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Post by STORY MORDECAI GUERRERO on Apr 6, 2012 14:24:13 GMT -5
| [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,10,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: #5C5C5C; true] WHERE ONCE WAS LIGHT NOW DARKNESS FALLS WHERE ONCE WAS LOVE LOVE IS NO MORE DON'T SAY GOODBYE DON'T SAY I DIDN'T TRY THESE TEARS I CRY ARE FALLING RAIN FOR ALL THE LIES YOU TOLD US THE HURT THE BLAME AND WE WILL WEEP TO BE SO ALONG WE ARE LOST WE CAN NEVER GO HOME SO IN THE END I WILL BE WHAT I WILL BE NO LOYAL FRIEND WAS EVER
WHEN YOU FACE THE END ALONE;
Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Everything was wrong. Everything he did was wrong. Everything he touched he ruined. Everything that had ever happened to him was his own fault. The whippings. The rapes. All of it. Toni’s death was his own fault. All of it. He couldn’t handle anything right now. He couldn’t handle his life any more. Again. Still. He was confused and alone and broken and didn’t know what to do. A temper tantrum hit him and he picked the canvas board off of the easel it sat on, chucking it across the room with all of the force he currently had. It spun and wobbled in the air like a retarded Frisbee before hitting the wall and falling to the floor. Paint from the canvas got on the floor and the wall. “This is fucking stupid!” |
[/color] he cried out with tears blurring his vision as he watched the canvas land on the ground. His hands shook with a combination of frustration and concussion-long-term-effects. “It’s stupid,”[/color] he repeated. Voice shaky and cracking, tears threatening to start pouring down his cheeks. A stubby little leg lifted and kicked the easel over, spilling more paint and water for the brushes on to the ground. He had nothing left to kick down though. Nothing that wasn’t his own work station. He wanted to throw stuff around but he didn’t dare touch the easels set up for other students. Clay pots would be perfect but he’d get in shit for that. So instead he dropped to the ground and curled his feet into his body. He started ripping the bracelets off of his wrists so little beads and pieces of string scattered the floor in front of him. The pasta shell necklace was ripped off as well and thrown so painted pasta shells flew onto the floor under the tables and work stations. And then he realized what he just did. “No! Arista!”[/color] She had made that for him. She had made it specifically for him with promises that it would keep him safe and protected from all of the bad things in the world. Story fully believed that it would protect him, but not he had gone and broken it. As he scrambled to pick up the little rainbow colored pasta pieces his sunglasses slid off of his face and on to the floor behind him. His shoes also slipped off and his hoodie was starting to slowly slide down his shoulders. He was a hot mess covered in paint and tears, not even trying to hide his panic from the rest of the school. People had been in and out all Saturday afternoon working on assignments like he had been doing. Someone was bound to come in and find him here but he didn’t care. By now he was sitting cross-legged under one of he table, head ducked so he didn’t hit it. A pile of pasta pieces sat on the crotch of his jeans and he was trying his best to put each one back on the string they had come on. His hands were too shaky and he kept dropping the pasta on to the floor again. “Come on! Work you stupid hands!”[/color] Practically sobbing, hands shaking like a dying ninety year old woman. How wasn’t he in first grade? [/div] words; 550 tags; open outfit; thisnotes;D; [/td][/tr][/table][/center] |
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Post by VENICE CECILIA TAYLOR on Apr 8, 2012 16:18:24 GMT -5
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: #DDDDDD; border-top: solid #5a5a5a 5px; width: 500px; padding-top: 20; padding-bottom: 30;][classy=tite]GIVE ME THE BRIGHT LIGHTS. [/classy][classy=cont]  [/classy] [classy=threader] Venice woke up at about noon on Saturday, only because her roommate was being annoying and moving around and doing things. She moaned and yelled at him to shut up, but he ignored her and by the time he finally left, she was awake. She sat up, her head pounding and her body sore from... from whatever happened the previous night. At this point, she didn't even want to know. The blonde stretched out a bit before showering and brushing her teeth and all of that, basically getting ready for another crappy day in the life of a supernatural human being. It took her a while, but within an hour, she was walking out of her room with an apple in her hand. She munched on it, hoping the fruit would keep her going for a few hours. She headed toward the art room, pretty much ignoring anybody who said hi or tried to get her attention. The blonde really wasn't in the mood to deal with people yet, she needed a few more hours of being awake to do that. Venice was usually that girl who said hi to everybody and plastered a smile onto her face (especially to those she hated, because she believed that being nice and smiling at someone who you hated was just a major fuck you move), but today she wasn't in the mood. But as soon as she entered the art room, her mood got worse. Venice sensed desperateness, fear, anxiety, and whole mixture of feelings that just wasn't good, and what she saw was even worse. There was a guy sitting under a table (his name was Stony if she remembered correctly), trying to put something together, a necklace it seemed. She couldn't stop herself from feeling badly for him, perhaps because she actually knew exactly how he felt. Venice threw the apple core into a nearby garbage can before running over to him and kneeling down, her body disagreeing with her sudden actions. Her head was still pounding, and this guy wasn't really helping, but she was positive that what he was doing wasn't on purpose. A lot of people at the school had issues, including her. "Hey," she said calmly, slowly putting a hand on his shoulder in hopes that it would comfort him and not cause him to freak out more. "Relax, here, let me help you with that," she added, offering him a smile and holding her other hand out for him to put the necklace and pasta pieces in. His feelings were starting to take a toll on her, but she was trying her best to stay calm and hopefully push that calmness onto him. She wasn't really sure how she was at controlling other people's emotions yet (at least not when she meant to- she could control other people's emotions by accident), since she didn't really try to do so that often, but hopefully it would work. [/classy]
TAG: STORY! OUTFIT: hereNOTES: sadness D: sorry if my post is confusing, i wrote different parts and different times, but i swear they'll get better.
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Post by STORY MORDECAI GUERRERO on Apr 11, 2012 21:22:11 GMT -5
| [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,10,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: #5C5C5C; true] WHERE ONCE WAS LIGHT NOW DARKNESS FALLS WHERE ONCE WAS LOVE LOVE IS NO MORE DON'T SAY GOODBYE DON'T SAY I DIDN'T TRY THESE TEARS I CRY ARE FALLING RAIN FOR ALL THE LIES YOU TOLD US THE HURT THE BLAME AND WE WILL WEEP TO BE SO ALONG WE ARE LOST WE CAN NEVER GO HOME SO IN THE END I WILL BE WHAT I WILL BE NO LOYAL FRIEND WAS EVER
WHEN YOU FACE THE END ALONE;
Sometimes Story couldn’t understand why he wasn’t allowed to see his daughter and why he wasn’t allowed to be normal…and then stuff like this happened. His tantrums and shaky hand and migraines reminded him of why Story wasn’t allowed to do certain things and why he was still strictly watched for his physical and mental health. He saw the nurse on a regular basis because she made sure he was healing up all right and taking his pills. Anxiety pills, multivitamin, antibiotics to help his immune system, some to help his stomach keep food down. An array of medication he wasn’t at all knowledgeable about. He just knew that the one he had to cut in half, his anxiety ones, made him lose his apatite and so he didn’t take them. They were, really, the most important but he didn’t take them. Because it was nothing half a blunt couldn’t cure. He hated that he had to take all of those stupid little pills. He hated that he wasn’t normal. He hated that he felt like this. Hated himself.
He was always so frustrated with himself. Always at war with himself. He wanted to be happy but he was always so afraid. Seventeen years of severe abuse had done a number on him. He didn’t know how normal people worked. He wasn’t aware that there were “bad words” until coming to school here. That certain words weren’t okay to say. Everything was still so new to him and there was so much he had yet to learn and experience. He didn’t know a lot about the world. He only knew how to paint and how to stitch up his own wounds. How to give great head and how to speak a few languages, one of which he never used anyways. Nothing all that useful. Story didn’t know things like Power Rangers and Pokemon or Disney movies and normal things that normal kids grew up with. Every time he was reminded of how uneducated he was Story just felt stupid and worthless. A waste of flesh and space and time. A waste of everything. Better off six feet in the ground despite what people told him.
He peeked up from his spot on the floor when someone came in and knelt in front of him, a girl he recognized from a tiny little icon. Frankly, he was too upset to care who it was, and just scooted back so he was further under the table he had positioned himself under. As if the table would provide some sort of safety from forces unseen. He sniffled and wipes his face off with his sleeve, shaking his head and whimpering like an injured dog. “It’s got magic in it,” |
[/color] he spoke in a small voice that cracked and stuttered and whined. His giant but dainty hands pushed over a small pile of rainbow pasta so she could help him fix the necklace and then dropped his hands in his lap. “Important magic,”[/color] he continued. Story was sort of a mess in that moment, confused and scared and frustrated and lost. Not wanting to be there. Not wanting to be touched but wanting to be in Felix’s someone’s lap. [/div] words; 555 tags; venice/max outfit; thisnotes;D; [/td][/tr][/table][/center] |
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Post by VENICE CECILIA TAYLOR on Apr 12, 2012 14:46:43 GMT -5
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: #DDDDDD; border-top: solid #5a5a5a 5px; width: 500px; padding-top: 20; padding-bottom: 30;][classy=tite]GIVE ME THE BRIGHT LIGHTS. [/classy][classy=cont] [/classy] [classy=threader] Venice could sense all of Story's emotions, and in all honesty, it was completely overwhelming. She had no idea that he felt all these emotions, especially not when they were iming. Most of the time, well, she wasn't really around Story, so she never really got to sense and feel his emotions. It was scary. She wasn't even sure what was what, all she could say with confidence was that he was extremely nervous, hating himself, confused, and upset. Even those prominent emotions were a huge mix, and were, quite honestly, confusing Venice. But then again, it wasn't really that hard to confuse Venice. She tried not to think about her headache as she took in the scene and emotions of Story. If she had known what was really going on, she might have been a bit nicer to him the other day when they were iming. She eyed him and the necklace carefully, trying to figure out what was going on. From what Venice could tell, the necklace meant something important to him, but it broke. She understood the importance of having something to cling to, but what she had wasn't jewelry. She had two tattoos, one on the front of her shoulder (above her chest) in the form of a small anchor, and the other were angel wings on her shoulder. They were tiny enough for her to be able to cover them up with the right kind of makeup, but big enough that she and other people could see them if the right part of her skin was exposed. Which, in Venice's case, was a lot of the time, but people were usually too busy with...other things to notice her tattoos. Venice took the rainbow pasta pieces and the frayed string, putting one of the pieces on with a little bit of difficulty. “It’s got magic in it. Important magic,” Story explained. She nodded, offering him a comforting smile. "Story, right? I think you might need another piece of string. Come on, let's go pick out some string," Venice said with a nod, holding on to the pieces with her left hand. She sort of crawled backwards so she wasn't under the table anymore, offering Story her hand so they could both get up and find string. "They have like, a ton of different colors so once you pick which one you want, I'll fix it for you. Does that sound okay?" Venice chose her words carefully, trying not to be too condescending when she spoke. She knew from experience that people, especially not men, didn't like to be spoken down to. Even when he needed her for something, her father would hit her if her tone was even the slightest bit condescending. It had trained her to be careful when she was taking care of people, but here on the island, it was usually someone else taking care of or taking advantage of her. [/classy]
TAG: STORY! OUTFIT: hereNOTES: <3
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Post by STORY MORDECAI GUERRERO on Apr 24, 2012 5:35:13 GMT -5
| [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,10,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: #5C5C5C; true] WHERE ONCE WAS LIGHT NOW DARKNESS FALLS WHERE ONCE WAS LOVE LOVE IS NO MORE DON'T SAY GOODBYE DON'T SAY I DIDN'T TRY THESE TEARS I CRY ARE FALLING RAIN FOR ALL THE LIES YOU TOLD US THE HURT THE BLAME AND WE WILL WEEP TO BE SO ALONG WE ARE LOST WE CAN NEVER GO HOME SO IN THE END I WILL BE WHAT I WILL BE NO LOYAL FRIEND WAS EVER
WHEN YOU FACE THE END ALONE;
Over the past year Story had worked hard at covering up the scars that littered his body, most of him now covered in as much ink as he was scarring. Behind his ears, on his neck, an entire arm, both hands, chest, back, hips, thighs, ankles, even the insides of his lips. They were all littered with ink he had gotten in the past year in hopes of gaining some sort of closure. His entire life up until recently Story had had nothing to really and truly call his own. Nothing to cling to except his brother who was now dead. Now that he had the privilege to actually have his own belongings and be in charge of his own body and things he was finding that he didn’t like sharing most of it. He didn’t want to share the magic of his necklace, he just wanted it fixed. He didn’t want to share his spot under the table. He didn’t want to share his now destroyed painting. He was lost and confused and depressed and longed for the company of people who weren’t at the school.
He kept playing with his hair, running his shaking hands through the long Mohawk and rubbing the shaved sides. The hair was finally starting to grow back but he could easily find the scar from his surgery that ran along the left side of the back of his head. He fingered it a bit, tracing it just to have something to do, and then dropped his hands in his lap so he could tug at his own fingers until they made little cracking noises and then decided that his sweater needed playing with. Restless shaky hands and choking sobs that were slowly but surely calming down. Calming more out of tiredness than anything else. Tiredness and a lack of tears left to shed. He gave her a little nod, watching through the sunglasses as she tried to put the brightly colored pieces of pasta back on the string. “Si, Story,” |
[/color] he clarified in a small voice, scooting forward on his bum like a toddler might as she got back up from under the table. He moved so that if he sat up his head would brush against the edge of the table, just under it enough to have that safe and secure feeling but also far enough out to be able to see Venice. Story wasn’t quite sure if he wanted to get up yet but he took her hand and lifted himself, holding onto her tightly as a chorus of creaky cracking limbs echoed throughout the classroom. Some cracks from his leg, a few from his back. Groaning joints that disagreed with his movements. But he clung tightly to her hand like a terrified child and his other pressed against the top of her arm so he was wrapped around the limb. “I want…a green string,”[/color] he decided. “Is that okay?”[/color] He asked this as if she was in complete control of his own necklace, giving her big hopeful eyes that were red and buffy and a bit pathetic actually. “Green…or maybe yellow if there’s no green.”[/color] It wasn’t even occurring to him that his hands were still covered in wet paint and that he had gotten more paint in his hand and probably on her sweater. [/div] words; 555 again tags; venice/max outfit; thisnotes;D; [/td][/tr][/table][/center] |
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Post by VENICE CECILIA TAYLOR on May 14, 2012 21:40:38 GMT -5
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: #DDDDDD; border-top: solid #5a5a5a 5px; width: 500px; padding-top: 20; padding-bottom: 30;][classy=tite]GIVE ME THE BRIGHT LIGHTS. [/classy][classy=cont] [/classy] [classy=threader] “Si, Story,” Venice hated this. Honestly, she did. Yeah, she liked knowing how people really felt around her, but she hated feeling how fucked up everybody else was. She had enough issues herself, everyone else's emotions did not really help. Story's emotions especially... his were intense. He was definitely making progress though, so Venice decided she would help him as much as she could. It wasn't the type of thing expected from a girl like her, because she kind of gave off the image that she didn't really care about anything, but that was honestly what she was best at. She loved to help people, cook/bake, run around on the beach, and take care of little kids. The past few years she had been stuck in a state of well... she wasn't really sure. She was someone different now, with deep rooted issues. But not as deep rooted as Story, it seemed. Venice watched with concern as he stood up, wincing slightly as she heard his cracking bones. She couldn't stand the sound of creaking joints, there was just something about it that irked her. He kept his hand on her, the other hand around her arm. It was desperate, and that scared her. She wasn't sure if she was that good at caring for people.. especially people with as many mixed emotions as Story. “I want…a green string. Is that okay? Green…or maybe yellow if there’s no green.” Venice blinked. It was a fucking art room. Of course there would be green string. There were probably like ten different shades of green. " I think there's green string, Story. Let's go get some," the blonde said softly, starting to walk and pull him toward where the string was. Once they got to that drawer, Venice saw a wide assortment of different colored strings. She gently pulled Story's hand off of hers, letting him leave his other on her arm if he really needed it, only so she could put the pasta shells on the counter and cut the string. Venice held up the classic green string, her eyes wandering to meet his. "Is this okay?" she asked, hoping he wasn't going to do anything unpredictable. For all she knew, he would have another panic attack. The blonde didn't plan on ditching him if she did, she was just... nervous. It had been a while since she had taken care of her father, and at least she knew what she had been getting into when she did. For Story, well, Venice had no idea. [/classy]
TAG: STORY! OUTFIT: hereNOTES: sorry it's so late and it sucks D:
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Post by STORY MORDECAI GUERRERO on May 19, 2012 4:00:35 GMT -5
| [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,10,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: #5C5C5C; true] WHERE ONCE WAS LIGHT NOW DARKNESS FALLS WHERE ONCE WAS LOVE LOVE IS NO MORE DON'T SAY GOODBYE DON'T SAY I DIDN'T TRY THESE TEARS I CRY ARE FALLING RAIN FOR ALL THE LIES YOU TOLD US THE HURT THE BLAME AND WE WILL WEEP TO BE SO ALONG WE ARE LOST WE CAN NEVER GO HOME SO IN THE END I WILL BE WHAT I WILL BE NO LOYAL FRIEND WAS EVER
WHEN YOU FACE THE END ALONE;
He wished that he could choose what he forgot. Focus his weird memory, or lack thereof depending on who you were speaking to, on the things he didn’t want to remember or shouldn’t remember. Maybe if he could forget about what had been done to him he would be a more normal person. He wouldn’t be so exhausting for empaths like Massy to be around and he wouldn’t be so hard for people to want to be friends with. Story wasn’t the brightest star n the sky, not at all, but he knew when people treated him differently because they weren’t sure how else to act around him. He couldn’t really blame them no matter how much it hurt sometimes. He was different. In some instances he needed to be treated differently than everyone else. Story wanted to be less of a burden on people. He didn’t want to be someone that people changed their behavior for.
When he stood, accompanied by a symphony of creaking bones and cracking joints, he brushed his behind off and purely out of habit put up the hood of his sweater. His sunglasses were pushed back up and he looked down at his feet and the giant mess he had made of the art room while he clung to Venice’s arm. “I don’t remember your name, I’m sorry,” |
[/color] he admitted almost shamefully. “It’s a country or something, that’s all I remember.”[/color] Or maybe it was a city. Whatever. He couldn’t be sure enough to say anything more and instead just nodded and followed her to the string. He loosened his grip when she got to the drawer, sliding his hand down her arm and switching which hand was holding on to hers. “I’m probably getting paint on you, I’m sorry.”[/color] He was also sorry for distracting her from whatever it was she was going to do before finding him. He certainly dopes that she didn’t have anything important to do. He would hate to be taking her away from something important. She pulled her hand away and he found himself desperately searching for something to grab a hold of. So he grabbed the bottom of his sweater and tugged as hard as he could without actually removing it from his body. When she asked if the strong she chose was okay he simply nodded, avoiding eye contact at all costs for the time being. “Will it be long enough to fit over my head?”[/color] Not like he had that big of a head, but his head wasn’t thinking very clearly right now and he wasn’t really sure what sort of stuff he should say to her. “You smell good,”[/color] he observed, which was saying a lot. His sense of smell was severely diminished from growing up around the thick stench of cigarettes and marijuana. But for all she knew he could have the power of super smell. [/div] words; idk tags; venice/max outfit; thisnotes; nada [/td][/tr][/table][/center] |
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