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@crisis-hale
hullu:
. on We Heart It.
laurineskdls:
Effy Stonem
crisis-hale:
Drugs aren’t very good at making you look pretty. Have you seen those motherfuckers on meth? Lookin’ like they got hit in the face with a frying pan too many times. Damn.
You've watched one too many drug awareness presentations.
crisis-hale:
Mucinex is great for runny noses.
You know what else is good for curing just about anything? Drugs. [Says bluntly]
crisis-hale:
I don’t drink
Either your fucking lying, or your sense of adventure is missing just like- [Cuts herself off, shrugging her shoulders] Now even I have to stop myself because that comment was in bad taste.
crisis-hale:
You mean when you’re not too busy snorting coke? Oh wonderful. Good to know that you are somewhat useful.
You act like I give a single fuck about what one judgmental bitch has to say about me, it's quite funny really.
crisis-hale:
Girl, whatchu doin’?
Blowing my nose, what does it look like?
You look like you could use this more than me.
crisis-hale:
Because that’s classy.
At least I know how to pull the stick out of my ass every once in awhile.
lithium-ann:
cute
Remember Me || Crisis & Grayson
Grayson could only stare at the girl as she spun around on the sidewalk looking as if she was about to fall over. He didn’t exactly like the contact their hands shared, but he wasn’t about to let her sprawl onto the concrete. It was surprising that in her state she could remember his face or where they had met, but none of that really matter. He just knew that if he left this girl on the street and something happened to her he’d feel like shit and he didn’t want to feel that guilt again. It still ate away at his mind, the fact that he didn’t help his best friend. He didn’t even realize anything was so wrong that he would rather die than keep going. He didn’t like to think about it- who would? Sometimes it was like he couldn’t not think about it. There wasn’t even a note, just a phone call and his mother coming in to his bedroom to tell him. The craziest part about all of it was everything seemed so normal. The phone ring was the same as it had been any other day and his Saturday had been normal too. He was getting ready to out with his friends to a bar. There was no pause in his daily schedule, no buzz in his mind that something was off. Didn’t people say you felt it when someone was there one moment and then they just.. weren’t? And death was a funny thing. He couldn’t wrap his head around it, he didn’t even know if he was trying to. There was nothing really ceremonious about it. There was a person there and then there wasn’t, but a baby was probably born somewhere so it all evened out at some point. Except it wasn’t supposed to, when someone is dead it’s supposed to mean something. You’re not supposed to go out to that bar with your friends anyway and drink until you can’t feel your fingers and the thought in your head are to fuzzy to remember that anything happened. You’re not supposed to go out every night and do it all over again and have your mother worry about you and your friends wonder why suddenly you don’t mind blacking out- in fact now it seems you’re doing it on purpose. You’re not supposed to try to forget. But that’s what Grayson did. He didn’t plan on stopping either until his brother came back from his college thing and told all of their friends what happened and suddenly they wouldn’t let him go out anymore. They were worried about him too. It was all so stupid. There wasn’t really another word for it and the worst part was Grayson wasn’t sure if it was ever going to end. He was pretty good at pretending he was okay now that’s it’s been a couple months to the point where his friends thought it was okay he went out sometimes. Sometimes he even convinced himself everything was alright in the world; but it wasn’t. Danny wasn’t there anymore and he never would be again and Grayson was a part of that. So it was decided, he was going to help this random girl, because he wasn’t sure if he could go through all of that again. It might be different because this girl was never his best friend, but it didn’t matter. He straightened out his arm with their hands still clasped so she’d stop spinning. “Yeah I don’t really do that anymore,” He said this although he did drink on occasion. It just wasn’t nearly as much as he used to. “Do you have anywhere you’re supposed to be? Like.. maybe a house or something?” The best he could think to do was take her home. It was already three in the morning so he didn’t imagine she had anywhere else to be.
To be left on the roadside, abandoned in some ditch, sadly this was something that had a feel of normalcy to it to the young girl. How many nights after his death had she woken up on the side of the road, wondering how she got there? Too many countless nights wasted away, flying high in the sky, only to come down with the kind of force that would shake her world in its entirety. In this moment none of that mattered, all that did was going through all the lengths, pulling out all the stops, all to make sure that she never came down. Reality was harsh, reality was cruel; why would she ever want to come down when this intoxicated world that she was now living in was so beautiful? She felt like she could take on the world; that she could face all the challenges that she was met with. It was as if there was nothing that could stop her, no one that could stand in her way. They would all watch with bated breath as she crashed and burned, waiting for that moment where she hit the ground so hard she couldn’t get up. It seemed almost cruel that this world had allowed her to do this to herself; to allow all the blame to be placed on her shoulders, all fingers pointing in her direction. She had been the one who gave the final push, allowing him to spill over the edge, but she hadn’t been his only friend, the only person considered to be family. They should have seen the signs, they should have seen that he was losing his will to live, the same way that Crisis was now. Going on living was becoming too much of a chore, too difficult to find the light at the end of the tunnel, a battle that would never be won. If only she could go back to that night, the one that he stood alone in his room, a bottle of pills in hand. She would shake him until he could see just how sorry she was, till he could see how much she needed him, but she hadn’t been there; she had been off somewhere drinking herself into oblivion, being the selfish girl that she was. If only she could turn back time; then she could undo what had been done, she could take back spiteful words, and she could make him see that life was worth living. She wanted to give her head a shake at this thought, how could she make him see something that she had such a difficult time believing in? Two damaged people never should have been brought together, what they were to each other must have been some kind of sick joke to the God who watched over all. If there really was a God out there, he deserved a bullet to the head. How was it that he had the power to take people from this world, people who barely got a chance at life? She wanted to scream at the top of her lungs, to rake her nails down her flesh, but here she would stand, highly intoxicated, swaying back and forth in the wind, wishing she could be anywhere other than here. There were too many memories linked to this town, too many memories that she wasn’t ready to face. She could still see the pair of them walking hand in hand down this very same street, laughing and talking as if everything was right with the world. It had all been so fake, forced laughed, plastic smiles, maybe none of it had never been real. The only aspect she knew to be real was the emotions that ran deep for that boy, emotions that no sixteen year old girl was ready to face. Her mother told her that she had never loved him, that her mind had only tricked her into believing so. She remembered how many vile words backed with venom she had spit out at her mother for saying such a thing. Her mother talked like she knew what love was, but if she revaluated her life, could she honestly say she was willing to die for her father? If Crisis had the opportunity, she would have taken all of Andrew’s pain upon herself. He had been one of pure of heart, he hadn’t deserved the cards he had been dealt, Crisis on the other hand; all of her anguish was self-deserving. Not wanting to think about it, she went about playing with Grayson’s fingers, each one feeling as if they weren’t really there. She knew she would be cursing at herself when she came crashing down from her high, but for now all she could do was enjoy it. Pulling away from him, she hummed to herself, his question bouncing about her skull. If she went home like this again, her parents would be forced to take her fate into their own hands. Too many nights had she come home out of her mind, only to crash to the floor, not moving despite her mother kicking her in the ribs. They said they were concerned for her health and safety, but Crisis knew the only thing they were fearful of was being presented as bad parents. “I do have somewhere to be actually,” Crisis spun on her heels to face the boy, her arms spread out wide, as if she was preparing herself to fall to the ground to make snow angels. “I have an idea,” She exclaimed, as she clapped her hands together. “You should come with me,” She had no intentions of going home, what she had intentions for were reaching that point where she felt so good it was like walking on glass.
Here Comes Trouble || Crisis & Gavin
He averted his eyes only for a moment to admire the art; inky swirls captured by a greedy hand with a pair of eyes to observe all. It almost felt like abstract art with a deeper meaning hidden behind each layer, but it was not his business to peel them back and ask what it all meant. He thought it wise to keep his mouth closed about the graffiti for this reason, although it seemed that as of late it was wiser to keep his mouth shut about everything, including his own complaints. Society was just too unfair sometimes, he had noted, but right now he was too exhausted to fight against it. Instead of being an open book or a nosey teenager he would just restrain himself for his own benefits and others’. It wouldn’t be easy, but nothing ever was.
Her comment made him shrug again. Sure, Crisis probably wasn’t the easiest to greet, and he had learned that during their brief conversations in the past. He didn’t seem to have much trouble getting along with her, though. Their differences were evident with every word pronounced and every gesture noticed; it was almost astounding how opposite they appeared when standing across from one another, but Gavin was never one to dwell on the negatives. Try to be nice, and after a while the other person may just return the favor. It had almost worked for a little while. He wondered if it would work again. “I don’t know if I can,” he admitted. The ‘wild side’ had never been a suitable lifestyle for him. His wildest experiences involved attending parties and drinking, but nothing overly exciting or dirty ever followed. Disregarding the alcohol consumption, he was a pretty innocent guy.
As she continued to step closer to him with that sinister smile plastered against pale features, Gavin kept his smile even and stood his ground. If he stepped away, he might seem like a coward (even though he was and he knew it). But he didn’t feel so confident about walking on the “wild side” with anybody. Rebelliousness wasn’t in his blood – only compassion and optimism with a dash of nativity and an excess flow of hope. Should he really try to dance with the dark side for this girl, who was practically a stranger? Actually, a better question was – would she let him escape if he tried? “And if we get caught?” he asked, glancing nervously about the perimeter to look for security. Fortunately, this area of the parking lot was practically empty.
This need for danger was something that flowed with power through the young girl’s veins; the kind of power that would knock one off their feet, stealing what little air they had in their lungs, only to leech to their soul, stealing anything that was worth taking. Going against the law was one of the few things that made her feel alive, as if she was standing atop the world, shouting that she was here and that she would be damned if she allowed this life to get the best of her. The doctors told her parents that this stage of hers was normal within teens that had experienced a severe lost. What they couldn’t see was that she had always been this way; her parents had been buried too deep within their own worlds to see their daughters crashing down around her. It was only after Andrew’s death that they were drawn out of their haze, only to be met with a girl they could no longer recognize. Her mother still talked of the days where Crisis would run about in her dresses, her favourite doll plastered to her side, but that little girl had died without their notice. Crisis had buried her in the backyard, leaving the doll from her past to watch guard over the deceased. It seemed twisted in many ways to attend her own funeral, but what she had needed all those years ago was closure, this knowing that she had changed, that she was no longer anyone’s little girl. She should have cried that day, she should have sat in solemn silence, but instead all she had done was stared at her dirt caked hands, wondering to herself how many days she had left until this was no longer some silly game. If she was to die tomorrow, she wondered how many would attend her funeral. She was sure the numbers would be low, something that she found eerily satisfying. This had to do with the fact that she knew she hadn’t touched many lives, this knowing that she wouldn’t leave behind very many weeping bodies. She didn’t want to leave her mark when she left this world; she wanted to leave this world the same way she came into it, completely and utterly alone. To this day she could remember Andrew’s funeral; the church had been packed to the brim, people standing at the back without seats, all wanting to pay their respects to the boy who had left without as much as a goodbye. She remembered all the tears, the kind words that were shared, but mostly she remembered all the stares, all the murmurs. She hadn’t been welcomed in that church that day; his mother had basically chased her out by the end of the ceremony. She knew she hadn’t deserved to be there, but she had to see him one last time, she needed to say goodbye. Like all those years ago what she had needed was closure, the knowing that he knew how deeply sorry she was. She could paint all the pictures of the world, but it would never be enough, they would go by unsaid, they would go by unheard.
Glancing over her shoulder, she peered into the eyes that were far too familiar to her. How she wished she could reach up and take his hand, how she wished she could feel his lips against hers one last time. It was selfish of her to think in such a manner, if it wasn’t for her she would still be able to do so, but she had tarnished it all with one touch of taint. From the start she had been told that she never deserved him, how sad it was when she realized they had been right all along. Sighing quietly to herself, she shifted her attention back to the boy standing before her. His naivety was astounding, something that was unheard of in this day and age. All this did was fuel her to want to corrupt him, to mold him into her own image. She wanted someone who would streak down the street with her, someone who would go around slashing tires, and someone who would admire her vandalism instead of seeing it as something illegal. Breaking the law could be beautiful; it could be art in its own word, as long as you were willing to take the risks that came along with it. Shifting her weight from one foot to the other, she absentmindedly chewed on her lower lip, balancing his question in her hands. The risks of getting caught were high, but that was all a part of the fun. That was why these acts were considered to be illegal because people actually enjoyed them, bringing smiles to the people’s lips that reached their eyes. “You can’t tell me that you’ve never considered doing something risky before,” Taking another step closer to the boy, she observed him closely. He looked like the type to abide by the law, the type to mind his manners, and listen to the words of his father. He certainly didn’t strike her as the type who could match her speed, who could run with the best of them. Brushing her hair off her shoulder, words running with a frenzy through her mind, trying to piece together how she could get him to stand on her side, how she could get him to see the world through her eyes. “The whole thrill is the knowing that you might get caught, but being clever enough not to. If I strike you a deal, saying if we get caught, I’ll take all the blame, what would your response be?” She knew the offer must be at least a tad bit inviting, and the knowing that he wouldn’t have to face the blame enthralling. There had been too many people that she had brought into her twisted web, too many people that had succumbed to her power. No one was ever safe where Crisis was concerned; they would all one day run where the wild things are.
crisis-hale:
Now that doesn’t sound very comfortable.
Not to mention it would be an awful mess to clean up.
crisis-hale:
If you want me to stop, just tell me.
Just don't ask the wrong questions and we shouldn't have a problem.
crisis-hale:
But they both make people laugh.
Actually, they can make someone want to put themselves through a wood chipper.