Multiple Settings overcomplicated_thread.txt

digni-fy · Nov 24, 2018

spoiler for mobile at the bottom

sam || 18 || male
i'm a big fan of huge, intricate plots, that you need a doc for just to keep track of
i'm looking for some good, longterm, plotty roleplay. i've got all my info down below

EXPECTATIONS

stuff about me:

i'm on central standard time ( cst )
i only play as males ( cis, trans, etc ) bc girls are smarter than me and i don't wanna do them wrong : (
i usually respond as soon as i can after i get a message. i can manage at least four a day depending on length
i can write anything between a single paragraph or novella
i'm dropout friendly as long as i have warning

stuff about you:

16+
will respond at least twice a week
will write a paragraph minimum in response
will use proper grammar to the best of your ability
willing to talk ooc a little
pls don't come to me wanting to rp and just go "what do you want to do" because man idk i have to text people to ask what food to get you gotta make these decisions for me. have an idea before you come i'm begging you.

PREFERENCES

preferences:

canon x oc is okay
m/f and m/m is okay
third person pov
some angst of varying intensity
some eventual romance. i like slow burn, so it can take as long as you want.
i don't play characters over 30y/o or younger than 16y/o (with the exception of describing npc(?) actions)
i won't start an rp with a pre-established relationship further than friends. i tend to prefer total strangers

FANDOMS

fandoms:

homestuck
- tavros, sollux, mituna, cronus
game of thrones
- jon snow
overwatch
- jesse

GENRES/PROMPTS/IDEAS

general themes:
- apocalypse (zombie, nuclear, etc)
- deserted island
- dystopia
- fake relationship
- forbidden relationship
- hanahaki
- historical fiction
- medieval
- monsters
- time travel
as in: put the characters in this universe
fandom universes:
- avatar the last airbender/legend of korra
- detroit: become human
- disney
- game of thrones
- fallout games
- hunger games
- marvel/dc
- midnight texas
- overwatch
- percy jackson
- stardew valley
- supernatural
fandom universes:
- - Character A is an introvert that enjoys books and cats more than people and parties, however their call to adventure comes in the form of being magically sucked into one of their many novels. Character B is the main love interest for that novel. (A knight in shining armor, a bad boy, a vampire, an international spy, an archaeologist, the big bad wolf, etc…) The only problem is, Character A has no idea how to be romanced, wants to go home, and kicks up a fuss at even the slightest hint of being flirted with. So Character B has to figure out how to drag Character A through the story while being plagued by the feeling that their so-called ‘damsel in distress’ isn’t acting how they should be.
- - nothing yet.
these can get long, so i put them into even more tabs. good fuckin' luck. these are in order of craving.
(p.s. some of these are just putting characters in fandom's universe, but you don't have to know anything about that fandom to rp it with me)
- (based on the LOST series)
  Fire is the first thing that he sees when he wakes up. Bright orange flames reach up in contrast with a light blue sky. The smoke acts as black clouds. But at the moment, it's a bit hard for him to see much besides watery colors. Blinking away the blur, he pushes himself up onto his elbows, not comprehending why he’s outside and practically surrounded by fire. He’s first hit with the overwhelming smell of smoke, which is to be expected considering his situation.
  
  He sits up completely, back as straight as a pole as he looks around, slightly calloused hands desperately grasping at warm sand. He can feel his heart pound now that he’s able to see what’s going on around him. He can’t tell what’s worse. The remains of the middle portion of a commercial airplane sitting on a beach, or the bodies laying around it.
  
  It’s surrounded by wreckage and what’s now no more than scrap metal, as well as both of the engines, one torn to pieces, and one still spinning fast enough to beat a car. He swipes the back of his hand across his shirt, getting as much sand off of it as possible before doing the same across his face. A quick glance at his arm shows that he’s covered in flecks of blood, dirt, and ash.
  
  Revving grabs his attention. The engine can’t be more than sixty yards away, and engines on 250 seat airlines aren’t exactly small. Sparks shower from it, shooting up into the air, leading his eyes to see one wing of the plane. It sticks straight up into the air, towering above the chaos on the beach.
  
  When his eyes finally return to the ground, he changes his mind. It isn’t chaos, it’s a war zone. Survivors run about, some injured, others not. They help each other in a frantic state, any cries or words spoken completely drowned out by the roaring of the engine.
  
  With a bit of a struggle, he pushes himself up, standing shakily. With an attempted step back, he stumbles a bit, keeping his eyes on the wreckage. Past the remains of the plane is more beach, probably a hundred feet or so, and then ocean. Rough, never ending ocean. No signs of any other land nearby, or any boats in the distance.
  
  People are dead. Just looking around the beach is enough to show at least four bodies, and that’s just what he can see from where he stands. Not only that, but people are still actively dying. He can see a man with metal sticking out of his stomach, arm up in the air in a silent plea for help, and a woman working to lift a part of the wing that had smashed into the ground onto a survivor, dragging his legs out from under it in a bloody mess.
  
  A wave of nausea overcomes him at the sight.
  
  He isn't sure what causes it, but blood splatters around everywhere and the engine makes a horrible grinding sound. Naturally, he backs further away. Into the foliage of what seems like a jungle, and out of the way.
  
  It isn’t long before he runs across a duffle bag. This time though he is interrupted before it can trip him-- an explosion loud enough to make his ears ring distracts him. Turning, he finds that where a wing once stood up into the sky, it now lies on the ground in ruins. The jet fuel inside was probably what caused the explosion, and consequently, the fire on top of and around it.
  
  The explosion triggers some more frightened yelling and screaming, and he watches someone usher a pregnant woman to safety, keeps his eyes wide while a child yells for his dad. He feels like he might just be in hell.
- Snow drifts across the bodies of the fallen dead in thick white blankets, covering what’s left of them, but not hiding the blood left behind.
  
  While it’s true that dead men tell no tales, it’s clear that if these men could they would tell of some great battle deep in the woods. Surrounding their still smoking fire pit, eight dead bodies lie. Surrounding the small campsite thick branches poke out of the ground, the ends sharpened into points. Three of them now hold the heads of the dead, man, woman, and child, whose cloudy blue eyes stare into the oblivion of the afterlife.
  Wind whips through the long hair of one of the heads; a woman that was once undoubtedly beautiful. Her mouth hangs open in a constant scream, showing the wooden spike that was driven up through her neck.
  
  A boy stands atop the nearest hill, one hand on a tall pine tree, and the other on the hilt of the sword strapped to his belt. He wears a ragged cloak, pulled tight at the top, but billowing in the stinging wind at the bottom. He's been standing here for quite some time, looking over the remains he's found. He isn't quite sure what he's meant to do now, or if he should do anything at all. These people look different from most. Their clothes are patched together from whatever animal skins and fabrics they had available, and the weapons lying in the snow look almost barbaric compared to the average sword or axe. They’re from the North. Far North, much farther than they are now.
  
  To the North, there is a wall. A giant, 300 mile-long wall of pure ice. It stands between the Seven Kingdoms and Always Winter. While the Seven Kingdoms has proper civilization, there’s nothing of the sort North of the wall. Hundreds of miles of ice and snow. Mountains and forests. Anything and everything that comes to mind when you think “cold”. Grandfathers frighten their grandchildren with tales of wildlings, giants, gods, and men that rise from the dead, all of which reside far North. The wall is meant to protect the kingdoms from those terrors.
  
  Still, some wildlings manage to get past from time to time. Whether it be by boat, by going through abandoned strongholds in the wall, or just scaling it, a few always make it through. Recently, it’s been more and more. Something is scaring them South, the boy is sure of it.
  
  With a deep breath, turns away from the bloody mess he’s found, walking through ankle-deep snow to get back to his horse. He’d tied her to a tree a few yards away, wanting her to stay put while he collected the traps that had been set out before the snow. The stable boy was assigned this job due to a shortage of help, as those that had set the traps in the first place were busy hunting. The first snow of the Summer means an oncoming shortage of food, and no good bowman could be spared.
  
  The boy makes quick work of untying the knot holding the horse to the tree. With a huff, he climbs onto his brown horse, grabbing the reins. Somewhere behind him, a twig snaps. Under any other circumstances he would just assume that it's an animal or a nut falling from a tree, but now he's not so sure. He needs to get back to Winterfell and alert the guard of what he's found-- he can't risk dying first. His home, and everyone there, could be in danger.
- Why in the world a guy had traveled so far east from Seattle is an excellent question, but it is a question that will never have an answer. Why has he done anything that he’s done? Once again, no answer. He is a mystery. Not in the sense that girls are falling for him because he's “just so mysterious and emotional”, but in the sense you never know the logic or reasoning behind anything that he does. Maybe he’s passing a seemingly random car as he’s headed out of the city? He busts the window and triggers the car alarm. Why would anybody want to start a horde? Nobody would, other than him. Though when he does it, he sprints out as fast as he can. Somehow, he never manages to get caught in the middle of any of the numerous hordes he started, but he probably helps get other people out of the city with them. This man certainly does a lot of helping without ever even realizing it. He just feels like he needs to do things, so he does. Traveling all the way to New York City is one of those things.
  
  He is headed towards Lady Liberty, walking down the zombie infested streets of NYC with ease. How? He hasn’t bathed in four weeks, and he regularly smears black blood on his skin. Though he is disgusting to be around, and easily mistaken for a zombie himself, it’s enough to fool the undead into not even noticing him a majority of the time.
  
  He stops at a car, looks around, and busts the window. The alarm goes off instantly, despite just how long it’s had for the battery to drain. Perfect. He takes off in a dead sprint away from the vehicle, a smile on his face. Anything within a half mile radius would be able to hear that thanks to the sound reverberating off the tall buildings of the city. He just knows that other people will hear it too. He slows down as he reaches the edge of Manhattan in Battery Park. From where he stands against the metal railing, he can see the Statue of Liberty in the distance, just as he’d imagined it would be. Three years without maintenance has left it to decay, the arm holding her torch high has cracked and fallen off, likely into the concrete surrounding it. He has to squint to see even that much, but it’s enough to satisfy him.
  
  He twitches a bit as zombies stumble past him, a quiet laugh escaping his mouth. It must be time to get going. Intuition has never led him wrong-- only his actual thoughts have. He makes his best guesses about where to go, and follows the path he puts himself on.
  
  Looking around the area, he sees a ferry- likely the one that used to be used to transport tourists to Ellis Island- docked fifty or so yards away. He lets go of the metal rail, leaving two bloody handprints as he does so. His shoes scuff on the dirty, bloodstained concrete as he walks across it, heading down the designated pathways to the entrance of the ferry. As he cracks the door open, movement can be heard inside. He walks in without an issue, the windows providing enough light to let him get through the entrance and onto the deck.
  
  The deck of the ship is surprisingly clean, so is was probably empty when the virus hit the city. He had never learned where this all started, nor did he care, he always just found it interesting to see something still clean. Especially something white. He takes a seat on one of the slightly dusty benches, shrugging his bag off his shoulders and unzipping it. From the bottom, he pulls out the half a granola bar he’d been saving since Ohio. As he takes a bite of it, he ignores how stale it’s gotten, instead focusing on how good the chocolate bits inside taste.
- In all his years of living in the seaside city of Tarrin, two things have always been made clear-- do not walk alone at night, and do not visit the docks after sunset.
  
  This boy has had this pounded into his head since before he was even able to understand it. See, legend has it that something lurks below the waters of the South Sea. Something big enough to eat a man whole, and with enough power to cause a tropical storm just by hitting its tail against the surface of the clear blue. It has hundreds of different names, but in Tarrin it’s simply known as the Behemoth.
  
  Nobody knows what it truly is, but most everyone can claim that they’ve seen it before. Vague descriptions fly around constantly, ranging from a giant eel to some otherworldly being. Fishermen abuse the tales to cash in on anything mysterious they pull up in their nets, and the nobles absolutely adore chatting about their own versions of the story.
  
  But unlike the fishermen and the nobles, he has nothing. No money, no ship. All he has to his name are the clothes on his back, and the few things he can carry on his belt and in his messenger bag. A few copper pieces, candles, a yard or two of rope. Nothing special, really. The most expensive thing he carries is his sword. It’s a beautiful thing; over three feet of damascus steel. Being the strongest and rarest steel known man, it goes for a high price. Handed down to him from his father, it’s his’ most prized possession.
  
  Now he sits on the end of one of the wooden docks on the sea, legs dangling over the edge with a yard between his feet and the water. Sword in hand, he wipes a rag down the side of it, shining and cleaning it as best he can given what he has.
  
  Below the clear blue water, fish dart around like they’re playing tag- something he has always rather enjoyed watching. A lazy smile plays across his face, lighting up his features with surprising ease. The only thing that draws his attention away from the colorful sea life just below his feet is a small splash to his left. Though the sun is nearing the horizon with every passing second. It has not yet set. As far as he knows, there’s no reason to stray away from the water quite yet.
- “Well, it ain’t like being a French soldier would be any better,” a soldier shrugs to a fellow American as they walk down one of the previously bombed streets of Darmstadt, Germany. They’ve been assigned the job of patrolling the streets and searching for survivors, though none have been located yet. The bombing had happened a while back, and American forces have since moved into what’s left of the area. They’re still on the hunt for anyone around though, as taking in innocents seems to be their unit’s main objective at the time, as well as arresting German soldiers that would for some reason still be in the city.
  
  He really couldn’t care less about his current job. He was drafted into the army earlier in the year, and all he wants to do is go back home. Back home in America he has a life. He’s old enough to buy his own house, and is on the verge of having enough saved up to do so without having any help. Back home he has friends and family, and he can enjoy his life and do what he pleases. Though here in Germany, he eats, fights, patrols, and sleeps. That was it. Day in and day out, unless travelling, that’s all he ever did. Very rarely has his unit even come in contact with the enemy.
  
  A silence passes between the two men, though they both stop after hearing a gunshot in the distance. Both of them reach for their guns strapped to their back, pulling them over their shoulders and putting their fingers over the triggers. It isn’t long before more American’s round the corner, sprinting with their own guns under their arms. Things become a bit disorienting from there. A small German force descends upon them, running in and shooting from basically everywhere. The soldier at his side is shot before he even has a chance to raise his weapon, and it prompts him to quickly run, finding a place to hide among the ruins of a house that had been victim of one of the bombs. With adrenaline pumping through him, he balances his gun on the small segment of still-standing brick wall, aiming it back towards where he’d come from. A few of the Germans soon come through the street, passing him without notice, looting the downed Yankees. The rest seem to have taken a different route, splitting up onto a different avenue.
  
  The last American sighs inwardly, checking to see how much ammunition he has. The few seconds that he takes to look away are enough for him to be noticed. Something is said in a language he doesn’t understand, and the next thing he processes is a gunshot to his right shoulder. A broken scream tears out of his throat, but he clenches his jaw and fumbles to get his gun level with his eye. Blinking, he aims at the man who had just shot him, pulling the trigger and downing him. A bullet right through his chest and into the arm of another.
  
  Brick isn’t the most ideal cover, but he still ducks behind it nevertheless, his back flush against it. The Germans are closing in on him now, and all he can do is press a hand to his bleeding shoulder.
- On some very rare occasions, a hunter will find himself in a less than desirable situation. Well, actually, it happens fairly often. Most times he will just unknowingly wander into a situation that’s worse than he thought, though in other instances, he will get himself into trouble on purpose. Typically when he does this he has a valid reason. As a hunter, his main pastime is obviously hunting the supernatural. Whether it be spirits or weird monsters, he’s likely tangled with it at some point. However, demons are a species he’s avoided. Demons aren’t out of his comfort level when it comes to hunting, he’d just rather not put in that much energy, or even bother memorizing exorcisms. That sort of thing just never held any appeal. Though the hunter community has been in a sort of tizzy for the past few days.
  
  According to “hunter radio”, or as he likes to call it, “incompetent bitch central”, the last known seal to hell has been broken. That being said, there are allegedly thousands of demons kickflipping their way up from hell and causing all kinds of Grand Theft Auto level havok. And on some accounts, the aforementioned kick-flipping demons are targeting hunters specifically. Usually this wouldn’t worry him at all. Demons targeting hunters is a common occurrence, but this time it seems to be happening every chance they get. They’re actively seeking out hunters like they’re planning to drive them to extinction.
  
  Standing from the terribly unorganized desk in his room, he takes a swig from one of the many brown beer bottles around him. He puts it down on the desk and walks out of the room, making the very short venture down the hall and to the living room. Maybe it’s over-dramatic, but he’s already prepared for the worst. Salt, holy water, and many varying religious symbols are spread out across his coffee table. Has he actually spread salt in front of his doors and windows? No, of course not, he doesn’t feel that he’s big enough of a target to bother with that yet. He isn’t one of those well known hunters, nor is he extremely active in his field, so with any luck he won’t be bothered by the demons that are trying to take over the world.
  
  As usual, he’s more concerned with the local issues. Whether it be ghosts scaring teens out of abandoned houses or a wendigo wreaking havoc in the nearest campsite, he deals with the smaller issues. The only demon and angel encounters he’s had have been completely accidental. He’s still alive today, so he figures he must be doing something right.

MY CHARACTERS

b y l

Byl Myrn
20 || 5'11 || male || pansexual || scottish
I N F O R M A T I O N
y'all want a song? - or more info?
Byl was originally made for a d&d game. He's a Wood Elf Bard, who specializes in illusion magic. Due to how elves age in d&d, he's 203 years old, which is the elf equivalent of about 20. Depending on the setting, his age, race, etc, can be changed to fit. Below are the characteristics listed on his original character sheet, as well as his backstory for that plot. He's based around the background of Folk Hero.
Personality Trait: I get bored easily. When am I going to get on with my destiny?
Ideal: There's no good in pretending to be something I'm not.
Bond: A proud noble once gave me a horrible beating, and I will take my revenge on any bully I encounter.
Flaw: The tyrant who rules my land will stop at nothing to see me killed.
Backstory: Coming from a small village to the East, Byl’s family always struggled year round to pay the taxes imposed upon them by the ruler of the kingdom they lived within. Being more of a tyrant than a king, he was always severely disliked by the general population, only favored by the nobles.
The king’s name day was always a huge celebration, everyone in the kingdom always flocking to the castle no matter how they felt about the tyrant. See, the amount of food served there was more than the poor villagers usually saw a year, and passing up on the chance for a decent meal would be foolish. Some even dared to steal some of the food that would have otherwise been thrown away after the celebration.
A young Byl, no more than 140 years old had always been jealous of the families that had the delight of enjoying such a good food for more than one day a year. Being as silent as he could, he attempted to swipe a loaf of bread from one of the many banquet tables.
Byl was caught by a greatly feared nobleman, picked up by the scruff of his neck and taken away from the celebration. What happened to him in the empty castle stables that night still haunts him to this day, but he no longer worries about the man that had caught him.
It takes less time than you'd think for a sobbing “fourteen” year old to kill a Goliath with nothing but a horseshoe.
In the years that followed, Byl began to resent anyone of a high class status. He only narrowly escaped the kings celebration without being caught for killing the Goliath.
He spent white a bit of time at home, stuck in his head but when he met a wonderful woman, he came out of his slump. He came back to his jovial self, finally smiling and happy again. He spent years at her side, growing up with her, and it was her that inspired him to start making the life of other poor families better.
As his confidence grew, he began to steal from the nobles of the kingdom, taking gold, jewels, and even food. Most of what he took was given to any household suffering to stay afloat in a kingdom flooded with poverty.
Over time, he began to get recognized. The commoners began to rejoice at the sight of him slinking around their villages, and noblemen wanted his head. To this day, he holds a large bounty.
With his name becoming more well known, Byl’s ego began to swell. He became full of himself-- over confident. His greatest heist was his last. He broke into the tyrant’s castle under the guise of a servant. That day, he stole the crown right off the king’s head.
Having never been an amazing rogue, Byl has always relied on his charisma to get what he wants. Being deceptive and persuasive. Once the king realized his crown had been stolen rather than taken to be cleaned, there was no amount of charisma that could get him off the hook.
Being a wanted criminal has its ups and downs. Sure, it gives you a good excuse to travel the world, but it also means that getting caught could get you killed. So, Byl turned to his childhood hobby to make a living.
After selling the crown, Byl spent nearly all of his money bribing his way into a trade ship, and buying the best lute he could find along the way.
Two years after departing, a letter from the woman finally found him. He had a child back home- a beautiful little girl. No matter how badly he wanted to go back, he knew it would only get him killed, and drag his child into his problems as well. So he didn't. He thought hard about his daughter every day, but he stayed far away from the East, feeling more and more guilty as the years passed. He reached adulthood on the sea, celebrating and drowning his sorrows with the captain of the ship and a barrel of rum.
He spent nearly a decade traveling and improving his musical skills, even taking on the title of “bard" in the process. The stories he tells are always interesting enough to capture an audience, and sometimes revealing enough to get him run out of town. After all, a bounty of over a hundred thousand gold is no laughing matter.
Byl has long since lost count of the people who have tried to kill him, but one that will always stick with him.
The little Dwarf boy that held a dagger to his stomach. A boy that just wanted to get the gold for his dying father.
Rather than making a breaking for it, Byl gave that boy all the gold he had on his person, leaving himself landlocked. When he left that town, he decided that would stay on land, and would go wherever word of mouth took him.

photo credit
top left: original drawing -- top right: @louistato on instagram
bottom left: @sagasketchbook on deviantart -- bottom right: @helpfvl on tumblr
m a e i z e

Maeize Berdej
20 || 6'1|| cis male || undecided || mexican-filipino
I N F O R M A T I O N
y'all want a song? - or more info?
Maeize was originally made as a Homestuck troll. I never actually used him but I like him so he's here lmao. Just subtract the Homestuck.
Personality: Maeize suffers with a lot of anger and fear, which means he is prone to the occasional temper tantrum- but also terrors and paranoia. His sense of empathy is so strong, that he is sometimes able to actually “feel” the pain of others. Still, Maeize is on always guard, watching out for someone that might do him wrong. Thankfully, he’s pretty sure can tell the trustworthy from the untrustworthy at a glance.
All this experience with emotion gives him an understanding of it. He can understand and empathize with the fears of others, knowing what makes them afraid or angry and sometimes why, and how to deal with it. Though, he’s also extremely stubborn. No one can tear down his boundaries or push him to do anything he does not want to. He builds walls for himself and doesn’t let himself be influenced by anyone else. He has a self esteem like no other because of this.
Appearance: Maize doesn’t have any features that really make him stand out. He’s around 6’1, of average weight, and is pretty plain. His hair is cut short- like it was shaved on the sides at one point but has since grown out. Because of this, some of the hair from the top of his head falls down onto his forehead, getting as low as his brows. He does have some semblance of sideburns, though it is mostly just overgrown stubble. There is a similar situation on his chin. It doesn’t seem to grow, but he doesn’t seem to shave it either.
He’ll sometimes be seen in a pair of round glasses, but he chooses not to wear them a majority of the time just due to the inconvenience of how often they’re smudged. As far as fashion goes, he fits in pretty well with most. Some may consider him on the more fashionable side for a guy, but that’s debatable. He typically wears a flannel, which he will go between wearing and having tied around his waist. Under it, he a black shirt. His jeans are usually ripped up in multiple place.

photo credit
top left: jacob morton -- top right: supernatural on cw
bottom left: unknown -- bottom right: @imaanpower on tumblr
d e a n

Demario "Dean" Del Olmo
19 || 5'10 || cis male || undecided || mexican-american
I N F O R M A T I O N
y'all want a song? - or more info?
Dean was originally made as a Homestuck kid, go figure.
Personality: Dean has the nasty habit of telling people what he thinks is wrong about them and being very forward about it. If he sees unhealthy behavior, he’ll do his best to eliminate it. Even if it’s something as simple as nail biting. However, he himself has quite a few bad habits. He never sees his own problems as big of a deal as others, and because of that he actually isn’t the healthiest person himself. A lot of his personality actually revolves around that. He usually comes across as caring because of his tendency to point out things that he thinks are bad habits. Though some people get fed up with it very quickly. Because of how some people reacted to his natural personality, he-- over time-- developed a sort of “badass” persona. This is what he will usually show people when he first meets them. He tries to act like he doesn’t actually care about much of anything unless it’s about him, though for the observant it will be obvious that unhealthy habits still get to him. He may not outwardly express it, but it’s pretty easy to see in his expressions that he doesn’t like something.
More often than not, Dean is hyper aware of the time. He’s used to both accidentally being late to events, and having others be late on plans he’s made. He’s the type of guy that would count down the last ten seconds before the bell rang and school got out every day. Oddly enough, even though he’s always aware of the time, he’s very hard to motivate. He gets things done last minute and doesn’t worry about thing a single second before he has to, which is a flaw of his. He’s constantly stuck in a rut. He’s only really ready to do much of anything when it involves others.
Dean is very much a team player. He will do most anything, to help out someone, especially if they’re working together. The persona he tries to put on sometimes conflicts with this, usually leading people to tell that the persona is fake, but he is helpful nonetheless.

Appearance: Dean tries very hard to have a “badass” look, and it shows in his clothing choice. He often wears a leather jacket, along with some worn out jeans and boots. He will usually even throw in a red bandana around his neck. It isn't rare to see him lounging around in something more comfortable though, such as a normal tshirt and shorts.
As for his build, he is around 5’9, and could best be described as what a fox would look like if it was turned into a human, (but not in a furry way). He's thin, but is fairly toned from just doing everyday things and helping his abuela around the house. He doesn't look very strong, and comes across as more of a thought oriented guy than the type to jump into a situation (though he actually is the former).
His hair is short on the sides, and longer on the top. He keeps it styled back, but has been doing so for long enough that his hair naturally tries to go that way, though it can't really do it right on its own. It's a dark brown. So much so that it just looks black unless he's in direct sunlight. His skin is also fairly dark, both from a tan and his genetics.

photo credit
top left: francisco lachowski -- top right: royalfashionist.com
bottom left: @gregoryquire on tumblr -- bottom right: @ruslan_mustapaev_ on instagram

code by

digni-fy