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ofwhiteknuckles-blog · 4 years

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(BEN BARNES / THIRTY EIGHT / HE/HIS ) – ( lucas felix ) has been spotted in the castle. they said to originally be from ( detroit ) and is often seen to be ( conniving ) but seemingly ( adaptive ). After being in Wolfenstein for ( two years ), they’ve come to ( be hesitant of ) the council in their own way. They work as ( sector patrol ) and are known around these parts as ( the sycophant ). better watch your back with that one around.

A LIST OF (AT LEAST) 6 AESTHETICS FOR THIS CHARACTER: ( abyss-black eyes tracking the motion of a conversational partner as they stalk away, the rhythmic tapping of calloused fingertips over a crossed arm, the rasp of a soft hum under the continuous hush of wind, sweet words clinging to the tip of your tongue, gears of thought grinding continuously and without halt, a smile that never meets the eyes but feels genuine regardless (and isn't) )

THE SONG YOU SEE AS THIS CHARACTERS THEME: ( amarillo sleeps on my pillow - fair to midland ) “ ... no one turned over leaves, no one branches out, no one went out on a limb when he belted out: get gone. some one looked for a clue, someone got the ax, someone yelled in the wake of the great collapse: get gone. minced words from anonymous cowards fell down from kingdom come. the threatened source of this obstacle course had cornered in a guessing game. every attempt turned a kettle of fish -, and loves making it’s waves. if i had to guess, he’s still making a mess worse than any thunderstorm.”

triggers: abuse, neglect, drug references

YOU ARE A CHILD OF POISON, THEY SAID.

one thing was incredibly clear to lucas felix from the moment he could comprehend the hand that life had dealt him: nothing would come easy, and nothing would be worth the time if it was. his mother always had the means of making a decent living for her son and herself, but squandered all of her earnings on selfish means instead. she was certainly a beautiful woman: alluring both physically and with a wit sharp as a blade’s edge, but all of her attention had always been selfish. surely it was habit taught to her from a young age, something she never bothered to break before she involved herself in other human interactions. but it was likely her beauty and charm that had seduced the man who impregnated her, and the likes of his name were never so much as whispered around offspring. lucas has never known the man’s name. babies should be a joyous occasion, and yet alessia felix found a way to make it entirely self-involved. her body had to bear the pain, her child was what made everyone so pleased, her creation. anyone who dared to involve themselves in the mess of his mother’s life was sure to see how narcissistic the beautiful italy born-and-bred woman was, and yes no one pressed a finger onto the issue. but such is the way of the world, so often are children abandoned to their fates.

he was a beautiful baby, but grew to be an awkward toddler, an awkward little boy. alessia made no attempt to hide her disgust at how her creation could be so gangly and ungainly, could stow away for hours with quiet toys that suggested knowledge more than play with other children. but perhaps that was for the better --- she couldn’t very well brag and show up with something like him, her offerings would be meager in comparison to children who were the spitting images of their beautiful parents. simple genetics, the awkward transitional period of a child, were held against a child who knew nothing of the world or such disgust from his mother. lucas was six, and alessia felix was the love of his life. all mothers should be, for little boys. but as he grew older, as his awareness developed, and as the blinders fell from his eyes lucas became aware of his mother’s feelings. while he was utterly devoted to her, drew pictures of her at school or told stories about my mom and me, she was ashamed of his too-long legs and chubby cheeks. his loss of innocence came across the dinner table (boxed macaroni and cheese again, so mom could go out again for the night), when he told her “i love you, mommy” and alessia heaved a sigh and responded with a purfunctory, “yea.”

grades meant nothing. educational achievements meant nothing. unconditional love from a child meant nothing, and lucas began to realize that if he wanted something more than boxed macaroni and cheese for dinner every night (if alessia even bothered to make it) he would have to get it himself. however it wasn’t as simple as taking it --- simply taking things earned him a swift but stern slap across the face and if he hadn’t learned in his younger years, lucas surely understood alessia’s feelings with those. he learned his charm from her, but it wasn’t easy being the odd child he was. still, with a desire to achieve, lucas applied himself to the art of manipulation. he discovered it was simple with the charm of a child: people were more likely to assist if you added a few tears, a little naievety. his teachers began to understand his plight as home as difficult when he spun the yarn of his mother having become deathly ill. his peers found him appealing when he shared goods pilfered or traded from others (without their knowledge for the former), and the reputation he earned himself in his youth formed the personality that perfected at puberty.

while all of these tricks worked outside of the household, lucas never managed to pull the wool over his mother’s eyes. but where unconditional love once stood in tolerance for alessia and her narcissism, now contempt remained. lucas fell out of love with his mother at twelve, and never looked back.

CLEVER AS THE DEVIL AND TWICE AS PRETTY.

on the summer at the end of his freshman year of high school lucas left an odd-looking boy. in the fall of his sophomore year he returned transformed, as if the summer heat had been a chrysalis and the ugly caterpillar emerged a butterfly. now if you held up a picture of alessia felix beside lucas you could see he was her child, all it took was a shot of growth hormone and the deepening of his voice. abyss-black eyes were the stark difference between the two of them (ignoring the thick black hair that sprouted from his face if he didn’t tame it back to stubble every four or so days), and alessia noted how much she despised the way he stared at her now. it made her skin crawl if only because it seemed as if he was looking through her. and he was. now he saw her for what she was: a selfish woman who had only wanted him to brag about her own achievements. but he hadn’t been worth bragging about when he was small, and now that he towered over her she wanted him to be seen with him. but lucas refused, perhaps a little too politely for her to understand at first, and it was only in a binge of some substance abuse that he took a stern hand with her. only when she struck him first out of a dead sleep --- staring at him for near twenty minutes before lashing out at him. it was the threat of never touch me again that he punctuated so perfectly, threatening to hold back no means to defend himself should she raise another hand at him. alessia mourned for herself the loss of her baby boy. all that was left was a man who was nothing more than a reminder of her failed relationships throughout the years. you’re just like them. you’re just like them. but he was nothing like them. perhaps the only similarity being how much he despised her, as they all did in the end.

over-achieving won him an early high school graduation by one year and excellent grades a near free-ride through college. he was always good with numbers, always good at calculations and the choice to step into the mathematical field was easy. alessia was notably absent when he gained his college diploma, if only because lucas couldn’t be bothered to let her know of the date. any by now he’d escaped the clutches of her den and made his own home somewhere on the other side of the city. he was sure he would never purposely cross paths with her, and if they did meet it was purely accidental. purely venomous. his first steps into the world of banking began the same as any other bland story: a teller whose talent for numbers opened gateways of opportunity. lucas was twenty-two when he was offered the position of personal finance. he was twenty-four when he began taking private, rich clients, and it was only a few months into that position that he met “slick ricky” dimatteo. the meeting wound up more fateful than any singular moment he had with his mother, at least it was opportunistic. silver-tongue and charm allowed for lucas to step into the world of second set of books, illegal numbers ... extra money, now he looked exactly like the son of alessia felix. fine suits, hundred-dollar hair cut, winning smile the smiles never met his eyes --- that died in his childhood, with his innocence, but he when he wagged his tongue people listened and were apt to believe the words that oozed from his lips. honest life turned to opulence ... he was sure he could have had more if he wanted it, but sitting on the outskirts of a life of real crime was comfortable for him. when he stole away in the middle of the night to confirm the collection of illegal debts owed he kept his own two hands clean (so what if his command got people hospitalized, right?) and lucas prided himself on the ability to forget what he had seen. things are so often lost in the black abyss.

a much-needed vacation found lucas in austria when the world ended, on a small trip around europe that had begun in italy. abject horror is the best way to describe lucas’ initial response, and though it took time for him to find wolfenstein he learned the climate of the post apocalypse. survival meant utilizing the one skill he’d been perfecting since his youth: a silver-tongue. people were less likely to trust in this world (and he couldn’t say that be blamed them), but they were also more insipid. it was a new hurdle, a new obstacle to decipher how to overcome, though ultimately lucas is of the impression that he’s doing quite well for himself.

FELL DOWN FROM KINGDOM COME.

it’s been two years since the sycophant stumbled into wolfenstein. at first he was unsure of his position in this small but growing civilization --- there are too many eyes that would be all-too willing to tear him apart for his less-than-honest means of surviving. but even here it’s simple to discover those who are willing to hear a good word. silver tongue found the correct ears to earn him a relatively safe, relatively useful place among these people where he’s already begun to weave his empire of secrets and misconceptions. when he was offered his place on the council he was hesitant, but accepted when adept eyes deciphered the usefulness of being in the know. people were easier to craft when you understood the workings. he’s not fond of the weight of a gun in his hand, but there’s no room to be picky when the large threat-at-hand doesn’t want to listen to his greatest weapon. if the creatures that roamed outside of the castle walls were able to listen to sweet nothings it would be an entirely different story, and so lucas once again has adapted. ultimately he is wary of the council, understanding the corruption that seeps within it but keeping his lips stiff on the matter. depending on who approaches in privacy, they will hear a different story of lucas’ opinion on the matter: sometimes he agrees wholly with them, others he can’t trust them as far as he can throw them, and his own personal truth is the most well-kept secret of them all. in wolfenstein lucas is the most careful of his lies overlapping, ensuring that what he tells one person never directly intersects with another --- it’s been more than thirty years since he learned his art and he isn’t so careless to let it fall apart now. while the creatures that roam the world are certainly a looming threat, in the post-apocalypse humans are the most dangerous monster of all and lucas is all-too aware of that.

WANTED CONNECTIONS:

i’m open to anything with lucas, really. he’s been around the castle for two years and i’m certain that he’s built any array of connections in that time. he’s a relatively social creature (which is needed for him to work his art), but he doesn’t really trust anyone. should we venture into any semblance of romance, please be aware that lucas is strictly heterosexual and has never been devoted to one partner, however i am willing to develop something given time and chemistry.

#wolfen:intro #x--- if i had to guess he’s still making a mess worse than any thunderstorm; ABOUT.#abuse cw #neglect cw #drugs cw

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jade-ngoc-yeshim · 4 years

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1. The M.O.

Why did I start this blog? I have no plain and straightforward answer to offer; it’s a coalescence of several factors—some tangible; some I’ve yet to identify; and some rustling around in the pit of my stomach, for which I lack the words to will into coherence. But I will try my best to explain:

2019—my 25th year of existence—I will always reflect on and refer to as “The Crumbling.” It was the year when I lost myself to a number of competing forces: work, love, extraordinary circumstances, and the cyclical churn of life. Those who’ve known me for a long time would characterize me as incredibly stable; risk-averse; always planning for the long-term; cripplingly self-aware; and always doggedly marching uphill towards a set of well-defined, high flying goals. My tunnel vision was impressive. My modus operandi clearly articulated. My drive unflappable.

The inertia behind it all was guilt. I had guilt about a lot of things:

Firstly, I had access to the full gamut of opportunities that were ripped away from my parents by war and displacement. I had to make up for this as their only child. Fuck selfish millennial self-realization. I had to live for three.

Secondly, my birth-given liminality. That I, as a second-generation immigrant/migrant/refugee (whatever legal or sociocultural label you deign to ascribe to my personhood), stand at the boundary between homeland and foreign land (cum new “home”), Vietnam and America, past and present. It is difficult to occupy two spaces; oftentimes, I feel that I am in neither, and that the only comfortable place to inhabit is the hyphen that tenuously connects “Vietnamese” and “American.” To straddle two identities is to be constantly uncomfortable. It requires a lot of shifting, recalibration, and a lot of stumbling. I was never Vietnamese enough, and so others shamed my parents for not doing a good job in raising me. I was never American enough, and so I shamed myself into invisibility.

Third, being a Vietnamese woman. The consequences of veering off-course extend far beyond you. The stories uttered in hushed tones about one’s paternal second cousin twice removed from Cleveland or what have you: She had such promise. She had the potential to become an engineer or doctor—to elevate her family’s social status. But she just had to succumb to the vices of the typical Vietnamese woman: boys, hard substances, and the cold, hard draw of under-the-table cash from working in auntie’s nail salon. And so my existence as a young, OK-looking, Vietnamese-American woman in a foreign land with many foreign ideas inherently made me a flight risk. And so be it. And so it is.

Turns out, guilt is a great motivator. It led me to unbelievable achievements at a very tender age: becoming valedictorian of my high school class; being the first of my family’s generation to go to college; graduating summa cum laude from an Ivy League institution; becoming a Rhodes Scholarship finalist in one of the most competitive districts in the U.S., winning a full scholarship for a master’s program in the United Kingdom; graduating with high marks from the world’s best refugee and migration studies course at the University of Oxford; landing my first real job working for USAID; and having the privilege of serving as a Program Officer for the Syria humanitarian crisis during some of the most tumultuous times in the war’s history.

But what is the point of great material achievement when it comes at the expense of other, more important aspects of your life?

For most of my adult life thus far, I have foregone love, social engagements, precious time spent with family, and beloved hobbies in the ruthless pursuit of achievement. I let go of art, music, good men, and good times. I was constantly hunched over my laptop, producing—worrying my friends and family sick in my permanently crooked state. And I kept going, motivated by a dangerous cocktail of excitement over how much I was gaining and the eternal damnation of imposter syndrome. I thought that I can rest only when I become successful, with no clearly identifiable marker or metrics for success.

I get easily carried away, but I am not stupid. I knew the bubble had to burst at some point.

I just didn’t know how violently it could.

///

“The Crumbling” was a sudden conflagration with a long kindling period. The first match was struck at Oxford, when my lack of romantic savvy led to my falling in lust/infatuation with a narcissistic, well-networked man who offered me manufactured kindness during a very confusing time in my life. To put things colloquially, I was “lost in the sauce.” I was fixated on how much I didn’t belong at my graduate institution and felt so sorry for myself. I craved validation and understanding; it was the soporific I needed for my weeks’ long insomnia, the Xanax for my constant worries, and the energy boost I needed to wake me from my malaise. I was emotionally hemorrhaging. And smelling blood, he barreled towards me.

He raped me when I was drunk in my own bedroom. He weaponized the insecurities I shared with him against me. He further emptied me of whom I was, spun a narrative of how I was a pitiful, love-drunk woman who deserved what he done to her; and made my home away from home a fundamentally unsafe place. And the only coping mechanism I knew was to dive head-first into work—to fill my empty spaces through the only way I knew: producing.

It was the wrong answer. But I managed to see myself through to the end of my master’s with it, albeit with a few sacrifices: Never attending my own graduation out of fear of seeing my rapist again. A bitter distaste for life. An inherent fear of men and relationships (and of my own shadow) that went long unresolved. Strained communication with my parents. And a further shattered sense of self-worth.

///

Things were fine for a year or so when I was caught up in a flurry of new beginnings: moving to a new city, starting a dream job in a dream organization, and making my first furtive steps into adulthood. I was occupied with finding my identify as a young professional and invested my heart and soul into my new career. And on a fateful afternoon in September 2018, I was tapped for my first humanitarian deployment to Adana, Turkey—a three-month commitment that doubled just a month into my stay.

It was thrilling. It was exhilarating. It was empowering to be the face of U.S. humanitarian assistance in northern Syria at 24. But as exciting as it was, it was also overwhelmingly terrifying to sit at the helm of a humanitarian juggernaut as the trajectory of American foreign policy changed overnight. From December onward, Turkey was an amalgam of mild PTSD, living in hotels, unpacking and re-packing, armored vehicles, Jack Daniels, furtive puffs of Marlboro Milds, military men, street cats, insecurity, getting rowdy, hardened alternative trailer systems, over-caffeination, and exhaustion.

I traveled to beautiful places. I broke hearts, and I encountered love. I was where the action was. I was living out my wildest dreams. I had purpose. I felt alive, and maybe for the first time. I sincerely believed that I would always look back at Turkey as my golden era.

/// Wheels down ADA-FRA-IAD. Enter “The Crumbling” in full force. ///

What does it mean when the “golden era” of your life—the moment when you most felt alive—was wholly illusory?

When you look back several months later, scratch through the vermeil, and find nothing but the shaky foundations underpinning your drawn-out, whisky- and cardamom-scented daydream?

When the person you fell in love with—the first after being raped, the one who earnestly listened to you recounting your survivor story—ended up emotionally using and abusing you, as well?

When, despite putting in blood, sweat, and tears into your work (quantified at approximately 10-12 hours a day, inclusive of weekends), your supervisor tells you to reconsider whether humanitarian work is right for you?

When deployment is no longer an option for you because of that, and you come face-to-face with the crushing reality that you never built a life in your home base. (Rephrased: When there is no escape from the void.)

When the wounds finally start to seal up, and then your grandfather passes away. And suddenly you’re shoulder-to-shoulder at his altar with the extended family who narcissistically abused you during your youth? (Re: The past rears its ugly head again.)

The symptoms of all of this occurring within a 3-month timespan were:

Losing 20 pounds;

Vacillating between sleeping constantly and not at all;

Your loved ones remarking that the light in your eyes has completely vanished;

Hours and hours of self-help podcasts;

A lot of consolatory chocolate from coworkers who’ve noticed that something is terribly amiss with you;

Near-constant mental haze;

Ostinatos of teary-eyed apologies to your friends, whom you’re convinced you’ve burdened;

Manic consumerism;

Trying to harvest endorphins through prolonged cardio sessions;

Taking a lot of strange vitamins and supplements that didn’t do anything, other than make you dehydrated;

Frequent panic attacks; and

Desperate forays into various branches of spirituality (inclusive of a cheap [actually not cheap at all] psychic who tells you that you’re the victim of both black karma and an inter-generational love curse [!]…but at least she had an adorable cat.).

Tl;dr: It’s depression. Horrendous, soul-crushing depression, and constant anxiety over the other shoe dropping. It’s coming to terms with the daunting reality that the only way out is to roll your sleeves up and start laying the foundations of your identity brick-by-brick. It’s coming to grips with the fact that you have no sense of self outside of what you do. What is the point of accumulating achievements when you never pause to appreciate them?

What is the point of working tirelessly for others, when you make no time to sit with them and to enjoy all of the abundance together? What is the point of life when it is all prospective?

Do you truly have a sense of self when you have relied on others to give you meaning your entire life?

///

As the thick haze of “The Crumbling” dissipated, I arrived at a bit of clarity: That what had passed had not happened to me, but for me. That the shaky foundations on which I rested my already fragile sense of self needed to collapse—that I needed to collapse—in order to build something that was truly steady and purposeful.

All is not lost. On the contrary, the ashes borne from the waves of trauma that I endured over these past several months are but the rich inputs for a more fortified way of being.

I would be remiss to not document the process along the way. A process I will affectionately refer to as “The Awakening.”

#blog #diary #depression #awakening #tw: rape #tw: abuse #tw: mental health #tw: violence

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dammitadolfnomorecake · 5 years

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CSUAVS prt 4 start

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sethkate · 5 years

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all 3 because wHY NOT

↠ selah & sergio ;

who is more likely to hurt the other?

omfg NEITHER literally hurting each other… is their worst nightmare tbh

who is emotionally stronger?

sergio probably. under the right circumstances selah can break very easily

who is physically stronger?

selah obvs… do u know how much strength it takes to twirl around on a stripper pole??? pls. jk serge Works Out

who is more likely to break a bone?

selah with all her dancing shenanigans

who knows best what to say to upset the other?

they don’t intentionally say things to upset each other so neither goodbye

who is most likely to apologize first after an argument?

i think it depends on what the argument was about and who was more at fault for starting it. they’re both good at owning up to their own shit i think??

who treats who’s wounds more often?

both. serge helps her out when she’s got a strained muscle or something from rehearsals but she’ll like disinfect his wounds/bandage him up if ends up in a scuffle of some sort

who is in constant need of comfort?

selah….all the gd time….

who gets more jealous?

they both do in the beginning until they wake up and realize they’re only heart eyes for each other?? like helllllo

who’s most likely to walk out on the other?

i don’t think either of them have the temperament where they would fight and then just leave without finishing what needs to be said? if they have an issue, they talk about it fully and then if one of them needs to leave once they’ve each spoke their piece then that’s what would happen

who will propose?

sergio at the ripe old age of 103

who has the most difficult parents?

theirs are both veeeerry difficult in different ways

who initiates hand-holding when they’re out in public?

both. they like… wait for the other one to initiate it and if they don’t within a few secs, then the other one will

who hogs the blankets?

selah so sergio will get cold and cuddle more tbh

who gets more sad?

selah until macy and dre are like ‘knock that shit off rn young lady’ or until sergio can talk her out of all the ridiculous thoughts that are in her head ksjadl

who is better at cheering the other up?

selah’s better at it in a physical sense, but emotionally, serge takes the cake. either way, it works for them.

who’s the one that playfully slaps the other all the time after they make silly jokes?

selah bc in what WORLD would serge even playfully hit a woman???

who is more streetwise?

sergio omg selah has like… negative amounts of street wisdom

who is more wise?

again, sergio. i feel like because he just has more life experience?

who’s the shyest?

i feel like neither of them really are, but sergio would come off as the shyest because he’s got one of those demeanors where he’s just gonna stand there and observe what’s going on around him.

who boasts about the other more?

stop sergio probably tells anyone and everyone who will listen about selah jfsdlkjl but selah’s over here like… keepin that shit to herself because she’s not about to have anyone else fallin in love with her man

who sits on who’s lap?

selah on his lap duh for obvious reasons *insert double eye emoji here*

↠ macy & andre ;

who is more likely to hurt the other?

macy is too pure to wanna hurt dre and it would crush dre if he hurt her (even more than she’s already been hurt) so??

who is emotionally stronger?

am i allowed to say they’re both emotionally weak? lmao i mean they don’t have substance abuse issues for nothin’….

who is physically stronger?

sergio would say macy… but i have to say andre :/

who is more likely to break a bone?

andre when he’s hammered

who knows best what to say to upset the other?

i think they both know what they could say to hurt the other because they’re both aware of each other’s Issues?? but like… they’ll never actually say anything about them because why would they want to??

who is most likely to apologize first after an argument?

probably dre… per the advice from sergio & selah

who treats who’s wounds more often?

macy treats andre’s because she rarely gets hurt…except that one time. then andre’s got that shit covered

who is in constant need of comfort?

bOTH (even though andre prob wouldn’t admit it) but they both do because they are such fragile souls

who gets more jealous?

this is a tough one… probably macy. because she wouldn’t give andre a reason to be jealous ever? whereas andre can’t help he’s got girls up his ass all the time

who’s most likely to walk out on the other?

it pains me to say this but…..andre :(

who will propose?

andre OF COURSE. within a like a few days weeks of knowing her, if it were up to him.

who has the most difficult parents?

well considering andre’s real ones are dead?? even though macy only has like 1/16th of a mom left, she still wins this one.

who initiates hand-holding when they’re out in public?

dre!!! because holding hands is one of his favorite things bye

who hogs the blankets?

macy even though she needs roughly a third of the blankets compared to andre’s giant ass

who gets more sad?

i think they can both get equally sad sometimes, but macy’s more likely to let that sadness be known. whereas andre would try to hide it.

who is better at cheering the other up?

they both cheer each other up all the time!!! so there is no who is better because they are both A+ at it

who’s the one that playfully slaps the other all the time after they make silly jokes?

macy is slappin’ andre inevitably because of the height jokes, the dad jokes or him just being down right obnoxious

who is more streetwise?

macy has decent street smarts, but i still think andre trumps her.

who is more wise?

don’t tell andre this because he will 10000% deny this, but macy lmao.

who’s the shyest?

i think macy is a bit more standoffish, so i’d probably say her

who boasts about the other more?

in the beginning they don’t boast about each other because they want to have this one precious and special thing to themselves so they don’t wanna share it with anyone. but later on? dre won’t be able to shut up about macy…. ever

who sits on who’s lap?

if andre tried to sit on macy’s lap she would literally….. Die

↠ audra & markus ;

who is more likely to hurt the other?

physically? they can both probably hurt each other lolol. emotionally? markus would be able to hurt audra easier because she’s less guarded with her emotions than he is

who is emotionally stronger?

markus probably because he probably doesn’t allow himself to feel much of anything? so maybe that makes him weaker idk?

who is physically stronger?

markus, but not by much. audra can put up a pretty good fight.

who is more likely to break a bone?

markus is more likely to break SOMEONE ELSE’S bones lmao

who knows best what to say to upset the other?

markus knows how to get under audra’s skin the best and he takes advantage of it every second he gets

who is most likely to apologize first after an argument?

do either of them apologize? probably not lmao. it’s probably one of those things where they just let shit go and don’t talk about it ever

who treats who’s wounds more often?

audra would treat markus’ even though 1) he wouldn’t want her to and 2) she wishes she could just let him suffer. but being that heartless isn’t in her nature.

who is in constant need of comfort?

neither of them honestly?? but if i had to choose audra would probably need it more.

who gets more jealous?

i think they both would high key have some raging jealousy issues…even though they 100% would absolutely not understand why they had them omg

who’s most likely to walk out on the other?

depending on the circumstances, they’d probably both walk out on each other. and not really think twice about it

who will propose?

Yikes scary thought but one day markus would. a gazillion years from now.

who has the most difficult parents?

[kill bill sirens] WE DIDN’T TALK ABOUT THIS YET lkjfdsla

who initiates hand-holding when they’re out in public?

they don’t hold hands when they are in public lmao. at least not…until way WAY later.

who hogs the blankets?

audra. not even because she needs them. just because she wants to spite markus.

who gets more sad?

audra cause y’know… she actually has feelings lmao.

who is better at cheering the other up?

i don’t necessarily think what they do could be considered “cheering up”, but i’d say they’re pretty damn good @ taking each other’s mind off of what’s pissing them off wink wink nudge nudge

who’s the one that playfully slaps the other all the time after they make silly jokes?

if markus talks shit, he’s 100% getting a real slap. not a playful one.

who is more streetwise?

probably markus because i think there’s a lot of stuff audra lets herself be naive to

who is more wise?

i think they are both wise… just about different things

who’s the shyest?

neither. i mean they’re gonna bang each other the first time they meet so…. what does that say about their timidness level lmao.

who boasts about the other more?

audra says she can’t boast about markus because he has no redeeming qualities :/

who sits on who’s lap?

audra on markus’ ofc

#cosmicslcve #ajsdlkjalsk these fuckin kids man #ship: selah & sergio #ship: macy & andre #ship: audra & markus

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devilwontcry · 3 years

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As Steve Bannon Rose to Power, His Ex-Wife Struggled With Drugs and Violence in Miami

JESSICA LIPSCOMB | JANUARY 27, 2017 | 10:34AM

Steve Bannon, President Donald Trump's senior counselor and chief strategist, lashed out at reporters this week, claiming "the media should be embarrassed and humiliated and keep its mouth shut."

The comments came after journalists discovered Bannon was registered to vote in both Florida and New York — an embarrassing revelation that happened just as Trump called for a massive investigation into baseless claims of voter fraud by Clinton supporters.

But it turns out Bannon's ties to Florida are even stranger than his voter registration woes. Court records obtained by New Times reveal that in 2013, one his ex-wives, Diane Clohesy, was caught trying to smuggle marijuana and a cell phone to an accused burglar in the Miami-Dade jail at a time when Bannon was reportedly paying her monthly rent at a Coconut Grove home.

The documents raise new questions about Bannon’s relationship with Clohesy and the multiple felonious men with whom she associated after their 2009 divorce. At the same time Bannon was rising as a central figure in the alt-right, his ex-wife was arrested for domestic violence and accused of using drugs in a low-rent condo building on Miami's Upper Eastside.

Neither Bannon nor Clohesy responded to multiple emails seeking comment for this story. But Clohesy's brother Declan tells New Times that Bannon helped his sister through her battles with substance abuse and mental illness.

"My sister Diane is one of millions of Americans that suffer from drug and alcohol abuse and depression," he said in a statement. "Steve has always been there for my sister, whether it be providing emotional or financial support as she battles this horrible disease. The family can't thank him enough. We appreciate the media respecting my sister’s privacy at this early stage of her recovery."

Born in Norfolk, Virginia, in 1953, Bannon served as an officer in the Navy for several years before attending Harvard Business School at the age of 29. After stints as an investment banker and a Hollywood producer, he became a founding member of Breitbart News in 2007, helping to tailor the site's coverage to the whims of the alt-right, an audience eager for pro-white, anti-immigration content.

Now 63 years old, Bannon has been married and divorced three times, though the timeline of those relationships is fuzzy. In the '80s, he wed Cathleen Suzanne Houff, who gave birth to their daughter in 1988. After the couple divorced, Bannon married Mary Louise Piccard in April 1995, three days before she gave birth to twin girls.

Not long after that, Piccard claimed Bannon violently grabbed at her neck and wrist during an argument about money. Police responded to the couple's California home and later charged Bannon with domestic violence in the January 1996 incident. The case was dropped several months later, and Piccard filed for divorce at the beginning of the new year.

Clohesy is an especially hazy figure in Bannon's story. His third wife began studying marketing at the age of 24 at New York’s Fashion Institute of Technology, according to her LinkedIn profile. She finished her studies four years later in 1998, the same year Bannon reportedly moved to New York after his media investment firm was acquired by a Wall Street bank. Records indicate Bannon and Clohesy began living together in Laguna Beach, California, sometime around 1999.

In August 2003, Clohesy moved to Florida and registered to vote as a Republican. Though it’s unclear where she was living at that time, she listed addresses at a Sarasota office building and a Lincoln Road condo in Miami Beach as residences on early forms.

In 2006, she and Bannon moved into a $1.3 million apartment in a luxury Manhattan high-rise. The couple sold the home in 2008 and divorced the next year.

That divorce file isn't available, but Miami-Dade court records suggest Clohesy might have been dating another man since 2007. Describing himself as Clohesy’s boyfriend of two years, a Miami man named Pedro Garcia Jr. twice accused her of domestic violence in 2009. Following a physical altercation that March, Clohesy was arrested and ordered by a judge to stay away from Garcia. Court records show prosecutors ultimately dismissed the misdemeanor battery charge.

The two apparently patched things up, and in October 2009, Clohesy moved into Garcia’s condo on the third floor of a building off the 79th Street Causeway, just east of Biscayne Boulevard. But only two weeks later, Garcia filed for a restraining order, saying Clohesy had smashed a bottle on his head in a drunken rage. The case was dismissed ten days later when Garcia failed to show up in court.

Soon after the couple broke things off, Clohesy began dating one of Garcia's neighbors. In 2012, she moved into an apartment just one floor up with Jose Cavana, a muscular 33-year-old with a joker tattooed on his stomach. The couple had been dating about nine months when they had an argument that ended in violence in July 2012. On July 24, Clohesy claimed Cavana accused her of cheating and then made various attempts to extort money.

"Pay me now or it’s on," he said in a text message, according to Clohesy’s petition for a restraining order. "If you don’t have my stacks [of] at least fifty thousand dollars, I am going to the internet and ruin your reputation."

Over the next two days, the quarrel turned violent, and Cavana was arrested by Miami-Dade Police July 26 after Clohesy said he strangled her inside the apartment. Cavana was charged with three felonies and ordered to undergo a mental health evaluation, but the case was dismissed later in 2012. In 2013, he filed a counter-petition against Clohesy, claiming she kept trying to contact him in violation of the restraining order she had sought. His petition also said Clohesy had a problem with crystal meth, Ecstasy, and marijuana.

Despite her tumultuous personal life, Clohesy continued to work with Bannon. The two collaborated on several conservative films, including The Undefeated, a documentary about Sarah Palin released in 2011, and Occupy Unmasked, a 2013 film about Occupy Wall Street that's been described by viewers as “blatant propaganda” and "right-wing, corporate-funded slander."

After their divorce, Bannon also reportedly continued to pay for Clohesy's housing. From 2013 to 2016, he rented two Coconut Grove homes for his ex-wife, according to an August report from the Guardian .

Records show Clohesy lived at an address on Opechee Drive from 2013 to 2015. Citing a source with direct knowledge of the rental agreement, the British newspaper reported that Bannon paid Clohesy’s $5,500 monthly rent through his accountants in Beverly Hills. Bannon did not live at the home but would visit a couple of times a year, according to the source and a neighbor.

It was during this time that Clohesy was caught trying to smuggle contraband to inmate Victor Ramirez at the Miami-Dade jail. Investigators first began sniffing around in September 2012 after finding a cell phone on another inmate, Benson Cadet, a known member of a gang called the Terrorist Boys. Shakedowns at the jail kept turning up phones, and detectives suspected a number of correctional officers were responsible. But the investigation dragged into 2013 with no resolution.

Investigators were stumped until they came across several recorded jailhouse calls from Ramirez to Clohesy in September 2013. In the recordings, Ramirez and Clohesy coordinated for her to meet with Lavar Lewis, a 27-year-old correctional officer known to inmates as the “Love Doctor” due to the service he facilitated between incarcerated men and their girlfriends and wives. During her conversations with Ramirez, Clohesy was given instructions to purchase a "pop tart" — code language for a cell phone — as well as several ounces of weed and some molly, according to an affidavit by Sgt. Rene Vila, an internal affairs investigator.

For weeks, detectives followed Lewis, and they were on his trail as he left his West Perrine home Friday, September 20, 2013. After stops at Burger King and Walgreens, Lewis pulled into a parking space at a Taco Bell on South Dixie Highway and waited. At 10:46 p.m., Clohesy drove up in a blue Mercedes-Benz and slid into the next parking spot over. Lewis hopped into the passenger seat of her car, and the two headed to a nearby Walgreens, where Clohesy took out $700 to pay Lewis.

During their ride, Ramirez called Clohesy from jail. Telling him she was “shopping,” she then handed the phone to Lewis, who asked Ramirez about a promise he'd made to allow Lewis sex with one of his girlfriends. The arrest affidavit outlining what happened that night doesn't say whether the rendezvous ever occurred.

Before Clohesy and Lewis parted ways, detectives say, she gave him a Samsung cell phone and an envelope of marijuana to pass on to Ramirez. She promised to pay the remaining $300 upon delivery. The following day, Lewis was pulled aside at work and suspended with pay.

In a bizarre interview with Sergeant Vila that October, Clohesy refused to give her home address, saying she used a P.O. box because she had a stalker. She didn’t disclose how she met Ramirez but said the two had known each other since September 2012. Clohesy told the sergeant she was trying to help Ramirez, who'd been charged with armed burglary, grand theft, and criminal mischief.

"The reason I wanted him to have this phone is I wanted to talk to him about this case," she said. "I was very foolish. My guard was way down."

After detailing her meeting with Lewis, Clohesy ended the interview by asking Vila about a rumor the inmates had started.

"How did it come about that apparently I was having sexual relations with the —" she began to ask. But the sergeant stopped her short.

"It would probably be best because you might get into some personal matters, and I’d rather you not discuss that on the record, for your best interest," he said before pausing the recording.

It took several more weeks for investigators to make their arrest, but in January 2014, Lewis was booked on felony charges of unlawful compensation and conspiracy to introduce contraband into a county detention facility. A close-out memo from the State Attorney’s Office shows the case was dismissed in May 2015 due to circumstantial evidence and the fact that "the witness/co-conspirator" could no longer be located. Clohesy was never charged in the case.

Over two months, New Times reached out to several of the people named in the court documents, including Bannon, Clohesy, and her two ex-boyfriends, Garcia and Cavana. On Thursday, January 26, Alexandra Preate – who identifies herself as a Bannon spokesperson in her Twitter bio – emailed a New Times reporter but ultimately declined to comment for this piece.

Garcia didn’t respond to requests for comment, but Cavana promptly answered a letter sent to him at the Hardee Correctional Institution in Central Florida. Serving a ten-year stint for selling cocaine, he wrote back on a single sheet of loose-leaf paper, printing in all capital letters.

"DO YOU REALIZE THAT I AM SITTING IN PRISON WITH NO CRIME COMMITTED. ALL BECAUSE OF DIANE, TRUMP, AND BANNON," he wrote in tidy lettering. "I WAS DOING A DOCUMENTARY ON HOW DIRTY THE RIGHT WING IS AND THEY STOPPED ME DEAD IN MY TRACKS."

Cavana provided no evidence for his claims and stopped responding to letters sent by a New Times reporter after he was told he wouldn’t be paid for his time.

Though Bannon is likely to remain in the spotlight for the next four years, Clohesy leads a far quieter life. Her brother says she continues her recovery from drug addiction. A phone number she used for several years has since been disconnected, and her most recent voter registration listed her address as 102 Governmental Center in Fort Lauderdale. Tonya Edwards, a spokesperson for the Broward County Supervisor of Elections, told New Times the address is meant for use by homeless people, law enforcement officers, victims of domestic violence, and other protected groups whose addresses are exempt from the public record.

Edwards said Clohesy did not vote in the 2016 presidential election. Records indicate she has not cast a ballot since November 2012.

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