❝i've shed a thousand skins since then.
a curse upon the monster of more.
that S H I T does not define me anymore. ❞
— chelsea wolfe.
✝ S H A T T E R L I N G S ✝
( the unmade )
multi-muse blog for cardinalhq.
lovingly wrought into existence by grey.
𝚂𝙷𝙰𝚃𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙻𝙸𝙽𝙶 is a dependent, multi-muse blog for @cardinalhq, painstakingly wrought into existence by GREY ( 32, she/her ). any interaction by those not affiliated with above group will be, regrettably, ignored.
closed starter for do-jin (@shatterling)
located at pure leaf alchemy
Jane didn't let just anyone in after hours, having made a special exception for Do-Jin whom she'd offered to help with physical therapy. After meeting in her shop over their housemade pain-relieving ointments, they got talking, and before she knew it, Jane offered her nursing services to him in an unusual sense. She hadn't worked on anyone since her father, and while she technically retired from that part of her life, the love had not changed; unable to help herself when presented with such an opportunity. If she was able to help someone, she deemed it a worthy enough cause to at least try. Besides, physical therapy wasn't something that someone necessarily needed her level of degree for, and she decided that meant it was still a viable option since she turned in her stethoscope. Jane had a cup of chamomile waiting in her office, which had been repurposed now that her treatment table had been set up in the middle. "We'll take it slow," she explained from her desk chair, wanting to make a few notes before getting into things. "Like what you feel like daily, where, and the level of pain. Then we can find a few exercises to start here, and I'm going to give you some for homework." It felt good to get back to what she loved, not that she hadn't grown exceptionally fond of her new position, but she missed working hands-on with people like this. "And we'll get you set up with those ointments too," she referred to their earlier conversation, they'd put in a pin in until giving her assessment.
IT WAS LIKE DIGGING a knife out of his shoulder to admit to anyone he needed help, but jane had seen right through him. it was almost as if she could see his pain points through layers of flesh & sinew, right to the bone. there was an intuitiveness to her that impressed him. and as stubborn a man as he was, her kind spirit was not to be taken for granted — and so he'd conceded. if anyone was going to help him, it would be her. he didn't trust anyone else to give him advice or tell him how to live his life, not in regards to his health.
sitting opposite the desk, do-jin watched her take notes and wondered if she documented observations beyond his physical ailments. could she also see through to the soldier he'd been? the violence he'd done? deeper still, was it guilt that made the pain impossible to outrun? perhaps his injuries were somehow psychological. if he could be forgiven, would his sight be restored? would he no longer ache after a day on horseback? ❝ slow, hm? my apprehension must be obvious. ❞ shifting in his chair, as if he could somewhere lean into a shadow and obfuscate himself from her gaze, he listened.
❝ it's mainly my hips. i was — ❞ a pause to calculate his words. ❝ i was thrown back. the impact shattered part of my hip bone. my right knee aches from time to time, but it's manageable with stretches and anti-inflammatories. ❞ this was so uncomfortable. taking a moment, he closed his eyes and almost laughed at himself. ❝ i just want to be able to ride. the pain is becoming too frequent. it almost feels like nerve damage. ❞ opening his eyes, he looked at her dubiously.
❝ i just remember how bad it was right after ...i don't want it to get like that again. ❞ losing his ability to walk, to ride — he'd fight with everything in him to avoid that fate.
Closed starter for Gage Mercer ( @shatterling )
Location: Frostbite Stadium, after hours
While Andrei had been offered free reign of both skating rinks and given a key to the premise not long after agreeing to teach there Andrei had hardly made use of his special privileges. His relationship with skating was a complicated one in the wake of everything that happened back home and he'd been on an almost three year hiatus from skating until moving to Cardinal Hill. The only reason he was back on the ice now was because skating was the only skill he had and he needed cash to start his new life here in America. While his sister was providing a roof over his head his finances were all his own and he'd used what little he'd had left from his skating career to get himself over to the US.
He'd been teaching the various figure skating classes the rink had to offer since the beginning of June but this was the first time he was coming to use the ice for personal use. The rink had already been closed for an hour and Andrei fully expected to have the place to himself and upon entry the rink had seemed empty to him as Andrei flicked the lights back on the rink and laced up his skates. Assuming he was alone Andrei had brought a beer with him and he cracked it open and took a sip before setting his drink on the ledge so he had easy access to it from the ice.
Andrei hadn't been there long and was still in the process of warming up as he did laps around the ice. He was trying not to be too in his head but his thoughts were loud and the rink was quiet and being on the ice alone was a somber experience. It was how Andrei neglected to pick up on the sudden presence of another person approaching the rink as he skated around mindlessly unaware that he was now being watched.
FOR THE FOURTH NIGHT in a row, he'd polished both rinks, closed the snack bar, straightened the merch section, and sharpened dozens of skates. the dimensions of his nightmare-world were getting fucking monotonous. every morning, he woke up to face the same endless corridor of mundane tasks — highlighted ( or perhaps dimmed ) by brawls at the pool hall friday night or drinking himself stupid on the lake after catching jack-shit. the 4 hours a week he got to spend with the bladerunners was probably the only glimmer of light in all the shadow he'd managed to cloak himself in.
he gave the offices a final once over, tossing his keys up in the air and catching them. the place was ...presentable, if not pristine. victory fanfare. his old man was out of town this week which left him with a ton of thankless, unpaid overtime. nepotism was bullshit.
making for the exit stairwell, his pale eyes caught the lights flickering on, the glare of the fluorescents on newly resurfaced ice down below. a curse left his lips as he thundered towards the box's window, teeth grinding as he scanned the stadium for whatever asshole had found himself locked in afterhours. of course. gage had forgotten his parents had given the soviet a spare set of keys and permission to use the facilities whenever he wanted. a permission they'd never given their son, not until he'd groveled. not until after he'd dutifully done every unmentionable job the stadium had to offer until they deemed him worthy.
gage opened the box's door, stepping out on the stadium stairs. he was quiet, watching the younger man take the liberties he never had — cracking open a beer and taking to the ice with a fluid grace that turned gage's stomach. sure, he could still skate. but not with abandon like that. too much bend in his knee, and it'd explode again. too much twist, and his tendons would unravel themselves like ribbon. he took slow steps down to the edge, stopping when he reached the abandoned beer. he picked it up and took a swig before speaking. his voice was loud and heavy, like thunder.
❝ glad i was able to clear the ice in time for your solo session. ❞ he lifted the beer, a resentful toast. ❝ ваше здоровье. ❞
everything is cased in verglas. distorted, crystallized. you’ve been frozen in bleak hours surrounding the great tragedy of your life, and you can’t see past them. maybe there is no beyond. maybe you’re meant to live in the haze of your wasted potential, grieving for what you’d never become, too rigid to sprout wings and become anything else. a damned soul who tasted freedom only to be cast back into the maw of the beast you thought you’d escaped. you get comfortable in the suspension of your story, the fragments of this nightmare. the only proof that you’re alive are the plumes of your breath on the cold air.
// one day, something warm will thaw you. or it’ll burn you alive.
✝ STATS ✝
full name: gage warren mercer.
age: 26.
d.o.b: august 7th.
zodiac: leo sun, aries moon, aries rising.
occupation: youth hockey coach, ice technician & all-arounder at frostbite stadium.
hometown: cardinal hill, wa.
current residence: cardinal hill, wa.
time in cardinal hill: been back about 5 years from alberta, canada.
species: human.
sexuality: straight.
faceclaim: dacre montgomery.
(tw: addiction, injury, allusion to child abuse, domestic violence)in focus: failed home-town hero syndrome. gage grew up in cardinal hill and pretty much had the world handed to him on silver platter, and as a kid, he was determined to make something of himself, to go further than his parents, to make his mother proud and outgrow his father’s mean shadow. his family was wealthy and owned the frostbite stadium, ensuring he grew up on the ice. in no time, he proved his ability as an aggressive skater, and by the time puberty hit, he was a brutal competitor on the youth hockey league. his father was incredibly tough on him, forcing him to run drill after drill, overcoming injury and fatigue, pushing back fear and stomping out doubt. it was a crude sort of courage that manifested from all of that oppressive input, but it was unbeatable. he was a wildfire. and more importantly, he loved hockey. being on the ice was exhilarating, and there was nothing he liked better that sailing over it. it was freedom.
by the time he got to high school, everyone was already paying attention to him. girls, teachers, coaches, rival high schools, state colleges, and even canadian universities. after winning state with his high school hockey team, he was offered a full ride to alberta university to play with the golden bears.
college was never a huge challenge for him; he was always sharp, and he could get by on a high b average without doing much at all. a lot of it was because he was smart, a survivor, a sponge for information, but some of it was because he was good at getting his girlfriends or friends to help him write papers or cheat. because he was good at charming his professors. he learned at a young age that people tended to like doing things that made him happy. only a fool wouldn’t wield that sort of power, right?
junior year came, and his knee was totaled in a mid-season game. in one second, he lost everything he’d ever wanted. that’s when everything started closing in on him. he lost sight of what was in front of him, and the only thing that helped were the painkillers. they made the reality of what had happened fell away. and as strong of a person he was, as capable as he was, the grip those pills had on him were stronger, in the end. unable to return to hockey, unable to focus on his grades, with no future in his sights, he lost his scholarship & left university.
whatever sort of person he had been before, he’d crystalized into something bitter after that. the world took something from him. his future, his dream, who he was, the thing he loved the most. moving back home and facing his father was akin to walking into hell. the conversation was vicious and ended in violence. for a year, he crashed on random couches in cardinal hill, chasing pills. his mother eventually intervened and helped him to get sober, offering him a job at the stadium if he could keep his act together.
since then, he’s just been existing. years of sobriety and regaining his parent’s trust have granted him more responsibility at the stadium, and he makes enough to afford a little mortgage on a cabin near the water. the only thing that brings him happiness or focus is the youth hockey team he coaches. everything else is just background noise. everything else is just time in the box.
✝ HEADCANONS ✝
he drives a gold datsun 280z. it’s his pride and joy. second only to the zamboni.
gage is the guy that entices the girl home to piss off the guy that beat him at pool, but ends up falling asleep before actually hooking up.
his third space is the pool hall. beer, cigarettes, and some competition — what could be better?
he greatly admires musicians and loves seeing rock shows. the energy makes him feel alive.
most weekend mornings, he fishes by himself on the little lake by his cabin.
The sight of a familiar face brought a relief over Cassidy’s face as he sat across the person. Sighing heavily, he started to rub his temples as he stared down at the table between them wondering where exactly he went wrong with the little one. “On a scale from one to ten, how bad is it that your child may or may not be calling people a fucking twat when angry?” Cassidy questioned as he slowly lifted his gaze to make eye contact. “After the last few weeks I have had, not to mention the conversation I had to have with the daycare provider who by the way gave me the dirtiest look, I think I deserve a strong drink. Please indulge me tonight.”
THE EXPERIENCE of fathers was a universal thing, however, the impression the individual made on their child was something unique to every particular relationship. childless, do-jin could only relate so far, but he took a moment to consider cassidy's question with the seriousness he approached anything presented in earnest. his father would have never allowed that language, and yet, his grandfather had been much more lenient. he was closer to his grandfather, in that respect. more capable of being himself. ❝ the scale is irrelevant. a pointless standard. i think the question is whether or not the anger was righteous and if they're mature enough to understand it's an emotion that will pass. but words can't be unsaid. ❞
do-jin had started drinking one or two nights a week, finding alcohol helped him sleep, kept symptoms of ptsd at bay. it was a slippery slope, however, and it was never certain if he had the restraint to leave it at a few glasses. lifting his hand, he summoned the bartender, but kept his attention on the man across from him. ❝ it's on me, ❞ he said gently.
It was an unconventional method, but Rudy was an unconventional guy. He sat on a fold out chair, behind a fold out table adorned with signs he had created himself that very morning. 'GOT NEWS FOR THE CHRONICLE?' the largest of the signs read, the words painted in large, orange letters, the sign itself taped carefully on the front of the table. He hadn't been able to shake the feeling that something peculiar had been happening in Cardinal Hill for some time now, and while he found out everything that he could via his amateurish means of sleuthing, it simply wasn't cutting it. He needed to somehow be better at his job, and he figured that the best first step could simply be to ask everyone else what they knew. His face perked up as he saw someone approach. "Morning!" He greeted cheerfully, standing up to greet them politely. "Rudy Spector from the Cardinal Chronicle," he extended his hand for them to shake. "I'd love to hear what you know. It can be absolutely anything - even close to nothing - we're always eager to learn as much as we can about the Hill."
HER DAY OFF had gone decidedly poorly. it started when her pedal didn't arrive in time, then the ceramic cup had no open tables. when she'd exasperatedly decided to spend the whole day at home lying atop a web of tangled wires, strumming along to a new record with the fuzziest, doomiest tone she could replicate, the entire apartment building went dark. a breaker had fried and an electrician was on the way. arming herself with her headphones and walkman, she took to the blacktop. with witchfinder general quieting the whir of thoughts colliding against the alabaster corridors of her brain, she'd begun to relax. all she felt was the wall of sound swelling, the rhythmic vibration of each footfall buzzing through her body.
the sky was the palest blue, almost white, and glowing with pregnant clouds, and if she kept looking up, it started to feel as if she was falling into it. unfortunately, that meant she didn't see the chasmic fault in the sidewalk and found herself stumbling forward — headphones flying and face to face with a town crier? it took her a moment to collect herself, headcuffs and all, and to realize she was somehow in a conversation with a member of the local paper. the bright orange scribble on his sign a plea for the latest gossip or whatever world-ending stories the townies could produce. slowly, she shook his hand, still looking as if she'd just fallen out of another dimension.
❝ sol, ❞ she offered her name in kind, though apprehensively. as deeply dug into her little world as she was, she was hardly the person to be asking for news of anything happening outside of it. ❝ you seem the type to make the front page, not write for it. ❞ she offered dryly, gesturing to his little road-side set-up. crossing her arms across her middle, she sighed and gave in. ❝ you could write about the downfall of the us postal service. i've been waiting on a package for weeks. ❞
javed wasn't really the type who watched films often, but that was something he was trying to change. in the years since his divorce, he decided that it would be good for him to branch out and try new things, this was just the latest on his agenda. so, he finds himself browsing the shelves of the local video rental store, trying to decide what kind of film he might want to watch.
it wasn't an easy task, as he finds that he doesn't recognize most of the titles on the shelves. even then, he remembered some of the more popular ones, but hasn't seen most of them. after having no luck finding something to watch by himself, he approaches the nearest person in the aisle.
"i'll be the first to admit i'm a bit clueless when it comes to cinema. do you have any recommendations? you could say i've been living under a rock."
REWIND RENTALS quickly became a routine stop on his way home from reels, and the sounds of it were almost akin to a lullaby. the bell constantly ringing over the door as it swung open, then shut, film trailers buzzing in the background, the quintessential argument over which tape to take home — sprinkled with the ring of a cash register and spiced with bickering over late charges.
as he meandered through the aisles, he completed the holy trinity — his formula for a productive night of viewing. this trinity consisted of three tapes: a new release, a hidden gem, and a classic re-watch. with his chosen three under his arm, an array of snacks procured ( pop rocks, fun dip, and beef jerky ), his mission was complete.
but fate had other threads at play.
jett had just turned on his heel to make for the register when he was cut-off by a genuinely confused man. the question proposed was ...amusing, and the projectionist's countenance reflected that. ❝ so, you're telling me, after living under a rock, the first stop you make is a video rental store? ❞ his voice was low and gravelly like a dirt road through a valley, thick with an australian twang. ❝ that's admirable. there's hope for you, my man. let me tell you, you're in good company.❞
taking the assignment seriously, he took a beat and studied the man across from him. ❝ tell me about yourself — besides the whole living under a rock thing. [...] though that does give me an idea. follow me. ❞ he headed towards the back of the store to unearth a copy of quest for fire. ❝ walk and talk.❞
a black obelisk looms in your rearview mirror ; the horrors of your mother’s blood like obliterating fire in your veins. outrunning the abyss is a fool’s errand, and yet the drum of your sneakers on the blacktop echoes, the sweat on your brow cold from starless night. ❝ without your family, you are n o t h i n g ❞ — and yet you defy and dare to become, shedding skins, wearing pelts of lies and until they start to feel real. until the question of you is lost, once again, to the demands of survival.
// will you take control of yourself or stay the path of the stray dog ? homeless, nameless, soulless …
✝ STATS ✝
full name: jett morrigan.
age: thirty-three.
d.o.b: october 3rd.
zodiac: aries sun, sagittarius moon, virgo rising.
occupation: projectionist at reels.
hometown: swan lake, australia.
current residence: cardinal hill, wa.
time in cardinal hill: 2 years + 4 months.
species: witch.
sexuality: pansexual + demiromantic.
faceclaim: chai hansen.
negative traits: critical, stubborn, unpredictable, devil’s advocate, lack of focus.
in focus: jett has been running since he was eighteen, driven by fear of what followed on his heels and what darkness lived in his veins. this stray-dog mentality that there’s no where safe to rest has only started to subside in the last year since arriving in cardinal hill. still, the number of masks he’s worn along the way have made his true identity difficult to discern, even for himself. there’s a sense of restlessness about him, a constant looking over his shoulder, a need to poke at the boundaries to make sure they won’t hold him fast. he’s quick to start a debate on a myriad of topics just to figure out where he truly lands on the subject. this makes him come off as an asshole, a devil’s advocate, but it’s intrinsic to him figuring out who he is beyond the survival instincts, behind the vaporous facade.
films are a huge comfort to him. the scripts never change, and he’s seen so many that he can figure out the ending long before the story’s over. ( yet another annoying habit. ) beyond the stories themselves, he’s drawn to cinematography, the shot, the focus. capturing the perfect perspective with a rich atmosphere. unfortunately, he is known for turning this critical eye on himself & the world around him. he tries not to be negative, and redirects by changing the atmosphere. it can feel jarring to those who don’t know him well, but those that do likely understand why he does it — to pull himself out of whatever toxic thoughts are blooming in his brain.
✝ HEADCANONS ✝
originally from australia, his accent has stuck despite years of trying to unlearn it.
he lives in a camper in the trailer park, unwilling to give up mobility and settle down in an apartment.
reels has become a safe haven for him. his inner sanctum within cardinal hill. because of his affinity for films and the care he takes in procuring and taking care of their archive, he often hosts midnight premiers for his close friends, playing more obscure or very old titles.
he’s been saving up to purchase his own camera, but he’s a ways off. that doesn’t keep him from digesting everything he can about cinematography. he’s often composing shots and scribbling screenplays in the booth while at work.
a very inexperienced magic user.
having spent most of his life sleeping under the stars or traveling through the wilderness, he loves camping and the woods. he can often be caught swimming at blue holes in the state park, hiking, or even just lying on top of his camper watching the sky.
he has a gray tabby cat named ruckus, and she’s been his companion for nearly ten years.
✝ WANTED CONNECTIONS ✝
film junkies for life ! a close friend that cares as much about cinematography as jett as come to. they frequent the drive-in, hang out in the booth during premiers, throw release parties & private showings for their friends ( or just for themselves ) — they might even be plotting a film, brainstorming into the early hours of the morning.
changeover cue ! someone that jett has confided in about his secret. this person would be incredibly close to him and likely a mentor-type — not necessarily older but more experienced in the use of magic. jett relies on them as he embarks on the journey toward understanding his own powers and feeling out who he is as a witch.
general connections: co-worker(s), hiking/camping partner, cat sitter, neighbor(s), hook-up, etc.
romantic connection: because jett is demiromantic, he would need to be deeply in love in order to commit to someone completely. a deep connection is possible, but it will be someone that is truly invested in helping him figure out who he is, unafraid of unraveling his past, and who he trusts completely.
motherless babies have it worst ; this is what you know in the marrow of your bones as truth. empirical. irrefutable. it’s knowing this that dragged you down into the cold, dark water so many times — until everything you were and everything you knew was reduced to a faraway knock on the ocean floor. the sound of a collapsing star that no one cared enough to hear. at one point, existing in that suspended place was the answer. that was until you found your pulse again, before you touched the strings of a bruised les paul and heard it answer in soft tones you had longed for. it was nurturing, music. it was a language you knew better than the one you spoke, so you lost yourself in it, and it embraced you with loving arms.
// but is it enough ? how long will it last ? how long until the lonely scrape of the past finds you again ?
✝ STATS ✝
full name: noh so-wol ❝ sol ❞
age: twenty-eight.
d.o.b: december 28.
zodiac: capricorn sun, cancer moon, virgo rising.
occupation: sound engineer/set musician at songbird stage.
hometown: albuquerque, new mexico, usa.
current residence: cardinal hill, wa.
time in cardinal hill: 4 years.
species: human.
sexuality: bisexual + biromantic.
faceclaim: go min-si.
in focus: sol is a lot like an errant breeze — she’s easy-going, but uncatchable. her energy is warm like campfire; it can only be enjoyed at a safe distance. by the way she carries herself, almost in slow-motion, most would think there’s no spark of passion within her. but when she plays music, that’s when she comes alive, when her energy becomes magnetic and palpable. she’s happy to appear one-dimensional, however. it keeps her safe, keeps her out of trouble.
while most would assume there’s nothing complex whirring beneath that surface layer, they would be deadly wrong. sol sees everything, she feels everything — to a point that it’s painful. keeping her distance helps her manage her intake, but there’s a part of her that longs to be seen — someone that can look through the gentle fog that swathes her and see to the truth of her. this never being truly known, seen, heard, it’s been partially answered with her music. when she holds her guitar and others eyes fall upon her, she feels visible without feeling vulnerable. whether she will ever truly open up remains to be seen.
✝ HEADCANONS ✝
her apartment is full of audio equipment and instruments, to a point where it hardly looks like a home and more like a studio. the only thing that gives it away that someone lives there is the velvet green armchair by the window where she reads, listens to vinyl, and drinks her tea. mind your step if you’re invited in; there’s 3984893 wires to trip over.
in her off-time, if she’s not dug in at her apartment writing a new riff, she’s at the ceramic cup having coffee or tea with her headphones on, waiting for inspiration to strike.
perpetually in search of a band, she often gigs as a set musician, accompanying bands that come through town and need an extra guitarist. every once in a while, she’ll play an open mic — but folks don’t tend to dig instrumentals.
if you ask her if she wants a beer, she’ll always decline.
she often volunteers as a dog walker, helps with food drives at the church and community center, and she is quick to help anyone that’s struggling.
it’s not uncommon to see her walking through the city at strange hours of the morning or just hanging at a 24-hour diner, reading. a habit to keep her churning mind from veering off the deep end, to expend energy brimming to the edge inside of her.
her taste in music is endless, but she loves progressive rock more than anything. it’s rule-bending, expressive, experimental, and it keeps her attention.
✝ WANTED CONNECTIONS ✝
effect pedals ! an individual that sol plays music with, either just because they simply enjoy one another's talent or because they have plans to start a band.
unresolved melody ! an ex that sol was deeply in love with but ended up pulling away from in the end, too wary of getting her heart broken to fully commit. it's likely she still harbors feelings for this person as it's not easy for her get close to anyone. potential for reconciliation.
analog bliss ! a friend to listen to vinyl with — they each bring two lps and spend an evening feasting on take-out, sharing their thoughts on the composition.
general connections: employees at the ceramic cup that know her well, tea enthusiasts, acquaintances, potential bandmates, other musicians, hook-ups, new romance, co-workers, audio junkies, etc.
can you make up for the sins of the past ? for your carelessness, your blind faith, for the darkness they pulled out of the pit of you and rained down on the world ? if you keep putting yourself aside, keep ignoring all the mistakes, and spend all your idle hours putting right the wrongs, will the fetid lap of an oceanic guilt draw back and let you heal ? there are figments of a life once lived , gentle pangs of what could be , echoes of love lost , but it’s all shadowed by leagues of cruel shadows . pervasive darkness that never lets up .
// perhaps you will always stand at the edge of everything , your curse to know you cannot stop it . putting it one broken thing together only for another to shatter into a thousand pieces . forgiving every egregious sin but n e v e r yourself.
✝ STATS ✝
full name: han do-jin.
age: 29.
d.o.b: september 21.
zodiac: virgo sun, capricorn moon, cancer rising.
occupation: detective at the cardinal hill police station.
hometown: durango, colorado, usa.
current residence: cardinal hill, wa.
time in cardinal hill: 4 years.
species: witch.
sexuality: demisexual + demiromantic.
facelaim: song kang.
negative traits: wounded, impatient, rigid, guarded, can be harsh.
in focus: (tw: ptsd, military, injury) do-jin has a goodness in him that only comes from fighting his way through an unforgiving gauntlet and coming out ( somewhat ) whole on the other side. the patterns of malice he endured over his years in the military continue to wear on him in quiet ways — a downcast gaze, rough-hewn hands, a painful limp, and a thousand-yard stare. despite the scars that riddle him, he has an unshakable determination, never relenting from a task once he’s set his mind to it. this self-sacrificing nature was taught to him by his father and his grandfather, both descendent from a long line of ranchers, breeding korean jeju, appaloose, & palomino horses. to this day, he has the need to fix things — whether it be a fence post or a sour disposition.
because of his upbringing and the dearth of magic in it, he was a lone witch, unable to really explore his power until joining the military at 18. he was made for service, and he excelled to the level of sergeant in no time. honorably discharged due to injury, he found himself still unable to reconcile his nature — a witch. after years of struggling to move on from his time in the military, dealing with crippling ptsd, he finally found his place in cardinal hill as a state park ranger that seemed to fit. he felt like he could breath for the first time. not only was he among others like him that he could learn from, he found a job that filled him with purpose and a sense of peace. the park provides him serenity, stillness, steadiness. nature is dependable in its way.
he has no patience for wrong-doing and is quick to step in if someone is being treated unfairly. he’s also terrible at expressing his emotions and tends to clamp down if someone attempts to get too close — but this hard exterior thaws quickly, especially once he’s had time to adjust and process.
✝ HEADCANONS ✝
do-jin has a black german shepherd named jung-ya that is always at his side. provided to him after his discharge to help him during the years he was re-learning how to walk.
every morning, he has his tea and his boxed breakfast nestled in the state park with a clear view of the sky. he loves the quiet stillness of the early hours and always catches the sunrise.
working with his hands is something that relaxes him, even if his body protests sometimes. when work is slow, he often busies himself with odd jobs — fixing up old cars, rebuilding a neighbor’s collapsed shed, or doing extra patrols.
he drives an old 70’s bronco and a 60’s triumph bonneville, both in pristine running condition.
he’s blind in one eye but has perfect vision in his left. being right handed, he had to learn to adjust the way he held rifles and guns. this took a great deal of time and caused him a lot of frustration, but his aim is now just as good with his left eye as it was with his right.
a thorough knowledge of horses, having been raised on a prestigious ranch, he can provide consultative services on equine fitness, health, diet, pedigree, riding, and training.
his horse, seok, is another companion of his, specifically at the state park.
due to experiences in the military, he refrained from using his magic regularly for years. now that he's settling down into a new routine, he is trying to get more accustomed to the practice — to re-associate his feelings on his abilities with something good. his rituals are usually done out in the park, on his own, where only nature might witness.
ptsd rules much of his life, especially his magic. they are two threads knotted together that feel impossible to unravel.
✝ WANTED CONNECTIONS ✝
gaits & tack ! because of his military discipline and knowledge of equines, he's a masterful rider and a great teacher. though this isn't something he offers routinely, to the right person, he would abide being their instructor.
the one who saw the wraith and did not scream ! a romantic connection that's unusual due to its intensity. this is someone that is able to see the beyond surface — who helps do-jin face his past with strength, to reclaim himself through the use of his magic. someone that doesn't turn away when they learn the treacherous nature of his past and loves him more because of the man he's becoming despite it.
general connections: ranch acquaintances, park-goers, friends, folks in need of mechanical assistance, physical therapist.
