unmasked

Assuming this is more about how I'm doing in therapy than anything else. Nothing's been going on.

Oh, thank the spirits. I finally got in with a provider, too, thank goodness. It’s been helping, so far.

'Caaaaaaaaause. Y' don't baby me like Bee an' [hic] th' old one do. An'....I dunno. Schometimes I think y'r riiiiiight 'bout th' Syndicate. But 'm too [hic] sc'red t' admit it.

Sc'red lil' coward, tha's me!

[Cain gestured around with the half-empty bottle of wine he was holding, seemingly not even caring that he was splashing it all over the carpet. That was a problem for future, sober him.]

Can' e'en f'rget about stuff correctly....

[Theatre nods. He gets it. He was scared of his old firm like that. He cringes at the wine spill on the carpet, though. At least he knows how to clean that up. He gently pries the wine bottle out of Cain’s hand, setting it down on the coffee table.]

You’re not a coward. I was in a situation like yours a while ago, and I was scared too. You’re only really a coward when you refuse to do the right thing when it’s staring you in the face, and I doubt you’d do that.

[He paddled at Theatre like an extremely weak cat as the wine bottle was taken away from him, pouting slightly. He wanted more! He wasn't even properly drunk yet!]

Noooooooo. Giv' it bac'. Y'r so m-mean t' me.

[Cain shook his head as he slumped there, looking like a puppet with its strings cut--which, in essence, he was.]

Th' ri'ht thing isssssssss t'. Jus' stop bein' 'fraid and do somethin'. But I c-can'. I dunno w-whether t' follow ord'rs 'r jus' go 'gainst 'em. 'M 'fraid. 'M so 'fraid. I dunno wh't t' do.

[A swipe at his face, then.]

Mmmm. Wha's this....liquid bullshi'. Why won' it stop.

[Theatre raises an eyebrow, sipping his wineglass.]

You can have more if you stop spilling it on my carpet.

[His expression melts a bit. Gods, he knows that feeling.]

Hey, hey. You don’t have to make a decision right now. You make it when you’re ready, whenever that is.

Fiiiiiiiine. I won' spill on y'r carpet. You.....big schtupit head. Gimme th' wine bac'. 'M not waschtin' good Riesling.

[He attempted to lift an arm to swat at Theatre, but it was more like a pool noodle slapping against the other's face than an actual hearty whack.]

....feel lik' e'eryone wantsch me t' make decision. But it feelsch like 'm bein' pulled in alllll these diffr'nt direct'ns. I don' know which one 's best.

Y' all keep lookin' at m-me lik' 'm worth somethin' and it confusches me--

[Another shaky breath.]

--don' wanna be confusched. I j-jus' wanna know wh't t' do.

[Theatre hands him the wine bottle back, gently, smiling slightly at him]

It’s because you are worth something, Cain. But you should make the choice. Don’t let anyone else make it for you. Now hold on.

[He rummages around, returning with a bottle of moonshine]

I’ll drink with you. Been a while since I got wasted, and I’m in the mood for it anyways.

'M not. 'M not. Th' Donn'e tha' was w'rth anythin' died bac' there. 'M jus' wha's left.

[For a moment, he simply stared into the wine bottle, watching the liquid swirl around within the glass as if it could somehow provide answers for all the questions that were tangling up within his mind.]

Why didn' I try h'rd'r t' get away. Why didn' I.....jus' try 'n run. Wha' if y'r right. Wha' if 'm a monster jus' like them--

Wha' if m' broth'rs find out. 'M not a g-good pers-- [HIC] person. If they....if they kno' wh't I did, they'll h-hat' me. Then I won' hav' anyone--

If anyon' knows....

[Ugh. He was crying again. Why couldn't he just make that stop.]

[Theayre bumps his shoulder]

Hey, you’ll still have me. I’m not leaving you no matter what, man. No matter what path you go down.

Y'u say tha'. 'M such a jerk t' you sometimes. 'Cause I....mmmph. 'Cause I kno' y'r tellin' th' truth, but 'm scr'd of it.

An' wha' if y'r wrong.

[He took another swig from the bottle, shakily. Cain might have gotten some more droplets on the carpet, in spite of his best efforts to get most of it into his mouth. His motor control was starting to get a bit shaky.]

Wha' if I can' be more 'n a weapon. Wha' if tha's all tha's left f'r me.

Then…I’ll still be here for you, weapon or not. To be honestly, a ‘weapon’ is just a tool. A knife can cut bread or flesh. It’s what you do with it that matters.

[He stared at Theatre for a moment. Stared. Stared some more. And then promptly set the bottle down and went to stand up, only to immediately faceplant into the carpet with a series of muffled giggles.]

Heh. Y'r funny. I can' e'en....I don' e'en know whet'r y'u like me 'r not.

Why sh'ld y'u. 'M jus'.....lonely, sad asshol'.

[Cain rolled onto his back then, one arm thrown haphazardly over his eyes.]

Can' e'en. F'rget about all this sssssschutff. Tha's in m' head. I don' e'en like dr'nkin'. Wha' was I thinkin'.

[A small sigh.]

Let’s get you up on the couch.

[Theatre trotted over towards Cain on the carpet, looking for the best way pick him up, then finagling his arms under his shell and legs. Hup. He lifts him up in princess carry, going to lay him on the couch.]

Don’t go anywhere, okay? I’m gonna get you a pot to throw up in and some more water.

[He hissed, deep in his throat, as Theatre approached him. In spite of his current drunken state, Cain could somehow still sense that he didn't want the bird brain touching him. Touch always meant bad things. Meant the promise of pain. Meant being thrown in a dark cell and then being left there for days on end until he'd turned into a gibbering mess. True, Theatre was enough of a bleeding heart that those measures probably wouldn't be put into place, but--]

Don' t'uch me don' fuckin' t'uch--

[He snapped out at the offending limbs, only to squeak under his breath in surprise as he was instead carefully deposited onto the couch. For a moment Cain simply squinted at Theatre with his good eye, wondering if there wasn't some kind of catch to the entire situation, wondering if he would eventually be given some kind of command or a condition that he had to fulfill to make up for this. When no sign of such a thing came, he relaxed minutely, still scowling somewhat.]

Don' n'ed t' thr'w up. 'M fin'.

It’s always better to be safe than sorry!

[His apartment is more of a studio apartment anyways, so it’s not like he has to go far. He grabs a suitably deep pot, and swings open the fridge while he’s at it. Where is…AHA. Grapefruit juice always helps him rehydrate, but he grabs a water bottle too. The taste isn’t for everyone. He trots back over to the couch, setting down the pot and bottles on the coffee table.]

There ya go. Try not to throw on my carpet, yeah?

the original guy i reblogged this from was a shithead so reuploading it

you never know what someone is going through. for instance i didnt know i was going through anything until about 2 years later. i thought i was just chilling

it hurts the lord when you listen to lustful, violent music. so crank that shit UP

together we can kill that old fuck

babygirl are you called the dyatlov pass incident because people love making up myths about you to protect themselves from the fact that life is unpredictable and nature is indifferent

office mug

not now kitten. daddy’s writing a post for the three people who always give him notes on tumblr

You can’t let this stupid ass evil world rob you of your vibe don’t let them do that to u

I taught that man everything he knows

something about substances so strong they can only be cut by that same substance (like diamond) gets to me. the self-fulfilling prophecy of it. you can armor yourself against any and all outside threats, but you're still beholden to your own nature.

*walks over to my board titled "is the desire to self-destruct innate or a learned behaviour?" and places another tally mark in the 'innate' column*

i have a "willy wonka experience" every day of my life

Armour of a cuirasse du carabinier holed by a cannonball at the battle of Waterloo, 1815

Was the guy ok

I was fine

Bill you valor stealing bitch I know you weren’t at Waterloo

Fuck you I was

You think I wouldn’t remember the day our great emperor’s (May he live eternally) destiny was destroyed? You think I wouldn’t have the image of his surrender burned into my memory? You think I wouldn’t remember each man who stood with glorious Bonaparte until the bitter end? You were not there, Bill. You had long since abandoned the cause of great Napoleon and retreated back to Florence with your disgusting pasta creations. May the emperor forgive you.

I stayed with his Glorious Majesty until the bitter end, refusing to return back to Italy. You know full well my attempts to stage a coup against the insurrectionists and traitors to the cause could not get support because so many had given up by that point. I was there, just as you were. May the Emperor forgive YOU, for these false accusations.

You lie! The Bourbons bought you off with flatbread and spices, as befits your vile lineage. After valorous Napoleon was deposed you came to Paris to serve those whose hands were filthy with the blood of the empire. How dare you impugn my honor? Me, who ever fought for the glory of free France? Enough talk. Pistols at dawn, you Italian wretch.

whenever someone in a story tells a character they're training to fight to treat their weapon like an extension of themselves i always feel like more weight should be put on that statement. on the implication that in learning to wield a weapon you must become it. you must make it a part of you. you must walk down a path from which you will never be able to come back from.

weapons should mold to their wielders like grafts. great warriors should appear fused to their blades, and unbalanced - amputated - without them. their hands should be unsteady without the grip and weight of a killing instrument. there should be more body horror in the choice to take up arms.

oh thats hot as hell. if only sex was real

tragedy enjoyers (hi) talk a lot about inevitable tragedies where the character(s) were doomed from the start, but to be honest as someone who does not believe in fate/destiny/etc. irl, the kind of tragedy that Really gets to me is the kind where you can see exactly why and how this didn’t need to happen, and you can also understand why the choices were made that made this happen, and you watch an entirely unnecessary but devastatingly predictable tragedy unfold due to a series of understandable choices

keep psychologically torturing his gay ass

ITS MARCH YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS

Soon.

ok.