Fantasy 𝑶𝑼𝑹 𝑳𝑨𝑫𝒀 𝑾𝑶𝑳𝑳𝑺𝑻𝑶𝑵𝑬𝑪𝑹𝑨𝑭𝑻: 𝑟𝑒𝑏𝑜𝑟𝑛 — 𝒚𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒃𝒐𝒐𝒌

[birth of venus]

font callfont callfont call

INTEREST CHECK

OUT OF CHARACTER

PINTEREST

WOLLSTONECRAFT

PEEPSHOW, CREEPSHOW, WHERE'D YOU GET THOSE EYES?

YEARBOOK

Hello! Welcome to the WSC character creation thread. This time we're gonna be doing things a little differently. Instead of full character sheets, we'd like for you to post below what we'll call a character blurb or character concept. As we've said before, unfortunately this roleplay is not first come first served, but we do still want the character creation process to be collaborative and communicative! This means you can submit a 2-4 paragraph creative description of your character - give us a vibe check, what should we know about them, where are they from, why are they the way they are? This is meant to be fun and loose and creative, go wild!

Please note that we will require some basics:

Full name, Age, Gender, Personality, and Species/Abilities.

Anything else is optional, but if you'd like to use this as a chance for any creative free flow writing about your character, go for it!

If you can't think of what else to add, here's a few ideas: Your character's motivations, what are they studying/trying to pursue at Wollstonecraft, are they from modern times (2020s) or the past, how their species affects them.

As we've said before, you can basically go buck wild with your characters, and we're hoping to see a wide gamut of diversity and creativity. Any supernatural species from any culture is fair game (and if you have any worries, ask us about what's okay to do!), just please be mindful writing about cultures you're not familiar with and do your research.

The deadline for character sheets is Friday, September 27th, if extensions are needed just feel free to ask, and the current character limit is two per applicant. Thanks!

WOLLSTONECRAFT.

night owl

Spoiler: No Code/Mobile Friendly

WOLLSTONECRAFT APPLICATIONS​

Hello! Welcome to the WSC character creation thread. This time we're gonna be doing things a little differently. Instead of full character sheets, we'd like for you to post below what we'll call a character blurb or character concept. As we've said before, unfortunately this roleplay is not first come first served, but we do still want the character creation process to be collaborative and communicative! This means you can submit a 2-4 paragraph creative description of your character - give us a vibe check, what should we know about them, where are they from, why are they the way they are? This is meant to be fun and loose and creative, go wild!
Please note that we will require some basics:

Full name, Age, Gender, Personality, and Species/Abilities.

Anything else is optional, but if you'd like to use this as a chance for any creative free flow writing about your character, go for it!

If you can't think of what else to add, here's a few ideas: Your character's motivations, what are they studying/trying to pursue at Wollstonecraft, are they from modern times (2020s) or the past, how their species affects them.

As we've said before, you can basically go buck wild with your characters, and we're hoping to see a wide gamut of diversity and creativity. Any supernatural species from any culture is fair game (and if you have any worries, ask us about what's okay to do!), just please be mindful writing about cultures you're not familiar with and do your research.

The deadline for character sheets is Friday, September 27th, if extensions are needed just feel free to ask, and the current character limit is two per applicant. Thanks!

 

[birth of venus]

YOU DO IT TO YOURSELF, YOU DO
AND THAT'S WHAT REALLY HURTS
​

Full Name:

Juandalynn Ana Rivera-Carvajal

Species/Abilities:

Cherufe, said to be man-eating humanoid creatures that inhabit the volcanoes of southern Chile, and were often believed to be the source of volcanic eruptions.

Age:

20 years old.

Gender:

Fluid.

Dorm:

Druantia.

ASHES TO ASHES. . .

Behind badly dyed curls and beady black eyes lies a slow-encroaching fire, a power Jude struggles to contain as they skirt the line between human and creature. Thick curly hair runs down their back in a mismatch of black dye and auburn peeking through to fiery roots, with freckled brown skin and a stocky build, and an abundance of thrift bin-faded clothes. Though not an academic by any means, Jude makes her mark in the student body with pure presence; she'll stare you down like choosing a steak for dinner, run a toothpick through their large canines in your face, and insult your favorite musicians all in the same breath. She will bark, and she will bite.

Brash, slow to speak but loud mouthed when provoked, bad-mannered, Jude has constantly thrashed against the constraints of a society they did not agree to enter, and yet desperately wishes for acceptance in. Born deep in the volcanic regions of southern Chile and spat out into Middle of Nowhere, USA, Jude was raised by a disgraced volcanologist who had no business trying to raise a half-cherufe half-human explosive device of a child. Classrooms felt akin to boxing to force her into the corner, and friends were a rarity as her father refused to put down roots. High school graduation was a memory of black soot and faculty buildings swallowed in flames, her father's disappointed stare before succumbing to his own illnesses, and a curious brochure tucked into the singed envelope of her graduation diploma.

Now, she endures her second year at Wollstonecraft on a probationary period due to undisclosed circumstances.

Species Info:

Though depictions of cherufes were far and few, the first mentions of cherufes came from the Mapuche, a group of indigenous peoples in southern Chile. It was once said their power originates in the form of magical stones of fire, others said one even managed to claw a fireball with a long tail out of the night sky to harness its powers, plucking comets from black void. Not only that, but the cherufe's appetite for flesh was only satisfied by a virginal human sacrifice, thrown into the depths of their volcanoes, and some ideas described them as reptilian humanoids. Jude is most definitely humanoid, but blurs the edges on being able to pass as a human.

Jude is very susceptible to the cold, despite her tough thick exterior. If her body's temperature drops too low, she exhales smoke and soot like a chimney. If you throw her into cold water, she'll fizzle out.
The "man-eating" aspect isn't exactly incorrect either. Jude regularly eats raw meat, and she knows there's some of her kind that do eat people. Living around humans for so long has (mostly) stamped out her appetite for people though.

JUDE CARVAJAL

scroll to read | code by venus.

 

[birth of venus]

I'M NOT READY FOR A
HANDSHAKE WITH DEATH, NO
​

Full Name:

Dietrich Sauer

Species/Abilities:

Alpen, a descendent of the creature of German folklore, the Alp, a demon creature that sits on your chest at night to grant you nightmares and enter your dreams.

Age:

21 years old.

Gender:

Cis male.

Dorm:

Ra.

FC:

George Mackay.

THE TOUCH OF DEATH RINGS COLD.

Dietrich is a man haunted with a familial malediction, counting down the hours as his dreams begin to slip out of control, blackout periods becoming commonplace during first semester. Born of something ancient and demonic, alps were creatures of nightmare, the source of sleep paralysis. They creep close enough to the individual sleeping and sit on their chest, entering their dreams to peek into their minds and afflict them with nightmares. He's a black gallows humor kind of guy, academic and droll, and always on a steady baseline level of anxiety and encroaching dread. There's a manic energy underneath it all that shows his desperation for distraction, engrossing himself in new campus clubs or events, whatever he can do to fill up his schedule and sleep as little as possible. He lives with it, he tries to function, and it's slowly gotten worse as he's spent more time around his fellow classmates. Dietrich suspects something on campus and the way it fuels its protective barrier is sending him on the fritz.

Sleep is a tricky thing - he tried sleeping around the schedule of his roommates and the most popular classes of the day - anything to get a few hours in, otherwise he'd risk nodding off during his core classes for his philosophy major. Letters home were less than enlightening, his parents were tight lipped and traditional, and less than friendly after he had gone away for school. His uncle had spoken of it only once - an alp that haunts an individual's dreams for months at a time could possibly possess them - Dietrich had never wished to be mortal more. Born to a family of German immigrants who decided to settle near Birmingham, England, familial warmth was a foreign concept to him. Childhood days were spent in drizzly overcast rain, his father would disappear for days on end with the excuse of "travelling for work," and the person he saw most of all was his uncle Markus. It was him who would tell Dietrich old stories of his family, of his parents when they were still young and freshly dating, when the slow encroaching rot hadn't plagued their familial blood. He would tell him stories of German folk tales, unashamed to teach Dietrich their mother tongue despite the schoolkids who made fun of his accent. Puberty was marked by a sudden resurgence of nightmares, dreams he hadn't remembered since kindergarten.

Whatever was chasing his family had overtaken his father, and Dietrich has became increasingly paranoid the same fate awaits him as well.

DIETRICH S.

scroll to read | code by venus.

 

[SavannahSmiles]

Nicolai Blackwell

# You are shaking fists and trembling teeth.

# I know:

♡coded by uxie♡

church grim

# You did not mean to be cruel.

# That does not mean you were kind.

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[Steve Jobs]

coming soon

to theaters this fall...

cinematic

role: Gashadokuro

fc: Sōma no furu-dairi by Utagawa Kuniyoshi

admit one

admit one

4211587018029315

4211587018029315

SDKJGSDGJDSKVNKFNALENNVDSVGN

SDKJGSDGJDSKVNKFNALENNVDSVGN

 

[KingofAesir]

coded by xayah.ღ

❝Bitterness is thick like blood and cold as a wind sea breeze ❞​

❝ a girl. ❞

【name】— cirila voronin
【species/abilities】— leshy, a Slavic forest spirit with shapeshifting abilities.
【age】— 240, from her "rebirth", only concious for 20.
【gender】— female
【sexuality】— asexual

❝ a monster. ❞

【awakened】— There is blood on her hands, in her hair, soaked into the very fabric of who -- what -- she is. When had this gotten here? Who's blood was this? Is it hers? Certainly, it could not be; she did not remember being wounded. But -- there was no pain, only a sickly, warm something seeping through her fingers. When she pulls her hands up to look at them, they come coated in even more blood, it feels like wet dogwood in her hands. There is so much of it.

She watches her toes curl into the mulch of the forest floor below her, her feet are also bathed in blood. There is a haziness to her vision like someone had pulled a veil over her face, but when she reaches to paw at her eyes, she finds nothing but skin and more viscera. When she looks up and sees the man, if one could even call him that at this point, she screams a hoarse thing and trips and tumbles back into more of them. People. Strangely dressed people. There are seven, or eight of them, missing eyes and tongues and entire limbs. They are all dead. And she is covered in their blood.

One of them breathes. He chokes and splutters around his own death and she finds herself stumbling onto her knees at his side. She notices then, as she catches glimpses of herself, that she is unclothed. Nothing but death and her wild hair cover her. But that is unimportant because one of them is alive.

"Co się stało? Co ci to zrobiło?" She does not recognize the voice that comes out of her; it grates her throat and rumbles in her chest like an animal. What has happened? What has done this to you? Her hands tremble as she goes to touch him. But he screams, eyes wild and filled with such fear that it shocks her into stillness.

"Diabeł! Potwór! Demon!" He screams, a half-fingerless hand raising to point right at her. Devil. Monster. Demon. Stumbling to her feet, she backs away as he continues to scream. He screams and screams even at her back as she turns from him. She turns away and she runs.

【awakened】— Cirila Voronin was born to paupers sometime in the 17th century in some Polish village she hardly remembers. They had very little and were afforded even less, she remembers this. She remembers the war and the burning of her family's livelihood. She remembers famine and plague and her little sister dying at hardly ten years old. She remembers the hateful eyes of the Baron sentencing her to death. See, it was a curse to be a woman like Cirila Voronin in a place that did not understand the reasons she walked the edge of the forest at night when it was quiet and she could hear the land breathe. They did not understand she had been trying to help when the sickness came to them, with her herbs and her gentle hands. When the Baron's son died, they blamed Cirila. And so a girl was burned and a monster was born.

On that night, her spirit, for lack of a better word, took the shape of the forest. What was left of the girl inhabited the animals and trees and formed over centuries into a Leshy, the spirit of the forest itself. For many of these years, she was not awake; she had not experienced all the time that passed and the changes that took place around her. When she awoke, confused and afraid, to a world that she did not recognize she was greeted with the very same fear she had left the world to.

It took years to understand what had happened to her. To get control over the violent protectiveness she felt whenever people wandered a bit too deep into the trees. She did not want to be a monster, not like they had once claimed her to be. Perhaps that is why when a brochure appeared at the home she had made for herself, home was a generous word it was more akin to a cave, she followed it. Here, at least in theory, she could be understood. Cirila would give much of anything to never have to see that kind of raw fear in someone's eyes ever again.

 

[kunikuzushi]

myobi

# jeoseung saja

# the angel of death

♡coded by uxie♡

❝ DEATH BECOMES HER ❞​

NAME: Myobi ; Myo
HUMAN NAME: unknown
AGE: 20 at time of death
GENDER: female
SEXUALITY: lesbian

═════ ◈ ═════​

What is it like to be human? To house veins of blood and a beating heart; to own a set of lungs that let you breathe? What is it like to be alive?

Myobi does not know.

She was human, once. Now, there is nothing left but eyes glazed over in a deep fog— a hollow vessel. She does not understand the quickness of joy anymore. Or grief. Or love. Or fear. These feelings exist like echoes, for how can you reclaim what death has already taken? She only knows how to be this.

Decay drifts in colours of bruised violets and rotting moss, it is a sickly sweet scent. Its smell crawls up your nostrils, sticks in your lungs, makes your skin itch like it's trying to escape your bones. Myobi covers it up with the curl of cigarette smoke but once the stench marks you, it never quite fades. There is simply no outrunning it.

Death.

SPECIES: Some call her The Grim Reaper but she is just one of many— A Jeoseung Saja, guides of deceased souls. The Jeoseung Saja do not possess scythes, but bear long scrolls inked in the names of the dead. While depictions differ depending on the source, their task is always to escort or 'reap' the newly deceased and help them reach their next destination. They also have control over the realms of the conscious and the unconscious, enabling them to speak in dreams or people trapped in Limbo. These messengers of death serve Yeomra, the king of the underworld. Because Myobi works in the international branch, she has helped different variations of gods of death, but ultimately answers to Yeomra.

There are different ways to become a Jeoseung Saja, be created as one by a God, die as a human who has committed a major sin, or suffer an unjust death. Myobi does not know which she is. Perhaps she’ll find some answers at Wollstonecraft.

═════ ◈ ═════​

PERSONALITY: It’s no surprise that Myobi’s graveyard demeanour is off putting. Myobi never raises her voice, doesn’t need to. She has a calm that unsettles. Eyes devoid of life. There is something almost clinical about the way she observes the living. To her, you are little more than a fleeting curiosity, an insect squirming under the weight of her attention. And yet, there is a quiet hunger beneath her indifference. A fascination with the fact that she was once like you—almost.

Humour escapes her. What others find amusing, she interprets with an awkward tilt of her head. Perhaps she was more amicable as a human, but as a Jeoseung Saja, she is rather inept at socialization. The few jokes she makes are morbid but bless her still heart for she tries. A misplaced smirk at a funeral, enthusiasm for the grotesque— the little emotions she expresses are few and far between, but always at the most inappropriate moments. Even after years of reaping mortals, she does not quite understand their etiquette. Lies seem pointless to her, good intentions or not.

When she talks about death, she approaches it much like the weather. And when your match burns out she greets you with eyes—not full of warmth or malice, but—full of inevitability. They know, as you do, that there is no pleading with a reaper who has long since forgotten what it means to feel.

 

[lvcid]

rhiannon valera

# water nymph

# alexa demie

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[Bluesky_101]

Sayra Malic

#Medusa

#Turn you to Stone

#Cara Delevingne

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[noxrequiem]

silas bishop

#warlock

#tom sturridge

♡coded by uxie♡

TᕼE ᗪEᐯIᒪ ᗰᗩᗪE ᗰE ᗪO IT
~ but I also kinda wanted to ~​

​

ᑕᑌᖇIOᔕITY KIᒪᒪEᗪ TᕼE ᑕᗩT...

​

- FULL NAME: Silas Germaine Bishop
- AGE: 21
- GENDER: Masc-presenting (he/they)
- SEXUALITY: Pansexual
- DORM: Ra
- FC: Tom Sturridge
- Species: Warlock, a practitioner of witchcraft and the dark arts.

​

✦✦─────•✦✦✦•─────✦✦​

1...

2...

3...

4...

...5 candles lit.

One at each point of the star, scrawled in chalk with an unsteady hand on creaking floorboards. An antique book of crumbling leather and flaky paper, stolen from a dusty shelf in the boarding school's library. A boy no older than 12, filled with a burning curiosity. Both sit in the center of the circle, bathed in uneasy flickering candlelight. And now, a knife.

A shaky breath. A moment of hesitation. Then, a flick of the wrist…!

Thick, hot red splatter--followed by a drip, drip, drip... An offering of life essence (it's only fair, after all). Nothing, as the world seems to hold its breath... But then the flames roar like beasts, pillars of hellfire burning as bright as the sun. Where there had only been one, a second figure now sits, wreathed in shadows.

A heart beating frantically, confined to a cage of ribs. Is it fear, or excitement? A deep breath. The boy steels himself.

"I want to make a deal..."

It was the first. But far from the last.

✦✦─────•✦✦✦•─────✦✦
​

Blood runs from sigils of flesh and ink, carved with a surgeon’s precision. A clever little design to channel arcane power with utmost efficiency. Much has been learned over the years. Many deals have been made. Dedication or obsession?

A sly smile as the signature stains the page crimson, an angry wound scratched on ivory parchment. A mistake, perhaps, but not on his part. A handshake seals the deal, a consolidation of power most delicious. It is almost enough to temporarily satiate the hunger that has taken residence deep within him since the first pact. But not quite.

It has made him something else. Something other. Can it still be called human? Shadows dance around him in strange ways, distorting his frame into something near-otherworldly–subtle enough that most would uneasily dismiss it as a mere trick of the light. Teeth perhaps a little too jagged, eyes unnaturally golden and reflective, the pupils slit in a feline manner. A hushed choir of whispers entwined in the air around him, louder when they think themself alone. He is more than he was. But always left wanting--it's never enough.

Terms accepted, the newest patron is gone in an instant, incorporeal form vanishing with candle flames that give way to heavy wisps of grey. But all is not right, the air feels strange--charged with electricity; lightning yet to strike. In the fiend's former place is a bundle of stark white paper: a brochure. Even from here he can feel the immense arcane energy rolling off it like enchanted waves. It's intoxicating, irresistable--the draw is too strong, the need to know overpowering all. Throwing caution to the wind without a second thought, deft fingers grasp the edge of smooth leaflets.

"Wollstonecraft."

✦✦─────•✦✦✦•─────✦✦​

Curiosity, ambition, and an unending, insatiable thirst for esoteric knowledge has led Silas Bishop to the stone steps of Wollstonecraft, where staff may or may not be regretting his admission. He is every academic faculty’s worst nightmare: an incredibly bright, studious straight-A student with a penchant for mischief who knows how to toe-the-line in just a way that keeps him from serious punishment. He enjoys these little games, constantly testing the waters and seeing just how much he can get away with, if for nothing other than to rile up those in authority. Fortunately for him, his intense passion for learning (and his smooth-talking persuasive ability) helps make his transgressions forgivable more often than not. As for more serious matters--like exploring the forbidden corners of campus--he knows how to be discreet, always on a quest to uncover the truth on some matter or another. There's definitely some things he knows that he shouldn't.

Among the students, he has a reputation as a delinquent and a mischief-maker, and his intelligence and sharp-wit has only added to his intimidation factor. While amiable enough, he's fine mostly keeping to himself and a few close friends, easily able to keep himself entertained without anyone else's help. The rumors surrounding him and his powers probably don't add to his popularity. He is, however, probably the best person to go to for information on any strange goings-on at Wollstonecraft--just be prepared to get the short-end of the stick on any deal made with him.

Abilities: Silas is a practitioner of witchcraft, primarily having gotten his start through ritualistic magic--most notably, blood magic. His practices range from anything from hexes and charms, to glamours and curses--but he wants to learn anything he can get his hands on. However, his arcane power and understanding increased after having made a pact with a demon, who he successfully manipulated and outsmarted, walking away with the much better end of the deal. Since then, he has made numerous pacts with various different minor fiends, each time managing to stay one step ahead and binding them to him--his hubris has yet to be punished (despite this, they are all on relatively good terms). His various patrons' demonic influences have changed and twisted him, making him something beyond human. His body is covered in thin tattoos of magical sigils, which tend to bleed when performing more intensive magic spells.

... ᗷᑌT ᔕᗩTIᔕᖴᗩᑕTIOᑎ ᗷᖇOᑌGᕼT IT ᗷᗩᑕK​

 

[orpheus.]

-the veiled one-
Leander Cruz
cambion
fc:Luka Sabbat​

 

[dreamgrlevil.]

marin everlan

banshee

alyda grace

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[yokai.]

• riko
• haliya

• 
  

  suzuhara riko

  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  name | suzuhara riko
  
  species | kitsune
  
  faceclaim | kota miura

  
  
  

  age | 216 years, appears to be about 21
  
  gender | cis male
  
  sexuality | bisexual

  
  
  

  major | onmyōdō studies
  
  dorm | most likely druantia? i could see him in ra too

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  Approachable, playful, and ridiculously hyperactive, Riko's the guy you go to get your mind off things, capable of persuading even the most prim and proper of society to commit the occasional light felony. He enjoys dragging others into chaos and has a knack for getting people to let their guard down around him. His unpolished humour is infectious, though his attention is fleeting, drawn to all things bizarre and shiny, managing to effortlessly draw trouble no matter where he goes. Words of well-meaning advice simply go through one pointed ear and out the other, drowned out by drawing haphazard stars on sleeve hems with pen ink or strumming a slapdash bass riff. He's not one to hold his tongue, guilty of telling the wrong person to eat shit whenever he's trying to compensate for something. His intentions often start out well enough, though he more than likely doesn't have the skills to back his bravado, disappearing behind a well-timed cloud of smoke at the last minute instead of tackling problems head-on. Confrontation is something he's always struggled to face, and sticks to taking the easy way out whenever he can, dodging accountability with concerning ease. When things do go his way (and they very rarely do), you can find him flashing an overconfident grin, defaulting to playing it off as something he had planned all along.
  
  For a two hundred year old fox spirit, Riko is surprisingly starry-eyed, easily impressed and intimidated by others stronger or more capable than him. He can be a little naive, singlemindedly following the lead of those he looks up to without much thought to his actions or safety. From one chaotic encounter to the next, Riko craves a sense of belonging and purpose, though he rarely knows how to pursue these paths properly without the guidance of his older kin. As the youngest of his litter, he has grown used to being looked after with chiding hands, and hasn't adapted to his newly found independence quite as well as he'd hoped, much to his chagrin. He'd gone and pursued higher education of his own accord, simply as a spur-of-the-moment decision, a long-winded attempt to establish his own course separate from his family's overbearing influence. Despite this life-altering act of rebellion, his choice of major reeks of homesickness and a longing for the familiar rites of tradition; though he is by no means an expert in onmyōdō, his coursework has provided him with some much-needed comfort thus far. Still, he's eager to prove himself as a formidable first-year at Wollstonecraft, relentlessly chasing after the approval of upperclassmen like an overexcited, wet-behind-the-ears kit.
  
  species info: As a kitsune and servant of the Shinto god Inari, Riko was raised on the traditions of shrine-keeping, along with the rest of his litter. He's able to shift between human and fox forms, and has command over light waves to generate illusory magic whenever it suits him, such as making foliage look like glittering gold coins or creating faint musical notes from thin air. Most of the time, these illusions are harmless sensory effects that don't tend to last very long. He also has the ability to wield flames at will, creating small sparks of luminous 'fox-fire.'
  
  Riko's luck as a kitsune seems to manifest in extremes, meaning that wherever he goes, things tend to either go miraculously right or horribly wrong. As a way to nudge things in his favour or simply just to ease his mind, he keeps an array of talismans and charms in his messenger bag pockets at the ready.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  coded by weldherwings.

  
  
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  
  

  haliya

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  name | haliya
  
  species | manananggal
  
  faceclaim | patricia henson

  
  
  

  age | 640 years, appears to be about 27
  
  gender | cis female
  
  sexuality | demisexual sapphic

  
  
  

  major | pre-colonial folklore
  
  dorm | artume

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  Haliya is a woman who demands attention, unapologetic about her desires and hedonistic to her core. Armed with alluring confidence and triumph on smirking red lips, she is captivating when she chooses to be, and often has no qualms with pulling on all the right strings solely for her own benefit. Haliya moves through life like it's a game, one she intends to win at all costs. She has no delusions about her morality and feels no remorse for her actions, however detrimental they may be to those around her. Intimately familiar with her own beauty, she has long since moved past the point of resenting its limitations, having grown comfortable over centuries of using her appearance to her advantage. What was the use in trying to hide what she is, when most people were too blind to see past the skin anyway?
  
  She was never meant for the role of the sheltered, timid maiden, having been raised with the independence and strength expected of a chieftain's daughter before the title was ripped away so callously from her hands by self-righteous men in masted ships and priest's robes, many centuries ago. Their holy book's creation myth was all wrong, invoking their right over her worth simply because she was born a woman, created from man and meant to serve. It was at complete odds with the stories of her youth whispered lovingly into her ear by elders and shamans, where the first man and woman had emerged from each half of a split bamboo when a bird pecked it open, equal from their genesis. Haliya was resolute on honouring the words of her ancestors and refused to live with shame, imposed on her by pale-faced outsiders who called her people 'savages.' She died in defiance, spitting on the very soil they tried to claim.
  
  Death, however, was not the end. She was reborn anew, membranous wings unfurling from shuddering shoulder blades as she'd realized she had become something terrible, dangerous, powerful. A severed predator, abandoning her lower half to search for prey every moon rise. And soon, revenge tasted just as sweet as blood on her tongue.
  
  species info: A manananggal, or self-segmenter, is a winged ghoul-like creature from Filipino mythology, said to take the form of beautiful women who become vicious, man-eating monsters once night falls, able to separate from their lower torso as they hunt down prey. Sunlight is deadly to Haliya when she is in her monstrous form— should her two halves still be separated with the coming of dawn, she will disintegrate into ash. According to legend, to destroy the manananggal, one should search for the lower torso that she leaves behind during her nightly hunts. Salt, ash, and/or garlic should then be placed on the exposed flesh, preventing the monster from combining again and leaving it vulnerable to sunlight. Haliya takes good care to store her lower torso in a locked chamber within the depths of her dorm behind a safe lock, though she'll sometimes switch locations just for extra caution. She's run into a few close calls in the past and it's still difficult for her to shake the paranoia that comes with sticking to a predictable routine for prying eyes to take note of.
  
  Of course, there'd be less need for such precautions if she simply turned to safer feeding methods. Though if you asked Haliya, there is no such thing as a 'vegetarian' manananggal, rolling her eyes at ethical alternatives to her less-than-conventional carnivorous diet. She prefers red-blooded human hearts, and she won't settle for anything less.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  coded by weldherwings.

  
  
  
  
  

 

[faeriehollow]

roddy

djo

The Mothman

B

asics.

name

Matthew Manning

age

Twenty

gender

Male (He/Him)

sexuality

Pansexual

species

The man, moth, legend: Mothman

abilities

Ability to transform into a bipedal winged humanoid with the resemblance to a moth. The creature reaches a height of about 7 feet with a wingspan of around 10 feet. The creature can reach great speed by flight, but seems to waddle slightly while walking on foot. On the head, it has red eyes that dimly glow in the dark. This typically happens under the full moon, but can be controlled by the user with great effort. If successful, partial transformations can also occur. Some other known abilities are good camouflage at night, night vision, and partial light legation. Researchers note more research should be done on this specimen.

Faceclaim

Benjamin Wadsworth

p

ersonality.

Matthew is reserved and quiet at first glance, but if you look closely there is a bit of mischief hidden behind his eyes. Despite being a little more on the quiet side he is happy to strike up a conversation with anyone to see where it will take them. He loves to learn about new people, what they're passionate about, and of course which type of lighting is their favourite. As you get to know him, he is definitely a jokester that tries to bring in some positivity to his surroundings with puns, dad jokes, and even witty comments. He enjoys being surrounded with people, but has a very small social battery which can cause him to get a little irritable. Matthew is typically found with his nose in a book, writing, or even roaming the halls of the academy.

At times he can be quite stubborn and reckless at the expense of himself, but does his best to ensure others around him are safe. Matthew is at a point in his life where he is just trying to figure things out a little bit at a time, yet struggles to ask for help when he needs it. He gets anxious that he’s a burden and that is something that lies deep within him. Especially since he has hurt others, he's scared of this happening to anyone close to him. The boy can only take so much, so there are times if he doesn’t use an outlet, such as sketching, it’ll all just come out of him in a series of tears, misdirected rambling, and a bunch of pacing. He tries to not let it get to that point though. Matthew knows what it’s like to go through the world alone and tries to make sure others don’t have to whenever he can. Even if it’s just a little thing of small talk in the morning or finding common nerdy interests.

h

istory

On a cold November night there were reports of what was originally described as a man-sized bird creature, but then later realized it had a little more resemblance to a moth. Soon newspapers across the United States reported sightings of this creature, thus naming it The Mothman. Fear struck Point Pleasant, as the sightings instantly caused bone-chilling fear through any who dared to set their eyes on this creature.

Matthew remembered seeing the newspapers. For a while, he had his own mysteries to figure out. Such as why his body was in such bad pain every morning. There was only so much that stretching would lessen this. He remembers having a conversation with his parents who shrugged and played it off as growing pains and accused him of overworking himself at school. So, Mathew just continued on trying to get good grades, excelling on the track team, and more. However, after time things started to get a little more strange. He began waking up in public. Sometimes on the front porch bench, in the living room, and even in the public park close to his house. Immediately his parents urged him to go to the doctor who explained Matthew was just a growing boy who suddenly had developed sleepwalking. Most likely due to the stress of trying to get into a good university. It made sense to him, until it didn't.

One night Matthew woke up surrounded in complete darkness. Soon his eyes adjusted to make him realize he was in the forest. He got up, limping as he tried to gather his bearings. Only then did he realize his arms and torso were completely covered in blood. Immediately Matthew scrambled to the nearest lake, scrubbing off as much as he could. The next couple of weeks changed everything. He began to become more and more aware of the fact his body was painfully transforming into Mothman. He will never forget the sound of his bones cracking and extending to become this creature. As he embodied this creature he could feel a shift causing him to become quick to react. The anger of someone entering the forest and him immediately going to ensure they stayed out. There was a sense of territorial urge to keep the forest safe from outsiders.

As the years passed, he decided not to pursue college until he figured this out. Not that it impressed his parents much, yet he also couldn't exactly tell them the real reason. So he travelled trying to gather information about this in journals. He's travelled to study other cryptids across the nation as a tourist, but also looked into different folklore for some sort of answer to how this happened to him. Perhaps it's a mere finding someone to unlock the memories his brain decided to suppress, but he's also a little scared of what that could uncover. Was he cursed? Was he bitten and something wanted him to carry out this legend? Matthew isn't quite sure, but craves an answer to help him embrace the legend of Mothman.

One night after a fatal incident, Matthew once again found himself covered in blood. This time he was aware, but couldn't regain enough control to stop it. A group of teenagers came into the forest and ended up partying. This was a common thing so there wasn't too much threat. However, it stopped as he heard a yell. Some of their jokes had gotten a bit too out of hand and led to a huge argument. They started fighting, throwing around beer cans, and more. It was a threat to the forest yet also to themselves, so Mothman stepped in to stop it. Though he didn't expect them to attack. So, Matthew was merely defending himself! Still, he didn't mean to kill them. Instantly he returned to a human and fled to make it home safely. However, just as he turned on his street, a group of citizens saw him and instantly knew he had to have been involved. He didn't realize one of the teens had run to yell for help.

Matthew knew at that moment he could not return home. Thankfully, his high school years has him be quite the skilled sprinter. So he ran as far as he could. Through the forest, crossing people's backyards, and more until he came to a quick stop. Pinned to a telephone pole was an advertisement for Our Lady Wollstonecraft Academy. Deep within Matthew, he knew that this place was calling to him. So, with their directions, he made his way there.

g

allery.

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[Lycanious]

Brinn

#Water Kelpie

#Druantia

♡coded by uxie♡

AGE: 22
GENDER: Fluid (currently He/They)
SEXUALITY: Pansexual
DORM: Druantia

ABOUT
“But it was an accident, right?”

A twitch from the corner of his mouth. Silver eyes darted aside. Guilty, pained, yet at the same time hauntingly absent of a sensation of remorse for the answer that lingered on his tongue. Pointed ears could hear the catch in their breath as they took a step backwards. Away from him. Away from what he had done.

“They won’t be a problem any more for us.” Came the whispered words, finally, though he didn’t feel as if he had much sway over what was being said at this point in time. Again, he heard the crunch of leaves below hooves as more nervous steps were taken back. He found he could only huff in response, dismissing the other equine in favour of lowering his snout into the water and clasping his fangs around the faint glint of silver he could spy beneath the river’s surface. With a toss of his head he wrenched the object free, pulling a bridle made of silver up into view and then depositing it briefly on the shore beside him.

“Should go and find your own, before the rest of them turn up.” He hummed in response, before placing his snout into the centre of the bridle. As if animated by an invisible hand it rose into the air, delicately moulding itself to the face of the equine before locking itself in place. Immediately after the hooved creature shuddered, his breath billowing a large plume of fog into the air to join the damp and dreary atmosphere that surrounded the pair. His form convulsed, flesh morphing and shifting until in the beast’s place there stood a thin and exhausted looking human being. His head lulled to the side, long, silver hair drifting with the motion in a manner more reminiscent of flowing underwater than paying any sort of mind to the cold winds that blew by them. Pale, grey eyes observed the remaining equine. A tut sounded, wavering between sympathetic and disappointed.

“Where will we go, though?” He quirked an eyebrow upwards at the question, before reaching into the pocket of the coat that had formed around him and brandishing from it a letter.

“Well, I dunno about know about you, but I’m seeing where this takes me. Can’t imagine it’s any worse than what this lot’s put us through.”

- - -

Lithe and delicate in appearance, and sporting a pointed set of ears, in his humanoid form Brinn has often been mistaken for an elf or water nymph at first glance. Shoulder-length, pale hair combs over his head and rests on the right side of his face, occasionally entangled with small water weeds and flowers that look to be deliberately woven into his hair. Strange, silver eyes with horizontally-slitted pupils are alert yet avoidant of making eye contact with anyone for more than a fleeting second, preferring instead to trail along the ground after shadows or perhaps, if hungry, lingering a little too long on the sight of an exposed throat instead. When Brinn walks the movement is marked by the sound of cloven hooves tapping along the pavement in a skittish manner, shoulders hunched and his gaze most likely focused on several things at once as each new movement or unidentified sound catches vyes for his attention. Occasionally one may also see the glimpse of a long tail ending in a tuft of grey fur just before it whisks itself out of sight from beneath the hem of his coat. Though the presence of said coat can change alongside the rest of his clothing from day to day, he can always be found with the large, silver medallion around his neck.

Flighty on approach and tending towards more reserved activities, Brinn tends to give the impression that he’d much rather spend his hours outside of class on his lonesome. If needing to be found he can most likely be spotted lingering near the shores of the lake, flipping through the pages of a borrowed book or hurriedly munching away at a raw fish caught moments beforehand. He is known to be wary of new faces, and tends to prefer a hefty amount of warning before anyone unknown to him approaches. Those who inadvertently spook Brinn however will likely soon witness the man make a mad dash across the lake for several paces before, seemingly, remembering that beings of flesh and blood are meant to sink below the surface instead of sprint above it and promptly sink out of sight.

It is deep beneath the lake, and in his alternate form, where Brinn seems to be most at peace. As a kelpie Brinn is able to take on the shape of a large horse with black fur and a long, silvery mane. His medallion morphs into a silver bridle, and whatever clothes he was wearing at the time are likewise transfigured into a saddle upon his back. Much of Brinn’s spare time seems to be spent like this, quietly lurking just below the surface of the lake, though he has been known to sometimes briefly pop his head out into view whenever something interesting is happening upon the shore.

SPECIES
Water Kelpie, a carnivorous water spirit hailing from the rivers and lakes of Scotland that often takes the form of a horse. Though they have a reputation towards cruelty and are credited with many senseless drownings throughout history, Brinn is adamant that much of this stems from mistaking humans by the lakeside for large game such as deer, their main source of food. Well, that and a few isolated incidents where the humans were, according to Brinn, “really bloody asking for it”.

All kelpies are amphibious by nature, and have an ability to magically bind other beings or creatures to them if physical contact is made in order to more easily drag them around and, ultimately, drown them as a form of hunting or in self-defence. Brinn can, however, alternatively choose to grant someone with the ability to breathe underwater as long as they maintain this physical contact with him.

Like most kelpies Brinn is also capable of shapeshifting into a humanoid form, though he retains a few telltale characteristics towards his true nature. Most notable is the fact that his feet remain as hooves and that he keeps his tail, though both of these can be successfully hidden with the right choice of clothing. Brinn also has notably pointed ears and horizontal pupils in this form, though likewise both of these traits can be hidden behind a hood or sunglasses respectively. When shifting to human form Brinn’s bridle transforms into a large, silver medallion that he keeps around his neck. Said medallion is in itself considered to be an extension of Brinn’s soul, and is where he is able to ‘store’ his alternative form when not in use. Stealing this medallion, or alternatively his bridle when in equine form, can therefore lock Brinn into said form until it is returned.

 

[SP3CT3R]

Spoiler: Eddie Savage

Name: Edward "Eddie" Savage
Age: 19
Gender: Male
Species: Human (Cursed)
Dorm: Ra

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

The curse ate away at Eddie's memories, but there are some parts of his history that remained untouched. Eddie remembers a head-on collision with a drunk driver when he was ten, which killed his father on impact and left Eddie with a face covered in grisly scars and burns. He remembers the isolation, the nicknames, and the rumors he was subjected to throughout middle and high school because of his appearance, and having to put on a strong front around his widowed mother, knowing she didn't have time nor energy to listen to him crying about bullies.

As much as he wished he could've forgotten, Eddie remembers the Halloween party. It was being held by someone in the next school over, where no one would know the story of Savage Eddie that followed him everywhere and he could be a normal teenager for one night. He even bought a hand-carved mask at a freaky antiques store that recently opened.

Turned out the other school had heard the story. And they'd bought into it, not realizing the people they'd heard it from were talking about a peer of theirs with a badly disfigured face. 911 was called, people screamed, boys tried to look good in front of their girlfriends by taking on the killer with whatever they had available. Eddie tried to remove the mask, but it was stuck. It was like there was a voice inside his head that wasn't his, telling Eddie to be the monster everyone wanted him to be. And he gave in.

The next couple of years were a blur. Eddie doesn't know what happened to the partygoers and does not want to find out. For a while, he was a bogeyman, appearing in one place just long enough to cause a stir before vanishing as abruptly as he came. He initially stumbled upon Wollstonecraft
thinking of it as another place to terrorize after receiving the flyer, but the staff was prepared. With a little dark magic and regular meetings with the university counselor, they loosened the mask's grip enough for Eddie to recover some sense of self. The mask fed on anger, which he had years' worth of bottled up when he first picked it out at the antiques store, and finding productive outlets for that anger has helped him live a normal life at university. Or, at least, as normal as it gets in a place like Wollstonecraft.

Years of bullying have taken their toll on Eddie's social skills. He goes through phases of being outgoing and withdrawn, trying to reconcile a desperate desire to make friends with the fear of being rejected, which is deeply ingrained into his psyche and possibly amplified by the mask in attempt to turn him back into its thrall. He'll play the role of the class clown and immediately shut down if he has a reason to believe someone thinks his antics even mildly irritating. Eddie is also non-confrontational to the point of being a bit of a doormat, terrified of what might happen if his anger gets the better of him again.

The long-term effects of the curse have molded Eddie into the ideal form for spreading fear. He's inhumanly strong and nearly impervious to mundane sources of harm, able to shake off bullet wounds and walk through fire unimpeded. He's also got an uncanny knack for stealth, frequently sneaking up on people by mistake despite his size and disappearing just as easily. In addition, Eddie's face has been warped to subject anyone looking at it to immense fear proportional to how much of it is visible. Eddie himself is not immune to this, and continuing to wear the mask is the only reliable way to keep this ability (if it can be called such) under control.

 

[Letai]

Yeva Morozova

born amidst the cold

— eve
Yeva Borisovna Morozova
Ева Борисовна Морозова
21 years old
cisgender female
dorm druantia
golem
— a creature formed from a substance and given life
face claim
— sasha luss

— in the beginnning . . .

Life began for Yeva under a thick, heavy blanket of snow.

A scene so quiet and still that it felt devoid of life itself. In the heart of a frigid winter, when the world outside lay frozen and muted, a remarkable event unfolded—a miracle hidden within the icy expanse of a desolate landscape.

Beneath it lay a peaceful newborn baby — Yeva, asleep, blissfully unaware of the harsh elements that enveloped her. She was completely alone, her tiny form exposed to the brutal chill of winter, yet remarkably alive. she lay there untouched by the elements, as if the snow itself had wrapped her in a protective embrace.

A poor soul would eventually stumble upon her.

Alarmed and bewildered, they quickly realized they had discovered something extraordinary - an infant, alone in the cold, yet still breathing, her heart beating slowly but steadily beneath her fragile chest.

Taken to the hospital, where medical staff were astounded by the fact she seemed impossibly healthy, for someone who had spent an unknown amount of time unprotected from the elements. After meticulous examinations and a flurry of tests, the doctors eventually concluded that, aside from an abnormally low body temperature - one that clung to the depths of hypothermia - nothing else seemed to be wrong with her. She appeared virtually unharmed, a tiny miracle in a world that often felt indifferent to such fragility. Despite their best efforts, Yeva's body temperature remained persistently extremely low, stubbornly resistant to warming treatments. Ongoing attempts to stabilize her became a daily routine for the nursing staff, who grew increasingly fond of the quiet child in their care.

Remarkably, throughout her entire stay at the hospital, she never made a sound.

There were no cries of hunger, no whimpers of discomfort; she lay still, her expression serene as if she existed in a realm untouched by the chaos surrounding her.

As days turned into weeks, the question loomed larger than ever: How such a fragile creature, a small babe seemingly fresh out of the womb, had survived temperatures well below freezing? It was nothing short of miraculous.

— the early life of Yeva . . .

Yeva’s first sense of home was the hushed corners of an orphanage where, for seven long years, she navigated the complexities of childhood without the warmth of familial connection. Her surroundings were filled with echoes of laughter and shared stories, yet she remained a solitary figure, cocooned in an aura of mystery and intrigue.

As Yeva grew, her apparent differences became more pronounced.

While most kids were prone to the little aches and pains of childhood - bruises from falls, the seasonal colds that passed through classrooms like wildfire - Yeva stood apart, seemingly impervious, untouched by such vulnerabilities.

The biting cold that frequently enveloped the vast expansive lands of Siberia, with its icy gusts whipping through the air and frosty mornings that painted the world in shades of white, hardly fazed her; in fact, she seemed to revel in it. While her peers bundled themselves up in layers of warmth, shivering under the weight of winter, Yeva would often be found wandering through the serene, snow-draped landscape with an unbothered grace, often shrugging off the stifling numerous layers forced upon her by the worried workers at the orphanage. She moved with a tranquil indifference, as if the harsh elements were but a gentle caress against her skin, that left others confused and somewhat troubled.

The stillness of the snow-covered landscape reflected the stillness within her, a calmness represented within her not associated with childhood

 

[erzulie]

PURITY IS A CONSTRUCT MADE TO SHAME YOU, YOU NEED NOT TO BE CLEAN TO BE DIVINE.

— DOSSIER

NAME: Lovelie Marie Augustine
NICKNAME: Love or Lovie
AGE: 21 years old
GENDER: Cisfemale
SEXUALITY: Pansexual
PLACE OF BIRTH: Jamcel, Haiti
ETHNICITY: Haitian

— VISAGE

FACECLAIM: Aweng Chuol.

She has been told, by those who have gazed upon her beauty, that she is proof that only fools associate evil with the dark. She is all deep brown skin, deep like the most fertile of soils or the cosmos that others reach for with longing in their eyes. Glitter twinkles on her skin like stars in the night skin, urging those to take a closer look and make a wish should they feel deserving.

A face that some deem hard to look at yet they find themselves entranced all the same. There is something vaguely unnerving…otherworldly hidden in her features but soft enough to fool the eyes. Those eyes of her, the deepest of blues, hide their true emotions behind fluttering lashes. It is hard to see the hunger that lurks within. Their watery depths camouflage the intentions that she wants no other to see. They say so much yet so little. Her face, both hard marble and soft clay.

She grew as though she had been attempting to reach the above. Her body grew into itself softly, delicate in a way to not disturb the world around her. Her body of gentle curves, pleasant to the eye and invoking a feeling of protectiveness. She is avian like in her grace, her movements fluid and almost floating when she arrives. She has been compared to a bird, something of fragile bones and sweet songs. Yet they forget of the birds of prey, with talons ready and eyes poised for an attack.


— PERSONA

PERSONALITY: A serrated knife smile adorned in blood-soaked gemstones and beckoning eyes. Full lips part to speak honey-dipped words into the ears of flies. They flow like water, her stream of half-truths and riddles becoming more akin to troubled waters. She laughs as she watches the brave and the foolish wade through the depths, so caught up in discovering more that they fail to realize how far they’ve sunken. Lovelie enjoys this game of catch and release, push and pull. Lovelie has always been meticulous when it comes to how she words things. She speaks in a way that leaves others frustrated and unsure of her intentions.

There is something about the look in her eyes that sets people on edge. Her gaze speaks of hidden information, as though she knows something that she shouldn’t. It would be hard to believe that one such as herself is as knowledgeable and spiritual as she is. She is devoted to the ways of her culture. Within the whispering woods, when night falls and with the moon as her witness, she dances and sings and raves to honor those who came before her and watch her over even now. Lovelie is a master of her craft. Years have been spent learning and it shows in the power that she wields.

She is a raging fire. A flame that draws the moth forward, the wild fire that consumes the forest and leaves behind ash and devastation. Lovelie welcomes chaos with a razor grin and wild look in her eyes. What is life without spontaneity? Without change that forces the world to adapt? Resilience has turned her spine to steel and skin to armor. She is no flower, a dainty thing easily crushed under foot or bent by the pressure of the wind. A mighty oak is what she is, standing tall and rooted against the things that try to knock her down.

A woman of passion hides amongst the mass of students. Lovelie was made to make the world tremble, to take fate in her hands and bend it to her will. Mad in the eyes of many, a being who takes after her mother far too much. Lovelie is the cackle at a funeral, a string of curses, and a product of the strength of her ancestors stolen and unwilling to submit.

LIKES. Bonfires, Custom Grillz, Horror Media, Dark Chocolate Cigars, Tarantulas, Tinkering with magic, Offerings, Spider Lilies

DISLIKES. Waiting for too long, Being still for too long, The boring and dull, Sweet Treats

HOBBIES. Taxidermy, Collecting Skulls, Intricate Nail Art, Foraging for ingredients, Selling magical favors, Dancing, Tire Machèt

SKILLS. Lovelie know multilingual, she speaks Haitian Kreyol, French, and Spanish. Is very acrobatic and an amazing dancer. An amazing cook. Knows how to brew various poisons.

QUIRKS. Is very superstitious and does things like sweeping with salt and throwing it over her shoulder. Plays with her hair when bored. Always has some type of dark chocolate on her. Likes scaring people by sneaking up on them. Curses in Kreyol when upset. Loves puns.

FEARS: Being forgotten in death, Her death being in vain or meaningless, Angering the loa, Dishonoring her ancestors.

— FILE

RACE.
GRADE. Junior
DORM. Ra
REPUTATION. Lovelie is both a pariah and an infamous figure on campus. Whispers of madness follow after her. They believe her to be evil just as her mother is. With her human skin tome in her hands and her razor smile, she sends shivers down the spine of those caught in her sights. At the same time she is a beacon, a mesmerizing figure who seems to belong belong amongst figures in the throes of religious ecstasy. She approached with caution and sometimes reverence. Lay an offering at her feet and in turn receive a magical favor.

POWERS. Marinette’s blessing - Marinette was slayed by fire and so she now holds sway over it as a petro loa. Like her mother lovelie is also able to control the destructive force. She is able to generate flames at will and control existing fire.

Owl physiology - Lovelie has the ability to take on attributes of her patron loa’s sacred animal, the screech owl. With this ability she has natural talons that can slash through flesh like a hot knife through butter. Her senses are superhuman in nature. Lovelie can see perfectly in the dark and rotate her head 360 degrees. Though she has no beak she does have razor sharp teeth and a hollow skeleton, making her faster, lighter, and more agile.

The gift - Voodoo is a way of life and the air that she breathes. Left-hand magic flows through her blood. She wields the same ability. Lovelie is a skilled voodoo priestess with generations of knowledge and power at her fingertips. She is a woman who specializes in the dark and deadly arts, the type of practice often stolen and made “clean”.

DRAWBACKS. Marinette’s blessing - fire is an unpredictable thing. Lovelie flames can be destructive when used. If she’s not careful the flames can spread quite easily, causing unnecessary damage to others and the environment.

Owl physiology - Her superhuman senses are not something that she can turn off. Lovelie can get easily overwhelmed and stunned by intense noises. Attacks to her senses leave her vulnerable, as it leaves her open to attacks as she tries to gather her wits.

The gift - Voodoo is a way of life, a powerful gift that one must wield with respect. It different from many forms of magic, as it does not always provide results right then and there. Lovelie must be careful when dealing with the left-handed path, for it has the potential to bounce back.

— HISTORY.
bloop

LOVELIE.

code by birth of venus.

 

[harmonic_melody]

the siren

fc: erin kellyman

maeve boatwright

♡coded by uxie♡

name: maeve boatwright
age: 20
gender: female
species: siren
abilities: shape-shifting, hydro-kinesis, hypnotic singing
dorm: druantia

personality: As a siren, Maeve spent most of her youth exploring various bodies of water. She found enjoyment in observing and studying the oceanic lifeforms she came across during her swims. Her curiosity was only piqued by her parents, a marine biologist, and a photographer, who encouraged her inquisitive nature. They taught her a lot about caring for the environment. In her teens, she was moved to plan protests to protect some bodies of water from oil drilling and other destructive acts. She had no trouble with standing up for her beliefs, even when met with pushback.

Her competitive and ambitious nature takes the spotlight whenever she's involved in a game of cards. She has pulled the nastiest betrayals in a round of UNO or Monopoly. So much so that some people refuse to play with her. Their loss. Some of the ambition can come off as arrogant, but she tries her best to not let all her wins get to her head.

extra species info: For the most part, Maeve prefers to be in her human form. Half because it's hard to walk with a tail and because her scales get uncomfortably dry if they're out in the sun too long. Even in her human form, she has gills on her neck which allow her to breathe underwater. The only major drawback of being human is that she needs to drink a lot more water than the average person to stay properly hydrated. She can shift into her siren form at will in fresh or salt water.

She possesses limited hydro-kinesis, at the moment she can only move about 16 ounces of water at a time. Roughly the amount in your average plastic water bottle.

As with most sirens, her voice is incredibly captivating, but to activate her more persuasive capabilities she has to vocalize on an open vowel.

why wollstonecraft?
A cool academy that allows her to explore her supernatural nature? Seemed a lot better than having to suppress and hide her true form all the time. While she was granted the freedom to explore when she was younger, as technology grew more advanced there were dangers associated with her swimming around. Even if she stuck to the less populated beaches. Not only does the academy provide her the opportunity to interact with more students like herself, but it also gives her a safe space to learn how to control some of her abilities.

 

[Grimm]

Solteria Osorio

# Huitzilopochtli Descendant # demi-goddess

# Lizeth Selene

♡coded by uxie♡