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@ruinationrp-blog
Are you still open for applications? I was thinking about applying. Do you have a particular occupation you want to see filled?
Sorry for the late reply on this message; it’s a busy time down here in my part of the world and it’s taken me a hot second to get some time to log in here! But never fear!! Ruin is still very much open for applications!! As for occupations, here are some specifics.
is this rp still active?
We are definitely still active! The pace around here has been a bit slow lately but the other admins and I definitely have some things in store for the near future when ourselves and our members are slightly less busy! Nonetheless, we’d love to see some applications because nothing picks up the pace on the dash like beautiful new Commandos being added to camp!
What role(s) could you see fitting Bill SkarsgĂĄrd?
Ohh, I could totally see him as a member of the tank crew! Or as a gunner, or even a saboteur perhaps?Â
Are there any connections or particular roles that you're especially looking for at this time? I so admire this group and would love to apply, but as of yet don't have a particular character or job in mind.
Anything goes as far as roles are concerned! I, personally would love to see some of the roles taken that so far don’t have many characters undertaking them like scouts, and machine gun operators, as well as tank crew members to flesh out that division of the commandos maybe!
Violet Fox
See below for today’s acceptance!
( + 1 )
Hi again, same anon as before. What about a commander or leader type for a rifleman group or something along those lines for a Michael Fassbender FC? there are so many choices its hard to something out XD
Welcome back! I actually did think about that, and would be fine with it. If you have him as a Lieutenant, a Platoon Leader would work!
What occupation do you think would fit a Michael Fassbender Fc?
I, personally, would love to see him as a Tank Commander. However, I can see him working as an Ammunition Loader, Mortar Operator, Bazooka Operator, Saboteur, or Mechanic from some of the roles listed. But, most of all, I want to see him portrayed in the way you wish, with the role that provides the most muse!
LIEUTENANT CHARLES “GHOST” ROBERTS · 35 · SNIPER · SHADOWED COMMANDO · TAKEN
" Life isn’t fair, it’s just fairer than death, that’s all. "
ORIGIN:
London, England
TRAITS:
+ Dedicated, Protective, Adaptable
- Reckless, Bitter, Insecure
BIOGRAPHY:
THERE IS A WAR OUTSIDE, COME SEE THE BULLETS FLY.
Charles didn’t know happiness for the first decade of his life. The eldest of three children, Charles only knew that his mother had died giving birth to his sister, and that his father hated Annie for it. Too many times, he heard his father curse Annie for being the reason he was stuck with three selfish, greedy brats to deal with alone. Charles took over the role of caring for them, and it was a common sight in their street to see Charles with his arms full of Annie, and Henry hanging onto his threadbare jacket so he wouldn’t fall behind.
It was also a common sight to see Charles senior drunk. He’d gamble what little money he earned, or waste it on the next drink, until his vices lost him his job. His temper grew worse, and the younger Charles started acting as a shield to protect his siblings from their father’s wrath. Even at such a young age, he knew he couldn’t rely on others to protect them. They had to work for everything. His father often complained that everything cost something, a lesson the younger Charles took to heart.
It was when he was 8 they had something of a reprieve. For most, the Great War was a tragedy, but for Charles, it became a form of freedom. Charles senior decided to fight, or was made to fight. Charles never knew what motivated his father, but it meant the children no longer had to worry about the next slap.
Their life didn’t get much easier though. Without no one else, they ended up homeless, forced to beg or steal. Whenever possible, Charles tried to find work, but he was only young, and no one trusted a child that looked like they hadn’t bathed in months. Whatever he earned or stole was spent on food, and Charles would often go without to make sure his siblings had enough. After a while, they joined up with a couple other homeless children, and they’d all share what little they had. Sometimes, a child would never come back to the little camp they made, and they’d never know why. Charles had gotten used to not getting answers, preferring to focus on the moment.
Although he wasn’t the eldest, Charles was easily the most charismatic. Whenever he could clean up properly, he’d manage to talk adults into trusting him with work, which always meant more food.
They never got word their father was dead, but when the war ended and he still hadn’t come back, 11-year-old Charles knew he had to keep being the responsible one. He didn’t know anything else anyway.
A year after the war, Charles heard some former soldiers giving an old lady trouble. He never found out what brought Liesel from Germany, never found out her story, but the first day he met her changed everything for him. Although he wasn’t anywhere near the size of the three soldiers, it didn’t stop him from walking up and punching one in the stomach for telling the lady she deserved to die. Liesel took him home after the men left him with several bruises, and when he panicked his siblings wouldn’t have anything to eat that night, she told him to fetch them.
Every night after that, he told himself to prepare for her to kick them out in the morning. Having a safe place was something he couldn’t understand, so he didn’t trust the happiness he felt. It wasn’t until he’d grown up and left that he realised what it’d been. It wasn’t just a sanctuary; it was a home. His siblings were safe, and he had the chance to make something of his life.
Although his encounters with soldiers were all terrible, he still believed in what they did, the good they could do, so he signed up at 18. He found he was good at being a soldier, those skills at adapting he’d learnt living on the streets helping him adjust easily to all situations. He eventually found he was particularly good at shooting, and although there seemed something wrong with killing someone from a distance, he made sniper and moved up the ranks, making friends easily wherever he was sent.
DO YOU HEAR THE BATTLE CRY?
The war changed things for most, but not him. Charles already had his place. Sure, knowing they were at war with the country Liesel came from was horrible, and he knew better than to admit that he spoke German at the only home he’d ever known. But he knew things were never black and white. Not all soldiers were like the ones he’d known as a boy, and not all Germans could be as loving as his surrogate mother. He could fight without hatred - he thought too many people hated too easily anyway.
It became a little more concerning when Annie became a nurse, but to his relief, she was assigned to a London hospital. She was safe, the only thing he’d ever wanted for his family. However, she wrote to him, saying his brother wasn’t quite so safe. Henry had taken after their father, falling in with gamblers. Charles managed to get leave, returning home to pay off his brother’s debts, and managed to convince him to volunteer. The army had done so much for him, he was sure it’d be just as good for Henry.
It was a year later, 1941, the war became too personal for him. He could live through killing people, as much as he hated it. He could survive people trying to kill him, he’d lived through more than that already.
The death of his brother destroyed him. It was his fault for making him sign up, and the guilt and grief twisted the one thing he’d never lost - his brave face. His actions grew more and more reckless every day. Charles didn’t want Annie and Liesel to lose him too, but he couldn’t seem to do anything except watch himself go off the rails. One night, he got so drunk he stole two bottles of whiskey and got so drunk he still doesn’t remember how he got on the roof. It resulted in a demotion, but it and the lecture barely registered. He’d been given word that Annie was leaving the safety of the hospital to be a true army nurse, and he felt he had to be there to protect her. He’d failed Henry, he couldn’t fail her. She ignored his concerns, and told him that until he cleaned up his act, she wouldn’t even try get home. When he was given the chance to join this new team, he did so, only because it seemed like the perfect way to agree to Annie’s terms and still be in danger. If his life is the cost of saving even one other man, Charles would not hesitate to pay that cost.
FACECLAIM: Chris Pine
Ghost
See below for today’s acceptance!
Georgie Henley or Lily James?
I, for one, haven’t seen Georgie used much as an FC so for that reason I’d probably say her, but I could honestly see either of these ladies fitting here.Â
MWF face claims?
We’d love to see pretty much anyone, but there’s a post here with some specifics!
( + 1Â )
CORPORAL ANDERS “WARDOG” MALTHIER · 27 · TANK GUNNER · SHADOWED COMMANDO · TAKEN
"I’m afraid of the rain, because I sometimes see me dead in it.”
ORIGIN:
Haworth, England
TRAITS:
+ Decorous, Compassionate, Dogged
-Â Penitent, Insecure, Repressed
BIOGRAPHY:
THERE IS A WAR OUTSIDE, COME SEE THE BULLETS FLY.
Anders Evelyn Malthier was born to an Earl and a Countess at the dawn of a cool autumn. Predestined to become the family’s reigning patriarch upon his father’s passing, his birth and his tireless grooming were both long-awaited tasks. It was the reason Etta Geld had wed Alek Malthier (a loveless union born of self-sacrifice), and it was a reason to believe that a diminishing line of great nobility would continue to prosper. The afternoon his mother dropped a handful of agrimony and buttercups to the white, polished stone of the Abbey’s garden path, she was rushed promptly to her bedchambers with great fanfare. The labour was long and perilous, but in the end, the Malthier line was born a son. His mother, however, did not survive. Her thighs slick with blood, and her pale hair damp with sweat, she died in a fit of eclampsia with her son cooing in her arms.
Growing up on the estate with tutors and servants was isolating, even with two older sisters that fawned over him. It was the pressure put on Anders to mingle with other great families of prestige that was decidedly paralyzing. It didn’t help that his father was a harsh man, bred of the same expectations, who never smiled and could not bring himself to spare his son fond words or affections. He was, however, very involved in his son’s social affairs, taking great pains to ensure that the last living heir of the Malthier family was well-received by English society. Because of this constant charade, Anders cultivated a resentment for his father even at a very tender age.
In the midst of all of the pageantry and the etiquette, his studies were what made his life bearable. In the Abbey’s well-manicured gardens, and in the cramped, musty corners of the family library, Anders was taught of the great wars won by his ancestors, of the accomplishments of decorated men whose blood lived on in his veins. His tutor, Ira Crawley, a crooked old man with a wisp of white hair, offered some reprieve from the suffocating expectations that loomed over him. As strict and intelligent as he was, he was also kind and nurturing. Anders soaked it up as much as he could.
Over time, Alek began to blame his son for his wife’s death, accusing him of sapping the Malthier line of its heirs. Though Alek sought another wife himself amongst the tight-knit circle of pampered duchesses and countesses, his proposals were always turned down in lieu of a better suitor with brighter prospects. It was no secret that Worthing Abbey was quickly running out of money after a string of Lord Malthier’s bad investments. So, Anders carried the weight of his family’s survival on his shoulders, and did his best not to buckle under the pressure. He escaped into his studies, and found that a great love of literature and history lived within him. He even began to draft stories of his own, but this was kept intensely private; his father had made it known he believed the art of prose should remain a craft of the fairer sex.Â
As Anders grew into a young man, his prospects began to grow. Though he’d never been able to overcome his intense and pensive nature, age was kind to his appearance. Mis-matched eyes weren’t so troubling when accompanied with a mane of blonde hair, and a strong, square jaw. It was also his involvement with the British Army that poised him as a more eligible suitor, and though his father’s name carried him up the ranks with velocity, he seemed to do well in the stiff constraints of military life on his own. It seemed no less suffocating than his life at the Abbey.
Unfortunately, his meteoric rise on the radar of high society (along with the positive attention he had earned from his father) was halted when John Fairley, his father’s new valet, and his family moved into the neighbouring village of Hathorn. He had brought along his wife Ivy, and, to Anders’ looming detriment, their son Vincent (a young and enthusiastic motorist). At first, their lingering glances were enough, but it didn’t take long before innocent driving lessons evolved into secret trysts, and eventually, a dangerous love affair. Their plot to run away together was spoiled when Anders’ father caught them in a room at the Hathorn Inn, coiled in one another’s arms.
Not only had he killed his mother, but his perversion would end the Malthier family’s future and reputation forever.
The valet was promptly dismissed, and he and his family were asked to leave without even a recommendation of character. The following day, Anders’ arranged marriage was finalized to Mary O’Ahaern, the eldest daughter of an Irish Duke — a woman five years older than him whom he had met only once. Anders found her to be soft and willowy and kind, and thought her raven-black hair and pale, green eyes remarkable. Though he had nothing ill to say of her, he was unable to reciprocate her intimate touches, her soft, wanting gazes. His heart and his dreams had been torn away from him, and what was left had turned bitter on his tongue.
The eve before they were to be wed, Britain declared war on Germany.
DO YOU HEAR THE BATTLE CRY?
Alek Malthier did his best to ensure his only male heir was given a safe, and comfortable assignment. He pulled his threadbare strings, and shared cigars and brandy with the right men to ensure that Anders didn’t end up with the conscripts, and the low-born company men. But war proved a great equalizer among the classes, especially during a drought of young men, and Anders welcomed the fray like it was his only way out of his oppressive obligations at home. A way out of life, in general. Even though death and blood awaited him on the sodden fields of battle, that somehow seemed less complex than the webs of intrigue he’d escaped at the Abbey.
There was a symphony to be found in the hail of gunfire for Anders, the bleak plight of war in the face of such opposition calling to his romantic heart. He followed it into enemy territory with a grim determination. He had been beaten into subservience for so long, and now, he was feeling the tingle of waking limbs. Though he didn’t write letters home, he was constantly with a pen and paper, transcribing the horrific things he saw, indulging in the panic and fear that lived within him, and roared in the eyes of his fellow soldiers. He chased that feeling all the way to France where he and his platoon were separated by a mortar’s beastly blast. He awoke hours later to the sent of burning flesh and the sweet sting of shrapnel telling him he had survived.Â
For two days, he languished in those wood, skirting the shadows, hiding from the thrum of approaching tanks and sweeping phalanxes of enemy troops; their marching seemed quicker and more earnest than the beating of his own heart. At the end of his second day, he faced the very real possibility that he would die there with a festering bullet so deep in his shoulder the stench of it turned his stomach inside out. Lifting his gun any higher than his waist had become a chore. It was decidedly terrible luck that his meandering through the thicketed countryside landed him in sight of a skirmish on a winding country road. He found himself behind a troop of German soldiers surrounding a scorched peasant’s house, and taunting whoever resided within. It was clear to Anders that he could either go out fighting, and take some krauts with him, or he could drag himself back into the safe bounds of the woodlands and die like a wounded dog.Â
So, he took cover behind a stack of dry-rotted fence posts, and launched his last Mills bomb at them. The single, desperate (or stupid, depending who you talk to) act instigated a four hour long stand-off between him, three American soldiers sequestered inside the house, and 18 staunch and bloodthirsty Nazis. Somehow, they survived.
Despite his youth and up-bringing, this feat got him attention, and landed him in the Shadowed Commandos — under the pretense that he was simply filling in the empty seat of a deceased tank gunner. He’s determined to prove himself, or die trying.
FACECLAIM: Dominic Sherwood
LIEUTENANT FELIX “REAPER” SHEA · 35 · TANK COMMANDER · SHADOWED COMMANDO · TAKEN
" I have scars on my palms and the insides of my fingers. There is blood in my mouth and staining my clothes, I have died too many times to count and come back again stronger. "
ORIGIN:
Berlin, Germany
TRAITS:
+ Altruistic, Resolute, Venturesome
-Â Bloodthirsty, Caustic, Forbidding
BIOGRAPHY:
THERE IS A WAR OUTSIDE, COME SEE THE BULLETS FLY.
Felix Shea was the product of a forbidden romance between his mother, an Agent within the Bundesnachrichtendienst (Germany’s Federal Intelligence Service), and his father, an American Commander for the US Army, resulting in his German-American heritage. Both his parent’s loyalties were unwavering for their respective countries, making the relationship harrowingly difficult. Their infatuation for each other, however, prevailed. His father’s generally prohibited visits resulted in Felix becoming the eldest of five brothers (himself included) over the course of five years. For the youthful part of his life, he reigned in adolescent tyranny. His father was forced to be absent due to the relationship’s unaccepted circumstance, and his mother was often deployed on her own Intelligence missions.
This left Felix with a severe lack of an authoritative upbringing, causing him to become well-acquainted with a fair amount of the Bundespolizei (German Federal Police). His mother, absent for months at a time, left her children with various neighbors or mediocre care systems. The majority of these individuals and establishments considered their existence a nuisance, thus resulting in Felix forced to become the fatherly figure each boy lacked. Having been devoid of one himself, his tough brotherly nature was the only technique he could muster when raising four brothers, despite being a child himself.
Felix involved himself with street gangs in his early teens, finding them the closest idea to a family he’d been subjected to. His days consisted of underground fights, and evenings within cells. Despite his own delinquency, he was quite diligent in making sure that his fellow kin remained outside criminal activity. He was his family’s sole provider, and did what both parents failed to express the will to do: keep them alive. By sixteen, his mother was reported MIA, and soon after proclaimed deceased after the recovery of body during the infiltration of a Russian compound. Officially considered orphans at their mothers demise, the Shea children were at last claimed by their absent father. They were shuttled to America under secrecy by the hands of American Intelligence.
If you asked Felix, he would have told you he and his brothers were better off on the streets of Berlin. America was difficult, their origin (accents especially) making everyday life a near impossible feat. Their father, they learned, was a decorated war hero, but an incapable, intoxicated man within the home. The Shea abode was littered with violence and detestment; the brothers were often runaways brought back by local authority. Their father’s income was of poor funding, as the man blatantly spent it for his own gain. At eighteen, Felix passed his soul over to the Military, and each brother followed suit, though it would unknowingly lead to a shortening of lives.
DO YOU HEAR THE BATTLE CRY?
His first two brothers, the youngest as well as being twins, were lost in a flight training accident as result of poor mechanics. It was a hard blow given to the remaining three, who’d only had each other to hold onto. The news reached Felix last, being the eldest and most established within the Military, letters often took months to track him down. The third brother, who’d followed in Felix’s footsteps when it came to heavy artillery, lost their life in a heroic, self-sacrificing maneuver which involved evacuating a small town of civilians. Against orders, he defied an impending ambush, and gave his life for those under distress from a war which had been deemed necessary casualties. The fourth brother is currently established as MIA, though the case has been forgone by Intelligence Operatives after a year. While Felix wishes to harbor hope for his closest sibling, he clings to each brother’s dogtags with sorrowful remembrance.
He and the majority of his tank crew have been united since the North African Campaign (at one point, they had even experienced the deplorable life of a prisoner of war). Of course, they’ve gone through a fair amount of losses, but a few have remained resolute. On one of his first missions with his newly assigned tank crew, the outcome caused a harsh outlook to deepen a dark reality. It was a rescue mission— one that required heavy artillery to aid in suppressive fire— that his team had experienced more than once. The received orders hadn’t been as straight forward as the deploying officer had provided. Heavily outnumbered, outgunned, and out missiled, the team was trapped in the midst of an ambush, and it swiftly turned into a futile effort as a mortar struck their tank. After the accident, Felix began a rather lengthy recovery that resulted in an honorable discharge. Though he was fortunate enough to survive the accident, he did not escape completely unscathed. Shrapnel and burn scarring along the length of his torso (right side) and back resulted in intensive nerve damage. Because of this, Felix has lost feeling in the majority of the injured area.
Like the bulk of his brethren, he was resilient, and refused to remain immobile while fellow comrades faced war’s unceasing villainy. After tapping into a radio and receiving information of a particular brutal fray, he and his crew vanished from the medical tent’s confinement and started toward the calamity. It was a bloodbath, but nothing they hadn’t thrust themselves upon before. During this siege of a German fort, Felix came across the famed Shadowed Commandos. It had been their transmission his team had responded to, and because of them, the unit was able to add a victory to their efforts. He and his tank crew were swiftly inducted within the elite unit, and since then, are often sent among the thick of warring battlegrounds as their Tank Commander, Felix, has a knack for daring endeavors that wind up conquering the fray.
FACECLAIM: Jensen Ackles