Updates
↳ 9/1/24 — updated about (my birthday was august 27th!)
↳ 8/11/24 — updated journal
↳ 8/1/24 — updated story to include newly finished TMAYP story + notes
↳ 7/25/24 — made music page
↳ 7/23/24 — updated muse page
↳ 7/20/24 — made extras page
↳ 7/15/24 — made layout more responsive. added muse ariadne page and guestbook. updated entry page.
↳ 7/9/24 — added updates and to-do section to home
TO-DO
↳ add mini-diary to journal
↳ update extras page
↳ make a mobile version
SHIBARDNEK
shiba · 26 · they/she/he
a hub for character musings, writing ventures, and mediocrity overall.
CHARACTERS
LUCIEN BAUER
FULL NAME: Lucien Bauer.
D.O.B. + AGE: 10 / 25 / 19XX | 27.
ZODIAC: Scorpio / Cancer / Capricorn.
GENDER: Male.
PRONOUNS: He/Him.
ETHNICITY: White.
ORIENTATION: Bisexual.
OCCUPATION: Line Cook.
"Understand that there is a BEAST within you that can drink 'til it is sick, but cannot drink 'til it is satisfied."
— Frank Bidart
A city dweller, never knowing life beyond the falsified stars of street lamps and stop lights. A deadbeat, yet, thankfully, mostly absent father, with a distant and overworked mother, Lucien has never had a direction or path to follow. Knuckles against bone, the smell of rust and iron engulfing his nose, and bouts of hot, salty tears leaving their streaks, a life of violence was the preferred outlet for his anger. His early teen years were riddled with petty crimes, threatening unsuspecting patrons just looking for scraps of money to buy food for lunch. Shaky fingers and the tightness in his chest became a familiar feeling, the adrenaline of theft becoming less and less exhilarating, all the while skipping class for society didn’t want someone like him anyways.
A blurry vision of blue and red, distant yelling ringing in his ears, body feeling bruised and aching, a plateau has been reached. A report was made, a cry for help even, he just didn’t know. A dull ache gave bleary memories, the fleeting remembrance at the crack of his jaw and hitting the floor. Before he knew it, he was put in the system, four years before being free from the burden of youth. Moving from home to home, Lucien was given a meagre direction, but at least he had a routine, and a hot meal every night, even if there was still not an ounce of affection.
Right before his 18th birthday, Lucien had weeks to find a place to live on his own after being perpetually failed by the system he was forced into. He will never fully admit it, but he’s eternally grateful for his now roommate Nathaniel for allowing a damaged, run down teenager to take up the extra room he was offering on Craigslist.
He currently resides in a dilapidated house with three other men; Alec, Spencer, and Nathaniel. He works as a line cook for the majority of his income, with the occasional under-the-table payouts and contract work on the side. He scrapes by, aimlessly surviving the day to day without any concrete plans for the future. Throughout the mundane, he’s also picked up a stray cat that he takes care of — Jasper.
He’s always been particularly empathetic to lost causes.
Five foot nine. Lanky, but not frail. Bones jutting out from their confines for he is far too twiggy. He equates himself to the likeliness of raw quartz; rough to the touch, pale by appearance, and unassuming at first glance.
Sharp features adorning a crooked face, there is nothing perfect about Lucien. An asymmetric jaw, tilting more to the right than the left, proposing a thought; birth defect, or the outcome of a fight? In the center, an aquiline nose, eye-catching, but never in a good way. The smell of cigarettes and sandalwood, permeating from the secondhand flannels and sweaters that he has accumulated over the years, living in the past without a clear distinction of change. His eyes, always giving a far off look, glassy with nostalgia, with a hint of regret, found within the rich umber shade beneath hooded, lazy lids.
A very neutral color palette, and can easily be forgotten. Skinny wrists, skinny arms, skinny legs, some would deem him very scrawny looking, regardless of his protests. He’s agile and scrappy, but gives off the same melancholy as the fluorescent lighting flickering on the night bus. An eerie feeling, a suspicious side eye, and a tad lonely. Very tight-lipped, and pensive in thought, with a permanent brow crease from hours of contemplation. A mop of dark curls atop his head, soft to the touch but split at the ends, it’s nearly as unruly as the person himself, all the while not sure of where the strands will land upon his head; the same as how Lucien is unsure of where he stands on this earth.
Distant and reserved, it takes work to pry open Lucien’s seams. He’d rather observe than participate, his pragmatic nature making him painfully wary of strangers. Even with his intensely private nature, most who know Lucien can confidently describe him with three words: dependable, despondent, and no-nonsense. Quiet by trauma nature, he’d rather show than tell, and it’s loudest in his acts of service. Car broke down? He’ll give you a lift. Can’t afford to eat? He’ll cover the tab, no need to pay him back. Got too fucked up at one of Spencer’s house parties? He’s already got water at the ready after holding your hair back.
Don’t mistake Lucien’s kindness for weakness; it’ll be the first and last time you do it. He’s deceptively unbothered, but his short fuse is easily lit. Unresolved anger issues can make him quick to lunge — abused dogs only bite out of defense. He’ll easily hit first, and reconsider second.
CASSIOPEIA AOKI
FULL NAME: [REDACTED] Aoki.
D.O.B. + AGE: 05 / 27 / 19XX | 25.
ZODIAC: Gemini / Aquarius / Cancer.
GENDER: Female.
PRONOUNS: She/Her.
ETHNICITY: Japanese.
ORIENTATION: Bisexual.
OCCUPATION: Music Retail.
"The cage is open. You can walk out any time you want. Why are you still in there?"
— Heather Havrilesky
The black sheep of the brood, an imposter to the flock, she wonders if the shepherds know there’s something off about her. She’s already made herself the imbalance in being born — eldest daughter to four younger brothers, she thinks her parents just assume all young girls are like that. There was never time to invest in the individual child growing up, just the brutality of privileged academic expectations and bragging rights to the other parents who live vicariously through their children’s successes. In a household raised with a “healthy” competitive drive to outshine the other, what else does one do but learn to play the game?
How do you play a game with hidden rules? You adapt.
She learned that her interests are unimportant in the grand scheme of things, especially if they are deemed “abnormal” or “useless”. She learned how to navigate the all girls private schools she was enrolled in, moreso when her parents decided to send her to a boarding school for her high school years. She learned how to blend in, malleable and amendable — even at the cost of losing herself in the process. In her moments of grief, she learned how to cry without making a sound, how to swallow her heart when it threatened to spill out of her mouth. A comatose teenage girl, dull behind the eyes, working towards a future she didn’t get to choose.
She was not excited or proud when she received valedictorian. Her heart did not stir when she stood at graduation, making her generic speech. She feigned gratitude when nepotism landed her at the university her father taught at. The only thing she could feel was the buzzing in her brain, the stinging behind her eyes, and the ticking in her chest warning that the game is almost over.
It happened in the middle of a lecture hall, a hundred students witnessing her breaking point. Violent and uncontrollable, her carefully constructed facade wiped away in an instant. A seizure, loud and disruptive, she looks back and wonders if that is when the shepherds finally fed her to the wolves.
A diagnosis, a withdrawal from university, and a loss of purpose, Cassio decided to move in with her grandmother, far away from the stress that caused her seizure in the first place. With her newfound freedom, she decided to throw away the name [REDACTED] as her first act of defiance. And as she navigates the challenges of figuring out who she is again, she has to ask:
Did the wolves end up eating her?
Or did she just become one?
Five foot two. Bird-boned with black feather plume — a crow in human skin.
Picture of her mother, wishing it were another, she’s got a heart-shaped face for someone so bitter. There’s a calculating look in her doe eyes, honey hazel shimmering with something critical as she contemplates your character. Her fringe catches between her lashes, desperately in need of a trimming; kitchen scissors are her preferred stylist when she’s got the time. Uneven layers fall unceremoniously on her shoulders, thin and wispy with damaged split ends. Her disheveled hair matches her restless mind, for she’ll never stay idle.
She’s got a smile that doesn’t quite reach the eyes, a quip on the tip of her tongue, and her bow-shaped lips are incessantly picked at due to nerves. Nestled in the divet of her top lip rests a titanium stud — Oh this? It didn’t even hurt. Above, at the center of her face, an upturned button nose, reminder of how her dad used to call it adorable; she wrinkles it up at the thought. Don’t comment on it.
Oversized crewnecks with faded logos drown her figure in polyester confines, hiding more than just her body. The hand-me-downs from her younger brothers make it ironic, and the reminiscent smell of fresh cut grass was never able to be washed out from their clothes. She secretly hopes it never does — it makes her feel less alone.
Introspective and observant, Cassiopeia likes to analyze before socializing. She has a penchant for the strange, drawn to those who are hiding things in plain sight for her to decipher — she loves learning secrets more than divulging in them, and has learned the art of assimilating to get them easier. Surface level, she’s mild mannered and kind, forced to be hyper aware of the moods and attitudes of those around her to keep up with social cues. She’ll disclose enough about herself to keep you interested, her cleverness and wit an easy way to combat the restlessness deep in her bones — an incurable desire for deeper connections that she consistently misses. An itch that needs scratched. A mystery she cannot solve.
Do not mistake her actions as manipulations — she hasn’t the edge for intentional cruelty. Stemming from a past harboring loneliness and resentment, with a wily heart that’s been suppressed for too long, she’s still figuring out the newfound independence from rigid expectations. Just as the stars have an affinity for volatility, Cassio is no exception — every passing day she struggles more and more to keep her outbursts at bay.
