#i hope i covered all my bases here fgjfjks

[wndybird]

laughter pokes its way across misted eyes, dabbling cheeks with flecks of light. this child, the universe clutched in her palms, refusing to shed a thing.

MEET WENDY darling DARWIN.

OOC.

AUTHOR: ren, 20, est, she / they. CONTACT: my discord is ren 🎃✨#6401, pm me if you want my telegram or kik !!

BASIC.

NAME: wendy darwin

EXPLANATION:

wendy’s decision to cling to her true name was deliberate as an act to reclaim her sense of self , and to exercise some control over her life after the exodus took part of that from her. there’s also the added fact that it’s so much easier than trying to go by another name, which seems like a ridiculous amount of trouble to go through.

darwin was chosen out of ease , as well , being two letters off from her true surname and sounding fairly similar. behind the scenes , i chose it since its meaning is “ dear friend ” and i believed that would reference the supposed origin of wendy’s name well.

NICKNAMES: wen, wendybird, bird, little bird. ( i will sometimes call her wendigo, wendini, and wingdings. ) GENDER: cisfemale SEXUALITY: panromantic pansexual

OCCUPATION:

wendy is a full time student at the fable community college , and also works as a cashier at the local bookshop. she may sometimes take up the occasional odd job as a babysitter , a proofreader for other students , or even a tutor if she’s incredibly strapped for cash , but these are small side things that she only turns to when the going gets really tough.

she left her major as undeclared originally , as she wanted to be able to experience various differing courses , but has recently changed it so that she’s majoring in creative writing and minoring in journalism.

AGE: twenty BIRTH DATE: july 7th ZODIAC: cancer sun, sagittarius moon SECRET LANGUAGE: day , week , month , season , way , & personal path CELTIC ZODIAC: oak ( tree ) , wren ( animal ) BIRTHDAY TAROT: temperance , the hierophant

MAGIC:

wendy is not a magic user , though she will always quietly find herself envious of those who are. it’s possible that her curiosity and desire to be closer to the arcane may lead her into trying to practice , but that remains to be seen. otherwise she tries to function on the belief that magic is not just defined by the arcane , but little , every day things. like your headphones not tangling in your pocket , or your schedule lining up perfectly for the day , things of that nature.

PHYSICAL.

FACECLAIM: kristine froseth HEIGHT: 5’ WEIGHT: 126 lbs HAIR COLOR & STYLE: honey brown , long , wavy. usually kept down , sometimes half up , in a bun , braid , or ponytail. will occasionally do cute things like space buns , braided crowns , etc. EYE COLOR: blueee DOMINANT HAND: left DISTINGUISHING FEATURES: freckles , longass eyelashes , a birthmark on her right thigh , generally looking like a baby deer smh SCARS: she has a few very old , very faded scars across her feet and ankles from running about barefoot on neverland , but you probably wouldn’t notice them unless you were looking for them. PIERCINGS: earlobes TATTOOS: none yet

PERSONALITY.

MBTI: esfj KEIRSEY: guardian — provider ENNEAGRAM: type 2w3 

 ALIGNMENT & MORALS:

her heart is soft , but it is just. her alignment is lawful good , and she tries to operate on a set of clear , concise morals. her involvement with certain individuals may muddle this , at times , but her conscious is painfully loud and she will always be a voice of reason and a champion of what is right. her crux is that she is sometimes prone to bending too easily , as she still clings to her belief that no one can be all bad.

TRAITS:

( + ) optimistic , intelligent , honest , empathetic , brave , adventurous , friendly

( - ) idealistic , stubborn , nosy , susceptible , perfectionist , insecure , anxious

CONNECTIONS.

MOTHER: mary darling ( status: ??? ) FATHER: george darling ( status: ??? ) SIBLINGS: john darling ( status: alive. ) , michael darling ( status: deceased. ) PETS: eventually a dog in place of that abandoned wolf pup , maybe SIGNIFICANT OTHER: it’s complicated.

hello i LOVE to plot please come plot with me !!! i’ll have a legitimate connections page made soon i promise

IN CHARACTER INTERVIEW.

QUESTION TWO:

Was it hard adjusting to life in Fabletown? Do you miss the Homeworld?

Her heart twists until it aches, settling somewhere in her throat, and the soreness she feels there is terrible. She misses the Homeworld like you would not believe, yearns to return back to what she’s known up until recently, but she knows she must make the best of her situation. Wendy is nothing if not hopeful, and this is what keeps her afloat, even on the days when all she can do is sit at home, squinting into the distance, as she recalls her life before the Exodus. She smooths her skirt with trembling hands, the pleated navy fabric rustling silently, and straightens her back. She shouldn’t slouch. She knows better.

“I think the adjustment must have been difficult for everyone, myself included.” Wendy is not one to overlook the trials and tribulations of others, even as she herself struggles with the day-by-day of this new world. “Of course I miss the Homeworld, I miss it like the stars must miss the moon when the sun rises, I—I think it would not have been so hard, coming here, if I’d not felt as though I was leaving so much behind. But I’m sure the same can be said for most anyone in our… situation.” She doesn’t mention the nights that seemed to sprawl on, where she’d not slept for days, instead choosing to cry, or the days when her chest felt so hollow she was almost convinced she’d need to pick apart her ribs in order to find out whether or not she still possessed her heart.

A loose curl brushes her jawline, and she brushes it away, tucking it ever so gently behind her ear. “I’m still adjusting. It’s not been an easy task, by any means, but I believe part of our responsibility now is to remain adaptable. Besides that, it would be unfair to say that the change has been entirely terrible. We’ve been granted new opportunities, the ability to meet new people, there are so many new things to see and do.” It’s easier to treat this like something of an adventure, than to see it as a never-ending eternity. How familiar.

“I suppose, most of all, it’s important to stay hopeful.”

QUESTION THREE:

Where is your favorite place in Fabletown or New York?

The question is no sooner posed, and Wendy is smiling to herself, images of her loft conjured up within her imagination. It is certainly not the house in Bloomsbury, but it is her own, and she has made it as such. The walls are white, and would be considered bland, were they not adorned with pictures and artwork, string lights that cast the den in warm light. The couch is a mess of throw pillows and a particularly soft fleece throw, coffee table crowded with textbooks, notebooks, book-books, and the occasional succulent; everything is somewhat disorganized, but in the most organized way possible. Knick knacks line the shelves in her bedroom, tiny little things she’s picked up here and there, and none of them need a particular meaning in order to belong. Today, the apartment smells like chamomile tea and cinnamon, warm and cozy, safe and secure, like a blanket wrapped around your shoulders.

“My home, of course.” Her voice is filled with the sort of pride you’d hear a mother speak about her children’s accomplishments with, because truly, the home she has created for herself here in Fabletown is a safe haven, her own little alcove of personal magic. She may not be someone in tune with the arcane, but she can create her own version of magic, whether it be in how she interacts with others, or things she chooses to do for herself. Buying a new candle to soothe her nerves? Certainly. “It’s small, but I’d like to believe it’s welcoming. Filled with love, if you will, and I find that to be rather important.”

QUESTION FOUR:

How do you feel about magic? Do you think it should be banned, regulated, or neither?

Her eyes are aglow with enthusiasm at the mention of magic—such a wondrous little word that is, blanketing her heart in childhood nostalgia and the need to believe—but behind that lies a certain amount of trepidation. She has seen the danger that comes with placing unrestricted power in the hands of those who operate on their own rules, how magic can be used not only for wonder and creation, but for destruction and greed. If you would look hard enough, beneath the many layers of wonder and hesitancy, you would notice something else: the barest flicker of envy. Wendy is not one to become so often plagued by jealousy that she grows into something bitter and mean, but sometimes even she is not free of those resentful pangs. She has only ever been able to taste magic at the grace of another, and though she’s grateful for even a taste, it would be nice to be able to harness it for her own. If only for a day, even.

Her hands are clasped neatly in her lap, one thumb running over the other in time with her breathing. “I believe,” She begins, and then pauses, as though she must regather her thoughts. “I believe magic is an extraordinary thing.” Another pause, as the lush forests of Neverland appear behind her eyelids when she blinks, the tang of magic in the air, the sparkling lagoon, the mermaids—it shifts, and then something is very wrong. Grinning skulls peek through gilled skin, flashing sharp teeth and cavernous eye sockets that consume her like the void. It is enough to startle her back into shaken silence for a few long minutes, the ticking of the clock hanging on the far wall feeling awfully familiar as it tracks her silence.

“And as with all extraordinary things, there is the ever-present risk that someone will come along and ruin it, so to speak. Magic is a gift that some may be far too comfortable taking advantage of, for the wrong reasons.” Her words seem to be spoken with a sense of mourning underlying them, and the downward turn of her lips belies regret. Truly, she believes in the goodness of others, but logically she understands that without rules set in place, it would give too much allowance for evil to run wild. “If we lived in an ideal world, I would find no issue with letting magic flow freely, but in this case regulation is the safest choice.”

QUESTION FIVE:

Who do you think killed Little Red Riding Hood?

Minutes pass in silence as she glances around the room, as if the walls will afford her some secret knowledge, some right answer, as if one were to exist. Wendy has tried not to let her thoughts linger for far too long on what’s happened to Little Red Riding Hood, as if her denial would undo whatever had been done to the woman. Out of sight, out of mind, isn’t something that seems to exist, in this case. Teeth sink into her lower lip, and she chews although she knows better, nipping at glossy skin that will turn sore if she keeps it up.

“I don’t know. It’s not a satisfactory answer, I do know that much, but.. this isn’t something I’ve wanted to devote much time to. I don’t want to think about what happened to her, or worse yet, who could’ve done it—this is a terrible situation.” Violence has been present in her life far too often as of late, and her skin is littered with goosebumps now at the consideration that there may be a possibility that someone she knows could be a cause, or a suspect, at the least. Wendy places that thought within a box, seals it off, and places that into another box, on and on it goes, until the intrusive idea is locked away for the time being. Her eyes are apologetic, soft, tinged with fright. “But I hope justice is served, for her sake.”

PLAYLIST.

coming soon..