HOPE'S FOR DOPES.

stand back chumps. salty demon boy, right here. hmu via @kveljast to chat about doing things with luci.

10 SONGS FOR WRITING MY MUSE:

shitpost. i’m gonna get mad hate for this, but i’m ngl, i’m genuinely sick as fuck of hearing about bre/ndon ur/ie and gd p!/atd. i’m... at the point where the music’s just not good anymore? it’s way less than it was, and i swear it all changed and tanked around the time of dea/th of a ba/chelor’s release. 

i found all of three songs i liked on the album, and really just stuck with the old stuff until i couldn’t keep it in my playlists anymore. now, i have all of one song in my playlist, and i skip it every time.

ht used to be a place where i could get lp, nir/vana, gu/ns & roses, bull/et for my val/entine, afi, etc. shirts, and the last time i went, it was all fuckin’ p!/atd, and i so miss being 17 and walking in there and feeling satisfied with being a genuine freak bc i was gonna scare my classmates with my shirts and black jeans and “fuck it all” attitude. 

      FUCK. WHY DID SHE HAVE TO BE WEAK FOR A COMPLETE stranger that she had absolutely no intention of even flirting with? why did she have to crave conversation so fucking bad that she bought into the self obsessed ramblings of some guy at a bar. but she couldn’t even deny that he was interesting. he kept her attention and that was more than she could say for most moron’s who’d tried to speak to her over a drink.

      one eyebrow quirks up and she can’t even help but grin. he’s a little more than insane, but she’s willing to put up with him. she was lonely. a sort of friend would be kinda nice. especially one who didn’t just tell her all the shit she wanted to hear. she was tired of those, men and women who just wanted to get on her good side in an effort to get free drinks or more from her. at least he didn’t seem interested in any of that bullshit. “i guess i can play nice for a little bit. but you don’t seem like the nice kinda guy.”

❝To the contrary,❞ he says, a little too matter-of-factly. ❝I’m a raging asshole. Let no one tell you otherwise.❞

They wouldn’t, of that the demon’s certain. In the public eye, he comes across as a gothic narcissist, presumably in with the anti-establishment sort that wander this way and that. It’s true enough given his penchant for trouble making, though he’d never stoop so low as to willingly associate with human collectives in an official capacity.

He plays with the drawstrings of his jacket, clenching the end of one between teeth. Whatever she -- or anyone else -- thinks of him isn’t worth spit. She can take his company or leave it. Either way, Luci will eventually go and find someone else -- a new victim -- to occupy his attention.

      FELICIA DOES HER BEST TO NOT GET INTO SERIOUS philosophical conversations before she’s had her allotted four cups of coffee. and she’s certainly only on cup two and a half, so she’s doing what she can to be aloof, to not care that the man is practically advocation for the demolition of the human race. perhaps he’s not wrong… but she’s rather attached to being alive and being human. she’s not sure what would happen if that were to suddenly change.

      though, she’ll admit, it’s a bit annoying to be lumped into a category she’s not sure she altogether fits. but if she says anything, she’s certain she’ll just be proving a point she’s not fond of. instead, she’ll huff a sigh and give him a shrug of agreement. “most things are fucking worthless.” 

Intentionally buying into it or not, she’s giving Luci exactly what he wants: Security in his steadfast belief that humans are worth as much as the dirt they walk upon. Not that he needs it. He’s had ample time to fine tune his critiques of humanity, even if those who hear such criticisms are deeply offended.

He GRINS, certain that the shit-eating expression will ruffle a few feathers. That’s fine. He’s a demon, doesn’t need friends nor allies, just entertainment. Thus far, she’s doing a bang-up job keeping him occupied, and he is loathe to let that go easily.

stand back, chumps. after a month of being awol on this blog, i’m here. in three weeks, i’ll actually have a pretty regular schedule, being that i won’t be switching back and forth between 12 hour days and nights three or four times a week.

   “doll… so we’re moving onto pet names, now? gosh, honey, this is moving so hecking fast.” a roll of her eyes and quirk of her hip as s he watches him. “it’s not holier than thou when you’ve only got a few decades to enjoy. some people decide to march and shit. some of us decide museums don’t deserve displays. you don’t get to lump everyone into one fucking category.”

   there’s a feigned yawn and arms settle over her chest as she listens to him. “mmm panties twisted too tight or not tight enough. one or the other. no way to find a middle ground.” 

A lopsided smirk, DEVILISH no matter how one were to look at it. Seems she’s purposely missing the point. Or maybe she really does believe that all mortal lives are valuable, their egotistical endeavors and fruitless little dreams. As if belief has done so much for the human race throughout their time.

Categorization, as she calls it, is what he does best. He’s had repeat opportunities to observe that these people are a stagnant collective, and with their inability to rise above their own temptations, they remain worthless.