of seraphims.

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Age: 27
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04/11/2025 12:41 PM 

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06/29/2020 08:11 PM 

( bithiah’s awakening / drabble )


WHOOSH — FREEZE — CRACKLE !
 
Everything crystallized & broke - because I touched you and felt you here - you stole my breath. Right out from my lungs and filled them with  f i r e  instead. And in doing so -
 
You touched me too.

You're so beautiful.

I can barely breathe.
Help me.
Help ME.
HELP ME.




PLEASE.

She collapses to the ground.

 
The light - the LIGHT. His KISS.

She’s crying out in P A I N - writhing - as the sprouts of ligaments break open from her back. She’s screaming with agony. Hands clawing at her hair as she struggles, tugging desperately.

One hand soon drops to brace herself against the cracking, - bones splitting & rearranging in her back making her cry out  even harder. Fingers begin scraping at the hardwood - splinters digging underneath her nails and into her nail beds. It’s nothing but a slight tickle compared to the dire crushing and splicing of bone protruding itself from the mortal skin she’s made of.




Her tender cheek is pressed against the wooden surface when her fist slams down / cracks the floor open with the magnitude of its force - body quaking with the weight of her power. Cement is upturned from the bashing, debris flying, cement dust pluming out into the air before her, fissures within the wood as her human clothing dissolves away, soft & pure naked form overtaking as ensemble.

Light surges around her as she’s flipped on her back forcefully by the powers that be, floating soon enough, urged by the molten gold of Grace, whimpering as she feels her body being h e a l e d.

It’s a wash of molten honey and Exaltation, humming in her ears as the membranes protruding from her shoulderblades elongate & stretch. They’re not large by any means. Just enough to cover her shoulders - that is... until the gestures of feathers begin to pollute her figure. Not quite fully there - soft fluffy feathers beginning to form as she g i g g l e s when her nose is tickled with an errant fluff ball.




But soon enough, mature long-stemmed white glimmering feathers unite themselves over the expanse of the new membrane form - she doesn’t have the will to utter what they truly are out loud just yet. It stings as each feather pops out but not like before. They cover her arms, the f e a t h e r s erecting and smoothing over her satin skin, & it’s as if sunlight is EMINATING off each one.

Droplets of honey hue shine slip along her collar to wash the blood away, the aches & pains, all well worth it in the long run. She blushes as she feels the radiating PURITY flowing off her in w a v e s, not quite sure what to make of any of it. But she’s righted soon enough, floating straight up so her delicate bare feet can take a step down.


She’s seeing everything for the first real time. A flap of the... WINGS.. that have just sprouted from herself brights her soul to light. She paces forward and then leaps, allowing them to f l u t t e r and take her weight just for a moment. A loud squealed laugh sounds and she lands again, twirling with them before falling into step - beautiful ballet signature leaps, bends, twirls, and held moments to signify how elegant she feels.

How real it’s always been.

Once the excitement fades, she steps forwards toward the window.



A dire sense of protection washes over her - this is her duty. It’s always been her duty. To keep people loved. To keep people safe. To get them to understand ; that the Light  they seek is within them & that they’ve been promised it for all eternity, should they decide to look.

To see the 
Love that’s waiting right here for you. With mistakes and disagreements. But with the full encompassing knowing truth of it all - beyond the years of pain & mistrust.

The sweet, desperately shy but willing cadence that is just yours. And no one else’s. And connecting that with someone. It’s not lost. That’s what is right. That’s where nothing will go wrong.
 
At long last, she lives.



She holds onto the sill, willing the window to open itself by its own accord. Bursting outwards, air swarms in as it flurries up towards her in gentle waves, another sweet laugh sounding as she says h e l l o to the wind and Earth surrounding her.

She looks out towards the
S U N.
Towards you.


And somehow, beyond force of will or compassion, she knows that you’re the one she will  forever have her sights set on.

Whoever you may be.
 
I'm sure you know who you are.
 
I don't think you know how to handle the weight of it. But at least now I remember who I am.

06/20/2020 02:45 PM 

( lackluster vanity / part two. )

“If you play your cards right, I’ll think about saying maybe.”  

Here Is Absolutely Everything We Know About S2 Of Netflix Phenom 'You'

When I say that, Robbie's nostrils flare which makes me snicker - he's trying not to grin and is failing. I don't think he likes me testing him, but I don't really care. I'm here for myself right now. To show myself how far I've come and what I am capable of. I don't need the rest of the world to approve. I just know in this line of business, all of it is based on perception. The last thing I need is people assuming that I'm some dumb rich cunt that got too f*cked up by her problematic ex and late babies to be able to continue. I only have half a mind to agree.

I crane my neck and right myself, just as the camera crew is back at attention once again. 

The lights are still blaring and I feel the puff of last touches along my sweaty features. I smile curtly at the random lady blotting my forehead, knowing full well that Marge would chew her out for getting near my face without her permission. The thought amuses me enough to bring my spirits back up, even in the midst of this aggrandized spectacle. Angelica’s seated at the ready, her back straight. Robbie's relaxed back, ankle draped over his knee - palm holding it in place as his arm lounges on the edge of the couch just behind me. We're just waiting now, for everyone to get back on their mark fully.

The set bell rings for that absurdly long amount of time again and then we're back. I think about why I'm actually scared of being honest about all of this. I know I'm ready - but I'm terrified. It's almost as if I spill the reality of what happened between me and Sion, then maybe I'll get in trouble. A phantom fear, part of me stuck in the cycle of keeping my mouth shut about what went on between us because I don’t want people misunderstanding the trauma I was trying to help him come to terms with. So many people didn’t understand I was asking for guidance on how to be there to help him heal the right way, not just wanting to spew garbage and demean a person. I don’t do that. I won’t ever do that. Yet it’s like I’m fearful that maybe somehow - in some way - he will come back from the dead and find me. He will come back, reincarnated, as someone else, when I'm least expecting it, and yell at me for painting him in such a bad light.

And suddenly I feel so guilty. 

( The camera zooms in, as if they know. )

I don't want him to be seen as evil. Because he wasn't. He was just... hurting. Very very much. We all do. It doesn’t make what I had to go through right. Just... so complicated.

I didn't realize how bad it was until it was too late. He was good at hiding the black ooze that lingered inside him, yet hoping someone would see and scrape it off and out of him. He was good at being there, at first, when it meant he didn’t have to look towards himself. And as time went on, I'd get reprimanded for being honest about the things that hurt me, for the pain I was trying to get him to hear - to see - but not to attack him with. It was never an assault to his person and yet he chose to blame me for hurting him with how he hurt me. That's another red flag I was taught to pay attention to. He only took any real accountability in our entire relationship once.

Maybe twice.

I’ll give him three.

Hm.

I was too honest with him.

I cut too deep.

I was too intense. Too straightforward. F*ck.

I did everything all wrong. 

 
I should just ki--

I cut it off before it begins. The chill rushes upwards and I snap my head sharply to the side, violently shutting down the intrusive thought. I focus on Angelica and Robbie again. Robbie's looking at me with his patented smile as I return it, but his eyes contradict the cocky smile and instead show vivid concern. ( Thankfully, not visible to the audience. ) 

I redouble my efforts. I'm present. I'm here. I'm alive. I fold my hands in my lap, crossing my leg over the other. I think about first time I heard my babies sweet cries of life and fill with such elation that it fuels me awake. Angelica's words finally begin to sink in. “And we’re back again. I hope you all grabbed some tissues along with your snacks. Because things are about to take a turn to get more real. Here with us we have my beautiful cohost Robert, and our dear friend Katerina here with us as well.”




I laugh happily as I wave to the camera for the people at home and then turn back towards Angelica. I rub my lipstick’d lips together and tilt my head expectantly, earrings jangling as I do.

“Alright. For those of you out there who don’t know, which I don’t know why you wouldn’t unless you’re an uncultured swine, but for those of you who don’t know, Katerina is here after some time spent at a rehabilitation center after the tragic loss of her ex-husband and two infant children.”

My pirate prince lost at sea. I hope you’re keeping them safe. I know you are.

 
I blink away the tears.

I think Angelica can sense my sensitivity, so she starts with an easy question.

“Let’s start from the beginning. How did you and Sion meet?” she asks, prompt card in her hand as she leans forward and crosses a wrist over the other. An active listener, as Robbie’s position remains unchanged.

I breathe in slowly and smile soft now, plush pink lips pressing together into a smile. 

“It was through mutual friends, I guess,” I tell her, and a little laugh finds its way loose and I shrug a delicate shoulder. “The first time I ever laid eyes on him was at a beach. Me and my friend ran into him and a few of his buddies during a bonfire, she knew one of them from grade school. Sion came up to me and just.. talked to me. He was a total dork,” I say with a soft endeared snort. “I knew I’d be in love with him... he was just.. goofy. But funny and sweet in a kind way. He was really gentle with me at first. So was I, with him. Respectful. We were both tired from a lot of heartbreak,” I continue, swallowing as I toy with the string of my pants. “We talked about yoga, the ocean, taking a break from the world to just breathe. It was good. We exchanged information after that day.”

“And what happened next?” Angelica guides, her ebony gaze fixed on me.

I take in another slow breath as I smile at the memories. “We just kept talking. I looked forward to his messages. I was slowly starting to notice how guarded he was, but not enough to.. you know. Raise any real red flags.” My brows furrow here, gaze drifting down. Robbie’s hand coming to rest on my shoulder grounds me back and I feel the tears well over. “I just thought he was scared, you know. To be with someone again.”

The flash of his face when I turned him down at that fateful day in the cafe rears it’s ugly head and I frown. I seldom allow myself to miss him - it’s too much to - but I simply swallow it down and begin to speak again.

“I was somewhat seeing someone else at the time, a bit of a rebound and safe easy relationship where I didn’t have to think too much. Just had to be present with him. And Sion was still with this one longterm girl he had. But-“ I pause, trying to remember that time. “We found solace in each other, I think. And in a time of need, he was there for me. But it was hasty, impulsive, after that. We didn’t think. Just broke it off impatiently with the people we were with, without really taking into consideration how the other person would feel. I did, more than him. He didn’t seem to care at the time. He was tired and fed up of waiting around for this girl to be around. We rushed in. We both wanted to be free - together. It worked, for a bit. Until things starting getting... personal.”

Everything stills as I look out into the audience and wonder why I’m still here. Why I’m exploiting my life like this to be the person that I want to be. Using my trauma as entertainment or as a way for people to pay attention to me. Am I just fulfilling a role? Yes. Will people genuinely care? No. The sadness in my eyes and my chaotic behavior is tamed and hidden, done so to be seen as an image of myself to the masses and not who I actually am. I sigh, shoulders slumping some. “I’m gonna be real here. This is f*cking hard. I never expected to be in this place. Ever. Sitting here, after such a rocky relationship and after losing these babies that were the start of something precious. They were innocent in all this. Why did they have to suffer and be sucked into this orbit of pain? Why?”

This is when Robbie sits up now and reaches over, covering my hand with his as the tears start to flow. I speak before he has the chance to interject. “I know why, obviously. It’s generational f*cking trauma. And I hate it. His parents were such terrible people to him. And forced him to only have one responsibility in life. It’s not fair. It’s not right. He was a child. And before you even ask - I’m NOT going into specifics. There’s some stuff you guys can’t have.”


Wendy Williams GIFs - Primo GIF - Latest Animated GIFs

I sniffle now, and Robbie tightens his grip on my hand and the sobbing continues. This is stupid. I need to leave. I need to call Dr. Kant and have her help me say the things I don’t know how to say. I pull my hand from Robbie’s and cover my face. I hate this.

“It’s okay, Kat,” Angelica says and I pull my hands down, wiping at my tears with my hands. Robbie knows not to offer the tissues. It’ll make me look weak so I just breathe in and try to ignore the image of my blue-toned skin babies on the autopsy table. I do my best to ignore how handsome Sion still looked after they found him too.

Why would he do this? 
Why would he leave me like this?
I know I told him no. But that didn’t mean that this had to happen.
Why does everyone I ever care about die in some f*cked up way and abandon me?


I don’t like my hair like this so I reach up and absently take the ponytail holder out, all of my hair flowing down. It probably looks weird because I slicked my hair back with hairspray but I fluff it all out and bunch it all to the side. I wrap the hair tie around my wrist as silent tears fall. 

When I watch the episode back, I’ll know that Robbie and Angie are exchanging glances and Angelica breathes in. But for now, I’m visibly lost in the heartbreak. When I look back up, I just stare at them, gaze flickering back and forth along their faces.

“I don’t give up, if that’s what you’re worried about. And for anyone out there that’s suffering, I understand what you’re going through and it does get easier with time. The more you get to know yourself the more it teaches you the ways you automatically cope. Sometimes, the habits you have aren’t the best. But as long as you’re aware, it gets easier to handle and you get used to carrying as much as you have inside. It will always be there, though. And it will always be a weight on you that you have to bear. And most people won’t ever tell you that. They’ll just pat you on the back and say ‘my condolences’ because they don’t know what else to do. And that’s okay, I guess. But I’d rather they just tell me they’re clueless.”

I go for my water now as I sip and look over to the hosts of the show. Both seem a little thrown off kilter but Angelica is smiling. She’s stayed quiet this whole time and has really let me take the lead on this. I wonder why.

“You’ve been through a lot,” the beautiful mocha skinned woman tells me. “So, how did things start changing with him like you said? What can you tell our viewers to look out for.”

This makes me breath in and set the water down. Mental health discussion when it’s other people always seems to be easier for me than for myself. But that’s always how it goes, isn’t it. I tuck my hair behind my ear and wish I hadn’t pulled it out. But it was too tight, and I could feel it giving me a makeshift facelift. I blink a few times to right myself, shifting in my seat to get comfortable, and try to remember what Cordanna told me. I furrow my brows as I do my best to recollect. I can feel the small pout of concentration forming.

“I tried to be someone for him. Someone he was used to. Someone that wasn’t threatening and made him feel like he was powerful or useful. Someone that made him feel important and worthwhile,” I say at first and the pang for him rings out. I really do miss him, despite everything. I didn’t want him to ever feel shame for what he’d done. Just to hold onto me once he realized everything that he’d gone through wasn’t his fault. I sigh.

“I tried to be. But if you know me, you know the last thing I am is subservient. I like to think I’m powerful and bold in my own right. And as much as he loved me, I don’t think he was ready for me or ready to see that or be with someone like that. He met me when I was very weak inside and so sad. In a way, I did become stronger with him. I healed from some things, as new pains were made. But he’d soon admit to me that I was intimidating... though.. I never understood why. I just loved him so deeply and with everything I had to give. I didn’t know that was bad,” I say as the small lift of my lips upturns in morose fondness. I flutter the memories away for a moment as I breathe in deeply once more to edge the panic away.


File:Audience - Stallman's pre-Wikimania 2009 talk - Wikimania ...

“I scared him I think.. but I never meant to. I just wanted to reach him and breathe together and come to a place of internal safety together. But he was too scared of a lot of things, and would lash out at me whenever he’d find out something new about me that he didn’t know how to react to. And he’d threaten to leave, say we weren’t meant to be. At first, I respected his words, his wishes. If that’s how he felt who was I to say otherwise? But I’m always someone that’s been willing to adapt and shift. Relationships are about compromise, so I was okay with making minor changes to make him comfortable, thinking he’d be willing to do the same. But he never was,” I say sadly, tracing over my left thumb with my right in my lap. I look out towards the audience now.

“It’s when they can’t handle the core truth of you that it’s time for you to go. When they start to attack you for not being the image they project onto you. When they can’t immediately handle the more painful aspects of you, which some people can’t and that’s okay. For him, it was when I did things that broke the mock pureness that he’d urged me to be. I’m insightful and kind, and I am innocent in some ways, but I also have my own problems, my own issues. My own trauma that I have taken out on people when I least realize it. I’m a complicated human being just like everyone else,” I say and then turn back towards Robbie and Angelica. “I think we sometimes forget that the most put together and giving people have their own issues too.”

Then there’s a smile as I have what Dr. Kant would call a breakthrough and laugh lightly. 

“What’s funny?” Robbie asks, matching my smile now. It’s more real this time and I think he’s trying to tell me something with the way he looks at him. I shrug back at him some.

“I think I did the same thing. I think we both expected each other to be each other’s saviors or something. He presented himself so well, though. Like he could take on the world while teaching me how to cope with everything I’ve been through and I was excited to grow together,” I tell him and there’s some sniffling in the audience that breaks my heart some. 

“Oh my gosh! Is someone crying out there?? I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to make you cry,” I say, mortified as she my heart drops with the need to help anyone in my path. I cover my face and fall to the side. “Nooo. I’m trying to the exact oppositeeee.”

That just makes the crowd laugh now, finding amusement in my evident horror. Robbie laughs as well. I right myself in response, hands on my hips. “Excuse me, Robert, were you just LAUGHING at me! How dare you!” I say in faux offense, shoving his shoulder but fighting the grin on my lips. He just laughs harder and Angelica also finds it in herself to chuckle warmly. 

I know when to pause the hard stuff - invite a little fun and excitement back into the mix. I rearrange myself on the seat and do some jazz hands to redirect attention. “Alright, alright. Before I get up and challenge Robbie to a dance off - let me just wrap up the thought.” I then turn to address the audience. 

“This may sound obvious - but sometimes when we’re down-trot and are going through a lot we just want love and comfort so we compromise who we are to receive it. If you ever feel as though you have to change yourself to keep someone with you, and not the minor things, but rather personality traits that are the core of who you are - don’t do it. I did it. He definitely didn’t ask me to. If anything, fought me to not do it. But I wanted him. And in some convoluted way, I wanted him to see how willing I was to sacrifice for him. I thought he would, so I kept going, thinking at some point he’d see all the parts of myself I was carving out of myself to adhere to him to try to make him whole.”

I smile somberly now. “I think he knew. I think he knows. I wasn’t perfect but I did my best to hold his heart dear and be gentle with him. Even if I failed at it at times.”

This is when the crowd begins to applaud. And while the skeptical aspect of me knows that that's what they're getting paid to do, it somewhat solidifies everything we both went through. I'm released of his energy in that moment, it lifts from me and up into the rafters and gone away but I'm happy and I smile and laugh gently as I feel the pain of closure radiate gently in this moment. I wave at everyone and send off a kiss towards them, then to you watching from home - straight into the camera. Thank you for following me along on this journey.


Inhaling in deep once the applause dies down, I get up and offer my hand out to Robbie. Being on Dancing with The Stars wasn’t all for naught and I let it be known the moment I'm pulled towards the small stage to the right of the couch area and into Robbie's arms.
 
To be continued.

[ This blog post is private ]

04/10/2020 08:50 PM 

guidelines.

hello! welcome to my page!! this is just a quick lil thing to let you know how i rp, as well as a little about me.
 
  • i'm tot. i'm 27. and i live in cali. i'm a bit more open with ooc things because to me it just makes the rp process a bit healthier, as well as the boundary between rl and rp intact. in my experience, being upfront is important. i have some depression, anxiety, ptsd, etc. during these times i simply ask for patience. we're all here to write and get away from the stress of life.
  • i am not kat. i repeat. i am not kat. am i invested? yes. but this is not a dating site. i will remove you if you blend ooc & ic.
  • i'm hecka slow, but i always get to everyone. i like to be nice and kind to everyone and make everyone feel accepted.
  • i am all inclusive and will write with whoever wants to write with me. it doesn't matter who you are. i love you. if we've had beef, it doesn't exist to me. on my end, we're okay. i hold no animosity towards anybody. just please understand that i am excessively slow. i like to take my time on everything i put out.
  • i'm multiship unless otherwise stated. each relationship stands on its own and within its own universe. my experience on these sites have lead to a lot of unsavory ordeals. my main goal here is to focus on katerina's growth and development, as well as get to know other people interested in the same craft as me.
  • this character’s story has a few triggering subjects. sexual assault, abuse, character death, drugs, alcohol, crime, and anorexia to name a few. if you're not able to handle this, by all means, remove me from your list, i won’t take offense. your mental health is top priority.
  • i graduated as a writing & literature major, so i take writing very seriously. i apologize if this ever comes off as condescending or rude in any way. i'm not trying to be. i just hold myself to a very high standard.
  • i have had katerina for about four years now. please do not tell me how you think i should or should not play my character. if you disrespect me, or my character in any way, you will find yourself removed from my list immediately. there is a polite and dignified way of telling someone that you're not interested in writing anymore or don't agree with their decisions. but i will not compromise or water down my character to make you feel less uncomfortable. i will state though, that i love you, regardless, and send you well wishes on your roleplaying endeavors, even if our relationship only consists of reading each other's material and liking/reposting each other's posts. i'm here to support you! even if that means we aren't writing together.
  • i run many different profiles at different times of my life. it really depends on which muse is the loudest at a time. ask me for my other accounts and i will gladly disclose them! i am very open about who i roleplay as. the last thing i will tolerate being accused of is sneaking onto other accounts to do god knows what behind whoever's back or whatever. as of now, katerina is my main. cordanna kant is low activity. lance armstrong & jason warwick are my vlog life children and are on hiatus. colin ford is my bandom dude who’s inactive right now. and i also have other random floaters. so ask and i shall reveal!!
  • lastly, please just be kind. and if you're not going to be kind, simply leave. thank you so much.

and ty for readin. if you read all the way through, you get a cookie! comment your favorite ice cream flavor if you'd like. hahah. ♥ happy roleplaying! and i'll talk to you soon hopefully.

[ This blog post is private ]

03/21/2020 12:07 PM 

coding psa!



click!!

so when ur all ready to send it, click send comment

03/15/2020 02:55 PM 

( lackluster vanity / an interim. )

 
Her eyes don't open more than a millimeter before the weight of her lids close them once more. Not enough to consider her even 1% awake, but registering the heaviness of her body drives her consciousness to stir, even minutely. Her head rolls in her slumber, bumping against something soft, not aware enough of anything to fully know where she is just yet. She stretches long and deep and hums, sighing as she feels an arm that is not her own slide up her body and tug her in close. Well. It didn't take long to fall back into old habits, even if it was just a month bender that resulted in her being institutionalized.
 
Her manicured hand comes up to rub at her face. No alcohol, no coke, she was insistent on that - but she's still stoned from the night before and she's angry at herself for succumbing to it. She's supposed to be clean, supposed to be taking care of herself. She sighs, chastising herself for the smallest of infractions. Moving about, the rustling of the sheets follows, and she feels the register of her body as nude - the remnants of spermicide lingering and still tingling her core. She wasn't about to let him cum in her. He doesn't get to have that, just because she finds solace in how they can share of moment of peace.
 
 
What? Having sex with one person she's known for years is suddenly her ruining herself? She's suddenly a sex hungry slut that isn't allowed to partake in something most people just brush under the rug? Her therapist would say yes. That she used it as a way to cope with the stress of completing the interview the night before. That she needed some place to expel her pent up emotions.
 
She's still a work in progress. 
 
Progress minded. 
 
Progress driven.
 
She'll do four sessions this week, okay? Instead of her usual three.
 
Because it's more than just sex. It's the guilt she possesses for being with another man - any other man other than Sion - that cuts her deep and she hates that it does.
 
Hates that he'll never be able to claim her again, even though she doesn't want him to. Hates that she ever wanted him to. Hates... well. Hate is a strong word. It's too exhausting to hate.
 
But she knows better. She knows better. 
 
She is better than falling victim to the internal narrative of her late ex-husband's abusive and controlling commands. He's dead and gone. Whatever complex emotions that brings up in her set aside - he's gone. And she's finding her pieces now, even if that entails f*cking people here and there along the way to do so - to keep herself sane.
 
In any case, she knows last night was for Robbie, taking what she needed from it, too, of course, but setting the line of what was and wasn't acceptable. Letting him know the consistency of the occurrence - which would not be happening again after today. ( That's what she tells herself, at least. ) Turning her head, Katerina finally opens her eyes to see him sleeping there. No pretenses, no forcing himself to be something he's not, no attempting to fit into the reality he's constructed and postured himself to be in. Flashes of the night prior race through her mind.
 
 
"Don't you ever get tired, Robbie? Don't you ever want something more?" she asks, running her hand over his features. He just leans into her palm, almost pained that she'd ask that kind of question. Make him fissure the illusion he's so carefully created and made. He's happy. He's happy. You're happy. You're happy. He looks her in the eyes and breathes out one solid chuckle.
 
"Your idealism will be the death of you, You know that, right?' he asks her, dumbfounded that she could still maintain that sense of reality.
 
"Your lack of faith in yourself will be the death of you. And your laziness. I never said it would be easy," she retorts, taking a bite from a chocolate covered strawberry. That makes him growl as he pounces on her, followed by her squeal that soon turns into laughter... that soon turns into moans. Not much talking happens after that.
 
He's an actor. He likes acting. Filling a role, she supposes.
 
And his boyfriend? Well. Jackson doesn't have to know. 
 
Or maybe he already does.
 
Maybe next time he'll be invited.
 
"Next time," she scoffs in a hushed whisper. "Right."
 
This shouldn't have happened. Even though he f***s like a God and makes her forget her problems, even for a moment. Even though while under him, she feels pressure free, with no other feeling for him other than gratitude for the small reprieve. She doesn’t like who he has to position himself to be - and he knows it. It won't happen again. He also knows. She's not going to save his life. And she doesn't want to.
 
"Robbie. Wake up," she says, shoving his shoulder. "And take me to my hotel now, or I'm getting an Uber and leaving."
 
He moves his hand noncommittally in response, and it flops back onto the bed. That pisses her off, so she grabs the pillow and smack him with it harshly. "I said get up and shower with me, you idiot."
 
And that definitely makes him wake up.
 

03/09/2020 02:39 PM 

( lackluster vanity / part one. )

 
YOU'RE NERVOUS. You've been out of the limelight for a while. You like it better that way, ultimately, especially when dealing with the venomous throngs of Hollywood - the playspace for Lucifer himself. 
 
And yet - you've missed it. You've missed performing, being looked at, being praised, sculpting your craft, feeling like a God as you hold yourself high and mighty on stage with a piece of clothing no one, absolutely no one, but the models and designers have seen. 
 
It's a high you can't resist. 
 
Power you can't run away from. 
 
It's your only real worth. 
 
Or so they engender you to believe. 
 
You’re also not inept at being able to coil and dangle and appease in just the right ways, brushing gently the shoulders of each important high class entity, kissing them on the cheek ( not their ass - but hey, that too ) , all the while walking down the proverbial path to stardom. The red carpeted stairs that are the capitalist emblem of glory and honor. Your childlike nature draws you near - the shimmer alluring you towards it - always has even though the adult in you now knows that it's all fool's gold & twenty cent glitter modgepodged on some tinfoil for taste. 
 
( I'm going to be a famous ballerina when I grow up, mommy!
 
Nay. That dream died along with your mother when you turned seventeen. 
 
A la verga el puto cancer de mierda
 
You'd never say that around your father. He may not speak Spanish fluently - but he knows enough. 
 
Your eyes focus once more, looking around at the red curtains, the bright beams from the light bulbs surrounding your mirror. The soft pinks, bare feet, and tinkling laughter of the sea of women backstage remind you of your ensemble days back in high school - and of Fashion Week last year ; the thrill it gleamed deep in the fissures of your viscous young soul. 
 
 
It's difficult for you to stay present. Your therapist calls it dissociating from reality. She explained, even though you've been knowing, that it makes existing a bit easier, more sleepy, and a little softer around the edges. People with as much trauma as you've been through tend to revert towards it in times of stress or anxiety. You're okay, though. 
 
I'm okay. 
 
I can do this. 
 
I'm alright. 
 
A fluffy pink makeup brush tickling my cheek and nose pulls me into focus as I look towards Marge whose doing my makeup. I can't help the grin and eventual giggle that escapes as she dabs the tip of my small nose with it. She likes making me look highlighted. I like the rosy light metallic pink highlight she's chosen. It works better for sit down interviews because it's not as loud and vibrant as white highlight. "Thank you," I say as I look up towards her kindly. She's chewing gum loudly, as she usually does, and just winks at me. She's been my makeup artist coming up on six years now - she knows me - and I'm grateful for it. Knock em dead, sugartits, she says in her deep Brooklyn voice, coated in nicotine. I'll never like that phrase, but there's an old Hollywood charm to her that will never cease to comfort me. 
 
Everything is a whirl after that, through brickstone hallways that connect the dressing rooms into a vestibule of doors leading to all the different production sets. There's more than one show being filmed in this glorified storage unit, the scent of stale bagels filling my lungs as cameramen pass me, assistants run around with headsets and clipboards, producers sipping their coffee and chortling as they stroke each other off. It’s the typical camaraderie that comes with shooting a show like this. I mentally wrinkle my nose and do my best not to  show it as I step carefully over exposed chords secured down with black electrical tape, just nearly avoiding a collision with an intern with too many plates of sandwiches in her hands. I laugh lightly as she sidesteps me, and she grins too as she blows some of her hair from her eyes - gives me a look as if to say thank you. For what, I don’t really want to dig into. But it’s probably nice to be regarded as a person - and not an elevated mule that is solely acknowledged to fulfill work space needs and nothing more. 
 
It’s a sobering thought that goes through me as she passes, soon blinking and making my way towards the East most set at Plot C, walking through the threshold as someone holds the door open for me. I stand a little taller, in spite of it all. I’m aware of the corruption - at least. Some don’t dare to see. But I do. And in the end, that gives me peace of mind, even if it’s difficult to continue to do so. 
 
 
I look up and around, notice the people in the booth running the show, the wires and chords running all along the ground eventually finding their way up to them for both lights and sounds. Then I look towards the main set. Bright lights, bright colors, bright people. There’s a beige couch and some coffee and cookies that rest on a table to try to ease the grilling that will soon take place. My agent couldn’t be here with me, which is fine ( not really ) but I suppose it shows that Anthony trusts me. Why, I’m still not fully sure. I’ve just gotten out of rehab. For the second time. I should thank him for the vote of confidence, but something tells me he’s secretly expecting me to crash and burn and doesn't want to be around to witness it.
 
Fantastic. 
 
I was asked to prompt my audience with a tweet asking for questions, and I did so, politely. There isn't anything I'm not ready to answer, so I brace myself as I walk onto the set, slowly, taking my time. I'm dressed in tight ripped jeans, a black turtleneck longsleeve croptop, and an oversized green plaid shirt tied at the waist. My stiletto boots click against the linoleum of the set before it changes to thin carpeting. The audience erupts in applause once they see me in frame and it overwhelms me with adrenaline as the lights beam down harshly onto my entire elongated figure. And, for the first time, I don't feel small under the pressure, waving out towards all of them as I accept their graces in. 
 
You'll show them what it truly means to glow once you get there.
 
"Hi! It’s so good to see you,” I says as I hug Robbie Daner first and rub his back. "You look SO good, it’s blowing me away!” I tell him into his shoulder as he just laughs and brushes away the compliment with one of his own towards me. Me? Look at you! he says, pulling back and looking at my body and gesturing towards it and then out towards the crowd where the audience goes wild again. I guess he means after giving birth, my ex-husband dying, and my children drowning alongside him. So sweet. Love you too, Rob! I fight to not roll my eyes. 
 
I play the part though and cover my face because I do feel the blush come on as I wave again towards everyone. "Hiii! Thank you so much for being here! I love you all!" I call out towards the audience, to my fans. Their attentions are sincere, even if Robbie’s aren’t. I’m sure deep down he doesn’t particularly enjoy that he’s profiting off publicly interrogating me about my trauma. Gift-wrapping it in shiny buzzwords like “addiction” and “accountability” . . . ( hashtag self care! ). He’s getting his money! That’s all that matters, right? 
 
Right? 
 
No, I’m not bitter. 
 
He’s just Cesar and I’m Katniss. 
 
 
Katerina! I’m so glad you could finally make it! Angelica William says as she shimmies and makes me laugh, pushing my nerves out through my mouth, and I envelop her in a big hug as well. She’s cutthroat. And I love that about her. She knows what it takes to hold her ground in this industry - what it costs you - and while I admit I admire her for it ; it also brings me great fear. 
 
“So happy to be here! Oh wow! You smell amazing! Is that the new Estée Lauder collab with Monica Rich Kosann?” I tell her. It’s the least I can do, a transaction of sorts. Fluffing her up so she can fawn loudly, swept away by the fact that I flaunt being up to date with my fragrances. Beautiful AND she knows her stuff! We can’t get enough of this one. Take a seat, take a seat, and we’ll begin. More laughter from Robbie and Angelica ensue as I follow along and take a seat. 
 
“First of all, I just want to thank you both for having me. It’s been a hard year and I’m just glad I’m still considered important enough to be  on The William Daner Show,” I say laughing with them both. Hollywood loves self-depreciating humor. It’s a chance for them to offer me validation and continue the vicious cycle of me needing them to appease the myriad of insecurities still lurking inside me. 
 
I cross my leg over the other, gold hoops dangling and long curled brown tresses secured in a high pony, and I pray to God that they can’t tell that I know just how it works. Just how it all works. Thankfully my anorexia riddled body and the dark circles under my eyes help distract them from my intellect ; all too keen to focus on that than what’s really the matter with this system. With this world. With our current reality. Or maybe that’s just what I hyperfocus on to deflect from facing the severity of my problems. 
 
I clasp my hands together and wait. They talk about things - I don’t really know what or care to absorb it ; probably something about some socialite or musician ; if you know then you know jargon - placid airy laughter and softness always seems to tame the beast enough. There’s about five lights blasting on me, four different cameras, and I can feel the saline accumulate behind my ears and pebble at my hairline. I’m about to phase out, I can feel it, vision blurring at the edges just like the blurred faces of the audience members that I’m thankful I can’t see beyond the stage lights right now. 
 
It’s then I notice how quiet it’s gotten and my vision drifts from the audience back towards Angelica’s dark ebony skin and honey hues of molten gold. 
 
“Katerina?” Angelica asks, leaning forward now. 
 
tea gossip GIF by Wendy Williams
 
“Sorry - I - what was that?” I stammer, knowing it’s better not to lie when you’ve been caught dissociating. My heart is racing.
 
F***.
 
“Oh, sweetheart. I said . . . how are you doing. Really,” she asks me, and her head tilts to the side in a strange mixture of mostly concern yet tinged with a hint of morbid curiosity. 
 
There’s a beat. 
 
And then I laugh lightly. 
 
“Well, I’m medicated now, so that’s a step,” I tease, deflecting with humor. People laugh, but not enough that it makes the statement land in the quirky charming way that I had hoped. I hate that sinking feeling so much, where it looms and festers in the pit of my stomach, just when I’ve made a possible misstep. The whole set turns silent, attention zoned and focused on me. This isn’t the kind of attention I wanted, but I know that this moment is important. So, I breathe in. I roll my tense shoulder.  
 
“To be frank, I never know how to answer that question. Right now, I’m okay. I would rather be in sweatpants, or a big fluffy pink bathrobe, or even naked swimming around a secret Grecian cove,” I admit from my heart and that brings real laughter on. Because it’s true. I’d much rather be in any three of those circumstances. “But just because I’m okay right now in this moment doesn’t mean I don’t struggle. It doesn’t mean I don’t have pain that I’ve numbed over sometimes to get through the day. It doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt to sit and dwell in the truth of everything.” 
 
“And what’s the truth?” Angelica prompts, focused and intent. 
 
“Well. Me not eating for weeks after my children died, me relapsing by snorting coke off Drake’s neck because I know Sion would have hated me for it and even in his death I can’t hate him and I hate him for that, me not wanting to get pregnant yet but then giving in because it’s what Sion wanted and then getting more attached to the babies than him because his job was stressing him out and eating him alive. Him actively not caring. Him drifting away constantly over and over again. Him misunderstanding me. Him pushing me away and rejecting my love when he was suffering and at his worst, but then getting angry when I’d pull away and give him the space that he didn’t realize he was signaling he wanted. Not wanting me too close, but also too much of a coward to let me go. Him saying the worst things of me to people that in turn would villainize me when we’d have a fight because I’d call him out on his worst habits - when I was here letting my own mental health and physical health dwindle, ignoring myself over and over, so I could be there for him,” I say and it all burns like battery acid up from my chest and out my throat. 
 
“Him expecting me to just wait around for him and take care of the babies, babies he was so passionate and urgent and insistent on me having - babies I didn’t want until I met them and fell so deeply in love with only to have them be ripped away without a second glance or a goodbye.” 
 
I stop here and look down, swallowing. I blink a few times and clear my throat, reaching out and taking the glass of water on the table. I take a sip. I’m hurt more than I’m angry. But I’m still angry. Very. Very. Angry. 
 
But not at him. Never at him. I could never be mad at him. And despite it all, I miss him. But maybe I only let myself miss him because he’s never coming back. 
 
It’s a dark thing to think, to know. 
 
But it’s true. 
 
I hope you’re okay out there. 
 
Up there. 
 
Down here? 
 
I really do. 
 
“Him apologizing. And wanting to try again,” I admit, feeling the pit of agony in my throat. The thing I know sent him over the edge -
 
“Me saying no.” 
 
It was my fault. 
 
All of it - every last part of it - was me. 
 
This is your entertainment, I hope you’re enjoying it. 
 
 
“It was the same time that you unearthed that you were sexually abused, correct?” Robbie asks now, pointedly. “Yes,” I reply - a bit too quickly but it’s all I give that statement, setting down the cup. 
 
“I’d rather not go into that, though, seeing as it’s still something I’m currently figuring out.” 
 
“With your therapist?” Angelica pries and I just smile. 
 
“Absolutely. Dr. Cordanna Kant is incredible. I feel extremely safe with her. She helps me understand a part of myself I never had words for before. She’s a psychiatrist, as well as a talk therapist. I appreciate her for everything she does for me,” I relay and I’m happy to say that every word resonates distinctly. They ring bold and true and that’s all I need, sitting up straighter as I smile. 
 
“Mental health is super important to me, and we could go on for hours about it if you let me. And we can if you guys want to. But let’s be honest, Angie, you guys don’t only wanna hear about my therapy life! How are you two? I know you’ve been keeping busy with your new boyfriend and your Snapchat show, Robbie! Congratulations, seriously. I don’t even know how you handle it,” I say and the crowd starts to cheer and chant, and I let out a loud laugh to engage the audience more as Robbie holds his hand to his heart. 
 
“Someone’s done her homework! I couldn't be more proud,” Robbie says as he just laughs along with the audience and then crosses his own legs. He's never been one to embellish in all the years I've known him and of him. Just emphatic in his successes and stature. His confidence on camera is also something to be admired but is that all he's supposed to be? Maybe it gives him purpose. By the way he shines, I'm sure it does. He smirks widely though, at the fact that I looked into him and what he's been up to - smug. I let him have that much, I think to myself, as he speaks. 

“Well, you’re not wrong. Jackson's doing incredibly, thank you for asking, and so is my Snapchat show that airs every other Tuesday at 7pm. Keep it classy and tune in, all you Rascals out there,” he says in his classic low voice to the camera and laughs, waving at the audience that just eats it up. Women and men alike swooning for him as he regards them all with his renown bedroom eyes.
 
He has his charm, and I know why people love him. It’s why I can’t help but love him too, beyond it all, for the child he once was that's dead and gone now. Lost kind soul devoured in the name of capitalist America, soon groveling at my feet for some semblance of salvation, you'll see.
 
“But you’re selling me short, hot stuff. I would sit here for hours and listen to you talk all day,” he tells me, leaning in close and leering now and I have to look away as I blush and fan myself. 
 
“You dog, you,” I taunt back, giggling. And he barks. That just makes me laugh for real this time. Maybe he’s not so bad. Maybe he just had to be. Maybe that’s what it all does to you. You compromise, to further withstand. To further shine bright. To further have fame. 
 
To further be known for s o m e t h i n g.
 
“Now now, Robbie, simmer down. We don’t want to get the viewers at home too excited,” Angelica cuts in, patting his leg and finally chiming back in after sitting back and letting Robbie take the lead for a while. It takes a good interviewer to know when to shut up and listen. That’s what they don’t teach anymore in schools. Angelica turns towards the cameras. “But we’ll definitely have to put a pin in the conversation for now, and come back after you’ve all gone to the bathroom, made some more snacks, drank some water and gotten up and done a bit of yoga. Stay tuned, we’ll be back for this hour long special interview with none other than Katerina Banksy after a few commercial breaks. Thank you,” the regal woman commands at the camera. 
 
There’s a loud set bell that rings for a good few what feel like way too long minutes, and the crew relaxes once it’s out. Suddenly, I can breathe and let go a little for a second. Yeah, the audience is still there, so I have to have a suggestion of stature, but it’s less than when the cameras are rolling and I appreciate the break. Angelica shoots me a wink before turning and leaving to go get her makeup touched up. That's enough to make me feel proud. I've done a good job. That wink was the sign of it.
 
 
I turn towards Robbie and quietly relish in him not paying attention to me for a moment. I take in his soft blue pantsuit and blazer. The white shirt, the black tie, the black shoes. The suave combed over black hair. He’s a Shawn Mendez version of Link from Hairspray. And he knows it. 
 
He turns to look towards me - notices I was staring and smirks wide and slow, clasping his hands together as he leans in. “You should come over after the show. We can talk better when it’s just us,” he murmurs low and I have to clench my legs together as his hand slides up the exposed skin of my thigh through my ripped jeans but stops as soon as it was begun. 
 
Being addicted to sex isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Especially now that I’m slick wet without even wanting to be. 
 
I smile politely at him and blink slow. Semblance of salvation, I breathe out.
 
Semblance of salvation.
 
( He's Finnick, not Cesar. 
Remember that. )
 
 “If you play your cards right, I’ll think about saying maybe.” 
 
 
 

04/11/2019 09:13 PM 

statistics.

general statistics

  • Full Name Katerina Anastasia Banksy.
  • True Identity Bithiah, descendent of Archangel Raphael.
  • Nickname(s) Kat, Kitty, KittyKat, Kitten.
  • Age 27.
  • Date of Birth April 20th, 1993.
  • Astrology Signs Taurus Sun, Aries Moon, and Aries Rising.
  • Place of Birth Necochea, Buenos Aires, Argentina.
  • Ethnicity Argentine.
  • Nationality Argentine. American.
  • Gender Female.
  • Sexual Orientation Bisexual.
  • Romantic Orientation Panromantic.
  • Religion Spiritual.
  • Language(s) Spoken English & Spanish.
  • Accent Slight lilts to some words, or when she gets a bit fired up.
  • Occupation Model, Actress, Health Coach.
  • Education Katerina graduated from University of Los Angeles in 2015 when she turned 22. She started her Masters when she turned 24 and has been working on it for the past three years.

physical appearance

  • Face Claim Alexis Ren.
  • Hair Color Dyed dark brown. Naturally blonde.
  • Eye Color Brown.
  • Height 5'9''.
  • Weight 109.
  • Build Lithe athletic.
  • Tattoos Music note on her right ring finger. Small handgun on her right index. Ace of spades on her left middle finger. Her mother's signature on her forearm. Her mother's birthday on the back of her left bicep. Her mother's death date on the back of her right bicep. A rose on her left ribs. Ace of spades behind her left ear. Music note behind her right ear. Small cross on the back of her neck. 'Duality' on her left ankle. 'Alejendra' on her right forearm. A small camera on her left buttcheek.
  • Piercings Three on each ear.
  • Distinguishing Characteristics Her BOOTY. And her many upon many moles.

personality

  • Positive Traits Bold, sassy, bright, witty, stern, generous, friendly, bubbly, warm, mature, innocent, supportive, inclusive, determined, objective.
  • Negative Traits Defensive, self-depreciating, overthinker, timid, shy, bratty, stubborn, anxious, avoidant, addictive, opinionated.
  • Goals/Desires Stay clean. Open her own Yoga center for models specifically that teach mindfulness and mental health assistance ( where the proceeds would go to different organizations for clean water in Nicaragua, hurricane relief in Hawaii, and shoes for children in Yucatan ). Finish her Master's in Business Management. Write a book. Change the world.
  • Fears Not being enough, not being able to be loved, being misunderstood, losing the people she loves, not achieving her goals.
  • Hobbies Yoga, drawing, painting, ballet, theatre, singing, surfing, skateboarding, traveling, taking pictures, writing, thinking about aliens, thinking about the universe, transcendence.
  • Summary Being an A r i e s born on April 20th, your optimism and generosity are amongst your most defining qualities. There is little you would not give to a loved one in need. In fact, you display a generous and giving attitude to everyone you interact with, even complete strangers. Your kindness may be a product of the positivity that defines all aspects of your life. Whether it be a situation, person or experience, you can always find a way to see the bright side. Those closest to you would be the first to admit their appreciation for your optimism. You are a natural giver and would do just about anything to help a loved one in need. An Aries born on April 20 will be guided by their emotions. Even when they make decisions based on logic and intellect, they are actually tapping into their subconscious. Because of their rich inner life, they sometimes appear to live in a dream world. Although naturally contemplative, they can summon the social élan needed to shine when the occasion arises.

family

  • Father Robert Banksy.
  • Mother Sonia Aragón (deceased).
  • Sibling(s) Alejandra 'Allie' Perez (half sister). Ace Perez (Allie’s half brother).
  • Pet(s) Comet Banksy, a big Great Dane that lives with Robert. And a small Maltese named Delilah Banksy that lives with her.
  • Other Family Gerard “Pop” Banksy (grandfather). Bethany Banksy (grandmother). Joe Banksy (uncle) & Ardeen Delane Banksy (aunt by marriage). Raymond Banksy (uncle). Leslie Banksy (aunt). Artie Perez (Allie's dad). Magdalena Contreras (Allie's stepmom). Edalio Aragón (grandfather, deceased before she was born). Teresa Cardenas Aragón (grandmother). Romina Aragón (aunt). Alberto Ostria (uncle by marriage). Catelina Ostria-Aragón (cousin). Rosa Ostria-Aragón (cousin). Delfina Ostria-Aragón (cousin).

tests

  • Myers-Briggs ENFP.
  • Enneagram 2.
  • Temperament Phlegmatic-Sanguine.
  • Hogwarts House Gryffindor.

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