( charlie heaton / cis male ) MILO SINCLAIR is 21 years old and is a JUNIOR at thales university. HE is majoring in LITERATURE and is known for being THE LOST SOUL as HE can be CREATIVE and PERSUASIVE as well as TEMPERAMENTAL and CLOSED OFF. every time i see HIM, HE reminds me of broken mirrors, the sound of rain hitting the pavement and unsaid words. ( ooc ina / 23 / she/they / gmt-3 )
hola hola, ina here (she/they) harry styles with long is something that can be so personal, you know? you can learn more about my son down here!
BACKGROUND
triger warnings: mentions of depression, suicide and drug abuse
Milo is the second and youngest son of Catherine and Edmund Sinclair. He was born and raised in Abeerden, Scottland. Milo was a mamma’s boy, Catherine was always welcoming and warm, whereas his father was of a cold nature and distant towards both his mother and both his children. When Milo was ten his grandfather, on his mother side passed away. Catherine was very close with his father and was never able to recover from his loss, in time she became depressed and her husband’s lack of interest in her well being only made things worse. When Milo was twelve she took her own life by drowning herself in the lake just a few miles away from the family’s summer home. Milo and his brother, Amos, were the ones who found the body. Amos and Milo have a very complicated relationship, and they fight everytime they’re in the same room.
He has a terrible, almost non existent, relationship with his father. Edmund cares very little for his children, he only shows interests when he wants something or when he’s showing his kids off in front of his colleagues. As Milo would describe him, he’s a very charming man who has been charming things way from him ever since he was a kid. Despite everything, Milo is a lot like his father, he can be very calculating and cold hearted when he wants something.
Milo has an addiction problem that started when he was 16. He started by taking whatever pills he could find in the house and in time no he couldn’t go without them. His father knew of this but only acted when Milo crashed one of his dinner parties completly high, he was then obligated to attend group therapy, but never once did he stop using. When he was 18 he stopped going to the meetings. He’s tried just about anything you can think of, but he prefers pills over any other drug. Milo uses sex and drugs as a way to try the void inside of him.
He doesn’t know how to do things in moderation, it’s all or nothing for him.
CONNECTION TO NANA
They were each other’s secret hookup, Nana pretended not to know milo whenever they encountered each other on the university’s halls or library. Milo wasn’t bothered by this, all the opposite, it was rather amusing to him.
FACTS
Wildcard™
Milo is incredibly bored with life. He’s interest in things and people for short periods of time, he likes everything but nothing holds him. Which is he’s always doing stupid shit, whatever that can entertain him for a little while, until it bores him and moves onto the next stupid thing.
He doesn’t like seeing his reflection in mirrors and so he tends to cover them with whatever he has nearby, clothes, sheets, ripped out pages of books.
He once went to class in nothing but a silk bathrobe and got kicked out.
God complex vs self loathing.
He’s always at a party, even if he’s not a party physically, he’s there mentally.
He’s a writter, he goes through periods of time where he doesn’t write anything at all and periods where it’s the only thing he does. His mood changes very quickly. He can go from being at the top of the world to not leaving his bed for days.
Perhaps hate wasn’t the word Milo was looking for, surely there was another word more fitted to describe what he felt every once two weeks. Resent? Bitterness? Disgust? But truly they all seemed meaningless next to hate. He never saw them coming, he didn’t even know if it was just the one person or several, all he knew was that once two weeks the penthouse would looks fucking repulsive — clean, other might say, the penthouse was now clean, but not to him, to him this was revolting.
He had already been unfolding the new black ink ribbon of his typewriter across couch. The couch was white was no ready fucking reason at all, who in their right mind would want a white couch? But that was half an hour ago, now he was drinking down was was left of his beer before he threw it against the wall. The bottle shattered going everywhere, there was beer left on it as it dripped down the walls of the kitchen.
He felt a slight change in the air of the room, he spoke without even turning. “Morning, sunshine.”
His head was killing him. It wasn’t anything new, he was used to the never ending headaches by now, it was the combination of his non-existent sleeping schedule and whatever narcotics were still in his bloodstream to blame. If he managed to not fall asleep during his first class today would be considered a big win.
He still had about ten minutes before he had to go in and find is seat in the class, he fumbled inside the pockets of his coat for his box of cigarettes. He brought one up to lips when he realized something, something that would’ve been obvious to anyone else. What exactly was his first class today? International Fiction? No, that was on fridays. Composition? That was on mondays, and today was monday, right?
“Fuck.” He muttered to himself. Milo rubbed his face with one of his hands. He wasn’t as bothered by not knowing the day, as he was by the fact that his morning smoke would know be interrupted by his not knowing. Sure he could still smoke, but without something occupying his mind? Not likely now. He digged his hand back into his pocket for his lighter when he heard footsteps coming his way. “Hey, what day is it?” He asked without really caring who it was.
[ID: Two screencaps from Taskmaster. Greg Davies asks, “How can you identify books by their smell?” Noel Fielding replies, “Mind your own fucking business.” End ID.]
