#this is why i hate hate despise this game's timezone

[kerizaret]

You've got to be fucking kidding me

[blueeyedgeorgie]

Cancelled-Dream Was Taken

A/N: Surprise bitch. Weren’t we expecting for me to release mcyt fanfics soon? If I didn’t tag my usual @‘s it’s because idk if you’d like to be tagged for mcyt content.

Pronouns: she/her

Word Count: 2.3k+

_________________

"You're so harsh on him!" Her hands sat on the keyboard, staring at the green human that stood on Y/n's computer screen.

She needed to be careful. While this was a heated moment, she couldn't let herself get too loud for multiple reasons. If she got too loud, Dream's stream viewers would be able to tell she was in the next room or they would just receive noise complaints from their neighbors.

"No Y/n! You're too soft on him! He needs to learn that he can't get away with everything. You're setting him up for failure." As the h/c girl listened to her roommate speak, she had to remind herself over and over again; 'This wasn't real.' Dream was mad, not Clay.

This had all been arranged as roleplay. Y/n would be leaving in a few days to go visit some of her family for a reunion, so Wilbur had been the one to think up the brilliant idea of what was playing out now; an argument between Y/n and Dream. The plan was to have Y/n get so upset she didn't log onto the SMP for the next few days, only to come back with a master plan to backstab Dream.

At first, Clay wasn't really on board with the thought of him getting angry at Y/n. They had been together for a little over a year, there wasn't a single moment they had gotten upset with one another. But surprisingly, Y/n had been the one to convince Clay it was a good idea.

The fans knew Dream and Y/n had a close friendship, Dream had always been so protective of her. But when this was going down, they didn't know how to act.

Every time Y/n would glance at her chat, she'd see thousands of comments rising up as new ones appeared. Comment after comment, it looked like the fans were shocked by the way this stream was turning out.

"I'm not setting him up for anything! He's a kid, Dream!" Y/n glanced from the chat,  back at the screen showing her PC game. Standing on her screen was Dream and Tommyinnit, she had accompanied Dream to visit Tommy.

"You're just babying him! 'He's a kid!' Well, he needs to learn to grow up eventually," his voice had been filled with such spite. It felt weird to hear Clay speaking to her like this in such a tone.

For a moment, she stared at the green man before a short scoff escaped her lips. "I can't believe you." With that, Y/n had pressed a few keys, turning her character towards the nether portal a couple of yards away. Before Dream had gotten the chance to speak again, Y/n began to move away.

"Y/n! Come back here!"

She flicked a few buttons, taking a moment to look behind her character to see Dream following. Good, everything was going according to plan. Within the next few minutes, she'd be able to log off and she'd be on vacation for the next few days.

The h/c girl ignored the green man as she stepped through the portal, taking her to Minecraft's version of hell. Almost done, she just needed to find a good spot to stop as she listened to Dream continue to speak.

"You can't keep ignoring me! You know I'm right in this. You know you can't keep defending Tommy. You know Tommy is driving a wedge between us-"

Perfect. Y/n had stopped just on the edge of a bridge, molten lava sat feet below them. If she fell, she'd surely die. "No."

"No?" Dream was a bit surprised to hear Y/n cut him off, but he stayed silent as he was prepared to listen to what she had to say.

"No. No more. I don't wanna hear you blame Tommy for us breaking apart. I want you to listen to me. You've been acting like much more of a dick than usual and I hate it. I despise it. You've changed for the worst because you think you can step on everyone. At this point, everyone fears to tell you the truth-except me. I'll be a hundred percent honest with you, you've been so egotistical, it's really pissed me off. This is your fault, Dream. Not Tommy's. You exiled a child for pulling a prank on a vacation house! Not even George's real house!"

"But-"

"Shut the fuck up. I'm done, but I don't wanna hear you bullshit me. So shut the fuck up."

A moment of silence passed between them as Y/n stared at her screen. Just a few more steps.

And within seconds, Dream had pulled out his netherite sword. With one hit, she was falling back into lava. Y/n glanced at her chat, a look of shock on her face as she read over what a few comments said. A moment of silent tension had passed before Y/n had finally spoken up, removing her from the voice chat she was in.

"Alright guys, I guess that's enough for the day. I'll see you all... later." With that, she had clicked a few buttons, raiding Dream's live-stream as she ended hers.

For the next 20 to 30 minutes, Y/n knew Clay would be busy streaming. So she had decided to take a bit of time to wind down and think to herself.

Get a glass of water.

'Are the fans harassing him in his twitch chat?'

Sit down on the living room couch.

'The SMP fans were always so protective of me.'

Pet Patches.

'Was I too much when I snapped at him?'

It didn't seem like 30 minutes had passed when Clay had walked out of his streaming room, only to find Y/n on the couch with Patches in her lap. "Hey, N/n." "Oh, your stream is already over?" Y/n smiled, pulling herself out of her thoughts as she scoot over, giving Clay room to take a seat right by her.

"Yeah, did you lose track of time or something?"

"I must've. How did the chat react after I 'died'?" She smiled up at her boyfriend as he wrapped an arm over her shoulders, pulling her closer into his embrace.

"Everyone was filled with joy that you died."-Y/n playfully swatted at him. "Okay, okay! I got a few chat messages of people bashing me for it, but it's fine."

"Well, it's a good thing the chat wasn't completely littered with hate. How was it after my raid?"

"Honestly, not that bad as you expect. Like I said, just a few comments. Nothing bad, I just ignored it." Clay placed a hand on Patches's head, gently scratching her, followed by the animal beginning to purr.

"Good to hear, anyways... I'm not ready to pack. Do you think we can procrastinate?" The h/c girl let out a huff leaning against her boyfriend. "How?"

"I was thinking a bit of movie binging, cuddling, and ordering dinner?" A cheeky smile spread on her face as she spoke.

"It's like you read my mind."

The couple had made it through three movies, by now it was later at night. The sun had set and they had already door dashed some food. By now they were in the middle of watching 'The Empire Strikes Back.'

'I love you.' 'I know.'

The iconic moment between Hans and Leia had been interrupted by the sound of Clay's phone buzzing. "Why is George calling?"

"What?" Y/n was a bit curious herself. Considering the timezones, George should be asleep right now. Pausing the TV, she turned her attention to her boyfriend's phone.

"Hey Clay."

"What's up, George? Isn't it like early in the morning for you?" Clay raised a brow, moving his phone so Y/n would be able to see George as well.

"Yeah, I had to stay up to fix a YouTube video I need to get out today. I was about to go to bed and I checked Twitter-"

"Oh no." Clay made a short joke, only to be cut off by his friend.

"I don't know if it's trending for you in America, but you might as well look."

"What's going on?" He swiped up, taking him to his home screen so he could click on the little blue bird app. Y/n had grabbed her phone from the coffee table, opening up the app as well. "#Cancel Dream... #Y/n... #Dream SMP"

"Is... is Clay getting canceled for killing me in Minecraft?" Y/n scrolled through the tweets involving the hashtag 'Y/n.' She could see plenty of people defending her, but making it much bigger of a problem than it actually was.

"Oh, hey Y/n. But yeah, he is." George chuckled awkwardly, scrolling through his Twitter app as well.

"This is so fucking stupid."

"It really is. So we might as well get this cleared up with the fans as soon as possible. Do you want me to tweet something, or do you want to?" Y/n looked up at her boyfriend, it looked like he was thinking.

"Yeah, I'll tweet it. Don't worry about this, Y/n."

"Alright, whatever you say," she replied, pulling a blanket over her as she waited for Clay to finish typing his response.

"Here's what I'm gonna say: 'I can't believe you guys actually think me and @(y/n) are in an actual fight in real life. We have been good friends since forever, the fight was only roleplay. I love that you guys are so protective of Y/n, but no one's actually upset.' How's that sound?"

"I think that's good," George hummed softly.

"Yeah, I doubt you'll stay 'canceled' once you've explained to them it was all part of the SMP lore." The h/c girl smiled up at her boyfriend with a small nod.

"Alright, I'm gonna post it. George, I think you should go to bed because you're half asleep already."

Y/n turned, looking at her boyfriend's iPhone. "Go to sleep, Gogy!"

"Alright, alright... I'll talk to you guys later." The call had ended with Clay and Y/n saying goodbye to their friend while George simply yawned to them as a response.

As soon as the call was over, Clay looked at the response to his tweet. It didn't seem to be going too well. There had been a few fans who understood what was going on and responded with a paragraph as an apology for the misunderstanding. But most replies had been telling Clay he was bullshitting the fans or that he wasn't being honest.

"I'm sorry, Clay," his girlfriend had huffed as she read through the responses to his tweet.

"Honestly I'm just a bit pissed off. Literally, any time someone tries to 'cancel' me, it's over something stupid. I'm not a bad guy, it just feels like some people just don't want to see me succeed." Clay had excused himself to grab a glass of water from the kitchen.

It hurt Y/n to hear how upset her boyfriend was. He never got too upset over things, but seemed to take a small toll on him. "Hold on. Let me say something." The h/c girl couldn't be asked to post multiple tweets of her response to hate sent towards Clay over the internet. So what was better than a short video that could be posted to the blue bird app?

"Um, hey guys. I'd just like to make this quick. Stop sending hate towards Dream. The fight was roleplay and nothing more. I'm gonna be busy for the next couple of days so Wilbur thought of a good idea to help build SMP lore with me and Dream and we both agreed to the argument. Now stop sending the green man hate, or I'll commit war crimes or something-"

Y/n had been interrupted by the sound of Clay letting out a small giggle. "What? What did I say?"

"Nothing, just keep going with your video."

"Whatever, I'm cool. No matter what Dream says. Anyways, I'll speak to you all later." Y/n had hit the red button again, ending her video. Within seconds, the video had been uploaded to her Twitter account.

Placing her phone back down on the table, Y/n approached her boyfriend, wrapping her arms around his torso. "I'm really sorry about the hate, Clay. I love you."

"Don't apologize for something you can't control. I love you more." The brunette held his partner close, accepting her hug. Y/n always loved his hugs, she always felt so safe in his embrace.

The rest of the night had been spent with more cuddling and more Star Wars movies. Hours had passed before Y/n had even thought about the Twitter situation again. But for some reason, she had decided to look at the app again tonight.

It was 2 in the morning by now, Clay was half asleep. His head laid in the h/c girl's lap as she brushed a hand through his hair, her free hand opening up her Twitter app once again.

It had been a bit of a surprise to see a couple of trending hashtags had changed so quickly. What was trending now was #Dream, #Y/n,#(ship name), and #Dream's Laugh. This had to be about Y/n's short clip she posted. And by the looks of it, people had stopped acting so harsh towards Clay. But instead, they had decided to focus on the fact Dream and Y/n were hanging out together. Not to mention the fact Dream and let out a stupid little giggle because of Y/n. People had been apologizing to him through Twitter for being so hard on him.

"Babe."

"Hm?" Clay mumbled, not bothering to open his eyes.

"Pretty much everyone is apologizing to you over Twitter for being hardasses."

"Hm, that's good to hear."

"You're really tired, huh?" Y/n paused her scrolling to look down at her boyfriend.

"Yeah," He continued to mumble, followed by a short yawn.

"Alright, time for bed, babe." Y/n smiled to herself, beginning to carefully move away from Clay. "I can pack tomorrow and we can laugh over the stupid bird app tomorrow after you've gotten a good amount of sleep."

"I still can't believe Twitter tried canceling me over roleplay."

"I can't believe you got uncancelled by shippers."

Taglist: @notphilosopherstudentblog

[cxlvins]

...000. INTRODUCTION.

helloooo lovelies ! my name is evan (he/him), i’m twenty-two and from the gmt timezone ! i’m super excited for this to open because i’ve got so much muse right now. i’m down for any and all plots, seriously, i love plotting ! this is calvin, he’s an angry mess of a character, but he’s fun to play, so ! if you just wanna get to know the character, you can skip past the other sections and just focus on personality, i’ve also put some wanted connections in there too ! if you would like to plot, then either shoot me a message here or on discord (heterosexual? how vintage!#8600) or alternatively, like this post and i will message you !

caution: alcohol, drugs, mental health, death.

›› ✱ xavier serrano, cismale, he/him. you’ve met calvin marx, right? they’re around twenty-three and a twitch streamer. they’re all about thrift store clothing and the faint smell of cologne and cigarettes, hence why they’re known as the spitfire around town. everyone knows them to be pretty gregarious but i’ve heard they’re actually sort of volatile, too… don’t tell them i said that, okay?

...001. BRIEF HISTORY.

calvin grew up very underprivileged for the first 11 years of his life in brooklyn, ny.

his father died when he was 5 years old to a drug overdose, leading his mother became a single mother to him and his younger sister, essentially meaning that calvin had to grow up and be the ‘man of the house’ without having a choice.

because of her new single-mother status, calvins mother had to work 3 different jobs in order for the family to pay rent (a cleaner in mornings, a store assistant in the day and a bartender in the evenings), which meant she was rarely home and left calvin to raise both himself and younger sister.

from a very early age, it was apparent that calvin suffered from anger issues, dyslexia and adhd, constantly getting into fights at every opportunity, his complete inability to focus and never managing to make it through a week at school without a phone call home.

these issues remained untreated, due to his mother putting it down to the ‘boys will be boys’ ideology, and concluding that calvin was just an energetic one at that.

because of this, calvin fell into the wrong crowd pretty quickly and settled into his mindset that he was never going to achieve all that much anyway, because no matter how hard he tried, he could never score well on any test at school.

at the age of 9, calvins mother met, fell in love with and soon married a former client for whom she cleaned for.  calvins new step father was incredibly wealthy, due to being a successful franchisee and also being very largely into stock trading.

calvin, his sister and mother were all moved to his home in cherrybrooks, which calvin struggled to adjust to, as he missed his friends back north.

now having access to as much money as he want led him down an early path into experimenting with drugs and alcohol, which soon became a bad habit.

although he wanted to drop out of school, his new step-father would not allow it, which became a large source of conflict for the family over the course of the next few years.

failing to graduate high school at age eighteen, calvin couldn’t deal with living with his family any more and left the house to move into a small apartment, 30 minutes away, with a roommate (possibly a member of the clique).

calvins only real passions were for gaming and sport, and as he smoked and did way too many drugs to make it in any sporting profession, he turned his attention to twitch streaming. he began this pretty soon and built up a solid fanbase (which he wanted to call the marxists, but in calvins words, apparently some dead man already claimed that title).

...002. PERSONALITY.

calvin is a naturally angry person who can lose his cool and go from 0 to 100 in a matter of seconds, he rarely gives off signs that he is getting angry until he boils over, so people tend to watch what they say around him.

calvin is self-serving, his feelings will always come before those around him. although he is getting better at managing this, if something will result in calvin gaining something at the expense of somebody else, he will most likely go ahead with it.

calvin is not well educated, so he doesn’t tend to enjoy arguing with words, as he can never seem to find the ones to correctly express how he feels. instead, calvin is much more likely to act physically when something has irritated him (whether this be on a person or inanimate object).

calvin is an awful liar, he cannot lie to save his life as his face always tends to show when he doesn’t agree with an idea/opion/thought that somebody says. because of this, he is very outspoken, and will just say what he’s thinking regardless of if it’s going to hurt somebodies feelings. he’d rather upset them with the truth, than get caught out for lying.

calvin is an extrovert and gains energy from being around people - the more people the better, because of this, he has become a major party animal and loves attending any and all parties that is going on, despite if he’s fond of the hosts or not.

calvin is a heavy user of drugs, alcohol & cigarettes. this is primarily down to his naturally addictive personality and constant need to feel like he’s happy, so that he doesn’t get sad again. there will rarely be a day where he will not  be intoxicated in some way and he will have a cigarette at least once an hour – and that’s on a good day.

calvin is very much into sports. although not a natural athlete, nor somebody interested in playing sports competitively, calvin loves watching any and all sports, and he likes to play them when he can. due to his smoking habit, he can’t play sports for too long, but will always give it a good go.

similarly to this, calvin is very much into gaming. calvin loves fast-paced games, because they manage to keep his attention despite him not having a very long attention span. most games that he plays are first person shooters, and he’s usually the guy on the mic screaming when a teammate fucks up during online play. a big appeal to him was that games were the only thing he could focus his mind on as a child.

calvin is very much a boys boy, he genuinely abides by the bible of ‘ bros before hoes ‘ because he’s stupid.

calvin hates movies but loves tv, he finds that watching moves involves sitting still for too long, but tv allows him to take more breaks and keeps his interest for longer. although. he’d probably trade both of them for a chance to leave the house.

...003. TRAITS.

[ G R E G A R I O U S ] (+) — a person fond of company; sociable.

[ I N T U I T I V E ] (+) — using or based on what one feels to be true even without conscious reasoning; instinctive.

[ F O R T H R I G H T ] (+) — direct and outspoken.

[ V O L A T I L E ] (-) — liable to change rapidly and unpredictably, especially for the worse.

[ V E N G E F U L ] (-) — not willing to forgive or excuse people’s faults or wrongdoings.

[ H E D O N I S T I C ] (-) — engaged in the pursuit of pleasure; sensually self-indulgent.

...004. WANTED CONNECTIONS.

CURRENT BEST FRIENDS — Possibly a boy squad? I live for a good boy squad. This person will have similar interests to Calvin, or be able to tolerate his volatile mood.

CHILDHOOD BEST FRIENDS — Someone with a similar upbringing from Brooklyn, most likely they grew apart when Calvin moved to Wilmington.

RIDE OR DIES — Although he primarily looks out for himself, I’m down to have Calvin have one person who he’s loyal to and will refuse to betray, we can come up with a fun reason for why he cares so much if you’re interested in this one.

HIS ROOMMATE — Somebody that moved with Calvin into his current apartment when he moved out at 18.

A GOOD INFLUENCE ON CALVIN — One of my favorite connections for Calvin to have is somebody who knows all of his flaws and attempts to help fix them. They’ll have to be patient, though, as Calvin doesn’t see himself for having any issues.

SOMEBODY HE IS A BAD INFLUENCE OF — On the opposite, I love when Calvin has somebody that he can introduce to bad things, corrupt easily and get a kick out of watching the commotion.

EXES ON BAD TERMS — Cheating on each other is usually an easy one to go with, but if you want, we can think of something more unique as to how it all fucked up and why they now hate each other.

EXES ON GOOD TERMS — Maybe they still occasionally fuck? There could still be an attraction there, but just no romantic chemistry. Alternatively, they tried it and both just couldn’t see it going anywhere.

EXES WITH LINGERING FEELINGS — There’s a ton of different reasons for why there’s still lingering feelings. The feelings could be one-sided or both ways.

EX FLINGS — Started as friends with benefits, one of them wanted more, the other didn’t, they decided to stop before someone got hurt.

FRIENDS WITH BENEFITS — No romantic intention, just a good way to kill time at 2 AM, or maybe it’s easy to know you have someone to go home to if you don’t find someone at a party.

FRIENDS FOR NECESSITY — This friend may not have that much in common with Calvin, they may not really get on in day to day life, but they are always there to get high, attend a party or do something dumb. an easy person to talk to when they’re both bored and wanna get out.

HIS YOUNGER SISTER — If anybody fancies a second character, I’m always down to have Calvins sister in the roleplay. They can either get along or not, we’ll just figure out the details.

EX FRIENDS — Used to be close but now aren’t, plenty of reasons as to why.

ENEMIES — Despise each other, seeing this person literally makes Calvins blood boil. Possibly sexual tension too if that would work, if not, they can just fight a lot.

WILL THEY / WON’T THEY — Lots of leading on and teasing each other, maybe they both think they’re stringing the other along but it turns out neither of them are interested? Maybe they start out not interested and it backfires later, by that time the other could’ve lost interest.

ANY OTHER IDEAS YOU THINK WILL WORK !

...005. ADDITIONAL INFORMATION.

Calvin is bisexual but heteroromantic, so any sexual-based connections can be taken by any gender.

Calvins Pinterest can be located here. Please note that it contains triggers for alcohol, drugs, blood & violence.

[rcsydaze]

did you see that (STELLA MONTGOMERY) is taking part in mtv’s new show headlines ? the (TWENTY FOUR) year old (MODEL)  sure does look a lot like (ROMEE STRIJD)! rumor has it they are (VALIANT) & (OBSTINATE) & have been tipped to stir up some drama. tune in nightly to see what (SHE) gets up to !

hello lovelies! i’m bella, 23 years old. i’m incredibly excited to get to know you and all of your incredible muses! since my timezone is gmt+7, i’ll probably be awake when all of you are asleep and vice versa. keep reading to get to know more about stella montgomery!

BASICS:

NAME: Stella Montgomery

AGE: Twenty-four

STAR SIGN: Taurus

LOCATION: Manhattan, New York

SEXUALITY: Heterosexual ( could be a little bi-curious )

PROFESSION: Full-time professional model- specializing in commercial, prints, swimsuits/lingerie

BACKGROUND:

Stella Montgomery was born and raised in Manhattan, New York, the youngest out of two daughters of two well-known families. Her father, Blake Montgomery is the CEO of a family-owned, multi-million conglomerate company, which has always been what the Montgomerys are known for. Her mother is a Hartford- a well-known, but cash short family, which became the reason why she married her father. Throughout her life, her parents were ever only concerned about the success of the company and how much money they could make. Their goal was only one; to prepare their children to take over the company, but Stella had other things planned.

Growing up, Stella lived under her sister’s shadow. Aria has always been a bright kid. she got all the first-place trophies, while Stella was more eager to pursue all things fashion. Ever since she was ten years old, she always made sure that she was dressed to the nines. It made her feel alive, somewhat accomplished. She was a cheerful kid. She always dressed up differently compared to her family, which made her parents to look down at her. “This is not how we dress, Stella.”, “We don’t speak like that, Stella.”, “We don’t do this, Stella.” All her life, her parents tried to make her live under their rules, making sure that she lived up to their standards of a perfect daughter.

In her teenage years, Stella became obsessed attempting to prove to her parents that she could accomplish something, too. She became the it girl in high school and everyone wanted to be her. It made her a little conceited, she felt like she had power. However, her parents still never looked at her the way they looked at her sister- with so much love and pride. It made her rebellious; she started doing things to spite her parents, to make them pay attention to her just once. In their eyes, Stella was a disappointment. She went to parties, she got drunk to the point she blacked out, she had meaningless drunk hook-ups. She did things normal teenagers do and she was proclaimed as vigorous party girl that everyone talked about, but for her parents she was a lost cause.

After graduating high school, Stella was accepted as a journalism student at NYU. Surely, her family name played the role upon her acceptance. As expected, Stella was still stuck in her old habit of partying until she forgot her name, but she didn’t do it to spite her parents anymore. She did it because it helped her forget, it made her content about her life even if it was only for a few hours. She was notorious in college for someone who always threw the best parties. Granted, money was never an issue for someone like Stella. She wanted something, she got it. She always made sure she got her way and wouldn’t stop at anything for things to go as planned.

She loved being the center of attention. She adored the clicking sound of cameras and the camera’s flash blinding her eyes. One fateful day, she was offered to help a fellow student with her fashion design portfolio. She wasn’t surprised by the offer at all, she knew  everyone adored her. Maybe they even envied her and she lived for it. That was the moment she found out how exhilarating it was to be on camera; to hear praises coming left and right. She was a natural and that’s how her passion for modeling began. Despite her parents’ disapproval for her pursuing a model career, because once again- it’s not what the Montgomerys do, Stella started applying to model agencies at the age of twenty in hopes that her family name would make everything easier. However, her parents were making sure that they could sabotage this for her. It wasn’t a real career in their eyes, they wanted both daughters to be in the family’s business and not out flaunting herself to the world. They were persistent to ensure that Stella wouldn’t get what she wanted.

The combination of her dedication and possibly inherited sabotaging skill, she outsmarted her parents. Maybe they had the money, but she always gets her way and this time it wouldn’t be any different. She started gaining fans very quickly and by that… I mean real fans, not college students desperate to be her. With the help of her wonderful agent, she started to get more exposure and was getting called to audition for a few notable magazines. Her success was nothing compared to the satisfaction of proving her parents wrong and seeing them despising her career choice. At the age of twenty three, Stella bought her very first apartment— something that suited her lavish lifestyle. It was her biggest achievement to date; to stop living off her parents’ money and making her own name famous.

Today, Stella Montgomery is a professional model and you will see her on your favorite magazines covers. You name the magazine, she’s there, I guarantee you. Still living up to her reckless and sly behaviors, Stella still gained more fame- though some of them came from a place of hate or envy, what matters to Stella is always to stay relevant and she’s doing it perfectly.

PERSONALITY:

Some words to describe her would be beguiling, heedless, callous, stubborn, and unapologetic

She puts on a hard exterior, which made her look like your average mean girl and she lives up to that image

Her mouth operates faster than her brain, but she most likely won’t correct herself if she accidentally hurts your feelings

She is passionate when it comes to ensuring things go her way. She loves scheming and will stop at nothing to make sure she gets what she wants

Firm believer that everyone should watch out for themselves, because at the end of the day no one has our backs more than ourselves do

Secretly emotional, but very adamant to show it. Constantly living in denial about her feelings and always have a game face on

AESTHETICS:

The lingering sound of camera. Silk dresses. Floral scent fragrances. Whispers of sweet nothings in your ear. Red lipstick stains. Rose gold glitters. Pearl necklaces.

[diveronarpg]

Congratulations, KAY! You’ve been accepted for the role of PUCK. Admin Rosey: One of the things I adore most about Puck is how vivid he is. There’s something about him that I believe is difficult to capture -- but when it is done, it’s done so well that you can’t help but feel a little breathless at how beautiful it is. Kay, you absolutely managed to capture him and add wholly new and unconsidered layers to his character. In this application you gave him complex dynamics, new layers, and kept him fun, lively, and chaotic all at the same time. Puck promises to ruin Verona (as if we need more of it -- but we do) and I can’t wait to see you wreak havoc with him on the dash. Be ready to be bombarded, because every single member is going to want in on this fun.. Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

out of character

Alias  |  kay Age  |  19 Preferred Pronouns  |  she/her Activity Level  |  6/10 - i’m in my freshman year of college so i only have time to properly write two or three times in a week, a lot more often on weekends. i’m also on discord almost all the time on mobile! Timezone  |  gmt+3 Current/Past RP Accounts  |  my 1x1 blog, a more recent account, and a past one

in character

Character  |  puck, pavel lam!

What drew you to this character? |  i have to admit i’m always drawn towards chaotic characters, and this chaotic neutral crime boy easily caught my attention. i could imagine him tripping over a wire and going ‘oops’ when he accidentally triggers a bomb, i could imagine him running away at the first sight of being committed (to anything and anyone), and with his wicked sense of humor and personality, i feel like he would be a really fun character to play with. not gonna lie, i’m also a sucker for showing the other side of characters, and even though he is all smiles and grins with an easy sense of humor, i also am very interested in things that could trouble him and make him quiver.

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

FAIR IS FOUL, FOUL IS FAIR: you run from your conscience like you ran away when you shoplifted the first time, heart racing, beat pulsing, throwing yourself forward even though you are out of breath. lies fall from your lips easily, glitter hiding the darkness of the abyss you have ignored for so long. there is only so much you can ignore, so much you can attempt to hide behind a carefully constructed veil. conscience versus pavel, it’s a battle he often wins, perhaps not this time. it’s a pair of innocent eyes staring up at him when his hands are drenched in blood, so familiar to a boy who was also once lost that he freezes on the spot. the question “where is mommy?” sends a foreign chill through his frame, something he hasn’t felt for years. pavel has to face the consequences of his actions, it’s not always just a face behind a trigger, but a family behind it, and seeing it first hand is always different than running away immediately and never seeing how things unfold after a body is found. pavel will run away yet again, but forgetting a pair of eyes may not be as easy.

HARD AND CURLED AND READY TO SNAP: when you pride yourself for complete and utter apathy, it’s not often rumors get under your skin, push all your buttons in the worst way possible, make you grit your teeth and clench your fist that your nails cut into your palm. pavel has always cared too little for what people say to him, what people think of him, but his vanity wins over sometimes, pride is an ugly beast that rears its head when he hears rumors about how he botched one of his first kills. the person in front of him laughs and mocks, and he admires himself for not punching that smug face right then and there. doing so isn’t on the table for the fear of getting on the bad side of a mob, and even though pavel has always resented both of them with the entirety of his being, he knows what to avoid, for the sake of self protection. that doesn’t mean he won’t fight back however, he will find a way… even if it’s through petty words akin to those spoken about him.

LA LUNE NE GARDE AUCUNE RANCUNE: even the word commitment feels like a chain around your neck, “where were you born?” they ask, you shrug, and tell a different story each time you fill their glass with liquor. “do you have any siblings, family?” is another question that is a complete buzzkill, making you shake your head and say there is no need for such empty questions. you despise the people that brought you onto this earth so much that their only saving grace is that you enjoy living so much. those two, however? they deserve nothing, they did nothing. so it is not good news that you hear of them, stumbling into a distant relative who is way too mouthy, you receive word from your mother, which is a shock for completely two reasons. one, you hate her, and two, how isn’t she dead yet? an anchor weighing you down is the least thing you want, especially in this type of profession, and you hate that you need to deal with that also.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? |  yep! i love pain.

in depth ( in-character interview )

— ❝ What is your favorite place in Verona? ❞

   “whenever there is fun—” pavel supplies quite easily, leaning back against his chair, the signature grin on his face never fading. his company seems quite interested in him, and that’s always something he enjoys, so it shouldn’t be a shocker that he is going to take his sweet time. he reaches for the glass of whiskey on the table, swigs the glass slightly though he is all doing it for show, just a little pause before he drops the next line. “right now, you are quite lovely, so how about here? this can be my favourite place.” a charming smile follows, a game of pull and push he has played so many times. it’s only when laughter reaches his ears that he decides to answer it somewhat seriously… as seriously as pavel can.

   “it changes, darling, really —” he tilts his head a bit to the side, purses his lips in thought. such a gorgeous… and chaotic place as verona, it’s hard to pick just one place. “i’d say… twelfth night & the tempest? at night of course, it turns into such a… nice place, it’s always wonderful to dance there and meet new people.” perhaps that doesn’t disclose the entire truth, but he isn’t willing to add anything else either. as night goes on and with more alcohol in his veins, he will soon realize that perhaps the home he built for himself is the place he treasures the most, something he built from scratch. for someone with no origins and no home, pavel is quite proud of his ‘humble’ abode, looking out to the city at night in his balcony, imagining everything that goes on in those dirty streets. a part of him longs to be there, a part of him already thinks of the next job ahead — one thing for sure, he doesn’t have it half bad.

— ❝ What does your typical day look like? ❞

  “well — i usually wake up late, as late as i possibly can.” it’s already late enough already, and pavel has always been fond of the night more than the day. when it comes to his occupation, however, it’s not a complete myth that most of the crime happens at night. in his case, he would say a little more than half of his jobs do take place when it’s dark outside, but it isn’t a necessity to only kill at night — whatever is required of him, he will supply, if they compensate him properly. his tendency to sleep-in, on the other hand, is mostly because he loves being outside when it’s late, when everything takes a different quality, the city bares itself open to the stars and all the secrets flow out. it’s enchanting, and when he isn’t drunk or too busy to go through with a kill, pavel takes time to enjoy it, whenever he can.

 the rest of the day, though, it utterly depends on what he is supposed to be doing, if he needs to gather information on a target, or simply needs to pay the bills, no two days of pavel lam are identical. but there is so much you can disclose over drinks, which is why he continues on, just as lightly. it’s always fun to figure out which identity he will pick up next, which details he will use to embellish his lies. it’s not the most original one this time, but he knows it’s dull enough that no one will question him. “however, if i have morning classes, i have to get up early. it’s torture, i’m telling you —” he shudders as a part of the play, sighing and plopping his face on his hand thats propped up on an elbow on the side of the bar. “then i’ll have classes… i’m looking forward the end of this year, i truly am. part-time work at a coffee shop is hell, but i make do. hopefully with a degree, people will pay me better.” education isn’t something pavel has ever cared about in his life, and the only few times he was in the radius of a college was for a job. he’s always seen it as an unnecessary luxury, empty expectations people await from their children. who needs to waste their lives in schools? look at pavel, he’s doing just fine. food on his table, designer clothes on his back, what else can someone need? he grins as always in the end, swatting his hand alongside the faux frown on his face from seconds before. “and at night… i’ll go to bed. it’s quite dull really.” he usually rubs the blood off of his hands before that but eh, it’s close to the truth, he muses.

— ❝ What has been your biggest mistake thus far? ❞

   a puff of breath leaves his mouth at that, the grin faltering for the shortest of seconds. that’s not a question he has to answer often, and constructing a lie will take slightly longer for that reason. “not buying you another drink?” he asks, tilting his head again as he signs the bartender to fill their drinks. it’s a question that throws him off rhythm, but pavel has worked on a façade for so long that it’s not easy to break it with just one question. he supposes a normal college student could say “the truth is, i had to change majors, wasted a year, my parents were pissed”, and so he does, adding a shrug at the end of it. it’s not easy to admit your mistakes, and it’s even more difficult when you’re pavel lam. one that comes to his mind the most prominently is the fact that he did mess up a job back in the day, let the target get away for a day before he tracked them down and finished the job. it had repercussions from his employer, and getting scolded is easily one of the things he hates the most. unluckily, he had to suck up because he did fuck up, but luckily, he managed to fix his mistake and the employer didn’t mention it to anyone, at least to pavel’s knowledge.

— ❝ What has been the most difficult task asked of you? ❞

   he supposes this also has to do with the story of him being in college, so he easily makes up a lie for that, a frown on his face to go with his story. “there are some difficult assignments, but if you mean in a broader sense… it was to try to follow what was expected of me. it’s a great burden you see, but i suppose i’m fulfilling it now.” it’s such a lie that he fights off a grin — pavel lam couldn’t care less about expectations, following in his parents’ footsteps, for he would be dead right now if he was like either one of them. god forbid. pavel adds mentally, he is much better than they could even dream of being.

  ( as he lies on the bed late at night, the answer to the question comes much easier, when he’s walking the line between being awake and asleep, his mind easily supplies him his first kill, blood spreading on hardwood floors, painting them a darker brown. he remembers the dead pair of eyes looking up at him, and the urgency of how he fled, how his voice trembled as he talked back to his employer about a job well done. he supposes, as quick as his first kill was, his conscience sees it as the most difficult task he ever had to follow. if you ask a sober and awake pavel, however, he’ll decline all of that in a heartbeat. )

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

  now, this is the one that seemingly puts him in the most sour mood. he supposes everyone in town speaks about them, it’s impossible not to hear those two names when you live in verona, especially so if you dabble in the more illegal side of things. however, it doesn’t mean pavel likes any of those two mobs, if possible he hates them both absolutely equally. he takes another swig from his drink and displays some of his contempt as he lets out a “why are we talking about them again?” with a little shake of his head. his lies and stories have been going well so far, and even though he won’t break the façade he is playing, the idea of belonging to one of those mobs is enough to make him grumble. only after a second he continues, looking back at the person in front of him. if he could let out all of his thoughts, he would — but then again, self preservation kicks in. you can’t shit-talk those who run the city without getting in trouble. and for that reason and for the sake of not ruining the night, he filters it, he doesn’t trust this person to tell them his actual thoughts. “i’d say the city would be… easier to live in without them.” fucking idiots, he means. i wouldn’t be upset if they dropped off the face of earth, he holds back. instead, he grins again and speaks. “but not that i would know, i usually stick to my studies, my work — and the occasional night out.”

extras

here’s his pinterest board, there’s a mock blog for him here and i have also posted two moodboards there: x, x!

[visitationrpg]

Congratulations, DOROTHY! You have been accepted for the role of Marco Vasile. You have 24 HOURS to send in your account, and don’t forget to look over the CHECKLIST!

Note from Admin Maddie: So, Marco was definitely supposed to be my angst bomb skeleton, but your application really made me feel a lot. Your third headcanon destroyed me? I also loved seeing the origin of his love for film, how it directly relates to the loss he experienced. More than that, I can clearly see the layers you added to him, that he’s a lot more than just angst. His character came so alive in the questionnaire, and I can’t wait to see that on the dash.

Welcome to Visitation!

OUT OF CHARACTER:

NAME/ALIAS: Dorothy

PRONOUNS: She/Her

AGE: 23

TIMEZONE: EST

ANYTHING ELSE? (hi, if the adoption thing is a bit of a stretch, it can be adjusted. I just kind of liked the idea of Angel being the pillar of the family because of the fact that he was their ‘Angel’ or miracle child, and yeah okay)

IN CHARACTER:

WANTED SKELETON: Marco Vasile

GENDER & PRONOUNS: Male, He/Him pronouns

BIOGRAPHY: The story of your character. This section can be formatted however you’d like — bullet points, a full biography, an analysis of the character. There is no maximum amount, but we would like at least 400 words minimum in second or third person, just to get a real feel for the character you’ve created, and to know you have a good grasp from the skeleton!

You spend your days shooting, splicing, and stitching together endless hours of recorded footage, perfecting the visage of a seamless production, wishing for a moment that your life could be edited just the same. If you could just wipe the memory files from your childhood, omit the expressions from your parents faces as they stood over Angel’s casket, jump cut to your retirement, and roll the credits onto a blank screen, you would. But life is not a movie, no matter how hard you wish it could be. There’s no skipping straight to the end, no synopsis you can read that will sum everything up, no way to bypass the suffering through each and every painstaking moment until you reach the happily-ever-after. The finality of it all is something that you despise, hoping and praying nearly every day for your M. Night twist, a moment that seems to never come.

Life at home wasn’t like the coming-of-age movies you and your brother watched most nights when your parents left you alone with the babysitter. You weren’t shy, your brother loved you and treated you kindly, and your parents made an effort to appear interested in your life and aspirations, though you wouldn’t be quick to say they went above and beyond. They met later in life, right as your mother was developing an inability to conceive children. But they made it work, and nearly two years later your brother was born. The procedure was brutal, taking quite the toll on your mother, and your older brother Angel nearly died on the hospital table. He was too weak to breathe on his own, but after nearly three months in the NICU and several operations later, your parents finally had their own baby boy. For a few years they were content in their threesome, finding that raising a child this late in their lives was much harder than they’d imagined it to be, but content they were nonetheless. It was your father who suggested adoption after months of hearing your brother complain of boredom and loneliness, and your mother didn’t require much persuasion before she agreed. They’d always been humanitarians, hoping to change their world through their actions, trying daily to leave a positive impact on the world. And that’s where you came in, fitting precisely into their lives as one of their own.

You never felt out of place growing up, always made to be just another part of the family, always given the same amount of love as your brother was, and for this you were grateful. As you grew up, you looked forward to spending time with your family, as the four of you always made time to play games together or sit down and watch movies. It was through these weekly Friday movies that you began to develop a love for films, consuming nearly any movie you could get your hands to reach as your father’s DVD bookshelf stood from the floor to the ceiling (and he’d learned to keep the more adult movies juuuust out of your reach). Your brother had his sports and his music, neither of which you performed particularly well in, but films – the glazed look in your eyes as you’d pass by a video store, the giddy smile you’d wear as you unwrapped DVD cases on Christmas, the home movies you’d cut into nearly short length feature films – they were your escape. While your parents had wished for you to put your focus into your school work, they weren’t the type to discourage you or your brother from your passions, and even went as far as investing good money into a proper camera and editing software, something you never thanked them enough for as a child, but can’t find the strength to say something now.

Fate had always been a major theme in many of the films you watched, and you loved watching characters deal with unruly circumstances being thrown at them, watching them as they adapted, thanking God that nothing bad had ever happened to you like that. But fate had other plans, ones no one foresaw, not even the gang members who shot your brother by mistake as he walked home from school, a brand new movie in his bag waiting to be watched by the pair of you. Graduation was not even three weeks away when he died, his life all too quickly ripped out from under him like a tablecloth and your life shattered like glasses during a bad magic trick. The funeral was held days later, a closed casket ceremony, which took away your ability to say goodbye. Angel had always been there right next to you growing up, he’d been your rock and closest confidant, someone who taught you the ways of the world in ways your parents couldn’t, and his death tore you into pieces you’re not sure have been fully put back together.

Family dinners were never the same after that week. The silence that now filled the once noisy house was more deafening than you could’ve ever imagined, the stares of your parents nearly burnt a hole in your head as you kept it hung low at the table. They tried to speak to you, to level with you, and include you in their lives as best as they could while trying their best to mend their own hearts as well as yours. But nothing was ever the same, and you could tell that while they were speaking to you, they were wishing it were Angel. You found yourself uninterested in talking, finding that no one but Angel had ever truly listened to you in the first place, so why entertain everyone with pleasantries when you could just… not? Your parents hated it, you could tell, as they began to speak to you less and less as you finished high school, withdrawing yourself to the art room nearly every  chance you got, it being your only place of solace besides your own room. And when you were accepted to film school, you left without even a second glance back. Angel had been on his way to Julliard studying music, and you knew that in order to give his life any sort of credit, following your own dream would be the only way.

You spent four long and tiresome years behind a camera, not allowing yourself to truly ever come from behind it, which led to quite the lonesome and quiet life, though you don’t mind. Your craft is your company, the one thing that can ever truly understand you, sometimes even better than you can understand yourself. Though graduate school was just the next step for you, it took some time for you to realize that in order to truly excell, you needed to network or get involved in a project, one that might open doors in the future. Visitation was just the thing you needed, and it came at just the right time. Though you’re not a firm believer in the paranormal, you can’t help but find yourself invigorated by a fresh curiosity, the subject matter keeping you alert and intrigued, which is refreshing after all these years. You’re not sure where the show is heading, but you’re going to go along for the ride as long as you can. After all, Youtube is becoming a great leeway for creative minds to have a platform, and you’ve never been one to turn down a good opportunity.

ANYTHING ELSE? This section is optional, but feel free to put any extra headcanons or writing/musing here!

His never mentioned it to anyone, but Marco can’t help but hope that he can someday make contact with his brother. While skeptical of the paranormal, something in the back of his mind constantly pulls him to these thoughts (the need for closure, the estranged feeling of guilt Marco carries even years after Angel’s death, and he does his best to rid himself of them by frequenting the off-campus bar.

Marco made it his mission after Angel’s death to watch a movie every day of the week, as in consume 365 separate movies every single day. He started with Angel’s favorites, one’s he’d dismissed when Angel was still alive, finding solace in them, before moving on.

He deleted his parents numbers from his phone when he graduated college, though he still has the number memorized by heart. Sometimes he gets calls from the area code from where he grew up and his heart skips a beat, hoping it isn’t the call he’s dreading the most, that one of them has passed. He’s not even sure if he’d go to their funeral, but at the end of the day,  they were his parents, and as much as it pains him to admit it, they always will be.

QUESTIONNAIRE:

Please answer the following questions in character. Format for this section is, once again, up to you! Feel free to set the scene as if it were an interview and answer each question individually or perhaps write it as an internal monologue from the past; it’s your choice, just remember to keep it in third person, please! This section is just to get an idea of your character’s voice.

DO YOU BELIEVE IN THE PARANORMAL?

“I don’t prefer to commit myself to any one idea or way of thinking,” Marco answered honestly. It was rare for him to answer interview questions, but watching his other co-stars and crew members answer, he’d been rather intrigued on what they had to say and felt inclined to share as well. After all, he’d been labeled as “the brooding one” of the bunch, which hadn’t really bothered him, but he knew he could cut himself some slack and give the audience a bit of what they wanted from him. “That being said, I’m not opposed to the idea of paranormal entities or activity, but until I experience an event that can give me concrete proof of their existence, I can’t say yes or no.”

HAVE YOU EVER HAD A PARANORMAL ENCOUNTER?

He raised his eyebrows at this question, though it hadn’t truly struck any sort of chord within him. He wasn’t a good actor, trained behind the camera and not in front, so his ability to conceal his true emotions weren’t as atuned as other members of Visitation, which is why when Lillian sent a look his way he knew immediately to change his face. Letting out a soft laugh, Marco shook his head, but took a moment longer before answering. “Personally, no. All I’ve had to deal with are a few soundbites and thermal images, but nothing I’d consider and encounter.”

IF NO, WHY NOT?

This question puzzled him, and took him another moment to answer. “I’m not sure…” He said, though some may have mistaken his statement for a question, as he carried out the words to their end slowly, as if he was trying to deliberate something. It seemed the interviewer was waiting on the edge of his words for more, something to conclude his portion of the interview, but more words never came, and Marco’s eyes shifted from their gaze to the floor.

EXTRAS: N/A

[realrhythmskrp]

DISPATCH, (04/19/17): BKB Entertainment has officially released information about leader and main vocalist, Kim Wonseok, on PARAL/L’s official website! Wonseok is a ‘90 liner and has been beloved by fans since his debut in 2011. Find out more about Wonseok below!

I, KIM WONSEOK, have read and understand the terms and conditions as my position of LEADER and agree to honor the standards that are to be expected of me as an employee of BKB ENTERTAINMENT.

OOC INFORMATION

Preferred name: Ji

Pronouns: she/her

Timezone: GMT+1

Other muses: N/A

Password (for reservations only): dangerous

Skype: N/A :c

IC INFORMATION

Faceclaim: Lee Kikwang of Highlight

Name: Kim Wonseok

Stage name (if applicable): N/A

Idol concept: At first, his concept was supposed to be that of a ‘church oppa’ – with the kind boy next door vibe. That, however, conflicted with the controversies he soon got wrapped up in so it was quickly changed to something more fitting (and thus believable): the grandpa. Still kind, still caring, but also stereotypically straightforward yet measured. Wonseok welcomed the change because he no longer has to feel like he’s wearing a mask most of the time, since the new concept is much closer to his real personality. Of course there are tweaks here and there, a lot of things held back and plenty of feigned smiles but that is inevitable in the business. While never entirely relaxed, he is no longer on edge everytime a camera is around and can thus show a more natural side of him, which allows jokes to come easier too and has overall increased his popularity. If he’s honest, he thinks some of the controversies could have been avoided if the company had introduced him as the grandfather from the start, as people would have known not to misunderstand his dry and occasionally cynical comments. Or maybe it wouldn’t have changed a thing – he’s not so naive as to believe that the public won’t find a reason to dislike someone no matter what they do.

Birth date and age: March 30th, 1990 – 27

Company name: BKB Entertainment

Group Name (if applicable): PARAL/L

Group Position (if applicable): leader

Strengths:  His biggest strength no doubt lies in his vocal prowess. Naturally gifted with a unique but pleasant voice, he is said to possess 'caramel vocal chords’, which he has been rigorously training since his early teens. Thus, he has acquired stability in both lower and higher registers and can usually belt out notes without any straining whatsoever. After all, his vocals are the one thing the public most often praises him for.

Although most of it happens behind the scenes, Wonseok’s leadership qualities are notable as well. Half a decade into their career, the group is still his top priority and he believes the secret to their lasting success is maintaining harmony among the members, which is what he works towards at all times. Here, he’s always trying to keep every member’s best interest in mind to find a common goal for everyone. He also firmly believes in solving problems as they arise as not to let a wound fester.

While his sense of humor is what got him into most of the controversies he was involved in so far, it’s also the only reason why he always gets invited on variety shows again anyway. Cynical, witty, honest and dry, he’s a valuable asset to any talk show – as long as it isn’t geared towards children, anyway.

Despite everything, he is highly motivated to keep going. Making music is still what he wants to do for a living and that knowledge helps him pull through whatever difficulties he faces in the business more easily, be it working without a break for months or enduring the hate he receives.

Weaknesses:  Tying in with his affinity for talk formats, he is an exceptionally bad match for shows that require body gags, aegyo, or anything else of the sort. It’s embarrassing, in his opinion, and a field he gladly leaves for the other, younger members. Acting falls into this category too and is hence something he has little to no interest in doing (with the exception of musicals!).

Of course he is not a bad dancer, per se, just not much of a natural either. PARAL/L’s choreographies are never easy and he certainly doesn’t mess them up, but that requires hours upon hours upon hours of practice every single time, so staying behind at the practice room and pulling all-nighters to avoid messing up has become a habit.

Generally not a negative trait but very much so for an idol, Wonseok is a bad liar - to a large part also because he despises doing so. As such, he is sometimes too honest. There are only two options: he either doesn’t mention something at all (be it scandals or secrets), or he tells the truth.

For someone who spends as much time worrying about the feelings of other people as he does, he’s not in tune with his own. He has a hard time opening up to people and tends to internalize everything. Sometimes, it actually takes him a while to figure them out because he is too focused on something else at the time. For example, he could get into a fight with his little sister in the morning, then go to work like nothing happened and only feel bothered by it at night, once he settles down.

Positive traits: diligent, empathetic, quick-witted

Negative traits: stoic, self-conscious, workaholic

PERSONAL HISTORY

1 year old and resolute - “That boy will grow up to be just like his father. Stubborn as a mule.” Baby Kim Wonseok is yelling over everything his grandmother is saying and foolish as people are around children, his family is taking it as a good sign; one of strength and energy. He’s just hungry but that isn’t nearly as impressive so no one wants to hear it – and he keeps yelling.

7 years old and calm - “You’ll run for school president, right?” His mother is not so much asking as she is demanding as they’re sharing the dinner table for once. He’s in elementary school, an only child, his father is a surgeon and his mother is a lawyer (and no one knows how and if that works). Ironically, little Wonseok is the one they expect to do great things. His father comes home and goes to sleep. His mother comes home and nags. Wonseok comes home and does everything. Cooking, cleaning, his homework, then studying. “We have your nanny for that,” his mother scolds him often. What she doesn’t understand is that it is the only time of relaxation he has, doing menial tasks and not using his head for once. As long as he performs well and remains in the top three of his school, she doesn’t care very much. She just likes complaining, he thinks and lets her. Her job is stressful.

10 years old and empathetic - “You don’t understand. You’re part of the most perfect family of Gimhae,” his best friend reprimands him during one of their regular joined study sessions, which they’re using for games more often than not. His parents are getting a divorce and he’s right – Wonseok doesn’t know what that’s like. His parents are still together somehow, though he doesn’t see much of it except for when they all go to church together on Sundays. In fact, his mother is currently pregnant again. He doesn’t know the feeling of losing one’s anchor, of having to let go one or the other, of fearing a change that will make everything different and weird and wrong. He doesn’t know it but that doesn’t mean he can’t help and offer to be at least one constant.

12 years old and bold – “You’re scary, like one of those ruthless businessmen in dramas my mom likes to watch.” Again, Wonseok can count on his best friend to call him out. His baby sister is the sunshine of his life and he can’t help but feel like he’s her parent more than their biological ones. Measured by the amount of time he spends with her and effort he puts in, he is more than they will ever be. At home, he is bright and caring and buzzing with energy. Outside, he’s become quiet as he has lost sight of everything but academics and the things his parents deem important and worthy of his attention. He doesn’t speak much and it’s been a long time since he’s last made a new friend – since he’s last spoken to anyone without needing anything from them or vice versa, actually. His best friend is right, undoubtedly, and Wonseok decides that he doesn’t want to become a robot and signs up for choir instead of the math athletes.

14 years old and tired - “We get that this is puberty. Your rebellious phase. We paid for vocal and piano lessons; we were understanding. But an idol? Out of the question. Snap out of it, Kim Wonseok.” His mother means well, he knows, she just likes complaining. She’s worried because it is an uncertain future, not one of the most stable and secure careers out there and she thinks he’s cut out for more than that. Not the first thing about how he feels more alive on stage than he ever has off it or how he’s finally coming out of his shell again reaches her ears. Feelings aren’t something they talk about in this household. His mother means well, he knows, but people can do the worst things with the best intentions.

16 years old and headstrong - “We’ve never interfered in who you choose to spend your time with but that Jaeyoung is below you, son. You don’t want that to reflect badly upon the family, right?” His father dislikes Wonseok’s best friend because he’s gay. Of course he does, as the loyal church-goer he is, pretending to pray to a God he really doesn’t know anything about. At this point, he is beyond caring. He’s had enough. This is it, he thinks and packs his bags, bids farewell to his beloved little sister who doesn’t understand what he’s saying and leaves behind his hometown for the uncertainty that is his future in Seoul, his happiness in music.

19 years old and determined - “When are you coming back?”, his sister asks and he can’t answer. Time passes and not much changes. Wonseok has never quite found back to who he was before the expectations and responsibilities but he’s happy nowadays. His career isn’t going anywhere since he signed with BKB Entertainment three years prior but he’s not one to give up easily or be knocked down by harsh words during an evaluation. This is the path he’s chosen and he’s going to walk it all the way to the end, wherever it may lead, so he sweats and bleeds and smiles through it all.

21 years old and hardworking - “And today’s Winner is… PARAL/L, congratulations!” Finally, he has debuted as the leader of PARAL/L and is met with an overwhelming amount of success right away. It’s hard to grasp and he tells the others not to let it go to their heads while carrying on like nothing has changed himself, staying behind to practice whenever they don’t have a schedule and sleeping almost exclusively in the van that brings them from one show to the next. On the inside, he’s feeling it all but he’s the leader and he knows that it falls to him to make sure everyone stays focused. This is only the beginning, after all. He wonders if his parents are watching.

24 years old and mature - “It makes me so angry that they keep misunderstanding things just for the sake of making you look bad!” His sister has read news articles about him before he has bothered checking them. They always say the same thing anyway. Usually, people like him for his sense of humor and the way he jokes around with people, always teasing, a bit gruff but never malicious. Wonseok never minces his words but he makes sure not to hurt anyone’s feelings nevertheless. At least he tries to, since that is the last thing he wants. Netizens are not as forgiving as his colleagues who raise an eyebrow at him, then see his grin and laugh along with him. Netizens like to think he’s mean and perhaps narcissistic. They don’t care that there are a thousand scenes proving the exact opposite. It’s not the first time this has happened, so he swallows his feelings and doesn’t comment on the issue. That method has proven effective. It’ll blow over; it always does.

27 years old and unchanging - “You’ll go solo afterwards, right?” His mother is not so much asking as she is demanding. Same old. After he has become successful, they have deemed him no longer a shame to the family and accepted him back as one of their own. Wonseok doesn’t blame them for the people they’ve become; he doesn’t like it but it isn’t entirely their fault either. The future, once again, is uncertain now that their contract is ending soon – only one more year until the big decision. Personally, he’s very attached to the group that has made his dreams a reality and the friends who have stayed with him throughout it all, but not so much the company that treats them as marionettes rather than humans. His journey is not at an end, that much he knows for sure, and making music is still his happiness and his dream. In the end, it will depend on what the others want to do. Ideally, Wonseok would like to transfer to a different label as a whole, as PARAL/L, but he would never force the others (or anyone) into something they don’t want for themselves.

[starrcaderpg-blog]

ACCEPTED! welcome to starrcade, AJ LEE! you have TWENTY-FOUR hours to send in your account and begin your rise to the top! 

— OOC

alias. otter

age. 20

pronouns. She/her

timezone. Eastern

activity level. I mean, I’ve got a lot going on but I also have no life and I’m always lurking so if I had to toss this into a number 6 or 7 out of 10.

triggers. cancer, abuse, antidepressants (-this one isn’t a major trigger but it just ties into the fact I hate my own meds so…y’know)

— IC

desired role. AJ Lee

why are you interested in this role? I’ve always loved AJ. I’ve related to her on a personal level more than I can count, but I also liked her methods in the ring, the mind games she’d play in and out of the ring. Her inability to speak her mind also drew me in. When writing AJ, I like to push those aside a little bit and twist it so the mind games are on herself rather than anyone else.

character label.

the paradox

their secret.

AJ’s unwillingness to accept the term ‘crazy’ is well documented both in the ring and out of it. It’s something that ties back to her childhood. Her parents weren’t the type that focused on mental health, they had so much going on it was hard to focus on much except the bare necessities. They despised the thought that mental illness could exists. As a result, her views became similar to her parents, even as AJ watched her own mental health deteriorate. When she finally admitted “okay, something’s not right here”, those views still hung in the back of her mind. Despite everything she says positively about mental health, behind closed doors she’s doing the opposite. Going off her medicine hadn’t been a choice at first, but staying on the habit of going on and off was. A choice she knows isn’t smart, or right, but old habits tend to die hard.

character quote.

“I scream at myself when there’s nobody else to fight. I don’t lose, I don’t win, if I’m wrong then I’m halfway right.” - linkin park, halfway right

[childrenofathoria-rp-blog]

◆Out Of Character Information◆

Name/Age: Admin Raven, 24 Preferred Pronouns: She/Her Timezone:  EST Desired Character: Eris McKenna 

◆Character Information◆ (1)  What pronouns will your character be using? Would you like to list their sexuality at this time?:She/her - Bisexual (2)  Any changes or comments? Nope! (3) Why this character?

I always wanted to play a witch! Our entire lore surrounding them and their connection to the Fae is so interesting. I miss playing a character with elemental powers and I’ve yet to play one with fire abilities. Eris is one of the few gifted humans around with ties to dark magic and, to be honest, I’m like feeding my demon muse through her a bit. Her presence in-game would be refreshing and since she’s not in a clan, she has a lot of autonomy. She’s very different from Nita and while they both have anger issues, Eris is a lot more unhinged. Not to mention that Eris would be one of the first characters that I play that isn’t a warrior. (4) Interpret this character:

I feel like power is something that drives Eris more than anything. She isn’t interested in ruling or leading, I think she seeks immortality or perhaps god-hood, even. She believes that witches are the superior species between all others, but the one thing that holds them back is their mortality. Eris doesn’t think it’s fair that they were born with such abilities, but can only use them to extend their lives, not preserve them. The sorceress despises the limits placed on gifted humans by the Guild and hopes to do away with them one day.

I suppose the sins she leans towards most is wrath and greed. I plan to play her anger as something that can begin as a slow simmer that evolves into wildfire when agitated. She has little patience with meek or rude people and demands respect without having earned it. If she feels that her pride is threatened, she will not hesitate to retaliate. Eris can be quite haughty in nature and loves playing the seducer; she has no trouble with using her sexuality for personal gain. Eris’ name means “strife” and she’ll surely lives up to that namesake.

As cliche as it sounds, I headcanon that Eris comes from a prominent line of fire mages, but her father had an affinity for water. When her magic bloomed, she took to water magic naturally despite her obsession with fire. Through practice and hard work, Eris became moderately skilled in the fire elemental area, but knew she lacked the proper connection to truly master it. This was one of the factors that drove her to make her bargain with Xaphan. Her affinity for water faded completely after the deal’s conclusion. I think it’s ironic that she basically cheated her way to achieve power and it’s likely one of her biggest secrets.

I consider Eris to be a bit of loner, someone who doesn’t truly have friends, but allies. She’s not a good person and I’d love to see her possibly build some meaningful connections. I imagine she’d have some animosity toward the Mighty Oak coven, I headcanon that her mother had ties with them, but wasn’t exactly a member. A personal endgame I have in mind for her is to meet her end at the Guild’s hands, perhaps with assistance from the Mighty Oak Coven.

When it comes to other species, I think she’s extremely curious about the Fae and the creature who sired her mother’s line. After a bit of research I learned that her surename McKenna(which is Irish) comes from the old Gaelic name “MacCionaodha” which meant “child of Aodh’s love”. Aodh was the name of a Celtic fae god of fire. So I’d like to take this piece of real life myth and give it an Athorian spin by including that Fae in her lineage and possibly future plots. While she may feel some sense of pride for gifted humans, she looks down on those who limit themselves. She gravitates toward the like-minded mages of Leeds, rather than those who live in the forest.

Eris is very intrigued by vampires and wants to learn how they came to be. She is wary of them  but has been known to take one to her bed every now and again. On other hand, she is quite indifferent toward werewolves and has no fear of the beasts. Eris is knowledgeable of Reapers and has yet to meet an Angel. She is greatly interested in Specters though and using them to connect to the netherworld they’re tethered to.

With Nate’s plans to expand Athoria, she has grown extremely wary of the crown and Nate’s ambitions. She still plans to seek out Lords like Theo to learn all that she can about the Athors. In addition to her penchant for divulging secrets, she has plans to finally gain access to the Ravenswood library. She knows there are spell books and tomes that might be beneficial to her goals.

The dark witch is a master fire mage and is a great conjurer, and is proficient with harnessing shadows. While she has knowledge of necromancy, she doesn’t practice it and leans toward blood and demonic magic.

Eris’ wand is fashioned from silver due to the corrupt nature of her magic. Wooden wands are easily reduced to cinder from even the most basic spells. Silver is a high level conductor of magic that carries energies instead of storing it. On each side of the wand are gems that act as conduits for magical energy. ◆ Interview Questions ◆

(1) Question One: Did you have any regrets about sacrificing your mother?

“I loved my mother, yes, but she  and I never got along. She always asked why I couldn’t be more like my cousin – pious, quiet, and obedient. From the day my magic bloomed, she tried to quell that fire in me. A parent is supposed to accept their children for what they are, correct? All she did was try to change me, so that I could be what she wanted. And when she realized that I would not change, she attempted to force it upon me by trying to strip me of my magic. Instead of letting me walk my own path, my mother intended for me to suffer, magicless and empty, in this beautiful world. To take my magic would mean to take my soul; to take my soul means to kill me. So I gave her to my lord, Xaphan, and I have not regret it since.” (2) Question Two: Do you have a favorite type of fire spell?

“Elemental spells are definitely my favorite type. There is so much one can do with fire, it can be used to create, purify, or destroy…but I tend to lean towards the last, of course. If you want specifics, then my favorite spell is one called Nova Mortis. The user speaks the required incantation and kisses the victim on the lips, transferring a tiny ember into the body. Over time, the ember blossoms, cooking them from the inside out. It is a slow process, though and if you look closely, you can see the fire dancing in their veins. ◆Writing Sample:◆

Eris seemed to drift silently through the brush as she walked. At her flank, her mother, Minerva, lied in a shadow-forged cocoon. She trapped her in a stasis and bound her in shackles that nullified magic. All it took was a simple lie and some crocodile tears and she had her mother ensnared. She’d been so relieved to hear what she finally wanted — that Eris would give into her wishes and be the obedient daughter. Minerva hadn’t even sensed the potion in her wine, not until it was too late. Now, she was being lead to Eris’ den. The hide-out was a warded cave north of Grimsby. She needed to be away from Hallowed Oak, a place where the Green Man couldn’t listen and his hags would pry at the spike of demonic energy.

Once inside, she lowered her mother onto the stone altar. Everything was already in place. Candles lined the altar’s round edges, sitting at each point of the pentagram. In the arm of each star lied runes and sigils, written in blood. A few yards away from the altar lied the summoning circle that her lord would emerge from.“Céimnithe.” Eris uttered, dispersing the shadows.“Ardú.” She said, with a snap of her fingers.

Minerva jolted awake, mouth taking in air as if she’d been drowning. Her green eyes went to her daughter, an expression of betrayal in them. “Whatever you plan on doing, Eris, I beg you…do not to it. Please…”

The dark mage merely gave her a hateful glare, hands working a mortar and pestle. “Where was my mercy, Mother?” She sprinkled herbs and spices into the bowl, mixing in the blood of a ram and boar — Xaphan’s sacred animals. “You tried to kill me as well, you know.”

“I tried to banish your magi—”

Eris cut her off. “There is no difference!”

“You needed to be saved from yourself!” Minerva retorted. “I am your mother and I must protect you, no matter the cost. If you continue down this path, the Guild will have you killed. I cannot let that happen!”

“Who are they to tell me how to use my magic? My. Magic. We can bend the very energies of this world to our will and we must limit ourselves and shy away from power. They’d rather we live our mortal lives praying to the fae, false idols, and obscure gods. They’d rather we sit in a circle and sing to that fucking tree you call a deity!” It was fortunate that no one could hear them from the outside, otherwise all of Athoria could hear them argue. “My god is not bound to the earth, a true god breaks their chains…a true god is a being beyond this world.” Eris pressed a hand to her mother’s brow, the gesture almost loving in nature. “Fortunately, you will have eternity to comprehend his power.”

Her mother began to weep. It was as if she had finally realized how far her daughter had gone, that perhaps she pushed her to this point. “I love you, Eris. You are my daughter, my only child. Please…”

The woman’s hand moved to Minerva’s throat, squeezing. “You never loved me…not truly. Not the way you should. All I ever heard growing up was stories of our line, the Fire-Born beloved children of the Fae called Aodh.” She released her mother, allowing her to breathe. “I’ll never forget that look on your face when you saw me by the river those years ago, when you realized I was like my father. All that talk of the McKenna blood and legacy…and I was the imperfection. From the moment I was born you projected your expectations on me, wished me to be anything other than what I am.” A blissful smile colored Eris’ features. “Well now…I’ll be free of you.”

Eris didn’t bother to let her mother respond. With single word, the woman was silenced for as long as she willed it. The sorceress placed the bowl in the middle of the summoning circle and grasped her spellbook. Kneeling before the circle, she turned to the proper page, letting her aura loose. In an old, crude tongue she began to speak the incantation. The spell’s notes said the language was called Dimoori Sheol, the language of the damned. Every syllable tugged at her soul, sending pulses of dark energy through her frame. The process wasn’t nearly as taxing as the first time she summoned Xaphan. Her book indicated that the user’s first time would require a sacrifice of their life force, as a gesture of devotion. This time, Xaphan only required an offering.

The red witch’s eyes cast white as her head tilted toward the ceiling. Her spell shook the very walls and caused the candles in the space to flare. The ingredients within the bowl began to smoke and bubble until it overflowed. Her mixture disintegrated the dish and pooled to the circle’s edges. The boiling grew violent, the smoke thicker until it filled the space in a haze of brimstone. At the incantation’s climax, the ichor caught fire and from it, a form began to rise. The blue of Eris’ eyes returned and she gazed upon her lord with revere.

“Eris, my most loyal, you’ve come to bargain?” Xaphan asked. His form changed from one shape to the next, each appearance more horrifying than the one before.

“Yes, my lord, Xaphan.” Eris rose to her feet and turned to her mother. The poor woman had soiled herself in the demon’s presence. Her eyes were wide with fear as she trembled. “I have brought my mother, as promised. Her soul is yours to command.”

The demon’s laugh sent a shudder through her. “And what would you have in exchange?” He inquired, already knowing the answer.

“Power. I want the fire to be mine as it is yours. To ruin those who would stand in my way and wreak havoc in your name.”

Xaphan smiled at her reply, his form writhing against the circle’s bounds. “Then give her to me and your sacrifice shall be rewarded,”

Eris stood at her mother’s side, face softened by her impending sorrow. She couldn’t hear Minerva’s pleas for mercy, but she read them on her lips. Perhaps that was why she silenced her, so that she couldn’t be convinced to do so. Despite their turbulent relationship, Eris loved her mother, otherwise it wouldn’t be a true sacrifice. During her time with a coven of conjurers, she learned that nothing was gained without loss. Everything had a price and if one wasn’t willing to pay, then they didn’t deserve it. “Your death will not be in vain.” Eris said, raising a dagger of fire. “Chuid eile i tine.” She plunged the knife into Minerva’s heart, unsilencing her to hear the screams.  

If she wouldn’t let her plead for her life, she could at least hear her die. Tears streamed down Eris’ cheeks as the fire engulfed her mother. While Minerva’s body burned on the altar, the light of her soul fluttered from the ashes. The ball of energy hovered just above Eris’ hand as she guided it to Xaphan, dropping to one knee. “I have done as you asked, she is yours my Prince.” She pushed Minerva’s soul into the circle and watched as the demon fed it through serrated teeth.

“It is done, my child. Do not weep, rejoice in your gift.” He said.

Eris then felt a burning in her chest. The pain was so intense, that she sank to the floor. For a moment, she thought Xaphan deceived her. Yet when she looked down, she saw her heart glow orange-red beneath her skin. The fire candlefire matched the pattern of her breath and she felt like the very sun lived in her veins. By the time she looked up, Xaphan was gone and only the crackle of fire remained.

[godsandvillainsrpg-blog]

Congratulations, EMILY! You have been accepted as NOELLE DUBOIS.

Note from Admin Jade: Damn, our Noelle applicants certainly brought their A-game, and this decision didn’t come easily. In the end, though, Emily, your application consisted of everything I could’ve hoped to see in Noelle personified. She’s a woman of many weapons — her gun, her chameleon tongue, and her body, and you showed me just how she uses every one of those to her advantage. You painted such a beautiful picture of her journey, of the way the traumas of her past have shaped her into the weapon of a girl she is today. I adore the way you characterized her distinction between victim and survivor, how she forces herself to become something stronger every day — and of course, just how important her revenge is to her. She doesn’t simply want to kill them — that would be letting them off too easy. She wants to make them feel the same pain she felt before they meet the same fate Camille did — the ultimate poetic justice, and you did such a beautiful job of showing me the lengths she’s willing to go to in order to realize that vengeance. Your FC change to Eiza Gonzalez has been approved, and I’m thrilled to welcome you and Noelle to the dash!

OUT OF CHARACTER

Name: Emily

Age: 20

Preferred Pronouns: she/her

Timezone: GMT.

Activity Level: On a scale from 1 to 10, I would put myself at a solid 6. I’m in my final year of uni but i don’t have a part time job or much of a social life, so most of my evenings will be spent on tumblr, probably rping. I’ve found that I can’t work past 6pm because my brain begins to die, so I’ll be all yours until I sleep after that!

Triggers: REMOVED

Anything Else? I’ve talked to Jade about this and I was wondering if it’s possible to change her fc to Eiza Gonzalez? I adore Nina – but she reminds me a little too much of the horrible flashbacks of TVD rps and I have to say, she has sort of been ruined for me.

Also, just to say that Noelle is my first choice, with Caterina as my second!

IN CHARACTER

Desired Character:

Noelle Dubois.

Noelle (also Noëlle) is a feminine given name. It is an English form of the French name Noëlle, which is a feminine form of the name Noël meaning “Christmas” in French. Ironically, Noelle wasn’t even born in December. She also grew up hating Christmas – but came to tolerate it as an adult. Dubois Name Meaning. French and English (Norman and Huguenot): topographic name for someone who lived in a wood. She wears her surname as a badge of pride, a proof she overcame the circumstances of childhood and prospered into someone – and something – else entirely.

Her name was picked out as an afterthought. She didn’t even get a middle one, her parents wanting the process to be over as quickly as possible. With parents who paid little attention to their children, why on earth would they care about their name? Some parents spent hours, days, even weeks, leafing through books trying to pick the one. Because they love their children. Because they want to know, when they kiss their child goodnight, or read their report card – that they did it right, all from the very beginning. Noelle was not given that treatment. Noelle, much like her sister Camille, was named for the maternity nurse who delivered the child. It was an easy, simple solution.

“What would you like to call your child?” Her parents paused, a small shift of the shoulders folding into a shrug. “Well, what’s your name?” And that was that.

As such, Noelle never really cared much about her name. For the first few years of her life, it was thrown as an insult, a shout or scream – always something that gave cause for her to flinch, rather than smile. The only one who said her name with any tenderness or softness was her sister. She was the only one who ever really cared. To Noelle, a name mattered little. She didn’t care whether she liked it or not. The only time she ever cared was when her name was uttered in conjunction with her sister; Camille and Noelle. That made her feel more at ease. That made her more secure. Now, it just makes her sad.

She could have changed her name. She had so many chances. There was the time the sleezy strip owner asked what she should be called, eventually throwing Cherry her way (for her lipstick, apparently). When she went to the Giordano’s, they asked if she wanted to reinvent herself – and to pick a new name alongside it. She always said no. It was never on her part, it was never for the sake of vanity, or even identity (because the Noelle who first bore that name was a hell of a lot different than the one who ended up with it) but because of her sister. Because of Camille and Noelle. Because they were a team – and because they had worn those names through thick and thin, in dark and in light. To change that would be to alter their relationship. And Noelle wasn’t scared of anything in this world – except that. So she kept it. But now, no one says Camille and Noelle. Because there’s no more Camille. And where, oh where, is the justice in that?

Describe this character in your own words:

There are some, in this world, who would argue that there is no distinction between survivors and victims. To them, Noelle would laugh – and simply point at herself. She’s a survivor. It’s a badge she wears with pride, a label she fully embodies. To be a survivor to have gone through hell and come out stronger on the other side. To be a survivor, is to be better than all of that. She has never – and will never – be a victim. She despises that word. She despises its connotations. That she somehow wasn’t good enough, that the world won. In the war between Noelle and the world, she’s had the upper-hand for quite some time now.

(Watch out, you better keep score on her new war, it’s sure to be one to watch).

Noelle is a girl who is battle ready, not weary – and relishes in the triumph from a fight, having been at war, in one way or another, for most of her life. There’s always been a fight in front of her – and as a child, she soon learnt to sink her teeth in and stand the flames when she was set alight. The first fight was against the world, raging against a concept bigger than herself, or indeed, bigger than her parents – those who inflicted primary misery and abuse upon her. Her first fight was a victory against those forces which conspired to keep her down and to tear at what made her whole. Many, she knows, would have fallen prey. They would have given up, submissively bowing their head and allowed themselves to be consumed. Not her. And that’s where the distinction between survivor and victim lies. No, Noelle was not a person who allowed herself to be devoured. She, herself, was hungry – and her appetite would prove to be the stronger one.

Of course, if you want to go into battle – you must have weapons at your disposal. As a child, all she had was the sheer force of her mind – to make steel and iron out of skin and bone, to be tough and sharp and strong. It was her armour. And although armour isn’t a weapon as much, it protected her. It sealed her away. It kept her from the rest of the world – at arm’s length, where it could not touch. The only one allowed in behind such enforcements was Camille – and that was because they fought the war side by side.

Now, her weapons are sharp in different ways. She wasn’t very old when she learnt that her body was a weapon too – that she could use it to gain the upper hand in the world, that what had always been a site of bruising and abuse could, in turn, become her salvation. It was the streets that first made her see that her body could be useful – that standing a certain way would encourage the leering man to buy her a coffee, or that she could sweet talk her way into food (the words had been bitter in her mouth. She had never been sweet – and after that, she never would be). But it wasn’t until the club that she learnt her body could be lethal. Her beauty was not weakness. Her beauty was her emancipation. Her beauty could control. All those silly men thought they were in command. They thought that because they slid dollars towards her, they could own her. But in truth, Noelle owned them. At the club, she became a darker creature, possessed by a childlike rage and a determination that made sure that life would never steal from her again. The club owner might have been a blip on that radar – a shocking reality that you are never flying quite high enough, but it was one she needed. Noelle has always been an individual who very much values – and is – free. She likes being free to make her own choices – to feel as if she has agency in her life. A long time ago, she freed herself (with the help of Camille) – and now, she can never go back. She needs that freedom, that power, that control, to reassure herself – in a sense, to make reality make sense itself.

For, in one word, Noelle is powerful. She has always had the potential to be, but it wasn’t until she began playing the Giordano’s game, gun in her hand, that she truly learnt what it was to wield power – to be in possession of the ability to steal life from someone else. It was nearly intoxicating – and it made her heart spin. She’s not a psychopath, smeared with blood – but she can’t help but admit that there is a part of her that loves this. When out on a mission, she is the one in control. When out on a mission, she can forget about the past – instead, she embraces herself. That was the true Giordano lesson. All they did was teach her to aim. Everything else was always inside of her – all on her own. Her game is to manipulate. Sensual and deadly, she has learnt to take from the world before it can strike back at her. These men she causes to fall at her feet are nothing compared to her – and boy, doesn’t she know it. Her primal weapon is her beauty – and it serves her well. This time, however, the world is very much at her beck and call – and she likes to think she can master it. There is a rage about her, barely contained within her cavity. Killing gave her an outlet for her beautiful inferno. Now, however, it’s not enough.

In this new war, Noelle intends to use all of her weapons at her disposal, no matter what they might be. This opponent knows her inside and out – and she needs to be better than them if she is to win.

A long time ago, she learnt how to steel her heart, hiding it far far away – where no one might peek. This too, has always served her well – to keep them guessing, keep them on their toes, to let them think she’s nothing more than black rage. The truth, is, she isn’t. Yes, she’s angry – nearly always exhaustingly angry, but it’s because she cares – and she’s not sure how else to channel all these intense emotions, never having developed the adequate mechanisms as a child. In secret, she is highly emotional charged, currently hiding away an inner sadness cast by Camille’s death. She’ll let tears fall upon Stavros’s shoulder – but they are the tears of crocodiles. It’s not real. What is real is far more bloody. What is real was only made for the eyes of one person – and that person is six feet under.

She’s always been an incredibly untrusting person, scarred by the lessons gone past, determined to let no one but Camille into her heart. She learnt, early on, that whenever she took someone in – they could come to screw her over, reminders of her parents. So it was easier not to bother. Not to fucking try. The Giordano’s proved the exception to the rule – and look where that led her. Once she lets you in, once she lets you see the real her – it’s for life, which is probably why what happened with the Giordano’s hurt so fucking much. They made a fool of her – they made fools of them both – and now it’s time to pay. She’s learnt her lesson now – and knows herself to be acutely alone in the world. Now, she will remove herself from its grasp – where no one can control or hurt her. It’s a lonely place to be, but Noelle has never been one to throw a pity party about her circumstances. She just gets on with the job at hand.

At her core, Noelle is a survivor. The meaning of that word has changed many times over the years – and she has no doubt, it will change again. But where other things have changed – that has remained her constant, the label wrapped around her, central to her identity. She has no problems with changing or alteration – always having moulded herself to what was needed, to what would carry her through. The latest form of survivor is to play the weeping damsel, the wolf who will wear a sheep skin to survive. It’s a lie – and each night, as Stavros slumbers next to her, she is living a lie. Always a girl who wore her anger on her face, to swallow it down is a challenge – but for Camille, it’s one she will rise above. In a sense, she is a living, breathing work of fiction right now – the person they want her to be, the person they will never see coming. But she hasn’t changed – and she has no damn intention of doing so now, not when her skills have been needed more than ever. What you see is never the same for two people – and she’s the only one who knows what truly lies underneath.

What are this character’s motives?

POWER & CONTROL: In short, Noelle wants agency. She wants to have the ability to make her own choices. She wants to control the world around her – instead of allowing it to control her. Acutely aware of that disempowerment both as a child and then again when she was cohered into sex, she was determined to make sure it never happened to her again. She wanted to be a creature that no one could control – not even fate itself. She wanted to be a creature larger than this world, a woman radiating supremacy, using a lethal combination of her body and the gun in her hand to make it happen. She wanted to rob the world before it robbed her. And the only way to ensure that was to ensure she had the power, that she could make the choices – and that she would never be forced to do anything she didn’t want to do again.

As a teenager, she had ran away – fleeing to free herself from the shackles of abuse. As a young woman, she watched her sister shoot down the man who turned her body into a commodity, something to be exploited, rather than a site of empowerment, which it has always been. Now, it was her turn. The world would never make a fool of her again – and she would use whatever means it took to get there. This grabbling, desperate, desire for control plays out in a way that suits the world she lives in. She’s lethal because she’s seen the other side. She can kill because the alternate future is worse. She will do all this and more, because through the Giordano’s, she received her life’s wish. Freedom – and the empowerment that came with it.

Noelle’s motivations stem directly from the scars of childhood days gone past. Power and control are the cornerstones of what she wants – purely because she knows what it is to live without them. She needs to control her circumstances – and by extension the world around her – because she never wants to feel like a victim. She knows what it is to delude yourself into an illusion of power and have it stolen from you. And once you know something, you can never erase that feeling from your core.

REVENGE & RETRIBUTION: These days, her desire for power and control manifests in more than one way. Yes, it’s revenge for the death of her sister that she wants, but this stems directly from her need to have control – for not to be taken as a fool by the world. Or in this case, the Giordanos. They caused her death – and now, they will pay. She isn’t the girl who allowed herself to be forced into sex. She will not let them take what she holds dear – not without giving them hell for it. Blinded by both bitterness and grief, Noelle intends to tear down the whole system. She will take away in terms of value what they took from her. She will take their most precious thing – this whole game itself. Just a few short weeks ago, she was a willing player. The politics mostly went above her head, but she had to admit, there was an addicting thrill to it – a battlefield through which to empower herself. But now, she’s disgusted. She can see nothing more than her sister’s dead body and act only through heightened anger. She will have her revenge. Although a fiery creature, she knows how to survive. She’s used to bending herself to their expectations – surviving when the world presses down on her. So she won’t fly off the handle. She won’t try and take a gun to their heads – where’s the fun in that? No. Her revenge is far more calculated. Her revenge is targeted. And one day, she will watch as the light dies in their eyes – and they know what it means to grieve. Vengeance will be hers – and it will be her name on their lips.

CAMILLE: Even in death, Camille is a major motivational drive in her life – and she always has been. Her entire life, Noelle was the one following her big sister, the two of them against the world. As the older sibling, Camille lead – and she was barely one step behind, never struggling to keep up. Without Camille, Noelle would not be the woman she is today. Without Camille, she might not have believed she deserved more. Without Camille, she might have given into her circumstances – instead of hardening her heart and making it clear she would take more, if the world would not give her its dues. She’s always drawn strength from her sister – a steady rock even in the worst of times. Always a team, at each other’s side, Noelle made her home in Camille – the only person she could truly count as family. Now, without her, Noelle feels lost. The hard won stability in her life has been snatched away, replaced instead by a burning desire to tear down the world. It is the love she has – and the life they have led together – for her sister that drives her towards her ambitious goal of tearing down the entire game. It’s the knowledge that Camille deserved more that drives her to do what she wants to do. They always told each other that – that the world owed them. Eventually, they took what was owed them – or so they thought. Instead, the world ripped Camille away, too early, too soon – leaving her all alone. And like when Camille shot the mob owner who forced her to prostitute herself, Noelle will punish those who are deserving.

EMOTIONS: It’s strange, that such a sharp woman should be driven her emotions. But she always has. They have always been there – deep in her marrow, hidden from the light. What’s more, she’s always been able to control them – used to hiding away half of her soul, to slipping on a mask, which is why she’s so lethal. She may not let people know it, but she feels everything – acutely deeply. She’s simply learnt not to let that influence her actions, or indeed, who she is, tucking it away for only Camille to find. Few people know this, but she loves deeply – and once you’ve gotten her love, it’s for life. That’s why she’s so angry. Because she allowed the Giordano’s in. She came to love them – and they betrayed her. With her emotions in a heightened state at the moment, swollen anger, grief and guilt, she intends to let them drive her forward into action. She is the living embodiment of rage – and it will take her far.

What potential plots do you foresee for this character?

REMOVED

Would you be open to this character’s death? 

REMOVED

PARA SAMPLE

They say that when someone you love dies, a piece of you dies too. That was true. As her sister had passed into the world beyond, Noelle’s heart had gone with her. Now, it was nowhere to be found.

That was fine. The Grim Reaper could keep it – she wouldn’t need it for what came next.

At first, it hadn’t just been her heart that was absent – it had been her very soul. Every thought, every will, every anything she had ever felt – it had vanished overnight. It had been snatched the moment she was snatched, lying in a cold room – stripped naked. Now, it lay six feet under a gravestone simply entitled Camille. The pair of them had ceased to be a Dubois the moment they escaped their pit of a home. Their parents had ceased to claim any entitlement over them the moment they went to school with their bellies emptied, or huddled close at night – escaping their druggy friends whose hands always pinched a little too tight. Their parents had given them life, but then they had thrown them to it, allowing it to rub them raw. They didn’t get to own them. Nobody did.

Only she, out of all the souls in the world, could claim to call her sister her own. For only she had been there from the beginning to the bitter end. For only she had seen her laugh and cry. For only she had seen her fall and rise – and how she had looked the very first time she took a life. Camille only belonged to her – because no one else understood what this absence felt like. No one else understood what it was like to have a piece of yourself torn away, to have to swallow your grief and make nice with your enemies. No one else understood what it was like to look them in the eye, memorise the details of their black funeral garb and thank them for coming. No one had ever understood what it was like to be her. And the only one who could, the only one who had, was gone.

It was funny, the way they said that, gone. As if dressing it up was going to make it any more delicate. At least it was better than passed away. God, Noelle had wanted to reach down and rip out Vita’s throat when she had muttered that, in all her crocodile sympathy. “Such a shame about Camille’s passing. She really was a lovely girl.” Passing. What a fucking crock of shit. Camille hadn’t passed. She had been cut down. She had been torn away. She had been murdered. And Noelle, meeting Vita squarely in the eyes, knew exactly who was at fault. And she wasn’t about to give them a free pass for it either.

By the end of her sister’s funeral, the insufferable sadness had been replaced by something else. An insufferable rage. Inside, there was a fire that no water could quench. Inside, there was a burning desire to see justice done – to tear down and rip apart the fabric of reality in which they lived. For Camille’s death was no passing. It was no coincidence or accident. It was a direct manifestation from the games they both played. From the world the Giordano’s had inducted them into. How foolish they had been, two girls on the run, tempted by the idea of stability, by the idea of power, by the idea of earning what was owed. How silly she had been, to even think that they could have had it all. To think that the Giordano’s, in their fucked up family unit, could have ever cared. How stupid she had been not to see that she and Camille had never been anything other than pawns. And as anyone who has ever played chess before knows, the pawns are always the first to be sacrificed. That game was over. For Noelle had begun one of her own – and in this one, she wasn’t going to play by their rules. She was going to tear up the entire chessboard, rain hell down on their heads and look them in the eye as they watched their entire world fall apart.

That night, embracing them all as they said a weepy goodbye, her fingers inched close to her knife. It would have been swift and easy, to steal their lives as they stole her sisters. Perhaps it even would have been satisfying, to watch the light fade from their eyes as she had done so so many times before. (That sensation never lost its appeal, her victory never dimmed). But it wouldn’t have been just. Their lives weren’t the things they held most dear. Their games were. So if she was going to snatch the light of their life, their hearts and their souls – she would have to swallow her rage and wear the mask of a placated doe.

Vengeance would be hers. As would control.

And she would swallow all the hells to satisfy her own.

In this case, hell had its own name. Stavros.

He who held the keys to the kingdom was the individual she held responsible for Camille’s death. He who had been one of the first faces she had ever seen, he who raised her up. He who pressed a gun in his hand and who smiled at her poison. He who had commended her techniques – and then fell for them himself. Even men who held themselves in the highest esteems, who considered themselves lethal, could be brought down by something as simple as a pair of legs, a certain tone of voice and a body that spoke for itself. Take a man to bed – and you will expose him. And in doing so, bring all those little secrets to the light of day.

It had been pitifully easy. A few well-placed tears, touches that lingered longer than usual, a faux confession. His mind had willed her to become the girl in need of his care, the vulnerability to his masculinity. Effortlessly, she had delivered. Catching sight of herself in a mirror, she had to remark, she looked beautiful when she cried. The climax had come one bitter night – he half-drunk with whiskey she had carefully placed in his hand, she the vixen who pressed her body close – letting her aura soak into him. “Noelle…” he had begun, his voice torn between pushing her away and drawing her in closer. “I want you. I need you.” Such sweet lies from such poisonous lips. The deal had been struck. Every kiss was a dagger to her heart. Every fake orgasm was a betrayal. But with each touch, each word, each fuck, she asserted her dominance – she drew him in closer to her web, making herself indispensable. He would not do without her. She would become his addiction, his enthralling mistress – impossible to resist, impossible to suspect. The ruse had worked. He had become hers.

Before she destroyed the game all together, she would play one last time.

“You look practically delicious in my shirt.”

I know. Half buttoned and sat with her legs slightly parted, she painted herself as one of Da Vinci’s demons, an intoxicating drug you couldn’t get enough of. It was, after all, one of her specialities. Only this time, she wouldn’t be delivering the sweet kiss of death before dawn came.

“I have half a mind to rip it off of you.”

She cocks her head and lets her tongue run over her lips, leaning forward – closer. Her tricks are crafted well enough to appear real. As they should be – with all the practice she’s had. As a child, the woman she is now would have existed beyond belief – a near stranger through the window of the past. But she’s proud. The world threw all it could at her – and she shot back every time. She took all that weakness and used it to make her strong. She used their assumptions as weapons. She used their pressure points to draw blood. And she smiled whilst doing it. There’s a smirk painted on her face now and as she speaks, it’s like velvet manifesting. “So why don’t you?”

For emphasis – she undoes another button.

Moving to study his reaction, she can see excitement and desire inflame in his eyes, one hand reaching out to snatch what’s on offer. Never for a moment does he consider that it’s fake. Never for a moment does he look directly into her soul – and see the snake she plays him as. Good, he wouldn’t like what he saw. “Business calls – and I could never keep the Giordano’s waiting.” Their name is like a sour lemon, his loyalty to them laughable. Is he really so blind?

She already knows this. He’s foolish enough to write it all down in a diary.

Inching towards him, she’s close enough to have the heat of her breath ripple against his chest and twist his spine. Close enough to touch. Close enough to devour. Oh, silly boy, don’t you know she’s the one doing the devouring? “Oh? What are you doing for them now?” The innocence appears facetious on her – but she’s compelling enough to pull it off.

“Just the usual. Business meetings – orders, clients, admin. Your assignments aren’t pulled out of thin air, you know. Your weapons aren’t either.”

That didn’t save Camille. Even at the thought of her sister, in connection with this monster, is enough to stir the purest of anger inside of her. It isn’t so easily swallowed – but she forces it down, nothing more than a flash appearing in her eyes. Open me up, she muses, and all you will find is a burning fire. It wasn’t always like that. Once, there was space for more. Once, she had a heart. But that feels like a lifetime ago. And what’s the point of having a heart if there’s no one worthy enough to give it to?

“I’ll be here. Exactly the way you left me.” Teasing him in a tone that could only be described as intimate (he think he’s seeing more, he thinks her boundaries have been eroded), she curls her lips into a smile that doesn’t light up her eyes.

“In that case, I’ll hurry back.”

Reaching in, he steals a kiss from her before he parts – his breath poison to toxic lips. She wants nothing more to than erase him – to shower and wash him away, to erode every presence he has left upon her body. There are times when the things she does disgusts her. But she does it for love. She does it for the memory of Camille – the sister whose image fades a little more each time she conjures it in her mind. She does it because it’s the only thing that will satisfy the infernal rage inside of her. She does it because she made a promise to herself, a long time ago, to never be a victim.

The door slams as he leaves – and a familiar silence descends upon her. Relived, she stands up, immediately tearing off his shirt. She’d rather walk around topless than with any sign of him upon her body, any sign that he could have claimed her. Immediately, her hands seize his MacBook, carelessly left out on the bed. What a fool. What a fucking fool.

“Okay Stavros – let’s see what you really get up to.”

EXTRAS

Mockblog: X

Extended/Additional Connections: X

Personality Analysis: X

Headcanons: X

[diveronarpg]

Congratulations, RICCI! You’ve been accepted for the role of MACBETH. Admin Rosey:  How is it possible that you had me laughing and crying in the same breath? You went from “... he’s a sad, kinda pathetic, almost self-sabotaging man who can’t enjoy the fruits of his own cruel ambition” to describing him as a Scottom (please read the app to figure out what that is). But you didn’t stop there, no, you added a whole layer to his backround that had me grinning from ear to ear. There is no other person I could possibly trust more to take up our beloved Mikael and do him justice. Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

Out of Character Alias | Ricci

Age | Nineteen

Preferred Pronouns | she/ her

Activity Level | I don’t think I can be active everyday — I’m a super slow writer and am busy with college, but don’t doubt my ability to dedicate myself to a good RP. I won’t be on often, but I promise to be consistent, and I strive for quality whenever I do have the time to write. Overall, I’d say 6-7 out of 10 depending on my workload!

Timezone | GMT+8

Current/Past RP Accounts | wariest.tumblr.com & disquieters.tumblr.com

In Character Character

♚ Macbeth

What drew you to this character?

♚ Stage actors HATE him. Whenever I write men, one of my favourite aspects of their character is their relationship with masculinity, and I think I have Macbeth to blame for that, or at least partially. I’ve loved his story ever since I read it at fourteen, — and the questions that come with Macbeth’s tragic development are some I carry with when I write male characters, namely: what happens to men when you tie their worth to their masculinity, and what happens when society has tied masculinity to cruelty, violence, and power? I see Mikael as someone that could have been good, because at his core he knows what is right, but because of his insecurities, and because and the environment he grew up in, he ignores his conscience in favor of attaining power. I love morally grey characters. Macbeth isn’t a mustache twirling villain that revels in his own crimes, he’s a sad, kinda pathetic, almost self-sabotaging man who can’t enjoy the fruits of his own cruel ambition. He’s someone who is very aware of his own atrociousness and feels bad about it, but despite his guilt, never once strives toward self-improvement, and while that doesn’t make him wholly redeemable, self-awareness without change is an ugliness that’s jarringly recognizable, an ugliness that I want to explore further. His actions are so monstrous, but his motivations are so incredibly human.

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

♚ SOMETHING WICKED THIS WAY COMES:  I want Mikael’s development to follow Macbeth’s and take him from mildness and reluctance to full-on ruthless ambition. I think part of the reason why Mikael has remained a soldier is because he has yet to prove he’s capable of real cruelty — his businesses make a lot of profit, but making money hasn’t quite tested his loyalty and how far he’s actually willing to go for the Capulets ( or for his own ambition ), and thus his morals have yet to be challenged. But his capacity for monstrosity is as immense as his capacity for greatness, and with unchecked ambition, he might abandon his conscience and soon become a more threatening player in the games. If an unhinged Macbeth can slaughter a man’s entire family, so can Mikael.

I think for now he’ll want to finally start doing more for the mob because with Alvise’s death, tensions are rising and soldiers like Mikael are expendable. Paranoia will drive him to want protection, for which Mikael will do horrifying acts to attain, and with every triumph, he’ll learn care less about loyalty and more about his own power and individual potential.

Mikael absolutely despises himself, and ambition he sets out to achieve exists because he thinks accomplishing goals would make him hate himself less. Except as his actions stain his conscience, the opposite happens, and with the extreme amounts of self-loathing he’ll soon possess, his mental health will deteriorate, making him increasingly erratic and unstable.

♚ SOUND AND FURY, SIGNIFYING NOTHING: Macbeth is a paradox — his constant attempts at chasing fulfillment only serve to make him feel emptier. In the same way, Mikael exists in a default state of hunger, so unused to being satisfied that he always finds something else to chase after once he attains what he originally wanted. Nothing he does can assuage the feeling of emptiness. After committing more and more atrocities he may come to the realization that he’s the problem — that perhaps nothing will ever make him happy. Once he gets everything he wants, I think he’ll resign to nihilism and come to terms with the meaninglessness of existence.

♚ THE INNOCENT FLOWER:  I want to see someone act as a sort of morality pet. Whether actively or by just being themselves, this character will remind Mikael of the existing good in him, and he will want to change for them. Of course, change, for Mikael, will be short-lived, because in the cutthroat world of mobster Verona, people might place less value on morality, and ultimately Mikael will keep choosing uglier paths to further his own ambitions. ♚ THE SERPENT UNDER’T: In the original text, Macbeth’s nihilistic outlook is finally revealed after Lady Macbeth dies, so perhaps, in this universe, Mikael truly sees no meaning in anything— except his wife. Though he won’t admit it, and maybe he doesn’t realize it, but he’s wholly dependent on her “love” to feel like life has value. Lucrezia is another one of Mikael’s attempts at chasing fulfillment; he thinks he’ll stop hating himself if he can get someone so unattainable to love him, which it why it maddens him that she doesn’t. He wants her with all the desperation of Arctic Monkeys song, but none of the dignity. He pours all of his devotion to her in hopes that he might get something in return, and though part of him understands that all his efforts are pathetic and fruitless, his desire for Lucrezia’s love and approval transcends all reason. Mikael constantly shaping himself into a man Lucrezia might like, or the man Lucrezia wants him to be.

At the same time, wanting Lucrezia is a testament to Mikael’s own masochism. Mikael is never satisfied, so in a twisted way, having someone who never gives in to what he wants is perfect for him, and it’s possibly why they’ve lasted so long. It’s apparent that he’s not enough for her, but he’ll never stop trying to be.

Their relationship is just so unhealthy and damaging on his end, and it’s mostly Mikael’s own  fault for putting her on a pedestal and placing so many expectations on her that he at least partially knows she’ll never fulfill. All I really want to explore is what lengths he’s willing to go to get her to stay, especially now that there’s a deeper wedge and newfound tensions between them with Lucrezia having been promoted to emissary. There are so many directions for their dysfunctional marriage to go and I’m willing to explore all the possibilities. He’s already ruined, but keep ruining him!

♚ MY BLACK AND DEEP DESIRES: The old-fashioned monogamist fool he is, Mikael has never considered cheating on his wife. Except things have changed now, and for as much as he denies it, his marriage is failing. He’s empty, and when he comes to terms with the fact that his wife may never really love him, he’ll find some other way to assuage his deep loneliness, stray to the path of infidelity and disrupt the dynamic the Falcos have, for years, maintained.

♚ THE WAY TO DUSTY DEATH ( trigger warnings: drug abuse ): Mikael’s fall is inevitable. It’s less question of if and more a question of how. Being as overworked as he is, and as desperate for fulfillment, and with his future actions potentially damaging his pysche,  Mikael is extremely susceptible to drug addiction. At the moment, he still carries much self-control, but in the future with his increasing nihilism and self-hatred he might just crumble — more so if someone finds that weakness and exploits it.

♚ BE BLOODY, BOLD, AND RESOLUTE: Being the absolute masochist he is, as a teenager and young adult, Mikael would frequent Measure for Measure for a taste of thrill and triumph. He frequents it less now that he’s older and married and working full time, but part of him still craves being in the ring. With all that stress and anger, who can blame him?

Are you comfortable with killing off your character?

♚ None of woman born shall harm Macbeth. ( Just kidding, yes, but it would be preferable to have someone born of C-section kill him just because it would be so FUNNY. )

In Depth

( trigger warnings: violence )

What is your favorite place in Verona?

Mikael knit his brows together. “What the hell is this for? Buzzfeed” Dark rings hung around tired eyes, which locked their gaze onto the journalist, betraying both exhaustion and annoyance. “When you told me this was for an article, I didn’t realize you were writing Top Ten Travel Destinations For the Overworked Italian,” he snapped, voice high and honeyed with derision. “Okay, edit that out. Try to make sure I don’t sound like a goddamn elementary student. I know I’m not Winston Churchill, but I can pay you good money to make me sound like I am. You’re a writer, you can do that, right?” A sigh escaped him. Mikael rested his elbows on the surface of his desk and hung his head low, thumbs massaging his temples. “I need coffee.”

What does your typical day look like?

“I get up,” he said, ripping open a sachet of Nescafe. “I jack myself stupid.” A surge of self-hatred shot through him as he poured hot water into the lid of his thermos. No sensible Italian would continue to respect Mikael if they discovered his liking to instant coffee, but single-handedly running a corporation left Mikael very little time for himself, much less time to brew himself his own cappuccino. Thus, begrudgingly, he took the sachet and dumped its content straight into the cup, but not before catching his own slip of tongue.

Mikael ran his hands through his hair, frustration simmering within. He sighed to himself. “Sorry, that was just the first thing that came into my head. I don’t know how to be alive before ten in the morning.” Dark eyes fell to the paperwork before him, and Mikael sighed, already resentful at the amount of work that needed to be done. Mikael set the thermos lid aside, barely noticing how it lay almost perilously close to the edge of his desk. “I go to the office, make some calls, keep track of the progress of my transactions, check Cawdor Industries’ stock market value, read some articles about bitcoin to try and understand what the in God’s name a blockchain is, make some more transactions, go home, jack myself stupid because satisfying primal human instincts is the only shriveled flower of joy remaining in life  — don’t put that in the article — and then I tell my wife I love her, and wait for her to not say it back.” For a second, his eyes gleamed with a silent sort of wistfulness, but as he locked his gaze onto the journalist’s, their usual deadness returned. “It’s our thing.”

What has been your biggest mistake thus far?

“Allowing myself to get ejected from the womb,” he deadpanned. “Everything’s gone a little downhill from there.”

Mistakes? Every day was a constant cycle of second-guessing and self-doubt. He’d couldn’t make a single decision without hindsight telling him he could have chosen a better path. Vacant eyes glanced over to the side of his desk, where Lucrezia’s photo sat, and Mikael’s heart rose to his throat. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful. I got to go to college. I made a name for myself. The business is booming, and I’m married. I have a wife, yes, she’s a real person, and yes, maybe it’s hard to believe but a human female woman took a look at me and agreed to live with my pathetic ass, and according to the law and what she said at the altar, she’s supposed to be in love with me. Sort of. So that’s going great. I’m grateful. I just don’t think I’m…” Happy.

Misfortune gripped the moment within a split second — as Mikael leaned over to reach for the photograph, his elbow struck the metal thermos and knocked it over, scalding water spilling from its mouth.  “SON OF A BITCH — ” Mikael rose from his seat, sending the swivel chair sliding outward, and as fury overtook him, his leg swung forward to kick the side of his desk, but as his foot collided with wood, the thermos lid toppled from the surface and spilt Mikael’s instant coffee onto his velvet office chair.

Almost all at once, his feature cycled through every existing expression, every existing emotion. Grief. Frustration. Resignation. Mikael palmed his forehead. “I’ll send you an email when my shit brain finds a better answer.”

What has been the most difficult task asked of you?

It was possible to believe that Mikael was as honest as he was crass. But his apparent tactlessness drew one’s attention away from much realer vulgarities: the truths Mikael kept within. Kneeling before his office chair, he took a wet rag and scrubbed at the stubborn coffee stain. Not meeting the journalist’s gaze, he mumbled, “Hell if I know.”

Everything was difficult. If anything worthwhile came easy, nothing would feel rewarding. The Falcos had clawed their way into the top, not resting for even a single second. And Cawdor Industries was born of their strife and struggle, but Mikael didn’t feel right merely inheriting it. No path felt valid if it hadn’t come with hardship; he moved mountains to turn the business what it was today. His parents gave him a kingdom. Mikael built an empire.

Except it had been thirty years and Mikael had yet to know what rewarding should have felt like. Every accomplishment only lent him a fleeting sense of triumph, and the satisfaction was quick to dissipate. What remained, instead, was poison. Cawdor Industries didn’t just design weapons — it sold them, less often legitimately than not, and most of the time, Mikael had turned a blind eye on all the casualties his business caused. Until he couldn’t.

Once, he could not recall how long ago, an anonymous sender delivered a video into Mikael’s inbox. It was apparent at first sight that it came from a protester, one that didn’t agree with Mikael’s line of work. At times, Mikael wished he had stopped himself from going further once that realization had been made, but curiosity was a hunger that begged to be sated.

“The most difficult task?” Mikael laughed, low and derisive. The video remained in his mind — the broken bodies of his weapons’ victims, lives destroyed for the business Mikael had worked to hard to build. He flung the rag, and it slammed hard against his desk. “Getting rid of this stain.”

What are your thoughts on the war between the Capulets and the Montagues? Mikael was a soldier. Just a soldier. That meant even for all the profit he produced the Capulet family, he was not entitled to their protection, nor could he rely on it. If Mikael had a choice, he would leave them be.

But there were stronger forces at bay. Was it unreasonable to question an outsider’s motives when Mikael himself was being interrogated and probed? If it were, it hardly mattered. Distrust was his birthright. The Falcos found wealth, but they never lost the beggars’ nature. What they passed down to their son was more than riches; Mikael inherited his mother’s relentless hunger, and his father’s habit of sleeping with one eye open.

Mikael leaned forward, dark gaze locking into the journalist’s, eyes leering with quiet hostility. “That’s none of your business,” he said, low and furious. “Get out of my fucking office.”

In character para sample:

Lights illuminated the waters, the gold of the street gleaming bright against the black of the river Danube. Perhaps, once, Mikael would have said Budapest at night was the captivating sight he’d ever witnessed, but that was before he met Lucrezia. Mikael hardly believed in magic, but in this moment, he thought it perhaps it existed, and it was this moment, an undeserving man standing by a river under the stars, blessed enough to witness the best of God’s creations. It was a type of awe that nearly brought him down on his knees. He knelt, one hand scrounging his pocket for the ultimate sign of his devotion, the promise of surrender. “Lucrezia.” The softness with which he spoke her name betrayed how unworthy he felt of it, like he doubted it could ever belong to him. “I’m not good with words. I’m not good with a lot of things, and sometimes that makes me scared to try anything new.” His heart skittered against his ribs. You’re rambling. Stop wasting her time.  “And I don’t know if I’ll be good at this, at,” the words his lips wished to form felt so foreign to his tongue. “At loving you.” Mikael took Lucrezia’s hand and pressed it gently between a palm and closed fist. Every selfish ache surged through his body. Guilt followed, for the hunger of his heart could barely be restrained, and nothing of him was worthy of this, nothing of him deserved the light Lucrezia radiated. “But for the first time, I don’t think I’m scared to try. I want —” Mikael paused. What did it matter what he wanted? What right did he have to ask anything of her? “I want to be good to you. Please,” Mikael’s voice remained soft, slow, but all deep longing and desperation was evident in the way his words cracked through his throat. He unfolded his palm, and the ring resting on it caught the light of the moon. “Let me be good to you.”

Eyes fluttered open. His phone buzzed against the bedside table, and the jarring sound of its vibrations sent a wave of annoyance surging through Mikael’s skin. As the real world reformed around him, the dream-memory shattered, leaving a bittersweet taste in its wake.

Nothing much had changed. Same life, same woman, same relentless emptiness. Legs slid off the bed, and Mikael sat upright, palms on either side of him. With one slow, lethargic motion, his hand reached for the buzzing phone on his bedside table, the faint glow of its screen bright against his tired, barely woken eyes. His face contorted into a scowl upon reading his alarm label: WAKE UP YOU USELESS PIECE OF SHIT. Mikael groaned. He shut it off, slammed the thing lightly against the table, but as he turned away, his eyes caught sight of his wife’s sleeping figure. He looked at her, and his anger quieted.

The sheets had shifted when he woke himself, so Mikael pulled them over her body, willfully gentle as not to wake her. “I love you,” he said under his breath, and a certain sort of sadness consumed him. His heart rose to his throat. It ached with a stupid, childish fantasy: that if he said and breathed and lived those three words enough, he would one day deserve to hear them returned.  

Mikael did not blame Lucrezia for not wanting him. How could she? When he looked at the mirror, there was no part of himself that he did not despise. Men like him and the monster blood they carried — they were hard to love, hardly worthy of love. This was the routine he deserved: to every day pray that their hearts’ hunger be sated, to every day have their prayers met with suffocating silence.

If emotions governed people, what a tyrant love must have been.

Extras:

♚ Mock Blog: regicidios.tumblr.com

♚ Cawdor Industries is a mix of several businesses, namely transportation, construction, and weapons manufacturing, which are all a legitimate front for Mikael’s Dirty Mobster businesses: smuggling, money laundering, and arms trafficking. Like the capitalist pigs they are, they’re primarily concerned with making money and use their close connections with the Capulets for networking and intimidation purposes.

♚ I read a lot on Riz Ahmed before writing this app, and out of love for him I just want to respect his background as a second-generation immigrant and write Mikael as a second generation immigrant as well. Falco isn’t a Pakistani surname, so I headcanon that his parents had their blatantly Muslim Pakistani surname changed in order to be recognized with more legitimacy in the Italian business ( and mobster ) world. Isn’t their background a little like the immigrant narrative anyway? People who came from nothing build themselves a better future with nothing but unbridled ambition and determination to forge a better life for their children. And of course, they’re typical Parents Of Colour, who constantly remind their child of how much they’d sacrificed as a way of saying: you owe us. That, and the generational gap between them, with Mikael no longer being familiar with Pakistani customs and traditions as a result of growing up in Diverse-But-Decidedly-Not-South-Asian Verona, drive a wedge between Mikael and his parents, and them not fully connecting is one of the many contributing factors to Mikael’s decision to send them away.

♚ This is me rambling but maybe a crass, clinically-depressed, overworked, caffeine-addicted hopeless ‘romantic’ nihilist-in-the-making is a little far off from how you originally envisioned Mikael but I’m going to stand by my portrayal because I firmly believe that the Thane of Cawdor Who Shall be King Hereafter is whatever the hell the polar opposite of Big Dick Energy is and m a n  he’s literature’s finest and funniest example of just how AWFUL toxic masculinity can get… I mean there’s an actual scene where Lady M tells her MacBitch he sucks at sex and then Macbeth proceeds to go on a murder-regicide rampage for four whole acts to redeem his manhood,  do you think someone that insecure will ever have the cool, self-assured swagger of ( the disgustingand horrible ) Michael Fassbender of Macbeth 2015 dir Justin Kurzel? No! Riz Ahmed is the love of my life but all his resources have him look like he’s either paranoid or dead inside or both, which is perfect, because that’s just quintessential Macbeth, everyone’s favourite Scottom ( Scottish Bottom ).

♚ That all aside, he’s an irredeemable bastard and I love him, please take us both.