Do you have a hobby?
self destruction

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Today's Document
DEAR READER
almost home
RMH

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@miah-fairchild
Do you have a hobby?
self destruction
[Verse 1] Somebody said you got a new friend Does she love you better than I can? It's a big black sky over my town I know where you at, I bet she's around [Refrain] Yeah, I know it's stupid... I just gotta see it.. for myself [Chorus] I'm in the corner, watching you kiss her I'm right over here, why can't you see me? I'm giving it my all But I'm not the girl you're taking home I keep dancing on my own [Verse 2] I'm just gonna dance all night I'm all messed up, I'm so outta line Stilettos and broken bottles I'm spinning around in circles
[Bridge] So far away, but still so near (The lights go on, the music dies) But you don't see me... standing here I just came... to say goodbye [Chorus] I'm in the corner, watching you kiss her I'm right over here, why can't you see me? I'm giving it my all But I'm not the girl you're taking home I keep dancing on my own
@silverncrimson
rosesjustdie:
Location: neutral bar
Open to: everyone @crimsonstarters
Barely a year ago if someone had told Zoe she was going to make it to thirty she wouldn’t have believed them at all. Not with the events of the last year, and the fact that she even felt stable enough to go out and actually have a somewhat normal time was a miracle. A drink in her hand she smiled at her companion, holding it up in a toast fashion, “Here’s to 30. Gotta say, wasn’t sure I’d get here in one piece.”
.
Miah was counting a waist apron full of money, laying the bills in stacks of 20 in front of him in on the counter of the bar. A single $5 bill in the pile stood out, partially because it was perfectly crisp, partially because it was the only one in the whole stack in an increment higher than fucking ONE.
“...yeahyeah, hang on...” Juuuuust seven-ish left to go, and he was finished.
The lady next to him actually spoke - him, nonetheless! - Miah set the crisp $5 bill down, counted out six shitty $1′s, put them on top of the $5 and pushed the pile towards her, stopping halfway and leaving it between them... hopefully indicating that her - well, hopefully their - next round would be on him. “To 30...“ His voice wasn’t super enthusiastic, but it was cheerful enough, and he held up his ... okay, his Corona Lime (with an extra lime wedge) ‘oh, don’t even, it’s actually pretty good’, clinking it against her glass as he echoed her ‘toast to 30′.
‘In one piece?!’ Most people made it to 30 in ‘one piece’, and she was probably being hyperbolic, but... well fuck, maybe not! Miah decided to ask. “Were you... were you honestly worried that you wouldn’t?!
*Dusk and the CTA*
@firesxblood
Considering how warm the day had been, the evening was incredibly cool; cold even, on the platform with the wind. Fortunately, the heat lamps could still be switched on. It wasn’t yet, naturally; Miah had the platform almost completely to himself, save one other person, who could also take advantage of the warmth. The lady - who was lovely - didn’t have earbuds in. Might as well say something, right? Can’t make a shot you don’t take!
It took a quick second to work up the courage and talk himself into checking to see if she was in whatever mood she’d need to be open for a conversation with a stranger, but Miah wasn’t all that shy, and rejection clearly didn’t hit his ego nearly as hard as it did some guys (who would often incessantly tell him about it, like they were God’s Gift to Women, who were too dense to see it, or something ((god, gag me with a spoon))), and it only took as long as it did to hit the button, washing the very dark end of the platform with soft, comfortable light that was also warm in color.
“Hey...” Miah waved her over. “I hope you’re not in a hurry. The train’s a little late, huh?”
littlcxbirdie:
location: anywhere neutral
birdie had been locked in her apartment ever since her arrest. she hated how much it had freaked her out. but she needed to go to the store and pick up some more things in general. but she wished that she didn’t have to leave. she was content just hanging out in her apartment, avoiding people at all costs. her fingers ran through her hair as she turned the corner, almost bumping into someone. “fuck.” she muttered softly as she jumped. “i uh… i was not paying attention… i’m sorry.” she managed to stutter out. “too much going on in my head.
Miah’s phone flew out of his hand; it was always a surprise when 2 people turned the same corner so tightly, obviously if he thought anyone else was coming, he wouldn’t keep walking. But there wasn’t any thinking involved with distracted walking. It was clearly as much his fault that they bumped into each other as it was hers.
Miah scrambled to pick his pick his phone up, looking around like he was worried someone was following him. Ducking behind the corner she had come from, Miah assumed an agitated tone that was believable, but fake.
“It’s fine... nono, it’s fine... hey, check it out...“ He gestured around the corner, which within her view. “You see anyone coming?” There was some foot traffic and there probably were people coming, but they wouldn’t be after him; he wasn’t actually being followed in any way.
" *Dumbass Supreme* "?? pt... *okay* "Princess Bitch".
“Well, I mean if the tiara fits,” she smirked with a shrug, easily accepting the moniker for what it was. Diamond was self aware enough to know that, if push come to shove, she had it in her to be a world-class bitch. It wasn’t a side of her that she chose to utilize all that often anymore, but it lingered there under the surface all the same. It was the side her mother had been well acquainted with up until her death, and it was that side of her that she tapped into during her climb to the top in the modeling world. Stepping on toes to get where she was now, doing things that weren’t entirely morally sound, driven by her ambition to be on top...it was how the industry worked and she held little shame for the things she’d done in the passed and continued to do to keep her place. Generally, though, Diamond preferred playing nice...until it wasn’t an option. With Miah, well - he knew all the right buttons to push in order to activate her bitch mode, so it made sense to her, the nickname he’d just bestowed upon her. “I’ve got a small collection of crowns for different occasions, Miah babe - I’m sure I can find at least one that would be perfect for my Princess Bitch statement piece.”
tate-lacroix:
Naw, Fuck the CTA: How ‘bout UberPool? With a Random Stranger?
The calling which Tate had pursued upon the closing of the gilded doors of their mansion was indeed temperamental, and did share some traits that, upon the right consideration, might liken to the customer service industry as a whole. Did Tate not have the insufferable client, and the returning client, and the admirable client? Ah, and they did perform, in respect to each of these presences, and their income did depend upon that believable thing! It was in their fortune that they had attended a schooling for such this trait, and that they had done well to succeed in its training. Ah, if only their parents- estranged as they were, and as certainly they would be- had known to what their wealth had applied to! Well, well, was it not their fault that this fate had befallen the escort, altogether? As it were, as it were.
Tate stared down at their device. They were committing more than one sin on this day, it seemed: to enchant a man for their money, and to be running late to that very scenario. It was a French damnation, too, that they were not adhering to the careful schedule which they had planned for themselves. They now held a personal affliction, as they scrolled their options for transportation: UberBlack was a wait they would not risk, but at the great and insufferable cost of the discretion of UberPool as an alternative. Tate had not been familiar with the commonplace means of travel in so long, they could not recall its last passing- no, they were far too well-off for such a choice, insofar that they were more accustomed to personal chauffeurs these days.
But! This was at risk of losing a client, and it was with a heavy, and disappointed, thumb that Tate accepted the alert that a nearby driver would then accept. It was only a brief consideration that passed through Tate’s mind, that their apparel, at the request of their client, which had fallen to Tate’s jurisdiction under a preference of a dominant nature, would immediately give way to the determination of their industry, for, exposing the length of their toned legs, was a material of fishnet leggings, and atop them, a pair of ripped shorts, paired with a tank top, and a leather jacket that suggest a vast amount of wealth- after all, why hide what men had invested in them, and to better remind their current client of their worth?
Tate turned on their heel as they were alerted of their ride’s arrival, and their wild hair, but a wig, placed and carefully situated on their head to better give the image of a woman not to be messed with, briefly shrouded their features, which were decorated with makeup, to depict what the media had always called something of a “punk-rock ho.” They exhaled again, in haughty distress, as they considered the vehicle and all its blandness, its common features. There was nothing- truly nothing!- that compared to the barely-concealed scream of wealth from a plain black luxury car. Still, they ducked inside, and settled against the imposter leather with a short nod to the driver.
--
Looking up from his phone as the little sedan pulled over and the back driver’s side door opened, Miah was instantly inwardly ecstatic at the sight of his fellow passenger. He noticed her clothes first, and the look she appeared to’ve been going for when she put them on ((yeah, so, he obviously wouldn’t know their pronouns yet, give him a sec)) was, frankly, right up his line; she had kind of an unkemped, timeless grunge thing going on, and while he’d never recognize fancy brand names when he saw them, he thought his own clothes - which, yeah, were objectively expensive - gave off a similar vibe. So maybe she spent a few dollars on her outfit at the Salvation Army, maybe she’d paid top dollar for the perfect, precise amount of artificial distress... or maybe, like Miah, she had girlfriends/cousins/roommates/a mom of similar size with good taste and enough generosity to hand over access to their wardrobes.
The somewhat flashy hoodie Miah had permanently ‘borrowed’ from Olivia ((high school ex, unfortunately still of very fucking relevant presence in his life)) could probably be sold used on Ebay for upwards of $100: he knew this, he’d bought it for her. The jeans Miah had thankfully thrown on over the Batman pj’s he almost always wore prevented him from looking 100% completely like a college student who’d rolled out of a dorm loft 7 minutes before 8am lecture, opted to risk tripping on his untied shoelaces and falling on his face because he didn’t have enough time to tie them, but he did have, at least, enough class not to show up to the lecture hall in fucking slippers, then topped off his disheveled look by throwing on a beanie to save the fraction of a minute it would’ve taken to actually brush his goddamn hair. They were also supposed to be women’s jeans - Miah could tell from the ridiculous size of the pockets, which could barely hold even a little tube of chapstick - and he didn’t remember which woman he got them from, but thank FUCK he had them on instead of her at the moment: that one article of clothing made the difference between looking like a slob who should be lounging around his apartment and not out in public, and being fairly well put together in, like the other UberPool passenger, a lowkey disheveled, timeless grungie kind of way.
Miah smiled as the lady slid into the backseat next to him, squaring his posture towards her and bringing up his left knee to rest his leg comfortably on his seat ((he’s small and flexible, so he’s barely imposing on the middle seat)), communicating friendliness with his body language. The lady wasn’t acknowledging him, but she knew he was there. Since she didn’t have headphones in that he could see, Miah decided to try and chat her up.
“So! Is today just starting, or is it almost over?”
No one asks to be born, but society expects everyone to like it here and be grateful for the opportunity.
You don't mean nothin' at all.
In the day, in the night; Say it right, say it all You either got it, or you don't; You either stand, or you fall When your will is broken; When it slips from your hand When there's no time for jokin'; There's a hole in the plan
Oh, you don't mean nothing at all to me. No, you don't mean nothing at all to me. But you got what it takes to set me free. Oh, you could mean everything to me.
I can't say (Say) that I'm not (Not); Lost (Lost) and at fault (Fault) I can't say (Say) that I don't (Don't); Love the light (Love) and the dark I can't say that I don't (Don't); Know that I am alive And all of what I feel (Feel); I could show (Show you) you tonight, you tonight
Oh, you don't mean nothing at all to me. No, you don't mean nothing at all to me. But you got what it takes to set me free. Oh, you could mean everything to me.
From my hands I could give you; Something that I made From my mouth, I could sing you another brick that I laid From my body (From my body), I could show you (I could show you) A place (A place) God knows (That only God knows) You should know the space is holy (Ah-ah-ah-ah) Do you really wanna go?
Hey, hey, hey. You don't mean nothin' at all. to me.
@silverncrimson
"Okay DIME... sorry (not sorry), I'm bad @ stopping myself from doing this kinda shit." ♡ _ ♡
send me ‘ ♡ _ ♡ ‘ and my muse will admit one to three ( 1-3 ) features of your muse ( physical or personality ) that they find incredibly attractive.
“Okay, so...I have always kinda liked your smile, it was what attracted me to you in the first place. Well, that and the drugs of course. Also, I like how your eyes get strangely intense when you get fired up about something - which usually happens during our arguments or when you’re super emotional. Lastly, I admire your resourcefulness and your ability to adapt to your surroundings...I understand that’s more like four things but, whatever. Don’t let any of it get your head, though - you’re still Dumbass Supreme in my eyes.”
@silverncrimson
“*So many people* would give their right arm just to have a chance at talking to you, I bet.”
Diamond gave an audible scoff, clearly annoyed at his words - it was the condescending tone that he spoke in that she absolutely loathed but was all too familiar with. “Well then you’d be betting wrong, smartass. I may be fairly well known nowadays, but that does not mean much around here. Most people I come across on a daily basis, they don’t care who or what I am all that much. Which is actually a very good thing, as that means they’re more likely to turn a blind eye when I inevitably do something stupid.”
"Wow, endorsement deals.. goooood for yooooou, bet you think you're pretty special every time that happens for you, huh?" ((sorry about him, he's bitter))
“Yeah, endorsement deals,” she mocked right back, eyes narrowing slightly at his tone of sarcasm, annoyed by the uncalled for attitude. “I’m not just a regular catalog model, jackass - I’m a fucking supermodel...it kind of comes with the job description. Selling things, endorsing products. And yeah, I think I’m allowed to feel proud of my accomplishments. How ‘bout you? Can you say the same?” she snapped back.
Diamond had no misconceptions of her own success - she was well aware that while she was more than financially stable and had a fabulous career that she had worked her ass off for, and even though she was world famous, none of it really meant all that much to anyone else but her. Hell, to her own mother it had meant very little...so how did she expect anyone else to care, or be happy or feel proud of her for her accomplishments?
At least, all that was true here in Chicago. Apart from maybe Darren, nobody else gave a single shit about Diamond, or really saw her the way her friends in New York did.
is something going on? ( from your choice)
A pair of patrons walked briskly towards Clark and Belmont, away from the diner, briefly breaking into a light jog every couple of steps and glancing back at Miah as he followed a few paces behind them. They heard what he said - his phone was in his hand and he’d called the police - but they were banking on the cops not being within arms reach. The pair broke into a sprint as they approached Clark and they hailed a cab... whether the cab driver knew English or not was irrelevant. What was happening and why he was following the couple should’ve been clear; it was the middle of the night, though the street was well-lit, so they were about as visible as they would be in broad daylight. And, wearing his ‘uniform’ (just a black shirt with the diner’s logo on it and a waist apron that made it even more clear that he was, indeed, waitstaff from the diner), Miah was jogging a few paces behind them, looking distressed. With his phone up to his ear in one hand, he gestured at the couple with the other as they scrambled into the the back of the cab.
“Don’t drive away!” Miah hollered, pointing, then waving the (extremely empty) guest check presenter they’d abandoned at their table over his head. “They haven’t paid for their food!” That fucking cab driver... was he not also in the service industry?! One would think he’d have a little compassion, at least enough to not heed the commands he was clearly getting to ‘DRIVE! Quick!’ ... but no. No such luck. And, of course the cops were several minutes away. “Fuck my life.” “Yeah... ‘something’s’ ‘going on’ ... “ Miah scowled, not at the stranger ((Zane Washington)), who was showing at least some concern, but at the cab driving FUCK across Clark Street, speeding away like a getaway driver for this worthless couple.
“Jesus Christ...” Miah cursed under his breath, then turned to the stranger and spoke again, holding up the guest check presenter to indicate what he was maybe upset about.
“I’ll give you three guesses.”
send “…didn’t know where else to go…”
for your muse to show up at my muses doorstep one night during a thunderstorm, shivering, bleeding & soaking wet.
((Miah’s on the second floor of the motel. His door is propped open with the swing bar lock while he goes to get some ice. Real safe, Miah, you fucking dumbass))
"you know i’d never judge you for that, right?"
“never?”
“never judge me for what? like, specifically? ‘cuz i’m not gonna lie, Dime... i. feel like you do... kinda judge me.”
this kind of reassurance is actually really helpful, and makes him feel bad about the way he doesn’t give her the benefit of he doubt as much as he should.
“and yeahyeah, i get it: it’s, like... it’s projection. i’m projecting. and it’s not your fault, it’s me. like... like, it’s always me.”
therapy / talking about trauma / post - trauma starters. feel free to change things as necessary.
would you like to talk about it?
please tell me what’s bothering you.
hey, are you okay?
i don’t have to know everything. just what you’re comfortable telling me.
i’m your friend. of course i care.
there’s nothing bad about going to therapy.
would you like to try a different approach?
i – i didn’t know that. i’m sorry.
is this helping?
i’ll try not to ask a lot of questions.
i’m always here if you need me.
shh, it’s alright. shh.
we’re safe now. you’re safe now.
it was just a nightmare.
sweetheart, you have to tell me these things.
you know i’d never judge you for that, right?
i’m worried about you.
is something going on?
everything you say will just be between you and me.
what method do you prefer?
do you need help falling asleep?
anything i could do to help?
why are you like this?
i understand.
sweetie, is there something you aren’t telling me? what’s wrong?
let’s get you cleaned up.
this is good. this is important.
you’re healing, and healing takes time.
we can do more tomorrow.
how about you get some sleep, hm?
bedtime.
it’s ok not to be ok.
tomorrow is another day.
hey, hey, hey. look at me, look at me. it’s okay.
breath in for seven seconds, exhale for eleven …
do you need some space?
remember, look for things that you can touch. ground yourself.
((HIT HIM UP!!))