#once again. journal for oc who is basically my opposite at this point. my person journal does not have all dis cute shit in it. love and

[werebutch]

New entry and entry from last night. The thing about posting these pages is that it looks insanely better and more interesting when there’s writing on it. But I too embarrassed. So now it looks like a 6 year old did it:) it ok

[tryst-art-archive]

Context: 2006

Looking through the archive, I think 2006 is when I started to get properly serious about art. At the very least, there's a life to the things I was making that seems to indicate a shift in my relationship to making. I'm not sure if that was a conscious move at the time though; there's evidence from later years that I saw 2006 as when I began doing less work of value.

My memories of 2006 are blurred into memories of the rest of high school, but I do know I went to Ireland with Mare and his family that spring, and I attended an art summer camp that Mare had been to before. Ireland was a very cool experience, and the camp allowed me to meet more art-inclined folks and try new media forms that I wouldn't've had access to otherwise, like flameworking (small glass sculpture).

But, I was still massively depressed so encountering a bunch of people my age who were also inclined toward art and were, in my opinion, better at it than me knocked my overall confidence and self-belief down a bit, even as I simultaneously got more invested in the Khra-nicles characters and viewing myself as An Artist.

I'm pretty sure I was wearing colors again by 2006 (it'd been brown and black all the time), but I wasn't following fashion beyond the sway of whatever happened to be in stores. I did have a particular style, but it involved long, unstyled hair, handmade necklaces based on my OCs, and oversized shirts and sweatshirts that pretty much hid my mortal form.

I had a bad case of "Not Like Other Girls" and had applied moralism to the fashions of the time--baby doll T-shirts, low rise flare jeans, Ugg boots, thongs, push-up bras--while deliberately going in the opposite direction. (Mum criticized me more than once for essentially following the fashions by so resolutely refusing to.) Skirts and make-up were adamantly off the table as I defiantly reveled in doing only the most pragmatic personal maintenance.

Unfortunately, I'd developed an anti-feminist streak by this time. I recall that starting when I was in 8th grade, but it persisted for several years, and what evidence I can find suggests it was at its worst in 2006 and 2007, when I was 15 and 16 respectively.

It was, simply, misplaced anger. The idea that women "can have it all" was good in theory, but in practice it connotated not that women had the option to do whatever they wanted but rather the mandate to do everything, and I resented that. I also resented every gendered expectation heaped upon me, and looking at that now, I'm dead certain that was gender dysphoria. I was resentful of being a girl and everything that the world around me had decided that meant, everything that meant for my body. I didn't have an outlet for any of that anger, and so I chose the easiest target, one I perceived as the creator of the expectations: feminists.

I didn't see the contradiction in being staunchly pro-lgbt and being anti-feminist. I also didn't see a contradiction in being anti-feminist in name and pro-feminist in action, because I didn't see "caring about women and girls" as necessarily being feminist. It was a lot of mental gymnastics that I didn't even realize I was doing.

I don't remember the exact point at which I grew past this particular phase, but I think it was either senior year of high school or the start of college (2008 or 2009, basically). Regardless, I don't think there's a ton of this phase to be seen in the archive. Most of what I made relating to it was in the dA journals deleted years ago.

Still, it shows up in some comments and descriptions as passing asides, so if you see it, know that I did get over it.

[missscarletta7]

The Broken Crown- Chapter 1

Hello! So this is my first Peaky Blinders Fanfiction.  I own nothing, except for the few OCs I created. 

This story is also on Wattpad and FF.net under the same title if you want to read it there as well--- however be warned it is not as edited as this post and I changed the name of one of the characters because I thought it was a better fit... lol!

Summary: All Margaret Shelby ever wanted, was the opportunity to write her own story. Only now is she beginning to realize that her brother may have already written it for her...

  Enjoy!

OoOoOo

"He's a ghost, he's a god, He's a man, He's a guru,

You're one microscopic cog, In his catastrophic plan

Designed and directed by his red right hand"

~Red Right Hand~

1919

She had that dream again, the one where she had to decide which door she would open. Both doors were identical in every way. Yet, she just stands in the empty room lit as if by candles; frozen in place; The weight of the decision ultimately waking her out of-

No, that wouldn't do, a dark-haired girl thought as she scratched out the words she had just written down. In a small bedroom on the second floor of number Seventeen Watery Lane, sixteen-year-old Margaret Shelby sat on her bed, or rather the bed she shared with her older sister. Dressed in the long white nightgown that had once belonged to her mother and with a pen in hand, she scribbled down more words in her brown leather-bound journal resting on her lap. The journal was gifted to her by her Aunt Polly on her most previous birthday. Upon receiving it she couldn't wait to fill its pages. She liked writing, ever since she learned how to form her words into a cohesive sentence on paper. It had been an outlet, a distraction from the "shit-hole" that was Small Heath, Birmingham.

As a child, she had the fondest memories of taking the drawings her eldest brother Arthur would sketch and would accompany his rendering with an original story. She took pride in how much he would always be so impressed and relished when he called her “his little genius". As the years passed, she believed if she could write and publish a story that was good enough, then maybe one day she could provide for her family. Give them a way out of their current situation. Not that she knew much of how dire their situation really was. To their credit, her family tried their best to shield her, as well as her youngest brother Finn, from feeling the effects of living a life in the slums. She was lucky in that way, most of the girls her age had dropped out of school and had a child of their own already.

Her thoughts of prose were soon interrupted by familiar sounds causing the pit of her stomach to sink. Even after three months of him being back, she doubted she would ever get used to it. Opposite from her bed, through the thin wall with floral green wallpaper which had been peeling off for years, muffled cries could be heard. Maggie knew exactly who it was, her brother, Tommy.

She placed her journal onto the thin cotton sheets and traveled into the hallway. Before she knew it, she was standing outside the door of her older sibling. Taking a deep breath, she decided against knocking and slowly opened the door.

"Tommy?" she whispered into his candlelit room. She could see he was awake. Lying flat on his back in bed, staring at the ceiling.

"Go back to bed, Mags," the second oldest Shelby ordered, but the girl hesitated.

"I thought I heard yelling," she sounded apologetic, before taking a whiff of the air. "Do you smell that?"

"I said back to your bloody bed," his harsh tone surprised her.

This time she did listen, gently she closed her brother's door and made her way back to the empty bedroom she once was in.

OoOoOo

The next day, Margaret exited the small school she attended that was located right on the edge of Small Heath with her best friend Cara Ryan by her side. The girls had played together for as long as their memories had served them. Cara was a stylish and talkative girl who stood at a height of five feet and six inches. Dazzling green eyes sparkled and her straight honey blonde hair fell upon her shoulders. Her family did better than most, the Ryan's own a dress shop that is very popular amongst the younger women, Ada, in fact, is a frequent customer of the establishment. Though the word 'customer' was a loose term, the Ryan's like most shop owners in the area were obliged to give anyone with relations to the Peaky Blinders whatever they wanted. Mrs. Ryan's and the two oldest sisters operated it, and in her spare time, Cara could often be found working in the backroom, sewing buttons and beads to fabrics. The family had a deal, in a year's time Cara would come to work for the shop full time, but until then Cara could continue her education.

"Can't believe Henrietta's having a baby," Maggie said aloud, as shorter and younger students ran past them excitedly.

"I can," Cara replied smugly. "That girl would open her legs up for any sod that gave her a second glance."

"I feel bad for her." She admitted thinking of the fifteen-year-old whose life was now forever changed.

Cara shook her head, "Don't it's her own bloody fault."

After rounding the corner, they both saw Ross Murray. A thin nineteen-year-old with dark hair standing at five feet and eleven inches, resting his back against the dull red brick wall, smoking a cigarette. Cara stopped them in their tracks and waved at the young man. "All right, Ross?!"

Maggie smiled at her friend, she liked Ross, he'd always looked out for her and Cara like they were his own sisters. They had all been in school together up until the moment Ross was kicked out for beating up another boy named Jonah Smith. In all likelihood Jonah may have had it coming. He never had the ability to let go. For example, just last year Maggie would have to constantly have to turn down his advances for over a month. Due to the reputation of her family, attention from boys was a rare occurrence. Which she didn't mind, she never really felt romantic feelings for anyone. However, Jonah took advantage of her brothers absence. One day he even cornered her when she went back to the classroom to grab the jumper she left behind. Thankfully Jonah eventually stopped, and never bothered her again.

Getting kicked out of school didn't seem to bother Ross though. Once he turned eighteen, he enlisted to help with the war effort. He completed basic training within the required three months, and according to the letters he would send her and Cara, he was held in high esteem with all of his commanding officers. Just as he was about to be shipped to France, an armistice was declared. He'd managed to find a job working at the BSA factory rather quickly, but when he came back into town Maggie could tell he had changed. He now had this mentality that made him seem as though he was ready for a battle, yet had no one to fight.

"Cara, Margaret," he acknowledged, stubbing out his cigarette on the bricks he had rested his back upon "Where are you two heading, aye?"

"Just going home," Maggie told him, readjusting the bag on her shoulder.

He came closer to them, "I'll walk with you. Birmingham hasn't been the safest place now that all these blokes with fucked up brains are back."

"Look at that Mags," Cara said happily, and he allowed her to take his arm. "The only gentleman in Small Heath"

Maggie smiled knowingly at the sight. Since Cara was ten years old, she had been smitten with the dark-haired boy. Cara would frequently turn down other offers in hopes that Ross would one day ask her to be his girl. They both hoped that it would happen soon, because in Cara's words "She wasn't getting any younger".

"Don't know what you two keep going to school for," He expressed to them, as they began to walk in the direction the girls needed to travel. "What more is there to learn?"

His comment made Maggie shrug, "It's something to do."

"Yeah, most girls our age who aren't in school are either whores or mothers." She agreed.  "Or both."

They continued chatting about their school day as they walked closer into town. The canal that ran nearby as well as the different establishments were coming into view. "Mags, is that your brother?" Ross asked, pointing to a couple of boys.

Maggie turned her head to where her friend was pointing. He was right, her younger brother Finn, was running around in front of the pharmacy with Isaiah Jesus. He must have skipped school again. "Oi!" Maggie called out angrily, and Finn froze in place "What have you been up to all day, hm?"

"Please don't tell Tommy," the ten-year-old begged.

Maggie was about to tell him off, but she was caught off guard by the arrival of a person exiting Compton's, "Ada?"

"Oh, hello." The dark-haired beauty clutched the paper parcel tighter in her hands, clearly caught off guard by the sudden appearance of her younger siblings. "Heading home then?"

Maggie nodded and Ada continued, "I'll join you." The older sister then turned to her brother "Right Finn?" The boy scowled, but nodded all the same.

"I'll see you tomorrow," Maggie told her friends, still trying to process what her sister was up to.

Cara didn't seem to mind her best friends' announcement to depart. Turning to the hazel-eyed boy she asked, "Fancy accompanying me to the confectionery?"

He looked over to the Shelby family first, "Will you three be alright by yourself?"

Ada looked amused at his worry, "We'll be fine. I doubt anyone would mess with us." He accepted her answer with a nod and led Cara to the candy shop.

As the water rushed in the cut, Ada and Maggie walked down the sidewalk arm in arm. Finn wasn't too far in front of them. He was running and jumping around like a madman. That boy always had so much energy, Maggie found herself thinking. No wonder he skipped school, the poor thing probably could not sit still.

"That Murray boy has aged well hasn't he," Ada commented, finally breaking the silence, "Have you two?"

"Ada!" The younger sister cried out in surprise.

"Just asking." She shrugged, "Jesus you're a prude"

"Everyone's a prude compared to you" she retorted, "What were you doing at the pharmacy?"

Ada didn't reply though, instead opting to purse her lips. They were almost home now; Maggie could even see Pol heading to the house, traveling towards them. She was about to wave at her aunt until she was distracted by Finn, who ran around in front of his sisters. Her heart clenched when she noticed a black metal object in his hand.

"Finn, where did you get that gun?" she questioned, yet the youngest Shelby only giggled in response. 

"Oi! Quit messing around," Ada scolded, moving forward in an attempt to take the weapon away. "You shouldn't b-"

BANG! The sisters screamed and Aunt Polly, who had witnessed the whole event transpire, rushed over from down the street. Both the girls tried to catch their breath and a shocked Finn looked like he was trying to mentally process what had just happened. 

"The hell were you thinking?!" Polly scolded, snatching the gun from his hand. "Where did you get this?!

"He nearly fucking killed me!" Ada screeched pointing to her brother.

"I-I found it on the sideboard of the shop." Finn spit out as they watched his face concave and he soon began weeping in fear. "I-I thought it was empty. I'm sorry I didn't mean to-"

His tears pulled on Maggie's heartstrings, but Polly wasn't having it. She pushed the sobbing boy towards Maggie ordering, "Take him home, and no more playing with guns. Next time you leave them be." 

The young boy nodded and allowed his sister to lead him back home."I didn't know Mags, I swear" he cried out again.

"I know you. You can apologize to Ada once she's feeling more forgiving" she expressed, her arms wrapped around his small shoulders.

OoOoOo

Childhood had molded her into the person she had become. Now she understood that...

Maggie internally groaned and scratched out what she had just written. No, that was definitely not good enough. She was pulled out of her thoughts when she heard a chuckle. Her eyes were taken off the page by Ada, who was getting ready for her date with some mystery man.

"What's so funny?" the younger sister grumbled.

"You," Ada smiled as she brushed her hair in front of the small vanity mirror, "And how seriously you take yourself."

Quickly she closed her journal, wanting to change the subject "So, what was the family meeting about?" Maggie asked, not genuinely curious.

"New copper’s coming to town," Ada replied unbothered, more interested in fastening her shoe buckle.

"When I went downstairs, I caught Finn trying to listen through the door. Told him off for eavesdropping," the younger sister snickered .

"Can you believe that little tosser?" Ada said, putting on her paste earring. "I don't know what's gotten into him lately. He could have killed me today!"

"It was an accident, Ada." She reasoned, opening her journal once more, "Pol already told him and John off, what more can you do?"

"I can still bitch," the older sister huffed, before looking at the book in her sisters' hands. "Are you ever gonna tell me what you're writing about?" Ada asked pointedly, now completely dressed in a white fur coat that rested over her dress.

"Are you ever gonna tell me who you've been going out to see the last few months?" Maggie shot back jokingly. 

Ada responded by pantomiming the locking of her lips, which only made the younger sister smile. "Cover for me?"

"As always," The girl assured Ada before she quietly opened and closed the bedroom door.

It was about an hour later when Maggie began to hear the familiar muffled cries. Feeling hopeless as she stared at the green papered wall.

OoOoOo

The following day was mostly uneventful for Margaret. She'd gone to school and heard all about Cara's "date" with Ross. According to Cara, he was a complete "gentleman", much to the blonde's disappointment, though she still clung onto hope. 

Now she stood in the kitchen with her Aunt and sister making dinner, continuously kneading some dough until her skinny arms began to burn. Hopefully, this batch of bread would last long enough for her to enjoy. Last time she made bread her siblings had eaten it all, not saving any for her. Upon hearing the door slam, she and her aunt stopped to glance over to the door.

"Holy Shit!" The girl exclaimed, witnessing her eldest brother who was bloody and beaten, being assisted by John into a wooden chair.

"Finn, go find Tommy and tell him what happened," Polly commanded. Like a shot, Finn was running out of the room, but not before Pol hurriedly added, "And tell him we need a shit ton of more alcohol!"

Polly then immediately began to gather gauze and rods of wood to make a splint, "Margaret, start heating up water, then cut this cloth up in stripes." Nodding at the directive, the girl began to do just that.

"The fuck happened?" Ada interrogated, arms crossing in front of her chest.

"Was told some of the men found him like this outside the cinema," John explained.

"Do you know who?" Maggie heard her sister continue as she put the kettle over the flame, but Arthur remained silent.

"I'd like to know as well," An aggravated Polly chimed in.

This time Arthur did speak. “That Belfast copper,” the mustached man spit out, "I'll discuss it more once Tom gets here."

They all fell into silence, the only noise coming from Maggie who pulled out a chair to sit next to her brother, and quietly began cutting the cloth Polly left for her on the table. "Do you think this is enough?" Maggie asked her aunt after she finished.

"Should be plenty, love," Pol told her, taking one of the strips to start mending his hand.

"John, wipe the blood out of his eye," Ada told the third eldest sibling who was just watching the ladies scrabble around as they tended to Arthur.

"Since when did you give orders?" John asked incredulously.

"I'm a trained nurse." The sister stated.

Though seeing as John wasn't budging Maggie rose from her seat and began to wipe the blood herself.

"Don't make me laugh. It hurts my face," Arthur joked as Polly bandaged him up. "You're a nurse like Mags here is a writer."

His comment caused more annoyance than Maggie cared to admit. With her index finger, she pressed onto a forming bruise on his cheek with great pressure, instigating a string of curses to come out of the eldest man's mouth.

"Oops," Maggie said insincerely. This caused Arthur to look to his aunt, wondering if any reprimanding would be given to the girl, but Polly just gave her brother a 'like you weren't asking for it' look.

 "I bloody am!" The older Shelby girl whined to John.

"You went to one first aid class in the church hall and got thrown out for giggling," John corrected her.

"Not before I learnt how to stop somebody from choking," she shot back.

"I'm not bloody choking, am I?" Arthur spoke gruffly.

"You will be when I wrap this cloth around your neck." She told him as she poured hot water from the kettle into the bowl.

"Let me see him." Tommy's voice was heard as he entered the kitchen. "Well, have this" Tommy passed the bottle of rum and Arthur took a swig. Grabbing a rag, he immediately got to work tending to his brother's face.

"He said Mr. Churchill sent him to Birmingham. 'National interest', he said. Something about a robbery." Arthur explained. "He said he wants us to help him"

"We don't help coppers," John said immediately, disgusted at the thought.

"He knew all about our war records. He said we're patriots like him. He wants us to be his eyes and ears. I said -" He paused a moment before continuing, "I said we'd have a family meeting and take a vote".

Everyone remained silent, and frankly, that was enough of an answer to the eldest. "Why not? We have no truck with Fenians or communist," Arthur said exasperated, before heatedly asking Tommy. "What's wrong with you?"

Tommy continued to stare back at him, before asking his aunt, "What the fuck is wrong with him lately?"

"If I knew I'd buy the cure from Compton's Chemist," Polly answered, staring at Tom who stared right back.

OoOoOo

Being alone at night was something Maggie had gotten used to now. The cries next door, however, that was something entirely different. Sighing to herself, she decided to give it another go. Once again, she rose from her bed, and ventured into the hallway. This time though she brought her journal with her. Not long she stood in front of her brother's door, allowing herself to open it. 

Again, in the candlelit room, she saw him lying in his bed staring at the ceiling, though she couldn't tell if his eyes were open or not. "Still awake?" she asked.

"Can't seem to fall asleep," Tommy mumbled calmly. She took his stillness as permission to enter.

"Do you remember when I was a little girl and you used to read me books to make me fall asleep?" she asked, moving closer to the bed, "I used to love those voices you'd do for all the different characters from the picture books."

He nodded and he couldn't help the ghost of a smile while thinking of the memory. Unlike his other siblings, Maggie was the only one who would beg him to read to her. It was something they bonded over.

"If you want," she continued, motioning her hand to hold the journal up. "I can read you my story." Tommy was silent as he looked at the journal for a moment, before Maggie added, "I just thought maybe I could try to help you sleep like you did for me."

"Only if you do voices" he stressed jokingly, then shifted his body to make room for her on the small mattress.

"Remember," she squished next to him leaning her back against his bed frame. "This is a work in progress."

"I won't judge you too harshly" he replied, watching her open the journal that lay on her lap.

"Long ago when she was young, she believed that what she saw in her dreams could be a vision of what was to come. It was only now she understood that it was just an amalgamation of-"

"A what?" He interrupted.

"An amalgamation" she repeated. "Do you not know what an amalgamation means?"

"No, I do. Didn't think you did."

"Shut up. You're supposed to allow my words to lull you to sleep."

"Sorry, please continue"

"It was only now she understood that it was just an amalgamation of all her childhood aspirations, fears, and perhaps a little  too much whiskey. With this knowledge she found herself yearning for-"

By this point, Tommy had closed his eyes and was half-listening to the words his sister read from her journal. It wasn't half bad what she wrote. He reckoned by the time she was his age she'd actually make something of herself all with those stories in her head. Perhaps make a career out of it, possibly even get out of Small Heath. It was to be the start of a new decade, a new time, who knows what would happen? When he finally made it back from France, her face was the first face that caught his attention on the station platform. It shocked him. No more was the little girl he would read stories to, but in her place stood a smiling young woman. She had changed so much during the time he was gone.

Come to think of it, they'd all changed. Arthur was head of the family, in charge of the business, and had done a decent job of it. But that was before France, he was different now. He quickly noticed the change in his brother and how he couldn't think straight anymore. Arthur's personality became more explosive, as well as violent. John, well he had become more reckless, especially after a few drinks got into him, and since Martha's passing the drinking had only increased. 

As for him, well he was the one who had changed the most. He used to be carefree, joke and laugh, but now he was more solemn and even more protective of his family. Constantly worrying about how Arthur couldn't handle the business anymore, how John couldn't be alone anymore, and him? Well, he couldn't stand to see his family scrape and scrounge in the slums of Small Heath in order to survive any longer. No, not anymore. New copper sniffing about or not. No matter what Polly said, Tommy saw an opportunity with these guns. He wasn't about to turn it down. He just had to play it smart. As Maggie continued her reading, Tommy could feel himself slowly begin to drift out of consciousness and into a dreamless sleep.

[rockshortage]

*Cracks knuckles* Ow. Let's see, how about: A6, 16. B1, 12. C1, 2, 3, 5, 8. D4. E2, 3, 7. F2, 5, 10, 12 (Sorry, but also not sorry) I6. L1, 2, 4, and 9 :)

hoo boy that took a while

A6) Does your OC tend to assume their interpretation of events and reality is correct, or do they question it? I.e., “I’m sure that’s what you said” versus “It’s possible I misheard you.”

Ah, he questions himself a lot. Maybe he wasn’t listening well enough because he was too distracted by being anxious? Maybe he misinterpreted this event, because his background knowledge on it was lacking, he doesn’t know the full story and opinions from all sides, he’s not sure he can form a well educated opinion on this--

A16) Does your OC have to go through their own trials to learn a lesson, or do they listen and learn from observation and lecture? I.e., does your OC listen when someone tries to tell them the importance of budgeting, or do they have to go experience what happens if you don’t budget first?

Hector needs to do it himself for Science, because how else is he to truly know, if not from his own personal experience? Trusting what people tell you is good and all but gathering data yourself is better.

Unless we’re talking about raider politics, in which case there’s not really a good way for Hector to gather data without seriously endangering him and friends, so he’ll just listen to Gage.

B1) Do they believe you have to give respect to get it, or get respect to give it?

Generally, he believes it’s necessary to give people respect before you can expect it in return. He learns that many people do not in fact think the same way. He’ll still want to extend basic courtesy to them even if they’re assholes, unless they disrespect/piss him off to the extremes, or if their actions threaten his position and in turn the well-being of himself and friends.

B12) Your OC orders something to eat and gets their order done in a pretty wrong way, something they can’t just pick off or whatnot to correct, or something major is missing. What do they do?

Have a back and forth about it in his head – ah it’s not so bad it’s still fine, but then again he really wanted it differently… but he doesn’t wanna bother them and be entitled about it, but man… :( Might get close to pointing it out but chances are slim that he’ll actually get someone to correct the order. It’ll be disappointing but he’ll eat it.  

C1) Does your OC have a moral code? If not, how do they base their actions? If so, where does it come from, and how seriously do they take it?

Eeeh, not a super strong one. His baseline are general societal morals and norms, like… help person good, kill person bad. Most of the time he’ll base his actions on what feels right for him and for his friends. He’ll consider: will doing this make me feel bad afterwards? Will it have a negative impact on other people, who don’t deserve it? Is that consequence worth it because it saves my own skin or helps/protects my friends?

C2) Would your OC feel bad if they acted against their morals? If not, would they find a way to excuse themselves for it?

Bringing back the point about sacrificing for the greater good. He’d consider that the morally right thing to do because it impacts fewer people negatively. But making that sacrifice endangers his friends, whose lives for him personally are worth much more than an abstract crowd of people. So he chooses to not do the thing for the greater good and save his friends instead, and yes, he would feel very bad on the one hand, because oh boy. As far as most people are concerned, he did a horrible terrible thing and was extremely selfish and absolutely chose wrong. But on the plus side, and that’s a very big huge plus- he still has his friends. And still having his friends makes him feel less bad than how he would have felt if he didn’t have his friends anymore.

So uh… yes and no.

C3) Is it important for them to be with people (socially, intimately, whatever) whose major ideological tenets align with their own?

More or less. He can’t hang out well with people he completely disagrees with in every way, of course that’s not going to work. But Hector is… how to say… kinda boring when it comes to ideals and opinions and all that stuff. He just doesn’t have very strong ones in general. Which can make him a little bland and potentially spineless, but also pretty agreeable. As long as they don’t constantly shove their great big opinions in his face, they’ll get along well enough.

C5) Do your OC’s morals and rules of common decency go out the window when it comes to those they don’t like, or when it’s inconvenient? Aka, are their morals situational?

I think I kind of answered this in C2. Basic morals do get thrown out the window if friends are threatened, or if he gets pissed off enough. He’d have to be really pissed off though. As well as being post having-grown-a-spine(-at-least-partially). Hurting people bad but being insufferable to Hector also bad so guess what fucker

C8) Is your OC more practical or ideal morally? I.e., do they hold people to high expectations of behavior even if it’s not realistic for the situation, or do they have a more realistic approach and adapt their morality to be more practical?

Again a little tricky because I’m having trouble coming up with a scenario that would help me make up my mind with a definite answer. I’m leaning more towards a practical approach 1) because Hector is more of a realist/pessimist in general, 2) he doesn’t want to like… be overly demanding

D4) Would they like to be immortal? Why, why not? If they are immortal, would they rather not be?

The more he thinks about it the more meaningless life seems to get for someone like him. Solution: don’t think about it! Repress that shit because it’s not like you can do anything about it anyway. Also an involuntary solution but one that helps nonetheless: have shit memory so that you don’t feel like you’ve lived too many lifetimes.

If you were to ask him, the answer you get completely depends on the headspace he’s in at the moment. If he’s just vibing, going about his day and things are going well then yeah! Immortality isn’t so bad. If you catch him on an off day, things aren’t going so well, maybe he just thought about having to deal with losing his friends eventually… then you obviously get the opposite answer.

E2) Which of the nine types of intelligence is your OC strongest in? Weakest? (Linguistic, existential, naturalist, et cetera)

I know I talked about this before and I grouped them from strong to medium to weak but I can’t for the life of me find the post anymore (thanks tumblr for your useless garbage search and tagging features). So I can’t even check if I’m still on the same wavelength with past me :v

From strongest to weakest we have…

Logical-mathematical

Spatial

Linguistic

Bodily-kinesthetic

Musical

Naturalist

Interpersonal

Existential

Intrapersonal

E3) How many languages do they speak?

Three… and a half.

The half language being Swiss German, because I don’t know what the fuck it is even after graduating from language uni

The others: Standard German, English, and French, from strongest to weakest.

E7) Are they a good note-taker? Are they a good test-taker? Do exams make them nervous?

Yes, yes, and yes. He’s very good at taking notes considering most of science is documentation. And even now when he’s not doing a lot of Formal Science things, he still writes in his journal almost daily, summing up events and making notes of important things. He gets nervous with tests with all the self doubt if he really prepared well enough and the unpredictability of the questions that will be asked, but once the pen is in his hand, he just blazes through it.

F2) What’s their ideal home look like? Where is it?

Someplace underground, safe and sturdy like a vault. Industrial aesthetic is welcome and he wants to have plenty of space, but it shouldn’t feel huge and empty. Needs to be homey, even if it might feel a little rustic to the average person. Having it built into a mountain would be sick, so he still has the perfect protection from the sun, but he doesn’t have to crawl out of a hole in the ground like some kind of worm – instead he opens the door and gets the most amazing view immediately.

… and I promise, only after writing the above did I remember that he pretty much lives in a mountain already, just a plastic one. Close enough.

F5) How handy are they? Can they fix appliances, cars, cabinets, et cetera?

Quite handy indeed. He can fix most things, he usually just needs some time to (re-)familiarize himself with the object and its functions. A lot of it also involves trial and error, but he’ll figure it out eventually.

F10) Do they engage in any of the arts? How good do you intend them to be? Would they agree they are?

He’d actually be really good at pen/pencil drawing, what with making technical illustrations and blueprints of Science Stuff, but it’s not a skill that’s applied in an artsy setting. When the goal is to draw for the sake of drawing, evoking emotion, or paint with a brush, that’s probably when shit would fall apart. I can’t remember who the artist was, but it reminds me of this little comic about Paladin Danse – in which he’s extremely good at technical drawings but then he attempts to draw a dog and it just looks…wrong.

Now with music, he’s more likely to engage in it in an artful way. He likes to sing, even if he very rarely does it now that he has people around him more often than not. Before, he’d just be alone in his lonely place and sing and scream to his heart’s content, but now he’s too awkward to do it, because someone might hear him. He is pretty good at it though, considering how much alone time he’s had to practice.

F12) Would they enjoy a theme park?

The rides and junk food? Yes absolutely. But the giant crowd and every little consequence it entails, nope, no thank you, he’ll just leave it be.

You bet he’s gonna go on the rides at nuka world though once they got them back up and working, because the crowd isn’t as big as pre-war and he’s the fucking overboss and can skip lines and restrict access to others however he damn pleases.

I6) Could they eat the same thing they enjoy over and over and not get bored of it quickly?

He can, but that doesn’t mean he enjoys it. The first month or so at nuka world he almost exclusively lives off of some shitty nutrient bars. In some scenarios, food just exists as sustenance and not as something to be enjoyed.

In a preferable scenario though, it is to be enjoyed. And I think while he would get bored of it after a while, it’d take longer than for the average person. And even then, he’s just happy he can eat something enjoyable at whatever pace he likes instead of having to scarf down Compressed Nutrient

L1) How have your characters changed since you created them?

He stopped existing in a void, which is a pretty damn big change. Now he has a whole world and other characters to interact with, that contribute to shaping and developing his personality.

L2) What do you consider the biggest themes in your character, if any?

Oof, this is hard. Maybe… getting to know yourself? Accepting change, personal growth?

L4) Would you hang out with your OC if you could?

I’m actually not sure sjdfsdnsv

Like yes he is sweet bean who must be protected, but that doesn’t change the fact that he is a weird little old man. I guess if we can just chill listening to music and he can go off about crustaceans or something and we speak The Horrible Language, why the fuck not

L9) How did you come up with your OC?

Masks cool. Me especially like gas masks. Unhinged science characters also cool. Make generic but still sliiiightly unique design and make it a point to not have him be a young pretty boy character despite having immortality. Add lots of weaknesses to compensate for the immortality. Add science personality things and complete the picture with projections of my own personality. Boom, you’ve got yourself the beginnings of a Hector