mickilennial
Member
The Elder Fae
STATUS: If you like Full Metal Panic give Fafner in the Azure a shot as well! 3 mos ago
- Last Seen: 1 day ago
- Old Guild Username: Gowi
- Joined: 8 yrs ago
- Posts: 7952 (2.76 / day)
- VMs: 7
-
Username history
- mickilennial 2 yrs ago
- ███ 4 yrs ago
- █████████ 8 yrs ago
-
Latest 10 profile visitors:
-
Most recent →
Yankee,
Asura,
Mcmolly,
Supermaxx,
Carlyle,
Ladypug,
udonoodles,
Lemons,
BurningCold,
Lyla
Status
Recent Statuses
3 mos ago
Current
If you like Full Metal Panic give Fafner in the Azure a shot as well!
2
likes
3 mos ago
If you aren't angry, you aren't conscious.
6
likes
4 mos ago
I think I have my writing confidence back. Feels like centuries since I could string together sentences.
5
likes
6 mos ago
🐶 Harvey (2009-2024)
11
likes
2 yrs ago
Vindication comes, so too does peace of mind as I close one chapter and open a new one.
10
likes
Bio
if you're petty with me
be prepared to deal with
the most crazy bitch
you've ever met
be prepared to deal with
the most crazy bitch
you've ever met
Micki | 35 (b. 1988) | Detroit | INTJ
Biromantic Demisexual | Bipolar/Manic-Depressive
Hi. I'm a role-player/writer who has spent over twenty-one years in this hobby.
I will pretty much write anything as long as my partner is cool with my inconsistent posting pace and momentum. I'm pretty sociable and I make dumb jokes all the time. My favorite things to write is capeshit, anime, space operas, horror, and slice of life/mundane drama. My writing level leans toward minimalism, but I try to give my partners/groups more than enough to work off of. I like to think I am pretty flexible.
I like cinema, music, and animation just as much as I like writing with people. My biggest hobby after writing is pop media analysis. Ask me questions or for suggestions and I'm sure to have something for you. 😎😎😎
Most Recent Posts
Y'all posted so much already, god damn. I'll try to get one up tonight or tomorrow.
I think if you just wanna do within reason just run it by me. Might be more cohesive than me having to mention it in a seperate post.
D A V E
D A V E
D A V E
37 ■ Male ■ Singer. Songwriter. Television Personality. Sometimes Actor.
A P P E A R A N C E
A P P E A R A N C E
A P P E A R A N C E
▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅
At five-foot-eight and with access to a personal trainer, Dave has done everything to maximize his appearance for the good of his career. The last few years have taken a turn of sorts, with him seeming to stop caring about his carefully crafted image, but he hasn’t let himself go either. A blue-eyed brunette who to some is the biggest thing in country and pop music since Garth and Kenny isn’t a bad look to have for sure.
P E R S O N A L I T Y
P E R S O N A L I T Y
P E R S O N A L I T Y
▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅
“All depends on what side of bed Dave woke up on today.” a friend once remarked in relation to this very issue.
Dave is temperamental, moody. Sometimes described as high maintenance–the kind of pop star that makes people blast them on social media for having problems respecting the people who got him to where he is. His defenders will probably say anyone with a bad experience asked for it or caught him on a bad day. Perhaps both sides have some nuggets of truth at the baseline.
Ultimately, Dave’s been unhappy for a long time. Most of his success came when he moved away from his earnest songwriting and to blase, empty-headed pop music. Pair that with a generational addiction to addictive substances (particularly of the Jim Beam variety) and a very internal war between self and demons you have a hotbed of a temperamental, self-entitled, unfulfilled, and lonely man. Even he admits he needs to get back to the person he was, and not the person he’s been constructed to be by the big labels and important Hollywood producers. How can he live up to be a role model for anybody if he feels nothing and has nothing? It’s a question he ponders nightly and at the bottom of a bottle.
Dave is temperamental, moody. Sometimes described as high maintenance–the kind of pop star that makes people blast them on social media for having problems respecting the people who got him to where he is. His defenders will probably say anyone with a bad experience asked for it or caught him on a bad day. Perhaps both sides have some nuggets of truth at the baseline.
Ultimately, Dave’s been unhappy for a long time. Most of his success came when he moved away from his earnest songwriting and to blase, empty-headed pop music. Pair that with a generational addiction to addictive substances (particularly of the Jim Beam variety) and a very internal war between self and demons you have a hotbed of a temperamental, self-entitled, unfulfilled, and lonely man. Even he admits he needs to get back to the person he was, and not the person he’s been constructed to be by the big labels and important Hollywood producers. How can he live up to be a role model for anybody if he feels nothing and has nothing? It’s a question he ponders nightly and at the bottom of a bottle.
B I O G R A P H Y
B I O G R A P H Y
B I O G R A P H Y
▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅
David Earl MacKeown had a rough childhood in a town just north of Oklahoma City.
When he finally got free, he pushed himself to Nashville, hustling and hoping that one day his dream of hitting the lights of the big stage would become real.
Perhaps it happened a little faster than he could handle. Before the age of 25 he had multiple hits and attention from a big, proper music label. It would be that label that took him to greater heights for a decade plus, though it would come with its own costs. His songwriting took a backseat to a team of writers, his musicality became what he found banal–all while he struggled with addiction, relationship hurdles, and spending his time between Nashville and Hollywood. In his thirties, with strings of top ten smash hits for years and a popular stint as a judge on a singing competition, the midlife crisis finally came for him and probably a bit more violently than it came for others.
His son’s death. The subsequent divorce. A few things. A social media episode. The label deciding not to renew his contract; all of it came as it did and it seemed like the perfect opportunity to get some R&R and rethink what his life meant and how he could pick up the pieces moving forward. The world sees him as some sort of diva, a trainwreck to encourage, a sellout, a star. Not often that the world sees him for what he’s going through. But touring independently has given him something to think about.
Perhaps he should’ve picked a different vacation spot.
When he finally got free, he pushed himself to Nashville, hustling and hoping that one day his dream of hitting the lights of the big stage would become real.
Perhaps it happened a little faster than he could handle. Before the age of 25 he had multiple hits and attention from a big, proper music label. It would be that label that took him to greater heights for a decade plus, though it would come with its own costs. His songwriting took a backseat to a team of writers, his musicality became what he found banal–all while he struggled with addiction, relationship hurdles, and spending his time between Nashville and Hollywood. In his thirties, with strings of top ten smash hits for years and a popular stint as a judge on a singing competition, the midlife crisis finally came for him and probably a bit more violently than it came for others.
His son’s death. The subsequent divorce. A few things. A social media episode. The label deciding not to renew his contract; all of it came as it did and it seemed like the perfect opportunity to get some R&R and rethink what his life meant and how he could pick up the pieces moving forward. The world sees him as some sort of diva, a trainwreck to encourage, a sellout, a star. Not often that the world sees him for what he’s going through. But touring independently has given him something to think about.
Perhaps he should’ve picked a different vacation spot.
M I S C E L L A N E O U S
M I S C E L L A N E O U S
M I S C E L L A N E O U S
▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅
Dialogue Color: dodgerblue
How big of the friends group are you looking at? I've got some obligations but I can't resist period pieces.
▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅
“This is a report to the elder, be sure they recieve it, Fujiwara.”
Anayo was a peculiar woman. In the years since she was allowed to learn under her and the peculiarities that came with her line of work, Chiasa wasn’t sure what she had actually learned.
In fact, she was pretty sure she had been a gofer more than a machinist or tinkerer or whatever word-of-the-week their line of work was called. “Fujiwara go here and do this. Go here and do that.” – it was a revolving door of things, but when it came the time her mentor and herself got to journey outward into a reflection of the past it made it all worth it. However, today was not one of those days.
“Is it important?” She asked, with a flat monotone.
“Everything I do is important.”
“Mhm. Sure.”
“It is. And you’re not to read it.” The tinkerer turned from her desk with a glare that cut through Chiasa’s blank expression, “Or else.”
Chiasa nodded, softly, with a sigh, as her mentor turned away from her and resumed her tasks at her desk.
“And get dressed. I’m not getting yelled at again for you missing another festival or whatever. And you’ll be working the stall later. Those morons love the most useless things I find, I swear.”
“If I have to.” She remarked, calmly rebelling against the suggestion, though she knew what it would lead to if she rejected the notion, “I have to, don’t I?”
“You do. Now go. Shoo.”
And so Chiasa left the room. There wasn’t much she could do in her situation and as crass and blunt as her teacher may have been, it was a lot better than returning to the Fujiwara Estate to be ordered around to look for a husband. At least with Anayo she was free to work for her passion and do things she was actually happy to do. Not that she showed much of that happiness.
Maybe one day someone would get her to smile and in a way that didn’t cause someone to think she was going to kill them. Expressions were difficult, but honestly there weren’t any people that brought warmth in her heart to cause her to need to smile. She found some of the men in the village contentable, sure, and there were also a few women she found as tolerable to be around, but nothing in either sex that made her fantasize about them being her partner for life. Maybe one day. But not any day soon. Still, she needed to look proper for the village, her clan, and her mentor. Apparently. When was the last time she dressed up? She couldn’t fathom an answer in her head and did not quite want to.
She abhorred formalities, after all.
At least the trip to see the Elder would not take too long. She doubted she would run into any distractions on the way...
Anayo was a peculiar woman. In the years since she was allowed to learn under her and the peculiarities that came with her line of work, Chiasa wasn’t sure what she had actually learned.
In fact, she was pretty sure she had been a gofer more than a machinist or tinkerer or whatever word-of-the-week their line of work was called. “Fujiwara go here and do this. Go here and do that.” – it was a revolving door of things, but when it came the time her mentor and herself got to journey outward into a reflection of the past it made it all worth it. However, today was not one of those days.
“Is it important?” She asked, with a flat monotone.
“Everything I do is important.”
“Mhm. Sure.”
“It is. And you’re not to read it.” The tinkerer turned from her desk with a glare that cut through Chiasa’s blank expression, “Or else.”
Chiasa nodded, softly, with a sigh, as her mentor turned away from her and resumed her tasks at her desk.
“And get dressed. I’m not getting yelled at again for you missing another festival or whatever. And you’ll be working the stall later. Those morons love the most useless things I find, I swear.”
“If I have to.” She remarked, calmly rebelling against the suggestion, though she knew what it would lead to if she rejected the notion, “I have to, don’t I?”
“You do. Now go. Shoo.”
And so Chiasa left the room. There wasn’t much she could do in her situation and as crass and blunt as her teacher may have been, it was a lot better than returning to the Fujiwara Estate to be ordered around to look for a husband. At least with Anayo she was free to work for her passion and do things she was actually happy to do. Not that she showed much of that happiness.
Maybe one day someone would get her to smile and in a way that didn’t cause someone to think she was going to kill them. Expressions were difficult, but honestly there weren’t any people that brought warmth in her heart to cause her to need to smile. She found some of the men in the village contentable, sure, and there were also a few women she found as tolerable to be around, but nothing in either sex that made her fantasize about them being her partner for life. Maybe one day. But not any day soon. Still, she needed to look proper for the village, her clan, and her mentor. Apparently. When was the last time she dressed up? She couldn’t fathom an answer in her head and did not quite want to.
She abhorred formalities, after all.
At least the trip to see the Elder would not take too long. She doubted she would run into any distractions on the way...
▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅
Might make a different character so there's less overlap but I'm not sure what yet.
“We need to find food, too. Clean water. Unless you want to go keycard hunting on an empty stomach.”
The remark was made rather matter-of-factly, like Hera didn’t care at all about what they were all going through. Some of her body language betrayed that idea–the way she was clutching her blazer, the slight twitch of her fingers, and how she kept looking around the classroom.
The classroom was well-stocked… for literature. Plenty of books reciting old stories they had been tasked with studying before the end of the year. Mr. Potter had opted for an obscure novel by Mary Shelley, The Last Man, about the struggles of a man named Lionel Verney as he came to terms that the bubonic plague had left very few alive in its wake. The very first dystopian novel. Mr. Potter may have had a sense of humor after all. Not that a bunch of paper was going to be much use to them. School still had power. Heating and Water. At least that was a silver lining. As she thought about utilities and defense, a thought came to her mind.
The chair legs could be useful.
She looked to the chairs that sat in the classroom, moving one over to its side. Virco 9000. If they had a screwdriver they could remove the metal legs from the hard plastic. Right. She looked over to her classmate who was shuffling through Mr. Potter’s desk. There was no chance in hell that there was a screwdriver in there. 99.9% chance there was nothing useful in general. Well, she hoped the girl could find something. Anything, really. It would be better than nothing, that much was for sure.
What the girl would find, unfortunately, was little more than two energy bars (chocolate, though), a bunch of papers (including divorce papers yet to be signed), and one pack of mechanical pencils with two remaining.
The remark was made rather matter-of-factly, like Hera didn’t care at all about what they were all going through. Some of her body language betrayed that idea–the way she was clutching her blazer, the slight twitch of her fingers, and how she kept looking around the classroom.
The classroom was well-stocked… for literature. Plenty of books reciting old stories they had been tasked with studying before the end of the year. Mr. Potter had opted for an obscure novel by Mary Shelley, The Last Man, about the struggles of a man named Lionel Verney as he came to terms that the bubonic plague had left very few alive in its wake. The very first dystopian novel. Mr. Potter may have had a sense of humor after all. Not that a bunch of paper was going to be much use to them. School still had power. Heating and Water. At least that was a silver lining. As she thought about utilities and defense, a thought came to her mind.
The chair legs could be useful.
She looked to the chairs that sat in the classroom, moving one over to its side. Virco 9000. If they had a screwdriver they could remove the metal legs from the hard plastic. Right. She looked over to her classmate who was shuffling through Mr. Potter’s desk. There was no chance in hell that there was a screwdriver in there. 99.9% chance there was nothing useful in general. Well, she hoped the girl could find something. Anything, really. It would be better than nothing, that much was for sure.
What the girl would find, unfortunately, was little more than two energy bars (chocolate, though), a bunch of papers (including divorce papers yet to be signed), and one pack of mechanical pencils with two remaining.
Annoying People
▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅
Location: Alcatraz Compound [Recreation Wing]
Issue #3: Annoying People
▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅
Interaction(s): N/A
The blonde sighed, her hands buried in her pockets, as she moved quickly away from the prison veteran character from going into their full spiel about the rules of the prison and the other characters that inhabited it. That was how she saw it, like she was in some kind of awful movie.
“Great. Annoying people and handsy prison guards. Tons of fun.” She muttered under her breath.
Kaitlin ended her “get away from things she didn’t like” exercise at the room’s collection of books, her eyes constantly eyeing the people around her as she made her way there. She wasn’t a particular fan of people before she had powers, so she couldn’t imagine what was more nerve-wracking than a bunch of people she didn’t want to interact with who also had powers. She wasn’t a smoker, but just being on Alcatraz made her relate to the people who were.
She sighed, easing out her anxiety, before a book title caught her attention. She immediately took it from its place among the books and a slightly amused smirk replaced her rather unimpressed-slash-annoyed expression.
The Count of Monte Cristo.
Somebody had a sense of humor.
She flipped a few pages as she found the closest wall and sat on the floor with her back against it. A set of noise-canceling headphones would’ve been nice about now; they certainly would have made dealing with the place she found herself in a lot easier. Why did she leave most of her stuff at home? Oh right, because she didn’t have time to think. Just her luck. Not that it mattered much. She’d deal. She had no choice.
“Great. Annoying people and handsy prison guards. Tons of fun.” She muttered under her breath.
Kaitlin ended her “get away from things she didn’t like” exercise at the room’s collection of books, her eyes constantly eyeing the people around her as she made her way there. She wasn’t a particular fan of people before she had powers, so she couldn’t imagine what was more nerve-wracking than a bunch of people she didn’t want to interact with who also had powers. She wasn’t a smoker, but just being on Alcatraz made her relate to the people who were.
She sighed, easing out her anxiety, before a book title caught her attention. She immediately took it from its place among the books and a slightly amused smirk replaced her rather unimpressed-slash-annoyed expression.
The Count of Monte Cristo.
Somebody had a sense of humor.
She flipped a few pages as she found the closest wall and sat on the floor with her back against it. A set of noise-canceling headphones would’ve been nice about now; they certainly would have made dealing with the place she found herself in a lot easier. Why did she leave most of her stuff at home? Oh right, because she didn’t have time to think. Just her luck. Not that it mattered much. She’d deal. She had no choice.
M a y b e
Not exactly my concept, but it seems we are on a similar wavelength, huh.
Interested in this. I have some characters in mind, like a washed out rockstar that is just blowing whatever money he has left on extravagant trips, or a woman who broke up with her fiancée a week before the wedding, but still went on the honeymoon trip by herself. Once I pick a concept I’ll start work on my character sheet.
Not exactly my concept, but it seems we are on a similar wavelength, huh.
© 2007-2025