#faction.intro

[nightshfts]

full name: julian franco mascari nickname: jules, juju (mom only), idk give him more he doesn't mind date of birth & age: november 29, 1998 (26) place of birth: new york city current residence: tbd zodiac sign: sagittarius gender & pronouns: cis man, he/him sexual orientation: he hasn't really given it much thought, though he's only ever been with girls affiliation: none. though his last name might suggest he belongs to the triptych, he isn't actually involved except for sharing the same last name as the group''s advisor occupation: stringer / video journalist / freelance video editor family: paul torrio †, tbd mom, tbd siblings 3 positive traits: intuitive, adaptable, resourceful 3 negative traits: volatile, over-sensitive, vindictive character inspiration: lou bloom (nightcrawler), christopher moltisanti (the sopranos), ladybug (bullet train), doc sportello (inherent vice), peter parker (spider-man), greg hirsch (succession)

history

trigger warning: death

julian always knew what he wanted to do with his life—or what he didn't want to do. his father was a gangster, his mother the mistress of a gangster. surprising that the kid's got a moral compass at all, but here we are. his childhood best friend was danny ruggiero, affectionately called 'ruggy'. ruggy, his sister, and his mom, they were transplants from rhode island. didn't know a single soul in new york and easily made friends with the mascaris after julian and ruggy became friends in school. they didn't know about their affiliation with organized crime, of course, and they didn't have to. the ruggieros were ordinary, innocent people who were doing actual good in the community; mrs. ruggiero was a high school teacher, her daughter regularly volunteered at the community center to help at-risk youth, and ruggy, the smart cookie that he was, tutored students for free. julian was drawn to that, somehow, and probably spent more time with the ruggieros after school than he did at his own house.

when he was eleven, julian bought himself an old camcorder at a neighborhood garage sale with what little money he'd saved up. he and ruggy started making their little movies, silly videos they'd put up on the internet for shits and giggles. soon, julian realized that this was something he could actually take seriously, and he took it upon himself to not just tell stories, but to tell stories that were actually important.

often, it meant sticking his nose where it didn't belong, but what's the worst that a kid with a camera can do? maybe he'd just have to fuck around and find out.

ruggy was sixteen when he was reported missing. a few days later, they found his lifeless body washed up on a riverbank. the cops ruled it as a suicide—and they were pretty adamant about it, too—his family was having money problems, kids were being awful about it, but julian knew his friend would never do such a thing. this caused his resentment towards law enforcement to grow as well as its conflicting interest with the nature of his family's business. he couldn't, in good conscience, bring himself to support his family's illicit affairs and be complicit with their involvement in the nypd. they can't say they're happy about his pursuit of the truth, as he likes to call it, either.

right now, he works as a stringer, having invested in a bunch of equipment to put in his car whenever he cruises around listening to dispatch chatter while looking for his next big scoop. he'll drive to a crime scene, try to get the best video footage (if not the first, or the only footage), and sell it for the highest bidding media outlet. sometimes he'll also gather intel and give journalists leads for a reasonable price. the commodification of information, as he likes to call it. his relationship with his family is strained, for better or for worse, but he doesn't want to do anything that would put their well-being in jeopardy - at least, more than their affiliation with the triptych already does. for their sake, he stays out of triptych business as much as he can (not that that's a problem - his family no longer tells him anything). the less he knows, the better.

headcanons

probably thinks he's better than the rest of his family just because he's 'doing the right thing' but there's a very thin line between expose and exploit and when he's selling footage of a murder scene, there's that tiny voice in his head that tells him he's being a piece of shit for it.

he lives alone in a tiny apartment two floors above a korean mart. learned a little korean to impress the guy who owns it so he can go on a date with his daughter.

got into dartmouth purely due to nepo baby privileges (i.e. his mom waltzed her way into admissions and signed a very generous check). majored in communications but dropped out in his sophomore year after his mom stopped paying for his tuition since he'd been expressively unsupportive of his family's involvement with the triptych and his chosen career path is essentially being a professional snitch. watches a lot of youtube to learn what he needs to know. a big do-it-yourself guy except when it comes to assembling furniture. literally fuck ikea.

hugely dyslexic, which is why he chooses to have a visual medium in his work.

smug and sarcastic 80% of the time. the other 20% he's getting his feelings hurt and being vindictive about it.

loves making playlists since he spends a lot of time sitting in his car at night while waiting for [kid from the incredibles vc] somethin' amazing, i guess! also making playlists for ppl is kinda one of his love languages.....and hate languages?? he literally has a playlist for every specific emotion and scenario in his head

[silentends]

[ pedro pascal, cis male, he/him ] Man, I wouldn’t want to get on their bad side. Who am I talking about? That’s DIEGO SANCHEZ, they’re the LEADER for THE WRAITH. Not what you’d expect from most FIFTY year olds, right? Word has it that they’re just as PATIENT as they are JUDGEMENTAL, but I can’t help thinking about THE HAIR PRICKLING ON THE BACK OF MY NECK FROM THE FEELING OF BEING WATCHED when I see them.

Character Name: Diego Elias Sanchez Nickname (s): Santi, but only for those close to him. Face Claim: Pedro Pascal Birthplace: Los Angeles, California Birthday: December 31st Zodiac: Capricorn MBTI: ISTJ Moral Alignment: Lawful Neutral (possibly Lawful Evil, we'll see) Sexuality: Bisexual, leaning heterosexual (He's like a 2 on the Kinsey scale) 3 positive traits: Steadfast, confident, hardworking 3 negative traits: Ruthless, Machiavellian, deceitful Languages: English, Spanish, Mandarin, some Farsi Love language: Physical touch

The chain is only as strong as its weakest link, for if that fails the chain fails and the object that it has been holding up falls to the ground.

The third son of Santiago Sanchez, nothing much was even expected out of the boy called baby Santi by relatives. His oldest brother was the heir, the second born the stand in, so there was nothing for Diego to be except for a child.

These low expectations didn't result in low aspirations. Instead Diego had that child's urge to run with the big kids coupled with a competitive need to prove himself. He wanted to be just as fast, just as smart, and just as strong. He didn't know that one day he would get exactly what he wanted by being the last one standing.

His father was a petty criminal and even if Santi wasn't involved, he still saw the blood, the stitched up wounds, and the newspaper headlines. Santiago Sanchez always said the city didn't take care of them, so they had to take care of themselves.

As Diego watched his family keep getting into trouble all while telling him to stay out of it, that he wasn't cut out for it, he decided to take their words to heart. Instead of ending up going down the same road to petty crime, he took a different path.

Was it any surprise they threatened to disown him when he went to the military?

His goal was simple. Instead of getting in over his head and causing more trouble for his family, he would learn how to look out for them in a way that couldn't be faulted. He'd be trained by others to be deadly in a way that was respectable, then a few years later, he'd go home and none of them would be able to say a damn thing about it.

What Diego failed to realize is that some of them wouldn't be alive. He was overseas when word reached him about his brother's death, the middle Sanchez son eliminated by a well placed bullet.

Diego could have gone home, but he didn't want to. He wanted the sweat, blood, and bullets that waited for him there in the sand. Home would still be there and if it was in pieces, so what? He was good at puzzles, he would pick them up and put everything back together.

It took another few years before Diego left the military for home, yet another story of a screw up waiting for him. His oldest brother was in jail, arrested for a house of crimes. Breaking and entering, assault with a deadly weapon, drugs were involved somewhere in there.

It was a mess and made Diego think of nights in the bathroom, cleaning up blood from white tile with stained grout, his dad disoriented from pain, pills, and booze. It seemed this was always his job, cleaning up the mess, but he wasn't baby Santi anymore. When he stepped off that plane in New York, Diego felt like his own man in a way that he hadn't when he left.

As always, he had a plan. He trusted his dad to use his illegal connections to look into what happened with his brother, and meanwhile Diego could try more legal routes. It would take time, but connections to law enforcement meant the chance for evidence to go missing, for new suspects to be framed, for technicalities to free his brother. Dirty cops and corrupt politicians were lurking in the cracks everywhere, all they needed was the right leverage and they could break his family free.

The short-sighted wanted plans with immediate pay-off, but Diego was different, he was willing to spend years to get to the desired outcome if that was what it took.

What Diego didn't expect was for his father not to be enthused about helping out his eldest son. He'd been gone a long time overseas, leaving him unaware of how age was getting to his father, how his brother was hungry for power. He didn't know of the struggles between them.

He'd always been told that his father was guilty of petty crime, and even when he was older, Diego hadn't questioned. But the more he looked, the more things didn't make sense. Somehow Santiago Sanchez was involved with what brought down his eldest son and that didn't count as petty crime.

When Santiago was found dead a few months later, Diego told everyone the man must have bitten off more than he could chew.

Santiago used to tell him the city wouldn't look after them, so they needed to look out for each other. There was a flaw in that logic, Diego eventually decided. The city was only a reflection of the people inside of it and if the people didn't look out for each other, of course they'd be chewed up and spit out.

Theoretically, that's what the law was supposed to do, but they were so... encumbered. They couldn't do enough, their reach was too short, and there was a rot inside the system if you looked.

It seemed like Diego spent his entire life doing just that, standing on the outside and looking in. Enough.

The first time he killed someone important enough for the national news to catch on, they were in the middle of giving a speech celebrating their company's latest accomplishment. Shot lined up, sniper rifle fired, and the body fell back into the arms of his wife.

A wraith was meant to be little different than a ghost, an image of someone that appears around the time of death. Like so many things, it shouldn't have been scary, but people turned it into something to be feared.

A sign of death, something that came silently and could both appear and leave without warning, it felt synonymous with not being safe. But not everyone deserved to be safe. The world was better off without certain people in it and Diego took it upon himself to decide which ones. Judge, jury, and executioner, Diego made himself not into an apparition, but an omen, a harbinger of doom reaching out to entangle people in his vision.

People don’t understand the word ruthless. They think it means ‘mean.’ It’s not about being mean. It’s about seeing the bright, clear line that leads from A to B. The line that goes from motive to means. Beginning to end. It’s about seeing that bright, clear line and not caring about anything but the beautiful fact that you can see the solution. Not caring about anything else but the perfection of it.

[angelstoker]

†   ╼     people say I'm jealous ( but my kink is watching )  you ruin your life / you losing your mind ,   you dyeing your hair .  people say I'm jealous , but my kink is watching  you crashing your car .    you breaking your heart , you thinking I care .   people say I'm jealous , but my kink is karma .

angelica stoker .   written by lenny .

intro + wanted connections + pinterest + playlist

[cfichor]

“ ʏᴏᴜ’ᴠᴇ ɢᴏᴛ ᴀ ᴡᴀʀ ɪɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʜᴇᴀᴅ ; ᴀɴᴅ ɪᴛ’ꜱ ᴛᴇᴀʀɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ᴜᴘ ɪɴꜱɪᴅᴇ . ”

𝑭𝑼𝑳𝑳 𝑵𝑨𝑴𝑬 , cian oisin gallagher 𝑵𝑰𝑪𝑲𝑵𝑨𝑴𝑬(𝑺) , cian , idiot ( affectionate ) 𝑨𝑮𝑬 , twenty8 𝑩𝑰𝑹𝑻𝑯 𝑫𝑨𝑻𝑬 , 𝑮𝑬𝑵𝑫𝑬𝑹 , cismale 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑵𝑶𝑼𝑵𝑺 , he / him 𝑺𝑬𝑿𝑼𝑨𝑳 𝑶𝑹𝑰𝑬𝑵𝑻𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵 , bisexual , honestly one just needs to compliment him and he'll likely swoon 𝑹𝑶𝑴𝑨𝑵𝑻𝑰𝑪 𝑶𝑹𝑰𝑬𝑵𝑻𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵 , biromantic , again , compliments = swoon 𝑶𝑪𝑪𝑼𝑷𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵 , soldier , he'll find a 'real' job eventually 𝑺𝑷𝑶𝑲𝑬𝑵 𝑳𝑨𝑵𝑮𝑼𝑨𝑮𝑬𝑺 , english ( barely ) , some spanish , some french 𝑷𝑨𝑹𝑬𝑵𝑻𝑺 , flynn gallagher ( father ) , kelly gallagher ( mother , deceased )   𝑺𝑰𝑩𝑳𝑰𝑵𝑮𝑺 , tbd siblings 𝑺𝑰𝑮𝑵𝑰𝑭𝑰𝑪𝑨𝑵𝑻 𝑶𝑻𝑯𝑬𝑹 , none 𝑷𝑬𝑻𝑺 , after the hamster incident , he doesn't think he can manage a pet

( once i can formulate thoughts , i will rework this )

blood  and  loyalty  ,  the  markings  of  cian  gallagher's  birth  ,  born  to  a  man  whose  reputation  preceded  him  beyond  generations  ,  forging  a  comparison  that  would  rest  over  his  son's  head  long  after  his  own  death  .

the  comparisons  had  been  simple  in  nature  during  his  youth  ,  how  he  had  been  born  with  his  father's  eyes  ,  how  his  smile  reminded  them  of  his  father's  ,  how  it  was  a  shame  he  didn't  bare  his  mother's  soft  complexion  .

heavy  is  the  head  that  wears  the  crown  ,  or  in  cian's  case  ,  the  family  name  that  reeked  of  loyalty  and  responsibility  ,  and  the  weight  had  begun  to  bear  down  on  him  ,  even  as  he  got  his  first  taste  of  freedom  .  short  lived  ,  considering  he  only  went  to  college  at  nyu  ,  thanks  in  part  to  the  surname  that  paved  the  way  ,  but  he  thrived  out  from  under  the  blanket  of  who  his  father  was  ,  and  what  alliances  he  had  been  born  into  ;  he  had  thrived  ,  for  a  period  .

with  a  lack  of  personal  guidance  ,  cian  had  not  known  what  to  do  with  himself  ,  he  wasn't  as  smart  as  his  siblings  ,  wasn't  as  cut  out  for  the  triptych  lifestyle  as  others  ,  but  with  no  clear  path  set  before  him  ,  he  had  no  other  option  than  to  fall  in  line  .  and  so  he  did  ,  at  the  bottom  of  the  ranks  ,  a  soldier  that  did  as  he  was  told  while  managing  to  not  trip  over  his  own  feet  .

❧ wanted connections ;

the one that got away ; i honestly don't have much to go off of at the moment , but i want something heart wrenching , gut twisting , makes me go ahh and aww at the same time , yk? ( preferably m , but i'm open to consider ) babysitter ; not really , hehe , but i would love to have someone within triptych that is essentially someone that is either tasked with keeping an eye on him or does it on their own accord because , let's be honest , there's some brain cells that slipped out of this boy's ears

[accidentman]

─── 𝘼 𝘾 𝘾 𝙄 𝘿 𝙀 𝙉 𝙏 𝙈 𝘼 𝙉 ,

[ Ⅰ ] A CONTRACT KILLER WHO MASKS HITS AS UNFORTUNATE MISHAPS

man , i wouldn’t want to get on his bad side . who am i talking about ? that’s MALACHAI DUMONT . he's an ASSASSIN for THE WRAITH . not what you’d expect from most FORTY ONE year olds , right ? word has it that he's just as INTREPID as he is RUTHLESS , but i can’t help thinking about THE WAY NOT EVEN LIGHT CAN ESCAPE A BLACK HOLE whenever i see him .

 ⸻ STATS — HISTORY — WCS ⸻

[mem0rised]

✟ ⸻ sometimes i wonder why people like that stick with this city. who am i talking about? that’s CATALINA 'CAT' TREJO, they’re a CLEAN CITIZEN that works as a STRIPPER/DANCER, if you can believe it. hard to believe from a TWENTY-SIX year old, right? word has it that they’re just as INTUITIVE as they are OPINIONATED, but i can’t help thinking about CHERRY RED LIPS & BLACK LACE WORN AS ARMOUR when i see them. 

please note: cat’s secrets are pretty big plot points in her life so but they don’t necessarily need to be revealed just yet… in that case you’ll notice some unanswered questions and things that maybe even seem unfinished or not fully fleshed out in her lore but I promise it is!

basic information:

full name: catalina ines trejo

nickname(s): goes by cat exclusively

age: twenty-six

date of birth: november 30th

place of birth: queens, new york city

ethnicity: argentinian

nationality: first generation argentinian-american

sex & gender: cisgender female / woman

pronouns: she/her

orientation: bisexual

language(s) spoken: spanish, english

accent: new york-american

family ties:

mother: adela trejo

father: sebiastian trejo

siblings: two older siblings (one brother one sister), and a younger brother

pets: none yet

occupation:

position: stripper

location: turkish delight

personaity information:

element: fire

big 3: sagittarius sun, taurus moon, cancer rising

personality: empathetic, stubborn, outspoken, freethinking, realistic, resiliant, flighty, combative, unforthcoming, self determined

desires: financial stability, a fresh start, ???

fears: ???, being unlovable, betrayal, lacking security

drugs/alcohol/smoking: sometimes coke to get through long shifts and boring clients, rarely, weed only

physical appearance:

face claim: maia reficco

hair color: dark brown

eye color: brown

height: 5 ft 3"

build: slim/petite, curvaceous hips

tattoos: some -- will expand on later <3

piercings: ear lobes on both sides

lore:

cw: emotional neglect, parental trauma, toxic relationship

catalina was more or less born the middle child of five, but still she was the youngest girl. and in many ways that meant she was both at times, invisible and so very much observed within her family dynamics.

her eldest brother being 12 years older meant he basically raised her and her younger brother. her parents, being immigrants to the states both worked to give their children the best possible chances they could. but that didn't mean they always made the right choices.

their father was both a physically and emotionally absent man; sebastian trejo was hard on his boys in the hopes of turning them into men and emotionally absent with his daughters out of fear of connecting to them and seeing them as multifaceted beings.

her mother on the other hand had a tendency to be a helicopter mother. overprotective and overbearing, which was obviously juxtaposed by her own physical absences. adela raised her children out of fear; fear of the world and how it might corrupt her children. all the while pushing her children further and further away from her. all her life catalina was subjected to non stop phone calls, and threats of to deny her autonomy. meanwhile her younger brother was practically allowed to do whatever he wanted. her family love a double standard.

growing up catalina was taught to fear power, not that she had the ability to wield it herself. this put her at a great disadvantage the older she got and she started to attract the attention of boys... even though she wasn't allowed to date, or wear makeup, or sleep over at friend's houses like a normal teenage girl, catalina still did all those things. how could she not? unfortunately though, it meant she was practically living a double life. unable to be totally honest with her family about who she was with, where she went and the things she did. when she finally found herself with a boyfriend at 17 she of course hid that from them.

cat hid the relationship long from her family enough for him to convince her to move back to texas with him after graduation to be closer to his family. long enough for graduate and not tell them until the week before she left. needless to say, shit hit the fucking fan. her family were furious and they told her to basically never come back if she actually wanted to go. and by that point, it was all she wanted... she wanted fucking freedom.

and for a while she had that freedom... until eventually she didn't. texas was isolating; she moved to a small town with her ex and knew no one. worked a menial job which went into a joint account. of course he always had to know where she was and what she was doing. it reminded her so much of her mother, and it made her fucking angry to be thought of in that was as property by the person who was supposed to love you most.

cat left eventually, but of course she feels stupid enough to have stayed as long as she did. her early 20's having proved an uncomfortable yet necessary growth period into realising her fucking worth.

now she's back in new york city, and has been for the last year now, working as a stripper at the turkish delight. her relationship with her family has since been reconciled enough to the point where they're on speaking terms, but that does not mean it does not come with it's challenges. she now remains the black sheep of the family, having been guilty of omitting so much truth whilst they refuse to acknowledge their part in her actions.

headcanons:

her working name at the club is cherry

more tba.

potential connections - please enquire within:

siblings: 0/3 an older brother, older sister, younger brother

clients: those who see her at the turkish delight

coworkers: fellow dancers or security/bouncers/bartenders at the turkish delight

possible romantic connection: m preferred age 27+ | cat does not need a knight in shining armour to save her and she's certainly not looking for one. she makes her own money, has street smarts and obviously is in her healing era. that being said i would love to see a romantic connection form with cat and the right counterpart who could handle her and her baggage. someone who understands there might be more than meets the eye and not to underestimate this tiny baddie.

anything!!

taken connections:

tba.

[seethingblooms]

Man, I wouldn’t want to get on their bad side. Who am I talking about? That’s BEREN DURMAZ, they’re the LEADER for TOHUM. Not what you’d expect from most THIRTY-SIX year olds, right? Word has it that they’re just as CONFIDENT as they are CUT-THROAT, but I can’t help thinking about THE GLIMMER OF FIRELIGHT AGAINST DIAMONDS when I see them.

Name: Meryem Beren Durmaz Nickname: Open to suggestions Age/DOB: 36 (November 17th) Zodiac: Scorpio Gender/Pronouns: Ciswoman, she/her Family: Ex-husband, middle sister Durmaz, youngest sister Seyda Durmaz Sexuality: Pansexual Relationship Status: Divorced

The eldest daughter of the eldest daughter, that should tell you all you need to know. The Durmaz family came to America from Turkey when Meryem was only a child, but despite everything said to hype the new country up, life didn't suddenly become a dream. Despite her young age, Meryem frequently acted as her mother's translator in social situations and soon learned that it was best to leave her out of them entirely if she could. Her father, it seemed, agreed with her, and the pair were divorced by the time Meryem became a teenager. Money was tight, her sisters needy, but what eldest child doesn't think that of the younger kids? Despite the anger she felt, she still did her best to take care of them, driving them when she learned how, going to school events so someone would be there if their parents didn't show, and scrimping or avoiding spending money on herself so that her sisters had what they needed. Eventually, working the cash register in the mall wasn't enough and Meryem became more desperate, more willing to do whatever it took. She was prideful, yes, but not so prideful as to not accept a free drink when a man offered it one night while she was trying to drown her sorrows. And when he left money on the nightstand afterwards? She didn't refuse that, either. She started calling herself Beren, her middle name, and started advertising herself, eventually ending up on Tohum's radar. She didn't hesitate to sign up, not caring about the legality as long as the money would still spend. For what felt like the first time in her life, there was enough money. She wasn't just taking care of her sisters, she was taking care of herself and she was flourishing. Eventually she caught the eye of her biggest prize yet, the leader of Tohum. People said he was soft on her because she reminded him of home. Others said she was controlling him, painting her as some manipulative, seductive witch in a time honored fashion dating back all the way to Anne Boleyn. When the leader died and she presented a recording of him stating his wishes for her to succeed him, it nearly led to a riot. She was too young, too inexperienced, always too something, but Beren didn't let that stop her. Instead she continued to claw her way to success, fighting to keep hold of the power. Almost a year has passed since then and she hasn't lost it yet.

Wanted Connections

Ex-husband: She was married to him for a few years in her early 30s, but things ended up going sour. May or may not still love him.

Former Friends: Back when she was a teenager and before she became an escort to help support her family, these were the people who were her friends and who were abandoned along with her old life.

The rebound: The person she's using to try getting over her ex with.

[jaymacavoy]

[ FINN COLE, CISMAN, HE/HIM ] Man, I wouldn’t want to get on their bad side. Who am I talking about? That’s JASON MACAVOY, they’re the ENFORCER for INDOMINUS. Not what you’d expect from most TWENTY-EIGHT year olds, right? Word has it that they’re just as LOYAL as they are HOT- HEADED, but I can’t help thinking about A STRING OF PURPLING BRUISES FRESH FROM A FIGHT when I see them.

I'll earn my stripes ;; heart of a beast, I′ll keep up the fight. when the lights go down && the sun comes up, break my bones && i'll still stand tough

stats.

full name:  jason thomas macavoy nicknames: jay, jayjay, mac birthday: april 5th age: twenty- eight birthplace: bronx, new york star sign: ares gender: cis male pronouns: he/him sexuality: heterosexual gang affiliation: indominus rank: enforcer cover: trainer, bouncer & an occasional street fighter when the money gets tight. Kid’s always hustling. theme song: warrior by bonez

physical. 

face claim: finn cole hair color: dirty blonde eye color: icy blue height:  6ft 2in weight: 200lbs build: big, burly, and muscular, very tom hardy in the warrior tattoos: yes, similar to my tommy boy above scars: many, more scar than skin, each with a story. most notable a large stab wound on his left side. hair style: typically keeps it short

family.

mother: heidi macavoy, estranged stepfather: tommy fowler, deceased father: ma never mentioned him siblings: tba pets: none

personality. 

positives (+): determined, dauntless, loyal, strong negatives (-): reckless, hot headed, stubborn, uncouth  MBTI: ISTP fears: psssh none dancing & losing the people closest to him element: fire hogwarts house: gryffindor drugs/ alcohol/ smoking: rarely, thinks it throw off his fighting game/ yes/ yes aesthetics: a string of purpling bruises fresh from a fight, a pack of marlboro reds to take the edge off, raw knuckles, broken beer bottles, cigarette smoke clouding a room, gaping holes in the wall, more scar than skin, thick layer of sweat sheathing toned muscles & the ol' 1, 2 straight to the dome. character inpso: tom conlon (warrior), ryan atwood (the oc), will turner (pirates), rip wheeler (yellowstone), billy hope (southpaw), j cody (animal kingdom), johnny lawrence (cobra kai), frank farmer (the bodyguard), jon snow (GoT)

biography.

TW: fighting, death, alcohol toxic masculinity Jason Macavoy came into the world fighting, and he had been fighting ever since. His mother, a struggling actress, had just stepped foot on set when her first born son barreled into the world with clenched fists and a battle cry that would make his father proud. Not the washed up middleweight champ who couldn’t make it to the hospital on such short notice —the one Jason would grow up calling father— but the one night stand who knocked up Heidi Macavoy all those years ago. Growing up in the Bronx Jason was a handful: rambunctious, brimming with unbridled energy, and a temper that would only grow with time. He had trouble learning how to read and was easily set off by a poor test score or an off-handed taunt made by a classmate, landing him in several schoolyard scuffles. By the time Jason was five, his mother fled to pursue the career and the life she had always dreamed of, leaving Jason in the care of his wayward step-father.  His step-father wasn’t good for much anymore except for drinking and coaching, but Tommy was there and he was the only one who recognized Jason’s potential. He saw that for what his step-son lacked in brains, he made up for in athletic prowess. Young Jason was a natural talent when it came to fighting, and Tommy helped channel all his energy and anger into MMA in particular. He bloomed into a fighting prodigy and Tommy helped him get into all the right fights. His determination was feral, and the boy wanted nothing more than to prove himself worthy of his mother’s love, one victory he’d never be able to manage. By the time Jason was 16, he became the youngest fighter in MMA history to secure a UFC contract. He was said to have the best left hook since Connor McGregor and was called a "child prodigy" by many in the fighting world. But as Jason’s athletic abilities continued to grow, so did his competitive edge and hot temper that continued to get him into trouble in and out of the cage. During a championship tournament of his short lived professional career, Jason had made a spectacle, allowing a foul to the boy’s side to ignite a wrath in him he didn’t even know he had. He went wild, shouting and swearing at the referee for the unfair call before striking him and leaving a trail of destruction in his wake. He was disqualified from competition and barred from the league before he turned eighteen.  Not long after Jason was banned from competition, his step-father passed away and his mother still wanted nothing to do with him. More lost than ever Jason turned to underground street fighting to get his fix. It was then Jason found the Indominus crew or rather they found him smack in the middle of a bar brawl at the tender age of seventeen. Young and hungry for a place that could appreciate and refine his raw potential, Jason was recruited by the crew. He now works as trainer and a bouncer and has spent the last ten years with Indominus, becoming one of their most loyal enforcers and fighters, growing more and more accustomed to the gritty underground lifestyle, the brawls, the arguments, the booze. His step-father’s voice in his head had never been more clear to him: fight.

headcanons.

Jason is a simple guy with simple needs, especially when it comes to technology. He currently uses a refurbished razor flip phone with a T9 keypad, hence why he texts like a 12 year old. That said, Jay would much rather call someone than text and rarely uses social media. He does have an instagram account that was made for him against his will (WC?), and he pops on to like the occasional photo every now and again. Basically, he's an old soul at heart and if he has to talk to someone he'd rather do it in person not behind a screen. Would have thrived in the 90s.

Jason rarely ever talks about his short professional career in the MMA and denies that he misses it, but the excitement in his voice when he watches a match on TV betrays him every. damn. time.

He has absolutely no love for traitors and snitches, and he sure as all hell believes they get deserve whatever the hell is coming to them. To him, it's a crime far worse than murder and nothing pisses him off more than deceit on that level. 

Jason is a pool shark. His step-father taught him when he was a kid. Every Wednesday night they'd go to Foley's Bar to play and Tommy would used Jason to hustle customers. Sure, he had essentially taken a kid to the bar with him and it was to keep him distracted while the man drank, but those are some of Jay's most cherished memories with him.

Rare, but when Jason is drunk enough he can low-key rap along to the best of 'em. Get Rich or Die Tryin was the first CD he ever bought nicked from the corner store and for better or for worse, he knows every single word of that album by heart.

Christina Aguilera stan. The Dirrty music video did something to his pre-teen brain chemistry & he wasn't the same since. He totally had her poster hanging in his bedroom growing up, even took it with him when he moved out.

Jason owns a Ducati and a ‘96 Camaro. Both in his favorite color, red. The Camaro was his step-father’s before he died which he inherited and fixed it up himself. He's super handy. The Ducati was his first big boy purchase after making some extra cash. They are both his prized possessions. 

Always has a pack of Marlboro's Reds in his back pocket and turns one upside down whenever he opens a fresh pack because someone once told him that if you made it to the last cigarette in your pack it meant you lived another day. Whether he shares or not, remains to be seen.

wanted connections || pinterest || spotify

[burntsouls]

basics.

✴︎  name  paloma  isabel  duarte

✴︎  age  33

✴︎  d.o.b.  august  30th  (virgo  sun,  scorpio  moon,  libra  rising—cutthroat  in  heels)

✴︎  hometown  the  bronx,  ny  –  raised  by  a  single  mother  and  her  grandmother  in  an  apartment  full  of  love,  chaos,  and  fire

✴︎  current  location  manhattan,  ny  –  lives  alone  in  a  high-rise  apartment  with  floor-to-ceiling  windows  and  a  view  that  screams  “i  earned  this.

✴︎  occupation  assistant  district  attorney  –  sharp-tongued,  trial-obsessed,  fights  for  the  right  cause  even  when  it  costs  her  everything

✴︎  physical

5’6”  without  heels  (but  she’s  never  without  heels)

long  dark  waves,  usually  styled  but  never  fussy

deep  brown  eyes  that  cut  sharper  than  her  closing  arguments

olive-toned  skin,  glowing  and  golden

signature  red  lipstick  or  none  at  all—no  in  between

manicured  nails,  tailored  suits,  jewelry  minimal  but  meaningful

always  smells  like  amber,  spice,  and  something  expensive  you  can’t  quite  place

walks  like  she  owns  the  courtroom,  talks  like  she’s  already  won

✴︎  mental  /  emotional.

whip-smart,  emotionally  guarded

trust  issues  wrapped  in  professionalism

perfectionism  as  a  coping  mechanism

still  haunted  by  her  mother’s  breakdown  in  court  when  she  was  fourteen

has  a  deep-seated  fear  of  becoming  too  soft,  too  vulnerable,  too  her  mother

lonely  more  often  than  she  admits

therapy  on  and  off—but  mostly  on,  these  days

speaks  to  her  grandmother’s  portrait  when  no  one’s  around

sees  herself  as  responsible  for  everyone  but  never  asks  for  help

wants  justice,  but  doesn’t  believe  in  the  system  as  much  as  she  used  to

✴︎  personality.

sharp-tongued,  unflinchingly  composed

rides  the  line  between  cold  and  compassionate  depending  on  the  day

workaholic—will  skip  sleep,  meals,  and  relationships  for  the  case

loyal  as  hell,  but  you  have  to  earn  it

allergic  to  bullshit,  resistant  to  charm  (unless  she’s  using  it)

sarcastic,  but  in  a  way  that  stings  just  enough  to  be  effective

secretly  romantic,  but  buries  it  under  layers  of  practicality  and  armor

looks  like  she  wouldn’t  cry  at  a  funeral,  but  cries  over  documentaries  at  2am

has  a  soft  spot  for  underdogs—and  an  even  softer  one  for  people  who  try  to  be  better

doesn’t  back  down.  ever.

paloma  duarte  learned  young  that  the  world  doesn’t  hand  justice  to  women  like  her—you  have  to  take  it.  raised  in  the  bronx  by  a  single  mother  and  her  grandmother,  she  grew  up  on  the  scent  of  café  con  leche  and  the  sounds  of  women  surviving.  her  mother  worked  two  jobs.  her  grandmother  taught  her  how  to  fight  with  words,  not  fists.  paloma  was  the  quiet  one,  the  watcher,  the  one  who  paid  attention  to  what  was  not  being  said.

she  was  fourteen  the  first  time  she  watched  her  mother  fall  apart  in  a  courtroom.  a  custody  case  gone  wrong,  a  lawyer  who  didn’t  care,  and  a  system  stacked  against  women  like  hers—immigrants,  poor,  invisible.  paloma  sat  there,  quiet  but  burning,  watching  the  judge  barely  glance  at  the  file  before  making  a  decision  that  changed  their  lives.  that  moment  carved  itself  into  her.  she  swore  she’d  never  be  powerless  like  that  again.  law  school  wasn’t  a  dream—it  was  a  weapon.  now,  at  thirty-three,  she  walks  into  courtrooms  with  fire  in  her  blood  and  steel  in  her  spine.  she  believes  in  justice,  yes—but  she’s  not  naive.  she  knows  the  game.  and  she  plays  it  better  than  most.

she’s  been  an  ada  for  years  now—long  enough  to  know  what  they  whisper  behind  her  back.  that  she’s  cold.  that  she’s  calculating.  that  she’s  too  ambitious.  she’s  heard  it  all,  and  she  lets  it  roll  off  her  like  rain.  because  underneath  the  precision  and  polish  is  a  woman  who’s  spent  her  whole  life  learning  how  to  carry  fire  without  burning  down.

she  doesn’t  have  time  for  distractions.  relationships  haven’t  lasted—not  because  she  can’t  love,  but  because  she’s  never  found  someone  who  didn’t  mistake  her  independence  for  distance.  she  sleeps  alone  most  nights,  but  she  never  forgets  her  worth.  and  when  she  closes  a  case,  it’s  not  just  a  win—it’s  a  reclamation.

paloma  duarte  isn’t  here  to  be  liked.  she’s  here  to  be  remembered.

[sebastianvb]

†   ╼     i'm still young , ( wasting my youth ) , i'll grow up next summer ! i'm back on those drugs I quit , i kept my dealer's number . i'm still young, wasting my youth , i'll grow up next summer . i'm back on that girl I quit , i should've lost her number . ( she opened the door and walked past me ) i'm a hollywood whore, i don't ask names .

sebastian van buren .   written by lenny .

intro + wanted connections + pinterest + playlist

[cfichor]

“ ꜰɪʀᴇ ɪɴ ʜᴇʀ ᴇʏᴇꜱ ; ɪᴄᴇ ɪɴ ʜᴇʀ ᴠᴇɪɴꜱ . ”

𝑭𝑼𝑳𝑳 𝑵𝑨𝑴𝑬 , lorena alma sivori 𝑵𝑰𝑪𝑲𝑵𝑨𝑴𝑬(𝑺) , ren , literally nothing else if you wish to keep breathing 𝑨𝑮𝑬 , twenty9 𝑩𝑰𝑹𝑻𝑯 𝑫𝑨𝑻𝑬 , october 31st , 1995 𝑮𝑬𝑵𝑫𝑬𝑹 , cisfemale 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑵𝑶𝑼𝑵𝑺 , she / her 𝑺𝑬𝑿𝑼𝑨𝑳 𝑶𝑹𝑰𝑬𝑵𝑻𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵 , pansexual 𝑹𝑶𝑴𝑨𝑵𝑻𝑰𝑪 𝑶𝑹𝑰𝑬𝑵𝑻𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵 , panromantic 𝑶𝑪𝑪𝑼𝑷𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵 , assassin 𝑺𝑷𝑶𝑲𝑬𝑵 𝑳𝑨𝑵𝑮𝑼𝑨𝑮𝑬𝑺 , spanish , english , mandarin , arabic 𝑷𝑨𝑹𝑬𝑵𝑻𝑺 , tomás sivori ( father ) , lucía sivori ( mother )   𝑺𝑰𝑩𝑳𝑰𝑵𝑮𝑺 , matías sivori ( deceased ) 𝑺𝑰𝑮𝑵𝑰𝑭𝑰𝑪𝑨𝑵𝑻 𝑶𝑻𝑯𝑬𝑹 , none 𝑷𝑬𝑻𝑺 , she has a doberman named dante , he is trained as a guard dog and understands commands spoken only in a lost language

( once i can formulate thoughts , i will rework this )

apollo  and  artemis  ,  the  sun  and  the  moon  ,  twins  that  represented  two  sides  of  the  same  coin  ,  that  was  the  birth  of  lorena  and  matías sivori  .  born  of  the  same  blood  ,  of  the  same  ancestry  ,  yet  polar  opposites  in  nearly  every  fashion  ,  from  the  matted  hair  on  the  top  of  their  heads  to  the  manners  in  which  shaped  their  personalities  .

the  birth  of  the  twins  had  sealed  the  demise  of  their  mother  ,  a  woman  that  they  would  only  know  through  stories  ,  through  spun  tales  that  their  father  and  family  members  provided  to  them  .

two  sides  of  the  same  coin  ,  yin  and  yang  ,  the  twins  were  mostly  inseparable  ,  where  one  went  ,  the  other  was  sure  to  follow  .  and  somehow  ,  they  had  ended  up  together  within  the  wraith  .  two  young  creatures  of  habit  ,  each  with  a  taste  for  blood  on  their  tongues  ,  yet  different  means  for  the  same  end  .  one  was  calculated  ,  precise  ,  waited  for  the  precious  moment  when  bullet  was  eased  from  the  chamber  .  the  other  was  hungry  ,  ferocious  ,  wanted  to  see  the  light  fade  from  eyes  brimmed  with  tears  .

the  twins  were  mostly  inseparable  ,  until  tragedy  struck  ,  and  the  sun  shifted  ,  slipped  beyond  the  horizon  ,  blotting  out  the  glow  of  the  moon  .  darkness  fell  after  that  moment  ,  but  it  did  not  last  ,  when  a  new  day  crested  the  horizon  ,  and  a  newfound  sense  settled  upon  the  shoulders  of  a  young  woman  ,  with  the  taste  of  blood  on  her  tongue  .

❧ wanted connections ;

client ; someone that has needed her expertise in the past . could have been for anyone , for any reason - let's discuss! extended family ; it had only been she and her brother within her immediate family , but i would love to see any aunts , uncles , cousins , etc!

[burntsouls]

basics.

✴︎  name  dominic  angelo  ferraro

✴︎  age  47

✴︎  d.o.b.  march  21st  (aries  sun,  scorpio  moon,  capricorn  rising—absolutely  a  problem)

✴︎  hometown  new  york,  ny  –  born  and  raised  in  little  italy

✴︎  current  location  still  in  manhattan,  in  a  rent-controlled  apartment  he  never  gave  up

✴︎  occupation  dirty  homicide  detective  (dirty,  but  not  bought—he  plays  his  own  game)

✴︎  physical.

6’1”

broad-shouldered,  built  like  a  brawler

heavy  hands,  slow  smirks,  eyes  that  don’t  miss  a  thing

dark  brown  eyes,  always  tired,  always  sharp

black  with  some  grey,  usually  cut  short

always  smells  like  cigarettes,  coffee,  leather,  and  cologne  that  lingers

beat-up  knuckles,  old  scars,  calloused  palms

dresses  like  he  doesn’t  care—leather  jacket,  worn  jeans,  badge  clipped  to  his  belt

always  carries  a  lighter,  even  when  he’s  trying  to  quit

✴︎  mental  /  emotional.

functioning  alcoholic  (barely)

grief-logged  but  won’t  show  it

guilt  is  the  quiet  passenger  he  never  shakes

insomnia

smokes  too  much,  drinks  too  much,  thinks  too  hard  at  3am

emotionally  constipated—walls  miles  high

therapy?  never  heard  of  her.

avoids  hospitals,  birthdays,  and  june  7th

deep  capacity  for  love,  but  he  doesn’t  know  what  to  do  with  it

still  in  love  with  his  almost-ex-wife,  even  if  he  can’t  say  it  out  loud

✴︎  personality.

broody,  guarded,  rough-edged

loyalty  over  law

dry,  dark  sense  of  humor—will  make  you  laugh  in  the  most  inappropriate  moments

not  afraid  to  get  his  hands  dirty,  but  doesn’t  brag  about  it

deeply  principled  in  his  own  crooked  way

rides  for  his  people  without  question—unless  they  betray  him

doesn’t  trust  easily,  but  if  he  trusts  you,  he’ll  bleed  for  you

looks  like  he  could  kill  you…  might  actually  kill  for  you

takes  his  coffee  black,  his  bourbon  neat,  and  his  apologies  in  silence

background. (tw  -  miscarriage,  stillbirth,  substance  abuse  issues)

dominic  ferraro  was  born  and  raised  in  the  thick  of  manhattan’s  little  italy,  back  when  you  still  heard  church  bells  in  the  mornings  and  deals  went  down  in  the  alleys  by  nightfall.  his  father  ran  a  corner  deli,  but  everyone  knew  he  dealt  in  more  than  cold  cuts—he  had  one  foot  in  the  neighborhood’s  undercurrent  and  the  other  in  confession  every  sunday.  dom  learned  early  that  survival  wasn’t  about  morals,  it  was  about  loyalty.  about  knowing  who  you  were  willing  to  bleed  for,  and  who  to  turn  your  back  on.

it  was  the  winter  of  ‘92  when  dominic  saw  his  first  body  drop—outside  the  deli  his  father  ran  on  the  corner  of  mott  and  grand.  the  man  bled  out  on  the  sidewalk  like  it  meant  nothing,  like  life  was  cheap  and  disposable.  dom  was  only  twelve,  still  wearing  his  catholic  school  uniform,  still  thinking  the  world  worked  in  black  and  white.  that  was  the  day  he  learned  otherwise.  his  father  didn’t  flinch—just  dragged  him  inside  and  muttered,  “don’t  ever  wait  for  justice.  you  take  care  of  your  own.”  that’s  stayed  with  dom  ever  since.  three  decades  later,  he’s  still  wearing  a  badge—but  the  truth  is,  he’s  running  on  instinct,  not  rules.  justice,  oaths,  clean  hands?  those  are  for  people  who  can  afford  to  pretend.  dom  ferraro’s  been  in  the  dirt  too  long  to  believe  in  clean  wins.

he  made  detective  at  thirty  and  never  looked  back—except  at  the  bottle,  the  smoke,  the  regrets  he  doesn’t  speak  out  loud.  somewhere  along  the  way,  he  married  a  woman  who  moved  like  poetry  and  dreamed  in  spotlight—addison,  the  ballerina.  they  were  young  and  foolish  and  wild  for  each  other.  her  world  was  music  and  movement,  his  was  late  shifts  and  cigarette  breaks.  but  somehow,  it  worked—for  a  while.  the  kind  of  love  that  burned  too  bright  to  last.

when  they  lost  the  baby—first  a  miscarriage,  and  then  later,  a  stillbirth—it  broke  something  that  never  quite  healed.  she  grieved  out  loud.  dom  didn’t  grieve  at  all.  he  drank.  shut  down.  left  her  to  drown  in  silence  while  he  disappeared  into  himself.  she  walked  away.  but  it  was  never  really  clean,  and  it  still  isn’t.  the  divorce  is  in  motion,  but  they  haven’t  stopped  falling  into  bed  when  the  grief  gets  too  loud  or  the  nights  get  too  long.  she’s  the  only  person  he  ever  truly  let  in.  and  even  now,  she’s  the  one  name  he  still  says  softer  than  the  rest.

dom  is  emotionally  unavailable,  self-destructive,  and  impossible  to  love—but  he  still  checks  her  street  on  the  way  home.  still  keeps  her  voicemail  saved.  still  carries  the  hospital  bracelet  in  the  back  of  a  drawer.  he  doesn’t  talk  about  it.  doesn’t  talk  about  much.  but  addison’s  the  wound  that  never  closed.  and  no  matter  how  toxic,  how  messy,  how  broken  they  became—she’s  still  the  person  he  turns  to  when  the  world  gets  too  loud.

now  at  forty-seven,  he’s  not  trying  to  be  the  hero.  he  does  what  he  has  to.  bends  the  rules  when  they  don’t  serve  the  victim.  takes  favors  from  people  who  don’t  ask  questions.  keeps  a  badge  in  his  wallet  and  a  pack  of  marlboros  in  his  coat.  he’s  still  standing—but  sometimes,  that’s  all  he  can  say  for  himself.