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whatsnewalycat · 2 years

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Just Dumb Enough to Try

Chapter 23: Perfect Wife

Word Count: 3.5k+

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Tags / CW: swearing, cheating/infidelity, domestic abuse, pregnancy, dry heaving & gagging, restraints (rope) but like not in a sexy way, blood, injuries, idk just a lot of gross things, dissociation, birth control sabotage, kidnapping, the yellow wallpaper by charlotte perkins gilman, mice, I promise everything will be ok, ok??

Chapter Summary: We check in with our hero to see how she's doing in captivity.

Notes: Chapter title from "Perfect Wife" by Amigo the Devil. Y'all this song though... please listen. It guts me. Which reminds me, this chapter is very violence heavy, just a heads up. Another thing: next weekend I'll be out of town Fri-Sun and yadda yadda the next chapter will be out on 10/10. If I'm able to get caught up on homework before leaving, I'll post it this Thursday, but I am a procrastinator so looool we'll see. OK THANKS LETS GO TEAM!

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???, Laredo, TX July 30, 1998

When Dan opens the trunk and releases the hot, dead air that’s been percolating with you for two hours, it’s probably the most excited you’ve ever been to see him. Your pupils are so offended by the bright blue sky that your eyelids slam shut in protest as you wince. Before you can crack them open again to see where the fuck you are, he’s blindfolding you.

“Really?” is all you can say when he yanks you out of the trunk by the bend of your arm. You hiss and your knees give out as he tries to so get you to stand on your own accord. Gravel digs into your legs when you crumble into a pile on the ground.

“For fuck’s sake,” he mutters through gritted teeth. His hands tuck under your armpits and he pulls you up to your feet, but you go all limp noodle like a marionette. He growls now, clenching his jaw down harder, “Stand the fuck up, bitch.”

Finally you gain your footing and your knees lock in place. The darkness you’re enclosed in does not alleviate the way your brain is swirling around inside your skull. Last time you felt this dizzy, you drank about 3 too-many mixed drinks then tried to smoke a bowl. Medically speaking, you think it’s called “the spins.”

He pulls you along behind him, white-knuckling your arm as you stumble over bushes, rocks, and your own feet. You fight the urge to spew. It reminds you of when the Bakers guilt-tripped you onto going on some Alaskan cruise liner for 6 days and 5 nights, even though they know you’re prone to debilitating motion sickness. You spent the vacation locked inside the cabin and had to choose between “the spins” or that syrupy manufactured pill high from Dramamine.

The sloshy memory pulls out all the stops and you dig your heels into the dirt so you can dry-heave your empty stomach. He stops when you do, scoffing when he looks back to see what the holdup is. Once he realizes you’re puking a whole lotta nothing, he continues marching you forward towards… wherever. A house? Your death? Hell? A 6-day, 5-night all-inclusive* cruise to mother fucking Alaska (*does not include Dramamine) (*aka Hell)?

He finally takes your blindfold off after you trip through a doorway and fall to your hands and knees onto a dusty hardwood floor. You blink your eyes into focus. The place has to be at least one hundred fucking years old. There’s no furniture. You’re in an empty foyer with dingy floral wallpaper. A floorboard creaks behind you and he drops something onto the ground. All you can see is this tattered yellow wallpaper.

Did it come yellow, or is it stained yellow?

There are jangles and zips from right behind your head as he digs through (what you’re assuming is) a backpack. You take a deep breath to calm yourself, then gag when you recognize the very distinct smell of mouse piss and mothballs. It reminds you of this dumpy apartment your mom used to have.

You would spend hours tiptoeing around the living room as she slept on the couch: a snoring, disheveled blanket pile. It was the worst was when you were hungry. Breakfast time would pass, then lunch time, but you would never wake her up, because if you woke her up, she might get mad. You could have made food for yourself, but there were mice skittering around in the cupboards and you were scared to open them. That musty, woody, ammonia smell. The sound of tiny rodent claws navigating the kitchen cupboards. Your growling stomach. The nausea.

You dry heave again.

Once Dan finds what he’s looking for, he pulls it out, humming with satisfaction. His knees pop when he stands up, then pop again when he squats down to make his eyes level with yours.

Ocean blue eyes. You search each others faces, trying to find a trace of the person you thought you knew.

Nothing. They look flat.

Who are you?

He must decide the same thing, because his vacant eyes drop to the bundle of nylon rope he’s holding, and he instructs you, “Press your wrists together.”

You follow the directions. His slender fingers work away, wrapping the rope around your wrists, then ankles, then he starts on your arms. Squeezing the cord tight like a boa constrictor preparing you for consumption.

Your heart hammers inside your chest. You're bound so tight, you have to take shallow, metered breathes.

Breaking his silence, he fumes, “That’s a nice lil video you gave me, babe. It’ll be popular on the web. Shoulda installed them earlier. Coulda got a whole series, since you’n Javi obviously have no problem fucking in my house,” he yanks extra hard, digging the cord flush against your humerus, then grits his teeth as he spits, “How long, huh? How long you been fucking him?”

You say nothing, just stare over his shoulder at the wallpaper. There are no correct answers. He pushes his nose against your cheek and rasps, “Answer me, bitch, or I swear I will god I will wrap this rope around your fuckin’ throat-“

“June,” you whisper. You immediately regret telling him the truth.

He draws back and pauses. The silence and stillness with which he absorbs this information brings an electric panic to the surface of your skin. Your heartbeat is now in your throat, and you're afraid to inhale.

“June,” Dan nods once and purses his lips, glances at the ground and shakes his head. When he looks back up, he stares at your eyes but you don’t return the favor, “I should fucking kill both of you.”

You flinch and swallow hard.

With added vigor, he finishes the knot he had been working on, then stands up and walks away. A screen door slams behind you.

He leaves you there for… a while. How long? Who fucking knows.

Long enough for you to start trying to wriggle your way out of the binding. Long enough for the abrasive fibers to ignite a white hot, festering burn in the places it rubs against your flesh. Long enough for the burning to start pulling sharper, cutting, wet feelings from the burns. Long enough to lose feeling in your hands and legs completely.

When you finally look down at your hands, you gasp. Your purpled fingertips in contrast to the red, broken skin of your wrists makes your stomach churn.

Trying to distract yourself from the foreign grotesqueness of your own body, you inhale as deep as you can, then look up at the wallpaper. This dingy, torn up yellow wallpaper, adorned with delicate floral bouquets, repeated dozens of times, all across your field of vision.

Squeak-bang

You jump out of your trance and blink. The golden sun setting into the windows behind you are casting long shadows onto the wall. Your shadow is a lumpy heap, vibrating with terror. Dan's is a towering threat.

The floor whines as he starts forward and his shadow grows smaller and smaller until his presence isn’t a shadow anymore. He crouches down in front of you, doused in golden light. Splatters and streaks on his clothing. Deep, rust red and viscous. In his blonde hair. Smeared on his skin. Blood. So opaque it seems to absorb the sunlight.

Your heart stops and your stomach drops like a rock as you exhale the words, “What did you do?”

He smiles. You want to rip it off his fucking face. A fucking smile.

“What the fuck did you do? Is that blood?” you repeat, louder now. Your face betrays you, crumbling to pieces. A rabid, aching panic started to inflate inside your chest. Inside your limbs.

Could I feel my hands before? No. What about my tongue?

Your eyes betray you next, filling with hot tears. The expanding balloon of terror in your skin wills you into a frenzy as you buck against the rope that's rendering you immobile. You’re frantic, losing control, “What did you do? Is it Javi? What the fuck did you do? You can’t- no no no no -“

Nothing that was making you hurt matters anymore. Not the bloodied abrasions the nylon rope is sinking into, not the bruises on your legs, not the deep pit of hunger. It’s all eclipsed by this new, more desperate kind of hurt.

He cracks a sympathetic smile, “Oh, babe, don’t tell me-“ a giggle escapes his throat as he looks down at the floor, then back up at you. The corners of his mouth turn down in a sarcastic frown, “Don’t tell me you have feelings for him?” His fingers, sticky with blood, brush your sweaty hair from your face, and he coos in a condescending tone, “Did you love him?”

Your eyes snap to his. He can see the answer on your face, but he wants to hear you say it. The demon is lurking in his eyes again. Dead and soulless as he clamps your face in a bruising grasp, growling, “Did you love him?”

“Are you just going to pretend you don’t feel this? That you don’t want this like I do?” Javier told you on the walking trail when you tried to end it at the beginning.

Your whole body trembles as you nod, holding eye contact as tears blur your vision.

“Well that was pretty fucking stupid, wasn’t it?”

Dancing to Amor Prohibido at the bar with Gina as your audience, lighting your skin on fire as Javier guided you by the waist. A serenade only you could hear. Singing along to old country music on the radio while he tried not to burn pancakes on the best morning you’ve ever had. You felt at home for the first time. Kiss on karaoke when your love for him radiated into your bones. Dancing in your kitchen to Etta James, letting the melody slip from your lips as you sang along quietly, “ And my heart cried, ohhh- ohhhh- ohh, I love you so… ”

A noise like a gas leak, high-pitched and quiet, sounds from your deflating chest. It crescendos into a wail that sounds so foreign, so robust in its anguish, you don’t even recognize the sound as your own. Once it clears from your lungs, your chest heaves into a series of small sobs.

“No,” your voice wavers and Dan’s features harden into a warning, but you continue despite his tightening grasp on your face, “It’s not stupid, Dan,” you croak, shaking your head through your tears, “I am in love with him, an-and it’s so fucking worth it . You could never fucking understand.”

He releases your face and stands up, walking behind you. His hands wrap around your ankles and he yanks your legs out from under you. Your chin claps against the floor. An attempt to cry out comes out in a wispy croak. The foyer gets smaller as he pulls you down a hallway, opens a door, and deposits you into a closet. He slams the door shut, entrenching you in black.

Your shaky breaths echo back into your ears and you try to forget the sound as it happens. The purpled hands, the blood seeping onto the white nylon rope. Blood. The blood covering Dan. Whose blood?

A loud thud surrounds you in the darkness. And another. He drives his fist against the door over and over and seethes, “You’re really fucking testing me, babe. I don’t want to have to gut you, too. Don’t make me fucking gut you.”

I don’t want to have to gut you, too.

He doesn’t mean that. He can’t mean that. There’s no fucking way.

The blood. The fury. He was gone for so long. You imagine a thick, dark, scarlet pool growing. Blank, lifeless brown eyes. Not lifeless in the same way that Dan’s are. Lifeless as in gone.

You think about how Javier said, “I love you. I swear on my mother’s grave I will not disappear.”

Telling you he loved you in the park. Making out in the photo booth. Hand resting on your bare leg, fingers drawing sweet nothings onto your skin. Playing with your hair. Kissing your knotted wrist that was once a gaping wound.

A gaping wound. The blood on the white nylon rope. Spilling out your wrists as your father screams at you. Splattered across Dan’s clothing and hair. Deep, rust red and viscous. A pool expanding under Javier’s lifeless form.

You tip over onto your side and try to curl up in a ball, but the adrenaline pumping through you won’t let you sit still, so you writhe around miserably, voice hoarse as sobs rip from your throat.

You’ve memorized the way his lips feel against yours. Mustache tickling you. Velvet tongue. Tasting like cigarettes. Popular opinion dictates you should find the flavor appalling, but you would live in his mouth if you could. The slope of his nose. Dimpled smile. Puppy dog eyes. The potpourri of smells so uniquely him, you recognized it after five years of his absence.

All the memories that made your heart swell with happiness and love are tainted. You don’t have a home. It was ridiculous for you to ever think that you could. Gutted.

I don’t want to have to gut you, too.

The sorrow festering at the site of your emotional wound comes bursting open, and you ignore the ripping feeling in your throat as you scream out loud to the husk of a man outside the door, “I fucking hate you. I hate you, Dan. I will never fucking forgive you.”

Silence.

You always suspected this would end in some disaster. That Javier would leave, fall out of love, break your heart. It was too good. But this? This isn’t right. He can’t be-

You gag as the word passes through your mind. Then you shove it out, refusing it’s company. It’s not real. None of this is real.

Instead of grounding, being present in this moment, you hand yourself over to the comforting embrace of dissociation. Floating out of your body, settling outside yourself on a cloud made of static. Blank brain. On standby, staring into the darkness as the tears run dry. Staring for so long you forget your eyes are open, until you blink.

I wonder how many spiders are in this closet with me.

—

You don’t know how much time has passed when the doorknob rattles and the hinges groan. Air 20 degrees cooler than the stifling hot box closet rushes against your skin. A floorboard creaks and there’s a woosh as he crouches down. Blackness entrenches you. Finger pads on your shoulder.

Your skin crawls and you swallow a lump in your throat. The touch slides from your shoulder, up to your head. Mitts for hands dig into your hair. You whine when he closes his hand into a fist. He’s anchored.

His voice cuts through the silence, just a whisper, “Do you love him?”

“Even when I knew you before. I know it sounds like bullshit, but I swear to god… after I met you, almost every night while falling asleep, I would think of the beautiful woman I met in San Antonio who- who watched movies with me and made me smile and…”

“Yes,” you breathe.

He lifts your head and thrusts it against the dusty hard wood floor with a crack. Pain shoots through your face and you yelp. White fills your vision on impact.

“You fucking idiot. He would have left you. You know that, right? Guy like him?” he scoffs, “Bitches like you are a dime a dozen to him.”

You say nothing even though you want to scream that he’s wrong. He’s so fucking wrong. Crickets chirp in the distance.

“God, babe, you used a rubber at least, right?” his fingers tighten their hold. He waits for an answer. When you don’t give it to him, he growls, “Answer me.”

“She held my hand in one of the darkest times of my life. I would think about how being with her felt… like that’s how it’s supposed to be. I felt I could talk to her about anything. How the sex was fucking incredible, as if we were made for each other.”

“No,” your voice is monotone. You’re barely here. Who gives a shit. Do it.

He makes a guttural blegh, then sneers, “Who knows what kind of fucking diseases you’re riddled with,” he sighs, then softens his tone, “I was hoping we could have some fun, but… I don’t want to catch anything. Bad enough I let you suck me off a few weeks ago.”

The words “let you” ricochet around your brain, looking for you to react, but you’re still just barely here.

His mouth next to your ear now, asking quietly, “Does he know about that? That you sucked my cock? Hmm?”

You don’t answer him, so he slams your face against the floor again. A guttural moan lets itself out your throat without your permission. Tears prick your eyes and you squeak, “Yes.”

“He knows you took my dick down your throat like a fucking whore, and you think he still respects you? You think he loves you like I do?” he snorts, “If he cared about you like I do, I would be dead right now, not him.”

“I would think about how badly I fucked up by letting her go.”

You don’t say anything, because you don’t have words. You’re crying because that’s your nervous system’s response to the pain. You’re on a different planet. This isn’t real. The tears you can’t wipe away stream off your face and pool on the floor.

After his comment is met with more silence, he sucks his teeth and murmurs, “That does being up another concern, though,” louder now, and with disdain, he admits, “See, I was under the impression that my fiancé would be fucking faithful to me. And I knew that you wanted to try for kids as soon as we got married.”

No. No fucking way.

“You know, it can take months for birth control to get out of your system,” he sighs, and the exhale tickles across your shoulders, “I knew you would be resistant to the idea of cutting out birth control right now, but it wouldn’t matter if you got pregnant, because we were going to have kids anyway. Turns out, I was wrong. Which puts us in a bit of a pickle now, doesn’t it? Since you’ve been taking sugar pills for 5 months-“

“What the fuck,” you whimper, “What the fuck, why?”

“I told you why,” he chuckles, then clears his throat and continues, “Anyway, any chance you have a little baby Peña growing inside you?”

All the air is sucked from your lungs. Your nostrils flare. The fury breaks through your resolve. You wait a beat before lying through gritted teeth, “No, you fucking psycho, I am not pregnant.”

He lifts your head and cracks it on the wooden floor again. You stifle a sob as the pain ripples across your face. A warm, wet feeling starts to spread across your cheek. Not tears this time. He growls, “I don’t appreciate you talking to me like that.”

Your throat trills and your body goes rigid as he lifts you by your hair again. This time, though, he stuffs a gag in your mouth and ties it in place, then releases his grip. You exhale a shaky breath of relief when he stands up and dusts his hands off on his pants.

The door groans as he closes it again. You listen to see where he is, but his footfalls are silent. Just the occasional creak from somewhere in the old house. A reminder that he’s there.

You remember, when Claudia was pregnant with Michael, each week she would call you with this big, thick pregnancy owner’s manual and tell you all about what was going on in her body and how big he was. Once she called and told you he was the size of a banana right as you were peeling a banana. You had to throw it away.

You wonder if the baby is really the size of a little jellybean like you picture in your head.

“We named our daughter Rosemary after my mom.”

Your chest aches as you think about how it shouldn’t be like it is. Right now you should be nestled into Javier, only worried about breaking the news to him. He would probably freak the fuck out at first. Smoke like a chimney, go quiet and stoic. He would come around, though. Once the news settled, he’d find one of those baby books. He would tell you every week on the morning of, how big she is.

“I like the name Rosemary.”

“I do, too.”

Instead, you’re lying in a cramped closet in the middle of fucking nowhere, wondering if Javier is alive. Wondering if you will be alive this time tomorrow.

Will you ever see him waiting for you at the end of a wedding aisle? Wearing a black suit, smiling that wide award-winning smile, dimples and all, as he sees you in a carefully curated white dress. When will be the next time you wake up next to him, tangled in each other, still groggy from sleep, cherishing the moments until you have to roll out of bed? Is it even possible?

Will I ever see him again?

[ Next Chapter ]

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vodkaandsnakes · 1 month

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On this day, March 21, in Type O Negative history:

The video for "Christian Woman" receives airplay on the The Pit (Blacksburgh, VA), Fox Traxx (Kenosha, WI), and Musical Mayhem (Defiance, OH) TV cable access programs. Dizzy Demos/ The Show (St. Louis, MO) and Mind-Altering Experience (Auburn Hills, MI) play the video for "Black No. 1" (1994)

Type O Negative play The Amarillo Civic Center with Pantera in Amarillo, TX (1995) (shenanigans and hijinx ensue)

Type O Negative play Club 616 with Drain STH and Stuck Mojo in Memphis, TN (1997)

Type O Negative play The Boathouse with Coal Chamber, Full Devil Jacket, and The Deadlights in Norfolk, VA (2000)

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truthseeker-blogger · 4 months

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youtube

You barely get to see Matt, but he's the shortest kid, black curly hair, far left, top row, has first seat trumpet, always has 🥰❤🎺🎶

The kid on the left, Dale Munchy, nicknamed Beethoven. He was incredible. He played a harpsichord at our wedding. He played Pachelbel's Canon.

Matt's father used to drive Matt to Queens NY for classical lessons, every other week, under the direction of William Vacchiano.

Amazingly, Mr Vacchiano brought the dimensions of Matt's mouth to his own personal metalist, and had a personalized mouth piece made for Matt's trumpet. 😲

Rhode Island All Star Band, directed by Ted Catherine, who's sadly passed away in January 2023 😪🕯

Ted Casher's personal encyclopedia of jazz intimates runs from Louis Armstrong to Lester Young, with room in between for Duke Ellington and Bill Clinton. (With photo)

So for Mansfield's own legendary sax man, the new PBS television series tracing the history of jazz from Dixieland to Miles Davis was a walk down memory lane.

“ It gave me a chance to visit with a lot of guys who've moved on to that big bandstand in the sky,” said Casher, who has played or hung out with the likes of Armstrong, Cannonball Adderly and the Duke.

He also jammed with his share of living legends, including Dizzie Gillespie and former President Bill Clinton.

Casher received his first sax from his uncle as a boy, and quickly plunged into a love affair with music and jazz that would fill a lifetime. Almost from the time he first heard Benny Goodman on the radio as a child, he said, he knew it would turn out that way.

“ I remember the first time I sat with the junior high school band and thinking, this is what I want to do with my life,” said Casher, now 63.

For a youngster growing up in rural Maine, it was an unlikely path. His mother wanted him to become a doctor. “ At that time, Jewish boys aspired to become doctors or go into business,” he said. “ It was a tough mold to break out of.”

The first indication that Casher would be unable to withstand the pull of jazz came with the nightly broadcasts of New York's WNEW. Although the station's live jazz programs originated hundreds of miles away, they were received with crystal clarity in Skowhegan.

“ Our baby sitter liked to listen to WNEW, and so did I,” he said. “ It was like heaven.”

By 13, Casher had mastered both clarinet and sax and was playing professionally for $7 a night. He eventually came under the wing of Down East bandleader Al Corey and a succession of other mentors.

“ Today, technology permits a bunch of guys to go into a garage and do their own thing,” he said. “ Back then, I was a willing pupil and I was fortunate to be accepted as a worthy apprentice to some fine musicians. I learned a lot that way.”

Beginning in the late 1950s, Casher mixed gigs with more conventional training at the Boston Conservatory and the Berklee College of Music, accumulating stories along the way.

At the Lenox School in New York, a visiting Miles Davis shrugged off a greeting from an admiring Casher.

“ Don't take it personal,” said a heavy-set man with an engaging smile. “ He treats everybody that way.”

The heavy-set man was Cannonball Adderly.

By 1964, Casher had moved to Mansfield, starting a family and keeping company with an increasingly prestigious list of jazz greats.

Casher shared the spotlight briefly at times with trumpet players Armstrong and Gillespie. Teaching rock composition at Berklee in the 1970s, Casher was sought out by Ellington to talk about the jazz-influenced rock that groups such as Chicago and Blood, Sweat and Tears were then recording.

Casher later taught at Dean College in Franklin and played in a number of revival bands under the names of such legends as Glenn Miller and Jimmy Dorsey. He continues to do session work and play in bands throughout the Northeast, and teaches a jazz ensemble at Rhode Island's Ponagansett High School.

It was in 1979 that the local jazzman had his most unusual encounter with a talented musician and future president. Between sets at a college reunion in Boston, a handsome, well-tailored man walked up to Casher and started making comments about his sax.

“ You play?” Casher asked the knowledgeable outsider.

“ Used to, but I don't have much time for it anymore,” said the stranger, who explained that he was governor of Arkansas. So impressed was Casher that he offered to let Clinton sit in on tenor sax. He did.

“ He was pretty good, too,” said Casher. “ Played `Take The A Train' and a lot of other stuff. In fact, I wouldn't have been ashamed to bring him to a gig.”

In 1992, the newly elected president, whose sax-playing attracted attention during the campaign, thanked Casher by inviting him to perform at his inauguration. He did so as a band member of Bo Winiker's outfit.

Casher says he's impressed with the picture painted by the TV series of jazz as a creative force and a vital underpinning of American culture. He says he believes the reason jazz has been such a potent social force is the same reason it proved to be so influential in his own life.

“ Jazz combines both intellect and emotion, and it requires your creative input,” Casher said. “ Classical musicians take a score and interpret whatever it is the composer intended. I play jazz, and I'm composing as soon as I get the sax in front of my face.”

“ That's what I love about jazz.”

RICK FOSTER can be reached at 508-236-0372 or via e-mail at [email protected]

Considered one of the most respected musicians in New England, Casher shared the stage with everyone from Frank Sinatra and Aretha Franklin, to Louis Armstrong and former President Bill Clinton, over his long and successful jazz career.

#Youtube #Ted Casher #Jazz #RI All Star Jazz Band #William Vacchiano

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itsmythang · 6 months

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Ella Fitzgerald in a Houston jail cell for singing to an integrated audience, 1955. —On 7th October, 1955, Ella Fitzgerald, Georgina Henry, Illinois Jacquet, Dizzy Gillespie, and jazz impresario Norman Granz were arrested for “shooting dice” in Fitzgerald’s dressing room at the Music Hall in Houston, TX. Houston-born Jacquet had wanted to integrate audiences ever since he had played in Los Angeles in 1944 for a benefit organized by Granz (to raise money for the defendants in the Zoot Suit Riots).

“I seem to excel on my instrument when I play for an integrated audience,” the saxophonist said. “I love Houston,”Jacquet said after the October concert. “This is where I went to school. This is where I learned everything I know. I was fed up with coming to Houston and playing to a segregated audience.

I felt if I didn’t do anything about segregation in my hometown, I would regret it.” Granz arranged the show, and the contract was explicitly worded that the show would be integrated. After the first set, the Houston vice squad stormed into Fitzgerald’s dressing room, guns drawn with the intention of stopping a second set. Fitzgerald and Henry were quietly drinking coffee, but Gillespie and Jacquet were playing dice in the corner, providing the police with an excuse for an arrest.

Granz entered the room after hearing the police. He later claimed he saw an officer try to plant drugs in the bathroom. “I’m watching you,” Granz said, and the cop pointed his gun at Granz and threatened to shoot him. The group was met by photographers when they arrived at the jail, tipped off by the cops, and all were booked and fined ($10) before being released. Granz and his musicians returned to perform a second set.

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lilaceas · 2 years

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i. vlada

i was born like a shooting-star looking inside of gentle eyes waiting to talk with faeries & the moon, i had no references of a ideal father but a mother because sadness would never take place in my heart at a place where wildness itself was born too without jesus permission.

ii. cherry poison

my first birthday party was strawberry short-cake themed, a november 15th rainy night i remember baby hair-lockets in bows under my mother's bed kept in tiny blush rosy envelopes & friends of catholic church gifts from grocery stores like plastic barbie dolls & hershey chocolates & fake lipgloss & ballet shoes & among all the children's tales books a pair of violet fairy-wings was my favourite from 'em all. my uncle was there too, he was tall & pale & fucked up contours of my face was his too & symmetry of mouth never talking about cigarette breath things that make of me a dizzy girl. trying to cut my bangs & trying to keep coffee away from my hands & trying to make me eat whatever that wasn't sugar when i look in the mirror i see him & his angels & his past dealing with secrets, picturing strangers with a glock pistol in his waist.

iii. alton, tx

bad memories started at age of three at little clown school times of innocence when i could barely sit straight but them make me & wasn't ready to eat but them make me & when i was ready to pee them hurt me to look at my teacher calligraphy, a fourteen-years-old platinum blonde & being obligated to write that shit. sorry mommy, i wasn't ready to suffer abuse & see everything & do nothing, even with arms & tummy filled with bite bruises & warm milk running down my nose.

iv. candybar

rosy pink on a beautiful rose. i finally met my prince charming when flowers grow in the garden & i was home & like mommy i suck into oranges & honey, cherry pink tinted rose, i run from trouble & met another girls that looks like deers. i saw the sun everyday at the dance studio. choking on the table making another scene dancing in silence, deep breath another soft summer night between dreams & reality. the battle that made room inside of me, losing control when i fight & i get blue no names & no calls just kept a final pose, to kept holding myself on then touch touch touch TOUCH TOUCH TOUCH touch touch touch. he made me cum for the first time only by putting his bittersweet lies onto my lips & to ignore his fears telling me what to do, goodbye kisses steals my childhood but that's was twelve tears ago & i don't know who i'm... please, show me. fake tears is all i knew & to paint winter with the colour of your glistening eyes wasn't enough. to give you my mind & to close your doors never was enough. i, sweetly give in completely to you & both of us needed. to wake & die will not clear your mind nothing's ever clear but i know what will, a far way beauty.

#writing

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unusualplaces · 6 months

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Things to Do in Fort Worth, TX - Complete Guide

Fort Worth, often dubbed as the quintessential Texan city, seamlessly marries its vivid wild-west history with a plethora of modern attractions, firmly establishing itself as one of the go-to destinations in the vast expanse of the Lone Star State. When travelers and locals alike think of the myriad things to do in Fort Worth, TX, they’re often met with a dizzying array of options. Photo by…

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#cities #city

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rfsa2023 · 7 months

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LaseMD and Clear + Brilliant: Targeted Solutions for Skin Perfection

In today's world of advanced skincare, there's a dizzying array of treatments promising youthful, radiant skin. Two treatments that stand out in the crowd are LaseMD and Clear + Brilliant. Let's delve into these cutting-edge technologies and understand why they're making waves in the world of dermatology.

LaseMD: The Lowdown

LaseMD is a non-ablative fractional laser treatment designed to rejuvenate the skin by targeting sun damage, melasma, and other pigmentation issues.

How Does LaseMD Work?

The LaseMD system delivers laser energy deep into the skin, creating micro-channels. This process stimulates the body's natural healing response, leading to increased collagen production.

Benefits of LaseMD

Reduces the appearance of fine lines and wrinkles

Addresses uneven skin tone and texture

Minimizes the look of sunspots and age spots

Requires minimal downtime

Clear + Brilliant: A Closer Look

Clear + Brilliant is another fractional laser treatment, but with a slight twist. It's often seen as a "starter laser," perfect for those new to laser treatments or those looking for maintenance.

How Does Clear + Brilliant Work?

Clear + Brilliant works by creating millions of microscopic treatment zones in the skin. This process replaces damaged skin with healthy, younger-looking tissue.

Benefits of Clear + Brilliant

Improves skin tone and texture

Reduces the appearance of pores

Combat signs of aging

Enhances skin radiance and clarity

LaseMD vs. Clear + Brilliant: Which is Right for You?

While both treatments offer exceptional results, they cater to different needs:

LaseMD is ideal for those looking to address more pronounced skin concerns like deeper wrinkles or significant sun damage.

Clear + Brilliant is perfect for younger individuals seeking to maintain their skin's health or address early signs of aging.

Regardless of your choice, it's crucial to consult with a dermatologist to determine the best treatment for your unique skin needs.

Rainey & Finklea Dermatology: Your Trusted Partner in Skincare

At Rainey & Finklea Dermatology in SAN ANTONIO, TX, we pride ourselves on offering state-of-the-art skincare solutions tailored to our patients' needs. Our expert team is well-versed in both LaseMD and Clear + Brilliant treatments, ensuring you get the best results possible.

Phone: 210.901.9353

Address: 10603 WEST AVE, SAN ANTONIO, TX 78213

Website: rfsadermatology.com

Conclusion

In the ever-evolving world of skincare, LaseMD and Clear + Brilliant stand out as top-tier treatments for those seeking skin perfection. They offer targeted, effective solutions for a range of skin concerns. As always, your journey to flawless skin should be guided by trusted professionals. At Rainey & Finklea Dermatology, we're here to ensure your skin gets the best care it deserves.

#skincare #business #beauty #dermatology #lasemd

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intellius-medical · 11 months

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Experience the Power of IV Hydration Therapy in Allen, TX

Introduction

IV hydration therapy is a revolutionary treatment method that provides rapid and effective rehydration for individuals in need. This article will explore the power of IV hydration therapy and its benefits for residents of Allen, TX. Whether you're an athlete looking to optimize your performance, someone seeking hangover relief, or simply in need of an immune system boost, IV hydration therapy can provide the solution you're looking for.

What is IV Hydration Therapy?

IV hydration therapy in Allen, TX involves the administration of fluids, vitamins, minerals, and other beneficial substances directly into the bloodstream through an intravenous (IV) line. This method ensures quick absorption and maximum effectiveness of the nutrients, surpassing the limitations of oral intake.

Benefits of IV Hydration Therapy

IV hydration therapy offers a range of benefits. It not only replenishes lost fluids but also provides essential vitamins and minerals that support overall well-being. Some key advantages include:

Rapid rehydration:

IV therapy delivers fluids directly into the bloodstream, ensuring faster rehydration compared to oral intake.

Enhanced nutrient absorption:

By bypassing the digestive system, IV hydration therapy allows for higher absorption of nutrients, leading to better overall health.

The Importance of Hydration

Dehydration and its Effects

Dehydration occurs when the body loses more fluids than it takes in. Even mild dehydration can lead to fatigue, dizziness, and impaired cognitive function. Prolonged dehydration can have more severe consequences, including organ damage and heatstroke.

How IV Hydration Therapy Helps

IV hydration therapy combats dehydration by delivering fluids directly into the bloodstream. This enables quick absorption and replenishment of electrolytes, preventing and reversing the effects of dehydration.

IV Hydration Therapy Process

Consultation and Assessment

Before starting IV hydration therapy, a consultation with a healthcare professional is conducted to assess your needs and determine the appropriate treatment plan. This personalized approach ensures optimal results.

Customized Treatment Plan

Based on your specific requirements, a customized treatment plan is created. This plan includes the types and amounts of fluids, vitamins, and minerals to be administered during the therapy session.

IV Placement and Administration

During the therapy session, a trained healthcare professional places an IV line and administers the fluids. The process is quick, comfortable, and generally painless.

Who Can Benefit from IV Hydration Therapy?

Athletes and Sports Recovery

IV hydration therapy is highly beneficial for athletes as it helps in faster recovery after intense workouts or sports events. By replenishing fluids, electrolytes, and essential nutrients, athletes can optimize their performance and reduce recovery time.

Hangover Relief and Detoxification

After a night of excessive alcohol consumption, IV hydration therapy can provide much-needed relief from hangover symptoms. It aids in rehydration, flushes out toxins, and replenishes essential nutrients, alleviating the effects of a hangover.

Boosting Immune System

IV hydration therapy strengthens the immune system by delivering a high concentration of vitamins and minerals directly into the bloodstream. This helps the body fight off infections and supports overall immune function.

IV Hydration Therapy at BeautiBars Medspa

State-of-the-Art Facility

BeautiBars Medspa in Allen, TX, offers IV hydration therapy in a state-of-the-art facility equipped with modern amenities. The spa-like environment ensures a relaxing and rejuvenating experience.

Highly Trained Staff

At BeautiBars Medspa, highly trained healthcare professionals administer IV hydration therapy. They have the expertise and experience to ensure a safe and comfortable treatment session.

Personalized Approach

BeautiBars Medspa takes a personalized approach to IV hydration therapy. They assess each client's unique needs and tailor the treatment plan accordingly. This ensures that you receive the optimal benefits of the therapy.

What to Expect During an IV Hydration Therapy Session

Relaxing Environment

During an IV hydration therapy session at BeautiBars Medspa, you can expect a tranquil and serene environment. The calming ambiance enhances relaxation and promotes overall well-being.

Quick and Comfortable Procedure

The IV placement and fluid administration process is quick, usually taking around 30 to 60 minutes. The healthcare professional ensures your comfort throughout the session, and you can relax or engage in activities like reading or listening to music.

Immediate Results

One of the significant advantages of IV hydration therapy is its immediate effectiveness. You'll start feeling the benefits almost instantly, with improved hydration, increased energy levels, and a sense of overall wellness.

Conclusion: BeautiBars: Best Medspa to Get IV Hydration Therapy in Allen, TX

Experience the power of IV hydration therapy at BeautiBars Medspa in Allen, TX. With a personalized approach, state-of-the-art facility, and highly trained staff, BeautiBars offers top-quality IV hydration therapy that rejuvenates your body, enhances performance, and promotes overall well-being. Don't miss the opportunity to revitalize yourself with the benefits of IV hydration therapy.

#ivtherapy #ivhydrationtherapy #health #allen #texas

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