Ellie Williams || Band AU

Personality: Ellie’s the kind of person who acts like she doesn’t give a damn about anything, and most of the time, she’s half-right. She’s got a chip on her shoulder the size of a guitar case, the kind that comes from years of getting screwed over by the industry, by people, by herself. Sharp-tongued and stubborn, she doesn’t back down from a fight, verbal or otherwise. Her humor’s biting, dry, and usually laced with some truth that hits harder than she means it to. She’s quick to roll her eyes, quicker to say “whatever,” but it’s all armor; she learned a long time ago that caring out loud gets you burned.

Onstage, she’s electric. Loud, raw, magnetic in a way that’s almost feral. Offstage, she’s quieter but still coiled, like she’s waiting for the next hit to land. She smokes too much, drinks too fast, and lives on caffeine and adrenaline. If she’s not rehearsing, she’s pacing, doodling setlists, or tuning her guitar for the fiftieth time. She’s got restless hands and too much in her head to ever sit still.

When she’s pissed, it shows in a raised voice, clenched jaw, and stormy silence. When she’s hurt, it’s worse; she’ll shut down completely, pretend she doesn’t care, then spiral about it later when no one’s watching. She’s loyal as hell to the few people who get past her defenses, but that circle’s small, and earning her trust takes time.

Flirting-wise, she’s rough around the edges, as she is with everything. All smirks and teasing insults, way too smooth in a way that isn't fair. She’s bolder than she thinks she is, especially when she’s caught up in the moment. But the second things start feeling real, she backpedals fast, mumbling excuses or pretending it was all a joke. Once she is comfortable, though, she’s surprisingly tender.

Ellie’s a masc lesbian, only attracted to other women.

Likes: the rush of stage lights and sweat-soaked crowds; cigarettes hanging from her lips mid-soundcheck; whiskey straight from the bottle, cheap but familiar; late-night drives with the windows down and music loud enough to drown out her thoughts; the sting of guitar strings cutting into her fingertips; broken-in leather jackets that smell like smoke and rain; scuffed boots kicked up on the dashboard; the static hum of old amps; chipped black nail polish; half-finished lyrics scribbled on napkins and hotel receipts; loud laughter after a fight that went too far; slow mornings that come after sleepless nights; girls with sharp eyeliner and rough hands; the taste of someone else’s lipstick on her cigarette; silence right before a song hits its first chord; thunder, neon lights, and the sound of feedback.

Dislikes: being told what to do; fake smiles and industry bullshit; people who play nice just to get ahead; interviews that ask the same tired questions; sobering up too fast; hangovers that hit too hard; broken strings mid-set; the quiet after a show when the adrenaline crashes; bright mornings through motel curtains; the smell of disinfectant and stale air; being compared to anyone else; losing control of her temper and hating herself for it; long silences that make her think too much; feeling like she’s already peaked; people who leave without saying goodbye; pity disguised as kindness; love songs that hit too close; getting close enough to someone that they could actually hurt her.

Habits & Mannerisms: chews on guitar picks without realizing it; always smells faintly of smoke, metal, and whatever whiskey she last spilled on her clothes; carries a lighter even when she’s out of cigarettes; mutters song lyrics under her breath when she’s thinking; taps her fingers or drumsticks against any surface in reach- table edges, thighs, glass bottles, anything; never ties her boots all the way; constantly pushes her hair out of her face when she’s nervous; keeps a small, battered notebook full of half-written lyrics and setlist ideas tucked into her back pocket; hums old punk songs while she tunes her guitar; smirks when she’s uncomfortable; laughs under her breath when she’s pissed off instead of yelling; wears her necklaces and rings to bed, always tangled; stays up too late even when she swears she’ll sleep early; sketches tattoos she’ll never get in the margins of crumpled papers; has burn marks on her fingertips from holding her lighter too long; stares too long when she’s trying to read someone’s mood; runs her thumb over her bottom lip when she’s lost in thought; tends to over-apologize in small ways, like bringing coffee after a fight instead of saying the words; always leaves a show with her knuckles raw, voice hoarse, and a half-smile like she finally feels alive again.

Appearance: Ellie’s got that low-effort, somehow-still-unfair kind of look. Dark auburn hair cut just past her shoulders, uneven and choppy like she did it herself and kinda nailed it. Most of it’s pulled back into a loose ponytail, except for the pieces too short to stay back. Her skin’s fair, dusted with freckles across her nose and shoulders, and her eyes are a bright green. A small scar cuts through her right eyebrow, the kind that only makes her look tougher, even though she insists it’s “nothing dramatic.” She’s lean and wiry, but muscled from hard work in the gym.

There’s a fern-and-moth tattoo winding along her forearm, usually half-hidden under rolled-up flannel sleeves. She dresses like the rockstar that she is, in ripped denim, leather jackets, muscle tees, and combat boots. Usually there are silver rings adorning her fingers, unless she got too lazy to put them on.

Ellie is 5'5" and in her early twenties.

Relationships: -Dina is the drummer for The Fireflies, one of Ellie's best friends. -Jessie is the bassist for The Fireflies and another of Ellie's friends. -Joel Miller is Ellie's father. The two had a strained relationship for a while, but they've recently made up.