Realistic or Modern [B L O O D L I N E S] - Character Sign-up 2

[kou]

O B I T U S C H A R A C T E R S H E E T

created by @Angst

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Name


What's their birth name?


Code Name


What name do they use within the gang? Include both a first and a last name, different from their birth name.


Age


18+


Gender


Include pronouns please.


Sexuality


Romantic and sexual orientation please.


Moral Alignment


What's their moral alignment?


Birthday


When were they born?


Nationality


Where were they born?


Ethnicity


Where were their ancestors born?


Blood Type


We need this for...reasons.


Role


Member, Leader, Co-Leader? What are they?

Criminal Specialty


What type of crime do they excel at? (For leaders and co-leaders, leave blank.)

RULE

Faceclaim


Who do they look oddly similar to?


Hair


Color and style please.


Eyes


What color are they?


Height


How tall are they?


Weight


How much do they weigh?


Build


How is their body structured?


Clothing Style


What do they generally wear?


Other


Any interesting features? (Optional)

THIS

Persona


1-2 paragraphs please.

Theme


What song reminds you of them?

Additional


Anything else you want us to know?

CITY

Writing Sample


This can be taken from another rp that you are or have been a part of. It's just to give us a sense of how you write.

 

[Bhlow]

Roslyn Westwick

Full Name: Roslyn Scarlett Westwick

Code Name: Scarlett Vixen / Roslyn Smith / Rose


Date of Birth: 02.04.1994 - Aries


Age: 22


Gender: Cis Female - She, her


Sexuality: Heterosexual


Nationality: London


Ethnicity: Caucasian


Blood Type: B+


Role: Member


Criminal Specialty: Assassination

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[logastellus]

Basics

Name

Mackenzie Gunvaldsson

Code Name

Florence Capello//Havok

Age

24

Gender

Cis-Female//Her//She

Sexuality

Omniromantic Demisexual

Moral Alignment

Bad

Birthday

December 7th,1991

Nationality

Stockholm,Sweden

Ethnicity

Swedish/African-American

Blood Type

O positive

Role

Co-Leader


Criminal Specialty


N/A

Appearance

Faceclaim

Mackenzie is a splitting image of Zoe' Saldana. People say that she has the same facial features and body of the lovely actress. Mackenzie just ignores them yet will sometimes research the actress to see if the really are similar looking.


Hair


Dark Brown


Eyes


Hazel Blue


Height


135lbs

Weight

5'9

Build

Toned,Curvy

Clothing Style

Mack enjoys wearing the leather all black clothing along with the cargo bomber jackets and combat boots. Depending on if she is in a meeting or attending a special event with her boss she will dress up in very fancy and high class cothing.

1 2 3 4

Other

Unlike her twin sister, Mack is deaf but can not only do sign language but read lips and speak semi perfect english

Persona

Persona

Mack is a quiet and observant female, she is looked at as intimidating and people fear her for that. She has a very nonchalant and stoic demeanor and has no problem with bring brutal. Growing up she didn't have to luxury of hearing and was constantly either looked at as a target for bullying or a target for pity. Mackenzie hated both by she hated the fact that she couldn't stand up for herself even more. Her older twin sister Morgan was always there to protect her from harm and while Mack was thankful for it she felt regret that she had to let her older sister tale care of her. Mackenzie may not be able to hear but she sure is a damn good reader...she can read lips from more than a feet away and uses her other senses to help her in assignments. Unlike some of the other members in the gang, Mackenzie has a humorous side to her. She can be facetious at unexpected moments and can doesn't give a rats ass whether someone is butthurt over it or not. She hates people who look at her disability as a burden and take pity on her. If there is one shes not its weak and helpless. Mackenzie is feared by all the members except the Leader and second Co-leader in the gang and enjoys it, she likes things done her way without question.

Theme

Dark Necessities-Red Hot Chili Peppers

Additional

Anything else you want us to know?

History

Writing Sample

Yeah No.

 

[atomic]

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name ;; owen griffith

n.name ;; seven sin, irvine graves

age ;; twenty-one y/o


birthday ;; mar 17 1995


gender ;; cis male (he/him)


sexuality ;; doesn't care (pan)


crush ;; "i hate people"


blood type ;; AB negative


role ;; obitus leader
​

A P P E A R A N C E

faceclaim ;; sin has an uncanny resemblance to the man we call matt lanter, though these days - he would be a much angrier looking matt lanter. perhaps a bit dead inside.





height ;; the griffith family has always been graced with tall legs and they more often than not tower over the people they meet. owen, however, grew to be the tallest of them all with his younger brother standing at 6 foot.





build ;; its only expected that a notorious gang leader would be fit and owen doesn't lack in that department. although his muscles don't bulge out of his skin like an athlete, he is built like a wolf and designed for power.





weight ;; because of his build, griffith weighs about 173 lbs, which, considering his height and muscle isn't particularly a lot. that can be chalked up to his poor diet, coming from such a poor background


eyes ;; some people might find that owen's expression is piercing and sometimes venomous, and that has a lot to do with his eyes. like his mother, owen shares the woman's cold blue gaze and it helps a lot when he wants people to know how much he doesn't like them.





hair ;; there's nothing remarkably significant about owen's hair when he doesn't spend any time on it. brown and unkempt, he usually lets it do whatever it wants. on the off chance that he's not wearing a beanie, it will usually be kept up like a duck tail.





complexion ;; owen griffith has always been a bit on the darker side despite the fact that he wears the optimal amount of clothing. he gets his tan when he works in the garage and on cars in his free time. the man doesn't have the capability to blush, but he can sometimes drain the color from his face based on how angry he gets. however, his skin is probably the most expressive feature about him. the man is littered in scars, the most notable being a reasonable scar that rests on his right temple. very few people know how he got it and he wouldn't even give God the time to explain. the other scars that can be found on his torso, back, and abdomen are the results of gunshots, knives, and fights.


apparel ;; owen never really had a fashion taste, coming from a family that can't even afford electricity and water in the same month. he gets most of his clothes from thrift stores but tends to keep to hoodies, old and worn leather jackets, and white tank tops. he'll only ever wear jeans and most of the jeans he wears have holes and may be ripped. though, there are two accessories that you will hardly ever see the boy without. the first being a silver cross necklace that he couldn't seem to get rid of even after he turned his back on his religion. the second item is his trusty beanie, which no man should be without.

P E R S O N A L I T Y

moral alignment ;; chaotic evil


owen is probably the most complicated man you will ever have the misfortune to meet. upon first meeting the man, he will regard you by neglecting to regard you in the first place. coming off as blunt and rude, it will be difficult to get past any sort of relationship milestone as owen has no need for other people in his life. this isn't to say that talking to him is like talking to a cardboard box. on the contrary, a conversation with owen is much like a roller coaster. he will string together a long and convoluted series of sarcastic quips and metaphors to artistically let you know how much he doesn't care about you. he will bluntly insult you in any way he finds fit. he may even give you the silent treatment, accompanied by a cocked brow or a blank stare - chances are he's blocked you out as white noise. if you get to know him even a little bit, you will find that he still doesn't change much and he may even treat you worse than before. this makes being his friend an accomplishment to be proud of.


above, is owen on his good days. owen on his bad days goes a little something like this. the man is irritable and won't waste a second in tearing you down. he is one of the most observant people you will ever meet because owen griffith knows humanity and all its dark sides. he knows what makes people tick and thrives on breaking them down until there's nothing left. he gets violent but happens to be good at controlling his violence so he isn't constantly being arrested. he is irrevocably a broken human and is internally fighting a war within his own mind. he hates almost everything but the one thing he hates the most, is himself.


there's a seemingly masochistic cycle that he puts himself through wherein he distances himself from people to a point where it starts to hurt him. he wouldn't call himself lonely because, in his mind, the more miserable he is, the better. he drinks himself to sleep and hurts others just to suffer the guilt, and furthermore the pain that it brings. because things happened in owen's life that he feels he deserves to be punished for. when you're a kid and you take the full weight of the world on your shoulders, it tends to leave scars. and owen's past, present, and future is riddled with them.


getting into an actual relationship with owen is something people have only dreamed about. he has no problems sleeping with any person that's stupid enough to fall for his charm and he will drop them the next day like nothing even happened. this whole sleeping with everything that has two legs deal is yet another thing that undoubtedly makes him feel guilty which is why he'll never stop. and maybe its ironic that owen distances himself from those he cares about for the soul reason that he's terrified of losing them. he couldn't survive it a third time.

H I S T O R Y

family ;; owen is the son of walter and katherin griffith. walter works as a lawer in a highly esteemed law firm and was barely seen around the house between work and his 'extracurricular activities'. though he left the family without a trace when owen was still a kid. owen's mom worked countless hours in the department of diagnostic medicine. on his mom's side owen never had much family that was still around and in the states, but his dad's side was notorious for its wealth and prosperity. his grandmother died before he was born but his grandfather was the founder of a prestigious school and oversaw companies that built weapons for vietnam and late WWII. however, owen was only ever close to his grandfather who died when he was about 12 years old. nathan, introduced when owen turned three died almost eleven years later due to gang related causes.


now, owen is completely alone. his mother lives in a care facility for her condition and owen only has himself and his gang to look out for. though, he may not actually be looking out for himself due to the state of his mind.


his entire lineage is in the states





background ;; for the most part, owen's history is quite the enigma for practically anybody who knows him. but there are a few things that can be gathered from other sources. owen was born under katherine and walter griffith and lived in a beach house in america until he was about nine or ten years old. when he was three years old, his mom gave birth to another owen's little brother, nathan griffith. the duo was then made into a trio when family friends introduced their newborn, evangeline st james into their lives. everything went swimmingly until evie's parents went missing and the griffith boys had to say goodbye to the girl who went to go live with her aunt a couple hours away. this was the first time owen experienced loss.





everybody knew that walter and katherine were in an unstable relationship, though nobody knew it better than owen when he caught his father cheating while his mom was away on an internship. though, afraid to open his mouth the boy kept it a secret for an entire year until his ninth birthday. a fight between his mom and dad ensued and owen finally lost it after walter hit katherine. enraged, his drunken mother left with owen and the rest of the night was a blur. this whole story is consumed in rumors and owen would be caught dead before talking about how he got the scar and what happened.


he will however, admit that his father left them soon after with only an old mp3 player to remember him by. guilt ridden and broken, owen was forced to leave the house he'd grown up in and they moved into a crappy neighborhood near where evie was settled. his mother, who owen also didn't talk about except for the occasional comment such as 'crazy old bat', could no longer hold down a job. he accepted financial help from mavis st james, evie's aunt, on the grounds that he attend a prestigious school and try to make something of himself. owen did go to school, but he most certainly didn't make something of himself. or perhaps he did, but it was in a manner that disappointed everybody. unable to pertain any information or connect with his peers, owen turned into somebody dark. he was rumored to be involved in gangs, theft, and possibly even murder. though, you'd be stupid to confront him about it.


time and time again, owen has stomached the hardest falls but nothing hit him quite as hard as the tragedy during his freshman year at highschool. he changed for the worse after nathan was killed because of him. he was shattered but still came out looking like the devil's advocate. the blotched out points in owen's history make him somebody that people fear but also crave to figure out. it's not impossible, but it'd be easier to fit a camel through an eye of a needle.


[media]



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T R A I T S

m trait ;; complicated


+ traits ;; honest, loyal, self sufficient, brave, protective, vigilant, clever, witty, capable, hardworking


- traits ;; blunt, care free, hot-headed, cold, observant, assertive, sometimes childish, intellectually lacking, twisted


= traits ;; sarcastic, dark, mysterious, rallying, confidential, contradictory, deceptive, restrained

S K I L L S

owen has always been a jack of all trades, yet a master of none. though not particularly useful, he is decent with a surfboard after nine years living next to the beach. however, when he moved to the city, it became much harder to surf on pavement so he switched over to a skateboard. on a more useful note, the man is a devil with a knife, having used his on people more than once. though he also transfers his talent into recreationally carving out figures in wood which he used to give to nate. now, he'll carve to pass the time but throw away the finished product.


along with that, owen has an impeccable skill for picking people apart and understanding what makes them tick. he uses this to manipulate and subdue his rivals and has in turn climbed to the top because of this skill.

I N T E R E S T S

likes ;; his car (a 1965 ford mustang fastback in which he restored to keep his mind busy after nate died), he likes alcohol to a point where it could kill him, a cigarette a day keeps the doctor away, and the last but certainly least would be owen's fixation to stars. when his own father couldn't find the time for owen, the smaller griffith found a father in evie's dad, cornelius. cornelius filled owen's head with wonder, taught him how to surf and most importantly filled a hole before he disappeared. though there isn't a day that passes that owen looks at stars and doesn't see them as "warriors" due to an old tale from an old friend. next, owen wouldn't call it something he liked as much as it was an obsession of his. but you will often see him pull out an old mp3 player that supposedly belonged to his father. rarely does he listen to it, but when he does, you can be sure he's listening to the killers. and, if there's a piano in the room he will most likely be staring at it with no intention of playing it while you're there as well. walter taught him piano, and while the two of them played, owen was fulled into believing that maybe his father wasn't a monster. there are plenty of small things that make owen somebody distinguishable. like, how he stands on the edges of rooftops to stare off at the ground, knowing he wouldn't jump. that's the easy way out. or maybe he'll dub you a dog's name if you prove to follow him around like a loyal pup. one thing's for certain, if he likes you, prepare for a storm.


dislikes ;; the first thing you should know, is that he absolutely hates emotion. and furthermore, he hates his own emotions, much rather opting to twisted humor or apathy. he hates his headaches that he gets on a regular basis - something to do with that ugly scar on his temple. he hates small dogs and any other pet that he could possibly punt across a football field or suffocate in a handbag. owen hates cats. he hates liars and though owen doesn't lie, he's an expert at twisting his words. he hates disloyalty. he dislikes authority, hates his father. if you name it, there's a fair chance that he more than dislikes it, but most of all, he hates you. try not to take it personally.

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RP EXAMPLE (LONG)

I am on a horse. In his stupidly long lifespan, Zeveran had never once ridden a horse before in his life since the prospect of such ridiculous notions were simply that: ridiculous. He had legs. He did not have eyes. Hence, Zev was the kind of man who was overly satisfied with what he did have. And the idea that a giant hell beast was currently breathing and living between his legs was increasingly something he was not fond of. "Are you sure that these beasts are safe to ride?" The question as to whether or not this girl was a demon was becoming harder to distinguish the longer he felt her presence. So many humans road horses as if they depended solely on the creatures but Baz didn't even know what they truly looked like. He had no concept of what anything looked like and explaining things to the man was near impossible. How would you describe a horse to a man who had only seen vague shadows of the things around him since he'd been born?


Baz had once described a dog to him using words but until the younger Zeveran had actually gotten up the courage to touch the useless thing, he had no way to tell what sharp, fluffy, or jagged was supposed to 'look' like. And as soon as he'd brought his hands away, it was like his sight was taken from him all over again. Unfortunately, Baxter had ended up killing the dog later when it got bit by some forest predator and came back violent and out of its mind. That was the first time he'd seen what red looked like on his own hands and it was also the day he fell in love with the color. It stood out so perfectly against anything and he could see it every time he needed to just by killing somebody when ordered - that was something that Baz had promised him. He grasped a concept of what 'sharpness' looked like when he felt it cut into his flesh by a blade. Well obviously it had been one of the best ways to describe sharpness... until it wasn't.


"Baz. What does this plant look like?" Ten year old Zeveran had asked when Baz had come back from his routine trips to whoever the hell knows. Hell. Probably. "Its sharp boy. Dont tou- Zeveran! You dalcop!" Unfortunately, the sharp 'plant' that Zeveran had tried to get a feel of was a desert cactus from somewhere Zeveran had never gone to. It was too long a travel for the young and worthless demon but apparently, this cactus was vital for Baz's apothecary store. He was soon to find out that sharp was too vague a term. It was used to describe hair, facial features, voices, and apparently... desert plants. It was impossible for him to grasp a concept of what things really looked like without touching it which was perhaps why his hands were the most beat up feature on his person. And this stupid horse... he couldn't tell what it looked like from feeling it. He wondered if it had sharp teeth and glowing eyes. It was definitely large enough to imagine blade like teeth and smokey hair. When the monster ran, he saw the smoke following behind their necks and backside. It was intriguing and terrifying. Not to mention the noises they made. His house was close to a farm and the horses would keep him up at night, knowing that the giant creatures were restless when the stars came out. Its when he heard them the loudest. Or perhaps they were always that loud and night just allowed for their growls to carry. All of these perceptions stayed locked in his head the moment he tried to remember why he was riding one of the monsters in the first place.... Wait. How had she tamed this thing? No. Go back. You were literally heading in the right direction two seconds ago. What direction was tha-Oh... hello.


His heart leapt out of his chest when the demoness clambered up on top of her hellhound in front of him and the thing started moving. His feet should have been on the ground but instead of freaking out, he was trying to decide what to do with his hands. The man was far too close to falling off her horse and he didn't quite fancy the idea of grasping this thing's haunches to keep himself upright and stable. That was a horse pun. Baz would have made that pun. And I think he always expected me to laugh at them. I wonder if he knows I make those humorous quips even now. Where was Baz? He didn't know. But boy did he want too. He had no idea how he was going to get back home from wherever this loudmouthed demon was taking him. She definitely didn't act like one. There was too much emotion in her voice but maybe she was a different type of demon. Maybe she didn't come to this world to kill people. The fact that she wasn't going back to the main city did better to assure him, but his knife was feeling very unused lately and he was itching to fix that. He didn't know who to kill anymore without Sebastian Sallis, and whatever he did now was meant to keep him deathly preoccupied and busy. What did a mentally deficient blind man do on his free time?


Not much.


What did you expect? He was mentally deficient. And partially blind.


You try living a decently normal and exciting life with that combination. Its hard.


But he sure as hell tried to the best of his abilities. It was kind of a shame when anybody who saw Zev would run away. It thrilled him to an irrational extent when he heard the names they'd come up for him. Zev the Daemonfiend. Redhand Baxter. Even Shadoweye had a ring to it even if it was insensitive to his feelings and disability in every sense of the word. That thought was ironic because he didn't feel anything other than physical pain or what he needed to feel according to the task Baz sent him on. If he needed to, the man could be charming, warmhearted, casual, or even a monster. But when no specific guise had been set up for him, he went simply as Zev. A straight face and a hollow voice. No emotion because those were ninety percent ill-advised. It felt weird to take a human's life with a smile on his face. He was a demon, not a sociopath. 'Sociopath' was a term reserved for humanity so he wouldn't smile when he worked. He wouldn't cry. He wouldn't scowl or screw up his lips in disgust. He would simply kill and take what needed to be taken. He had to feed himself and humanity needed to pay the price for what they'd done to demons like him and Sallis.


What is... blehhgh.. His mind was gone again as it always was and he didn't know when he'd ended up wrapping his arms around the demoness' waist in order to keep him from falling. Zeveran might have taken time to enjoy it, if not for her wonderfully red hair spoiling his mood when it got stuck in his face. He would have loved to tell the hair to behave like his own cleanly cut locks, but females did not like to listen to reason. Needless to say, he figured something as stupidly inanimate as hair would not obey either. Ignoring his problems, Zev heard the dogs far before she brought them up and what was left of his heart began to melt some at the idea. He had a weird fixation with the beasts but at the same time, feared everything about them. They were unpredictable and he never could tell when one was about to attack him. So, as much as wanted to run from them when they approached at a fast pace - he ended up embracing all dogs lovingly.


With a knife in the heart.


Every second was unbelievably heartwarming in those moments between him and mans' best friend. The city children tended not to think the same. He could tell by their sick laughter... maybe. Or they'd been was sobbing. Zev found it hard to tell the difference. Finally the horse was stopping and he snaked his arms away from the girl's waist, all too eagerly leaping off the massive creature when he could. "I did not like that but I could not voice my opinion on the matter. Your hair was in my mouth. Thank you for that," with a face so dang serious and straight, nobody outside his own head would have been able to tell if that had been dry humor or if he was just being disturbingly truthful. Baz would have known it was the latter for some odd reason. He was an excellent judge in character - even Baxter's limited one. "Please never let me ride your horse again. I like a grounded experience. And you are massively mistaken. I love dogs. And the mere minutes I spend with them are quite enjoyable. It is a shame that we always part on much different terms. But the affection is there, I can assure you. Hmm." he stopped talking and completely began to disregard the woman's presence like he had been doing for quite some time now. Yes. Even on the horse, she was pleasantly placed far from his mind. Obviously.


And now he was standing God knows where, with approximately three dismembered thumbs, three stolen hunks of ram, and a loaf of bread in the satchel he'd been carrying - all of which would look blurringly lovely on his dining table. Well. Most of it. He need to send those thumbs to certain people. Unfortunately, he reserved the vases for roses rather than fingers and his shackled guests tended to be quite perturbed when things like fingers were left carelessly on the table. Baz always got unbelievably frustrated when he did things like that. "I do not know how to get home because I neglected to tell you that I have to find the blacksmith's before I can find my way back. It is a route that I have memorized quite well. But it seems... I am... in trees. Is that your home?" His eyes narrowed as he tried to make out the shabby structure, furthermore failing to make out anything other than a slightly blurry shabby structure. "I will stay and eat your tea and drink your biscuits and, tomorrow, we can find Baz as expected. He tends to not like when I don't come back. Er... did I say drink biscuits? Because that is not what you do with biscuits. Nor tea." he had been pivoting around in place for quite a while now, turning in circles and trying to get in everything he could with the senses he had. It was quiet here except for the dogs he heard farther away. The trees had a way of speaking to him when the wind shifted through the branches. It relaxed him and soon his shoulders hunched and the man was yawning. Where am I again? When he turned around again, he had to do a double take on the figure that stood there. "Who are you? Wait. Never mind. I believe I was offered tea. I have ram... and fingers. But mostly ram. Forget about the fingers."

RP EXAMPLE (MED)

He remembered a long talk he had had with Nathan almost too long ago. From early in evening to late in the morning, it was the last talk before Owen left home. He could have laughed at the question his little brother asked him that time. "What's the worst thing about being a werewolf?" There could have been plenty of answers and Owen had told him, "the aggression." But that had since changed for more than one reason and now he could only grumpily agree on a new worst - especially since he joined this pack a week ago. If he could go back, He'd tell Nathan - The mind links. It was like a nonstop channel going off in his head and the voices weren't considerate of each other in any way. One after another, voices of others caused his lips curled to reveal a deadly row of fangs. And who he could possibly reply to first was automatically lost on him and his claws dug into the earth in frustration. It's not like he could shut it off either and anybody was free to invade his head and make it a freaking catastrophe of confusion. The first voice was easy because he could see the wolf that belonged to it and he narrowed those piercing eyes of his in response, "Espinosa, if you'd put that inquisitively curious head of yours to good use - you'd be able to smell the deer that may or may not have just been scared off by your sorry pelt." In a way, if a wolf could glare - he would have been in her direction, "And oh... by all means - let me move five feet in a different direction so I can walk around you. Wait.... Yes. That's right. You heard me - you would be surprised at what we, werewolves, can accomplish when we put our minds to it. Unless you're just here for a story. Once upon a time, there was a mindless little warrior female and a most definitely mindless male warrior. Both of them decided to go kill a deer so the esteemed and highly exalted delta could go see what the HELL everybody else wants with that poor ba****d." And just as quietly as he had come, he walked off - muttering things in his own head to himself about annoyances and wishes that could never possibly come true. One being to be back in his own dark streets. The world he could slink through as a mutt with one purpose - a purpose that was hidden from every single one of these pack members. Lucio - he had no idea how much that alpha knew about him but he hardly cared. Lucio was a man that Owen could trust just as much as expect betrayal from. There was neutral ground between the two of them that neither cared to speak of. The fact was - Lucio needed him and he needed that devil just as much, for the time being. He threw effort into the painful transition between his wolf form and his human form - something that he knew wasn't normal. So damn painful for him and his head felt like he was breaking apart. If anybody knew the effort it took for Owen to change - they could use that as a weakness anytime they wanted. He let his back fall against the tree in human form and he raised a brow at nothing when the alpha's voice rang out in his already throbbing head. Oh yeah - thanks for adding a pack full of voices to accompany his own annoying thoughts to attack his broken head. But dead eyes thought hard on Lucio's request - order - who knew. After a long while of silence as he contemplated answering or not, he finally did, "Pokemon? Ohhh, Lucario, my respect has fallen so damn low. Wait - its already at rock bottom. Oops." See, Owen has always had a problem with authority. It didn't matter if it was police or alphas. Owen treated them just the same. And he treated them like he treated every human on this planet. Not. Worth. His. Sincerity. Its not as if he thought he was better than them - God, not by a long shot. But he couldn't bring it in him to give even the smallest of damns. Perhaps it would have been smart to brown nose the alpha but Griffith was no pup with a tail between his legs and there was a large part of him that figured Lucio hadn't expected any differently. He continued just as easily as he had before, "But no. I'm not busy. Where's my target location big guy." And that's when Owen let out the most pained of frustrated groans when another voice popped into his head unwelcomed. He turned around and hit his head repeatedly against the tree he'd previously been resting on. And the voice that it belonged to didn't help. The impervious duo that couldn't even have been paid to just leave him alone. He began to rube his temple before responding, "Tatum. Jesus. What. what do you want this time? Get out of my head you insufferable she witch. Skye's lucky she didn't get her snout bit off. Can I ask you something? Serious question honey," The hair fell over his eyesm casting it in darkness, "What in Lord's name do you want from me? A dinner for three? A romantic movie where I sit on the opposite side and you two can giggle your lives away after I fall asleep from the chick flick you're undoubtedly going to make me watch. Maybe just a compliment? Wow Tatum, you mind link is crystal clear today. I can barely hear myself think. Well done girl. Its crisssssp."

RP EXAMPLE (SHORT)

He smirked at the girl, flashing a bit of a crooked smile as he leaned in the length of an inch, "Alas, I'll admit it. That was a really great dream. You were fantastic." And the he went back to his easy stance, slipping his fingers back into his pockets as was his default position. He was a docile dude, one that leaned, rested, and supporting himself when at all possible. And pockets were exceptional little places to rest his arms. He listened with a mild interest at best as she rambled on about Harry Potter. Nodding every now and again, he took a moment to study her face and lips while she talked. Not in a, 'wow, this girl is beautiful' way, but a much more Andrew style 'I wonder when how soon I could get her to read me a bedtime story in my room' sort of manner. Andrew didn't go to 'romance' when he looked at people. Though, at this school, who did? Well, there was that Miles 'bloke' and a few in between. But ninety percent of the males in this school were.. let's face it, glorified man 'horses'. At least Andrew recognized this about himself. About half a minute later, he realized that she had stopped talking and his mind was still in 'candy land'. He blinked, cleared his throat, and looked her in the eyes to respond, "That's alright, I couldn't possibly watch Dobby die a second time much less stomach having it read to me." He'd been messing with her, obviously. He wasn't living under a rock and had actually gone to see the movies as they came out. Granted, he hadn't seen the first three as he'd been too young and far too cool to slum it with the geeks. But the call of theatre got to him eventually and it wasn't too bad. He wouldn't go as far as saying reading them would benefit his intellect though. He would rely on the countless hours of school to contribute to his brain cell count. "But listen, if I ever get to watching the first three, I'll be sure to let you know and you could whistle me a tune of HP knowledge, yeah?"

 

[amxlia]

~WIP~

Basics

Appearance

Personality

History

Other

 

[JustWhipIt]

NAME

richard keyes

CODE NAME

byron larsen

AGE

twenty-four

GENDER

male; he/him

ETHNICITY

caucasian

BLOOD TYPE

b-

ROLE

member

NATIONALITY

american

SEXUALITY

aromantic; pansexual

MORAL ALIGNMENT

lawful evil

BIRTHDAY

nov 4


1991

CRIM. SPEC.

kidnapping & abduction

​

A P P E A R A N C E

Faceclaim


chris wood


Eyes


blue


Height


6'0"


Weight


160 lbs


Build


in shape


Hair


dark brown; generally kept somewhat short and neatened


Clothing Style
​

Richard dresses solely for comfort and to blend in with the crowd. He's guilty of owning a number of flannels and hoodies with an occasional t-shirt. He has a heavy preference for black jeans, rarely wearing anything else as far as pants go. Asking him to dress formally is essentially out of the question for him, unless the situation heavily calls for it.

P E R S O N A

Impressions. There's nothing more in the world that Richard values more than impressions. As such, he's "perfected" the art of making a good first impression, often coming across as quite the approachable and goodhearted young man. He leaves little room for doubt and has made a good number of acquaintances over the years this way, something he definitely takes advantage of. These acquaintances are likely to call the man a likable person overall, and having Richard as a friend seemingly too good to be true.


Which unfortunately, just so happens to be the case.


Simply put, Richard has no friends. To him, they merely serve as connections. The impression that he gives others is just that—an impression. Behind the well-mannered person most people take him for, is an outstandingly devious and manipulative soul. The man has absolutely no compassion for anyone, barring himself. He could care less about the feelings of others, acting in his own self-interest only. While the general public isn't aware of the man behind the mask, Richard's peers are the only ones fortunate enough to know his true nature. Needless to say, it deters a number of his "coworkers" from approaching him, to which he doesn't mind. As a matter of fact, he finds dealing with other people a hassle, and will almost always operate alone.


Undoubtedly cruel, Richard is known for playing with his food, so to speak. You could go as far as to call him sadistic—he'd probably take it as a compliment. That being said, any insults or attempt to degrade him would be futile, as he doesn't value the opinions of others in the slightest. Surprisingly, Richard isn't known for killing his targets himself, a job he usually leaves for his fellow gang members. Instead, he finds toying with his captives much more appealing and entertaining. When it comes down to it, all he wants in life is entertainment. While it's most definitely a sick and twisted mindset, it's exactly what makes him effective at his job.

S A M P L E

taken from here​

Even despite being the chipper and spirited person he is, Glenn was no match for mornings. Flipping onto his back, the man drowsily stared at the ceiling, wanting nothing to do with the outside world - not now, at least. Even his eyes were motionless, intensely focused on one point rather than darting around the room. While during the day he would normally have a craving for some form of a social interaction, the most he'd be able to muster at the moment would be a heavily muffled groan. Needless to say, it was most definitely the worse hour of his day. Within a few minutes though, his brain was up and running as usual, even if his body wasn't entirely caught up. Glenn gradually managed to drag himself up from the mattress whilst letting out an exasperated sigh.


He fixed his head towards the desk on the other side of his bedroom, instantaneously recognizing the mess that had occurred there. A layer of newspapers, magazines, writing utensils, and three beer bottles had amassed on the surface the night before, the result of one of Glenn's signature brainstorming sessions. It was all for the report that Mayor Coden had requested of him - a report on the town's acclaimed Groundhog's Day celebration. Being merely a report, the brainstorming session was by no means necessary (it was actually quite unnecessary, in fact). Instead, it was merely an excuse for Glenn to hype himself up for the event and to crack open a cold one (or three, in this case). That wasn't to say he didn't take the job seriously - the Mayor had asked for it himself, after all.


Dragging himself to the bathroom right opposite of his room, Glenn came face to face with mirror hanging on the wall. As expected, his hair had suffered through the night, tufts protruding out in countless different directions. After brushing his teeth, which was more or less him jamming a toothbrush into his mouth and dragging it around, he stepped into the shower. To Glenn, the shower was more of a thinking chamber rather than one for cleaning, taking the term shower thoughts to an entirely new level. As a result, his average shower time would do more than enrage any concerned environmentalist out there. Finishing up said shower, he grabbed a bathrobe and put it on before stepping downstairs into the kitchen.


Glenn grabbed a mug from the pantry, and set up the nearby coffee machine, wanting to disregard the unwashed plates and silverware that had piled up in the sink over the past few days. Within a few minutes though, the sink was completely emptied, its former contents all washed. Perhaps feeling a little too accomplished with himself, Glenn made his way to the living room with a cup of black coffee in his hand. Taking a sip, he let the flavor linger in his mouth for a second. "Not bad," he commented. Collapsing onto the couch with the mug still in hand, he reached over to the remote control on the end table, barely within his reach. He powered on the television across the room and put on the news, always wanting to be up to date on anything big. Though there wasn't much in terms of anything that interested him, Glenn was completely fine with that. It gave him more time to mentally prepare himself for the festival to come later in the day instead. While Pasecoda had always celebrated Groundhog's Day, Mayor Coden had invested more than usual for this year's - which was a little curious to Glenn.


Ten minutes and another cup later, Glenn picked himself up, satisfied with his morning dose of caffeine. Climbing back up the stairs and into his room, he took a seat on the chair positioned behind the desk, eyeing over the "progress" he made last night. The number of papers sprawled across the surface of the table almost made it look as if Glenn was writing a ransom note out of cut-out letters, an unsettling thought to most. The journalist took another look at one of the newspapers - yesterday's to be precise. Sure enough, there were a few mentions of the upcoming festival. Saying that the entire town was in anticipation of the event might be a bit of a stretch, though there was no denying that a good deal of people were looking forward to some excitement in a place that would typically be rather uneventful.


Once he decided that he'd done enough reading, Glenn shuffled over to the closet, still only having the bathrobe to cover himself. Skimming through his wardrobe, he picked out a dress shirt and pants to go along with it, putting them on in place of the robe. He grabbed a tie in addition before once more visiting the bathroom. As he fastened his tie around his neck, he examined his reflection in the mirror, nodding to himself in approval. Turning on the sink, Glenn wet his hand and coated his hand with some hair gel before running it through his hair. Soon enough, what used to be the chaotic mess on top of his head was replaced with a neatened work of art, as he would put it.


In a short amount of time, Glenn found himself out the door, pen and pad in his pockets. The walk to town square was on the longer side, though he didn't mind it much. Even having lived in the same old town for thirty years, he enjoyed the scenery of the neighborhood and all it had to offer - even if it was in the form of old and simple buildings. As Glenn approached the site of the festivities, the large magnitude of the crowd that had gathered became clear - and he had arrived rather early as well. He was to meet some photographers from The Daily Coda, which seemed like a reasonably daunting task now. Figuring that they'd be somewhere around the front, Glenn maneuvered through the crowd, uttering "excuse me" numerous times. Even if the area was flooded and a bit frustrating to navigate, the friendliness of the people made up for it. Smiles were present on the faces of every last person, talking and interacting with one another. It was a welcome sight to Glenn, a sign that today would be a good day.

“The pain, I can assure you, will be exquisite.”

​

 

[karmaa]

EMMERSON MONROE

name: emmerson monroe.


nickname: emily, bubblegum bitch


code name: monroe


age: 19


gender: cisgender female; she/her.


sexuality: pansexual.

Faceclaim


Some people say that Emmerson looks like Zendaya Coleman but she disagrees.


Hair


Emily's hair is a deep brown color that stays silky and straight. She usually has her hair down or up in a high ponytail. Emmerson's hair cascades down to her elbows and there are faint black highlights.


Eyes


Dark brown, almost black.


Height


5'10'' (178cm)


Weight


130lbs (59kgs)


Build


Athletic.


Clothing Style


1 - 2 - 3 - 4


Other


Emmerson has a tattoo on her back in memory of her parents.

quirks:


chews on bubblegum when stressed or angry.


seems toonly wear black.


persona:


emily isn't nice, she's a bubblegum bitch. she's ruthless co-leader, if you fuck up you can go fuck yourself. emily never or for that matter wants to deal with idiots. she's confident in herself and very independent. her charismatic looks can easily charm anyone with a simple smile until you really get to know her. she's manipulative and cunning when it comes to her job, yet she's loyal only if you show her that you're worth her time.

moral alignment: bad.


birthday: january 5th, 1996.


nationality: american.


ethnicity: african-american.


blood type: o- negative.


role: co-leader.

writing sample:


taken from the 1x1 TRUST:


Madden looked at Wes as he hesitated to speak to her, she was about to become a trainwreck if they didn't escape. Madden looked up, her eyes starting to well up with hot, salty tears. "We could probably sneak out of here. The big she-bang's over with, and I doubt our dads will have much else to do besides gloat to the press. I could drop you back off at your place, if you want." Wes spoke and Madden had to agree, that's all her father wanted. Her daughter to be married to a guy she truly thought his father was a vicious man. "Whaddya say, beautiful? We can grab coffee?" Madden looked at Wes with a blank yet fearful face. They could escape from this emotional rollercoaster or stay here and obey their fathers. Madden took a deep breathe in and grabbed Wes' hand, lifting herself from the ground with the help from him.


"What are we waiting for? Let's go." Madden spoke and raced out of the church with Wes by her side. It was nice to get away from the publicity for awhile, away from her father, away from the gritty reality that they call fame. Yet that all soon stopped when the paparazzi saw them.


"Madden and Wes! Are you two married now?"


"Madden what's up with the bridal look?"


"Show us the ring!"


Madden looked around, it was almost like Deja Vu all over again, it sent chills down her spine. She scanned for a place to hide, where could they go? Wes looked like he had no clue. It was time to step up, especially after what her father did. Madden grabbed Wes' hand and led him into an alleyway. "Give me a lift up." Madden ordered as she climbed over the fence. "Come on!" She yelled in a hurry. Once they were both over, Madden began to ran but noticed her dress was stuck on the wired fence. "Shit!" She yelled, with no other option, she used her energy and ripped the bottom half of her dress, at least she could run now. Madden signalled Wes to follow him and ran as fast as she could, making sure Wes was near her. Madden stopped and noticed an old building that was disguised. "Come on!" She muttered, grabbing his hand and leading them into the old building.


As they entered, Madden ran into the first room she saw and stopped. Her breaths were heavy but short after that massive workout, she reminded herself to go back to the gym soon. "Now what?" Madden asked once she regained her breath. Her eyes gazed into Wes' eyes, searching for hope and comfort.

no slide

 

[Zatanna]

no slide no slide


no slide no slide


no slide no slide

no slide

 

[philocaly]

♥ A L I C E ♥

no slide

no slide

no slide no slide no slide no slide no slide no slide no slide

no slide no slide no slide no slide

♥ W O N D E R L A N D ♥

 

[paranoia]

REQUISITE

name


Jamie Aindreas Morgenstern


code name


Tristan Schwartz


age


25


gender


Cisgender male, he/him


sexuality


Bisexual, biromantic


moral alignment


Neutral evil


birthday


December 28th, Capricorn


nationality


Irish


ethnicity


Greek-Irish


blood type


AB-


role


Member


criminal specialty


Weaponry & Merchanting

APPEARANCE

faceclaim


Aidan Turner


hair


Dark brown curls that ends about an inch below his jawline. Middle-parted and most often tucked behind his ears.


eyes


Brown


height


6'1"


weight


158 lbs


build


Fit


clothing style


Jamie has never cared much for appearances, which is why he spends little to no time coordinating outfits and such. He will literally throw on any clean shirt he can find without much further thought. If wearing too many flannels was a crime, Jamie would be sentenced to death. He wears them nearly every day of the week, the only exception being an occasional t-shirt or tank top.


Jamie wears practically only black slimmed jeans, though it is not all too unusual to find him in a pair of grey or black pants.

no slide

no slide

SAMPLE

from + S E C R E T S +There was no need for Aldwin's alarm to go off that morning, considering that the teenage boy had been awake for the past three hours. You see, whenever something was about to happen, he often had troubles falling or staying asleep. As a result of this, Aldwin had spent his morning practicing in the isolated room in the basement and drinking one too many glasses of lemonade.


But now, after he had taken a shower and gotten dressed, he sat on the front porch with his three bags piled up in front of him. While the suitcase and the duffel bag were mostly packed with clothes and such, the leather backpack was filled to it's limit with sheet music, pens and notebooks.


The street on which he lived was quiet. Most of the people of the neighborhood were still asleep, or had just woken up from a good nights sleep. The only exception from the lacking people were the occasional dog walker or one of those super motivated freaks who worked out before school.


Suddenly, the loud noise of a car engine was heard from down the street, and shortly after, a black BMW appeared. The window next to the chauffeur was rolled down. "Aldwin Stillblossom?" said the man behind the steering wheel with a strong and determined voice.


Aldwin didn't reply, just nodded before walking towards the back of the car where he threw in his luggage.


* * *


The car ride was very awkward. Apparently the car radio had been stolen or wasn't working, and the result was a painful silence during the whole ride. But after a little more than an hour of agony, the gorgeous building that was the academy was within sight.


Aldwin let out a quiet gasp as he laid his eyes on the school. It really was like the ones you see in the movies, certainly not like his previous one.


As the car pulled over, Aldwin stepped out with shimmers of amazement in his eyes. The driver stepped out as well, and it wasn't until this moment that Aldwin realized how tall he was. Normally he'd be one of the tallest, but this guy was a gigantic wall. Not only was he way taller, he had the muscle to take down an oxe with a single punch.


Aldwin's eyes widened to the size of Texas when he noticed this, and almost choked on his spit. The driver, however, didn't any of this and proceeded to take out the bags from the back of the car.


Only a moment later, the driver and his black car was gone, and Aldwin was once again on his own, this time in a strange new place with all the scary people. Looking to his right, he saw a group of hardcore rockers with cigarettes in hand; and to his left were the jocks and the popular kids.


With his backpack pressed against his chest by his bony fingers and the expression similar to that of a terrified puppy on his face, Aldwin let out a heavy sigh and began to walk up the stone steps.

 

[ambiguities]

S E B A S T I À N


N I C O L À S


C A S T R O
​

Basics

FULLNAME Sebastián Nicolás Castro


CODENAMES Bash or Vulture.

AGE 24


GENDER Cis Male; He/his/him


SEXUALITY Heteroromantic/Heterosexual


MORAL ALIGNMENT Neutral, although it leans towards bad, especially when the adrenaline is pumping.


BIRTHDAY February 15, 1994


NATIONALITY American


ETHNICITY Italian.


BLOOD TYPE O-


ROLE Member


CRIMINAL SPECIALTY skilled assassin/marksman

Appearance

FACE CLAIM


HAIR His hair is an ash brown hue that's relatively darker around the roots. His hair shorter around the sides with a mop of (usually) tousled hair atop.


EYES A rich chocolatey brown with a ring of a cognac-type color surrounding his pupil


HEIGHT 6'3"


WEIGHT 187lbs


BUILD He has a lean athletic build


CLOTHING STYLE You'll usually see him sporting his signature leather jacket and/or hoodie with a plain t-shirt. Whatever he's comfortable in really.


OTHER His eyes are an alluring feature that captivates people at first sight. He also has a two scars, one running down the lower portion of his abdomen and the other his a small scar on his right eyebrow.

Persona

PERSONALITY Sebastian doesn't exactly come off as very welcoming and kind at first glance due to his intimidating stature, but surely with one smile, he can make a person swoon. He maintains a casual attitude most of the time, priding himself in being quick to improvise and being able to think is way out of situations. He's also witty, possessing quick and inventive verbal reflexes that shows him off as both smart and humorous.


If something interests him enough, he will be able to devote the entirety of his focus and strength to his task, which is usually enough to get it done.When on his bad side, his taunts can be blood-boiling, and his insults hit deeper than usual. If he's fairly intrigued by you, he might find the heart to open up to you more and earn his trust, the latter being harder to gain. When Sebastian is irritated or just mad to a certain extent, he's eerily calm. It's usually frightening because no one knows when the hell he'll snap. Overall, he has the capability of being a chill and laid-back guy, just don't piss him off.


OTHER He's an excellent boxer so his punches hurt more than usual.

Other

WRITING SAMPLE: His home was eerily silent as he entered the familiar environment, the smell of vanilla extract hitting his nostrils. A breath of relief escaped his lips. She's asleep, the falcon is in her nest. Antonio couldn't be bothered to hear another one of the woman's lectures regarding his late night rendezvous, at least not tonight. He glided through the small house and made his way up the stairs and into his room. The last twenty-four hours had made his mind slightly twist in contemplation. This 'Ditch' person had only now made themselves known, while Umbra had been a threat for a while now. Umbra. The name alone sent shivers down his spine. The man was a monster, the type of monster that didn't deserve a story, because he's real life. He couldn't compare to the boogie man or Freddy Kruger, they looked like saints compared to him. "4315 Racket Avenue. Tomorrow, midnight. Come alone. If you're followed it means the end of us all." The address was accompanied with a message, This "Ditch" knew who he was and what he could do. Antonio knew where he stood. After all, he started this thing with the intention of helping people.


His phone rang, an annoying default ringtone echoed through hushed space prominently. Antonio winced as he fished his device out of his pocket, scolding himself for not putting it on silent. He glanced at the screen for a moment before swiping answer button before putting it to his ear. Rico's voice was clear and booming out of the speaker, "Well I'm currently outside, guarding your bat-mobile. Also deciding whether or not I should hop in this babe of a car and speed the fuck away because a ride like this-"


"Shut up Rico," Antonio hissed in annoyance. "You're a real asshole you know that? Here I am, trying to do a good deed for my superhero friend who's meeting up with some guy who may potentially just be a serial killer. You're as ungrateful as they come." Antonio rolled his eyes and hung up the phone, shoving it back into his pocket. Rico had been the only one who he had told - well, found out- about Antonio's vigilante status. Although he seemed like a moron, he gave props to his friend for figuring it out. It was an added bonus that Rico worked with him at John's Auto Repair, they used the tools and the work-space to their advantage, hence the so called "bat mobile".


Antonio's attire wasn't his usual get-up. Instead he opted for a leather jacket with a cotton hood, one of the few clean things that hung in his closet. He walked over to his dresser, moving it away from the wall so he could reach over to the back and grab convenient black box sitting behind it. Inside it sat AMT AutoMag III pistol, the metal glimmering against the moonlight. He hoped that he wasn't walking into a trap of some-sort as he safely tucked the weapon back into it's hiding place. Antonio had never found a reason to use it, the only reason he bought it was a means of protection as he was trying to control his powers when he was younger, that and for his Aunt. When the day comes when he finally tells her, tells her about everything. The reality of what the city holds, the real danger he sees on the city every night.


A honk yanks Antonio out of his momentary daze. El bastardo. He rushes out of the house, careful to maintain the silence as he exited his home. Antonio's eyes narrowed into slits as he scowled at Rico. The 26-year old man was standing next to his tow-truck, sunglasses propped on his face. He walked up to him, slapping him on the back of the head. "People are sleeping," he paused, "And what's with the sunglasses?"


Rico grinned, "I look bad ass, don't I?"


"No, you look like a moron. Do you see the sun?"


Rico groaned and took of the sunglasses, "This friendship is based off of your insults and I'm tremendously hurt by that." Antonio sighed, nodding as if he agreed. Rico was one of the only people Antonio trusted and probably his best friend. He was the asshole and he was the goofy moron, it's how they worked.


Antonio strode over to the car that was currently concealed by a thin black plastic blanket. Yanking it off, he took a moment to marvel at his creation. It was a slick black 1967 Ford Mustang Shelby GT500, modified with bullet-proof tires and a few other necessities that made it feel as good as it looked. When he had initially got the car, it had been a hot-mess, and granted, it took him a few months to actually get it to move without breaking down. The masterpiece took 3 years to get it up and running and there were still a few kinks that he and Rico needed get sorted.


He held out his hand, his eyes glued to the car. "I didn't hear a thank you." Rico muttered, dropping the keys into his palm. Antonio managed to pull his attention away from the car and focused on Rico. "Thank you." A small smile tugged on the corner of his lips before he pressed the unlock button and slid into the car. His hands immediately grasped the wheel as he stared at Rico. Though he would never admit it, Rico was worried. When Antonio showed him the personalized message he had received from Ditch, he was skeptical. He was usually the person who'd be all for him headbutting into danger and rounding up criminals.


For assurance, Antonio held up a thumbs up, smirking. He inserted the key into the ignition, revved the engine and sped off to his destination.


When he arrived, he parked a good distance away as he observed the abandoned warehouse. It looks sketchy enough. He squinted, his eyes making out a figure entering the building. Ah, seems like the team is being assembled. Antonio wasted no time getting out of his car and locking it, He tugged at his hood to try to conceal himself a bit more. Casting a glance over his shoulder, he started his mini-trek to the building walking at a leisure pace. The entrance was left slightly ajar, and from the crack, he took notice of how the supposed warehouse had the interior of an auditorium, and he could see a few people scattered throughout. He walked in and instantly his eyes landed on the figure who wore a familiar mask. Ditch.