when nature unmakes the boundary.

i.      BASIC    INFORMATION.

full name … jasper kang

age … thirty-four

date of birth … march twenty-fifth

place of birth … lafleur, louisiana

gender / pronouns … cis man ; he / him

orientation … bisexual

residence … lafleur, louisiana

species ... human

occupation ... vampire hunter private investigator (working out of the crossroads motel)

family ... ji-hoo kang (father, alive), rebecca kang (mother, deceased), vincent kang (older brother, deceased), wren kang (younger brother)

zodiac sign … aries sun, capricorn moon, scorpio rising

negative traits … impulsive, resentful, sarcastic, ruthless, evasive, hotheaded

positive traits … clever, protective, loyal, self-sacrificing, valorous, pragmatic

temperament ... choleric-sanguine

alignment ... chaotic good

mbti / enneagram ... estp ; 8w7

character inspirations ... sam drake ( uncharted ), dean winchester ( supernatural ), rhett butler ( gone with the wind ), spike spiegel ( cowboy bebop ), han solo ( star wars ), rusty ryan ( ocean’s eleven )

eye color ... dark brown

hair color ... black waves

build ... mesomorph, littered in scars and healed over wounds.

ii.     BACK    STORY.

The Kang name was a respected one in Lafleur, Louisiana, once upon a time. Your father sat as a lawyer in a town that only the wealthy could afford, and your mother was a former actress who traded the spotlight for a quieter life raising her boys. From the outside, you were an ordinary family: you were the wilder of the three Kang boys, forever the middle child and always getting into trouble, respectively getting out of trouble with that same boyish charm, though there has always been a hot-headed streak within you, particularly when you believe there is a wrong to be righted. The world still felt big then, full of mysteries meant to be explored rather than feared. What you didn't know was that your father had a second life, his mistress of choice being the blood spilled in the night - a killer, a hunter. A secret that names your mother the first collateral for something your father did first. One kill, one debt, one family ruined. Your mother paid the price for a war she never knew existed, a companion for a companion, and her death hollowed your father into someone unrecognizable. Overnight she was the excuse he used against his sons for all the bad that would come after. Don’t you want revenge? Will you let your mother’s death be for nothing? The law books disappeared, replaced by weapons, training regimens, and one singular lesson: monsters always take, so you strike first.

His three sons would become the next pieces of collateral in his war. You never hesitated to pick up the blade. Maybe you were too angry, maybe you simply needed somewhere to put your grief, but hunting fit you with terrifying ease. Vincent became duty, you became motion, all charm and impulse and teeth, and Wren was soft, too soft. You knew too well the world punishes those who won’t bite back harder. So you covered for him when you could to keep him out of the worst of it - covering his mistakes, taking the heat, giving him slack your father never would. You figured one of you deserved a chance at a normal life, and it was never going to be you. 

Every hunt was another puzzle, another mystery to unravel before it unraveled you, and you discovered you loved the chase almost as much as the victory. Vincent became your partner in crime, if not simply to make sure you didn’t get yourself killed. Your morality would bend around the hunt - breaking into homes, stealing evidence, manipulating witnesses, wearing a different name depending on who asked and you justified every ugly choice with the same simple truth: if it helped stop another family from ending up like yours, then it wasn't wrong. The real truth was simple: you were good at it, and being good at something makes it hard to stop.

It is WANTED CONNECTION that is the final nail in your coffin. Proverbial, of course, because they’d been reckless enough not to finish the job – why, you could never be sure, could only thank whatever God there was that they’d failed. You and Vincent tracked a powerful supe on bad intelligence, and your impatience pushed the hunt beyond the point of no return - you just barely survived, and Vincent didn't. You are only conscious long enough to see your brother die because of your recklessness and everything thereafter is distant, a fuddled mess of dreams, reality you cannot parse through. You wake up somewhere unfamiliar and drained of nearly all of your blood – alone. You crawled out of that wasteland with nothing but your hands and your guilt, and you stayed gone. Wounded, hunted, and convinced the thing responsible would simply finish the job if you returned home, you disappeared instead. For nearly two years you drifted from town to town beneath borrowed identities, taking odd jobs, sleeping in roadside motels, and slowly piecing together the strength to stand again. By the time you managed to make it to a library to check the news in Lafleur, everyone who mattered had already buried you. It was easier to let them believe the lie than risk leading something back to the only family you had left. 

Eventually you find your way back home, and that truth will be muddled just like all the rest. You’ll tell the familiar faces that your death was exaggerated, lies upon more lies, you will find your family and expect welcoming arms, work cases out of your motel room at the Crossroads, but the truth is you’re here for one reason only: Annie Mae. There is a case here, and you intend to solve it - and maybe, just maybe, hunt down the fucker that tried to kill you two years ago, too.

An onion. Lying constantly. Peel back one layer and you get a thicker one underneath, always has an ulterior motive for the hunt. Do not trust this motherfucker. 

Has a tight moral compass. So dedicated to what he thinks is right that it’s fucking annoying. As much as he detests his father’s harsh methods, he has instilled the vampires must die mentality into him – he’s lost just as much to them. 

iii.     WANTED    CONNECTIONS.

the hunted ( 0 / 1 ) ... the supernatural creature who was entirely out of vincent + jasper’s skill and ultimately killed vincent, and left jasper for dead.

more to come but some throwaways: friends/enemies/familiars he knew from before he disappeared, clients who either hire him for a hunt or for other unrelated supernatural things, people he just straight lied to/swindled, law enforcement troubles, exes who knew him under a different name aka he lied the whole relationship, vampires or any supernatural with vendettas bc he killed their loved ones, supernaturals he is actively hunting (cat & mouse games), those he met in the two years around the country presumed dead.

i.      BASIC    INFORMATION.

full name … grace marie burke

age … twenty-eight ( 6 months as a vampire )

date of birth … march tenth

place of birth … lafleur, louisiana

gender / pronouns … cis woman ; she / her

orientation … pansexual panromantic

residence … lafleur, louisiana

species ... vampire

occupation ... employee at crossroads motel

family ... ivan burke (eldest brother), jahmir burke (second eldest brother)

zodiac sign … pisces sun, virgo moon, cancer rising

negative traits … mollifying, credulous, obstinate, prying, peculiar, repressed

positive traits … softhearted, intelligent, resilient, nurturing, open-minded

temperament ... melancholic-sanguine

alignment ... lawful good

mbti / enneagram ... isfj ; 9w1

character inspirations ... jessica hamby (true blood), sailor mercury (sailor moon), randy bradley (the passenger), lexi howard (euphoria), beth march (little women), oliver hampton (htgawm), jane bennet (pride&prejudice), needy lesnicki (jennifer's body), peeta mellark (hunger games)

eye color ... dark brown

hair color ... black curls past her shoulders

build ... wiry frame standing at 5'5

ii.     BACK    STORY.

BEFORE. You have never wanted for much; a life of normalcy and ordinary banality was perfectly fine to you for the first twenty-eight years of your life. At least, this is what you'd told yourself -- that you did not need greatness nor recognition, nor a life that stretched particularly far beyond the boundaries of whatever your family needed from you. Wanting was a luxury the Burkes could not always afford, and so you became the child who asked for the least. Too young to fully understand abandonment the night your father left, but old enough to recognize the consequences -- your mother worked herself hollow trying to support three children, while your eldest brother, Ivan, carried the impossible weight of becoming another parent before he had finished being a child himself. You watched him shoulder burdens that would have broken anyone and decided the greatest kindness you could offer was to never become another.

You were remarkably easy to care for because you never demanded to be cared for at all. You apologized before taking up space, smiled in the face of adversaries and insisted that everything was fine, fine, fine. Studied hard, never raised your voice, never acted out. Every frustration was folded neatly into your chest until it became a dull ache, a building wall of emotion that would only come out during private moments. Your resentment grew, and you swallowed that down, too, hating yourself for it. Choking on every sharp response before it reached your tongue, retreating to quiet rooms to cry where no one would hear you. Guilt felt selfish and ingratitude felt cruel. Whenever disappointment found you, you hurried to make it smaller before anyone else could notice, swallowed like shards of glass down your throat. Somewhere along the way you'd realized that maybe making yourself so small hurts more than it helps, that never wanting for anything leaves you a husk of the world's softest, beigest pillow. But even your aspirations felt simple: a career you could take pride in, perhaps in publishing or archiving, community college classes whenever you could afford them, careful savings tucked away from every paycheck, applications unfinished on your laptop. You hadn't decided exactly where you wanted to go, only that it couldn't be here forever. Leaving Lafleur was the first truly selfish thing you had ever planned to do, and you kept it tucked close to your chest, dreams of an apartment somewhere far beyond, with wide windows and morning light to make the floors glow so that one day no one would even remember you were there at all, but the dream never had the chance to be fulfilled. Ordinary, kind Grace, who cared so deeply for others' comfort that any form of care back felt wrong.

Most people assumed there wasn't much going on inside your head because you rarely volunteered your thoughts, but the truth was the opposite. There was an earnestness to you that made the oddness easy to overlook, loved things most people hurried past. You read constantly, not because you wanted to escape reality, but because you wanted to understand it. History, anatomy, folklore, natural sciences, taxidermy. Insects trapped in amber, maritime disasters, medieval funeral rites - you followed curiosities wherever they led, devoutly collecting your knowledge. Preserving road kill, the patterns of fallen feathers, pocketing strange bones and rocks you found on walks through the bayou. It all fascinated you, it all made you endlessly curious, a trait that seemed to be genetic in the Burke children. Where Ivan inherited brilliance, you inherited wonder; dreamy, absentminded, forever cataloguing little peculiarities no one else seemed to notice. Made only more curious when the vampires announced themselves - it never occurred to you to be cruel as some other humans had been. Death never frightened you quite like it frightened everyone else. It saddened you, certainly, but there was something beautiful in the honesty of decay, in abandoned places reclaimed by vines, in weather-worn gravestones and bleached bones beneath the Louisiana sun. You sometimes wondered if that fascination meant there was something quietly wrong with you. Then you are reborn too, and for the first time, the monstrous things lurking in the dark only terrified you.

AFTER. As it turns out, living on the sidelines does not mark you safe from the creatures of the night. Moving as a ghost does not mean you are not seen, and when push comes to shove, everyone begs for their life just the same before blood is spilled. Even with your intrigue for the supernatural, you learn quite quickly that it's never as beautiful or poetic as they make it seem in the mainstream.

Six months ago, your naivete made itself clear in the company you keep and the friend you thought you'd made. Your maker stole your heartbeat and every ordinary future you had ever acquiesced for yourself. Now the sun belongs to someone else and your world has narrowed to the fluorescent buzz of the Crossroads Motel, where you work the graveyard shift greeting strangers while pretending the pulse in their throats doesn't make your mouth ache and hiding your true nature. Your maker claims he rescued you from a boring human life and delights in provoking every ugly thought you've spent a lifetime burying, insisting that kindness is useless in a dog eat dog world. You think, with unwavering sincerity, that he's been hurt and that it makes him mean. You'd tried to keep this from your brothers, even in death wanting to be as unassuming as possible. But the truth never stays buried for long, your bloodlust uncontrollable those first few months. The truth seems to switch something in Ivan, who works tirelessly to cure what he believes is an illness, sneaking hospital blood home and promising you'll be yourself again. You let him believe it because, in the beginning, you need to believe it too.

But immortality has a cruel way of stripping a person bare. Vampirism has sharpened everything you once kept dulled: hunger, grief, joy, resentment, curiosity. The anger you spent years swallowing now sits hot beneath your tongue, refusing to disappear no matter how tightly you bite it back. Every night becomes a little easier than the last, every argument with your maker leaves you standing your ground a little longer, every impossible thing your undead body can do chips away at the frightened girl who thought normalcy was the highest virtue. Somewhere between Ivan's desperate hope to make you human again and your maker's relentless attempts to shape you into something crueler, you don't think it matters much to them what you want at all. Has it ever mattered what you wanted? For the first time in your life, you begin to wonder whether goodness is worth anything if it only ever exists because you were too afraid to choose otherwise.

iii.     WANTED    CONNECTIONS.

the maker ( 1 / 1 ) TAKEN BY peter kilpatrick ... have you ever been more at war with yourself? he represents cruelty as much as he represents freedom. can he make a lion out of the lamb? will you let him make more of a monster out of you? do you have a choice?

the serpent ( 0 / 1 ) ... classic bad influence. whether it's another vampire, a demon, a witch, a vampire hunter playing games, it doesn't matter. they simply encourage the impulses you already have. feed because it feels good, stop saying sorry, tell people what you actually think. endlessly amused by how scandalized you are by their suggestions, but beneath the teasing is something almost predatory. they make you feel chosen and before you realize it, you're a starry-eyed accomplice to their whims.

old blood ( 0 / 2 ) ... another relatively young (or not!) vampire who remembers exactly how horrifying those first months were, showing you the tricks of the trade, like how to survive existing in vampire society without making an ass of yourself. some of the first people you genuinely feel safe around.

sins of the maker ( 0 / 1 ) ... do you have a grudge against the sheriff? the authority? well, what better way to get to them than to target his young, young progeny.

first blood ( 0 / 1 ) ... baby vamp loses control and fucks up her first kill, sorry! don't hold it against her! she's learning!! probably fucked up glamouring their memory too, so now their brain is a little wonky. whoops.

but wait there's more! ( 0 / ? ) ... there's not just vampires but werewolves too. and demons. and witches. and like, a lot of other shit. she's a curious girl, and she WILL be asking you questions about it if she finds out (threat).

the hunger ( 0 / 1 ) ... is it hunger or attraction or both? she can't quite tell.

extras ... those from her human life, past flings, hunters, friends. really wanna lean into some corruption plots. etc etc