Post by violet abigale leon on Feb 11, 2012 1:39:32 GMT -5
violet abigale leon,
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---------------- MAIN INFO ---------------
FULL NAME, violet abigale leon
NICKNAMES, vi, viv, vivvles.
AGE, twenty-one.
HOMETOWN, toronto, canada.
YEAR, fourth year.
SUBJECT/JOB, writing
SEXUALITY, bisexual
PLAY BY, hanna beth merjos
NICKNAMES, vi, viv, vivvles.
AGE, twenty-one.
HOMETOWN, toronto, canada.
YEAR, fourth year.
SUBJECT/JOB, writing
SEXUALITY, bisexual
PLAY BY, hanna beth merjos
---------------- PERSONALITY ---------------
LIKES, glitter, being happy, sunshine, kisses, hugs, the french language, the colour pink, devotcka, lurking youtube, talking a lot, rambling, canada, winter, ice skating, her ipod, mango, mac and cheese with ketchup, video games (she's basically an addict), wow, monty python, baz luhrman movies, big words, playing at parks, playing the keyboard, singing in the shower, being clean, sparkles, bright colours, animal prints, getting what she wants, boys, girls, the colour purple, Chuck Palahniuk books, ice cream, won ton soup, Italian wedding soup, Mr. Noodles, instant anything, grilled cheese, macaroni and cheese, sleeping in late, waking up really warm, feeling safe, Bubblicious bubble gum, playing the drums, playing the keyboard, pretty dresses, being comfortable, being warm, black orchids, leather, metal accessories, lace, sewing, embroidering, kissing, hugging, running around, dancing (though she doesn't look that great when she does it), acoustic music, downloading music legally, Spring Awakening, imagining what prom would be like, watching TV, the Gilmore Girls, Tinkerbell, Alice in Wonderland, cute animals, anything that shines, glitter, presents, palm trees, laying by pools, brightly coloured rooms, kids, baby shoes and probably you.
DISLIKES, panic attacks, the colour blue in too large amounts, permanent markers, sitting still, not getting what she wants, the sounds her printer makes, being interrupted, when the bass is too too loud, overdosing, alcoholism, drunks, reading about boring stuff, the aspect of money, hawaii, being rejected, bingeing, not being allowed to eat, wet socks, mandals, people who make fun of her for being short, bugs, or insects, or spiders, or gross animals, or elk. I generally don’t like animals unless they’re cute, in all honesty, cold weather, getting sick, sneezing, vomiting, cough medicine, being forced to stay in bed, overly positive people, hot dogs, popcorn without butter, bad movies, porn, the colour brown, cotton socks, my sister, people who tell her she's wrong, stinky people, overly fragranced things, insect repellant, when the internet doesn’t work, when headphones break, being used, being restrained, falling from tall heights, when airplanes land, waking up feeling cold, waking up alone, overly floral things, patterned prom dresses, obnoxious gum chewers, people who give you dirty looks, awkward hugs, when people mock her dancing, talking in third person, having panic attacks, taking medication, forgetting things and large amounts of blood.
FEARS, being alone, being overwhelmed, having overdoses, being forced into awkward situations, disappointing her father, losing harvey again.
PERSONALITY,
I am a bit of a strange one, if there’s any one word that I could put out there to describe myself. I’ll start out with flaws, because someone told me once that if a person can see that you’re not perfect, they’ll like you more, and I enjoy being liked. Damn, that’s a good thing! Alright, fuck, let me start over. I am an airhead, completely and absolutely. I succeed almost all the time in completing the ‘dumb blonde’ area of society. I’m clumsy, I won’t get your jokes, I won’t get most of what you say to me, and I am rather unintelligent.
I’m clumsy, because I’ve only just gotten used to wearing high heeled shoes, living for the past four years in converse and flip flops, and ergo walking around streets on anything that has more than flat soles has me falling onto my face more than I’d ever like to admit. I also have this terrible habit of falling into tables, walking into poles, and stumbling into people. I mean, I suppose that’s a nice way to meet people, especially the attractive sort (ha!) but its rather inconvenient. I end up bruised and beat up looking often for it, though I dress to hide that more than anything.
I won’t get your jokes because I’m not that intelligent, which I can say is absolutely my fault. Since fourteen I’ve been fucking my mind up with drugs, and that’s just an inevitable reason for me to say goodbye to brain cells. I guess it’s entertaining for people to say things and watch me give them funny looks, but that’s for them alone. I find it embarrassing. I mean, I don’t like paying for all these things I fucked up in the past now, it’s not something I enjoy or appreciate!
Oh, another flaw, or set of flaws. I’m a pretty rude person, and I’ll say things in a pretty snippy manner when I need to. Just because I’m not intelligent doesn’t mean I don’t have a sharp tongue, and I can retain things people tell me pretty easily (save for names). So try to avoid irritating me, otherwise face my sharp tongue, and probably a little bit of laughter from the others around you. I’m good at making people feel miserable about them when I’m in a bad mood. Which is often, as of late? Bad moods, I mean. But apparently the whole sarcastic, rude thing is somewhat appealing to some. Screams “Hey, I’m a badass!” Well, if that floats your boat, then Hi, I’m Violet.
Er, some positives, maybe… to throw this all off. I’m pretty sweet, and good natured in the right situations, which is good. I don’t like hating people… it just happens. And therefore I figure I’ll probably be pretty nice to you, off the bat. Unless you’re wearing a shirt that says like ‘ANTI-BROWN EYES’ then I’ll probably make a remark? I don’t know. I talk fast, sometimes, by the way. I figure I’ve only got so much time, and I have so much to say that talking quickly is the only way it’s all going to get out of my head. But yeah, I’m a positive person, pretty optimistic; I like jumping on people and being happy! It’s my preferred state of mind, in all honesty!
Most people say I’m cute but I haven’t really thought of that as a personality point. I like pointing out really obvious things, and doing kind of quirky things- I sort of stand out in a crowd, I guess. Most people enjoy sort of making a mess of things- I prefer going outside and swinging on swingsets because it’s fun, and eating candy because it’s delicious and not really caring all that much about my figure.
But I think the best way you’ll figure me out is if you really just meet me; I can only make so many assumptions about what kind of a person I am, you’re probably better off to make the assumptions yourself!
DISLIKES, panic attacks, the colour blue in too large amounts, permanent markers, sitting still, not getting what she wants, the sounds her printer makes, being interrupted, when the bass is too too loud, overdosing, alcoholism, drunks, reading about boring stuff, the aspect of money, hawaii, being rejected, bingeing, not being allowed to eat, wet socks, mandals, people who make fun of her for being short, bugs, or insects, or spiders, or gross animals, or elk. I generally don’t like animals unless they’re cute, in all honesty, cold weather, getting sick, sneezing, vomiting, cough medicine, being forced to stay in bed, overly positive people, hot dogs, popcorn without butter, bad movies, porn, the colour brown, cotton socks, my sister, people who tell her she's wrong, stinky people, overly fragranced things, insect repellant, when the internet doesn’t work, when headphones break, being used, being restrained, falling from tall heights, when airplanes land, waking up feeling cold, waking up alone, overly floral things, patterned prom dresses, obnoxious gum chewers, people who give you dirty looks, awkward hugs, when people mock her dancing, talking in third person, having panic attacks, taking medication, forgetting things and large amounts of blood.
FEARS, being alone, being overwhelmed, having overdoses, being forced into awkward situations, disappointing her father, losing harvey again.
PERSONALITY,
I am a bit of a strange one, if there’s any one word that I could put out there to describe myself. I’ll start out with flaws, because someone told me once that if a person can see that you’re not perfect, they’ll like you more, and I enjoy being liked. Damn, that’s a good thing! Alright, fuck, let me start over. I am an airhead, completely and absolutely. I succeed almost all the time in completing the ‘dumb blonde’ area of society. I’m clumsy, I won’t get your jokes, I won’t get most of what you say to me, and I am rather unintelligent.
I’m clumsy, because I’ve only just gotten used to wearing high heeled shoes, living for the past four years in converse and flip flops, and ergo walking around streets on anything that has more than flat soles has me falling onto my face more than I’d ever like to admit. I also have this terrible habit of falling into tables, walking into poles, and stumbling into people. I mean, I suppose that’s a nice way to meet people, especially the attractive sort (ha!) but its rather inconvenient. I end up bruised and beat up looking often for it, though I dress to hide that more than anything.
I won’t get your jokes because I’m not that intelligent, which I can say is absolutely my fault. Since fourteen I’ve been fucking my mind up with drugs, and that’s just an inevitable reason for me to say goodbye to brain cells. I guess it’s entertaining for people to say things and watch me give them funny looks, but that’s for them alone. I find it embarrassing. I mean, I don’t like paying for all these things I fucked up in the past now, it’s not something I enjoy or appreciate!
Oh, another flaw, or set of flaws. I’m a pretty rude person, and I’ll say things in a pretty snippy manner when I need to. Just because I’m not intelligent doesn’t mean I don’t have a sharp tongue, and I can retain things people tell me pretty easily (save for names). So try to avoid irritating me, otherwise face my sharp tongue, and probably a little bit of laughter from the others around you. I’m good at making people feel miserable about them when I’m in a bad mood. Which is often, as of late? Bad moods, I mean. But apparently the whole sarcastic, rude thing is somewhat appealing to some. Screams “Hey, I’m a badass!” Well, if that floats your boat, then Hi, I’m Violet.
Er, some positives, maybe… to throw this all off. I’m pretty sweet, and good natured in the right situations, which is good. I don’t like hating people… it just happens. And therefore I figure I’ll probably be pretty nice to you, off the bat. Unless you’re wearing a shirt that says like ‘ANTI-BROWN EYES’ then I’ll probably make a remark? I don’t know. I talk fast, sometimes, by the way. I figure I’ve only got so much time, and I have so much to say that talking quickly is the only way it’s all going to get out of my head. But yeah, I’m a positive person, pretty optimistic; I like jumping on people and being happy! It’s my preferred state of mind, in all honesty!
Most people say I’m cute but I haven’t really thought of that as a personality point. I like pointing out really obvious things, and doing kind of quirky things- I sort of stand out in a crowd, I guess. Most people enjoy sort of making a mess of things- I prefer going outside and swinging on swingsets because it’s fun, and eating candy because it’s delicious and not really caring all that much about my figure.
But I think the best way you’ll figure me out is if you really just meet me; I can only make so many assumptions about what kind of a person I am, you’re probably better off to make the assumptions yourself!
---------------- HISTORY ---------------
FATHER, eric humphrey leon, 57 years old, CEO.
MOTHER, matilda olive leon, 50, "socialite".
OTHER FAMILY, tyler adam leon, 27, brother (in jail). lucy april leon, 16, sister (in toronto).
HISTORY,
Everyone knows that if you want to be beautiful, you have to be born in April. Or so many have told me. Strangely enough, I was born in April, and whether they’re trying to tell me I’m beautiful, or they’re absolutely wrong, I’ve never quite decided. I have never worn a shirt that says ‘born in April’ on it in my entire life, but it’s a fact that I will always have to endure. Of two things I will forever be certain, my name is Violet, and I was born on April 22nd. This would make me, at present, twenty-one years old. However, I’m reaching that twenty two mark pretty soon. Next thing I know I’ll be drinking professionally and starting gang fights. Or that’s what my father says.
I have a very close relationship with my family, I always have. Or at least, that’s what I am almost positive about. I forget most of my childhood, but I always remember my mother and my father. Most of my family, even. Though I sometimes like to think I’m an alien, or adopted, or that maybe even I am from a different family. That would make a lot more sense. See, my family is Italian. Very, very Italian. And while I speak Italian very well, I don’t have their tanned complexion, or their blue eyes, or their sharp noses. And I’m significantly skinnier than the rest of my family. In all honestly, my family’s a bunch of Guido’s stuck in Toronto instead of Jersey. And me? I’m the odd one out.
I am a blonde, naturally. Bright bright, baby blonde hair. Honestly? I could say that to some and it would explain everything, because being blonde could exude my personality ever so well. While I can write very nicely, speak eloquently when I have to- I’m a bit of an airhead, more and more like a child than an adult. But anyways; that’s off topic. I have blonde hair, and blue eyes, and paler skin than the rest of my family. I’m five foot five, and I look thinner than the rest of them; I don’t have muscles like my father, or my brother. I suppose if I’m not an alien, I’m the most like my mother. A bit outlandish, strange even, with blonde hair. No one in my family has brown eyes though. I heard from a friend that somewhere in my DNA someone had to have had brown eyes. Secretly? I really hope that’s true.
My father is, and always will be my life, just as much of my family will and always will be. I suppose that’s one Italian thing I’ve kept true to myself. Stay close to your family. Emotionally, I will and always will love them, even if they shot at me. Because I know they’d have a good reason. If not? Well, I’d probably shot at them first… or done something really, really stupid. I tend to do stuff like that.
Anyways. Since I was born, I always have been daddy’s little girl. I’ve been mommy’s little girl too, but with my Papa it’s different. Papa Leon has always doted on me like no other. When I was three, my brother Tyler thought it would be a good idea to throw my tricycle into oncoming traffic. I know because there’s a video of him doing it, and laughing. That fucking prick of a ten year old. Anyways, I burst into tears just like any normal three year old would and in less than ten seconds (all of this I am aware of because it IS on film), my dad had me in his arms, promising me the newest and best tricycle he could afford me, all while tugging the ear of my brother as we went up the driveway. I don’t know if he actually got me that tricycle? But I know I was certainly happy to know I’d be getting one.
It’s always been like that with me and my dad; whenever there’s a problem he’d go and fix it for me. When my first boyfriend dumped me in Grade five, he got my brother to give him a black eye, and then gave us both a trip to the ice cream place he owned in celebration. For him, if there was a just reason, there was no crime. So when semi formal grade seven came around (this is when the memories really start kicking in) and some other girl was wearing the same dress as me? I punched her in the face and threw punch on her. Dad bought me a new dress for that one, and a bracelet. So that’s the way I’ve lived my life. Perhaps it’s always been a sort of make shift apology, because my dad owns like… six different businesses, with five of them franchised. The only one that isn’t is the ice cream place, but he’s kept that one open because he knows it makes Tyler and me happy. And it gives Tyler a job when he’s not in jail.
My dad and mum thought they were doing me a favor when they sent me to Hawaii for high school, thinking hey- what kid wouldn’t want to go live away from home and do what they want on some tropical island, far away from everything else? It started out that way for me, too. Living the life was easy there, but being fourteen and away from home led me to make some bad friends. Not everyone accepted the girl that knew how to throw a good hook, cause a black eye, or start a fight. That group was a group that everyone loved, but for a very, very specific reason. You had to love the dealers, because they provided you with what you loved. Everything you looked for, what you craved lay in their hands, and I soon became one of their followers, their disciples.
That’s how I got into everything bad. I don’t remember my first time with sex, I just remember being at a party with like, five different guys, waking up in a room I didn’t recognize, with some guy that I couldn’t tell from the back. Fourteen year olds don’t handle well with stress like that, and I panicked like any mother fucker. But since it wasn’t so sacred anymore, there wasn’t anything special. I was majoring in writing, because I wasn’t really interested in anything other than doodling down my thoughts (though I wasn’t all that good at writing essays, to be honest). I mean, I had my friends, who were real sweethearts and stuff for the while, but in the long run those four years were probably the worst of my life. I wish I could trade not remembering all the fuck ups, pregnancy scares, and phone calls for money with my childhood. Instead I have to resort to movies.
Papa didn’t approve of that nuts either, and by the time I started taking pills for panic attacks and mental issues (because damn straight I would have fucking problems with all my addictions), he decided to step in. Back I flew to Toronto, and clean me became, because I had no choice other than that. From there it was simple, get a job and go out on your own. My family had held me up from growing for about a year, and that was a year of bad. It was hard on my dad to see me come crawling from my dark room soaked in sweat, begging for a fix because it’d stop the monsters from climbing up my arms. That had to be fucking hard for him, because Tyler was in jail already, and my mother was the general absent woman. He had to make sure that I was going to be okay, and he was the one who helped me through my withdrawals, who carried around the seventeen year old when she wouldn’t move herself, who put cold compresses on her head, who iced her down and dumped her in ice baths when it got too much. He was my nurse, and by the end of it, it was easy to understand why he asked me to move out.
…he didn’t want to see me in pain anymore.
I decided from that point that the decision to stay clean was the best, and because of that I didn’t go to Hawaii, nor did I keep in touch with anyone. Instead I decided, what would Violet NOT do. After careful portfolio building (something I was able to do while not having withdrawal pains), I was actually invited a few years back to attend La Lumineuse for her poetry and beat pieces. What I hadn’t been expected was a little of Hawaii to come along with me, in the name of Harvey Ashton. I haven’t really described Harv- but take whatever perception of an addiction you might have, multiply that by a thousand, and you have what Harvey and I were. If I didn’t have drugs I had Harvey, and he was the thing I had attached myself to the most. But things… got messy, and we split apart. That was when things got their worst. So to say I wasn’t expecting to see him around was a bit of a truth, but- things sort of slipped back into gear.
I mean, I’m not proud of it! I’m really not! But it was Harvey, and I’ve never been able to say no to Harvey. And before you think anything else of it, it’s not unhealthy. We’ve been together for a long time now, and we get along fine. We’re not like the way it used to be, we don’t scream at each other as much anymore, and we didn’t jump into things. We’re fine. It’s just me that’s the problem. I gave in, a couple years back. Harvey’s an addict, and it’s… well, I still am too. You can’t fight that, and so I’ve been trying on and off to stay away but- well, it’s a lot more complicated than it seems. Everything’s a lot more complicated than you’d think.
MOTHER, matilda olive leon, 50, "socialite".
OTHER FAMILY, tyler adam leon, 27, brother (in jail). lucy april leon, 16, sister (in toronto).
HISTORY,
Everyone knows that if you want to be beautiful, you have to be born in April. Or so many have told me. Strangely enough, I was born in April, and whether they’re trying to tell me I’m beautiful, or they’re absolutely wrong, I’ve never quite decided. I have never worn a shirt that says ‘born in April’ on it in my entire life, but it’s a fact that I will always have to endure. Of two things I will forever be certain, my name is Violet, and I was born on April 22nd. This would make me, at present, twenty-one years old. However, I’m reaching that twenty two mark pretty soon. Next thing I know I’ll be drinking professionally and starting gang fights. Or that’s what my father says.
I have a very close relationship with my family, I always have. Or at least, that’s what I am almost positive about. I forget most of my childhood, but I always remember my mother and my father. Most of my family, even. Though I sometimes like to think I’m an alien, or adopted, or that maybe even I am from a different family. That would make a lot more sense. See, my family is Italian. Very, very Italian. And while I speak Italian very well, I don’t have their tanned complexion, or their blue eyes, or their sharp noses. And I’m significantly skinnier than the rest of my family. In all honestly, my family’s a bunch of Guido’s stuck in Toronto instead of Jersey. And me? I’m the odd one out.
I am a blonde, naturally. Bright bright, baby blonde hair. Honestly? I could say that to some and it would explain everything, because being blonde could exude my personality ever so well. While I can write very nicely, speak eloquently when I have to- I’m a bit of an airhead, more and more like a child than an adult. But anyways; that’s off topic. I have blonde hair, and blue eyes, and paler skin than the rest of my family. I’m five foot five, and I look thinner than the rest of them; I don’t have muscles like my father, or my brother. I suppose if I’m not an alien, I’m the most like my mother. A bit outlandish, strange even, with blonde hair. No one in my family has brown eyes though. I heard from a friend that somewhere in my DNA someone had to have had brown eyes. Secretly? I really hope that’s true.
My father is, and always will be my life, just as much of my family will and always will be. I suppose that’s one Italian thing I’ve kept true to myself. Stay close to your family. Emotionally, I will and always will love them, even if they shot at me. Because I know they’d have a good reason. If not? Well, I’d probably shot at them first… or done something really, really stupid. I tend to do stuff like that.
Anyways. Since I was born, I always have been daddy’s little girl. I’ve been mommy’s little girl too, but with my Papa it’s different. Papa Leon has always doted on me like no other. When I was three, my brother Tyler thought it would be a good idea to throw my tricycle into oncoming traffic. I know because there’s a video of him doing it, and laughing. That fucking prick of a ten year old. Anyways, I burst into tears just like any normal three year old would and in less than ten seconds (all of this I am aware of because it IS on film), my dad had me in his arms, promising me the newest and best tricycle he could afford me, all while tugging the ear of my brother as we went up the driveway. I don’t know if he actually got me that tricycle? But I know I was certainly happy to know I’d be getting one.
It’s always been like that with me and my dad; whenever there’s a problem he’d go and fix it for me. When my first boyfriend dumped me in Grade five, he got my brother to give him a black eye, and then gave us both a trip to the ice cream place he owned in celebration. For him, if there was a just reason, there was no crime. So when semi formal grade seven came around (this is when the memories really start kicking in) and some other girl was wearing the same dress as me? I punched her in the face and threw punch on her. Dad bought me a new dress for that one, and a bracelet. So that’s the way I’ve lived my life. Perhaps it’s always been a sort of make shift apology, because my dad owns like… six different businesses, with five of them franchised. The only one that isn’t is the ice cream place, but he’s kept that one open because he knows it makes Tyler and me happy. And it gives Tyler a job when he’s not in jail.
My dad and mum thought they were doing me a favor when they sent me to Hawaii for high school, thinking hey- what kid wouldn’t want to go live away from home and do what they want on some tropical island, far away from everything else? It started out that way for me, too. Living the life was easy there, but being fourteen and away from home led me to make some bad friends. Not everyone accepted the girl that knew how to throw a good hook, cause a black eye, or start a fight. That group was a group that everyone loved, but for a very, very specific reason. You had to love the dealers, because they provided you with what you loved. Everything you looked for, what you craved lay in their hands, and I soon became one of their followers, their disciples.
That’s how I got into everything bad. I don’t remember my first time with sex, I just remember being at a party with like, five different guys, waking up in a room I didn’t recognize, with some guy that I couldn’t tell from the back. Fourteen year olds don’t handle well with stress like that, and I panicked like any mother fucker. But since it wasn’t so sacred anymore, there wasn’t anything special. I was majoring in writing, because I wasn’t really interested in anything other than doodling down my thoughts (though I wasn’t all that good at writing essays, to be honest). I mean, I had my friends, who were real sweethearts and stuff for the while, but in the long run those four years were probably the worst of my life. I wish I could trade not remembering all the fuck ups, pregnancy scares, and phone calls for money with my childhood. Instead I have to resort to movies.
Papa didn’t approve of that nuts either, and by the time I started taking pills for panic attacks and mental issues (because damn straight I would have fucking problems with all my addictions), he decided to step in. Back I flew to Toronto, and clean me became, because I had no choice other than that. From there it was simple, get a job and go out on your own. My family had held me up from growing for about a year, and that was a year of bad. It was hard on my dad to see me come crawling from my dark room soaked in sweat, begging for a fix because it’d stop the monsters from climbing up my arms. That had to be fucking hard for him, because Tyler was in jail already, and my mother was the general absent woman. He had to make sure that I was going to be okay, and he was the one who helped me through my withdrawals, who carried around the seventeen year old when she wouldn’t move herself, who put cold compresses on her head, who iced her down and dumped her in ice baths when it got too much. He was my nurse, and by the end of it, it was easy to understand why he asked me to move out.
…he didn’t want to see me in pain anymore.
I decided from that point that the decision to stay clean was the best, and because of that I didn’t go to Hawaii, nor did I keep in touch with anyone. Instead I decided, what would Violet NOT do. After careful portfolio building (something I was able to do while not having withdrawal pains), I was actually invited a few years back to attend La Lumineuse for her poetry and beat pieces. What I hadn’t been expected was a little of Hawaii to come along with me, in the name of Harvey Ashton. I haven’t really described Harv- but take whatever perception of an addiction you might have, multiply that by a thousand, and you have what Harvey and I were. If I didn’t have drugs I had Harvey, and he was the thing I had attached myself to the most. But things… got messy, and we split apart. That was when things got their worst. So to say I wasn’t expecting to see him around was a bit of a truth, but- things sort of slipped back into gear.
I mean, I’m not proud of it! I’m really not! But it was Harvey, and I’ve never been able to say no to Harvey. And before you think anything else of it, it’s not unhealthy. We’ve been together for a long time now, and we get along fine. We’re not like the way it used to be, we don’t scream at each other as much anymore, and we didn’t jump into things. We’re fine. It’s just me that’s the problem. I gave in, a couple years back. Harvey’s an addict, and it’s… well, I still am too. You can’t fight that, and so I’ve been trying on and off to stay away but- well, it’s a lot more complicated than it seems. Everything’s a lot more complicated than you’d think.
---------------- ABOUT YOU ---------------
YOUR NAME, cait
CONTACT, aim or msn <3
OTHER, lalala <3
CONTACT, aim or msn <3
OTHER, lalala <3
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