Apokalipse — Roleplayer Guild

@January@Baklava@banjoanjo

finished~

ℕ 𝕒 𝕞 𝕖 :

Lincoln Gilmore.

𝔸 𝕘 𝕖 :

Eighteen.

ℍ 𝕖 𝕚 𝕘 𝕙 𝕥 :

6'3 ft.

𝕎 𝕖 𝕚 𝕘 𝕙 𝕥 :

183 lbs.

𝔸 𝕡 𝕡 𝕖 𝕒 𝕣 𝕒 𝕟 𝕔 𝕖 :

Lincoln is a rather big guy – he stands at six feet and three inches and is made of muscle. Lincoln’s body is slim rather than bulky and his facial features are sharp like a fox’s. His black hair has a blue sheen to it and is almost always unruly, which is only worsened by Lincoln’s habit of ruffling it in times of stress – which is always. Lincoln’s eyes are described as being piercing and are a dull black that seem uninterested in everything around him, and when he looks at someone, they look as if they are bored with that person’s mere existence. An ever-present lopsided smirk sits on Lincoln’s face and no one has seen an actual genuine smile on him for years. 

On the base of his throat, the black X stands stark against his cold peach skin and there are always fresh red scratches bordering the X as if Lincoln clawed his throat with his bare, short nails. Lincoln is usually seen wearing dark ripped jeans and black or blue guinea tees. Sometimes he wears a dark gray hoodie with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. If he can get away with it, Lincoln will go shirtless because he likes to show off those sick muscles he likes to feel the air on his skin.

ℙ 𝕖 𝕣 𝕤 𝕠 𝕟 𝕒 𝕝 𝕚 𝕥 𝕪 :

Lincoln is not a good guy – and you’d be a fool to think he is.

Lincoln is a selfish boy who will do whatever he needs to in order to get what he wants – his ambitious personality has left a path of destruction wherever he goes. He will hurt his friends if it means he will fulfill his goals. When it comes to loyalty, it would be best not to count on him – he’s more likely to throw you under a bus than pull you out of harm. Furthermore, he is violent and volatile; he’s quick to lose his temper and his favorite coping mechanism is destruction. When not angry, or going after a goal, Lincoln is a snarky little shit who breathes sarcasm and smells of arrogance. His cockiness has a tendency to piss other people off – though, of course, there are the couple of people who have found themselves making out with him in the back of a car because they just loved his smug, self-assured ass too damn much. 

The most dangerous thing about Lincoln, however, is not his personality itself, but his lack of willpower in fighting the stigmas. While he fights it off when he needs to, Lincoln prefers to let himself succumb to the thoughts rather than reject it – he almost seems to revel in it sometimes, particularly in the destruction he casts when it becomes too much. And it becomes too much for him rather quickly. Of course, Lincoln hides this instability of his as much as he can, because he can’t have that pesky director getting rid of him before he’s gotten what he wants.

Of course, Lincoln isn’t a hundred percent bad. He does have his good points – though they aren’t as obvious as his bad ones. For instance, Lincoln is all about that empowerment life and fighting against The Man. A rebel without a cause Lincoln is not, because he constantly fights for what he thinks if right – even if he is the opposite of “the good of the world.” Feminism? He’s totally there for it. Gay marriage? You bet your ass he’s been to a rally. Subnatural rights? Signed every petition there is. He also has a soft spot for animals – not so much babies, as people might assume out of the kindness of their hearts, he’s actually quite bad with kids and makes them cry most of the time. And, as much as people would like to write him off as a total meathead, Lincoln is incredibly intelligent and has quite the strategic mind – he’s great at coming up with longterm schemes and is patient enough to slowly work towards what he wants through the years. But his ultimate weakness is that he thinks with his heart more than with his brain.

ℍ 𝕚 𝕤 𝕥 𝕠 𝕣 𝕪 :

Lincoln doesn’t like to talk about his past – not for some broody reason, but it’s just annoying having to explain that, sometimes, things are that simple but if we’re being honest here, they aren’t – he’s just buried in his own goddamn denial. His dad was this wimpy accountant who was born a nerd, lived as a nerd, and will probably die as one cowering in the fucking corner – at least, that’s what Lincoln thinks. His mom, though? His mom was a force to be reckoned with – a fucking hurricane that swirled into the room and jacked everyone up. Lincoln knows this – he has the scars to prove it. Funnily enough, it was when she was drunk that she was the most complacent.

If it’s not obvious enough, Lincoln and mommy dearest didn’t get along in the least.

So, when she found the x on his throat (fuck that dreamcatcher asshole for deciding to put it in the most obvious place ever, amirite?) underneath the red scarf he used to hide it, Lincoln was quick to hightail it out of town. Didn’t even bother to say goodbye, not that he wanted to say goodbye to anyone, ‘cause screw that forsaken place. Considering where he is now, it’s obvious he wasn’t able to escape the dumbass government, but he put up as big of a fight as he could. Not enough to kill anybody, god no that’s too much work, but enough to cause a couple thousand in property damages that Lincoln is praying he won’t have to pay off. In the end, they had to drag him by the damn hair to USARILN East.

𝕄 𝕒 𝕘 𝕚 𝕔 :
O p i n o k i n e s i s

Lincoln is able to control one of the five senses of his target at a time. He can manipulate them to taste, smell, touch, hear, or see something they’ve experienced before – but he can’t read their minds. For example, he can try to make them taste something putrid, like ear wax, and if there is no reaction, then they probably have never tasted earwax. Lincoln usually uses this ability to make his targets feel pain, though he can only make them feel a pain they have felt before. Lincoln’s visual telegraph is a red thread that is tied around his pinkie and trails to his target, the end of the thread is tied to his target’s pinkie.

𝔻 𝕣 𝕖 𝕒 𝕞 :

It’s beautiful and the edges are smoked white, like he’s in a movie dream sequence – how fitting. It smells strongly of eucalyptus and something soft, like roses or cherry blossoms, and the scenery is bursting with color everywhere he looks. Vibrant green grass, and vivid rainbow flowers flourishing in bushes. Lincoln is sitting underneath a tree, with someone sitting next to them – they aren’t real, this is a fact that Lincoln can feel so intensely in his gut. They have a cut on their cheek and Lincoln brushes their soft hair from their face, swabbing the cut gently clean. He doesn’t know where the real person is, doesn’t matter, because he knows he’s helping them. Lincoln smiles softly, but he can’t help feeling bizarrely out of place in this beautiful garden.

ℕ 𝕚 𝕘 𝕙 𝕥 𝕞 𝕒 𝕣 𝕖 :

White. White. White. The room lacks the vivid color that his dream held, but instead he is in a bare white room with only a metal door and a table that he sits at. No matter how much he wants to move, Lincoln can’t move – this is where he was supposed to be. Here. The room is pristine and smells sharply of antiseptic and old people – he hates it. The white is so stark against his eyes that, for a moment, Lincoln fears that he lost his ability to see and is actually blind. A red string is tied around his pinkie and slopes across the table and unto the floor, trailing against the white tile under the metallic door. The edges of his senses feel flayed, unfettered, as if he’s barely being held together by scotch tape and willpower. Lincoln itches. The itch gets hotter and fiercer until it’s burning and scorching and it hurts so much but it feels so fulfilling. And then copper is stinging his nose and red is smeared across the walls. So much red and so much copper. And so. Much. Pain.

𝔸 𝕨 𝕒 𝕜 𝕖 𝕟 𝕚 𝕟 𝕘 :

Aberration. Aberration. Aberration.

  𝕊 𝕥 𝕚 𝕘 𝕞 𝕒 :          

Everywhere he fucking looks, Lincoln sees her: his mom. Sometimes, Lincoln swears he can even feel her hand, hot and stinging, against his face. It’s mostly the things she says in his head, though, that drives him crazy –  “You’re not my son, you’re not my son, you came from me but you are not mine.” // “How can my son be such a little bitch? You’re so much like your father, it’s disgusting. What? Are you going to fucking cry, you little bitch?” // “How can someone love a worthless little shit like you?” . In the night, Lincoln wakes up and can feel her fingers digging into his back and arms and legs, nails scraping against his skin and shaking him. She. Just. Won’t. Stop. Shaking. Him. 

Lincoln likes to blast her out with hard metal. He doesn’t really like metal, Lincoln always preferred soft music, but he can hear her over soft music. He blasts metal until his ears bleed. And then he breaks things.

𝔸 𝕣 𝕞 𝕒 𝕞 𝕖 𝕟 𝕥 𝕤 :

xxx

𝕋 𝕙 𝕖 𝕞 𝕖  𝕊 𝕠 𝕟 𝕘 𝕤 :

Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This) - Eurythmics.
Where is My Mind - The Pixies.
Apokalipse Banned

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

Status

Recent Statuses

Bio

Most Recent Posts
