topsurgery
more apple than pomegranate. they want to be a kitchen, but they feel like a bathroom sink. domain expansion is called ‘childhood room ablaze’. cigarette butts and confessionals. tea stains and dried blood on handkerchiefs.
copium
they stay awake at night thinking about tragedies and doomed duos. proceed to curate playlists to support the throes of woes. snap back to reality and read until they can’t read. bit of an idiot, to be honest. mentally ill protagonists really resonate with the soul. born to be a jester, forced to be a slave to The Man. lore drops are essential. copes in unhealthy ways but it’s cool. very “we shall by morning inherit the earth. our foot’s in the door” heh.
maindak
(no inspiration behind those eyes)
forgets their name. has hands like their father. unplaces by cody ellingham. space as a character. will their grave embrace them. will they ever have a where. very very angry, and very unquestionably hot. smeared kajal and eyelines. thinks they is a coward but could be killed in a staged street killing.
eyes.
and hands.
can the stopper and the stoppee (it is not a word) sit down with them for a moment.
nasir’ ki udaasi stifles saans.
too big is the city, and too far my home.
the boy never grows up.
has very straught teeth.
arundhati roy ☆
strawberryshortcake
impulsive, passionate, addicted to caffeine, in love with books and scented candles, and all over the place. they value small gestures, and try to grasp at the littlest cues of warmth and tenderness. but theirs is also the constant fear of the walls and wasted lives; so they are alive.
witchinghour
Drowning in an all-consuming fixation on psychology, feminist literature and the physics of time. Checklists and planners are their game and so is dismantling the patriarchy. “We should all be feminists”.
Dory 🐟 and Boxer 🐎 = spirit animals. Just keep swimming, just keep swimming..
batbottom
eerie obsession with cubes and spirals and gut wrenching nostalgia. someone called them eclectic once (okay maybe more than once) the ribs are protruding out. big eye hovering in the sky. fruit of choice would be peach (there’s no metaphor it just smells nice)
tendertooth
too reluctant to pull fingernails out of buzzing flesh. has bitten too much. tummy ache tummy ache tummy ache. meets lovers at celestial intersections. sits over bones until the morning of forgetfulness. moonlight and clawed eyes and clenched fists. a fruit. fruits even. what tiptoes into the room tonight?
