fishermcn

[fishermcn]

What if I slept in your arms every single night for the rest of our lives what ifff, huh?

[fishermcn]

Want to ship? Feel free to tell me straight off!

Yes, shipping does need chemistry between the two muses, but if you look at my muse and think ‘You know what, I’d like to ship my muse with theirs!’, feel free to tell me, even before we start threads!

I love having a direction/goal to work the characters towards – when I write fiction on my own, I like having goals and plot points, like romances, family and friend relationships, rivals and enemies.. why wouldn’t I like having the same with RP? RP is just collaborative fiction writing!

There’s no shame in liking ships, or even RPing for ships. There’s tons of people in the world who love to read romance novels, and no one tries to tell them that’s wrong or worse than liking mysteries, or fantasy adventure. Neither preference is wrong, it’s just that – a preference!

So please – if you want to ship, or work towards a ship, in any capacity : romance, family, friends, rivals, and everything in between – TELL ME! I’d love to see what we can come up with together!

[fishermcn]

@sunmad

The willow knows what the storm does not: that the power to endure harm outlives the power to inflict it.

[fishermcn]

@henosiis, for alizabeth.

"You don't find many old werewolf hunters." -Paulin, trapper of the Somberwald.

[fishermcn]

like this post and i'll find some magic: the gathering art that reminds me of your muse!

[fishermcn]

— Greg Santora (via letsbelonelytogetherr)

[fishermcn]

what's your role in the tragic play?

misunderstood villain.

prepare for an onslaught of both the most dehumanizing and hateful takes, and flood of thirst comments. you are chronically misunderstood. whether or not you're actually evil is debatable. you may be acting out for revenge, to defend someone you love, or even just to protect yourself. you're a pretty jaded person. you don't trust or even really like most people. maybe you did at one point. but that part of you is gone, and you don't go a single day without grieving it. you think a lot about what your life could have been. you're stuck in the past. you're angry and maybe you don't even want to be, but this is the only way you can see to survive. you're open, but less in a trusting way and more like a wound. you don't like to let people see you, but the hurt spills out of you before you can stop it. you're impulsive, even as you try hard to plan and prepare. maybe someday your side of the story will finally be heard. until then you can convince yourself that being hated is safer anyway

tagged by: @sunmad ;y

tagging: @yellowfingcr, @schattenmagier, @rotten-pest, @serpent-slayer, @ki-pulse, @necremant, @intothewildsea, and you!

[fishermcn]

// smash or pass ;3c

And there is when something in her shatters. The fortress of her heart crumbles. Words she would have kept behind her teeth at the worst of times flow seemingly effortlessly. Because it’s him. Because it’s Samuel Whist they’re asking about.

“I’d damn myself for him.” A beat. Alizebeth inhales deeply.

“He is more than I deserve. He lights me on fire. He opens me up and his hands take things out of me that I’ve never understood. He teaches me about them. Makes me know myself. He's patient with me. He is coarse, but he's kind. He's gentle. I alone know him like that.”

“I don’t know the words for how I feel. There’s still many things I don’t understand. But it doesn’t matter - I sleep soundly by him. I trust him with my life. He cares, though you might not see it. He cares so much it makes me afraid. But his arms wrap around me and I forget my fears. He demands all of me. I give it to him.”

“Hard to believe we were strangers once. I never thought there would be someone I can’t go without. There are many things I never thought would be mine to enjoy. We live hard lives. Often short ones. But we’ll live them together. 'Til the end.”

“Some days I can't tell where I end and he begins. He is my home.”

[fishermcn]

smash or pass :3c -- @hawksblooded you didn't rb the meme but i dont care 💖

@hawksblooded // chance encounters with the crooked crow.

"Ain't ever planned f'this, ya know."

As always, there's no reply from the ring. Cold as it always sits on his stained finger, the gold band somehow stills gleams as if new despite all the tarnish and turmoil the hand it fondly holds has undergone over the long, lonesome years. Even now as Sam stares down at it, twisting it slowly from where he's sitting by the river shore, it seems immune to the grime and grit that's usually left in the wake of his touch. Whether it be a knife drawn with fingers etched in ash upon the hilt or a gritty hand's print pressed against the soft flesh of a throat before the aforementioned steel severs it, it seems only the ring remains clean.

Some bard or poet might wax on about an everlasting love keeping it untarnished. Sam's seen it die, though. Knows the truth more keenly than even his own bombs and tools-- that it can die, and when it comes to be the receding wave drags everything that once was away with it too.

Which makes where he's found himself now all the more ache-worthy. "Thought it'd only ever be th'two o'us. Wakin' up t'ya holding m'face and askin' after breakfast. Turnin' round t'find ya half asleep watchin' me tinker." He blinks once, twice. He swallows hard, leaning back against the riverbank and simply staring up at the clouds. The ring turns, and turns, and turns. "And now'm findin' myself starin' longer. Caught up in someone that ain't nothin' like ya--" Damn him, breathe dammit. "... like ya were."

Sam lets his head fall against the ground with a dull thump. He wonders how long it'd take him to sink in the mud and reeds if he just stayed here and didn't move. "Oughtta see her, Carline. How she moves with that sword o'hers. How clean a shot she is. That gleam in them eyes she's got." He grits his crooked teeth and lets himself have a chuckle rather than try to hold back the lump choking him right now. "She looks at me like ya did. Like I ain't just some old thing clingin' to th'bottom of a boot. Like I mean somethin' like a damn."

(To say nothing of the way they are side-by side, fire and steel and fury as they tear apart the monsters haunting and stalking men. In the way she looks when that gaze of hers is set and determined on tweaking Svetlana, ebon-hair tied back into a ponytail his fingers ever itch to unwind. In how strong her hands are when they've caressed his face, in the feeling of her scars pressing against his own when they touch--)

"And I love her for it." Saying it aloud to himself doesn't make everything come to a standstill. River's still splashing as it runs over and between the rocks. There's a few frogs croaking out far too close by, and he swears he can hear Mara padding around some place near sniffing as she's always so keen to do when they stop for the evening. It winds him as though he'd yelled it all the same. Threatens to wound him, too. "And I dunno if that makes me a right bastard, damn all what we'd said." He'd sunk his fingers into the mud at some point, but the grit nor the cold feel of it doesn't keep him from pressing a kiss to the ring. "Dunno if moving on means lettin' ya go. If it means I'm failing ya, somehow, lovin' her."

Damn him. His breath shudders. He blinks and sets his teeth even as he scrubs at his eyes with a ragged sleeve. He squeezes his eyes shut and settles his forehead against the ring. "... know what you'd say, though. Knock me up th'head, I reckon. Use that tone with me right 'fore ya tried shakin' sense in me." A cough claws out of his throat, and another, before he can take a deep enough breath to continue. "Tell me I'm just afraid, ya would... 'cause I am, Carline. Terrified, and angry, and afraid. Because how I can keep her safe when I let ya die? Ain't I just askin' t'get knocked on m'arse, fallin' in love again?"

"... might be a fool then." One last time, Sam presses his lips against the ring. He sighs. "Cause I know there ain't no use. Know she's not too far off from where I were with ya, she ain't. Without no clue or knowhow that someone can see ya as ya are. Like ya did with me, m'love. Even if I'm afraid. Especially 'cause I am." He feels around the riverbank for a flatter stone and sends it skating across the river, sniffing quietly. "Cause I know ya wanted me t'live. Not just go'n survive. Not just go off'n kill'm all and die... ya prick." In spite of everything, he allows himself a grin even soon in fading. "Tell ya all 'bout it, someday. Let ya make a fool o'yerself given Lizbeth moon-eyes when it's said'n done."

One final turn of the ring, and Samuel Whist pulls himself up and out of the mud to make his way on back to camp. Back to Liz. "... later, meine bessere hälfte."

[fishermcn]

@hawksblooded // x

"Don't know nothing 'bout this, reckon." His nimble fingers betray him seemingly in the worst of times, indecisive as they tremble and drip grime and gore alike onto her chain maille and the front of Liz's trousers. "Ain't no hunger. Can't go without." Sam huffs, those oftentimes hard and cutting eyes of his blown wide and molten with something desperate. With scarcely a sound, a dirk is yanked from some hidden place on his hip and slipped along the strings tying her pants up, severing them without so much as a nick. The cold steel just kisses her skin in passing. "Need ya. Here, now."

Would've been a rare thing for Sam to have so many damned things to say, once. Weeks would pass him by without so much as a muttered greeting or black oath to anyone, and even when the quiet was broken it never was long in waiting to seep back in as though saltwater through the cracks of a rowboat's rotted boards. Too heavy were the looks cast at those who pried despite how deeply he drank, too tense were the exchanges for conversation to ever do more than die stillborn. Even when there was gold to be made and blood to be shed enough to warrant scraping the rust from his lungs enough to speak, it was never a long-standing affair; loud as cracking timber and dying screams could be when the blaze erupts, it seemed to make the ensuing silence loom all the larger.

It'd been that way for years now. Worse even than when the isle hadn't yet been dragged under the waves, when the talisman around his neck still meant something and there was something meaningful in confronting your demons with steel in hand. When there was still someone who used to break into his silence with her ugly laughter and trample it with her chatter as though a moment's quiet had personally offended her. Who prattled on all the day if you let her, aye, but who listened when he did speak as though the whole damn world rested on what he had to say.

Before she died, that is. Reduced to a ring cold on his finger and aching memories that dull with every morning without her.

Yet now, surrounded by the carnage wrought not only by the packlord's rampaging but their own liberal use of black powder and flames, sitting astride the only other woman who's ever looked at him as though he were worth more than the salt and mud he'd come from, the words seem to spill from past Sam's thin lips as though a dam's broken in the back of his hoarse throat. "Saw'm swing at ya, love. Know that blade bit." They're chapped, cracking even as they meet Liz's in another needy kiss, and when the drops of blood spill onto her chin he's quick to lap them up before crushing his mouth against hers again. "Gonna take care of ya, I am." His panting is strained against her lips, as though he's on the cusp of another cough, before Sam takes a deeper breath and settles for getting a fistful of the hem of her trousers.

"Lean up." Sam kisses her again. Shaking, trembling, the bruises around his gaze stand stark against the sheer affection and heat in his stare. "Do it f'me, heldin." Already his other hand sidles up underneath Liz, stained fingers stroking the place between her lower back and just above the curve of her rear.

[fishermcn]

// as i'm slowly making my way back onto here with posting consistently, have a personal psa: i'm always interested in our threads, even if it can take far longer than i'd ever intended to reply to them.

so long as you too have a desire to continue them, it's always my desire to continue where last things left off

[fishermcn]

"Paint a picture, heldin. It'll last ya longer."

There's no mistaking the snort he gets in reply from the bed behind him, nor the weight of her stare as it roams his lean back. He doesn't need to see her face to know the expression she must be making, and the thought tugs his thin lips into a smile as he stretches out.

"Give me my pants back."

"C'mere and take'm from me."

// courtesy of my darling, the ever brilliant @henosiis~

[fishermcn]

@necremant // x

Crow can't help but huff out a coarse laugh from around his pipe, smoke winding up past his thin lips before they curl into an exhale-- a perfect smoke ring treading the air a moment later. "Mhm, no helping that. Iron Menial ain't exactly test tastin' what he puts in th'pot, and I don't reckon th'priestess is gonna be much better. Not when she'd rather head out with you lot anyhow."

He smothers a cough against his ragged sleeve, then another, before rasping further. "Not like kissin' cheeks or patting asses will do much 'gainst th'Night anyhow. No sense wastin' breath and time when ya could be gettin' ready." His own gaze doesn't flicker away before the perhaps unnerving visage of the doll, flinty eyes alight with some quiet interest and intent.

"Gotta offer for ya. Reckon it'll be more use t'ya than any of them others."

[fishermcn]

how are you so quiet about it? your sadness i mean. how do you hold it in your chest, in your eyes, in your teeth without letting it speak; how does it stay still?

[fishermcn]

Miriam reaches up to remove the carved bone pin from her cowl. She shakes herself free of her cloak and veil, rich brown hair spilling out around her serenely smiling face. Then she slides up to Crow, walks her fingers up his chest and laces them to crown behind his neck. Trapped. She embraces him, presses herself to him. Her mouth is by his ear, the glint of her teeth teases the soft skin of his lobe. "D'you know what I wish you would do?" She whispers. Her voice, usually so composed, so sweetly arranged, draws itself into a yearning sigh, more breath than sound; hot and damp against his gorgeous throat.

"Let me get a taste of you. Just hold still for me, for a moment. Be good for me. I wish you'd stay still long enough for me to sink my teeth in." She shivers against him. "I've been thinking about it, at night... after you leave me. I've been thinking about what you'd taste like on my tongue."

Said tongue slips out, soft and pink, and licks a stripe up his exposed throat. She laps up the salt of his skin. Then she pulls away from him, spins on her toes, and saunters off.

@sunmad // for the most cautious beasts, the sweetest bait; beneath it lies the sharpest hooks in wait // not accepting.

A distrustful, wary mind seems to be worth its weight in gold with every passing night here in Yharnam. When every darkened alleyway could hide a snarling, slavering beast and every rooftop host to some unspeakable thing from the other side of the veil, the occasional sleepless night or three is well worth being ever on your guard. It's proof enough in himself, that in a decade's time since arriving in this accursed place he's yet to succumb to man or beast even without indulging in their supposed good blood.

Seems as though Crow's luck has finally run out though, damned fool that he is for lowering his guard and letting Miriam so close to him.

Positively sinful, it is, the way she fits against him as though he'd been a puzzle piece missing its pair. There's no explanation for how easily hands that'd just been occupied with tinkering away at his trick weapon can forget their skill in favor of settling on her hips, already marring the pure white of her robes. Nor for how quickly his pulse jumps beneath the press of her just too-sharp teeth, for the sudden warmth flooding his pale skin before the sweet prospects of her quiet words and longing breath.

His already unsteady breath shudders beneath the stroke of her tongue, that likewise erratic pulse jumping with it, though there's something sharper and more pointed in his exhale through clenched teeth. Something reflected in the keen edge of his typically hard stare, flinty eyes sharpened to dagger's points when Miriam pulls away as though she'd merely offered him a fond farewell for the evening.

"Told me before, ya did." Long stained fingers tighten in the looser folds of her doctor's robe, halting her before Miriam can properly trot too far off... but still loose enough for her to slip free if it pleased her. If she had little want or need for his coarse words. "Think me a hypocrite, ya do. For wantin' ya. For being drawn time'n again towards. Despite knowin' better. Despite knowin' th'cost."

Two, three quiet steps against the cobblestones, and Crow's breath tickles the back of her neck. His hands ghost over her hips again but seem reluctant to settle like they had before; as though it'd burned him, or rather as though to do so invited a bite. "Many things, I am. Liar. Thief. Murderer." Each word is punctuated with something painfully soft, lips pressed to her skin in something not quite a kiss against her nape as his nose brushes aside her loosened brown locks. "Hypocrite though... no. Ain't no hypocrite. Just a fool, I am. For wanting ya, despite knowin' I can't have ya."

There. A chaste kiss against her jaw from behind, one without any pretenses. "Not when ya belong t'Oedon."

Finally those hands of his settle, though only long enough for the warmth of them to just be felt before he's pulling away, leather jostling as the cowl comes back up over his face and he adjusts his tricorn cap. "Can stomach being a fool, suppose. If it means having ya near... eat ya fill. Drink deep. Even if I can't have all of ya in like kind."

[fishermcn]

"Long as ya keep that good eye o'yours on point, reckon there won't be no issue. Not so bad in a fight at least, old man."

"...odd crew, this latest. But I imagine we'll do alright." @sunmad @hawksblooded @fishermcn

[fishermcn]

// quick nightreign au while i'm on break:

-still a depraved perfumer, still selling perfumes and other consumables to the nightfarers

-has a vested interest in collecting certain remains and residues from the nightlords, especially from the sentient pest and the augur.

-has a strong vendetta against the augur for reasons he won't speak on. anyone going on an expedition to hunt it down gets a discount on purchases from him, with the promise of tailor-made tonics and items for the one who secures the kill.

-occasionally tailors clothing and blows glass, provided a nightfarer can provide the materials and commission fee.