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lunarcovehq · 2 months

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J. Royce Van Doren III is a witch that currently resides in Celestial Hills and has been a Lunar Cove resident for 36 years, cause every little thing he does is magic.

ITS THE END OF THE WORLD

GENDER/PRONOUNS: Cis Male, He/Him

DATE OF BIRTH: November 4, 1987

OCCUPATION: Owner of Art In Motion

FACECLAIM: Jonathan Bailey

AS WE KNOW IT, AND I FEEL FINE

SPECIES: Witch

INHERENT ABILITIES: Telepathy, Electrokinesis, Duplication

COVEN POSITION: Advisor

COVEN ABILITY: Omnilingual

WELCOME TO LUNAR COVE, ROYCE VAN DOREN III

Trigger Warnings: Divorce, Death, light mentions of Memory Loss, Misogyny

On a faraway coast, at a luxurious resort, sat a tall and effortlessly handsome man. Wealth and opulence shown from head to toe, a sly fox like grin curling at his lips. Everyone around him buzzed about their lives – some on glamorous vacations such as him, others trying to live their normal rhythmic lives among the new and varied faces week by week. Their minds were loud and delicious, full of the secrets they would never breathe out loud, private as they come. Private that is, except to him. It was that uncanny ability to hear, to know the true nature of someone before their mouths opened through the bold whispers of their mind, that allowed Royce to excel in whatever enterprise he set out to master. Whether here on this shiny coast where the water was more pure than anywhere on this miserable planet, or back home in the sheltered supernatural community he vied to be away from as often as possible, Royce had sworn he would use his every advantage to climb that limitless ladder of success deep into the clouds, so that absolutely no one had the audacity to look down on him. After all, he was born to be something great - He just needed to find that once in a lifetime sliver of something to get him there.

J. Royce Van Doren III was the only child born to the illustrious J. Royce Van Doren II (better known as ‘JR’) and his second wife, Milicent Van Doren. JR didn’t shy from jumping from spouse to spouse, having a long list of parameters a woman needed to meet in order for things to ‘stick’. For his first wife ‘irreconcilable differences’ meant he just didn’t like her personality much, but for Milicent it was a little more out of their hands. Dying during childbirth was hardly a fault of her own, though JR’s parents did mumble how the “weak womb breeds weaker children”. Royce being the only child out of that marriage was soothed if only by the fact he was born a boy – the Van Dorens’ antiquated beliefs that wealth and family prestige should only be passed down from male heir to male heir having remained prominent since they struck it big in the Railroad and Oil during the late 18th and early 19th centuries. For new money now turned old, certain traditions just wouldn’t die even with the generations that passed. JR’s next and (for now) current wife, Blythe Van Doren came so shortly after that Royce would consider her his mother, having raised him in that charming mansion, Verdant Vale Hall, in Celestial Hills alongside the two younger sisters she so graciously ‘gifted’ him several years later. It was okay to have daughters second or third, as there was a brilliant young boy already to shoulder the massive weight of family responsibility.

Royce was always meant to be something grand, that’s what JR would say. For that reason alone, he was offered the finest that could be offered to a young man. JR sent his son off to the best boarding school in Vermont, opting out of the public education Lunar Cove offered, made sure his son had the best tutors and advantages so he could graduate with high honors and get into first-rate higher education facilities. Whip smart, charismatic, and armed with an attractive spot in Oxford University’s Men’s Boat Club, Royce received that desired high quality education and enjoyed a few years across the pond away from his father’s watchful eye, evading his colleagues (more like spies) who were under pressure to make sure the first choices of his early adulthood would align right with JR’s well laid out plans. Again, a Van Doren boy held the brunt of expectation in his family, and in Royce’s case he was expected to follow a carefully curated plan. Do well at school, come back with a lucrative degree, and he would be given access to a seemingly limitless inheritance which would allow him a leg up in whatever career he wanted. Nepotism at its finest. He’d nearly blown it all when he came back from Oxford, a college graduate with an Economics and Management degree and a woman on his arm. A human woman.

While away, Royce undoubtedly worked hard to gain some level of prestige at school, followed every expectation and the carefully laid out plan from his family to the tee. But they never really dictated what he should do in his social life. Sharing living spaces with a few fellow witches trying to make it big (secretly) in a human world, Royce did his best to stick largely to his community where he could find it, to keep his head low and not attract much attention beyond academics and in a rowing shell. But there were just one too many pretty faces at Oxford. In small and inconsequential ways he would take advantage of his natural born gifts to allure and attract the right people – a small spark of his electrokinesis here and there with a well timed, “Looks like there are some sparks between us,” worked miracles on humans who didn’t know that tiny spark was manipulated by him, or the leg up on dates when he could read their mind and surprise them with that worthwhile gift or fancy restaurant they’d been thinking about for days. Tacky to some, but Royce always thought you had to use what you had to get through relationships and life. Sometimes it was as simple as a wager — “If I can guess the exact number on your mind,” then he got whatever he wanted. People thought he was so clever, so lucky, never mind that he could always read what was on their mind. Make your own luck, that’s what his father always told him, and that matched with his other charms somehow got Royce in and out of trouble quicker than one could blink.

In the case of this woman, it was a whole lot more than tricks and self made luck that got him anywhere. Intrigued by her sharp wit and silent grace, he found himself stumbling head over heels for a woman who didn’t belong in his world. One who didn’t fall for any of his silly little tricks and lines, who made Royce work for it. And Royce had never really had to work for anything in his life. It made him want her more – an unattainable something that was always out of reach. She forced him to be honest and vulnerable, more so than he’d been with anyone in his life, and when the veneer and gilded pompous rich boy armor fell away, she got to see parts of Royce he didn’t know he had. Sweet and soft parts, a kind and warm heart hidden beneath the crooked smiles and sarcasm that hid any sort of genuine anything. She found his sensitive side, found the part of him that loved and cared so much for the people in his life he was willing to do whatever he needed to make them happy and be whatever they wanted him to be. Found out he wasn’t as wily or cowardly as he portrayed, that he was deeply intuitive and could be foolishly brave when the moment called for it. He began to even see himself as more than just another vehicle for success in his family – Royce began to see himself as a regular person, began to accept the flaws and unique qualities in himself. He came back from the UK a changed man, a more humble and warm person. And his family hated it. They hated her – a human girl who had no inkling of the supernatural world prior to meeting and developing a relationship with the prodigal son. It took a lot of explaining on his part, but luckily she trusted him enough to let him prove whatever strangeness there was to his ‘all American family and community’ to her once they were safely inside of Lunar Cove and didn’t freak out (at least too much) at the reality of their world. Much like his other ‘strange, irregular’ habits, she took to him being a witch with grace and an open mindedness which could rival any. And he loved her all the more for it.

Now with access to that seemingly endless wealth afforded to him by birth alone, Royce would commit what would be considered the second biggest crime since coming home with a human for a wife. When JR asked Royce what his next big step would be, he shocked his father, and the rest of the living Van Dorens, with news that he would use a portion of his inheritance to purchase the local art museum. His wife, having been an accomplished painter, would need a place to display her works, and Royce decided this would be his exciting first enterprise. To his family, it was like burning money. Sure there was a level of pretentious prestige that could come with owning an art gallery – only the upper crust could afford the overpriced derivative nonsense that came in and out of Art In Motion at times – but it was hardly what they wanted from J. Royce Van Doren III. Not for his first business, anyway. What happened to the plan to merge magic and modern technology to create a never before seen magical tech conglomerate? What happened to actual innovative thought and theory, guiding another Van Doren into the future and cementing their position of wealth and status? No, instead he wanted to own an art gallery to display his wife and other emerging artist’s work, fusing magic and masterpieces into a fully immersive and interactive experience. He hired the best of the best – those with animation as an inherent ability, others with technological manipulation, fae and their illusion magic, whatever ability could be used to create intricate scenarios for guests, and then whoever had the eye and knack for fine art – in order to reinvent the posh art gallery into something more magical. His opening exhibit was “Enter The Mundane”, a magical twist on a human woman’s art portfolio. It was met with mixed reactions, the archaic high brow society not exactly open to it, but ushered in an exciting refreshing look at the art world which attracted a young audience to a gallery opened by the bourgeoisie. It made his family recoil, which Royce found deliciously worth the mixed reception.

For the most part life seemed to continue in a charming haze. The young married Van Dorens enjoyed a surprise success from their interactive art exhibits, and word of futuristic design and technological innovation being used at the small art gallery in Lunar Cove had begun to make its way to other circles. Never one to stay in his boring hometown much, Royce liked to travel, for business and pleasure. The only downside was his wife couldn’t always come along. Not without that pesky issue of memory loss when a human crossed the border. At first she wasn’t quite pleased with being stuck behind, but at least Royce provided an ivory tower as her domestic prison. Verdant Vale Hall wasn’t his yet, but a fancy townhome in Celestial Hills was all his and it made for a nice place to call home. And she did have all the time in the world to create and collaborate with actual magical people for the next fantastical exhibit they could put on, so she kept relatively busy. On the occasion, she would venture with her husband on trips to Vermont, New York City, Massachusetts and wherever his fancy money and Old American Rich Name would take them, but not too far so their soon after return and the influx of magical memories were not too jarring for her. But the trips became fewer in between when they revolved more around business than pleasure.

As fun as the art gallery was, Royce couldn’t be content with dipping his toes into just one pool — he needed more, he needed the prestige that came with more. That’s when the investments happened, when he began gaining more off the backs of others’ successes. The stock game could be tricky, they could be all consuming, and becoming a key player could make someone irritably ugly. Royce could be a fiend, an absolute shark, where money and business were concerned. He’d come back from trips to the big city either elated beyond belief with another notch of success to boast on his fine braided (and designer, naturally) leather belt, or in utter despair and a mercurial mood, weighed down by a business plan gone sour or a poor investment with shoddy return. This was an unattractive Royce, a bitter one whose ambitions and desires seemed unattainable despite all the resources at his disposal. This was the Royce bred by his family to desire power above all else. It always took a lot for him to come back from this, back to the secret dreamer who just wanted to create a cool and expressive place to share art in this small supernatural world. When he could get back to that, back to the shared goals between him and his spouse, only then did things truly seem to go well. Every business decision became a smart one, investing in things that could keep their fortune stable while using funds to grow the gallery and its faculties. Soon he began giving back, back to the community that, for better or worse, raised him and he even offered his limitless resources to the coven he belonged to. Not in some bid to gain any power within — this was charity, a pure gesture at its finest. At least, as pure a gesture as an arrogant rich man could make. It was a decade of wholesome good works and great success and growth.

Then things took a turn for the worst.

Life in Lunar Cove was generally idyllic, made perfect and safe for this secret supernatural community. There really wasn’t much to complain about, or fear, especially for Royce. But it was always when life was at its finest that things seemed to go so incredibly wrong. When the deaths started occurring, and the Council was being picked off one by one, nobody really knew what to think of it. It had been so long since peace was struck in Lunar Cove, where the horrors of their world existed so primarily beyond their borders, that it was hard to grasp it when such atrocities happened within town. Royce could remember so clearly his family’s reaction to the news; the death of their own witch leaders. “A tragic, awful thing,” Blythe would say delicately behind a perfumed handkerchief. “Whatever are we to do now?” JR’s eyes were gleaming with something awfully frightening to Royce, shaken to his core whenever he caught his father’s gaze. It wasn’t until the men were alone to their whiskey, a drink to the great lives lost, that he voiced the thought that lay heavy between them. “You have to step up. You have to put in your name to lead them.”

The Trials were a memory which Royce tried to leave behind, but still laid out fresh. Many young, ambitious witches stepped up to the plate. Most of them wanted it, wanted the coveted title of Supreme more than anything in the world. Royce had practically everything in the world, and this was one of the few things he had no desire to possess. He already had so much responsibility— the last thing he wanted was to be keeper of the Lunar Cove coven. When the ancestors didn’t pick him, his was a face of pure relief, unlike the shameful visages of those that failed alongside him. The only thing that caught him off guard about the whole thing was who was chosen at the end of it. The Reeds were an interesting family all together, and Poppy Reed was barely his junior. He supposed he knew her and her family in the casual way that neighbors involved in a witch coven would — by name and whatever bits of reputation was hushed around. She seemed an odd choice, as his father so angrily declared time and time again at family supper. The implication that his own family seemed so against the ancestors’ choice only made him all the more supportive. So when he was asked to step in as advisor, despite clearly not wanting anything to do with coven leadership, Royce accepted the post with such a sort of blasé indifference, one that hid a deep desire to see what could be done under this new brazen leadership. The beginning of this new chapter was only dampened by one other thing: his human wife, in the midst of all this chaos.

This sort of danger didn’t bode well for the supernatural, but it could be worse for a human woman. One who, at the core of it, had barely anything to do with this world. Before Royce accepted the position of Coven Advisor, his wife wanted to leave town. To go back to England where her family was. “It could be safe there. You don’t know if it’s really all that better staying here.” It was safer there — for her, anyway. It was hardly the place for Royce. The supernatural world was growing smaller and smaller, centering in on Lunar Cove. And he had accepted a position that would keep him there for the long run. This bred a whole new kind of difficulty, long and tumultuous fights that didn’t end well for either party. And the more wounded he was, the further Royce pulled away. He focused more on work, more on the coven, more on his home being threatened. He drew farther and farther away, he almost missed it when she stopped wearing her wedding band. If it wasn’t for that one final fight, the night before a charge for a one way ticket showed up on their shared bank account, then he might have missed her leaving all together. But it happened, and he lived with the whiplash of her swift departure even to this day. It just wasn’t working, and how could it? A human with no ties to this special haven and a witch who signed his soul to it — despite how beautiful the last decade was, they just couldn’t swing it. When she placed his dead mother’s ring in his hand and turned away, Royce felt the sting of unshed tears. But he wouldn’t show it. They made a clean break, a prenup having protected their individual interests. All he still had of her were paintings owned by the gallery which she hadn’t had an interest in keeping anyway, and the memories she promptly lost. Back home in England, she’d remember him as the American cad she lost a decade to. In Lunar Cove, Royce decided to become just that.

In the time since then, Royce has left the art gallery mostly in the hands of employees, filled with almost too much shame and hurt to spend much time inside of it. He’s traveled a lot, whenever he can, for business and most certainly for pleasure. So his first marriage failed, big whoop — his dad married thrice. He’d recover and he acted like he'd done just that. Charming and unapologetically cocky, he migrated from bed to bed as often as he did from country to country, leaving a trail of either heartbreak or vehement anger in his wake. If it weren’t for a duty to his coven, and to the family that expected him to rise to greatness and maintain their status quo, perhaps Royce would have disappeared to a distant coast and lost himself in the ecstasy of foreign lands and secretive thoughts. But he comes back as often as he must, to take his place as an advisor and to flaunt an obscene amount of wealth and an even more ridiculous playboy persona around the small town he scorns and yet cherishes as his one true home. As the threat grows bigger, and seemingly more closer to home, Royce finds himself coming to an enigmatic cross roads — whether to rise to the potential his one great love had seen in him and prepare to stand up and fight when the time calls for it, or to turn tail and run away at the first sign of trouble on Lunar Cove’s horizon. Admittedly he’s teetered towards the latter, and that may just be what his fellow townspeople expect from him, but Royce is learning quickly that he can defy all expectations. And maybe proving them all wrong is exactly what he wants to do.

#royce van doren III #Art In Motion #Celestial Hills #taken witch #coven member #all #royce van doren #council member #art in motion owner #jonathan bailey

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jroycethethird · 2 months

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J. ROYCE VAN DOREN III AESTHETICS: wheels

#&& about.#&& inspo.#still dealing with real life so have a very unnecessary thing #he said ‘one in every color please’

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test00660606 · 2 months

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Welcome to Lunar Cove, Neighbor! We’re glad you made it. Please be sure to grab a pamphlet on your way out of Town Hall and cross off all your to-do’s on the New Resident Checklist. See you around town!

J. Royce Van Doren III played by Pip.

Todd Miller played by Ted

#accepted

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jroycethethird · 1 month

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who: royce van doren iii, featuring the van doren family and staff

setting: verdant vale hall, the family’s mansion home, a day after the fire

triggers: injury tw, death tw, sexism tw, anti vampire rhetoric (sorry my vamp baddies), mentions of smoking, and pip using a whole lotta words probably incorrectly, also sad golden retriever crying in the gif below

“Honestly, is this really the right course of action? Surely he should have stayed at the hospital, at least for a little bit longer!”

“Not this again, Blythe, we’ve been through it — We can bring in the best of private home care to Verdant Vale and keep a far more watchful eye on him home! He needs rest, and the best professional care money can buy.”

The back and forth arguments echoed down the vast corridors of Verdant Vale Hall, accompanied by the rhythmic click of heels chasing down the familiar winding path to the east wing. Royce could already picture his childhood room — sage green walls and solid mahogany furniture, a perfectly preserved large room straight out of an interior design catalogue, unscathed by the annals of time. He had rarely occupied it before, JR and Blythe opting to send him off to boarding schools his whole life. He spent more time away from “home” than within it, sometimes he thought Verdant Vale in all her glory was just another stranger in his life, one that still bellowed before him as though she knew him perfectly inside and out. Maybe she and her ancestral ghosts did, and maybe they chortled at his expense.

“Sir, you ought to slow down… you’ll wear yourself thin,” an assistant murmured from beside him, her hand hovering diligently at his elbow. Royce sometimes likened them to eager vultures, ferrying their near-dead prey so they could feed off his gilded carcass. He didn’t like being doted on like this, not when it wasn’t genuine.

“Tut, tut, I’m quite fine,” Royce said, chin jutting out and high, pompous as ever. Yet each step brought a great deal of pain and inconvenience. His skin still felt aflame, boiling and scalding wherever the linen of his fine clothes touched him. Not even the bandages or medicine helped calm the lick of phantom flames against his skin, and Royce blinked hard to will the memories away. Being there in the bowels of Starlight as she went alight, nothing but red, red, red around him. You’re fine, stop being a pussy. He swatted a bandaged hand at the hovering assistant, passing the ornate cane hand from his right to left hand as he took the final corner towards his childhood bedroom. “I don’t understand why I can’t live out my misery in my own house, instead of this dreaded mausoleum. In fact — hey, you, you want to be helpful? Go start Goldie Hawn’s engine,” he referenced his beloved yellow 1973 Guila Spider Volce, so ridiculously named. “I’ll meet you down in the garage shortly,” he motioned the assistant away, and yet she didn’t falter, ushering her injured employer into his bedroom. Royce saw the way she deferred silently in reverent glances to his father, the hallowed Van Doren patriarch, who nodded sternly to her as he continued arguing with Royce’s step mother.

“Mr. Van Doren, let’s get you to bed,” she said in a soft, but firm tone, pressing her fingers into his elbow. “Perhaps I can take you for a drive sometime later, yes?”

“Traditrice,” he muttered in a perfect Italian accent to the now-smirking assistant as he begrudgingly entered the room. “So this is what hell looks like,” he hummed, looking over the shelves of first edition books, shiny model cars and hand built boats, among other knick-knacks around. Remnants of a youth he barely remembered.

The shuffle of shoes coming from the adjoining balcony caught Royce’s attention, and a smile grew over his face before the two nearly identical blonde women came in, one with a potted plant in hand. “But the devils here are such swell company, brother,” chimed Cecile Van Doren as she skipped over, a gentle kiss to her brother’s cheek given in greeting before offering up a snake plant. “A gift,” she stated and Royce snorted.

“Yes, and quite a welcome one since I see none of my plants made it since I last visited,” he let his voice raise towards the bickering adults by the door as he looked about him. There were less plants than the hobbyist florist recalled in that room. “Thank you, Cec. I’d take it off your hands, but apparently I’m oh so fragile. Don’t want to break it as much as I’ve broken myself.”

“Sweetheart, we are looking after your well being!” Blythe sighed dramatically from where she leaned against the door jam, glowering still at her husband, “And you’re needed in tip top shape… Our annual Garden Party is upon us, how could we do it without you? Your Uncle Monty will never let us hear the end of it.” Yes, because that was more pressing than anything else going on around town. Heaven forbid he not be in top form for his mother’s ridiculous high brow party.

JR sighed, in equal drama as his wife, running a large hand through sandy hair streaked in white-silver at the temples. “You know, son, if you accepted the vampire blood, then we’d be out of this mess rather quickly. You could be back to your strong, healthy self sooner, and back to doing what really matters: helping the coven and keeping that Supreme from running this dignified group into the mud.” Royce did not resist the eye roll or groan at his words, though the latter could have been his reaction to slowly easing himself (with the help of that dedicated assistant) into a large tufted arm chair.

Before he could spit out a sardonic reply to his father, another voice lifted above the chatter instead. “So it’s okay for Tripp to take vampire blood to cure what aren’t even that critical of burns, but the second our lives are threatened as repercussion of dark magic you lay down the law and deny the rest of us the chance to survive an untimely demise?” Kathryn Van Doren let out a single cynical laugh, arms crossing tighter over her chest as she set a dark glare on their father. “But of course, he’s the prodigal son, the Van Doren legacy, so of course he can cheat death while the rest of us must accept it if our time comes.”

“Kathy,” Royce admonished, but he was once more cut off by the Van Doren patriarch speaking up.

“Let me make this abundantly clear — absolutely no child of mine shall become an undead leech. We are a proud witch lineage, and I will not live to see any of my children go against what is our natural order. There is a dignity in dying, Kathryn. But the administering of blood to ensure your brother’s speedy recovery is different. It has nothing to do with cheating death, it is a modern form of medicine I would allow for him to use just to return to his real purpose: to help lead the coven. Did you not see how your brother stood up there and spoke reason at the last coven meeting? It’s clear he has an important job to do here. And on that alone, I doubt such a life would be sacrificed in recompense for what that wayward witch did. A Van Doren man, in his prime, won’t be taken down by a measly curse.” JR spoke with such devotion, Royce almost missed how absolutely crazy and off base he was. Almost.

“So my life, mom’s life, Cecile’s life — even your own life, daddy dearest,” she spoke the term of endearment with such venom, her words alone could paralyze, “all of that is fair game, but Tripp gets to defy your archaic rules just because you think he’s, what, more important than anyone else here? Do you even hear how ridiculous you sound?” Kathryn raged, eyes blazing. Royce clocked in almost instantly that this was a fight his unfortunate accident came in the middle of, one that perhaps had been going on since the news broke to the coven. And from how both his younger sister and their father stood, square shoulders and staring one another down, he could see it would not let up anytime soon.

“Would you like something to drink, sir? Perhaps a coffee, or a water?” His assistant murmured to him.

“A whiskey would be great, actually.” She gave him a look and Royce sighed, “Oolong, please. I’m afraid a commotion is about to happen, so make it quick and find cover.” His blue eyes scanned the four family members caught in a tense standstill before him, searching their minds for what he could glean.

Kathy was afraid to die, she was too young. She had potential, a whole life ahead of her, she could be so much more than this, and father’s refusal to accept this desire to save her own skin burned her deep in her stomach. Cecile, ever the good little girl, didn’t want to fight father, but she ached deep down. Half terrified in what could become of the recent dark magic usage, half wanting to so confidently and ignorantly believe their father when he said things would be okay, no matter the outcome. And Blythe, who perhaps in that moment just wanted any excuse to be away from JR for a bit. Maybe death could be the perfect vacation. Did they have country clubs and pool boys in heaven, she wondered.

Then there was the illustrious patriarch, looking smart and refined in his blue linen suit and pale lemon dress shirt, a navy and yellow pocket square peeking out of his jacket’s breast pocket. His craggy face was stern, an impassive stone face that was unwilling to bend to the dark gaze coming from the petite blonde across the room. His mind was unreadable even to the telepath, ever skillfully closed off from his son unless he wanted Royce to read him. Those times when he let his dark gaze and mind fill with such powerful disappointment so as to upset Royce should he dare explore his head. But that wasn’t now. Instead he was clear and focused solely on staring, unblinkingly, back at Kathryn.

Royce sighed irritably. “Dear god, Kathy, you’re an adult — if you want to take vampire blood, just go and take it,” he waved a hand dismissively at his younger sister. “And you—” He pointed a bandaged hand at his father, standing stupidly tall in his room of all places, stirring up family drama, and when Royce had a raging headache, “—give up that silly damn notion of coven leadership. I’m not the Supreme, Poppy is, and, in case you haven’t noticed this, attack wasn’t aimed at me. In fact, it was clearly a mistake. So instead of slightly our dear leader, maybe think about the fact that an assassination attempt was clearly made towards her.”

“And yet here you are, the one broken because of it,” JR spat back.

Royce gave his father a crooked smile, “They can’t kill me that easily, pops.” He let his head lull back so as to get a clear look at Kathryn. Her mind was still simmering in rage, though her anger seemed angled at him now. Of course you’d think that, you’re the special little boy who can do whatever he wants, her mind said to him and he frowned. “That is an unfair assessment, but may I remind you it’s the 21st century. He doesn’t own you.”

Kathy just scoffed, dropping her arms to her sides. “He won’t let us.”

“You mean he’ll disown you if you do, and you’re woefully unprepared for the real world. Oh, sad, sorry, little you, Kathryn Isabelle Van Doren.” He didn’t mean to be so cruel, but dammit — wasn’t he the one with the burns all over his body? And where the hell was his oolong?

JR crossed his arms tight over his broad chest, nodding. “And he’s right — if any of you take vampire blood to escape death, I will disown you, and you’ll leave Verdant Vale immediately. If you want to be a vampire so bad, then you can go do that and be the clan’s problem. Save me a dime.”

Kathryn let out an undignified cry before storming off, blubbering a “you hypocrite,” under her breath. Blythe threw her hands in the air as the youngest Van Doren dashed past her. “Oh, excellent, that’s just wonderful, JR — she’s supposed to help me pick out the floral centerpieces for the Garden Party today! Now she won’t want to be helpful at all! Come on, Cecile, help me calm your sister down…”

Cecile gave her brother a half smile before carefully placing the potted plant down on the table beside his bed, dutifully following their mother out. “Maybe a visit to the country club, and a game of doubles at the court, will calm her? We can ask that cute instructor to play with us!” He heard Cecile’s voice echoing down the hall as the women retreated, leaving the Van Doren men to quietly stare at each other.

“Bravo, big man, you really are a testament to fatherhood, you know that?” Royce said with a cruel curl of his lip, turning the cane around in his hand as he leaned back into the velvety chair. “Can’t you see they’re terrified? Don’t need telepathy to see it. No ‘natural order’ talk can soothe the absolute all consuming fear an unexpected death can bring to a woman in her twenties. Have some compassion.”

JR scoffed, occupying himself with brushing his fingers over the spines of books on a nearby bookcase, barely glancing back at his son from steel colored eyes. “The Ancestors must be second guessing everything, after this last, what, year and some change dealing with this Catalyst? Then Silas Chamberlain…” He tutted under his breath before fully facing his son. “I’ve told you since you were a boy that you were meant for so much more than you could imagine. Seeing you up there, addressing the coven with such professionalism and grace… I’ve never been more proud of you, Tripp.” Royce’s eyes dropped at the affectionate nickname, one only his closest confidents called him.

“You mean you’ve never been proud of me at all before then,” he said lowly, digging the cane into the plush carpet beneath his feet. “It doesn’t matter — I’m not the Supreme, and I don’t want to be. Poppy’s good, she can handle all of this, she’s made to handle all of this, you’ll see. And maybe I can’t, maybe I’m not built to fight. What you’re so enthused about is my ability to memorize fancy words from a thesaurus and spin in into something not half bad.”

JR was quiet for a breath of a moment. “Someday, Tripp, you’re going to see yourself the way I do and then you’ll understand how much potential you’re letting go to waste. You’re a whole lot braver than you think.” He crossed the space between them, carefully laying a heavy hand over his son’s shoulder. “Get some rest, you need to preserve your strength for when it matters.” He paused before adding, “…Such as for that Garden Party your mother won’t let go off. We have that pickle ball tournament with Monty and your cousin Dashiell, and I’m not letting them take the title this year.” He shook Royce, perhaps too roughly before sweeping out of the room.

And finally, the Van Dorens left Royce to a calming silence. “My God, they’re idiots. The whole lot of them.”

Vrrb. Vrrb.

Just as he relaxed into the chair’s cushy back, Royce felt the vibration of his phone in his pocket. He had every right to ignore it, but he carefully pulled the offending device out of his pocket and brought it to his face. “So help me, if that’s the gallery…” His threats trailed off on his tongue as he saw the Caller ID. Am I seeing things? He swallowed thickly before tentatively answering the call. Holding the phone there for a brief moment, Royce sucked in a sharp breath before bringing the phone to his ear. “Well, well… isn’t this a surprise,” he said in his usual charming tone.

“…a pleasant one, I hope.” The voice that came on the other line was just as he remembered — low, sultry and slow. He could imagine the smoke of a cigarette curling around the vowels as she spoke.

He let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “I guess that depends on you. Is this a pleasurable call? It has been a moment, though I suppose that time difference may play into it.” If not the divorce.

She was silent on the other end and he imagined her taking a drag from a cigarette while sitting in the corner table at that old pub she adored so much. The one they used to frequent, their special little haunt. Maybe that was off, he doubted she was anywhere near campus nowadays.

“You didn’t change your emergency contact. I got a voicemail yesterday saying you were in an accident? I always knew you drove too fast for your own good.”

Royce frowned, slumping in his chair. So that’s why she called — maybe as a courtesy but certainly as a warning. Get rid of my phone number. That’s what she wanted him to do. He ran his hand weakly through his mussed hair. “Is that so? Well, I think we did vow in sickness and in health, right? Till death do us part?”

“I think we chose to abolish that, unless I’m not recalling the last two years properly.” He heard the exhale of smoke and thought he could smell it through the receiver. “Do start wearing a seatbelt, darling.”

“Yeah, yeah, seatbelt, I heard you.” Royce didn’t have the heart to correct her, letting her believe it was a car accident instead of arson. “Two years and you still worry about me, huh?”

She didn’t reply, and Royce grew uncomfortable in the silence. “So is this an excuse to hear my voice, or something?” He wasn’t sure what he was trying, but the sigh that came from the other end of the line certainly wasn’t what he hoped for.

“J… Royce,” he frowned involuntarily at her correcting herself. For a second there, Royce thought the name, the one that only she called him, was about to come out. It would have been a sign, for something he didn’t realize he’d been hoping for these past two years. But it wasn’t a social call, and it wasn’t meant to last long. “I’m sorry you got hurt, it’s not what I wanted to hear, but I also didn’t want to hear anything at all,” she continued and he stayed silent as he listened. “This isn’t healthy, and I shouldn’t have even called, but listen, do me — no, do both of us a favor.”

“What’s that?” He said as he swallowed thickly, pressing his hand over his face and slightly muffling his words.

“Change your emergency contact… And lose this number, already.”

He let out a humorless chuckle as the weight of the words dawned on him, squeezing his eyes shut as he caught his breath. “Damn… Message received,” he muttered. “Nice hearing from you.”

She was silent for a short moment before saying, softer now, “Get well soon. Goodbye, Darling.” And the line cut before Royce could say anything more.

Pulling back and staring at his phone, Royce looked at the call history and her name now at the very top of it. His hand shook as emotions long since buried began to bubble up to the surface. As though those protective layers he’d grown over them had been burned away in that fire, no longer effective armor against the onslaught of hurt and turmoil just hearing her voice caused him. He swallowed and found that the lump in his throat was too strong to bypass. Curses. Damn this woman for coming back so easily into his orbit and then speeding away. And all to tell him to wear a seatbelt and lose her number… he hated it. He hated her for it.

He was so deep in thought, he missed the click of heels as his assistant rounded the corridor and found herself at his bedroom door again. “Mr. Van Doren, I apologize for the delay, we didn’t have oolong but I sent off for it. I did find a Moroccan Mint Tea inst—” her words were drowned out by a loud crash and crack as a smart phone collided with the wall on the far side of the room, glass screen shattering and pixels going dead as it fell uselessly to the ground. A dent and a crack left a remembrance of the sudden attack on the wall, and Royce’s gaze traced it as he let out a ragged breath. “S-sir?” The assistant sputtered and he turned his gaze towards her.

“…Oh, mint tea is just fine,” he said so casually, calmly, as though he hadn’t just chucked his phone across the room. He held his hand out, waiting for her to shakily deposit the cup into his grasp. Taking a slow sip, Royce’s eyes flickered up back at the assistant, clearly taken back by his actions. “Mm, yes, perfect, thank you. You can go now, but do me a favor and stop by the store and get me a new phone, won’t you? Put it on good ol’ dad’s card, too.” He waved her off before silently turning his gaze out towards the adjoining balcony, silently stewing and forever grateful to be the only telepath at Verdant Vale Hall.

#&& self paras.#I was supposed to post this when the plot drop happened forever ago so Ssh let’s pretend #burn tw #death tw #sexism tw #smoking tw #injury tw #trying to catch it all but idk if I did #don’t be shy and tell me if I missed anything!

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jroycethethird · 2 months

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J. ROYCE VAN DOREN III INTRODUCTION

meet royce; billionaire, playboy, sometimes responsible coven advisor

GENERAL

FULL NAME: J. Royce Van Doren III NICKNAME(S): known as Royce by the general public, Tripp by family and very close confidants AGE/DATE OF BIRTH: 36, 11/04/1987 GENDER: Cisman PRONOUNS: He/Him OCCUPATION: Owner of Art In Motion, Investor, Billionaire Playboy, Coven Advisor SPECIES: Witch ABILITIES: Telepathy, Electrokinesis, Duplication, Omnilingual

BIOGRAPHY

TRIGGERS: Divorce, Death, light mentions of Memory Loss

While away, Royce undoubtedly worked hard to gain some level of prestige at school, followed every expectation and the carefully laid out plan from his family to the tee. But they never really dictated what he should do in his social life. Sharing living spaces with a few fellow witches trying to make it big (secretly) in a human world, Royce did his best to stick largely to his community where he could find it, to keep his head low and not attract much attention beyond academics and in a rowing shell. But there were just one too many pretty faces at Oxford. In small and inconsequential ways he would take advantage of his natural born gifts to allure and attract the right people – a small spark of his electrokinesis here and there with a well timed, “Looks like there are some sparks between us,” worked miracles on humans who didn’t know that tiny spark was manipulated by him, or the leg up on dates when he could read their mind and surprise them with that worthwhile gift or fancy restaurant they’d been thinking about for days. Tacky to some, but Royce always thought you had to use what you had to get through relationships and life. Sometimes it was as simple as a wager — ��If I can guess the exact number on your mind,” then he got whatever he wanted. People thought he was so clever, so lucky, never mind that he could always read what was on their mind. Make your own luck, that’s what his father always told him, and that matched with his other charms somehow got Royce in and out of trouble quicker than one could blink.

Then things took a turn for the worst.

HEADCANONS

has spent a good majority of his life outside of lunar cove and travels often, usually for “work” but mostly for pleasure

uses his telepathy in every business meeting for an upper edge, and sometimes in his personal life. outside of business, he doesn’t hide the fact he uses this uncanny ability for an edge

was on crew his whole academic career as one of the bow pair/1st seat, and owns a boat which he takes out and spends most of his time on when the weather is right. like all rich white men, he loves a good afternoon playing golf and will be seen around the tennis courts, mostly flirting with the gorgeous country club eligibles

despite owning an art gallery, he can’t draw for shit so don’t expect artistic ability here. he just has an eye for aesthetics and beauty and there’s history there but he ignores that

has never been to echo acres or shadow lake the entire time he’s lived in lunar cove — what do you mean there’s more outside celestial hills, sunny harbor and downtown?

his family owns a mansion ostentatiously named verdant vale hall where his father, stepmother and (presumably) two half sisters live. royce will inherit it when old dad kicks the bucket, and in the mean time owns his own lovely townhome. that being said, he goes to verdant vale hall often — partially because a garage full of his personally curated and restored vintage european cars is there but also because he promised his step mother to always be there for breakfast and sunday family dinner. he just has to deal with JR too.

re:car garage, royce has a ridiculous number of fancy little european cars he speeds around town in, in every color imaginable, and yes he switches out and often coordinates his ride to his outfits. that aside, he is most seen in his beloved dark green 1964 shelby cobra 289, blue 1970 porsche 911e coupe, or his black 1954 mercedes-benz 300sl. basically if you see a douche speeding around town in a vintage european car it’s probably him.

royce has been divorced for 1.5-2 years now (iffy on the dates currently) but he jumped back into the scene pretty shortly afterwards. that being said, he’s mostly physically available and emotionally detached, so while he may have some recurring favorite bedfellows, he’s incredibly noncommittal

I’m sure I’ll add more soon

MISC

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Bisexual ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: Biromantic FAMILY: J. Royce Van Doren II “JR” (father), Blythe Van Doren (stepmother), 2 half sisters HOMETOWN: Lunar Cove, Rhode Island FACE CLAIM: Jonathan Bailey HEIGHT: 5’11” EYE COLOR: Brown HAIR: Brunette DISTINGUISHABLE FEATURES: glasses, nearly trimmed beard, gray streaks at his temples, scar on left brow STYLE: decadent, resplendent, outrageously expensive designer three piece suits, always has on a fancy watch and other ridiculously overpriced stylish accessories, a signet ring on his pinkie featuring the family crest, carries an umbrella or a cane with an ostentatious handle sometimes for added flair, fancy modern glasses, dress shoes and a code of casual elegance at all times unless he’s on a yacht or at the club, in which case it’s polos, chinos/shorts, and loafers all day every day ASTROLOGICAL SIGN: scorpio PINTEREST: (x)

WANTED CONNECTIONS

hmu we’ll figure it out

#&& about.#lunarcoveintro

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lunarcovehq · 2 months

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M-I-C- See You Real Soon K-E-Y Why? Because We Love You. M-O-U-S-E.

TODD OFF THE PRESSES- SNOW IN PLOT DROP

Perhaps presumption or hubris alone had allowed Rohan Persaud to consider himself a beacon—a torch for wayward spirits to follow home. But Lunar Cove needed more light, he had, by now, decided, and emerging from the shadows of the New Year, the witch had resolved that light was the very thing on which he would focus in 2024. Maybe, then, he could strive to follow it himself toward brighter days, toward celebrations of the mundane, toward genuine friendship, toward love, toward happiness, and most of all, toward forgiveness, a true letting go of anger, of fear, and of bitterness. He was only having intermittent success at this endeavor, but as he sat that night at his dining table, surrounded by candlelight, casting flickering orange slats on a faded Mickey Mouse hat, he tried, even now, to focus on this resolution. He could forgive Todd Miller for taking up residence temporarily in his body; it was, after all, not the guy’s fault. And being bound to a Halloween costume for eternity was a more hellish fate than anyone deserved. At the very least, Rohan supposed, he could try to undo those bindings rather than add the ghost to the array of other haunted objects sitting on his shelves. He might not be able to free Todd from this earth, but he could let him experience the adventure that was the astral plane. The raising of spirits was not a complicated matter. But this spell was. It was new. It was different. It was unpracticed, foolish, reckless in all its good intentions, as though he could really simply order Todd to be free the way he had ordered the Crackling Man to freeze and do no harm that Halloween night. But Rohan had found it in his own research, hidden in a dusty old book, an untying of undead knots. But such tethers were strong, he was realizing, stronger still surrounding an object worn at a death itself. It was not until Bustopher yowled, it was not until he could smell the familiar hint of ashes at his nostrils, a tell-tale sign of a more a vile ghost always watching, it was not until he felt a rush with which he was too familiar and strove to never attempt again that Rohan wished he had approached Poppy first. Everything was quiet. He stumbled through his apartment, overwhelmed, landing in the coat closet he had fashioned into a mirrored psychomanteum to see, in the dark, that his eyes were blackened. Bells chimed somewhere in his apartment, a telltale sign of a door opening on its own. And all at once, standing there was another young man, frazzled, wide-eyed: Todd Miller himself, back from the dead.

Hot off the presses- Rohan Persaud, a Lunar Cove coven member, used dark magic without having any of the coven members consent to bring Todd Miller back from the dead. As you all know by now, dark magic requires a cost and, for a coven member to bring the dead back to life, a life must be paid in return. You won't know when or how, but at some point, one of the existing coven members will die. Leaving the coven will not exempt you from this fate. New members who join the coven will also be safe. This will ONLY affect current members who were in the coven at the time of the spell.

REMINDERS

In anticipation of our next event, we will be dropping plot drops like these every other week or every week.

These plot drops are completely optional for your character to react to, but will be dropping crucial tidbits that will be building up to the event to come. We also hope this new series of plot drops will inspire starters and different threads to be had between your characters.

Calling All Witches: Your magic has temporarily gone out once again. For the next 24 hours, you will be unable to perform any spells or magic and will be unsure why. Poppy Reed, the supreme, will need to deliberate Rohan's fate with our new Coven advisor, Royce Van Doren III. If you are part of the coven, be prepared. A meeting will likely be held to decide/announce Rohan's fate (plot drop for this to come).

Calling The Council: A member of the dead has been brought back to life. In turn, the accord #1, no killing of any supernatural creatures or humans unless proven without a reasonable doubt of being in an act of self defense, will be broken. A meeting will be held to discuss (plot drop for this to come).

For everyone else: Your characters may or may not be directly affected if they happen to have interacted with Todd in the past or have interacted with Rohan. For now, we ask that your characters are unaware of what happened until informed as such IC, though a plot drop will occur in a week where it will become public knowledge so please hold off on having your characters find out till then. The other species aren't affected as of yet given that their lives are not on the line or at risk, but feel free to react and interact with threads as they unfold.

If you have any questions on the above please feel free to reach out.

Last by not least, we hope you have fun!

(Also, shoutout to Ted who wrote the top two paragraphs - the unbold part - of this plot drop. You're an MVP and we look forward to seeing how this plot you brought to us plays out).

#lunarcoveevent #lunarcoveplotdrop4

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