#Always find it funny how the mere mention of him triggers some people to insanity like :')

[pokespefangirl]

Happy Birthday Blake!

Let the biches keep hating!! :D

[nekojitachan]

How to Steal a Million (part 4?)

I think it’s part 4. We’re going with part 4

Find previous part here

This is really along the ratings of ‘T’. Mentions of forgery, stealing, threats of bodily harm (it IS Neil and Andrew, after all) but nothing serious. Lots of snark.

*******

Neil pressed against one of the doorways which led into the main gallery of the Kleber-Lafayette Museum, where the Cellini Venus was currently on display; he’d heard so much talk about it at the party he’d attended with Allison that he couldn’t resist coming to see the exhibit. After a minute of surveilling the room (checking the exits, any signs of cameras, the position of the guards, etc.) he stepped away the room… only to bump into someone a moment later due to the crowd of people.

Only to bump into L.A.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Neil hissed as he recoiled in surprise (and forced himself not to pull a knife).

“Huh, funny how we only meet under the most ‘artistic’ of circumstances’,” L.A. remarked as he gestured to the artworks hung on the walls around them, his deep voice sarcastic yet expression impassive; he was dressed in black pants and a black dress shirt which actually looked expensive and showed off his muscular build.

“Funny how I always feel the urge to stab you when we meet,” Neil muttered as he smoothed down the front of his dark blue jumper; Allison had dressed him before he’d left her house that day, so at least he appeared presentable.

Why did he suddenly care if he appeared presentable?

There was the tiniest twitch to the left corner of L.A’s mouth before he stepped forward. “You might want to look into that.” While Neil glared at the asshole’s back, the American nodded toward the crowd. “Lot of people here to see your statue, seems it’s famous.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Neil accused the man as he reconsidered the whole ‘no stabbing’ thing.

L.A. held up his hands and shook his head. “I’m off duty at the moment. What about you?”

Before Neil could question why the asshole had asked that, someone called out his name; he turned with a fake smile and nodded to Aldritch, who held out his hand to be shook.

“I’m fine, how are you?” he asked in return, then motioned to L.A. “Uhm, Monsieur Aldritch, the director of the museum and….” Well, he couldn’t exactly say ‘Larcenous Asshole, semi-decent thief’, could he?

“Minyard,” L.A. said without missing a beat as he gave Aldritch’s extended hand a very brief shake. “Josten and I are old friends, we used to spar together.” He leaned in as if to share a secret. “I usually won,” he said in a mock whisper.

While Neil glared at the asshole and Aldritch chuckled, L.A. continued. “Beautiful exhibit you have here, lots of valuable things.”

“Oh yes,” Aldritch agreed as he turned to Neil. “Please notice all of the security precautions we’ve taken with your family’s statue.” Then he turned back to L.A., who somehow managed a semi-interested expression on his usually impassive face. “Are you interested in art, Mr. Minyard?” When L.A. nodded, Aldritch smiled. “And are you interested in security?” the middle-aged man asked.

“Oh yes, very much so,” Minyard assured him while Neil wondered if there was a suitable place to hide the asshole’s body (after it was perforated to his heart’s content).

“Wonderful, let me show the two of you around.” Aldritch didn’t wait for their agreement before he walked away; since L.A. followed, Neil gritted his teeth together and did the same.

Aldritch headed straight for the Cellini Venus; L.A. made a mocking bow then held out his left arm in a clear sign for Neil to take it. At first he was about to ignore it, then Neil ‘smiled’ and accepted it, just so he could ram his elbow into the bastard’s ribs.

L.A. stumbled but otherwise remained on his feet and didn’t make a sound, but gave Neil a narrow look as they reached the pedestal which housed the Cellini Venus. Aldritch, oblivious to what had just happened, smiled at them and motioned to the blue lights which circled the base of the pedestal. “These are infrared beams which surround the Venus.” When L.A., acting like a proper idiot, went to touch the Venus, Aldritch gasped and swatted at his hand. “No, don’t touch it! That will trigger an alarm if the beams are broken, it’s an E.E.D.A. system.”

“That’s so impressive.” L.A. somehow managed to put a little emotion in his voice while Neil fought not to roll his eyes over what was really a common security protocol. “What happens if a thief somehow manages to turn off the system?”

“No, not possible,” Aldritch insisted with a slight frown. “There’s guards here all the time, and only myself and two other people can disable the system. We have back-up generators in case there’s a power outage, and it’s offline to prevent anyone from hacking into it.”

“Amazing,” L.A. drawled. “You’ve truly thought of everything.”

“Yes, I feel that my family’s statue is in perfectly safe hands,” Neil said with a slight inclination of his head. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve an appointment I can’t be late for.”

“Oh, of course! I’m pleased you were able to stop by.” Aldritch wished him well, and somehow Neil wasn’t surprised when L.A. followed him out of the museum.

“Look, stay the hell away from this place or I’ll report you to the cops, whoever you are,” he insisted as he went over to where he’d parked the MG. “Go find something else to ‘liberate’.”

“Minyard, Andrew Minyard,” L.A. said with an offending sniff. “It’s like you don’t trust me or something.”

“Might have something to do with you breaking into my house,” Neil muttered as he climbed into the MG.

“That was us meeting cute.”

Neil stared at the insane American for a couple seconds before he shook his head. “Do me a favor?”

“Hmm?” Despite Andrew’s (was that his real name?) curious tone, there was a hint of wariness in his hazel eyes.

“Stand in front of my car,” Neil asked as he motioned at the hood of the MG.

“Why?” Now there definitely was a gleam of wariness in Andrew’s eyes.

“So I can run you over and not have to worry about you bothering me anymore.”

The American radiated disapproval as he crossed his muscular arms over his chest. “As much as I find this flirting routine somewhat amusing, I need to talk to you about-“

Once Neil heard the ‘f’ word, he started the car’s engine then took off, unfortunately without hitting the asshole.

*******

Andrew collapsed on the bed in Kevin’s hotel room and sighed.

“If you’re about to rant about the coffee again, I don’t want to hear it,” Kevin said as he henpecked at the keyboard, his attention focused on the monitor.

“As if you’re bundle of joy until you get a few shots of espresso in you,” Andrew muttered while he scrubbed at his face with the palms of his hands.

“I don’t need ten spoonfuls of sugar and a pint of milk to go along with them,” Kevin argued before he turned to look at Andrew. “Now tell me you did something today other than haunt several bakeries.”

“Fuck you.” Andrew gave his partner the finger as he sat up. “Only two bakeries today, and yes, I did.” When Kevin gave him an expectant look, he rolled his eyes. “I talked to one Bernard Grammont, who is certain that Stuart Josten is a forger though he lacks any concrete proof. Also, I ran into Neil Josten again, who was checking out the display at the Kleber-Lafayette Museum.” He did his best not to wince as he felt a twinge in his ribs from where the sneaky bastard had hit him. “Didn’t seem to want to run into anyone there, which was rather odd.”

“Hmm, it does seem suspicious, but remember we’re not being paid to prove anything with Josten, at least not yet.”

Grammont would have hired Andrew to investigate Josten… but for some reason he didn’t want to work for the man. Maybe there was something to Renee warning him about the family… or maybe the game he’d started with Neil Josten would be ruined if money was involved.

Whatever the reason, for once Andrew found himself interested in something other than cracking a case or catching a bad guy. The more he interacted with Neil Josten, the more he couldn’t stop thinking about the enigmatic young man with the pale blue eyes and sharp tongue.

He’d most likely be disappointed once he got to the bottom of the mystery, but until then… until then he’d let things play out as a rare break from boredom. What could it cost him? Other than some bruises and a bit of blood loss, that was.

He might want to stop by the nearest pharmacy the next time he was out.

*******

Neil took a sip of the red wine he’d barely drank all night and managed one of his ‘fake’ smiles everyone except those who knew him (a rare few) fell for. “It’s a very nice wine.”

Riko grinned and tapped a finger against the base of his own wine glass. “My family owns the vineyard.”

“Oh really?” Neil managed to look impressed by that declaration, even though he knew very well what all the Moriyamas owned (and that the Hatfords owned a vineyard or two as well). “But it doesn’t have the Moriyama name on it.”

“It’s under one of our subsidiary holdings,” Riko explained, as if he held any real power when it came to the Stone Mountain corporation.

“It’s always good to diversify.” Or so Neil had been told – that’s why Stuart did his art forgery thing, Uncle Will and Henry oversaw the main business, Jamie was expanding into online money laundering and had offered for Neil to help (something he was considering, if he could extract Stuart out of this most recent mess), and Ally… eh, Ally was Ally.

Riko beamed at Neil as if he was a pet which had done a particularly clever trick. “See, you’re different from the others, I can be myself with you and not have to talk about silly stuff.”

No, not really; Riko hadn’t started screaming and throwing a temper tantrum yet, which was his ‘real self’ by all accounts, but Neil merely ‘smiled’ and had another minute sip of the wine (which was so-so) while Riko rambled on (more like bragged) about how rich and powerful his family was. All the while, Neil glanced around to make sure that Matt and Dan were seated on the other side of the room, his ‘back-up’ for the night.

As soon as Riko paused for breath, Neil ‘smiled’ and poured him more wine. “I’ve a feeling that there’s something you’re holding back.” When Riko stared at him in interest, he tilted his head to the side. “Something… something to do with my uncle, perhaps?”

He knew that Riko had bought a painting from Stuart a few years ago, and was renowned for his own collection; the Moriyamas were famous patrons of the arts, and Riko had believed himself to be something of an artist while growing up – him and his foster brother, Kevin Day. From what Stuart had told Neil, Kevin was the one with the real talent, but there had been some sort of accident which had left the young man unable to paint anymore, and Riko had eventually gone to work for his uncle, Tetsuji.

Yet Riko had said nothing to Neil when they’d met at the party the other night, had done his best to flirt with Neil until he’d agreed to a date. That behavior had made Neil suspicious as hell, made him want to figure out what was going on with a scumbag like Riko Moriyama.

Well, and it was always nice to get on Renee’s good side, which would happen if he and Allison could figure out some way to get Riko in trouble while helping out the man’s assistant, Jean Moreau, whom Renee had somehow befriended….

Riko appeared startled for a moment, and then tried some sort of shy act which Neil could see through with ease. “Well… to be honest… yes, there is something I wanted to talk to you about in regard to your uncle – your uncle and his collection.”

Neil managed to retain the mild smile while he braced himself for what might come next, if it had anything to do with Stuart’s ‘little hobby’ or not (had Riko figured out that the Monet he’d bought was a fake?).

“That is, I-“

One of the servers approached the table and gave a short bow. “My apologies, Mr. Moriyama, but there’s an urgent call for you.”

Riko frowned as he patted his right thigh as if to check his phone, which hadn’t rung or vibrated during their meal. “That’s odd, I shouldn’t be interrupted tonight.” He then gave an apologetic smile to Neil. “I’m sorry, but it has to be important if they tracked me down here.”

“That’s okay.” Neil watched him leave before he slumped back into the velvet-covered booth… only to jerk upright when Andrew slid into it a few seconds later. “Oh for fuck’s sake, really?”

The slightest of frowns tugged at the corners of Andrew’s full lips. “Is that any way to greet me after the trouble I went through to arrange a few minutes alone with you?”

Neil’s smile took on a sharp edge. “Well, I can do the usual way when you startle me.” His hand crept toward the butter knife on the table while he spoke.

“I thought you French people weren’t supposed to be so violent,” Andrew said as he leaned away a little.

“You’re certainly living up to Americans being rude cliché, now go away.” Neil made a shooing motion with his napkin. “My, uhm, dinner partner isn’t known for his even temper.”

“Your ‘dinner partner’ is a known psycho. Nice taste in dates there,” Andrew said with blatant disapproval.

“He’s not my date and I’m not interested in the opinion of a barely competent thief, now go away before you need more than a simple bandage,” Neil hissed out.

For some reason, Andrew’s left eyebrow raised the slightest amount. “I’ve something important to tell you, if you’ll stop trying to kill me for five minutes.”

“Where’s the fun in that, and leave before he returns!” As annoying as the American could be, Neil didn’t want to deal with the mess Riko could leave if he returned and found someone sitting at his table with the person he’d asked out for the night.

“I will, if you agree to meet me tomorrow afternoon. Suite 136, the Ritz.”

Andrew showed no sign of leaving, while Neil could see Riko across the room; luckily, Matt had gotten up and currently was running interference. “Fine,” he gritted out, conceding that Andrew had won for the moment with ill grace. “Now go before you really do get stabbed.”

“Tomorrow,” Andrew said before he grabbed Neil’s wineglass, managed to gulp down its contents in a couple seconds then slipped away.

Neil really should stab the bastard, he thought as he fought not to grin.

His amusement vanished when a scowling Riko sat down beside him. “I think it was a prank call, there was nothing but gibberish on the line,” Riko muttered as he pulled out his phone and typed something on it. “I’m going to have someone look into it.”

Neil hoped that Andrew had done a good job of covering his tracks and mumbled something soothing until Riko was finished. “Now where were we… ah yes, your uncle’s collection.” Riko summoned what he probably thought was a friendly smile but was ‘off’ enough to make Neil want to shiver. “I have to admit, I’ve always admired it, especially one piece in particular.”

“And that is?” Neil asked, no longer certain that Riko had realized that he’d bought a fake.

“The Cellini Venus.” Riko’s gaze grew unfocused as he discussed the statue. “There’s something about it, something that haunts me. I admit, I was happy to meet you since I’d hoped you might be able to intervene with your uncle on my behalf since he’s refused all offers to buy the statue before now, but I’m enjoying our time together.”

Ah, that’s what it was – another person enraptured with the Venus. Neil gave him a sympathetic smile and dared a slight pat on the hand. “I understand, it is a true masterpiece and I wish I could offer it to you, but my uncle is adamant about it remaining in the family. If that ever changes, I’ll reach out to you first.” Not that it ever would.

“It was worth a try, wasn’t it? And at least I’ve you as a consolation prize.” Riko grinned as he twisted his hand around to capture Neil’s.

Not quite, but Neil was still for a couple of seconds since he noticed the server returning to the table and used the young man asking if there was anything they needed as an excuse to tug his hand free and order a cup of tea rather than jab the assuming asshole with a fork. That was the signal for Dan to call him soon after the drink arrived so he’d have an excuse to end ‘the date’.

Unfortunately, he had to agree to see Riko again, but he was free of the man’s presence for the night. After thanking Dan and Matt via text and assuring Allison that he was safely on his way home, he ensured that he wasn’t followed to the small mansion he shared with Stuart and Davis, where he gladly collapsed into his own bed.

He wasn’t in the mood to leave his home the next day, but he’d promised Andrew to meet up with him, as well as brunch with Matt and tea with Renee. After lounging around for part of the morning, he finally got up and dressed in a comfortable pair of jeans and an old sweatshirt of Matt’s then went downstairs. Davis shook his head at his appearance and handed him a cup of tea before Neil went into Stuart’s study.

“There you are, interested in some breakfast?” Stuart asked as he motioned to the plates of food set out on the small table.

“I don’t have much time, I’ll eat something at Matt’s,” Neil said as he grabbed a small croissant to hold him over until then. “You’ll be happy to know that you can keep selling your artwork to Riko Moriyama since he has no clue about them being fakes. He asked me out because he was hoping I could get you to sell him the Cellini Venus.”

A predatory grin spread across Stuart’s face. “That’s a relief, he’s terrible at bargaining.”

“He’s terrible at a lot of things,” Neil muttered; during their conversation, the doorbell rang and Davis admitted the guest.

Stuart put aside his own cup of tea to go see who it was and Neil followed; there was an older gentleman dressed in a suit who nodded when Stuart greeted him, then pulled out a notepad to ask him about being the owner of one ‘twenty-nine inch marble statue named Venus by the artist Benevento Cellini’.

“Yes, that’s my statue, on loan to the museum,” Stuart agreed with a hint of suspicion. “What is this about?”

“It’s in regard to the insurance loan,” the man responded as he tapped the thick folder held beneath his left arm.

“What loan? I’ve never insured it since it’s priceless,” Stuart insisted while dread grew inside of Neil, thick and cold and slimy.

“It’s a precaution that the museum has taken for all the pieces in the exhibit,” the man explained, “except somehow your signature was overlooked on the Venus’ document.” He glanced around went over to the nearest table (18th century French) so he could pull it out, the intent clear for Stuart to sign it. “There’s no cost to you, it means that the work of art is covered until it’s returned to your possession in good order.”

Stuart approached the man with his hands clasped behind his back; Neil could tell that his uncle did his best to appear unruffled by this sudden complication. “That’s it? I just have to sign the paper?”

“Yes, and the statue will be fully insured for one million. It’s required of all the items for them to be in the exhibit and really should have been done weeks ago.” The man held out a pen for Stuart to use to sign the document.

It would look odd if Stuart refused and suddenly pulled out the Venus, especially when the exhibit already started. Still, Neil felt that sensation of dread grow as his uncle signed the paper. “Is there anything else? Any other requirements?” he asked as he approached his uncle.

The man nodded as he folded up the signed document. “As part of the insurance verification, the statue will be examined to ensure its authenticity. The company will send someone to do that on Friday, if you’d like to be there when it happens. This should have been explained already.”

Neil could barely nod, the same for Stuart, as the man promised to send them details before he left and apologized for the confusion. As soon as the door closed behind him, Stuart started to curse up a storm while Neil slumped against the wall.

“I can’t believe this, they told me nothing about authenticating it! How dare they not trust me!” Stuart ranted once he stopped cursing.

It was on the tip of Neil’s tongue to say ‘I told you so’, but how would that help the situation? Instead, he went back for his unfinished cup of tea then put on his shoes so he could leave.

“Where are you going at a time like this? We need to figure something out, to come up with a plan!” Stuart called out from the salon, where he was busy pouring himself a glass of whiskey.

“I have,” Neil said as he stood up. “I’m going to steal the damn thing back.”

*******

[mynameisdreartblog]

Devilish Deals 3

Libra: Offered cool-ass, hellfire bullets. On my route to work, there’s several things I always remark a subtle difference of change in whenever I pass them by: The color of this single window that portrays a lovely dining room scene, the angle the traffic lights hang at, and the name engraved on a rather fancy mausoleum to long-dead celebrity. I can’t tell if I was endowed with a foresight to detect the incredibly subtle, or if it’s an involved process like deciphering anagrams. Regardless, certain messages have been changing to be something that corresponded with recent events within my life. Two years ago, a supply that was supposed to arrive at six in the afternoon was late by another six hours: I checked outside the coordinates they gave me, and I ran only to find out that the site was abandoned. The truck was still there, but it was torn nearly in two and the books were gone. Witnesses had nothing to say before casting their attention to darker corners, alluding that something had happened here that they didn’t want to tell me. [,] The morning after, I passed by that window and it was tinted an irradiated yellow that reflected just enough sunlight for you to avoid seeing what’s behind it. Then, I passed by the traffic lights and they hung at an unusual angle that was 30° facing north from where they’re positioned normally: Not only this, the second light was duller and quite hard to make out. Finally, the mausoleum located in the bottom-right corner of the local cemetery said that it was honoring Yisrael Katz, who — last time I checked — was still alive somewhat. I was passing by the first two attempting to avoid how they were calling to me until I got to the last sign: At that point, I had to ask someone. So, I got off my horse and approached a gravedigger in the cemetery… But he refused to look towards me and instead to arbitrary corners: Indicating that someone was there I couldn’t sense. Suddenly, I was back on my horse towards my workplace as usual. […] Later I was approached by crossing guards who took their duty very seriously, though the ones that stopped me didn’t wear brightly colored vests and actively carried military weaponry. That was something that wasn’t out of the ordinary, so I forgot all about the paranormal disturbances from earlier and I continued on with my day… that was until today where the crossing guards weren’t carrying assault rifles. [,] «Cool, that’s… actually quite interesting. Spare me another story will you?» Heh, and here I was expecting the same old sarcasm from you.

Cancer: In a bus. It was a cold, drowsy morning: One that told you God listened to too much loud music and it started giving him early symptoms of tinnitus. Here, we zoom into a quiet corner of the Patagonian landscape into a somewhat isolated townscape that’s aching with the fog that surrounds it: Even the dry plateaus felt misty this morning. In the center of this village, the statue of Blessed Whoever stood as unquestionably incompetently as you’d expect, decorated with the linings of bird defecation. From its mighty stone finger pointing eastward, there could be seen a low-end shopping center that served as the fourth quadrant that made up the village square. All was quaint except for two villagers having a troublesome argument near the fountain. There’s nothing else for us to do here as eavesdroppers from inside the walls, — the one they just so happened to lean on when they began to fuss — so we’ll take whatever information we can receive from the outside. [,] Peer into a life you were never meant to understand and ask yourself questions: Why are they arguing? Are the typical, emotionally logical reasons why it’s occurring, or is it strange, esoteric reasons? What’s the tone of voice being used by each party? Are they pious people or secular snakes? Is it about the, uh, family business? […] We’ve been eavesdropping for so long that the sun has turned a noticeable fifteen degrees in the sky. And for as much as the sun had turned, the conversation had turned for the worse. Both of the voices were becoming louder and more parched as the subject matter shifted from academic performance to finances. Each party is becoming more thoroughly stubborn in their assessments. It seems that it’s in our interests that no compromise is reached if we’re continued to lay near this building and pretend we’re only homeless in the moment. You lived long enough to know that getting too far up one’s own ass is a very real thing, and you’re aware of the epiphanic powers that one’s inner self holds in how the reconsiderations never leave the space where the self feels trapped oftentimes by their own causation. We’ve spent long enough invading privacy; let’s leave, Kokin: We’ve done enough amoral narration for now. […] Oh, I meant this literally; I have no idea why you thought I was talking about arrogance when I mentioned shoving one’s head up their own ass.

Virgo: By dancing for them. Like the band Paramore (whose recent work was pretty good; I don’t know why so many think it’s lackluster just because it’s not traditionally punk), we must complete an arbitrary number of world-records to the tune of a new power-pop track. <Bluma turns toward the crowd of unamused city-folk gathered around her rather dignified soapbox.> I see you must’ve all come here for a reason, and we mustn’t disappoint. <A small coughing can be heard in the back of the crowd, and another person reacts with disgust over the cougher not covering their mouth with their shoulder.> Before we perform, we must list all of the feasible, previously uncontested world records that we’ll attempt to perform today. Refer to the whiteboard above me, read it, and understand the potential records as its followed so you don’t become confused during the process. <The whiteboard is shown, and all the records are written in a dried, green marker that makes the text hard to read.> [,] For those who still can’t grasp it, I’ll read them out: 1. The highest stacking of Starbursts. 2. The fastest time to teach a child how to comprehend Baudrillardian thought. 3. The farthest-reaching skipping stone. 4. The most amount of ding-dong-ditches in the span of six hours. 5… <Those of the audience who wanted to see some action left as they became bored through the persistent listing, adding to Bluma’s plan.> [,] Now, those of you with the proper faith left to trust us, we’ll be performing in T-minus sixty seconds. I’m Bluma, and this is my band: Gamerghazi. «Wait, was this supposed to be a concert? I thought it was just a demonstration.» <Bluma drops down from her soapbox and kicks it into the crowd, indirectly hitting the one who asked that question.> Well, actually, it’s not really a musical band: It’s an unclear organization of people that doesn’t fit into any neat category, so I just call it a band for simplicity’s sake. I named it Gamerghazi after an existing indie band from Canada. <The questioner, now on the ground, responds> «Oh okay, that’s neat.» […] <While in the midst of completing the second record, Bluma triggers a supernatural event> In that moment of silence that broke everything — and broke more world records for me than any of those Guinness books I stole in my childhood — I felt like I was in a space of reality completely tailored towards who I’ve become to be over this quarter of a lifetime. There was a serenity that I somehow knew wasn’t meant to be there, and had to come at the cost of removing the presence of others to restore a sense of balance. It’s as if all of those years of listening to the powerful anthems of contemporary pop music — that which was calling for world domination via style alone — made all the sense in the world to me. <Bluma awakes to find out that she’s been accused of faking the first record by using non-traditional flavors of Starburst.>

Sagittarius: For some job experience. I forgot what time this took place… It seems to have shifted so much, and I feel like someone can live on the same planet that I do but be a hundred years ahead in terms of how quickly than can coordinate action. There’s someone out there who’s an exact pinpoint reflection of myself and the path of life I’m tracing out, and that almost everything about them is identical to myself, yet having such varying differences in how they merely comprehend knowledge. They’re probably some sorta silicone-based lifeform, and they probably have a civilization that chose to etch its language into a more insane physical material through a process I can’t even begin to imagine… Might be that they live in a solar system the same as ours, only that they inhabit a slightly modified version in which Venus became the most hospitable place for life. They likely would’ve inhabited Ishtar and had a funny accent compared to those on the island of Tellus, but they’re too self-conscious to admit they have their own funny way of pronouncing Lakshmi words. «Let me guess, you’re projecting your desire for exploration on fictional worlds again, aren’t you?» <The atmosphere of the scene is settled in with the intrusion of Swayo’s words make their case. The exposed comfort of the campfire lights the entire scene, and Rossouw lowers their flask of gin. It was a far call from the nakedness of the AC back at home-base: Something that she had to finally accept as her new home and pass on by as if she’s never had a concept of stable living.> I feel like too much time has passed between your friendly intrusion and my monologue, but please, sit down and gaze further with me. [,] It’s not often that I engage in these; I generally despise sit-downs that I didn’t form myself because I’m paranoid that they’re gonna attempt to redirect me rather then the preferred: That I redirect them. But, I’ll make an exception for you because you broke my focus, and that warrants the punishment of getting to know me. «Uh, I just wanted to ask about your shirt.» Then why the comments from earlier? I was gonna make this at least somewhat heartfelt and now you’re just proving my point that any glimpse of peace I can have is just ripped away by people who didn’t even mean it, God. <The fire begins to die and the gin in Rossouw’s bottle begins to reach its last drops. The wind that feels like an AC returns at the small sense of comfort she had began to dissipate into usual expectations. It was a close call to the nakedness of the AC back at home-base.> [,] I’m gonna pretend you didn’t interrupt me...  You’ve seen it on the news, and you’ve heard it in stories of abduction, sometimes we’re just granted with biological technology around us that grants us something that pushes us “ahead” in certain areas. «Where did you get that shirt, though?» I feel like too much time has passed… in general. I hope my otherworldly self has a home.

[meridianrose]

prose poem

Found this while going through some of my older works. Angry, angst-y, prose poetry. Warnings for suicidal thoughts and other possibly triggering or controversial themes.

Reasons To Live/Not To Die Sex. Sex of course. Fucking. The sex you haven't had. Making love. This is not helpful to an asexual, any more than "women's vaginas", "hot girls", "sexy girls", "fucking a woman" Would be helpful to a gay man No mention of self-pleasure either Orgasms are only good in company? When you're wondering if life is worth living And one of the most popular reasons given Is to have a penis repeatedly rammed into you Then it's seems that yes, Life is pointless Babies One day…you will stare down at your baby daughter’s face as she lies contentedly asleep in your lap Your children and grandchildren [If you commit suidice] You’re preventing a future generation, YOUR KIDS, from even being born. This is useless, hurtful, to the infertile And utterly anathema to someone Who has been childfree since age 11 Who would rather tear out their uterus With their fingernails, then be pregnant And if it's selfish to die before reproducing Isn't it selfish to stop at one, or six, or nineteen Because think of the unborn relying on you! All those poor eggs you let go to waste Every time you menstruate. If children are such a source of joy Why are so many abused, abandoned, neglected? And it's not even enough to reproduce To give life your life meaning You need to spend the rest of your life Nagging at your offspring to do the same "Give me grandchildren!" Isn't that a much more selfish act? God What if there really is a Hell? only God has the right to end a life God granted the miracle of life, only He can end it [Your family] may come to hate God. And they will feel guilt about this How dare you talk to me of your god How dare you assume what my faith is What that of my family is What spiritual beliefs we hold Hell? Imagine a father finding his child crying And instead of comforting him Beats him for being weak and in pain I cannot worship any deity Who would be so cruel You can keep your arrogant patriarch My spirituality is my own Any god I can accept Is one who would understand all The joys and pains of life And the decisions made in the face of them Imagine how much guilt, grief and anguish you will cause your loved ones. So many people care, and it would hurt them if you hurt yourself. There are so many people that would miss you My family depends on me and needs me You'll put your friends and family through grief I'd/We’d miss you You want to guilt someone into living? You offer up platitudes but How can you love or care about or miss someone You don't know at all, Someone who's reading your blog for the first time? These reasons are not helpful When no-one relies on you When the people who you care about Who supposedly care about you Who would allegedly miss you Are the ones who can cause the most pain With their abandonment With their criticism With their lack of concern for you Maybe these things are true and Maybe they're not But they do nothing to quell the fires When you're aflame Walking your dog in the crisp evening breeze. Walking on the beach These are positives But the lack of them is part of the problem The one thing I have always most wanted The one place I long to be Thinking of what I do not have Cannot have Merely adds fuel to the fire Funny animal videos Cheese and wine Bubble baths Chocolate Positives I can relate to Things within my grasp These can help take off the edge Push back the anguish for a time These are somewhat more helpful So long as they are not also telling me To get laid or pray to their God Things will get better You don't have to make the decision now This is your decision I've been where you are now No-one knows if it gets better But taking a day to think things through Is good advice Personal stories are sometimes helpful If not too sanctimonious or otherwise unrelatable Being acknowledged not as someone Sick or fucked up or insane Not being threatened with incarceration Instead having someone write to another person An adult capable of making a decision Writing without criticism, but with understanding That's the most helpful of all Endnote 1: When all you hear from society is that your value is as an employee or a wife or a mother and you are none of these things and don't want to be these things, it's difficult. Add in how quickly friends will leave, how family will ignore, how people will disappoint you. Throw in a lack of self-confidence, add how the one truly valuable thing you're capable of not really valued, stir in how you'll never have the things you truly want. It only takes one more drop to make the whole thing spill over into despair. Online sources of assistance are a hot mess of the sort of "advice" that could end with incarceration and permanent stigma, religious bullshittery, fundamentalist Puritanism, false platitudes, and the occasional gem of understanding and thoughtfulness that actually makes it seem that the despair won't last. Endnote 2: All the italicised quotes are direct or mildly paraphrased versions of actual online material meant to give reasons to live/not to die, in particular one tumblr post which I still see doing the rounds sometimes and makes me rage every time. The rest are my personal words and responses, and reflect my feelings, which are not up for debate.