Nathaniel Wilmer Title:
Nathaniel doesn't demand much by way of clothing. At a height of 5' 9", most everything picked up at a local thrift shop would fit him without much issue. He prefers dark, solid-colored button-up shirts, gray jeans, and some sturdy sneakers in case things get hairy. Personality:
Nathaniel is a fetishist.
He didn’t realize he was one until he bit his sister’s thigh so hard he broke skin. Even as she screamed for him to stop, he couldn’t find a shred of emotion other than the blinding euphoria of watching the blood push itself out of her damaged capillaries, onto the surface of her pale skin, and smeared across his lips and chin. Her pain delighted him, but it was a specific part of her body he craved more.
A soft and slender human thigh is his drug. The rest of a person hardly mattered.
He could waste an entire day doing nothing more than caressing, licking, and biting a thigh. It was the sturdy length of the thigh, the clear seam of the sartorius muscle as the thigh lifted, the slight curve of the biceps femoris as he ran his hands over it, the tension of the gracilis as he slid his tongue along its length. It was all of this and more. He wanted to dig his fingernails into the thigh’s flesh, get as much of it wedged beneath his nails as he could. He wanted to pierce the taut skin of its ventral surface with his incisors, reveling in the increasing severity of the depression made by the thigh’s skin as it tried in vain to cope with the pressure of his teeth, reaching his climax just as the skin tension broke.
He doesn’t want love and he doesn’t want friends. He just wants to feel the endless ecstasy and fall into that bottomless abyss.
His mind is consumed by a mantra that ticks away at his self-control as steadily as a well-oiled clock.
“Don’t love me. Don’t need me. Don’t want me. I just want this one part of you.”
Yet, somewhere in his heart, he thinks he hears his own muted screams.Background:
Nathaniel grew up in a financially stable middle-class family consisting of one younger sister and a domineering mother. His younger sister, Amelia, was never privy to the days when both his mother and father were present in the house, and he considered her blessed for that.
There was never a peaceful day to be had in the family back then. If his mother wasn’t furious with his above-average elementary school grades (“What? You can’t get an A?”), his father was busy wheedling him to learn martial arts (“Stop hiding in your room all day!”). He was supposed to be grateful for life, shelter, food, and education, according to his mother, and he supposed he was. Despite everything he considered wrong about his parents, he supposed he was.
Then Amelia was born in his first year of middle school, a byproduct of careless, drunken sex and a badly worn condom nine months prior. His father couldn’t handle the strain of raising another child and his mother refused to consider abortion. The divorce was bitter, sudden, and left in its wake the shreds of a barely happy family.
Nathaniel took care of Amelia in place of his mother, who pretended buying diapers and petting her daughter’s head was sufficient care for an infant. Amelia grew up dependent on her brother, who took strange pleasure in her reliance on him. He always held her whenever he was free, always rubbed her cheeks and kissed her forehead with the utmost tenderness. He was a loving brother.
When she was seven years old, he loved her a little more, kissing her chubby legs and nuzzling her thighs with his cheeks. When she giggled and said it tickled, he nibbled on her skin. When she squealed with laughter and the flesh of her thighs trembled against his lips, the warmth of her legs and the blood rushing to his head forced a gulp of air into his lungs. Before he could resist, he teeth had found hold on little Amelia’s inner thigh.
His mother heard the screaming, saw the blood. For the first time since Amelia was born, she behaved like a mother. She sent her son to a juvenile detention center under charges of physical assault.
Nathaniel’s case was deemed severe enough to warrant a two-year stay in secure confinement. When he was finally released at the age of 18, neither his mother nor Amelia welcomed him home.
He took to the streets to survive. It was during this time period that he met Sloth.Abilities:
Nathaniel is a good butcher. Quick with knives and firm with shears, he has taken a twisted liking to torture and vivisection. Having trained his hands on a multitude of whores, he knows where to cut for a delicious scream, what tendon to sever to mitigate movement, and how to seduce to procure easy prey. Through it all, he holds onto any particularly enticing thighs until decomposition sets in, after which he disposes of them in bits and pieces to starving stray animals.
While he has some basic knowledge of firearms, he’s much more adept with sharp edges.Power:
After the black miasma engulfed them, Nathaniel awoke to a world that looked drawn in smudged charcoal. His world was nothing but black, gray, and white, with varying shades in-between. It was after a few moments of reorienting that he realized the only colors left to him were the varying shades of blood—the dark red of deoxygenated blood, the bright red of freshly oxygenated blood.
The vivid red permeated the charcoal-gray of human flesh and the soot-black of walls and partitions. He could see the glowing red map of arteries, arterioles, and capillaries in a human body up to the far-point focus of his eyes, as if he was an x-ray that pierced everything but blood.
It was after touching his own injuries from the fight that he realized the irony of his abilities. He could heal what he directly touched so long as the heart was beating. The larger the wound, the longer it took for the veins and arteries to heal, muscles to reattach, and flesh to knit back together. His attempts to test on the dead yielded no results. In his vision, blood from a dead heart ran black as tar. Those hearts still beating glowed brighter than traffic lights. The fervor of human life set against the backdrop of a gray-washed world cut him to the quick. He couldn’t even make out their faces anymore.
All he could see was the pulsating of their blood. He couldn’t even enjoy the sensations of caressing a thigh. All he could hear as he pressed his face against grayscaled flesh was the accusing red of blood. All he could comprehend was the panic inside his own mind. What did he have left if not that broken euphoria of the dying and the wounded?
This was a punishment.
Yet, somewhere in his heart, he thought he felt relief.How you joined the sinners:
Nathaniel’s stay in a juvenile correctional facility for two years had changed him, only for the worse. If he had any morals before, however skewed, they were nonexistent now. He had learned to play by the rules of the facility only to get back into the outside world, where he hid himself for four years amongst the small-time gangs roaming New York City. During this time, his fetish had taken a horrific turn. Starved for endorphins and the physical sensation of freely caressing flesh during his two years of confinement, his first opportunity to make up for lost time started with a few prostitutes and ended with dismemberment.
He found he quite liked cutting their thighs off. Legs were easier to enjoy without the pesky person attached to it. With the consternation he had caused in the prostitution rings with his atrocities, however, Nathaniel was not safe from repercussions. In an expected progression of events, a gang purported to control one of the strip clubs whose members he had amputated found him and cornered him. His small-time gang offered no resistance and left him to die. It was Sloth who saved him, though he didn’t bother asking her why. Her thighs, after all, were not his cup of tea. When she offered him a position in her gang, he figured she just wanted a butcher to clean up her messes. As long as he got to keep the body parts he wanted, he considered it a win-win situation.Personal Arc:
13-year-old Amelia Wilmer has been going to therapy ever since the incident that sent her brother to juvie. Traumatized by her brother, but still unable to hate him, she still sees him in her nightmares and is only just beginning to put the past behind her. Nathaniel hasn’t forgotten about his dear little sister, though. During one of Sloth’s dead periods, he attempts to reach out to Amelia again, but she fervently rejects him. Too scared to call the police and too scared to speak to her brother, Amelia stops going to school for a week, hoping Nathaniel will disappear. He isn’t so easily deterred, however, and one last conversation between the two of them promises closure for the mixed feelings she has for her brother.