#Acrylic Pool Paint Online

[volkswagonblues]

what if we do an IWTV role reversal but Armand is the human boy "interviewing" Daniel the ancient vampire??

....with always-a-human!Armand and 514-year-old vampire Daniel? And Armand is a depressed underpaid zillenial artist working at a fuckass theatre troupe, and then the vampire Daniel hires him to work on a mysterious painting? So it's like, instead of an interview with the vampire Armand ends up doing ~Painting of a Vampire~? And also human Rashid is Armand's roommate and is genuinely too cool for his bullshit??

under the cut

HUMAN ARMAND MEETS VAMPIRE DANIEL AU

Armand is only at the pub because the rest of the troupe is at the pub, and the way things are going with Santiago, he can’t risk pissing anyone else or worse, getting accused of not “being a team player.” Never mind that everyone else has forgotten about him at this point. He sees Sam, Celeste and Estelle in the corner playing pool. Quan Pham is chatting up some poor woman clearly dying to get away and get back to her friends. Santiago, the artistic director, is nowhere to be seen, which feels more ominous than anything else. Lately he’s developed a habit of lurking over Armand’s shoulder while he’s sitting at his iMac, pointing at things in After Effects and making comments like “Are you sure it’s scaled correctly?” or “Why’d you name that layer that way?”. Armand sometimes has fantasies of shutting him in a box and throwing away the key forever.

He’s wondering when would be an acceptable time to leave when someone slides onto the bar stool next to him. An older man. He’s white, with a head of corkscrew grey curls and a battered leather jacket. Although they’re indoors and it’s nighttime, he’s wearing a pair of tinted sunglasses. Ambiguous “creative type” hyphenate rich dillettante wanker, Armand thinks. Maybe a show exec, or an actor who’s found niche success in an extremely online fandom. Or he could just be rich. Armand’s only been in the UK for four years and he’s already encountered, by his rough estimate, about ten million versions of these men.

The man smiles. “Hi there,” he says in an American accent.

Armand nods. “Hello.”

The silence stretches on between them. The man’s eyes flicker behind his sunglasses, examining Armand like a bug under a magnifying glass. Armand, discomfitted, drops his eyes. Are those acrylic nails?

“Daniel,” the man says, finally. “Nice to meet you.”

“I’m Armand.”

“I know.”

Armand frowns. “Have we met before?”

Daniel leans back. Makes a noncommital sound. He says, “I follow your work online, you have a great eye for portraiture. It’s bold. Experimental, but not so abstract you’ve disappeared up your own asshole. If you ever put on a gallery show, I would have liked to see your brushwork up close. How come you don’t do any shows?”

“Uh,” Armand says. “Well, uh, working with galleries takes a lot of time. Mostly I take digital commissions. And painting isn’t my actual job. I work with—”

“Yes, yes.” Daniel waves his drink’s paper straw in the air. He holds it between index and middle finger: the gesture of an inveterate smoker.“You used to be a background animator for le Théâtre des Vampires.” He pronounces it with an American’s exaggerated accent. “How is that going for you?”

“Fine,” Armand says stiffly.

“The vampire’s theatre,” Daniel says, “Fun name.”

“It’s an ironic reference to the bloodsucking aristocracy. The whole point is that we’re trying to make theatre more accessible to the public, which is why we also do youth workshops to introduce lower-income children to the arts—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Daniel says. “I Googled you guys already.”

“Okay.”

“And while I was doing my research, a little birdie told me that they fired you.”

Armand feels his shoulder tense up. He tugs his sleeves over his hands, rubbing the fabirc between his fingers. “I have a contract with them that ended after August, yes. They are still deciding if they will renew it.”

This is true. He wrapped up his last day after their final show for the Edinburgh International Festival. Two grueling weeks at the Lyceum, their biggest gig to date and the last stop before they finish the summer festival circuit. Santiago had emailed him to say they’ll have an update about his contract once everyone comes back from their well-earned break. Armand can’t tell if this is good or bad news. Surely if Santiago wants him gone, he would have just gone ahead and said it?

Daniel leans in. “Shit luck, but I’m not here to discuss employment precarity in the underfunded and overcrowded arts industry,” he says. “I’m here because I have a job for you.”

“Are you a friend of Santiago’s?” Armand asks.

“Who? Nevermind. I want to commission you to paint a portrait for an acquaintance of mine. Big canvas. Oil paints. Really classic stuff. You’ll be painting a family portrait of my acquaintance. Him, his partner, and their daughter who passed away. Reunite the happy family for me. I’ll pay you an amount that’ll have you biting through your paintbrush. A few terms and conditions, of course, but I think you’ll find it an interesting endeavor.”

Armand knows that he is not the most savvy of people when it comes to business. He’s not good with money. Doesn’t have the capacity to read people and figure out what’s their angle. Trusts too much and thinks too little. Whatever scam Daniel is running, he can’t tell. But his brain is giving him warning bells anyway.

“I don’t do this kind of work,” he says. “I suggest you try Etsy.”

Daniel laughs, white teeth flashing in the pub’s low light. “Still such a smartass. Your English is much better though.”

Armand rubs his temple with his fingertips. There’s an insistent pressure behind his eyes, a tightening around his skull like the beginning of a migraine.

“Why not consider it?” Daniel says. “You have the free time.”

Armand darts a glance up at Daniel’s face. He knows (how does he know this?) with cold glacial certainty that if Daniel were to remove the sunglasses, the eyes behind them would be gold and orange. The colour palette of a nuclear explosion.

“Very poetic,” Daniel says.

Armand blinks away the bolt of pain that stabs through his left temple. “Do we know each other?”

Tap, tap,goes the weirdly pointy nails on the beermat. “Does anyone truly know anyone? Daniel says, sing-song. “So, are you interested? I’ll repeat myself: you’ll be very well-paid for you time.”

The pub is too warm from the press of too many bodies crammed together. Someone is setting up their guitar in the corner for live music night. They tap the mic and the soundsystem lets out a screeching wave of feedback. Is there feedback? The noise feels like it’s in Armand head. Too many people are talking right now in this pub.

Daniel’s nuclear explosion eyes are still fixed on Armand.

Armand feels cold. Early spring mist on his skin; the roar of traffic. A splinter in his left palm that itches. Excuse-moi, sais-tu où se trouve le gare? And Armand turns, and his grip loosens on the railing, and—and then—and then he—

Daniel slides off the bar stool. Such a smooth, youthful gesture. Not quite right for a man with his deep crow’s feet and silver hair. “I’ll send you the details by email. I assume the one on your website is still good? Yes? Make sure to sign all the paperwork my assistant sends over, it’s part of the whole deal.” He reaches into his leather jacket—fishes around the packet of cigarettes he always keeps in the left-hand pocket (cigarettes? how does Armand know this?)—and he pulls a piece of folded paper. “Call if you have questions. Bonne soirée, Armand.”

When Armand unfolds the paper, a business card slips out. No job title or company name. It reads, simply, Daniel Molloy with a phone number embossed in tiny gold numbers.

The piece of paper is something torn out of a schoolboy’s exercise book. Someone had left a sketch in pencil: Daniel’s face rendered in chiaroscuro. No sunglasses on his face. He’s looking off to the side, a nascent smile tugging up the corners of his mouth. Not the ironic and mocking smile he wore tonight, but something softer, genuinely unguarded amusement. The shading is wobbly but the lines are confident and well-formed.

In the corner the artist has left his signature. Amadeo. le 4 mars 2012

Armand looks up. “When did I—” he begins, but the chair next to him is already empty.

**

No Name <dm@sanguineinc.com>

01 September 2023 at 12:01

To: Armand Breteau <admin@abreteauart.com>

To Mr. A. Breteau,

I hope this email finds you well, or as well as any email can find anyone. I’ve been following your artistic career with some interest over the past years. If you have the time and capacity, I wish to engage your services and commission one (1) painting to be completed. The subject matter is very dear to me.

This is no ordinary project. I value, above all else, privacy and discretion.

My assistant will shortly send over a contract and a non-disclosure agreement. I will highlight a few key stipulations in the contract: first, you must complete the painting at a location of my choosing.

Second, all materials related to the painting must stay on the premises. You may not take home any sketches or references. You may not recreate any part of the painting in private.

Third, and most important, you will not meet the subjects of the painting. I will supply you everything you need to portray them in the most perfect of detail.

Yours,

D.M.

PS. If this all sounds like a crock of horseshit to you, then tough luck! Take a close look at the amount of pounds sterling I’m putting on the table. And no, I didn’t accidentally add an extra zero. It’s all above board and legally watertight. Show it to your lawyer roomie if you want.

Think about it, and then let me know if it still smells like shit or roses.

The arrogance of the email rubs Armand the wrong way, but then he clicks open the PDF attachment and nearly drops the iPad. It’s a lot of money. Not quite a ludicrous amount, but not far off. A truly life-changing amount of money. Enough money that he could stop worrying about rent for the next ten years. Enough money to soften the anxiety around his contract with the Théâtre des Vampires expiring in February and not knowing if they’ll want him around for another year.

**

Armand Breteau<admin@abreteauart.com>

01 September 2023 at 02:29

To: No Name <dm@sanguineinc.com>

Ok. when do i start? can you tell me more details about the subject of the painting?

thanks,

Armand

He hears the notification sound almost immediately after he hits send.

No Name <dm@sanguineinc.com>

01 September 2023 at 02:30

To: Armand Breteau <hello@abreteauart.com>

Tomorrow.

**

The next afternoon, there’s a car waiting for him outside on the street where he lives.

“Mate, don’t get me wrong, I’m not judging you for your life choices, but are you sure this isn’t like, a serial killer posing as a millionaire art appreciator?” Rashid gets up from watching the football match replay to peer out from between the curtains.

“He contacted me on my website’s public email,” Armand says, a defense that sounds pathetic when spoken out loud. “And you said to me that the contract looks alright.”

Rashid shrugs. “I also told you I don’t deal with contract law.”

“Do you think it’s a bad idea?”

“Depends,” Rashid says. “Is he going to pay you the money before or after he traps you in a pit and skins you make a suit?” There’s a tinny roar from the TV. “Oh shit, Arsenal just scored.”

Armand fidgets with the duffle bag holding his sketchpad and paintbrushes. “Should I not go?”

“No, you should. Go get that bread, or whatever it is kids say these days. Get that baguette, mon ami.”

“Will you call the police if I don’t text you at midnight? I’ll share my location with you.”

“Sure.” Rashid’s attention is entirely absorbed by Sky Sports instant replay.

“Really?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll send the cops after you if you text me he’s feeding you into his gay boy meat grinder.”

“Okay.”

“Look, Armand,” Rashid says. “I think you’ll be fine.”

“How do you know?”

“He’s driving a Tesla, mate. No serial killer would be driving a car with a built-in tracking system. If it’s a mid-aughts unmarked transit van I’d be worried, but a Tesla? Nah.”

“Okay.”

“Just remember to ask for the money on the nightstand before you take your clothes off. Use your big puppy eyes if you have to.”

Armand can’t tell if Rashid is serious or not. They’ve been flatmates for three years now, and he can’t tell if Rashid genuinely likes him or not. He often wonders if Rashid is making fun of him most of the time, but keeps him around anyways because if he likes having a flatmate who voluntarily does all the cleaning and whose work has even worse hours than Big Law. But he’s a good guy, Rashid. He would probably alert the authorities if Armand goes missing. At least, Armand hopes he will. He takes his time lacing up his sneakers.

“See you,” Armand says, finally.

Rashid grunts, but only because one of the Man United players got another yellow card. Armand shoulders his bag and slips out.

[divinespanking]

Saw your weathered gogg. It looks really cool!!Do you have a post where you talk about how you weather your gunplas and what materials you usually use? I'd love to get into weathering myself but I'm a little lost. I love the rest of your guys too. Especially the custom painted ones!

Oh my god thank you so much! I don't usually think to take many wip pics but I can give you a rundown! The easiest way that I've found to start weathering and the first thing I did on the gogg was dry brushing. It's a technique where you get a bit of paint on a wide brush (typically old or cheap ones) and then wipe all the paint off on a paper towel. Then you lightly brush over the edges of the model, which leaves small streaks of paint that can look like various types of weathering depending on the paint you use.

To make it look like the paint has been scraped away I use tamiya metallic aluminum and to add dirt or mud I use Vallejo earth brown. The specific brands don't matter, as long as it's the type of color you want. Though I pretty much exclusively use acrylic paints because I don't want to deal with the fumes that enamel paints give off.

There are a lot of great tutorials out there on drybrushing and I think it's really fun because of how immediately the look of the model changes from clean to messed up. For a few years it was the only weathering technique I used and I was happy with the results.

After dry brushing I wanted to add more of a chipped and rusted look, so I used a sponge technique similar to this video:

https://youtu.be/dCFeubADBKg?si=pGq8dhCnd3Jr89wH

I went in with the aluminum. After that, I mixed the Vallejo brown with some red until I got an orange rusty color I was happy with. I tried doing a third layer with black like in that video but I didn't really like how it was working with the layers I had already made. I think I only put it on the feet.

After all of that, I used a tamiya weathering master set with a rust color. I had never used one before, but it's very similar to a makeup pallet. You apply streaks of color with a sponge brush and wipe off the excess. I used a rust color. It unfortunately didn't pop much given the colors of the model itself, but I'm excited to experiment with it in the future.

What I have found to be very good advice for weathering is to think of it as a kind of storytelling. Every scratch, chip, and smear that you add got onto the suit somehow, and thinking about that can help direct where and how you apply weathering. When I'm adding mud I try to think of what parts come into contact with the ground. When I use metallic color to make the paint looked scraped, I try to think of what direction the friction was applied in.

When I was working on the Gogg, I had the idea that it had went out into combat where it used its claws to rip apart an enemy, and then it came back to its hangar that had a pool that opened to the sea. Then that base was destroyed in a surprise attack, and the Gogg sat abandoned next to seawater for several years, rusting in the wet and salty air before being recovered by somebody.

Now that's more thought than I've put into any of my other efforts at weathering, so don't feel like you need to write a short story or anything. But this helped me decide what to do with the model. I dry brused the claws more than the rest to show that they had torn something apart. Then I went ham with the rust to simulate years of neglect.

Weathering was my gateway into doing custom stuff with gunpla and I'd definitely recommend it! I try not to be too strict about following techniques I see online. I think every tutorial that has given me great ideas has also included things I wouldn't want to do myself.

Sorry that I took a while to respond! Your message was so nice and I wanted to make sure I answered your questions as well as I could. I hope this was helpful and I'm glad to answer any follow ups!

[teravarna0]

What Does TERAVARNA’s Still Life Art Show Mean for Artists?

Still life art is probably one of the most underrated themes in the world of art. Many artists often look down upon it and do not consider it as a proper genre of art. However, TERAVARNA has been changing this narrative with its many still life art shows that it has been organizing on a regular basis. It is not only one of the most popular competitions they offer but also a very meaningful one to help artists get familiar with this theme of art. 

In this blog, we are going to discuss all the details of this art competition, including how you can participate, the entry fee, the prize, and all the other details that you would want to know.

What Do We Mean By Still Life Artworks?

When you create artwork of any non-living, non-mobile, or inanimate object, it is called a still life artwork. These still life works could be of a bowl of fruit, some floral arrangements, a breakfast table, a set of glasses, or anything else that you can think of. Based on your preference, you can make still life paintings, sculptures, graphic designs and so much more. 

For better understanding, you can refer to some of the very famous still life paintings by Clara Peeters, Paul Cézanne, Louise Moillon, Vincent van Gogh, Francisco Goya, and many others. These artists have given some of the best works in this genre and studying their art will give you a new perspective on still life. It will help you understand the different nuances of this theme and how you can make the best of it.

What is the still life Art Show by TERAVARNA?

As a contemporary online gallery, TERAVARNA organizes several art competitions on a regular basis. One of their most popular and well-received competitions is their still life art show. In the past, we have seen successful rounds of this competition and are all geared up for its next, i.e. the 7th round of this famous art competition. The contest is open to any artist who has a contemporary still life painting that they would like the world to see.

As the name suggests and as we have explained above, the competition revolves around the still life theme. Here you can submit artworks inspired by inanimate objects to this still life art show. You can interpret the theme to the best of your creativity and understanding to create artworks that best resonate with this theme. This still life art competition welcomes all types of still life works for example, color still life art, black and white still life painting, watercolor still life art, acrylic still life art, oil paintings, or even sculptures and photographs.

How Can You Submit Your Still Life Paintings to TERAVARNA?

Submitting your artwork to this still life art show is very simple. Once you start, you will realize that it is as easy as taking a few deep breaths. Just choose the best still life artwork you want to submit and click very clear images of it. Of course, you can choose as many works as you want to submit. Once you are done with the first step, you then need to visit the still life art show page of TERAVARNA and scroll towards the bottom where you see blocks of numbers from 1 - 10. 

Click on the number of artworks that you want to submit and you will be redirected to the payment gateway. Every submission costs $15 and you can submit 10 still life artworks at once. To submit more you just need to repeat the entire process. Once you successfully make the payment, you will see a form popping up on your screen where you can enter the details of your artwork and upload the images. After that is done, you just need to sit back, relax, and wait for the competition to end and let the jury announce their winners. 

Exciting Prizes for the Winners

The exciting news about this still life art show is that the winners get some really amazing cash prizes if the jury likes their work. The competition comes with a prize pool of up to $3500 cash that is distributed among all the cash prize winners. Additionally, even if you don’t win anything from the prize pool, you still get a certificate of recognition, and a place in the online winners' wall if your artwork is chosen. 

Oh and not to forget, the winners also get promoted on TERAVARNA’s social media handles, newsletters, and other marketing media. This means that if you win the competition, you not only win a handsome cash prize but also receive worldwide exposure to make your still life artwork a global masterpiece. 

The Revolutionizing Sill Life Art Show by TERAVARNA

If you are looking for an elite platform to showcase your work online, then TERAVARNA is the best choice for you. It is not only a globally renowned gallery but also an online pioneer in conducting famous still life art shows. So do not miss this opportunity and become the next famous still life artist with your masterpiece.

[stampwithtami]

New: Boho Beach Card Kit

Stampin Up Boho Beach Card Kit It’s time to sit back, relax, and take family and friends to the beach from the comfort of your home with our latest kit: Boho Beach Kit! It comes with everything you need to make beach-inspired cards, evoking vacation and relaxation in minutes! Send a friendly note to the people you love and don’t miss the acrylic-poured paint art style used in this kit for a dazzling marbled color effect. This is a new all inclusive card kit from the Stampin' Up! Kits Collection. These are stand alone kits that can be purchased in my online store (different from Paper Pumpkin subscription kits). SHOP STAMPIN UP KITS CONFETTI BIRTHDAY KIT DETAILS #162418 $22.00 - Kit Includes: - Enough supplies to create 8 cards—4 each of 2 designs - 8 coordinating envelopes - Boho Beach photopolymer stamp set - One Pecan Pie Ink Spot - Printed card bases, printed die cuts, adhesive, embellishments, and a clear block - Finished card size: 5-1/2" x 4-1/4" (14 x 10.8 cm) - Coordinating colors: Crumb Cake, Lost Lagoon, Pecan Pie, Pool Party, Wild Wheat   Read the full article

[officialexhibitionposter]

Discover David Hockney Posters and Paintings for Sale

David Hockney is a British artist who is known for his vibrant, colorful paintings and portraits. He was born in Bradford, England, in 1937, and studied at the Bradford College of Art and the Royal College of Art in London. He has had a long and successful career as an artist, and has been recognized with numerous awards and honors.

A. Who is David Hockney? David Hockney is a British artist who is known for his unique style and use of color. He has been active in the art world for more than six decades, and has produced a wide range of paintings, drawings, prints, and photographs. He is considered one of the most influential artists of the 20th century.

B. What is David Hockney famous for? David Hockney is famous for his colorful paintings and portraits, which often feature his friends, family, and lovers. He is also known for his use of technology in his artwork, such as his iPad drawings and digital prints.

II. Early Life and Education David Hockney was born in Bradford, England, in 1937. He showed an early talent for art, and studied at the Bradford College of Art before attending the Royal College of Art in London. He quickly became known for his unique style and use of color, and began exhibiting his artwork in galleries and museums.

III. Career as an Artist

A. Art Style and Techniques David Hockney's art style is characterized by his use of bright colors, bold shapes, and playful compositions. He often works with acrylic paints and creates his own vibrant color combinations. He is also known for his use of perspective, often experimenting with different ways of depicting space and depth in his paintings.

In addition to traditional painting techniques, Hockney has also embraced technology in his art. He has created a number of digital prints using a variety of tools, including his iPad, and has explored the possibilities of video and photography in his artwork.

B. Notable Works and Exhibitions David Hockney has produced a vast body of work throughout his career, including paintings, drawings, prints, and photographs. Some of his most famous works include "A Bigger Splash," "Mr and Mrs Clark and Percy," and "Portrait of an Artist (Pool with Two Figures)."

Hockney has also had numerous exhibitions of his artwork, both in the UK and internationally. Some of his most notable exhibitions include a retrospective at the Tate Gallery in London in 2017, and a major retrospective at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York in 2018.

IV. Legacy and Influence A. Awards and Honors David Hockney has been recognized with numerous awards and honors throughout his career. He was awarded the Order of Merit by Queen Elizabeth II in 2012, and has also been honored with the Praemium Imperiale Award, the Royal Academy of Arts' Lifetime Achievement Award, and the Lifetime Achievement in Contemporary Sculpture Award, among others.

B. Impact on the Art World David Hockney's unique style and use of color have had a significant impact on the art world. He has influenced a generation of artists, and his work continues to be celebrated and studied today. He is considered one of the most important artists of the 20th century, and his legacy is sure to endure for many years to come.

V. David Hockney Poster and Painting A. Where to Buy David Hockney Posters and Paintings David Hockney posters and paintings can be found at a variety of online and brick-and-mortar retailers, including Merch Fuse, museum shops, and online marketplaces. Some popular retailers include Saatchi Art, Artsy, and Art.com.

B. How to Choose the Right David Hockney Artwork When choosing a David Hockney poster or painting, it's important to consider your personal taste and the style of your space. Think about the colors, shapes, and compositions that appeal to you, and consider the size and scale of the artwork as well. You may also want to research the different periods of Hockney's career and select a work from the era that speaks to you the most.

VI. Conclusion David Hockney is a celebrated artist who has had a significant impact on the art world. His unique style and use of color have influenced countless artists, and his legacy continues to be celebrated today. If you're interested in adding a piece of Hockney's artwork to your collection, consider exploring his posters and paintings and choosing a work that speaks to your personal style and taste.

Check out our website for buying exhibition posters and Paintings. Merch Fuse.

[veridium]

fake happy

Well, whaddya know! The College AU is back, baby! Unfortunately June was pretty much hell in a handbasket, so writing took a backseat. But, we are far from done. Thank you to everyone for sighting tight, and to @bitchesofostwick for being a very patient co-author. 

So, where were we? Ah, yes, the holiday weekend from hell. On with the show! Title bought to you by a great Paramore song.

masterpost // last chapter

--

“Hey baby cakes!”

The moment she hears the shrill greeting whilst getting out of her car in the sandstone-colored driveway, Olivia knows she’s in a chapter of Dante’s Inferno. All the calmness she had with Ellinor earlier that day is gone; it is easier said than done enduring four days in the house of Paula Sinclair.

“Hey,” she rushes over her shoulder, pulling the side lever to release the trunk where her bags are kept. Just two, one of clothes and toiletries and the other books and supplies to do assignments. She’ll need the preoccupation as an excuse for the gauntlet of trials her Mom will invite her to.

As she’s filing her luggage out onto the driveway, she sees her Mom’s shadow approaching. She glances and sees her in all her glory: an olive green sundress with one of those straw pool hats. She was probably out basking in the sun all afternoon before this. Olivia is surprised she thought to put down whatever spiked beverage she must have had with her to come outside and greet her only child. 

“Did you have a safe drive? You certainly did not rush to get home safe,” Paula says, halting and crossing her arms. 

Olivia slams the trunk closed and huffs, slinging one bag’s strap over her shoulder and the other on her opposite forearm. “I woke up late, and had to help Ellinor pack.” Sorry, Ellinor. 

“Ellinor! I will miss her this year.” A lie said out of convenience. The whole time Ellinor stays with them, Paula shoots her peculiar questions about her personal life or her political views. Ellinor knows better now after these last couple of years how to play them off, but Paula can’t help but size people up. It’s how she cultivates all her complaints.

“I will, too,” Olivia lets out as she makes her way to the front door, past the splendorous potted plants and fake green grass turf. Her Mother saunters behind her through the open door. 

Once inside Olivia notices what’s missing, and sets her smaller bag down. 

“Wh--”

“No no, do not just leave that there! Take it to the mud room or your bedroom.”

Olivia bites back a groan and turns around to face Paula as she shuts and locks the large-ass, gaudy-ass front door. “Fine. Where is Nemo?”

“Nemo?”

“...the dog, Mother.”

“Nemo! Oh, psh,” she waves her acrylics. “He is off in the yard. I kept him outside because the carpet steamers came this morning. You know how his muddy little paws are! Now, do I not get a hug?”

Olivia tenses up from head to toe, seeing her Mother coming in for the hug she didn’t wait for permission for. At least Nemo isn’t mysteriously gone -- she’s read too many horror stories online of people’s parents being complete monsters about their old family pets dying, and not telling the children who live elsewhere -- but Paula keeps Nemo out in the yard for days at a time when she gets the carpets cleaned. He will need company, and not just the husband going out and practicing his golf swing adjacent to him. 

Oh, right, there’s a husband around here.

Paula hugs her with her arms draped over Olivia’s shoulders, rather than around her waist like a good bear hug. Something Dad would know how to do.

“I imagine Fred is off shooting, stuffing, or smoking something,” she mutters over her Mother’s shoulder, to which Paula gently swats at her shoulder and guffaws. 

“No, silly! He’s in the yard with Nemo, your fellow prisoner,” she teases, picking up on Olivia’s dread with her trademark passive aggression. Only three minutes in the door, a new record. 

“I didn’t say he couldn’t do those things out in the yard.” Lord knows he has before. 

“Where do you think our holiday meal comes from every year?” 

“COSTCO, like God and Uncle Sam intended, right?”

“Ugh, Olivia, your humor changes every year you’re at that College. Don’t be so morose.”

She takes a breath and picks up her eyesore of a bag so that it does not further desecrate the sanctity of the foyer, and makes for the curved staircase just across the pristine hardwood. “I’m just tired from the drive, Mom. I’m going to go upstairs and get settled.”

“Okay, and come downstairs soon! I wanna catch up, okay?”

“Yeah, okay!”

She glances behind her but her Mother is already vanished. Sure, catch up, but not too quick! Releasing her bated breath she lurches up the rest of the stairs. The place is heavily renovated from the home it originally was when her parents bought it. In the beginning they didn’t have much -- well, much compared to what Paula has now -- and so their first nest was a fixer upper. Year after year, corny wallpaper became fresh painted walls, and thick upholstered couches handed down from in-laws became brand new installations from the boutiques downtown. Two additions to the place upgraded it from a modest family home to a wannabe mansion. Olivia grew up in this ever-changing little kingdom of improvements, but only when she was a newly-minted adult did she realize she was one of its fixtures.

The one comfort had always been that her Father dwelled there with her. He brought heart and humanity to the kingdom of objects: his muddy shoes by the front door, not the “mud room.” His fishing rods hung up on the garage rack. His barbeque out in the yard. They weren’t all state-of-the-art, but they were his. But, by now, they, too, were all gone. ‘Improvements’ in every stead, including his.  

Olivia had one sacrosanct place left, and that was her childhood room. Walking down the hall decorated with big, framed portraits of the family -- none of her Father, though, to be sure -- she found her door, the second one to the right in the west hallway. “West” being the original upstairs hallway, the only hallway, before construction added the one referred to as the “East.” She pushed the ajar door open and slid in to see it as she remembered: the bright lavender purple walls strewn with posters, pictures, and a tapestry up behind her bed. The pearly purple carpet smelled of the carpet cleaner, but it did not mask the smell of vanilla she expected. On the opposite wall from the door, her princess bed complete with ivory white canopy was freshly made. Her bedspread was white, with pillows in alternating shades of green and lilac. Years ago she fought endlessly for her Mother to let her paint her room a darker color than the baby pink it was first. Thanks to her Dad, they “compromised” with purple. Sadly, Paula took that as “the lightest shades of purple” and so it was.

In the details, though, there was Olivia’s rebellion. The posters, Paramore, My Chemical Romance, and an old one from a Sheryl Crow concert she found on Amazon, contrasted the brightness with a grit. To the left by her small balcony doors, her vanity mirror and stool were covered with polaroid pictures, concert tickets, movie ticket stubs, and bracelets. She had taken all of her incriminating, “immodest” makeup with her to college, so all that remained were an old bottle of sunscreen, some pastel eyeshadow palettes, and lip glosses. So many lip glosses. 

Olivia dropped her shit in the middle of the floor and made for the reading chair in the far corner, where she collapsed into a curled, reticent ball of conflicted emotions. She predicted this -- she dreaded this -- and now, here she is. The first day is always a test of anxiety, more so than enduring mistreatment. Paula is always good on the first day -- great, sometimes. She is generous, and outgoing, and doesn’t sweat the small stuff. The grueling part comes after the first night ends and she realizes she has to do something with her daughter who isn’t just in for dinner and giggling. That’s when she remembers how she actually feels, and who she actually is. And with no one like Ellinor to buffer and provide excuses for her not standing in one place for too long, it’ll be particularly concentrated. 

She slides limply against the plush chair and closes her eyes. It was a stressful drive full of hasty college kids getting home to their more harmonious families. Olivia was in no rush, though. Three trips through various drive thrus surely added time.

Her phone goes off, and she slips her phone out of her back jean pocket. 

Ellinor: You ready to walk the plank yet?

Smirking, Olivia replies: 

-- I am already keeling over the edge. How is your family?

Ellinor: I nearly did a drop and roll out of Lyssa’s car on the way here, but they’re bearable. They are who they usually are. No surprises, this holiday season! 

-- One of these years we’ll be successful enough to buy everyone therapy for Christmas. 

Ellinor: No shit, I’m making them pay for mine first. 

Olivia is replying when another notification comes up, an instagram like this time, from Maryden. Grinning she taps on it. Maryden finally saw the group pic they all took at the fair: her, Ellinor, Cullen, and then Olivia and Cass in the bottom corner. Olivia had made Cass hold the phone due to height advantage. Her grin expands before it sinks fast. 

Ah, fuck. 

She pulls up her messages again and sees the one Cassandra sent her while she was driving and unable to check. 

Cassandra: Text me when you arrive safe. ❤️

The heart emoji. Olivia’s cheeks turn hot, and she hastily types. 

-- Here in purgatory! 

The sound of a man shouting something, and then laughing, rings from the balcony windows. Fred must be huffing and puffing about something amusing, like meat or guns. She can’t wait for all his odd comments and attempts to “relate” that almost always devolve into him talking about whatever season of sport he’s onto and her nodding along. Poor man. He makes sea sponges seem like sophists. 

Soon after sending, Cassandra replies, an opportunity Olivia doesn’t predict: 

Cassandra: Awesome. my Uncle has stopped us for gas, still about 40 minutes out. 

-- That’s good. Hopefully you won’t get stuck in rush hour. 

Cassandra: My Uncle sucks at navigating traffic, so I wouldn’t bet on it. 

-- Lol

Cassandra: You alright? 

Olivia is sort of surprised by the question and its sensitivity, albeit direct. 

-- Just tired from the drive, that’s all 

Cassandra: You love driving. You would drive the entire stretch of the coast highway without blinking once.

Damn, Cassandra. A bold insight. A correct one, too. 

-- 🤷🏼‍♀️

Five seconds after she hits send, Cassandra calls her. She nearly drops the phone on the floor, and her slack posture goes full vertical. She checks that the door is closed, only to decide to leap, rush, and lock it just in case. Then she hurries to the farthest corner of the room and hits answer right on the last ring. 

“No, Detective, I will not submit to the polygraph.”

Cassandra’s voice rings almost playfully. “Very well, we have other ways of making you talk.”

There’s the hot blush again. “Uh, a-alright, who are you and what have you done with my girlfriend?” She hushes a bit, and hopes Cassandra doesn’t notice. 

“Nothing! My Uncle is in the gas station doing who-knows-what, so I’m stuck in here, boot and all.”

“I’m not kidding, I saw that Liam Neeson movie, I know how this goes. I have a special set of skills--”

“What do I have to do? Express my distaste for something? Quote Plato?”

“...It would be reassuring.”

Cassandra laughs coyly, and despite everything, it livens her spirit. She didn’t expect Cassandra to be in so playful a mood traveling back home. She was cool but unhappy about it that morning when they parted ways, entertained only by Olivia’s presence and a strong cup of coffee. Without the ability to drive due to her ankle, her illustrious but mysterious Uncle had to be the one to pick her up and take her back to her family. 

“I was just calling to check in on you.”

“I thought that was what the texting was for,” Olivia replies more curtly than she intends. She gnaws at her bottom lip.

“Sometimes it is worth the extra effort to call.”

“That is very un-millenial of you, you know. Horrifying.”

“Maybe so. Ugh, what is that man doing?” there’s sounds of Cassandra rustling against the leather seat, probably checking in through the window. “Probably searching for that expensive jerky he gets at Trader Joe’s like it will just magically turn up at an ARCO.”

“Who’s to say it won’t? People of all walks of life can enjoy finer things.”

“Yes, but not just the ‘finer’ things,” she then huffs. “Look, I don’t have much time, so if you aren’t in the mood to talk about what is bothering you, I can let you go and we can talk later.”

“I don’t know if I will be able to. My Mom wants to ‘catch up,’ which in her language means I get a hundred questions and the occasional asinine one from Fred.”

“Fred’s your stepfather, right?”

“He’s...my Mother’s husband.”

“I see.”

She mulls her teeth and looks around aimlessly. Cassandra goes ‘hm’ but nothing else. 

“How are you able to talk so much?” Olivia asks, diverting the subject. “Aren’t you worried your family will pry?”

“The good thing about holidays in my family is there are so many people around, you can get a great deal of private time if you are smart enough. Which is exactly what I intend to do. Ugh...he...oh, sorry. I thought my Uncle was coming back, but it was just another man.”

“Yeah, but you said they have superhuman abilities for nosiness.”

“They do. And I have superhuman talents of evasion. They’ll peck and prod about the ankle boot, though. Usually I can slip away to the gym or for a run to get away from them but...of course...can’t do that. Doctors don’t trust me to set foot in a weight room and it’s been weeks since my injury.”

“Cass, it’s been two weeks, almost precisely.”

“I said weeks, didn’t I? Look, overextending is not the same as knowing my limits. They’re the medical professionals, but they don’t live in this body 24/7.”

Olivia grimaces with sympathy, though she can’t say she agrees given how easy it is for Cassandra to throw herself into things without caution. “Uh huh.”

“Ugh, forgive me. I won’t be able to talk everyday, but I would like to try sometimes, okay? I promise it won’t all be about my messed up ankle.”

Olivia smirks. “You’re being very…”

“Very…what?”

Olivia stalls. Is it an asshole thing to do, saying your girlfriend is being more sensitive and caring than usual? Maybe not “more,” but in a different way. An unusual way. She could have really taken Olivia’s hurt feelings over how she acted about her injury. She could be really trying. But now, in the lion’s den, Olivia’s unsure about whether the timing of it is...well, ideal. 

“Nevermind, I lost my train of thought,” she excuses. “I appreciate you.”

“It’s no trouble. Now, I think my Uncle is coming back. Ugh, he got a whole bag of things...probably for me. Seeing me with my boot triggered his overprotective nerve extra hard.”

“Oh, no, sour patch kids! The torture!” Olivia teases. An ounce of her regular self bleeds through. 

“Very funny. I will text you later. Be safe, alright?”

“Alright. You, too.” She then remembers and slips it in before they hang up: “L-let me know when you get home, too, okay?”

“...O-okay.” There’s a pause, the kind of awkward pause when the thing you say -- the particular thing -- happens. But since they aren’t there yet, it’s full of pause and anxiety. 

“Okay,” Olivia takes her turn to smooth it over. “Bye!”

“Bye.”

Hanging up kills the feeling of safety. She looks into the big oval mirror at her dresser vanity and watches her grin crack, then disappear all-together. The scene in her reflected surroundings loses its luster. Even with all the impossibilities, she kind of wishes Cassandra was with her. It almost makes her laugh at herself: what, would she have driven up with her in the passenger’s seat, hear “hey baby cakes!” and smile, saying “hey Mom, here’s my girlfriend! You’re suddenly not biphobic, right? Oh and by the way she’s a Pentaghast, so, there’s that!” and they all retire to the sitting room for tea and introductions. Right. 

She turns and sees her unpacked bags, her only company. She rubs her forehead slowly with the back of her hand. She has experience being left to her own devices with her Mother. Hell, she has a lifetime of it with her. A long weekend won’t be anything particularly gruesome, and if it is, well, she’s survived them before.  

Fifteen minutes later she has everything organized and put away -- she won’t unpack much, anyway. A quick change into some leggings and a t-shirt, a toss of her hair into a ponytail, and she’s ready to face the music. She’s careful to shut her bedroom door before she descends down the hall and the stairs, betting that her Mother is out in the yard on one of the lounge chairs. She finds her there, indeed lounging, with that missing cocktail restored to her.

Unmoved but always observant, her Mother inquires: “Settled in?” 

Olivia puts on her best polite grin and sits down on the lounge chair five feet away. On the grass, Fred is dressed in pastel blue polo and cargo shorts like the overgrown fraternity pledge he is, throwing a frisbee for Nemo. Nemo, the 10 year old yellow lab, who can scarcely go up the stairs without being winded these days. Too bad for Fred the minute Olivia shows herself, the grey-faced dog bounds in his own way over to the long last playmate.

“Nemo! You little prince!” she smiles, crouching down to embrace him. His tail is wagging a million miles per hour, and he fills her face with old dog breath. His tickling gets her to finally laugh. 

“Good grief,” she hears her Mom say, “Olivia, don’t let him lick your mouth!”

“I’m fine!” she says through her giggles, rubbing his chest and back as she stands upright. “It won’t kill me.”

“Ugh.”

That joy was short lived. She returns to the chair she chose and does her best to make as little eye contact as possible as she sits and sprawls her legs out. Nemo follows circles around her, tail still going.

“Do we know what the plans are for Thanksgiving?” Olivia asks, expecting the same answer as always. Dinner at home with Fred’s relatives and those in Mom’s family who she isn’t on the outs with, all above the age of 35 for the most part, and vote like it. Another dinner she’ll have to dress way too modestly and matronly for her age in order to fit in for the group photo.

“Well, that is what I wanted to surprise you with,” Paula answers. 

Olivia side-eyes her Mom, and delays opening up her phone to scroll through Twitter. “What?”

“We will be having dinner with the family as always, but earlier this week we received a surprise invitation for us to attend a holiday party later on this weekend.”

“You aren’t going to spend the holiday campaigning, are you?” 

“‘Campaigning’ has a broad definition, Olivia, and it is never a bad idea to become more familiar with one’s community constituents.”

Olivia frowns and resumes scrolling. Great, likely another fundraiser or gala, not something substantially humble like volunteering time with those genuinely in need, who are also her “constituents.” She saved the label for those she could depend on to write a donation check -- the other 80% of society barely existed. 

“I assume then you are expecting me to go?”

There’s a sound of Paula’s magazine of choice turning a page. “What do you think the surprise was?”

“That as much as you would like me to come, that you respect my choice not to so that I can have a quiet, restful weekend at home before Finals are in full swing?”

No response for going out on that limb. The proverbial crickets chirp, and Olivia knows her point was deliberately missed. 

“Or,” she corrects herself, “that you want me to go.”

“Yes, silly girl. And for your information, even if I didn’t want you to come, the invitation specifically noted you.”

“P-pardon me?” She looks up.

Paula shakes her head and smiles. “When were you going to tell me you were making friends with the Pentaghast family?”

“I...I-I’m not!”

“You must be, there was a handwritten note in the card, your name and all.”

Olivia can feel a stroke coming on. The heat of the day now feels like a vise around her throat, a semi-truck on her chest. She jerks up and turns to look at her Mother dead on, who is still flipping through her latest issue of Vogue, sunglasses and sunhat and all. 

“So...so they wrote me in? Me, specifically?”

“Yes, that is what I said! Goodness, calm down, you’ll give yourself a heat stroke.” 

Too late. “Why? Aren’t they one of the big blue families? Why would they want to invite y--”

“Are you insinuating that I do not belong in a bipartisan space? Olivia, I work in one for a living. This whole business of networking is par for the course. In fact, it is a long time coming. The Pentaghasts should be taking the ‘other side’ more seriously. I have been in this town’s political realm for seven years, now. They cannot always hide behind their old money and liberal hypocrisy of “inclusion.””

There is that rhetorical savvy and venom. Quintessentially Paula. Olivia falls back on the lounge chair and stares out into the lawn, mouth open and words lost. Where to begin? Hey, Mom, don’t think so highly of yourself, they’re only inviting you to get to me! Because they want to sniff me out as one of their many daughters’ lovers! You’re full of shit!

“Do I have to go? I am serious about wanting rest. This semester has been a lot, an--”

“A semester that I paid for,” Paula cut in, turning yet another page. “It is restful to be with your family. You should consider yourself lucky, Olivia, that spending time with us is so comfortable. You have this nice home to come back to, and good people to spend time with, and beautiful parties to go to. A girl your age in a lesser position would claw someone’s eyes out for the chance to live the life you get to. Is it so really so demanding?”

The shots to the gut have started early. So much for the easy first day. She wishes even more she could pop her Mother’s balloon, but it would mean ultimate disaster for her in the end. Out in the open Fred is still trying to get Nemo to chase the damn frisbee, clearly aware that he should stay away from the two debating blondes. Olivia rolls her lips shut and tries her hardest to swallow the hunk of pride at the back of her throat, but there’s no room in her stomach. It’s completely filled to the top with anxiety about what it means to be going to this party. 

Then it hits her: Cassandra is going to shoot through the roof. 

“Fine, Mom. I’ll go.” The clock then starts ticking for her to find a covert way out of it beforehand. She’s dove deep into her head, and only catches half of her Mother’s pleased response. 

“--something classy, the party is black tie optional.”

“Okay.”

“I also have an appointment for us to get our nails done tomorrow at 11, so do not sleep in too much.”

Oh for fuck’s sake. She does another fake smile as she pulls up her messages on her phone in order to deploy the distress signal: 

-- Change of plan, I need you to call me as soon as you are able. Your family sent an invitation to mine for their big party this weekend. My Mom is insisting we go. Code red. 

[gotatext]

                   hllo ! i’m nora ( she / her, 24, gmt ) crawling back to this rp once more like the dirty sewer slug i am !! i just can’t get enough, baybeyyy ! u may remember me frm such roles as alma putnam, rory bergstrom, bridget matusiak or greta o’driscoll 2 name jst a few.... sure there were more over these long years, bt the show must go on.... this is mimi, she’s dogmatic, tenacious n single-minded 2 the point of recklessness, she doesn’t like handouts n she’s funding her degree through her onlyfans account n moaning abt shit on tiktok. we love 2 see it !!  slam that like button n i’ll creep into ur DMs like the slippery worm i am   OR u can discord me at that bitch carole baskin#8664.   a humble pinterest.

『ALEXA DEMIE ❙ CIS-FEMALE 』 ⟿ looks like MIMI MARTÍNEZ is here for HER SOPHOMORE year as an ARCHITECTURE AND SOCIAL ANTHROPOLOGY student. SHE is 22 years old & known to be STRONG-WILLED, GOAL-ORIENTED, ARROGANT & EASILY BORED. They’re living in MORIS, so if you’re there, watch out for them. ⬳ nora. 24. gmt. she/her.

this is p embarassing but i actually originally wrote mimi for a discord rp based around love island asgjag dont laugh at me but it was so chaotic n someone deleted it w-out telling any of us so i lost her bio.... all her threads....e verythin.... it was mad. but anyway we startin from scratch w this intro so bare with

mimi is a really extra character so when trying to flesh her out i thot of the most extra thing i could do n made a colour coded mindmap with watercolour paints detailing her values, aesthetics and early life. shoot me

background: she grew up in a trailer home in boulder city, abt half an hour from vegas. her mom had worked in a vegas casino for most of her 20s but relocated to boulder city for a slower pace of life / lower crime rate when she started having kids. mimi has 2 older brothers n she’s the youngest. has that invulnerable younger sibling complex n basically thinks nothing can touch her. very confident in her own intelligence and her ability to get shit done 

has mexican ancestry on her mom’s side. doesn’t know her dad. was raised with spanish catholic principals n found it all very stained glass windows and extra n that’s why she was kinda drawn to the decadence of vegas and all these massively high key aesthetics, like dia de les muertos was her fave thing growin up just bcos the pure feel of the festival and painting a sugar skull on her face n being able to party on the streets in a flower crown where everyone was kinda anonymous but together in this celebration

in boulder city her mom worked as a carer as there’s a lot of retirees there. mimi really resented the slow pace of life, longed for some fucking energy n life. she was a cheerleader in school but outside of school there wsn’t much to do except practise stunts and go on bike rides.  occasionally they’d get dressed up and catch a bus to henderson, the next biggest city for them to get tht sweet night life

her teenage years consisted mostly of hanging around the renovated motel blocks used as housing projects n tanning by the pool. very florida project if you’ve seen that. she reminds me a lot of the mum in that. also she started working as an avon rep going door-to-door when she was 16 bcos she wanted to have her own income. like as young as 14 she’d decided she was smart enough to go to college but she didn’t have the money n her family didn’t really see it as a worthwhile thing, her mom was very like the mom from matilda “you chose books.... i chose looks!” which i think is where a lot of mimi’s more shallow / appearance-driven traits come from

wasn’t really ‘cool’ until high school. before that she was a bit of a lisa simpson type. won a spelling bee when she was 9. was in the mathletes squad in middle school. when she went from middle school to high school she started cheer and tried to reinvent herself basically. always been very concerned with social mobility and keen to socially climb, like when she enters a new situation she’ll find out who the alphas are and quickly try n befriend them

when she turned 18 she moved out and went to vegas despite her mom hating the idea bcos it was everything she’d tried to get her kids away from. she worked in the clubs there for several years as a shot girl, a table dancer, n eventually she started workin behind the bar in a strip club. in the club it ws really hard to resist becoming a dancer bcos of the sheer amount they made in tips. no one really pressured her into it she just eventually decided tht it was way more logical to do it while she was young n fit and had the stamina and ppl were willing to pay to see her body so she started taking pole fitness lessons. she also started working as a cam girl around this time

working in vegas strip clubs is basically whats paid for uni. like she didn’t go at 18 like most of her friends did bcos she didn’t have the money and she didn’t want to feel indebted to a college like she had to compete for her place and not put a toe out of line bcos she was on a scholarship. she was determined to pay her own way and it took 4 years of working really hard and saving n even tho she was working in vegas she basically never went out bcos every penny she had needed to go on uni n thts how we get to radcliffe baybeeyy

part 2  - interior / values / personality

values: the aesthetic !! literally loves the aesthetic so much. everything she owns is super embellished, she’s a pop socket gal, her dell laptop is covered in glitzy stickers, she always has acrylics n probs makes nail art videos on tiktok. really tuned into tiny details like painting a little hello kitty above her eye which translates into her degree when she’s doing small-scale mockups of town plans n stuff... she jst puts so much detail into them. ppl often get surprised when she tells them she does architecture but it makes so much sense bcos she grew up in a trailer park n was always thinking about ways the space could be more efficiently used, like she loves re-conceptualising neighbourhoods, definitely spent hours on sims as a kid. she also grew up near hoover dam n so loads of school trips they just took them there n she was like.... this is tight but it could be cooler.... where’s the passion....

massively into photography, has such a neat instagram feed like everything just compliments the tones in the next post like mMMM. idk if any of u know any architecture students but this is literally the one constant i can find…. like they all have super good instagrams feeds. is that bitch that will take 40 fake candids of u in a row at different angles to get u the perfect profile picture cos she understands the importance of marketing urself and having an online #brand

has wire rimmed glasses that she doesn’t need to see BUT they r like a magnifying glass for when she’s working with really small materials to do a mock up of an urban plan, and also just sometimes wears them for the aesthetic bc she’s such a pinterest bitch

assassination nation is such a big mood. literally the aesthetics of that and lily colson’s whole brand of feminism and nudity not being inherently sexual but at the same time wanting to profit off that bcos why the fuck shouldnt she use a corrupt system to her advantage is incredibly mimi

literally a human personification of a bratz doll both in attitude and fashion sense

somehow simultaneously gansey in the raven cycle AND elle woods in legally blonde? the two genders 

values cont bc i started rambling: her independence and freedom. being the best at any given task she sets her mind to accomplish because she is unable to accept failure. social mobility. sexual liberation. interested in the psychology of sub-cultures and how ppl form groups and interact w each other and cult identities which is why she minors in anthropology. pro-choice. pro-weed legalisation. pro-sex worker rights. very activist.

aesthetics tht remind me of her: von dutch. a strappy cami top that says ‘please do not do coke in the bathroom’. low-waisted jeans that show off her belly button piercing. acrylic nails tapping against a heavily embellished second-hand dell laptop. heart shaped sunglasses in every colour. translucent stripper heels with barbie doll heads and plastic spiders in the heel. spraying champagne you cant afford all over the walls. narcotics in a heart shaped locket. an amazon wishlist full of lingerie linked on your tinder profile. sex tapes recorded on VCR. a religious devotion to waxing clinics. necking shots like you were born to do it.

she’s an enfj type which makes her pretty charismatic and confidence, like she has a fierce kind of energy to her, but she’s also super unwilling to accept criticism, dogmatic and can only really see her own way of thinking, quite ruthless when it comes 2 other ppls emotions despite having a poor control of her own and being prone to turbulence / throwin a bitch fit in the craft lab. easily bored. competitive. self-assured to the point of arrogance. forceful. adaptable. usually more rational than emotional but occasionally loses the ability to make rational decisions when blinded by a need for perfectionism.

very goal-oriented. money motivates her. money and clothes. she wants to look bomb while earning big bucks. when she gets her mind set on a project it literally consumes her she will forget to eat and sleep? i don’t know her.  like when a final design project is due for architecture she’ll be up all night doing adderall and speed to keep her awake working on the placement of a single tree for ages cos its gotta be perfect

loves chaos. will spill your secrets and pretend it was an accident. will always be that gif of kim kardashian sipping her tea while drama unfolds around her. lives for the drama like that gifset of bratz when she comes running and gets her phone out to record a fight.

im makin her sound like a really bad person but hopefully she’ll be somewhat likeable she can be very charismatic and endearing and she’s naturally quite funny. also now she’s finally in college and doesn’t have to worry so much about money she actually allows herself to party n bcos she denied herself of it for so long she kinda makes up for it by going p wild like will be the girl climbing on to stage to crowd surf at gigs or doing a summersault off the bar and being escorted out by bouncers, thats the energy were looking at, pure dionysian hedonistic impulse

really gd at talking her way out of shit like parking fines. so good at being an ‘im baby’ girl and often dumbs herself down to figures of authority to appear less like a threatening ball-breaker and more like a confused fiat 500 girl who didn’t know red meant stop she thought it meant slow down

listens almost exclusively to female artists. has fergalicious on repeat when she does squats infront of the mirror n just the biggest fergie stan. also lana del rey’s whole vibe is massive mimi energy

ok ya thats all i have for now..... hopefully this is somewhat coherent and not just garbage.

[bobmccullochny]

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