cadence of his big brother's knife as he whittled the end of a stick down to a fine point. even though his ruined eyes could make out little more than the light of the flames, a splotch of brightness against the dark of surrounding night, the surrounding ambiance was enough to piece together a picture in his mind anyway: cheerful conversations wafting over from the next clan's camp; the sound of crickets chirping and owls hooting up in the treetops; the crispness of an autumn night, chilly air heady with smoke; the occasional sound of xiāo yǔxiē spitting some leaf he'd taken up chewing lately.

" 我听说 ... " yǔxiē had begun conspiratorially ( wāng líng had imagined what his big brother's naughty grin might look like, and smiled to himself at the thought ), " 那个南亨村有一个倍儿顽之小竹妖。你知道吗？"

wāng líng's lips formed a little 'o' of surprise: " 珠妖？"

" 是啊，她拙笨得很，她的方法都成灾了。太可笑了，对吧？" yǔxiē laughed to himself. his knife flicked against the stick again, a bit more forcefully this time. " 但是我也听说，那个南亨村也有很好吃之东西 … 我太饿了。如果我们邂逅她而她给我们带来捣乱，那我就会绷扒吊拷她吧。不过阿弟，你听我说：无论发生什么事儿了，你必须置身我身边。你视力太差咯，如果敌人来了，那你该怎么办啊？都由哥哥了，我一定会保护你。好吧？"

--- when wāng líng had promised he'd stay right there by his brother's side, he'd really meant it. he had: until he'd heard the sound of a brook trickling somewhere in the distance, of a bird singing to its mate. and he'd wandered off again, as he's always been so wont to do. which leads to now: wāng líng, wide-eyed and blinking at some angry voice whose face he can't make out, whose shape is little more than a blur of something-else set against a backdrop of green. "you've got it all wrong !" he pleads, frightened, his hands held up in a gesture of surrender. "i just didn't think you were real ! i've never heard of --- "

from somewhere in the trees above, there's a terrible crashing sound. xiāo yǔxiē seems to materialize as if out of thin air, face red with fury, fangs bared, sword drawn. he leaps down from the canopy and springs to wāng líng's side, pushing him protectively behind his own body with such force that wāng líng tumbles to the ground, bashing his knee against a gnarled tree-root as he falls.

" 我，萧雨歇，来看看到底是谁敢吓唬我弟弟了！竹妖，你找死！投降吧，还是我并不惜杀了你啊！" he snarls. though his appearance is human, the air around him is thick with the unusual energy of something that is neither human nor demon.

wāng líng, his face scrunched with pain, knees bleeding, throws an arm out in the direction of yǔxiē's ankles. " 哥哥不要啊！别伤害她！" he pleads, horrified, before twisting around to cry out: " 珠妖，快逃跑啊！"

okultists

⸻ when the bamboo demon was still young, a long time ago ...

the scarlet earth pavilion's (绯地亭) back hallways are dark and silent, shadows obscure shànhé's figure in a cold embrace as chaos unfolds in the distance, voices thunderous as the roaring of a thousand lions. a rogue breeze delivers a metallic fragrance to the bamboo demon's nose, which curls with disgust upon recognition, weapons clatter earthbound, brothers and sisters collapse with a harsh and lifeless weight. shànhé's entire body trembles with each step crept, tiny legs stiff as a board each time she dares to put one forward. the sect collapses inward, a beast devouring it's own skin for nourishment. wails pollute midnight as the heavens darken above, turning it's gaze from the tragedy that unfolds below. radiant flashes of magic explode through the courtyard like fireworks, vibrant in their hue, yet made impure with an energy from a more sinister origin.

⸻ then, suddenly, a beautiful song that drowns the violent wails from the little demon's ears. the heavens turn their back, but a mysterious force guides shànhé to safety from the sect's inward massacre. a woman's melodious, warm voice that expels the darkness and comforts the child's racing heart. time blurs, memories fade over time, as the demon grows older she wonders if the voice was real. one recollection has never escaped shànhé's grasp, though: her small, chubby hand wrapping around the very instrument she carries now. a raven flute, made from an untraditional choice of wood, sprouting tiny constellations of osmanthus. then, silence.... true silence as the world slips away and wet lashes flutter down on damp cheeks.

time can't draw a breath between shànhé's confusion at wāng líng's fear and something hidden in the trees crashing above. head snaps towards the noise, an unwelcome electric shock of surprise that seizes shànhé's body for a moment and causes her to lower the weapon. the very extremes of her eyes can be seen with how wide and alert they are, but the only thing the bamboo demon sees before xiāo yǔxiē's crimson face is a blur from the trees onto the ground. the combination of a drawn sword and sharp fangs are enough to make shànhé's breath tighten and rethink her choices. she blanches on the spot, a few steps taken back as wāng líng's knee cracks against root, which crumples the bamboo demon's expression in pity. "yo— you— you're a punk who isn't any better!" she exclaims, pointing an accusing finger at wāng líng on the ground. "look at what you've done to your dìdì, even if you're protecting him, that's rotten!"

make no mistake, xiāo yǔxiē's energy doesn't remain unnoticed. it punctuates him in the environment, an unmissable force to be reckoned with. shànhé's bravery comes from what gives a comfortable weight to her palm, it's sleek surface tight in her grip. the bamboo demon gulps as wāng líng pleads and her stomach makes an awful churn. would she be able to fight xiāo yǔxiē? she's becoming more uncertain that even her flute would ensure victory, confidence trickling away from her along with the complexion in her face. everything drains from shànhé and sinks to her feet, which dance like she's not sure where to place them. she takes another look at his sword, the way it glimmers in the light with promise. sweat collects on her forehead and, before shànhé can take wāng líng's warning....

the bamboo demon is on the ground like a flash of lightning, forehead against dewy tufts of emerald grass as knees create divots in the soil. "please forgive my transgressions against your dìdì, o'great and mysterious stranger!" her voice wails like she's crying, loud enough to scare birds from the trees. "i, wú shànhé, am no match against your strength, and have reflected earnestly on my wrongdoings! i was only scared and reacting to save myself!" she clamps her eyes shut and crawls closer to xiāo yǔxiē's feet. humiliation can dawn on her later, right now? she needs to grovel. and sell the exaggeration. "please forgive me and leave my village in peeaacee!" voice wavers and shànhé lifts a green leaf to her nose and blows on it. she rubs at her eyes to make them red and puffy, mainly to elicit more sympathy. "mysterious dìdì, please accept my earnest apology! i promise to live a quiet life from now on!"

#ᰍ　｡　𝘀𝗵𝗮𝗻𝗵𝗲 　──　 𝒕𝗁𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗌.#feat.　wang ling #tiantangs #can You tell she is written as a Comedy character..#with a Touch of seriousness #Grovel Grovel Grovel ..

my queue has now been filled, huzzah! my writing candle has also extinguished itself just as i wrote my final response, which i'm taking as a symbolic gesture to conclude over a month of playing catch - up. apologies to those who waited, as i know some of you have waited over two months just for a response. if i've responded to a thread you're no longer interested in, there's no hard feelings. in the meantime? i'll treat myself to updating my muse list! have a good week, guys. my queue will be running until saturday.

#oorp.#helleur!!#maybe even an open .. oo?

the rumours are true! i've been productive with my weekend and i've gone through some drafts! the catch is... unable to do them all. i'll be keeping the ones i've written in my drafts until i can complete them this weekend, then i'll queue them up and .. fingers crossed .. have better management over them. have a lovely week, moots! ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́

#update.

We meet at last. I confess, the rumors did not prepare me for the reality.

[ for wu shanhe, from wang ling ( 汪泠 ) ! ]

an unexpected meeting, on the outskirts of home: nánhēng village (南亨村) sleeps undisturbed in rolling hills, with it's expansive terrace fields and peaceful way of life. several plum blossoms line the way to their entrance, lanterns in unique shapes and colours illuminate the earthen path and gesture weary travellers inside. plumes of smoke from family-owned restaurants coils into the air, it's rich scent mingles with the sweetness of outside blossoms and stretches up beyond the mountains. the people are quiet, they welcome visitors with open arms and display their warmth through shared meals.

despite this, villagers have been attacked as they travel through the hills from neighbouring towns, their precious treasures and recent purchases stolen in the disorienting cloak of night.

wú shànhé, a bamboo demon, has undertaken the responsibility of ensuring safe passage, with the hope they might one day accept her as their own — that luck would be on her side, that she could finally taste one of those delicious meals she so often catches on the breeze. though, shànhé's methods with protection have been... catastrophic, to say the least.

which lends the reason why shànhé trembles at wāng líng's acknowledgement, body flush upon coarse bark, cautious expression peering out from behind the tree. there's a silent strength in the air, one that knocks the little demon entirely on edge. has this person come to reclaim the artifact she stole? the nervous demon gulps. "wh-- who dares to spread rumours about me!" she squeaks, tremulous fingers dive into draping sleeves, procuring an unassuming, worn flute.

the wind picks up as she makes a daring move — she charges forward, albeit cautiously, holding the flute out like a weapon. vibrant petals swirl with wisps of ink hair. the demon declares, "if you're here to cause trouble, then you'll have to swim home with amount of tears you'll cry once i'm done!"

#ᰍ　｡　𝘀𝗵𝗮𝗻𝗵𝗲 　──　 𝒕𝗁𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗌.#feat.　wang ling #she's just nervous! whoops!#hope this is ok! i will shorten myself likely because i was giving background hehe..#im severely hoping that made up village name translates well #a little bit of bullying As a Treat xo

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