Post by joshua daniels on Dec 31, 2009 3:53:32 GMT -5
show the world a little style,
a little attitude
[/color]a little attitude
JOSHUAMATTHEWDANIELS[/color][/font][/b]
sup, my name is JAMIE
been breathing air for 16 years now
but only been living for 4 YEARS
you can drop me a line at PMING ME!
hey teachers, hey creatures,
i'm gonna' school ya'[/color][/font][/center]
nicknames: josh, matt.
age: eighteen.
birthday: march second.
gender: male.
orientation: heterosexual.
school year: senior.
[/ul]
just wait
take a breath of air before you faint
[/color][/font][/center]take a breath of air before you faint
height: 5'10"
weight: 150 llbs.
build Tall, muscular.
eyes: Some people complain considering it's hard to tell at times - sometimes they appear a mix of grey and green, though it varies and occasionally looks like one more than the other.
hair: More often than not, he spikes his hair, though there is the rare event in which he doesn't, and one can tell his dark hair flips and is cropped close to his eyes.
distinguishing features: Eyes, scar on his left eyebrow.
tattoos and piercings: Tattoo on his back of his family crest.
personal style: Does "teen" count as a style? No? Well, Josh thinks so anyway, and if anyone proposed the question in the first place, he'd probably fidget and squirm uncomfortably because really, that's not cool and he's not an avid fashion king anyway. He tends to like simple clothes, nothing too flashy and certainly nothing with designer labels, he doesn't believe in flaunting status and that shows, however it's far from fact that Josh just doesn't care about how he looks, because despite what he says, he does.
appearance: Really? Well, Joshua doesn't particularly think he's ugly by standard, but he most definitely isn't close to believing he's God's gift to women, either. If he doesn't gel his hair it almost always falls into his eyes, he's got a scar on his eyebrow he's more than self conscious about, and being 5'10" was okay, but certainly not impressive or anything. On the other hand, however, his signature smile is enough to make anyone grin in response, although not blessed in the athletic department he inherited a decent bit of muscle tone, and by all means, he's not hideous. Certainly not a model, but not hideous; more of the boy next door charm than anything else, to be completely honest.
[/ul]
do you think you're right,wronged,
or do you think you'll fight?
[/color][/center][/font]or do you think you'll fight?
dislikes: black coffee, promiscuity, most parties, his father, liars, drugs, alcohol, selfishness, teachers, girls he can't have.
strengths: sweet, funny, good intentions, chivalrous, a writer, good cook, responsible, extremely loyal.
weaknesses: introverted, quiet, doesn't say what he feels, overly sarcastic, at times bitter, scared of being angry, insecure.
greatest fear: turning into his father.
greatest desire: being happy / becoming a lyricist.
habits and quirks: He'll quote random literature figures from books he's read without shame, or say them without shame, and backtrack .5 seconds later. When nervous, he avoids eye contact. His happiest smiles make his eyes crinkle at the edges.
overall personality: At first glance, well, you would probably have just that - a glance and that's it - because honestly there's nothing too eye catching about Joshua and he'd readily admit to such. He's not drop dead gorgeous or ridiculously profound or energetic, in fact without his morning hot chocolate or cappuccino, he'd probably not be able to stay conscious through the mornings. At first impression, well, at the very least someone would leave with the knowledge that before anything, Joshua taught himself to be courteous to everyone he meets, especially women. He opens doors for them and offers them the spot ahead of him in a gruesome line, and while some girls get the wrong idea, he means no offense or anything of the sort - it's just what he believes is proper conduct and therefore tries to abide to as best as he can. Josh is, for a lack of better terms, quite intelligent - though maybe not, in retrospect, considering he thinks he's nothing special, and the only reason he gets better marks in school than most people is that he doesn't spend his weekends getting completely trashed and furthermore killing valuable brain cells. At least, that's what Joshua figures, though he'd hardly say such to anyone that wasn't a good friend - he hates confrontation with a passion, which is a tad ironic being when it came to genetics, he was blessed with a healthy amount of muscle and could probably hold his own in a fight. Nevertheless, he doesn't like arguing, never did.
So yes, Joshua isn't into confrontation but he's hardly the pushover - he's more than willing to stand up for what he believes in and for his friends, if need be; he's not the atypical nerd either with his heavy use of snark and sarcasm tracing his words, it just so happens no one really seems that unless they talk to him. Which, not many people do, considering he's not popular or anything and has never been in 'that' crowd, or ever desired to be. And although Josh honestly tries to put his best foot forward at all times, his past and persona inevitably catch up to him, and the mere mention of his father immediately makes him tense up and shut off to the world. Not to mention the fact Joshua absolutely has zero luck with women, either being serially cheated on or being seen as 'just a friend', so yeah, it's sort of reasonable some bitterness stemmed from there, too, but mostly he just channels it into lyrics.
[/ul]
we are young, we are done
we ain't fighting nothing
[/color][/font][/center]we ain't fighting nothing
father: richard alexander daniels, 42, real estate agent, currently in jail
siblings: rebecca "becks" jane daniels, 8, cute brat of a sister
extended family: the atypical cousins, aunts, and uncles - no one worth noting in particular.
pets: gabby, german shepherd, 2 years old.
nationality: 100% italian.
birthplace: dallas, texas.
history: born the eldest and only son of annalise and richard daniels, it was easy to say that joshua was born into something very much resembling luxury; his father, richard, was a reknowned real estate agent that brought his family name into upper class wealth status, and was prepared to shower his wife and newborn child with as much gifts he could spend on. but that was hardly what annalise and young joshua had wanted - she had wanted his time and joshua, well, joshua had wanted more than being stuck in his father's office playing with staplers on the rare occasion the man even took him into the workplace. eventually she had spoke up more about it, while joshua, as a child, never did, as it lead to richard's increased frustration late at night, and sometimes, he still remembers the slamming of doors and raised voices even when annalise would tell him to quiet down. it didn't make sense, not really, it was nice, of course, to have whatever he wanted in terms of material possessions, but there was no mistaking that his dad had become a stranger, so much in fact, that the first night richard raised his hand against annalise, there was no recognizing him. not then, and not especially when his clothes had begun to reek of alcohol.
by the time his father had started to beat his mother, joshua was eight years old and as coherent of the situation (as far as any eight year old could be, at the very least) enough to force his frail body between the two; it had worked to what josh had aimed for, anyway, which was the protection of the only person in his life that had shown him actual love, even if it led to his own bruises and cuts throughout the years. there was no questioning that annalise hated the fact her son, her little boy that hadn't even lived a decade of life yet, was putting himself in front of the blows - but he would not back down, nor hide away like she would always tell him to whenever richard came home in the evenings. on more than one occasion, too, it would not satiate the man enough to just take his anger out on his son, but to forcibly take his wife upstairs while joshua pounded on the doors to no avail. he had never known, not then at least, what had gone on behind a locked bedroom door - he later figured it out at age ten, with the birth of his baby sister, all wide eyes and innocence subjected to the real world for the first time, and the real world unfortunately for them, was still living under the same roof as richard.
his home life had affected his attitude more than anything else - he was quiet and reserved at school, never going out of his way to run around on the playground like other children, and when adolescence came into full bloom like the rest of his classmates, his eyes never wandered to giggling girls among his flustered boy peers, as joshua was either studying or wondering how bad the night would be, hardly safeguarded for seven hours before being forced to return home and wait, just wait, for the anticipated yells and hurled fists and kicks. he had begun to write, very darkly at first, though it soon became an outlet for just about everything - his mother had surrounded him with literature at a very young age, which he had adapted to happily, and writing had sparked a passion unknownst to him before. more often than not, they were lyrics to songs; joshua fiddled on guitar but never actively sang, he was no musician, he was a writer of lyrics. yet his introspective qualities didn't come out at home where he was constantly throwing himself in front of his mom left and right - but when richard had too much to drink and attempted to go after a three year old rebecca, joshua would not bear it. he had, at age thirteen, fought back for the first time - and he was losing, never fought before and hardly a match for an enraged adult against a young boy. by the time annalise had reached the police by locking herself in the bathroom with a cell phone and joshua getting in richard's way to distract him, the boy was battered and bloody all over the grand living room of their dallas home. there was a large gash over by his left eyebrow that would have later needed stitches, and faded into a still noticeable scar that joshua has to this day.
in the end, richard had gotten hard time and - taking her son and her daughter with her - annalise fled the dallas home elsewhere and raised her children in a modest and loving home away from what they had barely escaped unscathed. it had taken many years but for more or less the family seemed to have recovered, and are more close than ever before, especially joshua and his mother, and little rebecca who's only memories of her father trace back to fuzzy memories, not able to recall him by face. and joshua, well, he's still writing away, penning lyrics as if he were still in recess on the school playground.
[/ul]
way outside yourself
there's someone out there
who wants you to be free
[/color][/center][/font]there's someone out there
who wants you to be free
member title:
roleplay sample:
"Ah, one of our stragglers. Name?"
William Uley skidded into the open door none too gracefully or subtly, something similar with the air of being on ice skates instead the cold tile floor. He sheepishly rubbed the back of his head, hands temporarily running through windswept hair, considering he had run halfway to make it only after realizing he was late. "Uhh." Pausing for time he glanced around the classroom littered with students here and there, some older, and some younger. Frowning a bit with lack of recognizing anyone he really knew, he turned his attention back to the balding teacher. "Uley, William." The teen began to shift restlessly, digging his hands inside his pockets (how the hell was he supposed to survive three hours of this for today, and tomorrow at that? It was relatively illogical and some method of legal torture) as the man at the desk shifted through several pink slips, then shuffling them and looking back at Will expectantly. "Sorry, can't seem to find it. You're here for...?" Normally, such a reaction wouldn't have proposed a flare of indignant annoyance, but it was the old man's tone, that of superiority and yeah, he probably found it but was just using it to try to snap discipline into him. He mumbled his answer, looking reproachful, and at the man's gesture to speak up, pointing to his ears blatantly, William scowled; "One too many tardies," he bit out, probably a bit louder than he meant to, enough that a few students glanced up curiously at the interaction.
"Ahh, well, I can see that, Mr. Uley. Is there a particular reason for this?" William began to shift uneasily again; what was with hostile teachers trying to get a rise out of students? Did they want him to blow up in disobedience? He had a sneaking suspicion the geezer wouldn't have thought twice about trying to get under his skin if he was aware that, if pressing the wrong buttons, there would be disastrous results. And something told William that the teacher wouldn't be smirking at him so condescendingly if he was facing the boy in wolf form, hackles raised and sharp teeth bared in all their ferocity. As far as imagining went though, that was not the case, and he waited until his body was still from any visible tremors (the curse of being a new shifter, ugh) before he, too, began to smirk. "No," he answered, lifting an inquisitive brow at his next remark. "No, sir, Mr. Uley." Oh, of all the things he could have said, he was making it too easy for William and his love for quoting literature as they fit into everyday context. Probably wouldn't have even noticed, at that. As it went, bright blue eyes widened considerably in faux innocence as William shifted his backpack strap over his shoulder. "There's no need to call me 'sir', Mr. Reynolds," he commented, unable to hide his grin as a few students that were eavesdropping began to snicker,"May I take my seat now? I wouldn't want to deprive the class of my influence for a good three hours."
At his red-faced sputtering, William tipped an imaginary hat to the balding teacher, smiling through a,"Thanks for the permission, Reynolds," as he took his seat in about the middle of the class. It was always his favored position, seating-wise, considering he hardly ever joined the front with the aspiring scholars to Ivy League schools, or the way back with the stoners and complete rebels. And him? He was just trying to get through the four years as quickly and painlessly as possible, God forbid it be his fault he had people to talk to, a locker to check, and food to buy during passing period, taking up his time to ever arrive to class before the bell rang.
William Uley skidded into the open door none too gracefully or subtly, something similar with the air of being on ice skates instead the cold tile floor. He sheepishly rubbed the back of his head, hands temporarily running through windswept hair, considering he had run halfway to make it only after realizing he was late. "Uhh." Pausing for time he glanced around the classroom littered with students here and there, some older, and some younger. Frowning a bit with lack of recognizing anyone he really knew, he turned his attention back to the balding teacher. "Uley, William." The teen began to shift restlessly, digging his hands inside his pockets (how the hell was he supposed to survive three hours of this for today, and tomorrow at that? It was relatively illogical and some method of legal torture) as the man at the desk shifted through several pink slips, then shuffling them and looking back at Will expectantly. "Sorry, can't seem to find it. You're here for...?" Normally, such a reaction wouldn't have proposed a flare of indignant annoyance, but it was the old man's tone, that of superiority and yeah, he probably found it but was just using it to try to snap discipline into him. He mumbled his answer, looking reproachful, and at the man's gesture to speak up, pointing to his ears blatantly, William scowled; "One too many tardies," he bit out, probably a bit louder than he meant to, enough that a few students glanced up curiously at the interaction.
"Ahh, well, I can see that, Mr. Uley. Is there a particular reason for this?" William began to shift uneasily again; what was with hostile teachers trying to get a rise out of students? Did they want him to blow up in disobedience? He had a sneaking suspicion the geezer wouldn't have thought twice about trying to get under his skin if he was aware that, if pressing the wrong buttons, there would be disastrous results. And something told William that the teacher wouldn't be smirking at him so condescendingly if he was facing the boy in wolf form, hackles raised and sharp teeth bared in all their ferocity. As far as imagining went though, that was not the case, and he waited until his body was still from any visible tremors (the curse of being a new shifter, ugh) before he, too, began to smirk. "No," he answered, lifting an inquisitive brow at his next remark. "No, sir, Mr. Uley." Oh, of all the things he could have said, he was making it too easy for William and his love for quoting literature as they fit into everyday context. Probably wouldn't have even noticed, at that. As it went, bright blue eyes widened considerably in faux innocence as William shifted his backpack strap over his shoulder. "There's no need to call me 'sir', Mr. Reynolds," he commented, unable to hide his grin as a few students that were eavesdropping began to snicker,"May I take my seat now? I wouldn't want to deprive the class of my influence for a good three hours."
At his red-faced sputtering, William tipped an imaginary hat to the balding teacher, smiling through a,"Thanks for the permission, Reynolds," as he took his seat in about the middle of the class. It was always his favored position, seating-wise, considering he hardly ever joined the front with the aspiring scholars to Ivy League schools, or the way back with the stoners and complete rebels. And him? He was just trying to get through the four years as quickly and painlessly as possible, God forbid it be his fault he had people to talk to, a locker to check, and food to buy during passing period, taking up his time to ever arrive to class before the bell rang.
[/ul]
I WANTED TO BE ME !
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