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[violvtor]

@prodigalscns

[violvtor]

( RICKY WHITTLE. 38. CISMALE. HE/HIM. ) in texas, ADONIS PRINCE is more commonly known as DONNIE. they’ve been living in straton for THIRTY-EIGHT YEARS and are currently an AN ACTIVIST/EX-REAPER. some say they are UNGRATEFUL & SHAMELESS but i’m more inclined to believe those that say they’re IDEALISTIC & DETERMINED. if you walk by their house, you can sometimes hear 100 by THE GAME playing from their window. ( cigar ashes, a tattoo of an ex’s lip print, another shattered windshield. ) [ skully. 27. est. she/her ] tw: abduction, assault

— adonis 'donnie' prince | community activist & poet timeline — born in 1981 — granted acceptance & scholarship to university of texas at austin '98 — dropped out of high school '98. joined the reapers in '99 — 17 months in jail for assault '02 - '03, his first offense, taking sole credit for a crime he did not commit in order for a higher up member of the Reapers with a record to avoid decades of lockup. though many of the members protested against this, he certainly earned a lot of respect from them being such a low-ranking and young member. — opened mother's restaurant Birdy's Kitchen '05 with money he received in gratitude from this member, and also with his own acquired money. — imprisoned from '10-'18 for the abduction of his girlfriend calabria vidal & also possessing illegal weapons. in reality, they were returning from doing a hit together. the weapons were irresponsibly in the backseat. the cops behind them flashed their lights. adonis led a high speed chase before getting out of the car and pulling bria out alongside with him, a gun held to her head. there was an incriminating weapon or two in the back. he played the part of a maniacal, obsessive boyfriend & forced her into the role of a victimized girlfriend. this is why she has been free for the last eight years. — released from prison in '18. for once, he lived for himself. adonis went by his first full name for once, moving to new york city and living amongst poets like the ones he had wanted to be in school. he enrolled in community college courses and got back in touch with that old academic side of him that he had abandoned in high school. a lot of his pieces have been published here and there, under multiple different aliases. he was afraid that if he uses his own name, the world would judge him for the crimes on his record & cast him aside. —it's '20 & Adonis has now returned to texas. it is now his goal to embrace his past, for it is the only way that he can move forward. in doing so, he hopes to inform young gang members and wanna-bes of how that kind of lifestyle can cause permanent damage not only your community, victims, not only to your enemies, those you love, but to your complete essence as a whole. — he also has some unfinished business with the former love of his life. family — single mother & nowhere father. his mother formerly worked as a prostitue before she got 'saved' and then worked blue collar jobs like housekeeping and waiting tables. he knew she still dabbled in her old occupation when things got hard, but he pretended not to notice to protect her dignity — his mother insists that adonis is biracial and that his father is from ireland, or one of those european countries with the strange accents. it always made adonis laugh. he was pretty certain that, if anything, his father was Booker from the bar. he believes the man who signed his birth certificate were probably some sucker tourist infatuated with his mom. she had that effect on men back in the day. — unbeknownst to him, the man Joaquin actually is his father, and he has a sibling named Maeson who is in his very gang. they both have their father's eyes.

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( ALEXANDER SKARSGARD. FORTY-THREE. CISMALE. HE/HIM. ) in texas, WILLIAM ASHER is more commonly known as ASHER. they’ve been living in Stratford for FORTY-THREE YEARS and currently CHIEF NEWS ANCHOR. some say they are RELENTLESS & EGOTISTICAL but i’m more inclined to believe those that say they’re CHARISMATIC & PHILANTHROPIC. if you walk by their house, you can sometimes hear TIME OF THE SEASON by THE ZOMBIES playing from their window. ( the lingering scent of leather-bound notebooks, daring to gaze into the red recording light & it also gazing into you, pretty interns who look just like their mothers from their schooldays ) [ skully. 27. GMT-5. she/her. ]

[violvtor]

dbleubanks‌:

in 2008, Tommy Eubanks was still pretty goddamn happy. his marriage; thriving. his relationship with his son; still going strong. for now. his drinking habits? nothing compared to what they’d grow to be. he was pretty damn happy with where he was at - for now.

as he rode his bike home, of all the people that Tommy was expecting to lay eyes on that day, Crow was nowhere near the top of that list. the poor kid looked like he hadn’t been outside for days, his skin almost paler than usual, his wounded lip telling a story by itself. hell, maybe he really hadn’t, because Tommy hadn’t seen him for a little while.

the kid was always welcome to crash on his couch but he hadn’t been there recently half as often as he had been. Lizzie was used to Tommy coming home with Crow shuffling in behind him late at night, and Connor had no choice but to get used to the gangly kid who Tommy felt it was his duty to keep an eye on, especially since nobody else seemed to be looking out for him. so he’d pulled over as soon as he saw him in the distance, parking his bike beside the pavement slightly ahead of Crow, so that when he spoke, the kid was just passing by him.

as Crow gave his answer - which definitely sounded like a bullshit excuse - Tommy leaned slightly against his bike, his expression remaining neutral as he watched the kid’s poor attempt at hiding the weapon. he pushed off of his bike, taking a step closer to Crow and holding his hand out expectantly, his gaze unmoving from where it had settled on the boy’s face.

“lemme look at that.”

it was a request, yet from the calm but firm tone of Tommy’s voice, it was also obvious that he wasn’t asking. he wanted to know what the hell this child was doing out on his own with a gun poorly concealed on his person.

the mere months that crow hadn't seen tommy felt like years. each day was now exhausting, as if he had lived a complete lifetime in twenty-four hours. the fatigue wore visibly on the young man's face as his hero approached him. crow had once been naive enough to dream. his closest thing to a male rolemodel rode around on powerful motorbikes and was highly esteemed by others. there had once or twice been an expectation that crow's own life would amount to at least a fraction of such street-glamour, maybe even with his own family included. it did not take long for him to figure that he wasn't made of the same stuff that made up tommy. he was to live the life of a scavenger, of sorts, with no clear home & no tribe to recruit him - partaking in odd jobs that only the man before him probably believed were beneath crow. It did not matter what tommy insisted. the world had already shown crow who he truly was & the life he was destined to live.

the thought of giving his gun up to the other made him slightly panic. was it being confiscated? if it was, crow simply could not afford a new one at this time. his bottom lip tucked under his teeth with nervousness, the gentle sting from his bruise providing him with a distraction for an intense anxiety; the fear of tommy riding off and leaving him gunless on this particular street would leave him vulnerable. word was already out that he did favors.

"i-i'm not your son." he exclaimed, though his hand had already begun to shakily raise the gun out, changing his mind halfway through. instead of handing it over, he pointed it directly at tommy — "drive away & leave me alone."

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[violvtor]

svlesmvn →  violvtor

making crow's account a mumu account. any ridefm muse i have will now be found here.

[violvtor]

We put the fun back into dysfunctional.

[violvtor]

amariblasko‌:

God fucking damnit, all Amari wanted to do was grab a coffee after a nice easy morning jog and it was just her luck that she had been caught up in a debacle concerning a gun. If she had been an outsider looking in on her life in that moment, she would’ve scoffed and shook her head because, well… What else would you expect from a town like Newton? In the panicked frenzy of the cafe, Amari’s brain and body kicked into work mode as if the ER had just received an onrush of patients. She bounced from customer to customer, ushering them as quickly as possible towards the nearest exit, uttering at them to call the cops now. Only a matter of minutes later, Amari was outside whilst the crowd rapidly dispersed in a frantic rush. “Hey, hey!” she shouted harshly, her body stomping across the sidewalk to Crow before she even had a chance to consider if it was a good idea. “I know all of that was down to you.” Amari’s chest heaved up and down as she inhaled heavy breaths, her body still pent up from the commotion. “I get it, you’ve all gotta do whatever shit you’ve gotta do, but have some fucking decency and keep it away from innocent people, alright?”

There was a thing called natural selection. If this woman had to take it upon herself to activate people’s fight or flight — but mainly flight — response, then those people weren’t meant to be in this world for that long anyways. Definitely not this town, at least.  Crow almost felt pity for the woman before him. She seemed to be under the impression that what she had just done for the civilians or what she was saying to him could quite possibly make a difference in their community. A single corner of Crow’s mouth dared to lift. He wasn’t about to confirm his part in the terrorizing scene just to argue his side of things to an obviously traumatized lady. In fact, it was unbeknownst to Crow that the violent action would be taking place at the very diner where the meetup had been planned. In his own little way, maybe he was an innocent bystander as well. This idea made him stiffle a small laugh as he just looked at her, waiting for her to finish. “No one is innocent,” he philosophically replied, tossing his plate into a bin. He let his eyes bore into her face, taking mental images just in case he would need to remember it. There weren't too many people in Newton who would challenge an alleged criminal. She was also a potential witness, had she witnessed Crow's over-the-shoulder words towards the gunman before he left, asking if the gun was satisfactory. "Follow your own advice and run." he said.

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Heights: Is your muse a risk-taker?

     Crow really thinks about certain risks before he does them. If they, at the end of the day, do not serve his interests or benefit him, then he does not do them. Doing things for pleasure & in the moment is what differentiates successful criminals from those found in prisons.      His actions must solidify his mainstream reputation as an unsuspecting used car dealership owner and low-abiding citizen or make sure that his ties with supplier connections as well as the gangs he deals weapons to are strengthening on a consistent basis.      If they are not consistently strengthening then he considers his business as becoming stagnant — even if he is making a stable or an increased profit.

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needles: does your muse have a strong stomach

One would question if Crow even had a stomach at all. 

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♟ : Patching up a wound [crow&remi]

REMI HAD ONCE CONFESSED THAT HE PREFERRED PHYSICAL PAIN OVER EMOTIONAL. That was not entirely true, or maybe this was just some strange mix of both of them. His logic was not entirely solid, but he thought that maybe because Crow had experience with both wounds and the things that make them, maybe he could have assisted. He would, and Remi knew this, one way or the other. Perhaps it was the contrast in the way he was touched, a genuine softness played into the way that hands moved, a welcomed surprise, even though even he wasn’t stupid enough to think it would linger, nor last.

“I’m sure it’s…what do they say in the movies?”  He’s trying to lighten the mood even though tension is so thick between them that he can literally feel it, it’s the driving reason behind the goosebumps that are sneaking up on his skin, turning it to ice regardless of the warmth he feels when he looks at the other. It’s stupid, he reminds himself, just another crush that will define the reason, and the word, eventually. Regardless, he snaps as he finally comes to the conclusion he was getting at. “A flesh wound.”  

He’s turning, and there is blood painting his shirt, more than he assumed there would be. He winces, the first time he goes to pull it off, but reminds himself he was a big boy, that he can take this, and so much more. It’s only they he really sees how much red has tainted the ironically white, or what used to be white, material. “Look, I mean…if you don’t want to deal with it, you don’t have to. I know this is not our thing.” He recoils a little bit, realizing that without thinking, he may have put too much weight on the shoulders of…well, whatever this was. Honestly, he didn’t know what to do with himself, so he was fidgeting, trying to distract from both the pain and the way he was looking at him - a foreign expression, one whose lines Remi could not read between. 

“Um…” 

AND NOW HE;S RUN OUT OF THINGS TO SAY, SO HE STANDS THERE AND STARES BACK.

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❣️ / you obviously know this is rem

❣️ for a kiss that conveys an emotion

He doesn’t give a fuck about Louisiana but he asks Remi questions about it so that he sounds interested. This is the fakest that Crow has ever acted — this including the unbearable moments when he must act like an upstanding citizen with a less-than-standing used car dealership. He stops midway in between asking a question about the Louisiana swamps before he drops the bullshit "—ah, fuck it ! I don't care about your fucking state, Remi. I just fucking like you and I know that when people start to like each other they ask each other stupid fucking questions & I'm trying not to scare you the fuck off because I'm not those fucking people. I sell guns to kill those fucking people—" a lump in his throat interrupts him. Crow feels as if he has blown it. He has blown his one chance at a relationship. He has had other situations before that could have formed into relationships, but they required him to change who he was. Yet here was Remi, and it seemed that for all of ten minutes he was willing to actually attempt to do so — to be something he was not. The respected weapons trafficker's hands shook vulnerably as they reached out for Remi's face, as if checking to see that the other was not an illusion — that Crow's true personality hadn't scared the other to storm out. "S-shut up." he barked with the fragility reminiscent of a teenage James Crowe before Remi could pass out a trademark witty remark and demolish what was left of the remaining confidence he had. Crow's lips brushed against the others and then pulled away — his expressions looking almost pained as he did so — before slamming his mouth back onto the others with such a possesive force, "Fuck Louisiana," was the first remark made by him as soon as they both let up for air.

[violvtor]

HONESTY HOUR.

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