#muutos

Mulla on teoria, jonka mukaan tuotantoeläimille syötetyt antibiootit on aiemmin heikentäneet mun vastustuskykyä huomattavasti (opiskelin aikoinaan lihanleikkaajaksi, joten kuvittelen tietäväni aiheesta jotain), ja koska mulla on kroonisia sairauksia ja valmiiksi heikentynyt vastustuskyky niin tää on johtanut jatkuvaan sairasteluun.

Toinen tämän vuoden merkittävä elämäntapamuutos on pilven polton lopettaminen lähes kokonaan. Nykyään, jos tahdon pistää aivot lomalle, turvaudun mieluummin edibleihin. Tää on vähentänyt mun kulutusta massiivisesti. Ottaen huomioon että pajauttelin about 18 vuotta lähes päivittäin, on se ollut mun astmaisille keuhkoille valtava rasite. Puhumattakaan siitä, millaisen riippuuvuuden pelkästään kyhäämisen rituaali ja oraalifiksaatio saa aikaan.

Kolmas, ehkä vähäisempi, ehkä ei, muutos: en ole harrastanut tänä vuonna seksiä juuri ollenkaan. On vähemmän todennäköistä tulla kipeäksi, jos ei koskaan vaihda eritteitä toisen ihmisen kanssa. En oo ihan varma lähtisinkö varsinaisesti suosittelemaan tätä kellekään, jolla on libido. Haittoja ja hyötyjä lienee suunnilleen samassa suhteessa ainakin omalla kohdallani.

right this second ? not super salty at anything other than the fact my prime twitch sub doesn't renew until the 6th so i can't subscribe to this hair cam of a streamer .

stuart  had  always  been  the  wildcard  that  could  hurt  him.  and  he  could  not  allow  that.  could  not  bear  the  thought  of  stuart  leaving  when  it  wasn't  murdoc's  fault.  when  he  didn't  make  him  ,  didn't  tell  him  ,  didn't  force  him.  but  after  plastic  beach  ,  the  card  house  had  crumbled  at  last.  stu  had  left.  everyone  had  left  ,  and  he  had  nothing  but  himself  and  too  much  time  to  think  and  feel  absolutely  miserable  about  everything.

no  one  knows  him  quite  like  2D.  he  knows  everything  there  is  to  know  ,  given  that  he  can  remember.  he  knows  how  murdoc's  room  had  looked  ,  back  at  the  old  homestead.  because  they  had  needed  to  practice  there  ,  once.  he  knows  almost  every  sordid  detail  about  his  father  ,  and  his  brother.  about  the  mother  murdoc  never  knew.  he  knows  about  his  time  homeless  and  what  his  winnie  really  means  to  him.  all  the  silly  passions  and  joys  murdoc  so  jealousy  covets  and  never  shares.  his  fears  ,  and  hurts  ,  and  doubts  ,  spilled  messily  when  he'd  drunk  himself  silly.  which  was  often.  the  never  ending  well  of  genuine  expression  in  stuart  that  murdoc  is  jealous  of  ,  enough  to  want  to  destroy  it.  enough  to  never  want  it  to  run  dry.

noodle  had  come  back  first  ,  and  murdoc  is  eternally  grateful  that  she  did.  without  her  ,  he  doesn't  think  that  2D  would  have  crossed  the  threshold  of  wobble  street.

his  jaw  ticks  ,  pinprick  sharpness  of  his  eyes  cutting  into  stuart.  dissecting  him.  committing  to  memory  all  over  again  the  way  his  hair  spikes  up  ,  the  tired  and  guarded  concern  to  sleepy  eyes—  unfathomable  as  always.  empty  ,  but  not  really.  the  nervous  twitch  of  his  nose  ,  his  lip.  how  he  has  to  tilt  his  head  back  to  take  him  in  properly.  there  is  a  ...  an  inner  strength  to  stuart  that  murdoc  doesn't  think  has  been  there  before.  a  quiet  resolve  that  might  waver  ,  but  exists  nonetheless.  and  murdoc  feels  frozen.  all  these  thoughts  jumbling  in  his  head  ,  pissing  him  off.  he  doesn't  know  how  to  act  ,  doesn't  know  what  to  say.  a  first  ,  really.

@muutos  :  you  could  do  anything  to  me  and  i'd  let  you.  that's  the  horrible  truth  of  it,  really.

words  strike  him  like  a  fist  ,  sinking  red  and  hot  into  his  neurons  only  to  settle  in  his  stomach  like  lead.  'of  fucking  course  ,  dullard.'  he  wants  to  say.  'i  made  you.  i  can  unmake  you.  you're  mine,  you'll  always  be.  i'll  always  be  with  you,  no  matter  what.'  but  the  words  are  so  loathsome  in  his  mind  ,  so  vile  in  the  face  of  his  wavering  sobriety  ,  that  he  feels  sick.  sick  of  himself.  furious  with  stuart  to  suggest  the  truth.  and  imply  why.  imply  all  the  implicit  between  them.  his  hands  curl  into  fists  ,  face  twisting  into  a  mask  of  familiar  anger.

❝  really?  really?!  that's  what  you  bloody  fucking  choose  to  say  to  me?  idiot—  ❞  but  there  isn't  just  derision  to  his  tone.  there  is  frustration.  the  shrill  trill  of  hysteria.  closing  the  gap  between  them  ,  he  pushes  stuart  ,  hard  enough  to  make  him  smack  into  the  doorframe.  ❝  is  that  what  you  want  ,  huh?  is  it?  fuck  you  stu.  fuck  you!  ❞  his  voice  breaks  ,  raw  and  brittle.  clawed  hands  fisted  in  2D's  jacket  ,  holding  on  for  dear  life  more  than  anything  else.  something  great  is  building  in  him  ,  something  massive  and  ugly.  jerking  uselessly  at  2D's  clothing  ,  murdoc  sinks  forward  and  rams  his  forehead  right  into  stu's  sternum.  his  scent  hits  him.  laundry  that  has  been  sitting  too  long  in  a  closet.  cigarettes  ,  cold  air  and  beneath  it  all  the  sweetness  of  butterscotch.  he's  silent  and  still  and  stiff  as  a  statue  ,  eyes  squeezing  shut  so  hard  that  his  head  hurts.  the  tears  still  come  ,  soaking  into  stuart's  stupid  graphic  shirt.  an  ugly  sob  claws  from  his  throat  and  murdoc  thinks  that  he  really  ,  really  wants  to  die  after  all.  he  still  doesn't  move  ,  unsure  whether  he  wants  to  throttle  stu  after  all  or  ....

there's 200 year old steel pressed against the apple of his throat -- still warm from a previous shot that, to the untrained eye, might have looked as though it missed its mark. the bullet had flown wide to the right of him, striking the fading and crumbling poster on the wall that was advertising some revue or another. echo hadn't paid attention to it much, instead finding the man on his knees in front of her to be a much more important object of her focus. the shot was not meant for him, something she had a feeling he knew and that thought alone aggravated the ever loving FUCK out of her. it was simply meant to let anyone knew that she was not afraid to pull the trigger.

"you promise?" it's a little mocking, a little bit of a purr, a little bit amused as her dark eyes watched him. she was still piecing together her memories, but none were so put together as the ones from that night. his words, the feeling of the rope chafing her wrists, the dirt in her mouth. the sound of the shot. the feeling of her body slamming into the ground beneath her.

bam! thud. splat.

the hand tightly holding onto the 10mm finally dropped to her side and for now, benny was free from her wrath. god, she'd thought about this. fantasized. but now that she was here, well... killing him wasn't going to make her feel better. and it wouldn't necessarily be FAIR, would it? she was quiet for a moment, weighing her options. deciding his future.

"benny -- right? that's your name? i'd know that fuck ass suit anywhere... but i don't think we were ever formally introduced." right hand flexed around the grip of her gun. and she remembered again. the shot, the drop.

bam! thud. splat.

that same appendage reared back. no, she wouldn't SHOOT him. instead, most of her rage went into the sheer force of her slamming the pistol against his face as it made contact with his right cheek. a sigh, one of pleasure. almost fucking CARNAL.

@muutos ( rain ) asked : You're not jealous, are you?

no one looks at him like that . when you're nothing but a fly on the wall , you begin to realize just how alone you really are . at least he wasn't quite as hated . the ghouls didn't look at him with disdain , he stopped hearing them whispering that it was his fault that aether had stepped away from the stage . it was a start . it didn't change that he could feel that the walls were up when he was around , that none of them seemed particularly interested in knowing him beyond his ability to play the set list .

he'd tried from the moment he'd been summoned , terrified and unsure of what his purpose would be . but he'd tried . when papa had put a guitar in his hands , he'd thought he had a place . he'd thought that the others would welcome him with open arms but nobody had warned him that the shoes he'd be filling were ones that nobody had ever wanted to stand empty , that he was stepping in for someone so beloved by band and congregation , that he was sure no one would ever accept him .

it had been slow , but the congregation had accepted him and the band had begun to tolerate him enough that they at least invited him out for post ritual drinks [ though he suspects it's because copia makes them ] . he had thought that joining them offstage would make him feel like part of something . instead it has him realizing just how little the others care whether or not he exists for anything other than a ritual . but as lonely as he is sitting in a bar , it's worse sitting in the bus and waiting for everyone to come back , drunk and giggly .

some nights ... he wishes he could just drink whatever and go back to the bus and sleep without ever spending longer than needed with them . just get shit faced , raise a glass and pretend to be exhausted and excuse himself to go back to his bunk and sleep . at least then he wouldn't have to deal with sitting in the corner chair , nursing a beer , and dreading going back . but he knows they'd use it as an excuse to say see , he doesn't want to come . and then he'd be right back to feeling worse waiting on the satan damned bus .

and then there are other nights where everything hurts . nights he sees how close the others are , how much they laugh with each other , how much affection they show each other . and from the fly on the wall , he sees the way others look at dew . the way the girls seem to fawn over him after a drink or two . the way he's convinced that rain is looking for no one's attention but dewdrops ... no one ever looks at him like that . and maybe it's fucking stupid to wish for anything , but he couldn't help but watch the water ghoul . but didn't every one ? but rain didn't look at everyone else like that .

he feels like an idiot , hoping that maybe he could get the ghoul to look at him like that . some mix between attraction and yearning and awe . and he hates that he'd thought things would be different . and usually he can handle it . usually he can laugh when appropriate , smile when needed . but tonight ... fuck tonight . there's something in the fucking air and he can't sit and watch as rain everyone had their full attention on dew .

he hates that he can feel his eyes begin to burn and his cheeks beginning to flush . hates that he knows if he stays there , he'll embarrass himself . at least if he excuses himself , he can save some of his dignity in a bathroom stall . he tries to stop his crying when he hears the door open , sniffling as he palms his eyes to try to get rid of the tears . and then he hears rain's voice and he feels absolutely mortified . " no ! " the exclamation is probably over the top . he pulls back the energy , still hiding in the stall . " i just needed the bathroom , that's all . is it time to go ? "

curiosity  pilots  her  movements  as  she  cants  her  head,  eyes  drinking  him  in  as  best  as  she  can  from  this  angle,  but  her  heart  lurches  in  her  chest  as  she  murmurs,

❝  won't  you  let  me  see  you?  ❞

@muutos inquired : i wanna do more than just bend the rules . ( rain for v *twirls hair* ) inbox prompt : even in arcadia sentence starters part three. prompt status : accepting !

𝐅𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒  𝐑𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐃  𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌  𝐓𝐇𝐄    ill - matched  irises  trained  on  the  ghoul  before  him  from  behind  the  mask  resting  against  his  skin  ,  an  amused  hum  reverberating  from  his  throat  into  the  space  between  them .  rules  had  once  been  something  that  perpetua  had  followed  faithfully  in  hopes  that  any  guidance  within  a  strict  structure  would  keep  him  an  all  too  familiar  penance  ━  though  even  then  he'd  rarely  found  success .  eventually,  he  took  to  finding  ways  around  the  rules  presented  to  him .  ways  to  live  despite  them  because  there  was  no  reason  not  to  if  the  punishment  would  come  whether  he  obeyed  or  not .  that  was  at  least  until  he  found  he  could  no  longer  stand  to  be  caged .

ㅤㅤㅤ❝  i  believe  it's  a  popular  saying  that  some  rules  are  meant  to  be  broken ,  no ?  ❞  the  papa  mused  with  a  slight  tilt  of  his  head  ,  a  move  made  in  faux  contemplation .  despite  how  loose  he'd  found  most  regulations  the  clergy  upheld  ,  there  was  still  a certain  desire  to  test  the  boundaries of them .  and  if  a  life  full  of  sidestepping  rules  had  taught  him  anything  ,  it  was  that  these  would  surely  be  just  as  easy  to  bypass .  one  of  his  own  gloved  hands  came  to  find  one  of  rain's  ,  another  contemplative  hum  leaving  him  as  he  brushed  his  thumb  over  the  ghoul's  knuckles .