Time passes much more quickly in Rohandor and many long and happy years have gone by since the characters retired to enjoy their respective 'happily ever afters,' their greatest foes were imprisoned in the Forever Stone, bound in an eternal sleep. Until Now.
Happily Ever Afters takes place in Rohandor, a mystical realm on another plane of existence from our own. Here our favorite Disney heroes and villains live in a world all their own; Alive, but far from well. Heroes and heroines fight to keep peace while newly freed villains seek their revenge. Come join us in an epic adventure as the characters you love clash in a struggle that will determine the fate of Rohandor!
HEA is an AU canon-only animated crossover Disney Play-By-Post Role Play with minimal word count.
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News and Updates
4/24/21: We've been on hiatus for a number of years now. I don't know that I'm entirely ready to return BUT I have been cleaning up the site and working to update everything since a number of movies have released. There is still A LOT of work to do but if you see this update and were an active member of the site prior to the hiatus, please send the Yen Sid account a DM to let me know you're still interested in playing and if you wish to retain your current roster. I hope you've all been doing well and staying safe!
Happily Ever Afters is a play-by-post forum role playing game based on the movies and television series of Disney and Pixar. It was created for recreational and entertainment purposes only and not intended to step on any toes, offend, or infringe. We did not create nor do we own the content from the Disney and Pixar stories and movies. None of the threads and writing on this forum is associated or affiliated with Disney/Pixar in any way. We do not make any money off of this site or its content. The icons used in the Forum Information & Statistics and those like it throughout the board as well as the BBC buttons and smileys were taken from a layout called Absolute Madness made by PookyTart from Userbar Depot. All of the other graphics used on this board were found, created, or otherwise edited by Yen Sid or Te Fiti. Please don't steal or use any graphic from this board without explicit permission. All storylines and plots used in the threads/topics were created by the staff and members of HEA and should not be copied or used on another board without permission.
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Post by Macbeth mac Findlaech on Jan 11, 2014 17:18:44 GMT -5
Macbeth was many things, but one of the things he was recognized for these days was his acumen as a scholar. Which made sense, really; he was part of history, so it was only natural that he would be quite adept at studying and interpreting the subject.
Granted, his best area was ancient Scotland, but he'd occasionally dabbled in the history of other cultures.
Right now, he was studying the Isle of Ambrosia, with what resources he could find. Of course, he'd amassed quite a bit of wealth over his centuries of existence; he had no lack of resources.
He was particularly interested in the idea that he might, in fact, be able to talk to or retrieve the soul of a loved one.
Due to the battle that had been raging at the time, and due to Macbeth's apparent death at the hands of Duncan's son, he and Gruoch hadn't truly been able to grow old together. They'd had many years of happy marriage, but at the end....it hadn't gone their way.
Macbeth had learned, years later, that after his own son was defeated and killed, Gruoch had committed suicide. He'd ... moved on, one could say, from his dead wife, but it would be nice to see her again, to make sure that her spirit was ... well.
Which was why he was here now, in the city of Thebes, center of so many tragic tales and legends. From Thebes, he would find the gateway to the Underworld, and he would see what he could do about Gruoch. Or even his son.
Post by Persephone on Jan 13, 2014 11:10:30 GMT -5
The argument could be made that no one truly stuck out in the city of Thebes. The Big Olive was a bustling nerve center for things as illustrious as trade and nobility to as sinister - and more infamous - as crime and tragedy. Every street was nothing but a throng of swift-moving, foul-mouthed, bad-tempered Thebians all jostling one another, elbowing those who moved too slowly and cursing any that progressed faster than they.
Even with the overwhelming sense of chaos that reigned in the city of a thousand troubles, one visitor was most definitely cut from a different cloth. He moved with confidence, not cruel desperation. Wore an air of regal elegance befitting Olympus, not the grime and foul aroma of refuse that most Thebians garnered. Not many, if any, truly could note these subtleties, though. The most the stranger was awarded would be an especially scathing look from a passerby, or a stuttering comment, when someone deigned to verbally assault him, but stopped with the slight still in their throat once he was beheld.
There was, however, one creature in all of Thebes who could see the wanderer for what he was... And she was intrigued. What more, there was an ancient resonance in the man. One that whispered to the curious creature, and hinted at some grave significance... So, now, she watched and waited, unseen by any mortal eye.
(OOC: Sorry it's short. D: I figured Macbeth could ask around, and end up turned toward a cemetery squeezed into a nook of the city for answers. Enter: Persephone)
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Post by Macbeth mac Findlaech on Jan 14, 2014 4:17:02 GMT -5
The Scotsman surveyed the city around him, expression one of distaste. He never had enjoyed cities, especially cities so obviously filled with corruption as this one. True, he had grown used to New York, over the years, but his mansion was outside of the city, with few true neighbors.
Still, he knew that, if he wanted to even consider what he'd set out to do, he was going to have to deal with the people in this city.
People brushed roughly by him, a few stammering an apology when they saw the frown on his stern, kingly face. He hadn't been a king for nothing; he could stop an entire room with a single look.
"Hey, I'm walkin' here!" someone shouted, trying to get people to move out of the way.
Macbeth didn't budge. It was his right, as a king, for people to move out of his way.
Whoever it was that had shouted glared at Macbeth, ready to start yelling at him....until the man got a good look at the stranger.
"Oh, 'scuse me," he stammered, stepping around the former High King of Scotland.
Macbeth shook his head with a sigh. This city was even more ancient than his own Scotland would be considered, now, but it was completely different.
Taking a deep breath, he approached a ... more savory-looking individual. History buff as he was, this city was not in his area of expertise; he was going to have to ask.
His questions earned him directions to a quaint little cemetery, which made sense when he thought about it. In order to find an entrance to the Underworld, one would first have to appease the lord of the Underworld.
And where better to do that than in a cemetery, where shrines to the Lord of the Dead existed in plenty?
The cemetery was set in a tiny corner of the city, where he hadn't expected anything to really be built.
He didn't really know what he was supposed to do, so he simply spoke into the air, hoping someone could hear her.
"I have come a long way for answers," he said, keeping it vague in the hopes that he wouldn't attract too much attention, but the correct attention.
Post by Persephone on Jan 16, 2014 11:09:13 GMT -5
At first glance - and, indeed, even after a thorough sweep with ones eyes - the cemetery was deserted. Squished between two much larger structures, with beams of stone crisscrossing in the air above so plentiful that only a semi-light permeated the place. One or two bracketed beams of sunlight came and went, dappling the ground with warmth, but that was all.
The strange man entered through the small opening between two pillars that gave way to a narrow, winding stair which wove perilously between more dominant structures and finally opened onto one of Thebes' ever-busy streets. A hole in the wall if ever there was one. He stood there for a moment, then spoke with authority that he could not deny in his tone, but tempered with respect and subtlety.
Several seconds elapsed after the proclamation, and relative silence still reigned. The bustle and din of Thebes could not penetrate this place of rest, at least. Neglected and forgotten though it was. Finally, the slightest rustling could be heard. "Bones tend to be quite antisocial," a voice mused into the quiet. Were the stranger to shift several feet in either direction, a young maiden would be revealed to him, hidden behind headstones before.
She knelt at the edge of the only illustrious, risen tomb to note. Adorned in a white, Grecian dress with a black veil draped over her head, obscuring her entire upper half, the maiden worked. She kneaded the soil at the base of a red flower's stem. The young woman's work might have drawn attention to a very curious fact. Despite the obvious lack of sunlight that the graveyard was afforded, there were flowers in abundance.
Sedate, elegant and artfully arranged in their growth to only accent those who rested there, not overpower them. They were present nevertheless. "Unless you're an augur," the maiden added thoughtfully without turning, "but that's really more of a Roman thing."
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Post by Macbeth mac Findlaech on Jan 17, 2014 4:52:14 GMT -5
Macbeth would be willing to swear in a court of law that the cemetery had been empty mere moments before. Now, though, there was a young woman, dressed very simply, working with the flowers in the graveyard.
"There appear to be no birds in this place for me to read the portents," he pointed out, neither confirming nor denying that he was an augur. He wasn't, but he knew very well what she was talking about. After all, he was a scholar, and a quite good one, at that. The man didn't venture into new places (or old, as the case may be) without first doing his research.
That same research told him who he was likely dealing with: she hadn't been there a moment ago, she was spending time in a place of the dead, and, the most telling of all, flowers seemed to blossom in front of her very being.
"I have no need for the auspices," Macbeth added, taking a few, cautious steps towards the woman. "But, if you are willing, perhaps you could help me, unless I am very much mistaken .... Lady Persephone."
It was a gamble, but, well, he hadn't stayed King for as long as he had or amassed his wealth in his later years by staying out of things and playing it safe. Sometimes, one had to risk a little to gain much.
Post by Persephone on Jan 20, 2014 21:11:46 GMT -5
The woman in clothes of mourning paused for just a second when the stranger dared to give her a name. Then she returned to her work, pinching off dead buds and testing topsoil with a prodding finger.
"You're pretty bold. That's awarded with tragedy as often as fortune on this Isle."
Finished where she was, the strange grave tender rose from her kneeling position and moved to another clump of blossoms that were nearby. There she slowly lowered, and began the ritual she'd just finished anew. "The Olympians tend to be pretty dramatic. Bunch of drama queens up on that mountain." She was talking more casually than most would, given the subject, and yet there was still an air of absence or wisdom to the words. A strange mixture, certainly.
"Athena cursed Medusa for flirting with Poseidon in her temple, you know. Then there's the time that Apollo had a satyr flambeed because he lost a music competition. And don't even get me started on Artemis - that girl turns any guy she meets into a shrew."
The young woman appeared to finish with her task. She rose again, and turned, face still covered in a veil. There was a moment of silence, and she crossed her arms. "So, I suppose you're a gambler as much as you are bold? For all you know Lady Persephone could zap me into a daffodil because you had the gall to think that I was her."
Another moment's pause, and then the woman reached up and grasped the end of her veil. "You should be happy that your tale isn't one of the tragic ones." She tugged the thing aside, and it spilled off of her brow. As the sheer black fabric fell to the ground, it turned to smoke that spiraled around the woman, obscuring her before resettling, this time in a pale silver gown. Pink skin shone with the light of life beneath bright eyes and golden hair.
"Color me impressed," she said with a wry smile. "Not many mortals are so clever."
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Post by Macbeth mac Findlaech on Feb 6, 2014 20:18:43 GMT -5
"I've never been one for timidity," Macbeth said, rather bluntly. He had been a king, the High King of Scots, and if he had been timid in his rule or in any aspect of his life, his beloved country would have been conquered long before Duncan's son returned. "And I'm no stranger to tragedy," he added.
Which was, in large part, why he was here today. The reason he'd journeyed all this way, on a mere .... whim.
He bowed his head respectfully as she spoke of the other Olympians, though some of the tales she mentioned had been rather different in the tellings he'd heard and read. Differences were only to be expected, really, between cultures, and especially between different Isles.
"I am not often wrong, Lady," he said, holding himself proudly. "I have been alive for quite some time, for someone of my race, and I have learned from the mistakes I have made in my past." For the most part, anyway.
If he had truly learned from his mistakes, he would not be here. But he almost could not help it. He'd never had a chance to say goodbye to his son, though he and Gruoch had had a tear-filled parting. The former King of Scots knew what history said had happened to his wife....but he wanted to know what she said about the situation.
Macbeth couldn't help but laugh at her comment about being turned into a daffodil.
"You'll forgive my impertinence, Lady, but if that was going to happen, I would be gazing at a flower right now."
He smiled sadly, full of all the tragedies he'd seen. It might not be as bad as some of the mythological figures, but for a human....he'd been through much.
"I am human, yes, though I will only be mortal when my foe Demona slays me," he said, absent-mindedly. There had been a point in his life when he'd just wanted to die, but now....he saw the point in living. Yes, he was here to seek out his dead wife and son, but it was more a matter of ... finally receiving some sort of closure, after all this time.
This man was certainly an interesting specimen. He'd earned Lady Persephone's curiosity the moment his boots touched on the Isle of Ambrosia's soil. He did not deny being brazen; he admitted to it. He did not avoid the subject of tragedy; he somberly confessed that it was an old, unwanted companion. Such a strange combination for a mortal, altogether.
Persephone raised her brows and allowed the corners of her mouth to rise ever so. "You're different than many of my family, in that regard," she noted mildly. "Just be careful that you don't let experience breed arrogance... Then you'll be very like them."
The goddess was obviously very charmed by the man standing at the entrance to the graveyard. He spoke with a sadness that Persephone knew was not feigned. No one could mimic the kind of sorrow that filled his ancient eyes. She did, however, wonder if the man as clever enough to use that genuine sense of anguish and hardship for his greatest benefit.
He had, ultimately, knew Persephone for what she was the moment he beheld her. The human was not obtuse.
"A strange irony," the goddess said thoughtfully. "The most subtle curses are the slowest poison." Persephone looked aside pensively, then back at the man, only now with a cunning light that was not unkind. "What brings you here, Macbeth mac Findlaech?"
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Post by Macbeth mac Findlaech on Mar 21, 2014 16:17:48 GMT -5
Macbeth merely smiled at Persephone's warning against arrogance. It was true, he was arrogant, at times. But that came more from having been the High King of Scotland than anything else. He had been a leader of men, women, and children, and that was not soon forgotten.
He did his best to curb his arrogance, however, locking it away and forcing himself to recognize it so that he could be more humble.
Arrogance was not an attractive trait, and he realized this. Duncan had had the arrogance of several men, and it had cost him, in the end.
Macbeth did not want to have the same fate as his cousin had had. Of course, the only way that could happen was if Demona killed him. Still, it was in his best interest to re-learn humility, the way his arrogance had been learned.
"I will keep it in mind, Lady," he said, inclining his head in acknowledgement of her words.
She had asked him the purpose of his visit to her isle.
Any hint of an emotion that was not somber fled and only the seriousness remained.
"I am here, Lady Persephone, to seek audience with my departed wife and son." Now that he was so close to them, he ached with the longing to talk to them, once last time.
Post by Persephone on Mar 29, 2014 12:04:26 GMT -5
The Lady could not be entirely sure, of course. Macbeth was obviously old enough, and charismatic enough that it wouldn't be a far stretch to suppose that he would say whatever would be the most help for him in his present audience. Persephone wasn't blind to the possibility that Macbeth could be intoning what he believed she'd like to hear. Heroes had a tendency to be fickle and tricky when interacting with the divine. Persephone didn't blame them. Most of her family didn't deserve honesty from the mortals whose lives they made so difficult.
Still, she hoped that Macbeth was sincere in his assurance that he would keep her suggestion in mind. Persephone was wise, in her way, though she didn't think that of herself. Compared to the poetic strings of Apollo's prophecies, or the usually holier-than-thou (in her opinion) council of Athena, Persephone's wisdom was much simpler. It was its simplicity, as well as its honesty that made it admirable. Macbeth would, more likely than not, be the better for heeding what Persephone advised.
The goddess watched him attentively, and was even more impressed when he did not break eye contact. Persephone wasn't in her most brilliant image. She was easily beheld by mortal eyes, but even so, very few humans could force themselves to stare a deity down once they knew their true nature. That's why most of the time the Olympians disguised themselves as simple, ordinary things when they were out and about. Much easier that way.
When Macbeth finally explained his reason for coming there, Persephone's brows knit in a tender frown. She took a deep breath. She had been expecting something of this nature. Mortals were predictable, and yet Persephone couldn't blame the request. Were she a human, in their place, she would have much the same desire. Explaining the dilemma before the goddess now was not a simple thing. And Persephone liked Macbeth enough to be tactful, instead of blunt.
"Would you sit with me for a while?" she finally asked. Persephone waved her arm to gesture beside her. On a patch of earth between two graves vines spiraled from the ground of their own accord. They sprouted, wriggled, wove and slid beside each other so that in moments two seats were formed, and a small table between them fashioned from a newly conjured rosebush. Persephone didn't move, as though the request were an order, and the idea of Macbeth refusing it was inconceivable. She waited for his answer.
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Post by Macbeth mac Findlaech on Mar 29, 2014 22:43:27 GMT -5
The former High King of Scotland had known before he started for Thebes that his quest was a fool's errand, but....he would never have forgiven himself if he hadn't at least tried. After all, he was never one to give up without some sort of fight, especially if it was for something this important.
With a rueful smile, Macbeth sat where the Lady had indicated.
"I knew I didn't exactly have much of a chance from the beginning, but can you blame me for at least hoping?"
He kept his tone respectful, but there was a touch of sadness in his voice. Macbeth hadn't known quite how much he'd been looking forward to having a chance to see Gruoch and Lulach again, once more, even just to bid them 'farewell' until the chance had been all but taken away from him.
But he would cope with the disappointment and move on, the way he usually did. The way he always had to. When one lived as long as Macbeth had, one got used to disappointments, though none of them had been quite so bitter as this one for quite some time.
"I must thank you for your kindness, regardless, Milady," Macbeth said, inclining his head respectfully towards the goddess to whom he was speaking. Not many deities would go out of their way to speak to a lowly mortal in quite the way she had done.
Macbeth accepted Persephone's offer. Distantly, she hoped that it was because he wanted to. When you were a goddess, it was hard to tell when things were done by less ostentatious beings out of their own volition, or simply to appease you. Wealthy, or celebrity children in most realms dealt with a similar problem; not knowing whether actions were done because of their money and/or status, or out of genuineness. That went to the nth degree when you were the goddess of springtime rebirth, whose mother was the goddess of agriculture, and whose immediate family filled the thrones of Olympus. Persephone had learned only after the fact that her dryad and nature spirit friends from her childhood had been put up to it to keep her distracted by Mother.
The Lady of the Dead did not think, however, that Macbeth mac Findlaech would come and sit if he was not of a mind to do so. Even if he was just trying to be polite.
The age-old man sat on the offered seat, and Persephone followed afterwards, perching on her own living stool. Flower petals whirled in a sighing, spring breeze along the tabletop, conjuring two goblets full of wine (Dionysus' brand) and a platter of fruit (from Demeter's personal garden) appeared. Persephone did not think that Macbeth would be in the mood for food and drink, but she wanted to be a good hostess. She did not touch the substances that had appeared, either. They were neither ambrosia nor nectar - the diet of the gods. Persephone could eat human food, but just for sport, not sustenance.
"No, I can't," she admitted sincerely when he asked if he could be blamed for hoping. "Hope is one of the rarest gifts among mortals. For gods and deities is pretty hard to come by. To know that you can still hope after so long, when immortality can be such an estranging thing is an encouraging thought." Olympus was not corrupt but... Persephone believed that her relatives (herself included in most ways) were lazy. When you were destined to live forever, it made simple graces like hope and faith almost unnecessary. The Olympians had long ago given up on both, the young goddess thought. What was faith when you were worshiped? What was hope when you could use your divine powers to render it obsolete?
Persephone took a deep breath when Macbeth thanked her. She didn't feel like she deserved thanks. No, in fact, she felt fairly useless. The stubborn, childish part of Persephone that would always be there stomped its metaphorical foot. It wasn't fair to Macbeth, or her, really. That she could be the Queen of the Underworld and not grant this favor. Persephone knew why this was the case, though, and she wanted Macbeth to know, too. To know that she would, if she could, or if she thought it wise. Neither of which were the case.
"I do think that you deserve an explanation," Persephone said. "If you care to hear it."
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Post by Macbeth mac Findlaech on May 21, 2014 20:11:42 GMT -5
Macbeth smiled sadly at her words. "Aye, hope can be a hard thing to cling to," he agreed, "but without it, I would have given into despair hundreds of years ago. And I can't afford that," he added, almost as an after-thought. If he'd allowed himself to lose hope, Demona would have defeated him.
Of course, there had been times when he thought he'd never hope again, times that he'd simply been tired of living, but those darker days hadn't lasted long. In a way, too, Demona herself had helped him to regain a sense of hope when it had been gone for a while; she'd showed him that he could love again, even if she hadn't exactly been meaning to.
He'd been alone for a long time before he'd met Dominique Destine, and he'd begun to think that his metaphorical heart didn't work anymore. Though it had resulted in a sham of a marriage and an annulment, Demona in her human form had showed him that there was hope for him yet.
The man watched Persephone with a keen eye as she spoke and conjured food and drink for him, should he choose to partake in anything.
He picked up one of the containers of wine, holding it in his hand for a long time, gazing down into the deep, rich liquid before he took a sip, his attention to what the goddess was saying never wavering, even for an instant.
"By all means, Milady," he said in response to her question. Macbeth thought that he probably already knew the reason why his request had been denied, but if she wanted to offer an explanation, who was he to refuse her? Besides, it could be something completely different than what he was thinking, in which case, he definitely wanted to know.
Post by Persephone on May 27, 2014 11:18:30 GMT -5
Persephone smiled tenderly when given leave to elaborate, as she requested to. Again Macbeth could have been acquiescing for any number of reasons, but the Lady did not let her heart linger on the possibilities anymore. There was no use pondering it at every turn of their conversation. Besides, Persephone was too busy trying to formulate her thoughts to be sidetracked by that area of deliberation. While Macbeth held his goblet of wine, the goddess looked past him and into a distance or depth that was without fathom, searching for words to put to her thoughts; some of which were beyond Macbeth's ability to comprehend - and even hers, in ways.
"I think," she began tentatively, "it has something to do with faith. Or, perhaps, belief." Persephone's eyes shifted focus, looking back to Macbeth while her brows knit together in a slightly embarrassed way. "Honestly, I'm not quite sure. If being all-knowing came with the territory of deity-ship, we would make far fewer mistakes." The Lady folded her hands on her lap and looked at them for a moment in a rare show of thoughtfulness. "All that I know for certain is that not all mortals enter my husband's realm after they leave this world. Only those that are destined to. Only those who are meant to, or believe their life after death will be there."
Persephone paused and looked up again. She wasn't going to generalize, because she knew that there was no genuine way to. It wasn't as though "just Greeks" entered the realm of the dead once they passed. There were a good number who were not native, but had adopted the religious teachings of the Greeks that were in the Underworld, and then a fair few Greeks who had forsaken their culture's beliefs and so could not be found there. "The one you seek," Persephone said, "is not among my court." She bit her bottom lip, then sighed and leaned back slightly, appearing less prim and proper as before.
"Which should probably be heartening to you. The afterlife that the Greek pantheon holds for mortals is not the most promising," she admitted with a lopsided frown.
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Post by Macbeth mac Findlaech on Oct 22, 2014 22:46:56 GMT -5
The man called Macbeth took another deep sip of his wine, mostly to allow him a moment to think before he responded to Persephone's words. Really, he wasn't surprised at the goddess' answer; he'd merely hoped that maybe, just maybe he might have had the chance to see his Gruoch and Lulach once more, even if they were some sort of spectres.
But it seemed that they were truly gone from him, something he'd known for hundreds of years. It was only recently that he'd begun to hope to see them again, with his living eyes. Macbeth believed with all his heart that he would be reunited with them, once he finally found his own grave, but until then, he'd have to continue on, just as he always had.
With a sigh, the former High King of Scotland replaced his goblet on the table, a small smile on his face. "I thank you for your kind words, Lady," he said, inclining his head respectfully once more. What was he to do now, though? He'd asked his question and he'd received his answer, but to take his leave now would feel ... improper. As though he'd simply used Persephone to get his own answers and then decided to leave.
Would the goddess want a lowly mortal like him to stay to converse with her? Or would she dismiss him without further comment? At this point, he would wait for her to indicate that she no longer desired his presence before he left. It would be rude, otherwise.
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Welcome to Happily Ever Afters!
Tony Dracon: Responded to your PM, Kat/Ratigan, incidentally.
Jun 27, 2018 20:25:02 GMT -5
David Xanatos: Kat's back. Hope the vacation was fun.
Jul 21, 2018 21:00:05 GMT -5
Professor Ratigan: 'Twas a good trip! I'm sad it's over, but at the same time I'm glad to be back home so I can finish up my cosplays for a con next month and hang out with my cats
Jul 26, 2018 12:34:56 GMT -5
Basil of Baker Street: Hope the cosplay goes well. I'm putting away a little extra for a con in a few weeks. and yay cats, they're always good company. Except for that one who slaps me unprovoked XD. So what cosplays do you have in mind unless they're secret?
Jul 26, 2018 17:07:41 GMT -5
Professor Ratigan: I'm cosplaying Pearl from Steven Universe and Joseph Joestar from JoJo's Bizarre Adventure!
Jul 26, 2018 23:16:41 GMT -5
Professor Ratigan: I'm almost done both of them, I just have to finish styling Pearl's wig and fix up Joseph's gloves and wristbands
Jul 26, 2018 23:17:31 GMT -5
Basil of Baker Street: Awesome. Had to look up Jojo because I'm not hip with the modern pop culture but I hope they turn out well.
Jul 30, 2018 15:33:15 GMT -5
Professor Ratigan: I only just started watching the anime last year and I haven't even touched the manga, so I'm barely hip with it lol. fortunately I have my cosplay buddy guiding me through the whole experience
Jul 30, 2018 22:29:38 GMT -5
Professor Ratigan: also I finally finished the gloves! They were more of a pain to work with than I expected, but they'll hold together... I hope...
Jul 30, 2018 22:30:13 GMT -5
Basil of Baker Street: Niceness. Hoping they hold also. Got the Dublin comic con next Saturday here. Hoping to meet Karl Urban.
Aug 1, 2018 19:05:32 GMT -5
Professor Ratigan: Cool! I think he's coming to my city in the fall, if I remember correctly. Hope you enjoy the con, Daryl!
Aug 2, 2018 19:10:23 GMT -5
Basil of Baker Street: I spoke too soon. Karl Urban had to cancel for schedule conflicts. They got Nick Frost though, I'm gonna ask him if he'll sign my Hot Fuzz.
Aug 3, 2018 18:08:47 GMT -5
Professor Ratigan: Dang! Nick Frost is great though, I love his character in Into the Badlands
Aug 4, 2018 22:54:36 GMT -5
Basil of Baker Street: Enjoy your weekend Kat, hope the costumes came out as you wanted.
Aug 10, 2018 16:49:31 GMT -5
Basil of Baker Street: Met Nick Frost and Michael Dorn at the weekend. Both very nice blokes.
Aug 13, 2018 15:22:59 GMT -5
Dodger: Happy 2019 everyone
Jan 1, 2019 10:54:04 GMT -5
Yen Sid: If anyone is passing by I posted a Hiatus update. Hope everyone is doing well!
Apr 18, 2021 11:31:09 GMT -5
Yen Sid: I've temporarily disabled account creation while I update the site. Sorry for the inconvenience and thanks for your patience!
May 9, 2021 18:31:45 GMT -5
Owen Burnett/Puck: Checked the site again and saw the update! Here's hoping to a revitalized 2022.
Dec 15, 2021 14:41:27 GMT -5