memory-of-deross - Tumblr blog

[memory-of-deross]

how would your muse draw themselves??? :33

Truth be told, when it comes to that of the DeRosses and their evermore Novelist; never has Orpheus been much of a visual artist within his lifetime, more confident in the pen than he is a brush and curving lines into letters than sketches. Though, that’s not to say they’ve not tried or lack interest at all.

Homesick’s art style is often simplistic in nature, the lines carefree and breezing about; its more cartoonish than making much attempt at realism, with the head and hands more emphasized and the face always lacking much detail than little marks of expression, as well as gentle coloring with crayons— something that his daughter had gifted him before he’d went out on sea, exchanging little drawings throughout the countless letters that were bound, and occasionally, he uses it to color in his experiences for Aging to behold, having once found himself idly scribbling by the upper part of the boat as the sun rose (even long after, his own sunshine still asks him to carry her up onto his shoulders, as they tried to look through the early mornings for that sight together). Generally, his art is often something to be paired with or reminiscent to that of a children’s own style, something stemming from how often that when he’d draw, it’d be with none other than one.

Hollow doesn’t draw much, if at all, nowadays. When he attempts to, his lines come out more jagged, sharpened around random edges, or scrambling off from the initial sketch entirely— disordered and chaotic, only vaguely depicting anything, all a result of how unsteady his hands have become, likely from the ice that’s overtaken his form, the hand within the ice shifting little so, as well as an overwhelming intensity in how he carries himself and how he is, the lines darkened with the force that he draws with, near tearing the page. The activity doesn’t particularly please him to begin with, and although there’d been many instances where he’d cause bias for actions of his that were hardly more special than any other persons within the ruined islands, this lacks to be one, making others do it for him.

Immortalpheus depicts himself in an almost… unsettling realism compared to the rest, who’d not often focus on such matters. The shading and proportions are often just right; it’s as if he understands himself more than the others do, in a sense.

[memory-of-deross]

Okay, but how would screenwriter write a movie script about orfeo/evil thoughts/immortalpheus ?

The Screenwriter blinked slowly, before his metallic hand raised up a coffee mug and he sipped it, casual as ever— as his eyes fluttered shut for a moment, taking in the peace of the otherwise silent room with slightly sluggish shoulders, before the small sound of a thump of the mug being placed back onto the desk echoed throughout the room; the man reopening his exhausted eyes, staring.

As much as he got along with one of those three (and frankly, hardly much others) fairly well…

“I’d quit.” He deadpanned.

[memory-of-deross]

[memory-of-deross]

OBSERVER'S NOTE :

“ As college kicks my ass, I'm rising back from the dead to say: happy birthday Sam (@paperbcy)! You'll get something nice from me that's actually really nice. I'm not going to make this lengthy as I'm busy with college still and my mind is a mess oops. Anyways, have fun as I descend to my insanity of college in the background."

Halo

Winter is here.

To Orpheus, the sight was not a question to him, nor was it an illusion. As he looked onwards to his window, all he could see was the falling snowflakes, the frost decorating and climbing up his window.

Oletus Manor never had snow before. During his stay, the only maps he's known to have snow was Leo's Memory, and even then... It was more of a hindrance than something to admire.

He could vaguely remember the blood staining the pure white landscape and shuddered. He forgets how hunters are mere... Beings, cursed to chase them as survivors in the death game. Worse, wield things that would leave them with phantom aches.

Alas, that was something he shouldn't remember.

Pushing himself up and from his seat, he walked out of his room. He needed a breath of fresh air, and maybe a trip outside of the manor will be enough. After all, going outside never hurts anyone.

And so, Orpheus ventured on.

As the footsteps echoed down, down, down... The novelist noticed that the residents aren't around. It was like the manor is empty, devoid of life.

Then, he hears it.

The giggling of two children as he saw himself running from one of the halls, being dragged by another child.

"Come on, Orphy! We don't get to go out often!"

"H- Hey, stop pulling! I can walk!"

"You'll take too long if you do that! Come ooooon!"

He couldn't tell if he was seeing an illusion, but after blinking a few times... He isn't. If anything, it felt more like he's walking down the manor that is more resemblance of his memories.

... Something that he's repressed for so long.

Quietly, the novelist followed the two children. They were weaving through halls and corridors, the blonde excitedly dragging his younger iteration through them like she knew the location herself.

It's no wonder she's able to go around the manor, Orpheus thought. She's a clever lady, but to think she used to live here...

Still, what he didn't expect was for the two children to get to the front door. When he had arrived, the door was locked and bolted shut, but in his sight, it was left ajar. Clearly, it was a ploy— a trap to think it was already opened.

Although he seems hesitant, he watched the two kids pushed the door wider, letting the sight of white engulf them as they both went outside.

Then, he could hear it.

The faint cries of joy as the children's voices grew faint, and he felt himself taking a step forward.

He knew that this was a mere memory, something that was tied to the effect of those drugs they were forced to take. However, he didn't want to break the illusion just yet.

His gloved fingers rest itself on the wooden door, his monocle glistening as the first few snowflakes touched his body. It felt... Real. Cold, yes, but real— unlike the maps and games he's endured.

With a gentle push, the novelist went out of the door, trudging on.

For a mere moment, he swore he felt someone hold his hand.

Warm.

He felt warm.

"Are you ready, Orpheus?"

And for once, the man looked up and on to the one leading him: the one tied to his memories.

"I'm ready, Alice."

He couldn't forget how warm her hands were, and how her halo shone just a bit brighter amidst the snow.

Just like when they were children.

© ᴏʟᴇᴛᴜs-ᴍᴀɴᴏʀs-ʟᴏɢ | 𝟸𝟶𝟸𝟹 ✧ ʀᴇᴘᴏsᴛs ᴀʀᴇ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀʟʟᴏᴡᴇᴅ, ʙᴜᴛ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢs ᴀʀᴇ | ᴀʀᴛ ʙᴇʟᴏɴɢs ᴛᴏ ʀɪɢʜᴛғᴜʟ ᴏᴡɴᴇʀs

[memory-of-deross]

Where's the last orphy... WHERE'S HIGH BALLER?!/j

luca WHEN I CATCH YOU LUCAAAA— /j /lh

[memory-of-deross]

y’all (and also just me in general) are gonna regret giving me the ability to talk abt old paradise /lh

[memory-of-deross]

Send 📼 to see an early childhood memory of my muse’s

If you can’t see the symbol, send ‘cassette’!

[memory-of-deross]

I should just do a little list of describing every orpheus out of context tbh

[memory-of-deross]

𝘼𝙎𝙆 𝙈𝙀𝙈𝙀 —  𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦 𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯.

questions for the muse, based on all or most life is strange characters from all the games. 

✧.* MAX CAULFIELD : would the muse ever risk their own life trying to save someone else’s? 

✧.* CHLOE PRICE : what is their coping mechanism? 

✧.* RACHEL AMBER : do they have the ability to put on a mask in front of others? or do they wear their emotions on their sleeve?

✧.* NATHAN PRESCOTT : did they grow up with up with money?

✧.* VICTORIA CHASE : how popular is the muse? 

✧.* WARREN GRAHAM : how obsessive / fixated do they get when they develop a crush on someone? 

✧.* JOYCE PRICE : has the muse ever faced major loss in any way? 

✧.* DAVID MADSEN : how does the muse react to authority? do they respect it or are they defiant? 

✧.* SEAN DIAZ : do they have any siblings? if so, how close are they to them? 

✧.* DANIEL DIAZ : where does the muse lie on the moral compass? do they try to do the right thing? or do they live in a morally grey area? 

✧.* FINN MCNAMARA : is the muse a risk-taker?

✧.* CASSIDY JONES : do they like music? can they sing or play any instruments? 

✧.* LYLA PARK : how much does the muse value friendship? would they do anything for their closest friends?

✧.* MUSHROOM (don’t cry) : do they have or have they ever had any pets?

✧.* ESTEBAN DIAZ : is the muse family-oriented? 

✧.* KAREN REYNOLDS : how far are they willing to go to chase their dreams? would they be willing to burn some people on the way?

✧.* ALEX CHEN : how empathetic is your muse? do they like enjoy helping others?

✧.* STEPH GINGRICH : do they consider themselves gamers at all? if so, what kind of games do they enjoy most? 

✧.* RYAN LUCAN : does the muse enjoy nature or are they more of an indoors person?

✧.* GABE CHEN : do they currently have a partner? how many partners have they had?

✧.* CHARLOTTE HARMON : how artistic is the muse? do they enjoy art at all? 

✧.* JED LUCAN : how far are they willing to go to save their own ass in dire situations? would they hurt others along the way?

[memory-of-deross]

— Whimsical Joys —

( banners are made by @/cafekitsune )

———————————————————————

🥀 General ⭐️

✦ This blog is an oc askblog which focuses on the three muses available on this blog, a young sibling and two older, twin brothers. This AU is heavily based within my own overworld universe. See information blurb below to learn more about each muse.

- ( “Mary”; birth name unknown ) ; A young yet brilliant child without a name. They carry around a doll named “Mother Mary” who condemns others for their “sins”.

( Bloom in Gloom ; "Mary" )

- Yugure ; the younger of the two twin brothers. A mysterious young man who operates alone under the cover of moonlight.

( Moonlight ; Yugure )

- Chiyuki ; the elder of the two twin brothers. A seemingly normal young man, yet something about him seems… odd?

( Iced Helm ; Chiyuki )

✦ Warning!! This blog will contain themes of:

- Violence / Mentions of Character Death

- Manipulative/Obsessive behavior, gaslighting, and similar behaviors

- Descriptions of torture/injury; descriptions/mentions of hospital related trauma.

If you’re sensitive to any of these topics, there will be trigger warnings and a read more for your own safety, and an accompanying tag for you to block. If you need to pass on this blog, that’s okay! Your safety comes first!!

✦ “Mary” is a minor ( 12 years old ) and the twins are adults ( 23 years old ) !! So, it might go without saying, but while friendships are okay with "Mary", a romantic relationship is off the table! The twins are both bisexual though [they have a heavy lean towards women!] heart hands!!! /lh

✦ This blog will be primarily text-based responses! There may be a drawing from time to time though.

✦ Characters and Crossovers are allowed. Mod loves interacting with people!!

✦ That being said, no anti lgbtq, pedophilia, racism, or anything overly negative and hateful!! You will have your ask deleted.

✦ New rules may be added at any time. So, check here often!

[memory-of-deross]

heyyy navi 🫶 holds up the orphy bunch. take ur pick.

ㅤㅤHey, hey! Feel free to like or rb this post to get a starter from Runaway ! I'm opening this blog for any interactions while I'm working on Crimson, so feel free to drop by!

[memory-of-deross]

fuck it. we ball. look at them too actually 🫶

[memory-of-deross]

a napping homesick doodle! he’s probably dreaming of the island and his family

[memory-of-deross]

Hey Homesick, have you got a cake for Aging yet?

✦ Under the cut due to length!

It was abruptly, in the early hours of the day, when Homesick awoke startled in his cabin as the rhythmic rocking of the ship he had come to travel in had halted— the shifting of what little items he had packed for the trip scattered across the small room coming to their own pause. The man’s breath hitched as he remained clung onto the covers he’d draped himself with to stave off the chilly airs of the sea, having to turn onto his side just to gaze out with blurred eyes of vivid lights than were more lively than the moons own; they had all arrived at yet another island, called to rest, stretch their legs, or do as they would by the Swallow. Truthfully, he had always struck the novelist as a rather more strange companion throughout the days he was set to sail for the special occasion, perhaps it was just the nature of weariness of the tides rubbing off onto someone who was familiar with it as the only company at times, but even as he had made himself proper and with his briefcase in hand, finding himself glancing over at the Swallow’s fanatics of a bow to entertain the other travelers picked up along the way— there was just something about him that made his stomach twist.

Yet…

No. Homesick shook his head, the movement slightly sluggish from having just been woken up. He was too far gone from his home now to be left to brood about the things that were only possibility at best, he had managed to leave the island— the waters around it already rather testy as rumors from the haunted few— with the Swallow’s help only, and it was only with him that he would be able to return, and he needed to return, if not for himself, then for the two people who may as very well have folded the heart of his own with how much he felt their presence linger even now, the wind that brushed along his slightly shaking hands from the coldness of this particular morning almost akin to their own touch along it. A soft sigh came about from his musings. As much as any past trips were for the stories or tales that he wished to portray almost as much so as they were in actuality with ink at his hand, this one was being done for something that ink would never quite do justice on so much as the memories and lives themselves— it was for his Sunshine, after all, and though he could not nor would likely ever be able to offer her gold bore in his hands, he would offer her the world now through tales upon tales and everything it would have for her, something so vast that her hands would eventually grow to hold. They had now to be able to hold a slice of cake. Oh, his daughter was going to be ten.

And to say he was merely elated or overjoyed was an utter understatement. Over the years, Homesick had found himself at the mercy of storms on more than one occasion, it was only inevitable, but he’d remember it well every time the clouds had retreated into a darkness that poured onto the boat. None of them had ever grown to develop into such a severity that he’d been thrown onto the border between life and death, and though he never was much a man of faith, he’d folded his hands together nonetheless into a prayer and comfort spoken— and the watching the light that shed every time even if only partly… it was the thing that would keep him going, as with Aging’s own light, the sunlight of his own rainy days. His lips couldn’t help but quirk into a small at the amusement that could be sought from it all; surely, to others, he was only being dramatic and waxing sentiment with his words, and as silly as it would be, it was the only way he could suppose to express just how he felt, even in the pleasant disbelief of it all.

His free hand had already taken well to the golden key that hung around his neck as he shuffled through the walkways of the town, walking with much more prep in his steps than he’d have before, a keen eye on the windows of the buildings he’d pass by for any pastries on display as a sign. The Swallow had his own duties to fulfill elsewhere, so Homesick was left on his to scout out any possible bakeries within the island. The people he’d found along the way were more than understanding, kind, even, in entertaining his inquiries, and encouraged him to talk more. He always more than welcomed it himself when they did, it was his own self indulgence at the end of it all to reminisce, especially with the upcoming birthday of his daughter. The time hardly felt like it’d pass much to him, remembering when she was still so small in his arms, and here she was now— a young girl with nothing but a bright future ahead of her.

Homesick would only hope that he’d be around to see such a future play out, though. His cheeriness throughout the day had dwindled slightly more as with the hours of the day the more he’d come to the realization— there wasn’t anything or anyone on the island who offered the sort or was willing, especially not what he’d been specifically searching for. He’d have felt guilty if he’d shown his disappointment much for all the assistance and help from the residents coming up with little in the end, so he’d had grin and bear it, his tone much more deflated by that point though.

“Ah.. is.. is.. that so? I understand. Thank you so much for everything though, I hope you fare much better than I am.” The latter half bore no malice, it was only a lighthearted and truthful wish— he was grateful.

As the sun melted into the sea not too far into swirls of orange and red, the novelist had stumbled off towards a wooden bench, his body slumping against it with a sigh. He’d have to report his findings to The Swallow, wherever the man was to be found; it only made his head lower slightly, ashamed. He’d not want to be a further bother to anyone, but it was just that.. this had to be perfect for a blessing like Aging, he’d not return empty handed. Maybe it was a bit selfish, then, but what trouble would it be when it came to her? Homesick leaned back, fallen deep into thought. A memory stirred in those quiet moments— from the day he had departed and seen off by Awaiting.

Remember, her favorite is chocolate.

His face was held dearly by Awaiting, standing on docks that had seen better days and surrounded by clouds that wrapped the blue skies, her voice leaving a gentle reminder that he’d taken to heart with many of them from even before.

Got it.

He wouldn’t forget. How could he when it was the very thing driving him now? And, it would continue to do so, maybe for just a bit more longer but… he would come back just in time all the same. And if he could so much as bring a fraction of Aging’s smile to life, it would have all been worth it, and he’d do it again and again. The flowers of hope that blossomed did not disappear, only withering a bit, and all it took was a bit of that sunshine to let them thrive once more.

…

Later on, when he had to return to the ship, speaking to a curious Swallow.

“A cake for my daughter? Ah, I’m afraid.. not yet, I’ve no luck here nor anywhere, really, but..” The man paused, humming. “.. It will only be a matter of time, surely. What harm would keeping my hopes up do? I will have my home eventually, and my daughter, the birthday she deserves.

That’s quite enough for me.”

[memory-of-deross]

swallow. When I catch you swallow.

[memory-of-deross]

"Father, Father!"

Aging ran over to Homesick, with a poorly created paper boat in hand.

"Look what I made!"

Showing off the paper boat, she seemed proud of her shabby work.

( See Sam, I promised it wasn’t that bad <3 )

- Aging anon!

HOMESICK’S head perked up from his book as he heard the footsteps and voice - quickly placing the writings aside and leaning down slightly to the girl’s level.

OH? LET ME SEE..

humming, he partly took the boat into his hands with care to not crumple it by accident and looked it over before a genuine, warm smile seemed to appear on his face. HOMESICK reached over and patted aging on the head.

ITS WONDERFUL, SUNSHINE! WELL DONE - BE SURE TO PUT IT IN A SAFE PLACE, WE CAN’T HAVE IT RUINED AFTER ALL..

PERHAPS WE CAN TRY IT OUT BY THE SHORES LATER ONCE IM FINISHED WITH THIS IF YOU’D LIKE TOO.

[memory-of-deross]

Do any of the Orphy alts like pies? If so, what kind/flavor?

(genuine question because I'm actually curious lol)

Screenwriter hadn’t paused from his papers, ever so focused, though his head tilted slightly at the question. “Mm. I’m not it’s biggest fan, it can be a bit messy— but I wouldn’t mind it, I’ve received it here and there from the others whilst writing. I guess, blueberry? I.. don’t remember, a friend of mine had a recipe of his own when he gave a slice to Dorothy and I.” He furrowed his brows, tone becoming slightly more quiet. “I never got it.”

A hum could be heard from Orfeo as the question seemed to earn a soft look from the man, a smile to complete it. “Ah, I do enjoy them— I’ve made a few for Eurydice myself, especially when the season calls for it.. pumpkin pie or strawberry are the more notable I can recall.”

Highroller, shuffling his cards once more within his hands, only bristled alone from such a thought, his clothes folding slightly as his face had scrunched up and a scoff could be heard. “Pies? Oh please, don’t get me started. Weeks ago, I was only trying to head to my room to collect something, and what happens? That foul bird launches one right at me! Not only was the shining floors left an utter mess, my clothes were ruined! For days!” The gambler’s lament was only further dramatized as he leaned back in the chair he sat at, launching his arms into the air in an act of exclamation, a shrill tone. “If I so much as dare see another, pies aren’t going to be the only thing launched that day.” The edges of the precious cards he’d held so dear looked an awful lot more sharper than they had just moments before, glowing almost as brightly as the opening in his chest did with a promise. He certainly disliked them— especially custard.

Scholastic hesitated, fumbling with an open book in hand, the most reluctant of the bunch so far. “I haven’t tried one. I suppose I can see the appeal, but i can’t help but find it seeming too sweet for I. I think I’ll pass, maybe someday?” It was only in the nature of a Scholar he’d be curious, if he would go through with the minor discovery, though, was yet to be known.