/ ( ashley moore. cis-female. she/her ). ⸻ juliette “jules” montgomery, a twenty-eight year old photojournalist, still wears last summer like a scar. they move through the heat as the judas, each step a reminder of the role they've never quite outrun. carried like souvenirs from something they won't talk about, you'll recognize them by warm sand slipping through your fingers like the turn of an hourglass; a blur of moonlight obscured by clouds, casting everything in dim monochrome; the taste of salt on your tongue after swallowing seawater . they've always been adaptable and cynical, depending on who's telling the story. the sand shifts, the shoreline whispers, and everyone pretends not to notice what's changed. but secrets rot faster in the sun & someone out there still remembers exactly what they did… (hyun, 23, she/her, gmt+9, n/a).
✶ 〳 BEFORE WE BEGIN:
all of juliette's info is hosted on google docs, and i would really appreciate it if you took a gander there (mainly the biography & psychology tabs) to fully understand her ! however, i know not everyone has time to read that monster of a thing, or maybe this is just for your future reference, so below is the summary <3
✶ 〳 QUICK STATISTICS:
full name: juliette phoebe montgomery / nickname: jules, j, julie (by family) / age: twenty-eight / birth: may 27th, 1997 in geneva, switzerland / gender/pronouns: cis-female, she/her / orientation: bisexual, biromantic / languages: english, french, german, some italian / occupation: photojournalist for the boston globe / height: 5'4" or 163cm
positives: adaptable, straightforward, perceptive, personable / negatives: private, cynical, conflict-averse, unpredictable / neutrals: individualistic, rational, cautious / primary goal: to find a place she belongs / primary fear: being vulnerable; losing friends and community / skills & hobbies: photography, playing pool, chess & poker & strategic board games, hiking, art museums, swimming
mbti: istp – the virtuoso / enneagram: type 6, the loyalist or the skeptic / likes: cherry ice cream, black coffee, whiskey, blue hour, georgia o'keefe paintings, documentaries, cats / dislikes: mint chocolate flavor, snakes, passive-aggressiveness, losing games
✶ 〳 A GLANCE AT HER FAMILY:
MOTHER: diane underwood (58) — an american diplomat and politician, who was stationed in switzerland when she had juliette. her mother is cutthroat, not very affectionate, and values her public image. juliette feels an intrinsic need to earn her approval, which she despises.
FATHER: ebi montgomery (deceased at age 47) — an american graphic designer from lethe, who went to art school in switzerland and stayed there when he met juliette's mother. juliette was closer with her father; they shared a love for art. he was a much more easy-going parent. he was the reason she came to lethe in the first place.
YOUNGER SISTER: lucille “luci” montgomery (25) — a swiss-born american model and online influencer, who is starting to gain serious traction. she is quite naive, overly optimistic, and a hopeless romantic. juliette feels protective of her, and perhaps jealous of how carefree her sister is.
✶ 〳 INTO THE PAST:
EARLY LIFE:
born in geneva, switzerland as the eldest child of an american diplomat and an american graphic designer, and older sister of lucille by three years. her mother was busy and subsequently not around much, while her father spent more time with the children.
the family moved around a lot, and the constant change in environment meant that she quickly learned the rhythm of gaining and losing friends, and how not to get attached – when her mother announces the next country, she knows how to cut her connections loose.
at first, she tried to maintain friendships, but it always ended the same: distance and time did all the dirty work, and she was left alone to start anew. the only constant – if anything – was her family.
when juliette was seventeen, her father passed away from an undetected heart disease.
COLLEGE & LETHE:
juliette started again at boston university, studying journalism for both her bachelor’s and master’s.
being close to her dad’s hometown of lethe, she went for the very first time the summer after her freshman year, staying with her grandmother. she felt at home there for the first time. after that first summer, she started returning to lethe every summer.
in college, she dated someone in her friend group, but rumors spread that over the summer they had gotten with someone else while they were apart. she broke it off with them, and the friend group, without any other confirmation.
the summer before she graduated with her master’s degree, she met the group at lethe, did her song and dance to make friends with them. as she spent more time with them, it gradually convinced her to not run. it feels more like home with them than it has ever felt before, but she still knows the escape route.
after graduation, she became a photojournalist for the boston globe.
LAST SUMMER: (ignore the tense change…)
it was supposed to be like every other summer, but maybe it was always going to end like this, and you just forgot to look for the warning signs. that summer, you weren’t thinking straight and almost broke your own rule with the fool, made a mistake. then you followed the group to lethe dip, your second mistake. the fall, the clean-up: you weren’t thinking straight then, either. everyone walked away like nothing happened, but you can feel it in every fiber of your body, eating at you.
you were so close. the next time you met with your sister for brunch, you were hoping she couldn’t see what you felt. you swallowed it, you almost threw it all back up, and then you walked away.
returning to your job feels like penance. you’re meant to seek the truth when you know exactly where it is, slotted in the space between your lungs and your ribs, poking you every time you breathe.
THIS SUMMER:
you came back – what are you looking for this time? a foolish thing to believe that you can still return and think of lethe as your home when it’s stained in blood, but maybe this is your destiny, with guilt as your companion. you don’t know why you haven’t cut ties yet, why you keep hesitating, and you’re not sure whether you’ve made the right decision.
now, the exit might be blocked. do you know what to do if you can’t run?
✶ 〳 THE CONNECTION WITH TEDDY:
they originally met at the beginning of the summer she had met the rest of the group, outside mizu where she asked him for a lighter and they shared a cigarette. there was always a shared, unspoken understanding between them — two sides of the same coin, two people who have the tendency to leave first. they often met up as just the two of them, like confidantes without really speaking about what's eating at them, and instead just enjoyed the other's company. juliette would never talk about the times she saw teddy worse for wear to the rest of the group — she would never ask, and besides, whatever it was, it wasn't her secret to tell.
see google docs for more detail, or check out her playlist and her pinterest !
⸻ catalina silva, a thirty-one year old wedding planner, still wears last summer like a scar. they move through the heat as the legacy, each step a reminder of the role they've never quite outrun. carried like souvenirs from something they won't talk about, you'll recognize them by golden rays reflected against bronze skin, a rusted crown beginning to bend and break from the weight of it all, a smile that doesn’t quite reach the eyes. they've always been assertive and mercurial, depending on who's telling the story. the sand shifts, the shoreline whispers, and everyone pretends not to notice what's changed. but secrets rot faster in the sun & someone out there still remembers exactly what they did …
THE OVERVIEW.
full name. maria catalina oliveira silva / nicknames. cat ( to everyone ) / age. thirty one / date of birth. june 22nd / gender + pronouns. cis woman, she/her / sexuality. bisexual / occupation. wedding planner
face claim. camila mendes / hair color. dark brown / eye color. brown / height. 1.57m / tattoos. none / piercings. ear lobes / physical ailments. none / neurological conditions. none / allergies. peanuts
zodiac sign. cancer / mbti. enfj ( the protagonist ) / enneagram. 3w2 / temperament. sanguine / moral alignment. neutral good / parallels. helen shivers ( i know what you did last summer ) jackie taylor ( yellowjackets ) cindy berman ( fear street ) cher horowitz ( clueless )
THE SUMMARY.
content warning for mentions of miscarriage, cancer, and death.
love permeates every aspect of catalina’s life, flows through her vein like ichor in a god. a miracle baby born after two miscarriages, tears welled in her mother’s eyes as she held her for the first time; a silent promise that as long as she was around, catalina would never have to worry about the pain of a broken heart, for she would heal her wounds before she could even feel it.
catalina’s parents made sure she lived the perfect life, and in turn she became the child every parent wanted; perfect grades, gymnastics team captain, homecoming and prom queen — she practically had it all.but catalina’s life was a double edged sword. years of utopia had fostered in her a need for everything to be perfect. always on time, not a hair out of place, and wearing a smile that never once wavers. who knew that it could all fall apart so quickly.
her mother is diagnosed with stage four cancer on her sixteenth birthday, and passes away a mere six months later. catalina is a mess. her best friend and seemingly perfect life, slipping through her fingers like water. it’s lethe that saves her — her mother’s hometown, cat’s second home and sanctuary. summers are never the same, but at least she has this.
catalina ends up working as a wedding planner, organizing what’s meant to be the best day of people’s lives. a day of love should be perfect. a career that’s meant for her. at twenty-five, she comes to lethe for the summer once more, like she always does, and gains fourteen friends. she meets teddy, whose walls she could never seem to tear down no matter how hard she tried, until it was too late. lethe is her second home — and then it becomes her prison.
THE CHARACTER.
if one thing is certain about catalina, it's that she's reliable. you can always trust in her to fulfill a task or keep a secret. but she'll always, always expect something in return.
not a perfectionist in the traditional sense, but obsessed with having everything be perfect. catalina believes there's an order to everything, and so she likes to take the lead to make sure things go accordingly. some may call her controlling, but she'll say she only wants what's best.
a lover to her very core. catalina falls in love very easily. she hasn't been single since she was eighteen, having been in relationships both long-term and short-lived. but catalina doesn't always do it for the sake of love — sometimes the idea of love seems much more appealing in the meantime.
hates the thought of not being liked. a people pleaser to the point of concern. she'll do everything in her power to keep herself on someone's good side, and knowing she's disliked is a blow to her psyche.
( zendaya. demi woman. she/they ). ⸻ misja rothbart, a(n) twenty eight year old family and marriage therapist, still wears last summer like a scar. they move through the heat as the judas, each step a reminder of the role they've never quite outrun. carried like souvenirs from something they won't talk about, you'll recognize them by standing at odds with your own reflection / your sense of self as a mosaic of people past, present, and future / mediation as a tool for survival, but why need that when your hands are already bloody. they've always been resourceful and reclusive, depending on who's telling the story. the sand shifts, the shoreline whispers, and everyone pretends not to notice what's changed. but secrets rot faster in the sun & someone out there still remembers exactly what they did…
𓆝 ⋆. continue reading.
part one, the basics.
full name. misja rothbart nickname(s). mimi, only ever from close friends age. twenty eight birthdate. february 17th, 1996 birthplace. tampines, singapore gender. demi woman pronouns. she/her/hers & they/them/theirs orientation. biromantic & bisexual ethnicity. african-american, belgian nationality. singaporean officially while working on citizenship to the usa and belgium language(s) spoken. english, dutch, malay ( casual, informal ) education level. master's of science in marriage and family therapy current occupation. marriage and family therapist at a private practice
part two, the appearance.
faceclaim. zendaya height. 5ft 10in hair color. brown eye color. brown scar(s). none piercing(s). single lobes on both ears, conch worn with a silver hoop on left ear, upper helix on right ear tattoo(s). none yet, but they'd like one eventually - they are just too indecisive other distinct feature(s). the smell of fresh laundry and jasmine trailing as they walk, straight posture with an aversion to slouching, the tendency to lean in close as they listen to someone speak style. practical and rarely fitted — restrictive clothes make them feel trapped, always wrapped in knits due to the new england winds and a cold office, silver jewelry, heeled boots you can hear a mile away, silver rings to twirl around their fingers
part three, the story.
misja was originally born in singapore, both of her parents in the financial sector. her father, an insurance lawyer from new york city and her mother, a prominent banker from belgium. the roots in singapore were drawn as temporary, a years-long contract job with an overseas client while their mother was over two trimsters into her pregnancy. it ended up being a much longer deal, deciding to settle and raise them in singapore instead of the states or belgium.
they are the eldest child of four, raised by an au pair and handed back to their parents once she could hold her own. the household felt in competition every day, as if pit against each other to see who would ultimately continue the pride of the rochana name. a pleasure to have in class was no longer an arbitrary report card marker, but rather, a means for survival — make everyone pleased, and you will make it out unscathed.
violence and abuse mention tw — while their household was cold, the explosiveness came from their siblings, all too young, those who haven’t yet learned how to smile and nod, or bite their tongue at the dinner table. fights broke out, dishes were thrown with people getting caught by the pieces, and misja had to patch them up — a one-person clean up crew — that became ingrained, second nature even, so much that it has compartmentalized in another spot of their brain.
mediation quickly became a gift, something that could be monetized, while still maintaining the leeway of being able to perform that job anywhere, anytime. it didn’t bode well, with the parents — those who aimed for more practicality in a traditional sense ( i.e. lawyers, doctors, financiers, etc. ) talk therapist was akin to a conman, someone who, to them, found pleasure in exploiting the weaknesses of others. to misja, it was a way out, something enough to keep them moving.
that choice resulted in them getting cut off only weeks before beginning their masters program, fully estranged and nearly disgraced, the rochana name and claim to the fortune immediately ripped from them. a sudden transition, enough to be whiplash-inducing, stuck in a country with a student visa, in a town you've only opted for because of the cheap rent and train station that'll take you right to campus. that was lethe, originally, a temporary home, but one nonetheless.
something about the sea continued to draw them in. even as misja moved around the country, summers became a tradition, pooling enough with the genius burnout and the fool for a home to call their own for a few months. though the trio was inseparable, all of them soon became friends, connections locked in fate. as much as she’d hate to admit, the friends in lethe became the closest things she’d had to family — perhaps they always were.
part four, the extras.
character parallels : kendall roy ( succession ), carmy berzatto ( the bear ), christopher moltisanti ( the sopranos ), monica geller ( friends ), dana scully ( the x-files ), meg march ( little women )
headcannons :
misja hates social media sm they are the type of person to have like 200 followers MAXIMUM on private but also follow like 500 people bc they use it for recipes and stuff like that
they are always fidgeting with their hands — some would say a hyperactive mind but, at this point, she's not totally sure. it's always just been a thing and the only time they don't is during in-person therapy sessions bc she locks in
tends to be a homebody, someone who loves comfortable solitude, but the one thing that can get them outside is a beach day. she LOVES to swim and sometimes goes for late night dips when they are having an especially hard time
asserts that she's noncommittal but secretly crushes hard on people — sometimes can't see the lines between platonic and romantic obsession but it eats them up inside lowkey so they are the epitome of tragic bisexual. even so, they are rarely ever doing anything about that outwardly. just silent seething is fine
loves a reality tv show ... the messier the better
( courtney eaton. cis woman. she/her ). ⸻ sadie stanton, a twenty-seven year old cafe and surfshop manager, still wears last summer like a scar. they move through the heat as the townie, each step a reminder of the role they've never quite outrun. carried like souvenirs from something they won't talk about, you'll recognize them by the bittersweet ache that comes with the last fireworks of the season, the sound of cicadas and rolling thunder from an open window, the hand that surfaces just before the tide pulls you under. they've always been disarming and strong-willed, depending on who's telling the story. the sand shifts, the shoreline whispers, and everyone pretends not to notice what's changed. but secrets rot faster in the sun & someone out there still remembers exactly what they did…
aesthetics …
the bittersweet ache that comes with the last fireworks of the season, the sound of cicadas and rolling thunder from an open window, the hand that surfaces just before the tide pulls you under, burying the old you in the backyard, a smile like the sky parting on a cloudy day, pressing your fingers into a sunburn, spinning on your tiptoes until you see stars whenever there's music playing, headlights shining down and endless stretch of road, an inability to bite your tongue and swallow what you mean, familiarity that evokes the warmth of your mother's chicken noodle soup, the giddiness of a first kiss never quite outgrown, always answering on the first ring, the sting of saltwater touching an open wound, leaving your door unlocked just in case, belonging to people and places but never quite to yourself, calloused fingertips that tell year's worth of stories, secrets that loom like sharks in the water when you close your eyes.
statistics …
full name. sadie li stanton. nicknames. deedee, by her family. date of birth & age. february 29th & twenty-seven. zodiac. pisces sun, virgo moon. gender & pronouns. cis woman & she/her. orientation. bisexual. place of birth. lethe, new england. ethnicity. chinese, cook island, māori, and english descent. occupation. cafe and surfshop manager @ saltbreak, owned and operated by the stantons. traits. disarming, grounded, generous, intuitive, forgiving, strong-willed, over-attached, critical, envious, sensitive. labels/tropes. the girl next door.
click here for more! (tba)
about …
— you entered this world screaming, three weeks early, a fact your mother would go on to quote was the first sign you ever displayed of your endless zest for life. born on a leap year, there was something inherently magical about your arrival. the youngest; the only girl. you didn't have to endear yourself to them, though your wide eyes certainly charmed the nurses: you were loved. there was no shortage of ways your enthusiasm for experience grew with you. you were tossed into the water before you could talk, trailed after your brothers on shaky toddler legs determined not to fall, never minded the almost twenty-four hour travel day the first time you visited great grandparents in new zealand. in lethe, there wasn't a tree you hadn't climbed by the time you were seven, or a cliff you hadn't jumped by the time you were twelve. you realized it early, how special your town was, understood why your parents and their parents had planted their roots.
— saltbreak was your second home. you preferred the lessons of a cafe kitchen to the ones in your history books, preferred the growing pains of your surfboard to the ones brought on by puberty. your parents caught you playing hooky more than once, but you came with three built-in alibis. your older brothers never excluded you from anything. you tried your hand in bike racing, learned how to shotgun a beer like it's a life skill, even threw your first punch the first time a boy dared to break your heart under the gleeful instruction of the oldest stanton. those around you had bigger dreams, though. you watched them trickle away as the years ticked on. you discovered you're resentful about it. not because they got to experience more, but because they dared leave your favorite place behind. you make a choice then: blind dedication to your town.
— your twenties change your life in ways you never could have expected. two of your brothers leave lethe for good, find new places to plant their roots. you cry for a week straight, confusing more than one neighbor into thinking they died. but the space in your chest didn't stay empty for long. soon enough there are fourteen placemats set. fourteen people you wait all summer to see, a dog staying up all night listening for the chime of the bell above the door. fourteen people who see what you see; this place is more than just a point on a map. it means something to all of you, and you mean something to each other. except... you've outgrown the years where every story ends in a fairytale. there is no wrapping what happened in a neat red bow, no gluing the pieces back together. you bury more than just a friend that night. in the aftermath, you tell yourself you never want to see any of them again. like it could fix things; like it could fix you.
— you've never been good at leaving things behind, never mind people. lethe had never seemed as unfamiliar than it did in the months that followed last summer. your beloved home, a graveyard. you flinched at the stories the local kids spooked each other with about the ghosts that haunt tidepoint, because now you knew one by name. without your permission, the seasons changed. the heat crept back in. and you waited for them anyway.
personality & tidbits …
— if you ever can't find her, check the ocean first. her dad used to joke she was born with a mermaid tale, the way she took to water like she belonged there. she loves to surf, but she's a notoriously bad teacher, no matter the many many attempts she'd made at rectifying that. turns out you can't just tell someone to listen to the waves and expect them to know what the hell you're talking about.
— lives in what's affectionately dubbed the blue house, aka the stanton family home, where the doors are always open. her parents have most definitely hosted the group on more than one occasion and see them all as an extension of the family. now that they're older and no longer run saltbreak all on their own, they travel back to new zealand often, leaving sadie alone for stretches of time, which she absolutely hates. the silence makes her antsy, so you can expect to be invited over.
— is absolutely one of the younger people to show up for community events, but doesn't mind it one bit. she's done a lot to try and protect small business on lethe, which included the hardcore protest of project 7141.
— genuinely refuses to keep her cards to her chest, which is to say she isn't the type to try and dance around her feelings or opinions. she believes in authenticity above all else and tends to find fault in those who can't follow the same standard. this has been hypocritical, as of late, which is bothering her more than she lets on.
— she's 100% that friend you call when you need someone to show up for you, no questions asked. she was lucky enough to have that with her brothers, so she made it a point (at a very young age) to be that kind of person for the people in her own circle. if you could win a nobel peace prize for texting back right away, she would have won it. you need a getaway driver? she'll be there in five, no matter where the two of you currently stand. don't call her unless you actually want somebody to answer because she will.
— she celebrates her birthday twice a year, no exceptions. she drives her oldest brother's old truck, which breaks down at least once a month, but she absolutely refuses to get rid of it. she plays the guitar, but hardly ever in front of anyone. she spends a good chunk of the winter in new zealand, which sadie will joke means she's basically living in endless summer. she struggles with periods of insomnia, which has her biking the path to tidepoint as of late, though she can never bring herself to actually enter the lighthouse.
( damson idris. cis man. he/him ). ⸻ kieran kumuyi, a thirty-two year old space archivist, still wears last summer like a scar. they move through the heat as the outsider, each step a reminder of the role they’ve never quite outrun. carried like souvenirs from something they won’t talk about, you’ll recognize them by a book with the edges folded over lying open next to an untouched breakfast; the faint smell of patchouli; finding clarity in the stars that no one else sees. they’ve always been benignant and reserved, depending on who’s telling the story. the sand shifts, the shoreline whispers, and everyone pretends not to notice what’s changed. but secrets rot faster in the sun & someone out there still remembers exactly what they did…
𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐒 .
𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞: kieran ekon kumuyi. 𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬: kier. 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡 & 𝐚𝐠𝐞: february 4 & thirty2. 𝐳𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐜: aquarius sun, aquarius moon, pisces rising. 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 & 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐬: cis man & he/him. 𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: bisexual. 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡: london, england. 𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭𝐲: nigerian. 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞: portland, maine. 𝐞𝐝𝐮𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: bachelor of science in astrophysics; master of archival studies (claremont graduate university). 𝐨𝐜𝐜𝐮𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: space archivist at a research institute.
𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 .
𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦: damson idris. 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞: low and calm, with a soft british accent that sharpens when he's irritated. 𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭: six foot two. 𝐛𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐝: broad shoulders, lean from years of sailing. 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬: brown. 𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐫: cropped short, usually in a buzzcut. 𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐬: a door, left ajar with the constellation of lyra peeking through ( inner right arm ). 𝐬𝐭𝐲𝐥𝐞: muted linens, collarless button-downs, cotton tees with relaxed trousers and shorts. always paired with clean sneakers or boat shoes. 𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭: patchouli and cedarwood, hints of apples. 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬: clean shaven. calloused palms from years of tennis. faint freckles across his shoulders. a scar above his right brow from a sailing accident. a dimple on his right cheek that's only visible when he's not thinking. always clean shaven.
𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘 .
𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐬: benignant, independent, composed, discerning, reliable; reserved, aloof, resigned, utilitarian, self-serving. 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬: sailboats, his favorite telescope, swimming at night, cashmere sweaters, the color of the sky at blue hour, silence that isn’t awkward, annotated margins, liminal spaces, unfinished crossword puzzles, the click of a lighter without the flame. 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬: competition, the taste of cinnamon, being ordered around, unproven theories, sticky heat, false nostalgia, when people ask what he’s “really thinking”, books getting wet, small talk in elevators, being called mysterious like it’s a compliment.
there’s a quiet to kieran kumuyi that most people mistake for coldness. the truth is simpler: he’s used to being alone. born and raised in london, he grew up in a cramped flat that never asked much of him, and he learned early on that solitude wasn’t something to run from. his parents worked long hours, talked little, and kept to themselves. his dad left when he was still young, and by the time he came back, things had already settled and kieran had grown used to the silence. still, he was always polite, always distant, always somewhere else in his mind. the only time his eyes lit up was when his eyes would light up discovering something new about space. the solar system, constellations, galaxies — kieran’s childhood was filled with an awe-struck reverence for everything beyond this world. while his studies came easy to him, connections never did. he wasn't arrogant, but simply hard to approach. the isolation gave him more time to look up at the sky and wonder where he'd be if he were anywhere else.
scoring a scholarship to study abroad was an opportunity he didn't want to pass. america was meant to be temporary, but something about the distance felt right. he couldn’t bring himself to give up his curiosity for astronomy, not when the pull of the moon had always been the one thing that made him feel so alive. he had no hesitations to pick astrophysics as his major, but his fascination evolved into something sharper. he started chasing theories he couldn’t quite name, spending nights with research papers in one hand and his telescope in the other, hoping to see proof with his own eyes. he made a career out of his fixation, cataloguing fragments of space and dead stars no one names anymore to remember what the universe tries to forget. the parts of his life that required closeness, accountability, and feeling was always secondary. he’s been a unfaithful in every relationship he’s ever had, and he can’t bring himself to care. he doesn't think it's cruelty — it's detachment he never figured out how to fix.
but then came lethe. he never expected last summer to twist his morals around, but it did. last year, kieran arrived to lethe with low expectations, but he found comfort in the quaint town. he earned his boat license and learnt sailing, becoming decent enough to read the wind and skillfully tie various sailor’s knots. kieran was in a relationship with someone he thought he knew, someone who pulled him into a group of friends that felt too tight-knit for him to belong to. but he watched them all from the edges, taking everything in and getting to know them like he could belong. he didn't expect the series of events that unfolded — he never intended to stay in lethe for long, and he definitely never intended to get involved in their plan. perhaps that was his mistake, believing he found something meaningful in a group of friends instead of the unknown, like he always does. but a choice was made, and now he’s in it. being back in lethe a year later feels like he's holding his breath underwater, heavy and impossible to do for long. but he came anyway, the way people always do when something unfinished is waiting.
/ ( yuki kato. genderfluid. she/he ). ⸻ alena yamaguchi, a twenty - nine year old finance officer, still wears last summer like a scar. they move through the heat as the supernova, each step a reminder of the role they've never quite outrun. carried like souvenirs from something they won't talk about, you'll recognize them by the crush of the tide against jagged rocks below ; the cloying scent of oil, petrol, and grease ; a rotting flower drowning in its own vase. they've always been persevering and capricious, depending on who's telling the story. the sand shifts, the shoreline whispers, and everyone pretends not to notice what's changed. but secrets rot faster in the sun & someone out there still remembers exactly what they did… secret. ( karin, 27, any pronouns, aest, suicide ).
start here . . .
tw : house fire.
it started, like all things, with a spark.
this one was lit in the depths of her belly, six years old and untainted by the world yet. no ashes. no fire. just a spark.
but as all sparks do, they grow. this one did, too. it took root in the shape of a kart and regular weekends at sentul international circuit. it became the national karting championship trophy. you’re going to japan, alena.
his parents flew him. again, and again, and again. summers spent karting in japan. auatralia came and went, too. f4 arrived. it felt like the blink of an eye. she was sixteen, then. it could all fall through if the next season didn’t go well. her last chance before she had to make it up the ladder.
it’s expensive, she learned, to fly her out and pay for her karting expenses. her mother was worried. her father, not so much. the arguments started. it bled into the light of day, sometimes, when they thought he couldn’t hear. what if we sell the house?
tighter spaces fanned fire faster. something about a short fuse becoming even shorter. it was late into the summer months ( if indonesia had any to begin with ) when the flames came licking. they sold the house. moved into a smaller one. put all their eggs into one basket : her. this had to be the season. it just barely began when alena let it burn. cooking, she now understood, was a task that demanded care.
what did a spoiled sixteen year old know about grease fire? her parents were out of the house. she just wanted to make food. funny, how something so mundane could set everything ablaze.
the house burned. and it ended, like all things, with a spark snuffed out.
divorce came knocking. one home became two, one cold and the other always overwarm. and then : we don’t have enough sponsors. followed by, you should. . . maybe finishing school isn’t a bad idea, alena. it led to, i can’t keep sending you to races.
there was still the consolation prize, of course. college, in the states. no money for the glamorous motorsports life, yet just enough to be a rich international student. what a joke.
take two. life starts again.
she graduates with a degree in economics. there’s a job waiting, miraculously. she signs the papers. anything to get away from home. at least here it’s neither cold nor overwarm nor filled with rage and regret. what is it they say? absence makes the heart grow fonder? wrong. but distance makes it easier. she doesn’t come back.
lethe comes shortly after. a friend of a friend of a friend is to blame for it. twenty - three now, and he falls in love all over again.
funny, then, how the anger has now followed her into lethe, too.
interview.
what was your relationship with the flight risk?
“we were friends.” it’s said curtly — short, almost mechanical. the answer is rehearsed for himself as much as it is for the asker. they were all friends, weren’t they? “we knew each other. saw each other a lot.” sometimes all of three months from her year, if they were lucky and summer stretched itself out. if teddy didn’t get bored, or if the office didn’t come calling. one always felt likelier than the other. “hung out, went to parties, drove around town.” something bubbles over in his throat. “we even slept together, once. he was a big part of my summers.”
the words pass through her lips like running water. who was she trying to fool? this is stupid — too honest, too easy. alena exhales, fists uncurled as he turns up one of his palms. it goes to rest on the nape of his neck. “we weren’t— we didn’t always see eye to eye.” doesn’t make them any less than friends, does it? she misses teddy — the real one, not the one that sits on her couch and talks to her in the late hours of the night in her mind’s eye when there’s no one around. surely that counts for something. a humorless laugh leaves him. “i’d probably wanna gouge his eyeballs out if he were here right now.” fuck you for actually dying, she wants to say. “but we were friends.”
when was the first time you fell in love?
and isn’t that a fucking question?
“i was six,” he starts. the back of his knees hit the cool metal of the chair. there were only bits and pieces she’d shared, from her life before. this’d be too close to laying her soul bare, cards up on the table. he sits down. “sepang, 2002. you know what that is?” americans always look at her weird when she talks about f1 and karting like that, like they got no fucking clue what she’s on about. “the 2002 malaysian gp. formula one. you’ve seen that thing on netflix, right? drive to survive.” she doesn’t roll her eyes, but it’s a near thing. “shocker, i know. that formula racing stuff existed back in 2002, too.” he pauses. scoffs, then says, “we went as a family. my dad had my ears all plugged up. said i was too small for it. couldn’t really hear shit with those engines.” not that that mattered. “but racing’s still racing.
“he said i wouldn’t stop begging him to let me get in one of those cars.” did you? he’s had someone ask before. he’d given them a look that approximately said, are you stupid? of course not. who the hell would let a six year old inside an f1 car? “took me karting when we went home.” there’s more to that story. it was her whole life, once. maybe that’s for another day. “i fell in love with it.”
her hands are wrung together over the table, gaze still locked on her asker. “so yeah. my first love.”
headcanons.
pinterest.
do not smoke near her, unless you want to run the risk of gaining a new burn scar in the shape of the butt of the cigarette. smoking around alena is a surefire way to deplete his patience all the way to zero. tick, tock, timebomb’s ticking.
born and raised in indonesia. he still carries an indonesian passport, but he’s here in america on a work visa and is in the process of trying for a green card.
he’s lucky that his office operates on a hybrid model. alena’s summer stays in lethe sometimes stretched out to its full length, although more than half of it weren’t exactly a vacation. no wonder he’s always so angry — hybrid working model be damned.
alena is drawn to the water. just because it quells the spark before he sets on fire doesn’t make the seas any less violent. there’s something about the way the waves rock sharply against the shore that brings him peace, though. maybe that says something.
boxes for fun and fitness. took it up years ago as a teenager during her single - seater days and never stopped.
probably once decked teddy in front of everyone, when they were all younger and less settled into the group dynamic. it was some joke that alena didn’t find funny. they slept together the week after.
// ( maris racal. cis woman. she/her ). ⸻ hana sayoc, a twenty eight year old internet personality, still wears last summer like a scar. they move through the heat as THE FACADE, each step a reminder of the role they've never quite outrun. carried like souvenirs from something they won't talk about, you'll recognize them by staring into a broken mirror & finally recognizing the reflection; a bowl of rotting fruit; lighting a candle within the darkest place inside of you. they've always been effervescent and fickle, depending on who's telling the story. the sand shifts, the shoreline whispers, and everyone pretends not to notice what's changed. but secrets rot faster in the sun & someone out there still remembers exactly what they did…
certainties in hana’s life:
happiness does come with a pricetag. if people claim money can’t buy happiness, then they have clearly never been in your shoes.
a selfish beast lives within your heart that demands moremoremore. upon closer inspect, your realizes there is no beast— it’s only you.
bad luck follows you so intently that you might just be a charm for it.
statistics sheet. ⸝⸝
full name: hana sayoc. / nickname(s): hans. / label: the facade. / birthdate: december 12, 1996 (28). / birthplace: kent, connecticut. / zodiac signs: sagittarius sun, capricorn moon, scorpio rising. / gender + pronouns: cis woman + she&her. / orientation: bisexual. / education level: high school graduate. / occupation: internet personality ( 2022 - p. ), reality tv “star” (2022).
faceclaim: maris racal. / height: 5ft, 2in. / hair color: brunette with highlights. / hair style: straight down her mid-back, usually in soft curls. / eye color: brown. / tattoos + piercings: yes, see pinterest. / scars: a few nicks from being unlucky in life, plus a few notable ones- (1) near the base of her spine from injections after her injury, (2) burn scar on her ribcage, (3) various marks on her knees from years of dance.
positive traits: tenacious, approachable, pliable. / negative traits: manipulative, opportunistic, fickle. / sociability: high. / emotional stability: moderate to low. / character study: serena (gossip girl), amy (little women), jackie (that 70s show), gabrielle (desperate housewives), haley (modern family)
headcanons. ⸝⸝
growing up, hana rarely heard the word no. what started as requests for the newest holiday barbie as a child turned into an expectation of the newest technology as a pre-teen. a spoiled child of her parents’ own making; one that noticed the bills piling on the table & felt helpless to do anything about it. or, maybe worse, one who saw the credit notices rolling in & continued to ask for more.
of all her revolving hobbies, hana found true solace in ballet. this was the more expensive dream, but one her parents decided was a hard yes. no matter the cost, no matter the means to get her there, they would see hana through this dream. they had never seen their daughter so satisfied nor passionate about something. her talent was palpable; the audience couldn’t help but watch her. the passion carried her all the way to arts school applications and auditions— then it happened.
(TW: SPINAL INJURY) hana had fallen down a flight of stairs in a parking garage on her way home from one of those very auditions. foot, meet damp and mossy stairs. back, meet pavement with a thud. heart, meet throat. a pain surged through her body, though hana had been confident that she could walk it off. quickly proven to be untrue as her pain rapidly worsened within the oncoming hours. as it would turn out, hana suffered two herniated discs. the pain that lingered (& still does) would subsequently end her professional ballerina career before it ever really started.
parts of her passion would live on through social media. she began sharing dance & ‘day in the life’ videos in 2013. even if the subscribers weren’t substantial, every view, like, and comment sent her adrenaline soaring. her accounts saw a considerable uptick in engagement after posting a long-format video about her ballerina dreams coming to a close & how things can change in the blink of an eye (2015). another superficial career– the interactions nearly trickled to a stop when sympathy comments stopped pouring in.
from 2015 to 2021, hana joined the family business by overseeing operations at the sayoc family grill. at the beginning, the restaurant had been a staple for their small community. though over the years, business slowed– maybe the community could spot that a sense of helplessness floated around the sayocs. nevertheless, hana poured her all into it. from managing employees to dining aesthetics, she kept the place afloat. then bad luck found her once again.
(TW: FIRE/BURNS) really, she should have seen the signs. a black cat wandering by the employees-only door, two spilled salt shakers, and a frozen clock on the wall— all bad omens leading to her near-death experience. a grease-fire began in the kitchen while she sorted payroll in the back office. she hardly noticed the flames until the smoke began to roll in. the rest of the fire passes in a blur– all she remembers in a searing pain in her side & being pulled out by firefighters in bulky suits. the sayoc family grill sat in an impossibly small pile of ruin. already drowning in debt, hana’s parents decided to close its doors. their daughter had survived, and that was all they could ask for.
for hana, it felt like yet another door slammed shut, right in front of her face. just as she was prepared to take her losses, a light appeared at the end of the tunnel. december 2022, open casting for lovelyz shore— a reality dating show & hana’s ticket out of kent. bad luck struck hana again when she was the show’s runner up. however, the show did fairly well to a niche audience (for the two seasons it aired)— more importantly to hana, the viewers loved her. they enjoyed seeing something fresh on the screen: a small town lover girl, a retired ballerina, a superstitious tarot reader. coming out of the vacation house & realizing there was an audience waiting for her might as well have been a win for hana…
until she realized the way people viewed her. commenters acknowledging her as a ‘weird girl at heart’ just urged her to reply. a small meltdown on a livestream resulted in a very divided public perception. however, using the popularity from the show, hana has been able to pick up the influencer line of work. hana isn’t wildly successful– and often projects a lifestyle far beyond her means.
present notes:
true to being labeled the facade, every honest thing about hana's life doubles as her best kept secret. she perceives her continuous bad luck as a bit of karmic punishment & is constantly trying to outrun the next bad ending around the corner.
a charming personality presented to the world, though it cracks around the edges upon closer inspection. a people pleaser to a concerning degree, making it unclear where her loyalties lie as she will always try to make all sides happy.
wants to know everything about you but wants you to know nothing about her except her achievements.
clings to yearly trips to lethe like a lifeline. here, she gets to be the person that she wants to be everywhere else.
( alisha boe. cis woman. she/her ). ⸻ rue carrow, a twenty - seven year old university library assistant, still wears last summer like a scar. they move through the heat as the genius burnout, each step a reminder of the role they've never quite outrun. carried like souvenirs from something they won't talk about, you'll recognize them by playlists full of elegies disguised as indie tracks — headphones always on but never loud enough to drown out the silence, coffee cups gone cold on cluttered desks — half-sipped and forgotten, lined up like gravestones to mornings that never fully started, and empty pill bottles rolled under the bed, rattling like dry bones when kicked. they've always been strategic and detached, depending on who's telling the story. the sand shifts, the shoreline whispers, and everyone pretends not to notice what's changed. but secrets rot faster in the sun & someone out there still remembers exactly what they did.
the before.
she was incandescent once — not in the garish way of things begging to be seen, but like candlelight at the back of an old church: steady, aching, inevitable. her eyes wore that kind of burn — the slow and sacred unraveling of a girl too brilliant to last. twenty - seven now, but something in her spine still rings nineteen, like a bell struck too hard and left to echo. she moved through lethe like a storm disguised as silence. people mistook her quiet for calm, her precision for peace. they didn’t see how her genius smoked at the edges, how every answer she gave cost her something she could never get back. she was strategy sharpened to a knife's edge, haunted by a mind that never turned off, only flickered between brilliance and collapse. gravestones of half - sipped caffeine lined her desk, each one a quiet monument to a version of her that tried. and when the silence came — the real kind, not just the pause between library pages or lecture halls, but the thick, buzzing quiet that follows — she didn’t run. she faded. people called her distant. some called her calculated. no one ever called her wrong. she made sure of that. but beneath the curated detachment, the beach was eroding. the sand shifted. the shoreline whispered. and she — she pretended not to hear it. pretended not to see the way people looked at her sideways, like a riddle they were afraid to solve. a ghost in borrowed skin.
the after.
walks through the world like a ghost scholar in a crumbling cathedral — a place once radiant with light and learning, now shadowed by stained glass fractured and bleeding dusk. the university is behind her, but its walls still echo in her bones, an architecture of thought and silence she can never quite escape. she is the relic now — darkened, worn, and impossible to dust off. that night — is a manuscript she rewrites in her mind, endlessly, each rehearsal an elegy and a confession braided tight with despair. she remembers the sharp scent of spilled wine, the cruel geometry of bodies tangled in reckless euphoria, the way the air snapped taut like a drawn bowstring, how gravity shifted, tipping toward oblivion. the moment when brilliance dissolved into panic. when the carefully balanced game crumbled beneath the weight of one too many secrets, one too many silences. caffeine pulses like bitter blood through her veins, small blue pills hush the static in her skull, but nothing silences the relentless replay — the murmuring echo of the moment she chose silence over salvation. drifts through days like a shadow tethered to an ancient text — beautiful and terrible, brilliant and hollow, a scholar of her own undoing.
occupation.
- quiet. order. isolation masked as helpfulness. surrounded by knowledge she used to devour.
- writes cryptic, brilliant notes in returned books, then forgets she did it.
no one recognizes her anymore — or if they do, they pretend not to. her name has faded from whispered reverence to polite indifference.
she shelves the same titles she once cited. scans student IDs. stamps return dates. wipes dust from the spines of ideas she no longer feels connected to.
- the library is still a refuge, but now she lurks instead of leads. the silence, once full of possibility, now feels like a muffled scream. she avoids eye contact with old professors and classmates who don’t know what to say — or worse, do.
- sometimes, when no one’s looking, she solves equations in the margins of checkout receipts or re-categorizes a philosophy section for fun. but she never finishes. she never shows anyone.
- finds her own old thesis in the archives, once requested by students. it hasn’t been touched in months. dust has settled over her own genius, just like on her.
a hand - crafted playlist. used to be someone worth knowing : grief - laced brilliance.
motion sickness – phoebe bridgers.
cigarette daydreams – cage the elephant.
liability – lorde.
numb – men i trust.
ribs – lorde.
not strong enough – boygenius.
bags – clairo.
st. augustine at night – dawes.
your best american girl – mitski.
junk of the heart – the kooks.
scott street – phoebe bridgers.
items found in her bag.
- a crumpled funeral program.
- a xanax in an altoids tin.
- an unread letter addressed to teddy.
- ink-stained index cards with half-solved theorems.
- a receipt with “you okay?” scrawled in the margins.
- a lighter with no fluid.
- a playlist scribbled on the back of an old syllabus.
