+ at a glance

[whoaeasytiger]

character depository for whoaeasytiger.
please refrain from posting other than moi
s'il te plaît et merci !


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[whoaeasytiger]

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zeppelin shaw.
ʜᴏᴍᴍᴇ - sᴇᴠᴇɴᴛᴇᴇɴ - ʙɪsᴇxᴜᴀʟ - sᴀɢɪᴛᴛᴀʀɪᴜs - ᴅᴇᴄ xɪɪɪ

BUT THE SKY'S GONNA HURT WHEN IT FALLS.
SO YOU BETTER START BUILDING SOME WALLS.

﹀

Zeppelin's been through ten high schools; at this point, they've all begun to get blurry.
He's given up planting roots, or remembering names - because next thing he knew ,
he was gone in a hurry. His father kept two suitcases packed at all times - his job as a
demolition's manager causing him to move from job to job . Zeppelin knew it was
only a matter of not 'if' but of 'when' they would be moving next.

At a young age, Zepp already knew how to do basic house care - cooking, cleaning, ect.
The older he got, the more responsibilities were placed on him - at thirteen he knew how
to pay the rent and most of his father's bills. Zeppelin was never really content with where
he was at with himself though. The boy had a mind of his own - and it wasn 't really
showcased at school between constant fights and sleeping in classes.

Fate has a funny way of dealing with life though - Zeppein somehow getting into the private
academy at his and his father's next stop of Cambridge as Zeppelin was thrown into the walls
of Dunshire's campus, both feet in and no way to escape. Zepp has had a way of
making a name for himself over the years and is now finishing out his last semester.

﹀​

details:
created for - personal use/past rp
fc - ryan mccartan.​

 

[whoaeasytiger]

jensen mikel somers .
━ twenty two. mar i. pisces. homo.


“
WHEN WE GREW UP, OUR SHADOWS GREW UP TOO.
BUT, THEY'RE JUST OLD GHOSTS THAT WE GROW ATTATCHED TO.
— SLEEPING AT LAST.

ⅰ . ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

( ᴀʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴏɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴀɢᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ɢʀᴀᴄᴇ? )

​

There is mistrust in those eyes; a kaleidoscope of vivid blue with flecks of gold surrounding his pupils. Dark lashes frame them, as he blinks innocently with his head in the clouds. Already, his eyes have a slight crinkle to them, right in the corner; crows feet already beginning to form there. Shadows of doubt pass through them as they flick towards you. There’s a smile full of kindness that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He laughs quietly with his head thrown back, his laughter warm and pure. and once he’s laughing hard not to let the corners of your mouth tug into a smile. He lights up a room with his dopey, carefree smile with full defined lips. His voice is soft and deep, almost timid as he tells the punchline to a joke. Freckles pepper his skin everywhere, the majority of them concentrated around his slightly upturned nose and cheekbones. A hand frequently runs down a strong jawline, light with stubble that’s rough like sandpaper to the touch. Or his fingers might card through his light brown hair absentmindedly.

Jensen has always been regarded as a kind soul with an imagination that constantly wanders. His kindness apparent on his features, from his smile to his eyes. He’s soft spoken, his head usually down as he speaks as a hand curls around a warm mug of tea or coffee. There’s a sense of his overly sensitive nature that seems to surround him. His mind constantly wanders, often times the twenty-two year old lost in his head as he zones off into space randomly. He’s always been one to trust his instincts, most of the time his gut feeling is to be true. Never has he been able to reject a person, feeling that he’ll treat others how he wants to be treated, so he showers them in kindness. Plus, rejection is something that doesn’t bode well with him. It’s often regarded as a weak spot though; it’s easy for people to use him for their own personal gain.

Another achilles heel is that he’s very much one of his own undoing. He doesn’t need the comments of others for himself to be able to unravel. A lot of the time, Jensen is his emotions. There’s no middle grounds; when he’s happy, he’s elated, and when he’s sad, he’s pulled into a pit of depression that’s hard to get out of at times. Often, his emotions will conflict so badly that’d he’ll eventually just shut down. He’ll let it eat him alive though before coming to anyone about his problems; over sharing not being his forte. He feels that he shouldn’t burden others with whatever’s bothering him. His overly active imagination can be at fault at times too. Sometimes he’ll picture himself a “dream world” of how situations should pan out, and when that’s not how it happens, it’s an extreme let down.

There’s extreme compassion in him though; he channels his emotions through music. Whether it’s playing the piano, or listening to it, it’s always been a way to calm him down. It’s not just compassion in his music, it’s with people too. But, his emotions can be a weak spot, but also a blessing. His decisions are completely driven by them and he’ll help anyone out in his sight. Whether it be if you dropped something, or if you’re lost, or just need someone to talk to, he’ll be there. More often than not, he’ll need someone to keep him grounded and to prevent himself to send himself into a pool of self pity. But most people will overlook all of his negatives. Yeah, he can be overly emotional or indecisive, but he’s got a heart of gold.

ii . ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

( ᴀʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴏɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴀɢᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜᴏᴜᴛ ᴍɪsᴛᴀᴋᴇs? )

​

Weird things just seemed to happen to him since day one. Whenever he smiled, people would advert their eyes. Or he would wrapped up in his own mind and it was impossible to get him out. Or that time when he wished that it’d stop raining because it was getting his new pair of sneakers wet, two seconds later the rain receded. Or that no, the kitten that would weave his way around Jensen’s legs in the middle of class wasn’t actually real. Or whenever he seemed to see swirling colors and objects around a person, that they weren’t really there. Jensen had problems defining what was “normal” and “real” from the stuff that was supposedly in his head. Jensen always thought of himself being able to see through tears of reality. But his parents said he had an “overactive imagination.” and he’d grow out of it.

But Jensen didn’t just “grow out of it”. His mother would always scold him whenever he would do something. That when he used his abilities (it was always an accident) that Jensen was being “bad.” She would always give him this look, one mixed with fear and disgust that hurt Jensen like shards of glass each time. His grandmother would hiss insults at him like “devils child” every time she came to visit. His father would rarely step in to protect Jensen whenever his mother went on a tirade, threatening to send Jensen “away” all of the time. And a little sister, eyes wide and innocent as she was showered in love from his parents. His love towards his sister was still true, but there was a taste of bitterness in his mouth every time he looked at her now.

As the years went on, his mother’s patience grew thin. She pulled Jensen out of schooling when he was in fourth grade, saying that Jensen was too “bad” to attend now, that he had let things get out of control. “No emotions” She would say. “No emotions; emotions lead to bad things.” Everything seemed to set her off. Jensen would spill a bag of chips on the floor and he’d have to spend the next hour vacuuming it, getting every last crumb. Or whenever he’d let his emotions get out of control, causing the objects on the shelves to shake or fly across the room, she’d shout loud enough the neighbors could hear. The threat of sending Jensen “away” passing her lips with ease.

Years go on, and Jensen is 15 and he’s taking his little sister to her first piano lesson (something her mother wanted her to try.) Meg is uninterested the moment they wander into the threshold of the music store. But Jensen; He loves it. Meg offered her lesson spot for Jensen, whispering quietly “I won’t tell mommy” to him as she could see the excitement in Jensen’s face. Piano had always been something he wanted to play. And the moment he laid his fingers on the keys, he knew it was right. Unfortunately, it came with a price, his emotions in the music conjuring a scene in the entire music store and freaking the owner out. But from that day on, Jensen’s played piano. It’s almost a part of him now, a way to express his emotions without the “bad” outcomes. What’s the harm in fields of grass to go with his music from time to time?

The day it all went to hell was when the college acceptance letters to Juilliard came in the mail.

When his mother found out, she was livid, screaming curses at Jensen. About how he was selfish, about how he only thought of himself. Jensen’s temper rose, angry at his mother for wanting to keep her “freak” of a son trapped in the house for the rest of his life. Angry at his father for just standing there, the entire time and not raising one finger to do anything. Furious and hurt towards Meg, who had a college fund set from day one, who got everything. Who got love and adoration, because she was normal. All of the control he had on his emotions snapped. Every light in his house blew, a storm brewing overhead, books flying from their shelves. His mother had had enough, and put her foot down, sending Jensen “away” like she had promised from day one.

“Away” being an insane asylum, his mother twisting his thoughts and making Jensen feel that he belonged there. That he was a danger to everyone, and that it was for the best. When he was “inside” (which he now calls the time when he was in the asylum) they filled him full of medications, taking away all of the colours, all of the music, from Jensen’s life. And causing him to have severe nightmares that were like hell every time he closed his eyes. And when he finally got out, there was no sign of his family. That stung more than anything else; Jensen was abandoned here, left and forgotten. The first thing he did when he got out was throw away the medications that were supposed to “help” down the nearest drain. The next was to get as far away from there as possible. He wanted to put his past, and that place, behind him for good

iii . ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

( ᴏʜ ᴏʙʟɪᴠɪᴏɴ ɪs ᴄᴀʟʟɪɴɢ ᴏᴜᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ɴᴀᴍᴇ. )

​

Every ability of Jensen’s is based on his emotions. So whatever emotion he’s feeling, unique results around him will happen. Most of them have aspects of controlling nature, music, and projection.

ʜ ᴀ ᴘ ᴘ ɪ ɴ ᴇ s s // When Jensen is happy, the sun shines brighter. Clouds never seem to block out the sun’s rays. The grass grows greener and more lush at his touch. Flowers sprout out from beneath his fingers, and vines twist their ways around walls. Trees begin to blossom, and there’s a slight breeze that’s just right. Notes seem to fly off the page when Jensen plays music, the notes taking a life of their own, projecting the mood of what he’s feeling into the music. He’ll play and think of green grass fields, or an enchanted forest full of magic and wonderment. Vibrant colours play about, the colours of the walls changing to reds and yellows. Happiness displayed on someone else is seen as an aura surrounding them, a cloud of color around them.

ᴀ ɴ ɢ ᴇ ʀ // When Jensen lashes out, anger bubbling beneath the surface, fuses break around him, objects will rattle on their shelves, doors will slam closed. Storms will brew, lighting striking the ground and the rain drowning the earth. Anger in music is war scenes, full of death and destructions. Anger is hammered out on the piano keys, his hands flying over them in a flurry. Anger turns the walls black, splashes of red appearing.

s ᴀ ᴅ ɴ ᴇ s s // When Jensen plunges himself into his head, it’s usually him shutting down. When he’s upset, the flowers wither and die out around him. His eyes are glazed over, moving in a slow somber with the clouds moving overhead over the sun. Sadness in music would be slow tunes that will cause anyone in the vicinity to burst out in tears, surrounding himself with the music and getting lost in it. Walls will go grey and rain will fall for days.

minor abilities -
ʟ ᴜ ᴄ ᴋ - things go his way; the light will be green when he arrives, not being able to get sick, the elevator coming up right when he presses the button.
ᴛ ʜ ᴇ ʏ ᴀ ᴡ ɴ ᴇ ғ ғ ᴇ ᴄ ᴛ - any emotion he’s feeling rubs off on others he’s around.

​

family ties .
▼ ᴘ ᴀ ʀ ᴇ ɴ ᴛ s :
ᴍᴏᴛʜᴇʀ, ᴀɴᴅʀᴇᴀ sᴏᴍᴇʀs.
ғᴀᴛʜᴇʀ, ᴊᴏɴᴀᴛʜᴀɴ sᴏᴍᴇʀs.

▼ s ɪ ʙ ʟ ɪ ɴ ɢ s :
sɪsᴛᴇʀ, ᴀʙɪɢᴀɪʟ sᴏᴍᴇʀs.​

details:
created for - personal use/past rp
fc - jensen ackles.​

 

[whoaeasytiger]

AMARO CALVILLO.
↷ nonbinary : eighteen : august 24th : virgo.


s ᴏ ᴍ ᴇ ᴛ ʜ ɪ ɴ ɢ ᴍ ᴏ ʀ ᴇ.
→ constana , romania.

ᴛ ʜ ᴇ ʏ && ᴛ ʜ ᴇ ᴍ // Amaro built themselves from the ground up.

With a family name that was lesser known to roll off someone’s lips, the Calvillo family was rather unextraordinary. Amaro didn’t come
from a descending line of aristocrats or ones with gold pinched between their fingers. Or a family known for scandals flying from the
papers in the pages. Neither a family that was found on street corners with a gun clutched in hand. The Calvillo's were just a family
who immigrated from Romania into the United States. Amaro just came from another family who would fade into the background
- not a word uttered in the textbooks about the nonexistent Calvillo legacy.

Flying colors of intelligence and knowledge flies of their tongue, with a timid smile following at people’s normal shock. Amaro didn’t
exactly look the part. Contrasting from most of the intellectual people that Amaro knew, with pristine and precise ways of carrying
themselves and an air of dominance swirling around them, it was everything that Amaro wasn’t. Clad in black from head to toe, the
ebony cloth hanging loosely on Amaro’s slender frame and eyeliner smeared around their eyes, Amaro picks the lacquer off of his
polished nails absent mindedly. With the scent of coffee always lingering around them, the soft spoken Romanian is always full of
surprises. They’re always curled up everywhere they go; with legs pulled up in the seat with them and chin resting on their knee as
they read. Pages upon pages of architectural design litter the Romanian's room - Amaro always a string of thoughts and ideas. More
times than not, their hair is pulled up into a messy knot on the top of their head; with black frames resting on the bridge of their nose
and a cigarette dangling between his fingers.

They’re a mystery to some; the whispers behind Amaro’s back dealing with the gender Amaro identified with. It’s a thing that never
bothered Amaro. Amaro felt comfortable with who they were; not fitting into that stereotype of always being unsettled with
who they were. Amaro was a being a dreams, with their head in the clouds. And sometimes, it was hard to bring them back down.
​

details:
created for - personal use/past rp
fc - sebastian stan​