#Job oriented current affairs
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The Best News of Last Week - May 15, 2023
🐕 - Now It's a Paw-ty
1. World's oldest ever dog celebrates 31st birthday
Bobi was born on 11 May 1992, making him 31 years old, in human years. A big birthday party is planned for Bobi today, according to Guinness World Records.
It will take place at his home in the rural Portuguese village of Conqueiros in Leiria, western Portugal, where he has lived his entire life.
2. The FDA has officially changed its policy to allow more gay and bisexual men to donate blood
The Food and Drug Administration (FDA) has announced that they’ve eased restrictions on blood donations by men who have sex with men in an effort to address blood shortages. The new policy recommends a series of individual risk-based questions that will apply to all donors, regardless of their sexual orientation, sex, or gender. Gay or bisexual men in monogamous relationships will now be permitted to donate blood.
3. Illinois passes bill to ensure community college credits transfer to public universities
The Illinois General Assembly has passed a bill that would help community college students transfer to public universities.
It would ensure that certain classes taken at community colleges could be transferred to any higher education institution in the state. Some schools currently only count community college coursework as elective credits.
4. Brazilian President Lula recognizes 6 new indigenous territories stretching 620,000 hectares, banning mining and restricting farming within them
Brazilian President Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva has decreed six new indigenous reserves, banning mining and restricting commercial farming there. The lands - including a vast area of Amazon rainforest - cover about 620,000 hectares (1.5m acres).
Indigenous leaders welcomed the move, but said more areas needed protection.
5. More than 1,000 trafficking victims rescued in separate operations in Southeast Asia
More than 1,000 trafficking victims were rescued in separate operations in Southeast Asia over the last week, officials in Indonesia and the Philippines said.
Indonesian officials said Sunday they freed 20 of their nationals who were trafficked to Myanmar as part of a cyber scam, amid an increase in human trafficking cases in Southeast Asia. Fake recruiters had offered the Indonesians high-paying jobs in Thailand but instead trafficked them to Myawaddy, about 567 kilometers (352 miles) south of Naypyidaw, the capital, to perform cyber scams for crypto websites or apps, said Judha Nugraha, an official in Indonesia's Foreign Affairs Ministry.
6. A peanut allergy patch is making headway in trials
An experimental “peanut patch” is showing some promise for toddlers who are highly allergic to peanuts. The patch, called Viaskin, was tested on children ages one to three for a late-stage trial, and the results show that the patch helped children whose bodies could not tolerate even a small piece of peanuts safely eat a few.
After one year, two-thirds of the children who used the patch and one-third of the placebo group met the trial’s primary endpoint. The participants with a less sensitive peanut allergy could safely tolerate the peanut protein equivalent of eating three or four peanuts.
7. Critically endangered lemur born at Calgary Zoo
The Calgary Zoo has released pictures of its newest addition, a baby lemur. The zoo says its four-year-old female black-and-white ruffed lemur, Eny, gave birth on April 7. The pup’s father is eight-year-old Menabe. The gender of the pup has not been confirmed but the Calgary Zoo says the pup appears bright-eyed and active and is on the move.
The black-and-white ruffed lemur is registered among the 25 most endangered primates in the world, due mostly to habitat loss and hunting.
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I Like Your Blood On My Teeth Just A Little Too Much - 1
You're a former military, career oriented security executive who has made quite the living for yourself- but it has always been lacking. Your non-committal attitude has led you down a playgirl lifestyle, never really settling. What happens when your new boss throws you a curveball, and as a result? You end up hopelessly involved with a Hollywood starlet.
Here it is, the first story. Chapter numero uno. No smutty stuff yet, but it'll be incoming. If y'all like it, I'll keep posting. It will be a series. A long one, the plot needs to thicken. Bonus points if you can tell where the lyrics are from XD
3K Word Count
Chapter One- Are You At One, Or Do You Lie?
You stood on a patio, gripping your fresh mug of coffee as you gazed out towards the vast landscape that lay to the front of you. Sleep had eluded you all night, and when the decision had finally been made that you weren’t going to receive a restful slumber- you groggily made your way to the kitchen of mountain home for a source of fuel. Bundled in your favorite zip up hoodie and some fleece lined sweatpants, you made a strong cup of coffee and slowly made your way to the best part of the home (at least, to you).
This place you called home was far from most’s idea of humble and conservative, but to you it was a dream, and it was the perfect place to escape your tiny city apartment. Those who you trusted enough to bring here, upon their first visit could not believe that the slummy 600 sqft. apartment you slept in within city limits belonged to the same person who owned this chateau. It was easily ten times the size, housed your selection of transport handily- and allowed you to tinker and build to your hearts desire- in your free time.
Free time was a concept that had eluded you the past 8 months. This was the first time you had been able to escape the demanding requests of what allowed you such luxuries- your job that you had once loved. It allowed you to live this lifestyle of multiple residences, cars of your dreams, and a comfortable living since your early graduation from college, and you couldn’t help but feel a sense of gratitude for that. Of late, the very job you swore you owed your happiness and gratitude for had completely drained you of all satisfaction you once held. The switch to a new management company and new bosses has made your life a living hell, and you were simply exhausted. You had spent the last year helping to roll everything over for this new ownership group, working tirelessly and many times staying at your corner office in a posh downtown Los Angeles high-rise, sleeping on the sofa that sat across desk.
Being a high ranking executive officer for a government-trusted security firm, you saw everything. The early exit from college sent you straight to the military- quickly earning the respect of all around you, and you worked the ranks within your 6 years in the US Army as fast as anyone ever had- particularly for a woman. Holding the title of a three star general was sheer insanity, with which no one thought it was a possibility to obtain a rank that high, that quickly- not without the drama and rumors, at least. That is what made you discharge with honors, quickly accepting your current position as the Chief Executive to Internal Affairs, which was a fancy way of saying you were in charge of the clean-up. You handled all internal affairs, information leaks, and other messes that someone’s lackadaisical attitude or poor judgment had created. You were also a secret weapon, of sorts. Many mistook your title as one where your hands never got dirty, you would have someone handle your “dirty work”. Oh, the fact that you handled it personally messed with many of the poor soul’s minds with whom you had to scour their mistakes and tie up any loose ends.
You were leaning up against one of the main support logs with your steaming cup, a timber that held the weight of a massive roofline, shielding your best mountain view from too much weather. The only lights on were the under cabinet lights in your kitchen, which was 30 or so feet behind you, behind a wall of glass that you demanded the house be built around. You had all but built the majority of the house yourself, the lack of control was too much- only contracting out the major structural aspects and work that was too involved for you to do alone. You had also purchased a fair amount of land surrounding your escape, to the tune of a few thousand acres. You wanted to ensure the utmost in privacy, and also security. Your career ensured that you made more than a lifetimes worth of enemies, as you more often than not cost them their jobs, at least.
Sometimes you cost people all but their lives, but made them wish you had just taken that instead. To this you had long since steeled your emotions to this, as it was a part of the business. The land included a large lake- so even on frigid night like tonight, you found solace in coming outside with something to warm your hands, while gazing at the reflection of the mountains and the nighttime sky reflecting in its calm waters, your boat barely moving against its dock. As you found yourself becoming more and more entranced by the view in front of you, the ever so slightly lightening of the sky before you and the vibration of the watch on your wrist told you that you needed to try and get at lest a few hours sleep, so you begrudgingly turned around, and placed the half empty mug of coffee in the sink, before slinking over to your sofa and flinging your exhausted form onto it, and turning into its back for a nap. Today was going to be a big day, so you needed some rest.
Your eyes opened right before your alarm went off on your cell phone, and you slowly sat up and groaned, muttering a “fuck” to yourself before standing up and stretching your sore body. You shuffled off to the master suite upstairs, quickly discarding the hoodie and sweatpants before walking into the shower to fire up its multitude of jets and shower heads with steaming water. You desperately needed to rinse off the lack of restful sleep and freshen up for your day. You grabbed a fresh towel from the linen cabinet that towered next to your side of the sprawling double vanity. The combination of wood and stone always calmed you- and it was evident in how this home was designed.
The shower you stepped inside of appeared as thought it had been cut out of a mountainside- with stone ledges holding all of your favorite soaps, shampoos and conditioners, and made you feel like you were showering in a waterfall. As the water cascaded and massaged at your aching form, you grabbed onto your soap of choice for the day, and lathered it all over your tattooed, chiseled body. Your parents had never been happy with your decision to tattoo the majority of your body, particularly the back of your neck. That had been the final straw of disappointment from you- they haven’t spoken to you since. Your childhood was highly conservative, as your dad was a southern, religious and military man himself, and your mom was the epitome of a housewife. She would bend to his opinion and will, as though she had no say of her own. While you deeply loved your mother, you could not stand to see how her opinions and values disappeared over time- being taken over by your strict fathers.
It’s not that you really mind that they cut you out- as you had always longed for your own sense of being, and hated living in your fathers shadow. The tattoos were at first seen as “acting out”, but they quickly realized that it went further than that, and you weren’t going to hear any of their disapproval regarding what you did with your body. The short hair dyed in any and every color, piercings that came and went, and ink were your way of displaying your current state. As you turned around to shut off the water, you reached out of the veil of steam that was flowing around the shower, and grabbed the towel hung on a convenient rack just on the outside of the showers walls, made to look like dead wood. You peered over at the large mirror, slicking back the dark brown and blonde streaked hair, leaning on the counter to truly see how exhausted you look. “You look like hell, Y/L/N.” You say to yourself in the mirror, before carrying on with your morning routine.
Opting for a navy blue pinstripe suit, with a black button up, you mussed your hair in the mirror, giving it your signature tousled look, before turning to weave the brown belt through the loops around your trim waist. You grabbed the matching pair of brown shoes out of your walk in closet, and slipped them onto your feet before turning and looking at your appearance in the mirror. You had always been an athletic kid, and the myriad of sports you were involved in growing up allowed you the luxury of a muscular build on your tall frame. You weren’t insanely tall, average for your family, but taller than most. You looked down as your watch vibrated on your wrist, reminding you that you needed to leave soon- otherwise your commute to work would take you past your typical start time, which was not the impression you wanted to set for the new bosses. You quickly spun around on the hardwood floor, grabbing your cologne from the wooden shelf, and spraying it onto your pulse point and wrists before grabbing the keys hanging below and making your way out of the bedroom and towards the other wing of your house- where all your toys were kept.
Typically you wouldn’t escape unless you had at least a few days to spend here, as this was seriously out of your way for a commute to work. But you needed the respite. Work had been abnormally stressful for you, as you were planning for a massive undertaking at work- a new security project that required the best of the best- so you were “volunteered” to be the only person for this mystery operation. You arrived in the warehouse of vehicles that were varying degrees of extravagance- from classic cars to modern exotics, you had your bases covered. You walked past them all, climbing a spiral staircase the the opposite end of the garage, and opening a hefty steel door and walking out to your helicopter. Your days in the military afforded you many things- a pilots license being one of them. You quickly climbed inside, placing the headset hanging from the ceiling next to you onto your head, and grabbing the aviator sunglasses on the seat next to you before switching all the necessary toggles and firing up the machine. You announced your presence to the nearby air traffic control tower- located in the neighboring city, before gently pulling the joystick between your legs and slowly raising the vehicle off of the ground, and up towards the city. The two hour flight to work would be plenty of time for you to get your mind into work mode.
You swiftly landed the helicopter on the rooftop of your workplace, only to be greeted by your new boss, as well as your assistant, Kris, waiting for you a safe distance off of the helipad. You hopped out of the copter, re-buttoning the top buttons of your pinstripe blazer, and walking towards the pair. Kris gently smiled your way, handing you a large cup of coffee, for which you were thankful. You nodded her way, raising your eyebrows so they could just be seen above your glasses as you too a sip of the liquid, then letting out a long sigh after swallowing the drink.
“Thank you.” You spoke quietly, and turned to your direct supervisor to shake his hand.
“Y/L/N. Good Morning, we have a lot to do today. I hope you are prepped and ready.” He lifted his head slightly, as he tried to make it like he was taller, so he could look down towards you.
“Yessir. I’ve been prepared for the last two months, sir.” You replied curtly as he turned and stalked back to the doorway that would descend back down to the executive level of the office.
“You look like shit, Y/N…” Kris whispered to you as you both walked behind your boss, a slight look of worry on her face. She had been one of the first people you met after you discharged from the military, and moved to Los Angeles. You had actually gotten her this job as your new assistant as she was one of the few you knew you could trust, and your former assistant had kept trying your patience and trust. She was dressed up more than usual, wearing a tight black pencil skirt, that fell just below her knees. It was slightly split up the back, and allowed you the slightest view of her toned thighs. She wore a dark green blouse, and her blonde hair was wrapped up in a bun, with her black glasses framing her piercingly grey eyes. That was the first thing you had noticed about the woman when you first met- how her eyes seemed to be so colorless, yet full of emotion. You both had tried the whole relationship thing- but with your lack of comfort within yourself to fully admit you were gay, and years of pretending you weren’t, being in the military and with your conservative parents- you had both decided that you couldn’t be together, but were mature enough to recognize that you both were good friends, and wouldn’t let the failed attempt ruin your friendship. But, the brief glimpse beyond your hardened, tattooed exterior allowed her to read you like a fucking book. And you hated it.
“Thanks, Sherlock.” You smirked over your coffee cup, as you approached the elevator to take you down towards your office.
“You’re working too much.” She stated flatly.
“No, I’m only doing what is necessary.” You state, and she rolls her eyes as you peel the glasses off your face, setting them on top of your hair. You briefly glance her direction to notice she rolls her eyes at you before the doors ding open, leading you towards a long marble lined hallway flanked by frosted glass doors and windows. You both walked towards the door that led you to your office.
“You never fly to McCall unless you can stay for a period of time. You flew there to stay the night? That’s not like you.” She was walking in front of you to be able to open the door before you approached it.
“Yeah, so? It’s my house. I can go if I want. What made you so sure I went there in the first place?” You asked pointedly, not meaning to come out that rude as you crossed the threshold to your office.
“Your car was still in the parking garage when I left last night. I came back up to check on you, but you were gone. I went upstairs and the heli was gone.” She narrowed her eyes in your direction. She always warned you not to burn the candle at both ends, but you did it anyways.
“You don’t need to check on me. I’m a grown ass woman, I will do what I need to for my job.”
“Y/N, this isn’t about work. You need to take care of you.” She spits back pointedly, before spinning on her heels and walking back out the door towards her office next door. You sighed, rubbing your hands on your face, before removing the blazer adorning your shoulders, and unbuttoning the cuffs to your black dress shirt, allowing you to slightly roll up the sleeves to show some of your inked skin. The holster you wore on your hip that housed your work pistol came off, to be sat next to your on your desk. You sat rather heavily into your large leather chair, taking a deep breath and opening your laptop to begin checking your emails.
You scrolled through every email, skimming them over, deleting the unnecessary ones, forwarding ones to Kris that she could handle, and finally your eyes fell upon the email you knew was coming. There was an attachment that was rather large, and you had to print it off before slipping it into a file and making your way towards the board room two floors down. You heard Kris’s door open as you opted to go down the stairs instead, and opened the door to lead you down towards your next assignment. You took the opportunity to glance at the file as you swiftly descended the stairs, and right as you approached the door to the correct floor, it opened up- causing your eyes to dart up and be met with a discontent gaze of your best friend. You blankly stared back as you walked by her, and made your way to the board room.
“Did you read any of that file yet?” She asked, shuffling a little bit quicker to catch up with you.
“Some of it, yes. Why are the names redacted? I have the highest security clearance of anyone here.” You turned to your assistant, who shrugged her shoulders, narrowing her eyes as she reached for the folder, to open the pages and confirm what you had already stated. You approached the door to the boardroom, the occupants of the room were obscured by heavily frosted glass, but you could hear a faint conversation. Kris shrugged, not knowing why, and stepped around you, to grab the door and hold it open for you. As you step inside the room, your eyes glance from person to person, astutely taking in their demeanors as your gaze bounces from person to person. First, your bosses, who were starting at you expectantly, and then to the people in the room you had no clue of- except one.
“Are you ready to start, Y/L/N?” The owner of your company asked. Your eyes remained locked onto the blonde bombshell sitting at the far end of the table, surrounded by people you assume are her assistants. You sit down at the opposite end of the table, without breaking eye contact.
“I thought we were a government military contractor, not some for-hire security outfit.” You state coldly as you sat next to your boss. He glared back at you, giving you the impression that this was not the time.
“We’re not for hire. But when someone asks for the best, they ask for us- more specifically, you, Y/L/N.” He quipped back. “And I shouldn’t have to remind you, that in this business- money talks. Back to business,” He says pointedly in your direction, earning a smirk from both blondes in your presence.
(CHAPTER 2)
A/N: Nothing like making your boss call you out in a meeting, amiright? Let me know what you think!
#communicatethrulyrics#scarlett johansson x fem!reader#scarlett johansson x reader#natasha x reader#natasha romanoff#scarlett johansson#scarlett johansson x you#scarlett johannsen#wlw fanfic#ILYBOMTJALTM
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stats.
full name: zoe lynn wilson
age: 25
date of birth: february 14th, 1998
astrology: aquarius sun, gemini rising, libra moon
place of birth and current location: starlight oaks, washington
residential area: starlight cove
gender: cis-female
pronouns: she/her
sexual orientation: bisexual
occupation: librarian at light year library
bio.
Zoe Wilson was born to a seemingly normal couple. Her mother worked for a construction company doing their paperwork and her father worked at some fancy law firm. And for the first five years, everything was fine until her mother got pregnant with her sister and her father bounced. He left and never looked back leaving the girls to have to fend for themselves.
It wasn’t so bad until Zoe turned sixteen and the truth of everything came out. Her father had actually left them for someone that he was having an affair with and fathered yet another daughter who he was now taking care of. Zoe resented that and soon became a nightmare for him and the other daughter, who just so happened went to the same school as they did but never knew.
Her mother had trouble with paying bills so Zoe got a job as a waitress from the age of sixteen until twenty-three where she gave all her extra money to her mom for help. At least until the woman got back on her feet which she did when Zoe was around twenty-four. Zoe moved out to a small place of her own and started an easier, more fulfilling job (at least to her) at the library.
She not only works as a librarian but she also hosts a variety of children classes and read a longs especially princess parties where her friends come dressed up as different princesses to meet the kids. She loves her job and wouldn’t trade it for the world.
headcanons.
Zoe is a gamer. She may not look like it but she has her own game room and everything in her home. It’s something that helps her destress after a long day.
Another form is distressing is taking a long, scolding hot bubble bath with a glass of wine. Add in some lavender in her defuser and her night is set.
She can be sweet but she can also be a bitch if needed. This is especially true when it comes to her dad and his other spawn that she cannot stand. They all live in the same city so it’s hard to get away from them but she does avoid them like the plague.
Zoe is a huge movie buff. From old school silent films to rom coms to horror. She loved watching movies and also showing people new movies. If you give her a recommendation she will watch it and give you a full review afterwards.
Also books are kind of her thing. She loves to immerse herself into another world where she normally wouldn’t put herself. It’s fun to live in someone else’s shoes for a bit. It’s also why she loves movies because it has the same effects.
She is still a virgin and no she’s not waiting until marriage. She just had other things to prioritize than sleeping around. Now that she feels free from responsibility aka helping her mom out, she now is going to have a little fun in her life.
Her favorite flowers are sunflowers, her favorite scent is lavender.
She knows an insane amount of useless facts about animals. She’ll spew them off to you whenever she can.
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introducing vesper quinn .
𓂅 * ⋆ 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐖 .
name : vesper quinn da silva.
meaning : latin , " evening star ".
nickname : vess , espie , morphling.
age : thirty two.
birthdate : year forty three att.
gender identity : cisgender woman , she / her.
orientation : bisexual , biromantic.
place of birth : district six , panem.
current residence : district thirteen , panem.
occupation : victor of the fifty eighth hunger games , mentor & rebel.
𓂅 * ⋆ 𝐏𝐇𝐘𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐋 .
face claim : mia goth.
height : 5'7".
hair : naturally mousy brown , bleached a warm , honey blonde along with her eyebrows following the games, worn down with very little styling day-to-day.
eyes : big and brown , sore but still inexplicably bright.
𓂅 * ⋆ 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄 .
myers - briggs : tbc.
zodiac sign : libra.
temperament : sanguine - melancholic.
moral alignment : chaotic good.
traits : freethinking , melancholy , perverse , reclusive , sincere & volatile.
song : maybe this time ( from cabaret ) by jessie buckley.
pinterest : here.
𓂅 * ⋆ 𝐁𝐈𝐎𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐇𝐘
tw : drug abuse , addiction , forced prostitution , murder , death + suicidal ideation.
they’ll say she was marked for sorrow from the beginning. too fragile, too precocious a girl for the cold, uncaring world the districts of panem are forced to endure. vesper quinn… or is it da silva? eldest daughter of a factory foreman and the bookkeeper with whom he began an affair (both with their own hushed up history of morphling addiction — what a self-fulfilling prophecy she’ll turn out to be), vesper was a girl who dreamt in soft watercolours, performed to music no one else could hear and found beauty in even the most mundane. named for a star, she’s nebulous as a child. a blithe but unnatural creature seemingly unaffected by the gloomy greyscale of the district to which she belongs, someone who took immense pride in the artistic pursuits she hoped would one day carry her away from six’s concrete cityscape. for when she wasn’t at school or working her job finishing paint jobs on capitol traincars and citizen’s automobiles, she’d be holed up in one of her hiding spots around the neighbourhood: the rooftop of their building, the decaying loft above her parents’ factory, the long-forgotten boxcars that had been left to rot in the railyard. vesper fashioned a studio out of each location and would spend hours upon end there, refining her art, teaching herself various styles of dance… performing to a crowd of ghosts. if nothing else, she could be a source of inspiration for her two younger siblings who were in desperate need of a parental figure after their mother walked out into the night following the birth of her youngest. their father burying himself in work and other vices to cope with the loss. though this was only the beginning of the quinn’s relationship with that particular feeling.
it’s on her second reaping day when vesper is just sixteen years old, stood in the square, fingers crossed behind her back, begging an entity she scarcely believes in to spare her, that her name is one of two called. it pours with rain in district six that day. indicative of the tears she sheds as her siblings come to bid her farewell, begging her to win so, she’ll be able to come home to them. it’s the beginning of a lifetime of jokes made at her expense too. japes about her weighing seventy pounds soaking wet are a dime a dozen. capitol citizens stuck callously dismissing her outright as images of the drenched, mousy brown girl from six play on their holos. she’s told not to take it personally, that it’s “par for the course” being from six (or any other outlier for that matter) but it’s hard not to, at her young age.
despite the cruelty, vesper is most earnest in her desire to survive the fifty-eighth hunger games. for her siblings, she feels she must. going as far as to surprise everyone in training by securing a score of seven and managing to endear herself to caesar flickerman’s wealthy audience as she tells him, bright-eyed, of her childhood dream to be an artiste in their fair city. having built a steady momentum, she’s something of a rising star now. a genuine sense of hope amongst the district six team that, for the second year in a row, they won’t be reduced to short-lived cannon fodder during the bloodbath as they so often are.
of course, their hope isn’t misplaced as paired with an arena that combined two varieties of wetlands, it lent itself (rather perfectly) to vesper’s deft and practical skill set. meaning that whilst other tributes fell victim to the elements or vast array of mutts released into the arena that year, vesper took to it with measured composure. unafraid to get her hands dirty, panem watched on in astonishment as the young, previously unassuming girl from district six utilised camouflage and hideaways to outmaneoveur and thus, outlast her fellow tributes. even as a day of acid rainfall wiped out five tributes in total, hiding out in a hollow tree with a dense thicket for cover kept six’s female tribute from harm. it was truly something to behold, tearful finale and all. for the games were not without heartbreak. vesper forced to take the lives of three inside their swamp of an arena. the blood, mud and sweat amalgamating on the freckled porcelain of her skin, congealing under dirty fingernails. it’s paint, she tells herself, just paint… her eventual victory dubbed “a masterpiece” in artful survival but one vesper will soon wish to see destroyed in every way something can be. the same way she will be.
that grime-ridden mess of a girl who emerges, sopping wet, from the marshland arena is to be done away with immediately. reinvented, they say… and that she is. vesper would reemerge in the capitol, wholly transformed. made up to be every bit the victor she is — scantily clad, bleach blonde with those pale brows to match, she’s told she’s desirable now. branded a hot commodity by those whose opinions matter most: a bright, glistening buzz about her as she becomes the muse rather than the artist for the first time in her life. it’s hard not to feel as though she’s floating outside herself, unrecognisable as she is but such new found notoriety opens doors. her siblings are looked after, tucked away in the safety of six’s victor’s village, her hopes and dreams within arm’s reach now… and all she’d had to do to achieve it was survive the slaughter of twenty three innocents. only, that wasn’t all. that was never all when it came to the beloved victors of panem and she learns as much from the viper they call president, his words of warning, offset by the scent of rose, concerning a star and how fast they fade and fall go unheard by vesper’s unsuspecting ears. unbeknownst to her, it’s interpreted as a refusal.
less than a week later, her younger brother is killed in what can only be described as a “freak accident” by officials who attend the scene. his short, still growing form so easily torn apart by the machinery he’s said to have been caught under. the sight alone causes vesper to crumble then and there. the morbid understanding of why it happened comes later… when she’s ultimately called back to the capitol and put to work as was always intended.
clients she’s thrust upon are spirited. new money. they eagerly introduce her to babylon. where the city’s seedier underbelly meets and amalgamates with the glamorous nightlife belonging to their upper echelon. it's home to debauchery of each and every variety, the thinkable and unthinkable with vesper its latest inductee. there’s a stage inside, a spotlight and it’s framed as a kindness. the promise of a girlhood dream come true, that she might just be able to salvage something of her victory. the rose-coloured naïveté her parents never had the heart nor guts to beat out of her coming back to bite one last time as she walks so willingly into the future she’s to be entrapped in. forced to perform nightly for frenzied crowds, introduced to morphling to ease the burden and she’s left no choice but to let them do so… indulging them. for she knows that if it goes far enough, they’ll leave her be. the capitol never did deal in spoiled goods and for a while, it actually feels nice. the high and its unfathomable weightlessness. pleasant even. numbing the pain, quelling the guilt, taking her far, far away from where she actually is — bound to this exploitative duty she’d never once asked for. but eventually, dependency catches up to her. addiction soon after. it goes further than vesper ever plans and before long, she can’t seem to face a day of her miserable life without the aid morphling provides.
framed as an out of control starlet, a rogue party girl… she’s pathetically dependable. they call, she comes. club appearance or client booking, she ends up in an unfamiliar bed at nights end all the same and the high she chases provides an attainable escape from the bleak reality of it all. even in her most drug fueled of hazes however, there are moments of startling clarity. nights when the effects aren’t as desired, when she still sees their leering faces, feels their ravenous hands clutching at her skirts or bare skin as they beg raucously for more. she’s all days old eye shadow by then, perpetual dark circles from having smudged her eyeliner or sobbed away her mascara. since the day she won the games, she’s never once felt clean. never looked it either, if you were to ask around. even as prep teams agonise over dressing her in the shiniest metallics they have on hand, year after year. judgement passes so freely in panem and people around her simply watch on, in horror and amusement, as she deteriorates before their very eyes. vesper deemed the car crash they’re unable to look away from.
inevitable, she’ll dread further loss all the same, watching from afar as her sister severs ties. their father dying with her by his side whilst she’s shut out — altogether breaking the heart of the little girl entombed in what remains of their elder sister and daughter. too pretty a girl to be left alone in the gutter though… it’s in the midst of addiction that she gains a brother in arms. with whom she feels less alone in the drug-induced hell they both inhabit as victors. joined by their affinity for morphling, the pair become something of a “dynamic duo” as the mentoring team from district six for the past two decades… give or take. the morphlings, they’re known as. the people of panem deride and demean them year in and year out, discrediting their ability to mentor in spite of how earnestly the pair always try for their tributes and it means they’re continually overlooked. disregarded as being lost causes who have little more to offer the capitolites than their bodies. it’s a humiliating persona to be chained to but it’s truthful, vesper thinks. slice her open, peel back the blemished skin and all you’d find there is rotten flesh.
she comes to despise being seen in such a way. in any way really and in a sense, they’re not. unproductive, the president calls them. passing over the morphlings time and time again and this blatant negligence on snow’s part soon attracts the attention of the rebellion no less. their cause providing the pair with a purpose outside of one another and the children they’re forced to grieve together as each games season rolls by, faster and faster every time it feels like. the rebels speak directly to that young girl trapped within vesper too. the one who could always see the sun through dark plumes of smoke and saw fit to paint a destiny all her own. before it was destroyed by the monster atop the throne of panem. their close proximity to his capitolite elite proves most useful over the years, making the two morphlings invaluable assets as they work together to gain and feed intel to those underground.
time flies but there’s little improvement. periods of recovery come and go, stints in which she feels she must get clean and she does… for a while. people in the district offer help. a cruel, bittersweet irony to be found in the fact that the games are when she’s at her most sober. always unable to detach herself fully from the severity the situation so often calls for. the third quarter quell is no different but there’s so much more at stake than the lives of her adult tributes. a nation on the brink of revolution and vesper, the fallen star she is, finds she might just be alight once more.
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⊠ ɪᴅ . . . ʟᴏᴀᴅɪɴɢ ›› [ benjamin bratt / 60 / cis man / he/him ] mercy headquarters is pleased to officially introduce SOCORRO QUISPE. they have been apart of the organization for twenty years, serving as A BIOMEDICAL agent and has been assigned the codename AGENT GAUZE. it's worth noting that their file indicates they have undergone the solaris treatment and host ENHANCED SPEED. according to our dossier, the agent exhibits a combination of GREGARIOUS and REFRACTORY traits, fitting for someone reminiscent of hawkeye pierce – life, liberty, and pursuit of happy hour. prior to embarking on any mission, the find solace in listening to the song “johnny b. goode“ by CHUCK BERRY.
FULL NAME. socorro ross quispe.
NICKNAMES + ALIASES. agent gauze. doctor quips. rock ‘em sock ‘em.
AGE. sixty. not feeling like it. very much not acting like it.
DATE OF BIRTH. 4 july 1989. the fireworks are always for him, thank you very much.
PLACE OF BIRTH. arequipa, peru.
PRESENT RESIDENCE. apex city, washington, the good ol’ u.s. of a.
GENDER. cis man.
PRONOUNS. he + him.
ORIENTATION. bisexual.
MARITAL STATUS. divorced.
EDUCATION. graduated from a great university with an avalanche of accolades (a biomedical engineering phd being his first) and a server-squashing amount of voicemails relating to affairs marital and/or martial.
OCCUPATION. biomedical agent for the mercy organisation.
NOTABLE FEATURES. a set of alcohol-stained teeth stiffened into a smirk. windswept hair greying at the temples. dark eyes that never find what they’re looking for. sneakers almost as bruised and battered as their owner. a rope necklace with his name written on in pink crayon. he retouches the text daily at 9am and 9pm sharp.
FACECLAIM. benjamin bratt.
+ TRAITS. conscientious + dutiful + intelligent + passionate + pacifistic.
- TRAITS. argumentative + blunt + egotistical + neurotic + obsessive.
LIKES. animals + beaches + cheap beer + deadlines + rock music.
DISLIKES. cars + combat sports + doctors + holidays + winter.
HOBBIES. coin collecting + crosswords + needlepoint + sidewalk chalk art + overly competitive jogging.
MBTI. entp-t.
MORAL ALIGNMENT. chaotic good. at least, that’s what he wants to believe.
FATHER. santiago quispe guerrero. a small-town pediatrician whose overprotective nature made him a terrible match for a family of martyrs. died in 2040 at age 82 of shock and awe about certain mercy-related developments.
MOTHER. angela ross. retired photographer. any doomscroller worth their earth salt has seen her series on the 2007 peru earthquake. currently resides in an upstate nursing home where she lays waste to fellow widows in psychological warfare/sunday night bingo using her cutthroat casino tactics and her son’s choice in career.
SISTER. america quispe. an ironically named activist and journalist who would’ve despised her baby brother’s job had the genetic lottery rolled her half as much brain as she did heart. died in 2003 at age 22 of abstruse causes socorro has attributed to his own adolescent cowardice.
EX-WIFE. [redacted]. another woman he disappointed. another coworker he exploited. another love of his life lost to mercy in every manner that matters.
CHILD. he and [redacted] never could decide on a name. they’re old enough to be a junior agent now, though socorro’s done everything he can to stop that from happening, between making
A BRIEF HISTORY. WARNINGS: adultery, alcohol, death, and divorce.
there’s an art to running that most folk don’t figure out until they’re running out of time, blood and bones and flesh full of rotting regrets reaching out for hands that aren’t there, facing the rest of forever by their lonesome on hospice beds that’d be softer had the mayor approved of replacing the mattresses with slabs of concrete. socorro quispe isn’t most folk. he’s been running stitches since the doctors at a clinic that was half debris and half distinguished medical professionals sewed his poor mother’s stomach back into one and a half and running in stitches since his sister taught him how to pick the lock splitting the measured-in-square-inches nursery room. the siblings, after all, were treated like strays by the rest of the family, like scraggly, parasitic denizens of their ancestral palace in arequipa tolerated only for a waning obedience to the elders. olive branches quickly snapped into backhanded scourges as cousins challenged them to climb that volcano, to retrieve that toy, to knock on that neighbour’s door. that volcano would take its cue, coughing out phreatic poisons, confining socorro to bed just in time for the school fair. that toy would be an appendage of violence terribly inappropriate to be caught with right after sunday mass, stuck in territory belonging to their cousins’ tormentors. that neighbour would be an irate fisherman with endangered itching to find new apprentices. so socorro learned how to run from his parents.
it was strange, that how they met was the one topic his mother never breached. his father was reticent from the start, hunched over his rubber mallets and patient reports as though his life was tethered to those he’d met mere seconds ago to assess whether they were healthy or healthier. before, the ever-odious offspring had assumed the rollicking renegade of the cathedral’s shame wall had been killed by expeditions to the distant wilderness to treat now socorro hypothesises it was some fear that sensitivity was contagious on an airborne level rather than a genetic one. his career day stories were ones of turning curtains into splints in the industrial bowels of a chinese province and cracking dislocated joints out the rocks of kilimanjaro, so permission from his wife to lull their little boy to sleep was scarcely appointed. if there had been a goddess of hypocrites, though, she’d blessed mrs quispe from birth. socorro was made to memorise lullabies about doomsday 2000 and other events of mass hysteria by his mother so he’d be prepared for anything.
why? because he needed to be prepared for anything.
why? because he needed to protect his sister.
why? because his parents wouldn’t always be around to protect them.
why? because his parents weren’t prepared to have him.
doctor quispe was a man of means, for any medicine dispensers with degrees to back such claims to life were rare in the region, never mind them being handsome, kind, and young. it was routine for parents of his patients to keep their home first aid kits fully empty so they might see mister santiago again, with his sickly tempting sense of style outside the office and sumptuous collection of memories spanning continents. little did they know that one such memory, situated in the recesses of the 80s recession after a sordid interview, had cast him in the leading role of renowned photojournalist angela ross’s life. he didn’t know that, either. therefore, he was content to serve his procreational purpose and marry that irate fisherman’s even crabbier daughter, to father a girl named after the nation he dreamed of returning to every night. angela still visited, though, when her publication company allowed her holidays, and most of her visits ended with the not-so-good doctor paying a hefty sum to the good laundromat. their supposed final meeting was followed not a month later by angela announcing that she’d be moving to peru to raise her child. their child, as he was informed during his daughter’s eighth birthday party. the fisherman’s daughter disappeared and everything was broken water under the bridge.
so socorro learned how to run from his parents. uncovering this information in the cookbooks of his senile grandmother was an experience, to say the least, and from then on it seemed the sun was always beckoning him towards a greater power, towards a greater purpose, towards the prospect of being better than everyone. morals-wise, muscles-wise, who minded the difference? having a half-and-half chance of accuracy in answering questions from teachers or relatives made him a better actor. spitting on the shoes of his asthma diagnosis and lacing up for football team tryouts made him a better sportsman. kicking the ball off the court to figure if he’d broken another player’s knee made him a better doctor. not that anyone ever acknowledged this betterment. the maelstrom within him looked like a light breeze to the rest of civilisation, for expecting recognition as an average sweat-slicked schoolboy who played football and wanted to follow in his father’s footsteps when it came to selecting a future trade was like expecting recognition as a speck of dust in the atmosphere.
better not dwell on the past or the future, young man, as america brought change. literally, as her admission to an ivy league on a full-ride scholarship was a welcome excuse to move into an apartment owned by angela’s parents in the heart of washington. the siblings, formerly locked at the hip, flourished into independence of a sort. while america studied writing as a weapon against empires built on battles they hadn’t fought, socorro studied speaking as a weapon against lives he hadn’t lived. no longer was he a confused jumble of limbs and unrewarded justice-seeking; he was the sole survivor of an earthquake at his old school, he was the documenter of the new decade’s first hurricane in his hometown, he was socrates’s namesake, he was the youngest person to learn cpr, he was annoying as all hell and he was loved by peers at last. before he’d looked to america for instructions when it came to even the easiest tasks. now he looked to her as a leech would lick its six lips upon seeing its next meal. before he was licking wounds that weren’t even his, sympathetic to a fault so large it could’ve cracked wide open into a canyon. now he was apex predator to the concrete jungle, a swaggering raconteur reselling his mother’s articles as his autobiography. the confidence did wonders for his grades, as did the copying of formulae and factoids inscribed into the bottom of his water bottles. four years after the fact he’d graduated to vandalism (and providing his friends with masks when they wanted to make more elaborate art, because it’s safe and responsible crime for them, thank you very much) and relished in the momentary notice he got from his parents, from the police. a slap on the back was schrodinger’s cat–admonishment or applause.
america, meanwhile, began and ended her history with local law enforcement after inviting her pathetic angel of a baby brother to assist in. it seemed logical, given that one of them had inherited their father’s surgical precision while the other had inherited her mother’s premature arthritis. it seemed safe, given that it was a peaceful sit-in. it seemed fun, given that all he’d have to do was cut some pieces of cardboard into catchy slogans and mope about acting all mysterious and brooding and applying snatches of his sister’s concealer to some unfortunately arranged acne. it was, as socorro’s very existence was to be forevermore, tortuous and torturous and in dire need of a tourniquet around the neck so as to induce amnesia. a blackout struck the street and the batons came buzzing after. socorro ran, never to see his sister again.
one in the morning, green day shirt stained by crimson slashes, coffee cup crashing on the ground as his parents finally pay attention to what he’s done, he says his last lie: she ran away.
socorro wasn’t the good kid but he was good enough to graduate, good enough to get into college, good enough to become better. he didn’t just clean up his act, okay? he sterilised it, plunged a syringe into his past until it was shriveled up like a tumour. the people at med school made jokes about it, how he probably spray painted an anatomy lesson on the mural a few blocks away when he was younger, and none of them ever found out how close they were to the truth. for once, forging friendships took a back seat in the already-crashed car. what he lacked in natural aptitude he concocted a cocktail worthy of iv bags worldwide with determination. he attended every lecture, annoyed every lecturer, got mistaken for a raccoon by every librarian in the region. using every dollar his sister had saved for his education, he passed the usmle and got accepted into an august honour society soon afterwards. the only way to be worthy to serve the suffering, he found, was to suffer even more.
obviously, the next step was to get married and have a kid. his extensive networking (read: bothering) thrust him into hands-on experience sharpish, and during preludes to plunging his hands into that chest or lackadaisically conducting that lobectomy, he regressed into the conjurer of charisma that had spent all of med school pounding at his heart’s enclosure. at thirty-six his promotion to clinical professor of thoracic surgery cinched the intrigue of a coworker, and at thirty-seven his bachelor status at last became unconfirmed. he wasn’t there for the birth of his child (heart bypass on an octogenarian over being screamed at for not bringing her pickled lucuma? it wasn’t much of a dilemma) but was determined to be better than his father. he wouldn’t be distant, that much was clear. after a life of arbitrary ambition, socorro needed to save people as much as he needed to control them.
an old student of his had the same idea. sort of. they both wanted to help humanity, that was what mattered. they’d approached him after his father’s funeral–never mind moving to peru and wallowing in mediocrity; with the student’s connections and socorro’s medical expertise, they’d never let the solaris drug fall in the wrong hands. he dithered. again he was in the crackling chaos of the protest. could anyone be prepared for such power?
the student defected. the wife divorced. now all socorro has is mercy and dive bars and stopping the heroes of tomorrow from dying.
PLAYLIST.
WANTED CONNECTIONS.
that old student’s mission partner pleek. i am on my knees begging for some not-so-amateur sleuthing content
drinking buddies. he will save you from the wall of shame by filling it up by himself i promise
biomedical agents. bffs or rivals or awkward acquaintances i want it all (but also a sort of beefing with your coworker because you think he should be happy with the pension plan and leave connection would be top tier)
frequent patient. his codename is gauze for a reason and it’s not because he’s boring and doesn’t get greek mythology. forget batman’s utility belt he has a first aid kit in his fanny pack 25/7
a sort of mentor/mentee thing could be fun. beware of many batman beyond bruce/terry parallels because his temper can flip like a coin at the slightest of slights
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i'm halfway (damn my job) reading the new fic - ALREADY LOVE IT. I LOVE THESE TWOOOO!!!! However I must ask, how.... experienced are the OCs in the matters of intimacy/romance/sex? Sel I can tell knows nothing of romance and is still finding her way, but what about the other stuff? And about the others? 👀👀
Hey Soup! Thank you so much :3 So glad you are liking that one so far!💙✨️
Universe-wise, touch is very sensitive for wolves. Touching anyone outside the pack is downright uncomfortable, if not dangerous. Inside the pack, it's still a sensitive matter cause wolves bond very deeply and easily to people they touch. Close family works, but wolves aren't usually the touchy-feely types with strangers, friends and the least to other wolves.
It's sensitive for witches too, cause they take their magic from wolves, and that's not a connection either side takes lightly.
So, short one-time affairs are super difficult and unlikely, because wolves get invested and territorial (double that for witches) and are wired for long-term partners.
For wolves with high standing in the pack, there is also the political aspect of who would make the ideal match and how to keep the line going (since wolves can't have children with each other, only with a witch or human and female wolves and witch males are very rare). Heirs of big influential packs should marry witches, since that keeps magic in the family, increases the likelihood of witches being born and witches are precious as it is, so they are seen as prizes by many wolves.
OC specific:
Isaiah was way too busy being an adult and an executioner in his teen years and then being too distrustful of relationships for years once he left. He dated humans at the university before, once he got a bit more settled there, but it didn't last very long when they started to ask questions and dig around.
Seline wasn't interested in romance for a very long time, an introverted nerd ahead of her years. She hardly felt any attraction to anyone until she met Isaiah, even when she attempted to date people. The whole being chased around by wolves for being a witch was very displeasing and stressful to her. (Hence why being called a witch by wolves first and a person second is sensitive to her, why she appreciates Isaiah correcting people and why she tends to emphasize her research and career more than her magic).
Matthew had crushes before, but his inability to make friends, isolation, and self-worth problems in his teen years didn't make for good dating opportunities. His temper and shadow scare people off, he wasn't allowed near any pack witches and wolves react very violently to his shadow. :( He doesn't particularly mind as of now, I'm not sure why that is.
Hector has a very one-track mind and his focus was training, lol. The political element is very strong with him; he should ideally get a witch from an important pack that would get the Wolfsons an important alliance. He didn't really care to consider anyone outside those parameters.
Arnie is in a precarious position. On one hand he is human in a very competitive wolf oriented pack that looks down on humans. On the other he is the third son of the previous leader, nephew of the current one and both his brothers are highly respected and feared. You can bet Hector would bite the head off anyone who even looks at him wrong. As a human, he is vulnerable, an easy bargaining chip and the idea hostage to get to Grayson and Hector. So he is both isolated for his protection and has very little friends in the pack itself. After he gets out of being home schooled to uni, his horizons will expand a lot, but he is secretly very insecure (and hides it by being extra prickly which doesn't make for a friendly fassade lol).
#ask#....#they are basically all inexperienced little beans with long term partnership goals in theory lol#closeness is very hard for Matt#touch is very senstive esp to Hector who has almost no friendly touch during the day outside Arnie#Isaiah is set on politeness in everything in most old school degrees#meta#werewolf wip#myocs
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⊠ ɪᴅ . . . ʟᴏᴀᴅɪɴɢ ›› mercy headquarters is pleased to officially introduce SOCORRO QUISPE. they have been a part of the organization for twenty years, serving as A BIOMEDICAL agent and has been assigned the codename AGENT GAUZE. it's worth noting that their file indicates they have undergone the solaris treatment and host ENHANCED SPEED. according to our dossier, the agent exhibits a combination of GREGARIOUS and REFRACTORY traits, fitting for someone reminiscent of hawkeye pierce – life, liberty, and pursuit of happy hour. prior to embarking on any mission, they find solace in listening to the song “johnny b. goode“ by CHUCK BERRY.
FULL NAME. socorro ross quispe.
NICKNAMES + ALIASES. agent gauze. doctor quips. rock ‘em sock ‘em.
AGE. sixty. not feeling like it. very much not acting like it.
DATE OF BIRTH. 4 july 1989. the fireworks are always for him, thank you very much.
PLACE OF BIRTH. arequipa, peru.
PRESENT RESIDENCE. apex city, washington, the good ol’ u.s. of a.
GENDER. cis man.
PRONOUNS. he + him.
ORIENTATION. bisexual.
MARITAL STATUS. divorced.
EDUCATION. graduated from a great university with an avalanche of accolades (a biomedical engineering phd being his first) and a server-squashing amount of voicemails relating to affairs marital and/or martial.
OCCUPATION. biomedical agent for the mercy organisation.
NOTABLE FEATURES. a set of alcohol-stained teeth stiffened into a smirk. windswept hair greying at the temples. dark eyes that never find what they’re looking for. sneakers almost as bruised and battered as their owner. a rope necklace with his name written on in pink crayon. he retouches the text daily at 9am and 9pm sharp.
FACECLAIM. benjamin bratt.
+ TRAITS. conscientious + dutiful + intelligent + passionate + pacifistic.
- TRAITS. argumentative + blunt + egotistical + neurotic + obsessive.
LIKES. animals + beaches + cheap beer + deadlines + rock music.
DISLIKES. cars + combat sports + doctors + holidays + winter.
HOBBIES. coin collecting + crosswords + needlepoint + sidewalk chalk art + overly competitive jogging.
MBTI. entp-t.
MORAL ALIGNMENT. chaotic good. at least, that’s what he wants to believe. closer to chaotic neutral.
FATHER. santiago quispe guerrero. a small-town pediatrician whose overprotective nature made him a terrible match for a family of martyrs. died in 2040 at age 82 of shock and awe about certain mercy-related developments.
MOTHER. angela ross. retired photographer. any doomscroller worth their earth salt has seen her series on the 2007 peru earthquake. currently resides in an upstate nursing home where she lays waste to fellow widows in psychological warfare/sunday night bingo using her cutthroat casino tactics and her son’s choice in career.
SISTER. america quispe. an ironically named activist and journalist who would’ve despised her baby brother’s job had the genetic lottery rolled her half as much brain as she did heart. died in 2003 at age 22 of abstruse causes socorro has attributed to his own adolescent cowardice.
EX-WIFE. [redacted]. another woman he disappointed. another coworker he exploited. another love of his life lost to mercy in every manner that matters.
CHILD. he and [redacted] never could decide on a name. they’re old enough to be a junior agent now, though socorro’s done everything he can to stop that from happening, between making
A BRIEF HISTORY. warnings: adultery, alcohol, death, and divorce.
there’s an art to running that most folk don’t figure out until they’re running out of time, blood and bones and flesh full of rotting regrets reaching out for hands that aren’t there, facing the rest of forever by their lonesome on hospice beds that’d be softer had the mayor approved of replacing the mattresses with slabs of concrete. socorro quispe isn’t most folk. he’s been running stitches since the doctors at a clinic that was half debris and half distinguished medical professionals sewed his poor mother’s stomach back into one and a half and running in stitches since his sister taught him how to pick the lock splitting the measured-in-square-inches nursery room. the siblings, after all, were treated like strays by the rest of the family, like scraggly, parasitic denizens of their ancestral palace in arequipa tolerated only for a waning obedience to the elders. olive branches quickly snapped into backhanded scourges as cousins challenged them to climb that volcano, to retrieve that toy, to knock on that neighbour’s door. that volcano would take its cue, coughing out phreatic poisons, confining socorro to bed just in time for the school fair. that toy would be an appendage of violence terribly inappropriate to be caught with right after sunday mass, stuck in territory belonging to their cousins’ tormentors. that neighbour would be an irate fisherman with endangered itching to find new apprentices. so socorro learned how to run from his parents.
it was strange, that how they met was the one topic his mother never breached. his father was reticent from the start, hunched over his rubber mallets and patient reports as though his life was tethered to those he’d met mere seconds ago to assess whether they were healthy or healthier. before, the ever-odious offspring had assumed the rollicking renegade of the cathedral’s shame wall had been killed by expeditions to the distant wilderness to treat now socorro hypothesises it was some fear that sensitivity was contagious on an airborne level rather than a genetic one. his career day stories were ones of turning curtains into splints in the industrial bowels of a chinese province and cracking dislocated joints out the rocks of kilimanjaro, so permission from his wife to lull their little boy to sleep was scarcely appointed. if there had been a goddess of hypocrites, though, she’d blessed mrs quispe from birth. socorro was made to memorise lullabies about doomsday 2000 and other events of mass hysteria by his mother so he’d be prepared for anything.
why? because he needed to be prepared for anything.
why? because he needed to protect his sister.
why? because his parents wouldn’t always be around to protect them.
why? because his parents weren’t prepared to have him.
doctor quispe was a man of means, for any medicine dispensers with degrees to back such claims to life were rare in the region, never mind them being handsome, kind, and young. it was routine for parents of his patients to keep their home first aid kits fully empty so they might see mister santiago again, with his sickly tempting sense of style outside the office and sumptuous collection of memories spanning continents. little did they know that one such memory, situated in the recesses of the 80s recession after a sordid interview, had cast him in the leading role of renowned photojournalist angela ross’s life. he didn’t know that, either. therefore, he was content to serve his procreational purpose and marry that irate fisherman’s even crabbier daughter, to father a girl named after the nation he dreamed of returning to every night. angela still visited, though, when her publication company allowed her holidays, and most of her visits ended with the not-so-good doctor paying a hefty sum to the good laundromat. their supposed final meeting was followed not a month later by angela announcing that she’d be moving to peru to raise her child. their child, as he was informed during his daughter’s eighth birthday party. the fisherman’s daughter disappeared and everything was broken water under the bridge.
so socorro learned how to run from his parents. uncovering this information in the cookbooks of his senile grandmother was an experience, to say the least, and from then on it seemed the sun was always beckoning him towards a greater power, towards a greater purpose, towards the prospect of being better than everyone. morals-wise, muscles-wise, who minded the difference? having a half-and-half chance of accuracy in answering questions from teachers or relatives made him a better actor. spitting on the shoes of his asthma diagnosis and lacing up for football team tryouts made him a better sportsman. kicking the ball off the court to figure if he’d broken another player’s knee made him a better doctor. not that anyone ever acknowledged this betterment. the maelstrom within him looked like a light breeze to the rest of civilisation, for expecting recognition as an average sweat-slicked schoolboy who played football and wanted to follow in his father’s footsteps when it came to selecting a future trade was like expecting recognition as a speck of dust in the atmosphere.
better not dwell on the past or the future, young man, as america brought change. literally, as her admission to an ivy league on a full-ride scholarship was a welcome excuse to move into an apartment owned by angela’s parents in the heart of washington. the siblings, formerly locked at the hip, flourished into independence of a sort. while america studied writing as a weapon against empires built on battles they hadn’t fought, socorro studied speaking as a weapon against lives he hadn’t lived. no longer was he a confused jumble of limbs and unrewarded justice-seeking; he was the sole survivor of an earthquake at his old school, he was the documenter of the new decade’s first hurricane in his hometown, he was socrates’s namesake, he was the youngest person to learn cpr, he was annoying as all hell and he was loved by peers at last. before he’d looked to america for instructions when it came to even the easiest tasks. now he looked to her as a leech would lick its six lips upon seeing its next meal. before he was licking wounds that weren’t even his, sympathetic to a fault so large it could’ve cracked wide open into a canyon. now he was apex predator to the concrete jungle, a swaggering raconteur reselling his mother’s articles as his autobiography. the confidence did wonders for his grades, as did the copying of formulae and factoids inscribed into the bottom of his water bottles. four years after the fact he’d graduated to vandalism (and providing his friends with masks when they wanted to make more elaborate art, because it’s safe and responsible crime for them, thank you very much) and relished in the momentary notice he got from his parents, from the police. a slap on the back was schrodinger’s cat–admonishment or applause.
america, meanwhile, began and ended her history with local law enforcement after inviting her pathetic angel of a baby brother to assist in. it seemed logical, given that one of them had inherited their father’s surgical precision while the other had inherited her mother’s premature arthritis. it seemed safe, given that it was a peaceful sit-in. it seemed fun, given that all he’d have to do was cut some pieces of cardboard into catchy slogans and mope about acting all mysterious and brooding and applying snatches of his sister’s concealer to some unfortunately arranged acne. it was, as socorro’s very existence was to be forevermore, tortuous and torturous and in dire need of a tourniquet around the neck so as to induce amnesia. a blackout struck the street and the batons came buzzing after. socorro ran, never to see his sister again.
one in the morning, green day shirt stained by crimson slashes, coffee cup crashing on the ground as his parents finally pay attention to what he’s done, he says his last lie: she ran away.
socorro wasn’t the good kid but he was good enough to graduate, good enough to get into college, good enough to become better. he didn’t just clean up his act, okay? he sterilised it, plunged a syringe into his past until it was shriveled up like a tumour. the people at med school made jokes about it, how he probably spray painted an anatomy lesson on the mural a few blocks away when he was younger, and none of them ever found out how close they were to the truth. for once, forging friendships took a back seat in the already-crashed car. what he lacked in natural aptitude he concocted a cocktail worthy of iv bags worldwide with determination. he attended every lecture, annoyed every lecturer, got mistaken for a raccoon by every librarian in the region. using every dollar his sister had saved for his education, he passed the usmle and got accepted into an august honour society soon afterwards. the only way to be worthy to serve the suffering, he found, was to suffer even more.
obviously, the next step was to get married and have a kid. his extensive networking (read: bothering) thrust him into hands-on experience sharpish, and during preludes to plunging his hands into that chest or lackadaisically conducting that lobectomy, he regressed into the conjurer of charisma that had spent all of med school pounding at his heart’s enclosure. at thirty-six his promotion to clinical professor of thoracic surgery cinched the intrigue of a coworker, and at thirty-seven his bachelor status at last became unconfirmed. he wasn’t there for the birth of his child (heart bypass on an octogenarian over being screamed at for not bringing her pickled lucuma? it wasn’t much of a dilemma) but was determined to be better than his father. he wouldn’t be distant, that much was clear. after a life of arbitrary ambition, socorro needed to save people as much as he needed to control them.
an old student of his had the same idea. sort of. they both wanted to help humanity, that was what mattered. they’d approached him after his father’s funeral–never mind moving to peru and wallowing in mediocrity; with the student’s connections and socorro’s medical expertise, they’d never let the solaris drug fall in the wrong hands. he dithered. again he was in the crackling chaos of the protest. could anyone be prepared for such power?
the student defected. the wife divorced. now all socorro has is mercy and dive bars and stopping the heroes of tomorrow from dying. there's not much glory hound in him anymore. bloodhound's more like it.
PLAYLIST.
WANTED CONNECTIONS.
that old student’s mission partner pleek. i am on my knees begging for some not-so-amateur sleuthing content
drinking buddies. he will save you from the wall of shame by filling it up by himself i promise
biomedical agents. bffs or rivals or awkward acquaintances i want it all (but also a sort of beefing with your coworker because you think he should be happy with the pension plan and leave connection would be top tier)
frequent patient. his codename is gauze for a reason and it’s not because he’s boring and doesn’t get greek mythology. forget batman’s utility belt he has a first aid kit in his fanny pack 25/7
a sort of mentor/mentee thing could be fun. beware of many batman beyond bruce/terry parallels because his temper can flip like a coin at the slightest of slights
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I think it's time I finally made one of these.
I go by Rubi (She/her, born 1998) on this site, and this is my dedicated Square Enix sideblog, focusing mostly on FFXIV; all manner of fan content, including NSFW. Do not worry, spoilers will be tagged as FFXIV/FFXVI spoilers! Main blog is @espurrs-wild, thus asks will be sent under that name!
Here is also where you will find info on my WoLs and OCs!
Speaking of which....
WoLs:
Y'dehlya Rhikta
Age: 24 (ARR)
Race: Half Seeker of the Sun, half Keeper of the Moon Miqo'te
Birthday: 31st Sun of the Fourth Astral Moon (7/30)
Birthplace: Limsa Lominsa, La Noscea
Job Classes: Dragoon, Gunbreaker, Red Mage, Reaper
Orientation: Isn't one for labels, but for all intents and purposes, pansexual.
Relationship status: Taken--Dating G'raha as of Patch 5.3
Tags: Character Ship
Summary:
The elder Warrior of Light, a charismatic, discerning, and multi-talented woman. She has been trained in combat since a young age, making her formidable on the battlefield. She is just as capable with her words on the debate floor and is worldly-wise in the affairs and inner workings of mainland Eorzea, making her second to Alphinaud in diplomatic affairs among the Scions. Y'dehlya is a lover of adventures, new experiences, and luxuries, not to mention a hopeless romantic at heart. Though underneath her warm personality and her protectiveness lies a woman still bearing the scars of the Calamity's aftermath, and burning desires to usher in an era of peace and to personally see that threats to her world's safety crumble to dust. Those that become unfortunate enough to meet this side of her find someone much, much colder. She is not a stranger to the brutal sting of heartbreak.
U'reksh Tia
Age: 17 (ARR)
Race: Seeker of the Sun Miqo'te
Birthday: 3rd Sun of the Fourth Umbral Moon (8/3)
Birthplace: The Forgotten Springs, Thanalan
Job Classes: Gladiator, Monk, Dark Knight, Machinist, Gunbreaker
Orientation: Bisexual
Relationship Status: Taken--Dating Alisaie as of Patch 5.1
Tags: Character Ship
Summary:
The younger Warrior of Light, a brash, excitable, and competitive showboat of an adventurer. Once, he sought battles for the thrill and glory, and his early days as a Warrior of Light made him grow arrogant in his power. But fate had tempered him soundly, having him wrestle with his own inner demons to define what his true nature as a warrior and as a man would be. He has arisen from these battles a protector for the innocent and downtrodden, becoming more emotionally aware of others, though he still retains his boisterous personality and a healthy love for battle and competition. He has developed a keen interest in machines and technology and was taken under the wings of both Cid and Nero. Sometimes, he works part-time for the Garlond Ironworks. His knowledge has grown to such that he's become the Scions' go-to in manners of technology in the absence of any Ironworks members. He is a very dynamic and compelling storyteller.
Main WoL Adjacent (Not a WoL, but OC still heavily involved in the MSQ):
Kouh'to Rhikta
Age: 16 (ARR)
Race: Half Seeker of the Sun, half Keeper of the Moon Miqo'te
Birthday: 25th Sun of the Third Umbral Moon (6/24)
Birthplace: Limsa Lominsa, La Noscea
Job Classes: Blue Mage, Summoner
Orientation: Questioning
Relationship status: A currently one-sided(?) secret crush on Alphinaud
Tags: Character
Summary:
Y'dehlya's brother who possesses the Echo. He is a researcher employed by the Sons of Saint Coinach tasked with investigating ancient Allagan Summoning magic. Her opposite in sociability, the sharp-tongued Kouh'to maintains a more melancholy disposition that is difficult to read. He is insatiably curious; known to wander and do as he pleases, finding trouble as much as it finds him, and enjoys getting rises out of others, yet flusters easily and is uncomfortable being surrounded. Yet his acerbic mannerisms conceal a soul both gentler and more protective, especially towards the sister who often took care of him, and a temper that when lit with the right spark, erupts like a volcano. Against his older siblings, it is he who excels the most in the arcane arts, a fact he is quite proud of. But, he, too, was subjected to the same training they have at the same age they started. Has a hidden talent for acting.
Note: Ages listed are for point of reference and aging will vary depending on timelines used.
Important general-use tags:
WoL My WoLs Other WoLs WoL Adjacents
My writing tag, including askbox writing prompts
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//Long time, no see, it's random hcs time!
I will update this to Zinon's bio eventually but I changed his civil job. Zinon no longer works (full-time, he still maintains an affiliation) in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and instead, he's now an auditor for some big international finance company. This means he does a lot of business travel and relocates somewhere new basically every week - currently, he's on a three-week travel sched + one week at home in Nicosia to "rest" (tho this man truly doesn't know what that means) and catch up on his nation work. How this will affect future rps is really only that it makes it easier for me to drop him in whatever location. If your muse meets him, just assume he's on a business trip in their country.
Recently I've also been thinking a lot about Zinon ft. cages, like, he has actually spent a lot of his life running away from different cages both physical and figurative. Being raised under the strict Byzantine court rules and religious teachings, being held like a prisoner by different empires and dictators, being trapped in unfortunate circumstances in life, and so on. He hasn't really had the luxury of choosing his own path and every time he's tried to fight against his fate, it's usually just landed him in more trouble and/or another, worse kind of cage. All this probably explains a lot about his restless lifestyle; one part due to being torn from his roots too many times and now having a hard time feeling at home anywhere and another part due to him seeing the bars of the cage again when he stops somewhere for too long. It's possible that he unconsciously relates staying in place with complacency. This flightiness has also earned him the petname "passerotto" ("little sparrow") from his lover.
Also talking about this relationship: yes Zinon is now in a committed relationship but unfortunately it's not going to be public information. As in, he might admit that he's taken, but the identity and especially the gender of his lover will be kept under wraps. If your muse does find out the identity of his boyfriend and asks about the relationship, Zinon might even straight up lie and deny everything out of fear. Why, you may ask? Bc Cy is actually one of the worst countries in Europe to be gay and also in his line of work homosexuality is still frowned upon and marginalised. He could easily lose his job and all his professional and social respect if his sexual orientation came out in the wrong company. That's why.
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𝐀 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐈𝐒𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐍
repost with the information of your muse, including headcanons, etc
𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐂 𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍
name: louise lincoln
name meaning: famous warrior / lake colony
alias: killer frost, ice queen
age: late 30s
ethnicity: american
zodiac sign: leo
species: metahuman
gender: female
orientation: bisexual
profession: former thermodynamicist at star labs, currently an assassin for hire and interrogator
birth place: nyc, manhattan
𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄
eyes: icy blue. stares daggers at everything and everyone. it's as piercing as it gets, but once her eyes land on a special someone her icy gaze melts away
hair: pixie cut. short at the back, relaxed waves on the front. silky to the touch. appears wild yet regel in its perfect form. do not touch her hair. ever.
skin: pale. clear skin with the exception of her burn mark on her right hand. other than that she has a simple skincare routine that mainly focuses on hydrating her dry skin
notable features: narrow chin, high cheekbones, outward ears
body type: curvaceous hourglass
height: 5′3
colours: warm reds, pinks and greens as a civilian. cool shades of blue, black and white when on the job. sometimes purple is introduced in the mix
scar(s): right palm has burn tissue from a riot in belle reve
clothing style: can range to hardcore punk, goth or girly
would never wear: anything cheap or a trend she finds ugly enough to not wear
𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏𝐒
mother: adeline lincoln. the first person in louise’s life who tried to repress her killer instincts and change her into someone she wasn’t born to be
father: joseph lincoln. the first person in her life who truly saw her sadistic tendencies at an early age and despised what he had raised
siblings: victoria lincoln. the youngest sibling her parents preferred and couldn't blame them for loving their normalcy
affiliations: star labs, department of metahuman affairs, assassination bureau, secret society of supervillains, legion of doom, suicide squad, ice pack
𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍
fruits: fresh grapes, strawberries, lemon
drinks: smoothies, milkshakes, water, cuppchino
food: crème brûlée, beef wellington, new york style pizza, buffalo chicken wings and lobster
snacks: lollipop, lu pépito cookies, chocolate bar and gelato
alcoholic beverages: beer, champaign, martinis, mimosas, gin
flowers: anything that's named after a royalty, although her personal favourite are lillies
day or night: day
smokes: yes, but only when stressed. she's trying to quit after all. was quite the heavy smoker when crystal died and only listened to her therapist to eat sunflower seeds or chew on gum (she hates gum)
drugs: never again. had a bad experience trying out cocaine once
drivers licence: yes, she earned it as a teenager. was pretty much eager to drive herself everywhere
usual mood/demeanor: moody af. other than that pleasant trait louise can be pretty chill if she's not being provoked in some way
moral alignment: chaotic evil
interests: jewelry, expensive stuff, rich history of royal families, physics, space, protests, riots, money, 70s/80s music and the list goes on !!
dislikes: animals/pets. they always sense she's a threat. they will be hostile no matter the situation, even the most docile of creates find her repulsive. she'll consider herself lucky if they just ignore her
positive traits: creative, determined, humorous, charismatic, punctual, persuasive, intelligent, open-minded, straightforward, decisive, curious, sympathetic, discreet, alert, flirty
negative traits: feisty, manipulative, backstabber, arrogant, bossy, paranoid, sadistic, selfish, moody, malicious, stubborn, obsessive, fussy, cocky, irrational, vindictive, aggressive
habits: occasionally smoking when stressed (trying to quit), obsessed with elegant mannerisms/behaviours that fool people into thinking she's a snobby elitist, uses makeup to hide her sleep deprivation
sleeping habits: has trouble sleeping properly without having a nightmare of firestorm or crystal. always has to keep drinking whisky to knock herself out, smoke, listen to her favourite bands on the radio, read a book, mediate and write out different yet positive scenarios of her nightmares of her getting her revenge. she even thinks of a happier ending with crystal a lot on her journal
eating habits: always eats with her mouth closed and looks down on people who share rude table manners. she's also one of those people at restaurants that eat their burger with a fork and knife
strengths: taekwondo, acrobatics, body language expert, stealth, interrogation, acting and boxing. all learnt by her time at the assassination bureau. has extensive knowledge of thermodynamics and connections in the criminal underworld thanks to T.A.B
weaknesses: her few weaknesses are water and ice due to her metahuman condition to thrive off of heat sources. lets her bloodlust control her and feels the need to satisfy her sadism, dealing with the traumatic event of firestorm killing crystal that affected her life dramatically. uses violence as a way of coping with her anger when it only leaves her empty despite enjoying the cruelty she commits
#˗ˏˋ ༄ ──── 𝐃𝐀𝐒𝐇 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒 〳 ❪ helluva party ❫#˗ˏˋ ༄ ──── 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒 〳 ❪ violence creates and molds as well ❫
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── ( rachel zegler, gender apathetic, she/they. ) ＊ ︰ alicia grace jimenez. chiron often praises their ardent temperament, but mr. d’s always going on about how they can be pretty venomous. that comes as no surprise, knowing that they’ve been at camp now for fifteen years and they turned twenty-three this year.
BASICS.
FULL NAME alicia grace jimenez
NICKNAME(S) ali, al
AGE twenty three
DATE OF BIRTH february 21
PLACE OF BIRTH fort lauderdale, fl
CURRENT LOCATION long island, ny
ETHNICITY white latine
GENDER gender apathetic
PRONOUNS she / they
ORIENTATION bisexual & biromantic
RELIGION catholic
EDUCATION LEVEL high school, ged
LIVING ARRANGEMENTS cabin 10
FINANCIAL STATUS lower middle class
SPEAKING VOICE AND ACCENT south floridian, “long vowels”
SPOKEN LANGUAGES english, spanish, greek
PHYSICAL APPEARANCE.
FACECLAIM rachel zegler
HAIR COLOR AND STYLE dark brown, usually long
COMPLEXION cool, mid-toned tan
EYE COLOR dark warm brown
EYESIGHT poor, typically seen with glasses on her head
HEIGHT 5'2
BODY AND BUILD petite, lithe, delicate
TATTOOS none
PIERCINGS ears, singular
CLOTHING STYLE ecclectic, primarily feminine, flow-y and loose cuts, lots of skirts
DISTINGUISHING CHARACTERISTICS large mouth
SIGNATURE SCENT suntan oil and various, cheap body sprays
PERSONALITY.
LABEL the chameleon
POSITIVE TRAITS passionate, lively, friendly, adaptable, curious
NEGATIVE TRAITS vitriolic, spiteful, irresolute, irritable, unsteady
TROPES manic pixie dream girl, the broken bird, cute and psycho, damsel errant, beauty brains and brawn, the ophelia
TOUCHSTONES molly gunn (uptown girls), holly golightly (breakfast at tiffany's), sally bowles (cabaret), juliet hulme (heavenly creatures), penny lane (almost famous), jenna rink (13go30), daisy buchanan (the great gatsby), cordelia chase (btvs)
BEFORE CAMP.
triggers parental death
mateo jimenez meets aphrodite much like he would have met any other woman — in the crowd, at one of his rock shows in a little divebar. he doesn't think much of it at the time. beautiful women are a perk of his job, as it happens. a false name, a pseudonym of hers, and he's never the wiser for their brief love affair. a child, much less one that he didn't ask for, was never part of the plan. a gift, she calls it, though he's less certain of that. when he recounts the story to his daughter a few years later, her eyes wide and bright, he'll tell her it was because he had so much love to give and her mother knew that he needed them.
and a loving father he is, while he can be. he gives up his music, he starts working in real jobs, moving them to where the work is, turning their travel into games so alicia, named for his mother, will never suspect it was because they have to. demigods are distinctive, and she is no different. he does what he can to protect her while he's there, though that does not last as long as either of them would have liked.
she's only six when he passes, an accident, she's told, when the gentleman who informed her is asking where her mother is, the answer one she doesn't have. her mother's not there, her mother's never been there for her. no extended family that she knows, only seven with no answers. their answers will change everytime she's asked, but she knows to travel on her own now, using some of the same tactics her father did to evade danger — both human and monster.
she gets used to relying on only themself for safety, occasionally taking up with others, but rarely sticking with them for as long as it would take for them know her, see her do her little rituals of protection every night, pray to a mother they're certain has never listened or cared. she gets by through asking for things, an explanation that earns her confused glances from others without homes, something they haven't had luck with. she doesn't know her persuasion is magical, only that it works.
it isn't long, however, before some of these friends are not quite so normal, either. she knows they aren't like her, not exactly, but they seem to know more than her. one of them tells her there's somewhere she can go, where she wouldn't have to keep on the move as much anymore, where her mother's other children are. indignation strikes her more than desire, that her mother has other children and has not brought them to the same place after all this time, but the desire to have a family again wins out.
CAMP.
after her satyr friend explains everything about the gods, she isn't sure what to think, whether to believe them. she chooses to, for the sake of meeting siblings she may have, but there's a suspicion in her at the concept of gods outside of the god that her father raised her with. it's hard to disagree once she reaches camp, though, and sees the magic for herself.
she spends the bulk of her time there — mostly training, which she liked, but also learning, which she liked less. she doesn't feel the same need to keep moving, feels safety finally for the first time since her father passed. aided by having friends with similar abilities, who understand what she means when she says she can just do something, or that the words on a page swim around for them the way alphabet soup does in the pot.
it makes it easy to feel at ease there, to sink into comfort they haven't had before, and they rarely leave as a result, becoming a long term resident and one of the friendlier faces for new campers. her upbringing doesn't get brought up much, certainly not by alicia themself, and any mention of parents usually gets a swift subject change. their trust in her siblings and other demigods does not extend to the gods, to the mother who neglects.
despite her comfort at camp, the distance she creates by letting few people in is a safety measure. fifteen years, longer than she had been on her own or with her father, and she does not want to risk not living up to the image they have had of her for so long.
so she shapes herself to what she thinks people want to see, an image of perfection as they see fit, with little to no room for error. she wants to be everything to everyone, craves approval like it's water. she just wants to be enough.
tldr pathological people pleaser with abandonment issues, a different person to everyone
#mist.intro#my plan is to put this in a doc eventually#but i'm sick so forgive the low effort lack of graphic intro ty
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The Basics
name: Aiden Philip Stevens
nickname: n/a
birthday: May 2nd, 1994
age: 29 years old
hometown: Tacoma, WA
current residence: downtown
occupation: line cook at juniper grill
gender: cis-male
pronouns: he/him
orientation: Biromantic Asexual
Deeper Dive
alignment: Chaotic Neutral
mbti: ISTP - the virtuoso
zodiac: taurus
positive traits: Protective, steadfast, resilient
neutral traits: Stubborn, challenging, blunt
negative traits: Cataclysmic, quick-tempered, foul-mouthed
likes: hats with ear covers, poppy flowers, free-running, rage rooms, dark chocolate, jager bombs, Jack Daniels, bar scenes
dislikes: early mornings, sitting still for too long, almost everything at some point
Appearance
faceclaim: Thomas Brodie Sangster
haircolor: Blond
eyecolor: Brown
height: 5'11"
weight: 165 lbs
identifying marks: chipped left incisor, stick and poke skull tattoo on his upper right thigh (it's not great)
clothing style: comfortable and casual is his go to - flannels and t-shirts, straight-legged jeans, high-top Vans
Backstory
tw: divorce, drugs, child custody, emotional neglect, stroke/illness, violence, cheating mention, parental loss
Aiden was born an only child in Tacoma to an otherwise seemingly happy couple. His father was a land surveyor and his mother a realtor, which meant he never had to want for a thing in his life. This also meant that he had been primarily raised by a nanny in his formative years when their jobs ate up all their time. Attention, of all things, is what he hoped for most, but it was hard to complain to anyone when instead he got every new game console and iPhone as they released.
When Aiden was in the end of fifth grade, it came to light that his father was having an emotional affair with a coworker. Although nothing physical had happened between them, it was enough to spur a divorce. After the ink on the papers dried and his mother purchased a new home, she took Aiden to Fairford and transferred him to the middle school there.
Moving to a new town meant leaving any of the friends he had behind, and in his new school Aiden quickly became a problem. Halfway through the year he already faced two suspensions from violence and destruction of property, but his mother did very little to rectify his behavior. A slap on the wrist, and some hush hush money later, not even getting into trouble earned him her attention. It never did look good for the realtor whose son was sending kids home with broken fingers and bloodied noses.
On weekends and every other Wednesday, he took a bus back to Tacoma to spend time with his father once he hit the age of thirteen. There was never an argument on his father’s end about not seeing his son, and his mother didn’t want to put in the effort of driving back and forth at the time. It was only after he was old enough to travel on his own. Although mentally exhausting, there was no animosity toward his parents, from him or between each other. It’s almost as if the marriage had been done long before that the sting of an affair in the making was easy to shake off.
This does not mean Aiden didn’t get into his own fair share of trouble throughout middle or high school either. Skating by with C’s and D’s in high school while in trouble for truancy and fighting any other classmates simply looked at him the wrong way. He also had no issues with destroying lockers or breaking beakers in the science lab, so on and so forth. He was known for running his mouth too much which led him to get into many physical altercations, so he learned how to fight to defend himself.
Around his sophomore year in high school, his father suffered a stroke that left him partially paralyzed. It put an end to his career, Aiden took it upon himself to help take care of him on the weekends he went to visit. He became a barback in a local dive bar, but also partnered up with coworkers to distribute and sell marijuana to leave money in his apartment after visits.
Despite his mother’s push for him to go to college, all chances were dashed when his math professor in his senior year refused to pass him. He didn’t want summer school, and in a reactive rage, Aiden got ahold of a bat from the gymnasium and shattered the wind shield to that teacher’s car. Instant expulsion left him the option of taking the G.E.D., which he did, so he settled in working as he had been and helped to support the house and bills for his father.
His mother been distant enough from Aiden she never caught on to where his money was going. His father passed when he was twenty-two from causes related to the stroke. The loss wasn’t horribly difficult to get over. Aiden did grieve for a brief period, became a shut in for a few months at all the resentment for not truly knowing his father as a person despite doing all he could to financially help, but in the same breath battling with the guilt over the relief he felt over it.
By the age twenty-five, his mother gave him the boot. Aiden relocated from where she lives on the Coral Coast to downtown Fairford. He has long since quit the drug selling scene and used his restaurant experience to become a line cook at Juniper Grill. He is going through the motions at this point, just to keep his head above water.
.....
Pinterest: [ here ]
Playlist: [ here ]
Connections page: [ here ]
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❝ a bitten tongue and gritted teeth, midnight underwear dance parties, cropped cardigans, worn jeans, late night bonfires, the ashes of a forgotten cigarette, stolen sweaters with too long sleeves, taper candles stuck into teacups, baggy tees, abandoned mugs of coffee, tragic romance movies, aggressively making tea, nap marathons, bergamot scented anything, a purse full of dr. pepper and chocolate candy
BIOGRAPHY | CONNECTIONS | PINTEREST
NAME: Selin (SAY-lihn) Tülay Çakar
PREFERRED NAME/NICKNAME(S): Sey
AGE: Thirty-three
BIRTHDAY: June 21st, 1989
ZODIAC: Cancer sun, Capricorn moon, Sagittarius rising
RESIDENTIAL AREA: Bighorn Hills
OCCUPATION: Owner of Harp Antiques
LENGTH OF TIME IN PROVIDENCE: 33 years, minus a few spent in Seattle and Boston
basics.
BIRTHPLACE: Providence Peak, Colorado
HOMETOWN: Providence Peak, Colorado
GENDER IDENTIFICATION: Cis Woman (she/her)
SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Bisexual, Biromantic
RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Divorced and currently single
POSITIVE TRAITS: Protective, sentimental, hospitable, thoughtful, tenacious
NEGATIVE TRAITS: Reticent, moody, impressionable, provoking, melancholic
family.
MOTHER: Afet Çakar
FATHER: Selim Çakar
SIBLINGS: Two older brothers, one younger sister (all WC’s)
OTHER: two cats, Danny and Dawson
tldr (but still long af, actually).
TW: chronic illness, infidelity, death
Born and raised in Providence Peak, Selin comes from a tight knit (if not somewhat overbearing) family. Her grandfather started a sporting goods store that her father later sold, turning a tidy profit in the process. Despite the influx in money, though, their family remained humble and always lived well below their means.
Sey was always a bit of a curious, wandering child-- more prone to being found in a dark, dusty corner of the local library or out on one of the many trails than she was at home in her room. That all came to an abrupt end when she was fifteen.
While out with a few friends on a run of the mill hike she started to feel off and, before any of them fully realized what was happening, she lost consciousness. For a little over twenty-four hours she was in a hypoglycemic coma and ultimately ended up being diagnosed with type one diabetes.
The entire ordeal wreaked havoc on her parents, and they became a little too concerned, a little too involved in her life from there on out. Even though Sey knew it came from a good place, their constant doubt in her ability to take care of herself and micromanaging began to feel like an invisible cage.
At age twenty-three her boyfriend proposed, despite having only been together for about eight months, and, in a desperate bid for independence and separation, she said yes. It wasn’t long before they were wed and then she was off– following him first to Seattle during his surgical internship, and then to Mass Gen in Boston for his residency.
Long story short? Their marriage was paper thin and in no time she realized she’d made a mistake. Still, she stubbornly stayed, only returning home to Colorado after his affair with a co-worker was revealed.
Upon returning she started working at the local antique store where she’d gotten her first job back in high school. When Weldon Harp, the cantankerous owner, passed away not long after she was shocked to learn he’d left her the store (and a few acres of land) in his will.
headcanons.
is the proud cat mom of two rescues, danny and dawson, who she named after the romantic leads in her two favorite movies.
refuses to acknowledge what it might say about her that both characters in both movies tragically died.
despite having owned the property she inherited from weldon harp for several years now she's made no move to build on it. instead, sey lives in the eccentric little carriage/cabin hybrid situation that's been there from the start.
is the queen of "it's okay" and "i'm fine" even when (or especially when) it is absolutely and most definitely not.
mutters "what the fuck" under her breath at least 36 times a day and "my boobs are too pretty for this shit" might at well be her catchphrase.
these days she uses an omnipod (wireless insulin pump) affectionately nicknamed sue ellen. in case you were wondering, she’s also named her glucose monitor dex. whenever one of them decides to yell at her sey is 1000% known to yell back.
always keeps a chocolate candy bar and can of regular soda on her in case her sugar gets too low. ice cream is her weakness, though, and she probably indulges in it more often than she should.
has never once in her life invited someone into her place without offering them tea. or tequila. dealer's choice.
believes in her heart that half a pot of coffee and two cigarettes should be considered a balanced breakfast, but faithfully eats a veggie loaded omelet or some plain greek yogurt with blackberries every morning because she’s a good girl.
her wardrobe ranges from band groupie to suburban dad to pastel princess and nothing in between.
similarly, her dance moves also range from white dad at a bbq to a stripper whose rent is due next week.
soft, sensitive, and easily hurt but will keep laughing and never show it
rarely saves numbers in her phone but in the event that she does keep a contact it's always under a nickname or funny descriptive
selin is, in fact, obnoxiously loyal and protective of those she cares about. she always has a smile and a minite (or ten) to talk with anyone she meets, but you know you've made it in her books when that smile takes on a decidedly asshole-ish vibe
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eve best + she/they + cis woman – have you seen renata barrows around los angeles? the fifty five year old is usually jamming to counting stars by one republic. word around the city is that they’re resourceful, yet, they can also be blunt, but you didn’t hear that from me. they’re currently a publicist and are typically seen walking the streets of los angeles with her conway stewart churchill classic black gold fountain pen. when i think of them, i think of perfectly tailored three piece suits, record player softly playing in the background, lipstick stain on the collar of a shirt. let’s hope the city treats them good! (marlene fei wanted connection)
BASICS
Name: Renata Barrows
Nickname(s): Ree, Ren
Marital status: "Married to her job"
Age: Fifty five
Occupation: Publicist for the Stars
Sexual Orientation: Lesbian
RELATIONSHIPS
Father: Alexander Barrows
Mother: Emily Barrows
Children: One daughter (technically her half sister but was adopted by Ren when she was a few months old.)
Romantic Interests: marlene fei (lover she has feelings for)
APPEARANCE
Height: 5'11"
Hair Colour: Blonde
Eye Colour: Brown
Dot points because brain no work
Runs her own PR Firm called "GoldenPR" she employees around 5 people.
Adopted her daughter 24 years ago. Biologically they are half siblings but her daughter doesn't know.
Has a bachelor of business (Public Relations)
Her father is her idol, her hero and honestly can't do anything wrong in her mind
Is absolutely head over heels for Marlene Fei but is afraid of what damage admitting her feelings could do to their relationship with each other and in the public eye
Tries to keep her head down in public and loves a good gossip.
More info (being added to)
Renata was born to young parents, barely 20 years old. Her father, a bright and up and coming actor during golden age Hollywood and her mother, an heiress to fashion label in Italy living in london. They married not for love but for what they could offer the other. Her birth was a surprise but not entirely unwanted. A child was a perfect prop in her mother's eyes. A living doll her mother could dress up and however she was the apple of her father's eye.
She was raised almost completely by her father and her nanny, only ever seeing her mother when it was convenient to her.
She has a Bachelor of Business (Public Relations)
For nearly 30 years Renata enjoyed the life of an only child, until her father had an affair with a younger actress. He asked her to take care of it and she did. She kept her father's name out of the press and had paid off the mother of the child to keep it silent.
not more than 6 months later, her father visited her home with a bundle of blankets. The mother having left her child with their father. They brainstormed ways to avoid her father being bad mouthed in the press and Ren came to the decision to adopt the child and raise them.
more tba
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Welcome to Aurora Bay, [SELENA VALDES]! I couldn’t help but notice you look an awful lot like [PRISCILLA QUINTANA]. You must be the [TWENTY-NINE] year old [BARTENDER AT GOLDEN HOUR LOUNGE]. Word is you’re [RESILIENT] but can also be a bit [STUBBORN] and your favorite song is [WOULD'VE COULD'VE SHOULD'VE BY TAYLOR SWIFT]. I also heard you’ll be staying in [SEABROOK QUARTER]. I’m sure you’ll love it!
CHARACTER BASICS
NAME: selena valdes
NICKNAME: lena
AGE: twenty-nine
DATE OF BIRTH: september 29, 1993
ZODIAC SIGN: libra
GENDER & PRONOUNS: cisfemale, she/her
ORIENTATION: bisexual
STATUS: single
HEIGHT: 5′2″
OCCUPATION: bartender at golden hour lounge
NEIGHBORHOOD: seabrook quarter
QUICK FACTS
selena valdes was born out of an affair her mother, an up and coming model who had to cut her career short, had with a wealthy married man. growing up, selena never really had a proper father figure. although her father made sure that she and her mother lived a comfortable life, he felt more of a benefactor to her rather than a real father. she never really met him as an adult, but she had some vague memories of him when she was younger--though she wasn't exactly sure if they were real or if she just conjured them in her mind. besides, only a handful of people knew about her existence since her father wanted to keep mum about what happened.
lena didn't exactly hold resentment towards her father since she didn't know him well enough for that. her mother made it clear to her that it's just how the world works and she just accepted it at that time. nonetheless, she lived a comfortable life growing up and her mother cared for her as best as she could in the way she knew how to.
however, her mother also wanted that affection, so she kept on seeing different guys and none of them really lasted that long in their lives. that was the tiring part, meeting new people--thinking she'll finally have the family she always wanted, but just always getting disappointed in the end.
when she was in her second year in college and working part time in a coffee shop, she met someone who's quite older than her, but the two hit it off quickly. they simply clicked and lena fell hard for them. they were not her first love, but they were the one that left a permanent mark on her. everything seemed great at first and their relationship lasted for more than a year until everything fell apart. she found out that they were married and the last thing she wanted was to be just like her mother. lena broke it off between the two of them and cut all ties with them.
after them, lena became more evasive with romance and chose to date without truly committing to the other person. they've completely destroyed her ability to trust other people and she became more closed off. she's a huge flirt, but she rarely catches feelings. more often than not, she chooses to see the worst in people to make sure that she wouldn't get hurt by them.
lena has a degree in business management, but she cannot commit to just one job either. she's always quitting and looking for another job since they easily bore her.
a few months ago, someone contacted her and told her that he was her half-brother. it sounded like a scam at first, but google did its work and it turned out to be true, so she decided to come and visit them at aurora bay. but after being enchanted by the place, she decided to move here for now. currently, she's been residing in aurora bay for 3 months and found a job as a bartender at the golden hour lounge.
WANTED CONNECTIONS
her ex lover (39+)
regular customers at the bar
acquaintances or friends
frenemies
someone who has odd jobs for her to do?
yoga/gym buddies since
tinder matches
one night stands
ex fling
potential romantic interest?
will they won't they
anything else you'd be up to tbh. if u wanna plot with her, just give this a like and i'll dm you <3
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