❀ *◦ tommy martinez. demiboy. he/they. bisexual. ⇝ hey, isn’t that matteo sanchez ( nickname: ares )? i think that the thirty-two year old from caracas, venezuela works as a mechanic at wrench it & member of the bastards, but outside of that people describe them as cocaine residue on pocket sized mirrors, bloodied knuckles and split lips screaming i’m still here, the light of a cigarette’s burning end in the darkness, unruly curls falling from top knots and hidden pockets of sweetness. i hear they are conniving & indifferent, but they are also known to be quick thinking & street-smart. consider giving them a visit at their home in kingpin trailer park and get to know why they’re called the wicked lothario.
( cracks knuckles, returns from the void. hello, hi, maybe even hey !! i’m trixie, this is my scorpio menace, i love you. )
triggers: abuse, drugs, murder, mental illness, sexual assualt, violence
𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖗𝖛𝖊 𝖒𝖞 𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖙 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖔𝖚𝖈𝖍 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖙𝖎𝖒𝖊
full name: matteo ishmael sanchez
nickname(s): teo — matty if you’re actually close to teo ( ares in the bastards circles )
age: 32
dob: 30 october, 1990
hometown: caracas, venezuela
occupation: mechanic at wrench it & member of the bastards
gender: demiboy
pronouns: he/they
sexuality: bisexual
big three: scorpio sun, capricorn moon, libra rising
𝖗𝖆𝖌𝖘 𝖙𝖔 𝖗𝖎𝖈𝖍𝖊𝖘, 𝖇𝖚𝖙 𝖎’𝖒 𝖆𝖉𝖉𝖎𝖈𝖙𝖊𝖉 𝖙𝖔 𝖇𝖊𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖇𝖗𝖔𝖐𝖊𝖓
height: 6’2”
weight: 215 lbs
hair color: stained oak brown
hair length: nearly to the shoulder
eye color: whiskey brown
build: tall and seemingly thin on first glance, but relatively muscular on further look
tattoos: traditional santa maria on his left side, quote ‘violentiam pro pace’ ( violence for peace ) on the left collarbone, sleeve of roses and rosary beads spanning his right arm with the initials of his grandmother and sisters tucked into the foliage of the leaves and greenery filling blank spaces
piercings: two in the left lobe, left tragus, three in each cartilage, one in the right lobe, left nostril, bar in each nipple
distinguishable marks: scars all over his arms and torso from fighting, scar at the left corner of his mouth from falling out of a tree as a child
aesthetic: cocaine residue on pocket sized mirrors, bloodied knuckles and split lips screaming i’m still here, the light of a cigarette’s burning end in the darkness, unruly curls falling from top knots, hidden pockets of sweetness, doc martens covered in dust from the road, the feeling just before thunder claps, smoke curling from sly smiles, disheveled sheets that know how to share a body but not a home
𝖙𝖆𝖐𝖊 𝖒𝖞 𝖇𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖙𝖍 𝖆𝖜𝖆𝖞, 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖐𝖓𝖔𝖜 𝖎’𝖒 𝖇𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖉 𝖙𝖔 𝖈𝖍𝖔𝖐𝖊
diagnosed with bipolar I disorder at the tender age of twenty-eight
youngest of eight, the rest of his older siblings are sisters
the happiest times in his childhood were when he was with his sisters and their maternal grandmother
neither one of his parents should have had kids, much less kept them, and teo and his sisters learned young the different types of assault in the world firsthand from both their father, his penchant for violence, and his scuzzy friends, and their penchants for not being able to keep their hands to themselves, as a result
put a hit out on his own father in his early twenties before leaving south and latin america for the last time
carries one thing of his father’s — an antique silver zippo that originally belonged to his grandfather
charming despite everything
teo’s actually a snake if he doesn’t like you
but has the biggest soft spot for anyone lucky enough to considered someone he cares about
secretly digs paranormal shows
literally please don’t touch his motorcycle
the ‘87 harley he rebuilt is his baby
baby’s venus is in sagittarius, he’s a Flirt
yes he does like physical pleasure as a means of distraction from his brain
what about it
probably rolls a blunt better than most people
smoking with teo is a trap, though, cos he’ll keep going until no ones eyes are available
surprisingly actually good at his job as a mechanic because he’s definitely a car person
when: july 28th, 2023
where: the fawn driveway; kinpin's lot
time: evening
( @nxnbinarydracvla )
in terms of people that matteo trusted, let alone liked, they were low in numbers. the amount that he cared about were even fewer, condensed down over time to his sisters back in caracas and a handful of people in anchorage. and cyrek was at the top of the list in terms of who teo would venture out to call a friend; that particular forge of friendship running deep as brotherhood – which by extension passed to his tiny and terrifying wife, no matter how the troublesome brunette internally shook at being in close quarters with evren. and, with everything that had been going on for the pair in specific ( and, by and large, the town and gang as a whole ), the little parts of good that hadn’t been whittled away from him refused to do anything less than anything he could for both of them. so, when the curl bearing venezuelan had been asked to procure cy’s wife from work and deliver her to their doorstep, he’d agreed; olive features draining of color even as he reassured that he’d pick he up from work and have her dropped off at home safely, opting for the sturdiness of his truck over the exposure of his bike before he’d even left the confines of his home – not out of a sense of duty to the duo, but the closest amalgamation to love that matteo had for anyone in his life. ( because life had taught him violence and sharpness from the moment he’d entered into it fighting with an umbilical cord around his neck ) which was all to say that’s how one found him leaning against the charcoal colored hood of his truck in the fawn driveway.
there was a joint between his fingers, half burned and lazily held as cyrek pulled in – the venezuelan having parked on the street out of respect, but not before literally pulling up as close to the door as possible to let evren out and then rapidly pulling out with a foot to the gas the second the front door was closed. “oye, jodido.” absolutely zero heat burned in the greeting, coated instead in familiarity as his occupied hand came up to wave in an invitation to join teo for a smoke; a quiet way of taking care without being pervasive. “how was work?” the question was asked as the joint passed over to the gang leader, expression open and easy with that perpetual mischief twinkling amongst familiar company as he spoke again, to needle with an underlying assurance of kept promises on his end. “your lady is inside, i didn’t even shit a brick having her in the truck.”
LOCATION: main street
@anchoragestarters ( no cap )
Fuck this was too good. Too fucking good. Benny was counting the money he’d made since the girl’d died. Of course, it was a shitty situation, and he really should know better than to take advantage of it. But he was high on his own success, on the banknotes he could hide in his secret stash and which would undeniably be used for something good. Perhaps he should get a new car, he had enough for that now. A new car would be nice, one with more space in the back for his tools.
He spit out the gum and stuck it to the wall as he walked down the main street towards the first bar or cafe that would come on his path, the money already hidden away in the inner linings of his jacket. He kept so much of it hidden. “Hey, do you by any chance have a cig and a lighter?” he asked.
when push came to shove, matteo, frankly, had better things to be worried about than a dead girl. it was the ripples of everything that had been going on lately that swept up the venezuelan's attention and time. business as usual but double time between a day job and club happenings that left what freetime he did have spent haunting around the bars and familiar comforts of over indulgences how and where he could. presently in the form of cancerous nicotine rushing to coat blackened lungs as leaned against the exterior of the bar he’d previously been chasing tequila in – typical. he was somewhere between if he would return into the building for another drink or looking for a different avenue for getting into trouble when a voice cut through his idle musings. “i thought i smelled a little rat.”
turning with a nasty smile that loose curls couldn’t hide from view, matteo thought about throwing the rest of his cigarettes into the wind to be spiteful. taking shots at benny hadn’t been the trouble the contemptuous biker had been looking to get into, but who was he to turn down the chance? ( loyalties were something that the brunette would take to his grave, so when lines had been drawn and benny removed, he’d landed himself a permanent space on teo’s shit list. ) “if i give you a smoke, will you go literally anywhere else, por favor?” there was no kindness in the offer, but a steely glint in oaken eyes that taunted and goaded while holding out the cigarette case housing his marlboro midnights that’d been dangling in his left hand. “they’re menthol.”
