when joy ends

Because, like it or not, we're not all balls of sunshine all the time. We can be pure salt when we want to be.

☠ What does someone have to do for an instant unfollow from you?

♥ What's the WORST thing that has happened to you rp wise?

♦ What was a mildly annoying thing that has happened to you rp wise?

♢ Has anyone ever tried to steal your blog? Your headcanons? Icons? All that jazz

♚ How many people don't like you?

⚜ How many people do you not like?

✮ Have you managed to stay away from drama?

☄ Have you ever been in the middle of drama?

☯ Have you ever tried to bring peace to a situation?

☼ How long do you stay mad?

☀ What's your rp pet peeve?

☁ Have you ever forgiven a partner when you shouldn't have?

☂ Have you ever been forgiven when you knew you shouldn't have been?

☢ What fads/trends are you so over?

☣ Have you ever rp'd with someone you knew for a fact was abusive but tried to give them a chance/to make up your own opinion on the roleplayer? Did they change or did you understand what people were talking about?

♨ Have you ever made a public call out post?

❀ What has made you completely lose your chill?

✿ What do you think about public call out posts?

✂ A fandom that you feel isn't open and accepting?

✉ A fandom that you feel is open and accepting?

✦ Thoughts on duplicates following you?

✧ Do you agree with reblog karma or is it forced interaction?

❥ Has someone ever ruined an FC or character for you?

❦ Has someone been jealous of you?

❧ Have you ever been jealous of anyone?

✖ How has Tumblr RP changed since you started?

♒ Thoughts on the fandom you're currently rping in?

she was never made for significance — a woman from an unimportant village with a halcyon disposition, never seeking adventure beyond their crumbling stone walls. a humble leaf upon a continuous and serene lake. familiarity was comfort, community was divinity, tranquillity a soft - spoken blessing. she misses it now, searches for remnants of home in polarizing landscapes. outdistances it's warmth with each step taken. xu mingyi was not made for a greater destiny: it was thrust upon her in a most vicious manner, wraps around every crevice like she's drowning in that lake instead of floating. she was made for stillness and was seized with a crimson - laden touch of war.

the pair rest within an aged stone garden. ivory blossoms spindle earthbound in an artful tangle, dancing in a gentle breeze. the table has witnessed many conversations, unfurled many stories with an inviting ambiance. clouds plume in from the west, though the sky is azure and clear. two perfectly arched maple trees act as both an entrance and solemn guardians, looming over the two dutifully. "then we have drawn the same inconclusive opinion. one thing is certain — we are both separate from the mundane, outsiders looking in." she watches ling zhou with uncertainty. for once, the sword isn't hidden. it rests bare on the table, catching sunlight's reflection. she tilts her chin down with a solemn, pressing expression. "when you are in doubt, consider the nature of my heart. determine the danger from that. when there is a change, when i am no longer myself, take necessary action. can you do that for me?"

ling zhou doesn't answer right away. instead, he reaches up and snaps a low-hanging branch from one of the trees — still bearing a few flowers that match the ones scatter across the garden. he turns it over in his hand once, twice, as if inspecting his newest weapon, before leaning forward and poke the sword with it.

to say that he is intrigued by it is an understatement — not that he could find better words to describe what exactly he feels about the sword, even if he tried. he's seen enough possessed souls — and objects, weapons included — to recognize what stands in front of him: a curse, or a blessing. more often than not, it's the former. yet as he looks at xu mingyi now, all his expectations and assumptions waver.

he reaches forward to poke at the sword again — harder this time — with his makeshift branch-sword, and watches as some petals tremble loose and fall onto the blade's surface like tiny, pale offerings. then they begin to burn, the edges of it curling inward, blackening as if touched by invisible heat. "huh." he stares at the remnants of the half-blackened petals for a moment, before tossing the branch away carelessly. "mind telling me again how exactly you ended up in this situation?" maybe a reenactment of the tale would give him new ideas on what exactly it is that they're dealing with, that such a ... being would leave her generally unscathed thus far has seemed ... bizarre, to say the very least.

except — he stops himself mid-thought — that's not quite the case now, is it? dark eyes study the woman before him, recalling all the small tells he's picked up on without consciously meaning to. the way she's been so weary, exhaustion wearing on her frame. how their entire journey of looking for answers only seems to give them more, and does nothing to lift the cloud in her eyes. "of course. i shall try to," he responds, "preferably after we find out why it chose you of all people. and preferably without it trying to kill me in the process too." knowledge is leverage, and while he'd rather not go into this blind, he has never been one to hesitate to make the hard call. xu mingyi probably deserves a better out when such a day comes, and that, is something he could offer at least. a soft exhale of breath, and then, "so how are you feeling?"

"i wish it wasn't me." he whispers back to the voice. if someone walked by right now, it would have looked crazy. but her voice — even if it's nothing more than a mere illusion — is the only thing keeping him grounded. he wishes he could fight with it, pretend she was still here and everything was still normal.

fate had been more than cruel to them, it's reduced something into nothing — memory that only he would remain remembering. to everyone else, they'd been at odds, the two least likely to have formed some kind of dependency on the other. now, he was wishing he still viewed her as nothing more than the prissy, spoiled rich girl. maybe then, he would have shown up to her funeral like everyone else had. but it was because she everything more than that, everything he had needed and wanted wrapped into one that he found himself breaking for the first time in his life.

he hasn't cried — someone like shen minghao didn't cry. he suffered in silence and anger, lashing and pushing and twisting harsh words like a knife. he didn't cry. yet he knew if he paused for a moment too long, opened his eyes and had nothing but her gravestone to look at, he wouldn't be able to hold back.

it's her voice that pulls him out of the hole, as if he can feel her hand on his cheek and luring him deeper in, eyes opening and almost happy he was clearly going mad seeing the vision of her in front of him — hand outreached, touching him in a way that feels like deja vu. he assumes she'll say something snarky next, like the kelsey he's always known. but the picture in front of him doesn't follow the script. in fact, things veer in a completely different direction that leaves him at a loss for words.

someone who looks just like her, talks with the same cadence, moves her features in the same ways faces him and speaks as if she were real. but that is impossible. she's meant to be nothing but a figment of his imagination — not something who's calling out for him and pleading in ways his mind would never consider. he pulls away entirely, standing up and taking a step back.

"no. i've gone completely fucking insane. why are you — you're not supposed to say this," he lets out with a breath, heart pounding through his chest as his lungs feel heavy. his own name rings out from her lips and it feels like another cruel reminder he'd never hear her say it again, yet the phantom sensation of her voice makes him feel dizzy. "stop saying my name." frustration is at the forefront, shutting his eyes once more and thinking that would make her disappear. yet he opens them, and it's still her. it's always been her and he would always indulge even when he knew he shouldn't. with a bated breath, he listens to her — perhaps for the first time in his life. "kelsey ... i can hear you."

"you can hear me," she repeats, almost whispering, like she's testing the words herself. "great. okay." the entire situation is too fucking bizarre to wrap her head around — even more so than when she first came to and realized she is now a ghost. weirder than when she had run into her first ghost — just because she is one of their kind now does not mean she's used to the idea of seeing ghosts, let alone talking to them. she's been dead for several days now, and she still doesn't know how any of this works. shouldn't there be some heibai wuchang or whatever it is that comes take her away? instead, she's standing before her own grave, coming face to face with someone from her past.

"you never told me you could see ghosts." the words blurt out without thinking, brows furrowing as she searches his face. if this — shen minghao — is simply a trick the heavens and hells are playing on her, some sort of final trial, some test she has to pass before she can move on ... why? her eyes take him in, every feature that she could memorize by heart and traced in the dark more times than she'd ever admit — and it's not fair.

it's not fair that if this was really a test, she would still get it wrong. because he may just be the one thing she could never figure out fully, not in the ways that actually mattered, she thinks. and if she couldn't do so when she was alive, what chance does she have now, as nothing more than a ghost, dead and desperate and still somehow wanting him?

kelsey lets out a breath, something like a laugh caught between disbelief and relief as she blinks away some moisture. "you have a lot of explaining to do, shen minghao. starting with why you never showed up to my funeral." and what you said about me being beautiful. her arms cross in front of her chest, the same old accusing look appearing again. "you better have a really good excuse, or i might just have to haunt you for the rest of your miserable life. "

anyway i have also updated on some rules so give those a read if possible please. the goal is to build on each muse until they all fill up a page on their own with their respective verses, plots etc ... but until then !!! anyway here's the new link (also updated in my pinned) should anyone want to take a new look, but if you see this post, please give this a like or comment !!

"you know why i'm here — you know that i've always cared." there's more frustration and anger in his voice that he would admit. he knows he isn't here on his own volition, that his feelings have tethered him to her in ways he hasn't learned how to escape yet. even when he turns his head and disagrees with her, he ends up in the same place anyway. "who's pretending? that doesn't mean i have to stand by and watch this happen again." a mess that would have to be cleaned up by him, covered up by him, forced to ignore his own shaking hands forced to wipe away someone else's blood. "if you want to hurt someone," he whispers, close to her as he reaches for the hand that held a knife in a instant, positioning it in between them so the blade a few inches from his chest. "hurt me."

she hasn't missed out on the shift in his voice, and that has her heart rate spiking, an odd thrill that has a laugh escaping from her. a sound that could have been endearing, if not for the situation they're in. "are you tired of me now? is that what this is?" her eyes reach his, only seeing her own reflection looking back at her. and she wonder if that's how he sees her: all wide-eyed, messy and sharp. but he knows. he knows better than anyone else how she is, and why she has do this. she remembers reading once —a line from somewhere she can't quite recall — that if there is even one person in the world who truly understands you, then everything is worthwhile. and he does. for so long, she knows and relies on him being that person — and she his.

that's the unspoken deal and agreement between them all these years, like how a compass always points to the north. reassuring. comforting. "zijie, you should've told me earlier if you're just sick of this. i would have done this on my own." her voice is almost tender, like there's an understanding. but her fingers wrap themselves around the hilt of the knife tighter, taking a step forward until the tip of it brushes against his chest. her gaze drops to it, "hurt you?" lucy whispers, soft and cutting, "why are you making me hurt you, zijie? you know i could never do that. "

“I'm sure that I remember you, miss… and yet—” / from wen yulin to ge yueji

While the young woman always perceived herself on the side of most societies -- after all, she and her troupe travelled so much that it was difficult to consider themselves subjects of anyone, really -- she had the basic knowledge of how to treat those of higher status. One must know whose hand may feed them well, hence the need for recognition and knowledge of the appropriate behaviour and respect towards such people.

When the man walked up to her, she could instantly tell it was not an average watcher, the clothes and the air around him were different, and when he spoke, the candour also betrayed his high birth. Thus, when she replied, she took a bow and made sure to look down.

"You may have seen me perform three days ago, young master." She spoke softly, with a little smile. "I am with the troupe that has visited the city. We have performed our great play at the Grand Pavilion two days ago and have been performing on the main street with smaller scenes there. You may have seen me in either place."

The girl looked up, keeping her smile gentle and polite, while her curiosity took over to see what the man's expression was. Did he seem interested? Was he annoyed by their antics? "Did you... Find our performances to your liking, young master?" He'd caught her exploring the city's side streets, enjoying the silence and the lack of crowds as she observed how people lived their daily lives. In truth, she did not think she would be interrupted, but now that she was, she knew to behave and -- potentially -- advertise her family's business.

"ah, you must be the one the applauses were the loudest for!"

though truth be told, where or how exactly did he remember her , wen yulin is unable to come up with a solid answer. not until she reveals the answer herself, that is. a man who adores performances, he often finds himself travelling to wherever the promise of great music and skilled storytelling takes him. sometimes, they all blur together that the most he remember are the lingering scent of wine clinging to his robes, the echo of lyrics sung, fragments of conversations that he often found too boring.

but she must had something — maybe a certain spark in her eyes when he had accidentally caught them during the performance at the grand pavilion, or perhaps the way the entire performance had been, that had stuck with him for the next few days. by the time he realizes he is thinking about it as much as everyone else is talking about it, he has already begun asking around about the troupe — how long are they staying, when they might perform again.

the prince's lips curl into an easy smile as he regards her, nodding lightly. "certainly. everyone i know has been talking about it." a chuckle leaves him, "well, perhaps not everyone. my sister, for instance, has fallen sick and sadly missed out on your play. she would have applauded the loudest, i'm certain." she has always had a particular fondness for tales and plays, and yulin himself has often taken on the duty to read her bedtime stories when they were younger.

the frustration that hangs in the air around them seems to only grow, and yun qian gets it, really. if she were to carry an entire team of her own, she'd probably react just as him. or maybe not. she's never the type to lose her cool over gaming. at least, she didn't think she was. until their session.

he is a good player, even with her near-amateur skill level, she can tell that much. she takes a wary glance at him, and for a moment, something else takes over the hints of guilt in her for basically causing the entire ... distress. a flicker of recognition sparks, then fizzles out just as quick. he looks ... familiar, now that the mask is off. in a way that she can't quite place. maybe it's the mask, or maybe she's seen him before, somewhere. her brows furrow slightly, as her head tilts, studying him.

she lets it go for now. if anything, she has a feeling he'd just get more annoyed with her. and she isn't too keen on pissing him more.

"i know some people out there take this seriously," she says at last, her voice carefully neutral albeit still a bit defensive. "but it's not like you're playing for a championship or something, right?" while her viewers have certainly recommended her to watch videos of how professionals play, though admittedly it's felt like asking a kindergartener to read university textbooks. maybe one day she will get there. but that would mean more sessions like this — more sighs, more disappointment. and she knows most people out there would say things far worse than he did too. "i didn't realize it only took one bad teammate to drag a ranking down immediately." she lets out a breath. "i thought ranks were more … forgiving than that. like, one loss wouldn't matter in the long run."