#hotheadhero

Caspar has been dropped and is now available!

Gaius always wondered when something like this would happen. It was a peaceful day in the mess hall and all of a sudden, pies started flying. Now, he thought it was a waste, but it was also an opportunity. Gaius prepares himself and resolved himself to taste all the pies and only throw the bad ones. 

If someone was gonna throw him any, he’s gonna catch it, eat it, and just collect it -- unless they were bad. 

He felt it before he saw it: Of course he wouldn’t make it far from this fucking reception hall without someone catching him first. What he didn’t expect when they finally spoke was that it wouldn’t be either of his house leads. After that tirade back there, ruining what was supposed to be the highlight of their year - he wouldn’t have been surprised if either of them had executed him on the spot, let alone expel him. 

Edelgard, he hoped, wouldn’t do that. She was too nice; she’d given him a dance. (No matter. She’d probably get Hubert to do it instead.)

The servant ever at the beck and call of his master, something sneered inside him. Look at them all happy in their relationship; it’s miles better than what you can do, you useless–

“Hey. What happened back there?”

He doesn’t turn around, doesn’t want to acknowledge that he’s so much of a mess that an utter stranger has to come after him and put him out his misery. But he can still feel their presence there even after what feels like an eternity of waiting for them to just go away, and finally, with an aggravated sigh, he turns.

Tall. Blonde. Dark outfit. Concerned. Nobody he recognizes.

“What’s it to you?” he asks. His voice is sullen; he doesn’t recognize this man. What right should he have to come snooping in on his feelings?

Wherever the real Linhardt is, he doesn’t think he’d want this stranger to know about their history. To know how it had all gone so terribly wrong.

That reaction alone tells him it was a mistake to get involved. Sorry. Didn’t realize you’d take it so badly. “...If you want to be left alone, I’ll turn around and pretend I didn’t see you. If you want to share what’s on your mind, though, I’ll listen." A pause. “Not that it means much coming from a stranger, I suppose. It’s your choice.”

This is awkward. Someone who actually knows this kid should be in his place, and he should be back in the ballroom doing his job. But... he recalls a time when he was on the receiving end of those outbursts, so perhaps he feels inclined to sympathize. Not pity—just a sense of understanding, that sometimes tensions boil over and cause an explosion without really meaning to.

I didn’t realize you could still feel that way.

munday prompts

7. do you project onto your muses at all, giving them similar issues or traits to your own? what is your opinion on people who do this?

i was talking about this with azzie the other day, but i think to me there’s a difference between ‘projecting’ and using your own experiences to inspire your interpretation. i think everyone does the latter, since being drawn to things in fiction that you can relate to is just the appeal of storytelling. so it’s natural to find things that resonate with you, and then want to either explore or write about them; it’s an effective way to grapple with situations that seem similar to yours, or gain a better understanding of it. ( tho maybe that’s just me. )

at the risk of sounding snobbish about it, i think though that it is important that canon material is always kept in mind. of course you might use your own experience to expand on things about a character that canon doesn’t give you or that are left vague in the source material, but i think it’s important that there’s some logical basis for it in said source material, and that it’s kept in the spirit of what would be realistic for that character.

what i don’t really care for is when people override canon in favor of reading themselves into the character, which is what i think of when ‘projecting’ comes to mind. that word to me implies a prioritization of actualizing yourself into a character over representing the character themselves. and while i totally understand that this is just a hobby and everyone writes for fun and for different reasons, it’s just my personal opinion that that doesn’t really fit what people come to canon rp to do. if i’m interacting with a canon character, i want to interact with that canon character, not the mun with a name change.

8. what is the strangest muse you have ever picked up to write, or the most difficult?

i don’t know what the criteria for ‘strange’ is....... hahaha. and lord at this point i have so many muses that it’d take way too much time to try and sort through them all in my head.

this isn’t so much ‘strange’ as it is just suddenly something i thought of, but in undergrad there was a year or so where i got attached to a couple of like, very random muses from media with really no fandom, and tried to toss them into indie hahaha which worked about as well as you’d think. even so, i look back on my brief stint playing desire from neil gaiman’s the sandman comics and ravio from zelda: link between worlds with fondness...........

Hilda is no stranger to dealing with flustered men. She's long since mastered the skill of making her admirers blush. It was nothing special to be approached by someone stammering and nervous. Except this time it was. This time it's Caspar. Caspar who is tough and strong and hotheaded. Caspar who isn't afraid of anything. There is something sweet about seeing him suddenly forget how to speak to her as he holds out his card.

Light blue hair appears over the rim of his teacup, accompanied by an energetic voice. A familiar one. Inigo lowers his cup. Caspar…the one who gave him those tap dancing shoes at Midsommer. 

“Caspar! We’ve spoken a few times before. Have you forgotten me already?” Inigo sniffed, feigning a hurt expression. His ever present smile soon replaced the frown. Grabbing the stamp card, he quickly scratched his name on the parchment followed by the signet ring. Inigo passed Caspar’s card back along with his own. 

actually, going outside was a bad idea.

upon closer inspection, it seems as if l’arachel’s attack wasn’t a premeditated assault on behalf of his “criminal hairstyle.” linhardt sees everything clearly now; the distant cries, the remains of other confections now fallen, and the sounds of shuffling in the bushes. there’s a war going down in garreg mach.

being outside isn’t safe. linhardt fears, there will be someone else swiping him up as easy prey if he doesn’t redirect himself back to his quarters. there will be someone else who will smother him in sticky confections and leave him as bait for ants. someone else more heinous, perhaps even someone else who has a grudge against his hairstyle--

he doesn’t expect that ‘someone’ to be his best friend.

linhardt doesn’t notice the trap at first as he desperately scurries back to the dorms. he’s focused on the custard that’s threatening to dry in his freshly washed hair, on the uniform he needs to wash again, when he falls into the trap. it happens instantly-- the eruption of lights and the bursts of color. anyone who knows the mage well understands how easily he can be startled with sound, and the loud ‘BANG’ precisely makes linhardt jolt. he gives off a surprised noise and twists, attempting to evade in the opposite direction when a stray piece of gravel slips beneath his boot.

[linhardt rolls to dodge: 1! success!]

in the next second, linhardt tumbles and crashes. he thuds against the floor, nearly scraping his hand as a pie whizzes above him. as he lays there crumpled against the ground, a rare spark of indignation strikes him. the mage turns his head up, catching sight of caspar. he needs not to vocalize his exasperation-- it’s clearly written all over his face in a disapproving scowl.

Bernie jumped as she felt his hand brush against her, intentional or not. Did...did he really want to dance with her? Why? Bernie’s eyes narrowed a bit, glancing from him to the dance floor to the dessert table and back. Nobody would want to dance with Bernie. So why was he asking?

“This...this is some kind of trick, isn’t it? To make me look at like a big dummy in front of everyone! It is! Well, I won’t be falling for it.” Huffing, she planned to storm away...except they were very much trapped where they were at the moment and while Caspar was small compared to the other boys in their class, Bernie was small too. She settled for crossing her arms over her chest and sulking angrily.