#mistyintro

Back in high school, Buck Whitaker was the guy everyone looked up to—the star quarterback with a heart of gold and a smile that could light up Friday night football. He had it all figured out, or so he thought. Life was good: football wins, Sunday mornings at church, and late-night drives with Abilene Pryor, his high school sweetheart. Buck was sure they’d get married, settle down in Misty Mountain, and build the kind of family he’d always dreamed about. But high school ended, and reality hit harder than any linebacker ever could. College wasn’t in the cards—not with his grandma’s health declining and no one else around to help her. So Buck stayed, picking up handyman work and doing what he could to keep her comfortable. He was good at it—fixing things came naturally—but it wasn’t exactly the future he’d imagined. And then there was Abilene. Buck always thought they were forever, but life had other plans. They drifted apart, and now he’s single for the first time in years, left wondering who he even is without her. The dream of being a husband, a father, a provider—it’s all on hold, and he doesn’t know if it’s ever gonna happen. Lately, he’s been thinking about joining the army, like his dad. It feels like a way to find some direction, maybe even make his old man proud. But leaving Misty Mountain means leaving Grandma, and he can’t stand the thought of her being alone. The town, too, feels like it’s changing. Misty Mountain’s always been a little odd, but now it’s just… off. People seem tense, like something’s brewing under the surface. Abilene’s been acting strange, too—dodging his calls and looking like she’s carrying the weight of the world. Buck’s worried about her, about the town, about everything, really. He just wants to help, to do what he’s always done: make things right. But for the first time in his life, Buck’s not sure where to start, and it’s eating at him.

𝙿𝙴𝚁𝚂𝙾𝙽𝙰𝙻𝙸𝚃𝚈.

Buck is the guy everyone calls when they’re in a pinch. He's warm, dependable, and always ready with a lopsided grin that makes you feel like things’ll work out. He’s a good guy through and through, but underneath that easygoing charm, he’s got his own stuff to sort out. Life hasn’t exactly gone the way he planned, and it’s left him wondering if he’s doing enough or being the person everyone thinks he is. Buck’s not one to talk about his problems, though; he’d rather slap on a smile and keep helping everyone else. Even when he’s feeling lost, he’s got a big heart and an unshakable belief that things can get better—not just for himself, but for the people he cares about.

𝙷𝙴𝙰𝙳𝙲𝙰𝙽𝙾𝙽𝚂.

Buck's got a voice on him, but he’d never admit it. When he’s out working alone—fixing up fences or under the hood of an old truck—he’ll start humming or singing some old country or rock song without even realizing it. He got it from Grandma, who was always singing around the house, and making him sing along with the choir at church. Buck doesn’t think much of it, but every now and then, someone catches him in the middle of a tune, and it’s clear he’s actually pretty damn good. Of course, he just waves it off with a “Nah, that ain’t nothin’,” but you can tell he kinda likes the attention, even if he won’t say it.

Something friends might know about Buck is that he has a habit of talking to his truck like it’s a person. When things aren’t going right—like when the engine won’t start or the brakes are acting up—he’ll stand there, hands on the hood, and mutter things like, “Come on, girl, don’t do me dirty now…” or “You can’t let me down here, you hear me?” He swears it makes things better, though his truck probably doesn’t care much about the pep talk. It’s just one of those quirky habits that makes Buck, well, Buck.

Buck has a rule he’s always stuck to: if his grandma doesn’t trust someone, he stays away. She’s been his rock his whole life, so he always takes her word seriously. If she gives him that look—the one that says “something’s off here”—he knows better than to argue. No explanations, no trying to prove himself. Whether it’s someone with a bad rep or just a vibe that doesn’t sit right, Buck figures it’s easier to stay out of trouble than risk breaking her trust. She’s always had his back, so he makes sure to have hers too.

Buck’s got this thing for collecting old, rusty tools. His garage is full of all kinds of stuff—old wrenches, chains, random bits and pieces he’s picked up from estate sales or barns. He loves taking things apart just to see how they work, then fixing them up. Whether it’s an old lawnmower or some busted-up motor, there’s always something he’s working on. He likes keeping his hands busy, hearing the clink of metal, and making stuff work again. His hands are usually covered in grease, but honestly, that’s just how he likes it.

AMERICAN PSYCHO

Nobody ever loses control in a Ralph Lauren ad. No blood on the collar, no scuff marks on the loafers. No nervous sweat pooling in the dimples of a perfectly carved smile. But that’s what Sweets always liked about image—how easy it was to convince people that something polished was something good. That if you pressed hard enough on a wrinkle, it would disappear. That a habit, a need, anything could be fixed if you just didn’t talk about or feel it! His twin sister, Rose of Sharon, too… much. He was left to handle her early on, to wipe her prints off shattered glass and pull her out of the deep end, even when she didn’t want him to... But their parents never seemed to care about what she did, or what he did, so long as everything looked nice. And Sweets? He could play along. He preferred to. A picture-perfect son with perfectly placed sunglasses, a flawless smile, acclaim on and off the field, and a sweet little girlfriend who never asked why he gnawed at his lips so hard they bled. He curated himself the way one curates a wardrobe: precise, immaculate, bold. Until he lost it. One hit to the knee, and the dream was over. No more scholarship, no more college, no more future. He came home to whispered condolences and pitying smiles, to Cher floating facedown in their pool, to a life he never planned for. The blackouts started after that. Flashes of rage. A gnawing, animalistic need, totally out of his control. In lieu of a solution, he keeps his hands busy. Manages the family motel. Works out. Keeps his routines sharp. Spends hours in the mirror, perfecting the smile that has always saved him. Because in Misty Mountain, if you look good, people don’t ask questions. And as long as nobody asks, he can pretend everything is still perfect.

CONNECTIONS

GIRL, INTERRUPTED 

Sweets and Sharon are more like two sides of the same coin than anything else. Sweets has always found solace in his shiny, polished front, masking the imperfections he’s working overtime to keep locked up. Sharon’s a little different, messed up in a way that you can see, and that stresses Sweets out to no end. They’ve both got a darkness, though—something neither of them really knows how to shake. And maybe neither of them want to… At the end of the day, Cher might be the only person he gives more of a shit about than himself.

THE SIDEKICK

Sweets sees a lot of himself in Kiera. Much like himself, beneath her carefully constructed exterior, he can sense a simmering desire. For what? He doesn’t know. Yet.  He’s drawn to the fact that Kiera doesn’t try to make him into someone he’s not. Though Sweets placed that heavy crown on himself, the variety is nice for a change. There’s no judgment, no expectations—just two people who recognize the pressure of living under the weight of their own masks. For Sweets, Kiera represents a rare kind of freedom: the ability to exist without pretense, and, maybe for the first time, feel like he can be seen without the risk of shattering.

SERENDIPITY

skeleton.

Since she was a little girl she’s had a fascination with pretending. Pretending to smile, pretending to care. Pretending to be the perfect little girl that she could be – why? It’s not like her parents pressured her… They would have ever-so-passively supported whatever Sharon decided to do with her time. It’s not like she cared much about what people thought of her, either; it’s exactly what so many men had deigned to find ‘so refreshing’ about her when they were pretending to spill their souls, desperate to get under her spankies. If only they knew that would just as soon shove her thumbs into their eye sockets if she had to.  Maybe it’d be impossible to pinpoint when the obsession started, but as long as Cher can remember, she was out with something to prove. Maybe if she could be the perfect little girl, people might believe there was nothing wrong with her; maybe if she could prove that she blended seamlessly into the world around her, she would believe it too. It’s what led her to ballet – to cheerleading, and homecoming court. It’s what kept her mingling in and out of the popular crowd, throwing parties at her families’ motel – even when she would’ve rather set them all on fire than entertain.  But there’s this dark side that’s always haunted Sharon, since she was a little kid. It’s what flagged her doctors, young enough that she was popping antidepressants just in time for middle school. Ritalin came around a little later, when she started finding it harder and harder to focus. None of it ever really quieted the darkness – not quite the way they wanted, at least. Sharon still stopped in the street a little too long. She still held her hand over the flame on the stove long enough to burn; still held her head under the bathwater until her lungs burned, and her vision went black.  And it was curious, when she did – whenever she stepped a little too close between the edge of life and death; existence and hurt. It was like she could hear whispering, or maybe something calling out to her. It was like she could make out the voice of something that had been beckoning her since she was just a child, pretending to be the perfect little girl – pretending she felt human at all.  Maybe that was why it didn’t feel like some big affair when her brother found her in the motel pool, water stained red with the blood pouring from her wrists. Maybe that was why she didn’t understand why her parents sent her away for months on end. Sharon had only been looking for answers. She’d be lying if she said she saw nothing, those minutes before the doctors had gotten enough blood flowing through her veins again to get her heart beating normally again. Answers? Not by a long shot. But maybe it was finally a confirmation for Miss Rose of Sharon Chappel: that feeling less than human sometimes might be a little less crazy than she thought.  It’s been two weeks now since Cher got home from the hospital. She hasn’t left her house much, and she’s been dealing with the spin of the rumor mill, even from the comfort of her home. Most of Misty Mountain knows the chink in her armor now – the perfect little facade has come crumbling down. Cher is just wondering if she should try to fix it, or just say fuck it all.  Does it matter, if all she really wants to do is hear the whisper again?

pinterest.

FULL NAME: Louisa Dean Stafford

ALIASES: Lou, Louis

PRONOUNS: She/Her

D.O.B. & AGE: 01/20/1965, 24

LABEL: Twelve Steps

GENDER: Cis Woman

SEXUALITY: Bisexual

OCCUPATION: Unemployed– but makes money through odd jobs and small drug runs

EDUCATION: High School Diploma, One Year Community College.

ENNEAGRAM: 5w6

 ZODIAC: Aquarius SUN, Cancer MOON, Gemini RISING

MYERS BRIGGS: INTP

𝖎 𝖕𝖗𝖔𝖒𝖎𝖘𝖊 𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖎'𝖒 𝖋𝖎𝖓𝖊, 𝖇𝖚𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖓 𝖎 𝖗𝖊𝖉𝖊𝖘𝖎𝖌𝖓

name: kiera renee denver meaning: keira , dark one . renee , reborn . denver , green valley . age: twenty one birthday & zodiac: june 13th pronouns: she / her sexuality: maybe straight or bi idk. thinks she’s straight but i’ve never played a 100% straight muse in my life positive traits: dutiful & prim  negative traits: fanciful & treacherous

𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖕𝖚𝖙 𝖒𝖞𝖘𝖊𝖑𝖋 𝖙𝖔𝖌𝖊𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗 𝖑𝖎𝖐𝖊 𝖘𝖔𝖒𝖊 𝖑𝖎𝖙𝖙𝖑𝖊 𝖋𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖐𝖊𝖓𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖎𝖓

faceclaim: sophie thatcher height: 5′6 ft eye color: blue hair color: dark brown occupation: cashier @ wynn-pixie. stripperstatus: single

𝖉𝖔𝖊𝖘 𝖆 𝖘𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖞 𝖉𝖎𝖊 𝖜𝖎𝖙𝖍 𝖎𝖙𝖘 𝖓𝖆𝖗𝖗𝖆𝖙𝖔𝖗 ?

personality: kiera has never been one to command attention when she walks into a room. she’s quiet, often talked over in the middle of stories. you know the vibe. she was raised in a picket fence family, sweet and naive. though a taste of the wild side has started to open her eyes as to what the world is really like, there’s still this good girl image she’s trying to keep up – even if only for her family. alignment: neutral good habits: cute little tidbits tba. history: blurb about history tba.

𝖘𝖚𝖗𝖊𝖑𝖞 𝖎𝖙'𝖘 𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖌𝖔𝖙𝖙𝖊𝖓 𝖘𝖔𝖔𝖓𝖊𝖗 𝖔𝖗 𝖑𝖆𝖙𝖊𝖗

friends: auggie (slipping away), rosie (also,, slipping away) enemies: marshall (y’know,, the blackmail) romantic interests: also marshall (toxic in a britney spears way) wanted connections: wanted connections tba

𝖍𝖔𝖕𝖊 𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖞 𝖘𝖕𝖊𝖑𝖑 𝖒𝖞 𝖓𝖆𝖒𝖊 𝖗𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙 𝖎𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖕𝖆𝖕𝖊𝖗

high school: graduated with good grades further education?: no. considered it with the money she is making, but her parents are firm on the idea she would be a homemaker just as her mother had been.