#i am mostly very nice but spite is a hell of a drug

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

Cloud City, Chapter Six - a Malevolent AU

Parker eyes him. “Do you have any control over him at all??”

“Funny,” says Arthur. “Asenath said that to him about me."

AO3 || Masterpost

-----

Parker looks bored to tears when Arthur emerges. Arthur, apparently, does not look like that, because Parker straightens, arms uncrossing, eyes wide. “Are you okay?”

Arthur stares at him, trying to think of a response.

“Guessing that’s a no,” says Parker, and takes his arm.

“Hey,” says Arthur, but gets dragged summarily down the steps and back up the street.

“What the fuck did she tell you?” says Parker.

“Uh.”

Tell him. You have a target. And it’s true, what you said before… that you need an extra pair of eyes.

“That’d make us Three-Eyed Joe,” says Arthur, trying to be funny.

Parker gives him a concerned look. “What?”

“Sorry. I… I think I’m in shock.”

“Tell me what happened in there. Did you get the goods? Who attacked the jail?”

Right. That was technically why they’d come here. Right. “The person who attacked the jail is… Uh. Fucking with… powers. Uh. It’s a mess, okay? But it’s… there’s a lot I didn’t know?”

Parker stops and holds Arthur’s shoulders, looking him in the eye. “She drug you, or something?”

“No. She gave me a lesson on the nature of reality I wasn’t prepared for,” Arthur says.

“Oh,” says Parker, relaxing. “Witch shit.”

Hastur snorts.

“Yeah,” says Arthur. “‘Witch shit’ sums it up pretty well.”

“Whatever,” says Parker. “We’re going to the station.”

“Not yet,” says Arthur. “She gave me six specific murder scenes to visit.”

Parker frowns. “Why?”

“She thinks we can get an etheric resonance if we combine whatever John sees there with what we saw at the jail.”

Parker goes very still. “We can get whoever made those cops go crazy and kill themselves?”

“That’s what she said.” Close enough.

Parker frowns a moment more, then nods as if coming to a decision. “I’ll allow it. Which murders?”

“You’ll ‘allow?’ it? What the hell, Parker?” Arthur shows him the list.

“I know where to go. Come on.”

Arthur squashes a bug on the car door, then is silent on the drive.

#

Arthur feels dazed. It’s weird enough trying to take in the world with his left eye dead; he can’t see Parker at all, and keeps jumping at any movement from that direction.

“You okay?” says Parker.

“No. But I’ll manage.” He squashes a bug on the window, then frowns at the stain.

Parker’s sidelong look grows heated. “I can make you feel better. Pull over. Drag you into the back seat.”

Arthur is surprised into laughing. “Fuck’s sake, you’re insatiable.”

“Five. Years. I’ve been watching you. It’s pent up.”

Arthur shakes his head. “Well, it’s not even been twenty-four hours for me, okay? Let me get used to it.”

“No,” says Parker.

(Don’t think about it.)

Arthur looks out the window.

It’s nice to be wanted, he tells himself. He knows he doesn’t deserve to be. It feels like something he should be into. And he mostly is. He just feels… rolling-pinned, a little. But then again, the past several days have been a rolling pin, flattening his options, smushing any potential futures.

Still. Parker pushes, and it makes Arthur want to hit the brakes. “We can do this, John? You’re sure?”

I am now. You have no idea how difficult it’s been to find as much as we have. I’m far from omniscient; even Asenath, with all her resources, has not been able to find much.

Arthur frowns. “It almost sounds like you two have talked before.”

We have.

He scoffs. “You have not. When?”

John doesn’t answer.

“We’re here.” Parker turns off the car. “Why the last six? In spite of your Summon’s paranoia, I didn’t actually hear an answer.”

Arthur finds he wants this to sound legitimate. “Asenath and John say there’s some kind of ritual in the works.”

“What is it?” says Parker.

“Someone’s been building bad magick, using murder to do it. If they pull it off, it’s going to be destructive on a level you and I have never seen in our lifetime.”

Parker stares. “Destructive how?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Arthur, come on.”

“I don’t know how to explain it, all right?” Arthur snaps. “And you wonder why I came out of there shell-shocked.”

“She didn’t tell us about this,” Parker growls. “The department has not been informed.”

“Take it up with her, if you think it’ll do any good.” Arthur decides not to volunteer that Asenath doesn’t trust the coppers. “Apparently, my Summon’s observations at the jail confirmed it for her. And no, I don’t know what those observations were. It was transmitted, somehow. Felt pretty awful.”

Parker stares. “Shit.”

“Yeah.” Arthur takes off his hat and rubs his head.

“You’re sweating to death.” Parker takes Arthur’s jacket off.

“Hey—”

“I need you well, fucknuts. Don’t argue.”

“Sure, sure.” How long had it been since anyone cared if he were well?

Apparently, Asenath had cared enough to make him mad. To get him out of his head, help him feel alive. Arthur had no idea why she’d do that. Why she’d care.

“Here.” Parker pulls down a police Do Not Cross ribbon.

“You sure that’s a good idea?” says Arthur.

“I’m allowed,” says Parker, and opens the door.

#

Arthur just walks through the crime scene. There are bugs, which he supposes makes sense. It was a murder. Blood draws bad things.

He does not have Hastur’s sight. He’s not given any special abilities. He feels kind of stupid, standing in the middle of an empty room, looking at peeling paint and brown rug.

Turn for me.

Arthur does.

Stop.

Arthur does.

Ah… ah!

“What?”

Turn left three paces and stop.

Arthur sighs and does.

Hastur tells him absolutely nothing. Next address.

“Are you serious? That’s it?”

Hurry.

“Guess we’re going to the next one,” he tells Parker with a sigh.

“He find anything?”

“Sounded like it, but he wouldn’t explain.”

Parker eyes him. “Do you have any control over him at all??”

“Funny,” says Arthur. “Asenath said that to him about me.”

“Weird,” says Parker in an odd, detached tone, and they get in the car and head to the next address on the list.

Arthur is silent. He finally knows what he feels like: he feels like a gun. Pointed, wielded by a hand he can’t even see.

#

Scene two is the same.

Scene three is the same.

“So…” says Parker as they’re on the way to scene four, a few hours into this weird day in which Arthur has had nothing to eat but coffee. “Getting anything?”

“Well?” says Arthur.

Yes.

“He says so.”

“He says what? What’s he getting?”

I know you can hear me, you fuck, says Hastur. I’m not saying while you’re listening in.

Arthur sighs. It feels like that’s most of what he’s doing today. “He’s just being rude.”

Parker shakes his head. “You really suck at making Contracts, huh?”

“I only had one thing on my mind when I did it.”

“Your daughter.”

Arthur goes quiet.

Parker drives for a few minutes, making two turns. He starts to speak twice, and finally finds the words. “I’m sorry we never nabbed who did it. We did look, Arthur.”

“Yeah.”

“We did. I did.”

Arthur relents. “So did I. Thanks for… for trying.” He kills a bug on the dashboard. “We’ll get them soon enough. John’s promised.”

“Guess he’s got no choice, if that’s the one thing you nailed down in your Contract—assuming you did.”

Arthur glares. “Believe me, I did.”

“Good. Here we are.”

The last three murders happened near one another, so they walk.

Site four is the same.

Site five is the same.

Arthur is thinking, and has fallen largely silent.

Stop here.

“Sure.” He does. Why not?

Parker waits, watching him. It couldn’t be more awkward.

Turn for me. Three steps.

He turns.

We’re done here. Last site.

Arthur sighs again.

“Is he getting anything?” says Parker.

“He says he is.”

Parker sighs, too. “Maybe we should go back to the precinct.”

And Arthur hesitates. “Maybe. It’s really beginning to feel like this is a waste of time.”

Arthur. No.

“We can go right now,” says Parker.

Arthur!

It’s tempting. Go back to the precinct, tell them everything Asenath said. Get help. But if she’s right, and the cops are compromised, everyone would suffer for it. Maybe go mad. Die.

He doesn’t… want that. And really, they’re a block away from the final murder. Fine, he thinks. “You know what? It’s one more site. Let’s do it.”

Good to hear sense from you.

“You sure?” Parker glances at him. “I’ll treat you to lunch. Good lunch. Not the shit you’re used to.”

Arthur laughs. “How do you know what I’m used to?”

Parker snorts. “I told you. I’ve been watching you for years.”

He wasn’t kidding about this, was he? “You… actually have? Right, that’s a little creepy. Why?”

“Real lunch. Let’s go. Right now.”

Arthur. He’s hiding something.

Yeah. He is. But he’s also really bad at talking, and Arthur doesn’t have a lot of spare energy right now to ponder unrelated weirdness. “Come on, Parker,” he says. “It’s not far. Let’s do it. Then there’s no excuse for my stupid Summon to claim anything, and you even have room to push back against Asenath if there’s nothing at the addresses she gave me.”

Parker studies him, unreadable. “You sure you want to?”

“Yeah. Let’s do it. Then we can—”

Parker kisses him like a punch.

It’s hard. It’s hungry. Arthur finds himself slammed back against the brick wall so quickly that he doesn’t have a chance to recover, to protest, to do anything but be compressed.

Parker’s hands are everywhere, demanding, incessant, and Arthur wants this, he does, but there’s no time, and he’s not sure how to respond. “Wait,” he says, breathless.

Parker bites his neck.

Arthur makes a low sound. “W… wait.”

“Why?” says Parker.

Fuck.

Arthur. He’s trying to distract you from the final murder scene.

Is he, though?

Parker is devouring him, is what he’s doing.

It’s one more spot. It’s a block away. “Parker,” Arthur manages, breathless. “Come on. One more scene.”

Parker leans in, forehead to forehead, breathing hard. “You sure? We can… we could… I dunno. Get a room.”

Arthur can’t help laughing gently. “Get a room. We both live here. Maybe after, okay?”

“Okay.” Parker takes another kiss, anyway. “Taking you up on that.”

Is this how this relationship is supposed to go? It isn’t how it went with Bella. It isn’t the feeling he got from Asenath, either.

Does this even matter?

Arthur has no right to make demands. He knows that—but yes, this does matter. Still, he can’t deal with it now, and there’s no point, anyway. If he survives this, he can deal with it. Otherwise, he’d be breaking Parker’s heart for no reason.

He flicks a bug off Parker’s shoulder. “They’re fucking everywhere.” Then he heads down the sidewalk.

(chapter seven)

#malevolent #malevolent big bang 2023 #malevolent fanfic #arthur lester #hastur malevolent #malevolent au #cloud city fic #parker yang #asenath waite #trans asenath waite #trans woman

[thebestestboyo]

Based on @loveceit 's P!ATD Prompts!

"I lost a bet to a guy in a chiffon chiffon skirt."

Or

As I like it call it:

How Remus Ended Up Working For Patton

Masterpost

(Warning of: Drug mentions/alcohol/drinking, Remus making bad decisions)

(if I need to tag anything else, please do tell me)

As the resident disaster man of the Driftwood apartments, it was common for him to come stumbling into the complex at insane times of night and early morning, out doing who knows what. Remus himself only remembers half of his ventures, often told to him by his roommate Vee, or known by most, Virgil.

Most times, he'd come home around two in the morning. Four was much more rare. And very occasionally, he'd show up at nine, passed out in front of the door, due to him being so exhausted that he couldn't even take his keys out. But no matter what he did, or how long he stayed out, he'd always come back. While it was always followed with a killer headache and potentially some injuries, he always came home. Sorta like a stray cat that you're not really sure exists when you aren't looking at it.

Yeah. He was that kind of person.

At this point, Vee was just focused on making sure he made it back in one piece. The two of them had been friends longer than either of them could ever remember, and if Virgil had to babysit Remus sometimes, it wasn't as if it was anything out of the ordinary.

So, when he had the time (and the patience), he'd go out with him, mostly to make sure he didn't pick too many fights with the gangs or their city. Downtown especially was the worst place to be when it was dark out, they were like hyenas, just waiting for someone to set them off. Vee kept him out of that area, and usually, back by eleven if he was lucky.

As much as Remus loved his childhood friend, the fact that he needed someone to look after him often rubbed Ree the wrong way. He was an adult after all, he should be able to keep himself out of trouble well enough right?

Wrong.

Now, it wasn't as if Remus didn't know that it was dangerous, but this particular night, he just didn't care. Pent up from work and needing to go out somewhere, he struck up all his usual places to unwind, but nothing was working like it usually did. Not even the weird scientist's lab on 24th Street! And he let Remus play with pig intestines! That usually always cheered him up!

So, like any force of nature, Remus decided to head downtown. He knew Vee thought it was dangerous going this late, but it wasn't like Remus was drunk or anything! And Virgil wasn't home either! So if he got back home ok, he'd never know!

These thoughts were what kept him from internally combusting (an interesting thought, Ree wondered what it would feel like) over the idea that Virgil would be worried about him doing this. It was flawed logic, but he wasn't exactly known for his straightforward thinking.

His attention was drawn almost immediately to the bright, dizzying lights of a bar, the neon sign spelling out 'What Do We Have Beer?' It was cheesy, and stupid, and yet, he couldn't NOT stop at a place that had a pun right in the title!

Stepping in, he didn't flinch at the reek of alcohol, nor the too-loud thump of the bass at the edge of the dancefloor, and not even the people practically eating each other's faces off in the dim corners of the bar. What did catch his eye, was a curly-haired man sitting on one of the edges of a table, his eyes closed as he listened to the music.

Now on any other day, he wouldn't have been drawn to this man. On any other day, he'd have probably looked past him to go cause havoc on the dancefloor, or sip something much too strong for him at the bar. And yet, today wasn't a typical day. So, he indulged himself in this man's company.

That was his first mistake.

The guy didn't open his eyes at Remus's approach, too enraptured in the music, which gave Ree plenty of time to take his image in. He seemed out of place in this loud club, his skirt, what Remus assumed to be chiffon (if Vee's fashion rambling served him correct), flowed down to his knees, while his sweater was clearly handmade, as evident from the several loose stitches in the material. It was odd, seeing someone so innocent-seeming in this sort've place. Though, Remus had seen much more naive-looking people in clubs, going nuts for a high.

"Can I help you kiddo?"

It was jarring to hear the guy talk to him, especially with that voice. Why was it so sugary? Who the hell calls a grown man kiddo??? This guy couldn't be older than twenty five! Not that Remus was much older, barely twenty six as it was.

"I'm not sure yet! First time coming here and I'm not exactly amazed." It seemed to Remus like any other nightclub, minus several guards and Remus having sneaked several seagulls in moments before. (Even Dee was impressed by how silent they were until Remus let them go and terrorize the guests.)

"Oh? Is it not intoxicating enough for you?"

"Mm, nah. Mine usually includes more chaos." Remus stared off at the dance floor, before realizing what exactly Patton had said. "Did you just make an alcohol pun?"

"Yep! I'm surprised you heard over the music! It's bass-ically deafening with how loud it is."

This time Remus noticed, laughing as he leaned against the wall next to the guy, intrigued. "You like puns huh?"

"How pun-ctual of you to notice!"

"So what's a bunny rabbit like you doing with a bunch of pirahnas? This doesn't seem too much like a thing you'd be too into."

"Mm, it's good for a business point of view. Get to know people, you know?"

"Usually my getting to know people ends up with something going haywire, like...oh! Like that one time I got a bucket of squid ink and I was planning on dumping it on this one assbutt's car, but I ended up getting it all over myself instead. So I decided, why waste perfectly good squid ink, and just threw myself into his car instead! Vee made me take a shower before I could touch anything after. "

The guy glanced up at him in confusion, but he wasn't scared off yet, so this was considered a success in Remus's book. "Squid ink?"

"Yeah! My nerdy pal Lo gave it to me! He was studying something or another with squids, and he didn't have any use for it after, so I got it! It dyed my outfit grey!"

This time was even more successful, considering he laughed at Remus's antics, and prompting Ree to continue on his train of thought. "Why was he studying squids?"

"Well, I think it was because squids can change colors, and he wanted to see if that could be replicated. I think it would be more interesting if the tentacles could be grown on humans! Imagine, you could do so much..."

Remembering that this guy didn't even know his name, he elected to change that immediately. "My name's Remus! I should have started with that actually."

"Patton!"

"No! I'm Remus!"

"No, I mean, my name's Patton!" He smiled, giggling again at him. It was almost mesmerizing to listen to, even if it was soft under all the background noise. "Its nice to meet you!"

Remus had to pinch himself to snap out of staring directly at Patton's mouth, enchanted by his smile. "Nice to meet you too. Can I get you a drink?"

"Sure! I know the bartender actually, so we can go together!" Grabbing Remus's arm lightly (and nearly causing to jump at the easy touch), he led him over to the counter, his hand still resting on Ree's arm even when the two of them had sat down. "Can I get a blueberry mocktail please? Remus what do you want?"

"Mm...surprise me."

That was his second mistake.

Remus wasn't exactly sure what was in the drink, but it got him feeling fuzzy, and that's all that mattered. "So how do you know this place?"

"My brother has business deals here, so he started bringing me along sometimes."

"Business deals? What sort've business would have place in a club?"

Stirring his drink with the straw, Pat looked off into the haze of people. "Oh, just normal stuff."

"That's pretty vague Patty."

It was clear he didn't want to talk about it, even as Remus continued to get drunker (despite his previous ideas). "Well, it's boring! I'd rather play a game than talk about business!"

"Aaaaaand what kind of game would that be?"

"A bet."

Nearly snorting his drink in surprise, Remus burst out laughing. "A bet?"

"You heard me!"

"Sorry, it's just-" He gestured to how out of place Patton looked, his eyes glinting with mischief. "What sort've bet were you thinking? Is someone gonna end up puking or attacked by rabid animals by the end of it?"

"Mm, depends on how well you can hold your liquor. I bet you can't beat me in a drinking game. Winner gets to choose his prize."

"You're on."

That was his last mistake.

Remus lost. By a lot. For the guy who ordered a mocktail right off the bat, he definitely wasn't a lightweight.

"I, I gotta say-" Remus was bent with his head against the table to steady himself. "I am surprised!"

Patton was a giggly mess even in spite of winning, leaning into Remus. "Yep! You-" His sentence was cut off by a hiccup, in which caused another fit of giggles. He didn't even seem to notice that his sweater sleeve was slipping off his shoulder, or that he had somehow lost one of his sandals.

Remus sat up dizzily, attempting to fix the sleeve, only to remember too late that his motor skills weren't exactly in the best conditions while drunk, so it was more like Remus fell into Patton instead, causing the two of them to tumble to the ground. It was a good thing that it wasn't too far of a drop, but even so, Remus was pressed into Patton in an awkward position.

A stern voice interrupted the two of them before Remus could get his thick tongue to apologise to Pat, edged with something sharp.

"Patton...what are you doing on the floor with this...man?"

"Oh hey Dee Dee! How was your-" he wiggled his eyes playfully, clearly showing this Dee how drunk he was. "-meeting?"

"It went fine, but I don't think the best use of your time is getting drunk with random men at the club while I'm working."

"He's, not random!" Patton had by now began to play with Remus's hair, not even bothered by the fact that the two of them were still on the floor. "His name is, Reeeemus. He's my new friend! I won him!"

Even though Remus was drunk, he could still tell that it was probably not the right way to explain how they ended up there to this big, probably dangerous guy. He couldn't see much of him considering his head was resting on Pat's chest, but his boots looked awfully nice.

"I like your boots."

This...Dee? Was it Dee? Snapped his attention down to Remus, picking him up easily by the back of his collar. "So you won this...mongrel? In a bet I suppose?"

Pat was too busy trying to grab Remus back to be paying attention, so Remus got a face full of Dee's words. "I suppose he could be useful...fine. You can keep him for now." There was a sudden pinch at Remus's ear, and he could feel something metal dangling from what seemed to be a new piercing??? Wtf???

"You're too drunk right now to be of any use though. Pat do you know where he lives?"

"On a mountainnnnn with fairies and unicorns!"

"Ok so that's a no."

Remus felt he ought to be part of this conversation, considering that this Dee was asking about him, after rudely lifting him up. "Why do you wanna know tall guy?"

"Oh you can still speak. That's good. Tell me where you live and you can go back there to do whatever it is you do to not be drunk."

"I ain't telling you! You don't know it's Driftward....wait that's not right. Driftwand? Drift...drift..."

"Driftwood?"

"Yeah! You don't know it's there! And that's how it's gonna stay!"

Unfortunately, this plan did not go as Remus intended, because sooner than the drop of a hat, he was put in a car along with Pat, driven to his complex, and left out by the entrance. When he tried to look back and see exactly what this Dee guy looked like, he could only see Patton, waving to him drunkenly through the window, before Remus blacked out.

He was having a lovely dream about gore and destruction when a sudden voice caught his attention. Or, well, tried to anyways.

"Remus?"

"Hey, Remus."

The sound was annoying to what he assumed was the beginning of a headache, so he tried to tune it out.

"Remus wake up."

Was it his alarm clock? No...his alarm clock didn't scream his name to wake him up...and it usually didn't sound so pissed off.

"Ree!"

Aaaand now he was awake he supposed. "Yeah...?"

Virgil stood above him, hands on his hips. "Where the fuck were you??? I come home and you aren't here until five hours later? And did you go and get a new piercing? And...throw up on the front step of our apartments?"

His memory was still pretty fuzzy due to how much alcohol he drank, so he seemed just as surprised as Virgil was that he was in this situation. "Hey, quiet down if you could. My head hurtssss."

"Your head wouldn't hurt if you weren't out however late. Seriously though, where were you?"

His hand went to his temple, trying to soothe the pounding in his head. His fingers caught on something jangly, surprising him. "What the-"

It was definitely a new earring. Gently attempting to take it out, he looked at the words on the dangling part, confused. "Who the hell are the Andacondas?"

Virgil stiffened, seeming scared. "Remus, what did you do?"

"I lost a bet to a guy in a chiffon skirt?"

#ts remus #ts patton #gang au #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides #ts deceit #intruality #remus being remus #drug mentions #alcohol mention #ts virgil #platonic intruxiety #platonic moceit

[mantra4ia]

Desires: Lucifer season 5 on Netflix

Created: August 21, 2020. Last Modified: August 22, 2020.

Preface: Alright my Lucis, here’s the sitch: it’s been a minute. Life got a bit chaotic I wasn’t able to start season five quite on time when it premiered on August 21st because I haven’t finished the great 2020 Lucifer rewatch. I’m nearly done however and should be able to jump into it either later today or tomorrow, which is why beforehand I want to — as I’ve traditionally done for a few seasons — create a desires list and keep a tally throughout the season to see how many are met. I am going to try to pace myself, not binge, and watch a single episode a day so don’t spoil me. Likewise I will tag my spoilers. Here we go... #21DaysofLucifer

Season 3 and 4 Roundout - Desires Fulfilled / Questions Answered

✔We’ve seen other demons “like Maze” and a bit of what havoc they can reek. Well sort of. To be quite frank, although it was cool to see them possess the recently deceased, it wasn’t as impending doom as I was expecting. They didn’t seem nearly as disciplined or intimidating as Mazikeen, even Dromos, more bored and desperate.

✔ We’ve seen a little more or the heavenly host in Remiel. Remi was cool, if a bit intense. Her character, and her affinity to Amenadiel was a nice foil to see how far his character has come in evolution. But again like Uriel was for Lucifer, she kind of became a driving force character device to push Amenadiel’s growth. So I wonder if we’ll get to see more of her or not.

✔ (s3) The backstory of Lucifer’s arrival in LA, finding LUX, and making a deal with Amenadiel.

✔ (s3) Cain finally went to hell, YES! Not that I didn’t like Marcus Pierce/Tom Welling, there were some great interactions there, but I just think he was a wishy-washy antagonist based on how he was written and I can’t wait to trade up for Michael.

✔ Maze finally had some happiness and attachment to this silly mortal coil and it slipped away! Why Eve why? I love Maze’s bonding with humans, Linda, Trixie, Chloe. But I love that after a Millennia of serving, and then watching Amenadiel and Linda be happy in a family unit, that she might actually make her own and my hopes were dashed. 

Things we got that we didn’t even know we wanted. SO GOOD:

Season 4 ep 8: Amenadiel bonding with Caleb and confronting community violence, police brutality, and systemic racism. It was a rough episode to be sure, but absolutely needed,

Chloe talking Lucifer down and out of a self-hatred spiral and his transformation into full-fledged devil and back again.

Lucifer playing Creep on repeat while missing the detective (even after insisting in a therapy session that “he’s not a teenager playing Adele on repeat) and Mr. Said Out B**** trying to rob Lucifer and gun point and ultimately get rich. What a fun twist.

The Dan and Maze Los X’s fight. They are wicked good at laying down the  hurt on the criminal element and I was wondering when they’d pair up again after dispatching Warden Perry.

The devil in a bar fight! I mean, it’s only fair since the ladies had their brawl. I love how this fight sequence was filmed in bursts of slo-mo from various angles, involved everything from fists, to tasers, knives, bottles, and the infamous pool cue, and they picked the perfect song for pacing (Jake Bugg, Lightning Bolt, could listen to it all day on repeat.)

Time for all good demons to go home / Enough, you will bow down to your king. Go home! (aka appropriate use of Devilish intimidation face)

Amenadiel vs Remi 

A Rocky montage with Lucifer and Amenadiel / Amenadiel’s face the first time Lucifer drives the Corvette

Lucifer at the roller derby

Chloe the YA fangirl

Maze teaching Trixie about knives, with each handle decorated in a different toy.

Amenadiel and Chloe catching up: your father is so proud of you. Like and angel BOSS!

SEASON HIGHLIGHTS:

★ (s3) Amenadiel taking Charlotte home

★ Dan being comforted in his grief by Amenadiel

★ Amenadiel’s wrath and the brotherly duo tag team to lay the hurt on the drug dealer that got Charlie killed. It’s been a while since we’ve seen warrior angel ready to dispatch anyone in his way. And it was glorious!

★ (s3) Lucifer’s almost driving lesson with Trixie “Morningstar”

★ (s3) Maze torturing Lucifer by making him think he’s the Angel of San Bernadino

★ (s3) Amenadiel and Lina helping to dispose of Lucifer’s wings

★  Lucifer kicking Julian, Tiernan’s son, through a glass pane window

★ The goodbye kiss between Lucifer and Chloe

 DIDN’T LIKE:

☒ (s3) Cain playing guitar and singing. What is he, a crime lord, a top cop, or an act that the improv club wouldn’t take? 

☒ Eve. I liked Eve, but we mostly got to see one side of her around Lucifer, and a kind of floundering an confused side when she was with Maze. The side that I would have liked to see more of was the maternal side that came out when she briefly talked about Abel or was interrogated by Trixie. That made her more layered.

☒ Father Kinley. That dude is just meh.

☒ Dan’s broken heart and rebounding with Ella. Don’t get me wrong, its a good arc, but I don’t see it lasting

☒ (s3) Abel and Reese. Those were two side stories I could have done without, although they had great moments of humor. I quite enjoyed Reese’s character, and although I didn’t like Abel Lucifer’s stick-figure comic illustration of Cain fighting with him over a rock was quite enjoyable.

WHAT I TRULY DESIRE: SINFUL SEASON 5, my BURNING QUESTIONS, and SPECULATIONS

Obviously, don’t spoil anything for me, but if any of my desires end up coming true in any of the first eight episodes maybe drop me a hint in the comments...

A big time jump. We need to see the lasting impact of Lucifer’s absence. I know that time in hell works differently per that episode where Lucifer saved Chloe and almost got stuck in a loop, but we still need enough time to elapse that the impact is felt on the mortal side. Or, we need to see the passage of time through a series of events without Lucifer, like a montage of character development. At least a year or so, if for no other reason then Trixie is growing up and I actually want to see her take driving lessons with Lucifer.

Last season Maze gave baby Charlie a gift, something she’d wished she’d had growing up, and previously had alluded to the language of demons, her many siblings, and teased her mother, the mother of all demons. Will we finally get to meet Maze’s mom Lilith (or however they address her)? And, in spite of Mazikeen’s found family, she still has restlessness and abandonment issues. Will her mom finally finally bring her peace, or will clashing with her resolidify Maze’s purpose on earth?

A Decker/Mazikeen team-up or girls night out 2.0 would always be appreciated. At this point its probably 4.0 if you count the bar fight and the bachelorette party.

Will we see tougher, scarier demons, or are they just warmup to the really scary depths of hell?

Speaking of hell, more hell. Tons of hell. I want to know the minutia of all the mechanics. If Lucifer’s gotta be down there in self-imposed exile, he may as well show us around. Pour us a drink.

Will Lucifer see Cain in Hell? Not that I’m dying to see more of “sad Cain” but it would be interesting to see a more dark or desperate or cunning side to him at least now that he’s actually neck deep in torment. Or, alternatively, I’m hedging my bets that he could be a good candidate to light the fire under Lucifer’s *** to get of hell back to the earthly realm. Even in hell, I’m betting Cain would have a soft spot for Chloe, and if news reached Lucifer that Michael were trying to abscond with his life and with Chloe, it would give Cain and Lucifer one last bit of “A-Hole brothers” common ground to bond over. Like “Brothers, am I right? Go kick, get Chloe back, I’ll still have enough guilt to torture me with in a few thousand years when you get back,”   

Will Lucifer fall into peril in hell of once again potentially getting distracted and stuck in a hell loop? Will his servants be satisfied with his return? Will Amenadiel bust him out.

Mr. Said Out Bitch needs a role reprise. He’s been in every season opener 2-4, we’ve gotten to know his undergarments very well.  Its high time we get to know his name and story. He’s put in the work!  

Amenadiel should be running LUX in Lucifer's absence. We got a tease of that in previous seasons (remember when he asked what would Lucifer do?) its time for that to come to fruition. Plus, any excuse to put DB Woodside in a suit, just because he wears them so well. It would also be interesting if, after that tragedy he’s experienced, Amenadiel will start taking after Luci. Maybe not the punishing, not yet, but wanting to seek out evil and corruption. It has been teased since s1 “fall as I did.” Perhaps he’ll start developing a taste for his bother’s line of work whereas he found it repugnant in the early days

Dan and Maze or Dan and Ella pair up. Both Dan and Maze are due for some happiness.

An Azrael reboot, when need more of her. She’s the angel of Death for pity’s sake. I don’t know if the original actress is still available or if they would have to recast, or if the character concept by Netflix would even be the same, but I need Azrael to be capable of sweet and unassuming and on a coin flip downright menacing.

More of Lucifer as a godparent, bless! And maybe a cool montage of “cousin” Trixie and Lucifer co-babysitting Charlie please.

Whilst on the subject of Lucifer and parenting, and without putting Trixie too much into harm’s way, I need to see what “I would do anything to protect that little urchin” looks like. Trixstar ride or die.

Father Frank, come back! I need a cameo or recurrent role pleeeeease.

Trixie in every episode. This is non-negotiable, much like chocolate cake. Beatrice is an all-star. In fact, I’ve decided that when Dad/God finally does show up, Trixie needs to be the one to get to know him / introduce him first. She’s been captain on the celestial cheer squad for four seasons, she’s earned this.

Who's going to see through Michael's facade first? I mean, I know that trailer shows Maze torturing it out of him, but as far as intuition goes, I've got a 50/50 split between Trixie and Linda, with an honorable mention to Dan.

If Michael is Lucifer's twin, does he have the same angelic compulsion skill set? Or something different? And will it work on Chloe or is she universally immune?

A “be like Mike” pop-culture reference. ******Spoilers: ******* all the trailers have revealed Michael already, so they owe us this for letting the steam out.

As far as pop-culture, how many movie and TV references will we get from Lucifer and ensemble this year? I expect A-game, from sci-fi to 80s action, on par with the previous likes of Parent Trap, Star Wars, Home Alone, Kim Possible, and Rocky.

Will Amenadiel’s necklace make a reappearance, even after he put it around Caleb’s neck in the morgue? Heavenly artifacts have a way of causing trouble in this show.

Will what finally learn what, if any, significance there is to Lucifer’s ring? Again, as all my fictional writings will attest, I really kind of want it to be a stolen little trinket from him Dad.

Plot twist: will we get to see Hell and the silver city all in one season, or is that too devilishly good to ask? It would be intriguing if Lucifer fell from Heaven for rebelling and now some threat like, for example, the mother of demons would pose a threat to the gates such that Lucifer was called upon to defend them. Not expecting anything Endgame level with a host of Angels popping up like sorcerers...but it is food for the imagination.

Plot twist: will Michael, duplicitous twin that he is, be revealed as the reason that Lucifer does not lie and can’t stand liars? Will be get a Michael back story? Is he perhaps the true rebellious son? see: my original fan conjecture here.

Additional links to previous recaps, roundouts and wishlists: 

Season 1: Best Moments // Season 2: Predictions, Desires, Roundout, Best Moments // Season 3: Speculations, Quick-shot summary 

#21 days of Lucifer #Lucifer season 5 #lucifer on netflix #Lucifer s5 desire #Lucifer Morningstar #trixie espinoza #Chloe Decker #amenadiel #trixtstar #deckerstar #lucifer s5

[unknown-messenger]

Some quick trigger warnings: contains drinking, forced drug use, and violence!

The penthouse was hardly ever quiet anymore. MC and Jumin seemed to be fighting around the clock, even when Jumin wasn’t home. They’d fight over the phone, they’d find ways to argue. The guards honestly thought it’s a miracle they were still together for one, and they hadn’t lost their voices, two.

Jumin had come home late, although it wasn’t from work. He had gone to see Rika and had dinner with her, even though he hadn’t had dinner with his girlfriend for over a week. Been working late and all that.

Jumin walked in the door wearing his usual suit, seeing MC sitting on the couch with her phone in one hand, a mostly full bottle of wine in the other.

“I’m home.” Jumin said from the entryway, taking off his shoes.

“Oh, that’s nice of you.” MC put down the bottle on the side table and stood, going to hug Jumin.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, hugging her back, but mildly sceptical.

“You smell like perfume, and it’s not mine.” MC narrowed her eyes at him, walking away quickly from him - revealing her intentions of the hug and confirming her suspicions.

“Let me guess….either you got a little too comfy with a client…” MC took a swig of wine, “or, you had dinner at Rika’s. Which one.” MC tapped her foot on the floor.

“Can’t I have dinner with a friend?” Jumin sighed heavily, knowing where this conversation was going.

“Okay, let’s talk about that for a minute. First off - you and I haven’t had a meal together in at least a week, and you go see your darling friend Rika who you make goo goo eyes every time you look at her, without even talking to me about it first. So yeah, I take a little bit of issue with that. And don’t make me look like some sort of jealous bitch because of it.”

“Goo goo eyes? You’re so childish.” Jumin rolled his eyes, tone cool.

“Childish? No, I’m concerned this thing between you and Rika is more than friendship, Jumin! Whether you know it or not, I think you still have feelings for her, and what does that make me? Sloppy seconds?!” MC yelled.

“Are you accusing me of cheating?!”

“I don’t know, am I?!”

Jumin stormed out of the penthouse, and MC plopped back on the couch, both equally pissed off at each other and needing some time alone. Muttering to herself, MC turned on the TV to some trashy news network as background noise as she polished off the most expensive bottle of wine that she had taken from Jumin’s storage out of sheer spite.

Not really giving two shits - the rather tipsy MC (she had quite the tolerance), wandered into the massive kitchen, eating a fair amount of the food that Jumin had stored, leaving all of the cupboard doors open, something that she knew drove Jumin crazy.

Deciding to go back to old apartment for the night, she walked into her and Jumin’s shared closet to put on some warmer clothes before going out into the rather chilly night. After changing into some warmer jeans, a sweater, and sneakers, she spotted Jumin’s always neatly kept tie drawer with a devilish smirk. Opening it slowly, she moved each tie down and slightly to the right inside. Letting out a small chuckle, she walked out. MC felt a little bad, but the possibility that he was cheating on her…he kind of deserved it. Some tie disorganization, cupboards open, and a bottle of wine that he could most defiantly replace were nothing compared to the therapy she may need if her suspicions turned out to be true. Even if they weren’t, she may need it anyway.

Sighing, she left the bedroom and the penthouse, the guards first trying to stop her - knowing the consequences from their employer if they allowed his girlfriend to leave intoxicated.

“I’m fine, I swear.” MC promised, walking a straight line - heel-toe, heel-toe, with her finger touching her nose and her arm stretching back out. They noticed that she could walk completely straight, and after looking between themselves, they allowed her to go, not wanting to put up too much of a fight with her.

Going down the elevator, MC passed all of the amenities offered in the building, and walked out the front door, hands in her pockets.

It was quite dark out by now, although the street lamps were very frequent in this part of the city. Nearly no one was out, although you would see the occasional couple walking hand in hand down the street, looking at the shops. MC walked past a jeweller, where there were actually many couples for this hour - both younger and older, looking at rings. Sadly sighing, MC continued on down the sidewalk, not looking back at the high end shop.

MC started to get lost in her thoughts, and the streetlights started to become less frequent. She only snapped out of her thoughts when she ran right into a stop sign, her head hitting the cool metal. Rubbing the sore spot, she looked around, and noticed she had no idea where she was.

“Oh shit.” She whispered to herself. The buildings around her were mostly brick, and some were abandoned, the only two functioning ones closed for the night. She must have been walking for hours. Turning back, MC wandered the way she had came for a few minutes before spotting a long ally way with a gas station on the other side. Hesitant to go down an ally, she looked around for another way - but didn’t see any other choice. Taking out her phone, she noticed it was only 15% charged. She may being paranoid, but paranoid is better than dead. Going into her recents, she called Jaehee - and when she picked up, she just explained that they had to just make random conversation for a few minutes. It didn’t matter about what, and apologized for calling her so late.

Deciding that any plausible attacker would be dissuaded by seeing her talking to someone, MC embarked down the ally. She was most of the way there when the conversation stopped suddenly, MC seeing a frustratingly familiar face lit up dimly by the light of a phone. Blonde hair, green eyes, and a brown and white dress. MC lowered the phone a little, and called Rika’s name slowly - voice dripping with confusion. This wasn’t anywhere near where Rika lived, and what could she possibly be doing around here?

“What are you doing here?” MC asked, looking around her and pressing her phone receiver to her sweater so that Jaehee couldn’t hear them talking.

“To take you to paradise of course.” Rika smiled a sickeningly sweet smile, MC looking at her with a look of horror and confusion, and in her still mildly tipsy state was not able to comprehend much. Jaehee, still on the phone, was calling MC’s name urgently, although no one could hear her. Before MC could say anything - she felt two hands grab her from behind, forcing grabbing her around her waist. She screamed, the grip forcing her to drop her phone. It landed face down - and smashed, ending the call. A cloth was forced over her face, and MC went limp.

~

A undetermined amount of time later, MC woke up with a killer headache, although she doubted it was from any kind of hangover. Blinking her eyes open, she saw a man, or she assumed it was a man, she couldn’t make out his features - they were covered in a black cloak with gold trim - and Rika, although she was wearing a different outfit. When MC tried to move, she found she couldn’t - her arms were chained to a wall.  

“What the hell?” MC said, struggling against the chains, trying to pull herself free, but they only dug into her skin.

Rika seemed to ignore her, turning to the hooded figure.

“Is the elixir ready?” She asked, her voice airy and irritating.

“Not yet, Saviour.”

“Saviour?” MC couldn’t help but chuckle, despite her circumstances. “Saviour of what? Trust me, she’s just a home-wrecker.” MC glared at Rika, who turned around sharply with a rage in her eyes that MC had never seen before. Rika took three quick strides toward the MC and punched her square in the face.

Meanwhile….

Jaehee had informed Jumin of the call immediately after it had ended. Regretful for leaving her alone, and scared he tried calling her again, and again, but to no answer. Calling Seven this time, Jumin was relieved to hear his friend answer the phone.

“I need you to track MC’s phone.” Jumin said before he even said hello.

“Hello to you too.” Seven chuckled. “Why?” He asked, and Jumin could hear a chair sliding and the clacking of a keyboard in the background.

“Something may have happened to her and I can’t reach her. How fast can you-”

“I have her location.” Seven interrupted Jumin, giving him the address. “I’ll meet you there.” Jumin thanked him, Seven hanging up first.

The two of them met in the ally, which was now lit with the natural daylight. They did find MC’s phone, although the screen was cracked.

“Jaehee, you were on the phone with her when you heard it fall, yeah?” Seven asked, still on his knees. Jumin had brought her with him, as she had possible information that could help.

“Yes, it seemed like she was talking to someone, although I don’t know who.” Jaehee answered. “She had muffled the phone or something. I did hear her scream before the call ended.”

“Okay.” Seven muttered under his breath. “So she was probably attacked by someone she knew.” Seven tapped his chin a few times, standing up - taking the phone in his hand.

“Jumin…. does MC wear a smart watch by any chance?”

~~~~

Face beaten and bloodied, MC felt utterly defeated. She was alone in the cell but her hands remained in chains. She allowed her head to slump forward, although it put strain on the back of her neck. Her legs hurt from the so called “Believers” kicking her, and she would no doubt be bruised later. Spitting up blood, MC knew that her suspicions about Rika were true, she did have malicious intentions, and that Rika was insane - but that wasn’t the time to pull “I told you so”. There were bigger things to worry about. There were footprints down the hall, MC lifting her head, seeing Rika about to enter the cell along with two believers, holding some florescent blue-green fluid in their hands.

“Finally we have made the elixir. After me being gone for so long, it took some time to get our hands on the materials again, but we managed.” Rika shot the same sick smile that she was giving MC back to her believers who nodded.

“Now, here you go.” Rika held it out for MC to drink willingly.

“Unless that’s a Blue Hawaiian, I’m not interested.” MC mustered her last bit of sass.

“It is if you want it to be.” Rika said, her voice sickeningly sweet. “I promise, it will bring you to paradise, and we can all be happy.” Rika held it up to her lips, and squeezed her mouth hard, forcing it open. Rika tilted her head back, and forced the liquid down her throat - holding her head back by her hair.

MC held the liquid in the back of her throat, trying to pretend to swallow - but Rika wouldn’t let go, instead covering her mouth and nose until she had to swallow it.

~

By the time Jumin and Seven got to the location that they had tracked her down to, it was nearly dark. The abandoned brick building on the outside of town didn’t look like anything special, it’s boarded up windows looking like Seven had brought them to the wrong place, but there was no way that was the case. Jumin was so anxious he was ready to storm the place, but Seven reminded him that they needed to know what was in there first - otherwise they could end up getting themselves killed, and what could would that do MC?

Jumin ensured that his connections would be ready for when they called him to come in, as they were going to be ready and waiting in the air in nearly twenty minutes. The watch was a little harder to trace due to the lack of signal to anything, but he was still able to manage it. It’s bluetooth connection to some of the phone’s capabilities had been severed, but it was still trackable - it just took some more working around.

As he finished hacking into the surveillance system, Seven turned to the anxious and irritated Jumin.

“Okay, here’s how we find her, without finding her.” Seven showed Jumin his screen, before he turned it back to himself allowing Jumin to look over his shoulder.

Seven flipped through many of the cameras finding nothing but strange people in cloaks walking around the building, doing nothing of interest, until they spotted someone shocking. A pale blonde woman. Seven stopped the camera, and froze the frame.

“Is that….?” Seven trailed off, zooming in on the image.

“Rika?” Jumin finished, his voice cracking. Jumin pulled out his phone, noticing he had one bar, and called Rika, telling Seven to go back to where she was presently. Confirming their hypothesis, the woman they had seen on the CCTV pulled a phone out of her back pocket and answered at the same time as Rika on the other line of Jumin’s call.

“Hi Jumin!” Rika said in her usually cheerful voice, which Jumin now found very eerie. “What’s going on?” She asked, and Jumin couldn’t answer. “Jumin?” She said after a minute of no response. “Did you butt dial me?” She laughed, and hung up after a minute of nothing on his end.

“Oh my God.”

~~

MC’s vision had gone very strange. This wasn’t like being tipsy or drunk, this was something completely different. She was seeing almost double, and every colour was brighter than it had previously seemed. She swayed in her chains, and when she blinked, it was slower than before. She felt like she could hear everything, and there were whispers all around her. Small whispers, not quite saying words, but…saying something. Like…what you would do when you’re young to look like you’re telling a secret to someone but you’re not really saying any words. pishpishpsihpsihspih…..pishpishpsihpsihspih….pishpishpsihpsihspih….

~~~

Seven and Jumin continued to flip through the CCTV cameras looking for MC, before they finally found her. Or, at least…what looked like her. She was beaten, bloody, and acting strange. Seven zoomed in, and they could make out a little of her facial features. She was very swollen and bruised, swaying her head back and forth. Her pupils were very dilated, and she looked just…awful.

Jumin opened the car door, getting out and running his hands through his hair roughly. Seven got out as well, still holding the laptop.

“Alright, I know where this is in the building. I know a way in…their security is pretty dodgy. Let’s just get her - and go. We’ll deal with the rest of this later.” Seven put a hand on his friend’s shoulder.

Seven lead the way - down the grassy hill carefully and into one of the only windows not covered by boards. The men had to climb in individually, and it was a very tight squeeze for both of them - but they managed. Jumin simply followed Seven silently - the expert hacker having a nearly photographic memory - and the fear of getting caught too high for Jumin to speak.

They did manage to find the hallway leading to the cell where MC was kept without anyone seeing them - although they did hear some people walking and conversing on the floors above them. From the sounds of it, they were preparing for some sort of ritual?

Rounding the corner to MC’s cell, Seven stopped them upon hearing voices. Two male, one distinct female voice - Rika’s voice.

The sound of MC’s cell opening clattered through the hall - nearly echoing, and Seven thought for a moment before gesturing for Jumin to follow him - but as silently as possible.

Figuring this was the only chance they would get with MC’s cell unlocked, Seven grabbed one of the hooded men and threw him into the other while Jumin ran into the cell - grabbing Rika by the arm before she could strike MC across the face. She turned around suddenly - shocked to see Jumin standing there.

“Jumin?!” She cried out, so shocked tears pricked the corners of her eyes.

Jumin didn’t even answer her, he just pressed the button on his watch - and the boarded windows broke in, a whole team of geared men breaking into the building - one grabbing Rika and the others running to storm the rest of the building. Jumin shouted out to the one with Rika to give him the keys to the chains that bound MC that she had, to which he demanded she give him - and she eventually complied after he twisted her arm behind her back. Jumin freed MC without a second thought, grabbing her before she fell and gently holding her in his arms. Jumin and Seven took her to the Hospital, Jumin sitting in the backseat with her the whole time.

“MC? Can you hear me?” He asked while they sat in the back of Seven’s car, on the way to the Hospital. MC nodded and looked around the car - still dizzy and disoriented - her head felt like it was splitting in two.

~~~

Jumin hardly left the hospital. MC was there for days, the doctors analyzing what was put in her system. It was a mixture of many different things, and according to several doctors, she was lucky that it was given orally. Now in police custody, Rika was arrested for assault, attempted murder, and kidnapping. Once he finally got to take MC home, Jumin waited on her hand and foot, catered to her every need.

“It’s not your fault you know.” MC chuckled one evening as he brought her a glass of water in bed, even though she insisted she could get it herself. “It’s not like you kicked me out, I went for the walk by my choice.” She smiled at him, gesturing for him to lie down next to her.

“I know,” Jumin replied, complying with her silent request, “but I still feel if I had come home to have dinner with you instead it wouldn’t have–”

“She would have found some other way then.” MC rested her head under Jumin’s chin. “Let’s not fight anymore, okay?”

“There’s nothing more to fight about.” Jumin chuckled.

Here you go! Hope you enjoyed, thanks for the ask!!!

I apologize for my unnecessarily sassy MC - that’s just how it be today. 

#requests #my writing #mystic messenger #jumin han x mc #jumin han #jumin mystic messenger #jumin han angst #mystic messenger angst #angst then fluff #tw: violence #tw: forced drug use #sassy mc #holy shit my girl sassy #i love her #707 #saeyoung choi #ask

[gvaf-radio-blog]

I was laying in bed trying to not think about the rejection when the crying fit started, normally it goes away after a bit but this welled up and I felt an emotion like onto a rage induced tornado surging through me and I pounded the floor screaming like I lost a limb to a bear trap and started to pray to God, keep in mind I am a Satanist, to either help me find a way to get the love of my life back or to give me the means to end my life.  Satan was very understanding but reminded me to call them first next time since Satan never told me I was damned for being born pansexual and they did turn me on to better fashion and literature, sorry Satan.

It had been going on like this for the better part of July and there were several things going on in my life at the time one of those was a firm belief that I had grown too old, too fat, too broken to be any use to anyone other than to make others feel better and be target practice for the Russian Cupidi who seems very intent on making others fall in love with me on the other side of the continent, little fuckers have surprisingly deep laughs I found out . There was a person I was convinced was the love of my life because they seemed to understand me, never made unreasonable demands of me ( I thought)  and to put it simply we could not be in a room alone ever. We worked well together in fact each time we would meet it ended in us kissing and tearfully saying I love you to each other  while holding each other head to head crying. Everytime I heard a slight Russian tinged laugh. We were for a short time had an almost family, an almost family is where things are just off and need adjustments. I wanted tp make us a full family badly I wanted this family to happen because these kids were at one time treated like mine own, I am a  simple and boring man except for the Cupidi and a stalker with cat ears who keeps leaving dead birds on my front stoop.  

So yes I was that fool everyone has laughed at in a heart break fueled misery that pop songs and movies lie to us and say “ AH but tis only the third act! The two distant lovers will be reunited and the love song with start after the credits”. I want to start rounding up the con artist that make a living by filling empty headed children with these notions of true love or that love conquers all and sodomize them with live lobsters.  I don’t want to violate ethically challenged people with shellfish everyday, just on those days when I have to deal with the doll eyed masses, ok so basically every day I was trying to give myself the benefit of the doubt.  The Ex had asked me if the reason I wanted to get back together was because they were a “sure thing” I told her that they were really a long shot but if I didn’t try then I couldn’t live with myself. Fast forward a few weeks and several insulting explanations later and I am now turning over all the reasons I am broken goods and that I should not rise above my station because I deserve to be alone, i’m scum, I’m why baby jesus cries and milk spoils when I walk into the room. I started taking pot shots at the local Cupidi with my compound bow but it was hard to aim with eyes full of tears and the edible kicking in finally. I don’t know how to say fuck you in Russian but I think I know the sound of the word. 

Next we find me red eyed muttering some gibberish that’s been fueled by what I would find out later to be a suspected mental illness that is only half way being treated with medication and therapy. To give you a funny and disturbing visual. After not eating or sleeping for several days  I looked like what could be described as a  cross between a fat Reinfeld and a goth George Costanza , or Meatloaf on a bad day. I give you options for your visuals, am I not merciful?

It’s now sometime between one and five A.M and I am looking up the price of the least expensive .45 handgun because I’m poor and I’ll be getting some extra money soon because I turn thirty nine in a week I do not want to be thirty nine so I start looking for american style solutions, happy fucking birthday. I chose this caliber because having some medical training and studying the wonderful world of trauma  I got to see in full detail what a self inflicted head wound looks like and what a person's life is when the bullet doesn’t take enough grey matter. I didn’t want to be alive then I sure as hell didn’t want to live as a joke character from a Garth Ennis story so I was going to get a bigger bullet .  America, fuck yeah.

so I started to make my final birthday plan and feel at peace with having my last ride of Clove’s, bourbon and a good pub hamburger then, Tchüess. BANG! Obviously I didn’t buy the gun to end my misery and embarrassment as my brain was telling me I needed, because instead my brain going into OH FUCK mode was throwing everything it had at me to save the ship. Then it hit pay dirt. I rediscovered a natural emotional energy that put my mind into a laser focus clearing the fog and lies away  just enough to stop my self destruction and restart the rebuilding I began in the winter. The emotional energy that saved me from turning my head into goo goes by the name of pure fucking spite.

I realized that my idiocy levels had reached a critical mass when the Cupidi in hazmat suits who seem to be , in Russian , bitching about extracting me to go get recharged . They came down to take me back to a containment unit that will refill my cynicism back to optimal and lethal fuck off capacity. After my IV of coffee and Monster™ grape was removed I was set loose again into the wilds of Southeast Portland to reconnect my brain with seething hatred that I somehow misplaced my hatred during the heartache attack between Southeast Division and Southeast Clinton street where I  was bludgeoned with a baseball bat by the woman who was wearing cat ears. I was on a time limit because I had to do this quickly and retract my steps before my appointment with a Psychiatric Nurse Practitioner at two P.M later that day. I managed to find my hatred , my senses and a new found desire to attack any human with those fucking anime cat ears on their head and entered the office and was treated like a human being not a Cro Magnon sociopath who might try  to kill people on the train, it was a nice change of pace honestly.

We talked about my past trauma and some of the diagnosis that where off base and some that came close to the mark but the main thing we talked about was the depression, the depression that had me looking for a gun as a treatment plan. This Nurse Practitioner pinpointed everything that I had to hide from others or train myself not to do in less than thirty minutes, Let me give you a bit of perspective. 

Most of the mental health professionals I worked with in the past used a method I call flow chart counseling, example:

Therapist sees me walk into the door, therapist will ask if I drink if yes how many drinks in a week, if no move on to the next question. Therapist: Mister Cromag do you drink?

Me: yeah, I like a good beer, or wine I take a shinning to good bourbons as well.

“Therapist now flows to follow up questions”

Therapist: How many drinks per week?

Me: Well, I like to have a drink that pairs with my dinner and some weekends I’ll have a bit more during games or socialization depending on who’s around.

“Therapist now moves down to alcoholism”

Therapist: how long have you been an alcoholic?

Me: I’m sorry what?

Therapist: You binge drink Mister Cromag, more than four drinks per week means substance abuse.

Me: No it means I like the taste of a stout. “Moves down the chart to denial”

Therapist: We need to find you an addiction specialist.

Me: You think my drinking is bad, wait until I tell you about my porn collection.

After that exchange I was referred to a physical therapist to help with carpal tunnel and after a traumatized therapist had to call security all while frantically  trying to find a flowchart for the psychotically horny they made a suggestion about me having an Oedipus complex.

So you now see what I mean, a lot of professionals never got to the heart of it and there are other stories where I’ve had the professionals all but sneer at me when my symptoms are presented. So this Nurse Practitioner was a nice change of pace and with the discussion about my issues, what I thought I might have been dealing with  (sometimes people see that I do have some form of intelligence and not just hit thing with club real hard unga bunga) we then worked out what medication I needed to treat  the thing I was dreading, being diagnosed with  Bipolar 1.

Bipolar and ADHD share many of the same characteristics and as I’ve learned if you have one the other is more than likely there it just needs to be screened for. Bipolar is also a hereditary form of mental illness which makes it a bit unique where others are mostly trauma induced but Bipolar just kinda waits for something to happen and when nothing does it creates its own fun. To add to this good time Bipolar  is classified as a “mood disorder”  your highs are hyperactive boarderlining and often going into a full true manic state of mind and body, not nearly as fun as it sounds. Then the lows are soul crushing affairs that amplify the depression and then takes the lies you brain tells you and creates a story based on people around you, your fears, past trauma and then makes you this poisoned lullaby cake that tastes like candy feels like medicine until you fall to your knees paralyzed and the fangs sink into your back and you see too late what is having you for dinner tonight.

So that’s a quick and blurry on Bipolar 2, I have Bipolar 1 which means I get all of that plus the added fun of hallucinations, and not the type Terrence Mckenna taught us about. These are things that just manifest as if they are real life like if you were in a  film and it was edited without  warning and in this new situation  you now have to improvise a reality, any  reality, this is why I take *drugs prescribed and other. The other issue is that it feels like my memories get remixed and things that happened now have a new twist, a paranoid hurtful twist.  Good example of this is when I was making a terminal wishlist and believed that there were people who truly wanted me to die because I interpreted their actions as malicious. Another example is I was walking home to the apartments  around ten or twelve years ago, I was walking home at the time with groceries and when I got through the front door there was construction going on at the apartment above me. I sleep days and at best i’ll get four hours due to shit employer, new born child, a girlfriend that was Sybil the next generation who completely refused to get treatment because she was a psych major and thought she was the heroin to overcome all odds  in a lifetime movie.  So on top of this my mental illness is not in check, no insurance and if I mention medication at work I could get fired. 

 I wish this was a part I made up  but I mentioned I was on antidepressants at one time and they removed me from two positions back to entry level until I got clean off celexa, Not allowed to do the fun drugs and then punished for using the boring ones no idea why I stayed there for eight and a half years. 

Back to the construction, I get home try to put my groceries away and one of the workers says he needs to do something in the bedroom I tell him to get bent , he calls me a fat fuck and I proceed to beat him bloody! Except it never happened, I woke up beating my fist bloody onto the tiled floor of the kitchen where I had started to put away my groceries until I jumped into this other reality, I’m just happy the kid wasn’t home because it might have scared her and made her cry and knowing I made her cry hurts the worst, I would have attempted that second suicide earlier. This freaked me out I’ve never had an hallucination like this I was scared, when I told then girlfriend hoping to get support or at least pointed in the direction on where to look she labeled me a schitzophrentic started talking to me as if I was going to flip out  and that I was even more dangerous.  I let that turn around in my head for years thinking that this was the linchpin to me being broken and with the way she talked to me I believed I didn’t deserve help. This was one of the main reasons I had to kill myself after she took my daughter away.

Like a few million other miserable , confused people out there I didn’t know a blessed thing about what was happening, I remembered the mental abuse and emotional abuse from the church, and some had argued physical and neglectful abuse I recieved at the hands of my family or my mother’s husbands who told my mother to no provide for me but instead buy him a new toy car. My step sister who somehow hates the knot headed reprobate more than I do stole his precious camaro and rear ended a Semi. After learning she was ok I fell on the floor laughing because all I could think about was this NASCAR addicted stunted man child calling his mommy to whine about a broken toy, to add to this mental image he was wearing a blue jean diaper and clutching a plush Richard Petty teddy bear.

There’s more but I don’t feel the need to talk about school bus drivers and me losing memory of one full  year of my life, bullying at the hands of adults and children alike. I feel like that would be redundant and unfortunately all too common a story I’ve heard from so many people in my life, friends, lovers , coworkers the fucking homeless people who talk with me after I give them beer money. Leaving some of the genetic issues aside you bastards need to understand how wide spread some of these traumas are for fuck sake my motley of misfits are all walking trauma case studies and instead of getting help YOU people ridiculed them, or gave them the greatest useless sentence in the english language which is :

 “Just get over it.”

Do you know what I would like to see? I want to see all of us survivors roaming the streets like that piss poor movie they claimed was a horror movie the Purge and with a list not unlike the list owned by the man that comes around Johnny Cash sang about during his song of the rapture, and I see men, women, and nonbinary people going to the address of those passive aggressive twits and beating them within an inch of their life, then carving into their chest (backwards) “get over it” then we move on to the homes of the rapists and tell them “you asked for this” before destroying their cocks with battery acid. The screams in the night would be glorious with the bats acting like percussion and the screams keyboard swells it would be like Front 242 unplugged. Maybe then the sniveling pretentious nra members out there will learn a bit. At best, it would be fair warning not to be passive aggressive asshole and learn a bit of compassion and mindfulness or to just get their heads out of their ass about battles they know nothing about if they want to avoid severe head trauma that one can not just simply get over. 

Living with mental illness is not easy at any level whether a small bit of depression after a breakup or full blown PTSD after a brutal rape that leaves one unable to leave their house. Whomever has these afflictions are the ones suffering and your feelings of inconvenience or fear  of those sufferers need to be thrown into the Willamette river, I would say you need to follow suit  but there’s enough garbage in this river you can fuck off into a trash compactor.

Living is the hardest thing I do but I keep finding ways to stop the thoughts from taking over and I will and have done whatever it took to not die and sometimes the only way I was able to beat the mental illness was being bat shit insane. Some people think I’m a drug addict, others just think I need to talk to my old invisible friend, a few well meaning souls have suggested psychedelics and these people are pure and I will castrate any who try and stop them from their holy work from the almighty Bob. what I do need is to find that bitch with the **baseball bat and introduce them to a proper bonfire that I’m going to roast one of those little commie Cupidi on, oh yes I want my revenge for St Louis. 

*the drugs in question are cannabis for the most part, when I’m spinning hard it helps tune me down and when the depression hits it shuts up the thoughts that plague me. Not a cure all nor is it a replacement for proper medication and therapy. I like to think of it a supplemental medicine that has the added effect of making Tool sound even more epic and letting me sleep peacefully. 

** all wildy violent, funny and or cartoonish descriptions written about are there to be funny and entertaining no Cupidi do not exist and the Cat ear person does but the assault was less bloody and didn’t involve a bat  but it was far more traumatizing.

#gvaf #bourbonsexual #mental illness #suicide #abuse #Gonzo Journalism

[momo-de-avis]

So, as per @insanityisfine ‘s wishes, here is the story of how a hardcore catholic member of the Opus Dei repressed his homoeroticism with sexism and plagiarized Harry Potter thus teaching me a valuable lesson about writing.

So, let’ call this guy C.

C, as I said, was a hardcore catholic. By that I mean, of course, that you couldn’t actually tell until you actually met him. Though he kind of dressed like your average beto (but not so much, since he was kind of poor), he kind of came off as a regular dude who you could have a conversation with. Except, of course, if you were a girl. In which case you’d get a huge creepy vibe just from engaging with him shortly. He touched a lot, he leaned in, he smiled way too much and he had a really, really weird way of going about women.

First of all, a little background. C was like, the sixth brother of like, I don’t even remember, 10? 12? His mom was a super, hyper devote catholic and his dad—surprise, surprise—was a locksmith atheist who he venerated. The two—MOST SHOCKING OF ALL—were actually divorced. I know. The scandal.

They weren’t really poor, but they weren’t middle class either. They were adrift, you know. Which makes you wonder—how the hell does a family of like, 10 children and one single and stay-at-home mom manage to get this entire progeny into private schools (so Private they didn’t follow the regular, state-issued high school program, they actually had a list of banned books: I cannot tell you how much he despised Saramago lmao) and into high-end universities (like Católica)? Well, that’s where Opus Dei comes in. I never really understood how the fuck that works, but if you’re a member, you basically got a green card to live as a king even though you gotta mend the holes in your socks yourself.

The thing was, this guy was peak Mommy Issues. His mother was a goddamn viper. From what I gathered, because of her religion and the fact that she was divorced with so many fucking children at home, she was desperate to control her children. So the way she found of doing it was by simply playing mind games with them. She pitied her kids against each other. She clearly had a favourite one, and she compared all others to him. C was treated like waste, like he would never achieve the primal status of perfection his older brother achieved, and his sisters were constantly getting into fights because she used hearsay to pity them against each other. I also vividly remember him saying things like a kiss were banned from his TV, and his grandmother would smack whoever if they even dared to glance at the television when something as dirty as that came on. Mommy here would particularly pick on C. She specifically had him share a room with his youngest brother, who always went to bed earlier, specifically so she could complain about how late he got home, and she often hid his laptop away from him. She never even gave them a single phone, they always had to buy it themselves, with their money.

So you see, lovely home already. Which I would have accepted as an excuse, if he hadn’t grown up to be a huge dick. But you know, trauma or not, life in the end is made of choices, and boy, C chose to be a spiteful, humongous dick.

I met him in my first year of college. He was in this group with two other girls and another guy (C on the list I mentioned, let’s call him Z, cause he will be important for the story as well). We got together first because we were all, in 2010, some of the few who had been born in 1989. We were the ’89 group. And damn bitch, that was one fucking weird group. It was like Friends on a budget: they all tried to sleep with each other like there were no cast members left to fuck.

Initially, I thought he was nice, easy-going. We bonded over our passion for writing, mostly. You know the snippets I’ve been sharing of my WIP, with Selena as the protagonist? At the time, I was working on it, it was my second draft, and he was helping me construct the story, along Z (actually, Z is an even bigger dick, but he was the one who provided me the key ingredients into shaping the story. Literally, if it wasn’t for him, that WIP wouldn’t exist). We would sit for hours at this local café talking about it, and let me tell you, I hesitated, yeah, but C was quick to share his WIP with me.

Now, that WIP? When I explain to you what it was about, it’ll throw you off because the premise is actually cool as fuck. Basically, it’s about a young man who finds himself a victim of a curse. The curse causes his skin to fall off, and the only way he can survive is by killing other people and perform a skin transfer so his own skin can regenerate.

Sound rad as hell, doesn’t it?! Except this is C. And C really has a way of masterfully destroying things that look cool to the eye of the beholder.

Well, this cool ass premise? This how it kicks off:

The protagonist is a young kid, I don’t know, of 17 or 18, who’s hanging out Cais do Sodré at 4AM and somehow—somehow—that is weird enough for a police guy to approach him. For those not Portuguese: let me tell you as a person who lives across the river form Lisbon. Cais do Sodré is a liminal space, and the shit that happens there between 3 and 5AM? It stops being weird after a couple of months. Literally no police come near you unless someone’s fighting or someone’s pissing in broad daylight. So I really don’t get wtf this guy was going on about, but moving on.

This dude’s skin’s falling off, so he kills the police guy. Then, he takes off and sees a guy sitting on a public bench wearing, and I quote, «the habit of a monk» (yes, I have the document open right now). That guy tells him, literally, ‘I am a wizard and you can’t hurt me, my name is Cedric’ and this begins the long line of plagiarizing HP. Wait for it, it gets better.

Also, if you’re wondering if this is set in Lisbon, despite there being exactly one Portuguese name? Yes it is. In Sintra, too.

THEN it skips to summer (I have no clue what the fuck that intro is supposed to tell you) and we’re in Sintra, specifically Galamares (the story gets oddly specific). This guy’s out partying with his beto friends and shit, and one night he meets a 25 year old French dude called Goulage who invites him over to his mansion for the weekend and what does our protagonist do? He goes, of course.

This already feels like a premise for a horror story that will inevitably turn into an erotic romance, but remember: this dude’s hyper catholic, and to him homosexuality was not just… a Sin. You see, for it to be a sin, you actually have to think about it. Thing was, this guy pushed it down so far he was deepthroating that denial. He avoided it at all costs. And naturally, what happens when you do this, is your story gets an unnaturally homoerotic subtext that jumps off like a dildo slapping you across the forehead. That’s exactly what happened here.

It gets obvious in the way he describes this French dude: he mentions that going over to one of his parties was ‘a privilege’ for merely ‘a lucky few like [protagonist]’. When he gets to his physical appearance, it gets really neat: he had a smile that went ‘from ear to ear’, ‘glistening eyes, dark and full’ and his hair ‘could be described with one word: confusion, or in another: revolt’ because he had hairs that ‘turned against each other like someone who doesn’t comb their hairs after getting off the shower’. And then, the exact next bit of text says some of the funniest things in this piece of shit: ‘if I were an aspiring psychologist I would say there is a very profound reason for his hairs to be like that, perhaps an inner confusion’. He also says he ‘moves with extraordinary lightness, seemed to be everywhere and spoke with great expression coordinating his words with his gestures. He would be a great professor, if he were ever up to that’.

Two paragraphs later, the love interest, a girl, shows up. Her description? ‘She would look great in a bikini’—a direct thought of the protagonist

There’s this incredible exchange where Goulage snaps his fingers and fire spits out of his finger and he does this to light the protagonist’s fucking cigarette and the protagonist is like ‘wow you gotta teach me that’ and the dude’s reply is ‘I can teach you many tricks’. So the French dude promises a class that night, and off they go to ‘the basement, that was entirely dark’ lmfao. Goulage then prepares a drink for him and the protagonist slams down on the floor, unconscious. Yes, date-rape drug. When he comes to—and by god, bear with me on this one cause I fought against this little shit for this scene—he touches his neck and realizes there are two small wounds there.

What does this genius think?

‘I was bitten by a snake’

I remember SO WELL the conversation I had with him about this bit, because at this point the snake comes off as very, VERY evident homoerotic symbolism because in no fucking world would it make sense for a snake to bite you in the fucking neck, what are you talking about, and I tried to make him see that but boy—lost time.

When summer ends, our protagonist realizes the date-rape thing was actually the French dude’s way of cursing him with his skin disease from hell and the two get into a fight.

Now, if you’ve been following me for a while, you know there is a maxim I live by: there are no bad ideas, just ideas that need working. C was actually the one who taught me that, because he actually had a really, REALLY fantastic idea for a story that he completely fucked up because he refused to do any work besides sitting at his laptop and shitting a few words together. He did no revision (he thought himself above that), did no research (he couldn’t understand why that was needed, when he could simply copy it from existing books) and he did no fucking work on his plot—and if you tried to show him, he would take your criticism to heart.

Because not only is this a story about a protagonist who lives under a curse that causes his skin to fall off and his only way of survival is killing so he manages to make a new skin transfer, this is actually the Friends to Enemies trope, which I fucking adore. But he fucked it up completely by somehow—somehow I have no clue how exactly—doing it in light of the entirety of Harry Potter. (My favourite sentence in this WIP is—and I remind you, I quoting this shit: “I am going to the suburbs, so many people disappear there they won’t notice my presence”. Absolute fucking poetry, this little gem. Love it.)

This is set in a wizardry school and this somehow relates to elves in Lisbon (lmfao). Cedric dude from the beginning? He’s from the Ministry of Magic (YOU SEE WHAT I MEAN). They teleport to some fucking city that is like, magically concealed behind a barrier or some shit in Sintra (LMAO). Also, wizards are divided in Orders like, First and second and shit, which I understand also comes from HP (remember I never read HP, these comparisons were actually made for me by an HP aficionado I used to know who pointed them out for me, yet even I could see the plagiarism lmao). And what’s even funnier, most of the names are lifted from somewhere obvious: Gorbachev is there, so is Oskar Koskoshka (yes, like the painter) or Gorbunov. And guess what non wizards are called lmfao.

Also, the spells are exactly like HP: stupefy, stritia maxima, accio fogo, incarcerous and invicta are some of the few I caught eye of here.

I remember there’s a Brolyk somewhere in there as well, and someone called Polidoro, even fucking FREEZER is here (if you’re not Portuguese: that’s our version of Frieza lmfaooo). Oh, and Marowak as well (that’s a pokemon isn’t it?) The protagonist at some point is recruited to work for the, idk, FBI of the wizardry world? Or the Wizard Police Department or Wizard CSI or some shit?

I remember the climax of the story is a sword fight between he two former friends, totally-not-gay-nope dudes and the way he did it… It was in a poem that sounds like a DDR recital. Like, first he gets this swarm of anger that, as it always goes, propels him to be the Best There Is and the weirdest fucking modern poetry ensues, and then the fight scene is like this: “Step forward, attack through the right / step left, attack forward” etc etc. Just this fucking SHIT.

So yeah, when this guy showed me this my reaction was pretty much

Now, I TRIED to be critical in a constructive way. Because, as I said, his premise is actually super fucking original and, being well worked out, it could have been actually incredible. But C refused to take criticism. When he approached anyone with his ‘would you like yo read my story and tell me what you think’ mumbo-jumbo, he didn’t mean criticism, he meant praise.

So what happened was he did to me what he thought I was doing to him. He put me down constantly.

Joke was on him. He was so excited about my story, he actually went on google sketch to project some scenarios from my story. The School, where the story starts and introduces Selena to us, he actually fucking drew the whole thing, so I don’t really know what his problem was cause he was actually more excited about it than I was.

But he just couldn’t take the fact that I was being critical of his work. I started noticing that most people around him hesitated when it came to giving him real opinions. When he asked someone what they thought, he didn’t say ‘what do you think?’ He’d say ‘it’s good, isn’t it?’ and that left people cornered. But I just.. don’t take shit. And my friend back then, who knew HP back and forth, he jumped in as well because he could see that like, if this thing would ever see the light of day, JK Rowling would have a field day suing his ass (though it’s way too bad for it ever to reach publishing, trust me. He doesn’t know how to accent prepositions. He writes “fui áquela casa” or “vou á casa de banho” by fucking hand).

He constantly nit-picked my work. “Swords don’t wheeze, Ana” he said. “I know, C, it’s called a fucking metaphor”.

“This looks too much like the Chronicles of Narnia, I think you’re risking plagiarism, because of this Tiger symbolism”; “C, the Chronicles of Narnia has a Lion passing for Jesus, the Tiger is literally just a symbol of a god, what do you mean”.  

“This is too much like the Mists of Avalon”; “have you even read the Mists of Avalon?”, “no, but it’s celtic paganism all the same”, “???????????????”

Now, here’s another thing about C: he really had no fucking clue how to deal with women. They were alien concepts to him. And one thing he really believed (I mean he really believed this) worked wonders in conquering a girl’s heart was basically put her down and annihilate her self esteem. Call her ugly, say she’s fat, tell her she’s got ugly teeth—and then provide the compliments! So he was a professional sexist. And I remember when he started picking on me because I dared criticized his masterful magnus opus of a fucking piece of shit book, he went in for the looks. At the time, I was about to go on the table for my jaw surgery, and he actually said this to me: “Finally men will look at you, Ana, and you’ll look decent!” He would ell other people “Ana? She’s not a girl, to me she’s a guy—she’s even too ugly to be a girl”.

He really went fucking hard.

It didn’t take long for me to just… fuck off.

But I kept his fucking first and second draft

What’s outstanding is how a hyper-catholic dude who wasn’t allowed to see kisses on TV and who was a virgin at 24 years old out of religious beliefs but bragged about getting a boner for his female friends on the beach managed to just… Become my prime example of everything you shouldn’t be as a writer. I am not kidding. C was my life lesson. Whenever I can’t write, I go back to his first draft and like… It’s so fucking bad, I get a boost. IT’s not just poorly written, everything about it is bad.

But then I remember what’s so bad about it: he made it bad by being a shit person. C thrived off of attention, negative or positive, it didn’t matter, so long as he was the subject of the conversation. He used others to aggrandize himself, by putting them down and treating them like shit in front of others—specifically, in an environment where others couldn’t control but he could (his brothers used to make jokes in front of me—as well as literally everyone else, whether I know them or not, about how C was fucking me—he wasn’t—and say things like ‘is she the one you’re eating?’ in public). He hated women because of his mother, his mommy issues were down to his marrow and man, he projected that onto every girl he ever met. He specifically sough women with little initiative, little impulsivity and who submitted so he wouldn’t be challenged. For friends and girlfriends.

But I challenged him, and that wouldn’t stick. So he treated me like shit, constantly. So much at one point I stopped showing up, stopped talking, just.. walked away.

But those shitty first drafts? Oh, my friends… you wouldn’t believe the shit I have here in my computer.

#momo tells a story

[a-spoopy-bird]

Non-Voltron au continued

YOU ASKED I DELIVERED HERE IS MORE FROM THE BRIDGE LANGST (lmao idk how to link shit)

The phone rang over and over. A click. Voicemail again. “Uh, hey Lance, it’s Keith again. Are- are you okay? You never showed up to physics today… I’m kinda worried. Uh, text me. Call me. Anything to let me know you’re alive. Actually, I’m coming over. So, if you’re even hearing my voice right now, then get ready.” Keith hang up. He was more than kinda worried. Lance has tried to kill himself before. Sometimes, Keith didn’t know if the one bridge accident was a blessing or not. Having Lance as a friend, while mildly annoying, was better than Keith expected. Lance did his best to hide his problems, hiding behind jokes and horrible flirting attempts. It’s been a few months since the Bridge Accident, and Lance has only shown his true colors when he was alone. Keith just happened to find Lance a few times. Keith shuddered at the memory.

He had been walking home later than usual. He was cautious. This was the time the druggies and the gangs came out. He’d have to be careful. He glanced down an alley and stopped flat. “Lance?” Leaning against a wall, his eyes were bloodshot, and he was uncoordinated.

“Keith, wussup?” Lance stumbled over. He was obviously higher than an airplane.

“Lance, come on, I’m taking you home.”

“No, no, don’t do that, please Keith.” Lance stumbled and leaned against the wall again.

“Why not?” Keith had little patience for high people. They were slow and clumsy, and usually said stuff that made no sense.

“I kinda came here to escape them, ya know?”

“Lance,” Keith sighed and shook his head. “Fine, then come on.”

“Not back home.” It was a statement, but it also felt like a question.

“No, you’re coming to my place so that you don’t do something stupid.”

“’Ight.” Lance walked with Keith, steps dragging slightly, teetering on every step. Keith did his best to support Lance, but he was a lot taller than Keith, which presented a problem. Lance couldn’t walk straight, and he seemed to want to just fall over.

Finally, finally they made it to Keith’s small studio apartment. Keith helped Lance up the stairs, with a lot of Heys, That’s my foots, and Stop it, come ons. Lance was settling down on Keith’s couch, and Keith was getting some blankets from a closet.

“Why do they hate me?” Keith froze. Lance was looking down at his hands, limp on his lap.

“Lance?”

“Like, I didn’t even do anything, ya know? They just don’t really understand. They get it that I’m into dick, that was mostly fine. My gram hates it, but whatever. I just- why don’t they see mental health kids, like, people with depression, as people who need help? Since when was that a thing?”

Keith put down the blanket. “Well, sometimes people, especially older generations, don’t see depression as a real thing. They mislead themselves by telling people they’re just a little sad.”

“Don’t they, like, care, though? Isn’t that what parents are supposed to do? Care?”

Keith sighed, getting the blanket. “I don’t know Lance. My dad left when I was a kid, and my mom was a drug addict. I don’t have much experience with real parents.” Keith brought the blanket over.

Lance sighed. “Keith, I didn’t do something wrong, did I?”

“No, you didn’t. Stop stressing it. Depression is very real, and they don’t seem to know that.”

“But- but they also just never has- have time for me, like? I might as well be invisible. Betcha they won’t notice I’m gone.” He laughed without humor at that.

“Give me your phone.”

“Wha- why?”

“I need to message Hunk, and I don’t have his number.” It was a lie. Keith felt spiteful. Lance’s parents should pay more attention to their kids, especially with all the sadness in that household.

“Ight, the password’s Shakira Shakira, with both s’s capitil- capitalized.”

“Go to bed,” Keith said, unfolding the blanket. “It’s late, and you’re high as hell.”

“So I’m low?”

“You know damn well what I mean, Lance.”

“Yeah, yeah, g’night, Keith.”

“Night Lance.” Keith turned towards Lance’s phone. He pulled up his mom’s number and punched it into his phone.

Keith Kogane: Hey, im keith, one of lances friends. I just wanted to let you know he was staying with me tonight.

Rosetta McClain: thank you. May I ask how you got this number?

Keith Kogane: Lance gave it too me. If you want, I can delete it

Rosetta McClain: no its fine. Thanks for looking after my boy

Keith Kogane: no problem

Rosetta didn’t answer after that. Keith wondered if she was just playing nice. Keith looked over at Lance. He had tears on his cheeks. Keith wondered if he even felt them.

“Lance?” Keith asked gently. “What’s wrong?”

“Why does everything hurt so much?” He whispered. “Why doesn’t she care? Why does he-” Lance’s voice broke. “Why doesn’t he give a rat’s ass? Do I- is this what I get? For being suicidal? For being a- a screw up?”

“Lance,” Keith said firmly, cupping Lance’s face between his hands. “You are not, I repeat, are not, a screw up.” Keith felt like someone was twisting his heart. “I don’t know why they don’t care, but look. You have Shiro, you have Hunk, Pidge, Allura, and Coran. And you have me. We will always, always be there for you.”

Lance’s pink eyes stared up at Keith, full of sadness and hope. “Really?”

Keith nodded.

But that was back in November. About two months after he had stopped Lance at the bridge. Then, back in January, he had heard Lance, thinking no one was around, talking to himself. About his family. About his thoughts. About how he feared himself. About how the darkness of his room terrified him, the way he could go months with his mask on, about how he was never enough. Keith didn’t intervene that time.

It was March. Lance has been drawing back. Only Keith has noticed.

He was at Lance’s house. How did that happen? The family minivan wasn’t there; the McClain family had gone on a vacation to their grandparent’s house. Lance had college, so he didn’t go. Besides, he had said, I don’t particularly like my grandparents. Keith knocked on the door. Loudly. Keith checked his phone. 3:27 AM. Lance was hopefully asleep. But the bags that have been under his eyes for the past week said otherwise.

“Lance, come on, open up.” Keith would never admit how scared he was. “Lance, if you don’t open this door, I’ll open it and hunt you down.” Thirty seconds passed. Forty-five. A minute. “Fine. I’m coming in.” Keith opened the door and walked into the empty house.

“Lance?” He called, walking through the halls of the house. “Come on, Lance, I’m taking you to McDonald’s.”

No answer.

“Lance?” Fear crept into Keith’s voice. “Come on, I don’t want to breach your privacy like this.” He continued to walk around the house, checking everywhere.

Keith stopped at a closed door. The light was on. He knocked. “Lance? You in there?”

One second. Two. Four. Twelve.

“Lance?” No answer. Keith sighed. “Fine. I’m going to open the door now.” Keith slowly opened it, tentatively looking in.

Lance was on the floor, not moving. Some pill bottles were spilled around him. His forearms were a mess from new and old wounds. Blood was pooled on the brown bathroom tiles. A bloodied kitchen knife lay next to him.

“Oh no. No, no, no, no, no.” Keith mumbled. “Lance, co- come on.” His breath hitched. He carefully picked his way through the mess. “You- you idiot.” He reached out to feel his pulse.

There was a weak fluttering beat. Momentary relief flew through Keith. He had to get him to a hospital. But in this city, would it just be faster to call an uber or an ambulance? Or just drive himself? Keith didn’t know. He had to stanch the bleeding. He looked around the small bathroom. He found two towels.

Lance’s arms looked worse when they were cleaned up. Long, deep cuts ran from wrist to elbow. He had lost so much blood. Keith taped the towels around his arms. He picked him up bridal style. Jesus, he was so pale. His usual tan skin was pale and clammy and cold. Keith carefully made his way to his red Honda Civic. Carefully buckling lance into the front seat, Keith took off, going as fast as legally possible.

The hospital’s lights glared down at him. He picked up Lance after unbuckling him. He walked as fast as he could. The secretary glance up when the doors opened, then did a double take. She called for a doctor to come and take him back. Keith sat in the waiting room. He pulled out his phone.

Keith Kogane: I have some bad news

Keith Kogane: Lance is in the hospital.

Keith Kogane: he cut himself up and took a bunch of pills

Keith Kogane: i rushed him to the er but he was really pale and cold

Keith Kogane: I don’t know what to do know besides just sit here

Shiro: Do you want me to come down?

Keith Kogane: if you want to

Shiro: I’ll be down in a bit

Keith Kogane: ok

Hunk Garrett: oh no! do you know if he’s going to be okay?

Keith Kogane: No they haven’t told me anything yet. I assume they’re going to flush his stomach, clean his cuts, and tr to get more blood into him.

Hunk Garrett: im coming down give me a sec

Pidge Holt: wait whats happening

Pidge Holt: oh fuck ok im coming down

Shiro: you cant drive

Pidge Holt: yeah I live close to the hospital be right there

END PART TWO

TO BE CONTINUED

#long #langst #lance mcclain #klance #part two #part 2 #langst family notice me #notice me senpai #l a n g s t #seriously #not gonna lie #im super proud of this

[broken-clover]

Goretober Day 31- Free! (Detox)

In the end, I wasn’t able to get it in on time T-T

hahahaha fuck. Welcome to the final day of @bowlll‘s Goretober, because somehow I managed to survive a month. Despite this technically being his third appearance, I decided to use Chipp for my free day, and today’s topic is ‘detox.’ Because I love this idiot ninja man, and if there’s one thing I love more than content for a character, it’s content where they suffer in some fashion. And getting off of drugs is a great opportunity for pain n suffering, so let’s go!

Additional Warnings: Drug use, vomiting, lots of cursing

For a decent chunk of his upbringing, Chipp was well-convinced that he’d long hit rock-bottom. Living as a squatter in and out of condemned buildings, peddling syringes and pills and powders and looking over his shoulder for the cops all the while. Always struggling to restock for his relentless buyers, yet never having enough money from drug hustling to fully silence his growling stomach.

That wasn’t even getting into the rages his customers could throw out of nowhere, the random street fights he stumbled into when he was just trying to make a few sales, and his own body’s internal pleadings for another hit to keep him going, begging for just another pill, another syringe in his veins. All of it nonstop, with barely a moment’s rest.

He would gladly take it all back if he didn’t have to take the fucking withdrawal anymore.

He’d been the one raring to go in the first place, finally ready to get off the shit that was probably gonna get him killed before he turned thirty. Past-him wound up being a huge goddamn idealist, and he wanted to kick the guy’s ass. His own ass? Fuck it, thinking hurt too much.

The first day hadn’t been miserable. It was part of the reason he’d been so damn enthusiastic to finally get clean. Chipp was used to the quiet burn in his limbs, the little bit of mind fuzz that showed up when a hit was wearing off on him. If he could stay tough, especially with his new master supporting him, how hard could getting clean possibly be?

“H-urk!”

The nausea was by far the worst. It felt like someone spent all of last night kicking him in the stomach. It’d explain the shit night of sleep he got, anyway.

“Bucket’s on your left, kid, don’t miss this time.”

“G-go fuck yourself with a- oh god, nnh- !”

He was barely able to turn and stick his head over the bed’s edge before another round of nausea hit. The yellow bucket perched by his side managed to catch the stream of sick that forced its way out of his body a moment later. The taste of acid made him cough and spit, irritably rolling over on the ratty mattress and clutching at his aching stomach through his old t-shirt.

“You shouldn’t turn over like that. It’ll make you throw up again. And you know you’re just gonna have to do it again in a few minutes, anyway.”

“Go suck a dick, you old bastard.”

Truthfully, Chipp was amazed that Tsuyoshi hadn’t dumped him back on the street yet. He knew that he wasn’t such an asshole normally, but the withdrawal was bringing out the worst in him. He almost felt bad for the poor man.

An equally-prominent part of him wanted the hurled insults and cursing to finally get the man to stand up and slam the door behind him. Chipp knew that he’d be losing one of the only chances he’d ever had, but his body was aching for another shot, all but screaming at him to find the biggest needle he could, jam an arm full of heroin, and chase it down with enough downers to make him numb for a full week. And even if he could bring himself to move more than a few feet, he knew Tsuyoshi wouldn’t let him leave the room.

The last round of vomiting had only sharpened the ache in his head. The motel room’s weak overhead almost seemed to pulse with every beat of his heart. Staring at it made him feel even dizzier- and with it, more nauseous- but his eyes were drawn to the peculiar sight. It was the closest thing he could get to a high.

The older man was sitting across the room, calmly perched at the rickety table. His vision was mostly focused on the magic-powered hotplate that was currently boiling a teakettle. Every so often, Chipp could see his one good eye glance over at him for a moment, before quickly returning to the kettle.

“What the fuck is that for?” He demanded.

“Language.” Tsuyoshi calmly chided, shaking his head. “I’m making tea.”

“No shit, you dumb bastard. Why the hell are you making tea now?”

“I’d say we could both use a drink.”

It was a simple response. Still, Chipp took it as an excuse to let out a furious growl and bury his face in a pillow. Moving all of a sudden only made everything ache more.

“I know it hurts.” Tsuyoshi’s voice was ever-patient. “But I will do my best to help you.”

“I don’t want your goddamn pity,” the teen hissed back, “I want some fucking heroin.”

A sigh heaved behind him. “I know you’re strong. If you don’t clean your body now, I fear you won’t live much longer. I don’t think anyone can thrive in an environment such as this one.”

Chipp wanted to hurl more profanities, but merely curled in on himself. He wanted to get clean. He really did. It was just the drugs talking. He couldn’t live like this anymore.

Stiff, trembling hands clutched at his ears. The teakettle began to whistle, sending more little throbs of pain across his skull. A hiss escaped his throat.

“Turn that fucking thing off!”

“I am, calm yourself.” The mechanical shriek quickly softened into silence. “Better?”

“T-thanks.” He had to remind himself.

The room went into blissful quiet. Well, as quiet as things could get when it felt like even the feeling of skin rubbing together was almost too loud. Chipp considered it better than nothing. It helped, if only a little.

“Here.” Tsuyoshi approached his bed. In each hand, he held a teacup. “Drink this. It will help you.”

Chipp sat up, slow and stiff as to avoid making himself sick again. As soon as he smelled the unusual odor of whatever was in the cup, he flinched away and covered his nose.

“I don’t want it.”

Tsuyoshi sighed in dismay. “You’re becoming dehydrated.”

“It smells like shit!” Chipp protested in turn. “And I feel like hell already, how is hot tea gonna make that any better?”

The man was silent. Chipp watched him place the teacups on the edge of the bed. Before he could pull away, Tsuyoshi reached out and pressed the back of one hand against his forehead.

“Your temperature has been fluctuating all day. It will take a bit of time for it to stabilize again. It does seem like you’ve got a bit of a fever again. Still, you’re dehydrated, and the sweating isn’t helping that at all. If you feel like you can keep it down, I’d like you to drink something.”

It would have been an easy excuse to say that he didn’t, but Chipp didn’t like that very much. Reluctantly, he held out a hand. “Give me the fuckin’ teacup, already.”

A smile poked out under the man’s moustache. “Glad to hear.”

The first sip was hesitant and awkward, but the rest flowed easily. In spite of his initial wariness, the faint sweetness and heat was oddly soothing to his burning throat, and the steam helped with the dizziness and itchy sinuses. He didn’t realize just how thirsty he had been in the first place.

“Feeling any better?”

“I guess…” He admitted. “A little. Maybe you aren’t- fuck-”

Chipp could hear the teacup shattering as it fell off of the mattress. He hardly cared, too preoccupied with frantically grabbing for the bucket as another wave of nausea hit him. Having the bucket in his lap made it easier to aim, but the reeking stench of acid and bile hurt his nose and made his eyes grow watery with tears.

“God…god dammit…” He gasped between heaving sobs. Everything hurt. Even the pleasant feeling of the tea had been replaced with a sickly saccharine taste that he couldn’t get off his tongue, no matter how much he gagged and spat.

Tsuyoshi looked no more concerned. “Oh my. I suppose I’m going to have to go see if I can get something to clean up this mess with.”

“Huh?”

In the time it took him to respond, the man was already at the door. “I’m going down to the front office, to see if I can get a few towels. I’ll only be gone a minute. Will you be alright until then?”

He was actually gonna leave him alone? “Y-yeah, I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about it, Sensei!”

An odd look was sent his way at the sudden title, but Tsuyoshi turned back and left. “Behave yourself.”

Chipp rubbed at his watery eyes, even more red than they usually were. Shit. The whole damn room was too hot. He was melting just sitting there.

Carefully, he eased himself off of the bed, trying to find his balance while also avoiding the mess of ceramic shards and tea that he’d made. Outside would probably reek of city-smog,but Chipp still felt drawn to it, wondering if the the air would help cool his warm skin. If he couldn’t get his highs on drugs, then he sure as hell wasn’t going to restrict himself here, too.

The door opened slowly, the boy flinching at every axle squeak as he peeked out. When he caught no sign of Tsuyoshi, he let out a sigh of relief, and let the door swing open. The banister a few feet in front of him was nothing more than a stack of cinder blocks overlooking a worn-down city district. The afternoon sky was full of dirty gray clouds, and the air stank of cart-food, trash, and sweat, but something about it felt infinitely more free than the four walls of that one room.

He slumped over the railing, propped up on his arms. A faint breeze ruffled his hair. Yeah. That was the good stuff. It felt nice against his hot, sweat-soaked body.

Something moved in the corner of his eye. He glanced at it with panic, but realized that it was merely a ratty-looking kid, probably a couple years younger than him, lingering on the walkway with his hoodie pulled up to his ears.

Just the sight enticed him. Chipp knew exactly what this kid’s deal was. His brain was telling him to turn tail, slam the motel room door behind him, and pretend like he’d never left. The impulsive part of his brain, the one that was always getting him into trouble, made him look over at the stranger and sign him over.

A too-shiny grin sparkled under the hood, matched with glowing green eyes that he was all-too-familiar with.

“Hey, buddy. Need a hit?” His voice was far too raspy for his age. Probably snorted too much of something too quick and got himself hooked.

Chipp flicked his eyes over both ends of the walkway, making sure nobody was coming. “What’cha got?”

“Ohhh, all sorts of good shit, man.” One sleeve was pulled back, revealing a menagerie of baggies that had been taped to his skin. “What are you craving?”

“Anything. Shit, anything.” He was already in too deep, and he knew it. Just the sight of all those powders made his heart speed up, the veins in his arms aching. The last scraps of his mind were screaming for him to turn away. “What’s the strongest thing you got?”

The kid’s smile widened. “A man of simple tastes, eh? Me too.” He gestured to a little packet of gray pills. “Handful of these, and you’ll feel like you’ve died and gone to heaven.”

Chipp was so antsy, his hands were already shaking as he fished through his ratty jeans in search of a few dollars. “How much?”

“CHIPP!”

Both boys froze in place, turning at the exact same time. Tsuyoshi was storming over to them, his good eye blazing with fury.

“S-Sensei, I-” In the sudden panic, he watched the other boy vault over the barrier and take off running as soon as he hit the ground. He couldn’t watch for too long, though, as Tsuyoshi grabbed his shirt collar.

“One minute I said, ONE MINUTE!” Each word was like a stab to the chest. “And WHAT do you do?! Run off and decide to get high again!”

“I’m s-sorry-”

Chipp felt the hand on his collar tug roughly, dragging him. In his panic and disorientation, he let himself be pulled along back to the door.

Tsuyoshi swiftly kicked the door open, gaze stony and unreadable. Chipp stumbled along for a few more steps before a firm hand planted itself between his shoulderblades and shoved him roughly towards the bed.

“Sit down, shut your mouth. I don’t want to hear anything from you for a while.”

The sheer force made his body bounce as he landed on the mattress. It jarred something loose in him. Though he intended to be quiet, the sudden scramble to try and find the bucket he had put down was noisy and awkward as he began retching.

“Here, here, be careful- !”

The contained was oriented beneath his chin. Chipp didn’t have much time to question, too occupied with the spasms that overtook him. They swiftly ate through the last of the energy in his body, and all he could manage to do was to curl up into a ball and begin trembling once it had ended, moaning in pain.

He heard a little sigh. The mattress dipped as he felt Tsuyoshi sit down next to him. Careful hands lifted his head up, letting it rest in the other man’s lap.

“S-sensei…”

“Shh...stay strong. It will be over soon.” Chipp felt fingers running through his hair, pressing against his throbbing temples. “You can make it through this.”

“I c-can’t…” Without thinking, he found himself tearing up again and sniffling. “I can’t-”

“You can. I know you can. Someday you look back and realize just how far you’ve come. And this will all seem like a bad dream.”

Chipp let his body gradually go slack. The hand in his hair and the low, soothing reassurances were enough to relax his taut, stiff muscles. And before he knew it, he had drifted off to sleep.

#Thanks to everyone! #Goretober #guilty gear #chipp zanuff #tw drugs #tw vomit #emeto tw #writing

[rapedbylife206-blog]

Dejavù seems to be the obvious reasoning behind this result/conclusion; Do you not agree? Could it be possibly be from an extremely vivid; realistically life-like; lucid dream, that you had once, long ago?? 🔮 Or even a vivid; lucid; realistic/life-like; subconsciously controlled; very, specially memorable; day-dream; that you had once upon a boring, spaced out glance that lasted a little longer than the 2 second-look. I used to dream about glamour life of celebrities. To elaborate specefically, Mostly famous/well-known; male actors/artists/models/vine-stars/internet or social media virals, filled my dreams of wanting to be with me, "fairytale love" or fairytale life with that famous male star. I guess, basically, any guy that was famous and gave me the perfectly; I'm perfect illusion of perfection and true happiness. Most celebrities are society's version of these1 of 4, judgemental and most of the time, spiteful diagnoses: Psychotic, Manic, Suicudal, or Extremely Unstable/Unstead; now with these being listed there are many more that could have been added to this list but I feel like they all could be evenly distributed underneath these 4 somehow/someway or another. Anyway, I went off track a little bit but I can draw it back in from the mental illnesses. All 4 of these mental challenges, mental disabilities, mental diseases or mental.."obstacles", as some of the more ignorant, less-educated tricks of society might, call it. I call, in the DNA or just human-like chances of receiving the trait and having one or more of these diagnoses on your medically; filled out completely and signed by a licsenced Doctor/Psychiatrist; medically, organized records, you are blessed, completely beyond measures. Don't you see, my lovely "crazies" of this world? You have the undeniable, irreplaceable, most reliable thing in your life, bitter-sweet, superpower-like ability to tap into what few people can even begin to have empathy towards others for. Our world is almost, completely filled and packed like a; distugsting, extra-salty, overly-rested, overly-fed, sourly-musty; can of sardines. In Today's World or "Modern-Day Society", our society, our Status Quo, if you will. It's so much like our High School days/times, living//competing among each other in the "United 50 States of America". It's still a free ass country; just got a couple quirks to work out, focus on the positive though.. If we can. So hypotgetiy speaking, if you end up deciding this decision; here are the things you will gain once you get a passport or a green card. Religious Freedom is gained!! Freedom of Speech!!! Freedom of Dress/To Express Yourself!!! Freedom to be Whoever the hell You Want to be!!!! Freedom To Vote, for your Home and for Your Leader!!!! Freedom to Love Whoever You Want To Love!!!! (LGBT RIGHTS) Freedom to get//not get a Great Education!!!!(::optional after the age of 16!!!!!)) Freedom to Defend Yourselves and be looked up to, as a Hero for it!!!!! Freedom to get more Mental-Health Assistance//help and a Mental-Health. Dissability-Check, Sign-Up!!!!! Freedom to express Yourself in WhatEver and However, You Want!!!!!! Freedom to -almost- ALL RIGHTS have either been passed or process of being Passed//Approved!!!!!! Freedom to Want, Feel, Talk, Express my feelings to WhoEver I want!!!!! (Just don't cause a public disturbance, especially while buzzing off of any Mind-Altering Substances)) We got a little bit of any and every type of Fashion//Style, that you could possibly want??? I designed all the clothes me and my 2, perfectly imperfect, beautiful girls. They can come out and instantly begin to gliw, the combination of their light/happiness and peace inside of them, shinning. Then, that beautiful, glowing spark is getting handled to the front of the yard//house. I needed it way closer than it was, lol. You know I'm a tiny, not so muscular-inclined, little lady, almost qualifies for a female midget.. Lol Awh, That'd be kind of almost cute. Would y'all still fw ya girl, if she found out that she was going to be Medically cleared for STD's and DISEASES; Clinically cleared for NO BABY BUMP ; Spiritually cleared for NO NASTY SPIRITS, got a vibe and a strong feeling for you to come back to check for demonic-like inteties or scars and markings; Physically cleared for my Check-Up, and I made a Physical--Check-Up Appointment, complete results, soon. Results, for everything else back, came clear!!!! You ever thought about which it would be, if you went back to your #1, absolute, favorite memory. Like would it go back to me being a baby-baby? I'm talking, when I could barely wash my hands alone, without making a mess!! When I could barely reach the sink or even the top of the counter. Awhh, 💕💕 ((:I was such a happy, mostly..positively charged, small combination of DNA//Atoms/Particles//Molocules!!)) You know, anytime that I don't have shoes on(Save a Lot Feet) and i'm trying to use my ballerina tricks, all the time wether in my toes, in my brain or in my heart. I gotta take a break and play with some other types ot tricks and stunts, at the age of 19, I will be doing what?? Unfortunately, doing nothing but being homeless, begging to sleep on a couch, always searching for food or my substance... Desperately. I never, ever, ever, in a million years thought I would be where I am today. I had such a good, sheltering, healthy, "normal-loving", how family members should be, you know? Back "in time", to a few months ago, or a few years ago. Wow, I don't even remember how long it's been since before I started fw it.... I don't remember about my life.(before or after, actually.) I remember standing there, trying to remember just a few weeks directly before it happened, then a few weeks. Directly after she began to come around a lot, lot, lot more... It was almost as if me, my heart and my drug, my drug were in the middle of a ceremony. We're going to do it when we can do it in-person... Am I right, Private Hill? I am at the right amount of intoxicatingly, fucked up, that I am, I'm numb(--inside-and-out--) Hell, to be completely honest, Iwouldn't mind being,"Comfortably Numb",you know? Like the "Greatest of All Time", also known as[, "The G.O.A.T.",], the one, the only...****drumroll**** The [G.O.A.T.] award goes to Pink Floyd🌈💦💜 Mmkay, it makes me super happy for a,d unbelievably proud of you!!!! Also, we aren't really doing anything, so maybe some celebration lines or drinks. Just a thought, babe 💁 Thought it might be some-what interesting lol. Music makes me feel feel so throw down and hear to the ground, it knows what to play. Ain't that some other shit, Do you wann lay me down, take your anger and frustration out on my body and let me love the negative vibes all out, make them go away papi💦. As it got darker and darker out side, it seemed as if the people of Henry County got hungrier and hungrier, Zaxby's got more and more packed. Strangely enough, then the memories won't go anywhere, I will figure out for some reason, why this isn't working and then I will prove my point to them, my family. I want to start getting prove of this, what is this, you may ask yourself?? Mhmmm... in life you will begin to realize that only about 4 thibgs, are almost guaranteed, so we can have some money, left over. I always carry very positive,uplifting sayings? Sayings? Lol. That's probably, my mind or my heart, possibly, who knows. Let's just tell me; the exploring, we have a compass or we can make one of those, along with how we can make a toasty asf fire, with S'mores!! Yummy! Toast some chocolate, get my graham crackers, all toasty like they supposed to be, you know?? I could begin to work on and maybe start the process to me finishing me. That blue hat, my blue, ball-cap hat, it looks kinda cute on her but definitely need a fw me, if you tryna fuck w me. Just thinking about, you know, normal,bubbky,19 year old's mind. Of course, racing with normal, awfully sad or just in happy thoughts about death and who some one cares for, will be next. Its scary, when nobody's got taken from you in awhile, I'll just be sitting here thinking to myself, you'll be sitting there, asking yourself, around the same questions. What do you think you'll be doing for either holidays? It would be nice to see her receiving some types of holidays, Give thanks with Christmas Cheer!!! 💕💕 This way I was kinda there for both holidays, just in case some great grandma's and great aunt's and pop's isn't doing too good. I'm sorry, I more than likely won't make it to the family holidays, I will have no ride and will I even be wanted there, probably be wanted there but the old me, not the new me, not her. My meme believes I can bring the old me, she doesn't believe that i just can't pull myself out of this. If not all the way, I fugures, I could keep him away from all that shit. I have to block out veiws of you, so I don't lose my head. I ripped these pictures out, I think I am going to fr am these up, frame to frame to frame, almost touching but it never touches. As long as I'm putting the interior design in, it will stay where frames do not move, they will look nice and neat and organized, no doubt.