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@therimoire
You can find me over here @wordbound now!
You can find me over here @wordbound now!
You can find me over here @wordbound now!
blog move & promo thing!
Hey everyone! So I’ve decided to move Bob, Robin & Thomas over to a proper multimuse, so I can better keep track of everything, and keep more active with all the pesty voices!
Am I the only one who finds naming new blogs really hard? Anyway! It’s mostly going to be Dresden, and other urban fantasy characters, and I’ll post the link when I finally get it finished. (Hi ho, hi ho, to the coding mines I go!)
In the meantime, I want to offer some love back to the wonderful people I’ve met in the fandom. So if you’d like a character promo, just send me a note and I’ll see what I can do!
No promises they’ll be fancy, I’m definitely still learning!
💕
primechicagowizard:
“It’s only difficult because it’s new to you. I hate to play the cliche here, but it’ll get better when you get your rhythm down. You’ll fall out of some things and embrace others. That’s the whole point of exploration. You’ll find that things you thought you’d like are actually shit. The good thing is, there’s always something new on the horizon to try. And you’ve got the time to start finding some of those things.” Harry picked up his own mug of hot chocolate when he’d settled into the other recliner, cupping it in his hand for a good moment or two to allow that pleasant heat to seep into his skin. After the chill of the outdoors, the brilliant heat of fire itself would feel more welcome.
As welcome as it was, that first sip was always the best and Harry didn’t waste another moment. He brought it carefully up to his lips, tasting that thick marshmallow froth first, a barrier to the hot liquid inside. It could be deceptive for those that weren’t careful, thinking the drink had cooled enough to dive straight in, but it wasn’t so! It was all about being careful, a strategic tipping of the head until a taste, a mere taste flowed to touch the tip of the tongue. Getting the tongue acclimated to the temperature was the first step to bliss!
“I hope you will. I mean, you know me by now. I’m not the best at giving advice. I can’t even reel myself in. Most days I’m satisfied that I have all my bits and pieces in the places they should be. Sound advice is why I had you so close.” He snorted. “But I’ll hear whatever you feel you have to say and we’ll work from there, all right? You’re not alone in facing this complicated mess. It’s best to just get it all out, right?”
Keeping it in achieved nothing. He spoke from experience and yet couldn’t seem to wiggle out of that bad habit. It wasn’t even that bad habits died hard, people became accustomed to the conditions of the environment they grew into. Harry had never been completely alone, but it sure felt that way. And thus, he retracted into himself and isolated his thoughts and feelings. Keeping them contained helped him to protect himself. It wasn’t the right method.
Really, it didn’t matter what Bob felt he needed to say. Harry listened.
He would contain his personal feelings as much as he could and really, he wasn’t feeling much of anything. There were times when he was just… numb and that was one of those instances. Because it was Bob, because the whole concept was still overwhelming to him. Because he wanted to protect him but also to allow him to go out into the world and spread his wings in the way he’d been denied so long.
To do that? Sometimes he had to stumble. It sounded like he had quite a bruising one that day.
Harry sipped at his drink, only speaking when he felt Bob was finished with his stream of consciousness. Not that he’d shucked off all the jagged edges. Where there was one, there was bound to be more catching on everything he passed!
“I can’t really speak for Thomas.” He tipped his head toward Bob, “He has his own struggles, and his own way of thinking, a lot that I don’t understand either. But as lustful as he acts, it’s something different when you’re around someone you really care about. Especially for him. I’m not sure if that triggered him or not, but I can honestly say that it’s not anything that you did. You’re really not affected by the… you know? The Hunger?”
Bob was used to being the one with the answers. The superior mind, superior wit-- the person telling Harry that he had to be careful, watch his sigils, don’t add that! He was a Spirit of Intellect, and knowledge was what he prided himself on. The fabric of his essence was made of it, and the world of the academic was his playground.
It had been a very, very long time since he’d been so thoroughly confused by anything. And while the learning was brilliant-- a whole new adventure, and experience, and things to learn that he’d never even thought to fathom before!-- the struggle was less wonderful. The not-knowing came with a particular brand of hateful doubt, and part of Bob craved the familiar security of being at the top of the proverbial pyramid.
“He shouldn’t have done it if he didn’t think he’d like it.” Bob huffed a sigh into his mug, petulantly annoyed by the easy way Thomas had bruised his pride, and left him mentally spinning in place. “It’d be way more convenient if I could be angry at him. But I’m not. I’m ... not really sure what I am. Annoyed!” He cut across his own sentence sharply, just in case there was any doubt!
“But not angry. And annoyed with myself, too. Because I shouldn’t care, it’s a kiss. Not the end of the world. But... It’s not fair. I should be able to understand my own emotions, shouldn’t I? They are mine, after all! It’s all so stupid and confusing.”
But it felt better to have said it aloud. Weirdly and unexpectedly better, yes-- but Bob wasn’t going to haggle over the finer details. Better was better.
It usually was when Harry was around. Things seemed to make more sense when they were together-- probably, Bob rationalized, a side effect of knowing each other for so long. He could tell when Harry was upset, and when he was trying to be dumb and moral, and when he was hurting. When he needed Bob to give him a push, and when he needed him to just shut up (Bob wasn’t very good at shutting up, but he occasionally made the effort!) and listen.
It wasn’t a bad feeling to realize that Harry might understand him, too.
Slumping back into the couch with a long-limbed wriggle, Bob finally set his old skull on the coffee table and made himself more comfortable. Harry could see the way his body relaxed, draping over the arm of the couch and the mismatched cushions with an easier, more natural sprawl. His white hair clung to his forehead with static from the dry air, and with the back of one hand, he pushed it back behind his ears distractedly.
“Nope! I mean, sure, I might be effected, if Thomas were to really push it?” Twisting to the side, Bob jabbed his icy toes under Harry’s thigh, and balanced his half-full mug on his own stomach. Ahh, that was better! Much warmer!
“But I don’t think so. The Hunger craves human lust, and all that complicated human life energy. I might look like a person, but in all the ways that really count? Still not!” Bob visibly brightened with the change of subject. This was theory, and magic, and it was just the kind of fun he needed after having his confidence shaken!
“It’d be like you trying to eat a 90 foot cupcake. It might look good, and kind of like food-- weird food, and maybe not the kind you should eat, because it shouldn’t be that big-- but you wouldn’t be able to get your mouth around it. You can nibble on crumbs, but even if you really strained? You’d make yourself sick before you even made a dent.’
“I can see the Hunger in his aura, but it’s not arousing like it is for you. You humans are just hair triggers wrapped in meat and hormones sometimes! White Court hunger is a pretty bestial thing. Blood and sex and sweaty stuff, that’s the part of the brain it loves. And I--” Grinning boyishly, Bob raised his mug to Harry, “Am an intellectual. Much more evolved that that lizard hind brain demon!”
Be kind in the RPC in 2020
Be kind to veteran RPers. Especially if you are also one. You’ve both been doing this a long time. Long enough to develop your own ways of writing that work for you. You have spent your time differently and their differing writing style shows how unique each of your portrayals are. We all develop differently. No one is doing it “wrong”.
Be kind to new RPers. Don’t chase new writers out of the community because they don’t immediately meet your standards. Don’t put them down because they’re learning. Don’t shun them because they haven’t learned to make their own icons, graphics or themes. If they make a mistake, help them to learn. Don’t isolate them for being the person we all were at one time. Your seniority is not an excuse to be rude or hurtful. No one has been at this “too long to be nice”. No one’s “too old to have patience”.
Be kind to RPers of all skill levels. Don’t mock those who use flowery language or purple prose in their threads. They are writing what makes them happy and if their partners are okay with it then what is the harm? Don’t mock RPers who need extra time to write long replies because they’re not used to writing. Don’t send hurtful anons to writers threading with popular blogs about how they “aren’t good enough” to write with their partners. That is for their partner to decide, not anyone else.
Be kind to RPers who have firm rules. They are that way for a reason. Maybe someone hurt them before and that’s why so many rules on their blogs are necessary. You don’t know. Don’t attack others for having a lot of rules. And be kind to RPers who are very lenient in their rules. Don’t take advantage of a person’s lack of hard boundaries.
Be kind to RPers who ship your NOTPs. If you are against a ship and you see another RPer shipping it… You do not have to tell them how much you dislike the ship. You don’t have to tell them anything. Your personal preferences aren’t another RPer’s fault. As long as no laws are being broken in the writing of this ship, be kind and let others have fun in their own way.
primechicagowizard:
The question came across as dumb as it sounded, juvenile in make and design but no less genuine. Killing someone was bound to hurt, unless, maybe, they didn’t see it coming and it hit just right. Not only would Bob see the strike before it came, he’d know precisely what it was aiming to do. There was some natural instinct to tense before a blow like that which would ultimately make the moment of impact all the worse when it made the mark.
Harry wasn’t afraid to do what needed done, whatever the circumstances required of him. However, it was something else to willfully bring pain against someone that meant so much to him. He told Bob that he was prepared to do whatever it took. He meant that. That wasn’t to say that it was easy for him to accept.
He was more worried about bringing irreversible harm to Bob than about what the implications of bringing back to life an unparalleled necromancer, released into the world once again. Maybe that bespoke his youth, though he felt he knew exactly what he was doing. Maybe that proved how naive he was. He didn’t think so, but no one ever thought themselves the lesser party in the face of such a challenge. To admit that would be to admit defeat!
Now or never, the mantra of their current predicament. It was either try it now, or give up and never attempt it again. They had other possibilities before them, but they didn’t get to cherry pick which ones to embrace and which to turn a blind eye to. They were all going to be unsavory, uncomfortable for both Bob and Harry to attempt.
Now or never.
So Harry chose now.
Was he scared? Absolutely. Only an idiot wouldn’t be. He wasn’t a physically powerful guy, in spite of his size.
He also realized he was stalling.
He stood, walking to retrieve the hockey stick where it sat propped in its customary spot, feeling the carved wood against the pads of his fingers. He clenched his fingers tighter over the staff and released them gently to allow better blood flow, repeating the process as he gathered his courage.
“Don’t leave me.” He didn’t know what was going to happen, if anything. He wanted those words to be heard, at least. Whatever Bob would have to do to make it happen. He flicked the hockey stick up, catching it in a firmer grip, digging his feet into the hard floors. With all his might, he drove the end through the spirits chest.
In life she kept you close. In death, only she can set you free.
And what had Justin Morningway ever known of love? To him it was obligation and leverage, a long stick to beat people into submission. He had seen the power inherent in the arrow that had pierced Winifred’s heart, and sought to use that for his own gains.
Despite all his blindness, it had worked.
But Bob had loved his wife desperately, and mourned her for a thousand years. Her place in his heart was bedrock and granite, an empty space that he had filled with the the fabric of his memories. A place for Winifred, and she alone, that none other could touch. Not Justin, and not Harry, and not the Council with their millennia of petty, tormenting punishment.
In their fear, the Council had denied Bob the right to die, and so they had given him all the time in the world to make his peace with the unthinkable.
What Justin had never understood, and probably hadn’t comprehended even at his death, was the sheer strength of the human heart. And how unyieldingly stubborn Harry Dresden could be. Harry had found the tiny, near invisible flaws in Bob’s armour, and over the years he had scoured out a place for himself beneath it.
Justin had never seen that love. Couldn’t fathom its existence. You have a talent for cheating death.
Her life and death, her magic mixed with yours. Your soul.
Add Bob. Add the spark of the man that had been bound to his soul for a thousand years.
A spell was more than a combination of elements, it was intent, and imagination. You couldn’t measure love, or sacrifice, and if there wasn’t enough of either imbued in the wood, it simply wouldn’t work. For an instant in the stillness of the bedroom, Bob looked at Harry and their eyes met.
You couldn’t soul gaze the dead. But Harry could see the silent, wordless fear behind his determination. “I have no intention of it.”
The blunt end of the staff plunged through Bob’s chest with a blinding corona of pale light, and Harry could feel the shock of it resonating through his fingers. It burned hot and bright, and left vivid auras dancing in the space behind his eyelids. There was light, and only light, and the low, soft moan of the dead.
It was a distinctive sound, guttural with the faint rattle of exhaled breath and faltering lungs.
Being returned to life was more painful than dying. His death had been relatively quick-- but life? Life was agony. It scorched through his essence and defined the margins, violently dragging Bob against the flow of the life wheel and confining him within his own flesh once more.
It hurt too much to scream, and the heat of the remaking evaporated the tears on his cheeks. And after a thousand years of numb nothingness, Bob welcomed the pain with open arms.
When the light faded, there where no scorch marks or burns, just a whiff of ozone and copper in the air. Bob’s body lay still on the threadbare rug, curled loosely into the fetal position with knees drawn up and head bowed.
He looked younger without the trappings of his death-- quite a bit younger, in fact, closer to forty than fifty, and maybe a little more. But the white hair was still the same, and beneath the loose edge of his cravat, Harry could see the silver-on-pale scar that ran the full circumference of his neck. He was still, but breathing, slow and even.
He was alive.
Somehow I have to rebuild All the dreams that the wind have scattered. From what fate has shattered - I'll retrieve what mattered! Somehow I've got to go on Till the evil has been defeated, Till my work's compleated - I will not be cheated! God! You must help me carry on! When it seems all hope has gone, I have got to carry on!
-Jekyll & Hyde
primechicagowizard:
“Mm.” Harry knew that Thomas wouldn’t really have been ‘okay’ with it. But Bob’s assessment was still pretty accurate. He knew somewhere buried in the back of his mind that his family would not put up with his being away from the unit forever. Lara took a gamble that Thomas would crawl back and beg to be permitted again into their ranks. It hadn’t paid off.
The lazy brother, the shunned son, had instead showed that he was more capable than anyone assumed. Too bad for them, it was every bit the victory for Harry. And more importantly? For Thomas, who now saw that he could function with that nastiness in his life. He could live and be free of what the taint of his soul had otherwise promised would be his existence until the end.
“I’ll talk to him about it later.” See if there was anything he wanted done. Harry hadn’t a problem sending a message to the White Court, but he doubted Thomas would want that. He would probably insist that he would handle it. That was fine too, he supposed. It was his area more than Harry’s.
Harry broke open the bag of marshmallows, dropping in enough to fill half the glass. It was fine. It would all melt any way and become a nice frothy layer required of hot chocolate. As far as HE was concerned. It got a shower from the package of the stuff next, the powdered chocolate filling all the crevices left by the marshmallows. Now all it needed was that warm milk.
“It’s a lot to take in, I know. Having knowledge about something is one thing, experiencing is a whole different ballgame. It’s like when you sit down to learn a foreign language. You can read about it and sound it out all you like, but when you try to converse with someone else, it’s like you’ve forgotten everything you’ve learned. Practice makes perfect. No one’s ever good at something the first time, and—” He grinned. “… that relates to life too. You’ll get the hang of it. I have faith.”
He made another mug of hot chocolate though Bob never confirmed nor denied a want for one. He thought he could sip on it, see if he liked it or not. Harry had plenty of room in his belly to down the rest if he found he didn’t want any.
Something big had unleashed within the Spirit and it was infinitely difficult for Harry to keep up with. As was most things Bob got taken with. He had a way about him that was waaaay out of his league in many ways. He was ancient and he worked through problems in unique ways that didn’t always mesh well with the measly human brain. Things weren’t that much different just because he changed forms. He was just… slathered with an unexpected layer of vulnerability that he hadn’t possessed before and it was radiating off of him in that moment.
“Whoa there, take a breath.” He set down the mugs of hot chocolate on the stand beside him, fluffing out the blankets that he’d lay on one of the other recliner chairs, the only remnant left of the previous nights slumber party in the living room. He offered one to Bob. It was still a bit chilly in there, which wasn’t grand when they had only just come in from a winter wonderland. It was difficult to get comfortable with a chill settled deep on the inside.
“I don’t think you’re stupid. And Thomas doesn’t think that either. That’s just another human thing to say.” He shook his head. “There’s a lot of those that you’ll run into along the way. And they’re all equally as irritating and confusing. You know you can tell me anything and it’s okay if you don’t know what that is right now. I’m all ears when you do. But what does that have to do with kissing? What’s with the kissing thing?”
One of the first things Bob had discovered upon taking his body, was that he had an incurable sweet tooth. He wasn’t sure if it was some biological remnant from the person that had owned it before, but when Butters had tried to introduce him to vegetables (which, he had to admit, weren’t terrible, and they had some pretty weird shapes!) and grains, Bob’s eyes had drifted to the sweets on the edge of the desk, brightly wrapped in squares of colour cellophane, and he’d fallen in love.
How could anyone want to live on beets and broccoli when they could have chocolate!? And what sort of madman wanted baked potatoes when they could have french fries? Or better yet-- french fries dipped in that cold... what was it again? Milk shake!
He’d never met a sweet he didn’t like, and with the sugary scent that rose off the hot chocolate, he was fairly sure he’d found another favourite.
Hunched under the blanket and wrapped around his skull-- former skull? No, no no, that wasn’t a nice thought-- Bob looked down into the frothy cup with a quiet unhappiness that even the restorative powers of chocolate couldn’t entirely chase away. “I’m tired of everything being so hard. And I know this was the body I wanted, and I wanted to be more human, and I knew it wasn’t going to be easy, but it’s just so... so stupidly hard.”
Human children didn’t learn everything in a week. They settled into their bodies knowing nothing more than their very basest instincts; must breath, must eat, must be warm. Everything else was added slowly over years of practical experience. Sensation was muffled through layers of blankets, until they learned cold, cool, warm, hot, and how to understand it on their skin. Until they learned which they liked, and which they didn’t.
There was a reason children got so overstimulated that they cried. Learning to perceive and process the world was more difficult than it sounded, and society didn’t always make sense. It had arbitrary rules that made some sense to modern people-- but which older vampires, older wizards, and the fae, often struggled with. And for all Bob was only a month old? He was also a thousand year old spirit that had seen the rise and fall of civilizations.
A creature of the Never Never, and not a human at all.
Huddled in with his cup, Bob took a few tentative sips, (he’d burned his tongue a few times, and didn’t really want a repeat of it!) and smiled over the edge of the cup at Harry, “Thanks, boss... But I don’t even know what he thinks I’m supposed to be telling you. I promise, if I did? I would.”
The kissing thing, though... that was a little more complicated.
Bob winced and shifted his weight uncomfortably, light fingers tap-tap-tapping on the hot side of his mug. “It’s stupid, really stupid, and you’re probably going to get super mad at me. But, seem it’s-- I was curious. Sort of. And Thomas is always flirting with me-- at least, I thought that’s what it was. It seemed like it! Maybe I was wrong? Anyway, it was after everyone left the shop-- and don’t tell him about this, because I don’t think he’d want you to know, but who else am I supposed to talk to? I’m confused, and I don’t know what I’m doing!’
“So I was sitting on the counter, and he was really close.. really...” Bob flushed the colour seeping up into his ears as he motioned with his free hand, miming the way Thomas had been close enough to feel his breath on his face, and the way his hands had bracketed his hips on the counter. He could still remember the way his heart that felt strange and nervously fluttery in his chest. “Really close. And I wanted to kiss him, because I’d never.. I was curious, and I didn’t actually, really, truly think he’d do it.’
“It was a little like being devoured.” His voice muffled into his mug as he busied his hands with the hot ceramic and tried not to squirm. “I didn’t know kissing was like that... And it was good for a minute, and then all of a sudden? He pulled away just.. Told me to call you and go home. Then he left. Harry, I don’t know what I did wrong.’
“I know I’ve never kissed anyone before, but could I really be that-that-that bad at it? It’s not like I stuck my tongue down his throat or drooled all over him or something. I know better than that! Promise... And it shouldn’t bug me like this. But it really does.”
*tosses NPC FC* Theresa Holden & Nastya Kusakina
@manynarrators sent in a FC !!
name: Ruthie Paige
face: Theresa Holden
bio: Around the turn of the century, Bob’s skull was owned by a fairly decent wizard by the name of Colin. He was powerful enough to control the skull, and the necromancer bound to it– and moral enough not to be swayed by the promise of power that came with it.Colin’s wife had passed before he’d taken possession of Bob’s skull, leaving him the sole provider for his small daughter, Ruthie. He’d told her never to speak to the man in the lab, and never to venture downstairs.. But small children are curious, and Ruthie was no exception.One day, Ruthie crept down to the lab and for a short while, she managed to beg Bob to tell her stories. Fairy stories, mostly; tales of dragons and knights and brave princesses saving the day. And after years of working for the wicked and the amoral, her smiling presence in his dark lab was like sunshine.Unfortunately, her father found out shortly after and, afraid for his daughter’s safety, exiled Bob to remain in his skull– and to speak to nobody– until he was reclaimed by the Council. It was a long twenty years.
name: Meliora di Alegheri
face: Nastya Kusakina
bio: Evil comes in a fair package. During the Renaissance, Bob’s skull was claimed by a young woman named Meliora, after the untimely death of her father and brother. Swayed by her strength in grief, the Council consented to leave Bob in her care, unaware that they were playing right into her bloodthirsty plans.Over the next ten years, Bob aided her in the deaths of more than a seventy people– body and soul sacrificed in the man pursuit of her power. Meliora was vicious, delighting in the thrill of torturing her victims, and the rush of power that came with playing God.When the Council discovered that the bodies that had been washing up in the Venetian canals were connection to one of their own, they intervened. And, unable to prove if the sadistic crimes were Meliora’s own madness, or something she learned at the hands of her own cursed necromancer, Bob was passed into new, stricter hands– and Meliora was executed for her crimes.
to do list.
finish my last draft
fix the theme for Thomas’ blog (maybe?)
finish my multimuse (maybe?)
start a blog for Robin!Bob, because he’s so different from regular grumpy necromancer!Bob that he really does need a space of his own.
am I missing anything?
MAKE YOUR MUSE AS A CAT-LOAF
Tagged by: @manynarrators
Tagging: everyone!
Send me a faceclaim and I’ll tell you who they’d be in my muse’s life as a NPC