Post by flower on Oct 9, 2009 23:48:34 GMT -5
[/color][/center][/blockquote]COURTNEY FORREST SIMON
it started with a low light
" so from one to ten, ten's exactly what i am. zero being everything i'm not. tell me what you like. is it less than five? is it less than five? "
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NEXT THING I KNEW[/color][/blockquote]
they ripped me from my bed
[/b][/color] Courtney Simon
NICKNAMES: He used to know someone who called him Flower.
GENDER: Male
AGE: sixteen
SEXUALITY: He's fairly chaste and not very defined.
YEAR: junior
MEMBER GROUP: * CRACK HEADS
FACE CLAIM: Conor Oberst
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AND THEN THEY TOOK[/color][/blockquote]
my bloodtype, they left a
[/b][/color] "Uh, I guess I should start with my family. My parents are still married - my father runs a boarding school and my mother. ..Well, she used to be an actress. Those B-Movie type things? She gets recognized from time to time, sometimes does signings and all that. Sometimes she... thinks she's her character and.. kind off. Attacks people .. but. I have six siblings, all boys - Patrick, Rodger, Andy - Matt and Damon are twins but don't look alike - and then Phil. A lot of them have.. issues. All I really have are bad dreams just.. a lot but. I can usually deal with them."
2. "My oldest brother hit me with a chair once for asking for salt? He really can't.. control himself very well so you can't blame him. His boyfriend got in a fight with Damon and he kind of lost it so now he's institutionalized and.. well. Yeah. It's not really all that important. Parents married and in love, six siblings, at least four which I'm on good terms with so. ..Yeah. I'm just not used to being away from them like this."
3. "The bass was the first instrument I learned to play, actually. After that my friend taught me to play guitar on this little acoustic and.. well, I don't want to talk about it, really. My brother Damon got me my own guitar so. Everything's okay on that end. I've been taking a little piano but I'm not very good."
4. "Got picked on a lot, kind of quiet - you know that type of kid. I used to really like stuff about mass murders, serial killers, tragedies.. that sort of thing. Slasher films. I guess people were shocked when they found out, usually. I'm not sure, they're interesting enough."
5. "Music, you know, that whole thing. My favorite band is The Rolling Stones. Dylan, Young, The White Stripes. Lots of things like that and folky stuff - white boy blues, you know."
6. "Before I came here I was in a band - played the bass and didn't really contribute much with it. I guess it got me a little more used to being on stage? But, uh. Mh. I'm sure they'll be fine without me."
7. "When I was younger people used to consider me kind of a book nerd. ...I guess I still am."
8. "I know a lot about a lot of different medications because of a good deal of my family being on more than you can count."
9. "I've got siblings who'd attempt to get by as carnivores, and one who's a vegan but I fall somewhere in the middle as a pescetarian."
10. "So. I guess.. why I'm here. Right, well - with the way some of my brothers are.. they just. Wanted to be proactive about it,
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STRANGE IMPRESSION
in my head, you know that i was hoping
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whoa there, my name is alice and i happen to be of the zombie species. i currently have nineteen number of candles on my cake but i've got nine years under my belt. i found this quirky site through rpg-d? caution, maybe. by the way, you can contact me via pm or through the hansa. now i'll show you what i'm made of.
this is the last thing i wrote for him, last night - The idea of Casper being jealous of him had never even come close to crossing his mind. If he was forced to thing about it, to sit there and be realistic, to tap into the perspective of a close-minded judgmental stranger it might occur to him, eventually, that they might discount a few of the things the boy had to offer because of his stutter. They might not take the moment of patience that paid out so worth it in the end that he really didn't notice it was there at all. That they might find out about his narcolepsy and he a touch nervous about setting it off - that they might wonder what it is that keeps him from a semblance of what most people would consider normal sleep. But Courtney, in his own mind, from his own perspective, in himself, had always thought these things had just made Casper stronger. Kinder, more understanding, more patient, compassionate, better. That these trials and tribulations had shaped him to be the boy he knew, the man he might still know given the chance, and had done a better job at it than he could say for most people. And despite being sad sometimes and frustrated others he still remembered Casper as one of the best people he's ever known, as the one he'd loved the most who looked after him and did his best to be good to him. It was beyond him to think that there might actually be a reason that the boy would want to be anything like the scrawny, spineless book nerd he had been - and in many ways still was - and while it seemed stupid of him, ignorant and selfish, it was a long time before his only contact with the other was a letter every now and then and then less that he'd built the other up in his head.
When it came to instances of Casper being sad there was never much he thought he could do. He would, of course, try - try maybe to an annoying extent, when you factored in his constant reminders that if Casper wanted him to leave, wanted some space or some times alone, that all he had to do was ask. And sitting here now, clinging to and clutching the other the way he was, he couldn't recall a single time he'd wanted the very things he constantly offered. Couldn't remember a single time he'd wanted, even for a second, for the other to leave, for the room to get a bit larger, for there to be more privacy. But it was all he could really think to give the boy, all he could really do other than to be there and be close and easily accessed just in case that might be the thing to help. Be at the ready with all those attempts at soothing phrases, the half-attempts at conversation he made, sedation in the form of words - a slow sort of trickle in the adoration that assured him that everything would be okay, because this was Casper and Casper had always been able to fix things in the past. Long before he'd started to question his worth, started to wonder if maybe the boy could do better - find someone like him with something or other rearranged in a different way that would title it superior he had been curious as it how much he helped - sure in his good intention, and just as sure that if he really was annoying Casper, doing anything but helping the other, Casper would be the last one to let him know. Would silently bare it, even when he was upset, would indulge Courtney's need to meddle until he couldn't take it anymore and couldn't stand the other. And because Casper was as strong as Courtney assured himself he was he was now sure that such an ending would have taken a long time but would have been inevitable. The truthful realization that would lead to a snap. Would lead to a different look then that one of adoration he was used to getting. And he was sure even the most subtle change in that would hurt him a million times more than getting his heart smashed by Robin time and time again.
If he stopped to ponder everything he lost, all those little smiles, the gestures and even the most chaste of touches, he'd be helpless, hopeless, completely able to function. And he'd tried to, tried to rip it all apart, write it down, file it away and wait for it to rot away until it didn't matter anymore, but it didn't work. It was too great an undertaking, too permanent, a fixture that would remain in his brain and fester there, delve into a spot hidden somewhere in the thick of it and claim it as it's own, something that would cause searing pain when grazed and avoided completely until he was somewhere alone where he could throw himself at it completely. The concept of the easiness of any emotion other than pain and the sensation of emptiness had been lost to him - he was playing with a new set of rules, a new deck of cards, and his hand was shitty. Mocking him. Irreparable. Or at least, that was what he suspected. What he was trying to talk himself into now so he never had to go thorough another epiphany of self-loathing, of ignorance and stupidity and optimism.
While the idea of Casper still needing his help, now needing to be maintained or repaired would have been a hard concept for him it was something that he could have slowly come around to with a patient teacher. And while younger the concept might have been beyond him it was now that he knew enough to know even those things you thought were sure, the ones that would never crumble out from under you, that could do nothing but stay pure and whole would crack. Would shudder and fall apart beneath your feet, mocking you as it fell with you - a game well played. An illusion of the truth or that anything like truth existed. Casper could be broken now, in his mind, could have flaws, could have gone through painful experience and - what's worse - could and probably did do such things without him. But the idea that he could fix any of that was absolutely impossible, reckless, another false hope to hang your hat on when he couldn't even get himself from day to day properly.
That, however, didn't mean he wouldn't try. It didn't mean he wouldn't hold the boy as well as he could with their contrasting statures, that he would cling to him all the same out of a selfish need he couldn't persuade away from himself no matter how he tried. That he might hide his face against the other the same way he used to and focus on the scent, Casper's breathing, his warmth and his closeness until he could hear his own breathing. Until he could slow it and calm himself, close his eyes, focus on something slow and repetitive instead of the dizzying and contradicting spin in his head.
And of course he was sure Casper had nothing to be forgiven for.
Because for all his downfalls, all his weaknesses, all the ways he'd fucked up, he'd at least never been one to try and pawn this off on anyone else. There were the substances to get him through, and then the substances to perpetuate but it seemed that if anything, he did the best to get every last hint of guilt squarely rested on his own small shoulders.
He can feel Casper's body heaving a little under his grip and his arms move upward a little, as much as they can, around his shoulders if he can manage it and without thinking he lets one hand slip under the collar at the back of Casper's shirt. And it's likely if he was thinking about it he would pull it away, pull himself away, force out some kind of apology and try to think of some way to tear his gaze from the floor, but for now he's not thinking about it, that distracting feeling of a heart that had been beat back into place and forced poorly back together multiple times tearing apart at the evidence of the other male's weeping, moving his hand over the hot skin of the taller male's back in a way he hopes is consoling, listening carefully to the other as he spoke, causing first hectic confusion and then strange sensations that were suspiciously familiar, only now with a sharper edge - more clearly defined and harder to swallow. Harder to actively stew in without making his chest feel like it was on fire. "I.. " he stops, inhales sharply, because his head is doing that spinning thing again, and he can't be sure if this is real or not or some cocaine induced coma. But all he can think is he wants Casper's arms around his as tight as they were before, all he can think about is how he doesn't want to think about what's wrong. He pulls himself back enough to look at the other the way he should, hand sliding up over his skin so that a few fingers are just idly still hooked in the neck, mind still on other things, things he doesn't know how to resolve, can't explain. He lifts his other hand slowly, carefully, as if he's not sure he's allowed to do it, wants to give the other boy any chance to stop it, before he's moving to wipe any tears away from the older boy's face. "I certainly don't seem to be making you very happy right now," it's muttered in a way that makes it seem like he doesn't really realize he's saying it, dark eyes scanning Casper's face hurriedly, repeatedly, sticking only to the skin his fingers move over, not seeming to see it quite so much as he'd like. He bites his lips a little, glancing up at the other out of the corner of his eye before he sighs, seems to give up a little, letting his eyes fall to his lap, back to speaking in a voice that's hardly more than a whisper. "I think I need you, Casper.. still. ..I don't think it's really changed. I'm not," he fidgets a little nervously, seems a little frustrated for a second before he sighs and it seems like he's given up again, his voice growing even quieter. "I'm not sure it ever will."
When it came to instances of Casper being sad there was never much he thought he could do. He would, of course, try - try maybe to an annoying extent, when you factored in his constant reminders that if Casper wanted him to leave, wanted some space or some times alone, that all he had to do was ask. And sitting here now, clinging to and clutching the other the way he was, he couldn't recall a single time he'd wanted the very things he constantly offered. Couldn't remember a single time he'd wanted, even for a second, for the other to leave, for the room to get a bit larger, for there to be more privacy. But it was all he could really think to give the boy, all he could really do other than to be there and be close and easily accessed just in case that might be the thing to help. Be at the ready with all those attempts at soothing phrases, the half-attempts at conversation he made, sedation in the form of words - a slow sort of trickle in the adoration that assured him that everything would be okay, because this was Casper and Casper had always been able to fix things in the past. Long before he'd started to question his worth, started to wonder if maybe the boy could do better - find someone like him with something or other rearranged in a different way that would title it superior he had been curious as it how much he helped - sure in his good intention, and just as sure that if he really was annoying Casper, doing anything but helping the other, Casper would be the last one to let him know. Would silently bare it, even when he was upset, would indulge Courtney's need to meddle until he couldn't take it anymore and couldn't stand the other. And because Casper was as strong as Courtney assured himself he was he was now sure that such an ending would have taken a long time but would have been inevitable. The truthful realization that would lead to a snap. Would lead to a different look then that one of adoration he was used to getting. And he was sure even the most subtle change in that would hurt him a million times more than getting his heart smashed by Robin time and time again.
If he stopped to ponder everything he lost, all those little smiles, the gestures and even the most chaste of touches, he'd be helpless, hopeless, completely able to function. And he'd tried to, tried to rip it all apart, write it down, file it away and wait for it to rot away until it didn't matter anymore, but it didn't work. It was too great an undertaking, too permanent, a fixture that would remain in his brain and fester there, delve into a spot hidden somewhere in the thick of it and claim it as it's own, something that would cause searing pain when grazed and avoided completely until he was somewhere alone where he could throw himself at it completely. The concept of the easiness of any emotion other than pain and the sensation of emptiness had been lost to him - he was playing with a new set of rules, a new deck of cards, and his hand was shitty. Mocking him. Irreparable. Or at least, that was what he suspected. What he was trying to talk himself into now so he never had to go thorough another epiphany of self-loathing, of ignorance and stupidity and optimism.
While the idea of Casper still needing his help, now needing to be maintained or repaired would have been a hard concept for him it was something that he could have slowly come around to with a patient teacher. And while younger the concept might have been beyond him it was now that he knew enough to know even those things you thought were sure, the ones that would never crumble out from under you, that could do nothing but stay pure and whole would crack. Would shudder and fall apart beneath your feet, mocking you as it fell with you - a game well played. An illusion of the truth or that anything like truth existed. Casper could be broken now, in his mind, could have flaws, could have gone through painful experience and - what's worse - could and probably did do such things without him. But the idea that he could fix any of that was absolutely impossible, reckless, another false hope to hang your hat on when he couldn't even get himself from day to day properly.
That, however, didn't mean he wouldn't try. It didn't mean he wouldn't hold the boy as well as he could with their contrasting statures, that he would cling to him all the same out of a selfish need he couldn't persuade away from himself no matter how he tried. That he might hide his face against the other the same way he used to and focus on the scent, Casper's breathing, his warmth and his closeness until he could hear his own breathing. Until he could slow it and calm himself, close his eyes, focus on something slow and repetitive instead of the dizzying and contradicting spin in his head.
And of course he was sure Casper had nothing to be forgiven for.
Because for all his downfalls, all his weaknesses, all the ways he'd fucked up, he'd at least never been one to try and pawn this off on anyone else. There were the substances to get him through, and then the substances to perpetuate but it seemed that if anything, he did the best to get every last hint of guilt squarely rested on his own small shoulders.
He can feel Casper's body heaving a little under his grip and his arms move upward a little, as much as they can, around his shoulders if he can manage it and without thinking he lets one hand slip under the collar at the back of Casper's shirt. And it's likely if he was thinking about it he would pull it away, pull himself away, force out some kind of apology and try to think of some way to tear his gaze from the floor, but for now he's not thinking about it, that distracting feeling of a heart that had been beat back into place and forced poorly back together multiple times tearing apart at the evidence of the other male's weeping, moving his hand over the hot skin of the taller male's back in a way he hopes is consoling, listening carefully to the other as he spoke, causing first hectic confusion and then strange sensations that were suspiciously familiar, only now with a sharper edge - more clearly defined and harder to swallow. Harder to actively stew in without making his chest feel like it was on fire. "I.. " he stops, inhales sharply, because his head is doing that spinning thing again, and he can't be sure if this is real or not or some cocaine induced coma. But all he can think is he wants Casper's arms around his as tight as they were before, all he can think about is how he doesn't want to think about what's wrong. He pulls himself back enough to look at the other the way he should, hand sliding up over his skin so that a few fingers are just idly still hooked in the neck, mind still on other things, things he doesn't know how to resolve, can't explain. He lifts his other hand slowly, carefully, as if he's not sure he's allowed to do it, wants to give the other boy any chance to stop it, before he's moving to wipe any tears away from the older boy's face. "I certainly don't seem to be making you very happy right now," it's muttered in a way that makes it seem like he doesn't really realize he's saying it, dark eyes scanning Casper's face hurriedly, repeatedly, sticking only to the skin his fingers move over, not seeming to see it quite so much as he'd like. He bites his lips a little, glancing up at the other out of the corner of his eye before he sighs, seems to give up a little, letting his eyes fall to his lap, back to speaking in a voice that's hardly more than a whisper. "I think I need you, Casper.. still. ..I don't think it's really changed. I'm not," he fidgets a little nervously, seems a little frustrated for a second before he sighs and it seems like he's given up again, his voice growing even quieter. "I'm not sure it ever will."
THAT I COULD LEAVE
this starcrossed world behind
this apptemplate was made by chaela and laurel from charcoal eyes, guys, and the titles are from spaceman by the killers
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