#t6fs

[t6fs]

Come on down to see em play!

[capn-twitchery]

killing!!!!.png

collab!! thank you to @t6fs for giving me some really cool lines to colour i had a blast (no pun intended) (original very good lines under the cut)

[dualclock]

🎲 for scrimshander & twitch if you like?? :D (refs are in my art tag in my pinned post!)

(19 - an underwater kiss)

Its become unclear how it got to this point by now — who officially dared who, what the argument was about beforehand, whether you've decided you like or hate the softspoken stranger with a smile wider than even yours. You'd remembered to remove your coats, but not your hats, and its a miracle neither of you lost your glasses.

By the time you're ringing out your hair, and wondering why you did that, you're stuck unable to shake the the sense that something was... off. A feeling like that one you get when something terrible, hollow and ancient looms beneath your ship, waiting to swallow it up. You turn over the parting gift — an ivory bird, with eyes in its jaw and teeth in its beak — and try to shake the foreboding sense that the Scrimshander can hold its breath for a long, long time.

[elleryhart]

A Year Of Dreams

[There have been little glimpses of a man with long, reddish hair around London, strikingly familiar to anyone who knows Ellery Hart. But... it can't be him, can it? The hair is too long, and he's much too thin, and he seems to be avoiding Ellery's usual haunts... How odd...] >>> One Year, One week. Time can work differently on a Parabolan Hunt.

He told them he was going to be gone a week, give or take a few days. This time, when he left, everyone knew where he was going and when to expect him back. Dinners, drinks, a few letters. Some time spent with with friends and lovers and partners. He wasn't sure how he'd gotten so lucky, but his mistakes had been made, and he'd learned from them.

He told them where he was going, and when to expect him back. He'd told them that, right?

He absolutely told them that.

Of course, the longer he was here, the less sure of that he was.

The Lieutenant could get here. When he realized --if. If he realized. If he realized, and if he cared to come. Surely he would care to come. Surely his claim on Ellery meant something. Even if it never meant as much to him as it had to Ellery. Surely he would come after what was his, if only to claim it. To claim him.

And if he didn't care to come?

Weeks stretched.

Lyra loved him. Lyra loved him and she was strong, but he wouldn't wish this place on her. Not as the weeks became months. Not as the nightmares took hold. Would she send someone after him, or would she assume, as before, he'd gotten in too deep? Would she remember the time he died at Zee and decided, finally, she'd had enough of his stupidity?

Six months in, he couldn't blame her for having given him up.

Merry had a lab. Merry had a lab, and he swears he could remember a covered mirror in their home. In the first month, there was little expectation of anything on that end. Merry often got so busy with their own work that they needed to be dragged away. But they also had their own mysteries to solve, meetings to attend, and they had to figure out who was impersonating them.

At what point did they notice he was missing? At what point did they decide they weren't coming either?

Time stretched, and loneliness turned to bitterness.

Eckil was strong, but they were no hunter. Ellery knew that Eckil could come here, but that was nothing in tracking him down. Ellery was so damnably lost. He couldn't rely on the thought of Eckil being able to seek him out. Or having the time. Or the desire. Eckil would move on. The rest of them had.

Jin, also, was not a hunter. Still, with the way they had been looking out for one another, and after their talk, Ellery had hoped…

What a joke. What a mess of a joke. When had he begun to think of himself as someone who could rely on others? Was he a sucker? An idiot? When he was having worse day than normal his thoughts of his friends, the people he cared about, were less kind. On better days, he hoped they were alright. He hoped they were happy. He wanted them to be happy, even if he was pretty sure he never would be again.

Eight Months. Eight god-be-damned months in this nightmare.

Professor Shaw --that one hurt more than he cared to admit. He realized he'd come to think of the Professor as endlessly powerful, and someone who would care if something happened to him. He'd held on to the hope longer than he should have that the Professor, a killer of kings, would be able to find a way to pull him out of here. But there's a difference between pulling the strings of a local corrupt power and launching a rescue mission into Parabola for… what? For him? His bitter laugh was all that surrounded him. He'd gotten too comfortable there.

Ten months. Give or take, anyway. When it had mattered, he'd gotten better at keeping track of the time that had passed. When it had mattered, he knew how many days it had been since he saw one partner or the other. He'd learned to count the days in a way that he didn't need to anymore, but habits, once they were habits, could be hard to break.

He'd stopped trying to reach Chiasmus in the first couple of months. He couldn't reach it, couldn't feel it. Still, he was strung along by messages, small bits of gold writing. Assurances, encouragements, platitudes that Ellery desperately wanted to believe. Those didn't stop. Those don't stop, and they're probably the only damn thing by the end that keeps him looking.

One damn year. Maybe more than that. Probably more than that. One year, and finally, finally a mirror back. He wasn't sure where he was coming back. It wasn't the steamer he had lived in with Jin. It wasn't his lab, either, if that even still was his lab. Still, London seemed much the same, once he was back. Not much had changed, even if he had. A not-so-small portion of him longed for the surface, the ability to leave once more. To start over somewhere else. He wondered if his Clay Zailors were alright. Had they sold the Might? Maybe he'd check on that in a couple of weeks, once he figured out where he'd be staying, and what he would do now.

His hair was longer. Maybe he'd cut it soon, shave it off. He had a few new scars, his clothes were falling apart and his makeshift belt would need to be replaced soon. His glasses were broken. He still had the pieces to hold up if he needed to see, but it's not like there was much to read where he had been. They'd need repairing now that he was back. Food first. God, but he was hungry. He couldn't remember the last time he felt sated. Food, shelter, and then he could see to his looks, his clothes, his eyes. He missed his bed, but he couldn't go back there. He made well sure he was shut down --the Scrimshander would know he was back, he couldn't prevent that, but it would not feel a thing from him otherwise.

Food, shelter, and then he could decide his next move.

[letheology]

🎲 the Scrimshander would like to kiss Riaan 🥺

(36 - A kiss to the shoulder)

You're not quite sure how it happens. At some point amidst the spins and dips of your dance, the Noble Visionary looses his coat. Underneath, their blouse is sleeveless - where did they get that? The other guests are scandalized, but neither you nor the Visionary seem to mind. But oh. That's new. They must have recently returned from Parabola - yes, his hair is still bleached from the Cosmogone sun, and his shoulders are dotted with freckles that have yet to disappear. Before they can put their coat back on, you pull them close and press a kiss to their shoulder. And another. And another. One for each fading freckle. All while the guests watch.

[neathyingenue]

💌kiss roundup part 1 of 3💌

here are 8 of the kisses i drew for what has been dubbed the "kisspocalypse"!!

Silvia and Caoimhe (belongs to @the-insouciant-scientist)

Silvia and Elias (belongs to @the-dye-stained-socialite)

Silvia and Josephine (belongs to @thedeafprophet)

Silvia and the Six-Finger'd Scrimshander (belongs to @dualclock)

Silvia and Merry (belongs to @anomaly-beans)

Silvia and Brett (belongs to @thedandy-detective)

Silvia and Vincent (belongs to @the-clay-quarters)

Silvia and Jones (belongs to @viric-dreams)

[hells-dear-heart]

I'm not sure how many you've gotten so far, so for Isidore, whichever two questions of your choice that you havent been asked yet that you're hoping to answer :)

- @t6fs

I have only received the ones I posted Shsjgsjs

12. How many library books do they have checked out right now? How many have they actually finished? Started?

He reads ravenously about any topic at all so like. He checks out several at a time and finishes them all by the time they’re due. The librarians fear what may happen when he’s read their entire catalogue.

14. What position does your OC sleep in? How much do they move around? Snoring?

Idk about position but I do know that he’s a sleep hugger. And he snores also

[bizarrebazaar13]

5 and 17 for my good pal Alexandria :)

- @t6fs

5. What is your OC's preferred self-indulgent snack?

baklava! small layered pastries filled with chopped nuts and sweetened with syrup or honey. Alexandria’s favorite filling is hazelnuts, but he also likes walnuts. baklava is hard to find in London though. very sad. but whenever he can get it, he stocks up on it.

17. Does your OC have any allergies?

sunscreen. she does not know this yet and might never know. but it is there. Lurking.

[t6fs]

Gant eyes gang

( Captain Twitch belongs to @capn-twitchery )

[dualclock]

THE DIRGE: AN EXCEPTIONAL STORY

Why must every Question have an Answer?

[elleryhart]

birthday sketch for @t6fs of the scrimshander, my beloved.

xïçak” szotu rrod, xït maçokh navï`

[t6fs]

@thunder-threnodies Scrim would be thrilled to get a challenge like that >.)

[neathyingenue]

if ur still doing kiss meme, 🎲 for the Scrimshander w your choice! (refs can be found #T6FS)

I rolled a 34--a kiss after a bite!

(aka Silvia is SHOCKED that she managed to pull the Scrimshander)

[hells-dear-heart]

Saw ur post abt bein bored, so: what's a tidbit of lore about The Amber Eye that you've been itchin for an excuse to talk about?

- @t6fs :)

I always want to talk about The Curse, and I don’t think I’ve actually explained what it does on tumblr yet.

His Curse gives him compulsions to do things he normally wouldn’t, especially things that are “wrong” or in some way considered shameful or immoral. But the biggest thing with that is it’s entirely based on his perception, and he was raised Catholic in the Victorian era so. His perception of wrong/immoral can range from like, Yknow. Actual violence or real crimes, to… just like, indulging in a little bit of hedonism, being gay in public, pretty much anything that doesn’t fit with the Victorian era’s RIGID social standards.

He can resist/control them to a degree, but the longer he fights it the stronger and more extreme the compulsions get. And it also starts to make him physically ill. Typically he manages this by doing a little thievery or indulging in a little bit of honey (he has a Normal Relationship with prisoner’s honey (he uses it in a unique way that may or may not be Doing Things to him))

The curse is what gives him his amber eyes! They only look like that when it’s taking hold of him, otherwise they’re brown. It also gives him claws when it’s taking effect, and it gave him sharp teefs but those never go away (it’s why he’s generally very soft spoken—it’s a lot easier to hide them when he’s almost mumbling)

It makes him look a lot like a devil sometimes, but it actually has nothing to do with Hell! Other than being why so many devils are so fascinated with him—it has had a very interesting effect on his soul

[t6fs]

crawling out of the dirt to post the Six Fingers, a Band of Licentiates led by the Sixfinger'd Scrimshander.

Felicity Verity (of the Savage Lily) is a very grizzabella esque woman. A middle aged devil who was once the sweetest cheese in town, now mostly washed up. Formerly a singer, she was sabotaged before a show and her voice is all but ruined, grating, rough and very quiet. Shes a whiz at poisons now, as well as herbal teas and whiskey-based cocktails. Very dry sense of humor. Born the 10th of September, she douses her throat in honey and sings when the band plays together. Dreadfully charming aromantic.

Richtor Mole, the Neurasthenic Assassin. Chronically ill and fatigued, has some spinal issues and uses a cane. Dead shot with a pistol because he hates the sound and doesn't want to have to fire more than once. Frequent migraines. Has a pet sorrow spider he dotes on like a kitten. Irritable. Plays a harmonica, begredgingly. He's actually very good at it. Has a thing for Ernie, the only guy who can make him laugh, and is very morose and dramatic about it. Born the 8th of September, 31 years ago.

Ernie Fowl, the Anxious American. Mississippi born with a perpetual smile on his face. Sharp as a tack, very distracting. All his babies are straight razors, but any blade'll do. Cant sing either but thinks he can. 5'1". Shreds on a fiddle. Devout methodist. Incredibly skilled tap dancer. Learned 89% of german, 75% of Italian, and 63% of French. He cant speak em well, but can understand em for opera guy reasons. His "fiddle" is a stradivarius, not that he cares much. Desperately in love with Vinne, who killed him once by accident. Born the 11th of September, 31 years ago.

Vinne Sable, the Stygian Wire. Keeps a journal of her own deaths, which she repeatedly orchestrates as performance art. Garrote artist, both for murder and also for painting. Pulls her own hair out compulsively. Philosophy bro. Glass is not only half empty but it is cracked and getting everywhere and she's cleaning her paintbrush in it anyway. Has Boatman beef. Plays a rusty baritone saxophone the size of a small child. Very unwell, wants to be taken apart by Byron, romantically or literally is unclear. Born the 7th of September, 31 years ago.

Elodie Roach, the Pyromanic Poet. Clay person with an intimate knowledge of ballistics, physics, and explosives. Master of traps, you will die to the rube goldberg machine. Their "poetry" is actually advanced trigonometry and algebra equations. Romantically in love with the concept of gravity, finds beauty in the gruellingly technical. They have two arms on the left side and none on the right, but still have a right and left hand. Compulsive liar. Plays an old accordian vertically and rather well. Deeply obsessed with Richtor for his precision and grim demeanor. Sculpted on the 12th of September, 31 years ago.

Byron Finch, the Anesthetic Ace. Had her fingers crossed when she took her hippocratic oath. Extremely skilled physician, excessive knowledge of anatomy and incredible surgeon. Can thread a needle with one hand. Glass is half full kind of person. Gets mistaken for a teenager constantly but is 31. Prefers to kill with her bare hands, and ensures it is always painless. Steals silverware by accident. Plays a tarnished silver trumpet, usually with a mute. Has approximately 400 thimbles. Finds Elodie to be the most beautifully imperfect thing in the world. Born on the 6th of September.

None of them have reflections anymore.

[dualclock]

The Six-finger'd Scrimshander is agender, omnisexual/romantic, as well as polyamorous. The scrimshander's culture has no real concept of inherant gender (it is seen as a performative, voluntary thing that one can opt-into) so it uses any pronouns, though defaults to it most often when asked. I think it'd struggle to define its own sexuality, as it approaches attraction on an individual basis.

happy pride month!

question: how would you (their writer) describe your character's gender + sexual + romantic identity, and how would the character themselves describe it? fallen london is pretty welcoming of queer people, although their vocabulary for it is naturally very different from modern day