Realistic or Modern 𝙾𝚄𝚁𝙾𝙱𝙾𝚁𝙾𝚂

[triples]

triples x reveriee

 

[triples]

dignitas.

the ringleader

01.

02.

03.

• .
• .
• .

• 
  
  

  
  
  
  

  01.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  01

  
  

  
  

  name.

  
  
  

  julian s. montague

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  02

  
  

  
  

  aka.

  
  
  

  jules (close friends)

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  03

  
  

  
  

  age.

  
  
  

  twenty-one

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  04

  
  

  
  

  gender.

  
  
  

  cis male

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  05

  
  

  
  

  orientation.

  
  
  

  bisexual

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  visage.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  height.

  
  
  

  1.78m

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  eye & hair color.

  
  
  

  blue | light brown

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  style.

  
  
  

  simple, crisp and preppy, all cashmere sweaters and leather shoes, classic pieces and vintage silhouettes. a silver of designed messiness to add some flair, perhaps, finished off with a spray of subtle cologne. a casual aesthetic that lets you know his formal wear is bespoke, even if you haven't walked through his wardrobe yet.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  faceclaim.

  
  
  

  (young) alain delon

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
• 
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  02.

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  vibes bank.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  cherry cigars, dark chocolate, whiskey by the swimming pool at night. bright smiles with sharp canines, bright eyes that feel dark. a boyish charm, they'd call it, but that didn't feel quite right. his fingers mindlessly twist his ring, his chin rests in his hand, his pen taps impatiently on the paper. "brilliant," he says, but his tone is dry. a shared sidelong glance and a quirk of his brows makes you feel like part of something. quiet stares until you shift in your seat without a reason why, "i'm just messing with you," he laughs — you can't be certain if it's a lie. shooting trophies that line the shelf, paintings after paintings that line the walls. nails cut too short, he keeps biting them uneven. fresh flowers appear every morning in his vase, letters and gifts are left gathering dust. his chessboard is always mid-game in an empty apartment, his favors always come at a price. there's a beauty in his silence that he despises, and only in his anger, did he seem almost real.
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  quote by.

  
  
  

  oscar wilde, the picture of dorian gray

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  ❛❛

  ❜❜

  you will always be fond of me; i represent to you all the sins you never had the courage to commit

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
• 
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  03.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  summary.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  In the Montague house, there was a wall. A merlot-coloured canvas sat at the crest of a stairway, on which hung a collage of hunting trinkets: framed photographs, a deer's stuffed head, and some medal Mr. Montague won years ago.
  
  In the Montague house, there was also Julian, looking up at the wall. Wrinkles on the carpet told a tale of struggle to drag a heavy chair all the way down the corridor — but in his victory, he now stood tall, precariously balanced on the tip of his toes. Stubby hands reached for the gorgeous cherry-laced rifle, fixed in the center of the collection, as crystal-blue eyes glimmered back at him through the polished wood. His fingers stretched, determined; close.
  
  But as they graced the cool metal, his mother had pulled him away, into her arms and away from his goal. No, Julian, stop! Then his father, striding in from the dining room, a crease growing between his brows. I told you not to touch a damn thing on that wall.
  
  The rifle hadn't been loaded, of course. That didn't stop his parents from dismissing his nanny, or moving the display into a spare room and locking the doors.
  
  Over time, the weight of the moment would fade, and the day would turn into a quaint memory, retold in light spirits. He was always trying to get his hands on that thing, his mother would laugh — brag — to the other ladies over tea. In the distance, the sound of gunfire would briefly interrupt the cool evening breeze, and they would wonder what the men had caught. I guess that's what you call a passion from young.
  
  But the truth is that Julian never really liked any of it. Not the sound of gunfire, the weight of a weapon or the look of prey when they go down. It didn't matter, though.
  
  Because in the Montague house, there was a wall, once more. Hunting trinkets hang on it: photographs of father and son on their range, stuffed heads, and all the medals that Julian had won. When he visits from school, he sometimes stands there alone, running his hand over the pieces. And the world feels right, resting on his fingertips. Put back into its place.
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  extra.

  
  

  click

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  misc.

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  studying in.

  
  
  

  kingston college

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  major.

  
  
  

  economics & sociology

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  secret society.

  
  
  

  the serpent's head

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  family.

  
  
  

  the montagues, third-generation french immigrants and, among other things, owners of multiple diamond mines. currently headed by orlando montague and his wife, cassidy. julian is their only son, though there are many cousins who visit far too often.

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  affluenza (slowed)

  
  

  
  
  
  

  conan gray

  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[reveriee]

imperium.

the traitor.

01.

02.

03.

• .
• .
• .

• 
  
  

  
  
  
  

  01.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  01

  
  

  
  

  name.

  
  
  

  Dhruvi Sheth [ध्रुवी शेठ]

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  02

  
  

  
  

  a.k.a.

  
  
  

  just Dhruvi

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  03

  
  

  
  

  age.

  
  
  

  twenty-two

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  04

  
  

  
  

  pronouns.

  
  
  

  she/they

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  05

  
  

  
  

  birthday.

  
  
  

  April 12

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  06

  
  

  
  

  sexuality.

  
  
  

  gray-ace and kinda bi, but mostly straight?

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  07

  
  

  
  

  ethnicity.

  
  
  

  half Gujarati, half English

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  08

  
  

  
  

  hometown.

  
  
  

  Cambridge, England

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  09

  
  

  
  

  major.

  
  
  

  economics & applied and computational mathematics

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  10

  
  

  
  

  minor.

  
  
  

  public policy

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  visage.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  height.

  
  
  

  173 cm (5'8)

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  style.

  
  
  

  Leather jackets and lace, heeled boots that let her tower over you more than she already does. Long maxi skirts and necklines that expose her collarbones. Earrings that dangle just a bit above her shoulder, with feathers, big hunks of jewel, or just a simple silver chain. Clothed in some white, some olive green, some gray, but mostly black, there's something distinctly model-esque about the way Dhruvi composes herself, and the sense that even if she isn't old money, she certainly has more than enough of it.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  faceclaim.

  
  
  

  Saffron Vadher

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
• 
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  02.

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  vibes.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  dark, narrow eyes, cheekbones high and cutting, hair sleek, glossy. nails perfectly manicured, painted oxblood. her mouth quirks into a smirk when she wins. there's a casual yet frightening intensity about her. she laughs with you over coffee, and you feel settled by her smile, but then you see the smug glint in her eye when she pushes forward and pushes others aside to get there. but she's no backstabber, no snake; no pretenses, no illusions. no need to fear -- everything is right in front of you. you see the twist of her lips, the oxblood, the organized desk, and you close your eyes and see a hungry high school valedictorian, brutal prom queen, miss scary and miss perfect. miss perfect, misperfect. you know that she fights because she likes to win, and she likes to win because she likes to see others lose. but not everyone, you tell yourself. she wouldn't turn on her friends, just her fake ones. and you turn to watch her again and think to yourself that she won't ever turn on you because she will never need to. she's a little scary in a way that makes you feel a bit unsettled, a bit anxious. like you know what she's capable of but you trust that she will never do any of it but there's only so much that trust can do for you.
  
  but as long as you don't know who she used to be, there is no need to fear.
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  virtues.

  
  
  

  stalwart. enterprising. confident.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  vices.

  
  
  

  stubborn. competitive. unreflective.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  fears.

  
  
  

  spiders. fear. getting caught.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  quote from.

  
  
  

  lost, by forugh farrokhzad. tr. sholeh wolpé.

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  ❛❛

  ❜❜

  but i am dancing on my own grave; i illumine this sad ruin with flames of my regret

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
• 
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  03.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  summary.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  You see a little bit of Dhruvi in her mother.
  
  Her mother, a political scientist specializing in the political economy of South Asia, her mother, professor at Warwick, Cambridge, Yale, her mother who had a relationship with a coworker that she broke off at the first red flag and took their daughter and never looked back. Her mother, who is intelligent, hungry, and independent, who knows what she wants out of her career but still has enough of a beating heart in her to be a mother.
  
  Dhruvi's mother set standards for her, of course, but she was really just a good mother, who spent time with her daughter and listened to her daughter's feelings and supported her daughter through everything. If anything, she was just a bit busy, and Dhruvi spent maybe a couple hours too many by herself.
  
  But the point is, you will look at Dhruvi -- who is generally nice, despite her moments of severity and despite her hunger -- and then you will look at her mother, and it will all make sense.
  
  But the thing is, you don't know Dhruvi. Dhruvi in high school. Dhruvi who was not smart, Dhruvi who was a cheater. Dhruvi who smoked in the school bathroom and Dhruvi who did molly in her friends' bedrooms. Dhruvi who graffitied her neighbors' wealthy estates at night. Dhruvi who shoplifted at the mall, Dhruvi who stole from the small businesses lining the road. Dhruvi who watched her friend get high out of his mind and jump off a bridge into the river. Dhruvi who did nothing good with herself because she thought it was funny. Dhruvi who was caught out. Dhruvi who had to get her mother to do some shit under the table for her record to be cleared. Dhruvi who probably got into Kingston because of her mother and a couple hundred thousand bucks.
  
  And it's understandable, that you won't know that Dhruvi. Because the only thing that's the same between this Dhruvi and that Dhruvi is that she's hungry and will feel a little happy to see you fail. Because when Professor Brown got murdered and everyone turned to Julian Montague, Dhruvi's leg started jittering, and she had to hide her sneer. Because when half of her friends went to juvie while she went to Kingston, Dhruvi felt her palms get sweaty and her heart beat into her throat and her eyes stay wide open till the sun rose, and smiled. Because when Owen cracked his head on a rock in that river, Dhruvi felt something in her stomach drop and all her blood rush to who knows where, and laughed.
  
  She's still laughing, by the way.
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  extra.

  
  

  click

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  misc.

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  fun facts.

  
  
  

  ✧ she goes to the nail salon every two weeks to have her oxblood red nails maintained
  ✧ she knows who her dad is, and he knows who she is, but they never talk
  ✧ really loves a disposable camera

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  family.

  
  
  

  Saraswati Sheth [सरस्वती शेठ] — mother

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  eat your young

  
  

  
  
  
  

  hozier

  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

♡coded by uxie♡