#also noticed their tattoos are out of alignment but I cannot give a shit about it

[my-alternatevy]

headstart to pumpkin season

[babyillua]

when the stars align

pairing: kageyama x reader

genre: fluff, humor-ish, soulmate au

word count: 1.7k

warnings: language and panties!

disclaimer: you cannot steal, repost or translate my work.

juno: aaah! i love tobio with all my heart of course my first work would be for him <3 and a soulmate au on that.

summary: kageyama never believed in the concept of soulmates. rather, he had a more pessimistic outlook on it. even if the people around him found theirs, he probably clinged onto the 0.01% chance of not having one, because he’d rather not get disappointed by hoping for one. but what happens when he realizes he can’t keep his thoughts out of his head, and can’t shut up the moment he sees you? i guess soulmates don’t work all the same do they?

(‘∀’●)♡

Kageyama breathes in and out, stabling his breath. Bouncing the ball on the court as he waits for the whistle to be blown by his coach. ‘If I make it in, we win. And then it won’t be my treat to dinner after the ice skating range later.’ he says to himself with a nod. The whistle blows, and he makes a swift motion, serving the ball. 

His teammates cheer, he got the ball in as their last point, and they’ve won the match. It was a three on three. Kageyama, Daichi and Tanaka. While the other team consisted of Tsukishima, Hinata and Asahi. “Yeah! Heck yeah! Great job Kageyama! Didn’t expect less from ya!” Tanaka says. Kageyama nods at him in reply and sighs satisfyingly. 

Today, they decided to do something fun as a team and Sugawara suggested Ice Skating. Kageyama was a pretty good skater, learned a little as a child, and had many talents for it. He would’ve considered training till he was good enough as a professional, but he had a different passion. 

“Hey Kageyama.” Kageyama flinches slightly as he hears someone call out to him. “Ah, Sugawara-san, hello.” he says and bows. “I know what’s going on in your head. Recently I’ve noticed your little glares towards Hinata. Is it because he’s found his soulmate?” he says with a grin. The typical rivalry between those too is always evident. Who’s faster, who eats more, who grows faster. It wouldn’t be a surprise that they’ve quarrelled and made a competition of who gets their soulmate first, but Kageyama had other feelings towards the concept of soulmates, he never believed in them. 

“It does not matter. But I’m happy for him, I guess? I don’t believe in soulmates. Or I don’t believe in having one.” he says sternly. It broke Sugawara’s heart for some reason he couldn’t explain. For someone who believed in love, he knew Kageyama would have it easy. A young, good looking boy with quite a talent, who wouldn’t have his eye on him? ‘He has yet to have his grasp on reality, there’s at least a 0.01% chance that he doesn’t have one.’ Sugawara thought.

But Kageyama lost hope. He didn’t have the obvious signs to know whether he had a soulmate or not. Nishinoya didn’t see color before he found him. Daichi had a tattoo he was born with, it had the name of his soulmate. And other people had the same eyes as theirs. Kageyama wanted that too, but he didn’t think about something that isn’t more important than playing volleyball. 

“Then, will you treat me to three pork buns if you find your soulmate?” Tanaka butts in. Another hopeless romantic on the run, still seeking his. His soulmate has the same symbol on the back of his head, thus why he always kept his shaved for it to be more obvious. Kiyoko had the same sign, placed on her finger, yet it was the tattoo of a heart, rather than of Tanaka’s, a sun. 

Kageyama smiles at the challenge, “sure.” he says confidently.

(‘∀’●)♡

Kageyama breathes in again. Closing his eyes then opening it slowly as his vision came back to normal. He missed this, the sounds of the blades glazing on the ice. But he can’t help but notice the one skater than spun in the center of the rink. ‘Interesting.’ he thought. His mind was quiet, yet his expression was not.  Everyone around him could see the twinkling in his eyes, following his gaze immediately, landing on the girl with the bright smile as she finished her small jump. “Wow.” Kageyama finally lets out, and when he turns back, all he could see were smirks. 

“Wow indeed Kageyama!” Nishinoya says with a hearty laugh. Kageyama’s expression changed from hopeful, to shyness and finally to a glare. Not to Nishinoya, rather to the 190 cm tall blonde boy who looked at him coyly. “What’s with that face?” he says, walking over to him and grabbing him by the shirt. “It’s nothing.” Tsukishima says, waving his hand in front of him to brush him off him. 

Daichi only laughs and says, “put on your skates, you have plenty of time here before we eat. Talk to her, shoot your shot.” he teases. Kageyama would’ve sighed and tched, yet instead he takes off his shoes in a rush, and puts on the skates immediately. In no time, he was on the sidelines, eyeing you from the side as you skated around effortlessly. 

Tanaka and Sugawara made their way to him with a cheeky smile. Already plotting in their heads. They already had a sense that their trip today was a call on fate, some type of destiny. And Kageyama just needed a little push. “Talk to her. You’re not bad, just don’t be as blunt to her like you are to us, alright?” Sugawara says with a grin, pushing Kageyama towards you, but maybe a little too hard. Kageyama slides across the rink at a diagonal line before you, and you were quick to notice. As he was about to bump into you, you step aside and pull him by the side, steadying his pace. 

“Wow, you’re a clumsy one are we.” you tease him with a giggle. Kageyama blushes, the curves of his lips turn upwards as his eyes look everywhere but at you. Yet he speaks, “you have a cute giggle.” But by that he stiffens, “I didn’t mean to say that!” he retorts immediately

Immediately covering his mouth you reply, “Well I think the way you turn shy is cute. And you have really pretty eyes.” In your head you thought you’ve said this mentally, but by his reaction, he turns redder by the minute, have you spoken your mind as well? “Ah shit looks like… we’re under a curse huh?”

“Anything is alright as long as it’s with you.” he says, earning another mouth  to cover his. Why is he saying these things without realizing it? It's like he couldn’t stop himself from saying it, it’s as if he needed to say it. Like he was programmed to say it. You felt the same. You’re not someone so blunt, someone who liked to be so bold. That’s why you did figure skating, to say what else you needed to say. 

‘What the hell is this?!’ you both say in your heads.

But you were catching onto it. “Ask me something, anything. As dirty as it can be.” 

‘Dirty?’ he thinks. “What color panties are you wearing?” His eyes widened the moment he asked. Did he really want it to be dirty? His mind wanted to ask if you’ve taken a shit today, but something else was said, apparently. 

Ennoshita watches from afar. His hands on his chin as he observed and heard you conversation, mouth creeping up to a smile. He pulls in Sugawara and whispers something, “his soulmate sign is that he can never lie to them.” he says with a nod, and the senior blushed at the junior. Squealing a little, because the little hopeless boy never needed to feel that way. 

“It’s blue.” you answer immediately. In your head you wanted to say pink, but you really couldn’t help it. “What’s your name? I’m Y/n.” 

“Kageyama Tobio.” 

“Then can I call you Tobio? We seem the same age.” 

“You can call me yours.” 

Cheers from his teammates were heard. “Yeah Kageyama! That’s my boy!” they say. Yet not all of them cheered, two boys were crying, “how could their junior be so successful before them? It’s unfair!” Tanaka and Nishinoya say in unison. Even Asahi was a little jealous. 

“Well Tobio, I hope you won’t hate me for this but, I think we’re soulmates.” you say shyly, hands held behind your back as you looked at him in the eyes. He wasn’t glaring, it wasn’t blank, it was blue, and shining. “I think it would be impossible to hate you- did you just say we’re soulmates? I don’t believe you! Also I really think you’re pretty.”

“Do you like my skates?” A trivial question. You hated these skates, but you decided to wear them today because something was telling you so. If he answered something more realistic, then, your theory is right.

“They’re not my favourite color. But I could get used to them.” he says. ‘Bingo.’ you think to yourself. 

“Now I see, our soulmate bond is that we can never lie to each other. We’re soulmates Tobio!” you say, hugging him immediately. 

Kageyama was someone who needed to be sure of things. The way he plays, the way he sets, and now hearing this for the first time with no solid proof, he was satisfied. He regrets the days when he pushed away the possibility of a soulmate. And now he met you, catching his eye in a heartbeat, without even the need to tell you. Even if you weren’t soulmates, and even if it didn’t exist, he’d still think that the stars aligned just for you both to meet, no matter the circumstance. Yet, here they are, giving you the chance and destiny of a lifetime, and he would never turn his back on it, even if it risks his dignity. 

“Kageyama! You owe me three pork buns you idiot!” Tanaka says as he tries to skate over to the both of you, but Daichi gets a hold of him before it. “What a hurricane.” Daichi says as he shakes his head. 

He hugs you back, “then I guess we are.” he whispers in the nape of your neck. And as the night ends, he forgot about the dinner because he wanted to spend time with you. Skating in the ice as you hold each other hand in hand, slipping some phrases you wanted to keep to yourself as you asked each other questions. What a troubling bond, but he’d never ask for anything else. 

“Tobio.” you say stopping at the corner of the rink, cupping his face as you look at him in the eye. 

“Yes?” he replies. He then closes his eyes, preparing for impact, thinking he’d finally get his first kiss. 

You giggle, kissing his cheek and gliding away and say, “your fly’s undone, idiot!” 

[g0dspeeed]

Unconditional Positive Regard, 2

Adam Smasher is very used to getting his way.

Until he doesn’t.

=========================================

De-escalation

 Adam Smasher is very used to getting his way.

Does he always get his way?

Majority of the time, yes, and primarily through intimidation. Intimidation was almost like a personality trait to Adam, the line blurring from who he was authentically and the stone-cold bravado he put out for the rest of the world to see. He utilized tried and true premeditated tactics such as calculated threats, blackmail, ransom, disrupting personal space, ignoring the spoken and unspoken rules of modern society, and frankly not giving a shit about what other people thought. Then again, said tactics occurred unconsciously, too. His physical presence alone made for a great argument. The man stands well over six feet tall, perhaps leaning more towards the seven-foot range, with broad shoulders and a deadly gaze to boot. Adam’s copper red eyes could give a look so menacing that other Arasaka operatives submitted to his authority without question.

And he loved this. He truly enjoyed wielding such power, to walk into a room and have an air of dominance over every stranger that stood before him. Made things simple. Never there to make friends, to play nice, to compromise. The only thing he sought out to do in these god-awful meetings that Arasaka forced him to attend was comply with the given, short-term objectives to a tee. Going the extra mile was only an option to Adam if it benefitted him. Or if it made the job easier, but that stopped if it meant kissing any asses that didn’t have a direct link to his eddie account.

Intimidation was effective on mostly everyone that Adam Smasher worked with or unfortunately encountered in his line of work.

Then there were the others. The ones that didn’t get the message or simply chose to make regrettable decisions. To get in the way. To make Adam’s job harder. Those were the people that required more intention on Adam’s part.

And Adam was every bit intentional with those who refused to submit.

The city appeared calm on the morning of his meeting. Wellsprings was the destination and Adam arranged the AV so he would arrive onsite early. The ride in the AV was short, but allotted Adam time to observe the Night City skyline as sun beams cut through its shadow like knives, gold and sharp and warming the streets below. Like his hometown, Night City had no concept of sleep, its population below teeming towards their next meal, deal, job in a sort of lively frenzy.

Adam himself felt tired. He still required sleep like any functioning being, experiencing a downtime where his senses and sensors went offline, and his brain, his still very organic brain, unwound and processed all that he experienced that day. Unfortunately for him, his brain didn’t want to unwind the night before, too excited about the job, too curious at what Arasaka needed an outside opinion on, and having too many questions unanswered.

What made this job so special?

Why would Arasaka seek out the opinion of someone in Night City rather than in Japan?

What made this third party so important?

Who were they?

Why them?

Why did their opinion have so much weight?

Most of all Adam wondered why he even bothered to care. The image and reputation that Adam had worked so hard to cultivate this past century should have emboldened him with steel-clad confidence in himself and his abilities. Should have. Why the anxiety? True, Arasaka was being oddly theatrical in their deliverance, but if Adam were honest with himself, he would acknowledge that he allowed a dangerous feeling to creep inside, a feeling that’s lethality pushed him to put his life at risk more than anything else: hope.

“Approaching LZ, sir.”

The flat voice of the AV’s pilot pulled Adam out of his mental reverie.

Surveying the area, he felt his suspicion rise. The AV was lowering at the top of a multi-leveled parking garage that connected to a moderately large, white building. The glass windows were polarized with a shade of gold, giving no indication as to what occurred behind them. Adam also noticed a lack of sign or company name, save for a white emblem that looked like the image of a lighted torch. Clean and shimmering, the emblem rested on the building’s corner, as if it were a true, living flame.

As the AV pulled away, Adam headed near the large elevator that sat on the opposite side of his landing zone. Gravel crunched beneath him, the annoying sound adding to his already agitated mood. Just as he approached the control panel, the elevator doors opened with a faint hiss.

Out stepped a fit, middle-aged man with dark, neatly combed hair, navy slacks, and a trim, button-up shirt. The man was occupied with rolling up the shirt’s sleeves, revealing a variety of tattoos on each bicep. Adam noticed a large NUSA script standing out amongst the rest. The man’s face illuminated with a white smile when their eyes met.

“Good morning, Mr. Smasher,” he greeted, his voice deep and rich. “I apologize for any waiting that we might have caused you.”

Adam grunted as he sidestepped the man to enter the elevator. He didn’t have to duck his head, an odd experience for him.

The stranger seemed unaffected by Adam’s response, maintaining a polite smile and joining him in the elevator. As the doors closed, he stepped forward and pressed one of the buttons.

“When we arrive to the office, we request that you place all weapons-”

“No.”

A pause.

The man resumed.

“-in our reservoir and deactivate any and all combat cyberware.”

“Out of the question.”

Adam turned to face him. The smile had faded, but much to Adam’s chagrin there was a hint of amusement in the man’s hazel eyes.

“I know that our policy opposes your own,” he stated. “But it is a requirement of this office.”

The elevator slowed.

“Are you the third party in the contract?” Adam asked lowly.

“I am not,” answered the man.

The doors opened as they arrived to their floor.

“Then you are of no use to me,” said Adam.

Walking into the space, his brows furrowed. He had arrived at an open lobby that was full of soft chairs and with tall windows aligning the walls. There was a gentle scent in the air, something floral that added to the relaxing ambiance of the floor. Some art was on the walls as well, but what distracted Adam was the sight of a single set of large, double doors.

No one was there other than Adam and the man who continued to speak to him.

“Welcome to Torch. This is our Services floor.”

Again, the man received a cold reply as Adam ignored him and approached the large doors. Giving the doors a firm tug, they didn’t budge from the frame. He tried again, this time with more effort, and became agitated when they failed to give.

“This building prohibits the presence of any and all firearms, as well as combat cyberware,” stated the man, his tone informative and light.

Turning to glower at the man, Adam saw that he was gesturing to a unit in the wall.

“We have reservoirs on each floor, calibrated with genetic security software to guarantee that only you can have access to them. We do not sell or use any of the collected data. It is strictly for security. Not even our own staff can touch your things without your consent, Mr. Smasher.”

Adam stalked towards the man with heavy, deliberate steps.

“Open the door,” he commanded.

“I cannot-”

A hard, mechanical hand reached out to grip the man’s throat.

“Open the door,” repeated Adam. The man’s struggling body was lifted from the tiled floor with ease. “Or I will break you,” added the merc in a whisper.

The stranger struggled in his grasp, attempting and failing to loosen Adam’s hold with his own cybernetic fingers.

“Open the fucking door,” Adam commanded again, his anger growing with each passing moment.

“I-It won’t open,” gasped the man. “Not until I see you put your weapons in the reservoir.”

The lump in his throat bobbed against Adam’s palm.

“Think I give a damn about your policies and protocol?” he rumbled. “I can just pop off your fucking head clean off your shoulders, then I’ll rip open those doors myself-”

“A-And she still won’t see you.”

Adam blinked in confusion. The man had no fear in his voice. No, the opposite. Bold. Certain. His whole demeanor was solid, his eyes never breaking away from that of the mercenary.

“She won’t see you,” repeated the man. “She’s not one for intimidation. N-Never will be.”

With a new blaze of anger, Adam lifted the man higher. The man gasped heavily as the grip became tighter on his air way, his face reddening into a deep scarlet.

Behind them, the doors burst open.

“Mr. Smasher!” yelled a voice. A woman’s voice. “Put him down!”

His head turned in the direction of the sound, his anger near the tipping point of rage.

Standing in the doorway was a woman. She stood before a group of other women, all afraid, their eyes wide and trembling fingers touching lips. One of the fearful women looked to be attempting to pull the other back, but with no luck. She stood firm in a white, form-fitting dress, the garment hiding most of her olive skin and hugging her curves beautifully. Her hair was dark and fell in waves at her shoulders and down her back. Oddly enough she was barefoot, revealing a blood red polish on her toes that matched her fingernails. Simple gold jewelry complimented her complexion.

The woman’s face, though attractive, wore a look of pure admonishment.

“Are you the one hired by Arasaka?” called back the mercenary, his voice still strained.

“Put him down,” repeated the woman. “Now.”

“Answer my question-”

“Not until you put down Dr. Estrada.”

Their eyes locked. Gold like her jewelry, they burned intensely with a heat that Adam could practically feel. His own resolve faltered at her ultimatum, mostly because he wasn’t used to anyone, let alone a woman, making one.

The man’s body dropped loudly to the tile.

To Adam’s surprise, the woman immediately relaxed. Gone was the fire in her eyes and features. Posture eased. She then entered the lobby. The women behind her silently panicked, their mouths agape at seeing her walk past Adam, bare feet padding across the tile, to attend to the fallen man. The man had recovered after a brief coughing fit and was sitting up with a grin. He accepted her offered hand.

“So all of this,” she said calmly, directing the man to the doorway. “Is because of our weapons policy?”

“Are you the one hired by Arasaka?”

His tone was more level, matching hers. The anger was long forgotten.

“I am,” she replied.  “Will you be able to make our appointment or should we reschedule?”

Adam frowned at the question.

Without saying a word, he began walking towards the doors. Her frame stiffened. In a stride she stood between Adam and the opening.

“You want to keep our appointment,” she acknowledged. “Please put your weapons in our reservoir and deactivate any and all combat cyberware.”

And like a switch, his fury returned ten-fold.

“I’m not going to go by your bullshit policies!” he yelled. “We’re meeting today! Stop wasting my fucking time and let’s get this shit over with!”

Pulse raced in his body, so strongly that he swore they could hear it. The doctor stood behind the woman, eyes shifting between her and Adam nervously. He saw how the man’s hands tightened into fists, as if ready to intervene at any moment. The other women were frozen in fear.

What did these fucking people not understand?

Adam was here to do a job.

He didn’t have to abide by whatever policies they were giving him.

It wasn’t going to happen.

All appeared terrified and concerned.

All except for her.

That woman with the dark hair and powerful, golden eyes remained by her place at the doorway, her focus on Adam and staring directly at him as if he hadn’t just yelled at her. If she was afraid of Adam, she sure didn’t show it.

A moment passed before he got a response.

Her voice was touched with a new softness, her face gentle.

“I hear you,” she said. “You are strongly against what we’re asking of you, Adam, and we’re asking a lot. This is our policy. It is important that our clients feel safe here. If depositing your weapons and turning off your cyberware is not acceptable to you, that’s fine, but it is our expectation. You can do what we ask and retrieve your things when our meeting is over or we can reschedule when you’re ready.”

Dark eyes blinked in confusion. No doubt his anger remained, but at hearing her words, the calmness in her voice, he found it oddly abated. Only slightly, but abated nonetheless.

He swallowed.

“Out of the question,” Adam answered lowly.

As if expecting his response, the woman simply nodded.

“Okay,” she said, that damn smile once more spreading across her full lips. “That’s your choice. The elevator can take you to the floor that Dr. Estrada met you at. Please reach out to our office so we can reschedule.”

Before he could muster up a response, the woman quietly closed the doors.

[thiswasinevitableid]

Personal Demon (Indruck)

@pantstacular requested: 58 Is such my entire jam I’d pretty much die if you did it with Indruck.  “I’m a demon, you’re a witch, we’re enemies but when I show up to kill you, you’re crying and I really don’t know what to do now.” SFW

A talented, young warlock will employ the most complex, innovative, and powerful wards on their home. 

A seasoned warlock who was never that excited about all this in the first place will employ straightforward but deeply aggravating wards on their home. 

Indrid’s nemesis is in that second category. His wards are never fancy, but they’re durable and reliable, an utter pain in his tail to break down. Some cannot be broken by spells at all, and even a demon of his skill could burn through all his power trying to destroy them.

Which is why Indrid simply pays a passing human twenty dollars to kick a gap in the salt barrier, grits his teeth passing through the Rowan trees while his skin feels like he’s getting a full-body tattoo, and uses an oven mitt to open the iron door knob (the door is lined with iron, so he cannot slip as a shadow beneath it), hissing in pain all the while. 

“Duck Newton…” He lilts, certain the warlock will be terrified to hear his voice in his strong hold, “it is time to end things once and for all, dearest enemy.”

He keeps his eyes on the present, not wanting to spoil the fun for himself by peeking at the futures. He glides into the human’s bedroom, plants his feet on the floor, “your worthless soul is mine.” 

“Ughhhh” a muffled sound, Indrid flicking on the lights to find the human face-down on his bed, “are you fuckin serious? Now?”

“Yes, Duck Newton, now” dark energy crackles in his fingertips. 

Thwump

“Ack!” He shakes his head, Duck now sitting up, preparing to throw another pillow at him. 

“Get out.” Duck glowers, voice flat. 

“You dare to order me-”

Thwump

“Get!” Duck’s eyes are wet, red-rimmed, and Indrid notices he’s in sweatpants and a ratty t-shirt that’s damp in patches. 

“Have you been crying?” 

Thwump and his glasses are knocked askew. 

“How many of those blasted things do you have?” 

Two hovering pillows turn to four and all collide with him at once.

“Clearly you are, ow, in no mindset to, ow, duel me as I, ack, see fit. I shall return!”

He dissolves into shadow and speeds out the door, materializing on the sidewalk and paying a passerby ten dollars to fix the salt ring. 

Not willing to let a plan go to waste, he repeats this process the next night. This time, Duck is laying in the darkened living room. 

“Now, my greatest adversary, it is time to meet your end--why are you still crying?” He cocks his head as Duck magics the light on. 

“Because I’m in my own fuckin’ house and can do whatever I want.”

“But you seem upset.”

“No fuckin shit, sherlock.” Duck raises a throw pillow and Indrid covers his face far faster than he’d ever admit in public.

“I merely mean that, ah, perhaps a duel would be a welcome change of pace?”

“I look like I’m in the headspace to duel to you?” 

“Not at the moment, but that could change, yes? I do wish to destroy you, is that sufficient motivation to shake off this fog of misery that’s hanging about your soul like stale cologne?”

Duck groans, but straightens, reaching over the far arm of the couch. Indrid perks up, approaches at a safe distance, certain he will see a familiar sword or spell in a moment. 

What he gets is misted with holy water.

He hisses, wiping his face in a hurry. His power is so great that the diluted mixture doesn’t harm him, but it’s as if someone is squirting him in the face with lemon juice. 

“I banished you worse ways than this, demon, but I’m fuckin tired and you ain’t worth the goddamn energy and you don’t wanna end up straight back below. So get.” He raises the spray bottle, spritzes him again and Indrid backs away, spluttering and hissing. 

“You, you think you can threaten me, shoo me out like OW some common ghost GAh that was in my nose that time fine, fine I am going.” He stumbles over the threshold, falling on his ass on the pavement as Duck slams the door. 

Perhaps a new plan is in order. 

----------------------------

“You wanna know Ducks’ what?” Aubrey taps her spoon on the edge of the potion she’s mixing. 

“His favorite food. I wish to cheer him up. Unless of course, you wish to simply tell me what is troubling him.” Indrid grins at the witch.

“You know the rules, Cold; I don’t trade information between sides. And, like, even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you what’s going on with him. It’s...personal, okay?”

Indrid sighs. He expected that answer. Aubrey is the child of a witch of the light and a witch of the shadows, giving her a rare balance of powers. It also means entities of all moral alignments will come to her for aid. Her rules are simple; no fighting in her house and no getting her in the middle of major conflicts.

For all that, Indrid still has never told her his true name. She calls him ‘Cold,’ as everyone does. 

“French Onion Soup. That’s his favorite thing, from the Wolfe Grill downtown.”

“He likes that coffee fudge too, the one Barclay makes” Dani, Aubrey’s wife, adds from her spot spinning fur off a massive angora rabbit. 

Barclay is a kitchen witch, one with whom Indrid has a shaky truce (he egged on a fight in the restaurant, needing some quick points with the higher demons. It’s not his fault one of the humans knocked over a candle). He can probably manage to buy fudge without being scolded.

Duck’s added more fortifications since yesterday, and Indrid only needs a few moments anyway. He finds a sliver in a plane that lets him slip into Duck’s mirror, knowing the human is getting ready for bed. 

The human senses him, looks up from the sink, toothbrush still in his mouth. He blinks once, to tired to even count as annoyance.

“ ‘wat ‘ow?”

“I have brought you food.” Indrid waits until Duck spits into the sink to pass the two bags out of the mirror. 

“Why-”

“It will cheer you up. It is your favorite. Then you will have your fight back, and be ready to face me.”

Duck takes the bags, then several steps back, “y’know, most demons would see this is a chance to get me while I’m down.”

“Well” Indrid sniffs haughtily, “I am not most demons. Besides, what good is claiming your soul if it was like stepping on an ant?”

The warlock looks at the food, then at Indrid, “I ain’t gonna eat this.”

“Bu-wha-I got it specifically to please you!”

“And it could be poisoned or cursed or some shit.”

Indrid growls in frustration, “fine, wallow in your misery.” Then he’s out on the street again, ready to cause some evil. Or to go back to the bakery and drown his aggravation in a caramel eggnog latte.

----------------------------

Duck stares at the bags, still sitting on his kitchen counter. If he’s not going to bed any time soon, he should at least eat something. Not that though. Even if it’s his favorite. How the fuck did the demon know that?

Cold has never quite been like other demons Duck’s run across. When he’d yanked him out of Boyd (because Ned decided to read the inscription on a new artifact for the Cryptonomica), he hadn’t taken it personally, but proceeded to try and tempt Duck for two days solid with everything he could think of. Then he decided he liked Kepler and could do plenty of demonic work in it, which had Duck worried. The demon is powerful, he can feel it when they fight. But, while he still worries, Cold sticks to being a mid-level threat at best even if he keeps promising to destroy him.

God that soup smells good. 

He picks up a piece of amethyst, runs it over and over the air around the bag. No trace of anything dangerous. 

Fuck it.

Twenty minutes later his belly is full, he actually feels kinda sorta almost borderline happy, and he hasn’t turned into a frog or been transported to the underworld. 

When Cold inevitably shows up again a few days later, Duck doesn’t even look up from the model ship he’s working on . 

“Thanks for, uh, for dinner.” 

“How did you know I was here?” The silver-haired man steps out of the hall, red eyes glowing behind redder glasses. 

“I may not be able to sense auras or souls or shit, but you and I been dancin around each other for long enough that I can tell when the hair on my neck is standin up thanks to you.”

“Then you are prepared to fight?”

“No. Look, I dunno now how it is for demons, but takes more than nice food to make a fella get over somethin serious.”

“I see…” Cold looks around the room, “are you certain you are not interested in even a small bit of conflict?”

“Nope. Busy.”

“Well I am not!”

“Can’t you just go find another warlock to bother?””

“No! Well, yes, but I do not wish to. You are my adversary, the one I devote most of my time to tormenting.”

“That’s kinda an exaggeration. And it don’t change that I’m workin on this.” He points to the model, “so I’m just gonna ignore you until you leave.”

There’s a huff, followed by the fluttering of his mail as the demon knocks it onto the floor. He glances up and notices that Cold’s tail is now visible and twitching with agitation. When Duck does nothing else, he knocks the remaining mail on the ground. 

“That ain’t changin my mind.”

A roll of glass on tile, Cold pushing a water glass towards the edge of the counter with his finger. 

“Y’won’t like what happens if you do that.”

The glass tips over. As water spills onto the floor, Duck summons a towel with one hand and a dish of salt with the other. Before the demon can stop him, he draws a salt circle, trapping him in a small spot by the table. 

“Erase that this instant.”

“Nope. You been poppin in and out the last two weeks and not leavin when I ask nicely, so now you’re gonna stay right here until I decide you can leave.”

The demon drops down onto the floor, arms crossed and tail thrashing, “I just do not see what is so severe it makes you uninterested in anything but work, sleep, and making ships that cannot go anywhere.”

“Don’t expect you to understand.”

“Yes, but you also will not tell me so how can you know if-” a future flickers into vision, “your romantic partner left you.”

“That’s cheatin’.”

“That is what has upset you so?”

“Yeah, because we were together for six fuckin years, and she watched me grow up since I was eighteen and was my mentor and it feels like a big constant in my life is just fuckin gone.” He leaves out the part where he'd felt it going for awhile, where part of him knew it needed to but the rest wanted things to stay as they were. 

The demon cocks his head in that way of his, smirks but says nothing.

“Nevermind. You’re a demon, love ain’t somethin you got a concept of.” He stands, retrieving another bottle of adhesive from the too-empty living room. 

As he picks up the next piece, Cold murmurs, “It is not so foreign a concept as you might think.”

Duck shoots him an incredulous look. 

“I was a creature of the divine once, beings capable of great love, even if many of them do not utilize that capacity. Even if I was not supposed to in my role. But more than the memory of that feeling, I have moments in which I suspect I can feel it still.”

“Like when you see someone do somethin real wicked?” 

The demon doesn’t rise to the paltry bait, “When I go sit in a park, or those woods you like, and draw and watch people coming and going in a thousand little moments of mundanity, I feel something more than mere tranquility. Sometimes I will go to movies or to concerts, to feel the swell of joy and excitement, and it almost seems as if I love those around me.”

It’s the last thing Duck expects him to say, and so all he can do is stare at him a moment before returning to his work. The demon, content with the silence, watches cross-legged. When Duck grabs a packet of cookies from the kitchen he pauses, then hands one to Cold. 

The demon sniffs it, proceeds to nibble on the edge before making a delighted sound and shoving the whole thing in his mouth. 

“You never had Girl Scout cookies before?”

“No. I do not need to eat, and often only do so when temptation requires it. Or when Barclay makes something with eggnog in it.  Which is a pity; I really enjoy human food, you come up with such interesting things. Now it is my turn for a question. Why are you making those?”

Duck looks at the near-complete model, “I dunno. Helps me relax, nice to just be able to focus on one thing rather than worryin’ about work or warlock stuff or dyin’ alone or if you’re gonna randomly turn up in my goddamn bedroom without warnin’.”

“Knocking is not exactly demonic.”

He says it so matter-of-factly, the smile on his face oddly honest, that Duck cracks up. Giggles spill out of him as he rests his face in his hands. His elbows slip on the shiny tabletop, collapsing him forward, laughing loud enough to startle the cat from her hiding place. 

“Yeah” he sniffs, finally sitting up while wiping away tears and still chuckling, “guess it ain’t.”

The demon is smiling again, softer than his usual grin that glints like a knife in the dark. 

“Will you show me more of your ships?”

“You ain’t gettin outta that circle that easy.”

“I am aware. But you could bring them where I could see.” He seems genuinely excited at the idea. 

Duck stands, hands him the packet of Thin Mints, “I could do that, yeah. Sit tight, I’ll be right back.”

-----------------------------------------------

Duck picks up to the two reusable grocery bags, locking doors and throwing up extra wards behind him as he walks to his car. 

He slides into the drivers seat, sets the bags in back behind him. Turns around and finds the passenger seat occupied. 

“Venturing forth at last, I see.”

“I ventured forth plenty.”

“That was only for work. You have been the picture of a hermit since you were dumped, Duck Newton.” Cold adjusts his glasses in the rear-view mirror. 

“Have not. And it was mutual.”

“Shall we get out of the car so I can destroy you?”

“We could do that. Or…” he points at the bags, the demon peering into them curiously, “we could take these two bags of snacks to a concert in the park.”

Cold bites his lip. Duck holds his breath, already gearing up his spells in case the demon says no.

A seatbelt clicks, “very well.”

They find a spot under some trees, far back from the crowd. Cold is in his human disguise, but Duck would rather not risk being seen if his tail or horns make an appearance. The concert is all movie soundtracks that Duck doesn’t pay attention to. He’s too busy watching the demon gleefully explore the food he brought (he chose the weirdest desserts and snacks he could find, wanting to give him a taste of things he’d never had) and talking with him about more or less everything.

As they’re getting into the car under the light of the half moon, Cold sighs happily, “we should do this again sometime.”

“Yeah, we could. Just uh, don’t get your hopes up, okay?”

-------------------------------------------------------------

Duck is up to his elbows in the pieces of an IKEA dresser when Cold’s voice comes through the mirror.

“I need to be let in right now please and thank you.”

He sounds pained, so Duck hurries out to the front yard and opens the circle, allowing the demon to pass through. He’s hunched at an odd angle, clutching at his back. Once they’re inside he strips off his coat, revealing a splinter at the base of his neck. 

“Shit, what happened?”

“I materialized in the house of a well-prepared witch and was immediately backed into a Hawthorne bush. Lucky I am not a vampire, but gracious it stings.”

“Why come to me?” Duck is already guiding him to the couch.

“I thought you might be able to help. Also it is movie night.”

Duck examines the injury; it’s a small splinter, but the skin is already looking sickly. 

“Should be an easy fix. Lemme get my tools and I can get to work.”

------------------------------------------------

Indrid waits patiently for Duck to return, tries not to hiss at him too loudly when he pulls the splinter free. The human works quickly, and soon a tingling salve coats the sore spot. 

Rather than pull away, Duck smooths his hands down Indrid’s back, “damn, you’re all knotted up.”

“I was trying not to move too much and aggravate it.”

Duck’s thumbs rub small circles along his back, “here, I can fix that real easy.”

Indrid foresees where his fingers will touch next and let’s his desire overtake his caution. When Ducks hands come down again, he whimpers and wiggles happily. 

“Uhhhhh”

“It is my wings. In a way. They exist on another plane when not manifested here, and where you are touching is the place where it feels as you are stroking them.”

“That a good thing?”

“Yes, but you do not need to continue if you do not waAAhnnnt” he gasps as Duck slowly, steadily, runs his fingers over the spot again and again. 

The human leans forward, giggling, and whispers in his ear, “you’re purrin’.”

“I am awarerrrrrrrr.” His tail and horns appear, seeming to understand there is no need to hide here.  One of Duck’s hands skates up to his head, petting his hair and stroking his horns.

He whines, pushes his head into Duck’s hand for more. 

“Is this-”

“No Duck Newton, it is not sexual. It can be, but at the moment it simply feels comforting and pleasurable.” He purrs louder as Duck rubs the base of one horn. 

“That’s a good, uh, good demon? Bein’ so patient while I patch him up.” Duck coos. 

“Yes.” Indrid whimpers. 

“Lookit you, goin all mushy on me, so goddamn cute. Who knew you had it in you.”

“Duck.” Something is coiling through his veins, warm and ecstatic, as the human keeps up his stream of praise.

“Right here, demon of mine, just relax, lemme tend to you, there we go, you’re bein so good, such a charmin demon.”

Tears prick his eyes; he can’t, he can’t handle Duck speaking this way but speaking as if Indrid could be changed out for any one of his kind. He wants to know he means those words for him, he must, the feelings flooding him are incomplete without it and if they remain so he will wither away.

“Indrid, please, call me that.”

“Indrid.” It sounds joyous in that drawl as Duck adds a hint of pressure to his touches, “Indrid, you oughta stop gettin into trouble, oughta just stay here and put your head in my lap.”  The human is getting carried away, the fantasies becoming more elaborate, interspersed with his name, until the name itself becomes the litany. 

Indrid cries out, the energy in his veins enveloping him utterly for a moment, wings of absolute darkness flashing into view for an instant

He collapses forward, shaking, hoping the thanks pouring from his mouth are intelligible. 

“You, uh, you doin’ okay--Oh FUCK!”

Indrid whirls, finds Duck staring at his arm. There are glowing markings on it, blue and black light fading into a facsimile of ink on his skin. 

“What did you do?”

“What did I do? What makes you think this has anything to do with me?”

“Because this wasn’t there a minute ago! And you got one too!”

“I…” Indrid gapes at his forearm, where a matching symbol is setting in his skin. “Oh dear.”

“What?”

“It is, ah, well, it is a soul bond.”

“How in the everlovin’ fuck did that happen--wait, fuck, is Indrid your true name?”

“Yes.” 

“Shit! I thought you gave me another false one, or I never woulda kept saying it. I ain’t that kind of warlock, I don’t want a personal demon.”

“I am not exactly thrilled either. I cannot return to the underworld, and for the first few days of the bond I will need to stay very close to you. All the same, that was rash of me and I am sorry.”

Duck rubs his forehead, takes a deep breath, “we’ll deal with it tomorrow. Right now, all I wanna do is sleep.”

“I as well. I suspect that took a lot of energy from both of us.”

The human stands, heading off towards the bedroom. As soon as he’s out of sight, pangs pulse through Indrid’s chest.

“Ah, Duck?”

A groan, “yeah, I feel it too. Get in here.”

Indrid hurries to the bed, finds Duck down to his boxers as he turns over the covers. 

“I, ah, I can sleep on the floor, or get a blanket for that chair, or lay by your feet.”

Duck pats the bed, “sleepin next to you ain’t nothin’ compared to bein’ soul bonded. Bed feels too big anyway. And none of that by my feet talk; you’re my equal, not my fuckin pet, even if you are a pain in my ass sometimes.”

Indrid crawls in beside him, lays stiffly on his back as the lights go out. After so much contact, his body aches to touch Duck again. 

A hand rests in the space between them, and Indrid takes it.

“Duck? I, ah, I am glad that if this had to happen to me, it was you who it happened with. I cannot think of another warlock I would actually enjoy being linked too.”

“Feelin’s mutual.” Duck squeezes his hand, voice gentle.

Indrid rolls to face him, and in the dark he can just make out the slight smile on the warlock’s face. 

“Goodnight, Duck.”

A yawn, then, “sleep tight, Indrid.”

[medjaichieftain]

Silence Watches The Mummy and The Mummy Returns – Musings, Headcanons, Criticisms, & Observations About Ardeth, Horus, and the Medjai - [Part 1 of 2]

This is going to be… such a random hodgepodge of stuff, heh. I’m going to number them just to give this big wall of text some structure, but they’re not in any specific order. And by all means message me or comment somehow on anything you read here. I would love to discuss any one of these things! =)

[1.] What are the Medjai, really? Medjai means “bodyguards”, I think. If you listen to Imhotep at the beginning of the first movie, right before Anck-su-namun takes her life, he says something that is translated into the “Pharoah’s bodyguards,” and he definitely says “Medjai.” In the second movie, Nefertiri calls for her father’s bodyguards to help him, and she also called them “Medjai.” Back to the first movie, Ardeth describes the Medjai as “we, the Medjai, the descendants of Pharoahs’ sacred bodyguards.” I always took this to mean blood descendants, but I think I was wrong. I think they are occupational descendants, not bloodline descendants. The reason for this is because the Medjai are also described as being this secret society of warriors (except for the one dude who was managing the library, probably so that the rest of them would have a decent informational contact). They appear to be all men, in scouting/hunting parties, out on the sands, keeping watch over stuff, right? How do they get more Medjai, then, heh? Do you ever see any kids? Or even any women? I think that in the world of The Mummy, there are tribes of nomadic desert people who call the Sahara home who actually live in family units, and then there are the Medjai, who I think come from all those other tribes. The curator of the library in the first movie says that they are “sworn from manhood to protect,” which to me means that it is a choice and that they don’t become Medjai until they come of age. So I think the Medjai are not a family society in and of themselves, so much as they are comprised from warriors of many different tribes in a given region who take an oath to essentially give up their family lives to take on this immense religious and moral duty. That is not to say they never visit their families at all, but I think it is more an occupational vow and not one passed down through bloodlines. This is further confirmed for me by Rick supposedly being a Medjai in the second movie, because… I’m sorry but his pasty White ass probably does not have any Egyptian blood in him, haha, so it’s more likely that he is not a descendant of any Pharoah’s bodyguards. But… neither did he choose to enter the Medjai at manhood, so Rick kinda confuses me. He said he got the tattoo at an orphanage, and didn’t even know what it was. That… doesn’t seem to fit with how the rest of the Medjai function. How can you be a warrior for a god you don’t believe in when you don’t even know that you are one in the first place? Which brings me to the pronunciation of the word “me-djai.” It changes, heh. By the second half of the second movie, everybody (including Ardeth) is saying “mah-djai” instead of “meh-djai.” As in, magi? As in… a group of wise men who know a lot of shit that you should pay attention to? I wonder if this was meant to be a play on words that further illustrates the roles that the Medjai played in society or whether the actors all just got lazy in pronouncing the damn word, heh. I’m thinking the latter, but eh… food for thought.

[2.] We never actually ever see Ardeth’s Medjai tattoo on his wrist, the one that would match Rick’s. He wears a leather bracelet that covers it up, and actually, so did Rick in the first movie. Since the Medjai are supposed to be a secret society, it makes sense, but then in that case I wonder why they would cover the wrist tattoo but then put tattoos on his face and the backs of his hands. Not very secret anymore, is it?

[3.] As much as I love Ardeth, his character does annoy me a little bit in that he is an obvious plot device. In the beginning of the first movie, the Medjai are seen as scoundrels, villains, and evildoers. They attack without warning, they’re savage, they have scars, and they’re older looking men. We are not privy to any of their names and we can’t see all of their faces clearly. Even the music that introduces their presence is sinister and ominous in nature. We are taught at first to see them as villains, and this annoys me because it is totally based on the social concept of “The Other.” This nebulous, not clearly defined, nameless, faceless, “other” person that you cannot feel anything for or identify with or even consider a human being because they are “other” than you. It is unfortunately the basis for a whole lot of religious, ethnic, and cultural stereotyping and prejudice. It is not until we meet Ardeth, who is coincidentally the only Medjai given more than a couple innocuous lines, a much younger guy, devoid of scars that we can see, a seriously good looking dude, amazing hair, haha… that the Medjai suddenly have a face and a meaning. From then on they’re good, noble saviors, warriors for god, and protectors against evil. I’m not saying don’t view them that way, I’m just annoyed that they are portrayed as 100% evil at the start and then 100% good later on. The truth is somewhere in the middle. Maybe their cause is good, but they do kill innocent people for it and their methods can be cruel and violent. Necessarily so? You decide? But still… why must they be either black or white morally speaking? They are somewhere in between and they should have been ortrayed that way from the start. Instead, they start out as blanks, as “Others” to us until we’re shown a pretty one and then suddenly we care, heh. That urks me a lot, which is why I go out of my way to notice background Medjai in both movies and wonder at their lives and deaths. I would have appreciated the fleshing out of at least one other Medjai besides Ardeth. It is a shame that neither movie ever bothered to do that.

[4.] I have been thinking about Ardeth’s alignment, that is, his moral compass. Ardeth is not 100% Good in terms of alignment. He is Lawful Neutral with Neutral Good tendencies. He is willing to kill innocent people to protect hundreds of thousands of other lives. He admits this himself verbally when Evie asks him and the head librarian guy if their actions warrant killing innocent people. Any Medjai is prepared to do just that. Their cause is to protect the greater good, not to save individual lives. That’s where the Lawful Neutral comes in. However, he has Neutral Good tendencies. What this means is that… sometimes… Ardeth is willing to go against his code and/or act in favor of Good. So maybe here and there, he does decide to go the distance to save one or two lives (he threw himself at the mummies at the end of the first movie to allow Rick and Jonathan time to get the Book of Amun Ra and escape), and maybe sometimes he will choose to go against his vows to the Medjai in favor of a personal commitment (choosing to stay with Rick, Evie, and Jonathan to help them find Alex in the second movie instead of going off on his own to let the other chieftains know of their location after Horus is shot down). He also gave the Americans and Rick’s group in the first movie time to leave their camp when it was attacked, saying he would shed no more blood, but they had one day to leave. He should never have allowed them that day if he was adhering strictly to his duties as a Medjai, but his Good tendencies wanted to spare lives.

[5.] So I have come to the conclusion that Ardeth wears “high heels” because he rides a horse, heh. I’ve gotten a bunch of comments on his wearing high heels and wtf is up with that, haha, and I think it’s because he needs the heels to grip the stirrups of his horse. That’s my story and I’m stickin’ to it. XD

[6.] Okay but like… why didn’t the Medjai just move the Book of the Dead somewhere people wouldn’t find it instead of constantly fending off people who came to Hamunaptra looking for it? Without it, no one can wake Imhotep, right? So… relocate it out in the middle of the freaking desert somewhere where the Medjai know where it is but no one else does, and guard it. If everyone thinks/knows it’s at Hamunaptra, put the damn thing somewhere else? Why didn’t they just do that? Because there would’ve been no movie, that’s why, haha.

[7.] The other Medjai who died in the beginning of the first movie… did Ardeth know them? It is likely that he did, since he was the regional chieftain. So he would know and command all Medjai in that area. Otherwise, he wouldn’t even be in the story because this wouldn’t be his region, heh. So… did Ardeth send those men there to attack the boat in the beginning of the first movie, and if so, did he and his other men mourn the fact that they did not return? He certainly knew the ones who initially attacked Hamunaptra, because he was right there fighting with them. What was the conversation like after they left that night… with only half the men they came with? The bodies of the men were just left there, and not another word was said about them. Do they have some sort of agreement that bodies aren’t recovered due to time, danger, or resource constraints? If so, what do they bring back, if anything, to the families of these men? How are they honored/recognized for their dedication and sacrifice? I’m sure Ardeth would say/do something to honor them. And then how does losing so many men on a regular basis affect him emotionally? It really makes me wonder.

[8.] So for those who didn’t know this, Ardeth was supposed to die at the end of the first movie. The scene where his gun jams while Rick and Jonathan are trying to excavate the Book of Amun Ra and he has his iconic line, “Save the girl. Kill the creature,” and then he throws himself at all the mummies in the corridor? Yeah, he was supposed to die then. But apparently test audiences liked Ardeth so much and were so upset that he died that they actually changed the ending to include him… and then gave him a much bigger part in The Mummy Returns. (Thank you test audiences, omg, haha.) That’s why he’s just kindof gone for the whole final battle at the end of the first movie and then scares the shit out of Jonathan at the very end sitting on his camel, heh. But it makes me wonder… The Pharaoh’s bodyguards at the end of the first movie were, by definition, also Medjai. If the makers of the movie had decided sooner that Ardeth should live and he had been involved in that battle, would those undead Medjai still have gone after him, or would they recognize him as one of their own? I really wonder about that… and about why the Medjai mummies would be helping Imhotep…? That made no sense…? Like what all was in what Jonathan read that told them hey, forget your duties in life and go help the guy who killed your pharaoh?

[9.] What’s the deal with Ardeth and Lock-Nah? They knew each other by sight and they knew their full names. And the  very slight head cant Ardeth gives when saying his name gives me a “(sigh) here we go again with this guy” vibe. Lock-Nah too was smiling like “hey… this guy I love to pick on!” And it seemed like that kind of relationship to me, like… Ardeth has probably tried numerous times to foil the cult of Imhotep over the years and this guy Lock-Nah probably pushed back, screwed him over, and generally engaged in bombastic fuck you-ery to the point of Ardeth just being sick and tired of him. And from Lock-Nah’s point of view, he thinks he’s better than Ardeth in every possible way and enjoys watching him fail. The way he watches Ardeth fight the other cult members in Evie’s house toward the beginning of the second movie with this amused condescension, and then makes the comment, “Not bad… for a Medjai,” is indicative of his perceived superiority over Ardeth. He says “Medjai” like he’s saying “scum of the earth” or something, heh. He has no respect for Ardeth as a person, for the Medjai as a society, or for the morality for which both stand. What makes me think that their relationship is more than just soldier-of-virtue vs. immoral villain is Ardeth’s emotion whenever he fights him. And I’m not saying he cries or makes comments or even shows a range of emotions on his face, it’s just that he looks… to not have the same level of concentration on his face as when he’s fighting Anubis’ army, for example. He’s serious then, focused, confident. With Lock-Nah, there’s a sense of “if I don’t keep on my toes and pay attention I’m going to die.” Maybe Ardeth perceived Lock-Nah to be a better fighter than him, skill-wise. Or maybe there was more to their relationship that we didn’t get to know. By the time he faces him in the jungle of Ahm-Shere, he’s comin’ at him yelling out this battle cry and just going for it. Whereas in the beginning of the movie he seems uncertain of himself, by the time he gets to that duel at the end, there’s a savagery that comes from Ardeth that is just rare to see. The next time you see it, pay attention to the death strokes Ardeth makes, the last two strokes with his sword. Maybe I’m reading into stuff (which I love to do) but he seems ragged, emotional, and just a bit angry like, “stay down, asshole.” It makes me think that Lock-Nah did something to Ardeth or to his life or family or screwed up some mission that was really important in the past… and things got a bit personal between them. Some have said that he’s avenging Horus but he never saw Lock-Nah fire the shot that killed him, so I don’t think that’s what it is. Unless he just assumed? I guess we’ll never know. I love too how when Lock-Nah finally does fall, he has this look on his face like, “Huh. Shit. Wouldja look at that. Bastard finally killed me.” Haha. Damn straight.

[10.] Ardeth gets wounded twice (in Evie’s house and on the bus) in the second movie and never tends to the wounds at all. We never see these wounds again, and in all honesty it doesn’t even look like his clothes are torn. This is just like the exhaustion and dehydration issue. As a writer, I have to keep track of all my characters’ wounds and how those wounds would impair the characters. So it irks me in movies when I see a character sustain a wound that then just disappears by the next scene. Ardeth should have been hurting from those slashes and claw wounds. At the very least, his clothes should have remained torn and he should have had a bandage on the wounds.

[11.] Do all tribes of the Medjai shop at the same clothing store? They all wore the same exactly tunics and sashes. I understand wearing the same basic fabrics and styles, but if these were regional chieftains or commanders of larger tribes, they should be from all over the Sahara and possible even from near other cities and towns. I don’t think they would all have the same outfit from all those different tribes. When all the commanders were lined up they looked like carbon copies of each other. There should have been a bit more variation in color at least if not style and fabric and accessories in their outfits.

[rapturesxsilliestxfool]

Really Long Character Survey

RULES. repost ,   don’t  reblog !    tag 10 ! good  luck !

Tagged by: @sanctamater

Tagging: idk if you have some time to kill/are procrastinating, you can say I tagged you. This is really long. It’s good procrastination material.

BASICS. FULL  NAME : Diane Louise McClintock NICKNAME :  Miss/Ms. McClintock (does that count??) AGE : 28 when she dies BIRTHDAY :   23rd June ETHNIC  GROUP : Caucasian NATIONALITY :  American LANGUAGE / S : English, some basic French from holidays in Paris SEXUAL  ORIENTATION : Heterosexual. tbh though I’m not sure if that’s a definite thing, or it’s just because of the time/way she was raised. She might be a lil bit bi. idk. She doesn’t know either tbh. ROMANTIC  ORIENTATION :  Heteroromantic, but see above. RELATIONSHIP  STATUS : Taken. Unmarried. Engaged sometimes, verse dependent. CLASS : Upper middle class on the surface. Very near the top in Rapture once she becomes Ryan’s official girlfriend. And then during the civil war, way down near the bottom of the class system, can just about afford a flat after selling her jewellery. It’s quite a shock for her because she’s never really been poor before. HOME  TOWN / AREA :  San Francisco. CURRENT  HOME : Rapture. Various places, verse/time dependent. PROFESSION : Baker (although mostly she worked the counter- she did little baking in practice); girlfriend of Andrew Ryan

PHYSICAL. HAIR : Blonde. Curly, but only because she puts it up in rollers before bed. Sometimes she does little victory rolls at the front, but not every day. It depends how she feels that morning. EYES : Greeny-blue. Little flecks of brown, if you’re up close enough to see them. Thick black lashes (is it mascara? if it is, she’s not telling a soul.)

NOSE : Quite thin and elegant, as far as noses go. Turns up a little at the end. FACE :  Classic oval face-shape, with a delicate chin. Rounded cheeks, which she furiously tries to hide by using make-up to enhance her cheekbones. But she still has cute lil cheeks. LIPS :   Always wearing lipstick. Red is her favourite, followed by a soft coral pink. But red is definitely her usual colour. Only time she is not wearing lipstick is when she goes to bed, but she slathers her lips in lipbalm before she sleeps so that her lipstick won’t dry them out. COMPLEXION : Fairly pale on the surface, although she is the sort who tans a little in the sun. Just a little. In Rapture, obviously she’s hella pale she’s on the bottom of the ocean. BLEMISHES :  She has a few freckles, which she hides with make-up. SCARS : well. if the civil war has started, she has a pretty major scar because she was caught in an explosion at her favourite restaurant and had to undergo extensive surgery to fix it. She is never happy with her face anyway, but especially after this. TATTOOS : None HEIGHT : 5 ft 1 inch. The one inch is important to her. WEIGHT : healthy. Diane is soft, soft, soft. She has a nice shape to her- not quite an hourglass, her hips are too wide in proportion to her shoulders/chest for that- and is soft. I can’t think how else to describe it. You cannot see her ribs at all. She is a good weight. BUILD :    shit i just described this in the weight bit FEATURES : She has rosy cheeks when she’s been outside on a day that’s anything even remotely resembling breezy. And she has a smile that can be beautiful, could charm nations, yet it’s heartbreaking when it’s paired with tears in her eyes. ALLERGIES :  Mint. It gives her a rash. USUAL  HAIR  STYLE :  Roller-curls USUAL  FACE  LOOK :  A basic coat of foundation to hide all the things she doesn’t want the world to know about, red lipstick, mascara. Eyebrows are shaped and maintained well. USUAL  CLOTHING : She favours skirt/blouse combos, but wears dresses to events.

PSYCHOLOGY. FEAR / S : Being abandoned; dying alone; not being enough ASPIRATION / S : Diane is pretty sure she wants to marry a nice man and have kids, and then raise those kids and become a housewife/stay-at-home mum. POSITIVE  TRAITS : Loyal, dedicated, precise. She has, at the end of the day, a good heart and a strong moral compass. NEGATIVE  TRAITS : Fiery temper, judgemental, unlikely to question authority  MBTI : ESFJ ZODIAC :   Cancer  TEMPERAMENT :  Melancholic but with a close side-order of choleric SOUL  TYPE / S :   The Performer ANIMALS :  Wildcat VICE  HABIT / S :   Wrinkles her nose; taps her nails against surfaces FAITH : lowkey Catholic. She was raised in a Catholic family, but has never been especially religious personally, and it all stopped being important to her when she moved to Rapture. GHOSTS ? : Yes AFTERLIFE ? : Yes, although after she joins Atlas, Diane struggles a little with the concept of Heaven/Hell and Good/Evil. REINCARNATION ? : No. ALIENS ? : tbh I can’t see her being surprised if presented with concrete proof of aliens, but she’s likely to laugh and ask if you’re crazy if you bring it up, just because she thinks that’s how a lady should act. POLITICAL  ALIGNMENT :  Pre-Civil war, she’s not really political at all. Whatever her boyfriend thinks best, she’ll go with. Post-Atlas, she thinks for herself more, and is drawn towards the left side of centre. She’s spent several years dating Andrew Ryan though, so she’s never going to be far, far left. ECONOMIC  PREFERENCE : Diane has always (pre-fall) been pretty well-off, so she definitely has a preference for that lifestyle and those people most of her life. SOCIOPOLITICAL  POSITION : In Rapture, once she starts seeing Ryan she’s basically at the tippity-top of society. EDUCATION  LEVEL :  Diane dropped out of high school at sixteen, as she had a stable boyfriend (Dr Mattie Richards, the reason my Diane even ended up in Rapture) and so if she was destined to be a good and dutiful wife for him, there wasn’t much more she could learn at school that would be of use (in her opinion).

FAMILY. FATHER :   Robert (Bobbie) McClintock MOTHER : Alice McClintock nee Laurent SIBLINGS : N/A EXTENDED  FAMILY : Her mother is French, and Diane’s grandparents and aunt still live there. This is why Diane spent a lot of time in Paris as a child, and why she has a basic grasp of the French language. NAME  MEANING / S : Diane- French form of Diana, meaning “heavenly, divine”; Roman goddess of the moon, hunting, forests and childbirth / Louise- French feminine form of Louis, which in turn stems from the German Ludwig meaning “famous war/battle” / McClintock- Anglicised form of the Gaelic Mac Gille Fhionndaig (Scottish) or Mac Giolla Fhionntóg (Irish)  meaning “Son of the Servant of Saint Finndag” HISTORICAL  CONNECTION ? :  Uhhhh not really... I do like to think of Diane as the sort of woman who is in the background, though. She isn’t going to go down in history, and if she does it will be simply as “wife of *this dude*”. But she contributes so much to the world and gives everything her all, and I think a lot of women throughout history have been Dianes in that respect.

FAVOURITES. BOOK :    Jamaica Inn- Daphne du Maurier. It’s enough of a romance that Diane can be seen reading it without feeling too self-conscious, but at the same time it’s hardly a romance at all? MOVIE : Singin’ in the Rain. Diane can’t really dance, and her singing is nothing spectacular, but when she feels down, it’s this movie she turns to. 5  SONGS : Are you kidding 5?? I am too young to know 5 50s songs that my daughter would enjoy!! ok. um. I’m going to cheat and use my above answer, and say the Singin’ in the Rain soundtrack. Especially You Were Meant for Me, which she just feels is so romantic gosh. DEITY :  There is only one god in Catholicism. HOLIDAY :   Valentines. Diane would be the sort to use it as an excuse to spoil her partner. Think an expensive restaurant booking, a new dinner suit laid out on the bed for them, a card sent to their office, a special effort to wear a dress their favourite colour that evening, etc. Diane loves being spoilt, but she also loves spoiling others. MONTH :  June SEASON :  Summer PLACE :   Her Auntie Estelle’s house in Paris, on the white-painted iron bench that sat in her garden by the fishpond. WEATHER : Sun, sun, sun! SOUND : The door opening and her partner coming home; the easy chatter of a crowd on a busy shopping street; music that can take her to another place if she closes her eyes and lets it; the click of heels against a hard floor; the pop of a lid being replaced on a tube of lipstick SCENT / S :   Rosewater; expensive perfume that smells of flowers and fruits; moisturising creams; hair product- hairspray and mousse; the strong smell of nail polish in an enclosed space TASTE / S :   lipstick accidentally painted on teeth before it’s noticed and rectified; strawberries- in cake, as a flavouring in lipsticks, in drinks, just by themselves, with cream; fruity little drinks that smell sweet and taste sweeter FEEL / S : A hand in hers, squeezing just enough to let her know that its there and attached to someone who cares; a brush running through freshly unrolled hair in the morning, separating out the curls; taking off a pair of particularly restrictive shoes and feeling her feet find themselves again ANIMAL / S : Birds, particularly canaries and doves. NUMBER : Nineteen- the age her mother was when she married her father. Diane is secretly disappointed that she’s now older than this and unmarried herself. COLOUR :   Coral pink; pastel colours.

EXTRA. TALENTS : Hair and make-up; acting stupid; cheering other people up when they are down BAD  AT : Cooking anything resembling a meal; self-confidence; trusting partners- she’s been cheated on before, and part of her still sees that as her fault. She can’t help but expect it to happen again. TURN  ONS :  Formal wear; dark hair; cleanliness; manners TURN  OFFS :   Bad manners; an unkempt appearance HOBBIES : Reading romance novels (/science, secretly); sewing (this comes in useful post-Atlas, as it means she can patch up her dresses when they get torn); planning events TROPES :  Break the Cutie ; Horrible Judge of Character ; Heroic Self-deprecation ; Always Second Best ; I Just Want to be Beautiful ; Took a Level in Badass  AESTHETIC  TAGS :  dresses/skirts that do the thing when you spin; bright, bold lipstick colours; dainty heels- especially ones with bows; bows in general tbh GPOY  QUOTES :  “Chin up, princess, or the crown slips.” - I have no idea where, I saw it somewhere once and it just fits her.

FC INFO. MAIN  FC / S : Amber Heard ALT  FC / S : Emilie du Ravin OLDER  FC / S :   N/A YOUNGER  FC / S : N/A VOICE  CLAIM / S : Miriam Shor GENDERBENT  FC / S :  N/A

MUN QUESTIONS. Q1 :   if  you  could  write  your  character  your  way  in  their  own  movie ,   what  would  it  be  called ,  what  style  would  it  be  filmed  in ,  and  what  would  it  be  about ?          A1 : I think I’d just call it Diane, or maybe Miss McClintock, because minimalist titles are cool. It’d follow Diane through from her arrival in Rapture up to her death. The first part, where she is still naive and innocent, would be all in bright colours and beautiful dresses and sparkles. The accident would trigger a colour change, and suddenly the world would look a lot darker- because Diane’s worldview is a lot darker from that point. I want to be super cheesy and say that whenever Atlas is onscreen, though, the colour returns- just a little- to symbolise the hope she feels. idk. Q2 :   what  would  their  soundtrack / score  sound  like ?          A2 : Ummmmmmm... I want to say jazzy? Classy jazzy? idk. Q3 :   why  did  you  start  writing  this  character ?          A3 : I played Bioshock 1 and 2, and wanted to write something somehow because I felt so many feelings (goddamn games making me feel shit) but didn’t have any solid ideas for a fanfic. Indie rp was something I’d been considering for a while, so I figured what they hey, and picked Diane because she’s so... interesting, and great. Q4 :   what  first  attracted  you  to  this  character ?          A4: I think it’s this idea that Diane doesn’t really influence Rapture’s fate, she isn’t one of the people that does science, or business, or whatever. Yet at the same time, she matters. She gets upset and she cries and she loves and she hates and she’s so incredibly human, and I love that about her. Q5 :   describe  the  biggest  thing  you  dislike  about  your  muse.          A5 : She’s a bit more impulsive than me, and a bit more blunt, so that makes her kind of hard to write sometimes. Q6 :   what  do  you  have  in  common  with  your  muse ?          A6 : I, too, need to be wearing bright lipstick in order to feel even remotely confident. Q7 :   how  does  your  muse  feel  about  you ?          A7 : uhhhhhhhhhhhh.... idk.... She’d probably be happy that I’m quite career-driven and chasing my dreams, whilst at the same time be like gurl why are you single, let me introduce you to this guy... Q8 :   what  characters  does  your  muse  have  interesting  interactions  with ?        A8 :  Andrew Ryan (duh.), Atlas/Frank Fontaine, Jasmine Jolene, Alex @thegirlfallsfromthesky. She actually has very few friends. Q9 :   what  gives  you  inspiration  to  write  your  muse ?         A9 :  My pinterest tbh. or Bioshock, in general. I see a Bioshock reference somewhere and think my daughter. Q10 :   how  long  did  this  take  you  to  complete ?          A10 : idk don’t mock me I did this in chunks.

[seekerandthewizard88-blog]

Health, Service, and Mastery

by Kat

The last evening of 2018, a wonderful new friend said she had looked up the meaning of my sun sign being in my sixth house. She said my journey in this life was going to revolve around health/wellness, service, and mastery. 

I nodded, feeling as though this was not news to my ears. Being enrolled in an acupuncture program, dealing with autoimmunity, and constantly devouring information left and right in an effort to digest this vast buffet we call a universe was so emphatically me. 

Service…. on the horizon. Unquestionably a major theme for my existence here, I was going to one day be of great service to humanity!! A common phrase in my head - “I can’t wait until I can start healing people!!”

Fast forward 3 days later. I’m reclined with a blanket over me, in the middle of my very first ever hypnosis session. Just moments before, I was gently told- more than once- how the brain does not know how to tell the difference between what is real and what is imagined…. (I knew this, but hearing it gently repeated had quite the effect in the moment). As I was guided to summon forth in my mind’s eye my “special place,” I realized that I was suddenly on Walnut beach, the beach that I have frequented near to my apartment ever since moving here over 2 years ago. The scene was an exact replica of the view I had taken in many times before… until it wasn’t. It’s hard to recall what prompted me, but I remember a distinct moment where my energy seemed to open/expand beyond some limitation, and the scene became more vividly fantastical and magical. I saw the backdrop behind the sandy beach appear as boulder sized crystals rising out of the Earth, all glimmering with their geometric points juxtaposed within the sparkling masses surrounding the shore. It was then that I noticed myself. Which is strange how I knew that, because it was more like observing.

There, in the middle of the sand, stood a tall, golden skinned shaman priestess. Her loosely layered clothing was billowing slightly in the wind. She had many adornments…. jewelry made out of shell, bone, feather and metal. Golden arm bangles surrounded both biceps along with tattoos of totem animals and sacred imagery. When I made my way up to her head, I saw that her hair was actually a violet flame, oscillating softly upwards. Though there was gentle movement, there was a steady stillness. Barefooted, the right foot was ever so slightly in front of the left, poised and ready to take action if action was deemed necessary. I felt the connection of the Earth’s supporting energy entering the soles of her feet and traveling up into her deepest reserves filling her with unwavering strength. This was a woman- a force- to be reckoned with. This was a powerful healer, a mystic, a ritual performer, an interpreter of spirit, and a mouthpiece of nature. Her dominion was over all the plants, animals, rocks, and elements, because she had proved herself worthy of the responsibility through her heart-centered intention. She was all at once gentle and filled with compassion, yet her grace was fierce. I KNEW she could do absolutely ANYTHING she wanted, for she was divine will herself. I felt the heart of this being, and I knew in that moment that she was the real me. 

Coming home, my brain began to process all this new information. I had been to the beach this afternoon as far as it was concerned. I now had these memories that I CREATED. How could I go back to a time when I didn’t have this experience?

I mused about this “me” that I was confronted with so suddenly. What was different about “her” and the me I am in my daily life? I’ve had purple hair, and the tattoos are on the way…. I always have some jewelry I could add to the mix. It was just like the volume was turned up…. but, not exactly.  

-

It hit me like a lightning bolt. I was in the middle of writing a review on Facebook so that I could promote this beautiful healer who had come into my realm and had given me this amazing experience and opportunity. While writing, this warm feeling of fulfilling something in my soul welled up inside my heart space. I suddenly realized that the review I had written would be powerful words for others to read because they were authentic, they were eloquent, and they reflected my deepest heartfelt gratitude. I was effortlessly finding myself being of SERVICE in a way that naturally aligned with what I have to offer: my insight, my time, my awareness, my words, my gratitude, my particular network of humans, my ability to express my honest experience…. 

Then it hit me - this was MISSION in its fully realized entirety!! Mission being inseparable from who a person is…. Health/wellness, mastery… SERVICE. This woman in my vision was a living, breathing expression of mission in its COMPLETION and entirety. She wasn’t waiting to become ANYTHING. She was simultaneously the healer and the master, and she was dedicated in her SERVICE TO ALL OF LIFE. To the highest good of all surrounding her. SHE IS ME. My mission in this life is health, mastery, and service…. but it didn’t have to be MY mastery of a healing modality, and it didn’t have to be MY specific service of healing…. all of these conditional things that my ego had attached to these things were actually preventing me from aligning with the TRUEST expression of my mission IN THE NOW MOMENT. 

THERE IS NOTHING PREVENTING ME FROM ACHIEVING MY MISSION RIGHT NOW. IT DOES NOT HAVE TO BE ME DOING THE ACTIVE HEALING. 

Ironically, after putting the ego shit aside, I realized that I can actually do the healing piece NOW, just not in the way that I thought it had to be. The way I can heal people RIGHT NOW is to RAISE AWARENESS and point them in the directions they need to go. This is what I said I wanted to do a long time ago when I originally started this blog, but then somehow got sidetracked. Most likely by diving into my own personal healing….  which I said I would write about and share throughout, but I have not faithfully and consistently done that. So many experiences happened along the way that I could have written about and shared. Fucking discipline strikes again…. seriously, that is what this year is going to be about for me. 100%!!!!

Before this, countless ideas had been born and then buried. Not this year baby. I am accepting the challenge to fully embody my mission and I am not taking any more excuses to prevent it from happening. I saw the vision. I AM THE HEALER. The world needs this shit. I needed this information handed to me way back when. I had to crawl on hands and knees basically to find it, and not all of it was helpful information… I am still carving out the path, but… now, because of this mission, I will not be the only one who benefits from what I have learned and experienced. I have been given SO MUCH that my heart is so full. I want to expand that right back out in gratitude for all to have even a piece of what I have received. 

I just had the pleasure of calling my two aunts over the holidays to thank them for sending me cards with a little spending cash for me to unwind with. The family communicates a lot behind the scenes about the extended family, and they know I am in school and up until recently was also working every day that I was not in school. Because of this, they wanted me to enjoy myself over the break. I am SO PROUD of the family I have. They built empires with their bare hands, and are essentially the reason why I have EVERY OPPORTUNITY that I do in this current moment to feel FULLY SUPPORTED while I chase my dreams… and even have time to do so comfortably and LEISURELY. I will not go into all the nitty gritty details, but I honestly intend on writing my family’s story at some point because there was absolutely divine intervention involved. Suffice to say that my two aunts arrived on American soil after taking their first plane ride EVER from the Philippines, with no place to go, at an airport at 11 o’clock at night, thinking the American immigration officers would come to escort them to the teaching jobs they were hired for in the fall. They arrived during the summer. They didn’t even know how to use the telephone to call a cab. That was just the beginning. I cannot even begin to explain the support I’ve received from both my mom and dad. I have but to meditate for just a moment and tears well up in my eyes. They have made everything possible. It is only right that I leave a worthy legacy behind to honor their efforts on my behalf.

Because of the love of my ancestors, I breathe. Because I breathe, I have life. Because I have life, I have capability. Because I have capability, I AM ENOUGH. 

I have a blog. I have a platform to reach those in my community. I have more free time this term. I have better health because I have had the privelege of being made aware of holistic forms of healing that maybe others don’t know about or haven’t yet tried because they don’t know where to start. MY EXPERIENCE is what I have to offer. My ability to amass information and disseminate it in cohesive ways is what I have to offer. My time, my energy, and my heart are what I have to offer. My desire to help is what I have to offer. When the fuck did I decide that that wasn’t enough? Or that that couldn’t be the mission yet? HOooooooly shit. How much time have I wasted in my silly head?!

Somewhere along the line, I got it into my head that service could be depleting. I had learned that life can be cutthroat, and one has to compete in order to come out on top. I was too busy to see anyone else struggling. But I was given grace, even when I least deserved it. And what I am starting to see evidence of, is that it is in giving that we receive. And it is in lifting others that we all rise. Service is the very thing that has brought me back to life and has me feeling so energetic and healthy once again! It’s almost midnight and I have been fervently typing now for some hours!!

So…. here is the culmination of all of this- the flash of an idea that I intend to birth and RAISE into at least a small toddler. 😂 My hope is that once it can breathe on its own, it will take on the life it wants to have. Because when you live aligned with mission, there is a humility that envelops you. You realize that you could never hope to create something as amazing as what the universe will bring through you. But you better not plan on standing in the damn way either. Perhaps I will be asked to let it go, for it was never mine, it was only simply asked of me to carry it through to form.

I am going to call it, “SPOTLIGHT.” 

I had a similar idea a while ago when the sacred feminine energy began strongly rising, but I never fleshed out the idea. At that time, I wanted to feature different badass entrepreneurial and otherwise empowered women in a series of live interviews. That never ended up happening due to time constraints and lack of discipline/momentum. At this point, I know so many different healers that I could be busy for probably the next entire 2019 year. I know that for this particular project, I want this to be an inclusive list. Men, women, and everything inbetween. All that is required is heart centered living in service to the highest good. 🙏 But that means the sacred feminine rising idea can absolutely be incorporated into this bigger, more all-encompassing project!

You see, no one can excel at what YOU do best. Abraham Hicks says it best - there is no competition for those aligned with Source. The particular HEALING someone needs will best be served by a PARTICULAR healer. It has less to do with a reflection of skill, although, sometimes….. that is a point of contention. But that is why I believe this project is such a needed presence! I WISH TO GOD I had a reliable, valid database of amazing healers and providers, where I could sift through and get to know what they do, and feel the HEART of their mission, before selecting who to work with. Not combing through impersonal lists from insurance recommendations (which don’t even cover a lot of these more energy-based services), or oftentimes overly modest website pages from providers who are too shy to fully plug themselves in the way that they deserve…. NO. I want to hear the person’s story and watch their eyes as they speak about what brought them to their mission work. I want FREE EDUCATION for everyone from those who know the modalities best!!! 

SO. 

My idea is, I want to go and INTERVIEW and do a “spotlight” on a different healer every week. I want to become a trusted, reliable, go-to resource for people to come to when they need to seek someone to assist on their wellness journey. 

This is my pledge to begin this project by announcing it, and therefore, making myself accountable to all of you before my mind has the chance to pick things apart and procrastinate over all the minutiae of how I’m going to achieve this or get it done. Maybe some people will read this and be motivated to HELP ME achieve this mission because it aligns with their mission- and we can all benefit! I HAVE NO IDEA how this will go, but this is how it will start. This is the year of action and figuring shit out as I go! Woohoo! No perfectionist bullshit allowed.

IF you are a HEALER, and you would like to be featured on my blog for the work that you do, PLEASE reach out and contact me! I would love to hear from you, to find out more about what you do and the services that you offer, and how they can benefit all the people I love and care about that are connected to my community of readers. 

I already have a running list in my head of humans that I absolutely want to feature, and so you can expect to be hearing from me in the very near future if you have been a part of my healing journey at any point! Which is A LOT OF HUMANS. 

I can think of no better way to honor all those who have perfected their crafts, given of themselves in these highest of ways, and I am hoping that I can bring this to life in the way that the universe is asking of me and in the way that it deserves to be done.

ANY AND ALL COLLABORATIVE IDEAS ARE WELCOME!!! What healing modalities would you like to see featured??? People who have the following skills and would like to help me achieve this vision of a healer database local to CT and NY, GET AT ME: video blogging, camera equipment skills, website design, creative thinkers, people with experience doing interviews…. people with writing experience.

May all resources be mobilized for the highest good of all. 

In SERVICE and endless gratitude,

The Wizard 🙏🧙‍♂️✨

[renegaderoots]

BASIC INFORMATION

♚┋FULL NAME: Rory Lynch  ♚���PRONUNCIATION: ROR-ee ♚┋NICKNAME(S): Roy ♚┋TITLE: The Target ♚┋OCCUPATION: contract killer  ♚┋~AGE: 36 ♚┋DATE OF BIRTH: 23 August  ♚┋GENDER: Cisgender ♚┋PRONOUNS: He/Him/His ♚┋ORIENTATION: Biromantic Bisexual  ♚┋NATIONALITY: Irish  ♚┋RELIGION: Lapsed Catholic  ♚┋SPECIES: Human  ♚┋AFFILIATION: Lynch (particularly towards Trish)/Morrison  ♚┋GENERATION: Third ♚┋THREAT LEVEL: High (violent and aggressive, though not necessarily malicious)

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

♚┋FACE CLAIM: Boyd Holbrook ♚┋EYE COLOUR: Blue/Green ♚┋HAIR COLOUR: Brown ♚┋DOMINANT HAND: Right ♚┋HEIGHT: 190 centimeters (6′2) ♚┋WEIGHT: 154 lbs ♚┋TATTOOS: various skulls on his body, the most noticeable being on his chest. They’re all in black and white, however. No color whatsoever.  ♚┋SCARS: various scars from stab and surgery wounds, a few of which healed woefully bad.  ♚┋PIERCINGS: Nah. ♚┋GLASSES: Still nah.

PSYCHOLOGY INFORMATION

♚┋JUNG TYPE: ESTP ♚┋SUBTYPE: Logical ♚┋ENNEATYPE: 8w7 ♚┋MORAL ALIGNMENT: Chaotic Evil ♚┋TEMPERAMENT: Choleric ♚┋SCHEMA: ♚┋INTELLIGENCE TYPE: Bodily-Kinesthetic, Visual-Spatial, Interpersonal ♚┋~IQ: 125 ♚┋NEUROTYPE: Neurotypical ♚┋AT RISK? Given hereditary influences and environmental factors: yes. 

BACKGROUND INFORMATION

♚┋HOMETOWN: Darndale, Ireland  ♚┋CURRENT: Dublin, Ireland  ♚┋LANGUAGE(S): English, some Irish ♚┋SOCIAL CLASS: lower middle class  ♚┋DEGREE: none ♚┋SUBJECT(S): none ♚┋PARENT #1: Yannis Romanos Calathes, never met, probably alive  ♚┋PARENT #2: Maryanne Thompson, estranged, alive ♚┋SIBLING(S): none ♚┋MAIN SHIP: Trish/Rory ♚┋RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Married ♚┋CHILDREN: none ♚┋PET(S): none ♚┋ADOPTED? Yes. ♚┋RAP SHEET? No. ♚┋PRISON TIME? Not yet. 

VICES / HABITS

♚┋SMOKES? Yes. ♚┋DRINKS? No. ♚┋DOES DRUGS? No. ♚┋IS VIOLENT? Yes, oftentimes bordering on Cían’s misanthropic inclinations. As a sadomasochist, Rory indulges in all kinds of violence with such jubilant gusto that he has risked arrest before. Whether emotional, physical, or sexual - there’s no limit.  ♚┋HAS AN ADDICTION? Well, I mean, if you can murderous intent an addiction... ♚┋IS SELF-DESTRUCTIVE? No. ♚┋HABITS: always seen with a card deck, plays idly with a coin when extremely bored, just up and leaves mid-conversation when he feels himself his limited capacity to tolerate social interaction, long-ass baths with lavender-scented bathing foam, excels at pretending to listen to what you’ve got to say even though he doesn’t really give a shit, cannot sleep without socks on. Gross. ♚┋HOBBIES: long ass baths, partaking in eating competitions, falconry, binge-watching every movie on Netflix ( and throwing in annoying one-liners during conversations), crowd watching, eating, acrobatics, magic tricks ♚┋TICS: repetition of words  ♚┋OBSESSION(S): none ♚┋COMPULSION(S): repeating activities in multiples (three times)

MISCELLANEOUS INFORMATION

♚┋HOUSE: Dunno. He doesn’t really fit into any house 100%, but I’d wager Slytherin ♚┋VICE: Greed ♚┋VIRTUE: Patience ♚┋ELEMENT: Fire  ♚┋ANGEL: Mephistopheles  ♚┋MYTHOLOGICAL CREATURE:/ ♚┋ANIMAL: Lynx  ♚┋MUTATION: something dementor-esque. Sucking all joy out of a person - that sounds like Rory, all right.  ♚┋WOULD SURVIVE POST-APOC? For a while.

STATUS INFORMATION

♚┋DEVELOPMENT: Underdeveloped  ♚┋SHIPPING: Trish/Rory, Shiplocked. (May possibly get obsessed and possessive of another person, but Trish comes first.) ♚┋VERSE: crime, slice of life  ♚┋VERSE TYPE: crime ♚┋CANON: crime ♚┋PLOTTING: Open ♚┋CREATION DATE: November 2017

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Child abuse, suicide

CHARACTER SUMMARY

A life with so much calamity followed by cataclysm promptly incurs sympathy and even pity to empathetic souls. The best advice to give about Rory’s history is to close your heart to such inclinations. You may want to dig deeper and unravel a rational reason for his cruelty; but there are no reasons; no excuses. His childhood, however, hurtled rapidly towards trauma. A father who didn’t want him and pressured his mother to get an abortion. A mother who killed herself in front of her son and a circus director who saw a lucrative opportunity in a nine-year-old orphan. At being a performer, Rory excelled, soon becoming an accomplished fire artist, juggler, knife-thrower, and tightrope walker. After an incident with a trapeze artist, he couch-surfed for a while, earning his keep as a street magician conning naïve pedestrians. When he tried to con a certain Cían Morrison, for the first time, the boy was given a choice – and he made it, consequently being trained to become Cían’s underling. The man’s orders, despite his chaotic being, are like gospel to him and though his usually to himself, Rory is proud to be affiliated with Lynch and Morrison. Here, he’s not judged and here, his perverseness has value.

APPEARANCE DESCRIPTION

Rory’s body has undergone many transformations, from malnourishment to a lanky yet athletic build mirroring his penchant for acrobatics, leaving him with stretch marks to show for it. Naturally, his height is also of interest – at 190 centimeters, he can be considered quite gargantuan. Unware of his size, Rory often doesn’t realize how intimidating he is for tiny people with attitudes. His voice, by contrast, is the usual Dubliner accent with the usually associated infamous intonation, his original roots notwithstanding. On the rare chance that Rory can be bothered to wear clothes, it’s always with some form of skull print to go with the distressed look. As for his eyes, they’re akin to smudged colors, i.e. green and blue. There’s something dull about their expression, something quite unfocused and absent-minded.

PERSONALITY DESCRIPTION

Shockingly enough, the first impression you’ll form is that of a cheerful, fun-loving guy with a jubilant aura about him, always humming upbeat tunes under his breath. If you don’t know anything about the hand he plays in both families, there’s the likelihood you will be inclined to trust him. Even his optimistic streak is quite endearing, whether real or constructed. He’s not one for subtlety or in any way interested in manipulative schemes – those are more his adoptive sister’s domain. Regardless, Rory is an opportunist above everything, comfortably ditching the ridiculous notion that you have to be either realistic or idealistic. In his opportunism, however, he can get lost and messy without Cían’s continued guidance as well as instructions. Having been used by affluent personages of influence, Rory has taught himself not to be affected or fazed by emotions, thus coming across as trustworthy and even rational. It’s simple to get caught up in his cobweb of deviance – because that’s what he is. It’s the adrenaline, the control, the loss of the act which sends shivers down his spine, and you will find that anything humane was really just a game in the scheme of players and pawns. Feral, malicious, impetuous – a dangerous cocktail bound to leave carnage in its wake. If it weren’t for his downright religious reverence towards Cían, Rory would’ve long since lost control entirely and been locked away for good. It is hardly a revelation, then, that this ruthless man resisting any attempts to control him defers to his savior’s authority without question. Lastly, here’s another catch: if you ask him whether or not he has any shred of remorse in him, he’ll gladly tell you that he does; it’s just more selective than for most others.

SKILLS / COMPETENCES

Ostensibly, his training as an acrobat has equipped him with the kind of dexterous athleticism that proves an asset in his line of work. Most notably, however, is his ability to retain his cool-headed demeanor when faced with threats or greater adversary. Indeed, it would be wrong to dismiss Rory as a passionate, disorganized killer of limited intelligence. Despite his lack of a formal education, he knows how to exploit others, though lacks Cían’s patience and resilience to drag on the cat-and-mouse charade for longer than strictly necessary. Under Cían’s tutelage, though, Rory acquired an impressive set of additional skills: a thorough insight into psychology, marksmanship, tactical intelligence, and acute observational abilities. Plus, he can practically smell trouble; a perk picked up during his childhood. Contrary to what one might presume, moreover, Rory is good with children. They’re the ones that stir any resemblance of sentiment in him.

INTERPERSONAL MANNER

Dictatorial, barbaric, base – all accurate assessments of his disposition. Whether he is immoral or amoral is a dispute you’re free to have, he will say, though it is not one he is particularly interested in himself. What he upholds and adheres to is whatever Cían instructs him to, not because Rory has any strong convictions of his own. It can be safely assumed, however, that despite his volatile tendencies, he is undoubtedly loyal towards his savior and would never do anything to sacrifice his new family. It may be easy to conclude that his marriage to Trish is one of domestic violence; but this couldn’t be further from the truth. Trish is the only person who, to this date, has never made any attempts to control him or undermine his importance and although he doesn’t love her in the beauty and the beast soap opera sense, Rory respects Trish – most of all because she is willing to give him what he’s always wanted: a son. Because in the end, even he draws a line in his murderous enjoyment. Rory would never harm children.

 INSPIRED BY: the entirety of Kuroshitsuji’s book of circus, various characters from Baccano, Gentlemen & Players (book)