Post by Deleted on Jan 18, 2024 15:10:04 GMT
Nova B. Whitewater
NAME Nova Bel Whitewater (they/them) | AGE thirty-one |
OCCUPATION civilian | HOMETOWN palade city, shula |
SEXUALITY big gay | PLAYED BY moony |
PERSONALITY
POSITIVE TRAITS: • loyal, tenacious, persistent | Nova is your biggest ride or die bitch. They are steadfast and passionate, and loyal to a fault. • kind, considerate, attentive | Nova has always taken great care to keep kindness at the forefront of all of their intentions. They love to parry back and forth between subjects of interest. Nova will remember how you took your tea one night fifteen years ago and brew it for you on a chilled, rainy night. • funny, zippy-quipster | Nova is exceptionally traumatized so they've been granted the unique privilege of being absolutely hilarious. • has been known to be brave | They say we are bravest when we face our darkest fears. • adaptable | Nova can roll with the punches, flip scripts and conversations on a dime, and is a solid multitasker. | NEGATIVE TRAITS: • stubborn | On the flipside, Nova's persistence becomes detrimental when they dig their heels in. Their unwavering conviction in the best of circumstances can be their achilles heel in their worst situations. • can have a hair trigger | Consideration and attentiveness come with a price. Nova is in chronic pain and battling severe mental illness, so they can be quick to anger. • high-strung, chronically tense | Trauma and chronic pain make for poor bedfellows. Nova can be anxious, tight-muscled, and unable to perform any type of light or strenuous activity for long stretches of time. • secretive, closed off, anti-social, tight-lipped | When we spend so much of our time deflecting and internalizing, it can be hard to open up and be vulnerable with another person. Nova tends to keep their feelings and intentions close to their chest (they are burdens, after all). • passive | Nova has been known to let other people steamroll over them to keep the peace. |
LIKES • calm, quiet time. books. the smell of soft, smoky cannabis wafting through the air, quiet giggles and snorts. the sound the forest makes as twilight falls. the pattering of rain on a metal roof and glass panes. • classical art, chiaroscuro, pop/street art, flecks of paint underneath their nails and staining their skin. • tactile, fingertips touching, whispered words underneath a weighted blanket. limbs tangling with a rush of oxytocin. • learning new things. going for a hike to smell the clean, fresh mountain air. yoga (when they can make it) on the beach. • the smell of coffee first thing in the morning. strawberry jam on toast. jasmine milk tea in an insulated thermos. | DISLIKES: • being the center of attention or around too many people for too long. • being told what to do. pushy, forceful people. disrespectful authority figures. forced confrontation. • bring unprepared and startled. being caught off-guard or interrupted too suddenly. • having to make a decision without sussing the other party out first. • being around too many pokemon, or any pokemon for extended periods of time. |
POKEMON
Species - Galarian Meowth Gender - No
Ability - Pick Up Level - 10
Moves - Fake Out, Growl, Hone Claws, Scratch
Species - Galarian Meowth Gender - No
Ability - Pick Up Level - 10
Moves - Fake Out, Growl, Hone Claws, Scratch
APPEARANCE
Nola is tall and has a soft, round face with wide, dark eyes. They tend to wear long layers and deep muted colors with bright pops of color. They're active and mobile and tend to wear either sneakers or strappy sandals. Nova has short, messy hair, dyed, in varying shades of dark colors. Sometimes it'll be a deep wine red, others a blue, a black. Nova's favorite color to wear is a deep violet or indigo. Chronically dehydrated, Nova carries chapstick everywhere and has been known to sport deep bags under their eyes from countless sleepless nights. Smudges of phthalo blue stain their skin, and patches of thick, gnarled scars splatter their arms and torso. Nova's hands and feet are always cold, a side effect of poor circulation, so they are often wearing cushioned socks and holding a hot mug of tea or coffee.
[hair]
short, dark with a little wave. wine, blue, black, indigo. messy and chaotic. green tea. citrus and lemongrass.
[clothes]
black. multiple layers. flannel, color block and botanical designs. slouchy beanies, hair clips to keep their bangs out of their face. blues, violets, cool and vivid greens. bright splashes of yellow. sandals, sneakers, fluffy slippers. long coats and cardigans. dainty dangling earrings and flatback studs. a necklace with a leather cord and heavy pendant.
[scent]
pears. vanilla. ink. oil paints, linseed oil, turpentine. acetone. cannabis. dark roast coffee. berries, pine, charcoal. fresh rain.
[hair]
short, dark with a little wave. wine, blue, black, indigo. messy and chaotic. green tea. citrus and lemongrass.
[clothes]
black. multiple layers. flannel, color block and botanical designs. slouchy beanies, hair clips to keep their bangs out of their face. blues, violets, cool and vivid greens. bright splashes of yellow. sandals, sneakers, fluffy slippers. long coats and cardigans. dainty dangling earrings and flatback studs. a necklace with a leather cord and heavy pendant.
[scent]
pears. vanilla. ink. oil paints, linseed oil, turpentine. acetone. cannabis. dark roast coffee. berries, pine, charcoal. fresh rain.
HISTORY
[TW: mental health struggle, estrangement from a parent, emotional neglect, vague vague allusion to an act of domestic terrorism ft DC, reference @vivienne ]
♡
Think about the last time you felt well.
Not good, not great — you're not aiming for the stars, here, you're aiming for functional, and some days that's a taller task than others. The last time you tried opening your mouth and saying to someone, "Hey, I don't feel well," the words got stuck in your mouth, thick on your tongue like glue. It's hard to explain, the way you're feeling now. You try to picture the words in your mind, but they scatter when you touch them, letters spiraling out of your control behind your eyes. You don't know the words, you only know you can't go to Mom or Dad, that the last time you tried you felt little and small, blood in your mouth from clenching your teeth so tight. It's probably not that bad, right? You probably just need to buckle down and get over it.
♡
Schooltime is a little tough for you.
Not in the traditional sense. You finish your work early and daydream in the interim, doodling swirl after swirl in the corners of your test and all along the margins. The hard part about school for you was the socialization — you were always a little weird, a little spacey, and something about you just set you apart from most of the other kids. Nameless, intangible feelings swirling about beneath your ribcage, sticking your lips shut.
There is one bright, shining light.
♡
You feel like you're going to be sick.
♡
You have to leave.
Everything is dangerous for you and your family in a way it never was before. There are officers, judges, hearing after hearing after hearing. Bags drag under your father's eyes, darker and deeper by the day. You haven't looked at your mother once since It happened. You feel sick, all the time. Acid roils in your throat. Maybe leaving everyone and everything behind isn't the worst thing that could happen to you. You can't get them out of your head, pale and still and in pain, and all you can think about is if you hadn't been there, none of this would have ever happened—
♡
It's been a while since you've seen your mother.
Dad works so much now. Evenings, weekends, overtime overtime overtime. Dad makes sure you get breakfast and you get up in time for school. It has to be early because he has to leave for work, but at least you get to see him. It's fine, honestly. There's nothing wrong with having the mornings to yourself, the evenings to yourself. You have a friend at school, two on a gracious day, but they're so very far away in the mornings and the evenings. Everyone's so far away late at night when you're weeping softly in your room, when you're sobbing loud enough to shake the walls but you might as well be silent because there's no one there to hear you.
♡
Adulthood is a tired, dogged experience. You persevere. You write a lot, you paint, you press trembling, tired fingers to your jaw and try to work through the pain. There's got to be something better than this, something more than tired, sleepless nights and staring across the table at your father eating your words for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and never getting further than "Hi, how are you? How was your day?"
It's a normal Tuesday afternoon.
You're sitting at the table again, silently. Soft, rolling rain hits the roof in a gentle tap tap tap. Your father looks so tired, so worn down and beaten and it's such a stark image that you just want to open your arms and curl into him like you're a little kid again. There's got to be bravery in seeking out comfort when you need it.
This is it. You can feel it in your bones. Some quintessential moment that marks progression from the Prologue to Chapter One. You open your mouth. You say:
"Let's go back home."
♡
Think about the last time you felt well.
Not good, not great — you're not aiming for the stars, here, you're aiming for functional, and some days that's a taller task than others. The last time you tried opening your mouth and saying to someone, "Hey, I don't feel well," the words got stuck in your mouth, thick on your tongue like glue. It's hard to explain, the way you're feeling now. You try to picture the words in your mind, but they scatter when you touch them, letters spiraling out of your control behind your eyes. You don't know the words, you only know you can't go to Mom or Dad, that the last time you tried you felt little and small, blood in your mouth from clenching your teeth so tight. It's probably not that bad, right? You probably just need to buckle down and get over it.
♡
Schooltime is a little tough for you.
Not in the traditional sense. You finish your work early and daydream in the interim, doodling swirl after swirl in the corners of your test and all along the margins. The hard part about school for you was the socialization — you were always a little weird, a little spacey, and something about you just set you apart from most of the other kids. Nameless, intangible feelings swirling about beneath your ribcage, sticking your lips shut.
There is one bright, shining light.
♡
You feel like you're going to be sick.
♡
You have to leave.
Everything is dangerous for you and your family in a way it never was before. There are officers, judges, hearing after hearing after hearing. Bags drag under your father's eyes, darker and deeper by the day. You haven't looked at your mother once since It happened. You feel sick, all the time. Acid roils in your throat. Maybe leaving everyone and everything behind isn't the worst thing that could happen to you. You can't get them out of your head, pale and still and in pain, and all you can think about is if you hadn't been there, none of this would have ever happened—
♡
It's been a while since you've seen your mother.
Dad works so much now. Evenings, weekends, overtime overtime overtime. Dad makes sure you get breakfast and you get up in time for school. It has to be early because he has to leave for work, but at least you get to see him. It's fine, honestly. There's nothing wrong with having the mornings to yourself, the evenings to yourself. You have a friend at school, two on a gracious day, but they're so very far away in the mornings and the evenings. Everyone's so far away late at night when you're weeping softly in your room, when you're sobbing loud enough to shake the walls but you might as well be silent because there's no one there to hear you.
♡
Adulthood is a tired, dogged experience. You persevere. You write a lot, you paint, you press trembling, tired fingers to your jaw and try to work through the pain. There's got to be something better than this, something more than tired, sleepless nights and staring across the table at your father eating your words for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and never getting further than "Hi, how are you? How was your day?"
It's a normal Tuesday afternoon.
You're sitting at the table again, silently. Soft, rolling rain hits the roof in a gentle tap tap tap. Your father looks so tired, so worn down and beaten and it's such a stark image that you just want to open your arms and curl into him like you're a little kid again. There's got to be bravery in seeking out comfort when you need it.
This is it. You can feel it in your bones. Some quintessential moment that marks progression from the Prologue to Chapter One. You open your mouth. You say:
"Let's go back home."
aeron of thq
