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mythrilhusk · 4 years ago

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!!Kill Techno-Sensei!! - Chapter One

Dream SMP x Assassination Classroom AU. Quackity-centric. No ships.

Words: 1850 Chapter Two (Next) AO3 Version

ALL characters are based off of the Dream SMP characters, Not the content creators (some people are left out due to this, since they have no perceivable RP character). This was a lot of fun to write, and I hope y’all enjoy.

Content warnings: violence, panic attacks/anxiety, death mention, swearing (lots)

CHAPTER ONE (Kill A Little Time):

"Ten billion dollars??" Sapnap's amazed cry startles Quackity out of his tired stupor. Connor and Foolish crowd around Sapnap's desk, babbling with excitement.

"What the fuck are you on about?" Quackity grumbles, but he can't help peeking over Sapnap's shoulder. The creased document seems to be a bunch of lousy legal drivel.

"Big Q, the price on this guy's head! We'd be set for life!"

Quackity makes a grabby gesture, and Sapnap gives the papers to him. His little gang of three-- (missing Karl, since the bastard had to get himself transferred to a different class)-- gathers around him as he flips through them.

That man’s face-- printed in thick, bold strokes on the third page-- clamps a vise around his throat, so tight it constricts the scream he wants to let out. He takes a deep breath. Holds it. Lets it out slowly. "This fucker??" He tosses the papers away dismissively. "He'll be dead in a day with that bounty." Foolish and Connor scramble to snatch the papers, vying for the prestige of being the first to share with the whole class.

Sapnap, sweet Sapnap, leans over and murmurs worriedly, "You okay, Big Q?"

"Fuck, I'm great!" Hysteria bites in Quackity's laugh. "Fucking hell, I'm- I'm- I'm abso-fucking-lutely screwed."

"Why?"

"Why?? That's- you know who that is!!" Quackity cries, not caring that the attention of his peers is being drawn to his outburst, like moths to fire, or like vultures to roadkill.

"Yeah, but- yeah, he'll be dead in a day." Sapnap lets Quackity squeeze his hand. "You'll be fine. And if he dares to come anywhere near you, the Ducklings have your back."

Quackity shudders. The thought of his friends going up against the dark shadow from his past fills him with terror. The terror fills him with helpless weakness. Which in turn feeds the vitriolic bitterness rooted deep inside his veins. "N-no, Sapnap. If he comes near, you run."

"Who teh fock are you runnin' from? I wouldn't run. I'd stand there, and I'd fight it. I'd beat the shit outta it!" Tommy puffs his chest out as he stomps to his desk beside Quackity's, a sunny ray of cheering bravado. "All the ladies, all the ladies say, there goes a man who beats the shit outta what- whatever bothers him."

Quackity laughs, burying the fear and acidic rage. "Aww, Big T, you'd fight a thousand armies for me?"

"What?? No, I'd die." Tommy states.

"You're a good man, Tomathy."

"No man is good, Big Q. No man is good."

The other students have all seated themselves in their assigned desks. There's a new teacher this year. Quackity wishes he'd had time to set up a few more pranks than horseradish sauce in the hand lotion dispenser and whoopee cushions on the teacher's chair. But he's not bad at improvising.

The door opens, and the principal of the school strides in, her fluffy rainbow hair bouncing with every step. "All rise and bow for Captain Pussy!!" Tommy cries. Quackity busts a lung, he's laughing so hard.

"T-Tommy, that's- that's not very nice, Tommy." Captain Puffy frowns, tapping her five-inch heels on the grimy linoleum.

"Oh, right. Sorry, Captain." Tommy accepts the reproach with equanimity. "Fucking cold out, am I right, boys?"

"And girl!!" Rose cries from the front of the class.

"Yes, well, I was talking to mah boys." Tommy retorts with exaggerated stiffness.

"Fucking shut up and let the goddamned principal speak!" Quackity cries upon regaining his breath from guffawing. He smiles at Sapnap. The worrywart smiles back gratefully.

"Uh. Thank you, Quackity." Puffy sighs, looking downcast. "I'm sorry, kids. I tried to keep our school out of this. But Skeppy had- uh. The Prezz called in a few favors."

"What's going on?" Tommy asks without raising his hand, because he's just that much of a rebel.

Quackity's neck itches as though he's- being hunted again- no, no, that would never happen here, he's just a regular kid, in a regular school, no war criminals nearby.

But Puffy calls uncertainly to the door, "Mr. Blade?" And Quackity's heart leaps into his throat, choking him with the pounding thump-thump-thump so familiar to prey.

"Yup." Technoblade's low, dry voice resonates through the numbly silent classroom. His shadow darkens the door.

Quackity reaches for Sapnap's hand and squeezes tight. "No-no-no-no-" Sapnap squeezes back, fury beating in his firm pulse. Quackity takes a deep breath. Holds it. Lets it out. His friend is furious for his sake.

Technoblade's clicking steps are the only sound in the quiet, other than Quackity's racing heartbeat. Quackity refuses to look away from Sapnap's hand, refuses to look up at the man who slaughtered his family without a single qualm.

"I guess I'm your teacher or somethin'." A farting noise rips through the tense stillness. Quackity muffles a hysterical giggle; somebody sat on a whoopee cushion. "What a bunch of nerds." Techno's words are lightly spoken, suffocating Quackity with the terrible normalcy of it all.

"Are you the Mr. Blade??" Of all people who could've spoken, it just has to be Tommy, doesn't it.

"I am. Apparently."

"Well, then. I'm going to fockin' beat the shit outta you." Tommy's voice is bright and clear, filled with brave anger.

"K." Technoblade answers laconically, seemingly apathetic, but Quackity knows better. The fucking asshole is just restraining delight at yet another bloody massacre to feed his God with.

"No." Quackity snarls, surprising himself with the loud intensity of his own voice. "Tommy, you're not fighting him."

"But, Big Q-"

"Let me handle this." Quackity flashes a grim smile to Tommy, then glares up at Captain Puffy. "Why are you letting a fucking war criminal teach highschoolers??"

"I've renounced my violent ways, Quackity." Technoblade's calm retort chills him. "But I wouldn't even be here if it weren't for your government." Anyone else would miss the slight emphasis. Not Quackity.

"It's not my fucking government. You killed my government, you killed them all!"

"I did what I had to do. For the greater good."

"Um." Captain Puffy raises a hand. "Excuse me. Yes, all of you. Please calm down. We have insurance that makes it impossible for Technoblade to harm any of you-"

"A hostage, you mean." Rage flickers beneath Technoblade's calm tone.

A vengeful grin cracks across Quackity's dour face. "Oh... Techno, we're going to have so much fun." He dares to turn his gaze on the muzzled murderer.

The man is smaller than he remembered. Paler. Thinner. His silky platinum hair cascades over his shoulders, braided haphazardly, with hints of pink dye streaking the tips. Technoblade doesn't smile, doesn't make any perceivable expression at all. Quackity stares him down, shooting every drop of vitriol he can muster.

Technoblade winces, almost imperceptibly, and breaks eye contact. Battle won. A surge of euphoric power floods Quackity with confidence. "Yo, I'm going to fucking kill you."

"You can try." Technoblade smiles.

"You're just a human, Technoblade. Terrifying? Yeah, sure. But your days are fucking numbered and I'm the one who's going to take your goddamn life."

"Uh, actually." Puffy interrupts again. "That's the thing."

"What is??"

"You're all going to have to try your best to kill him before the year is out." Puffy says in a rush.

Quackity scoffs, but before he can say anything, Techno raises a hand. "See, there's the catch, Quackity." His form glitches. "I'm not actually a Human."

Quackity gulps down his apprehension as the piggy monster in Technoblade's chair stares him down. "What are you, then??"

"I dunno. Maybe I'll think of a name before my tragic end."

Puffy sighs. "Drama kings. Okay, big guy, I'm going to, uhh, yeah, I have work to do. Y'all have fun." She leaves the stricken class with the monster.

Technoblade scratches at the horny protusions wrapping around his head like a crown. The glowing irises inside his black sclera dance around the classroom, landing on each student before leaping away again. His pig-muzzle wrinkles. Tusks curl out from his jaws. The blood-red cloak pinned around his shoulders hides most of his bulk. If he was scary before, he's fucking terrifying now.

"A fucking pig-man?? That's what you are??"

"Eh." Technoblade grunts noncommittally. "You should see the other guys."

Quackity frowns. "Why us?"

"Huh?"

"Why does the government want us to kill you??"

"Because I told them I wouldn't let myself be killed unless they let me teach a class." Technoblade the pig-monster smiles reminiscingly. "And then I killed my captors to prove the point. The Prezz thinks he can keep me under control because I wouldn't dare hurt a child... his words, not mine." His eyes twinkle. "I'm perfectly fine with dropkicking kids, particularly if it's in self-defense."

Gulping, Quackity shrinks a bit in his chair. Against his will, the years-old wild laughter of the bloody former-human rings through his head once more. He'll never be rid of the ecstatic sound, never be rid of the dread that poisoned his veins as he hid while Technoblade obliterated his home. Blood for the Blood God... His breath comes short and fast.

Sapnap squeezes his hand comfortingly. The fire blazing in his best friend's eyes tells Quackity that Sapnap won't just step aside and let Technoblade hurt him again.

"That's focken cruel!" Tommy pipes up. "You're a focken menace, yeah. Boys, I say we take him down before anyone gets hurt."

"You can try."

Tommy snatches the shank slipped to him by Tubbo. "You're going down, you are!"

Quackity stands up hastily and holds Tommy back before he can storm up to the implacable monster. "Big T, sit the fuck down, you're just going to get hurt."

"I'll decide who gets hurt, thanks." Tommy retorts. "Techno, you're not going to hurt my friends."

"See, Tommy, I can't really do that anyway." Technoblade growls. "But if I could, do you really think that measly pin could take me down?"

"We'll focken see!!" Tommy rips himself from Quackity's grasp and leaps froggy-like over Hannah's desk.

Quackity can only watch in horror as Technoblade doesn't even to bother standing up. The monster deflects Tommy's first wild slash. "Tommy, that's a piercing weapon."

"I fuckin' know that, I'm trying to shank you with it!"

"Tommy, you're doing it wrong." Technoblade sighs, starting to sound exasperated as Tommy fails swing after swing.

"Tell me how to kill you, then!"

"You can't." Technoblade spreads his arms. "Go ahead, try."

Quackity gasps with delight as Tommy stabs the shank into Technoblade's chest. But Tommy screeches and lets go of the shank. The metal boils and melts into Technoblade's skin.

"Wh-what the hell??" Tubbo leaps up and drags the stunned Tommy back to his desk.

"The fuck was that??" Quackity cries, desperate to regain some semblance of control.

"That? Merely a side effect."

"Of what??"

"Of being the first Mutant Earth has ever seen." Technoblade smiles unpleasantly. "And the last to ever exist. Make no mistake. If I'm not killed by this time next year, I will destroy this world."

==Please reblog and like if you enjoyed!! Thank you!!==

Chapter Two (Next)

#dream smp #Technoblade #tommyinnit #captain puffy #dream smp au #fanfiction #blood for the blood god #sapnap #no ship #ANIME #crossover #friends #long post #tw panicking #tw violence #tw death mention

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theholycovenantrpg · 4 years ago

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CONGRATULATIONS, EMMA! YOU’VE BEEN ACCEPTED FOR THE ROLE OF DMITRI.

Admin Cas: There’s something so tragic about Dmitri that I love: everything about him is a contradiction. Yet, for all his love and light, he’s also really quite terrifying, and the way you balanced both of those aspects of their character was truly breathtaking, Emma. I thought your reflections on the idea of Dmitri as a sort of wingless angel was especially impressive. In spite of all the things that make them angelic, they can never truly be one with God’s angels. That, after all, is what sets him apart from their brethren; where they are ruination, he is its saving grace. I put this golden prince in your hands without fear that you’ll do wonderful things with him, and I can’t wait to see the directions you’ll go together! 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 | Emma.

Age | 21+.

Personal Pronouns | She/Her.

Activity Level | I’m able to get a reply or two out at least once daily; depending on length, it could potentially be more or less than.

Timezone | Eastern.

Triggers | REMOVED.

How did you find the group? | LSRPG tag.

Current/Past RP Accounts | I delete my character accounts to create a blank blog for my next character account. I save snippets of threads I adore, so I’m so sorry. RIP - xoxo

IN CHARACTER

there is a swelling storm and i'm caught up in the middle of it all and it takes control of the person that i thought i was the boy i used to know.

CHARACTER

Dmitri , the Horsemen of Conquest

DRAW TO CHARACTER

I’ve never been the type to write a sample for a character before fleshing out the other bits first, but Dmitri’s voice whispered, begging to be explored as soon as I read their biography. The first sample you’ll read below was the initial picture I painted and kept throughout this application because Dmitri resembled that of a poor Icarus, who simply overindulged in something not meant for him to enjoy.

I imagined Dmitri in the seconds after creation gasping at the sights of Heaven, reaching back for white wings — only to be met by their bareback. Shoulders aching for the flight of angels, the purity evident in their veins to be his own, God’s presence given at a moments notice.

Yes — I very clearly drew these small, delicate details from a few lines, but Cas wrote this character in such a way I felt the weight of Dmitri’s needs as if they were my own to be met. The biography held me captive to do whatever would be in my ability to give this character justice for what they were never gifted. I still get butterflies reading over the biography and couldn’t stop what followed.

This application is my confession of love for Dmitri, and I would even offer to say this could be read as a fever dream because isn’t that what God would want? His beloved, lastly mad Horsemen to be written in a state of complete and total euphoria for conquest and recklessness… but more importantly, I hope to show how beautifully flawed this character is to desire to be loved by a dead God, and the journey I would take them on to realize their purpose was never tied to God’s needs.

FUTURE PLOTS

SUMMARY: I’ve written these in a format of progression based on what I think could occur first in-game based off of current connections, and Dmitri’s direct link of being a Horsemen, making it far more likely to push said plot first. Each builds upon the other in a sense of a video game character skill branching system. As in, I’ve written some answers or may propose them in a way, which would directly change a plot below it. Hope this helps explain the mess which is about to occur below!

FUTURE OF THE HORSEMEN

what happens to those who were meant to end a world already destroyed?

Their purpose set forth to them by God has come to no fruition as the world destroyed itself, at least in a way. Each Horsemen dealing with their new identity as a mercenary in their own way, but I can only speak from the perspective of Dmitri. When it comes to them, the Horsemen are family. They came from the same Gos as them, shaped from different moments but important just the same. Their future as a whole could be explored by each Horsemen’s motivation. For Dmitri, the idea of leaving them to go elsewhere seems far-fetched at first; a type of daydream when the cleanup after a job is too heavy to stay focused on. If given a bigger glimpse at something else, something Dmitri could find himself desiring to do, I imagine the Horsemen could find a strain.

FUTURE OF THE HEALING

what is the purpose of being one of healing if you watched the wounds be inflicted?

Building upon a strain forming within the Horsemen, Dmitri would first need to experience something so terrifyingly out of character for them to do, which could trigger a wave of events to follow. The concept of using their healing ability seems to be the “fun” direction as this golden boy not being able to save someone caught in the crossfires would be an angst ridden thread to experience. I want to shape his tenderness in a way to correlate with his healing. Dmitri’s process of healing someone is something I haven’t ventured much into yet — but I imagine the sight of it to be something beautiful, almost too beautiful to fully understand what you’re looking at. This light bringer among those who only bring darkness is the difference enough to push the first plot and this one forward.

FUTURE OF THE LOVED AND WORSHIPPED

what does one do with love and praise when all they expected was hate?

Imagine the first time someone witnessed Dmitri healing a mortal. Who was it? What occurred? No one who lives now among the mortals knows, yet their growing affection towards him makes me feel as if he’s gotten his own personal tale passed between them. Here in this new found love among men, I think Dmitri sees what he’s always wanted out of life, rather existence. It’ll be such a wild ride of secret trips to different parts of the world to see if he finds this love and praise everywhere. He’d be drunk over this, but there also comes the dark side of being given something kept from you for so long. Yes, I would love for this beautiful, precious Horsemen to ride happily off into the sunset… but there’s definitely some trauma left from God. Here within this, I find Dmitri’s breaking point could take place and all of the above could shatter.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | yes — given a month’s notice and option to decline? i feel as if the answer would be different depending on how they were to die and character development, if this makes sense.

IN DEPTH

but there is a lightin the dark, and i feel its warmth

in my hands and my heart why can't i hold on?

CHARACTER MOTIVATION

It’s unknown at first- their motivation. Perhaps, God always intended the existence of those who were meant to cause the end of the world to possess no motivation. Life to them, the Horsemen, was simply a story already written down in the stars, yet Dmitri walked out into the New World with the story finished and no part to play in it. Purgatory had warped their glowing essence, satisfying God’s need to prevent prayers said to Conquest over the God of Creation.

Yet motivations can still be rather fickle when they were never intended for you. Dmitri’s creation came from the infinite love God felt for man, yet they were never meant to have this (this being love) as their backbone. No, they were to indulge their fellow Horsemens’ wrath by mending the blows they were destined to cause. Their gift, their healing, their voice. All things given by God to serve a purpose not their own. Somewhere between all of the havoc and chaos of this world, there had to come a time where Dmitri sought to figure it out.

Their motivation laid rotting within the crevices of darkness and filth they called home all these centuries. Purgatory did it’s job more so than God could have ever intended because Dmitri struggled with purpose outside of God’s. Sunshine filled his veins in a way the darkness fed off of and merely left the Horsemen of Conquest bare. So walking out of, rather escaping from, Purgatory to Dmitri awakened this desire for answers. With the death of God, Dmitri discovered their rebirth into something rather ungodly as he wanted to become everything God never intended on him to be: loved.

From this death, Dmitri has discovered a solace with mortals he’d never found with the fellow Horsemen as there’s something to be said in regards to being made last. He didn’t resemble the others completely as he felt a mirror to man more so than his Horsemen. I imagine actions and motivation for him to be teetering currently as his own questions in the regards of ‘what’s next?’ as having a calling as a mercenary never sat well with him. He wants to be loved in a way God had left unspoken between them over the possibility of competition.

SUMMARY: Throughout interactions and inner thoughts expressed throughout this roleplay, I would love to dive into the future plots tying into Dmitri’s motivations above with the balance of being deemed as loved or worshipped. Dmitri needs to be loved, yet I think if it ever rocked towards him being worshipped, it’d be a nice little shift of what truly motivates him. Overall, I find my motivating factor to be Dmitri’s voice and relationships with the Horsemen due to my overall understanding of how much he truly values them. Yes, he’s always wanted more for himself, but there’s always going to be the glimpses of why he is among their ranks. He isn’t pure as the angels or as mischievous as the demons, but I find Dmitri’s complexities something of value as a character in a world without restraints.

IN-CHARACTER PARA SAMPLES

i. DREAMS AND THE HEREAFTER

‘Icarus, my son — your wings are too brittle for the warmth of light. Now, I shall watch you burn with the rest.’ Or was the name spoken across the lips of God dmitri? Did he curve the appetite of man’s undeserving love of their creator by existing? Were his screams - for more - not enough to make the tear from God’s eye a regret?

‘But father, I shall fly with you. We can escape together. No mortal shall ever have to look upon our faces again. We can finally be--’ Scorned brow silenced all of his pleas, bringing the truth to the forefront. Dmitri dreamed before the tear was ever caught and molded into the literal form of his being. They knew of themself from the perspective of God’s eye and convinced themself of something which wasn’t there. ‘Am I never to be free of this burden then? Am I to suffer?’

They painted a world where they crawled from the depths of Purgatory, where their strength came from the purity of man, where God Himself welcomed Dmitri back into Heaven as if he’d never gone. In this recurring dream, God would realize the mistake to tuck away his most prized creation.

The final Horsemen did not deserve the caverns of impermeable darkness Purgatory supplied them because somewhere in the infinite of his existence, he truly believed himself to bare wings.

‘Suffer? Suffer! You are the brilliance of life; my creation. Do you wish to know what I plan to do with you? Follow me, Conquest. Your domain awaits.’

Their eyes open with horror, memories of a man - rather a god who loved him less. A god who created him by mistake. An outstretched arm from active slumber finds its way back onto their chest, an unsteady rise and fall of breaths lost. His own torment from sleep a self-given punishment as he allowed himself to fall into the corners of his own mind. The hidden doors which locked memories long forgotten as he believed himself to be more than he was.

God regretted shedding a tear for out came the brightest of shadows, the technicolor snake of dispute in the form of a golden angel. They were truly no closer than their brethren to bearing wings, but if one deserved them, Dmitri would declare themself so.

Instead of wings, however, cascading down their back, you would find a seeping hole of nothing; a hollowed out mine of what could have become of them. It is the wickedness they hide beneath enchanting smiles, minor suggestions, and lack of resolve which will keep their back bare. Denial being a sort of game which they’ve mastered over the years.

Once, one might have spotted the prospect of gold, sinless existence within them, but they were not created like the other angels, the other horsemen, the other fallen. They were made as the result of emotion, and one knew what followed closely with emotions — mistakes or rather the sins of man.

They were the rotten cavities created over years of divulging in sweets, buried in the crevices of newborn teeth who hadn’t the taste of sugar.

And in their devastation, Dmitri destined themself to find the answers which God withheld from them.

ii. DENIAL IN THE FORM OF SINFUL BEAUTY

“You’re late — again.” A simple nod towards either Nerissa or Viktoria felt enough to find his place among his family, his fellow Horsemen.

One thumb found its way to his temple before releasing a heavy sigh. “Dreams haunt me recently.

“You mean nightmares.” Nerissa could never resist correcting him over something so miniscule as words, yet this simple exchange caused a growing irritation to sprout wings and turn into complete rage.

His temples tensed, nostrils flared with fingernails already cutting at the skin of his palm. “You honestly think I’m mortal enough to switch the meaning of two words, War?” Tongue pressed against the back of their teeth, Dmitri allowed their body to sink into their assigned chair, of sorts. Each had a place within the others home as if each home belonged to all four of them collectively.

“Someone woke up feeling out of place again.” Always Ryuk with a quick word before letting the storm brew on.

“It’s the dreams — I wake up in horror over...” Their eyes, washed in an array of gold, scanned the softness of their palms, the lack of scars on their flesh, the harrowing displacement of havoc in their words, and the deficiency of darkness their fellow Horsemen possessed. “...for it is the dream I can never grasp.”

With the unblemished palm, he wiped away at both of their eyes, trying to remove the hints of sleep behind them. More importantly, he wanted more than anything to remove any attempt of truth being proven by Nerissa’s words.

Harsh snarled laughter came from the corner of their domain, mocking their spiral for something less than what it was. To Dmitri, they saw these dreams as something more of an awakening, uncovering their last moments with God.

“What is the point of man if not to suffer, dear Dmitri?”

“But I am no man!” Fists shattered the monotony of the discussion, calling in the last ounce of sanity any of them could take as they stood from the table. “I am no god.” The once golden irises, which mirrored the glory of the sun’s warmth, now mimicked the lava spewing from a devastating volcano. “I am Conquest, and I shall suffer no more!”

Here in the brilliant, pure light of their anger, their risen voice, the very might of their denial gave birth to something else.

A soft chuckle from the other side of the room destroyed any build up between the others as Viktoria waltzed over to them.

“He’s not wrong… None of us are man, so none of us shall suffer.” Viktoria’s hand draped over theirs with a tenderness they’d only felt from the mortals, but it was enough to show Dmitri the horsemen had the ability to give him what he wanted.

#accepted #accepted: dmitri

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paradise-of-guilty-pleasures · 5 years ago

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Shattered Reflections {14}

[Helsa RP- Fanfic]

Fandom: Frozen

Genre: Post-Frozen/ Canon Divergence

- Hurt/Comfort, Drama, Romance

Pairing(s): Hans/Elsa, Kristoff/Anna

Previous Chapter: 13. An Odd Request

A/N:

Confrontation Time.

14. Useless

"Hans of the Southern Isles, I've got a bone to pick with you!"

Kristoff had advised Anna to reconsider making a dramatic entrance (he didn't stop her, of course), Anna stubbornly declined his wise suggestion. She told Kristoff it was a necessary power play to show Hans she was the one in control and that this was her home . In all honesty, Anna was slightly acting like a drunkard, (even if Kristoff was correct that the beer from the picnic could not get her drunk), the mere mention of alcohol made her think she was drunk. It gave Anna an extra confidence boost. Confidence that had turned to slight embarrassment when she realized Hans was not alone in his chamber.

"Your Highness, Lord Kristoff," addressed the Captain as he stood up from his chair.

"Oh! Captain, I didn't realize you were here. I hope I'm not interrupting," she said apologetically.

"Not at all Princess, in fact I was just about to leave," he answered. The Captain shot Hans a glance as if wishing him luck. "He's all your Highness, now if you'll excuse me." Anna nodded and moved aside to allow the Captain leave. Now that he Captain was no longer in the room, she brought her attention back to Hans and glared at him intensely.

Hans nodded his respect to the Captain, and remained silent as he left. "If her Highness intends to hit me, I would advise to aim for the right profile. We can say it's residual swelling from the pommel I took to the face." He suggested, without judgement. More, with apology. "And it would be kinder than ripping the doctor's stitches. How may I help you both? A prisoner's time is never interrupted. Nor a fool's, nor a soldier's. Take your pick which one I'll be for the moment, I won't disappoint. I could apologize or beg your forgiveness, but I wouldn't want to waste her Highness' time." Always professional, always polite, and never quite meeting her eye. He waited for the impact or the yelling or whatever it would be.

Anna had her fist clenched, but his response had caught her off guard. Hans offering himself to be struck, made her not want to strike him. She was confused and at a loss of words. Anna glanced over her shoulder to Kristoff. Hans had disarmed her before she had even begun. This was not the response she was expecting at all. In her mind she still visualized the venomous villain that heartlessly left her locked up to die. The vulnerable Hans in front of her made no sense, it must be some sort of trick, another mask to fool her into sympathy, it just had to be (to her there wasn't any other explanation), and she was determined not to fall for it. She turned back to face him, the flame returning to her eyes. "You might have managed pulled the wool over everyone else's eyes, but it won't work on me , not again ." Anna hissed, her fists were trembling. "I don't know what ideas you've been putting in my sister's head to make her trust you, but I, on the other hand won't be fooled so easily by your charms and empty words," she continued to fume. "I know you're plotting something, playing some sort of game, pretending to be the hero of Arendelle once again to get what you want." Anna assumed the worst in Hans, because she'd experienced it first hand, and it had left a deep wound on her heart that she could not easily overlook. She was venting all her frustration throwing him all her hurt. "Come on, stop hiding behind a mask and show me your true colors. The ones you weren't afraid to hide from me when you locked me away in that room," she cried.

Hans considered it a moment. "True colors... a neutral canvas sail. I don't have 'true' colors, every color is a dye, added. None of my decisions were good, I grant you. I started that errand as a fool and ended it doubly so." He kneaded his fingertips in thought, looking off at nothing in particular. "Do you have a question for me to answer? I'm better at questions. Given leave to talk freely, I ramble horribly and never seem to know when to stop." He looked at her when she spoke, but when he did, he looked away from both of them, instead.

"I think what she wants to know is, why did you leave her and lock the door?" Kristoff suggested, even tone and calm, as usual.

"Because Anna was dying and only true love could save her, or so I was told. I'm not a fool, neither of us truly had that for each-other. I don't think I'm capable of it, damned if I don't try. As far as I knew, Anna was going to die, regardless. Being a villain was just an easier way to fail. There was, as far as I could tell, no man who could fix that situation. So I locked the door to prevent anyone else stumbling on how horrible it was and pretended my plan was villainy all along. The line of ascension doesn't include prince consorts, I'm still baffled that no-one caught on that I was making up some 'shot at the crown' theory. Anna said 'Elsa struck me with her powers', and I knew if I didn't become the villain of this story, she would. At least if I was villainized, even if Elsa died, I would be properly hanged and Arendelle would celebrate the lives of its tragic leaders-- not curse Elsa and god knows what they would say of Anna. If I hadn't raised my sword at the Fjord and you had died, don't tell me we would still have a queen. I know pain too deeply to believe that. A sword is just much quicker and less painful." He grimaced and put his face in his hand. "How could I have predicted there was a way we could all survive? The best of all possible outcomes, and I was blind to it. I would have accepted hanging, but your country is too kind for it, and mine knew it too well. I nearly died for more painful reasons, twice."

Anna stood and listened, the anger in her eyes had dissipated, replaced by tears that were slowly rolling down Anna's cheeks. So many thoughts swirled around in her mind. Had Elsa really wished to die on the fjord? Is that why she didn't seem to hold his attempted murder against him? Elsa only seemed to mention the hurt he had caused her , as the reasons she could never forgive him. Elsa only thought of her little sister and not of herself and that pained Anna, to think she'd willingly die instead of bearing the thought of losing her. Anna had easily forgiven her sister for accidentally inflicting her with a frozen heart, but she didn't occur to her that Elsa might still be dealing with such guilt and resentment, just like she was still having her own nightmares. So Hans was supposedly only trying to 'protect her', he was the same as Elsa in that aspect, hiding and choosing 'what was best for her' (because apparently they knew so much better) without letting her choose for herself. He could have told her the truth it would have hurt, but she would have understood and they could have found another way, Hans shutting another door on her, hurt more than the heartbreak. He said he did it 'for her', but of course he chose the route that was really easier for himself . Anna walked up to the bedside, and without a second thought slapped Hans across the face, her hand stung from the impact. "If you want me to believe you are telling me the truth, at least look at me...you don't know how hard it is for me to even be facing you right now... and if you can't even bare to look me... it's like like what I think and feel doesn't matter to you... like your shutting that door on me again." Anna seemed to be more disappointed than angry, like she'd been earlier that day with Elsa.

Hans took the impact and didn't flinch from it. "Where I'm from, that would be a disrespect. My apologies." He forced his tone into neutrality, as he had the first time he had arrived again. He forced himself to look her in the eye, but it wasn't easy to do that. To watch her sadness inflicted him with the same, though he would hide that beneath his neutral mask. "Anything else, your Highness?" It was polite, neutral. He wouldn't show her the pain of her sadness or ask her if she would strike him again. He wouldn't have minded, anyway. Pain was easier by far. "Whatever you ask, I'll comply as best I can." Whether she asked him to speak his truths or to labor for the castle, whatever she pleased, it was his to comply.

Anna's bright blue eyes looked straight into his emerald ones. " Why?" She murmured with a tremble to her tone. "If you did not want the crown and you truly did not love me, why...why ask me to marry you?"

Hans forced himself not to take a long blink, not to find some reason by habit to look away. "Because I am a mirror, reflecting what other people wanted-- and I wanted to learn to love. I am defective in that regard, I don't know what true romantic love feels like. I ran into you, full of excitement and energy and love for the world. I thought I could learn it from you the way I learn all manner of behaviors and acts. It's always someone like you, in the stories. The Belle who tames an unworthy beast. Your sweetness was infectious, and I felt happy near you. But, when someone said 'True Love's Kiss' I knew it wasn't me. I'm not a true anything, except maybe a sailor. Or an insult of your choosing, if you prefer. I'm truly that , too. I selfishly wanted to be less broken. Broken mirrors are useless things, and unlucky to boot. When we got engaged, it seemed like a good potential life for both of us. Then the situation changed in ways none of us could have predicted." He sighed a little, visibly uncomfortable. "I'm glad for your improved company, you always deserved better." Hans leaned back against the wall, then cringed and faltered, shifting to better nurse his stab wound. He didn't complain or speak of it, just righted himself and ignored the pain.

"Easy, don't pop your threads, or we'll need a seamstress to stuff you again." Kristoff suggested dryly. He stepped over to touch Anna's back. Just a little supportive gesture, to try and calm her.

"Good, and have her put a new patch on my back too, would you?" Hans joked in response. He didn't try to keep neutrality for Kristoff, Hans knew him as a healer.

"How was marrying a loveless man a 'good potential life for both of us' ? It sounds downright cruel more than selfish. I might have been naïve in thinking that you were some sort of prince charming and believing you were my true love, but you were still just planning to use me...as if I was some sort of...play thing. Love was like a game to you and you going through the motions trying to figure out the rules as you went along. A marriage like that wouldn't have been fair at all, with you continuing to play pretend, while I blindly believed it was all real.

"Being stuck by a frozen heart might have been a blessing in disguise, because it at least saved me from marrying a heartless man like you." There was some bitterness and bite to her words. "And yes, I found 'improved company', I found a man who truly loves me." She glanced over at Kristoff again. Anna had been a bit sidetracked by releasing her pent-up venom, that hadn't picked up on what Kristoff and Hans had been talking about right away.

'Wait, what? His back?' The gears started turning in her mind and Anna started connecting some dots. Elsa had told her Hans had been injured prior to returning to Arendelle, she hadn't told her where or how exactly. Whatever happened to his back she was certain happened before the attack on Arendelle. Anna thought for a moment, until she came to the conclusion that made too much sense not to be true, he must have gotten lashed as punishment. With that figured out more things were adding up like how he could have been on the verge of death without Elsa taking notice right away, it'd been well hidden. How had she not noticed some of these things sooner? Like when Elsa said Hans was on the verge of death during their chat earlier today, she should have realized right away that he was the someone she had talked about during their sister session. He was the one that had affected Elsa so much to the point it made weep (something she rarely saw herself). That had been shortly after his arrival, meaning he'd been staying in the castle right under her nose for that long and she hadn't known.That angered her greatly, but what had really blinded her with rage was that fact that he'd made Elsa cry. Elsa had told her she'd seen something very bad happen to someone, and Anna assumed it meant more than him dying that had such a strong impact on her dear sister causing her to break down. "You! You're the reason Elsa was so upset that night," she viciously said as she got out of her head. She glared at him again with her piercing blue eyes more intensity than ever. "You showed her your wounds didn't you?! That's how you got her sympathy!!"

Hans looked away again as she berated him, eyes slipping down to the floor and teeth gritting. "I didn't have an option. I wasn't conscious enough. Captain Kristofferson fetched the doctor when I was fevered, I don't recall the exchange well." He said quietly, defending the only thing he could.

He was quieter now, watching the ground, looking far-away. Nothing he could say would improve things, he could see, so he locked those parts away and just listened for when it was over. There was no place or person he could retreat to. He would just have to wait. She wouldn't listen to or care about what he had gone through, she wouldn't care about his reasons or the fact that no person could be perfect. "What would you like me to do to be useful, your Highness?" He asked, the politely positive service tone of his voice not matching the hopeless look on his face even remotely. There was a certain emphasis on 'useful', as if use was the highest aspiration he could hope for. He spoke like a servant, but he held himself again like a prisoner. Perhaps it was a good reminder. Of all the things he could be, he was still a worthless broken mirror.

Anna was panting from her outburst. "Why are you asking me ? I have no use for you ," she let out gratingly. Maybe she had been too harsh calling him useless. He probably shouldn't have asked while she was still fuming, because it might have been just the anger talking. Anna did tend to let emotions get the better of her. Hans seemed to shrink a little in his place, crossing his arms over his chest, not defensively, but as a self-comfort. He didn't look at her again, didn't move his eyes or say anything. There was nothing to say. He had no uses, she was right. He wished he could be removed from her life, but he wasn't allowed to die, either. No matter what happened, someone always seemed to save him. He didn't deserve sympathy, why bother telling her he had tried? She wouldn't care anyway, she might have even said he should have tried harder. And she would be right, again. His gaze remained fixed somewhere on the floor or opposite wall, seeming afraid to move it. Kristoff didn't like the way this was turning, but he felt it wasn't his place to say it wasn't deserved. It was, Hans had tried to kill the sisters, after all. Anna hadn't said anything that didn't make sense. He gently rubbed her back instead, to try and remind her that he was there, and that she didn't have to be angry for the rest of the day. She needed some peace, too. For everyone's sake.

The three of them remained there awkwardly in silence.

Anna slowly regained her breath and calmed down with Kristoff's gentle touch. Even if she was right, she realized she might have taken things a little too far in her fit of rage. As she caught her breath her eyes caught sight of the ice blade as they browsed the room. Elsa had let him keep the sword? 'Are you kidding me Elsa, you left Hans with a sword in an unlocked room?! And I thought I was the crazy one.' Anna let out a deep sigh. "You know, I..." she began softly. "I may not have a use for you... but apparently my sister does, for some unknown reason,"Anna continued. "I really don't trust you, at all , but Elsa does and I trust her... So maybe the least I can do... is give you the benefit of the doubt...as well as an opportunity to actually prove to me that you can be trusted.

"I can't forgive you for what you did...but if Elsa was willing to give you a second chance... maybe I can too..." Anna said pensively. "... just don't you dare hurt my sister, because if you do... let's just say you haven't seen the full extent of my wrath."

Hans hardly seemed to notice she was speaking, his posture didn't change, his gaze hadn't moved, he seemed to tremble slightly, though it could have been a trick of the light. Kristoff looked uncertain, and shifted to get between Hans and whatever he was looking at, crouching down to check his eyes. Hans seemed unfocused. "Hey, hey. You in there?" He snapped his fingers and waved in front of Hans' face just to try and draw his eyes. Hans refocused a bit, but didn't seem any more inclined to say anything.

"Nothing I say or do will help anything, what do you need me for? I suppose being flogged and stabbed protecting Arendelle wasn't enough. That's fine, I'll endure anything you can throw at me, or die trying. I've tried, but the dying never seems to take." It wasn't a joke, if anything it was a nuisance. He still didn't look at either of them, only shifting his gaze further away. "Yes it's the easy way, the coward's way. So I'm a coward, and everything else, you're right. Will there be anything else?" He finally shifted his gaze back to Anna, a flicker of pain running through him. There was no sarcasm, only acknowledgement and mental pain. The shaking was not a trick of the light, at that moment. There was a fear deeper than a blade could cut. Looking her in the eye was harder than any pain he had yet faced, but she had demanded he do that. If he couldn't be useful to her, he could at least look her in the eye, surely? Even if he had to use all of his willpower to hold back the pain it caused. He wasn't worthy of sympathy, what else were tears good for? He would bear her abuse with strength or be even more useless for his weakness.

Concern crossed Anna's face as Hans spoke and grew exponentially once their eyes met, seeing how broken he truly was too much to bear. She had definitely gone too far, that she'd shattered his neutral mask and broken him even more. "I'm sorry," she apologized, averting her eyes.

"You shouldn't be, you're right about everything." He assured, dropping his gaze as soon as she dropped hers, to save him from tears. "Do let me know if you find a use for me. I may never be able to earn your forgiveness, but it doesn't mean I can't try nonetheless." His tone returned again to the polite servant's tone, but his expression was still the upset, faraway look he'd had earlier. He wanted only for this conversation to end, and to not be seen again. For the day, perhaps forever. But he knew he wouldn't get the latter.

" You're not useless , but you shouldn't ask me to assign you a one either," Anna murmured, letting out a sigh. "Just...be kind to Elsa and don't break her heart."

Hans didn't seem to believe her. He continued to look away, still upset, still with a slight tremor. "I won't." He promised. "I'll do nothing to harm her happiness or health, nor yours if I can help it any further. I'm at Her Majesty's service, or will be once I can stand without further injuring myself. I'll make an effort to stay out of your way. Unless you need a punching bag, anyway. In that case, you know where to find me. I know how to stand still." It wasn't chastisement, just a fact. He would be there, and he would stand for her to hit, if that's what she wanted. A man should have a use, and at least a punching bag had a purpose.

Anna didn't know how to respond, and she thought anything she'd say would only make matters worse. She turned to Kristoff for guidance. Anna really didn't wish to continue using Hans as a punching bag, when she had already added enough insult to injury. The whole confrontation didn't go at all as she expected. She thought Hans would’ve at least fought back, but all he did was sit there and take her bombardment of anger filled words. Anna should have known that from the beginning when he was nothing but courteous to her, but still she pressed on. Anna thought letting out all her frustration on him would have made her feel better. It really didn't. And now she felt bad, because she saw something in his eyes she didn't expect to see. He was hurting. She's seen in his eyes and with his tremble. She'd been seeing Hans as nothing more than a monster, but she was wrong in doing so, Hans had made monstrous mistakes, but he was in fact a man. A broken man, but a man nonetheless; he wasn't emotionless, even though he tried his hardest to suppress them. She had treated him more like rubbish and less like a person and that wasn't right. She thought Hans was incapable of remorse and that was a cruel thing to assume.

Kristoff looked between the two of them, impassive and thoughtful. He could see Anna's remorse, and Hans'... entire self, really. Kristoff doubted he was as much a mirror as he thought he was. Maybe in extreme situations, but not entirely. "People make bad choices when they're mad, or scared, or stressed." Kristoff observed. "I tend to say things the wrong way when I'm stressed, and sometimes I seem angry when really I'm scared. I think maybe you two have made some similar bad choices like that. We're not defined by them." It was an invitation. Maybe if Anna opened up about her stress-choices, maybe at least it would calm them both down a little. He suspected it was a vain hope, however. Hans seemed too far out of it to want to talk anymore. He just hoped to end this conversation on a somewhat hopeful note before he could escort Anna out of the room. Men didn't like to cry, least of all in front of women-- but he suspected Hans really needed some time alone at that moment.

That was good troll wisdom. Anna gave a pensive hum. " Everybody is a bit a Fixer-Upper, including myself."

Hans didn't seem encouraged by that. Really, he hardly seemed to be listening. Kristoff moved to step near Anna again. "We should go." He said, but glanced back at the sword, wondering if they should take it-- for Hans' sake. It might only make things worse. He decided it was probably best to trust him not to stand up and stress his stitches. "He needs time, right now. I don't think we'll get any positive impact from here." He wondered if he should have held Anna back from this. That was his mistake, perhaps, but maybe they both needed that, to fully reflect on the damage.

Anna only nodded in agreement, looking back at Hans with concern as they made their way out. Maybe Elsa had been right in trying to prevent them from colliding, they indeed had hurt each other, but not in the way that was expected.

Kristoff escorted Anna out, and only when she was gone did Hans seem to release his hold on himself-- and maybe some of his emotions, too.

"Still think you'll need me to keep you safe?" Kristoff asked, with neither amusement nor judgement. He didn't feel like he needed to explain what happened or how Hans was feeling. "D'you need to talk about it?" Maybe they couldn't help Hans now, but he could help Anna process, he hoped.

"No, but can you stay anyway," Anna said with a glum look. "Yes, I need to talk." She nodded with her lips pressed firmly together, the threat of tears itching at her eyes. She really needed to process what just happened.

Kristoff wrapped an arm around her shoulder to escort Anna back to her room. He couldn't say he was surprised, per se, but that had gotten a lot more serious and real than he had expected. He wasn't sure if he expected Anna to balk or for Hans to snap or show her his scars or find some other way to gain the sympathy he may have even deserved. One or the other, but neither had happened. They had just mutually destroyed each-other with the truth, it seemed. He passed a little gesture to the Captain as they passed, a quiet shake of his head and 'cut' gesture, to suggest that he not visit Hans again that night, or ask too many questions.

"Tell me about it?" He suggested, as they returned to Anna's room.

"That was hard, I didn't think... that would happen," Anna started, there was a knot in her throat. "Do you think I took things too far? I was so just so angry I didn't even consider that he would... That I could...I think I broke him." Deep concern crossed her face.

"For now, you did." Kristoff nodded, understanding and pensive. "I think there were some things in there that may have hit below the belt without you necessarily realizing it at the time. And I think maybe he's got some mental trauma you don't know about." He didn't want to tell her that it felt like watching someone get physically beaten, but it kind of did. "What did you think would happen? He got stabbed trying to protect you and your sister, did you remember that? He couldn't stand up. He would have ripped his stitches if he did." He wouldn't judge Anna, it made perfect sense to him that she would be that angry. But, he wanted to know what drove her to be where she was. "Probably why they left the sword in his room, he can't hurt anybody with it if he can't get out of bed."

Anna grimaced with guilt. "I don't know...I was waiting for the vile villain to display itself. Yes, I knew he was physically hurt, but I was just expecting some ulterior motive. I, of course, got neither, it was rude of me to assume...but it's hard for me to put any trust back in the very hands of the person I blindly gave my heart to, only to have it torn to shreds, I guess I'm afraid he'd do it all over again."

"Honestly? Yeah, I can see why you would feel that way. And I don't blame you." Kristoff shrugged. "I can't fully trust him either after what he did. I'll be nice to him, but I don't have to trust him. It might be rude to assume, but it would be weird not to, after what he did." Kristoff believed in measure. All things in measure. “I don't think you were wrong to say what you did." He shrugged a little, considering the whole matter. "We didn't think he was a bad guy last time, either, and that changed. It's reasonable to still be suspicious now. But my question is, when will he have proven himself? We don't have to answer that question right now, but it might be good to think about. If he really is looking to redeem himself, can it be done?"

Anna let out a melancholy sigh. "I really don't know... but Elsa seems to have faith in him."

"Hmm, just think about it, okay?" He hummed. Gently, he scooped Anna up into his arms to hold her, and try to soothe her concerns, like he would rock a child to sleep. "Maybe she saw something in him that we didn't. Maybe it's her turn to learn some things. We'll see, I suppose." He hummed, calm and gentle. "Whatever comes, I'll keep you safe, and I'll be here for you." That much, he could promise.

Anna nodded, nuzzling herself in his embrace. "I love you, Kristoff," She reminded him, she didn't need to, but felt right in that moment.

"I love you too, feistypants." Kristoff teased sweetly, and kissed her temple.

#Helsa #Iceburns #Hans x Elsa #Frozen #Frozen Fanfiction #Fanfiction #Shattered Reflections

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madsciencestudent · 5 years ago

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5 Fave Male Characters

Tagged By: @pandoramusicbox09

Tagging: @enelle2890, @paper-doodle, @sleepy-shark, and anyone else who wants to do this.

(Oh geez, here we go. XD)

1. Steven Universe

Okay let’s get the show that ripped my heart out last out of the way first. Steven is the pure cinnamon roll on this list, and why he’s my favorite. Steven in the original series was the compassionate male hero I always wanted but never realized I wanted! I did have an issue with him always putting others before himself, but then the creators turned around and BAM! Addressed it in Future with a poor 16 year old who’s trauma finally caught up to him and manifested. Steven is a newer character, I’ll admit, but his stories and development into a hero and then a struggling young adult just... Sticks with me.

2. Orochimaru

Smart, mysterious, dangerous, a ‘mad scientist’, even if it’s for selfish gains he takes in the lost, abused, and abandoned, cynical and wanting to watch the terrible world he lives in burn, an Asexual Icon even if the homophobic and transphobic fans like to say otherwise (all those jokes about him being ‘gay’ or ‘wanting to be a woman’ were NOT meant to be empowering but derogatory-I was there I KNOW THE DIFFERENCE), and with absolutely BEAUTIFUL hair and eyes, awkward weeby teenage me was obsessed with the best character in Naruto. And never really got over it. I stopped following one of the most popular manga and anime the first time the Sell Out of an Author tried to make it look like asshole Sasuke was better than him, and thankfully the character was never ruined for me like I know he was for others and the series as a whole was the longer it was milked for money. So Orochimaru remains the same dangerous and well written villain he was when he first pulled off that face in front of Anko all those years ago to me.

3. Alastor

Another newer character, Alastor is one of those fun yet deadly villains that is also layered. He was a serial killer in life- which if properly written can be interesting in his development and spiral down the path for becoming a serial killer- and a powerful demon in death. There is a lot of potential there for him to develop into a fascinating character as well as a mysterious one. Everyone else in the series seems like they can be redeemed and actually change their after life, but Alastor is the one who seems like he’s going to drag all of them back to Hell and is going to be there true threat of the series. Yet, he also seems like the one who is necessary for the others to access the resources they need to turn their afterlives around. So there’s more conflict there. Are the resources they’re receiving from him actually what they need, or is he undermining them at every turn disguised as aiding them? He’s fun and impossible to get a decent read on!

4. GraveRobber

The character that gets things rolling in Repo! The Genetic Opera, and mostly acts as the narrator in the final cut of the film, GraveRobber is exactly what his name says. One of the poor souls who fell into Geneco’s debt trip and now works as a drug dealer and grave robber (in order to actual get the drug from corpses’ brains) to get by in the world built on organ failures and capitalism! GraveRobber doesn’t have a lot to do in the final film, but his songs and guidance of the main character are an excellent touch. He also adds what I think is a main undercurrent of the film- none of the characters are truly ‘innocent’ or ‘pure’ like most media portrays; they all have some undesirable parts and ways to get by.

His actor is also one of the writers and performers of the indie stage shows that inspired the film (who did in fact write the film) and whom I’ve met in person, and he was very nice when we interacted.

5. Sweeney Todd

Well, since he IS the title character of my all time favorite movie, I better mention him here. Also fun fact he’s the inspiration behind the one black streak I have in my hair which sort of became my own brand over the years SOOOO- Tragic and vengeful, Sweeney Todd is just... A complex character who’s been kicked around by the corrupt system and world enough that he gives into the darkness and wickedness of it all to become his own monster at the end. (He killed the woman he loved and who he thought he was avenging the whole time!)

Honorable Mention Since I’m Not Sure Where This One Fits Anymore:

Cell

(I can hear @paper-doodle from here and @sleepy-shark calling me out for the Weeb I am. XD)

So... Cell is a favorite all time character of mine without a doubt, but given my thoughts and headcanons I had developed for him when I used to RP him on here and still use to this day.... I kinda don’t entirely classify him as a ‘male’ character anymore? I mean I kinda do but- IT’S COMPLICATED. It is pretty well established that in the manga Cell is referred to with ‘he/him’ and ‘it’ pronouns (even more so in the English dub of the anime I first grew up with because MANLY ANIME IS MANLY and woman can NEVER be that buff right that’d just be ugly (I’m being sarcastic if you can’t tell)) but it’s mostly other characters using those pronouns when talking about Cell. And because Cell technically is classified as ‘female’ by human definitions when it comes to reproduction (if an multicellular or macro organism is capable of asexual reproduction- like Cell is (see Cell Juniors)- then they’re usually classified as female), and at least in the manga Cell doesn’t seem to give a flying fuck about anything that isn’t fighting related, I kinda got to wondering about whether Cell does view themselves as male or female or both or neither. Eventually I developed the headcanon that Cell honestly doesn’t care one way or the other; people can call Cell whatever pronouns they want and Cell will just roll with it (so basically Agender with no pronoun preference), though Cell will pull out the ‘you know, by human definitions, you know I’m a female, right?’ line whenever a sexist is mouthing off near them because the dawning fear and back tracking fuels Cell. Cell has mostly gone with the male pronouns though since those are the ones used the most when applied to him, but like I said, Cell can change gears pretty quick based on the other person.

Sooooo, yeah. Canonly and a majority of fandomly speaking, I guess Cell is still classified as a male character, but since I developed a different view on him.... Eh? I guess I’m in the Cell is Nonbinary Camp so maybe Cell shouldn’t really be on this list. But again, Canon and a majority of Fandom and his own flexibility in my headcanons makes it complicated so Cell gets a special mention.

#meme #that last one got complicated fast because..... MERGH!

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agirlinhell · 5 years ago

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34 + 36!

the be honest meme. aka things you lowkey want to talk about but don’t because you don’t know how to bring it up. send me a number and i’ll tell you the honest truth. either a simple yes or no answer or a detailed response.

@grcndel

Have you ever cried while writing a reply?

Like .. I think it was a really long time ago back on my Senju Toka blog where she was dying in her husband’s arms?? Though, there were DEFINITELY times where I got REALLY CLOSE to crying! Uhh.. hold on lemme think.. There was also this one time where Clementine and @weprevail‘s Mitch were doing a drinking game where they had to like make presumptions on each other’s pasts - and there’s like no boundaries - and the setting was on like... her birthday and the confessions that came out of her ( and Mitch, too actually ) was absolutely TRAGIC AND BEAUTIFUL AT THE SAME TIME?? Like.. one of her confessions was that Clementine wants children one day but she thinks that she’ll fail them or watch them die or they’ll be afraid of her after hearing of the things she’s done in order to survive. Thanks for ripping out my heart Hope LMAO

There was also a reunion RP between Lee and Clementine with @softiv in an AU where he survives and they end up reuniting at the ski lodge and it’s been like... THREE YEARS AND SHE THOUGHT HE WAS DEAD?? I WAS SO HAPPY OKAY. There was also this one RP with @zombeam that almost had me cryin like a bitch and it was where Ben and Clementine reunited after literally TEN YEARS from being separated and I WAS SO HAPPY?????? OH MY GOD?? I HAVE TO REPLY BUT STI LL

I’ve also been plotting with @youngshct and I think we’re gonna end up doing an AU scene where both Clementine and AJ end up turning in the barn and you can BET THIS BITCH WILL BAWL WHEN THAT HAPPENS. It’s gonna be the same exact thing with @prctecthem where James and Clementine reunite after like a few months since Take Us Back and they had their little confrontation, it’s gonna get really emotional.

CHRIST WHAT IS IT WITH ME AND CRYING AT REUNION ROLEPLAYS

What’s one thing that other people seem to hate that doesn’t bother you?

Hmmm... this is tricky because I’m honestly laid back about a lot of things. But if I had to pick, I think it’d have to be the fact that people are SO unwilling to explore darker themes or make their canon characters unique and different and distinct? Like... I’m honestly sure that I can write pretty much almost anything. After reading A Song Of Ice and Fire / watching Game of Thrones and reading up on H.P Lovecraft and Stephen King... I’m pretty sure nothing fazes me anymore. Of course, I’ll tag things and discuss things of such matters and constantly make sure they’re comfortable writing a topic and I’ll drop a thread if it means making you feel okay, but like... I literally portray a once sweet and innocent little girl turned murderer and torturer ( who could very well possibly be raising a future sociopath in AJ even if it is unintentional ) in a zombie apocalypse. Clementine isn’t Lee’s little sweetpea anymore. Her experiences have fucked her up in more ways than one and I’m not afraid to write about it and I HATE it when people sugarcoat the things that happen to their muses psychologically. My portrayal of Clementine in her backstory has pretty much every major trigger you can think of. Will I tag these triggering things? Yes. Will I sugarcoat them? No... no, fam, I hate to break it to you, but I won’t.

#grcndel #( this better fuckin work or i will beat the living SHIT out of tumblr smhhhhhh )#( anyway i hope these answers your questions - have a lovely day my dude!!<333 )#tw; long post #( not really but just in case!! )#THE HEADMISTRESS SPEAKS. ( ANSWERED. )

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wildwcmen · 6 years ago

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{ ⊿ } —- talk about your favorite character!

!!! this is hard, because it’s definitely a tie between scarlet and cass…and more recently sunshine. but, i’ve been playing cass the longest, so i’m going to go with her.

i’ve been playing cass since 2014, so she’s actually a lot more developed than she may seem on the surface. on the surface level you could definitely just look at her and be like, lol, stupid stoner. but i legitimately love her? so much?

she started out as a stupid party girl. i was in a group, playing a stuck up square character and…no one would give her any love? tragic. rip. so i pulled cass out of my ass as a drama queen to fuck shit up. within a week she broke up the rp’s power couple, so she definitely served her purpose as drama queen.

but i really love diving into the depths of her emotions? and her manic behavior? and the different things she uses to numb out her pain? i love her because there’s so much going on beneath the surface, and to anyone else she would seem to surface level and shallow. but in her world, and to anyone close to her, it’s like an ocean. pretty and blue on top, but dive in deep and there’s some crazy shit.

i also just really admire what a caring friend she is. she’s really bad in romantic relationships (which is also fun for me LOL) but she cares SO DEEPLY about her friends.

my favorite verse is definitely her alien princess verse, of course. she’s an overpowered idiot and it’s so much fun. she’s also a badass. and i’ll stop talking now but just know i could talk about this idiot for years. i literally wrote a whole season of a tv show about her, lol.

more fun facts: i have roleplayed as both of her parents, and she’s now had 4 different fcs. i really like her new face though, so i’m pretty happy.

big alien kween energy!!

get to know meme!

#drug use tw #my favorite character aka the one NO ONE WANTS TO PLOT WITH...#chingcna

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diveronarpg · 6 years ago

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Congratulations, LEO! You’ve been accepted for the role of PARIS with an approved FC change to JI CHANG WOOK. Admin Jen: Wow, I literally have to stifle the urge to keysmash my way through this note because THAT is how over the moon I am about your application, Leo! Your analysis of Priam was so intricate and it touched on various nuances in his character that I was very excited to see people explore and peel apart - his moral compass, his honor, his purpose, and most importantly, his masks. The interview was quite riveting to read and I adored how prominently your portrayal of him shone in the narrative. I particularly enjoyed observing his mannerisms and how they contrasted with his thought process but in general, the interview was full to the brim with interesting details to observe and inspect. As soon as I finished reading, I was certain that you would be perfect for Priam. I can’t wait to see him on the dash! Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

Out of Character

Alias | Leo.

Age | 18, though I still feel like a prepubescent teen oops.

Preferred Pronouns | she/her

Activity Level | I’d give myself a seven outta’ ten for activity levels.

Timezone | ‘m in France, so the timezones might be wonky.

Current/Past RP Accounts | [ x ]

In Character

Character | PARIS ; If possible, I’d like to use Xavier Serrano or Ji Chang Wook. [clutching fcs and sobbing as they spill over my hands.]

What drew you to this character? | “… the world in which he was a child was starkly black and white.” This, I feel, reveals the crux of the matter: that Priam Taravella, born with steel fused into his spine and rigidity formed into his very being, is now such a man of metamorphosis. And, yet, his core hasn’t changed at all. Something like there is enough in me to swallow the world and this body of mine can scarcely contain this hunger would be an apt description for the void that lingers in him. No ambition? What a lie. The ant who dreams of becoming a lion is merely a dreamer of impossibility, but the lion who dreams of becoming a king? There’s the ambition that his family refused to see in him. Priam Taravella was always a man with his feet rooted to the earth and his eyes fixed upon the horizon line because there’s where the gold glitters. Nothing is impossible, for he simply doesn’t deign to dream of impossibility. And, yet, his family mocked him for this and gave him the cold shoulder simply for daring to dream of things tangible. Maybe he cared about this, once upon a time, but nowadays he scoffs at the past, preferring to keep his sights on the present, and oh, there’s simply nothing like it.

There’s this, as well. “Verona’s underworld has made him apathetic towards most things but he has no tolerance for men without honor.” Oh, Priam. In a world where people may say that the sky is green and the water purple without an inflection of remorse, his honor brings such an interesting dimension to his character. He is, for all intents and purposes, a man who still adheres to the ‘black and white’ view of his youth; despite his hollow core, despite the blood that runs from his hands, despite the boundless ambition that serves as a never-ending bloodhound, he still places honor as something important to him, something that’s integral to his very being. And, isn’t this a paradox? In order to move up in the underworld, one must draw their lines of morality in sand, to be washed away and redrawn with every situation that follows. And, yet, Priam’s rigidity doesn’t allow for him to do this: there are some lines that he would never cross, even given the pros and cons of such an action.

He is a man of honor, and aren’t honor and glory both one and the same? Many would beg to differ, but the truth in his mind is the truth of the world. God made man in the image of Himself, the humanists would say, and isn’t this the primary facet of life in a search for unending glory? Verona is a city of divinity; a god without glory is no god at all. Likewise, a man without honor isn’t even worth a single good-natured thought. I think this makes him so very interesting, that in his rigidity and in his purpose, he sees himself as an honor-bound man. Are the three mutually bound? Is he truly a man of honor?

Is it even possible for a man with boundless ambition, crown tilted upon his head and smile slanted across his mouth, to be a man of honor?

(priam, what happens when you end your search? could the void inside of you ever be satiated?)

Which, speaking of, is such a fascinating concept. The void inside of him can be for many things, but the fact that Juliana is the first (and perhaps the only) person who has ever made him feel as if he belonged hints towards a boy who was starved of affection. Yes, he has potential, he knows that he has potential, but what I find interesting is that the Taravella name means something to him. It’s a shackle that he bears with his head held high; he is a boy of only twenty-three, and I think that this bears emphasis, that he is twenty-three and already believes that the only true part of his identity is his name. And, yet, at this age he already takes for granted that love and that sense of belonging are worth something. These are concepts that are not given freely; if he’s not useful then he isn’t worth being loved. This concept is found again in the way that he believes that his name might be the only thing that allows him to belong.

And the only way he would be loved is if he put on the mask. This, in turn, reminds me of a quote: “There was no one in him; behind his face (which even through the bad paintings of those times resembles no other) and his words, which were copious, fantastic, and stormy, there was only a bit of coldness, a dream dreamt by no one.” There’s something in this that causes one to wonder: where does the mask end and the man begin? Who is he, underneath the habits and personas that he had to adopt in order to realize his ambitions? Iago claims “I am not what I am,” and is this, too, true for Priam?

God, he’s just such a fascinating character, wow, and I could go on and on and on. I’ll leave you with this last quote: “History adds that before or after dying he found himself in the presence of God and told him: ‘I who have been so many men in vain want to be one and myself.’”

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? | I really want him to be submerged into a situation where he must lose his sense of purpose or honor-bound duty or even a situation where he has to redraw his lines of morality in order to feed his ambition. The simple anguish in the fact that he must be, perhaps, somewhat like the men he hates, those men of no honor and of no purpose, would be absolutely lovely. Would he rationalize it to himself? Would he choose honor over ambition or vice versa? In a world that seems to be doing its damned hardest to kill them all, what could he possibly choose?

Why does he hate Boris so much? Is it simply because he can’t stand his ways? Is it truly because the Kovrov man reeks of shameless disloyalty? Or is it because he could see himself in the way he hungers for something more than the lot he was given in life? (maybe it’s because he knows, somehow, that this is the man he could become, that this might be the man he is.) I’d love to explore this.

Oh, Juliana. Dearly beloved, my tender heart, mio tesoro. In a man who’s more steel than flesh, she’s the tenderness of his childhood days in an era void of softness. Maybe this isn’t love—something about her eyes, her smile, the lilt of her voice—but it’s close enough. It’s good enough. (or so he hopes.) And, yeah, she makes him want to believe in the concept of loving and being loved. But, God, fuck, in a world such as this, any hint of tenderness is a hint of weakness. And Priam Taravella has long had enough of being weak. God, there’s so much space for nuance here. Does he truly love her or is it just the knowledge that they know so much about each other? Oh, and there’s this: in those moments of tenderness, in those moments when he’s pressing gentle lips to her forehead and folding his fingers over her hand, is he still acting?

And, also, we cannot forget about this: is he even able to discover himself underneath those layers and layers of masks? We can see that his sense of honor is a way that allows him to hold onto something even through the switching of personas, but isn’t there something more than simply that in a person?

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Oh, God yes. The more tragic the death, the better.

In Depth

Priam, with a sickly-sweet taste sitting on the root of his tongue and fingers digging into the blankets, wakes up underneath someone else’s sheets at ass-o'clock in the morning. It’s slightly sticky. His mouth pulls into a slight grimace, lashes feathering across the slant of his eyes as he breathes out a longer breath than usual, but the glint in his gaze is devoid of any natural feeling save for a vague sensation of apathy.

There’s a flash of what might be faint amusement as he flicks a glance towards the remnants of last night—scattered items of clothing, the lingering scent of sex, the marks on his companion’s skin—even as he ruffles his fingers through his dark curls, languidly arching his back into a stretch. The arm slung around his waist tightens with his motion before relaxing—Priam carelessly curls his grip around the appendage and tosses it away from him and towards its owner—and there’s a grunt as the man wakes up, lounging in bed and watching lazily as Priam retrieves his pants. “Leaving so soon?” husked out from sleep-ridden vocal chords.

There’s a pause as Priam tilts his head back, flicking an idle glance towards the speaker. Already, the apathy in his gaze had vanished, leaving behind only gentle amusement and a form of satisfied grace. His mouth tilts into a grin. “Mm,” all movement and indulgence as the sound of a zipper rips through the 3am aftermath, “I’d love to stay, mi amor, but I have work in the morning.” The slant of his mouth is a finely crafted thing—God, he’s too tired for this right now, something screams in him, but his every action is mechanically precise—as he quirks his lips upwards towards the other man, roguish charm in the echo of his gesture. Priam Taravella has a reputation to uphold and God forbid he ever forget about those layers of masks weighing upon him like Atlas’ skies.

(Sometimes, he’s frightened by his own capacity for all of this. It comes easily, now, like habit. Other times, he gazes at himself in the mirror and tells himself something like i built myself from the ground up and this is the result of my pride. It’s a delicate balance between irony and smug self-satisfaction.)

Despite the annoyance he holds for clingy lovers—simply the fact that he has had to answer tedious questions in the morning annoys him—his lovely features light up into that charismatic feeling of promise.

(When he’s feeling particularly ironic, he calls it smile number thirty-five where the corners of his lips are tilted at a precise angle of 68 degrees, teeth showing ever-so-slightly and eyes softening. It imbues a feeling of earnestness, as can be seen from all the times he’s practiced in front of the mirror when he was younger.)

“You must be tired,” and there’s that artificial flare of heat that seeps through his gaze as he, seemingly reluctantly, drags his attention from the lines of the other man’s body after lingering upon where the drape of the sheets hid the contours of the man’s lower abdomen. He flicks his glance away after precisely three heartbeats of time, knowing that this gesture was sufficient enough to allay all concerns. “Rest.” He stands. There’s a brief bit of pause when he catches a glimpse of his reflection in a nearby mirror—sometimes he thinks that the day when he can’t even recognize himself is near—though the movement seems more like it’s a hesitation to leave. “I’ll see you around,” lying through his teeth with a smile of no substance.

“Will I see you at your favorite place?” exhaled from behind him as his fingers linger at the nape of his collar. Inch by inch, he drags his sleeves up over the breadth of his forearms, folding them below his elbow with the tuck of a button.

“My favorite place?” echoed, though his motions never cease. He refrains from looking back at the other man, knowing that the microsecond of disdainful amusement would show in the curve of his mouth. “Yes, of course,” knowing, too, that favorite hardly means favored.

“The Hotel Emilia?” again, from behind him, and there’s a note of expectation that’s laden within the drowsy voice. Priam simply abhors the expectation that this man has of him and his gaze grows dark, though there’s a careful regard as to how the slope of his shoulders tenses; simply put, he doesn’t let himself do anything except to retain movement in the form of satiated grace.

“You caught me,” a deep timbre laced with fond laughter. The Hotel Emilia? A lie that he’d concocted once he saw the interested flicker of the other man’s lashes on the afternoon of the day before, sunlight streaming in from stained-glass windows and lingering upon handsome features. Something to arouse sensation; oh, the Taravella scion has a weary side, a human side, and wouldn’t onlookers feel honored for the ability to see that soft smile upon Priam’s face?

He knows very well that humans are more likely to worship perfect idols, but that growing close to people requires various imperfections. (He has those in spades.)

Priam slips on his gloves, flexing his fingers against the cool fabric, and takes long strides to the exit of the house. Once he’s graced by the dusk, gentle breezes tugging at dark curls and nipping lightly at his nose, a faint smile slants across his mouth before being obscured by a brighter grin of greeting—still as hollow as ever—towards the few who are still on the streets.

A woman wanders up to him, fingers digging into her pockets and ruby-red lips tilted into a sly grin. “Priam Taravella,” voice low and suggestive, “exiting a random house in the early morning. I wonder, is this something you do every day?” Her gaze flicks up and down, blatantly admiring the way his clothes fit to his body.

He snorts, a sort of glacial coldness readily receding from the shallow depths of his eyes at the interception, even though he gives into the indulgence of tapping his fingers against his thigh once in a subtle show of irritation. “It could be,” allowing a slow, flirtatious grin to cross his mouth, “Miss?”

“Not important,” airily waving her hand. She rocks back and forth on her heels, eyes bright as she peers at him. “What do you do every day, then, Taravella?” The mockery in her voice is evident, as is the almost-envious idolization in her gaze.

He feigns a glance at his watch and watches as the woman’s eyes lingers on his exposed wrist. A Patek Philippe, circa 1997, and as expected, she involuntarily sucks in a breath. Priam doesn’t allow his mouth to twist into an expression of indulgent disdain, but it’s a near thing. “I eat breakfast,” drawled dryly, “just as you do, I’d assume.”

A wry grin slips onto his features like something that belongs. “Then, I get to work. Afterwards, I might go for a drink or two, maybe to an opera or an art exhibition, and then I attempt to buy presents for my beloved fiancée.” He lowers his voice, lashes feathering across the slant of his eyes in an artful show of candor and loving laughter, as if the simple thought of Juliana was enough to bring him joy, “Between you and me, the only reason I’m not sleeping on the couch every night is because of this.”

“Do you buy her flowers?” eager curiosity.

He makes as if to reply, but then he places a finger to his mouth. “Some things are meant to be a secret,” tucking his hands into his pockets and nodding at her. “Have a good day.”

God, it’s like he tasted something sour. He’s barely crossed a street before his gaze flickers towards another hovering figure, watching as they attempt to watch him. It’s almost four in the morning and still he is besieged with flies from all sides. Best to get this over with.

Priam beckons, gentle laughter in his eyes. “You have a question for me?” low and soothing. They yelp, almost scurrying off, before they think better of it and sheepishly wander closer.

“Y-yeah,” a soft whisper. “I just- I, uh, I-”

He watches them patiently, even though faint exasperation is bubbling up from the depths of his chest. “Mm?” prompting them with a noise that slicks from the back of his throat, though the smile tilted upon his lips hardly budges.

“I-” They take a deep breath, as if steeling themselves, “I just- You know,” they twitch their fingers and Priam’s eyes narrow towards the motion before flickering towards the bulge underneath their coat, near the side of their waist. He makes some effort to relax his musculature even further into a state of apparent languidness. “The war,” blurted out as they fidget.

Oh. Such an ugly concept. “What about it?” Subtly, he directs them both towards a nearby alleyway, an easy grin donned upon his lips as he clasps their shoulder.

“I- I feel so useless, not being able to do anything,” absently fisting their hands, “do you think I should join? At least then I’d be able to play a part.”

“I honestly can’t profess any experience with the war,” a blatant lie, not even twitching though the word drags itself tastelessly from his tongue, “but I believe in my fiancée and in the inherent righteousness of my betrothed’s family.” Conviction is rife in his voice and in the shift of his gaze as he continues, “This will end, soon,” soothing the other—oh, there’s something in his eyes that unfurls like twin flames, something that gives credence to the lilt of his voice and the slant of his mouth—“and the winner will be in the right.”

“Until then,” gently placing a knuckle underneath their chin and tilting their gaze upwards, towards the looming silhouette of a grand church, “pray.”

Of course, he himself knows better than to pray to other gods.

headcanons:

ok so picture this: you take for granted that the smile slanted across daddy’s mouth is because you did well in school. you take for granted that mom’s words of adoration are because you’ve won some competition or the other. love’s something that isn’t yours to keep. and yeah, yeah of course he coulda’ been worse off. he coulda’ been begging in the streets or barely surviving or thrown into some sorta’ gimmick that he couldn’t have left, but there’s this. there’s this and then there’s those moments when he looks at the people who don’t wear crowns—he’s just a boy and this crown is too heavy for him to bear—and watches their fingers curl around their parents’ hands and watches their smiles—before he knows it, he’s learned how to curve his lips in the exact same way because wasn’t this called happiness?—and he wants.

took him years to realize that this wasn’t for him, but he’s still left wanting.

baby you know the closest you’ll ever get to god is in a cemetery and, oh, he’s visited many. at first, it was the death of a beloved pet. nowadays, it’s to somehow atone for all the sins he’s ever carried, ‘cos god knows he can’t go to a confessional. the dead, at least, tell no tales.

he totally brings back tons of presents for juliana and those he calls friends from his business trips 'nd stuff

okay okay okay hear me out; he’s totally got his fingers in all sorts of pies after leaving his family’s legacy behind. there was something in him that wanted recognition for himself, rather than for his name, and so he’s a fairly well known philanthropist and semi-political figure within the city. semi, as he doesn’t hold a specific position but he’s still rather visible. he also organizes fundraisers and galas and all those kindsa’ parties. whatever it takes for him to be known 'cos it’s something like yeah, i’m gonna’ take the highest position you know and force you to look at me without this goddamn legacy

prolly has a buncha’ hidey-holes. evil lairs. nah, but he does have places within the city where he can pretend, at least for the moment, that he’s just priam. just priam taravella ('cos yeah, even now his family’s name means something to him) on a rooftop and watching the stars. god knows if he didn’t have these places, he’d lose himself even faster

also a tsundere asshole. doesn’t act like it, usually, and it’s easy for him to smile and say stuff he doesn’t mean, but when he does mean something, something that’s either fuckign sappy or really heartfelt, it’d take a miracle for him to admit to it

twenty-three y/o dork, actually, despite all the airs he puts on. juliana knows.

v’ v’ v’ flirtatious. knows he’s pretty. knows how to use it.

DO NOT get into a drinking contest with this boi cos he will either get piss-drunk and say he’s not or you’ll get shitfaced drunk

prolly goes to the fighting ring ngl when he’s feeling too annoyed by the state of the world 'cos he’s still that same stubborn priam, jus dressed up prettier

is??? actually touch-starved like woah

tldr; doesn’t know how to be human 'cos no affection was given to him when he was younger and wow no wonder he’s kinda’ sorta’ feral but he’s learned how to put on masks THEREFORE aggravating the problem rather than solving it

priam aka mister 'ive got 99 problems but acting ain’t one of them’

#accepted: paris #accepted

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savefrog · 6 years ago

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im just gonna give my dangan ronpa v3 thoughts so far so we can laugh at them when they all fucking die SPOILERS UP TO: I’ve gotten to the first murder, haven’t started the trial yet. Only 1 dead.

my fave is gonta i fucking love gonta hes a buff baby bug boy and i love him. anyone who loves bugs is a gentleman in my eyes: 1000000 points

[sadly at this point things are not looking good for Gonta with the evidence I have (an open door that can only fit a ball through....and a shotput ball murder weapon.) but knowing dangan ronpa this HAS TO BE A RED HERRING RIGHT. RIGTH????]

keebo is also fantastic, absolutely wonderful robot, and im really sorry i offended him by mentioning roombas or something last month: 1000 points

I also really love Angie. She’s adorable but also i like the weird route they went for an Ultimate Artist. being one of those fuckign FanganRonpa RP people, whenever someone does a SHSL artist its like....art. but they were just like “nah she’s gonna be into that religion from Cats Cradle or some shit”: 100 points

Kaito is great. i mostly just call him purple larry buttz. he’s hoenstly the only one here acting like a normal human being. Hope he doesn’t die (he probably will) 99 points

Ryoma is also great. I screamed when I heard his voice. He killed a man with tennis. He speaks serious truths. I hope he redeems the small cartoon guys with goofy eyes genre that Teruteru wrecked havoc in. 199 points

Korekiyo and Kokichi sure are gonna be THOSE characters, huh. the thing i really enjoy THOSE characters because they’re such wild cards. wtf are they gonna do. they’re suspicious and wanna see the world burn but that’s what makes these games fun and they’re probably not gonna kill/die til late game or at least one of them won’t. My bets on Kokichi lasting longer. 180 points to split between them

RIP RANTARO. I really liked him but I was honestly so bewildered and confused by him the whole time that i didnt know what to think. FOR CHRIST SAKE his profile has “Likes: Extraterritorial Rights” WHAT THE FUCK. My biggest regret is thinking “Oh they won’t kill off the Ultimate ??? right away so I won’t hang out with him yet”. sigh. 95 points???

Kaede is a cute protag. She’s got a bit more quirkly-dangan flavor than Naegi and Hajime even though I love both of them (actually having a talent can help with that...though I kinda miss Hajime’s snark). Also I like how they show her motivational speeches working....and then slowly falling apart as everything goes to hell. 88 points

Shuichi is also cute. give this boy some self confidence 85 points + 5 more to give him some self confidence something bad’s definitely gonna happen to one of these lil friends

Himiko’s existence sends me into a crisis. how does magic work in dangan ronpa. its not established, does it even exist???? i feel like we’re not supposed to know, and that’s the entire sick joke. For gundam we knew he was probably full of BS but... also the personality they chose for her adds to the audience frustration that we will just NEVER KNOW how magic works, but...idk i’m not digging it yet. maybe im just extra wary of character made to look really young bc of the creeps :/ :/ 60 points

Kirumi. I feel there’s no way a maid character won’t be a total badass. So far im just concerned for her health. 75 points but with great point investment potential

Maki well she’s not what i expected. also her title is a fucking mouthful. she could’ve been Ultimate Nanny. or Ultimate Babysitter. Ultimate Guardian even? but that’s dangan ronpa i suppose. She’s intriguing, just haven’t seen enough of her yet. I smell tragic backstory. 70 points

Tsumigi ah finally. a cosplayer. I like her so far. yup. 88 points

Tenko. Well. yeah. mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm yeah really not liking her. Like i can laugh at myself being a “””tumblr sjw””” and all, and laugh at the “degenerate male jokes”; and i wont even go into the feminist and lesbian jokes. but. can she not harass Himiko; like they just gotta have a creep character. its been a while since i played the intros, so maybe it wasn’t as bad as I vaguely remember....but i remember it just not sitting right with me. But idk in the end I still kinda liked Teruteru and Souda in SDR2 despite them bein creeps for various reasons so maybe i can still turn around on Tenko if she isn’t just the same flat joke every time i see her. 5 points but potentially redeemable?

And finally we have Miu. At first i was very afraid seeing as she’s WEARING LITERAL BONDAGE GEAR and seems to be our main dirty joke character. But I’ve warmed up to her. She’s clearly one of the more useful characters but the fact she’s so fuckign hard to deal with was interesting. Also certain interactions with her have been intriguing, there’s clearly something goin on with her. I’m still conflicted but I’ve decided I want to like her and I hope the writing keeps helping me out with that. 77 points (lucky numbers!!)

#drblogging #long post

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potatoesandsunshine · 4 years ago

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me? make a really long write up summarizing our dnd game tonight? yes. under the cut because this is long but writing it out now will help me make sense of my notes for next week :)

ok for those of you who didn’t read my last long rambling post about my new paladin, her name is beatrice (bee) and she’s a vengeance paladin without a god and with a burning rage in her heart that will not die anyway anyway we just finished playing

we were down in The Tunnels, we (bee and roswell, purple half-orc fighter, my bro, later this game found out he’s big into honey in his tea) met up with jaquey (hot pink tiefling swashbuckler, later this game found out she’s an amnesiac) and eventually found all the missing people from the town

we were making our way towards a source of dim light when!!! a monster!! made of the bodies of people who lived at the creepy estate (who we recognized because we’d seen a big family portrait, the daughter said they were just “away visiting relatives” ok..... so that was a fucking lie) found us. very scary. you know what was scarier? the way it was immune to non-magical attacks and we had my two smites between all three of us to do any damage. i was able to use my fighting style (protection) to make sure roswell didn’t take a hit, but i was subsequently hit with one blow for 14 of my 29 total hp. big ouch.

so then we started running, jaquey first bc of her initiative (this will have Narrative Weight later) and fast bc she’s a rogue, roswell but he took a disengage action so only got 30 feet, and me who decided to dash. lucky for me opportunity attack missed bc i was at 15.

tried to stop it w/ abjure enemy, that did not work, so it was right on our heels. caught up with roswell first and my dm rolled a 19 on the first attack and a nat20 on the second... oh my god and he was 30 feet back so we couldn’t do anything. so roswell went down. important to note that none of us remembered relentless endurance exists so he was like, dying. failed his death save too because it was his turn next and he got a 7 including bless... roswell!!!

i’m 30 feet away doing a mental calculus because i will die if i go back there but my character would not abandon her friend when i got a healing word from the very exhausted low-level cleric that was with the missing people. so then i’m at 19 hp and i’m like well i am going back. so my plan is 1) get over there 2) get him back up 3) i guess get us back to the group? at this point jaquey’s figured out that the light was coming from a trapdoor in the ceiling and has started shooting at it with her pistol so we’re all kinda like “yeah, we need to get out”

step one accomplished easily, step two i give him 1 point from my healing pool because we’re gonna need my last seven. then we can’t do shit. but it was big code blue, bzzt, heartbeat again stuff. really cool :)

step three was a Problem, because then the monster punched me so hard in the head i did get knocked out right away. RIP bee. so roswell comes awake just in time to see me get just rekt and the attack on him misses. then he picks bee up and starts running both of us back to the group, where the cleric does a little cure wounds and brings me to 8

anyway jaquey gets out first, then bee makes it out and we all do strength checks to help get the npcs out before the monster definitely kills us all. everybody gets out but roswell. he’s down there with 1 hp. he’s gonna go down. the first attack misses but the second one hits and we’re all like no!!!!! but then he remembered relentless endurance!!! and it kicked in and i rolled a 22 strength to help him get up :) that’s my friend!!!

we get upstairs in a combo blood sacrifice/storage room and make some rice (tragically unseasoned but better than the raw rat the missing people had been having) and do a nice short rest, then we burst upstairs to get a surprise round on the daughter and just absolutely slice and dice this wizard lady. but after the surprise jaquey wanted some answers (this is when we find out she has no memory) and bee is like “if you do anything. look at me wizard. if you do anything i will kill u” and then of course the wizard escaped :( so bee was like wtf this sucks and left the room to brood

bee burns the portrait of the family, finds a scary painting behind it on the wood paneling and takes her sword to the wall then burns that too, she’s having a Day. we didn’t kill the monster and we didn’t kill the monster, it feels like a hollow (important!! that we saved those people!!) victory to her. also very temporary. then we had this great rp drinking tea roswell found in the kitchen where jaquey came downstairs like “so what are we doing next? :)”

and then bee said some cool shit that wasn’t exactly this but it was like “in the few hours i’ve known you, you ran away from a fight that killed us both, climbed out of the tunnels without reaching back for anyone (this part wasn’t all the way true but none of it really was she was angry), and let the evil woman escape. Would you consider us friends?” and then they had a back and forth that was like “no, but we have a bond now” and discussed their views on justice and bee was like “listen. i know it’s not your fault cynthia could teleport. but next time-” “next time? next time! there’s a next time!” “-we don’t stop to question the kidnapping experimenting wizard” so now they are grudging acquaintances who are adventuring together and bee is like maybe two hours from remembering that she likes jacquey and thinks she’s cool and that it seems like the world has been pretty unfair to her

basically it was everything i could want and discord mostly worked and now i spend like 20 min typing a post nobody asked for but the vibes were perfect :)

#anna plays dnd #sword with a broken crown

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evelyn-fenton-blog · 7 years ago

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Challenge four

Rp with @mallory-schreave

I paced back and forth as my phone rang again and again and again and again.

It just never fucking stopped. It was an email from Ashley, a text from Ashley, a missed call from Ashley, a voicemail from Ashley. All about one thing.

Where’s the new book.

I don’t know I don’t know. Everything left me nothing works. Brooks tried to help he failed, this selections been a bust, my life is too boring, Ashley wants something realistic. I don’t know!

I sighed as my hands shook and waited watching the clock and listening to the ringtone of my phone, the buzzing of my phone, the song of a notification, every little annoyance as I waited to be shoved in a frilly dress and put on display. The one friend I had left. I missed Maya.

It was nice to have someone here for me who wasn’t either interesting in my new book, an opponent, or someone I was supposed to be fucking.

Finally the time came.

The ball. I dressed different from normal. My maids wanted to see as a last desperate attempt if something sexy would catch Nates attention. They shoved me in a tight red cage and zipped me up the back. They curled my hair and tied it up into a tight bun, and made my eyes look smokey. I looked like the devils shit.

I didn’t feel like I could breathe. I waddled my way down to the ball and as soon as I got in looked for the drinks. Of course I was advised not to get completely hammered but my head was ringing, and my organs were being crushed. I needed liquid courage.

I drank maybe 4 glasses before deciding it was enough. Of course no one wanted to dance with me. Brooks was occupied with one of the selected, Nate couldn’t care less about me, I was only still here for my fame. I sighed and ate one last olive from my martini and decided it was time to head out. Hopefully I was drunk enough that I could peel off this slutty skin and just pass out.

I felt myself bump right into someone on my way out. At first I was going to apologize. But with my head ringing I identified the lady as Princess Mallory and felt no need to. She was a bitch anyways.

“What’re you doing here?! Move.” She yelled seeming like she was in such a hurry to leave. Me and you both sister. I rolled my eyes at her question and sighed.

“Um? I’m at the ball that I was invited to attend? But go on your merry way miss aggressive.” I then stepped aside and gestured for the new area for her to walk.

She huffed and rushed her way out of the room. For a moment I considered leaving all be. Going back to my room and sticking with my plan. Waiting to leave in the morning. But I couldn’t leave without a story, and a royal acting off like Mallory, there was a story there. So I followed her not so discreetly. I watched as she got all cozy with some strange man. He was a guard, much much older than her. Obviously dating her just for the benefit. He held her and was lustful towards her but physically didn’t seem to care for her well being.

She hugs him tightly, “I missed you!”

Maybe they have a father daughter relatio- oh no they’re kissing. Nevermind.

I hide around the corner and listen, peeking around every few moments.

“I missed you too.”

“I could only come out here for a few minutes, I’m sorry.”

“It’s whatever, Mal, I’ll meet you tonight.”

Mallory then giggled in giddy excitement. I heard them part ways and Mallory return. I knew she’d walk next to me but I didn’t care to run. I needed this book. If have to convince her to let me stay. I would need to make her think something. I’m not ready yet. I don’t know these terms. I don’t want to end up in jail for blackmail. Okay okay, make nothing set in stone now then. Just all theoretical.

Once she sees me her eyes widen, “What are you doing here?” She hisses.

“I don’t know. I think the more important question is what are you doing here? Though I already know the answer to that. Don’t worry I won’t tell, miss pissy.”

“Excuse me?”

“No excuse you, check your behavior and I won’t be as merciful with your secret. I’m sure though I’ll find something later much more satisfactory to get you to do for me than just behave. Since after all I assume you don’t want your family to know you’re dating a gold digging grandpa.”

Her face flushed with anger, “You can’t do that!”

“Why not?”

“I am the princess!” hah. Like there’s only one.

“Doesn’t matter to me. You have something I could use, so I need to keep it incase I want to use it. So be on your best behavior or I will go straight ahead to all of the newspapers I can find and tell them the globally acclaimed author has found her new inspiration in a scandal in the royal family, then I’ll out you at dinner before you can say anything in front of everyone. Isn’t that fun? No, right. So behave yourself and wait for me to decide what I want from you.” She didn’t seem to have a response for that so I smiled and pat her head. Like a small puppy.

“Wonderful, have a wonderful rest of your night, Mal.” I smiled and turned to leave, the ruse was up.

I couldn’t keep up this cold behavior any longer. Everything was piling up, the drinks, the blackmail, the book, the friendless, loveless me.

I walked to the garden, my throat closing tightly as my chest grew tighter and tighter until I finally made it outside. I ran to a bench and sat on the found by the garden, resting my forehead against the cold cement of the bench and hiding my crying face with my arms.

I soon felt a tap on the back of my shoulder.

“Are you okay, miss?” A tall man in a black suit asked.

I turned around and replied a little harsher than intended, “I’m just peachy.”

I then tried to stand up but felt my ankle collapse in my heel knocking my back over, the stranger trying to help me stay stable and sit on the bench.

“Hey, I know you. You’re that author selected.” He commented.

I took his drink from him and drank the whole thing in one gulp, then tossed the glass down not caring if it were actual glass or plastic. “The one and only. Evelyn Fenton.”

“James Radcliffe.”

“…..”

“….”

“…Sorry, I don’t normally try to startle women alone at night, it was just that I heard you crying.”

“Yes I was crying. Now I’m not.”

“…..”

“Sorry, I’m not normally so defensive. I’ve just had a rough day.” I sighed and leaned back on the bench.

“Want to talk about it?” He asked. I thought for a moment about shoving him. My drunk in me was talking though. It’s not like I could just run away. It’s not the most horrible situation to be in either. Outside in a garden on the night of a ball, with a handsomely dressed handsome young man.

“Well, as you know I’m a writer. I’ve spent my whole life trying to make a meaning to my life. I spent my childhood working on volunteer projects, as an early teen I tried to donate and help charity. Later and now I’ve had my books. I write about strength in love, and I write about things and people that inspire me. But nothing here has done it for me. Well at least not until about an hour ago. But I hadn’t told my editor about any new ideas and she was started to push this formulaic writing system money making authors use. When you don’t care about the quality, you don’t care about the message, you just want the money. And I don’t want to do that. But she just kept pushing it and pushing it and it made me almost rip my hair out.”

“so…work problems?”

I laughed a bit at his simple way of putting it, “Yes, work problems. Now that we’re in a conversation I may as well ask. How was your day?”

He thought for a moment. “Well if I had to pick a word for it I would pick spontaneous. I decided last minute to come here with my father on a business meeting, then I decided last minute to go to this ball. And then I almost didn’t come to talk with you. I’ve been very out of my habitat lately.”

“What kind of business does your father do?” I asked.

“He’s one of the royal advisors.”

“Oh…..well, why did you almost skip on the ball?”

He sighed, “I was hoping you wouldn’t ask. Well, to put it simply in a hopeless romantic. The idea of going to a ball full of women who are competing for a man’s heart just seemed like a bad place for a tragically attractive man like myself to be in.”

I giggled and spotted closer to him, looking up at his frosty blue eyes. “And why is that?” I asked.

He looked down into my brown eyes and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.

“Because, us attractive men, and women, we think the idea of treason is attractive.” He whispered back to me.

Within only thirty minutes of knowing each other lips where on lips. It was dangerous, we could be caught. Just like Mallory. I wouldn’t even have anything to offer if we were caught like she. But I couldn’t stop. The heat of his lips on mine kept tugging me in more and more until finally he pulled away.

“Sorry, now I don’t deny our unbelievable chemistry, Miss Evelyn Fenton. But I believe you have had enough to drink for it to not be entirely ethical for me to do anything else now but offer to take you to your room.” He said with a smile. His hand still gently on my shoulder.

I blushed and looked down to my hands in my lap. “Of course. I’d be honored if you could help me not get lost on my way to my room.” I replied letting the form dork in me slip out.

He stood, we linked arms and we walked. We didn’t say much as we walked. But I didn’t feel either of us were bothered by the silence. It was a nice quiet. A restful quiet. A quiet I needed.

The next morning I awoke happily, I had a book idea in the works, a skip in my step, and the phone number of Mr. Radcliffe under my pillow.

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victoria-seaberg-blog · 7 years ago

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C3 - a talk with a royal

The spoiled brat and the heartless bitch

[Warning: cursing. I’m so sorry if this is shitty and short. Thanks so much Grace @mallory-schreave for the rp!!! Once again ignore typos and mistakes! All credits to Grace for the proposal idea!!]

Dear Vic,

You’re probably still mad at me and I don’t blame you, but please let me explain. Don’t crumble or destroy this letter until you’ve read it all…

That day. That date. I have never regretted anything more in my life. I was going to propose to you that day, asking you to marry me. Days before I had asked your parents for your hand and they said yes. I was over the moon. Until Philip approached me, he had overheard my plan and he convinced me what amazing publicity it would be for your show if the paparazzi were there to document it. I know you wouldn’t have wanted it, but Philip… You know how intimidating he can be. I’m truly sorry.

I still love you.

- Derek.

Stupid Derek and his stupid letter. Why couldn’t he just leave me alone. Fucking hell.

I rush out of my room, needing some fresh air. I can’t deal with the thought of the other girls breathing down my neck in the Women’s room right now. Let alone their endless blabbering about the most useless topics. Yuck.

The pool. Of course! I had been there a few times before, both with and without Aada, but there was never anyone there. Perfect.

I take a deep breath as I walk through the palace doors. Good there’s no one outside except for some guards.

After a little walk and some big breaths, I arrive at the pool. I let my eye scan the area. No one in the water. But there is someone on one of the sun beds. Is there seriously no place to be alone in this entire palace?

A lot of curse words fly around in my head and I immediately try to think of a plan to chase the other person away. But then I realize who the other person is, the Princess.

Geez, fuck. I sigh out of pure annoyance.

“Oh hello Princess Mallory.” Perhaps she will go away as soon as I get there. Stories about her say that she is not the biggest fan of the selected.

She lowers her sunglasses and looks at me. “Can I help you?”

Yes by disappearing, is what I want to say. “Oh don’t worry, I don’t need your help.” I put my stuff next to another sun bed and sit down. I’m still hoping she will get up and leave but apparently today is not my lucky day.

Princess Mallory smirks and looks over to me, “bad day?” The amusement is visible on her face.

I fight the urge to roll my eyes, “a little.” I sigh, “but nothing the sun can’t make better. What about yourself, how’s your day going?” If she is not leaving, then maybe she can distract me from Derek and his stupid letter. The anger boils inside me again, my nails dig into my hand palm.

“Tragically boring. Everyone is busy preparing for the Christmas Ball in a few weeks.” Obviously this is the end of the world.

“That is annoying, yes.” I try not to sound too sarcastic. “Are you excited for the Ball?”

I can’t tell if she’s sarcastic or sincere. “Beyond. Dressing up, dancing, guards, sneaking drinks, and watching people make fools of themselves. What’s not to like?”

“The best part will have to be watching people make fools of themselves, if you ask me.” Some girls are honestly too desperate. I take a sip of my water.

“Who’re you excited to see fall?”

Oh easy question, “Stephanie,” I think for a moment, going over the names of the other girls, “and Venus.”

She laughs, something I didn’t expect, like at all. “Me too, me too.”

Perhaps Princess Mallory is more like me than I first thought.

“What’s your name?”

Are you fucking kidding me? Be nice, Vic, be nice. “I’m Victoria, nice to meet you.”

An extended hand is what I get in return, “nice to meet you too.” I shake her hand, quite surprised that she doesn’t hate me.

“Why’re you out here without the other wannabes?”

I sigh at the thought of the other girls, “because the others are so pretentious, they suck the life right out of me.”

The Princess adjusts her sunglasses with her perfectly manicured hands. “Relatable. All they want to do is get on my family’s good side, hoping it’ll increase their minuscule chances of fortune and fame.”

I roll my eyes, “it’s pathetic not going to lie. Some girls are just all fake.”

“/Some/. Try most of the ones here.”

“True. Which one is the least real in your opinion? ” I’m rather curious to find out her answer.

“Stephanie, probably. That girl acts all sweet, but just watch, she’s got crazy eyes.”

“I wholeheartedly agree.” I smile, “I’m glad I’m not the only one who thinks that.” Stephanie is by far the selected I hate the most.

“Y’know, you’re not that bad.”

That comes as a surprise. Did I just get the approval of Princess Mallory? “Oh thank you. You’re not that bad either.”

“That bad? I’m the best.” She leans back in her chair and crosses her legs, “Illéa’s sweetheart.”

“I thought your brother was Illéa’s sweetheart. I’d say you’re more like Illéa’s fashion icon.” I’m not even trying to sweet-talk her, it’s the truth. The girl has the best fashion style of the entire country. I can’t deny that.

She laughs, “Illéa’s spoiled brat.”

“Yuck,” I shake my head, “that’s not a nice title. Everyone’s just jealous.” I have plenty of titles, but the one that always resurfaces is the heartless bitch one. It all started that day I locked Derek on the yacht.

The Princess sits right up and turns towards me, “I know! People these days, am I right?”

Are. We. Bonding? “Exactly! It seems as if they can’t except someone else’s fortunes, because they want it for themselves. What happened to wanting someone else to be happy?”

She pauses and leans back, “true…”

Now it’s my turn to turn to her, “something wrong?”

“It’s an interesting thought- to be happy for others.”

“True.” I sigh once again. “The most important thing is to be happy for yourself though, ignore the others. There will be haters nonetheless.” What am I? A book of wisdom?

“Right again. Remind me again why a smart girl like you is here in this stupid competition?”

“I don’t even know myself, I’m looking for love I guess.” I’ve never admitted that to anyone. The Princess better keep her mouth shut. But for some weird reason I trust her.

Love. I thought I had found it, but then my heart got ripped out. Stupid Derek and his stupid words. What on earth was I going to do about him?

“Think you’ll find it?”

“Who knows? Some girls are willing to do anything so your family will like them.” I take another sip of my water. “Throwing myself at your family and kissing your feet is not really my thing.” I shiver at the idea alone. the extents some of these girls go to, yuck. Don’t they have any self-respect?

“Good, keep it that way. It’s pitiful.” Wise words from the fashionable Princess.

We talk some more about love after that and I make it very clear to Mallory to avoid everyone with the name Derek. Maybe I should listen to my own advice. Would a restraining order help? I gather my stuff and leave the Princess in her lounge chair. Who on earth would have thought us two would get along? It is far more likely that we would be enemies. But no, we were now on neutral ground and a friendship could blossom from this.

I open my room door and see the letter on the desk. I quickly pick it up and burry it under some sports clothes in my closet. I don’t know what to do with this situation just yet. But I do know that I need some time to think.

#challenge three #victoria ryllie seaberg

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theholycovenantrpg · 4 years ago

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CONGRATULATIONS, ALYX! YOU’VE BEEN ACCEPTED FOR THE ROLE OF ARAEL.

Admin Rosey: Oh god, I think Arael was one of the characters that caught me by surprise. But the absolutely mastery of this application, did not at all surprise me because only Arael could - and should - be so effortlessly captured within the span of a single application. Tragedy, as you said Alyx, is woven into Arael’s bones and the fact that they recognize it and are so unbroken by it in their countenance says absolutely everything to me. The plots that you have lined up only feed into that tragedy more and I, for one, am absolutely here for it. I think that Arael is ripe for evolving and I completely trust this beautiful starlit character in your capable and loving hands. 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 | Alyx

Age | Taylor Swift vc: Idk about you, but I’m feeling 22!

Personal Pronouns | She/Her.

Activity Level | hopefully pretty active? I have work and classes but I’m taking less hours and my internship is done so I’m hoping I have more time to be on the dash.

Timezone | CST.

Triggers | REMOVED

How did you find the group? | I saw plenty of ads for it on my personal.

IN CHARACTER

Character |

Arael: “Lion of God”; She couldn’t remember her original name. Her memories of the cold abyss of the galaxy came to her in bits and pieces that she latched onto as one would latch onto an extended hand. She could remember that feeling of peace within her falling star. She could remember that acceptance as her annihilation came nearer. She could remember the rage and melancholy that took over her being as she opened her eyes and examined the wings that protruded from her back and the knowledge that her destiny was ripped away from her. The name Arael was a reminder of that original loss. She was never supposed to be a lion of god. She was never supposed to be an angel stuck on Earth. God had claimed her for himself. He claimed her to be a lion, and all she could do was set her icy gaze on her surroundings and roar until her voice grew hoarse and the burning in her chest faded away.

What drew you to this character? |

To be honest, I lurked on the admins’ blogs as the RP was originally being promoted. I tend to search for characters I like by quotes and images posted to their tag, and there was one quote on Arael’s tag that caught my attention. I don’t remember what exactly it said, but I knew it meant Arael was a character I needed to keep my eye on.

I love characters with tragedy built into their bones. There’s something so compelling about a character going through hardships and how they react to those hardships. Arael’s power alone showed me that she was a tragic character. To be able to hold everyone’s hope in your hand aside from your own? It seemed like a twisted gift from fate. As I read more, I realized that she was a creature of tragedy. She was pulled from the night sky against her own will. She was made into god’s image without her consent, and forced to endure the knowledge that she had lost her home and her destiny. She stared at the night sky, but she was never truly able to go back to her original home.

I like playing around with grief and how it impacts a character. I like seeing if they drown in their feelings, or if they rise above the grief and move forward with their lives. I think Arael is drowning in her grief. She’s stuck in this tunnel of rage and revenge that will consume her if she’s not careful. She’s blinded by this need, and I find that incredibly interesting to explore. Will she burn out? Will she start a war between the three parties? We’ll have to see.

Her story also kind of reminded me of Buffy Summers from Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Not in a direct way, but there was a storyline where Buffy died and her friends brought her back from heaven and Buffy talked about being in peace before they brought her back. Arael being torn from her fate and made into an angel reminds me of that. The melancholy and grief they both felt from being ripped away from their rightful place. The way everyone notices that mourning. It gave me parallels.

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

“Why are you full of anger? Because you are full of grief.”

→ She was happy. For so long, Arael didn’t know what that feeling entailed. She had looked upon her existence as a punishment. She stared at the realm of heaven and only saw a jail cell. Her body was crafted by god, yet all she felt was unfamiliar in her own skin. Uriel had changed that. She had brought a smile to the otherwise stoic angel’s face. She was warmth wrapping itself around Arael’s cold heart. She was that flicker of hope that Arael felt in other people. She was hers, and someone had ripped that away from her. As she stared into her lover’s empty gaze, all she could think about was doing the same to whoever had killed her. She will rip the world apart if that’s what it took to satisfy the grieving of her heart. The only question will be: who will be spared in the end?

A big part of Arael is her dealing with that loss of her lover and that need for vengeance. I definitely want to explore her seeking out the answers to the murder. I want to see her dragging suspects to be interrogated in the hope that one day the right person will tell her what she wants to know. I want her to endanger innocent lives in her quest for justice. I want her to be so consumed with rage and grief that either herself or others get harmed in the process. She is a star on a collision path, and I want her to burn and burn out during this journey. Most of all, I want her to find the person who did it. I want her to find them, and I want her to kill them. It's the only way for her to be satisfied. It’s the only way for her to put her grief behind her and search for that glimpse of hope again

“You turn the pain into power.”

→ To some, her powers seemed like a blessing. To be able to hold onto someone’s greatest hope was to understand what truly made someone feel at ease. It was the way their eyes sparkled whenever their favorite person walked in a room. It was the passion that would surge through an individual during that last battle of a war. It was a glimpse behind the mask that people often wore, and Arael held all that at her fingertips. To her, this power was another way fate mocked her. She could feel what people’s greatest hopes were. She could fill them up with so much hope that they would be blinded by that desire. She could do so much for other people, but it would never be done for her. She couldn’t fill herself up with that hope. She couldn’t understand that blinding urge that she gave out. What does one do with a gift that serves to remind someone of the very thing they’re lacking?

I want to explore the depths of her power. I think that there’s more to be discovered with her abilities, and I want her to discover exactly what she can do with her gift of hope. I want her to see if her power could be used in the opposite direction. Could she drain someone of their hope? Could she blind someone with utter hopelessness to the point that they see nothing but their dreams slipping from their grasp? I think it would be a dangerous discovery if it were possible. I would also like to see a situation where her gift is irreversible— whether it be gifting hope or taking it away. Perhaps anger clouds her abilities and she over exerts her gift. Perhaps she’s trying to find an ounce of her own hope by filling someone up with so much hope that they become a shell of their former self. I want to push her powers to its limits, and I want Arael to see what sort of consequences are dealt from that discovery.

“You allow your anger to blind you.”

→ Arael’s been in a fragile state since the death of Uriel. To feel the small hint of hope get ripped out of her hands by an unknown assailant left her in a state of brokenness. She’s blinded by this ideal that she’ll be satisfied with vengeance. She has it built up in her mind that the death of this assailant will bring her the peace that she almost had with Uriel—- the same peace that was ripped away from her by god. What do others feel about this mentality? Do they find it foolish? Do they understand her mentality? Or perhaps they see an opportunity hidden behind those aching eyes?

I want to explore the concept of manipulation with Arael. I’m usually not fond of manipulation plots, but I feel like Arael’s in such a vulnerable state right now that it might be possible. I want someone to see that anger and despair. I want someone to see this utterly terrifying, broken angel and use it to their advantage. She’s the perfect weapon if used correctly. Her tunnel vision for revenge could easily be directed towards someone’s enemy if they whispered the right words to her. She could start a war if the correct side twisted her enough. I want to see her revenge used for someone’s personal plans. Maybe she kills an innocent person because she was led to believe they were present during her lovers death. Maybe she drags an innocent victim to Abaddon because she was led to believe they had valuable information. I want to see that manipulation, and I want to see the fallout of it.

“You reach for a soul that forever escapes your grasp.”

→ Arael loved Uriel, or at least it was the closest she ever got to love. The angel had gifted her a slice of hope that she had lacked since her creation, and Arael has been seeking a semblance of that hope since her departure. She feels lost, like she was back to her first years as a star-turned-angel, and she hates that feeling. She hates the emptiness that fills her heart as she watches the mortals her companion once adored. She hates the way she feels so distant from the other angels. Most of all, she hates that their love story ended so abruptly. She misses her with every fiber of her being. One often wonders what they would have their final words be to a loved one, but what if she could have that do over? What if she could catch a glimpse of her again?

I want her to approach Ryuk about contacting her dead lover’s soul. I think there’s a variety of reasons why she would want to talk to Uriel again. I think the most basic one would be that she wants to see her again—- even if it’s only through Ryuk’s words. This was the one person that broke her out of her shell and showed her that the world was worth more than mourning. The most plot related reason would be that she can ask her what her last memory was. Arael has exhausted her options when It comes to possible suspects, so perhaps Uriel could remember who was around during her death or who even caused her to perish. I also like the thought of Uriel advising her against this revenge quest, and Arael refusing to listen. She doesn’t realize that this isn’t what her lover would’ve wanted. She doesn’t realize that she’s doing more harm than good. It’s overall a more personal plot, but it’s good development for her and helps lead to either her collapse or her breakdown at realizing what she’s becoming.

“Anger was better than tears.”

→ Mortals were the envy of God’s creations. Angels were tasked with protecting them like a dragon protects its treasures. They razed cities, enacted miracles, all for the species that found favor in God’s eyes. Arael was never a mortal. She never understood the significance of their kind. She had no attachments to the beings aside from those tasks formerly given to her. She didn’t care for them like Caphriel did. She didn’t despise them as others might. Her feelings towards them might be classified as indifference. However, the stance changed after the death of Uriel. Eyes that might have had a glimpse of care for the beings shifted into anger at the thought of one of them murdering her beloved. Eyes that casually looked over the beings stuck to watching them with careful eyes. One human in particular has gotten caught within her storm. The question is: will she shatter the tentative peace that held the world together? Perhaps a bigger question is: will she have any regrets if she does?

Personally, I find the thought of Arael killing Bastien quite sexy. This would be completely up to the Bastien player, but even if it didn’t go that far, I still love the connection. I like the thought of Arael breaking that peace between the three factions. She sees Bastien as this arrogant fool, and she’s bothered by his position of power. How does her Uriel, gentle and kind, die while men like him thrive? It frustrates her. I’d like to see her knock him from his place at the table. Whether this be done through violence or jeopardising his spot amongst the ten would be up to the Bastien player and what they feel comfortable with, but I can work with either one. Arael’s desperate for some sort of vengeance. I think the more she struggles to find the one who killed Uriel, the one she’ll lean into these desires to destroy someone else, and Bastien is the unfortunate victim of her wrathful gaze.

“You’re a being of isolation.”

→ She is the only one of her kind. No one else knows what it’s like to live amongst the stars. No one else knows what it’s like to be plucked from the night sky and recreated in someone else’s image. No one knows the loneliness that comes with such a fate. The other angels are her brethren, her allies, but they don’t relate to her on that level. She’s a solitary creature, a lone star stuck wandering the earth, and it’s a painful existence. Will she ever figure out that some stars lay in clusters? Will she ever realize that she has the opportunity to shed that loneliness? It’s hard to say. It’s hard to pull herself out of the isolation that she chose from the start.

I want to explore her dynamic with the other angels. I think Arael struggles with connecting to them due to her origins. She doesn’t have that connection of being formed from the Earth or reborn as an angel. She’s different from the others, and that caused her to separate herself. I want to see how they take her quest of revenge. Surely some of them were close with Uriel, maybe even close with Arael, so perhaps they would support the mission. On the other hand, I’d love to see that disapproval. I want to see them trying to temper her anger only to be met with an icy glare. I’d love to see someone try to talk her down from her grief. She’s blinded by this mentality of an eye for an eye, but she doesn’t realize how that affects her fellow angels. I want them to show her how it affects them. Let them get caught in the crossfires of her vengeance. Let them struggle to pull her away from the brink. I think the angels quietly realizing that this fallen angel, this hollowed soul, might do some real damage would be delicious to watch.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Absolutely!

IN DEPTH

Driving Character Motivation |

They say the story of Arael is a tragic one. She was a burning star plucked from the sky and formed into god's image. She was placed among the angels, meant to stand holy and divine alongside her new brethren, yet she found herself standing alone. This angels story isn’t built on blessings. Her story isn’t a fairytale told to the young mortals in an attempt to sooth them to sleep. No, her tale is built on loss, and that’s what motivates her throughout her journey.

Her original loss is the loss of her original destiny. She was stripped of her purpose, ripped away from her original form and forced into a foreign body. She stared at her reflection and a stranger peered back at her. She examined her wings and only saw the fragments of her former self embedded within her feathers. She destroyed cities on God’s behalf, and yet all she could feel was a hollowness in her chest. Loss was her mentality within this point. That acknowledgment of what she’s become and how to endure that was her guiding factor in her initial years of life as an immortal being.

The next stage of loss was the loss of her hopelessness. Uriel had dragged her away from that hole she tucked herself in. The fellow angel opened her eyes to the possibilities of life, and for the first time, Arael’s world wasn’t a bleak landscape. She had color in her vision. She had a slight light in her eyes. Her smile wasn’t forced. She was learning what it was like to look at life as an adventure rather than a chain wrapped around her ankle. This stage of loss was a good thing. It was a stage of growth for the distant angel. She lost that depression that overcame her during her early years. She lost that emptiness that had wrapped itself around her like a blanket.

This latest stage of loss is the cruelest of them all. This burning star, this cold-eyed angel was finally learning the most human of experiences: death. She felt that small sliver of hope rip away from her as she held Uriel’s prone form in her arms. Her body shook with anger as she realized she was once again alone. Her motivation stems from the impact of that loss and the grief that nestled inside her heart. She’s driven to revenge. Her eyes are blinded by the need to punish the person that ripped that hope from her. A part of her knows this is a dangerous path. She knows what happens to stars that burn too brightly. Yet, the loss keeps her locked in its grasp. If she is to burn out, if she is to be destroyed, let it be with the knowledge that she has conquered the loss that has been trailing after her for years.

In-Character Para Sample |

“I brought another one.”

The history behind her statement was not lost on her. Each week she’d latch onto a lead. Each week she’d drag them into the heart of the black cells. Each week she’d watch Abaddon pull out any sort of answers they might have buried in their chest. Each week she’d feel the bitterness of disappointment settle on her tongue as she realized she reached another dead end. It ended the same every time. It couldn’t end the same way this time.

Her eyes traced over the features of her latest endeavor. His porcelain skin and almost white hair reminded her of Uriel, but the resemblance wouldn’t help him out of his fate. She had plucked him out of the crowd in hopes that he had any recollection of that fateful night. With each individual, She wanted a direction. She felt herself grasping at ghosts as the figures from her memory dwindled, and this feeling of loss was becoming all too familiar.

She released her hold on the boy and watched him try to scramble his way out of the cells. Mortals always seemed to have that reaction. Their fight or flight kicked in, trying to make sense of the location they were forced into, before finally realizing the fight was for nothing. They will leave once she gets the answers she’s seeking.

And yet, the boy wasn’t providing those answers. She watched him endure the torture despite the pain it brought him. She watched him fighting back tears, denying pain until it couldn’t be denied anymore, and yet still the answers remained behind clenched teeth.

“Again.”

Her voice was strong as she stared at the bleeding, frightened human before her. She refused to accept that she had reached another dead end. She clung to her quest with sharp claws, and she refused to release her grip for even a second. She was a vengeful angel, a flame with no mercy in sight, and all would endure the burning until she felt satisfied.

Her eyes flicked upwards to meet Abaddon’s, but she didn’t turn away. She didn’t care if the demon saw the hurt in her eyes or the flash of desperation that would spill out every time a mortal came to her with no answers. Maybe the demon had the same look when they got tossed out of god’s favor. Arael didn’t ask. Their relationship wasn’t built on sharing stories or reminiscing over almost forgotten memories. Their relationship was a mutual understanding--- a knife and the being that wields the instrument.

“Do it again until I say otherwise.” Do it again until I can hold any sort of answers in my hand. Do it again until the ache in my chest disappears for a second.

Arael watched the mortal flinch at Abaddon’s nod with cold, unfazed eyes. The scream that erupted from the boy’s mouth would make others grieve, but it only reminded her of the hollowness inside of her. She felt nothing as she watched the pain on his face. She felt only her own rage trying to crawl out of her chest. Perhaps this is what it meant to be a star. Perhaps this was her destiny all along---- to burn from the inside out until nothing but a hollow shell remained.

And perhaps she’ll succumb to her destiny, but only after the grieving in her heart is satisfied. She’ll burn up, but she’ll bring the person responsible for her demise with her.

Extras |

Inspo tag: https://elidclochan.tumblr.com/tagged/insp%3A-arael

Pinterest board: https://www.pinterest.com/aesthctics/insp-arael/

#accepted #accepted: arael

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pilawforhire-archived · 7 years ago

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A Toilet Meeting for @thatchtheawesomecook (can’t seem to tag you, sorry about that) for @op-rp Fall Fest

Which would you rather? Run out of toilet paper or be haunted while you poo? Unluckily for Thatch and Law, they get a two-in-one package one particular evening. (silly attempt at horror/comedy; read more for length)

It happens to the strongest of men: a rebellion of the guts arising from disagreements with food consumed hours ago. The gut could win the award for the pettiest, fussiest organ in all of the human body. A single morsel of a particular ingredient it disliked could piss it off greatly and instigate an all-out war. At that very moment, pale-faced with a grimace, Law hunched over and clutched his stomach as an army of ant soldiers stabbed their swords in rapid succession from the insides of his gut.

The pain was a harsh reminder that his gluttony was an excruciating mistake. He had gorged and thus he would pay. It was typically unlike Law to overindulge in food. However, there had been something of an addictive quality in the festival food that before he realised how much he had eaten, he had polished off plate after plate. An hour later, he could barely stand. His sword was reduced to a walking stick. With no medication on his person, his only best solution was to locate the toilet and brave it like a man. So he did.

Law asked a woman dressed in a bloody costume for directions. He could find the toilet himself but did not have time to waste. In his pain and suffering, Law failed to notice that the woman’s feet hovered inches above the ground. Nevertheless, her directions led him deep into the forest. Just as Law worried that he had been pranked, he sighted a white building prominent among the tall and thin trees. While a toilet in the middle of the woods seemed a little uncanny and ought to arouse suspicion, Law was highly motivated by the relentless protests of his gut. He started for the toilet without questioning its location further.

The toilet appeared to glow with an ominous light like a beacon amidst the dark shadowy woods. Although an inviting sight to any ailed with stomach or bladder distress, there was something inexplicably eerie about the air surrounding it. Nowhere did it state the word ‘toilet’ and the small dilapidated building looked on the brink of collapsing in at any second. Regardless, Law chalked the spooky atmosphere up to it being a night of Halloween celebrations. Law dashed inside.

Instantly, a foul odour hit his nose. The air was stale and the walls and floor were thick with grime. Most importantly, however, there were several cubicles for doing business. Being pirates, pooing outdoors was not unusual. Still, if given the option, Law would have preferred having the means to clean his ass with toilet paper. Thus, with a brief wrinkle of his nose at the stench, Law rushed into one of the cubicles, entirely missing the blurry and distorted but nonetheless observable face in the mirror despite there being no one else in the toilet.

With only a slight hesitation, Law leaned his sword against the corner and plopped his ass down on the toilet seat. A sigh of relief escaped his lips as he expelled the contents of his gut and they sank quicker than the Titanic --- but not without a great splash. An overhead bulb flickered, its light growing weak. A soft howling drifted through the toilet. Regardless, Law remained unfazed and continued his pooing. Within several seconds, footsteps jogged into the toilet.

An hour or so ago, lo and behold, Thatch had been enjoying the festival in the town with his crew. After a jolly good time with delicious grub and hearty laughs, a terrible pain struck Thatch in his gut. Now, as pirates, physical pain was a norm; injuries happened through fights or accidents. However, nothing could compare to the betrayal of one’s body as it turned on itself. Thatch’s gut hurt as if he had been kicked in the balls. Like Law, Thatch hunched over and searched desperately for the toilet. He asked the same bloody-costumed floating woman for directions and found himself running into the middle of the woods. Thatch paused and frowned warily at the strange location of the public toilet that looked a lot like a trap but ultimately, when you had to go, you had to go.

Thatch dashed into the toilet. The face in the mirror grew clearer at his entrance, almost as if it was eager to greet Thatch. Unfortunately, Thatch, like Law, failed to notice “her”. With a slight grimace at the stink, Thatch joined Law in the neighbouring cubicle. He carefully set down his sword before he sat down to take care of his business.

By then, Law was strongly under the impression that he was not alone. Not only because of Thatch’s footsteps, but a faint breeze tickled the back of Law’s neck, causing goosebumps to prickle his skin involuntarily. Law tried to ignore it for seconds but it persisted. It was as if someone was blowing gently against his neck. Law whipped his head around immediately --- and scowled. No one was behind him but a graffitied wall. Beside him, Thatch, too, felt a soft breeze caress his neck and sweep down his back. Following it, a chill shot down Thatch’s spine. He tensed up a little and whipped his head around but he sighted nothing that could explain the mysterious wind. Shrugging it off, for a moment, both men pooed in momentary silence before ---

Without rhyme or reason, the temperature plummeted to icy coldness. All the lights in the toilet flickered spasmodically, like the decorative lights on a Christmas tree. The howling noises intensified, accompanied by the rattling of the other cubicle doors. With no clue or idea as to what the fuck was going on, Law only hoped the place wouldn’t collapse while he was in the middle of a poo.

Thatch said, a tad annoyed, “Hey man, cut that out.”

Law, under the impression that Thatch was speaking to whoever else was making that racket, remained quiet. At least, that was Law’s intention before he let a fart rip loud and clear. It echoed within the toilet walls as if amplified by a loudspeaker, much to his embarrassment. Thankfully, he doubted anyone could identify him by his farts and figured his identity and reputation ought to be safe. Coincidentally, post-fart, all the din ceased and the lights returned to normal. Both men resumed dropping deuces into the toilet for a moment in peace and quiet until…

To his horror, Law’s eyes flicked to the side and widened. The toilet paper holder --- it was tragically empty! Law gawped at the empty holder, half expecting toilet paper to magically appear, wishing to be mistaken about his toilet-paperless fate. All the relief from emptying his bowels vanished in a second. There was no bidet, which meant he was shit out of luck, unless…

Beside Law, Thatch, also to his horror, felt his heart sink upon realising that his toilet paper holder too was empty. Thatched gulped. Sweat beaded on his brow. A sense of dread lingered heavy between the men. Both were silent for a while.

Law could use his Room to scan the surroundings for toilet paper, perhaps even switch himself some from the next cubicle (unless it was empty too…) but he really did not want whoever was in the toilet to learn of his identity after the disastrous fart bomb he’d dropped earlier. Fortunately, there was no shame in asking his neighbour for toilet paper --- he doubted anyone could tell his identity by his voice…

“Hey,” Law said. He knocked twice on the wall separating their cubicles. “You got any toilet paper?”

Thatch blurted, “No, why?” After a slight pause, he added, “You too?”

Law, dismayed, dread churning in his stomach, said a little testily, “You got a den den mushi with you?”

“…That’s not going to work, man. You’d subject the snails to that?” Thatch jested, deadpan.

Law’s tone was snappish. “I meant to call for hel--- toilet paper. Surely someone could bring us toilet paper? Your friends, family---”

“Yeah, I got no den den mushi right now.”

“…”

Just like that, the conversation died sadly. Once again, both men sat in an awkward silence as they contemplated their next move. But not for long.

A shrill, feminine cackling pierced through the toilet. The doors of the other cubicles slammed open and shut repeatedly. The lights flickered again and some of the bulbs blacked out.

Brows creased with unease and confusion, Law said sharply, “Wanna share the joke?”

“…I couldn’t laugh like that if I tried,” Thatch said. “Clearly we’ve got company --- Hey, you got toilet paper, woman? Some help?”

The cackling picked up again, screechier and harsher than before. Law jerked his head around when it sounded as if the voice was coming from right behind him. Naturally, he glimpsed no one else in sight that was visible to his eye. Law’s face grew taut. Rumours floated around of ghosts said to haunt certain crews and places. Although he had not seen one personally, he would not doubt their existence, in a world with the existence of devil fruits and haki powers.

“Anyone follow you in?” Law asked. He started to reach for his sword.

“Nah, I was alone, as far as I was aware,” Thatch said. “But it’s a public toilet. Anyone can enter.”

A problematic situation. If worst came to worst, and they needed to fight, Law figured it would be better to do so with his pants on than around his ankles. Not only was it a tripping hazard, he didn’t need anyone to see him in his heart-print boxers. Yet, it was a little… distasteful to be putting on his pants without first cleaning his ass. Perhaps the flush water could be used…? Or the sink…?

Law tried flushing. Unfortunately, it seemed that too was broken.

The female voice laughed. Guffawed. Chortled. Strangely enough, within seconds, she laughed so hard, her laughs became quiet sobs mixed with sorrowful wails, much to Thatch’s and Law’s bafflement.

Since the woman, woman ghost, or whatever the fuck she was, had not caused them any harm, that he knew of, Law interjected, “So d’you have any toilet paper?”

Thatch, on the other hand, thankfully, was more diplomatic in nature, especially when dealing with a woman in distress. Even if she was a ghost, she was still a woman, and she was still greatly upset. When her wails continued to resound through the toilet, Thatch asked with concern, “What’s wrong, miss?”

The ghost, choking back tears, sniffed and said pitiably, “My baby… They… They…” She sobbed uncontrollably, “My baby---”

“What about your baby?” Thatch probed gently.

“They killed her!”

A deafening crash pierced the already tense atmosphere. The mirrors shattered. Glass rained over the sinks and scattered the floor. All the lights went out and the walls tremored. Darkness enveloped them all.

“I just wanted… My child… I would’ve been a good mother if only they…”

“My condolences, miss,” Thatch offered sincerely. “You would’ve been a good mother. May you find peace…”

“Who killed her?” Law asked offhandedly.

“Pi… Pirates,” she faltered. A breeze swept through the toilet as she drifted past the cubicles. “I… They took my baby from me --- You’re not pirates, are you?” There was a discernible edge of anger in her tone.

Thatch and Law chorused simultaneously, without pause, “No.”

“Y-You’re not friends with pirates, are you?”

Thatch and Law, instantly, in unison, said, “No.”

“I’ll poison and kill every one of those pirates!”

“...They're awful---”

“---The worst.”

There was a brief contented hum, and then the lights turned back on. Thatch and Law blinked perplexedly as their vision adjusted to the sudden brightness. Both flinched when rolls of toilet paper were dumped over their cubicles onto their heads. Within seconds, warm air flooded back into the toilet and all was quiet once more.

Neither Law nor Thatch bothered to question where she had gone. Both had spent enough time in the toilet for the entire night and wanted nothing else to do in there. Before the building would collapse or the ghost would return, they grabbed the toilet paper gratefully and hurriedly cleaned their asses. Coincidentally, both exited their cubicles at the same timing. They carried their swords and strode carefully over the glass shards to the sinks, where they stopped. There was a long pause. Recognition settled into both their faces. Law had never met the Whitebeards personally but he had seen Thatch’s face often in bounty posters.

Law stared at Thatch. Thatch stared back at Law.

“You handled that well,” Law said flatly.

“Thanks, you too.”

“…”

“We pretend none of this happened?”

“You think she’s moved on?”

“I’ve moved on --- I’m moving on now.”

“Don’t worry, man. I’ve heard worse.”

Law had no idea if Thatch meant his thunderous fart or the ghost’s sad tragedy. Nevertheless, Law gave Thatch a sharp look before he rinsed his hands and left the toilet hastily.

#oprpfallfest2017 #thatchtheawesomecook #hey I hope this is all right #I'm sorry for the OOC of Thatch's part if any and hope it's not too off #sorry this is pretty bad though

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