Realistic or Modern 𝗜𝗡 𝗗𝗬𝗡𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗜𝗔 ˚ · . 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘴

[mother of sorrows]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐓.

Hi, hi and welcome to the character sheets! Some stuff to note before jumping into the sheets themselves;

✦ some roles are already reserved, so please read through them carefully!
✦ your character's personality doesn't have to be the exact same as described; for example, the hierophant does not have to be strictly calm, nor does death need to be regretful, etc.
✦ lgbt+ and diverse characters are very much welcome.
✦ again; please be reasonable with the character ages! they should be 20+.
✦ keeping some secrets for yourself is very much wlecome.
✦ quality > quantity. codes are not necessary! i would love to see characters with their own issues, ambitions, goals and deep flaws. c:
✦ once again, this will not be first come first serve.
This code has a hidden scroll, with the sheet below!


𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐓.

Full Name:
Nickname: (if applicable)
Age: (20+)
Gender:
Sexuality:
Ethnicity:
Family:
Role:

Faceclaim: (only realistic, please; no drawings/art)
Appearance: (if using a faceclaim, you can delete this or add bonus info)

Personality:
Background: (this doesn't have to be long or detailed; you can write only what other characters are aware of, keeping some secrets for yourself!)
Extra:
Reputation: (very much optional but just to add a lil bit of spice,you can write what the talk in town is about your character; rumors, scandals, etc. this does not have to be accurate or even true, but this is just to add some fun to character interaction later on!)

Feel free to add anything to the sheet or customize it as you see fit, but please don't delete anything (with the exception of appearance/faceclaim and reputation). Have fun and if you have any questions, don't be afraid to ask in the OOC!

 

[mother of sorrows]

𝘌𝘔𝘐𝘓𝘐𝘖 𝘈𝘏𝘕.
𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙀𝙈𝙋𝙍𝙀𝙎𝙎.


... scroll.

Nickname: Emi
Age: 31
Gender: Cis Male
Sexuality: Bisexual
Ethnicity: Afro-Cuban, Korean
Family: Avancini

Appearance:

Personality: People never run out of things to say about Emilio, it seems.

His colleagues might call him a born leader, a cool head to keep the others in check. The one to not crack under pressure when everything seems lost, even in the heat of the fire. His enemies might have the same kind words to offer; they call him a young power-grabber, a newcomer biting off more than he can chew.

There's some truth in both, though not in the way somebody might assume.

With every breath, step, glance, Emilio strives to be more than just a good leader; he wants to be an amazing one. Ice cold nerves, determination, and harsh self-discipline are his lifeblood, making him the capable man he is today. He strives to be the modern Renaissance man, armed with a wide array of knowledge and skills. He is well-read and very much capable of expressing and organizing his thoughts, something that is critical for when the world is on your shoulders. Calm-spoken, surprisingly kind to those around him, and endlessly patient, Emilio is a man that is hard to offend, much less anger. That does not mean he will tolerate disrespect; but he is not one to rise to jabs or placed traps for the sake of his pride.

It's not hard to see why he inspires loyalty in the other Avancini. Boss he might be, but Emilio is under no illusion that a boss is anything without his members - listening to problems, morning chats over coffee, and shared food are just one of the many rituals he shared with the Avancini, hoping to be a colleague and friend rolled in one.

There's his problem, though. He wants to be the mercy, justice, and anger of a God all at once. A very difficult task for one man alone - not that Emilio won't run himself into the ground trying.

Working into the late hours of the night, waking early to work some more, sparring, reading, finding secrets, checking on his members and status alike, trying his very hardest to make the organization run as it should. It's not that Emilio is not good at what he does; no, the exact opposite of that. But one man can only do so much with the weight of the world on his shoulders. Unfortunately for him and others, Emilio is unwilling to load some of the weight on anybody else. When he's not shaking from too much coffee and too little sleep, he's rushing to better himself at any costs. There's so much left to be done when he rises and no convincing will make him stop to take a breather.

Emilio Ahn is brilliant, promising; but that matters little when the rope he's hanging on to is as thin as thread.

This fault might make people underestimate him.

He might be peaceful and tired and with too many worries lying in his brain, but he is still an Avancini. A mistake people often make is think peaceful means being a stranger to cruelty.

You're not peaceful if you're not capable of great violence. You're harmless.

Emilio is anything but harmless.

Aesthetic: Late night talks, dark circles under eyes, long-cold coffee, secret smiles, rainy mornings, smell of a wet forest.
Background: A very false assumption people often make is that those who never had any power are the ones who will desire it most.

You'd think that at one point you would get tired of being pushed and humiliated and treated like the dirt upon which to walk on, you'd finally take back the control that's rightfully yours - but the thing is, if you were never even given the opportunity to do that, you won't even consider the possibility power might be in your reach. No, those with no power are the ones who give in, the walking wound of a person, leaking trauma and fear everywhere they go.

Much more dangerous is holding on to power for even a second. The moment when finally, you're the one with control. Maybe not a lot of it, hell, quite possibly only a scrap - but once you had it in your hands, it's hard to forget the taste.

For Emilio, this moment came when he kicked his older brother out of a tree so harshly the boy broke his leg. An action he would severely regret once his brother was out of a cast.

And yet in that split heartbeat, it felt like spitting back double the poison he was always given.

It might be obvious if you dissect the way he behaves, that Emilio was a child that was not fed love on a silver spoon.

His early life was not one of great note. Born in Cuba as the son of a Korean-Cuban father - a man that has not once laid eyes on his motherland, and a local mother - a woman that has long given up on her own dreams, Emilio came into his parent's life fairly late. They were well into their mid-thirties when they learned of the unexpected pregnancy, something that brought a crushing sense of anxiety. Bearing a child is never easy, much less when you're older. After careful monitoring and consultation, the couple took the news in stride, deciding to go through with the new life growing in utero. They welcomed Emilio happily enough, though they did not plan for him; the first months were anything but easy, something they would hang over Emilio's head during arguments.

'You weren't supposed to have been born, but we took care of you anyways.'

Not so accepting of the new baby was their other son, Ali.

At barely 12 years old, the boy already had a vicious temper that would match a grown man's. With no idea how to tame his destructive behaviors and with him not listening to anybody but his own impulsivity, Ali was a ticking time bomb of a child. You know the ones; with too early violence and a little bit too much delight in fighting than is comfortable. Anybody would be thrown off if they've been a single child for years - some bitterness is to be expected, maybe even excused. But the kind of jealousy and anger Ali targeted towards the baby Emilio was beyond undeserved, even for a scorned firstborn.

Being a kid is not easy. Even more so when you're born with an enemy at heel.

It's not often that Emilo thinks about the past, much less talk about it. There are still knots he hasn't worked through, wounds he hasn't stitched, bodies left unburied in his mind. Only a few - quite possibly only his right-hand man and Kiko, two people he trusts above all - are privy to the inner workings of his brain, to the mechanics of why he ticks the way he does.

As far as the others know, Emilio appeared on the shores of the States when he was 20 - a stranger in a stranger land, a wild kind of fire raging in his eyes, and a discomforting thirst to take even what was not given. The young criminal never stuck around for long, a ghost in people's memory after relieving them of their cash and glory. Trading secrets, killing for survival, blazes of glory, and explosions in the night; the first few years of being a rogue criminal were rife with debts and secrets that follow him to this day.

It was then, in those wild, unholy years that he met the High Priestess.

The rest was history, the moment he turned 25 and signed his work away to the Avancini. He's seen many things, brushed with death too many times to be completely unaffected; and the Avancini were a safe-house, a lighthouse in harsh, devouring waters. He worked and worked and worked till there was nothing else he knew, suddenly finding himself becoming the boss' right-hand man.

Emilio was under no illusion that he was going to be boss anytime soon. It would be a decade at least before anybody would consider putting the crown on him - something he planned for in the far away, hazy future when a different Emilio was going to exist.

Nobody would expect to wake up one morning, finding the boss' body slumped from bullets in his head.

Emilio suddenly found himself in deep waters, when the whole time he thought he was on the shore. He was as disturbed as anybody else to find himself holding so much power overnight, his inheritance a rushed affair he barely remembers.

There's something to be said about love and power in that.

Because if you aren't fed love on a spoon, you'll learn to lick it off knives.

Extra: Speaks Cuban Spanish and English. Having not spoken it himself, his father never taught him Korean - something Emilio has been trying to fix in the past years. A pretty good dancer.
Reputation: The first year of a new boss is always the most dangerous.

With so many eyes on him, rumors are bound to happen sooner or later; some are more kind to him, some less so. Word is that so far, the other bosses are keeping a close eye on Emilio, trying to decide if he'll get his sea legs under him - or if they can swarm in to devour his corpse. A failed assassination attempt on him speaks volumes about what kind of situation he is in right now. A failed shot and the attempted assassin escaped left the Avancinis with no answers and a deep sense of unease.

The town is divided on the subject. Some think Emilio has potential, a new star keep a close eye on lest he grows powerful; while others think he won't make it past his first year, ending up being fed to a river by a rival.

 

[mother of sorrows]

𝘔𝘈𝘛𝘌𝘡𝘏 𝘈𝘋𝘈𝘔𝘚𝘒𝘐
𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙀𝙈𝙋𝙀𝙍𝙊𝙍.



... scroll.

Full Name: Matezh Adamski
Nickname: None
Age: 48
Gender: Cis Male
Sexuality: Straight man fighting demons, but the demons are bisexual thoughts.
Ethnicity: Polish-American
Family: Adamski
Faceclaim: Joel Kinnaman

Personality: To say Matezh is a difficult man is not even the beginning.

For all those that work under him, all he appears to be is a cold, unnerving presence. Never wavering in his conviction, never putting his feelings first, always with a strong sense of duty, Matezh sees himself as the one who has to make the difficult choices nobody wants to make. When others squabble with panic, Matezh does - heavy is the head that wears the crown, and even heavier is the finger pointed at him in the aftermath. He will be the villain in he needs to. He will be the evil patriach, the cruel monster making your life hell in your eyes. He'll bear all the guilt and accusations and hate, but nobody can deny he is the driving force behind the Adamski. Where others fail to act, he will do what needs to be done; no matter how high the cost may grow.

A dog gnawing it's own leg, Matezh is a very hard man to love. And yet, he is not easy to hate either.

He does not mean to be cruel; and yet, years of abuse and one tragedy after the other have shaped him into a cynic that looks for graves when he smells flowers. Affection is a stranger to him, as is soft calm. You do not survive with a caressing hand - Matezh learned that the hard way. To survive means to be cut from stone, and above anything, Matezh wants others to live. He breaks the things he loves more often than not, though he tries. With a deep love for his family, and yet with no way to show it, Matezh often settles on silence.

Aesthetic: Blood on marble floors, dark bruises, broken noses, midnight executions, Greek poetry, tragic operas, rare smiles in the morning light.

Background: When Matezh was twelve, his father took him to look at broken things in Rome.

Extra:
Reputation:

 

[miyabi]

placeholder for ze world.

kiko na chiangmai a.k.a J1NX

# the world

# kitty chicha amatayakul

♡coded by uxie♡

kiko na chiangmai

the world

tell me, father, which to ask forgiveness for: what i am, or what i'm not?

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  requisite.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  full name

  
  

  Kiko Na Chiangmai

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  age

  
  

  29 years old

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  gender

  
  

  cis-female

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  sexuality

  
  

  Panromantic Demisexual

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  family

  
  

  Avancini

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  ethnicity

  
  

  thai

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  visage.

  
  
  
  

  scroll

  
  
  
  

  
  

  height

  
  

  Standing at 5'7", Kiko is just above average height; nothing extraordinary, however, her preference for platform boots give her an extra boost.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  hair

  
  

  Kept a plain dark brown, Kiko is one to opt for low maintenance hairstyles; lacking skill, time, and patience, it’s no surprise she’s made this decision upon herself. However, when the thick tendrils are styled, they’re often in low ponytails, soft, yet messy and effortless curls, or tucked under hats.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  eyes

  
  
  

  Pits of deep brown, nearly black, the color is significantly brighter as the light hits -- resembling pools of honey. Accompanied by dark circles, it's obvious Kiko isn't much of a sleeper -- long coffee-filled nights with the endless typing of a keyboard. Staring at a screen has its downfalls, a frequent wearer of contacts, never one to favor glasses. Thick, straight, black eyelashes that can barely hold a curl, Kiko doesn't bother to try and spruce them up.

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  style

  
  

  Inspired by punk, grunge, and goth culture, Kiko's closet consists of heavy duty boots, distressed clothing, and dark color palettes. She isn't one to stray away from experimentation, one look could be vastly different from the day prior. Other days, she may only opt for her pajamas, comfort over style a frequent mentality. i. ii. iii.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  Body Mods and Markings

  
  

  Random stickers of tattoos, both at home and professional; stick-and-poke and machine, these permanent inks have no direct meaning. Often done on impulse, Kiko can barely recall how many she has to be exact -- however, she does know that they exceed 15. A lover of jewelry, the woman has double nose rings, and multiple ear piercings. With an occasional scar, Kiko collects them like trophies -- both from fist fighting and her own, unfortunate, clumsiness. i. ii. iii.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  Pinboard

  
  

  Click.

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
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  persona.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  mischievous

  
  
  
  
  

  crass

  
  
  
  
  

  intelligent

  
  
  
  
  

  adaptable

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  Such as it were, the world burned around her. Not physically, but mentally. Within chaos brought light, that of which she thought she’d never see again. In the first calamatic years after the Na Chiangmai’s downfall, Kiko did what she did best: take from others, seek power, destroy. Ravaged already by inner war, she knew no other way.
  
  The world is nothing, if not lined with teeth. Cruelty, unfairness, lost hope; aware of the truest dangers, yet willfully ignorant to its effects on others. The thoughts of a once sheltered, battered, and scared woman.
  
  Selfish is what one might call her, but she liked to think she was well-aware. She would never let someone step all over her, not anymore; tired of being at a disadvantage, tired of the constant disapproval from another party; Kiko, as she knew it, could rely on primarily herself. Through her walk of life, there was a case of realization: not everyone will be on your side, some may pray for your downfall, and it is only up to you to choose whether or not to let it happen.
  
  Greatly pained, however, is not all that she is; though, it plays a part.
  
  Her loyalty runs deep to those she feels is deserving, however it is not easily won: traumatized by the betrayal done unto her by her own blood. Although it may not be to the point of self-sacrifice, Kiko will fight to the ends of the earth for her loved ones, even if it goes against her own self-preservation.
  
  A prankster at heart, jokes come easily to her -- an easy coping mechanism to deflect her own discomfort. With her wit, intelligence, and subtle charm, one could believe that she isn't as downtrodden and troubled inward. That, however, is far from the truth. In her waves of laughter, jokes, and tired demeanor, is a deeply pained individual that cannot understand her own deeply rooted troubles.
  
  Methodical, some may call her; actions calculated, with random bursts of impulsivity, Kiko's intelligence is nowhere near questionable. A well-read individual, a genius, someone that can easily learn new territories and adapt quickly: the woman is nothing short of impressive.
  
  She thrives in mischief; with questionable loyalties towards anyone but the Avancini and equally questionable morals, she can be unpredictable; is her friendliness genuine? Or the product of her own greed.
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  Reputation

  
  

  
  

  Bad reputation plays in the distance...
  
  A brilliant hacker with the mouth of a sailor; a genius in her own right with skills incomparable. Feared by the community, admired by others: although witty and one to crack jokes, in the world of hackers and beyond, her work is never underestimated.
  
  Her origin unknown to most, an enigma -- Kiko’s reputation surrounds her position within the Avancinis and digital prowess. wip
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  Aesthetic

  
  

  
  

  Lit cigarettes, cold brew, no sleep, red eyes and dark circles, dark spaces, dim lights, isolation, chains.

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  Character Interpretation

  
  

  
  

  wip...

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  Skills

  
  

  
  

  wip...

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
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  history.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  Sometimes she dreams of her home burning...

  
  

  
  
  
  

  If asked now, she speaks of the city under a grey cast──though she chases the light like a foolish idealist. The vision of a world, far better than one cursed into; Kiko wishes to find comfort. All her calculations, endless nights of sobs, the feelings of a burden brought unto her fortunate, yet unfortunate family. Once foolish and desperate for approval, validation of those who cared less about her and more about their fortunes. A second nature. Years of competition, strife between siblings and a rocky bond between mother and father, Kiko sought what she thought was liberation; yet it came as another form of familial tyranny.
  
  She sits in her room, a mere child, building forts──an imaginative child with ambitions to last, a plethora of ideas, changes she wished to make in the world; however, with the disapproving gaze of her parents, the mockery of her siblings, she chooses not to voice them. Wary, afraid of the laughter, everyday taunts that one would think she’d get used to, Kiko is quiet.
  
  Rage is a quiet thing.
  
  Upturned noses, cold shoulders, met with the disregard for their own daughter, the Na Chiangmai family made one thing clear: Kiko was insignificant. And although this may seem harsh, it was the truth──wholeheartedly. The prominent, wealthy dynasty, if one could call it that, always shunned the thought of a daughter: her parents wanted sons, and sons only. As did her brothers.
  
  Useless, weak, ungrateful; the family made it a point to let her know exactly what they felt of her, no matter the consequence. A once happy child turned broken, emotionally battered by the neglect. They chose fortune over family, success over morality, and would do anything and choose anything to protect their titles──even if it meant sacrificing their own blood. Loyalty was never on the table, ready to turn on each other in a heartbeat had it meant keeping the family reputation on the rise.
  
  God forbid the world found out about their poor daughter.
  
  A woman, endlessly meeting rejection letter after rejection letter, turned away by her own family’s business, with nowhere else to go. Nowhere to heal. Comfort came in different forms: hers manifested in the form of a computer screen. The digital landscape, although treacherous and riddled with endless rabbit holes, was the escape she needed. A faceless entity behind a screen, with power at the ends of her fingertips.
  
  One could call her gifted; years overlooked, her family never came to realize her advanced aptitudes. A genius in her own right, quick on her feet, a fast learner with a knack for technology. She tucked it away from them, still afraid. With a language they couldn’t understand, who knew what dastardly words would pour from their wretched mouths.
  
  She’d made a name for herself, under an alias no less; now disconnected from family, a once rich and privileged young woman turned struggling worker turned… hacker. Feared, loved, loathed, and everything in between with a reputation to match. Grown confidence in herself encouraged action, ones she otherwise would have doubted had she continued to tremble at the feet of her tormentors, family but only by blood.
  
  They carried on with their lives, she carried on with hers; her name, however, was kept. Though she hated them, the power the Na Chiangmai name carried held on forever.
  
  In a sea of flames, burning as bright as the sun, is vengeance. Home was neither safe nor sacred, filled with accusatory looks and unrelenting judgement. Her family burns alive, as do the bitter feelings; no, she wasn’t the cause, but she did nothing to stop it. She hates that she cannot feel remorse, but after the years of torment, she’d had enough.
  
  Knowing them, they most likely went out protecting their pride and joy: riches──jewels and stacks of cash that had only gone up in flames, leaving only trails of ash. There was one thing, however: her eldest brother, thought to be caught in the flames, was never recovered. The body, one that should’ve been there, was gone without a single trace left behind. It was a mystery to the departments, the news even: Kiko had her fears, that he’d lived. Cruel to say about a member of the family, but well deserved.
  
  For two years, Kiko had continued on her own: obsessively looking through footage, trying to put the pieces together, and yet nothing seemed to add up. Not a single picture, no clues, bank statements, nothing: her brother vanished; even in the flames, they would’ve found remains or ash indicative of his presence. Yet nothing. Not a single soul spoke of it after the incident.
  
  Soul searching, a funny term but exactly what it entails.
  
  Kiko, though finding comfort in her web, sought out more. No longer was it enough, and once again, she was empty. So she searched and searched and searched. About to give up, ready to be stuck in a hole once again, there flashed an opportunity at the palms of her hands. The Avancini, a connection she hopelessly continued to search for, was within her reach. They needed her, just as she needed them.
  
  Home was where the Avancini was; with Emi’s propositions of power, acceptance, Kiko wanted it all──and he gave it. It was easier seeking comfort in who was once a stranger, now turned a close ally. A whirlwind of emotion, in disbelief Kiko spent her first few days sitting in silence. What she wanted, needed, it was all there.
  
  Bullets do not feed mouths, but they can do a hell of a lot more.
  
  [CORRUPTED FILE... ]
  [RESTORATION FAILED...]
  [DATA LOST...]
  
  New Message from 'J1NX': "Nice try. Look somewhere else. ;]"
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  your expectation of me is not my responsibility.

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  an extra text

  
  
  
  
  

  an extra reply

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
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  connections.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  Na Chiangmai Family

  
  
  
  

  Family/Deceased (?)

  
  
  
  

  Kiko’s family -- only by blood. A once wealthy group whose values surrounded money and power, her father, Kiet (deceased at 45) and mother, Prija (deceased at 43) weren’t hesitant to pin their children against each other. Their eldest son, Chatri (presumably deceased at 27; body never recovered), youngest son, Kris (deceased at age 18), and only daughter Kiko (alive, now 29; 23 at the time of the fire) all in constant competition. Their bond was never close. Due to an unfortunate fire, the family burned away in their home -- alongside their countless riches; perhaps her parents were trying to shield their fortunes. The fire was of unknown origin.

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  Emilio Ahn

  
  
  
  

  The Empress; Best Friend/Alive

  
  
  
  

  A trusted individual, even so much as to say her best friend. Close, with a few arguments over whether or not water is wet, he is one that knows the most about Kiko. Her secrets, thoughts, personal tribulations. The first to hear her opinions and the first to her loyalty. Quick exchanges of jokes, looks in the middle of the night (the two somehow always being up at the same time -- with little sleep), and calmer than she. One of the first friendships and moments of solidarity, Kiko found safety.
  
  Their first meeting was an automatic connection turned a beautiful relationship; a planned future, unending love and respect--her heart, although it aches, still yearns for him. She, however, cannot face it quite yet; Em deserves better than her.

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  name here

  
  
  
  

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  name here

  
  
  
  

  role/status

  
  
  
  

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Sed elementum nunc nec risus porta iaculis quis sit amet ante. Quisque eget est mauris. Curabitur posuere nibh nibh, ac maximus dolor vestibulum sed. Nullam ut nulla tincidunt, tincidunt mi ac, ullamcorper mi. In ultricies euismod fermentum. Nulla convallis nec sem sit amet porta. Morbi convallis ornare arcu quis commodo. Sed in luctus libero. Sed pretium malesuada nisl at laoreet.

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  name here

  
  
  
  

  role/status

  
  
  
  

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Sed elementum nunc nec risus porta iaculis quis sit amet ante. Quisque eget est mauris. Curabitur posuere nibh nibh, ac maximus dolor vestibulum sed. Nullam ut nulla tincidunt, tincidunt mi ac, ullamcorper mi. In ultricies euismod fermentum. Nulla convallis nec sem sit amet porta. Morbi convallis ornare arcu quis commodo. Sed in luctus libero. Sed pretium malesuada nisl at laoreet.

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  name here

  
  
  
  

  role/status

  
  
  
  

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Sed elementum nunc nec risus porta iaculis quis sit amet ante. Quisque eget est mauris. Curabitur posuere nibh nibh, ac maximus dolor vestibulum sed. Nullam ut nulla tincidunt, tincidunt mi ac, ullamcorper mi. In ultricies euismod fermentum. Nulla convallis nec sem sit amet porta. Morbi convallis ornare arcu quis commodo. Sed in luctus libero. Sed pretium malesuada nisl at laoreet.

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  extra.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  question

  
  

  answer

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  Judas

  
  

  Lady Gaga

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[miyabi]

the hanged man.

scroll

Cas

Casimir

ㅎㅎ

01.

full name

Casimir Sayed-Adamski

02.

age

27 years old.

03.

sexuality

demiromantic pansexual

04.

Pronouns

he/him; cis-male

05.

ethnicity

Egyptian-Belgian-Lebanese

• .
• .
• .
• .
• .

• 
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  XII.

  
  
  
  

  the adoptive son, child of no one.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
• 
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  visage

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  height

  
  

  6'4"

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  weight

  
  

  187 lbs.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  hair colour

  
  

  medium brown

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  eye colour

  
  

  hazel

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  attire

  
  

  In terms of his ATTIRE, 'Theo' favors a DARK ACADEMIA aesthetic paired with COMFORT OVER STYLE. One to constantly be in the medical office, he's often seen wearing BLACK or DARK CLOTHING (A PREFERENCE FOR TURTLENECKS AND HOODIES) as well as a LAB COAT, 'Theo's figure looks far more daunting that it actually is. With a CROSSBODY SATCHEL, the man dislikes the feeling of backpacks; its contents often FULL and CLUTTERED with papers and his laptop. His overall look consists of looking like an OVERLY TIRED, STRESSED OUT, CAFFEINATED DOCTOR -- CHAOTIC, DISHEVELED, BUT STILL CLEAN.
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  Overall Appearance

  
  

  Standing at 6'4", weighing at about 187 POUNDS, 'Theo' is a man that is far from small. LITHE, A BIT MUSCULAR, WITH A SLIGHT SLOUCH in his stance, his presence is sure to be noticed, but never one to impede on anyone else's presence. HAZEL EYES accompanied by SEVERE DARK CIRCLES under his eyes, 'Theo's looks are often compared to that of a puppy; an incredibly sleep-deprived, sad puppy with little will to live. His EGYPTIAN features are prominent, as are his THICK, DARK LASHES; SLIGHTLY CURLED BROWN HAIR sits on his head, RARELY STYLED -- often MESSY, but EFFORTLESS.
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
• 
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  persona

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  ‘Theo’, as known by many, is a man who dwells too long in the past. Laid-back with a quick wit, whose strong ambitions are prevalent in his work, by no means are his capabilities questioned by his colleagues and family--that is, if one could call them that. An individualist and notable misfit, ‘Theo’ isn’t one that others may like right off the bat; actions questionable, morals shaky. With a level-headed and often tired demeanor, most would sum ‘Theo’ up as a harmless entity; one that is to heal rather than harm.
  
  He is, however, far from harmless. A man, well-versed in the medical field--albeit it, not formally trained--’Theo’ is intelligent and calculated. Often projected onto his patients, his anger comes in forms of threats; moreso physical than anything else with the power he holds over their fate. Truth be told, ‘Theo’ uses this to his own advantage. His seemingly rude attitude leaves little room for friendly quips; a useful skill to draw away pursuants of friendship and convivial banter that often leaves him distracted--as well as irritated.
  
  With slips of crass remarks under the guise of his own cruelty, ‘Theo’ isn’t a fan of those who make their attempts to befriend him, nor does he welcome most to analyze him. He is, for the most part, a closed-off, bitter man that--when the time comes--will act as a dear friend in order for further collection of information. Manipulation is a skill he often turns to with his self-serving trait hidden under a selfless disposition. This is, however, far from who Casimir is.
  
  Ravaged by wrath, broken by melancholy; Casimir is a bitter man in pain, emotionally and existentially, battered by his tragedies. Although tired, Casimir is still filled with hatred towards the Adamskis--however, masterfully hiding it for the gained trust of Matezh. His intelligence extends farther than ‘Theo’, a man far more calculated than the facade he’d placed upon himself.
  
  While he may lead on to be unbothered, he is nothing of the sort; with his perception of others severely ailed. An insatiable drug addict (as much as he hates to admit it), Casimir is an avid user of drugs with a refusal to confront his own downfalls.
  
  Hesitant to entrust his own life in the hands of others, Casimir--as well as 'Theo'--turns down the outstretched hand for fear of betrayal; he, however, would not hesitate to stab another in the back by any means necessary. A wolf in sheep's clothing, Casimir is no man to be trusted nor underestimated.
  
  To watch the Adamski's dynasty burn is a vision he craves--a man scorned.
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  virtues

  
  
  

  
  
  

  intelligent

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  methodical

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  ambitious

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  humorous

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  independent

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  vices

  
  
  

  
  
  

  manipulative

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  addiction prone

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  cynical

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  distrustful

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  deceitful

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  whatever

  
  
  

  
  
  

  hehe

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  hehe

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
• 
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  history

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  The son of no one.

  
  

  
  
  
  

  TW// DEATH AND DRUGS.
  
  A lost boy whose family was murdered; the poor soul who’d witnessed the cruelty at the hands of the Adamskis. Theo Adamski, formerly known as Casimir Sayed, was born to couple Emiliya Bauer-Sayed and Mahmoud Sayed: previously the Adamski's business partners, wealthy and powerful with a vice-grip around most organizations. He remembers it: the sounds of gunfire, the sudden drop of bodies, the smell of iron wrapping around his lungs.
  
  Most would say trauma breaks a person--and while it does--Casimir had fallen into the clutches of fear and rage, mixed with salvation.
  
  The burning feeling in his throat, the sting in his eyes; a child once belonging to a home of love turned prisoner of his own mental shackles. He’d become what most feared of becoming: the unloved orphan whose livelihood was stripped away by a man whose power far surpassed his own. And there he lay, close to the lifeless bodies of his family, covered in their blood still warm; some would argue that Matezh did him a favor, sparing Casimir in his own cruel twist of sympathy.
  
  Casimir, however, felt better off dead.
  
  Taken in by the man most hated, whose calloused fingers he could still remember wrapping around his arms--paired with an uneasily soft tone as if the tragedy that had stricken had only been a cruel illusion, Casimir from that day on had become an Adamski. He, however, was far from grateful.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  A facade gone unquestioned.

  
  

  
  
  
  

  Under the direction of Matezh is a helpless and hopeless Casimir, whose name changed for the sake of the family. Theo Adamski, a false identity curated to ward off questioning, had assimilated--for the most part. Whilst suffering at the hands of his own memory heavily traced upon the flesh of his brain, ‘Theo’ was introduced to the Adamskis as a distant relative; the son of Matezh’s sick cousin who could no longer take care of him.
  
  If only that had been the case. A childhood such as his sinks its teeth into those nearest, latching onto everything in its path--everything reminded him of home. His real home. Each spine of a book, each painful laughter of their familial affairs, each breath in his wake proved far more agonizing than anything a young boy like him should have ever experienced in his lifetime.
  
  He was only 8.
  
  Experiencing firsthand the grief and brutality of man, Casimir was not quite the same child. Inside brewed wrath disguised by false hope--he vowed to himself, even as a young boy, that he would be the reason for the Adamski's downfall. And so he played nice, taking on the persona of ‘Theo’--pretending to accept his newfound family.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  The Hanged Man.

  
  

  
  
  
  

  ‘Theo’, at Matezh’s command, had become a man involved in the Adamskis--willing or not was a question often left unanswered. However, to his advantage, with his own intelligence did he prove himself a worthy asset. Fervently interested in the inner workings of humanity, he always had an aptitude for the medical field. Though, formal training on its own was not quite in his foresight.
  
  A studier of books, well-read and ready to wrap his hands around a scalpel under the watchful eye of the Adamski’s former doctor, ‘Theo’ had quickly gained the trust of many. It’s not often that one works for the enemy willingly. Hell, anything to further build his trust within the family.
  
  He’d seen his fair share of wounds, done his fair share of cruelty--taking the innards of another, patching the wounds of a member, succumbing to his own share of pills carefully tucked in books. After the years of inner torment did ‘Theo’ fall victim to the drugs he often prescribed others.
  
  Taking any pill imaginable to numb the visceral fear that steadily crept up his throat; too anxious to sleep, the man tried every pill imaginable. Excedrins, Xanax, Vicodin, Nyquil--an extensive list found twisted with the hold of alcohol he frequented on most nights. He couldn’t get enough--the feeling of no longer feeling; thus came his insatiable hunger.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  To watch their collapse.

  
  

  
  
  
  

  Power comes in many forms. For Theo, power was at the hands of the man he resented most; Matezh Adamski, who so remorselessly ripped his family away--with the gall to take him under his wing--was at the centerfold of his animosity. The exploitation of power, money, greed, Theo clammored onward under the guise of support. Within his ranks came the responsibility of becoming the mafia’s doctor--a job he’d taken on out of his knowledge for using it to his advantage.
  
  Time was running out. Casimir, despite his own patience, had become the victim of restlessness; nights filled with pacing, rushed scribbles in a notebook, all-nighters just to study movements within the Adamski’s very home.
  
  His obsession was inevitable. Theo’s demonstrated unwavering devotion to the Adamskis was ready to collapse in mere seconds--he, however, forced himself to hold on a bit longer.
  
  There is nothing more valuable than watching the Adamskis burn. Theo, however, has yet to find the right time and the right allies.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
• 
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  extra

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  Supermassive Black Hole

  
  
  
  

  Muse

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  connections

  
  
  
  

  misc.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  • aaaaaaa
  • aaaa

  • 
    
    
    

    connections

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    name here

    
    
    
    

    Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Cras ullamcorper erat purus, quis mollis metus auctor vel. Duis eget luctus justo. Donec aliquet fermentum porttitor. Morbi quis dapibus odio, at viverra leo. Integer ut dictum lacus, nec congue odio. Nullam sapien ante, interdum ut mattis eget, varius ac justo. Pellentesque eu ante nec nibh vulputate ullamcorper.
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    name here

    
    
    
    

    Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Cras ullamcorper erat purus, quis mollis metus auctor vel. Duis eget luctus justo. Donec aliquet fermentum porttitor. Morbi quis dapibus odio, at viverra leo. Integer ut dictum lacus, nec congue odio. Nullam sapien ante, interdum ut mattis eget, varius ac justo. Pellentesque eu ante nec nibh vulputate ullamcorper.
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
  • 
    
    
    

    misc.

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    

    title

    
    

    Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. In bibendum tincidunt purus ac facilisis. Aliquam commodo dapibus auctor. Ut eget arcu ut enim euismod bibendum a quis risus. Nam sed egestas lectus.
    

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[demonology]

xvi.
h.e. bechtel

the tower.

coded by xayah.ღ

h.e.b

hero

the tower.

i'm up to my eyeballs in red neon suits and spray-on tans... i'm down to my underwear b/c i threw it all away in a wendy's trashcan

• .
• .
• .
• .

• 
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  requisite.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  full name

  
  

  Hero Edmund Bechtel

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  preferred names

  
  

  H.E., Edmund, Eddie, Ed

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  age

  
  

  twenty-five

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  gender

  
  

  cis male – he/him

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  sexuality

  
  

  Does it look nice? Yes? Then yes.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  occupation

  
  

  law student and intern at Markham, Finn, & Bladel, a top law firm in St. Heights. Specializes in criminal and contract law.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  ethnicity

  
  

  Polish-German

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  family

  
  

  Avancini

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  role

  
  

  The Tower

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  visage.

  
  
  
  

  scroll

  
  
  
  

  
  

  height

  
  

  5’7’’

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  build

  
  

  Lithe, though not necessarily by any sort of intention. Prone to hyperthyroidism, his body naturally remains thin. His mother, Sonja, likes to joke it's because he was a preemie

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  body modifications

  
  

  Outfitted with 18g gauges, rotund glasses, and a small septum ring, most people do not recognize Hero as being a part of the Adamski name. Unseen are a tattoo of an evil eye on his back, upper middle, a serrated scar on the bridge of his nose, indescribable marks and scars down his torso and shin on the same side (some burnt-looking, others clear cut), along with other scars on his forearms, typically covered by sleeves.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  style

  
  

  A proto-professional, though admittedly his days of raves and emo stylings remain in casual attire. A closet consisting of low-rise jeans, cropped shirts, and band-tees mingled with prim-pressed slacks, tweed jackets, and cashmere sweaters. More here.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  mannerisms

  
  

  Tends to curl his hand into a fist and knock it against his thigh when he’s trying to think through a swirl of emotions, restless leg syndrome-haver, bites off his taste buds on the tip of his tongue just to know he’s alive, itches the bridge of his nose, readjusts his glasses when thinking normally, fluffs his hair back absentmindedly.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  details

  
  

  His temple is a slaughterhouse. The mind rotates on its brain-stem axel, and it tears at the edges of his fabric. His skin. Hero does not wear a cape, but he is not shrouded in the mystery of a villain, either. There is greymatter in all this volume he takes up. The space he’s sought to make smaller, and smaller, and smaller. Eventually, he will chop up every bit into their individual atoms. He will stop existing as H.E., as he will no longer be the parts that makes up such a stupid fool.
  His arms hang down by his sides, yet his shoulders are trimmed back. The butcher inside nibbles slowly. If there is a rat amongst the Avancini, it is him, but solely because he hungers. He is consuming himself in seeking rebirth. Scrappy. Starving. His eyes jolt and waver, watery with tears he thirsts to shed. There is a soul in this shell.
  A myriad of technicolor bricks to form the crumbling castle. There are shards missing, scars from misunderstood crimes, but he triumphs. The Adamski name is a mountain Eddie climbs, a fortress he is simply a turret of. You can see, if your eyes guide close enough to the bluffs of lashes and his father’s cheekbones. Yet, he remains a soft piece of clay faintly molded into a pawn. A sacrifice.

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
• 
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  persona.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  kind

  
  
  
  
  

  awkward

  
  
  
  
  

  toothless tiger

  
  
  
  
  

  overly sensitive

  
  
  
  
  

  mildly egotistical

  
  
  
  
  

  a sense of worthlessness

  
  
  
  
  

  lonesome

  
  
  
  
  

  composed

  
  
  
  
  

  subtle

  
  
  
  
  

  compulsive liar

  
  
  
  
  

  logical

  
  
  
  
  

  endearing

  
  
  
  
  

  hopeless romantic

  
  
  
  
  

  accidentally charming

  
  
  
  
  

  witty

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  He eyes the tree-line, burnt paths of the landscape of his hands. A map. Labels. Words pave the same trails of his hands down, and the ink mars both the ones of the page and of his palm. He curls his fingers like kerosene leaves licked by flame. Hero sees his father in his fists. Knuckles crunch against the car's hood and he runs from the siren, shrouded in the flashing headlights.
  
  Blood drip, drip, drips, and he climbs his crumbling castle, up the creaking, mouse-bitten stairs into his water-stained apartment.
  
  Let's flip the card's fortune on its head.
  
  A Harbinger of soul. He attempts to carve a cave out of his torso. A home. What does he bring? His mother will call it grace, call it kindness, call it real. His father will scoff and call him too soft, too dull, too confused. He tries to calculate and formulate the version required. Scoop out his innards, display them for charcuterie, and hunger. Harbinger of light.
  
  Yet, cross-examination will concur he has strung up a velvet curtain. Layered in dust, but also layered in lies. He will give a straight answer - the one you want to hear. They say Hero is foolish, but he learns fast and hard. The threat of a freight train ramming into his skull turns him into a machine in the form of crushed skin. Authenticity remains within his gentle hands, the swish of a pen across the paper, but these fists are for more than one can admit. Jaw clenched and cracked. Blood to match the meat locker of ghosts that follow him.
  
  A boy who saved himself.
  
  Everyone seems to forget that.
  
  Perfectly even keeled, Eddie buries all this. A grave illuminated by the same headlights. Shovel the dirt. Shovel the dirt. Go home, shower, and become real once more. Another ghost, but at least he dresses like a human. He wears the skin of a boy who only knew love, even if it only confused him. Now, he knows what is and isn't love. Within this grave, he's found a moat, filled it with his tears, the ones his father hates, and has disappeared into the abandoned turret. Even now, he leaves a candle blustering in the window.
  
  Ask me. Ask me and I might tell you the truth.
  
  He never seems to. Never commits, even if he tries.
  
  Drink from me, sleep in the chilly crevice of my torso, and rip the roots from my bottom. I have no need for them.
  
  Find use in me when I am useless.
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  wordbank + aesthetic

  
  

  
  

  hunched shoulders, morning dew, long showers, tears evaporating into the rain, blisters, hunger pains, a hand ripping at the hair's roots, readjusted glasses, ill-fitting suits, a small yet daring smile, wildflowers handpicked, lazy sunday mornings, bloody knuckles, smirks behind a comedic coffee cup, locked file cabinets, avoidant chuckles, encouraging shoulder bumps, ancient sculptures, walking tragedy
  
  pinterest

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  likes

  
  

  
  

  stationary, schnitzel, home-brewed coffee, the never-ending excitement of having an eye doctor's appointment, great heights, his work, being equals, a good cry, hugs, talking through a movie, visiting museums, dancing, screaming along to a song in his car, video games (particularly Just Dance), reading, visiting libraries, his mom, cats

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  dislikes

  
  

  
  

  crying in front of people, embarrassing himself, crowds that are just too small or just too big, grey moralities (including his own), guilt, snapping at someone, intrusive thoughts, people watching him for just too long, feeling like the car behind him is following him home even though all they did was get into the same lane and make the same right turn as him, being too tired to cook for himself, headaches, seeing someone he recognizes at a club or rave

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  fears

  
  

  
  

  stalkers, being followed, public speaking, his father (to some degree), the adamski, being a disappointment, emilio (to some degree), losing his mom (who doesn't know what he's doing...), becoming something he despises

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  hobbies

  
  

  
  

  playing video games, reading, gardening (well, gardening the planter box and indoor plants he's cultivated at his apartment), watching movies, his job, sleuthing, cleaning

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
• 
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  history.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  ka-ka-ka

  
  

  
  
  
  

  wip. i must go to work so here's some bullet points for now:
  -- born from an affair between Sonja Bechtel and Matezh Adamski; it is said that the pair were in love but Hero chooses to ignore that
  -- lived a fairly normal, uneventful life with majority custody being handed to Sonja. She raised him to be precocious, to not be easily eaten by the world she admittedly fell in love with when she met Matezh. Matezh, of course, decided to attempt to undo much of this with his own teachings. Both parties want what's best for Edmund, but it appears to have only left him a tangled ball of yarn that two kittens swatted at and fought over until it became unusable without cutting off a few ends.
  -- Neither parent predicted this mess. Hero. Ultimately, after [tw-type events that i don't have exact details for], he was put into an in-patient program at 17, just before his eighteenth birthday
  -- After running away and escaping the ward, he was kidnapped by a group of men he still doesn't know the identity of. Of course, they knew his birth father. They knew he was related, mentioning watching Matezh for quite some time. What would one of the deadliest men in town want to do with a weak, little squirt like you? With Sonja's time with the Adamski a guarded secret, but still culpable for cracks, it was quite clear who Hero was.
  -- They claimed to have sent a ransom. A ransom that Matezh never paid, never intended to. That's what they told Eddie.
  -- He survived by the skin clenched between his teeth, his trim jabs, and the miracle of a house fire.
  -- Two weeks. He'd missed his birthday.
  -- He found Matezh's doorstep. A harbinger.
  -- "You should've paid, old man."
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  killer

  
  

  
  
  
  

  more wip.
  -- Matezh still insists he never heard about this ransom. H.E. never believed him. Still doesn't.
  -- After being brought to the hospital, his mother arrived and he was interviewed by the police. He left out any mention of his father. It was buried, left unsolved. The men who were still at the house were dead by the time a squad car had arrived.
  -- The key to Eddie's reputation is that, besides this incident, his life returned back to a sense of normality. He was no longer normal, though it is fair to say he hadn't been for quite some time.
  -- Accepted into Harvard, he attended his undergraduate in Philosophy before pursuing a law degree upon graduation. At twenty-five, he's all-but graduated, finishing his last semester in St. Heights at one of the best law firms in the country. Ironic that they just so happen to be housed in a crime capital.
  -- His decision to reside with the Avancini remains unknown by many, but gather around. Eddie will tell it, just this once.
  -- His siblings, the ones he never could call brother or sister, are primed for the family. They have been encrusted into the Adamski name while Hero isn't even able to lay stake to that. He has to create his own family, his own name.
  -- When offered a place, a new home, he agreed. Finally, he'd get retribution. He'd have a place.
  -- What he fails to see is how he's acting out. A teenager who wants daddy to come home and see him. Even now, he wants to be apart of the family. Another Adamski. Yet, he won't ever be. So he'll kick, he'll scream, and he'll eat them from the inside.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  sometimes I wonder if I should be medicated

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  if I would feel better just slightly sedated

  
  
  
  
  

  a feeling comes so fast and I cannot control it

  
  
  
  
  

  i'm on fire, but I'm trying not to show it

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
• 
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  connections.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  reputation

  
  
  
  

  no man's land

  
  
  
  

  The years of being the forgotten son have made Hero adept at the art of appearing just normal. Many don't know he's the unwanted member of the Adamski clan, and even less know he's recently relocated to the Enemy. His largely-normal upbringing has allowed him to remain unnoticed with only one mild hiccup. The incident. His name is one quickly forgotten, turned into paper maché with the morning's paper. The only other opportunity to hear his name in infamy is through his profession, where he is slowly recognized as a ruthless rising star known for getting the most high profile and grimiest of criminals out of dodge. Little do many know that he is one of them and that any courtroom scene is simply the stage upon which he does Emilio's bidding.
  
  Amongst the Avancinis, it is likely that he is seen as the oddball amongst oddballs. H.E. is a good hand to help fortify the gates, though his hands aren't quite as dirt-lined as the others. He deals in bookkeeping and filing suits, with the most grimy of acts being a crime scene set-up here and there. His father's name is the only scum on his body. A flightless bird standing on the wire. No man's land. Some might even call him too soft for a world like this. Others might stray to the wayside and debate that, no, he is too impulsive. Brutish. It simply depends on the moment one has chosen to pick out of the very few Eddie has had amongst the group. Above all, he is an enigma, unintentionally so, and if anyone were to chip away with a miner's delight, they would be quite astounded by what they might find.

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  headcanons

  
  
  
  

  man in repose

  
  
  
  

  -- had a stutter as a child
  -- was an emo kid and still is, at heart
  -- lives in some janky ass apartment because at least he pays the rent
  -- Matezh did pay for his college tho...
  -- loves his flatiron more than any normal person should
  -- still sleeps with a plushie crocodile
  -- once a week talks abt how he wishes he could have a cat but then doesn't just go out and get one
  --

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  matezh adamanski

  
  
  
  

  the emperor father

  
  
  
  

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Sed elementum nunc nec risus porta iaculis quis sit amet ante. Quisque eget est mauris. Curabitur posuere nibh nibh, ac maximus dolor vestibulum sed. Nullam ut nulla tincidunt, tincidunt mi ac, ullamcorper mi. In ultricies euismod fermentum. Nulla convallis nec sem sit amet porta. Morbi convallis ornare arcu quis commodo. Sed in luctus libero. Sed pretium malesuada nisl at laoreet.

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  sonja bechtel

  
  
  
  

  the rusted shield

  
  
  
  

  A hacksawed tree that bloomed a dying sapling. By some miracle, Sonja has bulldozed any attempts to demolish her being. A woman stronger and more admirable than most, a fact that does not, cannot, go unnoticed by Edmund. His mom is the rock to swim to, the obvious choice when presented with the hard choice. Eddie might blame Sonja for his sensitive temperament, but she is not a wilting willow nor an easily flustered morning glory, ready to fade at the sun's edge. She is the hallowed bark to form a canoe for safe passage. Above all, Sonja is a mother, even is she, like her son, falls ill to the desires of rebirth. The fantasy that destruction will become production. She drowns in her sorrows, but they are kept at bay by the reminder of who and what her ex-lover is. What he does. Much to Matezh's chagrin, Sonja thinks she can protect her son better than he can. What he doesn't understand, what not even Hero can see, is that Sonja Bechtel tries to play both sides of the chess table, much like her son. Except, instead, she lives a life as a party store clerk, hearing the whispers of seedy drunkards, while on the sidelines she listens to police chatter on the radio. She keeps a lockbox filled with cash, a gun, and a singular falsified I.D. card.

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  emilio ahn

  
  
  
  

  the pseudo-empress

  
  
  
  

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Sed elementum nunc nec risus porta iaculis quis sit amet ante. Quisque eget est mauris. Curabitur posuere nibh nibh, ac maximus dolor vestibulum sed. Nullam ut nulla tincidunt, tincidunt mi ac, ullamcorper mi. In ultricies euismod fermentum. Nulla convallis nec sem sit amet porta. Morbi convallis ornare arcu quis commodo. Sed in luctus libero. Sed pretium malesuada nisl at laoreet.

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  extra.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  question

  
  

  answer

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  free !

  
  

  florence + the machine

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[qunqun]

Death.

• 01
• 02
• 03
• 04

• 
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  Auguste Cortes

  
  
  

  
  

  29

  
  
  

  
  

  Death

  
  
  

  
  

  Avancini

  
  
  

  
  

  June 30

  
  
  

  
  

  Male

  
  
  

  
  

  Spanish-French

  
  
  

  
  

  Gay

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  height

  weight

  
  

  6'7''

  236 lbs

  
  
  

  blood type

  star sign

  
  

  AB+

  Cancer

  
  
  

  hair

  
  There is a quiet sort of rebellion to Death, despite his more mild personality. This can be seen in his hair. Long and dark, there is a white patch in it - from stress or from genetics he can't quite remember. He keeps it tied back every now and then with hair ties that he wears on his wrist. He used to not be able to grow it out, easier to grab when fighting back. But he's gotten good enough where little privileges have been "gifted" to him - or at least, he started growing it out and would stare down anybody that tried to tell him that he couldn't.
  
  

  eyes

  
  A mother's gift to her son, the same icy stare that could freeze a man solid with its glare. Nowadays, that particular gift is used seldom, just his mere presence tends to have people begging at his feet for mercy. Upon closer inspection, he has tired lines under them. And for the most part, they hold emotions that don't show up in the rest of his face - sadness, joy, pain...
  
  

  body type

  
  Massive and brawny, some of the more "out there" rumors about him is that he's part giant. This is obviously not true, but he stands at an intimidating 6'7 and amde of pure muscle. When he first joined, he used to be a lot more rabid looking - wiry and starving. Nowadays, he's filled his frame out into a bodybuilder's physique.
  
  

  body mods

  
  Not one for body modifications, it should be noted that he has two tattoos despite his reluctance towards modifying himself. One is on his left shoulder, the other is on his right bicep. The one on his left shoulder are his father's initials. The one on his right outer bicep is a gang tattoo that he wishes to remove one day. But that is something he keeps to himself.
  
  

  style

  
  Grunge and black and chains used to rule Death's days. It certainly came in handy when he was building his reputation, terror striking the hearts of mortals and all that nonsense. But nowadays, he's mostly mellowed out. Color has slowly seeped back into his life. Perhaps somewhat unnervingly, he's slowly become dressed more and more to blend into everyday civillians and less punk-grunge. Soft fabrics and nature tones mixed with combat boots and splashes of edge bleeding through here and there. He usually carries a backpack with him.
  
  

  face claim

  
  Timothy Hughes
  

  
  
  
• 
  

  
  

  personality

  
  
  

  introvert

  intuitive

  
  

  75%

  61%

  
  
  

  feeling

  judging

  
  

  51%

  63%

  
  
  

  turbulent

  assertive

  
  

  79%

  21%

  
  
  A quiet man, despite his more violent occupation, Auguste outside of the job is... strange. He rarely smiles, and generally acts as if there's a heavy weight upon his shoulders at all times. But, more than that, he's kind. He feeds stray cats, and often gives food to homeless people he meets. He rarely raises his voice, and he quite often shrinks away from confrontation. In short, a pushover with a clear and intense anxiety to him, and a general gentleness. This extends into when he's around Avancinis - in general, he's never a talkative one, but he's also never angry or loud. He responds when spoken to, and keeps a general cordial politeness with everyone, if not keeping everyone at an arm's length away. He bleeds intimidation even without trying, what with being 6'7 and a monstrous figure - but it's undercut by this mild personality and soft spoken nature.
  
  Deep down, though, he's a murderer. Back when he first joined the Avancinis, he was angrier. Bloodier. Full of rage and spite that he released on his targets. And somewhere, that beast is still lying. Dormant.
  
  

  
  

  traits

  
  

  positive traits

  
  Auguste is generally kind and gentle. Never raising a hand against anyone that he thought didn't deserve it. Soft-spoken and generally, despite his more terrifying exterior, one of the most mild people to come out of a crime syndicate, he generally is just... pleasant. Mild-mannered. Almost a people pleaser in a way. Incredibly clever and creative, and a very good singer.
  
  

  negative traits

  
  Secretive, he's built a wall around himself to keep anybody from piercing too deeply. This has led him to becoming a liar and a rather mainpulative person,e asily steering conversations away from uncomfortable topics which he wishes to keep to himself. His secrets are his own, and despite being generally a pushover, when it comes to things he genuinely does not want to share or do, it becomes incredibly difficult to convince him at all.
  
  
• 
  

  Childhood

  
  

  Born in Spain as a prodigy of the arts. Dad was a dancer who fucked up his knee, mom was a late-night nurse. Really gifted child, then his dad died when he was young and his mother moved to France to isolate him from his extended family. She became abusive and neglectful and he was bullied extensively in school. Had a sexual awakening when he was twelve which led to his only friend ostracizing him.
  
  

  Teenager

  
  

  Joined a gang when he was promised a family that would always have his back. Increasingly manipulated into doing worse and worse things for the gang while his self-esteem tanked more and more. As a result he became more and more violent until the gang had grown into a whole enterprise which was starting to move outside of France. He moved out of his mother's house as soon as possible and became a full time criminal as a result, seeing that it was the only thing that he had left. Eventually his services were lent to Emilio who hired him full time before completely wiping his old gang out.
  
  

  Now

  
  

  Became a hitman, incredibly bloody and violent killings occurred to spread terror. Killed so many people that he lost count. Rose in the ranks of the crime family until the initial rage and spite wore off and now he's just tired of it all and would request that he retires early to teach kids ballet or something. Unfortunately the second he retires, the second he no longer has the protection of the family which means that would be a death sentence for him.... Tbh though he's not really sure that that would be too much of a punishment to die.
  
  
  
  
• 
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  Strengths

  
  Excellent at intimidation and fear, he's become more of a symbol of cruelty and power. He's excellent at hand to hand combat and fighting people - both with knives and with fists. He's also very good at torture, though that isn't really one of his more favored things to do. Good at hiding a body as well. Surprisingly flexible and terrifyingly agile for his massive size, he's very good at escaping things as well.
  
  

  Weaknesses

  
  Auguste cannot drive, nor is he a very big fan of guns. He avoids them when he can, though he's a good shot with a pistol, it just makes too much noise for him to really handle, so he doesn't carry a gun and if asked he prefers using anything else other than a gun.
  
  

  Reputation

  
  Auguste is especially famous for leaving bloody messes behind him. He's a dog on a chain, being held just barely by Emilio ready to tear into whoever he gets sicced on. He has not been identified, but Death is known to be massive and cold. And absolutely brutal in his killings.
  
  

/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

© weldherwings.

 

[blue-jay]

d. azalea washington

# avancini

# the fool

♡coded by uxie♡

Full Name: Daphne Azalea Washington
Nickname: Everyone calls her Azalea (or Az, Azzy, etc.). Don't call her Daphne unless you want a nasty reaction.
Age: 24
Gender: Cis Woman
Sexuality: Heterosexual
Ethnicity: African-American
Family: Avancini
Role: The Fool

Faceclaim: Melinda Berry
Appearance: 5'7, black hair, dark brown eyes

Personality: Azalea's biggest strength is conversely her biggest weakness, making her a danger to others and to herself: she has an internal, ever-expanding mythology of herself—a mythology in which she is the heroine. In these myths, she justifies and rationalizes the means of her heroism, even when they include deeds that many would consider villainy. She sees herself as an agent of Nemesis, dutifully balancing the scales of fate by any means necessary: the author of her own fate and the fates of those who hand her the pen. This sort of self-romanticization isn't uncommon among everyday people, but in a woman as capable and calculating as Azalea it is dangerous.

Azalea has vision, drive, and a wealth of natural talent. She's constantly imagining new feats to accomplish and new ways to exercise her agency—to prove that she has it. To her, agency is the single most important thing in the world. She's confident in her ability to make her dreams reality, perhaps even overconfident.

Azalea is sharp. She is methodical but also no stranger to improvising. She can utilize pathos in a way that most people don't expect. Azalea's self-conceived myths require passion and emotion, and she's learned to bend them to her will. She is adept at affecting emotion, often tricking herself into truly feeling it on some level. She can utilize her charm if needed, playing the part of a girl worthy of endearment while also believing herself to be that girl. Azalea is also a great companion. When she forges bonds that she believes to be strong, she will be loyal, friendly, and even loving. Azalea has always had a lot of love to give but not many people to give it to, so she holds on tight. What is a heroine without allies, after all? Generally, Azalea is witty, warm, and expressive in conversation. She enjoys deep talks about life, art, and so on.

Her self-mythologization invigorates her and gives her a youthful allure. However, it also has its downfalls. Azalea's story of herself doesn't always account for her weaknesses or the barriers that she'll run into, making her naive and presumptuous. This especially becomes a problem when she invests emotionally in her presumptions. A shattering of these ideas can lead Azalea to erratic emotions or catastrophization. Azalea's natural tendencies to want agency and to confuse agency with utter control can cause her to aim too high or push dangerous boundaries. Her obsession with revenge and vindication can and has clouded her judgment, pushing her to abandon her morals or forget her limits. Azalea is adaptable, however, and will revise herself and her mythos as needed. She doesn't want to believe that she is a bad person. She needs to believe that she is correcting and purging something with what she does.

Deep down, Azalea is still in immense pain from wounds sustained in her past. She wants and needs to cry. But why would she cry when she could shape her own fate and tell her own story instead?


Virtues: Self-assured, endearing, imaginative, persistent, inquisitive, affectionate, observant, thoughtful, ambitious
Vices: Self-righteous, tragic hero complex, overconfident, control freak, vindictive, traumatized/unstable, more sensitive than she lets on, naive, dramatic
Likes: Poetry, flowers/botany/caring for plants, having money, stealing, being admired, emotionally vulnerable people, fine art, experimenting with poisonous substances, over-sweetened coffee
Dislikes: Not having agency, the general public, police, mental health stigma, batman, being doubted, the way coffee actually tastes

Background: (TW: drugs, mental illness, grooming)

Azalea, born Daphne Azalea Washington, was the daughter of lower-class parents living in the inner-city of Saint's Heights. Her father struggled to maintain a job due to his struggles with an undiagnosed and untreated mental illness. Her mother jumped between jobs, dabbling in the business of drugs, prostitution, and more under the nose of Azalea's father. Despite any efforts, psychiatric care that was affordable or accessible was never available, so Azalea grew up watching the father she loved dearly struggle and often be someone other than himself, never understanding quite what she was witnessing or why she was witnessing it. There were many things she didn't understand: why she went without food some days, why her mother was constantly out of the house, why she never got Christmas gifts. As she got older, she learned through media and her observations of the world that it was about inequality. This realization planted a seed of indignation.

When Azalea was eleven, her mother began attempting to medicate her father with the drugs she obtained through her business dealings. Azalea still doesn't know to this day if it was an act of love, providing her tortured father moments of reprieve, or an act of selfishness, sedating him to make him easier to deal with. Azalea watched as her mother gave him the drugs, lighting, injecting, pressing them to his lips, into his skin. She wondered: Is this what love looks like? When Azalea was thirteen, the cops raided her home. Azalea was too young to be in the loop of the legal specificities, but in the end Azalea's mother returned home and her father didn't. Her mother said: "Your daddy won't be coming back until you're about my age." Young Azalea's world was shattered. A rain of grief watered that seed of indignation.

It budded in her high school years in the form of theft. It started with makeup. Azalea began taking the bus to the Sephora in the affluent downtown. She got looks and was followed, but was successful regardless. She stole lip glosses, eyeliners, and more. For the first time in her life, Azalea felt like she had agency. All the small things she had been denied were now in reach. She began sneaking into the Barnes and Noble, slipping books of all kinds into her bag, and became an avid reader. She felt a particular connection to the so-called "confessional" poets: she admired the way they centered their pain, wrote themselves as tragic heroes, and had an almost oracular relationship with their own fate. She quickly became addicted to stealing and began selling her acquisitions for profit.

When Azalea was sixteen, she tried to pickpocket off of the wrong man on the street one night. He looked like any regular man, but little did Azalea know that she had snatched the wallet of the patriarch of a small (but powerful in its own right) crime family, the Lorenzos. His goons, whom she hadn't even seen lurking around him, had her pinned down in seconds. Mr. Lorenzo ordered her to be killed but called his men off after Azalea put up a fight, nearly biting off the finger of one of the goons. Intrigued, he offered her a place in the Lorenzo family. Azalea wasn't in a position to decline. At first, she was terrified, and she continued to be for the most part. But her seed of indignation bloomed into something poisonous when she saw the opportunities that being affiliated with Lorenzo opened up for her. She could have nearly anything she wanted. She had a million ways to get revenge on them—the police, the politicians, the white-collars who turned a blind eye to the struggling innocents—to people like her father.

Thus, she embraced being a part of the Lorenzo crime family. When Mr. Lorenzo made advances on her and offered her the ambiguous title of "mistress," she embraced that too. She was only seventeen.

Mr. Lorenzo reminded Azalea of her father. Not in appearance, but he had strange habits and said strange things. He flinched if Azalea approached him too suddenly. He had erratic emotions and delusions. Azalea did what she knew to do: she enticed him to partake in the substances that his family dealt. She did it because she cared, but also knew in her own sad way that it would lead to his ruin. However, her loyalty to him and the Lorenzos only extended so far. She knew being a mistress limited her agency. She knew the Lorenzos didn't compare in power to the two most powerful families: the Avancinis and Adamskis. Lorenzo wasn't kind, anyway, prone to outbursts and violent episodes. After one particularly bad episode, she knew what to do. On Azalea's nineteenth birthday, after two years of her being his mistress, the Lorenzo patriarch died of something: a poison. It wasn't an overdose. The substance found in his bloodstream was unlike anything ever seen: custom-made from toxic herbs. It was personal—poetic even.

Azalea walked away with a lot of money taken from the Lorenzo vaults. Her enthusiasm, however, was her downfall. Azalea bragged too much, trying to boost her reputation and raise her chances of joining a better crime family, and she was found out by the police. Azalea's list of offenses was long, but she had a way of telling the story in court. She gave a confessional rather than a testimony, lying and telling her truth at the same time. The judge and jury were captivated by her way of weaving herself into a tragic heroine. Azalea pleaded guilty only on a few of her charges and got only four years in prison, a feat that added to the buzz around her name in the crime world.

It was then that her seed of indignation bloomed into an azalea, poisonous and beautiful, and she officially took on her middle name. Azalea found herself in the good graces of the Avancini family after her release, joined their ranks, and is excited to prove herself. She also plans on pursuing her personal goal of grand revenge on the world in the meantime. Whatever that may look like, only time will tell.

Reputation: Azalea is still somewhat new in the bigger picture of the crime world. Although being Lorenzo's mistress and then killing him and stealing his money has generated some buzz around her name, she's still just getting started. What is said about her is that she's vindictive, ambitious, and good with poisons: a dangerous trinity. It is known that the Lorenzo family currently has it out for her for killing their patriarch.
Extra:
- her favorite color is green
- she is very well-read in the literary canon, especially as far as poetry goes
- her favorite mythical figure is electra
- titles her custom-made poisons after poems, pieces of art, characters, etc.
- hasn't seen or spoken to her mom since she was sixteen
- loves hugs, both platonic and romantic

 

[cavitea]

Baroque Adamski

#adamski

#the lovers

♡coded by uxie♡

baroque adamski

❝ their hands meet, and light spills in a flood like a hundred golden urns pouring out of the sun. ❞ ― The Song of Achilles

nickname

barry, moonshine [reserved]

age

23

gender

cisgender male

sexuality

pansexual

ethnicity

Polish-American

family

adamski bloodline

role

the lovers

❝ we reached for each other, and I thought of how many nights I had lain awake loving him in silence. ❞​

Faceclaim: Tripp Bowers
Appearance: He stands at a taller height of six feet and three inches, length given to his limbs in an almost graceful manner. Each step is perfectly chosen and ended with carefully executed poise. Slender fingers adorn the tips of hands free from the callous of life, only a few miniscule scars resting in the middle of each palm: paper thin lines deliberately drawn and pressed over time.

Features present both father and mother, a firm jawline that flows into soft eyes, a swoop on his face full of umber hues. They are not telling of his emotions at most times, a slate that has been freshly wiped for the sake of appearances and upholding certain expectations. His hair is the color of bark, a myriad of browns with the artistic streak of blonde in his youth. Now it hangs freely, a length carefully cultivated and risked with each day to grow longer.

Unlike his siblings the muscle tone he carries is less noticeable, a thoroughly picky attitude aiding the youngest in having the luxury of not continuously training. Body built more in the form of a dancer he takes pride in his appearance more than in his ability to strangle an enemy in high heels. There is a lofty attitude surrounding the realm of fighting, a wrinkled nose at the mention of unnecessary bloodshed from the members of his family, a tight-lipped expression showing hints of the disdain he carries.

As of the past year or so it seems a detail to attention has raised itself, the empty piercings of his ears now filled with delicate studs and rings. His attire is flowing and proper, accentuations to his features all the strutting dance of a bird impressing a mate. His hair grows longer and his eyes sharper as he thinks about what could be and what the night could bring.

Clothing: x. x. x. x.
Aesthetic: Pinboard

Personality: Eyes slide shut and for a moment he is able to focus on his senses, ignoring the sounds of the city outside of the hotel. Baroque clings desperately to the feeling of difference, to the feeling that home has transcended the feud between families and that for a time he can breathe.

Only in these moments are the weaknesses of his heart revealed, a melting of ice by the flames of a forbidden affair. He cannot count the times he is told to relax and hesitates to do so, to let anybody in. There is an image to be upheld and in the presence of him he finds himself unable to lift a finger. It is easier to drink wine laced with poison than face the scorched surroundings, is it not?

One more sip is taken and he relaxes, the arguments and tension from the life outside the rented room fading away. It is a drug he cannot stop taking despite the fear that accompanies it, the danger that threatens it all. Baroque is nothing without the change that this situation provides him and fully conscious of that crutch.

When the youngest Adamski leaves the next morning he will fill the role he has come to be known for: a spoiled brat living lazily in a life of wealth. He will spend the money given to him and bother those that surround him, a stream of complaints on meager items that pile higher and higher with the days gone since his last 'fix'. It is all a show for him, all the role he must play to keep his head down and out from the line of fire, from the line of responsibility.

It is ultimately his addiction that brings his downfall; the need and lust for failure and equally his iron grip on 'perfection' are crushing all at once. Into flames the youngest wishes to burn and into dust he cares to bring the world around him down if only for the sake of having felt a real connection to someone else. Family feud mean so little to him now, an obstacle he will not stop trying to hurtle no matter the consequences. Perhaps it is foolish love or perhaps it is the key to his cage and he is tired of waiting.

Likes: the scent of burning wood, cassette tapes, cabernet sauvignon, the thrill of discovery, the idea of a picnic, his lover, lilac bushes on a spring morning
Dislikes: the need to spend money, holey socks, time restrictions, sleeping alone, overstimulating surroundings, meetings with the family, sharing time, the smell of mint
Fears: not knowing the future, uncertain relationships, getting everything he has ever truly wanted and having it all taken away as punishment for his gluttony.


Background:
A child born the youngest of an empire, a dove unfurled hopelessly into a pit of watchful vipers. Given a namesake meant to reflect a period of great ornamentation it was anticipated from youth that Baroque would grow into the beauty that everyone deemed he must be. Pampered at the softest tinkle of a bell he was coddled with every material comfort or kindness one could ever dream of having. Niceties however, grew dull for the man that found himself trapped within a gilded cage, the bars of gold providing only distance from those that looked and pointed at the decoration he was born to be.

They threw plastic cards at him and beckoned him out and into the designer shops of the city, a mountain of bags never touched lining the space of his room. He craved what he didn't know, the feeling of touch, the whispers of affection and praise that weren't confined to the numbers he racked up on a single shopping trip. Purpose was most of all what he wanted, a desperate reaching towards the heavens only proving to be a bittersweet reminder that the importance of the family fell on the shoulders of those higher in age.

Perhaps one could call it rebellion then, the starting of a miniature revolution as skipped training lessons and classes frequented the progress card of the youngest. Red X's and exorbitant expense reports were the only thing Baroque sought, a significant falling behind of his siblings giving way to the rumours that spread about his pompous ways and the unforgiving bite of attitude. Attention was what he sought but a deafening silence was all he ever seemed to receive. Understandable to some but enraging to him he spread his wings and sought out a further way of dragging the name of a gossamered time period through brimstone and fire.

As drink spilled and money flowed the youngest Adamski fell far from the grace of his namesake, a dirtied shirt and scuffed shoes more telling than the clean purity he had claimed for so long. It was an internal battle he fought, a mind over measure matter he brought upon himself that ached and pulled with each second. He hated the meaningless stares of the public but it was the eyes back home that he wanted to gouge. Loyalty ran as thin as the water of the womb, his covenant of blood growing outside of the organization as the dove spread his wings and his influence through what he found important. A lamb on a rampage he was as self-destructive as he was beautiful, a charming fellow so easily caught up in the dichotomous puzzle of his surroundings.

❝ we were like gods at the dawning of the world, & our joy was so bright we could see nothing else but the other. ❞​

His falling towards the flirtatious motions towards others had been ongoing since his first breath into adulthood. So often he would cast out the shiny hook of himself and so often negatively appraise those that took the bait. It was an endless cycle that he found himself sucked into, a game without a winner, a constant moving around the board. He waited with baited breath for the moment when he could finally decide, the bar subconsciously rising higher and higher until the ceiling crashed down on his head and the first time happened.

A mistake? No, those sort of things don't happen to someone like me.

It was a moment that changed everything, a coincidence put in motion by the knowing hands of the Fates as their eyes met. A coincidence that occurred over and over until the thought of not having another was too much to handle. The kicked feet and the hugged pillows were all the signs that he hid from the rest, a grin buried deep within feathers as he preened and shined for a reason in his life. Their meeting was a fate ordained by the gods and one he would not allow to slip through cold fingers. A purpose had entered his life, eyes that saw beyond the designer clothes and haughty outward smile. It was a touch that made him dance in the rain and snort in his laugh it was everything.

After all this time, perhaps maybe I'm starting to ...

Ah, nevermind.

The fuse has been lit and the trail to the pool of gasoline is only so long. An Adamski in name and blood he rushes forward unknowing towards the fantastical end, the wild look in his eyes covered in the rose-tinted glasses of love.

It's only a matter of time before the world sees just how brightly Baroque can burn.

Reputation: He's used to the feeling of eyes, a collection of colors that trail every step with an outward indifference. The youngest of the family he was almost thrust into the lap of luxury over the lap of his father, the spoon that adorned his mouth sparkling as he set foot into the world. Helplessly resistant at first he has fallen to the sin of opulence, the treasures of the Adamski family readily available to the 'pampered' youth as wings are spread lazily over feather-filled cushions.

He is known for the numerous demands to his rooms and the endless expenses charged to every rectangle of plastic he is allowed to breathe near. The riches of the world adorn his body and mind and all of it is foolishly unnecessary to those around him.  He is foolishly unnecessary if some were allowed the privilege of not biting their tongues in his presence.

For the past year there have been some who have noticed, fewer who have whispered about the whereabouts of the dove. On certain nights he disappears, body dissolved into smoke until he strolls in the next day or so later, a scarf wrapped warmly around his neck. What does he do with all of these nights away?

Languid are his motions all the same, a smooth dance across the floor as he asks and receives for another day, another year. What a spoiled child.

The Lovers: What was once a desperate attempt to breathe has become the air that fills his body, the oxygen in his veins.

They spend nights entwined, the tenting of fingers against one another barely breaching the surface of the desperate need to occupy the space and lungs of the other. With so few opportunities safely presented each moment must be given a careful consideration, the right amount of 'too much' and achingly always too little. Doomed from the start they follow behind in the likes of Achilles and Patroclus, Heloise and Abelard. He drinks ravenously from the cup of his lover, from the overflowing wine of their love.

Their flame burns more fervently with each meeting, a crisping of the edges that threatens to push gas onto their love, a lingering of death always hovering. Baroque dances with them, a step closer each time towards what he fears is the inevitable end, the damning force that will drive them apart.

He is a reckless star, a hurtling ball of fire invigorated with each new meeting, each new touch. The world will burn around him before he gives an inch of the pleasure he has found, foes and family caught in flames.

It is coming, it is inevitable.

But oh, such is love.

/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

© weldherwings.

 

[xayah.]

Evangeline Huang

#adamski

#the magician

♡coded by uxie♡

• .
• .
• .
• .

• EVANGELINE HUANG

  full name

  evangeline karina huang
  
  

  nickname

  no one calls her karina except her dad. ev or abbreviations of her first name are for very close friends only.
  
  

  role

  the magician ✧*:･ﾟ
  
  

  gender

  cis-female
  
  

  age

  27
  
  

  ethnicity

  chinese-polish
  
  

  sexuality

  pansexual heteroromantic
  
  

  family

  adamski

  VISAGE

  height

  5'7
  
  

  weight

  109lbs
  
  

  build

  lean and limber but not toned. she isn't a very physical person.
  
  

  hair

  thick, supple, and umber brown with natural but subtle waves
  
  

  eyes

  black & doe eyed
  
  

  mods

  the basic earlobe piercings
  
  

  scars

  none
  
  

  style

  it varies depending on the situation or task, but in a effort to be taken more seriously, she prefers more mature outfits that are very clearly inspired by business casual and formal aesthetics on normal days.
  
  

  fc

  angelababy
• confident

  ambitious

  adaptable

  fearless

  determined

  discreet

  observant

  manipulative

  petty

  unscrupulous

  abrasive

  untrusting

  selfish

  vindictive

  PERSONA

  Smile. You're being watched!
  
  What most disregard as the usual passive-aggressive comment from a smiley face sign at their neighborhood convenience store, Evangeline lives by. Always vividly aware and observant of not only her surroundings but each and every pair of eyes watching as well, in an almost paranoid and cynical type of way, it's a shame that all the town of Saint's Heights ever gets to see is the facade of a relaxed and charming angel come down to Earth. A certain allure surrounds Evangeline. Drawing people to her side when she wants it, she can play the part of a supportive, loyal friend well even if it's all a facade. After all, kind, selfless girls who are the very definition of altruism don't thrive, much less survive in this town.
  
  Good thing she isn't one then. Much like an actress in a movie, when the lights above turn off, so does the act. The smile, although it never comes off, becomes more taunting than inviting like it knows all your secrets. And with a quick mind and glib tongue that not only knows just how and where to provoke others to get them to spill the beans but also loves to (all under the guise of being a "joke" of course), it's a huge surprise Evangeline hasn't been offed by a slighted associate in the underworld.
  
  Well... it's not like they can or could even try to in the first place. Evangeline is competent—no, excellent—at what she does. She has to be after choosing to cast aside relationships and emotions in favor of her and herself first and foremost. Capable of changing her mannerisms at a moment's notice and blending in seamlessly with groups of people, she's become a vital resource that needs to remain alive if the Adamski family wants to remain on top. This fact might have led to some arrogance (read: confidence) that only adds on to the long list of reasons people wish for her end. That and the fact that it's generally her way or nothing, but Evangeline knows what she wants and will do anything to get it, especially in the name of doing unto others what they've done to her. She's not the type to worry about pride, dignity, or how others see her anymore when it comes to these matters, especially not after years of having her loyalty questioned by old men worried about her lack of blood purity. Betrayal is matter of fact in this life, and one she's embraced all too well. If you won't get dirty, she will with or without you.
  
  It's best if you go with her plan. She doesn't ask twice.

  
  

  EXTRA

  -Fluent in English, Mandarin, and Cantonese due to her mom's inability to speak English & conversational in Polish because of her dad
  -The only people she listens to are the Hierophant and the Emperor. They've earned her respect, maybe more, where no one else has.
  -Knows the town's underground pathways and systems by heart. She doesn't need a map and has a fantastic sense of direction along with good flexibility and stamina to escape from incriminating situations.
  -Can be found so often on her offtime at a bar or club eavesdropping on the conversations of loose-lipped patrons that she's on a first name basis with many of the city's bartenders. May also be sleeping around or enjoying a meal with people she knows won't poison her.
  -Says she's not scared of anything but absolutely scared shitless of: thunderstorms, being drunk in front of others, ladders, and being betrayed by one of the few people she actually trusts.
  -She can use a gun but definitely isn't the best shot. It's fun for her to wield to look menacing though since she has a baby face without heavy makeup (which is a fact about herself she strongly dislikes).
  -As much as she doesn't want to admit it, some of the people she meets in the Avancini kind of grow on her. It doesn't sway her enough to break her loyalty to the Adamski, but at times she very slightly feels bad for most likely causing them to die or be accused of being a rat.
  -Used to try letting the Adamski demon dog out at night so that it runs away when she was a kid.
  -Dislikes social drinking. Loose lips are very dangerous in this business.
  -Has been spying on the Avancini for about 3-4 years now.

  
  
• BACKGROUND

  
  

  (TW: mild racism / discrimination)
  No one knows the exact reason why Evangeline came to work under the Adamski family, more specifically stay in it. Only 7 or 8 when she first arrived, the young girl came into the family with a face drowned in tears, rain, and snot. In one hand was a small bunny toy and in the other was her father's hand. Her mother was nowhere to be seen, and the man offered no explanation for the child or the mother.
  
  Whilst it was common for the children of family members to grow up together despite how common betrayal was, Evangeline was never part of that group. Her so-called "impure" blood was constantly remarked upon by the elders in the family and most of the kids who wanted to kiss up to them. Her father, barely even there to look after her despite bringing to the Adamski's in the first place, said nothing about it.
  
  It didn't matter how much the brats tried to wear her down. Evangeline responded with a single smile so often that it stuck on her face before refocusing on her training, but it was clear early on she had a certain way with people. Maybe it was the way she easily provoked the brats and the elders, but Evangeline could get them to blurt anything she desired with a little push and pull. Obviously someone higher up saw an opportunity, especially with her mixed blood appearance, and she was assigned small recon tasks that eventually escalated into her current role as an Avancini infiltrator.
  
  Harrassers turned into kissasses overnight. Evangeline played nice, but she made sure they watched their backs every second. After all, it would simply be an occupational accident if they got "accidentally" killed by the Avancini. Not that she's pulled the strings to do so, but... who would miss them?
  
  The sudden rush of respect wasn't mutual among the family though. Elders began raising concerns surrounding her loyalties, especially since she practically blended in like a natural member of the Avancini. With the increasing tension, the suspicions around her intensified. With suspicions come mistrust, and mistrust means death.
  
  Maybe they're right to do so. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned after all.

  
  
• REPUTATION

  • .
  • .

  • HERSELF

    Evangeline has goals. She'll do whatever it takes to achieve them and has sold her pride and dignity to make baby steps to do so. She doesn't really have any thoughts about her actions and words. It's all a means to an end anyways. All that matters is how others perceive her. When a person dies, all that's left is their reputation. Some of the bits and pieces (read: rumors) she's heard about her include: being an Adamski spy for the Avancinis (the irony), an alcoholic who sleeps with anyone (lead to lots of unwanted advances), an orphan/adopted child, and is often underestimated as someone who was brought into the family out of pity because of her baby face.

    
    

    
    
    

    FAMILY

    After being brought to the Adamski family, her relationship with her parents faded into obscurity. Her father, Aleksy Nowak, left her to fend for herself as if he was ashamed of his own daughter. Although he exists, the two never talk. As far as Evangeline knows, her father doesn't care about her and is neutral. They're nothing more than associates of the same criminal family at this point. Her mother's opinion is unknown as Evangeline has never been back to visit.

    
    

    
    
    

    ADAMSKIS

    Generally, Evangeline is disliked. Impure blood, always with a smile on her face, and given an incredibly important mission despite all this, it's clear why. Elders and those with the same outdated ideology as them far outweigh the amount of people who actually like her, but those who do know she's as loyal as they come and incredibly vital to the operation of the Adamski family. She might even be a bit fond of some of them... not that she would ever admit that.

    
    

    
    
    

    AVANCINIS

    Evangeline keeps a relatively low profile but has been noted as a competent foot soldier. Also regarded as one of the more secretive members, she disappears for unspecified amounts of times but can always be found again. She tries to avoid interacting with leadership but can always find someone reliable who has loose lips and listen to them, making her seem like a great person to rant to by the other members.

    
    
  • NAME HERE

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    NAME HERE

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人
死
留
名

coded by reveriee.

 

[LeilaRF]

Harris Félicette

# adamski

# the hermit

♡coded by uxie♡

​

Full Name: Harris Avancini-Félicette

Nickname: Dirty Harry, Harry, Judas Boy

Age: 24

Gender: Cis Man

Sexuality: Bisexual

Ethnicity: French-Canadian, Polish

Family: Adamski

Role: The Hermit


Faceclaim: Damon Albarn

Appearance:

Harris has a lanky stature, standing at a perfectly average height of 5’10”. He bears the appetite of a tiger and the metabolism of a hummingbird, and his lean silhouette harbors a meager amount of muscle as a result. His dirty blonde hair is often messy, and never falls quite the same way. A pair of downturned baby-blue eyes bear lines of worry and weariness, yet are intense in their gaze and seem to pierce right through you. His skin is fair, and his hands riddled with callouses from their time spent painting and being the subject of anxious fidgeting.
Fashion: x x x


Personality:

He feels as if he’s always running; a white rabbit bounding aimlessly, erratically through the reeds and rushes, never even knowing what it is that stalks him through the tall grass. Those who meet him don’t know what to think of him; he’s soft-spoken, almost meek, yet carries himself with a strange, quiet self-assurance. Introspective, but not wise. Offbeat and quirky, yet endearing. When he isn’t a criminal, he’s an artist, drawn inexplicably from childhood to the abstract and colorful through oil on canvas. He spends a large amount of time reflecting and using his deep anger and frustration as a springboard for creative musings: canvas upon giant canvas of what looks to the untrained eye like unorganized, erratic amalgamations of color and grotesque shape. Rumors say he’s not to be trusted, and there’s not much proof out there to defend his honor. The way his eyes flit about during a conversation to avoid contact, which to him feels simultaneously invasive and vulnerable, makes him seem disingenuous- like a man with secrets to keep. At his core, Harris is deeply misunderstood, and doesn’t do much in the way of fixing that. He’s withdrawn, aloof, emotionally volatile, and horribly inept at conversation. Yet, underneath his exterior of paradox and mystery, he is a sensitive aesthete that is remarkably passionate and genuine towards those he takes a liking to.


Background:

Born to two Avancini captains, Antoni Avancini and Benoîte Félicette, Harris was used to being a part of the criminal life. He knew little else. From birth his parents paid him little attention, often hiring nannies to do the job for them while they focused most of their efforts on the syndicate. He accepted this as a fact of life in his youth: that his parents were simply too busy to love him.

The older he grew the more embittered he became, wondering why his parents even decided to have a child to begin with. Regardless, he grew surprisingly self-sufficient and independent very early on, estranged from his parents yet carrying out odd jobs at the family’s beck and call. The couple would engage in anything from gambling, loan sharking, drug-trafficking, and violent murder, though Harris himself was more suited to meticulous crime-scene cleanup. This was his main job, though he was also known to use his steady hand as a sniper, or just forge an occasional signature.

He was used to this life until his parents pulled the most unforeseeable stunt he had ever witnessed from them; a violent coup. In all his years of cleaning up after them, he had never seen so much blood and gore. So many thoughts flooded his head. How could they do this? WHY did they do this? How could they not warn him? At the end of the day, however, none of it mattered. In typical fashion, Harris was saddled with the consequences of his parent’s actions and banished from the only life he knew. He felt that maybe, somehow, joining the enemy would be the ultimate and final “fuck you” to his parents, and was welcomed by the Adamski family. He still hasn’t quite settled into his position as an Adamski, and can’t shake the feeling that he doesn’t truly belong anywhere anymore- a subtle but persistent monachopsis.

Reputation: Harris’ reputation is made up of mismatched whispers and inconsistent alibis. He is the black sheep wherever he is herded, and carries an aura of mutiny with him because of his parent’s actions. Some are sympathetic, most are wary, for who knows when he could turn heel like his old man? However, little else is truly known about him other than his eccentricities.


Extra:

• His zodiac sun sign is Pisces
• His favorite color is yellow
• His hands often carry traces of paint and charcoal
• He is perpetually tired and known for his frequent 4-hour naps
• He loves green apple four loko and the band Weezer
• Playlist

 

[fantasy]

• aa
• aa
• aa
• aa
• aa

• 
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  MONET

  
  
  
  

  the high priestess

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  Woo

  
  
  
  

  by Rihanna.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  name

  
  
  

  monet 'alexandria' carter

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  nicknames

  
  
  

  momo, money (jokingly)

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  gender

  
  
  

  nonbinary (she / her / they / them)

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  orientation.

  
  
  

  bisexual

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  age

  
  
  

  twenty-seven (april 19th)

  
  

  
  

  
  

  ethnicity.

  
  
  

  black, white, filipino, and indigenous (blackfoot & cherokee)

  
  

  
  

  
  

  role.

  
  
  

  the high priestess

  
  

  
  

  
  

  family.

  
  
  

  avancini

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
• 
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  height

  
  
  

  5' 5

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  weight

  
  
  

  135lbs

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  hair

  
  
  

  wavy black

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  eyes

  
  
  

  dark brown

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  build

  
  
  

  toned

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  fc

  
  
  

  kehlani parrish

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  paper solider

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  visage

  
  
  

  all devilish smiles and fluttering eyelashes, monet is a captivating vision for sore eyes—walking at a statute of 5’ 5, confidence enraptures their every step. thick waves of black medium length hair fall a few inches below their shoulders, often styled in a variety of ways but a personal favorite being anything that kept it out of their face. her eyes are a swathe of browns that pull you into the deep depths of umber, entrapping you in their abyssal willow, they speak to you; tell me everything, tell me your deepest desires, the secrets you hold so dear, i want to hear it all.
  
  tattoos of various designs and colors decorate her toned body, some with a particular meaning she holds dear and others that were created out of impulse. others may view the tattoos in disgust believing they ‘tainted’ her body, but monet doesn’t share the same sentiment. their body was their canvas, and it told a story to those who listened.

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
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  • .
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    vices

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    a few sweet words in honeyed tone and a flutter of their lashes—and watch the way they all fall down.
    
    monet has quickly learned spilled truths are harbored in the same way people collect old stamps, licked by the tongue of another and effectively useless until she’s dangling it above your head-ruining threats above your head like a finely sharpened guillotine until you spill. most of the town lies in the palm of their hand and they love every last bit of it. for years, monet was the underdog and now they rise above, drunk off the power of knowing they could ruin someone’s life in the blink of an eye. they’re a perfectly poised parasite, leeching onto those they find profitable and disposing of them when they see fit. to her, everyone is disposable and everyone has an expiration date until they betray you or you betray them. this cynical view of the world makes her incredibly power-hungry and willing to do anything for the sake of herself and the avancini family, no matter the cost. she can be brash and callous at times, desperation and hunger hides in the pit of her body—snapping up any advantages to stand above the crowd and high above the ground she used to call home.
    
    they’re withdrawn, and unwilling to indulge in their own emotions, often putting the focus on others so they’ll never bother to ask. emotions to them are pesky, especially in this line of work—they view them as a burden on themselves in fear they’ll be considered weak. she believes those who are able to wear their heart on their sleeve are both brave and stupid, to be so willing to be manipulated and bent under someone else’s will is something she’ll never quite understand.
    
    

    
    
    
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    virtues

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    monet is viewed as a generally likable person—caring when necessary, perceptive, and rather sociable they get along with everyone. to the outside world monet is the person others come to when they need advice, when they need calming down, or when they need someone with a level-head to talk sense into them. like a moth to a flame, people are drawn in and monet takes full advantage of this fact. she’s quick to prey on the unsuspecting ones that find themselves encaptured in her web, and speaks sickly sweet words in their ears beckoning to hear something of interest. they’re a people-person at heart, and enjoys surrounding themselves in the company of those they consider friends; the avancini’s in particular. they’re not loyal to many, but the avancini’s hold a place special in their heart that none could compare to, and for that they would burn down the whole damn world for them.
    
    relying on her own instincts rather than her conscious mind or other methodically thought-out plans, monet is intuitive. she doesn’t bother with planning or being analytical and simply goes on what her gut tells her—it’s a dangerous game to play, but it’s never steered her in the wrong direction. they’re spontaneous on the brink of impulsive, and it’s hard to know what to expect when it comes to monet, but always know it’s never a bad time spent when it’s with her.
    

    
    
    
  • 
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    reputation

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. In auctor nunc a metus hendrerit, sit amet pretium ex congue. Duis molestie metus felis, et sodales eros interdum quis. Sed sollicitudin, ex ut mattis viverra, nisi lectus aliquam eros, eget finibus magna turpis volutpat massa. Donec interdum finibus nisi, at gravida sapien finibus sit amet. Donec eget tortor et odio tincidunt feugiat non ac dolor. Ut tristique magna quis consequat mattis. Aliquam eleifend odio et placerat pellentesque. Nunc risus velit, semper vel tincidunt eu, tincidunt vel tellus. Morbi faucibus nisi quis purus malesuada congue. Aliquam id velit sed elit sodales auctor. Phasellus lorem diam, ultricies at rhoncus et, sagittis ut lorem. Nulla ut vestibulum est. Aenean pulvinar nulla at dignissim vestibulum.
    
    Pellentesque feugiat est ac metus tempor vehicula. Integer magna velit, accumsan vitae odio et, pulvinar suscipit urna. Mauris et felis vitae purus feugiat fringilla vitae ut risus. Pellentesque placerat est nec justo pretium luctus. Mauris porta, nibh in mattis vehicula, ipsum tortor egestas velit, id aliquet sem libero ut massa. Integer ut nunc quis dolor lacinia volutpat a eget dolor. Etiam euismod nisl sit amet ipsum maximus, sit amet viverra leo porttitor. Curabitur ullamcorper, turpis ac aliquam fringilla, mi tortor viverra nulla, at ultrices neque ligula in mass.
    

    
    
    

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  AESTHETICS

  
  
  
  

  hearing whispers in the wind that no one seems to notice, blasting music while driving around the city at 3am, necklaces hanging out of jewelry box, bedroom being left in a disarray after a night outing, dimmed lights, the tender voice of manipulation, weirdly shaped mugs, spilled red wine, the constant ringing of a phone.

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  SKILLS

  
  
  
  

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit.

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  HABITS

  
  
  
  

  fiddles with her hair when nervous, covers their mouth when laughing or smiling, talks enthusiastically with hands, deliberately throws all plans out the window because monet knows best,

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
• 
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  history

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  chosen for the damned

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  they’re only ten when they realize how much people listened to them. stringing along their peers with stories that held little truth, they tell their peers what they’ve heard and follow with what they believe they’d want to hear. their classmates fight over them—envelopes of birthday invitations thrusted into their hands, friendship bracelets that dangle off their wrist, and matching necklaces that fit perfectly into one.
  
  at the age of eleven, monet learns the weight words carry and how they pull. they don’t care much for the attention, as much as they do for the control—witnessing the way people clung to every word that fell from their lips like a spider to a web.
  
  when they’re twelve, they witness the way cruel people behave and how easily they trip and fall from the vines that sprout from beneath their feet. from this they learn; to survive in a world where fragility exists, they must shatter themselves so that no one can weaponize it against them.
  
  they’re thirteen, when they realize how much people gravitate towards them; people love them, they cherish them and monet holds onto their sentiments dearly until their sentiments are directed elsewhere. with corkscrew blonde curls and blue hues mirroring the sky, monet stared into the eyes of their reckoning. no longer was their posse captivated with monet’s sweet tone, but to the new girl whose british accent was ‘simply to die for.’
  
  monet thought little of the new girl, and hadn't viewed her as a threat until they were pushing the new girl down the stairwell. the new girl was okay, no major injuries, and no one had seen it but it changed the trajectory of monet’s life for the worse. their father’s importance persuaded the girl’s papers not to speak, but monet’s parents believed their new instilled possessiveness of their friends had grown dangerous and would only go worse if they stayed.
  
  when she’s fourteen, she’s plucked from her home and shipped off to a boarding school across the country—her father’s money pays for the exile and her mother’s rage keeps her away.
  
  unbeknownst to monet, it’d be the last time she’d see them.
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  taking the world by her teeth

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  at the age of eighteen, her parents become a distant memory and the home she longed for all those years was no longer recognized as home. anger festered in her heart like an unkempt flame for how easily her parents discarded of her; a stain on their reputation that she grew to wear proudly.
  
  without the sheltering of the boarding school, and the assistance of her parents, the streets soon became her new home. she bounced from home to home, from the cold concrete under the night sky to the sticky leather seats of a car. her father struggled to keep contact with monet, pleading for the little girl he loved so dearly to return home, but his pleas fell on deaf ears and eventually he stopped trying. his little girl was dead and in her place was someone birthed from the streets.
  
  the streets taught her to be a fighter, a wolf amongst lions. it taught her to fight till her lungs gave way, and her claws bled. to be green with envy, and to strive for her own. here, she bound herself to the ways of the wicked, and made her own way amongst the public to take her own destiny by the hands.
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
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  relationships.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  name of rel

  
  
  

  role | relationship

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. In auctor nunc a metus hendrerit, sit amet pretium ex congue. Duis molestie metus felis, et sodales eros interdum quis. Sed sollicitudin, ex ut mattis viverra, nisi lectus aliquam eros, eget finibus magna turpis volutpat massa. Donec interdum finibus nisi, at gravida sapien finibus sit amet.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  name of rel

  
  
  

  role | relationship

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. In auctor nunc a metus hendrerit, sit amet pretium ex congue. Duis molestie metus felis, et sodales eros interdum quis. Sed sollicitudin, ex ut mattis viverra, nisi lectus aliquam eros, eget finibus magna turpis volutpat massa. Donec interdum finibus nisi, at gravida sapien finibus sit amet.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

nine lives

 

[Elucid]

/*top banner*/

I shall die, but that is all that I shall do for Death. I hear him leading his horse out of the stall; I hear the clatter on the barn-floor.

/*left middle*/

Tomasz Adamski

/*right middle*/

26

Cis Male

8th July

St.'s Heights

/*left bottom*/

Moonshine

/*middle bottom*/

home

inside

life

• 01
• 02
• 03

• 
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  Sexuality: Heterosexual
  Ethnicity: Polish-American
  Family: Adamski
  Role: The Moon
  Faceclaim: Zane Holtz
  Reputation: The prodigal son, with deep pockets and deeper insecurities. Everyone knows Tomasz as the middle child of the 'pater familias', but they assume that he and the old man don't see eye to eye on most things. This owing to him being absent from Saint's Heights for the better part of the last four years. From what everyone remembers, Tomasz had been a bit of a disappointment. Hot-headed was perhaps an understatement; the kid had a violent streak that disturbed even the most hardened capo in the family. Of course, these fights he'd pick were never really fair. How could they be? When you've got two burly men with poorly concealed firearms on standby as you beat a man within an inch of his life with a bar stool. Perhaps the years away have been good for Tomasz. He's back in the Heights with a woman he says he'll marry. Not the first time this has happened, but this one seems different from all the WASPish preppy college students he'd been bringing to the dinner table before, to the ire of his father. No, this one seems far too cunning for her own good, perched like a raven on his shoulders, tempting and tempering his rage. But to what end?

  
  
  

  Caveat emptor.

  
  

  See no evil.

  
  

  Appearance: Tomasz is of average height, well-built and not too bad on the eyes. He has jet-black hair packed tightly together like a yuppie from the 80s. He can usually be seen sporting the uninspired combination of a sharp suit and tie, which while being bespoke, still looked a bit uncomfortable on him. To accessorise, he wears gold cufflinks and prescription glasses, except when he rarely decides to switch them out in favour of contacts.
  
  
• 
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  Unpredictable. That's perhaps the best way to describe Tomasz. One moment he's witty, thoughtful, kind even, and then there's some trigger; it could be something as simple as someone looking at him the wrong way, and just like that, it isn't the same Tomasz anymore. There's a saying in Polish, 'a donkey doesn't become a zebra just because you paint some stripes on it.' Tomasz's goal in life up until his return to the Heights was to prove this adage wrong. Like his brothers, he too was sent to the best schools money could buy. But unlike them, Tomasz, now Tom, was perhaps the most seduced by all things Americana. He wanted so badly to be like everyone else. The sons and daughters of businessmen, diplomats and politicians. But the sons of gentiles don't get into bar fights, don't skip classes to raise hell around the city, and most of all, they don't 'know a guy who can hook them up for the party tomorrow.' Still, Tomasz's family name had its benefits. He guessed that at least some of his 'conquests' were with him because of the novelty of dating a mobster. That is, without having to go all the way to the wrong side of town. At the end of the day, he was Pole from Saint's Heights, from a family that, despite trying its hardest to drape itself with the affectations of wealth and respectability, were still dealers in dirt and grime.

  
  
• 
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  Tomasz had always been a troubled child. For a long while, little Tomasz was almost unresponsive in any social situation, except for when he was with his younger brother or some trusted authority figure, which certainly did not include his father. His grades were not stellar, and there was much concern that he may have to be left behind for a year. Although, that never came to pass.
  
  He was a gifted athlete, particularly in track and field, for which he'd once been shortlisted for the state championship. There was also boxing, which Tomasz had started at his father's insistence. Most of his free time would be spent with the kids of some of the underbosses, who'd introduce him to places and people he'd never have known about otherwise. By the time he'd gotten to his early teens, the timid boy from before seemed to have broken out of his shell. And the company he'd keep came to define a lot of his character. He'd become brash, easy to provoke and prone to violence. It also turned out that Tomasz wasn't as dull as people thought him to be, at least when it came to settling scores. Never was he involved in a fight that he didn't choose, and that made all the difference. His behaviour was never really questioned; heck, it was almost silently encouraged.
  
  The first time he'd kill someone was an accident. He was seventeen and was accompanying a couple guys that wanted to collect the money a dry cleaner's business owed the bosses in this small-time loan shark operation they were running. They thought to rough up the man a little bit, raid the cash register and come back next time. Only what they didn't know was that the man had a heart condition. He was already dead by the time they got him on the ground, but they kept going. It wasn't tough dodging the cops; everyone figured that since they were with the boss' son, they'd find some other patsy and pin the crime on them. And that's precisely what happened. No one ever spoke a word about it in the family. It was like it simply never happened.
  
  The last time Tomasz would take a life was four years ago. He'd just returned from college for the summer break. Deciding to hang out with a couple old friends at this joint in a relatively upscale part of town. Tensions with the Avancini were high; some Adamski men had been missing, likely due to some sort of localised turf war. Still, all-out conflict was terrible for business, and the situation was kept from boiling over all across Saint's Heights. Their group had spotted a known made man of the Avancini drinking himself blind, all alone. The guy probably thought himself untouchable. He was wrong. The body would wash up on the shores of the East River the next day, mangled and bloody. A week later and Tomasz was nowhere to be seen. There was a lot of speculation about where he might've been. Guadalajara maybe? Or some such far-off place. Everyone assumed he'd be brought back after the peace with the Avancini was official. But no, it'd take a freak incident, a tragic house fire, to convince the emperor to recall his spawn.

  
  
  

  
  

  
  

/*right bottom*/

/*DO NOT REMOVE CREDIT*/

© weldherwings.

 

[mxlly]

Aimed to Kill

artist

strength

R

equisite.

name

Carmensita Da Costa Rocha

a.k.a.

Carmen

age

Twenty-six

gender

Cis-woman

Sexuality

Lesbian/homosexual

Ethnicity

Brazilian

Family

Avancini

Role

Strength

p

syche.

It’s easy to be spontaneous when you have the means.

With a constant overflow of time and money, Carmen is an investor in last-minute plans and a kick-starter of ridiculous business endeavors. Burning hot and fast, she involves herself with the pipe dreams of others, sticking around long enough to see them crash in a blaze before moving to the next—a bad omen; those who see Carmen circling should count their blessings and scram...unless they can afford to lose. "So she's an irresponsible child. Does she care about anything?" Well...some things. Her risks are calculated, and her close circle is vetted; one thing Carmen can't afford is to lose her footing and slip up, to expose herself to the vultures that eye her fortune and birthright would be a humiliation. So she remains private, her social media limited to a point where she is almost un-contactable. She'll reach out to you if she needs something. "So...she only cares for herself?" Not exactly. Having been born into riches, Carmen is no stranger to the greed of man. A pitiful friend of deceit, she knows the feeling of betrayal all too well—that sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach when you realize you've been used, and that the person who's been holding you so tightly is just imagining what they can squeeze out of you. So she does not love as she used to; whenever a heart broke, it had always been hers. "Okay, so she's both selfish and insecure?" Right, but she doesn't show it. Living in the fast lane, getting around, throwing outrageously lavish parties, and sticking her nose in other people's business are her favorite distractions. A thorn in the side of most, Carmen fronts a cool outer shell, a snide demeanor, and manners that would have anyone's grandmother rolling in their grave. One might suspect her greatest ambition is the downfall of others...so if Carmen sees you tripping, you might just get that extra shove you need to fall on your face.

Aspects

Personable, charismatic, flirtatious, self-assured, extroverted, snarky, roguish, playful, private, free-spirited, athletic, undisciplined, nosy, vexing.

h

istory

With ties as delicate as glass, the Rocha family is a fractured mirror; Carmen’s fingers dripping with blood as she tries to piece them together--the feigned appearance of something unbroken. A menage of wickedness and secrets that Carmen will take to her grave, her father’s bond with the Avancini’s is all that keeps her breathing. The only daughter of Gabriel and Chiara Rocha, Carmen was bequeathed her family's wealth, as well as the full weight of their expectations. As a child she was ignorant of her future, her parents waving a shiny new toy before her to distract her from their ever-growing absence. Raised by a rotating door of nannies, Carmen had more mother figures than she can count on her fingers…she would never forget her favorite though, no. Her father’s mistress, french heiress, Lea Dupont. Her father’s relationship with Lea was no secret amongst the wealthy elite of Saint’s Heights, with the heiress casually professing Gabriel’s intent to remarry to anyone within earshot. However, Lea’s wishes could never come to fruition, with Carmen discovering the mistress’ lifeless body one evening--sprawled over the chaise lounge, eyes staring at the ceiling as the chandelier burnt a bright light overhead. Unblinking. Carmen was twelve. She had loved Lea more than her own mother and needed to know the truth, but there was no autopsy.
.
Carmen’s juvenile years were a torrent of false promises, snuffed hopes, and poisonous gossip. She was gifted nothing but time--her parents found her burdensome and paid for every extracurricular activity they could to keep Carmen preoccupied; a hug from their daughter would be next to repulsive. Still, she cared for them. She would keep the attention of her father, tongue bit hard, mouth tasting of iron as she distracted him from catching her mother’s newest suitor--again, and again. She kept his secrets too; wandering through the door drunk, breath sterile, and missing whatever expensive watch he’d gambled, Carmen would help her father up the stairs to his room, and he’d buy her silence with a new tennis bracelet or diamond earrings. The Rocha’s domestic issues were a stain on Carmen’s painting. She tried to hide the marks, but the families of Saint’s Heights could be vicious. Rumors circulated in her school; the Rocha’s were new money with a habit for spending--embracing all of life’s fruits, but perhaps the family’s carpe diem tendencies were a weak spot, and even baby sharks could be scrappy. Judging eyes lingered on her as she walked the halls, and Carmen was quiet--she was kind, a doormat, and easy pickings for most. So she got mean, reminding herself that despite being a Rocha, she was also an Avancini--and complacency was embarrassing.
.
Carmen’s second brush with death was during her eighteenth birthday party. An invite to one of her soirees was typically a rare find, but she wanted to get messy. A swarm of underage, intoxicated teenagers on a yacht in the middle of the ocean, bodies pressed tightly together, the scent of body spray, beer, and saltwater mingling as a plethora of bad decisions are made. It was a rogue gun from nowhere, and a bullet, fast enough to sink itself into Carmen’s ex-fiance, Paolo Ricci, that kissed whatever good memory she had of the night goodbye. She returned home in the morning wrapped tightly in a towel, with scratches on her knees, salt in her hair, and two parents disappointed that she could no longer be married off...burdensome. The rumors that plagued Carmen after that night were rich with fantastical speculations: a familial dispute, a jilted lover, a good old-fashioned accident--it appeared nothing was out of the question...but Carmen never lingered on it, perhaps it were that evening that sparked her devil-may-care outlook, her desire for the fleeting and short-lived. She refused to be weighed down. Life was evanescent, and Carmen could do whatever she wanted with it.
.
Brushed off by her own flesh-and-blood, Carmen is fortunate that the Rocha's ties to the Avancini's run deep. Raised with the family, she has no qualm with showing up out of the blue and sticking her foot in issues that likely don't concern her. You'll hear her laugh before you see her--sitting in the corner of the room, looking for something to do or someone to jab at...occasionally she'll carry a walking stick, so don't be surprised if one receives a literal jab. A magnet to the rambling and self-absorbed, Carmen has filled her life with other people's problems...it amuses her. A pick-up artist wrapped in a neat little bow and an outrageously expensive suit, she spends the evening listening to another's woes, provides some horrid advice, and vanishes in the morning: a recipe that has kept her from spending time considering legitimate career goals. Though, as the years roll by and Gabriel Rocha's health takes a steep decline, life's held a mirror to Carmen that she refuses to look at--her family needs someone to keep them afloat, and she knows it has to be her.

R

eputation

A lover of life's finer things, Carmen has an affinity for designer clothing, expensive sports cars, and pretty women. The wild and roguish cousin-adjacent member of the Avancini family, she has made it very clear she cares very little about some and doesn't give a damn about most. Or at least, that's her front. The embodiment of a storm with no destination, she's known for kicking up some dust; pulling some strings to see what she can unravel, before moving on to the next. Words like "reckless" "spoilt" and "wicked" come with the name Carmensita Da Costa Rocha--though no one dare say it to the trust-fund baby's face. The eager eyes of Saint's Heights see her as an idle glass case stuffed with cash. It brings Carmen great pleasure to see others frothing at the mouth, their skin itching as she sits alone atop her family's wealth and legacy. Everyone wants a bite...but that puts Carmen in a sticky situation.
.
She keeps her online interactions minimal and only converses with her tightest circle over social media. Unless you have Carmen's phone number, don't even bother--she can be somewhat of a cryptid in that respect. In her tagged photos, Carmen has been spotted on her boat, on the tennis court, at the gym, or walking her two greyhounds, Griffon and Little-foot through the Heights. Occasionally a snap of her entangled with her latest fling has found its way online, but they're always taken down faster than you can say sleaze. She has no issue with spilling the drama of others, but god forbid you choose to expose her business.
.
And of course, she isn't free from the clawed grasp of Saint's Heights' rumor mill. An illegitimate daughter some say--she looks everything like her mother, and barely like her father...and if the Rocha's history with infidelity could speak, many wonder what it would say. Bastard some speculate, but many chalk that up to sheer jealousy--and at least that does not carry the same weight as killer. Her ex-fiance's murder. Carmen cackles at the thought. Eight years have passed and some still gossip about Paolo and Carmen's doomed marriage: a woman who has shown no interest in men, and a man known for his boorish behavior...but murder? She can't help but roll her eyes--though her unwillingness to discuss the events of that night hasn't done much to clear her name.

O

ther

Playlist ♪
Don't Blame Me -- Taylor Swift
Perfect Places -- Lorde
Make Up Your Mind -- Florence + The Machine
People Watching -- Conan Gray
American Money -- BØRNS
--
Languages
Portuguese, Spanish, English [Fluent]
French, Italian [Conversational]
--
Faceclaim ❣
Marina Moschen

g

allery.

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[boo.]

scroll

scroll

❝

Darling, you've been my greatest defeat.

high priestess

hugo.

full name

hugo young.

nicknames

n/a.

age

thirty.

d.o.b.

january 4th.

family

avancini.

ethnicity

german/korean.

sexuality

bisexual.

chewing cotton wool

cavetown

01.

visage

height

five-foot-eleven.

weight

160 lbs.

body type

thicc

hair c.

coarse black.

eye c.

dark brown.

attire style

x x x x

faceclaim

lee jong-won.

02.

psyche

Meticulous. Polite. Calm. Hugo's the quiet presence in the room that no one can forget about, even if he's nowhere near the center of attention. Some people blame it on the fact that he's Emilio's right hand man. Others say it's because he's always listening, and he never lets you forget it. Either way, you'd better watch what you say around him, becuase Hugo never forgets.

Hugo's focus is unmatched. Some might call it having a one-track mind; Hugo calls it having priorities. He's the kind of person that will write up a physical list of what needs done, and whatever is not on the list is something he refuses to consider. While he doesn't strive to be the kind of person that everyone likes, he's aware and sensitive to what others say about him. As a rule, however, he believes that others can lick their wounds, just as he's done, and as long as they do what they're supposed to do, he doesn't care how they end up.

Strong-willed, Hugo has an analytical mind, one that doesn't usually have trouble reading people like books. His tactics are ruthless and efficient, attaining their goal with as little recoil as possible. So long as it's done to serve the Avancini family, Hugo doesn't have much of a conscience when it comes to the work he has to do—violence is a second language that he's fluent in, something that doesn't bother him anymore. He deals it out in kind and is no stranger to seeking vengeance, especially toward those who have hurt his own. His need to protect those under his watch is fierce, something of a pack instinct.

Those who chose to talk back to Hugo will be met with little more than a dead glare. Very rarely does he raise his voice, but when he does, you can be sure it will be heard throughout the city. Regardless, the scariest part about Hugo isn't his low moral standard or the stories that circulate about the jobs he's completed—it's the way he simply doesn't react.

But that doesn’t mean he’s without feelings. On the contrary, Hugo feels everything all the time. He’s a passionate man that sometimes isn’t quite sure how to express himself, because the last time he allowed his feelings to govern him, someone close to him died. When he tries to be genuine, it usually comes off as awkward, so he simply chooses not to let others read him.

Since his brother's death, something about Hugo has changed. It's subtle, visible only in the shadow trailing along the walls behind him, like a dark cloud threatening rain. It's the first secret he's actively tried to keep from Emilio, and it's something he's convinced he can overcome by himself—loneliness. For the first time in his life, Hugo feels truly alone, and deep within him is a craving to find someone who can provide him with the security he so desperately needs.

He's the side character in a tragedy, left to linger and mourn. The emptiness within him grows a little stronger every day.

likes

hot tea; chewing ice; making food at 3am; new pens; soft 80's rock; menthol cigarettes; grape-flavored anything

dislikes

cold metal; condensation on his glass of ice water; glasses, but he hates contacts more; furry animals; refuses to eat peanut butter

fears

being stuck in a situation where he can watch but not act

03.

history

"It's not a childhood to waste time remembering."

Hugo dismisses his youth as white noise. Raised by a single father and a bitch of a stepmother—turns out they really are evil—the good things of life seemed destined for other people. It was just him and his younger brother Jakob against the world. Neither of them realized it, but having each other was the greatest gift they could have had; their bond was forged in steel, an unbreakable chain that pulled them out of poverty and want and into a bigger, wilder world.

"There's more out there, Jakob, more than this! All we have to do is reach for it."

Pushed by ambitions that outnumbered their bad memories, Hugo and Jakob left home, armed with a stack of bills and a loaded pistol stolen from their father's safe. For the first time they could see past the trash can on the curb, see that there really was more waiting for them. As the older brother, Hugo was fiercely protective of Jakob; in return, Jakob saw in his brother the man that he wanted to become: strong, caring, and willing to do whatever it took.

Things changed when he met Emilio Ahn. He found himself drawn in by the man’s wild confidence, but still distrusting of him, kept him from Jakob. There was something about him he couldn’t explain, but something he couldn’t forget, either.

Perhaps that was why they were drawn to Avancini family—it was a wild, dynamic place but it felt right. Joined in heart and mind, Hugo and Jakob became a fearsome duo, something of a brute force. They had an unspoken language between them and a fire in their souls that burned bright.

"I trust Jakob with my life. He'll be fine."

But just because life was better didn't mean it was perfect. Jakob started drinking and Hugo didn't think anything of it. He drank more and Hugo started watching him. He'd come home vomiting on the front steps and Hugo finally realized his brother had fallen into a hole he couldn't pull him out of. If he tried to talk to him about it, Jakob would push him away, and because he was desperate to keep his brother at his side, Hugo decided to pretend it wasn't happening. Was it because of something he'd done? The more that Hugo turned to Emilio for direction, the worse Jakob seemed to get until one night he didn't come home.

A day passed.

Two days passed. Three days and Jakob's body was found stuffed in a dumpster in a crooked alleyway, his neck lacerated from the glass shards of an empty bottle. No evidence from the killer and no answers. There were three people at his funeral.

"I'm fine."

This happened a year ago. If Hugo had been on his own, perhaps he would have followed Jakob down the same path. Even now, he'll find himself slipping down the slippery neck of a bottle during particularly lonely nights. But Emilio is his anchor, and the man bears more sway over him than he knows or cares to admit. Hugo lives, and he fights, for now.

04.

gallery

05.

connections

character name

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Suspendisse finibus erat mi, vel consectetur neque ultrices a. Nulla facilisi. Fusce at quam ut sem pharetra posuere nec nec enim. Mauris rhoncus fermentum sapien, ac finibus mi tempus sed.

kiko na chiangmai

She's a book in a language he never learned. Her unpredictability unsettles him, even used to frustrate him, but a few years have mellowed him out, and now he's content to let her do her thing, so long as it doesn't come into conflict with him. Emilio's the mutual friend, so when he's gone, it's all small talk and nothing real. Hugo isn't sure he likes that Emilio and Kiko are still as close as they are after everything that happened between them; there's certainly nothing wrong but he can't put his finger on what's bothering him so much.
That being said, Kiko knows her shit and it's something about her that Hugo is learning how to trust.

hero edmund bechtel

As the holder of secrets, Hugo knows who Hero is, and he doesn't like it. He feels like he's watching a lit fuse, even though Hero hasn't done anything has proved his alliances lay with the Adamski.
Yet.
Hugo will continue to circle him until he discovers the truth—with or without Hero's cooperation.

character name

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06.

miscellaneous

reputation

"i heard he went on a rampage, looking for the person who killed him. couldn't find anything about them."

"stay out of his way—i've seen him walk into the torture chamber with a smile on his face."

"he lives alone but he sure does go out a lot to drink."

"sometimes he looks like he isn't paying attention but then he'll saying something about you that you didn't remember telling him."

"he fights dirty. i've never been able to pin down one particular fighting style with him—it's like he's the mongrel of hand-to-hand combat."

combat/weapons

Some people have those fancy one-on-one combat skills, but Hugo never had the opportunity to train like that. He was raised on the streets and learned to fight like a cornered dog—wild and unpredictable. His instincts are honed like a double-edged blade, not only keeping himself in motion but analyzing his opponent's style and weaknesses. The longer he fights with someone, the more he can take advantage of them.

Hugo's the one that will bring a handgun to a fistfight. He's more comfortable with a trigger to pull, whether that be his father's small handgun that he still possesses or the a assault rifle that does wonders for getting a point across to even the most stubborn of adversaries. Years of practice have hammered good aim into the palms of his hands; he focuses with deadly precision, not the slightest tremble through his fingers, and prefers to waste as few bullets as possible. The pads of his fingers are worn smooth with the bad habit in his youth of handling hot weaponry.

extra

- english is his first and only language
- horrible handwriting
- moderate piano skills
- very bad posture (slouches in every chair)
- has gone through five pairs of glasses in two years because he throws them a lot
- used to play cod with his brother
- has never tried sushi
- wears a lot of rings bc he thinks it looks sexy
- do not ask why he hates peanut butter

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[.V1LLAINISM._]

WHO’S YOUR PROTECTOR?

#Mr. Kim #Temperance

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[.V1LLAINISM._]

Aren’t We All Sinners?

#Jin Ahn #The Devil

Full Name: Ahn Jin-Hae
Nickname: Jin
Age: 30
Gender: Cis.male
Sexuality: Pansexual Panromantic
Ethnicity: East Asian // Korean
Family: The Avacini
Role: The Devil

Faceclaim: Lee Soo-hyuk
Height: 6”2
Weight: 181 lbs

Personality: HIS NAME often follows a warning, tumbling from soft lips and onto cold concrete, a piercing whisper as it cascades, hushed, afraid. “Don’t look into his eyes” they say “It’s how he gets you.” A quiet moment of remorse. And then, holding out their ruptured hearts, they whisper,“That’s how he got me.”

He was never thought to be anything serious — class clown, sex god, party host, a man known for fun and fun alone, the words Jin Ahn are synonymous with the Devil himself, as if meshed and moulded together until finally they became one. And perhaps that is why he wears the face of Lucifer so well, for he is his product— coquettish, alluring, a sort of charm you’d only succumb to in messy bathrooms or bedrooms, away from the party and a frenzy in the arms of a handsome stranger. A stranger who will leave you just as fast as he first said hello. You’ll wake up the next morning and so will he, but be warned: there will be no good mornings, no goodbye kisses, not even a word. Only a once-over and an exit. No strings attached, just as it always is.
And isn’t he an expert at that? Escaping?

But there are times where he wishes he could be different. Moments where, he feels as if he is the only man left on Earth, alone on the floor, discarded, a life wasted in a body that withers with with each passing breath. He wishes that he wasn’t bad, didn’t do the bad things that came so natural to him — a vice walking, he remembers someone calling him that once, shaking their head as if his existence was a burden and nothing more. And it is, he knows this, that’s why you’ll find at the end of every bottle, every line or embrace, whatever it takes to make him forget that he is him. The devil.

Background: A lonely night. A broken promise. That is how Jin-hae was born, with his father in the embrace of another, his mother— his true mother a memory of which he could never bear. He wonders now if she would’ve liked him, loved him more than the bitter gaze that he so often met, more than the sorry eyes of his father, which were only miserable for himself. He wonders now if he would have had the chance- if any -to learn how to love and to be loved. But he was taught nothing, he knows nothing.
They say that childhood is this: you suffer, you hate, you forget. You forget what it was that hurt you but never forget how it felt. And you continue to hate, to suffer without the infliction, dry wounds cracking open at the odd hours of the night. A boy born with everything at the cost of bearing nothing more, his name was Jin-hae

Oh, how his life was ruined before he could even begin to live it.

Reputation: A man who, like fireworks is a vision from afar but a great danger up close; A modern-day Gatsby, his parties just as big as his pining, always adorned with a pair of sunglasses, a little baggy of yknow and a jumble of other things in his pocket. There’s very many reasons why people seem to both love and hate him, but oh well, they’ll come around eventually.

Aesthetic: low lights, loud music, the taste of alcohol, dancing bodies, sweat, the echos of music seeping into the bathroom, splashes of cold water to the face, dirty sinks and cluttered mess, clothes cast astrewn, the emptiness that comes afterward, cigarettes, balconies, laughter, memories, cigarette smoke, morning fog, silent tears, kitchen floors, complete and utter helplessness, memories.

 

[ravensunset]

scroll

scroll

❝

Golden child,
Lion boy;
Tell me what it's like to conquer.

oh darling, even rome fell

the hierophant

Marzanna

Full Name

Marzanna Antonia Adamski

nicknames

Marzi, Toni

gender and pronouns

Female, she/her

age

27

family

Adamski

role

The Hierophant

ethnicity

Polish

sexuality

Bisexual

01.

visage

faceclaim

Willa Fitzgerald

appearance

Framing an oval face, Marzanna's waist long blonde hair is rarely seen styled other than in a neat ponytail, kept back in a practical manner. With a strong jaw and a prominent nose, she has a distinctive look about her, which is only enhanced by the intense blue of her eyes. Marzanna stands at about 5'8, although it isn't uncommon to find her wearing small heels only adding to that. She's not a large woman, but her sleeves and outfit choices often hide a modestly muscular physique, earned from a mix of hobbies, exercise, and basic martial arts training---with her position, preparation for a number of situations seemed almost a necessity.

attire

Even with a closet of designer, custom made apparel crafted to any of her whims, Marzanna often seems to be stuck in a traditional style of dress. Although she pays attention to the practicality of her outfits, and prefers pants to skirts, she's often distinctly feminine and some would say old fashioned in her outfit choices, often with a clearly expensive blouse and simple jewelry choice. She tends towards the side of formality, always making sure to look presentable, even on private or casual occasions.

02.

psyche

In a game of nature or nurture, Marzanna's nurture was a manacle of expectation. In all outward appearances, it would seem to have won, too. She's always been wound a little tightly, always on high alert and trained to be prepared for anything, her muscles never fully relaxed. She's reserved, keeping a façade of calm about her, never raising her temper in favor of icy silence. But how long can even the most ruthless keep up playing against the barest expression of emotion, squeezing into a rigid box?

It's no secret that many are curious about her, that was to be the case from her birth, but the curiosity is only enhanced by how little sincerity she shows the world. Her words calculated and precise, she's always playing a game, her persona the character kept up against a world that has its breath caught waiting for her to take the wrong move. For now, however, it seems she's got the rules figured out, and it reflects in the way she interacts with those around her. Marzanna's polite, social, exceptionally mannered, but has never been known to show a shred of kindness.

Marzanna keeps herself busy, slamming into studying and hobbies and the needs of her family, not a single step out of line of being their perfect heir. Intelligent, charming, unflinching, everything that could be taught to her. Marzanna’s driving force has always been her family; a desire to impress them, to fulfill that expectation as if it's the only thing she knew. As, in a way, it was. She couldn't have had the time to question how this life suited her, or whether there even was a her outside of the heir of the Adamski.

Although, the hints of tiredness creeping into her eyes is no less from that busy life than from wishful nights staring out the window, searching for what more the world might have to offer. Many wonder if she's capable of being a good leader someday, whether her ambition digs deep enough for it, or whether she's just excellent at pretending to be.

03.

history

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. In accumsan odio justo, sit amet pellentesque velit vulputate at. Phasellus non rhoncus leo. Nullam consectetur, libero nec luctus ultrices, leo risus posuere nulla, a pharetra nulla quam quis ligula. Cras eros tellus, mollis non massa a, lacinia pretium felis. Integer et lectus eget est pellentesque consectetur in et nulla. Fusce elit erat, facilisis et augue sit amet, fringilla aliquet neque. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Aenean ac leo ornare, dignissim libero ac, ullamcorper mauris. Aenean congue venenatis lacinia.

04.

gallery

05.

connections

character name

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character name

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Suspendisse finibus erat mi, vel consectetur neque ultrices a. Nulla facilisi. Fusce at quam ut sem pharetra posuere nec nec enim. Mauris rhoncus fermentum sapien, ac finibus mi tempus sed.

character name

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character name

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Suspendisse finibus erat mi, vel consectetur neque ultrices a. Nulla facilisi. Fusce at quam ut sem pharetra posuere nec nec enim. Mauris rhoncus fermentum sapien, ac finibus mi tempus sed.

06.

miscellaneous

Extra

As heir and deputy, Marzanna has basic training in various forms of combat, firing a gun, and has practice commanding and overseeing branches of the Adamski. Most of what she knows comes from her education and family. However, she's yet to show hesitation to cause harm if asked. Beyond the skills directly related to the Adamski's line of work, Marzanna's hobbies included horseback riding and playing piano. She speaks English, Polish, and Spanish, having learned the latter through her schooling.

Reputation

Marzanna is, to no surprise, known and watched around the city. Keeping herself from being directly under the public eye, she's managed to keep up the impression of being a perfect poster child, just what's expected of her. Well, almost. When she was around 17, she wasn't seen or heard from for an entire year. The family keeps it under wraps, as though nothing had been amiss, but there's no stopping rumors or what they might be covering up.

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[livingdead]

V.
the lovers
scroll.

god am
alice in chains

BASICS
NAME: Arden Ito Hamasaki
D.O.B: November 8th
AGE: Twenty-two
GENDER: Trans-male; he/they
ORIENTATION: Bisexual
ETHNICITY: Japanese-American
FAMILY: Avancini
ROLE: The Lovers

APPEARANCE
dressed to impress, unnerving gazes, tired eyes, silky hair, slight build, silver ear piercings reflecting in the sunlight, tattoo sleeve (coming soon), rare yet dorky smile
HEIGHT: 5’7”
HAIR COLOR: Raven
EYE COLOR: Deep brown
FACECLAIM: Satsuki Nakayama

PSYCHE
A haunting, lover’s quarrel, padlocked, melt down the key into a blade in the event that it could be dug up in the trash instead. Perhaps the most abrasive and obvious aspect of Arden’s personality is his introversion, or as other’s would refer to it, asocial assholery. A sharp, cutting edge, blunt with his words, time with a book or a warm mug of coffee held more important to him than small-talk. A flaw fatal to their relationships, towers preventing and shooting down any mending, not built upon hatred but fear; that kind of sinking, gut-wrenching fear that there’s more to him than blades, cufflinks and deceit. They avoid nearly as well as they’re able to conjure a plan. Protective of his guard-towers as he is of the people he holds dear. To them he is no pretender, but rather showing the sliver of a genuine person he’s been holding back. The Arden that chuckles at a humorous line in his books and complains endlessly about his day. Overworked, overwhelmed, a constant to reach his own standard—which he can’t even see where it lies, or how much further beyond the clouds they must go. It’s endless, their own comfort in themself and select individuals; will they one day rekindle and craft a new key?

traits

reclusive, callous, loyal, calm, efficient, methodical, perfectionist, rational, deceitful, formal, stubborn, skeptical, aloof, destructive, patient, reserved, intimidating, assertive, resentful, protective, stoic, introverted, discontented, in their own world, unfazed, a good listener (whether by choice is debatable), keeping up appearances, reliable, pessimistic, smug

reputation

Venomous and sly, like the fangs of a rattlesnake, his presence brings about an air of danger and attracts many enemies.

Their violent history traced back and exaggerated beyond all recognition, his beginnings a mystery, their stoic face considered oddly and unsettlingly robotic. Listening, unwavering, unpredictable, their reputation is the weapon they carry. Whether conjured by fear or that their position is undeserved, earned by a man who’s not more than a ghost before his place in the Avancini family, his infamy precedes him.

ailments

stress-induced headaches/migraines, nicotine addiction

TIME MACHINE
HISTORY: can be as short or long as you’d like.

GALLERY​

-->

arden hamasaki.

designed by bad ending. & coded by xayah.ღ

 

[a z u l a]

XI.
the judge
scroll.

serial killer
moncrieff

VISAGE
NAME: hyong aria
NICKNAMES: ari
AGE: 24 years old
GENDER: cis-female
SEXUALITY: heteroflexible (too busy raging to worry about sexuality)
ETHNICITY: korean-american
FAMILY: adamski
ROLE: judgement

APPEARANCE
APPEARANCE: The kind of woman that on first glance looks like she would step on your neck, and you would be correct. With legs for days and never a single strand of silken black hair out of place, Aria doesn't look like the kind of woman plotting the gritty details of a gruesome murder. Standing at 5'4 and fairly slim figured, Aria's sharp facial features are considered attractive by modern standards. Intense coffee colored eyes compliment the keen shape of her cheek bones, leading to pouty peach-colored lips.
FACECLAIM: kim chungha

PSYCHE
PERSONALITY: The only surviving Hyong is a haunted shell of the former socialite she used to be. Gossip spilt over drinks and shopping trips are no longer exciting when your parents are dead. No amount of money or shiny things could fill what used to be a home, now covered in blood and empty of life. Aria has a much shorter temper now, no longer amused by trivial things or placated by luxury. The only thing of interest to Aria now, is blood.

A once bubbly girl, Aria has become strictly business. The only time you'll find the heiress at a party now is if she's gathering intel. Always laser focused on her mission for justice, Aria often comes off as cold, dismissive, and rude. Those who have known her longer than the tragedy that befell the Hyongs know otherwise. Beneath the shield and sword of justice, Aria is a compassionate, kind, and intelligent woman.

Where laughter once fell from her lips, venom now springs forth like a fountain. Aria lashes out at anyone who comes too close, even her closest childhood friends. Vengeance has consumed her, nothing will ever fill the empty pit inside of her until she holds the heart of the man who killed her family in her hands.

extra

- speaks fluent Korean
- has a Siamese cat named Mina
- has a mini poodle named Yu-na
- they all wear matching Gucci sweaters
-her aesthetic board
- her aesthetic: clenched fists, a snake coiled and ready to strike, the smell of a new gucci bag, a broken bottle of champagne, biting your tongue so hard you draw blood, a siamese cat, tear-stained dollar bills, a detailed plan.
theme song: gasoline - halsey

reputation

Before the slaughter of her family, Aria was well-known as a vapid socialite who frequented the upscale social scene with the Adamski children. In the aftermath, all kinds of rumors have started about the Hyong heriess, most frequently are the discussions of how far off the deep end she's gone. There is a glimmer of something in her eyes that makes you wonder just what twisted plans she's concocting.

BACKGROUND
HISTORY: Born the only child of a Korean immigrant and a former waitress, Aria's life wasn't always glamorous. Hyong Dae had just started his career with the Adamski family shortly before Jenny realized she was pregnant, and though bringing a child into a life of crime wasn't every parent's dream, it was the only way to ensure prosperity for their family. Dae served the Adamski family well, and the Hyongs became a part of the family as little Aria befriended each of the Adamski children with much enthusiasm.

Blood money stained childhood games of hopscotch and sleepovers were often spent trying to listen in on conversations behind closed doors, but Aria and the Adamski children lived as relatively normal lives as they could. Where her parents had struggled, their daughter was spoon fed the rewards of their hard work. It made Aria rather spoiled, but her parents always made sure that she understood that without hard work, none of it would be possible. The Hyongs were rich not just in finance, but in love and happiness as well.

Upon turning sixteen, Aria was brought into the family business. Only behind the scenes work was allowed, there was no way that Dae would ever put his daughter in harms way, but Aria admired her father and his work ethic so much that she wanted to follow in his footsteps. Despite not being related by blood, Aria was a loyal Adamski through and through.

Shortly after turning nineteen and finishing her first year of officially working as a foot soldier of the Adamski's, the Hyung family was targeted. Blood dripped down the grand staircase and onto the marble floor in such a dizzying pattern that it could've been hung in an art museum. In her heart, Aria knew what would await her at the top of the stairs. There, shot execution style, were her loving parents.

Some might call it mercy, to be spared the same cruel fate as her parents, but Aria was not thankful to be saved for she was ruined. Was she supposed to be grateful to be an orphan? To scrub the pinkish stains out of the floor until her hands were raw? To go to sleep in an empty mansion, no longer full of her mother's laughter or the decadent smell of her father's homemade Bulgogi.

Sparing Aria's life was the worst mistake Death could have made.

A thirst for revenge can turn a once fair maiden into a fire-breathing dragon. Just like a rose wilted away into only a stem of thorns, Aria became a vessel of pure, unadulterated hatred. Despite her young age, Aria lead the crusade against the Avancini's to avenge her parent's death. A few foot soldiers here and there met their end by Aria's delicate hands, but no matter how hard she tried, Death was impossible to get her hands on.

The day the treaty was signed Aria trashed the mansion and drank herself to oblivion, awaking in a pile of broken glass and spilt liquor. Matezh had made it abundantly clear that the Avancini were now off limits, for the sake of Andrej's happiness. It was as if her suffering meant nothing. The happiness of one traitor overshadowed the anguish she lived with every day.

She swore to be on her best behavior at the wedding, careful not to let anyone see the knife she had strapped beneath her dress or the fury that smoldered beneath her well=practiced smile. Death dared to show his face, mocking her with a face of pure apathy, and the beast Aria had been suppressing enraptured her, so consumed she barely noticed the champagne flute that had shattered in her fist. Inches away, so close to slitting his throat she could taste the metal on her tongue, when a hand firmly yanked hers away. Matezh scolded her in the hallway, taking her knife with him after a non-negotiable order to stay away from him.

The happiness of two traitors meant more to him than letting her have the one thing she had wanted, had desperately sought out tooth and nail for years now. But all that Aria had now, was the Adamski family, even when they had betrayed her, had made their bed with murderers.

The rage within her only boiled hotter, now more hell-like than forest fire. Such deep, hot anger and no where to release it. Aria spent her days killing, lying, and intimidating for the family. Anything to release the demon vengeance had made her. When she wasn't working, she was training or drinking. Sometimes both.

Aria would get her revenge no matter what it took. Even if the Adamski's killed her for breaking the treaty. There was no after, for her. Revenge was the end goal, and whatever came next would go up in flames with the last of her rage.

Aria does not care if she burns with it, as long as the Avancini empire goes down with her.


"People will never bleed enough to fulfill your vision of justice."

GALLERY​

aria hyong.

designed by bad ending. & coded by xayah.ღ

 

[Agrael9996]

MORENA YAMILET ALMANZA

- THE WHEEL OF FORTUNE -


Faceclaim: Jamila Velazquez
Age: 25
Gender: Cis female
Sexuality: Bisexual
Ethnicity: Latin American
Family: Adamski​

Personality:
Power doesn’t lie in numbers. It lies in a smile.

At first, Morena may seem to be an unassuming and harmless individual but there’s more to her than that. She is very extroverted, amicable and tends to be quite the chatterbox. She loves being in the spotlight. She’s quite good at telling people what they want to hear and knows that flattery gets you everywhere, making her easily likeable. She’s well versed in bargaining and is quite a skilled dealmaker; though she isn’t always honest, she is always true to her word when it benefits her. Nevertheless, she could still sell you the sky with her sweet promises or thinly-veiled threats. She is a patient, ambitious woman who is aware of her power of spreading unity and conflict just by opening her mouth, which makes her as dangerous as any other criminal, despite being less outwardly intimidating. For her, having influence over so many important people and their actions is exhilarating.

On the other side, however, Morena is broken. Having witnessed so much violence and cruelty over the past years changed her; she became numb to it. She no longer flinched when people were subjected to torture or painful deaths. It became a fact of life. Her words caused deaths before, so it stopped having an effect on her. She would use them again if meant increasing her influence. Although protective of the ones she deems close, she wouldn’t sacrifice her life or position for them. After all, she is aware that the wheel of fortune spins in one’s favour for only so long before eventually casting disaster upon them; having lived through so many ups and downs throughout her life, she wants to make the most out of the good times before the bad times come and if doing so means harm or even death to someone else, so be it. She convinced herself it’s the only way to survive, if only to be able to look in the mirror again.

Albeit skilled when words come into play, she’s very much out of her element in more fast-paced moments. She’s pretty weak physically and isn’t a great shot. Furthermore, she caves in quickly during extreme situations and isn’t very quick on her feet. She knows that she would lose in a fight, so she always delegated someone else to dirty their hands for her whenever possible. As such, she has never actually taken anyone’s life by herself. She’s afraid to. Perhaps because of her religious upbringing, she believes there’s a part of her soul that’s still salvageable. Killing someone may just rid her of all remaining remorse and thus, her humanity; a terrifying prospect.

Deep underneath, there are layers of vulnerability within Morena’s psyche. There’s always this nagging feeling in the back of her mind that she should leave all of this behind, though she knows she can’t. Crime is all she knows and is good at. Everywhere else, she would feel alienated and undeserving. Power seems to be the only meaning in her life.

Background (CW—violence, abuse, drugs, death):
Morena's story began in Mexico, in a rather unassuming manner. She was the sole daughter of Cristo, a pious single father; her mother had left them when Morena was very young. Her childhood wasn't the easiest, as the Almanzas weren't exactly wealthy. Her father, was making enough money to provide the basic necessities but couldn't afford much more than that. Nevertheless, Morena always had a way on Cristo and he would always fulfill her wishes when possible. Morena had always wondered what her father was doing as a profession; he was spending many long hours locked up in their shed, which he called his "workshop" and when asked what was inside, he would always respond with deliberate vagueness and forbade her to ever enter. As it was the only thing Cristo was adamant about despite Morena’s requests, she refrained from doing so. Strange men would occasionally visit their house to "do business" with Cristo and she quickly realized that whatever was happening behind closed doors was likely not normal, but never dared to investigate further.

Years passed. Morena managed to graduate a Catholic high school she had attended. Though a mediocre student, she was a beautiful young woman, quite popular at school. She was even in a few short-lived relationships. Life was normal. It wasn't meant to last, however. One day, upon returning home, she witnessed the same strange men as always, but this time she also saw her father lying on the floor, beaten up. It was at that moment that everything was explained to her: as she had suspected for some time, her father was cooking up drugs for a dangerous local cartel. This time, however, he seems to have done something wrong, though they never explained to her what it was — perhaps he wasn't making enough or he tried to backstab them somehow. Nevertheless, the second the gangsters saw Morena, they proposed a dilemma for Cristo to right this wrong: either Morena becomes their leader's wife (as he apparently "enjoys them young") or they kill them both and find someone better to do the job. At that moment, Morena may have understood why her mom had left so long ago; perhaps she knew everything and didn't want to see the situation come to its inevitable conclusion.

What else could they have done? The odds were stacked against them. In a matter of weeks, 18 years old Morena became the wife of Marcelo del Rayo, the mastermind of the Del Rayo Cartel, a man 40 years her senior. She never got to see her father again and she didn't even know if he was still alive.

Life with Marcelo was difficult. He had an extremely short fuse. Morena had to bear all of his bad moods and it often ended in her getting yelled at or even hit. This continued for some time, until Morena found herself to be adapting. She found her way around the gangsters. She now knew what to say to Marcelo to appease him and calm him down. Eventually, she managed to win his adoration to the point that she even became his business assistant of sorts, which wildly differed from the tragic fates of Marcelo's previous wives. By his side, Morena witnessed executions, trafficked drugs, helped arrange dealings with corrupt politicians and corrupted honest ones. A smile there, a compliment here. She was gaining more and more knowledge each day. And with it came power. She had everything up until Marcelo's volatile heart finally gave out and he passed away. The resulting power vacuum and inner struggles between the Del Rayo led to an intense civil war. They were murderous, beyond reason. They wanted violence. Though she tried, not even Morena could get through to them. She distanced herself from the fight and watched as the cartel crumbled. The wheel of fortune spun again and once more, she lost it all.

Although no longer tied to Marcelo, Morena felt she had nothing to come back to. At this point, she knew nothing but crime, abuse and danger. And so, she stayed. Willingly. She salvaged what remained of the cartel, with most members dead, arrested or unwilling to follow her, many of their assets lost. Still, Morena resumed activity in this small, newly-found criminal group, operating on a much smaller scale.

A chance to spread her wings would soon come in the form of the Adamskis’ middle child, who met with Morena to conduct some business with her. Morena had known them before; the Adamskis would sometimes cooperate and trade with the cartel back when Marcelo was still alive. Seeing them again, Morena was fascinated by them; they were from an environment and culture much different from hers. She fell in love with their personality, appearance and status; what else could she be asking for? They would meet again, this time less formally. Soon, their relationship grew to something very intimate and real. And when soon enough, the Adamski kid proposed to take her back home to the United States, she agreed without hesitation, leaving her old group behind without a farewell. She was always drawn to the more intricate and sophisticated realities of the US underworld and was determined to try again over there. After all, who could resist a nice smile?

Extra:

1. Morena is fluent in Spanish, English and knows a bit of Portuguese.
2. Although not nearly as devoted as she might have been as a child, Morena still holds some sentiment to religious aesthetics, often wearing paraphernalia such as crosses.
3. Following Marcelo's death, she returned to her maiden name (Almanza), though she used to be known as Morena Yamilet del Rayo. She changed her name partly to signify the beginning of a new chapter in her life but also to make her even the slightest bit more difficult to find.
4. She's still very much unaware of her parents' fate. She hasn't seen her mom since very early childhood and she doesn't know what became of her dad since she has last seen him seven years ago. She has, however, gotten used to the idea that she will never see them again and treats them as if they were dead.

Reputation: Morena is new in town, which led to generally mixed opinions towards her. After all, she is essentially an outsider to the feud between the Adamskis and the Avancinis, with little to no common history with either family besides the fact that Morena conducted business with the Adamskis as part of her former cartel. Not only that, she’s of a completely different culture and nationality; this surely would come as a problem to many of the more conservative voices within the dynasty. This makes her a sort of wildcard; the only people who know anything about her are those at least partially familiar with the politics of the Mexican criminal underworld. For most, however, she is an unknown. If so, what could even compel her to stay loyal to the Adamskis? Should she be allowed to be let so close to the key figures of the family?

Those who know her, however, are aware that she’s a competent drug runner and exquisite wordcraft. Even if she doesn’t belong somewhere, she is able to convince people otherwise. Her appearance alone is enough for some to lower their guard, which she notices. Besides, the Moon surely knew what they were doing and wouldn’t bring home just anyone, would they? Even if not as well-versed in secrecy as the spymaster or as ruthless as the soldiers, some surely believe her to be a valuable asset.

Maybe even the Avancini do so.

 

[idiot]

X.
ten of swords
scroll.

shinigami eyes
grimes

VISAGE

FULL NAME: Dakota Mekhi Camat Adamski

NICKNAME: Prefers 'Dakota', Kota, Mekhi (by his parents)

AGE: 23 years old

GENDER: Cis-male

SEXUALITY: Bisexual

ETHNICTY: Filipino and Polish-American

FAMILY: Adamski

ROLE: Ten of Swords

APPEARANCE

LOOKS: Tall and lanky, Dakota possesses the body of the stereotypical model with slight muscle laced over his sun-kissed skin. His face is a culmination of sharp angles and pertains its youthful glow. Hair kept buzzed and bleached, Dakota often hodgepodges it with a variety of colours. Currently a faded, baby pink. His thick, commanding brows remain their natural black colour.

His left ear is pierced in several places and adorned with silver rings. In terms of his attire, Dakota has an eye for fashion and is usually found in a collection of understated, yet fresh pieces that come from young, up-and-coming designers. He believes in quality versus quantity, with his wardrobe reflecting his minimalist lifestyle. Mostly in neutral or muted colours, leaving the vibrant colours and rich prints for his portfolio. Accessorises if the occasion calls for it but always wears his father's simple silver chain that has a crucifix cross pendant. He may not be religious but it was all he had left of his father.

FACECLAIM: Evan Mock

PSYCHE

PERSONALITY: The Adamski's family reeks of old money, opulence and desires being brought into fruition at their fingertips. Yet, for Dakota, he had the superpower of overthinking; being able to compartmentalise and dissect a car until it was nothing but spare parts and useless junk. The same could be said for wealth, which seemed to lose its allure, the shiny lustre being wiped clean after his parent's deaths.

Instead of relating to his cousin's children that he grew up with, Dakota felt more solidarity with the housing staff. This instilled within him to be appreciative for everything, with his words bubble-wrapped in graciousness and modesty. He was extremely well-mannered and well-spoken, always thanking the staff for their help in raising him. He knew all their names and even their families. In a tragic way, they were Dakota's only friends; unable to hold the same flame to his peers. Some say he is shy but rather Dakota is meek, avoiding the sweltering spotlight that his family seemingly crave.

This meekness has left Dakota with a roll of tape around his mouth in the presence of superiors or those in power. Instead of asking the burning questions, in Dakota fashion he speculates which leads to spiralling into a pensive state of despair and white-knuckled anxiety. Panic attacks the plenty that either lead to him shutting down or impulsive decision-making. Strong emotions can make the usually predictable Dakota an unpredictable curved-ball that feels as though he is being hoisted up by strings and becoming the devil's puppet. Self-hate follows as Dakota prefers to live a purposeful life, his decisions usually being painstakingly and deliberately made — when he is in control at least.

Coupled with an over-imagination and creative soul, Dakota was content with colouring in then being bought the latest toys and gadgets. In fact, because Dakota had once lost everything, he started to live a minimalist lifestyle from a young age, most of his possessions fitting into a suitcase or two. He preferred it that way, or rather he preferred that there wasn't much someone could take from him. He was fickle and flighty to say the least, ready to run away from danger, yet never left the wolves' den. Part of him seemed ready to lose it at any moment and paranoia followed him like a sickness; a feeling of eyes burning a hole into the back of his head at all times of the day.

Dakota's brain is abnormal; a constant duel between his left and right brain hemispheres with the the left side sometimes bringing out the more analytical and mathematical side of Dakota. He believes that his brain is a beautiful culmination of his parents — possessing his mother's creative soul and his father's business-savvy ideals. He enjoys solving problems (without a strict deadline and freedom) and is quite clever, numbers and equations coming naturally to him as much as a paintbrush to canvas. As he grew older he leaned into both sides and the duel become a well-rehearsed dance between both hemispheres. A marriage of numbers and art turned into a love for fashion; allowing him to feel as though he was making his parents proud, living on through his work.

A sense of justice and morals are in the forefront of Dakota's mind but he doesn't turn his nose up to the wealth that allows him to curate his albeit-small wardrobe, studio apartment or his prestigious university. Violence frightens him and he seems to detest such a display but is smart enough to know where the money comes from — yet he still takes the Adamski's blood-money while preaching about his morals. He may be oblivious to the shrouded hypocrisy he possesses or maybe deep down Dakota knows he is no better than the rest of the Adamski family.

traits

agreeable, intelligent, overthinker, appreciative, creative, reserved, anxious/neurotic, cynical (at times?), idealistic to a fault, polite and courteous, well-spoken, good-natured(ish), fickle, deliberate/purposeful, pensive, sentimental, problem-solver, overimaginative, hypocritical, minimalist, meek, ambition buried deep, self-effacing.

LIKES

muslin draped over mannequins, dried paint on palettes, runways, classical and rap, romance films, equations, sudoku, empty spaces, foxes, layering clothing, unspoken confidence, concrete floors, sun peeking into the room, aesthetic book covers and fresh-off the press magazines.

DISLIKES

looming deadlines, violence, sound of gunfire (irony isn't lost on him), overdone trends, impolite or rude people, panic attacks, meat, spiralling, sour candy, tight spaces, being scolded, fast fashion.

AILMENTS

diagnosed generalised anxiety (takes medication for it), panic attacks, mild asthma and undiagnosed ptsd (don't they all?).


BACKGROUND

HISTORY: Mr Adamski wasn't a nice man. The day he took over the infamous, fickle throne an expiry date was set in stone; as those before him. This expiry date was expedited with a ruthless chokehold on his "underlings" and a complete disregard for reason. Some say he was mad or mentally-ill, while others believe he was born without empathy — as though God had rummaged deep into his brain and plucked it out.

His only son, Dakota, would see differently.

Calloused, blood-soaked hands cradled his prized possession — a child who made all the death and suffering worth it. He would inherit it all and break the dreaded curse that follows the Adamski bloodline. It was all for him.

The coup began with mere whispers behind his back but Mr Adamski wasn't without awareness; he knew his "family" had turned on him before that fateful day. He was eventually circled by the power-hungry wolves but did not expect his own nephew to be at the head of the pack.

A confused Dakota was ushered into the wardrobe by his father; he had never seen his father cry until that day, even if it was one stray tear. In the darkness, small hands squeezed the well-loved, stuffed fox with each bang and thud. Dakota's ears rung as all stood silent outside of his hiding spot. That was until he heard his father speak.

I have one request, nephew. An uncle's final wish if you will indulge me. My son — spare him.

No words were spent begging or pleading.

A final bang and thud followed.

He was found by the cleaning staff hours later; a combination of snot and spit drooling down his chubby face. They swept him up and returned him to his room, they knew that he was not meant to present during the murder. Fingers splayed across his eyes, they tried to cover the massacre that was his father, family and loyal subjects.

Safely tucked into bed, Dakota wasn't privy to what he had exactly witnessed but he later knew when he never saw his father, mother or anyone again. That was until the funeral and their faces were plastered on unmoving photos of a better time.

All he did know was that through the slit of the wardrobe he could make out one figure. A man that he could not burn from his memory, even at such a young age he would never forget his cousin's face and the smoking gun in his hand.

The same cousin that was now the new emperor.

The new Mr Adamski.

***​

Thanks to the solidarity and kindness of the housing staff and a few well-told lies, Dakota's whereabouts during the murder were kept secret. As planned, they believed that Dakota was safe and soundly sleeping in the nursery.

The metaphorical teat of his youth was replaced with an unhealthy amount of cynicism and a negative schema on death. Watchful eyes on him at all times; not like a doting mother who means well but men who played a part in his family's murder. The wolves that once circled their father now circled him.

Dakota never knew why the Emperor kept him in the compound or even why his heart kept beating but as he grew older he could only speculate. Did he represent the Emperor's morality for sparing the innocent or was he merely a living trophy of his achievement of betraying his uncle and ruling the kingdom? Even now, Dakota doesn't know and hasn't dared to ask the Emperor.

He was welcomed into the new Adamski family with opened arms but Dakota couldn't shake those lingering thoughts that kept him up late at night.

All Dakota did know was this wasn't his family.

Not anymore.

His new family became the housing staff that maintained the Adamski's lavish lifestyle; answering their every whim or snap of the fingers. A new nanny was shipped in to cater to Dakota, a French woman who provided the warmth a child needed. Throw in some maids who always had the time of day to listen to him, the butler who would play hide and seek with him during their brief breaks and other kind staffers — Dakota had a family. A makeshift family but one that Dakota grew to love and helped him develop into the young man he is today.

Once he was old enough, they began gently folding him into the family business. In fact, it seemed he had his father's natural business-savvy nature and a knack for numbers. Thankfully, Dakota's duties were limited to the more "legitimate" forms of Adamski business, which revolved around meeting with prospective partners who didn't mind the family's reputation and dealing with their finances.

A dual degree in business (majoring in finance) and fashion; one may raise their eyebrows up at the juxtaposition but Dakota had his mother's creative eye and soul. She was a painter, a famous one at that. Dakota hopes to own his own fashion label or experiment in the realm of runway.

He dreams to be fully independent and not reliant on what once was his father's money that was in the Emperor's blood-stained hands. The same money that should be his. Yet, he wonders if those shackles could ever be broken or he was doomed to stay in this family rife of betrayal and violence.

See there is another dream, or rather a nightmare, that enters Dakota's head. One that arises from the fact his father knew he was going to die that day. He wanted Dakota to witness it. He was sure of it — but why?

Sometimes he thinks it was so Dakota saw his father's killer, his cousin, for what he really was.

And someday the tables will be turned with Dakota holding that same gun towards his cousin's chest and telling him to beg for his children's lives.

It was only a thought though—

Right?

REPUTATION: The only fear that Dakota Adamski instils in others is by his father's association. Dakota is known for staying in line and obeying authority figures; nothing more than a small cog into the Adamski empire. He prefers it that way, if anything he would prefer to have no association to them but that would close many doors that have opened for the remaining Mr Adamski son. He is known to turn away in the face of violence and has a certain fragility to him that others unwillingly accept since he is technically under the Emperor's protection. Some believe he acts as though his morality places him on a higher pedestal than others who resort to violence. Is maybe too cordial and friendly with the Avancini's since the truce but he wouldn't dare betray them—right?

He wouldn't hurt a fly. I heard the kid has a panic attack at the sight of fucking blood.

A humble cog in the machine, not many know the full extent that Dakota has had for creating an influx of legitimate business revenues for the Adamski's as a failsafe. Researching and making deals with failing yet promising companies and businesses for a percentage cut. Dakota wouldn't be committing a crime if the money that was injecting into these businesses were covered in blood. In the legal world they would call it money laundering. In Dakota's eyes he calls it giving back to the community as these once failing businesses were now thriving with the capital and business models that Dakota carefully planned. Never pressures or threatens these businesses, allowing them to make their own decision, but do they really have a choice when crossing paths with an Adamski?

Look I'll give him that, he is quite bright for his age. Never noticed an error or outlier in his financial records.

In the fashion world, buzz and praise are becoming more than whispers for the young designer; on the tip of tongues of some serious critics and the feeds of some prestigious designers. Invited to exclusive shows, runways and events; Dakota has a keen eye for style, textile and melding them together to tell meaningful stories. Despite his skills and innovation, it does beg the question whether he is truly making his own mark or rather his name and status are to account for this newfound reputation.

His pieces are fresh but not in a pretentious way. I look forward to his first collection; I expect big things for Dakota Adamski.

EXTRAS:
- his parents married and only met later in life, with his father commissioning a portrait of himself from a famous painter who specialises in portraits and photorealistic art (aka. dakota's soon-to-be mother)
- an adamski partner of non-polish descent proved an issue for their marriage but considering someone was strung up for complaining behind his back, most fell into line quickly after that
- rents out a studio apartment that is above a reformed industrial warehouse that houses a quaint café and florist below. exposed beams, concrete floors and wide open space is what appealed him to it
- uses the apartment for his fashion designing as well; spools of fabric and half-finished projects are the only indication it is lived in
- still spends time at the adamski residence to see the housing staff, especially an older maid who has been with the family for decades. the same woman who pulled him from that closet. also to keep up pleasantries of course with the other adamski members
- has never dared to stare into his cousin's eyes
- is in the works of developing his first fashion runway (thanks to adamski money of course)
- often completes his finance assignments on the last day they are due
- paces when he is stressed, thumbing his father's pendant
- is pescatarian (loves salmon too much)
- knows French thanks to his nanny
- a hopeless romantic with commitment issues
- keeps a revolver under his bed in a shoebox but has never fired it. once belonged to his father

GALLERY​

dakota 'kota' adamski.

designed by bad ending. & coded by xayah.ღ

 

[neon reverie]

marnie

#avancini

#artificer

♡coded by uxie♡

Name: marina edwards
Nickname: everyone just calls her marnie.
Age: 26
Gender: female
Sexuality: panromantic & pansexual
Ethnicity: british & unknown
Family: avancini
Role: the artificer

Faceclaim: emelia clarke
Appearance: happy smiles, deranged lines of laughter, expressive eyebrow movements, platinum blonde dyed hair, sunshine eyes.

Personality: the one with a mind of the universe and heart of earth. perhaps one of the happier ones in a family tied together not by the blood in their bodies but on their hands. no energy can quite match that of the eccentric marnie, always chirping about like a bird who has only known of freedom and life. an energy wild and bright with visions kaleidoscopic and creative.

this woman is always on the journey to see the world with new insights and actualizing the crazy and impossible; the sky might be the limit to those standing with their feet on the ground but she is soaring above with the galaxy at her fingertips, knowing no boundaries when it comes to exploring the madness in ideas. and sure, perhaps marnie is bit mad -- but maybe that's just the price you pay for the smiles you smile while creating such devices of destruction and death.

what is it though, you may ask, that drives this being of shades brilliant yet wild. could it be the curiosity that seems to stretch beyond this ether? it very well may be, with the way days and nights are spend in their work space, figure hunched over their worktable and hands moving as fast as a mind of its own galaxy ideates. marnie's curiosity knows no lines that can't be crossed, no prices that are too high, and no rationalism rational enough to interfere; there is always a new innovation to be discovered, a new reality to be woven, and it is worth everything.

does this make her unpredictable? perhaps; she does perform many on the spot stunts that are either ingenious or undeniably delivering her friends and family a headache (or both) and the consequences of her actions aren't much of a concern to her. there is something about this starlight canvas and all of its chaotic dark matter that makes you sweat a little bit, its everchanging patterns holding a fate over you that can either save or destroy you. you might shout your concerns to the sky and it may echo it back, but do the stars ever truly listen?

it is not that she doesn't care, though. marnie, in all her self-absorbed madness, cares deeply. her heart, erratic as it is, holds no doubts over the want to bring happiness to others. what marnie might lack in social cues and propriety, she makes up with this pure and vibrant kind of support. you can count on her to find any way, nevertheless how odd it may be, to help you in what you need. you can find loyalty in her, can find love --

just as long as you remember what her wonderland entails.

there is beauty in madness,

but it isn't always beautiful.

Background:

(tw: death )

death surrounds you. it smells a lot like smoke, tastes a lot like blood, and you can see it materialize in a pair of corpses, lain at your feet, mouth open, eyes blank, holes plenty. tears stream down your face washing away some of the blood spatters on your cheeks. you don't know anything, a voice calls from the dead, resembling a mother's protective whisper. you don't know anything, it repeats, with urgency, with desperation. memories flash through your mind, ones that will die alongside them today and won't come back. your eyes stare at the figure in front of you and you watch, silently, blankly, how their hand directs their steeled weapon at you, aim and intent crystal clear. still, you do not feel fear, not even with death's arms stretched out to you. you merely take a step forward, closer to the only embrace there currently is.

my dear, you don't know any-

a shot goes off, and your world darkens.

. . .
​

you wake up, white lights blinding you and muffled noises in the background. you wake up in a room you do not know, staring at faces you do not know -- but what do you know? there is a deep void in your mind, one you can't tell if it has always existed or not. there are some things there; hazy colors, vague visions, inexplicable feelings; you can reach them, touch them even, but holding them you can not. and as soon as these faces begin to talk to you, they disappear again, back into the darkness that homes them.

your head hurts. it hurts a lot, so much so that you want to go back to sleep again, never mind all these strangers who speak words you do not understand. but you don't get to sleep again. instead, a man steps forward, hands silencing the voicing in the air. he kneels down beside your bed, just close enough that you can count the odd dark spots here and there on his face and hands. his lips part and forth comes a voice rough yet calm.

"do you know anything?" he merely asks.

do you?

you don't know anything, a voice echoes in your head, and so you shake her head.

whether it is the right response or not, you do not know, and maybe never will. he exchanges glances with the others in the room, before turning back to you.

"let me tell you who you are then. you are marina edwards-" that is a pretty name, you think. "--and you are my daughter."

hm.

a sense of discomfort suddenly emerges within you; it is abstruse yet stubborn.

it feels closely to a will to fight that last statement.

something tells you he isn't right.

but with no memories in your mind, how can you tell he is wrong?

so you accept it, truth or not.

because what else can you do?

. . .
​

you decide you like your father. he is very nice to you, gives you a lot of freedom, and even teaches you how to make cool gadgets. you can't deny he's a little strange though, always muttering about past mistakes, power and gods. he has a spiel that often comes during those late hours, right when it's too late to call it midnight but too early to call it morning. the first time is when you show him your first creation; a cat plushy that makes people sleep instantly once they hold it.

"you know, your mind is too bright for this world, child. people will fear you for your creations, will hate you for it, but do not mind them. they don't understand you, will never understand you. you and me, our talents, our work, is that of something grander than what their realities can imagine. we are not made to stand among these people here like we are one and the same; our place is among gods."

"gods?" you repeat.

"who else is able to walk these planes and breathe life into these glorious creations? people can thrive, because we made it so. they can die if we decide that they must."

"so i can become a god?" you ask.

he merely shakes his head, letting out a sigh as if you are missing what he is saying.

"not become, my child; you already are. it may not seem like it now, but marina-"

"marnie." you correct him, having decided that marina, while pretty, is not as fun to say and hear as marnie.

he narrows his eyes, obviously displeased you interrupted him, but continues nonetheless -- and with your correction;

"as i was saying, marnie, your inventions will be powerful enough to shatter realities. you can change the present and future as you like. everything and all, can and will be at the mercy of you. you are the universe marnie, you and your mind. "

as bright-minded as you are, you don't quite get what he is saying. still, the thought of being a god sounds pretty cool. it makes you smile, and a new determination rises, sparkling with an innocence you don't know you already lost.

"then, i will be the best god there is!"

. . .​

death surrounds you. it smells a lot like burned flesh, tastes a lot like ash, and your eyes glance upon the black, charred body that could only belong to that of your father. what happened here is something the both of you have talked about before. "people will abhor our creations and in turn, will abhor us." the voice of the dead echoes through your mind. "their hatred can drive them insane, set them on a path of violent vengeance, thinking it is rightful retribution. they are wrong." it states, full of conviction, of honor. memories seep into the mind, breathing life back into a face now scorched and beyond recognition. they stay for a while, letting you be with your dear fellow nebula again, just before reality has to catch on again. you know very well what has come to him, might also come to you. still, you do not feel fear, not even with this many blood on your hands.

death smiles at you.

and you smile back.

they don't know anything.

[ because you will still be, even after you die;
these creations will carry your soul when your body no longer can.
and you will create, for as long as this vessel holds.
you can do anything.
maybe even find a new family again. ]
​

Reputation:

"i heard the artificer of the avancini likes to collect footage of their work in action and that they watch it back like watching a movie, popcorn included."

"did you hear the rumour about them being recruited straight out of a mental hospital?"

"i personally have a theory that they were actually part of the adamski family first but they ran away. i don't know, maybe they did something very bad. like almost blasting the big boss his balls off-"

"someone told me that their go to work song is starships but like, the glee version."

"people are saying that even the avancini themselves are kind of afraid of them, so they do everything to keep them on their side...."

"chloe told me they were a directioner. ugh no, mom, the boyband..."

"rumour has it that they have been working on something very big..."

[more to be added]

Extra:

 

[-ferret-]

Ryu Sun-Min

hwang hyunjin
knight of wands

º º code by ditto º º

Ryu Sun-Min

oh, i do wish i werent so rotten

Full Name: Ryu Sun-Min
Nickname: Sunny or Min
Age: 23
Gender: demi-guy
Sexuality: muscles
Ethnicity: korean-japanese-american
Family: Avancini
Role: the knight of wands

Faceclaim: hwang hunjin
Appearance: Sun-Min is of lithe stature and rather short, standing at 5'2". He wears his hair long and bleached white. He is fond of pearls over diamonds and along with a set of pearls, he always keeps a slightly pink and worn pearl rosary. He will always be seen in chunky heeled boots (for ease of running without compromising fashion). Though in certain areas he can be seen wearing stilettos. This makes him seem taller than he really is, but gives him an extra intimidating boost. He wears light makeup and often gets his nails done into sharp black claws (yes he sometimes accidentally pokes himself but don't tell anyone).

Personality: Sun-Min is likely one of the most fiery and passionate people you know. He's quick to love, hate, laugh, and cry and there's not much anyone can do to make him feel any less. He feels emotions on high all the time and while it makes for a whirlwind of a time when he's happy, it also means a hurricane when he's upset. Despite his extreme emotions, he's a mostly kind and friendly person with a sharp wit and a pretty charm to him. He's highly motivated and has a drive to succeed in everything he puts his mind to, not willing to back down or give up. Sun-Min does have a penchant for thievery, especially things he finds pretty or interesting. His space is decked out ceiling to floor with an abundance of knickknacks, pilfered jewelry, clothes, shoes, and strangely enough, music boxes. Most of which he has no receipt for. Or was likely bought illegally with something else he's stolen. But, Jekyll? Meet Hyde. While Sun-Min is friendly, kind, almost too pure for the violent world of crime that is the Avancinis, he's also got a deep-seated bloodlust and a mean-streak a mile wide. There's a reason Sun-Min is where he's at and it's because he's good at getting what the Avancinis want done. He's a soldier and spares no mind to the blood he's wrought. He's a nightmare at the best of times when the switch is flipped. Covered in blood that isn't his, with rusty knives at the ready, and a manic, sharp-toothed smile to complete his look.

Background: Not much is publicly known about Sun-Min. Just this: His father was a soldier for the Avancinis, his mother was a kind woman. His father had a temper and one early morning, some other Avancini soldiers would come to the Ryu home to find both Mr. and Mrs. Ryu dead in the living room. Sun-Min was under his bed, bloody but unharmed. He was holding his mother's pearl rosary. No one knows what really happened, but it was passed off to the police as an intruder scenario.
Extra:
Reputation: Some people definitely think that Sun-Min is a childish, annoying little snowflake who prefers not getting his hands dirty with anything. Those who know him know that he's a bit more off kilter than he seems.

There's a huge rumor that Sun-Min killed his mom and stole her rosary and when Sun-Min's dad found out, Sun-Min killed him too. There are multiple facts to back this up and Sun-Min has never denied it's what happened.

Aesthetic: pearls, bloody knuckles, roses on fire, lavender perfume, purple smoke, neon lights, switchblades, smeared lipstick, silent screaming, angry tears, scarred hands, strawberries, low cut floor length dresses

code by valen t.

 

[Wandering Owl]

home

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• nickname: jas
  
  age: 34
  
  gender: male
  
  sexuality: asexual, biromantic
  
  Ethnicity: british-indian, american
  
  family: avancini
  
  faceclaim: avan jogia
  
  role: king of swords
  a family member responsible for reconnaissance and planning, the king of swords is as double-edged as their name suggests. subtle enough to gain access to key locations and individuals, and sharp enough to create effective plans with the information they gather, they are a vital part of any complicated job, and a familiar face to many. there is an easy charm to them, hiding a razor-sharp mind and an interminable store of knowledge.
  
  who are they really, when all the doors are closed and all the eyes are turned away?
  
  

  jasper mistri
  
  

  King of Swords​

  
  

  (scroll)​
• every inch put together with a craftsman’s precision. dark hair, left loose when the situation isn't achingly formal, framing strong features. a steady gaze, a hint of amusement in those brown eyes. suits and shirts in deep jewel tones. cufflinks and collar pins glinting in the low light. subtle, unmistakable wealth written through every garment and accessory.
  
  aesthetics
  reading the small print, diesel spills, practiced handwriting, bitter coffee, deafening silences, deep clear waters.
  
  a hand on the shoulder, a quiet confidence in the face of disaster.
  
  hush now. it’ll be alright. i’ll take care of it, for you. just for you.
  
  

  jasper mistri
  

  Appearance
  
• it’s easy to overlook jasper. his work is good, of course, with a careful eye for detail and a tactical mind, capable of spotting the smallest flaws in a plan or fabricating an identity on the spot. outside, though, he maintains a much lower profile. he’s a good listener, quiet more often than not. when he does speak, he is polite and eloquent, shifting himself to match the company he keeps. there’s a quiet optimism to the way he carries himself, and he never seems to let his emotions get the best of him.
  
  it’d be easy to overlook him, if you didn’t know better.
  
  his calmness is unremarkable, until you see him relaxed and smiling in situations that would make others cower. his optimism stems not from some rose-tinted belief in the inherent fairness of the universe, but simply the utter conviction he has in his own abilities. whatever is needed of him, he can deal with it. it is not always easy - it rarely is - but he refuses to admit defeat, even when that requires working himself to exhaustion, or shifting the goalposts beyond recognition. he knows he will win, in the end. when he shifts himself to fit every new situation, can you truly know his beliefs, his interests, his loyalties? he will compromise anything, when he knows the deal is in his favor. never questioning the morality too deeply. a devil's advocate, to the fullest extent. he can always imagine what the other side would argue; practically a requirement in his line of work. so it's never been as simple as right and wrong. it’s just risks and rewards, evaluating the ever changing set of scales and tipping things ever-so-slightly towards his gain. he is polite only because he knows what people want to hear. a lot of lies can be hidden behind simple pleasantries. his silence gives him a tight control over what others know about him, keeping what he truly cares about close to his chest. the kind of person you could be friends with for years, and learn almost nothing about. he knows all too well how harmless scraps of information can be overheard, remembered, weaponized.
  
  after all, he is a very good listener.
  
  extra:
  - he speaks english, gujarati, and a little latin.
  - he is competent enough with a gun and a blade to look as though he knows how to use them, but nothing more than that.
  - he has a pet cat, a calico named marbles.
  
  reputation:
  coming soon...
  
  

  jasper mistri
  

  Persona
• coming soon...
  
  
  

  jasper mistri
  

  History

coded by weldherwings.