Welcome to Will to Live, a RP set in the fictional town of Monroeville, Maine. Orginally a small fishing village turned college town turned tourist trap, long-time locals are now outnumbered by newcomers in their ever-expanding hometown. Plots are primarily member-driven, with a wide range of interesting and diverse characters to interact with. Feel free to jump right in; fresh perspectives and ideas are always welcome.

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OoC Member Name: Panda!
Age: 30
Occupation: MPA History Teacher
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Mýrkjartan Ylvasson


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Dec 17 2017, 04:29 PM
Mýrkjartan Ylvasson & Parker Emery

thread warnings
| catastrophizing |

On the weekends, Myri Ylvasson sets his alarm for 8:00 am instead of 4:30. He spends his whole day tensed up, buzzing and itching with worry that doesn't seem to have a real source, just spreads itself out over everything. It never wears itself out, so that even when he lays down at night, his brain is still racing with thoughts of everything that could go wrong, everything that has gone wrong. He always dozes off later than he means to. He always wakes up tired now.

He thinks if he could just sleep in on weekends, if he could just get enough rest for once, that would fix everything. Or it would at least make it easier to deal with. Make his shoulders ache a little less, make his heart beat a little slower. He keeps chamomile tea in the kitchen. In the medicine cabinet in the bathroom next to the dental floss is a vitamin bottle of one of those all natural sleep aids, melatonin and herbs. One of his coworkers frowned sympathetically at the dark circles under his eyes and suggested a yoga and meditation class she'd started going to after work, though he never actually followed up on that.

He sets his alarm for 8:00 am, but habit or nervous energy always drags him awake before the sun comes up. And even though he's tired, even though all he wants to do is go back to sleep, once he's awake he can't stay still. He rolls himself out of bed, shuffles groggily through a dark and quiet house.

This part of his day is always the same: Go to the bathroom, brush your teeth, don't make eye contact with your reflection. Peek in Bryn's room and listen for breathing, because if they died in their sleep that would be your fault for not checking. They're alive, so now it's time to stumble downstairs. Start up the coffee maker without turning on the kitchen light, because you were too worn out to wash the dishes the night before and you don't want to see them still sitting there in the sink first thing in the morning. The dogs are up and moving by then, so while the coffee brews you hook them up to leashes, tuck your fleece pajamas pants into boots, pull on a coat.

It was all muscle memory at this point, done automatically and without thought so that Myri's brain was free to drift to those tests he needed to grade before Monday, those errands he needed to run but had been putting off. His anxiety was nothing if not efficient, turning everything else into a background task so that he could focus most of his energy on feeding into it.

Outside, the air is the type of cold that's too sharp to breathe through your nose, the warmth in Myri's lungs escaping in foggy clouds from his mouth instead. There's a small dusting of snow on the ground that wasn't there the night before, tips of grass peeking out from underneath like spikes that crunch under his boots. He always takes the dogs the same way, down the street to circle the park and back home again. It's so routine that anything unexpected jumps out immediately, seems ominous, especially in the eerie silence of pre-dawn.

Like a car that doesn't belong to his neighbors, parked on the street instead of instead of a driveway, the windows and windshield haphazardly cleared of snow confirming that it was a recent arrival, a change. Who has visitors this early?

It's probably nothing, Myri tries to assure himself, certainly not any of his business. But when he has to pass by it he still glances at it warily, then feels his heart jolt with electric terror.

There's someone in there. Eyes closed, seat reclined back and arms crossed over himself, the boy in the car appears to be sleeping, face creased and twisted with discomfort. Not that Myri notices that level of detail, only enough to process that the person in the car isn't looking back at him, hasn't seen him looking before he quickly turns away, hurries along with the dogs. Definitely not his business.

And maybe that would be the end of it, but on the rest of the way to the park and halfway through the walk back to the house, Myri turns it over and over in his mind until like some premonition, he can vividly imagine turning on the news later that day only to hear the headline local boy found frozen to death in car knowing that he probably could have done something about it. Could you go to jail for that? Reckless negligence or something like that.

Myri doesn't want to go to jail.

When he passes the car again on his way back, he stops. There's hesitation, and then a careful, meek knock on the driver's side window.

Better safe than sorry.
Jan 21 2017, 10:54 AM
internalized ableism


Full name: Mýrkjartan Fannar Ylvasson
Birthdate & age: February 19th, 1988 (age 28)
Gender & pronouns: male (he/him)
Orientation: unsure

Nationality: Icelandic
Occupation/Major: World History teacher / fencing coach @ MPA
SES/social class: upper middle class
Education level: bachelor's degree in History with a minor in Education
Languages known: Icelandic, Danish, English, Swedish, Hebrew. He's trying to learn Spanish but he's not very good at it yet.
Physical/mental conditions: social anxiety disorder / agoraphobia


Ethnicity: white (Nordic & Jewish ancestry)
Height and build: 5'8 and stocky
Hair color/style: dark, dark brown, almost black hair that stops just above his shoulders. it's curly and most of the time worn loose, though he pulls it back into a ponytail or bun for work or whenever he needs it out of his face.
Voice/manner of speaking: icelandic accent. speaks very softly, mumbles a lot, always sounds like he's not sure if it's okay for him to be talking. he rambles too much when he's anxious, laughs nervously through awkward silences or long pauses in conversation.
Distinguishing marks: (e.g. scars, tattoos / piercings / body mods)

Fashion/way of dress: dorky grandpa sweaters for days

General impression: (e.g. posture / how they carry themselves, are they intimidating / easy to overlook, how much effort they put into coming across that way, etc)


    history, old things
    warm, comfortable sweaters
    campfires, hiking, picnics, outdoorsy things in general
    historical romance novels
    country, folk, and blues music
    seeing other people upset or in a bad mood
    talking about himself
    horror stories / thrillers
    accidentally wrecking his entire life
    something bad happening to his mother or sister
    ghosts / curses / bad luck
    saying the wrong thing at the worst possible time
    people thinking he's weird or crazy
    of starting a family and having a white picket fence and all that stuff
    he totally wants to be an archaeologist
    tolerant, accepting
    gullible, easily led
    thin-skinned, takes criticism too seriously
    lies compulsively when he’s nervous or uncomfortable
    fidgets, wrings his hands together a lot
What puts your character at ease: physical closeness to people he cares about. reading. helping other people, feeling productive and useful.
What makes your character uncomfortable: meeting someone new. crowded public spaces, especially if it's noisy. having to express his feelings verbally.
Soft spots/vulnerabilities: he's just one giant soft spot.
How they try to come across to others: capable, dependable.
What they try to hide about themselves: he does a really poor job of hiding his anxiety.
How they really feel about themselves: he worries a lot that he's inherently bad/broken and messes everything up.

Character traits: (aspects of their personality that were not covered by the above sections)


What are your character’s thoughts on…
-- Substance use: he drinks socially, finds it easier to talk to other people when he's got at least a little bit of a buzz going. doesn't smoke cigarettes, doesn't approve of hard drugs. he tried pot in college and had a bad experience but he supports decriminalization / legalization.
-- Sex/romance: heeeee's actually secretly a hopeless romantic, when he likes someone he crushes pretty hard, goes totally heart eyes at them. the idea of sex makes him uncomfortable unless he's already been with the person for awhile, and then it's important and ~~magical.
-- Marriage/children: are a goal for him. he wants true love and a fairytale wedding and then anywhere between two and five kids. the fun part is he worries that he doesn't deserve those things or he'd fuck them up if he actually got them, oops.
-- Religion: raised Jewish. celebrates holidays and keeps (mostly) kosher more out of habit than anything else, doesn't think about it much or weigh it heavily in his everyday life.
-- Politics: he's nonconfrontational so he hates talking about politics or sharing his opinions on it, he's moderately liberal though.
-- Technology: he has a smartphone that he knows how to work pretty well. uses the computer mostly for work or reading news and articles. he got pressured into facebook, but rarely checks it, and doesn't know much about any other social media. Szve's probably exposed him to tumblr a few times, and he's always a little intimidated and horrified by it because he doesn't understand it at all.

How social are they?: not very. he has a handful of acquaintances, mostly from work, and only one or two close friends. most of the people he meets are introduced to him by someone else, he's not the type to strike up conversations with strangers.
Types of people they like: laid-back types. people that are either okay with silence/awkwardness or are willing to pull most of the weight in a conversation. people with a good sense of humor; he's terrible at telling jokes but he likes to laugh at them.
Types of people they dislike: pushy, in-your-face types. loud, rude people.
Social profile: (who in town knows them? Knows of them? For what?)

Saving/spending habits: he's pretty responsible with money for the most part, doesn't spend a lot on himself and after he pays bills and takes care of necessities most of what's leftover goes straight into savings. he has trouble saying no when Szve or Bryn want something though, unless it's ridiculously expensive.
Recreational activities: (e.g. hobbies / clubs / sports / what they do on weekends)


Responsibilities at work: teacher stuff. grading papers, organizing lesson plans, teaching class.
Length of time at current job: since August 2010
How do they feel about their job?: he likes it, really cares about doing his job well, likes feeling like he's making a difference.
How is their work/life balance?: it's the only thing that reliably gets him out of the house anymore and so he puts more weight on work than he really needs to. it's starting to wear him a little thin, as much as he insists he loves his job.


Significant relatives / pets:
-- mother, Ylva Yrkillsdóttir, age unknown
-- step-father, Eyjólfur Goðmundursson, deceased
-- half-sister, Szveina Ylvasdóttir, age 19
-- cousin, Brynhyldr Eddasdottir, age 18

-- dog, Oberyn Myrkjartansson, alaskan malamute
-- dog, Titania Szveinasdóttir, alaskan malamute

Relationship with family: he's one of those types of people that places family before self. they're important to him, and having positive, close relationships with them matter a lot. he has a reputation with family as reliable, the one you go to when you need help with something because he never says no.

Current residence: #6298 Penny Lane, lives with his sister Szve, cousin Bryn, and their two dogs.
Description of bedroom/living space:


Place of birth/hometown: Hafnarfjörður, Iceland
General history:

How their past affects them:
Character’s feelings about their past:
Nov 27 2016, 06:12 PM
Nor de la Cruz & Mýrkjartan Ylvasson

thread warnings
| alcohol use |

JUNE 2 0 1 4

It's the last week of classes before the end of the school year, and there's a cake in the teachers' lounge that says Good Luck Leonor!! in blue icing, a few squares already missing along one edge by time Myri caught sight of it, figured out what it meant.

It shouldn't have filled him with nervous energy, because in the year that Nor de la Cruz had been working at MPA, he'd barely even spoken to her beyond awkward small talk that happened whenever they found themselves in the lounge at the same time. They weren't friends, they barely even knew each other


you should talk to her, Szve would urge him, when she noticed the way his face would flush and his eyes would focus intently on the floor whenever Nor walked into a room or passed them in a hallway. And Myri would just nervously laugh it off, shake his head. He'd talk to her one day, maybe, he just had to work up the nerve first.

Until a year has passed and there's a cake with her name on it, the universe's way of telling him that he waited too long.

He spends half of the day sure of it, that he'd worried all his time away and missed his last opportunity to say more than just good morning to Nor.

But then the universe gives him another chance, just before the last lunch period of the day. He's on his way back to the teachers' lounge then to get coffee, and of course as soon as he's reaching for the door handle she'd be on her way out so that he steps back, to the side so she can pass first.

"Sorry," he mumbles, and his eyes are on the floor again, because for all his wishing that he could find a way to say something to her, he doesn't know what to do with himself when she's standing right there in front of him.

He almost lets this moment slip away then, just like all the others, because when she steps around him he moves like he means to head into the lounge anyway, but two seconds in and the regret is already gnawing at him so much that it makes him feel sick and he's turning back, like maybe he'd forgotten something.

"Good luck, by the way," he's blurting out when she's already walking away, and he cringes as she glances back at him, because as soon as he's said it he's remember that's exactly what the cake said, and probably something she's heard so many times from other people that she's already tired of hearing it. "I mean, I heard about your, um--"

But without really meaning to, he'd looked up at her, and that split second of eye contact rattles him so that he loses his train of thought, his face heating up with embarassment.

"I just-- It was nice working with you. Is what I wanted to say."
Nov 5 2016, 10:14 PM

Hannah Bronfman & Mýrkjartan Ylvasson

thread warnings
| / |

Myri should already know better, when he pulls into the yellow house that Rose has been staying at and doesn't see his truck already there in the driveway.

But he said to meet him there, and Myri assumes that maybe he's just a few minutes too early. Rose isn't the type to just duck out on plans without notice.

He sits in his car for awhile, just waiting.

But a few minutes turn into ten and move close to twenty when Myri starts to get antsy, starts to worry because he texts Rose back and doesn't get an answer right away. Maybe he's busy, maybe something came up, and that was totally fine.

Except then Myri isn't sure, if it's best to just go home or if he should keep waiting, and then there's a fear there, that he'll turn around and go back to his house just as Rose texts him that he's home and wondering where he's at. Their relationship is already fragile as it is, in Myri's mind anyway, since that night in the living room on his couch, and he doesn't want to make it any worse.

He panics, just a little bit, sitting there in the driveway, when he sees that someone's spotted him from the window then. One of Rose's roommates, he's sure, wondering who this strange car is, just sitting in their driveway for several minutes now, the engine turned off.

It's all these fears, and then some, that eventually pulls Myri out of the car, has him knocking on the front door. If he's going to wait, maybe it's better for everyone if he just waits inside. Or at least lets Rose's roommates know who he is, why he's there, so they don't call the cops.

And maybe they'll have some idea of where Rose is, why he isn't answering his phone, what Myri should be doing in this situation.

He knocks again, careful and hesitant, holding his breath.

He'll count to ten, and if no one answers, then he'll leave.
Oct 25 2016, 11:21 AM
Stanley Connor & Mýrkjartan Ylvasson

thread warnings
| / |

Myri knows that he shouldn't have Stan's number in his contacts anymore. He knows he shouldn't be scrolling through old messages, old photos without deleting them.

He knows he shouldn't be texting him now, asking if he's home, if it'd be okay if he stopped by.

But the box of Nor's things is still sitting on a table near the front door, itching at the back of his mind like he can never fully forget that it's there. He knows he can't take it to her, not after what happened at Blueberry Fest.

But he knows it can't stay at his house anymore either.

He dances around his reasons why with Stan, manages to make the drive over to his apartment without him ever realizing exactly why he's coming. He's sure Stan would say no, suddenly start ignoring his texts if he knew that Myri was only coming by because he needed a favor. And maybe that would've been fine, maybe Myri would've eventually settled on some other way to get rid of the box in that case,

but he misses Stan

and he spends the whole trip over to his apartment trying to convince himself that's not why he's doing this.

It's easier to believe it, with the box heavy in his arms and held close to his chest as he balances it long enough to knock on Stan's door. His palms are sweaty against the cardboard, and in his head he's running through exactly how this would go. He'd keep it short. Hi, how are you, because that was polite, and then he'd push the box towards Stan until he'd have no choice but to take it, and he'd explain that it was Nor's, that it was supposed to go back to her.

He'd say thank you, goodbye before Stan would have a chance to ask why Myri couldn't do it himself.

He wouldn't hang around to chat. He wouldn't step into Stan's apartment. He wouldn't smile or cry or drop the box on the ground so that he could push himself into Stan's arms instead.

But then the door opens, and Stan's there and all of that falls right out of Myri's brain.

"Um," but the words he had planned have all evaporated, and he looks surprised, like he couldn't even remember why he was there in the first place, like the gravity of the situation had only just now hit him. "I...

I'm sorry, I just--"

He shifts the box in his hands, readjusts it anxiously when it starts to slip, stares down at Nor's sweaters instead of meeting Stan's eyes.

"Can I come in?"
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