for those we have lost ; @withinthefallen - Tumblr Blog

Posts

private & selective multimuse w / canon and original characters. may feature triggering and mature content here. 21+ only, please read rules before interacting. written by p ( 29 & she/they )

carrd wip + will link doc or carrd once complete

promo

#pinned post

TAWAIF TALES VOL. 003

Lalita— A revolutionary, who Kali partnered with. Currently deceased.

1872, Lahore. Lalita, a fellow tawaif, was a rebel committed to the independence movement during India’s struggle for freedom. She was bold, determined, and unapologetic in her efforts to smuggle weapons and supplies for the cause. So was Kali.

Kali had been relaxing in her personal quarters until the the noise caught her attention. It was the dead of the night when the crate arrived at Kali’s court, carried by a far too young and frankly scrawny courier.

Kali followed the noise, stepped into the same room as Lalita, whose back was turned to Kali as she hastily attempted to cover the crate in a large cloth.

“What’s in the crate, Lalita?”

Lalita froze, then turned slowly to face her. A futile lie, but you can’t blame a girl for trying. “Perfume.”

Kali squinted, then approached, and made quick work of the latch, flipping it open. Inside was a collection of weapons. Guns, ammunition, small explosive. Kali swiped her tongue along her teeth, not at all surprised by the contents, but surprised that Lalita had not run it by her. Though, to be fair, thus far they’d only housed rebel meetings in her court. There was nothing like this.

Kali cruelly allowed the silence to hang, just to punish Lalita. It worked. The other women shrunk into herself.

After a while, Kali closed the crate – gently, given the explosives – and straightened. “Next time,” she began evenly, “you’ll tell me first. I’ll get you better prices.” Her association and status in the city would ensure it.

“I didn’t think you’d approve.”

Kali shrugged. “I don’t approve of much, you’re right. But this warrants an exception, no?” After all, they all believed in the same thing. “All I ask is if we’re going to work together, you be upfront with me. I want the utmost transparency, and I won’t accept anything less.” Kali’s gaze softened, just a little bit. “I know it feels like it, but none of us are alone in this.”

#c: kali shukla #tawaif tales #just wanted what i've written so far to be on this blog #also will be continuing this bc i am always thinking about Her

TAWAIF TALES VOL. 002

Ammi-jaan— The woman who got 16 year-old Kali to break. Currently deceased.

1557, Modern-day Lucknow. Ammi-jaan was a much older, gentle tawaif. Sensitive and kind and maternal. She reminded Kali of her own mother, in many ways. Kali hadn’t even known of her existence until she first descended stone steps.

It had been nine days since she arrived - sold, not taken, as Ammi-jaan would later gently correct. Nine days of stubborn silence, of hunter strikes and weeping, of staring at the walls as though they might split open and reveal her family’s arms, full of coin to exchange back for her.

Ammi-jaan found her curled in the corner of a tiny, tiny room, wrists and ankles shackled to the wall. She didn’t touch her, at first. Just sat cross-legged a few feet away and waited for Kali to stop looking as if she may light the rugs on fire with just her gaze.

Ammi-jaan spoke, Kali listened. “I won’t tell you to forget them. That would be cruel. But I’ll tell you this – you can either be angry or you can become something they’ll regret giving up.”

Eventually, Kali’s head would end up on her lap and her tears would stain the pleats of her sari.

It was after a particularly cruel lesson - one of the older girls had slapped Kali for misstepping in the Kathak squence, and the madam had turned a blind eye. Kali was angry. She didn’t cry this time, but she swallowed it, cheeks burning.

Later that evening, when the courtesans began to retire to their rooms, Ammi-jaan found her in the courtyard, her back to the fountain, legs drawn up to her chest.

Without a word, Ammi-jaan knelt behind her with a bowl of warm coconut oil

“You let them see you flinch, you know,” she said, dipping her fingers in.

Kali scoffed, still furious. “But I didn’t cry. I did not cry.”

Ammi-jaan laughed, parting Kali’s hair before rubbing the oil into her scalp. “No, no, you just looked as if you might bite through your own tongue.”

Kali remained quiet, stewing in all her childish fury. But because of Ammi-jaan, she’d sleep well.

Once a month, when the new girls stopped crying and the moon was nowhere to be seen in the sky, Ammi-jaan would cook. Kheer, slow-cooked with cardamom, almond, and strands of saffron that most madams wouldn’t bother with. Too expensive for girls no one would remember.

Kali asked once, what the point of it all was. It was silly, no?

Ammi-jaan just smiled, because later that night, the girls who hadn’t spoken in days would whisper their first words over spoonfuls. She’d serve it in chipped bowls.

Much much later in life, Kali would make the same kheer for her girls, and she’d even chip the rim of the bowl on purpose.

#c: kali shukla #tawaif tales

TAWAIF TALES VOL. 001

Nimmi — Kali’s first love and dearest friend. Currently deceased.

1570, Modern-day Lucknow. Nimmi was a fellow tawaif with a defiant streak, known for performing poems she was largely forbidden to recite. Nimmi was sharp where Kali was soft, the flame to her smoke. They shared years in whispered corners and candlit rooms, unraveling verses- and then, each other.

Every night, they’d end up on a rooftop, under the moon, without fail.

Nimmi would sit with her back to Kali, combing out her long hair. Kali would stand a few feet away, a pipe in her hand as she blew plumes of smoke into the sky.

Sometimes, they’d wager on the stars.

Nimmi would make Kali guess which constellation would disappear behind the clouds first. If Kali guessed wrong, Nimmi would demand a line of poetry from memory – she’d specify the writer, too. Kali never got an answer wrong. If Kali won, however, she would get to unpin Nimmi’s hair, a bit like peeling back the petals of a rose.

One night, the clouds never came. Kali, stubborn and finding it too easy to indulge her inner child, accused the sky of cheating, of conspiring against her. And Nimmi laughed until her stomach hurt, until she fell back against cool stone, and her hair unraveled itself without Kali having to lift a finger.

“So no poetry?” Kali asked, lowering herself beside her. She was just like Nimmi’s admirers - she could never take her eyes off her.

“No poetry tonight,” Nimmi reached for Kali’s hand, looking at Kali in the same way her admirers did. “Just this.”

They would lay in silence, fingers intertwined. The city continued to breathe beneath them. Somewhere, a poet wrote a sorrowful verse on their behalf, while Kali memorized the moonlight on Nimmi’s face.

#c: kali shukla #tawaif tales

so anyways *wipes off the dust*

#ooc

I present to you murphy and reagan (x)

#c: murphy reed #c: reagan gates #i just wanted to iMMORTALIZE THIS

WHAT HOZIER SONG REPRESENTS HOW YOU LOVE?

RESULT : Jackie and Wilson ( reagan )

Your love is FUN. It’s about having a good time. Because what is love if not the joy of being with a loved one? You want adventure and mischief and excitement in your love. If you’re being honest, you aren’t too concerned with finding The One, you’re just here to have as much fun as you can on this bitch of an earth. And that’s exciting. You want the kind of love that is loud laughter and running while holding hands and the buzz of excitement in your chest when you look at them. Keep chasing that adventure.

RESULT : Sunlight ( murphy )

Love to you is sacrifice. You are acutely aware of the heartache that comes with love, but it is well worth it to you. You gladly welcome the pain if it means having love for even a moment. You have a very “it’s better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all” vibe to your love. But this sacrifice love also equals devotion. There’s something so powerful about loving someone so much that you’re willing to accept the heartache; that your love together overweighs that. You also want to give when you are in love. Whether that be material items, sentimental things that you make yourself, or just more love back; you love to show someone love by giving and sharing what you have.

RESULT : Wasteland Baby ( miriam )

There is an essence of foreverness to your love, even if the relationship isn’t permanent. You were written in the stars to love each other. There is an underlying eternalness of your love that will cycle on for eternity. Even outlast the end of the world. And you welcome this with open arms. You are happy to love freely, and any love you give will always remain. Your ideal lover is one who will be with you til the end. A lover who will weather the storm (or the apocalypse) with you-- with gentleness, compassion, and strength. A lover who will sit with you to watch every small apocalypse until the very end of time itself, and hold your hand tight the whole way through.

tagged by : the squad via discord lol tagging: you!

#dash games #c: miriam emerson #c: reagan gates #c: murphy reed #nOT ME COLLECTING DRR CHARACTERS

ofvalor

katherine barton and max carter are fucking idiots pass it on @withinthefallen

#god what a mood #c: max carter #ooc

anotherdamnrpmemeblog

things that are hard to hear.

**possible triggers - abuse / death / suicidal implications change pronouns as needed for things you’d WANT to hear, click here!!

❝ i don’t want you in my life anymore. ❞

❝ i don’t want to have a relationship with you. ❞

❝ she’s not coming home. ❞

❝ that wasn’t meant for you. ❞

❝ i don’t love you, okay? i never did. i never will. ❞

❝ you’re wasting my time. ❞

❝ you’re wasting your time. ❞

❝ you’re not listening to me! ❞

❝ i feel like i can’t tell you anything. ❞

❝ you’re too late. ❞

❝ you don’t give yourself enough credit. ❞

❝ you don’t give me enough credit. ❞

❝ it’s time for things to change. ❞

❝ you failed me. ❞

❝ fuck you. ❞

❝ i can see right through you. ❞

❝ things are getting bad again. ❞

❝ are things getting bad again? ❞

❝ move on. ❞

❝ that’s on you. that’s your fault. ❞

❝ you’re holding on to things that are holding you back. ❞

❝ you haven’t changed. ❞

❝ i’m not changing my mind. ❞

❝ i’m dying. ❞

❝ you’re good – but you’re not as good as you could be. ❞

❝ it’s always about you. ❞

❝ nobody cares about your problems. ❞

❝ i don’t trust you. ❞

❝ you’re being taken advantage of! ❞

❝ i feel like you’re taking advantage of me. ❞

❝ did you hear what she said about you? ❞

❝ life isn’t fair. suck it up. ❞

❝ i didn’t mean i liked you that way– ❞

❝ maybe it’s better this way. ❞

❝ i wish i’d never met you. ❞

❝ you ruin my happiness. ❞

❝ i think we should see other people. ❞

❝ i’m not ready to settle down. ❞

❝ i want to love someone like you love me. ❞

❝ you can do anything you set your mind to, but you won’t. ❞

❝ stop crying. ❞

❝ don’t come back. ❞

❝ i’m not coming back. ❞

❝ i don’t care enough about you to hate you. ❞

❝ i feel like you’re dragging me down with you. ❞

❝ why don’t you smile anymore? ❞

❝ something happened today. ❞

❝ i don’t want to do this anymore. ❞

❝ stop letting it get to you. ❞

❝ i’m sorry. ❞

❝ i’m not sorry. ❞

❝ you’re not sorry. ❞

#ask meme

loveis-strength

#c: rebekah mikaelson

@ofmorosis ASKED — ❛ you can’t break my heart twice. ❜ [ harper ⇢ max ]

Max had been situated in front of her newest piece, painted on the wall of her apartment. Splatters of browns and reds, with the silhouette of the city in the foreground. The distinct sound of Satan’s meow of disapproval could be heard as he leapt off of Max’s lap once she got up to face the other girl as soon as she heard Harper shut her window after climbing through. There was something about what Harper said, her tone, her posture, body language, the way her eyes softened-- all of it. Immediately, Max felt a pressure flare up behind her eyes, filling them to the brim with tears. It wasn’t her fault. Max wasn’t the one coming to Harper’s apartment, high as shit. No, it was the other way around-- she clenched her now shaking fists next to her body, afraid that if she made any movements, she’d throw a punch.

Or worse, she’d grab her by the face and kiss her right on her stupid, soft lips.

Max donned a false sense of security and steeled her demeanor. It seemed no matter how many times they came back to each other, it imploded on them. And the only way that wouldn’t happen again is if Max closed herself off entirely. It was better for her, better for Harper. So that’s what she did. “Oh no? Fucking watch me.”

#c: max carter #ofmorosis #interaction: max x harper / ofmorosis #anyways my tags are a hot mess #queue

HOW DO YOU BEST LIKE TO BE LOVED?

RESULT : drive me to daring destinations

you want to be chosen and for it to be on purpose and to last a while. at least the length of a good long car ride. and then another one back to where you came from. it is the contained intimacy of sharing music and sharing food and sharing time while the world flies by. while the world isn't inside along with you. car rides exist outside of time, they are a pocket of memory we build ourselves into. they linger afterwards. you want that. you want the screaming music and the weird conversation by the beach at 3 am. you want to be wanted and for the world to stop for a while. you want to not be alone. i hope you cross the continent with a friend or lover that you can share silences with. i hope you end up in places you never thought to drive to. i hope you finish one trip and start planning out the next.

tagged by : @triguilt tagging: @ofmorosis ( ainsley, theo, and vi lmao ), also legit anyone else, just say i tagged you!

#c: kol mikaelson #u know what #im into it #dash games

* EMOTIONAL BAGGAGE

bold whatever applies to your muse. italicize the things that only happen in other verses. REPOST , DON’T REBLOG.

TAGGED BY: @twinfractured TAGGING: @silencedrage ( michaela or anyone ur feelin ), @ofvalor (natalia or anyone ur feelin ), @ofmorosis ( kaia ), anyone else who wants to do it

#c: reagan gates #about: reagan gates #dash games

ofmorosis:

The details of dying- it was all very hazy. She was and wasn’t- there and not. Death was beyond any terms or descriptors that existed on the plane of the living, beyond what a human being could even begin to perceive, nevertheless understand. It was a higher existence. And yet, with the option of returning to Earth- even in a greatly diluted form? It was an opportunity she couldn’t refuse.

And of course, he’s a sight for sore eyes, a drop of water in a desert, and while she knew she missed him beyond words. She couldn’t be sure how much time had passed for him- nor could she be quite sure how much time had passed for herself, either. All she knew was that it had been so, so long since she’d seen him.

“You’re looking especially Professor-y today, Vikram.” Leaning on the doorway to his classroom, she couldn’t help but give him a once over. Even now, he looked so cute just as he was, grading papers, that adorable furrow in his brow of concentration. “Or should I call you Professor Amin.”

@withinthefallen

Vik could recognized that voice practically anywhere. Even with it sounding...distorted like that. Like she was speaking through a glass box. Every inch of him froze. She was dead. Or-- she was supposed to be. No-- she did die. It was tragic, Vik mourned for weeks, no- months, on end. He was still mourning. He didn’t dare peer over his shoulder to take a peek at her. She wasn’t real. Instead, his eyes closed and it was all he could do to not lose his composure. Well-- what little there was left of it, anyway.

A moment passed.

“You’re not real.” He uttered the words in a mere whisper, barely there. He couldn’t bring himself to do much more than that. It felt like there were 100lb weights hanging on his ankles, weighing him down and stilling him.

“You’re not really here.” This time a little louder, with more conviction.

#c: vik amin #ship: vik x nadia #interaction: vik x nadia

ofmorosis:

Ainsley was a creature of habit- the type of person who rarely stepped from the path most familiar, even when she wanted to. And never before had she so desperately wished she could stray from her usual route home, far too many landmarks- now weighted down by the loss of the one person who made her happy and whole. Tainted by her own stubbornness and pride, each memory resurfaced, her heart aching in her chest at the reminders of what she’d lost- what she’d sent away.

Exhaling shakily, she realized that she’d stopped mid stride, staring at the store front of the bakery Malia and she would start so many of their mornings at, snaking on pastries and sipping their coffee. Balling her fists, she felt her heart race, her blood rushing in her ears, feeling somehow frozen and on fire at the same time- a sensation she was steadily becoming accustomed to.

She didn’t realize there were tears rolling down her cheeks until an elderly woman approached her, a look of concern on her face. “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m- yes, ma’am, I’m okay. Thank you, though.” Her voice sounded robotic even in her own ears, but it was the best Ainsley could manage. She was in such a rush to remove herself from the situation that she turned quickly, walking directly into another person.

“I am so sor-” Her words died in her throat as she realized who it was. “M-Malia.”

@withinthefallen

Malia hadn’t been any better since their break up? Parting? However the blonde tried to word it, even in her head, it just didn’t fit. Nothing could fit the heartache she felt when her thoughts wandered off to Ainsley-- which, let’s face it-- was very often. Too often, if you asked Malia. Everything she did, everything she was, Ainsley had encroached on it. She couldn’t eat without thinking about Ainsley’s obsession with sweets. How if she were there, she’d ask for the sweetest thing on the menu and request they make it extra sweet. With a scrunch of her nose.

She couldn’t draw without thinking about Ainsley’s hands circling her waist, chin on her shoulder, as she peered over to look at whatever ridiculous caricature Malia was conjuring in her notebook. And when she rambled to her friends, to her dates, to whoever she was fucking at the time-- the moment their eyes glossed over and registered disinterest in whatever obscure topic was flying out of Malia’s mouth, she couldn’t help but think about how Ainsley always made sure to let Malia know she was paying attention. Either via touch or vocally or however. She always made sure Malia knew she mattered and she allowed her the privilege to return the sentiment.

Everyday became a constant battle between ignoring what was going on, going about her life as if Ainsley had never waltzed into it and the pain threatening to consume her. That’s how it was right now, as Malia made her way down the street to a familiar bakery. All of a sudden, an even more familiar scent had her stopping in her tracks. A familiar voice. Her heart raced and she could feel her legs start to tremble beneath her until her name was called.

“Oh.” A hard swallow. “Hi. Uh- I’m-- hi.”

#verse: it must have been the wind #c: malia fahey #ship: malia x ainsley #interaction: malia x ainsley

📷 INSTAGRAM MEME: Rebekah & Hope ( @triguilt )

who would rebekah be if she didn’t expose hope’s baby pics to all her classmates

#c: rebekah mikaelson #triguilt #answered ask meme: all #insta meme #rebekah x hope

📷 INSTAGRAM MEME: Rebekah & Klaus ( @ofvalor )

rebekah thinks klaus could stand to Smile More

#ofvalor #c: rebekah mikaelson #answered ask meme: all #insta meme #rebekah x klaus

Trending Blogs

Recently Viewed Blogs

for those we have lost ;