( evan mock, cis man, he / him ) is that nicolás “nik” harwood, the 25 year-old musician at bar volante? they’re pretty attentive, but people have told me they could be confusing as well. they kinda remind me of come here by dominic fike, probably because of the whole bailing on family dinners, cuts and scrapes from a failed crossbone, and late night phone calls that end with ‘do you want to come over?’ vibe they’ve got going for them. they live in hollywood hills, but you can probably find them at hi tide comics if you wanted to chat. out of everyone i know, i’d say they’re the most likely to take a week to reply to a text. say what you want about them, but they’re an angeleno through and through.
the basics.
name nicolás harwood nik luna
gender cis man, he / him
sexuality mostly straight
height 6’0”
face claim evan mock
hair color almost always dyed; he’s extremely partial to pink
body mods two helix piercings and a tragus on his left ear, a crescent moon tattoo on his left ring finger, a small siberian iris tattoo on the outside of his right wrist
traits attentive, thoughtful, closed off, confusing
about.
ㅤ ㅤ ⤷ㅤ can’t you tell that i’m bad for ya ???
ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ it doesn’t show in your eyes ...
nik grew up knowing that he’s a bastard. it didn’t take a genius to figure it out—the expensive gifts that came from ‘uncles’ and ‘godfathers’ he’d never met, the clothes that were lifted straight out of a magazine, the fact that they could afford everything they needed on a waitress’ salary. they didn’t live in excess ( nik would later discover that his mother had set aside most of the money from his father in the event that he decides to refuse his trust ) but they did live comfortably, and nik was just glad that his mother didn’t have to struggle to make ends meet. he knew who his father was—there was only one set of harwoods in hollywood, and they were basically industry royalty—but he didn’t yearn for a connection, didn’t care about meeting someone who had done nothing for him outside of cheques and presents. parenthood, as far as nik was concerned, had nothing to do with blood and everything to do with being there for your child. he would have been content living his whole life without ever meeting his father, but in the end, he didn’t really have much of a choice.
he had just turned eleven when his father asked to meet him for the first time, and it was nothing short of a disaster—nik didn’t make it easy for his father, but it’s not as if the man even tried. they wordlessly agreed never to see each other again ( maybe he and his father were able to reach some sort of understanding, after all ), and life went on as it always has. the cheques kept coming, the gifts arrived every birthday and every holiday without fail, and it was just nik and his mother against the world—just as it’s always been.
he was fourteen when his mother fell ill. it was bad—bad enough that she had to be moved to an inpatient facility, bad enough that nik was forced to live with his only other parent. he didn’t like his father the first time they met at the ritz, and at home he liked his father even less. the harwoods’ house on the hills reminded him of an ice sculpture, beautiful and cold, so unlike their little apartment that was filled with sunshine and warmth. high society was another thing to dread—nik despised the gladhanding, the politics, the people who thought there was something to be earned from sucking up to the bastard. he began to craft a persona: nik from his nickname, luna from his mother’s surname. nicolás was bound by the shackles his father had put him in, but nik was free—free to make friends without telling people who he really is, free to act like he didn’t have access to the depths of his father’s pockets. it was liberating, and if he closed his eyes he could almost let himself believe that he was back home with his mother.
it’s been more than a decade since then, but nik has yet to put the persona to rest. he has carved out a life for himself as nik luna—made friends, bought a ratty apartment downtown that he pretends to rent, started a band. none of the people in nik luna’s life know who he really is, and perhaps they never will.
ㅤ ㅤ ⤷ㅤ baby come here
ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ i get so lonely at night !!!
wanted connections.
neighbors. nik splits his time between the harwood estate, dani’s apartment, and the unit he bought in downtown la, but he drops by often enough to be familiar with the other tenants. maybe they get along, maybe they don’t.
bandmates. it’s been about a year since nik and a couple of friends started playing shows at bar volante as ‘the deep end’, but it’s more of a hobby than anything else. it kind of has to be, because getting too much traction would risk exposing who nik really is. he’s the frontman and guitarist, while his friends play bass and drums respectively. and on that note...
regulars at bar volante. the deep end plays at least two nights every week, so it’s inevitable that nik has become familiar with the regulars. maybe some of them can be considered friends, maybe some of them can’t fucking stand him for some reason or other, maybe some of them could be fans, almost.
former fling / someone he used to hook up with. maybe they’re civil, maybe they’re friendly, maybe they’d rather freedive into a pool of lava than spend more than five minutes in each other’s presence. maybe there’s still a bit of tension there, enough to flirt without it leading to anything. maybe nik plays it up when he and his “on-again, off-again” are off-again.
someone who knows him as nik harwood. maybe they’re friendly, maybe they aren’t. maybe they know about his double life, maybe they don’t. not a lot of slots for obvious reasons.
regulars at venice skate park. nik hasn’t had a real job since he got his degree, so he has a lot of free time that he normally spends skateboarding. there’s a surface-level type of friendship that can be found amongst the community there, and that’s perfect for someone who’s hiding as much as he is.
these are all i could think of at the moment, but as a rule of thumb, friends are always welcome—as well as people who hate nik’s guts. he might not identify as a rich boy, but he does have the cockiness to match, and he likes to play it up sometimes. i also sent a wanted connection for his college best friend-slash-former fling to the main, so feel free to check that out and apply for it if you’re down.
( timothée chalamet, cis man, he / him ) is that jocephas “ceph” reed, the 25 year-old musician at vortex records? they’re pretty charismatic, but people have told me they could be self-destructive as well. they kinda remind me of die in california by mgk, probably because of the whole cigarette butts lining the window sill, looking into the mirror and not recognizing the person staring back at you, and feeling homesick for a place that no longer exists vibe they’ve got going for them. they live in hollywood hills, but you can probably find them at odyssey if you wanted to chat. out of everyone i know, i’d say they’re the most likely to disappear for days on end. say what you want about them, but they’re an angeleno through and through.
the basics.
name jocephas “ceph” reed
stage name ceph
gender cis man, he / him
sexuality bisexual
height 6’2”
face claim timothée chalamet
vices alcohol and narcotics, the occasional cigarette
body mods three lobe piercings on his left ear, a barbell near the tail end of his right brow, cybernetic scarification on his left leg, a fake autopsy scar on his chest that he got as a tattoo when he was sixteen because he thought it looked cool ( it didn’t )
traits charismatic, creative, self-destructive, volatile
about.
ㅤ ㅤ ⤷ㅤ killed the me i used to be, i might die in california
ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ in my mind i had a dream, saw a demon on my shoulder ...
ceph has always wanted to make it big, is the thing. he was smart, but not in the way his cousin was. he could barely stay awake in school, but he did have a knack for music, and that was what he chose to cling to. he’d been making songs for as long as he could remember, melodies tapped onto schoolbooks and lunchboxes and play-doh caps before the grouchy old lady down the hall softened up enough to teach him how to play piano. he and his mother might have been broke and his grades might have been tanking, but he had music, and for a while that was enough.
the thing about going to a public high school is that no one really expects anything of you. ceph sat through all of the career advising sessions, same as everyone else, but no one really saw him or paid enough attention to ask about what he was good at. one look at his grades and they think: this kid’s a lost cause, no point trying to save him from drowning. and that was fine, really, because ceph had a dream—a dream to move across the country and make a living doing what he loves most. his dream was exactly what it was, though—just a dream, wisps of smoke and tall tales he told himself just to get through the day. reality was’nt so forgiving.
his mother passed two weeks before his graduation, and he would have dropped out then and there if not for the fact that his aunt pushed him to see things through. ceph went through the motions, got his high school diploma, and locked himself inside the house for half a year. in that time, he wrote. music had always been his escape, but now it was his only lifeline. there was something therapeutic about prying himself open for all the world to see, and that was exactly what he did—he took his pain, translated them into notes and lyrics and melodies, and cast them out into digital seas. he thought it would help, writing it all out, and he thought it would make it easier for him to stop trying to put the world on pause. ceph never thought his life would change practically overnight.
his music went viral, he got signed, and suddenly he was halfway across the country like he always dreamed he would be. that’s the thing about dreams, though—they were rarely rooted in reality, and underneath everything that sparkled and shone, los angeles is a place where dreams came to die. ceph had everything he had ever wanted, but he had a hole in the centre of him and nothing to fill it with.
ㅤ ㅤ ⤷ㅤ i’m miserable even though i made it
ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ got a house in the hills and i fucking hate it !!!
wanted connections.
drinking buddies. ceph runs on fumes and self-destruction, so he tends to gravitate towards people who would enable him. maybe they have some idea about what ceph is going through, maybe they don’t. when the lights are low, picking your poison is all that really matters.
flings, former and current. ceph’s in no position to be taking care of anybody, so drunken hookups ( he’s never really sober ) are the best he can do. maybe they have something close to friendship, maybe they just get off and go. maybe they’re civil or maybe they resent ceph for not having space for anyone but himself. anything goes.
industry acquaintances. hollywood is a lot smaller than it looks. maybe your muse is a singer, an actor, a model. maybe your muse works behind the scenes. maybe ceph has only ever spoken a handful of words to them, or maybe he even goes so far as to seek them out when they’re attending same event.
someone who’s perpetually out of the loop. it’s refreshing, being ceph-the-fuckup and not ceph-the-singer-who’s-also-a-fuckup. it’s rare to find someone who doesn’t know him these days, and ceph appreciates the anonymity more than he would ever admit.
these are all i could think of at the moment. as a rule of thumb, if your muse likes to get white boy wasted, ceph will get along with them just fine. i’ve submitted wanted connections to the main for his manager, his cousin, and his pr girlfriend, so feel free to check those out and maybe apply for them if you’re down.
come here dominic fike
hi grace dominic fike
sick dominic fike
bodies dominic fike
love hangover jennie ft dominic fike
& more songs ( not by dominic fike ) in the playlist . . .
titsay
theartofmadeline
tangentwithtanner
blakekathryn
annaxmalina
areudirty
2087