* 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫 / logged

full name: dante álvaro velásquez nickname: dante date of birth: 3rd april place of birth: london, uk

gender: cis man pronouns: he/him sexual orientation: homosexual relationship status: single

occupation: private eye education level: masters degree financial status: middle class

spoken languages: spanish, english nationality: guatemalan & british

STATS.

faceclaim: oscar isaac height: 174cm body & build: soft around the edges & sturdy tattoos: “mamá” on his right upper arm piercings: none

mental health: pure obsessive ocd and occasional night terrors physical health: relatively good, could use more exercise vices: drinking sociability: talkative enough. sometimes his silence can be interpreted as indifference, though it most often is not. has good social skills— will often know how to easily say what the other wants to hear. not always trustworthy. awkward in intimacy & more flirty conversations. 

positive traits: intelligent, open-minded, resourceful, dedicates negative traits: obsessive, arrogant, impatient, resentful

SKILLS.

strength: ●●●●○   dexterity:  ●●●○○   endurance:  ●●●○○  

hand-to-hand combat:   ●●●○○   knife-handling:   ●●●○○     shooting: ●●●●○

TEXT.

dante was born to parents of guatemalan and american descent in london. he spent most of his formative years in community schools around the uk, as his parents moved around a lot due to their working situation. he never much minded when he was young, and was quick to make friends in the new places he moved to.

one unremarkable childhood later, at eighteen years old, dante took to studying criminology and criminal psychology. what motivated him to pursue this field? maybe he’d just watched too many detective shows or read too many penny dreadfuls on his hour-long commute to school. whatever it was, thank god he did because he immediately took to learning with a new kind of interest. not only that, he was exceptionally skilled in his field of study, too.

upon graduation the scotland yard grabbed him up before he took to writing his phd which, in hindsight, was a blessing. although dante was brilliant in his field, he was never too academically inclined. he preferred a much more hands-on approach, which benefited him greatly in his new job. from here, he thought, it would be smooth sailing until retirement. however, his true self would prove to be a mighty opponent to battle in the upcoming decades.

after a successful career at the yard, dante was recruited into the national crime agency. he went from pure homicide to human, weapon and drug trafficking, financial crime, domestic terrorism. all the good stuff. if his time at the yard hadn’t fucked with him, it was finally here where things began unraveling. where he is intelligent, he is also relentless; unable to give up the pursuit even if it destroys him. dante’s obsession with his foes, with the crime underbelly of the uk and with his need to do good, he eventually drove himself into such a state of chaos and despair that he was let go from his position at the nca.

left untethered to float amongst his chaos, dante struggled to find new purpose. until a year or so ago, when he was hired to research and bring to justice the people responsible for his employer’s suffering. now, he has found a new hunger, new purpose in his life. nothing will stop him from getting to the bottom of things.

WANTED CONNECTIONS.

full name: sascha eliel wolff nicknames: wolff / wolfie date of birth: 19th october place of birth: monte carlo, monaco

gender: cis man pronouns: he/him sexual orientation: bisexy relationship status: single

occupation:  racer for the wilds technician & front of house staff at teamsport go karting education level: trade school financial status: well off low-income

spoken languages: german, french, english nationality: german

STATS.

faceclaim: maxence danet-fauvel height: 181cm body & build: athletic, but slim tattoos: some, none visible in normal clothing piercings: earrings

mental health: fucked. traumatised from the death of his brother, suffers some symptoms of ptsd and depression but has never been diagnosed. good days feel almost euphoric, bad days can be really bad. physical health: also fucked. permanent scarring & injuries from multiple car crashes and other accidents. most prominently he has a limp after strenuous running & suffers from occasional debilitating back pain. vices: smoking (socially), drinking, gambling, some drugs sociability: quick witted and with a short fuse. he’ll fight you and get his ass kicked, but be too proud to slink back home to lick his wounds. bleeding from somewhere 9 times out of 10

positive traits: attentive, boyish, determined, quick-witted negative traits: defensive, stubborn, posessive, quick to anger

SKILLS.

strength: ●●●○○ dexterity: ●●●●○ endurance: ●●●○○

hand-to-hand combat: ●●○○○ knife-handling: ●●●○○ shooting: this boy has never discharged a weapon lol

driving: ●●●●● drifting: ●●●●○ evading the law: ●●●●●

PROLOGUE.

             “at   the   trial   of   god,   we   will   ask:   why   did   you   allow   all   this?                    and   the   answer   will   be   an   echo:   why   did   you   allow   all   this?”

it begins with a burning in the chest. like when you were a kid, running the cold water into the sink until it’s a few inches from overflowing. you close your eyes and plunge in face first, drops of water wet your socks, you open your eyes and stare at the white porcelain of the sink, its cracks and crevices blurry underwater. you hold your breath as long as possible underwater, imagine the ocean, too cold to swim in this time of the year; you see the seashells just a few feet from the shore, the dip as the ocean grows deeper, the seaweed which grabs at your ankles to pull you under— your father’s firm hand on your shoulder yanks you out.

it begins with a burning in the chest.

the urge not to breathe underwater is so strong that it overcomes the agony of running out of air. you’ve heard it can take over eighty-seven seconds before the human body reaches its breaking point. when, on the verge of losing consciousness, in a last bout of neurological optimism, your body says: holding our breath is killing us, and breathing in might not kill us, so we might as well breathe in.

a spasmodic breath drags salty seawater into your brother’s flooded lungs. half-conscious and enfeebled by oxygen depletion you scream his name, and it aches.

at night you often dream of him. the rubbed-raw glint of something unfamiliar, the changing texture of his skin. from mid-calf to upper thigh, a strange oyster sheen. along his sides and then across his chest and up along his arms to mid-forearm, at first surf-white, and then changing as you look at him, white to blue to green– his skin a drifting texture, somehow unmoored. 

TEXT.

sascha and his identical twin brother samuel were born into a german family hailing from a background of old money, then residing in monaco as tax exiles. they were rich rich. like, you don’t ever have to worry about getting a job rich. the young brothers grew up karting, skiing in the winters and travelling to all the warm places during the summer months.

they were both sent to school in germany, where they boarded for most of the year. they were the troublemakers of the family, and their parents were glad to be rid of them for most of the year. when they weren’t in school, they were partaking in karting races all over europe and eventually the world.

it was always samuel who was the better of the two; he just had a sixth sence when it came to driving. most of the time he was unbeatable; at least sascha felt as much, to his frustration. he’d always adored his brother, even when they were rivals. wolfie will gladly tell you about how his brother was always destined for the big leagues; formula one. every summer they’d watch as the races went on in monaco, from the balcony of a friend of a friend who lived right next to the track. samuel would point at the ferraris and confidently tell everyone how, in a few years, he’d be driving there alongside all the legends.

a car crash at 18 brought everything crumbling down for the twins. they’d just gotten their road liscences, and were fucking around as young boys do. their car ended up capsized in the ocean, and only one of the two made it out alive, only barely. as a gift for reaching adulthood, wolfie received a bucketload of trauma and physical pain for the rest of his life. fun!

this all lead to an inevitable downward slide; reckless behaviour, a lack of motivation, doing everything in his power to disobey and infuriate his parents and siblings. a drug charge and multiple speeding tickets later he lost his competition liscence, and was eventually entirely disowned by his parents. he hasn’t spoken to them in years, not properly, at least.

wolfie ended up getting himself a mechanic’s training at a trade school in berlin, after which he moved to london in search of a good street-racing circuit he could take part in. even though his dreams of ever being a legitimate racer had gone down the drain, his skills as a driver were always undeniable.

idk what else to add here i might rewrite this at some point!!!

WANTED CONNECTIONS.

older siblings

parents

lovers turned enemies

flings

childhood friends who lost touch

that one neighbour who doesn’t like him fixing his car at midnight