the don @ofxgrabba-blog - Tumblr Blog

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BASIC INFORMATION.

Full Name: Donald “Donnie” Lewis

Nickname(s): To Dertosa, he’s Grabba. To the rest of the world, he’s known as the TrapGod “The Don.”

Age: Twenty-Nine

Date of Birth: April 20th, 1988

Hometown: Dertosa, California

Current Location: Dertosa, California

Ethnicity: African-American

Nationality: American

Gender: Cis-Male

Pronouns: He/him

Orientation: Hetero (romantic and sexual)

Religion: He was raised Episcopal, but he doesn’t practice it.

Political Affiliation: Leftist, but no real political affiliation.

Occupation: He’s a singer and rapper, but now he’s mostly just a middle man to Heroin’s drug trade as he’s taking a hiatus from his music.

Living Arrangements: He lives in a large, modern home in the Jade District. (x)

Language(s) Spoken: English

Accent: He doesn’t think he has one, but he definitely has some sort of rap-influenced twang to his voice.

#{ about }#tcrp.task #{ task }#{ task 001 }

lithiumlegacy‌:

where: underground cage match when: friday, august 17, evening who: open to all

Instead of running to the bar as soon as the first fight ended, Raleigh instead leaned his forearms against the railing of the upstairs balcony. He was content to people watch, gaze blankly passing over the bloodied and beaten loser in the ring. It wasn’t necessarily how he had expected to spend his Friday night but he’d been extended an invitation nonetheless, a simple location and password being slipped to him by one of the lab’s favored customers.

There were a mix of people surrounding the cage tonight - from blue-collar workers just needing to see some sort of release to blue blooded patrons of the sport, dropping money on bets like it was nothing more than spare change.

Raleigh was currently focused on one of these blue bloods, taking in his dark suit and slicked back hair. He seemed to find the blood on the cage floor distasteful, his mouth turned down with disgust. Beside him, his date didn’t seem to find the blood as vulgar or violent. Instead, she only watched with interest. Raleigh’s lips twitched slightly at the sight of her shrugging off whatever her date was saying. Whatever it was, the sight of the man deflating considerably caused a sharp grin to spread across the drug’s face.

As someone new stepped up beside him, joining him in his current hobby of people watching, Raleigh cast them an interested glance. “Place your bet on the final matches?”

Donnie hadn’t frequented the underground fights much during his stay in Dertosa thus far, but judging by how crowded it was around the ring, he knew that this was something of an event to those of city that knew about it. One of his friends had told him about the fights, telling Don that he should check it out of he had any interest in making a few quick dollars and getting some vicarious cathartic release. Both sounded decent to him.

He pushed his way through clamoring people, vehemently discussing the odds of the next fights and who they had their money on. It was interesting to see the demographics of the event, watching how some people were able to merely throw their money away with ease while some were relying on the outcome of the match.

Donnie was one of the former, but he didn’t simply just throw his money around. He was here for all the fights of the night, watching each swift punch thrown and dodged, calculating the odds of the next victor. He took notes, judging all of them in their form and their power, and put his money on the ones he was sure were going to win. While he had just begun really getting into MMA and boxing, he did thoroughly enjoy physicality and exercise. He had gotten big on fitness during his transition of his music career, finally deciding to toughen up and pull his big boy pants on.

Fighting was always something he was interested in, but it wasn’t something he had too much knowledge about. However, what he could see was power and strive to win, which was something that he had learned in a different sense. But he could sense that in some of the fighters, and that was how he decided who to put his money on. “Yeah, I did. But I’m more excited to just see a good fight.” Donnie said as he neared the ring, glancing at the source of the question. He rested his elbows on one of the ropes of the ring, “Who’d you put your money on?”

#{ c: raleigh }#{ raleigh }

cassiopivm‌:

Prospect Park was the perfect place to forget all of your problems and just…sit. She didn’t have to go to work today, so Cass traded in her business casual dresses for a pair of jean shorts and a t-shirt, an outfit Juliana would probably gasp at if she saw her. But the professional, dressed up woman wasn’t who Cass really was inside - she’d take comfy and free over zipped-up and high-heeled any day.

She had recently returned to an old hobby of hers - reading. Not a lot of people read anymore if they didn’t have to - kids pretended to read their textbooks in school and adults pored over the latest article from the CNN alert that popped up on their phone, but reading for pleasure seemed to be a lot art form. And so Cass had taken a book off of the previously ignored stack on her nightstand and sought out the perfect spot, the perfect bench in the park to enjoy a nice summer day with a breeze off the ocean.

Her head popped up when she heard someone speak to her and Cass slid a finger in between the pages of the book so she wouldn’t lose her place. She smiled when she recognized him - who wouldn’t recognize Donnie? - and nodded. “Of course.” She swung her legs off of the bench and slid over slightly. “It’s actually not too bad in the daylight, this place.”

He offered the woman a smile as he took the seat next to her, letting his head fall back slightly as he caught his breath. He had, admittedly, fallen off his workout routine this past weekend. Instead of attending the gala, he had decided to use that time to attend a real party in L.A... Only that party had lasted three days in a hotel. This run was definitely not feeling great now, but he knew he had to get back into it. “Yeah,” He said when he picked his head up, viewing the scene before them, “This place definitely has it’s charms to it.

Donnie’s dark eyes fell upon the book that the woman had in her lap. He was actually really big on reading when he was younger, but as life had gone on the way it did, he didn’t seem to have the time or, frankly, the interest anymore. It was kind of sad, because he knew there was so much out there he could probably learn and gain from reading, but he just never did it anymore. Perhaps he’ll change that. “What are you reading?”

#{ c: opium }#{ opium }

madhatmercury‌:

It was rare Allie showed her face in Vices before the sun went down, but after all the hectic crap that had gone down at the Gala, especially with Night…gone…for a while, it was hard to sit around the warehouse idle and bored. It had been far too quiet, even with her music echoing off the iron and concrete, so she opted towards entertaining herself elsewhere. Someone was bound to be at Vices worth talking to. Plus it gave her a reason to dress to the other kind of max that contrasted the elegantly conservative style she’d donned the night before.

It was decently crowded for an afternoon bunch, but Bomber didn’t linger by the door, as usual, his shift starting much later. So instead of chatting up the bouncer for way too long, she hopped down the steps inside and headed straight for the bar. She waved at the bartender who started pouring her drink before she got all the way down to a seat. Allie had been so focused on kicking off her good night that she hadn’t done her usual scan of the room and fell into a seat next to the last person she’d expected.

His voice made her freeze, despite the warm and playful tone of it. Surprisingly, she recovered from the shock of it faster than even she expected, flashing a smile to match his own as she turned to face him. It was amazing how different someone can look when you’re right beside them as opposed to watching them dodge cameras on TMZ.

“Don’t start.” She laughed despite the way her eyes rolled. Her drink arrived and she thanked the bartender with her credit card so she could open her tab for the evening. “Getting comfortable? Does that mean you’re sticking around for a while?” She stirred her drink with the little straw and eyed him hesitantly. “That’s normally your style. Isn’t Dertosa a little bland for your tastes, now?”

Seven or so years made a great deal of a difference for them. For Donnie, he had just begun shifting his career toward the rap genre, exchanging his clean-cut attire for something a little more gritty. He had cut off his longer, curly hair and donned a closer buzz cut with facial hair that aged him, in addition to hitting the gym more — no longer the cutesy little Justin Bieber, but instead more of a Chris Brown meets Papi-Drake. He had met Allie in this transition, and he thinks she might’ve caught him at the best time. He was glad they had met before he had been so corrupted by the rap scene, his relationship with drugs negatively impacting most of his other relationships. If they hadn’t mutually decided to break up before he got really big, he was sure they wouldn’t have been on as pleasant of terms as they were in now.

Allie looked incredible, and it was funny because he was sure that she was absolutely gorgeous before, but apparently it was possible for her to look even better. She was glowing, having grown to be more comfortable into herself, it seemed. She oozed confidence and elegance, despite her revealing outfit probably intended to be anything but. Donnie thought she looked amazing in anything — or nothing at all.

“You’re the one that started, lookin’ like a snack.” A plump bottom lip was taken in between his teeth as his eyes trailed over her frame. He refocused back on her face, though it was really hard to. He brought his own glass to his lips, nodding his head in response to her question. “Yeah,” he said when he swallowed, “I bought a house here about a month or so ago, taking a little hiatus.” He shrugged his shoulders at her last question, “That was before I was properly introduced to this part of Dertosa.”Mr. and Mrs. Lewis had always insisted on Donnie staying in the nicer parts of town — so much that he hadn’t even really known about this part of Dertosa until after he was even in jail. When he spent his brief in town with Allie, he hadn’t any desire to check out the other parts of town, figuring that nothing would compare to L.A. anyway. “You know how my parents were, and I was so stuck on Hollywood life that I didn’t think anything would be as remotely interesting.”

His eyes shot back down to her frame for a moment before he added, “Clearly I was fuckin’ dumb.”

#{ c: mercury }#{ mercury }#{ we tried the world; it wasn't for us }#// he really thinks about himself a lot so i had to dedicate a whole paragraph of his thoughts about his appearance LOL

wolfsbaneward‌:

Oh, he knows ‘who’ he is. Less by rote of fame and more by those skittering whispers that threaded through the town at every new flashpoint of fame or a tidbit of news - a juicy morsel of gossip to masticate for as long as it held any flavour. No, he doesn’t partake, but it’s sometimes useful to listen - the arrival of the ‘shamed-superstar’ in Dertosa had certainly set enough tongues wagging for it to be – noted.

The main difference between himeslf and most others is that – he simply doesn’t care.

It wouldn’t have made a difference whehter it was the dali fucking lama or any unknown joe public, they would have been offered the exact same courtesy. The only thing that changes what Bane thinks of people are the people themselves - very simply… their actions, their words. Not swayed by rumour or some ephemeral ‘score’ on the social chart - which is probably what happens when you’re - apart - from it all. When growing up wasn’t something directed by populatiry or social standing - where simple ‘survival’ was the name of the game. In the most literal sense.

So if the other man is a slight disppointed that there was no whooping and clamouring ( and surely the only real use for an autograph was to forge a signature… ), then he’d be disappointed for a longer while to come. Bane, however is slightly amused at the space that spans between the two on that wide wooden bench - pondering over the decision as he pops the last bite of his ‘supper/breakfast’ into his mouth and chews thoughtfully. Is it politeness? Is it a personal space thing? Is it for the sake of ‘confort zones’ and if so… Whos?

“Mmhm…”

A sound of agreement at the grim haze - not green now in the flash of a rising sun, rather more grey white, something which, if you squint and pretend real hard - could almost be mistaken for clouds… But it really, really isn’t.

“Can taste the air here. Takes a bit of gettin’ used to.”

But rather handy for navigating in the dark - a breeze which carried the sccent of a district, could even be dialled down to a street corner by the steam vents on the ground and extractor fans poking out of the back of a restaurant here and there - the lilt of alcohol, the noises of the cars, the changing texture of ashpalt underfoot…

“But if dirty’s your thing, then you’re definitely in the right place. Take it the view is somethin’ you’re familiar with?”

Hollywood and fame, and particularly the music industry, seemed to take a toll on whoever was invited into the elite inner circle. It was the same thing Donnie said he claimed to hate about the lifestyle of L.A. that had corrupted him just the same. The sense of entitlement that was granted to every single person of reverence in the industry had definitely rubbed off on The Don, his confidence sky-rocketing to the point where he expected to get recognized where ever he went.

He forgot how it felt to be a regular person, having been famous for more than half his life. He forgot that regular people weren’t so invested in celebrities and their scandalous, albeit irrelevant, lives. It didn’t pay their bills, it didn’t have any affect on their own lives, it just wasn’t... Important to them. Unless it was entertaining, or shocking, or shockingly entertaining. Right now, he wasn’t “The Don,” but rather simply Donnie. And this was simply a guy living his regular life.

But it was hard to break out of the habit of thinking you’re better than everyone else; especially when people had constantly put you on a pedestal for your entire life, just like Donnie had. People praised him merely to be in his presence, to be able to say they had gotten his attention even if for a mere moment. They gassed him up just to use him, just to be seen with him, just to reap the benefits. But still, he was told what he wanted to hear — what fed his ego. Sitting in a park with someone who didn’t recognize him, or did but didn’t care, didn’t feed his ego. And it was weird. But it was what life was like when you’re not entitled, he supposed. Weird.

“Mmhmm,” Donnie nodded, his lips pressing together in response to the man’s words. “I’d rather breathe through my nose so I’m not eating it.”

His gaze followed the guys, focused on the city below them. It was incredibly different than L.A., polished brand-name boutiques were replaced with run-down shops, corner-stores and bodegas instead of hipster vegan food markets. At least, not in the shittier parts of town. Of course, the more elitist, gentrified areas of town were closer to what he was used to in Hollywood. And admittedly, he grew up in those areas and even now he did have a house in the Diamonte District, but he found himself more intrigued and “at-home” in areas like the Jade District.

“Yeah, I actually grew up here. Haven’t been around in a while though.” He glanced over at the man, “What about you?”

#wolfsbaneward #{ c: wolfsbane }#{ wolfsbane }

nghtshvde‌:

Nightshade didn’t have many thoughts when she was finally released from Dertosa PD’s jail cell after three days of captivity. She was exhausted, wrung out of her first day of absolute irritation. Now, all she could think about was getting back home— and no, not Poison headquarters, but her secret little back house in the Amber District. She needed to get away for a while, to detach herself from ‘Toxins’ and everything that brought her to that ‘jail’ in the first place. However, after Julian had picked her up, she requested to walk home from Prospect Park. Unironically, she needed to get a new perspective on life, and while ‘prospect’ and ‘perspective’ were two incredibly different things, the similarities of their names made Night chuckle, and that’s all she needed. She looked out onto the sun setting before her, relaxing as it fell, exhaling to calm her anxieties. She noticed the figure in her peripheral immediately, squinting as he approached her. Night nodded, scooting over as she gestured for him to take a load off. “Be my guest.”

Donnie hadn’t noticed the woman’s condition when he approached her, and it had still gone by unnoticed when he had taken a seat. First, he just nodded and grabbed a seat, after that he just threw his head back and let out a breath of relief. He had been slacking this past weekend — opting out of the gala and instead going on a low-key 3-day bender in L.A.. He had figured that if he was going to an event with a bunch of fake people, he may as well choose the fake people he’d spend it with. Besides, what’s a one-night gala to a three-night hotel party? Needless to say, he hadn’t gotten in much traditional exercise, so he was pretty winded now that he finally did. It was when he caught his breath again that he glanced over at his bench-mate, and his brows furrowed in concern; she didn’t look too good. “You ‘ight?” He asked, not wanting to ask anything too personal in case she was snappy. The woman did seem to have a natural resting bitch face, something that he respected while still being intimidated by it — and he knew better than to be anything less than cautious around women with that powerful trait.

#{ nightshade }#{ c: nightshade }

where: the forbidden vices when: mid-afternoon who: @madhatmercury

Donnie was all about having a good time, and with the familial connection to the club he should’ve loved the place; but despite it being a club, to him the place was a little too PG. All they really offered him was some drinks and the cleanest lap-dance he could’ve gotten, so compared to what he used to do in LA, this was nothing. But still, he could appreciate the vibes that the place gave off and with free entry and drinks, he’d be stupid not to take advantage of it. So that’s exactly what he planned on doing on an afternoon where he didn’t have much else to do.

He was seated at the bar of the club, ready for his third re-fill of his now-empty glass Hennessy, his head nodding along to the beat of the music. He took a second to look around the place — to really take a good look of that place that technically should’ve been his. He wouldn’t have minded running the place, and with all the things they lacked, Don knew his Midas touch would’ve come in clutch in a place like this. It would’ve been poppin, morning through night, if he had taken over. But it wasn’t in his stars; he had been destined for greater things. Greater things that he had single-handedly ruined, but that was besides the point.

When the bartender had refilled his glass, Donnie slid over a hundred dollar bill. He didn’t have to; he knew it, and the bartender knew it to but it was the principle of the thing. You always treat the people who serve you well — he had known that from when he was little; Momma Lewis had raised him right. He heard a seat get taken to his right, and when his gaze turned to see who it was, his plump lips twitched upward to tease at a smile. “Hey you.” Donnie said, his dark eyes trained on the woman before him. It was Allie; his first, and arguably only real girlfriend he had ever had. She looked fuckin’ beautiful, the years they had spent apart clearly doing her good. Too good, even. “Now you know you can’t be doin’ that to me.” His words were laced in a playful tone, one of the only ones she had ever known; their relationship had been an easy one, lacking in fights but nothing else. It was only right their first interaction after all those years lost reflected that. Plus he was a flirt, whatever. “I’m only just getting comfortable and you gon’ show up lookin’ like this?”

#{ c: mercury }#{ mercury }#{ we tried the world; it wasn't for us }

wolfsbaneward‌:

It’s about as close to ‘nature’ as anything in Dertosa ever got. A carefully cultivated space with bushes and trees and benches and water fountains and even a hotdog stand near the eastern gate ( that part he doesn’t mind so much, hence the tube of meat-inna-bun with ketchup and mustard, half eaten, cradled in one hand ). There’s a trash bin to one side with a polite message about depositing waste. There’s even a line marked on the footpath for cyclists so they can whizz by without colliding with pedestrians ( which might have been rather fun, at least as a spectator sport ). Point being - there are rules to this space.

– Nature, doesn’t have rules.

The skyline is also usually further away. Even here. Or from a rooftop of a multi-storied building, it still seemed very close. A view that had - boundaries. He does sometimes wonder how people could get used to living in a world that looked so… small.

He takes another bite of his ‘breakfast/supper’ ( the only reason Bane is around at this time in the morning is because he hasn’t been to bed yet… well, not his own bed anyway. Walk of shame might have meaning to some, but he’d have to actually feel shame for it to apply to him ), just as someone wanders up to the bench. At the question there’s a wave of one hand ( the one with the hotdog ) in invitation and a mumble through meat and bread -

“sure, man - take a load off.”

Public bench, public space. He’s not one of those people who has a need for measured distance between himself and others. In fact, most of the time, he prefers that distance is a negative value… But, perhaps not in public. At least… Not always in public.

“One too many laps? Or you here to soak up…”

The hotdog motions at the view before he takes another bite, chasing a blob of ketchup to the corner of his mouth.

“…bit late for the sunrise. But the smog does tend to turn it a rather sceptically nauseating greeny-blue.”

Donnie much preferred going for his runs in the park; whenever he took his stride to the more urban parts of Dertosa, he was disturbed in one way or another. Despite having not released music in over a year, his lack of activity hasn’t rendered him entirely irrelevant. He was still approached by fans all the time and photographed, even when he did something as simple as go for a fuckin’ run. But he had less of a chance of nuisances in more of a lowkey place like the park.

The man seated at the bench hadn’t seemed to recognize him, which caused Donnie to have mixed feelings. A part of him was glad — he didn’t have to deal with all the niceties and questions about the “famous life,” or worse, questions about the accident and the reputation that preceded him because of it. But the part of him that had worked so hard to get to where he once was in the music industry, the cocky part of him that had been and still was fueled by attention and drugs made for him to also feel shocked that he wasn’t immediately recognized. But he tossed the thought aside when the guy responded.

“Thanks man,” He said, grabbing a seat on the opposite end of the bench to keep enough space between them so that they were comfortable.

He looked over at the man when he continued speaking, nodding at his words. “Yeah, just cooling down after a run.” He pulled at his grey shirt, glancing down at the u-shaped sweat-stain from his collar to his sternum. His gaze shifted back to the view before them, shrugging at the guy’s words. “Yeah, I know; it’s always been like that. But it gives it a sort of... Dirty charm.”

#{ c: wolfsbane }#{ wolfsbane }

psiolence‌:

“Breh.”

Psi leaned forward onto his acid green Chucks, swaying like bamboo in a breeze until he found his stance. “Don’t you realize how anthra– Wait, naw… Anthropocentric you sound right now?” He was no Buddhist, but he wasn’t a God, neither. “Who’s to say that second ain’t a lifetime, man? Like,” he trailed off to stare one of the fish dead in it’s big glazed eyes before speaking again. “Look at my dude right here. Boy looks like he’s lived ten lives right now. And you’re just here tappin’ on the glass, rockin’ their world.”

Don’s eyes rolled at his friend’s extensive vocabulary, a natural feat of Psi’s. He had gotten used to the guy’s far-out way of thinking, only seemingly enhanced whenever he was under the influence of drugs — which was the case more than half the time. “And who’s the say that I’m not doing them a favor, then?” He followed Psi’s gaze onto the fish, and laughed a little. He was right; the fish did look very wise. But still, he persisted in his argument, “What if the life they’re currently in is a bad one and I just sped up the process of him getting out of it and into a better one?”

#psiolence #{ c: psi }#{ psi }#//ITS OK SMH

psiolence‌:

✘ o p e n location: some lil chinese food joint in the jade district time: whenever. probably late night. like 1am but can be earlier.

He’s in his zone. The smell of grease in the air, a steady film of THC coating the nooks and crannies of his brain, the sound of woks sizzling and a huge fish tank bubbling (salt water, of course, those were quality)—that was al the man needed in life. The only thing that could disturb him is someone tapping against the glass, bothering not only him, but the fish.

In the moment they were one in the same, he and those slippery phylum chordata. He imagined himself in the tank, feeling the soundwaves of the large finger tapping against the glass. He was a fish, and he was bothered.

“Man, don’t you know you ain’t supposed to do that?” he muttered. “You’re, like, scrambling their brains n’ shit.”

As he and Psi waited for their food, Donnie was crouched so that he was eye-level with the fish in the tank. They were such strange things, those fish, and the way they darted about across the tank with no real destination in mind really amused him. He wasn’t quite sure if they were really that fun to watch, or if it was Psi’s really good weed that made it so entertaining.

However, what was not entertaining at all was when they just... Stopped. It was like they were moving a mile a minute, ducking behind their little rock hides and popping back out, having little races with each other and then — poof, they’re done. Impatiently, one of Donnie’s fingers extended outwards to tap on the glass; nothing too loud and bothersome, but just enough to get them kicking again. When he heard his friend’s complaint, he shot him a look over his shoulder.

“Bro, their brains are already scrambled; don’t their memories only last a couple seconds anyway?”

#psiolence #{ c: psi }#{ psi }#//godmodded that they were there together bc like #// i think you'd be down????

salvatin‌:

he liked early mornings ( or very late nights ) when all was quiet and only few venturing about. it is not uncommon to find him outside during early hours, either jogging or taking molly for a walk before work or not yet home from an entertaining night out. it’s sunday and while the parlour still was open, there was no actual work going on, no reason for him to go in, so he’d gone out a little later than usual, molly already impatiently dragging her leash around. the city was quiet, most nursing whatever hangover they brought home from the gala. he was nursing one of the social kind himself. too many people, too many pointless, pretentious and dreadful conversations with people that’d never fully accept him among their ranks — not that he wanted to wander among them, and people who only conversed with him because it was drugs they were after. something to make the dreadfully boring evening a little more entertaining.

the pup is busy hunting butterflies and wandering through high grass and bushes, stealthily attacking isaiah’s shoes in a playful fashion whenever she managed sneak close when a familiar voice breaks the silence he had surrounded himself with. ‘ donnie’ he greets, molly bouncing around between them, excited at the prospect of having someone else to play with. he looks up, shifts the ballcap a little to actually look at the other. ‘ I wouldn’t have pegged you for an early riser. ’ a chuckle. it goes without saying that the fellow drug was free to join him. molly properly greets him, once he sat down.

his gaze shifts forward again, overlooks the city once more ‘ dertosa looks quite beautiful like this, for such an ugly city.’

Donnie had just missed the Gala, which he was actually very pleased about. He already had to deal with so many fake people in Hollywood — swarming together like a bunch of hungry social bees, jumping from celebrity to celebrity, sucking the “clout” out of them like nectar before moving on to the next. He already had to fake niceties and feign interest in conversations so much, that while he was in Dertosa, he didn’t want to have to do the same. The place was supposed to be a sort of solace for him — if solaces could be fueled by vices.

Out of all the people he could possibly bump into on one of his peaceful jogs around the park, it would’ve been Heroin. Aside from the business that the pair frequently did, Donnie genuinely enjoyed hanging around the guy. As someone that had more means that he could think to do with, he wasn’t one of the people that only hung with Don for the perks of his company. They bonded over their common dislike for bullshitters and users, as well as their enjoyment for the finer things in life — as evident as their shared interest for the gorgeous view.

“What’s up, man?” Donnie nodded his head at his friend, reaching out to dap him up before taking a seat. “Oh yeah, I almost always wake up early — no matter how much sleep I do or don’t get. I’d almost be concerned if I didn’t like the mornings so much.” His attention quickly shifted to the excited Pit that gleefully hopped into his lap, greeting the pup with scratches behind the ear. “Hey Molly.” He cooed, laughing lightly as the puppy bounced and tried to lick his face off.

His attention shifted back to his friend, nodding at his words. “Sometimes the best things aren’t in the prettiest packaging. It’s ugly, but definitely not as bad as it looks.” He offered the energetic puppy a finger to chew on as he regarded the man, “How’s Dertosa been treating you lately?”

#{ c: heroin }#{ heroin }

when: morning, probably around 10 or so. where: prospect park who: anyone, hi(:

Donnie was going for a run in Prospect Park, his dark eyes, encased in those long curly lashes that his mother loved oh-so much, scanning his familiar surroundings. Morning runs were something that he used to do as a kid, and even the first morning after he came back to Dertosa, like some sort of subconscious clockwork, he found himself navigating through the park as if he had never left. He ran past the huge tree that he crashed his bike into when he was 8; they were playing Fast & Furious. Then as he made his way down the bend further down the path, was the bench that he took his first girlfriend to watch a sunset. As he jogged through memory lane —literally, he laughed to himself, a bittersweet thing. Ah, home.

He never thought he’d be back in shitty ol’ Dertosa, but he didn’t hate it nearly as much as he did when he was a kid. Perhaps it was because he knew more now; he wasn’t shielded from the grittier parts of the town anymore, kept away from the uglier side of city-life. Instead he embraced it, and it embraced him back. The Toxic City welcomed him back with open arms, leading him to anything his heart desired.

Even now, in Prospect Park when he was sweaty and out of breath and all he desired was to grab a seat, another bench bloomed before him. And it was the best bench in the park; right in near the edge of the hill and overlooking the entire city. Except it wasn’t quite what he had wanted — there was a person sitting there. With a small sigh, his steps slowed down as he neared the bench, his eyes trained on the scenery before him. The sun was just creeping, shining down and illuminating the buildings of the city. He glanced over at the person seated at the bench, offering them a small smile, “You mind if I sit? I have a feeling I’m gonna be looking at this for a while and I’d rather do it seated.”

#tcrp.starter #//this is trash but take it plz and run with it #//also please don't match my length like actually

toxicityrp

GRABBA ● THE ROCKSTAR TRAP GOD ● CLOSED

❝ When you start your kids out early in the spotlight, they end up being one of two things: relevant or fuckin’ trashed. And let’s just say Grabba here is hardly relevant. He drove head first into the flames. Now he’s just a washed up version of his former self. ❞

THE SINNER. TW: CAR ACCIDENT, DRUG USE, IMPLIED PROSTITUTION

Donald Lewis was adored from the moment he was born; a fat little baby, with eyelashes that curled upward to touch his brow bone and plump lips that formed a big, toothless smile that warmed the hearts of everyone who looked at him. He was the miracle baby, a product of two who wanted nothing more than a kid, a son especially, and after years of trying, that’s finally what they got. And he was perfect. He was absolutely beautiful and as he grew up, he was everything the Lewis’ had wanted and more.

Because that’s exactly how they groomed him. They raised the boy right; he was well mannered and personable, even at the tender age of four. He knew his right from wrong, he knew how to act whenever he was meeting important people, he was just a good boy. And he was a happy little boy, more than pleased with all the attention he received as the only kid, but never too spoiled by it. He had lived right by the border of the Amber District and the Diamonte District in Dertosa, his parents gladly shelling out the extra money if it meant keeping him in the “right” parts of town and the nicer of the school districts.

While his father would’ve loved nothing more than for his only son to follow in his own footsteps, running a bar, The Forbidden Vices, that had been passed down in the Lewis family for ages, Donnie’s mother had other plans for her beautiful little boy. There was no way that he would be their miracle baby and not achieve great things, and while the bar was cool and all, Mrs. Lewis knew that there was much more in store for Donald than an old club in the run-down part of town. It took a lot of time, countless casting calls for toy commercials and family sitcoms, hundreds of headshots taken for the possibility of modeling, too many flights back and forth between Dertosa and L.A. All for nothing. While he was a good-looking kid, he was far too curious to sit still enough for a successful photoshoot, he was really smart and good at reading, but he couldn’t retain his lines for shit. He wasn’t cut out for the entertainment business.

After trying and trying for years to discover some sort of exceptional skill to no avail, Donald and his teachers in school had realized that he had a knack for music; easily catching along to a tune and carrying the notes, even singing in harmonies without needing instruction on how to find them. It might’ve been all the R&B music his mother listened to while pregnant with Donnie, but the boy had soul. The music just seemed to consume him entirely, wiping away all other thoughts in his mind until the final beat of the song. The music inspired him, but more importantly, his talent inspired his mother.

It didn’t take long for the boy to be enrolled in vocal classes and signed up for his school’s theatre shows, and for the other boys in his grade to make fun of him for it. Before he had “graduated” from middle school, he was the only boy to be in the school plays and shows as opposed to sports teams. While they picked up their helmets, Donnie picked up a microphone, trading in speed for sound. The constant tormenting was almost enough to have him give it up forever though — middle school kids are the fuckin’ worst. He was ready to throw away all of his talent after his last show; the final Broadway Showcase of his middle school career, of his singing career. He did everything his mother had asked, behaved just as his parents taught him, sat through hours of play rehearsals and vocal classes, for what? To eventually just hate his passion?He even told his poor mother, informing her that there would be no need for more appointments with his vocal coach when he started high school. As much as he loved music, he was ready to turn his back on it if it meant finally being happy. Maybe he’d have better luck in something else anyway.

But Mrs. Lewis always saw more for her little boy, and before he could make a decision that he might end up regretting later, she took matters once again, into her own hands. It was at that Broadway Showcase, where Donnie did a fabulous job playing Peter Pan, that his natural skill and hard work paid off. All the teasing and the loss of hope paid off, because it was that night that he had gotten scouted out.

It all had happened so fast after that, that if you asked Donnie, it was all just a blur. It seemed like overnight contracts were signed, songs were recorded, and finally Donnie had turned his magical passion into a trade. He was finally getting the recognition he deserved, millions of people cheering his name in stadiums, his cutesy teenage-heartthrob pop music broadcasted on all the top pop radio stations. Shit, even Disneyhad contacted him for bragging rights of having him featured in a TV show or two of theirs, and Mrs. Lewis never said no. Her baby was a miracle, to her and now to Hollywood.

As he got older, it was harder for the boy to maintain his squeaky-clean reputation, the glitz and the glamour of the Hollywood scene enough to draw in even the best of mommy’s boys. It had started off relatively slow, dabbling in pot to keep in calm from the stresses of the music business, and then eventually coke to spike his energy up before a performance. He was a musical powerhouse, banging out albums left and right as his voice and sound continued to mature, selling out arenas around the world, girls screaming his name.

Of course, with the overwhelming support came the overwhelming hate — mostly from men who refused to claim him as one of their own. He was just some Justin Bieber, his fan-base consisting mostly of teenage girls who had cardboard cut-outs of him in their rooms and slept outside hotels he was staying at if it meant catching a glimpse of him. He was adorable, but he learned quickly that that doesn’t really get you respected in or out of the business. He thought that maybe if he had made it big, he could finally roll with the big boys but it didn’t take long for him to realize that wasn’t the case. Reputable artists only worked with him for the attention his name would bring to songs. Donnie still had no real guy friends, but rather other wanna-be pop boys that wanted to be friends with him because the kid was a chick-magnet and a musical genius in his realm.

So for once, Donnie took matters in his own hands. The change was gradual, something his pre-existent fans could keep up but definitely different enough to attract attention from other demographics. His signature curly hair buzzed off to don a more mature buzz-cut, dark hair coming in above his lip and on his chin, tattoos appearing on his once lanky body now all manly and muscular after committing to the gym. He eventually started hanging out with artists like Drake, Travis Scott, and Future, making friends with artists in the more gritty genre by throwing lavish parties containing all the stuff they talked about in their songs. He knew how much more diverse of a fanbase their music and lifestyle granted them; they didn’t talk about the same innocent shit that he did, but rather referencing drugs and alcohol abuse, regarding women as playthings rather than goddesses like Donnie was accustomed to. It was different, but it worked for them and people ate that shit up. So he started following in their footsteps, replacing his ballads about love with verses about sex, lines about hope with lines about drugs. He was The Don.

It was an unexpected change for Donnie, but he couldn’t deny how good it felt to read about him becoming as highly regarded as his new friends. He couldn’t deny how great his life was when the money kept flowing in without him even having to try, giving him more means than what he knew what to do with. He loved the attention he got, good or bad, but for once he finally felt accepted. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it, right? So he kept filling his nose with the white powder ‘til the beats came alive in his mind, pouring the purple liquid in his soda ‘til the lyrics flowed together seamlessly. He kept throwing the parties so he could have more to write about, more bitches to fuck, more drugs to do, more of his friends to celebrate the Grammys with.

Who knew a single car crash could fuck that all up?

It was an accident, driving to the studio with a handful of drugs in his system and his person. It was an accident that there were three girls, all drugged up with wads of money in their bags from Donnie, paying them for their company. It was an accident, speeding on the highway and swerving into a Jeep containing a mom with her two kids. It was an accident almost killing the seven of them. At least, that was what he told the judge at his court case. Millions of dollars lost, millions of fans lost, the respect of his parents, lost.

It was also an accident that he had met Psilocybin in jail, but that was a happy accident. In fact, Donnie considered it a blessing. They had tried to tell him that he would have to go to rehab for a few months, clear his mind and his body and then he would be welcomed back with open arms. But he knew that wasn’t true; it was never really going to be the same for him. He would always be known as “that former Disney singer-turned rapper that almost killed that woman and her kids,” if not by everyone, then at least by himself. Donnie could never forgive himself for what happened, but he would never have to if his mind was preoccupied. So when Psi referred him to Dertosa, the same vanilla place he had known as a little boy, Don had originally just shrugged it off. It didn’t seem possible that Dertosa would give him what he needed; it never did when he was younger. He claimed that it was the place to be, at least for men like them with needs like theirs. It didn’t make sense, but there was no way Psi pulled that shit out of his ass, right?

Well, it was a half-hour drive from where the dreaded rehab was located, so what was the harm in checking out his old hometown, right? Donnie’ll just call it “time spent with family on his road to recovery.”

THE FACTS.

While Donnie definitely wasn’t supposed to be back in Dertosa, he sure as hell didn’t plan on leaving anytime soon. What initially drew him in was the city’s reputation, tainted with sex and drugs and everything vice, just like him. To his surprise, he had no trouble finding what he was looking for in his hometown that previously offered him nothing, his mere name and networth now granting him access to everything illegal he could ever dream of. How could he not have known this before? Parents, am I right?

It didn’t take him long before he had become a regular at the Forbidden Vices, often cutting the line by name alone, tossing the security a couple of papers with his good ol’ pal, Benjamin’s face on it. He should’ve loved it, if not for the fact that it was a club but the fact that it should’ve been his. Sorry Dad, the people were cool and the place was cute, but their “No-Touch” policy and their lack of anything stronger than alcohol wasn’t something to necessarily write home about. It was too… Pure for his liking. Well, as pure as clubs could be in Dertosa.

Donnie wasn’t pure anymore — the fifteen years he spent in Hollywood stripped that away from him. The drugs, the booze, the sex, the crash. They made for a concoction deadlier than any of the mixes of drugs he had taken before. The once well-mannered, personable boy now hardened by the stresses of the long sought-after goal of fame. He was still very charming and talented, but he hasn’t tapped into his true potential in years which he would’ve hated the most if his mind wasn’t clouded by all the drugs he took.

He will give the club its credit though; it did hook him up with H and the match was made in drug-dealing heaven. With his unlimited access to drugs and Donnie’s access to Hollywood’s elite, it was almost stupid for the pair of them to not link up. It wasn’t like Don was asking for much anyway; he brought Heroin A-List business, and H would supply him with what he needed.

THE MUN.

☾ Cleo | EST | She/Her

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