One x One 𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐥𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞;

[weldherwings]

 

[weldherwings]

@antsmith

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height
5'11" (1.8m)

weight
70kg

hair
brown

eyes
hazel blue

faceclaim
matt corby

anthony smith

name

Anthony Thomas Smith

nickname

Ant

age

30

date of birth

22nd of October

place of birth

Melbourne, Australia

gender

Male

nationality

Australian

sexuality

Heterosexual

occupation

None (searching)

username

@antsmith

personality

positive traits

+ knowledgeable

+ quick thinker

+ original

+ brainstormer

+ charismatic

+ energetic

negative traits

- argumentative

- insensitive

- intolerant

- struggles to focus

- dislikes practical matters

history

the audition

A nervous sixteen-year-old sitting in the audition waiting room. Leg bopping up and down, tension rising into his shoulders and into a slouched position. He could hear his parent’s voice echo in his mind; don’t slouch. Sit up straight.. They were always there to keep him on the straight and narrow, correcting every small thing he did wrong. It drove him insane. He could feel his stomach gnaw at his lungs and heart, echoing with hollow thumps here and there. It felt like an eternity, but it finally came. A petite woman with head gear attached to the side of her head popped out from the doors. With a clip board in one hand and standing onto her tippy toes, she announced to the room that she was looking for contestant 3910a, Anthony Smith. This was it. It was his time to show his parents – his whole family – that his music was worth pursuing.

the love of my life

If only everything had gone the way he had planned for it to go.

He spent most of his day lining up for a show to only be told within the first five minutes of standing in front of the judges that he wasn’t good enough. That he just didn’t have ‘it’, and didn’t have what they were looking for. What were they looking for exactly? It was still a mystery to him. But he was sure it was to find someone as dumb witted and head empty as his brother, Frankie, to become a global heartthrob idol. Which was exactly what happened. Moments after he was completely and utterly heart broken and rejected, his brother came racing out to their family and friends to announce he had made it to the next round.

Things only began to progress until finally, Frankie had made it to the finals. Ant was forced to sit on screen every week, pretending that he was happy for his brother’s success. When deep down inside, it killed him to see how easily his tone deaf brother was making it through the rounds and being hailed the next Justin Timberlake. A couple of days before the finale, Ant finally released all those bottled up emotions and let it all out. Told his parents how much it hurt watching Frankie on the show, and how his brother had zero talent. It progressed to a full blown out fight between Ant and his father. Until, finally, his father told him to leave. Told him to come back home when he had some common sense.

For the next twelve years, Anthony Smith didn’t talk to his parents or his brother.

He still kept in contact with his sister, Grace, as she was the only other person in that family with a straight head on her. But the rest of them were practically dead to him. He spent the next few years jumping from house to house, never really having somewhere to call his own. He found himself in a routine of meeting some girl, hooking up with them, and then would begin to date them. More often than not, they would automatically tell him that he could live with them as it just made life easier, I suppose.

Sadly, he was never really in the same house for too long. Eight girlfriends in, and every single of one of them had broken up with him for various reasons. Those reasons were always drawn back to the fact he had such a terrible relationship with his family and refused to make any sort of amends. He was twenty-seven years old when he finally met someone that he thought was the one. Abigail Waters. She was smart, funny, good looking and working at an animal shelter. She ticked all the boxes for him and he couldn’t find a single flaw in her. She took him in, like a ragged up dog, and cared for him. He had never fallen this hard for anyone else before, and it was almost scary.

Two years into their relationship, things began to change. Abigail became, well… violent. She wanted to start fights even where there was no reason to start a fight. She made him feel bad and emotionally black mailed him for things that he didn’t want to do. She would force herself on top of him – even hen he told her that he didn’t want to – and have her way with him. He would often come to work with scratches all over his arms and face, all thanks to Abby. Until one day, his boss asked to speak to him. They were only a small coffee shop and he was convinced that he was about to get fired for something. Well, he thought wrong. Instead, his boss confined in him about the scratches and bruises. He said that Ant wasn’t the same anymore, and it was rare to see a smile on his face these days.

After having a deep, meaningful conversation, his boss made him realise that what Abigail was doing wasn’t love; she was being abusive. But there was no way a girl could abuse a dude was his first thought. His boss pleaded with him to go and file a report with the police. But Ant insisted that she wasn’t abusing him. There was no way in hell Abigail would intentionally hurt him, right? Well, maybe that day he should’ve gone to the police. Because later that night, Abigail Waters was escorted away from her house in handcuffs.

the reunion

Beaten, bruised and filled with unbearable shame. Anthony Smith ended up in hospital after his beloved girlfriend had almost well… almost murdered them. All because she thought he was cheating on her when he missed her phone call as he was skate boarding home from work. He ended up needing surgery and stitches after she decided that what his liver needed was a knife lodged in it. And well, word got around. It was all over the Australian news – how this girl just went a little bit crazy and tried to kill her boyfriend.

And that’s how his family finally found him.

Frankie Smith stood before his brother in the hospital after paying enough money for them to transfer them to a private suite for his recovery. He begged Anthony to come back home with him – after all, he didn’t have a house to go back home to. Grace was due to get married in the upcoming months, and Frankie’s gift to her was to get the whole family back together again. But it took a lot of persuasion. And cash, too. But Anthony finally gave in. He finally agreed to come and live in Frankie’s spare house (because apparently having one house just wasn’t enough for Frankie?), and that he would make amends with the whole family.

 

[Iniquitous]

@A.Dassalt

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height
5'3" (1.52m)

weight
47kg

hair
brown

eyes
dark brown

faceclaim
taylor lashae

Amélie Dassault

name

Amélie Dassault

nickname

She's never been given one

age

27

date of birth

15th of March

place of birth

Paris, France

gender

Female

nationality

French/American

sexuality

Hetero-flexible

occupation

Artist/Trust Fund Kid

username

@A.Dassalt

personality

positive traits

+ knowledgeable

+ creative

+ eloquent

+ artistic

+ confident

+ persistent

negative traits

- manipulative

- apathetic

- incendiary

- drug addict

- erratic

history

silver spoon

Amelie was born in Paris, France to a French billionaire and an American model. Growing up, Amelie wanted for nothing, yet despite having everything, all the substance in her life slowly gave way to emptiness. It was a gradual process, provoked by her father’s constant affairs and her mother’s ill-placed optimism. Amelie could still remember her father stumbling home each night, a disheveled mess of a man, lipstick smeared across the starched collar of his dress shirt. He reeked of alcohol and cigars muddled by the cloying scent of women’s perfume. With red-rimmed eyes, he patted Amelie’s shoulder as he passed. I’m so lucky to have you and your mother. By the time Amelie was 12, her father was barely around, and she and her mother subsisted on empty promises. That was until her mother fell pregnant with her little sister, and things started to change for the better. Her father was home more, and her mother’s smile wasn’t a misplaced expression of joy. Amelie allowed herself a brief respite from her skepticism. It was a mistake. After the birth of her sister, Amelie’s mother was never the same. Post-partum, the doctor said. Once again, her father’s gaze began to wander as her mother slipped further into despondency.

One day when Amelie returned home from school, she was met by the squalling cries of her baby sister. She followed the wails through the winding hallways of their home until she found her mother’s body. Her dark hair fanned behind her in the bathtub and her sister squirmed on the bathroom floor, limbs tangled in the same blanket Amelie used when she was a baby. Amelie picked the infant up and cradled her against her chest, and her eyes fell back to her mother. It was the first time she had ever seen her at peace.

spiral

After the funeral was held, Amelie was left to her own devices. Her father’s answer to her mother’s absence was a series of nannies and flings who flitted through the house like water through a sieve. None could replace her mother’s absence, and Amelie spent more and more time away from her home and in the company of her peers. Amelie always said the day her mother died she took her feelings with her. She spent year after year chasing something, anything to make her feel whole again. It started with a joint. She was 15, head resting in the lap of one of her classmates. He was a pretty thing, all dark hair and sharp angles. He held the blunt between full lips and leaned down, allowing the smoke to spill into her mouth. Warmth spread throughout her limbs, and she took the joint from him, much to his surprise, inhaling until only embers remained. She fell into a series of coughs, and the room erupted into laughter. There beneath the surface, she finally began to feel. It was brief, hidden behind a wall of apathy, but it was the closest she had been to any emotion since her mother’s death. She craved more, and so began her ugly foray into the world of pharmaceuticals. It was a process that escalated quickly.

what is love?

By the time she was 16, Amelie had moved to New York and graduated to harder drugs. Her father subsidized her living, and she took up painting. She started her mornings with a brush in one hand and a line of coke across the other. It was exhausting, constantly chasing after the sentiments that were lost to her. Year after year, she grew more desperate. Her social circle was filled with other vapid artists, each fleeing from their demons, while Amelie liked to believe she embraced hers. It was around this time she saw Frankie Smith for the first time. It was at an afterparty for the opening of a colleague’s gallery. There were few people, most considerably older than her. They sat in a circle on gold-threaded pillows, cross-legged and barefoot, the only light in the room from a giant flatscreen that flickered across the back wall. A pipe was passed from hand to hand, and the room began to fill with smoke. The scent was unfamiliar to her, oaky and floral but strong like incense. Opium came one of the voices. She repeated the word, and it sat heavy across her tongue. ”And introducing, Frankie Smith”Her eyes flitted to the television screen as she placed the tip of the pipe between her lips and inhaled. He held her gaze and, in that moment, she felt as if he saw her. Saw everything she was and everything she was going to be. The heaviness left her limbs as his voice drifted through the speakers, and for the first time in recent memory, she felt…happy. When she came to several hours later, she rationalized her feelings away. That was until she googled Frankie Smith’s name and those same feelings came rushing back. The high was gone, but the emotion was still there. Her hand flew to her chest, fingers embedding into the fabric that covered her heart. She had to see him again.

It was easy enough getting tickets to his next show; money was no object. She flew to Australia, careful not to sit too close to the stage, as if any misstep would shatter the delicate web of feeling he had weaved with his words. Among the thousands of fans, she stood there in the stadium and worried her bottom lip between her teeth. The lights dimmed, and she held her breath, waiting for those initial notes, the confirmation of everything she had been searching for. The arena filled with his voice, and she stilled as the familiar rush of emotion swept over her. She was reminded of her mother and the first days of spring when they would collect sprigs of lavender at the edge of daybreak. Her mother was always beautiful, but in the rosy shades of dawn among a backdrop of lilac, Amelie thought she was truly radiant. It had been so effortless back then. The memory faded as quickly as it surfaced, and Amelie realized she was crying for the first time since her mother’s passing. Her gaze focused on the man responsible for such feelings, and she studied him, tracing the expressive lines in his face as he crooned into the mic. It was love, she decided, for what else could fill the constant gnawing she felt at the edges of her soul. She would do anything to keep that emptiness from returning, no matter how long it took.