what are you most excjted for in thr new season of the orville

for ed ad kelly to get their shit together and get married again

✗✗✗   you see [ camille rivas ] around lately? yeah i heard that the [ cis female ] is up to no good. [ she / her ] has been here for [ three years ] now but they’re still pretty [ calculating ] which is fine because they’re also [ ardent ] so it balances out. the [ twenty-six ] year old [ dancer at mayhem ] actually looks like a lot like [ sofia carson ], don’t you think? it’s best to watch out, though, because it’s been said that they’re really into [ the rush of cocaine in her veins & a vice grip on her throat ]. 

henlo it me again! i hope u guys aren’t sick of me yet bc here’s my other bb! say hello to my boss-ass bish gal camile! she’s sassy, classy and a lil badassy. she’s a rather feisty, fiery, ball of rage and anger who cba with ur bullshit tbh n she’ll tell u this too if u piss her off enough! she’s lowkey cutthroat and always out for number one, aka: herself. but, i mean, she does have some redeeming qualities and her hair is bomb af so that makes up for it all really, doesn’t it? basically that meme: ‘ she’s beauty, she’s grace, she’ll punch you in the face. ’ anywho, you know the drill, slap a lil luv on this n i’ll come pester u for all the good stuff : - ) 

fundamentals.

CAMILLE ALARA RIVAS     —     twenty-six, dancer at mayhem,   +   an honest-to-god vixen   /   hellcat   /   lil demoness ! 

aesthetics   ➤   dresses of black lace and red velvet, the scent of chanel perfume lingering in the air as she floats past, blood-red fingertips coiled around the pistol grip of a gun, red-bottomed heels clicking against marble floors, rose gold highlighter shimmering along the height of prominent cheekbones, satin dresses draped over a svelte frame that is shrouded in an air of mystery and intrigue, baby pink roses in a vase on the window sill, deft fingers stained with charcoal and oil paint, the melodic chime of piano keys, delicate digits adorned with moonstone gem rings, a coy smile spread across full crimson lips, long raven locks blowing in the cool breeze of a summer’s evening, battered books with dog-eared pages, a sense of freedom and carelessness when dancing for fun, & a sense of allurement and captivation when dancing for work.

nicknames. cam, cami, mil, millie, spawn of satan >:~)

date of birth. april tenth.

gender. cis female.

pronouns. she + her.

birthplace. manhattan, new york.

orientation. pansexual + demiromantic.

education. bachelor of dance degree obtained from nyu tisch school of the arts.

spoken languages. can speak fluent english, spanish, & latin.

negative traits. capricious, ornery, impulsive, guileful, caustic, brusque, obstinate, destructive, deceptive, & promiscuous.

positive traits. ardent, whimsical, intrepid, graceful, poised, elegant, headstrong, observant, independent, & confident.

strengths. optimistic, energetic, creative, practical, spontaneous, rational, knows how to prioritise, great in a crisis, & relaxed.

weaknesses. stubborn, insensitive, private, reserved, easily bored, dislikes commitment, & has a rather risky behaviour.

talents. ballet, knife throwing, hand-to-hand combat, horse riding, figure skating, piano, violin, painting, singing, & dancing.

physiology. hazel eyes. dark brown hair. five feet, four inches tall. of a petite, slender stature with subtle curves and long hair. has a long silvery scar on her back. her skin is clean of any tattoos. has both earlobes pierced. requires glasses but wears contacts most days. is right-handed.

psychology. aries zodiac. fire element. ravenclaw house. istp-a. true neutral. type seven enneagram. choleric temperament. intra-personal intelligence type. addicted to alcohol, tobacco, and cannabis. suffers from addiction and abandonment issues. her vices are lust, greed and wrath. her virtues are ... ( again ) honestly, probably just diligence tbh.

background.

possible triggers   :   child abandonment, abandonment issues, foster homes, alcohol, drugs, violence, gore, blood, murder, & death.

a synopsis.   ok so for this gal, let’s all give a big, warm welcome to sadness ( no, i was in no way at all inspired by salem from sabrina for that line ) bc boy oh boy, her life has been constant grief and pain, tbh. strap in for the bumpy ride, i’ll give u cookies for compensation. OK SO, camille was abandoned as a baby, never did—and still doesn't—know her biological parents and she doesn’t want to either, tbh. she bounced around from foster home to foster home, never sticking in one place for too long. given her turbulent upbringing, she was somewhat of a difficult child. too boisterous, too unruly, too stubborn, too inquisitive. too much of everything but never enough of anything. never enough for anybody to want her. it didn’t take the girl too long to figure out that it was just her alone, against the big bad world. from the age that she was old enough to realise it, camille knew that she had to fend for herself—that she could never truly rely on a single soul but herself. the hollowness inside her chest never quite satiated, leaving her empty and only too well aware of the lack of her real parental figures. as a young adolescent, this started to crawl under her skin and mess with her mind. it rendered her void of affection and unable to form genuine bonds with others—filling her with deep-rooted resentment that festered beneath the surface of the indifferent demeanour she plastered over herself every day. she always felt starved of love: as if some integral part of her heart was missing, leaving a gaping void that nobody could ever fill. anywho, she fell in with the wrong crowd which did little to aid her foster families hostility toward her. truthfully, most of her experiences in various homes were ... not pleasant. she’d encountered abusive ‘parents,’ horrible ‘siblings,’ and even worse schooling days. pressing the self-destruct button is this gal’s speciality thus she found herself gravitating towards her vices: things and people she knew were no good for her. drink, drugs, people, you name it. quickly, she realised that these things were no longer any good at keeping her dark side at bay: she needed something more, something deeper. thus, she began going down the road of petty crimes—stealing cars, smashing windows, theft, setting fires both metaphorically and literally. due to this lifestyle, she wound up entangled with some real shady folk who did … even shadier things. most specifically, she started dating a real jackass who was violent and truthfully, a horrible person, really. stupidly, she decided to run off into the metaphorical sunset with him * insert eye roll emoji here. * so, fast forward a year or so and things took a swift nosedive when her lowlife boyfriend’s hands were round her throat and not in the kinky way. while she’d clawed at him and tried to fight him off, she struggled against his weight and strength until, eventually, she lifted the first makeshift weapon she felt: a rusted pair of scissors. [ TRIGGER FOR VIOLENCE, GORE, BLOOD, MURDER, DEATH ] and, in a blind state of panic, she jammed them right into his jugular vein, his blood squirting out and decorating her face in crimson splatters. he’d stumbled backwards, clutched onto his neck, blood spurting from the webs between his fingers. naturally, camille was shook about this but somehow managed to flee the scene with less guilt rattling her soul than she’d imagined. [ TRIGGER OVER ] in her mind, it was an act of self defence. it wasn’t too long after the incident that she found herself in a rather perilous situation that resulted in her sudden realisation that she needed to get her damn life on track. therefore, she done the responsible adult thing and got herself a decent education. somehow, she managed to get into university where her life started to shape into a positive one—the kind she’d always dreamed of. once she graduated, camille decided that she wanted to see the world. following a couple of years travelling, she wound up in santa ysabel where she quickly fell into the employment of mayhem. admittedly, this was a far cry from the future she’d envisioned when she was just a sweet, innocent lil child. still, all in all, she kind of digs who she is and what she is: after everything she’s been through, she loves herself. it’s been a long and winding road but camille finally believes that she’s settled in her life now. tho she still refuses to let people in, her abandonment issues terrifying her to the degree that she feels that anybody she’d ever let into her life would eventually leave her in the end. * insert sad face emoji here. *

random extras.

her tell? playing with her hair: when she’s lying, nervous, flirting—you name it!

can drink any man under the table. 

she loves art in every form: paintings, sculptures, music, dance, people, etc. she loves the freedom that expressing herself through these mediums gives her.

she’s ... experimental. she’s experimented with just about everything: hairstyles, clothing, drink, drugs, people ...

can be hella calculating and vindictive so do not cross her.

quite power-hungry tbh.

she does have a shot at redemption but she doesn’t want it lmao. she’s already been to hell so why bother trying to right her wrongs?

and boy, are her wrongs a century-long list shkjsh.

high key is not above killing people who don’t do things her way.

doesn’t believe she’s capable of loving anyone.

she’s lowkey a perfectionist to the point of being ruthless, also cutthroat and egotistical.

if ya ain’t of use to her, then what the heck is ur purpose???

she’s v ambitious, v morally ambiguous, v self-serving and v self-involved.

she can be ... aggressive sometimes and most definitely has anger issues.

dry sense of humour one million per cent.

her signature look is her blood-red lips.

extremely skilled with knives and blades. and always carries one on her person at all times.

her most prized possession is her brushed chrome zippo lighter. it has her initials engraved into it and where she got it from, or who is something she’ll never tell.

always says she needs to quit smoking but never does and probably never will either.

did someone say ... resting bitch face???

tho when she smiles it’s like sunshine uwu

high key will sleep with anyone.

first place is the ONLY acceptable place, ok??? 

one of those people who just excels at everything she tries her hand at.

absolutely adores animals. much prefers them to humans.

she’s quite adventurous and loves to feel the adrenaline in her blood.

doesn’t take herself or her life too seriously.

always up for a good time and is usually the life of the party.

outspoken and quick-witted with a sharp tongue.

much too sassy and sarcastic for her own good.

really, she does what she wants to, when she wants to, without seeking the approval of others.

truthfully? she’s a bit of a spitfire if you really irk her. so, watch out.

you can find a pinterest board for her by clicking anywhere here.

Five

I felt like sharing this, although i really doubt anybody’s going to read it cause people don’t even look at my art, let alone read my full original fiction. Anyway, this is a short thriller that I wrote, and for the few people who might actually read this, enjoy! ________________________________________________________________ Perfection. 

Absolute beauty lay at my feet; porcelain white skin, half concealed by velvety black fabrics, a line of crimson running down a sleek, slender throat…Beautiful. 

I stood, admiring my work, mesmerised by my creation, yet I couldn’t stay. I couldn’t bask in this masterpiece longer, couldn’t indulge in the gorgeous piece of artwork, because I had to leave. Others didn’t appreciate my work.I fled, moments later, waiting till morning to break. My work will have been discovered, it’ll be all over the news. I’d go to work, act just as shocked and concerned as ever one of those naïve imbeciles. Nobody will ever suspect that I created that little piece of Excellency. 

Daybreak. I got up at 5:00am ready for work knowing what an aberrant day it would be. I didn’t even bother switching on the news or reading the paper knowing the headline already, “The Calendar Killer strikes Number Four!” That’s what they call me; my little alias. It’s so utterly clichéd and straight forward, but it was the most appropriate name to use after they finally linked together my…work. The people I work with can be so simple minded sometimes; so utterly boring.  

Numerous individuals brushed past me at work today, all flustered and frenzied. I just walked through the crowd, enthralled by this little bit of anarchy I created. I couldn’t help myself, I just had to smile. I couldn’t blame them, they are only human and fear is something innate in all. The Police examined the photos of my craft, wait for the other police to report back from the scene, hiding their terror with rage. The Forensics worked hard at finding evidence via swabs and prints collected earlier, rather pointlessly I might add; I don’t leave any evidence. 

I peered through an office window as the commissioner ranted to his poor lieutenant, complaining about how I must be stopped. I never have understood why though; those lives that I took to create lavish beauty were worthless, people will cry, and be upset and get over it. People really are quite pitiful. I stared at them longer, watching, waiting for a time to intrude.Eventually the Commissioner caught my gaze, still infuriated. 

“You!” He bellowed at me as I kept my calm composure. The lieutenant turned her head to face me, curiosity etched on her face yet still being so charming, charismatic... still being so enticing. “Get in here! You’re the psychologist aren’t you?” I stepped into the office not at all perturbed by the summoning. He thrust some papers into my hand; pictures of my previous three victims plus the dear paragon I formed last night. Among the photos were four notes, made from newspaper cuttings, each holding encrypted information of each of my ‘killings’, as they call them. They containing every tiny bit of information from where the artwork was made, to who the artwork was, to the exact minute it was formed. I gave them everything, but, of course, the police department were always to half-witted to understand the letter… before it was too late. Yes, I know, it’s clichéd, but it’s just so amusing watching them all squabble over those letters.

I pretended to examine all the evidence before stating, “This ‘Calendar Killer’ clearly fits all the properties of a serial killer. They are most likely rather introverted and commonly go around un-noticed by society; most likely this has been happening since they were a child. Because of this, they have a burning desire to be recognised, and go to the extreme to fulfil this desire.” I glanced up at the lieutenant who regarded me with interest. The Commissioner seemed far less concerned.

“Ok, got it, the killer is a loner; big surprise. Any ideas on what they’ll be doing next?” The Commissioner replied, clearly not understanding the importance of what I just told them. His loss.

“Obviously,” I answered, “As we all know, he’s the Calendar Killer. I assume he’ll stick to that. The first victim, Matilda Rose was born on the First of January, 1991. Alana Cross, the second victim was born on the Second of February, 1992, Madison Cadence, number three was born on the Third of the Third, 1993 and our final victim, Clara Lizeworth, the Fourth of the Fourth, 1994. Hardly a coincidence. Our next victim will be on the Fifth of the fifth, 1995.” The lieutenant seemed to wince, obviously disturbed by my statement. “Is there anything wrong, Miss Kyle?” I asked, fascinated by her sudden jerk.

 “It’s nothing,” she hesitantly answered before returning to her usual poise, “It’s just you said that as if you don’t care at all for the girls who were killed, that their lives weren’t worth anything.” The Commissioner seemed to examine me studiously at the lieutenant’s accusation. I didn’t react; it’s exactly what they wanted me to do; like I’d allow them such pleasures.

“When working with murder, theft and crime all day, every day, one learns to be obdurate, Miss Kyle. People die all the time, best not to cry about over them all,” I stated smoothly, not changing my tone or stumbling on words.

“Just go,” the Commissioner sighed, seemingly annoyed that I hadn’t provided much ‘valuable’ information, “you have work to do.”

I took my leave without another word, since for once the Commissioner was right about something. I had a lot of work to do. I had to find out the real reason for Lieutenant Kyle’s unexplained twitch. Everything about her reply was clearly just an excuse to escape telling her true fear. 

I shut myself in my office locking all five locks on the door, pulling up excessive files on my laptop. Profiles; all the faces of my beautiful victims, plus all the information needed to strike number five. It was true that nobody could have been a better target than Lieutenant Alara Kyle. She fit perfectly; she was charismatic, charming and beautiful; a paragon. Nothing could create better artwork. It was also awfully convenient that she was born on the fifth of the fifth, 1995. That poor girl, no wonder why she was so worried. It was too much of an excitement,

 I literally ran to the sweet Lieutenants office, knocking on the door quickly five times.

 “Lieutenant Kyle,” I panted, as she stared at me with a baffled look on her innocent face, “I have reasons to believe that you are in immediate danger.” Then that innocent look on her face dropped, the colour draining from it as I tried my best not smirk and to stay serious. “So you know?” she breathed so softly I could barely make it out. I nodded.“You need protection,” I told her.“No,” she sighed, exasperated, “no, no, no… This killer might not even know what my birthday is, I shouldn’t get so worked up about it.”Oh, how wrong she was. 

“Lieutenant Kyle,” I replied, trying to hide the excitement in my voice and keep a straight face, “Alara, you misunderstood me. I don’t suggest you go to any of the other police- you’re right in thinking that telling someone could lead the killer to you. I’m offering my protection.”Her eyebrows raised, a bewildered look on her face.

 “You?” she seemed so close to laughter I almost took offense. She wouldn’t be laughing soon.

“The killer is less likely to attack if you’re with someone else,” I shrugged. She seemed to be considering my offer, and we stood in an unpleasant silence for a few moments. 

Then she nodded.

“Alright,” she decided, looking at me with an uneasily. “I’ll stay with you tonight. What time does your shift finish?” I bit my lip to stop the smirk from creeping onto my face.

 “I retire at 5:00 tonight. Shall I meet you at the front of the station?”She nodded and I bid my farewell to her till five but just before I left her office I turned back to her and added one more thing.“Don’t tell anybody about this, alright? You never know who you can trust.” 

5:00. 

I met the Lieutenant outside the station, nodding to her to acknowledge her presence. We started to stroll slowly through the streets, to where I supposedly ‘lived’, Alara oblivious to where I was actually taking her. In reality, I was leading her to an alley that was now in disuse in order to create my art. We arrived at the entrance of the backstreet and I started to walk down it. The Lieutenant seemed more hesitant.

 “Just this way Alara,” I cooed gently, causing her to shiver, but she did as I said and headed towards me. Perfect.I pulled out my slim, sliver dagger and pressed it to her throat. A small scream elicited from her throat, a sweet escape of sound. I pressed the blade harder, drawing out deep scarlet. She started falling limp, just getting slightly weaker, ceasing to struggle; it was almost too easy. 

 Chaos erupted seconds later. A cacophony of sirens filled my ears; the static screeches of speaker telling me release the lieutenant. I could vaguely see the heads of a dozen guns past the blur of spotlights and flashing sirens, all cocked and aimed towards me.

“Lower your weapon Dr Blaine!” she screamed, as I heard another voice yelling through a speaker, “Let her go or we’ll fire at will.” I loosened my grip, temporarily distracted by all the noise. It ruined my little piece of perfection. They had stolen this moment from me.The Lieutenant had felt my momentary distraction, elbowing me in the chest, kicking me to the ground. 

“Did you really think I would just believe you like that? You yourself you don’t know who you can trust!” She yelled at me, before composing herself, a smirk coming onto her face, “Dr Blaine,” she sighed pulling out a pistol, cocking it at my forehead, blood oozing down her throat, anger, fear and hatred in her eyes, “You’re under arrest, for the murder of four innocent women, and attempted murder of a fifth.”                                                                                                         ……………………………………………  Cold air gushed around me as I stared around my cell. Rusted bars separated me from the rest of the world, everyone else enjoying the comfort of the ‘Calendar killer’ being locked away, thinking that the streets were now safe. They all were so innocent, so sweet… so delusional. That comfort wouldn’t last long. The walls had gawking gaps, which all called to me, seducing me to work at them. The bent rusted bars that covered my window already looked like they would give way. I saw a calendar on the wall and I smeared a deep crimson cross on today’s date. It shouldn’t take me more than five days to escape… five days… five.