#*ooc: I remade so catch me over here now!!

[dishonoredrpg]

Congratulations, CAROLINE! You’ve been accepted for the role of THE FOOL with the faceclaim of RIZ AHMED. The way in which you expressed two sides of Saif at war -- the good man, who wishes to see things bettered -- and the bad one, who cannot bring himself fully to complete the task -- was perfect. The juxtaposition of his position and his responsibilities in comparison to the legacy he feels he owes (or owed) his father is paramount and you nailed it every step of the way. It really puts emphasis, I think, on the lesson that no matter how deep you’ve dug yourself up, you can always try climbing, and even if Saif fails to do that, I’ll certainly enjoy watching you write it out.

Please review the CHECKLIST and send your blog in within 24 hours.

OOC NAME: CAROLINE PRONOUNS: SHE/HER/HERS AGE: TWENTY-FOUR TIMEZONE: EST

ACTIVITY I’LL BE REAL WITH YOU, I WORK A JOB THAT REQUIRES ME TO BE ON PRETTY MUCH ALL THE TIME. I WORK SIX DAY WEEKS FOR 10 HOURS AND HAVE TO A “NIGHTCHECK” AT LEAST THREE TIMES A WEEK. I GENERALLY TRY MY HARDEST TO GET ON THE DASH AS MUCH AS I CAN, BUT SOMETIMES SHIT HAPPENS. HORSES CANNOT BE TRUSTED.

ANYTHING ELSE? NAH FAM WE GUCCI.  

IC SKELETON: THE FOOL NAME: SAIF ANDROS FACECLAIM: RIZ AHMED, JACOB ANDERSON AGE: THIRTY-SIX

DEATH I HAVE LITERALLY NO PROBLEM WITH THE DEATH OF THIS CHARACTER WITH THE RIGHT EMOTIONAL PAY OFF. LET’S GO FUCKING HOGWILD MY DUDES. EXTRAS .PINTEREST  | MOCK BLOG . .SAMPLE ONE | SAMPLE TWO .

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NEW BEGINNINGS // NAIVE You are not born with a sword in your hand. You are not born in the ashes and the flames. You are born the only son of a good man. You are born in a world you should never have turned your back on.

You will learn to regret your departure. But long before that you will learn by your father’s side.

There is dirt that rests under your fingernails that never leaves.  There are stains in the cracks of your skin that you cannot scrub out. On the palm of your hands are calluses from a hard day's work. You father turned them over once, stared down at your hands. They are good hands, working hands. You smiled at that.

The good work you did, under your father’s careful eye, always showed in your hands. The next time you pick up a hoe it is easier. The weight of your labor feels lighter, the rewards sweeter. When it is something you have done, and done well, it makes you preen. Prideful in a way only young boys can be. For days you work harder, push yourself further. Until it is your father who stops you with a hand and a grim smile. You do not wonder if your father has played you for a fool, not at this young age. Not when you have the memory of your successes so vivid in your mind.

That thought will come much later, when you realize the breadth of your naivete. How it has let you down throughout the years.

One day you will craft a thicker skin, learn a more agile mind. You will no longer be shifted by the whims of those you trust.

One day.

There is a sword that sits by your father’s bed. It is old, but well maintained and it sings stories of war and victory whenever you get close enough to listen to it. Your father sees you watching. The depth of your interest is not lost on him. There is a disappointment in his features the first time he hands it to you, but you miss it. Too focused on the steel in your hand.

The object is foreign to you then. Something of a toy, not the weapon it should be. The weight doesn’t sit right. Your hands don’t find the purchase they should. Behind you, your father schools his features and sets you right.

He shifts your stance, adjusts your grip, shows you to go through the motions. His hands are heavy with the weight of years of training. Years of war. But you are a child, and war is just a word.

Your enthusiasm is catching, a spark of unbridled joy that does not often reach your household. The must be the reason, you will think heavy with nostalgia, why he let you hold the damn thing in the first place.

It’s not that you are unhappy. It is that you do not know there is more to the world than this. You do not even realize the more you could be. Your father does.

There is a sadness, a disappointment in his actions when he hands you a sword and sends you on your way. But you are too naive to see it.

This is the start of your fool’s journey.

IDEALISM // GULLIBLE The city is bright, and loud, and joyful. Drunkards prop themselves up on buildings, whistle at those who walk by. Children, dirty and unwatched, duck behind corners. Men keep their heads down as they march through the crowds. The city smells. It’s dirty, and dark in too many places. But you cannot see that. You are a child yourself, but you feel big in this new world.

There is a tarven near the city gates that you fall into. A woman behind the bar sizes you up in an instant. It’s easy enough, your face is still round from youth. “You don’t belong here,” she tells you but she says it with a smile. There is no threat there. There is nothing to fear. Your father told you to watch your back, a fool trusts too readily and he did not raise you a fool. But she takes you upstairs, and settles you in a room. And you are not a fool. There is good in this city, more than your father ever said. There is death in the city, magic and turmoil. You are not so naive you cannot see it, but it is not all Tyrholm has to offer.

“This goodness is in need of protection,” she tells you. Somehow you know she does not speak of herself. She speaks of those who taught her to be kind, of those who believe in heroes. And she tells you, because she can see behind the glow of your youth. Or perhaps she can see what you are yet to become. Or just maybe, she can see what you will do when you become it.

You pay her monthly for the room. You enlist in the City Guard. You flourish.

Round a campfire in the damp of the woods you sing. You sing loudly, and drunkenly, and happily. The man next to you knocks his shoulder into yours, smacks your cups together. Beer splashes and falls. You laugh.

It feels right to be here. Sitting here amongst these men, under these stars. You feel grateful. This is a family found. You miss your father dearly, but he has given you this gift. This opportunity to find joy, to succeed in a new way. A way you think might be better.

Out here you are protecting the goodness that rests in the heart of the city. There is a pride in your chest that threatens to consume you. You think you wouldn’t mind letting it.

You would be a fool to miss the signs, and you were not raised a fool. It is not a coup, but rather the idea of one. A mess of half thought plans, and poorly communicated thoughts. Stopping it is as easy as reaching out your hand. So stop it you do, because it’s the right thing to do. You are protecting the good, you are protecting the king.

What happens next is a whirlwind. You see the faces of revolters put to death. They are not the steel faced insurgents of your childhood dreams. They are men and women, tired and hungry. Something akin to doubt flickers through your mind.

Your King does not let that feeling fester. He grants you a gift.

The title is not something you expect, but you find the weight of it feels solid on your tongue. You hold it in your mouth until it bursts out into the crisp air. The sound of it feels right. It straightens your spine, brings a smile to your face.

Captain. The sweetest reward yet.

ADVENTURE // RECKLESS

You have been remade, reborn, revolutionized over and over. The face you wear now is almost unrecognizable. Would your father know you now? No, not as you stand in armor with a sigil that disgusts you where you once found joy. These days you hold your head high out of practise.

Your father once said you had good hands. Hands of a man who would do good work. You look at your hands now. There is dirt that rests under your fingernails that never leaves.  There are stains in the cracks of your skin that you cannot scrub out. But this is not the dirt of a man doing good work. These hands are stained black with the blood of your own men. You’re no longer smiling.

Perhaps it is time for one final revolution.

Loyalty is a hard word. It tugs at your heart, and your mind. It made you who you are. This loyalty you have to a figurehead on a gilded throne. You are here today because of your king. You’ve succeeded because of your king. That used to be all your ambition stirred for: success. The feel of it, the weight of it on your shoulders.

This life you lead does not make you happy, but you are comfortable. For the days you can shut your eyes and disappear into dreams or ale, you could be fine. So few are happy, you have long since given up on that hope for yourself. The people who surround you are not bad. They are foolish, and rich, and untouchable. They are hypocrites and liars. But they raised you up, let you walk on the backs of your compatriots. Let you paint a picture of who you are that hides the darkness of reality. They are fools, but you are one of them.

Honor is a fickle mistress. You should be more than this. More than what you’ve let yourself become.

Your father doesn’t write anymore, and you understand why. There is nothing to be proud of in his son. There is nothing good, nothing honorable. There is nothing to smile at.

The image of him, his grim disappointment, haunts you. You draft a final letter. It cannot, will not, be sent. There are too many watchful eyes, too many careful ears. It does not matter, you write it all the same.

In it you tell him what you will do. In it you tell him a plan you weren’t even sure of yourself. But written in front of you it comes to life. You stopped a coup once, you write. Who better than you to know how to fix the mistakes of the past?

By the time you are finished you have come to your own grim realization. The weight on your shoulders is still there, no matter the pretty words you have written. It will take actions to clean your hands. You will become a man worthy of your father’s pride. Or you will die trying. plot ideas 001 Saif, for all his posturing in the most recent months, isn’t all that honorable. He wants to be, and is desperately trying to be but it’s a bit like closing the barn doors after the horses have already escaped. He already has the blood of too many on his hands, and he’s let himself follow orders seemingly blindly for the sake of what he thought was his ambition. But with the weight of what he’s done coming to fruition, he’s slowly realizing that this isn’t actually what he wants.

As a result I want him to be held accountable for his actions in the past, and I want to make him prove himself, most notably to Strength, that he finally has his heart in the right place. I don’t think he’ll like it, and I think the tension that it will cause will be fun to play out, but make this man suffer for his shitty actions!!

002 While his relationship with his father is complicated, Saif still holds a lot of love for the man. I think it could be interesting to use that relationship against him, should the loyalists find out about his plans. They’d also have to find the man. I feel like he’s done a very good job of hiding himself.

On top of that, I don’t really have a clear idea who exactly his father was before he became the father Saif knew him as. So that could be an interesting thing to sort of flesh out with others.

003 One of the most interesting dynamics to me, right off the bat, is the relationship between The Fool and The Sun. I think pulling them to the side of the revolters is going to make Saif feel a hell of a lot more legitimate than he currently does. It would feel a bit like a trump card, especially to those who still see him as weak willed and spineless in the face of the King.

But I also think there could be something said about Saif’s stubbornness and recklessness in pursuing The Sun as an ally. He very much is courting Death, and coming back over and over again to do so.

[patchdotexe]

3/12/2019

Two years ago today, in 2017, I was in a domestic violence shelter. I had just escaped my violently abusive ex, who had isolated me from everyone except for eir and then tried to kill me several times while knowing I had no one to reach out to for help. Those seven months in New York are the most traumatizing parts of my entire life, and I still struggle with the aftermath even two years later. I’m not gonna go too much into detail, but it was literally living hell and I was barely holding myself together.

I did two things while in the shelter: hyperfixated on Flux Buddies (I spent a LOT of time on atomiclalna on my phone without my laptop, and had piles of loose paper covered in scribbles of Lal), and watched a lot of McElroy content. My favourite was Monster Factory, but I branched out to watching Car Boys and Touch The Skyrim before I saw Griffin had started a new series: Peacecraft. I barely knew anything about Warcraft other than that I had a friend in, like, 2012 that had a canon url, and that one of my best friends played it and told me about it fairly often. I lost contact with the first one over time as our friend circles stopped overlapping, but the second one had been my good friend for two years that I cared about immensely... and then cut out of my life violently because of my ex.

I started watching Peacecraft anyway. I didn't really get it, but Griffin's commentary was fun and the game looked interesting. Warcraft was kind of something I’d wanted to get into since first seeing commercials when I was a kid, but I was too poor to afford a monthly subscription so I played MapleStory instead. I think Peacecraft was my first time seeing actual quality post-Cataclysm footage, seeing as before then the closest I got was when the aforementioned good friend screenshared with me on Skype a few times. (I had no idea what was going on, and Skype quality was garbage.)

I got up to Episode 5, when he invades Orgrimmar, and after getting very emotional over it I scrolled through the comments. I’m... not really sure why I did, because back then I hated looking at Youtube comments because they’re usually awful, but I guess because Polygon comments are usually rather funny or heartwarming? Most of the ones on Episode 5 are commenting on how they got emotional too, or catching references made, and trying to identify a song used that I was also trying to place. And... then I saw Jorb.

I hadn't talked to Jorb in months. Our last conversation had been really bad-- I wasn’t able to properly communicate what was going on with me mentally, he didn’t realize how severe my situation was, and, despite another friend mediating between us and us both deciding to improve our friendship, Magpie intervened and forced me to cut contact anyway. (Or, at least, that’s the gist of it. The order of events is kind of unclear because I underwent a lot of blunt head trauma and that plus the emotional abuse means my memories of NY are pretty much garbage.)

I don’t really remember what went through my head when I saw this comment. (I think there was some level of confusion at the icon-- he had the old Palanauts one, from when the channel was first rebranded, which I’d never seen before.) I probably got scared. Should I try to reach out to him? What if he hated me? Would he even want anything to do with me? Would I even be able to explain everything to him-- about what Magpie did to me, about why I cut contact, about anything? I hadn’t thought about him in months, but that was because Magpie literally didn’t allow me to.

I decided to bite the bullet. His tumblr was still active with the same URL that I remembered from when we’d last spoken, so I shot him an ask on atomiclalna (hadn’t made this blog yet, and my “ooc blog” was a sideblog anyway) trying to explain what happened. The message is, uh... a mess.

Honestly I have no idea how I would react if I got this kind of message in my inbox. I didn’t know what sort of tone I should be using asides from “very apologetic” and tumblr asks aren’t the best way to send a “sorry I cut you out of my life, I was being abused and then ended up in psych after a murder attempt put me in the ER” letter. I didn’t know if he was going to even respond. I don’t know if I expected him to or not, but I hoped he would.

And... he did. I couldn’t use Discord (Magpie still had my contact info), so we chatted on Google Hangouts about Peacecraft and Miraculous Ladybug and Twitch Plays Pokemon and other misc fandom things. It was like we’d never been apart.

Being with Jorb gave me the courage to try again. I met up with several other friends, I remade my tumblr and started drawing again, I even started playing Flight Rising again, which was something I used to do solely with Magpie because of our clans having interconnecting lore-- pretty much all of which is scrapped now so I can focus on my own ideas.

Since then, we’ve started dating-- or, more specific, one of my alters asked him out and then he asked out a couple others and me, which I think is endearing-- and I don’t know what I’d do without him in my life. He’s supported us through everything for two years, even when we hit the lowest lows, and everything he does makes me smile. And, even when we have moments of stress between us, we’re able to work it out and move on knowing how to avoid it in the future-- something I was never able to do with my previous partners.

I love you so, so much, Tristan. Thank you for being here for me.

@jorbs-palace

[twotailedmechanic]

OOC: Important Notice

Hey guys... it’s been a long time coming, and I’ve finally came to a decision. I’m leaving this blog behind. There’s been a lotta great times but also a lot of toxic stuff that has plagued me for years and that I would rather leave in the past. 

So on that note, I’ve remade my blog. If you still care to follow or want to interact, I will now be over on here: ascendingprodigy. 

I’m leaving this blog up as it is, but unfortunately this is the end of this road here. Can’t promise my activity on the new blog will be perfect but, a new start just in time for the new year is just what I needed.

Catch you guys later if you decide to refollow. And thanks for everything~!