#this is going there bc this feels like i tried to make a makeshift aesthetic thing lmAO

[starrysupercell]

Sooo... Now that its my wif- Tara's birthday... Are the Mystics (And Bo) gonna celebrate it :D? I can imagine Gene trying to set up some kind of surprise party for her, that would remain a surprise for like 4 minutes...

DANG IT. Past 12. TwT

But here you go! An outline for how Tara’s birthday is celebrated this year. 🧿 best fortune teller in Starr Park tbh. Your wife says hi 💜

I really gotta start keeping track of the Birthdays to have these things planned out.

~

One of the many good things about how much time Tara and Gene have known each other, is he knows she'll figure it out.

The surprise for her will be not the fact that there's a party because she can easily see that, but the extent of it, because she can promise not to sneak a peek at it.

(But now she's curious! Also, she's so used to checking on the future,* it takes a very conscious effort to not do so.)

So, while Gene keeps Tara preoccupied by taking a walk around the Park, Sandy, the Tribe, Gale and Mortis (because they're also friends with the Mysticals bc of the skins, shush.) are in charge of decorating.

So, with only two responsible adults in this group, how well do you think this is going to go? :)

Gale: So do you have a plan for the setup?

Sandy: hm? >.o oh. Yy*yawns*eah. here you go... *hands him a paper*

Gale: ...this just has a rough sketch of the main room and a couple of balloons.

Sandy- mm..felt sleepy but there's still.... -.-...time to...zzzz....

Gale:

Mortis laughs because well they'd just have to wing it! (He would definitely ask Emz for help, but she's busy with the teen crew for plot convenience) As long as decorations are already bought, it should an easy thing in setting it up the way they want it to look.

....decorations are already bought, right?

Sandy softly snores, and the Party Crew realizes that's their answer.

~

Meanwhile, Gene and Tara walk through the Park. The plan is picking up a few extra gifts along the way before heading back to the main party.

Their first stop is Barley's for some drinks! He gifts one bottle of Tara’s preferred drink, but does charge for the rest. Along the way, we see Brawlers greeting Tara and wishing her well on her birthday.

Colette’s very enthusiastic! She knows all the Brawler’s birthdays, and wanted to make something for Tara!

She doesn’t really have extra money recently, since there was some recent change in management, and she usually makes more detailed items, but because of the money problem, couldn’t buy as many materials she needed, but she’s derailing, so she hands Tara her wrapped gift.

It’s a cute hand-made Shade Plush!

Tara is delighted and thanks her for it. It’s a pleasant surprise, and she appreciates it. Colette fangirls a bit, thanking her, and then waving bye as the Mystics carry on.

~

Back at the Bazaar, they're trying to brainstorm on what to do. Well, half of them present are. Sandy is asleep and Nita + Leon are playing around the house.

Mortis says the only things he has back home are.. well, decorations of a more... gothic type..you know,.. (Halloween decors. they’re Halloween decors.)

Gale also offers up... some Snowtel hangings, but again, ‘tis not quite the right season to be jolly.

Bo suggests makeshift decorations. The twins are good at crafts! .. but more so along the lines of forest materials, not sand and...

Everyone’s drawing a blank, and decide that they could gather up their own share of materials, and see what could work best. Their time limit won’t really allow a break after all.

So Gale contacts Lou and asks him if he could meet him halfway with everything he can carry. Try not to get caught by the Penguin boss. Lou, ever the chaotic good guy agrees.

Bo gathers up Leon and Nita and they head out to see what they can scrounge up.

Mortis wonders if he should call up Frank too since he’ll be here later to set up and provide the music, but decides to be ~generous~  and just send a flock of his Bats to pick some things up for him. He sees them off adoringly.

With a content sigh, he lounges back and waits for his precious lovelies to return with his ideal decorations. Sandy sleeps on...

~

Back with Gene and Tara, the next item to pick up is the cake. Piper has the order ready-- a black forest chateau cake.

“Magnificent taste, darlings!” she compliments. she has it all boxed up very fancily. “It’s on the house. Take it as my gift for you. Happy birthday!”

She’ll also be attending the party later. Tara thanks her for the cake. She and Gene then take their leave.

Along the way to their last stop at the new Castle environment for the food, (because while they don’t know Ash very well yet, Tara loves trying out the new items and pizza is always great for a party.)

“Hey, Tara! ...hold up.” Edgar jumps down from a building they’re passing, just because he can and . “...this is from the rest of the Gang. Me too, I guess. Happy birthday.”

~

The party squad are actually worse off than before.

The Shaman Tribe are back, and the Twins became interested in using fabrics to try and make something too. so they’re playing around with it pretty much.

Gale just arrived, with Lou joined along because he was interested in the party planning too. (So, the snowtel is understaffed right now.) but they’re just chatting instead of working.

Mortis’ bats haven’t arrived yet, and he’s getting worried. They don’t usually take this long in running errands for him.

Leon and Nita are practically playing catch right now. They knock over something that looked priceless. Oh, a crystal ball, perhaps. Bo reprimands them.

They haven’t gotten much closer to making up the room...

There’s a knock, and the group freezes because oh no, they’re out of time. but it ends up being Frank. A very unhappy Frank who was suddenly surrounded by screeching batties who kept picking apart the house while he was packing up his set up for the party. They followed him there afterwards, along with several things.

Mortis tries joking it off ;; , and then very quietly and off-handedly apologizes when Frank doesn’t find it very funny.

But then so hey!!! you’re here so decoration time, everybody! let’s hop to it!

Gene’s Lamp, Sliver, floats in. Sent by Gene himself to check on the progress. They were nearing after all. The Lamp’s alarmed by what it sees. That is, absolutely nothing.

It glares around, and spots Sandy still sleeping. Sliver floats over to him, and hops on him-- Wake up!

Sandy does so, but is very grumpy. “what?”

Tara’s Birthday.

“yeah? what about it?”

Don’t you care?

“obviously.” he swats at the lamp. “it’s tomorrow.”

>:( Today. It’s TODAY.

“,” Sandy looks around, as wide-eyed as he could be.

broken crystal ball, a mix of decorations, and nobody currently fixing up anything from the looks of it.

They’re on the way.

Sandy makes a face. “ok... game plan on the fly.”

~

The final stretch of the day out.

Gene and Tara are nearing the Bazaar, and along the way, Gene starts to get heartfelt.

He reminisces how they first met, how far they’ve traveled together, how much longer they’ve yet to go.

He wishes he could think of something to give her that meant something like the other gifts that she received that day.

He was a Genie, but after everything they’ve been through, she deserves much, much more than what he could ever imagine to conjure up for her.

Tara smiles. “(Don’t... put me on too high a pedestal, my Friend.”)

Don’t sell yourself short either. You’ve done so much.

“(Yes. I have.)” Tara muses unhappily, thumbing the doll.

Gene suddenly gets the idea of what his gift could be, but he needs his Lamp to start on it.

~

Right before the two opened the door, a pair of bats were hanging up the last decoration.

And when the two walked in with the final party supplies at hand and are amazed at the display.

intricate ice sculptures and a more snowy feel set up where the food would go. the music section where Frank set up (who was talking with Mortis.) had a darker aesthetic, including the balloons over there.

Lastly the rest of the place was decorated with very cute works of art. no doubt the Tribe kid’s handiwork. she recognized it from when they stayed over, and the gifts Bo’s gotten from them and shown her.

You’d think that the seemed like the mix of fancier silver decorations, a more gothic theme and natural crafts would look odd together... and well, it was quaint, but it was very pleasing to see.

a patchwork of oddities, not unlike this park, really. She’s always been fond of odds and ends. Tara loved it!

Sandy yawns and walks over to them. “we actually just got done with the set up. but if it makes you feel better, we can still hide right now and yell surprise.”

Tara laughs. It’s okay.. it isn’t like she could be-- but she appreciates it. Sandy shrugs, like he didn’t just call all the shots and work in a hurry with the other eight. “you’re welcome.”

Lou offers to help set up the food and cake. Gale helps too, after presenting his gift too.

Frank and Mortis notice the arrival of the Birthday Gal and wave her over. They chat animatedly-- it’s been so long since they’ve had the chance to catch up! They should plan something soon. Tara agrees, and their gift is from the both of them. I can see it being a very nice piece of clothing, though I’m drawing a blank as to what.

The Lamp reunites with Gene, and their perspectives merge again. Oh. the party was really cut close, huh? but it worked out well! what a relief. a scrap book of actual memories is what you have in mind? how very sappy.... She would like it.

Lastly, Bo walks up to Tara, greeting her and wishing her well on this day. He hopes she likes what they helped with ....he then has the Twins apologize for breaking a few things around the house--

Tara dismisses it easily. They can be replaced. The Twins, that is. (joke to scare them.) But really, as long as they were careful from now on, it was okay. the cub and chameleon agree with no hesitation and then run off to cause more mayhem, but quieter this time.

The Psychic smiles. The guests would be arriving soon, and it was already so lively.

Time to party~!

_______

*I’m still deciding on the extent of her powers, so future sight might not be a thing, because of the characterization I have for her. I’m thinking something along the lines of “Can see past events, and make very informed guesses based on what she knows about people, but cannot see the future itself.”

[fabulouspotatosister]

Sugar, Yes Please

Summary: You first meet the Doctor standing in your kitchen, opening jars of sugar.

A/N: This fic was inspired by this prompt by @drink-it-write-it​ on tumblr! Originally I was going to follow this prompt to the letter, and then it went in a different direction, but that is definitely still where I got the inspiration from. Enjoy the fic!

Word Count (bc man this got LONG): 6,991

Here’s a link to the AO3 version in case you vibe with that more

The café, for all intents and purposes, was your home.

With its old polished wood floors and pastel blue walls, it was probably someone’s aesthetic dream. You could look back fondly on the long hours you spent wiping down counters and delivering coffee to the college students that frequented the place. Every round table held a wealth of memories – if you looked between the cracks in the wood, you’d find conversations, sweet words exchanged over a pastry or bitter stares over glasses of cold iced tea, each time a microcosm of human interaction. Whole lives had been lived in the Heaven Café – people came and people went, each time leaving the place a little different.

After the original owner – a lady who wore predominantly pink frocks and frilly aprons and was very young at heart – moved out of the café after she got married, she gave you the keys to the second floor of the building.

They used to call her “Miss Baker”, and insisted the nickname be passed to you when you got put in charge.

The second floor was a nice apartment with a pretty balcony and big windows that let in a lot of sunlight and/or moonlight. It was strange for the first few nights, sleeping in a bed clearly made for two, but after a few weeks, it was second nature to fall into the cozy patchwork sheets after a long day.

The Heaven Café was your home. And wouldn’t you be mad if someone broke into your home?

The moon was high in the sky that night, and its light spilled into your bedroom, illuminating all the corners of the room and bathing everything in a silver light. There was nothing but the sound of passing cars and crickets. It looked like a good night to watch the stars and fall asleep looking out the window – until you heard a strange noise from outside the window.

You sat up. It was a wheezing, groaning noise, that faded in and out, growing to a crescendo until it finally disappeared. The building was an old one. You were no stranger to strange noises in the night, it came with the territory. But that was something you had never heard before. Pushing yourself off your bed, you leaned out the window to look at the street below.

It was still the same street, save for a police box that was placed further down. Weren’t those things really old? Did anyone still use those?

There was another noise from downstairs. Something metal, clattering to the ground, perhaps a pan or a tray. And then – panicked muttering. It sounded like it was from a young man, with a British accent… What was going on down there?

You tried to make sure that your brain didn’t go to the worst possible situation – that you were being robbed. Throwing on a jacket that you had draped over a chair and turning on the flashlight on your phone with trembling hands, you opened the creaky door out of your bedroom and headed down the stairs into the café’s kitchen. Why would anyone rob you? You didn’t earn much, just enough to pay utility bills and buy groceries; you didn’t even have any jewelry! And if you had anything of value it was probably just stuff that looked expensive, like a large apple sculpture that was just plastic.

The rooms downstairs, unlike the upstairs apartments, didn’t have big windows, just windows that were enough to keep the place cool and ventilated when it got a bit too hot inside. This had the unintended side effect of making the place dark as hell when it was nighttime.

The light from your phone’s flashlight was the only thing that pierced through the darkness, your phone’s case suddenly feeling very slippery as your hands started to sweat. It’s not a robber, you thought, trying to calm the panic that was rising up your throat. It’s probably just a rat, or something. But that didn’t explain the young man’s voice, unless rats could talk now. Which was stupid, since rats couldn’t talk…

You let your rambling thoughts keep you company as your bare feet stepped against wooden floorboards. At least it wasn’t frighteningly quiet anymore – you heard the sound of something being pushed against a counter, and then more muttering. After that was the sound of someone rummaging through utensils, the clink clank of metal against metal echoing against the quiet halls of the building.

The kitchen door was closed, but light spilled out of the gap between the door and the floor.

Turning off the flashlight on your phone, you turned the device over in your hands. Would it hurt someone if you hit them over the head with it? What were you even going to say? Who are you? What are you doing here? Don’t move? You weren’t intimidating. You were dressed in loose clothes and a jacket. The worst you could do was cry for help, which would only work if anyone was still awake at this hour.

Now that you were closer you could hear shuffling, and you could hear the voice that you had heard before a little clearer – saying something about sugar.

You took in a deep breath, releasing it through your nose. Holding your phone above your head like a makeshift weapon, you reached for the handle of the kitchen door, letting your fingers curl around the old metal.

Okay. Three… two… one -!

You flung the door open – but the sight before you was enough to shock the words out of you.

You were right about the clattering noise. There was indeed a tray that had fallen on the kitchen’s tiled floor, one of the muffin trays. The rest of the room was in disarray. Most of the cupboards had been opened and ransacked, bags of flour had been laid out on the floor and someone had broken into your sugar supply, the various jars of all the different sugars laid out on a counter. And in the middle of all that, behind the counter opening one of the sugar jars, was a young man in a tweed jacket with floppy hair and a bowtie.

You stood frozen in the doorway, phone still held aloft like you were going to bring it down over his head – the young man had frozen in his tracks, his finger held in the air as he was about to stick it in a jar of confectionary sugar.

Suddenly, the young man jumped back, slamming the lid back onto the jar. “Miss Baker! I thought you were closed!” he cried, backing up against the counter behind him.

So - he was the source of the muttering and talking. You still couldn’t wrap your head around how and why he was in your kitchen at an ungodly hour raiding your sugar. And why he called you “Miss Baker”.

“How did you get in?” was the only thing that came out of your mouth. “Did you break in?”

“I expertly maneuvered my way in,” the young man said proudly. His smile fell slightly after you raised an eyebrow at him – “I broke in.”

“I should be calling the police right now,” you muttered, and the young man nodded.

“You should be calling the police. Upstanding citizen, you are – but don’t, please.” He held his hands up in surrender. “I thought you were closed, and that I could pop in for a little visit without you getting mad, but I forgot that you tend to be awake at this hour.”

He forgot that you were usually awake late at night? You didn’t even know this man. “Why the sugar?” you asked, using your free hand to gesture at the jars of sugar while keeping your other hand on your phone in case he tried anything. Which he probably wouldn’t, to be honest, as he was quite tall and lanky and didn’t look built for combat.

The young man looked at the sugar, then back to you, clapping his hands together. “I needed some for some defense against some Yamar natives – they don’t have much sugar on their planet, so their bodies aren’t built for handling it. Like snails to salt, or so I’m told. I was testing these to see which ones would be the sweetest – you’ve told me this before, Miss Baker, but bakers on other planets right now would be very jealous of you, perfect defense against the Yamars.”

You couldn’t even form a good coherent thought. Yamars? Other planets? Was he talking about aliens?  “You’ve told me this before”? Was this man crazy?

“I’m not –” You shook your head. “I’m not Miss Baker, you must have the wrong person.”

“No, no I’m sure I’ve got the right time,” the young man said, taking a look at his watch.

“Hang on – who are you?” you asked.

The man froze, his eyebrows raised in surprise before his face fell, disappointed.

“Oh no,” he said simply, sticking his hands in his pockets and suddenly looking very sheepish. “I’ve come a little too early, haven’t I? Tell me, do you know who I am?”

“Am I supposed to?” you countered back, and the man chuckled, looking down at the floor.

“Yes, but also no. Not yet,” the man replied. He took the jar of confectionary sugar and screwed the lid on tight, then bundled it into his arms like you would a small child. “It’s complicated.”

It was definitely complicated. The young man stepped over the fallen muffin tray, grimacing at the room. He squeezed past you, still standing in the doorway, his shoes making small sounds against the floor. “I’m sorry about the mess– I really must be off, thank you for the sugar– “

“W-wait!” you cried, turning to face him, “You need to come back and explain– “

But the young man was already gone.

You shook your head, lowering your phone, suddenly very tired after all that. It had been a long night, and it was very late.

Maybe this is just all some strange dream, you thought as you switched off the lights in the kitchen. Shutting the door quietly, your thoughts still racing at a mile a minute, you pulled your jacket tighter against yourself as you began the journey back upstairs to your bed, where you could forget all about the weird events of the night. I’ll wake up tomorrow morning and the kitchen will be clean. There was never a strange man there looking for sugar.

Nothing happened.

---

Something had happened.

You didn’t know why you woke up early the next day, before anyone else had arrived, to check the kitchen. Part of you wanted to be ignorant, to have one of your employees tell you that the kitchen was a mess and then tell you that it was probably rats because it should be rats – but there was another part of you that was curious, didn’t care if it killed you, and was okay with satisfaction not bringing you back.

The kitchen was still a mess. The bags of flour were still left on the floor, the jars of sugar were still arranged on the counter, cupboards and cabinets were still ajar, and the fallen muffin tray was still lying sadly on the floor.

You sighed, picking your way through the mess to pick up the tray – turning it over in your hands, it wasn’t damaged. That was good. God knows what the previous owner would do if you dented some of her equipment.

So last night hadn’t been a dream. The whole thing with the strange man asking for sugar had been unfortunately real, leaving you to pick up the pieces of your brain.

You were planning to call the police – but again, what would you tell them? A strange man broke into my establishment and took a jar of sugar. No, he didn’t harm me, he just confused me immensely. No, I can’t tell you where he went, because he disappeared. Go after him? Why would I do that? Lost in thought, you didn’t notice the door to the kitchen swinging open.

“This place is a mess.”

You turned around, muffin tray still in your hands, to see a young lady in an apron wringing her hands together – “Erica!”

“That’s my name,” Erica said, smoothing over the front of the Heaven Café’s uniform apron – hand-sewn by the previous owner for all her old employees. They were pink, frilly things. They were like hand-me-downs, and like most of the things in the building, were to be treated with the utmost care. “What did you do, boss? It looks crazy in here.”

“Long story,” you sighed, trying to smile, but it came out more like a grimace. Erica simply hummed and made her way to the center of the room, hoisting up one of the bags of flour. Erica was a fairly new hire, but she was nice and attentive and kept the atmosphere cheery even during the rush hour. “It was a weird night.”

“I’ve had a few weird nights,” Erica said, pushing a bag of flour into a cabinet and slamming the door. Her hand hovered over the counter, then sugar jars, her palm just inches away from the sweet powder. “Ugh, what’s with all the sugar? One, two… five… one of the jars is missing.”

“That’s part of the weird night.” You opened the cabinet with all the trays and placed the muffin tray at the very top, balancing precariously on top of a mixing bowl. “Why are you interested in the sugar jars?”

“For you, boss. I don’t touch the stuff.”

You shook your head. “Well, some guy just came in and took one of the sugar jars, talking about aliens. I thought I was dreaming.”

Erica was quiet for a moment, before she asked, “What did he look like?”

“It was late, but uh…” You pressed your thumb against your temple, trying to dig the young man’s description out of your still very confused brain. “He was a tall guy? He had a British accent, he was wearing a tweed jacket with a bowtie, I mean who dresses like that these days?”

“…A tweed jacket?” Erica glanced towards the door of the kitchen.

“Exactly! It’s 2020, I don’t know why someone would be –“

“Boss.” Erica tapped your shoulder. She drew her mouth into a thin line, closing her hand into a fist and bringing it to her chest. “Your mystery guy might be here.”

“What?” You whipped around, slamming the doors to the tray cabinet shut – the metal things clattered against each other loudly and you winced. Erica shrugged, her face reflecting your confusion.

“I mean, you said no one dresses like him anymore, right? He’s sitting by the window, just reading the menu.” Erica turned to look at the door again. “I tried to approach him and he said he was looking for Miss Baker.”

“For the last time, I’m not Miss Baker.”

“You technically are.” Erica shrugged. “Do you know him?”

“Why would I know him? He broke into the building last night!” you said, raising your hands up in the air. Erica raised her eyebrows at you. “What? I’m not going to go talk to him.”

“He’s a customer. And he is your mystery man.” Erica was already making her way to the front of the café. She stopped, resting her hand on the doorway and grinning widely. “And he’s pretty cute, not gonna lie.”

You felt your face grow warm. “He’s not my ‘mystery man’, I don’t know what you’re – Erica! Erica! Get back here!”

You only heard Erica’s laugh echo down the hall. You sighed for maybe the fiftieth time that day, running your hand over your face – the day could not get any weirder.

You were about to be proven wrong.

Erica was right. Your “mystery man” (God, why were you calling him that it sounded so ridiculous) was indeed sitting by the window – his face was covered by the menu, the only thing you could clearly see being his long hair that flopped against his forehead. To someone else, he would have looked like he was reading, but there were a lot of customers like him. People that came in just to hide. And he was hiding.

From me? Why would he be hiding from me? If anything, I should be hiding from him, the weirdo…

The young man peeked over the menu, his eyes darting across the room before they finally landed on you. The corners of his eyes crinkled and even though the rest of his face was covered, you could tell he was smiling – what kind of man breaks into your home, steals sugar, disappears, and then smiles at you like nothing happened the next day?

The sight of a young man dressed in a tweed jacket and a bowtie sitting in a cute café was a lot to take in. Grabbing a spare notepad and tucking a pen behind your ear, you made your way towards the young man, plastering a smile onto your face – “Hi, welcome to Heaven Café, what can I get you?”

The young man set the menu down, and your breath caught in your throat. Erica was right again – at this point, you probably owed the girl money – your “mystery man” was actually quite cute. The young man lifted his wrist to glance at his watch before smiling nervously and setting the menu flat on the table.

“I’ve come to apologize,” he said.

You customer-service smile dropped. “For last night.”

“Yes,” he replied, “although somewhat preemptively. It hasn’t happened yet. Or it will. I am sorry, though.”

“What do you mean, ‘it hasn’t happened yet?’” you spluttered, the pitch of your voice raising higher and higher and suddenly you were very glad there was no one else there in the café. “It did happen! You were there!”

“I was there!” the young man said cheerfully. “I will be there, and I know you’ll be very upset about it.”

“I am upset about it!”

The young man’s smile vanished. “Oh, you really are.”

“Give me a reason why I shouldn’t hit you this notepad right now,” you hissed, your chest getting tighter and tighter, your anger and confusion mixing into one messy cocktail.

“I’m a customer, Miss Baker! You can’t harm me.” The young man leaned back in his chair. “Or maybe you can – humans, always so violent.”

Humans? “For the last time, I’m not ‘Miss Baker’.”

“Then I suppose this is when you tell me your real name.” The young man grinned, something mischievous hidden in his green eyes. “The question is, Miss Baker, who are you?”

“I asked you first.” You glanced at the clock above him – it was still early, but it was almost time for the morning rush, when all the stressed-out office workers and late university students poured in for their daily dose of coffee. You couldn’t sit here and talk to this man – no matter how many questions you had, you had a job to do. “You know what? Let me get you something, and then you can explain.”

“Right, then, I’ll have tea. A classic. Very lucrative Earth export, in about a few thousand years,” the young man said brightly. Then he frowned. “No, wine. That’ll make me look sophisticated – no, wine’s rubbish.”

Before you could interrupt that the café didn’t even serve wine, the young man suddenly looked up at you, sporting a youthful smile. “What about a banana milkshake?”

---

The young man’s name, you quickly learned, was the Doctor. This didn’t answer any of your questions, because after taking a few sips from his banana milkshake he had run out the door, nearly knocking over one of your employees, Emil, who was clocking in late.

“I’ll explain tomorrow!” he had yelled when you chased after him.

“You’d better!” you’d yelled back. You thought you heard him laugh before he disappeared behind a corner.

The Doctor didn’t come by the next day. Or the day after that.

You would never admit that the Doctor had been the only thing on your mind for an entire week. The young man had an air of mystery about him, like he knew more than he was telling you. He had the face of a child but the air of someone much older – and you had gleaned all of this just from a seven-minute conversation and a strange encounter in your kitchen. For a mystery, he was surprisingly easy to read.  

But aside from that, the week was pretty normal. It was the same old writing names on paper cups and getting flour all over your good pants. After a few days, you’d written off meeting the Doctor as a fluke, a once-in-a-lifetime meeting with someone who was just incredibly unique.

Yes, it might have been a fluke, but there was a niggling sense of missing out on something – like there was a whole universe that you had just brushed against, and whole new world to explore, and you’d missed it. One thing about working in a place that’s full of life, you thought, staring out the large window in the front, where the Doctor had sat, is that you’re always just hearing about it but never living it.

“Miss Baker?”

You turned around, letting a sigh escape your pursed lips. The sound almost became a whistle. “Emil, I told you not to call me that.”

Emil – a tall, sweet man with a very big smile – actually smiled one of his famous smiles, but a bit sheepishly. He rubbed the back of his neck, no doubt getting flour in his hair. “Sorry, it’s a habit. You know I got hired before you did.”

“That means you’re old, Emil,” you said. “What’s up?”

“Erica’s gone again,” Emil replied, “that kid. What does she do when we’re not looking?”

You shrugged, turning back around to face the window, watching the setting sun. Erica had a reputation for being young and a bit of a hotshot among everyone working at the Heaven Café. You didn’t think too much of it. “I don’t know. She is just a kid.”

“So are you.” Emil stood next to you. “But I trusted Miss Baker when she turned the place over to you. She was a good boss.”

You quirked an eyebrow. “And I’m not?”

Emil laughed, rubbing a flour-stained hand over your head, like an annoying big brother. Thank god it was closing time. “I don’t have anything against you, boss.”

The front door swung open. You and Emil turned around to see that a tall, thin man had just walked in, his hands in the pockets of a well-fitted blue suit. The man looked, for lack of a better term, sharp – not “sharp” as in “smartly-dressed”, but he had edges.

“Excuse me, sir,” you called out. The man turned around, one sharp eyebrow raised. He looked like you would get a paper cut if you touched him. “It’s late. We’re closing.”

The statement came more like a question, and the man raised his eyebrow higher, if it was even possible. “Sorry. Bit rude of me. I’m looking for something.”

Oh. British. What was up the shop and attracting strange but attractive British men?

“Sorry, sir, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” Emil said. The man hummed in response, a pensive expression on his face.

“Wrong choice of words. I’m tracking something,” the man said, pulling a screwdriver from the inside of his suit jacket. Suddenly, the screwdriver began to hum and glow blue, and upon closer inspection was not a screwdriver at all. He swept the not-screwdriver over the room. “Have you two seen anything strange recently?”

Stranger than you? “No, sir,” Emil replied, his voice tight.

“I’ve just said it, I’m tracking something!” the man said. The not-screwdriver stopped humming and glowing and the man looked into the end of it, squinting. “Ooh, that’s weird. Weird readings. Are you sure you haven’t seen anything?”

“Sorry, what are you doing here?” Emil asked, stepping in front of you. The man frowned at him.

“I’ve been following strange patterns through time, and they’ve led me here.” The man said, raising his head to meet your eyes. His eyes were brown and deep and strangely familiar. “I’m supposed to meet you. Who are you?”

Before you could even say “I could ask you the same thing”, there was a loud crashing sound. And then a high-pitched scream. Emil turned to face you, his eyes wide.

“It sounded like it came from the kitchen,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”

“Emil, I’ll go,” you said, furrowing your brows. “You stay here.”

Emil laughed, placing a hand on your shoulder. It left a flour handprint on your shirt. “Are you worried about me? You’re still young. I’ll go check it out.”

Another crash rang out – it sounded like something glass crashing to the floor and shattering – and then another sound of pain, but more guttural. It didn’t even sound human. Your stomach twisted with dread, and you glanced at the mysterious man, who nodded at Emil.

“I’ll come with you,” the man said, and Emil shook his head, already walking away.

“Stay here, sir,” Emil called out, then made his way to the kitchen. The man shook his head, chuckling.

“Sorry. I don’t have the best track record for following instructions,” he began. He paused, casting his gaze onto you – which was surprisingly intense from a man that was just so thin. Once again, a sense of familiarity struck you – you knew this man, but how? “Right, you. Who are you?”

“You first,” you countered. The man grinned.

“I’m the Doctor,” he said, and your mouth fell open.

No, he wasn’t the Doctor. The Doctor was that cute floppy-haired young man in tweed you’d met a week ago. The man in front of you wasn’t the Doctor – he couldn’t be the Doctor, because – “I’ve met the Doctor,” you said, a little unsure, “and he doesn’t look like you.”

“That happens a lot,” he said absently, “I think I’ve got one of those faces.”

Distantly, you heard a yell, and another metallic clatter. Your whole body jerked in surprise – it sounded like Emil.

Before you could protest, the Doctor grabbed your hand and dragged you to the kitchen.

You tried to tear yourself away from the Doctor’s grip as he stopped just steps away from the kitchen door. The Doctor still held on tightly to your arm. The clattering and yelling continued, and now you were definitely sure it was Emil. “What are you doing? We have to go help him!”

The Doctor raised a finger to his lips, his eyes wide. “Shh! Listen.”

Among Emil’s grunts of pain and the loud sound of metal and glass crashing to the floor, there was another sound – one that was more animalistic, like the growl of a hungry beast. But it sounded strange, like there was another voice layered beneath it.

“Hungry…”

“Stay behind me,” the Doctor said lowly, and you nodded. Raising his not-screwdriver, he took slow, careful steps towards the open door. His free arm was outstretched over you.

When you finally reached the open door, you fought back a scream – surrounded by broken glass and fallen trays was Emil, his face twisted in pain as he pushed against a slimy, pulsing tentacle. Your gaze followed the writhing flesh to its owner, some kind of wriggling mass that reminded you too much of a tongue to feel comfortable with it. The wriggling mass growled, keeping Emil pinned to the floor. He whipped his head to the side and met your eyes, his whole body trembling.

“Help!” Emil cried. You sprung forward to Emil’s side and tried to grab at the tentacle’s skin – if you could even call it skin. You felt a shudder run down your spine as your own hands became covered in the slimy substance that coated it – what the hell is going on?!

From the corner of your eye, you saw the Doctor, waving his not-screwdriver at the mass of flesh. “What’s kept you hidden for so long? Perception filter? Must be a good one if it’s hidden something like you.”

You pushed against the tentacle keeping Emil pinned tightly to the floor, but it didn’t budge. “I can’t move it! Doctor, HELP!”

“What are you?” the Doctor asked, squinting at the end of his not-screwdriver.

“Ya…mar…” the mass growled lowly, and you paused. Now why did that sound…

“I needed some for some defense against some Yamar natives –“

The Doctor joined you beside Emil, pointing his not-screwdriver at the tentacle. It didn’t do anything. “And what do you want?” the Doctor asked again, pressing his elbow into the tentacle and ruining his nice suit.

The mass made a low noise before speaking. “Hungry… Boss…”

You froze, your mouth falling open. Boss?

Whipping your head around to face the wriggling, slimy, mound of flesh, something caught your eye. Hanging off of it was a pink, frilly apron, now ruined and torn and slimy, hand-sewn for all of the employees at the Heaven Café… hand-me-downs…

“Erica?” you breathed out, and the mass moved, as if responding to the name.

“That’s Erica?!” Emil asked loudly.

“Boss…” it said, a young woman’s voice coming through underneath the growling, alien one. “Hungry…”

“You know her?” the Doctor asked. You shook your head dumbly.

“Employee,” was all you managed to say. “She’s an employee.”

“Whoah!” Emil gasped – he started squirming underneath the massive tentacle, as if trying to get away. A strange burning smell filled the room, and Emil started squirming harder. “What the – my clothes!”

The Doctor stared at his hands, then at his elbow – the spot that had been covered with the slime was being eaten away, revealing bare skin. “The slime’s corrosive! Wipe your hands on something!”

You quickly rubbed your palms on your own Heaven Café apron, watching as the slime you’d just wiped away ate through some of the cloth, leaving only an empty patch behind. Despite all the madness, you managed to sigh – the real Miss Baker was going to come for your head now for destroying her aprons. And for hiring a weird fleshy monster.

“What the fuck is up with weird things and ruining my kitchen?” you muttered.

“Oi, that’s quite rude,” you heard the Doctor say.

You looked up at the Doctor, who had his not-screwdriver out again. “Why hasn’t it eaten through our skin?”

“I don’t think it can. Unless – “

The Doctor was cut off by Emil screaming – the smell of something burning suddenly became the smell of burnt hair, and you assumed that if you didn’t work fast enough it would become the smell of burning flesh.

“What do we do?”

“It says it’s a Yamar, I’ve never met a Yamar!” the Doctor said, throwing his hands up in the air. “Nine-hundred years of time and space and I’ve never met a Yamar.”

“You haven’t? But you told me –“

The Doctor pocketed his not-screwdriver and pressed against the tentacle again, groaning in frustration. “I probably haven’t told you yet! Wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey, and all that – I don’t think I’ve met them yet!”

You blinked. The other Doctor had talked about time, and knowing the future – if he didn’t know now maybe the reason why he knew then was because…

“…they don’t have much sugar on their planet, so their bodies aren’t built for handling it.”

“Like snails to salt…” you murmured. You stood up quickly, scrambling to get to a cabinet – “Sugar!”

“What?” Emil and the Doctor said in unison.

“I know what we need!” You flung open a cupboard to find your jars of different sugars, with one still missing. You took all the jars of sugar you could carry and bundled them into your arms. You opened one of the jars, taking in a fistful of sugar. “I’m the envy of bakers across the universe - Yamars don’t like sugar, so we should be able to-”

You threw the handful of sugar onto the tentacle holding Emil down and watched as it burned through its slimy coating. The mass made a shrieking noise, and retracted the tentacle, pulling it back into it’s large body.

“I’m alive,” Emil gasped, placing his hands on his chest, “I’m alive!”

“Right you are,” the Doctor said, helping Emil to his feet.

“No,” the mass gurgled, “Boss. Hungry.”

You stared up at the strange thing – you had to be dreaming. There was no way that this monster could be one of your employees. There was no way that there could even be a monster at all in your café. You had met Erica and she wasn’t like that. But there it was, standing and wriggling in the middle of your kitchen, and it had nearly eaten another one of your employees.

“Sorry, Erica,” you muttered, opening another jar of sugar, the largest one you had, “it’s been a weird night.”

You threw the jar at the wriggling mass; the sugar flew out and struck it, and the creature screamed, a terrible gurgling sound, as the sugar burned through its skin until there was nothing left but a steaming pile of slime on the nice tiled floors of your kitchen. You stared at the pile of slime, taking huge, heaving breaths like you’d just run a marathon.

A weird night. Definitely understatement of the year.

A big smile spread across your face – and despite all of the weird things that had just happened, and despite the fact that you were covered in cloth-and-flesh-eating slime, you laughed.

The Doctor ran up to you, clapping on the shoulders. “Brilliant, how did you know how to do that?”

You blinked. “You told me.”

The Doctor simply grinned. “I think it’s the other way around, Miss…”

A thought flashed through your head – it was impossible, but so many impossible things had just happened. And the Doctor was already such an impossible man - Screw it, right?

“Baker. Call me Miss Baker,” you finally said, grinning back at him. “Uh, do you want a banana milkshake?”

---

It took another week for you to convince yourself that what you were feeling wasn’t a severe case of FOMO.

The spiky-haired Doctor didn’t leave for a long time. He stayed with you until it was quite late and even after you’d sent Emil home to rest, helping you clean the glass and the slime and giving you tips on how to clean slime from surfaces. Eventually, just like the other Doctor, he left too, but he didn’t make any promises.

It still didn’t mean it wasn’t disappointing when he didn’t come back the next day.

You spent a lot of nights in bed thinking about that night. It still didn’t seem real at all. All the things that had happened made the café seem like a much more magical place – it was still your home, and there were still stories to be collected and told, but now there were things that were impossible written on the walls. You couldn’t help but smile everytime you walked into the kitchen – how were you going to tell new employees that the place had been covered in slime once?

The answer was that you didn’t. As much as you wanted to tell everyone you met, probably no one would believe you – no one but Emil, who didn’t show up the next day and simply left an apologetic, but somewhat incoherent, text message.

That left you to manage most of the café. It was a slow day, with only a few people coming in and out and ordering simple orders.

That left you to do one thing you were good at – thinking. You were good at thinking. And you thought a lot about that night, and how it could have gone differently. You could have asked the Doctor to stay, or you could have asked where he was going, or you could have asked if you could go with him. A chance at a real adventure had slipped by you again.

No, you thought, screwing your eyes shut. You were home. You were supposed to be content.

“Excuse me?”

You looked up. Standing in front of you, on the other side of the counter, was a very pretty young lady – her brown hair fell over her shoulders, her big eyes shining under the lights of the café. She smiled brightly at you, and waved.

“Yes, hello,” you said after a while. “Sorry. Welcome to the Heaven Café, what can I get you?”

“Oh -” The young woman looked up for a moment, thinking, and then she looked behind her. Standing not too far away from her was an older man, with a head of curly, white hair, his hands in the pockets of his coat. Was that a hoodie under his coat? The man nodded at her, and the young woman turned back to you. “A coffee and a banana milkshake, please.”

“Dine in or take out?” you asked, and the woman grinned.

“Take out,” she said, “sorry. We’re a bit busy.”

“That’s no problem. Just give me a minute, miss…”

“Clara,” she supplied, leaning over the counter. “Nice place you’ve got here.”

You turned away from her to prepare the coffee, grabbing a small paper cup and walking carefully to the machine. “Thanks! What’s brought you here?”

“Recommendation from a friend,” Clara said. You could still hear the smile in her voice. “I’ve heard good things about the place.”

“Like?”

“Good sugar,” she said, and you nearly dropped the cup.

You set the coffee in front of her with shaking hands and promptly made your way to the blender, the cogs of your brain not working. You dared a glance at the man Clara had come with. The two of them were talking now, their voices drowned out by the roar of the blender. Then the man had to be…

You gave Clara the banana milkshake in the paper cup and she muttered a quick “thanks” before handing it to the man behind her.

You stared at the man. He was older now, definitely different, but there was the same familiarity in his eyes. The corners of the man’s mouth lifted in a small smile, and you couldn’t help but smile back.

“Thank you, again,” Clara said hurriedly, placing a few bills on the counter, “We’ve got to go. Keep the change.”

“No problem, come back soon,” you murmured, still looking at the man. Clara nodded at him and he seemed to collect himself, raising a hand in farewell before rushing out of the door with Clara, disappearing into the street outside.

Yeah, you thought, still staring at the spot where the two of them had been. It was definitely FOMO.

Before you could get lost in your thoughts again, the sound of the door opening kept you from falling into a pit of overthinking. You wiped your hands over your new apron, ran a hand through your hair, and plastered on your best customer service smile.

“Welcome to the Heaven Café, what can I get you?” you said.

A blonde woman had walked in, dressed in a flowing lilac coat and suspenders, her smile wide and bright and awfully familiar. “I’ll have a banana milkshake,” she said, and you frowned.

What was up with people and ordering banana milkshakes today? You looked down, quickly noting the order. “Okay, ma’am. What’s your name?”

“Ma’am. I can never get used to that.” The woman smiled, adjusting a bundle of cloth in her arms. “The Doctor.”

Your head whipped up, meeting the woman’s eyes, and for all you knew the café could have disappeared – all you could see was her smiling at you, the same mischievous glint hidden behind new eyes. “Sorry I’m late, Miss Baker.”

“You already know my name,” you said. The Doctor shifted, removing the cloth from the bundle in her arms, and you gasped – it was your sugar jar, the one she had taken and promised to return, still in pristine condition with hardly any sugar removed. “And my sugar!”

The Doctor set the jar on the counter, resting her hand on it. “It’s served me well! Thank you.”

“You’re two weeks late,” you muttered, still frozen in place.

“No, I’m a few hundred years late,” the Doctor said, sticking her hands in her coat pockets. “I am sorry for that. I do lose track of time sometimes. But I did visit! You said to ‘come back soon’.”

“You were the old man.”

“Yep.”

“And the sharp man.”

“Yep, although I don’t why you call me that.”

“And the bowtie man.”

“I don’t regret the bowtie.” The Doctor pulled at her suspenders, still smiling widely. “Speaking of time…”

The Doctor stepped to the side, gesturing out the big window – there was an old blue police box parked there, standing underneath the shade of a big tree. It was the same box you’d seen, all those nights ago - “You’ve let me into your home so many times, I suppose it’s time I show you mine.”

“That box? You’re kidding.”

The Doctor shrugged, then tilted her head towards the box. “Do you want to see where I’ve been?”

And all those times you’d stayed behind, all the nights of thinking like you had missed out on something grand, something greater than you – all came flooding back. As the Doctor looked at you with wide, expectant eyes, you thought of adventure and finally living the lives you kept hearing about – and you nodded. You weren’t going to miss this chance.

The Doctor beamed, and took your hand. You clambered over the counter, ignoring all the stares from the customers – “Now?”

“When’s a better time than now?” she called back, dragging you out of the café and into another world.

And all this over a jar of sugar.

[fvlminare]

✗✗✗   you see [ camille rivas ] around lately? yeah i heard that the [ cis female ] is up to no good. [ she / her ] has been here for [ three years ] now but they’re still pretty [ calculating ] which is fine because they’re also [ ardent ] so it balances out. the [ twenty-six ] year old [ dancer at mayhem ] actually looks like a lot like [ sofia carson ], don’t you think? it’s best to watch out, though, because it’s been said that they’re really into [ the rush of cocaine in her veins & a vice grip on her throat ]. 

henlo it me again! i hope u guys aren’t sick of me yet bc here’s my other bb! say hello to my boss-ass bish gal camile! she’s sassy, classy and a lil badassy. she’s a rather feisty, fiery, ball of rage and anger who cba with ur bullshit tbh n she’ll tell u this too if u piss her off enough! she’s lowkey cutthroat and always out for number one, aka: herself. but, i mean, she does have some redeeming qualities and her hair is bomb af so that makes up for it all really, doesn’t it? basically that meme: ‘ she’s beauty, she’s grace, she’ll punch you in the face. ’ anywho, you know the drill, slap a lil luv on this n i’ll come pester u for all the good stuff : - ) 

fundamentals.

CAMILLE ALARA RIVAS     —     twenty-six, dancer at mayhem,   +   an honest-to-god vixen   /   hellcat   /   lil demoness ! 

aesthetics   ➤   dresses of black lace and red velvet, the scent of chanel perfume lingering in the air as she floats past, blood-red fingertips coiled around the pistol grip of a gun, red-bottomed heels clicking against marble floors, rose gold highlighter shimmering along the height of prominent cheekbones, satin dresses draped over a svelte frame that is shrouded in an air of mystery and intrigue, baby pink roses in a vase on the window sill, deft fingers stained with charcoal and oil paint, the melodic chime of piano keys, delicate digits adorned with moonstone gem rings, a coy smile spread across full crimson lips, long raven locks blowing in the cool breeze of a summer’s evening, battered books with dog-eared pages, a sense of freedom and carelessness when dancing for fun, & a sense of allurement and captivation when dancing for work.

nicknames. cam, cami, mil, millie, spawn of satan >:~)

date of birth. april tenth.

gender. cis female.

pronouns. she + her.

birthplace. manhattan, new york.

orientation. pansexual + demiromantic.

education. bachelor of dance degree obtained from nyu tisch school of the arts.

spoken languages. can speak fluent english, spanish, & latin.

negative traits. capricious, ornery, impulsive, guileful, caustic, brusque, obstinate, destructive, deceptive, & promiscuous.

positive traits. ardent, whimsical, intrepid, graceful, poised, elegant, headstrong, observant, independent, & confident.

strengths. optimistic, energetic, creative, practical, spontaneous, rational, knows how to prioritise, great in a crisis, & relaxed.

weaknesses. stubborn, insensitive, private, reserved, easily bored, dislikes commitment, & has a rather risky behaviour.

talents. ballet, knife throwing, hand-to-hand combat, horse riding, figure skating, piano, violin, painting, singing, & dancing.

physiology. hazel eyes. dark brown hair. five feet, four inches tall. of a petite, slender stature with subtle curves and long hair. has a long silvery scar on her back. her skin is clean of any tattoos. has both earlobes pierced. requires glasses but wears contacts most days. is right-handed.

psychology. aries zodiac. fire element. ravenclaw house. istp-a. true neutral. type seven enneagram. choleric temperament. intra-personal intelligence type. addicted to alcohol, tobacco, and cannabis. suffers from addiction and abandonment issues. her vices are lust, greed and wrath. her virtues are ... ( again ) honestly, probably just diligence tbh.

background.

possible triggers   :   child abandonment, abandonment issues, foster homes, alcohol, drugs, violence, gore, blood, murder, & death.

a synopsis.   ok so for this gal, let’s all give a big, warm welcome to sadness ( no, i was in no way at all inspired by salem from sabrina for that line ) bc boy oh boy, her life has been constant grief and pain, tbh. strap in for the bumpy ride, i’ll give u cookies for compensation. OK SO, camille was abandoned as a baby, never did—and still doesn't—know her biological parents and she doesn’t want to either, tbh. she bounced around from foster home to foster home, never sticking in one place for too long. given her turbulent upbringing, she was somewhat of a difficult child. too boisterous, too unruly, too stubborn, too inquisitive. too much of everything but never enough of anything. never enough for anybody to want her. it didn’t take the girl too long to figure out that it was just her alone, against the big bad world. from the age that she was old enough to realise it, camille knew that she had to fend for herself—that she could never truly rely on a single soul but herself. the hollowness inside her chest never quite satiated, leaving her empty and only too well aware of the lack of her real parental figures. as a young adolescent, this started to crawl under her skin and mess with her mind. it rendered her void of affection and unable to form genuine bonds with others—filling her with deep-rooted resentment that festered beneath the surface of the indifferent demeanour she plastered over herself every day. she always felt starved of love: as if some integral part of her heart was missing, leaving a gaping void that nobody could ever fill. anywho, she fell in with the wrong crowd which did little to aid her foster families hostility toward her. truthfully, most of her experiences in various homes were ... not pleasant. she’d encountered abusive ‘parents,’ horrible ‘siblings,’ and even worse schooling days. pressing the self-destruct button is this gal’s speciality thus she found herself gravitating towards her vices: things and people she knew were no good for her. drink, drugs, people, you name it. quickly, she realised that these things were no longer any good at keeping her dark side at bay: she needed something more, something deeper. thus, she began going down the road of petty crimes—stealing cars, smashing windows, theft, setting fires both metaphorically and literally. due to this lifestyle, she wound up entangled with some real shady folk who did … even shadier things. most specifically, she started dating a real jackass who was violent and truthfully, a horrible person, really. stupidly, she decided to run off into the metaphorical sunset with him * insert eye roll emoji here. * so, fast forward a year or so and things took a swift nosedive when her lowlife boyfriend’s hands were round her throat and not in the kinky way. while she’d clawed at him and tried to fight him off, she struggled against his weight and strength until, eventually, she lifted the first makeshift weapon she felt: a rusted pair of scissors. [ TRIGGER FOR VIOLENCE, GORE, BLOOD, MURDER, DEATH ] and, in a blind state of panic, she jammed them right into his jugular vein, his blood squirting out and decorating her face in crimson splatters. he’d stumbled backwards, clutched onto his neck, blood spurting from the webs between his fingers. naturally, camille was shook about this but somehow managed to flee the scene with less guilt rattling her soul than she’d imagined. [ TRIGGER OVER ] in her mind, it was an act of self defence. it wasn’t too long after the incident that she found herself in a rather perilous situation that resulted in her sudden realisation that she needed to get her damn life on track. therefore, she done the responsible adult thing and got herself a decent education. somehow, she managed to get into university where her life started to shape into a positive one—the kind she’d always dreamed of. once she graduated, camille decided that she wanted to see the world. following a couple of years travelling, she wound up in santa ysabel where she quickly fell into the employment of mayhem. admittedly, this was a far cry from the future she’d envisioned when she was just a sweet, innocent lil child. still, all in all, she kind of digs who she is and what she is: after everything she’s been through, she loves herself. it’s been a long and winding road but camille finally believes that she’s settled in her life now. tho she still refuses to let people in, her abandonment issues terrifying her to the degree that she feels that anybody she’d ever let into her life would eventually leave her in the end. * insert sad face emoji here. *

random extras.

her tell? playing with her hair: when she’s lying, nervous, flirting—you name it!

can drink any man under the table. 

she loves art in every form: paintings, sculptures, music, dance, people, etc. she loves the freedom that expressing herself through these mediums gives her.

she’s ... experimental. she’s experimented with just about everything: hairstyles, clothing, drink, drugs, people ...

can be hella calculating and vindictive so do not cross her.

quite power-hungry tbh.

she does have a shot at redemption but she doesn’t want it lmao. she’s already been to hell so why bother trying to right her wrongs?

and boy, are her wrongs a century-long list shkjsh.

high key is not above killing people who don’t do things her way.

doesn’t believe she’s capable of loving anyone.

she’s lowkey a perfectionist to the point of being ruthless, also cutthroat and egotistical.

if ya ain’t of use to her, then what the heck is ur purpose???

she’s v ambitious, v morally ambiguous, v self-serving and v self-involved.

she can be ... aggressive sometimes and most definitely has anger issues.

dry sense of humour one million per cent.

her signature look is her blood-red lips.

extremely skilled with knives and blades. and always carries one on her person at all times.

her most prized possession is her brushed chrome zippo lighter. it has her initials engraved into it and where she got it from, or who is something she’ll never tell.

always says she needs to quit smoking but never does and probably never will either.

did someone say ... resting bitch face???

tho when she smiles it’s like sunshine uwu

high key will sleep with anyone.

first place is the ONLY acceptable place, ok??? 

one of those people who just excels at everything she tries her hand at.

absolutely adores animals. much prefers them to humans.

she’s quite adventurous and loves to feel the adrenaline in her blood.

doesn’t take herself or her life too seriously.

always up for a good time and is usually the life of the party.

outspoken and quick-witted with a sharp tongue.

much too sassy and sarcastic for her own good.

really, she does what she wants to, when she wants to, without seeking the approval of others.

truthfully? she’s a bit of a spitfire if you really irk her. so, watch out.

you can find a pinterest board for her by clicking anywhere here.

[firebirdsdaughter]

Random Writing Word Dump…

… Draft… Demo… Thing… Mess… I dunno.

It’s like I took my brain and shook it upside down…

It’s kinda long.

So… I like the second half of this more than the first, but oh well.

Brief context: Horobi and Jin had redemption arcs a while ago, and Yua and Isamu decided to ally w/ Aruto, too. Everyone was at the Hiden building when the Ark usurped control of it and turned the entire security system against them. Yua and Aruto take Jin and Izu and head for the President’s secret lab in the hopes that it will be the most defensible while Isamu heads for the core server room in order to try and flush the Ark out, w/ Horobi volunteering to go as well, bc he’s not about to let the building get destroyed while Jin is in it.

And thus we begin.

The pacing is really terrible here, but here we are.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Fuwa, we made it back to the President’s private lab, but it’s not going to hold forever!” Yua’s words were slightly spotty over the radio as they descended deeper into the Hiden building, but still audible. “Where are you two?”

“Still going down!” Isamu shouted, over the sound of another security drone—until Horobi abruptly sliced it in half with a single swipe of his katana, “But murder bot here says we’re nearly there!” He glanced toward the HumaGear—or, rather, the sword Horobi was re-sheathing. “What is that thing even made out of?”

Horobi ignored his question to scowl slightly at him. “I told you to stop calling me murder bot.” He snapped—strangely, though, neither the demand nor the expression actually felt hostile.

“You’ve nearly killed me multiple times, I’ll call you what I want.” Isamu shot back, rushing past the HumaGear and down the stairs rather than giving him a chance to answer. He caught Horobi rolling his eyes, but the robot elected to merely follow him rather than complaining again.

They moved even further down, and the shiny, pristine aesthetic of Hiden Intelligence began to fade, giving way to cement walls, industrial lights, and cables running along the walls. Isamu turned off his radio when the HumaGear suggested the signal might have been attracting attentions—and it did seem to have helped, especially after a drone had gotten a lucky hit on his leg before he’d shot it down. “How many damn floors does this building need?!” Vulcan growled, shaking his head, leaning heavily on the railing.

“They weren’t expecting an aggressive AI to commandeer control when they originally built it.” Was Horobi’s flat reply, looking ahead rather than at the human behind him. On the following landing, however, he abruptly came to a stop then, purple light glimmering in his eyes as he cycled through the blueprints. “This is the floor. This way.” Without another warning, he turned sharply and darted through a door on his right, forcing Isamu to run after him.

Finally, they crashed through a door that Horobi spun around to hold closed, ordering Isamu to hit the emergency lock—the moment Vulcan pushed the button, metal bars shot across the door, and the HumaGear released it, stepping back.

“That should buy us some time.”

“How much?”

“Depends,” Was the curt reply as Horobi turned back to the room they’d sealed themselves in, “How quickly we fix this.”

Isamu followed his gaze to the mass of monitors and equipment lining the walls. “… I hope you meant it when you said you could do it, because Yaiba’s right—I have no idea how any of this stuff works.” Horobi had already crossing the floor to one of the monitors before he finished the sentence, pulling up windows and typing—but the deepening frown on the HumaGear’s face was not a good sign. “… What’s wrong?”

“The Ark is rewriting the security protocols and commands faster than I can enter them.” Horobi paused, leaning against the edge of the terminal. “I should still have at least basic admin access, if Korenosuke’s files are to be believed, but of course without the antennae, I can’t directly connect…” He actually punch the metal in frustration. “Never thought I’d regret…” The HumaGear trailed off suddenly, as his gaze lighted across the wires running between the different stations. “Unless…”

“Antennae?” Isamu frowned. “You mean the earpieces? Is there a way we could-” He stopped at the sound of rubber tearing, and looked over to see Horobi ripping one of the cords out. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I can’t connect wirelessly,” The HumaGear explained, just as bluntly as he said everything, reaching up to yank off his head wrap and feeling the back of his head with his fingers, searching for something as he pulled more of the wire away from the wall, “But if I use one of these, I should be able to create a direct line from my system to the computer.” Whatever he sought on his head, he found at what would have been the base of his skull if he were human.

Isamu was still at a loss until Horobi pulled the cable up and moved to stab it into the spot—at that, Vulcan dove forward and grabbed his arm. “Hold up!” He tried to pull the HumaGear’s arm down, but Horobi refused to budge. “What will that do to you?!”

“At the very least, it will allow me to enter commands faster and maybe outpace the Ark. At best, I may be able to retake control.”

“You’re talking about hooking yourself up directly to the main system for the entire Hiden building. I don’t know much, but I’m pretty sure that’s too much for one HumaGear to handle—you’ll fry your whole system!”

“We have no other choice.” There was an edge to Horobi’s voice that time. He moved to plug the wire in again, but Isamu refused to let go, holding on to the HumaGear’s arm with both hands.

“Your heart-”

“-Is in Hiden’s lab!” The surprise of Horobi raising his voice made Vulcan’s grip slacken, and the HumaGear yanked free and stabbed the end of the cable into the back of his head before Isamu could stop him.

Sparks flashed around the connection, surging all the way up the remains of Horobi’s earpieces, the lights and his eyes blazing so brightly it hurt to look at. The HumaGear’s body shuddering like he’d just been electrocuted, then collapsing forward to barely catch himself on the edge of the computer terminal.

Isamu tried to reach out to him, but got zapped by the floating sparks and flinched back, resorting to yelling instead. “Murder bot! Oi! Murder bot!” There was no answer. “Horobi!”

“… I…” Even Horobi’s voice seemed to crackle with electricity, “… I’m fine… I can… I can see it…” He sounded almost in awe—but very much not fine.

But the computer screen was flashing ‘CONNECTION ESTABLISHED,’ and there was a loud cracking of metal as the door began to buckle behind them. “… Shit!” Reluctantly, Isamu pulled away, spinning around around to search for something to prop the door with, even if it was futile. Horobi stayed clinging to the side of the computer station as Vulcan collected every chair in the room to barricade the door, his head periodically shooting off more sparks, the blaring lights on his head and in his eyes blinking as he worked. When he had done all he could, Isamu repositioned in the centre of the room, readying the ShotRiser and levelling it at the door. A robotic arm burst through the metal, straining at the makeshift barricade, and he could hear more on the other side. Gritting his teeth, he prayed that the doors of Hiden’s private lab were holding better.

A high pitched ringing pierced his hearing, dizzying him for a moment. It continued for several more seconds, then cut off abruptly—the arm reaching through the door froze completely… Then fell limp. On the other side of the door, he could hear crash after crash as more drones dropped to the floor.

A sigh of relief exploded from him, and he folded forward, catching himself on his knees, unable to keep the grin off his face. “Oh… Oh thank goodness…” He dragged himself back upright, calling over his shoulder, “Hey, you did it! You… You did it!”

Nothing but silence answered him.

His relief immediately choked. “Horobi?” Spinning around, he looked frantically at where the HumaGear had been standing, bent over the edge of the terminal—to find Horobi collapsed on the concrete floor. “Horobi!” Rushing over, he dropped the ShotRiser at his side, kneeling down and lifting the HumaGear into his arms. “Hey!”

After a moment of shaking, Horobi’s eyes fluttered open, both them and the lights in his head still glowing abnormally brightly. His lips moved soundlessly for a moment, then, “… Jin…?” Isamu stared at him for a moment, then quickly fumbled for his radio with the arm not under the HumaGear’s shoulders, clicking it back on.

“-wa! Fuwa! Can you hear me? Fuwa!” Yua’s voice burst through the static, making him wince for a moment, but also flooding him with relief again.

But then he felt Horobi shift in his arms, and remembered what was happening. “Yaiba!” His voice broke a little, despite his attempt to keep it steady, “You guys all okay?”

“Fuwa!” He heard her exhale like a weight had lifted off her shoulders. “Oh, thank goodness.” Yua being Yua, however, she recovered quickly. “We’re all fine.” She assured him. “What about-” He muted the line before she could finish the question.

He looked back down at the HumaGear in his arms. Seeing that Horobi’s eyes had closed again, he shook him a little to try and wake him up. “Hey… Hey, look at me.” The too bright eyes cracked open again, looking anxiously at him. “You did it. They’re okay—he’s okay.” He squeezed Horobi’s shoulders gently. “You protected him.”

Even though the HumaGear had no natural muscles, he felt Horobi relax, despite the sparks still dancing around his mechanics. “… Thank goodness…” The HumaGear jerked slightly, wincing. “I… I still have access to the system…” His eyes flicked back and forth, the beaming light shimmering slightly again. “There’s… Something here…”

“Oi.” Isamu shook him again. “Oi, don’t overdo it.”

Horobi smirked, but it quickly turned into a grimace. “I’m afraid… It’s too late for that.” Isamu’s heart skipped, but the HumaGear didn’t wait for him to react. “… It’s a Key…?” For a moment, his eyes shone even brighter. “Transferring to Zea.” The ringing noise came again—then sputtered out abruptly. Horobi convulsed sharply in his hold, an even larger shower of sparks erupted from his head, burning Isamu’s arms and face, forcing him to close his eyes. When the heat stopped, he felt the HumaGear go still once more, sagging into him. Blinking his eyes back open, he squinted through the spots in his vision at Horobi.

The HumaGear’s eyes were no longer glowing so intensely, merely carrying some residual shimmers of violet. The lights in the remains of his earpieces still shone, the colours churning slightly like he was still processing something. He was shivering a bit, but not as if from cold—in fact, he felt unnaturally warm, like an overheated computer. Isamu tried to swallow the lump in his throat, to no avail, leaning back over to try and examine the damage, even though he knew he’d be useless to help. “… What did you…?”

“… System overload…” Horobi’s voice was tired, barely audible, edged with static, “… Shutdown… Is imminent…” He looked wearily up at Isamu, wincing. “Never thought I’d die…” There was a touch of wryness in the words, his mouth twisting into a slight sneer, “… In the arms of a human…”

A sound that was almost a chuckle burst from Isamu unwillingly, but it died quickly, consumed by the understanding of what else the HumaGear had said. It was still a struggle to keep his breathing even, and tears had begun pricking in his eyes despite himself. “… What about the arms of a friend?” Unlike Horobi, his voice was entirely capable of hoarseness, and it cracked under the overwhelming myriad of emotions weighing upon him.

There was a silence, Horobi’s eyebrows furrowing slightly in thought. “… A friend…?” After another moment, the expression gave way to a small smirk—one that was ages softer than any before it. “… That would be acceptable.” His eyes drifted back up to meet Isamu’s, and Vulcan knew he saw the tears, because the smirk shifted into a genuine, sorrowful smile. Slowly, the hand holding Isamu’s scarf released to reach up and wipe away the drops that had spilled onto Vulcan’s cheek, gazing in awe at the wetness on his fingers for a moment. “… Maybe…” Horobi’s voice was beginning to blur and lag, the static in his words becoming more prominent, his system beginning to fail, “… Maybe there is hope for peace between our kinds, after all…” His eyes and the fixtures on the sides of his head flickered, and the HumaGear’s hand dropped slowly back onto his own chest. The smile faded away into a look of heartbreak that should have been accompanied by tears of its own. “… Jin…” Horobi whispered, one last time—and all his lights went dark. The words ‘CONNECTION LOST’ flashed on the computer screen.

There was a short, heavy silence as Isamu waited, just in case, to see if, by some miracle, he would restart—but nothing happened. Finally, Vulcan broke, bowing his head into the HumaGear’s chest, shoulders shaking with choking, deceptively quiet sobs.

He didn’t let the outburst last long. Taking deep breaths to pull himself together, he hauled his head back up, prying the arm not supporting the HumaGear’s shoulders up to reach over and close Horobi’s eyes, hand moving to cup the HumaGear’s face for a moment afterwards. “Rest now.” He managed to croak softly. “We’ll take care of the rest.”

Footsteps made him look toward the door. “Fuwa!” Yua’s voice was half welcome, half terrifying, as he heard the banging and crashing of the dead drones being pushed aside—and soon, the door burst open, and Valkyrie rushed in. “There you are! Listen, Zea started-” She broke off sharply, freezing in her tracks when she saw the scene—him staring despairingly up at her, tears still in his eyes, cradling the HumaGear’s body in his arms. “… Oh.”

In a wild flurry of steps, Aruto, then Izu appeared at her sides—to also skid to a halt to stare when they saw. Aruto clung to the doorframe for balance, and Izu looked even more rigid than usual, eyes wide, and both stunned into silence.

“Horobi?!” The young, anxious voice from behind the others made Isamu’s heart drop right through the floor. It fell even further as Jin pushed to the front, panic and worry already clinging to his features. It felt like a knife in the gut when the young HumaGear’s expression morphed into a look of pure horror. “Horobi!” With a shriek that broke the limits of human hearing, Jin dove forward to crash to his knees across from Isamu. “Horobi!” He didn’t so much as look up at Vulcan, first grabbing Horobi’s shoulders to shake him, then pulling him out of Isamu’s arms and into his own, clutching his father to his chest with more than human strength, dissolving into tearless sobs, burying his face in Horobi’s hair.

Isamu took a few more deep breaths to try and keep himself collected, then took a moment to lean forward and grab the computer cable still plugged into the base of Horobi’s head, yanking it out—there was no reaction, not even a single spark, as the prongs left the HumaGear’s head. Tossing the cord aside, Isamu grabbed the edge of the computer terminal, dragging himself to his feet, and tried to make his way around Jin, toward the door. He only made it a few steps before his leg gave out and he stumbled, but his movement had broken the spell of shock—Aruto and Yua both moved to catch him before he fell, the Hiden President stepping closer on his injured side, pulling Isamu’s arm over his shoulders to support him while Yua’s hand stayed on his other arm. Izu cut around them, walking over to kneel beside Jin and place a hand on his shoulder, even though he gave no notice, just continued weeping hysterically over Horobi’s body.

“… It’s not your fault.” Aruto’s voice was quiet, watching the trouble in Isamu’s expression with undeniable sympathy—but Isamu didn’t have the strength to be angry at it.

“Leave it.” He grunted darkly, instead—but when Aruto tugged on his arm, he allowed the other Kamen Rider to help him from the room, leaving Yua and Izu to see to the newly orphaned HumaGear.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I actually should have written more to this before posting it, but… YOLO?

… Is that even still a thing?

[audioprompts]

rules: repost, don’t reblog. just pick a muse of yours and fill it out.

muse: henry emily ( aka “cassette man” ).

BASICS

▸ is your muse tall/short/average? he’s around average height, which is roughly 5′9″.

▸ are they okay with their height? it doesn’t bother him too much; height never really factored into his life or his work, nor has he ever really been mocked for it. ▸ what’s their hair like? before losing his children, it was always short, well-kept and combed neatly ( he actually took care of himself back in those days ); afterwards, it became a disheveled mess. he never takes a brush to it, giving him the impression that he’s always just crawled out of bed.

▸ do they spend a lot of time on their hair/with their grooming? before losing his children ( but after starting fredbear’s ), sort of! he at least tried to keep up a somewhat professional appearance as the owner and creator of the animatronics when he wasn’t in costume, although that was difficult, provided how stuffy the costumes tended to be. afterwards, however, spending time caring for himself in any way became a waste of time. he even started showing up to work in his oily, stained flannel shirts. ▸ does your muse care about their appearance? somewhat, once upon a time, in the sense that he just wanted to be presentable to others as a “professional business owner” ( even if that aspect of the job belonged more to william than himself ). nowadays, he doesn’t really give a damn.

▸ does your muse care about what others think about them? truthfully, he used to. being considered a suspect of his children’s own murders absolutely crushed him ( it was a last straw atop everything else ), and being the topic of conversations and countless rumors was heartbreaking. if he didn’t learn to numb himself to it over the years, he wouldn’t have survived.

PREFERENCES

▸ indoors or outdoors? indoors, by far. he’s a simple and reclusive man who finds his comforts in private spaces, like the sanctuary of his workshop. ▸ rain or sunshine? sunshine; pleasant weather and free weekends used to be the catalyst for family outings, so he still has a soft spot for sunny days. rain is more of a depressing reflection of his constant state of mind. ▸ forest or beach? the forest. the seclusion is calming to him, and camping out was always more appealing to him and his kids, anyway.

▸ precious metals or gems? metals are always more appealing to an inventor, aren’t they? ▸ flowers or perfumes? flowers are always nice, aren’t they? his kids used to dig them out of the garden around the house and give them to him as a makeshift “bouquet,” and it was the cutest shit ever. ▸ personality or appearance? personality. appearance doesn’t really matter to him, so long as whoever he’s with is kind, loving, and patient with him. someone who was also into robotics and would support his work would be an added bonus. ▸ being alone or being in a crowd? being alone. while he used to subject himself to crowds for the sake of kids’ entertainment, they now remind him of the worst moments of his life. ▸ order or anarchy? order. all he ever wanted was a peaceful life. ▸ painful truths or white lies? painful truths. white lies were saved for when his children were around, when they asked probing questions that they couldn’t quite handle the answers to. otherwise, he’d either be blunt or avoid answering altogether.

▸ science or magic? science! as an inventor, obviously he leans toward the former ( even if his prowess in the field makes it SEEM like magic ). ▸ peace or conflict? peace; however, his planned actions against william and the remnants of his own franchise obviously lean more toward the conflict end of the spectrum. after the shit he’s been through, though, it’s sort of justified -- not to mention that it’ll make the world more peaceful afterwards. ▸ night or day? day.  ▸ dusk or dawn? dusk. ▸ warmth or cold? he appreciates warmth just a tiny bit more than the cold; it’s a comfort thing.

▸ many acquaintances or a few close friends? a few close friends.

▸ reading or playing a game? reading; he has a vast collection of non-fiction books that he studied diligently when he first started inventing, of course, but he does also enjoy reading as a hobby.

QUESTIONNAIRE

▸ what are some of your muse’s bad habits? oh, y’know, his denial, for one thing. the fact that he’d rather throw himself into a delusion than face the fact that he lost his daughter, or that his business partner and closest friend was the person who caused her “disappearance.” beyond that, he’s also more than willing to resort to crimes -- the biggest ones being arson and murder -- to get back at the man who ruined his life.

▸ has your muse lost anyone close to them? how has it affected them? haha, everyone. his wife, his children, his “old friend.” he lost his wife soon after their twins were born, and while that in itself shattered him, he had to get through it...for the sake of their kids. but then, losing his daughter after starting fredbear’s absolutely broke him. he was devastated, but struggled to keep himself together for his son ( even though he nearly pulled himself into a denial-induced delusion in the process ). he lost his son soon after to another incident at the diner -- this time, a bite involving an animatronic. he was crushed, all over again, and couldn’t pull himself together for the longest time.

▸ what are some fond memories your muse has? his fondest memories involve his children; creating and giving them new toys ( and happily watching as they played with them, wonder in their little eyes ), letting them play together in his workshop, having family outings to small diners or ice cream parlors and laughing at how messy they both got. ▸ is it easy for your muse to kill? with certain people, and if he’s been wronged enough, absolutely. he wouldn’t lay a hand on a person otherwise -- he’s not the violent type -- but if you fuck with his family? he’s going to DESTROY you, sooner or later.

▸ what’s it like when your muse breaks down? after a severe loss, like the death of his kids, he loses touch with reality. he goes void. when around other people, it’s obvious how detached and absent he is, and he can’t pull himself together. he goes into a deep depression, really only releasing his feelings when he’s alone and going into crying spells. ▸ is your muse capable of trusting someone with their life? not easily. after what he went through with william, trust needs to be earned, and even then...he can never really be sure. ▸ what’s your muse like when they’re in love? henry’s a huge sap in general, so if he ever did wind up falling for someone again, he’d be sickeningly sweet toward them. having lost everyone he’s ever loved, he'd also want to cling to them as much as possible while they’re still around. all that said, however, there’d also be a part of him that’d reject that feeling from the get-go -- he wouldn’t WANT to get attached to anyone ever again, and he’d likely avoid it at all costs.

tagged by: nabbed it from my other blog bc i wanna do it on my fnaf blogs too!! ( for my human muses at least ) tagging: @williamafton, @afton-legacies, @demolitioninevitable ( i tagged this blog for the fnaf aesthetic but u can go for any of em if u want! ), @frightsguard ( any of ur blogs! ), @afunsized​, & @mcnystorcies because all of y’all are super rad and nice and i appreciate all of you :’ ))) but no worries if you don’t want to do this or have already done it and i just haven’t seen it!!! consider me tagging just. a token of my love and appreciation instead afdsfd

[itarz4n]

that’s JOHN “TARZAN” BRUCE II walking down the street, the 21 year old, who looks like booboo stewart. here in apple peak, they are a zookeeper. some say he act(s) like tarzan from tarzan, since he can be fearless, but also a little bit reserved. — !!! 

tarzan is like my top three favourite disney movies ofall time so like !! plot ideas at the bottom of the post!

exteriors

parents were: alice and john bruce i.

the bruces were a wealthy family in apple peak, old money.

there was some scandal when john bruce the first didn’t continue the family business of steel manufacturing and, instead, pursued science (mainly environmental science and )

he met his wife, a documentary-maker, on safari

their big project together was being the first to film and document the unexplored rainforests of the congo, this was in 1996. and they kept it a secret from most people where they were going, so they could really conduct this by themselves and away from prying eyes.

tarzan was born 1997

they survived for one year, in a remote mountain on the congo, and could never escape for fear of being attacked by animals

they were eventually killed by sabor, the leopard, in their makeshift tree-house

the baby tarzan was found by an ape, named kala, and she became his mother

2013: tarzan was found by pygmy peoples when he was 16, but they left him alone in the jungle, only occasionally interacting with him. the next year, when american scientists (the porters !!) on expedition heard about the story, they actively tried to interact with him, and tarzan eventually began to open up, with the help of both groups.

2014: when he was 17, they then took him back to apple peak, and he became the sole benefactor of the bruce fortune -- after the company and the family manor were being taken care of by the board of directors

just this young boy alone in a huge house, where everything was smooth and clean and modern ???

but at least the house was in the middle of the forest, so he spent most of his time outdoors. there’s a huge oak tree back there, planted by great-great grandfather bruce

and also the large glass greenhouse in the backyard. that’s his favourite place.

when it was explained to him, tarzan didn’t know what to do about the company. how could he? he didn’t care for machinery or cars. so the board continues to take care of he company, on the condition that he still shows up as the bruce heir.

and lowkey … he feels that he owes that much to his dead parents. he’ll deal with all the socialising bc he believes that’s the way to honour them

he doesn’t really like … a lot of people, especially since the first three years of his life in western civilization, he was a celebrity. he felt paraded around by the company that sponsored the expedition of the porters, and then his family’s company too. part of the deal to bring him back included interviews with oprah, ellen, and all the newspapers and magazines marvelled about The Ape Boy, The Hairless Wonder, and The Real-Life Tarzan.

BECAUSE THE STORIES OF TARZAN AND DISNEY AND STUFF IS REAL IN APPLE PEAK ??? PEOPLE WOULD KNOW ABOUT TARZAN

he hasn’t read any book or watched any movie about tarzan and refuses to

they really screamed when they found out his name actually was legitimately Tarzan.

and he’s so confused because tarzan was just the name that he ??? he just knew that name, it was the sound the apes would make to call him, and it was the name he knew from his dreams

but yeah huge paparazzi problems

he was just quiet throughout the whole thing

2018: the celebrity hysteria dies down, but he’s still remembered and recognised as Real Tarzan.

appearance

deserves its own section

he has long black hair !!

insanely muscled body

height: 1.94m/6′3″

BOY IS TALL

his hands have been shaped oddly, there’s more space around his knuckles from crawling on all fours all his life. he also has huge hands as a result. will put his hands in his pockets most of the time bc people tend to stare

pls watch this video for visual rep (its from the movie ‘legend of tarzan’!!)

interiors

such a quiet boy, just wants to be left alone with the people he loves (which is a very small number now). 

wants to know as much as possible about his family and what their plan for him was

happiest when he’s in the huge backyard of his family manor, or in the zoo. 

CALL HIM JOHN. he’ll answer to tarzan bc he’s nice but he’ll be super uncomfortable. not really the type to tell you that he doesn’t like to be called tarzan but he’ll say like “hi ... my name’s john, though ......”

really doesn’t want to be a public attraction anymore

he’s working through it :((

IN APPLE PEAK:

tarzan started introducing himself as john because he was sick of being stared at

was offered a position of zookeeper in the apple peak city zoo

his main area are the ‘exotic animals’ and african animals

he takes care of them and keeps the company

has outright refused to do shows or presentations with the animals. if someone catches him playing with the apes its because he wants to and not as some timed show

his nametag is “john” but everyone would recognise him as tarzan

the company is called: SILVERSTEEL. it’s been around since like colonial times, the bruces like to say they’re direct descendants of old scottish royalty. they have global connections and everything, it’s pretty huge.

no one could find the bruces for years because it was a secret expedition, and they never told anyone where they were going except “africa”

DREAMS:

he doesn’t know whether to consider them memories or dreams

because his life here has been so similar to his ‘true’ life, he can’t tell the difference

but his mother is different sometimes, the language is different, his interactions with his ape family is different, and his dreams seem more vibrant and colourful, while his reality was rather dirty and harsh 

like he remembers the names of his ape family as kala, terk, and tantor the elephant -- but did he actually know these names, or are they from his dreams??? whO KNOWS 

he’s been having these dreams since he was brought to the civilized world

he hates that everyone acts like they know more about him than he does. which is sort of true but also ... makes him feel so insecure 

FUN HEADCANONS THAT DONT MAKE ME SAD

he climbs trees still. 

PARKOUR !!!!

probably makes ppl swoon without knowing bc like he smiles and ???? chiselled jawline ?? handsome, strong eyes ??? BICEPS ??? lean body ??? soft boy who loves animals ? wow

the company has tried to make him go on dates before (usually to like any heiresses and heirs) and he’s been nice to all of them but nothing’s rly worked out. 

one time he spent more time with the fish in the tiny fish tank at a restaurant than his date

there was also one dinner date at the zoo. which was useless bc he just straight-up left to hang with the animals

the butler of the manor/his babysitter/his driver who’s basically alfred pennyworth: “master john what are you doing up there”

john in a tree with a monkey: “hanging”

PLOT IDEAS

just LOTS of people recognising him as “that jungle tarzan kid that was on oprah like two years ago, oprah actually came out of retirement”. he’ll hate it but like i want that so cvhbkshje

people from old apple peak families that would know the bruces and he’d be more open with them if they knew his family well. he just wants to know more about who he’s meant to be :((

he’ll try out any sport so please all the jocks welcome him

ppl who work in the zoo or go to the zoo a lot!!

GOD GIVE ME A JANE, and the headlines were “ME TARZAN, YOU JANE” for AGES and he just hated it please. but honestly, jane is his life-line. pls he needs her.

GIVE ME THAT “LEGEND OF TARZAN” AESTHETIC

[juliivn-blog]

*  bill skarsgård, age 27, he/him  | oh, them? that’s julian nilsson. they’ve lived in carina bay for, like, one week. last time i spoke to them they were a drug dealer, and if i remember correctly, they’re an aries. seeing them around always makes me think of track marks hidden beneath a long-sleeved shirt, the watery reflection of a neon sign in a motel parking lot, the eerie quiet of 5am after a sleepless night. ( lainie, 24, cst, she/her ) 

hello bitches it me ur local bag of literal garbage ( lainie ) back at it again !! this time bringing u the anti adrian and pls be wary bc there are a lot of sensitive topics down below ( tws for major drug use, drug addiction, death, grief, shitty parenting, neglect, abandonment?? kind of idk better safe than sorry )

so bear with me bc his background info is kind of Long!! his mom and dad are from just outside of st louis, missouri. his mom came from a pretty wealthy family and she was just like tryna be ~rebellious in her young adult years by dating julian’s dad (who came from a super trashy family and had a Bad Boy Rep). when she was 19 and he was 22 she got pregnant ( with julian ) and her fam was like lol get rid of that baby or ur gone !! but they were “““madly in love””” and she was on her rebellious shit so they literally eloped to the city ( st louis ) and got an apartment together and had julian but never actually got married bc they were too cool ( read: irresponsible ) for that. ofc this ended up being rly miserable bc she was used to living the rich life and now her family had disowned her, and suddenly she was starting to realize this dude she had a kid with was kind of a deadbeat party boy with no interest in having a family, not to mention she started realizing like?? i don’t actually want a kid this is a lot of work?? so like julian’s childhood years were a lot of him having to learn to take care of himself and not having anyone to depend on most of the time. and that’s not to say they didn’t both care abt him on some level bc there were definitely times they paid attention to him and gave him a birthday party or two but for the most part he was on his own

fast forward 5 years and finally julian’s dad, now in his late 20s and getting antsy, peaces the fuck out to los angeles to live his best party boy life. baby julian is very upset bc even tho his dad doesnt pay a lot of attention to him he like idolizes him. julian’s mom is saltier than EVER about having to take care of a kid but she doesn’t wanna go to LA ( especially for this asshole she doesn’t even like anymore ) and her parents won’t have anything to do with her or her illegitimate child so the NEXT 5 years are a lot of moving around from shitty apartment to shitty apartment and job to job by themselves. his dad would now and then send weird postcards and stuff from cali so he had like a vague idea of the fact that his dad was living his own life somewhere that looked super wild, and when he was 11 years old he managed to send a letter back asking if he could come live with him. his dad contacts his mom, there’s a bunch of fighting, but in the end julian did indeed get to go live with his dad in los angeles, mostly bc his mom just didn’t give a fuck anymore and was lowkey like…u know what fine take him i can have my life back

obviously his dad does not know how to be a dad !!! he kind of thought of julian as his little like…..sidekick like he just thought having this 11 year old kid around was hilarious. so julian went to LA and was living with his dad and his dad’s friends in a relatively nice apartment but like it’s always filled with people doing drugs and having sex and it’s just. not child friendly at all. so that’s how julian was introduced to weed at the ripe young age of 11!!! from there on out he was like a big time weed and cigarette smoker, was very early having sex and trying other drugs, and by the time he graduated high school he was already hardcore doing coke

so julian like kind of wanted to go to college bc some part of him did crave normalcy, but he was way too far up his own ass to get his shit together for that !! plus like....he didn’t rly have good role models. so his first year after high school instead of getting on a good path for his future he decided living his best life would include moving into an apartment with his cokehead best friend. it was around that time that julian met his first boyfriend. he was already totally aware he was bi, had slept with boys in high school, but this was the first time he rly fell in love with a guy. he was like……….head! over! heels! for this boy. julian met him at a club and he was like sort of soft and relatively innocent until they started dating and julian got him smoking weed and then snorting coke

this next part is very triggering so please read with caution !! when he was 21, julian tried heroin for the first time. for about 6 months it gradually got really bad, his life started spiraling, and his bf was like….becoming unable to deal with it, especially bc while julian was getting worse his bf was kind of trying to move in the opposite direction and get off the coke and get his life back together. there was a lot of fighting, but his bf kept not actually making the move to end things bc he loved julian and was just like hoping something would turn around. one night, however, in a moment of weakness, he let julian talk him into trying heroin with him. it was kind of a “i promise i’ll get clean if u try it with me this one time” thing. being in and out of consciousness and not really aware of what was going on, he didn’t notice that his bf was overdosing and he ended up dying simply bc the heroin was too much for his body and he stopped breathing. julian didn’t notice until the morning when he woke up, and obviously that was by far the most traumatic thing that’s ever happened to him and left some deep ass emotional scars

so following this, he actually did check himself into rehab. he was there for 3 months, got completely clean, but he only managed to stay that way for two weeks before he was first snorting heroin again and then back to shooting up and selling drugs

it was about a year later when he was 23 that he met kit while he was doing a deal at some seedy bar outside of town. they quickly fell into a completely unanticipated relationship--notably, julian’s first since his boyfriend’s death. in spite of that trauma and feeling guilty even as he did it, he started introducing kit to drugs. in his mind, it was kind of a thing where he fell in love really fast and really hard out of nowhere and he saw this sad little thing with no place to go and drugs are the only thing he’s ever known himself, so it was very natural to be like “here try this it helps” and also naively convincing himself he’d never let what happened before happen again

so four years later they’re living together and completely broke, living mostly off the money julian makes selling drugs and whatever else they can scrape up, when kit decides he wants to do a road trip across the country. julian’s very impulsive, doesn’t really give a shit about anything in LA anyway, and to top it off has a hard time saying no to kit. SO a road trip it is !! they make it all the way across the country before finally using up the last of their money and realizing they don’t have enough to get back

which is how he wound up in carina bay! they’re currently living out of julian’s car with a little makeshift bed in the back and he’s selling drugs again to try and save up enough so they can get home, but they use most of what he’s supposed to sell so it’s.......not going very well euyagafdhs

so now that his lengthy as fuck background is over with………julian is an extremely EXTREMELY dry sarcastic person. the guilt over his bf has made him wayyyyyyyy worse, like his sense of humor is so so much darker than it was before that happened, but he’s honestly just a rly sarcastic person to begin with. he has some softness inside especially for people he rly cares abt, but you will not catch julian being sentimental or taking literally anything seriously unless you’ve managed to seriously worm your way into his heart

he’s not like a GRUMP tho at all he just....doesn’t take things seriously. he’s literally the embodiment of every bart simpson meme

"whatever my dude” is his aesthetic

he’s very careful about his drug dealing, he won’t go around talking about it or anything, he does it all under the radar as much as he can and especially having done it for so long now and having experienced a lot of traumatic crap, he’s pretty good at what he does and he won’t fuck with people he doesn’t trust

even when it’s warm it’s not totally unlikely to see him in long sleeves bc he has really bad track marks all over his arms from shooting up so much, especially in the early days when he was really bad at it

he absolutely will not talk about his past and if anything even close to it comes up in conversation he will skate right over that so qUICK ur head will spin

i think that’s IT FOR NOW if u made it this far i commend ur effort and attention span. im gna list some plots n stuff below and hit me uP for some angst bc ya girl is here for the drama as usual

CONNECTION IDEAS

any and all drug related things !! people who buy from him (especially weed, he’s a lot more lenient about to whom he sells weed as opposed to other stuff), people he introduces to drugs, friends he actually does drugs with

he’s very dry and enigmatic but he’s also quite social so seriously give me friends for him. he’s high a LOT but not always and he likes being out doing stuff

definitely somebody or somebodies who don’t trust him and his drug addict bart simpson vibe please please give me people who don’t like him

along that same vein it takes a lot to get julian worked up and in fight mode bc he prefers to just let things roll off his shoulders but it would def be fun to have someone who gets him to that point

also somebody who?? maybe thinks they can “fix” him and genuinely does their best to try and persuade him to change his life and that it’s not too late to turn everything around

if ur muse is randomly from st louis missouri????? hit me up with a past connection from way back in julian’s childhood 

also someone he went to high school with in LA if they’re from LA. this person would probably not be surprised at the way julian turned out ystefygdjhs

[belicvcr-blog]

[zoe 101 vc] are you ready? it’s ya local trashbag rachel here--- though you can feel free to call me rach or legit anything. i have a tenancy to call literally everyone ‘guRl’ or ‘BoO’ so if that makes you uncomfy pls call a bitch out it’s just habit okAy. i’m twenty years old, go by she/her pronuns and am from lil ol’ ireland aka the gmt+1 timezone !! under the cut you can find some info on this piece of shit aka delaney.

NINA DOBREV. CISFEMALE. SHE/HER. — have you met delaney rose whitmore? the twenty-four year old works as bartender/underground fighter and is known for being audacious and alluring but also rather obstinate and fiery. they’ve lived here in phoenix for twenty-four years and recently listened to believer by imagine dragons. [ fishnet peeking from beneath ripped denim. purple hues spread across tanned skin, a product of both pleasure and pain. a lifeless, makeshift punching bag lingering in the far corner of a run-down apartment. late nights, neon lights. watching your own father turn to a shell of a being. challenging stoic, bulky men to a fist-fight only to prove them wrong for ever mocking you. being no stranger to the cold feeling of cuffs around skinny wrists. she made sure to take all of her belongings, but left you behind. rim of liquor bottles meeting lips after hours. ]

TW: MENTIONS OF VERBAL ABUSE

okay so, delaney grew up in lil old phoenix and tbh has yet to actually ever leave the place?? like ya girl is twenty-four and legit never took a vacay or anything to get out of the place smh.

started off with a lit family life, was the only child to mr. n mrs. whitmore and they adored their lil baby??  life was legit great until it wasn’t.

by that i mean that delaney was a colic baby and it drove her father INSANE, all the constant crying and whatnot legit just drove him up the fken walls. he couldn’t cope with it and tried to refrain from being around her as much as possible which wound up leaving mommy dearest to deal with it herself.

cutting to the chase, daddy discovered alcohol could numb his stress and welp……. helo addiction amiright. he began to drink to cope with the situation. which eventually, resulted in him getting fired from his job when he turned up to work entirely out of it. which unsurprisingly, only furthered his depressive state and need to sooth the pain with alcoholic substances.

it took years before delaney’s mother had had enough, packing her bags one day and walking out the door. it seemed she packed everything, wiped the house clean of anything that was once hers, that was, everything but delaney .

delaney waited legit for DAYS for mommy dearest to return and take her with her but?? she never did?? and it rly fucked her up a lot basically.

the whole situation forced delaney to become head of the house, considering her pops did nothing more than drink away his days and he had no job so basically whenever she was of age she was getting constant part-time jobs in stores, cafes you name it. she was never that fussed on school and tbh was often found ditching it to go and work instead.

because she was #poor asf she very quickly mingled with the wrong crowds, she’s basically the embodiment of the dirtbag aesthetic??

oh also, as i trigger warning-ed at the start, the more her pops progressed into his alcoholic state the more he started to just.. be a dick? like at first he would never have said shit to either his wife or daughter but at this point in life he’s just miserable and sitting around waiting to die so he’s constantly saying rly horrid things to delaney ?? and while she tries to put on a brave face it always leaves her feeling kinda messed up inside.

saying this, despite the fact she had finally saved enough to move out of her home n into a trashy apartment of her own; she hasn’t abandoned her father either, while she doesn’t know if she loves him or not anymore she feels like… a responsibility?? so for that reason she still checks in on him to make sure he has food and isn’t well.. dead.

quick shoutout @ her occupations. okay so, underground fighting? as i said she’s a literal dirtbag, so when ya girl realized that she could make money having people bet on her to fight she was like … fucking sign me up?? she’s been doing it since she was around eighteen/nineteen, and it was her main source of income for a long period of time.

she took it really seriously? and tbh still does, she has a makeshift punching bag in the corner of her shitty little apartment that has honestly seen better days.

however, one day the popo busted in on one of her particular fights and there was just.. a lotta arrests made that day like damn. sOoo, for a lil while she was put on parole in hopes that it’d help straighten her out and with that she was forced to get a solid job? which is how she wound up being a bartender also because really it was one of the only places that would actually hire her given the fact most considered her a lowkey criminal. 

still 100% does the underground fighting because she loves it sm okay. but she has to keep it on the low low because the popo are always watching her like a hawk.

ya’ll honestly what’s more of a mess?? me?? this intro?? or delaney?? who fken knows man. anyway, basically she is smol and fighty, oh, she’s also one of those people who like.. you don’t tell her she can’t do a thing because she will literally die proving she can do that thing. doesn’t bother trying to make anything of herself bc *gestures to her pops* she gonna end up like him anyway. lOVes fighting, will 10/10 try to fight anyone at any given time. also kinda? a flirt?? she’s very vixen-esque and it’s just in her nature to probs hit on everyone. basically... likes fighting and flirting?? sounds about right. headcanon she probs owns a motorbike because?? why not. also lowkey has a thing against relationships because commitment n trust issues bc mommy left her and watching her parents relationship crumble was a bAD timE. 

i didn’t get time to set up a possible plots/connections page today considering i got called into work unexpectedly---- but i’m the biggest plot whore going and am up for literally anything? 

give me a possible half-sibling? i could see her mom having gone on to remarry and have a new family and tbh delaney wouldn’t want to give them the time of day because she’d blame them for her parents splitting and her mom abandoning her even though it wasn’t their fault. 

give me regulars at the bar??

 someone who has caught her or watched her fight before?? maybe even someone who’s a fan?? 

she could do with some party friends bc lets be honest ya girl drinks n smokes n does all kinds of drugs bc why not dirtbag for life?? 

give me the best friends who grew apart because they ended up growing up differently (aka give me laney having ditched this lil sweetiepie because she was becoming all hardcore and basically began to hate their optimism because she’s a negative nancy.)?? 

give me failed almost-relationships because she suddenly realized how close she was getting to someone and decided to do a runner on them like k no bye. 

give me a duo who are sneaking around?? [ the hills --- the weeknd playing in bg ]

ya’ll i’m a sucker for plots based on songs so maybe some of those?

kinda always wanted a plot based of is there somewhere --- halsey??

oR FKEN WAR OF HEARTS --- RUELLE PLs s.

happier ---  ed sheeran? trouble ---  halsey? robbers ---  the 1975?

idk ya’ll i’m just spewing ideas now pls give me EVeryTHINg.

[obliqueophidian-blog]

REPOST. DON’T REBLOG.

Rules: Pick four colours you associate with your muse. Then use the gif search-function and search for the colour. Post one gif for each colour. Tag 5 other roleplayers to do this. Tagged by: @nobilissiregis

LAVENDER

GOLD

ICE BLUE

VIOLET

Tagging: idk, anybody who hasn’t done it who wants to? /shruGS