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theholycovenantrpg · 4 years ago

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CONGRATULATIONS, MIMZ! YOU’VE BEEN ACCEPTED FOR THE ROLE OF RAPHAEL.

Admin Rosey: I never really thought that Raphael’s application would be so f u n to read. Macabre? Absolutely. Impassioned? Of course. But hilarious to the point where I was giggling? Definitely unexpected but that is what made this so enjoyable and it is ultimately why this application received a r e s o u n d i n g yes from each of us. There was a perspective that I always envisioned for Raphael but was never able to articulate it myself until you laid it out, word by word, with this application, Mimz. Raphael is such a multi-faceted and character that holds so much potential, and the way that you wove it into every aspect of the application made this so fun to read. Thank you so much for taking the time to produce such a wonderful application! Your faceclaim change to Kendrick Sampson has been approved. Please create and send in your account, review the information on our CHECKLIST, and follow everyone on the FOLLOW LIST. Welcome to the Holy Land!

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias

mimz

Age

Personal Pronouns

she/her

Activity Level

i’ll typically check the dash every day, and i try not to keep replies stewing for longer than a couple of days! that said i can be a little slow, especially around exam seasons.

Timezone

pst

Triggers

REMOVED

How did you find the group?

miss minnie bleubeard’s blog

IN CHARACTER

Character

raphael, with a fc change to kendrick sampson

What drew you to this character?

short answer: divine amorality sexy HAHAHAHA

long answer: there was something i read a little while ago about some of the best surgeons being able to dehumanize their patients to a rather frightening degree. there’s a level of abstraction that you need in order to not let your empathy get in the way of the practice of medicine; ultimately, a body is a body is a body, right? and then there’s the moral quandary of healing - it is a doctor’s duty to heal, but what does that actually mean? to what extent is a doctor’s duty to relieve suffering? to obstinately prolong life? if the body heals but the mind still ails, is a person healed? what i’m getting at, here, is that in some ways the healer is the most dangerous character of all.

when i read raphael’s bio, there was a quote in that article from a surgeon named david cheever that came to mind: “as a result of anaesthetics, the surgeon ‘need not hurry; he need not sympathise; he need not worry; he can calmly dissect, as on a dead body.’” to me, raphael is an explosion and expansion of this concept. raphael is, quite literally, a medical ethicist’s worst nightmare, and to me, that’s absolutely fascinating. without sympathy, what separates a healer from an educated control freak with a god complex? with raphael, we can extend this concept to its furthest extreme. raphael isn’t even human - how could he even begin to sympathize with an experience so foreign to him? why would he worry about something trivial as human suffering when it essentially exists as a theoretical concept to him? divine beings have no reason to play by human rules, and as a creature raised by god’s side raphael was so far removed from the concept of human suffering that it’s sort of a no-brainer that he developed a sick fascination with it, like a child who managed to con their parent into buying a grand theft auto game and is obsessed with running over pedestrians because the stakes never quite feel real. it’s a perspective i’d absolutely love to explore in a group rp setting because the nature of rp means that it’s kind of...completely unsustainable? like as writers we’re shoving these characters together, which means that raphael will have to be exposed to mortals. there’s room for a lot of character development there, and it seems like something extremely interesting to explore.

BUT HERE’S THE THING⁠—and this is where the character gets really fun, in my opinion. i’ve talked a fair bit about god complexes already, but when applied to raphael an interesting question is raised: how much is a complex, and how much of it is actually being divine? what really made me want to get my grubby little hands on the reins of raphael’s story was seeing the disconnect between the way his connections are written from raphael’s perspective versus the other character’s perspective. it’s a fun little hubristic shade that makes him an unreliable narrator and infinitely more interesting than a simple morality thought experiment. i think it’s easy to see raphael as this super cool, all-powerful master manipulator (i think that’s a pretty accurate take on his self-image, in fact), but he’s not the only player in this game. for every pawn he’s trying to move, there is someone else trying to use him in a similar way, and i don’t know that he truly understands the ramifications of that. see, i think it’s easy to reduce raphael to the points i discuss in the previous paragraphs because that’s what he wants you to think of him. but this is a world of gods and superpowers and magical political intrigue and game of thrones doesn’t exist so nobody can tell him that he’s on the path to becoming a cersei lannister (admittedly i haven’t watched got so this reference might not be right but i feel like it’s right so uh. yeah!). maybe i just like to see arrogant men getting knocked down a peg? this might be a projection of that. i dunno. i just know that there are quite a few mind games and mental gymnastics to untangle with raphael and that’s fun. he’s fun.

also. i would like to once again reiterate: divine amorality sexy. it’s not good, to be clear, and i don’t condone it, but i’m just saying.

What future plots do you have in mind for the character?

WHEN THE CITY CRUMBLES AROUND YOU AND YOU HOLD ITS VESTIGES IN YOUR HANDS, WHOM DO YOU BLAME?

i think Raphael’s big character arc revolves around a simple question: how far are you willing to go to achieve what you want?

ostensibly, it’s an easy answer: very far. but when your desire is antithetical to your very purpose, when chasing it puts you at odds with the thing you’ve worked to build, do the goalposts move?

(the correct answer is that raphael did not build caelum. he simply destroyed god.)

let’s say, hypothetically, that raphael gets what he wants. the world is thrown into war and chaos and destruction, yadda yadda, raphael gets his blood and his suffering, great. he’s lived through this before (a couple times, actually), so you think he’d realize by now—eventually, the dust will settle. people will tire of suffering. and where will that leave raphael? how many times will you remake the world to watch it burn? can you ever be fulfilled chasing a temporary high?

(the correct answer is no, but raphael is an immortal being. more importantly, he is a patient one. he will wait a million days for rome to be built, if only to witness the single day in which it will burn.)

i think raphael needs to reckon with these questions. i think he’s lived far too long with his mentality unquestioned and that has made him both insufferable and a major threat to society. this is a long and pretentious way to say that raphael honestly kind of needs a hobby whatever the thc-verse equivalent of therapy is, but i think any sort of positive character development is contingent upon a recontextualization of suffering and chaos and raphael’s masks.

of course, this isn’t to say that introspection will only lead to positive character development. perhaps a raphael who looks deeper into his psyche will come to understand that his desires outweigh his role; perhaps such thoughts will push raphael over the edge of propriety and into something more outwardly despicable. no matter what, though, i think that the direction of raphael’s character development will be largely shaped on how he decides to prioritize his⁠ roles and goals.

FOR WHOM DO THESE HANDS HEAL?

let’s discuss the archangels, shall we? despite it all, raphael genuinely loves his brothers. i would argue, even, that raphael believes that his scheming is in service to the other archangels; he’s not blind to the way complacency has softened the angels. at this point, the only true threat to the angels is themselves—if michael wants to to unlock a state of sanctifying grace, it will happen at the hand of one of his kin.

i spoke earlier about raphael’s goals ultimately being futile. this is largely because they are diametrically opposed to michael and gabriel’s goals, and while raphael knows this intellectually, i don’t think he’s quite thought about what the long-term implications of that conflict entails. he’s so caught up in the conflict between michael and gabriel that he’s neglected to consider how he factors into the dynamic. could he be the common ground that brings michael and gabriel together? could he be the final straw that breaks them apart? he is excited for the fighting, the fallout; but has he stopped to consider what the long-reaching effects of such a rift may be?

raphael is breaking his family apart because he loves them. will that be enough, when he is sent to pick up the pieces? whose side will he fall on, if he is to pick a side at all?

DID PYGMALION FALL IN LOVE WITH THE BEAUTY OF HIS CREATION, OR THE BEAUTY HE CREATED?

i said this in the previous section but i’d like to reiterate it: i think a big reason raphael is Like That is because the stakes have never quite felt real to him. raphael’s a pot stirrer, but he’s not a creature of action. to this, i say give him real stakes. to be honest, i don’t know exactly what that entails, because i could see a number of ways in which tangible pressure manifests itself for raphael. perhaps his meddling with michael and gabriel steps too far, and his brothers perhaps the angels become suspicious of his maneuvering, in which the spider is drawn into his own web of intrigue. maybe we apply positive pressure, where the ails of the world require a healer and raphael is tapped to higher purpose⁠—and higher power. maybe raphael will find himself tempted by the very demons he holds in contempt.

the point is that raphael has largely been a character who acts through others. even now, we see this through his grooming of romilda, with his subtle manipulation of michael and gabriel. i want him to become a more active character, either by his own volition or by his hand being forced.

similarly, i’m extremely interested in seeing how raphael navigates the political elements of this verse. i expect it stings a bit to be the only archangel not given a position of leadership; perhaps he holds lingering resentment toward zadkiel for being given a role raphael had expected to receive. does he subtly undermine zadkiel’s leadership? i want to watch him play up tensions with the vices, to hide a vicious war-hawk perspective under the guise of a concerned healer. i want him to smile in abaddon and samael’s faces and plot their suffering in his mind. i want to see the snake slither in the grass, to return to his original form as a spider spinning a web of intrigue across his court. yes, i want a more active raphael, but i think the political drama is ripe for development, as well.

WHEN I SPIT UP MY SINS AND BEG FOR REPENTANCE, WHAT WILL COME UP?

this one’s a long shot, but i could maybe...see...raphael……..falling. i can guarantee you that the idea has never even crossed raphael’s mind, and that he would literally rather be smited than be cast out of caelum, but i can see it. i think he might be happier, actually; if he fell, he could really lean into the chaos and suffering thing without any compunction.

of course, this is something infinitely easier said than done. were raphael to be cast out of caelum, he would have nowhere to go. infernum would never take him⁠—he’s made far too many enemies among their ranks. he could wander the holy land, but he’s far too proud to bind himself to its existing social systems. (he wouldn’t be able to look gabriel in the eye.)

raphael would have absolutely nothing.

but he would also be free.

that’s right, i think that a horsemen-style liberation arc would be an absolute banger for raphael. again, i don’t think it’s feasible unless a very specific set of circumstances happen, but just imagine a raphael with nothing to lose, free to go absolutely apeshit. his only prerogative is to make sure you have a bad day. he is free to sow whatever chaos, whatever suffering he so wishes across the land. WHEW.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character?

yes, but i don’t see him going down easily.

IN DEPTH

Driving Character Motivation

entomological curiosity, in short. consider: why did god leave the apple in the garden of eden? why do humans keep animals in glass cases? why do children burn ants with magnifying glasses?

raphael wants to observe the world. a good healer must understand his patients at a fundamental level, and such truths are only revealed when the subject is broken down to its basest parts. you see, raphael was weaned on temperance and virtue; there is a lush decadence to emotional extremes that he finds most fascinating. they are debased. they are crass. they are wantonly sentimental, in a garishly beautiful way.

but this is not all. he wants to stave off boredom, and these are the tools he has to play with. for all of his machinations, raphael is a simple being. raphael has no grand ambitions, no lofty ideals, and that is what makes him so dangerous. he wants to be amused. he wants to be stimulated. he wants to observe a world in which things happen.

ostensibly, this is not as selfish a motivation as it may seem. as a healer, raphael knows something that many do not: serenity cannot exist in perpetuity. it is impossible for the world to remain unchanged⁠—even if the change is not evident, it is happening. an eternal peace is all but a stagnation of the kingdom; the only thing stagnation breeds is degradation. the angels are weakening because they are not being challenged. michael and the virtues may be doing extensive research to find an alternate explanation, but raphael knows this to be the truth.

of course, the irony underlying the selfless explanation of raphael’s motivations reveals the truth of the matter: it is a farce. perhaps it is a lie that raphael has even convinced himself he believes, but it is farcical nonetheless. raphael claims he wants to invoke change because stagnation is dangerous, but riddle me this⁠—if this is true, why has raphael never changed? centuries upon centuries have passed, and the world has changed around him, but raphael himself has remained largely unchanged. he is the orchestrator of change, not its agent nor its subject, and that is just the way he would like things to stay.

Character Traits

CHARISMATIC - there’s a reason very few have cottoned on to raphael’s true nature, and it’s not (just) his pretty face and magical girl-esque aura. there’s something effortlessly captivating about raphael, a pace to his cadence that has you hanging on to his every word, a lightness to his smile that makes you want to coax it out whenever and however you can. everything about raphael puts people at ease, except for his eyes, which tend to put people on edge if he’s not careful. he’s not gregarious or the outgoing sort of charismatic by any means, but he does manage to exude an overwhelming charisma.

PATIENT - it’s important to remember that before raphael turned on god, he waited for him. raphael performed healings for centuries and never raised a hand against his father in that time. think of all the angels that fell, that rebelled; raphael was not among them. no, raphael played the dutiful son, allowing his resentment to fester and boil deep underneath his skin, but never to surface. for centuries he served loyally, biding his time. remember: lucifer fell. raphael did not. which one killed god? as i mentioned in the plot section, raphael will wait a million days for rome to be built to witness the single day it burns. prolonged suffering is perhaps the most beautiful of all. fortitude goes hand-and-hand with patience.

INTELLIGENT - in a few ways. raphael is well-studied, with extensive knowledge of biology and chemistry and history and politics. raphael is emotionally intelligent; he hides his true nature behind a veneer constructed to meet expectations. he may not be as talented as gabriel in this regard, but it is a skillful construction nonetheless.

MANIPULATIVE - i mean. yeah.

ARROGANT - he thinks he’s smarter than god???????????????? tbf god was a bit of a headass in this universe but we’ve all read enough tragedies to know where this kind of hubris ends up going.

CRUEL - there’s a bit to unpack here. i’d argue that there are two types of cruelty: malicious cruelty and callous cruelty. raphael is certainly capable of both, but i think he embodies the latter. with certain notable exceptions, raphael’s cruelty is rarely personal; it is a thoughtless sort of cruelty, the type inflicted upon beings considered expendable. raphael is selfish and petty and powerful, and these traits coalesce into a casual cruelty.

In-Character Para Sample cw: light gore

Look at how they look at him. God’s good little lambs, lined up all in a row, passive and pliant and patiently awaiting benediction. Patiently waiting for Raphael.

Raphael hates them.

No. This is false. It is difficult for Raphael to muster up stronger feelings toward mortals than a vague sort of amusement, the sort of affinity one might have for a particularly stupid kit when it does something surprisingly clever. In this regard, he understands that he differs from his kin. Gabriel, in particular, has developed a particular fondness for the mortals. Why anyone would wish to strip mortals of their most fascinating behavior⁠—to the point of openly defying their Father⁠—is beyond Raphael. He has given up on trying to reason with his brother on the matter.

The first supplicant is beckoned forward. They pray to the Lord and Raphael touches their forehead with one palm, cups their chin with the other. His fingers splay carelessly around a throat all but bared to him and the ceremony is so mechanical Raphael allows his thoughts to wander⁠.

How easy it would be to tighten his grip. How beautiful it would be, to watch the lamb’s naive adoration flash into fear, to watch fear darken into betrayal and resentment and the most beautiful emotion of all: despair. He can feel the pulse at his fingertips. It would quicken in a stress response, he knows. It would quicken, then it would pound, and then maybe it would stop. It all falls to Raphael’s whim. In this moment, Raphael holds their life in his hands. They have all but laid on his sword for the promise of absolution and when they look up at Raphael with their dumb, trusting eyes he can see the sparkling tracks where tears once fell, down the hollow of a cheek into the pool of a collarbone. He finds himself overcome with the desire to trace the fall with his tongue. “Give me your pain,” he murmurs. Let me taste it. Let me understand.

He takes it. He does not taste it. He does not understand.

He releases the mortal. Those beautiful tear tracks are already fading. “The Lord be with you,” he says, and perhaps he even means it. His Father’s gaze burns into his back, even from a world away. He’d laugh at the irony, were he free to. Is this the weight you so desire? he wants to ask the devotee. No, Raphael knows the truth: God’s love is a shackle. God’s love is a leash and it is holding Raphael back from his fullest potential.

“And also with you,” the lamb responds. Their head is bowed obediently in prayer and they shuffle away, appropriately awed. The next supplicant is beckoned forward.

The light of Raphael’s presence obfuscates the darkness in his eyes.

—

Later, much later, Raphael finds himself studying his hands. He flexes them, balls them into fists, stretches his fingers as far as they will spread.

How easy it would be to tighten his grip.

The hand is at once an individual unit and a summation of individual parts. The hand contains twenty-seven bones and thirty-four muscles connected by over a hundred ligaments and tendons. Wrists connect to metacarpals, which connect to carpals, which taper off into delicate phalanges. Individually, each of these parts are largely useless; were Raphael to take a scalpel and drag it through a tendon, across the joints, the strings would be cut and the puppetry would cease to dance. You would be left with a small pile of carpals and metacarpals and phalanges, loose strings of muscle and tendon. At times, it is difficult to fathom how such mundane component parts are the instruments of extraordinary acts.

Raphael flexes his hand, watches bone shift under skin. If he remembers correctly, mortals have an idiom about knowing your hands, or something along those lines. He will not pretend to be familiar with mortal culture. Did you know that, wings aside, mortals and angels all have the same bone structure?

Of course you did. It is common knowledge that God made all beings in His image, or so the story goes.

This is an easy answer, but one with interesting implications. Let us extrapolate. If mortals and angels are essentially biological mirrors, and each are made in the image of God, does that mean that God will bleed like His creations? Slide a scalpel across God’s knuckles—will His puppets cease to dance?

Raphael could find out. It would take only a single blade, sliced through a single tendon.

Now, Raphael is not so arrogant to believe himself the blade. He would not even consider himself the hand. Such a role requires a particular kind of conviction—

( —and that sort of conviction is made manifest in bitter disillusionment⁠—the sort inflicted upon Michael. How easy it would be to find himself in his brother’s ear, whispering of their Father’s capriciousness and the unnecessary cruelty that resulted for the poor, poor humans— )

( —and that sort of conviction is made manifest in righteous anger⁠—the sort inflicted upon Gabriel. How easy it would be to find himself in his brother’s ear, whispering of their Father’s neglect and the unnecessary cruelty that resulted for the poor, poor humans— )

( —and that sort of conviction is made manifest in a whetted hunger⁠—the sort God gifted to each of His angels. Hunger breeds hunters and heaven is full— )

—that Raphael simply cannot embody. Rage has never been his forte.

Consider, however, that the hand is controlled by nerve impulses. A spark is all the hand needs to transform from a collection of bone to an agent of action. Yes. He clenches his fists. Here are the bones, the veins, the tendons, the muscle. Angels and mortals all share the same bone structure.

Does God?

Extras

pinterest.

raphael has classically beautiful wings. i’m talking TEXTBOOK cherubic angel wings, with the sweeping white feathers and all. raphael kind of hates them, though he takes a great deal of pride in them.

raphael doesn’t have a signature weapon. he’s proficient with blades, yes, and fights with a surgeon’s precision, not the strongest nor the fastest but eerily efficient in his blows. but he is a healer—at the end of the day, his empty hands are all he needs. (his empty hands are what you should fear.)

raphael hates the heretics pro forma but. but. he cannot deny a certain...fondness for them. the heretics exhibited such dedication to a futile cause; they believed their suffering to be something noble. it’s a laughable notion, certainly, but a sentiment so distinctly human it’s almost charming. should they wish to return, to throw themselves on the knife over and over and over, well. raphael shall not complain. he shall smile beatifically, perhaps abate their suffering, even⁠—and watch them do it again.

in a modern au, raphael is a reality tv producer. ok actually he’s probably a surgeon but i think he’d make a very good reality tv producer. alternately, there is a universe out there where raph fixated on like...baking, or k-pop, instead of suffering. those are good timelines, i think. maybe not the k-pop stan timeline.

raphael is the living embodiment of that dwight schrute “we need a new plague” meme.

#accepted #accepted: raphael

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panickypeachboy · 5 years ago

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THE POSITIVE & NEGATIVE; MUN & MUSE - MEME.

FILL OUT & REPOST ♥ this meme definitely favors canons more, but i hope oc’s still can make it somehow work with their own lore, and lil’ fandom of friends & mutuals. multi-muses pick the muse you are the most invested in atm.

TAGGED BY: @sternenteile, #1 Geno fan. TAGGING: Do it.

MY MUSE IS: canon / oc / au / canon-divergent / fandomless / complicated

is your character popular in the fandom? YES / NO. [ Nope. Most people just call ZPiW the game with anime girls wielding guns. Outside of me, not much fanart is produced of the peach boy, as it’s well, mostly the girls. Miiverse revealed that the ratio is a bit more even but still, peeps really like them girl designs (designed by a female artist) ]

is your character considered hot™ in the fandom? YES / NO / IDK. [ i mean ?? i’ve met and seen many people who have/had crushes on geno so ??????? but i don’t think it’s like. that. ghfskjhgsg??? ]

is your character considered strong in the fandom? YES / NO / IDK. [ Personally, I have to say yes. Momotaro is strong as frick because in game, you’re supposed to level towns to “clean them up”. And this is in addition to the traditional Momotaro folktale that, a Momotaro is a strong child who can lift. However, most just look to Snow White as the strongest cuz she dented metal bare handed...and well is the “face” of the game.]

are they underrated? YES / NO / IDK. [ This game is better known for having girls...with guns. But I wouldn’t say he’s really *that* underrated, considering the basic character is just that...basic. ]

were they relevant for the main story? YES / NO. [ Well, my theory is that he just stumbled upon the fight between survivors and zombies so...kind of yes? Momotaro was one to actually gather folks to storm the castle as they say, because it seems before hand the other heroes were just minding their own business. So, being the one who talks the most (ironically) and the one that the game follows...yeah he’s relevant.]

were they relevant for the main character? YES / NO / THEY’RE THE PROTAG. [ Sadly so, in the sense that I wished the devs would’ve allowed for branching plots depending on which character you choose. This is including the fact that the game is purposely trying to emulate how old-school games were bare bones in characterizations and plot.]

are they widely known in their world? YES / NO. [ Just another folklore hero in the world of Wonderland...a place chock FULL of fairy tales and folktales. Though he might’ve garnered a reputation of being destructive after ZPiW... ]

how’s their reputation? GOOD / BAD / neutral. [ ]

HOW STRICTLY DO YOU FOLLOW CANON? — Ehhhh...I think I make do with what I got from the teeny breadcrumbs of canon I got...however, many folks commented that Momotaro looks WAAAAAAY tougher than what I make him out to be so...I guess that’s a fail for following canon strictly on my part. .w.;; If I truly went 1:1, things may be bland...or not...I mean there’s as many subversions to the traditional heroes as there are well, the typical shounen stuff.

SELL YOUR MUSE! AKA TRY TO LIST EVERYTHING, WHICH MAKES YOUR MUSE INTERESTING IN YOUR OPINION TO MAKE THEM SPICY FOR YOUR MUTUALS. — Is Momotaro an OC at this point? Probably. But hey, if you guys want a lad who’s adorable but tough...you could look elsewhere...or you can find that in Momo! I wanted to try to represent some stuff of special needs, but I’m still working out the kinks...but the kid’s loyal, and a very good cook at that! He definitely needs a confidence booster, but could that be part of his charm? Maybe. But hey, I think y’all might really like the idea I got for him, and mainly Smash! Like, have you ever wondered what goes on in that mansion? ...well yes, but what about those who aren’t fighters? Or even assist trophies! That’s where the smash verse comes in! Take a peek into the (tough) lives of Waddle Dees and the peach boy, along with other creatures not suitable for Smash! They’re just as handy for making sure the place is well run and fed! If someone isn’t cleaning and cooking to maintain 70+ fighters, and 20+ assist trophies...who is?

NOW THE OPPOSITE, LIST EVERYTHING WHY YOUR MUSE COULD NOT BE SO INTERESTING (EVEN IF YOU MAY NOT AGREE, WHAT DOES THE FANDOM PERHAPS THINK?). — This is a character from a game whose designers may appreciate the female figure a bit too much. I always have a tough time recommending this game to others, and hell, I’m terrible at playing it myself. Hell, the fact that most of the characters are minors is just a...”why do you design them like this Bo.mi” thing. Most do seem to think highly of those designs though, as that’s the main aspect of the game I keep hearing in my searches. Now, I’ve received a good amount of concerns over the years that Momotaro not speaking proper English is either racist or babyish...or both. Is my take too depressing? There are often times I think yes, and feel unbelievable shame over it despite others going hard on the angst train.

WHAT INSPIRED YOU TO RP YOUR MUSE? — Well uh, I believe I was charmed by his rugged but baby appearance in the game..and it just so happen at the time that I was part of a budding rp group. Despite the theme being mostly “OUENDAN”, that was the start of me shoving Momotaro into every fuckin’ thing because he’s cute as shit and obscure muses can be fun too! It was also probably relaxing for me because gosh dang back then I was scared of getting something wrong about someone canon with more lore...and I am still scared about that to this day.

WHAT KEEPS YOUR INSPIRATION GOING? — Studying about Japanese culture, learning the language...the fact that I’ve been rping him for almost 10 years (read like 8-9 at this point)...I do wonder if I should stop rping him...and then I keep hearing that people only want characters only in as fighters, fighters are the only important thing about smash and that grows my weird spite and just continue this “backstage” plot of Smash. Yes, getting a franchise in as a fighter is a VERY high commemoration but, I think it’s just as equally amazing when a franchise gets in as an assist trophy or even a spirit/trophy! So yeah it’s petty and I better find some other motivation soon because it’s exhausting.

SOME MORE PERSONAL QUESTIONS FOR THE MUN.

give your mutuals some insight about the way you are in some matters, which could lead them to get more comfortable with you or perhaps not.

do you think you give your character justice? yes / NO / I SINCERELY HOPE I DO? [ Ahaha....I’m starting to give up on that idea at this point, as several noted that Momotaro isn’t as timid in canon as I write him. But I do try to keep those boneheaded traits of the peach boy in my portrayal. ]

do you frequently write headcanons? YES / NO / SORT OF? [ It’s a must for Momotaro, whose game is a tribute to how the old timey arcade games didn’t have much to their plots. Otherwise, I would think that playing him would end up pretty dry..whether I play him closer to canon or not. ]

do you sometimes write drabbles? YES / NO [ ...I should write more. ]

do you think a lot about your muse during the day? YES / NO [ Stupidly yes. Been playing him for 8 years so it’s a hard habit to break. ]

are you confident in your portrayal? YES / NO / SORT OF? [ I mean, if I wasn’t confident enough I would’ve dropped him...though I have thought about that several times. There be times where I run into some sort of writer’s block due to his meek (and traumatized) nature, and because of how he speaks, it’s scary. Am I pushing his issues too much...? Or just HIM in general...? ]

are you confident in your writing? YES / NO. [ Again, writer block happens when some muses don’t click, or personally I don’t want to interact with someone. And then when I do want to write with someone, I fear that my simpler (children’s book) ways of writing would be a turn off. I don’t want to end up babbling too long that there’s too much detail but I shudder at seeing single lines in response to long prose. ]

are you a sensitive person? YES / NO. / sorta. [ Yeaaaah i get stressed and cry at lot at confrontation and just...anxiety in general. Been trying to keep that off the dash though, as I’m sure peeps got their own troubles already. DMs are good to have y’all. ]

DO YOU ACCEPT CRITICISM WELL ABOUT YOUR PORTRAYAL? — I do my best to take crits when I get them but sometimes it just haunts me because I have mixed feelings on being told that the way he speaks is racist or childish. But hey, if you got more advice on how to write trauma and special needs, I’m all ears! Particularly because I’m writing from my own experience in my life and research. ...Dad isn’t that superb at speaking English and that's where I got the Momo speak.

DO YOU LIKE QUESTIONS, WHICH HELP YOU EXPLORE YOUR CHARACTER? — Yes please...but at this point I kinda have sadly accepted that’s just gonna be rare because he’s obscure.

IF SOMEONE DISAGREES TO A HEADCANON OF YOURS, DO YOU WANT TO KNOW WHY? — as my take on Momotaro is very meek, I’d like to see how one would take on a more confident/more canon true take on him. But that’s a pipe dream. Coruse the only headcanon I will never take (that I fear the fandom will have due to perverted nature) is that he’s just a fuckin harem protag wanting to get into pants. To that I say: NO. In canon he doesn’t give a fuck about the fact his teammates are girls...or even acknowledges that they're girls. It’s the time to survive, not boogie on beds...or at a tree.

IF SOMEONE DISAGREES WITH YOUR PORTRAYAL, HOW WOULD YOU TAKE IT? — I anticipate that wholly because again, I have gotten comments that my take on Momotaro has not properly prepared them to witness the sheer destruction and toughness that is canontaro. Honestly I’d be hyped to see more takes...except for the harem route ones. Am I gonna jinx myself for saying it that much?

IF SOMEONE REALLY HATES YOUR CHARACTER, HOW DO YOU TAKE IT? — I probably would be sad but understanding...I mean it’s not the first time that someone has taken deep offense at Momo and me, mainly in the rp sense. I would hope they would at least go find something that makes them happy.

ARE YOU OKAY WITH PEOPLE POINTING OUT YOUR GRAMMATICAL ERRORS? — Yep yep. Or well stealth editing too, that helps.

DO YOU THINK YOU ARE EASY GOING AS A MUN? — Ehhhh....maybe...? I mean most think I’m chill but, I’m a ball of anxiety at times. But, I am also one who reaches out because, gosh dang...a lot of peeps are nervous beans and that’s okay. So...it’s a sort of, yeah.

#meme time #long post #sternenteile

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gluttons · 5 years ago

Text

MUNDAY QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS .

BASICS

NAME OR ALIAS : rose

GENDER + PRONOUNS : cis female , she / her

ZODIAC SIGN : virgo

RP EXPERIENCE : 5+ years

FAVORITE…

MOVIE : predestination / kingsman / gravity / it / the conjuring / interstellar / the kings speech / railway man / imitation game / the danish girl .

TV SHOWS : hannibal , stranger things , sherlock bbc , nikita .

ANIME : bnha / detective conan / haikyuu / death note / snk / sao ( a problematic fave of mine yikes ) / orange / ame nochi hare ( this is a manga but shh )

BOOK : the great gatsby , life of pi , perfume : the story of a murderer , a thousand splendid suns , the lover ( dumas ) , the bartimaeus triology , the dark room ( seiffert ) , macbeth , the reluctant fundamentalist ( mohsin ) , the old man & the sea .

POEM : the mad girl’s love song / lady lazarus —— sylvia plath .

MUSIC ARTIST : peach pit , (g) i-dle , kehlani , marinna & the diamonds , uverworld , frederic ( フレデリック ) , ac/dc , bon jovi , florida georgia line , post malone , stromae , oh wonder , hippo campus ... ( too many )

COLOR : red , black . for clothing , earth tones : khaki , beige , tan , olive green .

NUMBER : 2

LAST…

MOVIE WATCHED : zodiac ( 2007 )

TV SHOW WATCHED : the witcher ( 2019 ) ; if this includes anime ... hq s4 !!

BOOK READ : consent —— leo benedictus / justice —— michael sandel ( the two books im reading atm ! )

THING GOOGLED : italy suicide laws .

SONG LISTENED TO : my oh my —— camilla cabello , ft. dababy

SONG STUCK IN HEAD : wya —— carlie hanson

WHAT I’M WEARING : grey sweater + bell pants !

HOGWARTS HOUSE : slytherin / ravenclaw

POKEMON GO TEAM :

AVERAGE HOURS OF SLEEP : 5 - 6 on average .

BLOG

WHEN I CREATED THIS BLOG : july 2018 .

DO I GET ASKS REGULARLY : sometimes ? if my mains are active / if i reblogged inbox memes .

EXPLAIN YOUR URL : meph reaps souls & eats them . hence devour . tm was just an rpc fad —— nothing much to explain , i dont think hsdkfjskdfa

RPC / FANDOM MISCONCEPTION YOU HATE

GIVE SOME RPC SALT :

its 2020 , why are there still writers that try to control other ppl’s content ? let people write homophobic / sexist / racist / morally gray / insensitive characters if they want to. mun =/= muse . are holocaust fiction writers who portray nazi characters nazis themselves ??? no ??? i still don’t understand what’s wrong with writing problematic characters . they’re not self inserts . if you personally don’t want to see that shit , no one is forcing you to come into contact with their content. just block it , simple . at the end of the day, rp is a hobby for all of us & ppl on the internet come from diff backgrounds / cultures / circumstances . no need to shove your own standard onto everyone , just approach every conversation w respect .

cancelling ppl / vaguing / making a huge deal of personal feuds on dash & getting third parties to take sides . i understand that actual predators who endanger minors within the rpc may warrant a post of warning ( note : this does not constitute as callout culture bc shit like that is actually illegal !! ) , but stop magnifying every single piece of irrelevant drama. i’ve actually had ppl contact me personally & vague / bad-mouth other mutuals that i’m close with & i hated every second. fam , no one wants to get involved in the middle of your messes . grow the f up & sort the matter out privately between yourselves .

GIVE SOME RPC SUGAR :

i’ve been on tons of forums during my years of rp & tumblr rpcs are genuinely like no other !! tumblr centralises multiple plotlines around a single character & aims to explore character psychology / depth as opposed to focusing more on plot than character development , which i highly , highly appreciate / prefer ! also , people in rpcs are generally super friendly & willing to interact , & the quality of blogs on tumble are just absolutely fab . not only the writing but the amount of thought / planning put behind the backstories , hcs , verses —— it’s so heartwarming to see how much people care abt their characters + worldbuilding —— it makes me more invested in interacting w the muses around me & developing my own in tandem !!

i’m genuinely so thankful for everyone who’s shown interest in my character or even just enjoyed plotting / chatting w me !! i’ve made some good , long - lasting friends in rpcs ( like , i’m still in contact w mutuals i had in 2016 , goodness ... ) + even met some of them irl !! soo i’ve been super grateful that the rpc has allowed me to connect w so many wonderful ppl & make some wonderful memories ♡

TAGGED BY : @gctita ( ty !!! (∩´∀｀)∩ )

TAGGING : anyone who’s interested !

#welp #discourse tw #idk if ppl are triggered by this but like #i really had to say it #:^)#tagged pending.

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ask-corvo · 5 years ago

Photo

I drew a scene from an RP we had with @dishonwhored .

I might upload it one day to AO3 but for now, you can read it here. Or click on “Read More”.

My Website and Commission Info.

Daud already lost count of how many nights he had to spend out on the rooftops soaking in rainwater just to clean up some messes and tie up loose ends. Daud was a man of circumstance but he was not a man of chance; everything had to be executed in a way that didn't leave much wiggle room for things such as misfortune to interfere with his plans. There was no such thing as bad luck. Only miscalculations.

One such miscalculation was the fact one of his men stationed across the city of Dunwall was caught and apprehended by the Abbey of the Everyman. That of course meant being tortured or killed on the spot, and Daud knew that each Whaler had the fear of death trained out of them; they'd rather die than betray their Master. Because of course they would. But Daud wasn't as cruel as to completely ignore his men when they are in need of his help. And so he stalked the religious lunatics until he had located the stray Whaler. Poor bastard was the only one left of that particular patrol group.

Daud crouched down, still a safe enough distance away from the wailing and screeching of the Overseers' music box, but it reached his ears regardless and gave him a slight headache. He always hated dealing with those. Life was easier before the Abbey figured out how to tinker with machinery. Sometimes he swore they didn't even know how to prepare the most basic meal. The assassin counted the amount of heads that need to roll through his eyepiece and exhaled, rainwater dripping down his pursed lips. He wanted to get this over with quickly and go back home.

Sliding from the tiled rooftop down onto a nearby balcony Daud transversed around the dimly lit alley until he found a good enough vantage point from which he would take down the bastard with the music box that was now scrambling his brain like eggs. He had to be precise and grit his teeth through the pain though because it will do neither him nor his Whaler any good if they'd both end up captured or dead, all because of this idiot cranking a cog wheel. Daud decided to take a direct approach instead of a stealthy one. Maybe it was impatience and irritation that drove him this time but he got the job done regardless, coming up behind the Overseer with the box and effortlessly snapping his neck before the others even managed to draw their swords. Once the box ceased emitting its headsplitting chime Daud had quickly cut through the remaining Overseers with a few transversals and swift hands.

He didn't waste too much time getting to free his captured underling, merely muttering some chastising words and ordering the man back home. He'll deal with this mishap later. All he knew for now is that the Overseers were dead and he could breathe easy, if only for a moment.

Teague was watching from the shadows as the Knife of Dunwall cut through the Overseers moments after the mind-numbing music ceased in its play.

From the very beginning, he's told the men to keep guard and interrogate the assassin quickly, but if you wanted something done right, you cannot trust anyone to do it but yourself. At the same time, Teague needed not answers from a mere assassin when Daud was there right in front of his eyes. His mismatching hues didn't detach from the older man when Snow shifted in his position, ready to pounce.

Every muscle in his body was tense and ready to act just like the wolfhound by his side. No other Overseer would have the chance to take Daud down. It had to be him. And he had to have some questions answered now. There wouldn't be another perfect opportunity as such.

Go for the masked one. Teague ordered, and Snow dashed for his target, while he was to draw his sword and sprint at the red-coated Whaler.

All it took is a fraction of a second for Daud to turn sharply and face the oncoming threat. The rain obscured their assailant's footsteps and he had hoped the Overseers' wolfhounds would have a harder time tracking his scent in this weather, but one was charging right at them, white as snow, with its owner right behind him.

Daud's body acted on instinct. He stepped right in front of the wolfhound's maw and shielded the Whaler with his gloved arm, allowing the hound to latch onto him instead. Not a particularly wise move considering he momentarily compromised his sword arm while there was another person sprinting towards the Knife with his own sword drawn, but seeing as his left hand was free, Daud raised it and time stopped altogether, raindrops suspended in the air surrounding them.

But that was about all he managed to stop besides the hound. The other man was still moving in his direction with all intent to strike. All Daud managed to do was buy himself a few extra seconds to free his right arm from the hound's clutches and ready himself for whoever this bastard was.

One of Teague's suspicions was confirmed. With it, was another.

The first one being if the Knife was truly marked by the Outsider just as he, the other that he was capable of playing with time. It was a silly speculation in a sense, as there was no other way a man would decapitate, butcher so many people and disappear from the scene before any of the bodies would hit the ground.

With his very own mark on the back of his hand, it was barely any inconvenience. However the moment Teague noticed Snow was affected, he's reached out to him with his left hand - the purple mark glowing brightly against the dull scene and in the blink of an eye the two switched their positions. Snow was now mid-air as he was when Daud shoved him off and Teague in his place up close with the Big Knife, slashing their blades together.

Daud was caught completely off guard when the dog and its owner switched places in the blink of an eye. Daud reacted fast, albeit staggering in place a bit and briefly losing his footing, by blocking the other's sword with his own, the sound of metal clashing with metal piercing his ears like gunfire. It forced him to refocus on what was happening.

They both had someone to lose in this fight, and Teague had no intention of having his companion and friend hurt just as Daud wouldn't let him land a blow on his assassin.

It was fine, he figured. Daud was the one he wanted anyway.

His body already felt weird in this time-capsule, without the voice of Snow in his head, without his ever-present companion by his side. The only times they were obscured from each other so were when the music boxes grit in their ears.

No, he wouldn't aim for the assassin. He would pay him no mind. Snow would take care of him if he'd dare try anything; he knew. This would be a fair fight.

This man was an Overseer, no doubt. He had the Abbey's insignia plastered all over him and carried their assortment of weapons. But he was also marked, and dressed way different than his brethren. Was he truly on the Abbey's beck and call? Or was this a mockery of their doctrine, a facade worn by a mercenary to tease and humiliate?

Daud grit his teeth and glared directly into the supposed Overseer's mismatching eyes, one as black as the void itself and the other a contrasting violet. He planted both feet firmly onto the cobblestone floor and pushed the man back just as time resumed and with it the roaring rainfall and the hound's pained cry.

The Whaler quickly got up on his feet and drew his sword despite his confusion. Daud ordered him home, but it was before they were assaulted; he figured Daud would forgive some slight misdemeanor if it was for a good cause. They were both on the same exact boat though.

Neither knew who this man was or why he wanted Daud's head on a stake so badly.

Teague took three steps back after being repelled, protecting Snow with his body while the wolfhound landed behind him and snarled. His fur was heavy from the rainwater like the fabric of Teague's trimmed uniform. His sword was raised on his shoulder level, tilted sideways while his left hand was on his hip's level, the glowing mark turned to face the two heretics.

Snow?

I'm alright...

The wolfhound licked at his bared teeth and gave a shake to his coat, though he got soaked once again almost immediately. The rain was loud, almost louder than Teague's heart beating in his ears as he scanned Daud with a quick glance.

He was taller than him, and possibly heavier too. But Teague was flexible, and a sword wasn't his favorite tool for battle - so he was more than ready to engage with just his body at the Knife. Sucking in the cold morning's air, the marked Overseer bent his knees ever so slightly, similarly to his tense wolfhound. His mark had a dim glow to it, and so did Snow's purple eye.

"You look a little shocked, my dear Daud."

Daud retained the same position as the Overseer did; ready, tense, defensive, but most importantly viciously protective of the Whaler behind him, similarly to how the Overseer shielded his hound with his body. Neither was willing to sacrifice their companion, human or not. Daud obviously didn't give it much thought at the moment and he probably wouldn't at all, but the Whaler was thankful. His Master - as calculating as he may be - often resorted to the bare fight-or-flight response comprised purely of instinct, and like a wolf, one of those instincts was to protect his pack.

The Whaler composed himself and glanced at his Master, tilting his head slightly while attempting to decypher Daud's expression. He did not dare speak, and simply waited to be given orders. For now, though, while the Knife remained silent, the Whaler stood still.

Daud on the other hand had his eyes transfixed onto the Overseer, hardly even acknowledging the hound. He studied the other's features, body language, attire; wracking his brain for the best assessment he could make at the moment in an attempt to understand what he was up against. The Overseer was slimmer and lighter in weight but he was agile. He worked in perfect coordination with his canine companion which Daud found to be bizarre; no matter how well you bonded with an animal it was still an animal, unable to understand you beyond some trained vocal cues. Daud had to acknowledge the hound now as a threat equal to the Overseer if they were so well-synchronized.

At long last the assassin spoke, tightening his grip on the hilt of his sword. "Who are you? I would have hoped to hear of a Void-touched Overseer before I got to meet him face to face."

Teague chuckled, but his expression remained unchanged. It almost appeared as the wolfhound by his side made a similar sound in reaction to Daud's words, before he was to shake his coat a second time and snarl.

The Abbey of the Everyman was trying to keep him hidden from the public eye for reasons quite obvious. It was not in their wish to flaunt with the weapon they have in their hands. Approved by the High Overseer or not, a heretic was a heretic and they didn't want to give anyone the wrong idea.

Back in Morley, his fellow Overseers have gotten used to him, Snow, and their complicated relationship. But here in Dunwall things were a little different - what with the rat plague, everyone was on edge more than the usual. In a way, he couldn't wait to be finished here and return to the place he could call home, along the people he could call family.

Those Overseers in Dunwall were twisted by something.

Maybe it was because of their closeness with the High Overseer...

"I like to keep to myself, unlike you. You're Daud, the Knife of Dunwall who no one else would survive an encounter with to tell the tale. It is quite the name you've made for yourself; I would like knowing I made this place safer once you perish and return to the black-eyed bastard."

Daud sneered and scoffed in response to the Overseer's taunts. Sure, he may be marked, but Daud was confident that he'll be the one leaving back home in one piece. He did so for decades after all. How would a marked Overseer be any different from his contracts? He was simply a target that could put up a fight, but a fight Daud would win. Or at least that's what he hoped for.

"Having a reputation helps, sometimes. Most people understand fear better than they'd understand respect." Daud didn't remove his gaze from the Overseer and kept glaring daggers at him as he spoke. "The Abbey of the Everyman is no different from me in that regard."

"Their time too will come." Teague immediately replied, twirling the blade in his hand. The Abbey and the High Overseer will be dealt with eventually, he knew. If not by him; then by the Spymaster and the Empress. Coming from Morley he heard his fair share of talk about Jessamine Kaldwin, and the first-ever official Spymaster on her side.

He might have been resentful for the Kaldwin family, but she was no fool. If the High Overseer was truly suspicious; she and her "Royals" would sniff him out eventually. Teague only had only one purpose currently, and it was to find the cause for the rat plague and eliminate it.

The man who held the city trembling in its place with a chain of faceless assassins would be a good gamble to begin with.

"If you were to assist me in my mission, I would perhaps look the other way - just today." He remained still and tense. "I've heard enough about you to know you're always hungry for knowledge."

"Oh, am I now." Daud made sure the cynicism in his voice was apparent and clear. The Whaler behind him had to muster all of his willpower to stifle his laughter. He only made a faint noise barely audible through the pouring rain, biting his lip beneath the mask. Daud only spared a fraction of a glance at his direction before refocusing on the Overseer.

If Daud understood correctly, he thought, then the strange man was the Abbey's secret weapon against people such as himself. Witches and heretics that were being publicly persecuted, sometimes through baseless accusations and mere cruelty or boredom. If the Abbey employed a so called heretic to flush out the others then they really were desperate. It made sense given the state Dunwall was in, but Daud couldn't help but wonder if the decision to fight fire with fire was made by the Empress herself or by the High Overseer, independently of Jessamine Kaldwin's decrees. Her so called Royal Spymaster could also have been involved in this.

What a disaster.

"You should have also heard, then, that I'm not exactly the Abbey's best friend." Daud added to his previous remark with a slight frown. "Why should I assist you or them? What's the catch?"

"I want to leave this wretched city and return and return to the place where I belong. Luckily for the both of us; that place isn't Gristol."

Teague didn't have an accent to him, and the Void altered his apperance enough to make him almost appear Tyvian, but in reality he didn't care if the Knife of Dunwall knew where he was from. He just needed to know that it's far.

What he didn't need to know, is that Teague planned on eliminating him whether he was tied to this mess. Just not now. The rat plague was killing more than Daud would, and unlike the Big Knife; the plague wasn't selective.

The plague took the good and the poor before it took the rich and cunning. It needed to be eliminated first.

"The sooner matters are taken care of, the earlier my departure would be - and so also your trouble with me. I cannot speak for the Abbey however, those fanatics are a hivemind as you probably know; I would truly hate to be responsible for them." He hissed, then clicked his tongue. "I know you have a rich taste for coin but I have none. Maybe knowing that your precious gentlemen won't drop like flies to the plague would be enough?"

"I'll take my chances." Daud snapped back at the Overseer almost as soon as he uttered the last syllable to his response. "If there will be no nobles left to kill in Dunwall then we will simply migrate elsewhere. There isn't a shortage of them - or coin - in places beyond this wretched city." The Knife's answer was definite and left no room for negotiation; he did not trust the Overseer no matter how much he cursed the Abbey. It might as well have been a script, or a bluff, that he rehearsed or made up on the spot to win Daud over. But it'll take much more than pretty words to convince him to work alongside an Overseer. Some of his men were former Overseers gone rogue, sure. But it took them way longer to earn Daud's trust than it took the rest.

As Daud was preparing himself for either battle or retreat, the Whaler behind him broke his silence for the first time in this conversation. He cleared his throat, as if to be polite, and crossed his hands behind his back. "I think it's worth considering his offer, Master. We're running short on medicine and food as it is, and the rat plague isn't making it any easier for us to find work, or even merchants to sell us those supplies, since they've been- well- dying one by one."

The Whaler spoke monotonously and didn't exhibit much emotion if any in his voice, but that jab at the end made Daud turn his glare onto his own disciple next. In a sense he was correct; they have been struggling to stay afloat ever since the plague hit, especially when their turf was now being swarmed with the afflicted- Weepers they called them- as well as infected rats and insects. Business wasn't exactly booming and it wouldn't be the first time he overheard his men complaining about his decision to remain rooted in Dunwall. This one simply did it directly.

Daud took a deep breath and filled his lungs with cold air, running his tongue over his teeth in slight irritation, but reconsidering his answer nonetheless. He looked back at the Overseer and rolled his shoulders restlessly, forming a tight fist with his marked hand before relaxing his muscles and opening it back up. He had to swallow at least some of his pride in order to give in, albeit only partially.

"Fine." Daud almost groaned his answer as if it physically pained him to speak it. "But I think we're both aware that you can't fully guarantee my men's safety, let alone their health."

Daud lowered his weapon but didn't sheath it. He wanted to show that he's willing to cease his hostility but not lower his guard.

"There are other ways you could repay me. Like stealing from the Abbey you claim to hate so much, perhaps." Daud shrugged. "Surely you wouldn't mind handing me coin that isn't necessarily yours, correct? You would be doing good by robbing them of their gold."

Teague, as if mimicking the taller man's behavior, slowly was too lowering his armed hand, the tip of his blade still pointed at Daud's chest. The dim glow coming from his mark ceased as he raised it to smooth his wet hair back, the mismatchcing eyes refusing to look away from the two targets.

"Of course, this would be a lovely idea. I'll consider it once I figure out where Campbell stashes his treasures." He was sarcastic, but also bitter. The High Overseer was supposed to be an example, and live as he preached. Instead he was pampered and treated like the Lord Protector himself; that was nothing the Abbey believed in. "But wouldn't they like to blame the heretic once things start disappearing?"

Teague tilted his head back to sweep his hair one more time, and then idly swayed his hip. The wet fabric only got tighter around his body with the weight of the rain, sticking to his inner thighs and exposing shiny pale skin.

His eyes turned momentarily to the Whaler mask before they were to return to Daud, and then to his side towards the music box resting on the still chest of his fellow Overseer. He stepped towards the horrible machine and raised a boot to step on it, to crush that thing to ensure it would neve be singing again.

"There's other things that could benefit you but coin, Daud. Stopping the plague seems like a hassle, but it could save you expenses, manpower, and eventually -" He grunted. That scrap metal was sturdy. "- We can talk about material goods as well."

Daud stepped away from the Overseer and the music box, wary of both. The Whaler followed suit, but he was admittedly less tense than his Master was. He didn't really care if he'd die of the plague or not; he would rather live, of course, but if he had to die while serving his Master, then he wouldn't put up resistance. He lowered his head and stared at the wet cobblestone paving the street. He hoped he didn't just get them in more trouble than they were already in.

When he was at a comfortable enough distance from the Overseer and his hound, Daud allowed himself to sheath his sword, and with his now free hands he crossed his arms over his chest. "I would take a day or two to reconsider whose side I should be on if I were you. I'm sure you know the Abbey only sees you as a tool. A means to an end." Daud spoke matter-of-factly but with no real concern for the Overseer's fate or wellbeing. Just because they were both marked didn't make them friends.

"All I'm saying's that I'd put my wages elsewhere."

It took some effort, but after having crushed the music box into the ground through the crushed ribs and spine of the Overseer below it Teague could be sure it wouldn't be used again. He turned his head to glance at Snow - which sat attached to his grounded leg - and turned to face Daud once again. His eyes went back to the Whaler moments later.

"I was born to be a tool to men, and so will I leave this world. I am a toy for the black-eyed boy, an object and weapon for the Abbey, and a sack of coin for the Knife of Dunwall." He snarled, almost if he were the dog inbetween the duo. "I'm not on their side. Blind, lunatic mutts, that's what they are - the Abbey long forgotten what it truly stood for and worshipped -" Teague cut himself off in the middle, scoffing. "But you don't care."

He shook his head and inhaled, the cold air soothing him.

"You're busy blindly following a dead boy, with blind followers of your own." He sneered. "Let's just stick to business and not try converting me."

Daud listened to the Overseer's rant stonefaced but he had to admit that he did feel sorry for the man. It seemed like he was completely aware of his predicament but accepted that he's powerless to do anything to change it, or, alternatively, figured that fighting back would be worse than simply gritting his teeth and letting things go as they do. Judging by the Overseer's clothes Daud could only imagine what other "uses" this man had and what other nuances the word "toy" carried. It made him nauseous. A good portion of his own men used to serve as slaves for such depravity until Daud either freed them or they begged to be taken in. But none of it showed on his features. He remained as still and stoic as before.

"The life my men were granted is far better than the one they had before joining my ranks." Daud said flatly. "You're free to criticize me all you want. Really, go ahead." He gestured at the Overseer with a theatrical wave of his hand. "But whatever it is you think you know about me better be laid to rest. You don't know jack shit."

Daud spat that last bit with venom in his voice. It made the Whaler raise his head and look at him once more. He was concerned, but knew better than to step in front of his Master's temper. He tensed up a little but still stood quiet.

"If this is how it's going to be then we really are better off just sticking to business." Daud turned on his heel to leave, and his Whaler remained rooted in place for a moment, stunned, but quickly followed after regaining his composure.

"I'll send one of my own to meet with you tomorrow and take you to a comfortable rendezvous point of my choosing. And for your sake I hope I'll see you both and not just one."

With that, Daud transversed out of the Overseer's sight, as did his Whaler. He had a feeling that tomorrow's going to be an even longer day endured on only a couple hours of fitful sleep.

#Dishonored #Daud

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bloodyxroyal · 6 years ago

Text

//Ever since my return to the rp kommunity, I have been getting hate mail. Atleast once a day and for the last few days it has really been taking a toll on me. So I'm just gonna post a vent and let it off my chest. I love roleplaying here and that's not a thing I see myself quitting at all. I'm a writer at heart and this is my way of sharing that talent with like minded people here.

To the anon sending hate, I will answer your asks with total honesty. Yes I do notice things on my dash, does it make me sad yes. Am I jealous, a little. You pointed out that I had nothing regarding the portrayal meme, literally shoving it in my face about it. But the one thing you seemed to have forgotten is that the things I have sent out, their responses went both ways. My praise for their portrayal was returned with love and compliments to me aswell.

I am very self conscious when it comes to my writing and I know I have a lot of room to improve. Does it stop the friends who rp with me, no. Because according to them, my writing is not as bad as you claim it is.

Yes I know my portrayal of Baraka isn't 100% accurate but there are some aspects that I know are canon. There were better Baraka pages before mine and I learned from some very talented people. Still learning that today.

All I'm saying is that no matter what you say Anon hater, I'm not going anywhere. And the only reason I'm making this post is because from this point on, everything else you send to me becomes irrelevant.

You may have won by getting me worked up, sending me into another anxiety attack. But that's all you get from me.

And to anyone else who reads this, thank you. I love this kommunity so much and you all are family to me.

#vent post #//im alright no worries

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nyota-sungura · 6 years ago

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Also a note for Anon-chan; I am the Wifey. I am in a rut with my writing at the moment; I don't know how to get my mojo back for writing threads or starters, but I know one person out of three that can make me had a burst was motivation and inspiration and that's Leo. They take the time to look through my blog, pick a muse and cater a starter to that muse. It's very rare I get that treatment and I know it's not expected whatsoever but it honestly makes me feel like the pressure is off my -

- shoulders in making choices / guesses to people I rp with who they want to rp with. Yes; I don’t have bios; that’s a choice I made and stick by. But people like Leo who KNOW my muses; follow my muses and look up things about my muses or even comes to me to ask about muses - honestly gives my 1% inspiration to write to a 99% level of output. Yes; I get overwhelmed with their brilliance, but I never feel obligated to reply to them all right away; I can horde them and smile at the starters – Leo makes me because i can feel the passion and love in typing them out. Leo can write me 56789 threads and I can reply to 10 and I know they won’t stop rping with me or think I’m greedy or give up trying looking into muses with me and that honestly keeps me going here sometimes. So LONG STORY SHORT; I’m a greedy hoe for leo’s writing and I demand their love and passion through writing whenever they are in the mood to give it. mwah.

Okay first of all, I’m not crying, that gd onion ninja got my ass again.

L I S T E N H E R E Y O U.

I love all of your muses, bios or no. I love how you just spontaneously decide “Oh yes, I’m going to make one of those and its going to be SPECTACULAR” and it always is. I love how much you love your bbies and I love your writing as a whole. I love writing with you always and I love YOU too y’know you’re such a sweet bean and you’re giving your best. I don’t care how many threads we have, how many you reply to or how long it takes. I just love writing with you no matter the frequency or anything like that. There is not a time in the world I wouldn’t just throw down 28 starters for you in one go and be like LOVE ME because yes pls do pls love me you adorable nugget. I wanna give you more reasons to enjoy your own creativity and I am more than happy that I’m inspiring you to get out of that rut and will continue to do what I do best to help– THROW THESE CRAZY FUCKS AT ALL YOUR BABIES!!

As a fellow muse horder I can understand that treatment being selective and wanna give u it all too okay. Pls, I will read, sift and drive u fuckin’ nuts about ur own bbies okay.

Now Y’ALL, listen here– Tala is absolutely amazing all around. I’d honestly throw down 60 threads in a heartbeat for her okay no damn lie I HAVE DONE SUCH THINGS BEFORE AND I WILL DO THEM AGAIN. And I know it can be a bit shocking to think that anyone would write that many starters for any one individual but believe me: Tala is more than worth it. Her muses, her writing, everything there is about her inspires me and makes me want to bolster my own skills and shove them at her okay. Even without bios you can see just how wonderful her fucks are and I love them all.

I remember back when I first saw wifey’s bagel and was intimidated af, not because of the muse count but because of the quality I saw. I was just a whole bag of anxiety and S W E A T S but then I just. Popped right up and was like “Ohey these might help” when she needed some column pages and here we are now. Its been four friggin’ years and I NEVER tire of seeing her on my dash and reading about all her bbies.

#minugahanax #OOC #L: ᵍᵃʳᵈᵉᶰ ᵏᵉᵉᵖᵉʳ | ˡᵉᵒ ;;

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dunamanticarchivist · 7 years ago

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The Munchkin Nein - Condor Widogast Part 2

Welcome back everyone, to tonight’s episode of how to murder hobo, by our resident hobo wizard, Caleb Widogast. We last left off having reviewed his FIREpower and now, onto the greater subtleties of magic that showcase the versatility of the wizard, and how well it can sync up with the rest of the Mighty Nein.

And off we go again, my labels for each spell in square brackets [buff, debuff etc]

Maximilian’s Earthen Grasp (level 2, concentration 1 minute)

[Crowd control]

Target must make a STR save or suffer 2d6 bludgeoning DMG and is restrained.

A crowd favourite that came in clutch against the gelatinous cube in ep15.

It is the only source of non-magical damage in Caleb’s arsenal, aside from physically fighting. Restrained is a powerful condition, reducing speed to absolute zero regardless of modifiers. It also gives DISAV (disadvantage) to the target’s attack rolls, as well as ADV (advantage) to ALL attack rolls on the target. Finally, the target has DISAD on DEX saves. While Caleb can use an action to force a separate STR save on subsequent turns to deal 2d6 bludgeoning DMG, it’s probably not very efficient. The firebolt cantrip does 2d10, with advantage due to restrained (so roll that nat 20). Burning hands does 3d6 or more, and the target’s DEX save gets DISAD

On the downsides, it only has 30 feet of range, takes an action and requires concentration. The target can use its action to have another go at the STR save, which frees it if passed. However, even if the target breaks free, at the cost of Caleb’s action, that cat’s paw can still try to restrain the target again if they remain within 5 feet of it. Alternatively, it can re-position itself within a 30 foot radius of Caleb.

Enlarge (level 2, concentration, 1 minute)

[Buff]

Another crowd favourite, especially given the targets Caleb has not very subtly chosen (Caleb is most definitely a Beauyasha shipper). Mechanically, the doubling in size gives ADV on STR checks and saves. If the target is holding weapons, they deal d4 extra DMG.

So, a straight up damage boost, especially helpful for characters with multiple attacks (Beau can go up to 5 attacks, with Sentinel reaction and flurry of blows, Molly and Yasha tie at 3 for 2nd place). And the improvement on the STR checks help with things like grappling or shoving which Beau has shown to be rather fond of (0 STR mod, but proficiency in athletics), and the STR save is good for getting out of said situations.

Once again, its a spell that needs concentration, reinforcing the need for Caleb to hang back, which he has been doing so far. Of note is that the target and everything it bears multiplies by 8 in weight, which might cause some floors to give way. I recommend watching out for potential environmental hazards.

Reduce (level 2 transmutation, concentration, 1 minute)

[Debuff]

The flip side of the coin with Enlarge, its actually in the same spell entry, which is an advantage since Caleb can prepare both without being 2 spells (which will be increasingly important as Caleb can only prep 10 spells a day + 1 for every new level, but learns at least 2 more every new level aside from copying spells). If used on an unwilling creature, it must make a CON save, or else it gets DISAD on STR checks and saves, and gets a 1d4 DMG penalty to its weapon attacks, though it cannot reduce the DMG below 1.

So pretty much the flipped application of enlarge, making foes vulnerable and weaker. In this case the reduction in weight might be helpful in setting off less traps, not that anyone seems particularly weighty in the Nein atm.

Haste (level 3, concentration, 30 feet, 1 minute)

[Buff]

Gotta go fast! Double speed, +2 AC, ADV on DEX saves, and an additional option: one weapon attack, dash, disengage, hide, or use an object.

Highly versatile spell for positioning, defense and offence. Double speed benefits characters with high base speed (Beau, Yasha at 40 ft) more so than others. +2 AC and ADV to DEX saves makes the target a slick dodgy fellow in combat, as well as the additional movement options. And finally, the extra attack is a simple boost while the additional interaction is up to roleplay ingenuity.

Slow (level 3, concentration, 120 feet, 1 minute)

[Debuff]

The sister spell to Haste, but mechanically somewhat different. AoE 40 foot cube, affects up to 6 creatures. The target must make a WIS save or suffer the following effects: half speed, -2 AC, DISAD on DEX saves, cannot take reactions. Only action OR bonus action. Limited to one attack. Also, if casting a spell that costs 1 action, it has a 50% chance of being unable to complete the spell this turn and must use its action the following turn to do so. If unable to, the spell is wasted.

As we can see, its a pretty nasty debuff to the capacity of the poor targets to achieve much on its turns. Also makes it less dodgy and more sitting ducky.

Mage Armor (level 1, 1 action, 8 hours)

[Buff]

Rather straight forward AC buff on unarmored targets: 13 + DEX mod.

This gives Caleb AC 14, which is a +3 compare to his default AC 11. Alternatively, it can give Nott AC 17 which is a +1. Or Yasha AC 15, which is also +1. The other characters at the moment will not benefit or are worse off.

Arguably it is a viable buff for Yasha who is more likely to use that AC in melee, but we have definitely seen that the encounters have a tendency to target the fire spitting wizard. Also, that 8 hour duration allows it to be cast before combat is all but certain.

Shield (reaction, until start of character’s next turn)

[Buff]

A temporary increase to Caleb’s AC by 5. Can come in very clutch as we saw in the Victory Pit. Negates magic missile as mentioned in the previous post. Arguably, mage armor isn’t as necessary with this around, but having AC 19 as a squishy wizard feels delicious.

Blur (level 2 illusion, concentration, 1 minute)

[Debuff technically]

We actually haven’t seen this, but it’s listed on critrolestats. Gives any attack rolls on Caleb DISAD, unless the attacker doesn’t rely on sight or sees through illusions.

Another spell for Caleb to evasion tank, but I don’t really foresee Caleb liking to be the center of focus fire, unless for RP reasons, in which case, yep its totally going to be effective.

Sleep (level 1 enchantment, 1 minute, 90 feet range, 20 feet radius from point)

[Crowd Control]

This entry is missing from critrole stats as of posting, but we definitely saw this in the Victory Pit. Complicated spell, which is why i saved it for nearly the last.

To begin, roll 5d8 and addtional 2d8 for each spell level above 1. (So 22.5 is the mean, +7 each additional spell level). In the affected 20 foot radius sphere, rank the creatures from lowest HP to highest. Starting from the lowest, if their current HP is less than the rolled number, they fall asleep. Subtract the HP of the affected creature and move to the next lowest HP. If a creature’s HP is greater than the remaining pool of HP rolled, it is unaffected and the spell stops propagating.

Once again, we’ve seen this spell do some work. Although its mechanics seem to favour putting multiple weaker creatures to sleep to avoid being overwhelmed. Also, Caleb has been mindful that it doesn’t discriminate between friendly and hostiles, which also means he could actually replicate Modern Literature without overt friendly fire.

Finally I’ll list some non-combat spells for completion, since these do not have direct damage, unikely to have straightforward effects on hostile creatures or are too unwieldy to cast in combat. They do of course open up a whole vista of opportunity for creative roleplay and ingenuity with sufficient planning.

Dancing Lights

Simple light sources could be crucial in setting ambushes on dark vision incapable foes, sadly, Caleb himself would be one of them. Also, it can be debated if Matt allows the combination of the light to blind foes (most likely Drow?)

Find Familiar

Good old Frumpkin everyone’s favourite therapy animal. Sick of getting kicked. Or eaten by cubes. Or poofed. Also can’t see in the dark. However, can serve as a conduit for touch based spells, extending them by a range of up to 100 feet. Can also interact with objects (as much as a cat is able to). Matt has allowed Frumpkin to make an attack, but that’s really more for roleplay. Has lots of fun potential.

Unseen servant

Schimdt has proven pretty useful as a scroll case opener. In combat, he acts as an extra interaction with objects, at the cost of a bonus action. So theoretically, he could trigger traps that the Mighty Nein set for their enemies that require remote activation (up to 60 feet)

Friends

Generally used to avoid combat, but one could easily disguise as your enemy and then use the spell, possibly gaining an ally. Idk, once again, imagination is the limit.

And there my friends, is Caleb Widogast in combat. Pasting my work onto Word, holy crap 3 pages worth of text? Where was this loquaciousness when I was rushing my assignment on the deadline? Thank you all for reading this far if you’ve made it. Short summary and wrapping thoughts below.

A solid roster of spells, with a lovely amount of variation. Let it never be said that the Mighty Nein cannot work together; this wizard is able to support his newfound friends, lay on the pain to those who would hurt them and prevent that from happening to begin with. To do so to the utmost, they just need to have a bird brain or two *hrroo hrroo sneak attack*

If I had to nitpick, all these spells take up an action (aside from Shield being reaction). So only one, of all the above effects in this part and the previous, will be available for casting each turn. Spells with persistence ameliorate this to a certain extent, but in most such cases, there are opportunities for foes to counter the spell. Which of course, adds to the fun and challenge. If I had to make a recommendation, I would suggest something that makes use of only a bonus action (like Unseen Servant), to expand the capabilities of this dirty wizard. For the sake of demonstration, Melf’s Minute Meteor’s allows you to throw 2x 2d6 fire DMG meteors, subject to DEX saves (which a target has been restrained by Earthen Grasp has disadvantage on). But this is purely an indulgence on my part for theorycrafting possibilities that do not exist.

I will be looking into the combinations with other characters shy of straight buffs. Because we need good RP reasons to get the characters to use them, cos this is Critical Role. Send me your headcannons on what scenarios could utilize the capabilities of Caleb in conjunction with the others, which I will be writing at length on in the coming days.

“I was so sure, until I wasn’t”

- Caleb Widogast

Also me trying to find good RP reasons for Caleb to act optimally To be fair, Caleb isn’t my character so I wouldn’t know the slightest thing about his internal thoughts, nor should I pretend to, since that’s Liam O’Brien’s job, and he does it so fucking well (except when he almost killed Beau with Caleb by accident in ep 21) But that’s a whole other can of worms that I am so not opening. Yet.

It’s almost Tuesday, FAN ARTISTS AND GIF MAKERS remember to SUBMIT!

#critical role #cr2 #cr2 spoilers #kinda not really #caleb widogast #mathhammer #theorycraft #power of roleplay #the munchkin nein #submit #mine

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thattahoeecojournalist · 7 years ago

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Hallows of the Unhallowed

Title: Hollows of the Unhallowed Word Count: 2,430 Project/Pairing: Saint Bellamare RP (Sebastian/Raphael) Genres: Horror, Mystery Warnings: Creep factor, Some cussing Notes: This was based on a real nightmare that I had. I woke up from it and immediately took notes that eventually became this short story.

“No, Raph. What I’m saying is that I don’t understand how you got into Rune Theory and Application” I tucked my notebook filled with scrawled gibberish back into the satchel. “And I’m saying that it feels like you think I cheated on the exam to get in” Raph stopped just long enough for me to put my stuff away and continued stomping on the crunchiest leaves his feet could find. “I never said anything about the fairness of your acceptance”, he turned around to look at me while I thought of a suitable end to the sentence, “Just that I can’t fathom how you passed” He frowned and put a hand on his hip. “Are you saying you don’t think I’m smart enough for this class?” Yes. Precisely. “No, absolutely not” He kept frowning and turned around to look through the trees. I might not have answered quickly enough for his liking. “Hey, what time you got?” Oh thank god. He got distracted. I looked at my wrist. “It’s about seven thirty” He mused for a second motioning for me to hurry up. Rune Theory was in a class building separated from the main campus by a sizable forest. It’d take us until nightfall to get back. As it was, the lamps lining both sides of the street glowed to life. I caught up to Raph and we walked on as evening turned to dusk. The trees overhead grew thicker until the sky was blotted out by the leaves. For a while we kept up with the synchronized glow of the lamps. No sooner had the fog rolled into the trees when the lamps raced to full brightness in mere seconds, lighting up the road until we couldn’t see it anymore. “Think we’re gonna make it in time to grab grub from the kitchen?” Raph asked, rummaging around in my bag. “We’re not even gonna make curfew at this point,” I replied, glancing down at my watch again, “And I keep dry ingredients in there so don’t touch them” He yanked his hand out and wiped it on his shirt. I stood on tiptoe trying to catch a peak of the campus. Nothing. I’ve lost it completely. “Do you think we should jog the rest of the way?” Raph raised an eyebrow and looked around as though looking for something. “I’m not running to make it in time for fuckin curfew, Seb” He patted my shoulder as a glimpse of the moon peered through the trees. “We’re takin' a shortcut anyhow. Follow me” he trudged off the street and into the forest, snapping twigs and branches louder than if a stampede of bears had gone by. I didn’t follow him and he turned around. “What’s the matter?” “You’re sure this is a shortcut?” I asked, hesitant to follow Raph blindly into a dark forest with the possibility of starving to death on our own looming over me. He sighed and pointed at where the moon was. “Campus is southwest of us right? Moon’s there. So campus is this way, I promise” I don’t feel better but following him on his hunch sounds better than being alone in the street. The trees feel bigger in the dark. The fog thickened and obscured any sign that the moon hung in the sky at any point. “Got your lamp with you?” Raph asked, stopping and nearly causing me to walk right into his back. “No, it’s on my desk” He stumbled over to a tree and ripped a piece of bark off of it. I couldn’t tell what he was doing but he fiddled with it for a good couple seconds. A spark flared followed by another. The piece of bark burst into flames at one end and it illuminated the small area around us. Raph shook the match he had and grinded it into the dirt with his shoe. “Hurry up then. This won’t last long” he said, heading off faster into the forest. I kept close to his back, feeling my skin crawl with each new sound the forest offered. At this point, Raph’s stomping was a welcoming ambience in comparison to the mystery of what’s out there. All the trees looked the same after a while. I hoped that Raph knew what he was doing because I certainly had no idea where we were. Wait. One of these trees looked different from the others. “Hey hold on” I said, tugging on Raph’s shirt. He obeyed and followed me to the anomaly. It was a sign. Maybe it’d point us toward the campus. Hollows of the Unhallowed, it read. It looks like someone carved it with a knife. A shiver took hold of my spine and I turned around. All these trees were not only dead; they looked as though their innards were ripped out and disappeared. “Raph, what happened” The surroundings were plunged into darkness as Raph let out a squeal of pain. The embers from the bark hit the damp ground and were extinguished upon contact. Now that we weren’t moving, the forest noises resumed. Frogs croaked quietly, crickets chirped, and branches strained against strange sounding wind. Due to the acoustics of the forest, it sounded like whispering. “Once” some of it sounded like. “Tree” other parts sounded like. Raph tapped me and I nodded. He heard it too. It’s whispering. We turned around in circles trying to place where it was coming from. It seemed to come from all around us. “Who are you” Raph shouted. He couldn’t hide the shakiness in his voice. “Once” “Around” “We” “Tree” It almost seemed melodic. Different parts were sung in eerie harmony. Other’s clashed in tone deaf waves of sound. I wish I could hear all the words they said. A shiver went down my spine as the whispering got quieter. Like the song was ending. “Hide” I barely was able to pick it up when all the whispering said it in unison. It wasn’t until then that I noticed that the frogs and crickets were silent as well. Raph reached out and his strong hands grabbed my shirt. He shoved me violently into a nearby hollow tree, following after me. I opened my mouth to protest. “Hey-” He covered my mouth with one hand and kept his other hand on my chest, keeping me firmly pressed against the back of the tree. Nothing happened out there. No sound, no light, no disturbance of any kind. Then it felt like my head was tight and sweat began to form on my skin. The leaves outside didn’t crunch so much as rustle and compress. I could hardly see it but a footprint formed in the dirt outside our hollow. Whatever it was, it was huge. No leg or foot was attached to it but the footprint was deep and extended out for a few yards into gnarled toe prints. The small clearing outside our tree didn’t look like something was filling the space but a small feeling inside me knew that something tangible was right outside. It didn’t make a sound as it moved so much as cause a shift in air pressure. Raph pressed further against me and I picked up a small rumbling noise that ended with Raph’s eyes meeting mine. His mouth worded “Sorry”. Damn it Raph. My teeth clenched and my muscles tightened up in response. The air pressure changed dramatically and another footprint appeared next to its companion, facing toward our hiding spot. I wanted to shrink into a ball and make a smaller target for it but it’d surely hear me. Just when I thought it left and moved my hand to tell Raph to get off, thick fog curled in around the trunk. The fog ended in sharp roots and took the shape of three long nails that snaked like tendrils into the bark above our heads. At the ends it crunched into the wood. The air pressure increased until I thought my eardrums would burst. It felt as though it trapped us at the bottom of a lake. At that moment, something off in the distance sounded eerily melodious. “Once….around…the tree….we go” it sung. The air thinned. “Once…around…the tree….we go” it repeated, getting closer. The air returned to normal and I quietly took in as much air as my lungs could hold. Raph’s eyes were trained on the clearing and I followed his gaze. I could make out a human figure. They stood in the open not even making an attempt to hide from whatever’s out there. And…they just kept singing. The same sentence. Over and over. Without warning, the area around them lit up as though a spotlight was trained on them. It looked like a second year student. Short cropped brown hair and casual evening attire. They looked completely unfazed. A loud hissing as though steam was escaping a container filled the air and the spotlight disappeared leaving us temporarily blinded in the sudden darkness. My night vision returned to me slowly but my ears picked up whispering. “Once….around…the tree….we go” it whispered. Finally my eyes snapped into focus and the student was gone. In its place was a large dead tree with no innards. “Run” I heard from somewhere inside our hollow. Raph took my hand and we dashed out into the woods. He had a much faster pace and I was practically being dragged behind him. I couldn’t see where we were going. Trees blurred by us as we sprinted as quickly as we could. The muscles in my throat tightened and I could tell it was following us. No matter how fast we’d run, it felt like it kept pace with us easily. My lungs burned and my legs felt like they’d fallen off. I turned around quickly to see if it was still following us. My feet hit a large root and I lost my grip on Raph’s hand. I tumbled forward into the dirt falling on my face and skidding to a halt on my side. I turned on the creature desperately trying to back crawl away from it. Two blinding light circles above a glowing savage grin hovered somewhere in the darkest fog conglomeration near the low branches, looking down at me. The circles got closer and the grin got bigger. For once, I didn’t feel anything. My head was full of pressure and I couldn’t hear anything but those things didn’t matter. My thoughts, fears, anxieties, had run off. The circles, like eyes, focused on me and grew brighter. Something got in front of me and put itself between me and it. Raph. The spotlight turned off and we were alone in the dark again save for a small flickering light in Raph’s hand. It was a match. Somewhere in the distance, I could hear the tree still whispering his sentence. Raph turned to me, eyes wide and shouted. I couldn’t hear him. He took a hold of my shoulder and shook it really hard. “Sebastian!” he shouted. I heard him but only barely over the tree whispering. “Stop saying that” he shouted, finally drowning out the whispering. That was when I felt my mouth moving. “Once around the-“I halted and my ears finally reconnected to my brain. That wasn’t the tree saying it. My heart pounded in my chest and I gasped for breath. “Sebastian, get up. We’re almost there” he shouted again, dragging me to my feet. Right. Almost there. He fumbled for his matches and shoved a few into my hand. “I think I scared it off” He’s wrong. I can still feel it. Waiting. His match flickered and he lit another one with the dying one. “I don’t think it likes the light” he said, turning us toward our destination. He’s right. Beyond the immediate trees lay only a field between us and the nearest campus building. “Where is it” I asked Raph. He shook his head and took my hand again, walking us toward the field. “Darkness” a chorus of quiet whispers responded from all around us. Raph’s grip tightened on me. I squeezed his hand in return and looked around at the shadows cast off by Raph’s match. It felt like every shadow had a grinning face now. I struck a match on his tinderbox and held it up. He kept his facing the campus. Mine faced the forest. Together we made our way through the field certain that we couldn’t be snuck up on. We had bigger worries. A stiff breeze picked up as we reached the epicenter of the field. My match was blown out. I whirled around to see that Raph’s match had gone out as well. We spared a flash of horror before we ran. Raph kept at my side urging me to run faster. I obliged. The pressure descended upon us as we neared the doors. Raph sprinted to the door and pulled it open. I didn’t hesitate. I dove in and landed in a crumple on the stone floor. Raph yanked the door shut and landed near me. Something huge collided with the door. Then nothing. It was gone. My whole body shook. Sweat poured off of me and Raph was panting heavily next to me. We lay there for a long time, not speaking. We didn’t speak as we got up and struck a match each, lighting our way to our dorm room. Raph fell onto his bed within seconds of me opening the door. “Sebastian” he said, his voice hoarse. I looked at him as I turned on the lamp and sat on my bed. “If you ever freeze like that again, I can’t promise that I can save you” he said gravely. My blood ran cold. It doesn’t feel like something I could help. And yet I might not survive because of it. “Yeah, ok. I won’t” I lied. I can’t make that promise. He turned over, satisfied with my answer. Within moments, his breathing got heavy and he snored softly. I wish I could’ve gone to sleep that easily. I didn’t sleep that night and my lamp stayed on until it ran out of oil the next day. I didn’t speak about the incident again hoping that it was all just a nightmare. Something I could just wave away as a sleep addled brain running with its imagination. Sometimes at night though, if I concentrate hard enough I can hear the whispers. And it all comes flooding back accompanied by the image of that terrible grin. To this night, I keep a light on while I sleep…just in case.

#nightmare warning #Saint Bellamarre #Original Work #original rp #sebastian lascelles #raphael macnealson #horror

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crimsonrevolt · 7 years ago

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Congratulations Haley you’ve been accepted to Crimson Revolt as Cassius Mulciber!

↳ please refer to our character checklist

We’re so happy to see you back in the rp Haley! You’ve always played Cassius beautifully and written out his various complexities -- as your app definitely explores once more and makes exceptionally clear. It’ll be so nice to see him on the dash again, and I know a lot of people will be so excited that you decided to rejoin so soon! Hopefully, you’ve found a reignited muse for him and be able to fully dive into his development! *your fc change to Chris Wood has been accepted

application beneath the cut; tw: torture, murder, death, blood (in para sample)

OUT OF CHARACTER

♔ INTRODUCTION

Haley, 20, She/Her, EST- United States

♔ ACTIVITY

I’m employed and a part time student but despite those things I have a fair amount of free time which I didn’t expect when school started. 7/10.

♔ TRIGGERS

*removed for privacy

♔ HOW DID YOU FIND US?

I mean, I was here and then left because of muse issues, after I left my muse returned and with a bit of editing I’ve got the muse flowing strongly again.

♔ HOW ARE YOU?

Tired, but otherwise good.

♔ WHAT HARRY POTTER CHARACTER DO YOU IDENTIFY WITH MOST?:

Remus and Sirius, I truly identify with them both equally. I’ve always been the weird, quiet kid who seemed too secretive and was bullied. But I also am a rebel who eventually learned how to stand up for myself and others. I’m like the stereotypical parts of both their characters combined.

♔ TELL US SOMETHING ABOUT YOURSELF:

The very identifying things you should know: I am a Scorpio, INFJ, Slytherin, and Horned Serpent. I will fight for the oxford comma. I have been roleplaying on tumblr for roughly six years. Total I’ve been roleplaying about eight years. I am going to school for Agriculture with an emphasis in Animal Science and my life dream at the moment is to move to either Washington State or New Zealand and start my own farm while also working in conservation.

♔ ANYTHING ELSE?

How are you?

IN CHARACTER

♔ DESIRED CHARACTER

Cassius Mulciber

♔ FACE CLAIM

I want to switch him back to Chris Wood, but if you’d rather leave him as Zane Holtz that’s fine too.

♔ REASON FOR CHOSEN CHARACTER

I used to love writing the anti-hero or heroic characters who did horrible things for good reasons. In recent months I have found a new love in writing darker characters. There’s a certain power in a character who has no morals. He would slit a man’s throat and then fuck someone next to his corpse without a second thought. He has no boundaries. There are no lines he won’t cross. The things he does, he does for himself. He’s a Death Eater but I believe he made the decision to join the group because of what they do, not who they follow. I will play him more in that light than as if he was another completely blind follower of Voldemort.

Previously I said that Cassius is both perfect for me as a character and challenging. I’ve fallen into a rut of writing characters who have low self esteem and mostly hate themselves, but Cassius is vain and that single aspect of his personality is going to be a fun challenge for me to work through. His determination, pragmatism, and ferocity fits perfectly into what I’m used to writing. However, now having written him before, I already have a solid hold on who he is as a character

All of that is from previous applications but to add to it… Whenever I read other people’s replies to my son I get like butterflies in my stomach and it’s a nervous excitedness every time. I realized even after leaving the group I got excited to talk about threads and talk about the group and I knew immediately that leaving had been a mistake. Leaving reminded me of all the reasons I was here to start with, not all of them are about Cassius per say but still.

♔ PREFERRED SHIPS/ANTI-SHIPS // CHARACTER SEXUALITY // GENDER & PRONOUNS

I have no specific anti-ships and the only ship I have is Cassius and Augustus, but chemistry is the biggest thing for me. Because he’s a purist he wouldn’t be with anyone who wasn’t pure blooded. He also wouldn’t be quick to jump into a relationship. He’s generally more of a one night stand type person, however, he develops attachments to people and will continue having a friendly/sexual relation with them. Whenever things get to serious though, he backs off.

As far as sexuality, he is pansexual. He doesn’t care what genitals a person has or how they identify themselves, what he cares about is if the person is attractive and if they interest him. His pronouns are he/him, if you can’t tell by my extensive use of them already in this application haha.

♔ CREATE ONE (OR MORE!) OF THE FOLLOWING FOR YOUR CHARACTER:

Here is the link to my original Cassius blog.

IN CHARACTER QUESTIONNAIRE

♔ If you were able to invent one spell, potion, or charm, what would it do, what would you use it for or how would you use it? Feel free to name it:

“I want a spell that causes people to drop their guard. I’m sure there are a multitude of potions that do the same thing, but I’ve always been bad with potions. A spell would be so much more convenient. The spell itself would be “fiduciam” which is Latin for trust.”

♔ You have to venture deep into the Forbidden Forest one night. Pick one other character and one object (muggle or magical), besides your wand, that you’d want with you:

“Augustus Rookwood, he’s the only person I would trust to be alone in the forest with me. As for the object, I know it may sound odd but I would take a gun. They’re surprisingly useful considering they’re muggle made.”

♔ What kinds of decisions are the most difficult for you to make?

“Decisions that revolve around my emotions. Some choices are easy, they’re clear and precise and the logical answer seems almost the only answer. As soon as the heart is involved, however, it becomes difficult to decide because no matter what the logical answer is, it’s hard to hurt yourself to do what needs to be done.

♔ What is one thing you would never want said about you?

“That I was weak. I am many things but weak is not and will never be one of them.”

WRITING SAMPLE

July 3rd, 1974

Cassius stood in the frigid night air, waiting for his father to join him just outside the Mulciber Estate property line. He knew this was death eater business, but beyond that he didn’t know anything about what they were doing that night. His father had made promise after promise that they would soon take the required steps for Cassius to receive his dark mark, but so far they had done nothing. Eyes focused on the stars in the sky above him, he didn’t hear Gerard Mulciber walk up behind him and the hand placed on his shoulder caused him to jump slightly. Thankfully his father’s grip on his shoulder was tight as he apparated the both of them away from their estate.

The dark alleyway formed around them, coming into focus as they reached their destination. Gerard turned, walking through a doorway hidden by magic, he absorbed into the brick the way students did as they raced to board the Hogwarts Express. Cassius followed behind him, pulling his wand from his pocket just in case he had occasion to use it. As he emerged into the room he was taken aback by the sight before him. The girl magically bound and gagged in a chair at the center of the room caught his attention first, but it didn’t take long for him to notice the masked figures that lined the walls. Their dark cloaks pulled heavily towards the ground, eerily quiet as they remained still and unmoving, no rustling to be heard. Cassius suddenly felt tiny, insignificant, he felt surrounded and closed in, despite the fact that there were only three death eaters in the room, including his father.

“What is this?” He said with an angry glance towards Gerard.

A stinging pain ran through his head as Gerard smacked him on the back of his skull. “The fact that you’re too idiotic to figure it out on your own should be the first sign that you’re unworthy of the mark. Unfortunately, they don’t agree,” Gerard spat angrily, gesturing towards the death eaters who stood around them. Cassius’ eyes traced around each figure trying to identify any of them, but he couldn’t. A hand gently rested against his back, the feeling was almost as shocking as the smack had been. “The girl,” his father said as he gestured towards the poor girl in the middle of the room, “she’s a muggleborn, so are her siblings.” As if on cue a large cloaked and masked death eater walked through the door, a young girl on his left and a boy on his right, neither could be older than eight. “You’re going to kill her in front of them.”

Cassius’ blood ran cold and he couldn’t stop the chills that ran across his skin. He’d done many terrible things while at Hogwarts but murder was not anywhere on that list. “I know this is supposed to be a challenge for me but shouldn’t I be allowed to decide what I do? Since the whole point is for me to prove myself?” His voice was shakier than he anticipated, but he just hoped his father wouldn’t take notice.

“Fine, do what you want, but the end result must be the same. The girl will die and you will be the cause.” Gerard shoved his son forward viciously, forcing him towards the girl.

Cassius tightened his grip on his wand, acting as if all of this was perfectly normal. He couldn’t show weakness, couldn’t show how terrified he was. There had to be a way for him to do this and flaunt his strength while trying to keep calm. He took a calming breath before allowing the incantation to slip from his lips. “Imperio,” the familiar spell came out easily, the motions flowing through his wrist naturally. It was a spell he had used often at Hogwarts during his free time. The unforgivable curse canceled out the weaker spells that bound her to the chair and Cassius watch with satisfaction as the girl rose from her seat and walked over to stand in front of him. He pulled a small folding knife from his pocket and gave it to her before forcing her to turn and move to her siblings’ side. She moved the knife to rest against the other girl’s throat.

For a moment, Cassius felt guilty. How could he do this? How could he force someone to kill their sister? But he knew he had no choice. Trying not to linger on bad thoughts he flicked his wand and the girl dragged the knife across her sister’s throat. She crumpled to the ground hands around her throat but he didn’t dwell on her despite the fact that she would live for the next several minutes. Moving his puppet over to stand in front of the boy, he had her drop the knife and pull out her wand. With the tip pressed against her brother’s chest, it didn’t take a genius to know what he would do next. As the killing curse slid from the girl’s mouth, a flash of green lit the room and the boy collapsed onto the ground. Cassius felt disgusted with himself. He was dizzy and ill and didn’t know if he was going to make it through this without being sick.

He pushed his illness aside, knowing he still had to kill the girl. He had to get creative, no simple killing curse was going to satisfy these men. They wouldn’t accept the same method of killing twice. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he forced her to turn her wand on herself a small incantation falling from her lips. “Incendio.” As the flames quickly engulfed her body, Cassius realized this had been a mistake. Her screams filled the small room drowning out all other sound and thought. Quietly, praying his father wouldn’t hear him, he hissed out the killing curse, the flash of green hidden within the flames. Her body dropped to the floor and he flicked his wrist, putting out the flames.

“It’s done.” It had lasted no longer than two minutes, but he felt like it had been a lifetime.

Without comment or even gesture, all the death eaters apparated from the room, apparating the bodies away with them. Cassius was left standing alone in the empty room with his father. Pride and excitement filled his chest. Was that it? Had he passed their tests? Did he get to be a death eater now? As he turned to face Gerard, his stomach dropped, dread and panic replacing his earlier emotions. Gerard glared down at him, anger and disappointment painting his features. “You didn’t kill anyone. She did and when you finally had the balls to kill her it was only to put her out of her misery. You are pathetic and weak. If it were up to me I would never make you a death eater.” Cassius kept his mouth shut allowing his father to finish. “You had better promise me that from now on you’ll kill without mercy and without fear. Otherwise, you will have something new to fear.”

Swallowing his pride, Cassius bowed his head slightly, “I promise, Father.” Little did he know that promise was going to haunt him for years to come.

#accepted app

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anodyne-sunflower · 8 years ago

Text

Eddie K. May RP- (Part 2)

A/N: Y'all can find these in my ML.

~Eddie/Nova~

“No, sweetheart. You were glaring at her.” He smirked, grabbing his cup of coffee and taking a huge chug before pointing at Nova again. “You gettin’ jealous?” He chuckled, leaning back into the booth as he finished the last bite of food. But, it was her question that caught him off guard. He stared at her, raising an eyebrow.

“Relationship, huh?”

He was never one to commit, in fact he made that pretty well known to the women he took to bed. Not that it stopped them from trying to reel his ass in to something more. But, no one ever seemed interesting enough to him. They were all hot, and good lays, but beyond that all they did was yap away about the most trivial things. He shrugged, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it before looking back at Nova.

“Haven’t found the right one yet.” To ease the serious tone that built between the two, Eddie rose from the booth, pointing his cig at the waitress. “But, I did find her so come on, let’s go get my truck,” he emphasized the last part, “and get the hell outta here.”

*************************************

Nova snorted. “Yeah darlin’ I am totally jealous of women who throw themselves at you.” She said dryly. They got up and made their way to Nova’s car. They both got in and she started the engine before getting on the road. They drove in silence for a while. The radio softly played some cheesy love song. Nova rolled down her window to let some air in. All it did was tangle her curly locks and make a mess out of her naturally looking sex hair. It was typically the reason why she usually kept it in a ponytail.

“You must get lonely.” She mused. She had a few boyfriends during her friendship with Eddie. They never lasted long. He was pretty impossible to get a long with sometimes and they didn’t like how close the best friends were.

"You know my last boyfriend? He, uh, he really didn’t like you.” Nova laughed slightly.

"Most of our arguments were about you.” She had a small smile. It was enough so her dimples stood out. She kept her eyes forward even when she pulled up at a stoplight.

*********************************

Eddie flicked his burnt out smoke out the window, fixing his hat upon his head as he turned to look at his friend. Her hair was wild at this point, the wind making it puff up and he couldn’t help but laugh. “Ya ever heard of a comb?” He joked, placing his boots up on the dash. He had to admit though, despite all his teasing he always found her appearance to be rather attractive. If he didn’t think of her as just a friend he probably would’ve hit that long ago.

“Greg? Fred, Jim, asshole? Or some shit like that, right?” He smirked, thinking of her last boyfriend. He didn’t care for the dick, he was some goody two shoes from the city that didn’t even seem to fit with Nova at all. “The hell did you date him for anyway? Didn’t peg ya for a city slicker.”

************************************

Nova looked at him briefly. “All the combs break.” She rolled her eyes. Her hair was too thick and it was hell in the summertime.

"James.” She corrected. “His name was James.” The light then turned green.

"For one, he didn’t put his dirty boots on my dash.” She eyed his feet.

"I really liked him. He treated me nice.” It was quite for a minute before she continued. “I never told you why we broke up. He cheated.” She exhaled and tapped her fingers on the steering wheel.

"He thought we were…” She trailed off and shook her head. She wished.

"Doesn’t matter anymore. He’s long gone.” She pulled up in front of Eddie’s house. She turned the car off and moved her body to face him. Nova put her elbow on the steering wheel and rested her head in her hand. She smiled slightly and reached over. She grabbed Eddie’s hat off her head and put it on hers. Despite her big hair, the hat was too big and it slid down on her head and a little over her eyes.

***************************************

Eddie wasn’t paying much attention, not until she said that jackass cheated. He sighed, looking over at her from under his hat. “Thought you said he was nice.” He rolled his eyes, as much as she bitched at him for rotating women, she was no better at choosing a guy. All her boyfriends annoyed the shit outta him.

“Thought we were fuckin’, huh?” He couldn’t help but laugh at that, finishing her sentence for her as she sat there silent. He didn’t understand why it bothered her to say it. As she stopped the car, he removed his boots from her dash, opening the door only to stop when she grabbed his hat. “What is it with you women and stealing my fuckin’ hat?” He chuckled, grabbing it off her head and dusting the top off.

“So whatcha think? We go to dinner tomorrow? My treat this time?” If he planned it well enough, he’d get rid of that waitress in the afternoon this time.

***************************************

"I get it Eddie. I’m shit at picking guys. This is why I didn’t tell you in the first place.” She exhaled through her nose and turned so she was once again facing forward. She didn’t like the way he laughed about the way her ex thought they were together. She frowned.

"The thought of being with me is really that laughable, huh?” Nova said bitterly. It was like a punch in the gut. Even if she didn’t have feelings for him, his comment would have still hurt. She cleared her throat and straightened up in her seat. She put on a fake smile and turned her head to look at Eddie.

"Sure Eddie. Whatever you want. I’ll meet you here tomorrow for dinner.” With that, she rolled up Eddie’s window, ending the conversation, and drove away.

***************************************

"Come on now, sweetheart. I didn’t-” But, Nova hardly seemed interested in his half assed apology. He sighed, backing off slightly as she rolled the window up. He knew that smile was fake, he’s known her long enough to tell. “The fuck is eatin’ her…?” He shrugged his shoulders, heading inside quickly and grabbing his truck keys before heading back to the diner for his current little conquest.

———

He slammed her against the wall of his hallway, smirking into the kiss as she moaned his name. It didn’t take long to get her here, save for the hand job in his truck, she all but begged to be taken.

“Damn, darlin’.” He chuckled, leaning his head back as she sucked on his neck, no doubt leaving a mark. He lifted her legs up, wrapping them around his waist as he led her into his bedroom where it wasn’t long before he had her bent over and screaming his name.

***************************************

It was around 4 in the afternoon when Nova pulled up to Eddie’s house. Although she knew it wasn’t a date, she couldn’t help but be a little excited. She wore a white lace dress that showed a decent amount of cleavage and went to about mid thigh instead of her typical shorts and t-shirt and her hair was down. She wore a little bit of makeup and overall, she thought she looked rather nice. She doubted Eddie would notice though. After all, it was laughable. She got out of the car, and straightened her dress. It was a quiet night and she could very faintly hear sounds from the other side of the door. She really hoped it wasn’t what she thought it was. She knocked on the door.

"Eddie,” She called, “I hope you’re ready cause i’m hungry!” She waited for a few minutes before the door was thrown open. Eddie, shirtless, was looking down at her and, surprise superise, the waitress was behind him. Both looking not too happy at the interruption. And once again, hurt and jealously crept its way into her veins.

***************************************

Eddie groaned, fingers tangling in her hair as she bobbed up and down in his lap. He was so close, and then someone fucking chose now to interrupt. “Fuckin’ shit.” He pulled on her hair, her mouth slipping off his length as he heard Nova’s voice. With an annoyed sigh, he pulled his jeans and boxers up, not bothering to Button them completely as he walked towards the door. He threw it open harshly, glaring down at his friend. He looked back at the waitress, shutting the door behind him as he walked onto the porch. “What the fuckin’ hell are you doing here?”

**********************************

Nova shrunk back at his glare. Her mouth opened and closed trying to get the words out. She swallowed and stared up at him.

"It’s 4 in the evening Eddie. Dinner time. You know like you said we would get dinner? Or have you forgotten all about me.” Nova said. She was angry and frustrated. She glared at him and breathed heavily.

"What the fuck is the matter with you? Am I less important than you’re little hook up, huh?” Her face grew hot and tears pricked the back of her eyes. She stepped forward and shoved him back although it didn’t do much. He was bigger than her.

***************************************

"The fuck is your problem?!” Eddie was growing annoyed with her behavior, she had been acting weird since yesterday. She never cared for his hook ups, but she never complained as much as she had been lately. He scoffed when she pushed at his chest, rubbing his face with his hand as he turned away in frustration. “Oh that’s fuckin’ great, hit me. Come on, darlin’.” He neared her, standing rather tall next to her. “Go ahead. You wanna pull this shit with me, huh? I’m tired of this little bitchy attitude of yours! I got a sweet piece of ass waitin’ inside, and I’m out here arguing with you!”

Eddie laughed in annoyance, running a hand through his hair as he grabbed he door, and flung it open. He threw the girl’s clothes at her, grabbing his own shirt and boots and dressing quickly. “Come on.” He motioned for the waitress to follow him, raising his voice when she stared at him in disbelief. “I said come on, get up.”

She followed behind him, shooting Nova a pissed look as she pulled her jacket on and went towards Eddie’s truck.

***************************************

Eddie and the waitress drove off and that’s when Nova’s tears began to fall. She sniffled and pushed her way inside his home, she was too angry to drive, and went straight to the bathroom. She looked in the mirror. Her eyes and nose were red, skin blotchy, her mascara started to run. She threw her hair up in a bun. ‘So much for feeling pretty.’ She thought to herself bitterly. She did her best to clean up the mascara around her eyes. It just looked smoked out now. She went back out and into the kitchen and straight to Eddie’s alcohol stash. Whiskey would do just fine. She grabbed a glass and poured about half way of the amber liquid. She downed it and then poured another, and another. She was quite buzzed and still miserable. She found a pack of cigarettes on the counter along with a lighter in the kitchen drawer. Hopefully it would calm her down. She took the bottle, glass, cigarettes and lighter into the living room and settled herself down on Eddie’s couch. She took a swig of whiskey and let up the cigarette. She coughed the first few puffs but eventually got used to the burn.

***************************************

Eddie pulled up into his driveway, tires crunching over the gravel as he put it in park. He leaned back against the seat, licking his lips and shaking his head as he felt a bit guilty about his actions. He never meant to get that pissed at her, but she was driving him nuts.

He slammed his truck door closed, walking up the steps to his porch and heading inside. He stopped when he found Nova sitting on the couch, glass of whiskey in hand, and cigarette in the other. He rarely saw her like this, and to be perfectly honest it didn’t suit her.

“You nuts?”

He moved closer, grabbing the bottle of alcohol from the table and moving it back to the kitchen where he placed it high up on the shelf. “You drunk?”

***************************************

"Just a little bit” Nova said in answer to both his questions.

"Hey! I wasn’t finished with that!” She protested when he took away the bottle. Her voice was husky and her words slightly slurred. She glared at Eddie. She got on her knees on the couch and turned to face him.

"So you get to fuck women, use them, smoke, and get shit faced and I can’t? Fuck that.” She rolled her eyes and downed the rest of her glass and stuck the cigarette in her mouth, inhaled and let the smoke slowly leave her mouth through parted lips.

"But I guess I’m just laughable right? And I can’t choose men because all the ones I choose are dicks.” She sits back on the couch and stares blankly ahead, puffing away at her cigarette. Its almost gone so she extinguishes her cigarette and lights up a new one.

********************************

Eddie laughed at that, taking a seat on the armchair he had and staring straight at her. “Use them? They willingly come into my bed, darlin’. They know it ain’t serious shit, not my fault if they get their feelings hurt.” He snatched the smoke from her hand, placing it between his lips and taking a puff. It hung from his lip as he spoke, green eyes still set on her as she pathetically glared at him. “That shit supposed to scare me?”

He removed the cigarette, blowing out smoke and scratching at his brow. “Don’t take your attitude out on me because you pick the shittiest men.”

********************************

"And don’t take yours out on me just because you didn’t get fucked.” Nova frowned, her eyes angry.

"You said we were going to get dinner together. I get here on time to you screwing the waitress. Why is it almost every time I’m here I walk in on you fucking or had just fucked a woman?” She grabbed the cigarette back and inhaled deeply.

"Maybe if I had someone I wouldn’t hang around you as much. I wouldn’t be a bother to you getting laid. But I pick shitty guys. And they hurt me. And guys I do like don’t even like me back.” She buried her head in her hands. The tears had started again. She could feel them spilling out of her eyes. She looked up at him.

"What’s wrong with me Eddie?”

***************************************

His expression turned serious, and he rested his hand down on the arm of the chair, smoke drifting up from his smoke.

"You seriously pissed at me because of a waitress? What makes her so different from the rest?” He rolled his eyes, kicking his boots up on the coffee table as he took another drag. “Didn’t know I couldn’t fuck women anymore.” He waved his hand around, eyebrows raised in question.

But, when she broke down in front of him he finally stopped talking, a hint of concern now on his face as he leaned forward.

"Hey…?”

But she didn’t listen to him, she just sank back into the couch, and cried like he had never seen before from her. He stayed put for a moment, debating his next move before he got up and took a seat next to her. Eddie tugged her into his arms, cigarette still hanging from his mouth, as he hushed her. “Come on now, darlin’. Get your shit together. You cryin’ over assholes isn’t like you.”

***************************************

"And how would you know? When we aren’t hanging out you’re sleeping with women and when we do hang out you are picking up women to sleep with.” She sat up and moved slightly out of Eddie’s embrace. She loved the feeling of his arms around her but she didn’t want to get accustomed to that luxury. She turned to face him, not realizing how close their faces were. She looked into his eyes, quickly her eyes traveled down to his lips, but then flashed back up to his green orbs.

"How are you so oblivious?” She said quietly. It wasn’t even a whisper.

***************************************

He scoffed at her, crushing his cigarette in the ash tray nearby before looking at her.

“Didn’t realize you controlled my fuckin’ dick.” He was growing tired of her complaints of him and women, why was it such a big deal to her now? “Look, you pick shit men, big fuckin’ deal, get over it. We don’t always get what we fuckin’ want, and what the hell do you mean oblivious? I’m fully fuckin’ aware that you have a problem with my sleeping around. Again, get the fuck over it.”

He moved to get up from the couch, throwing his hat across the table as he gave her an annoyed look.

**********************************

Nova was getting really tired of his shit. She stood up, walked over to him, and grabbed him roughly by his shirt.

"Just shut the fuck up, Eddie.” She demanded and with that she crushed his mouth onto hers. It was everthing she had thought it would be. His lips were soft and warm and tasted like smoke and something distinctly him. His scent swirled around in her mind and made her feel dizzy. She broke the kiss and sobered up once she realized what she had just done.

"Oh god. I shouldn’t have- I didnt- I’m sorry I gotta go.” Her eyes grew wide and she bolted for the door grabbing her purse. Fear that she had ruined their friendship shook her to the core. She got to her car and dug around in her purse for her keys but it was too dark to see.

***************************************

Eddie stood shocked in the middle of his living room, eyes wide and mouth agape. He could hear her apologizing, but he was too distracted by the tingling in his lips. He never expected…he didn’t think she…he couldn’t even get his thoughts straight. He felt the air as she ran by, door shutting loudly, and it awoke him from his trance.

“Hey…hey!”

He turned on the heel of his boot, running out the door and reaching her in time as she shuffled through her purse. He grabbed her wrist, turning her around and pushing her against her car.

************************************

Nova gasped when she felt arms around her waist and the next thing she knew she had dropped her purse and she had her back against her car and Eddie in front of her. She brought her hands up to his chest trying to put some distance between them.

"Eddie, let me go. I’m so sorry I shouldn’t have kissed you. I am so sorry. Please let me go.” She rambled on and on as she looked up staring into his eyes.

***********************************

Eddie looked down at her, expression unreadable. It was like she had awakened something in him, a feeling he had suppressed long ago after he found a friend in her. Now, after that kiss…his mind was going a mile a minute.

“Shut up.”

He pushed her hands off his chest, and leaned down capturing her lips in another frenzied kiss.

***************************************

Nova’s eyes grew wide and she squeaked in surprise when Eddie kissed her. It took her a moment to register what was happening. Her eyes slid shut and her mouth moved with his. Nova ran her hands up his chest, over his shoulders, one hand cupping his face, and the other buried in his hair, her nails scratching his scalp. As she pulled away for air, a thought entered her mind and she pushed him away.

"I don’t need your pity Eddie.” She looked down at the ground, lips still tingling.

***************************************

Eddie stumbled back a bit, grabbing the top of the car door as he looked at her. He couldn’t help but chuckle at her anger, noticing how cute she actually looked scowling like that. “When have I ever given one flying fuck about pitying people?”

He inched closer, licking his lips as he now gazed at her, a different look in his eyes. One he gave all the women he suddenly had the desire for.

***************************************

Nova scoffed and turned her face away and bit her bottom lip.

"Eddie, you don’t like me like that.” She sighed out. Sadness pooled in her stomach.

"When have you ever felt something for me?” She leaned against her car and watched the leaves shake in the light wind. It was better for her now to get this out of the way rather than give herself false hope.

***************************************

Eddie gripped her chin, turning her to look at him as he leaned down, his nose brushed across hers and he gave her his signature smirk. “I ain’t gonna pretend to be madly in love, darlin’….but, I’m not lying when I say you’re possibly the perfect woman for me.” His lips brushed hers, and he whispered as she readied her hands to push him away again. “So, you gonna be dramatic again, or you gonna let me finish what you started?”

***************************************

Nova rolled her eyes. “Well jesus fuck, Eddie, I’m not in love with you either,” her voice came out a whisper against his lips, “But I suppose you could be the perfect man for me.” She laughed slightly at his last comment.

"Just shut the fuck up, Eddie.” and she pressed her lips to his. Nova brought her arms around his neck and pulled him in closer.

***************************************

Eddie wrapped his arm around her, shutting her car door and lifting her slightly off the ground as he walked them both up the steps of his porch. The kiss was getting heated, and he stumbled across the entrance as he opened his front door. He let her down gently enough, arm still around her as he closed his door and pushed her along into his bedroom.

“Get your ass in there.” He smiled, unbuttoning his shirt as he nudged her onto the bed.

***************************************

Nova gasped as he picked her up and carried her to the house and brought her into his bedroom. She moved to sit on the bed and pulled Eddie down and kissed him. She ran her hands up his naked torso, feeling his lean muscles. When they got to his shoulders she pushed his shirt off and onto the floor. Her hands continued their route where they buried themselves in Eddie’s hair and she gave it a tug.

"Just don’t make me leave in the morning.” She whispered against his lips before resuming their kiss.

**************************************

He chuckled at her joke, rolling his eyes as he kissed a trail down her neck and chest. He glanced up at her, winking before lifting her dress up. “I won’t make any promises.”

———

Eddie fell to the side, panting softly as he laid back against the pillows. He looked over at Nova, grinning as she too was in the same state as him.

***************************************

Nova could already tell that her natural sex hair was amplified and probably looked more like a lion’s mane. She turned over on her side and nuzzled her face into Eddie’s neck. She knew he wasn’t a cuddler but damn it she wanted to cuddle. She tangled their legs together and wrapped an arm around his middle.

"Just let it happen.” She said and kissed below his ear. She traced lazy patterns onto his chest. Nova laid there for a while basking in the scent of sex and Eddie. She felt sore but the good kind of sore and very happy. It almost seemed too good to be true.

"I don’t want to go to sleep,” She confessed, “I don’t want to wake up and have this all be a dream.” She wasn’t typically one for the mushy gushy bit of relationships but he made her feel like her insides were hot fudge.

************************************

Eddie made a disgusted sound, chuckling lightly as she cuddled into his side. “And you wonder why I make women leave the next morning.” He playfully said, resting an arm behind his head as she traced along his muscles. He hated cuddling, always did. Something about it just annoyed him, like he was being smothered. Not to mention most of the women he bedded tried to cling to him. But, he allowed her the moment, his arm wrapped around her as he tapped his fingers along her arm.

**********************************

Nova smacked him lightly and rolled off of him, giving Eddie some space.

"God you’re such a dick. Why do I like you again?” She sat up and the sheet pooled around her waist exposing her torso. She pulled a hair tie from off her wrist and blindly attempted to put it in a bun to tame it somewhat. She raised her hands up and arched her back, stretching her muscles and sighed at the feeling.

***************************************

"Because, you like my dick.” He smirked when she shot him a pissed off look. But, really getting on her nerves was one of his favorite pastimes. He watched her as she pulled her hair up, eyes roaming along her chest thinking back on their little session.

"Hey….how’s ‘bout round two, sweetheart?” He reached over, pulling her back to him, as she rolled her eyes.

***************************************

Nova hummed, “I guess.” She grinned coyly. She gave out a surprised yelp when Eddie pulled her back to him, one hand supported her weight on the mattress and the other went to lay on his chest to keep herself from crushing him. She looked down at Eddie with half lidded eyes and bent down to kiss him. After a while her need for oxygen became greater so she kissed along his jawline and under his ear.

"Whatever you want, Eddie.” Nova breathed. She nipped, sucked, and licked making a decent looking hickey while her hand was slowly traveling down his chest and abdomen, lower and lower.

***************************************

Eddie hummed in pleasure, closing his eyes as her hands trailed lower down his stomach. He had to wonder why he never tried hooking up with her before, seemed like a good time lost over the years. “You don’t waste fuckin’ time, sweetheart.” He chuckled, making her straddle his waist as he pulled her into another kiss. He only pulled away to flip them over, hovering above her as he admired her.

“We shoulda fucked a long time ago, darlin’.”

***************************************

Nova hummed and gently, using her left hand, scratched her nails up his back and into his hair. Her right hand cupped the side of his face and her thumb stroked his bottom lip softly. She gazed up at him with big, dark eyes. She frowned a little at the term ‘fucked.’ It made her feel like she was just another hookup. She stayed silent, not quite knowing what to say. After a little bit she hesitantly opened her mouth.

"I’m not another hook up, right?” She said quietly, nervous of his answer.

*************************************

Eddie leaned down, smiling against her lips as he kissed her. He was getting into it, happily enjoying her company, but her question caught him off guard. “What?” He couldn’t stop the smile on his face, and he ran a hand through his hair as he nipped along her jaw. “Don’t like being friends with benefits?” He chuckled, nuzzling into her neck as he moved her legs apart with his knee.

************************************

She pushed against his chest and stared at him,eyebrows furrowed. Her heart dropped into her stomach.

"Friends with benefits? I’m just a good fuck then? Is that it? You feel nothing for me?” She pushed him off of her and she threw on her undergarments, dress, and boots. Nova turned to look at him.

"So everything you said last night, about me possibly being the perfect woman for you was just to get me to fuck you? That even if we were friends with benefits you would be ok if I suddenly started seeing someone else?” She laughed bitterly.

"My mistake. I guess I was too stupid to think you genuinely had feelings for me.” Tears welled up in her eyes and she rushed out of Eddie’s room and out of his house. Her purse was still by her car where she dropped it last night, luckily no one had stolen it. She found her keys, got in the car, and Nova drove away. She got to her apartment when she let the tears begin to fall. She threw on comfy pajamas and crawled into bed. She felt like nothing.

***************************************

Eddie moved back when she shoved at his chest, rolling his eyes as she began to dress and shoot him those damn looks. The ones that scolded him, and basically spoke volumes of her attitude. He didn’t see what the big deal was, he obviously felt something for her, friend or lover. So whatever she was pouting about was beyond him.

“Darlin’…” he ruffled his hair, messy locks now sticking up higher as he watched her get up and head towards the door. “Nova, for fucks sake.”

He got out of the bed, shoving some jeans on and walking outside. He was at the door when she got into her car, and he leaned against it. “Jesus Christ. Goddamn women.”

~End Part 2~

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askthegreenguys · 8 years ago

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// @alinkbetweenportraits and I did a private RP a while back between Light and Art, where Light’s dad-ing him to death. In honor of father’s day (and since she doesn’t mind) I’m posting it, because it was HELLA cute!

// The scene is, they’re sparring in front of Art’s house. Under a readmore because obviously it’s long. Enjoy!

Art was talented, that much was for certain. He held out much longer than most like him would against Light. But his moves were somewhat shaky and hesitant, maybe even reckless as he parried and countered each of the shade's moves. In the long run, talent didn't mean shit compared to years of hard work.

They had both opted for using wooden swords this time. Bruises healed easier than cuts after all, and the two didn't feel the need to hold back too much. Or well, Art didn't. Light couldn't exactly wail on him after all.

Determined to keep trying despite the terrible odds, Art blocked the strike from above, his knees buckling under the sudden weight. His arms shook as he slowly but surely managed to shove Light off. The living hero pivoted around with his sword, ready to deal a swing across Light's torso. But his ancestor was far quicker and struck Art in the ribs. The force combined with the speed caused the hero to yelp out in pain and lose his balance. Link fell to his side and skid further away from the shade. It didn't stop there though. He skid so far that he slipped off the edge of the steep slope in front of his house and struck the ground with a thud.

The boy was slumped over on the ground, clearly disoriented from the surprisingly powerful counter attack. However, Link eventually recollected himself and slowly got back on his feet with a hand on his head.

As soon as the younger hero went careening off the slope, Light panicked. He hadn’t meant to strike his descendant quite that hard, although admittedly he had caught him at a particularly bad moment in his movement. Good for a real duel, bad for a friendly spar with a very squishy partner. Light dropped his wooden sword and dashed over to the edge, peeking over for a split second before jumping down without even breaking his stride. He reached Art’s side just as the living hero was stumbling back to his feet, and Light caught him by the shoulders to hold him up.

“Art! Dear Goddesses, I am so sorry, are you alright?” he fussed, checking the boy over for injuries. The shade took the boy’s wrists, stretching and raising his arms, patted his torso to check for hard areas where there might be internal bleeding (he tended to forget how strong he was as a shade, it wasn’t an unfounded fear), and took his descendant’s chin to raise his head, turning it side to side. Light leaned down, glowing white eyes staring into Art’s bright blue ones, and narrowed them slightly in concentration as he checked the size of the boy’s pupils and whether they were focusing or not. “Does anything hurt? Are you dizzy or feel nauseous? It doesn’t hurt to breathe does it? You can hear me right? Wait, telepathy, dammit ah, can you hear this?” Light used one hand to grab the edge of his chainmail and shook it, eliciting a loud rattling noise.

One second Art was on his feet, the next he felt his body being tugged, patted, turned, lifted, all so quick he could hardly make out what was going on. Hardly anything his ancestor said registered at first. But eventually he reached up to hold Light by his cold arms.

“Light--LIGHT!” He shouted, hoping to stop the poor guy in his tracks before he gave himself a heart attack. Or well... whatever the ghost equivalent was. Art let out a deep sigh before patting him on the arms. “I'm fine. Really. It's nothing serious.”

If Light could have frowned, he would have. His expression remained as impassive as ever, but his voice took on a slightly scolding tone. “That’s not an answer, Art. I know you far too well, and how you dodge every question about your well being.” The shade looked over his descendant again, then his shoulders drooped in a sigh. “You probably have a concussion, you seemed quite a bit dazed when I got here.” Light started nudging the boy along back towards the house, keeping an arm on his back. “That’s enough for today, you should go inside and rest for now.”

“Wha...? Already?” Art blinked, looking up to Light as he guided him in the house. Though as he walked he did feel somewhat disoriented, like his sense of balance was slightly off. Well geez, that didn't take long at all, did it? He had a lot of work to do before he could even hope to face against Light in the future.

“Ugh this sucks...” Art muttered, putting a hand on his forehead. “Here I thought I was getting better training on my own. Somehow I think I got worse.”

Light chuckled. “You do have to remember that I have well over a century’s worth of experience on you. You undoubtedly have quite a bit of raw talent with a blade, so don’t sell yourself short. I’m impressed.” Light ruffled the younger hero’s hair gently, being mindful of the headache he probably had. The elder hero noticed, however, that his descendant’s emotions were somewhat… hazy, less focused than usual. He sighed inwardly. “He definitely has a concussion.” he thought.

Light opened the door and ushered the boy inside, not so subtly steering him towards the nearest chair and sitting him down in it. The shade knelt before Art, once again studying his face. “How do you feel? Nauseous, or dizzy perhaps? Is there anything wrong with your vision? I am sorry for being so careless, I had forgotten that I am a good deal stronger as a shade…”

Yeah Art really wasn't used to being doted on like this. Not that there was anything wrong with it. It was just... different. His ears lowered a bit as his cheeks turned a shade of red. He was just grateful the others weren't around to tease him for this.

“Light really, I'm gonna be fine. I just got caught off guard is all. And I was pretty wide open mid swing so uh...” This wasn't helping. He was getting more flustered. Not only that but he could sense an incoming lecture if he kept it up. His gaze shifted to the side, avoiding eye contact with the other. “... My head just hurts a little from the fall, okay? It's no big deal, though. I mean that's normal when you spar.”

Light hummed a little in response, satisfied that Art’s speech was coherent and he didn’t seem too out of sorts. “Nevertheless, take it easy for a few days. Plenty of rest, keep things nice and quiet, no strenuous activity, things like that. If you want, we can try sparring again… next week perhaps.” The shade got up, going to the kitchen area to pour a glass of water from a pitcher they’d filled earlier. He brought the glass back to the living hero and handed it to him. “Here, drink. Dehydration makes everything worse. Trust me, I know. ”

Art leaned over with his head in his hands, trying to soothe the pain as Light explained what to do. He didn't really say too much, only nodding in response to his ancestor's words. He sat in silence for some time before noticing a boney hand offering him water.

“Oh. Thanks Dad,” he muttered, taking the glass and drinking its contents. It didn't seem like Art’s words had registered quite yet judging by how calm he was acting.

Light would have smiled at Art were he able, but instead he tilted his head slightly, his eyes seeming a bit gentler and warmer than usual. Then the kid’s words registered. And Light froze.

“I don’t think Eleanor likes me very much, Mista Link.” the small red-haired boy pouted from his perch on top of a barrel. “Every time I walk by her stall she goes nyeeeeeeaaaaarpfbbbbt and stomps her feet and scares me! An- an’ she won’t let me go say hi to Matilda! I dunno why, I never be meaned to her or pulled her hair or anything!” Jason’s voice wavered at the end, and his big brown eyes started watering.

Link looked up from the boy’s leg, which he had scraped when he’d fallen after being startled by the finicky mare, and gave his adopted son a sympathetic smile. “It’s not you, kiddo. Eleanor’s a bit of a meanie, she even tries to bite me sometimes.” He held up a hand, which had a faint scar on the back near the wrist where said horse had successfully nipped him once. “Just walk along the wall on the other side until you pass her. Catherine’s in between Eleanor and Matilda, and she’s much more agreeable than her sister.”

Jason contemplated this for a few minutes while Link went back to cleaning off the scrape. He hissed a little since the water made it sting, but tried to keep a brave face until he was finished. The boy held his leg out straight, tilting his head as he examined the fresh cloth bandage that had been tied around it, then looked up and started bouncing. “Matilda’s gonna go eat in the pasture now, right? Can I ride her out?” he asked, a hopeful look in his eyes.

Link chuckled, and stood and plucked the boy off the barrel, carrying him over to his beloved cow. He settled Jason on her back, smiling at how the boy leaned forward to hug her and she mooed sweetly in response. “I don’t see why not. Hold tight now!” he said, leading the cow towards the door.

Jason giggled from behind him. “Yay! Thanks Dad!” he said brightly.

Link stopped, Matilda coming to a gentle halt beside him. …Dad? He turned a little, paused, and finished turning to look at the boy riding the cow, who had just realized what he’d said and had a similarly surprised expression on his face. Their eyes met, and Link tilted his head slightly, the beginnings of a smile creeping onto his face. Jason blinked rapidly, then bit his lip and shyly dropped his gaze. Link could feel that the kid was embarrassed, but also happy. Not a trace of regret.

Link exhaled, almost a laugh but not quite, and leaned over to hug his adopted son… his son and give him a kiss on the top of his head. “You’re welcome, son.” he said softly, and once again started to lead Matilda out of the barn, his face beaming.

Abruptly, Light was brought back to the present. His memory must have played faster than he thought, because it appeared that Art still hadn’t realized what he’d just said. Light could feel a warm, fuzzy feeling in his chest. The boy hadn’t had a trace of sarcasm in his tone (or emotions), so he could rule out the boy teasing him for his tendency to fuss. His voice was warm and not at all teasing when he said “Dad, huh?”

Link's head perked up when Light spoke again.

“What now?”

The little hero stared at Light, blue eyes fixated on the shade. Why wasn't he saying anything? What about dads? Link stopped and mulled over what happened, trying to recall what brought up the subject. It wasn't until he realized his slip up that a shade of bright red crept up to the tip of his ears. Blue eyes went wide in realization.

“That didn't--I wasn't--L-Look I didn't mean that it just slipped okay!” He stammered, clenching onto the cup with both hands as he stared at the floor. He looked less like a teenager and more like a flustered child when like this. “I-I took a blow to the head I'm a little out of it!”

Light looked at his flustered descendant, and after a moment’s thought, hesitantly dropped his mental shields. Suddenly, the kid’s emotions were much stronger, as well as those of the other nearby ghosts. Light felt amusement and humor- probably the ghosts, they must have heard, and also so much embarrassment and awkwardness that he was almost positive his shade form would turn red. But under all of that was the faint, but unmistakable feeling that Art really did see Light that way, hence the slip up.

Light grabbed a nearby chair and pulled it up next to Art’s, then sat in it and pulled the blushing boy into a hug, laying his cheek on the top of his descendant’s head. At the moment, he didn’t care how awkward it was due to him being a shade. Since his mental walls were down, there was a good chance that Art would be able to feel the warmth Light felt inside. It was a very pleasant mix of joy, adoration, pride, and love. “It’s ok, Link.” he said, using Art’s real name for once. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

Art tensed up as the silence continued. Oh goddesses none of the boys were going to let that one down, were they? The little hero hung his head in shame as he felt embarrassment and anxiety rip him apart.

His ears twitched when he heard the familiar rumble of a chair moving. Without much warning, he was pulled into a hug. It was ice cold now that Light was long dead, but there was another warmth that went through the boy's heart. He missed this feeling. He hadn't felt this sort of comfort in years.

Art's eyes were fixated on the ground, and his body trembled somewhat as his ears sunk. It was so small and stupid, and he hated losing control like this, but he couldn't help but feel his eyes begin to water a bit. Thoughts were running through his mind a mile a minute. Things such as shame, guilt, frustration... but it wasn't all negative. There was still an overwhelming amount of love and joy that seemed to overshadow it all.

Although Light felt the love and joy his descendant was feeling like a mental warm hug, he couldn’t ignore the boy’s other emotions. He mentally directed a thought at the snickering ghosts, although with the walls down Art might have gotten the gist of it, if not the words. “You all had better leave him alone about this one. I mean it, if I catch you teasing him I’ll punch you square in the jaw.” Almost instantaneously, the humor sobered up and was replaced with reluctant consent. If there was one thing about the bunny hero that even Sky was wary of, it was his left hook.

Light relaxed his grip on Art a little bit, reaching up to comb his fingers gently through the boy’s hair. “Did I ever tell you that Jason and Laura are adopted? There was a terrible earthquake one day, and Zelda sent most of the Knights to help with the relief efforts. The kids had been trapped in their house when it collapsed, and unfortunately their parents weren’t quite so lucky. I was the one who managed to coax them out before the house completely fell, and after that I just couldn’t bear the thought of sending them to an orphanage. Laura was just a baby, only a few months old, but Jason was five, old enough to remember his parents for the rest of his life.”

Light laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder, waiting for Art to look up at him again before resuming his speech. Even though he was still physically in his shade’s form, the bond between the two heroes was strong enough with Light’s walls down that Art would see his ancestor as an adult instead. Light had a soft, affectionate smile on his face, and what he said was nearly word for word what he’d once told Jason, long ago, when he’d confessed he was feeling very conflicted about addressing Light as his father. ”I don’t want to replace your dad, Art. I’d like to help fill the hole he left behind, but I’m not going to take his place. He loved you, very much. It’s ok for you to feel this way. Loving someone new doesn’t mean you love the last person any less.”

Light reached up to Art’s face, brushing a thumb against his descendant’s cheek, still smiling tenderly. “I love you.”

Art sat in silence. Even though he didn't move or speak much, mostly due to crippling embarrassment, the warm emotions and comfort he felt in the pit of his stomach at least showed that he was listening and taking in the story. Right, it was something he'd learned on his own while the other villagers kept an eye on the boy. It wasn't always about blood. Of course he loved everyone in Kakariko. Well, maybe not everyone. Osfala could stick a sock in it. But that was beside the point. Still, he missed him, more than anything. His family was always a soft spot since none of them really ended with answers that satisfied him. It was all the same. Things just happen and there wasn't much that could be done. Family bonds were rare for the little hero. They couldn't begin to replace all the happy memories he had with the others.

Art didn't immediately look up. But he noticed the changes. The ice cold touch had gotten strangely warmer, as if it was flesh and blood touching him instead of bones. A few stray tears fell from Art's eyes and landed on Light's lap. When he did lift his head, there were tears streaming down his cheeks. His eyes were damp and it was obvious the boy was fighting off the emotion. The face Light had in that form struck him in a way nobody else could manage. He hadn't seen that face in a long time, and he'd nearly forgotten it. Art's head sunk back down at his ancestor's words. Instead of speaking, he simply rested his head against his chest, trembling as he held back sobs.

Light wrapped his arms around the little hero again in a warm embrace, nuzzling the top of his head slightly. He kissed the top of the boy’s head softly, but didn’t speak anymore. Instead he closed his eyes, letting his love and affection flow through the bond and wrap itself around Art, and hoped it was enough to convey what words couldn’t begin to describe. He held the boy in his arms until the tears stopped flowing, chuckling as his descendant became the dorky, impish, somewhat flustered boy he knew and loved once more.

#alinkbetweenportraits #rp #sorta #Story Post #sorta again #light #COME DROWN IN THE CUTE #DROWN IN IT I SAY #idk if it's ever been stated on tumblr #but adult light looks almost exactly like albie's dad hence why he gets emotional

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ambiguouslyliterate-blog · 6 years ago

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Respawn Point Ch. 5: A Desert of Dangerous Dinguses

I thought I’d be used to single player by now, but loooking back at the pillar of smoke rising from the cherry blossoms of the forest, my heart still stung.

Sand whispered under our feet as we paced across the arid expanse, clouds of sand sliding across the ground like a thick fog, our only companions the occasional cactus or dying piece of brush. We'd started walking to get away from the forest, the sounds of the woods feeding our paranoia—any crunching leaf becoming the snap of a bowstring, any rustling grass becoming a wandering member of a mob, ready to signal the others—but before long, we were walking in the middle of a sandy void with the forest only a short green line on the horizon. Though I guess with San and Slenda’s home burned to the ground and the three of us chased out of the server’s walls, we didn’t have anything left to do but wander. But I suppose wandering’s what the three of us were good at.

I looked ahead to San, marching forward through the dunes, hoodie tied around her waist, a penumbra of sweat forming just below her neckline. She’d shout something encouraging to the two of us every so often during her marches, her eyes trained on Slenda’s expression. Occasionally the creeper girl would flash a weary smile, and Slenda would give her back a thumbs-up. A silent conversation that I understood, but never really joined.

The former admin was silent as we walked, the only sound from her being the sand sifting under her feet. Her eyes were fragile behind her broken glasses and sweat trickled in streams around her face, fogging the cracked lenses. I tied my jacket around my waist, imitating San, and put my scarf into my pocket, stashing it away in my inventory. I wondered why Slenda hadn’t done the same, still wearing the baggy sweater from Weebtown. “Hey… Isn’t that hot?” I asked, breaking the short silence between San’s outbursts.

Slenda flashed a pair of frightened eyes towards me, the rhythm of her steps shaken for a few moments before proceeding. “Oh, I um…” She seemed lost in thought, and less than willing to strike up a conversation, mumbling something under her breath that I couldn’t quite make out. I decided to persist.

“Huh?” I asked.

“I said I’m…” It was subtle, but I could see Slenda blush behind the twisted line of her spectacles, “I’m not wearing anything under this sweater…”

I heard San stumble ahead of us in the sand, giggling. Shoving my hands into my pockets, I went back to looking ahead, hoping to not add a death of embarrassment on top of Slenda’s already long list of problems. “I’m sorry, n- never mind, that really sucks.

Slenda’s footsteps quickened, an irritated snort leaving her lips as she shook her head, coming to meet my pace. “Yeah, and you wanna know what else sucks, Cyrus? Everything. Literally EVERYTHING that’s happened to me these past few days.”

I pulled into myself, my mouth pursed in a stunned silence. San turned back towards us, an arm lifted slightly towards her friend, her fingers curling. It felt like she was waiting for the tension to leave, for an easy moment to jump in and spread her quirky positivity, but it didn’t feel like it was coming. I could feel Slenda’s eyes digging into me, each like a purple blade, “My closest friend—someone I’ve known since I spawned—betrayed me, I lost the trust of hundreds of players at once that I’ve been working to gain tirelessly for months, my spawn’s been destroyed and I’ve been chased out of the closest place to home I’ve ever had, and in top of that; on top of EVERYTHING that's happened, we're walking straight into the Thieves' Desert RP server! Before you know it, we'll be surrounded by traps and vagabonds itching to jump us and steal everything we have while they leave us to die in the desert. AND ON TOP OF THAT, I die, it means I have to back to Goldenworks, a where I, I--!”

Heavy, round droplets began to fall from Slenda’s eyes, darkening where they fell in the sand below. San dashed over to wrap the former admin in a close embrace, Slenda squeezing her back just as tightly, if not more. Slenda took off her broken glasses and pushed an arm between her and San to wipe her eyes.

“I’m just… So tired…” She sighed. Looking at her made my heart ache, but I couldn’t help but find a strange comfort in her fear, in her distress. Maybe because it felt like a mirror.

“There must be some place we can rest here.” I said, hoping to peel away some of the melancholy that had fallen over us, or at the very least give us some direction, Slenda glaring at me through her broken glasses. I’d heard of this desert and the server that occupied most of its land. It was a roleplay, or “RP” server, meaning it was full of people in roles and costumes, taking on fantasies through mask and cape. However, while some enjoyed purely skipping around the desert, delivering quirky lines and experiences to travelers, others reveled in the socially-acceptable chance to become a thief or a marauder, and being able to slip out of the persona at the end of the day without consequence. A game played with life and death. It was a fine place to be for an RPer, someone who was consenting to this whole bizarre system, but to us, it was a death trap.

“It’s a server full of crazy RPers, yeah, but they’re all players, right? They get tired. There’s got to be a rest stop or a neutral zone somewhere…”

San turned to us, arm shooting into the air, waving like an eager student. I stared, baffled for a moment, before pointing to her, her face lighting up. The creeper girl put her extended arm back around Slenda, smiling brightly through the tension that still gripped Slenda and I. I wish I could know how she did it.

“There’s the Sandy Speakeasy!” She grinned, her feat stomping excitedly in the sand, “It’s one of those neutral whatevers and I haven’t been there in ages!! It’d be perfect!”

Slenda couldn’t help but look at San with cloudy doubt, her brows pulled together. I had no idea that San had lived here at one point, but did Slenda not know either? The former admin tried to erase the expression, looking towards the sun. I followed her eyes. The bright square was beginning to fall below the line of the horizon, nightfall more than imminent. We watched with a creeping dread as more and more of its light began to retract, the shadows of the cacti and dunes around us growing long like the night’s hungry claws.

Rolling my shoulders, I tried to straighten my back, standing strong against the dimly lit sand that surrounded us, trying to stay brave or at least put up my best act. I hated seeing people scared, whether they were being threatened by a power-hungry modder or just terrified of the world around them, and I felt it was my job to restore their confidence. With a flick of my wrist and a twist of my fingers, I activated my mod, calling out the last weapon I copied back in Weebtown. “I’m sure we can make it,” I smirked, feeling my power surge into both hands. It felt stranger than the other times. Before I felt a chill, like steel, but my hands felt strangely warm, like my hands were hovering over a fireplace, “After all, we’ve got these, don’t we?”

San and Slenda looked at me wide-eyed, Slenda’s mouth pulling to the side, crooked, San’s grin extending ear to ear as her eyes glowed. Neither were the expression I was expecting. After all, they were just the same swords I’d copied when I fought that swordswoman in Weebtown, I’d fought with them for some while now, it shouldn’t have been a surprise. But San spoke out, her eyes glimmering with the excitement of a fangirl.

“You copied Roxxie’s mod?!”

I stepped back, bringing my hands forward, flames trickling up around the corners of my vision. WHAT THE—I flailed, acting on reflex, my body kicking and flailing to escape the fire that was pouring from the palms of my hands and crawling up my elbows, chasing me to the sand as I crashed to the ground in a beige cloud. I sat up, the fire still warm in my hands, but not hot, nor painful. My eyes went from hand to hand, watching the flames as they trickled up harmlessly around me. I relaxed my body, the flames quickly dying on their own, even the ones that’d found their way onto my clothes. The only thing burnt was the desert floor beneath me, soft brown scorches left in the sand. I looked up at San and Slenda, the former holding back a fresh deluge of laughter, while the latter pressed her palm against her face, her glasses held in her other hand. Her mouth was crinkled, somewhere between nausea and disgust. Some confidence you bring, Cyrus. You could be a superhero.

I didn’t remember copying Roxxie’s mod back in Weebtown, but I did touch it, and I guess that was enough. I hadn’t encountered enough modders to really test it, so unfortunately, I just had to roll with whatever it decided to do. Did it overwrite the swords? I thought, turning my hand, watching the fire crawl through my fingers like an upside-down trickle of water. Come to think of it, I hadn’t called out the drill I copied in a while. I stared, perplexed at the flame. “Do I not have the swords anymore?”

“You don’t know?” Slenda interrogated, her eyes piercing, even through her cracked lenses. I shook my head. “Mods don’t really come with instruction manuals…” I said, churning the heat in my hand, shaping it. It both obeyed me and followed its own path, it was more like herding an animal than a power I had control over, “I think I can only copy one mod at once, but I’m not sure… I haven’t really tried it.”

Roxxie’s fire lit up the sand around us, our shadows stretching long, the circle of light crawling slowly across the desert surface. Something didn't seem right about the way the light's glow. Our shadows seemed too long, and felt like they were moving, but I wrote it off as just a trick of the light. San stood admiring the flame in my palm, her eyes a little too lost in it as Slenda looked everywhere but, her mouth a broken grimace.

"Should I put it out?" I asked Slenda, her eyes turning up for a second before looking back at the ground. She shook her head. "We'll need it. It's starting to get dark out, and it might be useful against the bandits."

She ran her hands along her arms, then placed one on her neck, both hands directionless, chasing a shiver that wouldn't soon go away. "It just… Makes me think about Roxxie… What we’ll do if we run into her out here, or if she runs into us…"

San squeezed the frantic ex-admin tightly, grinning the wide grin I assumed at times was just tattooed onto her face, “Roxxie got banned, and we killed her, which means she got sent back to your guys’ old server. If anything, we should probably worry about getting to the neutral zone right now.”

A silence quickly fell over the three of us, Slenda and I looking at each other. Slenda’s expression was cold, angry, a shade she never seemed to show around San, but the bite quickly faded from her expression. She placed her hand in San’s, nodding reluctantly. “You’re right,” She sighed, San nuzzling her to free the smile that was starting to form, “We should get going. Any place is better than this desert at night.”

“Besides,” San smiled, “You’ve both been avoiding the traps pretty well so far.”

The creeper girl walked on, a pop in her step as she moved across the small dunes. I looked over to see that the former admin shared my expression of disbelief, her eyes wide-eyed and silent. I could practically hear the “WHAT” echoing inside her head. We looked the creeper girl up and down, trying to find some kind of zipper or seam in her expression, a cue to laugh. But we couldn’t find any. Slenda stepped forward, hands clasped in front of her, squinting at San, "Did, did you just say… Traps...?"

San laughed incredulously, placing a hand on her hip, "You… You can't see the obvious patterns on the ground…?” Slenda gawked in disbelief. "N- No," I interjected, "You're just messing with us, right? One of your pranks? Some morbid creeper humor?"

The creeper girl bent down, her face about half a block off the desert floor. She exhaled, blowing hard across the ground, peeling a layer of sand from the ground and revealing a wooden pressure plate beneath, bits of redstone powder sticking out from its corners. I shined Roxxie’s fire towards it, illuminating what I could tell was a pressure plate trigger for some kind of trap. My heart sank. This was the first I’d noticed… How did San…She looked at us with half-lidded eyes. I felt like I was being scolded.

"Hey, what are you doing!” A voice snapped, me and Slenda straightening to a sudden attention. San turned her head; her back still slumped over the trigger of the apparently unimpressive trap, her eyes flat. Sand crunched from a dune to the side of us and a figure stepped out, their face strained in an irritated look and smeared in red paint. They were clad in heavy steal armor, strapped with leather and spiked in various places, their androgynous face peaking in a mohawk that looked slightly burnt. What in the Nether went on in this server? The road warrior glared at us, their lips pursed to the side like an irritated customer.

“I set up a perfectly good trap in the middle of this wasteland, wait for days for someone to come across it, and you don’t fall into it? And on top of that, you insult it?! The nerve!”

The RPer stuck out their finger at San, prodding the air as they scolded her. San cocked an eyebrow, her expression bare of her usual amusement. She looked more disappointed than anything. San raised her foot, her arms crossed. The leather-clad rebel instantly began stammering, trying to force an apology out as San brought her foot down, stomping the pressure plate into the sandstone below

Arrows shot from hidden dispensers in the sand around us, piercing the rogue from all angles, and quickly reducing them to a bloody heap. They fell to their knees, their expression glossy as San drove her iron sword through their chest. Their body changed into smoke and disappeared into the dry air, their eyes rolling back as they disappeared into the cloud. San regained some of her smirk, her hands on her hips. “Maybe you’ll learn to do some R&D next time, punk! Seriously, pressure plates?”

Slenda and I stood stunned, San’s composure, her knowledge of traps, everything coming out of the blue and hitting us like a thousand pounds. Just as the smoke cleared from the marauder’s corpse however, we heard the sand move again, and I pointed my arm towards the darkness like a torch. Another thief, dressed as a pirate, leapt up from behind the sand mound just beyond the road warrior’s, a wild-eyed grin on his face. Why are they all so close together?! This is a booby-trapped desert, not a street market!

"YAHARG! I KNEW THAT FOOL MADHAX79 WOUDLN'T BE ABLE TO CAPTURE YOU!! I’VE COME TO REAP THEIR SPOILS, BEWARE THE WRATH OF CAPTAIN EUAAHHGHH--!"

I flicked my arm in the swash-buckler’s direction, a ball of flame smashing into him like a cannonball, both the captain and the flames that engulfed him falling quickly behind the mound of sand. “Yeah, yeah,” I sighed, watching the black smoke fade and the grey smoke of his despawn rise over the sandy barrier, “We’re trying to get somewhere, do ya mind?”

As the smoke cleared, I saw the darkened horizon more clearly, including the shapes beginning to rise from the sand. Hostile mobs… I sighed, Just what we needed. Slenda took out a stone shovel, clutching it close to her chest, a contorted expression of fear on her face. San rose to her feet and placed a hand on her shoulder, Slenda shaking at her touch. I moved closer, hoping to offer something to calm Slenda down. San’s blue eyes shined at me but the other pair slid to me like cold amethysts, a glare silently cursing my next three generations. Needless to say, I stepped back, changing direction. As I turned, I saw shapes moving on the horizon, hostile mobs crawling from the darkness.

My feet moved mindlessly as I started walking where San had been pointing us, creating a ball of flame in my hand to guide us as we went, "Great, well, let's get going. I just want to--" A hand burst from the ground, clamping my ankle and tripping me. My mind barely registered it, my body falling forward like a ragdoll into the sand. I tried to pull away, only to pull the hand's owner further out of the sand, a face with one wild eye and a mane of crimson hair gazing hungrily through me. She lifted her other arm, a dagger whipping into her palm, "GIMME ALL YOUR RUBIES!!"

WHAT IN THE NETHER?! I tried to wriggle free, the eye-patched thief managing to drive the blade into my leg before I could blast her with Roxxie's fire. Pained and terrified, my body toppled into the sand, my hands clutching my leg. San and Slenda tried to run towards me but were each held back, San tripping over a husk as it emerged from the earth and Slenda activating a pressure plate, her body disappearing into the sound amidst the sound of pistons. Shadows around us began to move, eyes glinting from behind cactuses and rising from mounds of sandy camouflage. I felt a body try to grab me, hands working up under my arms. Instinctively, I tried slipping out, only to see San above me, a crooked smirk on her face. She almost looked like she was having fun. "Come on Cyrus! Fun time is over, we gotta get going!”

I wasn’t aware fun time had started.

San dragged me to my feet and started picking up speed, pulling me along with my wrist held tightly in her hand. Slenda struggled to pull herself out of the pit she'd fallen into, carving the side of the hole with her shovel, which she then used to beat off a skeleton that was crawling from the ground beside her. She let out a grunt, kicking out from the edge of the artificial crater, her eyes frantically searching the world around her, every side filled with danger. All around us the ground was shaking; arms, heads, and swords were pushing up from the sand, everyone desperate to test their mettle against the powerful travelers. After all, they assumed we were in on it, that we were willful participants in this bizarre game of death. Slenda ran to catch up with us, narrowly avoiding another pit and the grasping hands of an angry ninja to arrive by our side, batting off any adversaries that came close with her shovel. San ran at the front, carving our way forward with her sword while I ran at their side, taking out whoever and whatever I could with Roxxie’s fire. But it felt like the entire desert was alive, the very ground itself sending antibodies to devour us, and I didn’t think that a few fireballs (and terribly inaccurate ones at that) were going to protect us.

San pushed onward, crying out with a passion that seemed fueled by the chaos, unlike ours, "Come on guys, it's just over that hill! Probably!"

"PROBABLY?! YOU MEAN YOU’RE NOT SURE?!" I cried, tossing a fireball at a skeleton, knocking it back only for its arrow to firmly plant itself in my shoulder.

“I have a mental map!” San chimed, shrugging, “But those are statistically the worst kind of map, so--!” The pain throbbed in my wounds, my arm and leg both shrieking at me as I ran, San’s shape ahead of me like a beacon. She seemed to glow, her body dark but the sky around her illuminated like a halo, the horizon beaming at her. I rubbed my eyes on my shirt, trying to get out the sweat, sand, or whatever it was messing with my vision, only for the glow to persist. It wasn’t San’s light though, it was the light of torches.

San dashed towards the light of the neutral zone, her body disappearing over the horizon, Slenda and I hustling behind, struggling to catch up. I looked back to see thieves among the masses throw down their weapons, cursing the night sky as we neared safety. Others fought against the mobs that had changed targets, the mob of dangers convulsing, attacking itself. Distance between us began to grow and for a moment, the world finally growing as the sand rose up around us.

Except the sand wasn’t rising; we were falling.

The sand below us dropped out into a low basin where a town was dug out, the ground coming up at me like a swift kick. My body battered as I rolled down the sand, every inch of the slope finding a part of my body to smash into before I finally came to rest on the cold sandstone tiles below. Slenda had already fallen in a heap by my side, San towering over the two of us. Of course, she knew the drop was coming.

"Come on guys! Don’t die now, we’re practically in the speakeasy!"

Her face beamed, her body covered in sweat, dripping down her shoulders and into the front collar of her tank top. Sore, I lifted my head, my eyes tracing the fragile outline of the neutral zone. Under the wall of the sand, the sandstone buildings wavered on their foundations, the decimated structures like the rising dead. Slenda began to push herself up, digging her shovel into the ground and using it to bring herself to her knees. She surveyed the broken buildings of the town before us, a familiar look of dismay in her eyes.

“What… Happened to the town…?” She gulped, shakily rising to her feet, she trudged up to the ruins, searching for a flash of movement, anything that we could consider a sign of life. There were only enough torches to create a dull glow, and a few testificates wandering in the distant streets. They were a docile non-player race that squatted in destroyed towns, but they weren’t the hospitality I was expecting. Slenda's hands tightened on the shovel in her arms, wringing it, “Were we too late…?”

San tilted her head.　

"Nah, I don't think he'd be closed yet." She responded simply.

Slenda looked back at her, a worried look in her eyes. "I'm sorry, San. I don't know when this happened but... Maybe we can rest in these ruins...”

San chuckled and shook herself free of Slenda's gaze, tapping up the cracked sandstone staircase of a nearby building. Slenda and I followed suit, stepping into the ruined room. Slenda looked at me uneasily. The creeper girl smirked, pressing against a broken wall with her elbow. The floor beside her slid open, pulled by an unseen piston. From within there was the warm glow of torchlight, the hole below the sandstone lined with wood planks.

"It’s a speakeasy, guys. Of course it has a hidden entrance.” San smirked at us, “You guys can sleep out on the sandstone and broken glass all you want, but I’m going inside and getting a drink.”

San slipped naturally into the warm glow of the hole below, the piston stamping the floor back into place behind her. We heard the soft thumping of boots on wood as she slid down the ladder, zipping away. Slenda and I stood in a temporary silence; the special kind of silence that filled a room once San left; the emptiness left by the absence of her energy. Slenda broke the silence with a giggle, her hand quickly cupping her mouth. She tried to hide the shy smile that had broken across her face. “Notch, is that two times today that we’ve been scolded by San?”

A sudden burst of laughter cracked the flat expression my face had settled into, Slenda looking at me with eyes that flickered in dull purple embers. Her eyes were still red and swollen from crying, but now they were pushed up by an endearing grin. She was just as tired as I was, but she was more than happy. I guess San just tended to do that to her.

“I guess you’re right.” I admitted in amused disbelief. Slenda sighed, shaking her head as she tapped the button and stepped down into the entryway. She put her foot on the first rung, then the next, descending slowly. Her eyes looked forward longingly as she fell out of view, “She sure is something, huh.”

“San?” I asked, starting my own descent. I couldn’t help but let out a chuckle. Sounds began to trickle up from below us. The sounds of banter, laughter, the clinking of glass. The dull roar of hospitality beckoning us. The piston shut back into place behind us, the sky disappearing, and with it the hostile, arid breath of the desert. “Yeah. She’s definitely something.”

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zip-ur-quiznak · 6 years ago

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//This is a drabble I decided to do. This is not a RP starter. I absolutely cannot do a thread of this nature at this time. I’m putting it under a read more because this is a very sensitive prompt. It’s basically me getting out the grief that I have had since Mom died. If you want to read this, that is okay. But...just be warned that it might be upsetting.//

They were finally home. After so long, they were home at last. While they were struggling with the Galra, they were still finally back on Earth. Lance was anxious for the whole ride to the Garrison. He was eager to have his family in his arms again. He was comforted by a squeeze on the shoulder by Hunk, and he flashed him a grateful smile.

First, Pidge was reunited with her mother and father. The Green Paladin leaped out of the jeep and onto her mother, wrapping herself around her like a koala. Soon, he would be in his mother’s arms as well. He had missed her hugs so much, especially as of late.

“Lance!” He whipped his head around fast enough to pop his neck. He knew Veronica’s voice anywhere. There she was, with the family.

“Uncle Lance!” Nadia cried out, dashing towards him with Sylvio right on her heels. Tears welled up in his eyes as he jumped out and ran to them. Soon he was surrounded by everyone. Rachel, Luis, Marco, Lisa...but Dad, Mom, and Meemaw weren’t there.

“Veronica, where’s Mom and Dad?” He asked her. Dread sank into his stomach when some color drained from his sister’s face. “Veronica.”

“Mom’s...Mom’s not doing good. She got sick shortly after we saw the video Dr. Holt sent us. She...Lance, she has cancer. And it’s terminal. She’s been fighting tooth and nail to see you.”

The news was a blow to the stomach. Lance nearly threw up on the spot, instead shakily rising to his feet while his sister began leading him to the infirmary. She explained more to him during the walk, filling him in on what he had missed and what to expect. She also informed him that Meemaw had passed away a year prior, in her sleep. Lance felt like a chunk of his heart had been carved out.

The walk to the infirmary was eerily silent after that. But that wasn’t the worst part for the boy: it was seeing the state his mother was in upon arrival.

She was barely hanging on, tubes and wires everywhere. There was no color in her skin, and the bags under her eyes made her appear older than she truly was. Her chest was barely rising and falling with each shallow breath.

“Mom...” Lance stood at her bedside, taking her lifeless hand in his own. “Mom, it’s me. Lance. I’m back.” He smiled, tears pouring out of his eyes. Frail fingers squeezed his hand, and dull eyes opened a fraction.

His name barely left her lips as she smiled. It was weak, but a smile nonetheless. She didn’t even have the strength to talk to him. He wanted to apologize, but he knew it would be for naught. And he wanted his last moments with her to be happy. “You’ve fought so hard, Mom. You’ve been so strong. And I love you more than words can express.” His father’s hand squeezed the back of his neck as he forced back sobs of sorrow.

“It wasn’t easy. I got homesick quite a bit, but I thought of you. You gave me the strength I needed to get through it. You’re the one who gave me the courage to keep fighting the good fight. Thank you. Thank you for making me who I am today.” He leaned over the bed and kissed his mother’s forehead.

“I...always had faith...that God...would bring y-you...back to me.” Her voice was hardly a whisper, but it was so full of love, joy, and relief upon his return. “I love you.”

Giving his hand one final squeeze, she took one last breath, and went still. With a low keen Lance lowered his head to her chest, his ear against her sternum. There was no heartbeat.

Never again would he be hugged by her.

Never again would he enjoy her garlic knots.

Never again would he see her smile, hear her laugh.

Never again would he receive comfort from her.

She would never get to meet Allura, or go for a spin in Red and Blue. She was gone.

Something in him snapped, and a grief-stricken scream tore from his lungs, startling everyone within earshot. His knees hit the floor, and he still clung to his mother’s cooling hand. His screams and wails drowned out his friends and family’s voices of concern and consolation as his walls of composure crumbled to dust. He held onto her hand as tight as he dared as he cried his heart out.

Allura was devastated, seeing Lance so heartbroken. She was saddened to learn of his mother’s passing just a few minutes ago, but she was worried for Lance as well. She knelt beside him, laying a careful hand between his shoulders.

“I shoul-should have been here fo-for you!” He sobbed into his mother’s hand. “I’m so-so sorry Mom! I’m so sorry!” If only he’d been here sooner, if only they kept the Galra away--

It was their fault. They were responsible for this. They kept his mother from getting the care she needed to beat this awful disease, and now she’d been stolen from him. Fury replaced his grief, and he jumped to his feet. Grabbing the nearest object, a phone, he ripped it off the wall and threw it across the room.

“FUCK!” Veronica knew then she was right to keep the children out of the room. This would have traumatized them as it was her. She knew Lance would take it hard, but she wasn’t expecting this. Nor was she expecting that word to fly out of her little brother’s mouth.

Allura’s blood froze solid when Lance turned violent. She went after him when he finally stormed out of the room, and let out a yelp when he put his fist through a wall. Shiro was at the other end of that hall, and was now running towards them after seeing Lance’s furious display.

“IT’S NOT FAIR! IT’S BULLSHIT! SHE WAS SUPPOSED TO GROW OLD WITH DAD AND SEE HER GRANDKIDS AND GREAT-GRANDKIDS!” He bellowed at the wall, pounding on it with his fists. One of them was already bloodied from a mirror he’d shattered in the process. “I DIDN’T EVEN GET TO SAY GOODBYE TO MY GRANDMA! I WANTED TO TAKE THEM FOR A RIDE IN RED AND BLUE!”

“Lance! Lance, stop you’re going to hurt yourself--” Shiro tried to placate him, but was shoved back. Lance’s face was red, and tears were pouring down his cheeks. Anguish was written all over it.

Allura couldn’t bear to watch anymore of this. Before Lance could snap at Shiro, she pulled him into her arms. At first Lance resisted, but very quickly his fury dissipated and grief consumed him once more.

“Why did she have to go?” He sobbed as they sank to the floor. “It hurts so bad. It feels like a part of me’s dying--”

“I know, Lance, I know it hurts.” Allura stroked the back of his head as she looked back on her grief for the loss of her father. She knew his pain far too well. “It’s a pain I wouldn’t wish on anyone. I am deeply sorry that you have to feel it.” He was so young. He had only just turned eighteen for quiznak’s sake! Too young to be losing not just one but two loved ones back to back.

For several minutes, Allura cradled Lance in her arms. Gently shushing him and pressing kisses to his head as he whimpered against her shoulder. Shiro was in tears as well, for he had also lost someone close to him.

Finally, Lance had calmed down enough to be reasoned with. His hands throbbed, and before he could even ask why his hand was bleeding his stomach got the better of him. But during the time he spent emptying his stomach, a strange sense of comfort washed over him. It felt familiar, soothing...

“Lance?” Allura’s hands were holding his face, thumbs brushing away his tears. “Are you with us?”

“Yes.” His voice was hollow, drained. He was exhausted now, the emotions taking their physical and mental toll on him. He knew for a fact that he wouldn’t be able to stand either. His legs would give out the moment he tried to put weight on them. All he could do was focus on Allura’s jewel-like eyes.

“I...I was gonna tell her...” He trailed off. Was now really the time to confess his feelings to Allura? To tell her that he was in love with her? What if he wasn’t in his right mind?

“Tell her what?” Allura spoke softly to him, as if she thought he might shatter again. He was grateful for her gentleness with him. She almost pressed him for an answer again, but she seemed to think about it before closing her mouth again. “You don’t have to answer Lance, if you’re not ready.”

She already knew what he was trying to say, for the mice told her first. Truth be told she was beginning to share the same feelings for him. He had been so good to her, even when her heart belonged to someone else for a while. He helped mend her broken heart during their journey back to this planet, and was giving her space as well as time to mend on her own. She couldn’t thank him enough for that.

Lance blushed for a moment before he nodded weakly.

“Can you stand?” He shook his head in response. “That’s alright. I can carry you.” She waited until he had one arm over her shoulders before she scooped him up. She took him to the nearest vacant room and set him down on the bed there. She helped him remove his armor, leaving him in his underarmor. It would have to do for now; the boy needed to rest.

And when he woke, she would be there for him as he grieved, just as he was there for her when she had her heart broken.

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