Tales from underground.

“In the shop we buy and sell them, but in truth books have no owner. Every book you see here has been somebody’s best friend”, Carlos Ruiz Zafón. Vincent Doherty, the underground's gatekeeper. No, just kidding. Step in, grab a book and acquaintance yourself with your newest best friend. [An independent OC RP blog. Both mun and muse are of age. FC is Blake Ritson.]

[talesfromunderground]

The Earth was throbbing beneath him like a gigantic, humongous heart. It ticked in sync with his own tiny, stupid hematic clock and perhaps he should feel engulfed by something bigger, something even leviathan, but all he felt was loneliness. Hidden among books, revolved by all the different sort of magnificent stories and brilliant writters -- Vincent was nowhere near being peculiar, he was Mr. Nobody, Mr. Invisible.

The last time he had been someone, he had felt this desolation... he didn't know if he'd ever recover.

So far, he hadn't. Since then, Vincent had been locked in the terrifying night of himself. His life was a labyrinth and he was his own minotaur. He had done everything to shelter his heart and now that the wall was done, he was bloody terrified. 

The Earth was throbbing beneath him and the hardest thing was knowing whether he was still alive. 

Suddenly he couldn't remember what it was like before. 

[thextraveller]

No. No. bby. Shhh. ;strokes; You are perfect.

Whatever it is. stop.

[talesfromunderground]

You're way too kind, love. Thank you.

[talesfromunderground]

I know that there is much anguish in existence pain that break hearts of stone and where life bubbles and blood thrives there exists sorrow in its essence

[vunom]

Visit Original Link

[talesfromunderground]

Blackbird singing in the dead of night Take these sunken eyes and learn to see All your life You were only waiting for this moment to be free

[talesfromunderground]

[rpmememaker]

I just want an RPing Soulmate. Is that too much to ask?

[finnmikaelsonn]

You ever notice how other RPer’s seem to find the one mun to RP with where they get to make interesting plots that never die, and they both drop everything to reply as soon as it comes in because they’re so excited about it? They seem to have this bond together that exists both IC and OOC and you know that even if no one else ever RPed with them again they wouldn’t care because they’d still have each other.

I want that. I want that so badly my teeth ache.

[picadorbookroom]

One of my favorite notes in his bookstore offers the “Rules,” i.e. words prohibited on the premises: “Oh my God (or gosh),” “neat,” “sweet,” “like” (underlined several times in emphatic permanent marker), “you know,” “totally,” “whatever,” “perfect,” “that’s a good question,” “Kindle,” “Amazon,” and “have a good one.” Toole says when people use these words, he tells them to “get a thesaurus and stop being so mentally lame.”

The American Conservative has a great piece up about Capitol Hill Books, Jim Toole’s tiny bookstore.

[shakethefaith-deactivated201312]

         If I don’t matter to you 

                                              — then I don’t matter at all

[organicanthropoid-deactivated20]

theknowledgeofconsequences started following you

myloyaltyisflexible started following you

flirtatiousfucker started following you

thesecretivectr started following you

talesfromunderground started following you

[organicanthropoid-deactivated20]

He was created to serve, he was created to follow orders even if he had no idea just whose orders he was supposed to follow. Did that mean he was supposed to follow anyone’s order? Anyone’s demand? To Jonathan, it sounded fair enough. His brain was still very much infantile and even though he had existed for ten years at that point, he was still attempting to figure out the inner workings of his brain, he was still trying to decide between right and wrong and he was still attempting to figure out just what his purpose was… But as he stood in front of a presence who almost seemed to require his attention, he realised that was not the time to dig through the confines of his artificial mind to find answers to unsolved questions.  "Good afternoon," he chirped with a warm smile, "Is there something I can do for you?"

[talesfromunderground]

Why there was a man offering him assistance for the mere sake of doing so was completely beyond him and, without doubt, the fact was stamped all over his face as he stared at the taller man with something akin to suspicion (if not complete distrust). Vincent posed the question carefully, rolling it backwards and forwards and even upside down over the tip of his tongue -- the latter finding comfort perched between his teeth while he tried to stir his mind from the apparent nonentity it had immersed into at the arise of such confusion (and what a confusing cycle it was indeed, for God's sake).

"Forgive me, but why would you want to do something for me?"

[thextraveller]

talesfromunderground replied to your post “™¥â™¥”

"Take me somewhere else. To your favourite spot in time and space."

      William was slightly taken aback by the request, pausing a moment to actually process the demand, as light lipped as it was. “I -” He could lie, could take him to Paris, Russia, a library maybe, something he would surely appreciate. But he didn’t. Instead he took Vincent’s hand in his own, fingers threading together, tightly, and pulled him close, his other arm coming around to hold his waist.

     “Close your eyes.” He whispered. This was a service he did not grant most. First time time travel left many disorientated. Dizzy. Some even expelled their bowels. But this place was special to him and he wanted the moment to not be ruined by any of those occurrences.

     One.

        Two.

            Three.

     It was only a moment in time until they were in and out of the fabric of time, both William and Vincent - still in his arms standing in a dusty barren land, one never seen before. Not seen, at least, by anyone besides William.

    It was his home. Quiet. Desolate.

       It was his home one hundred years after the massacre of his people. However, now, new growth had taken over crumbled building, the streets, the water wells. All of it was nearly covered in foliage with flowers beyond colors known to man.

    “Welcome to my home.” William whispered against Vincent’s neck, pulling back and finally releasing his hold on the man, letting him take a look for himself.

[talesfromunderground]

Never in his life had he been so lenient towards someone else's touch. The calmness and artlessness with which he obeyed to the taller man's words were, astoundingly enough, in striking contrast to his usual edgy nature -- though, he did squeeze his eyes with exaggerated tightness at the whispered order, which, again, was only congeneric to his character and therefore very much bound to be forgiven, right?

Still, regardless of the incongruous and full of skips and jumps and twists of their -- what ought to be the better term to it? -- travel in time and space, Vincent somehow managed to keep his poise (as it seemed only imperative to do) and his late lunch inside his stomach (although it had reached, at some point between two and three, his larynx). 

He thought it was over. He couldn't be more wrong.

Almost as if to italicize his flimsiness, the bookshop owner stumbled forward once William released and his eyes startled open, letting in the (whatnot) summer grass. Immediately, chaos rose within his bosom: he leant and dawdled at his inner disarray, his tongue, body and every (stupid, stupid!) atom of his blood stunned at that spear of chromatic foliage. 

For several moments, he made no answer. He couldn't, because for a moment, he was so completely mad for it to be in contact with him.  Or for him to be in contact with it. It was hard to tell.

"I--", his words were like an old car trying to ignite during a especially cold winter, staggering and bumping into an invisible obstacle.  "I--"

His breath left his broken lips, shaky, gawky and inadequate. 

"There was never any more inception than there is now. Nor any more youth or age than there is now, and will never be any more perfection than there is now. Nor any more heaven or hell than there is now", he recited quietly and an incidental laughter followed the deed, and only then did he part his eyes from that beautiful sight to direct them to William. "Do you think Walt Whitman was a time traveller too?"

[talesfromunderground]

send me a ship for my sexual headcanons:

what was their first kiss like

where were they their first time having sex

who’s louder

who wakes up first

who performs/receives oral more often

who tries new things more often

if they had to choose a third+ person to include who would they include

[talesfromunderground]

Counterfeit 'truths' of an ignominious disorder.

Doctors don't completely understand the causes of bipolar disorder, but experts do believe that it often ruins in families and that there is a genetic part to this mood disorder, causing that underlying problem with specific brain circuits and the balance of brain chemicals which are the major contributors to mood disorders. 

Several studies show that patients with bipolar disorder type II are more likely to give birth to children with a psychiatric disorder. They have a plethora of studies to prove that bipolar disorder is probably genetic, that his mother is to blame for what he is today -- for the multitudinous nature of his persona and the sempiternity of his torment. 

Vincent doesn't believe that.    His mother was not sick.     She was not like him.       His mother was the epitome of loveliness.

For weeks in a row, she'd be floating high in a state of pure optimism. Those would be the times when she'd tell him tales of long forgotten times in a silvery tone, or whisper to him, sotto voce, Machiavellian conspiracies within the safety of their blanket fort. Those would also be the days when they'd go on a shopping spree, or skipping work/school to visit Italy, France or perhaps even Norway and Russia -- and it didn't quite matter if they had the money or not. They usually didn't.  Once they even made fifty-four ham sandwiches just because. It didn't matter the situation, his mother'd always be completely euphoric during those weeks.

Then, almost as if to compensate those days in a row with a schedule of only three hours of sleep per night, his mother would enter a state of mortifying prostration. She'd lie down listlessly on the couch and wallow in melancholia for days on end, zapping through the channels without absorbing shit. Eventually, she'd throw a tantrum -- anything that didn't require too much effort, like throwing the remote across the room and watching it burst open against the wall or dropping the plates of food that Vincent'd try to force upon her every now and then.  Those were the days when Vincent'd find himself bereft of any sense of direction and of mores. Luckily, it was just in that hell of unsatisfied desires turned inward, in that fever of oscillations and self-loathing, that his mother would arise from the ashes like a phoenix: completely anew.

After having buried herself alive for grief in that sea of misery and getting out with every nerve still intact, his mother would fall into the ordinary -- or at least, the commonly accepted sort of ordinary. She'd be a mother, then, and tend upon Vincent's necessities and go to work and do all that was expected from a woman of her sort. 

Until the beginning of a new cycle.

                     But she was not to blame. 

[sexynerdy-bolin]

[[ Introducing the Mun. ]]

[talesfromunderground]

Name [or Nickname]: What's in a name? Sexual Orientation: As of late? Lectulosexual.  Tumblr URL[s]: talesfromunderground, drunkardwithagun and entirelybonkerswatson. Fandoms: Sherlock, Da Vinci's Demons, Dexter, Harry Potter, Sandman et cetera.  Muse[s]: Vincent Doherty (OC), Sebastian Moran and Christopher Watson (OC) OC Friendly?: Take a wild guess.  Multi-Fandom Friendly?: Absolutely. Ship Your Muse With Any Sex?: As long as there's chemistry. And angst.  Open to SFW RP?: Definitely.  Open to NSFW RP?: Depends.  Open to Conversing OOC?: I can try.  Open to Making Friends OOC?: I've tried. I've failed. I'm not sure anymore.

[obatlle]

[familiaanteomnia-blog-blog]

Send me a "♪" and I'll write a drabble for our characters based off whatever song comes up on shuffle

[talesfromunderground]

I want the K (yes motherfucker)

16: Upside-Down Kiss

One tiny, almost imperceptible movement of his head to the left and he could gaze at Jehan resting next to him, perfectly still and with his eyes closed. Vincent didn’t understand why someone like him would be lying next to someone like him in bed, but still, there they were, each one opposite to the other, heads in the middle of the mattress and feet either meeting the wall or the footboard as they shared the sound of raindrops hitting the window.

Though Jehan seemed to be in peace, Vincent was anything but. 

The situation made absolutely no sense and his lack of faith in that beautiful moment only grew more pressing inside his chest as he crawled closer, the tip of his nose meeting one of those lovely brazen spots on Jehan’s cheek as he fully turned his head to the left. From that up close the other male really, really smelled like roses and it incited a myriad more of doubts within his poor, frail bosom. 

"Why are you here?", was the first of them and upon its arival, Jehan opened his eyes and glanced at the bookshop owner with that usual positivism, his lips breaking into a smile while he studied Vincent. Jehan’s bow-like lips seemed to part to deliver that final arrow into his heart and his romantic soul got all clammy and shivery at the thought of running into some awful indecent unpleasantness. 

Nothing came, though.

Instead, the flamelike man closed the distance between them to press a kiss against his terribly dull lips in comparison, his stomach roiling in devastating anxiety and his breathing getting stuck midway as he felt the odd feeling of Jehan’s nose against his chin, the kiss all too slow and completely lovely in its unique upsidedown-ness. 

And then, as quick as it came, it went away. The younger male pulled back and chuckled softly (probably at Vincent’s expression, which he guessed stood somewhere between awe and complete confusion), gentle fingers reaching out to pull away his dark fringe.

"You’re a very curious man, Vincent Doherty. Very curious indeed."

[talesfromunderground]

Fear: Vincent, please. I know what you saw no man should ever see, but we cannot stay here. We need to leave - now. I will explain everything but I need you to trust me. I need you right now.

Flesh met wood and despite the steadiness of the later, Vincent did not feel in the slightest less unbalanced, even as he pressed hard his forehead against the door of the closet and breathed in -- once, twice, thrice. The space inside was very limited and it fitted his petty frame just fine, his legs poised comfortably between his chest and the wooden surface in an almost fetal position; he should be feeling better, but the abhorrence that he had just witnessed still clung to him, gnawing at him from behind his closed eyelids. "Non compos mentis", he whimpered shakily, pawing the door as he tried his hardest to keep his brain from eating itself, fighting off the terrible depth until five words made it through the folly. 

One harsh push and he was out of his wooden fortress. One indisposition of his mental faculties and he was clawing the material of William's shirt and pulling himself up to meet those bright, traitorous eyes. "Fix this. Fix it now."