Realistic or Modern greenwood falls (CS thread)

[fairyfawn]

hi everyone! welcome to the cs thread for the supernatural roleplay, Greenwood Falls! You are welcome to use any form you want to and you're welcome to use a fancy code for your sheets, but it is not required! For those who prefer to have a premade form, I have two that will be listed below! One for the supernaturals, one for the humans!


Form for the Supernaturals:

Spoiler

IMAGE GOES HERE

FULL NAME:
NICKNAMES:
AGE:
GENDER:
PRONOUNS:
ROMANTIC ORIENTATION:
SEXUALITY ORIENTATION:


TRUE FORM APPEARANCE: images or description
TRUE FORM SPECIES:
OCCUPATION: employed or unemployed
FACECLAIM/VOICECLAIM: optional

PERSONALITY: traits or paragraphs
HISTORY/BACKSTORY: optional

HEADCANONS:
OTHER THINGS TO NOTE:

Form for Humans:

Spoiler

IMAGE GOES HERE

FULL NAME:
NICKNAMES:
AGE:
GENDER:
PRONOUNS:
ROMANTIC ORIENTATION:
SEXUALITY ORIENTATION:

HOW LONG HAVE THEY BEEN IN GREENWOOD?
HOW DID THEY STUMBLE ACROSS GREENWOOD?:
ARE THEY SUSPICIOUS OF THE RESIDENTS? ARE THEY OBLIVIOUS?:
OCCUPATION:
FACECLAIM/VOICECLAIM: optional

PERSONALITY: traits or paragraphs
HISTORY/BACKSTORY: optional

HEADCANONS:
OTHER THINGS TO NOTE:

 

[Gao]

"AFYAN IBADAH"

# WEREWOLF

# NOUR RIZK

♡coded by uxie♡

click!

مسامح ظل

AFYAN IBADAH.

Age

Looks late twenties

role

greenwood resident

species

werewolf

pronouns

she/her

occupation

seamstress

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  WHAT I DO IN THE CALCULATOR APP IS BETWEEN ME AND GOD.

  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  appearance

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  height

  
  

  5'7"
  (170cm)

  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  hair c.

  
  

  Black

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  eye c.

  
  

  Dark brown

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  build

  
  

  uGh i have to rewrite this area but im lazy so just imagine ive put lovely scrumptious little descriptors here and then make sure to go Gao wowww you wrote that appearance area SO good i have never seen such jaw-dropping writing from u xoxo
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  hair

  
  

  dark. it is there. edible (?)
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  eyes

  
  

  yes. she has them.
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  distinguishing

  
  

  you shouldn't even be reading this can u go elsewhere damn omfg.
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  face-claim

  
  

  Nour Rizk.
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
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  personality

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  Traits

  
  

  Paranoid, competitive, dense, frigid, overbearing, unforgiving, uneasy, prideful, loyal, stubborn, maternal, creative, responsible, independent, pragmatic, noble, devoted, awkward, wary, people pleaser.
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  iN DETAIL

  
  

  Stone beds the river of a stubborn body, and Afyan, Shadow, is submerged without the luxury to drown. A jaguar woman of gnashing coastline and firm statements, she crosses a threshold with eyes that are sharp and full to warn others away.
  
  She ought to be kind and soft like good mothers are, of summer skin and springwater teeth, and part of her, all things told, are. Inherited embroidery to immortalise magnolias into cotton, ivory ruffles like broken ocean tides and clouds of downpour tulle; she is steeped in citrus tea and dried flowers crushed into soft leather journals.
  
  Same as Afyan is skeletal snapping, a kettle lake warmed for boil and skin that burns from prints of murderous hands. The most violent parts yet to be forgotten births itself from everything that has hurt, everything so willingly swallowed and allowed to fester like mulberry bruises. She claims to be sorry for nothing, words clipped and dark like the finality of a hallowed grave. Claims she needs neither company nor help, a woman beyond fragility and second chances; the dark directness of her tombstone eyes cutting away from others is enough to relay as much.
  
  And below the skin she hides the handful of words of what she means to say; never again will she lend herself to the loneliness of survival nor helplessness of waiting. Never bare her throat to talon and fang, never grant a choice between perish or fight. A determination that looms like a stormy companion, refusing to waste the currency of time and care on trite individuals, on cruelty and liars and games of possession. The magnitude of a singular action is promised to bleed, and when she sees a similar narrative, a repeated gesture, kindness with unknown intent, she is stirred alert with distrust.
  
  From a robbed youth where the foster system leers their false promises and materialistic interest, to be naive— to be a child was a plague that would surely ruin her. A double damnation of orphaned siblings with nobody to turn to, the atlas weight of raising both has never been expelled from Afyan’s habits. A little martinet by age 14, a cook, seamstress, teacher, a friend and authoritarian, the multi-faceted culpability took multiple minor deaths to achieve.
  
  Rinsed a knife in wounded water and took to her messy work; sliced away those uneven halves, sectioned away adolescent joy and that ephemeral interval where troubles were confined to scraped knees and bruised fruit. Scours the pit like a ruby tooth and spits it into a burlap sack with space to bloom into her perceived idol of adulation. A world that values power, she heeds and forges herself into someone that emanates it, into someone that is unequivocally in control. No longer a smokescreen but the assimilation of responsibility she feels sentenced to bear.
  
  There is no complaint for unpaid overtime, for changing schedules or difficult orders— not that these afford much delight either, but the implication of feeling useful, the epitome of ready and reliable she yearns to embody so dearly. Afyan would be loath to admit it’s a teeming for people pleasing, her well portioned silence and seclusion to antisocial corners, unwilling to bother or inconvenience others. Eggshell steps are testament to unspoken worry for how others see her, nullifying the endless vows of self-reliance and dedication to autonomy.
  
  An adult in childhood, a child in adulthood. An older sister for a parent, a parent for an older sister; it is her only identity. Unable to even hold a mug between lazy fingers, Afyan grips it like she has with most people in her life, with unrelenting certainty. She hates to lose, the people more so, and has only ever known to rake nails and drag them back to the surface against their will.
  
  She marvels blood over water, has survived by the merit of family first and everyone else second. Life without that inherited responsibility is a freedom she’s sworn never to have, and even if the idea of it is cancerous in its vividity.
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  Habits

  
  

  ➢ Calling people by their full name when she's mad.
  
  ➢ Refuses to let anyone do anything for her ever. You open the door for her? She closes it and opens it herself. You offer her a cup of water? No. She will fetch her own cup of water from her own house. Doesn’t want to feel like she owes anyone anything even if it’s as small as a sandwich.
  
  ➢ Whenever she has to buy something or ask a worker a question she starts with “I am SO sorry to bother you” even though it’s literally their job.
  
  ➢ One trip and one trip only. If you have to make two trips you are a weak loser. You see her holding 8 bags with one in her mouth. Efficiency.
  
  ➢ Just runs off when she says or does something embarrassing. Fell down some steps? No need to ask if she’s okay; she's already sprinting down the street. See you in 3 business days.
  
  ➢ Speeds up for pedestrians. Just to make them nervous. Aha. Beep beep.
  
  ➢ At social events she sits awkwardly alone at a corner table with a capri sun. Chatty queen (lying).
  
  ➢ Has pepper sprayed two people by complete accident. One being her landlord. She is still apologizing for this.
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  Fears

  
  

  Flies. Snails. Slugs (they are nudist snails ew disgusting).

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  likes

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  Horses, the color orange, leopard print, monkeys, Disney films, bread, microwaveable meals, inflatable tube men at car dealerships (they dance good), Forklift the cat, fishing, wishbones, nature.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  dislikes

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  Dogs, bones in food, electronics, crunchy food, romantic advances, poetry, most bugs, alcohol, wet socks, vegetables, personal touch, being offered help, minimalism, heights.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  history

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  VOLUME ONE.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  Childhood is an archive of monuments, and you’ve chosen to bury that wasteland full of love and loss and blood and ancestors in the red of terracotta soil.
  
  It’s not damp loam creviced beneath your nails that bothers you so, nor the molasses crawl of hours and sweat-steam skin as you claw the dirt back into place. It’s not that Rajah is inconsolable and that livid spades of his nails have raked your wrists bloody, for you know one day he’ll understand the reason behind your actions and that rationality played its part in all of it. That his anger will never be enough to dissuade you from keeping him alive, that surviving is not some rhetoric to be argued or debated and that not a day will pass where you regret what you’ve done.
  
  It is not your brother cleaving for air, not the frail envelopes of lukewarm flesh on sienna sand that disquiets you.
  
  It’s the arrival of flies you can no longer stomach.
  
  Membrane wings that stick on your raw muddied skin, the reverberating drone and lunging black darting into eyes. You remember it so acutely, legs needling along your senses and tugging you back to that place. Pink flesh mottled by writhing black like the slimy jowls of a hound, less the fondness. So you fold limbs across their chest knowing it could have been someone else, could’ve been you. Knowing another moment, another night, knowing a delay or lingering conversation from days past could have had its linear impact; the notion of being a child is diminishing with each handful of dawn-lit minerals, caching way girlhood and naivety and comfort. Burying flies gorged on vinegary meat and your surrender of a carefree youth.
  
  Rajah doesn’t understand, blessed ignorance of a child, as you pillage everything about yourself for the sake of survival. Unwanted things must find a place for rest, must find food, must find shelter, and you are committed to yielding everything that you are and everything you ever could be to afford it.
  
  You’ve taken your own naive remains outside, still warm, to see how the night will take care of it. See how you can weather the tempest storm, see what shape will be carved into the carcass and remain once morning comes. Brittle, sun-bleached and sharp, as the weeks pass you slowly lose your softness and your light.
  
  Eventually you run out of wishbones to believe in.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  VOLUME TWO.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  A sister cannot be a parent, a parent cannot be a sister, you’re spurred in a limbo of enigmatic grey and tumultuous red. You flay your sibling apart with screams to move, flay him with reprimand and insult because that is the only thing that keeps you both afloat.
  
  A hand that burns print to the pulse of his wrist as you drag him from orphanage to classes to nannies and one day to your very own wedding, your purse-strings are taut as pig fat strings sustained only on underpaid shifts and a plethora of menial work. Pebbled with seamstress callous, with protesting spine and blistered soles from unfitting shoes, you breathe petrichor in the unsheltered downpour and remind oneself that marriage is just another laborious task.
  
  It is thrashing and it is livid, it is a rotting mound of olive green skin, callous hands and speech and predicting fire, but it has kept you and Rajah alive, housed and fed and out of the foster system that was sure to divide and mutilate beyond measure.
  
  You’ve cherished your brother since birth and now must watch him slip away one lacklustre smile at a time. Cannot bear it, dig fingers because that is all those hands have known to do; to snatch and pull and stifle and bury beneath a palm of grave dirt; you know not of a life without this. He unspools to ribbons and dissolves to nowhere, and you are left with a two-fold urgency with no footprints to follow.
  
  It is both unmaking to lose your only responsibility, same as it is the creation myth of your own son. Marriage was a means to an end, to line your survival with something outside of luck and self-reliance. But your neck is tilted to the cold floor, and you’ve tried to turn it all off. To limit inhalation and each step that is a bargain with pain, what will survive of you is the flies, what might survive of you is Rishi.
  
  A son that suddenly paints a bleak scenario into something resemblant of hope. Elicited out of a monumental pivot in your life, you actively endeavor to never shove yourself towards smallness, never compact into a meek shade to be overlooked or disparaged. You no longer wish to temper yourself for others comfort, wish to strive for the pure opposite, wish to never make needless sacrifices at the hands of others again.
  
  You still have the grave dirt. The terracotta soil metaphorically cemented beneath your nails. The knife is intimate in your hand with enough blade to chill down to the marrow, till death will you part.
  
  Come daylight you will be gone before the arrival of flies.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  VOLUME THREE.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  It’s a chimeric moment suspended in time, a heart rhythm created from your own and beating against the calcified bars of a bone cage. It is a promise of more, of tomorrow and the next and all the discoveries of parenthood. How quick everything can change.
  
  When hands collide with the shoulders of your frozen form to pull you upright from the hardwood table, you’re misty with intoxicated stupor. Proasic mother with a penchant for liquor, reprimanding screams are volatile shards that lacerate away the rounded edges of your drowsy torpor. Careening iris to steady on the rippling image of Rishi being escorted hand in hand from the room, you’re hitched with a knot of protest. An acidic bile that surges like electric current from a twisting gut, your parting mouth is barely coherent, a voice that is not entirely your own. You think it is blood bathing your tongue as custody of your son is lost, slipped through reaching fingers as your stance is hugged to the floor.
  
  The swallows of lethargic warmth are repentant, for you should have known better than to lax on your self control. One step to uncharted land and you are lost, and it is the one thing that now stays you from the bottle. You’ve always longed for some flavour of escape, to drift apart for something outside of surviving, but it is naught but a childish want, a tempting illusion to travel off path.
  
  Your essence is infused with loss, your palmar creases saturated with pesticide and fortune of responsibility. Fear is all that keeps you from insouciance, all that keeps you from slipping, from reverting and baring all that malignant feeling. You believe you’re destined for this, only reason and liability, the cool and steady precision of it all.
  
  And if you are to wander, you’re sure you’ll lose something or someone along the way.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  MISC

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  Abilities

  
  

  [LYCANTHROPY] Inherited from her bloodline, the ability (or curse as some are predisposed to think) to shift into a wolf is not restricted to changing exclusively on a full moon. It’s not something she regards as an important secret, either, nor is she at war with what she is. She has never cared to pity her circumstance, and above all else just seems to fancy beef jerky and dig a lot of holes.
  
  [LUNAR SYPHONING] Afyan’s strength waxes and wanes with the phase of the moon. A new moon is her weakest, a full moon her strongest, with lethargy and activity fluctuating in tandem. Shifting in a new moon or crescent phase will often result in a yappy little house dog, with strength & size gradually growing more imposing throughout the oncoming weeks. Her personality seems to oscillate with it, from mild and steady to restless and direct. As a wolf at her strongest, she reaches the chest of most individuals. At her weakest, a black Pomeranian that will decimate your ankles.
  
  [FULL MOON] Afyan is stuck as a wolf on full moons, yet doesn’t engage in bloodthirsty rampage. She has enough logical thought to keep her regular schedule; working (not that she can do much without hands, and often just has a cozy nap behind the counter), grocery shopping and the likes. Some townsfolk recognise that very large dog is not stealing a bag of flour, it’s just Ms Ibadah and she doesn’t have her wallet because wolves don’t have pockets. Yet to anyone who isn’t accustomed to turning a corner and seeing a leviathan ogling through a shop window at frilly dresses, they might be a little alarmed. While reasoning seems to be intact on full moons, enough to stop herself from hunting and killing anyone, it isn’t quite enough to stop her from leaping around in puddles or stealing cuts of steak from the butcher. The dog brain is alive and well. She is abundant with apologies the following morning. And always brings her wallet to backpay flour and meat and whatever else her “pet dog” took.
  
  [ENHANCED SENSES] Self explanatory innit. Noise cancelling headphones her beloved.
  
  [WEAKNESSES] Wolfsbane, silver, fire, slugs because she doesn’t like them. Fatigue, emotions, cycle of the moon. While she has rapid healing, she is not immortal.
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  Reputation

  
  

  It’s not that Afyan is a hermit, but she is withdrawn by her own accord. Situated on the far side of Greenwood in a small cottage by the ocean, she only ventures into town unless it’s for work or necessity. Most that know of her are through the seamstress store, and she is sustained by the tide of requests that surge before each seasonal event.
  
  She restitches buttons for free, because anyone who can’t manage this is clearly a fucking idiot and it would be wrong to take money from someone who is stupid. She will, however, slowly thread the needle while making judgemental eye contact with you.
  
  Owns a very big dog. Apparently. Not that she’s ever been seen walking it.
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  Headcanons

  
  

  ➢ Her shoe throw is impeccable and you will be clocked in the head. It’s like a magnet.
  
  ➢ “Don’t take my horse chess piece I like him.”
  
  ➢ Her full name is Afyan bint Uzair ibn Abd al Qadir Ibadah. For obvious reasons just redacts most of that because who has the fuckin time.
  
  ➢ Terrible puns make her giggle. Once met a cat named Féline Dion and she had to lay down on the floor before she passed out. Still giggles occasionally out of fucking nowhere bc she starts thinking of it.
  
  ➢ Has a gray cat. It is rotund and named Forklift and has never known a diet in its life. She likes to play Taylor Swift because it soothes Forklift’s rebellious soul.
  
  ➢ Literally all she wants in life is a very fluffy ball gown to gather in her hands as she runs down a long moonlit corridor. That's it.
  
  ➢ Mario Kart gives her symptoms of psychosis what the fuck is that game
  
  ➢ Likes baking but she’s weirdly competitive about it. You will rate it out of ten and if you do not say ten she sits there and waits for you to correct it because it has to be a ten and if you do not say ten she will hunt you down and hurt y–
  
  ➢ Her son is in custody with family and she’s sooo normal about it. (Gaogao just didn’t want to write an NPC child cuz gaogao doesn’t like children so I'm sorry but she has to suffer for my convenience).
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  misc

  
  

  Spotify Playlist for Afyan

  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  now playing...

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  MEDUSA

  
  
  
  

  KAIA JETTE

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[phibglib]

FULL NAME: Quinton Rives

NICKNAMES: None

AGE: 97. Physically 38.

GENDER: Male

PRONOUNS: He/Him

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: Aromantic

SEXUALITY ORIENTATION: Asexual

TRUE FORM APPEARANCE: Little to no difference from his "human" form.

TRUE FORM SPECIES: Wizard. Theoretically a type of human, but this depends on the definition used. Regardless, he's nonhuman enough to be a resident in Greenwood Falls.

OCCUPATION: Battlemaster (Battle Magic Teacher)

FACECLAIM: Benedict Cumberbatch

PERSONALITY: Cunning, resourceful, charming in a dangerous sort of way, and unapologetically self-centered. He possesses a keen intellect and a talent for manipulation, using his knowledge and skills to maintain his status and comfort within the community.

HISTORY/BACKSTORY: Born and raised in the mystic confines of Greenwood Falls, Quinton Rives quickly distinguished himself as a prodigious talent in the magical arts. His life has been marked by a relentless pursuit of power and mastery over battle magic, leading him to sometimes murky ethical territories. Despite—or perhaps because of—his somewhat notorious reputation, he was appointed as a Battlemaster at the Illusionarium, where he has spent decades shaping and sometimes exploiting the next generations of magical talent.

 

[phibglib]

FULL NAME: Fiona Skye MacGregor

NICKNAMES: Fi, Skye

AGE: Immeasurable because time is nonlinear on the Astral Plane. Apparently in her late 20s to early 30s.

GENDER: Female, but her gender identity is fluid enough that she occasionally uses a male form.

PRONOUNS: She/Her

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: Panromantic

SEXUALITY ORIENTATION: Pansexual

TRUE FORM APPEARANCE: Her "actual" true form is non-humanoid. In her preferred fairy form, Fiona stands at a petite 5'0". She is ethereal and light, almost as if the laws of physics only selectively apply to her. Her eyes are a vibrant green that mirrors the verdant life of Greenwood Falls. Her hair changes with her mood and the seasons, ranging from the fiery reds of autumn to the soft pastels of spring. She has delicate wings that shimmer with a celestial light, reflecting her divine heritage. Fiona adores attire that complements her connection to nature and the ancient world. She favors dresses woven from the very essence of the environment—leaves, flower petals, and gossamer threads of moonlight.

TRUE FORM SPECIES: Fairy/minor spirit/Cosmic Concept

OCCUPATION: Event Planner (primarily, currently)

FACECLAIM: Amanda Seyfried

PERSONALITY: Fiona is an embodiment of the joyous and nurturing aspects of nature, with a playful, curious, and quirky demeanor. She is deeply empathetic and insightful, often displaying wisdom that belies her youthful appearance, but she seems to fundamentally be a child at heart. She can be somewhat hyperactive at times.

HISTORY/BACKSTORY: Born from the union of deities and nurtured in the astral realms, Fiona's true home is the universe itself, though she has tethered her spirit to the Earth in service to Gaia. Her presence on Earth predates human history, her existence woven into the fabric of the planet's magical tapestry. She witnessed the rise and fall of civilizations, the ebb and flow of magic, choosing Greenwood Falls as her sanctuary due to its deep magical roots and harmonious blend of natural and mystical energies.

 

[redraider]

Full Name: Avaricia Jones

Nickname: Ava

Age: 29

Gender: Female

Pronouns: She/her

Romantic Orientation: Homoromantic

Sexual Orientation: Asexual

True form appearance:



True form species: Hybrid (witch/greed demon)

Powers: Ava can conjure gold, gems and other valuables, use rituals to summon demons, and cast a variety of spells.

Weaknesses: Has a strong aversion to divine magic, can't set foot on holy ground without desecrating it with her blood.

Occupation: Owner of Seventh Street Spellcraft. Also teaches classes on demonology and the Dark Arts

Personality: Warm, friendly, patient, possessive

History: Her mother conjured Mammon, Lord of Greed, and nine months later had a bouncing baby hellspawn, which she named for the sin of Avarice. Mom's gone now, but Ava runs the family business, and runs it very well.

Other: Her familiar, Jikariel. A demoness forged in the flames of Hell from a fragment of Ava's own soul.

 

[phibglib]

FULL NAME: Calvin Moreland

NICKNAMES: Cal

AGE: 24

GENDER: Male (has felt drawn to alternative gender identities, but feels most comfortable with an identity consistent with his current appearance)

PRONOUNS: He/Him

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: Heteroromantic

SEXUALITY ORIENTATION: Heterosexual

HOW LONG HAVE THEY BEEN IN GREENWOOD?: One week at the start of the RP

HOW DID THEY STUMBLE ACROSS GREENWOOD?: Felt drawn to legends surrounding the place and got half-remembered directions from locals in nearby villages and towns.

ARE THEY SUSPICIOUS OF THE RESIDENTS? ARE THEY OBLIVIOUS?: He is an agnostic atheist and does not believe in the supernatural. As such, he will be inclined to be skeptical that any residents are actually supernatural. However, he also wishes that he lived in a magical world, and it was his fascination with the subject that led him to the town in the first place, as he was aware of the legends. He will probably not be fully convinced unless he sees hard evidence.

OCCUPATION: Travel Writer

FACECLAIM: Asa Butterfield

PERSONALITY: Introverted, analytical, philosophically inclined, self-conscious, and passive with a blend of awkwardness in social situations. Despite his internal insecurities, he is remarkably intelligent, especially in verbal and logical reasoning. Calvin has a genuine respect for the stories and secrets of the places he visits, approaching each new adventure with an open heart and mind.

HISTORY/BACKSTORY: Calvin's wanderlust was ignited during a semester abroad in South America, where he experienced the power of storytelling to bridge cultures and perspectives. Since then, he has traveled extensively, writing for various travel magazines and blogs. His quest for hidden and mystical locations has led him to Greenwood Falls, drawn by rumors of its enchanting mysteries and secluded magic.

 

[qunqun]

Graham Byrne

#Aos sí

#Donal Finn

♡coded by uxie♡

Spoiler: CS

FULL NAME: -REDACTED-
NICKNAMES: Graham Flynn Byrne, Richard S. Uker, Harry Johnson, Bo N. Herr, Lee Nover, and finally, Seymour Butz
AGE: 27...?
GENDER: "Cis" Male (As cis as a shapeshifting creature CAN be, at least)
PRONOUNS: He/Him (Would be okay with they/them, it's just he would define himself as he/him)
ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: "What?" (Demiromantic)
SEXUALITY ORIENTATION: "Unpicky" (Pansexual)


TRUE FORM APPEARANCE:
Beauty is exonerated amongst the fae which he grew up around. Skin taken from shells found on the beach, slightly glimmering underneath rosy layer. He shimmers in the sunlight. Massive golden horns jut from curly hair, carefully decorated in dewdrop crystals that hang from every peak, base decorated with belladonna flowers. He has clawed hands which have been carefully filed, painted and designed after spring breeze. His clothes have been carefully woven with sunlight, taken from the first bloom of the season. Hair taken from the embers of a dying fire. A proper fae of springtime, a demeanor of jovial mischief, matched with the correct amount of elegance that is expected of someone who was high fae. Warmth radiates from him, and a general, dangerous familiarity.

Splitting from golden shimmer comes the horror of what lies underneath. The smell of rot and decay emanates from the spiderweb cracking of antlers, one completely cut off, the other cracked in half. A deer skull to take over handsome features, pinpricks of green light glowing from somewhere in the darkness beyond the skull. Madness emanates, devastation and ruin. Moss creeps up, covering propriety and sloughing off of him as a being that had been buried in the dirt come alive again. Long limbs that end in massive clawed fingers. There is a beating red heart pounding in between visible ribs, but insanity is bestowed upon glancing views of this form.

TRUE FORM SPECIES: Aos si
OCCUPATION: Self-Employed Gardener
FACECLAIM/VOICECLAIM: Donal Finn

PERSONALITY:
Empty vacancy whispers behind grass green eyes. The very definition of the lights are on, but nobody's home. Warmth radiates from a simple smile, infectious and kind... But so incredibly stupid. The type of person to somehow end up with their head stuck in a bannister semi-regularly...

... regularly.

Thoughtful and mild in disposition. Melancholy has been an old friend since his creation, and only gotten worse when there wasn't a blinding optimist to balance his negative thoughts out. Clever and emotionally intuitive. Persuasive, there are many things that his long long life have given him. Wisdom is not one of them. However, a deep understanding of people, a perceptive eye when it comes to reading rooms and energies. Attitudes and egos. Flirty and handsome, he has the outward confidence of someone who is aware that he is attractive, and has the high-

He's a manwhore. He's just a manwhore.

A party person and a people person, whispers of guilt and self-hatred wash away under a river of whiskey and beer. A bit of a little shit, but so charismatic that he can practically get away with murder.

...

He's gotten away with murder.

HISTORY/BACKSTORY:
Twins of the fae are uncommon, if not exceedingly rare. A species formed more or less through the natural world, their specific subspecies' purpose is simple and true: protect the land which you hail. They are put here for a reason, and the idea of twins is not one of chance. Balance must be maintained: good and evil do not truly exist, for the idea of such is one rooted in the imagery of mortals. Instead, there is a dimorphic tether between the two, the yin and the yang - there are two when there should've been one, they are half of the same whole. Who is the yin, then, and who is the yang?

Simplicity - literalist interpretation - states that yin is the feminine energy, and yang is the masculine. Therefore, she is the yin, and you are the yang. But with every yin, there is yang. Every yang, there is yin. How easy it would be if it was not like this. In this case, the nature of the two made it fairly plain: the gender which they abided by were the two insignificant little dots in the ever rising and falling circle of yin and yang. She was the yang, you were the yin.

Darkness always suited you better anyways. The coolness of the moon, the quiet of the night. Endless calm amongst the crickets and the foxes that skittered at dusk. Yes, to walk in the shadow is not so bad, even if it means that the sister is going to be the one destined for greatness and yours to walk in her shadow as a guardian protector.

Cast aside from moment of formation, bright sharp energy is cast from her, your tether, your other half. Completeness is only found when working in tandem. Where she burns and she pushes forwards, undaunted and invincible - a paladin of sunlight. Both scorching and nurturing in one, you soothe and calm inflamed tempers. Silver tongues are silver and not gold, after all. She is singular, a focused spear. You have many little pinpricks of light to guide you, smaller than hers, the brightest is just her goals reflected upon your face. But you focus on the stars that she cannot see. You care for what she blinds, what she is blind towards. You live for her, and she for you. It is codependent,

And the accolades come, the rites of passage are completed with a type of efficiency that belies a lack of experience. Asks of partnership, of political power. But her partner will always be the one tethered to her. The dead weight. Perhaps it is time to leave the orbit which has been there since time immemorial, to escape from the dual gravity which has always enveloped this perfect pair.

There are arguments. Pleas to stay, pleas to go. She is stubborn, and unfortuntately, this is a trait shared in blood. Deer locked in an endless battle for their futures, harsh lashing words escape from rosy lips on both sides. And the last thing seen are flowers and leaves fluttering to the ground as the icy grip of your soul is clenched hard and dragged to a new location. Someone has leaked your names to the human hunters.

The mortal plane is one filled with death and illness: the mortals live such short and uncomfortable lives, ones which the fae have narry an interest in unless to fuck with them for their own entertainment. The cats playing with the mice before devouring them whole. While the darker moodier ideas which occupy your head are there, they are nothing in comparison to true suffering. Pain has been associated with rites of passage before. Sweat and exertion, especially with your training as a soldier, are not uncommon. However, they are always wicked away with the wind, with the pleasure of other company, with nectar and wine which heals all wounds and warms the soul.

It has been months. It has been years. Or perhaps it has been minutes. What is temporal relationships to immortal creatures. You cannot die a natural death, though perhaps right now you would like to. They are trying to get more names out, more information about fae.

The mean one that is in charge - the one that knows your name, left behind to torture the information out of the monsters before them - strikes you with iron, you scream, transforming into four different forms to try to escape from manacles that burn your wrists, twisting makes it worse, you choke on acrid blood as it rises from a bloodied and burnt throat, spurned on by an iron collar. Agony. You are in agony. For weeks. For months. For years. For hours. What is time when there is instead endless torment. And she is next to you, spotless, clean. He treats her with soft unwanted touches while you are tortured. She spits in his face and he slaps her for it. That strike is a brand upon your soul that burns hotter than any fleshflaying that has been done to you.

He asks if there is any animosity boiling underneath the surface, and you spit up blood and phlegm at his face in one last act of defiance.

One last act if she hadn't suddenly lunged, iron burning flesh with a sizzling horrid smell as she wraps her legs around one and drags him over to you. Your last strength is spent stomping on his head, cracking bone and skull into a paste, and getting the key. It burns to hold it in your teeth, but you free yourself of the bindings, and then her. She is a massive bear at once. Your personal champion that lays waste and destruction while mushrooms spring up at your command. Create a faerie circle from the holes in the grout between the stones.

Bolts of iron strike you in the shoulder. She falls backwards, many arrows sticking out of the muzzle and the chest and the body, into the circle as you complete it.

She sizzles and burns and dies in your arms as you enter the fae realm once more, color bleaching from her entire being. One of the intertwined trees from which the two sprang dies soon thereafter, an ugly scar upon an otherwise lushous hideaway.

The funeral rites last longer than any other procession attended, she was beloved by society. You? Not so much. You were her shadow, her sworn protector. For the first time in your relatively short life, you feel shame. Guilt. It should've been you. The shadows are no longer welcoming, the quietness screams louder now that she is gone. Whispers have begun to come at night. It should've been you.

Death is unnatural to fae, it has to be a deliberate act of malfeasance. Retribution is swift and fierce and blood soaks the ground, feeds the earth. The warm feeling of one of the men's still beating heart is delicious between your teeth as his friend screams beneath you while you slice him to ribbons while he still draws breath. His body desecrated beyond recognition. Yes, blood is a beautiful crimson thing in its own right, the suffering of mortals is a symphony of screams when reflecting her light. Her purpose. There is a massive festival later. They never speak of Aoife ever again.

She was half of a whole, you are half of a whole. You are only half of a person. Who are you? What are you without her? Even still, fae still stare at you when you pass in the hallways. There is a heavy stone in your chest, and the whispers at night are only getting louder, so you drown it out with liquid gold. Wine and nectar, chasing down pleasure. They whisper, though forget that whispering was your domain. They say that you've lost your mind. What a shame, the useless shadow abandoned.

Despite the healing, the iron still burns some part of you. Or maybe it's the fae. It's hard to tell. You do not deserve to stand in the golden light of fae society. Even amongst the earthier lower courts, there is still a merriment that is hard to partake in with pure authenticity.

The mortal world is nothing but suffering and death. But to be honest, that is what you deserve. How do they cope with suffering? How do they cope with death? These tools were never given to you, the fae do not die unless acted upon by iron and salt. And besides, exile is just around the corner. You have been labelled a grade-A "bummer" to be around, destined for the fringes of a perpetual paradise you wonder if you were ever truly a part of, or just hugging the shadows of one who illuminated it.

You hide amongst the mortals, shedding your fae skin for a human one.

They have something called "God" and "Catholicism" taking the mortals by storm, which is completely alien to the free spirited ways of the fae which you've known your entire immortal life. It requires discipline to practice, though many in the church hypocritically lack it. But more than that, it provides answers.

Despite not particularly believing in this "God" or "Jesus", you - born a nature spirit of the land, actively worshipped by the people you now live amongst - convert to Catholicism and hide amongst the mortals and watch as empires rise and fall and your land get "conquered" again and again and again and society shift and morph like a truly living creature. You bring a satyrasis glee to the lives of repressed Catholics. Death is threatened many times, but never sticks much to your endless disappointment as the years (centuries has it been? Time is still strange for you) drag on, endless wandering, death, and loneliness plague your movements.

You never speak of twins or balanced natures again. You are the twin of darkness, and the world has indeed been plunged in it for centuries, even if nobody else but you seems to realize it.

HEADCANONS:
- Taurus Sun, Capricorn Moon, Leo Rising, Leo Mercury, Pisces Venus, Leo Mars

- MBTI is ISFP

- Weirdly claustrophobic

- 50/50 reputation on asshole and genuinely good guy

- Three steps away from being a sugar baby

- Gatorade is spicy to him

- Attended 1 formal high class party... No longer allowed to attend those

- Struggles to do his 8 times tables

OTHER THINGS TO NOTE:
He's a himboish whore m'lord!

 

[mintyo]

greenwood falls

scroll

Aria

Baines

ㅎㅎ

01.

full name

Aria Baines

02.

nickname

Airi or just Ri

03.

sexuality

bisexual

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  All things share the same breath -

  
  
  
  

  the beast, the tree, the man… the air shares its spirit with all the life it supports.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  sylph - spirit of the air

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  height

  
  

  169 cm - 6'0

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  weight

  
  

  weightless

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  hair colour

  
  

  silver beige blonde

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  eye colour

  
  

  depends on mood.

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  other

  
  

  Arias's physical form is a beautiful young woman with long silver-blonde hair. She can turn invisible or merge, becoming one, with the air. But being in her physical form; nothing special gives her away as a magical creature. Not unless the humans would see her turn invisible. Or they happen to notice the air moving around her when she’s using air-bending-similar powers.
  
  If people guessed, they would think she was in her mid-20s. Or even younger. She has a young baby-face with the ability to look cute, beautiful, heartbroken, and deadly at the same time.
  
  Her eyes can change color, which used to cause problems, but these days can be explained away by the lie that she wears colored lenses. An oval face with cute cheeks, a small mouth with plump lips , big eyes decorated with thick eyelashes, and straight but softly shaped eyebrows. Her eyes, on the other hand, are something she cannot control - she can't hide her emotions. Easy to read, almost completely transparent. If she is angry, her eyes look like they can kill as they become pitch black. And when her mood is neutral her eyes are more in the yellow/brown "hazel" direction. When she is happy - deep blue- like a clear summer sky. Finally, when she is sad, they turn green (and her eyes become teary) as she easily starts to cry.
  
  Aria is 169 cm tall and has a petite frame with a narrow waist and long legs. Since she is a being consisting of the air, she weighs nothing. Weightless, so you won't hear her walking. She is weak, and fragile like a porcelain doll. If you attack her or something, her physical body got close to no strength at all. But not when she uses the power of the air. The wind can move houses.
  
  FC: Roseanne Park
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  personality

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  Her personality is sensitive and emotional. Aria doesn't like trouble or violence. Usually kind and curious. She doesn't like the idea of preconceptions. She would never treat one whole group by the actions of a few individuals. Or judge a book by its cover. No one is completely evil, there is good in everyone. And if someone does something evil - Arias's curious side wants to know why. She is patient, a good listener, and doesn’t judge. She asks a lot of questions because she always tries her best to understand.
  
  Nature (the air) is - and always will be her first priority. Keeping the balance between the 4 elements and guiding those who are lost in the air or simply need a little help. But followed by nature - animals and humans are her other interest. When the humans showed up in Greenwood falls- there was probably no one as happy and excited as Aria.
  
  She is bisexual, longing for someone to love her.. for real.. not just bodily urges. So don't u dare play with her heart.. She is humble, has a low self-esteem. Can’t take compliments well. or more like, she refuses to accept the compliments she gets.
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  likes

  
  
  

  
  
  

  humans

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  animals

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  nature

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  romantic dramas

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  dislikes

  
  
  

  
  
  

  dirt

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  sour flavors

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  compliments

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  being alone

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  random

  
  
  

  
  
  

  talks in her sleep

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  easily affected by alcohol - just one sip is all it takes

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  has a lovely singing voice

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
• 
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  history

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  Sylph?

  
  

  
  
  
  

  Sylph. Spirit of the air. They are also called fairies of the air, elemental of the air. Or you can think of them as a sort of air-bender. Note that there are different beliefs on how Sylphs are created in this world, and their purpose. One of these versions; is that they are spirits consisting of nature itself- born from the element they belong to. Placed on earth by the "higher-ups" - the gods and angels. Their task is to guard their element (protect, guide, help) and keep a balance between the 4 elements so they co-exist in harmony. Earth, Water, Fire, and Air. All of them are necessary for survival. This is the interpretation I will use as inspiration for Aria.
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  the beginning

  
  

  
  
  
  

  Aria "Airi" has been around quite some time, but not always as a physical being. Aria were born from nature, created from air. She started as a gentle breeze- falling in love with a human (something she could never have) and therefore got her heart broken when "her human" died. Nothing stirring up emotions like love and heartbreak, right? Thoughts and feelings made her evolve into a storm- then later on a tornado. Finally, she'd collected enough energy, emotions, and power to break free into a physical being (a visible body) - a sylph.
  
  Aria does not remember when she was "born". She has simply been hanging around for a while. But she remembers Colombus discovering America, so she probably got her “sylph” form in the late 1400 century. Since then she's learned a lot. It took a while to get used to having a physical body - but now one can simply not tell her apart from a human. All that heartbreak resting inside of her makes her powers pretty strong. If compared with other sylphs - she'd be at the higher level, but she doesn't know it.
  
  One could think that sylphs have no particular weaknesses. But actually, they have 3 of them - the other elements. Water, Earth, and Fire make her weaker. If confronted with another element she can get "stuck" in her physical form for a while - without being able to merge with the air. Usually for like 5 min or so. She can still use her air-bending similar powers, just that she can't transform into her strongest form. Her body becomes vulnerable.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  next

  
  

  
  
  
  

  Existing in the wind, she heard the quietest whispers and watched the world unfold. As a result, she has been able to witness almost everything about humanity. Aria loves people. Sure - she's seen a lot of horrors. But still, people are fascinating. Why do they do the terrible stuff they do? How are they capable of loving so easily? And then all that hate and killing... Why? There is so much to learn, and each human person is unique. Maybe Aria is too curious for her own good. The other sylphs and elementals think of her as an odd-ball. Why would she like humans? As a result, they tried to place her somewhere she could not “do any harm”. A place with no humans. Greenwood Falls - a town consisting of only magical creatures was the perfect place for her. And so, she became the air guardian of Greenwood falls.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  occupation

  
  

  
  
  
  

  Even a town full of magical creatures needs to get updates on the local news and shit -right? Arie works at the small (and only) news station in Greenwood falls, where she's in charge of the weather forecast. Their office is fairly newly built, cozy but clean, and located next to the library. Here- the news team produces a weekly newspaper and daily updates on their webpage. All - so the residents of Greenwood Hills can keep tabs on anything involving the town (events, weather, etc.).
  
  A common misconception is that sylphs can control the weather. This is false. However, she can "read the air" and knows the exact weather forecast - long before it reaches the town. Witch makes this job a perfect fit for her.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  extra

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  on the ground

  
  
  
  

  (Rosé)

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  likes

  
  
  
  

  misc.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  • aaaaaaa
  • aaaa

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    likes

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    relationships

    
    
    
    

    info coming
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    style

    
    
    
    

    Fashion is one of her interests. It has been fascinating to follow the different trends through the years. And it was necessary when blending it. Instead of just wearing clothes, it is called wearing an outfit. It all depends on how you style it and put the clothes, accessories, and shoes together. Something she likes to put an effort in. Her favorite colors are soft pastels like a peaceful, early sunset. She also likes everything sparkly and glittery.
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
  • 
    
    
    

    misc.

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    

    random

    
    

    
    
    Gullible. Emotional. Ticklish. Has a very sensitive nose.
    
    Hates sour tastes, and grimaces as soon as she sees a lemon. Getting dirty disgusts her. She prefers "cleanliness" and does not like sticky things or bad smells.
    
    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

♡coded by uxie♡