#* bio

Brief Biography:

Chester D'Aramitz was born in Martinique, one of the larger islands of the Lesser Antilles in the Caribbean Sea. His mother had lived there for most of her childhood, before spending some of her adult life in France (though technically, Martinique is still a Departement of France) where she met Kristopher D'Aramitz, a baker. While it may seem a humble occupation, Kristopher took the craft very seriously, having been a baker's apprentice for many years. The two married and moved to Martinique, where Kristopher started his very first, very own boulangerie.

Chester was born five years into their marriage, and when he was only four years old, the family packed their bags and made the drastic decision to move to Montreal, in Quebec, Canada. Marie-Josephine had some family there already, who had offered to help watch Chester while she attended classes at a local college. It took a while, but Kristopher managed to open a new boulangerie, which over time knew great success. In effect, Kristopher became, in addition to being a baker, a veritable business-man, as well.

The move occurred during a crucial period of childhood development for Chester. The instability was expounded upon by his mother and father's respective self-improvement pursuits. His mother and aunt thought it would be beneficial to find an activity for Chester-- a way for him to make friends, occupy his time, and perhaps even channel any negative feelings into something productive. So, he began ice skating lessons.

Skating lessons were expensive. They kept the cost down by only sending D'Aramitz to group classes and opting out of private lessons. Kristopher worked hard to make his business a success. Marie-Josephine studied hard at school. And Chester began to carve his life into the ice.

After a while, it became evident that skating wasn't a temporary thing, but rather a major investment. Uninterested in other ice-based sports, Chester joined a peewee hockey team. During the small mock-tournaments that the club put on for the younger students, it was clear that Chester (or Chess, as his teammates began to call him, because that's how they said he played the rink-- like a Chess board) was an up-and-coming force to be reckoned with. The older and better that Chester got, the more costs mounted. Between private lessons, club dues, equipment, clothes, and tournaments, Kristopher basically had no choice but to expand his baking business by opening more stores to fund it all.

Chester fell in love with the sport more than anything, and he knew, given that his other club members were considerably more well-off than his own family, the only way that he could convince his parents to allow him to stay in the club was to be better than everyone else. For Chester, being in the rink was like being on another planet; All the worries, all the oddities of being in a weird place, having to put up with being picked on by his older cousins, all of that faded into nothing. On the court, it was just him. Hockey was like the Way, or the Tao, for Chester, he just existed in the rink.

Chester became good friends with the other kids in the club, as his parents had hoped. Of course, it was easy to think, from his perspective, that everything was fine; How could he, at that age, empathize or imagine that anyone would be jealous of him? Or even resentful toward him? Being at the top of the pack meant that Chester was somewhat blind to the negative attitudes that some may hold.

Things really took off when Chess hit high school age. Chester maintained a steady C average, spending most of his time absorbed in hockey, though he tended to coast through on his sheer talent. At this point, he would travel for tournaments and return with sparkling trophies under his arm. However, despite having many shallow acquaintances, he felt very alone. He found solace in another hidden talent of his: art. Chester documented almost his entire youth through sketching it into graphic novel panels.

One year, after taking home the championship trophy, Chess was scouted and invited to come to the United States to try out a club league in Minnesota. The best academy for up-and-coming hockey champions, they said. His parents were skeptical, but agreed. In the end, Chess hated it; for the first time, he was being challenged at a level that he wasn't sure he was ready for, and all of his peers, rather than just a select few, were competitive, arrogant, and blood-thirsty.

According to Junior Rankings, Chester was one of the best players in Canada, by the end of his High School years. It remained to be seen, except for his stint in Minnesota, how Chess stacked up to international players. This would change when Chester accepted admission to Radcliffe. His first year as a University D-1 athlete was an absolute polar plunge of a wake up call. Hard work triumphs over talent, and Chess realized he would need to focus more than ever on the sport if he had any chance of turning pro, which is what he wants most in the world.

Quick Facts:

Nicknames: Chess

Sexuality: Bisexual, biromantic

Nationality/Ethnicity: French/French Canadian, Mixed-race

Languages spoken: French, English

Star Sign: Leo

Stature: 6'3", athletic, less than sure-footed off the ice

Tattoos/Identifiable marks: None

Allergies/Ailments: Shellfish allergy

Occupation: Student athlete

Personality: Very easy-going, and a loyal friend, though can also be full of himself and over-confident. Those who don't mind having their ear talked-off would probably get along with him well, and if one could see past the brazen and shameless exterior, one would understand that Chess seeks desperately the same kind of understanding from others that he affords to just about anyone.

Pets: None (no time to take care of them).

Likes: Hockey, running, dancing, music, poetry

basics name: alexandra (alex) maladi birthday: november 16, 2002 species: half-dark fae sexuality: lesbian (not out yet) school: harbor view hs senior hogwarts house: slytherin 

bullet point bio babey 

- just to clarify: it was never love. alex isn’t sure why her parents got together, but she’s sure the world would’ve been a better place had they not. the divorce was a long time coming, but her mom leaving the day it was finalized was a bit of a shock. it wasn’t like everything was all sunshine and rainbows before that, but things definitely turned cold after.  - her mom is her dark fae side, and all alex has ever seen fae magic do is destroy. poison, darken everything it comes into contact with. alex is strong, she knows she is but sometimes she wishes she’d just been human. maybe she wouldn’t feel like she’s some walking poison.  -her mom leaves when she’s young. young enough to cry, old enough to remember and her dad never mentions it again. from then on, it’s just alex. her dad works all the time, she thinks to spend as little time at home and when he is it’s like they’re strangers. which, with the amount they talk, she guesses they are. and although he’ll never admit it, she knows he sees too much of her mom in her. fae and all. - alex doesn’t do friends. she’s got people at school she’d call acquaintances and there’s a small list of people she tolerates but that’s about it. her childhood friend and her, carson, fell off somewhere around middle school and while there isn’t really hostility, it’s still awkward. too much was happening to both of them and with alex’s crush she DEFINITELY wasn’t prepared to address, alex made the mature decision to just ghost her bff rather than explain the nonsense in her head. - she likes girls.  it’s not something she’s admitted to herself yet, and definitely not something she’s ever let herself truly feel but it’s honest. she’s had crushes she won’t admit, and kissed boys she regrets, and she’s not ready to admit it to anyone, especially herself but she’s a lesbian. - she’s gonna get out of kings grove. she doesn’t have many plans but that one is definite. there has to be somewhere out there that doesn’t make her feel like this. somewhere she can be herself, whoever that is.

evie holt grew up in the quiet aftermath of a love story that ended too soon. she doesn’t remember their mother the way hunter does — there are no clear memories, no vivid scenes she can replay — only impressions that live more in her body than her mind. a softness in certain songs. a feeling of safety she can’t place. a warmth that feels inherited rather than earned. she grew up knowing her mother existed through stories, photographs, and the way grief settled into the corners of their home. her absence wasn’t loud, but it was constant, shaping the air evie learned to breathe.

she was raised in a house that functioned, but never quite healed. her father loved her deeply, but grief hollowed him out in ways evie noticed even as a child. emotions went unspoken. hard days were endured quietly. and through it all, hunter became her anchor. he was too young to be what he became, but he did it anyway — steady hands, bad jokes, late nights, comfort disguised as normalcy. to evie, hunter wasn’t just a brother. he was proof that someone could stay, even when staying was hard.

growing up like that did something to her. evie learned early that silence could swallow you whole, so she decided to be loud instead. not reckless for the sake of chaos, but alive in a way that couldn’t be ignored. she grew into someone fiery, impulsive, magnetic — the kind of girl who feels everything at full volume. she loves spontaneity, last-minute plans, movement, color, experiences that make her feel present in her own body. she hates feeling stuck. hates routine for too long. stillness feels like a warning sign to her, like if she slows down too much, she might start thinking about things she’s spent years outrunning.

on the surface, evie looks confident in a way people envy. she walks like she belongs anywhere she goes. she laughs easily, flirts without meaning to, and makes friends quickly. people are drawn to her energy — the way she seems unafraid of taking up space. but beneath that confidence lives a quieter truth she rarely voices. evie has always carried the feeling that she arrived at the wrong time, that her existence was born out of loss instead of joy. no one ever told her she was a mistake, but grief has a way of whispering its own stories. she learned to wonder if she’s too much because she’s afraid of being not enough.

she loves deeply and fast, throwing herself into people and moments with her whole heart. when something feels good, she chases it without hesitation. when it hurts, she feels it fully — but rarely lets others see the depth of it. vulnerability scares her more than chaos ever could. it’s easier to be bold than to admit she wants reassurance. easier to be adventurous than to say she’s afraid of being left behind. she worries that if people really see how much she feels, how intensely she loves, they’ll decide it’s overwhelming.

fashion became one of the first ways she learned to tell her story without explaining herself. every outfit is intentional, expressive, sometimes daring. she uses clothes the way some people use armor — not to hide, but to control how she’s seen. she likes choosing how much of herself the world gets. style is power to her, a way of saying i’m here, i’m real, and i won’t be ignored.

evie works at the euroville aquarium, a place that surprised her with how much it suits her. her role shifts constantly — guest services, educational tours, helping with exhibits, assisting during special events and evening programs — and that variety keeps her grounded. she likes that no two days look the same. she likes being on her feet, talking to people, answering questions, guiding groups through spaces filled with quiet wonder. the aquarium feels alive in a way that doesn’t demand anything from her emotionally, and that matters more than she realized at first.

on nights when the building empties out and the lights dim, evie sometimes stays behind longer than necessary. she stands in front of the massive tanks, watching slow, fluid movement in the water, letting the silence settle into her bones. it calms her. reminds her that life doesn’t always need to rush or burn to be meaningful. she never tells anyone how much she needs those moments, how they help her breathe.

she’s well-liked at work, known for her energy, her warmth, the way she makes long shifts feel lighter without trying too hard. people trust her quickly. she’s good at reading a room, sensing when someone needs reassurance or distraction. still, she often chooses work over going out, even though she loves the idea of nights filled with music and laughter. responsibility pulls at her, loyalty runs deep, and she prioritizes stability more than people expect from someone so impulsive.

her relationship with hunter remains the most stable thing in her life. she jokes about his protectiveness, rolls her eyes when he worries too much, but she leans on him in ways she doesn’t fully acknowledge. he is the one constant she’s never questioned. the proof that love doesn’t always leave. that someone can know all your edges and stay anyway.

evie holt is still learning how to exist without apology. she wants adventure, passion, connection — but she also wants peace. she wants to believe that she doesn’t have to perform to be chosen, that she doesn’t need to soften or shrink herself to deserve love. she’s searching for a version of happiness that doesn’t disappear the moment she slows down.

catherine elise wilder — but please, just call her kitty — is the kind of girl who keeps her heart in her sleeve's lining. sweet, spunky, and deceptively soft, she’s always looked younger than her age and felt older than her years. people see the bows in her hair, the pastel notebooks, the quiet voice, and they underestimate her — but kitty’s got more fire than she lets on.

she grew up the baby of a split family, two houses that managed to stay friendly, but never whole. she never heard yelling, but silence stung worse. her parents divorced when she was ten, promising it was “for the best,” but no one ever really asked what best looked like to her. she's still close with both of them, but there’s a quiet pressure in being the glue — the one expected to be fine, to keep smiling, to not make things harder. that weight gets heavy. especially when you're not sure who you are yet.

books were always her escape. growing up in suburbia, with an older sister who outshone her and a schedule full of safe decisions, reading was where she found her voice. she still reads every night, even now, tucked into the top bunk of her cramped euroville university dorm room. her room on campus was more “organized chaos” than anything else — fairy lights, stacks of paperbacks, empty mugs of tea, and to-do lists in pink ink scattered everywhere. she studied communications and digital media, hoping to turn her love of storytelling into something real. as she moved away her organized chaos stayed in another setting

kitty has always been sheltered — not out of control, but out of love. she was the girl who didn’t go to parties, who stayed home when her friends went out, who said "maybe next time" more than "yes." but the summer she turned sixteen, she made a quiet vow to herself: no more waiting. no more living small. and she’s trying — really trying — to keep that promise. she’s still sweet, still kind, but she’s learning to be bold. she says what she wants now, even if her voice shakes. she chases moments. she lives messily.

that doesn’t always go as planned. kitty is impulsive — she leaps without checking the ground first. and when things fall apart, she spirals quietly, embarrassed that she let herself hope too much again.

especially when it comes to bodhi.

he was her first real love — the kind that blooms too fast and too bright. he knew her in ways she didn’t even know herself yet. they were young, intense, perfect in all the ways that don’t last. their breakup wasn’t ugly, just inevitable. she needed to grow on her own, to figure out who she was without being someone’s other half. he understood. he even agreed. but that didn’t make it hurt less. she still carries him like a secret — still looks for him in songs and sunsets and people who don’t know her well enough. they were the right people… just at the wrong time.

now, kitty wilder is twenty-three and still figuring it out. she’s gentle, impulsive, book-smart, hopelessly romantic, and just tired enough of playing it safe. she’s someone who believes in first love and second chances, even if she’ll never admit it out loud. she’s trying to live bigger, messier, braver.

eleanor darcy wasn’t born a monster. she was born eleanor grace whitmore in 1814, the golden child of a powerful english family who valued image over affection. her early life was silk and discipline — the kind that teaches girls how to be perfect, quiet, and useful. but eleanor had too much heart, too much hunger for something real. at sixteen, she fell in love with someone she was never supposed to — a servant’s son with rough hands and soft eyes. when she got pregnant, she thought love would save her. instead, her family erased her. they killed the boy she loved, exiled her to a country estate, and ripped the baby from her arms the day she was born. eleanor begged to die. instead, she was given a choice — life, not as she knew it, but eternal, sharp, and cruel. she said yes.

the transition was agony. when she woke as a vampire, the girl who had braided ribbons into her hair was gone. in her place was something colder, cleverer, and harder to kill. she became eleanor darcy — a woman who moved through decades like smoke, seducing, surviving, vanishing. she fell in and out of lives like a curse, loved men who wrote poems about her bite, and whispered lies so beautifully they sounded like truth. her motto became, better you die than me. and she meant it. no one would ever take her power again.

now in euroville, eleanor keeps to the shadows of high society, dressed in secrets and silk. she claims she moved for a fresh start, but she’s always chasing something: a lead on the child she lost, the last flicker of humanity, or maybe just a reason to feel anything again. she’s sharp-tongued, brilliant, and cruel when she needs to be — but fiercely protective of her younger sister, the only soul she trusts. though she rarely speaks of how her sister became like her, their bond is unshakable. she doesn’t have a coven, doesn’t follow rules, and doesn’t let herself love easily. but when she does, it’s messy, obsessive, and all-consuming. she’d burn cities to the ground for the right person — but never admit it.

rory—short for aurora—is the kind of girl who doesn’t realize she’s luminous. she’s soft in a way the world rarely makes room for: long, pink hair that shimmers like satin, a scent like rosewater and worn books, and eyes that carry the weight of someone who’s seen quiet hurt and chosen to stay kind anyway. at 5'1", she moves gently but with purpose, a girl who learned long ago to make herself small in loud rooms—but now does it only out of thoughtfulness, never fear.

she’s a veterinarian in euroville, with a life made of healing, small comforts, and careful rituals. animals trust her instantly, sensing the steadiness in her hands, the love stitched into everything she does. her two rescue cats, miso and peach, follow her from room to room like shadows, curling into her side at night as if guarding something precious. her home is soft: dried flowers hanging in the windows, tea tins lined on the shelf, sunlight caught in crystals and fairy lights. everything about rory seems delicate—but there is nothing fragile about her.

underneath her sweet voice and warm hugs is a girl made of steel and fire. rory is stubborn, organized, and sharply intelligent. when she believes in something, she doesn't back down—not even in the face of authority or judgment. she argues with quiet fury, loves with deep, aching sincerity, and shows affection in the ways she’s too scared to speak aloud—packed lunches, remembered details, little gifts wrapped in ribbon. when she begins to care about someone, her first instinct is to tease. she hides softness under snark, not to push people away, but because she’s afraid they won’t stay if they see how much she truly feels.

her childhood taught her how to survive behind a smile. her family home looked perfect from the outside, but love there came with conditions: be sweet, be presentable, don’t cry too loudly, don’t want too much. she left early, with no dramatic goodbye—just a suitcase and the quiet decision to build a softer world. she’s done that now. she’s built a life of gentleness, of care, of routines that make her feel steady—but some part of her still aches for someone to see her, not just for her kindness, but for the ache behind it.

trying. as the receptionist at olympus gym, she’s known for her sharp wit, biting sarcasm, and the kind of confidence that makes people both admire and fear her. she teaches kickboxing and dance classes with a fierce passion, mixing strength with style, and isn’t afraid to call people out or flirt first. most see her as a heartbreaker, but few know the layers beneath — the sweetness she only reveals when she truly wants to, the loyalty she fiercely guards, and the softer emotions she buries beneath her sharp edges. life has toughened her, especially after heartbreaks that hardened her once sweet nature, turning her into the unapologetic, strong-willed woman she is today.

but everything changed the night she was bitten. suddenly, the body that had always obeyed her was at war with something wild and ancient inside. she struggles to control her shifting—the glowing gold eyes that appear when the full moon hits, the sudden aches, the claws that start to poke through. she’s still learning, fumbling through each transformation like it’s some cruel test she didn’t ask for. it’s not terrifying, exactly — more frustrating and exhausting. she hates the loss of control, the way her body acts on its own, especially in front of others. so far, her family has no idea, and she’s determined to keep it that way.

one night during a quiet shift at the gym, the full moon hit harder than ever. she was behind the front desk, putting together a playlist for her dance class, when the pressure in her chest became unbearable. her vision blurred, and before she knew it, her eyes were glowing gold in the reflection of the glass door. she collapsed to the floor, clutching herself as pain and adrenaline coursed through her veins. her claws started to grow, but her stubborn pride refused to let her lose control — not in her workplace, not in front of anyone. after what felt like forever, the glow faded, the claws retracted, and her breathing steadied. she wiped the sweat and mascara from her face and laughed softly to herself, “guess that confirms it. i’m a damn werewolf.”