ai tsukino

❛❛ butterfly's babydoll 

ai tsukino

15 || demisexual || female || student

PERSONALITY

POSITIVE
✔ gentle, kind, patient, curious, intelligent

NEGATIVE
✖ submissive, naive, gullible, impulsive, passive

LIKES
✔ sweets, anime, kpop, pastel, affection

DISLIKES
✖ violence, confrontation, static, the past, yelling

PERSONALITY
woven from threads of naivety and silk, her heart is adorned with idealistic dreams and basked in the sweet perfume of innocence collected from a child's tears. her heart knows no bounds, each creature she encounters treated with an equal amount of unfathomable humanity and humility. she is gracious and grateful, humble despite the circumstances that have molded her being for if the stars have taught her one thing, it is to be patient and thankful for all the blessings received. and despite the lack of a father figure, he bestowed upon her certain lessons that have followed her throughout her life. a generous heart and soul leave wake to happiness, affection can be soft and minute.

but her mother left scars and cracks on the surface, a passive and submissive mind and static upon static. sometimes she can't breathe, she gets choked up. she's a bundle of nerves and unidentified panic. people are scary but at the same time they are alluring. her mind is curious, body reacting before she gets a chance to think about it.

dreams are her solace, the stars keeping her bound despite how badly she wishes the fly. and she's gentle, almost like a rabbit - a skittish thing. words are hard to find, but she knows of how eyes are a window to one's soul. she often finds herself staring, wondering, thinking. her brothers taught her compassion and hope. patience is key, that's what father told her.

keep her close and hold her tight, she dreams of the day when she can finally shine as bright as the stars. perhaps with all these thoughts running rampant inside her head, she'll have the time to share them. she has love down pat, it comes hand in hand with compassion, trust and patience. perhaps she's a little too trusting, a little too generous - she'll give you a dollar just for a smile, even more for a hug.

and despite the fact she loved her mother, mother taught her that sometimes porcelain was meant to be broken.

APPEARANCE

HEIGHT: 147m
WEIGHT: 40kg
HAIR/STYLE: long, white, wavy
SKIN/SCARS: porcelain skin
EYES: cerulean blue, doe-like
NOTABLES: she's really short.

and her skin was porcelain, soft to touch yet easy to taint - petite, gentle feminine curves stretching tenderly across ribs and hips. two inches under a solid even five, a crown of white flowers down to her hips in waves resembling the subtle ripples of a river and a halo of intricate bangs tickling the tips of long lashes, simultaneously covering straight brows and highlighting cerulean blue orbs. rose petals are mute against freckled cheeks, a delicate nose. slender fingers dance across soft skin, nails trailing patterns across a body subject to ghostly scars and unblemished to the naked eye - her own see it all.

a doll of regrets, modestly dressed in soft shades of color and flowy pieces of the more traditional sense - kimonos in an array of prints mostly floral. she walks with the grace of a fearful rabbit, kept off to the background like a wallflower. a tentative smile, kind and full of life - expressive are her windows to the soul, as her soul is pure - devoid of ink.

HISTORY

tw: mentions of abuse


she was but a porcelain canvas, embroidered in an array of dandelions, hyacinths, and violets - a bouquet of ribs and victim of fixation. a mother should love their daughter, but not too much. a mother should raise their daughter not in seclusion, but in inclusion when there are siblings about. however, some mothers disregard the unspoken boundaries life sets and take their own path.

her memories are lined in static, filled with blurred faces and flowers painted upon flowers. from a young age she could remember being different from her two brothers, mother always told her she was special. mother told her that she was a beautiful, porcelain doll - that's why the boys weren't allowed to touch her or even interact with her. she remembers mother's lessons, that dolls should be graceful and full of poise. dolls should know how to be brilliant hosts and never make a mistake - but mother, perhaps this in itself was a mistake. sanity was but a fragile thing.

from ballet to math to piano, it was a requirement. dolls did not talk back, they did not speak. they did as they were told.

quietly.

and she was but a bird trapped in a cage, confined to sing a song with a voice broken and strained. mother didn't allow for any errors. she remembers the chill of the bathtub, how an ice bath felt like a sauna and how a fever was a blessing. rice was a delicacy, but air was her bread.

too many cracks, too many rips in the seams. lace was easy to ruin, just as easy as it was to break a heart or a spirit. with her body changing, adolescence around the corner, mother became irritable and volatile. dolls did not have womanly curves, dolls were petite, so why should she have something to eat? why should she partake in the barbaric habits of those who fell in lust with gluttony. mother would not have it, she blamed it all on a lack of discipline.

brother often seemed to have a fascination for the color green, stringing lies on a web just for the off chance that perhaps mother would turn her gaze to him instead. it didn't matter how close they were tipping the youngest to the edge. perhaps they wanted her to shatter? but dolls weren't supposed to be broken. they were meant to be protected. that's why mother took the bait and that was the first night the doll fell from the shelf.

the slap echoed all throughout the house and when she stared into the mirror that night, a bouquet of hyacinths and violets had grown upon her cheek. that was the first time she wondered if beauty was worth pain.

each day seemed to weigh down her mother like rocks in a bag, like an anchor at sea. each day there were beautiful gardens growing upon ivory skin, encased in ribs and flesh. what was beauty? beauty was pain, mother said.

and she'd forgotten how cold ice could be, how water made her feel as if she was flying. floating. there were so many bubbles, a tightness in her chest. another punishment, another mistake. if she stayed still, it'd be over. so she closed her eyes. but brother started to hate the color green, loathed it with his existence. panic overtook him every time it flashed upon his eyes - he knew from the beginning how cold ice could be, how water could be a trap.

for the first time, father got off of work early - if only because of the middle brother.

she could remember suddenly being able to breathe, screaming and yelling. she could remember her eldest brother's face filled with worry. but why was that painted upon his cheeks? did they not find her garden beautiful? did they not know that dolls were meant to be like this? she did not understand.

blurred memories still told a story, woven in static. there was something unsettling with silence while people talked just beyond the door. there was discomfort in watching someone pack your own suitcases, packing your life away for a taste of what they called a better home.

brother lived in some random city, said mother wasn't allowed to see her anymore. everything was moving so fast, everything changing. before she knew it, a blink and the house she called home was but a memory - she'd never go back they said. she'd never see mother again, nor would she see father for a long time too.

and his home was a quaint little place, a modest two story home with three bedrooms, an attic, living room, dining room - the works, all wrapped up in a cute pink package. it was a marvel, beautiful with old fashioned décor, creaking stairs and a window up in the attic with a perfect view of the stars. and for the first time ever, she had the decision of which room would be hers. which she'd call her own. for her first decision, she chose the attic. brother was concerned, but the stars were calling for her.

they were beautiful, her only solace when the nights were too long, when the nights whispered memories in her ears. the first year was the hardest - the first year was silent. she didn't speak, didn't gain and stayed with her studies at home. sign language was how she communicated, english was hard to learn, but a year held so many days, so many months, and so much time. silence was both beautiful and grotesque. silence with the stars, however, was pure bliss.

another year creeped around the corner, months before her brother mentioned school to her. an actual school - one for heroes at that, heroes that at plagued her dreams. and with a quirk like hers? how could she pass it up?

and things were looking up, just one step at a time. she'd found her voice, found the inklings of happiness as school loomed around the corner. would she be okay? what would mother say seeing her now - seeing her like this. the stars kept her sane and kept the static away as this city soon became her home. patience was key.

because one day, she'd shine just as bright.