#roadoftherose

♎ - What is one thing you love about your writing? 

i don't know?? i feel pretty good usually like. just how it's grown over time and how my characterization is so much better than it was like a year ago or six months ago

☆ - How did you go about getting a grip on your muse’s character? 

                A teenage girl crying on the pavement by herself                                  in front of an abortion clinic.                     Mascara running down her contorted face,               the heels of her hands shoved into her eye sockets,            legs timidly crossed as if to conceal what everyone knew                     was the cluster of cells stored in her stomach.                                     WHAT DO YOU DO???             In Maximillian's case, the answer would have been nothing.                            But place a wrinkled twenty dollar bill in                                 the back pocket of the girl's jeans,                     and you've just hired yourself one caring citizen                                 who's only concern is "to help".

       " Wha's wrong, beautiful? "

              Streaks of runny, black makeup and  flushed cheeks?                          What a combination he's crafted once                    crouching down next to the self-made disaster!                             But at least she'd begin to trust him                      with his few penny-worth words of kindness. After about five minutes of trying to calm her hyperventilating, unintelligible ass,              the Love Doctor quickly thinks of a half-assed diagnosis.

       " Only way this won' happen again is if ya control...                           [ cue finger wag in the general                                      direction of her baby-maker ]                                                                                      -that. "

                        ~  " But my boyfriend said it's just hormones                                   and I can't control what they tell me to do and- "  ~

       " Well, we gotta shut-em up then, yeah? "

                    The naive girl didn't even blink an eye or wonder                              just what the hell he was talking about.                   Her trust (and eventually that alluring twenty dollar bill)                       was practically served to him on a silver platter.        So some generic, reassuring words and desperate nods of approval later,            and Maximillian had charged a convenient twenty dollars in exchange                 for removing the train-wreck's booming level of estrogen.

             Hey, don't go accusing him of cheating her of the money, though.                          He didn't just place his thumbs on her forehead                         and recite some improvised, voo-doo incantation.                      He actually did  block off some of the raging hormone                                 and implanted it into his own system. That's what he did- mostly to get a few laughs from unsuspecting subjects                          and sometimes to get a few bucks, like so.                So what does a nineteen year old man fuck-up kid do                       with an extra serving of female sex hormone?                        Normally, he'd store it to the back of his mind               where all the forgotten emotions and bits of brain functions                          he'd stolen prior would be shoved away.              It would only take a moment's concentration for the mutant                 to send the additional hormone into a dormant state,   but the fast-approaching "boyfriend" bounding down the street and hollering                            "What the hell you doin' with my girl?"                              scared the tramp away from the scene.

                         Besides, what's the worse that could happen                          with just a bit  more estrogen in your system?

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              " Yer hot. "

                                                          Oh, my.                                 It seems that someone has forgotten to                                stash away that extra estrogen after all.         Apparently, the twenty bucks wasn't all that came with the hormone. A sloppy mixture of narrowed, targeting eyes, parted lips and confident posture                        all contributed to accurately personifying the phrase                                                       "drunk in love"                                - all of which was directed towards you.

send ♣ for a text not meant for you (x)

Send “⁇” for a drunk text.

Send me a body part and I'll write a headcanon about it. 

( headcanon. )