Realistic or Modern Old

[erzulie]

WHERE THE CARNATIONS GROW

© REVERIEE

NAME:
NICKNAME:
D.O.B:
AGE: 21+ (keep in mind these are newly graduated students of NYU)
GENDER:
ORIENTATION:

APPEARANCE:
FACECLAIM: (optional)

PERSONALITY: a paragraph or more
WHAT'S THEIR GREATEST FEAR? a brief explanation, if you have multiple dont be afraid to add those -- there can be more than one ofc.

HISTORY: can be as short or long as you’d like

Sheets are due a week from now! September 9th, 2022 at 12 am central standard time.

 

[demonology]

birdie gish-sato

wooly mammoth defrosted via the microwave

♡coded by uxie♡

b.g.s.

birdie

chirp chirp.

now, gorillas drag their victims. hyenas try to sue (in a car jam). snakes find grass in concrete. there is no city zoo (in a car jam).

• .
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  requisite.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  full name

  
  

  Nirvana “Birdie” Wilson Gish-Sato

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  nickname

  
  

  Birdie, the Bird

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  age

  
  

  twenty-three

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  d.o.b.

  
  

  October 3rd

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  pronouns

  
  

  she/her, though she doesn’t seem too pressed about labels

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  sexuality

  
  

  bisexual with a strong femme lean; used to identify as a lesbian until she actually dated a man

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  degree

  
  

  B.A. in an individualized Art study her overseeing professor called ‘Serialized Art’, though Birdie simply says she has a degree in Graphic Art.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  occupation

  
  

  McDonald’s Employee

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  visage.

  
  
  
  

  scroll

  
  
  
  

  
  

  height

  
  

  5’5’’

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  hair colour

  
  

  naturally raven-haired, though she’s noted for her signature ‘asshole red’

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  eye colour

  
  

  deep brown, almost black

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  build

  
  

  midsize with broad shoulders

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  body modifications

  
  

  piercings: a former brow piercing, a nose ring, a string of cartilage piercings, triple lobe piercings with the first one stretched to about a 14g, weighed down by simple, small surgical steel hoops.
  tattoos: a tattoo on the back of her left thigh, tattoo of a cat on her left inner arm, tattoos apart of a sleeve on her left arm [x, x, x, x, x, x, x], a small heart with MOM in the middle on her ankle, a pin-up of a siren wearing a “I HEART NY” shirt on her right bicep, a sleeve on her right [x, x, x, x, x, x, x], a tattoo on her stomach (left side), a tattoo on her mid back, a tattoo on her right thigh, a tattoo on the front of her left thigh, a sternum piece, a tattoo at the back of her left ear, a tattoo on the back of her neck, a tattoo on her stomach (right side), a tattoo on the side of her right shoulder, a tattoo on the side of her knee

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  style

  
  

  A typical Birdie ensemble includes a t-shirt she has likely mangled or DIYed, a pair of men’s cargo shorts, perhaps a flannel or her signature jacket, and Docs. More here

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  aesthetic

  
  

  here

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  details

  
  

  A cumbersome fire truck speeding down your street to help put out the blaze (or maybe cause it). Spiking her hair into tufts of liberty or making a mess of barrettes and hairclips, the color of her hair appears to be the only constant about her appearance. Covered in an array of tattoos, carefully placed in areas that can be covered by a long sleeve shirt as per her father's orders, she projects an air of punk, unwilling to simply identify one out of fear of being called a poser. Deep brown eyes set into her head like a doll's, poking out in a comedically crazed expression. Her form breathes of life, but quickly folds with grief and thoughts of the past. As life-like of a mannequin as one will ever get.

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
• 
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  persona.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  drifting

  
  
  
  
  

  insightful

  
  
  
  
  

  stubborn

  
  
  
  
  

  laid back

  
  
  
  
  

  quick to say yes to anything

  
  
  
  
  

  introspective… only by force

  
  
  
  
  

  false indifference

  
  
  
  
  

  silence often mistaken for judgement

  
  
  
  
  

  sarcastic

  
  
  
  
  

  suffocated

  
  
  
  
  

  mature at times

  
  
  
  
  

  reciprocative

  
  
  
  
  

  particular

  
  
  
  
  

  pushy

  
  
  
  
  

  ’chill’

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  Raised with her parents’ inhibitions left Birdie with the mark of hippiedom: she’s easily movable, constantly changing her favor. She’s never been one to be held-down by conventional attachments, including material belongings or casual friends. However, her personal views can be said to be the exact opposite. Verbose, verbal maniac, coming up for air only when necessary (or when she finds the silent stares too much to handle). Wavering to the other side of the spectrum, she’s known to sit in silence, constantly battling for the upper-hand in situations where she feels that’s required. Still, she knows the time and places for such dominance battles, and she’s willing to “go for just about anything."
  
  A weed, letting herself run free when the stars align at the planet's rotation. An eclipse, leaving you with a marvel to watch unfold but a mysterious beauty, haunting. At one time, she used to be a ghost, leeching off the energy of others. Even now, it's apparent when she grimaces instead of smiles. When her sparkle is fed from a series of mishappen lighters behind her eyes attempting to catch fire, instead of a natural ember. Her hunger is quelched, yet she feasts, pushing the time spent together past its limit, forcing everyone to actually talk. While she may be a twist of shadows swirling in a blender, she is the milkshake to the meal. A dessert, as much as she tries to be.
  
  Her midnight drives offer constant solace, and don't worry, she enjoys sitting in simple silence. Bent over her workdesk, sketching in the backseat of her car, or bopping her head in a shitty diner while she paints, Birdie keeps herself occupied when insomnia cracks a bat at her skull. She appears never grumpy, though the circles darkening her eyes reveal otherwise. On occasion, her tone turns a sharp corner, reminding her of her obsession with the street sign Jac's car bent around, but she's quick to mend. A wavering mood, but she attempts to quiet the thunder roaring in her noggin. At the very least, she offers a haven to all those who pass, aware of how unruly she can be yet ensuring your safety.
  
  Ever-present and ever-caring, one would think that Birdie would've given up on eternal attachments, yet she remains as knitted to her choice few as possible. The distance comes not from herself outward, but herself inward. Very few know much of anything about Jac, about the ruin of Birdie's thoughts, though they see how reverently she treats the small urn on her bookshelf. Almost as kind as she treats her friends.
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  hobbies

  
  

  
  

  drowning out with her Walkman, smoking, reading a book that would be a red flag if a man was reading it, doodling her ‘lil guys’, making ‘big thinks’, prophesying the end of times, making fanzines, doing all of the above in the backseat of her Toyota FJ60

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  likes

  
  

  
  

  prank calling people, the stomach-drop when she presses on the gas too quickly, solitude (kinda), commercial jingles, moshing, an American Spirit or a bong hit, three a.m (AKA the witching hour), doing tarot readings, exploration, bothering her roommate, driving upstate to 'fuck around' in the woods, post-show rush

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  dislikes

  
  

  
  

  inadequacy (her own and others), lacking muse, milk chocolate, rainy days when she's trying to swim, when her parents act like her friends, crowds (ironically.), numbskulls, beards (though, perhaps, men would be more accurate), side-eye glances that are not her own, ruined atmospheres, perspiring heat, potted plants dying, being laughed at when she’s being serious

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  skills

  
  

  
  

  drawing, street smarts (sorta), hair-dying and -cutting, hiking, ranting

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  quirks

  
  

  
  

  putting an ungodly amount of hairclips in her hair only to take them out at the slightest inconvenience, pulling at loose threads until they’re gone (even if it rips the clothing in the process), always fiddling with a silver dollar coin, jangling her friendship bracelets, mimicking sounds she enjoys, peeling off nail polish

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  fears

  
  

  
  

  the cops (though, primarily because she drives like Jesse Owens runs except far less graceful), what comes after death, becoming an old fart who cares only about the stock market and the line in his khakis, never having enough iced tea, never amounting to much of anything (except, it is hard to do something when one doesn’t have a goal in mind)

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  favorite places

  
  

  
  

  In her car, a Toyota FJ60, the woods, at some sort of show, pestering the psychics that work below her apartment for readings, or being a public nuisance.

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  headcanons

  
  

  
  

  - currently working on a dark fantasy shonen series and mulling about a shojo series that turns super dark
  -

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
• 
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  history.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  Press Play

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  In Birdie’s words, her parents are far more interesting, so let’s begin there. Born in the woods of Washington, Nirvana took her first breaths with a rain droplet splatting into her eye. Her mom always notes this detail with reverence, as though the experience was any more spiritual than a normal birth. Alas, Poppy Sato holds onto her youth with a clamp she tightens once per year, as her 50th birthday passes for the third time in a row. Winston, on the other hand, does not agree with his wife’s fantasy world, but then again, he has been slighted by time and the stinging notion that his daughter no longer wishes to speak to him or stay for Christmas long enough to sing non-denominational holiday music together.
  
  In Birdie’s words, that is their fault.
  
  Jacqueline’s remains still sit in a small, ornate box on her bookshelf. It was the place Mariene, her favorite of the downstairs psychics, says has the most of her energy. Her records are stained with her fingerprints, wearing away at the vinyl. None of them have Birdie’s, as she’s refused to touch them beyond a momentary grip. They hum their tunes, forgetting ever so surely the feeling of the wonky record player spinning off-kilter. Birdie spins, hearing their ghostly muse speak for Jac.
  
  When she came home for Thanksgiving, a holiday the Sato-Gish family refuse to acknowledge, they asked, in unison, “Who?”
  
  It was harmless, they say. A slip of the mind, Freudian, Winston insisted, knowing damn well he was a folk musician, not a psychiatrist. He pulled at his lip ring, the one Birdie attended the piercing of. His shirt was black, menacing, but he turned into a softened bear, a gnawing pile of butter, when Birdie whispered, “My girlfriend.”
  
  “The one that died.”
  
  Poppy stood up to find the takeout menu in their junk drawer.
  
  Winston apologized. Birdie told him not to worry about it.
  
  “It has been what? Four years?”
  
  Three, actually, but Birdie isn’t splitting hairs.
  
  Well, now it’s been seven, and Birdie is more than willing to admit she's a grudge-holding bitch. Even for her father.
  
  Of course, it wasn’t just forgetting Jac’s name. It was the years she sat comatose, getting poked at and prodded off to school. They ignored the blood drip, drip, dripping from under her fingernails. If no one hears a Birdie chirp, did it really happen? Her parents sure think so.
  
  The New Year brought upon the harsh reality that no, Poppy and Winston didn’t have the money for another year at the dorms. If she had bothered coming home for Spring Break, she would have known that.
  
  Dragging Lucas into the scheme, New York offered the pair an apartment. Granted, a very small one bedroom in the West Village constantly populated by the smoke of incense and the pepper of questionably told futures. Forcing Luc into the living room, separating the couch and his bed by only a paper folding divider, Birdie flops onto that same sofa, and calls to her best friend to come sit next to her. The phone rings, jittering off the hook, and in a few months, Birdie decides to cut the bill and save to buy Luc a guitar for Christmas.
  
  Her parents wonder where she’s been, what she’s doing, but only Poppy has found the words to apologize, a vague shape of one in the form of a letter. Birdie has yet to read past the first line. Particularly because it goes, “Birdie, I don’t get angry at you often, but…”
  
  Yes, Birdie concedes, but I don’t get angry at you often either…
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  Flip Tape.

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  Rewinding the tape, let’s admit that there’s quite a bit more to Birdie than she’d like to divulge. Yes, quite a bit more.
  
  A spike-hair, red-brazen young woman obsessed with the capture of life in her vision. The world understood through her lens, done with just paper and pencil. How did we get here?
  
  Letting the days go by, adolescence passed abhorrently. A maelstrom of terror and grief, beginning oh-so-pleasantly. Jacqueline. The eye of her. Someone who felt more Birdie than Birdie actually was. A smile. A wink. The air smelled of patchouli and sandalwood, quickly souring when they aged fifteen.
  
  She broke her heart a week before she died. Birdie prefers to tell it that way.
  
  
  When she got accepted into NYU, it was bittersweet. She would be going, and so would Jacqueline. Just not the way either imagined at the dawn of sophomore year.
  
  Don’t drink and drive kids, a sentiment Birdie repeats across the scene, surprisingly keen on it. Her legitimacy is built on the fact that, yes, she lost someone. Yes, she lost someone who was going to band-aid her heart right before her mom pulled into on-coming traffic.
  
  Of course, Birdie didn’t know this until Thanksgiving, that holiday that unfolded it all.
  
  Winston had tried to come into her room, apologize. Give her a grace his father never held.
  
  “We all know how much she meant to you. It must kill you that she called right before.”
  
  “She called?”
  
  His eyes widened. Much like their youthful romance, this was a fact that he didn’t know either until after the fact. Poppy had been the one to answer the phone. When she discovered how her daughter reacted to the death of her girlfriend, a girlfriend neither parent knew about or knew how to approve of besides in a vague homophobic-yet-not manner, she left that detail out. The keeling over, the screaming sobs, were more than enough to convince her of the complexity. The need to refine a tangled web.
  
  Birdie left that night, tears leaving their mark on the concrete, as Poppy and Winston tried to compel her back into the house. A scared horse kicking ever backwards.
  
  Was she really sliding backwards?
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  Just Throw The Whole Thing Away

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  Fast forward the cassette. Drowning herself in her friends, a failed band, three different attempted serieses, and a directed study under her favorite professor, and now Birdie’s graduated. One phone call if her parents, total, but they were there for her to walk the stage. She awkwardly gave them a hug, and her dad cried at her grown-up appearance.
  
  “You got rid of the barbell,” he noted.
  
  “But I’ve got like fifteen tattoos you can’t see under this gown,” she countered, tugging at the polyester.
  
  Poppy stood, tears welling, but she kept her comments polite. She complimented Birdie’s hair, fluffed up into rebellious spikes. “Nice way to subvert the dresscode,” she said solemnly.
  
  “I learned from the best.”
  
  They took her out to dinner, begged her to come home for the summer.
  
  “We want to fix things,” Winston explained.
  
  Poppy nodded.
  
  Birdie shook her head. For once, she hadn’t forced Lucas to come with her, but if he had, he would have hung his head and squeezed her hand.
  
  “I’ve got plans with my friends this summer.” Filling the space, she continued, “I’ve got some ideas for a series I want to work out. My professor, Kaito, thinks it has potential.”
  
  They didn’t ask her about what it was about (a story following a fairy into the human world, finally free from Hell), but they didn’t guilt her for not bending to their will. Instead, Poppy spoke up for the first time.
  
  “We’ll give you our new number so you can call and tell us when you’re available to come.”
  
  “Even if it’s just for a few days,” Winston added, quickly.
  
  They dropped her off at her apartment, appreciative of the business she occupied the air above, and gave both her and Lucas $30 as graduation gifts and left.
  
  Pause the tape. Eject. Time for something new, including the sickly sweet perfume of carnations and the sullen, sleepiness of a small town. Summer, a promise of rejuvenation and hopefully, if she works hard enough, Birdie’s first hit?
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  selling is what selling sells

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  but only saints on the seven avenues

  
  
  
  
  

  can sell the seven hells

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
• 
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  connections.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  Lucas Chambers

  
  
  
  

  'dumby'

  
  
  
  

  [likely that i'll get rid of him ! ignore ! ] Gum on her shoe, though it would be fair to say she put it there. The stars aligned to allow Lucas Chambers and Birdie Sato to meet. Both art majors, bound through the same pain of an overbearing professor who demanded lifeless still life. He entered her life freshman year, and since then she’s enveloped him as a warm blanket. A chilly shield heated by the sunrays, keeping you warm long after the campfire ebbs out. She forced him into some sense of adulthood, forcing him to become roommates after only a year of knowing each other. A domesticity found within Luc that she fears in anyone else. In some ways, he reminds her of Jac, but only in the sense that they both offered peace. A quiet Tupperware for her heart. Someone worth protecting, someone reliable, and someone she’d add to her dream blunt rotation. In fact, he’s already on it. Love openly pours outward for him, even if he has a hard time showing it so blatantly back. Doesn’t matter. She already knows everything… right?

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  headcanons

  
  
  
  

  marred + quartered

  
  
  
  

  - has thought long and hard about her relationship with Jacqueline; thinks far too often about how obsessed she was with her to the point of toxicity. Worser, she understands and respects Jac for breaking up with her. Finding out she was on her way over, potentially to patch things up in some way, breaks her heart and weighs on her more than she cares to admit
  - probably as some sort of altar for Jac's remains
  - loves her job at McDonald's
  - got into manga from a fairly young age because her mother's extended family would send her copies of Astro Boy once every two or three months, followed by even more series. it got to the point where she started 'paying' her family with her allowance for more manga, including Chidaruma Kenpou, Sakura Namiki, Lone Wolf and Cub, The Poem of Wind and Trees, etc. Her mom eventually just cut out the middle man and stopped asking her to pay, and it just became her allowance
  -

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  name here

  
  
  
  

  role/status

  
  
  
  

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Sed elementum nunc nec risus porta iaculis quis sit amet ante. Quisque eget est mauris. Curabitur posuere nibh nibh, ac maximus dolor vestibulum sed. Nullam ut nulla tincidunt, tincidunt mi ac, ullamcorper mi. In ultricies euismod fermentum. Nulla convallis nec sem sit amet porta. Morbi convallis ornare arcu quis commodo. Sed in luctus libero. Sed pretium malesuada nisl at laoreet.

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  name here

  
  
  
  

  role/status

  
  
  
  

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Sed elementum nunc nec risus porta iaculis quis sit amet ante. Quisque eget est mauris. Curabitur posuere nibh nibh, ac maximus dolor vestibulum sed. Nullam ut nulla tincidunt, tincidunt mi ac, ullamcorper mi. In ultricies euismod fermentum. Nulla convallis nec sem sit amet porta. Morbi convallis ornare arcu quis commodo. Sed in luctus libero. Sed pretium malesuada nisl at laoreet.

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  name here

  
  
  
  

  role/status

  
  
  
  

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Sed elementum nunc nec risus porta iaculis quis sit amet ante. Quisque eget est mauris. Curabitur posuere nibh nibh, ac maximus dolor vestibulum sed. Nullam ut nulla tincidunt, tincidunt mi ac, ullamcorper mi. In ultricies euismod fermentum. Nulla convallis nec sem sit amet porta. Morbi convallis ornare arcu quis commodo. Sed in luctus libero. Sed pretium malesuada nisl at laoreet.

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  name here

  
  
  
  

  role/status

  
  
  
  

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Sed elementum nunc nec risus porta iaculis quis sit amet ante. Quisque eget est mauris. Curabitur posuere nibh nibh, ac maximus dolor vestibulum sed. Nullam ut nulla tincidunt, tincidunt mi ac, ullamcorper mi. In ultricies euismod fermentum. Nulla convallis nec sem sit amet porta. Morbi convallis ornare arcu quis commodo. Sed in luctus libero. Sed pretium malesuada nisl at laoreet.

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  extra.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  question

  
  

  answer

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  from the rain

  
  

  heize (ft. ahn ye-eun)

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[ravensunset]

z.c.

서예슬

in too
deep.

I write best when I am either falling in love or falling apart.
- Rudy Francisco

• .
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  requisite.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  full name

  
  

  Zoey Calvert

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  nicknames

  
  

  Zo, Calvin

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  age

  
  

  twenty-two (December 5th)

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  gender & pronouns

  
  

  female, she/her

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  sexuality

  
  

  bisexual, closeted

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  degree

  
  

  engineering

  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  visage.

  
  
  
  

  scroll

  
  
  
  

  
  

  hair

  
  

  Having inherited her mother’s distinctive red shade and father’s coils, Zoey’s thick hair is typically left to float down below her shoulders, her face sometimes seeming to hide behind its cloud-like volume. Zoey has a few times throughout her life experimented with various styles, but she prefers it being left natural.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  eyes

  
  

  Large and round, Zoey’s eyes are a dark brown. Their natural shape seems to enhance all her expressions, giving a confused or anxious look that is typically not untrue to her feelings.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  skin

  
  

  Zoey’s skin is a light brown, and dotted with a dense arrangement of freckles, most concentrated across her nose and cheeks. She has a couple acne scars and markings on her skin, largely from scratching or picking at cuts.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  body/build

  
  

  Standing at 5’3, Zoey’s stature often makes her seem even shorter than she is, between a quiet energy, often slouched shoulders, and a thin frame. She has no visible muscles, with the exception of defined legs from running, overall a rather small girl.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  distinguishing features

  
  

  Zoey’s most distinguishing feature is her hair, due both to its volume and uncommon coloring, and the amount of freckles on her. Someone uncomfortable with much attention, she doesn’t have much she’d made noticeable about herself, but she has a belly button piercing she usually keeps covered. Beyond that, Zoey’s full smile is rare, but it’s width and brightness makes it memorable.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  wardrobe

  
  

  Zoey finds herself almost always cold, and so almost always with a layer more than necessary on her. She often chooses to dress in dull colors, grey toned blues and greens and blacks. Her outfits often consist of a tank top under a shirt under a jacket or sweater. She has a tendency towards wearing runners as much as she can. Zoey doesn’t wear jewelry and tends not to accessorize without function to it.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  faceclaim

  
  

  Erin Kellyman.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
• 
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  persona.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  anxious

  
  
  
  
  

  kind

  
  
  
  
  

  clever

  
  
  
  
  

  quiet

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  Zoey always wanted to be a hero.
  
  This was a natural trait of a child, especially a reader, especially one latched onto it as early as Zoey did. The earliest stories she remembers are fairy tales, magic and wonder and full of the promise of being special. She didn’t have to be a hero. A knight, or a princess, or dragon, or witch would do. Just something, really, so long as she was remembered. So long as she caught a taste of adventure.
  
  It was a slow realization the real world didn’t work the way stories did. And sometimes it felt like that held doubly true for her. Zoey was always quiet, a trait that for much of her youth was dismissed as just shyness, never quite given examination into why being asked to speak first caused her to freeze up the way she did, why the world seemed difficult to her the way it did.
  
  Zoey still finds approaching others difficult, and is firmly an introvert, but knows she enjoys having others to spend company with, and a touch of awkwardness now poses more of a challenge than her shyness does. Having found friends and connections in both high school and university, she’s not willing to go back to being a loner, with whatever effort it takes. With that said, social skills have never been a strong suit of hers, often tripping over her own words or rethinking a sentence halfway through it. Despite her kindness and genuineness, there have only been a handful of people throughout Zoey’s life she’s been comfortable enough around to consider friends.
  
  Consuming knowledge seems to have always been second nature to Zoey. From stories and reading as a child to enjoying spending time at school, being taught anything new. Zoey’s lost count how many times she’s been asked what kind of kid likes to do math. Always giving a hundred and ten percent effort to homework assignments and having the most elaborate calendar planner in her class, Zoey was always a good student. That quality truly started to shine when Zoey left to attend college, suddenly thrust into classes that seemed designed for her, where everyone chose what they were taught and it suddenly became the norm to love the subject. Learning felt natural to Zoey, perhaps easy, and was a safety net she fell into with little question when it became time to choose her life path past high school.
  
  More than just being good at memorizing facts, Zoey started writing when she was a young teenager, the exact age having long slipped from her mind. She’s spent countless hours on the hobby, from just creating characters to short stories to the occasional attempt at longer projects. Despite the freedom Zoey finds in it, her writing is one of her largest secrets, with only one other person having ever seen it directly.
  
  Zoey’s preparation and need to stay on top of everything in her life stems from more than just academic ambition. Of everyone she knows, Zoey likely worries the most, about just about anything she has the chance to. Any situation she’s in constantly has the potential to go horribly wrong, and Zoey is constantly thinking about it. She’s often teased for being jumpy, reacting to most unexpected noises, and was once told she’d be terrible to watch horror movies with. She didn’t mind, not particularly liking them in the first place, but Zoey being vividly aware of being anxious did just about nothing to change the fact.
  
  One of the few things that gave her a moment of relief, a moment of her mind not being stuck in thought was running. It was something she did mostly recreationally, her method of keeping active, although she competed on the track team for two years in middle school. The movement, the feeling of wind against her face, the heat and sensation in her muscles gave her– would it be paradoxical to say the tiredness was the best respite Zoey’s ever had? It was the only physical activity Zoey’s ever taken to, being almost comically unable to lift anything heavy and too worried about disappointing teammates to lose herself in team sports in the same way, but it was one of the few things Zoey took pride in doing.
  
  Zoey, nerdy and awkward, stumbling over words and hiding behind anyone braver than her, with more nerves than spine, wasn’t much of a hero.
  
  Then again, she’s never quite yet been given the opportunity.
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  positive traits

  
  

  
  

  Much of Zoey’s virtue lies in her intelligence, being a sharp thinker and someone filled with curiosity. Her academics have always been high on her list of priorities, leaving her one of the strongest in her class on top of being reasonably knowledgeable in several areas. Zoey’s also a fundamentally kind person, genuinely wanting to help the world around her and rarely one to refuse to give her aid, and often quick to forgive.

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  negative traits

  
  

  
  

  Zoey’s quiet personality often leaves her a bit of a pushover, struggling to say no to others or speak her mind even when she knows what she wants to say. On top of that, Zoey’s anxiety leaves her an overthinker, worrying about any situation beyond a reasonable amount, and often projecting that onto those around her. She struggles to have much confidence in herself.

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  strengths

  
  

  
  

  quick learner, great at math and with decent science knowledge, fast runner

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  weaknesses

  
  

  
  

  overly anxious, easily scared or spooked, tends to believe others are being honest with her, can be slow to take action, physically rather weak

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  fears

  
  

  
  

  Zoey's largest fear is losing her friends and the sense of community she's found. She knows she's not good at being alone, and is terrified that's how she'll end up, unable to maintain any of her connections and left by herself. She's also very scared of failure, as she doesn't have much of a backup plan for her life, and doesn't know what she'd do if things were to not go according to her plan. Zoey has tied a lot of her own self worth to her successes.
  
  Zoey's very easy to spook, however, and has no shortage of smaller fears, including public speech, being forgotten or unaccomplished, bugs, but less so the actual bugs and more the possibility of their presence, and driving, and is very susceptible to jump scares and horror movies.

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
• 
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  history.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  history

  
  

  
  
  
  

  Zoey’s father met her mother on a business trip to England. Whenever Zoey was told about it, it sounded just like something out of a love story. A chance meeting turning out to be some sort of true love, her mother leaving her home country to be with her father without a second doubt. Zoey didn’t think she’d be capable of making such a life changing decision like that, but her parents did. They got married within six months, and several years and two moves later, ended up in Canada, where Zoey was born.
  
  Zoey’s childhood was nothing exceptional. She was a bit of an outcast most of her elementary and middle school years, always a little different from her peers, one of the ones who stood out on yearbook pictures. She was quiet right from the start of her life, mostly left to herself, but between two years on her school track team and a couple science fairs not entirely unknown.
  
  It wasn’t until high school that Zoey got a sense of belonging, meeting her two then best friends, Blaise and Amy, settling into a group with them, experimenting with her style and appearance, and starting to feel like her grades might be worth something. It was in high school, too, that she realized she was different in more ways than just one, with the way Amy made her feel. She knew it was reciprocated, too, but Zoey was never able to act on the attraction, come forward with it, leaving their relationship largely undefined. At the time, all Zoey could focus on was keeping what she had found, not adding to it. The three years, however, slipped through her fingers like sand, until she was left faced with college offers and decisions that felt like the weight of many mountains over.
  
  Leaving home was the most terrifying decision she’d ever made and most challenging action she’d taken. Choosing a major was easy; she liked math, she was good at math, engineering was just something she had the ability for. Living away from home the first few months, on the other hand, was not easy. It wasn’t entirely back to being alone; university dorms helped, a lot, and Zoey settled into a state of kind of being, repeating the same actions, class and homework and sleep, a stability she couldn’t quite call content but maybe was as successful as she could ask for. She visited home every summer, but, it was never really the same back there, and her connection to her hometown friends grew more and more distant. With the four years of her degree, she found new friends, comfort in being where she was, and despite typically not being the largest fan of travel, was looking forward to the trip they had planned. She’d made it to graduation, after all, and wasn’t that something to celebrate?
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  a year can do a lot to a person.

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  You're overthinking this

  
  
  
  
  

  Probably

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
• 
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  connections.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  name here

  
  
  
  

  role/status

  
  
  
  

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Sed elementum nunc nec risus porta iaculis quis sit amet ante. Quisque eget est mauris. Curabitur posuere nibh nibh, ac maximus dolor vestibulum sed. Nullam ut nulla tincidunt, tincidunt mi ac, ullamcorper mi. In ultricies euismod fermentum. Nulla convallis nec sem sit amet porta. Morbi convallis ornare arcu quis commodo. Sed in luctus libero. Sed pretium malesuada nisl at laoreet.

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  name here

  
  
  
  

  role/status

  
  
  
  

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Sed elementum nunc nec risus porta iaculis quis sit amet ante. Quisque eget est mauris. Curabitur posuere nibh nibh, ac maximus dolor vestibulum sed. Nullam ut nulla tincidunt, tincidunt mi ac, ullamcorper mi. In ultricies euismod fermentum. Nulla convallis nec sem sit amet porta. Morbi convallis ornare arcu quis commodo. Sed in luctus libero. Sed pretium malesuada nisl at laoreet.

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  name here

  
  
  
  

  role/status

  
  
  
  

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Sed elementum nunc nec risus porta iaculis quis sit amet ante. Quisque eget est mauris. Curabitur posuere nibh nibh, ac maximus dolor vestibulum sed. Nullam ut nulla tincidunt, tincidunt mi ac, ullamcorper mi. In ultricies euismod fermentum. Nulla convallis nec sem sit amet porta. Morbi convallis ornare arcu quis commodo. Sed in luctus libero. Sed pretium malesuada nisl at laoreet.

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  name here

  
  
  
  

  role/status

  
  
  
  

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Sed elementum nunc nec risus porta iaculis quis sit amet ante. Quisque eget est mauris. Curabitur posuere nibh nibh, ac maximus dolor vestibulum sed. Nullam ut nulla tincidunt, tincidunt mi ac, ullamcorper mi. In ultricies euismod fermentum. Nulla convallis nec sem sit amet porta. Morbi convallis ornare arcu quis commodo. Sed in luctus libero. Sed pretium malesuada nisl at laoreet.

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  name here

  
  
  
  

  role/status

  
  
  
  

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Sed elementum nunc nec risus porta iaculis quis sit amet ante. Quisque eget est mauris. Curabitur posuere nibh nibh, ac maximus dolor vestibulum sed. Nullam ut nulla tincidunt, tincidunt mi ac, ullamcorper mi. In ultricies euismod fermentum. Nulla convallis nec sem sit amet porta. Morbi convallis ornare arcu quis commodo. Sed in luctus libero. Sed pretium malesuada nisl at laoreet.

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  name here

  
  
  
  

  role/status

  
  
  
  

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Sed elementum nunc nec risus porta iaculis quis sit amet ante. Quisque eget est mauris. Curabitur posuere nibh nibh, ac maximus dolor vestibulum sed. Nullam ut nulla tincidunt, tincidunt mi ac, ullamcorper mi. In ultricies euismod fermentum. Nulla convallis nec sem sit amet porta. Morbi convallis ornare arcu quis commodo. Sed in luctus libero. Sed pretium malesuada nisl at laoreet.

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  extra.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  question

  
  

  answer

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  from the rain

  
  

  heize (ft. ahn ye-eun)

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[aeneas.]

chester finch

everyone's favorite hater and resident shitposter

♡coded by uxie♡

c.f.

서예슬

eat your heart out.

Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair! Nothing beside remains.

• .
• .
• .
• .

• 
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  requisite.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  full name

  
  

  chester finch

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  age

  
  

  twenty-three (august 1st)

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  gender

  
  

  male, he/him

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  sexuality

  
  

  bisexual, male leaning

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  occupation

  
  

  part-time editor for a sleazy playwright, full-time broke boy with expensive taste

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  degree

  
  

  accountancy (he hates it as much as you do)

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  visage.

  
  
  
  

  scroll

  
  
  
  

  
  

  height

  
  

  6'2"

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  hair colour

  
  

  sandy blonde hair that he often keeps rather short, long enough to frame his face. there was a time where he rocked a shaggy look because he wanted to feel like bowie. yes, it was dumb child shit. no, he doesn't want to talk about it.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  eye colour

  
  

  he insists his eyes are grey but with the time he spends in the shaded areas rather than the sunlight, everyone says they're black. they also probably tell him that to see him angry.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  build

  
  

  skin and bones underneath his voluminous layers of clothing. a lot of leg and just not enough muscle.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  distinguishing features

  
  

  despite the endless debate on his eye color, the windows to his snarky little soul are his most distinctive feature. less for their grey-black tone and more for the constant *look* in them; the way they hold critical observation, boredom, and amusement all in one go. there's a contradiction of intensity and somberness that fester within the pits of his pupils. other than that, well. he also has his long ass fingers. but people seem to appreciate those.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  wardrobe

  
  

  mix the pristinely expensive clothing found in uptown and ratty charity shop garments in earth-tones and you got yourself chester's closet. he enjoys the lavishness he once had but settles for the unique finds he could mangle now. more can be found here.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  fc

  
  

  charles de vilmorin

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
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  persona.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  witty & cynical

  
  
  
  
  

  extremely judgey (will he say it? 5 out of 10 times)

  
  
  
  
  

  lives for shits and giggles

  
  
  
  
  

  can get a little moody

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  every friend group needs a sour, (ex)trust-fund kid who loves to hate and hates to love, and chester is here to fill that void.
  
  it's almost like chester finch was born to make desert-dry commentary on the world around him. with the posture of nobility and a potty-mouth of peasantry, he possesses the sharp tongue any new yorker would want on their side. despite having the entire english language to reference, he finds cusses and crudeness as the best means of verbally expressing his thoughts. if he isn't muttering a string of words your mother wouldn't want to be hearing when he's in one of his "hissy fits", then that is an evil clone of chester. or a good clone depending on the way you see it.
  
  sure, chester is a bit of a know-it-all. but if you had to go through years of private education with the additional extra-curricular down your throat, you'd want everyone else to suffer along with you. the apple doesn't fall far from the tree and as much as chester hates to admit it, the urge to correct his friends when reading their thesis is genetic. however, his comparison to his mother and father doesn't make him any sort of parental friend figure—no. far from it. anyone who knows chester would know that his upbringing has molded him into a hedonist; the enticement of a good time outweighs his rationality more often than not. the number of times chester's peers had to chuck away his cigarette stash just to ensure he wouldn't smoke while being ill was beyond existing numbers. his ambitions and goals for greatness are probably what has been keeping him alive for this long.
  
  if drama reared its ugly head, you know for a fact that chester was a variable in the problem. may he be the defense, prosecution, or simply the gossip—chester was the guy who knew everything and anything. in an 80s classic highschool film, he would probably see himself as the head bitch with the big hair and the sparkly lipgloss but in reality, he was the annoying side character used for comedic relief. in a family show, he would be the middle-aged wine aunt; the one who'd pretend not to want to help the rest of the family out but secretly does care. and in a play, he's the playwright. duh.
  
  in summary, he's a bit rough around the edges but he means well. underneath snarky retorts, backhanded compliments, and over-exaggerated reluctance to affection, chester has a "fuck with my friends, i'll fuck with you." attitude. being as prideful as he is, it's not a surprise that he holds a form of possessiveness toward those he associates with. in the dog-eat-dog world he comes from, allies can be the difference between getting helped home after a night out or dead in a ditch. even as he spits acid and pushes away friendly hugs, know that he's really a dog of bark than one of bite. expressing love and care is difficult for him and middle-school teasing is his outlet. deep down in his ratty heart, there's a good friend; a vulnerable man.
  
  but hell will freeze over before he shows it.
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  fear

  
  

  
  

  becoming his parents. that after his attempts to cut ties, change his life, and follow his passions, he'd end up where he started. that the path he's taking is just a phase and the passions he had would fizzle as fast as they lit. that he'll soon be middle-aged and dependant on the taste of wine to feel something that isn't bitterness. he fears proving his family right and that the predestined path he was given was the true path he'd end up taking in the end.
  
  he also doesn't fuck with insects. especially the ones that can fly.

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  special trick

  
  

  
  

  despite his distaste for his course, he's actually very good at mental math. call him a human calculator.

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  likes

  
  

  
  

  night outs, theatre, "bullying" his peers, morning coffee ("the good shit, not that instant garbage"), smoking while looking out the window—plus points if it is raining.

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  dislikes

  
  

  
  

  judgment among his peers (he can dish it out, but can't take it), orange juice with the pulp, the cold & snow, the sound of his voice on recordings, santa claus.

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  habits

  
  

  
  

  he covers his face like a head smack to hide whenever he's laughing, a chronic eye-roller, taps his fingers against surfaces when he's in one place, also a foot tapper, the most variety of expressions you'll see from him is when he's reading, sticking out his tongue whenever he's being "attacked".

  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
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  history.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  crying of cicadas

  
  

  
  
  
  

  the finch name was rooted in wealth. everyone knew that. generational wealth had built the cushy, lavish, penthouse on 5th avenue that chester called home. high ceilings, large windows, and beige walls; much like the penthouse, mr. and mrs. finch were boring. untouchable socialites among the new york scene yet lacked an ounce of "social" to them. though none could really blame them as being the proprietors of a chain of national banks didn't ensure personality as it did money.
  
  clarise finch's only personality trait was her bountiful shoe collection as a shopaholic "housewife". despite her being anywhere but home. while darius finch saw the world like a dog: monochromatic. if he ever made a decision that wasn't for the sake of business and profit, he had probably been drinking too much. the two married because it was the most logical decision; there was no boogie dancing in at a club or meet-cute at university. darius' father pointed her out on the headline of a tabloid celebrating a pointless achievement for her rich family, and darius was unphased at the prospect of calling her his wife. their respondents took the rails by then and before he knew it, he was getting a fitting for a suit.
  
  there was a time darius and clarise had loved each other, in their own peculiar way, they still did. however, profession and ambition had always been the utmost priority for the two. the idea to have a child was less for the appeal of growing a family, rather gain insurance for the future. darius had proposed the prospects of a child the day he saw a single gray hair in the mass of blonde hair his wife had.
  
  thus chester was born. the only child as his parents found it pointless to bare another if they already had a son on the first try.
  
  despite being the sole heir to a highly successful family business, the treasures the boy got from it were purely materialist. chester's childhood wasn't graced with hugs from mother or playing catch with father. don't ask him how it felt to have vacations with his family out of the country because all trips he made were with staff. maybe just not ask him about his childhood at all. because it was nannies as pseudo-parents, dinner alone on a long table, and boarding school by the 1st grade. it was a pathetic case of a little boy with all the toys in the world and no friend nor parent to show share them with. it was shit.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  buzzing of flies

  
  

  
  
  
  

  chester wouldn't recommend boarding school to even the kids of his worst enemies. the uniform itched and the food at the mess hall was often cold. people would think that a boarding school for nepotism babies would actually be fine but it wasn't. every waking moment he wanted the world to eat him whole and every moment asleep, he wanted to stay that way. chester was a teenager with a lot of parental issues—mommy, daddy, you name it. and mixing that with a secluded boarding school in the middle of europe resulted in the moody shitposter you see now. the only pros chester could remember were the freedom, the introduction to chainsmoking, and the theatre.
  
  getting a gig as a playwright for his school's drama department started off as a joke. with his dipshit dormmates sending in some of his writing as a make-shift audition. however, the line between a joke and genuine passion quickly faded when he reluctantly accepted. maybe it was the feeling of control and a growing god complex but for once, chester felt... nice.
  
  what could possibly go wrong with a hobby?
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  remains of butterflies

  
  

  
  
  
  

  a lot can go wrong with a hobby.
  
  so much that even after he managed to power through a full accountancy course, he found himself sending a formal email to his parents politely entitled, "bye bitches", and promptly never returning home ever since. he got his response via his credit cards being frozen and brief email back entitled "re: bye bitches" where his father's secretary concisely informed him that darius and clarise finch are disappointed by his actions and will be expecting his arrival soon. basically, they didn't believe a career as a playwright could get you anywhere, especially when he no longer had the resources to give him the extra edge.
  
  the calm before the storm, chester was fine. college proved to be insufferable but manageable with general electives being the only type of classes keeping him alive. (that and a lot of cigarette packs but he doesn't talk about it). he was just the hateful accountancy student, but what was new? every accountancy student had pent-up rage within them, unhappy that their life's work was meant to be numbers and sheets. chester was only lucky that he found haven in an albeit sleazy playwright he edited for. to him, it was a sign that he could make it big if he tried.
  
  thus in a matter of days, chester was barely a finch. and in all honesty, he just couldn't find it in him to care. he felt like robert frost hiking up the road not taken, on a completely new trail that made him feel *something*. he craved the refreshing taste like an addict. so when his friends suggested a trip to the rural countryside, chester quickly agreed.
  
  now what could actually go wrong?
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  i hope you eat shit and choke on it too. you're the stupidest person i've ever met.

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  i need a ride home.

  
  
  
  
  

  fuck it i'm on my way.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
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  connections.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  name here

  
  
  
  

  role/status

  
  
  
  

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Sed elementum nunc nec risus porta iaculis quis sit amet ante. Quisque eget est mauris. Curabitur posuere nibh nibh, ac maximus dolor vestibulum sed. Nullam ut nulla tincidunt, tincidunt mi ac, ullamcorper mi. In ultricies euismod fermentum. Nulla convallis nec sem sit amet porta. Morbi convallis ornare arcu quis commodo. Sed in luctus libero. Sed pretium malesuada nisl at laoreet.

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

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  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Sed elementum nunc nec risus porta iaculis quis sit amet ante. Quisque eget est mauris. Curabitur posuere nibh nibh, ac maximus dolor vestibulum sed. Nullam ut nulla tincidunt, tincidunt mi ac, ullamcorper mi. In ultricies euismod fermentum. Nulla convallis nec sem sit amet porta. Morbi convallis ornare arcu quis commodo. Sed in luctus libero. Sed pretium malesuada nisl at laoreet.

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  name here

  
  
  
  

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  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Sed elementum nunc nec risus porta iaculis quis sit amet ante. Quisque eget est mauris. Curabitur posuere nibh nibh, ac maximus dolor vestibulum sed. Nullam ut nulla tincidunt, tincidunt mi ac, ullamcorper mi. In ultricies euismod fermentum. Nulla convallis nec sem sit amet porta. Morbi convallis ornare arcu quis commodo. Sed in luctus libero. Sed pretium malesuada nisl at laoreet.

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  name here

  
  
  
  

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  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Sed elementum nunc nec risus porta iaculis quis sit amet ante. Quisque eget est mauris. Curabitur posuere nibh nibh, ac maximus dolor vestibulum sed. Nullam ut nulla tincidunt, tincidunt mi ac, ullamcorper mi. In ultricies euismod fermentum. Nulla convallis nec sem sit amet porta. Morbi convallis ornare arcu quis commodo. Sed in luctus libero. Sed pretium malesuada nisl at laoreet.

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  name here

  
  
  
  

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  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Sed elementum nunc nec risus porta iaculis quis sit amet ante. Quisque eget est mauris. Curabitur posuere nibh nibh, ac maximus dolor vestibulum sed. Nullam ut nulla tincidunt, tincidunt mi ac, ullamcorper mi. In ultricies euismod fermentum. Nulla convallis nec sem sit amet porta. Morbi convallis ornare arcu quis commodo. Sed in luctus libero. Sed pretium malesuada nisl at laoreet.

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  name here

  
  
  
  

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  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Sed elementum nunc nec risus porta iaculis quis sit amet ante. Quisque eget est mauris. Curabitur posuere nibh nibh, ac maximus dolor vestibulum sed. Nullam ut nulla tincidunt, tincidunt mi ac, ullamcorper mi. In ultricies euismod fermentum. Nulla convallis nec sem sit amet porta. Morbi convallis ornare arcu quis commodo. Sed in luctus libero. Sed pretium malesuada nisl at laoreet.

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  extra.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

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  cat people

  
  

  david bowie

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[PRETTY HATE MACHINE.]

/* ------ left side ------ */

𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞

𝑯𝑬𝑹𝑰𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑬 𝑱𝑶𝑬𝑳 𝑷𝑰𝑬𝑹𝑪𝑬.

𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞(𝐬)

𝑷𝑰𝑬𝑹𝑪𝑬, 𝑴𝑨𝒀𝑩𝑬.

𝐚𝐠𝐞

𝑻𝑾𝑬𝑵𝑻𝒀-𝑭𝑶𝑼𝑹.

𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡

𝑶𝑪𝑻𝑶𝑩𝑬𝑹 𝟗𝑻𝑯, 𝟏𝟗𝟔𝟏.

𝐳𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐜

𝑳𝑰𝑩𝑹𝑨.

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝑴𝑨𝑳𝑬.

𝐨𝐜𝐜𝐮𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

𝑷𝑨𝑹𝑻-𝑻𝑰𝑴𝑬 𝑺𝑪𝑹𝑨𝑷𝑷𝑬𝑹, 𝑷𝑨𝑹𝑻-𝑻𝑰𝑴𝑬 "𝑾𝑬𝑬𝑫 𝑮𝑼𝒀", 𝑭𝑼𝑳𝑳-𝑻𝑰𝑴𝑬 𝑩𝑼𝑹𝑵𝑶𝑼𝑻.

𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲

𝑻𝑯𝑨𝑻'𝑺 𝑭𝑶𝑹 𝑯𝑰𝑴 𝑻𝑶 𝑲𝑵𝑶𝑾 𝑨𝑵𝑫 𝑭𝑶𝑹 𝑨𝑵𝒀𝑩𝑶𝑫𝒀 𝑾𝑯𝑶 𝑴𝑨𝒀 𝑩𝑬 𝑨𝑻𝑻𝑹𝑨𝑪𝑻𝑬𝑫 𝑻𝑶 𝑨𝑮𝑶𝑵𝑰𝒁𝑬 𝑨𝑩𝑶𝑼𝑻. 𝑮𝑶𝑶𝑫 𝑳𝑼𝑪𝑲.

𝐝𝐞𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐞

𝑴𝑬𝑫𝑰𝑨, 𝑪𝑼𝑳𝑻𝑼𝑹𝑬 𝑨𝑵𝑫 𝑪𝑶𝑴𝑴𝑼𝑵𝑰𝑪𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵. 𝑯𝑨𝑺 𝑫𝑶𝑵𝑬 𝑨𝑩𝑺𝑶𝑳𝑼𝑻𝑬𝑳𝒀 𝑵𝑶𝑻𝑯𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑾𝑰𝑻𝑯 𝑰𝑻. 𝑾𝑨𝑺 𝑶𝑵𝑬 𝑶𝑭 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑭𝑬𝑾 𝑴𝑨𝑱𝑶𝑹𝑺 𝑻𝑯𝑨𝑻 𝑫𝑰𝑫𝑵'𝑻 𝑹𝑬𝑸𝑼𝑰𝑹𝑬 𝑴𝑨𝑻𝑯.

𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐞

𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

6'1"

𝐰𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

180lbs.

𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐫

Deep brown to black. Honestly, it just depends on the light. He usually lets it grow out to shoulder length before he even bothers taking scissors to it in the mirror and just randomly cutting it down until it looks passable.

𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬

Dark brown.

𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐦𝐨𝐝𝐬

Save for your basic lobe piercing in each ear, he doesn't really have much money to shell out for body mods. Though he would probably get a stick-and-poke in some rando's basement if it's free and he's drunk enough.

𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦

Keanu Reeves.

𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲

(+)

𝑶𝑼𝑻𝑮𝑶𝑰𝑵𝑮.
𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑹𝑰𝑺𝑴𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑪.
𝑨𝑻𝑻𝑬𝑵𝑻𝑰𝑽𝑬.
𝑶𝑩𝑺𝑬𝑹𝑽𝑨𝑵𝑻.
𝑨𝑫𝑽𝑬𝑵𝑻𝑼𝑹𝑶𝑼𝑺.
𝑺𝒀𝑴𝑷𝑨𝑻𝑯𝑬𝑻𝑰𝑪.

(-)

𝑵𝑶𝑵-𝑪𝑶𝑴𝑴𝑰𝑻𝑻𝑨𝑳.
𝑰𝑴𝑷𝑼𝑳𝑺𝑰𝑽𝑬.
𝑺𝑻𝑼𝑩𝑩𝑶𝑹𝑵.
𝑴𝑰𝑺𝑪𝑯𝑬𝑰𝑽𝑶𝑼𝑺.
𝑹𝑬𝑺𝑻𝑳𝑬𝑺𝑺.
𝑻𝑯𝑹𝑰𝑳𝑳𝑺𝑬𝑬𝑲𝑰𝑵𝑮.

extraverted


observant


feeling

PROSPECTING


Assertive


INTUITIVE

Standing at 6'1", long-legged Heritage possesses an oddly feminine softness to his conventional good looks. Long lashes frame dark eyes set under a sharp, slim brow. A multiracial background lends itself to a clear complexion that tans easily with just the right amount of time in the sun, but pales quickly under overcast gloom. The guy moves pretty fluidly, weaving through busy crowds and packed kitchens with the focus of somebody who lives a pretty active lifestyle outside of work - a thrillseeker that enjoys cliff-diving and racing around. His physique, while lean, is decently well-formed as a result.

Heritage prides himself on maintaining his zen under pressure. No stranger to life and all of the entitlement and confusion that comes with it - he begrudgingly keeps to "the customer is always right" in his professional life; but while he's good at saving face for the sake of it, he heavily values keeping genuine peace between others. Drama is a killer and he goes to great lengths to avoid it, which may mean at times that he'll completely step away from conflict if he thinks he's given it his best shot. He's good at turning on some superficial flattery and charm when he has to but doesn't lead anybody on if they'll end up getting hurt by it. Riling him up is easier said than done.

He considers himself friendly with most everyone, but genuine friends with very few. When you live the kind of transient lifestyle he does, it doesn't do well to form any sort of particularly strong bond. Can't take anyone with you when the walls start closing in and the town begins to choke you out. When it comes to strong negative emotional outbursts, he can be a bit awkward with trying to calm the distraught party down enough to talk. If you're looking for somebody to talk you down and rationalize, he's your guy. If you're looking for somebody to cry with you... best he can offer is a shoulder to cry on.

𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐫(𝐬)

His biggie is probably lapsing into the usual 9-to-5 life. A full-time job, a cookie-cutter suburban household with a wife that's beautiful but devoid of any personality, a couple of kids and an office cubicle waiting for him, etcetera cetera. Waking up every Sunday at 9AM to attend a church service then returning home to mow the lawn and invite a couple guys over to watch a football game, pissing contests over how much they hate the wives that they chose to marry. It honestly puts a lump in his throat just considering it. He values his freedom too much.

𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐠

BITCHIN' CAMARO!

𝐡𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭

Can roll the best J to ever grace your lips. Don't believe him? Join in for a smoke sesh.

𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞

𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲

❝Honestly, I think all of that lead paint on my sippy cups must've given me some kinda brain damage.❞

Heritage Sr. would probably admit to his kid being a surprisingly quiet toddler. If there was ever a tantrum thrown, he certainly wasn't there to see it - though he did have a problem with the strange fact that he was never really referred to as "dad". Spending his early childhood picking out wrenches and fiddling with the transistor radio when the old man was busy under a lifted hotrod, Heritage's very first memories are coated in grease - and more than his fair share of frustrated curses. Mom was never really around. Call it arrested development or something, but it seemed she never really grew out of the fast life. Yeah, she was there for a bit, lifting him up into her arms and dancing about the scrapyard boldly barefooted to The Monkees. Stuck around long enough to give him a lil' bro as well. Doesn't really matter why she took off, but she did, and his father - a usually gruff, conservative, pull-yourself-up-by-your-bootstraps kinda guy never really got over her.

Other than that? Yeah, his childhood was pretty run of the mill. Puppy love in elementary school, a roughhousing routine with the other boys in his Podunk midwestern town. Christ, the place didn't even have a dollar store. Just a small family grocer and a broke-down gas station with pumps that hadn't been upgraded since WWII.

❝Wanna hear about my teenage years before or after I discovered Richard Hell and the Voidoids? 'Cos those are two completely different kids.❞

He grew a bit more rebellious into his Sophomore year of highschool. He wouldn't call it rebellious, really, more like just bored out of his gourd. His school attendance was pretty grievous - though you can get by with anything if you're a good enough bullshitter, and his memory was just sharp enough to regurgitate all the right answers back onto a standardized test. His time was often spent about thirty minutes outside of town with a few other kids from school - beater car idling, doors open to let the sweet sounds of KDXX-FM! blast. Skinny-dipping in the lake, laying back over the hood with a lazy smile below his sunglassed eyes and a joint in his free hand. Sounds real cool, right? Like he'd be the guy people pass in the hallway and offer high-fives to? Honestly, he was a bit of a geek. Lanky and too reserved for his own good. These moments were only attended with by a small circle of close friends. Suppose even then he didn't really like to spread himself too thin.

September '78. Sweet sixteen. Heritage was elbow-deep within the bowels of a totaled '65 Pontiac Firebird Trans-Am, across from him stood his father. Overbearing as always, barking orders at him between the cigarette in his teeth. He can remember even then what was playin' on the radio, even. Surrender. Cheap Trick. Seemed to be the perfect backdrop to his father's insistence to grab something good while he was in there. Sometimes the parts are worth more than their sum.

He's not sure what exactly it was about that seemingly average day among many. Maybe it was the looming threat of living a slow, boring life. Living with his father until the guy's old enough to forget his own name. He was already little more than a pair of hands anyway. What would change if he kept giving jack shit?

*record scratch* ❝Yup. That's me. You're probably wondering how I got myself into this situation... and I'll tell you exactly how. I literally just cannot fucking help myself.❞

/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

© weldherwings.

 

[lisbeth]

━━┄ ⠀ ⠀ INERTIA .ᐟ

ANDREA KIDMAN.

BY LISBETH . . .

Coded by Uxie.

... Doomed.

Bring Me The Horizon.

INERTIA.

I

━━┄ ⠀ ⠀ De Secreto.

“ ⠀ You're all vampires﹐so here﹐you can have my HEART .⠀ ”

FULL NAME.

Andrea Sofie Ivalu Kidman.

NICKNAME(S).

Andy, Furore, Kidman, Half-Pint, Mouse.

AGE.

Twenty-five years old (16th August).

GENDER.

Unlabelled; she/her, they/them.

SEXUALITY.

Homoromantic homosexual.

ETHNICITY.

Her father is of Danish descent; her mother is of Greenlandic and Danish descent.

OCCUPATION.

Retail assistant and animal shelter volunteer.

II

━━┄ ⠀ ⠀ AD SUPERFICIEM.

HAIR.

Her hair resembles the aftermath of a little girl playing hairdresser with her doll. It's raven black and cut as short as a fuse, not even so much as tickling her shoulders when let down, with either side underneath shaved to the skin.

EYES.

Slate blue and hold a goggle-eyed expression, as if she is an eternal witness to an unimaginable horror.

COMPLEXION.

She looks like death warmed up, with pallor skin, deep purple, and red bags of skin underneath her eyes—giving her what looks like natural eye-shadow—, high cheekbones, and concave cheeks; the pinkish tinge of joy intermittently emerging on her cheeks.

BUILD.

An overactive metabolism and perfunctory dietary choices have led to an underdeveloped physique. At 5’2” (157cm) and 107lbs (48kg), she has angular shoulders that slump forward, narrow wrists, and bony hips; her rail-thin limbs and untamed, darting movements almost bear resemblance to a daddy long-legs.

BODY MODIFICATION(S).

Bleached eyebrows, alongside piercings through her right eyebrow, the right side of her lip, septum, navel, both earlobes, and left nostril—each one decked with silver jewellery; a dulled, self-inflicted tattoo of the phrase, “Follow the white rabbit” wrapping around her left forearm, and a tattoo on her right bicep of Malcolm Browne’s photograph of the self-immolation of Thích Quảng Đức.

WARDROBE.

Her clothing has always been a safeguard without the physical need for speech, though the irony of dark clothing is in the attention it picks up. Everything is varying, sombre tones of black or grey, and she habitually wears a child’s sized, distressed tank top; graphic short-sleeved and long-sleeved tops—the printed designs would surely make a Christian Texan mother’s blood curdle—; over-the-top or zip up hooded sweatshirts; further layered by a studded leather biker jacket; and low-waisted slim fit jeans stuffed into moth-eaten combat boots.

FACE CLAIM.

Rooney Mara in The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo.

III

━━┄ ⠀ ⠀ SAPERE AUDE.

There is a considerable difference between being alone and feeling lonely, the difference between content and yearning. Andy has never felt particularly attracted to society and indeed has less of a disposition for being a part of it; notwithstanding, there are indeed moments of disconsolate desire for relations (as few as they may be), but they are as fleeting as an intrusive thought—never attaching herself to it and continuing life thereafter, as if she had zoned out. The comfort of their own company is not necessarily out of their own volition, but a more defeated acceptance stemming from their ineptitude to relate to those around them; Andy simply isn’t there, and if asked about it, would liken it to being a ghost.

Such an introverted and asocial mien conflates Andy as disrespectful and ill-mannered. Yet talking with her about genuine interests—hers or otherwise—uncloaks a surprisingly avid and open extroversion. Although, perhaps from time to time she is too plain-speaking for her own good; when someone asks you for the truth, you don’t give them an even-handed outlook; you give them what they perceive as the truth. The artificial methods of neurotypical society are something she has ostensibly accepted (to, if nothing else, provide for herself and her mother) for the time being, but has no intention of applying them to herself.

Inevitably, it has occurred to her that: why would an employer hire somebody such as herself, when they could, hell, hire an inebriate who is out of the game by eight in the evening with vomit trickling down his favourite football jersey, seated in a dilapidated armchair, but can see to every area of work with no sweat. The reason being that most people who can handle every area of work will conduct it with mediocrity. But if appointed a task befitted to her, Andy has a clear-cut imagination and almost sheer magical ability to compile information, reports, and etcetera, from nowhere in half the time it may take thrice the number of people. Her way of working isn’t always conventional, but it yields results far exceeding expectations.

POSITIVE TRAIT(S).

Serious-minded, individualistic, principled, reflective, self-aware, thorough, methodical, diplomatic.

NEGATIVE TRAIT(S).

Mistrustful, perfectionist, aloof, tense, resentful, pedantic, self-doubting, guarded.

FEAR(S).

Failure to achieve her idea of fulfilment in life; capitulating to the ideals and standards of general society; forever lacking a solid support system.

AILMENT(S) & CONDITION(S).

Autism spectrum disorder (ASD), iron deficiency anaemia, clinical depression, nicotine dependence, pollen allergy.

IV

━━┄ ⠀ ⠀ NOS IN DIEM VIVUMUS.

TW: Mention of suicide and death.

Andrea Sofie Ivalu Kidman (born 16th August) was the youngest of three, five years her brother and sister’s (Victor and Karla, who were fraternal twins) junior. They originally lived with their mother, Alma Kidman, and father, Malthe Kidman, in an impoverished suburb on the outskirts of Copenhagen—living off food stamps and private insurance fund reaped benefits—before moving to the city Odense by the time Andy was four years old, when her mother was fit to work again after having given birth to three children.

Soon after the twins turned nineteen, Victor, who had been diagnosed with schizophrenia the preceding year, overdosed, and drowned in the bathtub of their house. His death shattered the family like a bullet through glass.

Death was not a particularly foreign concept, but unaccustomed to Andy nonetheless; except for when she had a pet goldfish at four years old—as a celebratory present to comfort her in their new home—and overfed it on accident, but her mother urged it was sleeping and flushed it down the toilet with the promise of returning it to the deep blue.

Yet she hadn’t cried then, and she didn’t cry now. Although, an overpowering sorrow encased her—a rage rather than sadness. One she never learned how to express.

When he was of legal drinking age, Malthe (whose father had been a vicious, splenetic drunkard) had vowed an oath to himself to never even so much as sniff a glass of liquor—the Devil’s Piss, he would always call it. After Victor’s death, Malthe began drinking like a horse, eventually drinking himself to death two years afterwards.

Karla had already moved to a university in the United States by this point. And Alma, now without a husband and son, became reclusive—seldom leaving their house aside from buying essential items when Andy wasn’t available—with Andy tending to her as a helper, halting her life for the following years until at length reconnecting with her sister.

RELATIONSHIP(S).

ALMA KIDMAN.
(Mother, fifty-five years old, alive.)

MALTHE KIDMAN.
(Father, passed away at forty-six years old; cardiac arrest.)

VICTOR KIDMAN
(Brother, passed away at nineteen years old; suicide.)

KARLA NADEAU.
(Sister, thirty years old, alive.)

V

━━┄ ⠀ ⠀ Galeria.

Coded by Uxie & image PSD by Avenoirpsd.

 

[gingersnaps]

NAME: Kevin Lucas Marchetti
NICKNAME: He’s used to being called by his last name. "Kev" is allowed, if he likes you enough. If he doesn’t, he’ll refuse to answer to it.
D.O.B: March 28th, he’s an Aries.
AGE: 22GENDER/PRONOUNS: Cis Male, He/Him.
ORIENTATION: Questioning & closeted.
DEGREE: Literature.

APPEARANCE: Dark brown hair that seems to be perpetually untidy, with darker eyes to match. Kevin has a nose that gives away his Italian and Jewish heritage, though he doesn’t seem to be very connected to either. His often serious expression combined with his usually sarcastic tone give him an air of mystery, making him seem a bit unapproachable- which is exactly the point.

FACECLAIM: Louis Garrel



PERSONALITY:
Most people around NYU would describe Kevin as reserved and slightly peculiar. He was extremely intelligent, that was undeniable. On top of most of his classes, he displayed immense talent, especially when it came to the Classics. Still, he was usually found at bars, drinking, smoking and reading books that have absolutely nothing to do with the course material. His tone is serious, but his words are witty and sarcastic, in a way that it makes it difficult to tell whether or not he’s telling the truth. Which is just as well, since he’s always been especially cagey about his life before coming to New York. It’s not easy getting close to Kevin, but once it’s happened, his sense of loyalty is unwavering. He protects his own, no matter what is thrown at him.

WHAT'S HIS GREATEST FEAR?

To turn out like his family- especially his father, a narcissistic alcoholic who leeches off everyone and everything.
Amounting to nothing, the fear that everything he’s done and been through


HISTORY:
Born to a low-income family in a city called Little Falls, with an addict for a father and an emotionally absent mother, all Kevin ever had in mind was the thought of getting out.

His grandmother did her best to raise him, once his parents proved themselves useless, but that didn’t last long- she died in the Summer of 76, when he was 12, her lungs finally gave out. She left him 50 dollars, and the knowledge that he had to figure the rest out on his own.

Despite having all the odds stacked against him, Kevin had one thing: his brain. He knew he was smart, really smart, smart enough to escape that shithole and never look back. School was his light at the end of the tunnel- he refused to die here like the rest of his family. He lived off coffee and cigarettes, studying like his life depended on it- as far as he was concerned, it did.

It wasn’t such a simple road, he had to work 2 jobs to stay afloat, and make sure to put his savings away where his father couldn’t find it. And many times, he’d find it., and spend it all on booze and H, and proceed to beat the shit out of Kevin for hiding money from him. Kevin ran away more times than he could count.

When the letter from NYU came, he took the money he had left, his books and the clothes he could carry, and he achieved his dream: he got the hell out of there. He didn’t talk to his parents, he didn’t leave a phone number, he just simply disappeared, never to return.

 

[celadon.]

erling slingerland

ERS

♡coded by uxie♡

NAME: Erling Rezin Slingerland

NICKNAME: Erle

D.O.B: April 20

AGE: 25

GENDER: “Male”

ORIENTATION: “Straight” and presumed asexual.

DEGREE: BA in History and Literature.

OCCUPATION: Orderly at Gouverneur Hospital.

FACECLAIM: Adam Lee

Just to clear things up: Erling is pronoun-indifferent because they refrain from thinking about their identity at all (just being [REDACTED] in 1986 things), but I will always refer to them as they/them in the text. You can use whatever you want. Your characters would probably use he/him but don't let me influence you LOL.

APPEARANCE: Androgynous. Translucent. Bony frame that’s retreating and combative all at once. Quiffed, fiery red hair. Narrow eyes the colour of algae bloom that elaborate nothing, are only half-watching you - because they only have to half-see what’s there, not more. Like the serpent tempting the two lovers they will practically leer at you if you expect more from them than that.

They look like who someone from twenty years ago would've imagined someone twenty years from then would look like. Everything about them, their manner down to the way they move and use their hands, is poised yet somehow graceless, as if they could deny their own beauty if they articulated as such. Their dress sense is an exercise in self-restraint. Never heavy fabrics, never all that lustrous or varying, never too revealing of any kind of spirit or inner life. And yet they never look all that heterosexual.

PERSONALITY: Erling is an elusive figure. They're hard to know and they're hard to describe to people who've never met them. Those who know them well, in fact, know very little, and they're amenable to this - most of that in relation to who else they personally know or which artworks they privilege above others, immaterial things like that. They take a balcony seat at shows and leave before the encore. They appear struck out of time - it’s like they were sent from the Beat Generation on a bolt of lightning. Nothing about them is vanguard or modern, and they have a reluctant relationship with novelty. They don't like being part of things. On many occasions, they don’t even like having friends their own age. Old people are less demanding and better at chess.

They speak simply and with a dispassionate mountain drawl - resonant with little intonation - but they have obvious intelligence, nerve, and pith. They come off as intense even when they’re not doing anything. Not a rash person or in the habit of starting fights, but they don’t shy away from confrontation and will often pursue it to its end. To them, one of the worst things a person can be is fatuous and crude. They don't really get jokes. They prize humility and shroud themselves in seriousness. They don't really get human relationships either.

Erle is an un-diagnosed obsessive-compulsive and as such is burdened by the guilt of unwanted violent thoughts and by the constrictions of these little rituals they must carry out daily in appeasement. They fear that they or something in them is evil, and this fear flattens them. Much of what they do and are is a hopeless squirm beneath this weight.

There’s a ghostly echo about them - they vanish from their friends' lives with some frequency - but they’re also reliable and judicious. When someone needs something, they’re there. When something is wrong, they will work to right it and will accept no recognition for their efforts. They have never taken a thank-you to their face. They have been known to get in other people’s faces and belabour them their own faults, though. If they smile it’s like a squid spraying ink at you. Their laughter bites. It's tantamount to a psychic insult.

Erle respects silence and chooses minimal responses often. They’re introspective, and yet they hold so much animus and rage that they haven’t yet begun to explore. If you looked in their eyes for longer than a blink you would see it: they have dark depths in them. For all of their unexpressiveness and mystery, though? They're a fair, loyal and giving friend who is rarely frustrated or short-tempered. They don't take or ask for much from anyone.

WHAT'S THEIR GREATEST FEAR? Losing themselves. The imminent threat that at any moment they could commit vile sins still holds great sway in their mind. Their revolt against this is to live superficially and reject the warmth of others so as not to harm them.

HISTORY: Erling was born near State Route 52 in northern Georgia, in the foothills of the Appalachians, to a large family whose history in the region predates the Civil War. The Slingerland family are a family of fervent religious belief and unpunished wickedness. Slingerlands have been church leaders, businesspeople, neo-Nazi militiamen. They have gambled on state elections and have had roads built and torn down. Two hundred years of buried shame.

At age eighteen Erle was enrolled at GSU in Savannah by virtue of their family name. They attended that school for almost a year and then, without telling anyone, requested a transfer to NYU. One summer night they bought a bus ticket and egressed. They haven't looked back. Without changing their accent they tell people they're from Minnesota. The message is clear to most.

Barely an adult themselves, Erle survived a few weeks of homelessness after they first arrived in New York, having no money, no wits, and no one to count on. Eventually they found an apartment in the East Village and a job pushing wheeled bins of laundered gowns through hospital hallways. So far, things have been good. But Erle’s immediate group of friends want to take them back to Georgia for a trip. Not like they know, but still.

 

[Elmo23x]

PLACEHOLDER FOR MY GIRL

NAME: Susannah Harlekin
NICKNAME: Susy
D.O.B: 14th of February
AGE: twenty-two
GENDER: Female - she/her
ORIENTATION/DEGREE: Journalism / writer

APPEARANCE:

• Height: 5"7'
• Skintone: white
• Eye color: Susannah's eyes are a mixture of brown colours. So dark they almost seem black when no sunlight shines on them.
• Hair color & type: The first thing you would recognize Susannah by is most likely her bright orange hair. They reach close to her lower back. She can't remember the last time she cut it properly; only the dead ends come off every few months.
• body art & piercings? a navel piercing and earrings.
• distinguishing feature(s): The freckles all over her face

FACECLAIM: Melissa Fernandes

PERSONALITY: Susannah is a natural busy bee. She has unstoppable energy, which causes her to chatter all day long. This can sometimes cause irritation, but then you must tell her to keep her mouth shut, and if you're lucky, you'll have a few minutes of silence. Susannah is someone who quickly meets new people. A bit too easy, as she always believes in the goodness of people. This makes her a tad naive, and people take advantage of it. She almost continuously says yes when people ask for help, making her forget to put her needs first. She is also a real bon vivant who can become happy when she sees the sun shining in the morning and hears the birds chirping. She is a natural morning person because she prefers to be outside before sunrise. Then she calms down and doesn't feel like she has to be 'ready' all day. She can be a bit clumsy at times. Working as a waitress would be a disaster for her; preparing her food without cutting or burning herself is already a miracle.

WHAT'S THEIR GREATEST FEAR?
- Failure. Her columns and stories being rejected by publishers.
- Dying. Ever since she was a little kid, she always had an intense fear of dying and what comes after we're dead. Thinking about the concept of 'death' will give her anxiety attacks.
- Being blamed for the brother's death.


HISTORY:
Susannah had a relatively normal childhood. She was born into the family of newlyweds Simon and Delilah Harlekin as the second of twins. Her brother, born two minutes before her, was named Fernando. The two were almost inseparable and spent a lot of time together during their school days. Until he unexpectedly commits suicide at the age of twenty, leaving the family broken. For years she wondered how she could have missed the signals and if she could have signed something for him to help him. Questions she will never get an answer to. Susannah currently writes many books on how to deal with the loss of a loved one. She has volunteered at the local suicide prevention organization for a few months.

 

[blue-jay]

D.J.B.

dani

the scales and the lash.

"Winged balancer of life, dark-faced goddess, daughter of Justice."

• .
• .
• .
• .

• 
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  requisite.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  full name

  
  

  danielle jade brown

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  nicknames

  
  

  dani

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  gender

  
  

  ciswoman (she/her)

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  sexuality

  
  

  questioning (open to all genders rn)

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  date of birth

  
  

  january 1st

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  age

  
  

  22

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  degrees

  
  

  philosophy & history + poli. sci. minor (she's pre-law)

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  occupation

  
  

  student + gets paid for research and writing for journals

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  visage.

  
  
  
  

  scroll

  
  
  
  

  
  

  appearance

  
  

  dani is 5'6 and slender. she has dark brown skin. her hair is currently brown, long, and wavy like in her pictures. her notable features include her bright smile, cat-like eyes, and amazing posture.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  faceclaim

  
  

  flo milli

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
• 
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  persona.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  forthright

  
  
  
  
  

  gregarious

  
  
  
  
  

  opinionated

  
  
  
  
  

  pensive

  
  
  
  
  

  industrious

  
  
  
  
  

  shrewd

  
  
  
  
  

  eloquent

  
  
  
  
  

  dynamic

  
  
  
  
  

  existential

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  Danielle has strong opinions—and a lot of them. Her mind is both a vast archive of documents and a forum for her inner voices to constantly question, develop, or bring judgment upon ideas. In other words, she has all those strong opinions because she has so much to think about and dedicates a lot of time to thinking. She’s passionate about voicing these thoughts and determined to defend them. Don’t mistake her argumentative nature for close-mindedness, however. It’s possible to change her mind; you just have to meet her in that forum in her head and genuinely best her in a war of words. She'll concede defeat relatively gracefully, more interested in applying and exploring the new ideas than her own shortcomings.
  
  Though, if we’re talking a war of words, it can be quite difficult to best Danielle. She’s shrewd and eloquent. Many say she has a silver tongue. She’d say her tongue can be a lot more than just silver. She can be suave and persuasive, fiery and accusative, stony and righteous, witty and light-hearted—and not just in debate. Danielle is truly dynamic and, although it’s surprising to most, very authentic. Her pre-law antics may be annoying at times, but is her way of genuinely expressing herself. She doesn’t take everything as serious as she did before. In debate and in life, she’s learned to embrace absurdity. She’ll argue herself into giggles and orate about fluffy ideas or eccentric theories when she’s more relaxed. Other times, she finds herself being the severe, self-righteous girl she was in high school. It can be confusing for others and for herself.
  
  Another crucial aspect of Danielle is her gregariousness. She loves having a network of friends and spending time with people. She loves talking, listening, picking people’s brains, getting taken away by good conversation and respectful disagreements. She discovered this appreciation for people after her mother’s death and has since been fostering it. Don’t get the wrong idea, though—she does have people she dislikes, and she is capable of disliking strongly. Her opinionated nature can cause her to bring down the gavel of her own judgment on those who rub her the wrong way. And she doesn't back down from conflict when it presents itself.
  
  Danielle is full of contradictions. Over time, she’s learned to be okay with this. But there are moments when she thinks too much and finds herself worried, frustrated, and confused. She’ll say her fatal flaw as a pre-law is that her heart-to-mind ratio includes too much heart. She has good intentions, but are intentions ever important? She’s intellectual, but she’s also emotional, especially after the death of her mother. Sometimes, she embraces the absurd. Other times, the absurd suffocates her.
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  likes

  
  

  
  

  wip

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  dislikes

  
  

  
  

  wip

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  greatest fears

  
  

  
  

  Danielle's greatest fear is more of a collection of invasive thoughts than a specific thing: mortality, the paleness of her mother on her death bed, disease, the thought that she may feel intense regret twenty years from now, time is always passing, she doesn't actually know why she's here or what she's supposed to do before she dies, the thinness of her mother on her death bed, her father's stiff lip, her father never let her be her own person, she might die being someone she didn't want to be, the hoarseness of her mother's voice on her death bed...

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
• 
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  origin.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  the legacy

  
  

  
  
  
  

  It’s hard to talk about Danielle’s history without talking about her father first: both a blessing and a curse. She was born to Monica Brown, a philosophy professor at NYU, and Marvin Brown, the first Black graduate of the NYU School of Law. Danielle’s earliest memories are of being bombarded with books, Rubik’s cubes, and other things that her parents deemed “intellectually stimulating.” Danielle didn’t mind; she found a lot of the puzzles they gave her fairly enjoyable. When she was just a toddler, Danielle’s parents had already agreed upon what she would come to understand later: she had a legacy to carry. And to carry it, she would need a sharp mind—a mind that would allow her to fend for herself in the world of academia and high intellectualism.
  
  Danielle’s father was passionate and earnest to a fault—when she was just five, he asked her if she wanted to be a lawyer like him. By this time, Danielle had already grown to deeply admire her father. She’d do anything to be like him, so naturally she replied with an eager yes—though she didn't entirely understand what she was agreeing to.
  
  And so came the rest of her childhood: private schools in uptown New York, visits to the courtroom to watch her father in action, long days spent at the library reading up on history. Danielle did everything she could to establish herself as an overachiever in an environment where the standards were very high, and she succeeded. Though, feeling superior to all of the other New York nepotism babies was never her primary motivation. It was always, always to see that proud smile on the face of her parents. She craved that approval.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  daughter of justice

  
  

  
  
  
  

  When Danielle got to high school, her relationship to law became a bit more personal. The more she learned about the history of her country and of the world, the more outraged she became; she found everything to be disgustlingly unjust. Like many passionate teenagers do, she loaded up her vernacular with the vocabulary of social and political theory. As her speech grew sharper and more artful, she grew more willing to speak her mind. She debated with classmates, friends, enemies, teachers. Winning felt good, but it wasn’t really about winning. It was about something more. Or at least that’s what she told herself. She gained a reputation as a righteous workaholic who took everything too seriously. She made plans to become the youngest-appointed Supreme Court Justice.
  
  TW: death, illness
  In Danielle’s junior year of high school, her mother was diagnosed with liver cancer. It was late stage. As she rounded out her high school years and began applying to colleges, she watched her mother grow thinner and paler. She tried to spend a lot of time with her mother during this time, and (due to her mother’s academic background) she found the vocabulary of philosophical theory coming into her vernacular.
  
  Her mother passed a week after her NYU acceptance. She decided to pursue Philosophy as one of her pre-law degrees.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  a tilt in the scales

  
  

  
  
  
  

  Going into college so soon after the death of her mother made for an... interesting freshman year. Danielle changed. She was still passionate about law, an overachiever, an avid debater, and so on. However, there was a liveliness and friendliness in her that hadn't been there before. Her rage over the unjustness and brokenness of the world remained, but it was now joined by a more delicate understanding of just how bizarre life was—a change she owed to her increasing interest in philosophy.
  
  Danielle went through college mostly as planned—she got straight As, participated in research, did internships, and joined every law, history, or philosophy-related club she could, etc. But, for the first time in her life, she expressed a particular interest in making good friends. Not with the snobby, cliquey fellow pre-laws who acted sycophantic towards her but with people she found to be genuinely decent and interesting—and who were able to put up with her pre-law tendencies. She began reconsidering things. As she built her reputation as a dazzling student, a shoo-in for the law school, and a bit of a socialite due to the connections that her father's position afforded her, she began to wonder if she wanted to be a Supreme Court Justice or even go to law school at all.
  
  She read about Absurdism, Taoism, Marxism, Nihilism—all the -isms. She became more uncertain of what her duty was to the world, to her father, and to her late mother. While she smiled in the faces of her fellow pre-laws, she felt deep doubt that she was where she was supposed to be. But she had prepared her whole life to be a woman of the law. What else was there for her to do? Her doubts were met with her own reassurances. An endless debate raged on within her.
  
  Now, she's graduated, been accepted to NYU Law School, and set to start in the coming Fall semester. However—if she can figure out her existential crisis—it's not too late to back out.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  headcanons

  
  

  
  
  
  

  - here
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  In law, nothing is certain but the expense.

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  an extra text

  
  
  
  
  

  an extra reply

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
• 
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  connections.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  name here

  
  
  
  

  role/status

  
  
  
  

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Sed elementum nunc nec risus porta iaculis quis sit amet ante. Quisque eget est mauris. Curabitur posuere nibh nibh, ac maximus dolor vestibulum sed. Nullam ut nulla tincidunt, tincidunt mi ac, ullamcorper mi. In ultricies euismod fermentum. Nulla convallis nec sem sit amet porta. Morbi convallis ornare arcu quis commodo. Sed in luctus libero. Sed pretium malesuada nisl at laoreet.

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  name

  
  
  
  

  role/status

  
  
  
  

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Sed elementum nunc nec risus porta iaculis quis sit amet ante. Quisque eget est mauris. Curabitur posuere nibh nibh, ac maximus dolor vestibulum sed. Nullam ut nulla tincidunt, tincidunt mi ac, ullamcorper mi. In ultricies euismod fermentum. Nulla convallis nec sem sit amet porta. Morbi convallis ornare arcu quis commodo. Sed in luctus libero. Sed pretium malesuada nisl at laoreet.

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  name here

  
  
  
  

  role/status

  
  
  
  

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Sed elementum nunc nec risus porta iaculis quis sit amet ante. Quisque eget est mauris. Curabitur posuere nibh nibh, ac maximus dolor vestibulum sed. Nullam ut nulla tincidunt, tincidunt mi ac, ullamcorper mi. In ultricies euismod fermentum. Nulla convallis nec sem sit amet porta. Morbi convallis ornare arcu quis commodo. Sed in luctus libero. Sed pretium malesuada nisl at laoreet.

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  name here

  
  
  
  

  role/status

  
  
  
  

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Sed elementum nunc nec risus porta iaculis quis sit amet ante. Quisque eget est mauris. Curabitur posuere nibh nibh, ac maximus dolor vestibulum sed. Nullam ut nulla tincidunt, tincidunt mi ac, ullamcorper mi. In ultricies euismod fermentum. Nulla convallis nec sem sit amet porta. Morbi convallis ornare arcu quis commodo. Sed in luctus libero. Sed pretium malesuada nisl at laoreet.

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  name here

  
  
  
  

  role/status

  
  
  
  

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Sed elementum nunc nec risus porta iaculis quis sit amet ante. Quisque eget est mauris. Curabitur posuere nibh nibh, ac maximus dolor vestibulum sed. Nullam ut nulla tincidunt, tincidunt mi ac, ullamcorper mi. In ultricies euismod fermentum. Nulla convallis nec sem sit amet porta. Morbi convallis ornare arcu quis commodo. Sed in luctus libero. Sed pretium malesuada nisl at laoreet.

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  name here

  
  
  
  

  role/status

  
  
  
  

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Sed elementum nunc nec risus porta iaculis quis sit amet ante. Quisque eget est mauris. Curabitur posuere nibh nibh, ac maximus dolor vestibulum sed. Nullam ut nulla tincidunt, tincidunt mi ac, ullamcorper mi. In ultricies euismod fermentum. Nulla convallis nec sem sit amet porta. Morbi convallis ornare arcu quis commodo. Sed in luctus libero. Sed pretium malesuada nisl at laoreet.

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  extra.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  question

  
  

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  prayed up

  
  

  summer walker

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[arthur morgan.]

place holder : )

 

[idiot]

/* ------ left side ------ */

NAME

Tiffany Jolene Miller.

NICKNAME

Prefers Tiff.

AGE

Twenty-two.

DATE OF BIRTH

October 23rd, 1963.

ZODIAC

Scorpio.

GENDER

Cis-female.

OCCUPATION

Namely works at an auto-garage but takes an odd shift or two at the roller diner as a waitress for extra money.

SEXUALITY

Anyone that shows her attention.

DEGREE

Majored in mechanical engineering and minored in cinematography. Her GPA was below average but professors always noted she showed interest and initiative.

VISAGE

HEIGHT

5'7"

WEIGHT

124lbs.

HAIR

A natural blonde, Tiff's chopped and dyed her hair beyond repair to escape the infamous labels from high school. Choppy, brown bangs frame her face and cascade to her shoulders. If one looks closely her roots are platinum blonde, matching her almost invisible eyebrows.

EYES

A light brown and often surrounded by bold colours of eyeshadow.

DIST. FEATURES

Freckles dot her face and body but are clustered on the right side of her face and arm from the sun's exposure while driving. Pouty lips that often refuse to shut and reveal her gapped front teeth. A large bust that is usually on display.

WARDROBE

A headache inducing clash of bright juvenile clothing and comfortable country/farming attire make up Tiff's eccentric wardrobe. A lover of pattern and colour, Tiff has no qualms with showing off her body and will often be dressed in tight and revealing clothing despite the stares or comments.

FACE CLAIM

Mia Goth. Specifically from X.

PERSONALITY TYPE — ESFP

POSITIVE TRAITS

Bubbly,
Spontaneous,
Comedic,
Life of the party,
Good listener,
Tough-skinned,
A never-give-up attitude.

NEGATIVE TRAITS

Scrappy,
Self-sabotage,
Attention-seeker,
Not the sharpest tool,
Absent-minded,
Cuts corners,
Envious,
Childish.

flirty


resourceful


charming

energetic


serious


playful

Tiffany has an affinity for being the centre of attention and greedily heaps it up by the spoonful. Neglectful parenting may attribute to Tiffany's infinite search for attention and affection which has no bounds. Good or bad? Tiffany doesn't care. From a young age she found comfort of being intimate with another; a brief yet hollow escape from the loneliness she felt. Unfortunately, Tiffany's escapades would spread like wildfire and she could not escape the salacious rumours that filled the school's halls. A conquest is what she became; a topic in the boy's locker room while girls would whisper behind her back and stare in disgust.

More often than not, Tiffany's self-saboteur has the habit of attracting the wrong kind of attention. Salacious rumours have followed her from high school to university with many offering a glance or whisper in her direction. She carries the scarlet letter with pride these days having developed a tough-skin from the onslaught of comments. Slut. Whore. Town bike. Tiffany has heard it all, so give it your best. Most of the rumours chalk it up to low self-esteem or respect for herself but all she wants is to feel close to someone. To be loved and wanted is what she truly craves. A hopeless romantic at heart. Unfortunately for her, she ends up in the arms of some guy who knew she was "easy" or who wanted to boast about it to his peers.

Despite the rumours, Tiffany is always invited to all the college parties for her ability to liven up any party with her oozing charm and charisma, enthusiasm and a little flirting. She is warm and inviting, never one to let someone sit in the corner. In fact, Tiffany is tooth-rotting sweet and the few who have found a friend in her are greatly rewarded with a great listener and someone who has your back no matter what — even if she can be a little flaky or rather absent-minded.

Routine is not something within Tiffany's vocabulary, always a mystery to most in where she can be found. Prefers to live in the here and now, always chasing new experiences and an instant dopamine hit. She doesn't often think of the future and the ramification of her actions, struggling to be serious, even in the most dire situations. Many would view Tiffany as juvenile and childish, preferring to ignore any negative feelings or thoughts and letting her problems stack up. Yet, thanks to her resourcefulness and managing to just cut enough of the corners, Tiffany has been able to stay afloat (barely) in her studies and work. It doesn't hurt that Tiffany enjoys learning to things and can be quite curious; alongside her never-give-up attitude, she is ready to face any battle that comes her way.

Tiffany doesn't like being alone, often getting bored which leads to thinking and well...Tiffany hates thinking. She hates thinking about her mother, her inability to find someone who truly cares for her and what life could of been like if her father never left for war. Partying, an unhealthy relationship with alcohol and plenty of flings fill that void and keep the thoughts at bay just long enough for her next hit.

fear(s)

To never be loved is Tiffany's biggest fear. She is afraid that she is unlovable and that there is no-one out there that would ever get with someone like her. It eats her up inside but alcohol numbs all that. Apart from that, Tiffany is quite fearless.

AILMENTS

Is a kleptomaniac and often shoplifts random items, an alcohol dependency, long-sighted but never wears her glasses.

hobbies

Repairing and refurbishing vehicles, road trips, joyriding, swimming, partying and learning new things.

little more

history

The curtains open with a warm glow emitting from the stage; a young family, hand in hand, dance around the stage. One exits the stage with a tearful goodbye and never returns. The remaining two don't dance anymore, their rehearsed moves become chaotic and violent.

Roy Miller comes from a long-line of generational farmers in a quaint, country town of St. Bloomsdale, Iowa. Respected for their hardworking nature and sizeable harvest of corn, the Miller's were known within the small town. Roy married Katherine, a young woman from not much lineage that Roy defended against his judgemental family.

The couple flourished and so did their harvests each year thanks to Katherine's entrepreneurial talents; pulling in buyers from across the country who would pay top dollar for Roy's harvest. It was not only a profitable partnership but one that was built on a foundation of love. The young couple soon brought their first child, Tiffany Miller, into the world.

The first seven years of Tiffany's life were nothing but bliss. A time she looks back fondly on. Unfortunately in 1970, Roy was conscripted to join the army for the latest conflict. He kissed Tiffany and Katherine on their foreheads, along with the growing baby-bump and promised to return.

Roy never returned. In his stead came a letter of condolences and his dog-tags. Katherine never recovered, especially after the miscarriage a few weeks later.

Katherine withdrew and stopped taking her prescribed medication for BPD. Moments of mania led to Katherine draining the family's leftover funds on nonsensical things. Roy's family even bought the farm from her so she could pay of the debts she had accrued. Her last lavish purchase was a trailer home, promising to take Tiffany on a road-trip around the country. These hollow promises became a staple for Katherine, leaving a young Tiffany confused and conflicted.

The audience jeer, their scathing whispers forming into a crescendo of insults; a lone girl stands on the stage as she weathers it alone. One may wonder why she stands their starstruck, but the scorching heat from the spotlight brings her unfounded comfort.

Katherine's in-laws ostracised her and Tiffany was raised in this trailer home. A tumultuous and neglected childhood is what Tiffany experienced; being exposed to her mother's erratic mood swings, a different male figure every week, a lack of attention from her mother and early exposure to drugs. She tried to help her mother when she could, yet was too young to do anything impactful to make Katherine change. Katherine was often too numb or distracted to realise what some of the men she let into her home did to her daughter.

High school began with Tiffany growing into her body and becoming very popular with boys. While short-lived, the instant gratification Tiffany received from each guy fuelled her warped sense of self-worth. Unfortunately, Tiffany's escapades would spread like wildfire and she could not escape the salacious rumours that filled the school's halls. A conquest is what she became; a topic in the boy's locker room while girls would whisper behind her back and stare in disgust.

It is unclear if Tiffany was popular, while she was invited to all the parties and social gatherings, she lacked any substantial friendships with girls. Most of her friends were boys, but even then they were fleeting as they eventually lead to sexual relations and nothing else. Most of the time, Tiffany wore the labels with pride, shrugging them off to nothing more than jealousy. Instead of focusing on the rumours, Tiffany involved herself in more risky behaviour.

A familiar figure enters stage left, bearing his own pain, he finds solace in the lone girl. Together they begin a new, hopeful dance. The girl's soft, penetrable skin hardens and the audience's jeers turn to mere murmurs.

The closest person to a father figure Tiffany has is a police officer, Harrison, who was an on and off lover of Tiffany's mother. Unlike the other men, Harrison cared deeply for Katherine but sadly she couldn't commit. Harrison stuck around though, visiting and offering to babysit Tiffany. Once she was old enough, Harrison taught her about his love for cars and Tiffany would help in refurbishing his latest project; a 1969 Pontiac GTO Judge convertible. She quickly became handy with a wrench and despite not being the brightest, the inner workings of a machine just clicked in her head. When Tiffany wasn't in the back of Harrison's police cruiser for stealing, joyriding or underage drinking, she spent her time with him tinkering the car or occasionally staying over for dinner. Harrison seemingly treats Tiffany as his own daughter, many around St. Bloomsdale believing it is his way to fill in the void after the death of his biological daughter.

In fact, Harrison realised Tiffany's desire to leave this town behind and to prove everyone wrong that she was more than her mother. He handed her the keys to the 69' Pontiac convertible and paid for her tuition to attend NYU. One last hug and left the town forever, along with her mother to start anew.

While a lot of her bad habits followed, Tiffany was on a clearer path to success and happiness. The only person that stood in the way now was Tiffany herself.

/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

© weldherwings.

 

[Maverick.]

Diazepam

Turnover

Eli.

B

asics.

Full name

Eli Baker

D.O.B.

November 30th

age

Twenty-three

gender

Cis-Male (he/him)

Orientation

Pansexual

Degree

Computer Science

A

ppearance.

hair

Eli’s hair is thick, short, and tightly coiled. It’s jet black, just like his father’s was before it began to fade to gray. He keeps it styled simply, and he often decides to clip it himself as he sees fit when he can’t be bothered to visit a barber.

eyes

Depending on the lighting, Eli’s eyes are either nearly black or honey-brown. They’re usually wide and welcoming, set behind a sloping brow and long lashes. They’re especially animated, constantly squinting or softening as his expression changes.

skin

Eli’s skin is deep brown in color, with a warm, clear complexion.

height

6'4"

build

He’s always had a rather lanky build, with long limbs and prominent bone structure. His growth spurt happened quickly right when he entered high school, and ever since then, he’s received many comments on his height. He’s no athlete at this point, since much of his time is spent hunched over a keyboard, but he’s still far from fragile.

face claim

Alfred Enoch

P

ersona.

Personality

Eli finds himself in the constant pursuit of levity, and his general disposition reflects that. He’s laid-back and lighthearted, and cracking a joke and putting on a smile has become second nature to him, whether it’s appropriate or not. In social situations, Eli clings to his humor, which makes him most recognizable for his care-free attitude and agreeable personality. He’s most likely to throw around as many jokes as possible in hopes that they will stick, and sometimes, his humor is rather hit-or-miss.

If nothing else, Eli tries to be nice. One can always expect him to be ready to grant a favor and offer generosity. He’s nearly never aggressive, always preferring to make friends over enemies. His shoulder is consistently available to lean-on without judgment, although if anyone is seeking seriousness or sound advice, he’s not the person to look for. Warmth, however, is something that he’s ready to give. His energy seems to be unwavering, at least when he has an audience.

When it comes to people-pleasing, Eli has the tendency to go too far. He often neglects his own emotions and well-being to tend to others, and his self-sacrificing behavior can have consequences that affect his ability to look out for himself. His need to be liked can become a desperation, and there are times in which he’s far too willing to lose himself if it means that he can appeal to the eyes of others. His passiveness makes him a push-over in most situations, even at his own expense. Standing up for himself has always been difficult for him, and he’d rather turn his cheek than face any adversary if it means that he can avoid conflict.

positive traits

protective - positive - optimistic - empathetic - humorous - curious - generous

negative traits

flippant - irritating - deflective - facetious - self-deprecating - conformable - obsequious

fears

Eli almost fears the guilt that comes with making a mistake more than the mistake itself. He’s scared of responsibility, and the threat of failure that comes with it. He’s spent sleepless nights worrying about his mother, and growing up with the feeling that the balance of someone’s safety rests in his hands has made him terrified of the feeling of being to blame for the pain of those around him. Even if he can’t admit it, his image matters a lot to him. In his nightmares, he’s in elementary school again, disliked and unwanted, with his insecurities on full display. Being able to pick and choose the parts of himself he wants to hide or magnify is the only thing that gives him a sense of control, and without that cover, he’s far too exposed. Eli’s used to earning love from his friends and family, and the idea of getting rejected if he ever just asked for it instead is too much for him to bear.

B

ackground.

Eli Baker was born the youngest of seven.

By the time he came around, the family had already done their growing, shifting and setting in their roles long before he was in the picture. The Baker’s were already stretched thin, and his siblings were uninterested in making any room for him. His parents had been married for nearly a decade by then, and each year was more difficult for their relationship than the last.

Growing up in a full house meant that Eli had a steep learning curve. There was always something going on that made the young boy feel like the world could be falling down, some battle among his siblings or an icy look exchanged between his parents. As a child, Eli had somehow spent a lot of time alone in a house that was always shared.

His father was a carpenter, and his days at work were constant with a family like his to provide for, and his hours were long. Eli quickly realized that his dad had already chosen his favorite children, and that if he didn’t do something spectacular to catch his attention, his dad’s interest in him dwindled to nothing.

But Eli’s mother was a different story.

He didn’t know what it was about him that made his mother latch onto him, whether it was the fact that he was the youngest or that his sense of empathy as a child was too keen to go unnoticed by someone who craved it. But the two came to depend on each other, even as Eli continued to grow older.

When he finally reached school age, he was excited. It was a chance to get out of the house, make friends, and learn something new. For his elementary school years, it went horribly.

The bullying was relentless, a constant hum behind his ear, a heavy weight at the bottom of his stomach. He couldn’t figure it out. He didn’t know what he was doing wrong, and any attempt at making friends or smoothing things over didn’t seem to remedy it. His teachers offered some reprieve, however, and he was able to find some solace in their company and understanding.

In fourth grade, in 1973, his English teacher, an early computer buff, introduced the young boy to the brand new Xerox Alto. As soon as Eli’s fingertips touched the keys, he was obsessed. That feeling would follow him for the rest of his life.

At home, all he had was his mom. He was a smart kid, and even though he was still quite young, he knew at some point around then that something was wrong. His mother acted differently around him than other adults did. To them, he was a child. To his mother, he became her confidant, her comfort, and her counselor. Oftentimes, she wasn’t well, and beyond the bouts of exhaustion that came with taking care of her children while working two different jobs and the wear of her failing marriage, there was something that affected her, and had her whole life. She was lonely, sort of like Eli was then, and without many friends. Eli knew that she was sad a lot, and he became the one who she showed it to clearly. She was a strong woman with a lot on her plate, but when she needed someone to lean on, she always chose Eli. And he was too young for that, and it was too much for him. He couldn’t tell her that, though. Over the years, he began to realize the impact that he had on her mood, and as he grew up, the fact that he was so close to her suffering made him feel, in some way, responsible for it. It wasn’t long until he thought that if he wasn’t there to take care of her, something really bad might happen. There were times in which she told him as much, and he never forgot it.

By middle school, Eli was prepared for a new school with more torment. On the very first day with a new crowd, he decided that rather than wait for one of the kids to take a jab at him with some deprecating joke at his expense, he would just beat them to it and get it over with. Amazingly, it worked.

That was then he realized that a laugh could earn him some protection. The more jokes he made and the more he acted out, the less he was pushed at. If he was funny, people didn’t mind that he was around, and this knowledge cemented itself in his brain. It became all he ever thought about. After a while, he settled into the role of the care-free class clown, and he decided that it was a much more comfortable place to be.

One day, he tried telling a joke to his mom. It made her smile.

It became his self-appointed job to make people laugh, and he soon found that he liked it. From his teenage years all the way to adulthood, his sense of humor shaped his personality. The way he acted around other people became the most important thing to him, only until he was alone. When he was alone, all he cared about was computers.

Ever since he was ten years old, it was his mission to learn everything there was to know about the blooming world of computer technology. By the time he was in high school, he was learning about programming and spending his time building computers as advanced as he was capable. It was incredibly frustrating and exciting at the same time, and he loved every second of it. Growing up as the field was first expanding only piqued his interest more, and he knew that he wanted to pursue a career in computer technology.

College was hard to bring up. He desperately wanted to go, but his limited funds and the responsibility he felt tied to his mother made it seem impossible. He stayed awake at night, torn between wanting to live his own life or feeling like he needed to be around to save someone else’s. It wasn’t until he was presented with a scholarship to NYU that he actually made his choice.

His mother cried. And then she begged him to stay. He grit his teeth and held fast to his decision, trying his best to calm her while not giving in. It went on until she threatened him, and told him exactly what he always feared: that if he left her, something terrible would happen to her.

Eli crumbled.

He promised her that he would stay, talked her down until they both could breathe. He’d done it many times before. But this time, he called a doctor afterward.

That first night in the hospital, he stayed awake with her until she fell asleep. After, he went home. By morning, he was on the way to New York.

That first week away, he slept very little at odd hours. He ate even less, his stomach curled into knots. He called the hospital almost hourly. She was alright, he would find out, but she wouldn’t talk to him. The punishment that came with setting his first boundary lasted for what felt like years. After a while, she finally answered his calls and quelled his worries a bit. She was getting some help now, and she seemed to be able to function better without him now that she was receiving treatment. Over time, they eventually fell into a familiar routine. They called each other daily, and sometimes their conversations were healthy, but sometimes they were the same as when Eli was a kid. Whether he was going to be chatted to or swallowed was something he could never predict, but he held onto her still. The miles between them made it different so that sometimes, they did Eli some good, and other times, they only exacerbated his anxiety.

Through it all, Eli’s mother told him that she still loved him just as much, even though he left. But she never actually forgave him for it. So the guilt would remain.

On his own, college was a whole new world for him. He came to love his classes and the friends that he made. He was fine as long as he kept himself occupied, so he found a way to thrive on restless energy, spending his days and nights at the computer lab or out laughing with friends. He was able to find a way to get caught up in college life, and now that it's ending, he’s afraid of where it might lead, especially if it points toward home.

g

allery.

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[FloatingAroundSpace]

文 佳 怡

main

persona

history

other

• 01
• 02
• 03
• 04

• 
  
  
  

  scroll

  
  

  
  

  
  

  Fill the silence with the sound of your voice to remind them that you are here

  
  

  wen, jia yi (juliet)

  
  

  
  

  nearly twenty-two

  
  

  july twenty-ninth

  
  

  asexual

  
  

  female - she/her pronouns

  
  

  born in maplewood, nj

  
  

  finance major

  
  

  Carry the weight like a good daugher

  
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  HEIGHT 178 cm (5' 10'')
  

  
  WEIGHT 60 kg (132 lbs)
  

  
  HAIR Black
  

  
  EYES Dark brown

  
  

  
  
  

  If you were to ask about NYU if people know who Jia Yi, or Juliet as she is called, is, there is a fairly decent chance that the response would be along the lines of "No, but I know what she sounds like." Unflinchingly loud, to the point of unbearableness on occasion, she does not seem aware of her own volume more often than not, and her speaking voice is comparable to shouting for some. As one might expect from someone who seems incapable of how forceful the sound of her own voice might be at a given moment, she has trouble remembering to sit down and shut up from time to time, though there is no malicious intent behind this. Her time in college has brought this flaw to her attention, and she is working on being better at giving other people the moment, as it were.
  
  For most people, there seems to be no clear difference on how Juliet may treat an acquaintance or a friend. Despite her loudness, she is more than happy to spend quality one-on-one time with people who are less inclined to come with her to the boisterous parties and events she enjoys frequenting. So long as there is someone about, she seems perfectly content. Who that person is does not seem to affect her mood, as she seems eager to deafen anyone who is willing to sit down and speak with her, and many people would call her a friendly face around campus, always eager to take a moment to chat, hollering hello's and goodbye's while running to class or work.
  
  Despite how much she talks, she keeps her personal cards close to her chest. It may take a moment, but on occasion, the realization strikes that despite the amount of talking she does, there is very little that people know about her. There is politeness and there is kindness and there is enthusiasm, but whether or not there is substance behind the relationships she forges is another question entirely.
  

  
  
  
  
• 
  
  the past

  tw: discussion of infant death
  
  Juliet was born the only child of her parents, a pair of early-twentysomethings that were no longer the bright-eyed and cheerful newlyweds they were only a handful of years ago. Their previous child had passed due to SIDS, and they had originally married for the purposes of the baby. Unwilling to dissolve their marriage and bound by their mutual trauma of losing a child so young, the two had Juliet in an attempt to recapture the joy of their first few years together, though this was always destined to fail, on account of the fact that a living child can never live up to the hopes and dreams of one immortalized in death.
  
  As such, Juliet spent her childhood always being a step below what her father had dreamed she would be, and not even within her mother's vision. Left largely to her own devices, never quite measuring up to the son that never was (her first failure being a daughter), she learned that being loud got her the attention she needed. She never quite lashed out at anyone, but she noticeably latched onto just about anyone that would give her the time of day, declaring friendships instantaneously whenever another child approached her. Her friendly personality earned her many companions, and she had a few ones that could have been considered close, though as she grew into her teen years and her supposed independence and ability to take care of herself translated into her parents stretching their distance from her even more, she slowly began to drift away from her own companions and peers.
  
  The only time either of her parents seemed to glance over her was when she achieved high marks academically, or did well in other traditional venues, such as music. As a result, she spent many of her teenage years studying, practicing, and doing everything in her power to receive some form of attention from them.
  
  In the end, she gave up. The distance from college forced her to reinvent herself outside of the achingly long shadow of her dead older sibling, and she has told herself again and again that she will never return to the way she was in grade school, begging at their feet for scraps.
  
  
  
  
• 
  
  GREATEST FEAR: The emotional and physical neglect that Juliet endured her childhood has left her with two main fears: the fear of being cast aside and forgotten, neglected and left behind; and the fear of never being good enough for anyone.
  
  While they may seem similar at first glance, she combats the first one by being loud and obnoxious, taking up as much space wherever she goes. However, she is concerned that people may find her lacking and repulsive, and as a result, she does her best to put up a wall between herself and others, out of fear that they may leave her if she gives them a glimpse of who she truly is.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  face claim - Cici Xiang Yejing
  

  
  languages spoken - english, mandarin
  

  
  instruments played - piano, violin

  
  
  

/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

© weldherwings.