Congratulations Lace! We are delighted to welcome Aidan Capulet to satisfy the hunger of the citizens of Fair Verona. Please complete our after acceptance checklist. We are looking forward to seeing you develop him! Please send in his blog within 48 hours.
tw: death
Out of Character
Alias: Lace.
Preferred Pronouns: She/Her.
Age: 21+.
Timezone: EST.
Anything else? Nah.
Character
Name: Aidan Capulet.
Birthdate and Age: November 30, 1982. 36 Years.
Preferred Pronouns: He/Him.
Faceclaim: Casey Deidrick.
Family Affiliation: Montague.
Profession: Retired Italian Armed Forces, Owner at Daze (Full service specialty restaurant with attached bakery, focusing on edibles).
Claim: Unclaimed.
Children: No.
Designation: Dominant.
What is their symbol?: Watercolor shield tattoo, Inside right forearm.
Kinks: Edging, Orgasm Denial, Public Sex/Exhibitionism, Begging, Bondage, Body Worship, Praise, Spanking, Choking, Marking.
Anti-kinks: Scat/Bathroom Play, Arm Pit Worship, Humiliation, Diapers, Littles.
Biography:
Aidan was raised to respect the boundaries put in place to maintain the perfection that was the family name. His parents took pride in making sure they embraced the stereotype, trying to force that silver spoon into his mouth when he always seemed far more willing to choke them with it. Even from a young age, the man fostered his own rebellious streak, a creative with a very dangerous outlet. As far as masterpieces went, his would always be a mess, which explained the way his family began trying to sweep him under the rug from what seemed like the very beginning.
This was probably the same reason they agreed to allow him to join the Italian Armed Forces the second that he was old enough for it, it was the perfect out. They could sweep their dirty little secret under the rug, hide him away where he couldn’t keep trying to poke holes in that illusion that everything, and everyone was so damned put together. This worked for both him and his parents though, the perfect excuse to leave everything that they were behind - the chance to breathe, the chance to just be himself without having to carry the burden of that surname around with him.
He served more than what would be considered his time, taking on additional duties in his specialty, medicine. It was an unlikely field for someone who seemed like such a mess from the outside looking in, but the minute anyone got close enough to understand - they could feel his passion. It was almost infectious, a disease that absolutely no one suffered from, until he’d experienced war. The first time it seemed like he might survive, might be able to put himself together. The second time, hope still held on, but it was the third that broke him.
Retirement came to him shortly after that last experience, the one that left him with scars he didn’t talk about, night terrors he didn’t explain, and a little more broken than he had ever been before he left. Perhaps it was that touch of death that he’d felt, the way that loss threatened to consume him, that gave him the conviction to abandon the ideals that he’d been born into - but whatever it was, it pushed him closer and closer to his Montague claim, becoming one of the first to volunteer to bridge the gap between the two families.
After all, he’d been accused of behaving more like one of them his entire life, hadn’t he? It only seemed fitting, and it was. It was probably the same reason he’d learned to follow his talent, to chase that same passion he had for medicine in cooking. After a few years of being back home. he opened the restaurant - and God, did it work. There were lines out the door, magazine articles, full spreads dedicated to his so called redemption story, accompanied by smiling pictures of him and his submissive. It seemed the change was what he needed to learn to live, live for himself, and live for all he’d already lost. It was the complete change, the absolute polar opposite in his path that made it so much more worth following.
Tragedy was always common ground though, a nasty memory ready to rear it ugly head, and it did. A year after their Claim, that same submissive was taken from him. Perhaps it was the extension of his fifteen minutes of fame, or maybe it was all the baggage, he never really got a rhyme or reason. Instead, he was left with a two word letter overnight, like some sick joke. That same letter still sits in his desk at home, too much to throw away, and not enough to heal that particular hurt.
He was gone from the restaurant for months, not daring to return until he’d pieced himself back together, using stitches of all varieties to even appear whole again. Now, he’s putting one foot in front of the other while he tries to cope with the steadily approaching anniversary of the death of his claim.
