you've been 𝘄𝗮𝗹𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴 , you've been 𝘩𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 and you look 𝕙𝕒𝕝𝕗 𝔻𝔼𝔸𝔻 half the time ( dont ℂ𝔸ℝ𝔼 ) . 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 you , like 𝕄𝔸ℂℍ𝕀ℕ𝔼𝕊 do . you've still got it , i'm just keeping an eye . you know you're 𝘽𝙀𝙏𝙏𝙀𝙍 than this .
⸻ 𝐉𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐏𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐉𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐄 𝐁𝐋𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐄 has emerged in the shadow world . the 𝙨𝙝𝙖𝙙𝙤𝙬𝙝𝙪𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙧 is built on the bones of hitting replay on old videos and voice messages over and over again , taking a swig straight from a bottle of vodka before using it as a disinfectant , and furrowed brows focused on mending skin with a needle . behind closed doors, whispers insist their allegiance belongs to 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐢𝐫𝐜𝐥𝐞 . only time will tell where their loyalties really lie, but one thing is certain : the descent into hell will be easy for 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐓𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄 .
𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐒 ⸻
name : josephine blythe
nickname(s) : josie , jo
age & birthday : 30 / november 23, 1996
sign : sagittarius
gender & pronouns : cis woman , she/her
sexual orientation : lesbian
species : nephilim/shadowhunter
allegiance : the circle
traits : resourceful, persistent, adventurous, inquisitive, passionate, sarcastic, impulsive, blunt, unforgiving, restless
𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 ⸻
parents : celeste beaumont & elijah blythe
siblings : evelyne blythe, benjamin blythe, jonathan blythe, sabrina blythe, eliza blythe
parabatai : jonathan blythe
𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 ⸻
tw: death of family member
born alongside her brother, jonathan or jb, the twins were the middle children among the six. though, admittedly, their infant and toddler years made their parents question whether or not they would continue to have more. they were a handful as it was and whipping them into being the next generation of soldiers shadowhunters within their lineage was proving to be a struggle.
or maybe the struggle was mostly with josie, her parents would never fully admit it out loud but that's how it certainly felt. coming from two pureblood lines of shadowhunters meant there was a legacy her and her siblings would have to sustain.
she may have not fully understood it at a young age but the pressure would surely make a home in her chest and suffocate her.
attached at her brothers hip, the two were partners in crime from the moment they started crawling and you couldn't tell them that they weren't born with twin telepathy. a 'gift' bestowed upon them by angels, their grandmother would jokingly entertain.
although eager to walk, jump and climb all over the place, getting josie to sit and focus on her studies was a hassle. she was too hyperactive and inattentive, spoke yapped out of line and unfiltered too much unlike her older siblings who just seemed to get it easily. the twins would be sent off to the academy in idris, despite how slightly embarrassing it was that the training their family could provide wouldn't be enough.
she wasn't a complete lost cause, josie enjoyed training in combat and learning weaponry. it kept her busy and entertained, and it seemed to be the only time she did focus. the academy could work with that and mold her into a disciplined warrior and weapon, as close as josephine could get, at least.
her parents even feared whether or not she would be initiated at twelve, josie thought they were dramatic (they were) and she wore her first rune with pride, happy to prove them wrong. maybe, just maybe, they'd stop their doubting and have a little faith.
naturally, of course josie and jb would become each other's parabatai. fighting alongside one another and being able to know of each other's whereabouts even when they were apart on separate missions. as if the twins weren't bonded enough as it was, at least their parents could be proud of them for completing their training and following in their footsteps.
josie thrived being able to travel, enjoying the missions that were a little bit too far out more than others, always finding creative ways to come victoriously on top. plus she got to see a lot more of the world and meet new people, who wouldn't enjoy those perks?
that is, until she'd been traveling back to meet with her brother to join him on a mission he'd taken up. she'd told him to wait, that she'd be there soon, but of course he just had to be impatient and reckless (she definitely shouldn't be judging harshly) . if it weren't for the fact that they were outnumbered she would've yelled at him for not listening to her.
what neither had expected were the hellhounds and how quickly they'd ripped into jb like nothing. all she could hear were his strangled final breaths, still doing his best to hurt the creatures before they could turn their attention towards her. with blurred vision she'd managed to escape, knowing it was the only smart thing she could do as what little of his life force that was left faded along with their parabatai rune.
josie would have to come back to the scene of the crime, numbered this time, to collect his body and finish the mission.
it's been a year or so since jb died. in her process of mourning and all that therapeutic bullshit of acceptance and processing that it comes with the job, her allegiance has turned to the circle. and she's picked up a few vices here and there, drinking her grievances away until she's numb, maybe picking a fight or two, sue her.
for all the dubious privileges of your birthright, you were not a happy child. your first breath was a wail. your first word a refusal. shallow girl. shallow affect. shallow dreams. you walked the halls with your chin aloft — tarnished spoon clutched tight in one clammy fist. you didn't flinch from the dark, even then. you stared into it and felt certain, under the light of the pale moon, that it was staring back at you.
your mother sat you at her vanity and pressed her cold palms against your cheeks. legacy. promise. a gold-plated girl, dressed up in diamonds to hide the dirty truth of the matter — that a name is just a name, and a name is only worth the weight it carries. back then, a naive child, you would have crawled over splintered glass to preserve your family's pride.
you met him on a cold winter night, your father holding court at the far end of the table. such a pretty face, he mused. and from then on, your future was a foregone conclusion. the countess, mircalla karnstein.
but you didn't run to your fate gladly. you walked as though to the gallows. the count was a fine man, but your eyes wandered everywhere but. the pretty servant girl, with her crooked nose and crooked smile. the governess. all you ever had was longing. but longing felt too intimate, too pretty a word to describe the hunger in you for something, anything, to make you feel. you moved through the world as atlas, chained by leash and collar to the weight and veracity of your own desire.
so when those chains were severed by sharp teeth, in shadowy corner of the ballroom, you welcomed the bite. only when your lungs were starved of air, when your heart stopped beating, were you able to finally breathe.
𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓 : present day, new york.
femininity as performance. mask in one hand, blade in the other. you have cycled through so many anagrams of a name, settling on carmilla, the lie, and mar, the person you become when nobody's watching — when you wipe away the rouge and meet your own eyes in the mirror, the beautiful truth laid bare.
i bet she could never make you 𝗰𝗿𝘆 , 'cause the scars on your 𝙃𝙀𝘼𝙍𝙏 are still 𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗲 . tell me that she 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯'𝘵 get this 𝙙𝙚𝙚𝙥 , she can almost be the worst of me , too bad she's just 𝕖𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 off your 𝕕𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕞𝕤 . let me know when you're ready to 𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐃 . baby , you just need to send for me .
⸻ 𝐘𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐀 𝐙𝐀𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐀 has emerged in the shadow world . the 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙘𝙝𝙥𝙞𝙧𝙚 is built on the bones of indulging on temptations , sharp nails stained with blood , and eerily chanting in latin . behind closed doors, whispers insist their allegiance belongs to 𝐧𝐨 𝐨𝐧𝐞 . only time will tell where their loyalties really lie , but one thing is certain : the descent into hell will be easy for 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐃𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐓 .
𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐒 ⸻
name : yesenia zavala
nickname(s) : none
age & birthday : 600 / october 29
sign : scorpio
gender & pronouns : cis woman , she/her
sexual orientation : bisexual
species : witchpire
familiar : doberman, named 'arevalo' / rev
allegiance : no one
occupation : owner of victrola
traits : adaptable, strategic, determined, confident, passionate, selfish, resentful, secretive, impatient, ruthless
𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 ⸻
parents : xiomara & ignacio zavala
siblings : unnamed zavala's
more to be added
𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 ⸻
tw: mentions arranged marriage & domestic abuse? kinda? def not in detail
from the moment they had proof of yesenia's life, she had been cherished and adored. born from two witches, with diluted warlock and fey ancestry from either side, who wanted nothing more than to grow their coven and continue to pass down their gifts.
her parents had broken away from the coven they'd originally met in, some may have called them ungrateful for it but truth was, it was far too fractured to try and save. there was strength in numbers and if they wanted their kind to survive, they'd have to strive for better and relocate. a few of their closest friends had been persuaded, though it didn't take much as tensions were running high within the group.
naturally, her parents became the leaders with far better discipline and cohesion to amplify their magic. along the way, they'd welcome more witches seeking growth and community too.
being the firstborn to the founders of the coven meant yesenia never lacked affection or attention. from the start, even when she'd been in her mothers womb, she'd been blessed with protection rituals and adorned with charms and talismans that'd been passed down. herbs and oils would be carefully smudged onto her skin with muttered chanting in latin that would soon become a second language to her too.
her magic would manifest at a young age with the guidance of her parents and coven, a luxury they didn't have in their own childhoods. and although some would have said she was the guinea pig (and spoiled princess) they realized that if they continued to successfully raise their children just as yesenia was, they'd amplify their abilities and protect each other from infernals and downworlders.
they lived mostly in peace with a few run ins with other species. admittedly, yesenia found them interesting despite being told that they were lost souls to the darkness. she would never admit out loud to the elders but she'd surely whisper about it with her sisters and cousins.
as lost as their soul may have been, or whatever the elders would say, they had far more powerful attributes that she'd secretly craved. as a teenager she'd sneak off to learn more about their kind, maybe even acquainting herself with a few vampires from a nearby clan or the nomadic warlocks that would pass through occasionally.
(alright, gonna try and speed this up a bit as I'm getting lazy -- oop)
tragedy does eventually strike when a pack of wolves, driven mad by the moon, breaks the treaty. a restless night of screaming and blood being splattered. they'd done their best to ward them off, killing a few in the process, but the zavala coven had lost more than half their people and homes.
her father had never been the same after losing his people, but losing his wife and a few sons hurt and angered him the most. everyone felt it, spirits were down, they'd have to rebuild from the ashes. in a fit of desperation, the only sort of solution he could come up with was seeking unity and refuge to the coven's nearby, a cry for help. most had turned a blind eye, they had enough on their own plates. until one finally lent a hand, they'd been acquainted with one another, occasionally trading spells and objects.
from the start of their partnership, before the bloodshed, yesenia had captured the attention of the leader who was far older than she was. she'd never paid him any mind but with the zavala's desperate for a helping hand, he named his price. she would be his in exchange for everything else.
it was an unhappy marriage and yesenia would forever despise the man and resent her father for it. in the end it was all for nothing as their covens merged into one, resources were scarce and her father easily overthrown. her ' husband ' lead with fear and heavy fists, community nowhere near what the zavala's once had.
desperate to find a way out for her and her remaining siblings, yesenia managed to sneak away in the dead of night when her ' husband ' had been off at some meeting. she'd run to that same vampire clan nearby, the one where she'd befriended a member or two. she was willing and ready to trade her magic for strength and bloodlust, that's when she'd found out she could transform into a hybrid.
she had targeted them where it hurt the most : siphoning every last drop of magic from their bodies. it was a new and welcomed ability, one that drove her into a frenzy just as much as the taste of blood did.
yesenia had of course spared her people, the same couldn't be said about her dad, and so she led them, helping them build from the ground up and in turn they worshipped her for it- for doing what her father couldn't when tragedy struck. she'd protect them and get her revenge on the covens that'd left them out to bleed, leaving them as weak mundanes.
but she craved more and knew she couldn't stay permanently, the years were starting to pass and she remained and the hunger only grew. the only way to satisfy her appetite was by leaving.
its been centuries now and yesenia has long parted ways with the pain she endured during her mundane witch years. the anger and annoyance remains as a reminder.
she enjoys indulging in her hunger and desire, keeping herself entertained as she can - its for the best she doesn't let boredom manifest 🤫 new york has been fun thus far, always something to get into, someone to see. she's had victrola for a while now, its good income and keeps her busy and the bloodlust at bay. if she isn't consuming it, she's using it in her rituals. and it most certainly is on the menu.
𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 ⸻
the vampire who turned her into a hybrid, must be 600 or older
more to be added ! honestly i'm down for all the plots
𝑖. application , 𝗄𝗌𝖾𝗇𝗂𝖺 𝖽𝖺𝗇𝗂𝖾𝗅𝖺 𝗄𝗁𝖺𝗋𝗅𝖺𝗆𝗈𝗏𝖺 : 𝗎𝗇𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐𝗇 : 𝖺𝗇𝗒 — rozaliya kotova has emerged in the shadow world. the unseelie is built on the bones of butterfly wings that glow in the moonlight, truth a twisted weapon of war and love and the shadow that protects the king's throne. behind closed doors, whispers insist their allegiance belongs to the downworld ( the unseelie king ). only time will tell where their loyalties really lie, but one thing is certain : the descent into hell will be easy for the papillon.
i am a daughter of eve, i will not drop to my knees. he was hanged from the gallows that he built for me. i bore witness, these words are written in blood. they said his wrath was love, but i know how that day looked. they'll kill a girl for dancing / singing. never bow to a king, never bow down to a king.
𝘣𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 , name: rozaliya kotova. real name: étaín ( none but the unseelie king know this ). nickname: aliya. species: unseelie. age: unknown, but their existence dates as far as the unseelie king. date of birth: february 29. place of birth: the fairy realm. residence: nomad. pronouns: they, she or him / uses any. sexual orientation: pansexual. languages: roughly three hundred, including english, russian, chthonic, purgatic, french, spanish, latin. occupation: unseelie downworlder council representative.
𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 , bonds: rhys alarcón ( former lover ). aurora morgenstern ( frenemy ). baliel ( father ). sariel ( mother ).
𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺.
you are old. your birth pre dating that of shadowhunters, born before the idea even floated within raziel's mind. alone, with father and mother mortal enemies that had once found themselves sharing love. but your father was edom's most wicked, and your mother refused to fall. the unseelie king took you in, and gave you purpose.
the mother of butterflies became your title, for the creatures born of your blood and for the wings on your back. the unseelie's weapon, and general ⸻ but you are drawn to the world of mundanes. you learn, you watch and listen and soon, you understand them. languages that grow, disappear and advance. the politics as the new worlds are born. so you become representative of your kind once a council is created. an easy choice, as spies of your own linger in all corners of the world.
you are neither cruel, nor good. you simply are, a being untouched by time yet taught by it. perhaps your friends fear you once they know, the power you wield at your fingertips, but most know that once they become yours : there is nothing you won't do for them.
headcanon 001. aliya is nobility in the court of unseelie, a general of its military. but he has also been nobility in the mundane world : from a princess, to a concubine. they have been around the mortal world a long time, quietly watching and learning their way of things.
headcanon 002. the wings on her back are white, a color that resembles the light of the moon. under glamor at all times to make them look ethereal, their original form resembles those of a moth, time touched and worn. still pretty, but it is easier to trap the unsuspecting with honey.
𝗌𝗂𝗇𝖺𝗇 𝗈𝗌𝗆𝖺𝗇 has emerged in the shadow world. the alpha werewolf is built on the bones of a tarnished silver spoon, two worlds colliding, and tranquility masking an impending storm. behind closed doors, whispers insist their allegiance belongs to the downworld. only time will tell where their loyalties really lie, but one thing is certain : the descent into hell will be easy for the oath breaker.
alperen duymaz, thirty - three, he or him.
to be a child was a luxury, for the members of the osman family. for sinan, the soft touch of a mother was sharp, and the firm love of a father was bruising. a child was a soldier, or nothing at all. his brothers and sisters were close to strangers to him, another body to compete against: unfortunately, as the boy grew, he realized that being nothing was better than whatever this family wanted him to be.
he’s always been a fighter ⸻ a natural born leader, which thrilled the osmans residing in alicante, but that was as far as his blood took him. his mother screeched insults whenever he came home from a mission with what she called subpar results, his father locking him in the training room for hours if he was not perfection. close wasn’t close enough.
the vegas institute was meant to be a lesson about grateful opportunities, but his aunt was a kind welcome. hard, but never cruel. imposing, but never suffocating. she saw potential, where his parents saw disappointment. three years, they’d expected their son to come back a new man: an empty shell of personality, and a lethal weapon. three years of radio silence. instead, new york welcomed a boy filled with familial resentment, a rebellious streak, and a fiery red headed parabatai behind him. his new family, the only one that mattered.
he moved out of their family home, and settled within the institute, far from the osman name, and blood. they say he thrived, without the eyes of false grandeur, without the sound of his mother’s nail on chalkboard voice. they say he’d grown reckless, but always coming out untouched and victorious.
until he didn’t. a rogue werewolf in hiding, and he’d been the one sent out to dispatch of it. wait for backup, they’d told him after many shadowhunters had found it too much to handle alone. a boy with a god complex, an idea of immortality when he was very much a mortal flesh. not even his parabatai could’ve stopped him. a sword through its chest, as it clamped its teeth around the dip between neck and shoulder.
lycanthropy absorbed him. he felt his runes, as he ran back to the institute in panic in a boyish struggle, fade away from his skin. felt his parabatai slowly slip, like a numbing feeling, away from his soul. he howled at the gate, the institute fading from vision, shadowhunters out on patrol recognizing the scared sinan and dragging him in.
he knew there was no helping him. not as he reached his other half, as his parabatai rune was the last to go. the head threw him out then, berating his friends for letting a downworlder into the institute: never mind that just yesterday, sinan was one of them.
name: sinan osman. nickname: ozzy. birthday: november 6th. species: alpha werewolf, former nephilim. family: estranged, but two brothers and two sisters.
headcanon 001. ozzy became alpha of the new york pack through duel three years ago, hoping to save the pack's youngest from the former's anger.
headcanon 002. he owns the hunter's moon, inheriting it from its previous owner who was a retired shadowhunter. the two have a father son relationship, and he'd once lived in the staff room once he'd been found wandering aimlessly after being kicked out of the institute.
𝖺𝗓𝗂𝖾𝗅 starborn 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗇 has emerged in the shadow world. the true nephilim is built on the bones of the frost of the first snow, a prayer whispered on a battlefield, and the sting of a celestial sword. behind closed doors, whispers insist their allegiance belongs to the clave. only time will tell where their loyalties really lie, but one thing is certain : the descent into hell will be easy for the heaven kissed.
jamie campbell bower, twenty - seven, he or they.
HISTORY REPEATS. the birth came as a tempest, a childish cry into this world roared as grace poured and leaked from the infant. something ancient and scorching settled in his bones then in his blood: and the heavens prophecied a golden boy, pure in nature and beautiful in stature. aziel, my little star. one life slipped, then another festered ⸻ he was rested against soft skin, unaware of the turmoil caused in his wake.
lacking, was not a word used to describe the true angel born. hidden perhaps, safely tucked away from the greedy eyes that would corrupt the grace of the devil for their own gain, but his roots would never be questioned. his father shimmered in his eyes, a mother’s haunting face claiming the boy as her own from her resting grave. the sword came as naturally to the babe as any other toy: he told himself, he needed to be perfect to protect the world he loved.
the italian institute offered its knowledge, and its connections to the young boy who bathed in it. a foot hold for his sister, when it was decided that she too would attend. a tall shadow followed the girl everywhere, a teacher’s dream, and a student’s nightmare. never let it be said that aziel cared not for aurora.
shed were their coats of light, and the shadow brothers deemed them morgenstern: existence clouded within the lineage’s ancient history, easy to hide, but never obscured. they carried their father’s name on way or another, stalked the halls of the italian marble, then new york’s, even as descendants of a once dormant shadowhunter line.
the golden boy of the institute. no longer a boy now, a man with stars in his fingertips, and strength in his sword. aziel morgenstern was a name that meant something, in the streets of new york’s underworld, and in the training room of the institute. the clave kept their watchful eye on him, with a sickening pride and possession. too proud, too eager to offer praise and merit. blinded by the potential, that they could not see the snake slithering into their midst.
headcanon 001. aziel has never permanently taken the de' medici name, but rather adopted a last name of his own: starborn, to honor his mother's last words. morgenstern is a temporary placeholder, but one he wears with pride in connection to his family.
( melisa asli pamuk / 29 / she/her) ⸻ leyla tilki has emerged in the shadow world. the nephilim/shadowhunter is built on the bones of battle scars & ballet shoes, wisps of smoke in motorbike headlights and long dark hair pinned up with her blades. behind closed doors, whispers insist their allegiance belongs to the clave. only time will tell where their loyalties really lie, but one thing is certain : the descent into hell will be easy for the hellcat .
FULL NAME - Leyla Tilki
ALIASES - N/A
NAME MEANING: Leyla - ‘Night’/’Daughter of the Night’
Tilki - ‘Fox’
AGE & D.O.B. - 29 - 8th Sept 1996
GENDER - Cis-Female
FACECLAIM - Melisa Asli Pamuk
SEXUALITY - Pansexual
SPECIES - Nephilim (Shadowhunter)
P.O.B. - Turkey
LANGUAGES - English, Turkish, French
HEIGHT - 5’6
BUILD - Slender
HAIR - Long dark brown, usually wavy and half up
PIERCINGS - Many in ears, old scar from navel
TATTOOS - Dots on fingers, Runes
HABITS - Smoking, Twirling rings on her fingers, fiddling with her knives
HOBBIES - Ballet/Dance, Training, Riding her motorbike
AESTHETICS - Leather jackets over mini dresses, high heels on dark pavement, pouring drinks in the club light, razor sharp nails, cigarette smoke swirling the air, sharp tongue with a sickly sweet smile
LIKES - Coffee too sweet, Vodka, Ballet
DISLIKES - Early mornings, long meetings, being trapped inside too long
FEARS - Loyalty being broken, losing more family
Leyla was born to two shadowhunters in Turkey, loved and prime to have a place at that institute her whole life things seemed like a picket fence dream for the young Shadowhunter, Though training was rough to start with Leyla also enjoyed ballet classes from a young age, finding a softness in dance that her parents sometimes frowned upon but ultimately supported. When she was 3 she lost her parents in a fight, something that most would hold a grudge to their whole lives but Leyla was so young she didn’t really understand, after this she was moved to the France Institute to be looked after by close family friends and her childhood was happy but she never got over the loss completely. Her childhood from there was rather uneventful other than meeting her best friend Julian, someone she looked up to and loved to train with when she wasn’t sneaking off to dance instead of fight. As a teenager Leyla was rather a handful, going out to bars every night and causing trouble, getting involved with the ‘wrong’ sort of people, something that would never really leave her spirit though she did start to understand the importance of her job as a Shadowhunter more. Her training was rigorous and whenever she had the chance the girl would be keeping up her skills, earning her the privilege to travel to other Institutes to help with their training of young Shadowhunters, though some would always think they heard her dancing rather than fighting late at night.
Now she’s in New York Leyla is excited to reunite with her childhood best friend though her issues with authority and him being head of the institute will surely clash, she fights hard and though easily frustrated ultimately her loyalty is to her fellow Nephilim. Leyla found a job at Victrola as a bartender but after seeing the girls she started to adopt a somewhat house-mom type role for them, always helping with dance injuries or bringing them drinks between their entertainment, truly she loves her job at the club and though its far from the traditional strict structure of ballet its easy for her to appreciate dance in its more risque form. Her short temper will surely get her in trouble behind the bar but Leyla never backs down from a fight, even with the mundane if need be.
WANTED: a mentee to train, frenemies, enemies to lovers, the flirty friendship, more to be added
( ryan destiny / 415 / she + her ) ⸻ rayvin atkins has emerged in the shadow world. the warlock is built on the bones of the click of heels in empty hallways, lipsticks in deep, matte colors and black candles flickering and casting shadows. behind closed doors, whispers insist their allegiance belongs to the downworld. only time will tell where their loyalties really lie, but one thing is certain : the descent into hell will be easy for the mannequin.
001. full name: rayvin marie atkins. nicknames: some people could get away with ray. date of birth: august 10th. age: 415 looks in her twenties. birthplace: unknown, has always lived in new york. home: a brownstone in manhattan. gender: cis woman. pronouns: she & her. orientation: bisexual & biromantic. occupation : owns victrola. languages: many. relationship status: single.
002. faceclaim: ryan destiny. hair: natural black. eyes: dark brown. height: five feet, seven inches. build: slender. dominant hand: left. godly parent: nyx. deadly sin: greed. heavenly virtue: diligence. label: the mannequin. personality traits: resilient, aloof, calculated, observant, flaky, rigid.
003. rayvin grew up with half a story missing. her mother never spoke about her father, not even a lie to soften the absence. whenever rayvin asked, her mother’s expression would shutter, and the room would fall into that heavy, warning kind of quiet. so rayvin learned early that some questions weren’t meant to be answered, and some truths weren’t meant to be shared. her childhood was quiet. her mother worked nights and slept through the days and left rayvin to navigate life on her own. that felt more like a waiting room than a home. she moved like a shadow even then, slightly out of sync with the world around her. she left home at seventeen, no longer willing to pretend with the woman that only saw her father's face. she drifted through the city until she found someone that felt familiar in a way her mother never had. another warlock that had taken her under his wing since a warlock without a mentor and gone unchecked could be a disaster. unknowing that he was an infamous name in the downworld that was known for helping people but at a cost. she never knew what the cost would be for her, as he never came to collect. the centuries she spent under his tutelage growing her magic and learning control culminated in her becoming known as his assistant, where if other people sought him out, they knew to come to her. victrola became like a second home base to her after she purchased it, building it up to what it is now through the use of some magic and people that owed some favors.
004. potential wanted connections are open and not limited to
