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Suzy, Spacey, and Kaitlin
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First Group [9/1]: Autumn Ainsworth, Charles Alexander, Isaiah Ashley, Billie Atkins, Kiran Baksh, Emile Batista

We accept every Wednesday and Saturday from 5 pm PST - Midnight.
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Created July 2013.
Opened January 11th 2014.
Barton Hollow
A friendly southern community where the sun is hot, the swamplands are beautiful, and mysterious alligators pass overhead while we all pretend to sleep.
…welcome to Barton Hollow. |
Anonymous:
hi! so i'm writing up my application and i just had a question about the para sample. you've mentioned that you want it 3+ third person and in other answers that you would like the folklore and the town to come into play. in other games that ive applied to, they would ask to see an example of dialogue or something in the samples as well as prose. is there anything like that that you would like to see in samples as well?

Well, what we’re looking for is a self para of sorts. What we mean by wanting to see the town and it’s lore in it, is that using the town as inspiration is a good start off point to have something happening to your character in the writing. But you don’t need to put dialogue, but we also don’t want it to be completely exposition. We want to see you capture the characters mannerisms as well as their emotions and thoughts, and if you can find a way to use our town or the folklore to instigate a scenario that shows your character and what they are like, then do so. That’s all we’re looking for, character portrayal.

- Admin Suzy

“People often ask me questions that I cannot very well answer in words, and it makes me sad to think they are unable to hear the voice of my silence.” 

  • Name → Emile Batista “Rival
  • Age → Twenty-Seven
  • Species → Banshee
  • Occupation → Works @ The Graveyard
  • Specialization → Grave Digging
  • Neighborhood → Shallow Waters Luxury Apartments #34

Personality

+ Aloof, Alluring, Artful, Self-Reliant, Spontaneous

- Bitter, Distrusting, Lost, Tortured

Emile’s Past

The first scream meant life - beautiful, all powerful, all encompassing life. It was a babies scream, the pain of a spank on his ass too much for him to contain. But that scream brought smiles to everyone in the room, his mothers eyes welling up with new tears that weren’t just from the terror and exhaustion of labor. There was a baby boy in the room, a wailing, wiggling, covered in blood and placenta, purple and red little baby boy, and his screams meant he was alive. His tough lungs belted, and they kept belting out until they finally placed him in his mothers arms, the screaming child silencing in the loving arms of a woman who wanted him more than anything. And what happily married couple wouldn’t want a baby? They held him as he fell asleep, and looking at each other, spoke his name aloud with proud smiles. 'Emile.'

There were screams after that. Screams of happiness over a birth day present, screams of terror over a scary movie or a nightmare that bore into his dreams at night. Screams when he was caught during hide and go seek. But nothing came of these screams, unless they were indoors, in which his mother would give him a look and tell Emile to use his inside voice. But those were screams during days where Emile’s biggest worry was if he was going to be picked to play kickball, during days where spelling tests were a worthy cause to fake a stomach ache over. Everything was fine, then, and Emile thought he had an uneventful life in front of him, a typical life. He’d go to high school, maybe be in a relationship, go to college, get a job, get married. The ideal path for any young, well off, relatively good looking boy.

But that was before the real screams. And it was before he started losing his words. It took Emile months to realize when he’d lost the first one, but suddenly as he sat there at breakfast and asked his father to pass the cereal, the word didn’t come out. It was stuck in his throat, and Emile’s eyes went wide. He moved his tongue, making sure to touch his teeth as the word finished, but the sound was lost in the air. He started listing off items at the table. ‘Salt’ came out fine, the crisp tick of the ‘t’ ringing in his ears. ‘Fork’ was just as easy, the warm, soft press to the roof of his mouth forming the ‘k’. Even ‘Bacon’, with the cold taste of iron in his mouth at the final ‘n’ touched that little spot right over his two front teeth, came out effortlessly. But ‘cereal’ was lost, and Emile sat there for a moment, until he got up and grabbed the box himself, his parents oblivious to what was happening as they cut their eggs.

He started a list, and for weeks only one word was on it. Emile stopped eating cereal after that, avoiding the subject whenever he went grocery shopping with his mother. It was just an anomaly, he thought. Emile was only thirteen, and somewhere in his brain he chalked it up to puberty; that made sense, didn’t it? His body was changing, and he bet one day the word would be back. But his body was changing, and once a word left him, it was gone forever. 

Emile realized that when he lost ‘what’. There were four words on his list by then: cereal, warm, hungry and band. He’d worked his way around cereal, started calling everything hot instead of warm, exaggerated by saying he was starving instead of hungry, and found a way to always call a band ‘them’. But ‘what’ wasn’t something he could avoid. Emile started stopping mid-sentence, and his parents started asking questions. He did his best to keep hiding it, turning into a quiet boy where he had once been someone who readily expressed their opinions. Shyness wasn’t for him, but Emile had no other choice but to be shy. Every day, a new word slipped away, and Emile was left gripping for words in the dark, groping for thoughts. His list turned into a journal, and soon it was impossible to hide, to dance around it using synonyms. One day he lost the word ‘yes’, and that was the day he walked up to his parents, his head held down as he held his notebook full of lost words, and held back his trembling as he tried to explain with limited words.

It was doctor after doctor from then. They watched as more words left, and as CAT scans turned up inconclusive. Tests were done on his vocal chords, and they were fine. There was no physical explanation, and a young Emile watched as he heard his parents speaking to the doctor he tried to explain to them what was happening. What they thought was happening. The only conclusion was mental, and he listened as they explained that sometimes people simply stopped speaking without a logical explanation due to other factors in their lives. They told him one day he’d speak again, they knew it. And Emile wanted to believe them, and he clung onto his last words for as long as he could, a small, inconsequential ‘thank you’. 

But the first scream came, in the middle of the night in his own home. He was fourteen as the scream ravaged his body, as it shook him and made him feel like his throat was bleeding. But it didn’t stop, and Emile screamed for hours, until his body gave out and he passed out, unconscious on his bed, leaving his parents beyond worried as they rushed back to the hospital. They were too busy to look in the newspaper that next morning, at the report of a body found dead this morning by the lake, the time of death the exact time Emile had started screaming. His first scream was the last time he spoke with any control over it, and it seemed like he traded one thing for another. The screams kept coming after that, and nothing stopped them until Emile was so exhausted from it he blacked out. The doctors couldn’t find a reason for it, and suggested putting him in a home to be monitored. But his parents said no, saying that Emile did everything else without any help and didn’t need monitoring aside from when the screaming came. They agreed to bring him in for checkups regularly, but Emile went home, and the screams became part of his life as he learned to sign.

 They never noticed the bodies.

No, not until Emile was sixteen. Everyone at school accepted his lack of speech, but no one had adapted it as well as Emile’s best friend, Luke. No one had actually offered to learn ASL, but when Emile had shown up at fourteen without his words, Luke had been one of the first people to ask Emile to teach him. They’d been friends all their lives, from swimming lessons at the local club to kickball in elementary school. And nothing changed that, not even as Luke went on to becoming captain of the soccer team and a student government member. The boys were best friends, and everyone knew that. 

It was a cold night in Barton Hollow when Emile found himself behind Club D. He hugged himself, still in his pajamas as he looked around and tried to gather how he’d gotten here when he’d been asleep in his room not an hour earlier. His eyes landed on a body on the ground, and he stumbled towards it before he realized who it was. It was Luke, his face pale and lifeless, and Emile’s body shook before he started screaming. They wrecked his body, and he cried as the screams filled his being, so loud it caused several of the more ‘sensitive’ club goers to step outside and see a boy screaming over the body of a dead best friend.

They questioned him, but never accused. He explained to them about the sleep walking, and they chalked it up to Barton Hollow. Strange things happened in town, and they pat his back as they assured him they’d find the murderer. Everyone gave him their condolences, and as hard as it was, life went on. He started going to Charles Alexander at school, writing out what was happening, at first very open to talking in his own way.

Until the next body. The scene was the same, only he didn’t know them. Emile screamed, and the scream lead people to him and the body. It was another coincidence, but at the third body, it didn’t seem like that was the case. They looked at him, a kid who had mysteriously stopped speaking, and someone in the department thought perhaps that was the perfect coverup for a young mass murderer. Emile became watched, and people whispered about town about him, accusing him of killing Luke and playing the victim. They thought because he couldn’t speak, he couldn’t hear, but Emile heard it all. And he started retreating in himself, his visits to Charles at school less frequent. The man urged him to talk to him, letting it known that he didn’t think Emile had done anything he’d been accused of, but Emile didn’t want to talk about it. 

He couldn’t talk about it.

Emile graduated high school, and tried to go in for college. But by that time he’d gathered quite the reputation, the accused murderer running around free through town. Mothers whispered to their children to stay away, but young girls and boys found something sexy in his silence. Why didn’t he speak when he used to be able to? What was the real story behind the murders? There was something alluring to them in the mystery, and they all came to him, fingers trailing up his chest as they wanted to speak to the mystery and damage that came with him. But he pushed them all away, scaring them until they ran, even if he knew there was nothing truly terrifying about him.

They could never pin any of the murders on him, not when there was no evidence that lead to him. No, the evidence all lead somewhere else, but Emile was always the first person they brought in for questioning. He told them the same story he’d been telling since he was sixteen, and they kept prying for more that wasn’t there. But soon, juggling his constant visits to the sheriff’s station and his growing reputation, Emile found it easier to drop out of school and leave Barton Hollow for a few years, finding himself in Savannah, Georgia for a few years, in which he found a job as a graveyard watcher. It fit him, the quiet of the gravestones blending well with his own quiet. 

But the screams and the bodies followed him to Georgia, and Emile found himself lost and frustrated and running for his life. This wasn’t Barton Hollow, where the unexplainable happened every day, and Emile’s arrest record made him a bigger suspect to the point where in Georgia, he was almost sent to prison, sentenced with a murder he had only screamed and reported in himself. He was a wanted man wherever he went, and at twenty five he returned back to his native Barton Hollow.

Currently in Barton Hollow

It’s hard to get a job when with an arrest record like Emile’s, but by now he is used to it. Emile worked odd jobs for years, working at the gas station for a while until the owner showed up dead months later and Emile was detained for four days until they found the security footage of what had actually happened. But that was how he found the graveyard job in Barton Hollow, happy to return back to the graves where he felt at home, happy to spend his days digging graves alongside Peter, who too didn’t speak much, only his quietness was by choice.

The rumors still fly all over Barton Hollow, and they still tell children to keep away. But more so, Emile has grown a reputation for being a symbol of bad luck. Putting him in your life is asking for death, and there’s not a night where one of the younger tenants in the building doesn’t come ringing up his door step just to catch a glimpse of him, making up some excuse about needing salt. He’s gotten used to it, but he never plays into it, not wanting to encourage the behavior that crawls under his skin until his blood boils.

But something new has started happening. While Emile had gotten accustomed to sleep walking, screaming, and being taken in for questioning while being unable to really communicate as the exasperated cops yelled at him, there was a reassuring monotony to it all. Until one day Emile spoke. It was strange for him at first, but it’s been like that for a good year now. Emile can speak for a few hours, all his lost words returning to him, but then the screams come. He doesn’t even stumble upon a body some days when the screaming hits, and where it used to happen late at night, Emile will find himself out in town when they attack him, when he falls to the floor and holds his ears as he screams out, cracking windows and ringing eardrums of the people all around him. He gets arrested for that too, and the police have started to really get confused when they bring him in and he opens his mouth and raspy, little used words come out.

Nothing is easy, and nothing will ever be easy. But it’s a life Emile has gotten used to. He’s gotten used to the dirt underneath his nails, nails that dig into the palm of his hand every time he wakes up somewhere new, waiting to find the body that’s waiting for him. But he’s not helpless anymore, and he’s done being passive about it. In between visits to the Sheriff’s station and work, Emile finds himself locked up in the libraries of Barton Hollow, searching for an answer, desperate enough to look for an explanation even in the most dangerous of places, his eyes turning to some of the more powerful people in town.

His Quirks;

  • Emile can only speak a few hours before and after a scream, and only for some of them. Sometimes he can speak, and sometimes his words are still lost somewhere in the pit of his stomach. The police call him a liar now, and shake him up about it when he doesn’t speak, and he’s used to it so much so that he doesn’t get worked up about it, though he does get angered over it. But the speaking is both a curse and a blessing. He missed his words, and he takes advantage of them now more than ever, but he knows that they’re a ticking clock for when a scream is coming. So while he wants to be out and wants to try to speak and say everything he has been keeping in, he also gets tempted to stay in doors lest he break a window instead of crack it this time.
  • Another new ‘power’ he’s been noticing since Savannah is this ability to hear what he can only describe as ghosts. They don’t scare him, and he can’t speak to them, and the voices don’t even happen often, but sometimes he can hear them with such clarity that it feels like they’re right in front of him. He doesn’t know what they mean, and the voices are random thoughts, but while he works he listens to them and smiles, welcoming their voices in his silence.
  • Emile has a scar under his right eye that came about from a fight a few weeks after finding a body. A young brother to one of the dead accosted him, blaming him for his sisters death, and Emile took the punches. Now he wears it as a reminder to himself and to others that he really is a symbol of bad luck.
  • Since he doesn’t really have to worry about too many people aside from himself, Emile takes to doing things on a whim a lot. He doesn’t think things through, despite his quietness. And while he doesn’t jump to do something dangerous, he doesn’t take others into consideration when he acts, since for so long he’s only had himself to think about.
  • He doesn’t know if it’s connected to his powers, or if it’s something that developed after he lost his ability to speak, but Emile has very good hearing. Maybe not to the level of some of the other creatures in town, but he can hear others things that people cannot, and sometimes things that even those creatures can’t. 
  • Emile can only fall asleep with the television on. He doesn’t have to be watching it, and it doesn’t have to be on anything in specific, but something about the noise of it soothes him.
  • He constantly has a pad and pen around him, although he is fluent in ASL. He just knows a lot of people aren’t, and when he does need to say something doesn’t want to get lost in translation. Which is why he keeps the pen and paper, his apartment overflowing old notebooks full of one sided conversations he’s filled up throughout the years.

Emile’s Connections

  • Charles Alexander:

    When he was younger, Emile used to look forward to his visits with Charles. He seemed like someone who didn’t judge him, who genuinely wanted to listen, and unlike the doctors who looked at him like an anomaly, Charles just listened. But eventually, he started caring less and less about his visits with the counsellor, if only because he started growing bitter in general. Emile even grew to be cruel to the man, taking out some of his anger on him although he was simply trying to help. But now, as he’s grown up, he’s learned to appreciate him more, and finds himself looking for him, although he hasn’t quite mustered the courage to apologize for being such a hassle. Or to ask for help, either way.

  • Peter Samuel:

    Peter, as his partner in work, is someone who Emile would consider a friend. They don’t really talk too much while they work, but they spend a lot of time together, and in a way are close. When Emile can talk and he happens to be around Peter, he’ll start talking almost non-stop, and suddenly the two usually quiet boys start to really hit it off. The one problem is that Emile doesn’t want to scare off Peter, and he’s worried that his reputation and a scream will keep Peter (or anyone for that matter) from getting too close to him.

  • Quin Walker & Phillip Barnes:

    Before, Emile used to meet with a lot of cops and detectives. But lately it’s been just these two, and Emile isn’t sure how he feels about it. They seem a little bit different than the others he’s known before, a little more open to listening to actual supernatural business, and he knows that Quin is more than a little different than other cops. But he’s also not sure how he feels about the fact that under them, some murders are getting solved. In one hand, it means new possibilities for him, but he doesn’t remember a life outside of all of this. So for now, they all greet each other like long time friends whenever they open the door and find Emile sitting in the holding room.

His face claim is Mathias Lauridsen and he is currently OPEN. 

Song: Sound of Silence by Passenger (x)

Gifs: One Two Three Four

“Humility means accepting reality with no attempt to outsmart it.”

  • Name → Kiran Baksh ”Ray of Light
  • Age → Twenty-Four
  • Species → Human
  • Occupation → Aspiring Actor & Technician @ Stella’s Theatre
  • Specialization → Major Studio Films; Theatrical Tech
  • Neighborhood → Tara Heights Unit #22

Personality;

+ Humble, Loyal, Observant, Reflective

- Desperate, Irascible, Sentimental, Submissive

Kiran’s Past;

For Kiran, high school truly was the peak of his life, however lesser he seemed to be when sat next to other students at Truman Capote High. He was never the swiftest runner, however much he loved track; never the one with the highest marks in math, no matter how quick his brain managed to narrow in on the smaller aspects of the problems; and never the most popular of people, no matter how many students he called friends or acquaintances. All his life, it seemed he had been built to follow the path of a meager existence—barely scraping through life and never once rising up to reach his full potential. And though once his senior year began to reach its end, it seemed as if he might overcome the flatline of a life he had been destined for, once it was all over, his fate seemed to have been sealed—he was, and would forever be, just another face in the crowd.

On the inside, one could see that Kiran was more than just an average teenage child, though human, he was. He was performer—deeply introspective in his emotions and well versed in the english language. He knew what people were like, was deeply compassionate, and if there was anything Kiran was attuned to becoming at all, it was an actor. Once the lights dimmed down low, so dark that the onlookers below were nothing more than rows of shadows, Kiran could feel at peace—submerged in the emotions and intricacies of a singular body, one that was not quite his own. He could shift into a being outside of the average high schooler he seemed to be, turn into anything he so wished, and people loved him for it. The emotions of his characters flowed naturally into each word he said, as if he too felt them, and each gesture he made and slang word he used seemed genuine, as if he had spent his whole life knowing them, living it as the character had done. His manner of expression was natural, raw, and once he was locked into the limelight, it was difficult to remove him from it. It was as if he were born to be there, though those who knew him off-stage, who spent countless hours next to him in classes, and who offered up what little time they had after school to hang out with him would have figured that his temperament onstage would have been just the opposite.

He always had been rather quiet, not necessarily shy, but melancholy. He enjoyed deep reflection, a quiet space to himself to reflect and repent for all the mistakes he had made. There were moments of strength that he had, where he could flare up and burn and flicker out just as quick, but for the most part he was quiet, an observer. Making and maintaining friends was not his strong point; they never had been, and that was where the root of the problem lay. Big cities were the main point of interest for aspiring actors like him, but he had lived in Barton Hollow for all his life—a small town, and he had always enjoyed living there. He knew the people, knew the ins and outs of the town like the back of his hand, and if he ever needed any help, all he had ever needed to do was give his parents a call and they would be more than willing to help their son out. Even with all the supernatural occurrences running amuck and with the Human Rights Movement in place, he rarely felt stressed within the town. He had fallen into a comfortable existence, a little bubble that he never wanted to leave, no matter how much his aspirations required him to do so.

For those three months after graduating high school, he slaved over getting his financial aid sorted out, making sure he had the money required to take him to his chosen college, somewhere deep within Los Angeles. He had his plane ticket all set, the hotel paid for, the map of the area burned into his head. Everything seemed set in stone, but as September neared, he could feel himself losing touch with his aspirations, the fear of failing and falling into debt, of leaving behind the only world he had ever known for a new one becoming ever prominent in his mind. Suddenly, it became too much for Kiran, a plate piled much too high—and he wasn’t gluttonous in the slightest. Two weeks before he was set to leave, he sat his parents down for a serious talk and told them he planned on taking the year off, that the college he had been planning to attend didn’t seem right for him anymore and that he wanted to look into somewhere closer. That he wanted to focus on a dream more realistic than the one he had set out to fulfill. He didn’t want the stress, the money issues and the uncertainty that would surely show if he chose to pursue a career in acting—so he dropped it altogether, and for many years, he didn’t once think about it.

He didn’t have room for it, not when he had life after high school to think about. He wasn’t going to college for now, but he couldn’t fill the vacancy the absence of school had left with just anything. No, he needed a job, and luckily his father was more than willing to show him the steps needed in order to become a decent technician in sound equipment. His motivation was nothing more than a will to fill the void that deferring from college had left, and even when he easily caught onto his father’s instructions and realized that he was fairly great with the inner mechanics of the equipment, it never became anything more. The affinity didn’t go unnoticed, however, and though the aspiration never peaked in the way his penchant for acting had, that didn’t stop him from making a career out of it anyway—though he did choose not to completely follow in his father’s footsteps. He had been great with sound equipment; if there was any job for him in being a technician, it was in being a theatrical technician.

Thus, he made the decision not to go to college at all, and instead chose to begin a series of unpaid internships around Barton Hollow. He began at BHU, working backstage for their theatre majors and the like. Though he was never enrolled there, he was still welcome to work there as he liked, and he did for several years, between there and Stella’s Theatre. The stagehands taught him how to rig lights and work the curtains, and once when his mother needed a chair made, he even stood alongside the carpenter to learn a little more about how to build sets. After two years of gaining experience in this manner, he finally went online and took his certification test—the final step required in order to become a theatrical technician. Of the two places he had worked, Stella’s Theatre had become something of a second home to him—he felt that he fit in better with the group of teens who ran the theatre than he had within the confines of BHU. After all, Barton Hollow University, though helpful in his task of becoming a technician, had otherwise been nothing more than a reminder of the road he could have taken had he chosen to step outside of his comfort zone for once in his life. Thus, he chose to cement his place at the theatre and apply to work there. 

In the beginning, the work was great and for once in Kiran’s life, he began to see the world of work as a pleasant thing. He stopped reflecting back on all the things he could have done differently in high school, the things that could have changed his future for the better, and began to enjoy his life as it was. His work was nothing compared to the joy he had felt while being onstage, but it was still enjoyable nonetheless, and it wasn’t something that he would easily trade for what others would consider something simpler and better. After a while, however, the job did being to wear on him. Day after day, he stood backstage, pulling the strings for the curtains when it was timing for closing, rigging the fog machine that the teens who ran the theatre seemed to love so much, and just being generally helpful while standing in the background. It was a quiet existence, something sweet and beautiful to him, but after days and months and years of watching others take the limelight, the light he had so loved in high school, it began to make him nostalgic for a simpler time. And though he had loved to act, and though he could have had a shot to do so had he just asked for it, Kiran began to realize that he was not the same person he was years before. He had become submissive to fate, less compassionate to the human existence than he had been—his glory days were gone, and once he finally realized that, the urges to take it all back were gone and his insistence to stay at Stella’s as a technician was reignited. And it stayed that way for a few more months, until disaster struck.

At least, to Kiran it was a disaster. He had been more than aware of a decline in the need for his father’s services, and even with his mother working as hard as she did with her job as an interior decorator, it wasn’t enough anymore. They would have to move, and Kiran knew that if his parent’s had their way, they’d no longer be living in Barton Hollow once the move was finished with. Part of him didn’t understand why they didn’t want to move into Tara Heights, live in the same community as he did, or anywhere else around town at all, but that was not a choice they were willing to make. All his life, he had lived in Barton Hollow and he had lived there with his family, happily. And that was the way it had always been and he’d be damned if that wasn’t the way it was always going to be. But they didn’t have the money to stay where they liked and part of them was fed up with the supernatural as it was, but Kiran wouldn’t have it. All he needed—all he thought he would need, anyway—was the money, the money required to allow them to keep the house. But there was no other job that Kiran excelled in and and if he didn’t enjoy some aspect of a job, and if it didn’t pay well enough, he wasn’t going to take it. After weeks of searching for a secondary job, one that was going to provide what he needed to keep his parents in town, he had begun to face defeat, to realize that his parents were leaving and he was staying. That was, until he met Jacinda.

Currently in Barton Hollow;

He’d heard about her in newspapers, read about her online in his free time. She was an actress, but had turned entertainment agent after realizing how difficult it was to make it into the industry, and for some reason, she had chosen to scout Barton Hollow. For weeks he had tracked her around the city, watching her as she entered the clubs and restaurants, mustering up the courage to speak to her and plead his case. His aspiration for acting had since flared out, he believed, but that didn’t mean that he wasn’t still great at it, and it didn’t mean that he couldn’t do whatever it took to show Jacinda that he was willing to do whatever she asked of him. For a while, he believed that he would never get around to speaking with her, that he’d spend weeks and weeks following her around just to have his parents move away in an instant. But eventually he found the courage to speak to her, and at just the right time, too. She had come into Stella’s Theatre, and he didn’t know how or why, but as she neared the stage, he just raced up to her and tapped her on the shoulder, spoke to her with all the sanity he could muster and pleaded his case. Told her he was an aspiring actor, that he had heard of her and her progress in Mexico and in America and though she hadn’t ever made the A-list, or even the B-list, really, it was enough for him. He still couldn’t believe he had actually spoke to her once it was over, but he had, and now he actually had to follow through with his proposal.

The initiation had been nothing like he had expected, and he had almost left right upon entering Jacinda’s little corner of Barton Hollow, but if there was anything he wanted in the whole entire world, it was for his parents to remain in Barton, to watch him as he continued to grow older, to watch as he fulfilled his dreams and one day have children of his own, ones that they would be there to see and spend time with, and he knew that if they left, they were never coming back. Thus, he took the pills she gave him, swallowed them down and stuck with them, no matter how sickening it felt to have them slink down his throat. He didn’t complain, even when he began to feel dizzy, even when it seemed as if the world around him was pulsating. He listened to her, trusted in her, even allowed her friends to come down and kiss him, feed on him as they did. It’s what he had signed up for. And it wasn’t what he wanted, not really, and it’s not anything he would have had a hand in had it been for anyone other than his parents, but if that’s what it took to get them to stay, it’s what he would do. He was desperate, desperate for his life to remain static, under his control—so much so that he didn’t even realize that he had allowed this succubus, the sweet agent who was going to give him everything he ever wanted, to shake up his life and destroy the peace in his life he had worked so hard to maintain.

The acting was no longer fun, nor were the stunts she had him work tirelessly to perfect. His natural charisma was still intact, buried under all the years of silence he had given to it, but the drive wasn’t there. Not for long, anyway. In the beginning, that was all he had cared about, the money and getting his parents to stay in Barton Hollow. He had already convinced them to stay for so long, and he was so much closer than he had been to reaching his goal, but the work was only getting more difficult. Constantly, she was working him, forcing him to try new foods and stunts and drugs. Though he only had to try most of it once, still, he was soon he was on the verge of just dropping it all and being done with Jacinda. But he could see the look in her eyes when he hesitated to do what she had asked, the way her eyebrows quirked up when he argued and refused to do what she had asked. He wanted his parents to stay, and he wanted to continue to be friends with Jacinda, but he also no longer wanted to be a part of her game…thus he chose to remain a part of it anyway. He had already wasted so much of his time, and fate had brought her to him, after all, so why fight now?

But something had to give within the relationship. He couldn’t continue to stay in Jacinda’s agency without some sort of incentive—something to hold him back and keep him from quitting, something greater than just the notion of his parents staying in the town. So, he began to focus more on his relationship with Jacinda and less on the acting, the stunts, all the shit she was forcing him to do. And for him, it’s all worthwhile, if only for a couple of nights a month. The friendship was nice, a welcome gesture that he hung onto for as long as he could, until his flash-in-the-pan temper became a little more prominent and until he became aware of the way she began to look at him—like a waste of time, a waste of talent. But now it’s all turning sour, turning into one huge mess that he can’t stop, but this is what he asked for and this is what fate handed him, and if this is what fate has asked of him, then this is what he will continue to endure.

His Quirks;

  • Kiran is a social drinker and often drinks when he’s out with Jacinda, though he stays far from the more fruity beverages as he hates the flavor of most of them.
  • He has somewhat of a puzzle brain and is more prone to being able to look at the larger picture and how the smaller pieces fit into it than the other way around. Because of this, he can solve most puzzles quite quickly and can solve a Rubik’s cube in under two minutes.
  • Though in high school he loved theatre more so than television and films, time has changed his interests and he is now much more interested in being filmed and broadcasted than being up on a stage.
  • Though the majority of his money goes to housing expenses and his parents, Kiran always puts a little money aside to feed his collection of keychains. He takes his keyring nearly everywhere he goes and often switches the keychains he keep on the ring weekly.
  • Kiran does very well with making pasta, which is quite unfortunate as he normally doesn’t enjoy eating them. In fact, he won’t eat pasta unless he absolutely has to, though if someone comes over, he almost always offers to make pasta for them first.
  • Though Kiran is a social drinker, he doesn’t enjoy drinking in front of people he is very close to, and opts to only drink with people he is only just becoming acquainted with. This is mostly because he can be fairly quiet and though he doesn’t drink much, anything helps when it comes to conversations.
  • Recently, with his relationship with Jacinda the way it is—with him spending more time with her as a friend and as an occasional partner, instead of as a protege—he’s begun to feel a little weaker, sicker than usual, though he doesn’t know why.
  • Spiders don’t scare him, nor do snakes or wasps, but large moths do. Once, when he was young, he came across a polyphemus moth while outside. He found their wingspan to be too large, unnatural, and thus he’d been frightened of them ever since.

Kiran’s Connections;

  • Jacinda Chavira:

    In many ways, he wishes he would have never met her—or, at least that he had never sparked a friendship with her. Though their friendship seemed refreshing to him in the beginning, it wasn’t long before her domineering attitude and his desperation to succeed began to clash and their relationship began to turn sour. Though it seemed to help when they made the decision to focus more on each other and less on the business side of things, he can tell that she’s even getting fed up with him there, and while he’d love to make the decision for her and leave, time is of the essence and with Jacinda’s volatile personality, he is never certain if she’ll play nice with him or shut him out of her life, though he hopes she’ll still be willing to remain friends with him if he ever does muster up the courage to leave her agency.

His face claim is Raymond Ablack and he is currently OPEN.

Song: The Fire Inside by Bob Seger (x)

Gifs: One Two Three Four

When you understand that, what you’re telling is just a story. It isn’t happening anymore. When you realize the story you’re telling is just words, when you can just crumble up and throw your past in the trashcan, then we’ll figure out who you’re going to be.”

  • Name → Billie Atkins “Desire”
  • Age → Twenty-Three
  • Species → Human
  • Occupation → Freelance Writer for The Siren Times
  • Specialization → Deceiving 
  • Neighborhood → Pontchartrain Resorts Cabin #15

Personality

+ Adventurous, Creative, Exuberant, Observant 

- Deceiving, Greedy, Indulgent, Possessive 

Billie’s Past

Athens, Maine. A town where secrets float seamlessly from the lips of one resident, to the ears of another. A place for those who wished to root themselves to one place forever, but not a place for those with an adventurous heart. It was obvious that from a young age, Billie Atkins was meant for so much more. Those who believed in aura reading would’ve guessed that Billie was colored in gold. Glitter shown out of their soul, spreading across Maine’s upper state like wildfire. When Billie first entered the education system, they came to notice that they didn’t exactly fit in. There were days in which Billie would plead with their parents, desperately asking to wear slacks instead of a dress that day. Their parents were confused at first, but saw that there was nothing wrong with their daughter. That Billie was normal, and just didn’t want to be constricted to one, specific gender identity. Over time, Billie’s mother, Rosalie, began to help Billie with fabricating clothing that had both a feminine and masculine touch to them. Billie refused to be constricted to the clothes of one entity, so they began to incorporate their own details into the clothes they began to wear with the help of local thrift shops. However, it is not to be mistaken that Billie’s gender identity is what is the most interesting about them. It is certainly the gold that envelopes around their heart with every beat, as well as the deception that so easily rolls off of their tongue. It’s exceptionally easy to get lost in Billie’s lies, especially because you would’ve never believed that they would’ve been the type to let them hang off their lips so easily.

The lying wasn’t incorporated as some sort of defense mechanism. It was just that. Lying. It made Billie feel good. Only, the lies that Billie spread across Athens weren’t explicitly untrue, they were just twisted. Horribly twisted to the point of their meanings being lost, hidden behind the venom that Billie instilled in their words. They desperately cleaved onto the hope that somebody would bite. That what they had to offer would be much more interesting than the true words coming from the senior class president. Billie was a trickster in disguise, eager to show those around them that anything could be manipulated. Even the truth. Billie lived for the drama that often uncoiled from the reveal of one of their gossip spreads. All throughout high school, nobody so much as suspected Billie. Billie was the charismatic soul, eager to lend a helping hand. The first one to dive into the choppy waters, and the last to leave. Billie was known as a risk taker. An adventurer. Not somebody who’d lie at all costs to watch the world around them become engulfed by flames. During their sophomore year of high school, Billie realized that not only was Athens not as fun as it could be, but neither was the neighboring town in which Billie attended high school. They wanted something more to come out of their high school career. In an attempt to liven up the campus, Billie took part in the school paper. It had started off small at first, only one issue being printed to be pasted on the outside doors, viewable when you first walked in. But by the time Billie reached their senior year, the papers that often got wind torn from the glass windows were nestled in the backpacks of high schoolers as they made their treks home. 

To accompany the paper came the gossip blog. It had taken a long time for Billie to finally overcome their fear of everyone finding out and make the damn thing. There were many nights in which the site accumulated no hits, but then Billie began to discover the power of the gossip mill. People always wanted to know more about their fellow man. Even Billie knew that. So they began listening. The smallest secrets fell through the cracks, and Billie’s site was born. It was tough to get it off the ground at first, but they managed. After a few people came across the page, which already had several posts, people began to become more aware of the page. Billie watched quietly as their thirst for some kind of power was quenched by watching the people around them start to dissolve under the power of the gossip page. Somewhere deep down, Billie knew that what they were doing wasn’t right, but it didn’t stop them from spreading the truths, and even some lies, across the school. Billie kept their accompaniment with the page a secret. What was the point in telling everybody that they were behind the page? It would only make people angry. Billie had to stay quiet, especially at the expense of keeping themselves from a witch hunt. It was a mystery to the entire student body and faculty that anybody could know these truths, because how could they? Nobody took into account that while you could whisper, that it didn’t necessarily cut the dishonest truths from seeping out from the cracks in the surrounding walls. The gossip blog had been slowly climbing up the social ladder until it was all anybody talked about- including Billie. They had to keep their cover up, didn’t they? Instead of sitting back and watching everything unfold, Billie got involved. Hell, at times, Billie even post articles about their own transgressions, and the next day, they would go to school, acting as though they couldn’t believe anybody would say such a thing. Their cover was perfectly intact, and it stayed that way, even after Billie graduated from high school.

Without a predecessor to carry on the task of handling all truths and lies, the gossip page died soon after Billie left for college. It would’ve been easy to figure out who was behind the page, but even so nobody came to Billie with any sort of accusation. They were safe, tucked away in the tightest corner of California. On the west coast was where Billie thrived, despite being such an important figure in their hometown. Billie attended school for journalism, truly eager to keep up with what they truly loved. The gossip was what kept Billy amused, but true journalism was what kept Billie going. Writing came naturally to Billie. The exaggerated kind. Billie’s professors told Billie that if they didn’t lock onto one, specific topic, then it may hold true that they would never make it past a bachelors degree. They told Billie that nobody would want somebody who exaggerated their writing. If Billie had attempted a career at creative writing, then that would’ve been different, they said. Billie was unfazed. All of their life, Billie had been doing what they wanted, and that wasn’t going to stop when somebody with a degree in journalism was teaching a class on how to write instead of going out and getting the stories, themselves. During their junior year, Billie dropped out. There was no point in carrying through with school, especially if it meant that their professors hardly made a point to care about what Billie was trying to convey through their writing. Weren’t teachers supposed to be nurturing? 

Billie was just shy of turning twenty-two when a stranger came to them with a proposition. They were anything but normal, and that’s what attracted Billie to them so quickly. Almost immediately, Billie felt as though they could trust the stranger in khakis. They watched in amazement as a job opportunity spilled from her lips. Only, it wasn’t your typical job. It was freelance work, and it certainly wasn’t the kind of work that Billie was expecting. However, they hadn’t even completed their degree, so could they really argue with the opportunity? Billie accepted the job as quickly as it came, eager to leave California and their closed minded professors far behind them. In hindsight, Billie realized that they should’ve done the proper research on the town before deciding to accept any kind of job there, but the promise of coming into something entirely new and foreign had been what had excited Billie. By the looks of it, Barton Hollow had something to offer that not many other places did. It seemed.. ethereal, and though Billie had already accepted the job and was willing to move across the country, they did so quite quickly. 

Currently in Barton Hollow

Billie is a new arrival, and it’s widely known. Without missing a beat, Billie has introduced themselves to almost every single person (and entity) in Barton Hollow. They’re taken by the town and all its wonders. Though, Billie does find themselves freaked out by some of the people in Barton Hollow, it’s not very hard for them to find ways around it to look at them in a light that would contribute to their writing. As they always have been, Billie is about finding deceit in the truths that are spilled from the lips of those that inhabit Barton Hollow. Nobody asked Billie to start up a gossip column, but it’s not keeping them from looking at the words that people say and relaying them with the twists and turns that Billie has always been good at. In fact, Billie believes that Gossip Gator has got the spreading of gossip down to a tee, Billie does in fact believe that things would be much better if they were on the team. There’s only so much you can take from the community and understand without twisting it around your pinky finger. Or, at least, that’s what Billie believes. In their new job at The Siren Times, Billie relays stories about the town’s supernaturals and humans. It’s an odd turn of events, especially because Billie hadn’t any clue that the supernaturals did exist. Even now, it’s still taking some getting used to for Billie. There are some things that they can’t even handle. Not limited to, but including the voodoo zombies that seem to frequent not only the graveyard (like they’re supposed to- according to the movies), and the town itself. 

In an attempt to throw themselves to Barton Hollow in their fullest, Billie has taken every opportunity that Isla Greene has come to them with. They are not yet a reporter, but maybe some day they could be. Although, Billie recognizes that reporting may not be for them, they do notice the frequency in dramatized writing that comes from not only the paper, but the town itself. From the moment she stepped foot in Barton Hollow, they have been impressed with how colossally different it is. Though Billie knows that they have only really experienced the human world, and their side of things, they do realize that there is something common with both types of “people.” They like news, and they like it when it comes barreling down, quick and fast, blindsiding just about everyone in its wake. Not only does Barton Hollow thrive off of the news it gets, but Billie notices that everyone has secrets, and hell, is Billie sure that they will get just about every single drop of gossip that slips from behind supposed sealed lips. 

Their Quirks;

  • Billie refuses to write with their computer. Most of the notes that Billie has are handwritten and are hardly eligible. 
  • All of Billie’s pens and pencils have teethmarks on them. It keeps Billie focused. Most recently, at the request of Isla, Billie has begun chewing gum while writing to keep pencils and pens from decay.
  • Billie isn’t that big of a fan of music. They like it, but only to a certain extent. If they are listening to it, then it has to be instrumental. They find lyrics far too discouraging for depth within the music itself, despite not being an expert on melodies and rhythms. 
  • They are consistent with their style of dress. They prefer a mix of both feminine and masculinity, and as such when they were younger, they still refuse to draw from one such gender when picking out clothing (or making it). 
  • Billie is allergic to shellfish. They will blow up like a balloon if they eat any. 
  • Has a hard time understanding people who are bland. While Billie tries to understand their point of view, they find it unnecessary and boring. Billie is much more quick to introduce them to a lifestyle of adventure than to staple themselves down to that particular scale of boredom. 
  • It may always seem like Billie is in your business, but not in the way you would suspect. Billie is much more of a listener than a talker, which helps with the journalism “job.” Billie enjoys listening to people. It’s then that they pick up the pieces and form together things that you may have never said. 
  • They always smells like lilac. It reminds them of home. Rosalie, Billie’s mom, would always keep lilacs around the house. Billie’s cabin is also covered in lilacs. 
  • Billie has one notebook. They refuse to get more than one, despite the convenience of it. 
  • They respects those who respect them. No ifs ands or buts about it. 

Billie’s Connections

  • Isla Greene:

    Though Isla is not the one who offered Billie the job, they do find a certain respect for the woman. If there’s one person that Billie absolutely refuses to cross, that would be Isla. Not only because she’s terrifying, but because why would you go against somebody who welcomed you in, despite not being told of your arrival? Billie respects Isla entirely and while they aren’t necessarily a lap dog, Billie does try to impress Isla with any means necessary. Ultimately, Billie hopes to learn more from Isla with her time on the paper, even if they aren’t necessarily on the paper.

Their face claim is Erika Linder and they are currently OPEN. 

Song: Second Thought by Ambassadeurs (x

Gifs: One Two Three Four

Anonymous:
Prompts for Autumn Ainsworth?
  • Her realizing she’s taken on the personality trait of one of the bodies that Alaster brought to her.
  • Autumn in the first stages of her resurrection, zombie status on high.
  • Autumn and Benjamin, at any point in their relationship.
  • Her disintegration from Summer’s influence.
  • Autumn when she was younger with Madeline, but honestly any moment with Madeline, including the scene where she realizes who  her father is.
  • Autumn and Lou gossiping, having fun.
  • Autumn and Emilie planning and working together.
  • Autumn lying there while Alaster tries to tweak her.
  • Autumn the night of Ben’s wedding.

Hope these help!

- Admin Savs

I have named you queen. There are taller ones than you, taller. There are purer ones than you, purer. There are lovelier than you, lovelier. But you are the queen. And when you appear all the rivers sound in my body, bells shake the sky, and a hymn fills the world. Only you and I, only you and I, my love, listen to it.

  • Name → Isaiah Ashley ”Salvation of the Lord
  • Age → Thirty-Two
  • Species → Celestial Nymph
  • Occupation → Weatherman @ Barton Hollow News Station
  • Specialization → Meteorology & Atmospheric Sciences
  • Neighborhood → Lake Pontchartrain, Cabin #6

Personality

+ Adaptable, Compassionate, Courteous, Sagacious, Tranquil 

- Abstracted, Distant, Fastidious, Hedonistic, Obstinate

Isaiah’s Past

Since the blessed day Isaiah drifted down from the lavender streaked skies, casted out from an over-passing cumulus cloud one misty morning, he knew this incarnation of him was going to be different, that this life would break free from the mold his soul had become enraptured in time and time again and finally find a way to rise past the stratosphere and into a new level of existence. His parents knew it too, could read it in the shimmering form that developed out of the fog, in the way he materialized, with each glittering wisp of condensated air dancing in the newborn glow of the sun. Drifting slowly until their golden son arrived softly on the loose dirt below—a gift to the world and a gift to them.

His childhood was filled with material wonder—with the comfort and stability of an almost human nature. A lofty roof over his head, a pillowy mattress that swallowed him whole when he finally drifted off to sleep, clothes made of fine cotton—but none of it meant much to Isaiah growing up, the young boy exceptionally mature for his age. Instead, his days were spent by lakes and in forests, soaking in the luminescent sun and feeling the wind cascade through his natural rippled hair, holding his open palms to the sky and feeling the synergy of both his being and the celestial bodies above him course out into the open air, swirling and dancing in the atmosphere above until a small wisp of a tornado came to fruition or until grain sized particles of hail rained down on him. The skies were Isaiah’s domain, the world his oyster, and all the material possessions he owned…the humans could keep them for all he cared. All he needed for a happy and successful life were stored inside him, in the powers he grasped, but Isaiah felt a deep need to present himself to the community in which he resided. There was no urge to give back to the community or to take on a job out of necessity, but nonetheless, he wanted to be more than just a celestial nymph, a nymph that danced and frolicked like many of the plant nymphs or that devoted their lives to the citizens, like Felix had, though he knew that using his powers for the good of others would do him well in the grand scheme of things.

Thus, he decided to combine his love of self-indulgence in using his powers with his decision to assist the masses, subsequently heading off to Barton Hollow University at the ripe age of eighteen and majoring in Meteorology and Atmospheric Sciences. ‘A natural talent,’ they had called him, full of insight and extremely knowledgeable already on how the meteorology and how the systems of the weather worked. And there was no true reason for him not to be, considering the type of nymph that he was. If he’d had his way, he wouldn’t have gone at all, as he had been more than certain that his knowledge of the atmospheric sciences would have done him just fine and would have earned him placement as the Barton Hollow News Station just as easily—but he was not used to fitting so easily alongside humans, nor was he used to dealing with the instruments man had created to read such things. Thus, his natural affinity for reading and changing the weather was put aside for the four years he studied, in favor of fitting alongside the humans as he worked on his goal. After all, Isaiah was a rather simple man in his needs and urges and anything would do him well so long as he achieved his goal—fighting the system in this manner was not something that he would have readily enjoyed.

Besides it truly was the only goal he’d ever had. Isaiah had never wished for money or fame or prestige, all he had was a simple wish to live freely and for others to do the same, to indulge in whatever he so wished to and to leave others to their devices. Each of his days were filled with the enjoyment of being on air, of simply guessing the weather that was to come and always being right, because for the most part, he made the weather for Barton Hollow, and he set the norm for what was expected of a weatherman. His evenings were spent down by the water, sucking in the humid air that was so natural to the deep south and brushing dark tendrils of hair from his neck when the humidity got to be too much for even his broad form. His nights were filled with steamy showers shared with friends who would have him and friendly debates on whatever topic had been brought up for that night’s dinner. His life was free, easy, and all he could ever expect of the universe, for a man who caused no trouble and who never seeked it out. He had been careful, after all, not to insert himself into trouble or to hang on too long on people and material objects. He was celestial, otherworldly, and there was only so much that the meager world could hand to him. Isaiah had always been a rather selective man when it came to his more permanent decisions.

He had believed that the world had given him all it had to offer—his placement as the weatherman at Barton Hollow News Station, numerous friends from all different walks of life binded to him through a couple of similarities in interests, the powers that coursed through him, and the maturity that lay deep within his soul. He had begun to believe that this life of his would never end, would keep on dragging on and nothing would ever come from it, nothing but simple pleasures fulfilled and the occasional loss of friends due to the flying crocodiles, but Isaiah had been wrong. More wrong than he had ever been in any past life of his, because life had so much more to offer to him than he could have ever expected. The world had never intended on stringing him along, forcing him to live a simple existence filled with nothing but material objects. The world had never wished for Isaiah to become ill with boredom, to fall into a slump due to the ever repeating pattern of everyday life. The world never wanted Isaiah to change his pacifist ways and rely on anger to give his life a jolt of energy. No, the world wanted Isaiah to thrive and be a crutch for somebody, to be a crutch for everybody. And he saw the full of extent of that on the day miss Syrena Evans finally stepped back into Barton Hollow, fresh from Chicago and fresh from tragedy. From the moment he laid eyes on her, he knew that the world had given him more than he could have ever hoped to have, and he was going to cherish her for the rest of his semi-immortal life, and even if only as a friend, it would be enough for him.

Currently in Barton Hollow;

Syrena was quite like a storm herself, her conscience at war with itself after the loss of William. She thought of her body as a killing thing, a force of destruction and death, but Isaiah could see beyond the tragedy written in the depths of her eyes and could see the beauty contained within. He could see the purity and the light and from the moment she walked into Barton Hollow News Station, he knew that he had been wrong about the world and the world had been wrong about him. He had always been meant to break out of the mold, but he had also been destined to love and be loved, and with this one beautiful woman, he had come to realize the true purpose of his life. Syrena was his queen, and he her servant, binded together by a single silver string. He’ll never be as devoted to anyone as he is to her, will never long for more of a woman than her, but he knows she’s not yet prepared for love. But, oh, he longs for the day when she is.

For now, the station holds his attention, the looming sense of an oncoming storm beyond his reach swarming like a maelstrom in his heart, but Syrena always remains on his mind regardless, like a tattoo that never fades no matter how strong the laser that cascades across it. She’s told him of her loss, confided in him because of the friendship that they share, and he’s suggested to her that she speak to a counselor and find a way to repent for the accident, though he knows that the fault was never hers to begin with. He’s hopelessly devoted and wants nothing more than for her to accept the help he feels she desperately needs, but she won’t and he Isaiah refuses to push her to do so. He respects her too much, after all, and if she feels as if the guilt is something private, that it’s something she needs to handle herself, he’ll allow her to do so. His support will always be there, but he can only help her as much as she’ll allow him to do so.

In the meantime, during the hours when he isn’t working at the station, Isaiah enjoys frequenting parties. Sensible parties, that is. Clubs aren’t necessarily his things, but small dinners among his co-workers and friends are greatly appreciated, and he does so enjoy the debates that come out of the more argumentative humans he works with. After all, many of the people he works with are well-versed in current events and not everyone is in agreement with the correct course of action when it comes down to the root of the problem. Besides, there’s nothing quite like a calm, mature debate about such issues between friends before heading home, especially when there’s so much hurt and danger existing in the world already—hurt and danger that Isaiah would prefer to not exist at all, if only for the better of his and Syrena’s blossoming friendship. A friendship he hopes will one day fully bloom into an everlasting love.

His Quirks

  • Isaiah is not a large fan of small talk and prefers deep conversation, even among people he knows little about. From small debates to the mutual agreement of the conception of the universe, anything is better than small talk—unless, of course, they’re speaking of the weather.
  • Unlike many, Isaiah rarely, if ever, gets caught up on material possessions. He isn’t sentimental in the slightest when it comes to his belongings and, truth be told, if he were ever asked to give up everything for Syrena, he would, and proudly at that.
  • When Isaiah speaks to others, he never hides his face or averts his eyes from their gaze—he always looks them straight in the eyes, but his gaze is never meant as a means of domination, but rather as indication of his own self-assuredness and openness with others.
  • Isaiah is a pacifist, someone who believes that war and violence are never justified. He believes in making love, not war. Even when fights break out, he isn’t incredibly prone to playing peacemaker, instead preferring to remain completely neutral.
  • It is rare for Isaiah to have his hair cut, though he does enjoy the occasional trimming to keep the split ends away. He embraces the natural waves in his hair and the only chooses to stunt it’s natural progression of length when he feels the length is becoming too much.
  • Isaiah enjoys most genres of music, though overall, he enjoys music without lyrics the most—instrumental. He enjoys listening to atmospheric tunes, something that really sets the mood and often listens to it late at night as he prepares his body for sleep. The tunes are gentle, soft enough to lull him to sleep and without the harsh distraction that vocals bring.
  • Isaiah is a fairly personable person and doesn’t discriminate against whom he acquaints himself with at all. So long as someone he meets has a least one thing in common with him, something he can speak with them about, he hangs onto their friendship. He’s very easy to get along with and irritating him is nearly impossible to do.
  • If there is anything Isaiah heavily dislikes, however, it is wooden pencils. They are far too easy to break and once the pencil is all used up, it’s not of any use anymore, not to mention they are made of wood. He prefers to use mechanical pencils, which can easily be refilled, or even better, ballpoint pens. He enjoys, more than anything else, the way the pens glide across the paper as if on ice.

Isaiah’s Connections

  • Syrena Evans:

    Before Syrena, the days seemed to drag endlessly. Seconds swam into weeks, minutes into months, and hours into years. Life was all a game, a contrived situation he had no interest in partaking in. His old soul had believed it had seen all there was to see, but then she, his queen, stepped into the picture, fresh from Chicago, and made the game worth playing again. The tragedy she had endured was immense, had left her writhing in the guilt of her survival, but he took a liking to her nonetheless and saw beyond what the loss of William had left her with. Though it seems her heart has not yet opened up to love again, he still waits for her, patiently and without pressure. For her, he would walk to the ends of her earth, freely give away everything he owns. He loves her, and though her heart still remains set on William, there is no room in his heart for resent. No, above all, he respects her, cherishes her, and if his life passes him by without ever having the honor of brushing his lips against hers or taking her hand in holy matrimony, it will still have been a life fulfilled simply because he was able to serve his queen.

  • Delilah Rose:

    In the days before her eating disorder took over and she was barred from competing in pageants, the Barton Hollow News Station used to cover her endeavors frequently, and it was often that Isaiah would see her around town or at parties, which was how he had come to meet her—while out with one of his co-workers. She had been honest and seemingly mature, someone who Isaiah felt he could have a deep conversation. Their friendship came to fruition nearly instantaneously and though she is no longer the beauty queen she was when they met, he still stops by to visit her every so often. He realizes now that he had mistaken her insecurity in herself for maturity upon first glance, but also notes that not many look up to her as they once did, and with that in mind, he doesn’t want to turn his back on her, as she needs a friend now more than ever.

His face claim is Jason Momoa and he is OPEN.

Song: Chelsea Hotel No. 2 by Leonard Cohen (x)

Gifs: One Two Three

“Draw a monster. Why is it a monster?”

  • Name → Charles Alexander "Man, Warrior"
  • Age → Forty-Eight
  • Species → Human
  • Occupation → Principal @ Truman Capote HS
  • Specialization → At Risk Youth
  • Neighborhood → 150 Gothic Suburbia Ave

Personality

+ Earnest, Honorable, Inspiring, Protective, Unyielding

- Blunt, Opinionated, Single-Minded, Prideful, Uncompromising

Charles’ Past

Charles Alexander led what most people would refer to as an un-extraordinary life. His parents were happy together, content with watching one child grow up instead of following in the footsteps of their neighbors who decided having four kids was a good idea. They’d gotten married young, just out of high school. She’d been pregnant with Charles and in love with her boyfriend, so they got married and never regretted their decision. Young Charles never really had to suffer through nights without food or drink, always had a bed to sleep on. His father was a mechanic and his mom sometimes picked up shifts at the local diner once Charles was in school. He grew up with grease under his nails, and walking his mother home from work when he got off school. Life was quiet, it was good, and he grew up loved in a small, southern town.

But it was just a typical southern town and few kids went to college, choosing instead to get a local job and simply build a family. But for some reason, Charles wanted something different. His teachers told him he was smart, smarter than most of the other kids at least, and that he could go far in life and that’s exactly what he chose to do. He started working hard in school instead of just letting his natural knack for schoolwork let him coast through. He started picking up shifts at the diner his mom sometimes worked at, knowing that his family would need some more money if they were going to be able to send him to college. He’d do his homework in his downtime at the restaurant and stayed up late at night writing and proof reading every single one of his assignment. After all, if he wanted to go to his dream school, he would need to be perfect. And perfect he was. And come Charles’s senior year, Duke welcomed him with open arms.

Duke became the place the Charles Alexander would come into himself. Cliche college story, but the truth. Pretty quickly, much sooner than most college students, Charles picked his major: education. He frequently could be found at local schools assisting in the after school programs, and sometimes went to family shelters and read stories to the children there. He wanted to create a better world than the one surrounding him, so he figured what better way than to do that than better the younger generations? He was doing things, of course, but his life was monotonous in those days. 

Later, Charles Alexander would claim that his life didn’t truly start until he met Katerina. And in a strange sort of way… he’s entirely correct.

Because one day Charles laid eyes on this girl. She was beautiful, though unassuming. Unlike most of the girl the boys in his dorm went after, she had her face in a book and her glasses were sliding down her nose, her hair sloppily thrown up in a bun on top of her head, an obvious attempt to cool down from the humid North Carolina air. He turned to a friend, eyes still fixed on the girl, “See that girl, right there? I’m going to marry her some day.” And it took a couple of years, but eventually Charles would marry the girl he saw at that library table. It officially began on the quad, where he saw her reading a book that he didn’t notice the title to. He walked up to her, quietly, knowing better than to startle someone immersed in another world. He crouched down in front of her and said, as any confident college boy would, “I’d like to take you to dinner… would you let me?" And she smiled and nodded quietly and invited him to sit down. From that day on, Charles was done for. He spent all the time he could with Katerina. He’d had girlfriends before, but nothing like the relationship he had with this girl. He loved every part of her. The first two years he spent with her were the happiest he could think of, at least to date. But then, out of the blue, everything was hanging on by a thread. All it took was three words from Katerina—tear-tracks glistening on her cheeks—to change everything. 

“Charles, I’m pregnant.”

He never even considered leaving her. Instead, he looked at Katerina, apprehension painted openly across her face, and spanned the distance between them, capturing her lips in a long, tender kiss. His voice was rough with emotion as he spoke. “I love you so goddamn much, and I’m gonna love this baby even more.” Tears of relief welled up in her eyes, and he held her tightly to him as she cried, burying his face in her hair. So, nine months later, a beautiful baby girl was born. Katerina watched as he cradled their newborn daughter with a mixture of awe and care, eyes shining with love and pride and something that Charles couldn’t quite place. Her voice was soft when she finally spoke. “Baby, I think I want to go home.” He agreed, of course, wanting nothing else but to make his soon to be bride happy. But it was the idea of her home that terrified him. He’d heard story after story of her strange hometown in Louisiana, Barton Hollow. It was a place he could never picture in his mind, so strange and foreign, but it was the place the woman he loved wanted to be, so he promised to take her there. It doesn’t happen immediately. In fact, it takes Charles and Katerina nearly an entire year to tie up loose ends. In that time they got married, a small event at the courthouse, but it was perfect for them. The only family member there their baby girl. It was all they needed.

But eventually they walk out of the tiny apartment they share, hand-in-hand, a sleeping baby Beth awaiting them in the car packed with all their possessions. Charles can’t help one last glance around the empty living room before he lets the door swing shut behind them. 

Currently in Barton Hollow

And that was how Charles found himself in a strange little town, full of strange people he didn’t know. Charles didn’t naturally take to the strange little town, between its flying alligators and a beach infested with so many sea creatures he was afraid to go in the water, he wasn’t sure what to do. In some ways, it was just like his own small town in Alabama, yet so completely different. He would walk down the street and there would be the same women so typical of southern town, the Summer Lyons’ of the world, all big hats and bright clothing and overwhelming personalities. That was something he could handle no problem. After all, that was what he grew up around. But this town… it was something so much different. There was a dark tinge to it’s edges. And it was more than the manipulative and cruel side to the women who run the PTA meetings. It was the faeries who he had to protect his daughter from. It was the furies who walked through the hallways, threatening to rip out the throats of those people who disobeyed them… and them being completely serious about it. It’s the alligators that constantly threatened to swoop down and steal Beth right out from under him. 

This was not the place he was born to be, that much he was sure of.

But them… something happens, as dose for most people who come to Barton Hollow. There’s always something that convinces people to stay. For Charles, it was a teenager. It was pretty late, but Katerina had had a craving for pasta so he’d run out to the store to get some. While he was there he’d picked up some bread and a couple apples for snacks later in the week. But on his way home, he ran into, literally, a wide eyed and messy teenager, streaks of dirt coating her face. She looked so desperate, her cheeks hollowed out from who knows how many nights on the street. That run in sparked his passion for helping kids. Handing over the bread he had in his grocery bag, the girl had never looked so grateful in her life. Nothing in Charles’s life ever made him feel so accomplished as when he was helping people. So, he got his act together. He quit the job he had picked up when he got here, waiting tables wasn’t the worst but it didn’t exactly make him excited to got to work. He applied for a job at Truman Capote, getting a position as a history teacher and eventual guidance councilor. He had a natural fatherliness that students immediately latch onto, something he’d noticed had grown even from just being a father himself. He’ was welcoming and friendly and sooner than later all those students who were in need of parental guidance think of him as a father and come to him for guidance. He stayed in his role as history teacher for a few years, never getting tired of helping everyone who needed him.

But after a couple of years at the school, the principal decides it’s long time to retire. Of course, having built up a more than positive reputation at the school, Charles is one of the first people, if not the first offered the job. He hesitated, at first, and it was Katerina who finally pushed him, her arms warm around him as she kissed the back of his neck and told him this was what he needed to really help. And so Charles took the position, and spends his days making the school better, trying his best to always be available for the kids, working with them as best as he could as he improved things. He hasn’t stopped visiting shelters, either, searching out for youths who need him, always ready to take one home for a night or two, ready to help. Charles keeps track of the students at school, the ones he knows use drugs, watching the red rings appear under their eyes that aren’t caused from lack of sleep. He makes sure they’re safe, makes sure they know that they can come to him if they ever need him. No, he never gets them in trouble, he doesn’t believe in that, but he lets them know that he’s there, his office always open for them should they ever need it. But there’s one groups of girls he doesn’t approve of, the younger furies and their mind games, but he doesn’t dare to get mixed up with them and their mothers, knowing better than to provoke the wrath of supernatural teenage girl a teenage girl. He’d learned that from his own little girl.

He knows he can’t save them all, he knows because Katrina reminds him every night. But he can try, and he’s trying harder every single day.

His Quirks;

  • The Alexanders are an emergency foster care placement. Every few months, a social worker will show up on their doorstep, child in tow, and Katerina will prepare their guest bedroom as Charles ushers them in. Each child stays no more than a few days, but Charles doesn’t let that dissuade him from creating a bond. He tells them to keep writing to him, gives them his numbers and tells them to keep in touch. No matter what, he makes sure that he keeps track of the kids that come through his house, and even just takes a few kids in every once in a while when he knows they need a place to sleep.
  • Charles believes in the socratic method, never accusing or talking at the kids, but instead creating a dialogue. He helps them build solutions for their problems, but makes sure it’s solutions they agree on. But he allows them to use him as a resource, and lets them find flaws in his ideas in order to improve them.
  • Having grown up with a mechanic for a father, Charles knows a great deal about cars. He’s not snooty about it or anything, never sticking his nose up at cars that happen to be in an awful state and he himself doesn’t drive an impressive car, but he can tell the make and model of most cars and won’t hesitate to approach a car owner and have a conversation with them about their vehicle. He fixes all his own car troubles and can’t help but chuckle every time Katerina calls him freaking out about a simple tire change.
  • Charles dreams about traveling, and he used to imagine road tripping across the country when he was younger and graduated from college. It was something he dreamed about. But that was before he was married and had a kid, and now Charles doesn’t know when he can full fill that dream. However, he has secretly started to plan a road trip for when Beth graduates high school.
  • As a history man, Charles loves everything about it. However, his favorite is ancient history, especially that of the Greeks and Romans. In the days of his teaching history, he’d spend especially long on those, and all his students noticed, but they didn’t mind because how into every single discussion he would get. However, his obsession goes further than just a history teachers knowledge. While at Duke, he took enough classes on ancient Latin to learn how to speak it, and is currently working his way through ancient Greek.
  • Charles is not a religious man. He’s never been, although Katerina’s whole family is very religious. He lets her take Beth to church, but his glad that she doesn’t bring any of it home, both of them respecting each other by never mentioning it to each other, and Charles never saying anything bad.
  • If Charles is fatherly and protective of all of his students, he’s extra protective over Beth. He calls her all the time when she’s out, and he makes sure she has her cell phone charged and on her all the time. He’s the kind of parent who calls the parents at a sleep over, and he’s the kind of parent who makes sure Beth knows the truth behind everything that is potentially harmful. Because while he is protective, he doesn’t sugar coat things, and makes sure she knows exactly what drugs and alcohol can do to you.
  • It’s something he started doing as a history teacher, but now he’s expanded it more. Charles is in charge of the faculty secret santa, and has started one amongst the one AP World History class he teaches on top of being a principal. It’s something he really enjoys, if only because his gifts are always ridiculously thoughtful.
  • Katerina will oftentimes awaken in the middle of the night to find Charles staring at his phone. She knows he’s waiting for a call, waiting to go pick up one of his students at a party, waiting for something. And some nights, no one calls, but he stays there when he can’t sleep, a gut feeling in the pit of his stomach that something is going to happen.

Charles’ Connections

  • Katerina Alexander:

    Charles never really believed in true love when he was younger, despite how happy his parents were. They weren’t overly passionate with each other, and that seemed like the stuff of faerie tales. But then he met Katerina, and she was everything. She was like the sun, and he wanted to bask in her radiance for ours. But he’s learned that true love is about a partnership, and together they work on everything, knowing what to say and what not to say. They’re everything to each other, and maybe sometimes it’s not perfect, but they know each other to know that this is going to last.

  • Beth Alexander:

    He loves every kid he looks after, but none of them more than Beth. She’s his flesh and blood, and even if she’s a little reckless and rowdy sometimes, he loves her for all her spirit and spunk. But he worries a lot, especially with his job and all the things he sees kids doing now a days. He’s over protective of her, and that causes them to get into fight sometimes, but in the end Beth and him are closer than ever. They work on everything together, and Beth loves to watch her father work on his cars on the weekends, always ready to look under the hood and learn from him. In many ways, she’s his best student. She’s his life, her and Katerina, and he’d do anything to make sure they’re both happy and taken care of. So if he’s protective of her, he doesn’t really mind. 

  • Emile Batista:

    Emile was one of the first kids Charles got a chance to really help. They worked together before Emile lost his voice, and they worked together after wards. They even tried when the accusations started, although Emile started taking out his anger on Charles, their relationship growing strained if only because Emile needed someone to get angry with. Charles allowed that, and he never got angry at the young man, but he pained the day Emile stopped seeing him, knowing the boy had left town years later. But he knows he’s back, and when they see each other in town, Charles nods his head at him, not wanting to feel like he’s forcing him to come to him, but wanting nothing more than to repair the relationship they had.

His face claim is Kyle Chandler and he is currently OPEN. 

Song: Shelter by Ray Lamontagne (x)

Gifs: One Two 

Of late, she had felt coldness in herself, and though she feared it, she loved it too, for it made her strong.”

  • Name → Autumn Ainsworth ”The Fall”
  • Age → Twenty-Two
  • Species → Voodoo Zombie
  • Occupation → Works for Alaster Whyte
  • Specialization → Slave
  • Neighborhood →  Shallow Waters Luxury Apartments, Apt. #6

Personality

+ Bubbly, Determined, Free, Intense, Open-Hearted

- Hungry, Inhuman, Lonely, Reckless, Vacant

Autumn’s Past

*Content Warning: Suicide 

The world is a shameful place, a place full of tragedies and heartbreak for every person that inhabits it. There are some people however, that get just a bit extra despair, if only to even the score for those who get less.  Autumn Ainsworth was brought into the world with nine months of sorrow already weighing down on her small, baby shoulders. She was a stunning baby, with a nice head of fluff and eyes that twinkled. She didn’t cry as much as other babies did, she loved everyone who held her and she smiled with toothless gums that dribbled out drool, like every other adorable baby in the world. But no one was there to admire her adorable childhood, no one wanted to be… if we’re all being honest here. Autumn was created in a moment of true heart shattering horror, she was not a gift, she was not a blessing. In the eyes of her wary, weary mother, she was a curse. A mistake. The worst thing to ever happen to her. What a burden to be carried by a girl so young with eyes so wide and innocent. But as is known, the world occasionally can be an unforgiving place, and for little baby girl Ainsworth, the world was rarely anything but.

Her mother resented her, and Autumn could sense that since birth. A child knows when her mother doesn’t want her, when the being that brought her into the world, who held her inside for nine months, desires nothing more than to be rid of the heavy weight of a task involving raising a child that one never wished for. In fact, everyone was well aware of the fact that Madeline Ainsworth really wished for nothing more than for time to turn back and for Autumn to never have been brought into the world. But still, the girl soldiered on. She clung to her mother, gave her presents, offered her her best jokes and stuffed animals, did everything in her power to prove to her mother that she was worth it. Worth the trouble and the pain, because she was a good girl. A happy girl with a sparkling smile and a joyous soul. And everyone loved Autumn, her mother’s mother, her teachers, people walking down the street… they all saw the beauty inside her. She never had a hateful word for anyone, she never turned anyone away, she was open and accepting. For Autumn knew what it felt like to not be wanted, and she desired nothing more than to make sure that even if she felt that every day of her life, she’d never allow anyone else to have to survive in that kind of frost. She saw the way her mother avoided her eye, how she sometimes refused to touch her or would flinch when Autumn went up to touch her—even if to comfort or to entertain her. The tragedy of it all was that little Autumn had no idea why her mother didn’t love her, she couldn’t comprehend the true reason behind Madeline’s wariness of the girl. So Autumn was stuck to believe that her mother was disappointed in her, that Autumn herself was a bad child, undeserving of love and affection. And if she wanted it, she’d have to work for it, even if she had to do so every day of her life. And she did, she did just exactly that. She worked for it with all the drive in her soul, she signed up for every class she could take, made sure to never ask anything of her mother, to never be the burden that she knew her mother thought she was. She was a straight A student, teachers raved over her and everyone wanted to be her friend. But Madeline never noticed, or if she did, the pain of seeing this girl struggle just added on to her already flowing cup of sorrow and melancholy.

There was never a time where Autumn became so jaded that she stopped trying; it wasn’t in her nature. But there came a point where she finally realized that her attempts to gain her mother’s approval and love were never going to work. It wasn’t that her mother expected more, it was that she didn’t care enough to expect anything at all. Autumn realized this in sixth grade where, after so many years of getting perfect scores and seeing it elicit no reaction from her mother, she attempted to go in the opposite direction and fail. But when her mother was brought in for a teacher conference and came out yet again apathetic towards the details of her daughter’s life, Autumn understood that it was no use to work so hard for her mother anymore. If she wanted it to count for anything, to mean anything, she’d have to do it for herself.

And it wasn’t that Autumn was alone in this, she had her cousin and best friend, Lou, by her side, who was always willing to lend an ear and listen to Autumn explain her feelings not in an accusing way, but in a very open and understanding way. She wasn’t one to judge, she wasn’t one to make others feel bad or to place the blame on them. It wasn’t her mother’s fault that she was obviously such an undesirable daughter, that blame fell on herself. How could she blame her mother for how she felt? Her mother would look away one moment as if meeting eyes with her flesh and blood made her want to tear herself in two, and Autumn’s heart would pang fiercely and painfully, almost like it would split in half. And she’d bring her palm up to her chest and press hard, wondering if that was what it felt like to have one’s heart break. But with each day, and each new pang, Autumn grew stronger, fiercer, more bright and more shiny. She had a personality that strove for greatness and a heart that refused to close itself off. She opened up to her friends, to Lou, to anyone that would listen because she wasn’t allowed to do that at home. Her mother didn’t want to hear what Autumn felt, so Autumn stopped telling her about it.

There were moments where Autumn could’ve felt jealous, where she had the right to garner envy or be filled with wrath, but she stayed away from such feelings. She noticed the way her mother loved Lou more than her, the way she was able to accept her into her arms without revulsion blooming on her features. But she understood that both she and her mother depended on Lou, and how could she feel jealous of Lou when she already had so much pain in her life, she already had to deal with a lifetime of worry at the age of thirteen. Lou didn’t even have a mother, not really, so how could she blame her for seeking out hers. It wasn’t Lou’s fault that Autumn couldn’t be loved by the people she loved most. So instead of dwelling on the darker thoughts that randomly would pop into her head during those times, she drowned herself in extra curriculars, in AP classes and various groups so as to spend as little time at home as she possible could. And in a way, this attempt at avoiding her mother, only pushed her higher up on the statuses of others. She was beloved by teachers, by the students, by the town. They bathed in her praise and told her what a good, kind girl she was. And despite the fact that she always felt like she lived on the outside of her home life, in the world outside, Autumn was embraced. And so she started spending more and more time amongst people she wasn’t related to, and less time around people she was, namely her mother. But she also spent less time with Lou, because she didn’t want any hate to harbor in her heart. And with all the work that Autumn put into her social life and her academic life, she got out quite a bit more. Full rides to the best schools in the world, but she had cultivated an image and place for herself in Barton Hollow and she couldn’t leave the place where people loved her. Not after she had spent her young life stuck in a place with people that didn’t.

So Autumn attended BHU, majoring in Poli Sci and Public Relations, she had big plans in mind for her future. One that involved public service and maybe even politics. It was in one of her first political sciences class that she met Benjamin Wright. She saw him and her heart literally went pitter patter, as cheesy as that made things sound. The world brought together fire and water, and around Ben, Autumn allowed herself to be a little more reckless, a bit more intense and more free than ever before. He opened her up, even though he would never admit it or even know. With him she saw a life full of love and it allowed her to feel everything that she had bottled up inside her. Around him, around her handsome, loving Ben, she could be as wild as she wanted. She could walk out nude in the rain and not care if anyone saw, she could go up to her mother and hug her, she was able to spend more time with Lou. Weekends spent in her loft, gossiping and spilling her heart on every detail of hers and Ben’s relationship. But, things began to crumble as Benjamin started to pull away. Out in the world, Autumn ran head first into her problems, but at home—where she knew she was truly unwanted—she couldn’t. She fled from them,  and with Benjamin it was no different. He gave up on her, all because that was what “daddy” wanted. And while she couldn’t hate him for that, because she understood what it was to desire the approval of a parent, it still broke her. A girl as truly and secretly fragile as her couldn’t handle a second break, so she shattered. He left and there wasn’t much left of her, for yet another person she loved, didn’t want her.

Things continued moving downhill from there, her mother decided soon after Autumn’s break from Ben to tell her the truth behind who Autumn’s father really was, what really happened between them. For years Autumn had heard the same story, her father had died before she was born and her mother didn’t want to go into it any more than that. When she was young, she believed it. She thought her mother was just devastated and mourning over her love and she couldn’t talk about him to her little girl. But as she grew older she saw the small flicker of fear and hate in her mother’s eyes, she knew something was wrong with that story. And when she finally was told what it was that was wrong, what she truly came from, Autumn wanted nothing more than to ask her mother to take it back, to start spouting off lies about dead father’s and the happy fantasies that sprung forth from that. But now, now Autumn knew why her mother wouldn’t look her in the eyes, she understood her mother’s refusal to love her, her inability. And once again, how could she blame her? It was she that had her father’s eyes, his features, it was she that was a result and constant reminder of that awful night. So she sat there, in self-hatred and shame, refusing to look in her mother’s eyes because of just how much it all hurt. She didn’t want to hurt her mother further, so she kept away from her. She didn’t want to be a reminder of such a life ruining memory. 

This disappearance from her home, her avoidance of everyone in her life allowed for a perfect victim for Summer Lyons, someone that Autumn truly was envious of. She got to have Ben’s heart, she was beautiful and loved and would have a future with that kind man. And she wouldn’t. But what Autumn didn’t know, was that Summer held no room for love in her heart. She was ruthless when it came to any threat to her success, and because Autumn stood in her way, Summer took her out. Autumn started to feel a resounding sorrow in her heart, a body aching melancholy, a depression that loomed over her like a dark cloud. And she felt herself slowly falling to the wayside, her mind eroding, her psyche shattering day by day. She didn’t understand why, she had never been this kind of person, the feelings had never overtaken her like this. She felt weak, abandoned and eternally lonely. She stopped going to classes, refused to care about how she looked, and like a flower left out of the sun for too long, she started to wither. The demon sucked every bit of life out of previously luminescent Autumn Ainsworth, she stole every bit of hope and love from her heart and soon all that was left was a resounding darkness in her heart. And then finally, she broke.

Town’s Beloved Sweetheart Dies Alone In Her Hotel Room”, were what the headlines read, the news circling around town for days after she was gone. “I heard she was cradling a bottle of pills in her hand,” one townsfolk whispered to the next. “That she was surrounded by vomit, and spit.” What a shame, they lamented. Such a beautiful girl, such a stunningly lovely being. They couldn’t understand why she had done it, why she took her life. What they didn’t know was that Autumn herself didn’t know why she was doing it, she only knew in that moment that she had to. She didn’t want to swallow the white thin trinkets in her hand. But she had to, she had to, she had to. To end it, her heart whispered. To be free, her soul ached. And so she did it. She gave in. Until there was nothing left but an empty bottle, and a leaking heart. 

Currently in Barton Hollow;

After a few months, the town stopped talking about her as much. The tragedy of her suicide wasn’t something to lament over anymore, it wasn’t in the forefront of their minds. So much had happened since then to distract them, to stop them from reminiscing on her life, on the shimmering light of her soul. She was gone, and so they moved on. Well, most of them did. Out there were three people who thought about the deceased darling daily: lonely Lou, maudlin Madeline and bereft Benjamin, but this story isn’t about those three. Those three who all collectively blamed themselves for Autumn’s death. No, this story is about Autumn. And for six months, Autumn was stuck in a purgatory between worlds, between existences, where she was in not on intense physically pain but excruciating emotional sorrow. Her soul screamed out to anyone who would listen, it reached out, the silky, fog-like fingers trying to catch anyone that moved swiftly by. She had unfinished business to do, she was taken from the world too soon. She was never meant to die and she knew it. So six months rolled by, feeling more to her like an infinite amount of time, and then on one Wednesday afternoon… something caught.

Alaster Whyte was not a name that went unknown in the world; it knew him quite well. It knew of his most secret desires, heard of his plans, understood what actions he was willing to take. And while his destiny and the fate of his existence will go unknown to those reading, his plans aren’t as clouded in mystery. Alaster Whyte felt a war brewing, one between all the folklore of Barton Hollow, and he recognized his need to get his ideas in motion. To give himself the upper hand, to attempt to defeat everyone else in one fatal swoop. And that involved a twisted idea of his, one that focused on the creation of life from death. A Voodoo Zombie. Even the title made his mind swoon and hunger. He felt like Frankenstein in his lab, making failed creation after failed creation… until finally, the right soul called out to him, and it worked. Well, it worked as well as such an idea as his could. He now had successfully formed a monster that could help him to succeed, a monster that was at once an abomination and a catastrophe. Because she was still in the trial stages, Autumn came to life missing quite a bit of who she once was. She had lost so much of herself in the resurrection of her body, mind and soul. She would try to cry out, and no sound would come forth. She tried to move her arms, her legs, her eyes, but everything stayed stagnant, as if she were lifeless. A reincarnated mind stuck in an unwilling body. A fucked up monster brought to life by a sadistic creator who desired a new minion, someone new to control. It took everything in him to create her, and even more effort to make her work.

He tried to fix the kinks, to remove the damaged hardware. What use did he have with a monster that went hours without speaking, days without moving, and weeks without feeling. So he added updates every day, walking her to his cabin and forcing her to lie back and feel the pain as he attempted to get her perfect. They all knew that once he did, he’d start creating even more beings just like her. His crowning glory in the world of voodoo. But with each new addition, Alaster took more away from her, from sunshiney Autumn Ainsworth. Because no matter what her body did, inside she was still the same. He started to remove her humanity, to bequeath unwanted powers onto her. He desired to get past the deadness of her being and force her to embrace it. And with every session, Autumn’s hate for her creator grew more and more potent. She settled in with young and beautiful Emilie Cross, yet another slave of Alaster’s held captive in her own personal prison, and together they started to come up with a plan to end the life of their captor. If Autumn ever got out of Alaster’s hold, maybe she could find someone to fix her, to allow her to be more human… or maybe she could get them to kill her. Because she had found in her zombie body, that death was not something that would come easy. Day after day, her and Emilie would gather together in the dark of the night in their apartment and try to formulate a plan. How would they kill a King? Weapons were too clumsy, too imperfect. Magic was something that both of them wanted to stay away from. But a poison? A well-placed ingestant placed into his food or his remedies, that could just work. But how were they to pull off something like that? Two young girls, one dead and one alive… they didn’t have a lot of luck or experience on their side.

So, they continue to make plans and add to them every day. But both girls understand that to pull this off, they need the help of one specific woman, a Queen: Marilyn White. But with each day that passes, Autumn grows more inhuman. It even progressed to the point where Alaster went far past what she ever could have imagined and made her a true horror story. He instilled in her a never ending hunger, a desire to feed on the flesh of humans, their minds especially. Alaster brings her fresh kills, dead bodies that she then has to ingest. And the awful thing is, she enjoys it. There’s a part of her that needs that substance, that needs the sustenance. No matter how guilty she feels, more inhuman she gets with every bite, with every new body, she still can’t stop. Her plan hasn’t fully formed yet, she still isn’t strong enough to end him, to overthrow the King. But she has to do it soon, she knows this deep inside. For with every piece she gets, she loses herself. She becomes less like herself and more like the people she eats. She starts to pick up the mannerisms of those dead bodies, their memories flooding her mind, their habits overtaking her life. And even though she is eternally hungry, she does her best not to eat often. She has not slipped up once yet, every single body that she has eaten was placed at her feet by the King. But the pit in her stomach and her starving minds are hard to ignore, and at times she wants nothing more than to reach across the dinner table, slam Emilie’s head against the table and feast upon the pinkness of her mind. Alaster was no fool though, every move he made was calculated and Autumn’s feasts aren’t for nothing. With each feeding she grows stronger, faster, her abilities growing. She can immobilize people with her spit, she can chase them for endless amounts of time, pick them up by their feet, all to gain the memories that Alaster so desires. For when she ingests their memories, it is Autumn’s duty to tell Alaster what he wants to know. Dark secrets and true horrors spout forth from the brains he brings, and she knows even darker deeds will come from that shared knowledge. But she already has so much to deal with to worry about that now.

For with each new brain, her memories, her thoughts and her dreams creep out from the hidden depths of her mind, she loses who she is and who she used to be. When she tries her hardest to remember her own life, and she succeeds, she finds it hurts worse than forgetting it does. She can’t remember how she died, she doesn’t remember a lot of the time how she used to feel about her mother, how she liked her steaks cooked, what colors she enjoyed wearing. And no matter what her old loved ones tell her, try to get her to remember, she can’t help but feel like it’s for the best. That Autumn is dead now, and she’s not coming back. Not now, not ever. If Autumn is going to succeed, then she’s got to progress. To forget about the past, give it all up. She’s in it to win, and reminiscing makes her weak. And someone who is weak cannot murder a King. 

Her Quirks

  • Brandi Rusting: Gave Autumn a compulsive need to clean hers and Emilie’s apartment every few days, as well as a certain taste for Italian arias and older men.
  • Abigail Berry: Gave Autumn a desire to read fashion magazines and to binge watch reality shows as well as a need to constantly flirt to gain the approval of boys around her.
  • Carlisle Henrys: Gave Autumn an allergy to wheat and dust, which makes it hard for her to go on a lot of the runs Alaster sends her on to find certain people to feed on as they always appear to live in the dustiest places on earth.
  • Angelica Swift: Gave Autumn a fear of the dark and of spiders, as well as an affinity for the mandolin and an ability to speak Korean and German.
  • Cynthia Smalls: Gave Autumn the habit of picking at her nails and constantly brushing her teeth. She also blessed Autumn with the knowledge of all the various philosopher’s in the world and their philosophies.
  • Charlie Smith: Gave Autumn a passion for stamp collecting and warm brandies.
  • Ryan Dietrich: Gave Autumn a dislike for small dogs and an affinity for sailing and tying different knots.
  • Babette Manning: Gave Autumn a passion for Barbie dolls and stuffed animals, as well as a desire to occasionally suck her thumb and cry out for her mother.
  • Alex Wade: Gave Autumn an obsession with porn and a large bank of slang words.

Autumn’s Connections

  • Madeline Ainsworth:

    Her relationship with her mother used to be strained, now it seems to be impossible. She knows that when her loved ones see her, she only causes them pain. And she understands the guilt her mother must feel, but most of the time, she can’t seem to remember any of that and that only seems to hurt the woman worse. She doesn’t know how to feel about her mother, but that’s not something that’s new. Mostly she just wants her to forgive herself so that the weight of her guilt doesn’t suffocate Autumn and Madeline herself as it currently is doing. 

  • Emilie Cross:

    Emilie is currently her best friend and really the only person that she sees day upon day. She considers her to be an integral part of her new life and depends on her to keep Autumn human and keep her from truly becoming the monster that Alaster wants her to be. She knows that Emilie is her only ally in this internal war between King and slaves.

  • Benjamin Wright:

    Seeing Ben again was confusing on both ends. He was astounded and she was confused. And now things are more screwed up than ever, he sees the way she is now, the monster that she is and she knows that that’s not the girl he used to love. But still, he meets up with her whenever he can, to remind her of her life before, to prove to her and himself that she still has a place in his heart, that he’s a good man. And that he didn’t ruin her life.

Her face claim is Chloe Bridges and she is OPEN.

Song: Never Gonna Love Again by Lykke Li (x)

Gifs: One Two Three Four

Listeners, absolutely fantastic news! Today we’re posting the first group of the fifth batch: Autumn Ainsworth, Charles Alexander, Isaiah Ashley, Billie Atkins, Kiran Baksh, Emile Batista

We have also added new folklore to our page, Banshees!

We will be begin posting them at 5 PM PST, and finish around 6 PM PST. We can’t wait for you to meet these absolutely fantastic characters!

Remember that we accept on Wednesday’s and Saturday’s, starting at 5 PM PST and then continuing on for the rest of the night until Midnight PST. We will be accepting OC and Canon applications!

So, take this wonderful chance and go apply now!

Thank you,
xx BH Admin Team.

Anonymous:
What days do you guys accept?

We accept every Wednesday and Saturday from 5 PM PST to Midnight PST of the same night. This information can be found in our updates tab and in our frequently asked questions tag.

- Admin Spacey

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