'spent your life ᴄᴏʟʟᴇᴄᴛɪɴɢ so you can 𝓷𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻 𝓯𝓸𝓻𝓰𝓮𝓽; ᴛʀᴇᴀꜱᴜʀᴇᴅ ᴍᴏᴍᴇɴᴛꜱ become 𝓵𝓸𝓼𝓽 𝓽𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓼𝓾𝓻𝓮𝓼 when you ᴄᴀɴ'ᴛ ʀᴇᴄᴏʟʟᴇᴄᴛ.' ·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ☾ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙ athena pallas-dexicos. 30. psychic medium. paranormal investigator. spook enthusiast. ·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ☾ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙ roleplay, babes.
☾ *ﾟ lee siyeon. thirty. nonbinary. they/them. demiromantic demisexual aquarius. ➼ the whispering trees say mae danbi / athena pallas-dexicos is usually found around annesburg. they’re known to be inquisitive & warm-hearted, but cross their bad side and they can be mercurial & callous. the psychic at the brewing cauldron & paranormal investigator feels uninterested about the outlaws, and the first thing you should know about them is the back of their hearse is decked out in twinkle lights and pillows.
birth name: mae danbi; doesn’t mind family using their birth name
age: 30
dob: 14 february, 1992
birthplace: mokpo-si, south korea
hometown: meteora, greece
occupation: psychic @ the brewing cauldron; paranormal investigator
gender: non-binary
pronouns: they/them preferred, she/her acceptable for close friends and family
sexuality: demiromantic demisexual
big three: aquarius sun, aries moon, cancer rising
☾ if i had a voice i would sing
faceclaim: lee siyeon
height: 4’11”
weight: 103 lbs
hair color: naturally black; currently black with an electric blue balayage
hair length: mid-back beachy curls
eye color: grey
build: petite and slender
tattoos: floral sleeve including oleander, belladonna, lily-of-the-valley, lavender, and roses on their right arm; ufo behind their left ear; quote as above / so below along their left shoulder; moon phases along the inside of their left forearm
piercings: four in each lobe; right ear industrial; septum; dermal in between their clavicles
distinguishable marks: faded self-harm scars located on the insides of their wrists and legs; near crescent moon shaped birthmark on the back of their right thigh
aesthetic: leather jackets over victorian lace, the scent of petrichor and the forest floor, burgundy lips curled in surprisingly warm smiles, ouija boards on the living room table and altars to the old gods, ripped denim and platform combat boots, roses in an empty jack daniels bottle instead of a vase, dark oak furniture that tells stories of former owners and times gone by, tea leaves on saucers next to grimmoires, herbs and flowers suspended from window frames to dry
☾ dangling feet from window frames
born in south korea, raised in meteora, greece before being relocated to manchester, england’s foster system with their brothers
fostered and later adopted internationally with their oldest brother, cyrek, into the adler family
younger twin
speaks greek, portuguese, hebrew, enough korean to get by in conversation, english, and bsl.
english is their fourth language, though, so some things get stuck in translation sometimes
suffered munchausen by proxy syndrome as a child while also having their insulin withheld from them
this was not the only such abuse athena would experience growing up, nor the worst, but they’ve got much of the physical abuse blocked out as a coping mechanism
type I diabetic; takes insulin injections
drives a hearse with extended pedals so they can reach them comfortably
intelligent but also extremely dumb
plays both violin and piano
graduated college with a degree in greek lore
athena’s been seeing and speaking to spirits since they were a child
clinically diagnosed with adhd, manic depression, c-ptsd
they have all sorts of plants and herbs growing in their home, and a small, carefully cultivated poison garden in their backyard
athena collects antique oddities as a hobby
witchcraft is a long cultivated talent that gained momentum in light of losing not only birth siblings, but also their adoptive brother
firmly believes that anything is possible
while both demiromantic and demisexual, athena is a sucker for tear jerker romance movies and a hopeless romantic at heart
[ diablo ridge, big valley ; sunset. ] // @ghcstinthewvll
Certain remnants of the past wouldn’t change, whether or not he wished for them to — he’d forever be picking the glass shards from invisible wounds and licking their aftertaste, the copper sting after the singe of flesh smoldering on the hot end of an iron. Relationships drifted, deteriorated, estranged; he and Cyrek had never been the same since Alyssa’s death, at odd ends in social class and lifestyle and the sacrifices the punk made to ensure the severance of their toxic household weren’t enough to keep them entwined. It wasn’t enough to stop the internal bleeding, the imperceptible visions of rotting walls and staircases and shadows no one else could see lurking right in the corners of his vision — friends that weren’t there, that he had to accept that talking to would worsen like the disease in him ( you shouldn’t call it a disease, you’re not damaged, your brain was just trying to protect you, his psychiatrist would often reassure him of this, and yet, what else could he call an unwanted illness? ). Vanity and streaks of aubergine greed were arguably the mirror of being one and the same to the father who’d only brought him grief, and one could go so far as saying Atticus was inhumane without him so much as batting an eyelash. The world’s kindness hadn’t fallen upon him, and why should he extend it the same?
Fractals of humanity couldn’t be stripped from the places wedged deep into his bone marrow and sinew, despite his best efforts to strip aside his past and cloak himself in arcane veil. No erasure of the gutted years Athena would launch themselves to his side, and never forgotten their endless calls during grueling separation, and if there was any other person besides his wife that he’d put before himself, in all his selfishness, it should be the one who shared his round cheeks, achromatic eyes, and fringes that laid over their eyes.
He was cautious when he stepped out of the Jaguar, looking over his shoulder and to his surroundings, long sleeves draping over and consuming the petite shape of his hands as he clutched the keys to the vehicle in hand. ( Diablo Ridge wasn’t exactly his first choice if he were going to be out in the open, as the name suggested, the devil’s ridge was rather open-ended to dangers and theft. ) The cursory precaution was cheap and evanescent, an urgent immediacy pulverizing to turn his gaze back to the youngest of the triplets, and gather a sight that churned his stomach with a memory he thought he’d disposed behind a brick wall. “Danbi,” he called out their name for assurance it was him, brisk stride carrying him over to the rock formations and an emergency pack of insulin clutched into his other hand. The worriment on his visage was palpable, breaking the regularity of an apathetic countenance as he knelt in front of them, working the zipper to the case. “Se écho. Eímai edó… Pull up your shirt.”
inherent curiosity about all things arcane had never been tamped down or warned out of athena’s system. rather left a certain naivety in its place; an overconfidence in one’s own abilities to discern what would and wouldn’t harm them as they’d moved further into the craft and left the veil between physical and mystical pulled aside; had practically threw it aside in their teens after witnessing their foster brother’s death by his own hand once the shock had left their system. ( you’re handling it so well, people had said. you’re so strong, they’d congratulated. what they hadn’t realized was that the teenaged medium had mentally checked themself out in the months surrounding the event. as much for themself as for the older brother that had made it his personal mission to raise them long before coming to obsidian. ) still, they knew better than to consume things that they weren’t sure about the effects of, especially pertaining to magic. formative years spent without proper medication regulation, and years spent in a foster system that hadn’t truly cared about a sick child, wreaked enough toil and havoc on what could and couldn’t be stomached by the petite goth. unknown, psilocybin mushrooms should have instantly gone into the ‘do not attempt to eat’ category of mentally kept lists. should have, however, and did were two differing notions with disastrous outcomes for the blue and black haired.
afraid and unable to tell what was a product of the chemical, the drastic blood sugar imbalance that had been tripped as a result, and what was real, they’d managed to call the one person that they could think of with shaky digits and panicked octaves giving their location. the number of the only other person in their family that had retained shared round cheeks and stormy grey gazes. old enough to know better, old enough to not need any of their siblings to clean up after them, yet it was his number their fingers had tapped for fear that cyrek would not only be disappointed, but wouldn’t have an emergency kit of insulin and syringes available to him without having to traverse his way to their home to gather needed supplies. wouldn’t dare put their other siblings in close view of what the worst facets of their physical illness manifested as. didn’t trust anyone else to know what to do or how to help, and certainly they didn’t trust the open air that was swimming with faces that couldn’t possibly be there.
tires on gravel gravel and stone gathered a bleary gaze to pull away from twisted colors swimming around — drew knees up into a defensive position that mirrored fractured childhood days spent blocking out voices and the sounds of landed blows in their ruinous home in meteora to make themself smaller than they were in hopes of being looked over until a familiar visage and vocable range penetrated through their spinning thoughts and vision. danbi rang out in their head, assuring athena to the fact that atticus wasn’t a vision that had been produced by the accursed mushrooms or their aftermath. “dambi?” atypical silvery vocables came out tarnished with grit; proving their mind was still present amidst unintentionally created chaos. relief like a blanket threw them further off kilter, swaying a little in the place they sat while wordlessly heeding their brother’s request. unsteady digits found the hem of an aerosmith shirt definitely lifted from the being across from them’s wardrobe at one point or another ( clothes sharing never grown out of in the seasons of their lives assuredly playing its part ) to lift the soft fabric. providing an unobstructed expanse of flesh with remorse playing across their carefully well crafted veneer, cracking perfections and weighing down glazed over eyes while petite legs straightened out on the ground in front of them.
“eu sinto muito. eu não sabia o que eles fariam.” portuguese prevailed where english failed, wrapping the apology in one of their mother tongues to coalesce with contrition — an emotion so far removed from the medium’s usual range that it tasted bittersweet in their mouth. health was one of the few things to be taken seriously and athena had broken their own cardinal rule and dragged their twin into the fray as a result as, even with the insulin provided, the blue and black haired psychic couldn’t drive home now if they wanted to without proving to be a serious hazard to others. “i — i should’ve know better.”
[ lemoyne general hospital; afternoon ]
[ @devilsprxphct ]
fluorescent lighting and too clean smells that blended with an ever present scent of illness made athena’s skin crawl. no amount of burial beneath a sweet exterior could remove the memories of years come and gone between the medium and their brothers and the trio’s various stays in the blinding whiteness of hospitals. it set the tiny goth’s teeth together uncomfortably to even step foot into one. but step foot into one they would when it came down to their family. fractured though it was, there wasn’t a thing in the world that athena wouldn’t do to ensure the safety and health of those that they cared about the most. even if it meant talking to doctors before being allowed to slip into cyrek’s room with clean hands and a brow that — by all accounts shouldn’t be capable of wrinkling properly given the botox they’d had earlier in the year — was drawn into deep lines of palpable concern, when all they really wanted to do was ascertain with their own grey hues that their older brother was going to be okay. so much of their life had been dotted with cy’s presence, nearly as much as atticus was, and a fierce protectiveness had marked athie’s entire adulthood — clinging to the remnants of the siblings they had left until dainty hands were raw and red with it; palms bloodied and nails torn from the shards held in their grasp.
the first thing they noticed was how thin the punk looked in the depths of his hospital bed. how tired and gaunt he appeared. how much he looked both older and younger. it settled deep in the bones of their ribcage and for the first time since atticus’ heart transplant, athena found themself silently praying not to the old gods they’d adopted, but to adonai himself to look over their brother and his recovery. sure, logically, they knew what the doctor had told them was overall good, cyrek would recover, it was all manageable, blah, blah, blah. that didn’t change the way slim hands shook when setting down the small vase that contained a bouquet of chamomile and lavender from their garden on the bedside table, or the way the medium bustled around the room to tidy what little they could; humming a lullaby from their childhood and casting furtive looks at their older brother whilst he rested and athena collected their thoughts. it wasn’t the worst sight they’d been met with — far from it — but the deep seated fear of losing anyone else from their immediate family tinted things with panicky hues and shadows. raised the question of how long the siblings would be caught in the riptide of affects and symptoms ( trauma, a therapist had once told them, does not just go away with a diagnosis ) of their earliest upbringings that added shocks of violent red to their vision.
relief, of a sort, came when achromatic greys met with the familiar heterochromatic eyes of their older brother and crimson faded away from sight. a curtain of blue and black hair fell over the left side of the arcane witch’s countenance as they moved to settle on the chair beside cy’s bed, perched at the very edge so petite legs ( barely ) went to the linoleum floor. “megálos aderfós.” a deep sigh emptied itself from athie’s chest, knowing that cyrek hated being fussed after as much as atticus did wouldn’t stop them from bucking against that and doing so anyway. “i brought flowers from my garden.” it was like athena was small again, the little sister clinging to cyrek’s shirt sleeves. “how are you feeling?”
where: outside hall of wealth, tumbleweed.
when: sunday, may 15th; 9pm.
“No, I do not think that was worth ten thousand whatsoever,” the heiress was stationed outside the building with a half-consumed cigarette bristling between digits — a countenance bearing what one could easily discern as bemusement and a twinge of disappointment was flagrant on her features. It was not an uncommon thing to witness her presence her, with clamor muffled in the background hailing off those eager to bid for fresh antiques. Tonight? It had been ludicrous, more or less. “It was a jockstrap, for Christ’s sake. I don’t care if it was worn by Crowe, no one should be spending a penny on anything like that.” Taking a puff, the French-accented vampire sighed. “What’s next — a pair of undies? Please don’t tell me that has also been done.”
“i just think that if they’re going to charge that much, then the material could have been better.” athena only haunted the auctions every once in a while in the hopes of coming across something arcane and wonderful to add to their collection of curiosities when they had the extra time and money. the witch had a knack for artifacts others would leave alone and sometimes the auction house was the best place to find them. adjusting the leg of their black slacks there was an undeniable snort of laughter that pulled itself from plum colored lips at their sister-in-law’s observations that a nod followed. the pickings of the evening had been less than thrilling and a jockstrap, of all things, was the veritable last thing that athena had been expecting to see on the block, regardless of their prior owner. they’d opted for joing micah for a cigarette instead of continuing to eye the spectacle without a second thought, having grabbed their clutch and swiftly followed their twin’s other half out the doors. “look, i don’t want to have to be the one to tell you this, but.... undergarments have absolutely been auctioned off, same with dead men’s clothes and the like.” black and electric blue waves were tossed to the side on a shake of the head and draw of a cigarette, they may have lacked in practical knowledge, but the well of bizarre or macabre knowledge sometimes made up for it, much to the absolute horror and irritation of their siblings. “actually, a lot of unsavory things end up at auction, now that i think about it.”
Pushing a return cart piled high with books, Thea was absolutely delighted at the particularly vacant state of the library that afternoon. Though there were the occasional people that drifted through Blackwater and came in to use the public computers, she was always grateful for the slower pace of her work environment. It was the perfect atmosphere for the redhead, who relished in the quiet ambiance and occasional moments of solitude that her work afforded her. Grabbing a book off of the cart, she turned towards a shelf of middle grade books and rose to her toes to securely place it in it’s proper home. But before she could move onto the next book, there was a tap on her shoulder, instantly breaking the familiar reverie that she fell into when completing tasks like these. Whipping around at the interruption, the technician tried to school her expression of surprise into a more unbothered one. “I’m sorry, can I help you with something?” she asked airily, wiping away any evidence that she had been caught off guard.
a particular two-tone lock possessing goth didn’t frequent the library on a regular basis. having amassed a small, but meaningful, collection of books throughout their adult life, there was usually no need. but sometimes that old book smell and the liminal feeling that libraries seemed to exude called to them. settled in their bones with a feeling like something, anything, could be discovered any minute within the aisles of books. and who was athena to deny themself a chance at uncovering magic? precisely. however, and unfortunately, coming in at such a petite height came with the damnable downsides of not being able to reach any volumes that sat above their head — and without a ladder on wheels in sight ( like the one in beauty and the beast, although for the best given that the medium otherwise might have broken out in the opening number otherwise ) athena was left with little other choice but to ask for help. or, perhaps more aptly, a step stool of some sort to make up their lacking height. not meaning to startle the poor woman by tapping her on the shoulder, athena’s features drew into a sunny — albeit — apologetic smile. “sorry, didn’t mean to creep up and spook you.” that it was their sister-in-law’s own sister working lessened the blow of having to voice a need for help rather than scaling the shelves for their reading material. “i was just wondering if there was step stool anywhere… i can’t reach the book i want off of one of the shelves.”
[ trailer park, strawberry ; late evening. ] // @ghcstinthewvll
Late nights at the bar were a smidge more grueling since Evren had taken up the job offer from Playboy, and their shifts rarely aligned — it was bittersweet for the punk, but he couldn’t expect the birth of their triplets meaning their love life would spring back all rosy and prim again. Not when they had extra mouths to feed, bills to pay, extraneous tasks and pandering future cons for the band of outlaws ( though, admittedly, his primary focus had been on the pink and round bundles sequestered into their newest addition of the trailer, tucked into their cradles ). Thus, coming home tonight was expectant of a dreary routine: wash up, hydrate, go to bed and pick up the kids’ from his foster mother’s in the morning when his spouse was home and resting. The key turned in the lock, pushing open the door and abruptly stopping in the threshold when keen ears picked up the sound of an unusual rustling, one too disturbed to be pegged as a mouse. Fingers coiled around the side of the door, easing it open silently and creeping around the door in his Doc Martens, the all-black getup blending into the twilight. Light trickled from the refrigerator door, a hunched-over figure the rat invading his home. His first instinct was to reach underneath the waistband of his denim, retrieving his wife’s handgun ( Saint Denis wasn’t the safest place to work without risking getting mugged ) and approaching the silhouette with as much stealth as possible along tiling with the path paved by the moonlight filtering through the window above the kitchen sink.
A sliver of electric blue balayage caught heterochromatic orbits, and in the next instant, his weapon of choice switched from braced handgun to the toe of his Martens slamming into the kitchen rat’s ass, knocking them into the door. Cyrek’s eyes narrowed, clicking the safety back on and slipping the gun into the waistband of his jeans.
“I almost fuckin’ put a bullet in you, brat. Get the fuck out of my fridge. It’s nothin’ but leftover gumbo and those fuckin’ frozen oats Evie makes me slurp down. Maybe some cold raisin bread.”
less often than athena would like, they took the opportunity to take care of their family in any way they could. a means of giving back, in their way. unfortunately, their older brother was too obstinate to ask for help — a trait that had been passed around to the entire brood of siblings, leading the medium to get creative. if creative could be defined as doing grocery shopping and then more or less breaking in to the home of said brother while he and his own, sizeable family, were out to load the fridge and pantry like a modern day robin hood.... without the robbing the rich part, anyway. which was precisely what the petite goth could be found doing at present. wiping down the shelves and humming to themself before putting away various fruits, veggies, and the like without much thought on when cyrek, or even evren, would be home for the night. the humming was probably what kept them from noticing the sound of keys in the door or footsteps until they were planted into the fridge with an outraged noise; whipping around to find the culprit with indignantation narrowing their grey eyes into deadly slits that didn’t lessen at the sight before them. “why are you home?” the pint sized menace asked as if they weren’t the one who could have eaten a bullet not a full minute before.
one hand rubbed over the spot where cyrek’s offending doc had booted them while the other came out to gesture at the grocery bags on the kitchen counter, all while a clorox wipe was clutched in the small extremity waving around. “i would like to put this shit away before i eat a lead salad, thanks.” flippancy met with a shooing motion now that imminent danger was gone as fast as it had arrived.
“do you really think i came over to steal your food? what am i? some kind of raccoon?”
