I THOUGHT IF I COULD RETRIEVE THE PAST I LOST ... my joy would be as genuine as yours. and perhaps, i'd have a real chance to share in that happiness of yours. ( a child can dream. ) like ordinary boys, we would share our visions of tomorrow with each other, and we would laugh at how far away it all seemed.
little did i know ... that felicity came with forgetting. it was a bliss born of ignorance.
ππππππππ ... as adored by vic, is an independent, selective, and fairly limited activity multifandom multimuse writing blog hosting both canon and original muses from various fandoms and medias. in character and out of character activity based on availability, desire and inspiration to be online. ( currently hosting: qifrey, of witch hat atelier. ) conduct and roster below the cut. this blog is always a work in progress. boards. prompts. sideblog. interest.
βΈ»Β Β Β Β CONDUCT.
i work fifty hour weeks and often have little time or energy to write. this is a hobby to me, and this blog will likely be on constant low or fluctuating activity levels. i tend to be most active early in the week.
don't be a freak. any freak behavior will get you blocked. i soft block to break mutuals and ask you do the same at minimum. i clean out my following list often. iβm selective with who i choose to follow and ask that you not continue to follow me if youβre removed from my blog. i'm very likely to soft block if i notice you blog hop constantly.
i use light formatting and no icons. i make graphics when i get the inkling. this is a low stress and effort space focused more on the writing than the blog's appearance, though i like to keep it cute. starter calls are posted sporadically but inbox prompts are the easiest way to facilitate interaction. you don't need to specify what muse of mine you're liking for, but other multis must specify which of their muses they're liking for.
i delete starters that haven't been replied to after a month. we can always discuss writing a new one later. i'm not afraid to drop threads that do not spark joy, but will usually reach out to discuss starting a new one. i delete asks that sit in my inbox for longer than three months.
i add and remove muses from my roster frequently. if i remove a muse you're engaged with, i'll reach out to discuss a new interaction or continuing on discord if applicable. muses are sometimes put on hiatus when the want to write them is still there but a break is needed.
this blog is multiship, but shipping is not my priority. i love it as much as the next person, but it's not the only dynamic i love. nsfw content may rarely appear and be discussed on the dash. other distressing content may appear, and will always be tagged appropriately.
vic. 24. suffering veterinary technician student. she and her. i work four shifts a week, each thirteen hours long, at a large emergency veterinary hospital. i'm tired!
βΈ»Β Β Β Β ROSTER.
( asterisks denotes muses of focus. ) click underlined character names for completed biographies. muse fluctuates frequently, and delayed responses is not a reflection of my desire to write with you, but rather a lack of muse inspiration.
anyway some good news. i start a new job soon! $3 pay raise and about half an hour off my commute. iβm hoping the decrease in stress will help me get my writing juice back β€οΈ
EYES WIDEN AS THEY WANDER; a short survey confirms no grievous injuries, but his admission spurs a second look. Hands steady his shoulders, careful not to squeeze or sway him. "Why are you embarrassed? You did amazing!" Neela declares, though she only has scraps of the story from the rest of the support crew, "Brave and quick-thinking! Wow! It's amazing you're not seriously hurt! Must be because you're so good at what you do!"
Thumbs sweep the front of his shoulders, administering a quick knead with the pads of her thumb. "Hey, heyβhave a seat and relax, please. Let me help you with that soreness, okay? That way, you can rest up and feel well enough to keep us safe tomorrow, too." Lips stretch to a smile, granting a glimpse at the gap between her front teeth. "Whaddya say?"
FOR A MOMENT, follo looks like he does not know what to do with that much praise all at once. it catches him visibly off guard βΈ» embarrassment colors the line of his smile again instead of easing it. his hand rises halfway, as though to wave the whole thing off, then thinks better of it when her hands settle at his shoulders. " that's ... kind of you to say. " the words come a touch softer than before, careful and warm and just a little uneven around the edges. " i'm not sure i deserve quite that much credit. i was only doing what anyone should have. "
the quick knead earns the faintest hitch of breath. not pain exactly, but enough soreness to betray itself. ( follo exhales through his nose and glances toward the chair with all the resignation of someone realizing he has, in fact, lost this argument several times over already. ) then he relents, easing himself down at last with measured care that says the ache is worse than he's been letting on. " alright. " his gold eyes lift back to hers, gentled by that bright smile of hers in spite of himself. " i'll sit still and be sensible, since apparently that's what everyone wants from me today. "
LIPS LURCH back toward his ears. A stray swipe catches frosting lingering around his lips. Shit. Well . . . there goes his last chance at plausible deniability. He remembers distinctly telling Rudo that asking for forgiveness after the fact is a better route than pleading for permission. The memory reverberates in his ears as he stands opposite Tamsy.
βMy bad, my badβ slick syllables slide off his silver tongue with ease β this exit strategy is clearly well-rehearsed. βIβll getcha a new one, okay? Promise!β The offer comes with a ( dismissive ) swat at the air. βShoulda seen it though, had to fight Rudo for that last wedge. Kid was ready gnaw my arm off to get it! I think we created a monsterβ
" MY BAD, " tamsy repeats softly, not quite mockery, but bordering contempt. tokushin rests against his shoulder, its thread wound neat and still, though one pale hand shifts where his fingers curl around the distaff's wooden length. ( the motion is idle enough to be mistaken for nothing. ) his eyes remain fixed on enjin's mouth for a second too long before lifting, placid and bright and unreadable. " what an interesting apology. "
a pause as his head tilts just slightly, blue dark lengths of hair sliding against the front of his coat. " you can replace it, if you'd like. " he says it gently, but the teeth aren't hidden. " same flavor. same size. same shop, if you remember it. " a pause. " and since rudo was apparently willing to gnaw off your arm for the last piece, you may want to bring one for him as well. before the monster learns to hunt independently. "
β Not worth your time, yet you're wasting both of ours, β Jabber riposted, followed by an incredulous laugh. β Make it make sense. β The thrill of a fresh altercation died with Zodyl's meager attempt at an insult, laden with hypocrisy. Raiders were never the intelligent type; no doubt the ones lost today had been easily swayed by whatever word vomit had been spewed in their direction. It rolled off Jabber's back with ease, however. β If you can, anyway. Talking βbout βposture β when your ghouls were the ones who jumped me, and I took outβ β With dramatic flair, he pointed to the wasted bodies littered about, mouthing numbers as he counted. β βALL of βem. And whatβd you do? β
Their gazes met and held steadfast, equals in their newfound disdain for one another. What a disappointment. The man before him wore leadership like a cheap costume, intimidation like a mask; underneath, a shell, empty and not worth the effort. β You can talk your shit all you want, but men are what they are because of what they do, not what they say. β Jabber gave Zodyl one last bored, cursory once-over, then turned away. A hand flung up as a quick farewell, his words carrying over his shoulder. β Get outta my face before I put your ass down with the restβ¦ β
ZODYL LETS HIM TURN AWAY. that is the first insult: no hand snapping out to catch him, no immediate correction, no visible offense taken at the dismissal thrown carelessly over one shoulder. there is only the dry shift of dirt under jabber's feet, the ragged quiet of bodies that no longer had the strength to make noise, and zodyl's eyes fixed on his back with the same flat patience one might give a thing deemed worth dissecting. ( not anger or pride, instead, something far colder than either. ) jabber's words settle between them and fail to stir anything human. a pause follows, thin as wire. then zodyl speaks. " then do it. "
the words do not crack across the space like a challenge so much as they are placed there with deliberate care, heavy and plain and impossible to pretend he hadn't heard. " put me down. " his head tilts by the smallest degree, sunken eyes narrowing with that same severe focus. they pass over jabber again, not as a man sizing up an equal, but as a researcher deciding whether there is enough left to justify another trial. the wasted bodies around them receive no glance of grief, no anger on their behalf. either way, the conclusion had already been written. " you want to be hit so badly. " there is no mockery in his voice. only observation. clean and clinical and cruel. " earn it. "
then zodyl takes one step forward. not threatening in the obvious way jabber seemed so eager for. just enough to close the distance by a measure, enough for his shadow to shift long over the dirt. ( enough to make the offer feel less like mercy and more like permission being withheld. ) his expression remains unchanged save for the hard line of his mouth, as if even this much conversation is already testing the limits of his patience. " hit me. " his gaze fixes on jabber's face. " if you can. until then, you're only making noise. "
SENDER reassures RECEIVER during a panic attack. / olly for qifrey
QIFREY DOES NOT ANSWER AT FIRST. it is not for lack of trying. his mouth parts like he means to say something sharp, something dismissive, some neat little excuse to put distance back where it belongs βΈ» but nothing useful comes of it. breath catches halfway in, splinters apart in his chest, and the next inhale is worse for having been attempted at all. he has one hand braced hard against the nearest surface, knuckles pale beneath the glove, the other drawn in too close to himself as though he can somehow hold the shaking still by force alone. ( humiliating. more than that. unacceptable. and yet olruggio is still there. that, more than anything, is what finally gets through the noise of it. ) his head dips, hair falling forward to shadow most of his face, but not before the strain of it shows plainly βΈ» the tightness gathered around his eyes, the way his jaw locks as if he resents every visible sign of weakness his body is betraying him with. when he does manage to speak, his voice comes out frayed around the edges, quieter than qifrey ever allows it to be.
" don't. " he stops, swallows, and tries again. " don't look at me like that. " it is a useless objection. he knows it the moment it leaves him. not because olruggio will mock him. he will not. but because that gentleness is somehow harder to bear than pity would have been. qifrey's fingers curl tighter, trembling once despite himself. his breathing is still uneven, still too fast, but now it has something to follow, some point to return to besides the dizzying pitch of his own thoughts. " i know, " he says after a moment, barely above a murmur, though whether he means i know what youβre saying or i know youβre here is left frustratingly unclear. very carefully, as though the motion costs him more pride than he would ever confess, he lifts his gaze just enough to find olruggio's face. there is something raw in the look he gives him then βΈ» strained, defensive, and terribly human beneath all that careful polish. " i am trying. "
another breath. still shaky. still imperfect. but this one makes it all the way in. qifrey closes his eyes for the span of a heartbeat, centering himself around the sound of olruggioβs voice, around the maddening steadiness of him, and when he finds it in himself to speak again there is the faintest crack in the composure he usually wears so flawlessly. " just β¦ " his hand loosens from where it had clenched so hard, hovering for an instant in indecision before finally catching, lightly but unmistakably, at the hem of olruggio's sleeve. " stay there. "
Thieves. It's what they were. It's what they'd been called since they'd joined up with the guy, and though it had been really hard at times, things weren't ... awful. It was possible, but they were a band of thieves, and it was always that they needed to steal enough for all of them. It's the only way they would be able to survive, but... It looked like things were going to change.
Looking up from where he stood, ultramarine eyes regarded the stranger--dark eyed, dark haired--before he moved to speak, "What would we be to you then?" What was there to fix?
ZODYL LETS THE QUESTION SIT THERE A MOMENT. not because it deserves thought, but because he wants the room to feel how small it is. his gaze drifts over the speaker, then past him, taking in the rest by implication alone. ( hungry mouths. quick hands. people used to scraping survival out of whatever's left behind. ) there's nothing dismissive in the way he looks at them: that would've required him to expect more first. " useful. " he says at last, like the answer should've been obvious ... one word, dropped into the space between them with the weight of a verdict.
' hey , it's none of my business what it's meant to be . ' with his retort as sharp as the crack of a whip and the rest of him just as ready to start digging into the threads by his teeth , his eyes roll . his mind's already forcing his body to remain still despite everything --- the adrenal alarm , the constricting discomforts , the temptation to give this quiet n' shifty fucker the absolute scare of their life by turning into them just to really see whether or not it was the strings or their supposed handler spinning around him .
strings were just as subtle and warning a tell as that hush of restraint . he's never once trusted anyone with a penchant for shit like this : shackles and bindings , the preference of spiders and doll - makers and kidnappers all alike . at least the occasional nurse could toss a handful of needles , but something like this ? he's sure it's a lie . guilty until proven otherwise , this was all part of some freak fetish that he had managed to get himself wrapped up into . still , past the initial razor edge of sarcasm and the raised hackle of hairs on the back of his neck , he doesn't bite . he'd play along as long as it got him out in the very end --- and with what he hoped might be the least amount of trouble and violence . ' you like finger traps ? ' deep breaths , now . ' i think you'd have a great time with one or two of 'em . '
" WHAT A ... CURIOUS CONCLUSION. " no offense or surprise. just the smallest indication that something in it has been taken, turned over, and set neatly aside for later. his head tilts slightly, birdlike, the visage of a hawk up on a powerline that's just spotted lunch. not to the other's face, but to the way he holds himself so deliberately still. ( the sharpened sarcasm. the swallowed instinct. the decision, conscious and constant, not to lunge where lesser men already would have. ) every detail is catalogued with the same patient precision as the tension in the line itself. the silence stews for a long moment, little more than the sounds of an empty backhouse. a step closer is taken with that same unbothered ease, untroubled by proximity or by the obvious distrust coiled between them. " and a rather mundane thought process. " the faintest curl of something rotten touches his voice again βΈ» far too restrained to be called amusement, but present all the same.
his eyes flick, brief as a blade's glint, beyond him: to the corridor stretching deeper into the hideout, the thick walls, the dim turns. the kind of place no outsider simply stumbles into and mistakes for somewhere harmless. " i'll present a more interesting question. " soft and conversational, as though the answer matters far more than the insult did. " you're deep enough inside this building that the walls would swallow a scream before it found the front entrance. " the words land lightly, absent of any need to sharpen them further. " so tell me ... was there a reason you came this far in, or were you under the impression that no one would notice? "
"It would suit them." Olruggio nods. If Qifrey was the calm of the tides, and Olruggio the warmth of the sun, then he supposed that made the girls the air in between. Just as vital to life as the two of them were to each other.
Olruggio laughs, leaning further into Qifrey's side as he smiles up at him. "Dutiful as ever. The girls are lucky to have such an observant teacher. And one who cares so much about their work." He watches Qifrey adjust his glasses, then reaches a hand up, finger sliding over the indent left in their place. "You ought to leave those off for a bit. Once the girls have gone to bed."
An expression somewhere between intrigued and impressed crosses his features as he looks back to them, "Third supper? You'd think they've never been fed a day in their lives." A scoff, and he gives a dramatized roll of his eyes. "You're stronger than I, that's for certain. I cave whenever they give me those pleading faces. Got me wrapped around their little fingers. But they learned from the best, haven't they?"
Head tilts as he sighs, and begins tying back his sleeves. "Alright, then, change of plans. You will call the girls in for bed. I will get to preparing a meal for both of us. Something nice and hearty. And if you're amenable, perhaps something to drink? We can look over their seals together. Make sure there are no others left to... surprise us?"
" AH, HAVE I BEEN FOUND OUT SO EASILY? " the teasing accusation is met with something light. qifrey's lips curve faintly at the corner, the expression brief but genuine enough to soften the edges of him. ( wrapped, perhaps. though he would argue it is a mutual arrangement. ) when olruggio leans, he does not pull away from the touch, the brush of fingers against the mark his glasses leave behind drawing a quiet stillness through him. his eyes close for half a second longer than a blink ought to last, the pressure behind them easing just enough to be noticeable. " mm. perhaps i should. " murmured and thoughtful, as though the idea had not already crossed his mind several times and been dismissed each time in favor of work.
" though if i do, you'll have to forgive any inaccuracies i make. " a tilt of his head accompanies it, just shy of teasing. " i would be forced to rely on instinct alone. a dangerous prospect. " his gaze shifts back toward the girls, their orbit beginning to falter now βΈ» steps less synchronized, laughter a touch more breathless. it does not escape him. it never does. " thank you. " he adds, though the fondness is difficult to miss. it slips out almost absently, but there is weight to it all the same. ( for the food. for the company. for the offer that does not need to be named to be understood. ) qifrey straightens, subtle but deliberate, the moment folding neatly back into motion.
" i am amenable, and would appreciate your eye on them. there are always details one risks overlooking. " decisive now, though no less gentle for it. he steps forward, just enough to begin closing the distance toward the girls, voice lifting slightly as it carries across the yard. four sets of feet, begrudged as they are, start making their way inside. qifrey is pretty sure he's already hearing demands for the fire witch's famed bedtime story.
A VIGOROUS NOD bobs her head as he speaks. Shoulder pain β her eyes magnetize to the site β aaaand side pain; her sepia stare swoops to the area in response. It would be a lie to say she had not been searching his face for any signs of discomfort or discoloration. Her hands hover on either side of his frame: she's afraid to make contact just yet. The last thing she wants is to exacerbate any pain.
After a moment, her nerves settle. It echoes in the subtle shift in her expression. From alarm to concern, and finally, reassurance. "I'm sure you're right," she affirms, the statement punctuated by the gentle cupping of his face. "But I'd like to make sure of that myself, okay?" One hand floats away from his cheek, pointing toward the bed. "Please have a seat."
FOLLO STILLS AT THE TOUCH. not because it hurts ... though it might, a little βΈ» but because the gesture is gentle in a way he clearly hadn't braced for. his lashes lower once, brief and startled, before that careful smile returns: softer and a touch more worn around the edges now. " ah ... " it comes out quiet and almost more sheepish than he means it to sound. " you and the others would get along terribly well. you all seem very determined to ignore my expert opinion. "
it is kind despite itself. always tries, even when he's being handled like something more fragile than he wants to admit. his hand lifts like he might catch her wrist and stop her, but he thinks better of it, and instead falls back to his side with a small exhale through his nose. " okay. " the word comes easy, if a little resigned. he moves toward the bed, his line of sight following the flow of her pointed finger. ( though carefully now that heβs been made aware of how closely sheβs looking. ) one hand braces at his side as he lowers himself to sit, posture neat by habit even with the strain tucked beneath it. his smile flickers back over at her after a beat. " just don't let them hear me say you were right. i'll never live it down. "
β Why you gotta ruin the moment, man? β Jabber mumbled from where he lay, spread eagle. Everything hurt deliciously, in all the right places, in all the right ways. He'd been in the middle of absolutely relishing the way his ribs ached with every breath, up until he was flatly interrupted. Groaning, he rolled away from the offensive nudge, climbing to his feet afterward.
β You seem pretty damn stupid, so how 'bout I try and do you? β At that, he sucked his teeth in mild vexation, glancing around at the various β grievances β he'd had to put down, although they'd been fun to play with at the time. They were obviously the other's lackeys, but why wasn't he already trying to crush Jabber like the rest had failed at? Inching back, he waited for the inevitable strike, a bout of excitement suddenly hatching in the pit of his stomach. Snickering, he taunted further, β C'mon, guide me along so I get you down juuuusst riiightβ¦ β
ZODYL DOESN'T RISE TO THE BAIT. that's what makes it worse. no flash of temper, no visible irritation, nothing as easy as anger for jabber to grab onto and twist into something fun. just a harsh and dissecting gaze, cold enough to make the air feel thinner. his eyes drag over him once βΈ» the grin, the blood, the eagerness humming under his skin like a kicked hornet nest: and there is something distinctly worse than disgust in the look that follows. ( like he has already taken jabber apart in his head and found every piece lacking. ) when the other stands, he makes no motion to lay hands on him or act in the slightest. his silhouette is statuesque against the ground where the sun paints his shadow against the dirt, calm and tired in a way that spoke of a very old and matured temper.
only at the further taunting does he take a step forward, strides unhurried and deliberate enough to crowd the space without wasting the effort of touching him yet. like even his violence has standards, and jabber has failed to meet them. zodyl's head tilts slightly, expression unreadable save for the hard line of his mouth. " you havenβt done anything but posture. you broke what was easy, bled for your own stupidity, and now you're standing there begging to be indulged. " a brief, cruel pause. " that isn't worth my time. "
Gruesome deaths were a usual for a man given nicknames of the likes of βCold-Blooded Reaperβ and βHomicide Detectiveβ. He simply looks down at the body then puts his pipe to his lips. βIf he has a pulse after slitting his own throat, I would be surprised for once.β Smoke leaves his lips, completely unbothered. βHe already confessed to the crime-β which was all Another needed to activate, unbeknownst to the murderer β- or were you hoping for something, Doctor?β
" SOME RESPECT, detective. the dead deserve our decorum too. regardless of what they are or aren't guilty of. " yosano doesnβt look at him at first, attention lingering on the body as she adjusts the angle of a fallen shoulder with quiet precision, a small, instinctive act of care even now. ( one last motion to settle unseeing eyes shut before she lifts from her crouch. ) only then does her attention shift βΈ» her gaze measured and far too perceptive. " i donβt imagine you called for a doctor out of sentiment. " a slight tilt of her head, curiosity threading through the calm bob of her hair. " my ability is β¦ quite useless here. why was i requested on scene? "
