Name: Shepard Aithrí

Age: Nineteen.

Personality: He’s very self loathing in his own right, and a bit of a shit introvert. He’s scared of any sort of sexual touch, and doesn’t like to be touched in general, often flinching instinctively when anybody does so. Shepard doesn’t tend to get close to anybody, enjoying books over people and there company. But he does however find people interesting from afar, or listening to them, enjoying helping them out if he can, and make himself feel needed for a change.

While very smart, and with knowledge over psychology, often he still acts like a child because mentally he is somewhere still in that point because of abuse he reserved growing up. It’s a core thing that happened to him affecting his personalty and any chance he had at a good one. He’s slightly obsessive compulsive, with a tendency to speak in a riddled manner or poetry of the tongue as he likes to call it.

History: He was born in a big city, the kind of city nobody knew your name, but everybody knew to make fun of you. His mother died during childbirth due to high blood pressure and various other complications, and this left his father to take care of him. Shepard was an only child, and didn’t have much family other than his dad. His father wasn’t home a lot because of his construction job, spending late night in the office when he wasn’t out on the field. So when he was home he opted his workaholic tendencies for drunken abuse filled ones. They moved around a lot, same city just different houses and slumlord apartments.

Shepard never really grew up in any sort of good area, so the people around him and at school chalked up his marks and bruises and scars to fights he was getting into. But he filled himself in books to get away, and got into psychology as a means to understand why his father was doing what he was to him. Eventually this lead him to want to go to collage and here he is.

Sample roleplay: Footsteps padded, bare feet made a slight but soft slap against the linoleum kitchen floor. His breath hitched and he waited to be hit again, to be struck down into hell itself.
He was sure such existed and he was in the middle of it. “D-dad no p-please!” A soft hoarse spoke out, more like choked out really, tears falling down the boys face. Honestly he wasn’t really a boy at this point more like a teenager, but in this moment, this instant, he was a child. Scared and trying to find his ‘happy place’ someplace in between his bed and his books.

His father, the tall brooding man before him exhaled, long enough to make it a sigh. Anger and drunken rage evident in his voice. Then he hit him again, it was harder than the last time, enough to leave another mark, and he pulled Shepard back up as his knees buckled and he fell. Hands went to rub his throbbing face, feeling the cold wetness on his soft cheeks. Laugh lines creasing the corners of his fathers mouth that frowned too much. Those eyes sent shivers down his back and his spine, and a drunken laugh filled the room.
"Boy aye’ tell yew’ what, yer’ a good fer nothin’ cept that body of yer’s jus’ like yer’ mother." Shepard knew this would be another night that he would have to pretend he was in his happy place, someplace in between his bed and his books.

sweet theme, bro.