lost carcosa ▷ writing storage

[lysander]

　

　　"so we're expecting."

kash had a look on his face that spoke of a thousand suns, burning distantly and silently but with a ferocious tenacity only heim could understand at first glance. wild and red-headed, his would-be, could-be lover— except not, not truly, because the two of them were acid— corrosive, dangerous, toxic. together they were like fire and ice, complimentary but opposite, both good and bad for eachother— but more often than not the latter. this was why flings were a bad idea, heim knew, but sometimes it was hard to fight that impulse. something about kash drew heim to him. maybe it was the impulsiveness. the crooked smile, wild eyes, or maybe... it was something else, something deeper and harder to place. moths to a flame do singe.
　　heim crosses his arms, face unchanged and eyes unreadable. "i don't think i stuttered, did i?"
　　kash spits back a venomous response, "you and your attitude's gonna bite you in the rear one day."
　　"you have the gall to say that to the man paying you?"
　　"i do you quite the service. those warehouses won't set themselves on fire you know. in fact, i'd reckon you don't pay me enough."
　　"aren't we a little greedy today."
kash flashes that crooked smile of his. heim hates that he loves it, hates that kash knows he loves it. it ticks him off in a way heim can't explain, a twinge of annoyance resulting in a twitch of his eye. kash notices this (he notices everything) and his grin widens, cheshire-like.
　　"so, a kid, huh."
　　"a kid."
　　"what do you wanna do with it? raise it to be the perfect hitman? i probably know a guy who knows a guy who—"
　　"—kash."
　　"what? i'm just thinking about the future."
heim pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to quell the slight headache forming there. kash blinks, giving him only a short reprieve before—
　　"—maybe you can put it on craigslist, or auction it off to scientists for illegal experiments. i mean, they'd gotta pay us a lot for that right? or maybe we can strap it to a rocket and shoot it into outer space and get into the record book as the first baby to ever achieve space travel—"

　　"—or, you know, as the world's worst parents."

at this, kash has to laugh. to state such an obvious truth like that seemed bloody hilarious.
　　"pfft, like we need someone to tell us that. we're wrecks."

as much as heim would like to disagree, he knows it to be a fundamental truth.
　　"we are."

　

thank you rocko!! btw, art should be
coming some time today o:

[lysander]

──────────────────────────────────────────────────────
username: lysander 　/　 name: zach　/ 　gender: male
──────────────────────────────────────────────────────

"y-you're... what?"

zach's face immediately lit up in a display of flames. or peppers. something really hot. so hot he could feel the blood rush like magma under his skin, cheeks going red and ears pounding with sudden embarrassment. he wasn't always like this. or. well. actually— yes. he was usually like this, but not on stage when he had his bass over his shoulder, hand on the fingerboard slapping away some riff he'd improvise on the spot. therein was his confidence: in the notes plucked from his fender bass, flowing freely, fluid through the air. his fingers felt light on the strings and when the music blasted from those stage speakers he could drown out all the noise in his head, the anxiety, the apprehension, the crowd— and lose himself in the sound.

needless to say, when you love something you get really good at it. all the hours he spent late at night (keeping up the neighbors no doubt) tweaking his technique, practicing his scales, working until his fingers ached— it paid off. and, with luck, he even managed to get scouted by a local band. but zach was never one for the spotlight. he was there to play, to have fun, to get better— not to sign autographs and sit through awkward, uncomfortable interviews. it was bad enough normally, but now that he made a name for himself...

"oh my god, zach! you're my favorite bass player ever!"

now he was standing there, flustered, in front of a fan he accidentally ran into after a show. adrenaline still ran in his veins from the performance (his bandmates went wild crowd-surfing— not his style) but he had a feeling that only account for 40% of his sudden nausea. therein was his greatest weakness, a critical one for someone who performed:

he was cripplingly shy.

"i said you're my favorite bassist! seriously, the way your fingers move— you play like water. it's so cool, so incredible to watch—"

before they even managed to finish their sentence, zach was ten yards away, running in the opposite direction.

maybe he still needed to work on his social skills.

[lysander]

username: lysander
name: dorothy
gender: female

she feels alive when the trumpets start to play. jazz piano, a full orchestra. cue the curtains and the dancers. the theatre of it all, a rush, a flurry of music and voices and lights on the stage. blue sequins sparkle like diamonds (a girl's best friend!) and the rhythm of the piano carries her feet along. this is her favorite song, after all. she taps the stage with her blue suede heels so hard she hopes gershwin rolls in his grave. the music crescendos, erupting into euphoria and brass bellowing. she laughs, she sings, she scatters the notes like fleet fingers on the keys and the audience roars. she loves this song, loves the stage she's on, loves the feeling of losing herself to the melody like she's fallingfallingfalling in love with it all over and over again.

even when the music stops she still hears it linger in the air, sirensong. calling her back to an empty stage where she hums to herself, a dancer in the dark. but she's never alone, no— as long as she hears it in the beat of her chest, she'll always dance to that rhapsody in blue.

[lysander]

x

　



┌──────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┐
lysander  i s a i a h  male
└──────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┘

hey,

it's been a while. probably years since we last spoke. can't remember
what it was i said that made you look that way the last time i saw you.
how's everything? still brooding as always? you never looked good with
that frown on your face but i don't think you'd stop on account of my
opinion— never did. that's okay though. i never once minded it.

i'm camping right now. brings me back to all the times we'd go out on
those clear nights and just watch the stars. making up constellations
or singing to whatever songs i picked out even if you didn't like them.

don't you miss it? because i do.
i miss a lot of things.

i don't know if i could tell you this in person. all i can do is try to piece
together the words and hope something falls into place. that something
about these feelings of mine make sense in the grand scheme of things.
you know i've never been good at expressing stuff. and you? god. you're
a piece of work.

but
we were good together.

i never had a home to return to. remember?
i told you everything. my parents. my family. how i ran away. how i
wanted to cut away the sickness, burn all the bridges i never wanted
to build. you know i wanted to set fire to it all and start over, uproot
everything, rewrite the script with a pelican pen. because this house
was falling apart. because if i stayed, i didn't know what would happen.
i might have gone crazy. i might have hurt someone.
i might have hurt myself.

when you showed up, everything changed.
i was scared. i was so, so scared. afraid of being hurt. lashing out like
some kind of wild animal. the things i said to you. the things i thought.
god i was such an idiot. i still dont understand

why
you ever did the things you did
telling me i was worth it that i had value that i was alive
and that i was important and that i deserved to feel wanted and that i

i miss you cade
im sorry im not making any sense i dont know what i was trying to do
by writing this in the first place
i want to talk to you but im not good at this

its just
every time i think about us all i have are questions

what went wrong
 why did we stop talking
  why did i move away
   when the only home i have ever known
                     was you ?

im sorry for everything
but i want to see you

when i come back, let's go camping again.
this time i'll let you choose the song.

                           — isaiah

neongraveyard (i forgot if theres another neon?)?)?? ; dude wtheckie IM HAVING SO MUCH FUN HCING WITH YOU im surprised we never talked before!!! but im so glad that cHANGED BC IM HAVIN A BLAST, TYSM FOR EXISTING AND GIVING ME LIFE AND FUELING MY ....... YOU KNOWAHT im TALKING ABOUT !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! bless U ... god the aus weve been talking abt have been on literal fire and thinking about them fuels me so mcuh n also my capacity for suffering is Far Greater than i imagined bc these BOYS MEPH AND XER ARE!!!!! MAKING ME DIE AAAAAAAAAAAAAa im sorrry this is jmostly just me scremaing rlly loudly bc i have 6 minutes to submit this form but AAAAAAaaAAAAAAA I JUST LOVE THEM SO MUCH OK

dog, riddle, tig; I NEVER TALK TO YOU GUYS ENOUGH EVEN THOUGH I REALLY SHOULD!!!!! ofc i love ur designs which ive mentioned before but YALL ARE JUST SO NICE TO ME AND REALLY COOL and have some ! sense! like smh i have nothing but nice experiences talking to all of u and i wish i had the time to do yalls messages separately to go into detail but im runnin outta time and ive grouped you all together into the "group i need to talk to but for some reason i dont" and im SORRY! ITS ME! IM THE FAILURE! im IDiOT SANDWic.... but please always feel free to @ me!!!! sometimes i may ghost bc my mood swings are extremely chaotic and i.. regretfully only have so much energy but its NEVER YOU GUYS!!!! its just A Personal Problem of Mine....

OK I REALIZED I HAVE MORE TIME THAN I THOUGHT SO ILL ADDRESS THESE IN SPECIFICS

dog; literall,y, how dare u be as kind as u are to me, ur killing me with kindness n making me feel valid in this chilis 2nite and WHAT DID I DO TO DESERV THIS IM SOBBING!!????? giving me things and im sobnand doing meph's edITS IM? I OPEN MY WALLET AND OFFER YOU MONEY BUT YOU SLAP MY HAND AWAY GENTLY AND I GET ON MY KNEES not to mention ur so lovely to talk to whenever we do talk im so...!!!!!! SOB dog thank u sm for existing....

riddle; thnak u for being the voice of reason in Things That Happen and im mostly repeating a lot of stuff i already said before bc i always cut to the chase skjgk but..... im sob bc WE HSHOULD REALLY TALK MORE ur like legit one of my fave staff members along w others ive mentioned here (a handful! of good beans!) and esp bc you were kind of the first one to really approach me to talk ?!?! honestly i love ur oc concepts and im always happy to see you win when we enter the same comp bC I LOVE THEM AND I WANT UR OCS TO LIVE THEIR BEST LIFE!!!! OOOO i really need to hit you up again sobs im S...............ITS BEE N SO LONG RIDDLE... also i have to always compliment ur designs bc they remain as some of my absolute favorites........

okahui; ur literally the sweetest thign .... its a pleasure being komo staff with u and im bad at keeping up w ppl but ur art is lovely and so are your designs but your personality is THE MOST LOVELY, honestly u are a ray of sunshine in the dark abyss that is my ability to commit to social interaction and I WILL! BE ACTIVE IN KOMOS I PROBMISE !!!!!!!!!!! i wanna talk to you n everyone again!!!

tig; I MISS HCING WITH YOU!!!! i hope everything is going ok bc you deserve the best and !!!!! aaaaaaaa i dug myself a hole of apologies and i rlly would love to revisit cade and co. and the budding ships we had and ALWAYS OPEN FOR MORE! THINGS!its my fault for bieng so ghosty and flaky bc i have so many things trying to get at my attention sdkgndkgd but i..... listen ..... we should talk...... i love ur designs as well [insert me being a broken record] bu, t its absolutely true and I JUST HAVE TO REMIND YOU!

saturnus, pallis, nau, tbh actually all the kal artists; yall r keepin this community alive w ur hard work and time and tbh u guys need to be appreciated more for the effort u put into designs.... like yall the real mvps here

also kal mods; I Have two minutes but yall r stronger than any marine ttbh. FALSE ALARM TODAY IS THE 21ST HAHAHAHAHA my B but seriously i can imagine the amt of dumb stuff yall deal with and im allergic to idiocy so if i was a kal mod id probably just, die. so u guys.. are immensely strong...

x

[lysander]

x

　

┌───────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┐
lysander  k l a u s  male
└───────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┘

you miss the things you never knew.

cascading sheets, white, pure— a cocoon where all sound goes quiet. silence swallowing
all things. left to fade in the fluorescent light of a hospital room. the constant murmur
of machines to your left. the wilting flowers left for days on your right. the occasional
escape, when the nurses would take you outside to feel the sun and the breeze on your
all-too fragile skin. they treat you so carefully, you know they're scared to break you. but
you can't be broken so easily. this, you know, but no one else.

this is all you knew. and you're sick of it.

in the recesses of your mind you keep a little box, tucked away in a corner you've long
forgotten about. inside, glimmers of a distant past you can no longer salvage through the
passage of time. the pieces inside— faded memories. a mother no longer present. the man
you owe so much to yet resent all the same. and another boy— one you'd spend your noons
with on that playground you used to love. once upon a time it used to hurt so terribly— more
than the pain in your bones trying to bend and break you. more than the treatments and the
bouts of nausea and the pills and the therapy. but now, as with most things, you take them
in stride. one step at a time. inch by inch.

these are not the things you miss.

you don't think about the past. the people passing by. growing up and growing old as you
stagnate in your linen cot. what you miss is the unknown.

cascading falls. excitement. the thrill of living and let living and in the face of fear itself,
you want to shout and scream and spit in its face— hell-bent child of chaos! and in your
wake you will leave no stone unturned, no path unwalked, because your body be damned
if anyone thinks it'll keep you from taking what is yours—

—for the world is your oyster, and you miss it dearly.

[lysander]

 


┌───────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┐
lysander  y v e s  male
└───────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────┘

they met in the forest.

light shining through tree canopies rising tall above your head. a secret grove. a garden meant only for two. this is where things began, a feeling blossoming forth like wildflowers in the spring.

he was a forest boy. a child of the woods, feral thing. untamed with the curiosity of a cat and feet just as nimble. you were so, so shy back then— the sheltered offspring of a family of riches, but never one for friends. cloistered in your room they kept you, with only your books and pens for company. a solitary quietness, a life inside the walls— except for the forest just behind your estate, where you could roam free and frolic among the grass as your heart desired.

that was when you heard his voice.

" do you want to play? "

a simple question that so completely caught you off guard. when you looked up, there was a face staring back down at you. you sat up abruptly, hitting him in the head. two winces, in unison. but only he began to laugh.

" my name is ____. let's play together. "

and you, in your bewildered state, could only take his hand. from then on it felt like an endless summer lit by the warmth of childish laughter, flowers picked for crowns and a sweet, golden-hued haze of exhaustion when both of your energies were thoroughly spent. you would lie down in the grass and let the last rays of sun wash over you, then it was time to go home.

" tomorrow, same time? "
of course.


yet summers are not endless.
seasons are transitory things. leaves change from green to red, to brown, to grey. and like the birds, he took flight too. if you thought about it hard enough, you'd be able to see it in his eyes; the way he looked up at the sky spoke of a yearning this stagnant bliss could never fulfill.

so one day, he hands you a bracelet. a little trinket, not worth much among your family's jewels. but entwined within the threads was a lock of hair, and the first stone you found in the river. a dazzling thing not worth more than a penny, but even so it sparkled in the light like diamond.

" keep this and think of me. we'll meet again. "

you knew, then, there was nothing you could do to stop him. no reasons were given, no questions were asked; it would change nothing. even your tears seemed to recognize this, refusing to fall as you watched him walk away, disappear into the trees like a phantom, an apparition.

you hope one day you'll see him again. as you age you no longer recognize fact from fiction, the memory slowly aging into a bittersweet note in a childhood growing hazier by the year. perhaps it never happened in the first place. but the little bracelet you hold so dear now beckons you to believe otherwise—

and so you'll wait to walk with him once again, upon a dream.

[lysander]

 



shinichi aoyama !  25 years old !
sweet tweet
( winner can keep art! )

 

shinichi is an officer of the bureau of international ghost investigators! sounds like extermination, yeah? wrong! BIGI's goal is peaceful extrapolation not via the use of force, but through diplomacy! negotiation! and optimism! because, weren't ghosts once human too?

one of the major tenants of BIGI's philosophy is to never use force, especially with spirits from the past, but to understand why hauntings and possessions happen— because all anomalies are causes by souls unable to move on due to some kind of bitterness or regret. only when is it absolutely necessary will BIGI call in exorcisms, but before that they will try every method to allow the ghost to move on peacefully, without force. this usually requires the BIGI agent to perform various tasks of the spectre's request— be it as simple as talking to them or contacting living relatives for a seance, or, sometimes even tasks of the... ridiculous nature.

shinichi himself has always been able to see ghosts, communicate with them as far as he can remember. often, he used to be made fun of as a child for talking to "air" as people say, or otherwise staring off into space— but shinichi never seemed to mind.

in fact, his very best childhood friend was a ghost.

he was nine years old when he met seiji on the playground. he'd just recently moved into the neighborhood— leaving all his old friends behind and the town he grew up in. on the one hand he understood why they moved— shinichi's father needed to be in closer proximity to his job —but that still didnt make things easier. in fact, perhaps it made things harder. because shinichi understood, he could not blame his father, nor anyone else for their move. he could not release the tension in his chest in anger, be the petulant child he wanted to be— but simply wasn't. shinichi was a good son. he didn't want to worry his father over this.

so he came to the playground instead, tears welling up at the corner of his eyes as he sat on the swings. no one came. he didn't want them to, anyway— and see his embarrassing crying face. then—

"—are you okay?"

came a voice from in front of him. and slowly, a form began to emerge from the air, translucent and hollow. a ghost. and a child at that, no more than shinichi's own age.

"don't cry. it'll be okay."

how strange it was to hear that from a ghost. and this was where it all started.

in the years after this, shinichi would learn his name and grow closer— an unprecedented bond between living and dead. they would talk for hours and play pranks on the unsuspecting. in a time when shinichi had no friends, seiji became a rock that anchored his childhood, gave it stability. one day, the subject of mothers came up.

"you never talk about your mom, shinichi. why is that?"
"oh, she died a long time ago. i don't remember her well anyway."
"ah..."

the look on seiji's face concerned him.

"what's wrong?"
"my mother... i... wish i could tell her."
"tell her what?"
"that it wasn't her fault."

ah. suddenly it hit him. all this time, shinichi never once thought about what it meant to be a ghost. ghosts are unsettled spirits, unable to move on. so then, seiji wanted to be free of this world too...

"i'll find your mother and tell her."
"please, you don't need to do that for me..."
"no way! i'm doing it!"
"but then i'll— i'll be gone."

shinichi knew this. helping seiji would mean letting him go.

"friends help eachother. so i'll help you, because you're my friend."


that was the last thing he said to him. no chance to say goodbye, like they do in the movies.
but deep down, shinichi knew it was the right thing to do. and sometimes, in his dreams, he thinks he can hear the sound of a familiar laugh— light and free, the way it should be.

he's twenty-five now, years and years older than when he first embarked on his mission to help restless spirits. his life changed forever the day he was scouted by the bureau— and he's been grateful ever since for the opportunity to use his gift to help others. other, more malicious organizations out there— those that try to banish, or even destroy spirits in order to solve a haunting, but shinichi knows there are better ways, and that violence isn't the answer.

now, just because the bureau is a diplomatic organization doesn't mean everything is fine and dandy— oh, no, some ghosts don't just stay ghosts. they change, morph— become corrupt. when negative emotions engulf a spirit for too long, that spirit begins to lose its human appearance— and turns into a ghoul instead. in other words, a monster capable of harming and haunting those in the living world. the bureau's goal is to prevent outbreaks by seeking out spirits before they turn— but sometimes they aren't so lucky. at this point, shinichi's job shifts from counseling lost souls, to reaching out to them— while simultaneously avoiding their attacks as much as possible (hence the numerous bandages.)

in such trying times, his life is at stake. some of his coworkers wonder why he chooses to volunteer for the outreach program, but something about it just feels right— like, this was what he was meant to do —help those who hurt pass on to the other side.

[lysander]

username; lysander
name; rowan
gender; male
prompt;



red coral, red coral, red as can be—
what can you find in the deep blue sea?

this is a story— a story about a lovely mermaid, whose eyes were redder than any scallop shell known to man. that mermaid fell in love, deeply, with a boy on the surface, whose hair was wild like fire— a scintillating red —and every day the mermaid would come to the surface, sanguine eyes bright, and tell the girl stories about all the things below the water's surface. the beautiful reefs, the fantastical creatures, the worlds the boy would never see. this made the boy sad, and the mermaid didn't want that— so she began to collect pearls, jewels, gems. sunken treasure of a realm unknown.

the boy's favorites were always the pieces of coral. when asked why, he replied, "because they look just like your eyes."
how curious, the mermaid thought.why speak of her eyes when the boy's hair was much, much prettier?

but one day the mermaid did not come. nor did she come the next day, or the day after that.
the boy waited by the shore every day for twenty years. in those years, he began to collect gems on his own, each one reminding him of a memory from long ago. and, occasionally, he would find perfectly round stones of red coral— eroded gently by the ocean, as if prepared especially for him.

now he lives in a lighthouse by the shore. if you approach him, you may hear him sing a little song of his own making:

red coral, red coral, red as can be—
what can you find in the deep blue sea?
red coral, red coral, beloved by thee—
when will you come back to visit me?

he still waits.



gem img; red coral

[lysander]

　

username:　 lysander
gender: 　male
name:　 xanth





you've seen it all.

　the skies, the seas. every tree, every stone.
　you are prince of it all, from your mountainside throne.

　　　　every being, every soul
　　　　red sun, bright hue
　　　　your world entire,
　　　　　　　　( so they told you. )

　　kept you locked in your gilded cage,
　　serpentine guard wrought from vellum page.
　　one move, one bite; ink fangs sink through flesh,
　　a dreamless sleep cast by ancient mage.
　　no recollection, awaken in bed,
　　a canopy of roses above your head.
　　thorn and thicket circle around;　　　　　　
　　　　　　　　( so heavy that which bears the crown. )

you've seen it all.

　　from your golden tower, the wide world turns,
　　all a stage while their candles burn
　　in worship of you, their beloved prince,
　　prayers for your divine providence.

　　　　　　　　( behind curtains so sanguine, whispers abound—
　　　　　　　 　 spoken so quietly, just barely a sound— )
　　　　　
　　　　show not the woes of the worms,
　　　　the puppet can't see
　　　　how ugly the outside world can be !


you've seen it all:
lies etched into walls.
from sealed lips do fall
their secrets, their gall.

as the pendulum sways
you count the days
from blood-stained dusks to dawn.
no magic exists (that which persists)
none can truly contain this pawn.

 for what is a prince

  　but a bird in a cage?

    lonesome hyacinth

    　pressed into a page?

      if the world's convinced

      　that you are divine,

        open this labyrinth:

        　　the world is mine.



　

[lysander]

　


┌──────────────────────────────────────────────────┐
lysander  c a i u s  male
└──────────────────────────────────────────────────┘

phantoms haunt these corridors.

fog enveloping bricks laden in cold; this castle sitting high on its hill, overlooking a sea of mist.
this is the place ghosts call home— but never for long. souls aren't long for this world, after all. transient after-images of lives caius will never truly know, drifting through crumbling archways into his home. here, they find a small reprieve, the trauma of death still fresh on their faces as he greets them at the door.

welcome. please make yourself at home.

it's never been a matter of believing. he's known, for all his life; a pre-ordained groundskeeper of this halfway house for souls. growing up alone in an isolated estate— alone, but never lonely. after all— the ghosts are all the company he needs. and in return, he offers them peace. solace. a shoulder to cry on (metaphorically speaking.) a way to process the grief, the loss, the slow, gradual acceptance. all with the tenderness of a voice barely audible amongst the crying and half-choked sobs: shh, dear. it's alright. everything will be okay.

and, truly, he means it.

one day, every ghost will leave. the sun will rise over the horizon and, without a trace, they will vanish— their rooms left as vacant as the day they came. in this way, they come and go— the multitudes, the souls which partake in his brief, mortal life and eventually move on to some place far, far away. residency ever ephemeral, dissipating like the fog.

but caius doesn't mind. when he was younger, sometimes the pangs of isolation would come in full force. he'd touch the cold glass of his bedroom window, looking down at the world forbidden from him, shrouded in mist. but these days it's not so bad. his soul may be duty-bound to the walls of this castle, but therein lies a sense of comfort in his work. that the souls that pass through his little palace may remember him, wherever they may be. and that, perhaps, someday when he, too, passes over— someone will be there to greet him, just as he greeted so many before:

welcome. please make yourself at home.