#roots to needles rp

[ask-thedepressedkidatthetable]

▒ Roots To Needles, Razors To Nooses, And Dust To Dust.  .  .  . Memento Mori. Quinque.

I was looking back at the archive today. Did you realize it’s five years toady? Thank you. If finding a quality, long-lasting partner and friend right off the bat wasn’t a great introduction to the community, I don’t know what is!

Alex has come such a long way since we began. He’s still the same child at heart, sometimes even more so! But he has a depth to him that is so beautiful and sad when he shares it. In some ways, I think of Roots To Needles as Alex’s default verse. It feels appropriate. Alex killed himself and found some kind of peace in the afterlife. He’s too small of a person to survive without the big picture. Was he fixed in The Further? No! It was a process. One he had to undertake himself. But he was heading there!

Rhydian was a major part of that. The only part of it really. If Alex had just been handed his job in The Further, told it was a vocation, and told to go about his business, I really do think it would have ended in failure. Alex needed someone there to stand beside him. To lift him up, or kneel beside him and say, “You can do this. Get up and keep going. You have so much more to give.”

It was beautiful. At least it was to Alex. Rhydian knew exactly how much he had to lose and how far he could fall, so for him to have faith in him after everything? It meant a lot to him. Alex always wanted to prove Rhy right for that. To make him proud.

And personally, Rhy hit all of the boxes in what I love in a character. I have a soft spot for the serious types and Rhy instantly found his way into my heart, whether he meant to or not. He was a good man, and it was amazing to watch his character develop as Alex threw new situations and feelings at him. Whatever his negative traits, he was compassionate and kind, and actually cared about Alex .  .  . The real him. That was more than anyone else had ever given him before. We’ve always been of the opinion that the world needs more people like Rhydian.

I could go on for hours about Alex and Rhy. I really could. They’re incredibly dear to my heart, and I think they always will be, even if we aren’t writing them anymore. They made me laugh, cry, think .  .  . They were a great team, however dissimilar they were. Alex couldn’t imagine getting along with someone better. I think, over time, Rhydian came to accept Alex’s death and place in The Further. That in some strange way- despite the wasted potential he had to offer in the living world, all the progress he could have made- he was happier in death. Amazingly.

He was where he belonged. Because you can’t grip onto life strong enough with just one hand. Not when the other one was holding death. But from a position where it’s tied to him, chained to his ankles and he’s covered in it, he could hold onto life a little tighter and see that it had a hopeful undertone. It was just that, in his case, the hopeful undertone was six feet.

•╔════◄░░░░░░►════╗•

Alex was completely in love with Rhydian. With the way he went about his day, talked, and thought. It was grounded in flaws and humanity that he could relate to, while all the best parts of him reached for a higher purpose and believed in this bigger picture.

And it may have only lasted a minute, and maybe Alex should keep it to himself, but he really wishes Rhydian all the best because I think he had a bit of a crush on him. We know he was in love with Rhydian, but that means nothing! Alex is in love with everything. He loved so many people in his lifetime, and he loved the things he did, up to slitting his wrists on the bathroom floor. The crux was in the definition. Alex hard time taking himself seriously, because he’d think about it in private sometimes and then it’d disappear in the thread. Always waiting for the next moment, the perfect ‘maybe’ that never came.

Alex always got crushes on lots of people. Lot of old friends that left him. He wanted a happily ever afterlife, but what was he supposed to do? He was the one that killed himself! Besides, he was too weird for a relationship, right? And things just wouldn’t have worked out like that .  .  . It never hurt, you know. Not like most love does. Maybe that’s what he was chasing, and why he doesn’t regret a single minute of it.

Maybe if he’d been a little braver and a little more compassionate.

Rhydian was also his friend. His only friend that ever really knew him .  .  . Listen, when you’re already dead, you get to be brutally honest about certain things that life naturally holds back. Rhydian knew him better than anyone else in the world and that was kind of scary but centering at the same time. Alex didn’t want to lose that all because he’d acted on some impulsive, fleeting whim.

.  .  .If he had kissed Rhy though, he would have rocked Alex’s little world. It would have been so real. He would have felt so fucking real. Alex would have felt like he existed. Like he wasn’t some piece of code in a blue-lined world, or a character behind the painting. He wouldn’t have seen himself in third person and he wouldn’t have been close enough to touch the boundary. Those things didn’t exist. They never did .  .  . He imagined he couldn’t explain it as he pulled away, moving his hand down to link fingers with Rhy. It may have lasted a stupid minute, but he felt like a completely real person, and it occurred to him that he’d never felt like that before.

It was fantasy of course.

His hopes and dreams always were.

The Further wasn’t like Neverland at all. It didn’t share the same name, and there was no place for him in the latter. He had to enjoy it while he could, and he loved everything about it. The blood, Mary-Lou, The Archives, Library, and chess board floors with antlers hanging on the walls. Infernos and blank spaces he dreamed of stepping in.

It was all special.

@heartxshaped-bruises

[hoodoo12]

Demon and Angel (a Ménage continuation)

Ménage, the rp story I did with the lovely @monsterlovinghours, is complete, but Beetlejuice and AngelDewey are too delightful to simply put on a shelf.  SFW; Beetlejuice/AngelDewey, fluffy sweet, infernal and celestial don’t get along but sometimes they do, lyrical German poetry

@beetlewise-and-pennyjuice @thewolfisapartofmysoul @dilfyjuice @janitor-boy @beejiesbitch @yogsathot @ironmansuucks Enjoy! ~

Puttering around her kitchen, Molly was never quite sure what to expect when she left her two housemates alone. There were arguments, there were stony silences, there were bouts of uncontrolled laughter, there were shouts and accusations of cheating from both when Beej conjured a Nintendo Switch and they played MarioKart against each other. Sometimes she would leave and come back to find them in different parts of her house, clouds of cigarette smoke enveloping both of them, each stewing over some perceived slight.

It could take a little encouragement to get them to come back together again sometimes.

If they weren’t obviously so fond of each other--even if they didn’t want to admit it--she’d have pulled her hair out and thrown in the towel, and kicked them both to the curb.

She was used to the petty disagreements. Laughter could be slightly alarming, although she preferred to hear it. Dead silence, however, was cause for investigation.

Dewey’d been not quite himself lately: down, questioning his lot in life, fretting over what he considered “free-loading” off her. Beetlejuice had no issues about living in her house and eating her food, although he did have some ability to conjure things from the ether to make up for it. As only psychics and people brushed by death could see him, he also had no qualms about going out in public when he needed or wanted to, despite not looking fully human.

Dewey was not as brave or foolhardy; he felt that his wings made him more conspicuous. There was no hiding them, he said, so even if he wanted to go out he couldn’t, and that made him feel less than a contributing member of the household.

Beetlejuice had been either needling him about it or telling him to rub dirt in it and walk it off. The demon was a world-class pest and could ferret out exactly the worst thing to say to someone. Earlier Molly had a few angry words to bend his ear about that, and firmly told him to stop making Dewey feel worse. He’d stomped off in a huff, as if he were the one suffering.

So when there had been no noise from either of them for a bit, it was concerning. Wiping her hands on a dish towel, Molly walked through her house fully expecting to find them in different spots. Beej liked the attic or her bed. Dewey liked the window seat in the bay window, so he could see the garden. All of those places were empty.

Instead she found them on her sofa. Beetlejuice was in his typical spot leaning on one of the arms. Dewey was being held spooned against him, cradled between his legs and on the demon’s chest. His head was on the demon’s shoulder, comfortably pressed into the side of his neck. One wing was tucked tightly against the back cushions; the other wrapped lightly over the two of them. Molly watched Beej’s free hand pet through the feathers of the wing and didn’t miss the angel’s shivers; his wings were always sensitive.

The demon was saying something. It was a whisper and she couldn’t quite make it out, but could see Dewey tense. Beej stroked his wing again, and lifted his hand to run it through the angel’s soft messy curls.

Molly was just about to step in, because despite their position whatever Beetlejuice had said made Dewey anxious, but stopped as Dewey nodded and the demon kissed the top of his head.

“Every angel is terrible,” he said in a voice, now just loud enough for her to hear.

That was it. She was going to put a stop to whatever Beetlejuice was doing. Dewey had been having a rough go, and hearing that wasn’t going to help make him feel better--

“Yet, alas, I sing to you, most deadly birds of the soul, knowing of you,” Beetlejuice continued, stroking Dewey’s hair. “Where are the days of Tobias, when one of you, the brightest of creatures, stood at the front door, disguised for the journey and no longer frightening--a young man like the one who peeked through the window--”

Molly held her breath.

“But if the dangerous archangel now took even one step towards us from behind the stars, our own heartbeats, rising like thunder, would kill us. Who are you?”

She had no idea what Dewey’s reaction to this recitation was, but the rough edges of Beej’s voice had been sanded down, and the gentle cadence of the poem made tears spring to her eyes. Unaware he had an audience of more than the angel he held, the demon continued.

“Creations pampered favorites, among the first to be perfect, pockets of essence, points of pure light, storms of emotion whirled into rapture, then suddenly separate . . . mirrors gathering beauty that streamed away from their faces and gather it back to them again.”

He paused there, and it wasn’t for a breath but to lift Dewey’s chin so he could kiss him. It was almost the perfect time to either make herself known or to back away, but Molly was rooted to the floor, watching the gentle interplay between them. When the kiss ended, Beej brushed the hair off Dewey’s forehead and finished, holding his gaze instead of letting him settle back against his neck.

“Lovers, gratified in each other--I am asking you about us. You hold each other. Where is your proof? Sometimes I find that my hands have become aware of each other--”

He was cut off by Dewey nudging up and in to kiss him again. Maybe the demon had skipped some of the work or cherry-picked parts of that poem to recite, Molly thought, but that wasn’t important. He’d given Dewey something more than the opening line, which by itself sounded negative.

The kiss lingered, soft and slow, until Dewey sighed and settled more comfortably against Beetlejuice. The demon’s black nailed fingers ran over the feathers of the wing blanketing them, and he lifted his eyes to Molly’s.

It struck her suddenly that he’d known she was there all along. He’d been sweet, soothing, and reassuring at her direction, and he wasn’t embarrassed that she’d caught him doing so. As a matter of fact, he held his hand out to her, palm up, inviting her closer.

Quietly, Molly stepped further into the room to their side.

With the two of them stretched out on the couch, there wasn’t room for her to be close, so she knelt at their sides on the floor. Dewey didn’t move his head from against Beetlejuice’s shoulder, but he did lift his wing so it sheltered her too.

Molly rested her cheek on Beetlejuice’s arm and reached up to brush Dewey’s hair off his forehead, just as the demon had.

“You feeling better, honey?”

The angel nodded and even smiled as Beetlejuice kissed his forehead.

“You know we want you here. You’re important to us.”

“I know,” he replied quietly.

“Do either of you need anything? Are you comfortable?”

“I’m good,” the angel said.

The demon just raised his eyebrows and gave her a wink.

Molly smiled and got up. She leaned over to kiss Dewey’s forehead too, then turned to kiss Beetlejuice just as lightly but on the mouth. She left them cuddled on the sofa and went back to making dinner, smiling about her odd but supportive little family.

 fin

The poem semi-recited is by Rainer Maria Rilke, a German poet from the early 20th century. It is the Second Elegy of the Duino Elegies. Many translations of Rilke's works exist; the link contains one of them.

[from-dusk]

☽ Brennus

◦ the basics ––– –

name: Brennus pronunciation: b-r-EH-n-uh-s nicknames: The Autumn Stag age: Adult of an age specifically unknown to all but him. birthday: September 5th race: Native Kul Tiran gender: Male preferred pronouns: he/him face claim/voice claim: Tim Damen/Jason Momoa

◦ physical appearance ––– –

hair: Long, fairly straight, black-rooted, dusky-hazed tips. eyes: As clear as forest lake pools padded at their depths with vibrant green moss. height: 7′10″ build: Muscular, broad shouldered, narrow-hipped, imposing. notable features: Carved by the hands of his ancestors more than his brethren, bold black ink wanders his skin in sprawling depictions of an ancient language, intercepted by more modern symbols of enhancement, endurance and enchantment. His nails, unkempt by civilized standards, bear blackened tips. common accessories: A bronze torc sits around his neck, weathered, smooth, and capped with white pearl deer skulls. Inches lower sits a necklace of threaded hog tusks, six in total, of various lengths and ages, etched with gold-filled runes.

◦ personal ––– –

profession: Rotspeaker. Departed from Thornspeakers and dragged beneath the fetid hills of Drustvar by the strangling grip of Drust madness, the path to new life must come from death, and death nurtures renewal through decay. Rot is natural. Pestilence is a gate. Death is an inevitable soil in which life may grow and blossom again. hobbies: Desperation drives a need to convert and translate all that hands have gathered up of the ancient ways. languages: Though most inhabitants of Kul Tiras speak Common primarily, the ancient words of the Vrykul are known as well. residence: Fresh moss, his bed, ageless needles, his roof, he appears uprooted. birthplace: Drustvar religion: Nature, Drust patron deity: none fears: Stagnation, failure to continue the cycle. criminal record: The eyes of nature oversee their own judicial system, of which he has committed no crimes. At least, not as far as any civilized person knows. talents and/or powers: An eschewed Thornspeaker, Brennus twists nature to his will, overseeing reclamation to the earth by his guidance to begin the cycle anew. Traveling as a grand stag of sunset fur and ivory bone, gold-tipped fangs protrude from a skull-bare head crowned by antlers bound in mold and burning upon their jagged points like a forest of pine set ablaze.

◦ relationships ––– –

sexual orientation: Pansexual romantic orientation: Greyromantic preferred emotional role: Dominant, submissive, or switch. preferred sexual role: Dominant, submissive, or switch. libido: Relatively high, in the right seasons. turn-ons: Strong will, self-preservation, a mind made to endure, accepting of reality and fate and stalwart against the world’s flaws will always appeal to Brennus. turn-offs: Surrender,  clear signs of weakness, insecurity. love language: Offerings relationship tendencies: Disinclined to commit, presently. marital status: Unmarried significant other: None spouse: None children: None parents: Deceased siblings: Disowned other relatives: Disowned acquaintances: Few and far in between. Too displaced to long befriend anyone. pets: Constructs of his own making, short-lived and chaotic, threaded more together from strands of determination than effective magic.

◦ additional information ––– –

smoking: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess. drugs: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess. alcohol: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess.

Flaws

moody | short-tempered | emotionally unstable | whiny controlling | conceited | possessive | paranoid | liar impatient | cowardly | bitter | selfish | power-hungry greedy | lazy | judgmental | forgetful | impulsive spiteful | stubborn | sadistic | petty | unlucky

Strengths

honest | trustworthy | thoughtful | caring | brave patient | selfless | ambitious | tolerant | lucky intelligent | confident | focused | humble | generous merciful | observant | wise | clever | charming cheerful | optimistic | decisive | adaptive | calm | loyal

◦ roleplay hooks ––– –

Dissatisfied with the current progress of unraveling the tangles of Drust mysticism, Brennus has taken to deciphering what he can of the macabre progenitors, imparting reclaimed knowledge when prompted or encouraged. Though corrupt, he believes still in balance, but not in preservation, and can be encountered easily in the wilds of Kul Tiras, bringing thriving life to its knees in decay. Among civilization, often perceived to be aligned with the Alliance, he accepts his labels gracefully enough, and exploits them. Some see him as a speaker of the wilds, others, a speaker of spirits, and as both, he does speak, conveying rare knowledge and little known secrets. Factions, wars and alliances serve nothing to him, mere elements to distract the living from their inevitable fate, and so, he does not adhere to them, willingly educating any race of the cycle and its importance.

◦ out of character ––– –

I’m always open to new RP partners, long or short term, and welcoming of any inclusive ideas. Down for Discord, Tumblr or in-game RP, I can be found on MG or WrA, just PST for details. I am comfortable with most content, but Brennus is meant to be a more darker aligned character, so 18+ content may be present. If it is, I will always discuss it first and tag it appropriately if it is on here. Don’t hesitate to give me a wave!

[gentletwin]

Headcanon: Tazmily After the Dark Dragon.

The Dark Dragon would reshape the world in the image of the person to pull the Needles.

Above all, Lucas wanted nothing more than for everyone to be happy, and for them to be kind to each other the way that they did before the era of the Pigmasks and DP. He wanted to get rid of all the hardships that their new way of life caused. He wanted everyone to get along again. Perhaps idealistic in an almost childish way — but a child did pull the final Needle.

The destruction caused by the Dark Dragon’s awakening was simply part of the process of resetting Nowhere Islands. It is a being with the power to destroy the world — but also with the power to protect it. It is the being that protected the islands from the world’s destruction before the White Ship carried its passengers to safety. So, it possessed the power to shift the land and the sea and preserve what was meant to be preserved. This power granted the islanders a miracle: permanent physical damage to the village was largely spared.

Any fissures in the ground were repaired by the Dragon’s ability to move the earth of the island. Anyplace Lucas wanted to protect was spared its destruction. Places that caused suffering were caught in the wreckage and ultimately wiped away from the islands. These places include the Chimera Lab, the Clayman Factory ( and tangentially, Club Titiboo ), the remains of Thunder Tower, and of course, New Pork City.

Even before the final Needle was pulled, the factory had shut down, Club Titiboo was closed, and the railroads ceased to run, with nothing left active past the tunnel for the trains to go to. The train tracks still exist, but no trains will run on them anymore. Walking along the train tracks and into Murasaki Forest will eventually lead one to the ruins of the highways, the Chimera Lab, and the factory that once occupied that area.

Some places did, unfortunately, suffer quite a lot of physical damage that required maintenance even after the work of the Dragon was done. Namely, these places are Osohe Castle and the retirement home, both of which were falling deeply into disrepair already. Efforts are being made to preserve Osohe Castle as a historic location, and to refurbish the Old Man’s Paradise to acceptable standards.

But what about the ways of life that the Pigmasks introduced? The remodeled buildings, the modern conveniences — the money?

Technology itself is not inherently what caused all of the bad changes in Tazmily. The system in which it existed did; the system which forced everyone to compete for those resources. So, electricity and modern technology don’t cease to exist. While Lucas’s family never adopted that lifestyle, he didn’t want to take that away from those that chose to. After all, it wasn’t their fault that the islands changed the way they did. They only sought happiness and got caught up in something awful in the process.

But DP? That was at the root of all the hardship. That had to go.

Of course, suddenly changing ways again after three years of living in a system with money would be near impossible, even if Lucas wished money away instantaneously. There had to be a transition. Everyone had to unlearn what they had been taught over the past three years. It would take work, but it could be done. Helping others just because worked in the past. It could work again.

To facilitate this transition, Leder, who no longer had anything to hide now that the Needles had all been pulled, took up a much more active leadership position in the village. He began to speak again, and sort of briefed everyone on why the old system failed and what they needed to do moving forward. ( This may or may not include his “the world actually ended and we gave up our memories” speech, depending on other people’s M3 muses and how much they know or don’t know. ) For all intents and purposes, he served as the islands’ equivalent of a ruler — but he would deny any prestige that would come with a title like that, and even the title itself. After all, three years of a king didn’t get them anywhere good. He would consider himself more of a guide. A counselor of sorts for village life, so to speak.

Leder’s solution to the dismantling of the DP system was to have shops accept either DP or some other good or service as a form of reciprocation. For instance — “if you wouldn’t mind whipping up a coffee and a bread roll, a room at Hotel Yado is yours whenever you need it.” “I’ll have some firewood delivered to your house in exchange for some antidotes.” That sort of thing. DP was accepted, too, but the idea was that eventually, DP would be phased out and replaced entirely by this sort of bartering. Then, eventually, people would become used to the idea of doing something and expecting nothing in return again.

Places which used DP would gradually stop using them in a staggered manner, so the currency would gradually lose value. First, power plants and such would stop accepting DP, so that no electric bills were due. Then, water. Then eventually, other essential services, like doctors or home maintenance. This would continue until eventually not even a nut cookie would cost anyone a dime. During this transition period, any late DP payments would be forgiven and negotiations could be made between parties on a case by case basis. The most important thing was that no one would be punished for simply not having, when the old regime systematically drove certain people into positions of “have” and “have not” in the first place.

With several villagers having learned to work factory positions, electrical work, and the like, those types of jobs were able to be filled by them in the post-Pigmask world. Too, Pigmasks that simply got swept up in Porky’s plan circumstantially could take those jobs. Issac is an example of this. He’s a nice guy, and can use the skills he learned under the Pigmask Army to make the more modernized lifestyle work under a non-capitalist Tazmily. Erasing his existence for simply getting caught up in the system would be too cruel. These people would go on to develop technologies like solar power and other sustainable resources that wouldn’t hurt the islands, per Leder’s cautioning against the army’s use of fossil fuels. ( Leder’s memory of the past world makes him woke. )

The people that fill these positions are also able to maintain Claus’s parts and help with any technical failures or growing pains that result from his mechanical bits.

People that were brought from another timeline along with Porky are given the option to return if they so choose. Even though Lucas doesn’t know exactly who’s from other times aside from Porky himself, his ultimate desire for everyone to be happy is what opened up this possibility for those from other times. ( This means that whether or not people like Dr. Andonuts remain in Nowhere Islands is up to the interpretation of my RP partner, since I’d imagine everyone feels differently about this. )

Going forward, what will everyone do? Perhaps other areas of the island will be settled one day, be it by other groups like former Pigmasks, or future generations. In those situations, some places may be more technologically advanced than others or do things in slightly different ways, but none without having learned from the hardships faced by the people from Tazmily, so that these mistakes are never repeated again.

[diveronarpg]

Congratulations, DAVE! You’ve been accepted for the role of EDMUND. Admin Rosey: There's something that makes Edmund such a powerful figure in his own right and Dave, I don't know how but you managed to capture it in the span of this one application. The prose, the voice, all of it was present from the plot points to the interview. His voice was so very poignant throughout the whole thing it made my heart ache a little. I am well and truly enthralled by the Edmund that you have presented to us and cannot wait to watch you dive deeper and show us what makes this boy who he is and how he'll give Verona a reckoning to be feared. Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Dave

Age | 23

Preferred Pronouns | He/him

Activity Level | On average a few hours every other / every third night. I have kids so it will likely be after I put them to bed.

Timezone | EST

How did you find the rp? | My sister Kat lead me in your direction

IN CHARACTER

Character | Edmund / Easton Craven

What drew you to this character? A man built from resentment, bones compressed from the ashes of an others mistakes, a cold structure of stone engraved with rage. Teeth that never unclench, a jaw so tight it threatens to break into fragments. Animosity is the dangerous life raft holding together a bitterly broken character, mania stemmed from a lifetime of repudiation. An obsession potent enough to cover years of aching ribs; the soft tissues under the bones filled with a fire harrowing enough to stifle hurt. He craves revenge as if a child reaching out to their mother. Comfort being found in the promise of reunification. If only he could reach, if only his stiff limbs would meet the soft, consoling ones that he felt reciprocating the assignation, he would feel peace. Delusion of contentment driving passionate precision, carefully planned collisions that cause wise, crooked smiles that meet the eyes of madness.

He knows the storm is raging. The thorns sprouting from his blooming roses; depriving the buds of the little sunlight they initially had. He’s feeling just as suffocated and trapped now. Everything around him is whirling in the chaos he created but he won’t let it break him. Even in the blinding darkness he makes himself big, thrashing about so that even those who can see clear as day stay far from his reach. He lives with the actions of a stubborn child; allowing the haze of red fury to cloud his mind as he surrenders his better judgment. Every time he drink the poison he loses another piece of himself to make room. The pressure builds inside of him like a volcano and when he erupts; his pride and joy are the only casualties. He’s sacrificed everything for his cause, his battle cry drowning out the grief but he’s no longer even sure what threat the enemy poses, forcing a blindness on him more dangerous than the dark.

Taking the risk, stepping up to the plate and taking his best shot. When pressed with his back against the wall, Blood betraying him or perhaps the other way around; what choice is one left with? Perhaps the anger lies only with himself but his innate strength fuels the fire of his inner flames and he utilizes them. He makes these flames dry his tears, forces them to dance beneath the spotline, start forest fires to the granite floors beneath his feet. He uses them as his shield and a deadly weapon all in one curve of his lip. He uses them to carve art onto every inch of the elegantly draped walls that enclosed him so that the world can see how wrongly it had mistaken him, all while making the error of not once giving him the satisfaction of knowing he wields with the strength of mind, unaware of the fear that would bestow his enemies. He fights for himself rather than the cause, drawing those who abandon him back to his wake so that opportunity can present itself in the cruelest twists of fate. He will win back his power, giving himself the choice to crush it to ash or feed it to his fire so that it grows in size. They will beg for remorse, what he will do with them he doesn’t know but someone will burn alive; of that he is sure.

Years of neglect and deprivation leave scars, deep gashes in ego and emotional stability. Easton is broken, deeply hurt by being denied by those who were meant to hold him close, being inevitably punished for the actions of others. To pretend he isn’t aching over his loss would be an injustice. Deeply buried insecurities burrow deep in his bones with the aching torment he shoved away.  Still, anger is a much easier emotion to handle, it carries more dignity, a false sense of self control. There’s something there in that deeply rooted delusion of control, believing it so wholeheartedly that it becomes a reality, that I’m immensely drawn to. An emotional whirlwind with a powerful mind, twisting together in dangerous ways. I see so much potential for him developmentally, so many layers to explore. I really want to be able to flesh that out and bring him to life.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? 

“Yet Edmund was beloved” - Villains amongst disastrous plot, all alike in wicked bitterness. Written to be disliked, to cause mouths to turn down with force, muscles to tense in distaste. A rarity amongst his breed, they found a moment of remorse. Weakness was found and admittance to their sinful deeds, an eager audience was forced to face questions of morality.

I think what makes Edmund throughout literature to stand out so strongly was his repentance. It was a rare quality among Shakespeare’s literature and it’s something I feel is important to keep intact to his plot. It made its audience question whether he was truly a cold, cruel man or if he it was driven by a misdirected desire to be accepted. It’s a theme I plan to show throughout the plot, but I would like a bigger when the time is right to showcase his humanity.

Double edged sword- Sly crooked smiles and sparkling eyes, they crave the game, the slipping of cards into a deck undetected, the chips inconspicuously gathering in front of patiently folded hands. Winning the game does not raise feelings of satisfaction, spirits don’t rise at the chips that twirl between his narrow fingers but at the bitter eyes that narrow in his direction as he does so. Pleasure found only in the woefulness of others, misery causing teeth to show greedily, sparkling eyes falling dark with revelation.

I was to do a lot of scheming with him, a lot. Carefully planned betrayals, shady business deals, cunningly undermining those around him. I want a few of these, and I expect nothing less than a few Enemies as a result.

Blood over blood - Empires built steadily over a name that cursed his existence, pressed him back into a crevasse, covered him thick in wool as if to conceal even the heart that beat within his chest. A name placed on his head as if it were to quench the thirst of question, to satisfy the growing hunger for bloodshed that was soon to breed within the expanding chest below. The indefensible half of the term son. Cast down upon with fury and iron fists by all but his counterpart. Antipathy baking in the fires that nestled between fragile ribs, desperately attempting to replace the warmth his brighter half consumed without question or consideration. Confliction of blood contemplated incautiously.  Blood had betrayed him, or perhaps it was the other way around.

There is a lot to be said about Easton’s relationship with his brother. I feel there is true feelings buried deep under the poisonous vines he’s planted within himself. I think it is the single relationship that will reveal that rage is used to cover fear, fear that stems from loss and betrayal.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Yes.

IN DEPTH

Please choose between the interview or the para sample (or both, if you like!)

In-Character Interview: The following questions must be answered in-character, and in para form (quotations, actions written out if applicable, etc). There is no minimum or maximum limit for your response - simply answer as you would if you were playing the character.

What is your favorite place in Verona? | “Places are places, are places.” Words fell from casually loose lips, flat muscles and eyes rested upon his face as he took in the response of his interviewer, gave himself a moment to enjoy their frustration, the needle of his words knitting the space between their brows together. A dilatory moment of this passed before his lips unsheathed far too-perfect teeth. “The twelfth night.” Amusement laced his words in a way that sounded like a chuckle, spread far across his face to meet his eyes like beams of sunlight, brightening the pale skin it touched. Eyes casually emigrated to the cuff of his sleeve, long narrow fingers fiddling to straighten the small metal clasp that held it in place. ‘Home’ felt like an obvious answer, one that comes from a place deep within one’s soul, one given from utter personage. It was a word used to describe a dwelling of comfort, safety. Ah, but no person or place provided such a vast sensation. All that resided there was a bitter taste that weighed him down as strongly as desire did. He found himself on those places, however pesky, simply prioritized. “I like art.“ He added, blue orbs flickering up from under thick dark brows. There was a great truth in this set of words and yet in the cruelest twist of fate and fallacy he continued with an almost crude sense of humor. "And other historical entertainments."

What has been your biggest mistake thus far? I "Ah, mistakes.” Air left eager lungs as if to sound off sighs of relief. As if voracious for the topic, his lungs pulled in another large breath. “I can attest to many, many mistakes.” It was a topic that engulfed his life, his very breaths taken in vain of the word. It echoed off the walls of his skull, pounding itself into the bone it reached, engraving the term ad nauseum so that he could never forget. “My greatest mistake is the sins of another. Unfortunately, all my own will seem pale in comparison. Boring really.” Far too warm hands folded over his knees, well-practiced politeness plastered across his features. “But I’m sure I’ll even the score eventually.”

What has been the most difficult task asked of you? I  “Difficulty stems from incompetence.” Bold statements were made from confidence, a strong belief that burned in his chest. Neatly trimmed fingernails tapped the dark stained wood of the armchair he poised himself in, Hack stretched out against the opulently draped bolster. Many difficult tasks had been asked of him, several that flashed about his mind in a rapid myriad, pressed up against his smooth forehead so that the pressure built like cotton. Difficult not in question of morality but in the conflict of agenda.  The undertakings themselves brought little burden to his mind but the consequences must always be taken under consideration. The butterfly effects that carried with each accord left the stains of spots on his own broken wings. None were to be taken unnecessarily. “I suspect you aren’t accusing me of that.”

What are your thoughts on the war between the Capulets and the Montagues? I “The war between the two?” Vibrant eyes narrowed with the flow of words from his parted lips. As if the question brought some offense, pierced through a more obvious concern, a more prominent affair.  It was much easier separated into two parts of one whole, easier but untrue to the nature of this particular footing. To new eyes, the crimson stains would seem so easily poised from a clear separation, Capulet and Montague. Ah, but Easton’s eyes were nor new or untrained. They had seen the blood that pooled from open veins, the carnage and rot that baked in the warm midsummer sun. He tsked as if to scorn the ignorance of those who would ask such. You could not start a book from the middle, nor could you an end. Blight had long held the minds of those from each party. Betrayal bubbled and burst from within each seam, pressed at authority and delegation alike. “It’s easier to blame others for our actions, surely.” As if talking to a child he turned his lips down, the incomprehension something of an irritation, the need for explanation an inconvenience to his own time. “Do you not consider the wars amongst ourselves?”

In-Character Para Sample: Again, write as much or as little as you need to get your interpretation across.

(this is a kinda lot? and not something a situation i see happening incredibly often at all but I write it nonetheless so I included it)

A dream is defined as a succession of images, thoughts, or emotions passing through the mind during a state of unconsciousness. This was otherwise known as sleep. The term would never relate to himself, however, as sleep was a luxury only available to the poor, the deprived. The same word, conversely, is a wild or vain fantasy. This definition seemed more appropriate when associating the word, dream, to himself. Wild and vein, indeed. His egotistical nature seemed to be everywhere at once as he closed his eyelids. It burned there in the pictures that were painting themselves in his mind. And suddenly it was as if he were hearing his own thoughts. Thoughts, that seemed obscure and twisted to himself muffled by choking screams. Ah, but his mind was not absent at all. In fact, the image that was painting itself in his mind was both behind his eyelids and in front of them. It was as if his dreams poured out from his mind to spill on the floor. Or more suitably, nightmares.

Air flared his nostrils, filling his lungs with a sudden force so powerful it was audible as he opened his eyes, his rough thumb trailed the skin on the side of his mouth with anxiety as he turned. Deep-set eyes were thoughtful, dark brows pulled together in a pucker from a tilted head that stares down the man who was bleeding out on his new carpet. He looked as if he hadn’t noticed, not the man bleeding, not the ruined carpet. Easton knelt down beside him, his lips pressed together as he flicked his phone back on. “Have you seen this girl?”

His voice was too casual, too kind for the scene, too worried. Headlight with adrenaline, the preternatural display causing reality to feel more like a hallucination. The other didn’t look up, clearly too occupied with the blood that came up with every cough to entertain the deranged man leaning over him.

“She’s red hot I know.” He said in a breathy chuckle. The sound was innocent, lustful even as he shook his head in disbelief. “She’s slippery though. Always hard to find. Not mine either. Not really my type but-” Easton sighed, slight frustration lacing his tone as his eyes trailed away from the phone to stare at still choking interrogatee.

“You see that’s the thing. She’s been ignoring someone for the past 24 hours, it’s like she completely disappeared.” There in his iris’ you could find a new, growing intensity. It was slow at first, a sense of seriousness that within a matter of words became terrifying, unhinged in the deep pits of his pupils. “Here, take a look at her.” Easton shoved the phone further in the man’s face. The light from the screen reflecting off the red stream, almost close enough to engage in it. He knew very well it still wouldn’t be seen, that the blood pooling in this man’s eyes would have him seeing red, not quite in the way Easton was expecting to himself; certainly, there was more of a disadvantage in it. “She’s beautiful right?”

“Anyway,-” Easton’s tone dropped off again with a sigh, the phone going dark so that the men own eradicated state was staring back at him with a click. “She doesn’t report back last night. No text, no calls, nothing. So people start asking around, when’s the last time people heard from her. We don’t like the responses. You know, there’s something about the tone of a person’s voice.”

Easton stood, the now accumulating sweat from his palms being wiped on his dark crisp pants as he began to pace. “My imagination starts running wild. I start thinking of other guys I’ve seen her look at, other associations she’s hung out with, other friends of hers she doesn’t know we know about. You know, I started thinking about what I would do to someone if I found out that he paid her off. I would shackle the fucker up for a year and I would slowly and systematically torture him every morning and every night till he finally shut down. I mean I would burn off all his fucking skin is what I would do.” Something about the tone of his voice insinuated he was talking to a friend, a casual comfort emulating from him in waves that got cut off by sudden bursts of insanity.

“You know, these are the classifications of things I’m thinking about. I’m thinking about bad things.” Feet were trailing in small circles by this point, shiny shoes walking through pools of claret, dragging it with each pace. A heavy sign caused the motion to stop, silence falling in its place as crystal slowly rose to Easton’s lips, a thoughtful sip seeming to bring him back to his purpose.

“So, do you recognize her?” He waited a long moment. “Hm?”

“Yea.” The man responded in response in a choke. Easton quickly rushed to kneel by his side again. “You do?” He asked eagerly, his chest beginning to rise and fall with expectations.

“Uh, Yeah, I see her around sometimes. I mean, I don’t know her, but –” His eyes focused on almost anything but Easton’’s face but Easton kept moving his eyes into the line of sight.

“Hard to miss right?” Easton smiled almost confidently, proudly.

“Right.” The other coughed out again, his fluids seeming to stay inside him for once. The stench of iron and violence still fresh on his breath.

“It’s the little things that get you, the arguments. There had been this little spat about nothing – I don’t even remember what and then poof, she’s out the door, she’s gone. You know where she goes?” Easton didn’t give a moment to respond. “She goes to your side of town.”

“Really?”

Heartbeats were becoming more frequent, patience suddenly running low as if they were thin to begin with. The cause wasn’t a lack of control but a lack of interest. The cards were being dealt too slowly,  passion only residing when there was something to be won. The room already smelled like victory and the fight he received in return was none. The anger now came from a place of disappointment. “Yea.”

Suddenly his voice was getting louder, quicker. The urgency became something of a result of annoyance twisting around his chest, crushing his ribs. Easton’s face flushed red, pressing closer to the others, enclosing some of the space between them with a furious gaze.

“She goes over to that shit hole. She sends a text that she found her friends and then that’s it, that’s the last time she’s heard from. And you know what? I know some of these ‘friends’ over there and you know what they tell me? They tell me she goes over around 1 AM and then doesn’t come back – So she comes in, but doesn’t come out. At least not through town.” He ran his tongue over his teeth as he caught his breath. His tone finding another spasm of normality. His finger lifted, head tilted to the side as brows furrowed once more. “You were down their last night, right?

Easton’s company simply nodded in reply, cringing at the pain that seemed to ache through his muscles at the action. Easton’s head nodded in return, lips tight as he took in the words. “Did you see anything?”

“Did I see anything?”

“Yea, did you see anything.”

“Did I see anything?  I don’t see much of anything ever.“

Easton stared at him for a moment as if he were taking this in.

“Right, but you didn’t answer my question.”

Extras: If you have anything else you’d like to include (further headcanons, an inspo tag, a mock blog, etc), feel free to share it here! This is OPTIONAL.

I am pretty dyslexic so larger bodies of text tend to get grammar and spelling mistake. They are usually minor and people usually have no issue comprehending my work but if there ever is an issue I just ask that you let me know so I can fix it!

[sasorikigai]

🤞 come up beside them and tap the shoulder opposite where they’re standing

Nonverbal RP Starters || @ayataei || accepting

🤞come up beside them and tap the shoulder opposite where they’re standing

Hanzo’s already bathed in the red magmatic baptism of fire, as if a newfound, voracious hunger had striken him once again after so many years of absence. By now, he’s so attune with his pyromancy that it becomes him, instead of the other way around. It moves in tandem with his breath, his impeccable control, the extension of his limbs, the solid, well-developed muscles beneath it… and it’s a physical blitzkrieg when it happens. instead of his body and soul being torn in pieces with tormenting hellfire, his calculated, controlled violence lives through the exceptional art of his armed kombat. 

Even when he’s prepared with the uncertainty of life in a blink of an eye, this unbearable, numbing sensation of loss threatening to consume him beneath the tsunami of his emotions deeply root him in place, instead of gravitating his attention towards the ruckus in the midst of the Netherrealm for the most opportune time for ambush. And Hanzo’s standing in the midst of an arson of pins and needles of his memory; for it pays no heed to time, place and occasion when such sentimental onslaught ravages through the lucid clarity of his mind. 

“You are irrefutably late,” his sullen, snarky response is masked by the sharp invasion of blood, a sickening spectacle of blood of the innocents overlap with his own incorporeal body of the past. He’s not Scorpion; he’s Hanzo Hasashi. He’s back in the Netherrealm, despite never wanting to travel back to this wretched realm. It’s because his familiarity and insight that has caused him to drown further into the very demon he had became. In that same stench of putrescent blood and ever-burning hellfire. “Have you got the Special Forces message? I want to know if they wanted that pack of demon leaders dead or alive.” 

[bagofmilkteeth]

CyberPunk AU Backstory Drabble - Jaeger x Sirus

Something I wrote in an RP group for Jaeger’s backstory. Seems like every time I rp them Sirus ends up getting the short end of the stick. Content warning for character death, hospital, sickness and general sadness.

-------

Breathe. Just breathe. 

Jaeger could feel the tightness of his chest and throat cutting off the circulation to his fingers and causing the pins and needles of panic to make his hands and arms go numb. Breathe. Just fuckin breathe. He’s okay. He has to be okay. The voice in his head was on a loop of scattered panicked thoughts while in his mind's eye he could see Sirus collapsing over and over on repeat. That slow motion tumble out of Jaeger's hands and into the floor to cough like he’d been unable to breath. 

 They’d been trying to make it to the bathroom to get the man a much needed shower after being bedridden for what felt like days. God...Sirus had been so sure it was just a hangover...then the flu or something similar...Then he’d coughed on the way. That wheezing rattle would haunt Jaeger’s dreams he was sure of it. There had been so many little red spots in his hands. It wasn’t a good sign when there was blood like that. But what did it mean?

Jaeger could feel the bile rising to the back of his throat. If he’d gotten Sirus to the hospital sooner. If they hadn’t been so stubborn...Would he have been okay? Would Jaeger not be pacing the waiting room on the verge of a break down? He wanted to scream. To scream and throw the ugly designer chairs that peppered the waiting room and set fire to all of their dated wrinkled magazines. To rage and rage until the fates themselves realized their mistake and fixed it. For a moment he thought about going out for a smoke but the idea of missing out on the doctor the moment they came to fetch him kept Jaeger rooted in place. 

The doctor stepped through the door, clipboard in hand and a stern expression. “I’m not going to mince words, Mr. Fuchs. This is...Like nothing we’ve seen in a long time.”

 November 6th

The hospital room stank of antiseptic and bitter medicines. All around them top of the line monitors and machines blinked and quietly trilled out a variable orchestra of data collection conducted and composed into one full piece by the ever steady metronome of Sirus’s heart monitor. He lay on the bed, the crisp white pillowcase making his long red hair look like a crown of flames around his head as he slept. His complexion was sallow and waxy seeming. All of his former muscle tone having started to waste away from being confined to bed.

It had been three months since he came here. Three whole months and not a goddamn thing had come of it. Jaeger sat in the chair beside the bed, staring blankly at the wall lost in his thoughts. The diagnosis had been rapid cell death brought on by some kind of rare genetic disease. The technical parts of it all had gone over Jaeger’s head as it was explained to him by the doctor but he had felt his guts turn to ice hearing words like Hope for the best and prepare for the worst or We’re doing the best we can but…  After many nights of heavy research and coming to the same answer Jaeger felt even more confused and frustrated. It seemed no one, at least no one he could find, had seen or heard enough about this kind of condition to treat it. 

Sirus’s body was being constantly regenerated by the nanobot swarm they’d released into his bloodstream but his original cells were just not strong enough to keep up with the disease. Jaeger had started to grow scared. Honestly and truly scared that his fiancé was never going to leave this place. 

The thought lodged itself around his heart like an ugly cynical serpent and squeezed so hard he felt his breath catch in his chest. He couldn’t cry. Not in this place. Starting to get up from the chair, the object shifted and Sirus stirred slightly on the pillow. “Jaeger? Baby you’re still here?” He croaked his voice a heavy dry rasp. 

 “Of course I’m still here.” Jaeger pushed his emotions back down into his chest and forced a smile, reaching for Sirus’s hand and squeezing it. It felt so cold and the rough places where his fingers had calloused from his guitar were starting to grow soft again. “I’m not gonna just leave you in here…” It was a selfish thing at the core of it. Jaeger kept telling himself he was being noble. That he didn’t want to leave Sirus alone. That he was sure his fiancé needed his support. No matter how much of that was true; it was vastly outweighed by his own desire to not go back to their empty dorm. To have to spend the day fighting his own mind and knowing no matter how much he wanted it Sirus wasn’t going to come through the door. 

“Did you even sleep?” Sirus frowned, struggling to sit up some against the pillow. 

“Yeah babe..I slept. You were asleep too but I slept.” It was a lie and not a very good one. Jaeger moved to help Sirus sit up and tend to his smaller needs like the bedpan and getting him water. The solid food was refused at first but then reluctantly forced down only to be thrown back up. It was steadily growing to become routine. A horrible thought that hung over the room with suffocating realness. Jaeger settled back into the chair watching the nurse make their rounds and coming in to check on Sirus after hearing the man vomit into the bedpan. This was...life now.

May 9th

It had now been nine months since Sirus had been admitted to the hospital. Jaeger found himself spending more time there than he had in his dorm or even his own home. He slept there most nights when the nurses felt too sorry for him to kick him out and they’d all started to know him by name.

At the very least Sirus had kept his spirit. Through it all that was the only thing that had remained the same. He kept pushing. Kept agreeing to the tests, the experiments, anything that might get him well no matter how invasive or painful. He wanted to live. He wanted to get through this. Unfortunately all the tests seemed to come back the same. Nothing short of a miracle was going to stop this. 

It was a miracle Jaeger kept hoping for. He’d never been religious but he found himself sending little prayers to anyone out there who was listening. Please….He can’t go out like this...We have too much left to do. But if the universe was listening it was turning a cold shoulder. Heart heavy Jaeger made his way to Sirus’s room carrying his guitar case. The collection of medical equipment growing ever larger and more complicated by the week around the narrow hospital bed. “Hey babe~” Jaeger greeted with all the enthusiasm he could muster, a wide fiery grin on his face. “How you feeling?” 

 Sirus raised his head, lifting the oxygen mask slightly to lean up for a kiss. “Better.” He muttered. 

As Jaeger gave his fiancé the requested kiss he wondered to himself how they’d gotten to this point of lying to each other’s faces. “Happy anniversary baby…” He whispered as his throat clenched to choke off his voice. For a moment they both just stared, Jaeger’s eyes full of unshed tears and Sirus’s blazing with an unspoken don’t. He didn’t want the pity. He didn’t want the tears. He wanted them both to keep being strong. He was going to get out of this bed. He was sure of it. Sitting up with a shaking push of his arm, Sirus tilted his head at Jaeger’s guitar. “Are you going to play for me?” 

“Ah, yeah.” Jaeger swallowed and nodded as he wiped his eyes. “Let me just tune it up. I wrote you something.”

Softly he began to play and sing, a gentle mellow tune.

“Distance and space,

Stars don’t feel any of our history.

They’re too far away to feel any of this pain.

You are my starlight baby and you take me away from this place.

The sky may be black now, but don’t you cry.

It’s just a new canvas and we’re gonna fill it

With every good thing we ever felt.

Make love to me baby. 

Your heart beating against mine.

We’re going to make this black sky light up

Brighter than the city at night time.

Distance and space

Don't matter in this history.

Cause you and me are only stars baby. 

And your light takes me far from this place…"

 October 20th, 2147

There have been a call in the night. A shrill unwelcome sound that had jolted Jaeger from his uneasy sleep in his dorm bed. He’d only meant to rest his eyes. It’d been a quick trip home to get a few things and then come right back, but he’d been asleep for hours and now the hospital was calling him. Sirus’s blood pressure had dropped dangerously low in the night and he’d flat lined for a moment. His heart was growing weak and now...after a year and some months it was becoming blazingly clear this was going to be the end. 

Jaeger cursed himself for leaving at all as he sped down the road back to the hospital, pushing his bike as fast as it would go and weaving in and out of traffic. His eyes stung and his throat burned as the numbness started to settle into his extremities again. No. He thought against the storm raging in his mind. You can’t have him. He’s not ready. I’m not ready. 

He wasn’t sure who he was talking to but it didn’t matter; it was all he could think as his steps pounded up the stairs of the hospital and down the halls to Sirus’s room. I’m not ready. I’m not ready. You can’t have him yet. I’m not ready.

Entering the room he nearly pushed over the nurse in his rush to get to the bedside. “Sir you can’t!” She called only to be stopped by the doctor on hand and motioned out into the hall. Jaeger fell to his knees on the sterile concrete floor next to the bed and grasp Sirus’s hand. “Baby...Baby...c’mon...you can’t ...I-” His voice pitched up in a harsh hard crack. “Can’t ….Without you….” 

He was fading fast and he knew it. Sirus turned his head and mouthed something unintelligible under the oxygen mask, his eyes sad but accepting as he curled his fingers in Jaeger’s. “What? I can’t…” Jaeger leaned in his ears desperately straining to catch it as Sirus repeated himself. 

Don’t….let it stay dark… 

With one final breath that fogged the inside of the mask and the deafening tone of the flatlining monitor...the sky of Jaeger’s heart fell into pitch black night.

[misaki-ffxiv]

LFC: Misaki Ito, Mateus

Gender: Female.

Race: Hyur midlander, Hingan.

Height: 5 fulms even.

Eye Color: Dark brown.

Hair Color: Black.

The Facts -

Name Day: 32nd Sun of the 2nd Umbral Moon.

Occupation: Hostess, refugee, former geisha.

Sexual identification: Heterosexual.

Romantic identification: Heterosexual.

Alignment: Neutral good.

Criminal History: Conspiracy, subterfuge, and violence against the Garlean Empire. Not on Eorzean record. 

Relationship Status: In a relationship.

Sweet on: Etsuji Goto.

Favorites –

Favorite food: Basically any variety of ramen, and rolanberry mochi. Favorite drink: Whiskey or green tea, and sake on special occasions. Favorite artist: Misaki admires her “sister” and teacher from the geisha house, Rei, for her skill in dancing, and was always eager to learn from her and to watch her. Favorite scent: The sea, florals, Etsuji’s cologne. Favorite person: Etsuji Goto. 

Randoms –

Ten facts about your muse:

⚫ Misaki was a geisha of high esteem in Hingashi for her talent in music and dancing, for her natural grace, her beauty, and her lightheartedness. She was highly requested by the guests of the ochaya, known to always bring a quick wit and a listening ear to the room with her. 

⚫Before she was a geisha, Misaki was the bastard child of a Hingan lord and one of his wife’s handmaids. For five years, she was permitted to live in the castle, though once the lord’s wife had a son and child of their own, Misaki was brought to a faraway geisha house - personally delivered by the lord himself. Despite having fond memories of her father, Misaki resents him for abandoning her and not putting his foot down when his wife insisted they banish her.

⚫The family legend surrounding the Ito family is one that brought Misaki unwanted attention from the Garlean forces. It’s believed in Misaki’s village that the Ito family began long ago with the spawn of a dragon turned hyur and a hyur woman, and that any child of Ito lineage born beneath a blood moon would inherit the blood of the dragon. Misaki was born beneath just such a moon, and when she first cried, every cherry blossom in the vicinity burst into bloom. This lead the village to believe she was a daughter of the dragon, and the Garleans to believe her family harnessed some sort of ancient Allagan technology, or worse, that they were the spawn of a primal. 

⚫ Though untrained, Misaki has a natural ability to control the elements. 

⚫ She has two younger brothers that she’s aware of, but has never met, beyond holding her baby brother the day he was born. To this day, she hasn’t heard from her parents since she was abandoned at the geisha house. 

⚫Misaki was kept for a period of several months by a high-ranking Garlean official as a pleasure slave. During this time, she was also tortured and experimented upon to explore the possibility of her possessing ancient Allagan technology. 

⚫ It was a Garlean primus pilus and a Garlean doctor who rescued Misaki. The pilus was an infrequent guest of the ochaya, and one that Misaki found to be of slightly softer heart than his comrades. She was able to get a message to him telling him of her situation through the Garlean doctor, who was able to trickle it down to Etsuji’s gang. This group effort allowed Lucius, along with the doctor, to bring her and several other former geisha to Eorzea - though only the Garleans, Etsuji, and Misaki survived a crash landing into Thanalan.

⚫ A close friend of Misaki’s - someone she considered a brother - was a samurai to a lord who frequented the ochaya. He taught her self defense through martial arts, something she took to quickly. 

⚫In recent months, and during her time kept captive by the high-ranking Garlean official, Misaki has been working to liberate Doma from the Garleans. She specializes in gaining vital information and passing it on to other rebels, often going undercover and using her charm to garner such information. 

⚫ Misaki was, for the most part, happy in her geisha position. She has a natural warmth and kindness, and despite becoming slightly hardened by the circumstances she was put in and her nation was put in, she remains a gentle woman. Staunch and stubborn, she has refused to let traumatic experiences steal her sweetness from her. 

Five Things -

Things they like:

Animals - especially ones of the soft and fuzzy variety. 

Music and dancing.

Quiet places, like the sea late at night or deep in a forest.

Flower arranging.

Helping other people.

Things they dislike:

Garlemald and most Garleans. 

Unnecessary violence. 

Needles. 

Dark, unfamiliar spaces.

Dirty spaces. 

Good traits:

Loyal. Once her loyalty is earned, it is unwavering. Misaki is a friend for life, unless you do something to truly betray her trust or use her. She will always go out o fher way to help someone she cares for - and even people she doesn’t know well, or at all. 

Kind. Misaki has not let past experiences define her present self. She has maintained the sweetness, compassion, and empathy she has always had to the best of her ability. In her, one can always find a shoulder to lean on or an ear that will listen with sympathy and gentleness.

Talented. Receiving an education in grace, music, and dancing with the geisha has its perks. Misaki is talented in entertaining, with a pretty voice, the ability to play the shamisen and koto very well, and is skilled in traditional Hingan dancing. 

Intelligent. Misaki would not have survived Garlemald’s subjugation if she wasn’t bright. Being clever and able to think quickly on her toes has saved her and others numerous times, when she has not been able to charm her way out of a situation.

Protective. She is unafraid to defend those weaker or meeker than she is. Misaki will insert herself into potentially dangerous situations, even if it means she herself will get harmed, to avoid an innocent person being hurt. This natural instinct is only heightened when it comes to those she’s close to, or around children. 

Bad traits:

Guarded. Sweet as she might be, Misaki is not an easy person to truly get to know. Her bare personality is hidden with one she puts on in public or around those she doesn’t know. It takes a persistent person to see her true personality. She is slow to genuinely trust people.

Hot temper. Misaki is not always slow to anger. When she’s angry, she has a sharp, hurtful tongue, and a harshness that often comes as a surprise to others. There is venom behind her bite, and she makes no effort to hide it when provoked. 

Slow to forgive. Since gaining Misaki’s trust is so hard to do, it is near impossible to gain it back once it’s been broken. Feeling betrayed is something that cuts her deeply, and it is not easy to gain her forgiveness. 

Manipulative. She will manipulate you with her beauty and charm if she believes that you’re a bad person with good information. This is mostly applicable to those dealing in the underworld or those who have information that could assist in harming Garlemald. She will try to manipulate bad people into trusting her and then do something to damage them, either physically or emotionally, especially if she knows they’ve harmed an innocent person. 

Stubborn. It’s hard to talk Misaki out of a bad idea or into a good one once she has her mind set upon something. If she’s decided she’s going to throw herself into a lion’s den to pull someone from it, there’s virtually no convincing her to do otherwise. 

Personalities they gravitate toward:

Intelligent, educated types.

Other Hingans and Domans with strong ties to home.

Entertainers.

Sweet, kind-hearted people.

Father figures. 

Those who don’t get into drama often, or for the fun of it. 

Personality types they avoid:

Arrogant, know-it-all, edgy jerks.

People who constantly play the victim card.

Relentless flirts. 

Garleans, or anyone else with a superiority complex.

Racists, xenophobes, bigots, and anyone else who falls into that category.

Fears:

Being imprisoned by Garlemald again.

Losing touch with her roots

Being alone.

The dark. 

Unwanted physical contact.

--------- RP HOOKS

Misaki is definitely a character I feel comfortable in having pre-established relationships for! She was kind of a queen bee in the geisha community. Maybe your character was a rival, or one of the wealthy patrons who frequented the tea house and enjoyed her singing, dancing, and conversation.

The Ito family and its legend was well known in certain regions. Maybe your character heard whispers of the dragon girl who made flowers bloom who disappeared all of a sudden, with not much comment offered about it by Lord Ito and his royal house.

Her significant other, Etsuji Goto, is a good boy who fell in with the wrong crowd - essentially, the yakuza. A rival gang burned Misaki’s tea house to the ground, killing several geisha and the house mother along with it before turning them in to the Garleans searching for the geisha girl herself. Was your character one of the rival gang members? A Garlean who dealt with the geisha girl? Who knows!

Other entertainers! Now in Eorzea, Misaki is enjoying herself trying to meet other entertainers, especially any from Doma or Hingashi. 

Though she definitely drifts more towards good characters, for the sake of storylines and fun writes, my boyfriend and I are looking for criminally aligned characters to stir the pot a bit. Etsuji is still involved with his yakuza ‘brothers,’ and there are plenty of shady dealings to be had. 

You can reach me either here on Tumblr via IM, or in-game on: Misaki Ito, Isolde Grey, Belle Haillenarte, or Qara Noykin.

[ask-thedepressedkidatthetable]

Name: Yes. I do have a name.

Nickname: Space Avocado

Age: Eternal. Benefits of the internet, no?

Currently Reading: Nothing currently. I was very disappointed with Lemony Snicket’s new series. If there isn’t a death or unfortunate event by page 70, what could you hope to expect?

Favorite Color: Green.

Favorite Flower: Lilac.

Number of Muses: 5 are listed but I have two others that technically exist so...

Last Movie You Saw: Army of one. It was funny and free!

Favorite Muse Of Yours: Alex.

Number Of Flowers: 78.

Number Of Drafts: Technically it’s 34 but most of that’s notes, but I’d say 10?

Number Of Starters: Lots.

Favorite Thread(s): Roots To Needles @heartxshaped-bruises / Anything with @avstens-indie and @nickclarkwrites / And any threads @heavenlyhealers comes up with are always a pleasure!

Favorite RP blogs and Tagging: @heartxshaped-bruises @avstens-indie @thecrzyones @ask-flip-frost and associated blogs! And @arxchnis

Tagged By: @heavenlyhealers || I don’t know why tumblr doesn’t want to tag you but I am thinking of you!

[black-omen-born]

This follows straight from some plot RP I did LIKE A WEEK AGO i’m slow and this is a clunkfest but i haven’t been writing a lot so i’m outta practice

Rinha’li sleeps, Rinha’li dreams, the book he carries isn’t entirely what it seems -- at least not anymore. @moralistcyclops @saerdha @sedatayuun @goldengridanian i think all have a mention at least

It was not the first time Rinha’li had ended an encounter in a dead faint, and it was unlikely to be the last. The calculations that arcanists employed to arrange their aether-flows into finely balanced perpetual motion machines allowed them to channel nigh infinitely -- a clever trick, but paid for in almost guaranteed aether-sickness that no amount of mathematical tinkering could avoid. Caution might keep one safe, but Rinha’li still disliked violence intensely and found it easier to suppress the urge to flee if he threw caution to the winds and poured every ounce of his nerve into his magic, heedless of any limits.

It was a dreamless swoon at first, as it usually was -- pure oblivion, lit up occasionally by flashes of incomprehensible sensation. At some point his consciousness re-asserted itself, as Rinha’li became dimly aware that someone was carrying him, and that there were familiar voices all around.

His hands were empty, his arms loosely folded across his body. His fingers twitched, reaching for something that was not there.

“My grimoire,” he finally said. It took many tries for the words to leave his thoughts and reach his tongue. “Get...grimoire...” And then, having gotten across what was currently the most important thing on his mind, he fell back into darkness again.

* * *

Rinha’li is ten years old again, sitting and watching as his cousin digs in the dirt with a wrapped flint knife. His first real friend, she often appears in his dreams now that she is long dead. The hole her idle digging has stirred up is completely filled with squirming black worms.

“Do you miss me?” Lhira plucks one of the worms from the tiny pit and holds it up so it thrashes wildly between her fingers. “Now that you’ve left the Forest?”

Rinha’li thinks about the question, and about all he has now. “I don’t really know,” he says.

His cousin squeezes the worm in her hand until it bursts violently, its putrid insides gushing over her hand.

* * *

He might be officially registered as S'aerdha's pupil by now -- he hasn't seen the paperwork himself, so he isn't sure -- but Rinha'li is still reasonably certain he isn't supposed to be in this part of the Ossuary. The walls are carved with warding sigils, and there are temporary ones painted over those in faintly glowing ink. The floor is bare stone, but most of the small square chamber is taken up with a circle of salt, poured in intricate spirals. The air smells like every kind of perfume and Rinha'li can see S'aerdha hunched over in the center of the circle, prowling around on his hands and knees like he can't stand up straight. He's dressed like always -- showing off his expensive taste with vivid silks and delicate gold filigree -- but he won't speak. "You can just step over it, you know. The salt." Rinha'li sits down outside the circle, and S'aerdha looks up at him and hisses with his needle fangs bared, and Rinha'li isn't quite so certain it's S'aerdha in the circle anymore.

* * * The place is beautiful, like all Ishgardian cathedrals are. Rinha'li wanders among the silent corridors, nearly falling over trying to crane his neck upwards to see the endless arches, finding alcove after alcove dedicated to saints he does not know the name of -- room after room of heroic deeds and tragic martyrdoms that seem to have no end. Every door he tries leads to a new nave, with enough pews to seat an army and an altar to the Fury more awe-inspiring than the last. He slips through tiny side gates into  long hallways lined with offices, memorials, little private libraries and counting-houses and studios meant for scribes. "Pardon me," he finally works up the courage to ask a passing priest. "Which way leads outside?" The priest looks at Rinha'li as though he is speaking an unfamiliar language. After a moment, Rinha'li realizes he has been talking to a marble statue.

* * * The woman's rage is almost palpable but she can't fight against stone -- not here, anyway, with the walls warded. The alabaster cherubim will not move under anyone's command but their master's; there are four of them pinning her fast and her magic will not obey. She struggles, curses, rages, spits. "Idiot," she hisses. "Fool. You cannot close the door once it has been opened. Mhach will--" "Mhach!" the other woman barks. Rinha'li is watching this scene play out but he can feel this other voice's contempt on his own tongue, somehow. "What does Mhach have? Parlor tricks and disobedient little pets. We have power over all life and death, mage of the black. Nothing walks upon Eorzea save that we will it. You are nothing." The Mhachi mage opened her mouth to say something, but her words were choked out as flowers took root and burst forth from her throat, filling her mouth with blood and violets.

* * * Rinha'li awoke with a start, sat up, and immediately regretted it as a wave of nausea hit him full force. He doubled over, retching helplessly, and felt some soothing hand on the back of his head. "Oh, that's good," Atlan said breezily. "I didn't want to wake you up, but if you were sleeping much longer we'd start to worry." "How long was I out?" Rinha'li asked faintly. He swallowed hard; the violent sense of sickness was starting to subside a bit, but his stomach was still twisted up in dreadful knots. "A little over a day. Vallen brought you some honeycomb when you're up for it." "Is everyone...?" "Right as rain, for the most part -- Kodaro got a bit singed but I think he's had worse." Atlan tapped his brow with one finger, right over the side where Kodaro wore his eyepatch. Rinha'li winced sympathetically. "S'aerdha's recovering and doing a lot of thinking." Carefully, Rinha'li straighted up, his head still swimming. Beyond all expectations, Atlan looked as cheerful as ever. "...where d-did...did you put my grimoire after..." Rinha'li began, but Atlan seemed to have anticipated the question. "Oh, it's right here, don't worry." On the nightstand, right by Rinha'li's head as he slept. Carefully, he opened the book to the last page he could recall casting from, hoping the flood of black ink that had accompanied his experimental spell had been a spontaneous aether manifestation and not a permanent feature. Luckily, the pages were pristine. His hand still shaking, he turned to what should have been the next blank page, recently prepared to accept a new geometric variant, once he finished perfecting it. This page was stained with black and red ink, smeared haphazardly into the shape of a single violet blossom. Rinha'li let out a breath. "Atlan," he said softly, "c-can you take dicatation for me? I had...a most evocative dream."

[manyfacesofdrhoe]

Charlie Character Sheet

First Name: Charlie

Last Name: Booker

Nickname: None

Gender: Female

Age:Depends on rp

Species: Homo superior

Sexual Orientation:Bi

Birthday: April, 13

Life Story: Her life was normal. She was raised by her dad (mom and dad seperated after she was born). Her father wasn't really... against mutants, but wasn't the biggest fan either. Charlie was excited to have powers, she liked that she had this secret. It made her feel special. As soon as she could, she moved out to find others like her and learn how to control her powers.

Appearance

Eye Color(s): Forest green

Hair Color: Dirty blond, browner near the roots Hair Style(s):Curly-ish longer bob, she usually wears one side pinned back

Skin tone: Almond beige (I looked up a list of skin colors and this is one, basically beige, but a little darker)

Body type: Kind of a rectangle, no curves really Height: 5'5

About him/her

Personality: Spunky, sarcastic, but she has a soft side and would fight tooth and nail for her friends. She can be a little blunt at times, but doesn't try to be rude.

Good Habit(s): She exercises everyday (ran track in school), takes time for herself, and picks up for everyone

Bad habit(s): She can't control her powers at times and has accidently set a few things on fire, she can be overly sarcastic, and probably drinks to much coffee

Hobbies: Reading, people watching, drinking coffee, practicing her powers, running, and learning about mutants.

Allergies: None

Fear(s): Accidently hurting someone (either physically or emotionally), being ignored, needles

Strength(s): Very loyal, open minded, energetic, and curious

Weakness(es): A little reckless, blunt, and passive agressive

Special Powers/Abilities: Pyrokenetic

Family and Friends

Parent(s): Her father, James Booker

[thistleandthorn-rpg]

Congrats Lo on your third character, Katie Clarington! Please send us her blog within the next 48 hours! 

OOC INFORMATION:

Name/Alias: Lo Preferred pronoun: She/Hers Age: Twenty-Five Timezone/Country: GMT RP Experience: Lots honestly. Activity Level: 6/10

IC INFORMATION:

Name: Kathryn ‘Katie’ Scout Clarington Designation: Domme Age: Twenty-Two Faceclaim: Emily Bett Rickards Birthday: June 4th Orientation: Bi-sexual Kinks: Orgasm control/denial, impact play, needle play, humiliation, feminisation, exhibitionism Anti-Kinks: Age play, pet play, bathroom play

BIO:

She was supposed to have been a boy. Boys ran in the Clarington family; pregnancies always led to three boys, usually identical. In the case of Crystal’s pregnancy, they’d expected no different. The scans told them as much and Katie was a definite surprise. She came into the world screaming twice as loudly as her brothers and threw a spanner in the life the Colonel had already planned for his children. He didn’t have a name picked out for her, and so Crystal chose to name her after the doctor who had delivered them. The Colonel hadn’t been thrilled about a female doctor but there wasn’t time to object once Crystal’s waters had broken.

Being a Clarington meant that perfection was expected of you at all times; Katie, from a young age, was the assumed submissive of the family and perfection meant being quiet, mild-mannered and soft. She was none of those things. Katie Clarington was loud, determined and excitable. She threw herself into everything the boys did from climbing trees, to soccer to following their footsteps when it came to the Army. Her Father never supported any of this; and more often than not, stopped her from participating the way she wanted to. All that only made her more determined to carve out of her piece of the pie, to break out of the box someone else had decided she ought to be confined in. ‘You’ll make a terrible submissive. Someone’s going to have to break you in.’ was often yelled. She’d often laugh, toss her hair back and declare she wouldn’t be the submissive. She was punished for talking back every time.

The Colonel would grow to have some pride in his only daughter. She was clever and despite her being a girl, she managed to succeed in most sports she turned her hand to. From the age of sixteen, she was enrolled in private submission lessons four afternoons a week. She hated every minute. It made her skin itch. No matter what they told her, she didn’t feel right in that role.

Arriving at Lima Heights, she was vindicated. A short interview with the respective Heads had her marked as the Domme; a fact she greatly looked forward to lording over Archer and Hunter’s heads.

BIO QUESTIONS

What is your biggest fear and why?

I’m afraid of not living up to my potential; of letting someone put me in a box and instead of breaking out, I just do my best to fit in. That’s not why any of us are here is it?

What 3 objects/places mean the most to you and why?

There isn’t anywhere that means a great deal to me. We moved around far too often for any one place to have real significance and honestly, I like that. I like not being rooted to a particular place. As for objects? My passport because as evidenced previously, I like to travel. I don’t really know what’s important other than that; I’m not materialistic. I never have been. I place more significance on people and my relationships with them.

Who is the one person you’d most like to meet (dead or alive)?

George Washington.

What is the one moment you would describe as your happiest/most excited?

I’m happiest when I’m outdoors and I’d say the moment I remember feeling the happiest and most carefree was hiking in Trolltunga in Norway. I went by myself, although I did join up with a group, and it was breathtaking.

[kote-the-inn-keeper]

WHAT ARE YOUR MUSE’S AESTHETICS ? BOLD ANY WHICH APPLY TO YOUR MUSE !

Please repost, don’t reblog.

Tagging: other rp blogs have fun!

red  //  orange  // yellow //  green  // blue  //  purple //   pink   //  beige  // fire   //   ice //  water   //   air //   earth   //  claws  //   fangs   //  wings   //  gold  //  brass  //   diamonds   //   grass   // leaves //   trees  //  roses   //  metal  //  iron   //  rust   //  rain //  snow   //  lace   //  leather  //  silk   //  rope  //  velvet  //  denim  // cotton  //  sun   //  moon  //  stars  //  blood   //  dirt  //   mud  // silver //  steel  //  sugar   //  salt  //  pepper  //   lavender   //  glass //   wood   //  paper   //  wool  //  fur  //  smoke   //  ash   //   cigarettes  //  cigars   //  candy   //   bubbles   //  ocean   // city scape   // bruises // scars  //  wind  //  spices   //  light  // dark   //  paint  //  lingerie   //  charcoal  //  wine //  phone  //  hard liquor   //  sweat  // tears  //   dust  //   lips  //  smiles  // bare feet   //   hats   //   canine  //  feline   //  coffee  //   tea   //  books  //  photos   //   sketches   // analog  //  digital   //  clockwork  //  scratches  //  petals   //  thorns  //   hay   //  glitter  //  heat  // cold //   steam   //  frost   //  dewdrops //  candle  //  sword   //  dagger  //  arrow //  staff  //  hammer   //  axe   //  shield  //  spikes   //   sand   //  rocks  //  roots   //  feathers   //  pearls  //  rubies //  sapphires   //  emeralds   //  amethyst   // herbs  //   waves //  lightning   // sunlight //  moonlight //  rainbow   //   money   //   clay   // stone   //   brick   //  lions   //  wolves //  eagles  //  black   // white   // birds   //  eyes //  hands  //   flowers   // angels //  heaven  //  holiness  // hell //  medicine  // needles  //  sharp objects  //  guns //  mechs  //  dragons  //  pastels  //  dreams //  poetry //  video games  //  hacking  //  neon  //  distorted images  // spiders  //  insects  //  deep water // elysium  //  graveyards //  death  // resurrection  //  nature  // churches  //  priests  //  crosses  //  sacrifice   //  skulls // nymphs //  strings  //  instruments.

[flight-of-the-thieving-magpie]

WHAT ARE YOUR MUSE’S AESTHETICS ? BOLD ANY WHICH APPLY TO YOUR MUSE !

Please repost, don’t reblog.

tagged : @hiistiger !! thank you! tagging : @redxwolf @thelionofnaples @so-touchingly-loyal @mercuryblake @bashertigermoran @notasoldierseverin @rp-military-hunter @i-am-hamishwatsonholmes @rich-brook

red //  orange  // yellow //  green  // blue  //  purple //   pink   //  beige  // fire   //   ice  //  water  //   air  //   earth   //  claws //   fangs   //  wings   //  gold  //  brass //   diamonds   //   grass   //leaves  //   trees  //  roses   //  metal  // iron  //  rust   // rain  // snow   //  lace   //  leather  //  silk   //  rope  //  velvet  //  denim  // cotton  //  sun   //  moon  //  stars  // blood   //  dirt //  mud  // silver //  steel  //  sugar   // salt //  pepper  //   lavender   //  glass  //   wood   //  paper   //  wool  //  fur  //  smoke   //  ash  //   cigarettes //  cigars   //  candy   //   bubbles   //  ocean   // city scape   // bruises // scars  //  wind  //  spices   //  light  // dark   //  paint  //  lingerie   // charcoal //  wine //  phone  // hard liquor  //  sweat  //  tears  //   dust //  lips  //  smiles  // bare feet   //   hats   //   canine  //  feline   //  coffee  //   tea   // books  //  photos  //   sketches   // analog  //  digital   //  clockwork  //  scratches  //  petals   //  thorns  //   hay   //  glitter  //  heat  // cold  //   steam  //  frost   //  dewdrops  //  candle  //  sword   //  dagger  //  arrow //  staff  //  hammer   //  axe   //  shield  //  spikes   //   sand   //  rocks  //  roots   //  feathers   //  pearls //  rubies //  sapphires   //  emeralds   //  amethyst   //  herbs  //   waves  //  lightning   //sunlight //  moonlight //  rainbow   //   money   //   clay   // stone   //   brick   //  lions   //  wolves //  eagles  //  black  // white   //  birds   //  eyes  //  hands  //   flowers   // angels //  heaven  //  holiness  // hell //  medicine  // needles  //  sharp objects  //  guns //  mechs  //  dragons  //  pastels  //  dreams //  poetry //  video games  //  hacking  //  neon  //  distorted images  // spiders  //  insects  //  deep water // elysium  //  graveyards //  death  // resurrection  //  nature  // churches  //  priests  //  crosses  //  sacrifice   // skulls //  nymphs  //  strings  //  instruments.

[maraudersmemoria-rp-blog]

Remus Lupin Application

OUT OF CHARACTER:

Name/Alias: Admin Sammy

Preferred pronouns: She/Her

Age: 21

Timezone: CST 

Activity: 8/10 - As a full-time student and a part-time worker I am going to be around but cannot give myself a 10

Do you have RP experience? I have 10 years of roleplay experience but this is the first group I’m admin for.

Triggers: Blood & Needles

IN CHARACTER

Full Name: Remus John Lupin

Face Claim: Nat Wolff (lol Wolff)

Preferred Pronouns: He/Him

Sexuality: Pansexual

Age/DOB: 17/ 10 March, 1960

House: Gryffindor

Affiliation: Order of the Phoenix -- Remus Lupin was a man of brilliance whose life seemed to revolve around danger. He had never intended to go looking for trouble until it found him and grasped onto his heart with no intention upon releasing him. On the contrary, Remus Lupin’s life would only grow more and more troublesome as years went by. When a war broke out and all of his friends insisted that they were going to join the Order it was only right that he tag along with them. It was both the right thing to do and only fitting that such a trouble-ridden boy dig his grave ever deeper.

Species: Wizard/Werewolf

Blood Status: Half-Blood

Patronus: A great big wolf -- Remus hates it because this means the creature is not only an infliction of the flesh but also of the soul.

Boggart: As a small child it was wolves, then the full moon, it’s currently seeing his friends’ corpses with their blood on his hands, and will eventually change back to the full moon given that his friends will either be dead or in prison for killing them but hey, at least Remus didn’t kill them.

Quote: “I can’t go back to yesterday, I was a different person then.” --Lewis Carroll

Aesthetic: 

Hot Cocoa with Whipped Cream

Star Charts

Over-sized Sweaters

Cottage in the Woods

Worn-Out Books

Laugh Lines

Frosted Tree Branches

Pet(s): Barn Owl named Noctua

Occupation: Bookstore Keeper in Muggle London

Ships/Anti-Ships: 

+Wolfstar

+Chemistry

-Remus/Snape

-Remus/Forced

3 Positive Traits/3 Negative Traits: 

+Inquisitive

If you were to approach Hope Lupin and ask her about a characteristic of her son’s the first one she would list would be inquisitive. From the moment he opened his eyes for the first time, Remus was always studying the world around him and attempting to figure out how exactly things worked.

+Quiet

Remus quickly learned how to listen once he had been bitten. He was shuffled from treatment to treatment, cottage to cottage, told not to speak to the neighborhood children. Any time he broke that rule they were forced to leave again. He had started to learn how to speak up once he got to Hogwarts. However, old habits die hard.

+Collaborative

Remus Lupin does not know how to take care of himself when he does not have others checking upon him. That is not to say that he cannot survive but his standard of living goes down. However, when others are involved anything he puts his mind to improves immensely. Look at all that the Marauders had accomplished throughout the years, the achievement he is most proud of being the Marauders Map due to the skill it required to create.

-Impatient

Waiting is painful for Remus. When he has a goal in mind he wishes to rush in and get it done. People expect him to be the level-headed planner but the truth remains that he is as impulsive as his friends despite Dumbledore’s attempts to make him more responsible by naming him prefect. He supposes that is why James was made Head Boy.

-Temperamental

To pair up with the fact he is not the level-headed boy everyone expects him to be, Remus is rather temperamental. He tends to fly off the handle at even the most minor inconvenience, though that is usually of the self-deprecating variety.

-Dishonest

Remus’ life has been riddled with so many secrets that he has become somewhat of a pathological liar. The added negative for this trait? He’s a terrible liar. 

Example: In Prisoner of Azkaban when asked if he knew Sirius Black he threw his suitcase across the room and shouted “SIRIUS BLACK? NEVER HEARD OF HIM!” Despite all of the hullabaloo surrounding Black’s escape from prison.

4 Headcanons: 

Remus Lupin is not a morning person. He is used to late nights whether that was spent with his nose stuck in a book, out pranking in the corridors, or thrashing around the Shrieking Shack as a bloodthirsty beast. He does not seem to have a healthy sleep schedule so waking up before eleven in the morning is a struggle for our friend Remus. If you see him before he’s had his coffee it’s even worse.

Remus is considering actually getting a pet rabbit who he wishes to name Fluffenstein so that the rumors won’t be entirely incorrect. In the future he would joke with Harry about his classmates being under the impression of him having a badly-behaved rabbit as his “furry little problem” but every time he enters a pet shop he has to look at the bunnies and contemplate the decision for a good while. So far he has had enough self control to not pull off the act but we all know how impulsive he is.

His parents had been rather well-off until after he was bitten. After the attack they funneled most of their funds into experimental treatments for their son to no success. This led to a strained relationship between him and his father Lyall. Hope loves him unconditionally but Lyall resents his son, fueled by his own guilt for causing Greyback to target Remus in the first place.

Remus is rubbish at potions and baking but cooking is where he excels. He loves to experiment with recipes and flavors, which is especially convenient when on a budget and unable to afford a lot of foods.

Biography: 

Remus John Lupin was born to Hope and Lyall Lupin on March 10th, 1960 as a healthy baby boy. He was the pride and joy of his family, the prodigy. That all changed once Lyall shot off his mouth about werewolves in front of Fenrir Greyback, the most sadistic of the species that the Wizarding World knew about. At age five, Remus was tucked into bed, read a bedtime story, and left to dream about the stars. What they had not known was that Greyback had hidden himself inside the child’s closet to attack once the full moon had risen.

After that he was dragged from experimental treatment to experimental treatment, being let down time and time again and having to move from one village to the next with no roots to be planted. He learned to keep himself distant from those around him, learned to observe more than he participated. None of the Lupins would have expected that he would ever be allowed to leave home for even a night. When Dumbledore arrived at their doorstep on Remus’ eleventh birthday, everything changed.

He was brought to Hogwarts with tremendous caution and instilled with a level of fear of his classmates that Lyall considered healthy. Hope told him the opposite: that he was supposed to make friends and live his life as much as he could. While Remus had intended upon following his father’s instructions it appeared fate admired Hope a little more.

Throughout his time at Hogwarts, Remus grew out of his shell more and more until reality set in as to what life would be like once he left the castle’s walls. He had to face the fact that, as a werewolf, he would have little-to-no future in the Wizarding World’s society. When it came time for his O.W.L.s and his N.E.W.T.s he admitted to Professor McGonagall that he would take everything available in the hopes of perhaps landing some form of job upon graduation.

Now that his time at school has come to an end, Remus has been thrust into an unforgiving world ravaged by war. How will he survive in this world that has already taken so much from him?

Para Sample: 

(600 Word Minimum) -- Will be redacted upon acceptance

[theheulwen]

RP Character Aesthetic

For Heulwen: Blood Elf/sindorei rogue, World of Warcraft

BOLD what applies to your muse.

Remember to REPOST.

Feel free to add to the list.

[ COLOR ] red. brown. orange. yellow. green. blue. purple. pink. black. white. teal. silver. gold.grey. lilac. metallic. matte. royal blue. strawberry red. charcoal grey. forest green. apple red. navy blue. crimson. cream. mint green. magenta. pastels. darks. bubblegum pink. blood red. ivory. jewel tones

[ ELEMENTAL ] fire. ice. water. air. earth. rain. snow. wind. moon. stars. sun. heat. cold. steam. frost. lightning. sunlight. moonlight. dawn. dusk. twilight. midnight. sunrise. sunset. dewdrops. clouds.

[ BODY ] claws. long fingers. fangs. teeth. wings. tails. lips. bare feet. freckles. bruises. canine. scars. scratches. ears. wounds. burns. spikes. feathers. webs. eyes. hands. sweat. tears. feline. chubby. curvy. short. tall. normal height. muscular. slender. trained. piercings. tattoos. strong. weak. shapeshifting. junoesque. svelte. lean. long hair. short hair. dark circles. big. small. prosthetics. experimented. cyborg. halos. horns. wolfish. hooves. withered. old. young. dark complexion

[ WEAPONRY ] fists. sword. dagger. spear. scythe. bow and arrow. hammer. shield. poison. guns. axes. throwing axes. whips. knives. throwing knives. pepper sprays. tasers. machine guns. slingshots. katanas. maces. staffs. wands. powers. magical items. magic. rocks. power loader. flamethrower. metal rod. shotguns. needles. mugs.

[ MATERIAL ] gold. silver. platinum. titanium. diamonds. pearls. rubies. garnets. sapphires. emeralds. amethyst. metal. iron. rust. steel. glass. wood. porcelain. paper. wool. fur. lace. leather. copper. silk. velvet. denim. linen. cotton. charcoal. clay. stone. asphalt. brick. marble. dust. glitter. blood. dirt. mud. smoke. ash. shadow. carbonate. rubber. synthetics. yarn. slime. ivory. electrum. glass.

[ NATURE ] grass. leaves. trees. bark. roses. daisies. tulips. holly. lavender. lilies. petals. thorns. sunflowers. seeds. hay. sand. rocks. ice. roots. flowers. ocean. river. lake. meadow. forest.desert. tundra. savanna. rain forest. swamp. caves. underwater. coral reef. beach. waves. space. mountains. fungi. cliffs.

[ ANIMALS ] lions. wolves. black panther. eagles. owls. falcons. hawks. swans. snakes. turtles. ducks. bugs. roaches. spiders. birds. whales. dolphins. fish. sharks. horses. cats. dogs. bunnies. praying mantis. crows. ravens. mice. lizards. frogs. bears. werewolves. unicorns. pegasus. dinosaurs. dragons. felines. foxes. centaurs. tigers.

[ FOOD/DRINK ] sugar. salt. water. candy. bubblegum. wine. champagne. hard liquor. beer. coffee. tea. spices. herbs. apple. orange. lemon. cherry. strawberry. watermelon. vegetables. fruits. meat. fish. pies. desserts.chocolate. cream. caramel. berries. nuts. cinnamon. burgers. burritos. pizza. vanilla. cookies. honey. curry.

[ HOBBIES ] music. art. piercing. watercolors. gardening. knitting. smithing. sculpting. painting. sketching. fighting. fencing. riding. writing. composing. cooking. sewing. training. dancing. acting. singing. martial arts. self-defense. electronics. technology. cameras. video cameras. video games. computer. phone. movies. theater. libraries. books. magazines. poetry. philosophy. cds. records. vinyls. cassettes. piano. violin. cello. guitar. electronic guitar. bass guitar. harmonica. synthesizers. harp. lyre. woodwinds. brass. trumpet. flute. drums. bells. playing cards. poker chips. chess. dice. motorcycle riding (passenger) (driver). eating. climbing. tree climbing. running. vivisection. opera.

[ STYLE ] lingerie. armor. cape. dress. robes. suit. tunic. vest. shirt. boots. heels. leggings. trousers. jeans. skirt. shorts. jewelry. earrings. necklace. bracelet. ring. pendant. hat. crown. circlet. helmet. scarf. neck tie. brocade. cloaks. corsets. doublet. chest plate. sweaters. gorget. bracers. belt. sash. coat. jacket. hood. gloves. socks. masks. cowls. braces. watches. glasses. sunglasses. visor. eye contacts. makeup. pantyhose. stockings. thigh highs. sandals

[ MISC ] balloons. bubbles. cityscape. landscape. light. dark. candles. war. peace. money. power.percussion. clocks. photos. mirrors. pets. diary. fairy lights. madness. sanity. sadness. happiness. optimism. pessimism. realism.loneliness. anger. family. friends. assistants. co-workers. enemies. lovers. loyalty. smoking. alcohol. drugs. kindness. love. embracing. graveyard. protector. knowledge