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ineverlookavvay · 4 years

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bisexual-aliens-in-arms

Isobel drags Michael to Planet 7 for pride night. It goes far better than expected.

Bi Visibility Day - Day 7 of Michael Guerin Week 2020

cw: alcohol, referenced child abuse, internalized homophobia

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“No, “ Michael said, aiming for firm. “I don’t have time, Iz.”

Isobel scoffed. “What, are you going to be working on cars all night long?”

There was actually a fairly big backlog of cars to work on, and Michael found he needed the distraction more often than not recently. Life was complicated, increasingly so, and cars were simple, designed to be a certain way and logically never stray from that. People sucked a lot more than cars, objectively.

“Maybe I am.”

“Michael.” Isobel leaned down onto the hood of the car he was trying to work on, annoyingly in his way. She was giving him her ‘cut the bullshit’ look, which he was historically not very good at escaping. “It’s one night, and it’s important to me. Please come out?”

“I don’t do theme nights.”

Isobel scoffed again, rolling her eyes and trodding directly onto his ego. “Come on, Michael. This is my first pride month and you’re supposed to be my bisexual-alien-in-arms.” She changed tactic abruptly, making the most irritating pouty face he’d ever seen. “You’re not really going to make me go alone, are you?”

Michael sighed, wiping grease off his hands onto his jeans. Fucking hell. “Fine, but you gotta leave me alone for at least a few hours, okay?” Isobel clapped gleefully. “You know, some of us work.”

“Let me know if any of those people want a job,” Sanders cut in, ducking in on his way out, looking at Michael’s progress skeptically and ignoring Michael’s scowl. “Do some damn work.”

“Hell does it look like I’m doing?” Michael called out as Sanders left, still scowling. Michael fixed a tight smile on Isobel. “Later, okay?”

She shrugged. “Fine, but be ready to go at eight. And try not to look so…” she waved her hand at his general appearance, “mechanic-y.”

Michael wanted to protest that he always looked ‘mechanic-y’ on account of he was a damn mechanic, and besides, the grungy blue-collar cowboy look was still popular as far as he could tell; but seeing as he’d already caved, he would certainly end up losing this argument, too. So instead, he turned his attention back to the cars. Michael liked working with his hands, he liked fixing things. Sure, he might fuck up every relationship he’d ever had, he might break the things in his life constantly, but he could take a broken car and make it a working car, and that was something.

He was not so secretly dreading the evening, though. He let himself drift far enough into his work that he wasn’t actively panicking about going to a damn pride night at the local gay bar, which he’d never actually been to, no matter how many times Isobel tried to convince him how great it was. It’s not that Michael was ashamed, he really wasn’t—but he’d experienced enough bigots and assholes in his life to know that he didn’t need to paint an extra target on his back, either.

Who he fucked was his own business, and that was how he preferred to keep it. Isobel was reveling in her newfound sexuality, and he wasn’t about to ruin that for her, but he also knew that a rich white woman was a lot less of a target than a trailer trash cowboy. He also had an existential dread of any place that resulted in Isobel leaving at the end of the night dripping in glitter.

Michael didn’t do glitter, and he didn’t do pride month—or at least he hadn’t—and he’d much rather just spend a night with Isobel at the Wild Pony celebrating themselves quietly with a drink that didn’t have anything in it besides the liquor. Hell, they could go there and celebrate themselves raucously, as long as no one had to know the reason for the celebrating.

His attempt to distract himself resulted in successfully losing track of time, which meant Isobel was already standing in the junkyard tapping her foot when he went inside to shower and change.

“You don’t have anything cuter than that?” she asked skeptically when he emerged, clean and dressed in a black button-down. Isobel was wearing a purplish iridescent crop top that probably came out of her closet circa 2010 and incredibly tight dark blue jeans, with multiple strings of shiny necklaces around her neck.

“Sorry, I don’t own anything that shiny.”

That got him a smile at least. “Listen, Michael, the whole point of pride is to look hot,” he was pretty sure that wasn’t true, “get laid,” he was sure that one was wrong, “and be out and proud while doing it.” She looked so proud of herself right then that Michael didn’t have the heart to argue. “Plus, the bi flag has really nice colors.”

Michael smiled in spite of himself. “Iz, you got me to go with you, you really want to jeopardize that by shit talking my clothing?”

Frowning slightly, she shrugged. “Fine, but this is why no one thinks you’re the fun alien.”

“Hey! I am definitely the fun one,” he argued, striding towards her car and settling in for an inane but companionable argument.

Michael liked bars, in general. He liked the dark corners and the dirty floors and the smell of alcohol and the down home music and the bluster of it all. He liked sitting at a bar nursing a drink and feeling like a part of something just by virtue of drinking beside other people. But Michael hated Planet 7.

First of all, the whole damn place was trying too hard. It had far too many lights, all of them overly complicated and flashing stupid colors. It had a DJ instead of a jukebox, which Isobel implied was something special, that he should be pleased to be experiencing, much to his chagrin. It had more glitter and confetti littering the floor and on the bar and on the tables than Michael had ever hoped to see in one place. All the drinks were obscured by ridiculous garnishes. There was someone sitting at the end of the bar stenciling with face paint on people’s faces, another thing Isobel assured him was a fun and exciting theme night thing. But most of all, it didn’t make Michael feel safe, or comfortable, or known; this wasn’t his place.

Isobel looked like she’d just walked into her surprise birthday party, though, grinning and strutting in like she owned the place. “Come on, I’ve been dreaming about their drinks,” she said, beaming, and Michael reluctantly followed her over to the bar. Michael realized quickly that she hadn’t been dreaming about the drink so much as the bartender. Which, fair enough.

Michael let her talk and flirt and took the time to look around again, hoping to find something to be complimentary about so Isobel wouldn’t feel she had to prove how great it all was to him. It was his own fault then, when he accidentally saw Alex across the room, leaning against a wall, deep in conversation with someone that looked suspiciously like Kyle. Michael’s stomach did a flip and he turned quickly away, back to Isobel and the bar, half hoping Alex hadn’t seen him. Michael knew that Alex was single again, or at least that was the last he’d heard, but that didn’t mean he wanted to be caught staring outright.

“Here,” Isobel thrust a drink into his hand that had a little light-up rainbow color-changing cube masquerading as an ice cube at the bottom of it. Michael rolled his eyes. “So what are you feeling? Wanna dance? Or I think they’re painting pride flags on people’s faces?” She sounded giddy, her cheeks flushed and her hair already covered in a ridiculous amount of glitter.

Michael didn’t have the heart to let her down by telling her he’d rather eat sand than dance or get his face painted without at least a few drinks in his system. “Whatever you want.”

Isobel beamed at him. “See, I knew this would be fun.”

“Yep,” Michael said, plastering a smile on his fast as she led him over to the person doing the face paint, “cause I’m the fun one.”

By the time he was sitting on a bar stool with someone striping color across his face, Michael was on his second drink, and Isobel's face was already a melty palette of pink, blue, and purple.

“Isn’t this great?” Isobel said, standing over him and dancing to some unbearable pop song, shaking glitter out of her own hair all over Michael’s head and shoulders. He could feel it falling onto him like tiny raindrops, securing itself to his shirt and hair and skin with some invisible, terrible glitter power. He wondered idly how many showers it was going to take until he could walk around without constantly catching the glint of it out of the corner of his eye.

“Yeah,” Michael agreed, standing up as the face painter proclaimed he was done. His cheek felt strange, stiff and cold, and he couldn’t get the last of the alcohol out of his glass around the giant fake ice cube.

“Hey, we have to take a picture,” Isobel said, grinning wider and pulling out her phone while she dragged their faces close enough together to fit into the selfie frame. She pulled back to look at the picture, nodding with happy satisfaction. “We are hot,” she proclaimed, “and proud. Two badass bisexuals.”

Michael nodded distractedly. He needed another drink, or maybe just some fresh air, or for the DJ to turn down the goddamned bass, or something. He hated the feeling of the face paint, and he hated the selfie, he hated how unlike himself he looked, glittery and colorful and trying to smile in a crowd. Michael stumbled backwards, turning around to face the bar in what he hoped was a mostly intentional-looking maneuver. He needed another drink.

The bartender nodded at him and Isobel, bringing over two more glasses of whatever they were drinking. “Lookin’ good,” she said, and Michael’s chest felt tight.

It was too loud, and too warm, and Isobel was talking but he couldn’t make out what she was saying. He drank almost frantically, trying to get enough alcohol into his system that he stopped caring about any of this shit. Michael glanced around the bar, at all of the people laughing and smiling and looking like they fit in perfectly, and Michael had never felt more like an alien. He needed to get out, just for a moment, just to catch his breath.

“I’m, uh, I’m gonna find the bathroom,” he said, coherently enough, and pushed past Isobel towards the back hallway.

The bathroom was thankfully empty, and quiet as the door swung shut behind him, the music that was so pervasive in the bar just a tinny echo. Michael braced himself on one of the sinks, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against the scratched mirror. It was just all so much, and it should have been easy, and the fact that it wasn’t was creating a cacophony of different feelings in his mind, all of it blending together into something like panic. Michael opened his eyes, willing himself to stay in control.

He looked at himself in the mirror, and he hated the frantic look in his eyes, hated the smear of color across his cheek like a brand, hated that he could be so comfortable with himself and yet so shaken. He could feel the urge to push it all away, violently, to shove and shake and break—the only way he had now to make the noise in his head stop. Michael gripped the sink and thought about tearing the room apart. He could see it, sinks and toilets tearing out of the wall, tiles slamming against one another into dust, the mirrors cracking and shattering. The vision of destruction filled his mind, and he was in the middle of it, silent in the eye of the storm, caught in the tornado of his own making—

The door to the bathroom swung open, and Alex stepped through it, looking concerned. “Are you okay?”

The vision dropped away from Michael’s eyes, leaving him with only himself, standing in a public bathroom feeling terrified and self-destructive. He watched in the mirror as Alex twisted the lock on the door and took another cautious step forward.

“Are you okay?” Alex repeated. “Because you looked not okay.”

“I’m fine,” Michael said, even though his voice sounded thin and shaken. Alex stepped towards him again and Michael pressed himself forward, closer to the sink, like he could climb into the mirror and avoid this interaction. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to talk to Alex, because he did, badly, but he didn’t want Alex to see him in a moment where he felt weak. “You didn’t have to follow me.”

Alex shrugged, the cracks in the mirror keeping Michael from seeing the nuances of his expression. “I wanted to see if you were okay.”

It was meant kindly, but somehow it made Michael feel worse. Michael stopped watching Alex and focused on his own face, frowning when he saw the painted colors again, loosening his grip on the sink to press uneasily on the skin of his cheek. He swallowed and dropped his hand quickly, lowering his eyes to the stained white porcelain of the sink. “I think this paint might be toxic,” he said wryly. He could tell from Alex’s silence that he saw through the remark.

“It looks good,” Alex said quietly. “You look good.”

Michael looked up sharply at Alex’s reflection again. Alex had his own face painted, a rainbow of stripes adorning his cheek. “You do, too,” Michael said, meaning it. Alex did look good—happy and proud and like he wasn’t constantly looking over his shoulder. It made Michael feel boundlessly happy and endlessly sad, knowing that they’d spent their time together hiding, that they could both be here on this stupid pride night—with Alex looking secure and hot and comfortable—and yet not be together. Usually Michael would fight or fuck those maudlin feelings away, but that wasn’t really an option tonight. He sighed. “But I just don’t…maybe this isn’t my scene.”

Alex was close enough to put a hand on Michael’s shoulder, and he did so cautiously, like he wasn’t sure if Michael would let him. Michael hoped that someday Alex would be able to touch him without worrying. He let Alex turn him away from the mirror.

“Maybe,” Alex said, carefully. “Or maybe you grew up with assholes telling you this part of you was wrong, that it should be shuttered if you can’t destroy it.”

Michael’s instinct was to argue that he was fine, and none of his shitty foster parents had gotten to him like that, but he wasn’t sure it was entirely true, and he wasn’t sure that Alex wasn’t saying it for his own benefit as much as for Michael’s. Alex’s hand was still resting on Michael’s shoulder, and it felt grounding; Michael felt stable under Alex’s hand, under Alex’s unwavering gaze. He took a deep breath, and as he let it out, Alex seemed to visibly relax, too.

“You can wash it off, if you want,” Alex said, “and it wouldn’t mean anything.”

Michael shook his head slowly. “Isobel—” he started.

“We didn’t get the same ‘strong woman, love yourself’ stuff that Isobel did,” Alex interrupted, reaching around Michael to snag a paper towel from the wall dispenser. “It’s okay.”

“Isobel would be disappointed,” Michael said numbly, his chest tight with unspoken gratitude, but he didn’t take the paper towel. Then more quietly: “Everyone’s always disappointed.”

Alex looked at Michael for a moment, and then shrugged and smiled, like he didn’t know what Michael was talking about, like he wasn’t one of the people Michael kept disappointing. “This whole thing is supposed to be about celebrating yourself the way you want to, so fuck ‘em.”

Michael smiled back weakly, his hand tracing lightly over the stiff lines of the face paint on his cheek. He so badly wanted to want to leave it there.

“It looks better on you,” Michael said, impulsively, reaching out as if to touch Alex��s cheek, and then drawing his hand back at the last moment. He held his breath as Alex met his eyes and stepped carefully forward, bringing his cheek to Michael’s hand, leaning into his touch far too easily. “You’ve always looked good with stuff like this.” He was thinking of Alex as a teenager, with liner painted across his eyelids, and it made Michael ache with nostalgia. He wanted this—he wanted to be able to tell Alex how the only good memories from that summer were of Alex, to be able to say all the stupid, romantic things he had never gotten the chance to say, to be able to dance with Alex at pride night and have neither of them care who saw.

“I wish I’d been able to be this with you,” Alex said, his voice raw and quiet.

Michael let out a breath that was almost a laugh, running his fingertips lightly across Alex’s rainbow cheek. “You’re here now,” he said without thinking about it. Now was enough. Michael thought that if he leaned forward and kissed Alex, Alex might let him, that it would be okay if it only existed here, in this moment. But they owed each other more than that—more than a secret kiss in a bathroom, more than rushing in without talking, without taking enough care that neither of them got hurt, this time. God, but Michael wanted there to be a ‘this time.’

“So are you,” Alex said pointedly, licking his lips absently in a way that sent Michael’s entire internal equilibrium shifting, like his body was trying to tip him towards Alex.

The door clattered as someone tried to get into the bathroom, and both of them laughed awkwardly, aware again of their surroundings. It steadied Michael, kept him from crashing towards Alex the way he desperately wanted to. Waiting would be smarter; dropping his hand, pulling away and swallowing everything he was feeling, putting on a smile and walking out of the bathroom would be smarter, but he hesitated.

Alex met Michael’s eyes and slowly lifted his own hand and pressed his fingers lightly to the paint on Michael’s cheek, almost exploratory, a gentle caress. Michael felt his breath coming far too quickly, his earlier discomfort nearly forgotten under the soft way Alex was touching him.

“You really do look good, Guerin.” Alex said quietly. “And this place? This bar? It’s not my favorite either. And it—it isn’t home, but it’s safe. You know?”

“Where’s home?” Michael asked, somewhat facetiously, his fingertips still barely brushing Alex’s cheek, leaning his cheek into Alex’s touch, unable to stop himself. Michael knew both of them had been facing the same thing recently—the growing sense that all of the places that had felt comfortable or familiar didn’t feel that way any more, the fear of what it would take to find the places that would feel that way in the future.

Alex met Michael’s eyes, meaningfully, like he was trying to get Michael to understand something without saying it. “I think I’ve almost got that figured out,” Alex said finally, and Michael was hit by the realization that Alex wasn’t talking about the bars or the city or the buildings they lived in, but something entirely different. He thought back to every time he’d ever heard Alex say the word home, with something like longing and questions laid into it, and wondered if maybe he’d been talking about them the whole time.

Michael was trying to form a response that wouldn’t feel like a deflection, that would convince Alex to actually say what he was saying, when someone banged loudly on the door and Alex pulled away abruptly, leaving Michael’s fingers caressing only air. Alex smiled apologetically and dropped his hand away from Michael’s cheek. “You shouldn’t spend the whole night in the bathroom,” Alex said, starting to move towards the door. “I’ll save you a dance.”

“Didn’t see you dancing before,” Michael said, to take focus from the fact that the image of Alex dancing, and happy, was enough to make every bit of him openly ache with wanting.

“I wasn’t.” Alex said, raising an eyebrow. “But I will with you.”

Michael exhaled heavily, his voice stolen by the casual way Alex said it, like they’d already decided. Then again, what was there even to decide?

Alex licked his lips, hesitating between Michael and the door, then abruptly turned back and crossed to where Michael was standing. Alex pressed himself into Michael’s space, his hands cradling Michael’s cheeks as he brought their lips together in a quick but searing kiss. Michael let out a sound halfway between surprise and a moan and kissed Alex back fiercely. He’d barely gotten his bearings before Alex was pulling away.

Smiling with satisfaction, Alex unlocked the door and slipped through into the noise of the bar. Michael side-stepped out of the way as someone rushed past him to one of the stalls, watching the door like Alex might come back.

When he didn’t, Michael turned back to the mirror, staring at himself skeptically for a few minutes, trying to see himself the same way he saw Alex, like someone who was strong enough not to feel foolish, but proud. He shook his head at his reflection—it was too much, too much to ask of himself at that moment, but he realized that he still didn’t want to leave the bar. Not when Isobel wanted him there, not when Alex wanted him there.

It was Alex’s voice, Alex’s smile, in Michael’s head as he decided not to wash the face paint off. As he decided not to listen to the words in the back of his mind that he tried to pretend he’d forgotten, to brush off with bravado, the ones that came from the screaming foster parents who carried bibles and belts, the ones who told him he was nothing before he was old enough to know anything about himself. Alex didn’t see Michael that way, any more than Michael saw Alex as any of the things his asshole father had thought of him. Alex wanted to dance with Michael, wanted to kiss him, and that was reason enough to stop thinking about the colors on his face and leave the bathroom.

This bar was never going to be Michael’s place, it was never going to be less annoyingly loud and glittery, and it was never going to serve drinks that didn’t make him roll his eyes. But it could be the first place he’d let Isobel drag him to a pride event, it could be the first place he’d kissed Alex, that Alex had kissed him, since they’d tried to ignore how they would always feel. It could be that, and that could be enough, even if he hated the damn face paint.

Taking a breath, Michael left the bathroom with his breathing almost back to normal. He found Isobel quickly, dancing on the edge of a throng of people, and she brightened as soon as he appeared, beckoning him over.

“Thought you might have left,” she said close to his ear when he reached her, almost yelling to be heard above the music.

“Almost did,” Michael replied distractedly. He scanned the room, which had gotten significantly more crowded in the short time he’d been gone, until he found Alex, leaning against a wall, clearly watching Michael, too. He tilted his head, gesturing Alex over, and saw him nod and push slowly away from the wall,

“What did you say?” Isobel yelled, and Michael flipped his attention back to her, grinning. She looked happy, and tipsy, and like she actually wanted him there, and all at once Michael felt lighter.

“I said fuck you,” he said stridently, louder and closer to her ear. “Bisexuals-in-arms, right?”

Isobel’s answering smile was brilliant, and Michael realized he hadn’t made a mistake by coming here just for her, because she’d asked him, intentionally, to be there. And there wasn’t anything wrong with staying for Alex, because neither of them would usually be caught dead in a place like this, and there was something about just showing up that mattered.

Alex came up beside them, putting a hand gently on Michael’s elbow, just enough to let Michael know he was there. It felt like a lot more than that, though.

“Alex!” Isobel was clearly at the drunk stage where she was friends with everyone. “Look, we match!” She gestured happily between her face and Michael’s, and Michael hated that it made him feel even a tiny bit better about the stupid face paint.

Alex grinned. “It’s great,” he said and Isobel beamed. The song changed fluidly to something new, and Alex slid his hand down Michael’s arm until their fingers were clasped together. Michael couldn’t think of a time he and Alex had held hands in public, not ever. It felt nice.

Isobel danced next to them with abandon and Michael let himself sway awkwardly with Alex, trying to actually loosen his grip on his control instead of just slipping into the comfortable persona of someone who didn’t care. He did care. He cared that Isobel wanted them to have this connection—something that she and Max didn’t have—even if her way of celebrating it wasn’t entirely in line with his ideal evening. He cared that Alex wanted to dance with him, that he was holding Michael’s hand in public, even if it was under the guise of dancing, that he cared enough to follow him into the bathroom and knew him well enough to lock the door.

Isobel paused her dancing to give Michael a very obvious and unsubtle thumbs-up, and Michael didn’t even resent it when Alex laughed. Michael grinned up at her sparkling, painted face, his hand tightly knit with Alex’s, and let himself enjoy being part of something loudly, even if it was just for the night. Maybe, Michael reflected, this was what Alex meant by home.

#mgweek20 #guerinweek20 #malex #michael guerin #alex manes #isobel evans #my writing #happy bi visibility day!!!#this is so sappy but here it is #getting together #just a little bit of hurt mostly comfort

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ftauriellas · 4 years

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chicago’s very own auriella yates has been spotted on madison avenue driving a porsche 718 spyder , welcome ! your resemblance to jasmine tookes is unreal . according to tmz , you just had your twenty - fifth birthday bash . your chance of surviving new york is uncertain because you’re guileful , but being unadulterated might help you . i think being a virgo explains that . three things that would paint a better picture of you would be the lingering scent of her perfume on crisp white sheets , the soft touch of short satin dresses against her thighs , and the soft glistening of diamonds during golden hour .

hi again , kitty gorls ! it’s jin showing up on your dash for the last time with my sweet peach miss auriella yates . she’s a rendition of a hailey b . chara that i have , so she’s quite the mess , but as lovable as ever ! as you’ve probably figured , i didn’t have much muse for guiliana anymore so i decided it was best to let her go and bring someone else ( also , i’m really sorry about not fulfilling that starter call . please don’t hate me 🥺 ) . my muse is soaring for auriella so be prepared for me to slide into your dm’s for plotting up a storm ! that being said , here’s another long one !

basic information .

FULL NAME : auriella kaia yates .

NICKNAME(S) : auri , mostly .

BIRTHDATE + AGE : september 9th , 1997 + 22 .

ZODIAC : virgo .

HOMETOWN : chicago , il .

GENDER : cis female .

NATIONALITY : american .

ETHNICITY : african american , brazilian , west indian , barbadian , and european .

HEIGHT : 5′5″ .

LABEL(S) : the harlequin , the trust fund baby , the vainglorious , the coquette , and the sovereign .

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION : biromantic .

SEXUAL ORIENTATION : bisexual .

LANGUAGE(S) SPOKEN : english and learned basic french in high school .

OCCUPATION : socialite , makeup artist , and businesswoman .

POSITIVES : impulsive , alluring , unadulterated , facetious , and melodious .

NEGATIVES : complaintive , acquisitive , guileful , starry - eyed , and bellicose .

biography .

auriella yates is the sixth child of eight , born to simone and joshua yates in the windy city of chicago , illinois . she has three older brothers ( chance , charles , and clark ) , two older sisters ( adriana and amelia ) , and a younger brother and sister ( calvin and aurora ) . patrick and simone for some reason found joy in naming their sons with c names and their daughters with a names , but it works for them nonetheless . the family could afford such a grandiose lifestyle in chicago thanks to simone’s lifestyle and wellness brand called honey & lemon ( goop , who ? ) that has since expanded from a newsletter to e - commerce , pop - up shops , a magazine , and a podcast . patrick , on the other hands , is a famous vegetarian chef that has launched three cookbooks while also having his own cooking series on the food network along with a cookware partnership at target . together , they own a vegetarian restaurant in downtown chicago called lemongrass .

growing up , since auriella had so many siblings , she never had an uneventful day . their parents strongly believed in their children playing outside instead of being stuck in front of the television all day , so they often took advantage of their large backyard when they lived in the suburbs of chicago . they were the parents who let their rowdy bunch ruin their perfect grass because they wanted to play in the mud . their parents may have afforded them luxuries that others didn’t have and while their parents had been busy people , patrick and simone refused for their children to be raised by nannies . they were heavily involved with everything that their children did , ranging from their pre - school graduations to their high school proms .

auriella had always been a rather outgoing girl throughout high school , and she knew she was cute so she started an instagram page when she was about thirteen or so . originally , her pictures were just cringey dirty mirror pics and photos with her friends , but as she explored the app more and more , she discovered makeup and her love for it ! so , despite the terrible youtube - tutorial makeup that she tried to recreate , auriella never gave up on her ability to do better . as she moved through high school , her makeup skills got better and better , so once she graduated , auriella knew what she wanted to do in life !

she went on to attend make up first in chicago , and obtained certificates in basic makeup i + ii , media makeup , and media: runway , editorial , and fashion . once she was finished with her schooling , auriella went on to grow her brand and get her name out there . she used instagram a majority of the time , and thanks to that and word of mouth , she grew a significant following and went on to have a few celebrities under her belt . thanks to the help of her parents , auriella decided that she wanted to get into the makeup business entirely , and decided to stick her foot into makeup production .

the brand originally only focused on her favorite thing : eyeshadow palettes ! the palettes were originally rather small , consisting of four to six colors as they perfected the formula . she eventually began to receive rave reviews and decided that it was time to expand into everything else : mascaras , lip products , foundations , blushes , highlighters and everything else under the sun . from there , kaia beauty is now being sold in sephora , ulta , and on kaiabeauty.com ! she had the second largest foundation drop ( following fenty beauty because we stan miss rihanna in this house ) .

that being said , running her own business is one that auriella is still getting used to despite it being two years since the launch . she’s thankful for the expansion of her brand and she’s still working out of her townhouse because she hasn’t found the perfect space for a headquarters just yet ! it’s one of her biggest dreams at the moment and she wants to expand kaia beauty into skincare but the end of the year .

personality .

the label she mostly identifies with would definitely be the harlequin . she can be really loud and playful at times , and she can easily get called out for not taking things seriously .

at the same time , though , she can be pretty sexual in her speech . she has no problem with people looking at her differently for doing so . she really lets a lot of things roll off of her shoulders , but she’d be a liar if she said that some things didn’t get to her .

auriella can be really full of herself and simple compliments can typically leads to her going on and on about herself , so please feel free to shut her up at any given time ! much like anyone her age , she can be found prowling around on instagram or twitter and can never go shopping without taking at least three to seven mirror selfies .

headcanons .

she lives in a beautiful townhouse on west fourth street and she’s really proud to say it because she bought it with her own money ! she likes to be different so she really hates range rovers and instead drives an audi q5 ! sounds kinda dumb since she lives in nyc , but she likes it because it gives her freedom to go where she wants when she wants to .

she never leaves the house without a purse and never without a pair of earrings on ( she thinks she’s ugly without them ) . she’s obsessed with all things cartier and she loves to accessorize , but not to much . she keeps scrunchies in her purse at all times , so if you need one just ask !

when it comes to her style , i draw a lot of inspiration from instagram if i’m being honest . she wears a lot of denim shorts , oversized tees , cropped sweaters , bodysuits , chunky sneakers ... honestly , the whole nine yards . for some examples click x , x , x , x , x , and x .

she’s been vegetarian since she was a kid because that’s all her dad ever cooked ! sometimes the scent of meat makes her sick and sometimes she fakes it so people will leave her alone . she’s definitely the one who shows up to the function with her fake burgers , but you know she has a bottle of vodka along with it .

finds joy in doing the little things ? she’s not the greatest at art but really enjoys buying a canvas and trying her best to recreate or create something ! probably gets a lot of art ideas from tik tok ( those kids are seriously talented ) and really likes to do her makeup even when she has no place to go . she loves laying on her couch and doing nothing ( and sometimes she might be kinda naked when she does it ) .

secret .

okay so , auriella’s secret is that an ‘ anonymous ’ source leaked her nudes to the press , but her parents paid off publications from releasing them . that was mostly done because she was about 17 / 18 in those pictures but of course they’re not age on them so there’s that ! the source of course wasn’t that anonymous and it turned out to be an ex ( which is really gross so this won’t be a wanted connection ) , but she’s not ashamed of them by any means !

#wealthyhq:intro

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rosalindsvane · 7 years

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Task One: Character Development Survey

“A riddle wrapped in a mystery inside a bitch.”

ORIGINS & FAMILY

Name: Rosalind Vane

Nickname(s): Rosa

Reason for name: In the hospital, a nurse told Rosa’s mother the plot of As You Like It to try and distract her. She hadn’t thought of a name before then and so she just picked Rosalind.

Birthday: October 2nd

Age: 18

Gender: Female

Place of birth: Newham, London

Places lived since: Various places in London, but currently back in Newham.

Parents’ names, backgrounds, occupations: Romilda Vane, her mother, has worked various dead end jobs throughout Rosalind’s life. She is currently very happy with a rich boyfriend who is willing to pay for things, including paying for Rosalind’s lifestyle, as long as Rosalind is out of the house as often as possible. Her father is a mystery to her.

Number of siblings: None.

Relationship with family (close? estranged?): Her mother has almost always seen her as a burden and therefore their relationship has remained strained.

Happiest memory: When James said he loved her for the first time.

Childhood trauma: Whilst there are a few moments scattered throughout her childhood which could certainly count as trauma, the majority of it was simply a case of neglect. Her mother was not ready to be a mum when she had Rosalind and she has suffered from that in different ways ever since; from her mother spending food money on alcohol and drugs, to not having a bed for several years. Things are better now and have been for a few years with her mum’s boyfriend being in the picture, but there are still moments in her life she finds it impossible to speak of.

Children of his/her own?: None, and she is unlikely to ever want them, worried that being a bad mother is genetic.

PHYSICAL

Height: 5′6″

Weight: Around 9st

Build: Small, but rather curvy.

Nationality: British

Disabilities (physical or mental, including mental illnesses): Undiagnosed

Complexion (freckles, acne, skin tone, birth marks): Very pale but almost flawless skin

Hair color: Red

Usual hair style: Varies between her natural curls and straightening her hair but almost always wears it loose and flowing.

Eye color: Brown

Glasses? Contacts?: Neither

Style of dress/typical outfit(s): Her outfits tend to be in the palette of reds, blacks, greys but there’s no distinctive style. She does have a vendetta against trousers though and is normally in dresses and skirts.

Health (is this person usually sick? or very resilient?): She’s surprisingly resilient to illness despite looking fragile

Grooming (does she/he wear makeup? shower daily? wear only clean clothes? pluck her eyebrows?): She’s always immaculately groomed and is very rarely seen without her signature red lip.

Tattoos? Piercings?: No tattoos and just a single piercing in each ear.

Accent?: When she first arrived at Hogwarts she had a pronounced East London accent but she’s since trained herself out of it.

Unique mannerisms/physical habits (bites nails, talks with hands, taps feet when restless): She plays with her hair almost incessantly.

INTELLECT

Level of education (high school drop out, undergrad BA/BS, PhD, MD, etc.): She attained ten OWLs at either exceeds expectations or outstanding and is on track to attain six high level NEWTs.

Gifts/talents/skills: Surprisingly good at lip reading and is artistic in various ways.

Shortcomings: Normally unwittingly, but sometimes very deliberately manipulative and persuasive, she has a tendency to be selfish and is often blunt to the point of rudeness.

Style of speech (loud, mumbler, articulate, etc.): Exceptionally articulate and skilled in making herself heard and getting her point of view understood.

Religious stance: Completely Atheist

Cautious or daring?: Daring

Most sensitive about/vulnerable to: She hides her family life well from everyone and therefore is often on guard when people ask about her home situation.

Optimist or pessimist?: Optimist

Extrovert or introvert?: Extrovert

RELATIONSHIPS

Current marital/relationship status: Single, emotionally unavailable

Sexual orientation: Bisexual

Past relationships: A long term relationship with James, ending in the summer before their seventh year.

Level of sexual experience: High

Most comfortable around (person): Herself

Oldest friend: She doesn’t tend to keep friends or be very close to people in particular. She’ll happily have a lot of friends but doesn’t share herself very easily.

Pets?: None. She’s always wanted an owl but knows she couldn’t keep it at home.

VOCATION

Profession: Student

Past occupations: N/A

Passions: Genuinely talented at Potions and finds the subject incredibly enjoyable.

Attitude towards current job: She enjoys being a student because she enjoys the opportunities that an education gives her. She’s always had a strong inclination to do well in school, desperate not to be like her mother.

Attitude towards current coworkers, bosses, employees: Her schoolmates are an endless source of amusement, and regards her teachers with various degrees of respect.

SECRETS

Phobias: Mice and rats.

Life goals: To do something worthwhile with her life, though she doesn’t know what that is yet.

Dreams: To be happy.

Greatest fears: Getting older, failing.

Most ashamed of: What she did to James, abandoning her overdosed friend.

Compulsions: To drink, to party, to lie.

Crimes committed (and was he/she caught? charged?): Drug possession, never caught and never charged, potential manslaughter, never caught and never charged.

What he/she most wants to change about his/her self/life?: She would like to change her home life and she would like to change whatever it is about her which makes her ‘toxic’.

DETAILS/QUIRKS

Daily routine: She is early to rise and often studies before classes begin, rarely attending breakfast. Her free time is spent between the Gryffindor Common Room and the library and she only misses a class if something truly dire has happened.

Night owl or early bird?: Both, she doesn’t sleep a lot.

Light or heavy sleeper?: Light

Favorite food: Treacle tart

Favorite book: The Complete Words of William Shakespeare

Favorite movie: Easy A

Favorite song: Can’t Feel My Face - The Weeknd

Favorite color: Red

Coffee or tea?: Tea

Crunchy or smooth peanut butter?: Smooth

Type of car he/she drives (or wishes he/she drove): She has no intention of ever learning to drive

Lefty or righty?: Left

Cusser?: Yes

Smoker? Drinker? Drug user?: No, yes, yes.

#sdhqtask1 #( musings. )#drug mention tw #death tw #poverty tw #( idk it's been a rough ride for rosa. )

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