- drive by incubus


✷Name: Felice Morrison, 20 
Hometown: Los Angeles, California 
Specialty: Mini Fruit Pies 
Likes: Weekly manicures, sparkles, Fashion Week, musicals, baking shows, Pippa Middleton 
Dislikes: Bad dental hygiene, people who talk down to her, public transportation, most tv chefs 
Style: Felice puts a funky spin on the girly-est of ensembles, pairing heavily patterned florals with noir bubble glasses and wearing pleated skirts and charm bracelets to a brunch with the girls. She has by far the most feminine style of the six
Bio: Felice is seen as a bright ray of sunshine. She’s always upbeat, chatty, and willing to lend a helping hand to anyone in need. Miss perky could be seen as the most charismatic of the six prodigies, but she’s just eager to be well liked and positive. Felice is well known in the California area and she’s even friends with quite a few socialites and celebs. Once she’s learned the ins and outs of the culinary business, she’s bound to become successful with big name clients. Felice will do whatever it takes to be at the top of her class, even if that means being a pesky teacher’s pet. 
Model: Barbara Palvin
Portrayed by: @sophiaspastic

i'm a super awesome roleplayer, like all dah way. haha just kidding. but seriously, a lot of roleplays have been dying and i've been getting bored - especially since i have a giant lack of a life and a large amount of free time. i also have been wanting to use barbara palvin in a roleplay so this is the perfect arrangement :3 i swear i'll be active, especially since i already have a pretty stable plot planned for felice!



I always loved baking… maybe that’s because I never had much else but baking. My family was a little over-competitive, to say the least. My parents both had money, made in their skyscraper offices looming over the Southern Californian skyline. As a kid, curiosity had overrun me and I constantly questioned, ‘Mommy, what do you do every day?’ or ‘Daddy, what’s your job?’ but had always been ignored. I got used to getting ignored so I just simply learned to shut up.

My older sister had graduated with the highest achievements in her class and went on to med school, becoming an OBGYN. My sister, the doctor. My brother had done sufficiently well in school too and after finishing his five year stint at a University, he became a very well off and prominent engineer amongst his peers.

And Felice, little Felice, left off with only a talent and not much else.

I was smart, sure, but not as smart as they were. I only managed to graduate high school with a 3.8 GPA in the upper middle class of my peers.

I was pretty, sure, but not pretty enough to get anywhere with it. I wasn’t an actress, or a model, or a singer. Nor did I really have the talent for that either.

All I had was that I could bake.

And while that may have been perfectly good for most people, most people were NOT my parents.




The thing was, I didn’t live in… Washington State, or Alabama, or Texas – not that there’s anything wrong with those places because honestly, it might have been much better if I did. I lived in Los Angeles. My parents were Somebodies and that meant I was an honorary Somebody too.

Everybody was always watching a Somebody.

So I learned to get good at “faking it”, so to speak. I could never be sad, never be angry, never be anything less than perfect.

I got so good at faking it that I’m never /not/ happy anymore.

I don’t know how to feel.


I walked into my favorite class, which also happened to be my very last class of the day at Saint Belasari. It seemed that my while parents didn’t really like me being a chef (well, at all), they still wanted to maintain the delusion that every single one of their children were perfect, therefore I was sent to the best academy of the best.

Whatever. I chose the school. I chose to be an adult.

At least being in Martha’s Vineyard kept me away from my crazy parents for a little while, though I still couldn’t help missing California.

The teacher stood at the front of the classroom, a young man, only a few years older than myself. He had dark hair, shielding his eyes as he leaned over his workstation to finish adding the delicate, hand-made crust to the small pie he was working with. Mini fruit pies were my specialty. Pie was great.

His fingers were covered with flour and despite the immense size of his hands, he was able to work very gently…

I bit my lip, turning and heading to my seat. Sweet Jesus, Fel. Get a grip.

I couldn’t help but to think that way about him. He was young, handsome, an amazing chef… what wasn’t to like?

And he was funny as all hell too.

“Hey Felice!” A girl about a year younger than me whispered across the room. She had been fairly good for her age and got put into one of my classes. I didn’t know her too well, but knew her well enough that she was nice and friendly and usually, I stuck with those kinds of people.

“Hello,” I smiled brightly, sliding into my seat besides her.

“How’s the day been?” She asked kindly.

“Alright… you know, with school and stuff. But at least I’m cooking!” We shared a simple chuckle. “You?”

“The same…” 

After our small banter-filled interaction, the teacher called our class to attention. I adjusted my positioning in my seat and found myself gazing up at him dreamily. I nearly had to shake my head to regain my composure.


It seems I was talking to myself more and more these days…

But with a teacher like /that/, it seemed necessary.


(type 'with open arms and open eyes' if you read it all)
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