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lihikainanea · 6 years ago

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Something in the BFF!Bill storyline that I had kicking around in my head today. It’s not chronological to where I’m at in their saga, this happened before they boinked each other’s brains out.

It’s been a weird mental health day today, and sometimes I can find comfort in writing the comfort I think I need, if that makes sense. It seems to have worked.

And I think it’s important to note, when it comes to these two doofuses--that he has pulled tiger out of a lot of shit; but she has definitely done the same for him.

We’ve all got demons, don’t we?

*** He never exploded, which you could never decide if that was a good thing or not. Bill was imposing enough physically that if he had a temper added on top of that, he would be downright terrifying. But when he snapped--a rare occurrence in itself--but when he had truly had enough, his silent rage, the way he got so quiet, was somehow even more scary.

He was an open book if you knew him well, he wore his heart on his sleeve but always kept it guarded to his chest, choosing who he showed that side to. He was easy enough to read once he let you in, everything was always in his eyes. He was big on eye contact, you learned quickly, always seeking it out and pressing you for it when you spoke to him. And when he wasn’t in front of you, when you didn’t have his eyes to read, you learned to pay attention to the tone of his voice.

His tone was why your blood ran cold the minute you answered the phone.

“Hi,” was his curt greeting, “how are you?”

When Bill snapped--the rare occasion when he well and truly snapped at something, when his mind won the battle he’d been fighting sometimes for weeks and couldn’t take it anymore--his tone became sterile. Tactical. Almost mechanical.

“Are you okay?” you asked immediately.

“No,” it was dry, direct. “I need you here.” “Okay,” you hauled a duffle bag out of your closet, already shoving clothes into it blindly.

“I have a flight lined up for you. Can you be at the airport in an hour?”

“Yes,” you did a quick mental recall, trying to remember where he was. Yes, yes he wasn’t far for this one. Just one timezone over and the flight was maybe 3 hours.

“Okay. I’ll text you the boarding pass. My assistant will meet you when you land and bring you to set. I still have a few hours I need to be here,” like a drill sergeant. Cold. Factual. Completely devoid of emotion.

“Bill, I don’t need details, but tell me...something. Are you hurt?” you tried not to panic, but a cold sweat was breaking out on your neck.

“No. But I’m done.”

“You’re done?”

“I’m done, tiger,” he said, “I’ll see you soon,” and with a curt farewell, you hung up the phone. An Uber arrived at your apartment before you could even order one.

You knew what he meant by done. He had been working on a project with a director that, for the first time in his career, he wasn’t clicking with. While Bill adored your fire and grit, he had a hard time processing and relating to people who he found cruel or who harboured excessive, irrational anger. This director, when you pressed Bill for details, was making his life a living hell. Never happy with the takes while simultaneously not being able to tell the actors what he wanted to see, flying off the hook at the entire crew, pushing the actors beyond the limits of their comfort zones without creating a safe space on the working set. Bill had been FaceTiming you a lot more than usual on this gig, and each time he looked more and more stressed. His empathic side, one that he relied on so heavily in his life, was in shambles. Bill was a sponge in most social situations, reading people and absorbing their energies. When surrounded with nothing but negativity, nothing but anger and blind rage and criticisms, he disappeared into his own head and sometimes had trouble puling himself back out of it.

From the sounds of it, just from a phone call, he had snapped. He was, you knew, in the midst of a mental breakdown that was the result of a nightmare director, a project he had originally been so excited to work on, and his own demons. Bill’s mind was a complex place, and for as much kindness and gentleness that he showed you in your friendship, he sometimes forgot to treat himself the same way.

You texted him when you boarded, again when you landed. You texted him when his assistant ushered you into a car, hopping in the driver’s seat and taking off. He hadn’t responded. The drive to set was under the half hour mark, and the car had barely stopped before you were out and trying to find him. There was no scene in action, but the director was yelling anyway. You cringed.

One of Bill’s buttons--few as they were, but easy to push--was yelling. Belligerent, aggressive yelling.

You couldn’t find Bill, instead hearing murmurings from the crew of an actor that had snapped. Had walked off, mid scene, and locked himself in a bathroom stall. Had refused to come back out, like a diva. Wasn’t answering his phone. Was wasting everybody’s time on set like an arrogant prick, as they waited for this delicate flower of an actor to get his shit together. You seethed. They were all glancing in the same area, a hallway slightly to the right of the enormous green screen. You headed that way, and stopped in front of the last door. You texted Bill to unlock it, but he didn’t respond. Grabbing a bobby pin from your bag, you jimmied the lock just enough and slammed your palm into it. The door creaked open.

Bill was scrunched up in the furthest corner on the floor, his legs bent at sharp angles and his knees coming up under his chin. Cigarette butts littered the floor around him, a lit one between his fingers. He didn’t move to put it out as he usually would, when he saw you.

“Hey bud,” you said. You approached him, slowly, as one would an unpredictable animal.

“Hey, kid,” he said. His voice was still devoid of emotion, and his look terrified you. His usually expressive eyes were stone, his jaw locked, his entire face was ice.

You knelt in front of him, waiting until he lazily slid his gaze to your eyes. He looked away quickly.

“You want to talk about it?” you asked.

“Nope.”

“Do you want to get out of here?” you tried again.

“Nope,” he took a long drag of his cigarette, turning his mouth to blow the smoke away from you. He was stoic.

You knew there was no sense in asking him what he wanted to do. His mind wasn’t functioning, and this was the most far gone you had ever seen him. So you tried another approach. Unzipping your bag, you took out a colouring book and the pencil case that had kept you occupied on the plane. You gently set them down on the floor.

“Can I touch you?” you asked, quietly. You didn’t dare move. He nodded his head.

“Bill, look at me,” your tone was gentle, but firm. Working his jaw, he took another haul of his cigarette and stubbed it out before he brought his eyes to yours.

“Can I touch you?”

“Yeah,” he rasped. You still kept your movements slow, sitting down beside him and squishing your shoulder into his side. Coaxing his legs down from their sharp angles, you tossed one of your legs over his and rested your head on his shoulder. You felt him rest his chin on top of your head, breathing in, before plunking his cheek down. Tearing a page from the colouring book, you placed it on his lap and grabbed the pencil case in front of you. You started to colour. It took a few minutes, but eventually his hand reached, plucking a crayon and starting to colour between the lines of the drawing you had given him.

You don’t know how long you stayed like that. You had no intentions of moving until Bill told you he was ready. You checked in every now and then, nothing pushing or urgent in your tone, just wanting to see where he was at in his mind. You would have sat with him, like that, for days if he needed it. And he would have done the same for you, you knew.

Eventually, he nudged you. Shifting a little, he moved you until you sat in front of him. He looked down, fiddling with his hands, and you gently placed one of yours on top. The other tilted his chin up.

“I know what they’re saying about me right now,” he started quietly.

“Who gives a shit what they’re saying about you right now,” you said, your words were biting but you tried to keep your tone level.

“I’m done, tiger,” he continued, “I tried to make this work and I can’t.”

You nodded, staying silent.

“I can’t do this. But I can’t walk away, either.”

“Why not?” you asked.

“What if it ruins my career?”

It was a reality. You told him that. Walking away from a project with a big director attached to it could have been career suicide, you knew that even when you had nothing to do with his world. But you also knew it was still early in the project, you knew that he paid a lot of money to publicists, agents, assistants, anyone who could manage his public image. You knew there would be a way to spin this--creative differences, at worst--that could justify his dropping out of the project. You knew that people with hearts of gold were easy to pick up on, and even in the smoke and mirrors that were part of being a celebrity, that would somehow shine through. It took some time, a few more cigarettes for him, but he eventually nodded.

“Get me out of here, kid,” he said, his eyes pained, as he stubbed out his last cigarette. You brushed the hair from his forehead, helping him to his feet.

“You trust me, Billy Goat?” you asked. He nodded.

“Good,” you pulled out your phone, firing a quick text to his assistant for her car keys, and the location of his trailer. You plugged your earphones into the jack and tugged Bill’s shirt so he’d bend into your reach. You put your hands on either side of his face.

“You need to do exactly as I say. Your eyes stay on me, at all times. You look at no one. You don’t take the earphones out. You listen to no one, you speak to no one. You do nothing except hold my hand and follow me. Got it?”

He nodded.

“I love you, bud” you said as you kissed his cheek, tugging the hood on his sweater up around his head.

“I love you too, kid,” He let you place the earphones in his ears, wincing a little as you cranked the volume on a Nirvana song. You popped your phone into his pocket.

“Let’s get you the fuck out of here,” you said, but it fell on deaf ears. Grabbing his hand, you unlocked the door. His assistant stood beside it, and you grabbed her keys from her outstretched hand and blew past her. With Bill hot on your heels, you stalked off set. When the director yelled after you, you barely spared him a glance.

“He’s done,” you yelled back, not breaking pace.

You identified Bill’s trailer from the instructions his assistant sent you. Locking the door behind you, you gently pushed him onto the couch and plucked an earbud from his ear.

“Anything other than your bag in here?” you asked. He shook his head. You shoved the earbud back in, grabbed his knapsack, hauled him off the couch, and started toward his assistant’s car.

You took your phone back when you were safely the car, looking up directions to the airport and texting his assistant to have his luggage from his hotel shipped to him back home. Bill stayed silent, his face still blank as he leaned against the window.

He let you guide him into the airport, plunking him down in a chair while you figured out a route back home. A flight would leave in two hours, but an overnight layover was needed at the next stop before being able to fly home from there. You gave the agent your credit card.

It was akin to dealing with a child, the way you had to guide Bill through all the steps. You had to tell him to take off his shoes, when to put them back on. You had to remind him to drink some water, and when he squished next to you on the small plane seat with his legs jutting into the aisle, you managed to gently coerce him into eating something. When you landed for the overnight layover, you booked a room at the hotel there and shoved Bill into the shower. When you emerged from yours, you sat next to him on the bed where he had curled up. He reached for your hand, placing it on his wet hair. You threaded your fingers through it. It was only then, when he looked at you, that you started to see your best friend in the eyes that had been blank since you busted the lock on the bathroom door.

“Thanks, tiger,” he said.

“Any time, bud. We’re in this together, all of it. Always,” you reassured.

“This is gonna be one hell of a shit show,” he sighed, pinching his eyes shut. You moved your hand from his hair, smoothing your fingers over his features.

“Those are my favourite,” you said. It earned you a laugh and you kissed his cheek.

“Get some sleep, Billy Goat. We’ll deal with the rest tomorrow. Together.”

#BFF!Bill #BFF Bill #bill skarsgard drabble #bill skarsgard fic #bill skarsgard

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bi-apps · 5 years ago

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Accepted - Elsie Shacklebolt (SAW)

elsieshacklebolt

submitted:

OOC Information:

Name/Age/Timezone- C/22/GMT

Activity Level- Probably like a 7/8 - I’m at uni but classes are barely on

Ships/Anti-Ships- I’d like to make Elsie gay if that’s alright? But apart from that nope

Did you read the rules? Yes

IC Information:

Character Name- Elsie Shacklebolt

Age- 24

Occupation- Translater

Traits +loyal +determined +calm -flighty -secretive -hostile

Faceclaim- Tessa Thompson, Zoe Kravitz, Naomi Scott

KEY POINTS

Born when her big brother was around five years old Elsie immediately became the baby of the family. She was simultaneously adored but also in the shadows.

Everything she did Kingsley had likely done before, where he was well ordered and self-disciplined Elsie was anything but. She was smart of course and very driven but she was more likely to be found running about outside than inside studying.

The attention Elsie lacked from parents and relatives her brother made up for. She adored him and when he went off to Hogwarts she found herself very lonely. Hearing all of her brother’s stories about the school made her both excited and nervous to go.

When she did go she was sorted into Slytherin. It was a surprise but not completely unwelcome. Elsie knew she had ambition, she wanted to travel and make a name for herself outside of her family because, as much as she adored them, she didn’t want to be in their shadows all her life.

At school she came out of her shell a lot more, in the muggle community she’d found it difficult to fit in, she’d faced some racism and although she encountered a different kind at Hogwarts it wasn’t aimed at her. She didn’t really see the point of getting angry or dismissive of people due to their magic heritage and for the most part has stayed out of the discussions and arguments.

She happily branched out with who she would talk to not really minding the house or year barrier and she is forever grateful that she did because that’s how she became friends with Greta who she could not imagine living without now. They’re complete opposites but it works well and they balance each other.

Elsie realised she was gay when she was around sixteen. It wasn’t a sudden realisation it was just a few things that kind of made her go ‘oh’ she’s had a few relationships here and there but nothing serious.

She came out to her brother and a few close friends shortly after she realised but for the most part is closeted.

When she was 19 though her parents found out and they were not impressed. They suggest she find somewhere else to stay (AKA a family that doesn’t like confrontation’s way of kicking her out) since then she only really talks to Kingsley out of her family members.

That was hard on her because she was quite family orientated at that point. But she was determined to just move on. Why waste your time being upset on what other people felt about you?

At Hogwarts she got good grades and excelled in Flying, History of Magic and Muggle Studies. On her own time she also found out she loved languages both Muggle and Magical. Although that could have landed her a good job with ministry, probably in muggle affairs and relations, it wasn’t what she wanted to do.

After graduation Elsie didn’t really have anywhere to go so she decided to travel. She had some money from her parents so off she went. For the last five years she’s been travelling Europe picking up work here and there was a translator. She has loved it. Being able to talk to people and learn about their lives whilst also helping them? It’s been perfect.

After hearing rumours about the rise in anti-muggle born sentiment in the UK she’s returned home. Now working as a translator for various companies she keeps her head down but having a talent for languages is very useful for picking up things others wouldn’t want to hear.

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archivesdiveronarpg · 8 years ago

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Congratulations, PIKA! You’ve been accepted for the role of MEDEA. Wow, wow, wow, wow, wow. Pika, you have no idea how absolutely ecstatic I am with this application. You capture their erratic nature -- how they seem never completely there but when they do...oh, when they do you should be careful. The future plots have me absolutely giddy with anticipation, the interview got me swoonin’, and the para sample seemed like the ribbon on top of it all. I am so excited to have Mallory in our midst once more and I can’t wait for everything to unfold! Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

Out of Character

Alias | pika.

Age | eighteen.

Preferred Pronouns | she/her/hers or they/them/theirs, idrc.

Activity Level | lmao u already knooooo :))))))) terrible :))))))))))))

not great, to be completely honest. however, now that school is slowing down, i should be a lot more consistent; realistically, i’ll be on about every other day.

Timezone | pst.

Current/Past RP Accounts | hugo, noelle, miles, landon. the last two are hella old, ngl.

In Character

Character | madea ;; mallory chanda.

What drew you to this character? | lookie here: i loooooove the dynamic of the witches, the idea of each as an aspect of fate. cinead, the all-seeing, bears down the judgement of the past; hea, all-hearing, plays the fickle strings of the heart and mind as they shift in the present; and mallory, all-knowing, dances with fate, swapping secrets like gossiping old friends. each transcends the concept of the individual, but each is incomplete without the others. they’re delightfully enigmatic, and i love me a good mind screw.

i think that the thing that draws me to mallory in particular is their caprice, and their capacity for more. when you read mallory’s bio in tandem with their siblings’, you (or i, at least lol) definitely get the feeling that they’re the baby of the family. the siblings are cold and they are no exception, but underneath the facade of ice lies a deceptive blue flame—one so hot it burns you frozen, one that changes direction with the lightest breath of the wind. they seem to be more impulsive than their siblings (i mean seriously they just…..went out and won the lotto, nbd), but you can’t help but wonder: are they merely whimsical, or working toward some grander scheme? maybe it’s just because i have an undying love for meta, but i feel like it’d be such fun to play a character consistently a step removed from the present, eyes always flicking around the scenery because ultimately, it is not the individuals that matter, but what they do with themselves—how they leave a mark on the world.

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

001. ► supernova (gods, impartial? ha. tell that to the greeks, darling.)

mallory’s relationships with hector and clark fascinate me in that, imo, despite being completely different in sentiment, they both stem from the men staunchly denying fate. my interpretation of mallory is one who believes strongly in fate, and the contrast between them is one that i’d like to see play out. they will not meddle with the fates of the men who meddle with fate, no matter how much they itch to, but i want them to do so. bring the god down to the level of mere mortals. make them give into their whims and engage with the world.

002. ► white dwarf (a deal with the devil; can you sell your soul when your heart holds no credit?)

mallory is more impulsive than either of their siblings. though they likely wouldn’t pick a side in the war for verona, i could certainly see them making deals with one side or another—with the clear caveat that they are neutral, and equally likely to assist another willing to bargain with a god. how would this play out? more importantly, how would their siblings react to this? there is a price to pay to make deals with gods, and i would love to see how mallory reacts to having multiple puppets on their strings.

003. ► black hole (the world began with a bang, and shall end similarly.)

mallory’s siblings are more than their family—they are the counterparts to their soul. how will they react to a threat to their existence? though their souls transcend the limits of mortality, their bodies do not, a fact mallory is simultaneously acutely aware of and utterly uncaring of. but, just as the gods of olympus are most vulnerable at their most opulent, what would happen to the witches if somebody attempted to question their omnipotence? i want fire and brimstone. i want the wrath of gods. mallory already has the fire. i’d like to see them burn.

In Depth

What is your favorite place in Verona?

They touch an impeccably manicured finger to their lips, considering the question. It’s rare that they have to field personal questions—most given the honor of their counsel are after a specific goal, and their questions tend to reflect that single-mindedness. Still, the triviality isn’t unwelcome, and though Mallory raises a wry brow, they answer genuinely.

“Did you know,” they begin offhandedly, “that I had originally proposed putting modern art in the Twelfth Night? My siblings and I diverged in opinion on this, obviously. And, as you can see, my opinion was overruled.” A sigh. “Is it not tragic, the plight of the youngest?”

But a smirk slowly slides across their face. “Please do not tell my siblings I said this—I do hate being wrong, you see—but they were right; Baroque has been a most fitting choice for the museum. Tell me: have you been there at night?” They close their eyes indulgently, snapping open to reveal an unreadable expression. “It’s great fun. One could even say that it is magical.” This sets them off, peals of musical laughter falling from their lips. “But I don’t think it’s magic that compels guests to kiss the statues, no? That is a human honesty, and truly, there is nothing more fascinating to observe.”

What does your typical day look like?

“Hm.” They drum their fingers across the top of their other hand, but their attention seems elsewhere. “I’m afraid the answer may bore you.” They uncross their legs, re-cross them, and continue their answer. “I wake up…hm. After the sun, but before noon. I will usually tend to business at the hotel in the afternoon, and perhaps fit in a catnap before the evening. Come then, I go to the museum and turn those who stay after closing into statues.”

They smile prettily. “Just kidding.”

What are your thoughts on the war between the Capulets and the Montagues?

They still, and a chill falls over the room. They still, and for the first time, there is a presence in their eyes—it is as if their mind has been elsewhere until now, and they have finally joined the present conversation. A smirk rolls over their lips, different than the one before; this one is distinctly feline, languid and knowing.

“It’s silly. Pettiness is such a waste of time, wouldn’t you agree?”

It’s not a lie, but it’s not quite truth, either. Yes, it’s a waste of time, but one Mallory is fascinated by, the way an entomologist is fascinated by a colony of ants. One to be watched from afar, perhaps on the sofa with their siblings. And—

“Oh.” The moment is broken; they have moved on to a new thought. “Perhaps I ought to ask Hea to buy popcorn before they come home.” They stand, obviously dismissive. “Yes. I shall do that.”

In-Character Para Sample:

It is a beautiful evening, the type that romantics write poetry over and lovers meet under. The sun paints a cascading orange against the sky, pulsing the last vestiges of light before it inevitably falls into bed with the shadows chasing it. And Mallory walks to work.

The heels of their shoes—four inch wedges, sensible for crossing cobblestones—glide soundlessly across the streets of Verona, leaving no trace of their owner behind. They walk languidly, confidently; their siblings are conducting business elsewhere, but their only responsibility for the evening is to prepare the Twelfth Night for the night. There is no rush. There rarely ever is.

And so, when a man approaches them, face alight with the reluctant, cautious awe characteristic of arrogant men humbled by proper power, they allow him to speak.

“Please,” he says, begs, “read my fortune. I’ll give you anything—anything!—I just…I think something bad may have happened, and I need to know what’s coming next.”

The only indication that they heard the man is in the single, perfectly-groomed brow that raises at his plea. The man certainly looks a mess, clothes rumpled and sweat beading on his brow. Mallory is unmoved by his appeal to their ethos.

But, admittedly, they are intrigued. Desperation is an endearingly human trait, one that Mallory finds almost charming.

( they can hear their siblings groans in the back of their mind, particularly cinead’s. well, it isn’t cinead’s time that they are wasting. )

“Hm,” they say. A beat passes. The man trembles. “Follow.”

—

“Three of swords, the Hanged Man reversed, and the Tower. Fascinating.”

“F-fascinating? What does that mean? Is that good?”

A laugh bubbles from Mallory’s chest. “Good? Bad? To label fate with something so crude would be boring.” They rise, and gather the three cards from the dusty stoop, brushing them off gently. “Fate is fate,” they say, and their eyes meet the man's—he cannot hold the contact for long, and looks away quickly. Their head inclines, feline in its judgement. “Though yours…your selfishness shall be caused by suffering.” They sigh. “How dull,” they say, more to themself than the man, shaking their head in disappointment. “If that is all, I shall take my leave.”

Mallory rises, and turns to walk back to their intended destination.

“W-wait!” The man calls to their back. “I can’t…I…You have the power to help me, right? I…I want to make a deal with you!”

Mallory pauses. Smirks. It seems they now have an appointment for the evening.

How fascinating.

Extras:

a playlist:

→ i put a spell on you ;; nina simone

i put a spell on you / and now you’re mine

→ never catch me ;; flying lotus ft. kendrick lamar

life and death is no mystery and i wanna taste it / step inside of my mind and you’ll find curiosity, animosity / high philosophy, hyper prophesied meditation

→ special affair ;; the internet

penny for your thoughts, i know what you want / i can read your mind even from behind

→ bone+tissue ;; gallant

sell me something i can use to catapult my value / treat me like the cardinal anointed in my vessels

→ fantasy ;; alina baraz and galimatias

so you say you wanna get so high, breathe me in like air tonight / let yourself get lost in the garden of my mind

→ white ;; frank ocean

i dreamt of storms, i dreamt of sounds / i dreamt of gravity keeping us around

→ ready or not ;; the fugees

i play my enemies like a game of chess / no stress where i rest if you smoke some sess

hc’s and misc. bits

mal likes to read fortunes—tarot, palms, astrology. to them, it’s a silly game…but for those brave enough to ask, there’s always an eerie accuracy to them, a thrum of power that beats through the air when they turn the cards. unlike cinead, they will never turn down a request to read fortunes, delighting in the schadenfreude that comes with being the messenger of fate.

more on astrology: they check their horoscope every morning (for a loose definition of morning). even though they don’t necessarily believe in it, if one of their siblings’ signs are low in the luck ranking, they won’t let them leave the house without their lucky item.

in keeping with what’s apparently a running animal motif, mallory has a unabashed fondness for cats. (they also have a remarkably similar temperament to the animal, but they vehemently deny this when their siblings poke fun at them for it.) they have a cat named metis, whom they love dearly.

mallory is a night owl; the witching hour is their favorite time of day. mornings, to them, are entirely overrated—there’s no sense of romance to them. or so they say.

they love dancing, and practice all styles one could imagine, from ballet to salsa to hip hop. it is not an uncommon sight to see them at the tempest, undulating in a dance that is unorthodox but undoubtedly alluring, liquid moonshine slipping deftly through the crowd.

drunk!mallory’s passion is singing. only their siblings have ever seen this.

drunk!mallory cannot sing. only their siblings have ever seen this.

to call mallory vain is not incorrect, per se, but also not entirely right. they take great pride in maintaining their appearance—their aesthetic is black and flow-y, lace and long skirts and dark lips—but it is more a matter of preference than vanity.

mallory enjoys mixing drinks, though they rarely indulge in them themself. it is not an entirely rare sight to see them creating concoctions at the bar of the tempest. they cannot stand coffee.

on occasion, mallory will spend the day simply wandering the city. they won’t talk to anyone, but they enjoy people-watching.

—

( They stood in order: Cinead, then Hea, then Mallory. It was a habit ingrained by age, ingrained by habit, and though it was in Mallory’s nature to push against convention, it was one of the things they never questioned.

Cinead, Hea, Mallory. Order, balance, chaos. Always three. Always one. )

—

( the whisper of silk on skin, the bite of a frosty morning. wind that whips through the trees, displacing all but the birds. fingers brushing through hair. catching someone’s gaze from across a busy intersection. the ghost of breath. fractals in snowflakes. )

—

( each time they take one of you, you do not clench your fists. you do not yell childishly, you do not reach out to your siblings

and make no mistake, they are your siblings, even if your blood traitorously refuses to acknowledge this

because

you know.

you know that fate will return you where you ought to be:

by each others’ sides. )

#accepted #accepted: medea

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fireandgloryrpg · 6 years ago

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Congratulations YARI and welcome! We’re so happy to accept your application to play ARABELLA “BELLA” KARAVADRA with the faceclaim of ALIA BHATT in Fire & Glory RPG! We can’t wait to begin roleplaying with you so please remember to look over our checklist!

Name: Yari

Pronouns: She/Her

Age: 18, July 10th

Timezone: EST

Activity: I’m usually able to get on every weekday after 6 o'clock! weekends my activity can be a little spotty depending on how busy I am.

CHARACTER INFO

Name: Arabella “Bella” Nicole Karavadra

Age and Birthday: 20. February 21st Faceclaim: Alia Bhatt 2nd choice: Naomi Scott Heritage: Legacy of Summanus & Nox

ABILITIES:

Heightened strength/agility/senses as well as able to heal faster than average mortals. These are standard demigod abilities though

Nightvision

Nightstalker

Creature of the Night

Electrokinesis- seemingly the only power she got from Summanus and is much stronger during the nighttime.

Affiliation: First Cohort.

Cult of Romulus- Not an outright obvious choice, and most likely approached because of her cousins, but a good one. She wasn’t prejudice against the Greeks, finding a few to be useful and interesting. But, Bella believed that those who weren’t should go back to their silly little camp. New Rome was better, a higher station that Camp Halfblood. She just wanted to make sure they understood that. Romans had always proven to be better than the Greeks, at least according to history. She believed that just because they were able to help each other on occasion, does not mean they should be together all the time.

Headcanons:

Bella has always been small. Not just in stature (standing at only 5’1”) but also in presence. This comes in handy when when she has to go unnoticed, or when she needs someone to believe that she is trustworthy.

She was homeschooled. Her mother taught her the more traditional subjects, while her father worked with her on her demigod abilities and political subjects.

Biography:

It was 2am in the middle of a snowstorm when Bella arrived into the world. The entire pregnancy had been a difficult one, so it came as no surprise when the labor came around 2 months early and just as tough. A home birth had been the original plan, but after 5 hours had past with barely any dilation, a trip to the hospital proved to be necessary as the process took an additional 10 hours. By the time it was over, her name was the last thing on either of her parents minds, and the honor was taken by her cousin Leo who shouted out the suggestion when the nurse was in the room. Neither of her parents had a good reason to reject it, so they agreed (albeit a little reluctantly) and that was that.

The rest of her life came much easier. Though sick as a baby, she grew up to be strong in not only will, but also in body. Bella found herself chasing after her older cousins, who always seemed to be so far ahead of her. She took after her father in that way, as he was always chasing after his elder brother. In return, her father expected more from him than what he expected from even himself it seemed. She was to be better in combat, smarter in politics, and polite in conversation. The standards were high, but to be expected in her family. For this, she never felt different even though it was what she strived to be. Her soft-spoken voice was hardened, along with her heart, in order to protect herself from pain. The cousins she looked up to was shown as enemies, their age shown as a blessing and hers as a curse as she never seemed able to catch up.

Catching up was never something she seemed capable of doing, as even though she’d made it into the 1st cohort a few years ago it would prove to be impossible to become Centurion with both her cousins standing in her way. It was something her father warned her of though, so it didn’t come as much of a surprise. They would always be in her way until she pushed them to the side, proving she was better. She saw similarities within herself and her cousins though, causing her to want to reach out to them and be close. But the closer she would get, the more of a weakness it would just prove to be, and she was sure they found the very idea of such a thing to be silly as well. Still, she finds herself enjoying time with them, especially Cat whom she looked up to in a way. The older girl had a steady determination about her that Bella’s father expected of herself. The two girls never seeming to truly live up to their fathers expectations as far as she noticed.

Her mother couldn’t be more proud though, having already surpassed herself in every way. Their wedding was more out of necessity than love as her father’s attempts to try and win over the heart of a Goddess had never gone quite as planned. Instead he decided to marry a childhood ‘friend’- someone he’d grown up with in New Rome and trained alongside. It was better than nothing, figuring that his children would at least have the blood of two Gods running through her veins in some way. Her mother didn’t care for any of that though, having been happy to marry her childhood crush no matter how cold he was. Eventually she began to care, but that came later and after it was seemingly too late to be able to change anything about it. She showed her daughter warmth when possible, encouraging her to keep going and too take time for herself. Though Bella never did seem to figure out exactly when to do that, as even when she was eating the girl was simultaneously strategizing. But still, she loved her parents in different ways as they each did her. Their family was small, but that made them close. She never felt the need to hide anything from her parents as most other kids, as she knew that she wouldn’t ever do anything they disapproved of.

Though she didn’t feel the need to hide things, she still did on occasion when it might work out in her favor. Such as the late nights her father spends out, stumbling in more times than not after her mother has gone to bed. Or the looks between her mother and the neighbor, wondering when the woman finds the time to carry on an affair when managing her own husband proved to be a full-time job. Bella was sure that both her parents knew that she was well aware of their secrets, trusting her enough to keep them. Truly she was smart enough to wait till a later time, when the information would be the most powerful. Her father taught her well, training her to be better than he was. She looked sweet, innocent and it was a role she played off well. People trusted her in ways that they shouldn’t, giving her a collection of secrets to use whenever proved most useful.

Para Sample:

It was already March when the girl realized that her birthday had passed without an acknowledgment from anyone, not even herself. Looking back she tried to think on if that was the day she’d been training on her own for the most part, or if she’d spent that day going over different maneuvers and training tactics with her cohort. Either way it didn’t matter as she never particularly cared for her birthday, though it would’ve been nice for someone else to have recognized it at least once. At the moment she was too busy though to focus on that though, not when she finally felt so close to accomplishing something she’d been working on for months at that point. It was a personal project of sorts, or rather a person project as Bella herself was not personally invested in the task. A task that they didn’t even realize they were completing as she rubbed their back, smiling at them as they spilled their secrets.

“It’s alright, you can tell me.” Bella said, as her recent project sat there after another failed attempt at bettering their own abilities. It was interesting to watch as people used their own abilities, each person’s slightly different from the last regardless of relation. While some trained their ability too much and were unable to participate in regular hand-to-hand combat, others didn’t bother to train their mental skills and worked more on the physical. While it worked for others, she needed both to accomplish everything. She’d agreed to spar with the boy, knowing that she was above his level, and now sat their feigning ignorance at his failure.

“I just feel like I’m never going to get this! It’s taken me weeks to be able to grow some tiny flower buds, let alone vines!” The child of Ceres pouted. Bella sighed, bringing her arms down in disappointment. She’d hoped for someone more useful out of the boy, he’d been new to camp and full of ‘untapped potential’. He was seemingly yet another dud though, nothing useful to her at the moment. So she stood up, walking away from him and the sense of failure that radiated. She could hear him calling out to her, but she didn’t bother to acknowledge it as that would show she cared or that she’d truly wasted her time on him. Instead she decided that she was due for some ‘me time’ as people call it, though it would be used to think of her next step, next plan, next tactic. Bella didn’t focus on herself in a traditional sense, but rather focused on how to better herself or get rid of those around her.

The stables were usually a good place to think, a good place to be alone and have some peace and quiet. Bella had a horse, whom she’d named Sophie although he was a boy. She’d been just seven years old and had been there for the horses birth, suggesting the name and then insisting in it despite her father’s hesitation to giving the animal such a feminine name. She thought of that story often, with a small smile on her face. She walked over to where the buckets were, filling it and adding shampoo before bringing the bucket over to the stall before combing her. “Hey boy, sorry it’s been a while” She spoke softly to the horse, who simply huffed a bit in response. Sometimes she wished that she could communicate with horses, but she was fairly positive that Sophie had said something along the lines of ‘Sure you are’. The girl felt bad about not being there to ride with her more, but she was a busy girl with important plans.

#accepted #Arabella Karavadra

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