#I PAID VERY CLOSE ATTENTION TO BIRTHDATES AND AGES

[kyushunomonogatari-blog]

taka: i’m kinda close to 30

me: FOO, YOU WERE 44 COME SEKIGAHARA-

[nurseofren]

Keeping Your Promise - Chapter 29 (NSFW-lite)

Read on AO3 | Read on Wattpad

Read chapter twenty-eight (NSFW)

Title: ASSISTANCE REQUIRED

Words: 5.6k

Summary: I am very uncomfortable with the vibe we have created in the studio Infirmary today...

Warnings: mentions of abuse, suicide

ST Rambles: So... I graduated nursing school. And will be taking my licensure exam next month and start working as well...

In my time away, other than the above mentioned accomplishments, I've been reading a lot of books and even went to see an internet friend just last weekend. Life got insane and I needed to focus on school, and I do appreciate the patience and enthusiasm.

I hope this was worth the wait. I hope the next part will be even more so ;)

[MASTERLIST] || BANNER // @elmidol

Fucking, fuck!

“I know in academy you were told to pierce the skin at a forty-five-degree angle, but it works a lot better if you-,”

“Go in at a fifteen-degree-angle, go parallel to the skin. I know,” you huffed, embarrassment burning your skin. “That’s not the issue. I do that. The issue is-,”

“That is the issue,” Silver corrected, interrupted. Your preceptor-for-all-intents-and-purposes crossed her arms and stared at you with hard, unyielding eyes. “You won’t listen to me,” she spat. “You are the issue.”

Calliope Silvren, or “Silver”, as she’d informed you upon meeting, was everything you were supposed to be. And you hated her for that fact, hated her for that and so much more.

She was intelligent and concise and respected, she knew everything and made sure you were aware that you didn’t. During the past eleven hours, not with so many words, Silver had made it clear that you were never supposed to be here to begin with, that hers was the name in the original provider candidate pool and you were nothing but a fluke, a nobody, nothing.

Compared to Silver, compared to Calliope fucking Silvren, who’d graduated valedictorian, who had star-white hair and golden skin, whose eyes were a harsh sea of frozen cerulean, whose legs were long and lips were full and head was high and posture was perfect – compared to the program’s prototype? What were you other than a fluke? A whim? Compared to her, how were you anything more than the fascination you’d been labeled as from the very start?

As you stared up at her, her height almost that of Kylo’s, and felt the wrath of that frozen sea that resided behind her glare, you couldn’t speak. Every word of defense left you, and your mouth dried and your chest hollowed. Because her words not only rippled through your head but echoed through the unit’s halls so every nurse and physician and maintenance worker had heard them. Heard her and how superior she was, heard how incompetent you were.

Silver knew what she’d done, could feel the eyes of her coworkers gawking at her scolding; you knew by the smallest quirk to her lip, the slightest tick in her platinum brow. She had you trapped and on display, and all you could do was stand here and take it. The Board was watching, and so was Hux – CB-7070 always shadowing ten paces behind – you had no choice but to remain neutral-faced and silent.

She spoke your name and it was beautiful, a voice like sugar even when it slithered and bit like venom, “We’ll pick up tomorrow. If you absolutely need me, I’ll be organizing my report sheets for the oncoming shift.” When no one was looking anymore, her eyes narrowed and she leaned in. “Busy yourself for the next hour.” A sneer slipped past the benevolent mask she wore. “Don’t need me.”

With a steel spine, she whipped past you, stalking off toward her task, the white of her hair streaking from your periphery. And there you were, clutching an IV starter kit – missing the needle, much like you’d missed the vein – trying your hardest to keep from showing any emotion whatsoever. Less people were gawking now that Silver had left, but you still felt eyes on you. Whatever lay in those lingering stares, pity or humor or apathy, it all burned you, reminded you how temporary you were. Not only in this place – the “Infirmary” as the staff referred to it – but in your life, as well.

Smoothing the skirt of your uniform, you cleared your throat and turned to do as you were instructed, catching CB-7070’s visor for a second before peering around the unit. She faced you, and even though you couldn’t see her face, you knew she may be the only one around who was on your side. The white of her helmet glinted as she gave a small nod in your periphery. Yeah, she wasn’t so bad, no matter who she’d report to the second you got back to the Consulate.

The Infirmary was a large unit, and, unlike any place you’d practiced in since graduation, it was efficiently staffed and stocked. Safe nurse-to-patient ratios, sufficient supplies, and an allocated provider available for any emergent orders or treatments. It was a surreal representation of the “hospital utopia” you’d heard of all throughout school.

But, aside from its apparent perfection, some characteristics of the unit confused you, but you didn’t ask about it because no one else seemed to think it was weird, and Silver didn’t exactly foster a great learning environment.

What struck you first was the Infirmary’s construction and layout. It was all glass, floor to ceiling windows that offered full views of each patient in their respective rooms. You’d watched the sun dance across the sky as the day went on, nothing hindering you from the beautiful view of the sea beyond the fanned-out city below. The only thing that offered a semblance of privacy for each patient was the wall-spanning mirror positioned in front of their beds. None of them saw each other, but it was still odd that there seemed to be no concern towards the errant lapse in privacy policy the design created.

At the center was the nurses’ station, large and circular, a skylight fixed right above. The staff used the lack of patient privacy to their advantage, peering above the counter to make sure their assignments were doing alright. Their assignments who were all under the age of twenty. Some much younger, just grasping at adolescence, others kissing young adulthood – those seemed much worse off, something darker rimmed their eyes, ghosted behind the lifeless face all of them wore.

It was a strange environment to be in, even more so due to how vague the progress notes were, history and physicals extremely short and never too in depth, especially when it concerned anything related to the patients’ family history or living situations. Something seemed off, something that tugged at you and made you yearn to break past the flat affect each patient met you with.

So many were here for a few hours and then gone the next, a constant influx of admissions and discharges. But, so strangely, there was never any patient education given, never any parents or guardians for the younger ones to go home to. They were always escorted from the unit by two “official personnel”. And watching their faces as Silver told them they were done with treatment and could leave, it killed you to see the faintest slash of fear quiver their bottom lips.

Beyond that, beyond seeing these younglings so fearful and defenseless, what clawed at your gut the most was that none of them had a name. They had no birthdate information, no address listed, no family contacts entered or even offered. They were all in the system only by the letters “FL” followed by a code of eight numbers. The nurses would refer to them by their room numbers to make it simpler, but none of them shared your concern for the lack of identity these patients were plagued with.

Yes, something seemed off, seemed wrong here. Something waswrong here, but you feared you would be gone before you ever knew what that was.

From the corner of your eye, you saw a tray left on an isolation cart next to a door. Heeding Silver’s command, you approached it, discarding the IV kit and feeling CB-7070’s focus catch your every step. You’d passed this door frequently, never seeing anyone approach it for longer than a few seconds at a time, assuming it was a closet for extra supplies or scanning machines. But the meal card on the tray indicated differently.

This was a patient’s room. The room number matched, there were no other doors labeled with it that you could see. No staff paid you any attention as you peered around. The only one watching was your white-armored shadow standing against a pane of glass.

Shrugging to yourself, feeling you couldn’t possibly get in trouble for delivering a patient’s food, you said over your shoulder to CB-7070, “I’m taking this in. I shouldn’t be long. Don’t follow me in here.” More to yourself, you sighed, “Even if I am the only one here concerned about privacy, I’d prefer not to violate anyone’s rights on my first day.”

CB-7070 nodded. “Affirmative,” her modulator croaked.

A swipe of your new badge gained you access past the door, a whoosh of air whipping through your skirt as it closed behind you. It was pitch dark, the only light coming from a holo-chart programmed into the wall. It appeared you were in an antechamber, those that often came with isolation patients, but there was nothing indicating this patient had any infection or ailment that necessitated a gown or mask.

The air was stale, like nothing and no one had stirred it in a few days, and the only glass visible was that of a window peering into the room beyond – or, it would be peering, were there not closed blinds on the other side of it.

You saw yourself in that darkened pane, clutching the tray to yourself, the first glimpse you caught of your face since the start of shift. Truthfully, you looked awful. Hair frizzed at your temples, a sheen of oil had gathered on your forehead, and exhaustion was evident in the puffy bags beneath your eyes.

But it was an earned appearance, no matter what Silver wanted you and everyone else to believe. Today you did your best and you interpreted and communicated abnormal findings, you assessed every patient without bias and documented everything you did. There were things you were unsure of, not having performed many skills while being assigned to Kylo, but you always asked for help, even though you realized it would be met with disgruntled aggravation after the first few times.

You had done everything right, understanding the consequences if you didn’t. As far as you were concerned, and even as much doubt as she’s caused you in the singular day you’ve known her, Silver was the problem. Not you.

And, not for nothing, the IV you missed earlier… not entirely your fault.

Kylo Ren picked the wrong day to Force-edge you. Or maybe it was you who really initiated the torture, but he’d been the one to follow through with his threat. Every hour had been memorable.

The first three had luckily occurred when you were away from patients but did earn you a few wary glances from the unit staff, your jaw set firm as you gave them a reassuring nod, hoping they couldn’t see how badly you were shaking as your cunt spasmed toward orgasm, but never got there.

There was something vicious in the rate at which he was forcing you toward the edge. Even though you couldn’t see or hear him, you felt like he was tormenting you with spite in mind rather than pleasure, like something you’d said or thought had angered him.

You didn’t have much time to consider that, though, as the hours went on and you’d begged the stars that the slick slipping from your center wouldn’t go past the hem of your dress. A few times you’d cursed the damned uniform, but quickly turned to cursing Kylo Ren for the ever-so-slightly too high hem. It’d surprised you that he never acted on those silent curses aimed at him, that it hadn’t earn you another hour riding the edge of pleasure while choking down the gasps and moans he’d surely intended to draw from you.

During lunch, you’d found a corner and ate alone, speaking to the wall and scorning Kylo under your breath, spitting empty threats, telling him to stop, to slow down. When that hadn’t worked and the Force picked up in pattern and pressure, nudging your clit just right, your hands had clamped around a plastic fork as you held on for dear life. He was nowhere near you and you’d almost cum four times over the course of your twenty-five-minute break. At that point, you’d considered begging him to let you cum, but part of you knew that would only lengthen his schemes.

Other times during shift, when Silver was rolling her eyes when you’d asked for her help, you’d felt the light, teasing lance of the Force trail along your neck. When you were priming tubing for a new admission, you’d felt the strange, unseen presence caress your ear like Kylo’s tongue might. And one hour, right after the previous had left you wondering if you’d be able to stand the next time you needed to – that hour where you’d traded your curses for pleading, traded the harshness you were spitting for the simple, hushed breaths you needed to outlast the never-ending torrent of pleasure he kept surging through you – the Force was kinder, something sentimental in the way it’d weighted your body like Kylo would, draped itself along your shoulders as sweat dried on your brow and the shaking of your legs settled.

A delicate, “Thank you,” had breathed over your lips when the Force – when Kylo’s teasing – seemed it would let up for the remainder of your shift.

But, of course, that peace had been temporary, a strategy to lapse your guard, to make you vulnerable when you’d most needed a clear mind and a steady hand. It had started with the gentle lulls you’d been left with, a stroking tendril swift over the column of your neck, the tourniquet tight to the patient’s arm as you poked their forearm in search of a vein. And when you informed Silver you’d found one, the Force deftly switched its attention to your pussy.

Silver had been scrutinizing you before, but when your shaking hand and short, shallow breaths appeared as fear instead of the pleasure they were born from, her brow had narrowed that much more. When you’d anchored the vein and aligned the needle – at her all-important fifteen-degree angle – your hand had shifted, jumped as your thighs tightened and you fought to trap a moan in your throat. It was an accident that the needle pierced the patient – and, worse, through the vein – at a greater angle, and it wrought you with emotion. Guilt for hurting the patient, shame for screwing up under Silver’s icy appraisal, and unyielding anger for Kylo Ren for causing your fuck up and not being able to explain that.

So here you were, taking the brunt of criticism and punishment for a mistake you wouldn’t have made had it not been for Kylo Ren, and studying your reflection in the scant light offered from the holo-chart of a patient you hadn’t known existed up until three minutes ago.

“Kylo,” you breathed, reaching for the second badge-scanner, “I can’t look bad here. The Board is watching. Hux is watching.” You glimpsed the radar fastened to your wrist, directing your tired eyes at Kylo’s indicator like he could feel your attention on him. “Give me this last hour and let me be good. Let me do well. Let me prove that I can to everyone who believes otherwise.”

A few seconds passed by as you waited for a reaction. Nothing came. The Force remained absent from you, and your shoulders dropped in relief. With a final glance at the chart, noting the patient’s identifier and checking it against the meal ticket, you swiped your badge and the entrance rushed open.

Darkness met you once more, but this darkness was heavier somehow. Not in the way untouched rooms are usually heavy – not with dust or grime – but a heaviness that clutched at your heart. It pressed into you, taunted you even as you remained a step outside the threshold. It was only shadows, unmoving and unremarkable darkness, but it clawed at you. It writhed at your feet and stirred your heart.

This was the darkness that lived behind each of those younglings’ eyes, but here it was concentrated, like this was the very source of it. Like this was its home.

“Hello?” you croaked, still not daring to pass into the shadow-thick room.

No answer, not even a stir. Nothing but that unyielding darkness.

You cleared your throat. “I, um, I have your dinner.” You took a small step forward. “Sorry for the wait… if there was one.”

More of the same. More of nothing.

A light switch entered your periphery with your next step, and you reached for it, but before you could flip it—

“If I wanted it on, do you think I’d be sitting in here like this?”

The voice was weak, small, but not that of a child. Not even that of an ill person, or an elderly one. It was male, though. Boyish, but not a boy’s. Somehow, the voice was young and old at the same time, as if the boy had lived long years already, and those years had worn him down.

The voice was a singular stream against the dark’s thick, silent wrath, and it was hollow, empty like the shadows before you should be. As the question ended, you found that it wasn’t bitterness or pain that lived in its tone, but rather a broken apathy, like whoever this was had cared and fought for so long but had ultimately lost in the end.

“Not that anyone here is really concerned about what I want,” came the voice again, an edge weighting its words.

Finally, you stepped completely into the room. You had to swallow a gasp when the entrance at your back locked shut. The tray jostled in your arms, but you succeeded at remaining upright.

With a sugary tone, you asked, “How will you eat if you can’t see your food?”

A huffed laugh, tired and bitter. “You should work on that nurse voice. Not very convincing.” A long, deep breath filled a few otherwise silent moments. “Send that tray back. Give it to someone who wants it.”

Without your “nurse voice”, you said, “Why did you order it—”

“—I didn’t. I never do. I’m being kept here, why would I want to sustain myself to make my stay that much longer?”

“Kept?” you whispered.

The longer you stood in place, the more your eyes adjusted. The room was still suffocated by the swamp of darkness, but there was some light after all. Scant, but there, a beam of the setting sun speared the room, and from what you had begun to make out of the body in front of you – a small form curled in the center of a bed – you found he was staring out of the broken blinds from which it came, like he was looking at something. Looking forsomething.

“Kept. Held prisoner. Restrained but not restrained because thatwould make this whole operation illegal, right? Whatever way you want to put it, I’ve made it obvious I don’t want to be here.” A long pause and a sad sigh. “Starvation is a better fate than most here, anyway.”

The more he spoke, the clearer it became that his voice wasn’t hollow, but burning with quiet fury. For what, you weren’t sure, but you realized this was the first patient who had spoken all day. And his tone, his words, only solidified the fact that there was something very, very wrong going on.

You walked closer to him, past the foot of his bed until you saw where the small slant of light was focused, what he continued to brokenly fawn over.

“What are you looking at?” you asked, leaning down so you could match your view with his.

He turned his head from the mostly covered window, the creak of light only possible through a bend in the blinds, and he looked at you, a flash of realization spreading through his features before he reined his expression into a void of dull emotion.

He stared at you as you stared at him, appraising you just the same. He was young, but it appeared as though his youth had been leeched from him. Long dark brunette curls framed his face and teased his shoulders, heavy with oil inherent of unkemptness. An immense sadness lived in the downturned state of his mouth, a contrasting anger set in the crease of his brow. And when you finally found his eyes, you restrained a shiver, as the deep hazel burned with that cleave of sun and struck you with the anvil of pain and desperation that lived in them.

He wasn’t alarmed at your proximity but confused. With a shaky voice, and something of a weak sneer biting at his mouth, he said, “You’re a sick, brutal cunt, you know that?”

“What? What do you—”

“What am I looking at? Do not patronize me!”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“Are you stupid or just cruel?”

“I’m not either, I—”

“You’re both!”

“I’m temporary! I don’t work here! I’ve been here for one shift! I’ve been on this planet for one day!”

Without missing a beat, but less heated and more restrained, the boy said, “Just stupid then.”

He continued to glare at you, but your eyes wandered back to the break in the blinds, and with narrowed eyes you found something that resembled a racing track. It was far out in the distance, but you knew that was what he had been focused on, sure of it by the way his demeanor shifted when you looked back down at him.

“Help me understand, then, if I am so stupid,” you whispered.

“You aren’t any different from the others, no matter if you’re temporary or not. Whatever that means, anyway.” The boy’s jaw set so firm you swore you heard it crack. “You don’t want to understand. If you did, if anyone cared so much, the Infirmary wouldn’t exist.”

“I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on.”

“Help me?” the boy barked. He considered you for a moment, sun and shadow warring across the hollows of his cheeks as he did. Those pained eyes narrowed a fraction. “Who are you? What does temporary mean?”

You leaned away from him, straightening your posture and setting his tray on a counter off to the side. You offered your name, just the first, and dragged an absent-minded finger over the embroidery of your uniform. “Temporary means…”

Perhaps it was his already non-existent trust in you, but you did not think that informing him of the real reason you were here – telling him that your license and life were on the line and you were here so the Board of Physicians would have ease in their decision to end your life or not – would do much to foster his confidence in you, you took a second to frame it in a way that would appeal to him.

Clearing your throat, you kept his stare and said, “Temporary means that I’m here for less than two weeks, and I have no loyalties to any staff here. Temporary means that I do care so much, and I do want to help because temporary also means that I’ve seen some weird shit today, and I don’t understand it.” The boy’s brows raised for a fragmented second, but you knew you’d gained at least a small portion of his respect, so you continued.

With a lowered voice and an unbreakable stare, you said, “Temporary means that I am on your side, and if you let me, if you help me to understand what is going on, I will help you as best as I can.”

The boy shifted, ringing a hand around his opposite wrist, toying with the identification band secured there. He never stopped looking into your eyes, and you knew he was searching for deceit, but the longer he stared, the more he came up short.

You offered him your hand, observing how he flinched away from it, but keeping it extended as he considered it for another few moments.

“I told you who I am. Will you tell me who you are?”

It seemed like the darkness that surrounded you was watching with bated breath, watching in awe as the boy’s gaze remained on your extended hand.

He swallowed, and ever so slowly, with a hesitation that struck through your heart, he lifted his hand and clasped it around yours. The light from the broken blinds coiled around your matched hands, and for the first time today, you felt hopeful. And no matter how dim and breathless it was, a flicker of that same hopefulness played through his eyes.

“I…” the boy hesitated, so you squeezed his hand and offered a reassuring nod. His shoulders relaxed with his next breath. “I am Quynnland. With a ‘Y’.”

“Quynnland,” you parroted, trying it out and letting his hand go. “Do you have any nicknames? Like Quynn? Quynnie?”

“No one calls me Quynnie!” he roared. “Nobody calls me that except…” Quynnland shifted in bed, away from you, turning his face back toward that racing track. His bottom lip quivered, and he appeared as if you’d just lashed him with molten plasma.

“Quynnland,” you soothed, “nobody calls you that except who?”

He remained quiet, but he shuddered, and you saw the light glint off a stream that found its way down the slate of his cheek.

“I want to understand. I want to help you.” You swallowed against your throat, which had become markedly thicker since you last spoke. “Please, help me help you.”

Quynnland’s chin rose, his eyes fell shut, and he balled his hands into tight fists. He wasn’t angry, but in pain, and you knew from the sight of how broken he was that he’d been in pain for a long time now. Perhaps, it seemed, he had never known a day without it.

Just when you were about to speak, Quynnland coughed against a sob and whispered, “They won’t let me see him. He’s there on his own. He’s never been alone for this long.” A tight breath whipped into his chest. “They’re keeping me here so I age out. They’re keeping me away from him.”

“Who is he? What are you aging out of?” The more he offered, the more questions you thought of.

“I almost got us out this time,” he whispered. “I almost saved us both, but they caught me and dragged me away from him. He’s young, but that never stopped them before.” A wheeze of pain slipped from Quynnland’s lips. “They probably broke him just enough so he could still work.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, so you kept quiet.

After what seemed like an eternity, Quynnland spoke again. “My brother. That’s who gets to call me ‘Quynnie’. That’s who I tried to save, and that’s who is suffering because I failed.” He pushed an aggravated sound from his lungs. “The only way you can help me, is if you help him.”

“How do I do that?” you asked, watching as his fists relaxed at his sides.

Quynnland opened his eyes and bore the full weight of their pain into yours. He took a long breath and squared his jaw. “You get him away from the wardens, and then you get him out.”

“Where is he?” you asked, needing to know what that racing track he kept glancing toward was.

He went to answer, but a rush of motion sounded beyond his door, and just as quickly, the entrance to his room shot open. Quynnland ducked his head and balled his fists, and you turned to see that it was Silver who stood in his doorway. She wore an unfamiliar face, one of shock and terror, and you went to speak, but her hand whipped out and signaled that you would notbe saying a word until you left this room.

She stared at Quynnland a moment longer, surveying him like she’d never seen him before. “Eat your dinner. I won’t have you starving to death under my license, not now that this will be your last stay here.” Silver more so talked at him rather than directly to him, and her tone was hard and full of disgust.

It gave you another reason to hate her.

You wanted to reach out and take Quynnland’s hand, but Silver snapped at you before you could. “You,” she sneered. “Out. Now.”

The ice behind her eyes had seeped to her tongue, and her words froze the very blood in your veins. She watched you as you stepped around her and into the antechamber, and you glanced the final withering, aghast glare she shot at Quynnland as you did.

When you reached toward the door that opened to the hall, Silver caught your wrist just before your badge met it. She was eerily silent for a moment, and you swore she was practically shaking with rage, but then she settled herself and stared down at you with such concentrated antagonization that it knocked the breath right from your lungs.

“What made you think you could go into this room? I never went near this room with you today. Why would you be allowed to enter it alone?” She was seething, but she hid it behind something of a gnarled smile.

“There was a tray just sitting outside, unattended to. I figured I would find something to do and deliver it to the patient. No harm done.”

She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes on you. “Are you aware what this patient is here for?” she asked sweetly, but it came off as clear condescension.

Silver waited for you to answer, but you wouldn’t give her the satisfaction she wanted from humiliating you again. So you remained silent, and she sneered at you. “Exactly what I thought. So why would you interact with a patient you know nothing about? And did the double security not tip you off that you were somewhere you shouldn’t be?”

“Look, Silver,” you huffed, enjoying the disgust that smeared across her features as you said her name, “I saw a tray. I had nothing better to do. My badge had access to the room. I’ve done nothing wrong.”

She cast you an undying glare, and her eye twitched when she gave you a once-over. “This patient willfully tried to kill himself and his brother last week. Did he tell you that?”

Your heart blackened, and your ears rang with silence as she let her words sink in.

Silver was pleased with your shocked silence. She went on. “Oh, and did he tell you just how many times he’s tried to do this exact thing in the past?” You remained wordless, feeling betrayed for reasons you couldn’t understand. “No? Not even a guess? Well, he’s a unit regular, if that gives any indication.”

She waited again and was once more elated to be met with silence. “It’s the same story every time. The wardens say he takes his kid brother to the shore and plans on swimming out to the Falls and either drowning to death or dying from impact.”

You swallowed in vain, mouth drier than sand. A part of your knew you didn’t want the answer, but you still asked, “How old… how old is his brother?”

A sick, deathly smile creaked across her perfect face. “Of course, we don’t know exactly, but previous scans estimate that he’s no older than seven.”

Seven. A child. Quynnland had tried to kill his brother… had tried to kill himself and his kid brother…

“Next time, don’t poke around business you don’t understand,” Silver cut your panic short, her frigid tone icing your skin with gooseflesh. “Your shift is up.”

She shoved your shoulder on her way past, but before she could activate the door the room filled with bright red light, and a shrill alarm screamed through the ruby darkness.

It was your watch.

Endless, screeching notes sounded from your wrist. Your stomach dropped, and you couldn’t think for a moment, completely thrown back to that last hour on Starkiller Base.

Kylo was in trouble. Kylo was hurt. Kylo needed you and you weren’t there.

When you lifted your arm as your heart sank through the floor and you read the continuous scrawling message, your feet pounded the ground and carried you away from the unit to wherever he was, wherever your radar was guiding you.

All you could think of was him lying under you, his blood slipping along your skin, and his still, comatose body. And as you made your way to him, not seeing the world around you, hardly aware of CB-7070’s footfalls booming behind you, you kept rereading the message that raced along your watch’s screen, and as you turned corner after corner and fled down hundreds of steps and staircases, the simple, abbreviated message taunted you with the past.

ASSISTANCE REQUIRED ASSISTANCE REQUIRED ASSISTANCE REQUIRED

As it scrawled endlessly across the small screen, all you could think of was how this felt too familiar to the day Starkiller exploded. And the only thought that remained, the only one out of the thousand that flooded back from that day, was that you would fight for the future you’d realized you wanted then.

Only now did you admit the full truth of that thought: the only future you wanted was one where you could be with Kylo. The only future worth having, you realized, was the one where you would spend it with him.

So you ran toward your future. Just as you had run that day not so long ago, you ran toward Kylo Ren.

[aparecium-hq]

Welcome to Aparecium, Wes! You have been accepted for Albus Potter with your planned faceclaim. We love the way you’ve crafted Albus to go against the grain of the rest of his family, and personally I loved your writing sample in particular. We can’t wait to see him around! Check out the new member checklist, and jump right in. 

Character Basics

               Age: 21 years old

               Birthdate: 15 March 2006

               Pronouns: He/Him

               Sexuality: Homosexual, homoromantic

               Blood Status: Halfblood

               Hogwarts House:  Slytherin

               Occupation: Lawclerk for the Wizengamot,

                             apprentice barrister.

               Faceclaim: Chance Perdomo

Any requested changes: Not really?  I took some liberties with the evolution in the Ministry and the apprenticeship for becoming a lawyer.  I figured it would be something of a long process with a lot of work in the guild system rather than going off to law school?  But I’m most interested to know if we need to tweak anything.

Biography:

The middle Potter, the second son of a hero, Albus Potter has lived a certain amount of his life in the public eye.  He’s always been conscious of attention, desiring it less and less as he grew older.  He finds respite in close acquaintances and good friends, small settings and familiar environments.  His family, though sometimes the very people he’s clashing with, are always his first source of solace and comfort.  Whatever tensions they might have, they’re his people.  And woe be told to anyone who crosses the line in his presence.

From a young age, Albus showed a taciturn bent and found himself at his Aunt Hermione’s side with frequency.  Books and stories became his companions as much as his brother.  And sometimes to better effect.  He devoured literature, asked his aunt and parents for lessons and primers, and had a raging row over the fact that other children could go to primary school.  He saw Hogwarts and education as the next great challenge, the next great adventure.  He saw it as where he truly belonged.

How wonderfully cruel that reality can be.

Hogwarts wasn’t the worst thing really.  It was a learning experience to be sure, in more than just the academics.  Sorted into Slytherin and falling into a different vein than his brother and father, he acquired more than a little gossip.  But Albus had been backed into an unfamiliar corner before, so he did what came naturally.  His tongue lashed, far faster than his wand ever could, and he caught trouble with it.  A black eye and a split lip were his reward, but the third year Gryffindor was on the ground and his opinion amongst his housemates was settled: he was a snake, through and through.

He learned quickly, taking in whatever he could from his housemates and classes.  He learned that his reserved nature was a gap people had to cross, that the masks he used out of indifference our out of annoyance with the press were tools at his disposal, he learned that his words were not just barbs, but arrows.  By his third year, he changed tones and temperaments like cloaks, dressing up for some and down for others.  He developed a knack for patterns that spread naturally to arithmancy while his ability to think on his feet endeared him to charms all the more.  They became his best subjects, followed rather quickly by history of magic.  Though that one?  That was a practiced study.  Especially after the Madley Properies came about.

The change of the world while he was at Hogwarts was sudden.  The access to more technology meant access to more information.  Muggle information.  Albus devoured it all, spending hours cross referencing magical history with muggle timelines, building comprehensive understanding of events and their influence on either side of the Statute of Secrecy.  How the pollical actions in the muggle world influenced the economic realities of the magically community, or how a magical malady could seep over into the muggle world and insight chaos because of the tiniest bit of other.  He learned that things were far more interconnected than most people thought.

And he realized how absolutely how absolutely mad changing anything quickly was.

He graduated with respectable marks in his favored disciplines, with his only truly problematic grade coming in Defense.  But he wasn’t looking to join his father in the Aurors.  But he had his eyes on the DMLE.  Eventually.  But first, well he needed information.  His classes were dreadfully sparse on the machinations that drove their society, and that’s what he needed to understand.  He’d never had to fake an interest in his Aunt Hermione’s work, and the right words had him there, running paper and writing briefs and other monotonous work in the danker parts of the Ministy.  But he was there.  That was the important part.  And it paid off, when two years later, the Wizengamot took advantage of his skills and put him to work as a clerk.

Now at twenty-one, Albus has become something of a fixture in the research apparatus of the magical government of England.  His pattern recall and gift for memorization has made him the place where most research inquiries start: ask Potter, he’ll point you where to start.  His analytical mind lends itself to complicated cross application of policy and precedent, and while he doesn’t have the bombastic personality of some clerks or barristers before the high wizarding court, his ability to shift gears and pull references makes him an adept ally in cross examination and questioning.

Sociability:

When he’s not picking at threads in the legal archives or catching up on muggle current events, he tries to still be there for his family and friends.  He tries to keep a social life, between work friends and his large family and the people that give him actual solace in life, he likes to think he keeps a full social calendar.  For Scorpius, his best friend and his roommate, he would literally drop the world to ash if it needed.  And he…tries not to dwell exactly on that why too close.  Somethings don’t withstand scrutiny after all.  He misses the closeness he once had with his siblings, long before Hogwarts and Madley, when things were simpler.  He does boast a large network of acquaintances that he knows only by their handle.  He took to internet culture a bit too well, making friends and associates that he only knows by online handles and pseudonyms.  Some have made the leap to personal acquaintances, especially the collection of muggles that helped him come to grips with his own burgeoning sexuality at Hogwarts, that took him to his first Pride.  He owes them quite a lot, even if they’re kept at arm’s length.

Personality:

Albus still resembles that inquisitive child he was, somewhat quieter and more reserved than his family and always searching for some new bit of information.  He’s lost some of the taciturn qualities however, finding his voice through reasoned arguments and biting wit.  He’s not afraid to speak his mind, but does try to find the path of least offense unless his ultimate goal is to cause offense and put someone on the back foot.  He wears his opinions and language like masks, speaking openly but not always directly.  It’s those that know him best, Scorpius and Rose and his closest family, that see the true Albus.  He’s a stack of books on a rainy Saturday morning, the smell of coffee and old leather in the air.  He’s a passionate debate over dry martinis, the smell of cigarette smoke mingling with gin and the buzz of conversation.  He’s warm cashmere and soft jazz while something bubbles on the stove top.  He’s good friends and late nights, fairy lights low and spirts high and flowing freely.

Appearance:

Much like he appropriated language and history from his housemates, he also picked up on their habits of dress.  Fine robes and well cut wizarding garb are key to his image at the Wizengamot.  But these days, he finds himself draping a cloak over well cut Savile Row suits in greys and blacks with stylishly bright ties in greens or violets.  Waistcoats with patterns shirts and small lapel pins that sing his causes: rainbows, circuits that spark magically, something called an x-wing.  Blazers and jeans with Doc Martens or stylish boots when he slips into muggle London for a drink or a date..  Jeans and hoodies and warm woolen jumpers round out his casual clothes.  He’s looked longingly at some jewelry the muggle university students have, all manner of piercing and decoration of ink on skin, but he’s yet to give into those temptations as they endanger the masks he needs a little too much.

Character Questionnaire (In Character):

What does your character value in a friendship?

Is it cheating to say discretion?  No?  Then that simply must be the answer.  When one grows up with a certain amount of notoriety… a name that is recognizable and splashed across the press of the realm near daily… a friend who knows when to bluff, when to keep things private is worth their weight in gold.  Quite literally.    And there is so much caught up in that word as well.  Discretion.  It’s not just secrecy.  It’s trust.  And with that I believe truly, there must be some level of affection there.  A warmth and familiarity that breed such a level of trust.  There are people for whom I have great affection, and even great trust, but for who I don’t believe are discrete.  It’s that bit extra, that pinch more wit and courage and resolve that make it the better value.

How would a stranger who has just met your character describe them?

Oh Circe, this is such a loaded question.  A stranger?  Well it really depends upon the circumstances you know.  Where are we?  Drinks is very different than a fundraiser than a friendly pick up game of Quidditch.  Though why I made mention of the last, I really haven’t a clue.  But the point remans; where did we meet?  I’d like to think that I leave people at least somewhat assured that I know what I’m talking about, even if that does mean I come off as a bit of an ass.  And as cold as it may sound, so much of this might come down to how I want them to remember me.  It changes the way one approaches a stranger, if they think it’s only for a moment or there’s something more there.  Whatever that more might be.  Well at the very least, it means I try not to burn bridges I’ve only just encountered.

What magical skill or talent is your character most proud of?

Can we consider memory a skill?  A talent?  I’m not sure it’s honed like a blade or conditioned like a muscle.  But I do think I’m very good at it.  Or with it.  Memorizing.  Recalling.  Things just sort of…stick up there.  Referenced and catalogued.  A font of utterly useless information.  But information that can be applied, brought forward when needed to dramatic effect or for some nefarious purpose.  Dreadfully useful, in work and in life.  I don’t forget birthdays.  Though I do sometimes forget to shop for them…so it’s rather an imperfect skill.  Talent.  Part of me, whatever.  

Para Sample

Albus tapped a finger against the stem of his glass slowly, letting the small sound of his nail making contact mark the time.  He’d been watching for the past half hour as patrons moved in and out of the space.  Fresh drinks, greetings, calls to join a group.  It was the happiest of hours and this particular bar was just getting started.

Then again, so was he.

It wasn’t a usual of his, though he found the ambiance quite charming.  Dark wood, shiny brass, and a Botanist martini that was so dry it could be a disaster area.  Start of a good evening.  And it put him on good footing for the chap that he was expecting.  A friend of a friend, a you-should-meet-him sort of person that did…something functionally important in Westminster.  No doubt it would be a topic of some conversation later into the evening.  Best to know enough going in to be interested, but not too much so as to be bored.  Rather like any project, dating was.

Merlin, Scor would chastise him for being so cynical and dry about it all.  He smirked into his glass.

The man that approached a bit before their appointed rendezvous was fit.  Albus raked eyes over the man, taking in the cut of his suit, the fit of his trousers, the twist of his laces.  Cambridge man.  He’d bet money on it.  Eaton too.  He saw a few coy grins flashed at other patrons, a crisp note slipped discreetly to the bartender, a lean up the rail to whisper across the bar.   Albus let his smirk grow as he finished his drink, slipping away to duck into the gents.

He dispelled the subtle notice-me-not once he was in a stall, wafting away the bits that kept him mostly undisturbed.  There was a lot you could see at happy hour after all.  People drinking too quickly, nerves when a joke failed to land, thousand-yard stares into pint glasses.  Frivolity as a mask.  Jocularity as a balm.  He checked his reflection, gave an artful tousle of his hair and straightened his tie, and slipped out with a beatific smile that never met his eyes.

Those?  He liked sharp.

[prevaricatcr]

‹ TARON EGERTON, HE/HIM, CISMALE, BISEXUAL.  ›  ELLIOT GALLAGHER is the TWENTY SIX year old from SANTA MONICA, CALIFORNIA. when a friend asked them what they thought of the manor they said,  ❝ MIGHT AS FUCKIN’ WELL, RIGHT? GONNA HATE MY LIFE EITHER WAY, MIGHT AS WELL DO IT WITH SOME SCENERY. ❞ they claim FUNNY GAMES is their favorite scary movie, and if they were to die in a horror film they would TAUNT THE KILLER AND GET WHACKED FOR IT. their fears include DRIVING A CAR, WRITHING SNAKES and PUPPETS, and they don’t know we know, but… HE’S PAID OFF MULTIPLE WOMEN WHO HAVE HAD HIS CHILDREN. hope they enjoy their stay.  ‹  MUSE A from HOLLYWOOD’S BLEEDING penned by, Z, 25+, CST.  ›

- - - - - - - BASICS.

Name: Elliot Rian Gallagher. Pronouns: He, him. Nicknames: n/a Age: Twenty-six. Birthdate: April 18th. Zodiac: Aries sun, taurus moon, gemini rising. Ethnicity: white, his father's grandparents were second generation irish and his mother always stated that her parents came from Sandusky, and didn't know more than that. Nationality: American. Birthplace: Santa Monica, CA Gender: Cis Male. Sexual Orientation: Bisexual.

- - - - - - - BACKGROUND.

Parents: Craig Robert Gallagher; 58 years old, alive. Teresa Dawn Shwitzer-Gallagher ; 52 years old, alive Siblings: 2 older siblings, a boy and a girl, and two younger sisters. Spouse: n/a. Children: 3 by different mothers, whom he sends monthly allowances to. He makes it his business not to know any more. Current Job: out of work musician. Dream Career: to be back on top of his game, winning grammies like he used to. Schooling: Attended Crossroads in Santa Monica on and off, eventually graduated with lots of monetary assistance. Income: Receives pay from royalties from the band he was in as a teenager that kicked him out.

- - - - - - - PHYSICAL.

Height: 5'8". Weight: 160 lb. Eye Color: Blue. Hair Color: Dark brown. Hair Length: Fairly short. Hair Type: On the thinner side, with some wave. Body Type: Fairly skinny, with small hips and waist. A little thicker around the midsection with his short stint of sobriety. Clothing Size: Medium to large. Shoe Size: Size 11 Complexion: Very pale, freckles fairly easy, burns very easy. Scars: scars and calluses on his hands, a puckered scar on his temple half hidden by his hair, and a scar on his right hip from a bad car accident, his knees are assessed as much older than himself because of how poorly he treats them combined with genetics, and a long scar on the left side of his back.

- - - - - - - PERSONALITY.

Positive Traits: adventurous, charming, direct, passionate, sociable, competitive, creative, lively, versatile. Negative Traits: volatile, extravagant, defensive, envious, juvenile, wasteful, unreliable, vulgar, pessimistic. Mental Condition: Currently drinking again and using cocaine along with a few prescription pills after attempting out-patient rehab and tapering down his drinking, which he's been addicted to since age fourteen. No officially assessed disorders or conditions besides his alcoholism. Struggles with intimacy while sober. Emotional Condition: Fragile, filled with guilt and self loathing after relapse. Sees trust as more important than love and is very guarded with what he considers his innermost self. Likes: All black outfits, sunglasses, a tall glass of boulevard when he's drinking to taste it, people that make him laugh out loud, old school SNL, the fine tuning of behind the camera work, treating the people he cares about to nice things, arguing about oscars prospects for any given film, penny slot machines, jokes that make people groan loudly. Dislikes: lazy jokes about addiction, late night talk shows, people who look at him and see his misdeeds and not who he is as a person, "lizard people" conspiracy theories, elevator music, plastic covers on mattresses, the concept of an all seeing, all knowing god, TMZ, the smell of industrial cleaner. Strengths: intelligent, ambitious, sincere, passionate, generous, philosophical. Weaknesses: reckless, impatient, cowardly, detached, foolhardy, irresponsible. Fears/phobias: sobriety, letting someone see every single part of him, allowing himself to be vulnerable when sober, having hallucinations, driving a car. Hobbies: little to none as his primary hobby has always been drinking, mostly reading and watching movies. Quirks: fiddling with his glasses, biting the inside of his cheek, humming any song that comes through his mind out loud when he's distracted or concentrating hard on something.

- - - - - - - HISTORY.

!!! possible triggers in the following biography: drug use, alcohol abuse and alcoholism, driving while intoxicated, car accidents, parental neglect of children !!! You are two and a half when you land your first commercial. Your younger sisters managed their first roles before you, but it was a little easier for them as they were infant twins; far more in demand than just a tiny toddler boy. This is how your family eats and keeps themselves in an apartment in Santa Monica that's meant to house three when your family eventually grows to hold seven in total. A lot of mouths to feed. Thankfully you don't remember a lot of this, as the small time work you and your siblings do is enough to keep your family afloat. You make your way into middle school; pissed and stand offish and looking like a cherub; which insures that no one takes you seriously. The friends you make, you hold tightly to, and you kick around in your best friend Boston’s basement, just fooling around on his parents drum kit, their guitars that aren’t actually supposed to be touched. It’s all just for fun, the band and the EP you slap together; just trying to impress each other, until one of Bos’ parents finds someone who wants to sign the band. Everyone tells you over and over again, that this is the deal of a life time. That this will make sure you work in Hollywood for the rest of your life. This is both true, and untrue. The EP is an unmitigated success, and every review has something to say about you, the kid on bass with backup vocals who’s face looks barely legal but plays like he’s planning a murder. Almost everyone remarks on how much older than your few years you seem. Which at first makes you feel special, important. Makes you seek out big words to use when you're sitting on the couch as a guest. The audience really loves that. Of course, this also spawns those times when you end up at wrap parties and after parties, your mother schmoozing whatever producers and execs she can find, your father nowhere to be found, and a sea of adults getting high and wasted around you. None of the vices of Hollywood have ever been all that strange to you, though. Your parents have always had a very blase approach to the innocence of childhood, and didn't much care to shield you from anything. It’s still all fun and games, really. The five of you have too much fun, and everyone wants to treat you to everything, so. Somehow the option you end up choosing most often is the bottle in your hand. The bottles that are so readily available, everywhere, that get pressed into your hands and put into the end of the night goodie bags your mother always takes three of. You think that waking up in an unfamiliar bed every single night of a week is something the rest of your bandmates are doing. It’s all a laugh, we all drink and we all smoke and it’s kid shit, right Boston? You learn that it very much is just a ‘you’ thing when you come to rehearsal (late, as usual) one Thursday afternoon and they’re all somberly waiting for you, hands in their lap and silent. You are being released from your contract with Cthulhu Rising...but the band has elected to move on and create their debut album. Unfortunately at this point you are eighteen and very, very deeply entrenched in alcoholism. The press has been playing you as a party boy who enjoys simple teenage excess for a very long time, but it's starting to wear thin. TMZ is growing a lot less glowing in their articles. You try not to pay attention even as you get yourself thrown out of clubs and tossed into drunk tanks and bailed back out again by whichever assistant your mother has hired this week. As long as you can find a way to make music, you can keep breathing. But with your growing notoriety, offers start to dry up. Those late night shows that loved your precociousness take pot shots at you in their opening monologues. Kimmel's pre-taped Lonely Island style sketch about 'you' endorsing a brand of gin in the style of I Love Lucy gets over a million views on youtube. All of Hollywood, and by extension all the world is laughing at you. It get a little less funny when you ram your matte black Lamborghini Aventador into the median taking the exit for Interstate 10, pinball off of it and into the car in the lane next to you, back into the median hard enough to flip your car into a roll, tumbling side over side across the lanes into the ditch. Your blood test results at the hospital show your blood alcohol content was nearly triple the legal limit. The accident doesn't kill you, though it's a close thing. You're convinced the recovery is worse. The total at the end adds up to a fractured pelvis, six broken ribs, safety glass embedded in your left temple, lacerations all over your arms and face, bleeding in your lungs and swelling in the brain that leaves you in a coma for the better part of two weeks. The most pathetic part of it all? All of that, the things you don't remember from that day coupled with the bursts and flashes of what you do remember, the year and a half you spend in recovery still isn't enough to make you put the bottle down forever. And doesn't that just make you fucking hate yourself?

[cooperfmarchive]

𝒉𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒐  𝒊𝒕'𝒔  𝒎𝒆  again  !  lenny  back  at  it  with  another  long  ass  intro  ,  are  we  surprised  ?  below  the  cut  ,  you  can  learn  all  about  my  emo  boy  cooper  !  just  like  with  val’s  ,  give  this  post  a  LIKE  and  i’ll  slide  into  ur  dms  to  plot  !

also  ,  just  an  fyi  :  i'll  probably  be  a  little  bit  on  and  off  for  the  next  day  or  so  ,  but  i'm  always  available  to  reach  via  dms  because  i'm  unhealthily  attached  to  my  phone  !

(  tw  :  mention  of  drugs  ,  addiction  )

𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠  here  and  do  i  have  the  tea  for  you  .  𝑪𝑶𝑶𝑷𝑬𝑹  is  back  on  campus  ,  which  is  surprising  considering  the  threatening  note  i  left  them  .  yes  ,  i  know  all  about  𝑯𝑰𝑺  𝑺𝑯𝑶𝑹𝑻  -  𝑳𝑰𝑽𝑬𝑫  𝑺𝑶𝑩𝑹𝑰𝑬𝑻𝒀  because  of  their  𝑮𝑳𝑼𝑻𝑻𝑶𝑵𝒀  .  imagine  the  tabloids  and  how  the  𝑨𝑽𝑬𝑹𝑵𝑨  family  would  feel  for  such  information  to  come  out  ,  not  to  mention  the  reputation  of  𝑺𝑰𝑮𝑴𝑨  because  of  their  actions  .  at  this  rate  ,  he  is  better  off  staying  put  in  𝑩𝑬𝑳  𝑨𝑰𝑹  ,  𝑪𝑨𝑳𝑰𝑭𝑶𝑹𝑵𝑰𝑨  and  living  off  that  1.2𝑩  family  net  worth  .  what’s  the  point  in  studying  𝑴𝑼𝑺𝑰𝑪 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑫𝑼𝑪𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵  with  plans  to  𝑻𝑹𝑨𝑽𝑬𝑳  &  𝑷𝑬𝑹𝑭𝑶𝑹𝑴  𝑾𝑶𝑹𝑳𝑫𝑾𝑰𝑫𝑬  ,  is  it  worth  it  with  what  i  know  ?  anyways  ,  they  may  want  to  continue  to  be  𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑹𝑴𝑰𝑵𝑮  &  𝑫𝑬𝑿𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑶𝑼𝑺  because  the  𝑨𝑫𝑫𝑰𝑪𝑻𝑰𝑽𝑬  &  𝑹𝑬����𝑰𝑪𝑬𝑵𝑻  attributes  make  me  want  to  spill  .  (  austin butler  ,  lenny  ,  mst  )  .

*  /  ———  𝑻𝑯𝑬  𝑩𝑨𝑺𝑰𝑪𝑺  :

full  name  :  cooper johnathon averna

nicknames  :  coop , cj

age  /  birthdate  :  twenty3 / june 15th , 1996

gender  :  cis male / he , him

sexuality  :  pansexual

hometown  :  bel air , california

major  :  music production

*  /  ———  𝑻𝑯𝑬  𝑩𝑨𝑪𝑲𝑮𝑹𝑶𝑼𝑵𝑫  :

ok so funny story !!! i started writing this out , and then i kept writing ... and writing ... and writing ... and then my “ intro ” turned into a whole ass “ biography ” for my boy cooper so !! you can find that Novel right here ( the end is still a work in progress tho ) . below will be my attempt at the spark notes version of it all , although i can almost guarantee it will still get out of hand because i , like our lord and saviour jenna marbles , cannot control my too much gene !!!!

so our boy cooper is the older brother to our fav twins , summer and wynter averna ! together , the three of them are the youngest generation of the averna family . powerful , renowned , and manipulative — the avernas are made up of a long line of successful politicians . currently , daddy johnathan averna is the governor of california , and this heavy legacy has weighed upon cooper’s shoulders for the majority of his life .

in short , cooper is best described as the black sheep of the averna family . while his other family members are power - hungry , manipulative , and thick - skinned , cooper could be described as weak - willed , personable , and charming . this was a major disappointment to his father , john , because he’d been hoping for a son that would follow in his footsteps and grow up to make incredible moves in politics , but cooper couldn’t have been further from what a politician should be , and this caused for a severe lack of affection and validation from his parents on cooper’s part .

at school , however , cooper filled these holes with the popularity he gained within the halls of his private school . everyone wanted to be his friend and the affection and compassion that he lacked at home was made up for by his large circle of friends . but unfortunately , things were not as picture - perfect as they seemed , and in his sophomore year of high school , cooper discovered that his girlfriend had been hooking up with his best friend and in an extreme domino effect , cooper learned that the “ friends ” he’d surrounded himself with were just as power - hungry and manipulative as his own family and were using him for the sole purpose of gaining popularity and getting a taste of the prestige cooper’s surname promised . 

but cooper here is far too soft and desperate for affection , and his fear of loneliness far outweighed his desire to have meaningful relationships so he couldn’t bare to actually cut those who’d been using him out of his life . so instead , cooper found himself diving deep into bel air’s party scene , the adrenaline and excitement of it distracting him from the fact that everyone around him didn’t really give two shits about him .

cooper’s partying kind of snowballed from there . long story short , his parents literally never noticed that cooper had even an inkling of a problem , which further distanced him from his family . and as soon as cooper was eighteen , he booked a one - way ticket to europe to do what he does best : run away from his issues and drown them out with alcohol and drugs . 

he really just wanted to escape the weight of his surname and putting as much distance between himself and the spotlight that followed him constantly seemed like his best bet . and for about a year , it really worked for him . he bounced around europe , discovered its beauty and culture , and partied day in and day out , all while forgetting the legacy he’d left behind and finding what he wanted to : music — but we’ll get to that later .

but just short of a year , cooper got caught up in a drunken brawl in amsterdam that left him with a concussion and broken hand . luckily , daddy came to the rescue after a phone call from cooper and john paid off everyone involved in order to keep the story under wraps , but under one condition : cooper return home to bel air and attend university to hopefully clean up his act and get a degree .

cooper started at hollingsworth as a business major , but that didn’t work out as easily as he’d been hoping and he was just barely scraping by at the end of his sophomore year . however , when he was home for the summer , cooper rediscovered his love for music upon finding the belongings of his that had been shoved away by his parents two years prior , and he made the switch to majoring in music production when he returned to hollingsworth for his junior year .

his parents still do not know about his change in major , for cooper knows they wouldn’t believe it’s a viable career path for him to take and he also has an innate fear of disappointing them . he’s got some severe daddy issues , having always desperately craved the validation of his father but always lacking it because his dad only believed in only one possible future for his son : carrying on the averna legacy in politics . cooper realizes that it’s ridiculous , and that he is more than free to do what he wants and brush off his parents’ judgements , but that is a lot easier said than done unfortunately .

to briefly touch on his music : cooper’s voiceclaim is sir sly — edgy , emo , electronic alternative music . he’s incredibly passionate about his music , often spending many late nights in hollingsworth’s recording studios . he taught himself to play guitar while in europe , but upon enrolling in hworth’s music program has learned how to play the drums , keyboard , and properly project his vocals . he’s also gained experience in mixing and producing music , of which he mostly does himself with his own music . currently , he has one released album ( you haunt me ) , but is working on his next one ( don’t you worry , honey ) already .

*  /  ———  𝑻𝑯𝑬  𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑹𝑨𝑪𝑻𝑬𝑹  :

label(s)  :  the muso , the maverick , the enigma , the black sheep

muso ( a person who is musically talented )

maverick ( an unorthodox or independent - minded person )

enigma ( a person or thing that is mysterious, puzzling, or difficult to understand )

black sheep ( regarded as a disgrace to a family )

notable traits  :  charming , reckless , dexterous , addictive , reticent , truculent , intelligent , compassionate , adventurous

aesthetics  :  a sharpened pencil scratching against paper , ringed fingers plucking guitar strings , a piercing gaze , pursed lips , cigarette smoke curling in evening air , soft t - shirts and black jeans , shiny silver and gold jewelry , masculine cologne 

in  a  nutshell  :  basically , cooper’s an enigma at first glance . he has a mysterious aura to him : his gaze is shielded , his voice quiet , and his posture reclusive . he often prefers to keep to himself in unfamiliar situations at first until he gets a feel for the atmosphere , and the way he’s usually hunkered over a journal definitely screams “ leave me alone . ” the walls he built around himself in high school remain strong , because he knows he’s far too soft - hearted for his own good . overly eager to protect everyone he meets and show others the love and compassion he desperately craves for himself , he’s a walking contradiction in the way that he puts distance between himself and others , fearful of letting them too close , lest it be revealed that they’re only using him for his elite legacy and his heart be broken once again , but his need for attention and companionship has made him incredibly skilled at making you feel like there’s little to no distance separating him from you , distracting you from realizing that you actually know very little about him with his infectious smile and exciting presence . everyone’s a friend of cooper’s , at least on the outside . but if you’re lucky enough to actually wiggle through a crack in his walls , you’ll find a heart far larger than expected , a passion for music that he’s eager to share with others , and a protectiveness for his loved ones that is reminiscent of the brother you always wanted .

*  /  ———  𝑻𝑯𝑬  𝑺𝑬𝑪𝑹𝑬𝑻  :

it’s no secret that cooper loves to party — he’s all over hworth’s party scene , often one of the first to call for a round of shots on a night out — but what is a secret is cooper’s addiction to drugs , specifically but not limited to cocaine . 

upon his return to bel air , one of the promises he’d made to his family was that he’d stop using and beat the addiction that had haunted him . the news of cooper’s addiction was the last thing his father wanted to get leaked to the public , fearful for his own reputation as a clean , respected public figure if his own son had fallen prey to drugs . and for a while , cooper was able to bury his addiction and avoid his kryptonite while at parties — but as school became more stressful he found it increasingly difficult to continue to do so , and one night someone offered a line to cooper after a particularly stressful exam and he gave in , and the flood gates opened .

when he was younger and first entering the party scene , cooper had almost openly flaunted his drug use , probably as a cry for help to his seemingly clueless parents , but since relapsing he’s learned how to keep it behind closed doors . only a fair few know of his drug use and cooper will go to any length to keep it that way .

*  /  ———  𝑻𝑯𝑬  𝑴𝑰𝑺𝑪𝑬𝑳𝑳𝑨𝑵𝑬𝑶𝑼𝑺  :

wanted plots .

pinterest .

spotify .

also !!! i feel like i need to address the topic of cooper’s hair , because many of the resources that i will be using of austin have him with blond with long and shaggy hair , but cooper’s hair is actually what austin’s is right now : dark and cut short . but to kinda explain the photos of blond!austin , cooper actually bleached his hair and grew it out whilst travelling in europe as another act of defiance towards his family and to distance himself from his past self . over the past summer , though , he cut it short and dyed it back to his natural brunet , purely an impulse decision TBH , but also probably a weird metaphor for how he initially went blond to distance himself from his legacy , but now that he’s pursuing a career that really distances him from it , he went back to brunet as his own fucked up way of still trying to appease his parents’ fucked up expectations .

[thievcries]

「 avan jogia. cismale. he/him. 」 — is that LYSANDER LUTERA LEV i just saw in thornhollow? word around is that they’re a TWO HUNDRED AND SIXTEEN year old FAE, but i doubt that’s true. they’re pretty WITTY from what i know, but i’ve heard a rumor that they can be SPITEFUL too; must be why they’re a BARTENDER/FREQUENTLY UNEMPLOYED. they kinda remind me of THE SMELL OF RIPE SUN-WARMED FRUIT, BROKEN WATCHES, AND AGGRESSIVE GRINS. ( z. he/him or they them. 21. cst. )

- - - - - - - BASICS.

Name: Lysander Lutera Lev (though the full configuration of his name is one of his most jealously guarded secrets since he is loath to give others; especially mortals any power over him) Pronouns: He, him. Nicknames: Lys, Sander/Xander interchangeably though the latter somehow usually gets used by acquaintances only. Age: Two hundred and sixteen years of age, though he generally appears to be in his late twenties. Birthdate: November 15th Zodiac: Scorpio sun, cancer moon, leo rising Species: Unseelie fae Gender: Cismale. Sexual Orientation: Bisexual.

- - - - - - - BACKGROUND.

Parents: Pritha and Havelock, his mother and father, respectively. His father was an official member of the Unseelie Court, his mother was of a wilder but less dark natured band of the nomadic clanless forest fae. It made sense for their family to settle mostly in Thornhollow even before the portal was cut off. Siblings: An older brother, who is the eldest, and an older sister, who is the middle child. Spouse: n/a. Children: It’s a very good possibility that he has them as he is both vastly irresponsible and lecherous, but if he does he’s very unaware of them. Current Job: bartender, though he’s had a myriad of jobs around thornhollow he’s failed to keep. Schooling: Tutored alongside other minor unseelie nobility as a fae youth. Not that he paid close attention. Income: Forever borrowing human money from his siblings, does not much see the point in a steady income until he needs something.

- - - - - - - PHYSICAL.

Height: 5'10". Weight: 150 lb. Eye Color: Dark brown. Hair Color: Dark brown streaked with inky black that almost glitters iridescent when not made to look more ‘mortal’ with glamours, though he’s no stranger to altering it entirely. Hair Length: Medium/chin-length to past his shoulders, just depending on his mood. Hair Type: Wavy to almost curly, thick.  Body Type: Slender but also soft, very much a body that has never seen a hard day’s labor in his life. Clothing Size: Medium to large, he prefers a looser fit. Shoe Size: Size 10. Complexion: Dark and warm with reddish-golden undertones, and smooth, nearly poreless skin. Absolutely does not look a day over twenty-five as far as how ‘lived in’ his body appears. Without altering himself to appear more human like, his cheekbones and jawline are far, far sharper, pupils larger and brows highly arched, almost exaggeratedly so. Scars: Just a small nick from an iron dagger just below his adam’s apple, only visible up close or under finger tips. Every tattoo he appears to possess are in truth, simply glamours.

- - - - - - - PERSONALITY.

Positive Traits: adventurous, charming, direct, passionate, sociable, competitive, creative, lively. Negative Traits: volatile, extravagant, defensive, envious, juvenile, wasteful, unreliable, vulgar. Emotional Condition: A layer of uncaring aloofness mixed with a hedonistic desire to do whatever he wishes whenever he wishes swirls around on the top of the still waters of his mind. Fae don’t love like mortals do, and Lysander learned that the hard way. It makes it easier for him to hold those he recognizes he could become romantically close to at an emotional arms length. Likes: Glitter and sparkly things, gold, a good time where ever it is to be found, extravagant costume jewelry, good tasting food and drink, dancing into the night and into the next morning and into the next night again, playing ‘matchmaker’ with others to sometimes unintentionally cruel results, sumptuous textures like silk, velvet and faux fur, experimental glamours, especially greasy human food.  Dislikes: any ‘bad’ smell like garbage or dirty diaper or the like makes him instantly nauseated rather than simply grossed out, wanting something in the mortal world and not having the money to purchase it, ‘boring’ music, being bossed around (which in his mind is in reality a mild suggestion or constructive criticism), having to focus on anything for any length of time, being spoken to like a child even though he is a relatively young fae. Strengths: intelligent, affectionate, ambitious, passionate, generous, philosophical. Weaknesses: reckless, impatient, voracious, detached, foolhardy, irresponsible. Fears/phobias: mortality, death, falling in love again, bird eyes, being forced to tell the bald truth. Hobbies: carousing and partying, dancing and finding a good time anywhere he possibly can regardless of propriety. 

History: Lysander lived a fairly typical fae child experience; father a part of the unseelie court though by no means highly ranked, his mother travelling through the court with her nomadic band of clanless fae that pledged loyalty to no court. once they had all three of their children, pritha and havelock settled down in the unseelie court and surfaced to earth semi-regularly through thornhollow; nearly like a vacation or home away from home. Lysander lead an amusing and privileged faerie life...until the portal closed. Life since then has become, in his estimation, unyieldingly and painfully boring. Work for human money to pay for food, clothing and a dwelling? A completely new concept for Lysander that he didn’t care for in the slightest. Perhaps it’s his age and how time works so differently for fae, but even twenty years after the fact he’s still having a hard time adjusting. He’s been hired and fired from just about any entry level task in town, sometimes with him simply taking off his apron and casually leaving out the front door, sometimes with an explosion of anger and dramatics. Usually spotted in one of the social hotspots that offer alcohol in town, he’s quite good at whining and complaining. He’s gotten quite good at flip cup, however, and he’s definitely someone you want on your team. 

[gyeoljeonghq]

IS THAT WHO I THINK IT IS WALKING DOWN THE CORRIDOR? OH NO, IT'S JUST DORIAN BAEK, 'THE KAIN', PRINCE OF FOTIA. I HEAR HE IS A 95' LINER AND IS RUMORED TO BE SEDUCTIVE BUT ALSO COMPETTIIVE! DON'T YOU THINK HE LOOKS A LITTLE BIT LIKE KIM TAEHYUNG?

birthdate/age: 07/23/1995

position: baek’s prince, ‘the kain’

seductive, strong willed, charismatic

competitive, chaotic, profligate

THE STORY !

Triggers:

Responsibility had always been what Dorian was taught to champion on the top of his list. Apart, from a few other items that his parents had wanted him to uphold, of course. Things like courage, bravery, battle-strength—honestly, Dorian couldn’t care less. After all, his parents always had their model son in his younger brother, not him. It was a pity that his younger twin was much weaker than him though, but because of it, Dorian was always forced to live up to theirexpectations of him.

Your brother isn’t strong enough to do it, Dorian. You have to take over.

It was never about Dorian—or he himself. It was always about his brother, the younger of the two, the more obedient of the two, the more…loyal of the two. It didn’t matter if he was the stronger twin, Dorian knew that he would never be able to live up to the position that his father and mother held of his brother in their tiny, selfish hearts.

The irony of being the first born son and yet not the favourite of the family.Why couldn’t he have been the only boy child that was born to their family? Perhaps the very reason why his parents never paid much attention to him out of their minimal time spent with their children was due to the fact that he was terribly chaotic. Difficult to control, others might say. Competitive yet strong-willed. Not the ideal type of son that Baek Jimin and Baek Suji had wanted for the eldest son that they could possibly have become an heir to their legacy and throne. And so they showered the younger twin with love and attention—or at the very least, that was what Dorian saw it to be and what he believed.

Jealousy and distaste worked wonders on his competitive personality, but still, his loyalty towards his family always came first, even if his distaste for his own twin came second, and in his youthful folly, Dorian believed that if he lived up for even one second to his parents superfluous standards, they would, perhaps, finally look him in the eye rather than at his twin.

But they didn’t, and that yearning turned to rage, impulsiveness, inconsolable anger, and the desperation to find something that he could prove his worth of.

And so Dorian turned to drinks. Alcohol. Women. Fights. Anything that his eyes laid their sights on, he would take without remorse, and leave nothing behind. Even if there was something left—it would all be in tatters. The disgust on his parents face stung a little, but the feeling of liberation from whatever that they had expected him to do was more than sweet.

He was different, and that itself, was all that mattered.

Personality: Charming, Non-committal and Seductive, Dorian is the bad boy of the Baek family, throwing himself into parties, endless hook-ups and seemingly uncaring of the realm that he’s supposed to help his sister manage. However, all his various hook-ups and partying behaviours are mainly the only way that he knows how to defy his parent’s desires of him. He’s stubborn and competitive enough to desire to go on his on way, even going to great extents and disappointing his parent’s expectations of him. A fierce warrior, he’s chaotic, impulsive and a fighter who’s more willing to use his fists than his words. He is fiercely protective over his family, and close with his sister and her daughter, though its often that he doesn’t get along well with his younger twin. Whilst he is responsible and pragmatic over logical affairs, it is not a surprise for his competitive nature to suddenly fire him up, and for him to instinctively say no due to his pride and competitiveness. Unfortunately, due to his distaste for the rest of his family apart from his siblings, Dorian refuses to be responsible of all the emotional wreck and affairs that he has. He is a taker of hearts, and will leave nothing in the path of his wake.

[asapncah]

EEP HERE WE GO AGAIN. i feel like my intros just get longer and longer each time.. sorry not soRRY cause noah is a queen that deserves the Novel. so that’s what y’all are getting so brace yourselves for this wild ride. i’m so very excited for this reboot, y’all have no idea. OH and for anyone new here: my name is lenny, moreau is my child that i cherish more than the hair on my head, i am 21, live in the mst timezone, and use she/her pronouns ! i’m also ur friendly canadian so i’m here for any of ur canadian-related q’s!!! i know we’re a special breed lasdkjlh OK enough about me, onto the queen. y’all know the drill, like this / hmu to plot if u survive reading my Long Ass Intro.

( ariana grande • twenty three • cisfemale ) look, it's noella de luca from apartment 4B! apparently she moved into moreau apartments one and a half years ago and rumour has it, they can be quite possessive— good thing they’re also adventurous, hey? i hear they’re the hedonist of the building. 

↘︎ 𝒷𝒶𝓈𝒾𝒸𝓈 !

given name: noella sofie de luca

nickname: noah

age: twenty3

birthdate: march 18, 1995

hometown: keremeos, british columbia

occupation: waitress & dog walker

↘︎ 𝒽𝒾𝓈𝓉𝑜𝓇𝓎 !

born to high school sweethearts, willa and antonio, who were very much in love until they just … weren’t

the separation of her parents came as a surprise to young noah but not much sleep was lost over the divorce as her parents remained civil and held no ill will towards each other — they even remained business partners

montagna park. a cozy, scenic campground just a few kilometres away from keremeos, nestled deep in the outskirts of the rocky mountains and home to the majority of noah’s most prized childhood memories

following the divorce, antonio moved permanently onto the campground as a year-round manager while willa remained in keremeos to handle the financial end of the business and raise their daughter, who spent nearly every other weekend in the mountains with her father mastering the wilderness

(tw: mention of adhd & prescription drugs & anxiety) she was diagnosed with adhd at the age of 10 after her teachers noticed her heightened hyperactivity and noah began taking a pill each day at lunch time to help her cope with her symptoms

this new routine brought stares and snickers from her fellow classmates and noah developed a harsh social anxiety with the pressures to act “normal” around her peers, but this only made her adhd worse – it’s a vicious cycle (end tw)

come graduation (which she just slipped by) she yearned to escape the confines of her small town. it was an itch that no amount of trips to the mountains could scratch so she set her sights on something bigger: europe

with the help of her parents, noah saved up for the trip of a lifetime, which she embarked on shortly before her 21st birthday and didn’t return from for several months. though she ventured across the european countryside, much of her trip was spent in italy as she reconnected with her roots and fell in love with the country, particularly florence and pisa. she paid her dues working in a small italian cafe in florence owned by an adorable old woman that reminded her of her own grandmother and made italy her home for many weeks, only returning home due to missing her parents and a dwindling bank account

while in europe, noah developed a love for journals. after finding a beautiful leather bound one in her first week of her trip, it became glued to her side and the obsession didn’t stop once she filled it up (which didn’t take long, mind you)

by the end of her trip, noah had filled up eight journals with tales of her adventures, short poems inspired by the european beauty, and songs that seemed to burst out of her like lightning.

↘︎ 𝓅𝓇𝑒𝓈𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓁𝓎 !

vancouver became her home shortly after her 22nd birthday, a handful of months after she returned from europe. after experiencing the foreign continent’s beauty, keremeos felt small and stifling to her. the small town held no feeling of intrigue or adventure anymore so she made the big move to vancouver in the hopes of finding something more

the big city held a sort of vibrance for her, having visited a handful of times with her mother for big shopping trips and weekend getaways, and somehow the small town girl melted into the big city easily

moreau apartments caught her eye immediately when searching listings, its beautiful brick walls and ocean views promising her comfort and just enough exposure to nature to keep her sane in the concrete landscape, and she moved in immediately

due to her absolute inability to sit still and be bored, noah works 3 jobs in vancouver: waitress, dog walker, and pole dance instructor

waitress: she serves in an adorable, cozy local restaurant down granville street, close by the apartment building, mostly working morning or late night shifts

dog walker: to fuel her love for animals, noah’s gained a reputation in the neighbourhood as one of the most reliable dog walkers. you can often catch her with a small herd of hounds at any time of day, handling the tangling leashes like a pro

pole dance instructor: she found this studio shortly after her move to vancouver, wanting a physical and creative outlet for herself. she fell in love with pole dancing after going outside of her comfort zone and mastered the skill quickly, promptly bringing the owner to offer her a part time job instructing a beginner’s class on the weekends

she continues to keep journals, using the near-daily activity as a sort of meditation after a long day to ease her ever-racing mind. her collection of songs has grown considerably through her life experiences and her instagram is filled with short snippets of the lyrics in captions and videos of her strong voice that just seems to come naturally

↘︎ 𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓇𝒶𝒸𝓉𝑒𝓇 !

aesthetics: freshly picked peaches. crisp mountain air. old denim ripped and stained from wild adventures. perfectly painted nails. thriving house plants. the scent of fresh coffee and sweet lotion. journals inked with stories and rhymes. rose gold jewelry. caramel waves blowing in the wind as sneakers trample fallen leaves. hazy rooms and endless laughter. a strong voice singing about heartbreak.

notable traits: passionate, possessive, adventurous, charming, optimistic, honest, naive, self-indulgent

best described as a freshly blossomed rose, grown in the canadian wilderness and weathered by the elements, with blushing petals beautiful enough to draw you in and thorns sharp enough to protect herself.

willa and antonio raised their daughter to have a strong head on her shoulders. their independence, wild hearts, and honesty passed down to noah easily. she’s certainly her father’s daughter in terms of her curiosity, need for adventure, and determination, but her mother shines through noah’s feminist independence, brutal honesty, and passion for creativity.

in terms of how noah’s young experiences changed her constant state of wonderment as a child, she’s definitely grown tougher and carries herself with an obvious sense of responsibility to protect herself. she likes to believe the walls she’s built since those stares and snickers in school aren’t easily broken, but she falls prey to charming smiles, trusting words, and careful eyes — it’s something she’s constantly working on, always chastising herself whenever she falls too easily

at first sight, she’s a small girl with a big mouth. her personality purposefully magnified to hide the fact that she’s afraid of getting attached. her sailor’s mouth is a surprise to most, along with her openness with her sexuality (bi af) and honesty when it comes to just about anything she has a strong opinion on (feminism, equal rights, lgbtq+ issues, animal cruelty, etC)

but for better or for worse, noah generally prides herself for having hardly a care in the world. many of her days just go with the flow and she’s not worried about her future — the future is today, as she likes to say to convince her friends to join her on one of her many adventures

one of the greatest friends one could ask for because of her strong loyalty, charming smile, generosity, and taste for adventure (it also helps that, thanks to her green thumb, this one grows the best weed in moreau ajklsh). she distracts others from developing too much curiosity about her own story by being an incredibly good listener and shoulder to cry on

to elaborate on her disorder: noah still has a prescription to aid her symptoms (most commonly fast and rambling words, an inability to shit still — showcased by tapping her feet, twirling her hair, fiddling with anything near her, etc — and a short attention span that is often interrupted by interludes of hyperfocus) but often pushes aside her pills because of her stubbornness. relying on a pill isn’t her favourite thing in the world and she likes to tell herself she can get by without them but lbr, the bitch can’t kjlhsd at least not for too long. though she keeps her problems as best a secret as possible, i’m sure someonE’S noticed her slip ups

↘︎ 𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎 !

this was a rollar coaster and a half. i know. i’m sorry. akjlshd please love me

tl;dr: small town girl from the mountains, raised by two loving separate parents, hardened by teasing and stares because of her adhd, but found her freedom and passion for life in europe before moving to vancouver to keep that spark alive. works 3 jobs to keep herself busy and because she just can’t make her mind on what she wants to do (waitress, dog walker, pole dancing instructor). 

first things that come to mind when thinking of noah: peaches, house plants (wink wink), fluffy dogs and purring cats, leather bound journals, and a lust for adventure.

as for connections, i want them aLL but i listed a few right here for y’all to check out. if any of those catch your eye / you’re down to brainstorm, hmu through tumblr ims / discord or like this and i’ll come to you!!!

[wolfbrn-blog]

EEP HI. i’m faith !!  and this is my smol !! i hope you grow to love him as much as i do! <3  before i get started i just wanna thank everyone for being super welcoming already! it’s been like a year since i’ve done any group roleplays and i’m super excited to be doing this one with you all! <3 okay !! onto the facts about my baby. :)) (  aLSO IF YOU WANNA PLOT HIT THE HEART <3 AND I WILL POP UP TO PLOT. :))) ) 

BASICS

NAME.     alexander jay blake.

NICKNAME.     A.J // blake // sharky (a nickname he’d been given when he first joined the pack. it stuck.) 

AGE.    27.

BIRTHDATE.    january 13th 1997.

ORIENTATION.    pansexual.

OCCUPATION.     bartender.

APPEARANCE

HEIGHT.   5'9.

WEIGHT.    165ibs.

EYES.    blue.

HAIR.   brown.  

CLOTHING STYLE. he’s very stereotypical ‘bad boy’ in the way he dresses. leather jackets and dark jeans. sometimes you’ll find him in a flannel or a gray tee-shirt.

PERSONALITY THINGS !!

OVERALL PERSONALITY.  without knowing him, the real him. most would say he’s the stereotypical asshole. someone no one wants to be friends with, someone most people would hate.  it’s true, he’s a dick. but a lot of it is a front. his personality, like most people’s, is very layered. on the outer he is very crude and snarky. living and breathing sass. as you get to know him and dig deeper you’ll come to learn things like.. he’s kind to animals and children alike. that he has a passion for music and while he can’t play any instruments he could listen to instrumentals for HOURS.  or you’d learn silly little things like he hates ice cream but he loves frozen yogurt. chocolate is his worst enemy, the taste is vile to him. he’s one of those people that to see past the walls that they’ve built. to actually like them you have to stick with it. you have to get past his snark. you have to learn to love it, even.  only then will you see any of the positive things about him. 

POSITIVE TRAITS.    like i said above, you really have to get to know him to see his positive traits. his front, his armor, is all bad. but once he lets you in you’ll find things like: he’s silly, he loves to laugh and will do anything to make his friends laugh, even if it’s at his own expense. he loves to smile and does it as often as possible in close company. he’s loyal and VERY protective over those he care’s about. animals will always hold a spot in his heart. he loves dogs and cats alike. he loves kids and they tend to really like him too, despite his mildly frightening appearance. 

NEGATIVE TRAITS.     as a front, he has quite a few negative traits. he’s harsh to almost everyone, cruel and he makes no use of his verbal filter. which, contrary to popular belief, he does have one.  he’s been a fighter since he was young, trained in boxing and shit like that. so he’s fairly skilled in that department. he has a lot of fun with the fighting ring in the back of the quarter moon. 

BAD HABITS.    chewing his lips, tugging on his hair. he fiddles a lot when he’s uncomfortable. and ofc, he curses a lot. 

APPEARANCE THINGS !!

EYES. his eyes are a BEAUTIFUL shade of blue, flecked with dark gray specks that make them look a bit more blue / gray than just blue. his eyelashes are long and dark. enough to make woman jealous. his eye shape is very complimenting to his features, minus the fact that they could be considered just a bit small. 

LIPS.  he has a scar that goes just down the edge of his top lip, splitting it almost permanently. it’s not really noticeable except in certain lights. - though you’ll find him pointing it out more often than not because he’s proud of it. 

BUILD. he doesn’t have a big muscle-y build. he’s long and lanky, but just because his body doesn’t really show his strength doesn’t mean it isn’t there. 

OVERVIEW

his mom and dad were highschool sweethearts, much to both of their families dismay. they hated each other and it eventually led to their kids ( his parents. ) moving across the country to be away from them. to be finally happy. 

it worked, for awhile. they did well. had a nice house, a dog. both had good jobs. and then his mother fell pregnant with him and they were so excited. they told their families, just with the hopes that they would finally accept them. they didn’t care. 

unphased by their families decision. they had alex and moved on. 

it was perfect. until he was six. his first sleepover. 

everything about it should’ve been fine. he was at his best friends house, they had so much fun. and then.. it was time to sleep... 

he thought he would be fine, like he really, really did. but.. it started storming and he hated storms and so.. in his panic he made them call his parents and his mother gladly got up and got dressed and got him. it was two am and foggy and storming and it was a saturday night. 

you can probably see where this is going. his mom got hit head on by a drunk driver. she was killed instantly. 

his father spiraled after that. he’d never been the healthiest mentally, his wife had kept him together for the most part and now she was gone and he was stuck trying to raise a six year old boy by himself. 

he couldn’t do it. 

he gave their dog up for adoption and he sold the house. he uprooted alex and then they were off. they moved to fairview. where no one really paid much attention to the new arrivals. they lived on the outskirts of town. barely noticeable. he held a job for awhile. but he was drinking heavily by this point. 

it was okay at first. his father tried. but the further into his alcoholism he drank himself the more he couldn’t help but blame alex for the loss of his wife. 

the abuse was slow, it didn’t start right away. nor was it ever really bad. mostly just neglect and harsh words. his father was never physically abusive, it just wasn’t in his nature. ( until the other was old enough to fight back... but i’ll get to that. ) 

 it just started with occasionally locking him in his bedroom without dinner...

he never allowed the kid to go anywhere, not that he ever really made friends in fairview anyway. 

being the outcast had it’s perks, no one really wanted to go near him. which meant he was never really bullied, he was mostly just left alone. allowed to live in peace. 

at around seventeen, the abuse changed, more on the physical side. trying to start fights with the boy. alex very rarely fought back, but when he did it almost always ended worse than what it would’ve if he’d have just taken it. 

he moved out very soon after that though, so it wasn’t that bad. 

soon after he moved out he got his job at the den, where he finally felt at home. he loved the people there and really took to it. 

since moving out of his fathers, he’s definitely come out of his shell a bit. working at the den and dealing with people every day has certainly helped.  

( full bio will be up on his blog asap. but this will have to do for now ! :) ) 

[simplyoriginalcharacters]

((Hello. This is a newer character that I’ve been working on. He’s maybe a few months old but I’ve really liked working on him and his backstory. This may sound silly but I’ve never submitted a profile for a character who is transgender and I hope that this is written well. I know this shouldn’t be a big deal, but I don’t want to offend anyone. I hope I wrote his profile well too. I’m looking for help with his profile, development and backstory, so basically everything because I feel like my profiles are awful.

Image is created and edited by me on my Sims 4 game.

World: This is character is from my Space series. It’s 2036 and Demons and Aliens are on earth. Ren is one of the characters that can be seen in space or on Earth. These aliens are interesting because they are like humans, but they are stronger, they age slower, and they come with different sorts of powers. When mothers are pregnant, they have telepathic connections to their child and once the children are born they can raise themselves if they have to which is why most of the children in this backstory are doing different things. Viggo is a different character who was reviewed by Mod Shields. There are a few translations on this page and if you have questions then feel free to ask))

Name: Ren Silla

((Reign Sheila))

Real Name:

 Kharmin Volta-Oskaalivik

Gender: 

Transgender Male

Sexual Orientation: 

Pansexual

Age:

 On his planet he does not have a birth date, but he would be 88 or 89 years old. 

Birthdate:

 A'maranians don’t have birth dates, but for Earth purposes it’s February 29th 1988.

Occupation: 

Ren is a bodyguard and an occasional hit-man. He was an assassin, but now he sometimes works as bodyguard.

Alignment: 

Chaotic Good

Group/Organizational Affiliations: 

He is affiliated with Viggo and anyone that he is working with at the moment. 

Family: 

Kharmon Volta-Oskaalivik: 

She is his identical twin sister. They are actually very close and she was very supportive of him as he was transitioning, but he’s afraid of her. She’s a gladiator on their planet and she’s always trying to fight him. They favor facially, but she is more muscular than him and a bit meaner. She loves him and he loves her. 

Mimikya Volta-Alakkiria: 

This is his dad and they have a great relationship. Mimikya is from the north and his powers are strange because he can control ice and water vapor. When his son came out to him, he was confused at first, but he was supportive of him. He does hate that his son works as a contract killer.

Behdo Roseith-Oskaalivik: 

She is his mother. From birth, she knew that her child was different. She didn’t care and she loves him anyway. Her powers are that she can control cosmic energy that radiates from planets or stars.

Best Friends: 

Viggo Hwajae-Alakkaria- Viggo has been his friend for many years. They have known each other since they were children and he was the first person that he came out to. Now he works as Viggo’s bodyguard and he’s never more than 300 feet away from him. They also call each other friends with benefits.

Relationship Status: 

Single

Significant Other: 

None

Other Relationships:

None at the moment. 

Height: 

6'3

Weight: 

220lbs

Build: 

Lean but muscular because of his job. 

Skin Tone: 

Dark with Goldish-tan undertones.

Hair:

 Jet black, which is a Southern trait.

Eyes: 

Highlighter pink, which is a Northern trait.

Identifying Marks: 

He’s biracial, he has braces, and he looks lizardlike.

Appearance:

            The most noticeable thing about Ren is that he is of mixed heritage. He has tan skin with black hair, but his eyes are pink, meaning that he’s of North and South origin. He has a handsome face with what has been described as a “shark like” smile. He has braces, but he voluntarily got them because he thought that they looked cool. He is about 6'3, 220 pounds and like all A'maranians he has a tail that has a black tuft on it, but he has silver rings that are on the end of it. He has a lean build, but he is muscular because his job is rather physical. His hair is always seen as being shoulder length and it is rather straight. Sometimes he has his hair slicked back, or sometimes he has a bang, but he has never had it longer. He paints his nails neon white while his sisters are always painted black. Because he is a Bodyguard he is always seen wearing black, or something with the color in on it because black is an intimidating color. Red is the color of where he is from, so he always has that on somewhere, even if its a red bracelet. He also wears boots that go up to his knees.

Personality: 

Ren has a rather interesting and weird personality. It’s been noted that he acts like his friend Viggo, this meaning that they are charismatic and charming, but Viggo is a bit more serious and slightly more mature. Ren is mature, but he tends to joke around or space out often, which causes him to forget what he’s saying. He can laugh and have fun, but when he’s on his job, he’s focused. He’s generally calm and level headed when it comes to danger, and most of the time he’s really relaxed. He’s weird because he says his thoughts out loud, and he thinks about the oddest things.

Motivations: 

Exploration. When hes doing his job he’s always looking forward to traveling.

Current Goal: 

Completing his contracts that he’s gotten.

Life Goal: 

He wants to enjoy who he is.

Motto:

 "Just give me a contract and I’ll do the rest".

Best Quality: 

This dude is on his job. He is an excellent worker with an amazing work ethic. He’s also one of those people who would risk his life to keep his friends safe. He’s always there to lend an hand and it would offend him if someone would reject his help.

Worst Quality: 

He’s moody sometimes. He’s always been that way, and Viggo has described him as being picky. He has a certain way of doing things and he won’t change his ways when it comes to his job. He tends to get over emotional sometimes when it aimed to doing his job. He doesn’t realize that he makes decisions that are based off of his feelings. He’s been known to take a contract and he goes to talk to the person that he’s supposed to kill. 

Fears: 

Shershen’ Soldiers. He’s pretty brave but he has a deep fear of them. Mainly because he knows that he can’t kill one by himself and they never travel alone.  He’s also afraid of his sister because she’s a bit of a handful. 

Hobbies: 

He likes doing his nails. They are always perfectly manicured and painted nicely. He will fight anyone who tells him that he shouldn’t be doing that. 

Talents: 

He’s never noticed it himself, but he has a nice singing voice. He sings to himself when he’s bored. Like most A'maranians, he’s fluent in two languages. 

Skills: 

He’s learning more about his powers and in the process he’s learning he’s hand symbols. He’s learned how to do lightning and although he’s not at Viggo’s level, he can scorch someone pretty bad. He’s also really good with a sword.

Abilities: 

Like everyone of his race, Ren can fly and adapt to the span of space. His powers are centered around Quantum Magic, so he can control certain things when he is in space only. He can teleport, create time warps and he can manipulate the atmosphere and environments of different planets. He also has limited control over ice, but not to the extent that his father does. 

Weapons: 

He’s the only known A'maranian that uses a gun. He carries around has been identified as a Benelli M4 Super 90 shotgun and he’s very efficient with it.

Secret: 

He wasn’t aware that his gun had a brand name until he got to Earth.

Influential Memory: 

Coming out to his parents. He was really scared at first and although they were confused and scared for him, they completely understood and helped him with his transition. 

Role Model: 

His dad and his mom. Although they weren’t home a lot, he’s glad that he knows them. 

Also Viggo is a role model of his because his confidence is infectious. 

Crush: 

He kind of has a crush on Viggo’s friend Chaiu, but that guy is picky. He openly admits that he doesn’t like Ren because he’s a contract killer. 

Source of Embarrassment: 

When he’s really stressed out, his voice cracks sometimes. 

Source of Pride: 

His natural accent. He’s worked hard to keep it and it’s distinctive. It like a very Australian man who is trying to hide his accent with an American one, but it’s pleasant to listen to.

History:

Ren was and is still Viggo’s good friend. Growing up he knew two things about himself. 1) he was different in more ways than one, and 2) He is a living contradiction on his planet. His Father was from the North while his Mother was from the South. He was born with magic powers, which was an anomaly because A'maranians have no magic abilities at all. He never knew why he had these powers, but he liked having them and even as a child he exhibited great control over them.

          When he was five years old, he met another A'maranian who was different too. His name was Viggo and he was partially human, which scared a lot of people because he couldn’t really control his powers. They instantly clicked and they were the best of friends. Ren and his sister would hang out with Viggo all day and they even snuck him into their house when their parents were gone for the week. He usually came to eat, but he was a great story teller and they liked having a friend who was older than them.             As he got older, Ren was having some difficulties with understanding who he was. On his planet everyone was equal. There was never any discrimination towards a certain part of the culture, and gender roles were equal. Although he tried he couldn’t hide how he was feeling. Nobody really paid attention, but his mother knew that there was something that her child had to tell her. His only real friend was Viggo, and he was the first person that he told about his feelings. Because their planet was close allies to Earth, a lot of books were sent over for the A'maranians to read. They went to one of their libraries and found books that Ren felt that he could understand. He had read stories that scared him about bad experiences that happened to humans, but he spoke to Viggo first. He came out to him and Viggo was glad for his friend, but worried because he was going to make himself sick with worry. Ren eventually made the decision to come out to his parents. His sister was fine with it just as long as she could still fight him up from time to time, his mother already had a feeling, and his dad was actually confused because he didn’t know that his child felt this way. Being the scientific person that he was, he did research because he wanted to understand how his child was feeling. They told him that they wanted him to be happy, and they did everything to help him with his transition like helping him with hormone therapy and other things that were to help him. 

He was 18 now and it was time for him to go into the academy. He was upset that Viggo couldn’t attend himself, but he was glad to hear that he decided to join the ___ Priesthood. Ren and his sister were accepted at the same time and throughout their academy days, they were well known. “The Volta Twins” were always combative and they would usually get into fights with other students. Like his sister, he was a natural fighter, and a bit rebellious. He loved his parents line of work and he respected them for it, but he didn’t want to become a scientist at all. He wanted to know more about the neighboring planets, so he went off the beaten path and he enlisted to become an assassin, which was a respected but extremely dangerous profession. When he told his parents about this they were extremely upset because they knew that he could do more. After much thought, they felt that their son could handle himself and they spoke the council, who approved his application. Not wanting to be outshined by her brother, his sister became a Gladiator in one of their battle arenas. Before they went their separate ways Ren, his sister, and Viggo had a party with his family. He was going for training and was away from his planet for about 20 years. As part of their training they had to adopt a code name, so he chose to call himself “Ren Silla” which meant “The Revenant” in their language. 

When he returned to his planet where he did some parts of his job on Acrinco. It was going well and he mainly had contracts that dealt with corrupt people and gangsters. He never knew anything about those that he was supposed to kill, and he never paid any mind, but eventually he was given a contract that he had a problem with. Someone wanted him to assassinate an up and coming Soldier that was named Viggo Hwajae. He was told that there was someone who was supposed to get the position as the Army Captain, but the commanders saw that Viggo was more of a leader and a better soldier. Apparently, the man who was up for the promotion was denied because he was racist, nobody really trusted him, and he felt that the A'maranian half-breed had no place serving in the royal army. Ren was shocked and he could have sworn that he was a confirmed priest by now, but he had no idea that he was a full-fledged soldier. He took the contract and he used it instead to track down his old friend. He eventually tracked him down and he spied on him. He saw that Viggo was indeed in the army. He had no idea that his friend was still on their planet and he was truly happy to see him again. Remembering his contract, he used it instead to kill the racist soldier, and as he was gathering important documents he saw that this man was giving army secrets to the Makarasan Empire, their enemies.              Knowing that he went against a contract that he was obligated to fill, decided to go to the council and he became a petitioned to become a free agent. He liked his job, but In a strange way he really hated not knowing about the people that he killed. The council accepted and he was allowed to operate as a Free agent as long as he completed his contracts fully and completely. He quit being an assassin and he eventually became a hunter, which was a more enjoyable and dangerous line of work. 

            He was free to do what he wanted, so he spent the day visiting friends and family. Ren went to talk to his sister who was now an enlisted gladiator, he saw his parents and they were well, and then he met up with Viggo. He was shocked to see that he had changed and that he was doing something that he liked. They got to talking and Viggo told him about what has been going on while Ren told him about being an assassin, quitting and becoming his own employer. Viggo told him that he was going on a rather risky mission and that he needed a partner with him to help. Ren didn’t really have anything to do, so he offered to come with him. They did about 10 different missions together before Ren decided to work as his personal bodyguard. He accepted and he has been working with him ever since because they trust each other.

Welcome back!

The great thing about these characters is you have a very involved world. You understand what your characters are doing and why inside that environment. They have backgrounds that are separate but intertwined that mesh together.

Once again though I’m seeing some personality, job, and motivation aspects that simply aren’t working as cohesively as they could.  Instead of looking at individual things let’s really delve into how all of these sections can come together.

Ren is described as a lovable, charming guy who spaces out, says whatever odd thing he thinks and wants to travel. This sounds like a person who is not compatible with a bodyguard, especially a bodyguard to a friend. Bodyguards become friendly with their clients all the time, but covering someone who starts as a friend is tough because of the distraction factor. Also, talking to and befriending targets makes a hitman un-hirable very quickly. Is this really what he wants to be doing? They sound more like fellow soldiers than bodyguard and protector. Why does Ren like killing people so much? He’s described as relaxed and calm yet he likes being a hunter because it’s exciting and dangerous. I’m seeing some dissonance here.

Now for the second issue I’d like to tackle, Ren’s identity as a Trans individual. As you may have noticed here at SOC we are super trans friendly. We get a lot of characters who are not cis/het, and there are some issues we commonly see on trans profiles. Every single relationship you defined in the profile talks largely about coming out reactions. There’s so much in relation to him being trans that I’m losing how he connects as a person. His relationship with his father is great. Why? Do they have similar personalities? Interests? What do they do together? He and his sister fight physically. Do they also compete for parental affection? Does he favor one parent to another? If these are important people to him give me more than how they felt about him coming out.

I also always wonder why alien species are often limited to binary genders. Your characters can manipulate and fly through space so they obviously have non-human characteristics. Why are they still female/male only? Why does his Dad have to find trans information on Earth instead home world? Is he literally the first transgender person in his specie? That would be a very difficult thing to explain to people who had never even heard of the concept before. If gender roles are completely equal how does he explain needing to make a purely physical change to people who don’t understand dysphoria?

For anyone who is trans, coming out and transitioning are major events, but they do not define personalities. For Ren make sure his coming out is a distinct, honest, and accurate moment in his history. Then leave it in his past. Yes, there are still struggles, yes it’s part of daily life, yes outing can still happen and have consequences, but his relationships with the people who know need to reflect that he knows who he is and he’s moved on.

Happy Writing,

-Shields