Death Tw - Blog Posts
Being reminded that I’m going to die one day when I try to sleep is God’s punishment for me eating a burger with a fork and knife
Charon - Story Character References
Full Name: Derek Species: Reaper Gender: Genderfluid [ANY PRONOUNS BUT TENDS TO LEAN TOWARDS HE/HIM/HIS] Age: unknown Sexuality: Panromantic Asexual Height: seems tall but also short at the same time? No one's sure. Myer Briggs: ESFJ Voice Claim: ? STATUS: MISSING PRESUMED DEAD
Full Name: Andrea Utoqi Species: Vampiric Lizardfolk Gender: Female [She/Her/Hers] Age: Old enough Sexuality: Panromantic Pansexual Height: 7ft 2in Myer Briggs: ISTJ Voice Claim: ?
Full Name: Dedra Species: Reaper Gender: Female [She/Her/Hers] Age: Young Sexuality: Hasn't thought about it yet Height: 3ft 4in Myer Briggs: Not old enough to have fully cemented her personality Voice Claim: Catbug from Bravest Warriors
tidbids:
Andrea and Derek used to date. They decided they were better off as friends shortly after Derek was granted the title of Death. Charon was insecure about this fact but hid it.
Dedra is in a very Steven Universe situation. She's growing up in the shadow of someone who came before her while trying to figure out her own shit. She tries her best to help, but there's only so much a child can do. The adults have to help too.
Andrea was a vampire before Derek was awarded the title of Death. How she became one is something she doesn't talk about.
Who Death was before Derek is something the higher-ups don't talk about. So, no one knows.
Derek’s life before he met Andrea is a big question mark. Where he came from, what his story is, and literally anything about his past is something he never talked about
Full Name: Charon Pagano
Species: Soul Collector (formerly human)
Gender: Male [he/him/his]
Age: unknown
Birthdate: November 8th
Sexuality: Demiromantic Asexual
Height: 5ft 5 in
Myer Briggs: ISFP
Voice Claim: Virgil "Anxiety" Sanders from Sanders Sides
Related Characters: Espi; Derek, Andrea, Dedra; The Soul Collector (link to ref when it's done)
Charon was born on the streets, taken care of by drifters until they deemed they needed to drift in a different direction from a child. They weren't his parents. They didn't have responsibility towards him. No, Charon had no one to take care of him but himself. And that was fine.
He scrounged up what he could, used what others didn't need, and started getting getting minimum wage jobs as soon as people would hire him. He was hired on as simple things. But, with no formal education, he didn't have much of a chance for anything else.
Until he started overhearing dark secrets. Secrets that people wanted other people dead. And, well, they'd pay for it. Charon had two choices: turn these secret holders in and probably get hit himself for being a rat. Or get the job done.
He became a psuedo-hit man. Getting paid to kill others. It got him what he needed. He never liked that he did it, but it was what life handed him. It was fine, for a bit.
But police figured out what he was. And he was the subject of a man hunt across the united states as he fled. He was shot in a confrontation and crawled to an alley to die. He was born there, he would die there.
Death approached this dying man and felt pity for his soul. He could hear Hell calling for this man but.... Charon had been dealt a bad hand. Most people who were dealt a bad hand like this were negotiated away to purgatory- or they were condemed to hell. And Death usually didn't care. But Charon reminded him so much of another.....
Death squirreled Charon a once-in-a-blue-moon deal he couldn't refuse. He'd become a soul collector. One who would be tasked with collecting souls that Death missed and became ghosts. It was true what they said, no one could be everywhere at once. He had to collect the souls of ones who were harmful to mortals. But the ones who were minding their own buisness? Up to him as to what to do with them.
Charon accepted.
Death introduced himself as Derek, a being capable of splitting his soul off into multiple bodies so he could do his job. Derek and Charon became close as Derek taught the new soul collector the ropes. Charon felt Derek understood him, and was the closest thing that Charon had towards being a friend. Even more....
But it all came crashing down one morning. Andrea, a vampiric former guardian of Death when Death was still a new, fragil soul, came to Charon in tears. The higher ups could not find Death or his soul anywhere. And when they looked..... They found the world had created a new Death. A young girl who said her name was Dedra.
Derek was gone, as good as dead. Charon now forces himself to focus on the task he has been given. Pick up the slack from the new Death and gather souls as best he can. He just tells himself that when he's paid back his debt... He'll look for Derek's soul himself. The higher ups had to have missed something. Overlooked a small detail- something. Derek couldn't be gone.
ABOUT THE SOUL IN A JAR:
Watson was gifted to Charon when Derek was still around. This soul seems to be trapped in a magic jar that makes the heavenly powers unable to detect the soul or judge it properly, and therefore was left until it could be judged. The jar cannot be opened, no matter how hard anyone tries. It can't be broken either. It seems invincible. Derek wanted Charon to "take care" of Watson, as he didn't have time to watch over the soul anymore.
But I Did What I Thought That I Had To
Which is bad too!
I thought that I could take it,
All the hate could just be shaken,
But when you lo- care for someone,
Not much hurts more than their scorn.
Pushing the button will cause you to almost always have perfect health.
Here's how it works: When you develop something that you consciously consider a health problem, the next time you sleep you will wake up next to your body. It is now dead. In a maximum of two hours a new body will form around you that is just how the previous one would have been without the problem. If you were sick, no longer sick. If you lost an arm, it's back. If you were born with one arm but want two, you have two now. If you decided that human bodies (or just yours) have a flawed design and have ideas for how it could be improved, you have the improvements. Yes, this can be things about your mind that you want to change. Etc. You can figure this out I think. Of course, you will need to do something about the corpses. And each time this happens, you look just slightly more uncanny.
📂?
Thank you Hun! Hope your doing well.❤ Ok so the new spoilers got me thinking. This is also a bit inspired by a conversation in bunny's server.
TW // SPOILERS AND DEATH
~~~
JUST SO YOU KNOW THAT ISNT FUYUMI. THIS HC IS IF SHE WAS.
Ok so. For a second we thought that this was Fuyumi in the panel, trying to save her lover.
Obviously that isn't her but that got me thinking of a headcannon... what if that was Fuyumi and her partner?
WHAT IF Her partner was planning on proposing next week but was ya know? dying? so he gives it to her. She's sobbing. He is proclaimed dead when the paramedics arrived. His final words were asking her to promise that they marry eachother in the next life.
Her future at having a good life. Her lover. Gone.
Extra angst: if she was pregnant. Her chance of giving a life to a child, a future to give that she didnt get. Now without her sweetheart. But highly unlikely.
It's more like she wanted a family with him but now she can't, because he's gone.
He just pulls the box out and slowly gives it to her and the paramedics arrive. He passes away due to blood loss and getting crushed.
Fuyumi is heartbroken.
She thought the death of Touya was accidental or something. So now she knows that her dad was worse than she thought, her brother is alive and her partner, her lover, her chance of a good future is dead. Her SWEETHEART is DEAD.
Why do I make myself cry like this?
We know that Dabi killed civilians by his own choice. He could've gone and killed Endeavour himself but chose to kill.
The whole army riot thing is a part of it? He chooses to bring this shit down on us. And what happened to Fuyumi...
Seeing her brother like this...knowing he was a part of this. Part of her love's death...someone she truly wanted a life with... that would break her. Absolutely destroy her.
This is what the ring looks like. It's eccentric because they were always an eccentric couple.
The gemstones are rose quarts (meaning love) and lapis lazuli (meaning royalty, honor, vision).
That adds to the pain if you ask me.
Ngl that ring is beautiful. Absolutely gorgeous.
~~~
I made myself sob doing this. I cry. Anyways I hope this satisfies y'all. Hope you have a nice day and take care. ❤
rip rum :( honestly im surprised he lived this long, he was 257 moons old
“Good night, Gon”
happy holidays. please don’t hate me
I would pay A LOT of money to see that. Get fucked Ben Sharpie🫧
Hayao Miyazaki transformed into a human-sized AOT Titan and fought Ben Shapiro to the death.
I don’t know how I got there.
Or, rather, I’m not sure.
Last I’d remembered, I was lying in a hospital bed, surrounded by my family. My husband, my daughter, and a couple doctors were standing by. I held my husband’s hand tight as I had gone into a seizure, side effect of an inoperable brain tumor. I’m fairly certain I died.
Yet here I was. On a rain-soaked street in what appeared to be any town in the Midwest, a bar in front of me, with two neon signs – a pretty typical ‘open’ sign, and a glowing white, cursive word – Purgatorio.
Not knowing what else to do, I went up to the door, tried to push it open, and the door held fast. I looked down, saw the sign that said ‘pull’, and obeyed. The door opened with ease, and I found myself in an empty bar – well, mostly. A man stood behind the counter, wearing a white dress-shirt, black jeans, a tie, and a black apron. He was wiping down the bar with a grey rag, and music – some folk rock band – played quietly from the speakers. As I walked in, a bell rang, and the man looked up.
He was a young man on the cusp of middle age, with black hair, pale green eyes, and a pierced right ear. He seemed unsurprised, and he called me forward. “Well,” he said, “Come in, have a drink.”
He pulled a bottle of whiskey from beneath the counter, and a tumbler glass. Getting ice from an old-fashioned machine behind him and putting some into the glass, he gestured me towards him again. “Come on, boy. You haven’t got much time until someone comes to collect you. It’s good to have a guest.”
I moved forward, and sat down in a leather stool at the bar. He poured whiskey into the glass and handed it to me. I looked at it, and then at his expectant face. “I don’t have any money,” I said, patting my clothing to look for a wallet I was pretty sure I lacked. I was wearing jeans and a white t-shirt under a simple grey hoodie. And no, I did not have a wallet, much less my own.
“I don’t want money,” he laughed. “I’m not in this for cash.”
He leaned in, and said in a voice alight with childish glee, “I do this for the stories. I’d like to hear yours, or as much of it as you want to share.”
I looked at him, and saw his nametag. It read, “Hello, my name is: Dante A.”
“What is this place? Why am I here?”
He poured another couple fingers of whiskey into the tumbler and gestured for me to drink. I took a sip. It was a good whiskey.
“Well, kid, you’re dead. Sorry to have to break it to you like this.”
Caught in the middle of another sip of whiskey, I gagged a little. “I can’t be dead – I’m here.”
He nodded. “Logical. But answer me this – where is here?”
Looking me up and down, he continued. “Because last you remember, you were somewhere else. It may have been a hospital bed, or in a car, or at home going to bed – but you woke up here, right outside my bar.”
He stepped away a couple steps and wiped down another part of the table. “As to your family, who are they? Tell me about them.”
I looked at him as suspiciously as I could, but it made a weird kind of sense. I began to speak, and the words poured out. He listened intently, nodding along as he cleaned up the bar. I told him how I’d met my husband – at a pride rally, in 2003. We’d fought tooth and nail for what we had – all the way up until our marriage was legalized and we could get married in our home state of Virginia. We settled down, opened up a book shop, and adopted our daughter.
All the while, while I droned on and on about my family, Dante looked like he was having the time of his life. He didn’t speak, only prodding me for more details. My daughter’s school teachers, what were they like? My husband, what was he like? He seemed insatiable in his lust for more information.
I drank as I spoke, and Dante refilled my glass each time I emptied it, and I found myself laughing at my own retelling, as I finished story after story. It felt like hours had passed.
Finally, I stopped. “Is this it?” I asked him, not feeling particularly drunk at the moment.
He looked at me, a twinkle in his eyes, and said, “Not even close.”
He leaned against the bar which he had finished cleaning, and looked out the rain-beaten windows at the front of the establishment. He seemed to fade off a little bit. I got his attention again, “I mean, is this all there is for the rest of eternity? Just sitting here and talking to you?”
He laughed. “Is that such a bad thing?”
Shrugging, I began again. “I mean – what about heaven? What about hell?”
He poured himself a glass and refilled mine. “What about heaven? What about hell?”
“Do they exist?”
Taking a sip, he spoke. “Yes, they do. I’ve seen them both.”
“And what’s this place?”
“A halfway point, sort of. For souls to wait for their guides.”
“Guides?”
“Angels, for the good. Devils for the bad. I get what I can out of those who come through. I remember your mother, when she came through. She said a lot about you.”
My mother had died some fifteen years ago. She was probably the most supportive person I’d ever known, and the first person I came out to. It wouldn’t surprise me if she had sat here, talking for hours to the same person I was, sharing stories of her life.
“Who came for her? Angel or devil?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know who comes for who, only that they do.”
“And what about you? Did anyone come for you? Will anyone come for you?”
He shrugged again. “I’m happy here, I built this place. I listen to stories. I guess that’s always been my job and my dream.”
“Do you ever want to move on?”
He paused, shrugged a final time, and then he perked up. “This isn’t about me. It’s about you, your story, your life? We’re nearing the end of your time here.”
“Where do you think I’ll go?”
He grabbed my hands, and looked me in the eye. “Look at me. Listen. You are the only judge of your life. Where do you think you deserve to go?”
I was a little dumbstruck. “I don’t know. I’ve had a lot of people tell me I’m going to hell.”
Dante looked up at the ceiling, muttered something in what sounded Italian, and looked back at me. “Well, in the words of the great Lewis Black, fuck them.”
“I’ve seen good people, I’ve seen bad. I’m not a judge, but most I can tell plain as day. And you, my friend, are not a bad-“
I heard a rapping at the door. Outside was standing a plain-looking man, dressed in a suit and tie, with steel-grey hair and an unyielding disposition. I looked at Dante. “What do you think?”
“Go,” he said, waving me on. “Go to where you belong.”
I walked back out through the door, and the man looked at me.
“You the new arrival?”
Looking back, at Dante, now thoroughly wiping the table again. “I suppose,” I said.
“Good. Would you step into the vehicle, please?”
I looked at the car behind the man. Black and simply-built, it looked solid enough. He opened the door, and I sat inside. He went around to the other side, got into the driver’s seat, and began to drive.
“Where are we going?”
He looked at me in the mirror, a stern expression on his face. Cracking a smile, he began to speak.
“On,” he said.
After you die, you expected an afterlife or either Heaven, or Hell. Instead you find yourself standing in front of a pub named ‘Purgatorio.’
🐀 No. 6 - Rodent -🐀
My thoughts on the recent Techno stream
First it was Ghostbur, then it was Foolish, I was hoping for a break after Charlie but NO they fucking kill Ranboo in Techno’s new lore stream and Dream is out of prison. WHAT THE FUCK???? AND THE PERSON WHO KILLED RANBOO WAS ALSO ONE OF MY FAVORITE CHARACTERS FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK I’M FUCKING-
You wanna know what really happens to your brothers in the future?! They die. Everybody dies fighting the Krang!
Friend: *kills hinself*
My fucking, shit-brain: death? You like death?? You want some dreams of death??? Have some nightmares of people being mauled or run over! Have nightmares of your past friends and old teachers chasing you while tying to kill you!! Have a nightmare of your mom planing to kill you!!!
You LOVE death right?
Me: I'd rather die from exhaustion then sleep.
Brain: not good enough? Wanna imagine your nephew being murdering by someone gouging his eyes out?? Wanna imagine him falling down some stairs and smashing his head open??? I can do that! I'll even make you think about him being kidnapped!! Or maybe even just him suffocating in his sleep!!!
DONT YOU JUST L O V E DEATH???
One of our girl bunnies gave birth to at least 10 babies saturday before last, 2 were already dead when we found them.
4 were gray and tan and the other 4 were completely black.
Only 4 survived until tuesday of the following week. The 4 black ones. One died one sunday, and three on monday.
Tuesday -the day I got punished for drawing a picture- there were still alive.
Two more died -one a day- before I took the remaining two away from their mother.
She had been letting them die and them eating them.
I took care of those last two since then.
One of them was sick and died this monday.
The last one died this morning.
I had been keeping it (I kept both of them in it) in a small box -made nest with a giant sweater and a heated sock full of rice.
Last night/this morning it somehow got out and got into the dog cage.
We have three, small, very old, blind, and mostly deaf dogs.
One of which fucking loves puppies/anything reassembling puppies.
The last baby was loved to death. And with the description my mom, who found it, gave me... It's a horrible way to die.
I don't know why I'm not upset.
I don't know why I'm posting this.
Humans are unstoppable...Until they aren’t.
I’m not the most eloquent writer, but I’ve had this idea kicking around for a while and figured I’d put it out into the universe.
A lot of the basis for the “humans are space orcs” stuff is the idea that we’re pretty durable compared to many species, yeah? When it comes to physical trauma, we can bounce back from most things that don’t kill us outright, especially given the benefit of hypothetical space-age technology, and adrenaline is one heck of a drug when it comes to functioning under stress.
But that doesn’t make us unkillable, and even though we can survive debilitating injuries and not die from shock, it doesn’t mean it’s fun. Dying of shock sucks, but at least it’s probably quick.
So - Imagine a ship, adrift in space, slowly being drawn into a star or something. In order to save the ship, someone has to repair the hyper-quantum-relay-majig on the hull or in the engine or whatever. Bit of a problem though- there’s a ton of deadly, deadly radiation (Wrath of Khan style) or poisonous fumes or, I dunno, electrical current, between the crew and the repair. Like, enough to kill most species instantly, so the crew is just like, ‘welp, guess we’ll die then’. But then.
BUT THEN
They ask the human. Because everyone’s heard the stories - you’re basically unkillable, right? Could you survive long enough in there to fix it? And their human goes real quiet for a second, but still says ‘Yeah, I could fix it’. And the rest of the crew is like, ‘Whaaaaaa, it won’t kill you?’ and the human repeats “I can fix it” (which isn’t an answer, but no one catches that, not yet at least), so they send ‘em in. And the human fixes it, they come back, the ship flies to safety, and the crew is thrilled to survive. If the human is a little quiet, well, they’re entitled after pulling off a miracle. Everyone else is just excited to get to the nearest station’s bar to tell their very own human story, cuz, ‘those crazy humans, amiright?’.
The good mood keeps up until the human is late for their next shift. At first it’s just faint unease, but- but they earned a bit of a lie-in, right? No reason to begrudge them some extra rest, even if it is a little weird for them to oversleep. They’ll be fine. Humans are always fine.
(Right?)
(…Wrong.)
- What is… help. Help!-
- ake up! You have t-
- been days. You need sleep, you-
- nother transfusion. We could-
- out of sedatives!-
A week later, the crew finally reaches the station. They stumble into the bar, haggard and haunted. And over the next months and years a new rumor about humans starts to make its way through space. A rumor unlike any before.
‘Be careful with your humans’ it whispers. ‘Their strength is not always a blessing. Be sure they don’t do something they can’t come back from, because when a human dies… they die slowly.’
I think about my grandmother a lot more now that she's gone. She was a complicated woman but knowing I'll never see her again hurts me more than anything I could fathom her being while she was alive. I'd like to think she's at a beach where the sun shines forever in her afterlife
Even now, I vividly remember the color of the rising sun I saw then. All to easily, memories of the beggining summon memories from the end. The things that slipped through my fingers, the people I couldn’t protect…
So this was a tik tok I made a couple weeks ago that I realized I never posted on here. It’s based on the danganronpa AU for LM3 my friend made. It’s a bit rough since I did it at 1 am but I hope you guys like it and I’m actually working on a part 2 for it right now
“That’s a pretty gender neutral way of killing someone!”
-Me, not making nearly as much sense without context
I kinda like how this one turned out
Did you delete the art with the red blood?
Yup. Here’s a fixed version - now just imagine it with way too many errors haha
i wanna rb the soyuz 11 stamps but that one of them all dead makes me extremely uncomfortable
what will azazel do… if they discovered a dead body?
“Take a look over it. It could just be a drunk guy, you never know. Then I would make sure if I know them are or not. But ultimately, since I'm discovering the dead body, I'd just manipulate someone to report it to the police from a payphone and make it someone else's problem. Or just let someone else discover it. Either of those can easily disassociate and distance me from the entire thing. Because dead bodies are gross and I don't like them, which, I imagine, is the case for most people. But ultimately, it would be really cool not to be caught being around dead bodies and cops. You never know who could be watching, trying to pin some shit on you. But-maybe that's what's happening, it's a set up… I hate this planet.” Then he'd probably orchestrate some elaborate scheme that gets whoever set him up to discover that dead body, whether that's the truth or not, of the situation, killed, or, more likely, caught by police or something, themself.
what will azazel do... if they're coughing up blood out of the blue?
“Probably stop eating the shards of glass or poison I've suddenly been 'assassinated' with, I guess? I thought that waffle was bitter and too crunchy. I knew I should have just cooked for myself, but it's so agonizing. Worth it.”
At the question, Azazel just narrowed his eyes a bit. He didn't have time for this level of stupidity, right now. Maybe it was because he had been gone for such a long time, and had only recently been going back to drinking at places that weren't his house. But, still, he stood silently in front of the other. Thinking that, this, this was someone who would be a great reason for why he hated listening to people talk, “Yes.” Azazel finally answered to having the 'usual'. His eye contact maintained on the other's own gaze, intense, as if he might be challenging the other to say something else just as abysmally stupid as what was just said. Azazel could only imagine it wouldn't take long, and he was right. Because, as Cyrek continued, he could only imagine at this point, just to annoy him, he stood quiet. Listening to what the other said, almost against his will. Tapping his fingers tips on his hands against the surface of the bar, he dropped his head down, sucking in a breath, “No? And, I don't fucking care right now.” Okay, maybe that was a lie. Lifting his head back up, he put on a grin, his head tilting slightly. Blinking, he continued, “They should put you on the case. We'll have it solved a lot sooner, I'm sure.” Maybe he should have toned it down, he told himself. He was simply just on edge, for a multitude of reasons, and Cyrek's yapping, considering their history, wasn't helping level off that edge he was on, “Mmm.” That was all he could initially offer to Cyrek, bringing up the month's specials, suddenly feeling exhausted. Inhaling, he glanced up, considering some thoughts before suddenly turning his head, then looked back to the other just as quickly. Azazel looked at the sheet that was now on the countertop and frowned, “I, hate, all of these.” He commented, unkindly, expressionless. Then placed his left hand on the sheet and pushed it back toward Cyrek. Only to bring his left hand to his face, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Sure, okay. Okay. Thank you. Just, give me the usual, the hardest stuff you have. None of that crap you're peddling on that sheet. I need something that would let me breathe fire, or that could run a car.”
@boneyardstarters at the mean-eyed cat bar
After giving a PTA mom a covert look of judgment for ordering a Bloody Mary, of everything on the menu of specials, and scraping some asshole's tip in change off one of the booths and side-eyeing the coins to count them rather than look directly into the ugly mug of old George Washington, Cyrek was ready to give his attention to a regular at the bar who wasn't bitching and moaning into his deaf ear. "The usual, or you want somethin' else?" A pair of mismatched eyes hovered over their shoulder to stare at the newscasting of the latest about a victim with no blood and guts, and Vegas' finest doing really fuck-all beyond spinning their heads. "You hear the news? Bet they got no idea who it is this time, either. You'd think they would've pinned down a frequent spot and staked it out or whatever." As if the MC needed the potential for a detective to breathe down their neck more than one already was, but he digressed; small talk about local happenings keyed him up to where they should avoid, and the rumors circulating around. "I got this month's specials out now, too." Reaching under the bar to slap down a laminated sheet for some Boozy Bunny or carrot juice-infused cocktails, the latter of which reminded him of when he'd pureed the vegetable into baby food with a pot and a processor. "Unless someone gets mowed down by a guy in a bunny suit next and we gotta put those on hold, too."
Azazel Hawthorn
HEY, i think i just saw AZAZEL HAWTHORN walking down the strip. stop by to catch up and you’ll learn the THIRTY-ONE YEAR OLD is working as a BIOTECHNOLOGIST and lives in STARGAZER VILLAS. given they are ECCENTRIC but BRUTAL, it’s likely that they ARE NOT a vampire. on the flipside, rumor has it that THEY HAVE BEEN MISSING FOR A WHILE AND CAME BACK CHANGED, TO WHISPERS OF WHAT COULD HAVE HAPPENED IN THEY’RE LONG ABSENCE, ONE SUCH RUMOR GUARDED ABOVE ALL OTHER, AN ILLNESS THEY KEEP TO THEMSELF. and it keeps them looking over their shoulder. i bet you can find them tearing up the dance floor to SURVIVOR by 2WEI and you’ll know why they’re called THE TORMENTED SOUL. ☾ .⭒˚ avan jogia. non-binary + he/they. bisexual + scorpio.
General Information
Full name: Azazel Vayu Hawthorn Reason or meaning of name: Azazel-Scapegoat Vayu-Air Hawthorn- Thorn Bush Nickname: Zaz/Zel/Hawthorn/(Insert none name-related nicknames here) Reason for nicknames: His names. Age: 31 How old does he/she appear: 25 Nationality: American. Religion: None. Place of birth: Jarbidge, Nevada The current living place: Las Vegas, Nevada Job title: Biotechnologist. Employing company: Income: That's no one's business but his. Socioeconomic status: That's no one's business but his. Is he or she married? No. Pets: Desert Lynx Cat (Caracal) -Female- Name: Moonshine, Permit: Acquired. Russian Tortoise -Male- Name: Jellybean. Green Iguana -Male- Name: Crackers. Irish wolfhound -Female- Name: Shadow. Mother tongue: American English. Birthday: November 22. Does he or she own a home? Yes. Clubs/Memberships: Math Club, Band (Thunderstorm Dreams: Back-Up Vocals/other), Robotics Club, History Club, Dance Club, Theater Club, Book Club, Chemistry Club, Occult Club, Dungeons and Dragons Club. Public perception of them: Introverted but welcome before his disappearance, unsettling and confused after he comes back. Plays a musical instrument?: Yes, his voice and oboe are on a near professional level. But practices in other instruments, with varying ability, mostly at the average skill. Plays a sport?: Yes, Golf/Tennis/Volleyball/Baseball/Skateboarding/Mixed Martial Arts/Soccer/Gymnastics. How he/she would spend a rainy day: Inside doing inside hobbies. Smokes: Yes. Drinks: Yes. Other drugs: Yes, which is a very recent development for him. What does the character like?
Museums Pop music Worms Parks Lakes Color: white Rock Cryptozoology Sheep Fantasy novels Singing Graphic novels Stamps Choreography Clay Photography Caves Monster movies Snakes Baths Insects Alcohol
What does the character dislike?
Mimes Open windows Baking Epic music Throwing knives Going outside Color: olive Planes Pool Clowns Poetry Statues Minimalism Listening to people talk
Background
Trigger Warnings For: Drug use, Fire, Alcoholism, Pregnancy, Death, Mental Illness, Violence, Serious Injury.
Like most stories begin, Azazel's started with his parents meeting. Sharada was visiting the States, all the way from India, when she met D'Arcy. It was one of the last stops on her journey through America, to hit spots in Nevada, noted for their 'beauty', one may say. As she had a hobby in photography, she had heard at one point of Jarbidge being one such sight of beauty. A few days into visiting the area, she met her future husband, and of course, they hit it off. They would start to date, with much difficulty, given her not being a Native to America. But, decided to marry, and soon Sharada had been living in Jarbidge with her new husband. Over time, having four children, and a fifth on the way in the years that followed. Life with her beloved husband was a simple one, but a cherished one for the couple. Who focused on their children and raised them partially in an off-grid lifestyle. Sharada would take on the task of homeschooling her children. while D'Arcy had focused on his job that often took him away from home for long periods of time.
For a little extra cash for the family, Sharada would work part-time as a photographer, and in doing so, their children rarely wanted for anything. They grew up living among nature and relying on themselves to find entertainment. But they were not raised entirely outside of society either. They often played outside with other children who lived in the county. When he could, D'Arcy would get time off to take his wife and children on trips to several places within the country and outside of it. Sharada would take these opportunities to make the trips not only fun, with her husband, but to also use many of them to teach her children. However, with their fifth child coming, these outside activities became less and less for Sharada as she prepared for her newest baby. It was nearing the last few months now before the newest addition to the family would be disrupting her sleep, and she couldn't be more excited.
While on a shopping trip near Las Vegas to get a few more odds and ends, her husband was working later that day and not being able to grab them on his commute back home, she put her four older children into her station wagon and off the family went. After picking up the odds and ends she needed, she noticed she had nearly run out of gas and made a small stop in the city at a gas station. On her way to the door, a younger man came bolting out of the gas station, hissing a 'watch it, lady' or some other such thing as he slammed the door into Sharada, sending her harshly to the ground. One of her children shouted after the man about him being rude, which he either didn't hear or ignored, as Sharada winced in sudden pain. The store clerk came running out, screaming at the man about having called the cops before noticing Sharada and asking if she was okay, before they both noticed her water had broken. Shocked, as she didn't think she had been hurt that badly, Sharada asked the man to call for an ambulance, frightened, of course. Then, as she waited for that, she called one of her husband's relatives to come get the children then her husband, informing him what had happened, and what was happening.
Within the next hours, things grew to be extremely traumatic for the family as their youngest would be born not breathing, and it took a concerning amount of time for the staff to get their baby to breathe. Sharada verbalizing this as she watched her baby be worked on only feet away. Before finally hearing Azazel cry, it was weak, but it was there, and it eased some of the stress. D'Arcy grabbed Sharada's hand, assuring her their child was going to be okay. She wasn't even allowed to hold him as he was rushed away to an incubator. She could see he was so much smaller than his older siblings, and that made her worry more. When she was finally able to see him, even rushing it. But agonized over the fact that she had to see him this way. Holding Azazel for the first time in her arms, however, made whatever anger and pain from how he came to be here disappear. But a pit had formed thinking that the circumstances of her youngest's birth were an omen of a future of bad luck, and suddenly she realized she was crying at the idea of it. Her tears dropping onto Azazel, she stared, hoping that this was just her mind overreacting.
After some time being monitored Azazel was finally allowed to come home, things were good from that point on. For a while. Azazel's first year after that had no issues. But about that time, while his mother was looking away and dealing with something for one of his older siblings, another of his siblings, younger than the other, placed marbles onto the tray of Azazel's high chair, resulting in his consuming some and choking on one. Sharada managed to pull the marble out, but he had to get the others he swallowed out, through other methods. The sibling who did this had all marbles banned from the house till they could be used properly as punishment, along with other discipline. Life returned to normal again. Azazel had been about four or five, just starting to form a very distinct personality for trouble. Whether by his own action or just circumstances and bad luck. He had a lot of accidents, trips, falls, scuffed knees, and small animal attacks from getting too close to the wild ones. But nothing serious until one day, climbing a tall tree with one of his older siblings. He wanted to prove he was the better climber. Only to, about 20 feet off the ground, have one of his feet slip off the side of a branch, sending him straight to the ground, hitting it hard enough to knock him unconscious and crack his skull open.
Every couple of years, something like that seemed to be happening to the youngest Hawthorn. Sharada noticed changes each one had done to her son, and felt useless watching, feeling as if there were something more at play. But again, she was overthinking things. As she had given up her religion and chose to live comfortably with her husband, both deciding to live without it, and let their children decide if they wanted to become religious on their own. But, still, old habits did die hard for her. She remembered tales, of Djinn, of other such spirits. Often she wondered if this bad luck Azazel had seemed to have around him was her fault, for rejecting her religion. Perhaps it was the same for husband, the spirits were conspiring to punish them, and they were targeting her child. The idea seemed too silly to her until one day. While driving home with a now seven-year-old Azazel, who had been sporting a broken arm after taking a harsh hit while playing a soccer game. Yet Azazel had just told her of it, 'I'm okay.' When he noticed her worried look at him. He was always okay. But she caught him, sometimes, not always. When he was not trying to brave the pain. Why, she could not help, such a sweet, strong child, would be cursed by any 'angry spirits' was beyond her. Again, it was silly, and she had to stop thinking it was anything to do with 'spirits' or the like.
Azazel was chatting up his parents on this car ride home from his latest check-up on his broken arm. He had been yapping about monsters and musing about drawing one of his own. Or, well, painting. He enjoyed that much more than drawing. Though he was not good at it yet, he wasn't too bad. Azazel paused long enough to ask his dad, as he usually did, about his indigenous ancestry, specifically asking about monsters. His father, who was only half-blood and partially Germanic, commented that the last time he told him stories of such things, Azazel was scared for a week, thinking one was in his closet. Which Azazel giggled, commenting back that he wasn't afraid anymore! But before the conversation could carry on, his father noticed a truck driver driving strangely behind them. Azazel looked through his window to see what was going on, only to see the truck suddenly turned into the back of their car, sending it sliding to one side before it caught, and flipped onto its side. Sliding across the road, metal scraping against asphalt was the last thing Azazel heard before everything went dark.
Though he was awake, he could only guess that it was a few minutes later, his mother holding him as she was running. Staring back at his father, his vision blurred for a moment before looking over toward the truck, now on its side, and the smell of some kind of gas filled the air. Then he heard several booms, and fire started exploding, like a chain reaction, suddenly surrounding them. As things got hot and too bright, Azazel closed his eyes, feeling something hit his mother before they were both tumbling into grass, and rolling down a bit down a small slope. Though she was a bit burnt by the fire, she was more concerned with Azazel. Who had taken some burns on his arms, legs, and face. She was repeatedly asking to tell him where it hurt, otherwise, he ignored her. Because he was honestly too shocked by the situation to respond. Mostly because he didn't see his father. When Sharada noticed this too, she stood and screamed out her husband's name. Azazel was able to breathe when D'Arcy emerged from the smoke just a few feet away. Finally, he snapped back from his episode. Standing up and running to the other, shouting at his mother so she would see him, too.
After a bit of a stint in the hospital to make sure his wounds weren't more serious, Azazel, his mother, and father returned home and resumed life. Azazel wore the new wounds proudly. Showing them off to his siblings for the most part, not wanting to focus on anything else, as he didn't want to think about it. One of his oldest siblings commented that 'burn scars' would be cool. Then commented that Azazel's didn't look like they would be noticeable. Before the two got in a playfight over it in a childish little argument. Which, as soon as Sharada had noticed this, shut it down, not wanting to have Azazel's injuries get worse. One of his siblings commented that Azazel was a walking bad luck totem, jokingly at this before running off to find something they could all do that wouldn't irritate Azazel's wounds. Pulling out a board game. The family spent some hours playing before going to bed. Once again, life returned to normal for the family.
After that, things were normal for a long time. The 'bad luck' seemed to have worn out, much to Sharada's delight. Perhaps she was just worrying too much, and overthinking it, she decided. As Azazel and his siblings grew up, he still got into little accidents, but nothing too life-threatening, thankfully. He seemed to settle more into who he would soon to be as an adult, she came to realize. As well, he showed to be quite intelligent, earning some amount of attention due to her persistence. As he seemed to show a budding interest in the sciences, she pushed him in that direction, letting him experiment and grow in that field as much as she possibly could.
In school, Azazel was often viewed as 'odd' for his quirky personality. But capitalized on many of the more 'jocky' and 'popular' types, offering to get them passing grades for some extra cash, so he didn't have to spend his time working some crummy part-time job through school, like his older siblings did. Entirely so he could focus on his own pursuits. It was during these teenage years that he honed his advisory skills. Especially when he was in line to take up an important role in a local gang he had gotten in with in these early years of his life, because of his skills, and rather than being an adversary, he made a better asset. Not only did he want his classmates to just use his answers, he wanted them to learn, and he wanted them to love learning. Or, well, he hoped they would do the work on their own, and still pay him for it. But whatever got him money, he wasn't too upset with what the outcome would usually be. But eventually he skipped a couple of grades, and within a few years, was attending university, one of the best in the country. Earning a doctorate and falling in love.
Eventually the two were made aware she was pregnant with their child. They both were excited over the idea of having a child. Azazel, who had been heavy into drinking and staying out late at night, do to unresolved trauma he was keeping to himself, told himself at this time that he was going to have to cut back on these habits. He even considered leaving the gang, but quickly dismissed this notion, finding it too valuable and enjoyable to leave. But he still found that starting a family would be in conflict with the dangers of being in a gang. Especially when he was in such an important position. However, he decided to not think about it, as it was distressing. Then kept putting it off, over and over again. Till it was time for the baby to be born. Just on time, his girlfriend woke him early one morning to tell him it was time and he grabbed her bag she had pre-prepared, helping her to the car. Driving her to the hospital. Everything looked to be going well. Azazel was with her when she brought their son into the world. But all too quickly, things went sour. While holding their son, he had seen how happy she was, before suddenly the color was leaving her face. The baby was taken away. He was healthy. But then, everything started to get hectic after that. He was rushed out of the room without saying much, except that his girlfriend was bleeding out.
Hours passed, his family was with him, his father or mother asking on his behalf what was happening during these times, when he didn't. It was during the night, when he was told that his girlfriend had died from blood loss. Angry, Azazel lashed out, demanding to know what could have happened. Only to be told 'It just happened' and 'We did everything we could'. His mother came to hold him, to stop him from getting more upset, and potentially hurting someone, which wasn't even on his mind at the moment. Despite his anger, he knew he had plenty of other things to take care of than spend any effort going to prison, for whatever he could have done, that night. Not an hour later, he was told he could visit his son. He wasted no time in doing so. Entering the room, he saw the baby, squirming a bit in his blanket he was wrapped in. Hesitating, he made his way over and reached over, cooing down at his son before gently brushing a finger along his red-stained face. It was just them, and it hurt so much to think of it like that. Just the two of them, now. Suddenly he remembered the conversation he and his girlfriend had on what to name the baby.
"What about Mapplethorpe?" "What? That names going to get him bullied. We can't name our baby Mapplethorpe." "Oh come on, AZ-a-zell, Mapplethorpe is totally a cute name!" "No! I'd rather name him James. At least it's boring."
He realized that he could hear her voice still, now. But soon enough, he wouldn't even remember it. Taking a seat next to the baby, he sighed, resigning to name their son Mapplethorpe, for her. Already regretting it, but knew he had to. At least his middle name would be James, he decided.
After being allowed to come home, Azazel brought Mapplethorpe home to Stargazer Villa, and the two spent the following six years without any major incident. A few pets and what felt like a lifetime later, Mapplethorpe and Azazel had carved quite a life for themselves. Azazel never left the gang, under his watchful eye when the two did come into contact. As things started to get more serious, Azazel would leave Mapplethorpe with his siblings, explaining he had to do stuff for his day job as a biotechnologist, and he figured the other would have been better off enjoying the company of his cousins. Though he had no clue how dangerous things had truly gotten till it was literally right on top of him. A day after dropping his son off on one such visit to one of his siblings, his memories just stop, and start not making much sense.
Then, suddenly, he is waking up. The dark star filled sky over him, the moon seeming fuller and bigger than it usually did on this day. Or maybe it was just in his head, honestly. He was lying somewhere, in the middle of nowhere, it seemed. He felt numb at first, as if his brain wasn't readily acknowledging…whatever happened. Taking in a deep breath, though, something snapped. Something inside of him was broken, or wrong, or- well, he couldn't really explain it, himself. But before he could stop himself, he was screaming like a banshee out there in what seemed to be the middle of nowhere. Thrashing against the ground, tears building in his eyes, before spilling out. Twisting his body, arching his back, he screamed before grabbing his head as all these emotions had suddenly crushed down on him. He swore he could hear barking, howling in the area around him. Wolves, or coyotes, maybe. He didn't have the brainpower to decide which one was more concerning at that moment. As this compulsion washed over him. Then suddenly, after some minutes, it stopped. He was numb again, curled up into a ball, his arms wrapped around his head. Now shaved down to a buzzcut. He had to think, he had to control himself. He told himself. Though the lack of memories, yet all these devastating emotions that washed over him, made doing so hard for him.
He felt extremely weak, especially after that uncharacteristic fit he just had. He didn't really register them as his, as he could not remember in that moment, just why he was feeling them. Pushing himself up took several tries. He felt just too weak at first. When he would get up just enough, he would collapse again, needing to rest for a few minutes. It was cold out here, but that was the last thing he was worried about. But what wasn't he worried about at the moment? He felt confused and lost about a lot of things. A million questions flooded his mind. But he couldn't even begin to answer them in this place, this nowhere he woke up in. He had to get home. He made that his first goal. Attempting to stand again, he managed to do it this time, though it took a few steps, holding a hand to his gut, before stumbling and falling to his knees. Catching himself with his free hand, he prevented himself from collapsing to the ground entirely. Something was very wrong, that was the issue, and he didn't know if he could get over it, and survive out here. Lifting his head, he looked around, at first only seeing absolute darkness aside from the little light the moon and stars in the clear sky provided him. It was no use in the desert brush that surrounded him.
But he continued to try, regardless of his weakened state. Even when he started to feel downright sick and ready to give up, he persisted, making his way to the lights in the distance. That he knew was one indicator of humanity. All he needed to do was get there. Though in the hours it took to get himself there, he stumbled, crawled, and dragged himself there. He recognized he hadn't even been far from home. Slouching against a building, he assessed, exhausted, his situation. Maybe, he told himself, if he just slept, everything would be better after that. Azazel pushed himself forward, trying to remember the way home from where he was. His clothes were in tatters, and filthy. Which seemed to bring him some attention, well, the way he looked, period, seemed to garner some attention from people leaving businesses that were still open at this hour, like bars. Azazel hadn't even registered these people, just focusing on keeping himself upright. Eventually, as the sun was looking as if it might rise soon, he came onto his street. Walking up to his house, he saw some yellow tape. Reaching out, he angrily ripped it off his door and tossed it out behind him, it getting caught in the wind. Then it got caught on a corner. Reaching into his pocket he hoped to find his key, only to find nothing. Great. Reaching up, he toyed with a part of the house that soon came loose, a key dropping out onto the stoop. With agonizing difficulty, Azazel knelt down to grab the key and stuck it in the door
Once inside, he realized why tape was on the door, seeing a significant amount of blood, he guessed that people thought he was dead or something, with how much blood stains still dotted the house. But he didn't have time to think about that. He was just set on sleeping. Not even thinking how things remained as they were, nothing was out of place, the blood didn't reach passed the entrance. Though as he moved to climb into his bed, he noticed how everything seemed to have some layer of dust on it. He told himself, once he had a decent night's sleep, he could figure out everything else that was going on. His mind just needed to rest before it could connect all the indefinite pieces that kept popping up in his head, sparking more bursts of overwhelming emotions. Unfortunately, days later, no amount of sleep resolved much, if any of it. But what did come to mind, he knew he had to keep to himself, along with the strange illness that he came home with, an absolute secret, even though it exacerbated his mental health along with it. He had to get used to when he needed to make his exits in efforts to keep his secrets. Once he had a few days to himself to get used to this new state of life, he revealed himself to well, not be dead, and back from wherever it is he even went.
With the questions from several directions mostly being about where he was, what happened, and the like, he refused to answer them. Quickly making exits wherever possible to go do something else of seeming importance. When it came to Mapplethorpe, he told the sibling primarily taking care of him at the moment to keep his son for the time being. Not sure it was safe, and still not sure if he was dangerous, with his sudden state of mind, and the illness making it worse, it seems he thought it would be better. Though he did let his sibling visit him with his son occasionally since coming back. What bothers him most, however, since coming back was his welcome back to regular mafia activity, putting on a strong front, he laughed off questions about where he was, what he had been doing all that time, and all of that. Not really ever giving a definitive answer, but played off his absence well enough. Or at least he hoped, but the whispers, the rumors buzzing from the housekeeping at the head of the family's home really would become a problem, one he had to make sure didn't get too out of control, one way or another. Even if it meant spilling blood on the carpet.
Self-Para's
Notable events/milestones: TBD. Accomplishments: TBD. Memories: TBD. Criminal record: Failure to appear/loitering. Affiliations: Mafia, Consigliere of the VITELLI FAMILY. Skeletons in the closet: TBD.
Relationships
Grandparents: Unknown Parents: Sharada Hawthorn (Chaudhari)(Mother)(Alive), D'Arcy Hawthorn (Father)(Alive). Sisters or brothers: 4 Older siblings. Wife or husband: None Children: A son. Currently living with one of Azazel's siblings since he's been missing. Other important persons: The devil may care(X)/The close encounter(RIKA HOSHINO)/The cracked jewel (X)/The malingering sloth (KINERET VITELLI)/The bad omen (SALEM JUNG)/The tiger shark (X) Partner(s)/Significant other(s): Daniel Spanou, Jazmín Ostrowski, Robertina Felipe , Zdislava Gómez, Hèctor Franklin, Gray Szabolcsi, Atousa Schultheiss, Vladimira Karimi, Renza Paulsen, Ambrose Grabowska, The tiger shark (X). Lover(s): Viliam Sheenan, Petro Sugita, Tancrède Temitope, Jacinth Shiraishi, Flavius Vaughan, Rehema Ölvirsson, Zaki Jahodová. Parents/Guardians: Best friends: Víkingr Gill, Adélard Kurz, Azra Krastiņa, Varuna Caivano. Friends: Kelley Calabrese, Gláucio Pál, Ismaël Abdullah, Adewale Abeln, Lina Pain, Conn Abdullayeva, Yaara Quirk, Simon Kovac, Jamshed Urano, Isapo-Muxika Sheedy, Guwisti Dalton, Inga Lukáč, Manius Kocsis, Andre Šarić, Zoe Yonker, Édouard Tsvetanov, Anah Giménez, Fernão Pugliese, Beata Warren, Dálach Linden, Dipaka Van Houten, Helmut Abdullayev, Raju Banerjee, Oghenero Zheng, Zoriana Mac Ruaidhrí, Maja Jacobse. Rivals: Marusya Babić, Hilding Ionescu, Oona Alvey, Zedong Oberst, Sébastienne Sydykova, Lorena Mlynáriková, Vancho Suess, Lisha Rutgers. Enemies: Helvius Davis, Tomiko Gold, Johannes Mägi, Younes O'Connor, Röstäm Klementová, Katrina Jiang. Colleagues: Mentors/Teachers: Raül Musil, Tam Cummings, Lamech Reece, Bodil Mulligan, Dalibor Westbrook, Nadir Antall, Miriana Roman, Erik Watts, Ferdi Andrysiak, Selig Shaughnessy. Idols/Role models: Socrates, Cesare Beccaria, Plato, Lao Tzu, Hypatia, Jacques Derrida, Jacques Lacan, Voltaire, Max Scheler, John Stuart Mill, Babe Ruth, Denzel Washington, Neil Armstrong, Carl Sagan, Chris Rock, Theodore Roosevelt, Abraham Lincoln, Nostradamus, Angelina Jolie, Noah (Ark), Ernest Hemingway, Michael Jordan, Robin Williams, Pablo Picasso, Charles Darwin, Robert Downey Jr, Galileo Galilei, Albert Einstein, Aristotle, Amelia Earhart, Alexander the Great, Harry Houdini, Bruce Lee, C. S. Lewis, Nikola Tesla, Leonardo da Vinci, Unatural things: TBD.
Physical Characteristics
Addictions: Alcohol Bad Habits:
Seems to "zone out" when music is playing Taps fingers on surfaces Biting fingernails Overthinking Popping/snapping bubble gum in public Pacing Maintains intense eye contact Shows up unannounced
Color of Eyes: Deep Dark Brown. The color of Hair: Dark Brown. Type of hair: When not tamed with product or such, his hair can be curly. 3b type. It's pretty thick and usually appears styled/gelled/other, Or soft when left in a cleaned natural state. Hairstyle: Used to have hair long, very long, almost has never had his hair cut his entire life. Will fight tooth and nail if someone tries. More because he doesn't like to be touched, and such. So his hair has just grown to be incredibly long, and with that, he spends a lot of time working on keeping it out of his way, and the way of others. Examples. Upon his return from his assumed death, it is cut much shorter, initially a buzzcut when he came back, now a little longer. The color of Skin: Cold Golden Brown. That's now a lot paler. Fashion style: Prefers wearing elegant clothing, practical clothing, and respectable clothing. All with cool colors, winter colors, or light colors. Often wearing hats, scarves, gloves, belts, and some jewelry. Favorite outfits: Here. Accessories: A book, A pocket watch, A whistle, A bookmark, a Bottle of pills, a Chain, A Fork, A Harmonica, Pistol, A bottle of glue, an Umbrella, Silencer, a Skateboard, a Kitchen knife, Handheld game systems, a Laptop, Journal, all in his backpack interchangeably. Cleanliness/Grooming: He is often good at keeping up his hygienic habits but can be messy. Posture/Gait: Takes a knee when he kneels, Sleeps/rests in the fetal position, When he crouches he squats fully, Stands with arms akimbo, that is with hands on hips, elbows pointing outward. Coordination (or lack thereof): Most of the time he has excellent coordination. But not all of the time. Does the character drink regularly? Yes. Does the character have any disabilities/conditions? Yes
Asthma [mild persistent] ADHD [impulsive/hyperactive type] Sleepwalking Undiagnosed illness Paranoia Generally Low Tolerance for everything Dissociative Amnesia CPTSD Misophonia Anemia Narcolepsy
Does the character smoke? Yes. Good Habits:
Can literally fall asleep anywhere Strong convictions Thrives in hot weather, hates cold weather Prone to singing, whistling, or humming quietly Brutally honest in most conversations Likes to file their fingernails to sharp points because it makes them feel more dangerous Fantastic chef, but hates to cook Wears long sleeves with thumb holes to cover the lower part of the palm Loves to walk in the rain Restless/constantly needing to move/fidget [Dispersing energy]
Height: 5'10” Weight: 137 Body type: Lean/Toned. Fitness level: Intermediate Tattoos: Has five tattoos. Scars/Birthmarks: Has eight scars. Has eighteen birthmarks that look more like freckles, dotted across his body. Hobbies:
Woodworking Metalworking Learning Crafting Gardening/other Coloring Astronomy Antiquing Mathematics Experimenting Parkour Chess Painting Playing board/tabletop games
Is he/she wearing glasses? No. Is the character healthy or does he have any diseases? No. What’s the style of the character? (modern, outmoded): Practical and elegant.
Mental Characteristics
Education: Attended University. IQ: 180. Skills/talents: Hiding, Palm objects, Giving advice, Nature lore, Climbing, Personal productivity. Fears: Abandonment/Loss of identity. Optimist or pessimist?: Pessimist. Daredevil or cautious?: A bit of both, given a situation, more so a daredevil, however. Logical or emotional?: Logical. Disorderly and messy or methodical and neat?: Probably a disordered, yet methodical and clean mess. Prefers working or relaxing?: Relaxing. Confident or unsure of himself/herself?: Confident. Animal lover?: Yes. Self-perception: That he is an omen of bad luck or something like that.. Assumed external perception: Winning. Self-Confidence: Strong. Rational Or Emotional: Rational. Personality traits: Eccentric/Brutal/Ambitious/Dependable/Principled/Deceitful/Impersonal/Complex/Secretive/Charming/Tense/Compassionate/Precise/Well-read/Chummy/Honorable/Distractable/Surprising/Casual/Steely/Crafty/Aloof Personality type: INTJ. Enneagram: 8w7. Character archetype: Ruler. Zodiac: Scorpio. Moral Alignment: True Neutral most of the time, but will to jump alignments from Good to evil, given what the situations call for. Temperament: Phlegmatic. Animal Types: Owl Aura: Honeysuckle Chakra: Third Eye (Imbalanced) Hogwarts House: Ravenclaw. Patronus: Great Grey Owl, Bat or Buzzard. Ilvermorny House: Horned Serpent. Introvert/Extrovert: Introvert. Holland Code: ICA: Investigative, Conventional, Artistic. Morals/Virtues: Chastity, Patience. Sins/Vices: Sloth, Gluttony. Dark Triad: Machiavellian-ism. Elemental: Fire (Electricity) or Air. Avatar Element: Earth. Divergent: Erudite. Loves: Clutter, Horror movies, Trips, Toys, Running, Animals, Puzzles, Spicy food, Art, Fall, Organizing, Blue, Rugby, Meditation. Angered by/Pet peeves: Humming, Over apologizing, Telemarketers, Line cutters. Obsessed with: Zoomania, Methomania, Ergasiomania, Klopemania, Technomania, Bibliomania, Infomania. More Secrets: Makes up stories since he thinks he's boring. Shot someone. Regrets: His seemingly stubborn and odd behavior made other children avoid him when he was growing up. Feeling like he's missing out. Unknowingly helped a friend do something that hurt other people, finding out afterward. Not accepting being friends with someone who would have had a better impact on his life as he grew up. Wrote a best-selling novel, that was stolen and put under another person's name. Not liking some foods. One of his musician friends invited him to join their band, but he left the opportunity because of a trivial matter he had with himself. Preferred communication methods: Listening and visual communication. Style and pacing of speech: Casual style, pace is normal, understandable when not excited. He pauses a little more than regularly to think. Pitch: His pitch can be low-mid to mid-high. Laughter: Pigeon laughter. Smile: Warm smile. Use of gestures: Nodding, Shaka sign, Manipulator gestures, and Iconic gestures. Facial expressions: Ecstatic, Pitying, Impassive, Stolid, Sanguine, Vacant, Scornful, Glancing, Straight-faced, Chagrined, Cheeky, Hopeless, Bleak, Blinking, Wry, Wary, Bilious, Somber, Tight, Glaring, Darkly. Verbal expressions: Bloviation, Mutterings, Utterances, Whispering, Talking through.
Emotional Characteristics
How does the character cope with fury and rage? Probably go and work on one of his interests. Or he may just argue/fight the person who put him in this state of mind. … with unhappiness? Certainly, go away to focus on a project/interest till he feels better. … with rivalry? Ignore them. Or Antagonize them. … with new situations? They are fine. … with trouble? Handle it. What’s his or her meaning of life? Hasn't decided yet. What makes this character happy? Be able to do his hobbies or invest in his interests. Is the character often biased? Here and there. Probably. Depends on that topic. Does the character prefer to give or to take? He leans more toward giving. But he's not ashamed of just taking, either. Character Questions
Here
![[ PHOEBE TONKIN, 34, CIS WOMAN, SHE/HER ] CHARLOTTE BRENNAN Just Walked Down Main Street. They Are A](https://64.media.tumblr.com/1d3581db5d9a43ba2035464bd131871c/4658f180fe0342c9-65/s500x750/60b8cacfe5d1c3ea2d747739e9c86309fe15868f.jpg)
[ PHOEBE TONKIN, 34, CIS WOMAN, SHE/HER ] CHARLOTTE BRENNAN just walked down main street. They are a OWNER OF BRENNAN who has been in Silverkeep for ALL THEIR LIVES. They are part of the CRESCENT pack and act as ALPHA. People know them as LOYAL & CUNNING but also as CLOSED-OFF & IMPULSIVE. They are described as BURNING EYES, BOURBON ON HER BREATH AND LEATHER JACKET.
TW MURDER, DEATH
For generations, the Brennan have led the Crescent pack, it was never a secret in the Brennan's household, what they were, or who their father was. The town was small and rather quiet and the Brennan's household often felt too small to Charlotte, with her three siblings and all those from the pack who constantly came around. Little Charlotte's escape was colors and papers, paint, crayons, and anything that could leave a mark on a canvas. With her nose in her sketchbook, everything around her faded.
Charlotte was 14 when their mother left and she chose to feel nothing but anger toward it. Charlotte and her twin were the eldest and their father was busy with the bar and the pack so it too often fell on them to make sure the two younger ones were fed, clean and their homework done. Charlotte often stayed up late, making sure her father ate when he closed the bar down for the night. Then she stayed late because she couldn't take the way the house felt anymore. She would go out and wreak havoc wherever she could, getting herself in trouble as much as possible. It followed her, trouble, attracting it.
Charlotte wanted out. Out of the town, out of her family. Graduation was supposed to be her golden ticket, gone the day after, not telling anyone. But things didn't work out that way, her curse being triggered one week before graduation. The TISH acceptance letter was thrown in the garbage, her acceptance was turned down in an email. No one knew and no one would.
They all knew that her father wasn't immortal, but the sickness came quicker than they could see it and before anyone knew, he was on his deathbed, begging for mercy. And Charlotte was the one giving it to him, that mercy he so much needed. She thought her twin would take his rightful place as Alpha and that maybe, she could leave then, at least for a little while. But once again, things didn't work like she thought they would and she was the one to be made Alpha.
Charlotte always loved the pack, that was not the problem. She just had dreams that did not work with it. And the second she became Alpha, the pack became everything. No one could ever doubt her motivations, not before and not now.