Realistic or Modern 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘵: 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘴

[Miaow]

"you're an inspiration."
no. i'm sick

YUMIN SONG

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  warning!

  
  

  This character includes themes of physical and mental abuse, alcohol addiction, depression, anxiety and PTSD. Please read at your own discretion.

  
  
  

  
  

  i agree

  
  

  
  
  
  
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    basic info

    
    

    Name:

    Song Yu-Min
    

    Nickname:

    Yumin, Yuyu
    

    Age:

    18
    

    dob:

    April 28th
    

    pronouns:

    She/they
    

    gender:

    Female
    

    zodiac sign:

    Taurus sun, Pisces moon, Gemini rising
    

    pob:

    Ohio, USA
    

    sexuality:

    Pansexual
    

    ailments:

    Autism, PTSD, depression and anxiety
    

    ethnicity:

    South Korean
    

    languages:

    English, highschool level French
    

    occupation:

    Student
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    

    I run from the liars, the fuel on the fire

    
    
    

    patient diary entry: 25.10.22

    
    I don't think I ever want to go home. I've had a taste of freedom and now I don't want to go back. But as soon as I'm released, I'll have no choice but to go back to him. Maybe if I stay mentally ill for long enough, Chanhyuk will come home and I can live with him c:
    
    I can never get in contact with him. He's always busy during free time so he doesn't always answer the phone... I miss being able to text him. He used to send me packages from his base with photos of him and his friends, I miss getting those. I don't understand why we're not allowed letters. What am I gonna do? Papercut myself to death? Eat the glue off the envelope? I'd just eat the glue from the art room. If I wanted to eat glue, that is...
    
    I don't really get why I can't have my phone, either. I just want to text my brother... and maybe play some Neko Atsume. I think that would improve my mental health, actually.
    
    Anyway, my psychiatrist said I could use this journal for whatever I wanted, so... I drew a little doggie. Borf borf c:
    
    
    
    

    
    
  • 
    

    
    

    I know I created myself

    
    
    

    scroll

    
    
    

    did you have any visitors on family day?

    
    

    No.

    
    

    How do you feel about that?

    
    

    Safe.

    
    

    
    
    

    height:

    5'1"
    
    

    physique:

    Pear shaped with curvier hips
    
    

    eyes:

    Dark brown, almost black
    
    

    hair:

    Light brown and cut short, resting just above her shoulders.
    
    

    face claim:

    Lee Suhyun
    

    
    
    
    

    click!

    
    
    

    features:

    Yumin has a sweet smile, she has been told it's her best feature, so she smiles often to hide everything else going on. Her hands are small and her fingernails are short and stubby from biting at them. The tips of her fingers are hard and tough from playing the ukulele. (TW - scars) She has scars from cigarette burns on her upper arms and back and a small scar above her left eyebrow from a head injury as a teen.
    
    

    body modifications:

    Earlobe piercings
    
    

    wardrobe style:

    Light academia, cottagecore
    
    

    
    

    click!

    
    
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    heavy by peach prc
    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    history

    
    

    TRIGGER WARNING; DOMESTIC AND CHILDHOOD ABUSE, ALCOHOL ABUSE - read at your own discretion
    
    Yumin was the second child of a young Korean couple living in America. Her mother, Song Ye-Jun, was born in America after her parents emigrated as young adults, and her father, Song Seo-Jun, had a long ancestry of Korean relatives in the US. Their marriage had been in trouble since before the birth of their first son, Song Chanhyuk, as Seo-Jun was an alcoholic and had been for many years. Their children were a last-ditch attempt of salvaging what they had when they first met.
    
    For many years, Yumin and Chanhyuk grew up with both of their parents. Though their father was violent and aggressive when he had been drinking, Ye-Jun did her best to shelter her children from his outbursts and took the brunt of it herself. For over a decade, she tried her best to put on a brave face for the sake of her children but, after so many years of physical and emotional abuse, she let him just before Yumin turned 11, leaving her children behind with their alcoholic father. Neither of the children have had contact with her since, despite how hard they've tried to find her, and neither understand why she left them behind. Seo-Jun's abuse turned to his children after his wife left.
    
    Although Seo-Jun was mostly drunk and, when he wasn't, he was severely withdrawing from alcohol, he was still smart about his abuse. He focused his attacks on areas of the body that would be covered by clothing so his children could attend school without suspicions. His children were constantly walking on eggshells around him, afraid that making any noise would anger him. Chanhyuk often provoked him, starting arguments and showing his anger towards him.
    
    At 18, Chanhyuk enrolled in the army, and once again, Yumin was left behind. She begged him to stay, but he believed this was his only way out. He had struggled in high school, he didn't have many skills, he couldn't afford to move out. Now alone with her father, Yumin only continued to spiral. She saw her father's behaviour, he turned to alcohol to cope with his own pain and thought it could help her with her own pain, physical and psychological. Although her alcoholism wasn't nearly as bad as her father's, it was causing her to miss school and isolate herself from her friends. As she was stealing the alcohol from her father, his anger worsened once she too began drinking.
    
    It came to a head when, during an altercation, Yumin fought back. Their neighbours called the authorities after hearing the argument and police intervened. Yumin was alone, her brother and mother had left her, and she was struggling to find a way out. In her panic, she threatened to harm herself if she was left in the hands of her father. The crisis unit was called and Yumin was detained under the 5150 act. Having just turned 18, she was admitted to the adult ward.
    
    Although she noticed many other patients were distraught to be admitted, Yumin soon realized she was safer here. Although she still struggled with her mental and physical health, especially while detoxing from alcohol, but she was grateful she had a place to rest and recover.
    
    

    
    
    

    I know I can't fight the sad days and bad nights

    
    
    
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    personality type - enfp-t

    
    

    
    

    
    extroverted
    

    
    intuitive
    

    
    feeling
    

    
    

    
    
    

    
    prospecting
    

    
    turbulent
    

    
    assertive
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    But I never asked for your help

    
    
    

    
    

    traits

    
    

    Yumin was always very smiley and bubbly as a child, though this was definitely dampened when her mother left. She still wore a smile on her face in public, afraid of what would happen if someone knew what was going on at home. She still tries her best to smile while admitted to Saint Margaret's, despite most of the staff knowing about her situation. Initially, while detoxing from alcohol, she was uncooperative and tense, untrusting of the strange staff members coming in and out of her room. Now, she realizes she is safer at Saint Margaret's than she is at home and is known for being polite to the nurses. She can find it difficult to open up in her therapy sessions as she has spent a long time being conditioned to believe speaking about her experiences was dangerous but she is slowly improving.
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    

  
  a

© weldherwings.

 

[Gao]

"ETERNITY;
HOW FAR?"

RITA LAMB.

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  warning!

  
  

  This character sheet involves mentions of:
  Bugs, hoarding, unhealthy living environment, familial death and stalking in History.

  
  
  

  
  

  CONTINUE

  
  

  
  
  
  
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    basic info

    
    

    Name:

    Rita Lamb
    

    Age:

    Twenty-Five
    

    dob:

    2nd of May
    

    zodiac:

    Taurus
    

    pronouns:

    She/Her
    

    gender:

    Female
    

    pob:

    New York, USA
    

    Sexuality:

    Questioning
    

    ethnicity:

    Mixed
    

    languages:

    Spanish & English
    

    occupation:

    Waitress
    

    ailments:

    Compulsive hoarding, primary erotomania, referential delusions.
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    

    How does one love without an altar?

    
    
    

    patient diary entry: 25.10.22

    
    Ma always said I’d find a man to treat me well. For the Wedding I’m thinkin’ lilies and ponies.
    
    Peonys..?
    
    What the fuck is the flower called.
    
    Peoenies.
    Peenies?
    
    It’s not peenie flowers I know that.
    
    Oh well.
    
    I hope there’s yoghurt at breakfast.
    

    
    
  • 
    

    
    

    And how does one love without bleeding?

    
    
    

    SCROLL

    
    
    

    Wanna see my wedding dress options?

    
    

    I don’t believe that would be a productive use of our time today.

    
    

    Come on Doc, One has a train like Princess Di.

    
    

    Well... I do like Diana...

    
    

    
    
    

    height & Weight:

    5'3" (161cm), 165lbs (74kg)
    
    

    physique:

    Narrow-shouldered and a layer of plush.
    
    

    eyes:

    Mirror black and regularly down-turned unless fixated with hubris, they’re inadequate in refracting dew pearls of upset.
    
    

    hair:

    Splayed loose as laguna sand, the distilled coastline has since grown a seam of natural brown. Bordering sheepdog when risen from Olympus pillows, density hangs heavy over the nape.
    
    

    face claim:

    Avalon Lurks.
    

    
    
    
    

    click!

    
    
    

    features:

    Beneath layers of makeup she could once generously slather, the bruised pulse of insecurity bears itself raw. Some may find her appearance in Saint Margaret more distinctly human, she finds it ugly. Undesirable by Miguel standards.
    
    

    body modifications:

    
    N/A
    
    

    wardrobe:

    Consisting of colours white and shapes feminine, there’s been many a St Margaret conflict over Rita’s dress choice. She sometimes attempts a mild rebellion of a shoulder-slip or tied shirt, yet it never lasts long.
    
    

    
    

    click!

    
    
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    HOWL — ALEXANDRA SAVIOR
    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    KISMET

    
    

    new york, AMERICA.

    
    She was raised in the same tomb, this decay that sustained life.
    
    Past the emerald lawn pooled with islands, panels of wood and corrugated iron, fuel canisters and a solitary stove, the porch-light would dance morse over the broken screen of the front door. Hung ajar to warn this was no home, but a pathos of memory.
    
    Encased coffin-like, four walls and a roof softened by mould; their withering city flowered in vertical stacks, poignant in steadfast constancy to nourish moths and worms alike. Upon celestial columns of paper, microwavable meals left in abandonment would teem with life, adapting mint pelt, furnishing legs and feelers to silently watch from dark corners.
    
    Forever blooming upwards and outwards, this metropolis rose. Containers of christmas baubles, magazines, another bear rug rolled and tucked behind the couch— long inhabited with Best-Buy boxes brimming with clothes and fine china. Yellowed sets of rooms duplicated each other with piles of fabric and newspapers. A faux chandelier, a mountain bike, bottles of perfume, shelves buckled under pressure and toppled into their own incline.
    
    From city to country it grew, a telescope buried under garbage and beetle-eaten coats, heaped cotton and canvas, a gift basket from Easter nibbled and picked at with mouse appetite. Crawlspaces and alpines to clamber tarnished with rodent excretion and blade-point scent of feline urine.
    
    It storms the mind like plumes of smoke, water-logged shackles, the inability to let anything go. No matter if palms are sloughed and knees skinned raw, stained pomegranate and plum after a pile has slipped loose under her weight.
    
    Bedding set in a narrow passage between table and wall, she was raised in the same tomb. One with a reclining chair in what-was-once a living room, cedar cushions frayed and bleached dry by sunlight and age; the crushed fabric would sink inwards to hold the heavy body lounging its embrace. Patchwork blanket pulled to her chest like lemon fish wrapped in parchment, an idle parent asleep to the buzz of CNN.
    
    Rita recalls leaving for school each day, returning to find her mother in the same position. Curling to her side like an apostrophe, a clockwork existence fuelled by tragedy, they’d stew in smoke-strewn air and vacuous promises to make space.
    
    Her mother did not last the exorcism of time, waning away like the presence of fog.
    
    Recliner lost under new bundles of unused garbage, memory plagued every item of their crypt. Rooms obstructed, it was atavistic memory how steps would path signature waltz through hazard. Blind feeling for holes like timid footprints pressed into a fresh layer of snow.
    
    And shoved between the hanging panel and paint-chipped door were stacks of bills, another eviction notice to add to the dedicated stack, and the mockery of a restraining order.
    
    

    ---

    OHIO, AMERICA.

    
    He was many things.
    
    A wealthy man, an educated man, a Mercedes-driving-man with a fondness for cellar-perfected bordeaux.
    
    But attainable he was not.
    
    Miguel; a cafe regular who blossomed want with impending progression, an unprecedented escalation of algid fog. Hallowed and sanctified by the sheer sound of ephemeral greetings, smiles and fractions of male attention, Rita was unable to bargain with the feeling. It teethed at her raw, steeped her bleeding heart in red graphite.
    
    Was it fondness that fringed each consonant? Was it naivety that believed it so? Companioned with familiarity, she’d learned a lot in recent months. Stirring in view of her soul, unfurling like a ray of sunlight. Tailored to fit a replica of his bottle blonde wife, the abrupt changes quirked a brow— you look different.
    
    Hands smoothing apron flat against legs, she’d smile, hum in affirmation. Yes, I’m trying something new.
    
    Trying to paint a dream for two, not the witch that held him hostage in empty nuptials. Trying to sink deeper into the infectious optimism that she’d willingly accommodate. Trying to imagine how sparkling champagne would taste, held by fur shrug, his arm, and a french balconette on humid nights.
    
    She was in no place to resist the appeal of being known, a desire she had coveted for since the beginning of time. A moon-mad wolf mistaken for soft-pelt prey with quaking blood, she was nothing but a fatherless girl, a motherless girl trying to grasp onto a new thing: a love not given. Pushing at her like hives, unable to unlatch talons once brushed and lanced through vole.
    
    Rita was a collector, a hoarder of knick-knacks and trinkets and soon to be the intangible. An address, a landline fallen to orbit. She’d never needed to guess where Miguel was. She always knew. An echo-sense for the rabbit-footed heartbeat, a pulse trying its best to be suffocated beneath a eulogy of new numbers, new houses emerging in new area codes.
    
    The concept of him christened to her like a divine psalm, fitting like dew upon silphium.
    
    They never held a conversation, but he loved her. They never went on a date, but they were going to be married. She’d receive soundless ripples in reply to her daily calls, temporary intermission before the next chapter of their cat-and-mouse play.
    
    A shower stripped in places of peeled tiles, pared open like ribs to hold a maze of pipe organs. She would lean against the sink, stacked with a mass of makeup and bottles, feel a spill of cat litter grains embed underfoot. Listen to the phone ring at molasses speed, imprint teeth on swollen lip to hear it answered.
    
    She tried for a hello, he responded in kind. I told you to stop calling me. Its resonance tasted of spoiled cherries and child loneliness. You need psychological help.
    
    Face eclipsed by vicious hair, there was gold flooding her bones to always be on the receiving end of his concern.
    
    He must be worried about her.
    
    Are you sure? Nails would pause their lip picking at sincere consideration: Well, she would do anything he asked, if that’s what you think is best.
    

    
    
    

    You taste like years of being alone.

    
    
    
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    personality type - ESFP-T

    
    

    
    

    
    extroversion
    

    
    intuition
    

    
    honesty
    

    
    

    
    
    

    
    patience
    

    
    turbulence
    

    
    assertiveness
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    Is this what love is, a wake of devastation?

    
    
    

    
    

    PERSONA

    
    

    TRAITS:

    Forswearing, perky, eccentric, gentle, hypocritical, optimistic, driven, oversensitive, dreamy, naive, compassionate, floozy, unrealistic & possessive.
    
    

    IN DETAIL:

    
    Spun with honey and stirred with crumbled sugar, first impressions leave most confused on Rita’s admittance to Saint Margaret. Words light as summer and disposition butter-soft, she colours the world in gold leaf and warmth.
    
    Tamed and fragile as silk, preserved in a glass coffin like most fairytale things are. Sculpted by plush clouds and bathing in an endless pitfall of care, her focus is fleeting, reliability unheard of, and regularly drifts in a foggy haze of romantic idealism.
    
    Even in arctic interactions does her underlying smile try to hold staunch. Mouth bruised bloody with silence as cruel comments whelp skin like the rear of a whip, features may twist, brows crimping and bottom lip quivering with a vision of dew, yet even then her essence remains passive.
    
    There is no deception to this delicate nature, no intention of lying when volatility ripples dreamy ethos. Whilst petal-soft and tolerant in a broad sense, sea-foam is still spoiled with salt. Shouldering chameleon persona, beneath songbird feathers seeps a grainy hunger. Honey with whiskey turned incendiary, her fancies are inane and enigmatic to grasp.
    
    A harlot woman perched on lap like a spoon of custard, arms coiled around neck as a placeholder of warmth; Rita is a lover of excess in all things sensual. With male validation spurring her onwards, the plaster-saint claims of loving her fiance appear falser than vows made in wine.
    
    But through the deluded web of Rita’s inner workings lies her backwards intention; fulfilling what she truly believes Miguel would want of her.
    
    He wouldn’t want me to be inexperienced. Anything to rationalise, explain and quantify the confused looks and scrutinous remarks. He wouldn’t want me to dress frumpy. It’s instinctual to deflect, to protest. We are going to get married in a beautiful chapel, I’ve even looked at venues.
    
    Nobody understands, she has resigned herself to this fact; that her “loyalty” sounds like a taunt, actions a betrayal to the eyes of outsiders, for they have never seen love like ours.
    
    She sees him in universal patterns, ghost messages of what is yet to transpire. In a love song on the radio— Miguel must have requested it, he knew I’d be listening. In the sky of a cloudless day— Miguel must be thinking of me. In a fashion magazine— Miguel wants to marry me in a boat-necked dress.
    
    Subliminal messages illogical in reality, she gift-wraps obsession and labels it love. Perhaps it could be harmless whimsy passed aside as a schoolgirl crush if not for the extent of these fallacies, the behaviours displayed under the impression of preconceived notions.
    
    A fracture that splits into something more, fissuring steam to wilt an empty smile. Corners tugging a twitch like an unsettled storm, there have been instances of being ferocious as slaughterhouse tiles. Cotton clouds soaking blood and warming oneself by a red glow of kiln temper, outbursts are quick to disperse after staff intervention— the paranoid delusions of meddlesome homewreckers.
    
    There is childish impatience and puerile that riddles her with unrest. An outcast Mistress who believes everything is real, for nothing else can carve a soul hollow quite like love.
    
    

    LIKES:

    Ballroom dancing, mice, wedding planning, caramel, fashion magazines (glossy ones), yoghurt, Christmas decorations, small spaces, thrift-stores, candle-making.
    
    

    DISLIKES:

    Wool clothing, mushrooms, deadlines, crickets, golf, mannequins, Elmer’s glue, Shakespeare, milk, tragic endings, ironing clothes.
    
    

    HABITS:

    Coiling hair around a finger, never arriving on time, collecting things, spacing out, talking during movies.
    
    

    FEARS:

    Cancelled wedding, aeroplanes.
    
    

    EXTRAS:

    
    Playlist & Pinterest board r wips BEGONE ):<
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    

  
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© weldherwings.

 

[weldherwings]

"if I'm going down
at least it's with friends"

andrew james
twenty-five

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  warning!

  
  

  This character sheet makes mention of binge eating, body dysmorphia, malnourished, phentermine abuse, depression, anxiety and afrid. whilst not in full description, please note that there are mentions of these ailments through out the character sheet.

  
  
  

  
  

  i'm aware

  
  

  
  
  
  
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    basic info

    
    

    Name:

    Andrew James
    

    Age:

    25
    

    dob:

    24th July 1997
    

    pronouns:

    He/Him
    

    gender:

    Male
    

    zodiac sign:

    Leo
    

    pob:

    Glasgow, United Kingdom
    

    sexuality:

    Hetereosexual
    

    ailments:

    ADHD and currently working towards additional diagnosis
    

    ethnicity:

    Scottish American
    

    languages:

    English
    

    occupation:

    None
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    

    Why did they put me i here? A dinnae belong here at aw. It smells in here

    
    
    

    patient diary entry: 25.10.22

    
    This is sae ridiculous!
    why am ah aye here?
    
    i've bin 'ere fur ower 100 days noo 'n' th' doctors keep saying that a'm "not duin tae leave". Fowk ur comin' 'n' gaun, 'n' a'm stuck 'ere fur th' rest o' mah lee! a've finally hud enough!
    
    come freish year's eve, if a'm aye 'ere, ah dinnae wantae see th' freish year. A'm waantin' tae be oot, celebrating wi' mah mukkers. Bit if ah cannae celebrate wi' mah mukkers oan th' ootdoors, ah suppose ah will hae tae mak' mukkers oan th' ben tae celebrate th' passing o' oor bides th'gither.
    
    

    
    
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    wha wants tae kill themselves wi me? hey? whit dae ye say?

    
    
    

    scroll

    
    
    

    How are you feeling, Andrew?

    
    

    Naething muckle. Thinking aboot killing masell. Ye?

    
    

    I'm... I'm sorry. What did you say? I heard the word killing?

    
    

    Hae ye ever smelt a nun's oxter. Bloody pure dead brilliant they're.

    
    

    
    
    

    height:

    5ft 9 (175.3 cm)
    
    

    eyes:

    Gray
    
    

    hair:

    Thick shoulder length musky blonde hair that he needs to wash more often but refuses to.
    
    

    face claim:

    Lewis Capaldi
    

    
    
    
    

    click!

    
    
    

    body modifications:

    None
    
    

    wardrobe style:

    A cluster of mess, gathered together and molded to create something he can wear. Odd shoes and socks, buttons often secured in the wrong spot, leaving gaping holes through his shirt. Quite often, nurses will hunt him down to assist him to dress appropriately.
    
    

    
    

    click!

    
    
  • 
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    "the best fecking song ye'll ever hear"
    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    history

    
    

    Andrew's history is currently unavailable.
    Nothing is known about his past.
    Not even to himself, apparently.
    
    

    
    
    

    Dinnae teach yer Granny tae suck eggs

    
    
    
  • 
    

    
    

    
    

    personality type - ESFP-A

    
    

    
    

    
    extraverted
    

    
    observant
    

    
    feeling
    

    
    

    
    
    

    
    prospecting
    

    
    turbulent
    

    
    assertive
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    Failing means yer playin

    
    
    

    
    

    traits

    
    

    If anyone is to be found spontaneously breaking into song and dance, it's Andrew. He tends to get caught up in the excitement of the moment, and wants everyone else to feel that way, too. He loves the spotlight, and all the world’s a stage. Andrew loves putting on a show for his friends too, chatting with a unique and earthy wit, soaking up attention and making every outing feel a bit like a party. Utterly social, he enjoys the simplest things, and there’s no greater joy for him than just having fun with a good group of friends.
    
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    

  
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© weldherwings.

 

[Harrowhark]

They want to see you do good but never better than them, remember that.

Cyrus Korey

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  warning!

  
  

  Somehow this ended up fairly light, but Trigger warnings for: mentions of transphobia, dysphoria, suicide, overdosing, and brief gun violence yay

  
  
  

  
  

  i agree

  
  

  
  
  
  
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    basic info

    
    

    Name:

    Cyrus Korey
    

    Age:

    20
    

    dob:

    May 27th
    

    pronouns:

    He/Him
    

    gender:

    Transmasc
    

    zodiac sign:

    Gemini
    

    pob:

    Houston, Texas
    

    sexuality:

    Pan
    

    ailments:

    PTSD, Insomnia, Paranoia, OCD, Survivors Guilt
    

    ethnicity:

    American
    

    languages:

    English, Spanish,
    

    occupation:

    Manager of a Charity Foundation
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    

    Never feel guilty for starting again

    
    
    

    patient diary entry: 31.10.22

    
    I shouldn't be here, I'm supposed to be at fucking harvard. I know my adviser said missing a semester won't be a problem with my current standing, but it's a problem for me. What is everyone going to say? Oh, he ruined his own life because he's crazy, not because he's a boy. Am I just always destined to be a spectacle?
    
    I hate Orion. I wish I could tell him. Man, I fucking hate you. If he had been more careful I wouldn't be here. If he wasn't already dead, I might as well kill him now.
    
    Elera too. Why's she have to pack up and leave me to this shit? The responsible one? Really? Yeah, if she was responsible she'd never have left.
    
    So I'm the one that gets shot in the head. It's bullshit. What am I being punished for? Not overdosing? Not being emancipated? Not going to the fucking Olympics for woman's figure skating? Fuck that.
    
    I hate Tod.
    I hate my Mom's taste in men.
    I hate everyone's expectations of me
    I hate that I fucking survived
    I hate that I didn't keep my stupid mouth shut
    Maybe then I could leave and some baby could manage this shit in 18 years
    I hate that I can never just be normal
    
    I shouldn't have come here
    
    

    
    
  • 
    

    
    

    I just want to go somewhere where nobody knows my name

    
    
    

    scroll

    
    
    

    Did you invite anyone for family day?

    
    

    No.

    
    

    I think it would be a good idea

    
    

    If my mom knew I was here, family day would be the last thing I’d have on my mind.

    
    

    
    
    

    height:

    5’6
    
    

    physique:

    Lean muscle from years of figure skating training
    
    

    eyes:

    Brown
    
    

    hair:

    Blond
    
    

    face claim:

    Max Barczak
    

    
    
    
    

    click!

    
    
    

    features:

    Cyrus is always a bit unkempt despite attempts to actually look decent. Eyebags or flyaways, something is always a miss. Oh well, you can get away with that when you're the successful sibling.
    
    

    body modifications:

    Tattoos and piercings are too much of a commitment.
    
    

    wardrobe style:

    Business casual. No casual Friday allowed. Slacks and a collared shirt regardless of time of day.
    
    

    
    

    click!

    
    
  • 
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    Idk by Breakup Shoes
    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    history

    
    

    
    Cyrus Korey: The heir to the Korey fortune amassing over 200 billion dollars in assets.
    
    But it was never supposed to be that way.
    
    Cyrus Korey was born the youngest of three kids. A backup to the backup. A family of old money, there was nothing the Korey’s wouldn’t do in order to keep it. Corporations and charities formed the family’s public image, framing them as the poster family for the American dream.
    
    Orion was the golden child. As the oldest, he was to inherit the legacy when their grandfather finally passed. Elera was the middle child, the backup heir in case (god forbid) something happened to Orion. Cyrus was the youngest, and never even thought of as an option.
    
    It was a blessing and a curse in the beginning. While always considered last, Cyrus was also able to have much more freedom than his siblings. His appearance and behavior at events was less noticeable. He was still, of course, held to the impossibly high Korey standards, but when it came to the little things, it was always “kids will be kids.” Leniency was a gift he took advantage of, even if as a child he didn’t know it.
    
    Figure skating was a little much to ask of his family. Even if Cyrus was the youngest, it was hardly a reputable sport. At 7 he didn’t understand reputation, only pretty dancing on skates. Ultimately it was decided in his favor. Not because it was respectable, but because it was a “good backup career for a woman.”
    
    That was the first time he noticed it, the feeling that something was deeply, uncontrollably wrong with him.
    
    Regardless, Cyrus skated. And skated. And skated. Being on the ice came naturally. Even if it was just a backup career, he lived for after school when he got his feet on the ice. But kids grow up and while skating was nice, the costumes and people weren’t.
    
    Thinking of his body was something Cyrus avoided at all cost. It was easier before skating got competitive, when it was only about jumps and spins. Now it mattered how you looked and what you wore. He had to stand out, look prettier than his opponents. And yet-
    
    “I was thinking… Maybe I could wear pants for this routine.”
    
    “Pants?” While Cyrus and his coach weren’t close, he’d rather bring it up to her than to his mother.
    
    “Yeah, I saw that movie Ice Princess and one of the girls, she wears-“
    
    “Hun, that’s a movie. Pants would limit your mobility. We’ll go with the red one like we talked about, okay?”
    
    It wasn’t always about the outfits. No matter how hard he tried, everyone else seemed just out of reach, especially anyone he skated with. Relating to people was always a little harder when his family didn’t do emotional interactions in the first place.
    
    Except Orion. Somehow he was always perfect. He knew exactly what to say, through all of this, he was the only person Cyrus could confide in.
    
    All the way through the Junior Grand Prix, Cyrus looked to his brother for the answers.
    
    “I think you should do it.”
    
    “Yeah?” No one else supported him like this.
    
    “If you want to wear some pants, who is some old lady to tell you not to wear some fucking pants.”
    
    “I guess, but mom says if I- “
    
    “I’ve seen you skate, you don’t need to wear a skirt just to look better than those girls.”
    
    “Maybe you're right.”
    
    Orion was always right.
    
    That’s why Cyrus entered the ice in shiny silver pants on live television. He didn’t need to look at his mother or coach to know they were glaring, but he was smiling wider than ever.
    
    There was never a time Cyrus had been more anxious when watching his score. He stood out, but was it for the right reasons? Holding his breath, the points were totaled and-
    
    210.23
    
    That couldn’t be right. Everyone was screaming and hugging him. But he’d only gotten above 200 once before, and not in a competition where it mattered. While everyone else skated, part of him thought his score would go down, or that somehow everyone would be 10 points above him. But his name stayed firmly in first place.
    
    Legs shook on top of the first place pedestal. Cameras flashed as he held up his gold metal. This moment proved he was right. Wearing pants didn’t just make him more comfortable, it made him win. Well, that combined with his perfect triple axels.
    
    When a microphone was shoved in his face and he was asked if he had anything to say, he said exactly what any 14 year old boy would.
    
    “Everyone who told me not to wear pants can suck my-“
    
    
    “Why do you have to make everything a spectacle?” This was his fourth lecture since returning home. Yeah, okay, don’t say dick on live television. He got that, but she should let it go by now. “Do you know how that makes us look?” Bad, yeah, he got it. There were only so many times he wanted to relive the same lecture.
    
    After a couple more times, his mother stopped repeating every complaint and instead didn’t talk to him for three months.
    
    Three months free of competition. With time to relax (if you count still having multiple hours of training a day relaxing), it was harder to push any of the feelings he had to the side. Well, that was annoying, but talking to Orion would help, right?
    
    “Yeah, I don’t know what to tell you kiddo.” He might as well have told Cyrus that he was an incomprehensible freak. There was only one thing left that he could do.
    
    Elera wasn’t as close to Cyrus as Orion. Being closer in age meant there was more conflict between them. But sometimes he could admit the usefulness of harsh advice from an older sister.
    
    “Yeah, normal girls don’t feel that way.”
    
    “What?”
    
    “The only time I’ve wanted to be a boy is when I see Blake Lively and wish I was Ryan Renolds. I don’t think that’s what you’re talking about.”
    
    “No, but I’m sure that’s just because you have a crush on her and other girls still-“
    
    “Hey, did you ever ask any of the girls you compete with how they felt about their costumes?”
    
    “Well no but-“
    
    “Maybe you should start there. Get some perspective on how everyone else feels.”
    
    Who cared what other hypothetical people felt like? This was about his feelings.
    
    Just to humor her, he’d ask at next practice.
    
    …
    
    Well shit. That wasn’t the response he’d wanted. The ultimate agreement in the locker room was: they’re pretty. Not a single one felt uncomfortable. Once again, Cyrus was the odd one out.
    
    “So what does that mean?”
    
    “I think you know what it means.”
    
    Okay, be the voice of reason. Cyrus did know. It wasn’t in the “I’ve always known” way, but in a “I’ve had this feeling for months but need someone else to say it too so I know I’m not being dramatic” way.
    
    Coming out to your mom when she’s giving you the silent treatment isn’t the best idea, but middle schoolers and best ideas were never synonyms. So cue another 2 months of silence. Awesome.
    
    It wasn’t until his birthday that she opened her mouth again. The gift of gab… yay. But that wasn’t all. Healthcare insurance… yay? A credit card… that was actually a good one. Who didn’t love money.
    
    “This is only for your copays,” Nevermind, “If you use it for anything else, you’re done. I’ve set you up with an initial appointment, but you’re in charge of anything else. I don’t want to be involved in this.” Asking a stay at home mom to do her only job must be too much.
    
    But this was good. It was parenting disguised as a gift, but it was good. Today was a good day.
    
    The day after, not so much.
    
    “I didn’t want to ruin your birthday, but you have to choose.”
    
    “I don’t understand what gender therapy has to do with figure skating.”
    
    “There’s going to be a point in time where they decide you can’t skate in the women's competition.” Well duh. “But they won’t let you skate in men’s either.” What the fuck? “Your best bet would be pairs skating, but even then, you’re going to face a lot of backlash.”
    
    “I’m just preparing you so you don’t get surprised when you’re told you won’t be competing. It’s a tough world out there.”
    
    Cool. Awesome. Yeah, he could totally handle this ultimatum. It wasn’t like his whole life or anything. Cool.
    
    The final verdict became finishing this season with a jump to the Grand Prix as the youngest competitor that year, and kick everyone’s asses!
    
    Almost everyone’s asses. For most people, silver might feel like just not good enough, but Cyrus couldn’t be happier. Alina was really nice, and since he beat her last year, she must’ve deserved it.
    
    What a way to end a career!
    
    End a career. That was heavy. While he could enjoy skating as a hobby, it didn’t feel as good as it had. But escaping the public eye for some years might do him some good.
    
    For a few months it did. Until Orion died. His favorite person on earth, gone in an instant. An unforeseen tragedy that put the realities of life in perspective for not just Cyrus but his whole family. While used to a certain amount of publicity, there was nothing that could prepare him for the tsunami of attention after this moment.
    
    Ultimately ruled a suicide, Cyrus didn’t want to believe it. While most of him didn’t believe Orion would do something like that, he understood the pressures in this family. If they weighed on him as much as they did, how bad was it for Orion?
    
    Death may be the end for someone, but often, it can bring the beginning of something new. Something Cyrus called:
    
    Koreygeddon
    
    No one was prepared for the astronomical bomb hiding in Orion’s room. Stacks of paper exposing thousands of secrets within every business, every charity, every stone that could be unturned within the Korey family. Elera found them first, keeping it secret as she read them over a course of a month.
    
    Next was Cyrus, only able to make it through a few pages before deciding he was better off not knowing. It was easier to love his family like that.
    
    When their mother found out, all hell broke loose. She didn’t read a word, but Cyrus suspected she had to have known. There were things in there that could ruin them.
    
    Intense stand offs were normal in his family, but they didn’t often last for weeks. Someone always gave in. Not this time, this cold war ended in weapons being drawn.
    
    “You want what?!”
    
    “Emancipation. I can’t be a part of this. Knowing what you did- what I was unwittingly involved in. I won’t do it anymore.”
    
    The backup wanted out. Cyrus would never say he resented his sister for this, but it wasn’t fair.
    
    Negotiations ended, his mother signed the emancipation papers, and Elera signed an NDA. Guns were lowered, but at what cost?
    
    Cyrus became the heir to something that was never his. His entire life, he’d never been involved in the family business. It had never been his place. Now, it was meant to be his whole life.
    
    Not that he couldn’t do it. He finished middle school while ice skating for 8 hours a day in Spain, so how hard could this be.
    
    Life calmed down for a bit as Cyrus tried to be normal for once. He always excelled in academics, it was the one place he could actually make anyone proud. Valedictorian was just a title he assumed he would get. Perfect grades and his life being what his counselor called “college essay material” were just stepping stones for getting into his dream school: Harvard.
    
    While not a legacy, Cyrus knew it was the only school his family would accept. Not even another Ivy League would be enough. Getting in wasn’t a problem, he knew that, it was another competition of standing out, being better than any other rich valedictorian in America. Which turned into the problem of standing out too much when he tripped and spilled coffee on the Dean when he came in for his interview.
    
    So when the letter from Harvard came in, Cyrus assumed the worst and didn’t open it for a week. He would’ve avoided it forever if his best friend (now a felon) didn’t open it for him.
    
    “Mr. Korey, we are pleased-” Pleased? To reject him? Must be a big grudge. “To inform you that you have been accepted into Harvard University.” What the fuck?
    
    Torturing himself over nothing was a Cyrus staple. The entire summer he waited to be informed of their mistake at any moment. Of course, that was stupid and a waste of time.
    
    Yay, more school!
    
    In all his time applying, Cyrus didn’t notice that- holy shit- Harvard does sports? Do all Ivy League schools do sports? He thought this shit was just going to be textbook purgatory. Yeah, rowing sounds fun. Just row a boat fast, easy peasy.
    
    It was not easy peasy, as he found out, but being a part of a sport again was nice. It was probably the first time since Orion died that Cyrus felt like life was working out.
    
    Freshman year, while brutal, was a lot better than he thought it would be. His mom even got married, not remarried, she was never married to his dad. While his family wasn’t whole again, it was nice to have someone other than his mother again.
    
    Until it wasn’t.
    
    A week before he was supposed to return to school, everything was normal. There was no sign anything was different. If Cyrus hadn’t been a light sleeper, he’d be dead.
    
    But the click of the door pulled him out of sleep. Everything went so fast, sitting up, the bang leading to ringing in his ears, then his face was wet. Liquid spread down the left side of his face into his shirt.
    
    Neither of their eyes had adjusted to the dark, but Cyrus realized it first, dropping to the floor. Maybe if he was lucky, his assailant would think he was dead and leave, but Cyrus never could count on luck. He couldn’t see anything, but he needed to move faster than whoever was here. If their eyes were adjusted, it was all over.
    
    Trying to calm his racing heart, Cyrus rolled under the bed. Holding his breath, he focused on hearing anything past the ringing. Steps moved until they were on the side of his bed he should’ve been. Instead, he rolled out the other way, towards the door. It was just unexpected enough to get out and keep running. He didn’t falter, not even when he heard a swear in the voice he’d grown to know all too well.
    
    Of course he told his mother. The moment he was at the hospital he called to tell her. That man she’d married was dangerous, out of control. Turns out he wanted everything for his own kid to inherit. So much for a good family.
    
    Normal people wouldn’t think about school after that. Cyrus wasn’t normal people. All he wanted to do was sit in a lecture for a couple hours and feel like a regular person again.
    
    Even that didn’t work out. Every little noise had him jumping, afraid of his own shadow. He could barely sleep anymore, much less do his homework. Two months in and he was failing every class. It was clear he had a problem.
    
    After researching mental hospitals, Cyrus settled on St. Margaret’s. This’ll be a week at most, then he can have his life back. Even if the school was willing to let him drop all classes this semester, he didn’t need it. Someone just needs to fix him real quick. That’s all he needs.
    
    

    
    
    

    Nothing goes unpaid for, the price isn’t always money

    
    
    
  • 
    

    
    

    
    

    personality type - estj-t

    
    

    
    

    
    extroverted
    

    
    sensing
    

    
    thinking
    

    
    

    
    
    

    
    judging
    

    
    turbulent
    

    
    assertive
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    Take a deep breath and remember who the fuck you are

    
    
    

    
    

    traits

    
    

    
    Well-mannered
    Politeness and family values and what not. These are the base criteria for being liked. Isn't that what everyone wants?
    
    Optimistic
    Things are fine and everything will be just fine! Nothing is past saving, even when he’s hit rock bottom.
    
    Lively
    Cyrus is never void of energy. Carpe Diem and what not.
    
    Avoidant
    Wow, that's a great and personal question! Now onto this other thing...
    
    Insincere
    People always say be yourself, but that's bullshit. Cyrus will say anything and everything to make people like him. So that's a bit problematic, but who's going to figure out that everything he says and does is an act? That's crazy! Who would do that? You're insane for even thinking it!
    
    Impatient
    Cyrus is the kind of person to expect immediate results. When you live a fast paced life of deadlines and harsh consequences, time tends to feel like a punishment.
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    

  
  a

© weldherwings.

 

[SoggySailor]

"My best friend is interested in things that are shiny and enjoys bread."

Calder Lachlan Dunsmore, 21

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  warning!

  
  

  the following content may be disturbing to some viewers: alcoholism, medical malpractice, death, mentions of child abuse, forced medication, ptsd, gore, potential SH mention, perceived suicide attempt.

  
  
  

  
  

  its not as bad as it sounds i swear

  
  

  
  
  
  
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    basic info

    
    

    Name:

    Calder Lachlan Dunsmore "Snake"
    

    Age:

    21
    

    dob:

    November 3rd
    

    pronouns:

    he/him/it/snake
    

    gender:

    cis man
    

    zodiac sign:

    Scorpio
    

    pob:

    glasgow, scotland
    

    sexuality:

    anything for science
    

    ailments:

    ocd, ptsd, cptsd, aspd, ScPD, ORS, swag
    

    ethnicity:

    scottish
    

    languages:

    scottish gaelic, doric, english, asl, bsl, latin
    

    occupation:

    apprentice mortitian
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    

    "Smoking kills, officer. and i am but a scientist."

    
    
    

    patient diary entry: 25.10.22

    
    I would like to begin this entry with the indisputable fact that an individual should be able to suspend oneself in their own living space without being suspected of attempting to *suspend themselves* with all intents and purposes of expiring.
    This miss-understanding is currently my reason for being admitted into this rather intriguing institution- for all the wrong reasons. I do not believe I am currently in need of the services this facility has to offer, however- it does make for rather good research.
    
    

    
    
  • 
    

    
    

    a scalpel reveals far more than words

    
    
    

    scroll

    
    
    

    why did you do it?

    
    

    I've already told you- it wasn't what you thought.

    
    

    you tried to hang yourself!

    
    

    It WAS FOR SCIENCE

    
    

    
    
    

    height:

    5'11
    
    

    physique:

    wiry, hunched
    
    

    eyes:

    blue or green
    
    

    hair:

    brown, curly
    
    

    face claim:

    robert sheehan
    

    
    
    
    

    click!

    
    
    

    features:

    a limp due to injury, calculating eyes, a lisp
    
    

    body modifications:

    extensive surgeries, heavily scarred body, split tongue due to malpractice.
    
    

    wardrobe style:

    think sherlock holmes meets 20s mafia
    
    

    
    

    click!

    
    
  • 
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    frontier psychiatrist by the avalanches
    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    history

    
    

    
    Calder Lachlan Dunsmore was the son of Blair and Angus Dunsmore.
    Raised in the Scottish countryside, the boy enjoyed rain- as well as watching sheep fall over.
    However, not everybody enjoys rain, and sometimes people fall over too.
    Therefore, in the spring of Calder's ninth year his father fucking died- due to sickness.
    Snake’s mother was a surgeon turned alcoholic surgeon, and then just alcoholic after being discharged and stripped of her license. It turns out, that alcoholics can't be surgeons for very long if they botch intensive surgeries- rendering the patient permanently paralyzed- while intoxicated.
    
    Taking this as a personal failure, and slipping deeper into her delusions, the woman took upon herself the burden of perfecting her craft, and began to practice in earnest with her most willing guinea pig.
    Her son.
    Beginning with small surgeries, she began to experiment and practice on her Calder, teaching him as she went while progressively slipping worse into her addiction and downward mental spiral.
    One of her first (most notable) missteps while operating on him, was the accidental clipping of his tongue while attempting what was supposed to be a small incision.
    Alcohol and oral surgery- or any surgery for that matter- do not mix well, as she had learned once more.
    However, this particular mistake gifted the boy with a new name.
    Jeered at him in the school yard, yelled as he passed in the hall, or as he was called on in class.
    “Snake.” They called him, mimicking his forked tongue with their fingers as they laughed.
    Snake.
    He decided.
    The weeks turned to months, and then months to over a year of slicing and dicing, healing- medications and painkillers shoved down the boy’s throat as he willingly let himself be victim to all of her whims of crazed obsession.
    Covering nearly every inch of skin, he was sent to school on days when he could walk- his worsening health becoming a topic of concern for his teachers.
    After one too many prying questions, the child was then pulled out of school "for his health" and was from then on, 'homeschooled.'
    There is so much more freedom for a parent to teach their child when there is nobody around to see the lesson.
    
    Another year went by, and she was ready.
    
    Blair Dunsmore's final surgery was an attempt at her previous failure, which she then attempted to perform on herself. Which was seen as an act of kindness by her son- for “she wouldn’t want to risk it” with him.
    While in reality, she didn’t want to botch her one reusable cadaver.
    
    Even after making her child help with the surgery, she failed once more. Dying on their basement's operating table.
    
    After what must have been days or weeks, somebody finally came knocking.
    A neighbor had complained about the smell.
    
    The boy was found covered in split open wounds and scars- working in earnest to perform surgery on a stinking, rotting corpse. It was apparent that he hadn't slept, eaten, or seen another living human in far too long.
    The child was immediately sent to hospital despite his weak protests, and was then sent overseas to the Americas to be placed in the care of his mother’s parents- a mortician and a librarian.
    
    After spending nearly a year in hospital and with daily therapy sessions, Snake's grandparents attempted to give the child a sense of normalcy in an effort to allow him to experience the childhood he had missed, but despite their efforts, the only things that seemed to interest him were assisting in the morgue and staying up all night reading books on the cardiovascular system.
    
    He was gifted the “Sherlock Holmes” novels by his grandparents and then decided that he would then absorb that into his personality, turning their pleasant surprise of his enjoyment to that of dismay.
    Thick coats and shined shoes in any weather- all year round- made the boy seem even more peculiar and kept him blissfully free of any friends as he went about his business.
    Always writing in a small journal, he took great satisfaction in cataloguing every waking detail of what had happened in his day to day life, as well as countless notes of current, past, or future experiments he was obsessed with.
    His grandparents became increasingly concerned with Snake’s fascination and obsession with death, and his fervent note taking while allowed in the morgue.
    Their concern reached a peak when he became able to correctly ascertain cause and time of death at a mere glance and sniff.
    
    They tried to ground him from the dead bodies for a bit, but later found out that he had been sneaking in to study them, and had been performing small surgeries on the bodies that went unnoticed due to his care and consideration.
    
    They were (rightfully) very upset and reprimanded him- letting him know that this was no longer- or should never have been- an option. Taking this feedback into consideration, Snake picked up where his mother had left off and began experimenting on himself once more in an attempt to not annoy his grandparents.
    This went on for a while and was discovered after another year and was met with more concern than the last, and more of that mandatory therapy/hospital stay.
    After recovering, Snake was kept under a more intensive eye and was found several weeks later hanging from his ceiling by a lamp cord, which they took as the final straw, and sent him to St. Margaret's for more intensive care.
    While in reality, if they had noticed the open journal on his bed, full of dated, neatly scripted font- Snake had simply been attempting to ascertain his average asphyxiation limit after smoking a single cigarette- to see if that had altered anything.
    
    Not that anybody but Snake would’ve believed him.
    
    

    
    
    

    sometimes you bleed to keep those you love happy

    
    
    
  • 
    

    
    

    
    

    personality type - intj-t

    
    

    
    

    
    extraverted
    

    
    intuitive
    

    
    thinking
    

    
    

    
    
    

    
    friendly
    

    
    turbulent
    

    
    assertive
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    the effect that one cigarette can have on a life cannot be understated.

    
    
    

    
    

    traits

    
    

    Polite, concise, and treats customer service workers well.
    Schemer, plotter, and scientist.
    Likes to keep tabs on everyone, and views peoplewatching as his favorite passtime.
    knowledge is power.
    has taken to perfecting his crow call, and ensuring he has allies with them by routinely giving gifts. for one day, he may need their aid.
    
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    

  
  a

© weldherwings.

 

[jinxxes]

”I do my dreaming, awake.”

PERCY EBELING

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  warning!

  
  

  This character sheet makes mention of psychotic episodes, misuse of sleeping medications, familial death, specific bug and fire phobias with related hallucinations and delusions, panic, attacks, and self-harm during a delusional episode. View at your own discretion.

  
  
  

  
  

  i agree

  
  

  
  
  
  
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    basic info

    
    

    Name:

    Percy Ebeling
    

    Age:

    24
    

    dob:

    September 24th
    

    pronouns:

    He/Him
    

    gender:

    Transman
    

    zodiac sign:

    Libra
    

    pob:

    Paris, France
    

    sexuality:

    Bisexual
    

    ailments:

    PTSD (Survivors Guilt), Severe Insomnia (induces psychotic episodes predominantly consisting of hallucinations and delusions), ADHD (predominately hyperactive/impulsive presentation)
    

    ethnicity:

    White
    

    languages:

    French, English, Italian, Greek
    

    occupation:

    Fashion Designer
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    

    Sleep, delicious and profound, the very counterfeit of death

    
    
    

    patient diary entry: 01.11.22

    
    TW: Thoughts of spiders under skin in spoiler section
    
    I do not think journaling is going to be a productive measure in my case. No more than what I do at home. It helps to keep my thoughts in one place, allowing me to go back and peruse what ideas might have left the forefront of my mind. At best, it has helped me rationalize rough feelings on occasion. A helpful tool for everyday life of course, but in no way useful for these…. deeper issues. Organization and rationalization doesn’t help me losing my mind.
    
    Perhaps I’m being too rash. It’s difficult to push down my frustrations with myself though. To feel yourself slipping away. At the very least I can better recall the moments as I document them. It’s a little comforting to keep up with my habits and hold onto a little bit of control. Though it is not always so pleasant to remember these times.
    
    If I think too much about it, I can still feel them. I KNOW they’re not in me, and thinking back I don’t know how I could ever believe it. Yet I feel the crawl under my skin, they bury deeper and weave webs around my organs. Again, I KNOW this isn’t happening, it makes no sense. But it felt so real.
    
    I need help. It’s not easy admitting that. But I can’t do anymore for myself on my own.
    
    I really hope I can sleep tonight.
    
    [Else wise on the page are sketches, full of bodies in all different shapes and poses. The amount of detailing is random, some mannequins while others full-fledged people. Notes on the outfits are scribble alongside them. They are design ideas, some scrapped in the early stages of creativity while others took root into greater ideas.]
    
    

    
    
  • 
    

    
    

    The proud heart feels not terror nor turns to run
    and it is his own courage that kills him

    
    
    

    scroll

    
    
    

    dad I need you

    
    

    please wke up pick ip the phone

    
    

    theure all over please wake ip

    
    

    mon bébé I’m here are you okay

    
    

    im hoing to throw uo theyre wverywhere help me

    
    

    Papa started a call that lasted for 2 hours.

    
    

    they’re taking me to the hospital now

    
    

    im so sorry

    
    

    je t’aime mon fils

    
    

    i’m setting up a flight immediately. Tell me where they take you.

    
    

    Saint Margaret Private Hospital
    [link]

    
    

    i’ll be there as soon as I can.

    
    

    okay

    
    

    im so sorry

    
    

    
    
    

    height:

    5'7
    
    

    physique:

    On first look, his sturdiness might come across as surprising, but his constant activity has left him in good shape. Built like a runner, or more accurately for him, a soccer player, his softness sometimes overshadows his fitness.
    
    

    eyes:

    Kind blur eyes, there is a wisdom behind them that seems ready to answer all the world's questions. Or help you with math homework or something. Deep dark circles rim them of many sleepless nights.
    
    

    hair:

    Red curls, usually meticulously cared for and styled. They’re a bit looser without as much maintenance.
    
    

    face claim:

    Dylan Bell
    

    
    
    
    

    click!

    
    
    

    features:

    ‘Friendly’ serves as the most apt description of Percy. Too sharp to be soft, too soft to be sharp, he’s friend-shaped with a gentle vibe but a striking curiosity. Freckles dart along him, congregating heavy on his shoulders that splay in different shapes you can connect.
    
    

    body modifications:

    A tattoo on his shoulder connecting freckles that form the Orion Constellation. A few earring holes on each ear.
    
    

    wardrobe style:

    With no restrictions, Percy would dress to the tens. But hospitalization made that a bit difficult, comfort was his main concern. Looser fitting outfits with soft colors, there’s still brands in there though that cost an arm and a leg.
    
    

    
    

    click!

    
    
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    Ramblings of a Lunatic by Bears in Trees
    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    history

    
    

    -born in Paris, France to a fashion designer (father) and archaeologist (mother)
    -his mother became a stay at home mom as her health became a concern. There would be times that his father would be away for a while, but video calls and money to fly and visit made it an acceptable arrangement.
    -the family had a vacation home in Provence they visited yearly. During a visit while Percy was six, a fire broke out. His father had been out at the store and his mother passed out from over exertion. She had been cooking dinner and awaiting on some ingredients that her husband was fetching. The fire started from the kitchen and trapped the two in the master bedroom.
    -Percy couldn’t wake his mother up and ended up crawling out the window for help.
    -The fire was never reached the bedroom, but Percy’s mother never did wake up after the smoke inhalation. She was officially pronounced dead at the hospital.
    -Percy and his father went home after that for a funeral, and while the house was fixed up, neither of them went back for another vacation there.
    -After that, Percy accompanied his father on his business trips. Percy, being so young, growing anxious away from his remaining parent and his father now with fear he may lose his child too.
    -Along this period of time, Percy came out to his father as trans around middle school. Acceptance came easy, his father going as far as to make Percy’s first binder so he could ensure it was top of the line. It was a big step so that the two could speak easier to one another. At least, everything except about his mother.
    -Nightmares often plagued Percy, even as he grew older and his mother’s memory became more limited in the few years he had with her. The older he got, the more it frustrated him to miss someone he barely even knew now, having trouble rationalizing it.
    -Insomnia became a problem early on due to this, but it wasn’t so advanced to cause anything more than crankiness or lack of energy.
    -This developed further as Percy took advantage of the late hours to do things. From playing as a child, to school work or hobbies as he grew older.
    -Traveling with his father, Percy himself grew fond of the fashion designing industry and grew a passion for it as a career.
    -By highschool nightmares eased up, but getting to sleep proved difficult. This was when his first fit of insomnia-induced psychosis happened, sneaking up on all of them. He developed a spider phobia after believing to be a descendent of the Greek goddess Athena, with Arachne seeking revenge for her punishment.
    -Assigned sleep medication after that, Percy would find himself having to change it every couple months as his body grew accustomed to it. The system, while not ideal, was manageable up until the present.
    -Whether stress or just a high tolerance for the medicine, there was a point where he couldn’t get any sleep. At first, he used it to be productive. But after thinking he saw a fire starting and inciting a panic attack he knew he needed to try harder. He upped his doses and planned an appointment to try and find something else.
    -This still only provided him a few hours at most of rest, Percy began to grow irrational and irritated. This led to taking a large amount of sleeping medication and only furthered fueled his hallucinations.
    -Percy was taken to Saint Margaret’s after believing spiders got under his skin with an attempt to ‘get them out’ on a call with his father.
    -He expected only a few days due to insomnia being the root cause, now finding himself dealing with some of the other issues he buried with his mother’s death.

    
    
    

    We must not think too much:
    people go mad if they think too much

    
    
    
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    personality type - entj-a

    
    

    
    

    
    extraverted
    

    
    intuitive
    

    
    thinking
    

    
    

    
    
    

    
    judging
    

    
    turbulent
    

    
    assertive
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    How dreadful the knowledge of the truth can be
    When there is no help in truth

    
    
    

    
    

    traits

    
    

    Ambitious
    Always climbing for new heights, Percy enjoys testing his mettle and bettering himself in every avenue he can get his hands on. Sometimes this may turn to arrogance, possessing a great deal of hubris.
    
    Compassionate
    ‘Treat others as you want to be treated’ may be a bit chlichè, but Percy does seem to follow it. Even if you manage to get on his bad side, he does not tend wish ill will onto others. It takes a truly deplorable person to lose that empathy for others. He is even willing to help those that may have wronged him if they truly needed it, no thanks necessary. Percy tries to see the best in every one.
    
    Dependable
    If Percy promises something you best believe he will pull through. He likes being there for others, a shoulder to lean on and hands to lift you up.
    
    Generous
    Percy knows what privileges he’s gotten from life with his money and name on a financial note, more than willing to help others with it. But it extends further than that, often putting other people above himself. It might have turned into a little bit of a savior-complex.
    
    Loyal
    The people in Percy’s life are incredibly important to him. Those he grows close to he is willing to put forth unwavering trust in.
    
    Competitive
    While generally polite, Percy may show a bit more attitude when competition is involved. At the very least he will accept a loss with grace, but in the midst of it Percy is willing to fight tooth and nail to I’m for that win. Typically not a cheater, though if someone does first all bets are off. This has led to a couple fights in his life, more so when he was younger.
    
    Disorganized
    It’s not that he’s a horribly messy person, but when actively working on a project there’s a chaos to his methods. He says it helps keep his brain more active and buzzing about the work in front of him.
    
    Impulsive
    Percy is a thoughtful person for the most part, but that doesn’t always extend to his actions. Spontaneity for the good and spite for the bad, Percy can make some rash decisions he wouldn’t always choose to do if he paused on the moment.
    
    Indecisive
    Options are nice, Percy enjoys the gray’s in life. But often he may find himself stuck on a loop of decisions if he thinks too much about them. Great for analyzing, bad for, say, picking out what to have for dinner.
    
    Obsessive
    Now if Percy does put his mind to something, he’s not typically one to back away. This has not helped his problems with sleep as he will often lose track of time. Most often this involves projects he works on both in his job and free time.
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    

  
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© weldherwings.

 

[weldherwings]

"the world is a sick
filthy place"

ayden thompson
twenty three

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  warning!

  
  

  This character sheet makes mention of depression, PTSD, ODD, sexual abusive, child abuse, suicidal tendencies, dissociation and hypersexuality. whilst not in full description, please note that there are mentions of these ailments through out the character sheet.

  
  
  

  
  

  i'm aware

  
  

  
  
  
  
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  • 
    

    
    

    
    

    basic info

    
    

    Name:

    Ayden Thompson
    

    Age:

    Twenty Three
    

    dob:

    21st november
    

    pronouns:

    He/Him
    

    gender:

    Male
    

    zodiac sign:

    scorpio
    

    pob:

    Seattle, Washington
    

    sexuality:

    demisexual
    

    ailments:

    depression, post traumatic stress, dissociation, suicidal tendencies, oppositional defiant disorder (ODD), hypersexuality
    

    ethnicity:

    Korean American
    

    languages:

    English
    

    occupation:

    None
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    

    I'm a loser in this game

    
    
    

    patient diary entry: 25.10.22

    
    This is sae ridiculous!
    why am ah aye here?
    
    i've bin 'ere fur ower 100 days noo 'n' th' doctors keep saying that a'm "not duin tae leave". Fowk ur comin' 'n' gaun, 'n' a'm stuck 'ere fur th' rest o' mah lee! a've finally hud enough!
    
    come freish year's eve, if a'm aye 'ere, ah dinnae wantae see th' freish year. A'm waantin' tae be oot, celebrating wi' mah mukkers. Bit if ah cannae celebrate wi' mah mukkers oan th' ootdoors, ah suppose ah will hae tae mak' mukkers oan th' ben tae celebrate th' passing o' oor bides th'gither.
    
    

    
    
  • 
    

    
    

    The hole in my soul grows flesh. take all of me

    
    
    

    scroll

    
    
    

    How are you feeling, Andrew?

    
    

    Naething muckle. Thinking aboot killing masell. Ye?

    
    

    I'm... I'm sorry. What did you say? I heard the word killing?

    
    

    Hae ye ever smelt a nun's oxter. Bloody pure dead brilliant they're.

    
    

    
    
    

    height:

    5'11" (1.82 cms)
    
    

    eyes:

    Black
    
    

    hair:

    Ayden has naturally thick black hair. He often cuts it into a medium short style, with a middle part. He's not afraid to experiment with dying his hair, and has in the past been a variety of different colours.
    
    

    physique:

    Ayden has an ectomesomorphic body type. His body is proportionate with prominent shoulders with a rhomboid body shape.
    
    

    face claim:

    Choi Yeonjun
    

    
    
    
    

    click!

    
    
    

    body modifications:

    Ayden has five piercings; Double lobe piercings on each ear, and a helix piercing on his left ear
    
    

    other features:

    With a compact and flattened face, and doughy and villainous complexion, Ayden has an overall cheeky charm about his appearance. He has a small face with a rounded chin and square jaw. He has monolid foxy-cat eyes with prominent under-eye bags which are often sullen and dark as an outcome of his many nighttime adventures, avoiding having to go home. His brows are sharply arched yet spread widely apart, bringing a naturally innocent and attentive look. His cheeks are naturally blushed with a tanned skin tone, along with particularly rosy pillowy lips.
    
    

    wardrobe style:

    Laid back, casual; will often dress for comfort and whatever is easiest to skate in.
    
    

    
    

    click!

    
    
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    0X1=LOVESONG (I Know I Love You)
    by TXT
    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    history

    
    

    trigger warning!
    mentions of child abuse, child pornography and sexual abuse

    
    
    He was the outcome of a concoction of a broken, drunken heart and a prom night fiasco.
    
    His mother, April, had gone to the prom with someone who she thought she could spend the rest of her life with. Shortly after the announcement of Prom King and Queen, she found the ‘love of her life’ finding his needs being fulfilled by another girl in a nearby locker room (thanks to the heads up on her best friend). Most girls would’ve wanted to run off home and cry themselves to sleep. Not April. No, not at all. Enraged and heartbroken, April had made it her mission that she would just get absolutely plastered at the after-party.
    
    It was there where she met a tall, dark and handsome stranger. It was all quite a blur of how it happened, where it happened and why it happened; but ultimately, she woke up the next morning with her underwear around her ankles, alone in a spare bed. He was long gone and all he left behind was an unforgettable night that she would never forget. Obviously, she would never forget it because a month later, she was discovering just exactly what happens to good girls who don’t use protection while drunk.
    
    Coming from a Christian household, her parents pleaded with her to keep the child. They said they would support her and their grandchild, let her live at theirs for as long as she pleased and help her through this crazy adventure of being a single mother. Thankfully, she agreed, and that was how Ayden Thompson came into the world. The Thompson family were incredibly blessed to have a grandson and treasured him dearly. One person who seemed to have an incredible bond with him was April’s younger brother, Cameron.
    
    Cameron was twelve years old when Ayden was born, and he was absolutely fascinated by the boy. He would often ask if he could babysit, and by the age of sixteen – when Ayden was four – he was blessed with the opportunity to do so. At one point, he was practically running his own mini-daycare service as he cared for Ayden and another family friend’s child or two. Ayden adored his Uncle Cameron, and was always keen to join him on his adventures.
    
    When Ayden turned seven, though, things began to get… weird. Cameron started to make suggestions to him about the other children that he was looking after too. He would ask if they’d like to play ‘Mums and Dads’, insisting that he would be the baby and Ayden and the family friend’s child should be the parents. Cameron would further explain how Mums and Dads acted and showed their love for each other. They did by kissing and touching each other, apparently. Cameron would sit there, encouraging, and egging Ayden and the other child. But it never felt right. Especially when Cameron would tell them at the end of their little game that this was a super special secret game for only them.
    
    There was just something… not right.
    
    As the years went by, there was still this sinking feeling that took captive of his nerves. Uncle Cameron continued to pursue Ayden to play ‘Mums and Dads’ regardless of if the other children were there or not; taking on the role of Dad and insisting that Ayden play the Mum role. He would explain how parents would send pictures of themselves naked to the other parent and encourage him to follow along.
    
    He was ten years old when he lost his virginity while playing their little game with Uncle Cameron and Daisy, the eleven-year-old from next door.
    
    It felt wrong, but Uncle Cameron insisted it was okay. Deprived of sexual education from school, Ayden only had his Uncle to lean on for guidance. However, as he grew older, and as Cameron insisted on continuing with their games, Ayden began to retaliate. He didn’t like the feeling that sat in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t like how he felt when he had to do something with the other children or with Uncle Cameron. So, he started to tell him ‘no’. It didn’t stop his Uncle. If anything, he just picked a different tactic.
    
    Late at night, when he slept, Cameron would sneak into his bed. He would pin him down and make Ayden say yes. The darkness was no longer a friend to Ayden, nor was the sound of Uncle Cameron’s work boots hitting against the wooden floor leading up to his bedroom. He pleaded with his mother to move out of her childhood home where Uncle Cameron still lived with them. However, after her father had a heart attack, April saw that her mother needed help in caring for him and to pay for the bills in the house. So, they were stuck.
    
    His home was no longer his safe space. He felt like he had to be on guard every waking moment he was there. So, by the age of fourteen, he was prompted to stay out as late as possible. He would leave decoys, saying he was staying at someone else's house, or stuffing his bed to make it look like he was there. His mother worked late shifts, so as long as he made it back to the house before she got home, he was safe. He became a master at climbing the hedge frame up into his bedroom window at four in the morning and sneaking around the house without making a sound.
    
    

    
    
    

    Please use me like a drug

    
    
    
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    personality type - ISTP-A

    
    

    
    

    
    introverted
    

    
    observant
    

    
    thinking
    

    
    

    
    
    

    
    prospecting
    

    
    turbulent
    

    
    assertive
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    to the end of the world. all or nothing

    
    
    

    
    

    traits

    
    

    Ayden is extremely enigmatic. Extremely private, calm but suddenly spontaneous, extremely curious but unable to stay focused on formal studies, he can be a challenge to predict. He tends to store up impulsive energy that explodes without warning, taking his interest in bold new directions. Ayden’s decisions stem from a sense of practical realism. Instead of being overly cautious, avoiding stepping on toes to avoid having his toes stepped on, Ayden has a ‘do unto others’ attitude and calls fair play when retaliation is in order.
    
    The biggest issue Ayden faces is that he acts too soon, taking for granted his permissive nature and assuming that others are the same. He’ll be the first to tell an insensitive joke, get overly involved in something that doesn’t need to involve him, roughhouse and play around, or to suddenly change his plans because something far more interesting to him has come up. He prefers to live without boundaries and guidelines, seeking for freedom to move about and colour outside of the lines if he wants to. In certain situations, he can become emotionally charged; in general, Ayden’s emotions are particularly hard to predict.
    
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    

  
  a

© weldherwings.