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Those Poor UnAmerican Girls

membru din 18 octombrie 2025

Those Poor UnAmerican Girls

　　



　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　 © ɒяɘįnɒяɈxƎ
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　 　 أجنبي ᵀᴱᴿᵁᴱᴸ˒ᴱᔆˑᴵᵀᴴᴬᑦᴬ˒ᴺᵞ
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　A ᶠᴼᴿᴱᴵᴳᴺ exchange studentʼs affair
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　with two brothers unravels
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　 　　 into a web of control, obsession, and moral
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　 　 collapse—but by the time the ᵀᴿᵁᵀᴴ
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　 　 　 comes out, itʼs too late to
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　 　　 tell who the ᴿᴱᴬᴸ ⱽᴵᑦᵀᴵᴹ ever was.

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　Rubınα ʻRubчʼ Vαldésˑᴬᴸᴱᕽᴬ ᴰᴱᴹᴵᴱ
　　　　　　　　　　　　A foreign psychology student. Magnetic, sharp-tongued, emotionally
　　　　　　　　　　distant—the kind of girl everyone wants to save or destroy. Sheʼs running from
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　something she did back home, that left blood on her hands.
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　 　 ᴰᴿᴱᵂ ᔆᵀᴬᴿᴷᴱᵞˑAxel Lαɯson
　　　　　　　　　　　　Charismatic, and infatuated with Ruby. At first, heʼs the good guy—
　　　　　　　　but love turns him obsessive. He wants her devotion, vulnerability, complete surrender.
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　Ares Lαɯsonˑᴰᴬⱽᴵᴰ ᑦᴼᴿᴱᴺᔆᵂᴱᵀ
　　　　　　　　　　　　Ex-military, stoic, unreadable. Axelʼs older brother—he recognizes
　　　　　　　　　　the darkness in Ruby, because it mirrors his own. They understand each other
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　in a way that feels cosmic, violent, and wrong.


　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　ᴸᴼᴼᴷᴵᴺᴳ ᶠᴼᴿ ᴬ ᴿᴼᴸᴱ⁻ᴾᴸᴬᵞ ᴾᴬᴿᵀᴺᴱᴿˑᵂᴬᴺᴺᴬ ᴶᴼᴵᴺˀ ᴰᴹᵎ


　　　　　　　　　　　
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Derechos de Autor © ҼXƬRⱭƝJҼRⱭ ²⁰²⁵
Derechos de Autor © ҼXƬRⱭƝJҼRⱭ ²⁰²⁵
When people ask me how it started... 　 I usually say it was an accident. But that’s a lie.; I knew what I was doing. I just didn’t think it would end like this.
When people ask me how it started... 　 I usually say it was an accident. But that’s a lie.
I came to the States when I was twenty-two—one suitcase, a fake smile, and a scholarship; I didn’t deserve. I wanted distance. From my mother. From the rumors. From the kind of past that follows you no matter how far you go. And then there was Axel.
I came to the States when I was twenty-two—one suitcase, a fake smile, and a scholarship
The first American boy who looked at me like I was something pure. He had that easy kind; of charm—said please and thank you, held doors open, didn’t know how to hide a lie. His brother, Ares, was the opposite. Older, quieter. The kind of man who didn’t need to raise his voice to make you
The first American boy who looked at me like I was something pure. He had that easy kind
listen. I told myself I wasn’t going to get involved with either of them. I should’ve known better.
listen. I told myself I wasn’t going to get involved with either of them. I should’ve known better.
Axel was the kind of love that burns fast—texts at 2 a.m., fights in parking lots, crying in the; shower. He wanted all of me, all the time, like if he stopped watching, I’d disappear.
Axel was the kind of love that burns fast—texts at 2 a.m., fights in parking lots, crying in the
Ares was slower, dangerous in a different way. He saw the cracks before I did. He didn’t ask; questions—he just waited until I started talking. And somewhere between both of them, I lost control of the story.
Ares was slower, dangerous in a different way. He saw the cracks before I did. He didn’t ask
One night, everything changed⸺There was screaming. Blood. And for a second, I thought; maybe it was all over. But it wasn’t.
One night, everything changed⸺There was screaming. Blood. And for a second, I thought
Because the thing about people like Axel and Ares—they don’t let go. They rebuild you.; Rewrite you. Until you can’t tell what really happened, or who started what.
Because the thing about people like Axel and Ares—they don’t let go. They rebuild you.
By the time the cops got involved, no one could agree on the truth.
By the time the cops got involved, no one could agree on the truth.
Was I the victim? Or the reason it all fell apart? Depends on who you ask.; Axel says I ruined his life. Ares says I never existed at all.
Was I the victim? Or the reason it all fell apart? Depends on who you ask.
Me? 　 I think we were all just waiting for something to explode. And the funny thing is—I’d do; it again. Every second of it. Because even when it was falling apart, it felt real. And for people like me, that’s all that ever matters.
Me? 　 I think we were all just waiting for something to explode. And the funny thing is—I’d do
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