#writeblir

[beneath-our-masks]

Meet Our Characters: The Agents

Here are the tired parents (read: the two secret agents who are assigned to deal with the non-governmental organization of superheroes!)

Taglist: @aconstantcrisis

Name: James Schott (not his real name - he's a Secret Agent, he has to keep it under wraps)

Pronouns: He/Him

Nicknames: Jay

Age: 33

Physical description or picture: He’s half Chinese, half Pacific Islander, also Dorito shaped. Tanned skin, hair just long enough to put up in a bun. Wears suits to work, but likes nerdy t-shirts and basketball shorts.

Height: 5'10

Superpowers: None

Strength: Master of pretty much every martial arts out there

Weakness: Can't live without his coffee

One Unique Thing: Owns a cat names Snickers

Name: Imani Jefferson (A pseudonym, her real name is Jada)

Pronouns: She/her

Nicknames: Mani (mah-nee)

Age: 33

Physical description or picture: Taller African-American woman, very dark skinned. Her hair is usually in more of an afro, and often dyes parts of it exotic colors. She has a metric ton of piercings, including large ear piercings where she wears plugs or tunnels, nose piercings (side, not septum), multiple ear piercings, and snakebites. She oscillates between pantsuits and professional dresses as for what she wears to work, and likes wearing comfy stretchy jeans and blouses casually.

Height: 5’1

Superpowers: Can create portals and can negate other people’s powers

Strength: She’s a licensed counselor so she’s GREAT at dealing with teenagers being obnoxious and is good at defusing situations (either with talk or with her power negation)

Weakness: She’s a little too willing to bend/break the rules.

One Unique Thing: She sews and knits.

[hypnoticwinter]

The Violinist

By John Peech. (Who?)

He hoists to his chin a would-be Guarnerius; sets sail in his own rhythm swaying like a broken mast. It is not his night to be Heifetz. Three beers before six have slurred the names of his fingers—chemist's hands, forty years washed like sea rocks, till the white skin flakes in debt to the soap. Windowed, the neighbors whisper that his children are gone, that he does not mow his lawn and will not answer his bell as he paces his house, washing his hands, filling his glass over and over, till the voices are lost in the noise of his bowing Porch crickets below applaud from their cracks this stubborn man still left inside, as he plays for the brief night's life those favorite songs, like an attic trunk sprung open, filling the air with faded snapshots—faces pressed like leaves between the album pages now freely gliding past his eyes.

[mschvs]

201123 | 🎧 got7 - breath

haven’t posted pics in a while, but here you can see before and after a writing session