Post by laur on Jul 16, 2009 4:01:32 GMT -4
BRONTE MARCUS GOMES
"repressed and overdressed. brand a scarlet letter on your chest
heres where second best overtakes the rest"
[/font]"repressed and overdressed. brand a scarlet letter on your chest
heres where second best overtakes the rest"
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - [/center]
SPLIT DECISION, FINDING FIXES
- - i just write my memory ,
[/font][/center]- - i just write my memory ,
[/size] He mostly goes by Bronte, but he can go by mostly anything.
• • FULL NAME , Bronte Marcus Gomes
• • NICKNAMES ,
• • BIRTHDAY & AGE ,[/size] April 1st, foolbaby. Twenty four.
• • SEXUALITY ,[/size] Pansexual, he would chase anything with a pulse.
• • OCCUPATION ,[/size] Manager for Pushing April.
[/size][/font][/blockquote]
I SEE FACES BUT NONE OF THEM
- - not one bbronte eves in me ,
[/font][/center]- - not one bbronte eves in me ,
[/size] Dark brown, could be called black.
• • WEIGHT & HEIGHT , 170 pounds & six foot four.
• • HAIR COLOR ,
• • EYE COLOR ,[/size] Brown.
• • DISTINGUISHING MARKS ,[/size] Bronte always looks like a hot mess, that’s for sure.
• • FACE CLAIM ,[/size] Gabe Saporta
• • PERSONAL STYLE ,[/size] Bronte looks like the 80’s threw up all over him. He likes bright, and that could sum him up if you asked for one word. He kind of looks like he rolled around in reject hot topic clothes and got up, ready for the day. Considering his hair is never neat, this is plausible. His hair is usually a tangled mess of what used to be Gerry curls back in his playing days, but now he just wakes up and gets going. He sometimes tries to hide it in vain under a hat, but there’s no stopping the force that is his hair. In the summer, Bronte can usually be seen in a tee-shirt and jeans, fitted and skinny to be exact. He’s got an almost faked gangster feel about him, but he’s the whitest person ever. He can’t go ghetto. He could be the spokes person for American apparel, that’s for sure. He pretty much owns all the hoodies in every color, and lives in them. He likes how warm and comforting they are, like his mom was skinned, and wrapped around him. a mother’s love.
[/size][/font][/blockquote]
THIS GAME HAS GOT ME SHAKING HANDS
- - with my own enemy ,
[/font][/center]- - with my own enemy ,
[/size] swans, a lot of birds, the smell of garbage, yogurt, bubble gum flavored anything, the color beige, not being in control, being told off by his friends, shirtless old men with the beer bellies and hair everywhere, Burger King, hurt febronte ngs, being called a pussy (see hurt febronte ngs), loud noises, cinnamon, spoons, how flexible he is, batteries, technology, the fact he would die without said technology, dusty books, nails on a chalkboard, stuffed(literal) animals, his uncle who’s a taxidermist, jet lag, not sleeping, not having his pills at his disposal, bright lights, baggy pants, animal crackers, seagulls, tight spaces, the dark, being rejected, dull colors, olives, itchy wool.
• • LIKES , the color yellow, ducks, the cold, night time, the stars, space in general, cats, dogs, most animals, loud music, post-hardcore, his cat, sunrise, sunset, dusk, twilight (not the book, the actual time of day), fast food, the smell of old spice and axe, alcohol, being nude, fucking around at kids parks and getting told off by the angry parents, snow, rain, lightning, cows, Hannah Montana, knives, sour things, London, England in general, sunglasses, clothes, slinkies, tight clothes, storms, tulips, cheesy jokes, sex, forests, old record players, elvis Costello, paul anka, frank Sinatra, his large collection of records from said artists, ice cream, anything he can eat that’s cold, food in general (he’s a fattie), coffee, coffee, more coffee, anything that will give him energy(not that he needs it), old time swing bands, being loud, paintings that are done well none of that abstract shit, marijuana, alcohol, cool whip, jell-o, jell-o wrestling, spicy food, books.
• • DISLIKES ,
• • STRENGTHS ,[/size] his charm, being able to concentrate, pressure, being loud, controlling a room, irritating people.
• • WEAKNESSES ,[/size] negative remarks, dark hair, light eyes, pain, being alone, saying no.
• • FEARS ,[/size] The dark, clowns and that somehow, he’ll be punk’d.
• • SECRETS ,[/size] used to have a bad drinking problem and is close to relapsing.
• • PERSONALITY ,[/size] LOUD.
After a while, you might want earmuffs. Bronte’s almost always been loud, but not just with his voice. Growing up with five other siblings, and more than their fair share of animals, he has gotten into the habit of just speaking louder than needed. It also gets his point across, since it means he’s talking over your, and more people are bound to listen to him. It’s not that he things you’re wrong, he just wants people to know he’s right. When he’s happy, Bronte’s likely just talking a lot, with maximum volume, so you can share his happiness with him. When he’s angry, he’s heavy footed, and probably yelling at you because you fucking moved his shoes again, and he can’t fucking find them, you fucking fuck. When he’s confused, it’s earsplitting, booming questions shouted at you, wanting to know what? What? What did you say? Even when he sleeps, he’s noisy. He’s thrashing around, and rolling over, and moving all over the bed, sometimes falling out of bed. He’s not the best person to be a roommate with. He likes his music, and he likes it deafening. But it’s not just noise that’s loud about him. He gives off a lot of body language. With the cock of his hip, and cross of his arms, you can usually tell his mood by the signals he throws you.
OBSERVANT.
Surprisingly, Bronte can be quiet. And when he is silent, he’s usually watching. Not in the creepy stalker way, but in the alert and sharp-eyed way. He likes to know what’s happening around him. The drama, so he can pry his way into it. Or even people’s mood, because he likes to suck up people’s emotions, and feed off them. If you’re upset, and almost in tears, Bronte is likely conjuring up the crocodile tears just so he can have some attention too, and be a part of something. A lot of people just assume he’s an airhead who’s killed his last brain cell the past week when he put his head through a wall. Bronte knows he’s more than that, but he likes to keep people thinking he’s a dumbass. He often passes off his stupid tendencies just so he had a reason to stare at people. People usually just think he’s being his usual space cadet, and is off on another planet. On the contrary, he’s picking you apart, and trying to figure what makes you tick. What makes you you. Bronte likes to know people. He wants to know your buttons, so he can push them. He wants to know your weaknesses so that he can play you around, and get what he wants. Do you have a sweet spot for sluts? If Bronte knows, and you have something he wants, no doubt he’ll be skimping around in less clothing than usual, and maybe being a bit too inappropriate. Because he knows what he wants, and he wants it now.
BRUTE
Through and through, Bronte will devolve back to an animal on four legs at the end of the day. Sometimes he just forgets how to use his big boy words, and it’s grunts and snarls from him. When he doesn’t get his way, he’s stomping around like a lowbrow caveman who’s lost his favorite club. He’s a spoiled brat, and he knows it. And he’s not above throwing a temper tantrum. In public, or in private, Bronte will throw himself around, whining and complaining, until someone gives into his whims. He’s quite the prima donna, and he knows it. He’s proud of it, because it’s what he does well. If he didn’t like girls so much, he would pretty much go find himself an old rich man, and live with him, if it meant getting whatever he wanted, at his beck and call, in return for a few gruesome sexual favors. But he’s not that desperate to get his way. But when he does lose a fight, and he’s thrown in the towel, you’ll never hear the end of it. He’ll nag you and nag you, and find a way to guilt trip you, until you admit he was right. Bronte thinks he should be at the center of everyone’s attention, or else he’s not being noticed at all. He loves the eyes, and the glances.
PEOPLE PLEASER.
As much as he loves himself, Bronte likes to make other people happy. It just gives him a self-righteous febronte ng, knowing people are grateful for what he’s done for them. Almost like he had a bad Zeus complex. He doesn’t like to see people upset, even if he doesn’t know them. Because it just means someone else’s awareness is taken from him. He’s needy, okay? If someone’s blue, or down and out, Bronte will do whatever he can to try and cheer them up. Even if it means physically harming himself, he’ll do it. He almost took his head off one time when his sister was upset because her cat was missing, when really, the cat had just gotten into the walls again. He’s also very territorial. When Bronte likes something or someone, he’ll pull out all the stops to make sure he gets it or them. That doesn’t even have to be in the sexual way. If he thinks you look interesting, and he wants to get to know you better, he’ll just start conversations with you until you talk back. And the better he knows and likes you, the clingier he tends to be. You’ll need the jaws off life to pry that motherfucker off you. And we’re talking clingy in the literal sense here.
INEVITABLE.
See, the thing about Bronte, he’s kind of like puberty. You cannot avoid Bronte Jones. At least once in your life, he’s happened to you. Maybe he’s just snuck up on you, and got you when you weren’t looking. Making it was a slow and aching process that took years before he finally left you alone. Whatever it may be, you cannot avoid the plague that is Bronte. It’s like a shark attack. You can feel it building up, and circling slowly, but you tread water dumbly. He has just used this time to figure you out, and the best way to get at you. Maybe a jump from behind, and onto your back. Or maybe even a direct approach. Either way, you’d probably had to have dealt with Bronte once or twice. He likes people, and he likes to be around them. Normal people keep him sane, and on the ball. He’d hard to escape in the beginning, but often if not every time, he’ll get bored, to be honest. He’s not what we call the smartest, and it’s harder to keep his attention, which is about the size of a pea. The most you can do is wait him out, and just kill time until he detracts himself from you, and finds someone else to glue to the hip.
LOVING.
As much of a bitch Bronte can be, if he truly knows you, and can handle you, he loves you. He especially likes to get in personal space. He can come off as closed up, cold, and uncaring, but you’d be right for one. He is always cold. Expect on the hot sticky summer days when he wished his usual cold would come back, and chill him to the bone. But Bronte really loves to cuddle, as silly as a word it is. It feels weird rolling off his tongue, and irritates his ears. But there’s really nothing he loves more than curling up next to someone else, and just zoning out. It comforts him to have a source of heat near by; it kind of makes him feel safe. People just say it’s an excuse to get close and get into their pants. Bronte doesn’t sleep around much, and if he did, that wouldn’t be how he would go about it. He just likes hugs, and cuddling, and being around people, as much as a jerk as he can be.
YEARNING.
Bronte wants more, and he wants it all. And he can’t get any of it. He wants more knowledge. Why do we exist? What created us? Was it something more divine, an all bearing, capital G God? Or did we evolve from primates? Does that mean there is unicorns somewhere down on the coast of Mexico, and no one knows? Why him, why was he attacked, and not Ben? Why did he live and Ben die? He had no many questions, and that could never be answered. How did the human body work? He needed cadavers to try these things out. He wanted more out of life. He wanted someone to love. He’d go and find a girl, one he could trust, and keep. And maybe one day, if she wasn’t a typical human, he could really love her forever. Except he doesn’t think he’d ever find her. Not because she didn’t exist, he’s sure she does, it’s just that Bronte ’s always been a sucker for the smooth, rugged cut of a man’s jaw, the wide set of their shoulders, and sharp, pronounced hips. The curve of a breast was nice, but it didn’t hold anything to the flat, strong plane of a man’s chest. He usually didn’t let himself think of men that way, considering what happened to Gabriel. No. He’d go and find a girl, be moderately happy with her. Live okay for the rest of eternity. But he would still miss that aspect of a guy’s handsomeness. Satisfactory ever after.
[/size][/font][/blockquote]
AND I BET YOU WONT FIND
- - one weak bone in me ,
[/font][/center]- - one weak bone in me ,
[/size] Lawrence “Lupe” Gomes. Nineteen. Brother.
• • PARENTS , Harrison Gomes. Forty eight. Lawyer.
Linda Gomes. Forty nine. Baker.
• • SIBLINGS ,
• • OTHER FAMILY ,[/size] Sophia Turner. Aunt on mom’s side. Got his sober.
• • SIGNIFICANT OTHERS ,[/size] Not a lot of past relationships, more one night things. He had one serious girlfriend in high school, it didn’t end well. She got him into alcohol.
• • CHILDREN ,[/size] surprisingly, no. Bronte knows how to wrap his willy.
• • BIRTH PLACE ,[/size] Newark, Delaware
• • HISTORY ,[/size] Bronte was born and raised in the heart of Newark, Delaware. His mom and dad were born there; practically his whole family was, so he was stuck there. As a child, he had a lot of anger issues, and spent a lot of time beating up his brother, terrorizing his fellow peers, and not talking to his therapist. His mom and dad gave up on trying to fix their son, so they sent him to live with his aunt for a while. She lived in Newark too, but it was their last hope to try and calm Bronte down. Sophia’s late husband had been a singer, mostly in blues and jazz, and Bronte grew attached to his uncle’s guitar collection. He used playing guitar as a way to get out his anger. He wasn’t much of a singer, but in high school, he started up would could possibly be the worst garage band in history. They broke up pretty quickly. In his senior year, he met Julia Haines, town bike. But Bronte had been too impressed by her pretty looks and nice eyes to worry about her slutty reputation. Soon she was dragging him to parties, and he started to drink more and more. The drinking got worse after she left him, because he was “too clingy”. He graduated high school with the lowest marks possible, scrapping the bottom of the barrel. His parents kicked him out, and his aunt Sophia took him back in. she didn’t want Bronte dying of liver failure like her husband, so she did her best to hide all the alcohol he had, finding stashes he had and pouring it all away. It took three years to get him completely sober. Bronte had given up on music. He had a poor job as a host at Applebee’s. His brother told him about a local band that he thought was “da bomb”, and insisted Bronte come out and see them. Lawrence actually went to school with the guys in the band, and thought he was their BBF. Not. Bronte overheard one of the boys telling a girl how they needed a manager, and Bronte introduced himself. Because he wanted out of Delaware. It had too much bad karma waiting for him, and riding on the coattails of Pushing April would get him out.
[/size][/font][/blockquote]
IT'S BEEN A LONG TIME COMING
- - but no need for sympathy ,
[/font][/center]- - but no need for sympathy ,
[/size] Sixteen.
• • YOUR NAME , you may call me laur.
• • YOUR AGE ,
• • YEARS EXPERIENCE ,[/size] too long, oh fuck. like. Four years now?
• • CONTACT INFORMATION ,[/size] pm me, or aim me at yepphotofinnish. im not on it a lot. You can ask for my msn though.
• • MEMBER TITLE ,[/size] no thank youuu.
• • SECRET PHRASE ,[/size] -ADMIN EDIT-
• • NOTES ,[/size] lol totally recycled an old character or two. D:
• • ROLEPLAY SAMPLE ,[/size]
time zone: easterrrrn.
minimum word count: 500
roleplay sample:
--------“CALL now and we’ll throw in his extra knife. Call now, and we’ll send you not one, but two! That’s right, two chef knives.” Levi did not need two knives. Levi did not need ten pounds of oxy clean. Levi also did not need a miracle blender that he could put his cell phone, iPod, and credit cards in, and in an instant! Have a handful of toxic silver black powder. What Levi needed was to find a way out of the god forsaken crowd. He’d gotten sucked into watching the televisions on display in a little store, and watched a woman put on a showcase of different items that could his, each one for the low, low price of $19.99. Because where would he get that value in stores? He was considering buying one of the super Japanese chef knives to slice his wrists if the people cluttered around him didn’t get out of his way. But because he was little, and frowned up, he was stuck in the muck. Watching the girl strap on safety goggles, and proceed to saw through a floor tile, grinning like her teeth were glued together and mouth tore open, Levi began to wonder how his life came to this point. Not just the standing in a crowd, and not allowed to leave because he was shorter than the man next to him, behind him, and to his other side. They were too busy being hypnotized by the easy going smile of the young woman, whose face had a glisten to it. It might have been the lights, or it might have been her age. He didn’t know. But he felt for her. She was stuck here, cutting through dry wall, and blending bricks for god knows how long, because that was her job. Day in and day out, she probably went to different locations, and showed people the magic of her corporations’ knife, and their blender, and their magic sponge. How repetitive. And here he was, stuck watching her. the only different between them was that she was smiling as she nearly nicked her finger, the tile splitting in half, and the half she didn’t have an eagle grip on cluttered to the floor, and scuffed his shoe. When he saw the mark on his shoe, the connection he had felt with her, and the empathy he’d had for her was gone. When he bent down to pick up the tile, he finally broke free of the crowd, his lungs filling back up with air, and he stepped forward to give her the half back. In the new light, she wasn’t as young as she had looked from a little back. He could see lines in her skin that had been caked in, like trying to fix old pavement by just shoving cement into the crevices. Her eyes looked weary and sunken in. her smile was so forced and mandatory that Levi felt an almost as fake smile pinching on his lips, near painful as he put the tile down. She let almost a real smile pass, and he felt sorry again. But not sorry enough to stick around. He had gotten his freedom.[/font][/size]
--------THE air seemed almost frigid and empty without the crowd pulsating around him, surging to see this knife cut. So what. It was a knife. And a sponge. And a blender. But he’d gotten sucked into it too. Mostly because he had nothing better to do, or no where to go. Levi had simply been window shopping because he had no real money to spend on anything but food or rent. And one step past the girl, and her charming smile got him trapped. Maybe he should have quit his job, and tried to weasel his way into getting her job. He could see himself doing that. With his effortless grin and sleepy eyes that everyone seemed to love, he could get people to listen to him. About what he was preaching about. That was the perfect job for Levi. Give him a soap box, and he’d talk gossip natter, chatter the publics ears off. He didn’t care about what. He ran off of people’s interest in him, and if just one person listened to him for a minute, he would feel accomplished. Everyone deserves their soap box. Levi made a note in the back of his head to find out how he got one of these jobs, and thought about the others ones he could have. Maybe public speaking somewhere else. He could represent celebrities in their times of need. What were those called? Public relations. PR, Levi could do that. So maybe his client OD’D after a very public split with their ex. The citizens who craved and lived off of gossip would be eating right out of his hands. And he would gladly supply it, that easy smile similar to the girl’s plastered on his face, and only telling he had no further comments, just what they wanted to hear. They wanted more. Needed more. He would be their supplier, their addiction. Well, part of the addiction. And really, who didn’t want thousands of people at his word, eager with want and ready to bbronte eve anything he said. But maybe instead of settling scandal, he could spread it. Now Levi was determined to become the next Perez Hilton. He needed a new name. Maybe Lev Jonez. His first claim could be that he was the illegitimate son of Quincy Jones.
--------ALL of this mulling made him feel a bit better about himself. Better than okay, in fact. He felt kind of fantastic. Better than he had in days. He’d planned out a future for himself because he’d seen some little pretty girl trying to sell knives. Maybe he would go back later, and buy about five cases from her, along with one of those wow towels. If only to thank her, and remind her light was harsh on the face, and she didn’t need to be such a cake face to impress people. It would be his service for the day, his good deed for the city of London. His chest felt a little swollen with pride, and he was carrying himself higher than he had all week. All he had needed was a little ego prodding, and maybe a few reminders that he was Levi fucking Jones, he could do whatever the hell he wanted. Including, but no limited to, backtracking, and almost toppling a little boy into a fountain. After apologizing profusely to the little boy, who was quickly dragged away by his mother, he spun around to look again. He really didn’t blame the mom for snatching away her child from him. If he wasn’t himself, and he saw someone like him lurking near children, he would scream rapist too. But that woman had a set of lungs on her. Maybe there was something about him that practically screamed “sexual predator”. He just hoped he wouldn’t have to add his name to a list anytime soon. Somehow he’d been able to wander all the way down near the palace. Uh oh, God Save the Queen.
--------A few people were giving him queer looks, but he ignored then, and continued to sulk around the side of the fountain. He saw a police officer eyeing him, hand just resting on his waist, near his baton, like if Levi nudged another child and got another mother to scream out “rapist” one more time, he’d crack his skull open. But he turned his attention back to the fountain. He had to shield his eyes as a spike of orange reflected off a car, and temporarily blinded him, hindering his spying. Levi didn’t have the greatest memory around, he could hardly remember what continent he was on until people spoke to him and sounded an awful lot like his mother, but it was hard for him to forget what little curls showed from under the hat. He could be a big baby, and go sneak up behind her, steal the hat, and play keep away before dropping it in the water. How about that for a greeting? But he felt that might be a bit too cruel. And he figured right now was not the time for another scene in a public space, what with the bobby law gazing at him carefully still. So Levi straightened up, and practically skipped his way around the fountain, almost skidding to a stop in front of Bella, attempting to block her sunlight. He arched an eyebrow, titling his head to read the title of the book. Vampires, huh? “I’m surprised in you. Twilight? I kind of expected better from you. Not some smutty vampire novel.” He made sure he announced it loudly, and clearly, except his words almost came out in a slur. Even sober, he couldn’t speak coherently. “Edward dies, by the way.” He couldn’t help the little smug smirk, trying to bluff that she hadn’t even read it.
words, 1500, on the dot. brppp.
notes, too lazy to find him an outfit. ~imagine. also, i stoel jazz's idea on the intenty thing. thaaaaaanks. :3
music, girl can't help it - LMFAO.[/ul][/size][/font][/center][/blockquote]
this application was made by edi, lyrics belong to panic at the disco and this format was inspired by valkyrie academy
[/color][/center][/size][/font]