“Can Bad Things Stop Happening To Me For Once?”

"let me help you baby"

It’s dark out, the sun just dipping below the horizon. Arthur walked along the sidewalks, glancing through the windows of shops. He was thirsty and hungry, so if he could just find a restaurant - or even a small convenience store that he could spend the little money he had left and some supplies. Although he wasn’t having any luck - typical. There was cake shops, and any coffee shop that he looked through had prices that were way out of his budget. Arthur curses under his breath, shoving his hands into his pockets and continuing his truck. He has a Jean jacket on over his vest, the wind a little too chilly to go without sleeves.

He squeezes his eyes shut, blowing into his fleshy palm to warm up his fingers. Only to snap open when a familiar voice broke through his train of thought. He blinks several times, glancing around. His hope growing in his gut like a bubble- was that vivis voice? Holy shit, maybe she could help him get home!

Her bright blues stick out under the light of a street light, and even more noticeable was the look on her face, and the guy who was too close to her. Arthur’s lip twitches as his hope twists into a ferocity that made his fists ball tightly, and he changed course. Making a beeline straight toward the pair.

Said man was inching close into her space, holding her shoulders to keep her in place as he chattered and laughed.

She had just wanted to make friends.

Unfortunately for her trouble never seemed to stop rearing it’s ugly head. The bad kind of trouble, too, not the fun stuff. The bad kind of a group of men turning horrible, unwanted, unfriendly attention on her. Vivi had left as quickly as she could have. There was respite in the cool air outside, away from those hungry stares and jeers, and she tried to take a moment to allow herself to breathe as she walked away from that place. And then trouble reared again, in the form of a hand on her, one of them had followed.

Her face is shock and confusion and fear lays right behind her eyes as he moves before her, causing her to move back. Then that grip adjusted on her shoulders, tighter than before, a warning to not run. He’s laughing and smiling but there’s so much tightness in her chest, she can tell this isn’t a friendly interaction. Her first instinct is to sock him right in his face, knock that poisonous grin into next year. She doesn’t want a fight after all, she just wants to go home and forget about any of this. Maybe it would be easier if she tried to talk him down a little bit, keep things calm so this doesn’t end up spiraling completely out of control.

Like hell he wouldn’t.

Arthur grinds his teeth, his steps becoming hard and aggressive as his fists grow tight. What the fuck was this mans problem? He should punch that look right off his sorry face-!

“Excuse me.” His snarl is coated in venom. Arthurs lip twitching from his poor attempt at composure. But it’s hard when this fucker was getting in his friends face like that. The man doesn’t have a moment to look at him before arthur snatches his arm and wedges himself between Vivi and the man, forcing him to back away and giving them enough space that Vivi could run off if she needs to. Leveling a glare directly at him, he hisses, “do not touch my girlfriend like that, motherfucker.”

He faintly wonders how this Vivi would react, but he can’t think of it for too long, only staying between them like a barrier.

“.. you’re her man?” The drunkard asks,

Arthur was out in the junkyard behind the shop, digging around for anything he could hope to busy himself with. Or maybe something he could use to upgrade himself! Lance had been hellbent on insisting that they not use scrap for Arthur’s body, but the mechanic really saw no harm in it. Parts were parts, if you knew how to make them tick right. Besides, there’d never be enough money in the whole world to buy brand new shiny parts for every single thing he’d done to his new body. Lance just didn’t need to know about some of the modifications he’s made after getting up and running so that he could work on himself alone.

He kicks a piece of metal to the side when something catches his eye, bright but familiar colors. Is that his van?! No, no, there’s no possible way! Lance has been keeping his van out back since he died... he sneaks closer to get a bit of a better look as it pulled into the shop. He looks through the windshield and— oh. Oh you’ve GOT to be kidding! Him??? Himself? Arthur Kingsmen??? How the hell was this even possible? But there’s something else that smacks him like a brick to the face. Oh god, did anyone see him? Looking left and right Arthur makes a dash to the van, just as the other starts to get out.

Arthur cut the Ignition and opened the driver's seat door, reaching out to Press his foot to the dirt-just to be sure that he wasn't going to swipe or be overcome with the worst Vertigo.

But what happened instead was probably worse. He was halfway out and steading himself, when the sudden appearance of another person had him Flinching back and slamming against his door. "fuck!"

His back ached all at once with the pain of metal grinding into his sore muscles, but that was nothing compared to the sudden fear that shot through him when he opened his eyes and saw who was there. An Arthur. Another Arthur? Sure he should have expected that he would one day run into someone like him, but what was with his face? why was he so nervous?... wait was this how he was always like? For a moment Arthur felt bad for all the people he had known in his life.

Arthur stares at her, eyeing her with a narrow squint. He glanced around and spots her car, then he looks back at her.

Ever since the news went on about her take down a very abusive institution through “mysterious means,” she had been harassed by reporters and “paranormal investigators.” In this case, she had seen this obnoxiously orange van wherever she went: the university, the grocery store, the park that was close to her neighborhood, all of these convenient places. When she looked up the name, “Mystery Skulls Inc.,” she was greeted with an EDM band and a paranormal investigation crew. Of fucking course!

Alice’s face nearly matched her hair. Oh, so this prick is going to pretend that she’s a Karen?!

He glances over his shoulder, throwing a hard glare at her. “Good job announcing yourself. Not everyone is out to get you though. I’m not trying to follow you either - I don’t even know you or where I am.” He enunciated every word and then whipped back to walking away, “Get a life and maybe block some callers. It does wonders Ms. psychic!”

She wasn’t the only one getting stressed. His own shoulders began to tremble with the edge now clinging to his body. It’s not everyday that someone just screams at you, and regardless, he did not want any part of it. It still didn’t help his anxieties. He grits his teeth to block out the anxiety running through his muscles and hops into his van. He bites his lip and clenches the steering wheel with jumping muscles and a tight throat.

dedicated to those who can’t stop thinking about their own characters ♡

What does your character typically keep in their pockets?

Do they consider themselves an optimist? Pessimist? Realist? What are they like in actuality?

How do they carry themselves around strangers? Friends/Lovers? Family?

If your character was a work of art, how would you describe them?

How does your character express they’re comfortable?

How does your character express that they’re uncomfortable?

How impulsive is your character?

What is something they cannot resist?

What is their favorite scent?

If they were in a rock band, what role would they play?

How does your character blow off steam? 

Physically, does your character feel warm or do they always feel cold?

If they were a body of water, what would they be?

Does your character value promises? Are they good at keeping them?

Describe their ideal date. 

What keeps them going?

Does your character swear? What’s their favorite phrase/word?

How does your character act when they want to seem inviting?

How does your character act when they want to seem threatening?

Can your character flirt? Are they aware they’re flirting? How do they do it?

If they were a potion, what would it look like? (Color, glass shape, smell, etc.)

What kind of person would they never side with?

Would your character want to be famous? Why or why not?

What’s a controversial food opinion they would have?

How does your character feel about spending money?

What would they want for their funeral? 

If they were a ghost, how would they haunt in the afterlife? 

Why do they keep secrets?

What does your character have too much of?

What never gets old for your character? Something your character can’t get enough of?

Can your character visualize actual concepts in their head? Or are they just vague thoughts? 

Does your character daydream? What do they usually keep their mind occupied with?

How do they feel about the unknown?

How do they respond to condescension? 

Do they consider themselves childish/mature for their age?

What makes them blush?

What are some ways your character acts silly?

What fairytale/myth suits your character the best?

What does your character believe their party lacks?

Describe a corruption/redemption arc version of your character.

What’s a texture/sound your character cannot stand?

Is there something your character isn’t very good at, but enjoys doing nonetheless?

Is your character good at apologizing? Why or why not?

How do they hold onto people?

What would they never forgive themselves for? 

How does your character feel about growing old?

Do they consider themselves funny? How do they use humor?

What do they want to leave behind?

Do they talk to themselves?

What is their native language? If they know multiple languages, how do they speak/act differently?

What makes them a hypocrite?

If your character was under quarantine, what type of quarantine person would they be? (Productive? Hobbyist? Lazy?)

What does freedom mean to them?

What is something they currently look forward to? What is something they dread?

How has your character’s mental health been recently?

If your character had wings what would they look like?

How does the way they act seemingly contradict their ability scores?

What’s a habit that needs to be broken?

What’s something your character has realized?

Who do they go to when they need to bounce ideas off of someone?

Who do they go to when they’ve had a nightmare?

Who does your character think is the most put together in the party? 

Which party member would they pull a prank on? Who would they plan a prank with? 

What is one thing they want each party member to know?

Which do they value more?

65. Adoration or Intimidation?

66. Outward Passion or Quiet Rebellion?

67. Selflessness or Self-Preservation?

68. Objective or Subjective?

Arthur stares at her, eyeing her with a narrow squint. He glanced around and spots her car, then he looks back at her.

Ever since the news went on about her take down a very abusive institution through “mysterious means,” she had been harassed by reporters and “paranormal investigators.” In this case, she had seen this obnoxiously orange van wherever she went: the university, the grocery store, the park that was close to her neighborhood, all of these convenient places. When she looked up the name, “Mystery Skulls Inc.,” she was greeted with an EDM band and a paranormal investigation crew. Of fucking course!

Alice’s face nearly matched her hair. Oh, so this prick is going to pretend that she’s a Karen?!

He glances over his shoulder, throwing a hard glare at her. “Good job announcing yourself. Not everyone is out to get you though. I’m not trying to follow you either - I don’t even know you or where I am.” He enunciated every word and then whipped back to walking away, “Get a life and maybe block some callers. It does wonders Ms. psychic!”

She wasn’t the only one getting stressed. His own shoulders began to tremble with the edge now clinging to his body. It’s not everyday that someone just screams at you, and regardless, he did not want any part of it. It still didn’t help his anxieties. He grits his teeth to block out the anxiety running through his muscles and hops into his van. He bites his lip and clenches the steering wheel with jumping muscles and a tight throat.