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thoughtsofadad-blog · 1 year

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Personal Chapter

Before it all, I was a careless human being. I didn’t look left and right before crossing the street. I didn’t use my signal lights before turning. I didn’t care what others would feel. I didn’t clean up my table when I dined in restaurants. I didn’t wash the dishes I used. But, I still flushed the toilet whenever I’m done using it though. In short, I was an asshat. (hole) I didn’t care if my life would end in a minute. YOLO Vibe. I drank until I couldn’t. I smoked cigarettes for breakfast, because we didn’t have money to buy breakfast. I longed for the high nicotine gave me with an empty stomach. I remember hiding my lighter, but my mom would always find and take it. I was always short-tempered. (As I am now, but not as short-tempered). Fights would always start because of my words. I could hurt anyone I want with just words. And make them feel better with words as well. I had my fair share of great word play before. (Thanks, medieval movies)

I always had this human touch wherein I could influence anyone according to my will. I can make you smoke this cigarette I’m holding, I can make you drink this beer etc. All I had to do was to make you curious. All fun and games. But there comes a day when I realize what I was doing was wrong. Be it a day, an hour or even 30 minutes. There’s always that moment when you reflect a little.

I guess the turn around for me started way back in high school. See, I was a student in a catholic high school. Where I learned the ways of the catholic, their practices and all. I had a catholic family growing up. Specially with my mother’s side. They were very religious. Always praying to different saints. We had small statues of saints in our house, a carving of “The Last Supper” by the dinner table, rosaries, novenas, sacred photos of the Virgin Mary. We would celebrate The Holy Week by fasting and praying. So, when I entered high school, there was little to no difference at all. During my first and second year in high school, I was a member of the school’s chorale. But due to an incident regarding alcohol (No, I didn’t go to the annual star gazing for freshmen drunk with my friends, who does that anyway?), I had to spend my 3rd and 4th year as a member of the Student Council. Fast forward to my last year in that school. I had quite an interesting (but fun) years. Spent 4 years of my life in this school, I might as well. I’ve known every entrance and exit of the school. I know where the lovers “spend time”. I know which part of the school is haunted. I knew where to go and where not to go. I knew the place like it was the back of my hand. So, spending the 4th and final year in that school we had this retreat program. Typical for catholic schools. A whole class is transported to an isolated place to focus, pray, repent and appreciate. I actually had fun on that trip. I enjoyed it. Because I got to know more about my classmates. I saw how vulnerable everyone was. I saw them cry. Hell, even I cried my nose out. We were made to confess to a pastor there. We confessed our sins and wrong doings and pray. So, I did. And it was like the first time I did a confession, I felt so down, as if I’m being held down. After the confession and prayer, I felt light. As if the world wasn’t on my shoulders. (It never was). After that, we were made to realize the importance of those around us. A week before the trip, we would receive letters known as “Retreat Letter”. It consists of words that people want to tell you. How they appreciate you as a person. There may even be a letter that confesses their feelings for you. We all read our letters. Not only were the letters from the students of the school, the letters could also come from your family. And yes, I got one from my mom which I burst to tears while I was reading it alone under a tree. I couldn’t finish the letter without crying.

That retreat made me realize things. The importance of people around you. Those who appreciate you. It’s like as if my eye had been closed and was opened.

After high school and shortly during college, we relocated our home. Quite far from the city and lifestyle I grew up knowing. I had two feelings about it, though. One is that I won’t be seeing my friends quite so often. Two is that this may be a good thing, new surroundings and new people. And I was a teenager then, so what say do I have?

I was always

Comparing my life before to what I have now, there’s a very significant difference. And I feel different. I try to be better everyday. I got inked with The Archangel, Michael. Why? Known to defeat the Devil. Banished the Devil in its dragon form.

I intend to defeat my own demons. In every day. In all ways. I will not let them win. I am stronger. For myself. For my family.

#thoughts #tattoo #angel #stmichael #archangel #inked #seal

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obsessedwithpedritoofc · 4 months

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Nᴏᴛ Iɴᴛᴏ Bᴏʏs (Jᴀᴠɪᴇʀ Pᴇñᴀ)

ℙ𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘: Javier Peña × Male Reader.

𝕎𝕠𝕣𝕕 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥: 2,4 k.

𝕊𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪: You had been working for Escobar from the United States until he told you to move to Colombia. It was then when you met him, and he put your world upside down with a single look, and a couple threats.

𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤: angst, violence, mentions of death, mentions of killing, drugs, mentions of alcohol, mentions of unholy things (such as brothels), mentions of war, 80s typical homophobia, swearing, no physical descriptions of reader, no use of Y/N. (lmk if i missed any).

𝔸/ℕ: sorry for breaking your hearts, writing angst is my thing. promise next one is gonna be WAY less angsty. enjoy <3

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

It had happened. You had told yourself it wouldn't. But it had. And you were so fucked up.

You had known Javier Peña for several months. With the war against the drugs and the cartels going, everyone knew everyone. That was something you learned fast when you moved to Colombia. The very day you arrived, you were already being tracked by everyone in town, including the kids. Still, you tried to keep it on the low.

You had moved to Colombia as an order from your boss. Of course, and like everyone else was in that time, you were involved in drug activities, and were working for the Medellín cartel from the United States. Your job was as simple as keeping track of the extradited drugsters that got to the States from the cartel and visited them once in a while, informed them of the current situation in the cartel —of course, in secret code so the cops wouldn't get any of that information—, and you kept sending money into their bank accounts for whatever purposes they wanted to give it when they got out from jail or whatever. At least it had been as simple as that, until your boss, Pablo Escobar, ordered you to move to Colombia. As you had heard —from Escobar himself, the news and all the rumors—, the war against drugs had gone to another level. You assumed that was why Escobar wanted you in Colombia, perhaps looking for that extra backup you could give him and his men when they fucked up. Whatever it was, you just did what you did best: obey without questions. And the day right after Escobar told you to come to Colombia, you were already unpacking your luggage in your new appartment.

Of course, and as you expected, you had received orders that very day. Your new job consisted of organising the drug deliveries and make sure the were done just in time, and counting the money in case someone had to go take care of the fuckers that tried to trick Escobar. Soon, you were involved in most of his important plans, too. He had said that it was an... ascension for doing your job well.

That's how you became one of his right hand men, too. You became as close to him as Quica and Limón, who you also became close to. Soon enough, the three of you were eating, drinking, partying and getting high together when Escobar didn't need you. You even went to brothels together every now and then, when you had a night to rest from all the drug war thing.

It was one of those nights in a brothel when you had met him for the first time.

You saw him walking out of one of the brothel's rooms, still fixing his belt over his pants and with a lit cigarette positioned between his lips.

Those so good-looking lips.

You stood staring at him for a couple of seconds, checking him out. He didn't seem to notice you looking at him until he got out of the brothel, when he glanced at you for a moment. That little glance was enough to make your heart flutter. You hadn't given it much importance then, and just continued your night at the brothel with some random girl.

Or at least you hadn't given it much importance until you met him again.

It was another one of your free nights. That time, though, you had decided to give Quica and Limón some space for themselves at the brothel while you just went to some bar and had a drink. You didn't have much time alone with yourself since you came to Colombia, and you wanted to spend some time relaxing and having a chat with your inner thoughts. But it turned out, that night you weren't able to spend alone time either.

The same man you had seen getting out of the brothel some weeks ago sat next to you at the bar. He called you "the guy that was looking at him when he got out of the brothel", which was kind of embarrassing. Though you didn't give much importance to anything about that conversation either when he got out his DEA agent badge and said that he knew who you were. Of course you were scared at first, he had the authority to take you to jail or even extradite you right there and then.

But he didn't.

Instead, he tried to convince you to help him stop the drug war. He named some of the men he and his partners at the DEA had lost those last years because of the war against the Medellín cartel, and he numbered all the innocent deaths and every battle they had to fight only so it could result in more innocent people dead. Then he threatened you, saying he'd send you back to the States as one of those extradited drugsters you had been working for not so long ago, if you didn't help him. He knew you were close to Escobar and his other right hand men, and he wanted to get from you as much information as posible.

You felt some pity for the man. He seemed a bit desperate, asking someone as you to help him get Escobar. And you felt bad because of how he looked when he named all the people he had lost because of his stupidity and desperation to do so. And you didn't want to be extradited either —death didn't scare you, but going to a jail in the States did.

So you agreed.

You started giving Peña every information he asked from you. You told him everything Escobar and his family and men did, everywhere they went, all of their plans... You gave him all the information you had access to, which was basically all of it. And after some time of being his informant, you saw how much danger you were putting yourself at. Way too much danger to risk your life just for the money Peña gave you in exchange for all the information.

That's how you realized you weren't just doing it for the money anymore. You were doing it for him.

And it was weird. It hurt.

You met him every free night you had to update him about everything going on. And that's just how it worked: you met, you gave him the information, and he headed off to get more of whatever other intel he could gather from someone else, who were usually sluts from some fancy brothel he liked. Seeing him going to see and fuck one of those sluts he called informants made you jealous, something you couldn't believe.

It kept going like that for a while, though soon, Quica and Limón started to suspect. You weren't as close to them as you had been before the night you talked with Peña. You kept telling them it was fine, that there was nothing wrong and you were just having a bunch of bad days. And it seemed to work.

Until one day, Escobar called you so he could have a private chat with you.

He said Quica and Limón had told him about you being off, not present, and distant with them. He said you were not focused on your job anymore. And he said that you were taking many breaks to go to the bathroom, and way too many free nights. Unfortunately for you, he was joking when he said he blamed it on some girl you were spending time with.

And then, he threatened you.

It was official. Your life was in serious danger. Your own boss had threatened you.

That night you went home shitting your pants. For the first time in the many years you had been working in the drug business, you were scared. And it was all his fault.

You pulled your phone out and messaged him, telling him you needed to see him and talk to him immediately. He showed up in your house shortly after, giving you a hurried "Is everythin' okay?".

"We have a problem. I have a problem and if we don't do something, so do you", you looked at him with a mix of anger and fear.

"Okay, okay, calm down. What's wrong?"

"Quica and Limón know. Escobar knows. And he said he'd kill me if I don't go watching my back from now on", you saw him looking at the ground with a slight frown on his brow, as if he was thinking of what to do.

"Alright, we do have a problem", was all he said.

"You gotta fucking help me, Peña".

"Fine, uh...", he thought for a couple of seconds. And for a moment, it seemed like he had an idea. "If you can wait a couple days, I'll get you a passport to the States or somethin'—".

"Are you fucking kidding me? I'll be dead before you can get the passport. And he'll have men in the States to kill me when I get there anyway. I can't go back", you sighed, trying to find a solution for yourself.

"Stay at my place, or Steve's. His wife can help you. We'll protect you".

"Oh, will you? 'Cause really, I love the way you've been protecting me as your informant. You've protected me so fucking well that my boss found out about me and even my own friends want to end my life now", you spat at him. "So yeah, you've been doing a great shit job at protecting me, Javier".

That moment, your world seemed to stop. Peña looked at you with a mix of anger and shock —though it seemed more angry than anything else. It was then that you realized that you had, for the first time, called him by his name.

"Peña", he said with a stern expression.

"Really? After all this, you're mad that I use your name?", you sighed. You were actually nervous —even scared— about what would happen now, since he seemed more serious and angry than anything you had ever seen on him. "Look, just—".

"You don't get to call me that. What made you think you could?", he gave you another hard look.

"I don't know, it just came out—".

"You don't get to call me that".

He stood looking at you with his eyes burning with anger. You had never been so afraid of how someone looked at you —not even with Escobar— until that very moment. And you were even more afraid knowing that it was Javier Peña.

"I'm sorry", was all you said, trying to match his seriousness. "I didn't think you'd be this mad".

He walked up to you all silent and still looking angry as hell. Your heart was beating pretty fast at the sight of how he towered over you, making you feel weak at the knees.

"No way", he smiled sarcastically. "I'm gonna tell you somethin' and I need you to pay attention, boy", you gulped at his words, scared of what he would say. "You're not one of those whores I fuck to get info from. You're doin' this for money, and I'm doin' this to save the goddamn country. You wanna fuck a big man, go get him yourself at a brothel, I'm sure you'll find one that wants to stick his dick inside a little boy like you".

That crossed your limits. Your blood started to boil, and you heart was beating so fast you'd swear you felt it break at that very instant.

As you watched him walking to your door, you turned around to face him and gave him an even harder look than the one he was giving you before.

"So the great fuckboy Javier Peña leaves once again, heading off to one of his brothels to fuck whatever slut he can find tonight!", you said with an exaggerated, dramatic tone. "You know, it's so fucking sad seeing how you stick to one night stands because you're afraid to start feeling something. And it's sad that you're pushing away the only person that will probably be the only one to feel something for you that's not desperation to get fucked by you, just because you're not into boys", you spat out, being at the very verge of tears. "So go on, have another night of fun with a girl that's gonna fucking pretend she wants you just for your money and your big boy dick, while the only person that actually wants to be with you cries because you broke their fucking heart!".

When you finally got to breathe again, you came to realize just how much you were crying. And meanwhile, Peña was looking at you with his emotionless expression.

"I'll try to get you that passport as soon as possible", were the words he ended the silence with, and then he left.

The weight of your conversation hung in the air for the rest of the night. It was something you weren't going to forget easily. Of course you had imagined something like this would happen if you talked with Peña about your feelings for him, but you didn't expect him to be so rude and hard. Though, thinking about it, that was right what you would expect from anyone else. At the end of the day, you were a man that had fallen for another man, in the 80s.

You just were so dumb to think that Peña was different, that you could've had a chance. But of course, you didn't. And you didn't know why —knowing it was this way for everyone else—, it had hurt you that much.

And so, there you were, curled up in your bed as you cried to the thought of him silently, letting your pillow muffle your quiet sobs and get soaked by your non-stopping stream of tears. That night again, you thought of how much you hated Peña for being so heartless, so selfish. And so brave, so handsome, so hot, so perfect, so... Peña.

And you thought about how much you hated yourself for having helped this man, knowing that all he gave you in return was a broken heart and some money you didn't want. You knew he was a dangerous man, but damn, had you fallen hard for him. And damn, did you hate yourself for it.

That night, you cried yourself to sleep thinking about all this. You wished you hadn't moved to Colombia. You wished you didn't have anything to do with drugs or the cartel. You wished you didn't know Javier Peña. And you wished you weren't so in love with him.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x male reader #pedro pascal characters #javier peña #javier peña x reader #javier peña x you

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boop-le-snoot · 3 years

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PARTY FAVOURS I CHAPTER 31

First time reader click here

it's a mental breakdown *off-key kazoo*. One (1) incident of physical abuse from a parent. And Stephen Strange arc begins opening. Kind of angsty, but more of a filler chapter to resolve the parents-suck thing.

A couple of days was all it took for me to get back on my feet... Figuratively speaking. Neither Bruce nor Tony was particularly excited about me being up and about, I was carried to my desired destination point by one or the other on most occasions. Physically, my body grew tired very easily - I took a lot of sporadic naps throughout the day, more often than not falling asleep in someone's arms. Nobody minded, really - even Loki, who wasn't a touchy-feely person by any means, relented and acted as a body pillow for me when we crashed on the common room couch to catch up with the TV show episodes I'd missed.

Tony was very obviously on the verge of a nervous breakdown. During the few hours I had spent being chased by the Cursed Box Demon in my nightmares, all the leads towards the contractor proved to be cold. Natasha was the most irritated of them all - a late-night talk with Clint through the vent above my room revealed that she took it as a personal insult, unprepared for a simple merc to be so good at evading the world's most notorious spy.

Hulk kept taking over Bruce's body - eyes shining fluorescent green - at the times we were together, periodically clutching me to his chest with clumsy but careful movements. I pitied the mercenary should he encounter my gentle scientist - I didn't think Bruce would even attempt to hold back Mean Green. They seemed to have achieved some sort of symbiosis those days, switching between the two personalities in one body almost effortlessly. Circumstances aside, I was very happy that the tension and the persistent internal conflict inside Bruce had almost disappeared.

What made me upset was Strange. The sorcerer was behaving, well, strangely. He began avoiding all of us - his excuses of helping the search for the merc were flimsy, and Wong's long, deep sigh, when asked about the sorcerer's state of mind, spoke volumes. I suspected Stephen was either seething with anger or drowning himself in the sea of guilt; I had a hunch he was similar to Tony in a way that he hid his vulnerability behind an impenetrable wall of malice and sarcasm and dry wit.

Perhaps I was wrong. But the pent up frustration resulting from the conflict between my overactive brain and my uncooperative body had to blow - and my mother was the fire to my already short fuse. Somehow, she got ahold of the information that I was hurt indirectly because of the actions of the Avengers - and she had called the first available phone she found, which meant Pepper Potts got an earful of vitriol regarding Stark Industries, SHIELD, Tony, and everyone else, including my father. Stoic as she was, Pepper took it all with grace, replying politely to my mother until she hung up on the redhead.

Pepper placed an urgent call to Coulson immediately after that, making the already uncomfortable situation spiral into something truly disgraceful. It ended with strict orders for me to return home - not that anyone besides me and Coulson knew about it. I was a legal adult, I could choose to stay in the tower and my mother was told so on numerous occasions... Knowing her, I was well aware she wouldn't be above storming Tony's home with a small army of her lawyer friends.

Inwardly seething, melting with the anger sitting in the pit of my stomach like a sharp piece of ice, I managed to convince Tony to have Happy escort me home at the guise of gathering more necessities. Tony, being Tony, offered me to buy anything and everything I needed, but relented under my puppy-eyed pleading. It was getting harder and harder to lie to any of my men, the weight of it settling unpleasantly bitter on top of my already foul mood.

Happy grumbled in displeasure at being tailed by a nondescript black SUV - I knew SHIELD would have eyes on me 24/7 now, at least until they catch the rogue mercenary - but seemed to be happy at my general state of relative wellness in his own... Happy... way. Five-second side-grin and "Glad you're up and about, Princess," was probably the most I was going to get from the man who's nickname contradicted his personality. In my humble opinion, he should've been called Brick instead. He was built like a shit house, too.

The moment I stepped into the living room, wearing Wanda's spare sweats and Tony's hoodie, I took a slow look around the room and immediately knew this was it. Most of my anger had receded, courtesy of finally being able to get out of the tower and do something, but the ice in my stomach persisted. The smell of whiskey and cigarettes hit me like a wall, news playing on the TV doing very little to dissolve the viscid, tense silence.

"Sit down," My mother instructed me in the tone of voice she used on people in the courtroom - convicts, people who knowingly broke NDAs.

"I don't think so," I replied, refusing to give in to her bullying. I was being absolutely reckless, I knew it, and still it didn't stop me from standing up for my men. Logically speaking, it could have happened to me anyway, Avengers or not. The cursed box came along long before I'd even met Peter Parker or any of his rag-tag superhero friends.

"Fine," She turned around, steely eyes leveled on me. I was but a speck of dirt under her nails - for the first time in my life, I felt terrified of my mother. I knew what she was capable of. "Listen well, daughter of mine. I'm going to only repeat myself once," She started in that deceptively calm tone of hers. "You are to stop mingling with Stark and his... Company. Immediately. I do not want to hear any more of that Parker boy, either. You will not destroy your future and our family's legacy over some fling with a man twice your age. This little game has gone long enough and it's time for you to get back to reality."

The more she spoke, the higher my eyebrows rose. I was supposed to take orders from my own mother now? Something thin, something thin and crackling with electricity within me just snapped - like a live wire. The hairs on my nape stood up, goosebumps appearing all over my skin. "And what if I do not?" I asked, just as quietly.

I was not prepared for her reaction. One second, she was sitting on the couch and the other - my cheek was burning and my mother was standing over me, breathing the stench of alcohol and tobacco right in my face. I saw the whites of her eyes. "Then you are no daughter of mine. I did not raise you to be someone's cumrag and all this play-pretend scientist shit had to have ended in middle school. I hoped you'd grow up but apparently, you insist on being a baby," She was full-on screaming in my face, so rabid she was shaking.

All I could think of was... How wrong she was. How wrong she would be, her sad little world broken when she finds out just exactly how much I'm capable of. Long gone were the days where I timidly questioned my scientific contributions; thanks to my men - the same men she'd hated so much - I knew my value. I knew I could achieve the things that I wanted.

"If that is your choice, you have thirty minutes to get your shit and get lost. I will not have a whore of a daughter living under my roof," I had missed a good part of her rant; most likely, it consisted of nothing but meaningless insults anyway. After she'd finished, she gave me a shove towards the stairs.

It didn't bother me as much as it should, I think. My cheek smarted and somewhere deep inside, I knew that the eerie calm that had settled over me wasn't normal - on the surface, I felt only relief. The things I suspected all along, finally came to light - she didn't even perceive me as a human being, I was no more than a means to her end. A tool. A thing.

The waterworks started when I frantically shoved most of the shit I could fit in my three suitcases. Upset as I was, my scatterbrain did me a favor that time and I gathered most of the important things. Notebooks full of my research - projects that my mother had called a child's game, projects that could be patented in a week, add a tweak or two. With sudden clarity, I realized I needed none of her money. None of her... At all. In short, I was emotionally all over the place and at the end of it... None of it made sense.

I threw the credit cards with her name on them on the coffee table as I hauled out my suitcases, not sparing the bitch a glance. She was equally quiet, boring into my back with those steely eyes of hers. I felt my skin peel under her stare. In my distraught state, hauling and dumping the suitcases in my car was quick work. Detaching the house key and tossing the last things that connected me to her house on the floor at her feet was a spur of the moment decision; my mother was right, to some extent, and I still had childish tendencies. "You had no right to call yourself my mother in the first place. All you were was an egg donor with more money than you could make sense of. Enjoy your hoard, you damned dragon," I seethed, seeing her frozen in place with her arms crossed and chin held high.

Some part of me hoped she would apologize. That naïve, childish part - I knew my mother and I knew myself, and the trait that we shared was stubbornness. I sped out of the estate without ever looking back, driving aimlessly for a while until the honking coming from drivers around me began reaching alarming levels of volume; tears began flowing down my face at some point, all but obscuring my vision. I parked in the nearest place I could find, in front of a Waffle House out of all places.

Crying in a Waffle House parking lot, how pathetic was that. Logically, I knew at least five people had my back: Tony and Bruce, who surprisingly loved me back; Loki, who had become strangely clingy after my declaration - clingy in the best way. Together with Wanda and Peter, they made my heart warm and my eternally racing brain feel calm and safe.

I called my dad, he didn't pick up. I don't know what I expected of the man, but any and all remnants of my respect for him shattered, breaking into tiny little pieces as I helplessly banged my fists against the steering wheel in a fit of desperate rage. One look in the mirror and my already ashen complexion was made worse by red, puffy eyes and the blooming bruise on my cheek where my mother had slapped me. It was the first time she'd laid a hand on me; I wanted to throw up.

I sat in the car until my breathing slowed; completely and utterly clueless as to what to do. I had no home of my own, three suitcases worth of clothes and research that was useless without a lab to run experiments in, my car, and a small trust fund in my name. The recent incident with the curse box had left me mentally drained as it was, now, I could surely say that my head was empty: no thoughts.

And throughout it all, Stephen's avoidance crossed my mind. As if the self-loathing wasn't enough, as if my own blood, the people who were supposed to care for me, rejecting and ignoring me wasn't strong enough of a blow... The sorcerer's avoidance raised more anger within me. I didn't know why but the thought of him made me want to cry and seethe once again.

Logic gone out of the window, I typed in the Sanctum's address into my GPS with shaking fingers, figuring that if he wasn't willing to do the legwork, I will come to him myself and clarify things for all at once. The mixed signals were just a cherry on top of my sky-high problem sundae.

I banged on the door and it flew open immediately, a surprised sorcerer quickly turning concerned and panicky, noticing my general state of appearance. I was still wearing the same clothes and my hair was in disarray, my face looking somewhere between a coke bender and a manic episode.

"You," I stated darkly, taking a deep breath. "You need to tell me what the fuck is wrong with me and reject me, so I can move on already. And you," I poked the man in the chest, right above the fancy eye-shaped necklace, "Need to stop it with the mixed signals. Stop wallowing in self-pity. Whatever you are doing, STOP IT," My voice involuntarily raised in pitch from all those emotional rollercoasters I've been on that day. "Get back to being normal. Let me fucking live," I finished my tirade as the man stared at me, frozen and open-mouthed.

"I..." He stammered, eyeing me with concern. "What in the multiverse happened to you? What..?" He was so confused, pulling out his phone the moment I bailed my fists.

"My mother threw me out, my father doesn't give a fuck about me, apparently I'm a cheap whore with delusions of grandeur. You're avoiding me and everybody is waiting for me to blow up," I screeched, all but vibrating in my spot. "This is me blowing up. I want answers!" I demanded.

Strange recoiled from me, frowning and pocketing his phone. A deep sigh left him, the kind that made his whole body sag. He ran a careful hand through his hair before looking away and slowly pulling me against his chest, the door shutting behind me and keeping the cold out. I hadn't even noticed I was freezing; my feet were wet from the NYC winter slush and mud.

Stephen's embrace was warm and tender; I wanted to lean into it and push him away at the same time. I was so messed up, it was embarrassing. There was nothing acceptable about this situation - I felt guilty as soon as his face fell.

"Jesus Christ, baby," He mumbled quietly. "Sounds like you had one hell of a day. Let's go, I'll put on some tea," He rubbed soothing circles on my back, something that confused me - I just had stormed in and dumped a bucket of bile right on top of his head.

"I should go," I mumbled, yet had no real strength to move away from him.

"You're not going anywhere. I suppose I need to explain myself, too," He sighed, and despite his obvious discomfort, picked me up, letting my limbs to wrap around his torso like a monkey. I was careful to keep my weight off his hands, even if the trip to the fireplace room was short. As soon as I was placed onto the couch and my shoes were removed, Cloaky drifted over from a dark corner, urging me to take off my soggy hoodie, and wrapped itself tightly around me.

Turns out, semi-sentient cloaks were quite warm.

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub @mostly-marvel-musings @vozit @littlegasps @pilloclock @shereadsinquiet @downeyreads @hermione-grangers-wife @individualistfem @sleep-i-ness @capbrie @lillsxd @agustdowney @dee-vn @justanotherblonde23 @fanngirl19 @persephonehemingway @softie-socks @schemefrenzy @letsby @cutenessloading @romeo-the-cactus @jelly-fishy-babie @mikariell95

#party favours #bun writes #stephen strange x y/n #stephen strange x you #stephen strange x reader #tony stark x you #tony stark x reader #tony stark x y/n #bruce banner x you #bruce banner x reader #bruce banner x y/n

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dreaminpeaches · 3 years

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(Welcome to the daydream drawing board, a tag where I share some my newest ideas not all of these ideas will be thought out--mostly just quick points-- but it's just nice to have them some where...oof)

TW: angst, mention of domestic abuse, child abuse, alcohol mentioned, father mentioned, bullying and guilt...

(Be sure you're mentally ready, you can come back later or take breaks while reading, it's kind of long...oof)

The most recent concept I dreamed up is about a couple consisting of a reformed/"retired" highschool bully/jock who falls for the new nerdy woman in town, this paracosm is mildly inspired by A Silent Voice, Bojack Horseman and Strange things (but only like a little bit)

Beau

He was the high school quarterback and star player

He was super popular and everyone wanted to be around him

His fave after school activities where smoking under the blenchers (after practice), going out to parties, making out with hotest girls in school (usually the new girls), bullying the weaker "outcast" kids, flirting with older women into getting him and his friends alcohol, and other dumb jock stuff

Beau always made fun of the weird nerdy kids; giving them swirlies, stuffing them in lockers, hiding their belongs (glasses, inhalers, backpacks, calculators, handle gaming devices etc), and throwing a few knuckle sandwiches at them on his worst days.

Beau bullied other because he had a rough home life, his father was abusive and usually came home angry and would take out his anger on the family (, mostly Beau's mom)

Beau's parents had him at young age, Beau's dad had big dreams at becoming a famous author but had a hard time getting his books picked up and blamed his career failures on Beau

Beau would try to protect his family from his dad's outburst but the only person he could protect successful was his little brother, Devin.

When Beau would try to protect his mother he would get brutally beaten by his dad in process, sometimes he would get hit so bad that he blacked out, because of this Beau's mom would tell him go to the treehouse and take his little brother with him in hopes they wouldn't hear their parents fight

In the treehouse, Beau would read books to Devin to distract him from what was happening, one of Devin's favorite books was "Is there a horse in your house?" A simple book about looking for a horse in a house, Devin would always find this book funny and hearing his little brother's laugh made Beau feel better, so Beau wouldn't mind having to read it over and over again. (This was back when Beau was in early middle school and Dev was in kindergarten)

Beau and Dev knew it was "safe" to come out, when their mother said dinner was ready, but there would be some days where they end up sleeping in the treehouse and waking up to their mom telling them breakfast was ready and they had to eat quietly while their dad slept

It was in middle school, Beau started to bully other kids, he liked the power and feeling of being able to fight someone and win, to be the one to be feared instead of being afaird, it was addicting

Football became a better way to cope with his feeling but he still bullied none the less.

Football was the only time where his dad wasn't as much of jerk, it was almost like Beau's dad was felt like an actual father when watching football, and being on the football team was an achievement his dad was actually proud of beau for, so thanksgiving and super bowl season was a somewhat peaceful time

Around sophomore year his mother finally got away from her abusive husband, soon after Beau's mom fell in love with a nice man, who actually cared about her and they got married and had a daughter together who became Beau's little sister, Carrie whom he loves dearly..

Beau is super over protective of his family (protecting both his siblings from other bullies, ironically), to the point where even when his mom found a new lover, Beau still keep his guard up and because of this his step dad is kind of intimidated by him

Beau was able to bond with his step dad over cars and mechanics, a topic Beau was obsessed about since middle school because he would dream of building a car that would be able to drive him and his family far away from his father as possible without stopping

Beau's step dad owns a gas station/mechanics shop, Beau would help out in the shop on weekends when he was free and occasionally steal beer for parties.

Despite his bully/typical jock persona Beau is actually quite patient especially when it comes to younger kids

Due how stressful her home life was, Beau would take it upon himself to look after his little brother and do chores around the house when his mom was unable to, he would even cook dinner and breakfast (a skill he learned to do at an earlier age compared to his peers), his dad often called him a "Sissy" for doing so..

Beau never asked for allowance, since his family was kind of tight on money he felt bad for asking, so he just took lunch money and allowance from the kids he bullied. Money would go to grocery money, money to buy gifts for his mother/brother, money to help with rent , or money just to buy the new NFL game or some alcohol or cigarettes.

In his high school days , sometimes when Beau didn't want to deal with his dad/home life he would crash at friends place or stay over after a party but he would call up to make sure his little brother/mother/sister were okay

Beau started smoking on a dare, when he realized it kind help ease the mental pain, he started doing it for real (same with drinking)

Even Beau liked to drink, he never drove drunk or let his friends drive drunk, if was a party mostly consisting of his friends he would try his best to be the sober one to drive everyone home

Beau was set to be a big football star once he graduated highschool he even got into an ivy league school, but there was something stopping him from focusing fully on his studies, (that and the fact he kind of cheated since he let the nerds he bullied do most of his homework since he didn't have time or just do lazy to actually do it himself in highschool), so he ended up flunking out

During the time he dropped out his step dad needed an extra hand at the shop, so he thought might as well go back home

At first Beau thought his family would be disappointed in him but they couldn't be more happy that he was back home especially his siblings

It was when he returned to his hometown that he finally realized what was feeling was haunting him this whole time it was the feeling of guilt he had gotten from being a bully for so long. Since most of his jock friends were busy with their college career, it left him with little to no friends in his hometown, Everytime he saw a familiar face around town it was usually one of his former victims, seeing them would give him a weird sick oozey feeling in his stomach, and it didn't help that his step dad ran popular mechanic shop that was frequented by the locals, the feeling of guilt got so bad at times, he would stay home from work but wouldn't really tell his parents why out of fear that they would hate him.

So, when Beau meets the new woman in town, Bonnie who works at the comic book shop/arcade/maid cafe, who becomes the only person Beau can talk to in town besides his family, and he starts to fall for her. He feels conflicted because this would be someone he would totally bully in high school, but shes really so nice and sweet to him, does he really deserve girl that nice, what happens if she finds out about his past, will Bonnie still love him.

Beau makes it his mission to try and make amends with the people he has bullied over the years, at first he does this on his own (with a little help for Dev whose middle school age now), without Bonnie knowing but one of the nerds used to bully kind of sorta also gets a crush on Bonnie and feels like she's too good for Beau, and tries to expose him for the "fiend" he is. This leads to Beau having mental break down when he knows Bonnie knows about his past, but she comforts him and accepts him for who he is, and helps him try to make amends with his past victims...

Some people accept Beau's apology right away (understanding his background), others take a while, some don't forgive Beau at all, which he respectfully understands, he was kind of jerk

Oof, this is prolly gonna be the most heavy paracosm I have if I continue it, but if I do post about it's mostly gonna be fluffy light stuff--nerd/jock dynamic interactions, along with toll/smoll dynamic interactions. OH by the way this paracosm is set in the 80/90s maybe early 2000s because they don't use smartphones in this paracosm it's mostly payphones, landlines, VHS tapes, DVDs and tape records (but I will use modern music if and when I make a playlist, so it might be a mixed timeline) also I don't have a name for this paracosm might edit one in later...

#immersive daydreaming #paraportal #paracosm #daydream drawing board #tw: alchohol mention #tw: abuse #tw: heavy angst #tw: heavy topics #para: beau

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cohentm · 4 years

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✮ ∷ ╰ 𝖈𝖔𝖍𝖊𝖓 & 𝖈𝖗𝖊𝖜 :

a connection / plot masterlist .

oof hey babies! i’m making this post so y’all know exactly how i’m breaking down the plots i have so far. i jotted down fulfilled connections, followed by the people i know i’m still in the midst of plotting with ( labeled “tba,” will be updated once we’ve decided on a backstory ), & at the end i listed some wanted connection ideas! even if you see your character on this list, though, and you’re like miss bri.... i want to change / add to / alter / etc that paragraph u wrote... especially if u see a wanted connection and you’re like whew i kinda want that now.... puhlease lmk. i’m down for absolutely anything & everything. mwah. x

𝖋𝖚𝖑𝖋𝖎𝖑𝖑𝖊𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖓𝖓𝖊𝖈𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖘.

parker , ride or die .

these two could be a tag team duo if they wanted to be--and practically are when it comes down to it. cohen isn’t scared to get into a fight just because parker’s already there. parker’s hotheadedness and cohen’s will to throw a punch have been melding since the earliest of days, when parker was getting into abrupt locker room fights with their own teammates, even. cohen, being the type who can’t avoid starting shit with those same teammates, never found himself pooling more blame into parker’s bucket. instead, cohen sympathizes the only way he knows how: by holding out his hand and letting parker know that cohen doesn’t need a rhyme or reason to have parker’s back. for cohen nowadays, it’s just on sight.

olivia , meeting in the middle / opposites attract .

the truth is, olivia should absolutely hate cohen, and cohen should absolutely hate olivia. she’s all warmth & sunlight and he’s all hasty reactions & tunnel vision. but for some reason, olivia has managed to penetrate his demeanor without even trying. he tries to be marginally “better” whenever he crosses her path. when they speak, he finds himself thinking things out a fraction deeper before he throws the whole idea / person / situation in the garbage like the pessimist / self-acclaimed “realist” he is. at parties, he’s the first to jump into a fight, but with olivia’s soft touch, he hesitates. he doesn’t know what it is about her, but she makes himself second guess himself ( often for the better ).

finn , chaotic neutral & neutral evil friendship .

if there’s one person cohen can stand for extended periods of time, it’s finn. finn’s chaotic neutral personality melds with cohen’s neutral evil personality seamlessly. oftentimes, finn and cohen are the duo at the party nodding at each other from across the room because a situation is escalating and cohen’s already rolling up his sleeves prepping to knock someone out for the hell of it. no matter what, finn’s a non-team member cohen’s constantly catching himself leaning on a little. he doesn’t feel like he has to watch his mouth around finn, let alone feel guilty for something like a consistently dirty car ( LXFMDFG ), which is a refreshing feeling cohen doesn’t often run into.

leo , harsh truth-tellers .

it isn’t uncommon for cohen to bump into leo, given his record for getting called off the field. coach tended to send him to the locker room with a physical therapist just to hide the fact that what cohen was actually getting called off for was excessive anger during a game. leo’s a hardass just like cohen, though, which makes speaking to her simultaneously easier and harder--since she’s bound to knock heads with him, but also give it back just the way he takes it. if there’s one thing cohen’s an expert at in their tedious relationship, though, it’s judging leo for all she’s worth. part of him loves the fact that she keeps herself so upright, after all, so when she’s simping hard and cohen feels she’s dwelling or losing track of herself just to appease people who treat her like shit, cohen’s never been afraid to let her know. this gives their relationship a rocky little twist, but cohen doesn’t shy from the truth.

summer , no strings flirtationship ( ft. mild to severe seemingly unrequited pining ) .

summer and cohen have always been oddly close in a way that cohen isn’t close with anyone else. in high school, in a dramatic effort to push summer away after too many a repeated fling, cohen invited summer to his chaotic home. however, poised as she was, she remained entirely unphased by his chaotic living situation & family. since then, cohen has felt more uncomfortably comfortable around summer than he has around anyone else. she continuously manages to seep into his life all on her own. they sleep together casually on occasion, often fight “playfully” in an effort to egg each other on, and tend to open up to each other entirely unprecedently.

clara , ex-girlfriend circa cohen’s sophomore year of college ( two years ago ) & family friends .

cohen and clara have been linked via their love for each other’s sibling since high school. clara was always best friends with his sister natalie, and he was always best friends with her brother cam. although clara was a consistent aspect in cohen’s life, they never got together until clara’s senior year of high school, which was subsequently cohen’s sophomore year of college. cohen was convinced he’d make it with her ( which is a rarity in & of itself ) much longer than they actually ended up making it, since cam died a year into their official relationship, sending both cohen and clara spiralling in entirely separate directions.

renee , PLOTTING ENSUING ! TBA .

tyler , PLOTTING ENSUING ! TBA .

rafael , PLOTTING ENSUING ! TBA .

devon , cousins .

georgia , PLOTTING ENSUING ! TBA .

𝖜𝖆𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖓𝖓𝖊𝖈𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖘.

childhood best friends and/or cousins : someone cohen knows very deeply, and vice versa. maybe they lived in the same trailer park, maybe your muse’s rich family is related or connected, somehow to his poor cowboy redneck family ( maybe his construction worker dad was drunk on the job and now ur muse’s family thinks of his alcoholic messy parents as nuisances? maybe his parents think ur muse’s parents are too posh and hate their guts? ), maybe their families don’t get along.... maybe their families DO get along and ur muse is someone his parents ask after and talk about constantly! the possibilities are endless. regardless, though, this muse and cohen grew up playing together, smoking cigarettes ( or ur muse watching 12 y/o cohen smoke a cig MVLKFDG ), pretending to be grown because cohen FELT like he was grown by the time he could speak clear sentences, etc. cohen’s family’s a mess but they’re a family all the same. they may fight and drink constantly, but at the end of the day you can find them outside their trailers sitting in camping chairs drinking budweiser around a campfire and making fun of each other.

unrequited / secret / forbidden crush : maybe your muse secretly liked cohen and never said anything, maybe cohen secretly liked your muse and never said anything, etc. bonus points if your muse’s family knows cohen has a whole ass petty criminal record a la ryan from the o.c. and would absolutely throw a fit if they saw their kid even looking in cohen jetson’s general vicinity for too long. LKMDFK how they each deal with their crush today is totally up to us.

bail out : someone who vouches for cohen even when he’s getting into the worst kind of trouble. maybe they’ve caught him coming down from a high ( he used to take athletic stimulants for energy & performance, and is currently eight months into his most recent recovery / rehab attempt ) and have kept the fact that they saw him using on the dl in an effort to give him a chance to be better without getting kicked off the team. maybe they’ve given him a ride home from jail after getting picked up for fighting or public drunkenness and his parents weren’t picking up bc why would cohen’s parents ever.... LMDSFLKFG. maybe cohen bails ur muse out too and secretly helps them even when they should be left to suffer in the SAME way that cohen should be left to suffer. but they’re too close. it’s almost like they coddle each other. maybe it’s due to some romantic subplot or something like a sibling inkling. OOF maybe they’re exes. kill me now u know?

sponsor - esque relationship : basically someone who can cool cohen down when he’s craving a high, craving alcohol, when he’s getting irritable because he’s not performing well enough, when he’s going workout-crazy and needs someone to be like bitch.... can u sit down for like five seconds? LDMDFLKGKFG someone who doesn’t care when cohen cusses them out for no reason because they’ve got a tough shell and know he’s just getting irritable w them because he’s having a moment. someone patient w him. someone he has probably cried to before because he’s...... tired.

party friend : self-explanatory! maybe they’re infamous for ditching parties and heading straight to bars together. LDFMKD absolutely iconic of them. they’ve probably at least made out upwards of ten times because that’s.... cohen. SKDFJ unless ur a straight male, in which case, he politely flirts with u and that’s it. x basically this muse has seen him get into unwarranted bar fights just because he’s a bitch who will ALWAYS throw the first punch, this muse has walked home with him when they’re both way too drunk to drive, this muse probably goes back to cohen’s apartment PLASTERED with him after midnight and stays up to cook a meal and play a game of uno with him, etc, etc. we love nothin’ but warm-hearted fun in this house.

exes on bad terms / hateship / enemies that detest each other : oof someone cohen has screwed over multiple times? more likely than u think. which is very likely. LKDSMFLKDF maybe they were exes? maybe cohen cheated on your muse? maybe cohen cheated WITH your muse and your muse didn’t find out until the break-up? maybe cohen beat your muse’s brother’s/dad’s ass and now there’s bad blood? maybe cohen broke things off with your muse before things could ever get serious? maybe cohen’s general demeanor just pisses your muse off? we’ve all been there KDNFDLKGN. basically these two hate each other and don’t even TRY to hide it anymore.

#✮ ∷ ╰ 𝒸𝒶𝓃'𝓉 𝒶𝓁𝓌𝒶𝓎𝓈 𝓇𝓊𝓃. ∴ ゜wanted connection. ゜#✮ ∷ ╰ 𝒸𝒶𝓃'𝓉 𝒶𝓁𝓌𝒶𝓎𝓈 𝓇𝓊𝓃. ∴ ゜plot breakdown. ゜#sniffles this is finally here & i can breathe clearer now KFMLMF i feel organized...

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rctribvtns · 4 years

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FULL NAME:

ANSEM RAGNORIOUS WARBECK

NAME ORIGIN:

According to a user from Utah, U.S., the name Ansem is of English origin and means "Quick and clever". ( REAL TALK: I GOT IT FROM KINGDOM HEARTS )

RAGNORIOUS is a family name. the males in their family get their middle names from their father. as his father’s name is ragnor, both ansem and his twin brother share the middle name ragnorious. his father’s middle name, after their grandfather, is APPOLIOUS after apollo warbeck.

NICKNAMES:

WARBECK, DAD, LAZYBONES

BIRTHDAY:

JULY 25, 1951

SEXUALITY:

PANSEXUAL

RELATIONSHIP STATUS:

MARRIED

PATRONUS:

FOX TERRIER

BOGGART:

AN EVIL VERSION OF HIMSELF TELLING HIM THAT HE’S THE REASON THE PEOPLE HE LOVES ARE DEAD AND THAT HE’S JUST LIKE HIS FAMILY.

WAND TYPE:

13″ OAK WITH DRAGON HEARTSTRING

AESTHETICS:

NEATLY TRIMMED BEARD, LAZY SMIRKS, SARCASTIC QUIPS. THE MICHAEL BLUTH. REAL LIFE NATHAN DRAKE. BLEEDS COFFEE NOT BLOOD. UNHEALTHY OBSESSION WITH WITCH WEEKLY QUIZZES.

* * *

— * | ansem warbeck is the oldest child of ragnor and celena warbeck. he has a twin brother named arson and while they are identical, they couldn’t be more different. both ragnor and celena are influential members of the magical community and always prided themselves on having a stellar reputation. stellar isn’t quite so stellar though; they are morally gray. they never get into dark magic themselves, but their family has profited heavily from it over the years. ( think … war profiteers, i guess. they funded the death eaters / grindelwald’s supports before them. they never get their hands dirty but they have plenty of blood money ). arson is the dutiful son, the good son, and ansem’s always been the disappointment who couldn’t live up to their expectations.

ansem was never good at doing what he was told and rebelled against the behaviors his parents tried to ingrain in him. he never listened, always liked to do his own thing, and never bought into the whole ‘pureblood supremacy’ thing that they tried to drill into his head. so what if they came from an old wizarding family? la creme de la crop? magic was magic. he figured if you could do it, you were just as good as anyone else. ( his family disagreed. )

personality wise, ansem is sharp, sarcastic, and doesn’t have a high tolerance for people. the list of people he dislikes is longer than those he likes. he likes to have a good laugh ( sometimes at the expense of others ) and isn’t one to take on responsibility. he decided to go into curse breaking on a whim, despite his parents’ ministry aspirations for him and his brother, and surprisingly he LOVED IT. it’s ironic given that someone as intelligent as he is, he used to do the least amount of work possible and do well but never really exceed his own expectations. now, in a job he’s passionate about, he does put the work in. but on his off days, he’s incredibly lazy and can usually be found snacking or napping.

another point of irony, given how much he claims to hate people, is the story of how a seventeen year old mess accidentally adopted an eleven year old. it was an assignment from the slytherin head of house, a mentorship program between 7th and 1st years implemented by professor dumbledore. he was assigned jade brantley and at first ? oh boy did he hate her. or rather, the responsibility he felt towards her. it became pretty evident the more he got to know her that they were put together for a reason. her family had sent her to hogwarts without so much as a second look and couldn’t have cared less if they ever saw her again. she stayed behind at the castle for christmas, as he did to avoid tense family dinners with the warbecks, and that was when their mentorship started to become more like family. by the end of the year, he looked at her like — his kid, if he was being honest. it was kind of terrifying, wanting to protect another person from the realities of their life, but he knew it was the right decision to make. it helped that his girlfriend agreed; she’d come to care about jade in those months too, and they both knew it was the right call. he owled her parents, assumed temporary guardianship, and she moved in with them that summer after they graduated. ( dumbledore, the cheeky bastard, sent them a potted plant as a housewarming gift. a plant that would have needed to have been potted SIX MONTHS EARLIER. he’d be mad about getting played if he wasn’t so happy. )

the first few years he tried to stay as local as possible to make sure he’d be available in cases of emergency, and for holidays. he was home for summer vacations no matter what, no exceptions, and they were annoyingly consistent with O.W.Ls. when she was at school. it only made sense for him to eventually adopt her — she was his daughter in everything but blood — and her name was changed to warbeck in her fifth year. the three of them — jade, ansem, and his wife — might seem like a strange pairing on paper but he’s always known that family is about the people you care about; you can choose your own adventure.

— * | BASICS !

NAME: — ansem ragnorius warbeck.

NICKNAME(S): — ansem.

PRONOUNS: —he/him.

AGE/DOB: — twenty eight / july 25th.

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: — pansexual.

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: — panromantic.

ETHNICITY: — caucasian.

NATIONALITY: — british.

HOMETOWN: — manchester, uk.

EDUCATION: — he previously attended hogwarts, slytherin house. SPORTS: beater on the slytherin quidditch team.

— * | PERSONALITY !

STAR SIGN: — leo.

PERSONALITY TYPE: — ESTP.

ALIGNMENT: — chaotic neutral.

PHOBIA(S): — enclosed spaces, clowns, snakes.

VICE(S): — cynicism, impatience, vindictiveness, spitefulness.

VIRTUE(S): — accountability, candor, realism, honesty, loyalty.

— * | RELATIONS !

PARENT(S): — ragnor and celena warbeck.

SIBLING(S): — arson warbeck ( twin brother. )

SIGNIFICANT OTHER(S): — married to NPC.

— * | PHYSICAL !

FACECLAIM: — chris wood.

HEIGHT: — 6'0.

WEIGHT: — 71kg.

EYE COLOR: — brown.

HAIR COLOR: — brown.

GLASSES/CONTACTS: — n/a.

TATTOOS: — n/a.

PIERCINGS: — n/a.

SCARS: — jagged scar across his collarbone.

— * | MEDICAL !

ALLERGIES: — shellfish.

SMOKING/ALCOHOL/DRUGS: — former smoker. he hasn’t had a cigarette in approx. 112 days. he drinks more than he should. no drug use.

DIAGNOSES: — n/a.

BLOOD TYPE: — universal donor.

#mmhq task001 #character development.#// i added some of the intro stuff i already had where he's an OC not a canon

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purplesurveys · 4 years

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851

How have you been feeling lately? Have you been doing ok? Uncomfortable because of period cramps and the heat WHICH IS STILL HERE, even though it’s supposed to be gone right about now and it’s supposed to be raining at this point. I wish I was kidding saying this but we literally have three electric fans turned on just for the living and dining rooms. It’s crazy and stupid and it shouldn’t be this hot anymore. I’m doing better mentally and emotionally, so at least that balances things out lol.

Are you currently in quarantine? Still am. While all countries are slowly going back to normal, our Covid cases continue to get higher and higher everyday because our government hasn’t done anything except to make us stay home for three months. No mass testing, no alternate public transport plans, and for some reason Duterte keeps borrowing billions of dollars’ worth of loans from the World Bank nearly every week, and we have no idea where the stupid fucking money goes. Our government is convinced they’ve been doing everything right so they’ve loosened up quarantine protocols, so with malls and restaurants being open again we’ve done nothing but reach record high cases almost every day.

Do you wear a mask when you go to the store? I’ve gone outside a total of three times since March and I wore a mask for two of those times. The first time I went out I just genuinely forgot to bring a mask, but in the end it was fine because I only had to stay in the car.

Does your state require people to wear masks in stores? As far as I know it’s not a requirement per se, but fortunately everyone follows the safety precautions anyway.

Do you know anyone who’s had the coronavirus? Yeah, my mom’s former boss. This is a bit of a stretch but I also know someone personally who had immediate family members that tested positive.

What was the last sweet treat you ate? I had a peanut butter doughnut from J.CO! Soooooooo good.

Was it a nice day out today? No, it’s too hot. Even if life was normal rn I’d prefer to be indoors with air conditioning, like a mall.

Is the weather nice where you live usually? Fuck no. It is disgustingly hot, sticky, and humid 3/4 of the year.

What was the last thing you ordered online? I don’t do a lot of online shopping. When I get something online it’s usually to get food delivered, and the last time I did that it was me and Andrew getting Hong Kong noodles.

Are you expecting a package right now? Nopes.

Have you ever ordered anything from Wish? If so, what did you buy, and did you feel it was worth it? No, though I remember Good Mythical Morning featuring it in a couple of episodes. I don’t feel comfortable buying from stores or sellers that sell things for a lot cheaper because they could always be fake, so I wouldn’t feel comfortable buying from that site.

Are you a youtuber? If so, are you consistent with uploads? and how many subscribers do you have? I’m not, but I do have my own channel. I just use it to like videos and subscribe to my favorites, though.

What is one thing you hate about summer? The weather. Honest to goodness I’d really rather live somewhere that gave me -40C weather everyday.

Did you go outside today? No. My dad wanted to bring Cooper to my grandma’s place and I planned to come along, but at the last minute he changed his mind and did just the errands he was supposed to do.

What is the name of your youtube channel, if you have one? It’s just my full name because my YouTube is linked to my Google account.

What was the name of the last store or restaurant that overcharged you? I don’t know any instances where that would happen. I don’t find service charge inconvenient because I know that directly goes to the servers anyway so I don’t mind how high it gets most of the time. Is your room more often messy or clean? It’s clean most of the time but sometimes when I’m busy I won’t be able to keep it clean and it’ll be clean-messy? Like I’ll leave stuff around but I’ll still know where everything is lol.

Who is someone you miss? ALL MY FRIENDS BRUH

What is something you miss? Being able to go out and freely do activities. Life Pre-COVID < Life pre-COVID, perfectly put. I miss getting an allowance, being out until midnight, having dates with my girlfriend thhe most.

Do you feel like your emotions are often haywire? Not necessarily, but they can get pretty unstable sometimes.

Have you ever received a misdiagnosis from a doctor? Nah but I’ve been given a prescription that didn’t work. We went to our family doctor who made me take a certain medicine for three days, and I started getting worried when three days had passed and I still had my fever. I went to Angela’s mom and she was super quick to tell me that that medicine wasn’t the right one to take for a UTI and prescribed me with something else; and that second one ended up working like magic.

Have you ever been “diagnosed” with a mental illness from an online friend? who is not a doctor? If yes, isn’t that frustrating? That’s never happened before, but if it did I wouldn’t let my frustration get the best of me. I’d just tell them that they should avoid doing that if they’re not a professional because they could very much end up seriously harming people.

Do you have any friends that you can trust and tell everything to? All of them.

What was the name of your favorite roommate you’ve had? Kimi :)

Do you have a favorite book that you’ve read multiple times? Yeah when I was a kid I would reread this book that an aunt had given me for Christmas as much as I could. For many years I forgot the title but after painstakingly Googling the few keywords I could remember I finally found out it again – it’s a series called Three Girls in the City by Jeanne Betancourt, but I only ever read the first book because it was the only gift I got. It’s not my favorite book, but I’d be so happy if I got to be reunited with it again because I don’t think we got to keep it around when we moved houses.

What’s one book or book series that you’ve read multiple times? ^ That, multiple wrestling memoirs, and Norwegian Wood by Haruki Murakami. I’ve also reread the Twilight Saga once.

What was the name of the funniest kid you’ve ever babysat? I never babysat anyone other than younger relatives, but the one I enjoyed taking care of the most was my cousin Lucas. He was the smartest kid I babysat so it was fun talking to him, plus his yaya was always nice to me, they had a playground and sandbox at home, and all I had to do was keep him company while he watched Thomas and Friends over and over.

Do you enjoy babysitting? Just the younger relatives that were smarter and more behaved. I didn’t like the kids who thought kicking and being rowdy were fun.

Do you have any big regrets? One big one.

Are there things about your past that bother you? Of course. My entire childhood is one.

What was the last thing you saw or read on social media that made you angry? OMG get ready for this one. Our dumb as a rock presidential spokesperson was talking about how happy he is that the country beat UP’s (my school, which the government hates because we always talk shit about them lol) prediction of 40,000 Covid cases by the end of June if the government doesn’t do anything to prevent more cases. How many cases do we have? Fucking 36,000. Our government is happy because they finally beat our school over something for the very first time and they are technically happy that we got 36,000 cases, which if you round up will give you 40,000 anyway. My school had a fucking FIELD DAY over it and now he is a national meme.

Do you often post about controversial topics on facebook? At first I didn’t but that’s because I wasn’t active on Facebook in the past anyway. After I realized that I had a bigger friends list on Facebook I decided to put it to good use and post about controversial topics to educate others. It’s made a bunch of conservative family members uncomfortable and that’s the goal, son.

Do you think it’s a good idea to post about serious topics on social media? or do you think that it’s better to discuss serious topics in person? It definitely is. In person is good too but you don’t always get that opportunity, so sharing stuff through social media doesn’t hurt too as long as information is accurate. For instance most of my relatives life far from me, so if I want them to get a piece of my mind about Trump or BLM or abortion, sharing informative graphics and tables is always convenient.

What was your favorite book you had to read for school? Without Seeing the Dawn by Stevan Javellana is my absolute favorite. It’s probably the closest thing to being my favorite book. Number the Stars by Lois Lowry is a good runner-up. On the other hand, Dekada ‘70 by Lualhati Bautista is my favorite that was written in Filipino.

Have you ever failed a class and had to repeat it? Nope. I really believe I was meant to fail algebra in my freshman year in high school because I failed every exam, but I think my teacher just took pity on me and gave me a barely-passing mark at the end of the year so that I didn’t have to go to summer school. As for college, I’ve never failed a class.

What class in school did you hate the most? In college I hated my economics elective. I still don’t know why that’s mandatory for us journ students... I also dreaded a couple of journalism classes, but it was more because of the teachers than the classes’ topics.

Have you ever wanted to be a teacher? I don’t think so.

What’s one childhood dream that has stuck with you, and one that has not? Having a big house; becoming a firefighter.

Would you want to re-live your childhood over again if you could? I’ve already said it on this survey, but: fuck no. I’m ok where I am now, even if I am a clumsy adult.

Which do you like more: being an adult or being a kid? Being an adult. Being a kid meant having to stomach the smell of hard alcohol and cigarettes from morning to evening everyday; being caught in the middle of screaming matches between drunk relatives; and being cramped in a single-floor home with 12 people. Like I said, I love where I am now. The amount of independence I gained in college was freeing and felt so nice and I’m glad my parents never tried holding me back. I’m also glad that I didn’t fall into the same alcohol trap, and that I know how to deal with my alcohol responsibly.

At what age were you when you started to feel like you were mature enough to offer others advice? Around college-age, so like when I turned 18.

Did your parents smoke or drink when you were growing up? Neither of them did, because we had enough alcoholism happening at my old home. It was actually my drunken relatives that finally drove my mom out of that house.

Do you enjoy bonfires? I’ve only been to one and I was like 9 years old then, so I wouldn’t know how I feel about them now.

Have you ever stepped on a sparkler? Nope.

What, do you know of, are you allergic to? No allergies.

Have you ever ridden in an ambulance? Also nopes. I always feel bad for the ambulances that I see because I live in a very traffic-heavy city and they always end up getting stuck and crawling through traffic like the rest of us. We do try to swerve, but our roads are so tiny and always cramped that there’s little space left for us to move out of the ambulance’s way, so even though we’re able to make a path for it, the space is not big enough for the ambulance to drive in the speed it’s supposed to.

What is your favorite version of the Bible to read, if applicable? That’s a big no thanks from me.

Do you follow trends? or are you a trendsetter? Yeah, I follow some of them if I think they are nice.

Has anyone ever described you as a trendsetter? Nope, because I am not.

Do you know anyone who used to be loving, but then turned cold? List three people you’ve known whom this has happened to. My mom, Athenna, Macy. The only person I don’t resent out of these three is Macy, because I know she turned distant due to mental health issues and because she wants to fix herself first, which is responsible.

What SAT subjects, if any, did you get a perfect score in? We don’t have SAT.

What were your best subjects in school? and what was your favorite subject in school? I loved taking history electives in college, and I performed the best in them too. I also did well in international relations, which was under the political science department.

Have you ever been abused by a parent or legal guardian? I’ve been verbally and emotionally abused by my mom ever since I can remember.

Do you have a lot of wounds from your past? If we’re getting visual then I’d rather say that I have one ugly, infected gash that gets bothersome from time to time. My past isn’t made up of little tiny scattered wounds.

Has anyone ever called you a jerk? Behind my back, probably.

Are you a jerk? I can be, so I don’t mind being called it. I never said I was the nicest person.

What color were your bedroom walls in high school? They have always been white. My mom doesn’t let us have control over our own rooms, so in the beginning it’s always been plain boring white. Don’t get me wrong, I like my room but sometimes it just feels like living in a cell.

Is there a girl or guy you wish you hadn’t let slip away? I wish I was still close with my high school friends, and I remember saying how they were for keeps in my old surveys so that makes me extra sad haha. I’m civil with most of them, but no longer close. And I only ever talk to them if it’s their birthdays or if they achieved something big. The only people I’ve remained close with from that original group are Angela and Hans.

Is there an old friend that you miss and would like to reconnect with? Not really. Sofie and I have grown apart from each other now and we’re both very happy, so there’s no need to change that. I’m okay with seeing her once or twice a year.

Who has hurt you the most? My mom.

Have you been bullied? Yeah in kindergarten. Long-lasting effects though.

Which talent show, if any, would you most like to audition for? and have you auditioned for one? No thanks. I don’t have the kind of talent that I can show off, like singing or playing an instrument.

Do you know anyone who’s auditioned for American Idol? I don’t think so. But my mom knows someone who auditioned for our local version of America’s Got Talent. He’s a ventriloquist that my mom used to get for our parties. As far as I know he got into the grand finals, but I’m not sure if he won.

Is there someone you think should audition that hasn’t yet? American Idol’s been over for a while now.

What time of day do you usually feel your best? I love the evenings.

What’s one way in which you’ve changed within the last ten years? I was in sixth grade then, I’ve graduated from college now. My mom was purely verbally abusive to me then, now we have brief stints of having an actually healthy relationship. I had one dog then and I have two dogs now; I had no friends then and I have tons of them now. There’s been a lot of tiny changes but nothing that were life-changing.

Do you feel like time goes by fast, or slow? It goes both ways depending on how stimulated I am or how much fun I’m having.

Who do you know who has died of cancer? One of my great-aunts.

Has there been cancer in your family? Yeah, ^ that. Other than her I’m not sure if we’ve had other cases. My family tends to be hush-hush about cancer and only ever call it ‘c’ or ‘the big one.’

Have you ever stayed overnight in a hospital, and if so, what for? Yes, once for a low platelet count.

Have you ever been a victim of police misconduct? No but the cops here are just as corrupt as the ones in the US, so I can very much be a victim any time. It’s just a matter of being in the wrong place at the right time.

Have you ever been so angry you wanted to sue someone? Not so much that I wanted to sue someone, no.

Have you ever been a victim of racism? My country isn’t diverse at all and we’re all Filipinos here, and I’ve only ever traveled to Asian countries, so no. But racism is a big reason why I have no plans to go to other countries known for it.

Have you ever deleted a friend on Facebook for making racist comments? I’ve unfriended those who were being little bitches about BLM and George Floyd’s death, so I guess that kinda counts as being racist. I still have a few racist Facebook friends that I keep around, but that’s because they’re family members.

What was the last thing you ate? Binagoongan.

What was the theme of your senior prom? Clair de Lune, so like the moon and shit.

Did you go to prom? It was mandatory, so I had to go even though I really had no interest.

Have ever been engaged or married? I have been neither.

Are you an aunt or uncle? Nah but I’m a godmother to one of my cousins.

Do you live to glorify God and to do His will? LOL no

Are you happy with the way you are living your life day-to-day right now? It could be better and more filled with activity. But I’m not miserably depressed right now and that’s more than enough for me.

Do you feel like your life was better or worse six years ago? It was slightly better. I feel like 2014 was my best year.

Have you ever made a huge, catastrophic mistake? Not anything that ruined my life or someone else’s, no.

Do you feel like you are currently in a state of suffering? and that not all of your basic needs are being met? If so, how long have you been in a state of suffering? Basic needs?? So you mean poverty? No.

Do you hate social injustice? Absolutely. Anyone who tolerates it is automatically a gigantic prick, I’d say.

Are you happy with the current social class you are in? No. I don’t know how it translates to English, but in Filipino we have this term called naghaharing-uri that comprises the very very very very tiny top of the social pyramid and it’s made up of top government officials and their families, heads of corporations, old money families, etc. It’s no secret that it’s this 1% that exploits the 99% remaining in the pyramid, so even though I’m relatively comfortable in my class, I hate that, when it comes down to it, we’re only being used by this 1% for their own benefit.

Life isn’t fair. True or false? True.

Do you hate that life is so unfair? Sometimes, if it’s for stuff about social injustice and how some people have to be homeless, why homophobia exists, etc. But if it’s for tiny problems, I feel like they’re necessary sometimes so we can learn from them.

Name a few people who seem to have everything handed to them. Some richer kids that I know.

Who do you go to when you’re upset? Sometimes myself, sometimes Gabie.

Do you pray less or more than you did 5 years ago? A LOT LESS, thank fuck I got out of that trap.

Do you pray a lot? Definitely not.

Do you frequently have back pain? Yeah, haha. Kinda expected considering I have scoliosis.

What’s the worst side effect you’ve experienced for a medication? and what’s the worst withdrawal effect you’ve experienced from a medicine? Nothing worse than diarrhea. I’ve never experienced withdrawal.

Have you ever used an epi pen? Nopes.

What’s a name that you like but probably wouldn’t use for one of your kids? Isabella because I’m already an Isabelle and my girlfriend has a sister named Isabela.

What’s your name, and do you like it? Robyn. I like it now.

Would you prefer to give your kids common names or unique names? Common, more old-school names. I just feel like they sound super elegant.

Do you feel like anybody values you in the way that you deserve? Angela, Andrew, and Gab.

Who have you felt the most valued by? ^ Them.

Have you ever been treated like you were inferior? For sure.

What was the name of the biggest bully in your high school? Oh my god this survey is so long... we didn’t have bullies in high school. We had mean girls and mean girl cliques, but as long as you weren’t involved in drama with them you’d be fine.

Do you ever sleep outside? Nah. I’d sleep at the rooftop but there are sooooo many mosquitoes at night.

How many siblings do you have? Two.

Are you the oldest, youngest, middle, or only child? Eldest.

How many kids do you want to have? One or two would be great.

Do you want to get married? Yessssssss.

Best date you’ve been on? Probably that time we went to BGC so we can feel fancy and have a fancy dinner, then when we meant to walk back to our car to go home we ended up having impromptu drinks at like 11 PM when we randomly found a jazz bar loudly playing live music in the area. OH and that time we went museum hopping in Manila and we ended the day having delicioussss Italian food.

Dream date? Traveling out of the country.

Ever kissed someone on New Year’s? Nah. We celebrate New Year’s with our respective families so there’s no chance of that happening. Which is fine, because New Year’s is traditionally a family-centric holiday here so it would be weird for anyone to ditch their families.

Have you ever had an experience so good you felt like you were flying? Sure.

Have you ever been in so much pain you prayed that you would die? YES, with my toothache last year.

What brings you the most joy? My dogs.

What is your passion; what is it that would bring you the most joy and fulfillment in life? I’m at a point where it still keeps changing, so I don’t wanna give an absolute answer to this just yet.

Have you ever laid your dreams aside because someone else wanted you to? That’s never happened to me. I only ever gave up on one dream because it realistically wasn’t attainable, when it came down to it.

Who supports you in everything you do? My two best friends.

Who always tries to stop you whenever you try to go after your dreams? I haven’t had anyone bar me, but if someone tried to they would definitely hear from me.

Do you believe in following your heart, in going after your dreams? Not always.

Do you wish other people would want you to be happy? Of course.

Do you wish you had someone who loved and supported you? I already do.

#survey #surveys #fuck me this was long

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xxisxxisxxis · 5 years

Text

Gateway Drug | Part Two

Part One , Part Three , Part Four

Pairing: Douglas Booth!Nikki Sixx X OC

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: Language

Tag list: @fandomshit6000 , @lilmou5ie , @tamedhearts , @divaanya

**Let me know if you want to be tagged**

———————————————————————

“So, how did this happen?” I ask the four band members, taking another sip of water while we wait for our food. Vince and Mick glance at me while Nikki doesn’t bother looking up from the menu he’s pretending to be fascinated by, even though he’s already ordered.

I at least expect Tommy to answer me, but he’s watching a woman in a short skirt walk by, reaching across the table to hit Vince and Nikki to catch their attention so he can show them the hot chick he discovered.

They watch as she walks by, as if they’ve never seen the lower half of thighs before, and Mick and I exchange eye contact with unamused looks on our faces.

“Idiots.” Mick mumbles, pushing his sunglasses up his nose.

“Horny idiots.” I add in the same tone, feeling a little better when the usually stoic face of the guitarist shifts and nearly gives me a smile. Nearly.

I don’t think they heard us, and when the woman’s too far out of sight and Vince leans back, smirking at me.

“So, Viv, what’ve you been up to these days?” He asks, completely brushing off my earlier question.

“Same thing I was up to freshman, sophomore and junior year. Focusing on school.” I tell him blankly and he rolls his eyes and groans, tilting his head back.

“When the hell are you gonna blow your fuckin’ parents off and have fun?” He asks me.

“That’s exactly what I’ve been trying to tell her and she won’t listen.” Tommy cuts in and I look at him pointedly.

“I snuck out to come see you tonight.” I argue. “Dressed like a hooker.”

“Not a slutty one,” Tommy says it as if it’s not good enough. “You’re wearing a bra, and your shorts could be a few inches shorter.”

“If my mother saw me like this, she would exorcise me.” I state tiredly.

“Ugh, she’s one of those.” Mick comments blankly.

“You have no fucking idea, Mick.” Tommy shakes his head as he complains.

“Judging by how boring her spawn is, we have a pretty good idea, T-bone.” Nikki speaks finally, tossing the menu aside with a low exhale.

“Wow, you have been on it tonight.” I call him out with cut eyes, my arms crossed. “Did you not get all of your anger out during that brawl?”

“Did you not get all of your bitchiness out during the show?” He asks me, furrowing his brows. “You know, we encourage people to get their feelings out during a show so they go home chilled out and not so uptight.”

“Well, maybe you should do better next time.” I shoot back, getting annoyed with his attitude and he chuckles without humor.

Tommy and Vince stay quiet, letting us bicker, glancing at us quietly as Mick just sits still, keeping his face forward, minding his own business.

“I met Tommy after I left my band, London, and he said he could join me. He knew Vince from school, and we found Mick through a newspaper add.” Nikki explains to me with barely any emotion. “That’s how this happened.”

So, he was listening after all.

“How the fuck did this happen?” He asks next and motions between Tommy and I, and we look at each other.

“We met in first grade.” I tell him.

“I put gum in her hair.”

“Then tried to get it out with his spit.” I add. “Which made it worse.”

“So I just cut it out with scissors.” He finishes with a smile and a nod as if he’s a problem solver and I rub my lips together.

“Basically our friendship has consisted of him just making my life hard from day one.” I explain. “Which nowadays instead of putting gum in my hair, he’s screwing girls in the backseat of my car.”

“Oh my God. It was one time, Viv.” He sighs, looking at me.

“Tommy, I saw your everything.” I remind him and he waves me off.

“I’ve seen your everything before. It’s not the end of the world. It just brings us closer.” He tries to reason with me and I’m reminded of the one incident I was hoping they’d forgotten about as he and Vince exchange looks and try to hide their smiles.

“Oh, do tell.” Nikki’s interest is obviously a jab at me, the smug look on his face as he leans forward makes me want to come across the table and hit him.

“Her sophomore year, summer pool party, my house, her bikini magically came off.” Vince tells him, pointing his finger at me.

“‘Magically came off’ meaning Vince spiked my drink with Tequila.” I correct him and he gives me a tight grin.

“You know, now that I think about it, I can’t decide if it was the Tequila or the AC/DC that turned you in to a dirty stripper.” Vince thinks aloud and I have to keep from smiling.

“I was only fifteen. I was not a dirty stripper.” I assure Mick and Nikki.

“Tommy had to chase your naked ass down the street and wrestle you in order to get you to put clothes on.” Vince continues on, not helping my case and I give up. “Tell me you didn’t have fun that day.” He tries to make a point and I think for a few seconds.

“I don’t remember anything past me getting drunk, Vince. Why would you want to live life not remembering any of the fun you supposedly have?”

“Ugh, you’re one of those.” Nikki says to himself, repeating Mick from earlier, rolling his eyes.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I forget having morals and a sense of sobriety is like having the plague to rockstars.” I spit out.

“Viv,” Tommy says under his breath and nudges me with his leg to get me to stop whatever rant I’m about to go on and ruin the mood.

“Do you plan on sticking with Tommy through all of this? Like if we happen to get signed or something and make it to the big leagues?” Nikki asks all of the sudden and Tommy and I stay quiet.

We’ve talked about the possibility of him finding luck in someone’s band ever since he started playing.

I promised him I would go with him wherever he went. We haven’t revisited the idea since I made that promise our junior year. Now we’re half way done with senior year and I’ve already been accepted into a prestige college on a dancing scholarship. If he happens to make it big, I wouldn’t be able to go unless I dropped out. And that would be a fun conversation with my parents.

“That’s what we agreed on. Why?” I ask him and he shakes his head slightly.

I wish he would’ve told me what he really wanted to say. Which was “you’ll never make it out alive.” I wish he would have given me even the slightest idea of what exactly I was getting myself in to. Not that any of it would have made me change my mind.

After we finished eating, I was half asleep, leaned against Tommy as he, Nikki and Vince talked about their next gig and what improvements need to be made for a better show. Mick’s already gone, he left before we even got food, and physically I’m here but mentally I’m in my bed at home.

“Tommy, I’m going home.” I say to him after glancing at his watch and seeing it’s almost two in the morning.

“Lame.” Vince pipes out.

“I know.” I admit, not even caring at this point. I just want to sleep.

“Are you okay to drive?” Tommy asks and before I can answer, he’s taking Nikki’s glass of Coca-Cola away from him and putting it in front of me. “Drink. It’s got caffeine.” Tommy suggests and I glance at Nikki to see him glaring at Tommy for snatching his drink without asking.

“No, thanks. I don’t want any contagious Devil-Spawn disease.” I push the drink away, hearing a single “ha” come out of Nikki’s mouth as Vince snickers.

I slide out of the booth we’re seated in and stand up, relieved to stretch my legs.

“Have fun on your knees, Viv.” Vince tells me slyly, giving me a grin. “Ya know, praying at church and all.”

“I’ll be thinking of you the whole time.” I promise him, looking at Tommy. “I’ll see you Monday.” I tell him, walking to the door.

“Drive safe.” He orders me and I give him a thumbs up before stepping outside to my car.

When I get home, I carefully shut my door as quietly as I can, stepping to my unlocked window. Once it’s slid up, and I climb in, I immediately go pee, strip down and fall in to bed, smelling like cigarettes, booze and sweat but I’m too tired to care.

I hated lying to my parents. And I never did anything necessarily wrong so they had every reason to trust me. Of course what happened at Vince’s pool party a couple of years prior could be considered “wrong”, but they’d never find out about that. And as Mötley Crüe’s success grew, I was having to lie more and more to my mom and dad because I was going to every show they played. Which meant I had to go behind my parent’s backs multiple times a week, multiple nights in a row.

I pace the floor of the dressing room, Tommy perfecting his hair as I continue ranting.

“...And I can’t even sneeze without them interrogating me so I don’t know how much longer I can keep this whole thing up.” I finish telling him.

“Don’t worry about it. Just tell them you’re tutoring me if they keep getting suspicious.” He tells me, teasing his hair, and I step behind him in the mirror, teasing a section that he missed. “Thanks, Viv.” He mumbles once I’m done, taking a swig of Jack that’s on the counter in front of him.

“They don’t even think I’m friends with you anymore, Tommy.” I don’t expect the hurt look on his face when I tell him this, and he snaps his full attention my way.

“What the fuck do you mean?” He asks and I breathe out.

“Mötley and it’s members are starting to gain recognition from my church. My mom told me I don’t need to be friends with you anymore.” I explain and his face scrunches up. “Being that you represent Satan and all of hell’s demons and what not.” I try to make a joke but he’s not focused on it.

“Who the fuck is she to tell you to stop being friends with me after twelve fucking years?” He hisses bitterly, looking in the mirror to line his eyes with black liner.

“I’m not listening to her, obviously.” I motion to myself.

There’s a pause of silence between us, and he finishes his eye liner, taking another gulp of alcohol.

“You don’t really believe that shit about us and Satan do you?” It’s a question I assume is meant to be funny but he’s dead serious when he asks it.

“No, Tommy, I don’t.” I state sternly. “There is nothing hellacious about you.” I add, smiling reassuringly at him.

I decide I better hurry and change from my “appropriate” clothes that I wore out of the house since my parents were still awake. They weren’t about to let me leave until I explained to them I was going to a prayer meeting at my friend Tansy’s house.

“Tommy, I need my clothes.” I tell him, taking the long, denim skirt off, along with the long sleeve shirt, leaving me in a bra and panties and he turns to hand me the skin tight, emerald green dress that leaves little to the imagination.

He doesn’t acknowledge the fact I’m in just my underwear, his face turned away as he hands me the dress and I feel a shred of pride that he actually can control himself to an extent.

I put the dress on, deciding it doesn’t look right with a bra and I can see the distinct panty line so I take it off again and toss my bra aside, and take my panties off, tossing the set of under garments on to the counter.

“Hide those from Vince or I will never see them again.” I tell Tommy and he gets a look on his face before turning to face me, screaming like a girl when he sees me completely naked.

“Tommy!” I scream as he screams “Viv!” And squeezes his eyes closed.

“Why didn’t you warn me?!” He asks with his face in his hands and I shouldn’t find this funny, but I do.

“I didn’t expect you to turn around and you’ve already said you’ve seen it all—“

I’m interrupted by Nikki and Vince barging in blaring out “Tommy” and “T-Bone.”

I have never seen Tommy Lee move so fast and before I know it, he’s shouting “No!” And tackling me, while I’m still naked, to keep Vince and Nikki from seeing me.

Judging by the looks on their faces, he was a little too late at covering me up.

#nikki sixx #vince neil #mick mars #tommy lee #the dirt #douglass booth #iwan rheon #machine gun kelly #colson baker #daniel webber #the dirt movie #mötley crüe

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scato006-blog · 4 years

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Searching for a title and feedback.

New to this, would appreciate any feedback.

My mother’s hand squeezes around my infantile one, small, petite, and plump even for a 12-year-old. I feel the cold, hard shaft of the metal handle, the gun weighty in my hand. My mother’s breath, laced with Bacardi rum and stale Marlboro lights, coaches me to squeeze harder, my tiny fingertips biting under the pressure and turning light purple at the tips from being held so forcefully.

“You have to hold it like you mean it, steady.” She coaches.

“I don’t want to,” I whine, almost silently.

The wind kept biting my plump cheeks, and I felt my legs, bare in the November air, tingling and pocking with cold bumps.

This has become a routine, my mother getting intoxicated or high, and taking a sudden interest in her children and choosing the worst time to suddenly teach us some life skills. My brother, with his autism, is too heady a project to undertake. So, it is me, who at 11 pm is hauled from my kitten covered sheets and dragged outside for an impromptu lesson on protecting myself, undoubtably due to some loosely based on a true story Lifetime network film where a girl, most likely Tori Spelling, is victimized.

Thankfully, she loses interest surprisingly fast this time, and when she loosens her grip on my hand, I am able to wrestle past her, knocking her to one knee as she curses and I bolt back into my bed and lock the door. She staggers in and pounds for several moments, calling me names, before I hear her door shut and know she has passed out.

My mother hasn’t been quite right since my father died. I see her leaving often to doctors’ offices, complaining of ailments ranging from pains to depression and anxiety disorders. Her pills litter the tops of our 80’s style maroon kitchen counters; every consistency you can imagine from syringes to tiny multicolored capsules. In the mornings, we see her guzzling down the liquid medications, never using the tiny, clear ridged top that is supposed to serve as a barbie sized measuring cup. Instead, she uses that as a pseudo lid when she gets too inebriated to remember where she put the child proof cap the pharmacist carefully clicks into place. Her arms are littered with pock marks from needles. Some self-inflicted and some from all the blood draws ordered by her physicians. She has become obsessed with this idea of teaching us how to protect ourselves since my father passed. Which later I will realize is terribly contradictory, since the basis of most our inflictions come from her blatant negligence.

It isn’t until I start having sleepovers with girls outside my neighborhood that I will realize this isn’t a normal occurrence. I spend time with girls whose parents bake them cinnamon buns in the morning slathered with extra crystalline icing, whose mothers collect little figurines cased in glass cabinets without fingertips smeared on them and father figures who go off to work, kissing cheeks instead of backhanding them like the other dads in my neighborhood would do. It’s a foreign world to me, and oddly, it makes me surprisingly uncomfortable to be in such a serene environment. Almost mundane as wild as that may seem to some. Beige. I always notice this common color scheme in these safety net homes, everything was always varying shades of beige from the carpets to the placemats to the sheets. Beige everywhere.

In the morning, it’s as if nothing has happened, as she bustles around the kitchen getting my brother’s routine down to match the Velcro pictured descriptions that are supposed to help with his over stimulation. I can tell there is something tangible and tense in the air, the blatant ostracizing of me from our tiny family unit. I will learn later that it is due to embarrassment over her own actions, but in the moment from my young perspective, I have somehow failed her.

I gather my things, my teal Jansport backpack smeared with pen marks and patches, and dig in the back cabinet, shoving expired bags of chips and soup out of the way to find a long lost granola bar and walk out the door, pausing before turning the silver knob to look back slightly out of my peripheral at my mother to see if she pauses at the sound of me leaving. She doesn’t.

The bus stop holds a sense of comfort for me, knowing that I will be headed to the one safe institution I have in my young life, school. There are rules, teachers, consistency, and scheduled mealtimes. I know what is coming and when. I know what is expected of me and it isn’t laced with alcohol and substances, or parties in my home with strange men who grab in places they shouldn’t and burn your arms with their cigarettes when you try to yell in protest for someone who is too inebriated to come to your rescue.

Teacher’s take special interest in me, I must exude some sense of chaos at home, my behavior is mildly disruptive with chattering to my fellow neighboring classmates, often causing my desk to be moved adjacent to the teachers to curve my “social butterfly” antics.

Years later, I will run into my favorite English teacher, Ms. Mueller, and she will subtly hint at the signs of abuse she saw from my rumpled clothes to my bruised arms and vacant expression from exhaustion. She will tell me of a time she went to my mother’s store, at the height of our home tsunami during my high school years, and the words heatedly exchanged between them. From that point on, in school, before I have this knowledge, I will choose to spend an hour every day after school with her and be exposed to various forms of literature. She will bring books with her and give me deadlines throughout the year, hoping to keep me driven and expand this world I escape to through books.

Oddly enough, my thirst for books came from the very person I was trying to escape.

In fifth grade I had a teacher I absolutely loathed. It was truly, the first person I had a deep hatred and resentment for. I remember the feelings of rage and a craving for the demolition of our high-ceilinged classroom. Ms. Symzick was a small, petite woman who would prance around her classroom in various shades of loud pinks and magenta, shouting in her irritatingly shrill, chalkboard scraping screeching voice. She had a serious inclination to class favorites, and those favorites tended to be the children of affluent parents she co-vacationed with in the Bahamas and Jamaica, frequently referencing scuba diving explorations and inside jokes she had created with the kids poolside while they showed off their attempts at underwater hand stands. She accused my indifferent attitude towards her and my inability to pay attention to her reading “out loud” to the class on comprehension issues. My mother responded, in typical Tammy fashion, and greeted me that afternoon with a stack of VC Andrews books. Her philosophy was that I needed something to read that could hold my attention in a mildly traumatizing way. Make the book risqué enough for me to care, and it would cure my non attentive approach to active listening. It certainly worked.

While my classmates were reading books about bridges crossing into Terabithia to conquer exciting pretend lands, I was obsessed with mentally trying to connect the incest family trees of wealthy families stuck in attics, toiling away pasting together paper flowers to create gardens. I craved reading about these fucked up families, and was elated to find that not only where the books thick with small font which meant they lasted longer than my classmates small flirtations with literature, but they also were in series so I could follow these families for generations. I would blow through a book a day if it was the weekend, absorbing finally, every comma and black small printed letter flowing into my mind through an osmosis of obsessive reading.

I sit next to Holly and hold her hand under our jackets in solidarity. Holly has the same house as I do, which is baffling and comforting for my young mind. Her brothers shout and throw things in their drunken rages, blaming their parents for their adult failures and losses of custody over children. Her father sits on the couch, sleeps on the couch, drinks on the couch, argues from the couch, he exists on the couch, never intervening. When he would winded from yelling, he would clutch a small, metal vile necklace he always wore. I would learn later it contained a single pill that would melt under his tongue because he was prone to panic attacks from his time in the military.

Holly will sneak into my room, late in the night, when things get bad and she climbs into my bed, cold hands and feet pressed against my calves for warmth. She rustles under my sheets and presses her perfect little bud lips against my cheek and snuggles into my neck and falls asleep fast, just as our thermostat registers the drop in temperature from the window being pried open for her to come in and the furnace clicks on, as always, I fling my leg out from under the blankets, so as to not wake Holly and soak in some cool air as her body heat radiates against my own. I love her and want to protect her, as she is the only one who has ever expressed a kindred likeliness to what I experience behind closed doors. She protects me as well, when my mother opens the door slightly to see if I am awake or when she is under the influence ready for another “life lesson,” she will always close the door and slither away when she sees Holly’s body next to mine.

Holly knew about these moments, in the dead of night when my mother would make her way into the room. She was the one who saw the handprint makes in shades of black and blue, purple then fading to yellows and lime greens. She would take my arm, and lay her hot, brown palm slowly and softly on top of the blue and purple marks so gently, brushing the tops of the soft baby arm hair then would turn over, as if nothing had happened. It was the act of acknowledging, that would transition into acts of protection. She knew if she was there, those marks wouldn’t appear. Holly became an ever-present staple in my life, it was truly as if she was holding me together, fastening my frayed edges to keep them from being burned by my mother and faceless men’s lighters.

This is my day to day, and night to night. The seeking of comfort in concrete things and people outside my home and struggling to find a purpose outside of myself.

Years pass, the same abuses remain constant, even after the school nurse contacts my mother over concerns she has when she sees my bandaged fingers from a screaming hot iron. The difference is the older I get, the more I learn to fight back, slick mouthed and learning to block hands quickly with forearms. I develop the internal switch, for numbing and hardening emotions to dispel any sense of misery or hopelessness, I don’t allow myself to be vulnerable around her and show any form of pain or exaggerated anger. I treat her with complete indifference, which in her drunken, high moments causes absolute meltdowns. Her emotional levels skyrocketing due to inebriation, and my disconnect growing more profound with each outburst. I start to want more, more than these walls and house. I want to sleep peacefully, quietly, and safely. A concept I had never visualized for myself that I thought was coveted for children with two parents and yards without brown spots and littered with dog feces.

I sit, at 15, in my English class, the scared space I have carved out for myself. Ms. Mueller, walks past, having just kicked Gary out of class for shouting at her.

“Dyke gave me a F,” he rages after we are returned our midterm grades.

“Out!” Ms. Mueller declares, stunning me at how she so gracefully and passively dismisses him and his hate slurred words.

As she passes back to her desk, I feel a blue piece of paper get slid under the flesh of my forearm. I slide it under my notebook, I can tell through its delivery, she doesn’t want me to attract any attention through receiving it. She looks pointedly at me, and when the bell rings I rush out to see what it is she has slipped me.

She knows I am not happy with her today. Ms. Mueller detests Holly. There is this just under the surface acknowledgement that they don’t address one another, ever. Holly feels Ms. Mueller is trying to come between us and take time I should be spending time with her and instead am choosing to spend it reading, which is the most boring thing in Holly’s mind. Oddly enough, Holly has detention or make up tests almost every day after school, so her time wouldn’t be spent with me regardless. Holly is known to have her behavioral issues, shouting at teachers and authority figures much in the same fashion as her older brothers do to her and her parents. It is a cycle that has already began its inheritable rotation.

“She’s not good for you, you have too much inside you for that one.” Ms. Mueller had told me suddenly, interrupting me reading silently beside her while she worked on the summer reading list for the class, and my own which had easily an extra fifteen books added to it. At the time, I didn’t really understand what it was she meant.

“Too much inside me? What the hell?” I thought. I glared defiantly at the top of her head, wishing I had the nerve to reach out and rustle her short, cropped hair out of its artfully tousled with hair paste landscape just out of spite. She didn’t look up, nor acknowledge my anger filled face, and after some time I set my mouth in a taught line and kept reading. Leaving that day without saying a word when our hour was up.

I open it up and see it’s a flyer, for some summer program called Upward Bound and kids interested in colleges. I had never imagined myself being on some pristine collegiate campus. That was also reserved for the cinnamon bun kids whose parents showed up to every sporting event, cheering them on from the sidelines and pumping their fists in the air, visualizing college scouts coming with hefty scholarships and grants. Not for me, who begged for rides to and from practices, relying on my grandparents for transportation sparsely, so they wouldn’t see the state of our house. My mother would always get angry when her parents came to drop us off, always insisting on coming in to survey the

damage in the house from holes in walls to dirty dishes crawling with critters and cats licking dirty pans for burned egg pieces.

I folded the flyer in half and hastily shoved in under my stack of books on the bottom self in the locker I share with Holly. I am always the bottom shelf, to take my lacking height into consideration. She can’t see it; she will lose her mind. I know this, our codependency has blossomed into a full relationship of unhealthy proportions, two emotionally crippled humans attempting at something far too adult.

I wait, as always, for her to come meet me briefly, and she does. Angry brown eyes, jet black hair, browned skin from her native American heritage, and slanted eyebrows. I forgot she was angry with me from this morning when I pulled my hand away from hers when Kim snatched the jacket up that hid our weaved fingertips.

“Mr. Mason is such an asshole,” she huffs slamming her books in the locker, standing on her tip toes to launch them to the back where we hear them ding as they hit the metal back.

“What happened?” I ask, gauging her temperance to see where we are at. Holly drives the emotional state of our relationship; she being the more volatile of the two of us.

“He gave me detention for missing all that homework,” she huffed as she slammed the locker shut. “I just want school to be done already, I hate it.”

I watched her stalk off, wordless, now definitely wasn’t the time to broach the subject of an academic summer camp that focuses on colleges. Holly was not interested in anything remotely studious, let alone something that would separate us for an entire summer.

I watch her turn the corner of the light seafoam green colored hallways, waiting until I can be sure she is completely out of sight before slamming my elbow into the door right above the turn lock, causing it to pop open, a little trick Tommy showed me last year when he had this locker. I hop up on the toes of my sneakers and grab the flyer out from my Roman History classes textbook.

It is in that moment; I realize I don’t want to stay closeted with Holly and hide holding hands. I don’t want to stay in a home I feel constantly threatened in, showing all the scars on my skin and inside of my flesh. I don’t want to be stuck slinging burgers at the diner down the street, or as a cashier at the grocers. I don’t want to struggle against the New England seasonal depression of grey skies to salt crusted and frost heaved roads. I don’t want to be tied to this place where I feel like a hamster on a spinning wheel, never moving forward and back, just in one constant place.

The flyer announces the meeting is today, in Ms. Mueller’s classroom of course, but an hour after we usually meet. I know Holly has detention, so if there was ever a time I could go and take a glance at what this whole thing is about, it is today when she will be occupied for a definite set amount of time.

I watch the clock anxiously for the last two periods, bouncing my leg in anticipation, choosing to focus more on the seconds hand than the other two since it moves at such a faster pace. Holly isn’t in my last two classes; they are AP and she is sequestered into the more remedial ones where they mostly watch movies instead of getting lectures from young teachers who still feel they can make a difference and impact our lives.

Ms. Mueller is at the door, leaning against it with her arms crossed, her cuffs folded up at the elbow, creased slacks and pointed shiny ebony dress shoes, almost as if she was waiting for me. Now that I look back, I think she was.

“Well here she is, take a seat.” She gestures to the open door.

I look in and see every seat is filled mostly with kids from other schools and a couple familiar faces of girls I have barely exchanged two words with. I slide into a seat near the door, resolving that if I need to make a quick getaway, I will at least have an easy shot to the door. Ms. Mueller positions her chair in the doorway; it’s like she can sense what I am thinking and gives me another one of her pointed stares.

A young man with a lot of vigor and energy and radiant brilliantly white smile bounds up to the front of the room. I will learn almost immediately that his name is Craig when he finally stops bounding around and announces who he is, that he went to Bates College, and dives into a lengthy description of what Upward Bound really is. There are other individuals up there as well, all standing in a line with various colleges strewn on their tee shirts and sweatshirts: Colby-Sawyer, Keene State, UNH, Plymouth State, are some of the names I spot.

The program is a six-week summer session that focuses on preparing students for college and even offers opportunities to take college level classes that can be accredited. Six weeks on a college campus, right in my hometown, sleeping in the dorms, going to classes, they even offer sporting events and excursions to local spots for day trips. It sounded too good to be true.

I looked around the room and saw most of the kids had that same look as I did, clinging to every word. “Give me an escape, please. Tell me I won’t fall through the cracks and be left right here where I started.” Their faces all seemed to say.

Craig took the basic Q&A after his dialogue of wonderous academia enchantment and promise, everyone asking the same things I was wondering. I wouldn’t raise my hand and attract attention to myself, no way.

I saw her then, Jodie, sitting with her hand up to ask more about the sporting opportunities offered, field hockey specifically. She sat with her blonde hairspray scrunched hair, long eyelashes and friendly, wide open blue eyes. I was amazed at how drawn I was to her instantly, like she was the bright glinting Christmas tree of hope in contrast to Holly’s darkness and shadowing pessimistic outlook on life and humanity. There was also this underlying feeling emanating from her. She was wearing adidas snap pants and her field hockey jacket, I knew without knowing, I knew she had the same attraction to females as I did. When Craig answered her question to her satisfaction, Jodie thanked him, and I saw her sign the sheet to enroll and receive more information. I watched that sheet for the rest of the presentation and when we were wrapping up, Ms. Mueller caught me at the door, the sign sheet in her fingertips.

“You forgot something,” she stated, a black pen in her other hand, held out to me.

I stepped aside, opening my mouth to let out a string of excuses, all based in fear and simultaneously worried that if I failed at this camp, I would disappoint her.

“Don’t.” She held up her palm that held the pen. “Sign the paper.”

I realized in that moment; this was my chance. I was on the edge of something, a choice. I knew what I would lose, and I quickly sobered to the reality that what I stood to lose, didn’t outweigh what I had to gain.

So I made the choice, to take a chance, put the pen to that blue paper, and signed my name, choosing to take that chance, choosing something so much bigger for myself than I could have ever imagined and taking the first step to end the cycle that would have ensnared me just as it did many others. It even would claim Holly in the end, leaving her to browning pine trees, closeted and affairs in secrecy, the shame and impending alcoholism, cursing from her couch just as her father did.

#feedback writer nonfiction

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blueandgoldstella · 5 years

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Hello everybody! I’m Sarah, I am 23 years old, and live in EST. This is my beloved OC, Stella. She happens to be one of my all time favorite characters of mine and I hope that y’all love her as much as I do. Below the cut is all the information you should know about her! I will say, there is some potentially triggering content so please be noted of that!

[ LAUREN JAUREGUI ] ( ✶:･ﾟ♦ — ▓ hey, guess what - i just saw STELLA VALDEZ by sweet water river, you know they’re SIXTEEN and a HIGH SCHOOL STUDENT who identifies themselves as FEMALE i sometimes hear people describe them as RECKLESS and STUBBORN but others say that they’re LOYAL and ADVENTUROUS . me personally? i’m wondering what they were doing at the scene of jason blossoms murder, alone.

TW: child neglect, child abuse, gang violence, murder, alcoholism, drug abuse

Alright, to start off firstly - Stella is what I’d like to consider a mixture of Kat Stratford and Fiona Gallagher. She’s also totally the mom friend and momma bear of the younger serpents lbr

FAMILY UPBRINGING/DYNAMIC:

She is the oldest out of six children. Yes, six children. She has three brothers and two sisters.The birth order of the Valdez family is as follows: Stella (16 years old), Nick (13 years old), Avery (10 years old), Serenity (7 years old), Evan (3 years old) and Rowan (4 months old).

The Valdez family has ultimately been labeled as that family on the Southside that ‘never stops growing’. Basically, you blink - and there’s another member of that family.

Growing up, Stella has never came from a life of privilege. She’s never known of the concept of a trust fund or a comma in her bank account. For her, it always too small of clothes. Too cold of nights. Too hungry of mornings. To be frank, she’s dirt poor. Always has been poor.

A majority of her younger years consisted of moving around, quite a bit. The places she grew up and lived in prior to Riverdale were not great by any means. They hardly had any furniture or personal belongings. They often consisted of a two bedroom apartment (if they were lucky) where Stella would find herself sleeping on the floor in a sleeping bag because her family couldn’t afford actual beds. She wouldn’t actually have her own bed to call her own until she was over 10 years old.

She is of Cuban decent, having been born and spending the first years of her life in Miami, Florida.

Her parents grew up in the same neighborhood with one another, becoming close as teenagers, eventually starting to date once they were at the age of 16/17.

Her dad has had a criminal record ever since he was a young teen. Having been in and out jail throughout his life, even when he was a juvenile. He joined a gang within Miami when he was around the age of 13/14. As he grew older, he’d become more engulfed into gang life and what it involved.

Contrary to popular belief, Stella’s dad wasn’t always a terrible person or father. Yes, he has always done sketchy things but it was always because he needed to feed his family and provide for them.

When Stella was 5 years old and Nick was around the age of 3, they’d kiss Florida goodbye. One night, seemingly out of the blue, her dad came home late, extremely distressed, physically in bad shape, and shaken up, Stella and Nick had no idea what was going on, but they were told by their mom and dad to pack up enough things that would fit in the van and that they had to go. Completely fleeing the place they had been living at.

Unknown to them, their dad had an altercation with a rival gang that turned deadly. The rival gang members were trying to jump one of his ‘boy’s and Stella’s dad wasn’t going to have it. Having grown up with his fellow gang members, he had to be loyal to his guys. He ended up killing one of the members in the rival gang. Being afraid that his actions would put him and his family at risk, he had no other choice than to flee.

The death of the rival gang member eventually lead to her father becoming an alcoholic. This was a turning point in not only his life, but his family dynamic. This was a point in Stella’s life when she knew something changed and her parents weren’t truly her parents anymore. To this day, Stella still doesn’t know her dad killed a man.

When they fled Florida, they had little to nothing with them. They had very few belongings and no home. Their financial situation was at an all time low and for the next almost 3 years of her life her family was basically homeless; living out of the Friday van. She had dealt with temporary homelessness before, having to sleep in the family van for a few days or weeks at a time at the most. But, this would soon become months at a time. Stella had no idea where they were headed, but she knew Florida would never be their home again. They were lucky if they could spend a few nights at a time at homeless shelters and such. During this period in her life, she’d go days without eating full meals and the food she did have, she’d find giving to her siblings.

Before finding their way to Riverdale, her parents would fall into addictive tendencies, not putting the needs of their kids before that. This was a turning point for her when she came to realize that nine times out of ten, her parents were going to put their addictions before themselves. If she wanted to survive, she’d have to provide for herself and for her younger siblings.

She has learned to become a humble person and be thankful for the things that she does have. Even if it might not be much, she knows there is probably somebody way worse off than her. Living in the Sunnyside trailer park feels like luxury compared to the living conditions she was so used to during her childhood.

Nobody knows much about Stella’s past prior to moving to Riverdale. It’s not like she’s ashamed of it, she just doesn’t want to remember that low point in her life, or for people to take pity on her. (Of course, I HC that some people would obviously have to know about her troubled upbringing, but I can’t imagine it would be all of Riverdale, nor the Southside).

Officially moved to the Southside of Riverdale when she was 9, almost 10.

Throughout her childhood, her parents have had on and off custody of her siblings. CPS has had to step in and turn her family upside down more than once. With her mom being an on and off drug addict and her dad having drinking issues, it has only created chaos.

As of right now, her mom is currently not in the picture. She ditched her family shortly after the birth of her sixth child. Her dad’s drinking habits has increased due to her absence (they were under control for a bit, long enough for him to find stable work within Riverdale. Now, they are getting out of hand once more, him on the verge of loosing the job he currently has). Also, her dad’s anger has worsened and he has chosen to take it out on his oldest daughter while he is strung out. Currently no one knows about the abuse she is suffering at home and Stella wants to keep it that way. If anybody were to get too involved, that could mean the kiddos getting taken away from her.

OTHER INFORMATION:

Stella is actually extremely smart and a borderline genius. She has always done well in school without trying hard. It’s all come natural to her. She has a 4.0 GPA in school and her teachers have high expectations for her.

Stella has found ‘creative’ and ‘different’ ways to make money for her family. This includes doing other people’s homework/writing papers for them, pick-pocketing, stealing, and scamming people out of money (with the help of her adorable little siblings). The ways she sees it - when you’re poor, the only way to make decent money is to steal it or scam it.

The girl, over the years, has found herself developing a love for cooking (mostly baking). Aside from her non-conventional ways of making money, she works part time at a bakery on the Southside. It’s a job that she actually enjoys and she gets to score free bread and sweet-treats for her family.

Along with baking, she loves to read. This girl can finish a book in what seems like seconds. She’s not really picky with genre's, ultimately just loving the escape that books bring to her. You can usually catch her reading a book in the mornings on her front porch of her trailer, cigarette and coffee alongside with her.

She has dreams of possibly going to college and ultimately doing some good with her life. Either wanting to become a lawyer, working in the foster care system, or going for a business degree to open up her own bakery. But, even though she could get into some good colleges the thought of doing anything after HS doesn’t seem like a reality for her. She doubts she’ll be able to leave the Southside, as sad as it sounds. Plus, she has had the lingering thought of when she officially turns eighteen, becoming an official guardian (or possibly fighting to fully adopt) her younger siblings. She vowed to herself a long time ago that her family was going to come before anything, including herself. Her siblings future and well-being are more important than her own. All she wants is for them to have a wonderful future as they grow older and she is willing to do whatever it takes to do so. Even if it means putting herself on the back burner and not doing the things she, deeps down, desperately wants to achieve and accomplish for herself.

The Serpents have became the family she never knew she needed. She’s always been close to her southside neighbors and such, but eventually found herself joining when she was a young teen (age 14). She’s fully involved with them now and would do anything for her fellow Serpents. She’d literally take the shirt off her back for her Southside family (but especially the Serpents). Even if her trailer may be tiny and always chaotic, her door is always open for a place to crash, to eat, or the such.

She’s never ‘too’ fond of the Northsiders due to have always been judged by them due to her lack of money and large family.

She drives an extremely old and beat up ‘mom van’ that she named Clifford. She can be seen toting around her younger siblings in it with pride. Please note though: Stella is a terrible, terrible driver. This bitch is constantly running over curbs and such. It’s a shock she passed her driving test in the first place.

#bghq.intro #( intro )#( about )#tw: child negelct #tw: child abuse #tw: alcoholism #tw: drug abuse #tw: gang violence #tw: murder

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funnydove-blog · 4 years

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You’ll Manage: THE BREAK UP WITH MAKE UP

Let’s discuss breaking up with unnecessary beauty products and the companies that put their corporate profits before their customers’ health. Women are the target market, the dominant demographic, and the driving force behind the 50 billion dollar a year beauty products industry. The products are marketed to them as ‘personal care’, implying that these products are a necessity. Most are not.

While we’ve touched on the health hazards of many beauty products, we should also address the financial impact. One of the biggest drains on a woman’s budget is the constant purchase of beauty products. This expenditure makes money management difficult. Women have billions of advertising and marketing dollars directed at them persuading them to spend money on beauty products and services that they do not need.

Seeing certain products or services as ‘not necessary’ can be challenging. Women have been brainwashed to believe that they actually do ‘need’ these things and ‘must’ have them. (Women are not alone in being brainwashed by advertising: I see plenty of metropolitan men driving big, burly pick-up trucks they’ve seen advertised on television. The closest some of them get to going ‘off road’ is when they pull up to valet parking.)

It’s not just advertising and marketing that reinforce this ‘need’ belief associated with beauty products. It’s the formative experiences of childhood and adolescence: watching your mother, grandmother, sisters, aunts, and friends apply makeup and share advice about it. It’s almost a ‘rite of passage’ which many women include in their memories of what they think of as ‘growing up’ and ‘life’.

What you need to remember as well is that your mother and grandmother were probably very selective about purchasing makeup and parting with their hard-earned and well-managed money. Cosmetics for previous generations were a luxury. Women rarely owned more than two of any particular item: a compact, a tube of lipstick, hand or face cream, and some lotion. That was about it, and they used all of it before they purchased more.

Today, many women can’t imagine living without an abundance of these products. They’re just a part of daily existence—routine and essential.

I have some shocking news for you: food and shelter are essential. Everything else is optional. This seemingly hardcore concept is foreign to many people, but when you endure an extended period of limited resources, you will learn the truth in it. Your life can go on just fine without television, designer labels, ‘accessories’, four-dollar coffees, overpriced manicures, and many beauty products. Again, you’re going to have to do your own personal calculations as to how overspending on beauty products impacts your personal bottom line and your progress toward financial independence.

You also must weigh its health impact, as we’ve discussed. Foundations and powders applied all over your face just clog your pores and set you up to purchase even more products to get your skin clean and healthy again. Be aware that your skin is your body’s largest organ. It absorbs up to 60% of whatever you put on it. When chemicals are absorbed through the pores of your face, those chemicals enter your bloodstream. Think about that.

Note: if you need some color in your cheeks, skip the rouge and exercise on a regular basis. Get the blood flowing. If you want to avoid wrinkles, avoid cigarettes, excessive alcohol consumption, and overexposure to the sun.

Anti-aging creams, face powders and foundations, eye-shadow, lipstick, blushes, mascara, nail polish, nail polish remover, face primer, hair, hair, and more hair products—the list is long and the costs add up, especially for women trying to get ahead. Trim your shopping list.

I support you doing things that make you feel beautiful, that make you feel more confident, that make you feel more empowered. However, I would encourage you to seek those positive feelings through education, exercise, and effort first. Then turn to cosmetics to only enhance the inner beauty and wisdom that are yours. Know your value, then spend your hard-earned money wisely. Remember the words of Bob Marley, who said, ‘A smile is the most beautiful curve on a woman’s body.’ I’d add that it’s also the most beautiful thing she can put on her face.

The good news about this break up is that there really are ‘a lot of other fish in the sea’, i.e., other companies that you can look at and perhaps start a relationship with. These are cosmetics companies often owned and operated by women (a total of 43 as of this writing). They are also companies that have done serious work to offer their customers products at a greater value with higher health and safety standards. Some of these companies include:

Deborah Lippman—Founded by celebrity manicurist Deborah Lippman, the beauty company that bears her name is one of the most renowned in the world.

Charlotte Tilbury—From age 13, Charlotte Tilbury knew she wanted to work in the beauty industry. After training at the Glauca Rossi School of Makeup in London, Tilbury jumped into the world of makeup. Now, her brand is a household name.

Honest Beauty—Actress Jessica Alba founded Honest Beauty when she saw a need for responsible, quality products with maximum ingredient transparency.

Edible Beauty—The naturopath and nutritionist Anna Mitsios launched Edible Beauty with the sole intention of creating a luxury botanic brand that is equally safe and effective. Anna’s strong belief in the natural power of herbs is evident in her formulas.

It’s A 10 Haircare—Founder Carolyn Aronson made history as the CEO of the first indie hair care brand to land a national Super Bowl ad. She also founded Kyana’s Dream Foundation (in her daughter’s honor) which focuses on providing emergency response for children in schools.

AveSeena—After spending 20 years researching the effects of estrogenic and endocrine disrupting chemicals on the immune system, Dr. Ebru Karpuzoglu decided to pour her scientific discoveries into a 100% naturederived skin care brand.

MaBrook & Co—In 2014, Aliya Dhalla launched her brand of 100% natural and aluminum-free deodorant. The Clean Deodorant fully harnesses the benefits of activated charcoal, baking soda, and sweet floral scents.

Fact—Founder Cassy Burnside has launched her brand of Paleo-friendly and cruelty-free skin care products that are packaged and formulated for women on the go.

Aphorism Skincare—After battling a rare but curable cancer, Urvashi Singh set out on a journey to research the links between the toxic chemicals in cosmetics and disease triggers. This led her to launch a luxurious line of non-toxic skin care products.

Also consider Joshua Onysko’s Pangea Organics, Dr. David Bronner’s Magic Soaps, Greg Starkman’s Innersense, and Olown N’djotehala’s Alaffie. These are just a few companies to consider. Do your own research and find those that are best for you.

It’s important to look at the beauty industry in political terms as well. While women purchase the vast majority of beauty products sold around the world and are often featured in the advertising and promotional campaigns for these products, they are vastly underrepresented in the executive ranks of these companies. As of this writing, women comprise less than 25% of the Boards of Directors of major beauty companies, and only 24% of their executive teams. Only 23 of the 500 largest cosmetics companies in the world have a woman as their CEO. The 6 most dominant corporations in the beauty industry all have men as CEO. These include L’Oreal, Estee Lauder, MAC, and Revlon.

A question you might ask yourself is this: with so many qualified female executives out there, why wouldn’t the Board of Directors and the shareholders put a woman in charge of a company that sells most of its products to women?

It’s important to remember that with beauty products—and all your purchasing choices—your dollars are your vote. Your dollars are your voice. In order to make informed choices, it’s important to know which corporation owns your favorite brand or brands of makeup. There are reasons for this: one is to determine if a company is prioritizing the health of its customers. Another is to determine if a particular company is being a good corporate citizen.

Are they building strong communities by paying their employees fairly? Is their philosophy inclusive and their workforce diverse, both on the assembly line and in the executive ranks? Do they invest in a sustainable future? Are they attentive to their environmental footprint with regards to manufacturing, packaging, and distribution? Do they have ‘green’ goals? Do they participate consistently in charitable giving? (Not just feel-good publicity campaigns around charity events.)

It’s also important to know if a company is selling two almost identical products, but marketing and pricing one ‘brand’ differently—and pricing it more expensively— than the other (the ‘drugstore brand’ and the ‘luxury store’ brand.) Some large corporations do this—produce essentially the same product and market it as two different products—to reach more customers in different demographics, saving the company money on production costs. Many times, only scents, textures, or packaging differentiate the products. This is the reason, for example, that Lancome Eau Micellaire Douceur and L’Oréal Paris Skin Perfection 3 in 1 Purifying Micellar Solution are almost identical products. The same corporate owner manufactures them with the same active ingredients. Only different ‘brand names’ and packaging separate the two in the eyes of the consumer.

It is true that some high-end products are made using more expensive ingredients and innovative technologies. However, the truth is they usually cost more because people expect expensive products to work much better than inexpensive ones and are, therefore, willing to pay more for them.

So, before you spend lots of money on a luxury product, do a little research on the company and its line. Compare the luxury product line’s ingredients to those of their less expensive sister brands. Make an objective, informed determination if the difference in the ingredients is really worth the difference in price. To make your initial research easier, we’ve provided a starter list of ‘who owns what’ in the cosmetics industry in an appendix in the back of this book. It is not comprehensive, and the information may change as companies buy and sell brands, but it will give you a bird’s eye view of the landscape.

Having this information will preserve your health, encourage good corporate governance, and save you money. Hopefully, this will also help you see beauty products for what they are: a big, profitable industry.

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holdtylersandersonaccountable · 4 years

Text

Elizabeth Moroni

Dating him was probably the most traumatic thing that’s happened to me in my life. We started dating after I had just turned 19. Tyler was 24. He was incredibly manipulative. He flattered me with the typical “you’re not like the others” routine, which, on a 18 year old girl, totally worked…but not at first. I was reluctant to engage with him because I already had a partner, and I saw how he treated his girlfriend with disregard while hitting on me. Tyler’s fixation on me made others uncomfortable to the point where the friend group collectively decided that I was “off limits”. But Tyler had different plans. Tyler didn’t go to my college, or any other college—he came to my college town weekly to go out drinking, and to prey on me. He repeatedly isolated me from my group, dragging me outside for cigarettes to get me alone. These moments were common and we began to kindle a friendship despite all of the red flags. He was friends with really kind people, so I reasoned that even though his behavior was troubling, if he was a bad person he wouldn’t be surrounded by good people. He was a wolf in sheep's clothing.

Tyler took me out for smoke breaks over and over. He even told me that a song reminded him of me, “Silver Words” by Sixto Rodriguez. He said the song reminded him of me, and he even sang it to me. It was very romantic, but I still didn’t budge. When he wasn’t in town, he would call me constantly, leaving sloppy 2am voicemails confessing his love to me. The messages were frequent. I said no so many times. I was polite, but firm. There were so many drunk calls I let go to voicemail—I recall a specific conversation I had with his childhood friend about the situation. “What do I do about this? How can I get him to stop? I’m not interested.”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KTJRXUftkPE

This group of friends I was with would all go out together to drink in Greeley. I was underage but access to alcohol wasn’t hard. Everyone put a drink in my hand. I remember being too drunk and lying on the floor in a room alone because I was nauseous. Tyler came in and laid down beside me--I felt his hand grab mine in the dark. He only tried to hold my hand when I was drunk. It was a small thing, at the time I thought it was cute, but it made me uncomfortable. He did it covertly in front of friends. Innocent enough, but I see now he was testing me, grooming me to accept more next time.

Tyler eventually became frustrated that his teenage fixation (me) wasn’t complying. He separated from his girlfriend at the time, (he didn’t, he was lying and gaslighting her as well, coming up to Greely to cheat). Tyler then changed his strategy. Quickly, he found a second teen, which he flooded with attention. He brought her to places he knew I would be, giving me the cold shoulder completely (he acted like he was angry at me). This was all in the span of a few days, so I was surprised that he went from being my friend to refusing to speak to me. I felt like because I wasn’t complying, I was being punished. Despite his unrelenting forwardness, we were friends, and the silent treatment was undeserving. My already low self esteem made me question what was wrong with me. A particular low point was when I overheard Tyler singing this young girl the same song he said reminded him of me—“Silver Words”.

You’d think that I would have been relieved and appreciative for Tyler to move on from me. But as a child without the tools to recognize (or even have the vocabulary for) gaslighting, manipulation, grooming, and typical predatory behavior, instead of relief I felt devalued and thrown out. Looking back, my ignorance made me so unequipped for this situation, and I wish I knew at the time how to identify what was really going on.

Eventually (not long after) Tyler and I began talking again. It felt good to be acknowledged; there was a sort of emotional high I found myself feeling when he was nice to me. If a dog is abused by his owner, but thrown a bone every once in a while, the dog will stay loyal. That was me—riding the high of being treated well after not for so long. This was a theme throughout the relationship.

I started to interpret his red-flag behavior as romantic gestures. Not long after, we started seeing each other romantically. Tyler’s unwavering persistence was disturbing, but it always got him what he wanted. I should have seen the start of our relationship as a start of a pattern. This situation is emulative of what was in store for me for our entire relationship. Constantly being devalued, insulted, and torn down, only given brief moments of decency that bring floods of endorphins. I was addicted.

CHARGE. Did you know he has this word tattooed across his chest? Does a charging bull comply when you say “stop”? “No”?

The bull charges regardless.

The abuse didn’t take long to start. Tyler had an inner rage that his friends and family seldom saw, and that he made sure they never saw. Tyler would casually say hurtful things to me on a daily basis, and generally do things to make me feel like less than nothing. He would then groan about how “depressed and annoying” I was, and how I always kept him down. He was extinguishing my light. I was physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausted, and as a result my relationships, my grades, my dreams, all started to crumble before me.

He started treated me like I was a burden, a thorn in his side he couldn’t get rid of, but when I tried to leave the relationship he would manipulate and guilt me into staying. Sometimes he would blame his attitude on his hangover. But it was more than that. It was consistent emotional abuse.

I was 18 when he first pressured me into having sex without a condom. I was not comfortable with it, and it took a while for me to give in. Maybe three times we had protected sex. Later, he refused to wear them, assuring me that it was safe, praising me for complying. Shortly after my 19th birthday, I got pregnant. The pregnancy was ectopic and after an extremely painful process, the baby was miscarried. Tyler was verbally supportive over text, but in person was cold.

One of the FIRST things Tyler told me that he had a “sleep sex disorder” that made him have sex with whoever he was lying in bed with. “I don’t really talk about my condition” he said. I didn’t realize it then, I laughed actually. We shared a laugh about it, I remember. How weird, how funny. I found out later that this allowed him to take me at any time, even if I declined sex hours before. I was stupid, but I was 19.

A “sleep sex” condition. When do you think Tyler got this diagnosis? What is the treatment plan for this kind of condition? I never saw Tyler taking medications or doing therapy to counteract his condition. Is his condition only triggered when the person lying in bed next to him is a woman? What runs through a man’s head when he wakes up over a woman in the middle of an episode? Does he stop? or does he finish?

I confused Tyler’s jealousy for love. I confused his controlling tendencies for caring ones. Shortly after my miscarriage, he started cheating on me. Every time I confronted him, I was gaslighted. I reached out to friends and they pulled away, not wanting to get involved. I felt like I was going crazy. I was so weak and so vulnerable. I asked him to leave my house the day I found out he was cheating. He wouldn’t leave. He stared at me loathingly from MY bed. He denied me acknowledgement, he denied me my personal space. He stared and stared, emotionless. He didn’t say a word, he didn’t leave. I had to leave my own home, and crashed on a friend’s couch. Tyler later told me that I “probably fucked [friend]” to get back at him.

He used that as leverage to continue his cheating and not feel bad about it. He openly texted and called women in front of me. Tyler told me on one instance that he might keep cheating if I kept the nosering that I had gotten without his permission. He said it made me look gross. He told me that he cheated because I was too “depressed” all the time and that pushed him away. He made me understand that everything that was causing me pain was my fault. This self-blame mindset obliterated my individuality, my intuition, my confidence and self worth. I was trapped in the relationship, a prisoner to my abuser.

I broke up with him after being tired of the mistreatment. He slit his wrists. I came back. We started dating again. He started cheating again. I wanted to die. He isolated me from my friends and family. He got very angry when I would go out. He punched holes in doors and walls. The threat of Tyler’s suicide kept a gun to my head and prevented me from causing any conflict. I was constantly stepping on glass, trying not to upset him.

One night stays seared in my memory forever. Drunk, he singled out one of my coworkers and called him a “pussy” for liking a certain band. This conversation escalated, Tyler got more aggressive, and I had to usher him out, embarrassed that he had started an altercation at my work. Driving home, I confronted him about his alcohol problem. Tyler was silent for about thirty seconds before he began repeatedly smashing his head into the dashboard. I had to pull over and physically grab him to get him to stop. I can never forget that disturbing repetition of him slamming his face into the dash—and the raw fear I felt in that moment.

“Abuse creates complex bonds between survivor and perpetrator that are difficult to break; it also causes a great deal of cognitive dissonance as the survivor attempts to reconcile the brutal reality of the abuse with the person he or she once saw as their greatest confidante and lover in the early stages of the relationship. This cognitive dissonance is a defense mechanism that is often resolved not by seeing the abuser for who he or she really is, but rather by denying, minimizing or rationalizing the abuse that is occurring as a way to survive and cope with the trauma being experienced.”

-Shahida Arabi

TW: Miscarriage, Rape

He started doing coke, and drinking every day. He got meaner.

One day I remember we had a tender moment on the floor. I was feeling vulnerable and safe in the moment, and decided to confide in Tyler about my feelings about my miscarriage from about a half a year before. He listened intently until I finished speaking. He then looked at the floor for a few seconds before softly chuckling and shaking his head, smiling. “Wow. That’s the kind of fucked up shit me and [Friend] joke about”. He continued to laugh. He said that the miscarriage “really ruined” me. I was shocked. I never forgot that moment—I’ve re-lived it a thousand times in my mind. His lack of empathy still gives me chills.

He could be tender to my dog, but when he was frustrated with her barking he would shove her around, too hard. This deeply upset me, but at the time I couldn’t even protect myself from the abuse. At this point he pressured me into sex regularly, no matter how exhausted I was or how much I resisted. I saw it as a thing I had to just do to get out of the way. Times I would refuse I would find him on top of me in the middle of the night. It was easier to let him finish. One night in particular I detail in a letter to myself that I wrote when I first broke out of the relationship—a note that would force me to acknowledge my abuse, even if I fell back in love with him. We had been drinking, and came home to sleep. Sex wasn’t on the table, and I was exhausted. I woke up feeling him on top of me. I had a tampon in…he forced himself in anyway. The pain was indescribable. I remember just lying there and thinking, “This shouldn’t be my life. How did I let this happen? How can I get out?”

Then a friend in the group began taking Tyler to shoot guns. Immediately he wanted to buy a gun, even though we had talks about how guns make us uncomfortable. He admired the power a gun would grant him. He began being obsessed about having protection, as justification. His cocaine use increased. I told him to seriously reconsider because he knew and I knew he was mentally unstable. He bought it anyway. I started feeling very afraid. I was always walking on glass, not wanting to set him off, never feeling like enough. I suffered greatly.

He pressured me into getting an apartment with him. I knew I didn’t have money to afford the one he wanted. We argued about it for a long time. I wanted to move in with some girl friends of mine, but he rejected that adamantly. He said he would help me pay for it, that we would do a fair split of the rent based on our income. I didn’t want to live with him because I was scared of him. He said that if I didn’t move in with him, I was destroying the relationship. I was desperate and broken. I signed the lease. A day after I moved in my stuff, I reached a breaking point and realized I had to get out. I broke up with him, and in response he tried to give me oral (which I had not gotten in a long while). I pushed him off of me and left. His friend texted me, chastising me for ending things with Tyler “out of nowhere”. He did not know the extent of my abuse, but the victimization of Tyler was hurtful. Tyler did not allow me to leave the lease. The leasing office needed his permission to let me off of it, and despite the abusive situation, explained I was bound to my abuser and there was nothing I could do. I moved in with my parents. For the next year, I paid $500 a month so that Tyler could live in that apartment with his brother. I’m still in debt from that.

Tyler’s friend confronted me later, telling me to block Tyler on all forms of social media because he had seen a picture of me and tried to kill himself. I was frustrated. I never got to be a victim, because my predator, my abuser, was suicidal. He used suicide attempts in order to not only avoid being accountable for his actions, but also to be comforted by everyone he knew and victimize himself. This is why I believe that his friends and community have continued to protect him throughout his trail of abuse. And have continued to hang out with him, play in bands with him, drink with him, do coke bumps with him, laugh with him, post selfies with him, and allow him to hurt women time and time again. I’m reminded of my trauma every time I see him in a friend’s Instagram post, smiling, unapologetic, unaccountable.

Sometimes I look back at pictures of myself then. I was a child--right out of high school. I look at pictures of me and remember the isolation and pain I was experiencing at that point in time.

After I broke things off with Tyler for good, I wrote that letter to myself that I mentioned. October 2015. It begins:

“Dear Elizabeth, I am writing you today because this morning you were thinking about Tyler. I don’t know what the future holds, and I don’t know if you will ever be tempted to date him again. Here, I will make a list of reasons why you should never consider being with him again—times he hurt you, stifled your growth, and made you feel like less than you are.”

Here is the list:

-He was flippant about things that mattered to me.

-He would schedule things to interfere with my own plans, and then guilt me into abandoning my plans for his. He was always in control.

-If he was mad a me, he would only cook dinner for himself while I was there.

-I wasn’t allowed to pick tv shows and movies to watch.

-He often pressured me to drive to visit him in very dangerous weather (one time I nearly spun out).

-He blamed me for his own personal issues.

-I got the silent treatment often.

-He pressured me to sign a lease with him.

-He stole my jokes and told them to his friends, taking credit.

-He drank often—whiskey usually, and drinking made him mean.

-He cheated on me with other teens, younger each time.

-He insisted we drive everywhere together so I couldn’t leave.

-He pretended he didn’t know me in social gatherings, and would pull away if I was affectionate in public.

-He would tell me he would pay for dinner, but on the spot refuse to pick up the tab so that I would have to. One day I remember I told him I couldn’t afford to eat out. He convinced me to come because he “really wanted me there” and said he would cover me. We went to an expensive ramen place on Pearl in Denver with his brother and shared sake. It was a nice treat until Tyler suggested we split the tab at the end of the meal. I mentioned what he said to me before about paying and he stated he never said that. Frustrated and not wanting to cause a scene in front of his brother, I paid for the meal. He would do things like this constantly, which really made me question reality at times…what had happened versus what I remembered. The deeper into the relationship I got the more I was disoriented and confused, and his control over me grew.

-He insulted my close friends, and was not okay with me being around men, or talking to men.

-He would even get upset if I would text or talk to people in our friend group, especially when he wasn’t present. One night, Tyler invited the girl he was cheating on me with to the county fair with our friend group. He was shameless about this and would often invite her to hang out in front of me, which was psychological torture. It was normalized. No one in the friend group would acknowledge this, and I was slowly losing my mind. She was even there during Tyler and I’s anniversary. But that is another story. We are all at the fair together and Tyler is acting like I don’t exist…isn’t walking with me, talking to me, looking at me, like we are strangers who have never met. The group gets on a roller coaster, and I get into a cab with another male in the friend group, as Tyler had already picked his seat. After the roller coaster, Tyler pushes past me forcefully to show me he is angry. I say his name and he doesn’t answer. I touch his arm and he yanks away and says, “why don’t you go and fuck [male friend]?” He then joined the girl he was cheating on me with. I decided to leave the fair, in disgust, and I had a mental breakdown. I looked back on this moment with great shame because no one asked me about it later or saw if I was okay. I felt very alone then.

-He pressured me to cut ties with my family

-He would punch things when he was angry, which scared me. He punched a hole in the wall, and a hole in the door. One day, while moving stuff, Tyler got frustrated and punched the side of a moving truck in front of his dad. His dad got really upset, which meant he doesn’t really see that side of Tyler.

-When I found out he was cheating on me, I asked him to leave. He refused to leave my home, and refused to leave my bed. He didn’t stay one word…he just stared at me, silently, arms crossed. I had nowhere to sleep, so I asked a friend at the music college if I could sleep on his couch. Later, when I returned, Tyler verbally attacked me and claimed “you probably fucked him last night”.

-He threatened that if I ever studied abroad I would be hurting our relationship and he would break up with me. The internship I was considering was 3 months long.

-He could eat my food I bought, but I was not allowed to eat his food unless he let me.

-He thought it was funny to urinate on me in the shower which truly disgusted me.

-He never did anything special for me on my birthday.

-If Tyler took me out for a date and paid for dinner, he 110% expected sex in return and was enraged if I refused. Some nights I would be studying hard and completing homework to meet deadlines—the deadlines came after his needs. He often pressured me into sex while I was working towards something positive, whether that was school, art projects, or self care tasks.

So where do we go from here? Basically, I started this blog so that this will not continue. So that people who speak up and aren’t heard have a safe area to talk about their experiences. Despite the abuse, there were times I really saw hope in Tyler, but his abusive and self-sabotaging behavior has continued to hurt himself, those close to him, and those he has victimized…not to mention future victims. I do think that Tyler can get better, but he has to take one long look at himself and recognize his trail of destruction. It’s only when he can find empathy can he then seek treatment in forms of domestic violence rehab classes and extensive therapy. If you choose to be close to Tyler, you have a responsibility to inspire those changes in him instead of enable his behavior. Your silence is more hurtful than you ever know. There were so many times where friends, and kind people, have turned their backs on me every time I reached for help, not wanting to acknowledge the extent of Tyler’s abuse. I feel that the constant normalization of violence on women is gut-wrenching. But the only person who can really change is Tyler himself.

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monstredemiroirs · 4 years

Text

Dear ------

This will be the very last time I ever write about you. I want you to understand that I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing this for me. I need to close the final chapter in the horror story that was us, and this, to me, is the way to complete the story.

In order for me to progress with my life I had to get rid of you entirely. You’re a blight, and you would never be happy seeing me succeed or be happy. It’s funny. For so long I tried to climb out of the mud we cultivated. And any time you saw me start to finally climb out, you would reach your hand out, knowing that I would always grab it the moment I saw. For the longest time I thought I could pull you out. I was wrong. I finally understand, now, that you never wanted to be pulled out, you wanted to pull me deeper. Back into the pit with you. I finally understand this, and I refuse to ever grab your hand again.

Cutting you out of my life was actually surprisingly easy. I thought I could never do it, that you’ll always, somehow, be a part of my life. But no. I got out. I finally feel the sun shine on my face, and I have absolutely no intention to ever feel as cold, dirty, and dark as you made me feel.

You’re a black hole. A void. You’ve convinced so many people that you’re this good man, but you really aren’t. I know you. I know the deepest recesses of your soul, and truth be told it’s ugly. The fact that you can sit back and live with yourself after all the hurt you’ve caused someone you supposedly “love”(though I doubt you’re capable of such an emotion), and take no action to better yourself or seek help for your addictions, leads me to believe that you feel justified in your actions. You did nothing wrong. It’s not you. It never is. It’s the alcohol. It’s the cocaine. It’s your upbringing. Stop it. You are your own problems. You can’t keep committing horrible acts and then just feel sorry about yourself like that makes things better. It doesn’t and it’s not working. You’re still garbage.

Can I tell you a secret? A long time ago you asked me if you should move up north. Far away from down here. I convinced you to go. I told you that you needed to get out of the poison in this town to start fresh. This is the most selfish act I may have ever committed. I convinced you to leave because I would never be lifted from your spell had you stayed. The cycle would’ve continued, and I wasn’t strong enough at the time to break through. This town isn’t the poison. You are. You’re toxic sludge, and everything you touch succumbs to your toxins.

I know I’m not without my own faults in this. It does take two to tango. The difference is that I own up to my actions, and I sought help in time to become better than the person I was with you. And even with all I did, it doesn’t come close to all the abuse you put me through.

Speaking of abuse, let’s talk about some of it. I heard through the grapevine that you were asking about me. About how I “couldn’t handle you being in a relationship with someone else.” Ha! Really now? Truth be told, I feel sorry for him. He’s going to have to go through all the same pain and hate I endured. And if he knows all the acts you put me through, and continues to stay, then he deserves every last ounce of the pain. But I digress. Since I can’t handle not being with you, let’s talk about some of the things I went through when we were together.

Let’s talk about your disappearing acts. About how you wouldn’t answer my calls or texts for sometimes weeks at a time. You knew me well by then. You know I was a ball of anxiety and you knew every moment you couldn’t just give me confirmation that you’re still alive made things worse. I spent so many nights unable to sleep because I straight up didn’t know if you were alive, if you were hurt, or even if you cared. By the amount of attention you would give me, at least one of those questions was consistently answered, I was just far too in denial to believe it.

Let’s talk about how you were obviously in love with your roommate while we were “together.” You lamented to me, your then partner, your feelings for this man. Oh how you went on for hours about how you two can never be. He was straight, and had no feelings towards you, and it crushed you. You know who it crushed more? Me. I couldn’t leave then. I kept thinking to myself “what can I do to make him feel for me like he feels for him? Is there anything I can do differently? Maybe if I did X, Y, Z, then maybe, just maybe, he’ll see what I can be for him and he’ll love me back.” I was sick. You were worse. Instead of letting me go then and letting me mourn, you continued to string me along like a sick dog on a leash. Oh, and then you drunkenly cheated on me with him. Remember? Remember how you would call my phone for weeks, drunkenly sobbing? Unable to say any words. I knew you were broken, but I never knew how absolutely shattered you were. It was so nice of you to finally tell me about it on a day where I was riding high. So excited about a Halloween Party and a costume contest I won 2nd place. I was so used to being 2nd place with you around. You took such a great day and made it so ugly. You were astounding in your ability to suck any happiness right out of me.

Let’s talk about how you treated me as if I was some shameful disgusting secret to be hidden away from your world. Any time anyone from your life became suspicious, or even was about to see you and I was there, you immediately dismissed me. The Freak. The Monster. He cannot be seen. He’s not worthy of being a part of my life or in my circle. No. I can’t have that. And yet I stayed. I thought that if I showed my loyalty and dedication, maybe someday you would see me as worthy if being part of your court. Wrong. I never stood a chance. Even when you finally, FINALLY, accepted me into your world, I still couldn’t be anything significant to you. I was introduced as your friend, or worse, an ex. An ex that you were currently still seeing, sleeping with, and telling you love behind closed doors. The damage that caused me. I felt so worthless all the time. I believed I was nothing because I couldn’t be anything to you.

Let’s talk about your addictions. You’re an alcoholic. We all know it. No, it is not normal for an average person to down two cases of that disgusting piss-water Bud Lite in one evening. So often you would convince me to take you across county lines at 2 AM just so that you could continue drinking. And no matter how much I begged you to stop, slow down, or maybe take the night off, you absolutely refused. Night after night I saw you pound down drinks and become more belligerent. And the chain smoking. Oh the chain smoking. How I wanted so much for you to just sit with me when I was over and just spend time with me. Hold me. Tell me that I mattered. And you couldn’t bring yourself to do that. Instead, you would just smoke and drink. Did I disgust you that much? So much so that you couldn’t be around me without being so intoxicated you couldn’t function? Smoking so many cigarettes in succession you’d lose your voice? Were you that horrified by my presence? Why continue to keep me around? Questions I probably will never have answered. Not that I honestly care to know any longer, anyhow.

Let’s talk about the worst night. That night. The one you probably had hoped, if I really had ever sent this letter to you, that I wouldn’t bring up. Let’s talk about the time you had your best friend over, who in return invited me over. I remember driving to your house on my highest of highs. Finally. I was being accepted as part of your life. Someone knows my existence. Only to have you open the door and see a face of shock and horror at the sight of me. Let’s talk about how you humored me for a moment, then immediately kicked me out because you couldn’t handle the fact that someone would find out more about me. Do you remember that night? Probably not. That was the night that, in a panic, my car broke down on the highway. I walked home. Distraught, all I wanted was to call my boyfriend so he can talk me down. I called. I learned something that day. I learned that you were good friends with little white lines. A shock to me. I had no idea. You couldn’t form sentences. You went off on wild nonsensical tangents over nothing, and become enraged the moment that I tried to end the call. I was shocked, uncomfortable, and frankly disgusted. It was the first time I was ever disgusted by one of your actions. And the more I tried to distance myself, the more you berated me and called me horrible names. The following morning I begged you to never do that again. I had never asked for anything of you before that. Just this request. You wouldn’t even give me that.

Let’s go deeper. Let’s talk about the night you finally cut me loose. I’m glad you did, but did you have to do it on Christmas Day? After me ending a call because I was horrified at the sound of you snorting a line? After you spoke to my mother the very same day, excited to meet her and be part of my life? Did it really have to be on that day? Needless to say you ruined Christmas for me. And now, five years later, Christmas still brings me back to that night and how worthless and disgusting I felt because of you.

I wish I can say it ended there. I wish I can say that was it over. It wasn’t. Just two days later you convinced me to stay the best of friends. I needed to still feel like you cared. To this day, I wish I knew why. But I agreed. I agreed to remain a close friend, because clearly you still hadn’t taken all that you could away from me. But, truth be told, this is where the hurt took a weird turn.

Suddenly when I wasn’t a romantic partner in your life, now is when you wanted me around the most. You now had a sudden fascination with me. You kept me around. Strung me along. Slept with me whenever you could. And then we get to the end of a big chapter. The night before you moved away.

The weekend before you moved away, you stayed at my house. I let you in. You slept in my bed, ate my food, lived with me. Truth be told, this was the best time I ever felt with you. I felt like you loved me. Truly, truly loved me. I never wanted those days to end. Then came the final night. I left for a few hours. Couldn’t be more than 3-4. I had planned a big good bye for you. I even brought you food. I got home and you were gone. All your bags packed. No trace you were ever there. I felt abandoned. A feeling I felt often, but not and intensely as I felt that night. You told me that you weren’t a fan of goodbyes, and that you stayed at someone else’s house. You robbed me of my goodbye to you. I told you I forgave you. I told you that I forgave a lot. I didn’t. I harbored it all. I had developed a cesspool of anger and self-hatred. And that night made that pool bubble.

Was it over? No. At one point, it felt like it will never end. This was my life. I existed to build you up, and when you inevitably knocked yourself down, I was there to pick up the pieces and rebuild you with what I had left. It felt like I had less and less to work with each time.

You still needed me. I became your security blanket. Oh if I can just remember all the drunken calls at 3 AM because you were all alone. And you knew I’d always answer. And no matter how many times I would beg for you to seek help for your alcoholism, to please visit AA or see a therapist. It fell to deaf ears. You always told me that all the advice I gave you, you took to heart. You were always a fantastic liar.

It suddenly became a consistent cycle. I would distance myself to begin my climb out of the mud, you’d eventually notice and reach your hand out, I pulled, you pulled harder, and I fell in. It always ended with you getting drunk and doing actions that upset and hurt me, even with all the distance. You never seemed bothered by my pain. A simple “sorry” got you far with me. Eventually, you apologies felt like ghosts. Hollow. You made me feel like a ghost too.

Then came the night. The night that I decided that enough was enough. But before the night came the day. Let’s talk about that day.

You called me after a month hiatus. I pretended that I didn’t know why I hadn’t contacted you, but I did. You got drunk the month before and almost had a 3-way with your cousin, you classy beast you. But I digress, you called. Eventually you got to the topic of having a new boyfriend. I had mixed feelings about this. On one hand, I was truly happy for you for finding a new romantic partner. But on the other hand, I felt bad for this boy, knowing what he was getting himself into. That was exacerbated by you telling me that you were already performing your now infamous disappearing acts on him.

What dug under my skin, and what started the series of events that led to me stepping out, was when you told me that you were cutting down on your drinking. You were cutting down because you didn’t like being drunk around this boy all of the time. I’m sorry, what? You mean to tell me you couldn’t cut down 1 beer when I literally begged you to, but for this boy you were practically quitting drinking? What made him so special over me? And how insignificant was I that you wouldn’t even try? For someone you claimed you love so much, you really put no effort into meeting me halfway on really anything. It was always me giving it my all, and you taking everything you can get. Loving you was like loving a drunk brick wall.

Shortly after our conversation, when I still had a Facebook, I remember you changed your status to in a relationship. And posted a picture with him. You won accolades from all your friends for living your truth. And a part of me wanted to celebrate with them. However, I couldn’t. All I could think about was how I wanted to be him so badly back in the day, and how you treated me so shamefully. Why was he so special? Why was he the one to displayed to the world and I was considered too disgusting to be seen? Was it because I wasn’t as much of a closet case as you? That’s more than likely the case. Far be it from you to be seen with such a diabolical faggot on your arm. But I digress.

Let’s finally talk about that night. That night, the very same day you told me you cut out drinking, I get one of your infamous drunken 3 AM phone calls. Except this time was different. I’m not answering. You were no longer my responsibility. You had a new boyfriend you paraded around like he was best in show, and it was his turn to learn who you really were behind the smile and charm. I let it go. You couldn’t take no for an answer. You never could. You called, and called until finally I answered. I don’t know who was on the other end of the phone, but it wasn’t you. It was a belligerently drunk monster. One that couldn’t form sentences between howling and sobbing like a coyote at the moon. Something about being found naked on a beach, being yelled at by patrons over your nudity, being in an Uber(despite not having an account), and bleeding from your foot. Truth be told, I thought you had been raped and assaulted. I stayed on the phone with you until what I think was you getting home. I don’t know. I can’t tell. To this day I don’t know more than half of the words that came out of your mouth. All I can think of was the rage I was feeling. You told me you were better. At this point, I genuinely didn’t want you to be my partner. I just wanted my friend to get better with his addictions. I thought you were finally getting there, and that call solidified that you will never get better, because you probably still think that you don’t have a problem.

I took a half day out of my job because of you. I took a half day because I didn’t sleep that night. I was convinced you weren’t going to make it through. Do you remember what I sent you that following day? It was the information for an AA center in your town. It wasn’t funny any more. It was never funny or cute. It was dangerous and scary and you couldn’t do it alone. And all I got as a response was “sorry.” Not accepting a problem. Not even a false promise that you’ll try it. Just another one of your constant ghost apologies. As hollow and false as you are.

This was my breaking point. I starred at that excuse for an apology and I thought to myself “Is this what I want for the rest of my life? To never launch because you can’t let me do it? You need me to be as low as you. You need it to feel alive. You need to have that control over something weaker than you. Not any more. I am not your fucking clown any longer. I decided that this was it. I don’t need the fleeting moments of feeling your love followed by the hours, days, months, and years of agony you make me feel.

I wanted to be free of the poison you had coursing through my veins. I wanted to climb out of the mud, stare at the sun, and grow tall. That is why I blocked you out of my life. That is why I cut all ties and made sure that there was no way you can ever dig your claws into me again. It was never about how I “couldn’t handle you seeing someone else.” If that’s what you need to tell yourself to keep denying the blight that you are, then keep thinking that way. It’ll keep you going that much further. I honestly can keep going on with more, but I feel this letter really is long enough.

So you asked around how I am doing, allow me to divulge you one last time. I am amazing. I actually sought help for my demons. I went to therapy. I worked hard on myself. For the first time in my life I have self respect, and self love. A feeling I would never be able to develop with your influence. I am fantastic in my finances, got a new car, and have an amazing support network of friends and family that I would never give up for anything in the world. And how are you? You don’t need to answer. I can take a wild guess. Still drunk. Still sad. Still self-hating. Still pathetic. And it is no longer my problem.

So like I said, this is the last time I’ll ever write about you. This is also the last time I’ll ever speak of you, and think of you. I relinquish you from my mind, body, and soul. I free you of me. Good bye, ------.

May you never cross my mind again,

Me.

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aftaabmagazine · 5 years

Text

The Wages

By Hamed Alipoor

Translated from Dari by Farhad Azad

From the January-March 2000 issue of Afghan Magazine | Lemar-Aftaab

[caption: “Smokey Lights” by Farhad Azad, Place Pigalle, Paris France 2004]

The newly arrived immigrant story and its struggles are painted by Hamed Alipoor’s short story.

God knows each day, perhaps more than a thousand times I walked through this restaurant. On each trip with an empty bus-tub, I would go to the end of the dining room of the restaurant and pick up dishes with leftovers, coffee cups, glasses of water and alcohol and a hundred other types of drinks. My job at the restaurant was a dishwasher and bus-boy.

It was interesting that I had come from a culture where a man didn't make that much money by cooking and cleaning, but here survival was by cooking and cleaning. Without this work, I would have had nothing.

Not counting the owner of the restaurant, who was there from open to close, seven other people worked in the dining room: Black, White, Chinese, Hispanic, Iranian and Afghan. In the kitchen, where I worked the most, there was a cook, his assistant and I. The noise of pots and pans, the cooking of the soup and the running water of the sink all mixed in the air. In addition to that, no one talked to anyone else. Everyone was busy with his or her work.

The owner of the restaurant was a rich, talkative Iranian man. From time to time, he would drink and in his state of drunkenness, he would give me long lectures about how this wealth was not given to him from the air and was not inherited from his father.

He would say, "Like you, I worked very hard until I got myself here."

I don't know why he would lecture me like this. Was it that he wanted me to work harder and better for him or did he want to support the reality that I faced?

My uncle was the owner's friend. And it was my uncle who after a week of my arrival in America, took me to the restaurant and got me this job. From the first day, I didn't like it. This job was hard to favor for a man who in his entire life had not washed a cup, glass or dish.

This was the first time I had seen the kitchen of a restaurant. I couldn't imagine how this little kitchen could feed all the customers. All the employees were under an ill-humored man who was called a "manager". In working hours, we would work like machines. The only thing we could do was think.

I never would have guessed that in America they had pots like these! These pots reminded me of my brother's wedding in Afghanistan. It reminded me of the cook whom we called Agha Lala. Although he looked like a very cold, dry man, once you got to know him, he was a very kind, wise person.

Here, you could not cook "plauw". In this pot, they cooked something similar to a "shor-ba", and it was called "soup". The soup was enough for hundreds of people and made thousands of dollars for the owner of the restaurant. At the end of the night, it was poor me who had to wash these pots, pans, ladles, and bowls. I didn't discuss my discontent and accepted this with myself.

I heard from many people that their first job in America was at a gas station or a dishwasher like me who worked 60 to 70 hours a week and so forth. Before I could discuss my work with them, I was obligated to listen to their repetitious sad stories. My ears were very full of their talk and my pockets very empty. And this was my reason for keeping this job. Having a wife and child was not a small responsibility. I was not a child who did not feel the condition I was in, but I hated my job.

I felt that America had presented me something bad. After all, I was a writer and poet for many years. I had been in this field and had finished my schooling. But I knew that to boast and talk about myself did not matter here, and discussion on the subject of poetry and arts for many people was laughable or a sign of lunacy. I had once borrowed from a friend the book, "No One Knows in the West", and in three nights finished the book. Now, I knew what it was about.

Nevertheless, this job was better than no job, which equaled to no pay. I was waiting to receive my first paycheck. And with it, I wanted to buy clothes, pencils, and notebooks for my five-year-old son to get him ready for kindergarten and to get my wife money for transportation to go to the city college for language classes. If after all the expenses, there was still some money left, I wanted to buy some things for the home.

I worked seven days a week from two in the afternoon until eleven at night. The owner of the restaurant knew that with my limited English, I couldn't find better work. For this reason, even if I worked harder, he would not give me a raise.

My wife always said, "Mr. Javid, the owner, has found a helpless person to use."

I always agreed with her but didn't say anything.

I didn't own a car, yet. I had told myself that the first car that I would buy would be for my wife. For hours, my wife and I would study the driver's guidebook, although at the time we didn't know the rules of driving.

The restaurant that I worked at was a long way from home. And I couldn't take the bus the whole way. First I had to walk about two miles to the bus stop. I waited 15-20 minutes for the bus, which would take me 45 minutes to the closest stop to the restaurant. When I got off the bus, I would then walk for 20 minutes or more to get to the restaurant.

At any rate, I would leave home at around 12:30 PM and get home at one in the morning or later. I would always tell my wife not to wait up for me and sleep, but she wouldn't listen. She would be half-awake until my arrival. For these reasons, this job at the restaurant was taking my life.

At that time of the night, the bus home was empty. The people I saw on the bus where the same people sitting in the same seats as the night before and their manners never changed from the previous night. I felt that we all had become a part of the bus.

There was a fat Black woman who like me was returning from a hard job; she would fall asleep on the bus. Every time the driver stopped the bus rocked. She would move a little, open her eyes and after a few seconds, she would fall asleep again.

There was a young man, perhaps a student, who always carried a school bag and a book in his hand. He would sit on the first seat and be deep in his studies. His real focus was on his book, and he never looked outside or at the other passengers. I didn't know how he knew the bus arrived at his stop.

Usually, I sat in the middle of the bus and gazed at the stores and streets. I was always thinking of my various problems, which yielded no results.

The rest of the bus didn't change much every night with the exception of a few drunken fools. Some of them slept on the long seats at the back of the bus; they spoke loudly to themselves. Sometimes young girls with babies would get on the bus. Sometimes other women would come in; God only knew what they did.

The bus driver was a friendly, elderly man. From time to time, he would look from his back mirror at the passengers who were being loud. He would look and say, "Control yourselves!"

The noisy people would listen to the driver, but after a few minutes of silence, they would become loud again.

I still am haunted by the memories of that night. It was the night of June 11th, and it was 15 days since the start of my work. I got my first pay, which consisted of one-dollar and five-dollar bills. The owner very slowly counted the money in front of me. I counted the money myself. It was $225.00. I put the money in a wallet that my uncle had given me. I thought about which needs of life I could first embrace with this money.

However, I knew before everything else, I had to take care of the needs of my child who was enrolled in kindergarten. I needed to buy him clothes, a school bag, and some toys.

They had told me many times, and I knew; in America, you should never carry too much cash with you because there was always a chance of being robbed.

But I couldn't help it because the arrangement between the owner was to pay me in cash twice a month. When my work was finished, my appearance was unkempt and shabby. No one could have imagined that I had any money.

When I got off the bus at 12:30 AM and headed for home, I felt very thirsty. It was the first time that I wanted something to drink at this time of the night. I entered the first store that was on my way.

Inside the store, there were a few young men who without any interest were looking at various magazines. When a customer came inside with the ring of the door, they would look at the customer and talk among themselves and laugh. I knew it was best to pretend not to notice these young men. Whenever I found trouble anywhere, I tried to change my path. I tried to do that here by swallowing my pride, saying my prayers and heading my way.

I got my drink, took out my wallet and paid the store owner.

All day long, I was running around at work and was very exhausted. My body was full of sweat. I quickly drank; it felt good.

I wanted to get home quickly. After a few feet, I heard the sound of a car halting. Some young men called out from the car, "He is by himself, he is by himself!"

I looked and was not scared. But this street was known for its high crime rate. However, in the middle of the night, wouldn't you be scared of a group of young men?

They quickly got out of the car. I thought that I had seen one of them a few minutes ago in the store. He seemed very cruel. He had a bottle of liquor in his hand and a cigarette in his mouth. Another one called out with profane language, which I didn't really understand.

He then said to me, "If you want to live, give me your wallet!"

People always warned me of this, and now this was happening to me so soon! I thought for a second, if I got in a fight with these drunk guys, perhaps I could quickly run away. But I realized that in these situations, in my country, physical fights would have already started by now.

I slowly gave my wallet to the young man who had yelled at me. He continued to yell and curse. The only thing that I understood was that they would have beaten the hell out of me. The car quickly drove away. I saw two other people far behind me who had seen the whole incident from a distance, but they had turned into another street.

A few minutes later, I started to head home. At once, my eyes were full of tears. The tears of a man are tears of true pain. My tears were not for the money but for my helplessness. I felt that they had raped me, and I couldn't do anything. They not only stole my wages, but they stole my pride as well. They took away my hopes in this place. I thought about my five-year-old child who was quietly asleep and my wife who was half asleep awaiting my arrival. My tears dried. And I walked home.

This short story was published on Caravan (issue number 61). Permission for translation was granted by Caravan Publications.

#afghanistan #afghan #afghanliterature #shortstory

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seventitas-blog · 7 years

Text

How We Came To Be (Seek Verison)

Word Count : 1,154

Type: Chaptered [ I, II, III, IV , V, VI]

Characters: You x Seventeen bias

Note: The member was not specified but made with S.Coups, Jun, Hoshi, and Mingyu in mind.

Written by: Tita #2

Note:

Here’s the male version of How We Came To Be in his POV.

Please appreciate the discography of BTS especially non-title tracks consisting of sexy and emotional R&B beats:

Miss Right

Coffee

이불킥 Blanket Kick

좋아요 Like (Slow Jam Remix)

House of Cards

잡아줘 Hold Me Tight

그게 말이 돼 Does This Make Sense?

하루만 Just One Day

Chapter Six: HOW I CLEANED UP

♬ 그게 말이 돼 Does This Make Sense?

♬ 하루만 Just One Day

Cleaning myself up didn’t begin perfectly. Of course I promised to sort my emotions out, but starting from scratch was difficult. Sometimes I found myself bombarding her phone with text messages even though I know she would never answer any of them. She had turned her phone off. I wondered how she was. Was she in bad shape? Did she hate me? She was angry, that’s a given. But I did give her the right to hate me if I hurt her. As one last desperate attempt, I asked Joshua to personally hand her a letter I wrote. It wasn’t to convince her to take me back or forgive me. It was just to let her know that I was doing my best to be the person she wants me to be. To let her know that I was owning up to my mistakes.

I thought about her every day. Each time I woke up in the morning, there were two things I reminded myself about: One, that I had to be better today than yesterday and two, that somewhere she was happy without me. That’s the only way I could learn acceptance. And slowly, sure enough, I began to resolve my problematic emotions and thoughts. Gradually, I began to purge my incessant feelings of need to be with one or the other. One was happily married and one was healing just like I was. Just like I was told, I had to stand on my own two feet without needing someone to stabilize me. I was my own responsibility after all.

Being busy helped. People think that staying in bed and shutting the world out was an easy way to deal with heartbreak but it wasn’t. Keeping myself preoccupied with my passion was extremely helpful and therapeutic. I channeled my problems through lyrics. I released stress through dancing. I cleared my head through brainstorming and collaborating with my group members for new ideas and concepts. Career was still important to me in spite of my ongoing internal battle with demons. I used to think alcohol helped the healing process but being sober and productive was far more effective. Work was medicinal. And contrary to my previous belief, I wasn’t alone. I had my friends. I was more open to them this time. It wasn’t just about going to clubs and hooking up anymore. I communicated with them more, and they understood me better now than ever before. The first few months was difficult, but I put one foot after the other and kept going. I smiled and goofed around in public. For the cameras, for the fans - I had to put on a show. Like they all say, fake it ’til you make it.

It must’ve been almost a year since we broke up when I passed by her old building complex. I was driving through an alternate route and remembered she used to live in this neighborhood. I decided to have a look at her old apartment, for old times’ sake. I found out from the landlady that it still wasn’t rented. It’s been empty for more than 10 months now. To my surprise, she remembered me and let me go up. I used to come by almost every night after all.

I don’t know what I expected. It was an empty, dusty room. But it housed so much stories of us and I had to savor the feeling of being in there. This was where we first made love, I remembered as I walked through the spot where her bed used to be. This was where we had our first fight, I thought as I leaned against the door frame of her bedroom. The dent was still there where she threw a figurine and missed me by inches. I looked at the sooty window. I pinned her against that window, naked and sweaty. We didn’t care if neighbors from the other building saw us. I could still see the long thin crack on the glass when I repeatedly thrusted her against it. Good times. In the corner of the kitchen there was a small box. Inside it were all my belongings and some other small remnants of me. My headphones, my old toothbrush, a few shirts, and our polaroid photos. They were all covered in dust now.

It’s funny the way things work. Before, I was so desperate to forget what we had in order to move on. But now that I’ve learned to accept everything, I was okay with remembering it all. I took the box home with me and left that room with nothing but memories.

It’s been more than a year now. I wasn’t thinking about seeing someone new but if the opportunity presented itself, I wouldn’t say no. I would be careful this time. I would be more logical, more rational. I promised myself I would let go of my own Guinness world record of fucking up relationships. That shouldn’t be my title anymore that I’m older and wiser.

I walked home along the bustling streets of Hongdae, contemplating whether I should ask the members to go out or just enjoy my peaceful alone time. I looked up at the night sky, asking the universe for some sort of sign. Is it time to meet someone new or should I just stick to being alone until further notice? I jolted out of my brooding stupor when my phone rang. It was Seungkwan.

“What do you want?”

“Hyung, where are you? We’re hungry.”

“Looking for signs.”

“Huh?”

“Do you guys want to go out?”

“Actually we’re just hungry. Come home with food hehe.”

I rolled my eyes and scoffed. “Ya, I was going to do that anyway you don’t need to remind me.”

I made a U-turn and mentally pinpointed where the nearest chicken feet restaurant was. They always went crazy for chicken feet.

“You’re the best.” Seungkwan exclaimed on the other line like the spoiled princess that he was.

“I’ll be home soon.” I said, and hung up.

There were so many parties going on in the vicinity tonight. A part of me envied them, but a part of me just wanted to spend time with my members at home. I owe them a lot. The streets were crowded and the air was crisp and cold. I put my hands in my coat pockets and hurried through the horde of teenagers huddled outside the array of clubs. The smell of cigarettes wafted through, reminding me of one particular night in my past. A girl bumped past me and I staggered a bit. I reluctantly whipped around to see if she was alright and saw that she had stumbled on the ground too. As I approached to help her up, a strange feeling came over me. A moment ago, I asked the universe for a sign.

What I got instead was an overwhelming sense of deja vu.

And that’s the end of How We Came To Be (Seek Version). We hope you all enjoyed it as much as we did! Thank you so much!!!

#Seventeen #SVT #Seventeen Scenarios #Seventeen Imagines #Seventeen Fanfic #Seventeen Angst #Seventeen Smut #S.Coups #Seungcheol #Jun #Junhui #Hoshi #Soonyoung #Mingyu #Story #Fanfic #How We Came To Be Seek Version

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