ＳＴＡＲＳ ＩＮ ＹＯＵＲ ＥＹＥＳxx。 xxxx██████████████████████████ ★ █████████████ xxxx ★ MODEL
┊❤)ＤＥＤＩＣＡＴＩＯＮ ⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯ ⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯ ⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯ ⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯ xx私はあなたが私と一緒でしょうかどうかを知りたい。 I'm on every day for most of the day, and most of the night usually. However, I live in Australia so I'm GMT +10 and I'm ten hours ahead of most, so I may or may not be on at the same time as everyone else. Nonetheless, I still get things done.
┊❤)ＢＬＵＲＢ ⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯ ⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯ ⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯ ⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯
私はよりよく理解したい。 When I was little, people used to dote on how pretty my family was. There was me and my three sisters. But whenever they did dote on my family, they always said "What beautiful little girls you have... And your little boy too! He's pretty enough to be a girl!" to my parents. But there was no boy. The little boy they were referring to was me, a girl. An actual girl. I had the parts, but clearly they didn't have the eyes. Nonetheless, I felt terrible. I didn't want to look like a little boy. I wanted to be a pretty girl.
It wasn't really until I was thirteen did people start seeing that I was a girl. I wore skirts wore makeup and did my hair in various styles, that at the time, I thought were beautiful. I did my best to look pretty, but I never felt it. After my experience as a child, I could never believe I was pretty enough. Especially considering my sisters always stole the spotlight. I felt like amoon rock floating in a field of stars. Something ugly could never be associated with such beauty. And being the middle child didn't help much.
But what made it so bad, was the fact that they were so amazingly talented at everything. They could sing, dance, play instruments and god knows what else so beautifully, and then there was me, on the sidelines, just waiting for my time to shine, but not even being disappointed when it doesn't come. I've taken that from child to adulthood. I'll do my bit and I'll step back. Everyone else can have their time to shine like a star. I'll wait. But I'll always doubt that my time will come. Even now as a model, I'm not popular, I'm not big. I love it, but apparently my passion isn't enough. I feel like I need to do more. I'm the type that always needs to best myself, but I can never seem to do so.
I think, the only thing that's good about me, is my lack of conflict. I dislike it. Intensely so. I won't come between a fight, I'll ride it out calmly until it dies. And if I'm not the one involved, I'll be the one to placate the fighters. Fighting isn't worth it. And more often than not, it's useless conflict that has no meaning, or it's about the smallest and most insignificant issues.
Fact: Has a pet ferret.
Fact: Has her own rose garden.
I wanted this role because I can definitely relate to it. I have the same unfortunate situation (without the model part) in my own life, and I feel like I could portray the model quite well if I was accepted. However, in my life, there is no shining like the model, so I'd like to play a character that does have some good things coming out of her unfortunate situation.
┊❤)ＳＡＭＰＬＥＳ ⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯ ⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯ ⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯ ⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯
あなたは本当に私の重荷を扱うことができますか？ In my signature. Click the image.
┊❤)ＮＡＭＥ ⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯ ⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯ ⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯ ⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯
誰もが名前を持っています。 Annalyn May Hunt
┊❤)ＤＥＤＩＣＡＴＩＯＮ ⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯ ⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯ ⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯ ⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯ xx私はあなたが私と一緒でしょうかどうかを知りたい。 I'm in EST (GMT-5) and for the next few years will be free for the majority of the day pretty much every day, which should be more than enough time to break that 4 post a week quota under the strain of my restlessness.
┊❤)ＢＬＵＲＢ ⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯ ⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯ ⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯ ⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯ 私はよりよく理解したい。 There was nothing to really fuss over when he was a kid. He lived a normal single digit life. He got good reports, didn’t get in trouble, and the teachers liked him. Then fifth grade came, he turned 10 years old, and his single digit life ended. Thinking about it didn’t make it any clearer what happened, why things happened the way they did. Maybe that was the problem. Maybe he thought about it too much, obsessed over it. The events were as clear as day at first, but like a video rerecorded and watched a thousand times over, his memories began to mist over layer by layer with naive interpretations and charged accusations until what really happened splashed and drowned in the disarrayed static of his emotions. He remembered accidentally snapping a ruler in half during class and being sent to the counsellor. It was just a cheap, plastic ruler, nothing to write home about. But they did write home. What was this garbage? Destruction of school property? Were his parents seriously going to get mad at him for breaking a five cent ruler? They did. They hit him. And that’s how it began.
It was his very first taste of injustice, and a grudge like that is seriously all it takes to turn a kid rebellious. He was mad at his teacher, mad at his parents and came to know the counsellor very well, but only in facades. This was the woman who ultimately got him into trouble in the first place. If she had just given him a warning, instead of sending a ******** letter to his parents, none of this would’ve happened. As a more reasonable adult, he looked at his young self with pity. If only he had told the truth. If only he had the courage to just tell the counsellor he hated her, that he didn’t deserve to get in trouble over a dumb ruler, maybe they could’ve talked it out, resolved it maturely, reached some sort of apology and conclusion, but no. Like many dumb kids, he kept it inside, brooded, schemed and lied. What the hell do you care, b***h? At least now I’m getting sent here for things I actually deserve to be punished for. Good to see you people aren’t completely incompetent. Wait, what, you’re not going to call my parents for this? You can just pass me off a warning for this, but not for breaking a goddamn ruler? Are you ******** serious?
It got worse when he arrived at high school. Everything got worse. His parents grew desperate to fix him and talked to numerous shrinks. They didn’t get any real answers; psychiatrists were increasingly wary of diagnosing children for mental disorders. But his parents had money, his parents wanted answers, and answers could be bought if you weren’t too critical of their legitimacy. Pills, sedatives, electroshock therapy, the works. Was he really ever sick? Isn’t it natural to be difficult during puberty? It didn’t really matter anymore. It didn’t really matter if he was sick before, because he was sick now. The drugs and treatments turned him into a patient whether he was one or not. They made him miserable, dulled him wholly. His studies were still half decent but he couldn’t think properly anymore. So he experimented with other substances. When his prescription wasn’t cutting off his libido, he let loose. He became a very good actor. It only took so long before he realized that his parents decided what they paid for, not a professional, and he could control what treatments he received by playing along with the psychiatric manual on their bookshelf. It didn't take him long to begin manipulating his prescriptions as well. Was he really crazy, or just acting the part now? Would a sane man pretend to be crazy? He didn’t know, nor did he care to know. Nobody knew who he really was anymore, and at this point, he didn’t know who he was either. Lies have that sort of power. Drugs do too.
But then he met her at the seawall. They both went there to read every so often, and by their third chance meeting they decided to talk. They exchanged words, they exchanged respect, books, and eventually they exchanged diaries. He had never written in a diary before. It had always seemed like something only girls did, but he soon came to relish the experience. They never met outside of the seawall, and so despite all the time they spent together she always had the odd sense of a stranger about her. Maybe that’s why he felt so comfortable writing to her, confessing his life to her, because why would he lie to her? She wasn’t part of his family, wasn’t part of his school, wasn’t involved in any part of his deceptive life, so why bother with all the trouble and effort? She didn’t seem to mind, and in fact, she seemed to enjoy the bluntness of his honesty. It turns out she was also a liar. A few months into their relationship, she revealed she was actually a boy, was gender dysphoric, but that didn’t really change anything. She made him feel comfortable with himself, and he had long since fallen in love with her. He slowly got himself off his drugs. He began to behave himself. He graduated on the list. She made him an honest man, softened and emotionalized his life. The first and last lie he ever told her was on Valentine’s day. He bought cookies for her, and, in a nervous moment of bravado, claimed he had baked them himself. He learned to bake the day after, and began to work part time at a pastry shop a year later.
One day he received a call. Her parents found her crossdressing and kicked her out of the house, so the Baker rented out a little apartment suite for her to live in. He soon went to work on convincing his parents that he should try to live by himself, and in the process somehow received an entire house in the deal, along with a rather hefty allowance. He took it happily. They moved in like newlyweds, thinking about what to do with all the empty rooms. An art studio? Children perhaps? It became a house of dreams. He baked her cookies every morning, packed her lunch every day, and made dinner together whenever they could. He started a café. They spent their time together. Life was good. It was wonderful. But then he found her collapsed on the floor one day. He rushed her to the local hospital and felt a profound dread when she was known by the staff. She was a liar. She was terminally ill and had ran away from home. She didn’t want to bother her family anymore, and she wanted to live life as an adult for a while. She didn’t want to think about drugs or treatments. She just wanted to live, with the Baker, just for a while. It was selfish of her. It was cruel. He didn’t hate her, but it was cruel nevertheless, and the cruelty lasted for a precious while.
He didn’t attend her funeral. Instead, he laid himself on the floor of their house, staring at the ceiling, looking into the empty rooms and wondering what to do with them now. What to do in general. The dreams that had filled this house were gone now. He soon grew tired of brooding and kept to his little café, where he could at least dedicate himself to work and not think of much else. It was a small operation, intimate, and it kept him busy and at ease. He was naturally closed and professional, but not coldly so, and happily indulged and involved himself in the lives of others. He felt comfortable serving and helping his patrons, conversing with them if he felt it appropriate. He was understanding, a good listener, and generous; he often left the bill on the house when he was helping comfort a bad day. He even offered room and board to a runaway patron once. Then another. And that’s how it started. Why? It's what she would’ve wanted. Her dreams were over, and it pained him to admit it, but they were charming, loving, deceptive dreams. Maybe others could flourish now that the dandelion had been plucked. But what about his dreams, whose roots were entwined with the dandelion's? What now? He closed his eyes in thought and sighed.
❤ Schedules his time very strictly: bakes a tray of cookies at home every morning at 7am without fail. ❤ Used to be an amateur actor and dancer for local productions.
I decided to pick the landlord because I have an old man's soul, his blurb appealed to me to the point I felt I wanted to do it justice, and I've worked as a professional baker and pastry chef until I got rather exhausted by the schedule and was tempted into at least attempting a degree while I'm still young and not senile.
o: Although your interpretation of his past is
taken to a rather extreme level, I really like it even if I felt
scared as I read it. ; u; I hope you can still portray him as the
gentle soul he actually is though; I'm accepting you. However,
your image of the landlord isn't really what I imagined him
to look like. :c WANNA SEARCH FOR MORE PICTURES FOR ME..? ;_;
or i can look for you 8D I LOVE LOOKING FOR PICTURES HaHaHAHA
Don't worry, I felt scared reading it too.
Probably for different reasons, but still.
Anyway, sorry about scaring you.
I went on the extreme side of things because his blurb seemed to emphasize
that he had an exceptionally troubling past, compared to everyone else.
I also found the three house conditions he set up to be charmingly crazy, in a romantic way,
so when I read 'shockingly painful' in his blurb, the terrible side of me had no choice
but to involve him in electroshock therapy because that is two birds with one stone.
One bird being the painful background of his character, the other bird my sense of humor,
which I hope to one day stone to death so I can replace it with a less macabre one.
I'll very happily take any suggestions though; the customer boss is always right.
Especially when it comes to male images, which I am terribly bad at,
but since I don't want to look completely lazy, here is my 2nd go at it:    
Also, for, I dunno, posterity's sake, original image was Nezumi of No. 6, drawn by the wonderful toi8. [Original Image] and [Cake]
No need to worry over his soul though, I swear I'm not the devil's puppeteer.
I don't think it's possible to be rough or unkind when you bake cookies every morning,
because you end up smelling like butter, sugar, cinnamon and chocolate all day.
LOL okay that's good to hear. c:
I read back to my blurb and understood
why you made it to be that.
However I still don't like your pictures ; 3;
Sorry but when I say I'm picky, I'm picky. o ne;;
I took the liberty to search up some pictures for
you! O: If you don't like any of them, tell me though!
I'll help you find more and stuff too haha. They're
all the same character though.. o Ao;;
Worry not, the bosscustomer boss is always right~
That's just how it works in the food industry.
Plus, in this case, you're especially right,
because that character is actually really quite appropriate for the role.
Not that that will affect how I play my own character, but, personally,
I receive faithlike confidence in funny coincidences like this.
I'm not picky at all about pictures, so is there one you'd prefer?
I also have one more for your perusal, because my picture folder is way too big.
Also there's this, which I found kinda funny.
Markedly different art style, but you can tell it's the same character from the crab claw bangs
ＳＴＡＲＳ ＩＮ ＹＯＵＲ ＥＹＥＳxx。 xxxx██████████████████████████ ★ █████████████ xxxx ★ THE MODEL
┊❤)ＤＥＤＩＣＡＴＩＯＮ ⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯ ⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯ ⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯ ⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯ xx私はあなたが私と一緒でしょうかどうかを知りたい。 I'm usually on for posting several times a week. I always make time to go on my laptop but if I'm busy, I'll let you know. ^^ I live in the EST time zone. I'm not completely free, but I'm not always busy either. It depends if my family wants to go out or if my friends plan events but I'm usually home. c:
┊❤)ＢＬＵＲＢ ⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯ ⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯ ⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯ ⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯
私はよりよく理解したい。 Sumire never really had a loving childhood. While she was born attractive, gorgeous even, it wasn't enough for her father. Well, that's what her mother tells her. It's become a mantra in her head—"If you were beautiful, maybe your father wouldn't have left us." All she knows is that her father left them for another beautiful woman. Her mother was gorgeous, a former model even, and just when another beautiful addition could have been made in her love life, it all fails when Sumire isn't beautiful enough. In reality, he chased after anyone who was beautiful. Her father was a heart breaker but he left. There was no one else to place the blame. Her mother was selfish, and instead of blaming herself, placed all her hate and anger on her child. Poor Sumire, born into a neglected life. At home, it's always been insults of how horrid she looks. It came to a point where Sumire couldn't bear looking at a mirror. She would have breakdowns if she was given one. To this day, she doesn't have one in her own home. Although, she's come to a point where she uses it to at least wash her face or put on her makeup. Other than that, she refuses to look at a mirror.
In middle school she wouldn't understand why boys would fawn over her, or why girls adored her. They all talked about her beautiful she was and yet, it meant nothing to her. Not when all she comes home to are looks of disgust and words of how ugly she is from her own mother. Love letters, confessions, roses, gifts all piled up high and would fill up her locker. All of them were rejected. Never has she given a boy the chance to prove his love for her. Because of this she's been missing out on something she's never experienced, love. Familial love, romantic love, even friendship love, never has she felt those butterflies in her stomach. Never has she felt an undeniable happiness or a warmth in her heart felt from close relations. The closest she's ever felt to that were probably movies that she watched whenever she locked herself up in her room. It was when she got into high school that she experienced the world of models. The beauty, the lights, everything. She was scouted on the streets for her beauty and she thought maybe this would get her mother to love her.
It was then she decided to run away. She'll come home beautiful, on poster boards all over the city. Maybe then her mother would love her. Maybe then her father would come back. Maybe then they would be a happy family. It was not long that she realized the hardships of being a model. Maintaining a good sleeping schedule, strict diet, and weight. Weight issues drilled into her brain. While she was gorgeous, she had to maintain a skinny body for the media. If it wasn't bad enough, this drove her into being a bulimic. Sumire wanted to do whatever it took to be beautiful, even at the cost of her own health.
O1. Suffers from bulimia. O2. Enjoys hair styling/giving haircuts in her free time.