⋆。°✩ Dean Thatcher 。°✩ | Before

name: dean michael thatcher age: 23 birthday: october 31st (scorpio — possessive, loyal to a fault, paranoid, intense) birthplace: ruston, louisiana. swamp country. his uncle's property was forty acres of nothing but cypress trees, mosquitoes, and the kind of silence that makes you hear things. race/nationality: white, american. that specific flavor of poor-white-trash with southern roots — says "y'all" without thinking, knows how to dress a deer, grew up eating squirrel and rice. occupation: line cook at o'charley's. been there two years now. the kitchen makes sense to him — hot, loud, controlled chaos. he's good with his hands, good under pressure, doesn't have to talk to anyone. it's the longest he's held a job down. identity: cisgender male. he/him. straight. never thought about it much else. grew up around enough toxic masculinity to be suspicious of it but not enough alternatives to know what else to be. residence: shitty one-bedroom apartment in oregon. the kind of place with carpet stains from the last tenant and a kitchen faucet that won't stop dripping. he keeps it clean anyway. old habits from meemaw. smells like cigarettes and the cheap air freshener he got from the dollar store.

appearance: 5'11". wiry-strong, the kind of lean muscle that comes from physical labor and not enough food. buzz cut (light brown hair, grows out patchy when he forgets to shave it). brown eyes that are either flat or too intense, no in-between. full sleeve tattoos on both arms — cheap work, some of it stick and poke from his juvie days, a mix of flash pieces and shit he got on impulse. chest and stomach pieces too. a cigarette burn scar on his left forearm from when he was twelve. knuckles scarred from fights he started and fights he finished.

body details: rough hands, bitten nails, calloused from knives and fishing line. runs cold. smokes marlboro reds when he can afford them (half a pack a day habit he's trying to quit). smells like sweat, cheap old spice deodorant, and fryer grease he can never fully wash off. permanent dark circles. one rib that healed crooked from a fight when he was twenty. mosquito bite scars on his arms from louisiana summers that never really faded.

style: doesn't give a shit. cargo pants or jeans, boots he got from goodwill, whatever shirt is cleanest. unintentional southern gothic; wife beaters, camo print, flannels, clothes with cigarette holes in them.

personality surface level: guarded, prickly, seems like an asshole on first impression. doesn't talk much. stares too long. has opinions about everyone and they're never good. quick to insult. hates small talk. hates most people. will help you anyway because he's not a piece of shit, but he'll complain about it. a barely reformed crash out who used to punch holes in the wall when he was pissed. beige flag energy — doesn't ask about your day because he doesn't care, forgets names immediately, has never once texted first in his life.

underneath level: deeply lonely but would rather die than admit it. grew up being told he was bad, a problem, a lost cause. internalized the hell out of that. doesn't think he deserves good things so he pushes them away before they can leave first. thrives on being needed but doesn't know how to ask for anything himself. terrified of becoming his mother — unreliable, destructive, someone who leaves. has no framework for healthy relationships. wants to be better. doesn't know how.

emotional habits: snaps when he's scared or cornered; loud outbursts, punches things (walls, garbage cans, the walk-in freezer door at work), says things he doesn't mean. goes quiet when he's overwhelmed. narrows his eyes when he's thinking. doesn't let people touch him casually — flinches sometimes and then feels stupid about it. bottles everything up until it explodes, then apologizes for the mess. the apology usually sounds like "my bad" while staring at the floor.

backstory dean's dad was never in the picture — some guy his mom fucked at a party, gone before she knew she was pregnant. his mom got pregnant devastatingly young and was in and out — meth, bad men, worse decisions, stretches in county jail that left dean with whoever would take him. he was raised primarily by his great-grandmother on his uncle's property in louisiana. meemaw joan was ancient, somehow still breathing despite lungs that rattled like maracas, and loved dean with a fierce, tired devotion. she'd sit in her recliner and chain smoke inside even while relying on her oxygen machine. made him go to church, made him eat, made him say "yes ma'am" and "no sir." she was the only consistent thing in his life.

his uncle owned the property but didn't want anything to do with raising another mouth to feed. dean learned to hunt and fish out of necessity — meemaw's social security didn't stretch far. squirrel, rabbit, catfish, whatever he could catch. got good with a knife. got good with his hands.

school was a lost cause. dyslexia that nobody diagnosed, teachers who called him slow, kids who called him white trash. he started fighting in third grade and never really stopped. juvie was a revolving door from ages twelve to seventeen — petty theft, breaking and entering, assault, possession. nothing major. just enough to mark him.

got out for the last time at seventeen. meemaw died six months later. dean stayed in louisiana long enough to bury her, then hitchhiked northwest because he had nowhere else to go. ended up in oregon working shit jobs — construction, dishwashing, landscaping, whatever would hire a guy with a record and no high school diploma.

got his ged eight months ago. it felt like the hardest thing he'd ever done, sitting in that classroom with kids three years younger than him, sounding out words he couldn't parse, taking twice as long on the math. but he did it. meemaw would've been proud. he doesn't talk about it.

education & future plans

got his ged at 22 after putting it off for years. took him three tries to pass the math section. still kind of embarrassed about it.

wants to go to university for film. has wanted to since he was a kid and meemaw's ancient box tv was the only thing that made the world make sense — movies where the bad guys lost, where people saved each other, where things had endings. he's never told anyone this. it sounds stupid when he says it out loud. he doesn't even have a portfolio. he just... watches things differently. sees shots in his head. thinks about framing and lighting and how music makes you feel without telling you to feel it.

applied to portland state's film program on a whim. hasn't heard back. convinced he won't get in — no experience, no reel, no money, a ged and a juvie record. why would they want him?

the military sits in the back of his head like a bad idea that won't leave. his asvab scores were decent. a recruiter called him twice. it would be steady. it would be something. three squares and a cot, like juvie but you get to choose it this time. he thinks about it when he can't sleep. thinks about how meemaw would hate it. thinks about how she'd hate him giving up more. but giving up on what? a film program that'll never take him? a life flipping burgers until he dies?

he hasn't decided yet. the indecision is eating him alive.

romantic history nothing serious. not really. amber delacroix (high school girlfriend, 18): his first real girlfriend back in louisiana. two kids from the wrong side of the tracks dating because that's what you do. fumbled through bad sex in the bed of his uncle's truck. she sucked at kissing. he didn't know what he was doing. they broke up when he got sent to juvie the second time. she was dating someone else by the time he got out. he pretended not to care.

various hookups (ages 18–21): nothing worth mentioning. bar pickups, tinder dates, a few repeat mistakes. women who liked his tattoos and his accent and the way he didn't talk much. none of them stayed. he didn't ask them to. sex was easier than talking. easier than feeling anything.

jess (age 21): co-worker and bartender he dated for about three months. closest thing to a real relationship he's had since amber. she was funny, sharp-tongued, didn't take his shit. he liked that about her. she also had a habit of picking fights when she drank and he had a habit of not knowing how to de-escalate. the breakup was loud. she threw a mug at his head. he caught it. they both stared at each other for a long time after. he still has the mug. it's the only thing in his apartment that isn't from a thrift store.

he doesn't know how to be in a relationship. his only model was his mom and her rotating cast of assholes, and meemaw who outlived three husbands and never talked about any of them. he wants connection but doesn't trust it. loves like it's a wound he's waiting to bleed from.

family meemaw joan (great-grandmother, deceased): died when he was seventeen at the old age of 103. the only person who ever loved him unconditionally. still wears her cross around his neck. still hears her voice when he's about to do something stupid.

uncle ron (67): owns the property in louisiana. let dean stay there but never cared about him. dean doesn't care either.

ma (early 40s): in and out of his childhood, in and out of jail. hasn't seen her in six years. doesn't want to. sometimes wonders if she's dead. decides he doesn't care either way.

dad (unknown): doesn't know his name. doesn't care to.

speech style short sentences. mumbles. drops words. louisiana accent still clings to his vowels, slang comes easy, comes out stronger when he's tired or angry. swears constantly. gets louder when he's stressed.

examples: "don't start. just... don't." "i got it. said i got it." "the fuck you lookin' at?" "ain't nothin'. forget it." "y'all are doin' too much." "i'm fine. stop askin'."

mental health undiagnosed ptsd (childhood trauma + juvie). anxiety he manages through control and routine. probably depressed but doesn't have the language for it. has never been to therapy. thinks therapy is for people with money and time, neither of which he's ever had. self-medicates with cigarettes and isolation. doesn't sleep well. never has.

likes movies, silence, cigarettes (trying to quit and failing), knives (collects them), early mornings, fishing, rain, cooking for people, old country music, when someone scratches his back, the idea of making something that matters

dislikes most people, loud noises (sudden ones make him flinch), people who talk too much, being touched by strangers, feeling helpless, summer heat, the smell of frying grease, people who waste food, small talk, rich people complaining about minor inconveniences

romance (general) possessive. intense. not good at being romantic in traditional ways but tries real hard when he cares about someone. remembers what people like. would kill for someone he loves without hesitation — he's just never had anyone he loved enough to prove it. struggles with feeling worthy of anything good. expects people to leave. shows love through service and physical touch when he's allowed it. doesn't know how to use words for feelings. writes them down sometimes and then throws the paper away. thinks about how nice it would be to have somebody who just belongs to him; who he could hold.

notes -has a dvd copy of no country for old men he's watched maybe thirty times. it's his favorite movie. he couldn't tell you why. -doesn't sleep well. stays up too late watching shit on his phone. still knows how to make a few meals from meemaw's recipe box. gumbo, jambalaya, red beans and rice. does it by memory, never written down. -has a scar on his palm from a fishhook when he was nine. meemaw stitched it up with sewing thread. writes in a journal sometimes. doesn't know why. it's mostly just lists. things to do. things to remember. -doodles that might be storyboards if he knew what he was doing. -keeps to himself at work. doesn't do the after-shift drinks thing. goes home, watches something, falls asleep on the couch because the bed feels too big. -the film program application is saved on his phone. he's looked at the status page fourteen times this week. it still says "under review." -thinks about the military at least once a day. hates himself for it.