30 ⭒ he/they ⭒ CST
3rd person present-tense.
✶ preferences ✶⭒ M/M only
⭒ slow burn
⭒ story-driven > romance focused
⭒ 24+
⭒ 300+ word estimate
⭒ 1 - 3 responses weekly
⭒ discord only✶ interests ✶⭒ worldbuilding
⭒ adventure fantasy ☆
⭒ small town oddities
⭒ fae creatures
⭒ fairytale inspired plots ☆
⭒ supernatural elements
⭒ surrealism
⭒ victorian settings ☆
⭒ celestial and ethereal themes ☆
⭒ diverse and unique ecosystems/populations
⭒ androgynous charactersif you have a plot idea revolving around silent era films, you have my entire heart. (e.g.; metropolis, the cabinet of dr. caligari, the phantom carriage, etc.)✶ dislikes ✶⭒ war-centric themes and fight scenes
⭒ kink-heavy dynamics or smut-focused plots
⭒ hypermasculine charactersif smut is your primary focus, i am not for you.✶ additional tidbits ✶magic is not my strong suit. any of my fantasy plots/OC's typically revolve moreso around fantastical environments versus innate abilities. it's a weak point for me, so be mindful if it becomes a strong feature for any chosen story — i am only trying my best.all available plots are not heavily planned or rigid, so feel free to offer suggestions as you'd like. i do not have notable triggers, so heavier subject matter is fine!all character references provided will be my own art (stylistic realism) or written. i do not expect a facecard.please do not generate any AI content for our story. i'm realizing it's nearly inescapable to find images otherwise for mood boards — that is fine — but personally generated content is a firm no.
a utopian city built atop the caverns of a once thriving society, now forced to work below the city to mine for precious opal used to fuel the world above.inspired by metropolis (1927).
✶ my character ✶
a celestial being, born as a part of the ruling class for the city above. though knowing of the mining city below, he is not well-informed of conditions, and is generally naïve.✶ your character ✶
an outraged worker from the city below, who forms a surprising alliance with my character, unfolding long told tales passed of the world as it was before — a history long forgotten.✶ general themes ✶
⭒ adventure/travel
⭒ celestial themes
⭒ diverse landscapes and species of humanoids/animals
⭒ uprising
⭒ false gods
⭒ topics of mistreatment and harma little differently from the film metropolis, i really would like to explore the world outside of the main utopian/dystopian cities, especially with the high fantasy theme — there is so much to explore!
a utopian city built atop the caverns of a once thriving society, now forced to work below the city to mine for precious opal used to fuel the world above.inspired by metropolis (1927).
✶ premise ✶
somewhere within the vast, vast voids of space rests a picturesque utopia built upon the near-desolate landscapes of a star once forgotten, and the kingdom they come to build perches atop its highest point: a crystalline castle with clouds swimming between its spires like rivers, breathing its radiant glow over the lands for as far as it can stretch.there's little known about the population that now live below the heart of the kingdom — not a thing spare for the multi-color wonder that exists within the soil, just at their fingertips, and a miracle born of the star now left horrifyingly exploited. it is the heart of the world that lights those deep, dark caverns, you see— lit aglow by the shifting, fractal light of the native opal, of which each color controls different facets of this exuberant world: green sustains the native flora, while blue keeps the waters pure, and pink assures the native wilds are satiated and well-fed, while orange fuels the much needed flame.but white. it's the most abundant color, driving the very light itself and lends the planet its famous glow to be seen from incredible distances. as such, it is the most abused.but the kingdom above needs the light, needs that ego-driven display of divinity as they fracture the heart of the planet — its precious opal — into splintered bits.ignorance is bliss, however, and the divine intruders reel in the love born from their majestic glow, thirsty over the prayers and worship and every holiday created in their honor. what the population at large do not know will not hurt them, but what happens when the final fracture renders the star dead?unfolding throughout, we learn more of the world as it was before, unweaving a soon-to-be-forgotten history as our characters traverse the lands in hopes of mending the fractures that have begun to spin outside of anyone's control. whether it be fetching totems or otherwise, i'd love to travel to other anchor points of the world as a means to explore diverse lands and people.✶ my character ✶
a celestial being born of the stars and a child of the divine, leaving the world at large so beautifully at his fingertips when his bloodline is revered throughout this close-knit section of the universe. despite the dire state of the star they live on, he is woefully ignorant and naïve to the current goings-on.✶ your character ✶
an outraged worker from the city below, who forms a surprising alliance with my character, unfolding long told tales passed of the world as it was before — a history long forgotten.you have complete reign to build a history and race of people for your given environment. bend things as you need.✶ general themes ✶
⭒ adventure/travel
⭒ celestial themes
⭒ diverse landscapes and species of humanoids/animals
⭒ uprising
⭒ false gods
⭒ topics of mistreatment and harm
(no solidified plotline, but would love to flesh out something with this general feel.)
✶ setting ✶
⭒ victorian era (estimated)
⭒ set in a large, booming town, alive with possibility.
⭒ very defined seasons.
⭒ would love to explore long-distance travel: train, carriage, ferry, etc.✶ my character ✶
cassius is a fresh-faced 21 years old, resting in the slums of a booming victorian town with his mother and 4 younger siblings.he's a loud voice heard echoing far and wide through the packed cobblestone roads; a well-meaning, yet mischevous character routinely creating trouble for himself at the call of boredom, because god forbid he add a little spice to his life!he's full of great laughs and jokes, but at 21 and still struggling to find his way through the world, he's come upon a great crisis — who is he and who does he want to be? a lifetime spent poverty-stricken in his all-too-cramped home has him wanting more, but what — or who — will be the final catalyst in showing him who he can make of himself?✶ your character ✶
i'm very malleable in regards to this portion. i would be open to including some light supernatural themes (e.g., vampires, spirits). would love to have someone who i could enjoy having some fun, light-hearted banter with, including some slow unraveling of vulnerabilities.
a haunting as revenge for a long since deceased ancestor responsible for the destruction of their people. a journey in unweaving forgotten truths and a struggle in unbounding their tethered connections to each other.
✶ my character ✶
abel is wrongfully tied into the mess of a far past ancestor's doing who had brought ruin and demise to these once peaceful other-dimensional beings. in the unreachable lands upon which battle had taken place grows a tree bearing fruit, each of which is representative of someone within the ancestor's predicted family tree. every so often a fruit falls, marking the shrinking of the family lineage, another death, then inevitably leaving one last plump fruit to witness... abel.with a yearning for revenge, thousands of years of suffering are unleashed onto abel, unknowing, having spent his years through mental strife to find that those taunting shadows he had been seeing were, in fact, real.✶ your character ✶
could be a spirit being from those same realms, a rivaling spirit being, priest, religious figure, etc. i'd love someone who could bring life and lore on the spiritual end of things.✶ general themes ✶
⭒ current day realism, no magic
⭒ spiritualism
⭒ unraveling incorrect black and white notions of good and evil
⭒ topics of suicide and self-harm
⭒ would enjoy some light-hearted energy between our oc's to cut through the tension!
A world overrun by lost and roaming monsters. They're well-meaning and mostly harmless, but have since become a great nuisance to the locals. This includes some absurd run-ins with clumsy creatures and TV adverts offering products such as 'ghost-be-gone!'.inspired by Meow Wolf and seasonal haunted houses.
✶ premise ✶When a mysterious portal opens up in the heart of Elmwood, its residents are far from prepared for the clumsy monsters that wander through. They're relatively harmless, at least: creatures both large and small, unassuming and absurd, some as picturesque as fairytale, while others are terribly grotesque. Needless to say, it turns the entire town on its head when their population suddenly becomes more monster than man, forced to welcome the bizarre as their new normal.Monsters aside, Elmwood has always been a quiet place — one where the wind whispers through the gold-tinged leaves along the nearby mountainsides, and the song of the sprawling wildlife is their lullaby. Its population is tight-knit, yet hearty, reaching the low thousands, and acts as an anchor to the neighboring communities. It's cozy, too, with its perpetual autumn as fog swims between the trees after the day's rains, the streets a sea of yellow raincoats as daily commuters navigate the town's aging bus lines.When the slow crawl of years disappointingly proves the portal's permanence, it creates a large rift between its residents as the townsfolk exist at their wits' end. They're tired of the strange going's-on and making do with the bizarre. Something has got to give, but when? And how?✶ my character ✶
From the outside, Boston's life is plain and unassuming — working the dull office 9 - 5 beneath the flickering fluorescents, all before chaos finds him once home.He lives in a rickety home cradled between the pines where living alone can never be lonely, not when the creatures can't help themselves from wandering through. Boston has gone through a myriad of methods to keep his peace in the woods, meticulously booby-trapping his home in hopes of keeping them out, to no avail. When his frustrations face him with the ultimatum to leave or stay his cozy home in the forest, he grudgingly chooses tolerance.There are mischievous beings that take up residence in his home now, a nuisance, but dare he say, he's come to enjoy it (though he'd never admit openly). His main guests are a devious fairy, a shapeshifter, and a demon, all of which color his world with a wild array of entertainment and chaos, each day its own surprise.✶ your character ✶
I am open to hearing any character ideas, whether it be a monster hunter who somehow breaches realms through the portal, a visiting tourist, folklorist, or even one of the creatures themselves. I'd love to hear what ideas you have to offer!✶ general themes ✶
Set in the Pacific Northwest, early 00's, autumnal, minimal to no magic (in Elmwood, specifically), generally light-hearted, absurd and surrealistic, mythical creatures and cryptids. Open to realm-hopping and exploring fantasy worlds.
when a troubled child of the stars becomes a danger to the future existence of their world, they are left buried to the center of an uninhabited planet far away, and subsequently forgotten. the unfolding journey weaves a tale of forgiveness and healing as both of our characters work through taming the embers of the star child's fire, and possibly the unraveling of some long-held family secrets.
✶ general themes ✶
⭒ ethereal imagery
⭒ humanoid celestial beings
⭒ zero relation to earth, entirely worldbuilt.
"Stay still," Cassius whispers as his knees dig into the gathering hay, meeting the wide, blue eyes of the sheep pinned beneath him. They both stare between each other, firm and unblinking, where all is silent save for the pattering rain. The downpour today had been unending and inescapable even from within the confines of the barn, meeting his skin through the intermittent droplets that crept in from the rooftops, and it's driven him mad. He swipes at the one threatening along his neck before returning to lock eyes, and at last, all is calm.He reasons they've reached a mutual understanding here: a tortured sheep now resigned to the necessary evils of the wielded handshears, and an unenthusiastic man never happy to do so. He hovers the shears over it once more, the blade along the delicate edge between flesh and wool… And what a fool he was to have expected anything other than the decibel-shattering bleat screamed directly into his ear; he is over it.He snips and snips at the wool now, his handiwork horrid as it wriggles and writhes beneath his hand where, naturally, it is of course the last creature of the day to tend to that gives him hell. Cassius would have normally mocked it with his crude imitations, but he is exhausted. So, "One more," is what he says instead to the face of horror. Snip. And as the last piece falls away, he says those two treasured words: "Go on." And so it does, rushing towards the gate to be let back in with the flock, significantly more naked, and a touch more traumatized.With his hands on his hips, Cassius groans. His knees ache, as do his shoulders, from the day's work; but there is also the persistent tingle at his throat and the mild wooze upon standing, too: both having cropped up weeks ago, and both having worsened. Unfortunately, his mild ills were not an isolated occurrence in the village as something miscellaneous had kicked into the air recently, and in looking out at the rainy landscapes, he admits he has his suspicions.Cassius walks closer toward the end of the barn, where it is left open to the world by a half wall, and leans himself into it with his arms folded just atop. He breathes in the sights of the immediate meadow before him and over to the mountainsides beyond, left partly obscured by the fog. The rain has kindly offered grace by mellowing into a thankful mist, that, less thankfully, leaves the world a touch muggy as they tow along the cusp of summer. The signature reds and yellows of the incoming autumn have yet to make their mark on the lands, still a lush green cut intermittently by the vibrant hues of the season's favored wildflowers. The edges of the farm stand tall with their dying thistles and the near end-of-season milkweed that draw towards it the hawkmoths and monarchs. There are, too, the abundant columns of pennyroyal that grow wild with abandon, and the stretch of fields dot with the tiny asters of which the goats ate with abandon.Cassius breathes it all in: the still, the calm, the quiet; because God knows, it has been anything other than quiet here lately.The shrill whining of machinery had been incessant most days, worse here on the farms closest to the newly built mines versus the heart of the village. The developing project had been an inescapable hell, carving roadways into lands previously untouched, bringing with it all of its newcomers to house themselves like rats building home where they had no reason to be. Though the project proposed by the neighboring metropolis Gravenstaad was to bring about wealth to their poverty-stricken village, Cassius often wonders just how worth it was it, really? But perhaps it's just selfish thinking, he reasons; abundance and opportunity now lie on the horizon for Lavendale with their newly discovered minerals, and good things rarely came without their lesser downfalls — the change was only the unfortunate trade-off.Yet looking out at the lands, he can't help but mourn the scenery — mourning what is, and what might not be again… and tired of the grief, he moves on; he has no other choice but to.His day is far from over, and as to not waste more time, he hurries to finish stashing the gathered wool to its respective sack in the corner, and shuts himself from the barn. He bids the staring sheep an adieu with a large grin and wave as if he weren't the source for their rampant torment, and perches himself onto his rickety bike to leave the mountains far behind and civilization soon ahead.He wove through the meadows and onto the clunky trailway as it gave way to smooth road. The easing rain had picked up along his journey, leaving his hair a miserably damp mess pasting along his forehead, though gratefully, his clothes were left mostly untouched, having had his brains intact enough to bring a raincoat.Cassius' home eased into his sights, mostly hidden from where it sits along the edge of a hill, an easy-to-miss thing as only the very end of the chimney could be seen from the road. He rounds the hill and turns in to rest his bicycle along a back gate, making his way to the front door when the sudden need for a cheap laugh calls his name.He would have done better to have thought it through as anything other than impulse, but expects nothing other than the usual view of his 3 younger sisters in the cramped room. Cassius bolts inside with his eyes squeezed shut while he shakes himself like a dog, his laughter unending and squeaked. He's clearly pleased with himself, but when he looks up, it is not to the sight of three faces; it's one. His smile drops as the poor victim of his stupidity looks on in disgust as they soak beneath the secondhand rain, and God, had he been an idiot — it's his mother."Cassius!" She gasps. And he decides, with a regretful grimace, to back himself from the home and behind the now-closing door, so she starts again: "Come here." Which he does not, but instead stands paused and half-obscured. Even firmer this time: "Cassius. Inside." And at the third call, there was little use in avoidance."I'm sorry," he admits shamefully. "I thought it'd be the girls, not you." But he's brushed off, and in place of complaint came a cloth, which she babies through his dark locks and over the streaking rain along his cheek."You need to remember your umbrella; you know how much it rains here.""It's just a little water, Ma; plus I can't exactly bike with an umbrella in my hands."She looks at him long with her hand briefly paused, then sighs and continues to sort him to rights. "Were you still planning to visit the markets today?" To which he nods, and she clarifies. "Please remember, I need calendula and motherwort; I know you remember Laurence — he should have them both at his stall.""Yeah, and also honeycomb and garlic, and…" He trails off. "I'll remember."Cassius looks towards the uncharacteristic chaos of his mother's worktable. It's wild with its varied spread of herbs, and cutting between them sits every half-finished salve, infusion, and elixir she had painstakingly crafted these past two weeks. The spreading ills had stumped her also, appearing much like hay fever, yet did not resolve by the standard means like one. He and his sisters had been guinea pigs for the myriad of concoctions his mother had worked up, because surely a well-respected expert in her craft should find a suitable treatment, yet none came to any avail."I don't know if you've heard, but there's a new vendor in the markets, too," his mother mentions. "They say he's a psychic."Cassius raises his brows in intrigue — a psychic — yet she seems cold somehow, a face of stone that is difficult to dissect, so he asks. "What do you think, then?""I'd say it's probably a crock of shit, but… I don't know. I've worked with many a 'psychic' before; you know how the world of herbalism is sometimes, Cassius. While I practice for health, it so often intersects spirituality and… magic — and I've been around these types quite a lot in my studies, even now.""But you still haven't told me what you think — why did you mention it?""Just be careful," she smooths a hair from his face. "I know you're always curious, but I don't trust these fringe practitioners; they lead us into nothing but trouble, Cassius — you know this. I don't want you hurt."And Cassius is ashamed for those dots that took much too long to connect, the sordid details having become easier to forget as time wore. It'd been long since his father passed, him having gone from the earth at an age when Cassius still held his teeth beneath his pillow for the pretend; and where death seemed to him as merely a long slumber to inevitably wake, which of course never happened.Cassius readies to apologize again, but is prematurely halted by her smile."You should hurry on, then," his mother urges. "And please keep yourself out of trouble; last time I was in town, I had to apologize to the Barmaid's son for the secondhand cruelty of simply having to hear about all of your foolery."Cassius groans, "Yes, sure, fine—""—I'm serious, Cassius," she cuts him off. "And repeat back to me what we need.""Okay. So it's garlic, calendula… uh, honeycomb and… motherwort? Yes?""Yes," his mother repeats back, then presses coins into his palm, curling his fingers before planting a kiss to his forehead, never forgetting to leave him with love.Cassius makes for the door in a much better standing than when he'd earlier dampened his mother like an utter dunce, and parts way from the home. He treads carefully downhill and toward the heart of the village on his own two feet this time, holding onto the pestered-upon umbrella. It is a much easier trip toward the square than the farms he worked, and very soon came to find himself standing there within the mild crowds.The village square wasn't much, for the population here was slim, but it was home to the town hall that sandwiched between the tiny schoolhouse and the general store, and as for the ever-necessary entertainment for both the poor drunks and the bored, also sat a tavern. It didn't offer quite as much as the larger towns did, as it had no need, but there were often the scheduled market days, and scarcely the market nights, where the locals sold their wares off of dingy carts and mobile stalls — and today had offered just that.Cassius is quick to firstly find Laurence, always an easy-to-notice stall that brims with a myriad of overturned dried herbs. He approaches with his arms crossed and a finger to his lips, squinting as he struggles with his recall, but says confidently with a pleased nod, "Calendula and fatherwort, please." To which Laurence kindly corrects: "Calendula and motherwort — of course!"Cassius then gets his garlic from a neighboring farmer and the honeycomb from an amateur beekeeper, and now stands with everything he needs and nothing to do. He has a few spare coins in his pocket, possibly to be made useful over some good rye whiskey, but he remembers his conversation earlier, and it nags at him.Unfortunately for his mother, but always great fun for himself, he is curious — chronically so. While his mother had her reservations over spiritualists, Cassius was full of intrigue. So with this, he walks down the line of vendors and passes every familiar face he's known since he was a small boy, but at a point, he stumbles upon a tent; one small look at the man told enough.He was unusual for Lavendale — perhaps even unusual for Gravenstaad — with the crawling black up his hands, and the fairest shade of skin he's seen in some moments, rivaling the near-permanent tan most of the working villagers had. It was… peculiar. Cassius reasons his mother might kill him if she ever found out, but what she doesn't know could never hurt her, and he steps forward."What do you offer here?"
The festival closes with the women of the family cheerful and satiated, while he himself rests in the troughs of a not-so-great day, and even as the later night waxes on, he fares hardly any better than the one before. His thoughts ricochet off the same 4 walls he's come home to, the same faded posters, and all of those boxes on the floor still left to rot; so he tiptoes himself from it, his hand slowly pushing open a neighboring door down the hall where the light of a lamp still glows.And he looks to Doniya, half-asleep with a book limp in her palm, and asks."How about a drive?"She graciously lets him have the keys to hers, and he seats himself in a car he's never known, an engine that doesn't cough like it's at its dying breath, and the preceding drive from home, from the street, from Tinmouth, is smooth.Doniya's curled herself into her own passenger seat, heavy-lidded, and her body limp as sleep calls to her, still riding along the edge of it just as she had in her own bed. She lets him do as he wants: drive wherever so long as the tank doesn't empty, talk when he needs, and lets him turn up the volume for the few songs that call to him with a need.The two have never been particularly close, never having reached out after leaving home, and have done no more than the occasional like or two over the rare social media post. But she was there and understanding and patient, even amid the separation of time and bond, and with everything feeling quite so heavy in him:"Thank you."It's scarcely heard over the loud beat of music, worse as Doniya continues to tread the threshold of her inevitable sleep. She hums in ask, and he repeats."Thank you," it swells in him upon the second time, the creeping of gratitude. "I really needed this."And she hums again, this time in acknowledgment, and Amir thinks she has finally dozed off this time, and with some consideration, turns the volume down. It's only them and the black, and the cutting of two yellow headlights through the road; a town asleep, to then wait for the inevitable sun to rise again. Then Doniya stirs, eyes still heavy, the quirk of her lips."I didn't do anything but sit here."And in simply existing with him, breathing with him, she had done everything he needed.
He takes his steps outside, watching as the flickering light of the tent smothers behind the re-draped curtain, where his only company from here on is to be the stars themselves. For the first time tonight, Cassius walks alone.He travels through the dampened grasses beyond the tent, brushes past the blooming moonflowers, and with an easy 10-minute walk, the crooked door of his home now stands tall before him. The earlier liquor now gifts him a dull headache in trade for his unsteady gait, which he groans lowly over as he makes his first weary steps inside. Not a soul lies awake here in this sleepy little cottage, and dreams of his own are impending with the yearn for his cool featherbed.But first, Cassius opens his satchel for the bottled herbs and honeycomb, placing them gently along the nearby countertop before making his slow, creaking steps upstairs. He's grateful for the solitude of a lone room while his sisters share another below. His own isn't special, though — bare-bones with a simple shelf and a tiny bed pressed against the far wall just beneath the window, which is cracked just a hair, leaving his curtains to sway in the whistling breeze.His clothes are discarded into a heap on the floor, and he changes into the delicate linen loosely tied at his hips. The sheets feel so inviting along his skin as he crawls in, wonderfully entangled between his legs as his head tips towards the moon beaming above, a wavering presence amid the shifting clouds.Even in silence, his thoughts are loud, and despite the sleep that nags at him, he can't yet seem to. He decides to reach for his satchel on the floor and sets it against his chest to rifle through. He first pulls the original motherwort he had purchased, which are quite soggy, with most of the full-length stems crushed, but a few remain decently intact, and those he places along his windowsill above. The calendula, however, is beyond redeeming, and leaves itself like a sick confetti at the bottom of his bag. But beneath the damp foliage he hears a 'tink' of glass, and collects the object into his hand, in turn pulling out the small vial Lucas had given him.He holds it up and studies it, watching how it reflects a pale blue in the moonlight, its hue so reminiscent of the eyes that had held his gaze earlier. The fragmented light dances prettily along his walls as the herbs inside swirl, and he remembers what he had been told of it. It was a good luck charm, Luke had said: to be put beneath a pillow or held in a pocket. And with a pillow conveniently beneath his head, he places it within the case and is pleased as it's small enough not to feel once he cozies back in.Whether searching his bag satiated the buzz of thought, or he ran himself clear of what little energy he had, Cassius quickly melts into his thankful slumber, where dreams are now, and tomorrow is another day.When Cassius inevitably rises into the low-light of morning, it's by the call of a neighboring rooster. He's miserably tired, to be certain, but responsibility does not bend to exhaust or hangover, and he drags through the motions of his day just as the rest. It's a haze in moving about the steps of daily life, barely able to recall himself changing his clothes, or the fresh mug passed to him by his oldest sister, Charlotte, on his way out the door.He does not miss the fact that he left his umbrella the day before, worrying himself for the darkening clouds overhead, and pedals quickly to the farms. Whether it be for the exhaust of the endless grey days, the still-there headache, or the compounding stress of the town's ills, he does not feel good this morning — not at all.But Cassius has become a master of avoidance in the unsavory parts of life, busying himself into a manufactured bliss where his laughter is boundless. Today, it does not happen; it can't.The grating noise of construction has come back twofold as if making up for the silence it left behind yesterday, and it sets both Cassius and the animals on edge. He tries his best to ignore the fresh drag marks along the inner gates that left the wood splintered, or the distressed sows huddling in the far corner of their enclosures as if hiding from the sound. But avoidance does not solve their distress, and he spends the better part of his day comforting the animals as if he alone could solve their woes.He thinks of Luke — thinks of him a lot. In truth, it was hard not to when so much reminded Cassius of him, be it the few mules in his care, the dense sheet of rain he bikes back home in, or dragging through the door to the sick scent of his mother's new brew left happily in a mug.Even though he stands as drenched as he was yesterday, she does not fuss at him about it this time, only placing the horrid tea in his hands while his clothes drip puddles around his ankles."I think this might be it," she says, gently peeling him from his soaked coat and seats him next to his sisters, who look worse for wear as they're assaulted by the rancid taste; the concoction was absolutely dreadful, but they were all polite nonetheless. The siblings stare between each other with strange glances as their mother picks through her collection of tinctures. She soon pulls from it a large glass, showing an infusion that is only a pale green, as it was new, and speaks proudly. "This should take a month to properly infuse, but tea will do well in the meantime. This regimen, thrice daily for two to three weeks, should boost immunity, detox the blood, and reduce symptoms. After all of these blends I've worked with, I'm sure this is the one.""Three times? For three weeks?" Is whined from one of the youngest, Adelaide — a twin to Lucia — and looks at her mother so poorly with her upturned brows and her sweet, brown ringlets. "Could you at least bother to remove the garlic? It's horrible."The truth was not the right thing to say, and both of the other girls make their displeasure known with outrage. At this, Cassius quietly makes his leave.The coming days test his patience and the frail, thin line of his sanity. The downpour continued to be relentless, and the sickness quickly grows worse. He's watched it in his animals, too: his sheep bearing bloodshot eyes and the cows becoming lethargic, much too tired to do more than lie. Cassius does the best he can where he can, but his best does not solve anything, nor does it soothe. In stroking his fingers through the combed mane of a horse, he wishes he had someone to comfort him just the same.His mother asks him often about his symptoms as he's become grudgingly faithful to the prescribed regimen, and he speaks his truth— he feels normal. Yet in the other room, the twins lie with a terrible cough as their skin is heated with fever; though mild by comparison, the same symptoms grow with the others too. Cassius doesn't understand why he's become such an outlier, and he asks himself often what has made him different, but an answer has yet to come to mind.His last straw comes upon a late night home from the farms as he circles the hill to the cottage on his rusted bicycle. It's unmistakable, even from outside, the muffled sound of weeping and the heaved breaths of despair, and all from a face he cannot bear to see. He knows exactly who it is, having seen her so hard at work with her wildcrafted medicines to no avail, with a kind of sob he has not heard in years, maybe ever. Within the dim of sunset, Cassius decides to instead drag himself beneath the shade of a neighboring peach tree, and he wallows.He knows the role of caretaker is impending, waiting just at his back; meanwhile, all of the meager coin he earns filters to the home to keep them afloat amid poverty, and it's frustrating. Cassius cannot play as God, cannot have his hand in every facet of life and show to them as a miracle or a savior — he is burned out and hollow. All he wants is to rest.Cassius has tried his best to not mull over the reading much, but cannot help but to reflect on it.'There may be something holding you back, a lesson to learn, or a fear of stepping fully into this next stage of your journey.'And perhaps it was right. Cassius had been held back by expectations and responsibilities he never asked for, to fill the role in place of his father's passing for these 13 long years, and he is tired. His sisters are old enough now to bear the torch, but times are different and times are dire. He cannot abandon them; he will not abandon them.On the rare day off, Cassius takes care of some cleaning, quite embarrassed, for his sheets were long overdue for a good scrubbing. Laundry was often left to the youngest, but seeing as they fared poorly, he readily took on the task himself. He strips his sheets from the bed into a lazy bundle on the floor before lastly peeling his pillowcase free, only to hear a 'tink, tink, tink', then a roll as something hits the wall beneath his bed. He crawls on his hands and knees, stretching his arm blindly beneath the bed when his palm catches the tear-shaped glass, and he pulls it.It's the vial.The agitated herbs swirl and whirl inside; it's a charm, he remembers. He decides to hide it then, the easiest place of which is in his satchel, wanting to keep it far from any prying eyes when he fears the repercussions of having it in his possession.Cassius quickly resumes cleaning as he has a long, arduous day ahead kneeling beside scrubboard and basin, where he'd horribly rather muck the stalls, but he does as he needs. He does his cleaning outside beneath the small square of blue sky between the grey, as it reflects against the rippling waters. It's familiar again, the pale blue, like eyes staring back at him. He thinks of Lucas and the cards and the bar, then the ice and the walk toward the tent, and it circles back again to the charm which reflected those same baby blues in the moonlight a week ago.Cassius suddenly straightens in realization, his eyes wide as he stares into the open fields.The charm worked.He finishes with haste and hangs everything on a line he strings from tree to tree, watching the slight sway of fabric in the breeze, where he hopes it'll catch a hint of sun before the coming rain, so tired of these bleak days. Cassius then sits along the side of the home with his back propped as he's in need of some stillness, and with his arms folded into his lap, he thinks.In truth, Cassius had recently reasoned himself more than happy to abandon magic for a bit of peace amid the high stress of the times, fearing it'd add complications to the pre-existing chaos of Lavendale. He's only able to handle so much, yet he has to credit it for his wellness, and it scares him. His fear is less of the magic itself, but rather that the only knowing resolve thus far lied in the hands of something not only outlawed, but a crime punishable by death. The thought alone makes him ill.His thumb worryingly rubs along his knuckles as he ponders. There's much to do here, much to take care of, but he looks to the skies with the memory of soaking himself miserable with his umbrella left behind, and knowing the days tick by until Lucas leaves. Cassius does not want anything from him aside from his umbrella, but he has questions; now might be his only time. Cassius does not make mention of his leaving, only briefly going inside for his raincoat, then travels down the hill from home and into the little village square.It's slow there at this time of day, a town mostly busy toiling in the fields or hard at work with tools in hand, so he makes his way down the line of vendors with the few neighboring villagers moseying alongside. Luke's tent is easy to spot, even easier in the daylight, and he approaches slowly as not to disturb, and waits for him with a polite smile, clutching at the strap of his bag.
He takes his steps outside, watching as the flickering light of the tent smothers behind the re-draped curtain, where his only company from here on is to be the stars themselves. For the first time tonight, Cassius walks alone.He travels through the dampened grasses beyond the tent, brushes past the blooming moonflowers, and with an easy 10-minute walk, the crooked door of his home now stands tall before him. The earlier liquor now gifts him a dull headache in trade for his unsteady gait, which he groans lowly over as he makes his first weary steps inside. Not a soul lies awake here in this sleepy little cottage, and dreams of his own are impending with the yearn for his cool featherbed.But first, Cassius opens his satchel for the bottled herbs and honeycomb, placing them gently along the nearby countertop before making his slow, creaking steps upstairs. He's grateful for the solitude of a lone room while his sisters share another below. His own isn't special, though — bare-bones with a simple shelf and a tiny bed pressed against the far wall just beneath the window, which is cracked just a hair, leaving his curtains to sway in the whistling breeze.His clothes are discarded into a heap on the floor, and he changes into the delicate linen loosely tied at his hips. The sheets feel so inviting along his skin as he crawls in, wonderfully entangled between his legs as his head tips towards the moon beaming above, a wavering presence amid the shifting clouds.Even in silence, his thoughts are loud, and despite the sleep that nags at him, he can't yet seem to. He decides to reach for his satchel on the floor and sets it against his chest to rifle through. He first pulls the original motherwort he had purchased, which are quite soggy, with most of the full-length stems crushed, but a few remain decently intact, and those he places along his windowsill above. The calendula, however, is beyond redeeming, and leaves itself like a sick confetti at the bottom of his bag. But beneath the damp foliage he hears a 'tink' of glass, and collects the object into his hand, in turn pulling out the small vial Lucas had given him.He holds it up and studies it, watching how it reflects a pale blue in the moonlight, its hue so reminiscent of the eyes that had held his gaze earlier. The fragmented light dances prettily along his walls as the herbs inside swirl, and he remembers what he had been told of it. It was a good luck charm, Luke had said: to be put beneath a pillow or held in a pocket. And with a pillow conveniently beneath his head, he places it within the case and is pleased as it's small enough not to feel once he cozies back in.Whether searching his bag satiated the buzz of thought, or he ran himself clear of what little energy he had, Cassius quickly melts into his thankful slumber, where dreams are now, and tomorrow is another day.When Cassius inevitably rises into the low-light of morning, it's by the call of a neighboring rooster. He's miserably tired, to be certain, but responsibility does not bend to exhaust or hangover, and he drags through the motions of his day just as the rest. It's a haze in moving about the steps of daily life, barely able to recall himself changing his clothes, or the fresh mug passed to him by his oldest sister, Charlotte, on his way out the door.He does not miss the fact that he left his umbrella the day before, worrying himself for the darkening clouds overhead, and pedals quickly to the farms. Whether it be for the exhaust of the endless grey days, the still-there headache, or the compounding stress of the town's ills, he does not feel good this morning — not at all.But Cassius has become a master of avoidance in the unsavory parts of life, busying himself into a manufactured bliss where his laughter is boundless. Today, it does not happen; it can't.The grating noise of construction has come back twofold as if making up for the silence it left behind yesterday, and it sets both Cassius and the animals on edge. He tries his best to ignore the fresh drag marks along the inner gates that left the wood splintered, or the distressed sows huddling in the far corner of their enclosures as if hiding from the sound. But avoidance does not solve their distress, and he spends the better part of his day comforting the animals as if he alone could solve their woes.He thinks of Luke — thinks of him a lot. In truth, it was hard not to when so much reminded Cassius of him, be it the few mules in his care, the dense sheet of rain he bikes back home in, or dragging through the door to the sick scent of his mother's new brew left happily in a mug.Even though he stands as drenched as he was yesterday, she does not fuss at him about it this time, only placing the horrid tea in his hands while his clothes drip puddles around his ankles."I think this might be it," she says, gently peeling him from his soaked coat and seats him next to his sisters, who look worse for wear as they're assaulted by the rancid taste; the concoction was absolutely dreadful, but they were all polite nonetheless. The siblings stare between each other with strange glances as their mother picks through her collection of tinctures. She soon pulls from it a large glass, showing an infusion that is only a pale green, as it was new, and speaks proudly. "This should take a month to properly infuse, but tea will do well in the meantime. This regimen, thrice daily for two to three weeks, should boost immunity, detox the blood, and reduce symptoms. After all of these blends I've worked with, I'm sure this is the one.""Three times? For three weeks?" Is whined from one of the youngest, Adelaide — a twin to Lucia — and looks at her mother so poorly with her upturned brows and her sweet, brown ringlets. "Could you at least bother to remove the garlic? It's horrible."The truth was not the right thing to say, and both of the other girls make their displeasure known with outraged. At this, Cassius quietly makes his leave.The coming days test his patience and the frail, thin line of his sanity. The downpour continued to be relentless, and the sickness quickly grows worse. He's watched it in his animals, too: his sheep bearing bloodshot eyes and the cows becoming lethargic, much too tired to do more than lie. Cassius does the best he can where he can, but his best does not solve anything, nor does it soothe. In stroking his fingers through the combed mane of a horse, he wishes he had someone to comfort him just the same.His mother asks him often about his symptoms as he's become grudgingly faithful to the prescribed regimen, and he speaks his truth— he feels normal. Yet in the other room, the twins lie with a terrible cough as their skin is heated with fever; though mild by comparison, the same symptoms grow with the others too. Cassius doesn't understand why he's become such an outlier, and he asks himself often what has made him different, but an answer has yet to come to mind.His last straw comes upon a late night home from the farms as he circles the hill to the cottage on his rusted bicycle. It's unmistakable, even from outside, the muffled sound of weeping and the heaved breaths of despair, and all from a face he cannot bear to see. He knows exactly who it is, having seen her so hard at work with her wildcrafted medicines to no avail, with a kind of sob he has not heard in years, maybe ever. Within the dim of sunset, Cassius decides to instead drag himself beneath the shade of a neighboring peach tree, and he wallows.He knows the role of caretaker is impending, waiting just at his back; meanwhile, all of the meager coin he earns filters to the home to keep them afloat amid poverty, and it's frustrating. Cassius cannot play as God, cannot have his hand in every facet of life and show to them as a miracle or a savior — he is burned out and hollow. All he wants is to rest.Cassius has tried his best to not mull over the reading much, but cannot help but to reflect on it.'There may be something holding you back, a lesson to learn, or a fear of stepping fully into this next stage of your journey.'And perhaps it was right. Cassius had been held back by expectations and responsibilities he never asked for, to fill the role in place of his father's passing for these 13 long years, and he is tired. His sisters are old enough now to bear the torch, but times are different and times are dire. He cannot abandon them; he will not abandon them.On the rare day off, Cassius takes care of some cleaning, quite embarrassed, for his sheets were long overdue for a good scrubbing. Laundry was often left to the youngest, but seeing as they fared poorly, he readily took on the task himself. He strips his sheets from the bed into a lazy bundle on the floor before lastly peeling his pillowcase free, only to hear a 'tink, tink, tink', then a roll as something hits the wall beneath his bed. He crawls on his hands and knees, stretching his arm blindly beneath the bed when his palm catches the tear-shaped glass, and he pulls it.It's the vial.The agitated herbs swirl and whirl inside; it's a charm, he remembers. He decides to hide it then, the easiest place of which is in his satchel, wanting to keep it far from any prying eyes when he fears the repercussions of having it in his possession.Cassius quickly resumes cleaning as he has a long, arduous day ahead kneeling beside scrubboard and basin, where he'd horribly rather muck the stalls, but he does as he needs. He does his cleaning outside beneath the small square of blue sky between the grey, as it reflects against the rippling waters. It's familiar again, the pale blue, like eyes staring back at him. He thinks of Lucas and the cards and the bar, then the ice and the walk toward the tent, and it circles back again to the charm which reflected those same baby blues in the moonlight a week ago.Cassius suddenly straightens in realization, his eyes wide as he stares into the open fields.The charm worked.He finishes with haste and hangs everything on a line he strings from tree to tree, watching the slight sway of fabric in the breeze, where he hopes it'll catch a hint of sun before the coming rain, so tired of these bleak days. Cassius then sits along the side of the home with his back propped as he's in need of some stillness, and with his arms folded into his lap, he thinks.In truth, Cassius had recently reasoned himself more than happy to abandon magic for a bit of peace amid the high stress of the times, fearing it'd add complications to the pre-existing chaos of Lavendale. He's only able to handle so much, yet he has to credit it for his wellness, and it scares him. His fear is less of the magic itself, but rather that the only knowing resolve thus far lied in the hands of something not only outlawed, but a crime punishable by death. The thought alone makes him ill.His thumb worryingly rubs along his knuckles as he ponders. There's much to do here, much to take care of, but he looks to the skies with the memory of soaking himself miserable with his umbrella left behind, and knowing the days tick by until Lucas leaves. Cassius does not want anything from him aside from his umbrella, but he has questions; now might be his only time. Cassius does not make mention of his leaving, only briefly going inside for his raincoat, then travels down the hill from home and into the little village square.It's slow there at this time of day, a town mostly busy toiling in the fields or hard at work with tools in hand, so he makes his way down the line of vendors with the few neighboring villagers moseying alongside. Luke's tent is easy to spot, even easier in the daylight, and he approaches slowly as not to disturb, and waits for him with a polite smile, clutching at the strap of his bag.
a world overrun by lost and roaming monsters. they're well-meaning and mostly harmless, but have become a great nuisance to the locals. this includes some absurd run-ins with clumsy creatures and TV adverts offering products such as 'ghost-be-gone!'.inspired by meow wolf and seasonal haunted houses.
✶ my character ✶
boston has just about had it with the local monsters that have flooded town, only made worse when he can't seem to keep them from wandering into his home, either. there is only so much 'ghost-be-gone!' or protective charms he can use to keep them out, and in the process is forced to take on some unexpected roommates.✶ general themes ✶
⭒ strange and clumsy beings
⭒ absurd, surrealist scenery/scenarios
⭒ generally light-hearted
⭒ inspired by halloween haunted houses
