| N E M O |


| Latin: no one, nobody |


| 18  Years - Young |


| ♂ |


| Prophet |


| Demisexual |


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albino on Behance


Nemo was born in a rural area in the state of Iowa, living with his two parents, Joel and Amy. However, when he was birthed, Nemo was a stillborn. His parents never imagined a scenario of this nature. They did regular checkups to ensure that the fetus remained healthy throughout the last trimester. His family was small; his mother an only child, and his father had one brother named Archer who lived in a small apartment in Brooklyn. Only his grandmother from Nemo's mother's side, who lives in the city near Archer, was the only one left as far as previous generations. A loss such as this was catastrophic to them.

Joel went to Archer seeking help, knowing his brother was a professional in dealing with supernatural phenomenon. Archer refused, informing that meddling with life and death only led to more punishment. Joel kept begging, brought to his hands and knees in tears , knowing that Archer knew of a method to bring life into his stillborn son, no matter how many times his brother kept refusing and telling him to move on with his life. Reluctantly, Archer succumbed and informed Joel of starting a deal with a demon, but Joel had to be ready to offer his life for his own son. With slight hesitation, Joel agreed, if a life for a life were the case , he knew his son must live on. When discussing the topic with Amy, she was distraught of the fact that a life had to be taken, but Joel reassured her that it was for the right thing and his role as a father would be accomplished by this task, and how Amy had a role of his mother to care for him in his absence. With just as much reluctance as Archer, Amy agreed to Joel's plan. With Amy's permission, Archer would then inform Joel of what he had to do next.


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Joel waited on an empty dirt crossroads in rural Iowa, bringing the ingredients needed and drawing the necessary sigil to summon a demon. Several minutes later, a small woman with fair skin and dark raven hair appeared before him. She wore a black dress meant for a wealthy dinner party, and yet here she was in the middle of nowhere. The demon looked rather bored of her situation, this would be like any other deal in her perspective. That is, until she heard the true name of Joel's son whom he wished to trade his life for, a spark of interest glistened in her eye. However, she refused Joel's offer, and selfishly, Joel offered the life of his wife as well, for them to live until Nemo turned eight. The demon then accepted his deal and kissed Joel to seal it.

He arrived back home with a somber expression, going up to his wife to inform her that not even deal has been done but she was included as well. Confusion and grief merged into one, she was speechless, was a demon so evil to ruin the life of a child. Joel reassured her that Nemo was special from the very beginning, and probably would do certain things that were not humanly possible and the demons were jealous. In the silence after Joel spoke came Nemo's cry that he was alive and awake, and in that moment, nothing else mattered except for their living, breathing son.





Nemo had more health problems than behavioral as he grew. He was born albino, so his ghostly pale skin could not withstand the brutal sun in the rural area. Nemo always looked sickly from his complexion, even though it wasn't the case, so no matter what the weather, whenever he roamed, Nemo would always wear a hoodie and jeans to cover himself up. His gaze caught people off guard the most, one eye a dull grey and the other a piercing, metallic blue.  As a toddler, Nemo always had reoccurring nightmares of people he had never met and horrible events that led to their demise. He would sneak into his parents' bedroom and sleep in their bed for solace, and even though there wasn't enough space, they would allow him there for the rest of the night. Some nightmares he had a third person perspective, and watched in a corner of the room as someone was brutally murdered. In other dreams, he would take the perspective of either the victim or the murderer and wake once the deed was done. This led Nemo to attain a severe case of insomnia, until the premonitions started to occur during the day. If he were lucky, some days he would have very pleasant visions.

The day before Nemo's eighth birthday, his parents decided to celebrate it that night with his uncle Archer. They informed Nemo that he would be living with his uncle from henceforth, giving the excuse that the environment for him at home didn't allow Nemo to get any fresh air until a storm brewed, and that living in the city would give him a brighter future and plenty of shade from the harsh sun. Nemo reluctantly agreed to live away from his parents, they hugged him tighter than he expected and wept as they saw Archer take him into his pick up, waving goodbye until he was out of sight.



 The road trip was extensive, Archer did not bother to speak to Nemo, giving one worded answers to whatever questions he asked him.  It felt as though Archer had a grudge against Nemo or something of the sort. He drove through the night, stopping only for gas, until the reached the hustle and bustle of the city. It felt more claustrophobic, whatever nature was around was choked by concrete, brick, and asphalt. However, it was indeed cooler in temperature than the countryside, despite the sun being out. Archer parked in front of an old brick town home, with wooden wind chimes clacking together in a gentle breeze. He told Nemo this was his grandmother's house, and he would be staying here with her for the time being. She was a tall, thin woman sagging skin and silver hair, wearing brightly colored, loose-fitting clothes. She smelled awfully funny to Nemo, that old people smell perhaps, and was a huge believer in spirituality. She sensed something mystical about the boy, and Nemo proceeded to tell her about the nightmares he consistently had. His grandmother told him that it was gift, even though it felt like anything but. She gave  him a dreamcatcher she had woven herself to try the lessen the nightmares. Nemo found his premonitions to decrease just by a small amount, but just so much allowed him to sleep. Nemo was homeschooled by his grandmother, and one day, she revealed a secret about herself when Nemo was ten. She practiced the mystic arts in her spare time, a witch is what others would call her. once taking part in a coven herself. His grandmother gave him an old, small book in which she was an expert in all the spells to which she only needed to think about the spell to cast them. He practiced them with small objects between his studies. One day, she came home from shopping with a white husky puppy with heterochromia, saying it reminded her of Nemo and decided to leave it under his care. He decided to name the female puppy, Tundra.


Nemo was more at peace in the city, as his parents predicted. There were the occasional sirens blaring in the distance, but it never bothered Nemo much. His grandmother had all sorts of novels, from Shakespeare, to Jules Verne, to J.K. Rowling. Nemo's original name was Godric but he enjoyed the novel by Jules Verne, Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea, that he wanted to name himself after Captain Nemo, his grandmother allowed it and so he was called. However, fate had been cruel to Nemo, and one dreary morning he found his grandmother having passed away in her sleep one morning. From a list of contacts, he would call his uncle to tell him the grave news, weeping on the phone as he did. Archer appeared in no time, living in the same neighborhood, and called a professional to deal with Nemo's grandmother's corpse. In the mean time, Archer told Nemo to gather whatever he needed to bring back to his apartment. He brought his favorite novels, his spell books, and some of his studying material as well as Tundra. Archer wasn't so keen on keeping a dog in his apartment, but he didn't have any trouble so long as Nemo took care of her. 

Archer was never around, he used to appear once or twice a week just to leave groceries and have a beer before he left, but then he started showing up a few times a month. Now, he rarely is around, but Nemo has Tundra beside him for good company. In his absence, a rather major event occurred. Nemo tends not to leave the apartment too often, but he found himself struck by lightning within it, right through an open window. Nemo thought himself dead when a divine being appeared before him in the form of a bright light. A thunderous voice reverberated in his head as it deemed to be the Archangel of lightning, Barachiel. He promised Nemo that his gift of seeing a stranger's death was not a curse, calling him a Prophet, and that he would smite anyone that brought harm onto Nemo. As quickly as it occurred, the light dissipated and he was left alone with Tundra. Nemo believed it to be a dream, until someone grabbed Nemo on the streets in a threatening manner. The night sky was absolutely clear, but somehow a cloud began to form over the mugger and a bolt of lightning cracked down upon the other, burning him to a crisp. The thunder that crashed was almost unbearably loud, but what occurred that night made Nemo truly believe that he was a Prophet.


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Nemo is a reserved and introverted individual, keeping to himself because of what he thinks of his unsettling appearance. He doesn't speak often, but when Nemo does, his voice is quiet and soft. He doesn't enjoy too much interaction due to fear of whether or not he will see the same people he grows fond of dying or being killed in his sleep. Nemo has problems with eye contact, but he speaks perfectly fine. However, when he's alone or around people he's most comfortable with, Nemo finds himself much more talkative and acting rather silly, using whatever telekinesis he's capable of to intentionally annoy whomever he feels comfortable with.








He enjoys:

-Rainy weather


-Cafes [Small shops in general]

-Music [Classical, Instrumental]


- Loose clothing/pajamas

-Practicing spells and telekinesis


He dislikes:

-Sunny/hot/humid weather

-Crowded places

-Prophetic nightmares

-Noisy, shrill-voiced people

-People staring at him


Worbz - Igor Klepnev


Nemo was born an albino, looking like a living porcelain doll or rather a spirit, but he views himself with the lowest regard. His skin is a sickly pale tone, and the hair on his head, brow, and lashes are strikingly white. Nemo has heterochromia, one of his eyes is a piercing metallic blue and the other a dull grey. The lining of his eyes appear to be a reddish-pink, looking as if he just wept, but in actuality he could be feeling completely normal. Due to lack of pigmentation in his skin, the sun is his sworn enemy, being very easily prone to sunburns. When he does appear outside in stormy weather or in the late evening, Nemo is seen wearing a large hoodie with his hood over his head and dark jeans, and walking Tundra. Indoors, he likes loose, baggy t-shirts and pants, pajamas for days.


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T h r e a d s


- Spencer

- Cassella






The writer is 18+, the thoughts and actions of my character do not represent my own.

-Murder/rape/torture toward Nemo will result in an immediate end to the rp.

-The character isn't looking for a parent/guardian, please avoid that to be the end goal of a plot.

-Concepts of witchcraft are mentioned at times

-Have fun writing! Do not hesitate to ask questions, I may have the answers!

-I also write as Agnes, if you want to write something more grittier.



FC: Sasha Moloko

VC: Hope Estheim - Final Fantasy XIII (1-3)


September 4

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  • “Oh, for fuck’s sake, why do ya’ll have to be so loud?”

    This city is… enormous.

    On a very usual afternoon, enormous isn’t exactly the word that she will use to define the place that swallowed her in its maze so easily. No urban jungle is too intimidating for someone who can't be expected to stay in one place, who has drifted in and out of the troubles of its underbelly. No city is too big for a wanderer such as she, a woman armored in loosely layered cardigans, floral dresses, and scruffy worn-down shoes, treading her way around in commute passes, ticket stubs, and by foot. 

    The past three days have been a grueling exception.

    The human mind has odd little tricks like that, making an easy task so overwhelming if it's something that they somewhat disliked. If this wasn’t such an urgent task she would still be tucking away her brooding ass off somewhere in the city coasts, hellbent on a fruitless search of her own. Duty calls true, however, and she was the closest one to receive it. Tracking something down is one thing. Observing them and finally baiting them in a very convenient place is another. This wasn’t the first time she has been out for blood if there was any to shed, it’s just the first for a very long time, and she was just eager to get it over with as cleanly as she can. There was no guarantee that she’ll get out unscathed in the scuffle, but a few bruises and burns didn’t seem to be so bad.

    A dreary, misty November evening found a ghostly smaller woman pinning a squirming larger figure on the damp grounds between a set of dingy low-rise buildings. A pale hand already had a man by a firm chokehold, nails digging down the sticky, clammy skin. The other was clamped down to the face in an attempt to muffle all words from escaping. Cassella Sullivan’s viciously thrashing target was an older man, seemingly in his late forties. A figure quite tall and almost lanky compared to her delicate, stunted appearance who seemed to be delivering a disproportionate amount of strength to keep everything down. And now, cue the screaming.

    It wasn’t just a scream-- not even close to incoherent pleading. It was a cacophony of screeches strung out from a mangled throat, an assortment of voices rising out that shouldn’t belong to a single person. It still rang out, loudly so, despite her attempts to stifle it all. Loudly so, that she was almost alarmed that it will be heard from a mile away. The more that she restrained, the louder it got. A spark of white first erupted from her hands, more like a brief glimmer. Fire sprouted next from the gaps of her parted fingers, flickers of pure white flitting out. The wailing only grew from there, a mixture of both rage and perhaps, terror, her entire body almost buckling briefly from the force of the movement beneath her. She took a slow, deep breath, silver eyes never leaving her objective and --

    Release. The fire in her hands finally roared, tongues of dazzling white flames leaping out in full strength. It was a radiance so fierce enough to cast a momentary glow in the depths of that cramped little area, brilliant enough to illuminate the space. The alleyway that was strewn with severely dented metal bins and an assortment of trash overturned from all the struggle earlier. The vandalized brick walls adorned with peeling posters, and the shattered lamp posts overhead. The girl who finally backed away before the rest of the fire can do any damage to her, patting the grime and the mud off from her soaked clothes and the thing-- the man who was just lit on literal flames, still pinned by some invisible force. The way the body floundered around, the uproar of the screams leaving a charring throat. There was now the rising smell of burning meat, hair and sulfur -- but at least she had the reassurance that her fire will be faster than that.

    As the first drops of the night's drizzle fell, hopefully, the rain will wash that all away soon enough. 

  • -plasters Nemo's name tag on said smol plant- 

  • It was to Spencer’s mild surprise that the apartment was unoccupied once he had passed through the door. It saved the immediate introduction, and let the man drop his tension for just a moment. Without thinking, he searched around and flicked the main light on in the room. The window illuminated from the outside, leaving the mage out of the shadows in the room. There was a time where he wouldn’t have dared to take such things into his own hands. That time had passed so long as his… circumstances were what they had been. Little to nothing had changed in the apartment, confirming the boy still lived there. 

    That was where he would be found. Nothing had been tampered with besides the leaves of a few plants. They were left alone as soon as the rest of the lights flicked on within the apartment. The door opened to an understandably startled Nemo. It wasn’t every day a figure was ready and waiting in one’s living room, was it? He wore a navy jacket that fit loose to his frame, with its hood down. A white long sleeve dwelled under it, matched with dark jeans and a set of boots that had seen their fair share of travel. His messenger bag was drawn over his shoulder with a palm grasping the strap loosely. 

    “Hello again,” Spencer responded. He mustered up a smile, watching with a glint of amusement when the dog just couldn’t decide on him for a moment. As Tundra approached, he bent and lowered his hands down to the dog’s head for a moment and scratched along her jawline gently. “Hello to you too,” He greeted in a smaller tone. The man’s attention wouldn’t dwell on her long before he straightened up and looked to Nemo. He gave the younger a once-over. Something about his aura had changed, hadn’t it? Time had a way of affecting people on all levels. 

    “You remember me. I’m glad,” Spencer murmured, whether it was to himself, the other man, the dog… there was something listless about the tone. “Pardon my impatience of letting myself in.” The man took a seat on the couch, opposite of where he had parked himself so long ago. His posture remained upright rather than leaning too far into it. “Tea… if it is no trouble,” Spencer responded. His hand meanwhile found the top of Tundra’s head. Was he wrong for being here..? With mid-afternoon in motion, he still had time to decide. He still had time to leave.

  • For the evening, all was quiet… Aside from the cars, trains, helicopters, fumes, pigeons and-

    Welcome to New York, he had thought to himself sourly upon opening the doorway to his destination and stepping onto the streets for the first time in… what was it? Three years? Five? Spencer didn’t know, but his absence wasn’t missed in the metropolitan city that wasn’t among his favorites across the globe. His bias was among Europe’s giants and the Mediterranean where he had spent ample of his time in travel over the past handful of years. Still. Even he couldn’t deny if fate had taken him to the present whether he liked the reasoning or not… he couldn’t deny the fact that he was running out of options.

    Every decision over those past few months had come with their own risks and his own personal sacrifices in tow. North America was a leap in itself, so long as the pursuer hadn’t caught on to the means of travel it took to hurl the mage across continents in a matter of a few evenings of preparation.

    Now, where was he..?

    . . .

    There was a knock on the door that was met with patience for only as long as Spencer could stomach it. The evening was coming to a close and time was precious to the man as of late. After another set of knocks, he wouldn’t even wait for a response before the man closed his eyes and took action into his own hands. Nemo might make it into the room in time to witness, he might not. It started with the outreach of his fingertips passing through the solid barrier, and soon enough, the rest of him. The spirit’s figure shone vaguely like a silhouette on the other end, with white wisps of smoke lingering that were light and bodiless like vapor. By the time he was through, he exhaled the breath and let himself take form just as quickly as it had left him. It was all a strange mirage to an ongoing spectator but it did little to refute one thing: Nemo had a visitor suddenly standing on the inside of his doorstep.

    Spencer drew in another breath while his eyes adjusted to the new lighting around him, taking in the small apartment. For what it was worth, he found familiarity. Good, he thought. Along with some heaviness in his expression, there was almost a tired relief that the address had been written down right in a journal so many years ago… that was before his troubles had truly started. He looked ragged in the present whether it was posture alone or the frantic nature he carried, from his fly-away hair to the messenger bag he was promptly straightening after coming through. No matter. Long fingers swept through white locks of hair as Spencer composed himself.

  • Hi, lovely page! Let me know if you'd like to possibly write together sometime.

  • Her unflinching gaze never left the boy as he denied even knowing of what she spoke of. She watched as his expression went from unnerved to anxious, heavily inked arms crossing over her chest. She snorted as he looked around at the pedestrians passing them by, only to scamper off with the white dog. Even as he fled, she watched him return to his apartment and if he were to look back, the woman would have vanished. 


    Dolai leaned over the stone basin, coals burning hot within it as the ancient worked in the dark. A cat coiled at her side, idly watching as he lapped at one paw, swiping it over his ears. She tossed equal parts of mugwort, lavender and tobacco on to the coals, smoke emerging from the burning herbs. The smoke enveloped around her face as she murmured beneath her breath, the candles lit around the room burning brighter, their flames growing taller, as she spoke in a long forgotten tongue into the smoke, concentrating on the boy she had come here for. 

    She pulled away from the smoke, and with a wave of her hand, the coals ceased to burn. The cat, an Egyptian Mau, almost resembling an African wildcat raised his head to look at the woman. “You know what to do,” Dolai cooed to him, running her hand down his back. He rubbed his small feline frame against her before bounding off into the darkness. 


    The forest, as lonesome and looming as it was with the moon as it’s lone sentinel residing above it, seemed to sing as the boy would dream of walking through it. The smell of burning lavender, mugwort and tobacco was heavy in the air, the pine trees blanketed in fog. There were a thousand voices, singing an ancient song foreign to his ear. 

    As he would continue, he would see the woman he met on the side of the street vanish into the thicket just as his eye caught her. Should he pursue her, he would only catch glimpses of her being swallowed by the fog or turning behind a tree. And the voices would only manifest as beings- no, spirits, emerging from the world around him. They joined and flowed with the pulsating energy radiating from the forest, and the earth that seemed to breathe beneath his feet. They sang, a flurry of colors dancing with the force that was the universe, as a part of it as the trees surrounding him and the animals hiding within. That woman, now visible in the distance, knew. She knew this force better than she knew herself, it was clear in the unwavering gaze that split the fog between them. She could teach him to know it as well. 


    It didn’t take the cat very long to reach his apartment that night. When Nemo awoke, he would hear scratching at his front door and persistent meows as if the cat was trying to wake him.

  • You're welcome. ^.^

  • Thank you for the add. Beautiful page. 

  • Her amber gaze never left the boy as he fled, nor as he collided with her. Every muscle tensed before impact, leaving the towering woman unmoved, staring down at the boy. Dolai quirked one arched brow as he stammered out an apology, but was quick to be on his way. Yet, it was his dog that stopped him in his tracks. She turned to face both of them, the corner of her rosebud lips twitching with amusement as she eyed the pair. 

    Dolai crouched low, extending one tattooed fist out to the dog to allow her to sniff, and stroke white fur if permitted. One of the spells she had studied at the temple of Thoth was one that allowed her to hear the voices of beasts of all kinds. However, it was her god’s blood that often either calmed the hearts of animals, or alarmed them completely. 

    “..Who are you?”

    His question echoed in heavily pierced ears, earning a low, entertained chuckle from the ancient. She never knew how to answer that question, at least, not in a simple way. “Depends on who is asking,” Dolai muttered, her husky voice a low rumble, her eyes finally leaving the white dog. “I saw what you did back there, quite the brave act if I do say so myself.”

    She arose once more, tossing her dreads back over her shoulder. “I see many things, and something tells me that you do, too,” she said. “Tell me, do the visions come at all hours or only when you dream?”

  • From atop a nearby building, a gyrfalcon had it's uncanny gaze fixed on the snow-skinned boy made his way down the sidewalk, accompanied by a dog of the same hue. However, this was so much more than just a bird. She had been called here by the will of the ancestors, watching, awaiting the right moment to reveal her presence to him. Dolai could only wonder why. He seemed so harmless, so innocent, even his skin could not contend with the outside world. 

    Her people used to kill babies born of his complexion, believed to be demons brought to life through the womb of a woman by the god of the sea and of death. They were offered to Ta'jat, god of all things good, for blessing and protection from the sea god's malicious intent. Dolai couldn't help but note how the other pedestrians stared at him. He was much younger than her other targets, she didn't fancy the prospect of dealing with a teenager, but the ancestors would not have called her here without reason. 

    It was as the boy reached the elderly woman in the street that Dolai lifted her dappled wings and alighted into the air, diving into a nearby alleyway. Landing on hard, littered concrete, she removed the falcon cloak, returning to her natural state. The feathered cloak vanished and without further ado, she stepped from the shadows of the alleyway, advancing down the sidewalk towards the scene- just in time to see him fleeing from the old woman, barreling towards her.

    Dolai was quite the sight. Standing at 5'11, bronze brown skin capturing the midday sunlight, ebony dreads cascading down her back. An array of tattoos hailing from many nations, Haida, Celtic, Scythian, Arabian, adorned well muscled arms, revealed by a black muscle tee. Her throat bore a black unalome, massive black runes painted her chest and shoulders, a scarab stretching its wings across her upper back. Beyond a striking appearance, there was something otherworldly about the woman, her presence emulating an ancient soul and a story no mortal could tell. There were dark circles dogging her upturned, amber eyes that fixated on the boy- who would collide with her at any moment if he did not stop or move out of the way. 

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