arisdimitriou-blog

[arisdimitriou-blog]

barthclomews.

               Looking out to the sea, Mews smoothed out his button up shirt. He was wearing jeans, appearing the most casual he had in weeks. Visiting Seagrove annually gave him the chance to think about a lot, and not to mention catch up with old friends and flames. “I’d go for a swim, but I’m not really looking to have my stuff stolen.” He turned his head to the side, speaking at a bystander. What looked to be an expensive shirt and jeans, a nice leather bound pocket book and wallet were all on him at the moment.

Aris is having a bit of a shit week. There’s not really another way to describe it when it comes down to it, and as much as he hates to admit it, it’s sort of his own fault. New town, new people to pointlessly fight with, evidently. He finds himself on the beach yet again, which is a place that he continuously comes back to, stood near the water’s edge in his running gear and with his earbuds hanging down rather than being put to use. He doesn’t expect to be spoken to, so when he is, it’s a bit of a startling thing. Still, he fails to show his surprise in either his expression or his demeanor, cutting his gaze in the direction of the stranger briefly. “You really think somebody would steal your shit in a place like this? I thought it was all ponies and rainbows.” Up until when Aris showed up, that is.

[arisdimitriou-blog]

hi friendos! apologies for my absence, i just feel like actual shite right now and i’m pretty worn out. hoping that the coffee i’m about to inhale will be the pick-me-up i need to get back to IM’s & threads/reply to new starters, etc. if anybody wants something with aris in the meantime, feel free to slide into my DM’s and scream at me!

[arisdimitriou-blog]

astridism.

The night was quiet, and the sky was clear ▬ the stars blinking softly and all she could hear was some distant noises and the romantic settling of the ocean waves against the sand. It was comforting being in the company of the stars and the moonlight, something that she had done with her mother from a young age. In fact, it was one of the first habits she picked up as a young children in Seagrove. The city didn’t provide the same glimmering light quite like the beach here did, so when they had moved a young Astrid all the way to sleepy town, florida, it was something she had learned she enjoyed almost instantly. Her mother would take her to the beach, lay with her on a soft blanket and show her all the different constellations in the sky. And now, as a young adult, she mimicked her mothers old habit. A soft white blanket rest under her body, her elbows keeping her propped up as she silently became friends with the night sky. It must have been a sight to see, but Astrid would never see the beauty that she felt. She saw beauty in the images crafted in the sky, but never in herself. 

As the night carried on, she remained in his spot, barley moving, eyes closing once in a while to rest before they reopened, and it was like it was a completely different sky to be seen. Although, it was the same sky, the same stars, the same, countless images that could be created. But Astrid saw something new each time she looked. A new star, a new image. Something she hadn’t seen a minute ago, so it was no wonder the girl could lay on the beach for hours without bothering to move. She didn’t need to move until the stars gently caressed her to sleep, and for now, she was still happily awake, eyes trained on the sky and hears trained on the soft collapsing of waves against the beaches surface.

She’s so collected in her own thoughts that she doesn’t even notice someone standing there. However, that wasn’t something completely unlikely for the blonde. She could get caught up in a good book, a good conversation, or simply just the stars, her mind so focused on the beauty of space, that she remained completely oblivious to the person observing her. She begins to slide back into reality when he speaks, feeling he small frame jump in response. She looks toward the voice, chin tilting up at him as he speaks. She blinks for a moment, supposing that he may be right. 

“Possibly, but everything’s been okay so far. Usually there’s some more company, but tonight is quiet.” she looks back up again, a soft smile gracing her lips. “I’m surprised that it is. Quiet, I mean. The clouds are completely gone, and the stars are beautiful tonight. Who wouldn’t want to spend time watching them ? ” She had a habit of talking when it wasn’t always welcomed, but she always spoke anyway. She couldn’t help it, really ▬ she had so many thoughts floating in her head, and had been too entirely lonely since she chose not to leave Seagrove with her parents. So when someone would listen, Astrid would speak until they would no longer accept what she wanted to say. 

“My point being that the beach is usually more active at night, and it’s safe.” She looks back up at him again, the same soft smile still on her lips just as it was a few moment ago. “Where are you from ? You said the city ? “ Though she did often miss Massachusetts, she knew she would never end up back there. She had too quickly fallen in love with this small sea town, and so long as it held her heart, she would stay there, and that wasn’t entirely a bad thing. “It’s very different here, though. To ease your suspicions. And most importantly, cities make it harder to see the stars. The bright lights, and all. This ▬ “ she motions upward. “This is beautiful.” 

Swelling waves create a pretty backdrop to the sound of her voice when she chooses to speak, and Aris finds himself tuning into that despite the surprise he feels at the way she chooses to respond. He half-thought he'd be told to fuck off for intruding on her solitude, but he's certainly not going to complain about a friendly reply, even if he is slightly suspicious of it. Pressing his lips together, he draws in a deep breath of the sea breeze, and then he lowers himself down onto the sand a few feet away from her white blanket. His muscles are trembling, a bit, and he begins to stretch them, leaning forward with his left leg stretch out and reaching for his toes. The bandages on his hand sort of catch the moonlight, a stark white against the contrast of his tan skin. Everything is bleached of color; it's shades of gray. Comfortable.

Following the subtle instruction of what she says, and of her motions, he lifts his gaze towards the sky she had been so very engrossed in. She's right. This isn't something he saw a lot growing up, and though he's never had a particular interest in the stars, he kind of gets it. Gets why she would be so captivated, that is. He's always been more the type to people watch (or bird watch, as is the case most mornings) and to find beauty in the creatures around him rather than above him, but he thinks he could probably make time for outer space, too. For the Universe as a whole. "Right." He says, careful about the way he speaks. The only time he isn't careful is when he's angry, but he feels nothing except calm right now, which is strange considering how worked up he'd been just moments before. He's going to attribute it to his run.

Switching legs, his right one stretches this time, and he leans to that side. The screen of his phone, which is attached to his upper left arm currently, catches the moon and reflects it back out to the ocean. Everything is very...peaceful, which is part of the reason he's taken to coming down here at night in the first place. He doesn't sleep much as is. Too many nightmares. "I'm from Nashville. Here for work, sort of." The Southern twang to his voice may of partially given him away, but there are plenty of accents from all over the United States. Best to be a bit specific with it, especially when asked directly. It's nice, not being recognized. That isn't to say he always meets people who know who he is, but there are a fair few who have seen his face on social media or even a younger version of himself on HGTV with his parents. He feels more comfortable when he's anonymous.

"Can you name any of them?" As he speaks, he lets his leg relax again, his chin lifting along with his hand to gesture up, sort of mirroring the way the stranger had done it. He means the constellations, of course. Truthfully, he couldn't name any of them if he tried, and he's curious. Curious about how deep this fascination goes, maybe. He doesn't usually take much interest in other people, but maybe he's bored, and maybe he's lonely, and he's not sure he owes himself an explanation for this. At least not yet. Quiet, he flicks his gaze back down to study her profile, once again a little struck. Kind of weird how that happens. He almost opens his mouth to ask about the sea mist, but decides that's probably a bit weird in the end. He isn't trying to be weird.

[arisdimitriou-blog]

murph-omalley.

“Last minute shopping was a bad idea.” Murphy complained as his hand covered his badly bruised face. “I can’t believe some old lady trampled me to get the last toys in the mall.” He winced as he tried rolling his eyes. “Remind me to never again go shopping for christmas presents the day before the holiday.” He lied as he made up the cover story about what happened to him. 

Aris is skeptical. On one hand, he doesn’t really care enough to challenge it, but on the other hand, one would have to be a total idiot to buy that ‘explanation.’ Nobody gets bruises like that from fuckin’ toy shopping. “Right. Don’t think I’ve ever met an old lady with such a mean right hook, but whatever you say, I guess.” The sarcasm is heavy with that, and he cants his head to the side slightly, thinking of his own bruised jaw. Seems silly. “Maybe next time don’t procrastinate so hard.”

[arisdimitriou-blog]

noveimber.

His nose twitched as he considered the dessert display by the counter, one gloved hand coming up to rub over it immediately afterward. He had already placed his order, a gingerbread latte for ‘Noah’ — close enough, he supposed when he chose not to correct the barista, but didn’t have much to do besides swaying in place in the packed cafe and basking in its warmth before he would have to step outside again. As he heard ‘his name’ called in succession with someone else’s, he made his way to the service counter just as the other person was leaving, clearly in a hurry.

He stared at their back as the shop door closed behind them before reaching for the styrofoam cup that was left, feeling the warmth of it even through his thick gloves. He was about to take a sip before his eyes caught on a name that wasn’t his. Realising that there must have been a mix-up, he swore under his breath and hastily left the cafe in pursuit of the other person. When he stepped out, he looked around until he spotted them once more and began pushing through the crowd to reach them, his breaths coming out strained with lethargy. Once he was close enough, he reached out, his fingers barely grasping the back of their coat, tugging slightly. “Hey,” He said, embarrassingly out of breath, his cheeks red with exhaustion and his wind-ruffled hair falling into his eyes. “Um, you’ve got my coffee by accident, I’ve yours.” He lifted the cup in his hand as proof.

Sleep-heaviness clings to his limbs, seeming to physically weigh him down as he drags his feet with significantly less energy than he usually displays. Any grace he'd managed to accumulate through his years of avid athetlicism has melted away in the face of exhaustion, and there's a shadowed bruises on the left underside of his jaw that's only going to get worse. Aris' knuckles are bandaged, noticeably stained with dark red beneath the gauze, but he holds them in fists at his sides nonetheless, flexing them off and on as if to just feel it. Trying to stay awake, he'd call it. Hopefully the coffee will help with that in a way that's less off-putting, but he kind of doubts it. Caffeine lost the majority of its luster a very long time ago, and 'going through the motions' has become a way of life rather than an occasional burden.

Antsy with impatience, mostly because he's already late and is very aware he's going to get told off for the state of him on top of that, Aris has to consciously stop himself from coming off like he's about to physically lash out at someone. The cafe is busy, and realistically it isn't the staff's fault for the delay, but his expression still sets into one of grim irritation, and he continuously glances down at the screen of his phone, which he's got in his hand. It lights up occasionally with new notifications that he ignores, and by the time he hears his name called out (tangled up with another person's, practically), he's bouncing in place.

Aris smoothly moves forward to scoop up the cup closest to him, the assumption that it belongs to him one that he makes simply for the fact he's in a rush. He ignores the burn he feels in his injured hand as he slips his mobile back into his pocket and immediately turns to head out the door, pushing around people without much care. Truthfully, he feels more at home in this packed little hole-in-the-wall than he has pretty much anywhere in Seagrove so far; it reminds him of the city, and of all the people that are squeezed into the places there at any given time. Kind of like home, except without all that Southern charm, as it were.

When he steps outside, it's warm enough that he once again questions his decision of putting on a jacket, even as light as it is. Maybe he's just running on hot today, or maybe it's just Florida. He's used to hot weather, but of course it isn't quite the same as what he's experiencing here. His mind is already on the gym as he sets off down the street, walking fast and not looking back. It seems sudden when he feels a tug on the back of his jacket, and he hesitates, freezing in place as anxiety spikes his heart directly up into his throat. He's not very good with being startled, and he turns around with jerky, too-quick movements. It's good he hasn't opened the top of his drink yet, because it surely would've slopped over and soaked his bandages if he had. Shit.

The person stood in front of him isn't one that he recognizes, but that isn't really surprising considering he doesn't know much of anybody around here just yet. Still, he notices that he looks sick, maybe like he'll blow away in the wind at any moment; it's a tad concerning, and also very much none of his business. In a bid to bring his expression away from that of surprise which it probably shifted into, he attempts to settle his features into the more comfortable set of detached boredom he tends to default to. "What?" The word is out before he has the chance to process what was said, and then a second later, he scrambles to carry on. "Oh. Fuck. Sorry..." Bringing his cup up, he turns it around until he finds a name haphazardly scrawled on the side, "Noah. Didn't check before I ran out. Late for work." Aris speaks hastily, and then he holds the coffee out to Noah, a stray through drifting through his head about how if he hadn't been rushing to catch up, he suspects there would be no color to his face at all.

[arisdimitriou-blog]

One foot in front of the other. Slow down. Speed up. Sea-salt air whipping at his face, his clothes, tearing his eyes. This night, like most nights, finds Aris running it off. Running off the feelings and the jarring blows from the ring and the thoughts, his head. Most things come in choppy increments, filtering in past the soft music that plays through his earbuds, some Bon Iver track playing on repeat; something that’s supposed to bring him back down when he’s up. It mostly works, once he calms enough to catch his breath, but for now the only thing that makes any sense at all is the burn of his muscles and the strain he feels whenever his feet push him off from the sand. It’s loose and the traction is unstable, and he finds that he likes it. He likes Seagrove, as sleepy as it had seemed to him at first. Maybe sleepy is what he needs.

It’s late enough that Aris doesn’t expect it. Like, seeing someone out here is just a bit strange, so close to where the waves flirt along the shoreline, and so close to where he’s now slowing to a stop just shy of where he’s hoping his presence will be noticed. It’s curiosity that causes the pause, and perhaps an ill-contained longing for some kind of company that he always seems to carry with him. His therapist tells him that he needs to get better at being alone, and mostly he doesn’t understand it since he’s alone almost all the time anyway. He tells her that, and she insists that yes, and you still need to get better at it. Aris takes it with a grain of salt. He needs to get better at a lot of things, and that’s pretty far down on the proverbial fuckin’ list.

So he stops there, just on the peripheral of where she lays, and as he draws in ragged breaths in a bid to stabilize his heart-rate back to some sort of normalcy, he finally looks. It’s just a bit stunning, is the thing. Perhaps it’s the atmosphere and it’s the ocean and it’s the natural light of the stars, the moon, filtered down through wispy barely-there clouds, but Jesus --- she looks kind of like something the ocean misted out. Ethereal and all pale hair and all delicate, which is a weird thought to have about another human being (he thinks, if his ocean theory turns out to be untrue), but here he is having it nonetheless. Aris gets struck, sometimes, by beauty, and it reminds him of why he wants to be here still. It reminds him of all of his ragged edges and how maybe, just maybe if he’s stunned to silence enough, they’ll smooth back down. Probably not. But he still has hope. He founds it again, somewhere along the way.

Another few, long moments tick by, and he’s finally breathing in a rhythm that makes sense to his body again, muscles trembling, and sweat drying on his skin. He feels real in comparison to the star-gazer in front of him, who seems very far away, but he’s beginning to get creepy, and he doesn’t want to go home (re: back to his hotel) just yet. So he takes a few steps forward and he hopes that his movement is something she catches out of her peripheral. If not, then maybe she’ll hear his voice. Aris reaches up to remove his earbuds before he talks.

“Aren’t there creeps on these beaches at night? Not that I’m implying anything, it’s just you’re the first person I’ve seen for the last couple miles, and it’s weird to me. Maybe I’m too much of a city boy.”

closed starter ft. @astridism.

[arisdimitriou-blog]

castvllo.

“i have found…” scout paused, absolutely for dramatic affect. it was clearly necessary. “a cat. which i haven’t the slightest idea what to do with. i would keep it – however putting me responsible for a living thing other than myself…” including himself, really. “not the best idea.”

“...Where did you ‘find’ the cat? Like, is it a stray?” It’s just a weird way to word it, is the thing. Aris doesn’t know if it was intentional or not. “Can’t have animals where I’m staying, or I’d offer. I grew up around a lot of pets.”

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serenitymarino.

“i had a good lay last night, but she ran out because she loved her boyfriend. she didn’t love her boyfriend when my tongue was inside her.” serenity scoffed, rolling her eyes into the back of her skull. “anyways, how was your christmas eve?” 

Yikes. Talk about cringe fucking city. “Why are you telling me this? You got some kind of weird, compulsive need for validation regarding your sex life?” Pause. He’s really, genuinely curious. “It was fine.” The stunted answer is both because Aris doesn’t think she actually cares, and because he doesn’t really talk about his family life (or lack thereof) to anybody. Two birds, one stone.

[arisdimitriou-blog]

me dealing with my trust issues

[arisdimitriou-blog]

hey i’m hazel (they/them, 24). i’m gay and i can’t do math. like this for plots or memes. i supply the memes.

trigger warnings: drug/alcohol use mention, suicide/overdose mention.

━★ ( herman tømmeraas, male, he/him ) hey, that’s ( aris dimitriou ), finally paying a visit again from ( nashville, tn ). the ( twenty ) year old is known to be ( incisive & ambitious ) but you’ll find that they can be ( pugnacious & insensitive ), too. i heard one of their favorite spots to hangout is ( the aquarium ) and ( nightmares ) by ( all time low ) always seems to be playing around them. ( dimmed streetlights, the quiet serenity of being deep underwater, rain at midnight, bright red in a sea of grey, closed fists, chapped lips, chalk dust, hazy shapes in the fog, fading bruises ) ━★

aris was born to two seemingly loving parents. his father, an immigrant from greece, worked as a contractor, and his mother, a nashville girl through and through, an interior designer. they were both celebrities of some sort, reality stars on their own hit series where they renovated various run-down properties into something beautiful.

more than their prowess with what they did, however, their audience was lured in by their personalities and by the way their life appeared to be. they had the perfect home, the perfect family, the perfect dog, the perfect everything. at least, that’s how it seemed from the outside. what was really going on was something entirely different.

the truth is, aris’ parents stopped loving each other long before that became apparent to the outside world. almost as soon as he was born, as a matter of fact. they began to drift apart in between explosive fights usually caused by nothing at all (or so it felt to aris), and often times his dad would go on long trips to greece, taking the boy with him just to get them both away from his mother. he didn’t understand at the time that this was a form of warfare for his father, and that aris himself was the weapon.

as the years went by and his schooling, social life, and mental state otherwise suffered for what they were doing, aris became more and more resentful towards them, and more than that, resentful towards the image they were projecting to the public. everything felt like one big lie to him, and it was like his life wasn’t his own, especially when it came to social media and the impact his pseudo-fame had on friend’s lists, follower counts, etc.

eventually when things became too much, it begin to bleed into his emotional well-being, and at around age fourteen, he just sort of…spiraled. things got really, really bad for him for a while. he was drinking, smoking, taking whatever he could get his hands on. at first, his parents thought it was just teenage rebellion, though in hindsight he thinks it might’ve been them ignoring obvious signs due to their rising fame and their hesitance to acknowledge something as bad, but as time went on, it got to the point where nobody could deny it any longer.

SUICIDE TW!

the self-destructive behaviors became worse and worse until there was a catalyst in the form of his dad trying to send him away to greece to live with his grandparents and to “straighten out”, and that was pretty much the final straw for him. they cared more about their image than they did about their own child, and if his mental health weren’t already spiraling as it were, that alone would’ve been enough to make him plummet.

the night before he was meant to go, he overdosed. it was pretty traumatic, and a good thing that he was found before the point of no return. still, he had a long hospital stay after that, and his mother and father were forced to start paying attention to what was happening to him.

treatment was something he desperately needed, something they allneeded, and when aris was thrown into rather intensive therapy, his parents sought help of their own for both their marriage and their family.

pretty much this was when he started using boxing as a form of coping. his personality has always made him outgoing, wanting to be around others, but still withdrawn from them enough to keep them from seeing what was going on inside. he had/has a lot of pent up aggression, a lot of energy and anger and twisty bits that need to be regularly work out, and the best way to do that ended up being to take lessons. at first, it was only to cope. he would go and he would train when he was feeling okay and he would train even harder when he wasn’t. due to his dedication and the work he put into it, he got better; it’s not true that practice makes perfect, but it certainly does make good. excellent, even.

boxing became his passion and when he was in the ring he felt invincible, like his problems couldn’t touch him. it was better than any of the highs he managed to achieve through substances, and it was a lot healthier, too. he managed to get his schooling back on track, even managed to make a few friends, have a few relationships. it was pretty much the best thing to ever happen to him.

that being said, not everything is perfect. it’s far from it, in fact. the image his parents continue to project about their family remains as much bullshit as it’s ever been, and aris struggles with it so hard.

he also struggles with his growing presence on social media. videos of him fighting and training both have blown up over the course of the last few years, and he’s gained quite a following in instagram as well as twitter. he attributes a lot of that to his parents, and it makes him almost resent it, a bit. resent that he’s being watched so closely, that he’s so afraid to fuck it up again.

personality wise, he can be a bit much for some people. he’s outgoing, but he’s argumentative and a little aggressive, and he tends to get too emotionally invested in conversations despite trying to make himself remain withdrawn. he’s opinionated and though he has something to say about almost everything, he tries very hard to pick and choose his battles and to know when someone or something simply isn’t worth it. that being said, he gets locked inside of his head a lot, and he tries to keep to himself when those times come that he simply can’t work out how to get back out of it again. boxing helps with this, of course, but when he has social obligations he can’t dodge, it can get sort of messy.

he has a lot of hobbies. they keep him busy. perhaps the most obscure of these hobbies include bird watching, which he does with a passion, often getting up early in the morning to spend the hours just as dawn hits outside.

other things he does as hobbies include but aren’t necessarily limited to: dance (hip hop, mostly; he doesn’t do this very often, and even less so in front of others, unless it’s a club or something), gaming, and cooking (predominantly greek food; his grandmother likes to send him recipes to try)

[arisdimitriou-blog]

Did you inherit a sickness? Did you blame god? Do you believe in God? Do you believe in yourself? Are you still on fire? Did you ever put out the fire?

Lisa Marie Basile, from Andalucía

[arisdimitriou-blog]

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— Rainer Maria Rilke, transl. by J.B Leishman, from Poems 1906 to 1926 (New Directions Books, 1957)

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Herman Tømmeraas photographed by Stephen Butkus