Post by cooner on Dec 26, 2006 12:33:57 GMT -5
Name: Ian Xandir Dante
Nicknames: Any nicknames they have
Race: human
Age: 17
Appearance: see pic
Powers: none.
Personality: He's a great guy, he's shy at first but is really open when he gets to know you. He hates people that talk about him behind his back or make fun of him because he has a slight ocd his is very into wicca, having grown up in a witch town he knows a lot and has baptised himself Pagan. He likes to hang out with his friends (when he can find some) and write, he writes a lot. he has so many notebooks in the backpack he charries around with him everywhere it's hard to tell how he fits them all in there
Sexual preference: gay
Romantic interests:
Occupation:
Likes: wicca, writing, guys, sleeping, meditating, his little sister, being alone, feeling loved (but he doesn't let that many people in to easily), candy, pizza, vault
Dislikes: his pills, his dad, his house, his life, jerks, drinking, dogs, chocolate,
Pets: none
History: painful. that is the only way to describe Ian's life. bruises and scars, some deeper and darker than others. black clothes, black outlook. ocd and pills. that was what his life consisted of. many nights spent sitting on his bathroom toliet holding ice to devoloping bruises to keep down the swelling. never on his face, always on his arms and chest and back and legs, never the face, that way he could cover them up. His father made sure of that. In the small attic bedroom that was called his room he sat in the middle of a chalk drawn circle with symbols around the edge to feel safe and protected. It was only in that small space that he didn't feel clausterphobic and like he was going to pass out. As long as he was in that room, his father wouldn't touch him, he would leave him alone, but as soon as he left, it was a whole different story. Chris, the father, the drunk, the abuser. the one with the long tangled hair that made him look like a werewolf. Ian never called him dad, he doesn't consider Chris (or the wolf) as his father, he got his mother pregnent and that was it. He has never been a father to Ian, unlike he has to Lizzie. The baby of the family, the angel, the perfect one. The one that was actually wanted, that wasn't an accident. Lizzie had no idea what Chris did to Ian, but she knew that he was in trouble a lot. Lizzie was the only one that cared about him. She would come up to his attic room at night to make sure he was ok.
He had been 13 when he got the pills. just starting 8th grade. People at his school wondered why he twitched. and why he had to make sure all his books in his locker where in alphabetical order, all his pencils allined nice and straight on his desk. Teachers were concerned about his quietness and constent rocking in his seat, twitching all the time. One of them sent him to see one of the school counslers, who's office was boiling hot. When the counsler suggested taking off his pullover hoodie so he wouldn't be so hot he flipped out and the counsler called Chris. That was not a good thing, It got worse, home, school, but Chris got him pills anyway, just to make his teachers happy so the secret would stay safe. But the bruises on his arms and legs got worse. The rocking got worse but the pills helped. The pills. Ian now lived off of the pills. They kept him sane, kept him straight. in a matter of speaking. He started getting into paganism, worshiping the gods, reading every book about the subject that he could get his hands on. he now knw everything about it. The history, the theory, everything. He based everything he did on it, he kept journals of what he did, what happened that day, what spells and meditations he used.
Chris likes to snoop. find out anything that he could use against the now 15 year old waste case. in his mind. a hidden chest of books and notebooks and candles in a hidden room in the attic space that Ian lived. torn up notebooks, papers all over his room. Books strewn on his bed being dumped from the chest. Chris stood behind the door and waited for Ian to get home, he waited, and stood there and shut the door when he walked in and saw the mess of paper and books and candles. Slaming the door so Ian would know that he was there. another night of sitting in the bathroom holding ice to his arms. welts on his back. cuts on his legs. Limping for a week, Lizzie wondering what was wrong. They moved a month later.
wondering about the mother? she's dead, died a few years back. she was shot in the back, the murderer was never caught. But Ian knew what happened, he knew who it was. It had watched, from the hall closet of the house they had been living in at the time. He saw the monster the hurt his mom, the one that tried to help him. The tall blond man that had never loved Ian as a son. Chris. he didn't know that Ian knew. He would never know. Chris didn't know about Ian's crookedness, and hopefully he never would. That would be bad.
Now at 17, Ian only talked when someone talked to him. Never at home, not at home. unless it was with Lizzie. only in his room. nowhere else. Chris gets drunk and comes home to beat but won't go in his room. The attic room where its cold being so close to winter. Ian sits in his circle. rocking. holding his head and singing. 'who's afraid of the big bad wolf, the big bad wolf, the big bad wolf. Who's afraid of the big bad wolf...i am...i am...'
Picture(s):
Other: nope
Codeword:: Gerard Way
Nicknames: Any nicknames they have
Race: human
Age: 17
Appearance: see pic
Powers: none.
Personality: He's a great guy, he's shy at first but is really open when he gets to know you. He hates people that talk about him behind his back or make fun of him because he has a slight ocd his is very into wicca, having grown up in a witch town he knows a lot and has baptised himself Pagan. He likes to hang out with his friends (when he can find some) and write, he writes a lot. he has so many notebooks in the backpack he charries around with him everywhere it's hard to tell how he fits them all in there
Sexual preference: gay
Romantic interests:
Occupation:
Likes: wicca, writing, guys, sleeping, meditating, his little sister, being alone, feeling loved (but he doesn't let that many people in to easily), candy, pizza, vault
Dislikes: his pills, his dad, his house, his life, jerks, drinking, dogs, chocolate,
Pets: none
History: painful. that is the only way to describe Ian's life. bruises and scars, some deeper and darker than others. black clothes, black outlook. ocd and pills. that was what his life consisted of. many nights spent sitting on his bathroom toliet holding ice to devoloping bruises to keep down the swelling. never on his face, always on his arms and chest and back and legs, never the face, that way he could cover them up. His father made sure of that. In the small attic bedroom that was called his room he sat in the middle of a chalk drawn circle with symbols around the edge to feel safe and protected. It was only in that small space that he didn't feel clausterphobic and like he was going to pass out. As long as he was in that room, his father wouldn't touch him, he would leave him alone, but as soon as he left, it was a whole different story. Chris, the father, the drunk, the abuser. the one with the long tangled hair that made him look like a werewolf. Ian never called him dad, he doesn't consider Chris (or the wolf) as his father, he got his mother pregnent and that was it. He has never been a father to Ian, unlike he has to Lizzie. The baby of the family, the angel, the perfect one. The one that was actually wanted, that wasn't an accident. Lizzie had no idea what Chris did to Ian, but she knew that he was in trouble a lot. Lizzie was the only one that cared about him. She would come up to his attic room at night to make sure he was ok.
He had been 13 when he got the pills. just starting 8th grade. People at his school wondered why he twitched. and why he had to make sure all his books in his locker where in alphabetical order, all his pencils allined nice and straight on his desk. Teachers were concerned about his quietness and constent rocking in his seat, twitching all the time. One of them sent him to see one of the school counslers, who's office was boiling hot. When the counsler suggested taking off his pullover hoodie so he wouldn't be so hot he flipped out and the counsler called Chris. That was not a good thing, It got worse, home, school, but Chris got him pills anyway, just to make his teachers happy so the secret would stay safe. But the bruises on his arms and legs got worse. The rocking got worse but the pills helped. The pills. Ian now lived off of the pills. They kept him sane, kept him straight. in a matter of speaking. He started getting into paganism, worshiping the gods, reading every book about the subject that he could get his hands on. he now knw everything about it. The history, the theory, everything. He based everything he did on it, he kept journals of what he did, what happened that day, what spells and meditations he used.
Chris likes to snoop. find out anything that he could use against the now 15 year old waste case. in his mind. a hidden chest of books and notebooks and candles in a hidden room in the attic space that Ian lived. torn up notebooks, papers all over his room. Books strewn on his bed being dumped from the chest. Chris stood behind the door and waited for Ian to get home, he waited, and stood there and shut the door when he walked in and saw the mess of paper and books and candles. Slaming the door so Ian would know that he was there. another night of sitting in the bathroom holding ice to his arms. welts on his back. cuts on his legs. Limping for a week, Lizzie wondering what was wrong. They moved a month later.
wondering about the mother? she's dead, died a few years back. she was shot in the back, the murderer was never caught. But Ian knew what happened, he knew who it was. It had watched, from the hall closet of the house they had been living in at the time. He saw the monster the hurt his mom, the one that tried to help him. The tall blond man that had never loved Ian as a son. Chris. he didn't know that Ian knew. He would never know. Chris didn't know about Ian's crookedness, and hopefully he never would. That would be bad.
Now at 17, Ian only talked when someone talked to him. Never at home, not at home. unless it was with Lizzie. only in his room. nowhere else. Chris gets drunk and comes home to beat but won't go in his room. The attic room where its cold being so close to winter. Ian sits in his circle. rocking. holding his head and singing. 'who's afraid of the big bad wolf, the big bad wolf, the big bad wolf. Who's afraid of the big bad wolf...i am...i am...'
Picture(s):
Other: nope
Codeword:: Gerard Way
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