#im gonna be the worlds first deadbeat dad

[transzilla]

I met a lot of trans women who go on estradiol and develop a breeding thing like well I know it's not biologically possible but I need somebody to shoot a kid in me, I'm the exact same way being transmasc and going on testosterone I'm like bro i need to find a way to father thousands of children RIGHT THE FUCK NOW. Like I'm saying if I had a dick I'd own the place. I need to shoot somebody like old yeller u know what I'm saying... Like take a man out behind the shed and everything ooh yeah... It's gonna be like high noon except I don't have any bullets. Plus yeah obviously I just need to impregnate somebody like you can get an abortion after I'm not an asshole. We can have a lil abortion party too we'll drink bourbon and eat sushi and go in a jacuzzi, maybe go on a rollercoaster, ohhhh smoke a bunch of cigarettes and lift some weights... take turns punching each other in the stomach... look man I just need this

[theood]

If I could change one thing in my life I'd make it so no one ever commented on food

[metis-iphigenia]

its like 2 am and im very tired so im sorry if this doesnt make sense i just want to talk about why i love scott summers.

•one of the reasons i love scott summers is because he is a flawed character who is quite doomed by the enviroment he was raised in. he makes mistakes a lot and learns that his actions have life altering consequences, later on he actually works on them.

for an example, in x-factor; scott left madelyne with their son nathan because the original 5 of the xmen were getting back together.(also the news of jean grey being alive) later on, Nathan is in the hands of apocalypse and mr sinister, later gets infected with that stuff etc.(idk how to explain sorry) and scott becomes aware that maybr if he didnt leave, maybe if he stayed he wouldnt lose the son he always wished to have. he is consumed by his guilt and grief. at least to my interpretion.

this is why i dont like actively calling scott a deadbeat dad because in the end he did come back for nathan.(he shouldnt have left in the first place i get that too) but calling him a deadbeat dad in my opinion just ignores his character as a whole.

or in xmen animated series, where in like the first episodes he has to leave morph. wolverine is angry at him justifibly(but its also not scotts fault(and morpherine canon guys)) scott does his best later on to be more careful to lead the team in missions, trying his best to not leave anyone behind etc its not very underlined that he does this but you can see it when you look for it.

•and not only that, i also find him very relatable and think his anger, frustration against the world very relatable. i also agree with his ideals.

cyclops ideals are a perfect balance between magneto's and professor x's ideals from my observation.

im gonna speak in xmen 97 terms because explaining my opinions is easier that way

professor x(as much as i admire what he stands for) is trying to help mutants but he is working towards tolerance, not acceptance. and like said in xmen 97, tolerance really is extinctence(i think this is how you spell it?? idk sorry english is not my mother tongue)

magneto doesnt want acceptance nor tolerance he just doesnt want humans(because of the years of opression he has faced, leading him to fight back against id but be the opressor as the time passes because humans(yes mutants are humans too) are corrupt like that)so he is trying to cause war for mutant liberation but his actions are causing people to be prejudiced about other mutants and causing them to be more violent towards them. even in the apocalyptic future, camps are being made for mutants because magneto himself started a war.(i will talk about my views on magneto on an another post because he really is a very interesting character corrupt by his own cynicism)

however what scott is working towards is acceptance and he is aware that if he just stands quiet to all the violence towards mutants and just busts his ass to save humans, he is the same as professor x, working towards tolerance. so now he uses violence to make people aware that mutants are going to live with them if they like it or not because he knows sometimes to be heard you have to scream. but his ideals towards mankind never changes because he doesnt hate them he hates their ignorance.

i do believe that since his mental health was declining(becasue of the years of opression and brutality he and his people have faced)he has done some things that were definitely problematic but this brings me to my first point of him facing the consequences of his actions.

overall, i do believe cyclops was right, i just think he also went about it wrong in some ways and that led to people not understanding him.

i find his backstory very interesting too(even though in changes but to me the orphanage later jack winters and professor x is the true one) i think about him being gaslit into forgetting his own little brother but him never faltering once and believing his own mind instead of someones tongue,his time with jack winters

(which i believe the interpretion of it being abusive because of the signs etc and how more impactful it makes that the first mutant he had ever actually known had hurt him instead of helping his own kind. it a parallel to our own world where even the opressors have managed to turn us against eachother even though we are all opressed by them, shunned because we are minorities)

later on him coming to live with professor and still being in a place where he is being used(i believe with my whole heart that professor saw scott as his son and sometimes forgot that they didnt share the same flesh but that doesnt change that professor did use scott, even without meaning any harm because professor in the end wants the best for all mutant kind but forgets to think about them as individuals)

•anyway to cut it short:

> i love scott summers because he makes mistakes AND learns from them, faces the consequences. and because of his mentality and the things he faced throughout his life that led him to making those mistakes.

there are lots of main characters in media who never really gets called out of the things they do(for example, annabeth from pjo with how she treated tyson, i love annabeth but it was just awful, also piper and her overall character(i chalk it up to rick riordan writing her badly because she is sorry to anyone who loves her))

>i love his upbringing and reading about it in any shape or form

>another reason why i love scott is because hes so bbg and miserable in a way i want to hug him so hard but also strangle him yknow

>>>>>TELL ME YOUR OPINIONS OF SCOTT SUMMERS WITHOUT BEING RUDE PLEASE!! if there is anything you dont agree with, you can always write it with the condition of being kind and not rude!!<<<<<<

[eikichi-supremacy]

ik ppl hate fictional deadbeat moms but im an avid enjoyer. my feminism knows no bounds truly/j

like i get it she did a bad job. but shit she still did a job that's for sure!! like. she did it do you understand. 14 year old girl is pregnant. it's disgraceful. a shameful stain on her family. yusuke doesn't seem to have grandparents or anything so besides yusuke's bio dad she's got no one. and then when yusuke is a toddler the father disappears and considering who he is and what he's like that's probably for the best. gonna go out a limb and say that yusuke was maybe 4 or 5 when his dad cleared out so. at 18 and entirely alone. atsuko looked down at this little thing. this baby because he's still a baby to her this is a baby who only has her. Not even 4 feet tall with the biggest brown eyes looking to her for everything because he quite literally has no one else.

he doesn't know she's a failure yet. he doesn't know people will look down on them just because he exists as he is. he doesn't know how hard this is going to be from now on. all he knows is he loves his momma

so she doesn't cry. she just meets his big innocent eyes and goes "it's just you and me kid" and yusuke doesn't know that that's a sad thing.

so she takes care of him the best she can and it still sucks but yusuke doesn't know what the standard she should be held to is yet. for a small time she is the greatest and best person in his world and he's the only one who thinks so

then he meets keiko and her parents and finds out that his normal is actually dysfunctional and that his mom actually isn't all that great. that living day to day in the bottom of a bottle isn't healthy. so she's no longer praiseworthy but this person he's responsible for. just like that the roles reverse. because while she was all yusuke had yusuke is also all atsuko has. he doesn't respect her but he still punched the motherfucker in the mouth that called her a tramp. she taught him how to do it.

atsuko comes to terms with the fact that Yusuke doesn't really need her anymore, probably never did so she doesn't bother to care when he skips school or beats whoever he wants to a pulp or gambles because at 14 she was expecting so what the fuck can she really say about him. he sneers at her as he makes her coffee. atsuko lights another cigarette

it feels like betrayal when her son dies. at 14 she had him so how can he die at a sorry age like that. i wasted my teenage years on you for what? so you can die and leave me here? you fucking brat. how can she recover from this? yusuke was all she had. he hadn't looked up at her with an admiring gaze since he was 7 and stopped hugging her goodbye soon after but still he was hers he was hers and then he was gone

but then he comes back. and she doesn't get much better as a mom or as a person really. she tries harder than before maybe (keeping him in school) but yusuke never expected her to. he's made up of her bad habits and uncaring attitude but he's so much better than her. became something good something strong despite how shitty of a job she did raising him.

she's not proud because she has no right to be but something like it tugs in her chest when she sees him feeding the people he cares about at his little ramen cart looking as happy as the first time she'd taken him out to park.

yusuke's dad suggests taking another crack at the whole family thing and she wants to laugh in his face. the only family she'll ever have is that little boy who's stronger and braver than she'll ever be.

she doesn't want to see him laying cold in a casket ever again. he's meant for life, a soul as bright and durable as his. atsuko hopes he lives to see the sun explode

[vamptits]

i'm pregnant and it's yours

im gonna be the world's first transmasc deadbeat dad 🥰

[deerdeardarling]

alright due to that one post about PokeParents im gonna share my headcanons that i have on discord - but these will be edited from that a lil so, lets go!! Part 1 - Pokemon Protags Red - Same as Ash in the anime (they are parallels of one another!), His Dad left when he was a baby to go be a trainer but just. disappeared. still sends the very occasional letter and money but Red's never met him and doesn't care too. Mama is about the same as Delia. Leaf - Same as Blue since I follow the hc they're siblings, so I'll cover her in the rivals post! Ethan - So! with my Chosen au/pokeverse, hgss is technically the third gen, so either Ethan's mom and him moved to Johto at the start of game while his dad still works in Hoenn, or his mom's just single. Lyra - I've been playing around with the idea that she's Professor Elm's daughter (since, i think he's got a daughter in canon?) but i found out through that other post that she as a rival is the granddaughter to the daycare couple! I'll cover Kris with the rivals Brendan - Norman's kid, just like the games, there is a mom in the games but I don't have much on her since I still haven't played these games! (I'll get to the once i figure out whateverthehell is going on with citra-) May - Prof. Birch's kid! same as Brendan, don't have much other than what is already well known, her parents are happily married (-unlike Brendan's-) Lucas - Actually I have his and Dawn's parents switched! So Lucas has the rival!Lucas' parents from in game (who i know the dad works with Prof. Rowan, mom i think is just at the home.) maybe his parents know Palmer? Dawn... & Selene! - Yep, in my personal verse; ChosenZVerse, I have Dawn and Selene as sisters! Dawn as the older, Selene as the younger. Their mom was the former contest performer, and their dad is a deadbeat, but considering bdsp maybe he was involved with galatic? at one point?? (where the hell did i get this??) Hilda... & Nate! - second verse same as the first - USA DIVORCE!!! 🦅🦅🦅🎆🎆🗽🗽🗽(there's no flag on windows???) Serena - I'm gonna stick with this headcanon so sprinkling in some spice - I think Grace (XY mom) had a one night stand and decided to keep the baby (this is. supposed to be a symbolism for life-)

Gloria - aka my OC Fiona; who is the only other one than May to have both stable parents; I do have the hc that her mom's Unovan tho, with her Dad being Galarian aaannd! Victor - aka my other OC Malik! who is the younger brother of Raihan; both parents are still together but are working around the world. Their Mom's a successful business woman while their dad is a dragon expert/conservationist. runs in the family!

that's it! I'll either reblog or just make a separate post for the rivals cause that's prolly be twice as long lmao

[suffarustuffaru]

Heinkel Astrea himself >:D

YALL REALLY WENT FOR ME WITH THIS ONE.... OKAY. LETS GO.

Sexuality Headcanon: i think it could be one of several possibilities. he could be straight... he could be on the aroace spectrum... he could be bi and not even know... but we do know what he is for certain..... hes louannasexual................................................

A ship I have with said character: heinkel/louanna PLS THEYRE MARRIED OKAY......... louanna really looked at the astrea family Baggage and still went "im still gonna marry this man <3".... and like the way heinkel speaks about louanna T^TT "reinhard is me and louannas treasure..." "dont take away louannas way home"... LIKE FUCK MAN..... heinkel may be a piece of shit now but he took like those marriage vows of like in sickness and in health SERIOUSLY. its been like twenty years and hes been searching for a cure for louanna all this time. it drives me BONKERS...

A BROTP I have with said character: ......................im pretty sure you know what im gonna say LMAO. YEAH. YEAH. ROWAN AND HEINKEL?? ROWAN IS THE BEST POSSIBLE BROTP THAT COULDVE EVER HAPPENED FOR HEINKEL. deadbeat alcoholic dads of extremely powerful teenage sons club??? theyre literally insane. i love how they first meet because its the most pathetic thing ever. like rowan just seeing heinkel half-dead in some ditch and just deciding to help this random ass guy??? rowan dragging heinkel away like when you grab a cat by its scruff??? heinkel going "this guy is smiling at me but its not mocking... i dont know what the fuck it means" because heinkel doesnt know what fucking FRIENDLINESS is anymore...... theyre insane. im excited for the development thats gonna come out of them meeting. they foil so much T^T

A NOTP I have with said character: anyone other than louanna :((((((((((((((( pls..... pls dont separate them shes already in a coma :((((((((((((((((((((((((( ......except ill make an exception for rowan and heinkel because. they have 95 mental illnesses and theyre ALWAYS making it everyone elses problem... theyd be so horrible together and i can only see it happening if theyre drunk and the world is literally gonna end. they are Terrible. but they Would be entertaining...

A random headcanon: heinkel gets sober in all the timelines where wilhelm is erased <33 because its like. wilihelm gets erased, heinkel and reinhards relationship is better, so its like.... things are a little better for heinkel now. obviously his whole complex feelings on reinhard are either lessened or erased entirely, but i also feel like heinkel got at least Some of his insecurities because of how wilhelm probably was as a dad. and bc wilhelms gone - WELP nice going heinkel half of your insecurities are gone!! so, well, maybe heinkel wants to be fully sober and present for reinhard now. he wants to be in reinhards life as his dad...

General Opinion over said character:

if i met him irl i would immediately pull a pridebaru and poison heinkel's drink. HOWEVER, i am also screaming and crying over heinkel's heartbreaking tragic corruption arc where he goes from a very earnest and hardworking person whos trying his best with all the shitty cards handed to him. and then he turns into *GESTURES TO PRESENT DAY HEINKEL*

i need him to get his shit together and have the most GRUELING, PAINFUL, NAIL BITING redemption arc of all time. he's just so fucking pathetic 24/7 it's like... like im sitting here and reading every scene hes in and im going, god hes like one of those sad dirty exhausted stray dogs you see backed into a corner and theyre just like growling and snapping at everything that comes close. like we vaguely know that its Possible for him to get his shit together at least a little bit (see: pride if), and we Know that heinkel used to be a very affectionate person to louanna and reinhard, and the fact that tappei said he'd make heinkel the mc if subaru didnt exist indicates that heinkels Probably gonna have some insane development, especially given the debut of the rowan-heinkel dynamic... i cant wait for it T^TT i just like how hes Terrible... but hes also clearly very human. what a well-written character. i hope he goes for anime onlys kneecaps in season three.

[clover-creations]

drawings i thought i'd save for "when i finish them", but i probably wont be "done" with them until after I finish reading Dante's Inferno and Paradise Lost so uh... posting them now since theyve already been waiting long enough.

these both originally started off with me thinking, "what if Hazbin Hotel specifically catered To Me?" which started out as the original characters, but once i made the jump to linking Lucifer with the Snow Queen... yeah these are completely different characters

reaaaaalllyy long discussion on Catholicism and Hazbin under the cut for the Thought Process behind these guys. hazbin fans look away because i am blending up your show 50 times and making a cake with it. thanks. everyone else please come into my house vv

Adam was more focused on him being the Original Sinner, and the idea that his spot in Heaven is "earned" because he's "fixing" his mistakes by killing sinners/consequences of the original sin. the whole idea of Persecution as a way of showing you're a Part of the Church. and because I think "the only way to get into heaven as a sinner is to constantly be suffering and condemn other people" would be really Interesting for the whole commentary on redemption/Catholicism.

ALSO i get the Raging Misogynist because hes the First Man but thats like.... kind of boring and not funny to me. I get the point of it but it just seems like an excuse to have an in-universe reason to name a character after the vagina. and also its just not funny. And i dont think focusing on the "Men are Violent and Strong and need women to calm them down and have something to protect 🥺thats why theres Man and Woman for Balance" would be funny either but Gender Essentialism is a concept that pisses me off to no end so i NEED to talk about it through characters. (or even, "If I was a Stronger Man, than I could've saved Eve from being tricked" for the Catholic Guilt and Misogyny combo)

ALSO ALSO i think if Hazbin!Adam made the excorcists through his own body (so its not just a bunch of Edgy Angels) i think that would add wayyy more interesting conflict between him and Vaggie ("you were born for this" "im your father so you have to listen to me". things like that because Subtlety is Dead). Also cough cough I feel like he should've taken Charlie more seriously because her dad is literally the person that "tricked" (in quotes because i dont think he MEANT to) him and Eve into Dooming Humanity so like.. what if shes acting all nice because its a trick >:/ or whatever (copying the next part from Discord because its still accurate to my thoughts)

in Dante's Inferno, lucifer/satan is at the very bottom of hell, in a frozen lake in the Snow Queen, the devil makes a mirror that makes people see only the bad of people. The snow queen takes a boy (sinner) to her domain (hell) where he is trapped there until the protagonist can free him with love lucifer (hazbin) gave free will to humanity, but after he gets banished and his wife leaves him he becomes depressed and self-isolates the thing with hazbin!lucifer that makes him 🤨 is that they just. make him a silly deadbeat dad?? i guess???? when like. what if because he can only see the worst parts of humanity he loses faith in humanity. like with his pride he doesn't think he did a mistake, but if he become cold and bitter and self isolated bc of that it would make him contrast WAY more with charlie. if you're gonna make him a deadbeat dad COMMIT to it!!!!!!! and then the ~devils influence~ that christians always talk about could be apathy and paranoia and responding with anger to love. he becomes the mirror that distorts people's views of themselves and others, making them believe that its in their nature to be evil, that they cant get better, that this is just how the world is

Lucifer in "WSE"/"We Sunk Eden" would basically be an entity that showed Adam and Eve their potential through the Mirror, giving them free will, but dooms humanity because of it. The Rain basically floods the World to the point where it becomes all ocean. It has enough important details.

If people want more information on WSE specifically, then I'll try to gather all my scattered notes on discord 👍

[jesterkard]

which killer mains are the most and least dateable? id pepperspray a ghostface main

oh I love judging mains with no background knowledge Im gonna rate them all from 1-10 Im only going off by mains I played against and what kinda match+afterchat it was and also just personal taste I hate some killers sm u are Disgusting if u play these killers

trapper mains: 8 or 4 it depends. does that trapper main have cash to get other killers? no? then he has potential. 8. and what if yes? then he is a deadbeat man. ur future kid would get to have the worlds first absent gnc trapper-main dad.

hillbilly mains: does he have a samination icon? yes? well.

nurse mains: theyd certainly take your breath away ahaaaAAAAAAAAAA with all these arguments youd have to deal with 1/10

wraith mains: dont be fooled! a wraith is silent but a wraith main is the most loudly obnoxious person youll ever meet. 1-5/10 depends on ur own mental illness

myers mains: the entps of the dbdverse you figure out ur stance on it urself

hag mains: maneater by daryl hall

doctor mains: idk fr but they look like theyd be great cooks? maybe ur not looking for love but for a well done steak

huntress mains: 0/0 be realistic the main will never be huntress you will never date huntress just give up russians arent real

cannibal mains:

freddy mains: called "the nightmare" for a reason

pig mains: 10/10 :)

clown mains: love wins! this clown mains partner is also a clown. 2/10

spirit mains: if ur stupid enough to consider dating a spirit main in the first place then its a match made in heaven 10/10

legion mains: 0/10 probably a tumblr user

plague mains: 10/10 ull be lovesick :) if thats a good thing idk Im giving this also 0/10 in case its not

ghostface mains: it depends. do they play ghostface? yes? 0/10.

demogorgon mains: demogorgon is an animal and so are his players dont date that

oni mains: 10000/10 the oni chapter is the best chapter of the game only kings can play oni have u ever had a facecamping oni? no. fuck you. they have a moral codex. its part of the dlc you buy it and you get common sense.

deathslinger mains: I only know one guy who plays deathslinger I dont think more exist and hes a nice guy yea you could date him 10/10

executioner mains: they want james sunderland not you. :/

blight mains: 0/10 they wont have time for you either theyll be playing blight or theyll be in a psych ward

twins mains: least likely ones to have a god complex cause they settled with the least played killer of the game. 10/10. or maybe they got a god complex BC of it. 5/10

trickster mains: regular cosmetic? 0/10. any other cosmetic? 100/10 I am So Sorry I have to state that I have mental illness like 5 of them

[fappellmoan]

the promise (ch. 1)

a/n: hi yes i wrote for the clown gays like a year ago and im deciding to post this now sjdghfg pls be kind

pair: richie tozier/eddie kaspbrak

word count: 8.5k

warnings: swearing, blood ment, homophobic slurs, abuse mentions, psychological trickery, richie’s parents start out a lil absent but they get better i promise

excerpt:   “You’re gonna miss curfew, Rich,” Eddie mumbles, leaning out the window on his elbows. And Richie hears it: you’re alone, you know what could happen. Stay safe.

“I’m not afraid, Eds.” He means it. Richie can’t draw up what fear even feels like right then. With a flick of an eyebrow, he nods toward the door. “Mother is waiting.” 

“I know.”

read on ao3

 No, it’s not that Richie is gay. It’s not like he daydreams about taking it up the ass all fucking day.

 Henry Bowers and his dipshit crew might have a different opinion, but they can honestly, truly suck his dick (in the non-homo way - he has taste). The fact that they took joy in throwing him and his friends around, calling them names, and threatening their whole lives never mattered before; the losers took care of each other, and most of the time it was easy to forget about those other assholes.

 Being called four-eyes when he needed glasses in the second grade never got to him that bad - they were saving him from having to see their ugly faces when they knocked them off, so really, he should have thanked them - and he didn’t care when they shoved him around for being short before his growth spurt, and it didn’t even bother him that much when they mocked his totally refined voices. He knew his own talent, and what he could do with it if he could just focus.

 But the first time they singled him out as the fag of the group, well, it stung.

 He never told the others about that day. He never told them how long he cried, how broken he felt sobbing on that park bench. He never worked up the nerve to tell them why he couldn’t face Paul Bunyan anymore, no, he simply breezed past without lifting his eyes, without missing a beat of conversation.

 At least it got easier with time.

 All things considered, his home life isn’t terrible.

 Richie has his own room, a roof, and usually a decently-stocked fridge. Enough to get by.

 He’s left alone a lot. His parents are always at work, and when they’re not, they take on the personalities of monotonous robots sitting in front of the TV, so he spends a lot of time skimming through comics or jacking off when he’s not running around with his friends.

 But, that’s just the thing. Somehow, Richie, life of every conversation, King of Comedy, Trashmouth, funny-man Tozier, was born to the most boring people of all time. They never engage with his jokes; on a good day, he receives a breezy, “That’s nice, sweetie,” from his mom, or, “Okay, that’s enough, son,” from his dad. Blank stares. Pasty, purple-tinted white eyes. Never a hug, never much past a ‘goodnight.’ Not even a simple, “How was school?” when they got home.

 Richie vividly remembers the day that he bounced in his seat at the end-of-the-year ceremony at school, a bustling bundle of nerves prepared to brag and boast to his parents about his awards in science and, surprisingly (his teacher hated him) English - he took to the dramatics of Shakespeare quite well. He practiced his entrance to them several times over in his head, perhaps overly, unconvincingly modest or Shakespeare wants what I have. Anything to get a laugh. A ruffle of his hair from his dad. A forehead kiss from his mom, like when he was little.

 They didn’t show. He still doesn’t know where he went wrong.

 In a stark, bubbling contrast to his parents, there’s this kid in his group of friends. He remembers one of the first times they met, the boy approaching him, all sweet apple-cheeked and neat polo and ironed khaki shorts; Richie had flicked an eyebrow upward, a not-so-subtle really?, because he never figured that clean-freak Eddie Kaspbrak would be able to handle more than three seconds in Trashmouth Tozier’s presence.

 But boy, was he a lot of fun.

 Eddie was loud and super easily wound-up, screaming about fucking UTIs and do not fucking push me man all the piss on the walls of this city could fill the lake and despite his good-boy appearance, he shot back with just as much fire as Richie threw at him.

 And fuck, Richie loves it. He loves the ease with which they bounce back and forth. He loves the fury in the boy’s eyes when Richie pisses him off, the laughter that always comes about between them once they settle. The crossing arms and pouting Eddie, who he theorizes secretly loves it when Richie calls him pet names (not that he’d ever admit it); the loud and greatly-gesticulating Eddie who yells louder and pushes harder when Richie coos at him; the one who quietly accepts Richie’s affection, and offers it back in subtle ways: simply holding Richie’s arm when he slings his arms around Eddie’s neck from behind, allowing him to sit next to him thigh-to-thigh, and overall not completely cringing and pushing him off. He took it as a compliment, though they’d never mention it out loud.

 On an unfortunate night, his comfortable little world comes crashing down.

 His parents are out for some sort of conference weekend trip or whatever, and they’ve called in his deadbeat uncle to ‘watch over the house.’ Not necessarily him (probably because he isn’t home that much), but the house obviously can’t stand up by itself—and, well, maybe they didn’t trust Richie to not accidentally leave the door open, or leave the stove on, or some other stupidly irresponsible little thing. So, the crusty old guy shows up with his greasy, oiled hair and his lack of deodorant and his wilting knees. It makes Richie miss Eddie so, so much when they part, because a.) he smells a lot better, and b.) it would be fucking hilarious for him to see what Richie has to put up with. Like, he’s really not the most rodent-like of his family.

 Anyway, Richie doesn’t remember what he says. Something slightly instigative, about the lack of any gourmet-level food in the house (he claimed calmly while wasting away on microwave tater tots and bread, even though his parents had left behind plenty of money to keep him alive), and then suddenly hands were on him.

 It stings like a bitch.

 His uncle gets up, with a quiet mumble that Richie makes out to be, “Well, let’s see…” and when he finally gets in the kitchen, facing Richie with eyes rung red and shaking fists, he grabs his nephew by a fistful of t-shirt and shoves him against the counter.

 At that moment, he really wants his mom. Why the fuck did she and dad leave him with this guy?

 “I don’t see you fucking working, or doing much of anything around here, kiddo.”

 “Funny, I was gonna say the same to you.”

 A blow to his mouth. Richie resists the urge to lift trembling fingers to the spot that he can feel swelling.

 “Don’t talk to me like that, asshole! You think you’re so fucking funny, huh?” His uncle drags him forward and shoves him back with conviction, and this time Richie doesn’t answer.

 He should have known to stay quiet when he saw his uncle drinking and smoking incessantly in the house, even though his mother had requested that he stay outside for that. It must have been a rough day at the bar, or wherever the fuck he spent his time.

 “You need to learn when to be quiet, dipshit. Have some fucking respect.”

 For the guy who ignored him for years, didn’t stay in touch, and wasted his existence away on the couch.

 Right.

 But Richie is snapped from his indignant, grounding thoughts when his uncle lowers his voice. “Do I make myself clear?”

 Richie frowns in his face, utterly confused from the swell of attention, still limply holding a bag of bread in his left hand.

 “Do I make myself clear?”

 “Y-yes sir.”

 The wretched man makes a point to push him into the corner of the cupboards with such a force that he collapses to his knees and can just feel the bruises forming. And he sits there for a minute, all sorts of betrayal and anger and sadness suffocating him.

 But he stands up.

 And with stinging eyes, a stuffy nose, and shaking hands, he makes himself a simple peanut butter sandwich.

 And he stays upstairs for the remainder of the night

 It’s a warm, soothing day outside; the sun glows and birds are chirping like some kind of fucking cartoon. In the tall grass the losers sit in frogs croak and crickets chirp and they make a mess of themselves in the circle they form.

 “Damn, Rich, what happened to you?” comes Stan’s voice, concerned eyes flashing down to his now royally fucked-up mouth.

 “Yeah, dude, what the fuck?” says Bev through a sandwich, truly a charmer.

 Richie grins at Bev but answers to Stan, ignoring the sting in the corner of his lips. “Guess I’m a fighter at heart.”

 “Richie—“

 Bev chimes in once again, a bright, snarky grin on her face, “Richie, you can tell us if it was another accident, we won’t judge. Promise.”

 Bev has a way about her; he knows she’s not genuinely the largest, most gaping asshole on earth, and that she actually cared a lot and cried over her friends in the darkest nights, but she also knew how to make light of something dark (even the worst). She probably knew. She probably just had his back in her own funny way, like taking the pressure off the reality.

 “Bev, I’ve really, truly, always appreciated your charm, but as my dearest favorite person on earth, fuck off.”

 “Richie,” Bill says, then hesitates. In that time, Bev flips Richie the bird, which he answers with an air kiss. “What really h-ah-happened?” He looks him over with a frown, clear blue eyes swallowing him in concern and maybe love.

 Richie offers a simple smirk before settling against the trunk of a tree. “Don’t worry about it, Billiam. I’ve got it under control.”

 “Whatever you say,” Bev says. She tosses a baggie over to him with his favorite sandwich.

 Stan isn’t so easily convinced, eyeing Richie up carefully, but he sits with Bev on the boulder she’s settled on when Richie doesn’t falter in his casual disposition.

 It takes a lot of work, as always.

 Ben shows up moments later, with a calm and tender, “You alright, Rich?” and when Richie goes off on a stupid tough-guy spiel, he simply lays at the foot of the boulder and flicks open a book, meeting Richie with one of his melting smiles, a gentle invitation, a sweet If you ever need it, I’m there, but allowing him the space to go on as normal. Which is nice.

 Richie knows they all care. He knows he could tell them, could pour all of the terror and tragedy he felt the night before into the air and they’d fill up the space; Mike would give him the tightest hug in the world, one to combat the most heinous of things; Stan would sit with him as long as he needed it, Bev would come through with a smoke and the best advice in the world, and Ben would tell him stories or just hang out with him until everything felt a bit lighter, and Bill would give him anything in the world because Richie would do it back. That’s the way they were.

 But he can’t do it.

 “Sorry I’m late guys,” comes a nasally voice, huffing and puffing, new pressure leaning against the tree, and Richie grins. Eddie.

 “It’s okay, Eds,” he says, reaching over a few fingers to tickle Eddie’s knee, giggling when the boy smacks at his hand and doubles over with an exclamatory, Richie!  

 The others offer a few sleepy greetings, all soaked up in their own forms of entertainment for the quiet afternoon: Bev and Ben, heads close enough to share his walkman; Stan, reading some lengthy oath to birds or something; Mike snoozing lightly on Bill’s shoulder while Bill pores over some adventure map from a fantasy novel.

 They had all agreed that it was too tiresome to go swimming today, as the previous night was spent out at Stan’s with a bonfire, and for a few of them, some stolen booze (not very much, but enough that they could pretend to be drunk and giggle profusely). But they still wanted to hang out, so this was the middle ground. An afternoon picnic in the shade.

 Eddie quickly notices his lip and drops down to his side. “Richie, what happened to you? Was it Bowers again? I swear to god, I will fucking kill that guy--”

 Richie smiles softly at the protective words, and tries to turn it into a smirk. “Eddie, baby, don’t worry,” he says. “It’s just a little bump.”

 Surprisingly, Eddie sidles up next to him, using the pad of his thumb to press at the sides of Richie’s mouth, apparently assessing some sort of damage. “Don’t call me that.” He scowls. “What did you do? Did you ice it? Clean this cut at all? Cause you could get an infection, you know, you really should clean it.”

 Richie bats his eyes. “Clean it for me, sweets?”

 “Fuck off. Forget I cared.”

 “Ah, come on, Spaghettio. I didn’t mean it.” He pulls Eddie down with a simple gesture, pressing his palm to the boy’s shoulder and dragging. The boy rests against the trunk, nestled in Richie’s side.

 But that’s the complicated thing. He sorta wishes he could mean it. In a small, poking-at-the-back-of-his-head-always kind of way.

 “Just—tell me what happened,” Eddie pipes up quietly from his side.

 When Richie glances down, he takes to heart how disgruntled Eddie still looks, crossing his arms and almost pouting.

 He shrugs. “Your mother was simply affronted by how good I am with my mouth, Eds, she couldn’t take it anymore.”

 Eddie presses his mouth into a line, rolls his eyes at the stupid British voice Richie had developed, and busies himself with a thrilling edition of The Lancet

 Later, as dusk settles in and pale purple skies replace the bright blue, and the club leaves with simple ‘goodbye’s and promises to do something fun tomorrow, Eddie shifts from his nap. He’d passed out with his head slammed back against Richie’s arm (he’d caught it just before he fell to the ground, avoiding a lengthy rant about potential concussions and medical bills), curled in the opposite direction from Richie’s abdomen. As he wakes, through, he rolls over, elbow digging into Richie’s side.

 “Ah-ow,” Richie groans, sitting up from his cataconic state of reading Ben’s stolen comics and avoiding moving and waking Eddie. But he’d just dug the pointiest part of his entire firecracker body into Richie’s ribs, where Richie had attempted and failed to nurse a bruise he’d accrued from a vicious cupboard corner. It was at an awkward angle, and he refused to go down to get more ice packs once they melted, so he slept unsoundly and laid uncomfortably.

 “Sorry,” Eddie mumbles, voice muddled with sleep. “Shit, it’s late. When did I fall asleep? My mom’s gonna kill me.”

 Even in that gurgly, world upside-down state of post-nap consciousness, the boy freaks out about his mother. Richie sighs and rubs his shoulder.

 “You’re all good, Eddie boy,” he attempts for a creaky, witchy voice, but it’s half-assed because he gets so tired of this lady. Not Eddie ranting, that was fine, and he knew the kid needed to get it out of his system; but he was fucking tired of Mrs. K hurting his boy. “You took your meds on time, fell asleep shortly after. Might need to amputate my arm now, though.”

His boy.

 Eddie sits up, and Richie stares at his back, illuminated in the dusk, because he wore a fun yellow today, resting prettily against his tanned, freckled skin.

 (Maybe Richie had looked over, amused, for a few moments, as Eddie snored and twitched his nose in his sleep; and he counted the freckles on Eddie’s arm, his cheek, whatever he could see for entertainment.)

 Eddie glances back at him, and Richie distracts himself with his bag, shifting his eyes awkwardly from the boy’s gaze.

 “Well, well, good sir, shall I walk you home on this fine night?”

 Eddie’s brow furrows. “Richie, what’s that?”

 His eyes are trained intently on the aforementioned bruise, and its cousins that pepper his hips, only exposed because he slipped and let his shirt ride up when he bent over.

 He clears his throat, scrambling for some dumbass answer, wholeheartedly unprepared for the severity of this conversation. “You know how the ladies throw themselves—“

 “Okay, you know what, fine.” Eddie stands quickly, stumbling slightly, and braces himself against the tree. “You don't have to fucking tell me. Just come home with me, okay?”

 “A night with Eddie Kaspbrak? Why, you’re really a dream-come-true kind of guy.”

 “Your lip is bleeding again,” he responds simply, apparently not one for      fun    at this very moment. “I can clean it.”

 Richie pops up from the ground, feeling quite pip pip, tally ho about the whole thing. “Righty-o, Eddie boy.

 That’s how he ends up sitting on the edge of Eddie’s porcelain-white bathtub, dirtying it with his messy jeans and dirt-coated nails.

 It takes a lot of strategic planning, lots of sneaking past Mrs. K, and then sweet-talking and kisses from Eddie once she wakes up freaking out about how late he was. But, after about fifteen minutes of contest-worthy screeching from the woman, Eddie stomps up the stairs, slams the door with a very I’m gonna pull my hair out look, and has to take about three extra minutes to compose himself, ranting under his breath.

 Richie just stares at his distorted reflection in the shining silvery faucet, the violet under his eyes and the renewed puffiness of his lip, Hawaiian pattern of his shirt disheveled in the odd mirror.

 He knows not to engage unless Eddie actually speaks up to him, meaning this run-in was probably just overly grating and mentally draining, considering, well, how his mother is. He just needs a second to get it out, not any kind of heartfelt talk (which Richie sucks at anyway) or even a lighthearted joke. The boy paces and growls into a fist. Then, eventually, he breathes, “Okay.”

 Eighteen minutes. Eighteen minutes of sitting around and waiting for Eddie, just for him to kneel in front of Richie, doe eyes clear and focused, dabbing so, so gently at his battered lip.

 In a way, it’s heaven.

 “I take it your mom can’t wait for me to buy dinner, eh?”

 Eddie sighs. “Apparently this time I’m gonna contract malaria, Rich, didn’t you know? There’s an incredible outbreak this time of year and I’m obviously not prepared to avoid fucking mosquitoes, what with my fifteen bottles of bug spray and essential oils. I’ll probably die tomorrow!”

 “I will make sure that your funeral is a fucking rager dude, don’t you worry. Booze on me.”

 A ghost of a smile.

 “Richie…” he breathes out in a long winded way, saying nothing and everything for way too long. “Why don’t you stay here tonight?”

 Richie raises an eyebrow. “Man, I thought you were gonna back out on your previous offer, but I guess the call for a night with Richie Tozier is too much to back away from. I get it.” He smiles painfully at the way Eddie’s face crumples with something like boredom. “Christ, dude, what’s your poison?” He makes a face at the antiseptic substance that trickles into his mouth.

 “Maybe if you kept your mouth shut for once, this wouldn’t be an issue.”

 Richie beams, which just causes Eddie to huff even more.

 “Please, just stay still!

 “It was my uncle,” Richie finally says, forcing a bored expression onto his face as he flips through a rather dull magazine, sprawled on Eddie’s bed. “And it wasn’t a big deal.”

 Panic flashes across Eddie’s face. His cheeks burn red, and his leg jitters anxiously against Richie’s, but his voice remains level, which Richie thanks dear lordy Jesus for. “Your uncle? He hit you?”

 “Well,” Richie pauses. “Uh, kinda. He was just really drunk, Eds, and he got mad and I was in the way.”

 “In the way?”

 He shrugs, a small smile quirking his lip up. “Am I not usually?”

 “Rich.” Eddie’s voice is really soft in that moment, gentler and quieter than anything Richie has heard from him in all the time he’s known his fellow loudmouth. It simultaneously terrifies and thrills him. Eds. Eddie brings his knees to his chest, leaning back against the headboard. “You say a lot of dumb shit, but that doesn’t mean you should be hurt.” He must notice Richie’s uncomfortable look, because he adds lightly, “Most of the time, anyway.”

 “Woah, Eddie, don’t go overboard with the kindness or anything--”

 “Damn it, Richie.” He casts his eyes downward. “I’m just trying to say - um - thanks for telling me. Sorry if that’s fucked up to say, but I know you didn’t want to, so, yeah. We don’t have to talk about it anymore.”

 Richie swallows deeply with a slow nod, focusing his eyes on the blurry words in front of him. “Well, if there’s anyone I’d tell, it’s Dr. K. He’s gonna be the one to save my life, right?”

 Eddie rolls his eyes. “Right.” He kicks at Richie’s foot, a subtle way of telling him to move over so he can get under the covers.

 “Night, toots.”

 “Goodnight, Richie.

 Richie thinks he knows everything possible about Eddie thus far.

 He knows when he needs to take his meds, an internal clock he recently developed; he knows that the boy is not nearly as fragile as he sometimes seems, and if he really tried, he could pack a punch; he knows that he loves fervently and he’ll always take care of his friends, even if it’s in a way that would usually disgust him.

 Case in point: he didn’t seem to freak out at Richie’s bleeding lip, even when a steady stream of blood started dripping down his chin from the contact of trying to clean it out, though he usually cringed if he got so much as a scratch from a twig. Somehow, some way, he simply held pressure on the wound and told Richie to hold some ice on it (“Ordering me around now, hot stuff? I can work with that,”), and washed his own hands thoroughly in the sink.

 What he doesn’t know until that night, is that Eddie is a cuddler. At least, half-asleep, groggy Eddie is. Like, this kid must be more starved for affection than he is. Richie had curled himself in a ball toward the edge of the mattress, willing himself not to do so much as even press his back against Eddie’s, way too afraid of the ease with which two people can tangle themselves together in the night, terrified of what would happen if he woke up with Eddie’s hands on him, wrapped up in Eddie, Eddie’s terrible morning breath against his cheek, Eddie Eddie Eddie. But while Richie had stressed himself into falling halfway off the bed, Eddie had flopped over in his sleep, slung an arm across Richie’s waist and, seeming to sense that he had something to hold, pulled him in tight to his chest. Though Richie’s breath caught in his throat, he figured, well, no one could really see them then, so what was the harm in passing out like that? No one had to know. He could pass it off like he’d been sleeping the whole time.

 But he cherishes every fucking minute of it

 Richie wakes to the sound of something pounding, a steady beat, and in that state of slowly waking from a dream he thinks it’s some old drum, playing lowly in the corner by some restless figure. When he comes to, his eyes creaking open slowly, he sees the gentle orange-ish hue of the morning sky, the neat room around him, the scent of detergent and soothing fabric softener wafting near his face. And he realizes his head is tucked into Eddie’s side, the boy’s slowed heartbeat thumping softly against his ear.

 Normally, he’d just let Eddie sleep, as he’s usually only the asshole waking everyone up when it’s the whole gang. He doesn’t mind spending a few hours by himself in the morning. In fact, he enjoys the opportunity to try to fall back asleep (even though he never does).

 But with a sudden impulse, he lays a palm on Eddie’s ribcage and pushes himself up onto his elbows, then shakes the boy.

 “Eddie.”

 A muffled, “Mmph?”

 “Eds, wake up.”

 The boy drags a pillow over his ears for all of two seconds before Richie tickles his stomach. Then he crankily sits up and lets out a gruff, “What?”

 Richie grins. “The sunrise, Eds! Look, it’s so pretty, you have to believe me.”

 Eddie responds by laying his cheek on Richie’s shoulder blade, slumping forward with his eyes still closed. “You do know,” he breathes, “that if the sun is just rising, it’s like, six a.m.?”

 “Hmm, 5:49, but close enough, I suppose.”

 The most huffy breath that Eddie can manage at this hour tickles the hairs on the back of Richie’s neck. “Did you know that people who don’t sleep enough die a lot younger? There are serious health consequences.” It doesn’t come out in his usual fiery, punctuated tone; it’s soft and filled with a yawn and he’s pretty sure Eddie might fall back asleep just like that. “You can’t die early on me, Richie. And I don’t want to. Go back to sleep.” He peeks one eye open at the window, squinting at the glow of the sun. “It is pretty, though.” With that, he falls back against the pillow and curls into a ball against the wall.

 And Richie’s pretty damn sure in that moment that he’s, like, in love

 And, sure, that’s terrifying.

 He has no one to talk to about it and nothing could convince him it’s normal, so he shrugs it off and pretends it isn’t there.

 Cause that’s a good way to cope, right?

 It doesn’t matter that Eddie is so easily comfortable with him—he’s a low-pressure person, is all. And no one had called out the way pet names rolled off Richie’s tongue so easily, because that was just a part of his joke. Normal. Easy.

 Until it wasn’t

 You see, there’s this bitch Pennywise. This idiot clown terrorizes his friends, kills people, haunts their nights and days, and fucks with their minds. Tries to turn them against each other. And they can’t even throw a jest back! It’s a sick system.

 Well, anyway, the losers end up in some crickety, wooden, falling-apart-at-the-seams murder house on Neibolt, because Bill wants to find his brother and none of them are willing to abandon him. Instead, Richie gets to see himself dead, face off with a monstrous fucking clown, and hear heart-wrenching screams from Eddie that he can’t even help, because he can’t get out.

 When he does, he reunites with Stan and Bill, using the few seconds he has to catch his breath.

 Just as quickly, he loses it.

 In front of him lies Eddie, arm twisted at the ugliest, most heinous angle, and not only is he probably in pain and freaking out about the arm, but a 7-foot tall clown is sauntering towards him with a stupid swaggering gait, like it knows that they can’t do anything to save Eddie.

Eddie.

 The boy cowers against dust and fallen wood that must be itching to give him splinters; tears streak down his dirty face and his chest rises and falls rapidly, as Pennywise taunts him. Fucking horses around, making stupid noises and joking while Eddie falls apart, and Richie doesn’t know how to save him, even after everything Eddie’s done for him. Richie is vaguely aware of Stan grasping his shoulder, trying to ground him, and he silently thanks him as he glances around for fucking anything to use as a weapon, because he certainly can’t jump into this blindly--

 Then Beverly busts into the room and stabs the bitch in the head, and Richie can’t think but his feet are moving and he lands in front of Eddie in the few seconds’ time he has to play catch-up. He reminds himself to remind Bev of just how much he loves her later.

 For now, though, his focus is Eddie. His ears are ringing and he’s noted the commotion going on behind him, he even realizes that Bill ends up at his side, but his gaze is right on his Eds, grasping at his face, trying to do anything to help him.

 “Eds. No, no, no! Look at me! It’s okay. Please be okay.” He steadies his voice and tries really hard not to think about how much he sucks as a caretaker, how he has no fucking clue what to do, but he’s scared and he desperately just wants to take Eddie from the room and keep him safe, forever and ever.

 Terror-filled eyes find him as the clown continues toward the three of them, flexing horrendous claws; Richie kneels in front of Eddie and Bill’s at his back, and Richie knows Eddie acknowledges him but he’s whimpering and shaking and staring back at the clown. And Pennywise is thriving.

 “Eds,” he says, louder, grabbing Eddie’s chin and forcing it in his direction. “Please just - fuck the clown, okay? Fuck everything. It’s me and you. I’ve got you.” And he’d probably be much more convincing if he weren’t shouting and clinging to Eddie’s shoulders like it means death.

But, he seems to capture the boy’s attention, as he keeps his eyes steadily on Richie and blinks a few times. “My arm!” he cries. “Fuck, I can’t fucking move. I’m gonna die. It hurts, Rich.”

 “Hey, you’re not gonna die. I don’t die early on you, you don’t die early on me. That’s the deal.”

 “Some deals are made to be broken.”

 Eddie is just staring at him, blank eyes staring through him with a grin, a stark contrast to the screaming that was going on just moments before. A surge of panic rises in Richie’s chest, like a freezing wind knocking through his stupid little preteen body. He shakes his head in confusion.

 “Eddie, shut up. It’s just your arm. You’re gonna be fine!”

 A shrug. “Who’s to say?” And then he sits up, arm convulsing at his side like some dying snake, and Richie flinches and flies back into Bill’s chest. He can’t do this. He can’t help Eddie like he should, he can’t take care of him like he wants to. He’s a coward.

 “Rich.” Bill is a million miles away.

 Right here, right now, is that thing in Eddie’s place, body rattling like a rag doll. “They’ll find out.” Eddie’s voice is fucked up, scratchy, and his eyes are all wrong; the way he’s staring at him is fucking uncanny. “Get too touchy, Rich, and you know what’ll happen.”

 “Stop, please, fucking stop!”

 “Richie!” Bill is finally right there, shaking both of his shoulders from behind. “S-stop. You’re f-f-fine. It’s just fucking with your head.”

 It takes a few deep breaths, but Richie turns to him and says a quick, ‘Thanks,’ before turning back to real-Eddie, who is now dry-heaving and wailing at the sight of his arm.

 Eddie’s chest thrusts forward and back rapidly, and he keeps trying to back further from the bedlam in front of them. His face contorts into an absolutely heart-wrenching cry, and as he looks at Richie, gripping his hand with an iron fist, Richie’s heart splits in two. It’s hard, it’s way too hard not to say I love you, after all that. And it’s hard not to run.

 “I don’t wanna die - ”

 Richie crawls closer to cradle Eddie’s head. “Eddie, if you die I’ll kill you.” He wants to go home, he wants to cry, he wants to sleep for about three days and pretend this never happened. But he can’t. He has to be here for Eddie, as much as he wants to flee right now. “You’re not going to, you know that? I still owe you ice cream. And I’m gonna get you inside the arcade—“

 “Fuck the arcade!”

 Somehow, in all of the fuckery going on, Richie laughs. “That’s the spirit!” Eddie, in a scramble to back away from the startle of Pennywise running away, shifts into Richie’s lap. “Okay, Eddie, breathe.” Richie gulps down a breath himself. “I’m gonna snap your arm back into place.”

Eddie’s eyes light up, completely on fire, spitting poison at Richie. “Rich! Do not fucking touch me!”

 Richie winces at the words but he hears Bev screaming, “Richie, his arm!” and uses the moment of yelling to just do it, to get Eddie’s arm back to a relatively normal shape, and then he’s screaming and it’s like he wants Richie to cry in front of everyone.

 “Okay okay okay, it’s done. No more.” Richie, awkward and lost at what to do, brushes back sweaty hair from Eddie’s forehead, because he’s pretty sure the boy would hate how sticky everything had gotten, and if he could help even one thing, well, it’s something.

 He wishes he could help carry Eddie home, sit with him in the hospital, anything to cheer him up.

 But he doesn’t get the chance. Mrs. K is outside and snatches Eddie from the losers in the flash of an eye, talking like they broke his fucking arm or something.

 That’s when it all goes downhill

 Richie storms away from his stupid feud with Bill, the fucking dumbass who punched him in the face because he said he didn’t want a clown to kill him and his friends. He thinks it’s the most reasonable thing he’s ever said, objectively, but whatever. He doesn’t want to lose his friends. But in that moment, he doesn’t see many other options.

 When he trudges back home after his third day alone at the arcade, following newly-formed muscle memory to avoid his uncle (close the door slowly, shift weight and run upstairs, wait at least twenty minutes to go back down for food in case he stirs), he notices another car. Immediately, Richie throws open the doors, calling out, “Mom!” and finds her in the kitchen, with his uncle.

 “Hey sweetie, I just got home—“ she startles at the sight of him.

 “Jeez, that bad?” he jokes, running a hand through his hair. “Just remember, mom, half of this is ‘cause of you.”

 She approaches him quickly, summer blazer flowing behind her from the speed, and crouches down just slightly to be at eye-level. “Richie, honey, what did you do to your lip?” she asks. He doesn’t realize right away, but he tilts his head into her touch, and she strokes his cheek gently.

 Richie had forgotten about the whole ordeal—his friends almost dying at the hands of a killer clown was pretty damn distracting from his low-life uncle—but now, he sets a spitting glare on the man leaning back and manspreading at their kitchen table.

 “Uncle Alan had a few kind words to say over dinner the other night.”

 Her tender touch to his face is lost when she whips around to face his uncle, and Richie feels like a little kid again, standing behind his mom and clutching at her coat while she takes care of everything.

 “You hit him?” she says, her voice threatening in a low mumble, teeth clenched together. “What the fuck is wrong with you? You touched my kid?” She holds back a hand as though to shield Richie as she slams her other fist on the table.

 “How do you know it wasn’t one of his faggy friends? Or maybe some other kid with common fucking sense?”

 She leans down and takes him by the front of his shirt. “Don’t you dare, Alan. What the fuck were you thinking?”

 Uncle Alan yells back in her face, spit flying, and Richie would jump forward to defend her if she weren’t holding him back so protectively (with one hand!). “Listen, Maggie, if he’s gonna act like that, I’m just preparing him for the real world.”

 “You absolute shit! You don’t get to make that decision!” Richie has never, ever seen his mother so angry. “You battered a twelve year old boy! What, do you feel really big now, you pathetic piece of shit? Get the fuck out of my house!” At this point, she’s shaken him and thrown him back against the chair so he falls, catching himself just in time as it cascades to the ground.

 “Fuck you, Maggie!”

 She follows him down the hall.

 “Fuck you!” Richie calls out at his retreating back, before his mother screams about pressing charges and slams the door behind him.

 Richie’s mom rushes back into the kitchen to face him. She’s red in the face, eyes on fire, but she softens at the sight of him.

 “Richie, sweetheart, I’m sorry we left you.” She cradles his face again. “Hey.” She holds him with both hands. “Listen. If anyone ever hurts you, you call me. If anyone ever so much as threatens you, Rich - ”

 Richie, choked up, interjects, “I didn’t know the number, mom. I don’t know where the little paper you wrote it on is, I’m sorry—“

 “It’s okay.” She looks at him for a few more moments, then swaddles him up in a big, mama bear hug. “I love you, kid. I hope you know that.”

 “I love you too.”

 For a few minutes, she just holds him, stroking his back while silent tears fall down his face and onto the chest of her shirt. She doesn’t seem to mind

 It’s late. Richie doesn’t know what he’s doing, but he’s on top of the world.

 He ends up at Eddie’s house, even though he knows they’re not talking and Eddie’s mom might kill him on sight, he has to see him. Mrs. K can go fuck herself.

 Outside the boy’s bedroom window, he raps quietly with his knuckles, just about buzzing with a high, high feeling toward life. He can see Eddie lying in bed, struggling to prop up a book to read, lamplight cascading onto his skin - that is, until he hears Richie, and flies toward the window with a crazed look.

 “What are you doing here?” Eddie asks, brows knitting together. “My mom will kill you if she hears you.”

 That doesn’t matter so much to him at that moment. “Eddie!” He swings his legs over the banister and jumps into the room, adrenaline and something like love pushing him to lift Eddie to his chest and spin. “Eds, my mom came home early and she kicked that motherfucker out of my house!”

 Eddie’s eyes are crazed from the spinning and he clings to Richie’s shoulder with his good hand; and he grins, a giggle caught in his lips. “That’s great, Richie. Fuck that guy.”

 “Yeah, fuck him! And god Eddie, she - she protected me, and we just spent hours together, watching movies and making dinner like old times, and it was amazing, and - god, I know I sound like a dork, but I - ”

 He pauses, mostly because he’s out of breath from machine-gunning a paragraph out of nowhere; but also because in his flustered state he didn’t register the sweet-cheeked smile that Eddie is currently melting him with.

 But when he does, Richie thinks to himself: sure, blue eyes are great; they can be compared to the sky or the ocean or whatever other cheesy nature bit all goddamn day. But Eddie’s eyes - hell, he doesn’t care if he sounds like a cornball - they’re fucking amazing. They usurp all of that bullshit. He’s used to them when they’re blown wide in surprise, or holding him in a steely glare for some dumb joke, and he loves them then; but right now he catches a kind of tenderness hidden in the dark. Something that envelops him in warmth and pinks his cheeks.

 Eddie takes the opportunity to pipe up. “Richie,” he says, “I’m really happy for you.”

 He means it. Richie knows he means it, because for the last several days, he’s heard Eddie mumbling to himself somewhat privately about ‘that piece of shit,’ and right now he’s clutching Richie’s sleeve and smiling without a trace of mockery.

 And he’s perfect.

 His tousled hair that’s rustled from what looks to have been a constant stream of fingers, stressed over the book or his mom or god-knows-what; the oversized t-shirt he’s drowning in and short shorts and perfectly matched socks; and those shining eyes and friendly smile and soft fucking hands that hold all the electricity of Richie’s excitement - all perfect.

 And Richie, Richie could just kiss him.

 He doesn’t.

 Mrs. K knocks at the door.

 “Eddie bear, it’s time for your nighttime oils!”

 Richie cracks a wise-ass smile. “Eddie bear, if I’d known you needed      nighttime oils, well, I would have come prepared.”

 “Get the fuck out,” Eddie says. The laughter catching on his lips tells another story.

 Richie throws an utterly charming wink in his direction and crouches in the window, preparing to jump out and make his escape.

 “Wait!” Eddie grabs the back of Richie’s t-shirt. “It’s cool that you stopped by. It’s - it’s been lonely in this hellhole. I might have gone insane if I thought you guys forgot about me.”

 “Aw, I’d never forget you, cutie.” Richie, stomach twisting and turning, supports himself with his forearm on the outside of the window. “And, anyway, I gotta practice my Romeo somewhere, right?”

 Eddie lets out a characteristic huff. “Whatever.”

 It’s quiet, save for the distant tweeting crickets, and the scent wafting through the nighttime is intoxicating, and for the following moments the world reminds them to just breathe.

 “You’re gonna miss curfew, Rich,” Eddie mumbles, leaning out the window on his elbows. And Richie hears it: you’re alone, you know what could happen. Stay safe.

 “I’m not afraid, Eds.” He means it. Richie can’t draw up what fear even feels like right then. With a flick of an eyebrow, he nods toward the door. “Mother is waiting.”

 “I know.” He smiles. “I’ll see you, Tozier.”

 Richie, without any reservations (until he thinks back on it later), reaches out as though to pinch Eddie’s cheek, but instead, runs his thumb along Eddie’s cheekbone. “See ya, Eds.” He smiles. “I’m gonna get you out of here someday.”

 Eddie shakes his head as Richie takes his hand away from Eddie’s newly red cheeks and makes his way back to the ground, muttering, “My hero.”

 And Richie looks back with a grin at the silhouette of the dork in the window, saluting before taking off

 It sucks when Beverly leaves.

 It’s an early morning, red and orange hues breaking across the skyline like a cracked egg, and Richie, Stan, and Ben all gather around to watch her disappear off to the nearest airport, and then disappear from them forever. Though it’s not nearly as mopey and depressing as it could have been, it’s hard to watch her go; a warm energy follows her as she hugs them all goodbye, looking at them with her all-knowing, crooked little smile, rolling her eyes but expressing more love than any of them had ever known, and Richie knows she means every word of loving and missing that she says. And he knows he’ll miss her more than anything.

 He does. Not much helps with the pain of missing someone, but as the days go by, pieces of her slowly slip from his mind, until finally she’s all gone

 New Years offers promises of ‘new me’s and resolutions and maybe some kind of peace. And considering everything, it’s the saving grace Richie thinks he needs.

 A chance to forget his uncle, the murderous clown that haunts his dreams, and his personal revelation that he loves Eddie Kaspbrak.

 It didn’t ruin their friendship by any means, just made his cheeks flush and heart throb and his rebuttals come back stutter-y when Eddie merely smiled at him. It was stupid textbook puppy love. He never thought he’d fall for that.

 And, he’s not gay. He can’t be, or he’ll have to pay the price.

 It's just that Eddie is his best friend. They’re all best friends, but Eddie never really stopped engaging with his exhausting jokes like the others, when it was finally too much. Eddie always bickered back, he took the bait and bit back. Eddie took him home when he got hurt and cared for him and then went right back to fighting.

 He loves Eddie the way he should love someone like Bev.

 But it’s nothing.

 The night is cutting, crisp with a fresh wintery bitterness, biting at Richie’s nose until it’s practically bleeding. To be fair, he’d opted to only wear one of his lighter jackets and some gloves, so it’s his own fault that his scalp is freezing over and he’s shaking on his way to the loser’s little spot in the meadow.

 At least his friends are smart.

 Stan sports a matching tartan hat and scarf, bundled up around his face so only the pinkish tip of his nose is poking out; Bill has a nice puffy coat and a hat with a bauble rested atop his head; Ben’s ushanka hat is wrapped tightly under his chin, and he waves at Richie with mittens keeping his hands warm; Mike is representing a lot of fleece, and he grins at Richie, shaking his head when he sees his lack of winter clothes; and then there’s Eddie, wearing a coat that has to be at least an extra large, and a knitted cap, bundled up so only his fussy eyes and nose are squinting out at Richie.

 In Richie’s defense, he was running late, and he had sprouted a little bit in the last few months, so his previously comfortable winter coat was now tight and painful in the shoulders and chest. This jacket was his best option in the 30-second long window he had to get dressed and run out the door to attempt to be on time.

 Stan levels a look at him, thoroughly appreciating his idiocy, and obviously not pitying his shaking form more than a quick flash of sympathy in his eyes; he cares, but Richie obviously brought this upon himself. The ensuing cold would be his own fault, and he’d call Stan to complain, just to grin quietly as the boy went on the calmest rant about how stupid he is and then hang up. It’s just how they worked.

 Richie wonders if he’d tell a potential partner that they should have brought a coat to a date if they complained of the temperature. It’s beside the point, but amusing.

 “C’mon man, you didn’t think about a scarf at least?” Mike says as a greeting, laughing a little bit as he removes his own and wraps it messily around Richie’s neck. In that moment, Richie would give up his life for this kid. The body heat/fleece combo immediately brings him back from the brink of a nosebleed.

 “Richie doesn’t think, period.” Stan sticks his hands in his pockets and stares at him, ghosts of amusement playing on his cheeks.

 Richie flashes his teeth in a big ol’ grin. “That’s pretty accurate, actually, I just wanted to be with you guys on time so badly, you know.”

 Bill lets out a small, unenthused, “Aww.”

 Richie simply chuckles and tries to wrap his fingers in Mike’s scarf to help with the inevitable hypothermia. Eddie winds up next to him in their gathering, sucking in a big breath through his nostrils and huffing out shortly.

 He bumps Eddie’s arm with his elbow and says, “What’s up with you, Eds?”

 Eddie nearly topples over from the size of the coat weighing him down, and he curses under his breath before standing back up and glaring at Richie. “You really didn’t wear a bigger coat, dumbass?”

 “As you can see, no,” Richie chuckles.

 Eddie presses his tongue into his cheek. “Well, you can share mine. It’s more than big enough.”

 Oh.

 Right, sharing a coat. That’s fine. No pressure or anything.

 Richie aims for a cool response, some funny voice or smooth and subtle, and lands on, “Yeah, cool. Thanks.”

 So, they share. And it’s pretty great.

 Eddie unzips it and pulls Richie in, and they collaborate to pull it up and then Richie is pressed up against Eddie’s side, in public, already sweating even though he’s still cold because he doesn’t know if he can handle this.

 Fortunately, they’re hidden by the dark, so maybe the boy or their friends won’t notice his red cheeks (or they’ll chalk it up to the cold) and the extra focus he has to place on acting normal. Because Eddie smells nicer than most boys their age, and he’s got a heart too big for his body, and Richie’s sure that Eddie loves him back in at least some way. It’s not just anyone that would get to be this close, squeezed into a coat with him.

 Richie feels sick.

 But the fireworks are starting, and they might be sparse and lackluster in the hell that is Derry, but each loser looks to the sky with love, with appreciation, in awe of the fact that something beautiful can apparently come from hell.

 Barely, just barely, Eddie’s head falls against Richie’s shoulder as they gaze up into the inky black sky illuminated by cakes of fireworks, and he whispers, “Wow,” under his breath right next to Richie’s ear, and now Richie’s contemplating between the two possible causes of his death: he combusts, or he stops breathing - to be determined.

 Richie begs the universe for advice in the ultimate predicament. And to his great relief, memories seep back into his brain; those of freckled cheeks, teeth balancing a cig as a mouth talks, and bundles of ginger curls bouncing as her head turns in his direction.

 “Bev would love this.”

 Riche catches the way Ben looks over at him pretty much immediately - at them, sharing body heat in Eddie’s coat - and then how the boy stares at the ground and mumbles a soft, “Yeah.” He looks back at Richie, holds his eye contact for a sweet, lingering moment, then gazes back at the sky, hopefully thinking of love as much as Richie is.

 Bill, Mike, and Stan all follow, tearing their eyes away briefly to make quick eye contact with each other, and then Richie, and Eddie even shifts to look up at him, and they all smile wistfully as though the girl is there with them, snarky remarks and toothy smiles keeping them all afloat. Richie feels like he’s going to break open and cry enough to fill the whole universe, so he sniffles and looks back up at the sky, breaking the moment of magic.

 But it remains with them.

 It remains as they share this together, as they enter the new year together, promising hope for a happier future as long as they stick with each other.

 And it remains as Eddie Kaspbrak takes his hand under the coat and murmurs, “Happy new year, Richie.”

[honeybearloco]

― “...Replaced.”

title → “...replaced.”

pairing → sik-k x female reader.

synopsis → you had already known how minsik had felt about having a kid this young. he was at the prime of his career! he didn’t need to be tied down, taking care of a child. remembering it now, brought tears to your eyes as you brought home an ultrasound just days prior.

word count → 1.4k.

a/n → this is really bad !! let’s see how many requests i can get finished by the year’s end. as i was writing this, i kept thinking about that one tiktok where the guy says “this bitch said we having a baby. i said ‘we? what you speaking french for? i’m out, peace’” IM A TERRIBLE PERSON. 

“Y/N!” He shouted, knocking you out of your thoughts, shaking slightly. You quickly snapped your head to the right, where he was sitting, next to you on the sofa.

“Y...Yes?”

He tilted his head to the side a bit, looking at you with worried eyes. He took your hand into his, placing his free hand on top of it, taking in your face, “Are you okay? You look nervous and you’re pale. Are you sick?”

You shook your head, taking your hand out of his hold. You placed your hands in your lap, “I’m fine. I’m just a bit stressed out because of work. I’m a bit behind on my deadline and I need to finish up a few somethings by the end of this week or I’ll be in trouble,” You lied, trying to get him off of your back.

“You know if you ever need a massage to help you relax, I’m here. All you have to is say the word and I got you,” Minsik added, placing a small peck on your cheek.

Before he could press another to your cheek, you moved away slightly. The worried look on his face was replaced with a frown. 

Why were you acting like this?

Why were you being so distant?

Was it something he said?

Several questions clouded his mind as he looked at your face, sensing more than nervousness and “stress”, as you said. Minsik placed a gentle hand on your face, forcing you to look at him.

There was sadness hidden behind your eyes. You were hurt. 

“Babe, what’s wrong? Why are you acting like I killed a man or something? Did I say something? If I did, let me know.”

“It’s...it’s not you. I’ve just been thinking recently and I guess my thoughts have taken over.”

“What kind of thoughts?” He asked.

You removed his hand from your cheek, “Minsik, remember when we talked about having kids a couple of weeks back?”

“I mean, yeah, what about it? Are you going to try to give me reasons to want to have kids now?”

“No, I’m not! Why are you assuming that?”

He put a hand through his hair, “Because you like starting arguments with me for no reason. You’ve been moody for like 2 months now. Hell, you won’t even let me hold you at night because of that fucking conversation. When I said I didn’t want kids I meant that. Hell, I’m 25, I’m too young to be a fucking dad!”

“MOODY?!” You raised your voice, standing up from the sofa in a rush, looking back at him.

He let out a sigh, leaning back on the sofa, “Here we fucking go again.”

“IT’S NOT MY FAULT I’M MOODY!”

“It’s not? Really now? Y/N it’s no one else’s fault. You’ve been acting like a bitch to me since I said I don’t want kids. Fucking get over it. It’s not the end of the world. Why can’t you just accept that?”

You hadn’t noticed the hot tears streaming down your face as he spoke, his words hurting your sides. Involuntarily, one of your hands had slowly come up to your small stomach, as if you were feeling for your baby.

You had drowned him out, as all you could think about was the growing child inside of you. You had truly loved Minsik, but if he didn’t want a child, you couldn’t force to want one.

The thought of just screaming it out had crossed your mind, but it just didn’t feel right. He was being such an asshole. You knew it was wrong but you just couldn’t tell him, not now, not like this.

“Please just go,” You say in a whisper.

“Are you serious? You just gonna kick me out of my own house?”

“Minsik, please go. Please get out,” You say a bit louder this time, sniffling. Your head fell, your eyes staring at the tile of the room.

He stood up from the sofa, a look of anger on his face, frightening you. You had never seen him this upset before in all of your years of dating. “I have to leave MY house because you don’t like what I said?! Y/N GROW THE FUCK UP! YOU’RE NOT A BABY ANYMORE! IF YOU WANT A BABY SO DAMN BAD, LEAVE AND FIND A MAN WHO WANTS ONE!”

That was the last straw. You snapped, “YOU FUCKING IDIOT! I’M PREGNANT!”

His face fell as he looked into your sad eyes, trying to find a hint that what you were saying wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true. There was no way you were pregnant. No way!

You opened your mouth to say more, nothing coming out. 

“Y/N, I...” He trailed off, reaching a hand out for you but you stepped back, rushing to your shared room, shaming the door shut and. You slid down the door, sobbing silently, crying yourself to sleep.

Hours had gone by since your argument. 

Many different emotions had filled Minsik’s mind, all of them hitting at once. The emotion that hit the hardest was sadness. He had made you cry. He was an asshole.

‘She’s...she’s pregnant? For how long? Why didn’t she just tell me? Oh yeah...this is why. I shouldn’t have blown up at her like that. I feel terrible. I wonder if she’s still awake. Probably not, it’s 2 in the morning,’ He thought to himself, standing up from his place on the living room floor, as he sat staring at the ceiling thinking about he was going to do next.

He walked down the hallway to your shared bedroom, opening the door slightly, feeling a force blocking the door. He peeked his head through the frame, seeing your sleeping figure still against the door.

He squeezed himself inside, gently picking you up and placing you on the bed on the other side of the room. He looked on the nightstand seeing a flipped over the photo. I took it in between his fingers, flipping it around. It wasn’t just a picture but an ultrasound. 

“That’s my baby in there, huh?” He whispered, not wanting to wake you. It had settled in.

He was going to be a dad. Turning back to you, he looked down at your stomach. You hadn’t started showing yet, but he knew that the baby was there, listening to it all.

Softly, he placed a hand on your stomach, rubbing softly. 

“Hi, I’m...I’m your dad, Minsik. I know this is my first time talking to you and you may not know me, but you will get to know me one day. I wanted to say, I’m sorry for yelling at Y/N earlier, when she wakes up I’ll tell her the same thing. I hope you didn’t hear that. I don’t know much about kids, but I guess I’ll have to learn.”

Hearing a voice speaking in your sleep, you had woken up, slowly opening your eyes to see Minsik with his hand on your stomach. Before you could react or push him away, he spoke once more. 

“I’ll probably be a fuck up because all I seem to do is fuck up now. If Y/N doesn’t leave me when she wakes up, I’ll make sure to be there for you, champ. Even if she does leave me, I’ll still be there for you. I’m not going to be a deadbeat because I have a career. I’ll take you on tour with him. We’ll travel across the globe when you’re born.”

His words brought a small smile to your face. Even though you were trying to be upset with him, you couldn’t. “You know, you can’t travel with a baby right after birth, right?”

Minsik snapped his neck to you, “Y/N, I’m―”

“You’re sorry, I know. As much as I beat your face in, I’m too tired and my boobs are so sore.”

He raised an eyebrow, that familiar naughty grin appeared soon after. 

“Don’t you even fucking think about it. I will cut you.”

“Ooh that was kinda sexy, not gonna lie,” He laughed, placing his head on the pillow next to yours. 

You rolled your eyes, “Don’t.”

“Am I forgiven?” He asked. 

“Fuck no. Believe me, I’m still going to beat your ass later but I’m too tired. Maybe I’ll think about letting you hold me after all that shit you said.”

He pouted, “Oh come on, you love me.”

“I do, but I love my baby more.”

“I swear where we stand. So I’ve been replaced.”

[sinkingwmyships]

JJBA (VA) Purge AU (cont)

part 1

(if the layout feels messy, it’s bc im literally brainstorming as i go lol)

since Italy obviously doesn't have Founding Fathers, i've decided that:

- the Purge is an idea from a branch of the government called Arrow

- the idea is that each year an "arrow" will be "shot" (ie the Purge) to "kill off" the suffering & crimes & poverty & general unwanted bs in the world (or just Italy i guess jsgjfhdhd), and then Requiem Italy is post-Purge, or "cleansed" Italy

4. Bucciarati:

i'm pretty torn on Bucci's background. at first i was like "he's gonna be this righteous leader against Arrow," but that's kinda boring and my bruabba braincells were acting up, so:

Bucciarati doesn't need the Purge. he justifies who he kills, and why, himself. the whole thing abt his parents' divorce and his dad's encounter with suspicious people still happened, so he kills to protect his dad (& other innocents when needed).

unfortunately, the suspicious ppl his dad encountered was affiliated with Arrow, and soon they realize that they can't have 1) people going around dirtying Arrow's image (like Bucci's dad), and 2) people who don't see the benefit of the Purge (Bucci who just commits crimes blatantly). so they send people (kinda like Big Daddy's minions in "Purge: Anarchy") to kill off Bucci's dad. Bucci becomes better and better at killing by defending his dad from these oncoming attacks, and he also realizes that Arrow's program is only to benefit the people in power and the rich. plus they aren't even following the rules they preach, and instead just flat out target the Buccis 24/7, since they're only a poor family of two. Bucci refuses to participate in Purges, but kills Arrow soldiers regularly.

and then word gets out to the police. since Bucci is basically a rogue criminal who's managed to evade the law (Arrow can't get rid of him but they can't arrest him either bc then it would be obvious that they're trying to cover up sth sus), the police sends Abbacchio after him in that year's Purge.

side note abt the timeline:

- let's say "that year" is either 2001 (when canon VA happened) or 1/a few years before, i haven't decided

- Giorno probably killed his parents in 2000's Purge

- Fugo & Abba Purge every year so the timeline doesn't mean shit to them :'D

5. Mista:

mmnnggghhhhh im really struggling w Mista & Narancia :'D let's see:

since canonically Bucci recruits Mista for his gunslinging skills, and before he joined Passione Mista was just this guy who was trying to mind his own business, have a good life & maybe do morally good things once in a while

so

Mista probably doesn't Purge. he's one of those ppl who lockdown at home and just chill while listening to the raging bs outside. he's on the fence about whether Purge actually benefits society or not.

he will become involved with the Purge and the fight with Arrow one day, but i'm starting to come up with a plot for this, so no spoilers ;)

but i will say this: even if Mista happens to be out in the streets during Purge one day, he'll probably be fine purely bc his gunslinging skills are so great.

6. Narancia:

(back to struggling)

Narancia is a rich boi, but neither he or his family enjoys Purging. they either only watch Purges happen like rich elites do, or just lockdown like Mista and doesn't care. but then Narancia's mom died, and his dad's attitude began to change, so Narancia became rebellious and joined a gang (that one with that blond dude that later betrayed him, y'all know what im talking abt). this gang is kinda like that weird-ass creepy gang at the beginning of "Purge: Anarchy," in that they tail ppl around and kills/vandalizes for fun. and Narancia was still just an impressionable young boi with a knack for violence and destruction, so he's like "hell yea hail Purges"

so that's what Nara does, until one day the gang leader (blond dude) gets greedy and orders the gang to do some illegal shit like minutes away from the ending sirens. (oh yeah and he already told Nara to dye his hair so he'd look like him.) and then when the sirens blare, Narancia is stuck behind "committing a crime," so he's put into juvenile jail. in there he has quiet reflection time, and he realizes that Purges do nothing but hurt the weak & vulnerable, and became disgusted at his old way of thinking. so when he was released, he swore off Purging. but ofc his gang isn't happy about that, so they probably come back to terrorize him or some shit. AND his dad probably is deadbeat asf and doesn't even give a shit abt his ex-convict son, so Narancia becomes this scared child out in the streets, living in fear of the next Purge that he sees others preaching about every day.

IM SO TORN IN TERMS OF SHIPPING YALL HAVE NO IDEA, LIKE:

- bruabba?? DEFINITELY HAPPENING i live & breathe for them i love them sm

- giomis? to be completely honest, even when i was watching the anime for the first time, i never felt the same passion for them as other fans seem to :'(

- so im really thinking abt fugio, which will be great cos i already have a scenario abt how they're gonna meet

- but then fugonara comes to torment me, and like, i don't ship naramis either. and i'm like, not everyone has to fall in love. so i'll just have bruabba and fugio??

- but THEN my brain comes up w a scenario for fugonara

- which actually... will work great if their rela is one-sided????? but I'LL BE IN PAIN AND NOBODY LIKES THAT ;_;

anyway

let me do my girl Trish and then maybe i'll reveal the scenarios, maybe not ;)

7. Trish:

obv Diavolo is the asshole who runs Arrow and proposed the Purge to the Italian gov first.

in this AU he and Trish will probs have a relationship cos i do be having daddy issues tho and i just need my dad representation ;_; but that don't mean this gna be a good relationship :')

Diavolo's probably also deadbeat asf, but Trish knows this young man, Doppio, who seems to work closely with her father, but unlike many of his colleagues is very sweet to her. the only thing she kinda hates abt him is how he always praise Arrow and the Purge, as if it's the one solution to all the problems in the world.

Trish herself is indifferent towards Purge. she never has to participate anyway, and is never in danger either (bc of her dad obv). but she always feels icky when she has to go to these over-the-top parties where rich people gather to watch the poor & the crazy slaughter each other. but if given the choice, she will probably just turn a blind eye and be a bystander to ppl's suffering, since she isn't sure if she even has enough strength to go against her father.

Trish will also get involved w Bucci and stuff, but i 1) haven't decided how yet, and 2) don't wanna provide spoilers, soooooo

reveal ship scenarios? yes or no??

part 3 | part 4 | part 5

[taeyongxlm-blog]

hi what’s up!! my name’s laur (any pronouns in case you’re wondering) and this is my boy taeyong, nice to meet you! i actually meant to be better prepared for this, but then i had a crazy week at work instead and i’m woefully behind on everything i planned to do ahead of time ;; meaning i don’t have a good plots page or anything planned out yet ;~; but i am eager to dive in and get to plotting with everyone regardless, so i’ll try to quickly put out some ideas here!! i only have tumblr at the moment, so iming me here is the best way to reach me~~

in lieu of proper plots, i’ll put a little bit about taeyong down below, since his about page is sorta bare bones as well. i’ll try to mark things that could be potential plotting points as well! preliminary trigger warning for alcoholism, living in poverty, and slight neglect for anyone that may affect!!

lee taeyong, eldest son among four children, born on the first of july, 1995

he has two little sisters and a youngest brother! taeeun is the eldest after him (~’98), taewon after her (~’01), and baby taesuk (~’04). he’s super fond of his little siblings and constantly doing things with or for them, despite moving out of their parents’ home himself. 

PLOT POINT; being friends/close to one of his siblings, so he sorta thinks of your muse as a little sibling figure as well. maybe a friend of his sisters that had a crush on him in the past? those who are friends with the oldest sister might be friends with taeyong too, but the younger ones may be too young for him to really hang out with comfortably.

long story short for his background, his father (name pending) used to have a factory job that wasn’t much but supported the family and their humble lifestyle. while his wife was pregnant with their fourth child, he was in an unexpected accident that has since kept him from returning to work ever since. the disability checks were not enough to support the family, so mrs. lee took it upon herself to provide for the family. she’d do laundry, take care of others’ children, clean houses, take any odd job she could get all while trying to raise four young children. all the while her husband sank further and further into the bottle. to this day she does as much as she possibly can while he sits in his armchair and nurses a beer.

taeyong took his first job at the age of 14, basically as a busboy for a hole in the wall restaurant within walking distance of his family’s apartment. since then, he’s been working almost nonstop to help provide for his little siblings and his mother. he was unable to complete his high school education, dropping out in his second year of high school in order to work more hours so his sisters and brother wouldn’t have to do the same. due to this, he has a very serious disposition and seems to believe that the world will collapse entirely if he’s not atlas holding it up. it can make him seem pretty prudish and square, but it’s really just the result of missing most of his childhood.

he takes odd jobs whenever he can find them and seems to take on new or different jobs at a rather frequent rate. dance was a hobby as a child and there’s been a few occasions where he’s been able to help teach classes for children as a substitute. those are his favorite sorts of jobs, and probably something he’d like to do for the rest of his life if given an opportunity. as for the idol life... well... he thinks he’s too old for it (and he’s probably correct about that) but he’d take any opportunity given to him if he thinks it will help his family in the long run.

PLOT POINT; coworkers or former coworkers: since taeyong moved jobs a lot, he might have been a work friend. i imagine he works as a clerk in a retail store right now, but i’m not particular on where exactly that is. if there’s another muse in retail hell out there, hit me up! they can be coworkers!

his living situation now is out of his family’s home, since he got far too angry at his deadbeat dad and couldn’t stick around watching him do nothing. despite this, he still makes time for his mother and sisters and brother. i imagine that he likes to keep the couch free just in case one of the kids needs somewhere to crash if their dad is in a particularly sour mood or they don’t want to go home for one reason or another.

PLOT POINT; roommates! there’s no way he’d be able to afford an apartment on his own at this point, so he needs some buddies to help him split the rent. i don’t believe he’s picky about male or female roommates, as long as your muse is okay with him letting his siblings come over and spend a night or two here and there. just no funny business with them!!

PLOT POINT; since i’m fresh out of muse info, i’m gonna use the rest of this post to list off other miscellaneous plots that i haven’t really put much thought or detail into yet. these are your basic relationships: exes (maybe your muse felt that taeyong was neglecting their relationship for work or his family and it ended badly, or just a change of interests and you’re still friends now; definitely could be female muses, male muses less certain since he’s not out), crushes (past or present, on him or by him, probably unrequited for this plot), love interests (because honestly, he’s been taking care of other people for so long i’d love to see him have someone to take care of him), enemies (misunderstandings, or maybe something more malicious was involved), and just general friends!

[tumblunni]

today’s Maddiman Mood is him and his son doing Traditional Family Activities that they missed in their first life

who cares if youre a frankencyclops and your son is a 25 year old skeleton, youre gonna play some goddamn catch and watch barbie horse adventures

nocturne is just stuck torn between “I am a tsundere grump edgelord who has a reputation to protect” and “BUT IM MISSED MY DADDO A MUCH”

it somehow equals out to the result of doing all the fam stuff but pretending he didnt

DAD WE MUST BOND UNDER COVER OF DARKNESS

I WENT ON A GRAND QUEST TO ACQUIRE THIS TEMPORARY INVISIBILITY FIELD

and all his friends and 99.9% of the entire world are like “dude...your reputation...is soft. u was always soft. we been knew.”

i just find it so funny that he’s got such a badass design and his entire character concept is just “even less evil than his dad, and also very polite and fancy”

TFW u spend 30-40 years as an ominous spectre fueled only by hatred for your deadbeat father and then realise at the last moment that whoops i guess that emotion was Actually Mourning His Death Because You Love Him

easy mistake to make when you inherited his Bad At Emotion Genes

but whoops guess u accidentally cultivated an entire antihero persona along the way

now the New Angst is admitting u is happy of your good and joyful reunite

The Greatest Challenge Of All

AUUUUUUUUGH

go play a sportsball with yer pop

GYAUUAUAUAUUAUU

god i feel so many Emotions for these characters

*incoherant hollerin*

also if you follow me on twitter you can enjoy even more rambling feels about a minor bonus boss at the end of a tunnel somewhere, who has approximately zero fanarts anywhere on the englishspeaking web

I WILL WEEP FOR U WHEN NOONE ELSE DO, MALLICE

every five seconds i find a new friend in this game, god dammit

[coalessscence]

one of my favorite worst things to Think About are the ways herb’s casually neglectful childhood sometimes just....surfaces in the every day world of his life now. and since his whole shtick is my childhood was perfect my father is basically god and i have absolutely no parent issues idk what ur talking abt, he winds up having to flail, having to learn on the way down, and try to keep up a cover that he knew all along. which, usually, doesn’t work, and just makes it all the more sad. here’s a few examples i’ve thought of because i don’t love myself:

someone around the station gets stuck with something metal and comments they might need a tetanus shot. herb was definitely never taken to the doctor’s for a checkup and regular vaccinations as a child, and since he works daytime hours lucille takes the kids while he’s at work, so he literally has never had a shot and he doesn’t fully understand what vaccines are, aside from cultural osmosis, so he asks in telling confusion, “what’s that supposed to mean?” @piper-aileen-lenox specifically, thnx for making me think of this and ruining my life xx

when herb and lucille moved in together (i imagine they were engaged but maybe not married just yet) lucille made it clear to her rather sexist fiance that she was expecting him to tow the line around the house just as much as her, which he agreed to, except when she asked him to do the grocery shopping thinking that was a harmless thing he could do (not like she’d trust him to actually get the dishes clean or fold her clothes so they don’t wrinkle). they almost never had food consistently in the house growing up and if they did eat full meals, they only had the food for THAT MEAL around because 1. herb sr. and ruby (herb’s parents) lived an erratic lifestyle of little to no money or a whole lot of money but only for a second because it was burning a hole in herb sr.’s pocket, and because 2. ruby quickly learned spending money on food ahead was pointless because either herb sr. hecked off somewhere w/o warning and it went bad, or his deadbeat friends hung around and ate it all, so she only bought for that day if they had the money for anything. but since no one was ever around to TEACH herb anything and he figured most things out on his own, herb doesn’t understand all this and he literally thinks you’re not supposed to by food until you run out or that you have to throw out whatever you have left at the end of the week because....... who knows ???? that’s just what he thought. it caused multiple arguments early into herb and lucille’s relationship before she figured it out and explained it to him because he didn’t know well enough to ask.

when herb and lucille’s first child, bunny, was born, he had to be shown how to hold a baby by the doctor. he had literally never held or even interacted with a baby before until that moment. he had no siblings (that he knew of), he had no friends as a child because if he wasn’t the bully he was the target and he was an ass just like dear old dad so no one liked him anyway, and he had 0 other family. lucille realized in that moment as she watched his palpable confusion when she extended their newborn child to him that he was going to have a lot of learning and growing to do. she hoped he was ready for it.

god that time there was a station fam barbecue early into herb’s wkrp career and someone, maybe mr. carlson, is like ‘WHO WANTS TO BE THE GRILL MASTER’ like its a big deal and everyone is like oh it has to be herb bc he’s the newest out of us and hes aware all the men see it as a status symbol and he CAN’T be less of a man than another man bc Ego (tm) so hes like of course im the grill master !!! and then panics for the next thirty minutes because he’s literally never even stood next to a grill let alone used one HOW DOES IT WORK the first fifteen minutes he doesnt even have the gas on rip

when herb was, like, 15, he taught himself how to drive a car because one of his “friends” (peers who was a bully that he called a friend and hung out with to stop also getting bullied but who was still bullying him anyway, herb was just brainwashed into thinking that’s what friendship is) wanted them to go out cruising and herb wanted to be a Cool Guy and not look like a chump so he lied and said he could drive. they got pulled over, because of course they did, and herb got in big trouble for you know, driving w/o a licences. the kicker though is that herb didn’t fucking know you can’t drive without a license or that licenses and road tests and drivers ed were even a THING because he literally raised himself and no one ever  t a u g h t   h i m   a n y t h i n g. anyways his dad got called home to deal with it from wherever he was away at at the time and he got in big trouble for interrupting dear old dad’s work anyways so :) what a healthy family

surprisingly, herb DID know how to cook the basics. grilled cheese, pasta, stir fries, a couple casseroles. lucille asked him about it because he was always such a Gender Roles (tm) type of man who wouldn’t even wear a brighter shade of red than like. maroon. in case it got loosely contaminated with the concept of the color pink and he’d have to change his name and move to alaska. so why was he doing a “ womans job “ (cooking) and herb just looked confused and said “what, guys don’t cook?” she told him that no, they usually didn’t and would have laughed at her if she tried to make them, and he laughed awkwardly and absently stirred the pot on the stove and shrugged in mild confusion. “that’s weird. if i didn’t cook i’d have... starved, i guess.”

the bad news is his cooking wasnt GREAT and lucille was happy to take over because again.........self taught. and he has one (1) brain cell so. not Great

LITERALLY DIDN’T KNOW ALL CLOTHES DON’T HAVE TO BE DRY CLEANED. his dad literally wore clothes that had to be dry cleaned Every Day (and we wonder why the tarlek family was short on the food budget god) (and they were ugly clothes too akdhfjfg) and ofc if ruby washed her clothes, it was while herb was at school. he dry cleaned so many clothes that do Not Make Sense to dry clean in college before he slowly figured that out.

did not know what an allowance was. bunny asked him for one and not willing to seem stupid to his swift daughter he told her to ‘ask her mother’, who thought it was hecking weird that her money obsessed husband would say that, so she asked him why and after several long minutes he just shrugged helplessly and said “what’s an allowance?”

don’t even get me started on herb and lucille planning their wedding ( ‘what kind of stuff should we put on the gift register?’ “put on the WHAT?”  ‘what are we going to put on top of the cake?’ “there’s gonna be CAKE?”  ‘i can’t wait for daddy to walk down the isle with me, it’ll mean a lot to him’ “your DAD is gonna walk you down the isle....?? but you’re marrying ME, right?”   ) also herb not knowing the wedding look of the bride is supposed to be a Secret and barging into the room w a question or smth while lucille and her bridesmaids are getting ready, and everyone is hella miffed and he’s like WHAT i’ve seen her naked before and theyre all like THATS NOT THE POINT HERB

herb did Not Know about seasonal allergies. he just........didn’t know. he just thought god hated him and every spring and fall his head sprung a leak. and the whole time he was growing up no one A. listened to him complain about them and put 2 and 2 together, nor B. just taught him about basic first aid stuff in general for that matter he doesnt know shit. anyways, then lucille was like why are you such a tough guy just stop complaining and take some medicine for your stupid allergies and he was like take some what for my what now

ANYWAYS herb’s mom left while he was v young and he doesn’t remember much about her. herb’s dad was literally   n e v e r   home. the people herb’s dad left him with would work for obscenely low amounts of pay or owed herb sr. money and largely used all the money for their own food, drugs, alcohol, or other more unsightly business, and left herb alone to fend for himself. this is the disaster human that that produced, thanks, family dynamics! don’t abandon your children, kids, thanks for coming to my ted talk

[nocancer]

Why It Rains

~~~~ an excerpt from a working novel by Cancer moon. ~~~~~**

Lately I’ve been channeling from a higher source. And it’s not something I have to keep up with. It feels like, natural almost. Like im always at the same level of it, or at least very close. I’m not gonna lie, I was scared at first. Scared that I would fail. Scared that I wouldn’t live up to the expectations I set for myself while meditating. But so far things are looking up. I even got that new computer I wanted. Who knows, for now I’m just gonna keep writing and go from there. I’m not too concerned with the trivial things that life likes to bother us with, seemingly always at the worst times imaginable. I might check out this internet thing too. It’s promoted as this fun happy place and if I didn’t know any better, I’d of taken that for face value, right off the bat like a sucker. Next thing you know the internet turns out to be a cold and lonely place, and I’m left to wallow in my own self-pity, clutching my knees in the fetal position, mad at myself for failing to see the internet for what it is, a stupid marketing scheme. The point is, I have to see for myself. That’s just the type of person I am. You can ask my mom that. She’ll tell you. Ask her about the time I told the guy who was fixing my alternator to shove it when he was trying to charge me a thousand. Mind you, I had the money. But you’re not supposed to be dishonest to me just ‘cause I’m a millenial. The guy pretty much called me that. He said, hey kid, try to be more polite next time. But I never listened. I don’t need advice from a deadbeat greasemonkey. Anyway, apparently everyone’s connected to the cloud via sites like facebook and instagram. And when people log on to jump in on the action, usually the first thing they do is say hi to their friends, and maybe even drop a smile or two to show them they care. And if they drop a heart then you know they already had a chance to settle in, and are just trying to take it to the next level, now that the internet, in all its digital, impermanent page swiping glory, is owned, unabashedly theirs.

Conscious apples of languid rotundity creep along countless borders of a pale grey sky. 

The pears are unwavering in the efforts of embassy, initiating calls backs when the time calls for it, and deceit when grape factions step in and intervene. 

“What are these meddling affairs, young pear?” asked the grape.

“I don’t know. It’s the apples control our every move. How we live. Our daily lives.”

“Hush with that nonsense. You are nothing but a pear, a young one at that, how could you possibly know who’s behind it all?”

“I don’t know.”

The grape and the young pear sat on a brook and wondered who was behind it all.

-------

You see this all-seeing-eye mural in Atlanta? On the side of Ravine across the street from the federal reserve building? Yeah. I could strip down naked and run to the middle of that intersection there and scream my lungs out until i started coughing up blood and act violent to anyone who approached me and i still wouldnt match the frequency of that demonic shit. People walk by it everyday going to work, going to lunch, going to walk their dog, and nobody bats an eye. An eye for the government, an eye for the media, an eye for world hunger. Not a single raised eyebrow goes towards whats in control of every aspect of their daily lives. Oh the president controls my life. But I voted for him, so its okay. Is what they would say, as they munched on Mcdonalds with vaccines in their arms and got mad at traffic because they were going to miss their favorite show. A show that retroactively fed into a never ending problem and response feedback loop that activates the reptilian part of the brain by broadcasting images of rape and pedophilia via techniques that the producers learned at Harvard’s school of broadcasting, which also used a system of coercion, this time in the blind trust the students had for their professors just because they dressed nice and said big words. You’re going places. This kid’s gonna be a star. 

-----

I’m only half of what I am without your other half to complete me. Only kids ask rhetorical questions. But why should I be any different? 

I live by the way side. Wherever the wind takes me. I notice things that most don’t. I’m not sure if what I think is valid or not. I don’t believe anything is valid. Likewise I dont believe anything is invalid. One things for sure. If there’s one thing I know to be true. Is that I’m not an adult. No, Definitely not. 

-----------

Hiksos lamented blast fully daring the credence of all his undoing. Unjust and bashful forwritten to layers upong layers of drug smitten landscapes. 

“Youre good/” Said Jamie.

I see why she likes so much to hate on anyone she can get her hands on. And im not talking about physical hands. No, these are claws of misfortune. --The bad falls into a category still undefined by our human grasp.--

Apples on seminoles. Berries on amazing places we strove for. 

The graveyard was pure and unassuming as a place for the dead should very well be. And with that we took our ritual to newer, more fulfilling levels. Levels of which determine our outlook as shades between optimistic and cautiously realistic. With our futures in the balance, 

“Whatchu think dawg?” said Jerry. He was on his 2nd beer and 5th shot of vodka sprite. and I was on my mind long enough for nothing to be worth a damn. The vibe was dull, and the smoke gone. I lit a cigarette.

“I feel like shit.” 

“You good?”  J

“Yeah but I’m just tired like overall.” About life.

“Why not be happy about life? It’s all in your head. Just flip the switch. Like a light. On and off. Boom. No more stress.”  J

“If only if it were that easy.”

“It is that easy. That’s the thing.”

Sipping heroically, going farther and phasing out all menial contrivances. Searching for myself like the lost land of atlantis. Humanity will get what it deserves. 

“In due time” said Thomas. 

I look at orion and wonder if those faint stars below its belt are actually indicative of a warrior kneeling on one knee with his shield raised or if its a flaccid penis that hangs all the way down to his knee. Im a pervert, always have been. Theres no stopping how much i will crash thoughtforms together in a heinous way until they stick together and form a common truth. I’m on the last life cycle of a cat’s 9 lives. Theres really nothing to lose by being a pervert. I had a friend in high school who said we’re all gay. I dont remember when. He said it more than once. I dont know if he was gay. I didnt think like that back then, but I wouldn’t to be anything other than who I am today. But again, there’s no stopping a mind so spiritual that it can hold each and every possibility at once and consider them valid. Then an external force canceling out my infinity. And I’m left to deal with people as if playing some sick little game thats suppose to teach me a lesson or something. So that I can ascend to the next plane of existence. At least thats what I’ve heard. But when the night hits and everyone finally shuts up for once it seems much simpler than that. Like im watching myself through a lens bestowed on me by a god with no intelligence. And during the day he becomes intelligent, and I’m left trying to keep up with, on his terms. “Fuck you bitch” I tell it often. “Youre not real” I’d say over and over. “What the fuck” is the saying that gives closure to it all. The only reason God looks good on paper is because it’s a testament to the author being strong enough to have it in his mind and make sense of it. It’s a mark people wear like aushwitz that make their beliefs somehow something you should pay attention to because I’m physical and God’s not but I speak of God so therefore God’s physical so you should listen to me. But then thatd make the speaker God. 

By and by I’ve messed up hastily my dreams and aspirations. Tattooed on a building as ink drips down like an inner angst perceiving things as they are, and not what society says they should be. The happy medium an ephemeral code that could shift and shake into any causality one deems it to. The rulers of the world have taken domain over the one thing every human on earth has in common. I call this desire. They call it money. A body that begets greed and turns hatred to lust. Actions which motivate our inhibitions to phantasmagoria. Until we accept our place as lesser than the pettiness of our common folk. Shy and afraid, contingent upon basement dwelling lab rats who fane logic to reasonable bell curves while sucking nature dry of her own resources. The very nature that sunlight reflects upon his incessant rays which batter and tumble the distance. If only they knew she was her and he was them. But it doesn’t go like that here. Because if it did, then all karmas coming to a head would get their just due, and we’d be in purgatory. While heaven remained for the gods and earth for the mortals. And nothing can be God except authority to mortals when they’ve been tricked into accepting the state and thus have become it..

What a lovely home indeed. No one could bother me here. Except for the only one’s I knew. Because nobody knows I exist except for those who know me. I’d rather keep it that way. For a streak of doubt can enter me at any time and cause worry for my future. A future still so far away  because I lack the initiative to care. Maybe that will change now that I have room to breathe. Just when I thought I was going downhill for good, my dad came around for me. And now I have a responsibility to get me up in the morning. No more waiting in line for luck to befall me in my yoga. The truth is, when reality caved in itself, and I could see the dying whispers in the eyes of those around me, I accepted my estrangement from the happy things in life. My avoidance of the dastardly grotesque was keeping me back this whole time. I like darkness and pitiful efforts of circumstance that vibrate low enough to stay hidden from others, but high enough so that it is detectable by my astral receiver. Two of which is an outward expression of another. The extension of material that is necessary for movement to take place. Before this realization I endured through pain of my own doing.  

“How are you?” people would say.

And I never had a response.  

Telepathic centrifuges would scan my mind. Taking flight off far off reaches of iniquity. All facets calling upon a microverse for an answer. I an I. Then they’d be gone without hesitation.  

“Jerry’s calling” said Thomas.

“for what?” This guy wont leave me alone, I thought.

“I don’t know answer it.”

“Why are you bored?” I said.

“Yes, maybe he has weed.” Said Thomas.

“Ay whatsup man. Me and Thomas we’re just talking about you.”

“Oh word?”

“Yeah and then you call its like divine intervention or something?”

“Yeah thomas was tryna find some weed and you the first person he thought of so you must be doing something right.”

“Yo Thomas.”

“Oh hold up let me put you on speaker.” I said quickly.

“Is Thomas there? Yo Thomas.”

“Jerry, whats good?”

“I got the pack man, I heard you was lookin for a come up. I got the pack man.”

“Aight bet cus im bored as a motherfucka right now ya feel me?”

“It aint my fault.”

“Yo he do gotta big ass house tho I aint gone lie but like shit aint got nothin in it.”

“I just moved here a week ago.”  

“So for a whole week- Yo is today Friday?”  

“Yeah its Friday.” Who cares? I thought.

“So that’s last Friday, Saturday, Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and now Friday, and you still aint got nothin in here but a fridge.”

“You aint even seen the whole house.”

“Nah you know you just in the middle of the carpet with no pillow no blankets or nothin.  

And you wake up and go open the fridge and aint nothin in it. Then you go back to sleep.”

“Ay what he dream about?” Jerry said through the phone.

He aint dream about much ‘cept for one occurring dream. Of a fridge, but this time it’s a mini fridge. And its pink and he’s able to move it around, so he takes it up to his room and opens the freezer door just a little so it’s a little crack and he starts beatin it up till he has a wet dream and wakes up.”

“Alright you took it too far. It was kinda funny before but you killed it.”

“Wait, Where’s the fridge now? It’s not in the kitchen?” Jerry said.  

“Bruh that’s the thing its just in the middle of the living room not even plugged in or nothin.”

“Jerry I know you so concerned about my god damn fridge but this time dude is lying over here.”

haha

“It’s in my kitchen like a normal person. Like I don’t know I guess you think this shit is funny or something but whatever come through and you can see for yourself.” Don’t talk to him he’s a loser was the attitude I was picking up. I thought they we’re beyond all that and capable of extraneous thought. Oh well, I guess I’m done with these idiots.

No more sitting around all day.

If I can see them for who I want, and not who they really are, it’d make no difference. 

It’s a best of both worlds type situation. I just hate that I have to resort to this.

Its a sporadic and unpredictable endeavor that can detach you from life’s depiction. Seemingly framing a purpose in cosmetics among layer-caked mine field of mind clouds. I want to be a positive addition to those around me. And for them to be honest to me in return. Honest  because everything around me is a nuisance. And dishonest It’s not necessary to have car insurance, police, governments. This realm is alive. 3 dimensions respective of splashes and 3rd parties. Because of this fact, I must be able to flow freely, grounded in freedom, estranged to control. Last summer when I jumped into the alleghany i felt freer than i have in a long ass time. Jerry asked me if he thought we’d still be here next year. I told him I didn’t want to think about it. That I was enjoying the moment.

“Man fuck that bitch.” T

“What? Who you callin’ a bitch?” J

“You know what I mean.” Thomas smacked his lips.

“I really don’t but whatever.” J

“Yo Jerry did you leave yet?” 

“How far away is it? Not too bad right?”

   “Nah it’s not too bad you’re like 30 minutes away. You’re in a nice area. Lots of rich people.” J

“Yeah I came up on it. It kinda just happened.”

“Whatchu mean it fell out of the sky?” Jerry asked.

“It’s been in my family for a while and I was lucky enough to be gifted it.” I said.

“That’s dope, you’ll get some good use out of it.”

“Yeah I’ma take advantage of what I got ya know? Make it so anyone can pull up as long as I fuck with them.” I said.

“Thats why I’m comin’ through. 

Just say its the spot and I’m there.”

“For sure. But yo, if youre bringing your girl over then bring some pillows and blankets to sleep on cus I only got mine.”

“I need some too.” Thomas joined in.”

“We’ll stop then.” I said reluctantly.

“

“And where are we gonna chill? We can’t just sit on the floor.” Thomas took his eyes off the road.

“Alright, theres a home depot near the chinese place we’ll go their while we wait.” I said.

“Does Home Depot have blankets?” Thomas said like he was so concerned.

“No but they got that outdoor patio section for furniture and shit, So I don’t know we’ll find something.”

            “They got mad carhartt jackets for the low low there. You should check them out.” 

           “Alright I’ll check them out.” The streetlights suspended time in space.

“Yo spicy egg rolls, add it to the list.” Jerry said finally.

“Sounds good.” Thomas replied. There was a pause.

“You headin’ out?” T

“Yeah. I am. Right now.” Jerry responded.

“A’ight I’ll see you when I see you.” T

I interrupted.

“I was gonna get spring rolls instead and we don’t want too many rolls so you want dumplings instead?” The thought popped into my head and I had to get it out.

“I dont really care either way” Jerry said.

“So yes on the dumplings? Pork, Chicken or beef?” I said.

“Dude I really dont give a fuck.” 

“A’ight peace.”

“Wait actually get some extra spring rolls. I don’t want my breath to stink.” Jerry was a quick thinker.

“Okay. Peace.” 

I ordered the chinese while Thomas turned the radio down.

It was 7:30 on a Friday. Traffic was still out and slow except on the highway. The plaza where Home Depot was sat on an indent so that a perimeter around us denied the sun a chance of bringing light to the inevitable darkness. Highway barricades exalted the east coast away from our position. I closed my eyes and listened to newly formed divinations stemming from a horizontal after-glow. What was AM was now PM. And just as I would prepare for a weekend of contract work,  I too was going to do the same for the night. Because Friday was in the air, telling me I was the cause of it.

Thomas pulled into the lot and flicked his cigarette a stop-sign to an array of F150s and pug-faced express vans that sat high enough to deem his reliable, good on gas mileage, crusty seated hand-me-down first-car shit-box a worthy proponent of wu-wei. It was the type of car that doesn’t speak for anything or reflect an image onto its owner other than its being there. 

At least this one had a little personality though, fashioned by who was behind the wheel, and the fact that I knew him through drive-ways of careless faces, drive-thrus, and drunken waffle house binges where we kept to ourselves and almost forgot it wouldn’t last. And even though the universe proved its worth to me, I cant help but feel theres in imbalance in my past.

That these were just moments. And days would go by. Blunts would get passed. Pets would die. We’d hope to not hear of our relatives dying, but that would happen to. Cause of death? Old age. It wouldn’t say that on the obituary. It was say something safe like stage 4 cancer or hodgekins lymphona. But everyone knows about the cap put on as at birth. That there’s a limit to how long we get to stay here. Sometimes we’d hear of our friends dying too. But those were rare cases. Few and far between. Unless of course you were the type of kid to attract that sort of stuff. Then you probably deserved it anyway. That pain. Irregardless of the pain it takes to die. You imagine how it must have felt in the body of your friend. Like they we’re on the otherside begging you to come with them. I’m free. They’d say. It only hurts a little. And unlike the old people, their obituary would read suicide. Basically an off-hand way of saying they needed jesus. Because in the end, nobody truly knows what would drive someone to do that to themselves. We can speculate all we want. They we’re bipolar. They wore funny clothes to school and we’re bullied as a result. But only someone with special access could consult them on that. To ask them why they denied life and chose death instead. Only someone who could be objective about the whole thing and not get caught up in their emotions could ask them this. In America that’s Jesus, God of funeral homes, shepherd of lost souls. The frustrating part, at least to me, is that all he can come up with is it was Satan’s fault. But that doesn’t do it for me. No. I need more than that. After all, Jesus, you faked your own death and ran away to the pyrynees. Did you not? You we’re too afraid to commit suicide. You half-assed your commitment. Maybe you knew what awaited you resembled a sleepless dream? Certainly you knew another part of you was fit for ascension. But then wouldn’t be the center of attention like you we’re on earth. You’d be around people who knew a light language and we’re just as smart as you, if not smarter. The applied principles of the sun was common knowledge there. That was like basic shit. Nobody was looking for preachers there. What they we’re looking for was way more advanced than your little yoga techniques. Stop hiding and tell us what’s really going on out here. Something tells me it has something to do with Satan, just not in the way you’re telling us. I have a feeling he holds the keys to a piece of knowledge we never even knew existed. If that’s the case, and I find out we’ve been duped, then I might just take it upon myself and offer you the same fate you offered my friend when he was down bad on that fateful Spring night mad at the world and pissed off at the hypocrisy you created for him.  But this time when I get to you I’ll make sure you won’t be down bad. There will be nothing to numb the pain. No. You’re gonna feel this. Then things will come full circle. Order. I like when things happen that way.

“Yo I need paint. “

“ Paint?”

 “I just remembered. For the walls.” I said in a descending volume.

We walked through the doors in the purgatory between store and street. I grabbed a cart.

“Is that what we’re gonna do for fun? Man I might regret this whole night if we end up hanging dry-wall and shit.”

“I hear you bro but we can play poker, I got a speaker so we can bump some music, and we’ll just kick it.”

Thomas strayed passed the check-out lines and almost ran into a stack of wood hanging from a guy’s trolley.

“Where are you going?” I said.

“Where’s the paint?” He said turning around.

We looked like we should be in the city rather than the hardware store. Everyone was looking and I know I’m not paranoid when I say that. We we’re foreigners visiting a small scale metropolis under construction. A place for bandits to face their acrophobia and not make it across to the next tower without getting grime on their gats ort hope they liked our style.

"They got krylons?" I said. The aisle opened up where the rafters stretched through the ceiling leaving ground level two by fours in their dust. If I focused I could hear an echo reverberate off my skull, taking its merry time and judging me before I could hold my breath. “We used to be so into this.”  Thomas said.

“I don’t know why we stopped.”  I said. He took it as a valid question.

“We got older I guess. Fuck.”

“Remember the overpass on Holcomb Bridge? I wonder if our shits still there.” 

“We need to go back there.”

Gum soles in an unfinished basement. This was the most people I’ve ever seen. a’ve ever seen. The fire marshall could’ve came knocking any moment. Though I don’t think anybody would hear him. Lil Pump was 3 doors down. To the fire marshall, is that everyone was moving as one. To the fire marshal, this could be a good or bad thing in the lens of a fire marshall. Good because if someone started popping shots off with an uzi or something and everyone tried to run out the house through the basement side-door, the main one through the hall at the back by the bathroom, or if they went up stairs and found the wrong door and had to jump off the balcony or something, if shit really started to pop off like this, of shit really hit the fan, then it’d be good to have 1 body instead of a hundred. There we’re straddlers of course, but all they’d have to do is hide in its belly folds and hope to not get lost while the body was hauling ass down the street resorting to the dreaded question, “Can I get a ride?” And simply put it’d be bad because human flesh burns quite well when laced with alcohol. That was a risk we were willing to take and that brought us that much closer together.

When I came in with Katie I noticed the crystalline qualities of blonde hair captivated the vibe and were on display in the trim lining. When you looked across it was like some secret edition of the yearbook where everyone didn’t have to pretend they liked each other.

Only this time there were no profiles, only shadows. And instead of signatures there were tattoos on skin that said things like “im too good for you” and “the sky is watching.”

 What collected at the corners were pushed outside to observe that ways a part equidistant to the cups on the table to the enthusiasm among them. This was inside. Everyone needed to make sense and not be meta. You couldn’t point out how we were all here by chance like Tommy did, “xxxxxxx” What an idiot. You couldn’t speculate as to why Rhea spent the whole month showing out for sympathy on twitter and crying at school over her breakup with Nick but is now falling on top of him, grabbing his arm and shit and Nick’s just going with it like he doesn’t care his best friend got sucked off by yours truly in front of everyone at last weeks party and he was there and she was there and it was all fine like nothing happened. “Well Nick got with Mercedes, and her and Rhea ignore each other now. It’s really awkward.” Despite the fakeness, there was an heir of trust unlike any ive ever seen here unlike back at school where we’d be leaning into our cheeks thinking about how to score more brownie points with the cliques we were in.

At least that’s what others were thinking about. The teacher’d be talking about solving for y for the millionth time, you know, moving things around by reverse operations to make sure they maintained the same relationship with one another. I never had to study because when it came time to test it’d be like the answers’d just come to me and I’d end up acing the damn thing. I became known as a smart person who didn’t care so everything canceled out and I was able to stay neutral and move between the punks to get drugs, the nerds to get power, and the popular kids to get access to parties like the one I was at now. I know this all sounds vain, but I guess that’s how it works when you’re a teenager still trying to find yourself when everyone else was doing the same but would rather die then admit it. Now that I look back I realize the whole thing was meaningless. There was no substance, no fulfillment. High School was mostly waiting with small pockets of being thrust into the limelight.   Just a series of empty promises leading nowhere. You could of met your better half completely in the midst of knowing each other at a soul level but all indications were that it wouldn’t last so you made excuses and broke it off before it was too late so that your future could be at least bearable when you we’re laying in your cheeks mad at the world wondering why you were the only thing you could think about. You could rest your heart on your decision. The sex flashbacks at the most random times like talking to your grandma or waiting in line at the grocery store didn’t matter anymore. You could put it all on that. Your decision. 

“Daniel, I’m so glad you could make it.”

“Likewise Sharlene, I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Oh how sweet of you to say that to me.”

“Wait, why are you guys being so formal?” Katie said like she overheard.

“We should stop.” Sharlene said. Daniel was taller than all of them.

“How was your day?” His eyes got bigger. Crazy.

“Did you have a good day?” Leaning forward with his back against the counter.

“I did have a good day.” Sharlene said. “Did you?” She put her hand up and when she realized this she snapped them across her face and into his. 

“Mr. Sassy?”

“Mr. Sassy!” Some dude in a hat with lettuce coming out said.

These we’re the types of exchanges that went on inside. Loud but cold. All in the vain of attention seeking like some sort of competition or test of brilliance. Only that this time unlike in normal society, where everyone’s trying to get their point across as clear and concise as possible because focus is king over style, this time brilliance was a stage of show. And whoever could hold onto it the longest was most certainly king or queen and surely the apple of their eye. Their being the cult that was the inside.

The 5 of us ended up by an air conditioning unit. We were staring at the moon thinking about what do next because we were already exhausted. Not because we weren’t faded enough. It was quite the opposite. There was too much judgment. And that was as bad of a high you could get when you were on the other end of it. We were over it. We were desperately passing a blunt I’d been eager to light since I rolled it in the car. 

“I needed this.” Jerry said.

“Yeah? Me too.” I looked at Katie. She’s the one I rolled it with earlier in the day when 4 different people we’re blowing up my phone asking if I was coming and telling me who I could bring or not.

“I don’t know it’s just like the vibe or something. Like something’s off.” Tom said.

Katie was mostly quiet and sipping the blunt with her cute little hands and was gravitating towards Miranda in a nonverbal display of boredom.

“We don’t need to talk about it.” Jerry said.

“We really don’t.” I agreed.

“Talk about what?” I’m just saying.” Thomas said after a pause.

“Yeah I know but I’m not about to go behind their backs and gossip like we’re not fuckin’ with it thats cool we can do our own shit.”

“So what are we gonna do?”

“Is there anything close?”

“You tryna go to waffle house?” 

Katie and Miranda laughed. First Katie snorted then Miranda bent over and held her knees.

“What are y’all tryna do?”

“Uhh can we just get out of here?” Katie said towards the street.

“Yeah. Let’s walk.” I said.

You left your memories with me.

So you could live without you.

You left your past in the dark, and

it was something you did for the hell of it because life

was too easy for you.

 "What's wrong?" I said.

"Leave with me." You said.

"Is something bothering you?" I said.

"No." You were always in the dark.

"Where?"

"I don't know. Anywhere but here."

"I can't tell if you're being serious." You threw a rock

down the train tracks, and pointed where I was looking.

"That way's North to Chattanooga." You turned around.

I leaned to the side as if I was peeking down a narrow

hallway.

 "South to Miami. Hmm. It depends." You said rubbing your chin.

"It depends on you finding a girlfriend so you can get back to reality is what it depends on." I said.

I dont think a single car

drove by since we got here. Moving trucks could be seen on the overpass where the crossing signals were, but were inaudible. The only thing audible was the large-scale kithen across the street which would hiss occasionally over its constant hum. It also had steam coming out of it. We walked towards the red-light on stones half the size of our trainers and went to balancing on the rail half to avoid twisting our ankles and half to ammuse ourselves.

"I was gonna say it depends on what's better, a good ol' country bitch who'll cook you catfish till you cant eat no more, or a bad spanish mommy who may or may not be there for you when you really need it."

 "Oh, si senorita Hot like tamales. Muy bueno.

Como te amos rapido rapido mucho Miami me gusto."

"Bro we're hopping trains not borders

you fucking wetback."

"Whoa, hold up ese, you're hopping trains, not me.

Besides, we'll be hopping on a lot more than trains

if we keep this up." I said.

"Trains not borders, puto."

"Man watch your mouth."

"Here comes one now."

ijijiijjiiji

We hid in the bushes. It seemed like the right thing to do.

Me fist then the girls and Jerry while Thomas was last in..

"We should of put a coin on their,:

*End graveyard party and go into chapter about family* BONES laden arrows

----

Just say its the spot and I’m there.

“Jerry just texted me.” I said to Thomas.

“What’d he say?”

“He’s bringing Erica.”

“Why was it even a question?” Thomas said. He was flipping his head back and forth at me. Zig-zagging from hinges to nails to glue guns and floor tiles, biding his time, sulking like i was gonna feel sorry for him.

“I don’t know man. I’m sure it had something to do with his roommates not being out.” I said. 

“Well if his initial reaction was him being scared then what that tell you about what he think of us?”

“Nah. You’re thinking too far into it. He’s tryna get her to let him hit.”

So much was out of context. There was disharmony. I continued.

“Maybe there’s something about two dudes without girlfriends that isn’t exactly the most potent

“

Smoke stacks comply and hesitate partaking in sport. Indulging in an aptitude that continues to see how it feels when you say such simple words as “hello, and, thats cool.” That continues to touch a nonverbal membrane when you move in such a way that broke the color barrier between black and white. So I’ll appreciate you like all the others do. Because I, completely and utterly, should know to carry you with me into infinity. And I should know, for a fact, that distance is dependant on its terminal velocity at the moment of impact. Gorgeous you are when tulips gather around cow pastures only to wither away upon the changing of the guard. Tip toes, necromancy, ice skates, all these make sense to me now, that ever since the day of my christening, good beings struck witherto my intelligence and rendered them useless. These knots, the qualities of which we’re twisted, utterly finagled to a degree that crystallized under pressure. I feel like I was born so I could come into people’s live when they needed someone to blame their problems on. That’s why I always get those stupid looks. Sometimes I just wanna ask them like “what the fuck are you on?” I guess all those diamonds couldnt teleport you out of here huh? Too bad. I ain’t judgin’. 

knotted in purpose. 

Oh how I looked on in brevity the callus threads that stretched for miles upon miles into causeways of blindness which overtook me in haste. Very painstaken I was in the trials before then. But now I see the reason for them. For nothing could have felt better than to be relieved of all that built up stress which churned and churned until a mechanism of ventricles let go in common translation. Like ruminating gats and dust swipers caged so discreetly so as to fixate on unto sizzling barge-heads. Almost as if silly esquires of desperately manifold doldrums exist solely to highlight the difference of deceit and merry.  the difference of you, a you, and I, an I.

“Man I need blankets.” Thomas said.

“Pillows too.” I said tracing the outer perimeter of Home Depot. 

Them Carharrts nice too. Our eyes met at the rack.

“I bet you could fit a gun inside this.” Thomas said feeling the durability of a canvas hoodie in brown. 

“No I don’t have a gun.”

“You should get one.”

“They got em here?”

We fell out of the portal. 

____________

Vicious bar flies and scarcities falsify the other-half.

“It is settled” said Chief Wallitzer

“Then buy more plankton from the Chief” A creature said. Decrepit. Monsteral. Lectivicious. The creature continued.

 “And as soon as I stray a lochness is when the fortifications manifest wholly and without contempt.” I must ignore him.

“What am I to do?” I said on the levy. 

“Take a boat from the garter over thine gully there.” Said the Chief. 

And I summoned a boat from his power.

“I’m crossing.” I said under my breathe. I said aloud. 

“Bless you Chief! Aye. May good fortune amass in your possession!” Because realization finally hit me, that I was to join my comrades in battle, once and for all.

“Aye, and to not flee as well.” This was the last I ever heard of the Chief. 

--------

Today I’m going to buy a car.

Anxiety is a MK Ultra Mind Control Tactic (designed to keep humans subordinate to the matrix) ((which is ran by the 10%))

(((who answer to archonic entities from the 4th dimension)))

Logical reasoning is when an internal problem is identified as separate from the self so that it may not be subject to the whims of ego, which is fleeting and irregular, and stems from an evolutionary need for man to keep desiring more and more mates to reproduce offspring with so that his tribe grows strong in number as opposed to getting complacent with having one or few mates, retiring from the world, and letting him and/or his offspring die without a big enough tribe to defend them from bigger tribes with more man-power. Humans have advanced beyond the need to reproduce. In fact, Over-population is an existential threat to the continuation of humans on Earth. Because of this there should be no desire to reproduce. However, there is still a desire to reproduce. This is because the consequences of over-population like famine, disease, and global warming have yet to be internalized by most humans. Once it does, there will be no desire to reproduce, and all remaining sub-strata will go too. These remaining sub-strata include love, greed, and status all begotten from the main desire of humans, which is to reproduce. The reason that is 

The main desire of humans is that humans want to survive. If humans didn’t want to survive they’d be dead. If humans we’re dead they wouldn’t be living. And if humans weren’t living they wouldn’t exist. Additionally, If humans didn’t exist they’d be nothing. And If humans were nothing they wouldn’t be something. Finally, if humans wouldn’t be something, as in, they we’re in a state of denial towards the very notion of being something 

with the very notion of that word and all the associations it comes with, 

 Finally, if humans wouldn’t be something, as in, they we’re in a state of denial towards being something, 

knowing full-well  the associations it comes with, then humans would be refusing their ego, which is fleeting and irregular.

Once this desire (to reproduce) is gone, then allser forms of this desire like 

and not get his needs are met

 be processed in an objective manner, and not subject to whims of ego

solutions can be formulated in an objective context, and the solutions necessary to overcoming that problem, may not be weighed against emotion, which is fleeting and irregular.

 and it’s existential

consequences, both good and bad, can be weighed objectively against 

solutions that are based in reality

The distinction between needs and desires is a matter of time. Needs are immediate. Desires are built up over time.

The distinction between needs and desires is, in fact, only a matter of time

Anxiety needs to be alleviated when there’s not enough time, but it should anxiety will be alleviated because their is time.  . 

^^^^^^^^^cap*********

*********************

Anxiety is when an internal problem needs to be alleviated. Its just that the actions required to alleviate said problem seem far off and distant. So much that you begin doubting your abilities as a measly human and turn to a god instead. When this god doesnt fix your problems your anxiety is compounded heavily. Because you have one more problem than you started with. If you couldnt hold a candle to your first problem, being as their solutions were so far out and demanded too much in a short amount of time, then now you got a doozy on your hands. All we can ask for is perfection, and hope we come up short.

********************

************

//All God can ask for is perfection. That’s why he doesn’t relate to us.// If you had a bag that led to another bag you wouldn’t keep the first bag cus it’d already be in the second one. These are the ancestors working behind the scenes.

then what makes you think

Our teachers taught us proper sentence structure in the third grade. A subject followed by a predicate. The subject is invoked and the predicate carries the burden like a hag witch carries  it and thus justifying the subject so that it is not floating in space, susceptible to being bothered by minds whose job it is to question things that float in space for no other reason other than to not have a purpose, and stand as a monument against all these grammar nazis stand for. So viciously chaotic, free in its lightness, completely unencumbered by menial contrivances of formality, it seems, are these subjects without predicates stand unapologetically in the vast concourses of space as monuments against all they stand for. The problem is that words can only do so much when describing a subject. Whether it is a noun or pronoun, abstract or not, a person, place, thing, or idea, it could even be an interjection, the problem is words can only do so much for describing the essence of a thing, the unseen force which discerns certain vibrations as unalike from one another and neatly packages them into a frequency at which the brain can perceive.

certain things as unalike from one another and neatly packages them into a frequency that vibrates at a rate at which the human brain can process through its hypothalamus and perceive them as things in the 3rd dimension.

apart from the rest is limitless when not bound by words, which can only be deduced as a lesser form of magic.

Thomas and I see the same things. Ever since our childhoods we were never separated. And even if we we’re, or it appeared as if we we’re, we always had the same eyes. Not just the same view, but the same eyes. I don’t mean that these eyes were like detachable lenses, that could be passed around to and fro like a can on a string, I mean that we’ve had the same experiences, just in different forms.  And if we ever shared a difference of opinion, which happened a lot, like with this Erica thing, I never had to worry about things getting heated. Because no matter what, I could always fall back on us letting things calm down for a while, alone in our rooms leaning into our cheeks trying not to think about it. until both of us realized we were coming.from the same place, and that where, and to what degree we took it to, was ultimately meaningless.

I must be going now. It’s getting late. What time is it? 2:30? Jesus. Fuck. That’s later than I thought. Already? Oh well. It’s not like I can do anything about it. Anyway. What I wanna talk about is how fucked up you look to me, and I don’t know if you see that. I mean, if you can see what I see. Dread, angst, all of mine and your miseries seem to have burdened you. I want you to know that I’m here. I’m a man. I can fix my own problems. Really. I can. I may not look it but I’m grown. You don’t have to worry about them. Here, look at this picture I took last year. It’s of you and me. Don’t we look so happy? Happy. Is that the right word? Or maybe we’re crumbing for our last breathe of smile in us. Fuck. I’m beginning to think that’s true the more and more I think about it. Because you we’re never happy. Neither was I. But that wasn’t the goal for us like it is for so many others. No. We just wanted to get by. And that’s all we could ever ask for.

--jgcjgcjgcjgcgjc

I wanted to keep this sacred so it’d come across a more genuine when the right person came across it. but now the urge is too strong and the resonance too concentrated for me to dismiss the trailblazing force of circular momentum. And its nice out too. The grass is still damp from yesterday’s rain but not so you couldn’t lie in it. That’s what I did today. That along with thinking. Moving on. I won’t talk about personal experience in this article. The truth is I’m not important. What matters is my guidance. So from now on take my “I’s” as placeholders for something greater. Make it what you want. A parakeet, a landing pad, veganism, law and order, anything. It could even be the universe itself with you and me included. Whatever it is just don’t miss the point that follows this inconspicuous “i” because there is no truth, only different paths to getting there. 

The truth is I haven’t been out the house in a few years. Sure there were gaps in between like parties here and there. But even then I was inside myself, leaving people to wonder if I was as social as I looked. Sometimes I was normal, others I was a wallflower. Only rarely did I meet their expectations and become the center of attention. I still remember those moments because I’m preparing for the next time it happens so I can maintain a sense of self better so that I can let it go and channel what comes out of me more freely. Some call this going into the world. I call it getting out the house. Leaving the nest. All those times i was still at home within myself. I never left my shell. There’s no point when that shell is filled with angels.

Language can be tricky. It can be used for yin and yang. It can be used for contuation or stagnation when concerning the path of self and how one wants to judge said self through language so that it may have something ethereal to manifest from. Before I continue I must say that there is a self because any indication of there not being a self relies on the suppusition there there is a self. Perception plays a role too, as in, agreeing or not to accept the definitions of the words you lay on yourself as true or not. The pessimist sees the world as signs and symbols and interprets stimuli af a higher level then the optimist, who is often naieve to the hidden world where everything comes from. This is why pessimists are often dualists. To the optimist it appears they are one-sided because they take them at face-value. Again, they are unable to see the hidden world where everything comes from. Those who fly under the radar appear that way because they are in direct contact with this world so as to filter their thoughts before speaking them. This world is a place pessimists visit often within themselves and rarely show out of. They show out only in dire situations, and that makes their actions that much stronger because they have kept sacred the hidden world where everything comes from so that it is pure and cutting-edge when it comes time to release it upon the known world. Like an endless stream does their wrath come out of them because they’ve been holding it in so long. 

Anytime you insert the I into a situation is when a princible of measurement can be applied to you as infinite potential to fail or succeed relative to the third party as the perfect amount of what you needed to be faced with. 

with chakra wheels that exist so we can find ourselves in a better light.