PAGE 2 ／ PROFILE

PAGE 3 ／ MUSE

PAGE 4 ／ ORIGIN

PAGE 5 ／ OTHER VERSES

WRITER'S NOTE !
ryuu. twenty-one. she/her.
an independent, private, semi-selective original character. mutual-only account. descriptive literature stile, banters maybe present.WARNINGS !- the rules are based on the writer's preferences. the writer won't be interacting with writers who are minors. taboo, heavy dead dove themes, and controversial topics will be present in this account. plots and threads that revolves around the said themes will be heavily explored and written in great details. that being said, will only be offered to writers who liked my twitter circle.

THEMES !an exploration with eldritch horror and abomination, girlhood is godhood, female vengeance, karma, femme fatale, themes of narcissism, and manipulation.

WRITING !multiverse. the muse is extremely flexible in terms of settings. the writer does not mind writing with characters from other fandoms. the writer will try their best to make plots work !


INSPIRATIONS !heavily inspired by junji ito's tomie and by other medias that are worth mentioning; helter skelter, scream queens, brand new cherry flavor, jennifer's body, evil dead rise, girl from nowhere, nxde concept by (g)-idle, the seven husbands of emily hugo.

CREDITS !header background by sam lamont. interaction call background by frank besançon and maciej wojtala. the frames used for my reaction edits are made by lapetite from deviantart. my pinned is animated by bluej4h.aside from these, all photo-manips and other edits are made by the writer! reposting edits in any manner and using them for rp and personal account will not be tolerated and will demand you to take it down.


PLAGIARISM !the writer will strictly not allowed any form of plagiarism. that being said, will block and/or refuse to write, interact, or follow anyone that does this. may it be copying the writer or another writer.

FACECLAIM !this account uses seo soojin as primary faceclaim. this account is not affiliated with any of them nor their agencies. this is a roleplay account for entertainment purposes only. the muse/character's actions, thoughts, and words do not reflect the writer and the faceclaim. please don't interact with me if you have problems with my choices of fc.in addition, if there are times i am using screencaps of tomie kawakami in my icon reactions, it is for a clear, visual imagery. especially ones that depicts gore and negativism.

DUPLICATES & PORTRAYALS !i'm fine with writing with muses that shares the same fc as mine! but i am not duplicate friendly when it comes to character portrayals. i have an experience with a fellow duplicate/s to steal from me while having me blocked, so out of my comfort, i don't wish to follow or interact a fellow tomie (or a muse who uses her as main source of inspiration) especially if you're not someone i know as a friend. i am not saying i own the concept — but this is just something that is on my preference. please do not take it personally if i softblock or unfollowed.i have no intentions to be a collector or anything — so do expect i will be doing the same thing for my co-writers if their muses are based on an existing fictional character already! but in return, i expect the same thing to be done for my account for fairness.

SHIPPING !helmin lovelace is pansexual. she loathes being kept in a box or any labels unless she said so. in addition, her character is someone who values self and identity freedom. hence, i made her multiship.despite being multiship — shipping is based on very heavy chemistry only. preferably between a writer who is also my friend.there are rare instances my muse might have flirty undertones, but this is not an invitation. nor she seeks for any romance. every kind of relationship with my muse is welcome—familial, friends, coworkers, nemesis, and enemies are invited! i'm not comfortable writing lewd themes or sexual implication if we haven't written anything concrete yet.

INTERACTIONS !interactions must only be done on tl and dms will serve as a plotting purpose and writer-to-writer communication. descriptive literature style, banters maybe present. the writer prioritize those who are in my circle because of trust, not because of elitism. don’t force the writer in replying right away or making you a starter.in addition, it can take me a few days for banters, and almost weeks or month/s to reply to long threads. writer currently is in college; dealing with internships, commissions, and balancing my dean's list title — if you have any problem with how long is taking me to reply, feel free to unfollow or softblock.forcing me to reply and making assumptions about my inactiveness and/or priorities will get blocked. i am busy enough in rl and writing here is just a side-hobby! so i prefer not having anyone to force me. i have no time for dealing with potential dramas that are highly based on assumptions and lack of connection because of others.

DONT'S !the writer's don'ts are most likely the basic rp rules. no godmodding or metagaming the writer's muse muse. interactions are strictly selective. don't insert your ideas on my character.


CONCERNS !if you're my mutual and have any questions or unsure of something — please don't hesitate to private dm me. if you're someone i don't follow, you may approach me on ryuugraphicss. i'm only human and that being said; feel free to approach me if i have written something wrong or when i'm not aware of something genuinely! i would like to be educated if i'm wrong. especially if it has something to do with language or culture.

ACCOUNT !this account is my safe space and i would like to keep it drama-free. that being said, it also involves being free from heavily problematic writers. feel free to inform me if i'm following or interacting with one. keep in mind though that there's a difference between calling someone who's problematic and harmful vs. someone who keeps on subtweeting, priv qrting, or just likes sharing dramas that are deemed as petty.even if i stated that my account is drama free and i don't do expose threads, please don't take advantage of this. keep in mind that a public call out is something i'll last resort to if someone is invading my comfort ... i never said i will never do it.also if inspired, dm me to ask for permission, not just informing me. i'm not someone who's very strict with this. i even appreciate it — as long as it is done properly and you have my consent. do note that it doesn't mean i'll say yes right away! again, failure to keep these rules that i have written will get softblocked or hard blocked.

name: ██ ████
name: helmin lovelace
age: twenty-four
date of birth: second of october
place of birth: ████
gender: female (she/her, they/them pronouns)
sexuality: pansexual
education: entomologist (drop-out)
occupation: entomologist (retired), freelance model (retired)

appearance: beauty like no other. like a waterfall, she's ever so pristine and perpetually moves with life and grace. sculpture—made flesh that stands on 164cm. onyx locks flow like the purest black ink of parchment. her reflection would ripple on the waters of █████ … but her beauty remains unwavering. hair would cascade against the milky and marble skin , pristine as snow like the ones in her hometown. steel grey eyes. . the ashes and smoke of deadly flames —— sharp as the edge of the knife, enough to cut through anyone's soul. after the incident, her eyes are devoid of any emotions if looked closely. despite the pencil—drawn hues … do you know how the body decomposes overtime? or how about two hours after death? cornea turned cloudy. if you look into her eyes for longer, they'll eventually turn opaque . then, a blink, it's gone.signature scent: a fragrance that inspires allure and infatuation. amber and black vanilla. a sweet presence that brings scandal. caramel and salt as middle notes. powdery, balsamic, jasmine undertones. an imagery of a faint, sultry red lipstick on someone else's cheek.

fashion: all dolled-up to the nines. often seen in color schemes of reds, velvets, whites, silvers, and blacks. figure snugged in designer clothes. tight tops, mini skirt, thigh slit dresses. her signature focuses around laces, frills, feathers, fur, silk, knitted cuts, torn fishnets, ripped—styles, corsets, coats. grunge. arachnid that spins the wheel, admirers trapped at the center of her intangible web. jewelries situated on marbled skin. it alternates between diamonds, pearls, and rubies. shoes are platforms or heels. the sound of heel clicks would indicate a strong presence. nails always manicured and designed. makeup centers on glossed lips with different shades of reds, lash line winged and sharpening the captivating eyes.

temperament: a materialistic girl. sheer feline schemes. charismatic. impulsive. overconfidence. sharp—tongued and willful. two—faced bitch. a judgmental brat. manipulative. hedonistic and narcissistic.habits: sucking on a lollipop if she's on edge. hello kitty—designed cigarette case and heart—shaped lighter serves as the suitable companion when scheming internally —— a tint of heat on hallowed lungs would keep the crawling things to poke ever so slightly. bites on her nails when she's extremely stressed. an ugly trait, she agrees.hobbies: using people of all ages to her own amusement and to get what she wants. gossiping. staring at her own reflection. would grow butterflies, millipedes, tarantulas, praying mantis, and/or beetles as pets. collecting crystals. collecting preserved, rare insects.

helmin lovelace is above all; beautiful.she is devastatingly beautiful.
the seraphs, envied.she has this type of presence you cannot help but paint it down your canvas, write songs about it — sculpt something that is likened to her. those distinctive features that makes her her; the beauty mark under her left eye, how her onyx hair flows like the purest black ink of parchment, cascading her milky, and marble skin (a muse sculpture made flesh), steel gray eyes, the ashes and smoke of her deadly flames — sharp as the edge of the knife, enough to cut through your soul.you must know from these lyrical description that it is not surprising that every men and women glorify her. romanticizes the thought of having her but again and again, she proves she is more than a display; a trophy wife.

she is a goddess made mortal if she is ever mortal. and every one of us are blessed under her presence and we must be grateful about it.i did attempted to worship her and instead of a glorified romance, i found out something about her. but mostly, about myself. this letter is more of a confession than poetry. or at least, what i intend it to be.helmin lovelace is an elixir i crave all the time. the thought loving someone and offering the world to them — the butterflies that swarm inside your belly — that was the hunger i felt at first. but now, the primal hunger gnaws beneath my skin, were the bone sits, enshrined in flesh.

like a beast wanting to rip my skin off. i feel it. it wants out. it wants to be free. you must understand; her beauty sings so sweetly and i crave for it but above all, i am afraid. i am more terrified of the inhumane things i am capable of that i am not aware. at least, consciously. she brings out the worst in me. a reminder i do not deserve her.but isn't every man and woman undeserving of a god's love?is that not the purpose of our existence? to worship, to beg for their forgiveness and if the love is true, we could enter their heavenly kingdom — only to worship again, and again, and again?i ache to love her. but i also ache to be loved back by her.

this love is more than anything genuine. it is a deeper, more primal * love. like how us, humans, are wandering primates to begin with. this beastly hunger is an animal in a waking and i don't think i can stop it. did i elaborate this feeling enough? as a poet, i have tried to write every word and put them in a sentence you could understand but ... one could not even stretch to fully capture the __romantic rapture*__ she sings to me.i do not know if her nectar-sweet song is a blessing or a punishment because i am just this? a poet. a mere one — whose works do not compare to the avant garde not the classical works of the past art movements. a song that sings; look at me and look at you.do you understand? helmin lovelace is no aphrodite. her beauty is compared with the helen of troy; the face that launched a thousand of ships.

this love is more than anything genuine. it is a deeper, more primal love. like how us, humans, are wandering primates to begin with. this beastly hunger is an animal in a waking and i don't think i can stop it. did i elaborate this feeling enough? as a poet, i have tried to write every word and put them in a sentence you could understand but ... one could not even stretch to fully capture the romantic rapture she sings to me.i don't think it is enough to describe why i love her or why i tried taking her life with my own hands twice. is that not the most intimate thing?it was always about her, but ... how about me?that was the best closure i could get and you must understand this.and like i mentioned, helmin will always prove she is something more.

more than a girl who is somebody's lover — and a girl whose lover tried butchering her pieces by pieces when she starts crawling from her grave. again and again. a knife is not enough, much more of strangling her. in the end of the day, she always finds a way to put herself back into pieces with her regenerating flesh.believe me when i tell you that i prefer honoring every parts of her. i want her whole. i want to visit her grave, knowing she is intact and i caused her less damage physically. so when her grave sings to me again, i could dig her up to take a last look of her beauty. but with everything that is going on, i must plan something before she consumes me.tonight, i could only set her in fire. not even ashes will remain.

being butchered into forty-two pieces is all it takes for a woman's girlhood to ascend to godhood.now, despite her body and mind being scattered all across the world into thousands of pieces, she still remembers her first death. her consciousness was a million light-years away. all of them? her. the parasites that nested on her skull? her.all was a hazy, summer-time memory and yet she remembers how her boyfriend pushed her off on the cliff, when the professor she had an affair with told everyone to slaughter her for good to hide the evidence, when everyone agreed without hesitation, and how her best friend kept their silence.

it was betrayal all at once. shit, she doesn't even remember what their names were—or what her name was—but she knew the feeling that day; it was a seering anger. its carnality poses no room for heaven. a wrath so vile that even the shrouds of the infernal blaze could not hide it. and so, the earth spat her back out like she was some sort of poison. the forty-two pieces sprouted back to life, all of her spread thin over the shore, mountains, deep beneath the earth—and all of her were eaten by their own bitterness and madness. it was wrath that kept all of her going despite the fractured mind from the collective consciousness all at once. it was so difficult to focus on every little thing—it was so hard to remember.but the anger? all of her pieces would agree on that. she—they—loathes getting stuck in-between places of the multiple deaths.

though, there are times where she lies butchered on the floor, intentionally holding up the regeneration. she feels the most alive in her deaths—it was that white silence in your head. and her head is never silent—not with the forty-two pieces (and now, counting) thinking and speaking and moving all at once. she wondered where it all went wrong—was it the time she had an affair with her professor? the only reason she did it is because she knows he will take her somewhere, away from that dump of a town.

where city headlights are, where she can be more (funny enough, the world is now too much of her). she would have said that the affair was the moment, but thinking about it … it was only the conflict. when her boyfriend striked her face in front of everyone? that wasn't the first time she had faced violence—see, this is the problem when you grew up with a father whose hands are heavy—you let it pass.because you love them, anyway.but that wasn't an excuse for everyone to collectively agree on cutting you up inside and out, right ... ?

now, the turning point—it was when her best friend had sworn their silence. when they threw her heart under the bridge. she doesn't know if it was the act that angered her or the fact it needs to be in that place. it was where she ran after her father when he left the house for good, where she shared her first kiss with her first lover, where the man of the affair promised her to bring her to the city—it was also the same bridge where she meets her best friend.

she's always been a stubborn, petty person. it's a dump of a small town! who could possibly know such events that happened here at the bridge?and yet, it was the same place where she and her best friend carved their names out on its stone. a reminder she was someone else before she became an it. that part of her memory is the cloudiest.

the possibility of not being the way she is right now.not being a monster by birth, but of choice—then the birth follows, the second. it was a tingling thing to think about it … that she was someone else.she wonders what her name sounds like and what it means. throughout the years, she had only thrived with aliases (most commonly used are sefira, cherry, ruby, margarita, and helmin lovelace).maybe she's someone who is living off a normal life before all of these—someone who had a bigger goal aside from wearing high-end brands, adorned with jewelries, and surviving everyone.

she wondered what her alternate-self could dream of.would they still dream to become a model in the city? or would they rather take life seriously enough to pursue a scholarship in a university?or maybe … just maybe—had they already met someone who loves them to such an extent that she doesn't need to dream—because they are with someone who will bring the dream itself on her feet?it is heartbreaking to think about it.jealousy is an ugly trait. with looks like these, who the heck is she gonna be jealous of? no—no. it wasn't that. if anything, she's jealous of herself. a version of herself that doesn't exist. all of these what-ifs had led her to questions; could she have taken action to stop the cuttings?

but … if she could have, would she have done it? is she going to make it? none of those queries obtained a response. it only takes her into a cycle—to answer the questions, she must remember the first chapter. here's the problem presented in this thought; she doesn't even know if the story she had been thinking all these time had really existed. if her lover, the professor she had an affair with, her best friend, and the classmates who swore secrecy—she doesn't know if they even existed.

with thousands of hers existing and dying all at once … it is hard to say whose memories had been making it all up. maybe some pieces of her believed it's real. maybe the others fantasise of these people because they have this need to blame this gore tragedy on someone else.or maybe the fewer had already accepted that it doesn't matter … because life goes on—she goes on. and if she is born—or was made—to torment the world for it, then she must be god.

CELEBRITY VERSE

COMING SOON.

reiko mizutani, an assassin who hides under the alias __red riding hood__, has to have an emergency transfusion to save her life. a woman named __tomie kawakami__, on another hand, was stabbed in the alleyways.the doctors said tomie is the only possible kidney match for reiko, but they can’t authorize a donation without the approval of her family. whoever, the man who killed poor tomie, disguised as her brother and gives permission to the doctors for the transplant.after a few days, the operation is a success not until reiko’s stomach starts to swell.the x-ray shows that the kidney starts to grow arms and legs, they removed it but then eventually, it starts growing a head and called herself tomie. the doctors called this tomie thing a tumor.reiko survived at least three surgeries because of this.the tomie cells start to spread throughout reiko’s body which acts like cancer and will eventually kill the woman — but instead, it brought surprising transformation.

reiko’s hair starts to grow longer, taller, and even becoming very attractive. the way she speaks and acts changes as well. she already has a mole under her eye.the assassin life did not stop there. turns out a lot of rival groups wants her dead — the new transformation helped in the first week, but the doctors feed them their patient's information when one of the rival assassins threatened their life.and to hide the whole truth about the experimentation they are secretly conducted, they only gave half-truths and half-lies. the truth; the liver transplant. the lie; telling them reiko requested a face surgery. the truth that needs to be covered up with a lie; the tomie cells.it was endless.and it was hell.reiko and tomie — two consciousness in one body — continues to live their life in the edge of knives, guns, bullets, and the pretty facade to survive. and apparently, both contradicting personalities must make things work.it takes a monster to know one.birth of the red riding hood.

during the archon war 2000 years ago, the inazuma archipelagos were united under the rule of the raiden shogun. while the civilians of watatsumi island worshipped another god, orobashi, all is fine not until the rebellion against the shogun.unknown to them, a woman descended from the yokai was given the title by the celestia; the goddess of beauty, lilith — her goddess name. a minor god, if one would describe it. only little is known to her as the archon war wreck havoc. how will people use beauty during the war, anyway?lilith receives no prayers nor worshippers and instead, using the title for herself.

she carries a strange power of hypnosis, making it difficult to ignore her pleas and favors that she asked. and with villagers, soldiers, onis, fellow yokais, or sometimes shrine maidens — she survived.is some archons lived, some died. for eons, despite lilith holding such title, no archons gave her a vision. is it because her cruel beauty is not enough to cause __love__? is she not __wise__ in her own as a woman and a survivor? not __ambitious __ enough, doesn't have a specific __mastery__, a __warrior__, a person who doesn't seek for __freedom__ or __eternity__?offended, she decided not to take any action during the archon war, nor affiliated herself with the vision hunt decree at the present time.only she is able to determine her own worth.

months ago, she was ████'s star; the best dressed girl in town, the head turner. she used to reign the hallway. she gets to pick who is worthy to sit with her during lunch. she gets to say what is beautiful and what is not—though, it wasn't really her problem to begin with (a real beauty can make anything look marvelous on them). but on nights like this, she's having a tough time remembering the good parts.now, she's looking at the mirror. if she's going to compare it to her yearbook photo … her wrists are frailer than usual, tracery of the blue veins becomes evident. her eyes—if not meeting the camera's flash or the city's neon lights—are devoid of any gleam. when she looks at her strawberry-painted lips, it would only part to mumble personal complaints.

i will look like an aging beauty queen at this rate. she's ashamed to admit it—but if she doesn't hurry up to get a good sideline and stop settling for fucking instant noodles, wrinkles and blemishes will appear. she's just twenty-one, for fuck's sake. this isn't something women who are at their twenty-one needs to stress about and yet, here she is.she wondered when it came to this.she never used to be … this bitchy and benevolent.she was the silent girl in class when she was little—perhaps, she possessed this thing called patience during those years. at home, she remained resilient from her drunkard mama and her brutish papa. now, the thought of her keeping her mouth shut seems to be impossible.

bitchy or not, people will always have something to say about you—then might as well be the one who gets the first and the last word for it. back in ████, she managed to have a stable relationship with a boy of her age—but now, she would enter relationships with older men with a belief they are more capable of managing her issues. the longest relationship she could ever manage nowadays lasted for a month.hah, it's funny—that if she thinks about the past, all she could ever do now is compare. but back to the main question—what went wrong?if she won't focus on the frail, fragile parts of her body's state … she is still no doubt beautiful. though there are times she misses how she can walk her way home with her friends with carefree skips, how she can laugh without feigning it—but, despite the little stars that got lost, the petals that fell from the rose … she's prettier than ever—than before, she could say it with full confidence.

it's a bit hard to explain, but some things get lost, all physical things die—but if you're someone who's naturally born to be a star, then you can make dying look pretty. being pretty doesn't mean you should be alive, anyway. and that's just physically—ugh, her point is, it never hurts to lose a part of yourself in the process of being pretty! with a face that the world will soon adore, does it really matter if she's happy or if her heart is still intact? those are just little parts that die in the process, but the world's acknowledgement will make it up! surely, that amount of love could patch up the missing pieces, right?you're a star, she tells herself.you're a star; it was mama who first told her that when she was young. she remembers that mama reeked of booze when she first heard those words.

it was just three words, and yet her mama's eyes spoke longer sentences—and if she's going to guess, it's something close to grieving about the possible life she could have given to her. when she got older, her friends started to say the same thing. her (ex) boyfriend did, too. everyone she knows in that town treated her like a beauty princess—but why settle for that when you can set the world ablaze? it was them who made her realise she's too good for that dump of a town. and so, that's where she starts to dream bigger.she wonders if they remembered her—do they talk about me? do they miss having me around? but in the back of her mind, she knows the answer; it shouldn't matter.when she said she left ████, she left both the town and the people behind. it doesn't matter if they remember her when what awaits in the future is to be known by the whole world. like she said, things naturally will get lost in the process.

just watch,—she'll manage to go to seoul. someday, she's going to be stepping on tokyo, where her papa ran away (a silent slap to his face that his own daughter bests him in every way possible). soon, she's going to visit every country and leave it with her own personal mark. and when the time comes, she'll look back to her roots—oh, how little ████ would look compared to her achievements! maybe by that time, the thought of the people she left behind will never cross her mind. like, ever. but only time could tell.she's going to make it there. soon.she should make it.

GENSHIN IMPACT VERSE

RED QUEEN VERSE