#boreborn

   Gundham sighs, slipping a cigarette into his mouth. It is the sound of a job well done, of a rewarding exertion coming to an end. A hand slips into his jacket and he pulls out his metal lighter. He’s scratched the symbol for anarchy into its side, claiming the stolen lighter as his own. Gundham flicks it open and lights the fag. He takes a puff, dragging in the smoke before letting it leave his nose. There is another sigh and he leans back on a hand.

   That hand touches warm metal. The car he sits on creaks beneath him. Legs are crossed and a baseball bat lays across his legs. It is this very car that is the source of his contentment. Signs of his work are seen all over it. Every window smashed. The lights broken and ripped out. Tires slashed. Dents across the entire surface. Certainly enough damage and exertion to justify the little bit of sweat that graces his brow.

    “I wonder if they’ll expel me for this,” he mutters, a grin touching his features. This is the headmaster’s car and he did target it specifically to see how much of his shit they’ll take. After all, he can just claim he’s developing his talent.

   Movement beside the car catches his eye and Gundham turns his gaze downwards. A non-existent eyebrow rises at the witness that is looking at him with some interest. He lets his gaze wander over her for a moment, a hum on his lips. Gundham then looks away from her again, eyes on the building looming over them as he addresses her.

i started a new blog and you materialized hhhh

“Some of my old friends are actually taking a big trip to America next month.  I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little jealous,” He chuckles, shrugging his shoulders.  “But I know someday it’ll be time for a big trip of my own, too.”

She had long known the truth of humanity. Her sister taught it to her when they were children. Humanity’s primal nature was despair, to inflict it on others and to have it inflicted upon them. The governments of this world tried to lie about it, tried to hide and gloss over the suffering that the people went through, tried to control the people to act in a more approved way, tried to punish those who rejected their insults. Despair was the truth, the purest concept in the world that united mankind. And yet it was being suppressed, and that was the greatest despair of all. In this wretched life she was living, there was nothing she could do about it.

So years ago she made a choice. She would follow her passions and become a child soldier. She would reject the identity she was born with and travel to the Middle East, joining the mercenary organization known as Fenrir. She would hone her talents and become the most feared warrior in the world, all before she even became a grown woman. She would kill hundreds upon hundreds of combatants and never be wounded. She was Mukuro Ikusaba. She was the Ultimate Soldier. She was the vanguard of Despair.

And today, she was fifteen years old. Her comrades in Fenrir were not that religious, but Christmas was a holiday they all chose to use as a day of rest. Mukuro never understood why. She usually spent her birthday by herself, exercising and shooting targets. When she returned to her barracks she would find a small package on her mattress. A birthday present.

Inside the box were two things. One was a cell phone, brand new and fully charged. The other was a note, inscribed with bright ink. Upon it was number, and beneath that number was some familiar handwriting.

𝒞𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓂𝑒

     She showed her face again. He supposed if nothing else, she was persistent. The idea of hearing her voice again filled him with dread. The last time she had been here, she had spoken almost non-stop, filling the otherwise silent air with her nonsense. He had a rudimentary understanding of her thought process, but he still didn’t understand the appeal.

     Even so, she intrigued him in a way no one else had. She held his attention for longer than a few moments.

  Nagito winces as he feels long nails creep upon his pale skin. The girl’s fingers tug at his skin and force his eyes open. He wants nothing more than to shut them and pretend NONE of this was happening. Yet he was forced to watch as someone he loved died over and over again. Despair dripped through his veins like a poison. He needed... to let this become his strength. To stop himself from falling by holding on the thread of hope dangling in front of him. Even if the NOISE was too loud for him to focus. 

  Hope isn’t useless. God... Was this his fault? His luck wrapped around Nanami’s throat like a noose because he cared for her. Tighter and tighter, until he finally killed her. Just like so many others. He wishes he could take her place. It should have been HIM that died! Why did HE ALWAYS survive? 

  A jolt of anger shoots through him. Be angry. Force yourself to be angry. He roughly turns his head to escape her grip, not even thinking about if those blood-red nails slipped into his eyes. Teeth sink into his bottom lip as he tried to hold in the screams and cries. His body is still trembling but... He’s seen death. He just had to force himself to not think about WHO it was. 

  The only thing he says, something so out of character for him. He rarely spoke vulgarly. But the despair and anger inside him pushed the words out without much thought. She was going to kill him. If he just acted apathetically, she’d probably do it faster. That all made sense and yet hateful words are spit at her with eyes squeezed shut and his head turned away. 

You wanna love me, but I’ll make you 🅷🅰🆃🅴 me! | Accepting!

🅾🆄🆃 Here’s one about the RPC in general. As somebody who really values OC characters and I even have a few of them myself. I feel for you if you rp an OC and people seem to ignore you. It sucks! Especially when you put a lot of time and effort into your muse and you really want to portray them! It sucks that some people don’t want to give you a chance. Your character is valid, and I’m sorry some people are snooty about them. I’ve seen too many good OCs die off because nobody wanted to interact and it’s really demoralising.

On the other hand, I’ve been the canon character who had to deal with a bad oc. Or even worse, a bad OC mun. As much as I’d like to beat the drum of “OCs are just as valid as canon characters!” but I just can’t say that’s true in all cases. OCs require a LOT OF WORK. If you put the work in, I respect you, I love you, and I would love to interact with you. If you're too lazy, then you’re the reason people don’t trust OCs. If you have no about page, if you refuse to actually plot with canon muns, and worst of all; if you run an OC multiuse and expect canon muns to run through your list of OCs without about pages and pick one to interact with because you liked their starter call, and you won’t even explain anything about your characters in a conversation: I don’t think anyone should be shamed into dealing with you. (Yes this happened to me.)

Nobody has to RP with someone because they’re a downtrodden OC. Though, If you will deal with some OCs but specifically have a problem with FEMALE OCs, fuck off. That’s such an infuriatingly common thing to see in certain communities.

Mukuro didn't tend to get scared easily. Why would she? She'd spent three years in one of the most grisly mercenary groups out there and came out completely unscathed. Hell, she wasn't just the Ultimate Soldier, she was Ultimate Despair- being able to claim both of those titles as your own would make even the most anxious person feel pretty self-assured. With Junko, she could accomplish anything, even bringing the world to its knees in despair.

She hadn't felt anything even remotely akin to fear the entire time they'd held the most recent of Junko's experimental killing games. This one hadn't been with anyone from Hope's Peak, just some random  schmucks stupid enough to believe whatever scam offers the girls had came up with.

The game had gone pretty nicely, too; Junko had seemed pleased and Mukuro could appreciate the fact that, surprisingly, some of their victims had possessed pretty nice combat skills and had provided an entertaining show. The sisters had already disposed of all the corpses and were about halfway through cleaning up all the blood and weapons when they'd heard the sirens.

At first, it was just one police car outside, its red flights flaring brilliantly through one of the windows; Mukuro had noticed it and felt nothing, about to open her useless mouth and make an unnecessary comment about how they probably weren't there for them but before a single word could escape, several more pulled in around them, sirens blaring.

And still, Mukuro hadn't been afraid. The guns the contestants of their game had used were all out of bullets, but she still had her AR-15. She went to reload and- oh. Her heart jumped to her throat. How had this happened...? Six bullets. That was literally all she had. There had to be at least eight cars out there, and there were probably multiple officers in some of the vehicles... oh. Oh.

Her whole body went cold. What- no. How? They'd done everything the same as always, so how had they been found out? Maybe they hadn't actually came for them, but... they were all still outside and there was nothing around this place...

She glanced around the room. There was still so much blood... so many fingerprints. They should have just burned it, all it was was an abandoned building no one would miss, but Mukuro had been the one to suggest that they didn't, that they could just clean it and use it again in the future (it'd had so many natural obstacles and hiding places, and Junko had seemed so happy... well, despair-ful at how everything had gone, but...) She was stupid, oh, she was SO stupid...!

How was she going to protect her sister with six bullets? They couldn't possibly explain what they were doing in a room in this condition in a good way, and Mukuro wasn't sure if being the Ultimate Soldier would give her a free pass for having a gun or not... No, no, no...! She'd always known those things Junko said about her were true, she was worthless, stupid, always a disappointment, but now, she wasn't just going to let Junko down, no, her little sister was going to go to jail, oh, no, they might even just gun her down...

Mukuro turned to her, gray eyes wide and terrified. "J-Junko! What do we do?" Her voice quavered; she couldn't recall ever hearing it shake like that before. But... Junko was so smart; surely she'd have a way to get them out of this? Unless... Mukuro had finally managed to fuck it all up so badly even Junko wouldn't be able to save them...