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sylviasaint‌,

Her memory for faces is sort of uncanny and she remembers his easily enough. Places him here, remembers his face the way it is now: lit red and blue by the collateral light of the many, many neon signs that only serve to add to the kitsch. She remembers him outside, too. He’s a smoker. She avoids him and the people he’s usually talking to and smokes alone by her car. He’s social, unsurprisingly. He’s handsome and has an easy charm. She wonders, idly, how many girls that line has worked on. She’d never admit out loud the way the compliment makes her stomach sort of – flutter. It feels a little bit like losing when she has to lower her gaze, flustered but contained. It’s been a long time since anyone complimented her, frankly. Sure, when she gets dolled up she’s pretty enough to glance twice at but these days she practices a purposeful plainness. She’s trying to go unnoticed. There is something appealing in having been noticed anyway, even if it is by a boy who’s young enough to be her son. For a moment she considers telling him just why it is she thinks he might have recognized her but it is so nice not to be known. Perhaps people are forgetting her. Or maybe he just doesn’t watch the news. “I was – being sarcastic.” Lies easily, voice flat as she finally resumes eye contact. A hand goes to cover her work, a little protectively. “That’s a good line.” Terse smile and a small nod – she’s trying to remain impassive. “You ought to save it for someone your own age.” Softly reprimanding but she can’t help the way she gives him one last once over, almost marveling at just how perfectly he’s cultivated the look of the quintessential Bad Boy, Small Town Heartbreaker. He’s like a character in a novel. It endears him to her. 

hector isn’t easily dissuaded. rejection isn’t unknown to him, not everyone is charmed by curls and a mischievous grin, and he’s rather well known around town for being an absolute cad, but a simple brushoff doesn’t deter him so quickly. no, he’s persistent like a gnat, and something tells him this woman isn’t as irritated with as she’s acting. he might even swear she’s blushing if the neon lights buzzing on the walls didn’t turn everything into a soft red glow. “oh, i’d never lie to a beautiful woman.” which is exactly a lie, he tells the most lies to beautiful women, and every other person he comes across. sometimes he doesn’t even know what’s the truth anymore. his head cocks as he leans his elbow onto the bar top, ear and shoulder touching as his gaze travels appreciatively over her. the cad that leers, george wickham in jeans and ratty band shirts. “well, my mama said it’s rude to ask a woman her age,” he’s lying; he doesn’t remember much of anything about his mother except that she loved him and he didn’t love her back. not enough, anyway. “but you don’t seem all that much older than me.” hector can’t actually tell her age, though she’s clearly at least in her mid thirties, and he lifts his beer bottle for a swig that says: look, i’m old enough to drink—barely! the beer has gone warm in his hands and he grimaces slightly as he drags it away, the glass making a clattering sound as it lands on the bar. if it isn’t obvious that he has no intention of leaving (unless she really tells him to fuck off), his glance towards her work and his subtle shift to get a look at the papers probably makes it clear. “what’re you working on?” something to do with that fuckin’ lake, probably—there’s always someone lurking around, trying to find out if those thomians actually drowned themselves or what really happened to those campers back in the eighties, trying to solve a mystery that the rest of the world forget, if they even knew about in the first place. hector thinks it’s all bullshit, he’s worked at the campgrounds for a bit over a year and he’s never seen any ghosts. of course, he’s usually high when he’s working, but when is he not? “let me guess, you’re writing a book on the local conspiracy that this place waters down its cocktails?”

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sylviasaint‌,

Sylvia has only been in town for a month but already she’s managed to establish a routine. Up with the sun, two cups of coffee, at least one cigarette, a shot of vodka to get her through the morning, lunch at Sapsucker, hours and hours and hours of seemingly endless research, drinks she doesn’t bother to count. None of the dots connect. Frustration begins to pique. She starts to think of Tess. She goes down to The Wagon and she starts drinking bourbon. The Wagon is crowded and buzzy and warm – she can’t say that she likes feeling seen but there isn’t a lot of variety in Crescent Lake. Tonight she’s here earlier than usual and she sips her bourbon (two fingers, neat) unhappily at the bar, pouring over her notes. Attention tickles, hot and unwelcome at the side of her face. She can feel their gaze boring into her; intently curious. She sets her mouth into a hard line and tries to ignore it. Maybe it’s just because she’s new in town. Maybe they’re just looking. But she can’t help but assume that they recognize her: the woman who may or may not have killed her own daughter. “What?” Finally regards them with a cool and level gaze. The iciness maybe a little surprising coming from someone who looks like a Disney Princess. “Can I help you with something? Do you want an autograph? If not could you kindly fuck off?” 

hector is chaos personified, but even chaos has to have some sort of routine. plus, as nearly everyone who spends more than a week here says, there’s not much to do in crescent lake. hector really doesn’t need much to survive: a place to sleep, people to mess with, parties to attend (or create if there’s nothing going on anywhere else), and copious amounts of mind altering substances. the conestoga wagon provides more than enough. so usually he ends up here, drinking at the bar, stepping out for cigarettes or weed occasionally, and surveying just who ends up in the wagon that night. a fine mix of locals and tourists, there’s always the usual barflies and someone new, always someone to talk to and—hopefully—take home later. the redhead at the bar isn’t new, she seems to be here even more than he is, like she just showed up one day and decided to never leave, but hector’s never gotten the chance to talk to her. or rather, she never really caught his attention enough for him to bother her. tonight, however, in a room full of drunkards standing shoulder to shoulder, his gaze is glued to the woman. hector boasts that he’s not afraid of anything, and truly it does take a lot for him to quiver in his chuck taylors, but there’s a bit of anxiety lining his stomach as he approaches the empty bar stool next to the stranger. it’s excitement rather than nervousness, always something a little bit... naughty in approaching older women. he can tell his stare is bothering her, probably more so now that he’s right next to her, but her outburst makes an amused grin grow across his mouth. he ignores the rest of it, singling out just the middle. “autograph? why?” his brow quirks, fingers gripping over the neck of his beer bottle, “are you an actress or somethin’? you’re pretty enough.”

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girlnvxt‌,

taylor takes a seat on the edge of the dock, feet dangling off and hovering just above the water’s surface. she knows the water’s going to be a cold nightmare and isn’t looking forward to the first plunge. her interest perks at the mention of one of the lake’s infamous legends.  “ oh my god you know what? they probably are. draining the whole lake would be hard. they’re probably still under there, rotting or whatever corpses do under water. do you think they weighed themselves down with rocks? ”  

“oh please, none of that shit is true.” hector doesn’t believe in the legends of crescent lake. legends always have an inkling of truth, but the idea that a bunch of cult followers plunged themselves below, perhaps the water just as cold then as it is now, to serve some sort of godly purpose or some other bullshit just sounds like... well, bullshit. hector fixes taylor with an exasperated stare before he dips under the water, top of his head still poking out of the surface as it shakes wildly side to side. he comes up for air, sharply inhaling as he shakes his head again, water droplets flying haphazardly around. “nope, no dead cultists grasping at my ankles, taylor.” 

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danikamcnroe‌,

EMERALD   ORBS   EYE   HIM   SUSPICIOUSLY,   arms   firmly   crossed   over   her   chest,   “I   think   you’re   losing   your   edge,   Hector…You’re   definitely   not   as   good   of   a   liar   as   you   USED   to   be.”   Danika   teased   with   a   soft   chuckle,   settling   on   sitting   on   the   edge   of   the   dock,   giving   a   shake   of   her   head,   “I’m   not   afraid   of   ANYTHING.”   It   was   a   bold   statement,   maybe,   not   one   she   particularly   believed   herself   but   when   it   came   to   picking   up   the   pieces   of   her   broken   family,   bravery   was   a   necessary   feat.  

hector fake gasps, adopting a false offended expression that looks even less convincing than his previous lie. “me? lie? why, i never.” of course, hector is a habitual liar, sometimes out of necessity but mostly for fun—this one counts as the latter. his arms swan out and his legs kick backwards so that he’s floating on his back, lips turning a bit blue and jaw chattering as he still pretends the water isn’t freezing. “alright, then. prove it. jump on in, danika!” he calls, doing a few short backstrokes, getting farther away from the dock.

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mulhclland‌,

she’s stood there in a tank top and shorts, barefoot, with arms comfortably wrapped around herself. she watches him go at it, deciding right there and then that she is, in no way, getting into that water. brows furrow at his words and the brunette lets out a scoff, arms now crossing over her chest as a grimace spreads across her features. “pfft, of course not. no way!” she? scared? oh, absolutely. but, she decides against addressing the fact. instead, she takes a seat on the dock, crossing her legs as she leans back a bit. “i’m just… not gonna swim in water that may or may not be, like, totally contaminated, thanks.” 

hector can only roll his eyes and exaggeratedly sigh, though elodie’s hesitation was as expected as the sun rising and setting. she can act as nonchalantly as she wants but hector wouldn’t be surprised if she was afraid of her own shadow, perhaps just a skittish little doe in human form. he’s clearly not buying her brave act, moving backwards to float on his back in the water. “don’t be a baby, baby.” the water isn’t contaminated, or at least he doesn’t think so, and since he swims in it constantly and has yet to catch anything, hector shakes his head as he floats upright again. “c’mon...” hector slaps his hand against the water, making it splash up onto the dock. “don’t make me swim alone! i could drown, elodie. do you really want that on your conscience?” 

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St. Elmo’s Fire (1985) Directed by Joel Schumacher

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vaniishiings‌,

“no. no, nothing like that.” mila shook her head as her smile broadened–a breathy laughter accompanying the words. “i’m not like a … journalist or anything. i mean, hopefully, this’ll be published–someday–but as a part of my doctoral thesis, so sort of a niche audience.” in her experience, people didn’t really want to know once she got into too much detail. usually people preferred to tell their own brushes with horror and she was eager to record them. “i’m hoping to get a more personal history of crescent lake while i’m here. you know, you or your family memories. or just things that have raised your hackles.” now that the conestoga was starting to empty out, she hoped someone would take her up on the querie–a couple beers in made even the most reserved townies verbose in her experience. “i can look up facts, but there’s no richness in that history. it’s the town’s memories–their little legends–that warrant preservation as much as the facts, don’t you think?”

"uh huh.” hector nods, brow quirking and head nodding. truthfully, the idea of studying crescent lake, or really just studying anything, bores hector to tears. he never took school seriously as a child, only using it as a tool to socialize and fill his days before he realized he could socialize far better with worse individuals far away from any educational institution. the only reason he even has his ged is because a woman he was staying with a few years ago insisted that if he was going to stay in her house, he had to get it; he should probably be thanking her, it’s easier for him to get jobs that are a little bit more above board than before, but hector only saw it as a time that could’ve been spent having fun. (she ended up throwing him out anyways.) no, the idea of learning about anything really, even cults and mass suicides, seems like a waste of time. well, whatever got this chick’s rocks off. his fingertips slide over the rim of his whiskey glass, lazily looking at her in a way that probably made it very clear he had a joint before coming to the wagon. “well, sorry to disappoint, but i’m not from here.” his smirk looks cruel, but it always looks like that. he’s only amused. “i know, it’s shocking. most people have been here since they first struck gold or some shit, but some of us do end up moving here by choice.” hector picks up his glass, tossing back the last of the amber liquid remaining inside, down to droplets. placing the glass back down, he figures he’s got at least one more drink before last call, waving at the bartender. “i think you’re going to end up pretty disappointed. the scariest thing around these parts is the lack of dental care.”

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vclerics‌,

AFTER A FEW DRINKS, valeria had decided it was time to go back to her cabin. however, as she stood outside the conestoga wagon bar, dying phone in hand with uber pulled up, her face twisted in displeasure. “the nearest uber is FORTY FIVE minutes away?” she knew it was a small town but this was not expected. her plan to get back was officially thwarted, and she realized she was going to have to walk back to camp in the dark, intoxicated. if only she knew which direction it was. 

a trip to the wagon is practically a nightly ritual; rarely does hector go an evening without visiting, even if just for a drink before going home or heading to a better party. while it’s mostly the regular customers, sometimes tourists trickle in, which generally brings on a whole ‘nother aspect of entertainment. smoking outside with a few guys he hung around with, hector hears the girl speaking and turns to her, smirking at her revelation. “you didn’t know that before coming out here?” he has to laugh, plucking the cigarette from his lips, “shit, we barely just got a mcdonald’s. uber is about... fifty years away.” 

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the lake water isn’t exactly refreshing as it is fucking-cold-as-balls but hector is hollering like it’s the most exciting thing in the world, jumping off of the dock into the dark lake. surfacing up, hector rolls his eyes at the other still standing on the dock. “come on in, water’s fine!” he lies, goading them on with a smug smile before his stare turns mockingly suspicious, “what, you really think those cult freaks are still at the bottom? are ya scared?”

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aurohqs‌,

“DID YOU FUCKING SEE THAT?" brown locks bumped furiously against the thin fabric of her blouse as aurora flipped around to look at the other, eyes bugged and swiftly wandering around the space sorrounding them. "i am sorry, i didn’t mean to yell- but you did see that as well, right? that boy, covered in blood?" 

hector’s stumbling isn’t always concrete evidence that he’s drunk; as stealth as he needs to be with his more criminal dealings, he’s really rather graceless. however, the evidence is indeed indicative that he’s on the wrong side of sober this time, if the bar behind him wasn’t enough. her shriek brings hector’s attention away from flicking his lighter, glancing around for anything that’s worth freaking out about. seeing no little boy covered in blood, hector laughs as cigarette smoke ghosts out of his mouth, “i don’t know what you’re smoking, lady, but it’s rude not to share.”

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Skins (2007-2013)

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The Dirt (2019)

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Scooby-Doo (2002) dir. Raja Gosnell

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i did this instead of being a productive member of the rp: hector ibáñez’s instagram

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( benjamin wadsworth + cis male + he/him ) / who’s that rustling through the trees? oh, it’s just you, HECTOR IBÁÑEZ. i happen to know that you’re a TWENTY TWO year old GROUNDSKEEPER at the LAKE CRESCENT CAMPGROUND. while you’re from TULSA, OKLAHOMA, you’re currently living in the REDWOOD APARTMENTS. i think that you’re CHARMING & ADAPTIVE  but my mama says you’re  HEDONISTIC & DISHONEST. is that FIGHT FOR YOUR RIGHT by BEASTIE BOYS currently playing on your spotify? well, turn it down please, you’re disrupting the peace. ( admin velouria + 25 + she/her + est )

hey i’m velouria!! i’m so happy y’all are here and i’m ready to get things going! this is my first child and first up, hector is a bad person. he is a bad, bad, bad, terrible, horny person. don’t think he’s good at all bc he’s not and i hate him and you should hate him too.

born in tulsa, oklahoma on november 10th, 1996, hector, surprisingly, came from the most normal suburban beginnings you could imagine. he had two parents, an older sister, dog, cat, and a hamster. he was a rather normal child, though he had a wild independent streak that only got worse as he aged. didn’t play very well with others and would only play simon says if he got to be simon, but was friendly and jovial with those he liked.

stubborn as a mule, hector was fiercely independent and increasingly selfish. by the time middle school came around, hector created a hierarchy within his group of friends and became a bully around his school, though was more pushy than outright cruel. a very rowdy teen, hector never took anything very seriously and didn’t form attachments in a healthy sort of way, something that’s only worse instead of better now. 

while he liked his family well enough, he never felt a strong bond with them. they loved him very much and would try to foster a healthy, loving relationship with him, he was like #nah and spent most of his time out of the house, never telling them what he was doing and where he was going. his father and sister gave up on him, but his mother still held out hope that it was just an incredibly long phase.

barely showing up to school even when it was mandatory, hector’s primary focus was on having a good time. that meant sex, drugs, and copious amounts of partying. scaring little old ladies, taking cars on joyrides. a petty criminal by the age of fifteen, hector hasn’t been in trouble with the law very often, but it’s really only a matter of time before he gets more severe.

his parents didn’t have a chance to kick him out or send him to military school because he straight up bounced by the time he was seventeen. he left one day to a friend’s house and just didn’t come back. hector didn’t stay around tulsa for very long after that, drifting all over the southwestern states, most notably in reno, nevada in his late teens.

out on his own, or rather couch surfing with like-minded individuals, hector got to experience the highest points of pleasure and pain. a full blown hedonist, the only thing that mattered (and matters) to hector was fucking, fighting, stealing, and getting high. basically if you’ve ever seen the movie hellraiser, hector is frank.

though he hung around reno the most, around two years, hector doesn’t like to stick around often. even when he was situated in places like reno, he often leaves without word to anyone and shows up again like a neighborhood stray cat.

which brings him to crescent lake. pretty much run out of reno for his terrible treatment of others and his criminal activity, hector traveled all over california before settling in crescent lake. though he didn’t really need to, he’s been laying low for just over a year now. he first took up residence at the camping grounds for a few weeks before he ran out of money and got a job at the resort as a groundskeeper to pay off his bill. it’s hard work but sometimes you gotta work a little so you can ball a lot. now he lives at the redwood with two roommates.

his debt is paid but hector likes it in crescent lake. it’s small but new people come through all the time, so he hasn’t gotten bored yet. plus he likes to be a big fish in a little pond, he can use people and control them better that way. he basically just coasts on his charm and curly hair.

the biggest thing to know abt hector is that he’s a horny dude. he’s literally always thinking about sex and the second he meets you, he’s thinking about fucking you, no matter how old you are (as long as it’s legal because gross and i would never rp that), if you’re in a relationship/married, or what gender you are. he is literally the worst.

wanted connections:

sexual partners: basically hector wants to bang everyone. if you’re up for it, he will fuck you at pretty much any time, but just know that he’s also fucking like five other people and has never been monogamous in his entire damn life.

a girlfriend: okay so i just said he’s never been monogamous but sometimes hector likes to pretend. or rather, he’s using her to get something, likely companionship when he’s bored or access to money/drugs/alcohol, whatever. a place to sleep at night. just something! she’ll probably think they’re more serious than they actually are but hector does actually like her as a person, or she’s trying to get him to be more serious/grow up.

enemies: hector is a hard person to like and an easy person to hate. he has very little regard for others and enjoys physical fighting bc it feels good. they can hate him because he screwed them over, cheated on them, cheated on their friend/sibling/whatever, stole something from them, or they just don’t like his smug face.

friends: if your muse likes to party, hector is your man. he basically just lives to have fun. however, his version of fun is kind of scary and dangerous at times. he can be a bad influence on your muse and get them into trouble or they can be a good influence on him.

a close friend/confidant: hector isn’t an emotional person but occasionally he does have moments of vulnerability. when this happens, your muse is the person he comes to when he needs someone to be there for him or needs someone to talk to. your muse could be doing this reluctantly or in hopes that he’ll be there in the same way for your muse, which isn’t very likely but hector will like to pretend lol.

 or any connection we can think up!! message me on here or discord (wanda’s loving boy#1003) if you wanna plot!

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