#taken human

[wickedsrest-rp]

Name: Magnolia "Maggie" Carter Species: Human (Non-powered) Occupation: Clerk at Periwinkle Paints / Comic Artist  Age: 24 Years Old Played By: Bee Face Claim: Lovie Simone

"I don’t care if you believe in it. I believe in it, and that’s enough."

To be born in Wicked’s Rest is to be born into a story where the chapters are still being written. It was a fact Maggie had known since she was still very small. Each person within that crazy town on the coast of Maine was a character. The town itself was a character. And so, too, were the things that dwelled within the woods surrounding it…

If there was ever a master bedtime storyteller, it was Sarah Parker. One of Maggie’s earliest memories was of her mother tucking her into the stuffed-animal-strewn bed while whispering stories of the wonderful town of Wicked’s Rest and all the secret things that lived inside it. There was never a book. No pages were needed to craft the stories of Wormy, or the fairies that lived inside the trees in the Pines, or the great walking mushrooms that patrolled the town borders and kept the residents safe while all others lay asleep in their beds. Maggie’s mother made their little town a place of wonder rather than one of the strangest places on earth. And, as any child might, Magnolia drank in every word and believed. 

Belief was a powerful thing. Imagination was a powerful thing. But Magnolia Parker’s imagination was a force to be reckoned with. It bled into the real world. Wishes on stars and creatures not of this world were real to her. Which, for a time, was fine. After all, childhood is built on make-believe. Slowly, slowly, Maggie’s interests diverged from those of her peers. The games she dreamed up on the playground of monsters and creatures were not interesting to other children. Other kids didn’t look into the woods from the back seat of the car and wish to see some great beast running alongside her. Other kids’ imaginary friends were not ‘scary’. Even her sister Frankie, ten years her senior, seemed wary if not uninterested in the things Maggie thought were fascinating.

So what if the other kids didn’t believe in the same things she did! It didn’t matter to her. Maggie could create her view of Wicked’s Rest with paper and pencil. By the time she was twelve, the girl had filled a box of sketchbooks with illustrations and comics of her town. Pages and pages were filled with strange creatures in the midst of everyday life. A sea snake in the lake. A long limbed thing sitting on a park bench. A mushroom the size of a mountain sat watching the sea. A pumpkin-headed creature that talked to anyone who passed. Strange ball-shaped birds with grins sitting on telephone wires. Gremlins eating car parts at the dump. A large cow mooing through the caves and grottos. Over the years, that art got better and better. So good that she ended up going to college for it. But the creatures in her notebooks were still trapped within paper. The stories were still just stories.

And then the year 2023 happened. Chaos, like something out of one of the pages of her stories and drawings, churned out of every corner of the town. Ooze, and mineral monsters, and weird crabs, and unmoving rainclouds… The stories of Wicked’s Rest she had believed her entire life had finally stopped being a thing of folklore and had become real. Really, really, real. Which meant that the creatures and cryptids rumored to live just out of sight- those things she’d drawn up with ink- they were real, too. Findable, even.

The goal was set: A cryptid found and drawn accurately by the end of 2024. A new project, a new story to draw up. Maggie would worm her way into the magical, supernatural side of Wicked’s Rest, and once she’d found her way into it, she was determined to stay.

Character Facts:

Personality: Whimsical, observant, supportive, rowdy, perfectionist, gullible

Maggie is the half-sister of Frankie Parker through their dad, Charles Parker. After Frankie’s mother passed, Frankie and her dad moved back to Wicked’s Rest. He met Sarah (Maggie’s mom), and the rest is history.

Her mother is an elementary school teacher, but likes to run Wicked’s Rest tours in her spare time, especially during tourist season. It’s part of why Maggie is so proud and loves her little town.

On top of comic book art, Maggie loves to paint murals! Her whole bedroom has changed several times over because she likes to practice on the walls. Currently, her ceiling is covered in constellations, and the walls are different views of Wicked’s Rest. There also little cryptids and local bits of lore interwoven in there, but you have to look for them. 

Wormy and Giuseppe are Maggie’s favorite cryptids. Ever. Period. If she ever finds either of them, she will probably cry tears of joy. 

While her dream job is to just draw and paint all day, Maggie is currently working as a cashier at Periwinkle’s Paints. She has been known to draw behind the register and paint on the walls.

[lunarcovehq]

Daphne Bishop is a human that currently resides in Celestial Hills and has been a Lunar Cove resident for one day, searching for her undead sister who doesn't want to be found.

ITS THE END OF THE WORLD

GENDER/PRONOUNS: Cis Female, She/Her

DATE OF BIRTH: October 25, 1994

OCCUPATION: Unemployed model

FACECLAIM: Phoebe Tonkin

AS WE KNOW IT, AND I FEEL FINE

SPECIES: Human

COALITION POSITION: Nonmember

WELCOME TO LUNAR COVE, DAPHNE BISHOP

Trigger Warnings: Bad Parenting, Death, Murder, Violence, Divorce, Sexism

“At least she is pretty.” The phrase was so common that Daphne had internalized long before she understood how a backhanded compliment could sting. She was a dreamer as a young girl, a bright fire of passion and hope born with a silver spoon to eat her bladed compliments off of and cashmere to wrap her soft heart in until time would harden the softest parts of her. Daphne learned early that life took without permission and that the bright sunshine of those around her would create a shadow in where she could take her beauty and all her developing sharp edges that were considered less than beautiful and find comfort. Despite being told she had a sharp tongue and that her wit was unsavory Daphne was able to adapt and easily maneuvered her way through a variety of different groups.She was a social chameleon wearing whatever personality suited her at the time. However, rumors did spread- she was passionate, and had a strong sense of what she viewed a justice. In the socially acceptable circles of the opulent elite this fire was seen as defiant behavior, unsavory the sort of girl who could rock the boat  In some ways Daphne wanted to change the world for the better, she thought she could make an impact. The rumors were wild- The eldest Bishop girl stole a racehorse set for termination. What happened to that senator? His affair was exposed and his wife left him- how’d anyone find out? The Bishop girl leaked some blurry camera photos. How gauche does she not know her place in this world? Sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong, meddling in things that have nothing to do with her? She’ll never learn. Maybe so, but they could never prove she did anything she was accused of which was how it was meant to be. 

Maybe it was the family money, maybe it was her ability to charm nearly anyone, or that she was just pretty to look at with her round expressive eyes and coquettish pout, but Daphne was able to maneuver around the rumors only catching fall out behind closed doors. She spent her time crafting her skills- her beauty. She knew she was never going to get scholarships based on her grades and if she wanted to get the hell out of Darien was going to have to take this pretty girl schtich as far as it would. A beauty pageant queen smiling on stage, performing talents like ballet, flower arranging, poetry, and one unfortunate baton twirling incident that in hindsight could have gone far worse. She was a natural, played a crowd like an instrument, and made a name for herself in the community as the Beauty Queen was impossible to beat. On her way to Miss Teen USA Daphne had amassed several titles that came with their varied awards. She was looking towards her exit as it neared. 

However, things went terribly amiss when she was banned from further participation after she and another contestant had got into a fight when she overheard the girl spreading a particularly nasty rumor and bragging about stealing her crown. Daphne said she could have it but she’d be accepting it with a black eye. When Daphne didn’t take the stage rumors ran wild- drug problem, teen pregnancy, illiteracy! She burdened them all and took the disappointment from her parents without much fight but all the while she was looking for an escape route. Daphne barely graduated high school and with no plans for college, she was sure she would be stuck in Darien forever. Working the same jobs as her parents, walking the same path where she was simply unwanted. 

However, a few weeks into eighteen her ticket out showed up with a smile and charm and Daphne let him whisk her away. He put a ring on her finger and the two eloped in Vegas. She liked him, he was fun- maybe that was good enough. She was thankful he got her out of Darien, but in the end, he had a gambling problem and Daphne was never contented with accepting less than she deserved. At barely nineteen she left the man who had gotten her out of Gritch-hiked to Los Angeles where she took a job waitressing at a celebrity hot spot bar where she was scouted with beer spilled on her shirt and her hair piled in an unbrushed knot on the top of her head. Daphne took the offer; after all at least she was pretty. 

Modeling opened so many doors and came with a host of problems. Living with a bunch of girls all vying for the same big break was a different kind of hell that tested her patience daily. Daphne stayed out as much as she could surfing from lover to lover finding something to love about each of them. Maybe if she had worked a little harder she would have found success sooner but Daphne had too much fun stepping into a scene once close to her. Backstage at concerts, after parties with actors and other people, she likely would have never met waitressing, or if she had they wouldn’t have taken her seriously. 

It was then at twenty-one Daphne met her second husband, a Hollywood photographer who made her his muse and pushed her into Stardom. She was suddenly flown to Fashion Week Paris and was not long after gracing the cover of Vogue. However, her crumbling second marriage was even more fuel for the fire under her name as her photographer husband seemed to struggle with jealousy and it wasn’t long until they were divorced and Daphne was playing muse to fashion house Iris Van Herpen.  She loved this world, she loved the other models, the artsy types and dreamers who introduced her to a world she devoured piece by piece. 

Life was charmed and she felt like she belonged and by the time she was twenty-five years old Daphne had thought she found her place in the world. She belonged in this eclectic and fast-moving world, thrived in it, and couldn’t imagine anything better. Until she met her third husband and perhaps the only one she ever loved more than she loved herself. A man from a family with massive generational wealth and heavy political ties he was a caliber above everyone else she had ever dated and as a result, she was seen as not good enough for him. The relationship was quite the scandal- no more scandalous than their wedding that was featured in Vogue magazine. An intimate that was by far the dreamiest thing Daphne had ever been a part of- her vows were a poem she wrote and read for him, meaning every word. She didn’t let the gossip stop her from loving her husband. They seemed the odd pair, her eclectic taste and unpredictable antics compared to his grace and opulent charm didn’t sound like it would work, but they were madly in love. Burning bright and hot. However, that was the thing about fiery relationships they tend to burn out faster than the rest. 

The marriage hit rocky times when a fellow model found herself involved in shady situations and rather than minding her business Daphne inserted herself searching for justice and in turn putting herself in compromised situations. A habit she had gotten herself into and did not seem to sway away from despite how it worried her husband. She wanted to assure him, bring him peace but there was so much injustice in the world she had made her own, voices smothered out and Daphne had quickly made a reputation for herself as a woman who blazed trails and shook things up unapologetically. Things were tough, but when Daphne was given the gut-wrenching news that her little sister had been likely murdered her entire life fell apart. The answers she got were not enough, something was not right. There was no body and if there was no body Daphne could not believe it. Month by month things unraveled and the rumors of divorce became more and more prevalent as Daphne became more distant and consumed by her sister’s death. The marriage was over the day she left the signed papers bedside and left the city behind to chase down answers to what had happened to her sister. The police knew nothing so Daphne hired a private detective and before she knew it she was renting a place in a town she never would have considered before her sister’s death. 

[saintes-rpg]

● TWENTY THREE ● HUMAN (SEER) ● FEMALE ● RECORD STORE OWNER ●

"And feelin' good was easy, Lord, when he sang the blues You know feelin' good was good enough for me Good enough for me and my Bobby McGee"

Biography:

Everyone loves a free spirit. At least, everyone but two strict, proper British parents trying to raise one. Abbi Westfield and her twin brother Preston never quite fit in in their exclusive little slice of London city life. When they were little and easily managed, it was one thing. But as soon as they grew and developed their own personalities, life in the perfect Westfield home was anything but. The only thing that Abbi excelled at that pleased her parents were piano and singing lessons…until she was old enough to discover Janis Joplin.

Abbi was around seven when she had her first vision. She touched her brother’s shirt and told him he was going to spill juice on it at tea, and mummy was going to be very angry. Preston of course laughed it off..until it happened. Angry that is sister was trying to get her into trouble, the little boy told his parents about Abbi’s vision, who in turn told her to ‘stop her silly nonsense and be a lady’.

As Abbi grew, so did her powers. Now if she touched an object, she could tell where it had been, where it was going, nearly anything. Her precious twin, having long forgiven her for the tea incident, was the only person that she could turn to for support. A barefoot daughter with a power as unmanageable as her hair was simply not welcome in the Westfield home. Abbi tried her best through school, but her visions became harder to contain as she and they grew. Music became her only solace, and the girl would lock herself in her room for hours, listening to and eventually writing her own music. As these lyrics were dark and occasionally made references to the voices and visions in her head, she was careful to hide them from the prying eyes of her parents. When her mother did find them one day and confronted Abbi, the terrified girl went off in such a way, finally giving in to the breakdown that had been such a long time coming.

The massive fight ended with Abbi finally making good on her many previous threats to leave home. Finding that to be a good idea, and likely glad to be rid of their problem daughter, the Westfields gave her the money she would need to start a new life. American, specifically Saintes, seemed to be the perfect place to settle down. A place where maybe she would be able to find others like her and learn more about her powers. Or maybe, at least, a place that would finally accept her.

Abbi Westfield is played by Lecia, 30+, She/Her, CST

[wickedsrest-rp-archive]

Name: Crow Species: Human (Spellcaster) Occupation: Unemployed Age: 19 Years Old Played By: Donnie Face Claim: Yang Yang

“I wanted to live. Why is that a crime?”

TW: Grooming, domestic abuse

Pray the fallen angel takes you home and keeps you safe.

Pray it purges the sins from your blood with the flame.

The Divine Chosen are a cult located in Damariscotta, Maine only a few hours from White Crest, it sits on the same coast and is rather small. It’s a closed community and any strangers that seem to arrive there either disappear or stay for good. They believe the “fallen angel”, Sigas, chose them to be its army and the town is covered in its image, even the school sports its image on the inside of the gym. The image depicts Sigas as a black winged humanoid figure. It holds a golden staff in its right hand and a giant crow’s skull in its left. It has no head and instead fire sprouts from the end of its neck. Its waist has a belt that keeps up several  strands of cloth, making a modest covering for the demon's lower bits. Its feet are clawed like that of a bird and its chest is left bare. Where its image won’t fit, its sigil is drawn instead.

Like between the shoulder blades of a young boy. Barely sixteen and forced to lay for hours as older sisters of the cult pierced his skin with needles. The sigil wasn’t the only thing they marked his skin with. They also adorned him with feathers going from his shoulder blades up around his arms, hundreds of intricately drawn black feathers wrapped all the way to his wrists. He was left to heal in the hall atop the altar to his supposed god. The scar on his chest, a reminder of just what he was. He was to be the magic siphon of their false prophet and in turn all those in the cult would gain immortality.

His heart was that of Sigas’ and the demon would see it returned, but the conduit had to be molded. Had to be made strong so the power the heart contained would grow. Laying on that altar though, Crow just felt hopeless. For years he’d been forced to learn to fight with all manner of weapons. The only rest he got was the allotted 8 hours for sleep and the hour breaks for lunch, breakfast, and dinner. If he wasn’t learning to fight he was learning in general, still having to attend school and being expected to excel in every subject, he was growing jaded. He suspected his packed schedule was to keep him exhausted and it worked.

Crow’s anger just seemed to grow with each year that followed. The teachings got harder and his normal hour breaks were cut in half to make for even more time to train. On the eve of his 18th birthday he found out just what it meant to become Sigas’ conduit. They would slit his throat once he had ripened and Sigas would have the power it needed to create a body and return home. Crow decided he didn’t want to die. For once he thought he wanted to live. His escape would prove a tragedy though. The cult did not need him alive  and he had to fight his way out slaughtering friends and family as they got in his way. He was able to break out and take off into the woods, eventually reaching White Crest. A year passed and Crow made his home in the forest of White Crest, coming out at night to break into stores and take what he needed. Despite being free, he couldn’t help the feeling that Sigas was still hunting him, wanting the return of its heart.

Character Facts:

Personality: Protective, Apathetic, Bold, Impulsive, Blunt, Diligent, Flexible

Crow doesn’t talk much. In fact if he doesn’t have to talk he won’t he’d rather just do things, he never understood the reason to stand there and talk about what you’re about to do when you could just get it done.

Crow lives in a small shelter he built in the woods up in the trees where he can sleep safely most nights. 

He sometimes takes random construction jobs just to pay for his phone and some food. 

He isn’t above pickpocketing or shoplifting things if he’s desperate. 

On days he has no work he tends to only leave the forest at night, one of his favorite places is the community garden where he can steal food easily enough. 

Crow uses his pyrokinesis to enhance his fighting.

[the-institute-rpg]

➤ MEET NOVA: 19, SLAVE, HUMAN

Full Name: Nova Walker Nickname(s): Novie, but you better make sure she's okay with it first Pronouns: She/Her Birthday: July 3, 2003 Age: 19 Status: Slave Major: Contemporary Dance, Minor in Photography Species: Human Special Powers: None Sexuality: Bi-curious I am a: Switch I want a: Switch Turn-Ons: Teasing, orgasm denial, light bondage, temperature play Turn-Offs: Bad hygiene, blood/bathroom play, humiliation, sensory deprivation

➤ BIOGRAPHY

TW: This bio contains mentions of child neglect and drug use/overdose.

‘How can you dance when you can’t even hear the music?’

Those were the words, spoken with her usual dismissive hand wave, that had been snapped to a six-year-old Nova Walker when she told her mother of her dreams of being a dancer. Did it break her? Sure; but only long enough for a steel core to start forming within the tiny child. Accompanied by an equally rigid outer shell. Who cared what her mother thought, what anyone thought? If she wanted to be a dancer, then that’s exactly what she was going to be! If she wanted to be or do anything, that was going to be her choice alone. And whoever didn’t like it? Well..that was one less person she would have to deal with.

Nova was the second oldest child born to Carla Walker, in one of the poorest parts of Seattle. She never even knew her father, which was the same for her two younger brothers and older sister. Carla was a self-proclaimed ‘free spirit’, which as Nova grew older she learned was simply an excuse for her mother to do what, and who, she wanted without care of the consequences. Consequences which happened to include four children with four different men, who she never seemed to have the time for. Older sister Marni ran away when she was sixteen with her much-older boyfriend, leaving a seven-year-old Nova to care not only for herself but for their two younger brothers. Jack and Brady seemed to know the situation from the time that they were toddlers and always did their best to help. Not just themselves but big sister Nova as well. Because a dream to better herself wasn’t the only thing that set Nova apart from her siblings. Due to Carla’s heavy drug use during her pregnancy, Nova had been born partially deaf. One more obstacle. One more thing that she was forced to try and deal with on her own. But also one more thing that she wasn’t going to let run her life. She was the one who talked to teachers. She was the one who sought out the help that she knew she needed. And she was the one who learned to live with it. All by herself; which was how she was starting to like things, actually.

After Marni left, life at the Walker household settled into somewhat of a routine. Nova would make sure that her brothers were fed and dressed and got off to school before even getting herself ready. Afternoons and evenings were spent much the same, with the little girl rarely getting to bed before midnight after dinner and baths and her own schoolwork. It was during those years that her love of dance really grew. It was an escape, as well as a way to express the myriad of feelings that were always inside of her. As formal lessons were out of the question, YouTube became her teacher. And there, her world was opened to different styles that suited her different moods and needs. On a rare good day, ballet and jazz only increased her happiness. When she felt the weight of the world on her shoulders, nothing felt as good as to stomp out those angry thoughts with a long tapping session. But as she grew, it was with the more modern, contemporary, and hip-hop styles where Nova found her niche. And living in one of the music capitals of the world gave her more than enough opportunities to further explore those styles, and more, as she grew into a teenager.

Nova may have missed the grunge revolution in Seattle, but there was still plenty of it around to taste. And taste she did. Tired of a short lifetime full of nothing but hardship and responsibility, a teenage Nova began to rebel. Against who though, she never really knew. It wasn’t as if Carla were around to even care what her daughter was up to. And if she could have taken care of herself as a child, then Jack and Brady surely could too. So the girl for once lived her own life. ‘Friends’ provided her with a fake ID, but Nova found the places on her own. Clubs that played the music she was coming to love. Nirvana. Pearl Jam. Alice in Chains. Stone Temple Pilots. Nova could be found in these clubs almost every night in her flowered dresses, ripped tights, and Doc Martins, reliving, like so many others, an iconic moment in time in the city that had given birth to it. Dancing her cares away and pretending, if for a little while, the mound of work that still waited for her at home. During this time, Nova also discovered another passion: photography. Especially black and white. When she wasn’t dancing, the petite girl managed to find her way into places that others couldn’t, documenting Seattle’s scene from the bars, and bathrooms, of the city’s clubs. Drugs were offered during this time but never taken, as one thing that Nova had promised herself was that she was never going to turn into her mother. Like so many good things though, it had to come to an end, which she supposed was just as well. Witnessing the near-death overdose of a girl not much older than herself had given Nova a wakeup call that she figured she should probably take. The love of the music and the whole scene never left her, but it was time to get back to her dreams. And maybe make an active attempt to graduate while she was at it…

Her newfound resolve to better herself led Nova back to a favorite teacher from junior high that she had continued to keep in touch with. Seeing promise in the young girl, Ms. Baker, a dancer herself, had mentored Nova, teaching her as much as she possibly could for free. But more than that, she had been an adult that Nova could actually depend on. Helping her with doctors and acquiring hearing aids, and simply being there whenever she needed advice. So naturally the teacher was more than happy to help get Nova back on track. Her general lack of interest in school for the last few years meant that she would have to repeat her senior year. A hard pill to swallow, as it meant one more year at home. But like every other obstacle that she had overcome, it only made Nova more determined. So while she may not have graduated with honors, she graduated! And now..she was left to try and figure out what she wanted to do with the rest of her life. Jack and Brady were grown now as well and more than capable of taking care of themselves, so she was truly free. A concept that both excited and terrified her. Luckily, Ms. Baker stepped in once again, giving Nova a direction. A collage, supposedly one of the best, who gave grants to deserving students. With her disability, background, and talent, the teacher was sure that Nova would be a shoo-in for one of those grants. Feeling she had nothing to lose she applied, shocked when she was accepted. Seemingly without question. Should it have been a red flag? Probably. But Nova was too anxious to start this new chapter of her life to care. Bags were packed, her brothers kissed goodbye. One more middle finger thrown in Carla’s general direction. Then Nova was off. On her own once again..but as always, just fine with it.

➤ PERSONALITY

✚ Adaptable, independent, determined ▬ Closed-off, untrusting, stubborn

➤ ESTABLISHED CONNECTIONS

None

➤ FACE CLAIM & OOC INFO

Nova's faceclaim is Yara Shahidi. // Penned by Lecia.

[prettypoetryboy]

beautiful

Your eyes met mine.

They were filled with emotions, digging into my skin, leaving me shivering.

Your head was resting on my chest, still.

You did not move, neither did I.

The slight movement of your chest against mine, the gulping in your throat, the way your fingers were fidgeting, gently touching the blanket we were wrapped in.

Your finger tips carefully tracing my skin, leaving a burning trail behind them.

You looked so beautiful, every movement of yours, even the smallest ones.

Your eyes were sparkling as you saw my decent smile and you dug your face into my hoodie again.

I knew I could never get tired of it.

Never.

[nerdpoe]

Dick gets his drink mixed up with another persons in the library while visiting Barbara.

He was drinking some kale smoothie thing, for health and stuff, and he set it down to grab a book from the shelf. There was another guy next to him, who also had a smoothie in the same kind of shake-n-go bottle.

They swapped by accident.

Dick checked out his book, said goodbye to Barbara, and took a sip of his smoothie.

That's the last thing he remembers.

He wakes up two days later pinned down by a practically feral Jason, who's eyes are glowing a sickly Lazarus green, with Bruce, Tim, Cass, and Duke all showing signs of losing a fight. He's sore everywhere, and Damian is nowhere to be seen.

"Uh...." his voice cracks, and he's suddenly aware of how fucking painful his throat is. "Hi? What's going on?"

"...Is it really you, Dickwing? I swear to God if it isn't and this is another-"

"Jay I really don't know what's going on, man."

Jason doesn't believe him. Dick is cuffed with anti-meta cuffs and escorted to the cave, where Bruce demands test after test and Dick tells them the last thing he remembers.

Apparently, after taking that sip, his eyes had turned to Lazarus green, and he had beelined for the mansion. Along the way there, he had run into the Riddler.

He had broken most of the Riddler's bones.

That was when everyone had been called in to subdue Dick, who for some strange reason kept gunning for Damian. Hence, Damian was upstairs and not allowed down until they were sure Dick was okay again.

It's concluded that Dick drank some alternate form of Lazarus Water, lost his mind, proceeded to take everyone out with enhanced strength and speed except Jason, who had entered a Pit episode just to keep up, and worked through it two days after consumption.

But who the fuck transported a material as dangerous as modified Lazarus Water in a fucking shake-n-go bottle?

Danny, however, is a little sad that his ecto-shake was stolen by some rando at the library.

Their kale smoothie was pretty good though.

[uncanny-tranny]

Little things adults and older people can do to help younger people and children feel included, safe, and respected as an equal individual:

Ask before touching the young person - even for hugs. Ask before you take pictures of them, and let them see photographs of them before they are printed or sent to others (even family).

Apologize when you are wrong

Ask for a young persons thoughts on a subject, then engage with them after they have spoken

Demonstrate behaviour you want to see from them (see: apologizing). Say "excuse me," say "thank you," say "please" to them

Validate their feelings, even if they don't know how to express them just yet

Remember that this is the first time they've been alive, and that you've had way longer to "figure it out"

These are some things I wish other adults remembered when engaging with young folks. We so often forget what childhood felt like and how unfair it all was because we were often awarded freedoms as adults that we never had as children. These kids are equal to adults, and they deserve the same courtesy, respect, kindness, and understanding we give to other adults.

[inkskinned]

for a while i lived in an old house; the kind u.s americans don't often get to live in - living in a really old house here is super expensive. i found out right before i moved out that the house was actually so old that it features in a poem by emily dickinson.

i liked that there were footprints in front of the sink, worn into the hardwood. there were handprints on some of the handrails. we'd find secret marks from other tenants, little hints someone else had lived and died there. and yeah, there was a lot wrong with the house. there are a lot of DIY skills you learn when you are a grad student that cannot afford to pay someone else to do-it-for-ya. i shared the house with 8 others. the house always had this noise to it. sometimes that noise was really fucking awful.

in the mornings though, the sun would slant in thick amber skiens through the windows, and i'd be the first one up. i'd shuffle around, get showered in this tub that was trying to exit through the floor, get my clothes on. i would usually creep around in the kitchen until it was time to start waking everyone else up - some of them required multiple rounds of polite hey man we gotta go knocks. and it felt... outside of time. a loud kind of quiet.

the ghosts of the house always felt like they were humming in a melody just out of reach. i know people say that the witching hour happens in the dark, but i always felt like it occurred somewhere around 6:45 in the morning. like - for literal centuries, somebody stood here and did the dishes. for literal centuries, somebody else has been looking out the window to this tree in our garden. for literal centuries, people have been stubbing their toes and cracking their backs and complaining about the weather. something about that was so... strangely lovely.

i have to be honest. i'm not a history aficionado. i know, i know; it's tragic of me. i usually respond to "this thing is super old" by being like, wow! cool! and moving on. but this house was the first time i felt like the past was standing there. like it was breathing. like someone else was drying their hands with me. playing chess on the sofa. adding honey to their tea.

i grew up in an old town. like, literally, a few miles off of walden pond (as in of the walden). (also, relatedly, don't swim in walden, it's so unbelievably dirty). but my family didn't have "old house" kind of money. we had a barely-standing house from the 70's. history existed kind of... parallel to me. you had to go somewhere to be in history. your school would pack you up on a bus and take you to some "ye olden times" place and you'd see how they used to make glass or whatever, and then you'd go home to your LEDs. most museums were small and closed before 5. you knew history was, like, somewhere, but the only thing that was open was the mcdonalds and the mall.

i remember one of my seventh grade history teachers telling us - some day you'll see how long we've been human for and that thing has been puzzling me. i know the scientific number, technically.

the house had these little scars of use. my floors didn't actually touch the walls; i had to fill them with a stopgap to stop the wind. other people had shoved rags and pieces of newspaper. i know i've lost rings and earring backs down some of the floorboards. i think the raccoons that lived in our basement probably have collected a small fortune over the years. i complain out loud to myself about how awful the stairs are (uneven, steep, evil, turning, hard to get down while holding anything) and know - someone else has said this exact same thing.

when i was packing up to leave and doing a final deep cleaning, i found a note carved in the furthest corner in the narrow cave of my closet. a child's scrawled name, a faded paint handprint, the scrangly numbers: 1857.

we've been human for a long time. way back before we can remember.

[maomango-doodle]

Getting to know people

Based on @acetrigunweek day 3's quote

[pr0cyon-lotor]

Cuteness Aggression: Fuh'fin's first time meeting humans

The Yimex were respected warriors on the intergalactic scene. They are apex predators by galactic standards. Their muzzles were filled with sharpened teeth fit for ripping flesh apart or even incapacitating their prey. Their agility was unmatched by even most machinery. Their sharp and attentive eyes could see more clearly in dark environments, especially thanks to their mask-like fur pattern.

 

By all means, they were terrifying to every other race. But since their inclusion in the galactic council, they've pulled back on their once-feral nature. Once they met more alien races and realized they held the same beliefs as their people, they agreed to join.

 

The Yimex were terrifying beyond a doubt, but they had honor. They only attacked if they were threatened, and they wouldn't lose. That's why they were so respected throughout the greater galaxy. They also started taking jobs as protectors and guards for other races.

 

The Yimex were highly intelligent and could learn how to use tools and weapons rather quickly. And they also had a grand sense of protectiveness, especially toward smaller creatures and their own. They were gentle protectors once one got over the initial fear.

 

Fuh'fin was a Yimex. He was a guard sent to escort a crew of the newer race added to the council. Humans, if he remembered correctly. He hadn't heard much about them other than that they were apparently considered apex predators, much like the Yimex. Their intelligence was revered by many; however, their biology was much smaller and unfit for war.

 

Ambush predators perhaps? How interesting...

 

Fuh'fin couldn't deny that he was quite excited to meet these humans. He was always interested in meeting other beings from different races. The Yimex were social by nature, and by his understanding, this job was going to be a rather long one. He was excited, yet worried that these humans wouldn't share his excitement.

 

From what he saw, their politicians were quite serious. What if their entire race was like that? Fuh'fin hoped they weren't. He hated jobs that were quiet and purely business. Yes, he could bear it, but it was agony. The Yimex were energetic and always eager to socialize. He hoped this new race would share that desire.

 

Well, no mind to that. He had to seem proper. He had to seem serious; he was working.

 

Fuh'fin walked along with his supervisor. He had to look up at him while he explained this assignment. Yimex were naturally quadrupedal, although they could stand bipedal, but it wasn't very comfortable.

 

"These humans are from a carrier company on earth. Apparently, they wanted to have a guard just in case. They seemed rather eager to have you come with them for whatever reason," Fuh'fin's supervisor said plainly while looking forward.

 

"May I ask why?" Fuh'fin felt a bit curious about why he was picked. Not that he wasn't a good guard. It's just other races; we're still quite scared of the Yimex. It's not every day that he is asked for a job that's not life or death.

 

"They said you reminded them of a creature on their home planet," his supervisor said with a shrug. They did seem as curious as Fuh'fin felt. Maybe he should ask once he meets the captain.

 

Fuh'fin looked over at the ship they were approaching. Sleek and minimalist on the outside, giant thrusters on its side—rather intimidating, if you ask Fuh'fin. Serious and slightly terrifying.

 

Fuh'fin looked over at the letters on the ship's side. His translator worked quickly and translated the text as "USS Bartholomew". Was that a warrior from their race? He wasn't sure about the humans, but many ships from other races are named after warriors. It was interesting; maybe that was something Fuh'fin could use as a conversation starter.

 

Footsteps took Fuh'fin away from his thoughts. He looked over, and finally he saw the human,who he guessed was the captain. He had an expression that Fuh'fin was told meant the human was feeling positive. A smile, if he remembered correctly.

 

"Good day. I'm the captain of the USS Bartholomew," the human said with a calm tone. He brought his hand out to Fuh'fin's supervisor. It was a human greeting, a sign of peace. "The pleasure is mine, captain," his supervisor said plainly, shaking the human's hand.

 

Ah! He should shake his hand as well. After all, it was a greeting. Fuh'fin finally stood on his hind legs. The Yimex were long-bodied, so once they stood on their hind legs, they towered overall.

 

Usually, that terrified other races—a tall, looming predator looking down on you. Yet, this human didn't react more than a slight widening of the eyes. Except it wasn't in fear. Fuh'fin saw the humans' pupils dilate when they looked at Fuh'fin. Wasn't that something that happens to humans when they see something attractive or pleasing to the eye?

 

The human made a coughing sound and trained their face into a calm expression. Yet Fuh'fin could smell dopamine suddenly. A black market stimulant, but he was told humans release it when they're happy. What a strange race!

 

"I'm Captain Gonzalez," the human said with a smile as they extended their hand. Fuh'fin shook the hand with his paw. He could feel the human's heart beat accelerate as his paw pads made contact with the human's hand. The smell of dopamine increased and is now joined by the scent of oxytocin. Another black market stimulant: how many black market substances do humans produce naturally?

 

"I'm Fuh'fin of the Yimex, Captain Gonzalez," Fuh'fin says with a calm tone. The captain stared at him for a moment before their eyes suddenly gained the light of consciousness again. "You– you are a part of the crew; you can call me Hugo," the captain said with a nonthreatening sound, a laugh?

 

"Come with me; I'll show you around," the captain said with a smile, waving his hand for Fuh'fin to follow him. Fuh'fin settled again on his four legs and followed the captain. They boarded the ship.

 

In the new environment, Fuh'fin sniffed around as they walked. He was trying to get used to the new smells. As the captain led Fuh'fin through the corridor, a sweet scent reminded him of the fruit of his mother planet. Subconsciously, Fuh'fin let out a few dooks of happiness.

 

Then a loud metallic sound startled Fuh'fin. He whipped his head around toward the captain and smelled him. The smell of blood filled the air. "Captain! What happened?" Fuh'fin stood on his hind legs to grab the captain's shoulders.

 

The captain had punched a wall. It was pure metal, yet he left a dent. Was he angry at Fuh'fin for making a sound? No, the smell of dopamine was strong. He was happy, but why would he punch a wall?

 

"Captain?" Fuh'fin said softly. He heard Hugo take a deep breath, and then he moved his hand away. "Sorry, cuteness aggression," he said with a smile. He cradled his hand with his non-broken one. Blood spilled from his knuckles.

 

Cuteness aggression? What was that? Why would it merit punching a wall? Why was he feeling it?

 

"Let's take this time to show you the medical deck and get you a new guide while I get patched up," the captain said with a laugh. He walked calmly, like he hadn't just broken his hand and left a dent on a metal wall. How was he so calm? Any other creature would be writhing in pain, yet he walked easily, like it was nothing.

 

Fuh'fin followed him, slightly panicked. "Captain! Why are you so calm? Aren't you in pain?" He asked with worry. "Once the adrenaline crashes, it's going to hurt like a bitch, but I'm fine so far," the captain said easily.

 

Now that he mentioned it, adrenaline was strong in the air. Was he producing this chemical?

 

Before Fuh'fin could ask anything else, they reached the medicine deck. "Doc! I need your assistance and a new guide for our new guy," the captain said pleasantly to a woman writing something. She looked up with a blank expression and then locked eyes with Fuh'fin.

 

She let out a shriek. Fuh'fin recoiled. Did he scare this human? He didn't make any moves that should be considered threatening. The captain seemed unbothered by him. What did he do? Was it his muzzle? Only predators have muzzles. Yeah, it's probably his muzzle. This human probably recognized him as a predator. Should he apologize?

 

Fuh'fin panicked as his eyes darted around to think of a way to apologize for scaring her, yet she squealed. "He's adorable! Oh my God! He looks like a giant ferret!" The human squealed and ran over with a large smile... She wasn't scared?

 

...Wait, adorable?

 

The human woman dropped to her knees and started petting Fuh'fin. He just froze, trying to make sense of what he heard.

 

"He's so cute! I love him! This is the guard you hired? Can we keep him?" The human said it with... excitement? Dopamine and oxytocin were basically pouring out of her as she ran her hands through Fuh'fin's fur. She wasn't scared. She wasn't scared at all.

 

"Uh— uhm... H-hello?" Fuh'fin tried speaking. As confused as he was, the captain needed medical attention. He barely got appointed to this crew; he couldn't just let his captain stay hurt.

 

The human squealed in delight, and Fuh'fin could basically see stars in her eyes. He felt flustered. "The—The captain..." Fuh'fin felt shy; he was so used to other races being terrified of him. Yet here was a human who seemingly adored him just for existing. "He—he's hurt," Fuh'fin finally spat out.

 

"Huh?" The human said it absently and looked at the captain. Her eyes widened, and she stood up suddenly. "Shit! Sorry, captain! Please sit down," she said frantically while picking up a medical carrier. The captain sat down, and the woman started to tend to his hand.

 

Fuh'fin sat next to the captain and curled his tail around himself. How was the captain so calm? He even looked amused, but it was hard to tell. Fuh'fin wasn't the best at reading expressions; the Yimex didn't have facial expressions. They relied on body language to communicate emotion.

 

The captain's body language has not changed from his confident yet relaxed posture. Humans were confusing. The human woman was so open with her body language, but the captain wasn't. They were at different places on the spectrum. Fuh'fin needed to get better at understanding inflection and facial expressions then.

 

The captain patted Fuh'fin's shoulder reassuringly. "I'm fine, Fuh'fin," he said with a smile. Fuh'fin was curious how the captain noticed his worry, and then he noticed he was chittering nervously. "My apologies," Fuh'fin murmured, and he decided to try to calm himself.

 

Fuh'fin shook his head to fix his untidy fur. He settled down comfortably and started grooming himself. He fixed his unruly fur as he waited for the captain to get patched up. He finally rested his paw on the ground and looked at the captain.

 

"Sorry, Fuh'fin, Mina gets excited when she sees fluffy animals," he said with an amused expression. He had noticed Fuh'fin grooming himself. "Better than fear," Fuh'fin said quietly, his ears flattened against his head. "True, much better than fear," the captain said with an understanding tone, like he completely knew what Fuh'fin meant.

 

Something about the captain's words comforted Fuh'fin. "Why aren't you scared of me?" He asked while turning his head to look at the humans. "You remind us of an earth creature, but much bigger," Mina replied. "Is that animal a predator as well?" Fuh'fin asked. "Yes, but we think they're adorable." Mina smiled in delight, clearly reminiscing.

 

"So you think I'm adorable? Even though I'm much bigger than you?" Fuh'fin said with confusion, and his tail whipped a bit in mild frustration. "Actually, you being huge is really satisfying the monkey brain in us," the captain said with amusement. "You are very huggable," the captain said quietly as his uninjured hand quickly typed something on a tablet before setting it down.

 

Huggable? The captain wanted to hug Fuh'fin. No one except other Yimex has ever expressed that desire. It was acceptance of one's nest in Yimex society. Was Fuh'fin accepted? The prospect made him happy. Only the other Yimex accepted Fuh'fin.

 

"So... you aren't scared of me at all?" Fuh'fin said cautiously. "Oh, no, no, no. You look absolutely adorable to us," the captain said while Mina splinted his hand.

 

"Adorable... Huh... I've never been called adorable before," Fuh'fin said softly. Happiness filled him; he was truly accepted then. Without realizing it, he started dooking. "The cuteness aggression is hitting again," the captain said quietly. Mina laughed and nodded her head.

 

Fuh'fin looked at the captain, still dooking. "What's cuteness aggression?" He tilted his head while he spoke. "Something too cute makes our brain produce too much happy chemical, so it confuses the brain and activates the fight or flight reflex," Mina explained simply.

 

Fuh'fin sniffed the air slightly, and as Mina explained, the smell of dopamine was strong in the captain. "Did I cause it?" He asked with mild worry. "Is that why you punched the wall?" Fuh'fin asked the captain.

 

"Yeah, I don't blame you, though," the captain said calmly. "I didn't want to make you uncomfortable by asking to pet you or something. I want you to feel comfortable with us," the captain explained. Fuh'fin's nose twitched; that was basically an invitation to their crew... their nest.

 

Fuh'fin rubbed his muzzle against the captain's shoulder. He accepted the invitation as per Yimex standards. He felt the captain's hand hesitate before he pet Fuh'fin's head.

 

"I'm guessing this means you're comfortable with us," the captain said with a quiet laugh. "Yes, I'm comfortable," Fuh'fin said softly, dooking in joy. "We'll tell the crew to keep their hands to themselves until you're comfortable with everyone," the captain said with a smile.

 

~~~

 

The captain was patched up and forced to sit down and relax. Mina had taken it upon herself to finish the tour of the ship. She showed Fuh'fin around and introduced everyone that stopped by to greet him. They all seemed beyond excited when they saw Fuh'fin, but he guessed the captain had already told them not to touch Fuh'fin until he was fully adjusted to everything.

 

Fuh'fin met around half the ship, as Mina told him. He quite liked a tall human woman who went by Vi-Vi. She had bright red hair with yellow tips; it reminded him of a flower on his mother planet, and she smelled of a human fruit, as Vi-Vi told him, strawberries.

 

He liked the smell; it was sweet. Vi-Vi stuck out from everyone else, not because of her hair or height, but because she had a robotic prosthetic arm and paintings on her other arm. She seemed completely different from the crew Fuh'fin met; her energy radiated leadership just like the captain's.

 

Yet she was sweet, just like the scent of strawberries that followed her. She excused herself and left to return to her job. When Vi-Vi left, Mina continued showing him around.

 

Once the tour was done, a ring came from the speakers. "Oh, it's time to go to sleep," Mina said pleasantly. Fuh'fin then noticed he was getting tired as well; it was smart to get into his cot before he just dropped from exhaustion.

 

"Where should I sleep?" Fuh'fin asked with a yawn. "Oh, yeah, let me show you your room," Mina said excitedly. Oh, he had a room. He wasn't used to that; usually he was bunked with a bunch of other crew members in his other jobs. He liked sleeping with others around; it felt safe.

 

Fuh'fin followed Mina with interest. She stopped in front of a door, and it slid open. "I did some research on the Yimex, so your room would be comfortable," Mina said with a smile. "And I read that the Yimex like sleeping in groups, correct?" "Yes, it feels nice," Fuh'fin answered, curious what this was leading to.

 

"We don't have other Yimex on board; instead, we put three other crew members in your room, and we'll give you plenty of blankets and pillows for you to make a comfortable nest," Mina said with a smile. Fuh'fin peeked into the room with mild excitement.

 

"You can move anything around to your comfort," Mina said while she watched Fuh'fin look inside. The room had a weird layout. It had random platforms sticking out of the walls, along with pedestals sticking out of the floor. It looked a bit like a jungle gym, and the floor was cushioned.

 

He walked into the room while looking around. "You can get comfortable anywhere, and we'll get you anything you need," Mina said with a smile as she saw Fuh'fin starting to climb around the pedestals and platforms. She was glad she researched this. Yimex apparently didn't like closed-off spaces but liked running around, so this room was designed with that in mind.

 

Fuh'fin splooted on a platform comfortably and yawned. Mina laughed when she saw his tail wag. "I'll come back with blankets so you can get properly comfortable," she said with a small laugh. Fuh'fin's tail wagged a bit more.

 

Mina came back with what Fuh'fin presumed to be his roommates and blankets. Fuh'fin climbed down to greet them and noticed that Vi-Vi was a part of the group. Mina introduced the other two to Fuh'fin. Matthew, a man with a sly smile and smart eyes. Jenny, a woman with a tired expression but gentle eyes.

 

Fuh'fin greeted them, and Mina gave him a few blankets and pillows. He picked them up with his mouth and climbed up to the spot where he felt comfortable. Mina bid them good night and left. While everyone got comfortable and established their spots, they spoke about random topics.

 

Vi-Vi had climbed on another platform and arranged her pillows and blankets. Matthew picked a small corner the pedestals created—a small, crowded place—yet he seemed pleased... At least Fuh'fin thought he did; Matthew was near impossible to read in comparison to everyone else. Jenny settled underneath one of the platforms; it was the darkest place in the room.

 

Fuh'fin fell asleep while he heard everyone speaking. He couldn't fight sleep at all, so he just crashed. However, he felt comfortable. Everyone was so pleasant; he liked it. He liked this job. He liked being a part of this nest. He hoped they liked him as well.

[wickedsrest-rp]

Name: Lydia Connors Species: Human (Non-powered) Occupation: Grocery Clerk Age: 26 Years Old Played By: Raquel Face Claim: Halston Sage

“There is no such thing as monsters.”

As tears streamed down her face her parents would console her. “There are no such thing as monsters.” She would shake her head, eyes pulled shut tight. There were monsters, they were everywhere and they sought her out like prey. 

Lydia was born into a relatively normal life. Her parents lived in a normal, three bedroom house, drove a normal car, and had normal jobs. She was the only thing abnormal in her family. 

At first, they pinned it to nightmares. Childish fears and imagination running wild. As time went on concerns grew and they began testing her. Schizophrenia, borderline personality, but they all came back negative. 

She wasn’t sure at what point things went wrong; at what point the darkness started stalking her. She felt like it was always there, a bright beacon that called to them like moths. Was it her scent? Her aura? She could never tell. She often wondered if she had been cursed.

  Her first encounter was the Deogen. Lydia had wandered off, no older than the age of 5. The fog in the tree lines lured her in and within them, she found terror. Moving shadows and whispers. She was found a half hour later, huddled into herself, nails carving half moons in her palms. Her father had carried her out tear covered and shaking. It only got worse from there. 

Wolves, Ghosts, hands that would reach for her in the lake during summer swims, Pixies that whispered to her in the night. 

Age brought other challenges. Kids at school mocked her, the paranoia that played her making her jumpy and the stories she told gaining her labels like freak. Eyes watched her warily and the whispers always seemed to meet her. It made her angry. 

There were a few select people who found it fascinating, people who were intrigued by the legends and rumors and in them she found the comfort of companionship. 

As she grew she learned to hide her anxiety, found tricks and tactics to stay safe. She kept her fidgeting fingers hidden, her wandering eyes behind a curtain of hair. It didn’t make it any easier. She still slept with a knife in her hand, her mind always stuck on the windows. She wanted it to stop. 

Whispered phone calls her dad took in the halls made her skin rise with goose bumps. He had so many cases he couldn’t solve, stack and stacks on his desk that kept growing. She knew but with time she stopped trying to convince him. All she could do was hug herself in and listen. Pain pricked her eyes at some of them. Horrible things happened and no one was doing anything about it, not really. 

If only she could consider herself special. Sometimes Lydia would pretend she had powers, that they sought her out because she had something no one else did.  That she was a main character in a fantasy novel who was just about to reach the peak of her story. She knew it wasn’t true but it gave her courage. It helped her get by. 

Moving out made things even harder. Living alone felt dangerous and lonely but she knew it was time. She missed the comfort of knowing someone else was there but she couldn’t bear the worried looks of her parents anymore. She barely makes it by but she manages. Her free time is limited and scarce. She felt as if she was living her life in a cave, always hiding from the outside world. There has to be more to life than this. There has to be a way to be free. 

Character Facts:

Personality: Anticipative, forthright, compassionate, self-critical, moralistic, impressionable, vague

Lydia is jumpy, easily startled and a bit clumsy

She spends a lot of time reading. She finds those worlds are much more pleasant than the one she lives in. She can often be found at coffee shops, libraries, and book stores. 

She enjoys running during the day but tries to keep to busier streets to avoid mischief. 

Her father is a funeral home director, her mother is a receptionist at a law firm.

She was homeschooled for part of elementary school due to the issues she had with other children.

As a child, anger ruled her other emotions. Angry at the way people treated her, at the way she constantly felt fear, and the way her parents looked at her with pity in their eyes. 

She is currently researching all she can about the supernatural and occasionally goes to her parents home to snoop through her fathers unsolved files. 

[lunarcovehq]

Todd Miller is a human that currently resides in Shadow Lake and has been a Lunar Cove resident for 40 years though majority of that time was spent trapped within a Mickey Mouse hat.

ITS THE END OF THE WORLD

GENDER/PRONOUNS: Cis Male, He/Him

DATE OF BIRTH: September 29, 1962

OCCUPATION: Unemployed

FACECLAIM: Brian Altemus

AS WE KNOW IT, AND I FEEL FINE

SPECIES: Human

COALITION POSITION: Non-member

WELCOME TO LUNAR COVE, TODD MILLER

Trigger Warnings: Violence, Injury, Death

A dense sticky fog clung to the court that morning, heavy and almost saccharine, a sea of white-yellow sludge, tinted by the summer sun, a viscous blanket one needed to cut deliberately through like syrup. His tennis shoes pounded along the pavement, keeping tune with the bounce, bounce, bounce of the half-deflated basketball as he dribbled it in a half-circle, showing off for an audience of exactly no one. He inhaled the haze, though, with well-practiced breaths, steady, easy, and really, the young Todd Miller thought, truly, at only thirteen-years-old, he could play professionally if he really wanted to. Alvan Adams and Kareem Abdul-Jabbar could eat their fucking hearts out, and he was allowed to think that, he decided—because swear words did not count when one only imagined them. But it had been the summer of his growth spurt, and the boy knew already that he would be a superstar when school started back up in the fall.

He jumped, he shot, and he waited, holding, like a chipmunk, the last breath of fog he had just sucked into his cheeks. It cleared the hoop with a solid swish, not bouncing, not spinning, but answering him definitively. Yes. Yes! Hell yes. He had decided, abruptly, that basketball hoops worked like Magic 8 Balls or Ouija Boards or cootie catchers. If the ball went in, the basket, or the universe, as it were, said ‘yes.’ And this particular  ‘yes,’ had been resounding. Todd Miller would be somebody one day. He would really be somebody someday because the rim had said he would when he asked it.

That day could not come quickly enough. Born into a blue-collar family of modest means, he, while not lacking for much, also did not get to go to the fancy sleepaway or sports camps his friends did each July, ditching him to play basketball alone in the early mornings before having to follow his father around on handyman jobs, which usually consisted of the young Todd holding a flashlight or a handful of screws and being yelled at. He would count them in his head sometimes: an even number leftover meant good luck the next day, an odd one meant bad. And this made-up superstition, like the hoop, was just one of the many ritualistic quirks Todd Miller had developed throughout his relatively mundane childhood, a sort of enchantment in which he could wrap himself while dreaming of a more glittering future. The boy’s bedroom resembled an altar, covered in photographs from JCPenney and Sears Christmas catalogs, all jagged edges torn by dull scissors, visions for himself of everything he wanted and everything he wanted to be. Glamorous women and athletic men and fashionable shoes and golden watches—handsome and popular and wealthy. Somebody, somebody, somebody, or at least as close an approximation to a real person as he could muster in a place as small as Rhode Island, which was not quite New York or California.

Watching the basketball roll away, then, and hit dully against the chain-link fence, Todd sunk to the ground and took a long swig of his Coke, holding the label outward as if posing for an advertisement, just in case any wayward photographers were prowling around the park looking for magazine models. None were, but Todd could be patient. And jogging over to retrieve his ball, he tucked it beneath his arm and began to trudge home, tossing his soda bottle in a waste bin and deciding that it counted as another resounding ‘yes’ when it easily inside with a glass clank.

Autumn arrived like a car wreck, rolling in abruptly with a cacophony of cold air, but it had been a promising season all the same, as Todd, towering for now over his classmates, found himself the freshman athletic champion he had hoped to be, at least as far as the tri-county area. But he was just tall early. By the time sophomore year arrived, his cracks were beginning to show; his luck of genetics could no longer keep up with boys who were faster, more dedicated, more focused, and growing rapidly to meet him. It did not matter to Todd, however, not really.

Maybe basketball was only an entry point, a way for him to get that answer to his question as a child. His task, then, was finding the proper path to making it come true. Todd fell into the burgeoning aerobic craze on a whim, and by the early 1980s, his head was filled with visions of vinyl Jazzercise records and bodybuilding magazines bearing his own blessed image.

The one thing Todd Miller would not do, however, was follow in his father’s footsteps; he could die happily never having to repair another busted refrigerator. And he would, as it turned out, actually die before he had to. By the fall of 1984, he was pursuing a degree in fitness studies at a small four-year college not far from his hometown (in his fifth year due to a few brushes with failure). But he was biding his time until his burgeoning stardom could properly launch.

There had been some roadblocks along the way, of course. He had come in second (first runner-up, if you asked him) in the line for fraternity president, but he still had lots of friends. Lots of girlfriends. One or two boyfriends. And so, he was positively somebody by the time he and a few buddies drove out to a Halloween party at the University of Rhode Island campus in a town called Lunar Cove.

It was a weird place. It had always been a weird fucking place, from the handful of times he had visited over the years—although Todd himself never did not remember why when he left it. Still, weird could be bitching; weird could be cool. And he was having a hella good time, a few keg stands in, by the hour he found himself standing on a balcony overlooking a concrete courtyard late that night.

“Todd!” he had cried, spinning around and throwing a pose like a proper Mouseketeer before using every ounce of athletic prowess he could muster to do a show-offy, sloppy flip into the air. The railing struck his lower back. And he was flying, he realized, flying too far, flying too quickly. Splat.

Fuck the hat. It had not protected his head. Fuck the hat. Even as time itself slipped into something hazy and unknowable, became a thing he did not follow concretely any longer, Todd would repeat this phrase as it ticked by. After all, he was now bound to that very hat, tied to it as it passed from hand-to-hand over the next three decades. And being a ghost was a totally bogus thing to be; all the worse to be a ghost who could not fucking go anywhere

His fortune changed in 2023 when a witch named Rohan Persaud happened to place the article upon his own head, and all at once, Todd found himself miraculously bodied once again. He would like to stay that way, he decided, even if everyone seemed to like this Rohan dude too much to let him take up permanent residence. Back into the hat and back onto the shelf, godammit.

He did not expect the witch to be the one to bring him back from the dead, although the dude seemed totally un-chill about the whole thing when it happened. Either way, returned, revenged, in the flesh, the Todd-inator has resolved to seize this second chance. Sure, Lunar Cove is still weird, but when a guy’s a zombie, he hasn’t got very many other places to shack up.

[saintes-rpg]

● TWENTY FIVE ● HUMAN ● FEMALE ● PHD STUDENT ●

"Somehow, we’ll find it. The balance between whom we wish to be and whom we need to be. But for now, we simply have to be satisfied with who we are."

BIOGRAPHY 

Niska has been known as a ‘little nerd’ all her life. Videogames, movies and science fiction books have been life-long companions to the girl. And so it was no surprise that she pursued a career in science as an adult. Her fascination for the living world of plants and animals inspired her career in biology.

Her curiosity led her to distant corners of the world. Frequent travels ignited her sense of adventure, broadening her perspective and deepening her appreciation for cultural diversity. The memories Niska made during those travels would serve as a reminder later in life. The adventures were put on hold once she began her university studies. For the first time, she was able to settle down in a small city in England. This time allowed her to mature and grow but also turned her more shy, introverted and at times lonely. Niska looked back fondly of how the ease with which she had once been able to hold a conversation, the carefreeness that allowed her to experience unique even if sometimes dangerous situations, and the confidence to approach others. Although she loved working in the lab, she realized that even the best studies could not replace a life full of experiences and people.

And so it was perhaps not the cheap room in the suburb of New Orleans that was a decisive factor for her most recent moves but the neighbours that came with it. The news that supernatural creatures existed spread quickly, though she had yet to encounter a magical being in her life.  Willing to rediscover herself, Niska signed the lease and enrolled in one of the nearby PhD programs.   

Niska Capel is played by Lynne, 24, She/Her, GMT+2

[wickedsrest-rp-archive]

Name: Sita Mehan Species: Human (Spellcaster) Occupation: Assistant District Attorney Age: 27 Years Old Played By: Liz Face Claim: Nishi Munshi

“Sometimes karma just needs a little help. That’s where I come in.”

Sita grew up knowing all about karma, how your physical and mental actions rippled out into the world around you and came back in return. Her nani made sure she knew as much even though the older woman still lived in India and was halfway around the world most of the time, far away from Sita and the rest of the family. The distance never stopped her from making sure that her granddaughter and grandson learned tradition, both religious and magical, insisting that they join her for puja every morning. Their mother would have much preferred that they wait to learn spells and potion making until they were older and could better grasp the consequences of magic and so that they could concentrate on school work. Nani disagreed and taught them anyway, always rambling about dharma this and dharma that as she did.

Amar was a quick study, a natural, destined to be a powerful sorcerer within their family and the community. Sita never let herself fall behind, though, even if it meant working twice as hard and twice as long to be as good as her brother. It wasn’t just magic, either. Amar made school look easy. And sports. And friendships. None of it was easy for Sita but she always pushed herself to be what her parents expected of her. Well, that wasn’t entirely true, they didn’t expect much from her on the whole. That didn’t stop them from constantly comparing her to her brother. 

She would always roll her eyes and set her sights higher. Screw being a stupid doctor, she was going to go to law school and be a lawyer and be more successful than Amar. In one thing, just one time. Not that Amar ever saw things as a competition. They were close in age, only about a year apart from one another, and as much as Sita was annoyed by how her parents treated her brother, it was hard to ever be angry at him. He was her big brother and one of her best friends. They were thick as thieves all throughout grade school, even if they had completely different friend groups;  Amar’s friends tolerated his little sister and hers usually crushed on her brother, much to her dismay. 

That was up until his senior year, Sita’s junior. A string of vandalisms popped up around the school: graffiti on the lockers, weed killer on the fields, mustard and eggs left on the principal’s car. It could have been labeled as nothing more than a few senior pranks, but there was no mistaking that there was something more to it. The words scrawled on the lockers and the fields and the car all mentioned some secret that was being kept; there was a sinister feeling behind it all. The school was adamant to track down who it was and how they had escaped being caught on the security cameras. An anonymous source insisted that it was Amar, that he was into weird stuff and they’d seen him do it. Sita knew it wasn’t her brother; he would never do something like that. Even so, something compelled her to go to the principal and assure him that the anonymous source was right; her brother had done it, all of it. All by himself.

Sita didn’t know why she felt like she had to, an hour later she couldn’t piece together what made her say anything in the first place. The snickering gaggle of girls down the hallway clued her in. So did the reflection of them in some kid’s locker mirror – the one girl was covered in feathers with sharp teeth and talons in her mirrored vision. Sita didn’t know what she was or what was going on, but she knew that girl had something to do with it. And that some kind of magic was involved.

When she told Amar, he didn’t want to hear his little sister’s excuses for why he was being charged for a misdemeanor and why his college admissions were in jeopardy. It didn’t matter what Sita said, he wouldn’t believe it, and he wouldn’t try to help her get to the bottom of what actually happened. He told her that karma would take care of it and that she should drop it and stop trying to ruin his life. 

Amar left for college (UC Berkeley, even if it wasn’t his first choice) before they could reconcile and that girl never got caught and never got any punishment for what she’d done. It was fine, Sita didn’t have time for distractions, anyway. She pushed herself to get into Amherst, and later Yale law (the best law school, which she constantly reminded people), and pushed herself just as hard in her classes, graduating salutatorian (but not valedictorian, as her parents constantly reminded her).

Sita wasn’t done proving herself. She was going to help clean up the streets, change the world, make it better. And where better to start than her hometown? She wasn’t going to let what happened to her and her brother back in high school ever happen again. Not to mention, the death rate was high and so were unsolved cases. There was plenty of work to do, plenty of criminals to put away. Sita always knew the town was weird, but that was no reason to let the law slide for anyone. She applied to be an Assistant District Attorney and got the job no problem. Not that her parents mentioned that as much as they did Amar’s residency, but that was fine.

As time went on, she won a number of cases, just like she planned, but those didn’t stick with her. The ones that stayed were the losses. The thought of all the criminals that she failed to convict haunted her. And there was seemingly nothing she could do about it.

“Karma will take care of it.” She heard her brother’s words in her head. But karma had failed her in the past, so why should she trust it now? No, she was going to have to take things into her own hands. If the law wouldn’t punish criminals, she would turn to magic. A curse of pox or bad luck was hardly as just as being locked behind bars, but it was the very least of what they deserved. And Sita is only getting started. 

Character Facts:

Personality: Ambitious, stubborn, loyal, unwavering, abrasive, defensive, idealistic, impatient, judgmental, confident, empathetic, perceptive, resourceful

Sita’s parents are from India and moved to the states before her and her brother were born. They would frequently visit India and their grandparents and relatives would come visit them often, as well. Family is extremely important to the Mehans and they make sure to remain close despite their physical distance.

Sita is hindu, though she doesn’t consider herself very religious. Her nani (grandmother) passed on many traditions to Sita and Amar, both spiritual and magical. To nani, they are one in the same. She believes that their family’s magic is a gift from brahman and brings them closer to oneness and should be treated as such.

Both of Sita’s parents are spellcasters, and her mother grew up learning the same traditions as Sita and her brother, but both of her parents value more traditional paths above magical ones. They think religion and magic are important, but not above being able to take care of yourself and your family; something that can only be done through hard work as far as they’re concerned.

Sita is an elemental spellcaster and able to use terrakinesis. Her mother was shocked when her powers were something so grounded when Sita’s head was “always up in the clouds.”

Sita works so much that she doesn’t understand how people have time for hobbies or prioritizing friendships above their job. On the rare occasion she has free time, though, she does like to ice skate. She also thoroughly believes that home organization and planning in general is a hobby. 

[the-institute-rpg]

➤ MEET SAWYER: 24, MASTER, HUMAN

Full Name: Sawyer Chambers Nickname(s): Sully (by his dad) Pronouns: He/Him Birthday: December 24, 1997 Age: 24 Status: Master Major: Finance Species: Human Special Powers: None Sexuality: Bisexual I am a: Dominant I want a: Submissive Turn-Ons: Marking, rough sex, hair pulling, choking, (receiving) body worship, mutual masturbation Turn-Offs: Scat, vore, roleplay/costumes, blood play, age play

➤ BIOGRAPHY

Sawyer and his mother moved to New York when the boy was only 2 years old. His father, her high school sweetheart left home without a word (at least that was what Sawyer was told) and Sawyer’s mother did everything she could to make sure her son would have no ties to the cowardly man, doing the necessary to give her son her name. While she finished law school, her son was raised by nannies, each of them complaining about how turbulent the young boy could be.

Catherine Chambers didn’t see it that way. Her darling angel never acted up when she was around, and it would always be the nanny’s fault.

She married a man she met at NYU, and they welcomed a child a couple years later. The newcomer didn’t precisely improve Sawyer’s behavior. The couple bought a house in Tribeca, and the kids were enlisted into the same private school: uniforms and seemingly strict rules. Sawyer was not exactly a huge fan of those, and his teachers would complain about him quite often. He couldn't sit still nor stay in place, he always had a wicked spark dancing in his eyes and a complacent smile plastered on his face… And he just had too much energy in him. But it was only when he ended up breaking another’s student’s arm by accident during football training that his parents began to worry.

The Chambers-Michaels household finally found solace when they found a way to wear him out that wouldn’t exhaust anyone else in the process.

Sawyer had always been quieter after football practice after all, and so, they signed him up to extracurricular classes. With track and field, tennis and swimming added to his schedule, it was true that he ended up being a lot calmer during the day.

The young man however still had a wickedness to him that wouldn’t let go, but a lesson had been learned: keep your parents’ reputation intact and they would let you be. With the well-groomed hair, the perfect swoop of it on his forehead, the crooked smile, and the impeccable aspect of his pale pinstriped blue shirts, there was no way to believe that a hellion might be hiding underneath.

With his good looks, his good family name, and his good grades, he attracted the attention of his female classmates. Topped with his athletic record, there wasn’t much separating Sawyer from a perfect life.

Yes, Sawyer liked to keep a polished image and thrived the most when his teachers, his coaches would praise his hard work. But Sawyer also lashed out on others, and his scape goats were guaranteed to have a bad time. Atticus Carmine had the misfortune of looking at Sawyer one morning he had been in a poor mood. He came to regret it for the years to come.

But what happened when intoxication peeled away the polish, wrinkled the shirts and blurred one’s gaze? This would be when Sawyer revealed himself, let people closer, let words slip out of his mouth with no restraint, speak his heart out, and let himself get tangled with people he seemingly despised.

It was once again a matter of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Inebriated minds rarely come up with the right answers, but when Sawyer and Atticus explored one another's body that night, the young man realized something about himself he wouldn’t have dared to touch otherwise. They kept on meeting on sober minds, but their relationship deteriorated any time progress seemed to have been made, until inevitable goodbyes.

But what might have not caused him trouble as a teenager, took its toll on both his academical and athletic results by the time he finished his undergrad. It was inevitable: rarely had we heard that showing up drunk or hungover to an exam would guarantee you any success. But what his parents couldn’t stand for, was having their media teams make sure their son’s nights of debauchery wouldn’t end up in the paper one day.

Sawyer knew that he would once again be more discreet. His parent financed both his lifestyle and his education. Although he knew his mother would have never cut him off, guilty has she felt of depriving him of his real father, he also knew that his stepfather wouldn’t allow to see shame brought onto him by Sawyer. And so, when he offered to get his masters from a prestigious institute in the middle of nowhere, inaccessible to journalists, he knew he just had earned himself at least two more years of peace.

➤ PERSONALITY

✚ Persistent, charming, playful ▬ Arrogant, malicious, obsessive

➤ ESTABLISHED CONNECTIONS

Atticus Carmine

➤ FACE CLAIM & OOC INFO

Sawyer's faceclaim is Jacob Elordi. // Penned by Rowan.