SO. I am here to talk about your portrayal of one Victor Creed.
Please, pull up a chair.
I am not a person who usually does exclusives of characters. I like to roleplay with as many people as I can, explore all the different dynamics possible - it's just the way I'm wired, right? But I really don't think I could write with another Victor as happily as I do with you. Not nearly. There's an easy chemistry between our two versions of these characters that just clicks, that felt right from practically the moment we started writing together, and it never ceases to amaze me how so much of it came from an inspired Paul Bunyan reference.
You know full well just how long my posts tend to get when I'm replying to you, and occasionally I feel a bit bad that I just hit you with walls of text, but it's a testament to just how inspired I am when you come back at me with this kind of awful, kind of brilliant, definitely fucked up, definitely compelling trashy blonde. I don't write long responses for people who I don't enjoy - with you, Hank just wants to talk when your Victor is around, his thoughts flow and his feelings burst, because you create just such a vibrant personality for him to bounce off of.
I love your Victor to itty bitty bits. Beep beep, how's your portrayal?
BEEP BOOP, MOTHERFUCKER, I LOVE IT.
"Kind of awful, kind of brilliant, definitely fucked up, definitely compelling trashy blonde." - the best Victor Description known to man and mutant kind
Oh, god, this is so. Mmmmm I am so emotional right now. Such great praise from the best Hank I have ever seen. I always adored Hank. I loved him in media, he really is so fun, but you! You made me love him. You made me a forever fan. You know him inside and out, you write him perfectly spot on. I'm so thankful you gave me a chance and even more thankful you're just as strangely insterested as me in this mashup of marvels beasts.
I'm gonna save this and cherish this for ever and ever 🥺🥺🥺
Magnetism played no part in their union. Although there was to his hand beckoning and reaching for hers a similar and addicting inevitability. A sense of profound, doubtless and ceaseless love. The world was not altogether lawless. It knew the two of them would always belong together.
Electricity shouldn't have ruled the contact. And yet mesmerizing tingles continued to insinuate themselves as his skin met hers. A charge of pleasant warmth ignited in the encounter. And then, as he descended with the flair of bygone eras that now survived in them, all the trilling excitements of the oncoming thunderstorm.
Tristan kissed Aurora's hand. Pressing his lips to it as if to leave the mark of his burning passion.
small / large / average / grey / brown / blue / green / gold / hazel / red / doe - eyed / almond / close - set / wide - set / squinty / monolid / heavy eyelids / upturned / downturned
HAIR.
thin / thick / fine / normal / greasy / dry / soft / shiny / curly / frizzy / wild / unruly / straight / smooth / wavy / floppy / cropped / pixie - cut / shoulder length / back length / waist length / buzz cut / bald / jaw length / mohawk / grey / platinum blonde / golden blonde / dirty blonde / strawberry blonde / blonde / ombre / light brown / mouse brown / chestnut brown / golden brown / chocolate brown / dark brown / jet black / ginger / auburn / dyed red / dyed an unnatural color / thin eyebrows / average eyebrows / thick eyebrows
TATTOOS & PIERCINGS.
no tattoos / one tattoo / a few here and there / multiple / full sleeves / thigh tattoo / neck tattoo / chest tattoo / no piercings / ear piercings / nose piercing / lip piercing / tongue piercing / eyebrow piercing / navel piercing / cheek piercing / nipple piercing / genital piercing
I disagree wholly with that last anon. If they had taken the time to properly read through your bio (which it looks like they haven’t!), the would find an extremely well fledged out oc that’s interesting without having to be OP. I like Kyrra a lot, she’s a great OC. Please don’t be put down ❤️❤️❤️
｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ || OOC || ANONYMOUSLY TELL ME YOUR HONEST OPINION ABOUT ME. I CAN’T REPLY/COMMENT, JUST PUBLISH. || ｡･:*:･ﾟ☆
Acknowledgement comes in a sluggish shrug of the shoulders & little more. The approaching steps are familiar & ... Welcomed. Despite the smith’s uninspired greeting, “Never go for a walk, Captain ?” crude soot stains the Breton’s cheek, turning to face the Dunmer’s own ashen complexion -- there really was no getting rid of it. Particularly here, the eastern front of the Bulwark. Glover is leant against it at current ; arms crossed, shoulders heavily slouched, & one ankle hooked lazily over the other. He’d been there for some time, prior to the Captain’s sharp eye spotting him here, loitering the coastline, just out of typical view ; typical.
“Clearer skies today,” Glover muses absently, distant eyes parting to take in the horizon once more ; set on home. There is a grief unnamed in his tone, always was, a sense of longing & loss, so apart of him it may as well be the air he breathed -- calcifying lungs, “thought I’d take the moment to see it while I could,” never any knowing when the next storm would pick up, or how long it would last, “I’ve begun feeling guilty when I don’t, word from home has me on edge.”
Silence, spare frothing waves, surrounds them as Glover resumes his thoughtful quiet. Words tapering off on a light whisper. Half listening, half engrossed in the view, as the approaching steps ceased ; Veleth settles alongside him. Straight & at attention, as to be expected, chin held high. It comes as a surprise how his words are twisted in a gravely awkward note this afternoon, “Have you ever considered returning ... ?”
“Trying to get rid of me -- ?” Glover’s teasing quip is lighthearted, a means of dismissing formalities & other such awkwardness. He could feel the strain threading between them, the uncomfortable awareness of necessity in peaceful coexistence. Pride was an odd occurrence like that.
“I think every man can hope to die in their homeland, if they could help it ...” a testament shared, in place of differing moralities ; if courage & luck allowed he’d wish for nothing more, until then ... The Captain of the guard certainly filled Glover’s days with gratifying labor & busied hands, a blessing to the smith even as Raven Rock’s ails weighed heavy upon all.
“If you’re here about those gauntlets,” Glover clears his throat, “I’m afraid the resin hasn’t set right. It’ll be done, but I’m going to have to ask for an extension on those repairs.” Didn’t feel right supplying faulty equipment, even it it was quick coin, not with the way Veleth & his men ran themselves ragged in these dunes. He hadn’t the heart. Times had changed. The Breton found himself ... Comfortable here. Peace was lost to him & his nights restless with guilt, but there was a pleasure he’d never known. To rise with the sun & tend his forge. Fickle daily routines to fill his days ; reliable. The Redoran Guard had few reliable resources in the suffocating settlement. With hands as strong as his own, it felt more of a disservice to not lend them in aid however way he could.
“What did you get into to mar the bonemold like that anyway. Looked like you tripped at my forge. Been trying your hand at creeping around, Veleth ... ? Knock on the door next time, I’ll have some advice waiting for you.” his humor is dry but well intentioned, the slightest hints of distrust between them was always petty & lacked any true conviction -- cat & mouse. A fine enough of a game to play when there weren’t more trying matters at hand ---
Glover turns to share something more, some measly detail about bonemold, some sort of fun fact ; straightening his stance & unhooking his ankle, he is, instead, distracted by a disturbance -- sifting ash.
It takes a heartbeat to process the nightmarish vision procuring before him ( behind Veleth ! ). A heartbeat more for the unsettling dread to flood his veins. Without another wasted beat of his pounding heart, instinct takes over him. In a sharp movement all tact & sense of personal distance & duty is abandoned. Mercilessly, Glover snatches the front of the Captain’s cuirass. Calloused hand clawing into familiar bonemold, grip unrelenting as the mer is harshly dragged forward & against Glover’s own person.
There’s a distance to Glover’s eyes again ; an anxiety sparking in the embers, an apology, as the Breton plunges his dagger into the breast of something rather solid. Skewering it & with a grunt & a twist of the ebony blade, the solidity of the foe dissipates. Back ... Back into ash. An ash spawn.
Ripping the dagger away it’s now abundantly clear to both that he’d narrowly missed a mortal weakness in Veleth’s armor --- the lighter leather lining where arm & chest met. The blade grazing his inner arm & scratching the breastplate ; though successfully saving the mer from much more grievous woes. Glover swallows thickly, suddenly finding it very difficult to breath as the dagger now hangs limply, awkwardly, at his side. A shaken hand releases Veleth ; only to step back & realize the mer held a grip of Glover’s own front. Blinking down, Glover can understand why such grim apology fills the Dunmer’s own gaze.
A dagger of the Captain’s own. Poised at Glover’s side, hovering just over the smith’s ill-protected underbelly. Free of leathers & armoring, the blade nicks cotton & frays the crimson fabric. Veleth clears his own throat. Quickly glancing away, releasing Glover in a flourish & turning to assess the growing threat to Raven Rock. There is silence, in this shock. A silent truce. Silent respect. There was little more needing said as shouts filled the air & his men took their stand along the Bulwark. Pride welling as they faced the threat with little fear. Before he could rush to join them a final glance is spared to Glover.
With a flick of his wrist, Veleth now grasps his dagger by the blade, extending the handle to Glover with a beckoning nod. No time for stale banter & meek apologies. A shared understanding as Glover gratefully arms himself with the second dagger. “Let’s see to it that death doesn’t find you here, then, Glover.” Veleth muses, drawing his battleaxe, “Every man should have that honor. To return themselves to the land that birthed them. Now ready those blades ---”
