Counting Stars

I see this life Like a swinging vine Swing my heart across the line In my faces flashing signs Seek it out and ye shall find The old, but I'm not that old Young, but I'm not that bold And I don't think the world is sold I'm just doing what we're told I feel something so right Doing the wrong thing I could lie, everything that kills me makes me feel alive

[christian-amari]

Do you have any scars?

“I’ve been in a war so I mean...yeah. What do you think? I’ve been shot at, fell from shit, been thrown from cars, jump out of shit, and most of that was just at training. I’ve got scars from mosh pits, scars from bar fights, scars from sleeping on concrete... Yeah, I got scars... ”

[christian-amari]

remykeo:

The Gala was the first event in ages that Remy could enjoy off the clock, without spending all her time in the shadow of some rich client. She was relaxed, mood as bubbly as the champagne in her glass. Scanning the crowd from the edge of the pool, she startled as someone knocked into her, but regained her balance. “Hey, watch out,” she said cheerfully. “If I fall into the pool, you’re coming with me.”

Being sober long enough awarded him jobs, so while most of Las Vegas was at this party munching on snails or whatever rich people ate, Christian was in the back washing saucers, champagne flutes and shot glasses. He hoped that he could get a job as a server, but the bags under his eyes and the track marks in his arms weren’t appealing enough to get him out of doing grunt work and getting paid under the table. At least he got breaks though, as his hands in the water for so long began to give his skin little bubbles.  In the plain white shirt and pants given to kitchen staff, Christian wandered outside for a smoke break with hopes to nab a few treats off the trays when he almost walked into someone, a familiar face the last thing he expected to see here. “ ...Remy, right? You’re Remy...” He recalled after a beat.

[elizajane-morley]

But today is not gonna be one of them. Because today i found a way to hit “undo”.

[christian-amari]

xvxlet:

“Well, it’s quite recognizable isn’t t? There isn’t exactly any doubt about where I’m from.” Violet laughed. Her, an actress? Go, no. “Certainly not.” Aragorn,  thoroughly enjoying the male’s attention, promptly lied down and rolled over onto his back. He was panting, clearly happy. “He likes his attention, this one does” she mused with a smile, rubbing the dog’s stomach. She shrugged. “I certainly could but they’re quite expensive from what I know. I’ll just make do.” Offering him a small smile, she tilted her head. “What’s your name by the way? I don’t believe I’ve asked.”

He shrugged and half nodded in response, not wanting to confirm what was already so obvious. By know he kinda figured everyone could fake an accent if they really wanted to, but maybe he’d been tainted by all the movies he used to watch with Irish and English actors in American roles. Maybe an American accent was harder than he originally thought. “It’ not like... a bad accent to have or anything.” He added in hopes that she’d feel less self-conscious about it. Bravely extending a hand to the dogs belly for a rub, Christian smiled at the gentle contact. He didn’t get hugged or even touched, really, which made him long for the friendly contact or any affection at all, really. When you didn’t have something was when you valued it most. Dogs were so trusting and non-judgmental... You could pet most of them and they’d return the love easily. Even strays were so desperate for a handout that though skittish, they would brave a hand extended to them for hopes of love or food. Christian could relate to them. “ Uh, Christian...” He said after a beat, so lost in the warm fur he was petting that he almost forgot his own name.” My name’s Christian.”

[christian-amari]

caddockdrengith:

The human skin: the scratch and sniff sticker that never smelled quite right.

Nothing went unnoticed under blue eyes, flickering marbles in his skull like an upturned submarine with its periscope going wild.

Fuckin’ junkies, was all that could scrape through his mind at that point, all that bubbled forth and frothed at the front of his skull like a poorly made latte. One too many scopes of gray matter, perhaps. That would make quite a bit of sense, considering that wasn’t an ingredient for such a drink in the first place.

An ill-placed smirk at the thought tugged at the corners of thin lips, quickly suppressed back into a deadpan expression that offered the stranger little to read aside from the momentary blip in human emotion.

Dead men were numb men were dead men.

Smoke curled from the end of the cigarette as if to tease the boy, tickling the tip of his nose like a feather duster. The Hungarian’s lungs wheezed as he demanded they take another dose of the chemicals.

“A cigarette isn’t going to fix those bruises on your arm.” An exhale. Gray haze from his nostrils; a release from the fire that constantly burned and brewed in his chest like the flames under a conniving witch’s cauldron. “Nor is it going to keep you from sleeping in cardboard boxes.”

Small eyes narrowed further. Contemplation.

“I’ll cut you a deal. You let me buy you breakfast and I’ll give you a smoke afterwards.”

One more drag, one more painful sounding wheeze.

“Win-win.”

Beggers can’t be choosers. It was a motto Christian lived by as he found it easy to have a sort or pessimistic optimism about life. Contradicting himself by being happy that he was at rock bottom so things couldn't get any worst was the only way he could keep on living.  He’d never tell anyone about the dark times -- the times where he wanted to throw himself on train tracks or get in a fight with the wrong person of purpose just to end it all. He somehow dragged himself back at the last moment, but always came to regret it later on when he started hurting.

He couldn’t honestly say that the stranger was being mean, offering him a meal in spite of his cold tone. Of course, he wanted to be bitter about the fact that he was all but bribing him to eat, the promise of what Christian really wanted looming overhead in return for being a good boy and doing as he was told. He had no pride left and wasn’t about groveling, but as the man said, it was a win-win for Christian, the other man getting nothing from it.

So he nodded. Shivering and shaking as he silently agreed to eat the food he was given because deep down there was still a voice of logic and reason inside that told him food was a good thing. Even though he felt like he couldn’t eat a bite in that moment, he’d still try. Maybe it would help.

“O-oka-okay--” He stammered out as he hugged himself, the cold soaking into his bones from the withdrawals and his eyes red and tired but still bulging -- as if he could sleep like this. Still he shuffled a bit close, ready to follow where the man lead and tried to stop himself from the tell-tale shaking.

[christian-amari]

cassbrooks:

“Raised the prices to stay near that shit hole? Bastards…” Cassidy scoffs, fairly sure there’s some truth beneath all the jokes. Which triggers her curious brain but she doesn’t rattle off any questions to infer whether his living arrangements were at least okay for his circumstances. “Both of those places are an upgrade, anyone who is anyone is coming in and out of those places.” Which, from her personal experience, was always a good thing. It was easy to hustle someone by tapping into their rich guilt and get some cash back when she was younger. But she’s sure by now Christian is well aware of how to play the game to his advantage. 

“Wouldn’t be surprised if they aren’t already in one.” Cass counters with a shrug of her shoulders. The Calhoun’s dirty deeds were far from a secret to anyone who has been in Vegas longer than a weekend. You don’t stay that powerful and rich without sacrificing a handful of people along the way. It shouldn’t have been her first thought but catching wind that that Theo is entangled with a Calhoun has her brain playing out the worst of scenarios.  “True.” Cass nods in agreement, taking a sip from her Coke before inquiring further. “Hear anything else? Keep the gossip coming, I obviously missed a lot.” Finally, plates are placed in front of them and it was then Cass realized just how hungry she was. A plate full of fried foods and grease enough to make her drool. “She sounds batshit crazy, then again you met her in New York so….” With a laugh, she pops a fry into her mouth. “We’ll get back to Seattle, wanna tell me about this past life of yours where you hung out with drunk, ambitious go go dancers?”

“Hey, it’s not so bad -- I like the fountains.” He chuckled. It wasn’t like he had access to TV and books or a phone to play silly games on when he was bored -- Christian has to make his own entertainment be it watching whatever free light shows or whatever that were down outside or trying to read lips from the flat screens that played in store windows. On occasion he could hang around at the laundromat where the scrolling marquee would fill him in on the world around him via low volume and shitty, fuzzy reception.

There was some old saying about looking a gift horse in the mouth that he never fully understood, but for the meal, Cassidy required information and while he wasn't street savvy, he heard things people didn’t think he heard. Sometimes it paid to be invisible. “Uh, there’s some guy I heard about.” He offered, trying to recall the tidbits from the talkative girl he encountered a few days prior.” I bumped into this cute girl... She talked my ear off but she brought me some food and gave me some money. She was going on about some new job and how her boss or whatever has like, millions. She said how he blows it all on women and doesn’t show up at work a lot and how he’s always at that one strip joint.. The one that church was protesting at that one time.“ He shrugged. He couldn't tell at the time why the girl told him all her business, but brushed it off as being frustrated and listened in kindness. Maybe Cassidy could do something with it.

“Hey, I had a life once...”

[christian-amari]

novacortez:

She couldn’t help but watch the way he seemed to change now that they were in a familiar setting, it was interesting. “Uh just a sprite, never been much of a coffee drinker. People used to always tell me that it stunts your growth and that just completely turned me off to it.” She didn’t bother to mention that her alternative was the stray energy drink here and there, mostly redbulls. Nova looked around to see if there were any free tables, it was late enough that most of the people still in the diner had eaten and were just chatting or still in the process of eating. Once she’d spotted an empty booth she motioned for him to follow her. Both seats on either side of them were empty so she tossed her jacket over the seat, preferring to be more comfortable while they ate. 

“You know in all the time I was living here before relocating I hardly ever ate at Bugsy’s? Now I feel like it was a huge missed opportunity if the food is as good as you say it is.”

He was fairly short given what was considered tall for a girl was short for a man by classic Western standards. Still, he’d spent enough of his youth wishing he’d cleared the six foot mark and that was before he started drinking coffee, so he couldn’t say for sure if what she hear was true. “ Well genetics really decide how tall you end up.” He shrugged. “ I mean if there’s scientific research that backs caffeine making you shorter, then soda would do the same thing, right? I mean it’s loaded with caffeine and sugar.” He offered in the defense of coffee. He wasn’t trying to be rude or argumentative, but he couldn't resist pointing out the flaw in that myth she was following. When he joined her in the booth, sliding in the opposite side, he felt more relaxed. The high back of the seat protected him in a sense, making it harder for people to stare at him which was always good. 

Turning his attention back to the girl, he offered a crooked grin. “Not a lotta people do --I mean natives, sure, but tourists come here and want all the fancy stuff they serve in hotels and Gordon Ramsey burgers or whatever. S‘easy to overlook the hidden gems of the city.”

[thecityofangelsrp]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, CHRISTIAN AMARI!

[threemoonsareshining]

“So what now? Am I forever in limbo, not knowing which side I’m really on?”

Mr Robot | eps3.5_kill-process.inc

[christian-amari]

caddockdrengith:

Disease ate at innards like a blackening plague, a guise under which society was brought to believe all was well, that all could be cured and reassured that everyone would get better.

Everyone, everyone.

A sickening sort of hum that trembled on peoples’ lips, producing minimal words and fewer syllables under acrid tasting saliva that trickled down their lips.

Like rabid dogs, white at the mouth. Hazy, foaming.

His nose wrinkled at just the thought of it, although those that moved and paced around him like a stream around stone likely thought it to be caused by the cancerous fumes that seeped from the end of the cigarette, hanging idly between thick fingers that raised the device back to thin lips.

Another drag.

The only cancer he worried about was the societal one, the manner in which man had turned on one another, sucking marrow out of bones like psychotic beasts of no nation, no semblance under a flag, no allegiance except to their own bodies, their own lives.

One for one and one for… me.

That wasn’t how it went now, was it?

The man ran his tongue over his teeth, tasting the coating of nicotine and rat poison. It didn’t matter how many times he got his teeth whitened or realigned or properly twisted back into place, no, they would also be slightly disfigured, discolored, just like the ribs in his chest, mismatched puzzle pieces that hadn’t been bothered to be put back together.

Broken, shattered, pinching his side with each breath, as if his organs were trying to tear through his skin, to taste the fresh air they very much desired, but instead were fed the black smog.

The worst of torture, they said, came from within a man’s own head, and while other’s believed those outside of themselves were the “bad ones”, well, there was no fooling the Hungarian, the crippled warlord of wars past and often forgotten or kept hush-hush. Sure, he had only raised a pen in battle and not a sword, but he had been a crusader nonetheless.

A knight without a shield, he had sustained enough blows around the globe to dent his already ruptured skull, splintering gray matter that threatened to poison his own form, as if that were to solve anything.

“There was never any solving anything.”

That’s what his psychiatrist ━ or at least one of them ━ told him during a meeting, after the Hungarian had spewed some rather unpleasant words, observations made about the medical professional that perhaps should have been kept behind the former war correspondent’s sneering lips, curled back like a cat hissing.

Pissing. Pissing on himself.

He was constantly pushing himself towards edges unseen, into situations that should have been avoided, but when you smell Death and hear His lovely song ━ Oh, but can a mortal man truly be blamed?

Like maternal lovers calling it quits, the Hungarian had departed from War, by force, may it be noted, and in turn he was torn from Death, their strange step-child that truly belonged to neither of them but followed each nevertheless.

He grit his teeth at the thought of it, mind in torrential downpour as words from the external world bubbled forth, like blisters against the inside of his skull the more he attempted to ignore them, but as a man who constantly felt pain, it would be almost rude of him to ignore the communication sore, as if he were kicking his aunt out of his own after welcoming her in but moments before.

Smoke billowed from his nostrils like a dragon disturbed, small eyes scraping slowly along the rims of their sockets in order to get a good look at the… boy.

That’s all he was. A boy.

Regardless of how many years he had or how many places he had stuck his dick, this was a boy, plain and simple. He’d seen many like him, addict eyes shaking in their skull like marbles in a jar.

Shake, shake, shake.

Except no señora was there to stop them.

A look of malcontent painted the man’s face as he took another drag, cigarette hanging lazily from thin lips. His tongue poked out the side of his mouth, licking the corner that cracked under dry skin.

“You should be hooked up to an IV,” the foreigner murmured, eyes narrowing as the dying cigarette bobbed up and down as he spoke, words seeping past the butt of the cancerous device.  “Not inhaling batteries and pesticides.”

Cadmium. DDT.

The Hungarian shook his head.

“Clean yourself out. No one likes a strung out snowbird.”

In all honesty, he wasn’t too focused on what the kid had taken, even though he would have been able to tell if he studied his face long enough, but… it didn’t matter.

A junkie was a junkie was a junkie.

He should know.

Sure, he had been a Pharmy, not a cocaine sniffing, eightball busting crank, but he’d been there. Seen those eyes in his own head. Felt those chills…

Another shake of his head.

“I’ll get you breakfast, but that’s it.”

In the back of his mind, he expected a no. He’d been kicked like a dog when he asked to things or cursed out and shoved away by people enough times that a simple rejection was seen as a kindness. People watched too many TV shows and thought that the dregs of society like him would do anything for a single dollar. From being asked to participate in ‘bum fights’ to being offered money if he let someone beat him up -- even the most vulgar offers to use his body for other reasons in return for money were given. Even at his darkest, Christian refused them. He had to. He had to keep his humanity. He had to hold onto whatever dignity was left in him.

But he could still beg.

 The man by no means had a friendly face or a kind expression, but he had something Christian wanted and was willing to be looked down on for if it meant he’d get a handout. Still, no matter how he tried, he couldn’t stop himself from scratching at his arms. The lingering sensation was just a memory, but it felt like his veins was begging for a hit. His hoodie hid the small holes in his arms, maybe the rash on the back of his neck if it was up, but nothing could hide the yearning in his eyes and the way his jagged nails irritated his flesh through the worn cotton.

And of course he didn’t want to be rude or ungrateful, but food wasn’t going to help him right now. 

“Please, man I don’t -- I just want a cigarette, not breakfast. I need a cigarette.” he pleaded, hoping the urgency in his voice would change the man’s mind. Were he in his right mind, Christian would have accepted the food and spit shined the man’s shoes for it, but the need in his blood was driving him crazy.

[christian-amari]

cassbrooks:

“You’re still hanging around by the Bellagio right? Just asking for a friend…” Cass smirk, continuing on with the bit. Come to think of it, she couldn’t really pinpoint where Christian called home. More often than not, they found each other in one off situations. She’d throw food at him instead of cold hard cash, make sure he’s alright before they went their separate ways until they stumbled upon one another by chance. It was never anything she dwelled on. Most, if not all of her relationships, felt artificial and temporary. Like they came together as a matter of convenience and once they stopped being mutually beneficial then it’d cease to exist. In the case of Christian, probably whenever she could stop offering him a hot meal.

“Calhoun.” Cassidy corrects, mildly interested in the chatter but able to put together the pieces together. The who’s who of Vegas were of importance to her as she plans her biggest scheme yet, so Christian proved himself to be valuable with that tidbit without knowing so. “What you heard is the rich are getting richer? Is that still considered news?” Shrugging it off, she doesn’t ask anymore questions but does make a mental note to do some personal digging later on. “Really? Never?” There’s a hint of a surprise in her voice, just assuming Christian’s been around and seen a lot due to his circumstances. “It’s nice—-quiet and very lowkey. I’ve never seen so many trees in my entire life. Once you get past the cold and rain, it’s quite charming actually.”

“Nah, got evicted. The rent was too high, anyway.” He half chuckled. In some ways even a laugh could make him breathless when he was weak enough. A day or two without food and water was a drug in itself, and when he was hallucinating or drinking whatever water he could find in desperation, he was shivering -- both from the cold his wear body made him feel and the withdrawals from his vices. On those days even a gentle wind could knock him over. It made times like this all the more important to him. “I’m mostly hanging around Maverick now...sometimes the Palms if I’m shooed away...” He shrugged as if it was nothing -- as if being made to feel less than human and being shooed away like an unwanted stray dog was normal.

“Yeah, them... Though if word on the street’s true, I bet whoever pokes around’ll end up on the news in a few days being wheeled outta somewhere in a body bag.” He shook his head. Vegas was a shady place to begin with, but once the gangsters took over it turned into nothing short of a cliche mob movie. “ In this economy ?Hell yeah that’s news...” he joked, a dry chuckle as his coffee was set before him. He didn’t even wait for it to cool before clutching the sides of the warm up for relief and braving a sip. “ Nope” He said after the scalded tongue sensation died down a bit. “ Never been. I’m not too into the rain and stuff these days... ‘Sides, when I lived in New York I met this one chick from Seattle, I think....  She was really drunk and was telling me her whole life story about growing up in a trailer park and how she was gonna be a big designer one day and stuff... I mean, no judgement but I’ve never heard of any fashion designer who was a gogo dancer.” He laughed.

[carlagiguno]

[dailyrami]

[christian-amari]

madboymars:

“Mi own Madre runs with my money all the time, vato, sorry if it seems like I got trust issues.” He chuckled, all too aware of the fact that Christian was probably one of the few people on the planet who saw the full extent of Valleri’s current addiction to a toxic mixture of heroin and meth. Still he nodded content with Christian’s defense as he reached into his kutte to retrieve a small piece of paper. “It’s simple.” He explained drying placing the piece of paper in front of Christian, but not removing his fingers from pressing it down into the table. “You take a bag, you follow the instructions, you come back with a different bag. You don’t talk to no one, you don’t look in the bags, you keep your head down like you always do…” Mars’ rough demeanor shifted in one fluid motion, a look of rough power making way for a cocky, teasing smile “And I’ll leave the light on with dinner in the oven, and a martini in hand for when you come back like we’re fucking I Dream Of Jeannie.”

Mars released his pressing grip on the paper before leaving the room for a short period of time, and coming back with a beat up duffle bag. “No me importa lo que digan los demas. You’re a good man, Christian, and I don’t toss that shit around lightly. But– You’re a fuck up, and this is a dangerous game we play.” Mars dropped the bag on the table before resting his hand on Christian’s shoulder. “Bienvenido al big time.”

Christian only nodded. Mars had every reason to be cautious considering his position as not only a leader of a band of not-so-merry thugs, but the son of a junkie. Christian knew how tough it was for people with an addiction like him, but he also knew it was hard on other people close to you, and because of that, wasn’t going to take Mars’ mistrust of him to heart. Mars was, after all, trusting him enough to run small errands -- or maybe it was just because Christian was an expendable resource to the club. He was trusty enough to give these small jobs to, but no one would make a big deal if he was hurt in the line of duty. It was like being a soldier again, but without the salute of recognition.

“Sure, man -- whatever you need.” He echoed as he tried to look cool in spite of gulped.  Things like this always made him a little nervous -- too nervous to be curious, ask questions, or take looks where he was told not to. Still, it was the painful truth that hurt Christian the most; he knew he was indeed a fuck up and that taking a chance on him was risky and stupid. All the more reason not to mess up. “ I got it, Mars. I’ll get it done. “ Christian promised as he stood up without taking another bite and wiped his hands on his pants before taking the bag. He was mentally prepared for it to be heavy, so he gripped it with both hands as he took it from Mars and then tucked it away on the inside of his hoodie with a nod. So long as he did what he was told, he’d be safe.

There was no funny business and not taking his sweet ass time as Christian headed out. Paranoia whispering sweet nothings in his ear every time he saw a cop or anyone looking at him for too long. Still, he made it, saying nothing like he was told and handing over the bag only to be roughed up a bit before they looked at what was in it.  When they freed Christian with a shove to the ground and no apology, they almost too carelessly threw the different bag in his lap and went back behind closed doors, leaving Christian to shuffle his way back to Mars at the clubhouse, the men inside still giving him dirty looks as he made his way to the office and knocked.

[christian-amari]

edydontfckwit12:

“That would be more offensive if I had a dad. Nice try though.” She said holding back a giggle as she returned his eye roll. Ignoring him demolishing the bag of fruit Edy leaned forward to peek into her trash cup feeling flattered by Christian’s offer, but unprepared to mooch off of his hard work. She knew he needed the money to keep himself from getting sick, something she had watched her mother go through many times when she was young, and while Edy knew there was no way Christian hadn’t picked up before giving her the offer she didn’t want him to resent spending any money on her in the inevitable future when he was sick. “I have some money to contribute, because several white women decided they felt bad for me today. Something about you’re so young, and so helpless, and I could give two shits about your art, but let me save you, small brown child.”

Her impression of the people she encountered had him chuckling with a full mouth,knowing well that she meant and finding it amusing. “That’s the human condition, kid -- people need to help other people to feel good about themselves. You’re too young to remember, but back when I was a kid people would help each other just to be nice. Maybe it was cause there was no was to tweet about all the good shit they did back then.” He smirked. Admittedly, he’d often used people’s pity against them for his own gain, knowing it was wrong but knowing he had no other choice. Still, some people looked down on him so much that the deserved it. Edy offering to contribute made him roll his eyes, scarfing down the rest of the banana and reaching in his bag for a soda. “ It’s cool, kid, just come take a shower...take a nap or whatever.” He shrugged, not making it into a big deal.

[christian-amari]

xvxlet:

“It never really went away like I hoped it would.” Violet pursed her lips, looking down at Aragorn. She wasn’t really sure in what context he meant those words, yet she couldn’t exactly say he was wrong. Sometimes she wished she could get rid of her accent. It was so prominant in the way she spoke that there was never any question about where she was from. Yet, she didn’t want to remember where she was from, she didn’t want other people to know. England was gone and she was going back. “Yes. You would be correct.”

”Why would you want it to go away?” Christian asked, his expression clearly curious. Most people loved British accents and from what he knew, the English were a proud people, so he’d never really heard of one wanting to lose their accent. “Are you trying to be an actress or something?” He questioned as he let his hand carefully move to her dog’s ear. While he was no partly curious of the reason, he’d be a lying if he said he wasn’t trying to mostly stall for time to play with a cute dog. “I mean, I dunno how many of them are around here, but you could probably see and accent coach or something if you really wanted to get rid of it. Or hang around a lotta valley chicks....”

[christian-amari]

🌟🍓🔪

🌟 …someone my muse trusts.

Christian probably trusts Cassidy the most. She’s never looked at him like a charity for the sake of her soul or like he was disgusting, and she’s giving him enough trust to let him sleep on her couch or use her shower, so he likes to extend his trust back to her because of that.

🍓…someone my muse has never met, but wants to meet.

There isn’t really anyone he wants to meet in that sense. Whoever crosses his path he engages and that’s pretty much how he lives his life.

🔪 …someone my muse hurt in the past.

He’s hurt a lot of people in many ways. He knows he let his grandmother down but not keeping enough contact to know when she got sick, and he knows that he has hurt many people using violence both while at war and just fighting to keep something while on the streets. He really isn’t a violent person and never would intentionally hurt anyone in any way, but he does what he has to do, especially when desperate.