* & ataxic !

dependent multi-muse with @ hiddenwashington !

[atcxic]

playlist: jonathan sims.

my dreams were shattered like a stained-glass window. jesus in pieces, i believe i threw a brick right threw him, but my memory could not be saved. / looking up we see the point of entry between where we are and we've been. looking up, i could say heaven sent me ; hand me my shovel, i'm going in !

( click here for the spotify link ! )

[atcxic]

playlist: caduceus clay.

who said that every wish would be heard and answered when wished on the morning star? somebody thought of that, and someone believed it -- look what it's done so far. / what's so amazing that keeps us stargazing, and what do we think we might see?

( click here for the spotify link ! )

[blighted-elf]

[atcxic]

[ & olivia ! ]

the wind blows in between the tree branches and a few leaves fall around them. it feels almost symbolic, but she can’t decipher what it could mean. she’s never been one to look to deeply into the meaning of coincidences, things happen for a reason; reasons she has no intention of uncovering. he asks her a question, simple and honest, though she can’t really say she has a good reason. “ oh, you’re okay. i don’t… really have a good answer to that. i suppose i just like the walking trails. it’s quiet and peaceful, and i think better when there’s not so much going on around me. “

a few people pass by them and she turns her head to the ground to avoid eye contact. she knows that a cemetery is most likely not for nonrelated visitors, and even on good days, when people are there to visit relatives long gone, no one wants to be stared at. but they walk by completely and she picks her head back up ( way up, the man in front of her must be almost a foot taller than her ) and waves her hand in front of her face. “ i know it must sound silly, willingly wanting to walk through a cemetery, but i’m stuck in my ways. “

her response to strangers passing them by isn’t necessarily an odd one ; he witnesses many interesting mannerisms and choices from those who visit this place, and he has never really been one to judge those things ( not all strange decisions lie in grief or fear, nor do they always lie in anxiety or anger, either -- sometimes, people just have habits. who would he be, questioning the inner workings of another human being? he’s no deity, he’s no creator ). he follows her lead, glancing away from those they do not know, listening as their footsteps dissipate into the background noise of their surroundings. as their presence fades, he looks back over to her, though he is in no real rush to do so. in truth, he so rarely rushes anything ; why beckon time to speed by, when each second could hold so much more?

“oh,” he says, amusement evident in his tone. “it doesn’t sound silly at all. this is one of the few places that...always has a good crowd.” he means the comment in regards to those buried beneath them, as there isn’t typically too much traffic to the cemetery itself. someone needs to tend to them, though, and he’d just as well do it in solitude. he isn’t sure why, but it just feels...right, somehow. still, his joke is accompanied by a friendly smile, and he hopes it makes her feel a bit more at ease. 

[atcxic]

[ & fjord ! ]

🌊

IF HE COULD BE HONEST, the man assumed settling into some semblance of a mundane lifestyle would bring him peace. nowadays, though, he’s never felt more on edge. whether it be out of nervousness for this town’s next big calamity, or for sense of constant insecurity he feels for being a stranger in his own body, fjord still has a feeling there’s more to this life than what it appears to be. to spite this, he attempts to find solace in the way waves lap at the dock. while some might get sea sick at the way the wood boards rock back and forth; fjord senses it’s almost like an extension to himself.

maybe he is crazy. he sure sounds like it.

the beginning of the day has just begun for most, though for fjord, it started a little over three hours ago. there was something therapeutic about being awake before the earth did, the quiet in the air being a sound he took a liking to everyday while walking to work. his foot is pressed onto the cleat, hands tugging the rope in his hands to tighten the knot he’d made to keep the boat in place. the sound of footsteps brings his head to raise. if he weren’t so focused on his job, the pink-haired man is one he could spot from a mile away. fjord knows that he had never seen him around before; despite this, there’s a lingering sense of familiarity the more he watched him. the question asked is an interesting one, and he considers his answers as the back of his hand wipes sweat from his forehead, “ —do ya mean the docks, or the town ?? ”

the answer is a fair one ; though the town didn’t seem too strange just yet, it did still have its moments ( still, the more he thought about it, perhaps strange was just a bit too offensive...but what other words could better describe the place? odd? weird? frightening?  -- no, no, he settles, maybe interesting was the best one ). he nods a bit at the words, though he intends the expression as a sign of respect, as well ; this man seemed to be working very hard here -- and still does, by the looks of it -- and caduceus would never disregard that fact. the sea was a gift, after all, and it needed its own masters.

“that’s a fair point,” he says, gaze observing this stranger with a gentle curiosity ; he wasn’t always very observant -- you didn’t need to be, in the sort of life he led -- but this was a charge given to him from his goddess. it required care and research ( or, at least, the best of those that he could readily provide ). “ -- i did mean the docks, though.” he continues, realizing he likely should clarify his point. assuming people knew your intentions never did anyone any good, no matter the circumstance. he offers a calm smile, this one more comfortable than its predecessor. “tending the sea is a noble job, but it must be a lot of work.”

[atcxic]

muse details: caduceus clay.

( for the basic introduction, look here ! )

SPOILER WARNING: n / a. this post does not contain ANY spoilers for critical role: campaign two.

TRIGGER WARNING: talk of death, funeral / mortuary practices, burial, religion, drugs ( marijuana ).

BACKSTORY:

at this moment in time, caduceus is NOT aware he doesn't belong here. he isn't sure where else he would belong, and by nature he sort of just goes where the wind takes him ; for now, he doesn't mind living and working here. it's nice, and the people here seem friendly enough.

caduceus currently works as a groundskeeper at a local cemetery. he doesn't entirely enjoy it ( he would much rather work with a natural burial sanctuary, as most funeral homes do practices he isn't personally a fan of ) -- but he takes what he can get. by job title, he is a groundskeeper, which means he maintains the land, helps with burials, and ensures everything is up to par.

though he does his job well, he has made it clear that he isn't a fan of the way this cemetery handles things ; he believes death, and burial, should be simple and plain -- by our standards, he believes in natural / green burials, meaning no casket or vault, no embalming, etc. a simple shroud and a hole in the ground -- of course, his workplace is more traditional, but he still isn't a fan of it.

APPEARANCE:

standing at just over six feet tall, it's extremely easy to spot caduceus in a crowd, what with his pastel / light pink hair falling just below his shoulders and his wardrobe of almost exclusively light color palettes.

he's often smiling at strangers, as he feels a strong connection with the world around him and wishes to share that comfort with any who might need it.

he typically looks like he's high ; he usually isn't, and when he is, he stays in the comfort of his own home, but he's been asked before if he's high and the answer, every time, is a gentle smile and a calm no.

FUN FACTS:

caduceus, in theory, could identify as non-binary. he doesn't know what that word means, and there's no guarantee he would use the term if he did ; he does, however, accept and enjoy any pronouns, though he defaults to he / him more often than not.

he happily serves a deity known as the wild mother / melora. she is a goddess of wilderness and the sea ; he isn't sure when exactly he was first touched by her, but he's grateful for it, nonetheless, and serves her with great pride.

because he was raised in an extremely sheltered environment ( both before arriving here, and with the false memories he currently possesses ), he doesn't know many, if any, pop culture or historical references. he keeps to his bubble, his life, and is content in not knowing everything the world has to offer.

[atcxic]

[ & gerard ! ]

it was typical for the shop to be slow. quite frankly gerry didn’t know why it even ran since clearly the owner didn’t need to make a ton of money to maintain it, so it must have just been a love for old odd books. while typically an older man with a fascination for odd books set off an instinct for violence within him, luckily the guy didn’t show up often enough in the shop for gerry to actually snap and do something about it.

he forced himself to stand up from where he was slumped against a shelf as he heard the door open, trying to look halfway presentable. the long coat was hot for the summer, even with it open and just a band shirt underneath but gerry could admit that he was the type to put his personal aesthetic over comfort. besides, as much as he liked them people tended to be put off by the sheer number of eye tattoos all over them. his boss didn’t really seem to mind, had some weird idea of it giving the shop an odd vibe that would pull customers in, but despite that the only ones easily visible were the ones across his hands.

he had to wonder if the man recognized him. he recognized jon, but he had been the last person he spoke to before he died, really truly finally died, and maybe that sort of thing stayed with a person. he remembered jon being friendly as the biggest thing though, maybe saying a little too much about the number of friends gerry had had within his life. he wasn’t going to question it, not yet, wouldn’t make it weird with the man already looking on edge. “what, the horror of real life hasn’t been enough for you?” he attempted to joke, quirking an eyebrow. “but yeah, we got it, right down that shelf.” he said, directing jon to an old bookshelf towards the left end of the shop. it was the area he was most familiar with since that’s where he always expected to find trouble. “anything specific you’re looking for? psychological? supernatural? gothic? i’ve skimmed over most of the stuff in there and can probably tell you which ones are absolute shit.” he didn’t read books in full out of principle, didn’t think anyone should really, but he tried to be helpful nonetheless.

the joke is a welcome one, though he would admit to lacking the social skills to express such a thought ; interacting with strangers never did come easy to him, not unless there lied a shared goal between them. then, perhaps, he could find common ground, latch onto a similarity and feel a bit more at ease. here, though, facing this man with the oddly lax demeanor and even odder tattoos, he can’t help but feel a strange pull towards comfort -- he’s certain he’s never met this man prior to this moment, as he’d reckon he’d remember such a distinct appearance. still, his mind reaches for something sturdy, something to prove he’s not gone insane and stumbled upon a ghost by accident. there existed no evident similarities ( or at least none that he could easily bring up in conversation -- he’s quite certain mentioning the band on the man’s shirt would only stir up nostalgic conversation of music they both once enjoyed, and telling a stranger that three cheers for sweet revenge is a far superior album isn’t exactly how he imagined his afternoon going ).

he glances towards the shelf in question, attempting to parse through his thoughts as he continues to listen. he wasn’t sure, in all honesty, which kind of horror best fit his intended narrative ; psychological, perhaps, though the fear lied moreso in the known than the unknown. there was nothing to fear within if all around you was filled with it. supernatural, then? -- he considers it, but no, he decides, that seemed a bit too on the nose. he frowns to himself, still looking in that direction.

“i...i would appreciate the help, honestly,” he stammers, evident in tone that he is a bit lost in his own mind. he looks back to the man with the questionable music taste, a sheepish expression flashing for the briefest of seconds before he composes himself, clears his throat. his sweater has no pockets, and thus there is no place for his hands to hide ; unsure what to do with them, and even more unsure of whether or not this man would judge him for fidgeting so much, he ends up just dropping his right hand to his side, the other fidgeting silently in the air as he continues. “ -- and, ah, i’m not sure exactly which genre of horror i’m looking for? maybe...anything a bit realistic? nothing too...supernatural or mystical, i...i find it hard to believe any of those.” 

[atcxic]

muse details: jonathan sims.

( for the basic introduction, look here ! )

SPOILER WARNING: this post contains MAJOR SPOILERS for the entirety of the magnus archives, up to and including the series finale. these spoilers are vague at best, but they are still spoilers. read at your own risk.

TRIGGER WARNING: talk of violence, murder, apocalypses, depersonalization, derealization.

BACKSTORY:

at this moment in time, jon is NOT aware that he does not belong here. he has more and more false memories as the days come and go, and though they are extremely vague and lack much detail, he DOES still believe them to be true. he has no reason not to.

he IS an aspiring author, hoping to one day publish a work or two. he is currently working on a few different genres of writing, though, as he's unsure which mode fits his content best.

this content, as it were, is a story about a man who, through a series of events, must end an apocalypse he started. monsters lurk this world, all conspiring with different beliefs and deities, all of which he has ( in his mind ) come up with over time.

APPEARANCE:

he is COVERED in scars. these are the following: a burn that covers the palm and partially the top of his right hand, a long scar across his throat, one or two scars near his shoulder, countless pockmark scars covering his entire body, and one scar that is mirrored on both his back and his chest. he does his best to hide those he can.

he is relatively short, but still always stands up straight and presents himself as a man of respect ( despite the abundance of grey in his hair, and the bags under his eyes that just do not seem to go away ).

he sometimes uses a walking cane, as he tends to be rather fatigued most of the time ; this is similar to his behavior towards the end, especially while in the tunnels ( and out of the Eye's line of sight ).

he needs and just about always wears glasses, and he tends to wear exclusively long-sleeved sweaters and hoodies, as well. this is NOT new ; even before, he would do all he could to hide his body, often wearing long and baggy clothes ( especially during the end, when supplies were lacking and making a good first impression wasn't entirely necessary ).

FUN FACTS:

jon identifies as non-binary, and uses both he & they pronouns, though he tends to only use the latter around those he trusts. he also prefers skirts, though he never wears them in public for fear of drawing the attention of strangers by doing so.

before all of this, jon had a degree in literature. he would bury himself in books as a child, often preferring fiction over reality. as an adult, he preferred to read non-fiction.

he suffers from derealization & depersonalization rather frequently. there are days he cannot leave his home, as he is too immobilized by these experiences.

[betty-draper]

dev patel as joshua in modern love (2019) dir. john carney

[atcxic]

[ & olivia ! ]

most would assume cemeteries are not exactly the most scenic of walkways, but she's more than happy to stroll the paths. they're quieter, less crowded and more tranquil than a normal park, with just the right amount of general spookiness to make her feeling something. she likes it, though, for the first time in what feels like forever, she feels more than she ever has. the fog clears from her mind, she can see through the clouds, for the first time. it's incredible, breathtaking even and she if she could just reach out far enough —

oh. she stop just short of running directly into a tall man with a shock of pink hair, bright enough that in the light, it just might be blinding. her arm retracts back to her chest, she gives a huff of a laugh. " no no, i'm sorry. i'm more the one with my head in the clouds. " though truth be told, she's never felt more clear. he smile seems genuine enough, though, so she smiles back, hands folded in front. " i hope i didn't bump into you, i wasn't exactly watching where i was going. "

her smile is warm, and though he could probably read more into the expression, he chooses blissfully not to ; better to allow her this moment, he believes, rather than question motive or truth. not everything had a hidden meaning, after all -- sometimes, people just behaved as people ( complex, maybe, but not worth the trouble -- his own life was enough for him, and he’d rather not delve deep into the intricacies of one that was not his own ). his own smile softens further, easing into a gentle and calm demeanor as he takes a small step back and away from her.

“you really don’t have to watch where you’re going too much around here,” he says, gaze dancing around them for a moment -- the trees allow their leaves to swirl in time, a collaborative moment of peace and purity. he swears the wildmother has gifted them this ( this benign calm, this second of time taken from its place on the clock-hands and instead placed between theirs, palms ripe with opportunity and change ). he looks back to her, almost amused. “ -- can i ask why you’re here? if that’s alright, of course. i would hate to intrude.”

[atcxic]

@dcbtcollector​ + fjord !

often times, the world reveals itself only when necessary ; this, of course, tended to make most people rather upset. if things aren’t going your way, it must be the earth’s fault, or your neighbor’s fault, or some deity’s fault --- caduceus never prescribed to this mode of thinking, and still refuses to agree with any who do. they were entitled to their anger, and their jealousy and terror and all other emotions they may feel. everyone felt things, he would defend, no matter if it were happiness, or grief, or any other sensation in between. he welcomed these feelings, just as he welcomed the world when it chose to reveal itself ; it came, today, in the early morning meditation, with incense burning a wilting line of smoke into the air before him, thoughts coming as his god intends for them to.

he thinks of the ocean, of waves coming and going, startling then settling. he never has been a fan of the vastness of the sea ; he supposed he would get sea-sick, were he ever to sail. homesick, too, for all things grounded and safe.

a few hours later, he is approaching the docks. the sun is rising into the sky, making a home of the blue above as the blue below sways to and from. just the sight of it is enough to send his stomach into twists and turns ; he looks up, intending on observing a nearby boat. rather than his gaze landing on a seaside vessel, though, eyes fall gently upon a man just a ways away. lips curl into a slight frown as he begins to approach the man, brows furrowed and mind churning away as he finally speaks up, presenting a small smile as he does so ( in hopes of easing his own tension, as well as this stranger’s ). “this is an interesting place to be, isn’t it?” he asks, gaze briefly drifting back to the water, only to quickly return to its previous position.

[atcxic]

@irresistiibles + gerard !

the world offered little inspiration for the tales spun by nightmares and daydreams, and yet still, the archivist attempts to find solace in the unknown ; ever-changing variables had not yet served him well, often providing anxiety and terror rather than the comfort he'd dreamt, and yet still, hope finds a home in the crevices of paranoia ( spider-webs in an abandoned archive, stories fading into silence yet still, the world turns ; still, the sun shines ). this is why he supposed a trip to a bookshop would lift his spirits ; the day had, as of yet, proven itself dull and uneventful, and this meant that no writing would get done. he thinks of the current projects he's busied himself with -- the abundance of unfinished prose he's hurriedly typed at odd hours of the evening, the horrific details he's provided for villains even more absurd than he thought himself capable of. a bookshop would be a change of scenery, and perhaps, too, it would provide the necessary inspiration to tackle these projects he obsesses so feverishly with.

entering the bookshop, a strange fear begins to encase him ; why, he is not certain. he begins to doubt this bold move of spontaneity, his mind screaming at him to run, get away from this place, this is dangerous ; what danger could lie in a manky old bookshop, he reasons, aside from books untouched for decades and, at the very least, a few spiders?

trepidation aside, he approaches the nearest individual he believes to work here. jon must look shaken, bits of grey evident amidst the mess of dark hair extending well past his shoulders. scars riddle his body, and this is clear even despite his best attempts to hide them ( a long-sleeved sweater can do nothing to mask the scar across his throat, nor can it hide the burn that covers his hand ). this hand quickly flies up to wring the back of his neck as he speaks up, voice quiet and awkward. "ah, i -- i'm sorry if this is an ignorant question, but could you please point me in the direction of anything...horror, here?"

[atcxic]

@circleofstarrs + jester !

the early morning rays having spread into a comfortable blanket of warmth, the dew from darkened hours having melted into a not-yet-forgotten yesterday, caduceus finds himself in the nearest coffee shop. he wasn't necessarily a fan of coffee itself -- the taste too bitter, the caffeine too overwhelming -- but he did enjoy the tea selection here. he would much rather prefer to brew his own but, well, he wasn't home at the moment, and he supposed someone else's creation would have to suffice ; it wouldn't be nearly as delicious, and although there exists no distance too far for a good cup of tea, he didn't entirely wish to make the journey back home just yet.

the building isn't too crowded, and he is thankful for this; standing at just over six feet tall, pastel pink hair falling just below his shoulders, he didn't necessarily blend into a crowd to begin with. less people meant less questions, and although he didn't mind the questions...well, some people were just too curious for their own good. today, however, he finds himself the cat, curiosity glaring daggers in his direction.

"excuse me," he says, having approached a woman he has found himself fixated on. he offers her a gentle smile, hoping it would dissuade any panic she could feel by his sudden interaction. " -- your hair is really beautiful. is it that color naturally?"

[atcxic]

@hcuntedhcuse​ + olivia !

the day passed as any other, the vibrant and oft overwhelming temperament of the world eventually fading into but a dull and hollow hum, nestled in the back of the mind ( behind the routine of work and worship, yet near enough still to feel its constant thrum ). he supposed, as the sun yawned its first expression of exhaustion thus far -- a gentle and warm whisper that the day would be coming to an end soon, perhaps in an hour or less -- he should go for a walk. it wasn’t often he left his grounds at the cemetery, and even less infrequent that he strayed from the nearest few blocks, but he felt good about this decision. the world wouldn’t mind it ; perhaps, too, the world wished for this very decision. who was he to say no, after all, to the tides of a planet he so happily calls home?

the orange hues of early evening wash over the nearest park he could find, leaves from the trees above waltzing a loving dance as the wind reminds them all of the company they surround themselves with. he wonders what that must be like: to have a family of strangers, to have a group filled with similarities yet stark differences all the same. he ponders this, gaze lost in the branches up above, as he walks, and walks, and --- he suddenly halts, having nearly bumped into a woman walking in the opposite direction. he blinks, offering a calm smile.

“oh,” he says, surprise evident, yet a hint of expectedness coats the tone. “i’m sorry, i must have had my head in the clouds.” he smiles a bit brighter as he adds, “ -- or the trees, i guess. that would make more sense.”

[atcxic]

Was that [DEV PATEL]? Oh no no, that was just [JONATHAN SIMS], a/an [CANON CHARACTER] from [THE MAGNUS ARCHIVES]. They are [THIRTY-ONE] years old and [ARE NOT] aware that they are not actually from Washington DC. Too bad they can’t stray from this city for long.

how long has your character been here: a few weeks, give or take? cresting a month, probably.

what is your character's job: he has tried a few different jobs, but has never stayed at one longer than a few days. he is currently working as a tutor for students at the local library, as well as attempting to get a career as an author off the ground.

where has your character been pulled from in their fandom: after the finale of season 5.

has any magic affected your character: he does not remember anything at all from his canon, and has a slew of false memories in their place. 

and any other information you might find useful for us and the other members to know: he is autistic and does not always perform well in social situations. 

[atcxic]

Was that [TYLER GACA/‘GHOSTHONEY’]? Oh no no, that was just [CADUCEUS CLAY], a/an [CANON CHARACTER] from [CRITICAL ROLE]. They are [TWENTY-EIGHT] years old and [ARE NOT] aware that they are not actually from Washington DC. Too bad they can’t stray from this city for long. 

how long has your character been here: a few months, though he isn’t really keeping track.

what is your character's job: he’s the groundskeeper of a local cemetery!

where has your character been pulled from in their fandom: the end of campaign two.

has any magic affected your character: he does not remember anything from his canon, though he does have gut instincts based on those experiences.

and any other information you might find useful for us and the other members to know: he is a fairly religious man and though he believes in a practically unheard of deity, he will still likely wax poetic about it often!!