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houseofdissension · 2 months ago
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⸻ 𐄁 𝐕𝐎𝐋𝐍𝐄𝐑-𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍𝐄  𝐈𝐍𝐂.  //  𝐒𝐔𝐁𝐉𝐄𝐂𝐓  𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄  𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐃  𝟎𝟎𝟏-𝐁
MANAGERIAL  PERSONNEL  ENROLLMENT  RECORD FLOOR  OF  DISSENT:  40TH  LEVEL  –  HIGH-CLEARANCE  ONLY This  submission  pertains  to  internal  authorization  under  the  Dissension  Initiative.  All  biometric  and  behavioral  data  logged  herein  is  protected  under  Clause  9.4  of  the  Executive  Containment  Protocol.
( Post-entry  memory  reclamation  is  prohibited.  Managerial  insight  must  remain  unclouded.  Proceed  with  composure.  You  are  now  accountable  to  the  structure. )
[  𝗩𝗢𝗟𝗡𝗘𝗥-𝗗𝗢𝗪𝗡𝗘  𝗜𝗡𝗖.  //  𝗡𝗢𝗡 𝗗𝗜𝗦𝗦𝗘𝗡𝗦𝗜𝗢𝗡 𝗙𝗢𝗥𝗠  ]
╰── santiago cabrera,  47,  cis-male,  he & him ]>  𝙾𝙱𝚂𝙴𝚁𝚅𝙴𝙳  𝙰𝚂𝚂𝙴𝚃  𝙻𝙾𝙶:  The  individual  known  informally  as  [  NICOLÁS “NICO"  CÁRDENAS  ]  has  been  noted  for  presence  within  the  Downe’s  Hollow  parameters.  According  to  behavioral  estimates,  they  present  at  approximately  [  FOURTY-SEVEN  ]  and  have  been  under  evaluation  for  [  SIX YEARS  ].  During  scheduled  daylight  hours,  they  are  recorded  operating  in  the  role  of  [  THE WARDEN  /  NON DISSENTED  ].  Community  observation  reports  suggest  notable  behavioral  markers:  prone  to  [  TRICKSTER  ]  under  stress,  yet  reportedly  [  APPEALING  ]  in  collective  settings.  Volner-issued  residency  placement:  [  ALABASTER GREEN  /  ALABASTER GREEN PRIVATE HOUSING  ].  Echo  archetypes  detected  in  personality  patterns  include:  [  an obsidian chalice of memory-rot, held to the lips but never swallowed — his charm, a velvet razor, masking the scream of a boy still trapped behind locked doors; a penance-machine in a tailored suit; his pulse syncs to surveillance and sonatas. where forgiveness should bloom, only ritual — ruthless, immaculate, divine; a candle burning beneath water — grief bending through the pressure of control. love becomes leverage. remorse, design. & still, somewhere, a cello mourns him.  ].  𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚃𝚄𝚂:  under  continued  observation.  Decompression  tolerance  uncertain.  Reintegration  probability:  TBD.
𐄁  𝗩𝗢𝗟𝗡𝗘𝗥-𝗗𝗢𝗪𝗡𝗘  𝗜𝗡𝗖.  //  𝗣𝗢𝗦𝗧-𝗦𝗘𝗧𝗧𝗟𝗘𝗠𝗘𝗡𝗧  𝗢𝗡𝗕𝗢𝗔𝗥𝗗𝗜𝗡𝗚  𝗘𝗩𝗔𝗟𝗨𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡
FORM  82-D  |  RESIDENCY  JUSTIFICATION  INTAKE: Your  responses  are  recorded  under  Civic  Harmony  Protocol  6.1.  Please  answer  with  full  clarity  and  personal  accountability.  Ambiguity  may  result  in  further  observation.
1.  Please  describe  the  circumstances  of  your  initial  transition  into  Downe’s  Hollow.
Nicolás  adjusts  his  cufflink  —  not  out  of  need,  but  rhythm.  A  gesture  he’s  perfected  over  years  of  answering  questions  without  answering  them.  The  light  hits  the  silver  just  right,  casting  a  faint  glimmer  along  the  bone  of  his  wrist.  ❝ Circumstances?  That  word  makes  it  sound  accidental.  No.  I  walked  in  willingly.  My  name  was  already  on  the  ledger  before  I  arrived  —  they  just  hadn’t  inked  it  yet. ❞   His  voice   thrums  in  his  throat,  a  contemplative  hum. He  leans  back  slightly,  the  leather  of  the  chair  creaking  beneath  him  like  an  old  confession.   Outside,  the  wind  scratches  against  the  windowpane,  unnoticed.  ❝ Let’s  call  it…  a  quiet  invitation.  After  a  string  of  obligations  I  was  no  longer  interested  in  upholding.  Downe’s  Hollow  offered  anonymity.  Control.  A  chance  to  help shape  something  life  changing. ❞  He  smiles,  but  it  never  quite  touches  his  eyes.  Something  ancient  flickers  there  —  calculating,  fond  almost.  Like  an upward  tug of  his  lips  making  itself  evident  in  his  tone,  curling   &   self-satisfied  if  not  playful.  ❝ And  me?  I  wanted  silence.  The  kind  you  earn,  not  the  kind  you're  buried  in. ❞ Fingers  steeple,  his  breath  still,  like  a  cathedral  holding  itself  together  just  long  enough  not  to  collapse.   ❝ So  I  took  the  job and became  The  Warden.  Learned  the  language  of  the  company  like  it  was  my  native  tongue.  And  haven’t  heard  a  single  unnecessary  noise  since. ❞ He  doesn’t  blink.  Doesn’t  fidget.  The  kind  of  man  who  turns  torment  into  tenure.
2.  At  the  time  of  your  arrival,  what  were  you  running  from,  or  toward?
A  thumb  smooths  along  the  line  of  his  lapel  —  absent-minded,  precise.  Not  to  correct  anything,  but  to  occupy  the  space  where  discomfort  would  live  in  a  lesser  man.  The  stillness  he  keeps  around  him  isn’t  stillness  at  all  —  it’s  choreography,  the  illusion  of  calm  placed  just-so  atop  a  coil  of  wire  &  flame.  Light  glances  off  the  ridge  of  his  cheekbone,  lending  him  the  look  of  something  carved.  He  speaks  only  once  the  silence  feels  full,  shaped,  intentional.  Not  before. ❝  I  wasn’t  running  from  anything.  ❞  It’s  said  gently,  like  a  bedtime  lie.  One  he’s  told  himself  enough  times  to  get  the  tone  right.  He  takes  that  pausing  moment  just  like  he  always  does  to  assess.   Pulse,  sting  of  adrenaline,  twitching  tendons  nestled  behind  the  eyes,  anything  that  might  hide  bill  of  a  liar’s  fixings.   Humor  usually  shades  it.  His  eyes  drag,  slowly,  toward  a  spot  in  the  corner  where  the  wallpaper  buckles  slightly.  Flawed  things  have  always  fascinated  him.  Imperfect  seams.  Old  wounds.  Names  spoken  behind  closed  doors.  ❝   That  word  —  running  —  it  implies  fear.  Urgency.  A  suitcase  and  a  conscience.  ❞  He  exhales  a  sound,  nearly  a  laugh,  more  like  a  memory  that  tried  to  escape  and  got  caught  in  his  throat.  ❝   I  don’t  panic.  I  adapt.  Quite well.  ❞ He  can  count  on  this life,  the  steady  money  in  his  bank  account,  the  luxury.  That  sound  when  he  sits  back  in  his  Chesterfield  real  leather  office  chair  —  the  breath  of  expensive  discomfort  ���  has  always  pleased  him.  Somewhere  behind  his  eyes,  old  train  stations  burn.  A  passport  stamped  in  someone  else’s  blood.  A  voice  he  hasn’t  heard  in  years  calling  him  by  the  wrong  name. ❝  There  were…  conversations  being  had.  Doors  closing  without  sound.  The  kind  of  attention  a  man  like  me  doesn’t  want  to  attract  unless  he’s  holding  the  leash.  ❞  Fingers  brush  along  the  armrest,  tracing  a  grain  he  knows  by  touch.  Every  space  he  occupies  becomes  a  confessional  eventually.  The  trick  is  never  kneeling.  ❝  So  I  came  here.  To  order.  To  erasure,  but  on  my  terms.  Dissension  doesn’t  care  what  came  before.  It  asks  only  what  you’re  willing  to  do  now. Same with Volner-Downe.  ❞  What  they  will  never  know  is  that,  somehow,  he  still has  his  righteousness,  his  insufferable  piety  about  morality  but  when  it  comes  down  to  it,  he  holds  all  of  this  on  his  own.   Black  &  white  are  constructs;  the  law  of a  manmade  code.   ❝  And  I  was  willing.  I  still  am.   ❞ A  ghost  of  a  smile  haunts  the  corner  of  his  mouth  —  dangerously  civilized.  ❝   Let  others  run.  I  arrive.  And  when  I  do,  I  stay unless I need to otherwise.  ❞  He  rests  his  hands  together,  cathedral-like,  as  if  in  prayer  or  judgment.  Perhaps  both.  Just  as  in  youth.
3.  Do  you  believe  you  chose  this  life,  or  were  chosen  for  it?
The  question  hangs  in  the  air  like  perfume  left  behind  by  someone  who’s  already  walked  out  the  door.  It  doesn’t  startle  him.  He’s  been  answering  versions  of  it  his  whole  life  —  sometimes  with  a  smile,  sometimes  with  a  punch,  sometimes  not  at  all.  Today,  he  chooses  simplicity.  A  breeze  filters  through  the  cracked  window  —  thin,  citrus-sharp,  carrying  with  it  the  distant  sound  of  something  mechanical  humming  under  the  floor.  Nicolás  shifts  his  weight  —  not  because  he's  uncomfortable,  but  because  stillness,  for  him,  is  never  quite  empty.  It  hums  too.  He  drags  a  knuckle  across  the  stubble  along  his  jaw,  slow  and  absent,  like  someone  rewinding  a  memory  he  doesn’t  plan  to  explain.  His  body’s  all  loose  geometry now  —  slouched  in  the  chair  like  it  belongs  to  him,  like  the  room  does  too.  The  only  part  of  him  holding  any  tension  is  the  way  his  eyes  never  quite  stop  watching  the  door.  Just  in  case. ❝  You  ever  see  a  dog  chase  its  own  shadow?  Thinkin’  it’s  got  somewhere  to  be?  It’s  like  that.  ❞  His  voice  breaks  the  quiet  like  jazz  cutting  through  static — low,  smooth,  a  little  tired  around  the  edges.  The  chair  groans  faintly  as  he  leans  back  —  not  out  of  arrogance  (  well,  not  fully  ),  but  to  get  comfortable.  He  always  speaks  better  when  his  spine  isn’t  doing  the  work.  One  hand  slips  into  the  inner  pocket  of  his  blazer,  fishing  out  a  toothpick  like  it’s  a  cigarette.  He  doesn’t  light  anything,  of  course.  Just  rests  it  between  his  teeth,  the  barest  twitch  of  his  jaw  giving  it  motion.  ❝   I  thought  I  was  making  decisions.  Real  ones.  ❞  He  taps  his  thumb  once  against  his  forefinger,  rhythmic,  like  a  heartbeat  trying  to  remember  its  tempo.  ❝   Thought  I  was  choosing  the  next  city.  The  next  name.  The  next  bed.  ❞ Grin  lifting  —  crooked,  soft,  not  quite  sad.  He  flicks  the  toothpick  to  the  other  side  of  his  mouth,  jaw  ticking  once  before  settling  again.  Every  movement  is  smooth,  practiced,  but  never  rehearsed  —  like  he’s  been  living  inside  the  same  moment  for  too  long  and  just  learned  to  make  it  look  graceful.  ❝   But  looking  back?  I  was  just  following  the  pattern.  Like  a  record  that  doesn’t  know  it’s  been  skipping  the  same  groove  for  years.  ❞ Nicolás  lets  a  chuckle  clutter  his  throat,  then  his  gaze  drops,  lands  on  a  scuff  in  the  floor  —  probably  his  own  doing,  from  a  week  ago.  Something  about  the  imperfection  pleases  him.  Proof  he  was  here.  The  comes  the  sigh  —  deep,  not  dramatic.  Like  the  kind  of  breath  you  take  when  a  song  ends  &  the  silence  comes  back  heavier  than  you  remembered. ❝  Life  doesn’t  always  ask  for  your  input.  ❞  He  lifts  his  head  again,  one  brow  slightly  raised,  as  though  testing  the  weight  of  honesty  in  the  air.  ❝  But  the  reality  is  quieter  than  that.  It  didn’t  arrive  all  at  once.  It  just…  happened.  ❞  The  lights  overhead  buzz  faintly,  casting  long  shadows  across  the  table.  Nicolás  glances  at  his  reflection  in  the  glass  —  a  vague  shape,  stretched  and  blurry.  Fitting. ❝  So  no.  I  don’t  think  I  chose  it.  But  I  stayed.  ❞  Somewhere  behind  his  calm,  there’s  a  something  that  scintillates  —  something  wounded  that  learned  to  wear  good  shoes  and  show  up  on  time.  Not  because  it  healed, but  because  bleeding  was  boring.  ❝  And  maybe  that’s  the  most  honest  answer I can give.  ❞
4.  When  you  envision  the  person  you  used  to  be,  what  part  of  them  still  lingers  in  the  current  design?
The  room  has  that  late-afternoon  hum  to  it  —  light  hanging  low,  casting  everything  in  honey  and  ruin.  There’s  a  flicker  of  dust  in  the  air,  caught  in  the  rays  like  static  searching  for  a  signal.  Nicolás  watches  it  for  a  moment,  head  tilted  —  not  distracted,  just…  considerate.  He’s  always  had  a  soft  spot  for  things  that  drift.  His  tie’s  slightly  loosened,  though  it  wasn’t  before  he  sat  down.  No  one  saw  it  happen.  That’s  the  way  with  him  —  he  unravels  in  inches,  never  threads.  He  doesn’t  answer  right  away.  Instead,  he  slips  a  coin  from  his  pocket  —  smooth,  dulled  with  age,  its  etching  nearly  worn  away.  He  doesn’t  flip  it.  Just  turns  it  once  between  his  fingers,  slow.  Like  something  precious.  Like  something  that’s  burned  him  before.  Voice  quieter  this  time,  but  not  uncertain.  Just  a  little  farther  away,  as  if  he's  talking  to  a  version  of  himself  sitting  in  the  doorway  behind  someone. ❝  He  was  louder.  Had  opinions  about  justice.  Thought  sharp  suits  could  keep  the  world  out.  ❞  the  coin  clicks  once  between  his  fingers.  ❝  That  kid, man  —  he  believed  there  were  rules.  Thought  if  you  played  nice,  you  could  rewrite  the  ending.  ❞  His  gaze  drops,  not  out  of  shame,  but  memory.  The  kind  that  buzzes  behind  the  ribs,  unwanted  but  familiar.  ❝   I  liked  him, though.  Even  when  he  got  in  the  way.  ❞ &  just  like  that,  his  posture  resets — familiar,  cool,  indifferent.  Not  careless.  Just  unwilling  to  bleed  where  it  won’t  be  noticed.  ❝  I  was  stubborn,  overly  romantic.  Too  quick  to  trust  a  well-worded  lie.  ❞  Then,  more  to  himself,  the  ghost  of  a  grin  brushing  the  corner  of  his  mouth:  ❝  Got  burned  for  it.  A  few  times. It's all good, lessons learned.  ❞  There’s  a  silence  that  follows  —  thick,  but  not  uncomfortable.  The  kind  you  get  between  old  friends  who  know  not  to  fill  space  just  because  it’s  there.  He  lets  it  settle  like  dusk. Fingers  curl  loosely  around  the  coin  again  before  he  tucks  it  away,  like  the  thought  itself.  Back  where  it  came  from.  Kept,  but  caged. ❝  What’s  left  of  him?  ❞  Nicolás  glances  up  now,  eyes  clear  and  unsettling  in  their  calm.  ❝  I  think  he’s  the  reason  I  don’t  flinch.  ❞   A  breath.  Dry.  Clean.  ❝  Not  because  I  stopped  feeling  it  —  but  because  he  never  stopped.  We’re  not  the  same, but  I  still  carry  his  voice.  He’s  just  quieter  now.  Mostly  speaks  when  I’m  trying  to  sleep.  ❞  The  corner  of  his  mouth  lifts  again.  Not  a  smile  this  time  —  just  shape  memory.  Then  silence.  Heavy,  holy.  Like  he  just  said  something  important. 
5.  In  your  current  state  of  clarity,  how  would  you  describe  your  belief  in  the  Dissension  Procedure?
The  ceiling  fan  churns  lazily  above,  dragging  warm  air  in  slow,  reluctant  circles.  Nicolás  watches  it  spin  like  he’s  trying  to  remember  if  he  ever  really  slept  beneath  one  without  locking  the  door.  His  sleeve’s  been  rolled  to  the  elbow,  revealing  a  line  of  muscled  forearms  and  scarred  skin  near  the  crook  of  his  arm  —  faint,  healed,  but  unmistakably  human.  That  raised  blemish  older  than  the  name  he  answers  to  now.  The  light  slants  across  his  collarbone,  soft  gold  split  by  shadow.  For  a  second,  he  says  nothing.  Just  presses  a  thumb  against  the  edge  of  his  jaw,  slow  and  firm,  like  he’s  keeping  something  from  leaking  out. ❝  Clarity,  huh.  ❞  He  floats  levity  into  his  voice.  He  doesn’t  laugh  this  time.  The  word  lands  heavy  in  his  mouth,  sits  on  his  tongue  like  copper.  ❝  Sounds  clean.  Clinical.  Feels  more  like…  exposure.  ❞  His  hand  hovers  near  his  throat,  as  if  to  loosen  the  button  he  never  fastened.  But  he  doesn’t.  Instead,  his  fingers  retreat,  folding  into  his  palm  —  tight,  bone-white  for  a  beat  before  easing  open  again.  A  small  rebellion,  swallowed  whole. ❝  The  Procedure  works.  ❞  It’s  spoken  plainly.  No  spin,  no  glamour.  However  something  in  him  flinches  —  not  visibly,  not  enough  for  most  to  catch.  It’s  in  the  stillness.  The  kind  that’s  practiced.  The  kind  that  says  if  I  move  too  fast,  I  might  feel  it  all  at  once.  ❝  It  works  too  well.  ❞  He  closes  his  eyes  briefly,  just  long  enough  to  see  someone  he  used  to  know  —  maybe  himself,  maybe  not.  Someone  who  looked  like  him  and  asked  questions  the  company  didn’t  want  answered. ❝  I’ve  seen  what  it  leaves  behind.  ❞  An  exhale.  His  voice  softens,  though  still  audible.  ❝  And  what  it  takes.  ❞ He  presses  the  pad  of  his  thumb  to  the  inside  of  his  wrist,  like  he’s  checking  for  something  —  pulse,  maybe.  Or  just  trying  to  remember  he’s  still  real.  The  guilt  doesn’t  show  in  his  posture.  It  lingers  elsewhere  —  in  the  breath  he  holds  too  long,  in  the  slight  hitch  between  words,  in  the  way  he  doesn’t  meet  eyes  for  a  full  sentence  and  a  half.  And  yet:  it's  not  a  thought  he  can  ever  fully  admit  to. ❝  Do  I  believe  in  it?  ❞  He  tilts  his  head,  a  half-shrug  blooming  through  his  shoulders  like  a  sigh  that  never  quite  makes  it  out.  ❝  I  believe  in  my  job.  I  believe  in  order.  In  results.  In  peace  and  silence  and  clean  exits.  ❞ But  he  remembers  the  screaming  &  confusion  —  muffled  through  glass  when  they  first  awake  after  the  procedure,  but  not  enough.  He  remembers  the  way  someone’s  voice  broke  on  the  fourth  recitation  and  never  found  its  way  back.  He  remembers  someone  trying  to  harm  themselves  from  a  decision  their  "other  self"  made.  ❝   Most times  I  sleep  easy.  ❞  He  drums  his  fingers  once,  twice,  against  the  table  —  then  stops.  That’s  enough.  ❝   Though  that’s  not  what  they  hired  me  for.   ❞ And  there,  finally,  he  looks  at  his  interviewer.  Fully.  Like  he’s  dared  them  to  hold  the  weight  of  what  he  carries. ❝  I  just  make  sure  the  machine  runs.  ❞   The  faintest  smile  flickers  at  the  edge  of  his  mouth,  confident and charming. Nicolás  stands  this  time  —  not  in  triumph,  not  in  comfort.  Just  to  put  a  little  space  between  the  interviewer  and  the  wreckage  he  almost  admitted  to.  The  fan  overhead  keeps  spinning.  And  somewhere  beneath  his  ribs,  the  guilt  curls  back  into  silence,  waiting  for  its  turn  again,  no  matter  how  much  he  buries  it. But his own survival is always paramount.
𝐖𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞  𝐭𝐨  𝐕𝐨𝐥𝐧𝐞𝐫-𝐃𝐨𝐰𝐧𝐞  𝐈𝐧𝐜.,  𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦  𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘯𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵  𝘪𝘴  𝘰𝘱𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘶𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘺  𝘢𝘯𝘥  𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘪𝘤𝘦  𝘳𝘦𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴  𝘵𝘩𝘦  𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧.  𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳  𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦  𝘩𝘢𝘴  𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯  𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘥,  𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳  𝘱𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘢𝘭  𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘨𝘯𝘪𝘻𝘦𝘥.  𝘞𝘦  𝘢𝘳𝘦  𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦𝘥  𝘵𝘰  𝘣𝘦𝘨𝘪𝘯  𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴  𝘫𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘺  𝘵𝘰𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳.
𝗪𝗲’𝗿𝗲  𝗵𝗼𝗻𝗼𝗿𝗲𝗱  𝘁𝗼  𝗵𝗮𝘃𝗲  𝘆𝗼𝘂  𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿  𝗼𝘂𝗿  𝗰𝗮𝗿𝗲. –  Compliance.  Continuity.  Purpose.
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overmorrowrpg · 2 years ago
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PRAGMA LUZ — [?], [?] — ENIGMA.
YOU ARE AN ALIVE THING THAT SHOULD BE DEAD— YOU ARE A MYSTERY EVEN TO YOURSELF. Fingers formed from ceramic and steel trace questions in fogged over glass, trail over constructed jawline, in search of revelations that refuse to come. Spectral energy hangs in your sternum, kisses your insides with heat-scalding animation, while mechanical limbs born from human hands guide each movement. Once you were something, once you were someone's. BUT WHAT IS TO BE DONE WITH YOU NOW? Memory sits like a blasted heath, a thing ruined to the point of uncertainty. There was a knife, and there was a man, and now there is only you, darling, dearest, desecrated. The shape of your own face is a mystery, the lay of the land hangs like a loaded question. Understanding comes in waves— glimpses of times gone past, echoes of others' lives. There is a hunger here, a desire to be a thing that might be whole once again. There is a beauty, a wide-eyed wonder at the whole of the world. THERE IS A QUESTION MARK WOVEN THROUGH EVERY ACTION. Washed up on shore, given life and purpose by the whims of others, the whole of you is waiting for an answer that may never come. And when all the lights go out on all the shores, there is still this: might you still remain, eternal and unsure?
CONNECTIONS
AGAPE — EVEN WHEN I’M IN THE DARK I’M IN THE DARK WITH YOU.
There was a hand that found you in the port, cradled gently by sea glass and the debris of the night before. It was a soft hand, a gentle one, one that raised you out of the waters and gasped with shock as a face formed into being. AGAPE is the one that brought you to the rest. AGAPE is a north star, a cardinal point. Your loyalty to them is something that FIRE COULD NOT MELT OUT OF YOU. It is foolhardy, eternal, the first thing that you might have called your own. If they feel the same, you cannot tell. And still, you will not let them doubt your devotion.
STORGE — THE ONE THING LEFT IN THIS WRETCHED LANDSCAPE THAT COULD SAVE US ALL FOR A LITTLE BIT LONGER THAN WE DESERVE.
There is something familiar in the way that they look at you, the way that they take your hand after jobs and promise that everything will be okay. Their presence comes with the smell of rosemary, of something known and not known hanging in the air, an echo of sleep. YOU WONDER WHY IT HAUNTS YOU. It follows the contours of how an older sibling might treat their younger half: you are greedy for it, desperately clinging to them, eyes forever following. But you wonder how you know this: how the word sibling can ever sit in your vocabulary. And with it, you begin to wonder why STORGE cares this much.
MANIA — I CAME TO TAKE UP YOUR OFFER TO NO LONGER BE TORTURED.
WHAT CAN YOU OFFER THAT THEY DO NOT HAVE? MANIA is not friend. MANIA is not foe. Even in your short time of being the thing that you are, knowing the little that you know, your heart a blank slate, even this much is clear. MANIA holds a key to a box that might hold another key to the start of the answer of what you are. But MANIA always demands a price. They hold question and answer, beginning and end: but is the price one that you will ever be able to stomach?
TAKEN BY DEL ✧ AIYANA LEWIS
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grimmertales · 2 months ago
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fc ideas for rumpelstiltskin please
aaaaa  matteo  martari,  kentaro  sakaguchi,  chay  suede,  josh  o’connor,  luke  pasqualino,  alex  hassell,  fabien  frankel,  harris  dickinson,  louis  garrel,  and  lee  joon  gi  !
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grimmerteasers · 3 months ago
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                                                                   see  you  around,  fable.                                                                           coming  soon.
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asburyparkrp · 10 months ago
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+1 reserve!
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wisteriaspromotes · 1 year ago
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Welcome to Wisteria Lane,
a seemingly serene suburban neighborhood where the facade of perfection masks a web of secrets, lies, and unexpected drama. Nestled in the heart of Fairview, Wisteria Lane is home to a diverse group of residents, each with their own unique stories and hidden pasts. From the eclectic and artistic haven of Hibiscus Circle to the affluent and lush landscapes of Hydrangea Circle, and the tranquil retreat of Cypress Lane, our community is as varied as it is intriguing. As new families move in and old residents grapple with their evolving lives, the once-peaceful neighborhood becomes a hotbed of tension and intrigue. At the center of it all is the mysterious death of Audre Thompson, whose passing has left more questions than answers. Her widow, Evelyn Thompson, is on a relentless quest for the truth, believing that there is more to her wife's death than meets the eye.As secrets unravel and alliances shift, the residents of Wisteria Lane find themselves entangled in a complex tapestry of love, betrayal, and redemption. The community must navigate the delicate balance of protecting their own while uncovering the truths that threaten to tear them apart. From clandestine affairs and hidden agendas to mysterious newcomers and unresolved pasts, Wisteria Lane is a place where every whisper holds a story, and every glance could reveal a lie.
Join us in this immersive rolepalay experience where the idyllic suburban life is anything but ordinary. Embrace your character, unravel the mysteries, and dive into the drama that makes Wisteria Lane the most captivating street in Fairview.
SKELETONS || FAQ || FAMIILIES|| FC SUGGESTIONS || APPLY
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bloodydayshq · 2 years ago
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Can I please get mwm by admins and members?
Hey non! Let me ask the Discord!
FCS: oliver jackson-cohen, diego luna, johnathan bailey, aaron cobham, joshua sasse, michael huisman, chiwetel ejiofor, david oakes, jordan renzo, henry cavill MUSES: admin di answered this here but also mentioned; viscount beauchamp, duke of northumberland, literally any of our wonderful muses admin di whipped up for ya'll! or even an oc that can fit into hampton court!
— admin velvet
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maytheoddshq · 2 years ago
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Greer Morgan (she/her). District Ten Mentor. 121st Mentor. Twenty-three. Florence Pugh.
Greer hated everything about her childhood, she was just too young to know it then. She was raised with money and privilege most others in Ten could only dream about, and although it didn’t touch the wealth of the Capitol, it meant never soothing calloused hands or fighting off hunger pains. Greer’s dad is the mayor of Ten, which meant she had a good education, a beautiful home, and four siblings who spent their days alongside her playing and learning instead of working. It should have been the perfect life, but perfection was only ever an illusion.
Greer learned from an early age that children should be seen and not heard, and they should not be seen unless perfectly presentable. She had a closet full of pretty dresses she was never allowed to stain. Her hair was always neat and never out of place. Her voice was never to be raised, and no matter what there was always a smile on her face. She was taught how to sit perfectly still through dinners, and parties, and ceremonies, and pictures, and when people would visit, they would coo over just how polite and well-spoken the little Morgan girls were.
None of this sweetness came naturally to Greer. Greer, in particular, was a horse that needed breaking. She used to protest about why the boys got to run and come home dirty with holes in the knees of their pants. Why did they get to ride horses, and look for lizards, and make noise? Greer’s sisters seemed to fall so easily in line, but Greer and her brother were an inseparable duo of chaos and noise. It seemed her parents were constantly battling the fire that burned in her, but they tamed her with the promise that good little girls get good things in life. So, Greer learned to behave. She learned to be polite and well-spoken with never a hair out of place or a stain on her dress. That was the way things were supposed to be.
How did they feel about the games before being reaped?
Greer never thought about the Games too hard. She didn’t know the farm kids that went into the arenas, but she knew the ceremony like the back of her hand. She was told early and often that the Games were a system that worked, and Greer didn’t know to question that. She never imagined that she wasn’t actually immune to their reach, so her own reaping caught her completely off guard. Greer had always been told that if she behaved good things would happen. She had been promised the chance at a Capitol university or at least the life of modest luxury she had always had. She had never taken tesserae; she wasn’t supposed to die in the arena. That wasn’t at all how any of this was supposed to go, but Greer did what she knew how to do. Greer took the stage, and she smiled.
What was their trajectory in the arena & how did they win their game?
Despite its broken promises, Greer’s childhood did help her going into the Games. She knew how to interview well and how to feign graciousness. She was well educated and had a few skills that made her adored by the Capitol audience. She knew how to play the piano, she could speak a little Latin, and she’d trained in archery enough to pull out a decent training score. All of this meant sponsorships, and sponsorships helped keep her alive.
Greer was launched into something resembling a children’s entertainment center. The tributes rose on pedestals in the center of a ball pit that served as the cornucopia. The tributes had to dig through the balls to find supplies, and the difficulty of maneuvering through the pit proved to be deadly for many. The ball pit was located in the center of a large jungle gym that could only be navigated via slides, tunnels, platforms, and nets. The bloodbath claimed eleven of the tributes, setting the Games up for a quick run.
The arena was extremely difficult to navigate as a whole and was designed to purposely confuse the tributes. There were also very few places to hide, and tributes had to learn to access escape routes if they wanted to avoid combat. The sectors of the arena were arranged vertically like floors in a building. Every floor of the entertainment center could be reached, but tributes could only move through the floors using slides and ladders embedded in the walls. No slide or ladder ever took the tribute to the same floor consistently, so the tributes were always left guessing where they would end up. Water was fairly abundant in the arena with potable drinking fountains on each floor, but food was nowhere to be found. The only food items in the entire arena were pizza and cake, moldy and rotten beyond edibility located in the sector of the arena called the “party room.”
Greer managed to escape the bloodbath by finding a bow and arrows in the ball pit and using it to defend herself as she waded through the plastic balls. After escaping the jungle gym sector, Greer wound up in the arcade sector where she formed an alliance with tributes from Seven, Eleven, and Twelve. The four of them spent the night safely sleeping in shifts and hiding in the noise and chaos of the arcade. The alliance stayed in the arcade into the second day, but by midday they were found by the pair from Four. Greer’s alliance fled through a slide and landed in a nearly pitch dark, black-light mini golf course. The dark, twisting course was difficult to navigate and proved to be very dangerous when the jungle themed course decorations revealed themselves to be arena mutts, and the group was attacked by monkeys and crocodiles. The tribute from Twelve was killed by the mutts, but the rest of the alliance escaped to a floor made up by a maze of inflatables for the night. By the third day, only nine tributes remained in the arena, and the gamemakers began routing the slides and ladders to force tributes onto the same floors. Greer’s alliance was ambushed by a group of tributes in the inflatable maze leading to the loss of the tribute from Eleven.
Greer and the tribute from Seven fled to a floor of the arena called “Tot’s Tiny Town” where they were able to hide for most of the fourth day. The two of them were able to find respite for much of the day, resting and receiving much needed sponsor gifts. By that night, only six tributes still remained, and the gamemakers wanted to begin wrapping things up. They released a group of seven foot tall animatronic mutts from the “party room” to attack any tribute they find. Through the night, the mutts killed several tributes and led the rest back to the main floor of the entertainment center before they were called off. Greer and her ally were forced back to the jungle gym where the game had started and brought face to face with the remaining careers. Greer’s last remaining ally was killed, but Greer was able to use her bow to survive the confrontation and be crowned a Victor on the fifth day in the arena.
How were they affected by their experiences in the game?
The one thing the Games did give back to Greer was her fire. When she returned home, Greer’s parents tried their best to continue parading her around, but now Greer knew the truth about what the Games were. She didn’t believe her parents’ lies about the generosity of the Capitol or the benefits of the system anymore, so they stopped speaking to one another. Today, Greer isn’t so afraid to get her clothes dirty or to make a little noise.
What are they like as a mentor?
Greer fights for her tributes, and all she asks is that they fight too. She knows that sometimes you have to play nice with the Capitol before you go in, and she would never fault a tribute for that. However, Greer always strives to make sure her tributes don’t lose their spark in the process.
What is their personality?
Mostly, Greer likes to be left alone. She doesn’t trust easily and takes a bit to get know. She spends most of her time with her horses back in Ten, and only spends time in the Capitol when she has to. However, she’s learning to let herself have fun again.
Three strengths and three weaknesses.
+loyal, independent, adventurous
-unpredictable, blunt, impatient
PENNED BY: HAIR
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multiverseofmiracleshq · 4 years ago
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i’ll be around working on some eternals bios this evening && we plan on getting our other bios back up. if there’s a character you’re looking for, let us know so we can add them to the list!
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housesoftrees · 4 years ago
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House of Jupiter - souls of love and desire
The younger and less-fatal half of Janus, the house of Jupiter represents the double-edge sword of love and desire. A belief that morality is second to the will of one's inner most desires and affections. They promote acting on impulse and desire first, and can be perceived as self-motivated or impulsive. Other houses may view it as frivolity, but their impact and influence is insurmountable. What is the point of living, if one does not feel their soul?
As it stands, the House of Jupiter comes together as a notorious social group, focused on entertainment and the arts. A seemingly coveted and exclusive social group, souls of the House of Jupiter can often be seen walking behind a mysterious door at The Amore. Rumor has it - a private, speak-easy exists beneath...
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olympvshq · 4 years ago
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hello tags!! i’m lurking around tonight, and i’d love to answer some questions before i head to bed!
we are a brand new sci-fi/spy roleplay set in the year 2054! if some of your favorite movies include the matrix, inception, tenet, the ocean’s series, or any other sci-fi/spy thriller, OLYMPVSHQ is for you!
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houseofdissension · 2 months ago
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Good  afternoon  /  evening  /  morning  depending  on  where  you  are,  today  I  will  be  reaching  out  to  the  members  who  have  had  their  FCs  and  various  roles  on  hold,  if  I  don't  hear  anything  back  within  24  hours,  I  will  be  opening  those  roles  up  once  more.  I  don't  want  to  withhold  faces  or  potential  spots  for  those  who  are  really  interested  in  joining.  I  hope  you're  all  having  a  wonderful  week.    
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acadiahqs · 4 years ago
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happy day everyone! we’ve been open for a FULL week and it makes me so happy, truly... when i started building the main i had no idea anyone would want to join the group and it would just be a pipe dream. i just want to say THANK YOU from the bottom of my heart for joining, checking us out and recommending acadia. 
why don’t you come and join in on the fun, tags! we’ve got so many open faces and a lot of love to give! 
this weekend i don’t have any surprises but that’s just because i have a big one for our writers at the end of the month, it’ll be worth waiting for! 
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sokoviarising-promos · 4 years ago
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SOKOVIA RISING is a literate, app-based Marvel/DC crossover RPG written by and created for longtime writers and passionate fans of Marvel and DC comics, movies, and media. Dozens of roles are open, so apply today—Sokovia needs you, heroes!
                                WILL YOU JOIN THE FIGHT?
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wildshq · 4 years ago
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I just want to say how much I love this group. It is ran so beautifully with fun twists and turns every week. Anyone that wants an interesting group that isn’t super overwhelming while still full of amazing characters and writers, definitely come check us out!
🥰🥰🥰 Ahh, this is so sweet. Thank you for the very kind words!! They mean a lot to me. <3
If survival is your jam, come check us out! We’re a semi-appless rpg inspired by Amazon’s new hit TV show, The Wilds. The roleplay follows the lives of 30 young adults trapped on a deserted island with no help in sight and no choice but to combine efforts with the others for survival despite disparate backgrounds and personalities.
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agnesfm · 4 years ago
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i am Looking Respectfully at the wanted connections, so if anyone has any new ones to add, pls, now's the time, i'd love to see more 👀
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just  so  that  you  are  aware,  'nonnie,  our  members  got  VERY  excited  when  i  relayed this  question  to  them.  honestly,  your  power  is  unparalleled.  but  we  now  have  had  SIX  new  wc's   submitted  and added  to  the  page,  and  others  have  expressed  their  interest  in  familial  and  luuurve  connections which are not yet listed:
rosie, our  resident  simp,  would  love  for  a  slow  burn connection  for @connoroverthehill​.
@dmndmyths​  ( june gao )  has  a  yearning  burning  desire  for  an  adult  child  over  30 !
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