#Trying something new???? experimentin...

[milk-motel]

bathtub mermaid 🫧

[im-fairly-whitty]

Friends -- A Dr Facilier Oneshot

I’m finally able to post what I wrote for the Princess and The Frog 10 year anniversary zine! Enjoy my take on how the Shadowman got his start with his friends on the other side.

“Marceline, come on, I thought we are friends?” Facilier crooned, smiling with a pout as he crossed his long bony arms on the tabletop.

“I’m your older sister, not your friend,” Marceline said sharply. The gold hoops and small bones hanging from her ears clattered together as she shot him a dark look. “And I said no, André. You’re already deep enough in hell as it is without voodoo. Now get.”

“Aw, those are mighty fine words coming from a witch.” Facilier said with a grin. He smoothed one hand across the silky maroon fabric of the tablecloth and plucked a sickly green feather from the pile she was sorting. It made his fingers itch with an icy hot feeling, “And I told you, I don’t go by André anymore.”

“Well I’m sure not calling you “Doctor” nothin’,” Marceline snapped, snatching back the feather with ring encrusted fingers, her long nails scratching his hand. “You’re not even a man yet and already so full of yourself you’d think you were a royal dandy, strutting around with that ridiculous silk hat of yours. Did you kill someone for it, or were you rifling through trash again?”

“Marci please,” Facilier said, dropping his smile, leaning heavily on the table, palms up amid the scattering of foreign coins and silver trimmed tarot cards, “I need an introduction, and I know you know them.”

“Which is why I’m telling you no.” Marceline growled.

Facilier could have sworn he saw a flash of otherworldly purple light in her eyes just now, and the sight sent an excited shiver down his spine.

“What do you want?” He asked eagerly, “Marci please, I’ll cut you a deal, whatever you want, I’ll get it for you, but I have got to meet them.”

“This is why I’m not letting you meet them, you idiot!” Marceline said, standing and slamming her hands on the table, a sound like a thunderclap shaking the small heavily draped room.

He glanced around the dim room, his breath catching a little as the shadows in the corners of the room seemed to sway and swirl on their own. He looked up to see Marceline’s own shadow, cast from the flickering light of the kerosene lamp on the table, loom up over him.

It seemed even angrier than she was, and if his mind wasn’t playing tricks on him, her shadow was watching him.

“You and your deals,” Marceline spat, her gold canine tooth showing its tiny ruby inlay as she sneered at him. “You’re so desperate for what you want that you never think about what will be required of you. You’re so filled with jealousy and greed that they would chain your soul in an instant and you wouldn’t even know it until you were being dragged into an early grave. You have no self-control André, that’s why I’m not introducing you to them.”

But Facilier barely heard her, only seeing the way her shadow was stepping around the walls of the room on its own accord, the way that the old wooden masks hung on the walls seemed to be looking down at him with intelligent fanged grins, and the dark electricity in the air that he could feel tingling through his bones.

So much power.

Real power.

He had to have it.

“Look Marci,” he said, getting to his feet, a small switchblade slipping down his sleeve and into his hand behind his back, “I need the kind of power you’ve got, and it’s not fair for only you to have it. I came here hoping you’d do me a favor, but if you want to do this the hard way then-”

Marceline snapped her fingers and he felt himself thrown back in his chair hard enough to crack his head against the high wooden back. His wrists were pinned to the arms of the chair, something dark and solid feeling nearly crushing his wrists, forcing his hand open to drop the switchblade, the knife silently falling to the plush carpet underfoot.

Marceline walked over to him, gripping his face in one hand hard enough for her nails to cut into his skin. There was definitely a harsh purple light in her eyes, as purple as Mardi Gras beads, flickering and glowing as clearly as the lamp on the table, which had turned a shivering lime hue.

“No.” Marceline said.

Facilier was pretty sure that for at least that moment, when her voice dropped deeper than any human he’d heard before, that her dark skin became translucent, showing the bones beneath, making the dark curls escaping her bandana even darker against the pale bone.

“Okay!” Facilier said, not having to fake the sweat breaking across his forehead as he tried to lean away from her, trapped against the back of the chair, “Alright, I’ll give it up, okay? Just let me go, I’ll leave.”

Marceline glared at him for another moment, then released his face with a shove. The darkness around his wrists slid away and he saw her shadow slip back out up the wall behind her.

He felt his jaw gingerly, getting to his feet.

“But how did you meet them?” He asked.

Marceline snarled slightly in warning, her arms folded tightly. The shadows in the corners of the room whispered and swirled, their hushed chattering sounding teasing and mocking.

“Well,” Facilier said, stooping to retrieve his switchblade, taking the moment to scan for something promising looking that he could steal, but seeing nothing that caught his eye, “it was nice seeing you Marci,” he straightened, tipping his top hat to her like a real gentleman, “I’ll be seeing you around.”

“Not likely.” Marceline said dryly.

She flicked her wrist and the door out slammed open, making Facilier jump. Just a little.

“Give up your search.” Marceline said, watching him sharply as he walked out the door, “Trying to make friends on the other side will only chain you down, not get you the freedom that you want so badly. Promising away your soul will only end badly for you.”

“Have a wonderful rest of your evening, Marci.” Facilier said, waving a hand gaily as he walked down the alley without so much as looking back.

He heard the door slam shut behind him, and when he glanced back the door had vanished entirely. Marci’s place was completely gone, leaving only overgrown cobblestone in its place.

Facilier ground his teeth together as his pretended smile dropped.

He had been so close, so close. He had seen it, he’d felt it, all that power and Marci had kept it all to herself.

Anger rattled through him as he savagely kicked at a crate, picking up an old stick from among the trash and cracking it in half against the wall. He panted as he held the broken half of a stick and continued to beat and kick every bush and box and bit of trash in the ally. He didn’t care if he looked ridiculous, he needed to take out this overwhelming rage on something.

He spotted the flickering sickly pale lamp high on the wall above him, its flame an odd yellow green, almost like Marci’s had been.

He growled, looking around for a cobblestone he could heave at it to shatter the glass.

But stopped when he felt something.

It was a soft kind of tug at his feet, a tingling sensation where his shoes and his shadow and the cobblestones met. His shadow was stretched along the ground and halfway up the opposite wall.

His chest was still heaving a bit from his tantrum but his eyes were wide as he stepped closer to the wall, letting his shadow move up it in full.

“I want to make a deal.” He said quickly, holding up his hands, making his shadow do the same, “I need some friends on the other side, I want power, I want glory, I want to be even more powerful than my sister.”

His heart raced as his shadow smiled, doing something shadows should never do.

“I’ll give you whatever you want,” he said, rushing on, “money, my soul, the whole city, whatever you want, just help me.”

He watched as his shadow creakily began to move by itself, one dark hand peeling itself off the wall, black bony fingers reaching out to him as if offering a handshake.

Facilier grabbed the hand, shaking it as hard as he could.

It felt like a bolt of lightning struck him, a shattering thunderclap rocking the ally, making him stumble back as colored sparks and dancing shadows swirled in his vision. A biting shivering sensation ate up his arm, sweeping through him in a single painful moment.

He blinked hard, trying to clear away the ghostly afterimage of a cackling...something...from his sight.

He gasped for breath as he shakily pushed himself to his feet. Apparently he’d fallen. He still held his half a stick in one hand, his other, the one he’d shaken with, felt as though he’d burned it in a fire despite looking perfectly normal.

Facilier shook a little, looking around for some sign that whatever had just happened was real.

“Is that it?” He yelled at no one, “Where are you? I wanted power!”

He felt another tug at his feet, a much stronger one this time, and looked up to see his shadow waving at him. Instead of the stilted slow movement it had had a moment ago it now shifted as easily and loosely as he did, as if a second him were casting it.

His shadow smiled when it saw it had his attention, tipping its hat. It held up the shadow of the stick they held in their left hand and pointed to it, making a snapping motion with its free hand.

Facilier looked at his broken half of stick, a mounting sense of excitement growing in his chest. He snapped his fingers and nearly dropped the piece of wood when it changed into a sleek glossy cane with a burst of light, leaving tendrils of purple mist to fall through his fingers.

He started to chuckle, a chuckle that turned into a full laugh as he brandished his cane at the night sky in triumph, the purple knob at the top glinting darkly in the weak lamplight.

“Yes!” He called into the night, not caring who heard him.

Because he had done it, he’d done it.

He glanced back at his shadow, who applauded silently in approval, grinning as widely as he was.

Facilier tipped his hat back into place, leaning grandly on his new cane as he looked down the alley, then started walking.

It was going to take a lot of experimenting to see what it was that he could do, a lot of trial and error and a lot of deals to get stronger and stronger. He knew enough about magic to be sure of it.

But he was grinning as he stepped out into the street, his shadow trailing behind and to the side of him in the wake of the streetlights above.

Because he didn’t care, he’d finally gotten power and he couldn’t wait to see what he could do.

[zuppizup]

Five Times - Chapter 06 Dinner Time

Summary:  Five times Ibis interrupts Callum and Rayla (and the one time he doesn't)

Pairing: Rayla/Callum

Rating: Teen and Up

Word Count: 1167

Tumblr:  Five Times

AO3 Link: Five Times

It’s Callum’s turn to cook tonight, which means it is also Rayla’s turn.

It’s not that Callum cannot cook. He’s just never had call to. If he even wanted something as simple as a sandwich one of the cooks would shoo him away and make it for him.

Of course, Rayla teases him about it.

Like she teases him about everything.

The provisions at the Storm Spire are pretty simple and no-one expects a feast. Still, Callum’s first attempt was a pretty dismal failure, so he is grateful for any help.

Rayla insists on chopping the vegetables after Callum nearly took off his finger last time. She’s much quicker and more efficient at it so he doesn’t object.

He is in charge of seasoning the meat. He’s sniffing the various spices and reading over the recipe.

“Do you need help with that?” She means the instructions. Though they were written in Elven, he has been a quick study.

“No, I’m just comparing.” He takes two jars and sniffs both in tandem.

“What are you doin’?” She abandons chopping and wipes her hands on her apron, strolling over to him.

“Just… experimenting.” He holds the jars before her face. “These two go together well, I think.”

Rayla gently pushes the jars away. “This is what… your third time cookin’? No experimentin’.” She narrows her eyes at him, poking him in the arm.

“Maybe I’m a culinary genius who’s never had a chance to show his skills.” He teases, putting the jars on the bench and playfully tugging on her apron.

“Oh really?” She slips her hands around his back, pulling him closer.

“Yeah.” He smirks. “There’s a few things I’ve only picked up recently that I think I’m pretty good at.”

“Uh huh.” She blushes, grinning. “What sorts of things?”

“Oh, you know… magic. Flying.” He leans forward. “This.” He kisses her as she laughs.

“Yeah, you’re ok at this.” Her hands snake up his back. “But perhaps we should practice more… just to be sure.”

He wraps his arms around her slender waist. “Well, if you insist.”

She sighs softly as he leans into the kiss. Rayla still struggles with articulating how she feels but Callum has no complaints about how demonstrative she is with her affections.

“DING DING DING DING DING!” Soren bursts through the door. “DINNER TI-”

They jump apart, both breathless.

“Whaaaaaaa?!” Soren gapes at them. “Were you just making out?!”

Tact will never be Soren’s strong point.

Callum feels his face burn. “Well… yeah.”  

“WHAT?!” Soren looks back and forth between Callum and Rayla.

“Eh… is this news to you?” She sounds incredulous as she waves her hand between them.

“Yes?!” The tall blond looks at them like they are crazy. “This will be news to everyone.”

It was Callum’s turn to look at someone like they were demented. “This… is not news. To anyone.”

“Eh, I think you’ll find it is, Callum.” Soren looks at them smugly, folding his arms.

“It’s really not.” Rayla was starting to lose her embarrassment and Callum sees a smirk on her lips.

“Does your aunt know? Ezran?!” Soren asks accusingly.

“Yes! I... how did you not know?” Callum asks bewildered.

“I thought you guys were just really close friends!”

Rayla rolled her eyes, sniggering.

“So, you jump off cliffs for your friends then?” Callum asks, sarcastically.

“Hey, camaraderie in the army is a thing, Callum!” Soren is getting defensive. “Anyway, you said you only liked Rayla as a friend.”

“What?!” It was Callum's turn to be incredulous. “No, I didn’t!” He glances over at Rayla to gauge her reaction before turning his attention back to Soren.

“Yes, you did!” Soren explained slowly. “When you were on your date with Claudia, she specifically asked you if something was going on with you guys and you told her you didn’t think of Rayla that way.” He took a breath. “That she was just your assassin friend.”

“I- eh, that’s...” Callum struggles for words. “That was ages ago.”

“That was like a month ago, Callum.” Soren corrects him.

“Maybe but, you know... A lot happened in that month.” Callum glances over at Rayla, a concerned look on his face.

“Oh... oh no.” Soren begins to look guilty. “So, you guys really are a thing? Wow... eh, I mean Rayla... I’m sure what Callum meant was, eh...” He and Callum share a desperate look.

Rayla throws a washcloth, hitting Soren smack in the face. “Go away, Soren.”

“Yeah, ok. I’ll just, I’ll just, you know... I’ll just go. Leave you guys to dinner and eh,... whatever it was... you were... doing... before, you know...” He turns and hastily slips through the door.

Callum is turning to Rayla when he pops his head back in.

“Though I must say... I am loving this." He gestures between the two of them.

“Out!" Rayla somehow finds another dish cloth and takes aim.

Soren ducks out before she can launch.

“Haha, so eh, Soren?” Callum laughs nervously.

“Just your assassin friend, am I?” Rayla, rests a hand on her hip and raises an eyebrow.

Callum bites his lip. “I mean, like I said… that was ages ago and things have changed so much since then.” He reaches out to her, but she turns before he can reach her, going back to inspect her vegetables.

Callum winces.

Stupid Soren.

“Rayla, I’m sorry. We’d only really just met when… eh, that came up and I obviously feel completely differently about you now.” He leans forward, trying to catch her eye.

She is making a face in an attempt to hold back laughter.

“You’re not mad.” Callum accuses.

Rayla rolls her eyes and grins at him. “No. I thought you were a dumb human back then anyway.”

“Na, I reckon you thought I was cute back then.” He pokes her in the side.

Rayla blushes as she grabs his finger. “I did not.”

“Well, when then?” Callum can feel his face light up too. When Rayla ignores him and got back to cutting vegetables, he continues on his own. “It must have been before the desert when you-”

She pokes him in the arm again. “What did I tell you about that?”

Callum looks at her confused. “What?”

“We are never discussing that!” She glares at him with wide eyes.

Callum laughs at her. “Even now?!”

“Never. Ever.” She tries to keep a serious look on her face, but he can see the beginnings of a smile in her eyes.

“Well, what are you going to do if I decide to keep talk-”

He is cut off by her lips on his. He grins into the kiss, slipping his arms around her once again.

“You are so annoying.” She mumbles against his mouth.

Callum smiles as she pulls him closer, deepening the kiss.

“Ok guys, seriously. I’m not looking but how much longer until dinner?”

Callum looks around to find Soren’s head in the door, his hand over his eyes.

“GET OUT, SOREN!” They yell in unison.

---

And so these silly ficlets come to an end I stop torturing Ibis... for a while. Hope you enjoyed.

[darthrevaan]

RvB Bingo Fic - Bodyswap

Title: no te metas con templos alienígenas, idiotas

Summary: Lopez is 100% done with the Red and Blue idiots’ stupidity when they’re themselves, let alone when they switch bodies.

Word Count: 2360

Notes: For the @rvbficwars Bingo Wars, representing Red Team! A little last minute entry to show at least some team spirit xD Lines in italics are in Spanish. 

Also available on AO3

Night was Lopez’s favourite time of day. Finally all the pendejos who haunted him during daylight hours would go to bed, and he could enjoy the peace and quiet.

Morning – when they all woke up again – was his least favourite time.

Today his peaceful nightly repose was broken by the pink one crashing unnecessarily loudly into the armoury and yelling, “Lopez, where’s Sarge?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t care,” Lopez said, keeping to his usual flat monotone.

“This is important, Lopez! Where the hell is he?”

The pink one did sound a lot more agitated than usual. Strange. “In there,” Lopez said, pointing to the workshop. “He fell asleep while he was fiddling with that new alien device,” he added, despite knowing he wouldn’t be understood.

Donut brushed past him into the other room, and for some moronic reason began to yell, “Grif! Wake up!”

How much of an imbecile was he? Lopez had clearly just told him where to find the red one. He’d even asked for him by name!

Something fishy was going on.

“I’m up, I’m up, Jesus,” he heard Sarge’s voice say as he entered the workshop. “Wait. Why the fuck do I sound so weird?”

“Look at your hands,” Donut instructed.

Lopez watched as Sarge looked down at his hands, started in surprise, then turned them over slowly. “These aren’t my hands,” he said.

“No shit, genius.” That was rather more acerbic than Donut’s usual. What the hell was going on?

“You’re Sarge,” Donut said, “And I don’t mean you got a promotion.”

“Oh.” There was a beat of silence. Then the red one let out a long, despairing wail. “Noooo! I don’t wanna be Sarge!”

“Grif! Stop whining! You’re still you, you’re just stuck in Sarge’s body.”

“What if it’s permanent, Simmons?” Sarge – or Grif? – wailed. “I don’t want a Southern accent!”

“You won’t- Wait, how did you know it was me?”

Grif gave Simmons a look, an expression that was slightly weird on Sarge’s face. “You’re clearly not Donut, Simmons.”

“Point.” Donut – wait, no, Simmons – sat down at the workbench opposite Grif. “But yeah, I am Donut – or I’m in Donut’s body, anyway. It’s fucking weird.”

“You can say that again,” Lopez said. He was, as usual, ignored.

“At least you’re not fucking Sarge,” Grif said with no small amount of venom.

“At least I’m not ‘fucking’ you,” Simmons shot back.

After a second, Grif grinned slyly at him. “Well, you actually ar-”

“Jesus, Grif, right now?!” Simmons interrupted. “That brings an unpleasant image to mind with, y’know, this going on.”

“Fuck.” Grif put a hand over his eyes. “Now I seriously need brain bleach.”

“Where are the others?” Lopez asked.

Grif and Simmons started, like they’d forgotten he was there. “It didn’t affect Lopez,” Simmons said, narrowing his eyes.

“It didn’t? How can you tell?”

“Look at him,” Simmons said, “He’s clearly still Lopez.”

They both stared at Lopez for a moment, before Grif nodded. “Yep, I see what you mean.”

“Besides, I’ve already seen Sarge and Donut. That’s how I knew you were in Sarge.”

“That means they’re out there running around in our bodies!” Grif said. “Please tell me Sarge doesn’t have mine.”

“No, he’s got mine,” Simmons said. “When I left him he was crushing things with my robotic hand.”

“That means Donut has me,” Grif said grimly. “Tucker’s probably taking video.”

“I guess.” Simmons leant forward, now much more interested in the strange device lying on the table. “I bet this is what caused it,” he said, gesturing at the small machine.

“Cool, but what the fuck is it?” Grif asked.

“I… yeah, I have no idea. Sarge said he didn’t know what it was or how it worked, either.” Simmons paused for a moment, then turned to look at Lopez. “Hey, maybe Lopez knows how to fix it.”

“Obviously I can fix unfamiliar alien technology at the drop of a hat,” he said, his hilarious deadpan lost on the two idiots in front of him, as usual.

Different bodies, same idiots.

“Lopez, can you fix this, yes or no?” Simmons asked.

“No,” Lopez said flatly. That was the one word these morons seemed to consistently understand.

“Well, that puts us back at square one, I guess,” Simmons sighed. “I wonder if anyone else was affected?”

“If we go get breakfast, we can find out,” Grif said, trying to hide the hopeful note in his voice.

Simmons sighed. “Fine. Let’s go.”

Lopez followed them to the mess hall, admitting – at least to himself – that he was curious.

The mess hall was pandemonium.

Groups of soldiers were gathered everywhere, all talking, arguing, crying, or just staring into the nearest reflective surface in disbelief. There was no sign of anyone trying to calm or organise the chaos. Lopez did spot Grif and Simmons – now Donut and Sarge, of course – sitting on the opposite side of the hall.

“There you are, you no-good rotten bodysnatcher!” Sarge said as soon as they sat down. Even using Simmons’ body, his voice was still gruff and stubbornly Southern. “Why I oughta-”

“Trust me, I wouldn’t take your fuckin’ body on purpose,” Grif snapped.

“I think it’s kinda fun,” Donut piped up. “And kind of exciting. I mean, I don’t know who most people are yet, and I haven’t found Doc-”

“No,” Grif snapped, pointing a finger at Donut, “No doing weird shit with my body.”

Donut put a hand to his heart. “Grif! I would never! I’m going to take great care of your body!”

“Probably better care than he takes of it,” Simmons said under his breath.

It was at that moment that Wash suddenly sat down unannounced at their table. This wasn’t unusual; the fact that he was completely shirtless, however, was. For a moment they were all shocked into silence.

“Don’t worry,” Wash said, leaning back in his seat, “Lesser men than you have been stunned into silence by the sight of my abs.”

There was another moment of silence. Then everyone drew in a breath nearly in synch, preparing to unleash numerous variations of what the ever-loving fuck. But before anyone could speak, a huge crash echoed through the hall.

Caboose was standing in the doorway, clutching the doorknob of one of the mess hall doors in his hand. The door had been ripped entirely out of its frame, hinges swinging loose.

“Tucker!” he yelled. “Come back here with my body!”

/

“Alright,” Kimball said, her hands on her hips. “I know this is going to be a testing time for everyone. For now I just have to ask you to grin and bear it until we can work out what the hell happened.” She paused, and then sighed heavily. “And yes, for the moment, I am Private Matthews.”

There were a few conspicuous coughs, but no one outright laughed. “I’m honoured to lend you my body, General!” Matthews called from the back of the room. Doctor Grey’s voice sounded squeaky rather than cheery when he used it.

“…thank you, Matthews,” Kimball said. “Anyway, on to the issue at hand. We need to work out what caused this…bodyswap, and how to fix it.” She turned and looked Simmons. “You said you had some idea of what happened, Captain.”

“Possibly,” Simmons said. “I mean, Sarge was er…fiddling with some unknown alien technology in the workshop last night.”

Kimball looked from face to face. “Colonel, maybe you could tell us more…wherever you are?”

“Right here, General,” Sarge said from Simmons’ body. “Don’t know what that bamboozling bit of alien techno-garbage is, but it sure didn’t seem to be doin’ anythin’ when I was experimentin’ on it last night.”

“When you fell asleep it still hadn’t responded to anything,” Lopez said, “It hasn’t given off any recognisable power readings at all. I doubt it has anything to do with our current problem.”

“Er… what was that?” Kimball asked.

“He said the alien device probably isn’t the cause of our problem,” Andersmith’s deep voice said. When everyone turned to stare at him, he added, “Oh, Doctor Grey speaking, by the way. And can I say I am loving the experience of borrowing your body, Lieutenant Andersmith! I’ve never been able to lift several pieces of lab equipment at once!”

“You’re welcome, Doctor,” Jensen’s voice said from the other side of the room.

“Alright, so if it wasn’t the alien device in the armoury,” Kimball said, “What was it?”

Resounding silence filled the room. People exchanged glances, but no one seemed willing to speak up.

“There was some kind of energy pulse at 3:36 last night,” Church said eventually, flickering into being above Carolina’s shoulder. “I didn’t think it was important at the time – didn’t look out of the ordinary – but I guess I should take a closer look at it.”

“Please do that,” Kimball said. “In the meantime, we should search for any other alien tech on the base, especially anything that looks like it’s been activated. We’ll organise into search teams now.”

In the resulting hubbub, Lopez slipped out of the room and made his way back to the armoury.

It would take those idiots days to find anything on the base, if their previous record was anything to go by. If there was some weird tech here, he’d find it quicker than anyone else.

He logged into a computer terminal and got to work.

/

Clang. Clang. Clang. Clang.

The rhythmic banging had been going on for at least half an hour. Clang, clang, clang, every strike reverberating around the huge room, echoing off the vaulted ceiling.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to achieve,” someone said. The voice belonged to Locus, but the intonation was clearly not his.

“I am just,” clang “very” clang “frustrated.” Clang.

“I can see that.”

“Look doc, I don’t need you in here psychoanalysing me.” A pair of eyes turned to look at him, one dark brown, the other entirely black. “Especially not when you look like fuckin’ Locus.”

“I’ll come back later then,” Locus – actually the Counsellor – said softly, before turning away and retreating back into the hallway.

Felix, unwillingly and very unhappily trapped in Sharkface’s body, went back to hammering at the strange alien device in the middle of the room, hoping his repeated strikes would make it reverse somehow.

Or break it. That would be fine too.

Outside, the Counsellor found Felix’s body and, disconcertingly, his own sitting side by side on a low wall. Locus had – much to his displeasure – been forcibly ejected from the Temple by Felix, who was apparently extremely uncomfortable watching his own body move around without being able to control it. Sharkface seemed equally uneasy – probably from the loss of his muscles, Aiden thought unkindly.

“He’s still in a mood?” Locus asked.

“He is. I would let him work it out, but I fear he will irreparably damage the alien device if we allow him to continue.”

“He’s the one who fuckin’ set it off in the first place,” Sharkface snapped. His growl didn’t sound even half as menacing in the Counsellor’s soft voice.

“And we’ll all be fucked if he breaks it.” Locus stood up, faltering a little as he did. He was clearly still getting used to being a lot shorter than usual. “Let’s deal with it.”

“With what? These noodle arms?” Sharkface flopped both arms around to demonstrate their apparent weakness. “You’ll have to take doc over here, or go it alone.”

“I suppose I should thank you for being so concerned about my body’s welfare,” the Counsellor said drily.

“More I ain’t in a hurry to get punched in the face,” Sharkface shrugged.

Locus eyed him with consideration. “Do you think you’d be of use?”

Aiden snorted. “Me? No. I don’t think suddenly having muscle will help a man who barely knows how to throw a punch.” He gave Locus a penetrating look. “He’s your partner. You of all people should know his weak spots.”

Locus glared right back at him. “Usually I try not to hit them.”

“He will understand, when everything is fixed.”

Locus hesitated, glancing between the entryway to the Temple and the two of them waiting for him to come to a decision. Then he squared his shoulders. “Wait here,” he snapped, and he disappeared inside the Temple.

“…and if they kill each other?” Sharkface asked a few moments after Locus disappeared from sight.

“Then we’ll have less to worry about,” Aiden said flatly. “And we might be able to start fixing the alien device. Or attempting to do so.”

“Can’t come quickly enough,” Sharkface muttered. “No offense, man, but I hate your body.”

“Unfortunately it was the only one I had to offer,” Aiden said with a raised eyebrow.

There was a yelp and a thud from inside the Temple. They both tensed, waiting; when no more sound was forthcoming, Sharkface said, “I think that’s our cue.”

“Right.” They made their way into the Temple together.

It wasn’t hard to navigate; soon enough they came to the main room and found Locus, standing over Sharkface’s crumpled body. “You better not have done permanent damage,” its temporarily separate owner growled as he entered the room.

Locus cracked his knuckles slowly. “I know my limits. He’s- you’re- you know what I mean. You both are fine.”

“Glad to hear it.” Sharkface turned to the central feature of the room, the strange alien device sticking out of the floor. “Now, I haven’t got all day, Counsellor. Can you fix this thing or not?”

“Me?” The Counsellor smiled. “Oh no. We’ll have to call in an engineering team. Better settle in for a long wait, gentlemen.”

Locus cursed under his breath. “This is the last time I let him wander in alien temples unsupervised.”

[shamankingasakuraworld]

Broken blood, bound bone

They will never admit it,but they would be nothing without him. All Asakuras have comes from him. Hao will never admit it, but once he was weak. He was nobody. And he made himself strong.

Author note: This is fic and character analysis of Hao and his relationship with his family ( hint-it’s not great. At all. He is also 99% doing his best to pack in as much insults as he can for original members). Read, hopefully enjoy, and please review.

It is good to see that his family hasn’t changed much. Still same, ungrateful bunch of brats, blinded by their own weaknesses and short-sighted goals. They even repeat same personality each few generations ( or he has not-really-lived-and-not-quite-died too long).

Of course, there are changes. Current family is much, much dumber, and has been so for generations, for centuries. Hao suffered no fools in his first life,habit that hasn’t changed even after thousand years ( they had to be good in order to kill him, after all, even if it took all of them). All of people he employed/adopted/saved were competent, for all they were envious and two-faced. And his children...well, they were obnoxious back-stabbing brats, and each one’s puberty made him consider suicide, but they were skilled, clever, creative and smart.

He would have to check just what things they allowed to marry in. This lack of brain cells didn’t come from his side. Who knew just what sort of idiots and fools had become members of Asakura family through centuries.

If it turned out that his children married some of those useless nobles and pathetic excuses for shamans... His children were smart enough to recognize fools and scoundrels, but there were many older members who could influence, or even bring about decision in their name... If that happened, he would summon them all from deepest depths of Great Spirits and feed them all to Spirit of Fire.

Asakura is mighty clan, one of the greatest to ever walk the Earth. Some would even claim that they are the greatest clan, at least in Japan. Didn’t they lead onmyodo ministry for centuries? Don’t their warehouses contain untold, ancient treasures? Aren’t all secrets of Japanese shamanism known to them? Don’t they know secret, special spells known only to few? Don’t they watch over Mount Osore, there where lost souls collect and entrance to hell is located, from where ghosts can travel on Sanzu River?

They are proud of these facts, of course. How could they not be? But they don’t dare speak how they gained such prestige, will never utter a word how they achieved such influence. At best, he will get  ‘’Our ancestor ‘’ not founder, they don’t dare speak that word, won’t admit they would be nothing without him ‘’ was skilled shaman, and it could be said that we prospered because of his abilities.’’

They never speak how they gained control over ministry. Never say how he became grand onmyoji at age of twelve, how he saved capitol. How he faced title’s previous owner, fought his master’s predecessor without even knowing what oversoul was. How he tore apart demon of blood and betrayal and brimstone even when he was on verge of death, how he held Daitaro’s broken, bloodied, smiling corpse.

They don’t say that he was but a child, thrown to pack of wolves. Twelve, and he had to take care of petty Imperial Court, to defend himself against envious onmyoji who hungered after his place. There were other families, other clans, who sought to tear him apart, and they either fell from favor or were torn apart-in those days assassinations were all too common, and shikigami and curses were just another type of weapons. But he was too powerful, too cunning, too stubborn to be killed.

They don’t say that they once ruled spiritual life of his homeland. For centuries they held control of damned ministry until it finally crumbled, governing onmyoji and shamans, controlling spirits, and meddling in petty politics that served nobody but rich and comforted ( this is another thing they skip over, their greed, their arrogance). And all of that was possible because of him, for he gained respect by blood and sweat and tears, and mark he left was  deep and burning that they remained in power centuries after his death, that spirits feared them still.

They never talk about how those treasures were gained. How he crafted them from ordinary rock and rough stone, crafted and polished in sacred relics and perfect mediums, infused them with his furyoku and techniques. How he gained gifts and treasures from feared god-class spirits, by respect and fear, by bargain and fight, by wisdom and unthinkable magics.

They don’t talk how he mastered all those techniques and taught them to his descendants. How, even when everybody told him that it was impossible, he learnt and learnt. Divination,  warding,exorcism,spellcraft,rituals.Shinto,Buddhism,Shugendo,Taoism,Onmyodo teachings. It didn’t matter- he refused to specialize, insisted on learning all. And he did.

They don’t speak about creation of Cho-Senjiryaketsu. Of nights, weeks he spent without food and sleep, working, experimentin, trying. Crafting new spells, developing new ways, called arrogant and foolish by his rivals. But he showed them all. He developed way to use plant spirits (not kodamas or yashas or dryads, leaves and roots and trunks themselves). He wrote whole book, sixteen chapters, containing most important techniques he created.

They don’t speak about day he braved Osore, crossing it’s rocks and blizzards without fear. How he passed hordes of dead and demons without fear. How he stood at supposed entrance-really, place where living and spirit world ( they all looked same to him, he belonged to both but neither was home) and gazed ahead, beyond thin borders, gazed at cursed dead and hungry demons and Hell and it’s Lords, something not even dead can endure, and he claimed Osore.

They don’t speak, and it matters not. His power is justly earned, and even if it is forgotten it will exist. Only consequence will be that many more fools will die in vain, trying to defeat him.

Still, credit should go where credit is due, no?

They are his descendants. Even if they spurn his name, even if they spit on his goal, even if all branches of clan stand against him .Some were of his seed and some were adopted, but he never cared. he equally raised them all and was equally betrayed.

They are mighty, for his legacy lives in them, for they are descendants of legend. Nobles among shamans. so to speak.

And in way, their blood is purer and higher then his. They have centuries of legacy and wealth and status and power. He has nothing.

He is son of common woman, without father ( so many people insist on that. As if that mattered. His mother was more than enough, more precious than thousand fathers and mothers). Peasant at best, child of whore at worst, so they ( nobles, warriors, people walking in street beside trash he slept on) told him.

His mother...she wasn’t weak, of course, there is no way she of all people could have ever been weak. Even if she knew no grand technique and her furyoku was low, she wasn’t weak. She simply.... didn’t have to chance to grow, yes.

He won’t tell them this, hasn’t told that even to Matamune, but he was born without power, without talent, without high furyoku. Just a simple child unaware of what even shamans were (sometimes, he has nightmares, of losing it all, losing power and knowledge, being weak and helpless as Asaha, of losing connection to nature, of growing fangs, claws,ears,tails, becoming fox pup and being hunted by humans and hounds).

He was never human. Never weak. To imply otherwise is to burn.

Only when facing death, can true potential be revealed. After his mother was murdered, after he fled to the darkest part of forest, after he starved and froze, did everything begin. Death snuck to him, but he wasn't scared, didn't care, and it's hold was weakened, and without realizing,was too stubborn and proud and angry and tightly tied himself to his first body. He starved and suffered, but survived and grew.

He is blessed. By fire that consumed his home. By woods that hid him. By dirty streets he slept on. By broken steel blade he used to avenge mother’s murder. By rain and snow and blood he endured for years. By death that covered Japan in form of hunger and plague and greedy nobles. By winds that whipped him. By thunder from which he hid.

Ash and dirt, blood and pain, hunger and darkness and death. That is all he had, could find nothing more. So he looked at other side- if it was all, then it was everything. If he could find nothing more, than he had everything he needed. He had enough ( it had to be enough, must always be enough). So he took it all and forged them in weapons ( water comes from metal and blood is water and iron, and if you bleed enough, you will have enough iron to craft a blade) and made himself in Asakura Hao.

People became onmyoji  many reasons. Family traditions. Money. Position. Laziness, believing it to be easy job. Innocent wish to help everybody.

Hao isn’t sure why he became onmyoji. Power? Survival? Because he didn’t care enough to refuse and fight when Tadatomo gave him no choice ( just as he gave no choice to Daitaro, when he made senior apprentice in demon, when he took Hao to his room and grasped him with arms and shikigami). To get even?

For knowledge, he supposes sometimes. He always hungered for it ( he was born hungry and starved, for food and and power, for love and safety, for silence, for justice and souls, hunger woven alongside pride in his very bones). Always sought to learn, to grow and thrive and prosper, for if he was going to do something, he was going to be good at it.

He wanted to learn it all. He was told that it was impossible, that he would have to either specialize or take bits from all things but master none. But he didn’t believe.

He stayed up for days, studying ancient writings. His eyes teared and eyelids almost dropped, his stomach growled and fingers bled from retracing words but he learnt and seared knowledge in his brain.

He came to best of teachers and knocked on their doors, politely but clearly demanding to be taught. And when they refused, he waited in their backyards till they gave up and let him partake of their knowledge.

He watched fights and ceremonies and divination consultations, figured it all out and analyzed and connected dots and guessed.

He tried and tried, to get results he wanted even if he had no idea how to accomplish that, and made his own way.

He traded with shamans and demons and gods, gained secrets by giving out his own or defeating them or accepting to give them favor or gift.

Human minds, and shaman as well aren’t made to hold much knowledge. You could find ghost thirty thousand years old, but he couldn’t recall a century. After some time, souls in afterlife lost note of passage of time, and didn’t notice that what seemed to be day was actually hundreds of years.

But Hao remembers. He remembers and learns and grows. That is one of reasons why Hell is so much more pleasurable than Earth. So many things you can find only there. So many unique experiences. So many techniques you can learn only there. So many varied souls you can meet. So many beings with their strange wisdoms. In between fights and training he learns, from medicine over sewing to engineering.

Fighting and learning, resisting and adapting and growing. He was made for that.

(So easy it is to learn, when you have nobody to distract you. When only alternative is to sit and do nothing).

His descendants know nothing of his early life. Few records that have been left of his existence as Mappa Douji are now nothing but dust. History and legend alike record him only as Asakura Hao. No mention of his origin, his childhood.

They assume sometimes that he had been noble. Word feels like accusation, like denial of all he had been through, and it is wonder that his teeth don’t grit, that his fists don’t curl, that those who utter damned word don’t burn.

Noble, he! As if he was ever that useless, lavishing in court and caring more about appearance than his duty! As if he ever lowered himself so much to plan downfall of those he called allies! As if he ever betrayed somebody! As if he was ever deaf to cries ( voiced and not) of servants and peasants and commoners! As if he ever got what he wanted only by tales of his ancestor’s might.

As if he wasn’t talked about with contempt, told in face and behind back and thought about how position of grand onmyoji should go to somebody more dignified, no matter fact that he saved them all. As if he had some allies, willing to accept common born child ( best he got were lies, manipulations, betrayals quickly discovered). As if he wasn’t laughed at, called low-born and whore’s child by arrogant nobles ( he showed nothing but they quickly learnt better), for he knew nothing of court’s intricacies at beginning. As if he hadn’t starved and crossed half of Japan with bare feet, hiding in trash and woods, oni stalking his steps. As if his poor mother didn’t work herself to bone to provide him with food ( for who would work alongside demon on field? She might curse your crops).

He doesn’t like to be reminded of those days, of dirty streets and deep woods. But he won’t ever accept to be called nobleman. Asakuras must have allowed that, to make themselves seem more grand, to forget that all they have he made from ash and dirt, blood and pain, hunger and darkness and death.

The cursed legend remains, of course. That his mother was fox ( some say nine tailed one, and it pleases him somehow, to imagine her grand and powerful and divine).  That she brought war and famine and plague and death wherever she went. That she seduced men and killed them. That he isn’t truly human. That he is a demon.

Asakuras remember that. But don’t speak, for if he was half-demon, doesn’t that mean that they too carry infernal blood in their veins.

In sense, they are right. He is a demon child. Lie and truth blur and if you treat something like other thing, and if everybody does that, it becomes something else, and even learned shaman thought him half-human at best. he was raised for short time by Ohachiyo, and since he was lost, oni followed him, listened to him, stole for him, clothed and fed and protected him. He has powers shamans can’t dream of, and if he wanted, he could become archdemon, devil strong enough to match Lords of Hell ( but too small, too useless for his goal) and most important of all-what is demon but fear, spacegoat for troubles of mankind, embodiment of all things they hate and abandon, shadow revealing their true intentions, mirror reflecting their sins.

In that sense, he is demon child. Always was and always will be, as it is with all blessed and cursed to not fit in ‘’normal.’’

He is a god. Not a God, mind you, but god nonetheless.

It is rare, but shaman souls can ascend to status of god-class spirit of death. Bodhisattvas and buddhas, saints and sages, heroes and honored ancestors. Once enough time passes, once spirit travels through afterlife, when it is remembered as legend, nightmare or sacred figure, when it fights things great and powerful beyond mortal comprehension, once it finds purpose in death and life, it becomes deity.

It can learn and grow and remember, and time belongs to it.

It’s perspective changes and expands, and it can comprehend truths of world.

It’s sense of self and form is strengthened, and it can change shape of it’s soul and resist what normal ghosts cannot bear and crush weaker souls and burns with purpose, goal that becomes it’s nature.

It’s influence spreads as it’s fame grows, and humans are charmed in worship while demons obey it’s will.

It becomes more than simple soul infused with high reiryoku, but attuned to spirits and ideas and nature in ways mortals cannot imagine, and it becomes capable of miracles.

So of course he is one. Shape he bears is whatever his body looks right now, though sometimes he reverts to his original one. Not important- who cares about shape when essence is same. He can bear tides of centuries, and knows that he wil experience eternity and feel every moment and remember all, so he cherishes opportunity to learn and grow ( and who cares about all nightmares, about never-ending loneliness. nobody, it doesn’t matter). He is wiser and more mature then eldest elders, though he can behave as child, and there is nothing he doesn’t know, and he can look upon and hear things and feel what would drive others into madness.

He is resistant to strongest attacks and he can consume souls ( he doesn’t, he remembers Daitaro, remembers taste of his resentment and stench of his spirit, and he leaves that to Spirit of Fire-not as if his soul isn’t already strong). He inspires utmost loyalty in demons by his mere passing, and even strongest eventually bow to him. He can manipulate essence of world and bestow gifts and resurrect dead with his simple will.

But he feels Earth’s pain, hears and feels and sees nature’s wishes, knows what it means to be river and wind and stone and fire and lighting and wood and coin and death, pain that drove him to fight and save Earth, that which is his goal, to protect and preserve balance of nature.  he cannot rest.

So he goes and performs Taizan Fukun no Sai, Furyoku is always lower than reiryoku ( for spirit’s experience and knowledge become power too) but he gains body and right to participate in Shaman Fight and become God of gods.

He is Asakura Hao, god of pentagram, will of Earth, representative of nature, beloved of elements, spirit of balance and justice. His mother’s murder planted soil on which his divinity would prosper, his revenge against Densen Hoshi made it fertile. His absorption of Ohachiyo created seed and  his defeat of Daitaro planted it. His mastery of elements and disgust and awe it brought was both water his divinity needed and first product of it. Matamune’s betrayal and his family’s treason were it’s sunlight and roots.

And when he died for first time, it grew. When he found himself in hell, he became a god.

Sometimes he wonders where he went wrong with his children.

He gave them home, even though half were illegitimate and others were orphans from streets.

He treated them all same. Blood or not, they were his children.

He gave them education, discipline, fun, love, all things children needed.

He worked himself to bone to give them better life.

He listened to them, didn’t try to force them to be somebody they weren’t.

They thought he was...creepy. Strange. That he hid things from them. That he lied with composed face. That he didn’t fir with rest of society. He never gave them reason, but they were afraid of his powers and ashamed of his behavior. 

True, he didn’t tell them some things. but they didn’t need to worry about problems reishi was causing to him, couldn’t understand pain of whole country felt at same time ( and would throw him away, call him mad and demon, they would hate him too) but he cared for them and they loved him.

Not enough to stay loyal.

His son in second life was too young, but Hao could see he would follow in footsteps of his long dead siblings.

At least he now had Opacho.

Sometimes, he wonders about seeing them, about calling them from beyond death’s doors  or meeting them when he becomes Shaman King.

Stupid thought. It would be weakness, and they would just attack him.

Sometimes, it bothers him, how he and his family look.

None of them have blonde hair or golden eyes. In generations trait hasn’t resurfaced. None of them look like his mother. To see but her shadow-that would be gift over gifts.

He has her rage in his veins, rage that burns inside like volcano but enters world like blizzard. He has her pride in her bones, sort that is unshakable as mountain and stands like royal creature. he has her cold eyes that reveal no weakness. He has her cruel heart( she was kind, but woe betide those who’d dare attack her. Burning house wasn’t only physical assault, just greatest, just one that harmed her. there were others, but she fought and broke quite few bones and egos) and her ruthless pragmatism.

If miracle happened, and he died for third time, he thought of reincarnating in India. Always loved that country. Still, maybe this time he will go for some family with blonde hair. All his three reincarnations looked same, and he doubted that he could reincarnate again in Asakura family ( itako’s genes would be dominant ones, due to her sheer willpower, he knew that. Yoh stood no chance).

Little change of appearance can’t hurt, right?

You can see it all if you look at symbols of family.

Wu Xing pentagram and tree of renewal.

Star and tree.

All elements versus one.

Whole against broken, rearranged piece.

Universe against one small, small piece of land.

They are mighty, but it all comes from him, broken  and changed and weakened, and because of that, in the end he shall win.

[failinginvestigativejournalist]

Dont freak out, itss just writing

i grew up fast (so fast) (too quick nigga) (wish i went through when i was just a bit bigger) can you tell me who the parent is uh ya the first time i drove a whip i was a fuckin kid, (96 suburban nigga) (yo yo, did you tell em why) oh ya shit my fault my mom was bleeding from her chin i dont know what from or what about, scared to death i took that drive to the ER (Medical SHIIIT) (mom got too drunk again and feel out) (wheres dad? in his room his doors locked, figures i dont expect, as i try to knock (no answer nigga) i dont blame em he removes himself from the sitiation so he dont hit her) ya i fucking grew quick, ya i fucking tryed some shit, the first time i dropped out and took some shroomies i was age 6 plus 6, thats 12 for the illiterates, actually aas a matter a fact it was fuckin pleasant as fuck as i drew back the droe and took another hit. now that i think that was the day, older brother came and gave me cig i obliged no way to say nay, i was still trippin and it was a sensational feelin, it left me stumblin and dizzy a head rush like no other i was hooked for live to the day and i dont blame him, i dont think he knew what he had started, adding to the compilation of the monsxter inside that took refuge and started, poison in his mind, the drugs altered his brain activity but he was buckled up and commited to the ride.Shit i just said in third person let me apologize to yall sometimes the ideas flow together like two fortune five mergin, these feels of hate be strong ya im hurtin, i cant blame no one, i cant choose the family i was birthed in, started sniffin ups felt my blood surgin, gotta big head but my nemisis, the evil inside myself was bigger aboutt the size of a white sturgeon, like some northern ish that canadain shit like british columbia or somethin idk, alls i can say is that BC bud out that bitch is my fav to blow, the sour D, diesel to be exact for you niggas who waana try to nit pick or correct my personal facts, let me just speak at you,  all the hatin niggas tryin bring me down, bad news, i do drugs like steve from fuckin blues clues, but my rents always on time when that xshits due, any ways i side tracked speaking of tracks just lined some shit up did with speed did with need i did it with tact, im dextrous and shit i always have a unique train of thought oh shit trains again trains derailed at this point hhaaha i crack myself up sometimes with the wit in my words leh-let you in on the pun so you can join in my fun, about the lines the lines are no more you didn arrive in time i promise these raps have rhythm they have rhyme i aint spittin to waste your time, i aint spittin to catch a dime, bag or bitch, it really dont matter, niether last long but they are still my niche, come here bitch come hit this shit, this time dont have a fit, mind over matter just stick yuh nose in these rails sit down for a bit, drink some wata, go to your happy place we are gettin to old for me to have tote on yuh just from hitten lines but i put up wit it, you got that 50 thou boat on yuh, not to mention your ride, that shit is so sweet i cant decidddee which id rather seed, as in inseminate with my seaman as i play the part as a seaman workin for seimans on a marine voyage i aint like you im a higher being, i dont know whatchu talkin whatch your eyes be seein i am a divine heathan i really cant fucking believe a niggas still breathin im a florida boy born and raised, i sit the fuck back drink my beer in the shade, high as i usually am a rinny tin tin rinscotts tale \down the rintin like a shark fin poatched by commercial fisherman thrown in a bin, no regard for life the human race is so greedy, people just aint my type, say what you want i know me best and i know im right. my creative talents on the other hand be outta sight, im my own worst enemy to cross the bridge pay the fee, trollin in the hood for that g, withdrawin, shakin i drop to my knee look up to the sky ask god if he sees. hear the sound of humming, huh must be bees, or im trippin out maybe its a flash back i dont remmember. whats th-this street, tremblin think my heat skipped a bit, or a couple shakinso bad my knes begin to buckle, anxiety can be dibilatated held me back from so much in life thers no debating. unfamiliar route. made it to this bar ordered a stout got to thinking, you may ask what about, this is why i like solitude to be on my own to answer to noone to depend on myself and live it to the fullest while im yung, my mind will reel, replaying all i know every single memory, that im capable of bringing back, i compare my brain to a file cabinet, i keep it hidden like in an office towards the back. A photographic memory is a gift and a curse, ill tell you whatat, if you dont keep it in check you will end up in a herse, sure you can remember the happy shit the good things in your life but you cant fucking forget the huge hits the fucking bad bitch the one who broke your heart? dounno how to forget you but i think i know where to start, i thought it was drugs, i numbed my body with chemicals little did i know with every shot the metaphorical shovel scooped out some more dirt from the inconcievable whole i fuckin dug. my life has been weird kinda like an opriental from a flee market an awkward rug, with no real spot in the house, was always the black sheep in the fam i tryed to tip toe as quiet as a mouse, some tom and jerry shit my mistakes and regrets cbhasing me around like tom the cat from that shit, I hide in my hidey whole, disconeected from any social environmeent i often found myself cryin, but self loathin is kinda like being a a gay with some dicks hes blowin, givin a ski job pitty is the lube hatred is the tube the vessel to carry out a deed the fags not sure about, hes experimentin comparable to some situations in my life cept wont catch me with two dudes in a shower, that was just a metaphor. you feel me? im sure the haters will hop all over that verse but just fuckinh hear me. I got my shades on and these bitches special, haters they block, they keep you no fun, sticklers out of sight out of mind like spf 75 sun block, that industrial shit, factory born hear the lunch bell on the horn, an  hour passes the busy bees come back to the floor to join the others to join the masses; the hoard., here the hum of the worker bees at work as they sneek rum in there flasks stuck it in to the hive got it past the queen time to catch a buzz to make this pain stop while i avoid the fuzz the narks at work, cant control it even if they wanted to stop. i dont want to hurt. this was a metaphor for the endless rut of a reality ive become accustomed to; succomed too, the low of the low. comparable to a german trench on the frontlines., my life feels like a conveyer belt, makin the same product running the same direction never really goiong any where, now thats was an analagy, keeping up? yung unsensitive how many? 0 fucks, 0 fucks giveen, 0 blights forgiven, spiteful to death and mornful for noone, nothing left inside just another no-go, malfunctioning product family be like feeling “ i feel like they robbed us” of our brother our son and our friend , dont worry fam im still with you in your hearts up to the end. im tired of our society with all its malice and fallacy, thinking to my self how sad it must be, to be washed in the brain to be hypnotized, this shits so insane.you want that shit super sized? of course nigga watchu you sayin. A glutonous society obsessed with self indulgence people actually still believe good people are in abundance. Speaking of which, fuck the people for a tec, have you looked around lately, this earth is a wreck, mark my words we headin straight for destruction, We are not being good care takers, we fuckckin actin so careless what doesdo the opeople in power really expect?? just pass it on to the next generation “ohh, its not our life time we will leave it for you” Thats a big fuck you to the generations after you undeserving self entitled fucks finallyy croak. get the fuck outa here, tell me when you sold your sold, you heartlesxs bastards would give anything for xsome more of that paper thgat rules all, the pressure you have put on everyone, no one is an exception, to support ourselves and loved ones to provide for our own and multiple other peoples nees, the urge to make money looms over our heads like a pestiliant storm cloud of angst and uncertainty, boreing a fucking whole in our moral, making peoplpe desperaate rising crime rates because people get desperate, people need to survive and they will do dam near whatever it takess to make the money they need, for whatever purpose.  ill whipe my ass with it throw in your cards i will win you better fold. i have freeedom, you ask what? anominity you fuckers, i can moldd my own life i have the freedomm of choosing, i certainly dont have to wait for legislation to pass a bill which you bribed for votes to do so anyways, to do something something much worse than im capabloe of ever doing, intentionally ruining the environment and turning our planet to mars just for paper with and idea (with a “hey, take our word for it, its worth something “””WE PROMISE”””” fucks) behind it not even gold bars, fuck you niggas mark my words illl bring all you mother fuckers down, ill run you fucks out of town, you hear that sound? its a train. its my passion and my determination to take you out, maybe ill use a fuckin plane? i mean its o.k. for the CIA to do it, right? Create this ridiculously elaborote ruse this plot, thyat fucking fooled all the ignorant and brainwashed americans you have already sucked in with your cancerous propaganda, kids lost to your bullshit through social media and the fucking criteria you make teachers teach young minds, we are taught from a very young age that “ huraaahh america is number one! Terrorists bad! Environmental destruction of a planet good!” how about we help some of the third woorld countries (which you know we wouldnt have to be gunning down women and children in the streets) we could just like give them the water they need? help them gentrify there communities teach them how to develop better skills, teach them more efficient ways to take advantage of their land, maybe bring some seeds to food sources that can be grown creating a bit of self sustainability that may not be indigenous but would grow in their country?? you greedy fucks just want oil, when we have enough in our reserves in alaska/canada to last north america 500 years falsey blame others, create an imaginary war “the war on terrorism, which infact is a fucking cover a false entity, to entice patriotism to loosely keep this crumbling empire together the last attempt, the only thread left in the button holding up the pants we call america, you forgot to tell the word all that shit is just whack  [ simply a meticulously pplanned and executed ploy to spur interests in the middle east, control the oil and power will return back east, return to u, Cause god knows you tax the fuck out of us for EVERYTHING especially mnother fucking gas, so we can pay for wellfare and pay for fucking solar power for rich fucks who e==inherited wealth, people who hdont know what working a day means and never will be, never had a problem, never been broke “oh shit my fucking croket set is missingg a ball” lose the pretense fuckers, you cocksuckers, arrogant low lives.. Money makes you any better then the hard working man that cover your tax breaks pay like our fucking ppolice forces (who are a bunch of ROTC drop outs with a badge and sense of power nnow being unfair and crooked taking some kind of revenge on the idea of the kids who picked on them all through out school” Motherfucker its harder to become a plumber, the learning and process is longer/more rigorous then a 6 month police academy which is fucking my lil pony world ( ith ink there is a fantasy kids show for my lil pony with their own fantasy dimension/world)compared to a military bootcamp.  A doctrine instilled to stop the spread of communisim wherever and whenever it may presenet itsxelf? when is the fighting going to stop in that area of our dying earth, thjey have been fighting eachother since lifes initial birth, what whoever was in power or in charge of trading the petroleumn to us wanted to charge an extra dollar 4 dollars  aBARREL instead of 3??? whaa you fucking greedy cunts,? so we invade and take control put there people on dog collars?? for wshat a dollar difference in productionfreedom of speech as you mothers suck the livlyhood from our home like a blood sucking leech, so careless, you know exactly what your doing, you just dont care it aint your problem your headin towardcs the end your death is brewin, well im the reaper of death cloaked in black i always get my man like a cold inwe can hardly co-exist and efficiently function. We are on world one love bob marley shit im getting tired of going throught the motions im all fucked up inside and shit. Early development can be a lynch pin. to either set a strong first corner stone, ceremonial placement of the first corner stone, free mason shit, corn and vegetable oil, so many customs and traditions are goin down a fuckin hill catch em rollin. Early  life is so fucking critical for a young kid, childrens minds are like a sponge they are looking up to their elders they are developing mentally they consume everything around them and retain more than you know, give your kids a healthy and stimulating environment and they will let there talents grow let there talents show let there brilliance flow let there inhibitions go, gone like dust in the wind, never catch em in trouble nothing, not one sin. They will begin to get older, be super organized, super focused for school, every class haxs a folder. As you watch them grow you will feel it in your heart you will fuckin kno, atleast you did this at least you used your parental guidance for good. when you die you know youll be missed, your kid dont throw fits, not one bit, hes such a chip off the old block that was cliche as fuck haha tuck em inh for bed his forhead you kiss. I just might fucking shed a tear, I cant fight this urge to drink a beer. I cant deny this fucking fear, I must look like just like headlights shinin onm a deer, jock strap aroun d my ankles, dumbfounded, look in  my eyes, perplexed, look on my face as it hits, you get a certain taste in your mouth this race is coming to a close suddenly your filled with doubht, seriously you should be care free, yuou did your duty as a parent, im jealous wish that was me, chill the fuck out go drink some fucking relaxing tea or something, sobrietyy seems to be a good mixture along with love and rationality to make a family function like a well greased machine, like a mechanisim freshly whipped down with some white lithium grease. tuned and ready to go, temped to huff the fumes and left everything go, turn your car on shut the garage door, let death grip  you, dont seem to care anymore, I cant change the past and i have no regreats, will i make it to thirty? “right over here people!” “place your bets!”, ill take my tickets to my Life Show and just scalp em make some extra cash, im already absent, so detatched;incapable of feeling. even if im there aint nothing going on emotionally in there (guarantee you im smilin an nodding i really dont give 2 fucks no more”, take that money right to the plug i promote fucking drugs not hugs, or why not both? why does the saying have to be one or the other when sxometimes its both you desire the most. Take the scalpin’ money from the tickets to the play of my life, go on down to the hood, pick up some bags mis amigos habla “Drogas” los hermanos tambien, this urge is hard to fight. Its a romance [a ritual of being, so0mething un explainable i wish i was never a part of, im always metaphorically bleeding. My poker face is strong, fuck showing weakness i alwayxs thought it was to show emotuion. wrong....... but its not, it can save your life, can \get you through, throw you a life jacket, get you out of that tide you fought, that frigid water no warmer than dry eyes.. Ive always been a loose cannon, I go with the flow, not lookin back, been chillin with the old heads they were suprisxed i could hang and, back to the point haha literally or figuratively is the question... im not gonna keep you waitin or leave yall hangin, i hate cliff hangers, make me wait 45 five minutes leave me jonesin’ its slow goin like grindin that ‘crete in the hangers polishin’ that baby out and coatin with some apoxy, its a process, i just get my drugs, whate=vers around and hit bangersz til i pass out, thatsx how my life has been goingg, i feel like im in the chambers just waiting to be gassed out. Flip the fuuckin switch you fuckin pussy end all this malcontent and hate, make itt black, eternal reest at loast.. dress me up real nice maybe a sharp vest, go through the processions and go through the motions fucking burn my body bitches, i want to be in the ocean ive always felt drawn to it, like an unexplainable,, unatainable unfakeable feeling or notion. im happiest sippin a coctail right by the ocean,  thats where you put me to rest... ill be pissed as fuck dont treat me like a fucking ruck; i beenn aroound, age is but a number, my knowledge is  vast and profound, ya thats right bitch im fuckin educated, know more tthan you will learn in your life time and im 20 years, old get what im sayin? i dont got a big heaad im actually humble,  just at my  breaking point. if i was a volcanoe you would feel the rumble; the pre-emptive signs of an eruption pre-determineed in the creator’s mind he took his divine time to find a wayy to grin away the time it took to find the book i bind when al i want is to be stress free and unwind but im the opposite wound up liike the grandfather clock i wish i could stop , the wheels are in motion the gears are set to full speed the feels keep comin i got this itch; this notion, this inkling to stop minglin, stop wastin my time with u useless fuccks. i think its time, its not the end my journey, just started this epic tale of sorrow, my feelings have departed, im fuckingg frozen over colder than ice, dry ice. cant touch me im full of hate and vice, addictive personality on a suicide mission like a ffucking missionary willing to die for his faithh,. i wish man willing to be a martyr for his religion.. ya bitch i smoke stoges in the hotel room just send the  bill to him if it comes to me itll end up in the fucking rubbish bin with a looggie on top coughin up brown shit to young for that talk, to young for heart disease pack and a half a day to try to keep my miind at ease, the stress is buildin im like a tickin time bomb, im so wound up like a clock rigged to blow mount vesuvius, a test nuke... the alarm is soundinn off. A  bright flash like a million lightning strikes, bout to pop off.. but atleast with style got my limited eddition nikes, listen to me i soound like them, listen to me bitching like a fucking fem, bottle it up, thats what society saays, male suicide is at an all time high like two polar opposites due to wed, its never gonna work im always going to be sad im always going to hurt, no fuck it, im a lock it up and throw away the key, im gonna forget about all this shit and be a fuckin G, be hardcore like the brothhers, leave bitches cryin in the street like aall our fuckin mothers, 32 degrees ferenhiet tatted on my left pec it signifies the tempture of my heart no longer warm and red, its frozen over, it hardly beats, that shit is smaler than the grinches, i turned into what they want me to be, a danger to society, getthe fuck outa myface before i shoo,t b, I got nothing to lose, living for nothing, nada, goose eggs nigga dont give a fuck reckless, no regard for life i dont give two fucks a partridge in a ghetto street, aint no merry christmas song, i like my biches thick and dirty wearin'n some fesh tomy thongs, i use em abuse and enthuse them then ruse thm excusse them fuckin confusethem "why you so distaant all of the suden" keep the vow of silence, like a monk on a holy missio, a friar on a divine quest, sending telepathic messages look into my eyes and see, get the fuck out i was never real these feelings meant nothing to me manipulator, manipulationist making up woprds never been a relationist, the masster of his craft a ventrilliquist or a puppet master you were to blind to see, mama was right just a socio path, ya bitch tell your 7 year old child that; see how long his chipper attitude lasts, im lower than nothing, not even a worm maybe i could bbe a fucking tick suckin blood, noting left of the kid i used to be, no more self worth, i cant love you when i cant love myself, how you expect me to support you when all i do is grab a spoon andd melt all the money thaat comes my way, a junkie, bum destined for an early  death and you think yous my bride to be, sorry hun you reaad me wrong, i know its hard cause bitches never know whats goin on inside my head, as i lay in bea,d staring off to somewhere, anywhere but next toyou, staring off into space thinking about my drug abuse, asking myself why, but i know the answer ready to die, but i think ill get a lapper frm one more danceer, i wanna go out in style, not som lame shit maybe go up to a mountain and stand on a cliff, look down, see wher im destined to end up as i take the safety off, finger carressing the trigger, a cool wind blows as i prepare to leave my loved ones bitter, surprised they sstayed aound thislong only ever let em down ever since i was young, never good enough always disappointing this rap comes so easily writing it like noothing, to get this off my chest as theend comes near, i shaped my own destiny i chose to die, now i chose to die here, fuk your beliefs and your faith in gods plan i took my life intomy own fucking hands, i think we all know einstiens theory of insanity, i been doin the same shit fr so long now exspectin shit to change and, i guess im insane.. i took my brilliiant, my sharp mind and put it to waste. its time to pull the inevitable, the good die young idk in this case if thats viable, im scummy i did whatever it took to get my fix to kill that pitt  in my tummy. i hurt people close, i stole from my famil.y.. its time to end it, like i caqme into the world, by myself always alone, soemthing that my father toldme that really stuck, its cynical as fuck, but he was right. he said stay out of the bullshit the groggy muck. Only lookout for yourself son, ive been arounnd awhile, [people dont give a fuck about anyone else they care only for themselves, in the end at the most critical time they will always choose them instead of some one else. We are alone in this wrld and its the hard truth jut learn not to ddepend on others while you are still in your youth, ive been fucked over to many times by people i thought i was very close to. now im out to get mines me and only me you and only you, get that fucking look on ur face sorry for beeing real and telling the truth, im trying to prepare your for whats ahead, im tryig to prevent you from depending on a brutus who will fill you with lead, stab you in the back for their own personnal gain, being to trustworthy is a heroic flaw like being egotistical, wanting to help your friends to much, being aragont ect. kryptonite to super man pease dont be batman and let it be yourr bane, bane as in the villian to let you know. im back, here are my words again not my dads, ji really do miss all the relationships i had, havent spoken to my dad in years tookk one for theteam stayed with mama dukese inj the ssplit to save faace, foir my innocent younger brothers. you know what shes also my motheer, shes not capable of surviving alone i didnt think i would abandon her ever i thought id never do that, i stuck with her out of evveryone, a family oof six she looked out for me in times of strife wish i could give her one last kiss, just shot my last 20 and i fucin missed, absesses dont matte any more i bet this 45 shoots true time for the finale,  no way i can miss, as the curtains close on my young life one last thought people really took to me, like white on rice, women were drawn to me the mystery i had them enticced, June baby as a cancer i am hard to understand i met a chick once who had a spot in my liifes bnd, she knew me we had a connection so much love we were never disrespectin im glad i could atleast i could teach hersome shit before she ripped my beeating heart out of my chest and stepped on it. Loved hermore than life and i still do i promised her one day i would find her and marry her, walkher down that isle say the words ido, she felt what i felt i know its tru, wasnt ready fgor commitment baby i wil alwayslove yo never orget you if i can i connect with you, like a disease i infected you i aways broght you downi was just baggage extra wait holing you down dragging around im glad youo saw through my snake charming ways saw me for who i was a bumm who couldnt change noot in a short number of days, someone so crippled by pain and grief it was beyond belief, she was the only one i wore my heart on my sleeve for , she lef me sobbinig, crrying violently without end in the door the doorway to more pain. i know she had no choice she had to live her lifee i was just in he way, i was obscuring her focus. eye on the prize isthe only way to achieve your goals and tnt them fuckin boulders, in your way, today i die babe, long time comin bet yall thought i was here to stay. baby l dontshed a tear kno i died drinkin a beer haha but nah you were my last thoughts thinking about all the time we spent getting lost in eachothers eyes and gettin so close we read eachothers thougts, illl miss or idk if ill be concious or just nothjingness, i guess ill fnd out when i finally stop being a pussy and proced with this, see ya velma ill always be your shaggy thinka bout me and dont forget what i made you see, in your self im just another memory on our shelf but let it bbe one thaat sticks we had somethingthat made ssense just clicks somethin that felt so right im really gonn miss, everythinig abnout you im sorry you couldnt trust me but i dont doubt why. i know the truth ive never denied a thing in my life, dont getme wrong everybody tells a little white lie, but you know what its a sign of intelligence not to be afraid to say idk not to lie for the hll of it. Ill see you soon in the nxt life or two i hope reincarnatiuon has a possibility of being true, godbye cruel world th ride is over it was a hell of a whirl, i leave you with absolutely nohing conntributted i was just a part o the cancer people had to live with, butnever acknowledgedd, acted ignoant to ther surroundings as daddy paid for college, i burned bright and hot and had a lot of fun, i had alot of life experienc got alot of shit done, nothing productivee of course in ssocieties eyes but i did fullfill atleast some personal goals, important things in my eyes, the curtains are almost done descending as my pittiful life is ending, but keep your pitty mother  fuckers i dont want shit from any of you i dont give yoou nothin dont be so self righteous you look like a bunch of fools, greive for me or celebrate my life i guess its on you how you chhoose to rfemmeber a nobody that nobody knew, a couple feet before the curtains drop, is that? myy eyes decieving? me? no i do see that a single rose descends from the skies, i stare intently at the work of art, a rose is soo beautiful, a representation of love, from the heart, so delicate with its velvet petals, easily ruined a boket wouldve been nice, but who am i fooling, thats a beautiful thing, that was really nice. the product bubbles as i take my last hit of ice, cant takemy eyes off that rose.. its so beautiful... the gun on my forhead now, looking at each individual pedals.. dew from the early mornin forming a small puddle around that naturral phenom, that iconic organic, spectaacular symbol of sometthing real, somethin that matters, something sensual. 

As the bits of his brain splatter behid him, arms spread; with grace, almost angelic.he falls off the ciff a hundred feet now for falling, weird but there was a look of peace in his eyes; on his face, maybe he wll finally find happiness.. he fell with nobility and so much grace the floor he hit, his finall restingplace, what cuold be a better box then a natural setting, a  beaauty of nature, crawling all around and he will return to the earth, the mother wll  take him back just as she gave birth, i thinnk this shit is over now its not my story to tell, inside voices kids no reason to yell. shhhhhhhhhhh. 

dont depend dont believe the [enter here]