Hey sorry I don't know your OCs but I'll ask slaughter, buried and desolation (my favourites, obviously ;) -S
Thank you so much for the ask!! I only have about 2 OCs actually written right now, so Iâm gonna answer these about my baby Phillip.
â° the buried - when had your character felt the most trapped? How well do they handle confinement?
Phillip isnât a very⊠careful superhero, and so after a few years on the job, heâs made a lot of enemies. Heâs been captured a half dozen times, and he honestly finds it exhilarating.  Taunting his captors, coming up with a way to escape at just the right moment, relishing the look of outrage on their faces.
But if heâs actually cooped up somewhere with no way out, he goes batshit crazy. He was under house arrest for a bit when he was 19, for something that was ânot my fault, câmon guys, Iâm the good guy here-â and he almost tore the house down. He can fly, and doesnât handle being grounded very well.
đȘthe slaughter - whatâs the most violent thing your character has ever done? how did they feel about it? have they ever killed anyone? what would/does it take to get them to act violently, or take a life?
đ„ the desolation - whatâs the most precious thing your character has ever lost?
(went on a little drabble here combining these two because I felt like being extraâŠ)
Phillip doesnât lose control very often. Normally, when heâs fighting the assortment of villains that kept cropping up in his city, he was cool, collected, and, heâll admit, a pain in the ass. It was fun, driving them crazy, shooting a few fireballs out of his hands here and there. But sometimes he couldnât help it.
He used to have an older brother. Damien. Still did, he supposed. It wasnât like he died or anything. He just⊠left. Left Phillip alone with his shitty dad and messed up life and now this wannabe wimp-of-a-villain thought it was a good idea to bring that up in the middle of a fight he was clearly losing and Phillip was angry.
ââI heard your brother left ya, didnât he?â Phillip closed his eyes and took a deep breath to calm himself. It didnât matter what this weasel said. There were three people on the job he was stopping- Schmidt and Evans, who were often a pair, and weasel rat man that Phillip never put in the effort to learn the name of. He just needed to finish this and then he could go home and-
âYeah, I used to know him. Damien, was it? The pushover used to join me on our little arson runs. I had a good time, and he was too much of a coward to say no. You mustâve been pretty horrible to make him decide to leave, I never thought heâdâve had enough of a backbone to do anything on his own.â
Phillip looked up. His eyes glowed white, but all he saw was red.
The next thing he was aware of was smoke everywhere. The weasel was no where to be seen, but kneeling in the middle of a large circle of charred ground and debris was Schmidt. He was hunched over a prone figure lying in his arms. Evans. Unconscious, or-
Phillip took an unsteady step backwards. No. He never meant toâŠ
Schmidt looked up at the young superhero, and the flash of terror in his eyes was burned into Phillipâs mind as he took off into the night.
