Real Name: Shaw Durand-Blazkowicz
Alias: Fiction, Ficky, Fick
Nationality: Greek/French Canadian
Languages: English, rusty French, even worse ASL
Age: 42 (November 8th)
Height: 5' 10"
Relationship Status: Married
Sexuality: Grey-Aromantic Asexual (Gay)
Religion: Converted Jewish
Occupation: Bookstore Owner, Writer
Currently Living: Montreal, Canada
Species: Ω Omega Level Psiot (Steinholtz Class)
Scars: Fick has a replacement robotic left arm


Image result for canadian flag

Powers: Mental Manipulation, Mechanical Manipulation, Flight, Telekinesis, Telepathy

Shaw spent his early and late teenage years writing various stories, stories that always showed him as a powerful, incredibly smart young man with the ability to fly and make anything he wanted happen. He was a troublemaker, never going too far but always getting into trouble, skipping school, and getting called out on being a typical asshole. Even in his small circle of friends he was thought unlikeable, yet his ability to write beautiful stories and prose was what drew people in.

He got his inspirations from seeing works from others who were fascinated by television shows and the worlds they could create on their own: Fanfiction was his brand and his words of choice. Starting early with trashy scifi shows, the popularity of sharing said stories online started to gain him a small following. His pompous attitude arose from his popularity, eventually causing him to get banned from several forums, and his dip into the literary world of the internet was cut short when a strange man approached him and told him he was something special, and could help him further unlock his gifts.

Activation started by being strapped to a machine, and being given a one in four chance of survival. When the gold flecked his eyes and the beams ebbed, he realized something changed, and it was something damn amazing. Fick was gifted the power of manipulation, able to change people's minds and implant memories and images in people's heads. He was also gifted limited telekenissis allowing him to fly, and even psionic blasts should he concentrate enough.

Image result for elias toufexis

 He was approached to work with a team of others called "psiots", but was let go early on when he showed his personality was too much for the people around him, and how he had to constantly go out of his way to make people feel awkward about the guilty pleasures they had. If he found out anyone dabbled in his area of expertise, he wouldn't shut up.

Fiction is labeled as a trouble maker. Most can't stand him and others who tolerate him don't want him around. A lone wolf, he struggles to make interpersonal connections and friends, and is often made fun of or mocked by other psiots for his sad manipulation abilities and the fact that he has no friends. Fick's struggles with mental health have lead him to being somewhat neurotic, siting abuse as a a child as a root cause. Something else, however, seems to be the true reason.

He can be friendly when people get to know him, and more often than not, he's just a lonely, sad man trying to find a friend. Romance has often not worked well for him, but he's found solace in his husband and learned to care deeply for someone else. Despite how awkward he can be, he does try his best to keep his friends and allies close and protected.

Fick has an odd affinity for tattoos despite his body dysmorphia. His left arm was once covered in meaningful ink but since losing it he's had to compensate on other parts of his body. His prominate ones are a watercolor half sleeve of Mars and space, two bands across his right arm, a tattoo of a wedding ring on his right ring finger, and the number four inked in black across the leftside of his chest. More will come, knowing him.

Fick lives in Montreal with his husband and son where he owns a bookstore.

Family (Nuclear)

Mother Agathe Durand
Father - David Durand
Brother - Silias Durand

Husband - William Joseph Blazkowicz III
Son - William Joseph David "Four" Blazkowicz

Activated by Jurgen Steinholtz

Image result for thomas janeImage result for til schweigerImage result for wes chathamRelated image

Far as he knows, he isn't related to anyone of any sort of celebrity.




Psiots are a concept created by Valiant Comics.
Shaw Durand is an OC inspired by the characters created by Valiant and the Doom/Wolf/Prey universes. He is an original concept, please do not borrow/steal it.

My name is Mori. I'm tired. I'm a bachelor's student. I hate it.

CHARACTER IS 18+ ONLY. I do not RP with minors.
Multi/Para Rp. One Paragraph minimum. Less is ignored. Semi Selective.
21+ | Though rare, sexual situations may occur ONLY when story calls for it.
13 year vet. Super picky. Been burned a lot, so I try and find what interests me and will check out everyone who adds me.
I work part time and go to school full time. I'm a busy person. I also have depression and am constantly working through treatments and it affects my writing at times. All I ask for is patience. You add, you start. Sometimes I will offer otherwise. 
Shaw Durand is an OC. His FC is Elias Toufexis

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  • Okona sighed softly as he stared up at the metal tiled ceiling of his bedroom.  Sleep was a distant dream, though his body was tired, his mind was wide awake and flying in erratic patterns around the confine of his skull.  How he longed to be with his VALKYRIE, sailing the distance between stars.  No one to tell him what to do or where to go.. no Syndicate, no Exchange.. and no Daedalus. 

    His thoughts drifted to his crew and he shook away his longing.  He couldn't abandon them to this hell. He wouldn't.  He made a promise to himself and to them all long ago, that if he was ever able to find a way off-world.  They were coming with him.  They were all he had, as far as family went.

    Sighing once more, he rolled out of his bed, keeping his head ducked so as not to whack it off the bottom of the steel cot directly above it.  He made his way to the bathroom, showered, then stood before the mirror after getting dressed to stare at his pale reflection.  Grey eyes leered back, while a normally smirking mouth frowned, bitter and distrustful.  He lifted his cybernetic arm, watching his reflection mimick him.  Then he curled his titanium fingers into a fist, only to let it loose a second later.  Then he peered down at his robotic legs, shifting his feet apart slightly.  They were heavy, but very tough.  Still.. he wished for his true body back.  He'd already been strong without all the cybernetics grafted onto his being.


    He whipped around, raking his fingers roughly through his white hair.  Who the fucks at my door this early in the morning?  He imagined a bunch of horrible scenarios within the time it took him to cross the room and slip into a pair of dark green trousers.  Before making his way to the door, he snagged the heavily modded Sidewinder from under his pillow, keeping it flush against his thigh as he wandered over, every step a loud clank-clank-clank as his titanium soles met the metal flooring. 

    He positioned himself to the right of his door, then he keyed his pass into the console by his head and listened to the deep set click of locking mechanisms sliding open and clicking into place.  A second later, his door slid open, revealing a dark skinned boy just a few years younger than himself.  He had a head full of unruly black spikes and wore a roguish grin, and even though he was wearing a dark, reflective visor that covered most of his face Okona recognized him immediately.  The boy was carrying a steaming cup in each hand. 

    "I almost fuckin' shot you, Dathon." Okona sighed, pressing the safety button on the side of the modded pistol. 

    Dathon didn't stop grinning. "Uh-huh, should I have said the passphrase? Maybe used a secret knock?" The boy stretched out an arm, handing over one of the cups.  And Okona took it, although he stared into it for a moment or two before taking the first sip.  It wasn't that he didn't trust Dathon-- but on the Lower Level you never know.  You might end up with a mouthful of machine oil instead of what you're expecting to ingest.  He'd seen that happen to a few unlucky bastards. 

    "Besides," Dathon continued when Okona said nothing, "you didn't shoot me, right Boss? Anyway.  You ready to go? Everyone is waiting." 

    Okona cursed under his breath, then he took another quick sip of coffee and shrugged. "Yup- hey, hold this would ya?" He handed off his coffee cup to the boy and wandered further inside to finish getting dressed.  He pulled out a grey shirt without sleeves and tugged it on, then he slipped into his jacket.  It was made from leather-- real leather.  He drew the zipper up to his shoulder, the collar encircling his neck. 

    "Lets go, kid." Okona said as he slipped outside, shutting the door behind him with the flick of a button. 

    "Uh- boss, you're going the wrong way.."

    "Like fuck I am.  We're not walking to the Spaceport, man." He couldn't help smirking, foreseeing the tech engineers objections already. "We're flyin Val."

  • (Great! I'll send ya a starter then.  Sorry for the delay)

  • (I guess that sort of depends where you wanna' kick things off.  The Earth Okona' lives on is well.. individual cities only exist in the minds of those old enough or educated enough to recall.  In his time, the entire planet has been converted into a city-planet.  It's all happy-times, propaganda, and incredibly rich folk and richer offworlders on the upper levels, and on the lower levels ya have your everyday citizens, mechanics, criminals and gangsters.. and a lil' lower than that, and you start to bodies.. the sick and dying.  Super high tech in most areas, even in the slums--  Especially the slums.  Er, space-faring folk, too.  Although they impose plenty of restrictions and curfews and docking fees to make it practically impossible for people they don't want getting off or on the planet doing just that.

    Buuut I'm literally down with going anywhere! Okona is flexible.)

  • (Hey, so we've never really written before but I'd love too if you'll have me!)

  • Malory didn’t really react to Fick accusing her of playing pretend. Honestly, she had gotten that for the passed decade and it kinda just bounced off of her at this point. Instead of responding to Fick, Malory looked to Four, and actually smiled at the boy. “Would you like to see something cool?” She asked the boy, but before giving the child a chance to answer, Malory turned and left the store. She was only gone for a few seconds before she returned. She walked right past Fick and to Four. 

    Her hands were cupped in front of her like she was holding something. When she opened them, it simply looked like a pile of flower petals. However, after a few moments, the petals moved, and a little head popped up. The face was humanoid, but the creature was tiny, with completely black eyes. It stared up at Four, a curious look on its face. Now, Fick wouldn’t be able to see the creature Malory was holding. The creature could choose who it showed itself to, and right now, it was only showing itself to Malory and Four (because Malory was holding it and Four was a child, which the creature was more comfortable with). To Fick, it would look like her hands were completely empty. 

  • “Why not Will? Or Joe? Or Dave, or Blaze? I mean, you had more options that just ‘Four.’” Malory said with a shrug, capping her pen and putting it in her bag again. Sometimes Malory didn’t understand other people. Which led to her having a bad relationship with people. Which led her to be lonely. Which led her to understand people less. It was a vicious cycle that she was in complete denial of that was slowly eating away at her. 

    “Author? No, that was Tony and Holly. Bastards decided to use our real names without getting permission.” Malory opened another copy of the first book, flipped to a page near the beginning, and handed it over. On the page was a short description and an illustration of a teenage girl with the name Malory Grace written under it. “I’m Malory Grace. Well, Malory Spiderwick now. Took the family name when I turned twenty-one.”

  • I owe Malory!~

  • “Four is an...interesting name.” Malory said, looking at the kid as he came back. He was cute, but Malory wasn’t really a fan of kids. Usually because they were scared of her. Or called her a witch. Plus babies were gross and cried too much. Yeah...Malory wasn’t a “kid friendly” kind of person. 

    As Fick pointed the books out, Malory went and collected them. There was thankfully one complete set, along with a couple extra volumes. That was good enough for her. “They’ve had mixed reviews, but it was relatively popular when it came out.” Malory set all but one of the books down on a shelf, then reached into her bag and pulled out a pen. Opened the first volume to the front page, Malory began to write in it. “I find the books...rather relatable.” After she finished writing, she handed the book to Fick. 

    She had sighed it, “Malory Spiderwick”, and wrote a note in Native Tree Elf beneath it to help prove it’s authenticity. Even though no one would know what it meant. “Eb reo artef niff mor net,” meaning “Bet your ass it’s me.” 

    “Just doubled the price of the book for ya.”

  • “Girls, huh? I thought it was marketed as a boys book series...” She muttered, mostly to herself, as she stood up with the book in hand. She opened it, and started flipping through the pages. Oh, it brought back so many memories. Not all of them good. Considering in this book she was kidnapped by dwarves and lost a fencing meet because of it. Maybe getting kidnapped was worse than losing a meet, but that hadn’t made her any any better. 

    “I really don’t need the—Four?” Malory frowned a little as she saw the kid come running by. Was Foud his name, or just a nickname? It seemed weird either way. Clearing her throat softly, she looked back to Fick. “I don’t need the coffee now, but thanks. And I would like to see the other volumes, if you don’t mind. There’s five of them.”

  • “Jesus!” Malory said with a start at the sudden voice, dropping the book she had just picked up. It wasn’t hers, just some other fiction book with a brightly-colored cover that had grabbed her attention. Turning around to face the man who had started her, she quickly looked him up and down. Weird guy, offering her coffee, seeing if she needed help, in a cluttered ad hell store? Definitely the owner. 

    “Um, no—sorry, I’ll grab that.” Malory quickly leaned down to pick up the book she had dropped, and what did she see under a stack of books? Hers! She dropped to her knees and started carefully unstacking the books and restacking then in a new one go she could get to the bottom. 

    “I’m good on coffee unless it’s iced, thanks though.” Malory said, though her attention was on the task at hand. When she reached the bottom of the stack, she picked up her book. Oh, and it was her favorite one! The fourth volume in the tiny five-part series. The illustration of the girl on the cover looked surprisingly similar to the woman who was currently holding it.

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