the girl has always been
half goddess, half hell.

a little sublime, a little sinister.

full name: dawn ueno. birthdate: august 14, 2000. hometown: osaka, japan. occupation: student. height: 179 cm weight: 62 kg hair color: currently bubblegum pink. eye color: dark brown. sexuality: pansexual zodiac sign: leo mbti: entp-a cabin: thirteen years in camp: three

description: she possesses an unstoppable sweet tooth and is rarely seen without a lollipop. despite her upbringing, dawn does not find pleasure in riches and power. instead there's a part of her that delights in and entertains chaos and destruction. very girly, loves pink and frills, but wears mostly sporty black suits at camp for the fear of not blending in with her siblings.

full name: dawn ueno. birthdate: august 14, 2000. hometown: osaka, japan. occupation: student. height: 179 cm weight: 62 kg hair color: currently bubblegum pink. eye color: dark brown. sexuality: pansexual zodiac sign: leo mbti: entp-a cabin: thirteen years in camp: three

description: she possesses an unstoppable sweet tooth and is rarely seen without a lollipop. despite her upbringing, dawn does not find pleasure in riches and power. instead there's a part of her that delights in and entertains chaos and destruction. very girly, loves pink and frills, but wears mostly sporty black suits at camp for the fear of not blending in with her siblings.

creation.

it isn’t the best of decisions, but as it is, the doctor finds herself with little choice given the fact that the facility that had held the demigoddes in question had caved in on itself—perhaps mr. d, would have better luck with taking her in.

“can you hear me? okay—great. as i was saying, mr. d, miss ueno seems to have the ability to produce what she herself refers to hexes, which is a physicalmanifestation of what seems to be bad luck, seen in varying shades of red or pink or purple “spheres” or “bolts”.

it’s honest to god frightening—i’ve seen her hurl it at an arm chair before and it practically exploded! a spring hit me in the eye! there’s other talk about what her “hexes” do, i’m not exactly sure of the truth behind it—but the orderlies tell me one of her “hexes” has set a radio on fire before.

my speculation is that her “hexes”, when thrown at animate or inanimate objects, hexes said object with a hefty amount of bad luck till something well…you know, bad happens. miss bae doesn’t seem to be able to control the severity or even what happens, however, though who’s to say she won’t learn after entering your facility?

well—i haven’t the time to explain it in full—got other charges to drop off, you see—but that’s the gist of it, simply. you’ll take her off my hands right? thanks, professor. i owe you one!”

❝ THE MUTANT HERSELF ❞
you know you should stop doing that.

there’s that voice again. i flinch. because it’s two octaves too high to be anywhere near comfortable. olivia. her name is disgusting, she herself, possesses one of the most tinny voices i’ve ever heard. i want her to die. i want to jam this goddamn nail file in my ear.

but she never does. and neither do i. you know why? because olivia hates me—almost as much as i hate myself.

which is why i would never jam a nail file in my ear, by the by. no, something sick and twisted in me opts to file my nails down to the skin.

till the skin tears and blood oozes through and it stings. it stings.

oh god it stings.

but i’ve felt worse.

“shut up olivia.” i grumble to the dent in the pristine white walls—it’s always white, so much fucking white—before me. actually, i’m downright glaring at it.

i’m so proud of that dent, by the way, i don’t remember much of that day—but olivia’s voice was the last i could really focused on before i found myself tied to the bed again.

fucking orderly.

like oppa’s ever going to come back to you and your disgusting nails.

“he’s coming back!” i snap—olivia always knows how to make me snap—“and don’t fucking call him oppa—he’s not yours to call.”

i’m getting a little heated up now.

my right ring finger is twitching.

i’m staining the sandpaper with blood now. the crazed ballerina i borrowed it from is not going to be happy.

“oppa’s coming back to get me and then we’re going home—and then you,” i hiss her name, it feels like venom; my tongue feels numb even after dragging my teeth over it a few times. “you will all shut the fuck up and let us live in peace, you hear me?!”

you have such high expectations from a dead man.

jin.

jin.

jin.

he sounds like a boy at a playground back home i used to share snacks with. but deeper. but rougher. but shady.

jin is an asshole.

but oddly enough i never have anything to say back to jin—even with the contents of my stomach boiling and pushing at the back of my tongue at the thought of oppa being dead—jin is frightening. jin scares me.

i move before i even notice it, teeth digging into the hangnail on the edge of my finger as i bite and tug.

and tug.

and tug.

who’s breathing is that?

she sounds like she’s about to die.

she sounds scared.

she sounds like she needs an inhaler.

is that me?

i don’t know.

there is skin attached to the end of this nail.

fuck.

laughter spills out before i even realize it—bountiful and loud. an assortment of giggles and cackles.

it’s fucking hilarious.

they’ve done it again.

they’ve made me look crazy again.

the orderly is back.

she also seems to have the ability—or maybe it’s just bad karma—to make other people “unlucky”. i guess you could call her a jinx, though it may just be superstition, but as it seems there have been numerous complaints from people who have come in contact with miss bae, claiming that she is the reason for their tripping, stomach flu, or even soiling themselves. but—at the least, no one has died yet!

ha! …haha…ha…

of PROBABILITY MANIPULATION—bless inducement (luck, luck bestowal), accelerated probability, luck absorption, efficacy manipulation, and stability manipulation are LOCKED.

as of NOW, joohyun is only capable of “CURSE INDUCEMENT” (JINX) and (BAD) ENERGY MANIFESTATION

weaknesses ;

01 : hexes are relatively SHORT RANGED and LIMITED to her line of sight; the better joohyun can SEE a target the more PRECISION in her hexes
02 : casting hexes requires a GESTURE and CONCENTRATION, despite the fact that gestures ACTING as a focus for the CONCENTRATION to heighten PRECISION
03 : hexes are not necessarily guaranteed to work, ESPECIALLY if joohyun is FATIGUED or USING HER POWERS EXCESSIVELY
04 : a good majority of her hexes are SUBCONSCIOUS on her part, automatically triggering whenever she makes a PARTICULAR GESTURE regardless of her intent—in this case it would be SCRATCHING HER NOSE—though it is to be noted that these hexes would only manifest “BAD LUCK” effects and nothing more severe than that.

FALL.

they asked him about herhe told them,

“she loves too much, and cares too little.”

being locked in solitary confinement is not as bad as the orderlies make it sound. mostly because she’s rarely alone. people frequent her cell and most of the time, they are friendly enough to strike up a conversation with victoria. once, she could have sworn the man sitting across the room was her grandfather. none of this is your fault. another time a nice old lady visited. i.she is required to take medication daily, and she doesn’t question it. what else can she do? thankfully the doctors don’t resort to inhumane methods to snap her back to reality, because albeit

i.she is required to take medication daily, and she doesn’t question it. what else can she do? thankfully the doctors don’t resort to inhumane methods to snap her back to reality, because albeit

VICTORIA IS REQUIRED TO TAKE MEDICATION DAILY. thankfully the doctors don’t resort to inhumane methods to snap her back to reality, because albeit illegal if done with discretion, electroshock therapy is an option. instead, victoria is isolated. the cell she was forced into is located in the basement, where no one could hear her broken pleads. it was completely dark, no windows, just four white walls polarized by the shadows and the sickening silence.

ii.

THERE ARE DAYS WHERE SHE DOESN'T KNOW WHO SHE IS. there are days when she doesn’t want to know who she is, forget everything about her mother, her uncle, the officials and the four walls keeping her captive. but there’s nothing to distract her and sometimes her past creeps up on her and it stings. oh god it stings.

an image flashes across her vision, and she squeezes her eyes shut in an attempt to block it out.

“no,” she whispers.

“no.”

he held her hand, squeezed it gently– probably the only strength his frail body could muster.

“this is not your fault, little one.”

she wanted to believe him. she wanted to believe this was not her fault. but he’s dying and she can’t forgive herself.

just moments later, he wasn’t breathing anymore.

victoria didn’t understand then. but now she knows. she knows all too well; death waits for no one. death is impatient. it forces its way in. death is not gentle.

and neither is her mother’s glare at her grandfather’s wake. hunching over, she pressed her chest against her thighs and lay her head against the chilled cell floor. in some ways, this reminds her of the room. it’s cold and with the exception of a couple pieces of furniture, it’s empty.

“dangerous.”

she flinches.

“you’re dangerous.”

she slams the heel of her hand against her skull, hoping to shake apart memories in such a way that will rattle them until they’re indistinguishable, until she can no longer make sense of them, but they’re still there.

people look at her like she’s a criminal. i’ve done nothing wrong, she wants to say. but she doesn’t. she just averts her gaze, hoping the whispering would dissipate. she sits down and pulls the hood over her face. she should bite back, rebel, get off the train and escape to another state, live off looting and stealing–

rebel, rebel, rebel.

but order is all fourteen-year-old victoria knows, so she stays put. as far as she knows, her mother has always made the right call. she and her brother, uncle anil are the reason why the people of new york know the name mournival. victoria has never questioned her decisions. her mother is right. her mother is always right;

she is dangerous.

iii.

time passes– fast or slow, victoria can’t be sure. her world is unmoving unlike time. her walls are unmoving. her eyes are weary from being exposed to the artificial lights and it’s all white and still. too still.

her eyes burn, and a cry claws up her throat with the sudden realization that she can’t fight back when everything she once had has been ripped away from her. shouldn’t that somehow make her more dangerous? surely, when you’ve got nothing left to live for, you’ve nothing left to lose.

she never really understood why she, a fourteen-year-old was being held against her will, but most importantly, she couldn’t understand why hadn’t her mother stopped this.

she doesn’t love you.

hysteria bubbles up in her mouth and pushes through her lips in a pained gurgle, she buries it in her arms.

rebel, rebel, rebel.

“i can’t,” she sobs, clawing at her shins, nails digging painfully at her skin. rebelling isn’t her nature. it’s not what she’s built for.

“ i can’t.”

whir. click.

a security camera turns her way, waiting for the outburst that will never happen. the glassy screen unnerves her, the light hanging from the ceiling glares down at her.she inhales shakily, closes her eyes, and hides in the dark.

iv.

WHEN THE VOICE FIRST STARTS TALKING, she’s sure she is going mad. most of the times, she can't tell what it is saying as the daily dose of laudanum makes her head hazy and the acrid odor of the quote on quote bed ( a filthy mattress ) made her throat tight. victoria couldn’t exactly pinpoint what exactly it smelled like, but she was sure if rats were to rot and expel some odor, it would resemble the mattress’ reek.

v.

THE VOICE STARTS FORMULATING WORDS, and for some reason, it's more interesting than unnerving.

solitary confinement proved useless, because there were they. people, two children and a hag, sat on the corner of her bed. “fret not, lady. he has sent someone for you.” the girl wanted to ask who? how? and why? victoria didn’t answered back, partly because she figured it was useless discussing personal matters with hallucinations, but mostly because she suddenly heard metal rattling against metal. blue spots hacking her cell’s lock, she saw blue spots! or what seemed like blue spots anyway. initially she thought perhaps her mind was playing tricks on her. again. when the blue blotch approached she realized it was an orderly, dragging her out of her cell.“you don’t know your power, child of hades.” at first she thought the voice came from within her. it echoed in my ears as a hearbeat woud, just as heavy, just as loud. it sounded strangely familiar, sultry and patronizing.her gaze adverted to the figure of an elegant woman sat on the corner of her mattress. a filthy one at that, no place for such woman. no place for her mother, the person who had sent her here.“mom–”“is that what you see?”silence. if i grant you a new life, could you go on? i propose a deal—in exchange for a second chance, you must agree to give me your memories in exchange. i can’t give you power, you hold that within you, but you need a push. accept this contract, and you accept its conditions. i can’t do anything about your curse, but you’ll mingle around your kind. however, the life as a child of death will condemn you to solitude. are you prepared for this? “let them know death has a name, let them know death has a face. let themm know death is coming. “why are you helping me?”“justice needs to be done. a balance must be kept.”

ATONEMENT.

trivia

aaa

she possesses an unstoppable sweet tooth and is rarely seen without a lollipop.

despite her upbringing, poppy does not find pleasure in riches and power. instead she delights in and entertains chaos and destruction.

basics
name poppy hwang.
age eighteen
birthdate november 19th, 2000
family mother (alive), father (alive).
siblings tba
familiar white ragdoll cat named ghost.
ability necrokinesis
coven cerastae

physical attributes
height 165 cm
weight 43kg
hair color naturally black, currently blonde.
eye color dark brown
scars burn scars on her fingertips
piercings both ears
clothing style formal preppy wear, lots of a-line short skirts and frilly blouses, wears thin golden framed glasses for reading.

personality
entp,“the debater”.
moral alignment: tba
enneagram: tba
temperament: tba

on one hand, poppy is bright. she is silly, cute, all pouts and smiles and everything youth should entail. saccharine sugar in every word, a twinkle in her stare. she has an aura that draws people in, that ushers them in from the twist in her lips and the flash of her teeth. she’s playful and mischievous, temperamental at best – an overgrown child. everyone knows her. the girl is nice to everyone. willing to socialize with anyone. friends with everyone.

on the other hand, poppy is vile. her smile turns crooked, wicked and malevolent – and her touch is cruel and it aches. she’ll chip away at your barrier until you are fragile and violated, to which she will shatter everything that’s left of you. driven, shameless, debauched and brazen – she’ll break down your walls, invade your head, and then leave you encased in bruises. with a sadistic streak, she often has a twisted sense of judgement based on her own ideals from her past, to which she often makes the wrong decision just for the sake of seeing the reactions and consequences around her.

"poppy, how do you keep your hair so soft?"
"all major serial killers have great hair, ted bundy and kristen gilbert, among others."
"..."
"geez, i was joking! morrocan oil is a modern miracle!"

other conversations to be added.

wanted connections and plots.

if i understood you (0/2)
there’s something off about her. you can’t quite place your finger in it, but you don’t trust this sunny witch everyone seems to like.

hear me cry mercy (0/1)
requirements. male, any coven.
this is basically her being reminded of her biological father by your chara. heavy plotting!

you are bright and god, that disarming smile. it’s been years, but that gleam is just so familiar. poppy is not one to find an object of admiration, and as a matter of fact, admiration is not quite the word. she’s vulnerable around you, is more like it.

willingly damned (0/2)
her lifeline. her close group of friends. around you, poppy is not glossy try-hard self, she is just poppy. she thinks, perhaps, without you, she’d be a tad bit more insane.

grow into yellow (0/1)
there’s very few people poppy is genuinely nice to. you are pure, and too too good for this world. everytime she sees you, a desire to protect you overcomes her and she becomes what her mother was never to her. her infinite soft spot for you knows no bounds.

confusing stars with streetlights (0/1)
poppy is a charmer and you know this first hand. something draws you to her and she’s eager to use this to her advantage. if this is what losing yourself feels like, you’d gladly dive.

others
any type of frenemies
poppy tries to ‘accidentally’ hex your character just for kicks
you find poppy playing with a fire spell.
literally anything. hit me up, let’s make a mixtape.

tba.

she/her.

my timezone is gmt -6, but my schedule is thoroughly messed up plus i'm a perpetually tired full-time student, so my time online is very sporadic.

muse does not equal mun. mun does not condone or endorse muse's actions. mun will always speak in parenthesis.

i'm always up for plotting and if you have questions about my character, please dm me and i'll be sure to answer asap.

mun and muse are of age, but i have chosen to not do rated plots as it does not fit poppy's character.

i'm not affiliated with the real park chaewon, loona or blockberry creative. this is just for entertainment. please don't associate gowon with poppy's traits outside of this roleplay. in short, don't hate gowon because poppy is a lil shit. and most importantly, stan loona.

dear so-and-so, i’m sorry i came to your party and seduced you and left you bruised and ruined, you poor sad thing.

you want a better story.

who wouldn’t?

hwang poppy, GOD.

poppy is mostly seen as a very cheerful, enthusiastic and kind of charismatic person. she acts very sweet and cutesy. poppy also comes across as somewhat lazy, as she plays a lot of videogames and eats snacks. She seems to be slacking off and not caring too much, as she also gets bored easily.

however, despite looking friendly and innocent, poppy is just as power-hungry and calculating a person.
she's often indifferent to grotesque events
Her actions when Midari Ikishima picked out her own eye, and during the match between Mary, Ryota, Miyo and Miri, shows that she might have no regards of human lifei, making her a psychopathic and sadistic individual. still she possesses an unstoppable sweet tooth and is rarely seen without a lollipop.

About

households like hers have only two real purposes. the first is to harbor obsessions, riches, and vices. to raise children of destruction, eager to burn, reckless and powerful—too powerful. the second is to destroy them. born to a couple of affluent strays, she was raised to practice the most unconventional ways of magic. to take as test subject whatever crawling creature showed up, demand as if this world owes you everything but to love, love family, herself and magic. they love her, too. and each other, to a fault even. it’s love, but it’s also dangerous and fleeting.


mother is devastated when father takes off one day. where does one go when one owns the world already? poppy never sees him again, and learns love, although all-consuming and powerful, doesn’t mend all wrongs. it destroys her. it’s all static from there and she feels the ground crumble underneath her. she had built her life around family, united and happy. can you blame her?
whatever affection existed between her and mother, father took with him.
like this, it becomes a routine. from the most trivial things to poppy's impromtu lessons. one night, in particular, the word nightmare is thrown at her. spiteful, heinous, a pest. a curse, a curse. she tries to meet mother’s expectations, but she will fall short every time. that same night, however, she breaks this cycle. for better or worse, she can’t tell.

she sees the faint flame of a candle flicker and something in her shifts. suddenly there’s peace. time seems to slow, and she’s no longer crying. no, she’s floating in an eerie calmness.

the tiny flame flickers, she knows there is a war being waged within it. there is a war being waged within her. it’s consuming her. she hears her father screaming, pleading to stop. stop! stop! stop! but her hands do not listen. she won’t —can't— tell you what took over her. it starts like this. candle in hand, wax dripping and marking the delicate skin of her hands. the first of many burns of the night. it’s the silk sheets of her bed first, then the carpet. it spreads and spreads and spreads. like a disease. and it burns her lungs and she’s coughing. her eyes bloodshot carry a wicked glimmer though. by the time her mother reaches the room, poppy is sitting by the door, silent. mother is screaming something indiscernible and as she gets tired of it, the rude disrruption of her masterpiece, she takes her hand, and feels under her fingertips her mother's body convulse into an array of faulty nerves and broken bones. be still, she whispers. mother falls limp, and she returns to admiring her destruction searing loud in flames laying down on her own twisted triumph.

it’s chaos, it’s destruction. she’s proud. it is her right. her mom gave her the name nightmare and she became it.

can you blame her? will you?
the only other time she willingly contacts her mother is to tell her she’s part of cerastae now, she's doing what mother couldn't. this is taunting, provoking. she wants to tell her she is truly mother’s nightmare now, but she leaves out that part. she doesn’t think her mother would take that well. not that she cares, because apart from a simple update, it’s truly a cynical piece, devoid of all emotion and sentimentality.