#devcontest

[melikosonn]

— IKO AVILYS

— bubilas — god of beekeeping and meadmaking click to read more

legacy of BUBILAS

also known as the former lithuanian divinity of BEES.

currently LUCIDLY (un)aware of this peternatural identity.

so lives in new york's CHINATOWN as it's local favorite BEEKEEPER and MEADERY OWNER.

as iko avilys, autistic savant, studying a master in ENTOMOLOGY, minor mellitology, at NYU.

born from the union of a famous ASIAN-AMERICAN psychiatrist, and a LITHUANIAN minor businessman.

faced by EMILE WOON.

[beautiful-tragics]

i of the storm

spell books. crystals. leather. ambient music. random fits of rage. cat and mouse games. conning. horror movies. cinnamon candy. caffeine. spiteful hexes. cats. tequila. psychedelic drugs. family. noncommittal. free spirit. chaotic neutral. the power of three. crippling envy. combative. abrasive. wanderlust.

ophelia shay villaire is a walking, talking disaster. born as an exact replica of two other twin sisters, she’s always struggled with finding an identity. for the majority of her life, she as well as her sisters, mother, and aunts have traveled the globe in a mobile caravan. a nomadic lifestyle was perfect for the ever impetuous ophelia, and one would think that she’d never grow bored.

idle hands were, in fact, the devil’s playground and the middle triplet had often found herself without anything to do. her affinities for magic had taken longer than usual to manifest themselves. by the time she was thirteen, both of her sisters had already learned basic spells and spent a lot of time practicing them with their older relatives. ophelia, on the other hand, had remained barren of any abilities for much longer than her twins. while her sisters were perfecting their craft, ophelia seethed with envy and spent a lot of time locking herself in her room.

convinced that the gene had skipped out on her entirely, ophelia began to begrudgingly accept life as a normal human. however, once the witch reached age seventeen, the magic in her veins transpired all at once. it was overwhelming, but ophelia was too eager to care. some might say that she went a bit too crazy with her new tricks, but ophelia was just making up for lost time. she used magic whenever she could on whoever she wanted. she became reckless and impulsive, despite the countless warnings from the other villaire’s she resided with. 

city after city has seen their fair share of victims in ophelia’s wake. although she had never been murdurous, causing people pain was something she had little apprehension with. being a wayfarer had allowed her to do whatever she pleased without suffering any consequences. imagine her attitude now that her family wants to call maluma, colorado home.

[cenceri]

SPELL IT OUT. – TW: WAR VIOLENCE ⤷ an old, french line spun by aristocrats in a grandiose light. every year of childhood granted a continuity of fighting at long, laced skirts with sage and lavender wafting through a much too big house. he doesn’t know what a man is cut from [ he does– cowardice, flight-tendencies, a boy murdered ] a house of four, but fitting for forty at the very least. a manor that’s cast its denunciatory glare at the top of its hill, seemingly impregnable, for hundreds of years past. closest to the mountains, the very periphery where it was easy to fade from reality, many times parker found himself swept away by some gentle lullaby of an older era, one filled with hope yet tinged by apprehension. mother swore she’d raise him right, ella too, even the moppy-haired intruder that looked a little too like him, calls himself aidan. fashioned from the same cloth, all from the same purgatory, a state of being and not before brought here, reshaped, to maluma. his entire presence was molded by strong women and stronger still, and he both hated and loved them for that. catty women with raven hair, eyes that were cut from an alchemist, surely, complementary to angled faces and hollowed cheeks. odd, never even with the rest.

this is what he knows, unity. and there is one thing he’s not, subservient. an existence shrouded by what way natures breath lulled beneath the feet, in the belly of a rapacious world. humanity, while complex and both mundane, was an aspect of parkers life that would be immovable; consisting of a line both darkness and light, but never dormant, encroaching. so he lifted his heel and stepped into a tepid darkness, nothing the eyes nor mind couldn’t adjust to. it began with spreading himself thin over two domains: war and home. a split of stark red and ivory, a metamorphosis that only a stubborn youth could conjure and begin. muddy greens of camaraderie ushered him in soon after enlistment, and although he walked in unscathed, the heart would surely face scarring under searing shrapnel– coupled by the sickly prayers curling off a dying mans tongue, the pulp of youth saturating fields for miles. it was a curious step, composed, that brought him there and it was one that carried him out. into the light, out from the dark.

severe trauma left parker hearing impaired after an incident that sent him home instead of asunder, welcomed back into the dirt, and when he returned to maluma in dress blues, perpetually haunted by a plume of carcinogenic exhale, he sought therapy. sought in the soft-bodied pursuits on the skirt-tail of colorado and all its masked sin. sought it in the careful tongue of a mother who still couldn’t assuage the hooked-fingers of death, of its promise to imprint. sought it in the looming arms of siblings tentative in their stance, seasoned in rebellion. then finally, sought it in the kneading of marred hands to dough [ of all things ], in the roots stretched up his legs, after all the apologies strangers and blood-alike hung the same on each and everyone of them. the one thing he repelled from every corner of his mind came back, expanded, territorial. history, all of it. it’s not uncommon to earn a scowl when you give a thanks, thus the baker has been banned to the back of the kitchen, but the comfort of simplicity outweighs the dry hide of a name he wishes would shed itself from him.

[brittneywrites]

give me stuff and things (tw)

meredith lennox is a twenty-three year old human-turned-ghost. she stems from a rather overbearingly religious family of maluma and died somewhat recently from mysterious causes (date and cause of death - whether accidental, suicidal, or homocidal - is still being fleshed out), and she doesn’t remember how she died, let alone has she fully come to terms with the idea that she is, in fact, dead. you see, as a human meredith was known around maluma as a weird girl. she’s the one that claimed to see UFOs, tried to convince people that she was possessed by a ghost (the irony is hilarious with this one), and basically believed anything and everything supernatural and conspiracy-related. the fact that she is now one of those supernatural beings makes her somewhat bitter considering no one ever believed her.

needs: group of stranger things/until dawn-based friends, older brother or older brother figure, some cute boy who actually believed her and was sad when she died (potential romance amirite), fellow ghost who shows her the ropes and convinces her being dead isn’t that bad (potential romance amirite)

octavia villaire is a twenty-seven year old witch with romani roots. she and her twin sister have traveled the world with their mother, grandmother, and aunts in a small caravan, out of which they sell wiccan supplies. octavia and ophelia specifically enjoy conning willing customers out of their money by providing fake fortunes, mind reading, and communication with lost loved ones. octavia lives a very modest life, and has even done her best to ignore the curse plaguing the villaire women which forbids them to fall in love. any man any of them fall in love with will die, simple as that. octavia holds an affinity to water magic, but she has been trying to do more with fire. she’s the type of which whose talents come naturally, but she would give it away in a heartbeat if it meant living a normal life. 

needs: cool aunt who is more of a mentor than her mother ever was, twin sister, guy from in town that she and her sister both fall for and eventually “share” under a curse, normal and fully functional witches in maluma who take her under her wing, customers of her fortune telling who are either widowed regulars or new and naive

[omgophy]

y’ll are the best little community and lovely af for even liking my odd little head canons. :)!!!! but GUYS i have so many feelings for this site already and like a million other head canons SO FEEL THE FEELS WITH ME.

and pls feel free to take these and run with them. lol see what i did there.

the local bar is totally run by a human who somehow knows about the supernatural (i feel like a werewolf bffl who went through puberty with them lololol awk fangs anyone???). and honestly they’re just 1000000% done with ur shit guys because WHY ARE YOU BLEEDING ON THAT STOOL? and like who told you that this place was open 24hrs? it’s not. go away. get a life. yet they’re always there anyways ‘cause it’s obvious a wayward home for creatures.

or a band of humans / supernatural creatures that literally just came to maluma cause i mean this place was supposed to have a wicked tourist population so great for promoting and dude. the WINERY, how do you say no to a rosé???? trick question. YOU DON’T. and yet somehow they’re not like scooby doo and co with their van of instruments running from things that they didn’t even know existed???? wtf man.

and dude don’t even get the town fire fighters started. getting a cat from a tree? np np np. they’re used to that. i mean mrs. wilson is like a regular on mondays for sir bigglesworth who has a love affair with that maple. lbr. but like no sorry they didn't sign up for those red eyes in the forest and why are there like thirty dead birds in the parking lot??? jfc. 

[beautiful-tragics]

kayla rooney  ◇ twenty-three  ◇ co-dependent af  ◇ human