ladies & lady boys.

Vivianne Charleston
Likes: Cake, staying up late, melon bread, Japanese sweets, lazy Sundays, nail art, pink, old style Japanese homes where she can lay out on the porch, collecting shoes, and Kewpie dolls.
Dislikes: Movies that end terribly, cicadas, attending parties that don’t provide food, goukan, creepy Japanese men on the train, cape jackets, bugs, morning breath, lipstick on her teeth, and public bath houses.
Collection: http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/collection?id=1601854
Bio: Vivianne is an army brat. She’s lived in numerous states and five countries throughout her life thus far. The stints in other countries never lasted as long as she’d like and finally, she landed in Japan after her father retired to pursue “lifelong dreams”. Six years later and she still hasn’t figured out those dreams of his. Vivianne doesn’t mind Japan much. She’s gotten over the culture shock and has even gotten into a routine of riding her bike and a train to Tokyo for a weekly shopping trip—one which helps keep her in shape.
It’s no secret Vivianne, or Vivi as her friends like to call her, has a fondness of sweets and food in general. Instead of socializing at her mother’s parties, Vivi is often found near the food table and she makes regular trips to the convenience store.
She’s not a wild or bad girl by any means. However, Vivianne has, recently, made friends with possible Yakuza heirs. Try as she might—looking for tattoos at the beach, visiting their house—she can’t find the answer. Vivianne’s even taken to popular culture for clues.
Model: Maria Borges
Taken by: @tokyounicorn
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Story soon!
 
@the-clary-project If you want to make the decision today you can read http://www.polyvore.com/oyster_shuckin_champ_dra_audition/set?id=49961969 for what to expect.

+Euphemia Leela Sarin-Whiteley; 17
{October 23, 1995}
Junior
Job: Part time helper at the local barn; weekend pageant girl
Likes: The smell of firewood, pageants, equestrianism, horror flicks, hogging the television and watching reality shows, riding her bike to the farmer's market, and fried green tomatoes.
Dislikes: Early mornings, chipped nail polish, giving in to peer pressure (she’s not proud of this one), the ever present stank of horse, small titles, hay scratches, and beavers.
-Sporting a pair of slightly droopy eyes a light shade of brown, she tends to hide them behind sunglasses from her eclectic and large collection. Effie has always had a sense of herself and doesn't dwell on imperfections of her appearance, rather, she keeps her eyebrows large and boyish, drawing attention to her eyes.
 
Though she is gangly, Effie is developing well. Years of riding horses and tennis has left her muscular and filled out in all the right places, leaving her with an hourglass shape verging on inverted.
 
Effie has taken after her Papa Audrian (and rightly so) in almost every aspect--tanned skin and black hair--including the slight wave. Almost always, she leaves the locks down--a wild, wavy mass at waste length. Other days, she ties it up in a messy bun on the top of her head.
-Effie, as she almost always prefers to be called, has had her share of being a walking billboard for bullying and slurs. Growing up with two dads hasn't been easy, never mind she's a mixed race. Effie has, through the years, developed a tough backbone and would like to thank the haters with a pageant wave and smile. That's not to say she hasn't gotten into a few schoolyard scuffles, including sharing a black eye with a mean girl back in Fargo. She is, by no means, a bad girl or wild child. The will to terrorize and rebel against her parents, as of yet, hasn’t reared its ugly head.
 
An open book, Effie will say her feelings to your face, but knows the difference between dodging a bullet and petty arguments. One moment she’ll be supporting you, the next she’ll be in the middle of a gossip group. What can she say? She’s a fan of the Housewives.
 
Stuck in a household of Judaism and Hinduism, Effie can't find a happy medium between the two, resulting in weeks of following one religion before moving on to the other. They've taught her a life lesson or three, but for the life of her, she can't make the final decision.
 
Above it all and at the end of the day, Euphemia is still a teenage girl flitting between who she is on a weekly basis and barely keeping her emotions in check.
Model: Chrishell Stubbs
Taken by @tokyounicorn
 
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Fifteen minutes after five in the morning, Euphemia was ankle deep in horse crap, shoveling piles out of the barn and into the gated grazing pasture. Yawning loudly, she flung a heavy pile out the door, and carried with the momentum, slipped. Catching herself on one of the stalls, she cursed the horses, the barn, and Weston, a string of expletives mingled in. Her brother Ethan sniggered from the doorway, a basket of chicken eggs nestled in his arms. Euphemia raised a thick eyebrow.
 
“You want to shovel it?”
 
Ethan shook his head, cracking a smile. “I think you’re doing a great job. You’re even willing to wear the work. Great dedication; I’m totally jealous.”
 
Euphemia cocked out a hip. “I’ve got a nice, big,” She grunted from the effort of scooping up a massive pile. “steaming pile for you right here.” She hefted the manure up, reading to throw the load at Ethan. The smile fell of his face.
 
“You wouldn’t.” She took a few steps forward, menace written on her face. Ethan stumbled back, mind flitting between a joke and making a run for the house. His sister continued her advance. Yelling, “Effie don’t!”, Ethan turned and ran for the field.
 
Effie abandoned the shovel and took off after him, her Hunter’s Wellies making the journey difficult. She caught up to him near the edge of the face, panting and watching a dark object to the side. “What is it?” She asked. Ethan shrugged.
 
“Looks like a log, but see? It’s moving.” She squinted, unable to see anything but a log. “Go check it out.”
 
“Why me? You’re the one that saw it. You go.”
 
“I don’t wanna.” Effie sighed, crossing her arms.
 
“Fine, we’ll go together. I’m tellin’ you, it’s just a log.”
 
The siblings, after Effie had picked up a stick, carefully ventured toward the dark blob. Ethan stopped short before running back toward the house, yelling for one of their father’s. Effie took a few seconds to process the fact there was a gator in her yard and shrieked, following her brother’s lead to the house.

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Storyboard & collection: http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/collection?id=1579883
Collection:

Coming soon!

Slightly ashamed of this set, but it's for a 100 word challenge, so~ Also, this is not a pretty story. :|
 
"Mister and Missus Sarin, please, take a seat." Doctor Marshall gestured toward a pair of leather backed and cushioned chairs, worry lines and wrinkles hinting to the amount of years he'd found himself in this position. The couple sat, a round middle aged man and plump, brunette woman. She was grasping his arm tightly, her ashen and pale face reflecting her husband's. "As you know, your son was brought here at approximately twelve-thirty this morning. He's suffered...well, he's sedated right now."
 
Sharon Sarin gasped loudly. "Is he...is Audrian going to be all right?"
 
Doctor Marshall nodded, continuing. "Your son is going to be fine. We had to rush him into surgery, but I assure you, it was to set a broken arm and check for internal bleeding." Another high pitched gasp. Dev Sarin looked at his wife, rubbing her hands, and trying to calm her tears.
 
Dev cleared his throat. "Sir, Doctor, we were called by the hospital. They told us our son was here, but not why. We haven't even seen him yet! So please, I know you're not telling us everything. We just want to know what's going on."
 
Marshall sighed and signaled to Deputy Carter. The man came into the room and leaned against a tan wall. He tilted his hat to them. "I can tell you medically, but Deputy Carter and I have a few questions before we can answer everything. We'll start at the beginning, I suppose." Flipping open a manila folder, Marshall read over the contents, and laid out a series of x-rays.
 
"Like I said, your son was brought in at approximately twelve-thirty this morning. He was unconscious but breathing. His face had severe swelling around the right eye and his clothes were torn and bloody. Along with a few other cuts and abrasions, there was nothing else physically wrong with him. A few other tests, however, proved there was a lot more to be done."
 
Pausing, Marshall pointed to an x-ray of Audrian's arm. "Here you can see a fracture in both his Ulna and Radius. We've set those, but he'll be wearing a cast for a few months. In this x-ray do you see how this ligament looks different than the others? This is a common sprained ankle. He'll need to stay off it for a few weeks. And here," He spread out a group of x-rays that had Sharon hiding her face in Dev’s shoulder.
 
"These are your son's ribs. I'm afraid three of them are bruised. He's lucky they aren't cracked or broken. Finally, this is his brain. There is slight swelling, but that's to be expected of head trama. We've been monitoring the swelling every hour and I'm happy to say there has been a decrease." He took a deep breath and stood. "That's all I can tell you for now. I'm going for coffee while Deputy Carter fills you in on the rest. Would you like some?"
 
"Yes, thank you." Dev replied, watching his wife fish out a package of tissues from her purse. His own heart was heavy with dread. He knew there was more though and frankly, wasn't sure he could take it. Turning back to the Deputy, he asked, “Is there a specific reason the State Police are here?”
 
Deputy Carter took his hat off, fiddling with the bill. “Mr. Sarin, the State Police are called in for extremely dangerous and serious offenses and crimes. There’s no right way to ask this, but is your son in the transgendered community? It’s not the nineties anymore and hopefully this millennium will bring less hostility toward the….queer community.”
 
Dev shook his head, a million scenarios racing through his mind. However many he considered, the end result was the same. Someone beat his son. His grief was quickly turning into anger. “Are you insinuating this was a hate crime? I understand this is North Dakota, but for f.ck’s sake!”
 
Carter held up a hand. “Please, answer the question and try to stay calm. I don’t enjoy the thought either.”
Sharon answered quietly. “No. Audrian is gay, yes, but he has no desire to become a woman. He believes society has no right telling people how to dress. Rather, it’s the person. I suppose he prefers women’s clothing for his own reasons. That’s how he dressed when I met him.”
 
“Wait. You’re not his mother?”
 
Sharon smiled sadly. “I most certainly am. I married Dev when Audrian was fourteen. It’s all a bit muddled, but his birth mother basically gave up custody of him when they divorced. That woman isn’t much of a mother if you ask me. Anyway,” She huffed. “was this a hate crime?”
 
“No.” The Deputy’s mouth settled into a firm line. “I was asking because that can help his case in court, but I doubt the jury will need swaying.” Taking out his notepad, Carter read over his notes, and clicked his pen. His fears were slowly swaying to his original conclusion. “Before I continue, there are a few questions I need to ask. I’m going to have to ask you to answer honestly and not to make up what you don’t know. Exactly how long has it been since you’ve seen your son?”
 
Dev frowned, squeezing Sharon’s hand. “A few weeks. He calls every day though.”
 
Carter scribbled down the answer. “Uh huh. He’s in a relationship with a Dakota Vargas, correct?”
“Yes. Why these—“ He was cut off by Marshall returning and setting two paper cups of steaming coffee on the desk. Marshall shared a glance with Carter.
 
“The sooner you answer the questions the sooner we can get to the answer and you can see your son. Now, how long has Audrian been with this man?”
Shrugging, Dev answered. “He was sixteen I think. Audrian will be twenty-one in August, so, about five years.”
 
Carter nodded, debating how to ask the next question, feeling his ulcer acting up at the knowledge these parents’ lives were going to get a lot worse. “After they started dating did your contact with Audrian decrease?”
 
Sharon sipped her coffee while Dev made no move for his. She could see his jaw clenching and unclenching. “Yes. I’m not surprised. He’s a busy man.”
 
“Right. But was this decrease more than normal?” At his agreement, Carter asked his final question. “Would you say this absence of visiting resembled carelessness? As if he stopped caring about friends and family?”
 
“If you put it that way, then I guess. When we talked on the phone he sounded fine. I mean, he said he loved us and he’d see us soon.”
 
Deputy Carter closed his notebook and stood, returning to his place against the wall. “Thank you. That’s all I have for now.” Marshall sat heavily in his chair.
 
“Mister and Missus Sarin are you aware your son has visited this hospital, on a yearly basis, more than once for bodily injuries? It’s possible, but, is Audrian a clumsy individual?”
 
Dev sputtered over his coffee. “My son is a figure skater! There’s no…” He faltered, a shadow falling over his features. “What are you trying to say?” His wife’s grip tightened tenfold.
 
“We believe your son is, was, in a DAR—a Domestic Violent Relationship. Your answers point us in that direction and…” Sharon broke into a fit of sobs and Dev began turning a dark shade of red.
His voice rose in volume when he said, “That sonuvabitch has been beating my son for five years? I’m going to kill him! I’m going to bash his perfectly coiffed head in!”
 
Sharon grabbed his shoulders, holding his panting form and trying to calm him down. Deputy Carter stepped in, signaling for the other officers to stand by. “That won’t be necessary.”
 
Dev’s head snapped up. “Why the f.ck not?”
Marshall splayed his hands on the desk, apprehensive of how Mr. Sarin was going to react. “He was taken into custody at twelve-fifteen this morning for the r.pe and attempted murder of your son.” Dev caught his wife when she buckled, sliding down to his knees when they went weak. The anger went out of him in a gush of air, leaving a cold emptiness.
 
“Wha—How?” He asked, clutching his wife closer. Deputy Carter shut the door to the office. The least he could do was offer the family some privacy.
 
“Until your son wakes up, we only have a guess. That and what Noah Whiteley has informed us. We believe your son was attempting to leave for good when Dakota Vargas came home. There was a fight and your son was pushed down the stairs. It’s plausible he fell, but given the circumstances, we don’t believe so. Vargas then proceeded to r.pe your son. A gun was somehow involved. He hit Audrian in the face with the butt. When we found them, Vargas was strangling him. We think Vargas’ plan was to kill your son then himself. It’s not uncommon in these types of relationships. Dakota Vargas is going away for a long time.”
 
Tilting his hat, Deputy Carter left the room. He’d be back in a few days to interview the victim. Dev Sarin, having returned to his seat, was worried for his wife. She had stopped crying, but she hadn’t ceased shaking. “Why didn’t he say anything or ask for help?”
 
“Mister Sarin, individuals in these situations often feel embarrassed or alone. They don’t want anyone to know. In your son’s case, he may not be aware relationships shouldn’t go like this. Anyway, there are going to be many hardships here on out for him to overcome.”

- Euphemia "Effie" Leela Sarin-Whiteley; "u∙fee∙me∙uh lee∙la sa∙reen wih∙ta∙lee"

- Seventeen

- Enjoys: Pageants, tennis, guinea pigs, nail art, collars, glitter, horror movies.

- Dislikes: Small titles, anxiety from school, giving in to peer pressure (she's not proud of this one), chipped nail polish.

- Hobbies: Competing in beauty pageants, Equestrianism, surfing the net, hogging the television and watching reality shows.

- Gait & Posture: Effie is a bit gangly, what with her tall genes, but she's developing nicely. With this, she's suffered somewhat with posture, shuffling and bending some when she walks.

- Appearance: Sporting a pair of slightly droopy eyes a light shade of brown, she tends to hide them behind sunglasses from her eclectic and large collection. Effie has always had a sense of herself and doesn't dwell on imperfections of her appearance, rather, she keeps her eyebrows large and boyish, drawing attention to her eyes.

Though she is gangly, Effie is developing well. Years of tennis has left her muscular and filled out in all the right places, leaving her with an hourglass shape verging on inverted. She's proportionate as well.

Effie has taken after her Papa Audrian (and rightly so) in almost ever aspect--tanned skin and black hair--including the slight wave. Almost always, she leaves the locks down--a wild, wavy mass at waste length. Other days, she ties it up in a messy bun on the top of her head.

- Clothing: Effie's closet is sort of all over the place. She has a grungy, studded area competing with pastels and loud prints. She hasn't yet found her personal style and isn't interested in taking fashion risks. Her wardrobe has been compiled from thrift stores, malls, and boutiques during different fashion interests of hers and has amassed into what it is today. Whatever odd or new piece she adds, at the end of the day, Effie will be wearing an outfit that isn't clinging to her frame and allows movement.

"Effie, hun, do you want salad for dinner tonight?" Audrian asked, inspecting a bag of lettuce. Placing the bag in the cart, he turned to his daughter who was rifling through the yogurt display.
 
"Uh, sounds good. Let's get croutons, too. Okay, Lemon Meringue or Strawberry Short Cake?" Effie held up the two yogurts. Audrian gestured toward the cart.
 
"Both. Get some for me. Your father as well. He won’t admit it, but I’ve caught him red handed after you guys go to sleep.” Effie giggled, tossing them into the cart. She grabbed a chocolate flavor for her brother. Stacking the yogurt neatly in the cart, she asked, “What’s next on the list?”
 
Checking his phone, Audrian caught sight of a busty blonde making her way toward them, followed by a redhead and brunette. His heart jumped when he recognized Claudette and her posse, which could mean only one thing. Distracted he said, “Why don’t you get the bread and pasta? I wanted to pick up some wine and beer.”
 
He stood in horror as Claudette strode by, bumping their cart with hers, before stopping to sneer. “If it isn’t Miss Whiteley.”
 
Effie smiled softly. “Hello Mrs. Wolfe.”
Claudette laughed dryly. “I wasn’t talking to you. Such a poor child! I can’t imagine why you’d want to be seen in public with that.”
 
Audrian flushed, embarrassed and angry at himself for not stepping in. He glanced at his daughter who was standing rigid, eyes narrowing. “Let’s get one thing straight, Mrs. Wolfe. I may be in high school, but you’re not. It’s pathetic to be fifty and acting fifteen. And another,” Effie bent to pick up a carton of eggs in Claudette’s cart. “That’s my dad you’re talking about. I’d rather be seen with him than with your fake boobs and balloon lips.” Holding the carton up, she dropped it, smug when the cardboard smashed against the cart, breaking and cracking the eggs inside, splattering all over Claudette’s shirt.
 
“If you’ll excuse us, we’ll be leaving.” Huffing, she turned on her heel and pushed the cart, holding Audrian’s hand and heading toward the dry foods aisle.
 
Audrian squeezed his daughter’s hand tightly, feeling the anxiety ebb away. “I love you so much.”

Liam Fletcher took the long way to work, opting to walk instead of taking the subway. He could do without the overwhelmingly sweet smell of coffee--especially vanilla espresso--and the musty smell of old men in their pressed suits. He waved to Mrs. Olgditchon the other side of the road when he passed and crossed the street, making a beeline for the morning market.
 
The small marketplace was crowded for a Wednesday and for an alarmingly brief moment, Liam was horribly disoriented. With the flick of his wrist, his walking cane unfolded, clanging against the ground. Immediately the swarm of people around him backed away. Someone to his right asked, "Sir, do you need any help?"
 
Liam smiled, embarrassed. This was worse than being recognized from the television. "Thanks, but I'm all right." He brushed off another pity effort, seeking refuge in the flower sector behind a huge display. The multitude of smells was short of dizzying, but he was used to it and strode among the aisles gathering a bouquet to place in Mason jars in the seating area of La Bamba.
 
Mildly distracted by rearranging them into some kind of design, Liam kicked over what he though was a bucket, crying out softly in surprise. Flushing and glancing around even though he couldn't actually see anything more than ten feet in front of him, he bent down to right the downed brown blob.
 
He was surprised by a deep, masculine voice behind him. "Smooth." Completing the task, Liam straightened to face his manager and friend of three years, Bret.
 
From what Liam had smelled, felt, and touched, Bret Parker was a well-to-do and dressed, man. In a suit six days out of seven, Bret worked his way up the corporate ladder, taking on A list celebrities by the age of twenty-five. He wasn't just a good with people. From what Liam had heard, Bret had invested in a few properties that left him riding on a huge profit.
 
Liam assumed Bret would be an uptight ass, but oh was he wrong. Bret's idea of a good time was a few cold beers. Liam could relate. His was booze and a bowl of curry. However, Liam had no idea why Bret was following him around.
 
"Don't you know it's a crime to make fun of the handicapped?" He knew the other man was shrugging even if he couldn't see it. That didn't stop Liam from thrusting the flowers into Bret's hands. "As retribution, you gotta buy these."