Realistic or Modern Viva Las Vegas! || Character Sheets

[Qwertycakes]

Viva Las Vegas!

♡coded by uxie♡

Y'all know the drill. Go nuts! The more descriptive, the better.
Please be sure to include your character's occupation, physical description, a brief history, and any other info you deem pertinent!
​

 

[-- bison]

DeAndre Ashton

# UFC Athlete

# michael b jordan

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[matchaa]

• 1
• 2
• 3
• 4
• 5

• 
  

  PUT 'EM
  # UP!

  Jackson Jr
  Crowe.

  
  
  
  
• HISTORY.

  EARLY LIFE.

  
  TW - violence/homophobia starting in ‘Teen Years’ below
  
  Jackson was born to the great joy of his parents who were struggling with fertility issues and had already been through several traumatic pregnancies that had not come to term, as well as one still birth. When Jackson was born his parents saw it as a miracle directly from “The big man himself” They couldn’t wait to share the news with their church, who held a service in celebration of the birth. The three of them lived in a small town that was in nowhere-Missouri, called Ste. Genevieve. The Crowe family had a few generations of family still living in the town, and so he was inundated with cousins, aunts and uncles growing up. Jackson was brought up with the bible and the steel guitar. He was expected to live the cookie-cutter life his whole family and extended family expected of him. Up until his balls dropped and his hormones kicked into overdrive, this was really no issue for him. Young Jack had a privileged life, his parents were very successful grape farmers, and their wines were widely distributed across the country. They were not exactly poor. Jackson was the centre of attention, always getting the best gifts for his birthday and for Christmas.
  
  

  TEEN YEARS.

  
  Puberty hit Jackson hard. He began to realize that he wasn’t like his friends who were all drooling over the girls in school. He became rather confused and angry, especially when he realized that he might just have that same attraction for his own gender. In his particular neck of the woods, these were some dangerous thoughts to be having. Of course, they had to be suppressed. Jackson played his part. He got himself a few short-term girlfriends before finally starting a relationship with a girl in his class called Melanie. He chose her because she fit the bill. He knew she would hit it off with his parents, and she did. She was a good Christian girl, Straight A student, crazy about horses. The whole shebang. His parents absolutely adored her. She fell for him, he did not reciprocate but how he tried. He dated Mel from ages 14 till just shy of 18. He stuck with her because, despite his little problem, he cared for her dearly. She was his best friend in the world. Luckily for him, they were both given the rather strict values of purity and no sex before marriage.
  
  Jackson grew more and more frustrated as he aged. He began looking up explicit material online to satisfy his diverse urges. Eventually, Jackson made the leap to gay dating sites. He perused for months before gaining the courage to even talk to some of these men, most of whom were older than him and out of school. Unable to take it anymore, Jackson made that final leap. His parents were away on an extended holiday, and he was old enough, and trusted enough, to be home alone.
  
  Jackson invited a young man over to explore his desires. Unfortunately, his parents had never gotten on their flight, which had been cancelled. The couple came home, their flight having been rearranged for the next day to catch Jackson in the act.
  
  His father lost all sense of himself and laid into his son. Jackson Sr had never suspected his son for one second before this point. Jackson was beaten until he was slipping from consciousness. Nothing his lover or his mother could say or do would stop him. Jackson Sr was pulled off the boy by police responding to the incident, and treated at the local hospital.
  
  Obviously in a town of less than 5000 people, the news was spread before Jackson had even opened his swollen eyelids. Jackson recovered from the beating with time, but from then on out his life had become vastly different. Suddenly forced to go from a soft, privileged boy to a man, Jackson was now in survival mode. The only one he still had on his team, seemed to be his (Ex) girlfriend Melanie. She stuck by his side as he recovered, she forgave him for his deceit, and did her absolute darndest to convince him not to hate himself. The two of them planned to get away from this town together someday.
  
  But in the mean time, Jacksons world was a series of violence. Family members cut him off in droves. He was lucky his mother still let him live in the family home. Jackson saw his dad a few times in prison. The old man was a shell of himself. Jackson hated him, but his old man also made him hate himself, manipulating his way into Jackson’s guilt and amplifying if it. He liked to remind Jackson that he was ending his family line due to his own selfishness.His mother was the same, constantly commenting on how good they used to have it, how this would never have happened if it weren’t for his act, how she would never see grandkids, how depressed she was. It went on and on. Jackson needed to save up to get away before his father was released, or he was pretty sure he’d kill the man.
  
  Every job he ever had, he was targeted, but he had to grit his teeth and bare it. On the street he was openly heckled by his family’s church friends and relatives. He was nearly always in a fight, and honestly he started to enjoy it. Melanie saw the change in him, trying to get him to change his path to no avail. Slowly he began to distance himself from her too.
  
  

  CURRENTLY.

  
  All he could do was save every dime he had in the hopes that he could move far from here. Melanie had told him she had a couple of family members estranged from the family who had moved somewhere in Vegas, so the place was on his mind. As soon as he could afford to travel and put a rental deposit down he moved to the heart of sin itself. Melenie did not move with him, in fact he made sure of it by leaving quietly in the night. He blocked her on everything as he left. He would not drag her down with him.
  
  He found himself in the big city. With no job he was supporting himself and his tiny, grungy apartment with poker, and his fists. He’d found himself an illegal and unsanctioned street fighting club that hosted the occasional brutal and bloody bare-knuckle fights for cash prizes. His mum still sends him messages occasionally, but since she has stuck with her husband, Jackson cannot allow himself to fully trust her. On his current path, Jackson would probably end up dead and/or homeless within the year. He’s also not sure if he really cares.
  
  
  
• PERSONA.

  
  Jackson is like a stray dog. Cautious, aggressive, distrustful. He is not out there looking for trouble, but he isn’t exactly taking steps to avoid it either. Jackson isn’t a provocative person. He isn’t in your face trying to get a reaction. In fact, Jackson keeps himself seeming unapproachable to the best of his ability. He speaks as little as possible to get through whatever interaction he is having. When he speaks it is always with intention, and almost never impulsive or blurted out on a whim. Jackson prefers to watch and listen. He has spent the last couple years of his life perfecting the art of saying little and seeing everything. He is an excellent listener, catching every little inflection in someone’s tone. He see’s the micro expressions that give away someone’s intentions or truthfulness.
  
  Jackson likes to learn things. He finds that all information is going to be useful at some point. When he finds someone interesting, or if they can benefit him in some way, he can be quite engaging and charismatic, especially when things stay fairly lighthearted. He knows how to have fun and loosen up around the company he keeps. But he is careful to close the door when things get too personal. He has no desire to let anyone inside. He does everything he can to avoid sitting with his own feelings. His depression is like a creature from your nightmares, giving chase. He must keep moving. If he stops for too long, he knows he might not ever start again.
  

  L-O-V-E'S JUST ANOTHER WORD I NEVER LEARNED TO PRONOUNCE!

  
  If Jackson cannot talk his way out of a confrontation, he does not have an issue with fighting back, either verbally or with his fists. Insults barely touch him, because nothing can ever be worse than the way he speaks to himself. You can call Jackson whatever you like, he is quite happy to laugh in your face or make a self-deprecating joke. He also doesn’t really value his own safety. He is not afraid to die, in fact, while his survival instincts keep him going, he kind of expects that he will inevitably die young. What does he have to live for? He may as well live for the thrill. And pain, suffering, either in himself or others, he had to admit it was thrilling.
  
  There is a part of Jackson that longs for what he would have had had he been born straight. A home, a loving family, a life partner. He hopes for the passionate, loving side of him to come back some day. But it feels like a dream that isn’t meant for him. He does not believe himself capable of giving himself to someone in the way that the type of relationship he coverts requires. He views his love for men as something dirty... something wrong. He could not imagine doing anything other that sating his more animalistic desires as if he were indulging in an addiction rather than being intimate with other human beings. He craves friendship, he craves love, he craves healing, but he does not believe those things are made for him.
  
  

  Vices.

  Cold, detached, negative, depressed, aggressive
  
  

  Virtues.

  Intelligent, Observant, Street smart, fearless, headstrong
  
  

  Misc.

  Only really drinks Jack Daniels. A fan of 'Dark Folk and Indie music as well as anything high energy and angry.
  Has no playlists, just shuffles everything.
  Wonders when lost in thought.
  Prefers pubs and bars over nightclubs
  Owns few stray cats because he fed them and they kept coming back.
  Has a soft spot for more soft spoken and gentle people
  Misses seeing the stars at night.
  
• VISAGE.

  Hair.

  Dirty Blonde/light brown
  
  

  Eyes.

  Pale, piercing blue
  
  

  Height.

  6'
  
  

  Weight.

  191lbs
  
  

  Build.

  Lean and athletic
  
  Jackson has a lean and athletic build of someone who is constantly active. He is tall, and toned, but with a fairly small amount of body fat. He has broad shoulders and is quite lanky in his arms and legs. His body carries various old faded scars from past scraps
  
  His face is not handsome in a conventional way. His nose is crooked from being broken too many times. He carries scars, the most notable being on his forehead: A thin but distinct line from the center of his forehead to his right eyebrow. His eyes are the most notable feature on his face. Deep-set, intense and a canescent baby blue. Usually Jackson carry's bags under his eyes from lack of good sleep. His skin very fair and quite clear of freckles and imperfections, however it is often dry and lacking colour. His hair is dirty blonde, mostly straight but with a slight wave pattern when it gets long. Usually he lets it grow until it annoys him then cuts it right back short.
  
  
  
• 
  

  BASICS.

  name.

  Jackson Junior Nicolas Crowe
  
  

  age.

  23
  
  

  gender.

  Male
  
  

  d.o.b.

  21st Febuary
  
  

  p.o.b.

  Ste. Genevieve, Missouri, USA
  
  
  

  HEAR ME # NOW
  Hollywood Undead

01.

02.

03.

04.

05.

code by birth of venus.

 

[matchaa]

• 1
• 2
• 3
• 4
• 5

• 
  

  I MUST BE
  # CRAZY!

  Li Mei
  Williams.

  
  
  
  
• HISTORY.

  EARLY LIFE.

  
  Li Mei lived in a fairly happy family growing up. She had a Chinese mother and a Chinese/American father who moved her and her sister over to America when Li Mei was 5 and and sister was 3, to further his career in sales. Her grandparents on her mother’s side did not support the move, cut contact with their family completely the second they got on that one way flight. Li Mei picked up English very quickly, to her parents delight. Although she had aways been a shy and uncouth child, she was incredibly gifted with language, speaking her first words very early for her developmental age. Despite this, she rarely spoke unless it was about her favourite things which, at the time, were insects, and small animals such as rodents, and the pigeons that liked to flock the streets. They all lived in a unit in central Florida. Her mother quickly found a job teaching Mandarin, Chinese in the same school the girls were enrolled in.
  
  At the age of 10, two fairly significant things happened in her life. She was diagnosed with Autism Spectrum Disorder, and her mother and younger sister were both killed in a random mass shooting that took place at their school. Her mother was a teacher and her sister was at school that day. Mei Li, was not at school, she had the day off as her dad had taken her to an appointment to finalize said diagnosis.
  
  After that her life went pretty sharply downhill.
  
  Mei Li became hard to take care of, and her fathers mental health also declined steadily. She heavily skill regressed, became mostly non verbal, would frequently engage in harmful/ self injurious behavior to manage her emotions. Not only was the financial strain wearing on her father for the support, the appointments the therapy, the OT ect, but the emotional pain was taking it’s toll as well. Mei Li’s father somehow convinced himself he had lost everyone in that shooting, despite the fact that She was still very much alive and in his care. He began drinking, he began using, then it slowly became obvious to the neighbors and her classmates that she was being neglected. Often she would not let her father convince her to bathe, she hated the water, the soaps, going from dry to wet to dry, and so eventually he just stopped trying. She was always wearing the same clothes, until it was a quite apparent to anyone in her vicinity that she was terribly unclean. She would also show up with various bruises and scrapes, all which were caused by her own meltdowns but that were not prevented by her father, who often left her alone for hours at a time.
  
  Eventually, social services arrived, and Li Mei was in the system. Just before her 11th birthday she was adopted by a well off young couple. They already had two boys a similar age to her. Li Mei believes they adopted her as more of a symbol to show their neighbors how charitable they were. Li Mei was given the best occupational and speech therapy that money could buy. She was given every support she needed, apart from actual maternal love.
  
  

  TEEN YEARS.

  
  As Mei entered her teen years and continued her therapies, slowly starting to recover from her trauma and coming back out of her shell. Her parents endlessly bought her expensive clothing and lavish gifts, but never listened to her speak about what she loved, or let her indulge in any of her interests, never accommodated her sensitivity’s, continuing to force her to wear jeans that were too tight, close fitting dresses and scratchy blouses. In front of her friends they would talk about her as if she was a much younger child than she was. They liked to tell people about all the progress she was making in therapy, and how sad the situation they 'Rescued" her from was. Whenever she aced a test or mastered a new skill they were happy to spread the good news around to everyone. This behavior was afforded to each of their children, of course, and they would frequently pit them against one another, directly comparing the three of them with one another. In her younger brother Byron’s eyes, it seemed, she had stollen the spotlight from him. He was cold and bitter towards her from the moment she moved in. Behind closed doors the family unit was falling apart. Her adoptive mother had caught the father cheating on her, years back and ever since their marriage has been a charade, Instead of banding the three kids together, they would use them in arguments, force them to take sides or get involved, her elder brother copping the worst of that, as he was his mothers favorite. She had an ally in her older brother, and was able to deal with the stress and continue to improve herself.
  
  Mei entered high school with plans to come out of her shell and fit in. Up until now, she was a social pariah, never going to social events, never venturing out of her comfort zone. It wasn't until her last few years of high school that she started to try to be a teenager. This was in part due to reuniting with an old friend of hers she knew back when she was in foster care, Jordyn. This friend helped her survive a very difficult time in her life. Mei began to learn how to mask her autism to try to fit in with Jordyn and her friends. In doing so she unwittily began to push away those who knew her for who she really was.
  
  Towards the end of high school for Mei, she was finally able to begin a relationship with her first ever love Tavon Greene. It was looking like her life would finally begin for real. She could explore who she really was with someone who really got her.
  
  

  CURRENTLY.

  
  Now that they have both graduated and are have been dating and saving for a few years, Tavon and Mei are almost ready to start thinking about their future, and possibly moving in together. Just ad discussions had begun to happen, life threw a spanner in the works as it usually did. Mei got a letter in the mail from her father of all people. The letter was vague but the way it read sounded like something was very wrong. Pages full of regret and pain and most of all desperation to see he 'One Last Time'. to 'Make things right'. Mei didn't show anyone the letter straight away. She looked up the address he had sent her and found out it was in Vegas of all places. Was she going to give up her cozy North Dakota life, drop everything and head into a place like that, not knowing what she was going to find when she got there. She took some time to think about it, reading it over and over and over. Of course, eventually, she had to show her boyfriend. She knew he'd never let her go on her own, and honestly, she really needed him on this one.
  
  
  
• PERSONA.

  
  Li Mei is quite noticeably different from most when you first start talking to her. She speaks in a way that is kind of flat, and genuinely does not do sarcasm. She takes people at face value quite often, and doesn't read between the lines. She often doesn't notice things that are subtle, often missing it when someone is making fun of her or has a bad intention unless it is made very obvious. She generally does not smile to be polite or make others comfortable, but rather only if she truly feels it necessary to smile to convey how she is feeling, so she comes across ‘moody’ or ‘serious’.
  
  Li Mei also finds it difficult to maintain normal amount of eye-contact with others and occasionally catches herself starring for too long at others. She just never seems to get the balance of tone, posture, eye-contact or flow of conversation quite right. Often she hides these traits quite well, just seeming ‘a little awkward’ as opposed to outright abnormal, but it does take a lot out of her to do so. Despite her social issues, Mei likes people in general. She likes to learn all the little things about someone that bring them joy. She never judges people before she knows them, and takes a while to form a proper opinion. She is very opinionated when it comes to her own moral compass. She has a strong sense of justice, and will often get herself into strife when she feels someone is being treated unfairly, because she HAS to point it out. Mei does not let things go when she feels she, or another has been wronged. She holds onto things and ruminates on them till they drive her crazy.
  

  I don't like it here. I want to go back home where my birds are...

  
  
  Once you befriend Li Mei, she will become more relaxed around you. She will reveal how passionate she is about her interests and hobbies. She shows the people she likes affection by truly listening to them and getting very personalized gifts. She does enjoy putting things together for people if she thinks it will make them happy. Mei is a very passionate and affectionate person. She is hardworking and headstrong when it comes to the things she is passionate about.
  
  On the flip side, Li Mei can be a harsh, unforgiving and sometimes unreasonable person. Aware of the fact that she often misreads intentions, once you have been caught in a lie or have wronged her in some way, it is not easy to regain her trust. She will overreact to things that might be small to most people. She doesn't like to be told what she should be doing or how she should feel about something. She can be stubborn, and sometimes reckless when she feels like she is being controlled. She is weary of people who lie, even about the smallest things. Mei is aware she can be easy to fool, and so trust is very important to her.
  
  When provoked Her anger can quite volatile, and she is quite aware of that and has worked extencivly to pause before she reacts and think. Byron, her brother, was a good model of who she did not want to be in an argument. She tries her best to handle situations with logic and tact. When she becomes overwhelmed, and seemingly insignificant things can sometimes cause this, she has be known to lash out physically towards others or sometimes herself. however she mostly has this under control and often makes sure she removes herself if she feels the overwhelm begining, either physically or by dissociating.
  
  
  

  Vices.

  Unforgiving, antisocial, easily overwhelmed, blunt, gullible
  
  

  Virtues.

  Generous, strong sense of justice, hardworking, passionate, affectionate
  
  

  Traits.

  Here.
  
• VISAGE.

  Hair.

  Black/Raven
  
  

  Eyes.

  Dark brown
  
  

  Height.

  5'5"
  
  

  Weight.

  136lbs
  
  

  Build.

  Short and slim.
  
  Li Mei primarily wears oversized or loose-fitting clothing if she can help it. She has a pair of reading glasses. She has a smaller bust and a narrow frame.
  
  
  
• 
  

  BASICS.

  name.

  Li-Mei "May" Williams
  
  

  age.

  21
  
  

  gender.

  Female
  
  

  d.o.b.

  2nd January
  
  

  p.o.b.

  Shang Hai, China
  
  
  

  CHIHIRO
  Billie Eillish

01.

02.

03.

04.

05.

code by birth of venus.[/border
.

 

[Gao]

• Giovanni
• Tae

• 
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  click!

  
  
  
  

  GIO.

  
  
  
  

  THE ESCORT.

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  Full Name

  
  

  
  

  Giovanni D'Angelo

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  Nickname

  
  

  
  

  Gianni, Vanni, Gio

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  Pronouns

  
  

  
  

  Cismale He/Him

  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  DOB

  
  

  
  

  AGE 25, BORN 9TH JULY

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  POB

  
  

  
  

  SIENA, ITALY

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  JOB

  
  

  
  

  BARTENDER (?)

  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  • .
  • .
  • .
  • .

  • 
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    MAYBE I'LL TREAT MYSELF TO SOME OVERTHINKING BECAUSE OF A MILD INCONVENIENCE.

    
    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    appearance

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    

    height

    
    

    5'11"
    (180cm)

    
    

    
    
    
    
    
    

    
    

    hair c.

    
    

    Dark Brown

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    

    eye c.

    
    

    Dark brown

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    

    Hair

    
    

    In the wake of France did he ignore it with reckless abandon, and as of America has taken to the habit of hacking away shingles of length under the spotlight of greasy hotel bathroom lighting. Cedar black and largely unconcerned for, it is a special day indeed if he decides to apply any effort of styling.

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    

    Eyes

    
    

    Wasp black and light eating, there's a feline aspect to Giovanni’s eyes. Often rimmed by charcoal sands that leave the whites as bioluminescent lagoons, they are heavy lidded and deep set with a tired weight unbecoming of a man in his twenties.

    
    

    
    
    
    
    
    

    
    

    Build

    
    

    Corded with an average physique of 5’11”, olive skin sticks to Giovanni like gold leaf and dappled sunlight. Twisted with ink to reclaim the canvas of himself, there is a flavour of self-sacrilege to decorate it as his own sanctuary, and the hum of loathing is quelled thinner because of this.
    

    
    

    
    
    
    
    
    

    
    

    Distinguishing

    
    

    Aquiline feature of prominence, a curved nose is a noble staple by Greek philosophy. Whilst Gio doesn’t share this view, he does, however, have a habit of scrunching it in confusion when overhearing dense conversations.
    

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    

    Face-claim

    
    

    gaetanoarena @ insta.
    

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
  • 
    
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    personality

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    

    Traits

    
    

    Lackadaisical, suggestive, selfless, unprejudiced, passive, compassionate, jovial, cynical, dishevelled, defensive, dishonest, paranoid, distrustful, control-freak, secretive.

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    

    In Detail

    
    

    It suits Giovanni just fine to appear the very translation of languid. With sooty eyes and tender bon mots of wry reciprocation, incorrect estimations of his character aren't at all uncommon. Playful, yet not the brink of obnoxious, flirty, but not to the pinnacle of a sleaze, kind, but not at a level of pity.
    
    Gio’s flippant appearance is in contrast with the fact he is not primed for inconvenience, disobedience, or lack of control; everything said and done is excruciatingly measured and restricted. In any small trophy that he may find and grasp, it is learned having authority over his own decisions makes it hurt a fraction less. Refusing to be viewed as a force to conquer, own, or crush, slowly, being a control-freak over even inconsequential details has proven to heal the relationship with himself and others.
    
    For every time someone yells, Gio finds that he is eight years old again; eggshell fragments sloughing the soles of his feet and eyes chasing into crannies of the room. He knows the right but never questions or tries to confront the wrong, unable to face glass-cutting truth if it is ugly and threatens to take from his already mangled carcass. It is easier to be meek and spineless to avoid conflict, even in completely unjust circumstances.
    
    Weak-willed as he is to the fear of being disliked, Gio is a coddler of the weary and hurt. Pandering worries into nothing but nonsensical fretting, coos them from the room with a gentle nature so boundlessly perennial, it blankets all the primitive edge of his visage.
    
    He offers more care than people have given most things to him during his life, for he wonders how things could have changed if he was met with a similar fashion in France.
    
    Intimacy is still, and perhaps will always be, an exchange for Giovanni. No longer for monetary value but the merits of helping, sharing beds to provide comfort is a reminder of Nikifor’s lingering influence. He has had to barter his body like sections of jewel, and now is left to buy the cracked, burnished gems back like grimy kernels.
    
    Nikifor begs no self-preservation, and piecing himself together with sex from vivisected memory, old and new, is trying to make life from dirt whilst forgetting it needs flesh and water and electricity and humanity.
    
    Intimacy is all haunting, healing, and unmaking.
    
    For this is Giovanni’s ouroboros habit, gift-wrapping self sacrifice and calling it a form of love. He has never known how to accept and show it any other way, not a sleeve tethered to a beating pulse, but the entire organ and dagger laid bare upon the ready altar.
    
    He takes inventory of others with such intensity that sometimes these gentle hands and empathetic eyes flounder to make sense of a friend's intentions.
    
    There will always be resentment for Romano, for lending a hand and Gio being foolish enough to think it’s safe to hold onto. And it bleeds, blooms like coal ink dropped onto parchment, flares upon both the page and within his eyes in a swell of paranoid distrust. Like something has been dormant, sleeping and waiting to uncurl from kiln ribs to stir to action.
    
    They want something, of course, for there can be no other reason for them to linger.
    
    Beasts of this damaged ilk gather what sorry fractured pieces are left, hoard it away like sugar in snowdrift and lull themselves to sleep knowing it is safe. Getting questioned What’s Wrong and desiring to punch them is what this black aura does to people, and how jarring of a sight it is when Gio is pressed with undesired questions.
    
    For a moment one could think it’s finally going to happen, when a mild man splits apart the coat of lamb wool and hones their grass-grazing teeth into a fluency of knives. Eyes dimmed to a blade point of rust towards faces that regard him with a pity and humiliation he hasn’t felt since France, a pity he would have liked to think himself immune from.
    
    Oil to rainwater he lets it drift by, begins to reinforce the walls with further plaster and brick.
    
    If trusting others is what undoes him, he’ll do whatever he can to keep them out.
    

    
    

    
    
    
    
    
    

    
    

    Habits

    
    

    Telling lies he can’t remember, using random accents for no reason, talking about fake drama in Ubers for fun, pulling at his earrings, getting paranoid after watching murder documentaries right before bed, forgetting to cover his expressions after hearing something dumb.
    

    
    

    
    
    
    
    
    
    

    
    

    Fears

    
    

    Police, hospitals, yelling, upsetting people, moths, aeroplanes, France, crustaceans.
    

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    likes

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    Cowboy boots, coffee cake, eating raw noodles with the seasoning powder sprinkled on top, the Madagascar films, country music, orange soda, mice, knitting, stargazing, white wines.
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    dislikes

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    Tap water, elaborate food, yelling, arguments, conflict, nightclubs, France, dirt, Winter, liars, fruit, Furbys (ew omg), confrontation, using the ceiling light instead of a little lamp.
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
  • 
    
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    history

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    

    DISCLAIMER.

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    

    This history alludes to: Abuse, Trafficking and Sex Work. Do avoid if sensitive to aforementioned topics. References towards feeling disgust with one's body are not my personal views on this occupation, and are a reflection of the character's thoughts only
    ​

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    

    VOL. ONE

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    You’ve always wanted to be everything for anyone, lullaby mild as laudanum and quiet as a backdrop. For childhood permeates in us, leaves a sense-echo unable to depart.
    
    In an Italian rural home lined with artisan candles, jars thick with ivory wax and tiger lily wicks, when summer arrives your mother would go out to the garden to paint orchids and carnations. Slicking the canvas with oily stems of electric blue and butter yellow sepals, she’d spend many hazy afternoons like such whilst her sons roamed the countryside.
    
    Your mother’s talent never surprised you, and nor did her temper.
    
    When confined inside with the energy of two young children, she’d hunch by the wintery window with a cup of incendiary tea to nurse; it would occur in an instant like a knife-flick rather than the slow pull of a door. A voice like gunpowder but no hand to follow it, you often tried to distinguish whether a press of a fist would feel better than the scripts of ugly words with no bandaid to relieve it.
    
    Maybe it would ache a breadth less, but you were never to find out.
    
    Blameless boy of two, placid as seafoam, you shadowed your older brother till you stumbled across the person who began to matter most fundamentally in the world. Birds of praise nest themselves in the form of Romano, and you know not to disappoint or anger, for what sense of a healthy relationship could you possibly garner from a mother who yells out of love?
    
    Romano takes you on a trip to France, and you are introduced to what the future could be. You try Tartiflette and Soufflé, rare wines in Bordeaux and the Loire Valley, and how are you not to become coaxed closer with an experience like that?
    
    But it is simply naive to mistake possession for devotion.
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    

    VOL. TWO

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    France was mind-melt, gutting an ice-cold canyon of sorrow from clavicle to viscera. But oh, sorrow is a pale descriptor of what happened to you.
    
    It tastes metallic, that first backlash memory, and it had been a small mercy that only blood tastes like blood. Lapsed to what feels an illuminatory edge of disaster, that night was your first glimpse of what little future actually awaits.
    
    On city asphalt that gleams like wet coal and winter air that chews skin like teeth, it is not the cold that makes you tremble like the silver membrane of chrysalis skin ready to split apart at the seams. Wax flesh like a candle of tallow, your body protests to back away a solid step — and that is all the generosity Romano spares till you are stopped and your hands are clutching his fabrics like a child with a blanket to pacify what eldritch looms in the dark.
    
    You cannot, you try to tell him, but you'd lost the ability to speak, a rusted nail lodged from the roof of your mouth to the plate of your jaw; unable to decrypt dead languages that have dissolved like acid lozenge on the impaled tongue. Suppurating sour, per favore, per favore, you know not of the amphora of misery that is to follow.
    
    The slope of an elbow finds your spine, and you’re nudged towards the humming vehicle melting into one with its shadowy backdrop. Acutely you could feel it, the surgical needle of waiting eyes that salt your skin with impatience.
    
    Romano, the situation demanded a presence of mind that you’d quickly lost to an uncharted pinnacle of fear, and your knees wish to find purchase in cold blades of grass and gravel to crawl and beg of him, do not make me do this. How can you haul what control you’ve lost back into the light with blunted nail and crumbling teeth? How are you to translate panic into reason without sounding like a deranged, drivelling fool? And what would he do with you if you fail what he deems an easy, measly task?
    
    Desperation bleeds to acquiescence, and you can feel something clawing up your throat as you slowly round and enter the car. A flicker of crying is lunging from the jugular, and you allow it to hammer the inside of your teeth like a funeral hymn smothered in gravedirt. It is a small mercy that only blood tastes like blood, for that pungent copper coating your throat like sepia honey is all that keeps you silent. Navel to nape, a vicious sadness that you drink like wine, all sacrificial lamb and seas of lapping red.
    
    A car where you are alone together, all judge, jury and executioner. The obsidian of your gaze skitters away from the driver like a roach from flame— affixes on the warm cash being palmed into your own.
    
    You are sick-heavy and wishing for a soft place to bury your bones.
    
    It is easier after the first.
    
    Cruder by cruder, you weather each client by whittling away disquiet till there is nothing left. From the shameless to the prudish, from 10 till 4, weeks and streets of France are crammed somewhere behind your melancholic eyes, stuffed in pockets of crumpled bills and passing faces. You find regulars, garner small scraps of relief from those that only desire to sit and talk, go through the motions on autopilot, have a rib caved in by a heel-wearing woman named Betty for loitering near the wrong corner, learn to cut gaps in your jacket to hide away greasy cash— save police decided to confiscate after holding you in a cell overnight, realise memories liquefy into blurs of what doesn’t feel real, realise it’s all not quite a dream either.
    
    You show your earnings to Romano and watch the oil of his eyes ignite; when he speaks the words are translated in blunt knuckles and malleable bone, and you meet him in kind with muffled shock and swollen skin and crushed watercolour bruises blooming to the surface.
    
    You lose the ability to be disgusted or surprised. Once gorged and saturated in these streets, questionable requests are nothing if not profit. Unable to be alarmed anymore, nothing to slice into the ravine of exposure that Romano has submerged you into. They continue to arrive uninvited, glide like coffins in the sea to the cliff-face of your corner, and you begin to enjoy the fleeting interval between a closed door and the exchange. When you can thaw salmon pink fingers over the heater and soak in what menial warmth this casket of metal offers, when you can exist momentarily until the echo draws near and reminds you of your forever mooring line.
    
    And with enough time you’ve become Nikifor, a Russian who works to send money back to his starving family in Astrakhan. Suddenly you’re guttering Giovanni from your chest till the shell is drained and hollow, pouring the molten cast of a new identity just so you may rebase your soul. Suddenly you watch yourself— watch Nikifor, from a pedestal above, tethered only by the way your eyes slide and collide at the window to count speckles of rain or sand-grain celestials.
    
    The months of nightlife hums along, and France shares the shadow of your design.
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    

    VOL. THREE

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    You were lying when you told Romano you don’t think about leaving. Daily you’d dream it into existence during the brief interlude between couch and concrete strip of nocturnal affairs.
    
    You thought you could find a bus or walk on forever till your calves wilt, melt into the dark of an alley and never encroach into the danger of light again; but when caught at the opportune moment, you find yourself seized by the icy lapse from your first night. How the surface of the unknown ripples like vacant glass, the fear steadies you, anchors you, and the sheer thought of leaving is a spatter of ice to the vertebrae of your spine, enough to have you turn away from a promised horizon and return to all you’re good for.
    
    It would make anyone feel angry or despondent, but you’ve found bringing yourself to care particularly strongly about anything nowadays is an atlas-weighted task in itself. To feel is to condemn, and you’ve learned the method in compartmentalising every gruesome detail in the hull of your chest.
    
    Ironic, you suppose, when choosing to care was the original crux that instigated this entire thing to begin with.
    
    So your opportunities pass, in clients you can see as a friend, in the hug of a luxury balcony while a married couple explains their intentions for the night. You could’ve told them, my name is Giovanni, but your voice is mauled on searock and tongue split half like a sinuous serpent, I don’t want to be here.
    
    They slip past like grains of sand, and you are cleaved into two, Giovanni and Nikifor, one urge to finish the trade and stash away the bills, a more pressing urge to ask them to take you far away and to never let you return to France and never go anywhere unknown and never walk these streets again and stay out of sight and light and—
    
    Here you are, fragmented and splintered. Filth teaches filth, and gone is the bronze hue of your skin. Eyes leeched halfway to River Styx and begging for a strong undercurrent. Ah, one night this is where you realise, with lungs pooling liquid phlegm and pneumonia casting vulture shadows in your periphery; you have no more room for ruin.
    
    You promise it to yourself, either Niki or Gio, you’re not certain. Wrenched the cash from your pockets and ran. Perhaps you should’ve stayed, for there’s no sacred soil that’ll ever accept a vessel weaned on defilement, but just for a night or how many your tired body can afford, you wish to worry not of what unspeakable is written into darkness, what filmy myth paces your under eyes with shadow.
    
    More ghost than man did you stumble into that taxi with an oath to never stand on French asphalt again. Amica, friend, the rain pooled like a simulation of the glass panes. Neon light splashes to the gaunt hollows of you, a face yet made of ash, and it is like kindling catching to quick flames as you ask her to please drive.
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    

    VOL. FOUR

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    How to uncouple the past from the present? You left Italy naive and lovesick, back when you still classed yourself as something good, back when you lived with the supportive graces of friends and family.
    
    You return to Italy two years later wearing Giovanni like an ill-fitting coat, shrugged over shoulders like a loose layer, akin skinwalker. A man you’d left to decay in France, no burial mounds to sanctify this loss for the earth has risen to suck marrow and bone into whirlpools of boiling mud.
    
    You return to what you knew only to feel this shrunken world pinch and pull, cannot help but flinch and recoil and look at people like hazardous, unsolvable puzzles. Family paints your disappearance with the madness of a high-hounding addict, and you knew they wouldn’t believe what happened in France even if you told them. For the Giovanni they knew is no longer good, but a wounded thing resigned to lashing out without plan.
    
    You reintegrate the best you can, but it is only a matter of months before you feel you must leave Europe to start anew in America, Vegas. A canvas of neon light and new beginning, yet a tapestry woven with strands of history will always tether oneself back to it.
    
    Even now you feel you should spill apologies for existing. France has found a space to rest itself between soft lung and bone cage diaphragm like an unwanted parasite.
    
    Nobody can cleanse it out of you. Not even yourself.
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
  • 
    
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    MISC

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    

    Headcanons

    
    

    ➢ Ask him what he did for a job and he’ll start cooking a whole exciting story. Forgets it in two days. Little lying king.
    
    ➢ As a child Gianni wanted to join the circus so he learned how to juggle. Never actually joined the circus. At least he has a party trick now.
    
    ➢ Can’t read military time. What the fuck do you mean its 17:00 what the hell is that. If you even say "quarter to 4" bitch just say 3:45 you're stressing him out.
    
    ➢ Doesn’t speak to animals or children in a baby voice. “Hello sir” to a literal toddler. “Good day” to a cat.
    
    ➢ Catch that mf awake in bed at night just reading the Wikipedia for cement bc he can’t sleep. Damn this chemical substance go crazy.
    
    ➢ Cancer sun, Scorpio Moon, Libra Rising.
    
    ➢ You can tell him the world is flat and he will not argue with you. He will agree. The only time he has a fraction of a backbone is blatant sexism or racism where he will manage a heavily uncomfortable "oh that's not...".
    
    ➢ Doesn't use elevators because he can't control anything outside of pressing the button. Would rather walk up 15 flights. He'll see you there.
    
    ➢ The world's most mild man until a moth appears. He is fuelled by an unspeakable bloodlust to kill it. Will be stood on a table with a book in his hand ready to beat the fuck out of it. Reverts back to "(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ anyways!" right after his murder spree.
    
    ➢ In his healing era. Aka ignoring the residual impacts of France. He's chill 'bout it [dubious]. Behaves strangely around sex workers which often comes across as rude or judgemental.
    
    ➢ Keeps his yarn in his bag so he can knit on public transport or on his work breaks. Grannies love to see him coming.
    
    ➢ "I don't like banana smoothies-" vs Gio's "yeah me neither". My brother in Christ you are allowed to have opinions nobody is going to hurt you over a banana drink.
    

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    now playing...

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    I DIDN'T KNOW HOW TO SAY

    
    
    
    

    THE CRAWLERS

    
    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  ♡coded by uxie♡

  
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  click!

  
  
  
  

  TAE.

  
  
  
  

  THE INFLUENCER.

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  Full Name

  
  

  
  

  Tae Sung

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  Nickname

  
  

  
  

  NOT TAE TAE

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  Pronouns

  
  

  
  

  She/Her/Pretty

  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  DOB

  
  

  
  

  AGE 21

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  POB

  
  

  
  

  SYDNEY, AUSTRALIA

  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  JOB

  
  

  
  

  ONLINE INFLUENCER

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  • .
  • .
  • .
  • .

  • 
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    IS THE GRINCH HIS NAME OR ETHNICITY...? IDC HE'S UGGO LOL.

    
    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    appearance

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    

    height

    
    

    5'10"
    (177cm)

    
    

    
    
    
    
    
    

    
    

    hair c.

    
    

    Dark Brown

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    

    eye c.

    
    

    Dark brown

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    

    Hair

    
    

    Aphrodite emerges from sea-green foam, dragging comb fingers through dripping ink hair. A straight curtain pressed ever thin beneath incendiary iron, it swoons to motion and sea wind like larvae silk.

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    

    Eyes

    
    

    Dowry lashes and smokey praline iris, this gaze tends to warn away unwanted company, sharp and full. Drinking in the virtues of others with a jealousy so severe, many struggle not to cower under Tae’s unspoken dialect as she ravages them in silent scrutiny.

    
    

    
    
    
    
    
    

    
    

    Build

    
    

    Socials saturated in gym photos matter naught when excursions are reserved only for mirror selfies in spandex shorts. Vacant of both muscle and a row of ribs, Tae is narrow-shouldered and narrow-everything, and in the aftermath of sawn bone and hammered nails she has been tailored from a natural 5’6” to a modelesque 5’10”.
    

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    

    Scars

    
    

    This perfect rose does not form shapely petals and supple pistil without the assistance of an upright scaffolding. Residue of surgical hands wielding their thorny instruments, trio dents litter the sides of Tae’s legs, constellation mappings of limb extension surgeries. A mother for a gardener who tends daily to her daughter like ritual, lips are split into a thinned smile as she reminds, dearest, found fault in tibia stems without the stretch of heavy titanium rods, models cannot be 5’6”.
    

    
    

    
    
    
    
    
    
    

    
    

    Distinguishing

    
    

    Honeyed ichor would trickle from the vein of this parasitic beauty, sun crushed into skin that blooms to the surface in a mouthful of persimmon peels and chrysanthemum blush; Narcissus is but a candle to this conflagration.
    

    
    

    
    
    
    
    
    

    
    

    Face-claim

    
    

    Ari Nam. Namariuwu @ insta.
    

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
  • 
    
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    personality

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    

    Traits

    
    

    Ambitious, stylish, perfectionist, persistent, protective, self-disciplined, vivacious, brave, queen-bee, catty, optimistic, insecure, gossipy, attention-seeking, spoiled, two-faced, pressured, wasteful, jealous, lonely, unhappy.

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    

    In Detail

    
    

    A shy mommy’s girl to butchered man-eater, there is no better version of Tae but the one that exists online. A single sweep of her Instagram is all it takes to know she is a captain caught in the surging throes of vanity, no interest to swim for languid waters but sink into reed-laden tumult.
    
    Paraded like stardust, all pose and pout. Superficial salacity and a voice held to an endearing octave several steps too high, she is sponsors and discount codes, vacations in Dubai, reposted quotes at her grandpa’s funeral, selfies while lazed over the roof of a summer yacht, sumptuous wardrobe, many fake product reviews and a very real monthly subscription to face tune;
    
    Fame. It coats and calcifies a sacrosanct sarcophagus, a permeable membrane sealing all that matters into a compartmentalised existence. Starting as a threaded tether, what begins as modicum grows in ferocity like possessed vines, all that keeps her from the crushing truths of threatening verisimilitude
    
    She’ll turn a catty cheek with a flick of her hair, arch an abrasive brow with a scoffed response to anyone that threatens to reign her hive. For a Queen Bee— more so wasp, doesn’t like competition, and childish jealousy is quick to ignite like fire and brimstone at the mere scintilla of inferiority. Perhaps their skin is smoother, their hair soft and glossy, a warm personality that attracts others like moths to lamp; no matter the reason leaving Tae threatened and ablaze, she’ll dare to perform, outshine and spew backhanded vitriol in their face at any opportunity.
    
    She needs the attention, the likes and comments and bustles of bouquets gathered in excited hands. She has to be the best, harbours perseverance and ambition far beyond what fickle social grid holds her in place, and yearns for praise she doesn’t quite deserve. She can’t bear the thought of being ignored and shoved aside by someone better, as to be unwanted is to be useless.
    
    For she is no captain of this vessel, but a captive of her mother’s design.
    
    A melancholia that dwells bittersweet in the corners of Tae’s painted lips, although she knows she is fond of this glamour ghoul lifestyle, gorged on accolades and brand deals, sometimes it sours the milk of her speech, curdles her mood like vinegar. A mouthful of rotten fruit running its sinus juice down the throat, nobody is to see it, of course, because how would they believe it? Beneath filtered illusions and warp-tool magic tricks, there’s no excuse for her immature feelings, toiling away in nightly isolation whilst a sea-strewn face rereads the nice comments just for a scrap of worth.
    
    Lonely, her carnival mirrors scream the opposite, posting photos with familiar faces to ensure the wool is dragged thick and heavy over everyone’s eyes. Tae has no real friends, and any outings are a quick performance reserved solely for popularity. Always accompanied by a photo-hounding mother, she enforces this choreography before pulling Tae away with a hooked arm, companionship disallowed completely in a counterfeit world.
    
    After so many years it’s almost muscle memory; take pictures, airdrop the best between their phones, make an excuse to leave.
    
    In the blink of an eye her hope of friendship is altered, and Tae, that lonely media wraith of a woman, is convinced that she is unworthy of the merits of being truly known. So believing that she is to wander this life with nobody to confide in, all she has is her mother, her forever anchor amidst the fright of fakery.
    
    A personality more entity, she often forgets what interests she actually inherits. If none of them have proven convenient to beauty or social media, they are classed as futile and ignored. Practised lifetimes to pick up a Bratz instead of a Brachiosaurus, a salad over a cheesy pasta, a halter over a woollen cardigan, all for the sake of her mother’s greed.
    
    Money is a motivator that oils the mechanism of exploitation.
    
    A mother more akin to poisonous pesticides, always meticulous in exterminating her daughter’s connection with other people. When raised by a controlling matriarch from an early cycle, independence is left as a foreign notion to Tae. Permission to order takeaway, cut an inch of hair, post a photo, choices are not hers to make, because of course, mother knows what is best.
    
    She’ll never quite expel those thoughts, memories, dark whispers like being forcefed ribbons of salt and shadowhoney, voices as cold as the arctic. A mother who never hesitated to flash a backhanded remark about her daughter’s ten year old body, a mother who pretends she has never said or done anything wrong in her entire existence.
    
    Tae Sung is both a pampered baby and marionette doll, with no taste of free will to know what she wants. One cannot long for what was never lost, but sad birds still sing.
    

    
    

    
    
    
    
    
    

    
    

    Habits

    
    

    Sees an old person doing something alone and has to make a big deal out of it, might be projecting her fear of being alone forever onto them. Acting boy-crazy. Only allowing photos from her "good side". Glaring at breasts that are better than her own. Declining she’s had cosmetic surgery... it's all natural... aha... How did she grow 4 inches? By drinking milk. Fuck off.
    

    
    

    
    
    
    
    
    
    

    
    

    Fears

    
    

    Rejection, surgery, dentists, swimming, being exposed, disappointing mommy.
    

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    likes

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    Snapchat filters, Adele, big dogs, palaeontology, Jurassic park films, lizards, online shopping, the internet, salt and vinegar potato chips, ASMR, pickles, summer, burger king crowns.
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    dislikes

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    Criticism, people with bad eyebrows, bikinis, exposés, shopping in stores, people she perceives as threats, not being the best at everything, carsickness, the grinch.
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
  • 
    
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    history

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    

    DISCLAIMER.

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    

    This history alludes to: Surgery, Body-Shaming from Parent. Do avoid if sensitive to aforementioned topics. I have no negative opinion on people who get cosmetic surgery, bc idgaf and it's none of my business. ​

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    

    VOL. ONE

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    Visiting your dad was a comfort held in the element of serenity.
    
    Technicolor DVDS and walls of creased posters parched by sepia sunlight, both of you glow with a content aura in phosphorescent light of the television. Another Jurassic Park marathon, your father talks over half the film and half a mouth of popcorn to mention the special effects.
    
    A cultural tour de force, he repeats for what must be the third time, and you love him all the same. Your fingers are greasy with salty butter and your rolled clementine socks are too big and ugly and your dad only cares to talk about fossils and heralding a new era for palaeontology.
    
    When you’re back home you try not to compare your mother’s steamed vegetable bowl crowned in sparse dry lean meat to your father’s lasagne with simmering tomato and creamy cheese sauce. Try to keep your eyes from vending machines and the taunt of salt and vinegar chips, for your mother’s love and attention is a complicated siege.
    
    Her smile after a mean tease is used to tuck away Hollywood teeth, and there can be a gravel tenor to her humour. Long silent pauses to throw a conversation off-kilter, looking upon you with an unheard sigh, sometimes her love feels terrible and coal-hearted. Loved in ways nobody would want, lashed apart with scourges of sleet and distance, it is love all of the same, and nobody is to know whether it would cause salvation or damnation.
    
    She doesn’t hesitate for a joke at your expense, digging those nails until she’s found something that hurts and can pick away at it. Still she finds energy to roll her eyes to a childish question, and it’s glaringly obvious that some women aren’t made to be mothers, no girls are made to be their daughters. Feeling neither child nor adult, some botched aftermath where you hold the most inconvenient traits of each and fear the language of disappointment;
    
    Trying for her approval becomes all that matters.
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    

    VOL. TWO

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    Your father couldn’t save you from this vicious crypt, for there is a dangerous power in hearing criticism from who you love most. Leeched to your mother for the unconditional, you’ve nestled by the warmth of her body since conception just to stay protected from arctic cruelty.
    
    A womb that never yields, you’re an adult still nursed with swaddle and unresolved emotions.
    
    When she combs the velvet of your hair in the vanity mirror, she warns you about boys who’ll take your bones and claim them as their own. Interlaces your plaits with ribbons and warns you of back-biting girls that’ll steal all your good away, of users and wasters and everyone that is not her; a daughter will only ever need her mother, for love does not exist outside of family, outside of you two, outside of mother and doll.
    
    Childhood a dissonance of comfort and expectation, as the seasons pass, so too does your innocence. Doll-houses are abandoned in the garage, damp wood soft with emerald mould next to your rusting bicycle with the pink bell and handle streamers. Stacks of toys bloom with memories you can no longer hold onto, as she has decided it's time for you to grow up and be mature.
    
    Girlhood is the beginning of your godhood, and at least online you still get to play pretend.
    
    Being mature went at thus, slathered in chemical peels to boil away the puberty mayhem of skin, an otoplasty procedure to pin child ears back, a monthly comment to remind you’ve put on weight, observing cousins receive kitkats whilst you are handed almonds and half an apple, and against the screaming humiliation of bare skin burning on the sand of a public beach, at 17 you are posing in bikinis with a mother who urges you suck in and lower your shoulders.
    
    This is what takes your light, all your good away. Not the boys with crescent moon teeth or girls with rouge lips as she’d warned. You beg her to love you, to love you like a child, to protect you and stop yelling and stroke your head.
    
    Yet something tells you to cling to her, even when she primes an arrow in a pig-fat string to target and lacerate what makes you most insecure. You choose to love her, to be with her, as she has constantly done for you. Harm has become a flavour of comfort because it is the proof that she cares.
    
    You are her very own Russian nesting doll, and your mother’s shame haunts inside your own body, and inside that doll is your mother’s self-hatred, inside that your mother’s regret, ad infinitum, ad infinitum. With time you have swallowed these in layers of your own, new skins with the maelstrom stored inside.
    
    Social media proves profitably receptive, and with daily tides of compliments and heart emojis, you feel endlessly warm. Curled to the phone watching the like count rise, you’re no longer lost to the hot and cold trajectory of your mother’s opinions. This is the first time consistency has held you gently by the hand and led you through groves of love without a backhanded comment or silent admonishment.
    
    More doll than daughter, you visit your father less and less till he is just background noise. Your mother sought two plane tickets to Vegas, and you agree that building a future is what matters most. A future for them, for you dare not go or do anything without her.
    
    You were born easy to influence and sweetly malleable, and nothing good ever becomes of a stitched up monster.
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    

    VOL. THREE

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    Tender skin to be pulled and stapled, bones sliced clean with wire saw and nailed together with titanium hardware; your 20th birthday gift was a pair of broken legs.
    
    Segmented from four bones into eight, it is not the first time your body has been willingly fractured and pieced back together.
    
    Ears pulled and affixed flatter to the head by sutures, skin of the nose peeled back to flay down pearl-gray cartilage, back needled open to saw through the white buck bone of lower ribs and teeth ground into small stones to cap with diamante crowns, your body is a plethora of hollows and modifications.
    
    It was a naive thought to think the teeth were the worst it’ll ever be. Red silk fluttering your jugular, unable to dissipate through a static face and desperate swallows. The red in your mouth and red in your body and how you wail a cry with a toothless mouth. Gaping for air with soft red, tender gums and sleeping with dreams steeped in an exhausting deplorable mania for perfection.
    
    But this is different, and you cowered as soon as your mother proffered the thought. I’m sorry Tae Baby, she smiled making it the least mocking she can, but models aren’t 5’6”.
    
    Like particles of salt adrift in the sea, these memories are impossible to sieve from the silhouette of your body. Splayed on an operating table cold as slaughterhouse tiles and drinking in acidic air that seasons skin being unfolded by hammer and knife, you never felt fear for surgery until now.
    
    You’re afraid of a few things, not being perfect and not keeping your mother happy, but nothing as much as laying naked in a paper gown while they hatch incision targets down your legs. The hospital feels like a dead winter, cruel walls and crueller instruments.
    
    Umma, you realise you do not want to be alone as you slip towards a black sleep, is this the price for success?
    
    Chiselled through tibia and femur, scraping away fat and tissue, you may have been deep asleep in an anaesthetic current, but your mind can still replay the idea a thousand times by touching along the scars.
    
    As history recites, a healed femur is the first anthropology sign that love existed. Hunted and fed the injured whilst they’re unable to move or fend for themselves. But you don’t feel loved with swollen legs mangled in metal and breakage for a 4 inch increment, flushed with blood and pomegranate blemishes from pooling bruises, too weak to recoil or jolt as your mother cradles your hand in two of her own, peppers your knuckles with kisses and praises of brave girl.
    
    You’re too benumbed to taste what upset is dissolved on the tongue, too numb to feel the eight broken segments of your legs bridged by metal rods and deep nails. You can barely lift your drowsy head or catch the saliva pooling slimy on your lower lip; glassy eyes and opioids are heavy, your legs heavier, your jaw slack and numb.
    
    Umma, mother, muscles at the brink of their stretch now spasm and ache to the strain of meat pulled taut. You’ve taken to the habit of tearing yourself apart at night just to act healed by morning, but this is a wound that won’t cease come sunrise.
    
    Your throat is raw as crushed velvet, and burning bile surges with a mutinous lurch of a twisted gut. Mouth flooding warm you incoherently lull and swallow, only grateful that you know the worst is over.
    
    Your mother watches. She sees something other than you.
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    

    VOL. FOUR

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    It is the only place where nobody expects anything of you, the unmoving solace of your bedroom. Features aglow from the screen of a phone, you shift like a writhing animal to staunch the pain lancing through knee and hip.
    
    Residue of surgery has left tangible scars and damaged nerve, but still determination moulds your gait, still you keep your mouth curled up with rows of pearl teeth to conceal the splintering resurgences of static and heat and numbing nothing.
    
    You’lll never allow knees to grow weak and buckle before others, especially when it means slipping from the grandeur visage you’ve built through shattered bones and shaved skin. Even when joints are lead-heavy and volatile shards are sandpapering like diluted ice through limb, you are undaunted. For whatever pained rhythm cracks thunderlike against meat for escape, you are still as an apparition and unwavering towards your mother’s goals.
    
    One day you’ll shed this careful snakeskin, find people who can share in both your light and shadow.
    
    Because after so much mutilation to reach here, what harm is one more bone?
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
  • 
    
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    MISC

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    

    Headcanons

    
    

    ➢ Wants to be a popstar but can’t sing for shit. Delulu is the solulu.
    
    ➢ Has to spend ages editing every photo before she posts it. “Woke up like dis” selfie but it took two hours of getting ready and a tripod and ring light and she took 384 images to sort through.
    
    ➢ Can pick up the most disgusting bugs without a care. A roach? Little hershey kiss. A centipede? Legged worm. Australian behavior.
    
    ➢ “That spider will bite you” actually I’m different so it won't. It will sense my angelic beauty and not hurt me.
    
    ➢ The type of mf who’d stand in the middle of a busy NY street trying to do an outfit check or Tiktok dance. If you walk in front of the camera you’re the devil and it's your fault and you should be more considerate fuck you.
    
    ➢ Literally cannot hear shit while she’s reapplying lip gloss. Using all her brain cells to focus. A nuke could drop and she’d just blink and ignore it.
    
    ➢ “Where are the hawt boiz ” overcompensating. go have a snickers bar. my god.
    
    ➢ “If I can have this meal for free I’ll give you exposure on my insta ”
    
    ➢ That mf so lonely she responds to almost every dm just to have a conversation with someone. Gets hit with “Show toes” and she’s like oh no.
    
    ➢ Screenshots 11:11 to post and add the caption “him ♡”. Who is she talking about? Idk but it’ll make the toe-loving boytoys think it's about them.
    
    ➢ Has an anonymous Adele fan account where she shares music covers. Angel_Adele333 has become a known joke online with plenty of debate whether it is satire or not. Tae refuses to let it get her down and posts every week. Angel_Adele333 has more followers than her.
    
    ➢ Has permanent damage in one leg from a severed nerve that has her in pain most nights. Ibuprofen is a girls best friend ! So is sadness !!
    
    ➢ If she watched the Tangled film she’d probably have a mental breakdown tbh. Justgirlythings.
    
    ➢ Collects the Fuggler plushies. Even if they have bad teeth they deserve appreciation. Yes she's fine.
    

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    now playing...

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    GREED

    
    
    
    

    SOPHIE POWERS, DE'WAYNE

    
    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  ♡coded by uxie♡

  
  
  
  

 

[ComplexDragon]

• Placeholder
• Cosette Laurier
• Seraphina Wilder

• 
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  Seraphina Wilder

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  # hostess (aspiring musician)

  
  
  
  
  

  # renee rapp

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  ♡coded by uxie♡

  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  Cosette Laurier

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  # Former Poet

  
  
  
  
  

  # Tamika Fawcett

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  ♡coded by uxie♡

  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
• 
  
  NOTE: This code is better viewed on laptops for the full effect.
  
  
  
  
  
  

  • 111
  • 111
  • 111
  • 111

  • 
    
    

    
    
    
    

    basics

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    07:33

    
    

    petit moment de bonheur

    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    12:48

    
    

    je ne regrette rien

    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    

    meet

    
    

    cosette

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    a

    whoknows-how-old

    young woman who is a reluctant romantic and suffers from avoidant attachment. goes by

    she/her

    pronouns, and is most known for being

    waitress at CASINO NAME

    . she speaks multiple languages including French, English, German, Greek and Russian, and will strip you down verbally in any of them.
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    visage

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    

    height

    
    

    5'6

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    

    build

    
    

    Long, lanky arms and legs. Very much a ballerina/model figure

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    

    hair

    
    

    Long, messy curly locks. Her favorite part of her appearance, and the one she takes the best care

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    

    eyes

    
    

    Hazel eyes that change color based on her mood, the amount of water in her eyes, the way the sun hits them, etc

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    

    skin

    
    

    Brown skin with warm undertones

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    

    distinguishing features

    
    

    Fluffy, curly hair, and long limbs

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    

    faceclaim

    
    

    Tamika Fawcett

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    lookbook

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
  • 
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    psyche

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    what are you looking for?

    
    
    
    

    you might like

    
    
    
    

    
    

    Romance

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    

    Languages

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    

    Dance

    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    past searches

    
    
    
    

    poetry foundation

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    used books

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    nevada ballet theatre

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    crafting supplies

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    dancer tik toks

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    persona

    
    

    
    

    Vices - Passive-aggressive, guarded, blunt, harsh, obsessive, ruthless
    Virtues - Empathetic, romantic, tactful (when she wants to be), reliable, industrious, helpful
    
    Full personality description to come
    

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    likes

    
    

    
    

    Rainy days, lakes, concerts, linguistics, old literature, one-on-one conversations, matcha lattes, debating, flowers, taking walks in meadows, making jewelry, hanging out with her friends, writing letters, pressing flora, listening to classical music, old books, dancing, dresses, cottage-core outfits, soft pastels and whites, thunderstorms, sunsets, moonlight, quiet evenings, sitting by the fireplace, Tchaikovsky
    

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    dislikes

    
    

    
    

    lorem, ipsum dolor, sit, amet, consectetur adipiscing elit, quisque, turpis purus.
    

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    fears

    
    

    
    

    Being betrayed again, opening herself up and getting hurt, losing those she cares about, becoming like her mother or her father, staying stuck forever
    

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    hobbies

    
    

    
    

    Languages, reading old literature, pressing flowers, ballet, jewlry making
    

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    

    skills

    
    

    
    

    Speaks five languages, dances en pointe, impeccable balance, sharp wit and wiles, decent crafter, can spin sentences so elaborate you'll get lost in them, master of customer service smile
    

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    #reluctantromantic

    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
  • 
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    history

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    gracie

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    boss wants me to come into work today

    
    
    
    
    

    And I really don't want to

    
    
    
    
    

    but like, idk how to say that cause you know how he is.

    
    
    
    
    

    they always think we can just come in at the drop of a hat

    
    
    
    
    

    just tell him you're busy

    
    
    
    
    

    ok, yeah good idea

    
    
    
    
    

    meanwhile i have another three hours

    
    
    
    
    

    aww i'm sorry babe

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    say something...

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    death of a dancer

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    Born Cosette Evangeline Laurier-Ramberget on March 16th in Quebec City, Canada to Amelie Laurier and Vincent Ramberget, Cosette spent her early childhood in a small apartment near the water. She spoke French with her mother, German with her father, and English in school, meaning that her language acquisition was slower, but she was trilingual by the time she was five.
    
    Her mother worked as a high-profile lawyer, while her father worked as a mechanic. Slowly he started coming home drunk and grew to be loud, messy, and angry. By the time she was eight years old, her father ransacked their house before making off with many of their valuables in the dead of night. Amelie decided to relocate Cosette and herself to New York City for a new start, especially as she picked up a senior partnership at a top-notch firm. Cosette dropped Ramberget from her last name.
    
    Amelie was not a very warm mother. She was emotionally volatile, and very rarely praised Cosette. She also worked long hours, and Cosette was left with apathetic nannies. Instead, she found solace in school, where she picked up two more languages (Greek and Russian), her ballet classes, which she took nearly six days a week, and her studies. Her mother was determined that Cosette would go to a school like Yale or Harvard and study law. Meanwhile, Cosette longed to find herself on the stage at the ABT or traveling to Europe to study art, literature, and dance.
    
    She stayed on top of her school enough to continue her ballet training through her senior year of high school. However, her mother still insisted that she attend college, and she was accepted to Yale Law. Her dreams seemed terribly far away.
    
    Reluctantly she went, and that’s where she met Darren Tate, a photographer and known playboy. They hit it off immediately, and for the first time, Cosette felt comfortable with someone. So much so that she was able to open herself up in a way she had never been able to before.
    
    She dropped out of school in her junior year and followed Darren to Arizona on one of his photography expeditions, much to the irritation of her mother. Unfortunately, there he told her that she was just too much to deal with and that he really loved someone else. Leaving her alone in the desert, without much recourse.
    
    Unable to return home, Cosette found herself in Las Vegas, working as a waitress at a casino, lost, unmoored, and nursing wounds. She’s unable to move forward or backward, and so she’s stuck, just trying to survive. But somewhere inside her is the young romantic who spoke in poetry and flowers, and who once believed that anything was possible if she put her mind to it. She just needs to find her again.
    

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
  • 
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    extra

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    i hate it here

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    

    wild horses

    
    

    grace power

    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    take a hint

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    dreamer

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    whatcha doing

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    scroll

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    miscellaneous

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    

    question

    
    

    these are for whatever other tags you want to put in. this box scrolls, by the way.

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    

    question

    
    

    Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Nam ut fringilla nisi, consequat dapibus felis. Aliquam aliquet purus ut orci fermentum, sit amet finibus ligula suscipit. Donec bibendum nulla ut leo venenatis sagittis. Donec augue mi, rhoncus non mauris quis, pharetra vestibulum mi. Maecenas imperdiet neque lorem, vel commodo sem auctor a. Nulla facilisi. Aliquam sit amet felis convallis, bibendum lacus egestas, finibus nisi.

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    relationships

    
    
    
    

    click!

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    darren tate

    
    
    
    

    ex-boyfriend

    
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    

    Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Sed rhoncus pellentesque enim. Sed maximus tellus odio, vitae posuere lacus aliquam sit amet. Morbi erat quam, accumsan vitae nisl eu, tincidunt interdum urna. Integer pellentesque enim et blandit vehicula. Praesent tristique lorem vel tellus eleifend, a venenatis erat eleifend. Suspendisse non pulvinar odio. Maecenas pretium, justo vel consectetur accumsan, leo odio tempor turpis, sed rhoncus ante felis id turpis. Mauris eros felis, dapibus non dapibus id, volutpat nec massa. Praesent vel sagittis purus. Nullam scelerisque nibh quam. Nunc ultrices iaculis mauris, a consectetur metus convallis vitae. Cras in sem ornare libero volutpat tristique. Phasellus nibh est, cursus sit amet aliquam at, rhoncus eu lacus. Morbi vel laoreet quam.
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    

    
    

    click!

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    Ameliè Laurier

    
    
    
    

    mother

    
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    

    Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Sed rhoncus pellentesque enim. Sed maximus tellus odio, vitae posuere lacus aliquam sit amet. Morbi erat quam, accumsan vitae nisl eu, tincidunt interdum urna. Integer pellentesque enim et blandit vehicula. Praesent tristique lorem vel tellus eleifend, a venenatis erat eleifend. Suspendisse non pulvinar odio. Maecenas pretium, justo vel consectetur accumsan, leo odio tempor turpis, sed rhoncus ante felis id turpis. Mauris eros felis, dapibus non dapibus id, volutpat nec massa. Praesent vel sagittis purus. Nullam scelerisque nibh quam. Nunc ultrices iaculis mauris, a consectetur metus convallis vitae. Cras in sem ornare libero volutpat tristique. Phasellus nibh est, cursus sit amet aliquam at, rhoncus eu lacus. Morbi vel laoreet quam.
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  cosette

  
  

  @

  cosycosi

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  20:01

  
  

  :

  cosette

  
  

  
  
  
  

  t-minus two hours left on this shift

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  basics

  
  
  
  
  

  psyche

  
  
  
  
  

  history

  
  
  
  
  

  extra

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  ♡coded by uxie♡

  
  
  
  
  
  
• 
  
  TBD
  
  

 

[picklemouse]

• Placeholders
• Knox O'Dale

• 
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  Quinton “Quinn” Benoit

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  # Nightclub Host

  
  
  
  
  

  # Mason Alexander Park

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  ♡coded by uxie♡

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  ---

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  Knox O'Dale

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  # Well-Intentioned Crime Baby

  
  
  
  
  

  # Barry Keoghan

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  ♡coded by uxie♡

  
  

  
  
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  𝐃𝐎𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐄𝐑
  Name
  John Knox O’Dale
  Nickname
  He has always been Knox
  Age
  TBD
  Gender & Pronouns
  Cismale; He/Him
  Sexuality
  Pansexual; Absolute Romantic
  Date of Birth
  December 16th, ####
  Place of Birth
  Las Vegas, Nevada
  Occupation
  Security at #### (Casino his father runs?)
  Secret
  He just started working with his father in the underground crime world; Efforts are being used to oppose the main mafia in the city.
  
  𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐀𝐆𝐄
  Height
  5’8”
  Build
  Slim, with a strong upper body
  Eyes
  Blue-Grey; Bright and Expressive; Sometimes deep, sometimes shallow, possibly making one wonder: What’s he thinking about right now?
  Skin
  Fair; Prone to burning from the sun and the wind; His cheeks and nose flush when it’s cold out.
  Hair
  Short; Brown; It just has a way of settling where it wants, no matter what he does; On occasion, there is a cowlick on the back that has the habit of acting up.
  Body Mods
  Red Feather Tattoo, Upper back of his right arm
  Distinguishing Features
  With his strong jaw and downturned mouth, Knox could often be perceived as a solemn and serious person, until he cracks a wide, sunny smile. He has a comfort oriented style, opting for colours found in nature (browns, greens, oranges, blues) with a fondness for tank tops under short sleeved button ups. His hands are worn from years of working with them.
  Face Claim
  Barry Keoghan
  
  𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀
  VICES
  Romantic
  This cocky Romeo type. He will do his job but you bet he’s got half his mind on the girl of his dreams.
  Resourceful
  TBA
  Determined
  TBA
  Merry
  Despite the macabre nature of some of his work, Knox can often be found in a good humor. He’s ready with a lighthearted joke and a heart melting smile. Just like his father.
  
  VIRTUES
  A Rascal
  TBA
  Impulsive and a little Reckless
  TBA
  Sticky Fingers
  TBA
  Master of spin
  TBA
  
  LIKES
  “Inconveniencing” the wealthy; People watching; Spending time outside; A strong cup of tea; Teasing; Competition; Finding nature; Writing poetry; Falling in love; Spending time with his mother and father.
  DISLIKES
  The ruling class; Authority; Greed; Being rushed; Strict rules; Bullies who bully for no reason; Being told he can’t (re: anything); Senseless cruelty;
  FEARS
  Losing his mother; Compromising his moral compass;
  HOBBIES
  Hiking; Writing poetry; Baking; Hitting the clubs; Shoplifting;
  SKILLS
  Lock picking; Slight of Hand; “A way with words”; Lithe and a strong climber; Birdcalls and Whistling; Persuasive; Observant;
  
  FAMILY
  Father
  Robin O’Dale; Former boxer; Boxing gym owner
  Mother
  Marion O’Dale; Nurse; Soup Kitchen Volunteer
  
  HISTORY
  Backstory TBD
  
  PLOT ARC IDEAS
  My Beloved, my beloved
  Romance arch; Yes this boy is a player but one woman in particular has caught his sight and he is determined to make her fall as deeply for him as he has for her.
  Crime Baby
  - Knox impresses a powerful criminal and gets himself in over his head
  - Underground boxing, maybe he gets arrested?
  
  

 

[-ferret-]

• Basia Gajos
• Nikodem Wrona

• 
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  Basia Gajos

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  #gauge burek

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  #bartender

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  ♡coded by uxie♡

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  —BASICS
  name - basia gajos
  nickname - bashi, bash
  age - 22
  gender/pronouns - nonbinary, they/them
  sexuality - homosexual
  birthplace - las vegas, nevada
  occupation - bartender, part-time stripper
  
  —PERSONA
  vices - dramatic, possessive, impulsive, feral, pissy
  virtues - kind, sweet, affectionate, protective
  likes - animals, knives, dancing, his bike, the rain, the ocean, soft things, pushing buttons, the color green, his friends
  dislikes - oranges, certain textures, being ignored
  fears - clowns
  —HISTORY
  wip.
  —MISC.
  -rides a dark green kawasaki versys
  
• 
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  Nikodem Wrona

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  #cameron hill

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  #personal assistant

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  ♡coded by uxie♡

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  

 

[murphalicious]

ophelia valentine

# undecided

# kaley mcpherson

♡coded by uxie♡

scottie jean clark

# undecided

# kennedy walsh

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[matchaa]

WIP

• 1
• 2
• 3
• 4
• 5

• 
  

  YEAH NAH
  # I RECKON

  Philippa
  Jones

  
  
  
  
• HISTORY.

  EARLY LIFE.

  
  A young girl is born to a chaotic family unit that is already full to the bursting in Melbourne's own Saint Kilda. The household was a chaotic one: Kids running everywhere, house always in a constant state of clutter and mess. Some of the older kids were changing nappies for their siblings after school to help out their mother, Amanda Joanne Smith. Philippa's mother was usually in a relationship, but rarely was it with the same bloke on any given year. In total, at the time of her birth, Philippa had several siblings from different relationships in her life.
  
  Amanda's first children were born when Manda was only 16 herself. A set of twin girls born to the man who'd actually married her back in the day, when she was a mere runaway teen herself: Mr Teddy Smith. He'd also bought them their little dodgy Saint Kilda townhouse, where the four of them had lived until she was 18, and then gotten married. Well she ditched him about a year after their wedding because he slept with her sister at a family reunion. Old mate still lives in Melbourne but rarely spared the time to see the kids over the years, just throws the required money at them. After a series of blokes that lasted less than a month at a time she had another 2 children, a girl and boy. She met their father when she was 25. This one was her longest relationship so far but he only made it to fiancé status before leaving her at the alter. His name was John Campbell, a real bludger. Menial forklift driver job he was barely holding on to, big mean streak, From Darwin. She was with that asshole for 4 long years, in that time having another daughter at 25 and another son at 27. Johnnie boy was a fun, mischievous man, but very irresponsible and with real anger issues. He ruined her townhouse, put holes in the wall. He introduced her to binge drinking and argued with her constantly. He never laid a hand on her or the kids, but he gambled away any money she had at the pokies and destroyed her mental health and confidence. He'd left the kids, and returend to Darwin. When they got a bit older, they'd go for short trips to see him. Usually he picked them up from the airport, occasionally he passed out drunk instead. Then finally, there came Philippa and Holly Polly, both the same age. "Holly-Polly Jones" Was her actual legal name. Her mother must have been on the VB's straight after birthing her. Her mother had them at 30 years old. Philippa and Holly's dad was some Greek/American backpacker, much younger than her mother, who'd met her at one of the local pubs and they'd shacked up together in the back of his hired camper van.
  
  So, to recap, at the time of our hero's birth she had two 14 year old twin sisters (Stacey and Eloise), a 5 and a 3 year old sister and brother (Jenna and Finn) and her twin sister, Holly. Plus three fathers and three last names between them all.
  
  Her and Hol's were yet another set of twin girls. Hol's was a rambunctious girl with a sunny disposition. Pippa adored her, and sometimes it really felt like it was them VS the rest of the family. Philippa and Holly's father, having returned to Nevada not long after hooking up with their mother, only found out about their existence a few weeks after they were born when she upturned the whole house looking for her old iphone 6, to find his phone number.
  
  Philippa's dad's name was Lucas Theodoros Jones. He was a salesman, with a wife and a couple of kids of his own, who'd been pretty damn sleezy on his travels. Still, he came through for them. He sent their mother money when she asked for it. They became little cash cows for the family. Their mother, of course, was pretty good at spending it just as fast as she got it, so they never really improved their situation much.
  
  He didn't break contact with his girls, though. Pippa actually had a pretty decent relationship with him. They would call one another on skype most nights. None of the other kids in the household had such a present and well, relatively well-adjusted father as Lucas. Hol's and Phili were endlessly left out or outright bullied by their jealous siblings. Still, they had each other. Phili and Hol's would always be on the beach, fishing, swimming, jumping off tall rocks, camping and making fires, roasting marshmallows. Sometimes their siblings came too, sometimes Philli's friends, but always the two of them.
  
  

  TEEN YEARS.

  
  Like a lot of teenagers, Philippa felt invincible. She was wild, reckless and free with no fear. Holly was somewhat more reserved, often finding it hard to keep up with Pippa, who now had quite a number of poor, working class, scrappy teenage friends to occupy her time with. Hol's was coming on adventures always, then it was most of the time, and finally it was only every now and then. Philippa was too focused on herself. She was dating people, going to backyard piss ups and barbeques, camping and getting into the occasional scrap. Holly however was more interested in her books and her writing, and most of her friends were online friends. Though they were quite different, at home, they still had each others backs. They were the last few looking after their drunk and lonely mother after some of the older ones had moved out, or just checked out emotionally. They held their mothers hair while she vomited. They cooked for themselves when their siblings hadn't. They kept their mum going as best they could. All the siblings did their best to look after one another but Holly was so mature, she had unwittingly become everyone's emotional support, a heavy burden indeed on a young girls shoulders. Their childhood together passed, their siblings began to move on with time.
  
  It was raining one day, newly turned 18 year old Philippa, Holly, her brother Fin who was 21 now were in their red commodore. They were all arguing, Pippa doesn't remember what about now. She remembers the car lose traction, she remembers the beeping of oncoming traffic, and she remembers the pain in her right shoulder and head as she was forcibly slammed against the door and window of the car. The commadore had skidded into the opposite side of the road and was T-Boned by oncoming traffic. Phillipa and Fin were relatively unharmed, but Holly and their mother were both on the side of the car that was impacted. Her mother was injured, but responsive. Holly was unresponsive, not breathing. The first responders prioritized and started CPR so quickly that her sister actually came back.
  
  After the accident, Holly was no longer able to walk, and their mother was in the hospital with a bleed on the brain. Eventually she passed away. The siblings were all together for the funeral, and then they all went their separate ways, keeping in contact only with the family facebook group chat. Fin moved to Darwin where Jenna was already living. Stacey and Eloise were already moved out, living in Brisbane, so they returned home. That left Hol's and Philippa with only one another, once again. Their dad had been present for the funeral, unlike any of the other fathers in their lives. He suggested they come and live with him, offered to support them financially. As much as she liked the guy, she probably would have taken poverty over moving to Las Vegas of all places. Unfortunately, holly was now wheelchair bound, and would be totally reliant on their support. She needed someone who could financially support her. Young, dumb, irresponsible Philippa was not that person.
  
  
  
  
  

  CURRENTLY.

  
  Philippa rolled with the punches, and made the most of her new life. She decided after her terrifing ordeal to attend the PIMA Medical institute and work towards her degree in Paramedicine. In true Philippa fashion she was going to face her little fear or traffic accidents head on. She misses her home bitterly, but she tries her best to make the best of the situation. Processing her grief has been a hard one too. Her sister is not in a good way mentally, and her father is definitely feeling the strain too.
  
  Philippa has also chosen a very advanced degree, bringing out the family ADHD in a big way. Her mothers lifelong gift to her, at least she assumes that woman who was just like her was the source. She was quickly noticed, and diagnosed at the age of 20, and has spent half the year getting used to the medication and saving her grades in the nick of time before total failure and subsequent drop out. Phew.
  
  And so, here she is now, permanently stressed, just a little bit mean, but ALWAYS funny and ready to let her future unfold.
  
  
  
• PERSONA.

  
  
  Philippa is a walking talking tornado. She always has several trains of thoughts and they all collide in her head sometimes. She hasn't got much of a filter and is pretty good at saying tactless and rude things at just the wrong moment. She also likes to tease people, and sometimes she takes that a little bit too far as well. She has lost many a friendship over comments taken to heart. She's been labeled a bully before as well. It always seems to blindside her when someone gets offended. In her mind, often, they were just having fun. That was how it was with her family, all assholes to one another, tearing each other down, but where it really counted they had each others backs.
  
  Philippa does not dish out what she cannot take. She doesn't get really offended by people teasing her for things she finds petty. Her clothing, her accent, even her performance in class. She is unbothered, maintaining her "It is what it is" attitude steadfastly. Outright being discriminatory against ones race, sexual orientation or disability is of course off limits. She will not hold her tongue if she see's that kind of behavior either. Pippa may be a bit... undiplomatic, but she has a decent heart and moral compass, and is loyal to her friends to a fault
  
  
  
  

  
  You couldn't organise a piss up in a brewery!

  
  
  Philippa is used to chaos, and so thrives on it, however since her accident she has become a little more cautious and a little less reckless. She doesn't do things that might cause harm in others, however if she is only putting herself in harms way she's all for it. She likes a good party, but she likes the quiet, small group of good people drinking under the stars kind. She's not the kind to go to clubs even if she was old enough here, but probably would check out the smaller pubs. She likes anything novel and new, and is easily distracted by a cool themed back alley pub or a bit of elaborate street art. She likes to be out and about, and will peer pressure as many as she can to join her or adventures. Philippa is, and always has been very social and extroverted.
  
  In terms of romance, she is a little bit adverse to it. She finds it hard to trust others, especially men but women too, when it comes to a relationship. Her mother never really showed her anything stable or normal. No strings attached, she can do no problem. But when it comes to being a Casanova, she usually falls on her face. She falls quite hard for people, and then she usually catches herself, freaks herself out, and ghosts the heck out of them. Maybe this will change for the right guy or gal, but for now, she's happy to go solo.
  
  
  
  

  Vices.

  traits
  
  

  Virtues.

  traitse
  
  

  Traits.

  Here.
  
• VISAGE.

  Hair.

  Platinum blonde (Dyed) Dark Blonde Naturally
  
  

  Eyes.

  Dark green/brown
  
  

  Height.

  5'7"
  
  

  Weight.

  139lbs
  
  

  Build.

  Avarage, flat chested
  
  You can tell our hero is a bit of a character based on her appearance. The first thing people usually notice is the blonde mullet, and the cheeky expression on her face. Pippa is of average size and build for her gender and age, with a bust on the smaller side and a slim and boyish figure. Her clothes tend to be ill a combination of colours or patterns that she found eye-catching that day. She likes to mix and match styles. She is also a fan of big men's jackets.
  
  Her face gives away her femininity, however. Pippa has plump, soft red lips, striking hazle almond shaped eyes, perfect skin and a cute button nose and graceful high cheekbones. When she is without makeup, she is quite striking, but she is rarely without something on her face. She can be a bit heavy handed with the eyeliner pencil at times. She likes her mascara and smudges her charcoal coloured eyeshadow on purpose. Sometimes, usually when she can't be bothered, she'll do a quick cat eye, mascara and some lipgloss and call it a day. This tends to happen more around exam times.
  
  
  
• 
  

  BASICS.

  name.

  Philippa "Pippa" Louise Jones
  
  

  age.

  20
  
  

  gender.

  Female
  
  

  d.o.b.

  10th July
  
  

  p.o.b.

  St Kilda, Melbourne, Australia
  
  
  

  AM I EVER GONNA SEE YOUR FACE AGAIN
  The Angels

01.

02.

03.

04.

05.

code by birth of venus.[/border
.

 

[neverbackdown]

Nate Parker

#drug dealer

#Robert Sheehan

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[Chimney Swift]

• Ivy Dawkins
• Oliver Dreyfuss
• Philip Fletcher
• Leigh Fallon

• 
  
  
  

  
  

  Half-Dead

  IVY DAWKINS

  
  

  Permanent Gremlin
  Coded by AnemoVictorious​
• 
  
  
  

  
  

  Turtle Expert

  OLIVER DREYFUSS

  
  

  Ghost Hunter
  Coded by AnemoVictorious​
• 
  
  
  

  
  

  Affably Evil

  PHILIP FLETCHER

  
  

  Pure Fiction
  Coded by AnemoVictorious​
• 
  
  
  

  
  

  Little Brother

  LEIGH FALLON

  
  

  Big Mistake
  Coded by AnemoVictorious​