#untouchable:intro
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HELLO , beautiful people ! i’m bloom and this is my sweet cherry pie , known - to - be - beautiful , sad girl angelina harrison --- but you can call her angel ! her corresponding skeleton is the pleiades , i’m very , very excited to be here and introduce you guys to her . she has layers like an onion , is broken af but also very cute , and i hope you guys love her as much as i do . these are just the bullet points from her app and some connections i’d like for her ; i plan on making a separate post in the future detailing how the fall out between her and her parents went , as her absolute loss of their support plays a part in why she joined the sanctum . let’s get the fun started woo !
while angel is not one hundred percent comfortable with associating with the sanctum, as it just clashes with her values / who she tries to be as a person, the girl is also very thankful and knows she owes them quite a bit. the sanctum helped her rebuild herself after her own family turned their backs on her, giving her the platform she needed to maintain a more - than - average lifestyle. she is hesitant about it, and yet she feels as if there is no way she will ever be able to repay them. in a way, the sanctum is her sanctuary, even if she hates the idea.
some people might not understand the idea, but angel actually finds comfort in her emotions. she finds herself sad most of the time, and while that comes to bother her quite a few times, it also makes her value the happy moments a lot more, which she absolutely loves.
to angel, things often come in seven. it’s her favorite number, her lucky number, and she firmly believes in it. in addition to that, she was born on july 7th, 1997. she has no siblings, but that’s alright, as her six cousins make up for it, totaling a group of seven with her.
angel is a lover of things vintage and whatnot. you can find her watching old hollywood movies at a friday night all by herself, listening to albums from decades ago. however, that doesn’t mean her values are old, which is something i’ll talk about in the next bullet point.
angel’s family comes from old money. along with that, they are very traditional in their values, which led to a handful of issues between the girl and her parents. a few of her past lovers are, in fact, people her parents tried to get her to date. it never worked, as she didn’t want any of them — if anything, all that came from her parents’ efforts was a terrible feeling of being used by her own family. it’s possible that this is where the very roots of her trust issues come from.
at one point, during her teenage years, angel planned to skip town and leave everything behind. her past lovers, any affairs she might have had, her family’s psychological abuse … everything. however, her parents found out about her plans and without thinking twice, they had her enroll into a strict boarding school where they would be able to keep an eye on her and make sure she’d be going nowhere. the only person who knows this story, or at least most of it, is amalthea.
angel tries to find freedom in little things as even though the sanctum has helped her find her own way, she still feels stuck. that can be seen, for example, in the clothes she wears; usually flowy dresses made of light fabrics, paired with a faux leather jacket if the weather is too cold. she likes to wear things that allow her to run if needed, things that don’t restrain her or make her feel heavy. however, that doesn’t mean she won’t get all dressed up for a special occasion --- she can be as glamorous as she is beautiful. her hair is always down, as one of her favorite sensations is to feel the wind in her hair.
angel is the owner of a little white cat called adora. if there is anyone in the world who knows about her as much as amalthea, if not more, it’s adora.
as much as angel finds solace in her thoughts and comfort in her sadness, she still enjoys to see people interact whether it is in public or on social media. one of the reasons why she decided to become a writer was exactly that; the possibility of creating a world of her own, based on the things she’s seen, the people she’s met, shaping it to her heart’s content. life inspires her in a very singular way.
extra: angel doesn’t really like to be touched these days, whether it is in a more intimate way or just a handshake really. it’s just something she’s been avoiding, as a way to put a wall between her and other people. it’s really difficult for her but she’s trying her best.
. ✧ . * . ˚ CONNECTIONS !
past lovers / affairs ( exes, people her parents tried to get her to date, etc. ): as you guys may be able to tell, angel’s been around the block a few times before. her heart’s been broken countless times, yet i feel she struggles with distancing herself from love. not even love, but just any sort of proximity / affection. that being said, she’s at a point where she’s tired of being hurt over and over again, which is why she’s avoiding anyone who shows more - than - friendly interest in her nowadays. at the same time, being heartbroken makes her feel alive and the prospect of just feeling love or being loved is something she craves so ... let’s see how long that lasts for, i guess !
ex - friend: things didn’t necessarily ended badly between the two, but as angel started distancing herself from people --- especially when her parents sent her away, the connection between her and this person / these people slowly faded away. things just aren’t the same anymore, and even though she might miss how they were, i don’t think she can find it in herself to put much effort into the friendship, as she’s afraid it will end again.
a drinking buddy of sorts: angel doesn’t drink much but when she does, it’s usual for her to run into this person / call them. they’re not necessarily friends but, you know, they’re good company and it’s better than drinking alone.
enemies-ish: angel doesn't really hate people but, you know ... doesn't mean she 1000% gets along with everyone either. maybe she and this person buttheads sometimes, or maybe they just don't vibe off with her ... who knows !
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hi, everyone ! i’m natalie (18, she/her, gmt), and PICTURED in the gif icon is warren. he’s a handful and then some. his skeleton is hercules ! ugh i look forward to plotting with you gorgeous and talented lot ! the information i put in his app ended up being quite lengthy, so i didn’t have time to adapt it much for the intro. i’m sorry ! anyway, here goes.
you’re born warren northrop to samantha northrop, a shop clerk, and robert hurst, executive at a nepotistic telecom company. your mother’s side of the family celebrates your birth; your father’s sees your birth as a public relations disaster.
you’re the product of adultery. you’re a bastard baby boy. your father’s family doesn’t plan to give you much: not a great deal of his fortune, nor the prestige of his name.
but there’s something they cannot take away from you: his genes embedded in your dna. by the time you’ve matured, your resemblance to him is pronounced: the chiselled square of your jaw, the broadness of your shoulders, the classically handsome features. the charming levity of your smile. these are what he bestows upon you: his looks, his charisma, his sharp intelligence… and his greed.
when you were younger, when you were still a child, you hoped vaguely that adversity would justify your ambition. maybe you could pursue influence and wealth in the name of being a HERO. after all, your mother’s impoverished and burdened. the hursts are distant snobs. but your mother is resilient. your father’s family isn’t totally negligent to you. life doesn’t write you unequivocal excuses for your materialism.
routinely, you slip in between two worlds —— the “ real world, ” where you’re too princely and lofty for their taste; and the strange, solipsistic realm of money old and nouveau, where you’re considered uncivilised and insufficiently pedigreed.
you accept, in time, that you will not be a martyr. when you commence your climb towards the highest rungs of society, you know your motives are ignoble. you want to be filthy rich, independently so, and you don’t care exactly how filthy you need to get to achieve that goal.
on your own, you do exceptionally well. you accomplish (with a sterling record, too) yet disregard a degree in legal psychology —— were you ever actually going to find a job in that field? not a chance, not a chance in the world! but your time in university has afforded you knowledge on how professionals of both the law and psychology operate: tremendously helpful when you’re trying to spin your own legal entanglements to your favour in the future.
even without parading your parentage around, you find it easy to rise in the modelling industry. you’re a good-looking and strong young man, which are of course prerequisites.
but it doesn’t hurt at all that you’re also smart, committed, and quite willing to go the extra mile —— even if that extra mile involves things like blackmailing organisers with proof of their blood-stained yesterdays so you can secure invitations to the biggest soirées; or pleasuring an a-lister’s terribly clingy, unhappily married wife who’s decades older than you are.
your ascent has been strikingly fast, but you’re far from satisfied. this is why you endeavoured to join the untouchables. your portfolio boasts: a hefty mass of social media followers; an astute grasp of the law and psychology; and a readiness to get dirty. and perhaps that old-money ancestry could be of use to you and the other members at some point, but one of your greatest objectives is to make YOUR own name powerful beyond anything your father’s family have ever experienced. you’ll dethrone them, no matter how difficult it will be. you’ll rule sovereign.
although the arrangement with the sanctum is something you don’t mind, there are some specific misdeeds you wouldn’t do, ever. you’re not motivated by evil; you’re motivated by a desire for money and power. you’re neither a perfect hero nor a villain. a more apt term would be weapon —— you in yourself are a weapon. whether your version of morality will affect you as a member of the untouchables, time will tell.
misc. bullet points that i couldn’t quite work in the (sorta?) bio!
he’s lowkey inspired by an original character i have in one of my short stories that i sadly felt i would never finish. i’m bringing him here, then, because it’d be a waste otherwise. a quality i lifted from that oc: his favourite perfume smells like vetiver. a vetiver scent and a voice like velvet. (i thought that was so cool when i wrote that line.)
he's a ladies’ man and sex is probably one of his most intense vices like his dumbass father before him
he sometimeS HAS limited patience and definitely likes to take charge.
he chose modelling because he’s scheming and you don’t wanna reveal your thoughts when you’re scheming. models... are essentially, if you think about it, paid to shut the fuck up so ashgjshg (while still being part of ritzy society)
another characteristic i lifted from that oc: he has a pretty eccentric hobby, which is poring over etymology texts. he thinks knowing the roots of words can be useful, but mostly he just finds the study fascinating.
some wanted connections
friends! (best friends, unlikely friends, frenemies, former friends....) family! (cousins, etc.)
ashfdjsfjshd he’s a hetero who loves to hook up so do what you want with that. fwb, flings, flirtationships..... but for the more emotion-oriented ones..... exes, unspoken love.......
on that note, i was just randomly recalling how 2000s pop-punk peaked with how fucking funny “addicted” by simple plan is, so... if you’ve got an asshole gal there who can give him an on/off relationship where they’re both dumbasses..... please just. lgjhsfjg let me know and i recommend listening to the song because it’s so warren and it’s so fucking funny
uhhhh there’s a wealth of possibilities with plots! just please like this or message me!
#untouchable:intro#yes im the hoe who chose to write a bio in second-person. i like to live dangerously#im sorry this is a mess!!!
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INTRO TIME ---
he didn’t ask to be born but she had prayed for him and had created him in an act of deep love. It was perhaps the last moment she had felt safe, in her lovers arms, wrapped in peace and security. But she was the daughter of an important man and her lover was far below her and the family she came from. Once pregnant she was ridiculed and sent away, forced to end the life of her unborn child. But she kept herself safe, by some miracle, and gave birth to a beautiful baby boy. The school was meant to keep her even after the tragedy they’d planned for her but becoming the martyr they made her was not in the plan. School nurses with big hearts can save lives, and so a birthday was planned instead of a funeral, school documents forged. She was heavy with secrets and desperate for safety, and thanks to the charity of those her father would consider trash, she made it out alive with her baby in her arms.
She did not hide the truth from her son, letting him grow up in kindness and love but with the cloud of anxiety overhead, the unseen danger that always lurked. Suburban life was comfortable, for a little while but she couldn’t find the man she loved, her son’s father, no matter how hard she looked for him. Abandoned by the man she loved, disowned by her family, she set out to make a wonderful life for herself and her son. She worked three jobs if she had to and relied on the kindness of strangers much too often. As he grew he began to eye them all with suspicion, for surely their kindness was not truly free? His driving force was to love and protect his mom, his whole world. She worked her ass off just to feed them, to keep a roof over their heads and he knew in his bones he’d die before he let anyone hurt her ever again. Because there were nights he could hear her crying, years after she had lost her whole life and gained him in exchange. He was full of guilt and determination, mingling in his blood.
When he was fourteen they were found and the fact he breathed was apparently a sin. Men attacked their home and stole from them any semblance of safety they’d felt. He fought hard, half a dozen broken bones could prove it and the neighbors came running which is likely what saved their lives. Because an apartment full of angry, tired and poor could tear down a whole kingdom if they had to and she was their queen. A stranger would have to go a good twelve blocks before they stopped hearing her name exalted. Beauty and naivety was so easily worshipped, just ask him. He was given the full story then, his right hand trashed, his face a mottled mess of purple and red. It was that moment he made a promise to himself, that he’d take down the people who had hurt her, one by one. Because his guilt tripled that day too, if he did not exist -- the life she could have had, SHOULD have had. He’d give it back to her but to do that she had to be able to stop looking over her shoulder.
He’d spent his life playing soldier, defending his mom and anyone else who needed it. Strangers thought him too serious but some knew better. He was a troubled kid and he made poor choices more often than should be allowed, picking fights and pockets on a whim. But his heart was much too big for his chest and his tongue just as quick as it was salty. Who could he have been too, if they had been normal people? Playing soldier turned reality when he joined the Navy at eighteen, knowing he’d need the military to refine him, and pay for college. Games of war could not compare to the real thing, the dust that choked and filled every pore, the pervasive fear and for him the distance. His mom was the only person he had in the whole world, his blood. Being away from her made him more anxious than he’d ever admit and he counted the days until he was home again. But the military gave him discipline and honor, it taught him morals he found loopholes through when necessary, when following orders was questionable at best. He became a SEAL, he won battles and lost them and he witnessed more dust and heartache than he ever planned to.
Injury ended his career and put him at a disadvantage when he returned home, intent on beginning his revenge in full. For years he’d searched for a way to end the people that had wronged him and his mom. He had contacts now and skills he hadn’t when he was just a boy but he couldn’t succeed until he got help. An IED had taken the lives of his brothers, taken limbs, and he’d gotten lucky considering. But the blast had taken his hearing from him and he couldn’t afford the surgery that would ( possibly ) return it. He had never cared about not having a bunch of money, he and his mom had gotten by on what they had and they’d always had each other. But this, this began to sting, to grate. He’d never done anything in halves and while an average man could pursue a normal life despite this disability he was convinced he couldn’t. Because that normal life was still out of reach as long as his moms family breathed, something he considered a sin.
A year passed after his honorable discharge, a year of learning to adapt to a silent world, a year of struggling to learn a new language. His mom too, though she tried so hard, was suffering. She thought it was her fault, because she couldn’t pay for him to go to college which was the reason he joined the military to begin with. Together they’d sit and work on their sign language but he would grow frustrated and she would cry herself to sleep, though now he could no longer hear her sobs through the wall. There had to be a better way, for him to heal, to take care of her, to get his revenge. Why was it becoming so difficult to remain kind?
The sanctum was a dirty rumor spread between street kids, their moms threatening them with those thugs if they misbehaved, like a childhood tale of the boogeyman. He hadn’t expected them to be real but his eyes had been opened when he was a teen, witnessing some petty crimes and violence and learning the boogeyman was real. He didn’t contact them, he wouldn’t have but they found him somehow and he wasn’t about to ignore the offer. The offer of a way to solve all his problems. They promised money, a job, safety. But beyond those basics they offered the surgery he needed, vital information on the people he wanted dead and the care and protection of his mom until the day he died. He should have read the fine print but his gentle and angry heart was pounding too loudly in his chest and he signed on the dotted line.
It was not comfortable, to be owned but it was a gift that kept giving until it was time to pay up. He never imagined he’d be asked to carry out anything asked of him, beyond his moral objections, beyond his wildest nightmares. But they held up their end, he had no reason to say no. the fine print, as well, said to the day HE died, not until the day his mom did. If he stepped out of line the consequences were grave and he’d never do anything to jeopardize the safety and happiness of his mom.
He tried to stay gentle, tried to protect his soft heart. New connections became vital to the organs survival, other people to rescue and care for. New brothers added to his family, however small, after losing too many. He was not the hardened soldier, not at his core, but a boy desperate to protect those he loved, and he tried to love as much as he could. But each day, each deed, set more rot and he was beginning to wonder who could love a monster and why anyone would even try. But he hasn’t given up yet, he still has so much to do. And until he takes his last breath he will care for and protect ----well, everyone.
oh gosh as far as WANTED CONNECTIONS go i prefer to plot with everyone based on chemistry and all that. so just hmu on discord and we can chat about everything you might need or want or any ideas that come to us based on these intro things!
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✧･ﾟ: esme tipton is twenty-two and is a professional figure skater and olympic gold medalist. her full bio is here and i’ve made a page for wanted connections/plots. check out under the cut for a lil breakdown.
ALSO HI IM KATI (she/her, est) AND IM SO EXCITED TO MEET AND PLOT W U ALL WOW
tw: abortion, drug mention, death/overdose
lil baby was born into super privilege, two doting parents and a ton of expectations set out for her from the start
but the enchantment of the new child wore off after a while. she’d been sort of expected to fix their marriage and she did – for a hot second, but soon, the fighting returned and they paid less attention to her than they did to themselves.
her mom was a professional figure skater so she was esme’s coach and biggest supporter – her daughter was her second chance at success basically
but she’s ten when her mother dies of an overdose, but the sanctum covered it up as a suicide. this is her first intro to the sanctum, the ones who sold her mother the drugs and the ones who covered up her mother’s death afterward. she and her father have a strained relationship afterward because she disapproves of his lies about her mother.
super dependent on castor sebastian because of this! he really becomes her support system growing up and she can’t bear the idea of losing anyone else.
she acts out in high school a lot, puts on this happy-all-the-time reveler, party girl persona. she misses a lot of class because of skating and she gets poor grades anyway. she falls into similar addictions as her mother.
she’s going to the olympics! but around that time, she realizes there’s a baby on the way?? because it will threaten her career, she gets rid of it. it’s another trauma that still haunts her, another thing she uses pills to forget.
the sanctum helps her go to the olympics by helping her pass her drug tests. she takes home the gold because of them.
currently training for the 2022 winter olympics, partying like there’s no tomorrow, but there’s new competition that stresses her out...but the sanctum has the means to take care of that.
YEAH so she’s problematic as hell but please come plot with us anyway thank u ily
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yo YO what is up my dudes!! name’s river, pronouns are she/her, and my timezone is est. here is my trash baby, hunter reeves aka the draco skeleton. he’s honestly a complete mess, just a smidge crazy but it’s all good ... right?? anywho here is a profile/basic info type thing and underneath is a lil’ summary about his life which tbh is just the bio part of the app ( bc lbr i’m not gonna get around to writing a full on bio ) and some wanted connects and yeah!! please like this post if u wanna plot bc i’m fucking READY. be warned his backstory is Dramatic asf bc i’m extra lmaoo
tw: murder, mentions of human trafficking, drugs, weapons, and abuse
was born and raised as a single child into a very very wealthy family. i’m talking “i’m kinda bored maybe i’ll buy an island??” type rich. family was did not come from old money but his father had built his empire with his own hands … or so he said.
his father was rarely ever there and the interactions he had with hunter when hewas home was never anything good. his mother on the other hand was a saint. she had multiple charity organizations she ran and they were not only for publicity. she genuinely cared about others and wanted to help any way she could. his father humored her since this kept her out of his way and in the dark about the multiple links to crime organizations he had. his hands were dirty with things from embezzlement, human trafficking, money laundering, murder, torture, drugs and weapons transport, and much MUCH more.
the type of person who voluntarily got involved in business like this was not good to his son. multiple scars that he sports now had come from his father. he had always had a temper and that was transferred onto hunter and even his wife if she chose to stand in the way of his hand and his child.
it wasn’t until hunter was eleven that a massive fight broke out between the two of them in the middle of the night. unable to sleep, he had wandered into the hallway in search of his mother and had instead stumbled into a heated argument between his parents. his mother had figured out what her husband did and how he had come to such power and had threatened to call the police.
it was then that right before his eyes, his father moved against her. hands against her throat and with the paperweight on his desk, he drained the life out of her. of course, he didn’t want to watch, but he stood frozen in his spot, unable to move and forced to watch his mother being murdered through the small gap in the door.
that night he got into bed, his sleeping problem worse than before, and trembling he stayed up all night. the police came the next day and within a week framed a low life thug. knowing what he knows now, hunter assumes it was the underground connections his father had that helped him cover up his crime. police never questioned rome which made him even more nervous. he was now a prisoner in his own home, with information he wasn’t supposed to know, and alone with the monster who had taken his mother away.
the day he lost his mother was the day he had devoted his life into bringing his father down, through any means necessary. anything his father was capable of doing wasn’t out of the question. to catch a monster, he became exactly what his father was. the whole reason for joining the sanctum was to bring down his father. that’s the sole purpose of everything he does.
right now, he’s seen in public as the wild card. he’s the drunk playboy son of a multibillionare. he’s basically bruce wayne when the way he’s seen in public. he’s incompetent, though charming, but clueless. this is exactly the facade he needs in order for his father not to suspect anything, and he plays it well. tbh he’s basically bruce wayne in public and batman when he’s alone which is his real self lmao.
he’s basically become everything he hated his father for being, but he extracts information from murderers and scum of the earth. he’s never laid a hand on innocent people and he believes that the end justifies the means. his father is one of the biggest criminals though nobody knows, and if he’s able to take him off the streets, it would be better for everyone.
WANTED PLOTS
best friend?? singular cause bitch has major trust issues esp with what he’s doing rn so he can’t really have anyone being too close to him but this his ride or die bitch like fr fr.
enemies. now this he can have tons of. to the public he’s kind of a spoiled drunk playboy type so he probs won’t get along with many people. bring me the enemies.
frequent hook ups. now ik he’s in that like rlly nice and wholesome rls with naila/cassiopea but lbr they cant fucking stand each other and my boy got needs. doesn’t have to be a huge deal obvi cause my boy ain’t emotionally available and this needs to be kept hush hush.
love interest. idk dude some like...super angsty shit LOL. probs was super in love but had to break it off. i have maybe an idea like idk he had to break up w her cause whatever he’s doing is bound to get him or people around him hurt or maybe it was something else lets plot it out man.
someone who knows who he truly is besides his best friend. behind the charming smiles and stupid act he pulls off in public, there’s some scary shit going on, and somehow, someway, this person found out about it. we can plot out the rest of it!!
someone hurt by his dad?? his dad probs hurt a bunch of people/ruined a bunch of peoples lives and idk maybe they want hunter to pay for it?
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YOU MIGHT NOT BE AFRAID TO DIE ,
— but that doesn’t mean you’re ready.
( what up kids, my name is lara and i’m your local 23 yr old pile of trash from the ast tz !! i use she / her pronouns, i love red lipstick, patterned button-downs, and mac n cheese. i can usually be found crying about mcr [ yes, still ], organizing my pinterest boards, or thirsting after alex turner. anyway, here’s my kid !! plot with me !! i’m open to anything and everything !! )
name: arcadia fitzgerald
skeleton: ursa major
age: 28
occupation: lawyer
tw: student / professor relationship, age gap relationship, toxic relationship, drugs mention.
HOW TO SELF-DESTRUCT IN 10 EASY STEPS:
come out of the womb like you know what’s waiting on the other side ; ready to eat the world whole. life is one big party , and everyone has been looking forward to your arrival. your father is a rich and prestigious lawyer, just like his father before him. your mother has rubbed shoulders and shook hands with every democrat in new york city.
be spoiled rotten. know nothing that isn’t comfort , abundance , plentifulness. life is just one big party. your riches are doubled as your family splits in two ; do not let this break your heart. is is nothing more than a multiplication of your blessings. everything you ask for , you shall receive in multitudes. everything you could ever want comes to you in twos.
separate yourself from the “ real ” world. your parents’ strong arms lift you and cradle you above it. be an angel , a goddess , a shooting star. chase after impossible and impractical ideals , your parents will do everything in their power to make your dreams a reality. they will do everything to protect and please you. make sure you never fall.
follow every whim , every fancy. life’s too short , and you want to experience it all. dance barefoot in the rain , say yes to every party invitation , take every pill and powder any stranger with a nice smile offers you. this is all a part of life. carpe diem , and all that. chase after your romantic ideal , live your unwritten life.
when you’re happy , you’re euphoric. believe yourself invincible as you’re riding high on life. but you’re like a rollercoaster with a 90 degree drop , and no one wants to be around for the fall , the crash and burn. but this is all better than living in fear , the highs and lows are what make you feel alive. you need the heartbreak to feel human. it doesn’t matter if you destroy yourself a little bit every time.
pass your classes , but don’t excel. you know the real world is waiting for you outside of school. grades and tests don’t really matter. you’re only an ok student , but your mother gets you into an ivy league school. you would rather explore the world , but your parents insist you get your degree. in what ? you don’t know yet , so you study a little bit of everything. music , literature , history , art. try to find something that sticks.
fall in love with a professor with long , auburn curls and wears shiny black pumps to every single class. notice the ring on her finger , but don’t stop daydreaming about her as she talks about ovid , and the gods , and the stars. stay behind a few minutes every class. tell her how inspiring each lecture was. go to her office , drink some wine, share some cheese. wind up in your professor’s bed , even though you know it’s wrong. that’s part of what makes it so exciting. you share a secret now. the best kind.
her husband finds out. he’s another professor. philosophy. you think he’s jealous , he’s after revenge , but then you learn he only knew because his wife told him. he was in on it from the start , and now you’re in bed with both of them. you have fun , but your feelings are still the same. you love your professor , not her husband , and you thought her feelings for her were pure. you have never known a love like this , and you’ve fallen in love many , many times before. you still believe you’ll be together one day , just the two of you.
the husband can tell you have other plans , so he confronts you. ends it all. makes it clear she’ll never love you , you’re just a pet who can be easily replaced. don’t believe it. against your better judgement , run to your professor and declare your love. offer her a life outside of academia , a life where the two of you can be happy , and in love. you risk it all , because a life lived in fear isn’t worth it. it doesn’t work. you’re about to be expelled. your parents can’t save you this time , can’t come in and rescue you. for the first time , you’re about to crash and burn.
run to the sanctum. beg them to keep everything a secret. protect you. keep you in school , away from those who try to blackmail you. in exchange , do everything they ask for. become a lawyer , become whatever they need. once more , you’re trapped. but you know better than to go rogue.
PERSONALITY
i’ll keep this brief since i made the intro so long, i clearly just don’t know how to chill when it comes to intros ( which is why it takes me so long to get them done ). i’ll post a connections page later on, but if you think dia could fit any of your wanted connections, like this and i’ll hit you up !!
arcadia’s an intense person, very excitable and daring. a bit of an adrenaline junkie.
she loves to be the center of attention.
she’s loud, bubbly, and a little overwhelming at times. one of those people who feels in extremes.
very romantic, loves the arts but doesn’t really have any artistic talents herself.
a total hopeless romantic. falls in love 100 times a day.
has no real sense of self-preservation ( as you could all probably tell by now ). she’ll put herself in danger just for the sake of being “spontaneous” and “living life to the fullest” and all that crap.
is a bit more reserved nowadays than she used to be, she has learned a little bit from her mistakes. but not much.
extremely empathetic, a little too much. cries all the time. feels for everything and everyone.
i’m v bad at introducing my own characters but check out her playlist and pinterest for more !!
playlist | pinterest
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intro.
Born to an immigrant mother, Hana Keun had only heard stories about her father, akin to fairytales where her mother was the damsel in distress and her father the dashing knight who rushed to her aid. Over the years, Hana had heard many different excuses for his absence: “he had to leave us for our own safety” or “he’ll come back some day, I promise, yeon-in.” She never got a solid answer as to why he wasn’t in her life in the first place, just that he wasn’t. It was never enough to satisfy her curiosity, but Hana could tell it hurt her mother whenever she brought it up, so eventually she stopped asking.
Growing up, she’d been the freest of spirits, always the first on the playground and the last off, skinning her knee on the blacktop or banging her elbow while pretending to be a pirate on the jungle gym, a bird standing atop the monkey bars and spreading her wings to fly or an astronaut about to be launched into orbit from the see-saw. Her imagination always got the better of her and she’d often spend more times in daydreams than paying attention during her early years.
Middle school saw her get wild in the good way, slushies from 7-11 and guitar lessons and skateboarding until curfew, all while her mother struggled to really make ends meet. Yeah, they were okay but they weren’t comfortable, not the way that Hana had seen her classmates be comfortable, or people walking down the streets when their wrist watches alone cost more than her entire outfit. She got angry, but not at their fortune, but at her own misfortune. If her father hadn’t left, they might not be in this position. If he had been around, maybe things would have been different
It was then she’d decided at the young age of fourteen to seek out her father. She’d snooped around in the house until coming across her birth certificate and found her father’s name. Simon Wolff, one search had opened up a world of possibility. Not only was he famous, richer than God (an actor with another family to boot), he lived close enough that she was able to get a bus ticket and wait around until he entered the coffee shop closest to his house. (some would have called it stalking, Hana called it clever.) She went by her middle name, introducing herself to him as Evie and “such a big fan” and asking for a picture. When he agreed, she pulled out her birth certificate, holding it up and surprised him. Simon Wolff knew he’d had a daughter out there, one that he’d abandoned, and in order to save himself the publicity scandal, he’d offered her anything: acting roles, a new house, anything to keep her out of the spotlight, but Hana only wanted one thing: money.
As it turned out, Simon was willing to give her quite a lot in order to keep her name separated from his. She’d even negotiated a deal: in addition to enough money to keep them comfortably afloat, she wanted ten percent of any earnings he made from any movies, and in return, she wouldn’t tell anyone that she was his child. He hadn’t wanted her, so why the hell would she want him? With all of it recorded as proof of their deal, they went their separate ways, and that was the first, last, only time Hana Keun had ever met her father.
The struggling to make ends meet turned into a better school for Hana, extra guitar lessons and when she showed an interest in singing, vocal lessons. Sent to a private high school, where only the wealthiest made the cut, Hana felt powerful. Powerful enough that she started going by Evie, took her father’s last name, and started up a band. She’d gone from the space case on the playground to the idealist who created a band her first year of high school, won battle of the bands the second, and got a record deal the third. By senior year, she’d gone on tour, taking a tutor on the road. People screamed her name, took pictures with her, and her concerts sold out in minutes. The Clovers weren’t the next big thing, they were the only big thing.
With an album and a tour under her belt, Evie graduated high school as valedictorian, if only because she worked hard even while on tour, taking online tests during the opening acts and studying well into the hours of the morning. The classmates at her private academy couldn’t say the same. There were more drugs going around there than there were being offered to Evie on the road and Evie only rarely partook. She’d have time to mess around when her education wasn’t on the line. Besides, her father wouldn’t be blackmailed forever and she needed to prevent a burn out that could ruin whatever chance she had at caring for her mother. Take care of yourself before you take care of anyone else. In case being a musician failed, she’d have a good education and glowing reviews as a safety net.
It was sometime after graduation and before the next tour that Evie finally approached the Sanctum. She’d heard whispers about them for years, always catching the tail end of one conversation before someone noticed her looking. Black heart and blacker intentions were hidden under the bright, smile, the wide eyes, the look of sheer naivete of her personality, but she’d sought them out. Being a rockstar was all well and good, something that she wouldn’t give up even if this came through, but she wanted more than a career with a sometimes fickle audience. She wanted promises and assurance that her mother would be taken care of even if she stopped making money, if she wasn’t around anymore. So at the Sanctum, she’d asked for two things: Change her father’s will to leave all of his assets, his homes, to her mother. Of course, Evie wasn’t heartless, she’d asked them to leave enough for his current wife and their three kids to survive comfortably, but not much more than that. Then, for the second thing, she asked them to kill Simon Wolff.
With her mother taken care of and her father taken care of, Evie was free to continue life as she pleased and the cheery optimist remained despite it all. She felt no remorse for what she did, not even when the news broke two weeks later that Simon Wolff had committed suicide. No change came about her, as if she was completely unaffected. And why wouldn’t she be, Wolff was a common last name, surely there wasn’t a relation. The only difference is that now, the Sanctum knew her little secret and they were keeping her tethered to reality.
as of right now, i have no wanted connections but i’m sure we’ll figure something out through plotting and simply figuring out how our characters interact with each other!
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hello m’loves! i’m nina and my timezone is cst. slowly but surely i’m coming up with wanted connection pages and all
this is my baby vienna aka vi! i’ll have a bio for her at some point but for now here’s what i put in her app
Vienna “vi” joined the sanctum for protection. In order to help one of her best friends, she found herself blackmailing someone she didn’t know (something she never saw herself doing). Since then she’s gotten threats and she doesn’t doubt their seriousness
More than anything, Vi wanted a job where she could help people. Originally she wanted to be a doctor until she realized that the sight of blood made her sick and figured she could have flexibility with graphic design
Art has always been her escape because it’s always been personal and an outlet of sorts while she works through her thoughts.
Never received formal training in any of her art forms so it was more of a testament to her determination and individuality
Growing up she always felt like a bit of an outsider so she wants to ensure that no one else feels that way
With her insomnia (driven by her slight paranoia) it makes it easier for her to help the people she cares about as needed
She views all of her actions as being driven by love which is the main reason she never expects anything in return
Eventually she’ll get burnt out and assess her relationships / figure out which ones are one sided and not worth keeping
She doesn’t really care to find out who her birth parents are because she figured there was a reason they gave her up and there’s not a reason that she can see that would make her believe that opening up old wounds was worth it
Most of her power comes from the family that adopted her - highly respected on the outside (mostly out of fear). They’re fiercely loyal and will do whatever it takes for their family. In the past there have been charges for crimes such as kidnapping, murder, and coercion, but all were dropped from a lack of evidence
With Vi’s soft features, she’s often underestimated which could be used to her advantage if she so chose. There’s not an eminent threat when people look at her thus making them more inclined to trust her. For that she knows many secrets, but with her general kindhearted nature she wouldn’t tell a soul. However if that’s all it took to get some answers, she might reconsider.
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HI everyone ! it’s me again, natalie (aka warren’s mun lol) here for my second muse / late addition, milai ! (that’s just her nickname tbh) her skeleton is asklepios, and yes, i know the gif is unexpectedly cheerful-looking, bUT YEAH PLS PLOT WITH HER. lengthy information under the “read more,” because that’s how i roll.
you’re not sure exactly what happened to your biological mother. you know her name was shaina abog falcón — “shaina,” a name meaning “beautiful,” which she apparently was; “abog,” a filipino surname meaning “dust,” to which she was reduced far too early in her short existence.
you know she was a nun. you’ve heard she was devout. why and how, then, did she get pregnant? your adoptive parents name you milagro, a spanish loan word meaning “miracle,” because that’s how shaina had convinced herself you came to be. through a miracle.
you were, naturally, too young to remember the actual circumstances of your birth. you have no way of verifying whether your mother had truly died from childbirth, as people tell you, or whether your biological father had something to do with it. your new parents never seem to be pleased at the mention of this unnamed american man who impregnated shaina before forsaking his fresh-born daughter.
despite all your incredulity, you’re not a fool. when your new parents recount the day of your birth and credit the fact that you’re alive to medicine, you believe them. they’re a pair of doctors — clarisa jamora, also from the philippines, and her american husband tommy whelan. free of charge, they’d helped extricate you from your mother’s womb after they got stationed in the philippines.
clarisa and tommy are perfectly nice, wholesome people. they treat you well and you consider them your parents, truly. but when you turn four years old, you let them know you don’t want either of their last names. somehow, you feel like you’re still connected to shaina. although you were never spiritual, it’s almost like you carry her soul within yourself.
everyone quickly realises you’re a prodigy. still at four years old, you’ve figured out how to open your parents’ heavily locked library unassisted and memorised chapters of a medical journal. they’re astounded.
the reception isn’t all positive, however. your classmates call you a show-off and exclude you from their circles. they find you abrasive and arrogant and don’t like it when you show them how to pronounce or spell your surnames, abog and falcón. you’re a nuisance. you’re not even pretty, all gangly underneath enormous spectacles and unkempt tangles of hair.
but your cognisance of reality stops you from ever attempting to fit in. even though it hurts you deeply, you know physical beauty isn’t important. you know grades aren’t important. you know politeness is a social construct often weaponised against creatures like you. unfortunately, your flair for existential rumination doesn’t sit well with the rest of the world. your teachers reprimand you for being incendiary. you’re “disruptive,” “radical,” sometimes even “mean” or “cold” to your peers. these peers think no higher of you either.
you’re an activist with hands who will save many lives in the future. you’re a proudly ugly, proudly angry, proudly antisocial bitch.
that is, until you’re not. in med school, you’re startled to witness the absence of clichés. the students seem to be friendlier and more easygoing, more mature and self-assured. they don’t really try hard to make anyone who they aren’t. and one thing you aren’t, it turns out, is ugly.
a schoolmate lends you a compact mirror. “look at yourself,” she cries in disbelief. so you look at yourself over and over until it sinks in that ugliness isn’t actually an integral part of your identity.
you’re beautiful. you don’t know how to live as a Pretty Girl, even if you are a very, very pretty girl. you lack the effortless charisma. you’re utterly untrained in the art of flirting. instead of attractive confidence, you have obdurate will and hostility.
so you remain who you were for a time. you graduate from university decorated with abundant scholarly merits. near the end of your first year as a nurse, however, you suffer from a gap in professionalism.
this gap occurs when you see him. you’ve never heard his name before. ivan humphries or something. but your blood boils when you see him. he’s had a stroke. you think, “good.” you hope he dies. he almost does.
of course, your superiors in the hospital don’t take this lightly, even though they believe you when you say the mistakes you made in helping treat him were sheer accidents. you don’t know what happened to you. your only religion is science, but it genuinely does feel like you’d been possessed by a malicious spirit.
thus, you seek refuge in a holy place — the sanctum. that’s what the name means, doesn’t it? but, again, you are not a fool. you know it’s a disingenuous, poisonous organisation. you join anyway. your destiny is to heal people. you can’t allow your career in medicine to be cut by one mistake.
as if by miracle, they fulfil your request. your singular, colossal mistake leaves not a single mark on your record. the memory appears to have been erased from your colleagues’ minds, though you figure they’ve probably just been induced to secrecy. your protection goes along with a hefty moral price, but at this point you no longer care. you’ve turned off your heart, which now only lights up at carnal pleasures and materialistic glamour.
BONUS DETAILS I COULDN’T QUITE FIT IN THERE
ivan was her biological father, and well-done if you successfully deduced it! :D despite her lack of concrete evidence, one of her quieter goals now is to afflict more harm upon him. it’s not a 100% rational spite (but it’s pretty damn justified). still, she’s going to try to do some dna testing or something before she’s going to really strike against him.
she has two surnames, because the philippines follows the spanish naming system. her nickname, “milai” (pronounced like “mii-laahy”), is more of a traditionally filipino diminutive. her first language is also not tagalog, but cebuano (from the visayas region in the philippines). “abog” is cebuano.
she’s bisexual af lol
congratulations if you made it this far! i’m not going to include wanted connections, because you probably know the drill and it would make this even longer ajfdsjfsf. PLS LIKE THIS OR MESSAGE ME IF YOU WANNA PLOT ESPECIALLY WITH THE EVENT GOING ON
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hey there demons, it’s me ya girl ! i’m HONEY, i’m 23, and i’m in the gmt +8 timezone, so catch me being on the dash at odd hours of the day. peep under the cut to be introduced to my baby ISOLDE ! if you would like to plot, please like this post and i’ll drop you a dm ! if you prefer to plot over discord, that’s cool too !
01. BASICS
skeleton: andromeda
character name: isolde anastasia davenport
character age: 24
character pronouns: she/her
character occupation: actress
character faceclaim: danielle campbell
02. BIOGRAPHY
both her parents come from old money, and as she was their only child, izzy grew up extremely sheltered—to the point where her parents considered homeschooling her, but in the end they conceded that she needed to learn how to socialise, and she grew up attending nothing but elite private ( usually catholic ) schools
she was a curious child though, eager to experience the world that was kept from her; by all accounts, her parents’ overprotectiveness should have resulted in a child that was afraid of their own shadow, but izzy only felt excitement regarding the unknown
as she grew older, she started to feel a little bit suffocated, growing bored with her privileged life; and so her teen years were filled with rebellion, going out of her way to do things that her parents would disapprove of, be it openly ( joining the girls’ soccer team instead of cheerleading ) or in secret ( getting drunk and sneaking into clubs )
the more her parents tried to control her, the harder she pushed back, and eventually they found a new equilibrium: they stopped micromanaging izzy’s life quite as much as they used to, and in turn izzy actually started listening to her parents a little bit more
she learned to compromise, but a part of her longed for the thrill, still; when the novelty of her newfound maturity faded, izzy started falling into old habits once more. she’s the kind of girl who will put herself in dangerous situations just to feel something, anything. her parents had made sure she understood that the world was a dangerous place, but izzy found that it was only in the face of danger did she truly feel alive
still, despite this wild animal hunger inside of her, izzy’s still fairly naive, especially when it comes to people; for all the dangers of the world her parents had warned her about, no one ever taught her that it was people that did the most damage. she sees almost everyone through rose-coloured glasses, always willing to see the best in them, always quick to grow attached, always ready to lay down her life for them—not literally, of course, but there are few sacrifices izzy wouldn’t make for the people she cares about
when she was 21, her parents decided that she was old enough to get married and they arranged a marriage for her. izzy was horrified; she’d always been something of a romantic, and she had wanted to be swept off her feet in an epic romance, not forced into a loveless marriage with a man almost ten years her senior—especially when said man had a tendency to look at her as if she were a piece of meat and nothing more. she cried and pleaded and begged her parents to break the arrangement, but they refused
desperate, izzy turned to rumours; she’d heard whispers of the sanctum from questionable individuals in seedy clubs. then one night, the guy that took her home mentioned the sanctum in passing when she asked what he did for a living, and she knew that this was her chance—and she took it
less than a week later, the guy she had been arranged to marry was arrested for possession and distribution of child pornography ( or something equally heinous ) as well as several counts of aggravated assault on past partners. her parents’ lack of surprise at the news made izzy realise that they had known exactly what kind of man they had been planning to marry her off to, and when she called them out on it, it was revealed that she had been a condition in a business deal between her father and the man, as if she were nothing more than cattle to be sold
she found herself reaching out to the sanctum again, and nothing felt more satisfying than learning that the man had been found dead in his holding cell, murdered. izzy’s aware that she’s traded one cage for another, but she dives headfirst into it all anyway, drunk on the rush of adrenaline with every quid pro quo. isolde anastasia davenport may still be a caged bird, but she’s never felt more FREE
03. WANTED CONNECTIONS
i don’t really have any specific ones at the moment, but i’m always up to brainstorm, and i’m usually open to pretty much anything ! we can totally just agree on a generic connection and then see if that leads to anything else, but if you’ve got a more in depth connection in mind after reading her intro then that’s awesome too !
if you don’t have any concrete ideas but still want to plot, hmu anyway ! or leave a like and i’ll slide right into those ims :-)
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hey there demons, it’s me, ya boy, back at it again with another character.
rip, anyway this is jude, he’s very angsty and he hates everyone, i love him so much.
TRIGGERS BELOW: rape, heavy transphobia, murder. read at your own discretion
Ten Easy Steps to Creating a Monster
Step One: You’re born into a body that feels wrong and a name that doesn’t fit right. Sierra Murdock, they tell you it is, until you have no way not to respond to it, to feel that unease in your chest, like something is off but you can’t place exactly what it is. You go to church with your parents every week, and listen to the parents of people in your youth group talk about the dirty gays and the transgenders that will certainly go to hell. You aren’t meant to have overheard that, and your parents don’t know how to react when you ask them, at the age of six, “who are transgenders?” You are innocent, Sierra, with wide eyes and curly hair, and a soul too young to be tainted. When it’s explained to you, everything makes sense, and you understand. You understand why your skin feels awkward and you always feel like crying. It’s nothing that can be helped, when you’re not sure that you can verbalize it or even if you want to. So you continue being Sierra for several years, feeling all sorts of anger at the people in your church so you leave it, and your faith, behind. With it go all of your friends, some of whom have adopted their parents belief that you’re going to hell, just because of who you are. The ones that don’t believe that are told by their parents they’re not allowed to play with you, like being not trans is contagious and they could catch the disease next.
Step Two: Before you hit puberty, you come out to your parents, hands shaking and throat closing up on you. Your mind is racing as it imagines every possible outcome, kicking you out of the house, calling you a tranny, threatening to kill you, disowning you, or worst of all, ignoring what you say. Telling you it’s just a phase and eventually you’ll grow out of this, so stop being stupid and get out of my sight. The worst doesn’t come to fruition, thankfully, but while your father embraces you as you sob and shake and try not to break down any more than you already are, your mother distances herself from her family, from you. One week later, her bags are packed and she hasn't looked at you once since you came out, though she says, forlornly like you’re doing it to hurt her, “You will always be my daughter and that bond we have … if you ever want it back, just drop the silly attitude, Sierra.” Her words cut and sting and make you nauseous but you hold your head high as she goes and try not to cry.
Step Three: At thirteen years old, you start hormone blockers, preventing your body from developing any more female than it already has. It’s a bit late to be starting them, honestly, but money is tight since your mom left and you just hope that while it’s late, it isn’t too late. Your hair is cut short and your name isn’t Sierra anymore, it’s Marcus, but people don’t call you that. They call you tranny and dyke and all sorts of names that attest to just how cruel children can be. Prejudice isn’t born, it’s taught and the few friends you have that call you Marcus aren’t enough to offset the ones who still think of you as Sierra. It’s flat out hatred they have for you and you know that it doesn’t get any easier. Not for a long time and you won’t make it to a long time if it keeps up like this. Eventually, you’ll snap and like an exploding star, you’ll destroy everything around you.
Step Four: The names persist. They want you to cry at thirteen, fourteen, fifteen years old. They want to see you hurt and struggle because it’s proof that you aren’t a boy, because the people who push you down in the hallways are boys, who pull your pants down in front of the urinal and demand you pee standing up are boys, the teachers who conveniently don’t see anything are boys, and you, Sierra, you’re not a boy. You’re just a little girl trying to get attention. Your skin is littered with cuts from being slammed into lockers and bruises from being stuck with a team of boys who hate you in gym class which must be fair because you’re the one who wanted to be treated like a boy. And boys get pushed down in flag football, even though there’s clearly a no tackling rule, the gym teacher was watching another group play.
Step Five: The final straw comes on your sixteenth birthday, when you’re now Samuel. When your not so friendly group of flag football buddies corner you in the locker room and your shirt is pulled up, revealing your binder. They say that you’re just a little bitch and you can’t be allowed to go out into the real world like this, so really, you should be thanking them. They’re helping you. One goes to watch the front door to the locker room, another goes to watch the back, leaving just you and the ringleader, Sierra/Samuel, and no one is coming to help you. Unless you figure out a way out of this, the skin that already doesn’t fit right will be even worse, even more unbearable. When his hands reach for your jeans, you lose all sense of time and you don’t remember what happens next. You just know that he’s only the floor in front of you, bloody and bruised and beaten to a pulp. There’s a teacher in the room, and another, followed by the vice principal and the principal and a cop. They see you, curled up in the corner of a bay of lockers, shaking, crying and with your assailant’s blood on your hands. You’re taken out in handcuffs, stuffed into the back of a police car, and your dad leaves work to go to the police station. Your birthday present, your first dose of testosterone, is forgotten on the kitchen table.
Step Six: The parents of your abuser want you in jail for the rest of your life, they scream at you, call you a murder, yet it’s still a name you prefer to the slurs their son hurled at you. They can’t believe their son would do that and even if he did, trans lives are worth less than normal lives. He was going to go to a good college, play football, and maybe go pro. And because of you, he never will. People stand outside the court where you are due to stand trial and shout at you, say you’re going to hell, and a small, sarcastic part of you appreciates the almost bookends like way it echoes your life ten years ago. The boys who stood guard testify after being told that they would be accessories to rape and you are set free because you acted in self-defense. It wasn’t premeditated and there was nowhere you could have retreated to. It’s justifiable homicide and you truly are the victim here.
Step Seven: Your father doesn’t quite meet your eyes in the aftermath of it all, flinches a little when you let it slip just how jaded and bitter you’ve become. It’s a huge blowout that day, with you shouting at him for letting it escalate to that point. He’d seen the bruises, listened to you cry every day after school, and yet, nothing was solved. Each day you went back to the hell hole they dared to call an institution of learning, each day you came home just a little more broken and depressed, each night you went home and barricaded yourself in your room. Now, to be fair, whenever your father would ask if you were okay, you’d snap and scream and tell him to get the fuck out of your room and he isn’t a mind reader so how was he supposed to know that you meant I’m not okay. I’m sad and scared and I need you. Please don’t leave me. It’s all your fault that he never put the effort into being there for you and it’s because you rebuffed him at every turn. You did this to yourself.
Step Eight: Out, damned spot! Out, I say! You are Lady Macbeth and the blood on your hands doesn’t let you sleep. The few friends you had either hate you or are afraid of you or have simply just drifted away but regardless, your phone doesn’t ring anymore. During the nights, you pick up your guitar or you wander the streets aimlessly, trying to come up with something to make the buzzing in your head quiet, to drown out the little voice that says you’re a murderer and what you did is unforgivable in gin or rum, or whatever you can get your hands on. It used to call you Sierra, say that you’re a girl or something equally hurtful but you were able to ignore that because that you knew wasn’t true. Murderer, on the other hand? Hurtful, yes. Accurate? Hell yes. One of those nights, wandering the city awash in the neon lights, people attempt to bash you, but this time, you don’t let anyone hurt you. You know better now, know that they’re going to judge you anyway and this time, you won’t take it lying down because maybe they’ll leave you alone after. You fight for all you’re worth, put all of your pain and misery into beating the people who would beat you given the chance. When you look in the mirror after returning home, with a black eye and a swollen lip, instead of feeling upset, you feel proud and that is the moment you refuse to let anyone try to hurt you ever again.
Step Nine: Some people you meet through your more illicit hobbies clue you into an underground fighting ring and when you step into the club for the first time, you feel alive, skin tingling and blood pumping. You want that to be you, to be in the ring, fighting to hurt someone while they’re looking to hurt you except there’s no malice behind it. This is all about the money, not because you’re trans or because you’re a killer. You lie about your age, tell them that you’re eighteen because you need this and truthfully, for the first time, you’ve allowed yourself to want something that isn’t necessary to your survival. You rise through the ranks quickly and they introduce you as Jude “The Unbreakable” Murdock. The name sends a rush of adrenaline through your veins every time and you’re unable to resist the smirk you get when you hear it because you know that it’s true. You kind of love it.
Step Ten: Unbeknownst to you, someone from the Sanctum observes all of your fights and places their bets on you every time. You proceed to win every round you enter, because you’re small but you’re fast and quick on your feet, used to being on the lookout for people about to hurt you at any moment. You use your opponent’s size against them, striking hard and fast before you’re gone again. On your eighteenth birthday, that someone approaches you and offers you the one thing that you’ve been saving up for. They offer to pay for you to transition, in exchange for selling your soul. Without so much as thinking about it, you sign on the dotted line, shake their hand and within the next few months, you’re a changed person. It happens so fast it’s basically a whirlwind, but the how it happens doesn’t matter to you as much as it happening. It takes a few months to fully recover from surgery, but once you’re fully healed, it’s back into the ring you go, this time with more confidence. During your fights, you’re quick-witted, fast on your toes, and constantly analyzing. Outside of them, you’re jaded and angry still, but it’s the best defense you have, the best way to keep people at bay. People are a weakness, they only bring pain, and you’re not about to let anyone close enough to hurt you again. They may call you a monster now but you’re only Frankenstein’s Monster, Jude, and everyone who hurt you or stood by? They’re Frankenstein. Go destroy those who made you.
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