𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐬.

name: rhys rhodes age: 24 birthdate: december 1st, 1998 occupation: unemployed, student at cornell neighbourhood: cayuga heights

𝐝𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐬.

tattoos: house number on his side scars: many, mainly wounds from fight club that didn’t heal properly   style: black tees that are stupid expensive, jeans that are ripped at the knees, sleeves rolled to the bends of elbows 

𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭.

tw: violence, abuse

the murmurs of glory have nearly ceased by the time the third rhodes is born - a brother proceeds you, the sun fleshed out in mundane form, a lustrous visage of each reverie your father could have envisioned for an heir. a sister follows shortly after, gilded features tethered to the wit of a raven, your mother’s favoured companion. a utopian visage of a foursome, an american ideal for the kin of a media mogul, swiftly fissured by the addition of another.

last born, the tips of your digits only know fragments, leftovers — and perhaps it is there, in the soil of resentment, where your anger takes root. it grows bulbous between the ridges of your spine, coats the satin of your tongue acidic; you’re indifferent to how your mother recoils at the porcelain that leaves your grasp in a hurl to shatter at walls nearby as long as she looks your way, how your father attempts to settle your ire with a fist to the crescent of your mouth, but it’s the only time you’ve touched.

you become feral for what scraps you’re tossed: the glacial disappointment, anger’s inferno; you grow starved for it, dependant on it, you stir chaos simply to stoke a reaction: an ambassador’s daughter pressed bare to a window’s expanse makes headlines before morning, you stroll to premiers on a starlets arm with a split lip and a shit-eating grin. how easily you age to be a mar to the rhode’s gleam, or so your father spits, and how well it suits you: you’re darkness spread languid to a rooms centre, a bruise that all can’t help but wish to sink their digits into.

your arrival to ithaca is calculated, departing from our father’s alma mater a year before your senior and enrolling in cornell instead intended to unravel your father like never before, and oh how it does; you have never seen his knuckles so white as when they are swung to greet your jaw, when he does not let up until your brother tugs him off.