mortul

[mortul]

sorry for sudden inactivity </3 life happened. but i hope to pick back up here in the upcoming weekend!

[mortul]

if christoph likes u then i'm sorry but ur just stuck with him forever (quite literally btw)

[mortul]

"Oooh, y'know..."

Christoph's retort was immediate, casually prattling on as if he was asked for his in-depth feelings about the weather. His tone retained a certain type of joviality, one that was conversational yet kept itself reserved just enough. He's already gone and revealed a little too much (not on purpose, mind you. he's not running around getting his various limbs cut off for fun.) already and, honestly, hadn't been expecting for this guy to actually have been listening.

People were just chock-full of surprises, though; he should've known. Silly him! Silly little Christoph Dowell! Next time, he'll definitely be on the lookout for maniacs (and did said maniac have history with christoph? maybe. mind your business.) with sick knife-swinging skills. That was his bad. He should've known, yep. Definitely.

With a twist and, soon after, a wet, squelching twirl of severed limb, he's come to the conclusion that-- yeah, this thing wasn't going to stick. Well... shit. Maybe he should've listened to Leon and kept a spare bottle of Elmer's glue around just, y'know, in case. Holding his arm flush against its intended socket, Christoph stared at the unfortunate scene before a scowl developed.

"Not this," he grumbled, turning towards the other man with a wide flourish. "I mean, y'know-- s'not like I ain't used ta this. I get attacked all th'time!! I piss a lotta people off and they gotta go and act like pissbabies about it." He shrugged, tossing a quick look over his shoulder. "Highschool shit."

He snorted, now waving his arm around with only a bit of give allowed for it to bend with the expected cracking of bones and popping of disused sinew. Throughout the literal brandishing of his own body part, no blood's been shed. Even as Christoph's managed to shake off whoever it was that got the last laugh (not for long, though.), not a single hint of blood was left behind.

What can he say? He's good at "cleaning up".

"Hurt like a bitch, too, but... hey! Could be worse-- wa~aaaay worse."

It's probably for the best that it was just an arm, anyway. Could've been a leg... could've been his head then, hoo boy, that would've been a real pain in the ass. He huffed as he straightened his back, eventually looking the other up and down (kinda short, ain't he?) with a distinct nonchalance. It wouldn't have been a first that he received a reaction like this, but... but?

That left the metaphorical door open for a shitload of questions.

"... Hey so, speaking of--"

Swinging the limb, he aimed it right at the blond with all but its index finger mysteriously pointed at him. Let's not think too hard about it, okay?

"--ya happen to have any glue or anythin'?"

question:  what oddities become memorable when your life is a mosaic of strange coincidences and supernatural entities?   answer:  when they’re shrouded in ambiguity. 

do not trust your senses, lesson number one.  vision can be manipulated, yet another assortment of nerves to toy with;  silence can obscure any sound, if one is familiar with its machinations; and last, do not trust the words falling from a stranger’s lips if they spill contradictions. 

so  —-   his survival instinct demanded a critical lens: lesson number two.  what could one gain by bruising, scraping, or otherwise injuring him?  if used as an intimidation tactic, why?  would it be a clear message, sent to its receiver?  nothing has transpired yet, and still his instinct prepares for the worst.  caesar does not move from where he stands, foregoing his habit of giving his gaze time to wander, hues fixating on the only other individual passing through this slim alleyway.  his body strains with tension, hand curling into a fist, only to unfurl moments later.  his own little self-soothing tactic. 

"that... wasn’t supposed to happen." said @mortul while attempting to reattach his arm at its socket.

it should shock him, and had this occurred years before, it would have.  unfortunately, the image of a humanoid missing a limb, seemingly unharmed by his ‘injury’, wasn’t too far-fetched.  a sliver of anxiety and bewilderment flashed across his expression (eyebrows knit together and lips part, preceding no sound, no words, nothing at all), their end punctuated by little but a shudder traversing down the length of his spine.

this man wasn’t human, was he? that blasé attitude was the cherry on top, echoing an increasingly frenzied sentiment  :  what are you?

“  i imagine not.  ”  dry, apathetic, indifferent  —-  whatever cocktail of emotion swirled between those scarred ribs did not leave a single fingerprint on his words, quieted by the inevitability of … something, still anticipating the stranger’s next move.  

“  but if i may ask  …  —- what was supposed to happen?  ”

[mortul]

Matching the other's energy (minus the very obvious tree shoved up his ass, anyway.) wasn't difficult-- as Christoph John Roe watched his expression shift, he soon forced his own into one of simple neutrality. He wasn't exactly detached from the conversation, but he's been around long enough to know when and when not to invest more than a sliver of... let's say "personal feelings" into the equation. Making things personal, after all? That should be reserved for the client and the client alone.

For a majority of his clientele, they knew John Roe purely as a weapon-- a means to an end. He had little reason to take issue with it as he was under the impression they wouldn't see one another ever again. Sure, he had his fair share of "regulars" but, upon noticing a pattern, he'd simply let his broker handle the rest.

Being face-to-face with the same person, over and over...? Something had to give. That was risky; it introduced one too many factors that Christoph did not like.

"Oho. Someone reads books," he couldn't help but remark under his breath, one hand coming down to wipe its index finger under his nose. There's a visible twitch of facial muscles as a snarky grin's successfully held back. Shortly after, his gaze averts as he mulled on his next, legitimate response.

Keeping things brief and professional was, undoubtedly, the perfect choice from Julien's end. John Roe wouldn't deny that, even if given the opportunity. It'd be funny, sure... but he's here to make a living first and foremost. And, unfortunately, jokes just don't pay the bills.

He's been told he'd make a shitty comedian, anyway.

"Nope," he responded after a few seconds, head turning away with a soft sniff. A smile's soon cracked, eyebrows furrowing in mild thought before he redirected his eyes across towards his client. "I can tell yer in a hurry, and I'm startin' to understand I shouldn't be pushin' yer buttons as much."

Giving a grin, he laid his arms atop the table and lightly slapped his hands against its surface. Hunching his shoulders, he looked straight ahead and raised an eyebrow.

"My bad, dude."

A weak shrug's offered as recompense, eyes briefly shutting as if to say Hey, what can ya do? before his demeanor gradually shifted. Time to talk pure business, he assumed, so... he'll get right down to business.

"Tell me everythin' I gotta know-- names first, though."

julien expects little more from someone who ends lives for a living. annoying, cocky, and so self-assured of his invincibility. every word that leaves john roe's mouth makes julien want to roll his eyes so hard his corneas scrape the back of his skull clean, but at least the dog can listen. the cigars are tucked away, and julien's last nerve is spared the weight. he could, however, have done without the ridiculous showmanship.

slowly, silently, julien inhales and schools his expression into one of mild annoyance. rarely does he allow more than a faint furrow between his brows to surface. he's dealt with more obnoxious (and far more irredeemable) characters. compared to them, john is like a toddler running rampant with a pair of scissors. irritating and exhausting, but not quite the devil.

"i know what you do," julien intones, crossing one leg over the other and resting folded hands neatly in his lap. as always, his posture is immaculate. with his back straight against the chair's support, he's as far from john as he can get without getting up and walking to the other side of the room. the distance is safe, professional. "that's why i'm hiring you and not any other imbecile with an arsenal. your presence sends a message, and i don't want that message misinterpreted."

julien pauses, just for a handful of seconds, to mimic the other man's previous gesture and tilt his head ever so slightly to the left. where john makes a show of his confidence, julien is elegance and poise. even that slight movement is a careful calculation in their game of chess.

"so, do i have to answer any other useless questions, or can we move on to business?"

[mortul]

yukikorogashi ／ 💬

“HEHEH—“ she would giggle and easily grin back at him. Aww, butterin’ up nothin’! The young one is just telling the truth, bro! He looks great, he really does! And she’s know whoever his date is tonight is gonna think so too! … yeah, he’s totally going on a date. Especially on this very special day! “Go get em, bro!” She then says with a wink and nudge to his hip (seeing as his side was too high for her to reach).

If somebody were to ask Christoph his opinion on little runts playing the part of a pseudo-sibling... he might've told them to shove it. To put it nice and blunt: it simply wasn't in the stars. Or, well... it wasn't until recently. Itsuki must've had some sort of secret superpower (because christoph'd never admit to being soft on her. never. 'cause he's tough.) that let her win any and everyone over onto her side; it didn't matter how long it'd take, because it was only a matter of time.

One hand's reaching down, patting itself onto her head before jerking it forward in a rough but well-meaning mussing up of hair. Another snort escapes. It's that obvious, huh? He should've known.

"I'll do more than that, promise," he retorted back, smile clear as day within his voice before jamming his hand into its respective pocket. "Tell ya what, twerp--"

"--after th'date, I'll see 'bout convincin' the big guy into buyin' some snacks... Ma~aaaaybe... oh man, Idunno... some ice cream, yeah? My treat."

[mortul]

@yukikorogashi ／ 💬

That’s her handsome bro. 🥺

There's a snort and, oh wow, it's a big one! What's the point in keeping quiet, anyway-- like, what has being quiet ever done for him, huh? Nonetheless, it's punctuated with a slight (genuine, perhaps. he'll never cop to it, though.) grin and a shallow shake of the head.

"Always gotta butter up th'big bro, eh?"

[mortul]

𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐏𝐇 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐋 ft. 𝚅𝙰𝙻𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙴'𝚂 𝙳𝙰𝚈

[mortul]

NAME? snii 🫡

PRONOUNS? any are fine! she/her is usually what people default to though.

MOST ACTIVE MUSES? if i'm not here i'm usually over on @quirofiliac aka kira yoshikage of jjba infamy 💜

EXPERIENCE/HOW MANY YEARS? i wanna say i started rping officially on tumblr in 2015-2016? but iirc i think i made my "first" rp blog in 2014 but never fully committed. however, i definitely was rping over on instant messenger (the real ones remember msn messenger.) since the early 2000s at least. i usually just say i have about 14-15 years of experience under my belt for the amount of time i've seriously considered this hobby but if i'm going to be real? i've been writing/creating for almost 20 years now-- give or take a few!

FLUFF, ANGST, OR SMUT? i'm not gonna lie i am not... 😭 particular towards any of these three. i wouldn't say i'm a fantastic writer at angst (if only because i personally don't see the huge appeal for big, ongoing, and persistent tragic storylines.) nor am i entirely "into" fluff nor smut? nonetheless, i enjoy all of them pretty equally! i will only write smut with my ship partner, kitty, however. fluff usually is reserved for them, too, considering the nature of fluff and its existence, predominantly, within romantic ships. platonic fluff, if that's even a thing, is cool. 🙂‍↕️

LONG OR SHORT REPLIES? i'm a wordy bitch but i'm not very into the whole "you gotta match my length" spiel. as long as i know you're trying and aren't giving me literally nothing then s'all cool. i usually prefer starting off short then spreading out as the thread gets more and more involved, though.

PET PEEVES? i -- and my muses -- could literally not give any less of a shit if your character is super powerful, super smart, the best looking in the room, soooo cute, soooo innocent, doesn't deserve anything "bad" happening to them ever, is "better" than my muse in any certain way, etcetera... that's a little too "baby's first OC" (and this applies to canons, too. i am a full-fledged hater.) for me and i'd rather not deal with that, personally.

ARE YOU LIKE YOUR MUSE? christoph is my little guy. i always tend to put a little bit of myself into every oc (and, commonly, into every canon i play depending.) i create so... maybe? a little bit? but i'm not tall nor am i a chainsmoker. i also am not as annoying as he is. i would also not survive a fight; i'd actually die. i'd probably actually keel over from the sheer stress of it all.

TIME TO WRITE? whenever the mania strikes, i fear. 💖

TAGGED BY: @mrgoatman thank u!! TAGGING: steal this and say i tagged u 🫡

[mortul]

also! in relation to this post, christoph might never fully accept his status as a victim andor survivor (depending on your outlook and personal definitions, of course.) because, to him, that implies a certain "weakness" that he simply doesn't want to confront. in media, victims are almost always represented as one of two things: a completely "broken" person that's seen only as a liability or someone that's angry at everything, ready to fly off the handle at any given second. of course these are all painfully... wrong and downright irresponsible to put on the big screen, but christoph understands, simultaneously, that these would most likely be the public's general "idea" of someone who's gone through sexual assault.

and christoph doesn't see himself as either of those things. he looks at himself and simply sees "himself"-- it's a bit paradoxical in hindsight, but he's not going to tackle that bit any time soon. he is locked in, almost, within a cycle; he doesn't want to be seen as weak, doesn't want to be seen as someone needing to be coddled, doesn't want to be seen as someone who's "unhinged" or "volatile". he acknowledges that he's gone through some shit, yes, but it... doesn't register to him as "trauma", necessarily.

because, from his perspective, what he's gone through pales in comparison to those that have gone through "far worse". if he can bounce back as well as he apparently did then who is he to claim that he's traumatized in the first place?

[mortul]

S06E10 - “Good Damage”

[mortul]

fun fact about christoph: he's not necessarily "convinced" that he's a victim of sexual assault-- this then pans over into him not seeing himself as a "proper" survivor, either. christoph's endgame goal for revenge doesn't exactly pertain to his unchecked trauma but, rather, what was done to his family and him after wards. i'd say he hasn't ever taken the time to properly assess himself and the associated trauma afflicted on him by pearce (his logic is this: it was technically consensual-- he never exactly said no so...?) to actually reevaluate his current feelings on the matter. because of this, bits and pieces of his behavior are, indeed, related to these moments of trauma; his hypersexuality (that is, in fact, not a fun little "kinky" thing.) is the most reflective, of course, but his fear of commitment, hyper-specific preferences when engaging with other men, and the like... these are all "signs" leading back to his past. he is by no means a "perfect victim"-- the way he interacts with others and with himself are, at times, "ugly". this is done on purpose, and it'll honestly take him a while come to terms with the fact that he was taken advantage of, used, and exploited for the pleasure of another man.

[mortul]

@woulfven ／ 💙 birthday boy!!

Not a second's wasted as soon as Leon's set foot within the suite, for Christoph's already wrapping his arms around his wide shoulders (the perfect width, honestly.) and dangling his feet off the floor purely because he could. All of that time spent exercising comes in handy, letting him use that acquired upper body strength to pull himself up in order to plant a chaste kiss to the other man's lips.

Securing his hold around Leon, he reeled his head back and offered a sly grin. Maybe, if one were to look close enough... they might've been able to spot a slight twinkle in his eye.

"Now-- why didn't my big guy tell me it was his birthday?" Of course, it's a jest. Christoph knew better. "Ya holdin' out on me or somethin'?"

[mortul]

Well, that definitely wasn't what he was expecting!

Honestly, Christoph had little to no clue why he kept bumping into the strangest folk. Maybe it was something to do with his cologne... Hard to say! He wasn't about to dwell on the matter, knowing full well that when people started asking questions, they'd start receiving answers they, in fact, did not want to hear. He's already endured his fair share of "forbidden" answers-- him and his husband both, for that matter.

So when she did all of... well, that, he's not really game for giving much of a reaction. All he did, in its stead, was slightly turn his head and squint his eyes. Were any of those theatrics (it reminds him of an anime, kinda sorta. talk about weird and cringe.) truly necessary? He wasn't sure. Of course, though, he's definitely seen worse (ever fight a pack of vamps with nothing but your jacket that's suddenly on fire? he didn't think so.) so, maybe, he shouldn't be too judgemental.

Still, though, what's the deal with the "tough guy" act? He was being quite polite, actually! That's a first for him.

"... Oookay," he finally responded, tone somewhere in the middle of "flippant" and "perplexed". Fingers gave a slow flex, unfurling as the remnants of his poor phone (well, he can always buy another one. that wouldn't be the first time one got busted-- usually, though, it'd be on the job.) slipped out of his grasp. "I'll gladly take the first "no" for an answer but... uhh--"

A sharp breath's taken, inhaled first through the nose then pushed out through his mouth in an exhale. Jamming both hands into the pockets of his jacket, he bent at the waist in an attempt of meeting her at her level. Head tilted. An eyebrow raises.

"--would it be too much to say y'owe me at least two thousand bucks?"

it was supposed to be a normal patrol of her forest, sliding and traveling her way easily through the maze of woods and rivers in her land, knowing it like the back of her hand. it was all good until she sensed, heard a human within her woods - looking at the way the came from and her already annoyed, tired face becoming even more aggravated when he snapped his fingers at her -- like she was a dog, a pest in his way.

she stared at him, the coldness and annoyment even more clear on her face when he asked the queen the move, only a few blinks of her grey eyes happened. the darkened figure stepped over tree branches, jumped over bushes until she was close enough to the male, intruding her land and attempting to take pictures.

' no.. ' raven's voice was blunt as her hand covered the camera's lense, the palm blacking out what could be filmed before easily breaking it with her strength. ' and get out, now '

[mortul]

Christoph Dowell wasn't afraid.

It simply wasn't in his DNA-- it wasn't even functionally a word within his vocabulary. Even when he's lightly shaken awake, one hand balled up into a tight fist (his palms are slick with sweat. he's drenched in sweat.) that's crushed against Leon's chest, he's not afraid. There's nothing to be afraid of, as his eyes pop open as if he's just been electrocuted (been there, done that!) and through the rapid chattering of his teeth.

What he does feel like is that he's just been hit by a truck, a cement mixer to be specific... for, y'know, the people that cared. Everything within him was caught in a loop; muscles were tense, unable to yet relieve themselves of their newfound strain and stress. His jaw's next to face the metaphorical music, managing to set itself one step backwards as he's managed to slowly work itself out of its self-imposed lockjaw.

His hair's practically plastered on, sticking to his forehead like a one-dimensional sticker one might've seen in the dollar bin at Walmart. He doesn't think-- there's not much to think about. There's the way his heart's beating, way faster than what he's normally used to. It's a drum, hammering away at his ribs. Subconsciously, a hand's moved to the afflicted spot and scratches idly.

A swallow hangs limply inside of his throat. He's... awake, wasn't he? He had to be.

"... What," was the one thing that's squeezed out of him, shoulders slouched they've nearly become two, entirely new angles. Any fragment of air that touches him was like being pelted by ice, but he doesn't bother to tug the thick blanket over his frame to, instead, let its remains pool over his lap. "I-- I... uh..."

Eyes blinked. A single tear runs down his cheek. He doesn't talk about it, crudely coded out with a quick averting of eyes moments later. Teeth worry at his bottom lip. What time was it?

"... I think-- I think I'm okay now, big guy," he heard himself say, canned and hollow. He's in possession of a throat that's caught on fire, cracked open and left out in the heat to dry itself out in a slow, agonizing death. Eyebrows furrow. "Yeah, no... I... I think...?"

Head turned away, and his jaw's back to clenching.

"... Did I--" came the next question, put on a brief pause as he struggled to look back at Leon. His one hand's still scratching, scraping more and more at further-irritating, bare skin. His other's soon to fall, unfurling as it does, and land atop of his husband's naked thigh. Eyes screwed shut, and his head hangs like a slack corpse from its neck. "Shit, I... I woke ya up, didn't I?"

@mortul / 🖤

It's roughly (give or take thirty minutes) three in the morning when something forces him awake. Like he'd been electrocuted, Leon bolted upright in bed, chest heavy with the force of his rapid breathing. For a moment--a mere fraction of a second--he is paralyzed, heart seizing briefly before the passenger of time returns to normal.

Something isn't right, his heart--his soul--screams, something's wrong, someone's... in pain?

Not just someone--Christoph. His Christoph, the man laying next to him, trapped within a night terror.

Leon turns to him, instantly reaching out with gentle (blood-soaked and scarred; some sins never wash out.) hands to coax the other awake, his voice hushed and soft.

"Christoph, love, wake up--" He's quick to catch the flailing limbs that come his way as his husband fights to regain awareness (his heart seizes again at the spike of panic souring his lover's scent; his desire to protect, protect, protect rises and surges like waves in a turbulent sea) of his surroundings, "--it's me, Leon, love. I got you, it's okay. You're safe."

[mortul]

THEY TELL ME: IT'S NOT YOUR FAULT. I SAY BACK: I KNOW. THEY TELL ME, AGAIN: IT'S NOT YOUR FAULT. I SAY BACK, AGAIN: I KNOW. #MORTUL: an independent & selective role-play blog for 𝖈𝖍𝖗𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖔𝖕𝖍 𝖉𝖔𝖜𝖊𝖑𝖑 of 𝙤𝙧𝙞𝙜𝙞𝙣𝙖𝙡 𝙡𝙤𝙧𝙚. written by snii. ♡

[mortul]

━━━━ character studies.

BASIC INFORMATION.

legal name: christoph dowell

nickname(s): john roe (professional/business name.), chris, big bro (but only if you're a certain twerp!), bastard, chain-smoking twink, etcetera...

date of birth: may 23, 1934

gender: cis male

place of birth: austin, texas

currently living: dallas, texas

spoken languages: english (first language.), broken spanish and french thanks to the public school system

education: high school diploma, dropped out of university a few weeks in

hair color: dark brown

eye color: hazel green

height: 6'5'' / 196 cm

FAMILY INFORMATION.

siblings: emilie dowell: biological, benjamin "benji" dowell: adopted

parents: clifford dowell (decased, natural causes.), barbara dowell (deceased, cancer.)

children: none even though leontios tries every single night

pets: a little shapeshifting blob of black darkness known as void, usually takes the form of a tiny, black cat

RELATIONSHIP INFORMATION.

sexual orientation: greyromantic homosexual

relationship status: married to @woulfven ❤️💙

tagged by: @yukikorogashi thank uuu ❤️❤️❤️ tagging: steal it and say i tagged you :^)

[mortul]

@episomalvector ／ 💀💬

Of all the weird shit Christoph's seen (and experienced in... many ways.) throughout the years, he's not going to rate this particular scene spectacularly high. Every so often, he'll see the occasional little, uh... for lack of better word: freak standing around, waiting for only God (well he won't know either, considering... a lot of things.) knows what. That's nothing out of the usual, sorry to say, for him.

If anything, it's most likely a paper trail-- it's meant to signal towards something else, something maybe a little bit... bigger? That's what a conspiracy theorist would say, anyway, so let's just consider Christoph a lesser version of that. He's not one to think Paul is dead, after all, but might've dabbled here and there in the Avril Lavigne's got a clone territory...

Y'know, just for fun!

However, when he's time and time starting to see the same person make an appearance in relatively the same spot? That's something of a dilemma. It didn't help, either, that it had to be in front of his apartment's complex. He wasn't one to look out of his window -- but he did like the view, don't get him wrong -- every single day, but he's began to wonder if this was going to become a problem or if everyone around him was simply deciding to ignore it.

"..."

Christoph wasn't very good at ignoring things, though.

"Hey."

One hand's crammed into his pocket whilst the other's waved in front of the woman's face, properly accentuated with him craning his head back. Eyes squinted, slightly confused at the situation he's currently put himself in but unable to deny the morbid curiosity that's been nipping at his heels for some time.

"Hey," he tried again, this time with a sharp whistle. "Anybody home?"