#because at this point it just feels like clinging to the Most Oppressed trophy and insisting that everything is 'punching up'

[flitflit]

just saw a post that said that people that are upset at being called theyfab are only mad because "in their heads afab=female and trans identity in general is just ppl roleplaying as being another gender than they really are" great so it's being used like trender. like it was years ago before all this discourse went down. great job everyone this will surely end transmisogyny forever

[bloodinhershoesrpg]

At long last, you will find my sample app for Aliona Chernova beneath the cut. Normally, I would be pointing out how great you and your application are in this section but because I really don’t feel like praising myself like a self-absorbed maniac this is pretty much dummy text. I’ve structured this somewhat like an instruction manual with subtle reminders to once more stress what is required in hopes of it helping you lovelies out and please remember that your app doesn’t have to look like this whatsoever! This is simply an example for what I deem very much acceptable and does not represent the minimum requirement or serve as a uniform set up.

REGARDING YOURSELF

Name / Age / Pronouns: Nicola / 21 / she/her Activity: I go to university three times a week and am currently looking into getting a part time job but I always try to check in at least once a day if I can so maybe a 7? Triggers: n/a Additional: (obviously i can’t put the password down here since that would be an easy way out for y’all but here’s a pro tip: check the gameplay page like wildfire)

REGARDING THE STAR OF YOUR SHOW

Character name and faceclaim: Aliona Chernova // Alexandra Daddario

CHARACTER DISSECTION

(This is the part that I will post beneath the skeleton under a read more if you get accepted — please include trigger warnings if you cover generally triggering subjects in this bit. Psst, also, remember the holy trinity you should touch upon: backstory, personality and motivation!)

TW: eating disorder, self-destructive behaviour

Perfectly manicured nails clinked against the faded ceramic of a well-loved mug, the sepia liquid in it making its temperature known through bursts of steam descending upwards into the nothingness of the dimly-lit kitchen, unhomely and cold. She took her coffee black, her cigarettes (and the occasional advil) on an empty stomach and her breakfast sporadic, in small, self-aware bites, chewing slowly to avoid the risk of not catching satiety the second it set in — the routine of a girl with the heart of a fighter with no time to waste on caution. Irises of a blue so cold and striking it resembled the purest arctic ice rimmed slightly widened pupils staring down at the crisp surface of the burnt toast, black cherry jam smeared languidly across its wounds and smoothing them just enough to feign a healing effect. Another clink — the first weak link breaking free from the chain, an insignificantly sized crumb of fire engine red nail polish descending onto the clinically white surface of the tabletop. Just another crack in the surface, the embodiment of imperfection that haunted her like a hellhound clinging to her scent of despair, never once allowing her to succeed without immediately tainting the purity of her shine, its preserverance outliving all her attempts to exterminate it along with its ugly grin, a constant companion in her slumber.

All it takes is hard work and determination — a statement that could be the Chernova family motto, encrested and worshipped as a lifelong mantra posing as the saving grace for everyone who honoured it. Everyone, with the exception of her, trophy daughter demoted to black sheep for sheer lack of luck, all good karma long since exhausted by her forefathers and even close relatives. Perhaps choosing a field another had already undeniably made her own was her curse; perhaps the Chernovas were cursed to only find success through trying something new, as had her brother, finding fulfilment in real estate and sharing his joy with their parents through his wealth and evident inner peace — dreams thoroughly out of reach for his older sister who had never been enough and now surely never would be. 

From the moment her infamously adorable little head could comprehend human speech patterns, little Aliona sensed that she wasn’t living up to parental expectations even before she had a chance to open cerulean eyes and get a first glimpse of the world she had been brought into. She was neither male nor had she picked up the bow to her father’s violin at the age of one and three quarters and instructed the quivering strings with the exquisite expertise of a veteran musician and those two offences alone already weighed so heavy on her parents’ hearts that she had merely one more chance to impress them before facing a lifetime stuck in the role of the family disappoinment — at the tender age of two. The only spark of love and adoration adult Aliona likes to believe to recall infant Allie spotting in a family member’s eyes belonged to her late grandmother, a woman of such greatness her first name had rendered itself obsolete, her celebrity attached to the term of awed endearment ‘the great Chernova’, who sacrified valueable time of her few remaining days to surverying the petite girl daintily positioned at the foot of her bed, the natural grace of a well-composed danseuse with a promising future all she cared to spot in her only granddaughter. 

“One day, you’re going to be a star,” she implored an impressionable child, intonation worthy of an enchantress, “and you’ll put all the other graceless ducklings to shame. I just know it.”

With all her heart had Aliona wanted to know this too and hence she took it to be factual, embracing it as an unyielding truth, still offering her comfort as much as it tears her apart today. Her parents’ pride had long since become a subplot in a far greater scheme, the act of attempting to step into her grandmother’s footsteps enough to keep them civil but what she desired more than anything else in this world, ardently and unflatteringly, was to see the same gleam of awe in someone’s eyes again when they looked at her, triggered by her skill and talent — and one day, one day she still would. Of course she would — for that belief was what kept her going about her routine, what helped her out of bed in the morning and carried her to the opera house day after day, safe and sound on its majestic swings. 

One day. 

Some day. 

Soon. 

Or, potentially, never.

Stab stab stab. 

A cigarette, stubbed out on the remnants of half devoured toast, was dropped from slender fingers beneath the shadow of a painful grimance, the crumbs of the burnt patches mingling with the ashes as though they had always been destined to find peace in their union. One day could easily be today as long as she kept assuring herself she was good enough — until she tricked herself into believing it.

CONNECTING THE DOTS

(Demonstrating the requirement because albeit you are free to write as much as you want of course, I don’t want you to feel like you need to cover more than the following: one canon connection, one additional connection you see fit!)

RINA KINLEY: Aliona’s feelings for them are best described as conflicting. On one hand, they haven’t actively caused her harm, always greet her with a smile on their lips and lessen the weight of the oppressing atmosphere backstage with merely their lightness of being. On the other hand, however, hasn’t everyone who has found a way to succeed, to some extent, done her harm? And isn’t Rina supposed to have taken to particularly ignoble measures? A part of her, the same one responsible for her optimism that should have long since withered away, doesn’t want to believe the gossip and instead find a friend in someone seemingly willing to offer but jealousy is known to be blinding, even to the most pure of heart.

LINDSEY DAVIES: Among the many pairs of eyes spitefully fixated at the unexpected new addition to the company can be found her icy glare, not at all sparked by a personal dislike for the woman’s personality but, as is her habit, by the green demon of jealousy, once more lingering in her presence as a chip on her shoulder after finishing its duty as shoulder devil. As of now, she cares little for the concept of getting to know her before passing judgement, too hung up on considering her yet another forceful threat in too many regards — however, she would love to discover her secret to shooting right to the top. After all, there’s got to be one, right?

REGARDING YOUR INSPIRATION

This is my character tag on my writing blog for her which includes inspiration and edits! If this wasn’t a sample app, I would have included a mock blog because, quite frankly, I am very much a sucker for them and feel like you can express a lot with them even if you don’t make specific edits for your desired character — plus if you think of headcanons or come up with writing samples after submitting your app, you can link them on the blog (even just for reasons of tidiness, to be honest) and I’ll definitely check them out! This is merely advice, though, and not at all obligatory!