#but sometimes the adderall keeps me up. DECISIONS | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

willow-lane · 3 years

Text

I saw [WILLOW LANE] at a coffee shop in [BROOKLYN] today. I forgot how much [SHE] looks like [MADELYN CLINE]. They are a [TWENTY-THREE] year old [WAITRESS] who’s been in NYC for [A YEAR] now. Every time we run into each other, they are always [SPONTANEOUS AND FREE SPIRITED] but I’ve heard people say they can also be [NON-COMMITTAL AND SELF-INDULGENT]. [OUT OF THE BLUE BY KATIE PRUITT] reminds me of them every time it comes on the radio. / @villagestart

Hello everyone! I’m Ella and I’m super excited to be part of this roleplay and introduce Willow to all of you, she’s a new muse but she’s based on an old muse of mine so I think I have her figured out or mostly lol. I’d love to plot with all of you, so please like this or hmu. If you want my discord, I’d be happy to give it to you, just ask :D

basics

NAME: ava willow lane

NICKNAME: will, lolo, pillow

GENDER: cis female

PLACE OF BIRTH: burlington, vermont

DATE OF BIRTH: september 28, 1997

AGE: twenty-three

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: bisexual

OCCUPATION: waitress

NEIGHBORHOOD: brooklyn

background

Burlington was a dream within a dream, the station next to heaven. A town in love with itself and whose residents gloated about the wooded land, creased by hills, and threaded by streams.

The Lanes were living the typical American dream: the big house with the white picket fence, a large backyard and two perfect children. It was dreamlike.

Their kids could count themselves lucky and Willow Lane certainly did for most of her life. As the youngest daughter of a successful surgeon and a renowned psychotherapist who taught at the University of Vermont, she was taught that receiving an education was the only way to get ahead in life.

Her parents made sure to set their kids to success and while most of the kids from her street were out there playing, she was holed up in her room, reading the stacks of encyclopedia books her parents bought me for her birthday.

As a young child, Willow was filled with a sense of wonder, and encouraged by her curious personality she wanted to learn everything.

By the time she was in the sixth grade, she was smarter than most of the kids in her class, still her parents reminded her every day that she must outrank them all. Her parents took pride in her achievements. They were quick to boast about it in public, but they remained strict in private. Anything less than gold didn’t deserve a place on the wall.

Her afternoons were always full. Whether it was ballet class, french lessons, piano lessons or soccer practice. She had no time for herself.

Then high school started and by then she was overworked. Tired of chasing perfection and only being met with a “try harder”.

TW: DRUGS, ADDICTION, VOMIT MENTION, PANIC ATTACK: While she was still number one at her school, it was taking everything in her to keep it that way. Her parents didn’t know about those panic attacks she suffered at night or how she threw up before any competition. To them, she was handling well and she was very good at pretending but she also had a little secret. In her sophomore year, she was introduced to Adderall and she was quickly hooked. END OF TW

When she got accepted into a prestigious university, her parents didn’t hesitate to brag about how their kid would attend an Ivy League but Willow was mortified.

Back in Burlington, she was the biggest fish in the sea but at Princeton there were students who were better and shone brighter than her.

Maybe it was because she was suddenly cast into a whole new world that was so different from the one she grew up in. Maybe it was because she had harbored a bit of resentment towards her parents for her wasted youth. Whatever it was, by the end of her freshman year, university had swallowed her up.

TW ALCOHOL, DRUGS, DEPRESSION She got into a bad crowd, drank herself into oblivion, partied harder than anyone, and developed a penchant for bad boys who were much older than her. All this while trying to maintain a perfect GPA. Thanks to her magic pill, she was able to function and not feel guilty about not being as perfect as her parents wanted her to be. After all, she was only trying to recover the freedom that they took from her.

But this coping mechanism only turned to worse. The more she tried to drown her feelings in alcohol, the harder it came to bite her in the ass. It was clear as water: Willow Lane, picture perfect daughter, was depressed and had been for a while, and now it had caught up to her.

She was fighting a battle she was slowly losing. Willow was in a constant state of helplessness, staring into the void, and completely unable to pull herself out of it. If it hadn’t been for the upbringing she had, she would have been completely fine with self-destruct. END OF TW

The summer after her freshman year, she came back home and decided to have a talk with her parents. Her parents sat across the table, and they were not celebrating the end of a successful first semester, instead, they were fuming with betrayal.

Willow told them that she had dropped most of her classes and she explained to them how she was exhausted beyond repair. They were displeased, so disappointed that looking at them was painful. For the first time in their life, their perfect daughter had failed them.

By the end of the evening, her father was livid. Threatened her that if she didn’t take more classes and got excellent grades he would stop paying her tuition. That’s when it hit her. To her parents, she was nothing but an object, an accomplishment to brag about to her friends. That was not love, that was selfish and a wake up call.

She packed up her stuff that evening, went back to Princeton and emptied her dorm as well as she dropped out completely.

Freedom at last. With only a few bucks in her account, she bought a random bus ticket that took her to Montreal, Canada where she stayed for a couple of weeks, while working as a waitress before she moved to a new location. For the past three years, Willow has been living off a backpack.

She moved to New York a year ago, but she comes and goes. Whenever she gets bored or too attached to someone she escapes.

She’s been clean for three years when it comes to Adderall, although she still drinks but only socially.

personality

Despite her strict upbringing, Willow is a free-spirit! She’s always looking for a new adventure and she wants to live her life to the fullest, she doesn’t care about rules or schedules. She lives a pretty hedonistic lifestyle, always chasing a high in life and sometimes that makes her take some reckless decisions. A naturally loving person, Willow is always there to lend a shoulder to cry on or offer to wipe off your tears, however, she does struggle with connections. If she feels a deep connection with someone she runs away as she believes that being attached to someone will tie her up to one place and as we know, Willow lives a pretty nomad life. She keeps coming back to New York because she loves the vibe but when she gets bored or overwhelmed she leaves without warning. As loving as she is, she can also be ruthless and cold, especially when feeling vulnerable. She has a sharp tongue and it’s not afraid to hurt some feelings if that means shattering the pristine image some people have of her.

headcanons

She has a rib cage tattoo that reads “Eternity bores me, I never wanted it.” It’s a quote from Sylvia Plath.

Speaks French fluently and sometimes she likes to pretend she’s a lost French tourist just for fun.

Volunteers at the animal shelter. Because she doesn’t have a set home, she can’t have a pet but she loves animals.

Never has enough battery on her phone and sometimes she sings in the subway to earn some coins because she tends to forget her wallet.

Really good friends with the homeless woman who lives down her street, she brings her food from the restaurant.

Keeps many scrapbooks from the places she’s been.

Sometimes she goes to music stores and plays the piano, one of the few activities she enjoyed as a child.

Loves reading and whenever she’s not getting in trouble or working, she’s at the library.

Wears too many rings, so don’t try to mug her.

connections

Older brother: Willow has an older brother who followed her parents’ plan. He graduated college and now has a very important job. Willow hasn’t spoken to him in three years, even if he’s tried to contact her. She just doesn’t want any ties to her old life, including her family.

“Best Friend”: I put it between quotations because she doesn’t stay in one place long enough to actually form long lasting friendships but this person is the closest to that. She adores them and actually sends them a postcard when she leaves.

Partner in crime: As stated, Willow is pretty reckless and she does a lot of stupid shit but she’s always seeking for someone to be her partner in crime and just go crazy with them.

Co-workers/Clients: She works as a waitress at a restaurant (if your character has a restaurant let me know, bc idk where she would work).

Neighbor: She lives in a small apartment in Brooklyn with two other roommates, it’s not ideal but it’s what she has.

College friends/hook ups: Oh during her college year, she was a party girl and she made a lot of “friends” (She attended Princeton btw) and also hooked up with a lot of people (f/m/nb), most of them were older than her.

Flirtationship: She is a natural flirt and she doesn’t even try to hide it.

Unrequited: Maybe your character has a crush on her (and depending on chemistry maybe she does as well but since she moves often she tries to ignore it). It’s angsty, it’s fun, give it to me. (f/m/nb)

Hook ups: Y’all know the drill

Bad tinder date: Willow thought it would be fun to go on a tinder date and she proposed some crazy scheme and they both had to spend the night in a jail cell.

Roommates: She lives in Brooklyn with two more roommates.

#villageintro #tw alcohol #tw drugs #tw depression #this is SO long and for what

7 notes · View notes

tvandenneagram · 4 years

Text

American Horror Story Cult: Winter Anderson - Type 6w5

Winter is calculating, eccentric and loyal. She looks for guidance from different places and blindly follows Kai to join his movement and cult.

At her best, Winter is looking to make a difference in the world. She is supportive and genuinely wants to stand up for Ivy when they first meet at the political rally. She is empathic and believes in supporting the rights of women and becomes more assertive and decisive.

At her worst, Winter begins doubting herself and wants to follow someone else’s lead. She is convinced that Kai is going to make a difference and starts to join in with his more violent beliefs and antics. She is willing to gaslight Ally and Oz as she is working in service of the cult and wants to please Kai.

Winter was very interested in women’s rights and was campaigning heavily for Hilary. She latched on to the hopes that Hilary would be the best representative for America and spent all her time and energy working to try and help others see these views. When she loses she became involved with Kai’s views and the cult and was looking for another figure to put her beliefs in. She was attracted to Kai’s beliefs because she felt like he would always have her back and that she could only rely on her family. Even when the others started telling her about Kai’s mistreatment of the women in the cult she was reluctant to go against him as she is genuinely scared of what he is capable of.

Winter is very reactive and lashes out at people when she is afraid. She has tendencies of backing away from scary situations as well as sometimes pursuing them. When Winter and Kai went to the Pastor’s house she is visibly scared and wants to leave the dangerous situation. On the other hand, Kai will wanted to stay to save the people that are still trapped. In contrast, she will approach others such as Gary when she plans and has time to develop the actions she wants to take.

Winter has a wing 5 as she is more emotionally reserved and introverted than a wing 7 may be.

Tri-type: 6w5 - 4w3 - 9w8

Some quotes to describe Winter’s motivations

“You're going to give me your fear, Oz. I'm going to keep it for you. It's going to make us both stronger.”

“Stroking my brother’s paranoia is going to come back to bite you in the ass.”

“When Hillary lost, I did too. I should've fought back. I should've gotten angry. I joined this thing, and it's too late for me. And it's too late for you too”

“Who the hell is Jim Jones?”

“Everything changed after Pastor Charles. He started popping Adderall, went deeper into the Dark Web. But he realized you can't save everyone — better to burn it all down and build a new world.”

Kai: “What's the thing that scares you the most?” Winter: “Honestly, Kai? You.”

Kai: “The crown is heavy, Winter. I'm making hard choices everyday. Even harder ones going forward. This thing we're putting together, it's real. And it's gonna change the world. But I can't do it alone. Followers are followers, I tell them what they want to here and they will obey me. You and me are family, though. That matters. I need to know I can count on you, Winter. Can I count on you?”

Winter: “Of course. What the hell, Kai.”

#winter anderson #billie lourd #ahs #ahs cult #cult #ahsfx #ahs: cult #american horror story cult #american horror story #american horror story: cult #ahs enneagram #enneagram #type 6 #6w7 #6w5 #enneagram 6 #enneatypes #ennea 6 #personality types

23 notes · View notes

cheeri0-queeri0 · 4 years

Text

My First Two Loves (WLW version): Chapter 3

Is she gaping? Emma has to be gaping.

“Ava… y-you and… Mason? Are…”

Ava grins rakishly, rubbing a hand along Mason’s back. “Madly in love? Or, well, lust - we haven’t gotten to that other L-word yet.”

Nails. Nails are being driven into her heart.

For his part, Mason looks taken aback by her reaction. “I meant to tell you last night, Emma.”

“You could’ve texted!” A lump is rising in her throat.

Mason scratches the back of his head. “I wanted to tell you in person. I tried to call, but when the line kept dropping, I thought…this is better?”

No. No it is not. It is one million times worse.

“Yeah, you’re right!” Emma forces the words to come out chipper, forces a placid smile. “I… I’m speechless. Congrats, you two.”

Congrats on secretly shattering her heart. But hey, what’s another secret to the now-sure-to-grow pile?

Mason’s shoulders relax, the tension falling from his face as he turns to Ava. “I almost forgot, babe! I got a little something for you.” He reaches over on the hood of Ava’s car where he put a cute little thermos.

Ava tentatively takes it from him, eyes wide in surprise. “Caramel macchiato?”

Mason gives her a shy, crooked smile. “With two shakes of cinnamon.”

Ava’s favorite.

The girl slings her other arm around his neck and rests her head against his cheek. “You remembered! Best boyfriend ever!”

Emma...is going to combust from agony.

“You guys are just so...perfect together,” she grits out, hoping it sounds passably pleasant.

Ava’s eyes find hers, softening just a bit.

Mason lets out a breathy laugh that seems more like a sigh of relief. “See, Ava, I told you she’d be happy for us!”

Ava blinks, breaking her gaze away. “I knew she would be. She is my bestie, after all.” There’s something off about her tone. If she hadn’t told Emma in the car that they were still solid despite Lauren dying to usurp her place, Emma would worry that maybe they weren’t best friends anymore.

Hell, maybe she’s still a little worried. And now for more than the Lauren reason.

“I should leave you alone for some...couple time. Catch you later!” Cue an ungraceful escape.

Mason jogs to catch up. “There’s so many times I tried to call. To tell you.” His voice turns plaintive. “Emma, I just want to double check. Are you okay with this?”

No! I am unequivocally not okay with this! God, how badly Emma wants to shout that at the top of her lungs. If she said it, Mason is exactly the kind of guy who would follow through and break up. He’s good. And that’s the problem.

“Mason. I’m happy for you. And for Ava.”

“...Yeah? Because your happiness means a lot to me.”

And now she has to sell it. “Yeah. I’m stoked. You’re so cute together. I should’ve played matchmaker years ago.” That...might have been overkill. “I just have some things to take care of right now. Talk later, okay?”

Mason nods. It worked. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Emma power-walks away, tears pricking at her eyes as she let her feet take her anywhere else.

After a short time, she rounds a corner, realizing too late that she’s behind the gym near the back parking lot she usually avoided.

And she wasn’t alone.

“Hey there, princess. What brings you to my place of business?” The boy is smarmy, leaning against the brick wall, hair gelled so thickly it wouldn’t move even in a tornado.

Emma stills, confused. “Your...uh, what?”

He frowns, pushing off the wall and wandering closer. “My store. My shop. My livelihood. What you buying?”

Oh. Shit. “I’m not - I’m just trying to get away from some people - ”

The boy comes to a stop too close. “Save it. A sob story won’t get a discount.” He looked her up and down, calculating. Though he definitely didn’t look like someone who was good at math. “Adderall. Has to be. A study buddy. Everyone needs one, right?”

He yanks a plastic bag out of his pocket.

“Oh, no thanks. I appreciate it, but I am not interested.”

His jaw works, clenching and unclenching. “The offer isn’t optional anymore. You saw what I’m selling. You’re part of this.” He takes one more step, his Axe body spray stinging the inside of Emma’s nose. “Now open up that bag and find me two hundred bucks.”

Several thoughts race through Emma’s head. The first, unhelpfully, is two HUNDRED dollars for one bottle of pills? Shortly followed by If I run, will he grab me?

Sensing the direction of her thoughts, the boy huffs. “I don’t like having to hurt people, really.” But he would, hung unspoken in the air.

“Leave her alone, Darren.” The voice is unfamiliar, low, with a rasp to it.

Emma whirls around to the girl stalking toward them. She’s...dangerous looking, leather jacket slung around her broad shoulders, green eyes boring unwaveringly into the aggressive pill-pusher.

The boy - Darren - backs up quickly. “N-Noelle? I didn’t know you were back in town. I’m just trying to run a business, okay?”

Noelle doesn’t speak, just wrenches the bag out of Darren’s hands and flings it onto the roof.

“You bitch!” Darren hesitates, glaring, then turns tail and runs.

The other girl watches him go, the ghost of a smirk on her lips. Up close, she’s taller than Emma, but only just.

It’s like the bubble of nervous energy inside her just bursts, and Emma blurts out, “W-wow, that was...kind of amazing -uh, amazingly stupid!”

Noelle hums, glancing at her. Emma doesn’t miss the way her eyes drift down to her stomach and back. “You gotta fight like with like.”

Emma laughs, a tittering little sound that she hates. She bites her lip, hard. “You’re lucky it didn’t come to a fight.”

The other girl shrugs, unbothered. “I like my chances better than yours.”

Okay...fair.

Noelle sighs, swiping a hand through her bangs to push them out of her chiseled face. “You should get out of here. I can’t spend all day playing guardian angel.”

“Oh.” The comment rubs her the wrong way, but Emma brushes it off. After all, she did call the girl’s heroics stupid. Maybe...maybe there’s a way to make it up to her? “Unless…you’re new, right? Maybe I can repay the favor and show you around?”

Noelle raises a brow. “How do you know I’m new?”

Not an outright rejection, Emma can work with that. She smiles. “I happen to know pretty much everyone here.”

“Don’t be so sure.”

“So you’ve been invisible the past four years? I would definitely have remembered you.” The last part comes out without her even thinking it.

Green eyes drop to the ground, expression shuttering off. “I’ve...been away.”

“Like on a trip?”

“Not exactly.”

Emma pauses. She honestly can’t tell what the other girl is thinking. “You...don’t seem to like answering questions.”

Noelle’s lips twist into a humorless smile. “I’m told it’s one of my best character traits.”

Emma’s heart pangs. That’s messed up. “I’m not sure who told you that. It’s...sad. It keeps people away.”

“Sometimes it’s better that way.” Her voice is flat, either matter-of-fact or defeated. Who’s to tell?

“Not always,” Emma shoots back, challenging.

Noelle studies her curiously, weighing her words. She runs her tongue over her lips, then clicks it against her teeth, coming to a decision. “Fine. So, hypothetically, let’s say I take you up on this offer. What are you gonna do? Draw me a map or something?”

Emma snorts. She’s dismal at drawing. “I’d give you a tour. The campus has changed a lot the last few years, and I know all the best new spots. Besides, I’m not letting you get away that easy.”

She means it as a joke, but - she means it as something else, too.

Noelle’s back straightens, and there’s a renewed interest in her gaze. She gives her an easy grin. “I like the sound of that. Alright, I’m in.”

Something in Emma’s chest swoops. She can’t help but beam. “Welcome to Eastridge High tour extraordinaire.”

She takes the other girl around the school, pointing out landmarks important and trivial. Noelle opens up, not by much, but enough that Emma gets a glimpse of who she is underneath all the stoic backtalk. Intuitive, dry humor in spades, and…

And maybe...very, very attractive.

Emma’s only ever really had a crush on Ava, so she’s not totally sure what her type is, but damn. Apparently badasses check a lot of her boxes.

They wind up at the greenhouse, bequeathed by wealthy alum’s generous donation. It’s dubbed the Garden of Truth, the legend going that questions asked near the fountain in the center must be answered truthfully, with a magical limit of one a day.

Noelle chuckles, like legitimately chuckles. “You have to be making that up. Right?”

Emma tuts, kneeling to dip her fingers in the fountain’s water. “One question only, so choose wisely.”

Noelle looks up at all the hanging plants, the vines climbing towards the ceiling. “You first.”

Are you into girls?

“Have you ever been in love?” Close enough, right?

Noelle stiffens. “No,” she says, sharply, then reconsiders. “Maybe. I had feelings for someone I- someone I shouldn’t have.”

No pronouns. No closer to an answer for that, then. There’s silence for a moment, Emma tracing patterns on the water’s surface.

“You looked upset when you showed up at the parking lot today. Why?”

Emma jumps, drenching her sleeve. She stands. “I wasn’t - ”

Noelle sends her a look. “We’re in the Garden of Truth, remember? Be honest.”

Emma takes a deep breath. It might be nice to tell someone, someone with no stake in the fight. “I found out the girl I like is dating my best friend.” She wraps her arms around herself, holding Noelle’s gaze. “N-no one knows that I’m… Don’t tell anyone.” Her voice actually quivers.

Noelle reaches out and puts a hand on Emma’s arm. “I won’t. I’m good at keeping secrets.” She takes her hand back, and Emma immediately misses its warmth. “This girl… Does she know how you feel?”

Emma’s vision clouds with tears. “No.”

Noelle tilts her head, eyes crinkling in sympathy. “Figures. It’s hard to imagine someone turning you down.”

It isn’t hard for Emma - that seems to be all she has been able to imagine. The way Ava’s mouth would hang open, the way she would back away, turn her down. How it would get out, first to the cheer squad and then to the whole school. There’d be whispers, cruel jokes, pity. Everything would change.

They walk back out. Emma spots a few cheerleaders lounging around a picknick table in the courtyard. They wave her over.

Noelle slows, shoving her hands in her light-wash jeans pockets. “Looks like that’s the end of the tour. Bye for now, Cheer Squad.” She walks off before Emma can reply.

“...Bye?”

Her steps felt lighter as she joined the group. Like Noelle had lifted the weight since the Ava-Mason bombshell went off this morning. A distraction, if only for a few minutes.

Ava’s watching her with a somewhat shell-shocked expression. “Emma, I can’t believe you were talking to Noelle Harris!”

To her right, Lauren looks delighted. She twirls a lock of black hair in her manicured fingers, eyes sharp. “Don’t you know who she is?”

Emma searches the team’s faces for a hint, but she can’t find one. “What, is she famous or something?” It’s meant to be sarcastic, but she’s so confused it comes of as genuine.

Toni clears a spot for her, patting the bench. “You’d better sit down. You need to hear the truth about her!”

Taking trepidatious steps, Emma has the sinking feeling she’s gotten herself further into a mess.

#playchoices #choices mftl #mftl

20 notes · View notes

anadvanceddegreeinquiet · 3 years

Text

What, Me Pandemic? A Boho Crowd Stakes Its Claim (and Claims Its $48 Steaks)

Fricasse Dubois, 21, lamented the decision to pull her latest concrete poem from The Codswalloped Pisspot as she passed one of the whimsical “Maine-ducks-in-flight” mailboxes that serve as newspaper bins for the red-hot downtown rag. But her friend and intern, Banshee Fitzgerald, 33, had made a good point: The Pisspot had been flirting with questionable taste for months now.

First there was the ironic opera libretto by Steve Bannon, which cast Leo “KIDS” Fitzpatrick as a Muslim refugee in a Copenhagen no-go zone. Then there was the edgy faux-memoir from Terry Richardson, modeled on O.J. Simpson’s unpublished “If I Did It,” and accompanied by a portfolio of Juergen Teller ass-Xeroxes.

But now, the Pisspot hype was growing, and Dubois realized that she might miss the proverbial boat. Interest in the nascent publishing venture was at fever pitch; a SPAC had been formed by laid-off Gagosian and Perrotin directors eager to stage a hostile takeover of the irregularly published ‘zine.

And a dash of infamy certainly helped—the paper’s co-editor, Stizzy Fugger, had just launched a Tumblr in which she tallied the number of people she had inadvertently infected with Covid-19, updated in real-time (12,617 at press time, if you’re keeping score, more than the Sturgis Motorcycle Rally).

Anyone who has witnessed a “Pisspot drop” in the Dimes Square neighborhood of Manhattan knows to expect pandemonium. But nothing could have prepared this reporter for the foamy-mouthed jubilee and ecstatic violence of the occasion.

It was 11am on a Tuesday, and the editors appeared at the corner of Seward Park, bearing several cardboard boxes of the paper. They were trailed by the usual suspects: Pimple-necked sadcore rappers, sex-positive Zoom therapists, former Artforum critic’s pickers who now run content for Chipotle, and middle-aged men who really shouldn’t skateboard.

It’s a truism that an issue of Pisspot isn’t really read so much as it is imbibed, absorbed via the osmosis of social media’s orgiastic frenzy. In fact, the Times had a great deal of difficulty locating anyone who had physically held a copy of the paper in their smooth, unlined hands; many preferred to experience it as a series of fuzzy, thumbnail-sized images posted ironically on MySpace.

“People used to say they read Playboy for the ads,” said Kit Murano, a fish-eyed, forty-something member of a downtown-based Adderall (™) street team. “Pisspot doesn’t have ads. And no one who knows anything would be caught, like, just sitting there and flipping through the thing. It’s an attitude. It’s an essence. It’s a lifestyle.”

Okay, sure—but what about the actual content actually published in each issue? Imagine an early iteration of Vice cross-pollinated with Tiger Beat, and then add a splash of sexual-harassment-era Paris Review. It’s a bit silly, and a bit loose. Bret Easton Ellis contributes a crossword puzzle in which every answer is just another reason why millennials suck. A party report—‘Reamed & Furred’—diligently transcribes the coke-addled bon mots of the same group of six people all eating at the same restaurant every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday evening.

If there’s an ethos gluing all of this together, it’s a passing-of-the-torch from an older bohemian guard to a younger demographic, with their laissez-faire attitudes about sex, drugs, and global pandemics. “It’s, like, we can all still party together, and age isn’t really ‘a thing’,” explains Murano, leaning out the window of a Mini Cooper wrapped in shiny SunGen Pharma adverts.

The entire scene revolves around the lopsided triangle known as “Dimes Square,” which borrows its moniker from the culinary hotspot Dimes. (The name derives from Cockney rhyming slang for ‘elongated pinky nail.’). Every New York story is also, of course, a story about real estate. In this case, that means the Connecticut country houses that this cohort has Airbnbed out while remaining to weather the storm in lower Manhattan.

Parts of this scene are “white, but probably ambisexual-adjacent; they’re members of the creative class, but they possess enough self-hatred to seem authentic,” says Dash Johnson, a Dimes Square hanger-on who many suspect of running the Steak-Umms social media accounts. “Most of them used to work for galleries, or websites, or Garage magazine, but when those jobs dried up, they woke up one morning and said: Fuck it. Let’s stop pretending. Let’s just tweet.”

One essential element of any good scene is a gossip column to keep track—and to keep score. ArtWet’s “Wet Ass Pigment” plays that role for the Dimes Square cognoscenti. It’s a bleeding-edge social diary written by an anonymous, Gossip Girl-style correspondent who communicates solely via Signal, using a vocal transformer.

“I was sick of trying to break into this world,” they said. “I was sick of meeting Anthony Haden-Guest at a dinner, for the 387th time, and having him introduce himself all over again, like we hadn’t both thrown up in the same toilet less than three days before. Fuck gatekeepers. I built my own gate, and then I started keeping it.”

It was a Wet Ass Pigment column, in fact, which broke the season’s buzziest news: semi-disgraced first son Hunter Biden had bought an octoplex apartment directly above Dimes, where he’ll be staying as he prepares for a September solo exhibition that will open concurrently across Andrew Kreps, 56 Henry, Shoot the Lobster, and a pop-up space for Recess CBD seltzer. Unlike the gentle, “meditative” paintings that Biden had been making in recovery, the new work is brash and rudely vulgar—the product of an unexpected friendship Biden had struck up with Bjarne Melgaard and Jordan Wolfson.

Meanwhile, the group’s literary face remains 29-year-old Katarina Klaus, whose razor-sharp prose skewers her surroundings with the acidic wit of a young Evelyn Waugh. “I’ll be honest, I fucking hate writing,” Klaus admitted, blowing her nose into a Telfar bag. “I’m both super motivated and super lazy. Sometimes I’ll just copy-paste random chunks of Speedboat into a column and no one will even notice.”

So what’s next for this ragtag crew? “Dimes Square will probably be over by the time this fucking article comes out,” Klaus laments. “You’re going to have, like, some TikTok influencer house on the corner of Canal and Essex, and all the coke will have fentanyl in it again because idiots from New Jersey just have no nose. You know what? I’m regretting this already. This is all off the record.”

Meanwhile, Klaus is already rethinking her involvement in Pisspot. With a current print run of 250 copies, the instantly iconic newspaper suddenly seems a bit too exposed. She’s in discussions with a new, unnamed venture that would distribute articles and essays in a serialized format, via fortunes randomly inserted into cookies at various Chinese restaurants within a three-block radius of the Square. “It’s all about ephemerality,” she says, sucking on a DMT vape she brought back from Mexico City. “It’s all about staying relevant.”

This article was lovingly rewritten from the original by Scott Indrisek.

CORRECTION: The above edition of this story mistakenly cites Kit Murano’s age as “forty-something,” based on our reporter’s visual guesstimation. She is actually 19.

CORRECTION: ‘Dimes’ is in fact Cockney prison rhyming slang for the expression, “a bent knob is straight twice a day.”

CORRECTION: An earlier online version of this story mistakenly identified The Codswalloped Pisspot as The Duct-Taped Shitberg.

CORRECTION: An earlier, subscribers-only post of this story mislabeled the gossip blog Wet Ass Pigment as being a Spotify podcast called Wank ‘n Pose.

CORRECTION: Jordan Wolfson died in 2014.

CORRECTION: An earlier Google Doc of this story referenced a non-existent ‘hardcore maternity diary’ by Chloe Sevigny, which most likely did not appear in issue 4 of the Codtaped Shitpot.

CORRECTION: A version of this story that was sent to hapless print subscribers in Texas and Connecticut wrongly identified the geographic boundaries of “Dimes Square” as being East 45th Street, Central Park West, Freeman’s Alley, and Bedford Avenue.

2 notes · View notes

gotatext · 4 years

Text

hllo ! i’m nora ( she / her, 24, gmt ) crawling back to this rp once more like the dirty sewer slug i am !! i just can’t get enough, baybeyyy ! u may remember me frm such roles as alma putnam, rory bergstrom, bridget matusiak or greta o’driscoll 2 name jst a few.... sure there were more over these long years, bt the show must go on.... this is mimi, she’s dogmatic, tenacious n single-minded 2 the point of recklessness, she doesn’t like handouts n she’s funding her degree through her onlyfans account n moaning abt shit on tiktok. we love 2 see it !! slam that like button n i’ll creep into ur DMs like the slippery worm i am OR u can discord me at that bitch carole baskin#8664. a humble pinterest.

『ALEXA DEMIE ❙ CIS-FEMALE 』 ⟿ looks like MIMI MARTÍNEZ is here for HER SOPHOMORE year as an ARCHITECTURE AND SOCIAL ANTHROPOLOGY student. SHE is 22 years old & known to be STRONG-WILLED, GOAL-ORIENTED, ARROGANT & EASILY BORED. They’re living in MORIS, so if you’re there, watch out for them. ⬳ nora. 24. gmt. she/her.

this is p embarassing but i actually originally wrote mimi for a discord rp based around love island asgjag dont laugh at me but it was so chaotic n someone deleted it w-out telling any of us so i lost her bio.... all her threads....e verythin.... it was mad. but anyway we startin from scratch w this intro so bare with

mimi is a really extra character so when trying to flesh her out i thot of the most extra thing i could do n made a colour coded mindmap with watercolour paints detailing her values, aesthetics and early life. shoot me

background: she grew up in a trailer home in boulder city, abt half an hour from vegas. her mom had worked in a vegas casino for most of her 20s but relocated to boulder city for a slower pace of life / lower crime rate when she started having kids. mimi has 2 older brothers n she’s the youngest. has that invulnerable younger sibling complex n basically thinks nothing can touch her. very confident in her own intelligence and her ability to get shit done

has mexican ancestry on her mom’s side. doesn’t know her dad. was raised with spanish catholic principals n found it all very stained glass windows and extra n that’s why she was kinda drawn to the decadence of vegas and all these massively high key aesthetics, like dia de les muertos was her fave thing growin up just bcos the pure feel of the festival and painting a sugar skull on her face n being able to party on the streets in a flower crown where everyone was kinda anonymous but together in this celebration

in boulder city her mom worked as a carer as there’s a lot of retirees there. mimi really resented the slow pace of life, longed for some fucking energy n life. she was a cheerleader in school but outside of school there wsn’t much to do except practise stunts and go on bike rides. occasionally they’d get dressed up and catch a bus to henderson, the next biggest city for them to get tht sweet night life

her teenage years consisted mostly of hanging around the renovated motel blocks used as housing projects n tanning by the pool. very florida project if you’ve seen that. she reminds me a lot of the mum in that. also she started working as an avon rep going door-to-door when she was 16 bcos she wanted to have her own income. like as young as 14 she’d decided she was smart enough to go to college but she didn’t have the money n her family didn’t really see it as a worthwhile thing, her mom was very like the mom from matilda “you chose books.... i chose looks!” which i think is where a lot of mimi’s more shallow / appearance-driven traits come from

wasn’t really ‘cool’ until high school. before that she was a bit of a lisa simpson type. won a spelling bee when she was 9. was in the mathletes squad in middle school. when she went from middle school to high school she started cheer and tried to reinvent herself basically. always been very concerned with social mobility and keen to socially climb, like when she enters a new situation she’ll find out who the alphas are and quickly try n befriend them

when she turned 18 she moved out and went to vegas despite her mom hating the idea bcos it was everything she’d tried to get her kids away from. she worked in the clubs there for several years as a shot girl, a table dancer, n eventually she started workin behind the bar in a strip club. in the club it ws really hard to resist becoming a dancer bcos of the sheer amount they made in tips. no one really pressured her into it she just eventually decided tht it was way more logical to do it while she was young n fit and had the stamina and ppl were willing to pay to see her body so she started taking pole fitness lessons. she also started working as a cam girl around this time

working in vegas strip clubs is basically whats paid for uni. like she didn’t go at 18 like most of her friends did bcos she didn’t have the money and she didn’t want to feel indebted to a college like she had to compete for her place and not put a toe out of line bcos she was on a scholarship. she was determined to pay her own way and it took 4 years of working really hard and saving n even tho she was working in vegas she basically never went out bcos every penny she had needed to go on uni n thts how we get to radcliffe baybeeyy

part 2 - interior / values / personality

values: the aesthetic !! literally loves the aesthetic so much. everything she owns is super embellished, she’s a pop socket gal, her dell laptop is covered in glitzy stickers, she always has acrylics n probs makes nail art videos on tiktok. really tuned into tiny details like painting a little hello kitty above her eye which translates into her degree when she’s doing small-scale mockups of town plans n stuff... she jst puts so much detail into them. ppl often get surprised when she tells them she does architecture but it makes so much sense bcos she grew up in a trailer park n was always thinking about ways the space could be more efficiently used, like she loves re-conceptualising neighbourhoods, definitely spent hours on sims as a kid. she also grew up near hoover dam n so loads of school trips they just took them there n she was like.... this is tight but it could be cooler.... where’s the passion....

massively into photography, has such a neat instagram feed like everything just compliments the tones in the next post like mMMM. idk if any of u know any architecture students but this is literally the one constant i can find…. like they all have super good instagrams feeds. is that bitch that will take 40 fake candids of u in a row at different angles to get u the perfect profile picture cos she understands the importance of marketing urself and having an online #brand

has wire rimmed glasses that she doesn’t need to see BUT they r like a magnifying glass for when she’s working with really small materials to do a mock up of an urban plan, and also just sometimes wears them for the aesthetic bc she’s such a pinterest bitch

assassination nation is such a big mood. literally the aesthetics of that and lily colson’s whole brand of feminism and nudity not being inherently sexual but at the same time wanting to profit off that bcos why the fuck shouldnt she use a corrupt system to her advantage is incredibly mimi

literally a human personification of a bratz doll both in attitude and fashion sense

somehow simultaneously gansey in the raven cycle AND elle woods in legally blonde? the two genders

values cont bc i started rambling: her independence and freedom. being the best at any given task she sets her mind to accomplish because she is unable to accept failure. social mobility. sexual liberation. interested in the psychology of sub-cultures and how ppl form groups and interact w each other and cult identities which is why she minors in anthropology. pro-choice. pro-weed legalisation. pro-sex worker rights. very activist.

aesthetics tht remind me of her: von dutch. a strappy cami top that says ‘please do not do coke in the bathroom’. low-waisted jeans that show off her belly button piercing. acrylic nails tapping against a heavily embellished second-hand dell laptop. heart shaped sunglasses in every colour. translucent stripper heels with barbie doll heads and plastic spiders in the heel. spraying champagne you cant afford all over the walls. narcotics in a heart shaped locket. an amazon wishlist full of lingerie linked on your tinder profile. sex tapes recorded on VCR. a religious devotion to waxing clinics. necking shots like you were born to do it.

she’s an enfj type which makes her pretty charismatic and confidence, like she has a fierce kind of energy to her, but she’s also super unwilling to accept criticism, dogmatic and can only really see her own way of thinking, quite ruthless when it comes 2 other ppls emotions despite having a poor control of her own and being prone to turbulence / throwin a bitch fit in the craft lab. easily bored. competitive. self-assured to the point of arrogance. forceful. adaptable. usually more rational than emotional but occasionally loses the ability to make rational decisions when blinded by a need for perfectionism.

very goal-oriented. money motivates her. money and clothes. she wants to look bomb while earning big bucks. when she gets her mind set on a project it literally consumes her she will forget to eat and sleep? i don’t know her. like when a final design project is due for architecture she’ll be up all night doing adderall and speed to keep her awake working on the placement of a single tree for ages cos its gotta be perfect

loves chaos. will spill your secrets and pretend it was an accident. will always be that gif of kim kardashian sipping her tea while drama unfolds around her. lives for the drama like that gifset of bratz when she comes running and gets her phone out to record a fight.

im makin her sound like a really bad person but hopefully she’ll be somewhat likeable she can be very charismatic and endearing and she’s naturally quite funny. also now she’s finally in college and doesn’t have to worry so much about money she actually allows herself to party n bcos she denied herself of it for so long she kinda makes up for it by going p wild like will be the girl climbing on to stage to crowd surf at gigs or doing a summersault off the bar and being escorted out by bouncers, thats the energy were looking at, pure dionysian hedonistic impulse

really gd at talking her way out of shit like parking fines. so good at being an ‘im baby’ girl and often dumbs herself down to figures of authority to appear less like a threatening ball-breaker and more like a confused fiat 500 girl who didn’t know red meant stop she thought it meant slow down

listens almost exclusively to female artists. has fergalicious on repeat when she does squats infront of the mirror n just the biggest fergie stan. also lana del rey’s whole vibe is massive mimi energy

ok ya thats all i have for now..... hopefully this is somewhat coherent and not just garbage.

#radintro #plot w me bitches #im fun n love quarantine sadness

18 notes · View notes

the-sober-story-so-far · 3 years

Text

A pre-snippet to the past 10 years

Hi there, i’ve got quite a few posts to catch up on since i’m on day 3 of sobriety but I feel like any story should start with where I was these past 10 years. I became a mother at 19, happily. My son was planned, I had met the love of my life a bassist in a metal band and fell in love with the lifestyle that came with it.

When I had first met Matthew I had never partied before, I was in a very abusive relationship before where I wasn’t allowed to experience what most teens did. Parties, drugs,drinking, hell even my proms. So when I met Matt (before i was pregnant keep in mind) I went wild. We would party almost every night, we fell in love fast too. One of those loves that just hit you right in your face like a bullet. We were inseparable and we were both wild as could be. Once we had decided to slow down and stop going out as much we decided we wanted to get married and start a family together no matter how young we knew that regardless it was meant to be. So we were engaged, we were actually trashed when we got engaged it was pretty punk rock if I say so myself. In the middle of an alley in baltimore, he didn’t have a ring and it didn’t matter. We were just jamming to some Coheed and Cambria in my car drinking a 30 pack parked in this alley when he suddenly told me to get out of the car and follow him. At that point he got down on one knee and asked me to marry him. I thought he was just drunk or joking at first and I remember I kept asking him the next day if he was serious well, obviously it turns out he was.

So fast forward a bit, we were engaged and started trying to get pregnant and it took a few months but with luck we ended up pregnant. We decided to get married at the courthouse since we were already on the way to getting married that year anyways. Then we had our beautiful son, I was sober my entire pregnancy. I remember the first week after I had him I got trashed though just to celebrate 9months of pain and hell but at this point i was still a social drinker. The toddler years were happy years, we would only drink on the weekends or here and there when friends would come over. It wasn’t to the point where I had a problem yet.

Then he turned 4, and life got really hard. Problems with my family arose, financial problems as well. My mental health declined and i was diagnosed with Bipolar Type 2, as well as OCD, Severe Depressive, Severe Anxiety and Borderline personality Mercurial type. As well as having PTSD from my childhood with my parents. My mom almost passed when I was younger from liver failure. She ended up having a transplant and living. I had an emotionally abusive father, my mother’s mental health was never stable I actually use to remember her waking me up at 4 am and screaming at me as a child for things I had done the day before. I witnessed so many fights and insane moments a child shouldn’t. I then ended up in an abusive relationship from 14-18 with a boy who would hit me, verbally abuse me, gaslight me, manipulate me and then one day eventually sexually assault me in my sleep. The thing about trauma is it always catches up to you.

And that’s where I think it all started going wrong, it began catching up. I moved out in my first apartment with my husband and my son and finally had freedom. We had lots of parties, I met lots of “friends” who only cared about where the next party was or who had the drugs. I began partying more and more, and made decisions I was not proud of. Including hurting my husband more than I ever could have even fathomed, I don’t like to speak of it. I have faced my guilt about it daily but in short I was unfaithful. Even if it was one time, it was inexcusable. My cousin had moved in with me, and though I love her back in that time she wasn’t the best influence either. She always wanted to party or smoke weed as well. We became partners in crime, we always wanted to get into some chaos and have fun. Then we were forced to move back to my parents all 4 of us this time due to a shooting in my apartment complex where we were no longer safe. It was unbearable living there during that time, before my mom began fixing herself and facing her own demons and dealing with my father and his emotionally abusive ways.

So we ended up moving to my grandparents, where we were later kicked out of for having people over partying almost every night. At that point I had also assumed I wanted to be polyamorous, which indeed I am not. I am bisexual yes, but the polyamory was just an excuse in my own mind not to work on my own marriage and fix the damage I had unleashed upon it. When we lived at my grandparents was when the peak in my drinking began. I began drinking daily with my cousin starting early in the morning drinking bottles of rum and vodka all day to the point of blacking out, mixing clonopin with it. Smoking spice, smoking weed, just drugs and booze constantly. One night I overdosed and slit my wrists so bad that the scars are still there to this day I am lucky to be alive and you’d have thought that would have been enough to stop me from my path of destruction but it did not.

I did end up quitting spice, once we were kicked out of my grandparents I saved money at my job and we rented a place with my cousin and a “friend”, the drinking only got worse there. More parties, more drugs. I started dabbling with Molly and Adderall while i was there and almost ecstasy. My mental health declined so bad due to being worried about a relationship with a girl I thought I loved and spending my money on substance that we lost our house after I lost my job.

I moved back home again with my parents, just my husband, my son and myself and the drinking continued then for a few months it was daily drinking until one day I did finally get sober and quit drinking, months later I started to become incredibly sick and was still sober but thought I had cancer from how violently ill I was but I was too afraid to go to a doctor for it, instead in my fucked up mind I decided to attempt suicide twice. I lost many friends along this journey from the choices I made, and from who I was. I felt that being sick was my penance for being such a piece of shit for so long.

Months passed after this, I was sick for at least 9 more months vomiting at least 9 times daily sometimes more. I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t shit and I knew something was wrong but I had doctors who didn’t care to find out, who brushed it off as IBS because I was “young and healthy”. 9 months they let it go, it turned out to be my appendix and a dead bowel. The day my appendix ruptured sepsis poured into my abdomen and i was dying, I was actually dying like I had wished for all those years and then it was in that moment that I knew I didn’t want to die. I wanted to live, I wanted to fight. I had my surgery and had 3 months of severe complications including seizures, fluid ruptures and a massive hole left in my abdomen from those fluid ruptures. September of that same year my intestine popped up below the surface of my skin and I had to have my first hernia surgery, it was successful until November of last year when it tore open and I had my final one. During the process I was foolish enough to keep the same doctors, to be dismissed over and over until the first hernia surgery when I had finally had enough and found doctors who actually cared. However, now I have severe PTSD with practitioners not to mention a nurse who physically and sexually assaulted me and a doctor who possibly did while I was under anesthesia. This is getting back to the trauma creeping up on you, it all has a purpose.

So, I went through severe anxiety, and experienced what real PTSD was. I was still sober until one night my husband and his friends and myself were all hanging out in the garage and they said have a beer you’ll be fine and that was when it all started again.

I used to look forward to every Friday and Saturday just wanting to get drunk to feel something, all the while i was still using marijuana daily as well. Well, maybe not to feel something i’d say more to feel nothing. And then it went from 6 drinks to 12 drinks, from Saturdays and Sundays to every day of the week. From 6 packs daily to 12 packs daily. From 12 packs daily to 15 drinks daily, from 15 to 18 and so on. This was a year ago i relapsed and this is my first 3 days sober since it all happened.

This is to document my journey, this is to look back and feel pride in how far i’ve come and this is so that I know I can do anything and how much I refuse to go backwards. If you’re reading this, i hope if you are in a place where I was it gives you strength, I hope you never feel alone.

Welcome to my sobriety diaries.

1 note · View note

flightsrsk · 4 years

Text

hello hello all !!! my name is riley and this is my actual trash son maverick, aka the flight risk !!! i am so so hyped to get the ball rollin on this, so check out info on my kid under ze cut !!

warning: this got rlly mcfreaking long and i am so sorry fjdklsjs i am incapable of writing a short intro post

unfortunately i will not be able to be around for the official opening bc i’m on vacation w my fam and godparents, but i will try and intermittently read intros and chat to you guys about plots !!!! PLS feel free to bombard me through IMs or through discord if any plot sparks ur interest or u think mav could fit well in one of ur plots!!! :’)

THE BASICS

Name: Maverick Hobbes Braxton

Age: Twenty-one

Gender: Cismale

Pronouns: He/Him

Major & year: Philosophy, Third year

Faceclaim: Alex Fitzalan

Occupation: N/A

THE FLIGHT RISK

Maverick Braxton, as you might see, is an enigma—or rather, has evolved into one, slowly: a transformation that begun with his first breath. In his early years, the stage had been set for him, line by line. Act One: attend prep schools, excel in classes. Act Two: attend Covington, take center stage—you know, all of the things his older brother, Richard had accomplished with ease, just one year prior to all of his expectations. It was simple, really: a blueprint laid out ahead of him, with little to nothing in his way.

The only problem was that Maverick didn’t exactly see the point in choosing that path, that stage, that story. To him, it wasn’t challenging.

That, and the fact that the life laid out in front of him offered him absolutely nothing.

A series of banal expectations, unfair comparisons, and heartbreaking betrayals, and the traditional life of the Braxton child was thrown out the window—at least, in his brain, it was. See, Maverick Braxton, while independent, coy, and arrogant, isn’t stupid. He knows if he pleases his parents just enough, they’ll still distribute his trust fund and still bail him out of legal trouble when he inevitably tiptoes too far down the delicate line between ambition and rebellion. Perhaps it’s a bit selfish, but what does he owe to a family who paid him no attention, who never asked of his well-being, his own ambitions, his personal dreams?

He’s the kind of person to drive down the highway, windows rolled all the way down, cigarette lit—not because he necessarily likes the taste of nicotine, but because he likes the way the smoke creates clouds that obscure reality. He’ll surprise you in class when he interjects with a sarcastic but surprisingly salient point before throwing up his hood and retreating to the back corner for the rest of class. He’s the kind of person to start reading a book, flipping incessantly through the pages, both impatient by the pace of the plot, yet put it down before he reaches the final pages because he doesn’t want to be disappointed by the ending. He’s the kind of artist who rarely finishes a sketch, the writer who is never satisfied by a poem—for fear, of course, by deep-rooted insecurities that nothing that he will ever do will be enough.

A once-broken heart had taken time to mend, even though it seems ice-cold and whole from the outside. It’s why he has commitment issues: he doesn’t want to be burned again. He plays off his flirtatious bit as a personality trait, someone who is bored by the prospect of being tied down—and yet those who share his bed might consider him Covington’s most surprisingly deep pillow-talker.

An enigma, you see—one who doesn’t stick around long enough for anyone to truly understand, truly a Flight Risk.

BIOGRAPHY:

( You can read his full biography here! Still in the process of editing it a bit, but below are some important bullet points! )

Maverick was born the second of three children to the Braxton family—and as per usual with the Braxton children, he was born into a life filled to the absolute brim of expectation.

His father, a playwright, his mother, an actress. His brother, a theatre prodigy—what part did that leave him to play? The assumed expectations were to follow in his mother and brothers’ footsteps and take center stage; he excelled, for a while, but Maverick always felt lost.

Neighbors and family friends would always ask if he had measured up, in each and every shape and form: it was like the entire universe had a scoreboard with their names titling each section, and Maverick was always playing catch-up, never knowing where the finish line was.

For a while, he stuck to the script that was given to him: study, succeed, repeat. He tried to understand the ins and outs of his father’s work, of masterful acting techniques, trying to make a large enough splash to where his family would even notice the work he put into his life. Surprise: it didn’t.

It took him seventeen years to truly understand that his role in life was not exactly the story his parents had laid out for him, but rather, his sibling, instead.

Downcast emotions transformed quickly into cynicism. What used to make him feel sad now fueled a blue fire within Maverick’s chest, one that felt wronged by the system he was placed in: a complete first-world problem, but it was then and there when he decided to take advantage of his situation, given that he had spent his entire life dedicated to a part he wouldn’t play.

Hypocritical as he was, he still enjoyed the fruits of his parents’ work, cashing the unlimited checks with his name on them, as if it was some sort of sick version of love.

One piece of recognition that Maverick finally earned was an acceptance to Covington—and even that couldn’t be tainted by his brother’s success or his legacy status.

At Covington, Maverick has both lost and found his footing, multiple times. He’s quit acting, quit studying theater, in favor of a topic that stimulates his brain more than reading lines and

PERSONALITY:

Maverick Braxton is certainly a paradox. He’s charismatic, funny, and has a witty sense of humor –– and is generally appreciated by his peers because he’s able to move conversation and discussion without making topics seem dry.

Despite his apparent inferiority to his sibling, the Braxton family still breeds the cream of the crop. He’s certainly a bit arrogant sometimes, given that he’s intelligent, innovative, and clever, and wants to be recognized for it –– however, even if he might not show it on the outside, he appreciates a good challenger. He thinks it keeps his wit sharp, and of course, his ego would never show it, but he does appreciate learning from people. After all, his passion in philosophy, his current area of study, makes him certainly interested in how the world works.

Those who happen to get to know Maverick outside of the surface-level stuff, outside the initial cockiness and flirtatious front he puts on will know that he’s actually quite thoughtful. His lonely childhood has made him extremely loyal to those who have shown him similar trust and friendship –– he would never turn his back on them.

He asks probing questions, is a good listener –– perhaps because he’s interested in human decision making, but is also because he doesn’t quite know what it’s like to be loved unconditionally –– though he wants to.

Deep down, what almost no one knows is that he’s really quite soft. He passes his curiosity off as wanting to understand people, when really it’s a mechanism for hoping someone asks him questions in return, to give him the time of day he wished his parents ( and the rest of the goddamned universe ) had given him.

Despite his theatre prowess, he isn’t actually a particularly good liar. Those who spend enough time around him can hear his tone of voice incline slightly and see him scratch his brow.

AESTHETICS:

coffee-stained mugs, walking with headphones in but nothing playing, untied shoelaces, black hoodies, a cheeky smirk, small books in his back pocket, writing in the margins, unfinished poems, quoting old authors on a daily basis, incessant eye-rolling, pen ink stains, an unmade bed, mismatched socks, floral ties, empty bottles of liquor, rose thorn pricks, old worn poetry books, polished dress shoes, calloused fingers, unlit cigarettes between teeth.

HEADCANONS:

Funnily enough, Maverick’s name means ‘independent, a noncomformist’, which is exactly the path that he has taken to stray away from his family’s expectations.

He does have one strong connection to his family, though: his grandmother, on his father’s side. She understands the pressure he undergoes, who saw the pressure Maverick’s father endured to obtain the success he has. She is one of the only reasons that Maverick has not just jetted off to take on his own adventure. He loves her dearly, and wishes that her empathy and wisdom would rub off on the rest of his family.

Maverick has some form of synesthesia, which allows him to remember a lot more than the average person. He associates colors, smells, sounds, to words –– and allows him to efficiently study any subjects he doesn’t have immediate passion for.

In the privacy of his own bedroom, he sometimes writes poetry and sketches his thoughts and muses –– when he knows he’s in complete privacy. Faces and features that appear in his sketchbooks are often those he’s thinking of often, those who intrigue him. He’s actually quite good a sketching, maybe not quite as good at writing poetry.

His room is spotless –– evidence that he is a bit of a control freak sometimes. It shows that during his adolescence, he reveled in the parts of his life that he could control and perfect.

tw drugs. He more than dabbles in drug use, smoking marijuana maybe every other day, while partaking in harder drugs like cocaine and adderall and others probably once a week. He feels like he’s in control of his use, but it may start to get the best of him. end tw.

Maverick is left-handed. He hates that he gets pen ink stains when he draws, writes poetry, takes notes. His left palm is probably perennially covered with ink.

Though he’s often wearing headphones ( airpods, of course, the nerve of this rich kid ), half the time, nothing’s playing. Sometimes he forgets to press play on his phone, sometimes he purposely likes listening to decision-making and conversations of strangers. it lets him think about the nature of mankind.

Maverick’s favorite philosopher is Albert Camus, known for his work that heavily developed the idea of absurdism ( much to do with the meaning of life, and human inability to discern an answer ).

Maverick’s preferred method of transportation is his skateboard. he loved it first because his parents hated it: pushing himself around on a board like that would get him injured—besides, why not just take the car to school, the driver had been paid for anyway? It was his first taste of rebellion. Now at Covington, where skateboarding is far more efficient than walking across campus, it comes in handy when he sees someone he’d rather not stop and chat to.

Maverick could die with a poetry book nestled on his chest—it’s the one thing he got out of the impressive book collection his family owned. There was something daunting and beautiful about the way poems would transform metaphors into something fantastical, like the emotions were clearly there, but the words were skirting the issue. Kind of like how his parents would never really tell him they loved him.

Maverick often has headphones in when he walks to class. not particularly because he’s actually listening to music or a podcast, but rather because he’d just … rather not be bothered to stop and talk to people.

Maverick loves to draw. He’s mostly self-taught, with a bit of mentorship from his high school art teacher. Evidenced by the rest of his fleeting personality, he rarely finishes a sketch or painting. He claims he never has time to finish them, but the number of crumbled-up, half-finished sketches in his trash bin might say otherwise.

PLOTS

** see my wanted plots tag here too! // and my plots page here !!

* FIRST LOVE / OPEN.

It wouldn’t be easy to make Maverick feel like even more of a disappointment than he already had with his parents, his family—but your muse proved this feeling wrong. He loved them, more than he’d ever loved anything before. In the midst of confusion about where he belonged, he felt safe with your muse; he’d do anything for them. Things ended, he felt betrayed ( though the break-up could have easily been due to a fault of his ), and the split made him the one who now struggles fully with commitment. He doesn’t want to have his heart broken again. See: this entire pinterest board.

but also if u give me this ……………… i’ll name my firstborn after u

* BEST FRIEND / OPEN.

Those who go through similar childhood traumas are often able to understand each other –– that was how it worked with Maverick and your muse, at least. They’re thick as thieves — and have likely seen the ups and downs of Maverick’s life in real time.

* CHILDHOOD FRIENDS / OPEN.

Self explanatory—and also probably knows about the pressures the Braxton family imposes on their children.

* EX-FRIENDS / OPEN.

Friends who were close, close no longer. Maverick’s a real piece of work, and an asshole, too—there are myriad possibilities for why Maverick could have pushed them away. He wouldn’t openly admit that he misses being around your muse, but he certainly would feel a bit of guilt given that they’re no longer the closest of friends.

* MOMENT OF WEAKNESS / OPEN.

Your muse, in whatever unfortunate setting, saw a glimpse of Maverick’s soft side that hardly ever makes an appearance. He’s not going to let them tell the world about his vulnerabilities, though. Not a chance.

* DISLIKED / OPEN.

Maverick is sarcastic, cold, and sometimes emotionless. It’s not surprising that not everyone gets along with the middle Braxton. The possibilities are endless—throw in some sexual tension and I’d actually fall at ur feet.

* PREVIOUS ROOMMATES / OPEN.

Your muse, at one point, probably knew Maverick better than everyone else at Covington. They overheard some of his phone calls with his parents, saw his notes for how he was to achieve his life goals, heard him crying in the middle of the night when he thought your muse was asleep. They could be extremely close now, as in one of the few people Maverick opens up to, or could be distant friends who know about one anothers’ struggles. The possibilities are endless, tbh.

+ ANYTHING LEGITIMATELY ……… IF U THINK THERE’S POSSIBILITY FOR SOMETHING COOL W MAV AND UR MUSE. SIGN ME THE F UP. THANKS.

#tw:drugs #tw:smoking #tw:flashing lights #covintro #// PLS HMU WITH PLOTS OK FDJKLSJSD I HATE I AM MISSING OPENING BUT I WANT ALL THE PLOTS

15 notes · View notes

artofalexfields · 4 years

Photo

~disclaimer: I don't condone smoking or vaping.

Ehtisham "Eric/Clutch" Ryan

• 18 • pansexual • Indian 🇮🇳 & British 🇬🇧• Manhattan • Capricorn ♑

Eric was born in Manhattan and lives with his parents who both own a pharmacy. His parents are both devout Muslims from the UK. They left for America after an uptick in terrorist attacks in Europe created anti-immigrant sentiment. They dreamed of opening a pharmacy and living out the rest of their lives in peace until they had Eric, who was unplanned. His parents made it clear that they never wanted to be parents and treated Eric like a nuisance, especially when he neglected to take his religious studies seriously. Though Eric's aunts and uncles considered him a blessing, his parents called him a mistake--in front of him. Eric became rebellious because of this, stealing from the pharmacy and selling the stolen goods at school. He became the school drug dealer, selling Adderall to overachievers and vapes and cigarettes to the loners.

•Along with being your friendly neighborhood teenage drug dealer, Eric is also the resident problem solver and solves problems for people in the worst ways.

•Eric sometimes accepts sexual favors as payment for his strongest drugs from girls AND guys.

•Eric had to repeat his senior year after he was caught cheating on his finals.

Clutch: So what can I do you for? I got E, Vics, Oxys, Prozac--

Cassie: What do you have to smoke?

Clutch: I got that Juul, kush--the real deal, not that K-2 shit, I also got some shit to snort but that’s for the rich kids. I don’t think you can afford that.

Cassie: You have coke?

Clutch: Course I got coke. I’m Clutch. I got everything. But like I said, that shit’s for the trust fund kids. I sell if for $70 a gram. If you can’t afford it, though, you can hook me up as a trade.

Cassie: Oh, really? (laughs incredulously) Is this how you get laid, Ehtisham?

Clutch: Yo, first of all, don’t be usin’ my government name. It’s Clutch. Second of all, I don’t discriminate. If a fucking dude wants to suck my dick for some coke, I’ll do it. I don’t give a fuck. Third of all, what does little miss straight-A chess club girl want with my shit anyway? Ain’t your mommy or daddy gone’ disown you if they catch you messin’ with this?

Cassie: Wow, Clutch, I didn’t know you got down like that (laughs). And my parents will disown me if I don’t keep my grades above an A average.

Clutch: So why don’t you buy some Addys then? I got those.

Cassie: I’m not worried about not passing my exams and shit. I’m stressed as hell and I need something to take the edge off.

Clutch: Alright, how about that Juul? Your parents’ll probably smell that weed on you if you smoke it and you don’t wanna be leaving no grass around or worrying about where you’re going to roll up your reefers. You take a Juul, all you gotta worry about is refills, it’s easy to hide and your parents probably won’t even know what the hell it is if you get caught with it. You could tell them it’s a flash drive or some shit.

Cassie: Ok. How much?

Clutch: For you, I’ll give to you for half price: $25.

Cassie: Really? Why?

Clutch: I know what it’s like to have your parents dog you for dumb shit like your grades. Also, I be seein’ you around with that Tony dude. You’re gonna need it.

Cassie: What does my boyfriend have to do with this?

Clutch: Is he apart of why you’re stressed out?

Cassie: I don’t think that’s your business.

She takes the $25 from out of her purse and hands it to him.

Cassie: Can I have my vape now?

Clutch goes into his backpack and looks around for it.

Clutch: I know Tony’s hot and shit but a dude like that’s a player. I see that ring on your finger. You think a dude who’s got mad girls after him is ready to be engaged? (laughs incredulously)

Cassie: I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about but Tony loves me. He loves me so much that he bought me this pre-engagement ring because he respects me and--

Clutch: He gave you a pre-engagement ring? (laughs incredulously) That’s some bullshit. He’s not gone’ turn down no pussy.

Cassie: That’s not all I am to him.

Clutch: No, you’re not, you’re hot pussy with a brain and someday when you’re a doctor or a lawyer, he’s gonna be gold digger too.

Cassie: Why are so hung up on this? Are you jealous or something because I never see you dating anyone.

Clutch: I’m 18 so me dating half the people in this school would be illegal and I’m not about relationships, babe. If I want some dick or pussy, I’ll get it no problem. Y’know, you ain’t a dumb girl, Cassie, but you make some dumb decisions. I’m just tryna look out. I’ve done some dumb shit because of the pressure my parents put on me and I don’t wanna see you doin’ the same thing.

Cassie: Whatever, Mr. White Knight. You don’t have to worry about me, I can take care of myself. Now where’s my vape pen? I need to get to class.

Clutch hands her the Juul pen and a pack of pods.

Clutch: Threw in some pods for you too. Good luck with your shit. You need anything else, you know where to find me.

5 notes · View notes

mcveriicks · 5 years

Text

have you seen [ MAVERICK ST. JAMES ] since the storm? some say they look like [ HERMAN TOMMERAAS ] but they’re [ TWENTY-TWO ] & go by [ THE PARADOX ]. [ HE ] lived in halloway for [ THREE YEARS ] & they are originally from [ WASHINGTON, D.C. ]. before the town vanished they were studying [ PHILOSOPHY ] and lived at [ UNI BLVD ]. most people knew the [ CISMALE ] as [ +CLEVER ] but i’ve heard they can also be [ -APATHETIC ]. for some reason, they feel [ UNEASY ] about the town’s disappearance. ( riley, 20, she/her, est )

hello !!! my name is riley and i’m ????? so so extremely very much excited to get the ball rollin, down n dirty, into this rp !! i’m a sucker for angst and sadness, so … expect MUCH of that w me !! mav is a new muse of mine but i’m SUPER excited to get to dev him with all of you guys !! below the cut is a … long-ass intro post bc i have no chill !! if, per chance, you’d like to plot w me and my know-it-all, assholey but suprisingly soft child, please feel free to GIVE THIS POST A LIKE or to DM ME ( either tumblr or discord i check both, i promise i don’t bite ) !!!

tw: drugs.

* / BACKGROUND.

maverick hobbes st. james was born into a life filled to the absolute brim of expectation. his mother and father met at halloway’s law school, and both went on to become highly respectable lawyers who dealt with constitutional law in washington d.c.; they work highly demanding jobs, which often left maverick, who is an only child, alone at their impressively decorated family townhouse, staring at family photos and wondering how his definition of family had become so different to his friends’ growing up.

growing up in middle and high school, maverick assumed that getting good grades and excelling at school would make his parents proud, would get them to turn their attention to his successes –– but surprise, surprise, they didn’t. they’d pat him on the back as they headed out the door to tend to their daily schedules –– that is, if he was lucky enough to see them in the morning.

he studied. hard. trying to understand the ins and outs of what his parents did, trying to see if following in their footsteps by studying law would warrant a smile or beam of pride. it didn’t. but it still got him an acceptance to his parents’ alma mater, halloway university. he made friends quickly –– he always did. always the charismatic friend, he’s learned to rely more on his friends than his family in his life.

when maverick was a senior in high school, he finally reached an age to realize some of the shady deals his parents would make on the regular, the random bonuses his parents whispered about finally making sense to him. one case in particular had apparently caused one of his classmates’ parents to be publicly humiliated for a scandal and an incident that was apparently unrelated to their careers –– but ruined them in the process.

he felt guilt, himself, knowing that his parents could be making deals like that every day. it made him shake his head, made him cry into his pillow, made him absolutely disgusted to call people like his mother and father his own parents. he wrote so many fucking speeches that he’d recite to them once he got the chance, berating them for their practices and lack of morals in their workplace. but they never came home –– and hypocritical as he was, he still enjoyed the fruits of his parents’ work. they gave him unlimited checks with his name on them, as if it was some sort of sick version of love.

while maverick was fulfilling some of his general requirements, he fell in love with philosophy, with questioning life and ethical choices that mankind has made in the past, and would make in the future. he ended up pivoting his studies, moving from pre-law to philosophy at the end of his freshman year of his undergraduate studies.

and of course –– with this twist in the system, maverick is about to make this world his playground, living in his very own simulation of how a fresh new world reacts to infinite freedoms. he’s partially excited to see what will unfold, partially scared that things will fall to absolute shit ( ever the pessimist, maverick st. james ! ) because he has little faith that his company will collectively make the right decisions.

* / PERSONALITY.

maverick st. james is quite the paradox ( hence, the label ! ). he’s charismatic, funny, and has a witty sense of humor –– and is generally appreciated by his peers because he’s able to move conversation and discussion without making topics seem dry. and generally, he’s only like this in classes that he’s passionate about –– otherwise, you’d see him in the very back corner, doodling amongst his haphazardly written notes. what’s funny is he used to always be like this –– happy, smiley, obviously intelligent and driven. but it all sort of changed when he had this big epiphany that some people aren’t what they seem like on the outside ( re: his parents ).

he’s certainly a bit arrogant, given that he’s intelligent, innovative, and clever, and knows it –– however, even if he might not show it on the outside, he appreciates a good challenger. he thinks it keeps his wit sharp, and of course, his ego would never show it, but he does appreciate learning from people. after all, his passion in philosophy makes him certainly interested in how minds work.

at social events, you can probably see him flirting his ass off, but always having a good time, too. he’s definitely the type to sleep around, but he likes to pick at people’s brains, too. probably the most deep-ass pillow-talker halloway has ever seen. it probably borders on the line of being too romantic with flings –– the way he asks questions, but also borders on being annoying.

those who happen to get to know maverick outside of the surface-level stuff, outside the initial cockiness and flirtatious front he puts on will know that he’s actually quite thoughtful. his lonely childhood has made him extremely loyal to those who have shown him similar trust and friendship –– he would never turn his back on them. he asks probing questions, is a good listener –– perhaps because he’s interested in human decision making, but is also because he doesn’t quite know what it’s like to be loved unconditionally –– though he wants to. he’ll hold back hair and rub a friend’s back while they yak, walk his friends home, maybe throw a few punches or two –– but spicy comebacks are really more his speed.

deep down, what almost no one knows is that he’s really quite soft. he passes his curiosity off as wanting to understand people, when really it’s a mechanism for hoping someone asks him questions in return, to give him the time of day he wished his parents had given him.

* / AESTHETICS.

coffee-stained mugs, walking with headphones in, untied shoelaces, black hoodies, a cheeky smirk, small books in his back pocket, writing in the margins, quoting old authors on a daily basis, incessant eye-rolling, pen ink stains, unmade bed, mismatched socks, floral ties, empty bottles of liquor, rose thorn pricks, old worn poetry books, polished dress shoes, calloused fingers, unlit cigarettes between teeth.

* / HEADCANONS.

funnily enough, maverick’s name means ‘independent, a noncomformist’, which is exactly the path that he has taken to stray away from his family’s expectations of practicing law, specifically constitutional law as a career. he’s like. nah. fuck that.

maverick has some form of synesthesia, which allows him to remember a lot more than the average person. he associates colors, smells, sounds, to words –– and allows him to efficiently study any subjects he doesn’t have immediate passion for.

in the privacy of his own bedroom, he sometimes writes poetry and sketches his thoughts and muses –– when he knows he’s in complete privacy. faces and features that appear in his sketchbooks are often those he’s thinking of often, those who intrigue him. he’s actually quite good a sketching, maybe not quite as good at writing poetry.

tw drugs. he more than dabbles in drug use, smoking marijuana maybe every other day, while partaking in harder drugs like cocaine and adderall and others probably once a week. he feels like he’s in control of his use, but it may start to get the best of him. end tw.

maverick is left-handed. he hates that he gets pen ink stains when he draws, writes poetry, takes notes. his left palm is probably perennially covered with ink.

though he’s often wearing headphones ( airpods, of course, the nerve of this rich kid ), half the time, nothing’s playing. sometimes he forgets to press play on his phone, sometimes he purposely likes listening to decision-making and conversations of strangers. it lets him think about the nature of mankind.

maverick’s favorite philosopher is albert camus, known for his work that heavily developed the idea of absurdism ( much to do with the meaning of life, and human inability to discern an answer ).

* / WANTED PLOTS.

CHECK OUT MY WANTED PLOTS PAGE HERE !

childhood friends: again, someone who would have known him from pre-cynical, arrogant asshole days. they could be friends now still,

ex-friends: perhaps maverick went a bit too far with the questions, about trying to probe into someone’s mind. maybe for this reason, or for others, these two fell out of touch / argued and might be forced into new places due to the disappearance of the other townspeople.

unlikely friends: maverick’s reputation isn’t exactly favorable to some crowds. maybe they became friends in one of their shared classes or through mutual friends, and actually get along well, despite coming from different backgrounds / having different values. they probably see a bit of a deeper side to mav than most people !!

good influence (?!): maverick gets into his shit, has probably a less-than-favorable reputation, but he still cares about people, deep deep down. maybe your muse is a bit lost, and maverick is worried about them and wants to help them get back on track –– especially with all the changes happening in the society !! we can plot lil details about this, esp bc it’s a v unique side of mav i’d love to explore !! ( insp: x, x, x )

bad influences: those who partake in the sins that maverick just loves to lap up. they feed off of each others’ energy, often encouraging more drinking, more drugs, more sex. it’s a bit of a never-ending circle, but one that maverick keeps coming back to, for some reason. ( insp: x )

frenemies: this could be some sort of intellectual challenger kind of deal ? someone mav actually appreciates having in his life, though they butt heads a lot maybe for some reason !! ( insp: x )

disliked: they probably find maverick’s personality appalling or annoying, they probably find him pretentious af and super hypocritical for preaching so much about morals, when he drinks and uses drugs and just fucks around half the time. they could call him out for his flaws, or we could go down a completely different route of them having some weird history of mutual plots ??? so so much room for possibility here !!

+ have a couple more in my wanted plots tag here ! but literally, as a self-proclaimed angst and plot ho, please hmu with any and all ideas you might have !! i can’t wait to get started w all of u !!!

#tw drugs #hallowayintros #hallowaypoints

9 notes · View notes

heartsofstrangers · 4 years

Photo

What has been one of the most challenging things you’ve experienced or are currently experiencing?

“Probably drug addiction.”

Tell me about that.

“Since I was fourteen years old, the first time I ever tried it, I’ve been intermittently addicted to crystal meth. The past four years, it’s been pretty consecutive other than the four months that I spent in jail two years ago. I guess that’s the gist of it.”

When did you start using it?

“I was about fourteen years old. I used to do it every other weekend with a group of shitty friends that I had made.”

What was going on in your life at that time?

“I had just lost my best friend, who was like my brother; we grew up together. He died from complications due to diabetes. I saw that they were using it and I had taken Adderall before. I thought it was like Adderall, except you could snort it or smoke it, and I thought that’s always fun. I recognized that they were carefree on it, and I wanted to be like that, so I did it.”

What was it like the first time you got high?

“It was sketchy and I was on edge. I don’t know if you’ve done any sort of upper, but it’s intense. It actually made me feel disgusting for a while. I felt really gross the entire time and then coming down was awful, but something inside me wanted to do it again, so I did. It disconnected me from the world. All that really mattered was scribbling on a piece of paper for hours on end. I guess it was really getting lost in reality.”

How did your life unfold—were you in school at that time?

“It kind of caused me to ‘fail out’ of high school; I didn’t drop out, but failed out pretty bad. I had to retake my sophomore year on the computer and graduated at the bottom of my class because of it, or the choices I made while on it. I don’t really know if I was in control or not then.”

You talked about jail—how did you end up there?

“I got arrested leaving a drug deal in June 2015 and then, after my parents bailed me out, I stopped going to court for the probation sentence and a year and a half later, they picked me up at my older brother’s apartment at 11:00 p.m. Six bounty hunters apprehended me and then I spent the next four months in Montgomery County. I was there for Thanksgiving, Christmas Eve, Christmas, New Year’s Eve, New Year’s, and almost my birthday, all behind bars.”

What was that like?

“Honestly, it wasn’t that bad. It was pretty shitty and I was very confined. I was in a sixteen-man room for the most part. It was me and fifteen other people, all in a big-ass room full of bunk beds, having to stare at each other all day.”

Where did that lead you to mentally? Did you process anything in your mind about where you had been, where you wanted to go, where you were?

“I just wanted out. It kind of made me feel like an animal. In Texas, I don’t know what it’s like anywhere else, but you become state property when you’re incarcerated; you lose all your rights. Basically, you’re a body with a name. You’re not a human in there. It’s weird.”

How long ago was that?

“It was January 2017.”

Where did you end up when you were released?

“Back to my older brother’s, and he does dope too. I went right back to where I started, or stopped at midway.”

So, you were sober and clean in jail?

“Yes, while I was there.”

Did you go through withdrawal?

“I slept for the first four days. I didn’t eat or use the restroom; I just slept.”

So, you get out, move back in with your brother, and get right back into it?

“The night that I got out, I used.”

What’s your relationship like with your family, aside from your brother?

“I don’t talk to them, only whenever they speak to me and, even then, it’s usually just my mom, and it’s like once every two weeks, sometimes twice.”

What are those conversations like?

“I love you, I miss you. I love you too, I miss you too.”

Do they live locally?

“They live about two hours away.”

Do they kind of push you away due to your addiction?

“I alienated myself because I knew I’m not anyone a parent could be proud of—that’s how I feel. Because of my problem, and I don’t want them to see me like this and I won’t let them. So, I pushed myself away from them.”

Have you done that with close friends as well?

“I’ve done it with everyone.”

So, who are you associating with, dealers and other users?

“Yeah. I dated this dude for almost a year and he basically isolated himself away from me recently because of it. That really fucked me up a little bit because I feel like I put so much into it, but really it was just me high as hell, overthinking everything, all the time, slowly dissipating into nothing.”

It’s got to be a pretty lonely feeling to be that isolated.

“Yeah, but you’re never really alone when you’re a drug addict.”

Because you’re connecting with your substance.

“I’m perfectly fine with being alone, but I’m not okay with how lonely I am most times.”

Are you scared at all to continue down this path?

“Yeah, because I don’t know where my life’s going. So, I just get high and it’s like ‘where are you going now?’ to go get high.”

How can you afford to get high?

“My best friend sells it. My only friend just happens to be a drug dealer.”

Are you performing any sort of acts or anything in exchange?

“No, no, no; we’re just really good friends and misery loves company. He’s basically in the same spot I’m in.”

What are some of the things you’ve lost along the way through these years of addiction?

“Honestly, I lost my sanity, a lot of good friends, and a close tie with my family. I lost my car. I lost my license. Somehow I lost my social security card, but I don’t think that had anything to do with drugs. I lost my apartment, but that was at the beginning so that’s not a big deal.”

Where are you living now?

“I live with my friend, Pat, who is also a drug addict, but he’s a more functioning one, I should say. He’s held a job for four years and his addiction is kind of new and, ironically enough, I’m the first one he ever tried it with, which is kind of funny or fucked up.”

Have you ever been in any situations where you felt like your life was being threatened?

“No, not really. Not that I can think of, but I don’t know . . . no.”

How’s your judgment when you’re high?

“You can rationalize just about anything. For the most part, I would say it’s pretty good. There are dumb people who get addicted to drugs and there are people who are addicted to drugs who already have a good grip on reality and are able to make the right decisions or rational ones at least, but I’ve done some pretty stupid stuff.”

What are some of the stupid things that you’ve done?

“Not put the filter on a vacuum cleaner and small things like that. I’ve never done anything really stupid like rob anyone. I did, however, one time throw a brick through a window. I was super pissed off at the person who lived at the apartment and, in a fit of rage due to addiction or substance use, I picked up what was closest to me, which happed to be a chipped piece of concrete by the curb and chucked it threw the window. I don’t know how’s that going to fix it, but it made me feel better. It was really stupid.”

Prior to losing your friend, had you experienced any sort of obstacles early on in your life that taught you some coping skills to deal with grief, pain, or challenging experiences?

“To isolate; that’s all I’ve ever really known. Get over it and, if you can’t, shut up about it. That’s what I was basically taught.”

Do you want to stop?

“Yes and no. Crystal meth is the only thing that’s kept a roof over my head while, at the same time, it’s kept me on the edge of losing that. It’s the only thing that sort of keeps me connected with the real world because I have friends and acquaintances who use and who keep me from going insane living alone. At the same time, those people come and go. Those people aren’t necessarily friends you want to keep around; they’re people who are just going to bring you down because they’re going to keep you high. I’m aware of that but, at the same time, I can’t stop. So, yes and no. I was sober for about a month and moved to New Mexico with my ex. That didn’t turn out well, obviously. He flew me back here on a last-minute, overnight flight and I started using again.”

How old are you now?

“Twenty-four.”

So, you’ve been using for ten years?

“Just about.”

Any issues with your health?

“No, not that I know of. I probably have shaky hands, but so does everybody.”

Do you sleep?

“Yeah, every night, which is kind of an achievement really if you’re a crackhead like me. I’ve kind of plateaued. I’ve reached a level of tolerance that makes me have a normal sleeping schedule, which is something you really don’t want to be but, at the same time, I’m glad I’m there because now I’m normal-ish. I don’t look cracked out.”

What’s your biggest fear?

“Dying—not from drug use, though I guess that would suck too, but just dying in general, because I don’t know what’s going to happen after that. Maybe my biggest fear is actually not knowing and being unaware.”

In contrast, do you feel like you’re living?

“I feel like I’ve been dead since I was about twelve, but I don’t think that had anything to do with drugs, but the realization of how fucked up the world really is. I think I’m living in a way—I get to do shit that not everybody gets to do, like not have to work, I’m able to explore the city, and that’s what I do every day. I go to different parts of the city and sketch around, but I’m probably not really living, not in a way that’s (I guess) savory.”

Did you grow up here?

“No. I grew up two hours northeast, in a little town, Cold Springs, with about 900 people, and that’s consolidated because it’s a bunch of small towns put together.”

What brought you to Houston?

“Drugs. I bounced from circle of users to circle of users to circle of users until I ended up in Kingwood. Kingwood is right on the outskirts of Houston. I just migrated over here, made friends wherever I could, and now I’m here.”

When you agreed to do the interview, did you have any idea that you’d be talking about this?

“No, not at all. I honestly had no idea what it would be about. I was just like ‘an interview, okay, that’s fine.’ I thought maybe it was going to be ‘how do you feel about Houston’ or some sort of typical bullshit interview, but I didn’t think it would make me open my eyes to shit I’ve been closing them to or haven’t said out loud in a while. I’ve said this stuff before, ‘I don’t want to do this.’”

How does it feel to hear yourself expressing these things?

“It kind of pisses me off.”

In what way? You’re pissed at yourself?

“Yeah, because I know I’m just going to go get high afterwards.”

Are you high now?

“No. I used, but I’m not high. I guess that’s high; I don’t really know. The last time I used was about six hours ago. I get high and then there’s other days where I just get by and, today, is a just a get by day because I didn’t do too much of it.”

What happens if you don’t use?

“I sleep and I’m dead to the world basically, which is probably what I am now, but in a different way because I’m asleep. I’ve slept for thirty-six hours straight before and my friends have asked if I had a bladder infection, and I said that I was good, just tired. When I woke up, I had muscular atrophy, where I couldn’t really feel much, and then I’d just waddle around until I found food, and then I was good.”

Would you say you’re depressed?

“Probably clinically. I used to take Pristiq, but it didn’t mix well with my meth use, so I cold turkey stopped taking it after about six months. It’s a serotonin replacement or something, but I thought it was kind of bullshit. I’ve been told before by friends that I’ve been manic; they would say ‘wow, you’re pretty manic’ and I’d say ‘yeah, I know.’”

Do you think you were like that before the drugs or has that manifested since?

“Half and half. I’ve always been kind of bipolar-ish, but this has really intensified it or brought it to a meniscus versus overflowing. If it was overflowed, I’d probably be in prison, but it’s definitely got to that point.”

What keeps you in that elevated state?

“Being aware that I’d probably go to prison, so to stay at a constant ‘that’s okay.’ It’s not necessarily the way anybody would want to live.”

What were you like as a child?

“I didn’t take ‘no’ as an answer. I wasn’t a spoiled brat or handed everything I wanted, but I didn’t have to ask for much. I never really had to go without anything. My parents weren’t wealthy, but they were comfortable, and have been that way as long as I can remember. For the most part, I’d say I was a pretty happy kid.”

How did you meet your friend who died?

“We were neighbors. He was like my brother. I don’t have close ties or close relationships with anybody like I did with him. He was the first person I could ever really say was my best friend. When you’re a kid, grandparents, aunts, uncles, parents’ and grandparents’ friends die, and you say ‘oh, that’s sad.’ But, when your fourteen-year-old best friend dies, basically out of the blue, he just wakes up one morning and then he’s dead . . . That shit really happens, people die, people who you know die, people you’re close with die, and it’s hard. It sucks pretty bad, especially when you’re that young and you don’t really know how to take it in. You know how you’re supposed to take it in, you know how people do it, and you see it in movies, but there’s something inside of you that dies too, and you can’t wake it up. Josh was my best friend and was like a brother to me. We did just about everything together.”

What would you say to him if he was here now?

“That I’m sorry. I would tell him that I’m sorry because, at this point, I would have probably alienated myself from him too. I guess given if he had left and came back. Yeah, I would tell him that I was sorry because I’m sure he wouldn’t have wanted to see me like this.”

What do you think he would say to you?

“I don’t know. He’d probably call me an idiot, but I’m not sure.”

If you could go back to your twelve- or fourteen-year-old self in that time in your life, as the adult you are now, what would you say to that child?

“Don’t do it. You’re going to fuck up. Don’t do it, but that twelve- or fourteen-year-old probably wouldn’t listen anyway. He’d probably think that I was stupid because ‘no’ is not an answer and ‘don’t’ is not a reason.”

What were you passionate about at that age?

“I really liked art and liked to draw. I haven’t actually picked up a pen or pencil and drawn anything since I was about seventeen. My senior year of high school was a pretty heavy usage year. I was focused on doing that versus something that made me happy.”

How does it feel when you’re drawing or creating something?

“It’s instant gratification, kind of like vacuuming is to me now. I did it, it’s there, that’s something I did, it’s something I completed on my own, other people get to see it, I get to see it, know that it’s done, know that I did it, and I like it. It’s a successful feeling, but I haven’t felt that in a minute.”

Did you have any other outlets that you felt a connection to?

“I listened to music a lot. Even now, I listen to music all the time. I never played any instruments and I’m not really talented in any other way, but I like music.”

Do you write at all?

“No, not at all. I don’t even remember the last time I wrote something down. My handwriting probably looks like someone trying to write with their left hand. I’m not used to a pencil or pen; it’s unfamiliar.”

What’s the first thing you do in the morning when you wake up?

“I drink coffee sometimes; that or Coke, which is terrible for you. I eat, smoke a cigarette, and then smoke dope (I guess use).”

Have you ever felt hopeless and suicidal?

“Yes, at least twice a week. I feel like I’ve reached a point where there’s no way of turning around. I’m twenty-four years old and I already hold a drug possession felony. No one’s going to want to hire me, so I haven’t tried to look anymore. I have basically no friends, especially if I were to stop. My family and I aren’t really close and they don’t want to help me anyway. I feel like there’s not a good enough reason to want to keep living but, at the same time, I’m kind of too much of a pussy to kill myself.”

So, you’re just kind of slowly and passively doing it through using drugs every day and not taking care of yourself.

“Pretty much.”

Is this what you thought you’d be doing tonight?

“No. I knew I was going to be doing an interview, but didn’t think it would be such a reflective one.”

If there was someone else out there listening to this or reading this who could relate to where you are in your life and where you’ve been, and possibly feeling hopeless or numb, or even just alone, what message would you want them to hear and know?

“That they’re not alone. There are other people just as fucked up as you are. I have a really bad mouth, it’s probably just another side effect of drug use. They’re not the only ones who feel nothing or like they are that.”

Is there any part of you that sees a different future for yourself other than your situation right now?

“Yeah, but it’s all sort of hazy. If I were to try to picture it, I couldn’t put the pieces together. It’s more like an audio clip. I can hear myself ‘all right, you’re sober, you’re good, life’s okay,’ but I can’t actually see it. It’s like there’s someone with my voice telling me that, but I don’t see it with my own eyes or inside my own head. I can’t picture it and to me that just tells me it’s not a thing. If you can see it, you can achieve it, and I can’t see it.”

Is it possible that that’s faith? Do you have faith?

“I have something; I don’t know what it is. I don’t know if I’m pessimistic or I’m realistic, but I don’t think I have faith in myself; that’s what it is.”

Why?

“Why should I? Maybe I just doubt myself more than I have faith in myself.”

All the various skills you’ve developed to sustain what you’re doing today could be used in the opposite direction to sustain you in a way that you might thrive.

“I’ve managed to be able to live without any sort of resources other than the kindness of strangers for the past three years, so that’s good; that makes me something.”

That’s strength.

“I’m probably evil. I don’t think I’m a bad person for it—surviving strictly on the kindness of others. It sounds terrible when you say it like that. I’m just getting by how I can.”

What would give you hope?

“Probably better resources. If I knew there would be something to catch me whenever I fell off this horrible plane ride of whatever it is I’m going through now. If there was a safety net that would give me hope. Now knowing that I would hit rock bottom and fall to my death if I were to stop, I won’t stop because of that. If there was something to catch me, and if I knew it would be okay and there was a better support system other than the people who are constantly throwing dope in my pipe, then I probably would stop.”

It’s hard to see that in any situation. I can only speak for myself, but for me, I could never see what was going to catch me either, whether I continued to perpetuate self-destruction and didn’t want to not feel pain anymore, but didn’t know how to end it without inflicting more pain on myself, or to follow my heart and intuition and move in the other direction. My life started to change when I listened to my heart and moved in the other direction, but it was just as scary because I couldn’t see how I was going to have the resources I needed and somehow (and I’m not a believer in your traditional God or any type of religion) miraculously I had what I needed when I needed it. It didn’t ever come in the way I expected it to, and yet it was there, some sort of ground beneath my feet, and that gave me faith and restored my faith that if I had enough courage to continue to be vulnerable, enough to step out of my old behaviors, to step out of the routine, and step out of the comfort, even if it is perpetuating discomfort—somehow it’s familiar so it’s comfortable—if I had the vulnerability and courage to do that, something would catch me. I remember early on looking for people who were going to save me or thinking that all these various opportunities that presented themselves were going to be the quick fix that would save me. What I continued to learn, and to repeat over and over again through making that mistake of thinking someone else was going to save me, is that I had the power to save myself all the while. All the resources I needed were within me. I had to think them into reality: thought, action, reality. Yet somehow, we train ourselves to think it’s going to come the opposite way, that it comes from the outside in, but that wasn’t my experience. I don’t know if that makes any sense to you.

“It does.”

I can relate to that feeling of being stuck. You know you want to get off that ride, but you don’t know if there will be anything to catch you if you’re to get off. So, you stay stuck.

“I made up this fun little terminology of being plateaued. You’ve reached a level where there’s nothing much around other than the great distance between you and the ground and it’s not high enough to put you up in the clouds where you need to be. So, you’re there, drifting above the surface of rock bottom and normalcy.”

It’s like being in limbo.

“Yeah, or purgatory. I live in purgatory. Actually, it might be hell. I live in gray, very gray, not a whole lot of color there.”

Are there moments where you see or feel color in your life?

“There’s a lot of blue and, when it’s not blue, it’s red but, for the most part, it’s gray. I don’t really feel much but, whenever I do, it’s usually just sadness. I get so sad and I feel like I can’t do much about it, so again, I get angry, then I get so mad that I cry and that makes me even more sad, and then I’m mad that I’m crying, so it’s purple or gray. It’s not really a colorful journey—this life. It’s like an old-school comic book, it’s all grayscale with a little blue and a little red.”

What do you know about the process of grieving?

“I don’t. I know that it sucks. I don’t know how to get over it. You can either sweep it under the rug or you can actually deal with it, and I’ve just been sweeping it under the rug. Anything that I’ve ever lost, I’ve been ‘all right, shut that down, shut that down’ and only ever pick up where I left off, which is having it suck basically, whenever someone lifts that rug up for me ‘thanks.’ So, I guess I don’t know much about the process of grieving.”

I’m not particularly sure about the order, but there are five stages of grief. I think you’ve mentioned a few of them, like the deep sadness, the anger, and there’s a stage of blame, transferring that uncomfortable feeling onto someone else, making them responsible for your suffering. There’s also acceptance, which I think is a hard one to come to; we avoid a lot by repressing. As long as we can keep it stuffed down, we don’t have to look at it or accept that it happened. Until we do that, we’re not truly moving on, whether it’s grief or trauma. I had a woman tell me in an interview, and it’s very profound, she said when she started to heal the trauma, the addictions started to go away, and that really stuck with me. I believe that we continue to connect with whatever our substance is, whether it’s our phones, drugs, alcohol, money, or sex, to avoid looking at the wound, but the only way to heal a wound is to treat it with compassion and kindness.

“Not a big band aid?”

No. I know in our culture and in our families, we’re taught to discharge pain, to move away from it, and stuff it down.

“The sun gives you a sunburn, stay away from it kind of thing.”

Yes, but growth, transformation, awareness, wisdom, empathy, joy, and love are all qualities that are developed through leaning into pain and discomfort, not from running away from it. Everything that we long for—that sense of real meaningful connection, fulfillment, sustenance in our life, and purpose—is on the other side of that pain, and there’s no way to skip over it or go around it.

“You got to go through it and deal with it.”

Yeah. It’s shitty. I don’t know what’s worse, spending your lifetime running away from it or feeling shitty for a period of time, then having some relief, and maybe recognizing that you’re resilient, you do have potential, and there is more to life than this grayscale and constant fear of when is the bottom going to drop out.

“I feel like I’ve hit rock bottom a couple of times, like literally scraping my teeth on its surface is where I’ll probably want to stop but, at the same time, I’ve probably hit that part too. It seems like chilling at the mantle.”

Do you have a favorite song lyric, mantra, or something that someone has said to you, maybe even your friend or your parents, that has stuck with you that you’d like to share?

“There are lyrics to a song that says ‘if you talk me out of my needs and stitch me up at the seams then I can live in my dreams’.”

What’s that mean to you?

“It’s kind of sad, if you think about it. If I didn’t have to do the things I have to do, then I’d be happy. If I didn’t have to wake up and get high, I’d probably be okay or if I didn’t require x amount of blah, blah, blah then I’d be cool, things would be okay, and life would be a dream. But, that’s not how it is and I’m living a nightmare. Yeah, talk me out of my needs and stitch me up at the seams, I can live in my dreams.”

Do you think it’s possible to heal?

“Yeah. You just got to rip off that band aid I was telling you about. I don’t know. I feel like, metaphorically, my band aid is waterproof and I don’t want to pull it off because it really hurts, and I don’t want to deal with it, so I slowly pick at it, but eventually I just stick it back on. Yeah, it’s possible to heal; tons of people do it, right?”

Yes. It’s a matter of surrendering. It’s like showing up and saying ‘I don’t know how this is going to turn out.’

“But doing it anyway.”

Yeah. That’s courage, right?

“Yeah. I don’t think I have much of that. Like I said earlier, the fear of the unknown, I don’t know if I’m going to be able to do it, so I don’t try it.”

What’s worse? It seems like you have more to lose by continuing and knowing that the rest of your life may look like it does right now or there’s a risk that you may feel some discomfort for a while, but there’s a chance that things could get better.

“I don’t know. I should probably stop using, because it’s not helping me. I wouldn’t necessarily say that it’s hurting me either, but that’s probably the drugs talking.”

Who would be the first person you would call, if you were to make that choice?

“I’d probably call my mom. Yeah, that’s probably who I’d call. I’d probably tell her to come get me. I’ve done it before. I’ve told her ‘I need you to come get me. I need you to fuckin’ stop what you’re doing and come get me’ and she has; she would do it in a heartbeat. The last time I called her and said that was about three years ago. I’m not too sure how or if she would be okay with it or how she would go about it, but I’d call her. I need to call her actually.

“Not only for that, but I miss my family a little bit, a lot. I haven’t seen them. I spent that one Christmas in jail, but the two after that—I didn’t go, the one before that—I didn’t go. I haven’t been home in so long. I haven’t actually seen my mom in a year—that sucks. For a long time, she was my best friend. She was always a shoulder and an ear. It’s been a while, a long time.”

I hope you do make that phone call.

“We Snapchat sometimes, which is kind of weird. We’re actually Snapchat friends, but I haven’t snapchatted her in about six months. I sent her a text about two weeks ago, and that’s about it. I haven’t heard her voice in a long time. I can still remember what she sounds like, which is kind of surprising. Usually whenever I cut things off like that, I completely disconnect from it. I don’t know what they look like. I don’t know what they feel like. I remember her and her voice; it’s weird.”

Do you think she would answer the phone now if you called?

“She’s probably asleep right now, but yeah she might answer. If not, she would text me ‘what?’, but I think she would answer.”

I hope you make that call after this interview. How has it felt to talk about these thoughts, feelings, and experiences with me tonight?

“Surprisingly, not bad. Like I said, I didn’t know what I was getting myself into. At the beginning, I thought it was probably going to be annoying, but I didn’t find it that annoying because there was a level of comfort versus judgment. I didn’t feel very judged at all.”

It’s a beautiful thing, you being vulnerable.

“Is that what this is?”

Yeah, and you being met with empathy. It kind of kills shame, which I think feeds addiction.

“Probably, yeah, needing to hide something.”

It’s a heavy weight.

“It will suffocate you. That’s always good.”

It’s lethal; it really is. Do you think it’s possible by sharing your thoughts, feelings, and experiences so courageously tonight, as you are, that someone on the receiving end gains some hope, inspiration, or at least a sense that they’re not alone?

“I would hope so, because this wasn’t that easy to do. Yeah, I think they probably could if they aren’t stubborn assholes like me, and listen all the way through. Because if I were handed this to listen to, read, or watch, I’d probably stop paying attention halfway through; depending on my state of mind I might say ‘I don’t want to hear that.’ If I actually listened to it or if someone like me listened to it from A to B, they’d probably like it; they’d probably get it.”

Yeah. Thank you.

“Thank you. You’re welcome.”

I’m really proud of you. This was a really courageous thing to do and you skipped right into it.

“I ripped the band aid off that time.”

You did. I hope you’ll continue to do that.

“There’s a bunch of open blisters and sores here—this sounds so weird.”

Thanks.

#crystalmeth #addiction #recovery #grief #healing #vulnerability #courage #mentalhealth #heartsofstrangers #houston

4 notes · View notes

itwill-comeback · 5 years

Text

Some things to note

Alright, so this is my work's blog, a side blog inside a bog, don't mind me. Nickname's Casper or Cas for now. I'm 20, a Capricorn, a decent writer, huge Hozier fan. This is where I'll be putting the stuff that I write as well as on AO3 which to be fair, I'm not as good at using since I just started using it.

About my writing:

I'm an absolute mess of a writer, zero update consistency, sorry. No editor, unless you count Grammarly. I'll probably only ever post my COVT works here and AO3 so there's that.

× I love the COVT just the way it is, but I crave some new things in it. In my writing you'll probably find the following

× Vlad not being bad at like everything, boy needs some skills and hobbies dang it!

× Vlad having motivations and in some way resembling his father when that motivation is what's driving his decisions, don't worry he won't become his old man, but lord outside of physically resembling Tomas he needs to have some of his traits.

× You don't know where we are canonically in my works? Join the club babes. Call it an AU or post-canon if it makes you feel better cause I'm just writing for the fuck of it, and you're in my candy cottage now kids.

× Vlad has ADHD canonically I'm almost certain, so don't be surprised if it's in my works. He's on adderall and Henry reminds him often to take his medication so he's not the Big Forgetful.

× Vlad is willing to flex on people about being the Pravus because he's aware it tricks vampires out and he finds that funny.

× Henry has an Attitude™ and does Not tolerate shit from vampires. Thank those Slayer Genetics.

× Vlad schemes. No context just,, be aware.

× Dorian is ostracized in Elysia, but he's not actually that creepy, people just really don't like that he's powerful and has a penchant for playing the Cheshire Cat. Cryptic soft boi with a grin that claims madness, promise he's just lonely.

× Vlad is far less awkward in my writing, he's clued in to social and psychological influences.

× D'Ablo has gotten a fucking redemption arc. Will I write it? Unlikely. (I did) But you see in my head canon he's faced off with Tomas and Vikas, and being the incredibly hard to kill bastard that he is, got out of it alive despite their best attempts to be rid of him. Pravus blood will take you so far. He lied low, got bored, came back to Stokerton and basically told Vlad "You're the Pravus, we been knew, want my job back, idc bout u or ur uncle or the Elder Council, like being President tho so tell Otis to scoot." And Vlad was like "yeah sure, Otis wants to go back to being principal anyway & the Elder Council doesn't take up near as much time as the Stokerton Council cause it hardly ever convenes, don't fuck wit me again, my dad's dead btw, oh and Vikas too. Let's just be chill." And that was that.

× Vlad has vampire friends and empathizes with other orphans. Not far fetched. Like at all.

× Vlad has a few jobs, gets that bread... for a college aged kid at least.

× Did I say bread? D'Ablo is rich af. Stunts on everybody in Armani suits and wears Red Bottoms. He's the President of a Council, you know that job pays. Old rich Italian vampire rolls in mad cash and has taste, surprise surprise ?

× Know who else is an old rich Italian vampire? Dorian Ciotti, his family uses stocks and real estate as monopoly money. And you thought they were just a humble family with a small business, jokes on you they haven't been humble for hundreds of years. Dorian is known to travel all the time, where did y'all think he got the money for that? You better believe he spoils Cecile, she's his baby girl. A rich single dad who thinks he might fuck up at any moment, he's doing great at raising her. Your fav could never.

× Elysian Councils are mostly afraid and indignant towards Vlad, but don't worry, he can see through them quite well at this point. (Read: he was raised by Tomas fucking Tod, the king of liars, other vampires don't have shit on him.)

× Elysia is not entirely the Councils, Elysia is a world of vampires full of pocket communities and niche tribes all tied by the same undead thread.

× Otis and Vlad share the issue of having a terrible sweet tooth, and now that Nelly's gone they have to figure out how to bake for themselves. Also blood candy and blood mixed baked goods exist and Vlad is really wanting to try some.

× Vlad has the most powerful weapon against vampires on him at all times now, is curious to find out how it works and what it runs on. Elysia knows he doesn't leave it anywhere, if he's somewhere the Lucius is there with him.

× I will be inventing a few of my own charms (like the tego charm) with latin words so you can always ask Google what the charm does before I tell you. (I.e. Tego = to cloak, to hide. This charm is used to allow the vampire who creates it to have a lock down on any humans they place it near.) Tomas places these around the citizens of Bathory to keep other vampires from reading their minds and discovering his location, he closes their minds in a way.

× Vlad has more complex hidy-holes for his things these days.

× Remember that key in the first book that looked like head of a woman that was described in detail and then left behind and never mentioned again? Remember it. I'm gonna use it. Red herring? Who?

× Henry has not forgotten the time he saved Otis' life. He's gonna call in that favor someday, Otis, you know he will.

× Otis has a lot more faith in Vlad to not act like a child and will treat him like an adult.

× Vlad has a huge crush on somebody. Not saying who.

× Vlad's a big hippie. On god, he loves the earth, hates conflict, and wants to tell D'Ablo about how many slave children worked to create his outfit, but wants to keep their peace more.

× Vlad has at long last, filled out and isn't the lanky child he once was, could throw you through a wall but is probably too nice for that. Probably.

× Vlad and the Pravus are separate entities sharing the same vessel. Pravus isn't a ghost though, he's the Adam of the vampire species and died a long ass time ago and wanted to live again after a while. Much like D'Ablo, he lied low, got bored and wanted his place in the world back. Had to create a new form of life to exist in, created the vessel (Vlad's body), could've gotten rid of Vlad's soul and just worn his body, but kind of ended up adoring him before he was even born and, entranced with the concept of this new existence, decided to share the body with him, which sort of forces him to stay hidden in Vlad's subconscious or divide their body into two bodies. Which he can totally do, but it's kind of a lot of trouble and would hurt Vlad badly so he doesn't bother. He really adores this dumb kid and doesn't want him to be lonely, but that'll present its own issues in its own time.

× Dorian is aware of all of this. Pravus can fix his mind and his cravings for vampire blood, but he can't force this from the two of them because it would kind of fuck Vlad up. Oh you mean that fox in the back of my mind isn't my mental support animal, it's an ancient vampire and kind of absurdly powerful? Cool cool.

× Eddie Poe becomes a bigger problem than ever before! Fun!!

× The Slayer Society becomes a bigger problem than ever before!

× As far as I'm concerned, Em is not being manipulated by D'Ablo in the books, he answers to her, she's autographed bible old, you think he could pull one over on her? Tomas Tod couldn't even manage that. (Canonically I know Vlad insinuates that D'Ablo is holding some power over Em but I just can't see that realistically being true.)

× Em went home to Europe after that Slayer cleanse nonsense, she's still President of her Council, but she is no longer on the Council of Elders. Kind of in hiding because she suspects Vlad's about to take over the entire world.

× D'Ablo's cult is still a thing, they send Vlad gifts sometimes. Sometimes it's a dead bird, sometimes it's an envelope full of cash. D'Ablo doesn't care either way what they give him, Vlad prays it's not a dead animal every time tho soo.

× Remember how Mellina was never said to have any family? Turns out her family were just religious nutcases and promptly disowned her (and her child) upon finding out she was having a child out of wedlock.

× Vlad is in touch with the Tod clan in Scotland cause he wanted to get in touch with some part of his family and prove to himself that his dad's side isn't all bad, they kind of give him Evil Dad War Flashbacks™, but they're good people. A few are vampires and they think Vlad's a cool kid.

× There's always gonna be magic in my writing, don't worry though, I'm not gonna make Vlad OP.

#if i think of more i'll add them #it's two in the morning #haven't slept #the chronicles of vladimir tod #chronicles of vladimir tod #vladimir tod #henry mcmillan #otis otis #d'ablo #elysia #writing #covt #:: i'm something else when i see you (about me)#:: lighting off the blaze (headcanon)

30 notes · View notes

thisdiscontentedwinter · 5 years

Text

Stella and the Wolf - Chapter 2

You can read it here on AO3 or find the Tumble Chapter Index here.

The next afternoon Derek is lurking—surprise!—at the edge of the lacrosse field as Stiles pants and wheezes through practice. He honestly doesn’t know why he’s still on the team, but getting a straight answer out of Coach is like trying to herd cats and push water uphill at the same time, so he’s quit asking. He lags behind once practice is done, tugging on Scott’s shirt to signal imminent Secret Werewolf Business and to get him to stay back too.

They linger on the field, tossing passes back and forth, until it empties of Coach and their teammates and Derek approaches. Greenberg turns back to look at them at he reaches the edge of the field, and then nopes the hell out of there. Given how much Derek looks like a shady drug dealer, it’s probably a smart decision.

Really, Derek is about as subtle as a brick.

Stiles rolls his shoulders, sweats unattractively, and waits for Derek to open his mouth and ruin his day.

“I didn’t know you had a little sister,” he says, his eyebrows doing something complicated, and that’s not at all what Stiles was expecting him to open with.

He exchanges a glance with Scott. “Well, I do. Had her for eight years now. It’s too late to return her. I don’t think Dad even kept the receipt.”

Derek’s eyebrows judge him harshly for his frivolity. “It’s dangerous for her to know about werewolves.”

“Dude!” Scott exclaims. “Stella knows?”

“Not about you,” Stiles assures him. He jabs an accusatory finger in Derek’s direction. “She knows about Derek because he climbed in my window the other night all growly and fangy and exposed himself to my eight-year-old sister!” His brain catches up with his mouth. “Wait, that sounds really wrong. He exposed his secret to my eight-year-old sister.”

“Dude,” Scott says again, and this time his tone is full of disapproval and it’s directed entirely at Derek. Being judged by Scott is about as effective as being judged by a fluffy kitten, but Stiles appreciates it all the same.

It’s hard for Stiles to actually remember the gut-wrenching terror he felt during Scott’s first full moon as a werewolf. Scott wouldn’t hurt a fly—except for when there’s a ravenous beast inside him trying to get him to kill his BFF. Stiles is developing some hardcore cognitive dissonance as a coping strategy, and it seems to be working well.

Derek, of course, could appear threatening and murderous if he was surrounded by sunshine and rainbows and frolicking bunnies. It’s mostly the eyebrows, honestly. Definitely ninety, ninety-five percent eyebrow work. They’re like amplifiers for his death stare and they’re incredibly effective. Stiles can feel his testicles attempting to crawl back inside his body right now.

“You need to fixthis,” Derek says, his voice low.

“Fucking excuse me?” Stiles might be totally intimidated right now, but that doesn’t make him an idiot. “I can’t make her unknow something, Derek. It’s too late for that. The barn door’s open, and the horse has been gone for so long it’s died of old age!”

A rumbling sound comes out of Derek, and oh, it’s a growl.

Stiles takes a step back. “She’s eight. Dude, she still thinks Santa’s real, although she’s starting to get suspicious on that front. Nobody’s going to believe an eight-year-old who says werewolves are real.”

“It’s not the people who won’t believe her I’m worried about,” Derek says ominously. Everything Derek says is ominous though. “It’s the ones who will.”

“She’s eight,” Stiles says again, hoping that maybe Derek will actually get it through his thick skull this time.

“It’s dangerous,” Derek repeats, like he’s thinking the exact same thing, and then he abruptly turns and walks away.

Stiles releases a breath he didn’t even know he was holding.

“What the hell is his problem?” Scott asks, shaking his head.

Stiles watches the spot where Derek’s vanished into the trees. “Fuck that guy. Seriously, fuck him. This is his fault, and he knows it.” He shakes off his disquiet. “Hey, do you want to hang out at my place tonight?”

“Can’t,” Scott says, and has the decency to look a little torn about it. “I’m having dinner with Allison and her parents.”

Stiles throws him a look. Derek might be a dick, but he really does have a point about how Scott should be staying away from the Argents. Stiles is a sixteen-year-old virgin and he’s incredibly eager to not be a sixteen-year-old virgin, but is sex really so fucking amazing that it’s worth risking your life for?

Like, Jesus, he hopes so.

But also, no. No, it really isn’t.

“Okay,” he says, because he’s really not in the mood to hear about how incredible Allison is, and the myriad of ways that she completes Scott. “Raincheck?”

Scott grins and slaps him on the back. “Yeah. Raincheck.”

***

Stella is full of beans when Stiles picks her up from after school care. She swings her backpack into the Jeep like she’s batting for the Mets, and clambers in after it.

“Steven Foster ate a whole pack of Oreos at recess, and then threw up all over his desk when we went back in to class!”

“Gross,” Stiles says. Fast times at Beacon Hills Elementary. “Also, Dad called. He had to go into work early, so you know what that means for us?”

Stella fist bumps him. “Baskin Robbins!”

Stiles tries to shake off his guilt as they head for the mall. There’s an alpha in town on a murder spree, apparently, and Dad and his deputies are working hard trying to solve something they’ve got no hope of solving unless they take into account that werewolves exist. And really, they’re hardly going to make that leap, are they?

Not everyone is as intuitive as Stiles.

Also, he might have taken too much Adderall the day he put the pieces together on the werewolf thing.

The point is, Dad is working hard trying to solve a mystery that Stiles is actively trying to keep a secret from him, and he feels like shit for it. Stiles has seen Laura Hale’s body though, okay? Dad has a dangerous enough job without some crazy alpha werewolf setting his sights on him.

Stiles might be a natural liar, but that’s supposed to be about stuff that doesn’t matter, like homework, and curfews, and shit like that. It’s not supposed to be about stuff that actually counts. Guilt twists in his gut, and even his Two-Scoop Sundae (with chocolate and mint) doesn’t make him feel much better.

He and Stella eat their sundaes, and then wander around the mall for a while. Stella always likes to visit the toy department at Macy’s, so they check out the stuffed animals and the Lego. On their way out Stiles catches sight of beautiful, glorious Lydia Martin at the perfume counter. For a moment he thinks she’s going to notice him too, but her gaze slides right off him as she turns around again, and yep, of course, Stiles is invisible.

He’s been crushing on Lydia since the third grade.

Why wouldn’t he? She’s perfection. She’s the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen in his life, and he has a five-year plan to win her heart, and all her others parts too. The cornerstone of his plan is getting her to notice him, which is not going very well and has admittedly been the downfall of all his previous plans.

“Stiles,” Stella says, and tugs on his hand. “Stiles?”

“Huh?” He looks down to find her glaring up at him.

“I said can we get sushi for dinner?”

Right. Stiles has a habit of zoning out when Lydia is in his vicinity. He should investigate that now he knows this supernatural shit is real. She’s probably a siren or something.

Can she sing? Stiles isn’t sure, but he would bet his life that she an incredible singer. Because Lydia is incredible at everything.

“Stiles!” Stella exclaims, and he jolts.

“Yes,” he says, dragging his brain back on track. “Let’s get some sushi for dinner.”

***

There’s a queue at the sushi place, and it’s getting on to dusk when they’re finally heading home. Stella is holding the boxes of sushi carefully in her lap like she’s cradling some fragile infant made entirely of glass, and Stiles is singing along to the radio as they take a detour down old Telegraph Road—a trick Stiles uses to avoid the traffic lights on the main road a few blocks over. Telegraph Road hugs the edge of the Preserve. There are a few houses out here, but it’s pretty quiet and there’s very little traffic. Sometimes they see wildlife at the side of the road, so Stiles always keeps to the speed limit. Also, Dad would kick his ass if he was ever caught speeding, especially with Stella in the Jeep.

Stiles flicks the headlights—better safe than sorry—as he steers the Jeep around a curve in the road, and then—

“Stiles!” Stella shrieks.

—a man is stumbling onto the road.

Stiles slams on the brakes, wincing as the guy—

Leather jacket.

Glower.

Jaw line you could cut your tongue on.

It’s Derek.

Oh, shit, I just ran over Derek Hale!

—bounces against the fender and staggers back again.

“You hit someone!” Stella screams, sushi boxes flying. “You hit someone!”

“Stella, it’s okay!” Stiles unpeels his shaking fingers from the steering wheel. “It’s okay!”

Derek lurches up to the passenger window, and wrenches the door open and Stella screams again.

“You’re scaring her!” Stiles yells at him, and Derek lurches back, eyes wide. “Stella, it’s okay. He’s okay. He’s…”

Derek’s really not okay. He’s pale, and there’s a sickly blueish cast to his features, and he’s clutching his arm tightly. Black blood is seeping through his fingers.

“Derek, are you okay?”

“Hunter,” Derek grinds out. “She shot me.”

“She?” Stiles asks.

“Kate Argent.”

“Do you need a ride to the hospital?” Stiles asks, figuring that he ran into the guy so it’s literally the least he can do.

“No,” Derek says, and then glowers. “Yes.”

“Stella, get in the back,” Stiles says, unclipping her seatbelt for her. She scrambles through the gap between the front seats, squishing pieces of sushi all over the upholstery, which is gross, but probably no grosser than whatever weird black goo Derek is bringing to the table as he climbs into the front seat.

“I need you to take me to Deaton’s,” Derek says. And then, “Where’s Scott?”

“He’s um, having dinner with the Argents tonight,” Stiles says.

“Is Kate there?”

Stiles thinks that’s Allison’s aunt or something. “Um, probably?”

Stella sticks her head between the seats. “Why is your blood black?”

That is actually a fine question.

“What is that?” Stiles asks. “Is that contagious? You know, you should probably just get out.”

“Call Scott,” Derek instructs tersely. “I need him to go through Kate’s stuff and find out what kind of wolfsbane she uses in her bullets.”

“Why?” Stiles asks, before Stella can. If Derek is going to be pissed—and Derek is always pissed—then better he directs it at him than at Stella.

“Because I’ve been poisoned,” Derek says through clenched teeth.

“Oh,” says Stiles.

Derek leads a very complicated life. There is a lot going on with him.

“Like, one day you’re really going to have to sit down and explain all of this, you know?” Stiles asks him. “Because you just keep turning up when you’re already in trouble, and it’s incredibly disconcerting, and not at all helpful.”

“Stiles,” Derek says, like he’s only just resisting the urge to strangle him. Stiles gets that a lot, and from a very wide variety of people. “Take me to Deaton’s.”

Stiles doesn’t appreciate his tone. “I don't think you should be barking orders with the way you look, okay? In fact, I think if I wanted to, I could probably drag your little werewolf ass out into the middle of the road and leave you for dead.”

Derek shows his teeth. “Stiles. Start the car. Now. Or I will rip your throat out with my teeth.”

Rude, Stiles thinks, but turns the key in the ignition.

And then, like a little echo, Stella says, clear as a bell from the backseat: “Wow.Rude.”

Stiles isn’t quite brave enough to turn and see the look on Derek’s face.

He heads to Deaton’s.

#sterek #my fics #thisdiscontentedwinter #Stella and the Wolf

48 notes · View notes