Drug Mention Tw - Blog Posts

Whatever source it was that drove the universe forward conspired against him, that he was certain of upon opening the door to find the other standing on his doorstep. Azazel narrowed his eyes, thinking that if he believed in any god or higher power, he would fight them upon his death, which was his highest calling at this point. Glancing down to the ground, he moved his right arm up, resting it against his door frame before bringing his forehead to rest on his forearm, the sweat coating his body at that moment, accumulating enough in that spot to have a drop fall from his arm a moment later, muttering under his breath as he did.

He did need a drink, and the medicine he was on to numb the pain long enough he could pass out so comfortably onto the floor for, at least a short while, in some brief moment of absolute bliss, he supposed. Going by his drool that still remained on the floor. It didn't need to be five, however, to get that drink or otherwise. That was his current lifestyle at the moment. Which is why he had just kept the arrangement with his sibling to take his son in for the time being while he worked on all of this. Laughing a bit, he pulled his head up from his arm and looked at Sévérine, feeling a little unstable for a brief second before catching himself. Clearing his throat, he dropped his arm from the door frame and leaned against it instead, “I guess they don't know about Girl Scouts where you're from, neighbor.” Hell, he thought, that had to be where the other was from.

Azazel takes in a breath before continuing, when the other made a demand of him, “Do I look like a fucking grocery store to you?” Apparently that's what he was now. His jaw clenching, however, he reminded himself not to cause waves, all manner of people lived on this street, who were most likely spying on him. No, most certainly were. Though his paranoid state of mind at the moment wasn't just causing him stress, he wasn't dealing well with, but anger, he wasn't dealing well with. Not only this, however, but intrusive thoughts, especially in this moment. His imagination, conceptualizing great atrocities he could be committing on this neighbor, if he were just to snap right then in there, in a fit of rage. He wondered how the rest of the neighbors might react at the scene he could be causing right now. But, he steeled himself to those notions, shrinking again as a wave of nausea started to rise from his gut, “Sure. Fine. Whatever.” He didn't understand that last bit, and he didn't want to.

Pulling away then, he made his way toward his kitchen, not bothering to close the door. As if it were an unconscious invite to 'try him' on his rising intensity and dip into greater madness. Coming up to his fridge, he yanks it open and drops into a crouch, reaching out toward his container of eggs, pulling it out, opening it, taking two, and replacing it back as it was before. Though, he paused, staring absently at the eggs as another bout of errant emotions suddenly bombarded him. Breaking down a bit, his eyes filled with tears, soon enough spilling over and trailing down his face, an unhinged sob left him, almost making him sound like he was laughing, maybe giggling from the distance he had been at.

Bringing the back of his hands to his eyes, he thought, briefly, how stupid it was to be sobbing over fucking eggs, of all things. But that's not really what he was crying about. After the briefest moment of that, he took a few deep breaths, trying to control these emotions with his breaths. Once he did, he wiped away the remaining wetness on his face and searched his cabinets for the sugar, “Get your shit together, focus, no one cares if you're fucked up. You have to control your shit.” He told himself under his breath, seeing another package of sugar as he did, he grabbed it before making his way back to the front of his house. As he came to the door, he put up his best smile he could muster at that moment toward Sévérine, “You're in luck, I have the stuff.”

Sévérine wasn't the type to stir the pot between familial demons that would circle one another in a spaghetti Western gunfight at sundown no matter what he did. What was there to gain from something that was inevitable? If anything, long as he stayed out of it, he didn't see himself reaping the bloodshed. However, that didn't mean that the on-call translator thought it frivolous to always play by the book of no contact, and even in a city as big and bold as Las Vegas, one was bound to run into their mortal enemy. Life was full of impossible standards, like the saying that microwaves gave people cancer. ( Not so funny joke now, in retrospect, but the French native seldom made out like anything bothered him at all and laughed hollowly at the joke, nonetheless. No one was getting past his defenses unless they were going to pry him open with a crowbar. If it was going to be the Vitellis, though, he'd like to think he wouldn't give up trade secrets. Maybe. If they brought out an electric razor to his hairline, he'd reconsider that argument. Hey, it was hard work to grow it back. ) Thus, after weighing the odds, he couldn't say definitively that he was there on innocent terms, but neither was he intentionally playing the part of gambling with fire.

"...It's five o'clock somewhere?"

The brunette didn't exactly understand the query, raising his eyes to take note that the squeezed orange colors of the desert sky were certainly present. "Hm. Funny." For once, he didn't have a smart-mouthed quip in return; maybe he wasn't looking to take shrapnel to the throat, after all. Lifting his chin slightly, a hand fussed with the rim of his beanie. "Sugar. And two eggs." For what? Well, that was none of anyone's business, regardless of where he hailed from; it didn't pertain or award itself a positive result to the questions are you making meth or are you attaching something to someone's mailbox that might combust. "...S'il vous plaît."

Hearing the little voice, Azazel paused in his stride, turning his head, he looked down, cold brown eyes staring down intensely at the small child as she spoke up to him, wondering why she was out here at a place like this, alone. Instantly, that coldness melted as he was reminded of his own son, of similar age, he supposed, to this little girl. He glances away then, playfully, “Oh I just might!” Expressively, he brought a hand to his chin, his index, and thumb forming into a check mark-like form under it, “Well Marceline, as an artist myself, how could I say 'no' to such a polite request?” Bringing his free, left hand, to his hip, he moved his right hand from his face, only to stop playing the moment Lyonet came stumbling out.

His coldness returned as the girl's mother came out, “It was nothing. She wasn't bothering me.” He replied to the girl's mother, leaning his hip more into his left hand, slouching slightly as he huffed out a slightly amused breath as Lyonet called the little girl a custodian, “Oh.” Azazel mumbled. After Lyonet told him it was just a joke, he quirked an eyebrow, “Couldn't tell.” He remarked with the smallest trace of a sarcastic tone in his voice. Azazel turned his head away, staring elsewhere for the moment as the other went on, “Alright, then, what can you help me with while you're stuck in business limbo?” He asked before looking back to Lyonet once again, before pausing to think for a moment, “Not really much for community service, actually.”

But, letting out a breath, he realized he needed to distract himself, anyway. Staring at Lyonet, he knocked his head toward her, prompting her a bit with a, “What kind of stuff are you guys still needing help with?”

@boneyardstarters lyonet + ??? : april 10, skratch records @ mid-morning cap : ∞

mix-ups with mars' school schedule typically didn't result in this kind of catastrophe. alas, there lyonet was, harboring her seven year old on the front steps of her workplace, all because she had neglected to remember it was a fucking teacher work day. she had resumed her pesky habit of inhaling snow every weekend, and prior to that she was relatively adept at arranging comfortable boarding for her daughter. however, that was before she swore reina to secrecy upon her relapse being unveiled and very callously reminded the kitchen witch exactly how fortunate she was to be entrusted with mars' care: 'at least i still have custody of my kid' may or may not have been uttered; which, of course, was enough guilt that would stick with reina for the remainder of her natural life. digressing, it was far too late in the day for lyonet to unload mars unto her older sister, so, the little girl was now a temporary employee of skratch records. at least, the bare bones of it. while lyonet idled inside and hid from the major renovations, mars manned the front curb. it didn't occur to lyonet that her very outspoken child would attempt contact with a wandering stranger until she heard her daughter's squeaky little voice say: hi, i'm marceline! but everyone calls me mars, or marcie, or mar. we're not open yet. do you want to help paint? quickly, lyonet stumbled off the step stool she was on while clumsily painting and scrambled out front, converse skidding on the concrete. "alright, miss mars," she cleared her throat loudly as she plucked her daughter up off the ground. "sorry about that. she's just our custodian," she joked halfheartedly. "that was a joke. kind of. can we help ya with something? we're, uh, not quite off the ground yet, but... we've got fresh lemonade if you wanna help out."

If you could be anyone in cemetery mary who would you be? Also I live your content🥰🥰🥰

Mary. Again.

I love her

I already relate to her alot

SPOILERS, DRUG, AND DEATH MENTIONS

3. All the other characters dont have great lives (Reginalds a serial killer, Crowven and Twyla have gangs, Theo dies, Zapara has a drug issue, etc) I think Marys life has the best circumstances of them all. Especially in the true end.

                    there wasn’t much that could NUMB the memories of the past, especially here. no morphling to be found ( then again, perhaps it was a strange, painful blessing — she’d seen what morphlings became ). && while liquor was hardly the same, it would do. hand raked through hair that johanna once questioned would ever grow back as she made herself comfortable, brow arched at her words as unamused gaze turned towards the other. “well —” a pause, her sights now moving around the ever crowding bar. “guess you better save that one.” johanna mused, pointedly looking at the chair opposite of Katarina. “first come, first serve,” she chimed with feigned warmth, slight smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth.

—- “Are you god damn kidding me?” Katarina exhales as her eyes fix upon the bartender. He had a very specific task. And that task was? To fill a wine glass with human blood. However, This human was a complete useless individual. She clears her expression and it switches to a sincere one – a grin upon her face & her body leaning in towards him. “If immortality is what you want, I will gladly give it to you. But, you need to follow directions exactly as I say.” Katarina speaks softly before locking eyes with him and compelling him. “Re-fill this cup. to the rim.” And with that, the man goes to the back. A devilish smile upon her and within a second, it fades to hear someone sat by her. But, the smile returns as she looks at the person before her. “I believe this seat is taken.”