full name. rizuna ann.
nicknames & aliases. n/a.
gender & pronouns. cisgender female, she/her.
orientation. lesbian.
age. 27.
birthday & zodiac. january 9th, capricorn.
occupation. forensic scientist.
height. 5'8".
weight. 111lbs.
body & build. slender, long legs.
complexion. pale, without flaw.
tattoos & piercings. both earlobes pierced.
hair color & style. black, chin length, asymmetrical bob.
eye color. brown.
clothing style. favors short sleeves and garments, shows a lot of skin. typical color palette is black, gray, and white.
distinguishing features. red lipstick.
positive traits. intelligent, rational, level-headed, decisive, brave.
negative traits. blunt, withdrawn, unemotional, cold, impulsive.
speech patterns & voice. affect is typically flat. tendency not to pare down subject matter she discusses into layman's terms. well-spoken.
skills & proficiencies. high intelligence, forensic analysis, adept at chess.
ailments. ptsd.
fears & phobias. none.
likes. tba.
dislikes. tba.
mbti. entj.
enneagram. self-preservation 3.
music taste. trip hop.
relevant songs. charlene by bjรถrk, mysterons by portishead.
height. 5'7".
weight. 117lbs.
body & build. slender, fit.
complexion. fair skin, free of blemishes.
tattoos & piercings. 2 piercings in each earlobe, nose piercing, lip piercing.
hair color & style. dark brown, cut into a shaggy mullet.
eye color. brown.
clothing style. oversized hoodies, combat boots, layered jackets, muted colors punctuated by metal accents; often secondhand.
signature scent. l'animal by borntostandout.
distinguishing features. pretty features, numerous piercings.
positive traits. pragmatic, loyal, adaptive, protective, tenacious.
negative traits. distrustful, sharp-tongued, reckless, cynical.
speech patterns & voice. husky, casual with profanity usage; cutting sarcasm masks her care, but allows her voice to soften with those she trusts.
skills & proficiencies. street-fighting and improvised self defense, sharp observational skills, survival resourcefulness, petty theft and shoplifting, calm under pressure, urban navigation.
ailments. adhd.
fears & phobias. suffocation.
likes. thrifted clothing and jewelry, stray cats, rooftops, rain, strong coffee, loud music, charcoal drawing.
dislikes. pastel pink, barking dogs, bubblegum pop, cheap air fresheners, fireworks, humid weather.
mbti. istp.
enneagram. self-preservation 9.
music taste. k-metal, nu metal.
relevant songs. garden of skeletons by madmans esprit, bloody valentine by storm, rx queen by deftones.
mentions of drug usage/addiction inbound.
though her childhood held moments of warmth, her youth rapidly unraveled into scarcity, each year narrowing the space she had to stand in. by the time she was sixteen, the sanctity of home had splintered โ her father gone to debt, her mother working night shifts that kept her more absent than present โ and se-mi was left drifting between goshiwon rooms and the couches of friends as unstable as she was. school slipped from her grasp, not for lack of intelligence but instead because survival demanded the refinement of other skills: learning which subway bathrooms stayed unlocked, which convenience store clerks would let her linger, how to stretch one meal across a day. in that same terrain, she found the very kids who became her world, all the runaways and users, the discarded. she walked among them as one of their own. at first, her presence was small, be it company in long night hours, fetching water when someone was sick, or keeping vigil so no one had to be alone. sharp-tongued and ever-reckless with herself, she both refused pity and simultaneously gave it freely to those with no one else. over time, her role shifted. she learned which ngos handed out clean needles and condoms, and how to talk to someone spiraling until they came back to themselves. by the time she was a young adult, she became what the papers never named: a street-level harm reduction worker, unofficial and strictly unpaid. still, she was vital to those who knew her, wearing a hardened heart like armature. the profession kept her mired in poverty, but gave her a sense of purpose nothing else had, a defiant belief that survival itself was resistance. she drifts between the margins of survival and solidarity, days consumed by convenience store shifts and delivery routes, jobs that barely cover rent for a goshiwon room she can leave at a moment's notice. her nights are given over to the streets, with no title, no salary, no safety net. only the stubborn persistence to keep others alive even as she burns herself hollow. debt collectors are mean, violent, instilling in se-mi a fear she hadn't realized she was capable of. but she fights, day after day, comprehending the fullest necessity of the thankless work she puts in. if she burns out, it must be on her own terms; never in search of rescue.
full name. kang no-eul.
nicknames & aliases. number 011.
gender & pronouns. cisgender female, she/her.
orientation. bisexual.
age. 31.
birthday & zodiac. june 25th, cancer.
occupation. irregular contracts in private security and mercenary work.
height. 5'7".
weight. 127lbs.
body & build. toned, fit.
complexion. tan, freckled.
tattoos & piercings. none.
hair color & style. black, layered bob with wispy bangs.
eye color. brown.
clothing style. pared-down basics. washed out greys and khakis. fabrics chosen for durability over style. a look that blends in, as though she's trying to disappear.
distinguishing features. nothing, she exists to be forgotten.
positive traits. protective, principled, resilient, selfless, determined, affectionate with children.
negative traits. withdrawn, fatalistic, reckless, self-destructive, mistrustful, blunt.
speech patterns & voice. deeper, huskier voice. speaks in curt fragments. never rambles or speaks more than she must.
skills & proficiencies. high intelligence, physical strength, military training, marksmanship, sharpshooting, combat prowess, dexterity, quick reflexes, stealth, pain tolerance.
ailments. ptsd, depression.
fears & phobias. none.
likes. not much, anymore. children, strong liquor, sleeping pills.
dislikes. small talk, life and living.
mbti. istj.
enneagram. social 6.
music taste. doesn't listen to music.
relevant songs. static hum by chelsea wolfe, machine gun by portishead, exhumed by zola jesus.
implied sexual assault and mentions of addiction and self-harm inbound.
no-eul's life was carved by loss before it ever offered her choice. born in the shadow of the korean people's army, she was hollowed into a soldier by the time she reached adulthood. even through orders, drills, and endurance, the soldier's body was not hers to keep. all she longed for was family, and she gave birth to a daughter eight years prior. life narrowed into something fragile and human. her child's breath was a better reason than any to soften. that reprieve ended when her commanding officer demanded a submission having everything to do with violation. no-eul answered with a bullet. the pursuit squad followed, and she gunned them down at the border, each shot mercilessly carving away her chance of return. she fled south with nothing but her life, leaving her husband for dead and her daughter in arms that could no longer reach her. reports hypothesized her daughter was dead, and time and time again, no-eul could not bring herself to believe it. she tried relentlessly to cross back, each attempt collapsing beneath the same walls of barbed wire and guns. south korea offered her survival but no true life. to pass the time, she worked as a costumed performer at an amusement park, sweating inside a bunny suit by day and sleeping in her car by night. her only company was liquor, pills, and a photograph she refused to throw away whilst scars embellished her wrists. living almost as though she were waiting for someone to tell her it was over. and then it happens, and she receives explicit confirmation of her daughter's death, and the world crumbles before her. she has no illusions left, no longer working to build anything, only to keep going for some godforsaken reason. there is no future to orient toward, only today, and the next job that buys another day. she sells what she has, be it discipline, marksmanship, or the ability to follow and order without flinching. mercenary work, private contracts, bodyguarding for men who see her as another weapon to rent. in uniform or out, she has always been someone else's instrument. her life is transient, fed through cans and ramyeon. a duffel bag and a pistol are her only constants. the world has taken everything she loved, and in return, she gives it her aim.
height. 5'10".
weight. 166lbs.
body & build. muscular, but lithe enough to allow for stealth.
complexion. brown, surprisingly clear of blemishes despite her thick face paint.
tattoos & piercings. both earlobes.
hair color & style. brown, almost always in one thick braid down her back.
eye color. brown.
clothing style. slim, body-conscious layers. streetwear. less about polish and more about movement and intimidation. mostly black. leather, distressed denim, tactical fabrics.
signature scent. black by comme des garcons.
distinguishing features. skull face paint.
positive traits. resourceful, independent, intelligent, protective, stealthy.
negative traits. defiant, ruthless, reckless, impulsive, distant.
speech patterns & voice. brazilian portuguese accent, speaking with a husky and cutting tone.
skills & proficiencies. close-quarters combat, interrogation, psychological manipulation, surveillance and intelligence gathering, marksmanship, knife combat, multilingual.
ailments. aspd, insomnia.
fears & phobias. suffocation.
likes. jiu-jitsu, underground fighting circuits, knife collecting and customization, military history and strategy, black coffee, urban exploration and parkour.
dislikes. energy drinks, stiff clothing, pop music, tangled necklaces, soft beds, fake leather, nail files.
mbti. estp.
enneagram. sexual 8.
music taste. alt-metal.
relevant songs. brackish by kittie, poor impulse control by jack off jill, jennifer's body by hole.
to be born seventh in a family of ten in rinรณpolis, sรฃo paulo, is to arrive already drowned in noise. her father died before she was born, leaving only a pension and a mother too exhausted to keep pace. by the time taina was six, the family had been forced into a poor neighborhood in rio de janeiro. survival meant raising yourself just as much as being raised. her grandmother stepped in, a sharp-eyed woman who could slice through any lie, teaching discipline where fatigue had hollowed her mother. it was from her that taina first learned the power of interrogation, and moreover how silence, pressure, and the right question could make the truth spill out. her grandmother was even the one to place her first knife into her hand. but poverty bred defiance. at sixteen she vanished, slipping away from home until her mother reported her missing. by seventeen she was under arrest, picked up on robbery charges far from rio. she stood calm before the judge, poised even in chains. he saw potential, and offered her a choice: a juvenile reformatory, or to work with the polรญcia militarโs elite bope unit as an informant. taina chose the latter, instinct guiding her every move. protection lay in power, and power meant embedding herself among the very gangs that had shaped her streets. the years that followed sharpened her into something otherworldly. undercover work taught her to slip through walls, and to draw confession from even the hardest men. she trained through the pacification units, through bope, through live operations like the complexo do alemรฃo assault. when her mandatory service ended, she re-enlisted, unable to imagine any other life. service became a way of life, as no other profession matched the rush of danger. she learned confined-space tactics, sabotage, extraction, and made herself the operator commanders called when others had failed. but the leash of institutions never sat comfortably on her. team rainbow tried to recruit her, and for awhile she played along โ global missions and invitational tournaments aplenty โ but hierarchy grated. every rule was a chain around her throat. so taina slipped away, as she always had. one day captain, the next gone. some say she sells her skills now to cartels or private contractors. others claim she drifts from border to border, appearing in one interrogation chamber, then vanishing before the report is written. what is certain is that she answers to no one.
height. 5'10".
weight. 178lbs.
body & build. toned, fit frame.
complexion. fair skin, with a few moles dotting her face.
tattoos & piercings. none.
hair color & style. brown, often pulled into a tight bun at the back of her head.
eye color. brown.
clothing style. angular and straight cuts. muted neutrals sometimes punctuated by deep green or burgundy. rarely bright colors.
signature scent. mitsouko by guerlain.
distinguishing features. commanding presence.
positive traits. resilient, loyal, strategic, disciplined, protective.
negative traits. cold, rigid, distrustful, overbearing, emotionally repressed.
speech patterns & voice. curt and to the point, speaking in a low, controlled, and authoritative tone. rarely raises her voice, even under stress. polish accent is softened due to international experience.
skills & proficiencies. hand to hand combat, marksmanship and weapons handling, military strategy, field medicine, trauma care, explosives and breaching, survival and endurance training, interrogation and psychological warfare resistance.
ailments. c-ptsd, autism.
fears & phobias. drowning.
special interests. combat training and tactical mastery.
likes. timepieces, logic games, historical weapons, handcrafts, bitter herbal teas, classic literature, leather goods, calligraphy.
dislikes. weak coffee, beer, most fragrance notes in perfume, bright colors.
mbti. istj.
enneagram. self-preservation 1.
music taste. post rock, doomgaze, dark folk.
relevant songs. war by brutus, the culling by chelsea wolfe, burn by king woman.
brief mention of animal death inbound.
to be born as the elder daughter of jan bosak, grom commander and national figure, is to have a legacy carved for you before you can even comprehend it. the presence of zofia's mother in the household faded early, leaving her father's shadow to dominate. both sisters attended their father's military school; for most cadets, it was uniforms, drills, and discipline, but for zofia, it was a proving ground. jan's attention fell almost entirely on her, shaping her into a reflection of his militarized ideals, while her younger sister ela was left to absorb the weight of comparison. teachers described zofia as disciplined, precise, and incapable of failure, yet her achievements were never hers alone, always measured against the pocket watch her father carried. when ela faltered, zofia covered for her, quietly protective even as favoritism sharpened the first between them. as a child, she endured the cruelty of peers as well as of authority. during a school trip, three male classmates attempted to drown her for fun. forced back into class beside them the following week, zofia rapidly learned the permanence of betrayal and the futility of protest. she turned inward, burying her fear in relentless training. perfect scores in weapons handling, precision shooting beyond her years, and endurance tests that managed to surprise even her father. his lessons only grew harsher. one morning, he led her to a shooting range, where two stray dogs were leashed to a post. he told her one was sick, handed her the rifle, and started the pocket watch. she had two minutes to decide which would live. the lesson was not mercy, but decisiveness, survival wholly stripped of hesitation. she obeyed, naturally, because the alternative of failing him felt more dangerous than pulling the trigger. by the time she came of age, zofia was a soldier in everything but name. enlisting formally into grom, she tore through selection with record-breaking scores. obstacle courses and and tactical exercises and marksmanship trials; she excelled at each, repetitions of lessons she had been absorbing since childhood. her reputation as the unit's anchor followed quickly, her presence steadying others under pressure. in guetemala, when an earthquake ripped open a sinkhole in the center of a city, she was caught on the collapsing ground with a child strapped to her back. she clung to the edge for half an hour until extraction, then returned to drag civilians out until her body gave way. she was decorated with a medal, promoted, and marked in the eyes of her peers as the one who endured what others could not. abroad, far from her father's oversight, zofia finally discovered another kind of strength. missions in mali, latin america, and beyond taught her that survival did not have to be solitary. she learned field medicine, sabotage, and target extraction, and learned to trust squadmates to cover her in return. for the first time in her life, she could lean on others and not collapse. her squad became the family she had been denied at home. yet the weight of legacy never disappeared. the pocket watch ticked even from oceans away. every medal reminded her of her father's voice, and every subsequent success sharpened the silence between her and ela. eventually, years of service and the strain of politics drove her out of uniform. her discharge was honorable, but her distance from the institution was absolute. she left grom with commendations, but also with a gnawing sense that she had been used, shaped into something she hadn't chosen. life since allows her to fill many roles, always in spaces where crises presses against order, and where her steadiness could make the difference for others. she, the machine, running code someone else had written. still, beneath the fatigue and mistrust, the same vow persisted: no one under her care would be left behind. the pocket watch still ticks, but now it is her own hands that decide when time runs out.
full name. amรฉlie lacroix (nรฉe guillard).
nicknames & aliases. widowmaker, danielle guillard.
gender & pronouns. cisgender female, she/her.
orientation. bisexual.
age. 33.
birthday & zodiac. november 19th, scorpio.
occupation. sniper operative, vigilante; former ballet dancer.
height. 5'9".
weight. 128lbs.
body & build. willowy and lithe, flexible and elegant musculature.
complexion. pale blue, cool-toned; an effect of experimentation.
tattoos & piercings. black widow spider tattoo at base of spine, 'araignรฉe du soir, cauchemar' tattoo on right forearm; both earlobes pierced.
hair color & style. deep violet-blue and extending down to her thighs, oft tied into a high ponytail or braid for functionality.
eye color. uncanny yellow.
clothing style. sleek tactical wear while working; offduty, favors structured silhouettes, cold and dark color palettes.
signature scent. lost cherry by tom ford.
distinguishing features. de-oxygenated skin.
positive traits. competent, hardworking, adept, talented, composed, graceful.
negative traits. remorseless, cruel, manipulative, vain, violent, vindictive, emotionally void.
speech patterns & voice. ใ คspeaks slowly with cold inflection; prominent french accent.
skills & proficiencies. master markswoman, espionage, infiltration, multilingual, ballet, hand-to-hand combat.
ailments. c-ptsd, dpdr, alcoholism, artificially induced aspd, schizoid traits.
fears & phobias. classified.
likes. solitude, red wine, cold showers, silk gloves, silence, classical ballet, espresso served black, burned lavender.
dislikes. warm drinks, romantic films, floral patterns, humid weather, weak coffee, unnecessary noises, cheap perfumes, being called amรฉlie.
mbti. istp.
enneagram. self-preservation 5.
music taste. gothic rock.
relevant songs. static hum by chelsea wolfe, lithium by evanescence, twin fawn by chelsea wolfe.
mentions of kidnapping and human experimentation inbound.
amรฉlie guillard was born into structure. not discipline in the active sense, but a kind of aristocratic quietness and decorum, an atmosphere so controlled that emotion itself became vulgar. they did not shout at their dear daughter, but icing her out with the silent treatment was not out of the question. in fact, it was commonplace. praise was rare but cuttingly precise. while her parents were not cruel in the most direct sense of the world, they merely did not flinch. she was raised to become a symbol of composure. and she did.
ballet became her first confessional. through ballet, she did not seek recognition (she already had such in spades thanks to her family name) but perfection, purity of the aesthetic. in a world where emotion had no safe expression, form was her only proficient language. to move beautifully was to sublimate what she would never be allowed to speak. she did not hate her family. hatred insinuates emotional engagement that they had long since meticulously trained out of her. they were people she respected, people she obeyed and replicated. but never people she loved. and so it comes that admiration was what she conflated with love; praise for a perfect recital is love. corrected posture is care. absence shaped into discipline.
she married young. her husband, gรฉrard, was many years her senior โ an overwatch commander. older, principled, steady, stable. traits she found comfort in. in an older man, she sought structure rather than freedom from her oppressive family; a sanctuary from coldness. her approach to wifehood is the same way she must approach being a ballerina: grace and duty. despite their age disparity, gรฉrard was not a bad man, not unkind nor manipulative. he did, however, enjoy the adoration from someone who could not challenge him; long - lasting remnant of many, many years spent in the overwatch hierarchy. where devotion and loyalty were absolute. and who was she to deny him?
he would never have claimed her as a trophy wife, never boasting about her as a prize despite functioning as one. a beautiful, poised status marker โ at the end of the day, her presence and quiet devotion made gerard look complete in a way that fit overwatch's fantasy of prestige. she becomes an extension of his public self. gรฉrard fancied himself as a place where amรฉlie felt safe enough to unfold. while they lacked blazing intimacy, he gave her warmth in what was otherwise a cold, unfeeling life. he gave her a place to rest. and she did not always know how to rest, but with gรฉrard, she tried.
and then talon stole her.
not metaphor nor rhetorical flourish. they abducted amรฉlie lacroix from the home she shared with her husband, and they made her disappear. there was no visible struggle, no call for help, no body left behind. her disappearance was something calculated and silent; a mystery rattling all through overwatch's databases. and when she returned, it was not as herself.
initial overwatch debriefings concluded that amรฉlie had survived her abduction relatively intact. there were no visible injuries. no signs of cognitive impairment. no inconsistencies in her memory or narrative coherence. she underwent medical evaluations, passed them with unremarkable results. psychological assessments showed nothing with cause for concern. as such, her reentry to domestic life was tentative but unchallenged. gรฉrard welcomed her back. overwatch released a brief statement. the case was categorized as unexplained, but not suspicious.
two weeks later, she murdered gรฉrard in his sleep.
she crept into his room and executed him with precision completely lacking in perceived spontaneity. his murder was not an act of hatred, nor of grief. it was her final severance. the limit tests were of programming her to prove she could kill the one person she had once attempted to rest beside. and when talon reclaimed her shortly thereafter, the truth became undeniable: the entity that had returned was no longer amรฉlie in any functional sense.
talon had carried out a carefully designed psychological and physiological intervention. a newly manufactured protocol for their greatest weapon of all, someone able to hit overwatch where it hurts from the inside. phase one: disappearance. phase two: disintegration. meticulous dismantling of her identity and the life she used to live.
their methods were rooted extensively in sensory deprivation, temporal distortion, and behavioral conditioning. amรฉlie was stripped of environmental anchors until her cognitive mapping of selfhood began to degrade at a pace rapidly enough to be deemed sufficient. isolation became her baseline, routine dissociation following neatly behind. an objective seeking to erode her autonomy.
talon utilized linguistic manipulations and targeted memory suppression. emotional associations were cut down, and words that once carried meaning were neutralized through repetition and monotony. even gรฉrard's name was gradually rendered semantically inert. all that remained of her former life was conceptual noise.
her physical body underwent a smattering of hefty corresponding modification. under moira's supervision, a pharmacological regimen was introduced to suppress affective volatility and recalibrate her hormonal and neurological baselines. her heart rate was slowed, her skin temperature reduced. neurochemical responses to interpersonal stimuli were muted. the only remaining source of emotional gratification was calibrated to coincide with successful mission execution. the act of killing, specifically. she resembles something monstrous, unhuman, with eyes modified to scream yellowed danger.
she was given a new identity: widowmaker. but this was not a new name in the personal sense / a mask intended to obfuscate her old face. talon fostered no interest in instilling ideology โ belief was an operation liability, after all. what they sought was consistency, mechanical adherence to task, and helpless obedience. widowmaker naturally excelled.
chatters around talon headquarters betwixt nameless underlings would lead one to believe that widowmaker was beginning to resist the extensive conditioning โ even the slightest possibility that amรฉlie, beneath the surface, was beginning to emerge from the cracks. sporting a mask of her own face, residing in the abomination she was made into. she does not remember what it means to resist, but her body does. her resistance manifests as clean hesitation. as silence where execution should be. as a pause too long on a familiar sight. on the desperate clinging to the stem of her wine glass as she stares down her wedding photo. talon monitors this. adjusts her dosages. issues new tasks. recalibrates their perfect weapon. widowmaker performs. she always performs. but the cracks are real. not in full, not all at once. no alarms have been raised, no orders disobeyed. still, something stirs beneath the scaffolding.
her aim is immaculate. her disposition remains malevolent as ever, offering no camaraderie even for her subordinates within talon's reach. no one questions her loyalty. it's unnecessary. obedience is what she was made for, the very thing she was programmed into.
full name. illari quispe ruiz.
nicknames & aliases. none.
gender & pronouns. cisgender female, she/her.
orientation. bisexual.
age. 18.
birthday & zodiac. december 21st, sagittarius.
occupation. vigilante.
height. 5'0".
weight. 115lbs.
body & build. small but mighty, toned and fit.
complexion. brown skin, solar threads woven throughout her body, most visible on her forehead and under her eyes.
tattoos & piercings. both earlobes pierced.
hair color & style. thick, wavy, back-length. dark brown and often pulled into two braided pigtails.
eye color. brown.
clothing style. tactical wear, structured silhouettes.
signature scent. heat by beyonce.
distinguishing features. solar threads.
positive traits. courageous, resilient, disciplined, protective, independent.
negative traits. guilt-ridden, stoic, blunt, reckless, self-sacrificial.
speech patterns & voice. stoic, flat affect. voice has a rich, resonant quality, and she's very blunt, using minimalist and slightly formal language.
skills & proficiencies. marksmanship, hand-to-hand combat, first aid and trauma response, field medicine, rescue operations, search and rescue, crisis management.
ailments. ptsd, autism.
fears & phobias. failure, attachment, losing control.
special interests. crisis management, search and rescue.
likes. solitude, cool air, rescue survival manuals, andean food, llamas, early mornings, soft pajamas.
dislikes. scented candles, strong perfumes, chocolate, selfies, pop music, swimming, unboxing videos, fireworks.
mbti. istj.
enneagram. self-preservation 1.
music taste. post rock, rock.
relevant songs. lift by paul stanley, fallen angel by three days grace, what i've done by linkin park.
though blessed with a happy childhood, illari's youth was nevertheless grueling, growing beneath the weight of expectation. she was destined to become an inti warrior, and her every step was shadowed by legends. her trainers said she was a prodigy, but the truth was hard to conceal. she was bending her entire being to the shape they demanded. training long after dusk until her body ached, heart carrying a quiet fear of never being enough. still, to be an inti warrior was aspirational: a hero, a protector, an educator, a healer. carrying the weight of their people's safety on their shoulders, fighting for justice and safeguarding the vulnerable. when the time came for her initiation, illari bowed her head to the solar threading without hesitation, willing to allow her body to be remade if it meant belonging. but there is no happy ending to this story, and the ceremony did not end in triumph. her power erupted unchecked, a blast of sunlight tearing through stone and fire and flesh. when the chamber cleared, she stood alone among the ruins. the last inti warrior. there was nothing to do but withdraw from the world, refusing the pity of her community. she refused to speak of what she had done, guilt eating through her like acid. at night, she replayed the moment of the blast, wondering if her ambition had cost them their lives. had the desire to be worthy twisted into destruction? even in exile, she could not abandon the discipline that had been carved into her bones. she rose with the sun, trained until her muscles trembled, and hardened her body into a weapon. if she could no longer fight beside her people, she would fight for their memory. what emerged from that solitude was a ruthless vigilante. she seeks redemption through action, throwing herself behind enemy lines, striking with precision and fury.
full name. dawn o'keefe.
nicknames & aliases. none.
gender & pronouns. cisgender female, she/her.
orientation. unlabeled queer.
age. 25, verse dependent.
birthday & zodiac. august 8th, leo.
occupation. graduate student in gender studies; part-time research assistant.
height. 5'7".
weight. 121lbs.
body & build. slender.
complexion. clear, pale skin.
tattoos & piercings. none.
hair color & style. blonde, slightly wavy. chest length.
eye color. blue.
clothing style. sundresses, lace, white or pale colors.
signature scent. vanilla creme by the good scent.
distinguishing features. big blue eyes.
positive traits. idealistic, determined, principled, empathetic, brave.
negative traits. repressed, judgmental, self-righteous, emotionally rigid, avoidant.
speech patterns & voice. soft, gentle voice. rarely cusses.
skills & proficiencies. how about those vagina dentata?
ailments. c-ptsd, autism.
fears & phobias. illness, female sexuality.
likes. scented candles, vintage dresses, biology textbooks, horror movies, true crime, herbal tea, journaling.
dislikes. novelty socks, phone games, plastic jewelry, religion, soda, lakes.
mbti. intj.
enneagram. sexual 5.
music taste. dark ambient, baroque pop.
relevant songs. in the land by nicole dollanganger, virgin by flower face, the necklace of marie antoinette by hannah fury.
mentions of sexual assault and step-sibling incest inbound. these subjects will absolutely not be glorified nor written out on my blogs.
raised beneath the glow of a nuclear power plant, dawn's attraction to faith was not one provoked by her parents, but of an internal search for guidance. her father was gentle but passive, her mother fervent but frail, and dawn quickly learned that obedience and purity were the safest forms of survival. she grew into the image of chastity: the poster girl for the promise, a christian abstinence group. her voice rang out at rallies. smiling, sure of herself. the ideal vessel. but even there were fractures in her perfect surface, like how brad, her stepbrother, leered at her hungrily. still, innocence was her armor, never naming the shadows inside her own house. when she met tobey, a fellow believer, a fellow voice of restraint, she thought she found safety. but desire and violence converged by the swimming hole. his aggression split her head against rock, and his betrayal sparking a defense older than doctrine. teeth, hidden and biting and terrible, tore him apart. dawn fled with blood on her hands, the purity ring she once treasured dropped into the abyss. in the aftermath she sought answers, found only exploitation by a licentious gynecologist. violation carved the notion into her mind that men, if nothing else, sought to take advantage of her. still, dawn searched for tenderness. with ryan she thought she found it โ sedated into softness, coaxed into believing that there was a hero of this story. someone who could bear the brunt of her curse. for a moment, there was one. betrayal arrived quickly, the form of laughter and a wager on her body declared through a phone call. rage closed its jaws around him, just as it had the others. dawn was learning: this power obeyed no vow, no sermon. it obeyed her anger. loss drove her further down a spiral. her mother collapsed and never rose again, hapless cries out ignored by brad's lechery. leering and taunting and certain of his entitlement to the girl who sourced his psychosexual fixation. so: she paints her lips, walks into his room, and allowed the teeth to answer the questions he had remaining. in adulthood, dawn retreated further inward before she reached outward. college gave her anonymity, and in that anonymity she began to study. biology textbooks piled beside feminist theory, mythology and trauma studies marked up with meticulous notes. her essays spoke what her soft voice could not, incisive and searching, a vivisection of herself on the page. purity rhetoric was reformed into a quiet devotion to knowledge, clawing back control from the chaos of her adolescence. by twenty-five, her life bore the look of ascetic ritual. pale walls and chipped porcelain tea cups / not outwardly remarkable, but an arsenal of principles inwardly.
full name. ashley.
nicknames & aliases. ash, long abandoned because of the connotation it carries.
gender & pronouns. cisgender female, she/her.
orientation. biromantic demisexual.
age. 27, verse dependent.
birthday & zodiac. may 19th, taurus.
occupation. early-career forensic psychologist.
height. 5'3".
weight. 117lbs.
body & build. slender.
complexion. fair skin, scar on her neck from being stabbed.
tattoos & piercings. both earlobes.
hair color & style. medium blonde, straight and falling to back length.
eye color. blue.
clothing style. sweaters, long-sleeves, cargo joggers. tends towards neutral tones, always prefers to keep herself covered up.
signature scent. juliette by juliette has a gun.
distinguishing features. scar on her neck.
positive traits. brave, resourceful, resilient, intelligent, protective, analytical, moralistic.
negative traits. stubborn, blunt, guarded, dismissive, tactless, distrustful, unempathetic.
speech patterns & voice. very direct, with no frills in her syntax. can be ironic and mocking, using a thin veneer of humor to assert control when necessary. edged and biting when cornered. steady and direct. bordering on maternal when necessary. frequent profanity in informal settings.
skills & proficiencies. crisis management, athleticism, high pain tolerance, first aid, survival instincts.
ailments. pstd, depression.
fears & phobias. spiders, sex, being touched.
likes. self-defense, martial arts, feminism, criminal psychology, cats, autumn, podcasts, thrift stores, hoodies.
dislikes. men, male entitlement, spiders, horror movies, christmas, pranks, crowded parties, artificial scents.
mbti. istj.
enneagram. self-preservation 1.
music taste. goth rock, baroque pop.
relevant songs. snow white queen by evanescence, limp by fiona apple, ...a psychopath by lisa germano.
mentions of kidnapping and sexual harassment inbound.
only child of divorced parents, ashley learned self-reliance early. her father was charming but inept, the sort of man who filled his freezer with hot pockets and his fridge with nothing but condiments. when she was six, weekends felt like paradise. junk food and late movies and a lack of structure. magic sours fast when you realize he wants you there more as company than as a daughter. by ten, she was clearing bottles off the counter and aiding him in paying the electric bill online. thinking these things made her grown up. her mother, the competent one, was colder. never someone cruel, but strikingly distant. "how are you feeling?" was never a topic of conversation. "did you finish your homework?" was what counted. emotions were private, inconvenient things. competence was maturity, full stop. so ashley became small in the wake of other people's anger, practiced at being the adult before she ever had a chance to be a child. at seventeen, she was already the reliable one. the babysitter who never flaked, the cheerleader who smiled on cue, and the friend who kept her head while others lost theirs. but beneath the composure was a girl who knew what it meant to love without getting it back; rubbing her father's shoulders while he wept about her mother was a memory seared poignantly into her mind. she would nod, tell her she loved him. it would never be reciprocal.
and then came that december night. the lerner residence, a mainstay of the past five years. what was supposed to be one last babysitting job before her move to pittsburgh for university had bled ugly into a nightmare. luke, the very boy she'd watched grow up, twisted his immaturity into entitlement, and his entitlement into cruelty. her instinct was the same as always. swallow her fear, calm the child. protect, always. but luke was just another version of the father she had already been raising. someone incompetent and infantile, demanding she hold his world together. at first, the night was just tense. luke had a crush that he wasn't subtle about, and when ashley wasn't responsive, things escalated. strange phone calls, a pizza they didn't order, a brick through the window. ashley took it seriously. staying calm and making plans. good in a crisis. but what happens when the crisis isn't real? luke had staged the entire night. what followed was hours of psychological torture. ashley was knocked unconscious repeatedly, bound with duct tape, and forced to watch as he turned her life into a performance. she was groped as part of truth or dare, and inundated with invasive questions about her sex life. the night's closer was meant to be having her drink alcohol laced with roofies: ashley thinks quickly, smashes the bottle. but her refusal to cooperate meant things would escalate. luke lured her boyfriend, ricky, over, forcing her to watch as he was bound, taunted, and ultimately murdered. initially unbeknownst to ashley, her ex-boyfriend jeremy was also slain by luke, who had him write an apology letter he used to frame him fro the killings. ashley resisted wherever possible, including using a shard of glass to saw through her bindings. there was an attempt to reason with the guilty party of luke's best friend garrett, anything that could plant doubt and buy her time. it culminates in luke murdering his best friend before ashley's eyes, and eventually trying to end the night pilfering a cuddle from his beloved babysitter. she resists. closes her eyes, shuts herself off from him. he responds with violence, stabbing her in the neck and kissing her goodbye on the forehead. ashley stayed conscious long enough to cover the wound with duct tape, slowing the bleeding enough to stay alive until the paramedics arrived.
origamiaround
yousharknotpass
dailybridgerton
stormborns
snowghoul