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Amore Kidnapped

— by Daniele Accossato

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[@arcanescholxr || cont. from x]

"I can and I will," John said as he lit a cigarette in the obviously marked non-smoking room.

The kid had gotten himself into a right mess, grabbing the attention of a magic-eating spirit. It would drain him dry the next time it saw him, like a vampire for wizards. The only choice was to keep the witchling in one location and track the thing down. Or maybe, just maybe, lure it there instead. More risk to poor Dwight, but easier for him. Slowly, he began to lower the ward around the hotel room, inviting the spirit to wander closer.

He took his coat off of the rack, beginning to slip it over his shoulders. "Now try and leave and I'll cast a binding spell to keep your feet stuck to the carpet like glue."

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“Merry Christmas John!” Dwight called out, holding a wrapped gift. When opened, it was a pair of mittens he had knitted along with a scarf that was also knitted.

John was in the midst of taking a sip from his stout when he was presented with the gift. He paused, set the glass down, and trepidatiously took the box from Dwight's hands. "Oh, mate, you shouldn't have. I ain't got you anythin' but a few drinks and a song or two."

He unwrapped the gift, spying the mittens and scarf with stunned eyes. "I haven't had a pair a'these since I was a kid." With a smile creeping up his face, he took he items out of the box and put them on, letting out a laugh. "I look like a soddin' moron, but I'm warm. Always hated Christmas for the cold." He put a hand on Dwight's shoulder, "Thank you, Dwight. Very kind."

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                                                    he who fights мoɴѕтerѕ                                                     should see to it that he himself                                                     does not become a ｍｏｎｓｔｅｒ.

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                  I’m homesick for myself.                   In place of home is a face I no longer recognize.

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He walks at Teddy's side, headed for the Lounge a few blocks away. Walking is his preferred method of travel, as noted by how well-worn his lace up loafers are. He takes a drag, then answers Teddy's question casually. "Already done my good deed for the week in helping a spirit cross over. Not sure he liked where he was going, but it's how things get sorted, in the end."

He shrugs his shoulders. "So my schedule is wide open for anything you have in mind, Scales," he dubs Teddy with the nickname passively, without room for input or denial. He just keeps walking along the sidewalk. He only pauses once they hit a traffic light, putting out his cigarette on the divider pole and flicking the butt into a near by trash can. "With all the bloody trash cans on every corner, you wonder why the place is so fucking dirty."

If Teddy knew, they'd throw hands. Maybe the Sex Pistols weren't "proper" punk, but any anti-occupation and anti-establishment band was, in his view, punk in some form. Hell, he wears his punk background on his chest, being decked out in an old black leather, studded jacket over his red jumper. Sweater dad who's not-so-secretly a metalhead.

"If they en't, my connections are enough to keep you from gettin' booted. Just... don't start any scraps and you should be fine. Anyone tries to start one with you, well. I have it handled."

He seems confident about this, a slightly smug expression on his face, and he wets his lips before resuming his toothy grin, walking abreast of him. "You know, after we're done at the Iceberg, good or bad, where you headed after this? Anywhere urgent?"

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She was sharp, that was clear enough, now. He gave her a look, eyes only slightly widened in surprise that she'd caught on so quickly. The look grew into a smirk of acknowledgement, and he shrugged his shoulder before saying, "Could be. Wouldn't be the first time I lucked into a decent woman pulling me back from the brink." Thoughts of Kitt Ryan came to mind, but were quickly shoved aside for the fear of stirring up old, sad feelings.

As the cab drove them to their destination, he took the time to take another drag off his cigarette, blowing it out the window and away from Eido. Something gave him the idea that she wasn't exactly a smoker, herself.

"Tell me, Eido," he started, tipping his head in her direction while casting a curious gaze. "How long have you had the tricks? You come off as pretty experienced with it all."

She squinted in faint amusement as she climbed in on the other side, silently grateful that he was keeping most of his smoke outside the cab.

“Luck, huh? …Wonder if it was because of luck that we ended up here at the same time, looking for the same thing,” she said. 

It seemed that way. If she hadn't been here to help with the ghost, would he have ended up another victim? Would just having another person be there be effective, or was it better that someone with her abilities was going after a mirror-trapped spirit? She'd never put much thought into… fate or luck or coincidence. She made her own way, or tried to. 

That didn't change the fact that some things connected in odd ways indeed.

“Does that kind of thing happen often?”

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What’s their favorite meal to make / eat? What's their least favorite smell?

John doesn't cook very often, and usually eats out. However, his favorite thing to eat was homemade by Kitt Ryan -- soda sarnies. Soda bread, sliced and toasted in a pan, then stuffed with bacon and ketchup -- too much ketchup if John gets his hands on them.

A food that John tends to tur his nose up toward is something healthy, like a chia seed salad, or a yogurt parfait. He's a meat and potatoes kind of man, and avoids health trends like the plague.

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5 Senses Development Questions!

Hear:

How would you describe the sound of your muse’s voice?

What sorts of music do they like to listen to?

If they had to pick three songs to listen to for the rest of their life, what would those three songs be?

What’s their favorite sound?

Their least favorite sound?

Touch:

What’s one of your muse’s favorite textures?

What does their skin feel like? Smooth? Rough?

Do they like maintaining a skincare routine? 

Are there any textures that your muse doesn’t like? Why?

How often do they clip their nails? Do they bite them?

Sight:

Is their vision good, or do they need glasses or contacts?

Do they like to use their glasses or contacts if they need them?

What is your muse’s visual aesthetic? (eg: outfits, colors, etc.)

What normal looking objects appear ugly to your muse? 

Are they good or bad at winking?

Smell:

What does your muse smell like?

Favorite candle scent?

What sorts of shampoo scents do they like?

What’s their favorite smell?

What’s their least favorite smell?

Taste:

If your muse had a taste, how would you describe it?

Are they more of a sweet or salty person?

What flavor lip balm do they usually use?

Do they lick, or do they bite?

What’s their favorite meal to make / eat?

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Crime Drama Archetype Aesthetics

(Bold what applies to your muse, italics for things that apply situationally and/or only in certain verses. Repost, don't reblog!)

The Hero a small home full of medals // the scent of justice // the adrenaline rush before busting a crime scene // trusting in the team // sworn oaths // the city's skyline from the roof of the police station // radio chatter // protecting those who can't protect themselves // a last stand // crime scene tape

The Rulebreaker a revolver resting in the drawer // the taste of cheap whiskey // constant reminders of past mistakes // a shadowy figure in the alley // being known in every bar // a fight in the backroom // blood on leather gloves // your name whispered in the underworld // broken laws for the greater good // an act of defiance against the system

The Oddball a drawer full of candy wrappers // an unexpected knack for solving cases // a fascination with the improbable // the comfort in eccentricity // midnight oil burning for a case // chaotic notes leading to the truth // a genius in their own world // the thrill of a new challenge // the final piece of the puzzle falling into place // a colourful scarf among the grey suits

The Bad Tempered worn out gloves from punching the bag // a growl in the voice // a reputation that precedes you // a fist through the wall // harsh words with a caring undertone // a cigarette burning in the ashtray // the anger that fuels everything // a grudge held too long // begrudging respect from colleagues // an unexpected show of loyalty

The Mourning working late nights // a plan that doesn't include going home // being unable to return to the way things once were // a whiskey bottle in the bottom drawer // the cold touch of a gravestone // silence in a room once filled with laughter // old photographs gathering dust // the echo of a voice no longer there // a past that refuses to be forgotten // knowing that nobody knows what to say

The World-Weary a flask of strong coffee // a siren in the distance // the familiar smell of gunpowder // a smoker's cough // secrets buried deep // a sigh of frustration // a heavy sense of cynicism // crime scene photos that haunt dreams // a stare that has seen too much // a cold case reopened

The Doctor the sharp smell of chemicals // a doctor's coat stained with blood // hands that have tried to mend too many // the solemn silence of the dead // precision in every movement // the precise language of medicine // a race against time // the responsibility of life and death // blood spatters on white walls // an oath never to be broken

tagged by :: @gnarledbite (ty!) tagging :: anyone who wants to do this! tag me!

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                                                I’ve got {demons} in my head,

                                                n i g h t m a r e s in my dreams

                                               and - DARKNESS - in my heart

                                                     but I’m still s t a n d i n g

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[meme here!]

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[ picrew, pass it on! ]

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And then the other shoe fell. Looking to the skies, John spotted the dragon's silhouette against the night sky. He braced himself behind Elias as the barrier burst forth, shutting his eyes with the gusts of wind blow by the dragon's impressive wings. The earth below them shook and air blew when it landed on the ground. "Strewth!" he uttered in exasperation as dust and leaves flew all about them. He looked past it to see the rider of the dragon, and his eyes widened at the stark resemblance.

Before them was none other than Elias' brother, Everett Blackburn. They were twins, that was for sure, though the scar on the left side of his face was quite the distinguishing feature. Evil twin was putting it lightly as he heard the bitter and enraged tones spew forth from his mouth.

He stood stiff and tense as Everett went on his rant, giving no more than a silent stare. He had to play this just right, or it would all be for nothing. He let the drama unfold in front of him, observing the pure rage hidden behind Everett's gaze as he spoke to his estranged family. His own defenses went up around himself as the barrier shattered, and he was the only one of the three not to flinch at the display of power. Big shows were for little men, he always thought.

He couldn't show the anger he was beginning to feel, watching Dwight be rendered so helpless and afraid. The idea of the witchling being taken away by such a monster was repugnant to him. He had to do something, but it was looking more and more like Elias wouldn't be able to know beforehand, anyway.

Addressed at last, John took a drag on the cigarette he had been smoking, finishing the last of it before flicking the butt onto the moist soil. "I'm the one to help you clean up this mess." He turned his gaze to look at Elias, giving a flippant shrug of his shoulder and a casual, "Sorry, mate. Couldn't expect me to side with you after what you'd done to me, could ya?"

He reached out suddenly, his hand slipping into Elias' chest as though it were incorporeal, and he grabbed hold of his soul. It was old magic, older than anything Freymoor had seen in the human realm, most likely. He grimaced with some discomfort as he wrested the soul from Elias' body, pulling it out like a well rooted sapling from the earth. His eyes glowed a bright yellow as he did so, and the smell of smoke and ash exuded from his body as he drew on his demonic power. With Elias' soul in his hands, John looked to Everett. "Simple enough." He held the soul, a small glowing thing, in his hand.

Elias raised an eyebrow at that. He was skeptical hearing that he’d hate John’s idea, but at this point, he’d take anything at this point. Before Elias could inquire about the plans, a distant roar could be heard from above. The nearby woods grew deathly still at the sound. Elias’s head looked up, breath caught in his throat. Another roar, closer this time, echoed out in the night as a figure of a dragon appeared in their view. His eyes widened in horror before fixing onto Dwight.

“Get over here now!” Elias shouted. The startled witch ran over, with Elias standing in front of him as if to shield him. With quick magic, Elias raised his hand and summoned a barrier around the three, eyes still locked on the dragon.

As the dragon got closer, it was apparent that someone was riding on it. The reptile dove to the ground, landing with its claws digging into the dirt. The rider had an enraged expression, slicked back hair and a scar running along his left cheek. Everett had finally found them. Everett wasted no time jumping off the dragon, whose form shifted back into a lizard, resting on Everett’s shoulder. The twin stepped forward, hands balled into fists.

“When I heard a student was enrolled in the College of Freymoor, with my endorsement, claiming to be my son, I thought it was just a simple peasant attempting to ride off our family’s success.” Everett spat out, gaze flickering towards Dwight, making the younger witch cower. “When I brought the sniveling little worm to the manor to be dealt with, he told me the funniest thing.” A dark chuckle came from the enraged Everett. “He said, that you, my brother, my dead brother, was his father. The brother that I killed, the brother I destroyed, I rendered you into dust!” Everett spat out. “And yet you and your kin stand before me now.”

“I take it that you missed me?” Elias managed with a nervous grin.

“Oh I’ve missed you alright Elias.” Everett grinned wickedly. “I missed the face you made before I pulverized you. In fact, I want to relive that moment, only this time, I’ll have your brain splattered against the ground!”

As soon as Everett said that, his hand stretched out and a spark of magic hit the barrier, shattering it instantly, to Elias’s dismay. The force of the shattered was enough to bring Dwight down, and Elias momentarily loss of balance, his stance pushed forward. Elias’s cocky facade was broken for a spilt second, eyes widening in horror as he realized just how stronger his brother as got over the years.

“Everett, look, if we’re going to fight just let the kid go alright? He has no part in this!”

The twin’s gaze flickered over to the younger witch, frightened and frozen like a deer in headlights. In a flash, Everett flicked his wrist, a sinister green omitting from his hand.

“Unfortunately brother, grandfather has decided your bastard offspring is worthy enough to be a part of the family.” Everett seemed annoyed to be admitting that. “The boy is coming with me.”

Elias’s gaze flickered from Dwight to Everett, and then to John, eyes desperate. Everett seemed to finally notice the third one in the party, his gaze narrowing at John.

“And who are you?”

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☠: my muse’s biggest fear

[muse headcanons - ACCEPTING]

Death and the retribution of the Three Lords of Hell. That deal back in 1991 sealed his fate as one of the most tortured souls in all the realms of hell, and he has spent the past decades since fighting and clawing his way out of paying that debt. Sometimes the fear levels out into numbness -- a cold acceptance of what will be, but the moment it draws actually near to the end, the panic grows.

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muse headcanons!

send me a symbol and i’ll tell you:

☠: my muse’s biggest fear ☮: when my muse feels the most at ease ☺: something that makes my muse happy ☹: something that makes my muse upset ♫: my muse’s favorite song, band, and/or music genre ✇: my muse’s favorite movie, director, and/or film genre ♔: my muse’s celebrity crush(es) ❤: what my muse looks for in a person they like ☂: my muse’s favorite season or time of year ∞: if my muse believe in ghosts, aliens, etc. ✧: what my muse’s netflix queue looks like ✎: what my muse’s best subject in school is/was ♧: something my muse is really good at ✺: something my muse loves and never gets tired of ✗: something my muse hates or gets angry about ☆: what my muse would be famous for if they were famous ✿: what my muse would like to do when they’re older ✈: where my muse would go if they could move anywhere ✆: the last person my muse called and what it was about ✉: the last person my muse texted and what the text said

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How are you color coded?

YELLOW CODED

yellow, a study in wildfires, honeycombs, and summer rain. everyone sees you smiling and laughing, happy in all the ways but the way that you know is true to you. everyone believes that nothing bad could happen to you, that you live life so freely that you'd never miss a beat, even if something bad DID happen to happen around or to you. but you're as miserable as the rest of them. you might be warm and gentle, when you need to be, but at the end of the day, you have long since accepted that fire is like you: best to be admired but never touched.

tagged by :: @gnarledbite (ty~) tagging :: Anyone! Tag me in it!