#no less chaotic than his canon hair choices but i will make the effort for the brows. they're too iconic

[snowshinobi]

Why do you draw kyojuro without the two little upwards flaps of hair/oversized cowlicks/owl-ears-but-they're-hair above his forehead?

Quick Answer: it's easier to skip em, plus I like the sorta princess-y vibe of long hair in a half-updo. It's elegant, which contrasts with Kyo's blunt, vibrant personality in a fun way, I think (;

Rant Answer: the longer I stare at refs of Kyo the more I mentally map out how long this guy's hair is at various points around his head and I am. Vexed.

Ok, short tufts that frame his forehead that then become long so they frame his face. That's how regular bangs work, Kyo just fluffs his forehead bangs up for an owl-y vibe. Cute!

Short tufts behind his ears, leading around the back of his head. Yeah ok. But then towards the nape of his neck, his hair becomes long enough to flow past his shoulders?? Ok?? I guess??

Then the lil half-updo. So. For this to work, there's gotta be a chunk of hair near the top of the back of his head that's a bunch longer than the surrounding hair. This longer chunk is what he ties up in a lil ponytail.

I need to know how Kyo instructs Senjuro to cut his hair when he wants a trim bc I don't even know where to start. Don't get me wrong, Kyo wears his canon design well! I like the energy of the short spikes. They suit him. As a fanartist, tho, I do not have the patience to like. Perceive. The wild mishmash of hair lengths required to achieve this look.

My workaround is to bring all of his hair closer to its longest measurement, which is past his shoulders. Grow out his forehead bangs and the section behind his head, between the lil ponytail and the nape of his neck. Tie all of his bangs back into the half-updo. Tuck the face-framing chunks in front of his ears. Let the rest of his hair flow down to his shoulders. Makes way more sense to me!

[pauldron-pieces]

Destrier Revel: A Choice

Fandom: Dungeons And Dragons (5E)

Pairing: Destrier Revel/Illeria Stennas (F!NPC)

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: This is a hypothetical narrative scenario featuring original characters in a world created by my Dungeon Master. As usual, this is non-canon and I own nothing aside from intellectual properties specifically attached to Destrier Revel. This installment is mechanically unsound in a multitude of ways and ignores certain important lore facets.

Trigger warnings are listed inside. Enjoy!

Taglist: @sporadic-fics and @cookiethewriter!

Inspired By: As Cities Burn: Wrong Body and The Classic Crime: The Beginning (A Simple Seed)

Destrier Revel’s Backstory: Burn The Wicked

For Leofore

Light And Home

So Little Time

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains graphic depictions of gore, emotional duress, triggering terminology regarding motherhood/childbirth and sexual acts between two consenting adults. Stay safe!]

Glasha, first of the Urgals. Broodmare of the Horde. The terror of the Sunken Places, the one of the corrupted womb. Unmother .

  Through their long campaign there had been whispers of such a fiend. Naero no doubt knew more than he let on, but they had all stumbled across multitudes of crude altars, or effigies and poppets constructed to the unliving , the one who gave life without life.

  Destrier swallowed hard. Leofore was already gone, lost to that righteous rage he channeled so brightly. But the younger paladin was frozen in place, staring down this sad creature in front of him.

  Glasha wailed her wrath again and again, tears pouring down her sunken cheeks. Did she grieve the loss of such terrible children that she had been forced to bear? Or did she mourn the loss of her own autonomy? Her cries and curses in Urgal struck Destrier's ears like a physical blow, the squalling laced with a new, unfamiliar edge that threatened to rend him apart. 

  He seemed to be the only one who was paying attention to her words, the rest of the King's Elite obviously too far gone in their quest for revenge or merely dismissing it as manic babbling. 

  She screamed names, names , she had named every one of the abominations they had slain. 

  Nausea threatened hot in Destrier's throat, his thoughts skittering to Illeria without his conscious input. An image rose in his mind's eye and he tried desperately to crush it down before he could become too aware of it, but-

  Her standing in the doorway of Maplecrest, a small child balanced on her hip, pale like him or sporting her own beautiful complexion? Would they be blond, saddled with his beak of a nose, or would they be blessed with a thick head of lovely curls? A child, his child, their child...

  What if he had made her a mother when they laid together before his departure? What if he didn't survive? To leave her with a bastard, his bastard-

  As Argon roared and Leofore shouted and the lich shrieked her pain out at them both, the blond man found himself at a loss once again. Just like when they had fought Leofore, he was distracted, tangled by his foolish feelings. Agony flooded his body, the blatant longing for that imagined future so potent it cut him to the marrow. With it came the soft certainty that he must endure this, if only to return home and plead for forgiveness.

  He suddenly spotted Naero making a mad dash for a strange box half-hidden behind that altar and at that, the world snapped back into clarity for him.

  No hesitation. No mercy. She is the enemy and she must be destroyed for the sake of the kingdom. That familiar deep voice, as rich and smokey as a solstice-warmed whiskey, echoed in his ears. Burn the wicked and rule the ashes.

  Naero grabbed the box and fled further back in the sunken cathedral, the elf already yelling for Ganymethios to, " purge this damn thing! "

  Glasha gestured her hand to cast something , foul sigils flickering in the deathly still air with a tainted, fetid light. Destrier felt her attention shift to him when he foiled her spell, his shout of Garuda denies it! obviously raising her hackles. It was hardly his first time countering a spell, but the effort it took to merely keep it from completing stole his breath. She was strong . 

  They had been fools to think they would manage her so easily. They would have to hope and pray for an opening, some weakness they could grab hold of and exploit, otherwise this quest would end in a spectacular failure.

  A ripple of energy that Destrier vaguely recalled from their prior struggle with Leofore cracked the very flagstones underfoot. Leofore had been clumsy and heavy-handed with the dark magics foisted upon him, the paladin unused to wielding such methods. Glasha, in contrast, wove her spells with the frightening, chaotic intensity of an individual who had nothing left to lose. 

  Leofore, Thranrok and Argon were doing their best to keep her at bay while Naero and Ganymethios tried to destroy the box. His mind made up, Destrier finally took a firm step forward to aid his friends and a second powerful tremor shifted the earth beneath him, throwing him off balance.

  One moment Glasha was trapped behind the impregnable wall that was his allies, the next she had misty-stepped past them all. She had no physical weapon, simply raising her bony fingers and curving them into malicious talons. Black light seethed and writhed over her knuckles as she lunged forward at Destrier.

  "You, the child-killer who would waste my spells, you shall taste the wrath of the Unmother before you die!" She screamed.

  Glasha, first of the Urgals. A lost cause. A wandering soul, grief and madness given form. Gods only knew the torments she had seen. Gods only knew the vengeance she would wreak if left to her own devices.

  Destrier raised his lance at the last moment and Glasha ran herself through, shrieking in his face while she slowed to a halt. Ichor trickled down, soaking his skin via the star cut-outs in the knight's gauntlets. Somewhere, deep in his soul, Destrier knew the bonfire of Garuda roared in delight. 

  "I release you from this." Destrier breathed, radiant energy streaking up the haft of his lance and surging into her stomach. "I release you from this horrible bondage, Glasha Unmother. Find what peace you can in the knowledge that you shall not return."

  The lich was eerily silent, simply clinging to the blade of his lance as she began to disappear. Destrier stayed where he was, and thus it was only he that saw her last little smirk.

  The knight recoiled, shouting, "fan out and search the room! I do not trust such good fortune!"

  "What, why?" Gany protested, poking at the pile of ash that had been the box. "We got her phylactery already, Revel."

  "No no, he has a point. It would be unwise for us to just accept that was the phylactery." Thranrok reasoned, "we need to learn from our mistakes."

  " Your mistakes, you mean." Naero commented dryly. "None of us ever claimed to be well-read on matters of lichdom."

  While the dwarf, elf and dragonborn bickered with one another, the two paladins and the bloodhunter began to examine the subterranean cathedral. Destrier took a chance and extended a request to the starlit void, asking for guidance. And Aetros, Ad Astra, Everflame , answered in timely fashion.

  Open your eyes, faithless paladin, and look below. Beneath the cracked stones of her altar of pretend worship, you will find what you seek. 

  Destroy it.

  Knight-Captain Destrier Revel, a man not prone to questioning, gamely trotted over to the altar and started rummaging through the rubble that had once been the floor. As he heaved aside a broken flagstone slab, a small, battered box came into view. Emblazoned with the same rune that he had seen in the town's well, no less! It looked to be made out of several different types of woods or materials he could not identify in the gloomy twilight. 

  His brow furrowed, the knight reached down to tug the box free of the damp earth.

  The second his fingers grazed the moldering edge, crippling pain struck him in the stomach. It was as if his insides were being ripped to shreds, the base of his belly alight with twisting, searing agony. His mind was suddenly assaulted with memories that were not his own. Bloody and sickly flesh, the grey-green skin of Urgals and the squealing of unfed whelps clamoring for their matron. The bone-crushing exhaustion, defeat, betrayal, loss, hatred --

  Destrier dry-heaved and tore his cape free of its moorings, rushing to wrap the box with the fabric in an attempt to dull the horrific sensation. It seemed to work, at the very least ridding him of the haunting, gruesome imagery. "Knight-Commander!" He barked, his words clipped to keep his distress from showing. "I have found what we sought. We must return to the chantry at once!"

  /x\

  One hurried teleportation and a rushed, panicky interruption of the High Mass later, the phylactery was reduced to incredibly-consecrated ashes. Thranrok and Ganymethios fairly preened under the praise of High Priest Xavier, the former adventurer commending the 'intellectuals' of the King's Elite for their 'quick, decisive action'.

  Leofore caught Destrier's arm on his way past, patting his shoulder. "Argon, Naero and myself are going to Jonathan. He will be overjoyed with our triumph." The older paladin looked weary, yet still somehow peaceful. It was as if he had been struggling under some great burden, one that he could not share. Now that they had returned though, the weight was gone. 

  "I shall join you." Destrier offered, following the other man.

  Oddly, Leofore shook his head. "Nay, my friend. Your place is elsewhere. I am certain there is someone eagerly waiting for you." He remarked, a smug little grin on his face. Destrier flinched, casting his eyes down at the floor. "What troubles you, Revel?" The dark-haired paladin queried, "do you not wish to return to her?"

  "I am...unsure of myself." Destrier mumbled. "I have much to consider, Knight-Commander."

  "Aye, I suppose you do." That gilded white and gold gauntlet clapped down on his pauldron, and Destrier felt Leofore give him a gentle shake. "Do not languish for too long, Knight Revel. She at least deserves to know the truth of your turmoil." Leofore reasoned wisely. 

  Destrier nodded, giving his commander a salute. He meandered back through the cathedral, the pew he selected creaking in warning beneath the weight of his armor before Destrier lapsed into silent contemplation. Brooding , rather. 

  He should not be so confounded by this. It cast doubt upon the entirety of his military career! It was shameful that the man who held the position of knight-captain in their legion was also afflicted by such crippling doubt. He needed to be strong in the field, firm and confident. Not some tremulous dastard who was too in his head to make the difficult choices required to win a war!

  "My son, I am surprised you are still here!" High Priest Xavier's voice interrupted his reverie and Destrier glanced up, trying to force a smile for the other man. "I had thought you would be celebrating with the others. It's not every day that the King's Elite manage to rid the realm of a terrible threat." The priest continued, settling down into the pew alongside him.

  "My thoughts are more pressing than the imminent festivities, I'm afraid."

  "Aella is here, my son. He always has an open ear for the plights of his people." High Priest Xavier intoned, his expression one of sympathy.

  The knight exhaled hard. "I am certain I was not ever supposed to think about this." Destrier admitted quietly. He pressed Illeria's scarf to his lips in a gesture of contemplative reverence. "It is unbecoming, this...weakness."

  "What deep musings grieve you, Knight-Captain Revel? It is strange to see you so downtrodden."

  "I killed a mother today, High Priest Xavier. I am unsure if she wanted to be a mother, but she was a mother all the same. And I cut her down." Destrier stared at the altar. "There is a woman, who...I mean, if she is still willing , I wish to ask her to...well, be my partner in this world." 

  The fantasy of Illeria flashed into his mind again like a curse, her smiling at him in the doorway of Maplecrest with a babe on her hip. Gods, gods , he wasn't strong enough for this. The paladin rubbed his eyes hard , like he could dismiss his cheap imaginings so simply. His wishful wants mattered precious little in this world.

  Xavier began speaking to him after a moment, the high priest remarking thoughtfully, "you feel unworthy of companionship because you ended the suffering of a creature that could not decide their own fate."

  "Does that not make it even worse?" Destrier erupted, his tone sharp with desperation. "If myself and the rest of the King's Elite struck down someone who had no choice , would you truly deem that a display of mercy? I have never considered myself a man of great sympathy, but to kill a mother…" He shook his head in disgust. "I feel filthy . How can I face this woman now? How can I take her hands in my own and promise her fealty and happiness, perhaps even children should she desire them, when I have done nothing but bring destruction?"

  The priest was silent for a time. Whether in contemplation or contempt Destrier could not say. "Have you engaged the enemy for personal gain, Knight-Captain Revel?" He asked finally.

  "Gods, no . I sought nothing from battle but the protection of innocents and the reclamation of our razed and pillaged lands." Burn the wicked and rule the ashes . "A-All in service to the crown." Destrier paused, clearing his throat. "There have been times I was swallowed whole by grief, or...bloodlust, and I regret them with every ounce of my being. So noble and full of myself, yet even I was lost to such human conditions."

  "Indeed. Almost as if you are human. Made of fallible flesh like the rest of us." Xavier mused wryly, coaxing a reluctant smile from the blond man. "The path every man walks is fraught with such things, Knight Revel. I regret to inform you that you are not particularly special in that regard. However, you have a choice as I once did." Xavier then spread his arms, gesturing at the entire cathedral. "Will you wallow in your regret and self-loathing? Or will you make something of it? Will you atone for your deeds with your future actions? Will you usher a new generation into this kinder, safer world we have all fought and bled for?" The man cocked his head, fixing the speechless knight with a stern look. "If you seek a challenge, I would suggest you try the latter option."

  /x\

  It had been raining the entire evening.

  Today marked the fifteenth day since the King's Elite had set forth to do battle with the Urgal lich. Destrier felt simultaneously as if too much and not enough time had passed, the paladin meandering cloaked through the streets.

  The lights of Maplecrest twinkled in the rain like stars. Home , he caught himself thinking, and he shook his head at his slip-up. Such optimism would only sharpen the blade of his departure if she did not wish to see him.

  Knight-Captain Revel lingered in the front yard of Maplecrest for... much longer than he should have. He was soaked through by the time he finally managed to muster up the courage to enter the building. His gauntlet pressed to the crest on the lintel, offering up a silent plea for strength of resolve. This would not be simple.

  Just as he was preparing to push the door open, it swung inwards of its own accord. Illeria paused mid-motion, a bucket of dirty water in her arms as she stared up at him. A startled, "Oh?" was all she managed to get out before every noble, self-sacrificial thought in Destrier's head vanished.

  His kiss was voracious, incredibly improper, and he felt her blindly pitch the bucket past him so she could wind her arms around his neck instead. The way she clung to him, her fingers unlacing his heavy oilcloth cloak--

  Destrier backed her up inside, shoving the door closed behind him and making a clumsy, staggering beeline for her living quarters. Her beautiful form was all but molded against his body, curves dulling the edge of his armor. Gods , she was everything he was not.

  With that sobering thought he pulled back, stupidly satisfied for a moment at how dark her cheeks had grown. "Illeria, I-" he began, tilting his gaze to the fireplace and swallowing hard. "I…" 

  But his words failed him, the knight grasping at straws until he resorted to kneeling in front of her. Proud helm bowed, he begged for forgiveness. Begged her to forgive him for being so selfish during their last endeavor ( what if he had not returned? ), begged her to forgive him for his merciless slaughter of innocent once-civilians and the sad, hollow Unmother. To his utter shame, Destrier found himself teary-eyed as he confessed his wrongdoings and sought penance. This display of weakness (as with all his others) he considered a black mark on his military career. He was so damnably strong , and yet he was reduced to tears over something foolish.

  Illeria said nothing at first, the woman simply undoing the strap beneath his chin so she could pull off his helmet and place it aside. " You , Destrier Revel," she murmured, digging her fingers into his hair and lightly scratching at his scalp, "need to stop judging yourself so harshly."

  Destrier blinked up at her. 

  "You're always hellbent on carrying yourself as the knight of the kingdom, the infallible paragon of justice. But you're also just human , Desty." She waved her hand dismissively. "I care not which divine being has chosen you as their champion, it has no bearing on me. All I know is that I have missed you, and I am delighted to have you back in one piece."

  "Let me display my contrition," Destrier insisted earnestly. "I...I know not what I can do or say, but I must make amends for leaving."

  "Oh if it's amends you're making," she was teasing him again, the young woman quirking an eyebrow. "I can ask for anything?"

  "Anything." Destrier agreed, his gauntlets clenched into tight fists on his thighs. Anything, anything . "If it is within my power to give, it is already yours."

  "I'd like your mouth, my love." Destrier moved to stand, but Illeria gripped his pauldrons as if she could have kept him from rising. He halted all the same, confused. "No no, you stay right where you are and put your mouth to good use." Her voice had dipped to a husky purr and Destrier swallowed hard. "Show me just how sorry you are, Desty."

  "I-Illeria, I-" Destrier loathed the way he dissolved into stammering when he grew nervous, it was exasperating . "Should I remove my plate, or-?"

  "No, you can leave it as it is."

  He closed his mouth, shucking his gauntlets and hesitantly raising his hands to undo the lacing on the placket of her loose breeches. Illeria, for her part, resumed dragging her fingers greedily through his thoroughly-mussed hair. 

  "I've missed you, love." She murmured, repeating herself as though she knew he needed to hear it. 

  Destrier groaned, resting his forehead against her stomach as he struggled with the laces. "I've missed you as well, Illeria. So much. I never want to leave you again." He replied quietly. 

  "Mm, I may hold you to that." Illeria cupped the back of his head. "I've missed your warmth. Your smile. Maplecrest is not the same without you." She held his shoulders to steady herself as she stepped out of her breeches and Destrier flung the article of clothing away, uncaring of where it landed. Just another barrier between himself and his prize.

  "Did you truly think of me while I was gone, my love?" He asked, glancing up while tugging down her smallclothes. Arousal curled in the pit of his stomach when he saw her watching him, her brown eyes both somnolent and hungry . To think that she could crave someone like him! "Oh, you did ." The delight in his voice was juvenile and she rolled her eyes. "Did you ache for me, Illeria, as I ached for you?" 

  Destrier knew it was cruel to tease, but she was squirming and he couldn't help the way his hands smoothed over her thighs, coaxing her even closer to his face. His thumbs then spread her cunt open and he watched her tremble at the contact, the knight caught off-guard by just how slick she already was. 

  "You've been waiting for me." It wasn't really a question, yet Illeria immediately answered by nodding furiously. "Sweet woman. I don't deserve you." To think that the first time they had lain together, he had jested about her begging him for supplication. The roles appeared thoroughly reversed now, though he could not bring himself to care overmuch. 

  He buried his face in her soft, wet folds, the bridge of his nose rutting against her clit. Destrier surged forward, already drunk off the scent and taste of her on his eager tongue. The contrast of how gentle, how tender she was even as she gripped the hair at the back of his head and all but took her pleasure from his mouth-! Destrier was hard-pressed to refrain from freeing himself of his armor and ravaging her until his name was all she had breath to say. 

  Later, later. Once I know I am forgiven.

  He could feel his cock stirring behind the confines of his codpiece and he groaned against Illeria, listening to her voice cracking while she reveled in his ministrations. The blond man's large hands gripped the backs of her legs once again, effectively immobilizing her and leaving her no choice but to surrender to the pleasure he wished so desperately to grant her. Her whole body undulated in his grasp, those thighs quivering with the delicious tension that he had spent countless nights dreaming of.

  "Come for me, love." Destrier pleaded, "I need it, I need you to. Gods Illeria, forgive me, I know I am so accursedly greedy--" 

  She nearly collapsed, hunching over him and clinging to his shoulders as she gave him what he had sought. Her taste washed over his tongue and Destrier devoured her; a filthy display of wantonness that somehow managed to leave him feeling clean. Whole. Right . This was the woman he loved, the woman he would ask to marry him. This was good . 

  Illeria's abundant arousal dripped off his chin to spatter on his breastplate as he panted for breath, the knight waiting a moment or two before he dared to look up at her. "Are you...are you alright?" He rasped, awkwardly clearing his throat mid-sentence. He couldn't resist the urge to lick his lips, chasing the remnants of her taste.

  " Destrier ," Illeria sighed in bliss, finger-combing his hair.

  "Am I forgiven, my love?" The large man asked plaintively even as he leaned into her touch, wringing his hands. "Will you still accept me into your life and bed, wretched though I am?"

  He did not expect her to kneel in front of him, the woman flinging her arms around his neck in a fervent embrace. Illeria tucked her face in between his jaw and gorget, planting a kiss on the sliver of bare skin that resided there. "You were forgiven the moment you returned to me safely, my love." She breathed. 

  Destrier's fists clenched on his thighs once more, and then he made his choice. The knight pulled loose the small reticule he used in the field. It was with shaking, unsteady hands that he extended one of the rings Leofore had given him, the object cupped in his palms for fear that he might drop it otherwise. "Illeria, I..." He rested his forehead against her own in mute frustration with himself, grimacing. "Will you...I mean, would you consider --h-have you ever thought about remaining with me?" He finally managed to get the words out, his voice pitching strangely. "A-As my wife, I mean."

  "You would ask me such a question while my completion still coats your chin? You are shameless , Knight Revel!" Illeria laughed, her mirth almost making his embarrassment worthwhile. Destrier was certain he had gone a shade of red previously unknown to the realm of man, trying to stammer out an explanation for his uncouth, salacious behavior. 

  Illeria didn't give him the chance, however, the woman kissing him deeply enough to make his mind go pleasantly blank. Her tongue stroking his own made him shudder involuntarily, if only because he knew she must be able to taste herself. "I don't suppose that could be a yes?" Destrier queried hopefully when she parted from him. 

  " Yes , Desty." Even though her words were colored with exasperation, Illeria was still smiling at him. Him! He felt like the luckiest fool alive. Destrier caught her around the waist, peppering kisses across her cheeks in delight as he stumbled upright. "Now, Knight-Captain Revel, your wife requires your service in our bed." The woman continued through her giggles when his mouth inevitably tickled her.

  "Of course! I have never been a man who shirks his duty." Destrier replied playfully, nuzzling his nose beneath her chin and sighing in contentment.

  /x\

  Destrier absently traced patterns on Illeria's naked back as she laid on his chest, the woman clearly too weary to stir. The smug little flash of pride at her predicament felt suspiciously fiery.

  "Dare I ask where you found the time to fetch me such a bauble?" She murmured, moving her hand so the light of the fire caught her ring. It was a thankfully simple band, the opalescent stone recessed into it lengthwise so it wouldn't catch on anything. Destrier was touched by his knight-commander's forethought. "It is beautiful, beloved."

  "It is part of a set. Leofore gifted the bands to me on the journey to set the lich to rights." He explained, uncertain if he should mention that they were sending stones just yet. She might take it the wrong way, as if him leaving was something that was inevitable.

  Illeria cocked her head up at him, and Destrier knew he had gone red once more. "So he knows?" She queried, a shy smile on her face while she twined her fingers through his own.

  Destrier couldn't help an embarrassed chuckle. "Unfortunately, in spite of my many attempts to be discreet and surreptitious, it seems that nearly everyone knows of my affection for you. I fear you shall never know peace again." He said, pressing an apologetic kiss to her knuckles. "It bodes well for your business, though! I am certain all the local women shall be clamoring for details on how Knight Desty beds his betrothed." 

  Illeria's startled laughter was a delight. It was as if the noise had been surprised out of her. Destrier vowed to try and make it happen again and again. "Goddess, you cannot expect me to explain such an act!" She protested.

  "What? I am so magnanimous that words fail you? Be cautious, my love, lest the common room be filled with fine-bred ladies all aswoon from your tales." Destrier grinned, dutifully enduring her rumpling his hair in retaliation for his crude words.

  "Don't tempt me Revel. I'll do it." Illeria threatened, still half-laughing. "I'll tell such outrageous falsehoods about your performance that you'll have no recourse but to endure my company for the rest of your life." Her eyes were fairly dancing with mirth at their joke and Destrier's heart clenched in his chest.

  "What a heinous hand I have been dealt." He mused, smiling as he cupped her face and urged her down for a kiss. "Truly awful."

  "I love you, Destrier Revel. Even when you vex me to the point of immense grief." Illeria whispered against his lips.

  "And I love you , Illeria Stennas." Destrier paused, then grinned up at her mischievously. " However , you can still move, which means I have been remiss in my duties! I would be aggrieved if I were to disappoint--"

" Desty ."

Part Six: Worth The Wait

[monstrousthingsrp]

This is the Mod Sara’s App for Seamus Finnigan!

OOC Details

Name: Sara

Pronouns: they/their

Activity Level: Activity will vary depending on mod duties! Also work, which is a tricky, fickle, beast.

Other: I'm generally unbothered by most things.

General IC Details

Name: Seamus Finnigan

Age: 3/21    25

Gender/Pronouns: 

Seamus uses male pronouns but is currently, enthusiastically, playing around with gender presentation and beyond. Seamus' wardrobe before coming to London included a series of black pants and white button up shirts. During the summer, he had short sleeves. When he was a kid, he sometimes went barefoot. Since Seamus has gotten it into his head that anything could be possible in London he's trying out quite a lot. Glitter, lipgloss, eyeliner (which ends up looking like a raccoon before ten minutes is up), and varied gendered clothes. If he were in canon, he'd be a very obvious pure blood wizard who was messing up in the muggle world. As it is, Seamus is exploring, hasn't caught on that the rules aren't that different (probably based on some of the places he's stumbled into), and since no one has told him… Seamus would view himself as cis if he had the words for that but mostly because he wouldn't be able to accept himself as nonbindary at this time.

Desired Changes: I appear to have changed some of Seamus' job. I will manage any changes needed on the main. Wooops!

Please describe the character’s education experience:

Seamus Finnigan was sent to the St. Justina of Antioch Homes at approximately nine years of age. Unlike with The Royal Academy of Unnatural Education, the Saint Justina Homes are just that: homes. They are places of instruction second and so all ages are welcome so long as there has been a magical outburst that warrants a child being places earlier than expected (mandatory attendance is at age eleven).  Occasionally, although rarely, nonmagical children end up deposited at churches with letters pertaining to Saint Justina Homes and it sometimes takes a few years to sort out and rehome them.

After attending Saint Justia's herself, Seamus' mother, Sibeal attempted to mask her stars and enter Dublin as a muggle woman. This worked up until she had Seamus, who often lit the curtains on fire, and once, in a bout of drunken annoyance, she told Seamus' father that it was little wonder Seamus was magical given she was a witch. Seamus' father was granted an annulment and Sibeal struggled for many years to get her life back on track but ended up buckling and placing Seamus in church custody early. Seamus hasn't seen her since, although he did receive a few cherished Christmas and birthday cards over the years--each one more unexpected than the last.

If the Saint Justina Homes were what they were described as, Seamus probably would have flourished well enough. The brochures describe a pious, if somewhat strict, upbringing featuring faith and, well, cows. The truth was the place was drafty, cold, and contact between anyone --students or faculty alike --was very strictly prohibited. While magical tutelage was included in the daily routine, it was mostly due to the knowledge that there was no way to suppress it without causing, well, death of both the child and likely others. Instead, the  Saint Justina Homes became a primitive sort of testing ground: if you can't suppress the magic without harm, is there anything else that can be suppressed or used to minimize the magic?

Manual labor meant that there was always enough to eat and the clothes were always spotless. It did not, however, minimize magic.

They tried other things. Some students starved. Others were isolated. Science---not potions, never potions, even if the medications always seemed an awful lot like them---was what would save their very souls. If Seamus turned his mind to thinking about it--he might remember certain spaces where he knew it wasn't just vegetables turning up the soil...

As is, Seamus would say that he had a very proper upbringing. After all, Saint Justia's methodology is all he knows.

Job/Role:

Seamus wanted. He knew it was a sin. It wasn't something that was ever made a mystery ever since he arrived at Saint Justine's. You could want, of course, but even wanting was a sin. It might not be as bad as having it might not be as bad as touching----but lusting (a word he learned late at nearly 20)... oh that was something else entirely.

Seamus almost joined a cloistered magical community--which sounds far more progressive than it was. Set just a few miles away from Saint Justine's, the whole program was just as strict as the school had been and even more religious. It was the best path to the Priesthood, to becoming a magical monk or nun (although women were in a separate property almost a mile away)--and all three of those options were, really, the best that all nonmagical parents could hope for for their magical children. Those spaces were safe--both for magical people and it kept nonmagical people safe, too, but in different ways.

Instead of joining, or at least in a pre-cursor to joining, Seamus ended up as a Community liason between the Irish Government and the communities. He helped find avenues to sell their goods--which kept the communities thriving. He argued for them, or argued back from the Government side of things. He talked a lot.

And he wanted.

Seamus doesn't have an explanation for what happened. It was a cold November day. His whole body ached with the warning of snow and the lack of heat------and he wanted. He didn't have words for what he wanted, didn't know how to conceptualize it. It just was the low baseline to his life that suddenly, inexplicably…

The researchers who came later supposed it was a potion gone wrong--that it was left too long on a burner and did something called desublimation. The potion then dispersed, causing what could only be described as a monastery-wide orgy if an orgy can be construed as one without any penetration. Somehow it even reached as far as the women's convent.

What was never determined was which potion? What was in it? And that's because it all came down to Seamus Finnigan sitting in the cafeteria… wanting. Someone touched his shoulder and if asked he'd say: I didn't do anything.

And maybe he didn't. But he did want and that wanting passed on and on and on like an infection that lasted two and a half hours.

All of those involved were dispersed: to different communities or different roles. Seamus ended up in London with another community organization role. He works on making contact with dispersed and out of work wix. This might also be a job that has him unearth caravan students, of course---but he's helping, isn't he?

And if he's not, at least he's making friends.

Character Traits:

Three Strengths and Three Weaknesses with explanations. These should be character traits rather than “clumsy,” “bad hair,” “allergic to X,“ etc.

Naive (-)

Seamus has not had much real world experience. While he had connections to the Irish Muggle Defense Department, having worked as a community liaison between them and the magical religious communities that grew out of Saint Justina's, he has not lived near a town much less a city since he was nine. Social rules, expectations, interaction methods… it's all new to him and he's likely to take quite a lot on face value. This opens him up to manipulation--both the innocent kind, and the more nefarious. Why would people lie?

Structured (-)

Unused to the wildly unstructured, dynamic, mess that is city life: Seamus often finds himself overwhelmed. While he's enthusiastic about learning everything about London, he often takes on much more than he can chew.  In an effort to manage the resulting sensory stress, Seamus has created his own rigid routines to blockade the chaotic workday. Going to church, even though the Priest is rarely there, at eleven in the evening is a must. Having his desk setup in a certain way, the way he cleans and sets out his dishes, there are a hundred small ways that Seamus has tried to take control of his world which, while exciting, feels like it's spinning out of his grasp. Deviating is asking for a meltdown--if not right away, eventually, because there's just too much input in a day and he needs something to stymie the feeling of being overwhelmed.

Stubborn (-)

While structured might sound like stubborn, stubborn is more in the way that Seamus interacts with the world when he has made a determination about something. Sure, he'll go for a ride over how to flag a cab or greet someone in London… but once he develops an idea on how things work or what is right versus what is wrong--disagreement is asking for a shouting match or derision. Seamus isn't above petty, small minded, jabs as he protects whatever little platform he deems worthy--and some of them might seem pretty nonsensical. It's over the Irish football team, the best rosary for a first communion, and schooling methodology especially. He will bury his head in the sand, and insult someone in the same breath, until he well and truly can't deny that someone else is right.

Enthusiastic (+)

Seamus isn't about to question being traded from Ireland to England. This was never his goal, of course, and he's still sort of mystified that he wasn't found out or sent to the Lovegoods (a name he now knows thanks to the work grapevine)... but, damn, is he overall excited about the change. Not just excited: Seamus is enthusiastic about everything. He's never tried Sushi--he's there to try it (and maybe get tricked to eating a whole glob of wasabi). He's never had much more than a lager or some communion wine--he's going to drink too much. Does someone need a friend to try out the latest exercise craze? He'll join! High energy, enthusiasm. It might not always be the best choice but Seamus will give it his all… at least until the day ends and h brackets by routine.

Affectionate (+)

Skin hungry is what most medical professionals would call him. Seamus was an affectionate child but there were rules about that at school. There were rules about that when he left school. It has left him a little stunted on what's acceptable but there's no denying that he's an affectionate friend to have. Need a blanket or a pillow?--he probably has one in his desk. Unless one is touch adverse, it's hard to hate little touches--a gentle tap on the back, an inevitable offer to hold hands. Seamus brings people sandwiches and (somewhat burnt) baked items--even those he barely knows like a waitress or a newspaper seller and he doesn't see anything weird about that.

Lucky

Seamus doesn't understand a lot of common city rules. He doesn't get that maybe he shouldn't trust just about everyone--at least not yet. That doesn't mean he can't figure out what to do when the chips start falling in destructive ways. Maybe he's just that charismatic, maybe he's just quick on his feet--regardless he was able to talk himself out of life-ending trouble in Ireland and ended up in London. While he makes a lot of terrible decisions in London… at the end of the day Seamus ends up back in his apartment and, so far, has had very few marks to show for it. He might not always understand context but he almost always lands on his feet and gets home mostly unscathed.

OOC Questions

List three aspects of the character or world that that caught your interest.

Oh I kind of was taken by the combination of small anxieties  but otherwise sunny disposition I could see in this character. I very often play angier characters or extremely nervous ones! This would be a bit of a change.

I also liked that I could play a little with Catholicism. I was raised Catholic--although I don't consider myself such anymore. I did make some adjustments based on the magical community and while it might not swing those ways if this were "real life" I thought they worked within the context of the game.

I also liked the idea of Seamus being a sort of 'new kid' on the block. While I do love backstory--and would welcome someone else apping a character who went to Saint Justine's… I am comfortable, and curious, about playing a character who doesn't innately have a whole group of kids where he can go "yes, we have been in contact for forever". That can make things difficult but I think it's manageable.

I like all of the rest of the world as I helped brainstorm it a bit.

What is your dream plot?

A whole new orgy… kidding! I am interested in working my character up towards approaching normal understanding of social mores and, well, sexuality and gender. While I'm playing Seamus as actively engaging in gender right now that doesn't mean he has all his answers in a row. He knows he likes x, he has decided he likes y. These things cause some stress but he's rolling with it. I want to see how that changes through interaction and how he can fuck that up.

In general, related to that, I want to mess things up for other characters. Seamus is the type to blunder into someone's meeting and not realize it right away (at least for now) or to find something he's not supposed to or ask the entirely wrong question. Let's use that.

Although devoted to the church and to his up bringing, eventually Sesamus will be faced with views that are different than his own. While he'll first go through a period of sticking fingers in his ear...I'd like to see where he lands. Seamus could very well stay where he's at--stubborn and determined that his experiences were for the best… but the opposite is possible. Swapping between the two as he struggles with the concepts is also true and, I think, can be made fun or useful to other players.