Y8S (bearbones_) wrote, @ 2020-05-10 22:06:00 |
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too many bottles of this wine we can't pronounce
too many bowls of that green, no lucky charms
the maids come around too much
parents ain't around enough
BASICS
NAME: Prescott Humphrey Yates III
NICKNAME: Yates, Hump if you’re nasty~ ♥* BIRTHDATE: April 11th AGE/APPARENT AGE: 19 | 19 HOMETOWN: Southampton, NY SPECIES/GROUP: Imaginary OCCUPATION: Polar Bear {Fearless, this imaginary is a daredevil and has no problem with jumping off a cliff and hoping that he can think of a happy thought in time before he plummets to his death. He views himself as having no enemies, being unstoppable, despite his delicate imaginary status.} STRENGTHS: Will pretty much try anything once; athletic; determined WEAKNESSES: Lack of loyalty due to not. Knowing how to be loyal?; not actually that clever or tactical; susceptible to peer pressure; kind of excitable; lack of self preservation QUIRKS/HABITS: Likes to be touching people; can’t seem to get his smile to not be a smirk; has a ~6 inch scar up his right forearm from a skateboarding accident; tons of other little scars; gives people nicknames without thinking about it; really loves Coke, like, can’t get enough of it LIKES: Dogs; board sports (especially snowboarding); things/activities that get his blood pumping & adrenaline surging; flirting; cheeseburgers; dancing; having the last word; terrible cocktail names; traveling DISLIKES: Being too out of control (booze, drugs, etc); getting smacked across the face; people who take shit too seriously; being bored; lectures SEXUALITY: Sure TURN ONS: Good butts, biting, hard-to-get attitude TURN OFFS: Bad butts, unattractiveness in the facial region |
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PERSONALITY
So, let’s be real: if someone tells Yates, “hey man, do the thing!” Yates will probably do the thing. If it works out, he’ll want to do it again, bigger and better than the first time. If it doesn’t work out, he’ll… want to do it again, bigger and better than the first time. It comes from an innate desire to try everything twice, as well as impress those he’s around. Generally speaking, he likes to be the center of attention, to be large and in charge, and if that means he sprains his wrist or ends up with massive bruises, so be it. He lives for the rush, the cheers and attention, for the vine; for the eyerolls he’s perfected when the cops finally show up, furious.
There haven’t ever really been repercussions to his actions, save for a open tibia fracture and a few police escorts home. (The cops were always too nervous to actually arrest him, because of his parents’ influence.) This has made Yates arrogant and cocky, willful and impulsive, excited to try new things with a giant shit-eating grin on his face. Sometimes these things are dangerous, a fact he either ignores, doesn’t realize, or becomes aware of when he’s halfway through. Yates is loud and exuberant, laughs with his head thrown back, and likes to be seen and heard. He also really enjoys hearing himself talk. Though he finds himself hilarious, others may say he’s kind of a dick. Which is true enough, but it’s usually in jest, and he honestly doesn’t expect people to take him seriously. For those who do, he expects them to be over it in a few minutes, since that’s what he does. Shit just slides right off his shoulders, and he can’t hold a grudge very well. That’s not to say he doesn’t get angry, because of course he does, sometimes with a hair trigger; usually over stupid shit. And God forbid you present heartfelt, sensitive emotions, like crying, because Yates will be super awkward and not know what to do. He’ll try and deflect with humor but like, stop crying. Please. There is a physical aspect to almost every in-person exchange with Yates. He likes to touch, whether it’s play punching or literal pigtail pulling- he just always has to have that little bit of contact. In the same vein, he can’t manage to sit still. If you ask him to sit quietly he will almost automatically start jiggling his leg, drumming out a beat on the nearest surface (even if it’s your back/leg/etc), cracking his knuckles… he’s just always moving. He’s a gigantic fucking flirt, but he prefers the chase to the endgame. He wears his charisma, which he actually has quite a bit of, and good looks like armor, keeping his relationships very shallow. He doesn’t trust easy, but that doesn’t stop him from craving genuine companionship. He knows it’s counterintuitive, to keep people at bay and yet desire their honesty and love, but hey, he doesn’t make the rules. He doesn’t really know what it is to be loyal to someone. Sure, he’d punch a dude who bad mouthed his sister, but it’s not like he’d fly up to another city to do it. Sadly, the most real relationship he’s had is with his dog, who continues to love him unconditionally. |
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HISTORY
Prescott is a boy of affluence, with two extremely successful, ungodly wealthy parents. Maybe it was a different story with his sister, who is seven years his senior, but his parents were almost never home. Yates, who chose his nickname at a precocious age, was raised by nanny after nanny, none of whom ever stayed in service for more than eighteen months. Over the years, the few times he did see his parents were usually accompanied with getting smacked around for doing stupid shit like, you know, crashing his car or getting picked up for public and/or reckless endangerment. With a lack of positive influence from his parents and no love lost with his sister (especially when she bailed at 16 for college), Yates was lacking for the connection of family and loved ones.
Naturally, he went to a prestigious private school, about an hour away from their Hampton estate. At school, sports were a happy distraction and a seemingly fantastic way to be around people who genuinely gave a shit about him. Turned out that every trust fund baby he played with were fake and shallow, interested in whose parents made the most money and had the most political power. But you know, fine, it was still fun company and he could pretend that the relationships he formed were something more meaningful. Being successful at any number of sports also ensured he didn't have to worry about his grades, which was great since he did have to really work at keeping them passable. At 15 he went ahead and let someone in, let his first relationship be something more real than anything he'd experienced before. The summer was spent with warm, blooming contentment coursing through his veins, a connection with someone who had seemingly no ulterior motives. That, of course, was not the case; they were more interested in his parents' connections. It was the the first he didn't let bygones be bygones, and he resolved to not let stuff get under his skin again. It taught him to keep people at arms length, to be what they wanted and nothing more. Aside from that one terrible, melodramatic summer, all the rest brought wild vacations, ones with family friends when he was younger, then just his own as he aged. He’s been to a couple corners of the world and some spots in between, and he almost always refused to do the really touristy things. Yates would rather wander off into the jungle, find the secret grotto no tourists ever knew about. Winter breaks brought tall, exclusive slopes that hosted sports he excelled at, lodges with names he couldn't pronounce. And they were no exception: Yates wouldn't think twice about slipping past the 'closed pass' signs and cruise down fresh trails. A boy with no drive, Yates is/was expected to attend Harvard, just like the previous generations of his family, get his MBA, and work at some prestigious company. That always sounded horrible to him, too stuffy and predictable and unadventurous. His acceptance letter to Harvard went into the trash almost immediately, especially since he knows he never actually applied. It was just sent when, he’s sure, one of his parents called up the dean and told them he was graduating high school. It might not have been a terrible upbringing, with his sob story essentially consisting of ‘daddy didn’t play catch with me ):’ but its empty repetition has settled into his bones. Being by yourself in a virtual sea of people is fucking lonely. It’s not even that he wanted to escape his life, which he considered pretty awesome. He just wanted something more, something authentic to cling to. So when some weird fucking stranger told him about this family, this magical world full of wonder and love, well. Yates was hard pressed to say no. Adventure of a lifetime and a built-in support system? He could definitely be down with that. |
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WRITING SAMPLE
He was sixteen when he found out what parkour was, youtube videos on his friend's phone as the sun sank down past the skate park. Wheels scraped down the asphalt, the low level chatter spreading through the early summer night.
"So, wait." Yates coughed out a cloud of smoke, waving his hand lightly to decline the joint again. The toes of his sneakers were hooked under the second bar of the rail, keeping him steady. "This shit looks deceptively simple man, is there a catch? It's just wall jumping with a running start, right?" Next to him, Geoff inhaled deep and nodded. "Yeah dude," he squeaked out, smoke curling out of the corners of his mouth, "but it's harder than that, you know? It's like. Balance and timing and shit." Yates pulled a face, mouthed 'balance and timing and shit', mimicking his friend. "I mean, you know I'ma try it right? Like I know your ass showed me just to get me to do it." "Which you have zero problems with, don't front." Laughing, Yates hopped off the metal railing and onto his skateboard, kick pushing his way toward some evenly spaced cement blocks where a group of girls were watching some of the guys in the bowl. "No frontin' mon ami, just straight up stuntin'." Nearly an hour later, with several smaller, easier jumps practiced, a group of them crowded around the sloping entryway of the skatepark. Cement walls lined either side, their own slightly higher, a gap of maybe ten feet separating them. "Ladies and... other ladies!" Yates crowed, arms spread wide, "prepare to witness a truly fucking amazing feat! I've crossed the seven seas-" "Dude, what." "-I've crossed international borders, and I've crossed eyes when I eat a mamacita out! But never have I-" Geoff threw his beanie at him and stage whispered, "just fucking do it already!" So Yates took several steps back, bounced on his heels, and did it, pushing off the ledge of the wall, gravity and force propelling him over the gap. There was a resounding "ohh!" followed by sharp laughter when he smacked into the cement wall with his ribs, the thump of his chest loud to his own ears. His body slipped down as his fingers scrambled for the lip of the wall, his head jerking back as he smashed his chin on its edge, his jaw snapping sharply together. He was vaguely aware of his Chucks slipping against the smooth surface before he finally fell the six feet to the ground. A thunder of sneakers and boots came rushing down the slope,all of them attached to kids laughing, their phones in their hands, arms outstretched. "Shit dude!" Geoff was saying, snickering, waving a hand in front of Yates' face. "You okay?" From down on the ground, Yates grinned widely, bleeding gums and lips staining his teeth and chin. "Fuck yeah man," he said brightly, eyes crinkling up. "Help me up and we’ll do this shit again." |
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