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Realistic or Modern Subjects of Fear - CS

fancries1

fancries1

i was gone and now I’m back

CS here, please :)
Just a reminder, while the rp takes place in the United States, the experiments are bringing people from all over the world.

B A S I C S
Name:
Alias:
Age:
Gender:
Sexuality:
Date of birth:
Place of birth:
Race/ethnicity:

V I S A G E
Hair:
Eyes:
Skin: (color, texture, etc.)
Distinguishing features: (such as scars or birth marks)
Body mods:
Wardrobe:
Face claim: (Real FCs only, please)

PERSONALITY
Positives: (4+)
Negatives: (4+)
Likes: (3+)
Dislikes: (3+)
Ailments:

— HISTORY.
Background: (At least 2+ paragraphs, please! Remember to mention what happened when they were marked by the Entity)
Relationships: (this can be to people from your character's past, or their relationship to other characters)
Marked by: (remember, more than 1 character can be marked by the same fear!)
​
 
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  • Alice






    In freedom,
    most people find sin







    Nightclubbing



    Iggy Pop













































    name

    Alice Marie Cabot









    nickname(s)

    Alice, mostly. But she does think it's fun when people call her "Al".







    Age

    Twenty-five






    Gender

    Cis Female






    Sexuality

    Bisexual








    Date of Birth

    December 26th








    Place of Birth

    Paris, France









    Race/Ethnicity

    White





















♡design by natasha., coded by uxie♡

 
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ignore that this is alice's code for now lmao im working on it












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  • Jules






    Being smart won't save you







    Nightclubbing



    Iggy Pop













































    name

    Doctor Jules Chastain









    nickname(s)

    Doctor Jules Chastain, PhD







    Age

    56






    Gender

    Cis Female






    Sexuality

    Bisexual








    Date of Birth

    October 30th








    Place of Birth

    Chicago, USA









    Race/Ethnicity

    African-American





















♡design by natasha., coded by uxie♡

 
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vincent amaral
















marked by the somnus




oscar isaac










♡coded by uxie♡




—𝐁 𝐀 𝐒 𝐈 𝐂 𝐒.
Name: Vicente Ciceron Cabrera Amaral
Nickname: Publicly goes by Vincent Amaral, on most documentation that isn't strictly official. Also goes by Vince. Cici by close family.
Age: 43
Gender: Cis Male
Sexuality: Heterosexual
Date of birth: June 17
Place of birth: San Francisco, California, USA
Race/ethnicity: Guatemalan-Cuban

• • ● • •

—𝐕 𝐈 𝐒 𝐀 𝐆 𝐄.
Hair: Curly, dark locks cropped short, at least up the back and sides. A usually floppy mess sits on his head; he's never keen enough to get it all cut again.
Eyes: Dark iris embedded in watery, reddened eyes with blown out, highly sensitive pupils. He always looks as if he's been crying, at least a little bit, though the bags under his eyes and the sensitive skin has rendered him bleary eyed in most circumstances.
Skin: Olive hued skin, usually warm toned but decently pallid, slightly sweaty and dry to the scratch. He moisturizes as much as he can but his skin just keeps itching, no matter what. Blotchy and ruddy, his skin is really, really just unhappy with the way the rest of his body is reacting to everything.
Distinguishing features: Broke his ankle training his kid in soccer, with a scar that lances up the side of his leg in a jagged line with faint stitching holes still visible, faded beneath skin. His nails are ragged, hangnails at the edge of most of them and just about bitten down to the quick. His smile is lopsided, a result of braces as a kid that his teeth simply warped out of when he was old enough to stop wearing his retainer.
Body mods: N/A
Wardrobe: No notable fashion sense, a man who wears jeans and jumpers in cool weather and cargo shorts and short sleeves in the summer. He tends to layer, always erring on the colder side no matter the season, and he's a firm believer in comfortable footwear. Tends to be drawn toward cooler, darker colours. Wore a black suit at his wedding.
Face claim: Oscar Isaac

• • ● • •

—𝐏 𝐄 𝐑 𝐒 𝐎 𝐍 𝐀 𝐋 𝐈 𝐓 𝐘.
Positives: Well-meaning, Compassionate, Excitable, Witty, Non-combative
Negatives: Neurotic, Impatient, Deceptive, Scatter-brained, Irritable
Likes: Action movies, Loud music, Outdoor sports
Dislikes: Itchy scratchy sweaters, Tight shoes, Warm temperatures
Ailments: Somniphobia (fear of sleeping/falling asleep/consequences of sleep), Insomniac (by choice, and by force), Generalized Anxiety, Prescription Pill Addiction (Caffeine Pills, Pain Pills, Amphetamine)

• • ● • •

— 𝐇 𝐈 𝐒 𝐓 𝐎 𝐑 𝐘.
Background: Born and raised a family man, tight-knight relationships form the basis of Vincent. He grew up in a big family, and he would hope one day to cultivate his own cozy, busy home. Always softer, always more sensitive than his siblings, he was a sickly boy whose body became a little more tolerable as he got older. Vincent was plagued by sleep paralysis from a young age, with episodes happening anywhere from three to four nights a week. He was sleepless from a young age, but being a child under the guidance of parents who didn't know better, he continued to sleep. The nightmares he had were frequent as well, far too real and far too lucid to feel like it was simply a byproduct of sleep. He began to avoid it afterward, pretending to wind down and locking his bedroom door. He'd hide under the blankets, forcing his eyes open with tape and chewing on espresso beans he'd sneak from the kitchen.

It began to show, with his schoolwork and relationships dwindling. Vincent was simply too tired. He stayed up late watching films on the after hours channels, sometimes finding himself coming across horror movies. Vincent learned, and it began to bleed into his fears. After he told his parents about the figures he'd see in his room, and that they were demons, his parents weren't sure whether to find a doctor or a priest first. That only made it worse. The apparitions he'd see at night, or when he'd begin to nod off during the day, began to distort and grow more wicked. They were real demons, he was sure of it. They told him he'd die.

And he did, one night. At age 14, Vincent saw something so horrific in his sleep/awake state that his brain had spiked, and his nerves had gone alight. If it weren't for the fact that he shared his bedroom with his brothers, he was sure that nobody would have heard his silent screams. Vincent had one big seizure and he lapsed into a coma. Hooked up to tubes and monitors the second they could get to a hospital, he witnessed the closest thing to dying. And it had all been in his sleep.

He would not remember the nightmares that came during the coma; not clearly anyhow. It would linger, a pressure on his chest, and even when he awoke by a miracle with his mother's hand holding his tightly, he knew that he was changed. But he was alive, wasn't that the most important part?

For the rest of his life Vincent would operate in this fashion: somewhat sleeping, spiraling into panic attacks in the hours before bed, and staying up as long as he could. The sleep paralysis remained, more aggressive but in shorter spurts, replaced somewhat by a habit of sleepwalking. This became an active threat, due to the fact that he'd always find himself inches from a window or too close to an open gas flame. These fears became the centre of his life.

Having always been a fan of movies, of animation, as a child he took up learning the ropes, becoming a junior animator for a fledgling production company out of San Fran in his twenties. It turned out to be a suitable job, where late hours were frequent and the pay seemed somewhat worth it. He'd worked night shifts all his life, but this at least made it feel normal.

He met his future wife at a sleep study when he was 25. She was the attendant that checked him in, and he was smitten. They fell in love hard and fast, Vincent so sure that he'd be able to hide all his 'demons' from her. They never spent the night, he never slept next to her, and eventually Aleid did clue in to the deep-seated nature of his phobias and diagnoses. She said she loved him regardless, that they could work through it together.

They had three kids, a boy and twin girls, and life seemed somewhat okay. Vincent still never slept, proving to be as much of an asset to caring for their newborns as much as it was a detriment. He enjoyed it, knowing that every chance his body tried to sleep he'd be jolted away by the sharp cry of a baby. He loved his children because he was their father, but he loved them for being something he had to worry about more than himself.

For a time things seemed to wind down, even. Falling into a rhythm of work and family, while Vincent still feared sleep like his life depended on it, the sleepwalking and the paralysis wasn't so bad. He was doped up on a number of pills, sure, that dulled the aches and kept him feeling so overly exhausted all the time.

But then all it took was one bad day for everything to go wrong again. A work lay-off; a fight. They'd been distant for some time, worse over the years and as their kids aged. She'd always been suspicious of him beyond his usual ailments, convinced that he was killing himself. His wife had found out about the pills, worst of all, and flushed them all down the toilet. In one fell swoop Vincent was painfully reminded that his life was not his own, and the sleep attacks began again. He lashed out at those he loved, and gone out for a drive. He'd just wanted to clear his mind. Given all his anxieties and his sleeplessness it was a miracle that he'd gotten his license, but he didn't drive often.

This night was different. He didn't think he'd fallen asleep, but all of a sudden his body locked up. He saw the demons again, pulling and tearing at his skin from all angle in the car. Then there was the bright light of oncoming traffic, and he'd just barely been able to resurface from it all to take the wheel and drive off the road and into a tree. He was lucky to have lived, but the car was totaled and Vincent had one nasty head wound. Once the cops and hospital staff had figured everything out, called his wife, and talked to Vincent, the realization at hand was that things had to change.

He couldn't keep living like this.
Relationships: Aleid Amaral (Separated Wife), Michiel Amaral (Son), Lucia Amaral (Daughter), Sofie Amaral (Daughter)
Marked by: The Somnus

 
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rebeckah kane
















marked by the watcher




mia goth










♡coded by uxie♡




—𝐁 𝐀 𝐒 𝐈 𝐂 𝐒.
Name: Rebeckah Francine Kane
Nickname: Becks, Becky, Beck
Age: 28
Gender: Cis Female
Sexuality: Aromantic Pansexual
Date of birth: Oct 25
Place of birth: Macon, Georgia, USA
Race/ethnicity: White

• • ● • •

—𝐕 𝐈 𝐒 𝐀 𝐆 𝐄.
Hair: Already blonde, it's lightened a few shades to really retain that golden glow to it, even when her darker roots come in during the winter. Cut just past her collarbones, Beck's hair isn't curly but it isn't straight either; somewhere in the middle that's victim to humidity and the frizziness that comes with it.
Eyes: Cork brown coloured doe eyes are framed by nearly blonde lashes, tinged just brown enough to avoid making her eyes look quite so wide. Her eyes look almost black in the low light.
Skin: Her skin is pale, pinkish and cream in tone, with the very faint smattering of freckles and moles— incredibly light against her skin. While sun does bring them out, a good dosage of foundation hides them once again. It is clear that she takes care of her skin, but doesn't go out of her way.
Distinguishing features: Blonde eyebrows create an expansive, expressive face for Becks. They are natural, but she likes to say that she bleaches them herself.
Body mods: Ear piercings, two in each ear.
Wardrobe: Becks used to dress rather provocatively, with short dresses and high heels to show her legs off. She enjoyed styling herself and showing off. In more recent years, however, as the symptoms have ramped in on Becks she's gone far more modest, with long sleeves in most cases and some level of pant or trouser as well. Adoring heels from a far, she doesn't let herself wear them anymore. Her fashion has gone significantly muted, though small vestiges of the former socialite remain in pleasing and flattering colours and cuts of her clothes. She prefers paler colours, smothered beneath the paranoia that has a chokehold on her life.
Face claim: Mia Goth

• • ● • •

—𝐏 𝐄 𝐑 𝐒 𝐎 𝐍 𝐀 𝐋 𝐈 𝐓 𝐘.
Positives: Daring, Perceptive, Pragmatic, Passionate
Negatives: Shrewd, Paranoid, Argumentative, Obstinate
Likes: Sweet Cocktails, Being underground, Deflecting Attention
Dislikes: Cell-phones/Screens, Open windows, Meat (vegan)
Ailments: Scopophobia (According to medical professionals), Paranoid Personality Disorder (According to medical professionals), Antisocial Personality Disorder (According to medical professionals), Iron deficient (confirmed by Becks), Casual Alcohol/Pill Addiction (But doesn't anyone want to have fun?)

• • ● • •

— 𝐇 𝐈 𝐒 𝐓 𝐎 𝐑 𝐘.
Background: Born in a one bedroom apartment, Rebeckah came as a surprise to her mother. The woman hadn't known she was pregnant, and being a young mother of 19 complaining of stomach pain she'd locked herself in her bedroom until it had subsided— revealing, of course, a daughter. Considering all factors, Beck had been born fairly healthy. As soon as she'd given birth, Andrea Kane had run to a neighbour begging to be taken to a hospital. Baby Becks had been kept at the hospital for a few days for tests and to clean her up, but she was then sent home with a clean bill of health.

With the father out of the picture, Andrea took to raising her child alone. She had the help of her own parents, Beck's grandparents, but they could only do so much. Andrea was a troubled woman of her own accord, severely anxious and borderline schizophrenic. She also suffered from Capgras delusion, coupling her own sadness and fears. Becks grew up caring for her mother more than a child should, but shouldering her mother's tears and anxieties. Becks could only absorb what was being said, not old enough to discern that this wasn't normal, and that her mother needed help (that she couldn't get).

Despite all that her mother suffered from, she did try to hold her daughter closely. The delusions would ebb and flow, some days worse than others. When Rebeckah was ten her mother had suddenly and fully believed that her own daughter as an imposter, breaking the heart of the young girl. Rebeckah was surrendered around that time, in due part to her grandparent's involvement, and turned over to her mother's brother. He lived in New York, a stark change to her quiet life in sweltering Georgia.

Marcus was a hard man, a smarmy and official lawyer, who had no wish to have a kid. Yet he did his best with Rebeckah, perhaps knowing how much of her reminded him of his sister. She was an independent child, regardless, all but refusing to stick around for very long. A wanderer by heart she took to the streets, observing and marking all the corners. It was more of a comfort than it was anything fun, but Beck wouldn't realize this until later. For her birthday she asked for a map and nothing more.

Her neuroticism increased as she aged, but Rebeckah wasn't eager to address it. Forcing herself into normalcy and a high profile life, mingling with the fellow elites that her uncle had represented over the years. Rubbing elbows had some effect, putting Rebeckah in a lot of the high regards of those around her. She was funny, funny that she was so mean and smart for a young girl, and seemed always so elusive. Everyone just wanted to get to know her.

Meanwhile her own fears were slowly ramping up, and walks on the streets soon became too much for her. Every corner she feared seeing someone, something. Behind her, in front of her, her own shadow soon became an enemy if she wasn't paying too close attention. Rebeckah adapted where she could, paying for taxis and driving herself when it came to it. She got speeding tickets more than once, holding her tongue to admit she thought she'd seen someone tailing her and that was why she'd blown down a city street at eighty miles per hour.

A social loafer and dependent, if Rebeckah wasn't coasting off of her uncle's wealth, she was fancying herself with a partner or 'provider' who could make the most for her. All it took was a little skin, a little comfort, and she had plenty of money. Getting a job seemed unrealistic when she did a very good job as a trophy on someone's arm. Her paranoia became the basis for taking money and hoarding it. If she needed to go, she wanted to have the funds to do so.

Eventually her uncle got rather sick of this, confronting her on what he believed was selfishness but what Rebeckah failed to communicate was fear. He forced her to work the mail room at his law firm, saying that if she was lucky she'd work her way up to clerk and learn a thing or two about the law. This, of course, meant little to Rebeckah. But she kept appearances for good reason. She didn't fare so well, showing up late and sometimes still drunk from the night before. A single DUI when she was 23 made her uncle threaten to cut her off completely. She tried to sober up after that. But she was sure, deep down, that he was going to do it anyway. After that she swore she saw men dressed in black on the street corners and going up the stairs when she took the elevator. People that were watching. Waiting.

Despite everything going decently well for a time, Rebeckah continued to find herself closer and closer to psychosis. Everyday was a test to see if she was worse than the last. Fearing that she'd end up like her mother she sunk into drug use, only casually of course, but found that it was the best way of shutting off her mind. Those who say that they are 'casually' using are further along than they think, and Rebeckah wouldn't ever admit that she was dependent. She jumped from one crutch to another, and this one came with violent repercussions.

Her mother passed away shortly after Beck turned 25 from an allergic reaction that had left her in a hospital bed, and then in a coffin. It broke Beck's heart, though she could only remember how much her mother had suffered. Part of her wondered— feared— that it had been an intentional slaying.

Beck's ramping paranoia came to a head on her 28th birthday. She'd woken up in the early morning with a headache, and upon entering the bathroom she'd looked at herself and almost, almost been sure that it wasn't herself. She went into a panic very quickly, poking and prodding at her face and eyes. The eyes they hadn't been right. Not at all. Then from behind she'd seen someone ducking around the corner, going into her closet. With shaking hands she'd made her way over, but had been too afraid to open it. Despite hearing noise inside, so sure that someone was hiding in there, Beck flew to her bed and hid under the covers. She refused to sleep, refused to move and kept herself up all that morning. Sometime after ten a.m. she heard the closet door opening and closing again, hearing someone leave. Begrudgingly she fell asleep after that, sleeping well into the afternoon. It had been a bad idea to plan a surprise party, but nobody knew that Rebeckah was struggling so much or that she'd stayed home that morning in her bed. It triggered an intense episode, and the sudden vision of the figure she'd seen that morning, and the panic in her heart from what she'd seen in the mirror.

She phoned the police before going downstairs, grabbing a bat she kept for safety and beating the shit out of what she thought was someone coming to take her away. At the advancing figures, all with shining white eyes and grabbing hands, Rebeckah lunged at whoever else she could. It was only after blood splattered against her face that it shook her out of it, the grave reality settling in: that she'd bruised and bloodied people that she considered close, and that she'd done without any sense of what had occurred, full of fear and fight or flight instincts.

No one had pressed charges, of course. But it was clear that Rebeckah wasn't okay, as much as she protested that it was a lapse in judgement and she was sure she'd seen something. After that moment she knew she couldn't look in her reflection anymore, not for long. Monitors and screens held the same fear, though she was sure in those cases that her phone was being recorded by someone else.

Still getting booked by the cops anyway, and with a stunning lawyer for an uncle, maybe Rebeckah shouldn't have been so surprised that he'd lobbied for a conservatorship over her. She ended up going to an inpatient facility just outside of the city, feeling a horrible pit in her stomach as she sunk into the life that she knew her mother had lived. Despite her proclamations that these delusions were real, she was forced to believe that they were not, and that she was as sick as her mother had been. Rebeckah was sure that the doctors had taken a lot of joy in checking off boxes and diagnosing her for things she was sure she didn't have. She had a few issues but she knew that she wasn't like that. There was something wrong.

An invitation for a different type of treatment, far away, was agreed to by her uncle (now that decisions were wholly out of Beck's hands).
Relationships: Marcus Kane (Uncle), Andrea Kane (Mother, Deceased)
Marked by: The Watcher

 
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/*top banner*/
Marked by The Carnage.


/*left middle*/
Dustin Ziegler


/*left bottom*/
blood spilled




/*right bottom -- picture with grayscale filter*/



/*DO NOT REMOVE CREDIT*/

© weldherwings.
 
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Erik Hoffman
















Marked by The Empty




Aaron Tveit










♡coded by uxie♡






B A S I C S

Name: Erik Hoffman
Alias: None
Age: 31
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Bisexual
Date of birth: August 6th
Place of birth: Brooklyn, New York
Race/ethnicity: White

V I S A G E

Hair: Dirty blonde with a thin texture. Erik gets it cut regularly and keeps it smoothed down with hair gel, but this often lends it in a somewhat greasy look.

Eyes: Greyish blue irises that are usually wide open; they can look a little manic at times.

Skin: Warm-toned and tanned (lended by some fake tan). He hates the idea of looking haggard, so he's recently started wearing sunscreen on a daily basis.

Distinguishing Features: He's proud of his pearly whites; he got braces when he was a young teenager and on TV, which was recommended by his agent but mortified him. Now that they're off, he thinks of himself as having a winning smile aided by frequent teeth whitening sesssions.

Body mods: Erik has a couple of small tattoos on his upper arms; the names of ex-girlfriends he dated for no more than a few months (he becomes easily infatuated). His right ear was pierced in his late teens, but it's mostly closed up by now.

Wardrobe: Erik enjoys dressing flashy, with well-tailored suits and pops of colour. In the summer, he's fond of Hawaiian shirts. He enjoys nice shoes and expensive watches, which he can't really afford anymore. He thinks he has an eccentric, fashionable style, but some just think he looks tacky.

Face claim: Aaron Tveit


P E R S O N A L I T Y

Erik has a vivacious personality that can be superficially charming. He is outgoing, likes to make jokes, and tends to rib on others as though they've long been friends (which is not always appreciated). Erik often comes across as pushy and somewhat full of himself, his loud laughs often come across as forced and when a conversation moves out of his comfort zone he will stubbornly try to keep things light-hearted to the point of almost delusion. Much of his humour and style of talking appears rehearsed - it's convincing at first, but after spending more time with him it becomes clear that many of his quips and bright white smiles have been obsessively practiced in a mirror. He is hungry for attention and validation, hating to be hated but hating to be ignored even more.

Positives:
-Outgoing
-People-oriented
-Creative
-Charismatic (superficially)

Negatives:
-Insecure, clingy
-Easily perceives slights
-Attention-seeking
-Self-sabotages
-Denial and self-delusion

Likes: Sunny days, the beach, being in the spotlight, dogs, comedy movies
Dislikes: Foggy weather, when things are too quiet, dark chocolate
Ailments: Irregular heartbeat, amphetamine addiction, chronic migraines


H I S T O R Y

Erik was born in an apartment in Brooklyn, New York to upper middle class parents; his mother worked as a makeup artist and his father in accounting. From a young age he was a charismatic child, although somewhat moody and prone to temper tantrums, and was adamanant that he would become a real somebody someday. He became interested in the world of showbiz as a child, enjoying hearing from his mother about stories on the sets of movie and television, and begged his mother to take him to open auditions. She agreed, though without much confidence, and at just nine years old Erik hit his lucky break: he would play the precocious, impishly wisecracking young son on an upcoming sitcom. The show had strong ratings and Erik thrived off of the fast-paced life, basking in the popularity even as his education and young social life suffered for it. His parents, also drawn to the attention, would take him to more auditions throughout his youth.

Erik's starring sitcom would eventually decline in the ratings until it ceased its run when he was fifteen, which devastated him more than it did the other cast members, but he insisted that this was just the beginning of his career. And through his late teens, Erik got roles here and there - usually playing an identical archetype of the lively jokester he had made his name playing as a child. But his star was fading, and it was not helped by Erik's growing propensity for drugs, alcohol, and partying - certainly not unusual, but it had reached a point where his professionalism was suffering considerable, and his brash sense of humour was quickly becoming thought of as boorishness by directors. By his early twenties, his drug dependency really started to set in; nobody can handle one of these afterparties without a little bit of blow, he would joke, but his personality gradually became more manic. He would fly off the handle at the slightest provocation, and it was starting to grate on the people he was supposed to be impressing. While he still had a small circle of actor friends he had come to know in his youth, they seemed to be avoiding Erik more and more all the while moving up in their careers, while Erik remained stagnant. With the slowing of his career in his twenties, he became desperate - not able to accept that perhaps it was time to rethink his priorities - and would try his hardest to get into the inner circles of the famous, who would quickly cast him aside once they sensed how much of a sycophantic has-been he was.

As Erik reached his thirties, he had something of a crisis. He had been able to get roles, here and there, but it was no longer enough to live on. Most of his money came from his original sitcom role, and he'd spent most of what he received on frivolities long ago. His parents, well aware of the bad rumors surrounding Erik, seemed to have embarrassedly distanced themselves from him somewhat, while still enjoying the money he had earned them. When Erik's agent awkwardly recommended that he try getting some regular job, to tide things over financially while he sorted out roles for him, Erik could no longer stand being nobody.

Look at me, look at me, look at me

His drug addiction quickly nosedived, spiraling more and more until he was manic and violent, frequently making scenes in public for any perceived slight, all for some semblance of attention. It was at this time that the Entity, sensing his delusion and desperate, selfish fear of being forgotten, first sunk its claws in. Fueled by drug crazes, a mix of amphetamines and hallucinogens, Erik experienced an event that his psychiatrist would later call psychosis while at a party one night. The faces of others appeared to flicker, murky features that seemed to stare right past him as though he were invisible. Erik recognized them as his friends (or at least, he would call them his friends), but when he called out to them there was no response. An uneasy feeling permeated the air, as though he had died long ago and these people were somewhere else entirely. Leaving in a panic, he noticed the streets were crowded with people - to an unusual degree, even on a Friday night - and yet each one of them did not seem to be real. Or perhaps they were all real, and Erik alone was an apparition - he felt as though he were trapped behind a glass wall as the world left him behind. These delusions would not end with Erik stumbling back into his apartment and sleeping; for the following week, he continued to feel that sickening feeling that he did not exist in the world any longer, that nobody knew he existed. When he called his mother (or at least, he thought he did), she spoke to him as though he were another person entirely. He couldn't decide if she were an imposter or if he was.

But Erik was able to break free from the torment, culminating in an especially public breakdown that snapped him out from it. And this did indeed get him attention - not of the positive variety, but Erik was finally the flavour of the month in celebrity gossip. Hungry for attention, Erik wanted to take advantage of this to revive his career - and what better way to do that than proving that he had gone and gotten therapy? Erik dreamed of making a triumphant return from this little therapeutic getaway he had been invited to, answering interview questions about the importance of mental health, and finally becoming somebody who could never be forgotten.

Relationships:

Michael Sloan: His current agent - he's been through a few. A little sick of Erik's behaviour, but Erik trusts him.

Lev Gilad: A musician and actor, more successful than Erik and a friend of his. They've known each other for years; Lev finds him somewhat annoying and high-maintenance and tends to avoid him, but is just slightly too good-natured to fully cut him off.

Annabella Trucco: His most recent ex-girlfriend, who broke up with his for his escalating addiction and offputting, sometimes scary behaviour. He has her name tattooed on his arm. She was worried about him following the public incident and hopes he can really get better.

Marked by: The Empty
 
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Horace Worth
















Marked by The Watcher




Rami Malek










♡coded by uxie♡





B A S I C S
Name: Horace Worth
Alias: Mr. Night (work), Horsey (mother)
Age: 28
Gender: Male
Sexuality: "all over the place"
Date of birth: August 19th, 1995
Place of birth: Bellevue, Nebraska
Race/ethnicity: Mixed

V I S A G E
Hair: fade and combover, desperately tries to keep it nice
Eyes: hazel, frequently bloodshot and tired
Skin: pale, seriously lacking in sun exposure
Distinguishing features: scar of torn lip
Body mods: none
Wardrobe: A disaster of hoodies, turtlenecks, scarves, and other excessively covering items.
Face Claim: Rami Malek

P E R S O N A L I T Y
Positives:
Tries to better others
Listens well (without eye contact)
Knowledgeable
Minimalist

Negatives:
Paranoid
Morbid
Nihilistic
Cowardly

Likes:
Coffee
Writing
Caring for his cat

Dislikes:
Being late
Wintertime
Having to leave a voicemail

Ailments:
Recovering Addiction to Heroin
Major Depressive Disorder
General Anxiety Disorder
Acute Scopophobia
Acute Agoraphobia
Insomnia (undiagnosed)

H I S T O R Y
Background:
Even in the beginning, Horace's family had nothing. Both of his parents worked tirelessly to keep their dingy apartment, and he could always feel the insurmountable weight of their expectations for a better life. Money was always a problem, and holidays seldom contained presents or delights. Even so, Horace learned to be happy with what he had, developing into a minimalist, and this lifestyle carries over into his present living habits. He makes an exception for coffee, the one luxury he affords himself.

In his youth, Horace suffered from an "imaginary tormentor" keeping him from sleeping. The tormentor, which he took to calling Nelson, would simply stand by his bedside, and stare at him for hours. Never breaking eye contact, never smiling, never frowning, and never turning away. Even when he tried to face away from his persecutor, Horace swears that he could still feel his lifeless eyes gazing into the back of his skull. This persisted for years, until it suddenly dissipated beginning in Middle School. He was diagnosed with Scopophobia - a fear of being watched. To this day, his mother still doesn't fully understand what exactly was happening to him, only that the terror in his eyes and the tears streaming down his cheeks shook her in a way she could never forget.

Shortly after turning 13, Horace's father, Neil, suffered a stroke and died shortly after. Denise, his mother, was overwhelmed with grief, and never fully recovered from his father's death. In her spiral of depression, she began ingesting vast amounts of narcotics, never sticking with one for long. First was liquor, then marijuana, then codeine, then heroin. Horace soon followed.

As his mother slipped further and further into dissociation, Horace tried to get clean and right himself: he finished 45th in his grade, got a job at the local library shortly thereafter, and studied diligently at the community college to get his associates degree in librarian sciences. To do this, however, he took on an enormous amount of debt of nearly $65,000 - to keep himself fed, clothed, and warm. To make ends meet, he stopped purchasing heroin altogether. The following withdrawal nearly killed him.

Horace is a saddened, lonely man living with his mother - now diagnosed with cancer - with seemingly no way out. Depressed, starving, and up to his neck in debt, when a strange organization inquired about a study that would pay off his hefty loans, he accepted without a second thought out of sheer desperation.

Relationships:
Denise Worth - Mother (dying)
Neil Worth - Father (deceased)
Sahla al-Jamail - Coworker, Friend, Crush
Socks - Pet Cat

Marked by: The Watcher​
 
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Quentin F. Rainone
















#Maked by the Trapped




##Imposter Syndrome










♡coded by uxie♡



♡coded by uxie♡


Name: Quentin Felix Rainone
Alias: Quinn (for short), sometimes Felix when people want to refer to him as another name
Age: 25
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Bisexual
Date of birth:
Place of birth: Edinburgh, Scotland
Race/ethnicity: White (Scottish), Mexican descent on his mother’s side.


PERSONALITY
Positives:

Confidence — Wielded like a weapon of absolution, Quentin owns the room, himself, his perception, his guise and the responses he carefully curates with a wicked smile. It’s disarming how much confidence can carry you through, and Quentin’s been playing the sweet melody to do that.

Connected — His industry has fostered his ability to connect, negotiate and adapt, learning how to be the best ‘sellable’ version of himself. It comes with the territory, how to make himself appealing and how to best elect his own connections to further his own ambitions. It takes time, of course, to build the bridges, but he’s learned when to add a comment or when to make his move.

Approachable: If you need someone in the room to approach, well, he’s offering himself on a glittery silver platter and with another smile to charm on the offence. He’s never been described as stand-offish, in fact, people have remarked with a “trusting face,” and persona—all in the game for himself and the conversations which follow.

Ambitious: A strange trait, considering his own mask, but Quentin’s quite capable of recognizing opportunity and how to ascend the gilded steps. It’s about taking the first step and mastering his inability to move to really make something of himself. It’s there, within him, serviceable in action (such as initiating conversations, asking people, approaching them or charming them with a smile).

Negatives: (4+)

Chaotic: He’s addicted to drama, instability, and a sense of urgency to be the centre of attention or watch the room crumble on itself. He’s consumed by the exhilaration of something moving and Quentin’ focuses on those elements. It comes in varying waves, sometimes he just prods the bear and sometimes— sometimes— he wants to break someone’s relationship to feel like there’s progression.

Approval: Validation from others shouldn’t be a prerequisite for his existence, yet here he is. When you break something — someone needs to fix it and Quentin can slide himself into the seat as both a supporter and fixer. It’s not healthy, but his darker moments make his intentions twisted.

Manipulative: The hallmark of his negative traits, shining like a glittery disco ball, fragmented and spinning in what he’s in the mood for.

Likes: Rainy afternoons, social media, talking, a busy schedule, tea, drinking, smoking, collages and photography.

Dislikes: Feeling envious, watching someone succeed, achieving accomplishments (not his own), thinking about his deceased siblings and dipping into an extreme version of apathy.

Ailments:
Imposter Syndrome
Survivors Guilt
Dependent Personality Disorder (diagnosed)
Dissociation (in times of extreme stress)


Visage Summary: Quentin is an unapologetic colour palette, blending greens and blues; an artist swishing a brush against his tresses. Blue and greens dominate his visions and creativity. A kaleidoscope of the person he wants to portray — skin-deep and shallowness under the guise of a hummingbird's vibrant wings. The rest of him confirms faintly, rustled in other subtle hues and delicate shades. Fortunately, his hair is a sticking point, brushing out in many directions and refusing to be tamed. No matter of product or hair gel is enough to completely slick the strands back, puffing out like a hazy cloud and trailing against his forehead.

V I S A G E
Eyes: His eyes are reminiscent of a dense forest, deep and foreboding, a twinkle of light coasting through the foliage of his issues. Like dark coffee beans, roasting with a simmer of warmth that sometimes boils over and framed around with a set of thick eyelashes.
Skin: Pallid, with a few smatterings of scars, tattoos, inky splodges and shapes (some he can remember), and others ghosting on his skin like a forgotten touch. Fortunately, during the summer months, he can tan up around his neck, legs and arms, settling his skin into a slightly darker shade.
Body mods: Right ear, including the cartilage, glittery golden buds, or the moon itself. Belly button piercing and tongue piercing (often with cheeky remarks, “angel,” or “devil,”). Wardrobe: Designer labels, colourful shirts, exposing his shoulders and waist are par for the course in terms of his taste. He likes over-layering his flannel, tying hoodies around his waist and rocking the casual punk look when it suits him. Sometimes he oscillates towards more flattering wear, polo shirts, short sleeves, Vivienne Westwood stomped on the label and Channel. Totally does not make him pretentious.
FC: Tyler Posey

History:

Quentin could admit before he was born, his family shone in a myriad of different ways, from actors to starlets and singers — all sharing in one essential need: attention to be better. To become better. He was the youngest in the chaotic failings of the Rainone family. His mother, bless her grieving heart (for her career), a B-list actor who couldn’t make anything of herself. His father, a smoking gun whose success swung like a pendulum of instability (sometimes touring and other times), drowning in drugs to compensate for the fact his band was going nowhere. Quentin’s homely life defined itself as troubled and the only way to get anywhere — by anyone — was to climb the ladder of social success. Of course, his brothers did this better than anyone (good-looking), infinitely charming and with the right amount of genetics to make them marketable in children’s fashion. Unfortunately, Quentin was the exception to that, remarked as plain and average; with no smattering of freckles or halo-coloured hair. His resemblance to his mother was perhaps the karmic kicker he wasn’t being booked by anyone. His mother largely focused on nurturing that talent, sowing vanity and greed into pliable vessels. Her ranting and continued insistence on the spotlight became unhealthy, drawing her children into a cracked-up world where “looks” were the only commodity to matter. Quentin himself was left to the devices of his own father, while unsuitable to parent— he seemed invested enough to teach something to Quentin. Guitar, drums, singing, vocal lessons, he was just a young boy in a cloud of hazy smoke but his father did at least have something to show. When spending time with the youngest baby. Catalogued in smoky afternoons, babysitters, attention was scarce from anybody and Quentin grew up not knowing what to do or who to be. That was until the fatal accident. He was nine, as per usual, spending his time in a ratty trailer with an unknown woman and more substances he couldn’t name with his father.

Both of his brothers drowned on a supposed photo shoot his mother was conducting, fleeting details in “someone should have been watching them,” and that “wasn’t her fault,” she was doing what needed to be done. Quentin himself couldn’t tell you the exact details, why she had done what she did. Why didn't she secure any additional help and why did the authorities clear her of any neglect? Every newspaper in his city stamped his brother’s face, marked by tragedy, ill-fated fortune, “the poor boys,” and his mother was branded as Mother Shitty Teresa for enduring what no mother shouldn’t. His father got blasted in the crossfire, and withdrew as a shadow, refusing to undergo her blame. Quentin was now her pet project, remodelled under her guidance and the sorrow gave him a leg up in the fashion world. A brave boy, a courageous son and a devoted brother for continuing a miserable legacy. His teenage years faltered in different bookings and escalated to a newfound media darling, swimsuit wear, family photos and teenage fashion were his most popular mediums. The bolstered support from his mother’s campaigning on “making sure other children were safe,” somehow elevated hero status and Quentin became a children’s model, like his brothers. Yet he couldn’t escape their shadow, the “your brothers were so good,” posers, expressions, looks and how “his brothers would have grown into such fine men.” And he was expected to emulate their success. He felt trapped under their nameless fame, misfortune, and his association in the industry came through them. Stagnated without the means of ever building his own future, he couldn’t dislike what they did and he soon became a replacement (oftentimes his own name was blurred with his brothers in his mother’s mouth). Quentin eventually developed survivor’s guilt, thinking he should have died the same as them, in the hole for any semblance of peace. It was small at first, but he wasn’t allowed to forget their sacrifice — what they did for him — for his career. Like his brothers were supposed to die for Quentin to get a crumb, and this followed him into his twenties, brandishing him like an ugly scar.

Sure, smoking, drinking and partying numbed what he felt to some extent. But nothing could compare to the media slander that Quentin created himself, always hanging out with the worst crowds, and convicted celebrities. He also became a sidepiece to the worst people (drug addicts, drunk drivers, bingers etc). His media fame was a sordid topic in Scotland, but his popularity strengthened with a younger base, flocking to him in waves for support. However, the biggest scandal for Quentin was the cheating scandal (he allegedly cheated on his partners) and didn’t deny the allegations. It spiralled his love life as a pinnacle in his career and a socialite in the making. His mother eventually found her own vein of success, leeching off other companies as a media personality and Quentin was thankful to be left alone in the tatters of his social life.

The papers, magazines, and the internet spoke about him like a troubled boy and even debates emerged “on pardoning his behaviour,” and what chance did he have with his past? Yet again, his brothers were the source of his behaviour and he used that as an excuse. Every public meltdown, a quick-worded apology, one mention of his brother and Quentin was back on his shitty carousel. He didn’t exist without them and he couldn’t exist for them. His stagnation in life gave fruit to the entity, delicious fears, entombed by a scared little boy who couldn’t escape. It manifested in drowning and coffins. Dreams were more vivid and doctors theorized that Quentin was close to a psychotic break and treatment needed to be remedied. His mother, emerging from the glitz and glamour of crappy tv shows, agreed to pay for his treatment, only if Quentin agreed to do a special honouring his brothers.


 
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  • 04
    03
    02
    general
    darcy
    full name
    darcy granger
    age
    25 years
    gender
    she/her
    sexuality
    pansexual
    date of birth
    may 2nd, 1998
    place of birth
    minnesota
    marked by death
    ethnicity.
    caucasian/chinese

    known languages.
    english & some mandarin

    alias.
    darce, but prefers darcy
left
 
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  • 04
    03
    02
    general
    elodie
    full name
    elodie penrose
    age
    20 years
    gender
    she/her
    sexuality
    lesbian
    date of birth
    jan 4th, 2003
    place of birth
    ottawa
    marked by choking
    ethnicity.
    caucasian

    known languages.
    english

    alias.
    el, els, and ellie. everything is welcome to her, elodie is strictly for when she's in trouble.
left
 
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eisoptrophobia




fc: maika monroe



holly page




♡coded by uxie♡








distort









holly page










01.



02.



03.














  • 01.




















    01


    name.


    holly irene page.







    02


    a.k.a.


    holly likes simple things, but even she has a soft spot for the nickname 'hols'.







    03


    age.


    thirty-two.







    04


    gender.


    female. she/her.







    05


    ethnicity


    strictly caucasian.



















    visage.







    height.


    1.68 m / 5 feet, 5 inches.
    1.68 m





    appearance.


    pretty rich girls have always been in high abundance. compared to the rest of them, holly often secretly feels as if she's just another nameless well groomed girl. maybe she is. maybe this is why she engages in heated kisses with different people every time someone catches her, just a reminder that she is beautiful. a slim frame with a small stature, she looked delicate in the smallest sort of way. her smile was illuminating, but her eyes were dull. a deep brown that you could easily get lost in, but once you do, they might just appear a little darker. it is why they are her least favorite assets, which are large and almond-shaped. her irises are a dark brown, which she finds plain, but her eyelashes are at least relatively lengthy. holly also has three beauty marks on her left cheek, to which she's never paid much mind.






    faceclaim.


    maika monroe.


















♡coded by uxie♡

 
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