forum 🌹With Love: Signed in Ink and Blood🩸
Started by @Fenrir
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@Fenrir

I got another late night spontaneous idea woo!

Plot:
Character A is a fiction writer. His specialty? Romance mystery novels with a dash of fantastical intrigue. For his time, it's revolutionary, a best seller in just a few weeks! Well loved both for his stories and his charasmatic yet gentle nature, A is well on his way to his dream life of living with a lover in a secluded cottage in the country side. All he's missing? A lover of course! That's where character B comes in, though not in the fairytale way A dreamed of.
Character B is the queen's assassin, tasked with hunting down criminals, and helping with crimes around the capital when needed. Recently in the capital due to a rumored string of murders, B happens to stumble upon the news of A's book. Instead of enjoying it like everyone else, B is livid about the romanticized portrayals of his job. Instead of letting it go, B, being a skilled assassin, B finds A and demands answers for the rediculousness that is A's book.
As the two being to speak and find convenient times to get together, B gives A more realistic advice for his books and A brings more lighthearted happiness in B's otherwise dim life.
Setting:
Victorian england mystery? But fantastical and maybe a dash of steampunk for vibes.

So yeah, that's the idea, yes this is a romance and yes this is gay.😁 I also plan on this being a bit of a slow burn and more towards slice of life.

Rules:

  • No smut, heavy romance but no smut
  • please long paragraphs, I need detail to continue the plot. I will try and do the same but please no one or two liners at all
  • andrew (Our Supreme Lord and Overseer)'s rules ofc
  • template will be up once someone joins. I don't mind playing either character, just ask me questions if you have any on plot or character, I don't mind fleshing that out at all, highly encouraged.

Deleted user

(I wouldn't mind joining this. I can write longer responses, though on occassion ideas may flee me and I take a bit to answer.)

@Fenrir

(hi Jaiden! I'm going to politely say no for now, just cuz I've seen some of your other rps and it's not what I'm looking for this one in particular. If no one ends up joining, l'l let you know!)

@Avhira-The-Eldritch-Horror group

(Sure!
Lilian was on a mission from the queen. She was close to her victim, when a book caught her eye. She was still in pursuit, but she told herself she would take a look when she was done.

She had gotten her job done, and after washing up, she went over to the bookstore, asking about the book.

is that good?)

@Fenrir

(thank you, but I think I'm also going to politely say no. You're writing is great! I'm just looking for more detail and length for this rp.)

@phantomflame

(Definitely! This is from another rp I'm doing:

Phoenix frowned when he lost sight of the myterious figure. It must've dissolved into the crowds; sirens had a tendency to do that to avoid hunters like himself. He noticed an older-looking man a few feet away giving him a wide grin, the pale green eyes of the stranger eyeing him like he was prey. Phoenix returned the smile, casually pushing his cloak to the side to reveal the dagger at his waist, its intricate silver hilt gleaming when rays of moonlight hit it. The would-be thief's eyes widened, the smile quickly dropping from his face. He held out a hand in an apologetic wave before slipping away into the crowd, going the opposite direction.

Phoenix wove his way through the throng of people easily, sighing with relief when the alleyways started to become less crowded. He almost made the mistake of starting to relax when he suddenly heard someone shout "Siren!" and a young man bolt past him out of another alleyway with a look of sheer terror on his face. Phoenix immediately tensed up and crept closer to the backstreet the man had come from, keeping close to the shadowed walls to blend in. He held in his breath, cringing when he heard bones being crunched, followed by the sound of something being torn out gruesomely. He waited a few more moments before taking the risk and peeking his head into the alleyway, his dagger already in hand.

It took a great amount of self-control to refrain from dropping the blade onto the ground in shock. Phoenix stared at the disembodied form of the human in front of him, mind clouded and body paralyzed with horror.
"Shit," he cursed, shaking himself from his stupor. One of the first rules when dealing with monsters was to never let fear take control of you. Ever.
He forced himself to walk closer to the broken body. He tentatively crouched down next to the man, his heart hammering into his chest. He'd never seen a siren do this before. That's because a siren couldn't do something like this. They could only kill in water. And even then, Phoenix had never seen a victim slaughtered as ruthlessly or as grisly as this. He hasn't heard any reports about another monster being in town…but how could a human have caused this? And so quickly and effectively too?

He got up after a few moments of silence, glancing around. He needed to leave. He couldn't explain this to the cops if they came by here. Feeling horrible while doing so, Phoenix left the body behind, hoping that the man who ran away at least got somewhere safe. He put the hood of his cloak over his head, keeping his head low whenever he saw someone approach his general direction. He walked quickly, practically to the point of jogging and almost laughed in relief when he saw the blackened waters and the piers once more. He slowed down his pace and took his hood off, relishing the cool breeze and the spray of salt water as it hit his face.

Hope my length/type of writing is what you were looking for :) )

@Fenrir

(this works perfectly! Thank you! And yes the length and writing is great! Before we start are you ok with m/m? And which character would you like to be? I don't mind being either for this rp.)

@Fenrir

(woo great, here's a template!)

Name
Age
Sexual orientation
Personality
Appearance
Occupation
Likes
Dislikes
Other

I will put up a character soon, probably no later than tomorrow morning.

@Fenrir

(here's my boy!)
Name Ezra Archeviste
Age - 28
Sexual Orientation Gay
Personality Ezra is very by-the-books sort of person, at least as much as on can ge being the Queen’s Assassin. He likes order even when his job forces him to act out of the box. If he’s the one in control, Ezra feel safe and able to handle the world. Outside of the way he is about his job, Ezra is relatively laid back, almost playful when around the very few people he’s truly comfortable around. Overall, Ezra likes the order being an assassin’s, but when he strays from that order, he becomes flustered and confused with what to do with himself.
Appearance Ezra stands around 5’11 and has a slightly muscular build. He has coal grey eyes that turn lighter shades of grey in certain lighting. His hair is is a near black brown color that goes down to the nape of his neck in curls. He has a darker, bronze complexion. His usual clothes when he’s not working are simple blousy tunics and dark colored pants, typically all under a cozy coat or jacket depending the weather. He prefers deeper shades of colors like reds and yellows. One of his daily articles of clothing are his glasses. Oddly enough, for being an assassin, Ezra can’t see very well without them. He can’t see well without them but people have told him he looks pretty without them.
Occupation Primarily Ezra Is an Assassin for the Queen. Any person she needs getting rid of, Ezra would be the first one she calls. On the side to keep himself entertained and what he likes to call up-do-date- with the town’s going ons, Ezra also works at a local tavern on the Grace periods he gets from the queen.
likes Ezra loves warmth, of any kind. Whether its from drinking, from being out in the sun, or even from a fire, Ezra will take any chance to feel some ounce of warmth. He also likes stargazing. Being an assassin comes with long nights of scouting so to keep himself from going crazy, Ezra taught himself constellations and patterns in the moon.
Dislikes Naturally if he liked warmth, Ezra would dislike the cold, though he does appreciate the warmth more when there are opportunities to get warm during the colder season. He also dislikes cooking, simply because its a task he finds tedious and somehow always ends up burning the food.

@phantomflame

(This is my boy :) )
Name - Dorian Rosenbloom
Age - 26
Sexual Orientation - Homoromantic and Asexual
Personality - Just by looking at him, anyone could tell Dorian is a dreamer. He believes everything happens for a reason, and that nothing is coincidental. He has a tendency to romanticize everything and everyone, and he has a hard time seeing the worst in people and the things they do. He's charismatic and kind to those he encounters, and he absolutely loves sharing his stories and ideas to others in the hopes it will either make them happy or will give them a new perspective on life. Dorian loves risks and new experiences, which can lead to reckless behavior and/or saying something stupid. He normally goes with the flow of life, seeing it as a new chapter or plot twist in his life story, but because of how his mind is wired to romanticize/fantasize the real world, he never fully learned how to accept the tragedy that happens, both in his life and the world, which leaves him confused and dazed whenever something bad happens, like his older brother dying from illness. Despite his flaws, Dorian is an interesting and enjoyable person to hang around, and he's loyal and loving to those he considers his friends.
Appearance - Dorian is 5'8" and has a lean frame. He has silver blue eyes that seem to brighten/intensify when he's intrigued or fascinated about something. He has long rich dark brown mahogany hair that reaches a little bit past his shoulders and he always keeps it up in a low ponytail. He has an almond brown skin tone. He has an entire collection of poet shirts that range in a variety of colors, so much so that it can almost be seen as an obsession. He has dark pants that complement whichever one of these shirts he wears. To keep up with this aesthetic, he also has a few velvet cloaks (which vary in shades of dark blues, purples, and greens) that are lined with wool that he wears whenever it's cold. He also wears a pair of dark brown leather gloves 24/7 that were passed down to him from his late older brother. Not only does it help prevent calluses on his hands from writing, but they're a huge source of comfort and security for him and he gets pretty bad anxiety without them.
Occupation - Dorian is a fiction writer. He does spend a lot of time working for scholars and professors, however, and in return they not only pay him, but they give him ideas and constructive criticism for his stories.
Likes - Dorian loves living in the moment; he doesn't see the point in worrying about the inevitable future or grieving over something that's already happened in the past. He loves all forms of art (theatre, music, nature, etc.) and he loves listening to different perspectives and other people's stories (fictional and autobiographical), which makes others see him as a good listener.
Dislikes - Dwelling on the past (specifically his) is something Dorian hates. He also doesn't like nihilistic people. And frogs. They creep him out.

@Fenrir

(I love Dorian! Here is a starter!)

"You in particular I think will love this," Jerico, Ezra's closest companion, had told him weeks ago. Only now did Ezra recognize the slight smirk that accompanied his friend's teasing comments. Now was too late, unfortunately for Ezra seeing as he had complete the monstrosity that was this book in his hand. "A simple kiss, tender and sweet, was the catalist for his world to change completely." Ezra had crewdly underline that, among many many other lines in this book. It was practically bulging with notes he had jammed inside with his own annotations. He was a skilled royal assassin, respected among his peers and trusted with by the queen to carry out her desires. His skills were honed by years of training and what he called "field work." He hadn't speant all these years working this damn hard for a self published wannabe to shove what Ezra had speant half his life into a simplistic lovey dovey romance. So, as he had done for years, Ezra headed to the capital archives for some research on this Dorian Rosenbloom.

@phantomflame

(Thank you!)

"Eight hundred years of history in this library. You'd think there would be at least one book on the person who founded it, but no, not one to be found."
"Well, supposedly, he did kill an entire nation, so maybe that's why."
"That still deserves a book."
Oliver, Dorian's colleague, gave a heavy sigh at that last comment, but he didn't argue with the writer's statement.
"Look, maybe that can be the topic of your next big novel, but I need help finding information about the Black Death and other medical-related events," the scholar said, combing through the vast array of leather-bound titles on one of the large shelves in the university library intensely. "I know there must've been a way to prevent such an extensive plague, and I'm going to prove it; my thesis on new health treatments and medical theories is going to change the world. It'll be revolutionary!"
"That it will be, my friend, that it will," Dorian agreed with a smile, feeling the academic's passion and eagerness infect him.
While Oliver continued looking at the section he was in, Dorian decided to wander around the rest of the library, admiring the lovely Greek architectural structure of the building as he did so. He filed away the mystery of the institute's founder for a later date in his mind and a pleased smile grew on his face as his feet carried him to a hallway of the library he had grown to know well over the past couple of years, and he gazed nostalgically at the rows upon rows of books filled to the brim with knowledge about world history.
His smile brightened greatly when he gently picked up a familiar black leather volume, and he stroked the cover of it fondly with one of his gloved hands as if it were a beloved pet. He flipped to his favorite chapter, one he had read so extensively that he nearly had it memorized. The bold, intricate words on the page titled the chapter 'Espionage & Assassins'.
Unintentionally, the author reread every word of that section of the book, and for a rare and fleeting moment, he wished there was a way to turn back time, only so he could read the fantastic history of betrayal and political strife all over again for the first time, and feel the same excitement and undiluted joy as it clicked in his brain that this book, and this chapter, was the key to unlocking the beautiful realm that would become his bestselling novel.
"I owe my success to you, old friend," Dorian murmured softly to the ink-covered pages, his eyes shining with gratitude. "Two years of determination, writer's block, and hand cramps finally paid off."
"Mr. Rosenbloom?" A voice called from not too far away, making the mahogany-haired man glance up and carefully close the book, selfishly placing it back on the shelf where it was camouflaged amongst the other novels in the library's seemingly infinite collection. A few moments later, Oliver appeared around the corner.
"I thought I heard your voice, but it was so quiet I wasn't sure," the scholar explained, glancing curiously at the spine of a book on the shelf right next to him. "What section is this?"
"The history of the world and all of its wonders," Dorian grinned. "I believe you'll find the answers you seek a few shelves up from where you're looking."
Oliver looked upward and gasped with delight when his gaze settled upon the row of books that each meticulously described life-changing diseases that occurred in every region of the world.
"Yes," the man breathed, practically lunging for the large volumes, almost dropping one if Dorian hadn't been there to catch it before it hit the ground. "Yes, this is exactly what I needed."
"Glad to be of service," the author replied, but his colleague ignored him.
"I'll send a messenger to give you your payment," Oliver said distractedly, shoving past Dorian to place the pile of books on the table behind him. "You're free to go, Mr. Rosenbloom."
"You can call me Dorian, you know," the writer offered. "We've worked together for months; haven't we moved beyond basic pleasantries and formalities?"
"Absolutely, Mr. Rosenbloom," was the reply he received from the acquaintance who clearly hadn't processed a word he said. "I should really get to studying now if you don't mind."
Dorian bowed his head politely, even though Oliver paid him no attention. "Of course. I bid you adieu, my friend."
When he received no farewell in return, Dorian traveled through the labyrinth of shelves until he reached the entrance of the library. He walked down the marbled steps of the building and away from the university campus, whistling a merry tune as he did so, cheerfully wishing people a good day as he passed them.

@Fenrir

"you are a rake and a scoundrel!" Ezra accused jabbing Jerico in the chest. Upon entering the archives, Ezra had wandered around a bit through the shelves and stacks of books before he stumbled upon Jerico, seemingly doing some studying at an empty desk. "I can't believe I ever thought of you as a friend!" Ezra seethed, only growing more irritated when Jerico began to laugh. He yanked Ezra down to sit beside him and sighed all to happily. "May I ask why I am deserving of such names?" He asked sweetly, resting his cheek on his hand. Ezra nearly smacked him but he restrained, his anger already subsiding. Jerico, annoyingly, had that affect on him. He huffed a small sigh of his own and pulled out the heavily annotated book and set it on the desk with a notable thunk.
"Oh so you read it! And you wrote quite a bit. That big of a fan, huh?"
Ezra rolled his eyes "quite the opposite actually. Jer how could you have me read something so wrong? You know how important my job is to me." Ezra desperately looked for something in his friend's face that was akin to regret but all he saw was pure amusement.
"Ez, it's a book. I just thought it was something you'd enjoy. Take your mind off work while also being slightly relatable." Jerico reasoned, pulling the book towards him and flipping through the notes. "Wow, you didn't have to write on every page. Did actually enjoy the book or hate read it?"
Ezra pouted and shrugged. "It was fine I guess." Ezra admitted with a slight blush. When Ezra wasn't so pissed about the portrayal of his job, he found himself genuinely enjoying the book, seeing why everyone else did. "But its sort of demeaning when something close to my job is put so simply."
"Ez, it's not a personal attack on you. It's a romance novel. If I had known it'd bother you so much,I wouldn't have said anything." Jerico replied genuinely, gently resting his hand on his friend's shoulder. Ezra glared for a moment before laughing softly and tapped the book. "I still want to find who wrote the book."
"For what Ez? To kill him just because he wrote a book you didn't entirely agree with?"
Ezra slapped Jerico's hand away and stood "if he's anything like you, then maybe." He teased before shaking his head and taking back the book. "But no, I just want to meet this author, maybe give some pointers." Ezra said over his shoulder, heading off towards the stack of shelves that held records of people in the city.

@phantomflame

Dorian made his way down the winding cobblestone road leading to the edge of the city. As much as he enjoyed the lively chatter of people living their lives, the smell of freshly baked pastries every morning from the shops, and the overall feeling of just being in the city, he longed to live in the countryside. Being able to see the full extent of the stars' beauty and waking up to the fresh scents of nature every day, who wouldn't relish a relaxing life such as that? It was the perfect conclusion to his story, especially once he reached the climactic chapter of finding the perfect lover to spend his life with.
The author had spent many days and nights dreaming of his soulmate; it was one of the rare exceptions he indulged in, thinking about the future. He often imagined he would find them at a ball of some sort, like a masquerade, where he would fall in love at first sight, and spend every waking moment from that night onward searching for them again, and when the two were reunited, Dorian could finally have his happily ever after with the one he loves.
Like Cinderella, Dorian thought hopefully. Or perhaps even Snow White, or Rapunzel. The Brothers Grimm understand what true love looks like; they were a great inspiration for my novel.
Even though he knew it was probably wishful thinking on his part, Dorian couldn't help himself. Deep down, he knew that he would meet the love of his life through a grand, extravagant event that led only to adventure; that's how all fairytales went, and Dorian's life wasn't going to be any different. And what would be a better finale to his romantic life story than to spend the rest of his days with his spouse in a cozy cottage in the English countryside? It was meant to be.
But alas, until that wonderful chapter came to be, he settled on having a nice little house overlooking the beautifully lush, vibrant landscape that he would eventually call home one day.
Dorian smiled wistfully as he approached the nice wooden door of his Gothic-influenced home and opened it. He was immediately greeted with the comforting, strong scent of parchment and ink with a hint of lavender that was always familiar to him. He gracefully stepped around the scattered ink-stained papers covering the floor that he never bothered to clean up and headed towards the room right next to the door, which had a very comfortable window nook overlooking the endlessly green hills; he could spend hours on end just sitting there, either gazing out the window or binge-writing the latest story idea he came up with.
He once again had to step carefully over the vast sea of parchment to reach his quill and inks set along with a journal almost but not quite yet stuffed to the brim with unfinished ideas. For some reason, every person Dorian encountered automatically assumed him to be a very clean and neat person. Which was true, of course, but not when it came to his living quarters. Dorian believed that creativity should never be kept away in a drawer or hidden high up on a shelf to collect dust. Ideas were meant to be randomly scattered around and occasionally forgotten about, because one day, when you pick it up again, then there's a chance you'll be struck with a spark of inspiration that wasn't there before, and the idea will quickly be turned into a tangible concept, that will then transform into a work of art for others to admire and be inspired by. That was the philosophy the author lived by, and he didn't care that others saw his home as a pigsty or perhaps even as a hazard; everyone was entitled to their own opinions on how things should be, and this was his.
He sat down in the nook, making himself comfortable before dipping his quill in his portable inkwell and opening up his journal, turning the pages until he found a space that wasn't filled with words yet, and began to write.

@Fenrir

“o, p, q, ah r, here!” Ezra excitedly whispered to himself and turning into what he would consider a corridor more than an isle of records. The Royal archives were vast in knowledge and in size. Ezra would often spend his time here when he wasn’t out on an assignment from his queen. He liked the peacefulness of the place, the old smell of books and dust was a comfort to him. He skimmed a scarred hand along the leather worn spines of the record books, whisper "Rosenbloom" under his breath until he came upon the correct row. He stopped and leaned in close, searching the meticulously organized books for the next letter, o through s. He eventual found the record book that held the last names and tugged it from its spot, nearly yelping out from its unexpected weight. He cleared his throat softly and settled on the ground with the ancient thing, deciding it easier than carrying the brick of a book back to a desk.

Adjusting his spectacles, Ezra opened the book as gently as possible and started flipping through the pages, the author’s name, Dorian Rosenbloom, still on the tip of his tongue as he skimmed what he assumed were thousands of names.

The more the name was repeated, the more Ezra began thinking back on the book, particularly one part he remembered underlining. It wasn’t like his other annotions, where it filled him with disbelief and more questions he knew he’d never get answers to. Instead he had just sat there and reread the paragraph.

Their name, sweet upon their lover’s tounge, like honey, like ambrosia from the gods themselves. It barely had to be spoken aloud for it to coat their lips in the sugary sweetness of a pastry, the warmth of spiced wine, the comforting heat of coffee on a cold winters day. Its what had been whispered in greeting each delightful morning followed by slow, sleepy kisses and what was whispered each night after tender love, lingering even after they had fallen asleep In each other’s arms.

After he had read and reread the paragraph more times than he would ever admit, Ezra had stopped reading for the day. There was no need for him to fill his mind with fantasies he knew wouldn’t come true. Of course he had dreamed of finding someone to share his life with, like he assumed many did. But he had understood when he had taken up the position of the Queen’s Assassin, something as intimate as loving another in such a way was going to be next to impossible for him. The mere possibility of putting someone Ezra could potentially love so deeply in a situation of great risk just by being associated with him hurt him so deeply that he had set aside putting himself out there for the safety of his potential beloved and himself.

So how in the wide world had this individual, this Dorian Rosenbloom resurrected those fantasies, something Ezra had forbade himself from even thinking about save for those truly desperate moments he had needed some form of comfort? With such simple words, Dorian had unknowingly turned Ezra into an obsessive mess. Look at him! He was on all fours desperately searching for a man’s name, and for what? Jericho had been right, What was Ezra going to say when he finally found Dorain? What answers could he possibly have for Ezra, someone so profoundly broken by the very job he had sacrificed his life and love for.

How? Or better yet, where? Where did you find the words to describe love like this?” Ezra shook his head. No. He wasn’t so weak as to ask a stranger that. He was to find dorian and have him explain the ridiculousness that was the portrayal of his very own job. Make him see being an assassin was not to be mocked in this kingdom if he didn't want his head in an execution block. That conversation would not be about love. He didn’t need that, not now and not ever. It was to remain what it has always been to Ezra, a pretty fantasy for when he was alone and couldn’t find solace in sleep. That's what live was for.

With that at the forefront of his mind, Ezra found Dorian’s record, if not a bit too easily and copied down the address, and set out on his way to the village near the capital, shoving aside his silly heart’s feelings, choosing, as always when on a mission, to stow away his feeling until he could deal with them in peace, whenever that time may come if ever for somone like Ezra. Most likely after his untimely death, considering what he was.

@phantomflame

"…The starlight, those sweet gentle souls of heaven, those brilliant pearls of the nighttime that sit as if cushioned upon pure black velvet who had guided him through the darkest, blackest of nights, now were cold and unforgiving as they merely watched the cruel sea sweep his lover from his arms and into the abyss, the waters full of lonely shadows and broken dreams dragging them to places unknown and forgotten by man. Oh, how twisted the Fates were as they cut his string before he could whisper a final farewell to his fallen beloved. But alas, not even a tremulous breath escaped his lips as he too was borne away by the waves and lost in darkness and distance."

Dorian placed his quill carefully down, grimacing slightly when he noticed the ink staining his leather gloves. Ah well; if soiled gloves were the price of his words being immortal, then so be it.
He held the journal away from him, examining his work. He felt satisfied with the ending; it captured the melodramatic, tragic romance that would never be, like a great unfinished symphony that no matter how much one longed to hear the final note, the sound would never ring out.
"This one has the potential for being my next masterpiece," the author murmured, his melodic voice sounding harsh against the silence that had encompassed his home for so long.
Once making sure the ink had dried, Dorian placed the now completely filled journal onto the windowsill of the nook before getting up, wincing a bit at the stiffness in his legs. He glanced outside and was surprised by how fast the day was going. He must've spent a few hours at the most writing the rough draft to his next story.

Dorian paced around the small room, or at least, he tried to, but it was very difficult to move around freely with the papers that flooded the floor. The author shrugged, deciding that it'd be better to be bored outside rather than waste valuable time cooped up in his house. He grabbed one of his more lightweight cloaks from the rack near the door, knowing the weather was becoming cooler as the day went on. He slipped the velvety midnight blue fabric over his charcoal grey shirt, and made sure his gloves weren't too dirty. Even if they were, Dorian still wouldn't have taken them off, but he wanted to look presentable.

He opened the door and immediately took in a long, deep breath of the crisp refreshing air. The lovely breeze was a major perk to living on the outskirts of the capital. It wasn't distorted by the smoke and other scents that came from within the city.
Dorian locked the door behind him and walked down the steps, smiling fondly at a group of children who were playing with each other, their laughter echoing around the otherwise quiet town. He leisurely strolled the cobblestone streets, taking the time to appreciate the world around him. There was a small park not too far away from where he lived, so he decided to head there, pulling his cloak tighter around himself as a sudden cold breeze hit him.
If it starts to get too cold, I'll head to the local coffeehouse down the street, the author planned, feeling relaxed and content after such a fulfilling day.