#because for so long it felt like the only way to survive with only cis people around me

[sirenedeslily]

𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐍 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 ‎𐦍 𝐦atthew 𝐬turniolo

𝒢𑄺 ⸻ ❝ like if you hold me without hurting me, you’ll be the first who ever did. ❜ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝

𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡, a hardened fighter finds unexpected tenderness in the arms of a gentle soul, where love becomes both his salvation and his deepest fear.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬, emotional and psychological angst, violence, mentions of trauma, depiction of illegal street fighting, sensitive themes of self-worth, and fear of hurting a loved one. my attempt @ fluff :3

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭, 1.4k !

𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒘 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐 wasn’t born into love.

no one had ever held him close when he was a boy. no one had ever whispered to him that everything would be okay when the nights were long and cold, when the bruises from the world around him were more than just skin deep. he had been passed around like something unwanted, a shadow that people barely noticed until they had to. one foster home after another, each colder than the last, until the idea of love or warmth was nothing more than a distant memory, something he’d never truly had in the first place.

at sixteen, matt stopped expecting anything from anyone. it was easier that way—no expectations, no hope, no chance of getting hurt. but the hurt came anyway, creeping into his bones like a sickness. the world had never been kind to him, and he had learned, in the back rooms of strangers’ houses, that the only thing he could control was how much he fought back.

and matt fought.

he fought with his fists, with his teeth, with a rage that seemed to consume him whole. it was the only way to survive in a world that had given him nothing but pain. the violence became his only language, the only thing that made sense. it was how he stayed alive, how he kept himself from being swallowed by the emptiness that followed him wherever he went.

that’s when he came into matt’s life—a man who saw the violence in matt’s eyes and knew how to use it. the man didn’t care about the boy behind the bruises, didn’t care about the heart that had been broken so many times it barely beat anymore. all he cared about was how hard matt could hit, how much damage he could do. and matthew? he didn’t care, either.

he was just looking for a place to sleep.

so he fought. brutal, illegal street fights in the back alleys of forgotten places, where the only law was how much blood you could spill. matt became a machine, a weapon honed by years of neglect and pain, his body more bruise than boy. he fought because it was all he knew how to do. he fought because no one had ever given him anything else.

but it wasn’t living. it was surviving, and just barely.

and then you came into his life.

you, with your cinnamon scent and wide, innocent eyes. you, who looked at him like he was more than just the violence he had been shaped into. you, who had never known the darkness he lived in, but who somehow saw through it. you stepped into his world of shadows and fists, and instead of running, you stayed.

you, with your soft hands and your gentle smile, were like a dream. he wasn’t sure you were real at first—how could you be? no one had ever looked at him the way you did, like you could see past the bruises, past the blood, and into something deeper. something matt wasn’t sure existed anymore.. or ever.

but you saw it. you always saw it.

the first time you touched him, matt flinched. not because you hurt him, but because your touch was so gentle. he wasn’t used to gentle. he wasn’t used to anything soft, not after years of fists and hard floors and nights spent alone. your fingers brushed against his skin like a whisper, light and warm, and matt felt something in him break, something he hadn’t even known was there.

you didn’t ask him to be anything other than what he was. you didn’t ask him to change, to give up the fights, the violence that was so much a part of him. you just were—you were there, with your cinnamon-sweet smile and your heart so full of love, and somehow, that was enough.

for the first time in his life, matt wasn’t alone. for the first time in his life, someone saw him, not just the fighter, not just the boy who had been left behind over and over again, but him. the boy who was still trying to find something to hold onto, something that wasn’t blood and pain and broken bones.

you held him without asking for anything in return. you let him break down his walls at his own pace, piece by piece, until he wasn’t just matt, the street fighter, the boy who only knew how to survive. he was yours.

there were nights when matt would come home from a fight, his knuckles bruised and his body aching, and you would be there, waiting for him. you, who smelled of cinnamon and warmth, would welcome him into your arms as if he weren’t covered in blood, as if the violence that followed him didn’t touch you. you didn’t flinch when you saw the cuts and bruises; you just took his hands in yours, your fingers soft as you traced the lines of his knuckles.

“it’s okay,” you’d whisper, pressing your lips to the broken skin on his hands, as if you could kiss away the pain, as if your love could heal the wounds that ran so much deeper than the surface.

and maybe it could.

because with you, matt felt something he hadn’t felt in years—something he wasn’t sure he’d ever felt at all. it was a warmth that spread through his chest, a lightness that came from the way you looked at him, the way you touched him like he was something precious. he didn’t know how to handle it at first, didn’t know what to do with the way you made him feel, like he was more than just a boy made of bruises and scars.

but you were patient. you didn’t push. you just loved him, quietly, gently, until matt started to believe that maybe, just maybe, he was worthy of that love.

matt had never been soft. he had never been the kind of person who let himself feel too much, who let himself hope for something better. but you—you—changed that. you brought out a part of him that he didn’t even know existed, a part of him that wanted to be better, to be more. not for himself, but for you.

there were moments, late at night, when you’d curl up next to him, your head resting on his bare chest, and matt would just hold you, his arms wrapped around you like you were the only thing keeping him grounded. and in those moments, with your warmth pressed against him and your scent filling the air, matt would feel something close to peace.

it scared him, sometimes—how much he needed you. how much he wanted you. he wasn’t used to needing anyone, wasn’t used to feeling like someone could slip through his fingers and take his heart with them. but you were different. you weren’t just someone; you were everything.

you were the sweetness in his life, the light in the darkness that had surrounded him for so long. you made him feel things he didn’t know how to name, things he didn’t know how to control. and it terrified him. because matt had only ever known how to fight, how to push people away before they could hurt him. but with you, he didn’t want to push. he wanted to pull you closer, hold you tighter, keep you with him forever.

but love—real love—wasn’t easy.

there were nights when the darkness inside him would rise up, when the violence that lived in his blood would threaten to consume him. he’d wake up in a cold sweat, his heart racing, his hands clenched into fists, ready for a fight that wasn’t there. and you—you would always be there, your hands soft on his skin, your voice a soothing whisper in the quiet of the night.

“i’m here,” you’d say, your breath warm against his chest. “i’m not going anywhere.”

and you never did. no matter how many times matt tried to push you away, no matter how many times he told you that he wasn’t good enough for you, that you deserved someone who could give you more than this life of blood and violence and pain, you stayed.

you stayed, and you loved him, and you showed him that maybe, just maybe, he was worth loving.

matt had never known a love like yours. a love that was gentle and fierce all at once, a love that didn’t ask for anything in return but still gave everything. you were his 𝒄𝒊𝒏𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒐𝒏 𝒈𝒊𝒓𝒍, sweet and warm, the one thing in his life that made him believe in something more than just survival.

you made him feel like he could be something more than the violence that had shaped him. you made him feel like he could be yours.

and in the end, that was all he ever wanted to be.

𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔.

𝒢𝜚 💭 ࣪ ✸ 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ∿ trying to work on requests but it’s been mostly chris stuff and i miss writing about my boyfriend soooo :3

❝ 𝟐𝟐𝟐 ❞ 𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻, @carvedtits @et6rnalsun @wovenribbons @flouvela @eternaldecisions @elizabebabe @ncm9696

❝ 𝟑𝟑𝟑 ❞ 𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻, @l34n @sturniolossss @lovingregulusblack @cl1tlover3000 @mattslolita @mattssgf @le4hsblog @brvtall @mattscoquette @chratts-left-ball @jetaimevous @angelesqve @starlace111 @fawnchives @starkeyszn @etherealval @slut4chriss @star-yawnznn @nickmillersn1gf @sturnsmia

© sirenedeslily

[ofmighty]

  //   (  melissa barrera  .  cis female  .  she/her  )  .    ⸻  emilia sanchez  ,  a  thirty year  old  ,  has  survived  another  day  in  red  creek  where  they  have  lived  for  their whole life  .  the  trailer trash  is  known  for  being  electric  and  combative  and  is  often  associated  with  last call at the bar , bouncing between jobs , and brown hair flowing mid-dance  .  in  a  small  town  where  they  work  as  a waitress at dolly’s diner ,   word  travels  fast  .  it’s  hard  to  keep  a  secret  ,  and  it  looks  like  the  boogeyman  knows  redacted  (  dee  ,  21+  ,  est  ,  she/her  ,  n/a  )  .

hello ! i'm happy to be here, my name's dee. fair warning, i haven't written on tumblr in forever, but i'm looking forward to plotting & introducing you to my two babies.

BASICS:

NAME: Emilia Sanchez

KNOWN AS: Emilia, Mia, Emi

BIRTHDATE:  October 27, 1994

ASTROLOGY:  Scorpio sun / Aries moon / Cancer rising

HOMETOWN: Red Creek, MI

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Bisexual

HEIGHT:  5'7"

OCCUPATION: Waitress at Dolly's Diner

QUICK FACTS:

born & raised red creek to a single mom and younger half-sister. she's only ever lived in the small trailer she was raised in, at the trailer park in town

her mother had her kids young and wanted to keep the party lifestyle going, so emilia and her sister quickly learned to take care of each other and their mom, rather than the other way around. eventually her mom stopped working, and it fell on the girls to keep their small trailer afloat.

emilia always dreamed of leaving her small town and going to vegas or new york to pursue dance, but there was a loyalty to her little family that kept her tethered there. by the time her mother passed away five years ago, she felt like it was too late in the game for her to go for what she wanted. instead she stayed for her sister, and her sister stayed for her, two girls desperate to leave but also unsure how to do anything but stay.

despite the judgment she's always held for her mother, emilia shares a lot of similar traits with her: inability to hold a job ( her mother because of her drinking, emilia because of her sharp tongue ) , spending most of her nights out late at the local bars, definitely inheriting her self-destructive qualities.

unlike her mother, she had no interest in flimsy relationships built on free drinks and lies. apart from one semi-serious relationship back in the day, she's sworn off having to rely on anyone else to keep herself happy—but she is the kind of person who likes some no-strings fun.

fiercely independent and quite opinionated, she struggles with keeping people in her life for long, but the few she does keep around she's fiercely loyal to.

WANTED CONNECTIONS:

a best friend or a couple close friends

that one ex from high school / early 20s that made her swear off relationships for good

ex-colleagues before she quit or was fired from a job, especially people she pissed off in the process

coworkers for the diner

drinking buddies

people she mooches free drinks off of

neighbors at the trailer park

former classmates

cousins

girls she used to take dance classes with

childhood friend she grew apart from

truly anything and everything, i'm all ears for plots !!

[karrenseely]

Silver Linings

I just realized something. I learned about the existence of Trans people when I was 12 or 13 I think. I learned about us in a medical encyclopedia. It wasn't a lot to go on, but it definitely was enough. Two things happened when I saw that entry. First I wasn't alone, second I could do something about this.

I absolutely wasn't alone or the only one AMAB who was a girl. That lifted a huge weight off of me, I wasn't alone. People who've never experienced the feeling that you're the only one in the world that seems to not be the way everyone around you is, have no idea how hard that is, I sooo identified with the Last Unicorn as a child. Growing up, I had no positive examples of queer people. None. I can't recall a negative example either that was explicitly queer. There was nothing for me to reference what I was going through. I was taught like all young girls in our society that being a girl is inferior to being a boy (why? Why does our society do this? Even today? Whiskey Tango Foxtrot! We're not inferior to men, we never were, but for some reason some narcissistic AH somewhere decided this and then a bunch of other narcissistic idiots with power liked it and here we are living in a patriarchal misogynistic society, which is absolute BS). But I was also taught that being a boy who "wanted" to be a girl (yes I'm aware I was girl all along, though it took me a long time to understand that, because... society) was doubly bad and horrible.

So I was completely ashamed and terrified of anyone learning my secret because I was the only one and I knew it was a bad secret. I'm sure there are other things that happened that taught me this, experiences with my parents, peers, teachers. But I don't remember most of them, and I don't really need to go into it here, as the sadly important point is that I learned very young to be ashamed of myself.

No one ever talked about people like us. Ever. There were the occasional movies involving cross dressing and drag, usually men pretending to be women (notice that key word that differentiates trans people from cis people. Cis people when they cross dress in performative ways are pretending to be the opposite sex or a gender outside the binary. Trans people aren't pretending, we are the gender we identify with.) like Tootsie. I liked the movie, it was nice to see a man who could pretend to be a woman and enjoy some of it. But I never identified with that character, not in any significant life changing way. Because he was a man, he identified as a man throughout the movie and I was a girl forced to be a boy. And most other instances of crossdressing in media were treated as a joke, including Tootsie. "Hello [shame] my old friend, I've come to talk with you again." (1)

So learning I wasn't the only person in the world that felt this way was life changing. It gave me comfort, which I sorely needed. But the second part was just as important. I could actually do something about my body and I could be me. And that gave me hope. Which was sorely needed as I was spiraling downward rapidly at the time. Months later as the horrors of my body changing became more apparent I came out to my parents in desperation, which instead of recognizing me and loving and supporting me, was met w/ dismissal, and attempts to erase me and increased the shaming tenfold. But the one thing that kept me going. The one bright star in that horrible darkness was the knowledge that I could transition someday, not as soon as I'd hoped, not as soon as I needed, but someday. It felt like an eternity away, but it was there, telling me to keep surviving to keep going because I could be me when I got there.

Had I not learned of trans people, I honestly don't think I would have survived my first adolescence. I would just be another dead kid with everyone wondering why I was so depressed and weren't there any signs? (I often wonder how many of the children that manage to kill themselves are queer. Based on proportions of homeless youth, I imagine queer kids are a very large chunk of that statistic.) Just learning about the existence of trans people kept me alive. Knowing I wasn't alone and there was something I could do about it. It was horrifyingly frustrating that I couldn't do anything until I turned 18, but I would be able to do something about it. So learning about trans people saved my life.

Just that one concept, that trans people living their authentic lives existed, was enough to keep me alive. And here is the silver lining that occured to me. Despite all the negative, bigoted, horrible publicity, laws, and hate. Our existence is being talked about a lot. Which means, kids who need to know they aren't alone, that they are not the only one's that feel this way. Are finding out that we exist. Yes they'll need to do research and understand that we and in turn them are not evil, not monsters, not perverts, But beautiful amazing wonderful and caring people. And because of that, maybe. Just maybe, a few more trans kids will survive and maybe even thrive one day, because they learn they aren't alone and there is something they can do about it.

I hope so. I really hope that is the case. I also wish we didn't suffer so much that way, too many of us die. Maybe someday, that will change for the better. (1) Simon and Garfunkel, "The Sound of Silence."

[alfiearmstrongs]

Full Name: Alfred Peter Armstrong.

Nicknames: Alfie almost exclusively, won't answer to Alfred. Will allow Freddie but not Fred.

Pronouns and Gender: He/Him, cis man.

Birthday: December 27th, 1999.

Birth place: Merrock, Maine.

How long have they been in town?: His whole life.

Sexuality: Bisexual.

Housing: Historical Downtown.

Occupation: Animal Caretaker @ Animal Sanctuary year round, lifeguard @ the swimming beach seasonally.

Family: Alfred Armstrong Sr., Erika Armstrong, Jesse Armstrong.

BIO:

triggering / sensitive content: domestic violence, neglect, alcoholism.

As the second born son of Alfred Armstrong and Erika Armstrong, Alfie came kicking and screaming into the world to an idyllic family unit that was rounded out by his arrival. Or so it seemed. Behind tired smiles and repeated phrases about how lucky they felt, the truth of the Armstrongs home life was a much darker situation existing on a lower simmer that was destined to boil over.

As a child, it wasn't something he noticed easily. Alfie had no way of comprehending that sharing a name with his father wasn't because he was a cherished namesake but that he was given the name for the sake of it. The fierce protectiveness he experienced from his older brother Jesse always felt like something that older brothers just did and not a necessity to shield him from what went on behind the closed doors he lived in.

He knew that his father had a temper and he learned young that it worsened whenever he drank the bad-smelling glass bottles from the fridge that he was told he couldn't touch.

Slammed doors, raised voices and a deep sense of terror for his parents unpredictable mood swings became the norm to him. He managed to put up with it until his fifteenth birthday when the cycle that he knew would never be able to break felt like it was going to break him. With no real plan and even less real money, Alfie packed what little he could carry on his back and snuck out of the bedroom window of his childhood home for the last time.

Alone, adrift and with an awareness that he could never go home, Alfie did the only thing he could think to do at that age. He called in any and all goodwill he had with the friends he had since childhood. The next three years of his life was spent transiently, couch surfing and being a temporary guest in the homes of those same friends until he wore out his welcome and had to do the same over again.

Miraculously, he managed to finish high school on time and with grades that he was proud of even though they weren't stellar on paper. College had never appealed to him and he was unwilling to take on excessive debt for something he couldn't say for certain he would be able to stick with.

From the age of sixteen to twenty, he worked a number of odd jobs around town in order to make ends meet and do his best to get by. It wasn't until he was taken on as an animal caretaker at the animal sanctuary did he finally feel like he had figured out something he wanted to do rather than needed to do and he's been working there ever since.

PERSONALITY.

+ lively, confident, suave

- selfish, foolish, impatient

Fearless, loyal, street smart and resourceful. Those are the main reasons's and that he's managed to survive a number of curve balls thrown his way by life. To Alfie, his friends are the most important thing on earth to him because they became family to him after his failed him. 

He sometimes has a bit of a temper, especially when scorned but he tries his best to keep that in check. He finds joy and an almost child-like fascination in the little things of life, he loves mischief and danger and above all else, adventure. He has a consistent habit of getting in over his head and having to scramble for how best to figure it out. Alfie gets a thrill from a good argument or a fight and isn't above grating on someone's nerves to achieve that. It may be childish but so is he at times.

FUN ADJACENT FACTS.

Has never met a 'No Entry' or 'Keep Out' sign that he didn't want to bypass.

Will occasionally indulge in some weed or molly but for the most part isn't a huge drug user.

Got certified as a lifeguard 2 years ago and now he works as a lifeguard seasonally @ the swimming beach.

Not the biggest fan of the burbs, too many childhood memories tied to growing up there with his family.

CURRENT CONNECTIONS.

tba.

SPECIFIC WANTED CONNECTIONS.

tba.

GENERIC WANTED CONNECTIONS.

connections wise he’s pretty much an open book right now, but some baseline ideas that can be springboarded off are:

friendly.

a best friend / ride or dies / close friends / childhood friends / pseudo-siblings / friends / drunk friends / new friends / former roommate / people who let him sofa surf in his teens and early 20s.

romantic

flirtationship / friends with benefits / one time hook ups / tinder matches / unrequited crush (can be either way) / exes from high school / exes on good terms.

antagonistic.

enemies / former (best) friends / exes on bad terms / frenemies / rivals / negative influence.

[chipped-chimera]

So, I'm a Lesbian I guess.

So uh, life update. I came out to my Mum, so I figured I'd do so here too.

I've done a bunch of self reflection, healing. I reached out to my ex and we had a good conversation and I think that just made everything even clearer for me.

So yeah, this is me saying I'm not bisexual. I'm lesbian. And I probably always was.

More context below the cut if you want it (it's long). But anyway, here's to finally feeling like I'm finding the real 'me' in all this rubble.

❤️🧡🤍💖💜

I thought I was bisexual for ages. The fact I even got to think that wouldn't have happened if it weren't for my ex, who identified that way and I felt in a safe enough environment to express it. In the past two months I went through some self reflection, and talked to my ex for the first time in 2 years. It was good, and it's too complicated to explain easily but at least on my end I was getting a double dosage of the comphet juice between just regular expectations and the undiagnosed autism (also jesus christ, being a teenager in 2005-2010 that environment was just fucked up for anyone who might be trying to come to terms with not being straight). Kids in my school were more accepting, but also in the same breath using 'Gay' as an insult).

We were both undiagnosed neurodiverse people and maybe it was just the first time we'd encountered someone who just actually understood for once. Who saw who we were and were okay with that. The 10 year relationship, put in that context makes a lot of sense. So I don't blame him for how it ended. If anything I thanked him for breaking it off, because I was in such a goddamn state after being used by the Australian government (see Robodebt) there was no way in hell I had the mental tools or even brain space to realise anything about myself because I was too busy just trying to fucking survive. I would have lived and died in that relationship simply because at least it was safe, and stable. But it wasn't genuine.

Past two years since that relationship ended were fucking rough. For most of this year I kind of just turned into myself I guess, but I was letting it happen because after finding out about the high comorbidity of chronic health conditions with Autism and how it's likely related to long-term compound stress from masking for so long, I really asked myself when was the last time I just let myself 'rest'? Didn't do anything I didn't want to do or feel compelled to do because of some social contract or guilt?

I couldn't come up with an answer.

So I rested. And I think that's basically given me the strength now to finally 'wake up'. I dunno. That's how it feels. I only recently noticed my thoughts about women were structurally very different than the ones about men (and yeah it's goddamn fuckin' embarassing to say but uh thanks Larian specifically for giving me a female love interest tailored to my exact preference which FINALLY connected some dusty neuron in the back of my head or something. It was Karlach. MY GODDAMN GAY AWAKENING WAS KARLACH, ffs) and the more I examined it, the more everything became clear. I was hesitant to remove the bi label from myself, wondering if this was just a really extreme 'bi-cycle' swing but the more and more I thought about it, went through memories in my life, how I could never see myself with someone else it was always characters together and really it was the relationship and intimacy between them, regardless of gender that I was appreciating.

I thought I was grey ace but after going 'huh these thoughts are kind of different' and realising that yeah, I could imagine myself with a woman - it wasn't some weird other shit I'd told myself like it was just visceral self hatred or something, placing myself with a guy it was literally I did not want to be with a guy - it became obvious. So fucking, embarrassingly obvious.

I'm not sure where things will go from here. I am incredibly socially isolated in real life. My best friend is my Mum. I don't have a social circle at all outside of online spaces. I'm 30 and that's a fucking weird age to be thrown out into the world essentially experiencing goddamn delayed idk mental puberty because you suppressed it that hard. I haven't used a dating app in my LIFE. I'm still kind of scared of being hurt by others and I'm aware it's not entirely logical, but I just feel fragile. I'm also still picking up the pieces of my life.

I've confirmed a C-PTSD diagnosis with my psychologist, which explains why all the CBT tools I'd learned over the years just stopped working (CBT doesn't always gel well with PTSD or Autism) so that's probably going to inform treatment going forward. My intense fatigue issues are probably caused by having to carry all this fucking trauma and suppression of myself. As I said to my Mum, it's like I'm just 'Tired from being alive' at this point. I'm really, really fucking hoping it's not Chronic Fatigue Syndrome/ME. The new medication I'm on seems to be keeping me going past the 4hr mark though, so we might be onto the right medication mix (I do not appreciate the 7:30pm crash, like clockwork, where instead of feeling unfocused and tired like before I now feel jacked up as hell like I'm waiting for someone to punch me however :V)

I don't know where this is going. Or where I'm going. All I know is 'I'm going'. When the breakup first happened, when I hauled myself out of the Mental Health ward and back to my parents home where I had to figure out what the fuck to do after any kind of certainty of my future had been completely obliterated - I saw a lot of snakes. I'm kind of vaugely pagan, if I'm honest. I don't know how to put it. I am very scientific but I also don't think we know all the answers.

My ancestors were likely heavily Celtic, likely some Viking and Pictish influence as both family lines go back to Scotland and Ireland. I know through my reading that natural signs were important to them, so I start noticing when I see multiple occurrences, especially in odd places (I'll be real, I just remembered earlier in this relationship when I was more into pagan shit I saw a lot of Moths. Yeah. Yeah I feel like smashing my face into my desk about that. No I never figured it out then EITHER). I know quite a few things about snakes. Snakes are an animal that is both used as a symbol for medicine, but also classed as 'evil', especially in the modern christian context.

They are considered symbols of rejuvenation, of immortality, much like the Phoenix, they are constantly reborn through the shedding of their skin. Shedding is critical to a snake, because if it does not shed it's skin, it will die. This is a legitimate concern for zookeepers with snakes that have scars - they often struggle to shed completely, and they have to soak the snake's skin in water so they can cast off the skin.

So it's shed or die.

I have struggled to let go of things. Of everything that was done to me, but I knew it had to be let go. And today I have shed a lot of that shit. I am crying on and off but this is probably the first time it's easy. It's not physically painful, like knives in my throat, or something I have to shove down and keep contained for fear of being rejected. It's happy crying.

Because that skin being shed - it wasn't mine either. I needed rest, I needed to soak in that goddamn water dish so I could get through all the scar tissue. So it's probably the strongest image I have in my mind of everything. Of who I am. My entire life.

If you're going through difficult shit in life, all I can say is - you're strong. You're strong as fuck. Strength isn't being able to get into a physical fight, or being super confident around people - it's enduring life and the chaos thrown at you. It's being able to be broken down and rebuild, just like the snake casts off skin for their new selves. You will endure things and be stronger for it, than those who have lived all their lives without any pain whatsoever.

But it could be better, I know. It doesn't justify the pain. But please listen to yourself. Listen to your body. If you need to be selfish? Be fucking selfish! Don't want to do that thing? Don't do it! If you know it is costing you, if it is adding to that scar tissue - stop. Take the time you need to reset, to regain your breath. Ask yourself who you are doing this for. Ask what skin you are wearing and whether that is something you want to keep. Shed it. Let go.

It will hurt, but this is just the beginning. Change feels like a broken bone. But it will heal.

[feastonkings]

abigail cowen / she/her  ———  no way is that CALYPSO MACGILLIVRAY.. they’re a 24-year-old HUMAN notoriously known for being RESENTFUL  &  OVERSENSITIVE but there are some people who have seen them being NATURE FOCUSED  &  NURTURING.  if you ask me, they remind me a lot of lavender tinted sighs, the first bloom of spring, a tear through an old family portrait, a vine tattoo winding from fingertip to fingertip, and autumn leaves beginning to fall , but that could just be because they’re considered the CARING GARDENER around town. just keep an eye on them  &  see if their true colors shine through..

GENERAL.

full name: calypso lea macgillivray nicknames: cal, caly classification: human gender / pronouns: cis woman, she/her age / birthday: 24, march 18th orientations: heterosexual, heteromantic occupation: florist at floral dilemma / biology grad student at university metroplex location: lower status: closed family: halley macgillivray (sister) strengths: nature focused, nurturing, friendly, altruistic, patient weaknesses: resentful, oversensitive, pessimistic, verbose, evasive BIOGRAPHY.

calypso decided from the moment her younger sister was born that she would do her best to protect her from the evils of the world.

not to say she was exposed to any extreme evils herself, but she would always try to be a barrier between the world and her sister whenever she could.

they were raised by a single mother who did the best she could to make ends meet and make sure they all survived, their father took off soon after halley was born and she never really knew who he was

luckily their mother gave them more than enough love to leave the bitterness at bay and calypso had halley to occupy her time when she felt any sort of abandonment

she kept to herself a lot in school but she usually had a few close friends and was the type to help out teachers, staff, and other students when asked

mostly she liked to spend her time outdoors, outside of the city when possible so she could trade concrete for plants and trees and nature in general

she liked to joke that she was a plant that needed sunshine to grow, though her pale ginger complexion would say otherwise

her interest in biology and plant life, particularly trying to restore the environment and find new ways to encourage growth led her to getting a scholarship to the university metroplex

she worked hard to keep that scholarship and pay for what wasn’t being covered by working at the flower shop

caly didn’t have time for a very broad social life, between school, work, and helping out her mom and sister she never got much time to do anything other than sleep and catch up with life in her time off

two years ago she entered into the graduate program and is now studying for her phd in biology or at the very least, her masters.

her family, her few close friends, and her research are the most important things to her.

the last couple years she’s started going out more, watching halley come out of her shell a little bit reminded her she hadn’t gotten the wild stage in life and has tried to let loose more

she’s not sure it’s working very well but it’s entered her list of things she wants to explore while she finds out who she is as a person.

she is friendly, a little sassy, and can be a bit sensitive when she feels like she’s failing or when people are mean. calypso is very protective of her mom and sister, as well as her best friend briar, mess with them and it invokes the only time she goes a little psycho, she also gets angry at people who litter or actively hurt the environment in front of her

HEADCANONS.

she has a long vine tattoo that wraps around both arms and connects at the back of her neck, she is consistently adding more to it (usually different types of flowers but sometimes random things) either permanently or while doodling to help pay attention

more to come...

[rus-st-cyr]

{ THE ESSENTIALS }

Name: Lazarus "Rus" St. Cyr Age: 39 Species: Witch Powers: Light and Healing Deity: God of Change Gender, Pronouns, Sexual & Romantic identities: Cis-male. He/him. Pansexual. Panromantic Residence / Years:  / 15 years Affiliation / Years:  The Nameless / Early days - a few years-ish Job / Workplace: Healer and Physical Therapist Relationship status: Single Positive traits: Generous, Caring, Adaptable, Approachable, Driven Negative traits: Secretive, Stubborn, Zealot, Worrier, Vindictive

{ BACKGROUND }

tw child abuse/neglect

Rus has pieced together his childhood through court and police paperwork. At least the court and police paperwork that was still available. He survived a fire in his families trailer home in when he was two and placed into the foster care system in Shreveport Louisiana. The strange thing was that the police and fire reported that fire happened during a torrential rainstorm but the flames couldn't be doused. His parents died in the fire and there was some mention of a sibling that was severely burned and hospitalized. Their paper trail disappeared after they were in a closed adoption.

Rus grew up in the foster care system. It was listed on his paperwork that both of his parents were Witches and it was only a matter of time before Rus' powers manifested. He was bounced from one bad foster home to another throughout the state of Louisiana. When his powers did manifest he went out of his way to learn on his own his heritage. But even among other Elemental Witches he didn't meet any that could manipulate light. And even less that knew how he could use his light manipulation abilities to heal others.

At eighteen he left Louisiana and traveled. Odd jobs, picking a few pockets, whatever got him to the next place on the map. He explored. Trying to find himself and his place in the world wondering what his next steps should be.

While visiting Ireland, he came across a very knowledgeable Blood Witch named Corvinus that offered to train him in his powers. He spent almost a year with the man and over that time felt that he had found the Father figure that he'd never had growing up. Until one day he showed up to their usual meeting place and Corv had just vanished. That was a hard blow for Rus who had finally started to feel like he'd found his people.

He continued his travels but started getting letters from an unknown person, waiting for him at his next destination. Each of the letters talked about change, about his place in the world and encouraged him to go back to Louisiana where his story had started. He returned to the United States when he was twenty four and went to college and PT school. Knowing that his healing abilities were a fundamental part of who he was. Settling in New Orleans and opening his own little practice designed to help supernaturals. The letters kept coming until about five years ago when he was approached by a living person telling him about The Nameless. Rus very strongly connected to the need for the world to change. Even if it meant it needed to be burned down so that a better world would come from the ashes. And he joined without a second hesitation, finally feeling like he'd found the family that he'd so longed for.

{ PERSONALITY }

Rus is very generous. Always willing to help a supernatural in need because he knows what it feels like to go without kindness and care. He is resilient, adaptable and easy to get along with for the most part. But deep inside of Rus runs a river of anger at a world and system that is so unkind to supernatural children. That treated him like a freak and left him in the cold. Rus believes strongly that the world can be a better place if others people weren't too scared to do the right thing. Even if it hurts.

{ FAMILY TREE }

TBD

{ HEADCANONS }

His vibes are: Crystal daddy, sage & lavender candles, warm summer rain.

Rus rents a small business front in a strip mall where he practices his PT and Supernatural Healing out of.

He shares an apartment with Versi.

Rus owns a huge collection of crystals, prayer bowls, tarot cards, and other things he uses in his magic practice and as a healer.

Rus' connection to the Nameless is a closely kept secret and anyone that finds out Rus either alters their memories or he has to find a more permanent way of keeping them quiet. Something that he wants to avoid.

{ WANTED CONNECTIONS }

Sibling: Rus knows he has at least one sibling out there in the world somewhere.

[theresnosafeharbor4myships]

Fandom: Person of Interest, Careese Title: The Tipping Point

A/N: Carter wrestles with the aftermath of Snow 's attempt on John's life, the part she played in it, and what to do to make it right. Carter's POV and missing scenes; takes place throughout s1e10 Number Crunch, s1e11 Super, and s1e12 Legacy.

He was tall. She’d known that from how he’d loomed above her after he’d shot her CI, but seeing him stand there in person, in the headlights of Snow’s SUV, he somehow seemed a giant, taller and slimmer than Fusco, more broad and muscular than Snow. This man in the suit she’d been chasing who’d continued giving her grief. Her antagonist these past few months. The shadow of NYC. The vigilante who’d left criminals for her like a delivery service. The smartly dressed hero who’d saved her life.

And she’d betrayed him.

She watched his expression change from indifference at the approach of their vehicle to confusion as he saw her emerge from it with Snow, as their eyes met and she finally saw him in the light.

Yes, he was tall, but she hadn’t prepared herself for the shiver of shock that trailed down her spine at meeting her protector face to face, the mystery finally revealed. Well-cut suit, broad shoulders, tan skin, sharp cheekbones, striking eyes. Attractive. Handsome. Dangerous.

Carter instantly wanted to retreat back into her ignorance of him, reverse this mistake of pulling him out into the open. Not only because of the regret washing over her for having sold him out, but because she felt the air shift around them as Snow spoke.

The man in the suit stood ramrod straight, on guard, and yet somehow also at ease, as if he had nothing to lose. He wasn’t trying to hide, didn’t run or pull a gun or appear concerned at all that she’d brought his old CIA pal with her, none of the things she’d expect from a fugitive with a rap sheet as long and damning as the one the suits had shown her.

No, the danger she sensed came from Snow, a tense desperation, something sinister in the air.

Then the shot rang out, and in a heartbeat her vigilante lay on the ground, bleeding from his stomach as the ‘good’ guys ambushed him.

They’d baited her, used her to get to him.

She’d been fooled, but not by the man in the suit. Sure, he colored too far outside the lines for her comfort. (As much as she despised it, didn’t all government agencies do that?) But he did it by illegally tracking citizens and breaking into homes and business to...what? Gift wrap criminals for her to bring to justice and successfully close cases? Kneecap dangerous individuals and guilty parties when he could very easily play judge, jury, and executioner at whim? Call in tips that led to good police work? Protect a young girl who’d been on the run for years, a battered woman she herself had tried to save, and, confoundingly, her, the woman who’d wanted nothing more than to put him behind bars?

She’d hesitated calling Snow because, for all the trouble the man in the suit created and the havoc he left in his wake, there seemed something...compassionate about him. Oh, she still thought he deserved jail for the mayhem he’d caused the past several months. She had a job to do, after all, and she stood firmly on the side of doing what was right.

But this...this was all wrong.

Snow had told her he’d been the man’s best friend, that they wanted to bring him in alive, to help him, save him—and everyone else—from the dangerous path he traversed. And until this moment, she’d wanted the same thing, to arrest him, get him off the streets, stop his vigilante antics. But now, faced with Snow’s idea of “help,” Carter knew she wanted something vastly different. The man had prevented her from getting shot, really shot, but her actions had done the opposite for him.

So she ran. Not away from what she’d done, but towards the path that would hopefully provide her answers. Towards him. She’d heard Snow’s side of the story; now she wanted his. The only way she’d get it is if he survived the shot meant to kill him.

She’d told Fusco she’d arrest him if she ever got the chance. And she’d meant it. But when the moment came, Carter knew if she stopped him from escaping, Snow would arrest him, maybe torture him, likely kill him. She wouldn’t be party to that.

So going against the law, all government agencies, Snow, and every ounce of her training, she helped him into the vehicle with his bespectacled friend, her instinct that there was more good to him than Snow fighting with her stance on justice.

She’d trusted her gut many times before, and it’d never steered her wrong. It didn’t mean she had to like it, though.

******

Carter’s thoughts drifted to him often the next several days, wondering if he’d survived that gut shot, if his leg would heal well enough to have him running five steps ahead of her in future investigations, if Snow was closing in on him. If she’d ever hear from him again.

She realized she didn’t even know his name. Snow hadn’t revealed it, and she hadn’t asked, if only because she knew they wouldn’t give her any info they didn’t want her to have. They’d manipulated the details of his story, even playing the ‘we want to protect you, the ignorant damsel in unknowing distress’ card simply because she was a woman, trying to scare her into believing the man would turn on her like he’d done to his handler. According to Snow, his saving her had merely been good instincts, and her lack of them would get her killed like the last woman he’d trusted.

She’d recognized the ploy the second the words left Snow’s mouth, but she let them think they’d gotten one over on her. If he’d only saved her, she might have believed them. But she’d been witness to the handfuls of people he’d rescued before her and heard the desperation in his voice as he’d warned her of her own impending danger. “You’re not listening to me.” Trust or not, the man in the suit had helped her many times over. Snow had simply used her.

Still, Carter couldn't help wondering...had she willingly let a highly skilled assassin go so he could eventually disappear into the ether? Would he escape, drift off to some other city and start all over again, leaving her none the wiser but wholly responsible for the destruction he dished out? Somehow she didn’t think so, though the beast of curiosity wouldn’t leave her.

She vacillated between concern and frustration, the pendulum swinging wide as her irritation mounted day by day. A handful of months ago, she’d only had to do her job, never easy or safe, but straightforward; she simply knew what to expect. Then this man…

At first, she’d just wanted to catch a criminal, the skilled vigilante who flouted the law and rubbed it in their faces. But over the past several weeks, it’d become more than that. The man was a provocative challenge, different than the two-bit criminals, petty but dangerous gangsters, and run of the mill murderers she dealt with day in and day out. He broke the law to do good, to protect people. Who the hell did that? In all her years, Carter had never met anyone like him.

She’d gone into homicide because she was good at making connections, pulling threads that unraveled the mystery of whodunit. But for all of the frustration he’d brought to her doorstep, the man in the suit allowed her to help stop crimes before they happened, to protect citizens before they took their last breath. It was rewarding, thrilling, exciting, redeeming in a way her after-they-were-dead day job could never be. And the cat and mouse game they played—though she had to admit she was never sure which one she was in that scenario—intrigued her.

She needed to know if he’d survived.

She tracked down the man’s associate, “Mr. Burdette” (or he’d guided her to himself, as he’d informed her), and followed the bread crumbs he’d thrown her, apprehending Derek Watson and preventing him from getting himself into trouble. But that left her with more questions than answers about the odd pair, though Burdette had confirmed that their mutual friend was alive, which helped alleviate some of her guilt in having caused his injuries.

It wasn’t enough though. She wanted answers. Between the two shadow men, the man in the suit seemed more...cooperative with her and slightly more forthcoming. The thought nearly made her laugh. That’s like calling the ocean dry, Carter thought. But compared to Burdette and the blank, unforgiving stare he’d given her throughout their conversation, she thought she might have slightly better luck with her protector.

Strangely enough, the man in the suit had called her desk phone the night he’d revealed his whereabouts, and though the number had appeared as blocked on the caller ID, she put in a requisition for the call log to her phone. It’d taken some time, but she figured it didn’t matter much, even as she was anxious to get the info. He had plenty of recovery time ahead of him.

A few days later, an officer handed her an envelope, and she sat down at her desk before opening it. She stared at the call log, confused by the emotions she felt at having this small tether to him. The regret hadn’t left her since that night, but the concern, hope, worry, and anxiety swirled inside her, a volatile concoction that left her stomach slightly queasy. If she called that number, something would change. Everything would change.

She wanted so desperately to know who this man was, how he knew the things he knew, why he’d protected her, why her. Longed to know the real story with the CIA, especially now that they’d used her to get to him and still tailed her. Wanted to know what he’d gotten her into. She wanted to know who his friend was, the shorter man she’d questioned once before without knowing how close she’d come to them. She wanted to know him, to understand him and his vigilante quest.

Carter glanced around the bullpen, but there were too many ears around. She stepped into an empty interrogation room, dialed the number on her cell, and swallowed hard before pushing the send button. It went straight to an automated voicemail, and she briefly considered hanging up before deciding to leave a message instead.

“It’s Carter. I...’m sorry about what happened. Snow said he was your friend, that he wanted to help you. I didn’t know they would...I never meant for you to get hurt, but I met with your friend; he told me you’re recuperating. I’m glad to know that. When you’re feeling well enough, can we meet? No feds this time, I promise.” She let the smile bleed through her voice at the end, hoping he’d hear her regret and sincerity through the stilted message, and hung up.

Now it was simply a waiting game.

****************

Carter’s phone buzzed a few days later with a text from an unknown number. Lyric Diner on 3rd, 7:30am, Thursday.

She found herself smiling at her phone as she read it and self-consciously glanced around. No one paid her any attention, but she forced her face back into neutral as she responded. I’ll be there.

She arrived early to stake out the place. And because the anxiety swirling whirlpools in her stomach wouldn’t slow down. The prospect of sitting down with her protector, face to face, one on one, hyped her up more than any amount of caffeine, but ignoring the fact that she didn’t need any additional stimulants, Carter sat facing the door and ordered a cup of coffee.

She kept watch, wondering if he’d show up. Maybe he’d change his mind? No, he had no reason to set the meeting only to not show, she was sure of it. He’d stake out the place before entering to make sure no one had followed her and to ensure she’d come alone. No Snow or other sidekick with her, no danger awaiting him this time.

“Your coffee’s getting cold, Detective.” He’d arrived early too, just as she’d suspected. His voice came from behind her, his husky tone setting some of her anxiety at ease.

She should’ve known he wouldn’t use the front entrance—when had he ever done anything she’d expected?—and Carter turned her head slowly towards him before raising her eyes to meet his as he moved to sit across from her.

The man was more attractive up close and smartly dressed in one of his infamous suits. His demeanor, cool, controlled, and suave with that slightly smug smirk she always heard in his voice, told her he’d known this day would come. He—this whole situation, if she were being honest—intimidated her a bit, but she couldn’t quell her curiosity. She turned her detective mode on, the armor that kept her emotions in check and her personal feelings safe.

Carter hadn’t quite known what to expect since the man was such a damn mystery, but she wasn’t surprised at how intriguing the meeting went. He seemed impressed by her ability to lose her CIA tails and that she’d managed to track him down (Had he wanted her to? She felt silly that this thought only now occurred to her. Maybe she hadn’t found him at all.). She couldn’t help bantering with him before letting him know she didn’t approve of Snow, and she felt his his concern for her when his face changed so intently and his voice took on a protective edge when he asked who else trailed her. But she finally asked the questions that kept haunting her: where did he get his information? and why her?

It’s when she felt a subtle shift, much like she had with Snow in that parking garage. This time it was directed at her but no less dangerous just because he was friendly.

His voice, though sincere, sounded rehearsed as he answered, “Because your moral compass is pointed in the right direction.” She’d buy that but, despite the slew of them that’d become corrupted, there were any number of cops who did their job well. So why her?

Carter raised her eyes to meet his, the question still lingering. Instantly, his face softened to amusement, his voice losing the superior edge. “Because I’m tired of you chasing me.”

She knew how relentless she could be. Her mind instantly flashed to the first time she’d met him, homeless, hurting, alone, needing help in a way he couldn’t or wouldn’t admit. Now he sat before her, revitalized and helping others, and in the way she’d wanted to assist him: to give him a second chance. It was because of that quality that he’d chosen her.

“You have your rules,” the man countered her. “And you have a chance to save a life.” Though his tone didn’t change, the look in eyes implored her, and Carter knew she’d break her rules, within reason, to help him save someone’s life. She didn’t have it in her not to.

He stood up and slipped a phone into her hand, his fingertips lingering a few seconds longer than necessary. “I’ll be in touch,” he promised.

Carter looked at the phone and then watched him walk away. However he knew what he knew, whatever help she could provide, she wanted to know more and would try to help him save Andrea Guiterrez.

She sat at the table a few more moments, replaying the conversation with him over and over in her mind. He confounded her, piqued her curiosity, raised questions she knew she’d likely never get the answers to, interested her in a way she’d never felt before. And in that instant, Carter knew her life would never be the same.

Also on Ao3 here

[winslet-navarro]

BASICS:

full name: winslet eversley nickname(s): win, winnie birthday: november 16th, 1992 age: thirty one gender: cis-female sexuality: heterosexual occupation: owner of exotic elegance & stripper at bare necessities education: high school diploma location: midtown

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE:

hair colour: dark brown eye colour: dark brown height: 5 foot 6 inches tattoos/piercings: ‘noah’ tattooed on her left wrist, both earlobes pieced, belly button piercing  scars: c-section birthmarks: N/A

HISTORY:

TW: domestic abuse, sex work Born the second eldest daughter and fourth child overall to a shameless drunk who spent more time on a bar stool than at home looking after his family. The Navarro patriarch just won’t die and for that, Winslet will be forever annoyed. The Navarro Matriarch was useless and liked her illicit substances more than she liked spending time with the children she created. For as long as she can remember, Winnie and her siblings have been alone in the world. Winnie will still speak somewhat fondly of her childhood because she had her brothers and sisters to lean on. Sure, they practically had to raise themselves but at least they had each other while they did it. The eldest Navarro did her best to shield the younger kids, however, with parents like Dick and Kelly they really didn’t have any change of normalcy in their lives. Winslet is a middle child and has always leaned into the middle child syndrome stereotype. She often felt forgotten. Definitely by her parents and sometimes even by her surrogate parental figure - her older sister Michaela. Due to this, she sought acceptance, attention and even love from others outside the Navarro family home. Winslet would openly date any boy who gave her a sliver of attention during high school. Often ending up in toxic and even abusive relationships. More than once, she returned home with a black eye or bruised lip only to have her older siblings and twin question who had done that to her. If she told them, they would grab the closest item that could be used as a weapon and hunt down the boy who dared raise a hand to a Navarro. Winslet would say she would do better, to not seek acceptance in the love of a boy. Yet only weeks later the cycle would start again. This went on until Winslet saw the very distinct pink lines of a pregnancy test when she was only sixteen years old. By seventeen, she’d had her son; Noah and the father was long gone. She was nothing but a warm hole for him. This was the point that she knew she would need to be better. Be a better parent to her child than the parents she had experienced. She would provide in any way she could. Her older siblings were angels in the early years of Noah’s life, helping to baby sit whenever she had to work. Winslet got a job waitressing at the Rizzo’s Diner. She was making barely enough to survive but she was doing her best. One night, older very well-dressed gentlemen had come into the diner and sat in her section. She approached with a smile and spent the next hour filling his coffee whenever it was needed. Chatting to him about his day and his work. Before she knew it, she had an offer. The arrangement was simple. Nothing sexual to start with. Winslet would accompany him on dates. Talk to him about his life and hers. Go to dinners at fancy restaurants. She would be his sugar baby. It was an arrangement that she jumped at and she quickly quit her job. This was the best way she would have the funds to provide for her son and help her family financially. This arrangement went on for several years and she truly became friends with this man. When their relationship did turn sexual, she didn’t even mind. She was attracted to him. He was a silver fox type, dressed well and was always clean. So why not. She had savings, she had financial freedom and she didn’t have to worry. When Winslet turned 23 the arrangement came to an end. By that point, Winslet had some savings but not enough to sustain the new lifestyle she now led. She jumped at the opportunity to work at the local strip club Bare Necessities. She knew what she looked like. She knew she was desirable and she used these factors as a way to manipulate men to her whim. Soon she was raking in the money again. It’s been several years since. Now, she’s a business owner having purchased the local sex shop Exotic Elegance with the savings she had managed to make. She still secretly works at the strip club a new nights a week, keeping this factor away from her family and her son

[fadedstarsfms]

Adelaide Moretti Intro

★ IN CHARACTER ★

FULL NAME: Adelaide Moretti SPECIES: Werewolf (original) AGE: Appears 30, actually ??? DATE OF BIRTH: Late Fall GENDER IDENTITY: Cis Woman NEIGHBORHOOD: Hidden Hills OCCUPATION: Bookseller at The Bookshelf POSITIVE TRAITS: Self-reliant, Adventurous, Loyal NEGATIVE TRAITS: Rebellious, Secretive, Self-indulgent SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Bisexual LENGTH OF TIME IN RAVEN’S PEAK: Too Long TATTOOS: She has her siblings initials on her inner upper arm FACE CLAIM: Olivia Cooke

★ BIOGRAPHY ★

TRIGGER WARNING: fire tw, death tw, slight suicide tw, murder tw Adelaide was born screaming in this world, making herself heard by everyone around.  It only continued as she grew older as she refused to be drowned out by her siblings.  She had fire in her blood and it showed in the magic she wielded.  Sure Adelaide was soon known as a bit of a troublemaker but in her eyes being in trouble at least made her be seen by those around her.  She had expectations as a Moretti but Adelaide had no interest in upholding them, only agreeing to get married because her siblings asked her.  In fact her siblings were practically the only people she would do anything for.   Frankly she didn't care about the growing tensions between her family and the others, all she cared about was that her family must be right because they were family.  So she didn't think to really say anything in deterrence to temper with the stone even if she didn't think it was a great idea. But soon the entire family was plagued by sickness and it was the first time that Adelaide was truly scared.  Scared that she was going to lose everything she loved. Luckily the family survived but it wasn't without a cost.  They lost their magic that they held close and instead were plagued by a monthly curse.  Adelaide's rebellious nature only got worse as the anger grew in her.  As time went by she felt like she got better controlling her emotions more, or at least wasn't letting it dictate her actions as much as it was, however it was clear to all around them that they weren't aging.  And nothing Adelaide could do could stop that no matter how much she tried.  So she decided to accept it and make it everyone else's problems. Spending the countless years Adelaide did as her own heart and wants told her.  Whether that was changing people out of boredom or killing people she deemed deserved it, Adelaide lived by her own code.  Sure she came back to Raven's Peak every so often but no matter where Adelaide was nothing felt like home to her anymore.  The only thing that truly calmed her down was when she got to see her family after some time away, so she hopes that maybe if she can stay long enough she would get to run across them again soon.

★ WANTED CONNECTIONS ★

Sires - Adelaide gets bored and frankly loves turning people into werewolves. So if you want one she's here to provide

Friends - She's been alive for a long time and frankly she likes making herself known where ever she is. So please be friends with her

Enemies - On the flip side there's no way this girl doesn't have any enemies, she gets on way too many people's nerves. Come hate her.

Literally anything romantic - She doesn't tend to do relationships BUT it would be fun to see her put down her guard in the past or now. Or if you just want hookups she's great for that

Anything please come love her

★ PLAYLIST ★

Salt In The Wound by boygenius

King by Florence + the Machine

Running Up That Hill by Kate Bush

Broken Man by St. Vincent

Perfect (Exceeder) by Mason ft. Princess Superstar

Everybody Wants To Rule The Wold by Tears For Fears

Motion Sickness by Phoebe Bridgers

Sinner by The Last Dinner Party

The Execution of All Things by Rilo Kiley

Angel of Small Death and the Codeine Scene by Hozier

[vengefvlx]

PART I: CHARACTER BASICS

Faceclaim: Adeline Rudolph 

 Name: Cadence “Cadie” Kentwell 

Age: 25 Gender: Cis Female 

Home: District 2 

Role: Victor of the 66th Games  and Mentor 

Personality: Intimidating, Chaotic, ruthless, loyal, determined

Song:   Glory and Gore by Lorde

PART II: CHARACTER BIOGRAPHY

Mentions of killing, death

Cadence Kentwell was born into a long line of Kentwells that believed they were better than the rest. It was drilled in to them that you either went into the games or you became a peacekeeper. And so Cadie found herself being enrolled in the District 2 training academy before she knew it. Of course she loved it. She had grown up thinking that the best way to be the best was via the games. Her one goal was volunteering and winning the games. And she was going to let noting get in the way.

Of course it was hard. Cadie was small. A lot smaller than most of her fellow peers. And so they underestimated her. They didn’t think she was good enough. That was just bait to Cadie. She was determined to show that she was better than them, and that she didn’t need the advantage of being tall. Being small gave her advantages of her own anyway. Cadie quickly learnt that being agile and quick on her feet could help her overcome some of the biggest tributes.

Cadence was also lethal at long distance. Up close, her height was a disadvantage. But Cadie learnt to use knives and spears to her advantage. The weapons soon became her weapon of choice, and Cadie soon rose to being an actual player in the training academy.

When the time came to it, she never actually got to volunteer. She was 17 years of age when she was reaped. Each year there were people that were supposed to volunteer. Nobody volunteered for Cadence. But the girl was not surprised. She had made no effort in making friends in her years at the academy. What she didn’t understand was why someone would waste their one opportunity to claim glory, to let her go into the games instead. She supposed she knew that they probably thought she wouldn’t make it.

But she proved them wrong. Cadence won. She'd never doubted herself. And so she returned home with her head held high. Of course, deep down she was never the same. There was something that came with killing other people her own age. She didn't regret anything that she had done. She'd had to survive. But, something had changed inside of her.

And returning home was difficult. Re-adjusting to life was difficult. She supposed the only thing that kept her head above water was training her younger sister. Clove Kentwell was 7 years younger than Candence. She supposed that was a good thing, because Clove was just as thirsty for the win as she herself had been, and she wouldn't have put it past Clove volunteering in her sisters place.

So Cadie spent most of her time preparing and personally training her sister. She didn't know if Clove would get reaped or picked to volunteer, but she wanted to make sure that she was ready. They had no real other family. Whilst they came from a long line of Kentwells, they had no actual immediate family. Clove was everything she had. And she was going to make sure she wouldn't lose her if she did go in the games. Of course she idea that she could have left Clove all alone if she’d died in her own games hadn’t crossed her mind until after she’d won her games.

But she did. Candence lost Clove. She wasn't surprised when Clove volunteered. She had to one up her big sister after all. But, what did surprise Candence was when Clove was killed. It was like a sucker punch to her heart. And the worst bit was that Cadence hadn't been able to react. She had a ice cold bitch reputation, and all eyes, and cameras had been on her. She hadn't been able to mourn her sister.

Not until she had returned to two anyway. The moment she stepped off that train she had locked herself away in her Victors house. It felt more like a prison than a Victor house though. She spent most of the next year here, unless required to be else where. And then she plastered the fake smile onto her face, and tried to make people believe nothing was wrong.

Only those who truly knew Cadence would be able to tell. And there was really not many of those people left. Cadence had never been a very trusting person, and so, with Clove lying in a grave, there were not many people left in this world for her.

She supposes that is what makes her a perfect mentor for the Quarter Quell Games. Though she could kill any of the rest of the District Two team for not giving her a year off this year. It was what she deserved after the heart ache of last year. But she once again finds herself thrown into mentoring. At least this time she doesn't particuarly care if  District Two win.

Once upon a time all Cadence Kentwell cared about was making her district proud. Now she just wants to survive.

[bubbelpop2]

(stick around, this addition will sound questionable sometimes until the end of it)

I think that this inherently ties in with the fear of men in general. There's no way of knowing if a man is positively or toxically masculine until you really get to know them. And so men are just sort of.. feared by default. And even if you do know someone, men can be scary, period-- even if they don't mean to be. Which is a valid reality worth addressing. Cis men, Masc Trans women, Masc Cis women, and Masc Trans men tend to be.. well, intimidating. And that doesn't give your friends the right to abandon you, but I think it's worth addressing when trying to tackle a problem like this.

(I am a man with a uterus, by the way.)

Masculine people who tend to not be very expressive tend to appear unapproachable, and there's a little bit of a personality change (not by much, but it would be noticable to those closest to you) that comes with being on T. You may be happier. You may be louder. You may be angrier. You may speak less. You may speak more. You may be harder to read in general, by people who are far more used to your old mannerisms. There are a lot of different reasons as to why someone might disconnect with you after transition, and they're best dealt with by being asked about directly. Someone may not know exactly why they don't click with you as much as they used to.

If someone specifically cites your gender as the reason for them being uncomfortable around you, that is... Morally grey. It's not great, and on the bad side of Tumblr (t3rfs) it's used as a primary tool of ostracization-- but from a person who lives in a rural conservative area, with several close relatives who have experienced abuse and SA.. I get it. It may have much more to do with the fact that you're masculine than the fact that you're trans.

It might be some innate thing that you've learned without knowing it, as a means to keep yourself safe, especially if you're queer in a rural area. That's okay. Being afraid of masculinity is valid in such an age where the average cishet man is, let's face it-- not that great, and very capable of hurting you for any reason. It's really a survival tactic to try and sense whether or not someone is safe to be around when you think a stranger is a cis guy.

Even so, it is in no way ever acceptable to ask anyone to try and be more feminine for your comfort.

Your personal phobia of masculinity or men or whatever never gives you the excuse to treat your old friends like shit, and it definitely doesn't excuse telling them to act more feminine. What the fuck is wrong with you. You need to address your own internal issues when it comes to fearing men. Not project those issues onto your friends to try and change them.

Your personal feelings regarding a situation do not have to translate into hurtful words and actions. You are responsible for not being a dick whether you are conditioned to fear men or not. (And you should probably unpack those feelings.)

I'm obviously not saying that you need to trust every masc presenting person you see just because they might be a trans woman or a trans man or queer, but dude. You can't exclude people from queer spaces just for being outwardly masc.

(also if you find some way to twist my words to attack masculine or non passing transfems just break your keyboard. They are wonderful and they are women. If you think they're a man at first glance, a passing fear is only a human response, especially if you've felt personally traumatized by men.

But trans women aren't men. And to let that fear develop into actions that clearly display rejection and disgust and disrespect, even after you learn they're a woman? Gross.

I had a fear of all women (cis and trans) for a long time. I've always felt more comfortable around masc people. But it never stopped me from at least trying to welcome women so i could judge them by their character instead of gender. Why is it okay to be a dick just because you have a fear of men? If you swapped the genders that shit would be demonized.)

Anyways, do not in any way try to misinterpret my language to hurt trans women or cis/trans men. I think men's issues and the issues of people who get clocked as masculine should be cared about way fucking more than they are now. Nobody should like, demonize or ostracize people for being masculine. Men's issues matter. Men's feelings matter. And honestly? Transphobia that affects both trans men and women would be a lot easier to tackle if more people were willing to address how the patriarchy affects and isolates men within an intimidating role. I don't wanna be the "men's rights/not all men" guy but, man. You need to care about men if you want to care about feminism and transphobia. Not all men or outwardly masculine presenting people are gonna kill you on sight.

tried to vent in a trans space about how, as a trans man who’s been on T for a long time (over 7 years now), i have noticed that the more i pass as a man, the less welcomed i am in queer spaces unless i go out of my way to feminize myself. and how that sucks! and it’s isolating!!! and it feels horrible to see ppl who used to like you and be close to you drift further and further the more masculine (& therefore more comfortable in urself) u become…

only to get ppl replying to me and saying “well if you dressed more fem then ppl wouldn’t be intimidated by you. you signed up for this”

i’m sorry but i didnt sign up for social isolation when i transitioned, i signed up for gender euphoria and comfort in myself and my life. and i had hoped that the ppl in my life would be able to see how much joy that brings me and continue to love me.

[feastonkings]

boyd holbrook / he/him ——— no way is that FINNEGAN ‘FINN’ O’CONNOR.. they’re a 37-year-old HUMAN notoriously known for being ABRASIVE & UNHINGED but there are some people who have seen them being LOYAL & DEPENDABLE. if you ask me, they remind me a lot of a blood tinted smile, embracing the darkness to become limitless, the roar of a beast within hungry for more, fanning the flames of violence, and a taunting laugh, but that could just be because they’re considered the BLOOD KNIGHT around town. just keep an eye on them & see if their true colors shine through..

GENERAL.

full name: finnegan patrick o'connor nicknames: ireland, finn (preferred name) classification: enhanced human gender / pronouns: cis man, he/him age / birthday: 37, march 27th orientations: bisexual, homoromantic occupation: capo for skyport mafia & co-owner of exposed circuits location: middle district status: single family: patrick o'connor (father), margaret march (mother, unknown), kirby (half sibling), several half siblings and cousins strengths: hard-working, loyal, dependable, stoic, protective weaknesses: abrasive, unhinged, sadistic, violent, stubborn character inspo: tba

BIOGRAPHY.

tw: violence, child abuse, addiction, murder, implied homophobia, neglect

born in a chicago prison to a drug addicted sex worker, finnegan o'connor was destined to walk the wrong path from the beginning. patrick o’connor, his father, escaped as a fugitive to america from ireland. He was on the run after being arrested on suspicions of his involvement with the irish mafia. very true accusations, hence why he ran.

in the states, patrick kept his ties with his mafia family back home, running weapons, taking people out, making explosives, and getting rid of whatever other contraband they needed to move outside the country. by the time the guards handed him finn, he had already become a well known name in chicago for all the wrong reasons.

with his father knee deep in international crime, one would assume that they had money but it never seemed like Ffnn or any of his siblings got any benefit from it. they lived in the southside, in a house that should have been condemned long before they occupied it but there were not many city workers brave enough to enter their area.

his mother was non-existent, most of his younger siblings related to him through his father. if finn were to sit down and think about it, he probably has a lot more brothers and sisters out there. the money for food Patrick gave whatever woman he was seeing at the time rarely made it into the kitchen. they were expected to eat what was there, or find some other way to feed themselves. it was a damn miracle any of them survived at all but somehow they managed.

once they were all old enough for school, they had a system down and were already involved in the family business in one way or another.

his volatile home environment offered little nurture there and love was non-existent. he only ever learned a few things: don’t talk to the cops, don’t ask stupid questions, protect the family, and do whatever his father says. the last one was key, because if you didn’t listen you were sure to feel it. which may happen regardless if his father was in one of his moods.

he would claim finn needed to learn some lessons and over time, it became normal. crying or showing any type of emotion made you weak in his eyes so finn learned early on to bottle it up and find other ways to express pain. usually it was through violence, picking fights with anyone who would oblige him. by his teen years he would add substances into the mix to drown the demons or induce a short period of numbness to escape.

finn went to school when he felt like it and wasn’t much of the academic type. as far as he was concerned, by the time he hit ninth grade he had learned everything he needed to for life. he spent most of his time terrorizing fellow students, stealing what he wanted from them and beating the piss out of anyone who messed with family or looked at him wrong. his fuse has always been short, and his first reaction was and often still is violence, it excited him.

otherwise, he was doing work for the family business or running around in the streets of chicago. sometimes this meant partying with friends and associates, other times it meant running and hiding from the cops. he ran from cops like he ran from his feelings and he was damn good at it, for the most part.

things changed when patrick was arrested and five of the children currently living with him were put into the system. finn tried to get as many paired off as possible to keep them together. he'd done his best to look out for his younger siblings when he could, as the oldest he took a bit of responsibility in it, only a little bit though. over time they all had their own agenda and were angry and bitter just like him.

the plan had always been to get out of chicago. once he turned eighteen he could take a sibling or two and they could head anywhere and start over. get a better life with clean air and sunshine in a place where the name o'connor had nothing attached to it. dreams were just dreams, though and at the end of the day finn should've known patrick would find a way to fuck it all up.

all he'd wanted was to take advantage of the empty house for once and then get what was his before his father returned. instead, he was interrupted mid-session with his boyfriend axel who he'd been seeing for awhile. drunk, hateful, and barely coherent, a mixture of strong irish laced slurs fell from his father's mouth. no son of mine is going to end up becoming a string of gay slurs and other remarks. where was everyone else? he had a business to run, was this why wasn't finn taking care of it while he was gone? a worthless failure just like the rest of his offspring.

finn tried to push axel out while his father rambled on. he wouldn't admit it, but axel was the first person he made an attempt at some real kind of relationship that wasn't filled with toxic sewer waste with. his father stopped axel from leaving, and threw him across the room like a ragdoll. he hit finn with several strong fists and pulled his gun on both of them, forcing them to stay in the room.

when patrick returned, he brought a woman with him who happened to be a sex worker. he gave him the ultimatum to sleep with her and 'prove he was a man'. knowing his trigger happy pops, finn did as he said trying not to look at his frightened boyfriend still sitting in the room. he regretted it, because the other got up and once again tried to flee. finn stopped what he was doing to try and prevent his father from doing anything but it was pointless.

patrick beat finn to the brink of unconsciousness, just before things went black he watched him unload the pistol into axel. when he came to the body was gone and he was forced to clean up the mess left behind. his father screamed at him, calling him every slur in the book and told him to get his shit together or he wasn’t his son. for some reason finn stayed around for another month, practically a drone while he healed, blocking out everything around him.

it wasn't long before patrick noticed and confronted finn again. when finn started to pay attention to what he was saying, it was like he woke up. he pushed the older man away from him. patrick stepped forward and raised an empty bottle in his hand to strike, but this time a hand caught his wrist.

something snapped inside finn, he was not going to take any more of his father's bullshit. years of pent up rage, resentment, and pure unadulterated anger poured out of him as he laid into the only man he'd ever feared. blinded by the rage, he didn’t remember who pulled him off his father or if he stopped on his own. all he noticed was patrick didn’t appear to be breathing and a female voice yelling she’d called 911. the next thing he heard was the sirens.

he got up and ran as fast as he could, but this time he couldn’t hide from the pursuit of the police. they caught up with him hiding behind a local bar and threw him to the ground, arresting him. the charges were attempted murder and possession of an illegal firearm. “so, the asshole lived?” was the only response he gave and laughed as they put him into the car.

since he was seventeen, they were able to charge him as an adult. he had a chance to change that if he was willing to give them information on patrick and his involvement with the mob. of course, even after everything the man had done to him and his siblings, finn was no snitch. the judge took the long history provided by the social worker assigned to the o’connor family into account, giving him a sentence of only five years versus the max of fifteen.

he took the sentence with a smile, going away for five years wasn't hard. prison was not that bad of a place in comparison to what he was used to. it was clean, full of people he could relate to, and he was served three hot meals a day. he was cold and numb for the first few months, but soon enough he'd built a reputation for himself as someone who could get any job done and wasn’t to be messed with.

he made some quick money once he was free and a car, not looking to go back home ever again. finn took off to texas, with the promise of a job he'd be good at from his cell mate who'd been involved with the mob down there. soon enough he was in dallas, with new documents and a capo position with the skyport mafia.

over the next several years he built up his name again, as someone who is ruthless, sadistic, and to be feared with enemies. to some he was a protector and others just saw him as a weapon. truly finn could give a fuck less what anyone thought.

he co-owns exposed circuits and enjoys the services they're able to provide the public. some of his siblings, even ones he hadn't known before, have popped out of the woodwork and some cousins too. finn looks out from them from afar, but he's not much of the loving type. protective if they deserve it, and cold otherwise.

HEADCANONS.

has an all black with dark green leather interior vintage dodge charger named morticia

among his many tattoos his body is riddled with scars both old and new, the worst being on his back from the times he was whipped with the buckle side of a belt

he has a hard time looking in the mirror long because he has his father's eyes and similar features

he hasn't had any sort of real relationship since before he went to prison.

finn prefers knives to guns, despite being a hell of a shot. he likes to drag out his encounters, even when it doesn't call for it.

more to come

[ofwrxth]

CHARACTER BASICS

Name: Nolan Thorne

Age & Birthday: 29, June 24

Gender/Pronouns: Cis Man, He & Him

Birthplace: The Wards

Current Residence: The Wards

Role: Runner, glorified handyman around The Wards lol

Positive personality traits: adaptable, diligent, innovative, resilient,

Negative personality traits: bitter, incisive, restless, self-sabotaging

ABOUT

Nolan grew up in the wards with parents Lydia and Victor. They worked with the TPC for years and years, becoming trusted runners. However, when Nolan was just five when the truth about his parents TPC involvement was uncovered by (WC – older member?). For years his parents been skimming off profits and resources for themselves from runs. They'd even sold a few TPC secrets to Vanguard for a hefty payout, resulting in some runs gone sideways but them remaining unscathed at the cost of TPC lives. This included the Port Nexus Slaughter (where Vanguard took out fifteen members of TPC because of information leaked).

TPC leadership at the time reacted strongly, making an example of his parents for the sake of the greater good. They said that the only way The Phoenix Collective survives is if their secrets are safe and their ranks fall in line. Unity was the only way forward and they couldn't allow those who'd profited off of their own to continue. So yeah his parents were floated in a controversial decision that some TPC were for and others were against.

Nolan, for his part, was just a kid. Five years old and given to the care of the community. He was shuffled from place to place, never lasting long with anyone family within TPC. Some people resented his name for the losses they'd suffered because of his parents turn-coat nature, others felt sorry for the boy.

As he grew up, Nolan tried to prove himself – that he was different from the legacy his parents left. He was anger at his parents for what they'd done. For leaving him. He was angry at TPC for not giving a second chance. For not accepting him fully as he got older. He wrestled with the why of his parents actions for years and still does at times. He was bitter and full of self-doubt that he was different from them. He struggled with anger whenever anyone spoke poorly of his parents, but he also struggled with the need to show that he wasn't like them at all.

Over the years, however, Nolan has done his best to contribute to TPC, finding that it's the only place he knows how to belong to. It doesn't even feel like a choice anymore. Just a fact of life. He's a bit more clever than people give him credit for, always assuming that his stature means he prefers to fight (he doesn't mind), but he's actually quite adept at rigging power grids and ventilation systems to to help their community, or siphoning water from the upper levels down to them. Station maintenance usually fixes his hacks but he still does them around The Wards, trying to contribute.

A name is a powerful thing, and while not everyone held it against Nolan, some people did and it slowed his progress to a trusted runner. Which he's now become. Some people still doubt him. Some people still make snide comments. But he does his best to keep his anger in check, to prove he's different and contribute to the cause.

CONNECTIONS

WHISTLEBLOWER – However, when Nolan was just five when the truth about his parents TPC involvement was uncovered by. Maybe it's a member who was in their teens or early 20s at the time (so they're older now) and they figured out what his parents were do/revealed the truth to higher ups. Maybe they didn't know that the reaction would be so extreme. Maybe they did.

SINS OF THE FATHER – This person (people) lost a loved one(s) because of Nolan's parents. Logically, they know he didn't have anything to do with it (being a child at the time), but they can't help their snide remarks.

SECOND CHANCES – Friend(s) of Nolan who bite back on his behalf when people are derisive.

SIBLING – Nolan doesn't need a younger sibling but if someone wants to bring in a sister or a brother, I would be open to discussing dynamics!

RANDOM SIDE NOTE – I was thinking that leadership 24ish years ago was different from the Alvarez family and maybe the decision to float Nolan's parents caused a ripple affect (that it was too harsh?) and ended up costing those in power their leadership positions down the line and it eventually went to Alvarez in some capacity before Santi (or maybe to Santi directly but he'd've been 24 so maybe NPC dad? – Just a thought)

[bitehq]

✕ ⸻ 𝙳𝙾𝙽'𝚃 𝙻𝙴𝚃 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙳𝙴𝙰𝙳 𝙱𝙸𝚃𝙴 𝚈𝙾𝚄, SAFIYA LAKHANI...

...but just in case, keeks, you have 24 hours to tell us your preferred resting place. nice to see you around, amber rose revah look-alike !

⸻ OOC INFO:

keeks, 20+, any pronouns, est, no major triggers ;

⸻   BASIC

amber rose revah. 37. cis woman. she / her. ― i see you met SAFIYA LAKHANI, huh? they have been around for… well, it will be SEVEN YEARS, now. time flies when you are busy and as part of THE COUNCIL, they are. if you want to meet them, they live in B1A1D, i think. people say they are CONSIDERATE + FORTHRIGHT, but don’t piss them off, okay? because they can be also CLOSED OFF + OVERBEARING, so be safe. 

⸻  BACKGROUND

TW: mentions of death/murder. suggestions of domestic violence, abuse ;

the world was her oyster & things always came easy with loving parents. freshly 18, safiya met her soon-to-be husband in college. what felt like a fairytale come true soon led to her dropping out a year out from graduation. 

marriage was not the whirlwind romance she had expected. her husband's behavior was intercepted by days of how, and who, they used to be— young & in love to the point of obsession and dependence. everytime she thought of leaving, something would draw her back in like an illness she couldn't quite shake. 

her world flipped on its head when she had her first child. jonah was the real love of her life; her lack of a profession allowed herself to fully dedicate all she had to him. it fixed things, for a while. the idealistic housewife life her husband had always dreamt for her. if she didn't quite fit into her marriage, as least she fit as a mother. safiya found peace with never being anything more than that. 

the end of the world— or what had been— signified a turning point in her marriage. their apartment building found itself overrun with the undead. being only 3 floors up was their saving grace. the idea of escape was fleeting. from him. from this life. from their newfound circumstances.

their family, jonah just shy of 10, survived with another group eventually. other families had taken up residence in an old community center. they boarded up their walls and turned people away. they scavanged and fought and protected. and for a long time, things were alright. until they weren't. 

other groups of survivors were an inevitable byproduct of societal collapse. other hostile groups of survivors were a reality her group was ill-prepared to confront. it wasn't long until every man and boy over 10 was rounded up.

safiya soon left behind her group of widows and mourning mothers. she had nothing to offer them besides her anger. not to those women, who were trying so desperately to live and not just survive. what was left for her but the bitter taste of her loss, and the biting guilt of who she didn't mourn? two years were spent in aimless survival. she ran into many faces on the way, whether it was friend or foe. she took mental stock of each and every one. what did it take them to survive? what had she been lacking?

she contemplated turning back and potentially searching for her parents. but years of silence, even in the end, seemed un-rectifiable. she had no real home anymore. those women she had left behind had never been friends to begin with. it was all just a means of staying alive, and even that could be snuffed out at any second. be it the dead, or otherwise. there was nowhere she truly belonged— until she came across the domus spei. 

⸻  HEADCANONS

HAIR. when she first arrived in the safe zone, safiya's curls were haphazardly cut in a close crop just above her ears. she's the first to tell you, "hair holds memories." as time has gone on and years have passed by, only around her half a decade anniversary of arrival did she start letting it grow out. now its just past her shoulders, and she can be quite sentimental about cutting it. 

PHOTOS. during the early days of survival, just barely packing enough to get by as her family abandoned their apartment, safiya had grabbed one thing. she had slipped a photo of her and jonah at his eighth birthday out of its frame. during the years on her own, she would sleep with it pressed between her palms. although it is a stinging reminder, the photo is her most prized possession. it remains folded up and tucked away in whatever pocket she has available. 

WHISTLING. it had been a way her first community, or what had been left of it, kept track of one another. a simple few notes that mimicked a bird call many of them could only hear in that region. she wasn't sure why she remembered it, or held onto it so many years later. maybe it was a way of coping. or trying to remember what once was. when its quiet and she hopes to pass the time, you can catch her whistling it to herself over and over. 

⸻  WANTED CONNECTION

OLD FRIEND NOW REUNITED. whether it was someone from her first community, or a face she got to know during her two quiet years of travel, safiya would be conflicted to see them. she split from place to place so quickly, never allowing grief to consume her. whether the reunion is hostile or bittersweet— its a harsh reminder that you can't run from your past. 

[rviner]

Name: Fenix 'Fox' Lennox

Age & Birthday: 29 years old, July 20th 1994

Gender/Pronouns: Cis Man / He/Him

Birthplace: New Orleans, Louisiana

Time in Hollow Cove: (Jan 2024)

Species: Werewolf - Visser pack / Vaisman Pack

Role: Supply Depot

Positive personality traits: loving, creative, energetic

Negative personality traits: over-thinking, nervous, self-deprecating

ABOUT

Fenix wasn't born or raised within a pack. Instead, his life began when his mother entrusted her new born baby with an elder wolf that lived in secrecy within the French Quarters of New Orleans. Nana Lu is what Fenix grew to call her, and he was raised only knowing two things about his birth mother. Her name was Penelope-Jane, and she was only eighteen when she gave birth to him. But life was sweet enough with just him and Nana Lu, and Fenix never felt the burning desire to look for his mother. He accepted that she made a choice when he was born, and that he had everything he needed right where he was. Money was tight, but love was in abundance. And Nana Lu's old and traditional values of family and the world around them passed off onto Fenix, making him an older soul in a young body. He eventually considered himself a misfit because of it, never truly finding his place within the world and not just because of his wolf gene.

Music was Fenix's passion and escapism, and it was all around him in New Orleans with the backdrop of Jazz history. He balanced his life as a wolf with his human way of existing, hating that he kept a secret from people that became friends. It was over these years that he earned the affectionate nickname Fox, it sticking so much so that he rarely introduces himself by his real name to this day. A natural separation happened from Fox and Nana Lu during this time as he ventured to learn about himself and was drawn into a non-stop lifestyle of being a musician. It's now something he regrets as in 2015, Nana Lu succumbed to her old age and Fox still wishes he spent more time with her than the unfulfilling and empty void of chasing a dream. He was all alone then, left her apartment in her will but having to truly fend for himself for the first time in his life. Fox lost his way entirely until two years later, in 2017, the arrival of the Vaismans gave him a new lease of life. He joined them, forging close bonds with other members of the pack.

Specifically with Jasmine Madden, a girl so sweet that Fox's heart leapt out of his chest the moment they met. But, friendship was all he could settle for when he watched a slow building relationship blossom between her and Ruben. A wolf so different to her that he could see her bending to try and fit, and it's only seemed to get worse since the war. Ruben, Fox and Jasmine were separated in the chaos of the fires and Fox has no idea how he's survived for this long. His nervous disposition makes him better prey than predator, and he doesn't even have stealth as an advantage considering his clumsiness.

Like many things in Fox's life, a happy accident occurred when the three of them were found by the Vissers. Fox is well aware that he's the last sort of wolf they would want, and he's also well aware that he's in over his head. For some strange reason, his nifty gift of hotwiring his camper van (from being too broke to take it to a shop) has given him an advantage with the wolves. His other strength comes in the form of Jasmine, wanting to remain by her side and show her that she doesn't need to change just because the world has. Even if it means he has to pretend to be fearless, his terrified scream resounding under the fierce Visser shouts.