#the introvert who would rather stay home and has awful anxiety about anything and everything going wrong | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ajokeformur-ray · 4 years

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Hello, darling! I'm not entirely certain if matchups are open right now, but I'd like to send one in. I've been missing Arthur quite a bit lately..I've never requested anything so bare with me! --- I'm Ezalia (Ezzie), 25, Native American. I'm 5'1 and on the small side. I have severe social anxiety and I'm very introverted. I'm very artsy, I love to draw and write. I have a very morbid sense of humor. I'm studying culinary, I love to bake and cook. I also have quite a few piercings and tattoos!

Hey, love! I made this one as long as I could in each section just to say thank you for what you do as a content creator and as a person and I chucked in a lil’ extra bonus as well for you, which I hope you like! Thank you for everything, I hope you enjoy this ^^ this took me hours so I’m nervous to post omg.

TOTAL WC: 3, 601.

Arthur // wc: 975.

At 5′1, there’s a seven inch difference between you and Arthur so his protective streak, already quite strong, only increases. That’s not to say that being shorter is weaker and in need of protection in Arthur’s eyes, but rather he just cherishes the way that you fit so perfectly into the cage of his embrace, the way he can rest his sharp chin on the top of your head, or on your shoulder, and the way he can squeeze you and feel you tighten your own grip around him, your face buried in his chest, his heartbeat in your ear… he adores you.”I love you, Ezzie.” // “I love you too, Arthur.” these exchanges may sound simple but the reverberation of your voice inside his mind like the refrain of a song, the name of which he can’t remember, is more comforting to him, more grounding to him, than anything else his therapist ever ‘taught’ him. Arthur would want to learn everything that he could about your culture; the language, the traditions, the food, the customs… he would want to learn as much about everything as he could, loving nothing more than curling up with you on the sofa or in bed, asking you question after question. The sound of your voice relaxes him like nothing else. Arthur adores all of you and he makes sure that you don’t ever question it for even a second.

Arthur understands how much of a struggle it can be to deal with anxiety, and he really would be very understanding and empathetic. If you go out in public together, within days has he learned all of your physical tells and he’d reach out to grip your hand, his thumb rubbing soothingly over the back of it, his lips pursed at your temple as he murmurs “are you okay, Ezzie?”. If you say yes, he’ll keep an eye on you but he’ll accept your answer. If you say no, he’d do what he could to get you out of the public eye, ducking down back alleys or even taking you home all together. He’d never judge you for it because he understands it, he does, and he would do anything that he could to keep you feeling as safe and as comfortable as possible. You’re introverted and Arthur loves nothing more than coming home to you. He enjoys spending time with you in the evenings during those few scant hours that he has off of work, and nothing quite revitalises his energy levels, his soul, like you do.

You’re really creative; you draw and write, and Arthur would love the evenings during which he can sit at the tiny table in the corner of the living room to work on his material in his battered joke book, while you write or draw. When he’s lacking inspiration does he look over at you, the softest smile on his lips as heat blooms in his heart, keeping him warm and making him feel safe. Arthur enjoys nothing more than watching you get lost in your element, and truthfully do you often look up at him for your own dose of inspiration when it starts to fall short. You are each other’s muse. Arthur would sincerely compliment anything which you allowed him to read or view, but he’d never pry or push you to tell him. Everything is on your own terms because he understands how private and personal art is. He marvels at your imagination and hopes that, by spending enough time with you, some it will rub off on him, too.

After weeks and months of cracking jokes and making you laugh with almost all of them, Arthur likes to think that he has a handle on your sense of humour. So similar is it to his own that it doesn’t take much for him to tailor a lot of his material to you, and he stockpiles them in the back of his joke book so that when you’re especially upset or needing a bit of extra support, Arthur can bring them out. If he makes you laugh, then it’s a good joke. You enjoy cooking and this is something else which Arthur loves to watch you getting lost in. The way you fluidly move, the way your brows furrow as you study a recipe, the way you carelessly shrug before chucking in a few more herbs or an extra spoon of sugar because why not?… it’s all so you and the fact that you feel comfortable enough around Arthur to lower your defences down in that way means more to him than anything else. He would want to try anything you bake or cook and he’d always sincerely compliment you. He’s so in awe of all the separate skill sets which you possess. “You’re so beautiful inside and out, Ezalia,” Arthur would smile, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead, “You’re the best part of you. I love you so much.”

You’re confident in your level of self-expression and you’re unafraid of the things you enjoy, the way you want to look. Arthur would want to know everything about all of your piercings and tattoos - why you got them, how much they hurt, how it was done, where you went to get them done, how much it cost, what they mean to you, what’s the story behind it, do you regret any and why, do you not regret any… on and on the questions go. Late at night does he trace the tattoos nearest to him, his fingers so gentle against your skin that it makes you shiver. He loves your tattoos so much and often does he look at your piercings, admiring the way the metal glints in the light of the room. “You’re so beautiful, darling.” Overall does Arthur treat you like the goddess you are.

Joker // wc: 1, 347.

By this stage in your relationship, you and Arthur have been together for years and you’re in the comfortable part of a relationship. Love is very much a part of your relationship and it is expressed often. Instead of the fiery heat which boiled in your stomach, however, this is a more comfortable truth which exists in the space between you; sometimes do you still feel the urge to scream your love for him from the rooftops. You have to be careful with who you tell about dating Arthur, especially when they’re new to your life, because anyone could turn him in to the police if they found out who Arthur actually was. The people who pre-exist in your life either don’t know or don’t care, which works out well for you because it means it’s easier for you to keep him safe and out of harm’s way. In this way do your protective roles reverse as Arthur removes his mask in favour of who he really is; “it’s Joker now, Ezzie”. There may be a seven inch height difference between the two of you, but that doesn’t stop Joker from using your body to hide himself from the world. While you’re relaxing in the evening with a book or with the television, he’ll come up to you and nudge your feet apart with one of his own. “Can I - can I feel you, darling?” and what he means is that he wants to curl up on your lap, tuck his painted face in the warm crook of your neck, and forget the world. He tucks himself in so deeply that his knees are pulled up to his chest, his bright white socks shocking against the crimson red of his trousers, his arms around your shoulders, those dyed green romantic curls tickling at the underside of your chin. He just wants to be held, to know that he’s still just as loved as he’s always been by you. “I love you, Ezzie. You’re the best part of me.” and a series of chaste kisses pressed to your neck is the accompanying activity to your relaxing, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy it.

Similarly, by now does Joker know exactly how to help you with your social anxiety. It’s so natural to him by now that he does it on instinct; a hand reaching out to take yours in his, his fingers sliding in the spaces between your own. “It’s okay, Ezalia,” he’d murmur, raising your joined hands to his painted lips so he can press a kiss to the back of yours, “There’s nothing to be afraid of.” He only uses your full name when he’s comforting you, encouraging you or if it’s a serious situation; more often than not he’ll call you a pet name or by Ezzie. You can’t go out and about with Joker as Joker, because he’s easily recognisable and he also tends to go out at night, when it’s easier for him to duck into back alleys so he can escape from the police or from curious eyes. As such, you tend to stay home when he goes out; he’s very protective of you and he can’t stomach even the idea of something happening to you. When he comes home, it’s always with a flourish and a cheeky grin. Depending on his mood, he’ll either go and greet you on his own, or he’ll hang about. He needs to be needed, needs to know he’s loved still by you, and the act of you approaching him to greet him? He gets teary eyed just thinking about it. Joker is very insecure about your relationship; he can’t fathom how you’re still with him, even now, even after all he’s said and done, so he really needs that extra reassurance. He doesn’t ask for it very often, but he always wants it. To Joker’s thinking, asking for it makes him feel like he’s annoying you somehow, and then he feels like you’re only giving him that reassurance because he asked for it, and it just ruins the whole thing. So when he clenches his fists periodically, when his nostrils flare exactly once, when his knees bounce a mile a minute, when he smokes more than his usual twenty a day, when he’s quiet but his bottom lip and chin quiver with unshed tears… go to him, please. He needs you, Ezzie, and only you.

You love to write and draw and you still very much have that routine of the two of you sitting and writing together; spending time together separately. It’s something Joker adores. He doesn’t just look at you now when he needs inspiration for his material, no. Now, if he wants to stare, he does. it’s not obnoxious and he doesn’t realise he’s doing it so if you ask him to stop, he will. “Oh, sorry,” he shrugs with an easy smile, “I didn’t realise. You’re so beautiful.” You’re definitely his muse, especially now, and he makes it known that he loves and appreciates you. You’re his entire life. He’s so beautiful with his white facepaint, those deep blue eyes which perfectly complement his sea green eyes, that macabre red painted smile… he’s so beautiful it makes you want to cry, and sometimes you end up drawing him. Joker is more likely now to ask if he can view your drawings or read your works, but if you say no, it’s no big deal; he wouldn’t want to be pushed about showing you his journal, so he gets it. But he’d completely fawn over anything you show him and he’d compliment you so sincerely, so thoroughly, that you’re left blushing for hours afterwards.

By now, Joker is more than used to your sense of humour, which is just as dark as his is. After his mental break, his jokes became darker, more built on murder and cynical observations rather than the notes which he used to diligently take while he was at Pogo’s. You didn’t have to take a period of readjustment or anything like that because you’re already there. At this point, the jokes which he focuses on are far more tailored to your sense of humour; so in tune with you is he that he barely has to ask you about what you find funny, because he knows you as well as he knows himself. Still does he love to give you a show; coming out from behind the curtain in a mockery of his segment on The Murray Franklin Show, pulling his joke book from the back of his trousers where it’s often stashed, and then carefully does he select the best jokes which he spent hours on, just for you. Don’t fake a laugh, he’ll know instantly and he won’t appreciate it; especially from you. “You’re the only one, Ezzie. Nothing can hurt me anymore, I have you.” you’re his entire world. Joker is supportive of your culinary studies and he loves trying the things you bake and cook. He always compliments you sincerely, just as he always has, and he means every single word. He’s so proud of you, and he tells you as often as he can.

The inevitable has finally happened; Joker now has the same level of confidence as far as expressing himself goes that you do and if you were to ask him, he’d say, “It’s because of you, Ezzie! You helped me to be me!” and he means it to be one of the biggest compliments he could give you yet. He adores your tattoos and your piercings and the nights are spent with his hands upon your skin, his fingers reverently tracing the ink permanently etched into your skin. At this point in your relationship, he knows everything about your tattoos and piercings that there is to know, and he cherishes every piece of information which you give him. He loves you so much that it drives him mad and he loves the way he loves you and the way that you love him, too.

BONUS MATCHUP bc ILY and I wanna give back some more :’333

J // wc: 1, 279.

There’s a nine inch difference between you and J so this destructive raccoon boi is very protective of you. Sorry, honey, but in J’s head, smaller is weaker, so you can expect to find yourself gifted a hand gun, a few little ‘fun’ extras like a grenade or two to keep in your coat pockets, a switchblade… he makes sure that you’re protected at all times, and I have no doubt that he’d also get a few of his men to keep an eye on you. They’re not obvious about it, but you’re not stupid and you know J, so you do your best to go about your day without letting them disturb you too much. It might even get a little annoying, but J only has good intentions; sure, he doesn’t believe himself to be someone capable of something like love, but for you… For you, he comes close to that belief. In any case, he does he best to protect what’s his and that’s all there is to it. He rarely says your name, he prefers to use pet names, so when he does use your name; listen up. It’s important. I feel like Ezzie would be used in a casual sense, but he’d use your full name as a sort of code for when you’re around people and he needs to get your attention now. You’d definitely have some kind of system for this, so that he knows that you know how to handle it when this happens. He doesn’t look like a man with a plan, but his head is so busy at all times, even when he’s sleeping, that he almost vibrates with all that energy.

J’s not… great with things like social anxiety. At first he doesn’t really get it, but then one day something happened which triggered your social anxiety and J saw just how bad it can be for you; he was startled and did his best to calm you down, tucking you into his chest, his hand rubbing up and down your back in smooth, fluid motions as he shushed you. His intense chocolate eyes darted around the space over your shoulder but to him, there was nothing which could have caused your reaction. However, so shaken up were you that all at once did J realise that you weren’t exaggerating or joking (not that he had assumed you were, but one can never be too careful with others), and once he had you calm, he got you home and sat you down. The two of you spoke calmly, candidly, about your social anxiety. In some twisted way, J opened up about his own issues; PTSD, nightmares and the such, as a thank you for being so honest with him. He likes that. You two bonded closely that day, and J became even more protective of you after that. So when next did you venture outside, J kept an eye and a hand on you; either hand in hand if you needed that extra reassurance, or your hand tucked into the crook of his elbow, and he will watch you, looking straight at you. He’ll see all of your physical tells, all of your warning signs, and he’ll act before you even know you’re feeling anxious, so eager is he to stop anything from triggering your anxiety. He takes care of you in his own ways, but once you know what you’re looking for, it’s overwhelmingly obvious that you’ve got him wrapped around your little finger, and vice versa, which goes unsaid!

Between the two of you; with you being artsy and J loving to make entrances and to carry out his ‘plans’ with something of a dramatic flourish, there’s never a dull moment for either of you. You have several creative hobbies, and when you get involved with them, J tends to leave you alone. He, too, needs privacy when he’s releasing the chaotic contents of his mind. He definitely has some kind of journal which he doodles in, scribbles down jokes or things he found funny that day (most of which are dark and may even shock you), so you sit side by side, so close to each other that you’re touching shoulders, thighs and ankles, or on opposite ends of the sofa if one or both of you need some space, spending time together. You rarely talk and something loud will be on the television; J gets antsy when he’s left too alone with his thoughts; it’s easy for them to get out of control unless he’s got something to focus on and listen to, and it’s quiet moments like these which really cement whatever it is that you have together. Sometimes, J will ask what you’re writing or drawing. It’s up to you if you share it or not; he’s not entirely bothered either way, he just thought he’d leave a topic of conversation open for you.

J loves your sense of humour. It’s as dark as his is. Or, he thinks it is. He likes to push all of the current boundaries, just to find out how far out of the ballpark he can knock something. It doesn’t take him much longer than a few weeks to find out how far he can push you and what you do and don’t find funny; he doesn’t really do anything with the information but he likes to know these things. He rarely shares information about himself, though, so even a joke of yours which he chuckled at is something to cherish and keep close to you! J knows almost everything about you, down to your nighttime bathroom routine, so he knew before you even told him that you were studying culinary; he doesn’t get why you don’t just survive off noodle packets and other convenient foods; he’s done it for years. But learn to make his favourite snacks, and you might have him eating out of the literal palm of your hand. “C’mon, doll, let me have a bite.” And the teasing bastard will even lick the crumbs off your hand. his eyes daring you to pull away from him. He already knows you won’t, but he likes to have fun. He definitely compliments you, but not in ways you’d expect - an empty plate or an accidental food coma are the biggest ones you’ll receive off him!

One of the things J finds most intriguing about you are your tattoos and piercings; he wants to know everything. The place you went to, why you chose that place and not the one a few streets away, what body part it’s on and why, how much did it hurt, was there a part of the healing process you enjoyed, will you get some more, but his favourite thing to ask is the meaning behind the tattoo itself. Why you chose what you did in the way that you did. He listens without interruption, long nailed hands tracing the tattoos, his lips mouthing any words there. Your piercings, he likes the way they look against your skin and again does he want to know all about them. You clearly have a high pain tolerance and you’re confident in who you are, not like those others, and I have no doubt that when you become a little more down the road of… being whatever it is that you are together, he’d want to brand you in someway. Another tattoo, or an actual branding… something which makes you his. If nothing else, he knows you can deal with it and may even like the pain it’ll bring you. He’ll get one to match, don’t worry - he’s not a monster. ;)

#ezziesworld #arthur fleck #arthur fleck matchup #joker #joker matchup #ledger joker #ledger joker matchup #matchup

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emospritelet · 6 years

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KoL Prompt -- Belle calls Gold by accident. Gold worries when she doesn't respond blah blah blah maybe he can admit to hinself that he is falling for her?

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7] [Part 8] [Part 9] [Part 10] [Part 11] [Part 12] [Part 13] [Part 14] [Part 15]

AO3 link

Belle was confused when she awoke, the room unfamiliar, the light from the window coming from the wrong angle. At first she thought it was because she was in Gold’s house rather than her own, but still something didn’t seem right. Pushing up on arms that felt like jelly, she looked around, eyes widening as she realised where she was. Dr Gold’s bedroom. For a wonderful, fleeting moment she thought perhaps they had spent the night together, but the bed beside her was cold, the pillow unused. Besides, she remembered being very ill and taking a bath before hurling herself into the bed and falling asleep. Hardly conducive to a night of passion.

Cold air was on her shoulders, making her shiver, and she turned onto her back. She was suddenly aware that the blankets had been pushed down to her waist and she was naked. In his bed. Where the hell had he slept? He must know she was there. He must have come into the room, expecting to get into his own bed, and found her there. Naked. Belle blushed, pulling the blankets up to her chin and wriggling down in the bed. How much had he seen? Could she possibly make it three days before stripping off in front of him again?

She sneezed, clapping a hand to her mouth as she did so, and automatically reached to the side where the box of tissues sat on the nightstand in her room. There was nothing there, and she made an irritated noise under her breath, leaning over to pull out the little drawer to see if there were some in there. She found some tissues, and got one to her nose just in time before sneezing again. Balling it up, she dropped it on the nightstand, and glanced in the drawer as she reached over to push it shut again. A framed photograph caught her eye, and she frowned, tilting her head to look at it.

It was a photograph of a young boy, perhaps four or five years of age. Dark hair and eyes, with an infectious dimpled smile. He was gazing at the camera and clutching a toy bear to his chest. The frame was moulded brass, the glass marked with fingerprints, as though it was handled a lot. She wondered who the boy was, and why the photograph was kept in the drawer rather than being on display.

A knock at the bedroom door made her start, and she quickly shut the drawer and clutched the blankets closer, casting her eyes around frantically for something to wear. The knock came again, which convinced her that Gold had indeed come into the room and seen her - well, if not entirely naked, at least whatever had been showing above the blankets. He clearly wasn’t about to enter again and risk another eyeful.

“Come in!” she called, and the door opened.

Dr Gold glanced at her, and seemed to relax a little as he saw that she was covered up. He pushed open the door, crossing to the nightstand to put down the tray he had carried in his left arm. It contained tea, a bowl of fresh fruit with yogurt and honey, and a small omelette.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“A little better,” she said truthfully, and he nodded, reaching out to feel her forehead before nodding again, more approvingly.

“Yes, your fever has gone down. Good. You should get plenty of rest today, though. Keep drinking water”

“I will.”

She hesitated, glancing up at him. He wouldn’t quite meet her eyes, and she felt awful for embarrassing the poor man.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I had no idea I’d gone to sleep in your bed. I took a bath last night, and - and I guess I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s no matter,” he said, still not looking at her.

“I - I guess I left the PJs in the bathroom,” she added. “Sorry again. I really have to stop flashing you like this, it’s not professional.”

She was hoping to raise a smile, but he was looking at his hands, fingers twitching over the handle of his cane.

“I’m sure my naked body is the last thing you expected to see,” she went on, and he glanced at her briefly before looking away again.

“Well, I’m a doctor,” he said. “I’ve seen a lot of naked bodies in my time, Miss French. Yours is no more hideous than any of them, I assure you.”

Belle blinked.

“Right,” she said. “Thanks.”

“I should get to work,” he added. “Please, call if you need anything.”

He slipped out of the room, and Belle collapsed back into the pillows with a groan. She ran her hands over her face, frustrated with herself, and reached for her tea, listening to Gold moving around downstairs as she ate her omelette. He left for work soon enough, the front door closing, and Belle whipped off the covers and hurried to the bathroom, finding the discarded pyjamas neatly folded on the laundry hamper. She put them on, getting back into bed and setting the bowl of fruit and yogurt on her lap as she reached for her phone.

“Hey, invalid!” said Ruby cheerfully. “How are you?”

“Getting better,” said Belle.

“Still living in sin with the lovely Dr Gold?”

“I wish,” grumbled Belle. “He can barely look at me. I think it’s time I went home.”

Ruby sighed.

“So much for the summer wedding I was planning,” she teased. “You sure you want to go to your dad’s place?”

“I don’t want to ruin the friendship we’re developing by outstaying my welcome, you know?” said Belle. “The guy’s a massive introvert, and the longer I stay here, the more withdrawn he’s getting. I think he needs some time alone, poor man.”

“Okay,” said Ruby. “If you’re sure you’re well enough to walk to the car, I’ll come over and pick you up in an hour.”

“You’re an angel.”

She hung up, and lay back against the pillows, taking a spoonful of yogurt. Gold had been too good to her, but enough was enough. She had to leave.

It wasn’t until lunchtime that Gold picked up his phone, so he didn’t see that Belle had tried to call him twice. She had left no message, but then there was a third call, around ten minutes earlier, a message of distorted sounds and muffled scrapes. It sounded like the few calls he had received from Jefferson when he had sat on his phone. “Butt-dialling”, Jefferson called it. Perhaps Belle had sat on her phone by accident. Shoving away the image of her naked in his bed again, this time with a phone slipped under her perfect rear end, he swiped at the screen to call her. Just checking in, of course. No other reason. The phone went straight to voicemail, and he hung up.

He called the house phone instead; there was one on his nightstand, and she would be able to answer it easily. There was no response, and low-level worries began to needle him. He called her cell again, cursing as he received the voicemail message. What if she had collapsed? She could have fainted or fallen and tried to call for help. Pushing back his chair, he slipped the phone into his pocket and made his way to the locker room. He had another twenty minutes of his lunch break. More than enough time to go home and check on Belle.

By the time the Cadillac pulled into his driveway, his anxiety levels had risen substantially, worst case scenarios flitting through his mind. Belle was injured. Fallen in the kitchen, or slipped in the shower. Worse, Belle was dead, lying at the foot of the stairs with her neck twisted, staring up at him. The rational part of his brain told him he was being ridiculous, but his imagination went on creating nightmares for him to ponder as he got out of the car and strode quickly up to the porch, fumbling in his pocket for his keys.

He called her name as soon as he entered the house, heart thumping painfully when he was greeted with silence. Taking the stairs two at a time made his bad leg scream, and he knocked on the bedroom door with more force than he needed, waiting only momentarily before opening it. The room was empty, the blankets pulled up and tucked in neatly. He turned on his heel and went to the room she had called hers for the brief time she had been there, but that was cold and empty too. Brow furrowing in confusion, he went back downstairs, glancing into the lounge and study before ending up in the kitchen.

There was a note on the table, a single piece of paper weighted down with a fountain pen. He picked it up, eyes scanning the words.

Dear Stirling

I tried to call, but I guess you were busy. Your phone wouldn’t let me leave a message, for some reason, so I’m having to do this the old fashioned way. Something tells me you’ll be okay with that.

Thank you so, so much for everything you’ve done. For taking me in, for letting me share your home, for looking after me so well when I was sick. I know we didn’t know each other all that well when I first came over, but I’d like to think we’re friends now. I hope we’re friends, anyway. I had a lot of fun, when we weren’t concentrating on being sick, of course. It’s been so great getting to know you a little. At least now I have a better idea of what to get you if I ever pull your name in Secret Santa!

You have your house back, with no weird girl bringing you soup and stripping off and freaking you out, so you can relax a little. I’ll see you when I’m back at work, which hopefully won’t be too long, and I hope you feel better soon.

Yours

Belle

P.S. Oh, Ruby’s taking me home, by the way. It’s not like I’m walking, so I don’t want you to worry about me.

For a moment he felt relief; she was fine, she had left his house in one piece and gone home. He told himself he should be relieved for other reasons; he would no longer be tortured by her presence, by her scent in the air and on his sheets and by the sound of her low, soft laughter. He should have been relieved, but he could feel nothing but emptiness. His life was back to normal, and he hated it.

#hey nonny nonny #fic: kiss of life #rumbelle fic #my fic #dr gold x candy striper belle #rumbelle

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zoerouse · 6 years

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ORIGINS & FAMILY:

Name: Zoé Isabelle Rouse.

Nickname: Occasionally when she’s sending her writing out to different editors she’ll forgo her first name and use Isabelle Rouse.

Birthday: November 17.

Age: 30.

Gender: Female.

Place of Birth: Bordeaux, France.

Places Lived Since: Hammersmith & Fulhma, London, United Kingdom

Current Residence: Islington, London, United Kingdom.

Nationality: French.

Parents’ Names: Elias and Anna Rouse.

Number of Siblings: None.

Relationship With Family: Relationship with her parents is incredibly strained due mostly to the fact that Zoé’s parents never really supported anything she wanted to do and instead tried to push her to do things they perceived as worthy hobbies. Zoé tries to keep her interactions with her parents strictly through phone calls, texts, and emails.

Happiest Memory: Attending her very first writing seminar. It was the first time Zo felt like she belonged somewhere and was doing something she really loved.

Childhood Trauma: Despite their relationship now, Zoé is very aware her life growing up was far from traumatic. That being said, being forced to try and mold yourself into a person you don’t like in order to please your parents is pretty awful and even though there are plenty of memories that Zo can look back on and smile, there’s quite a few more that serve as motivation for her to rise above the person her parents tried to turn her into.

PHYSICAL:

Height: 5'1″

Weight: 115lbs.

Build: She’s not super muscular. Definitely doesn’t have time to go to the gym, but tries the best she can.

Hair Color: Mostly brown with blonde highlights throughout.

Usual Hair Style: Long & wavy when she actually spends time styling it. Otherwise it’s very, very curly.

Eye Color: Hazel.

Glasses? Contacts?: Contacts. Typically only wears her glasses when she’s writing or at home.

Style of Dress/Typical Outfit(s): Business casual mostly. One of the few pieces of advice she took from her parents is dress to impress. Fitted slacks and a blazer, most commonly. At home, however, all bets are off. Sweatpants, hair tie, chilling with no make-up on.

Typical Style of Shoes: Give her some high-heeled ankle boots and a she’s a happy duck.

Jewelry? Tattoos? Piercings?: One tattoo she got on her 18th birthday; the outline of a dove on her left wrist.

Scars: One on her left palm from when she accidentally sliced her hand open with a paring knife.

Unique Mannerisms/Physical Habits: Twirls her hair around her finger a lot.

Athleticism: She can usually go a few rounds in the ring (boxing is one of her favorite ways to stay fit) or maybe running, but anything more than that is pretty non-existent.

Health Problems/Illnesses: Acute anxiety disorder. It’s not something she ever really talks about, but Zo has had a Xanax prescription since age 14. The dosage has reduced over the years and for the most part, Zo only resorts to taking her medication in moments of extremely high stress.

INTELLECT:

Level of Education: Graduated from the University of London.

Languages Spoken: English, French, Italian. Conversational Spanish. Zoé is also fluent in American Sign Language.

Level of Self-Esteem: Very low. She credits it to a lot of factors, but, mostly her parents. They always made her feel like she wasn’t good enough and unfortunately, she carries that around with her.

Gifts/Talents: Writing.

Mathematical?: Not by a long shot.

Makes Decisions Based Mostly On Emotions, or On Logic?: She likes to think logic, but mostly emotions.

Life Philosophy: Be brilliant.

Religious Stance: Zo’s family was never overly religious, so, I would say she’s more spiritual than anything. Occasionally though, she does enjoy attending mass when the time allows it.

Cautious or Daring?: Cautious. Always way too fucking cautious.

Most Sensitive About/Vulnerable To: Her family and her job.

Optimist or Pessimist?: I think she tries to be an optimist but has pessimistic tendencies.

Extrovert or Introvert?: Introvert. She tries to push herself out of her shell as much as she can, but at her core, Zo would much rather keep to herself and her very small circle of friends.

RELATIONSHIPS:

Current Relationship Status: Single.

Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual.

Past Relationships: One. University boyfriend. Wound up getting engaged a few months before the end of their final year. The summer after Zoé found out that he had been cheating on her since before he proposed and they broke up.

Primary Reason For Being Broken Up With: Very introverted. Tends to keep things to herself a lot. Second guesses everything.

Primary Reasons For Breaking Up With People: Hasn’t ever broken up with anyone before.

Ever Cheated?: No.

Been Cheated On: Yes.

Level of Sexual Experience: Very inexperienced. Sex is a really big deal to her and she’s not the type to sleep with someone unless she actually feels something for them.

Story of First Kiss: Fifteen years old and she had the absolute biggest crush on the eldest son of one of the families her father and mother knew. One night they were over for dinner and sweet Zoé had one sip too many from her wine glass and whilst stumbling out of the bathroom, cornered said boy and just planted one of him. The experience was incredibly awkward, mostly because the kiss had none of the spark that Zo was expecting. Long story short, it never happened again and the two wound up laughing off the scenario and discovered they were much better off as friends and now he’s her best friend.

Story of Loss of Virginity: University boyfriend. Valentine’s Day. Super fucking stereotypical and cheesy, but Zoé thought it was very sweet and romantic.

A Social Person?: Not at all, which is hilarious considering her job. It’s often a very big push to get Zoé to abandon her longstanding tradition of Chinese takeaway and a glass of wine most night, but once she’s out and about (usually after a few drinks), she tends to have a good time.

Most Comfortable Around: Any of her cousins on her father’s side. The entire Agreste clan.

Oldest Friend: Silas Agreste & John Halsey. Both of them share top spot of who Zoé trusts the most. The three of them were sort of shoved together by their families and formed an incredibly tight-knit bond that carried past forced dinner parties. There’s really nothing Zo wouldn’t do for either of them.

How Does She Think Others Perceive Her?: Awkward. Maybe a little stuck up. Work-a-holic.

How Do Others Actually Perceive Her?: Quiet and introverted.

SECRETS:

Life Goals: To work for a credible news source that reports things that matter.

Dreams: Proving her worth to her parents and them actually being proud of her.

Greatest Fears: Failing and having to go crawling back to her parents with her tail between her legs.

Most Ashamed Of: Her current job.

Secret Hobbies: Photography.

Crimes Committed (Was she caught? Charged?): Literally never done anything wrong in her life because the fear of facing her parents if she ever got caught was too great.

DETAILS/QUIRKS:

Night Owl or Early Bird?: Early bird.

Light or Heavy Sleeper?: Heavy. Sets 8 dozen alarms.

Favorite Animal: Wolves.

Favorite Food: Macaroons.

Least Favorite Food: Onions.

Favorite Book: Great Expectations.

Least Favorite Book: Catcher in the Rye.

Favorite Movie: The Devil Wears Prada.

Least Favorite Movie: Anything with Ben Affleck.

Favorite Song: Under Pressure and Lazarus by David Bowie.

Favorite Sport: Gross, none.

Coffee or Tea?: Coffee.

Crunchy or Smooth Peanut Butter?: Smooth.

Type of Car He Drives: Never got her license and has no plans to.

Lefty or Righty?: Right-handed.

Favorite Color: Yellow.

Cusser?: Yes. More so than is probably appropriate.

Smoker? Drinker? Drug User?: Social drinker when the time is appropriate. Occasionally smokes. Never been a drug user, never plans to be.

Biggest Regret: Not standing up to her parents sooner.

Pets: A cat named Laurent.

#( — development. )#i'm not changing the cat's name

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