#ng.intro

info .

name: luz maria rivera  nickname(s): lu date of birth: september 10th, 2001  age: twenty-five  place of birth: halcyon island power: truth manipulation

gender: cis-female  pronouns: she/her  sexuality: pansexual

occupation: freelance journalist  education: highschool graduate  affiliation: n/a family: mother (alive, estranged), father (unknown) alba & tba (siblings)

aesthetics: scattered papers on a table with specks of sunlight dancing over them, fingers stained with the ink of a ballpoint pen, unruly hair that whips around while dancing wildly to music in a room, a watery smile and a brave face when confronted with something heartbreaking, falling asleep at the desk in the middle of the night, koala cuddling someone as the big spoon  soundtrack: the view between villages by noah kahan  positive traits: enthusiastic, gentle, spontaneous, creative, resourceful negative traits: fickle, avoidant, people-pleaser, self-destructive, compulsive

height: 5'2  eye color: hazel  hair color: dark brown  notable features: tattoo of a crumbling pillar down her spine

bio .

( tw: domestic violence / abuse )

you're born on a particularly odd autumn day in the south of halcyon island, and perhaps that is what sets the course for your life.

you might not be a difficult child, but you're a whirlwind. the middle child of three daughters, you're your mother's favorite from the moment you draw your first breath, and it's not the compliment you would like it to be. it's not so bad then, but it turns so sour so quickly the older you grow. it turns sour and stormy, much like the day of your birth, when a clear, sunny sky gathered clouds and flooded the streets of southern halcyon island.

every interaction that starts to go more in your favor than in your sisters' leaves you wondering if they're starting to resent you for it. every raised hand, every thrown object that misses you with an aim so bad you don't know whether or not it is intentional. it glides off this invisible barrier that seems to exist around you, and finds its way to your older sister alba, most of all. it's rarely you, though, and when it is, you can count on being comforted by the very person who is responsible for your tears in the first place.

your mother should love you, and she does; just not in a way you deserve.

it frightens you, the thought of being hated by your sisters. so, when your mother gets angry, you go to comfort them. you do whatever you can to make them smile through the tears, to get a watery giggle out of them when the sobs subside. even though your heart is racing when the house threatens to burst at the seams with raised voices that echo in your head, even though your hands get shaky and trembly and you try to hide the wobble in your own voice when you come up with ridiculous little jokes to ease the tension and sadness.

when you get older and a little braver, you stop making trying to ease the tension your priority, and you try to become a shield. this impenetrable force that repels cups and plates and mean words from reaching the people you love. and it works, most of the time, but you come to realize that if you become upset, so does your mother. and that is something you don't know how to handle. don't look at me like that, she says, and when you avert your gaze she bursts into tears. oh baby, my sweet baby, she cries, and the only thing that placates her is if you present her with the peace offer of your perfectly practiced smile that hides your insincerity as much as it betrays it. it calms her, to see what she so desperately seems to need from you. and when she hugs you, you hate yourself for holding onto her a little too tightly as if you can steal some comfort from her for yourself. you realize more and more, that it’s not normal. not just that your mother isn’t behaving the way a mother should, but that her love for you might not just be another act of cruelty on her part. you begin to notice that if you really want something to be true, desperately and irrevocably, it tends to become that. it takes you a while to find out that it’s not just your determination that drives that development, but something else entirely. when it becomes apparent to you that your power has manifested as truth manipulation, you don’t tell anyone. you keep it close to your heart. this world has stopped being kind of powered people in any case. all it had taken was for cinder to blow up to make it all crumble to bits.

your mother should know you, and she does; just not in any way you don't need to practice in front of the mirror first.

during school, you begin to realize that you have a way with words. reading is an escape for you, and so is writing, but right alongside comes the realization that you're mighty stubborn, too. you know how chase a story, how to get what you want with charming smiles and choice words, even though sometimes you babble so much that your foot ends up in your mouth. above all, you want to do something that sets you apart, that gets you recognized and into the sort of circles where the stories stop being about rescued kittens or a teen who gets the name of a fastfood chain tattooed to get a free lifetime supply. where the stories start to be about intrigue, danger and the sort of things that, when exposed, hit the world like a meteor.

you're stubborn and ambitious and maybe you're selfish like someone you don't want to particularly credit for it.

you don't want to be anything like your mother but you're afraid that you have inherited her cowardice.

when you finally feel ready to cut the ties that bind you to that little decrepit house in the south, you leave.

you pack your bags and leave that house you grew up in and the people you grew up with and it's so still and dark that it feels more like leaving behind a dollhouse with some dolls you loved more than others. it doesn't feel quite real yet, but once further away, it will hit you. the itch to pick up the phone and hear the voices of your sisters will never leave you, and the question if they hate you now as much as they hate your mother will remain unanswered.

at some point, after bouncing around housing in the east, you end up in the north of halcyon island, and you have no immediate plans to leave. you start working as a freelance journalist and you vow to yourself to be a little more honest, even though you keep itching to write something exciting.

wanted connections .

info .

name: fransisco lorenzo russo nickname(s): francis, fran date of birth: october 29th, 1991 age: thirty-five place of birth: halcyon island power: precognition

gender: cis-male pronouns: he/him sexuality: pansexual

occupation: former quality assurance engineer, underboss education: halcyon island university affiliation: russo family, the current family: alicia (mother), francesco (father), rosalia & niccolo & damiano (siblings)

aesthetics: a cigarette tucked behind an ear, constantly moving fingers, the scent of sandalwood and smoke lingering on suit jackets, crooked smiles and jokes during the wrong moments soundtrack: dashboard by noah kahan positive traits: witty, quick on his feet, charming, unflinchingly loyal, methodical negative traits: obsessive, manipulative, restless, reckless, vengeful

height: 6'3 eye color: bright blue hair color: dark blonde notable features: scar on his left cheek

bio .

( tw: alcoholism, smoking, car accident, medical, guns )

you're the first born of a whole gaggle, though you don't yet know your luck when you draw your first breath.

you don't yet know that you will hold your future siblings with as much reverence as you hold a gun, fingers delicate as they wrap around cool metal and chubby little fingers alike. you're blissfully unaware that you will aim a shot with the same careful precision you use to throw your sibling a ball to catch. your life will be a constant parallel of violence and peace and you will walk it like a tightrope. only time will tell if you manage to keep your balance, or if you will fall on one side or the other. two sides of the same coin.

brilliant; that's what your parents are. and you are destined for the same. a quick study like your mother, the head of your family and the current faction, and just as quick witted, though it takes you more effort to focus on the things you don't care about. you're good with your words like your father, a skilled negotiator with an eye for business that you look up to with admiration.

though, it is the moment you pick up a gun for the first time that your true talent shows. you're eight and your father is out of the room for enough time that you can make the discovery by yourself, seated at the mahogany dining table. the machinery fascinates you. weighty metal that slots into one another with a precision and purpose that you curiously pull apart. one click after another. there's nothing elegant about it that first time, nothing methodical, but your young eyes drink it all in hungrily. then you put it back together, just to pull it apart afterwards, and this time, you're more familiar with it. you can't name all the pieces but your fingertips come to know each ridge and edge, the shapes and gentle curves. you see what manufactured perfection can become and it occupies your mind from then on.

you didn’t know back then, that blissful ignorance was not a luxury afforded to you. It’s always difficult to see what you have until you don’t have it anymore. easy to take for granted what you might miss in a few years’ time. you’re ten when your power rears its head for the first time. if you’re honest, in retrospect it might have always been there, you just chalked it up to being smart about things. but once it became apparent, it was difficult to ignore. when you predict the outcome of a situation, you’re right more often than you’re not. it takes time and a village to figure out what your power can do, and you don’t think you’ve figured it out entirely yet. the cinder incident made everything more difficult in any case, and you were left to work on exploring your powers in private, mostly on your own. 

you get accepted into the university on halcyon island for engineering and you jump at the chance to see a way out of your routine in the strict rhythm of the current, young and eager as you are. a new place where you have no roots that run deeper under the earth than you even truly realize. six feet and more. at university, you feel free. untethered. you absorb yourself in your studies most times, and other times, you do what your newfound friends and others your age do: you party. you drink until you feel a pleasant numbness, until your laughter doesn't sound like your own and your lips tingle when you press them together. it’s those times when your power doesn’t plague you as acutely anymore. you don’t preoccupy yourself with the outcomes of situations, with what most likely will happen next unless a decision, no matter how small it might be, changes everything. this is the first vice you burden yourself with. because once you start, you lose sight of the perfect moment to stop. you chase after the warmth with a greed that might have terrified you had you been sober and thinking clearly.

love finds you during that time, too, and it feels like a blessing and a curse at once. because you love yasemin. you don’t think you’ve ever loved anyone more, and the thought of loving anyone else that way makes your chest tight. you love her for as long as time permits you, for as long as this life of partying and a life with her can coexist. and when it’s time to make a choice, you choose the numbness of being drunk over the bliss and clarity of being with her. you regret many things, but this will turn out to be one of the weightiest. 

your wakeup call comes in a rain of broken glass and warped steel and aluminum. you weren't behind the wheel but under the influence you don't know when to stop, least of all tell someone else to slow down. a late night drive back to the dorms after a party ends in fire, blood running down the side of your face as you and another stumbling, injured friend pull the driver out behind the wheel and stagger away as the car bursts into flames. the shock sits in your bones numbly those few hours after the accident, but it grips on tighter as they patch you up in the hospital and feed an IV into your arm that sobers you up in a manner that's awfully humbling. had you passed out during the collision or from the alcohol, you and your friends might have died.

cynically, you wonder how much of a blessing it is when your sobriety gifts you with the foresight that the driver will never walk right again, and the friend who helped you pull him from the wreck will live with a pronounced, permanent tremble in one arm. you on the other hand, get to walk away with nothing but scratches and a light concussion and a scar on your cheek that will have you think of this night each moment you look at your reflection.

you resolve to stop drinking after that and you mostly succeed. tone it down, find ways to decline a drink that doesn't betray your deep, clawing fear that you will end up right back where you started. and yet, you trade one burdensome vice for another. cigarettes might make your chest sore the next day, they might make your fingers tremble when you abstain for too long, but they don't make you reckless. they don't take your good judgement and twist it into something that can't tell right from wrong and have you chase a thrill that will never be quite as good as you imagine.

when you return home after graduation, you come back the same, and yet entirely changed. the tightrope wobbles and shakes as you walk it, but you hold on one chain-smoke at a time. you slot into routine at home seamlessly. you didn't rush anymore. people who rushed ended up in headlines or coffins and you weren't itching for either. your degree earns you a position as a quality assurance engineer, and it's really just a fancy way of saying you made sure that each weapons delivery arrived the way it was meant to, that it was maintained and stored perfectly. it wasn't about each individual piece, but about how they came together. like a family, almost. and then, just a few years after that, you move from weapons specialist to underboss. 

you smoke, you don't drink, you hold a gun like a life-line and you indulge in the illusion of propriety and peace and your family’s power on halcyon island, even though that peace is momentary and fragile at best at every moment.

it lasts until it doesn't, and you wonder if this is what will finally shove you off that line you've been toeing, right off the edge. for better, for worse. for good.

wanted connection .

★      𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒  .

because i talk too much, here's the quick tdlr. content warnings: violence, domestic abuse, violence, blood, death.

she left the island when she was sixteen after watching her brother kill their abusive father. she moved to the states and reinvented herself as buffy park—eventually becoming one if the industry's top actresses. not through the same hard work that most people do, but through tactics that made her a lot scary than what the public sees her as. she's not afraid to do what ever it takes to make sure she gets what she wants— manipulation, flattery, threatening and sometimes even violence if it calls for it. parts about her that no one has dared to share with anyone else. to everyone else, she's hollywood's sweetheart.

she had instances where her abilities were starting to awaken, but it wasn't until the night where she tried to end another meaningless relationship did her powers fully show itself. when the break up turned violent, she killed her boyfriend with the abilities she had no idea she had. rather than dwelling on what she did (because she scarily doesn't feel bad about it), she got someone close to her to create a set-up for someone else to take the fall before returning to the island that same night. to everyone else, she's grieving the loss of her boyfriend is stepping away from the spotlight to deal with what happened. the truth is, she's here to learn how to master her abilities while also reconnecting with her twin brother, yuijin.

★      𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆  .

born and raised on the island as park bo mi, she grew up in a house where the silence never seemed to last very long. every slammed door, broken plate, or even cry became a reminder that peace only ever existed until her father decided otherwise. while yujin spent a majority of their child life being a protector, bo mi learned to survive by watching—learning to recognize the signs before the danger started. she also learned how to become exactly what someone wanted to see until they looked away: a skill that managed to take her extremely far in life.

people often mistook bo mi's quietness for innocence, but that was never the case. there was always something unsettling about how well bo mi understood people—even as a child. while other children seemed to react to the world around them, bo mi observed— noticing who craved attention, what friendships were beginning to crack and what version of herself she needed to become to get to the outcome she wanted.

more than once, someone who underestimated her found themselves sitting alone at lunch, arguing with their closest friends or answering for something they swore they hadn't done— planting the seeds that she wasn't someone to be messed with. adults dismissed it as childish drama, but everyone else knew better.

by sixteen, bo mi had already convinced herself that halcyon wasn't the place she was going to spend the rest of her life. the states were her goal and it was a chance to become someone untouched by her father's shadow. the night she made the decision to finally leave—hardly ever spending time at home as it was—was also the same night her father's life was taken by her own brother. she watched her father die and rather than being scared, relief arrived first. for the first time in all their lives, the house was quiet and when yujin told her to leave, bo mi didn't hesitate.

★      𝐇𝐄𝐑  𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐄  𝐓𝐎  𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐄  .

somewhere between halcyon and the mainland, bo mi quickly disappeared and buffy park took her place. it wasn't just a new name, but a new life. buffy quickly discovered that acting wasn't something she'd picked as much as it was something she'd been preparing for since childhood. pretending always came naturally because she had spent years becoming whatever someone needed her to be in order to survive the world and hollywood simply rewarded her for it.

buffy wanted the fame and everything that it promised— influence, security, money and power. she wanted the certainty of knowing that no one would have enough power over her to decide what her story was going to be. talent may have opened doors, but she quickly learned that it was the people who decided who got to walk through them. every conversation she had became another opportunity, every relationship was nothing more than an investment. she learned whose ego needed to be fed, whose loyalty could be bought and whose secrets were worth remembering.

the thing about her, she was never reckless. a producer who once laughed at the idea of casting her as a leading actress quickly changed his mind after buffy paused beside a family photo on his desk and said, " you have a beautiful family. " he smiled, so she smiled too then added: " i wonder what people would say if they find out you're fucking your talent. " and she left before he could even respond. the role was hers before the week ended.

another actress withdrew from a role after months of campaigning for it following a single conversation with buffy. a journalist abandoned a damaging story about her before it even reached print. every obstacle that stood in her way always seemed to remove itself and no one ever questioned buffy. they never had a reason to.

but then there were moments that buffy couldn't explain. lights flickered whenever frustration tried to break through her rehearsed smile. doors slamming on their own, glasses falling from the table and shattering without anyone touching it. a rival actress losing her footing—inches away from the edge—at the top of the staircase after a private conversation with buffy. things that were strange enough to notice, but not enough to think much of it. buffy always dismissed them because they'd never been worth digging deeper into.

by twenty-eight, buffy park was one of the industry's brightest stars. she was being praised for her professionalism, her castmates talked about her kindness and interviewers raved about how humble she was. she remembered assistants by name, thanked every crew member before leaving set and made sure to smile through all her public appearances— a carefully curated warmth that people couldn't help but to love. there were no scandals. no one whispered about her. no reason for anyone to question if buffy park was exactly who she appeared to be.

★      𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆  .

content warnings: violence, domestic abuse, violence, blood, death.

news about her relationship hit headlines and the public went crazy. buffy and another lead had fallen in love and were ready to tell the world about it. the only thing is, he had never been the love of her life. he'd simply been another carefully planned relationship to get her higher in her career. it was a role she played well—too well—until the day she decided he served his purpose. after a year of dating, buffy woke up and realized she'd already taken everything the relationship had to offer her. not too long after, she was in his home telling him it was over. clean cut and straight to the point. there was no sadness, no anger, no emotion at all. almost cruel in a sense at how easy she was able to discard him. to put it in simple words, her performance was over and there was no need to pretend anymore.

he laughed and she almost did, too. knowing that it was a hard pill to swallow, but in the end, he had to understand. it's when he stood up, smile still in tact, did the first hit land. that's when she let herself laugh. in disbelief. while she'd spent the entire year pretending to love him, he'd also been putting on performance— pretending as if he'd ever let her leave. every attempt to walk away ended the same. another shove. another strike. he believed he was in control of how the night would end. meanwhile, buffy never fought back. in that moment, his voice slowly turned into another she'd remembered so vividly.

she'd never forgotten her father. never even tried to. with every blow he'd given her, the years began to fade into each other until his apartment was no longer his. it was the home she'd left behind. that's when it all started. lights flickered, furniture shook, glasses vibrating inside the kitchen cabinets. the apartment reacted before she did. when her eyes turned white, everything else followed. the fingers in her hair began to pull back one by one and his screams were muffled in her ears. then he was no longer standing in front of her, he'd been thrown back against the wall. then again. and again. each impact sounding harder than the last time. hands clawed at his throat in a desperation to breathe, but that did nothing to help. blood started to trail from his nose, his mouth and then slowly from the corners of his mouth. all while buffy remained in the same spot.

when it was all over, buffy stood over his body for a long moment. eyes back to normal (despite not knowing they'd changed to begin with) and solely focused on him. he was dead. in that moment, she laughs. not a chuckle like the first time, but a real laugh. the sound filling the silence as she continued to stare at him. she wasn't laughing because she'd enjoyed it nor did she regret it. it was in that moment did the realization finally hit her: there really wasn't a line she wouldn't cross.

when the laughter died out, buffy knew there was only one person she could call. someone that had been by her side throughout her entire time on the mainland and when they came to the apartment, buffy only had one question: how far were they willing to go for her? she didn't explain herself or what happened. she looked at them and waited for the answer. by the time the sun rose, buffy park was never a factor. someone else was taking the fall for what she'd done.

★      𝐇𝐄𝐑  𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍  .

while her friend set the cover up, buffy packed a bag. washed the blood from her hands, cleaned her cuts and changed into something else entirely. didn't wait for the headlines, didn't need to hear the outcomes of the arrested. she hadn't even waited for her publicist to release the carefully crafted statement the world would eventually read. she'd benefit from this later, that much she's sure of, but for now, she was playing another role.

buffy could've gone anywhere. she had more than enough money to disappear without a trace, to go anywhere she wanted, but instead, she boarded her jet and flew back to halcyon island that very night. it wasn't a calculated choice like every other part of her life was, this was instinct.

for twelve years, she'd built a life out of performances. every smile and interaction served a purpose. every relationship was based on what it could offer her or how far it could take her. every person she allowed close enough to her had only ever known the version of herself she'd decided to give them. everyone except her brother.

the thing is, buffy didn't come home because she regretted what she did. she didn't return with the hopes that her brother could protect her in the ways he always had, nor did she expect him to make sense of what had happened. the truth was simpler than that. yujin was the only relationship she'd never had to manipulate. never had to perform for. before she became buffy park, the celebrity that everyone loved, there had only ever been bo mi.

he knew her before every performance. before ever lie. he loved her long before anyone else knew her name, sitting outside her bedroom door on nights he thought she'd be scared or stepping between her and their father more times than anyone could count. he was her brother, the only person she never had to become someone else for, and that was reason enough.

returning to the island hasn't changed buffy. if anything, it only confirmed what she's always known about herself. she's not here looking for redempetion, forgiveness or a chance to right her wrongs. the mainland gave her everything she'd ever wanted, and she'd make the same decisions again if meant keeping the life she'd built.

publicly, buffy park continues to be what the world believes she is. the statement her publicist put out brought her sympathy, tabloids painted her as the grieving actress that needed some time away from the spotlight and the public seemed to accept that. while she's remaining largely out of the public ey e since returned, it's not forever and will be going back the moment she thinks she's read to. she's still hollywood's sweetheart after all.

behind closed doors, she's confronting the only thing she can't manipulate: her ability. the night her boyfriend died was the first time she'd ever consciously used them, so every day since has been spent testing herself and her limits. but unlike everything else in her life, her superpower refuses to be manipulated and buffy hates that. she's not afraid of what she can do, but she hates that she doesn't know how to control it.

★      𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐒  .

"Telekinesis, which originates from the Greek words "tele" meaning "far off" and "kinesis" meaning "movement," is the ability to manipulate matter, energy or even other aspects of the physical world using the power of the mind or through other non-physical means. This involves the fundamental trait of being able to move or otherwise interact with objects from a distance, without any physical contact, as well as the potential to generate and apply physical force to a target or an area."

the more she's controlling at once, the harder it becomes to really maintain precision.

strong emotions can trigger the use of her abilities and cause the environment to react before she even realizes she's doing it.

excessive use can lead to migraines, nosebleeds, blurred vision, shaking hands and exhaustion.

in order to use her powers, she needs to know where something is in order to manipulate it. things she can't see are, understandably, much harder to control.

BASICS:

full name : christian lee. nicknames : none. birthdate : 22nd august ( 36 ). hometown : manhattan, new york. traits : diligent, conceited, dramatic, snobbish. gender  +  pronouns : cis man  +  he/him. orientation : bisexual. zodiac : virgo. occupation : unemployed, ex-politician. powers : dermal crystallisation. character parallels : moira rose ( schitt's creek ), zuko ( atla ), lestat de lioncourt ( interview with the vampire ), reynolds woodcock ( phantom thread ). aesthetic : silk robes abandoned beside hotel towels, wine-drunk monologues delivered like shakespearean soliloquies, staring at local news stations with visible contempt, polished shoes echoing through empty hallways, gold accents and signet rings, hand written thank you notes and perfect penmanship.

SUMMARY:

the lees are an influential political dynasty made of greatness, built on hypocrisy and greed. they are well known as being haughty individuals who generally look down on people who are not cut from the same cloth, and for bank rolling the directorate. traditional and self-serving.

grew up in a household that prized discipline above warmth and left little room for mistakes. powered people were spoken about with suspicion, if they were spoken about at all, and were viewed as unpredictable and dangerous. no society could remain stable if its laws answered to those stronger than them.

for christian, he navigated the high expectations and standards, which all but consumed him, and did everything that was asked of him and more. in return, he expected everyone around him to to demand as much of themselves as he did.

eventually followed the path of his parents and became a politician, though his passion had always lied in journalism. he was being quietly groomed to inherit the family legacy until, well into adulthood, his power finally manifested. it was easy to ignore at first: aches beneath the skin, strange pressure around his shoulders, sleepless nights. but when the crystals broke through, they were painful, hideous, and impossible to hide.

the lees refused to accept it. they called it a condition before they ever called it a power. threw money at doctors, specialists, researchers and suddenly the treatments turned into experiments. surgeries to remove the growths. drugs to stop them returning. every attempt left him with another scar and the same result. the crystals always came back.

he didn't realise stress was the trigger until the worst possible moment. halfway through a public address, the crystal broke through beneath his collar, climbing across his neck and shoulders in full view of the cameras for the entire nation to see.

overnight, the media painted him as unstable and disturbed, his family turned their backs against him, and the directorate found in him the perfect reminder of why powered people could never be trusted.

BASICS:

full name : niccolo russo. nicknames : nicky. birthdate : 21st march ( 30 ). hometown : the west, halcyon island. traits : credulous, protective, impetuous, vengeful . gender  +  pronouns : cis man  +  he/him. orientation : heterosexual. zodiac : aries. occupation : soldier for the current aka attack dog. powers : aquatic telepathy. character parallels : sonny corleone ( the godfather ), christopher moltisanti ( the sopranos ), arthur shelby ( peaky blinders ), jesse pinkman ( breaking bad ). aesthetic : saint medallions swinging against an open dress shirt, motel neon bleeding through half-closed blinds, bloody tissues in the cupholder, thunder rolling over suburban rooftops, heavy boots pacing hospital corridors, hand gripping the back of his neck in crowded rooms, old rap songs rattling car windows, angry yells from the driveway at 2am.

tw: gun

SUMMARY:

the family attack dog. a rottweiler chained in the backyard of the house, standing silently behind older men in tailred suits, waiting for somebody to nod before he ruins a stranger's evening.

fiercely protective, dumb as rocks. too sensitive for his grand ambitions. would like to be a capo one day but he's also a little too obsessed with becoming a rapper. in another life, he'd be collaborating with EsDeeKid. for now, he's just a failed romantic.

as rowdy on the playground as he was at home, nicky was always seen as someone who wanted to be feared and respected, much like his father, his older brother, and the various other men around him. he wanted to be them, so that they would love him, and he could do what they do with them, which was to protect the family.

for all his bravado and penchant for starting fights, many were surprised to learn he only started carrying a gun at twenty years old. the night after the attack on her sister, and after his father stepped down. in his mind, it'd been too heavy of a thing to carry around, always claiming it was on his body whilst hiding it under his pillow or that he'd accidentally forgotten it. at twenty, it felt light as a feather in his hand.

before that, his brother had survived an almost fatal car accident. as the only sibling who hadn't been attacked by fate or purpose, nicky felt invincible. he believed there was a reason why no man or god had tried to touch him. he spun this myth for everyone to hear, and proposed it as a justification for him to climb the ranks within the current. no on took him seriously, though. no one ever did.

though he did not talk like the son of well-respected francesco and melissa russo, no one could deny his loyalty. his heart was bigger than his brain, and he'd be the first to lash out at someone who dared to threaten the family.

everyone knows nicky is yet to pull the trigger on someone, and leaves more mess than necessarily from bruised fists and a swollen forehead. he still has so much to prove before earning real trust from the family; he's just not sure what he's doing wrong, when he is doing his best. why isn't he a capo yet? he'd do anything for it.

as he grows older, he can't help but wonder if there's a secret everyone knows that he doesn't. first frankie, then rosa. was he next? he oscillates from thinking he is untouchable to thinking he is next. a pendulum swings on a daily basis, between arrogance and paranoia -- a balance he struggles to maintain.

basics

name: apricot jasper beaumont

nicknames: apricot. don’t call him anything else. (cottie)

date of birth: march 21st 1991

place of birth: the south of halcyon island

age: thirty-five.

gender: cismale.

pronouns: he/him.

sexuality: gay.

power: trajectory manipulation; the ability to control and alter a projectile’s trajectory path once fired or thrown. he mostly uses it to throw paper planes at people’s heads. ( sometimes, he has the weirdest dreams from which he’ll wake up screaming, where he is the bullet instead of the man controlling it, and he has torn a dozen people to shreds ).

occupation: operations coordinator for the grid – the man in charge of all the ins and outs, all the alleys and all the eyes. if there’s a deal happening, he knows about it. if there’s a problem, he’s unfortunately the one solving it. he could be called a second in command, but it’s not how the grid functions; it’s also not what he would want to be called, as he imagines it would make even more people come and bother him with their issues.

family: adoptive parents ( alive ), adoptive younger siblings ( alive ).

pets: none

aesthetics: the sound of beans grinding in a coffee machine, the smell of tangerines, the setting sun at the edge of the island, bouncing back from a fight with blood in your mouth, the feeling of a brick wall against your back, a home you can’t find but are always running from.

talents: incredible at annoying people, has a habit of making friends despite not wanting them,

habits: he picks the highest surface in the room to sit on; the sofa arm, a table, the stairs, he doesn’t like not having a vantage point. his sentences have more swears than words in them. he’s a lifelong vegetarian. he carries a lighter, but he doesn't smoke.

inspirations: your divorced dad who wants his kids to think he’s still cool.

physical

height: 5’10

visual: scrappy, with all these edges to him that look like they were beaten into him to be that sharp; there is a little, permanent dent in his cheek from a fight he shouldn’t have picked. his hair has grown past his ears, he clearly hasn’t cared to cut it.

style: everything this man wears is oversized, it’s mostly hoodies and sandals. he still wears his wedding ring ( he should probably take it off ).

quirks: will kick off his shoes at any given opportunity, scrunches his nose when he’s judging someone ( this happens a lot ), his shoulders tend to be slouched with this current of tension right underneath his skin, like he’s three seconds away from straightening them and picking a fight. he tends to lean into people when he’s uncomfortable.

personality

positive traits: devoted, quick-witted, resourceful, creative, caring

negative traits: pessimistic, passive, clingy, persistent, confrontational

personality quirks: he calls everyone kid or kiddo. the biggest sign that this man trusts you is when he starts whining about things in your presence. he takes real pleasure out of being the most annoying person in the room.

bio

apricot beaumont was born with a more normal name and perhaps a better chance at life, but that’s not the part that matters. the noteworthy bit is that apricot beaumont was at the right place and the right time when he was two, when a ball was accidentally thrown his way, and he stopped it mid-air without trying. 

his biological parents – a poor, teenage couple from the south of halcyon island – watched in horror as they realised they had cursed their son with his mother’s affliction; she was a powered individual, now her son had turned out to be one, too, despite their prayers. to live in poverty was a challenge of its own, to live in poverty with an extra set of rules enforced upon oneself, with the threat of the directorate growing, was downright unmanageable. the couple’s prayer wasn’t answered as it had been stated, but a saviour presented itself nonetheless: a woman had been eagle-eyeing the playground, had watched the ball as it remained hovering in the air. she said, ‘let me take the boy, i’ll give him everything you couldn’t’, and the toddler was swept away to the north of the island.

his adoptive mother was a vulture. a normal woman by all means, but one who had seen the mercies rise into power, one who understood how useful it could be to acquire a little superhero of one’s own. she was incredibly rich, but it was never enough. she was a social climber, worked in a skyscraper tower with some of the mercies. by all means, she was setting up the young boy to be her ticket to the top of high society.

he wasn’t apricot yet, though. that name came from his adoptive father, a soft-spoken artist who had no business being in love with a woman as stern as his mother. apricot’s father would spend hours pressing keys on a piano, letting the sound resonate all over their grey, minimalist, high-rise apartment. he brought an unfitting warmth to apricot’s life, and gave him a name that would forever make him stand out as something he couldn’t be: soft, sweet, pliant.

apricot grew up navigating a house he couldn’t understand. under his mother’s eye, everything had to be straightened, quiet, perfect. she had rows and lists of expectations for him, and he was never able to live up to them. or rather, he didn’t try. he preferred to wait till she was out of the house, then he would come out of hiding, press the piano keys, play violin when the living room felt too quiet. 

and his power? it wasn’t exactly what his mother would’ve liked either. he had stopped a ball mid-air as a toddler, he had doctors poke and prod at him to put a name to his ability. trajectory manipulation. they thought he would grow up to be most wonderful, to have a perfectly useful power that the mercies could recruit him for. he would be able to bend bullets away from their paths, he could redirect a hit after the trigger had already been pulled. except… it never happened. every part of him resisted this journey that his mother had set out for him – he was never good enough, could never control his power enough, was never this superhero prodigy that his mom had adopted him for. and maybe he didn’t want to be. inside of him, there was this ever-unsettled soul, filled with anxiety and need, someone from the south that had been ripped away from his home at such a terribly young age, and he had never learned to find a home elsewhere.

he was the family disappointment before there was even much family to disappoint. the family grew, though. when his mother realised that apricot wasn’t going to play ball, that he wasn’t her ticket into the limelight of the mercies, she simply adopted more children. they were more compliant, or at least quieter about their disapproval of being their mother’s pawn. rather quickly after that, apricot became shunned in his own home, only dragged out for public events. they locked him in his room with his piano and his violin, and they told him he’d better be quiet about it. 

then the public events stopped. the dim limelight of being powered in high society faded entirely. the cinder incident took away the last bit of use and status that apricot could’ve provided his family with, this last notion that he could’ve grown up to be a cherished superhero, was ripped away from him. now, he was simply an inconvenience. an inconvenience that was fed and housed, but never looked at twice beyond that. he looked after his little siblings whenever he could, because they faced the same type of abandonment from their mother now, but apricot was the oldest. he knew how to cook, he knew how to help the littles with their homework. he tried his best to give them somewhat of a functioning family, to give them the normal life he’d read about in books. but he could only take so much of it; sometimes, he would look out his window and realise he was trying to find something out there.

he ran away from a gilded cage when he was eighteen, with nothing but the clothes on his back. all the mercies he had once known as his mother’s acquaintances turned him away at their doors, didn’t want to be associated with teenaged trouble like that. he was alone, out on the street, tried to scrape by and ended up selling drugs for pocket money. these are the parts of his life he doesn’t want to remember – the few times he got into trouble with a capital t, the few times he realised that he could, indeed, bend bullets away from their original target, could instead make them blast through the gunman. 

after a few years, denver mccall took apricot under his wing without even knowing he had an ability. denver, a decade older and four times more peaceful than apricot could ever grow to be, saw a feral young man on the street and gave him a cup of lukewarm coffee. 

they never became some bullshitty found family; apricot was too abrasive to live with and too eager to leave. he couldn’t stay between four walls for too long, otherwise he would panic, he would feel trapped again, he wouldn’t know what to do with himself. but denver gave him a purpose. apricot began running denver’s drug operations, because the grid needed money and apricot knew the backstreets of the island like no other. apricot began volunteering at the soup kitchen, because apricot had a heart somewhere underneath his hardened exterior, and he had never let go of the guilt of leaving his siblings behind, so this was his way of trying to atone. he worked his way up easily, because he might’ve been a pessimist and a dick to be around, but he was reliable, willing to get the work done, and had incredible insight when needed. he had grown up navigating every tense evening in his home like a game of chess, he was valuable because he knew what forms danger could take. denver, whilst an amazing leader, was far too peaceful to follow through when work needed to be done. apricot, on the other hand, was always the person to shoot first, to act first, to react before he was even given a reason to. it was a lingering survival instinct, an anxiety that never resolved in his throat. it was a million things he should’ve gone to therapy for, really.

he only let himself get trapped once, one person managed to convince apricot to stay between four walls. but apricot was never tamed, had only grown to be manageable at best, and he could never be kept. he realised this when he eventually found love, then let it die. he wasn’t made for playing house, and could only walk that tightrope for so long before he’d accidentally string himself in it. a couple lies here and there, one too many nights away from his marital bed to wander the streets instead, and he ended up with divorce papers handed to him. 

now, apricot only has his work to worry about. he’s dedicated to the grid, he runs a tight ship for as much as denver will let him. there’s whispers about him on the street, about how no nonsense he is, about the way he can stare people down. in reality, he’s mellowed out a bit – he complains for the sake of complaining, and his favourite pastime is throwing paper planes at people that walk past his little office. he hasn’t got a family anymore, but if he did, it’d be the grid’s members – he tries to take the young ones under his wing. maybe because denver did it for him, or maybe because he knew what it was like to be a brother once, and he misses it dearly.

tl;dr

grumpy old man, will throw things at you for fun. 

wanted connections

his siblings - apricot was the oldest of a gaggle of adopted children with superpowers. their mother was a stern woman who kept them on a tight schedule of socialising with the most influential people in town and trying to become prospects to the mercies, until the cinder incident changed public opinion. after that, apricot cared for the kids as much as he could, his mother’s interest and eyes not on them anymore. apricot ran away at eighteen, and leaving his siblings behind is the only thing he regrets.

people that know him from his time on the streets - he was more feral, though tended to bite rather than bark. a young drugdealer, he was known as an annoyance, mostly, but one that could cap people in the ass with a bullet. he’s different now, less likely to jump into every fight, and he’s ashamed of all he had to do to survive back then. he wouldn’t like the reminder now.