and heal, heal, heal, heal.

take my mind & take my pain, like an empty bottle takes the rain. and take my past & take my sins, like an empty sail takes the wind & tell me some things last. take my heart & take my hands, like the ocean takes the dirty sands, and heal, heal, hell, heal!! forest, 0733.

[jtoyoshima-blog]

too many secrets, too much scotch. | forest & jaelyn.

[pembrcke-blog]

jtoyoshima:

Jae couldn’t help but let out a laugh, no matter what her mind was preoccupied with Forest could always make her feel better, could pull her out of her own head for a bit, and she would always be grateful. “Any requests? Actually,” She paused for a moment to think about their options. “I’ll just order the assorted platter.” A bright grin. “A little bit of everything.” She knew Forest could be stingy when it came to offered food—she understood why, but it was still frustrating—so she figured ordering a lot was a good way to get him to eat more. She gave their order to a member of the staff as they passed by, and was promised it wouldn’t be very long as they walked off.

It didn’t take long for the unease to settle back in like a wet rag in her stomach, uncomfortable and annoying and practically impossible to get rid of, but she kept herself from focusing on it, not allowing herself to wallow would prevent the wallowing eventually, right?

    “What do you think about-” She waved her hand in a circle above her head in an attempt to signal the gala. “All this? The gala and fire, I mean, not the Clairvoyant business altogether.” She took a giant gulp of her drink before continuing. “They say it’s a hate crime, which wouldn’t be overly surprising, but fires happen all the time? Who says it’s not just a coincidence?” Jaelyn knew that was the optimist in her speaking, it didn’t come out very often, since she personally preferred to be realistic, but this seemed like the perfect time to shake off the dust. There had been protests, yes, but none of them had been inherently violent. Jumping to conclusions didn’t seem like a smart idea, especially not when there were lives at stake. “Maybe there’s nobody targeting Clairs like that and we’re just making a bigger deal out of this than there needs to be?” 

One of the things he loved most about Jae is how well she knew him. She was one of his best friends in the world for a reason. And Forest would never ask anything of her, but he appreciated that she when and what she could do to support him. Forest would never ask Jae of anything, but little things like ordering food for them, without giving Forest time to protest or try to pay — it made the burden of all the stress a little lighter. “That sounds good, Jae, thank you.” He had to lean into moments like this; kindness didn’t come often for people like Forest. It was like jarring fireflies, Forest had to grab them before they were gone. He had to remember each and every one of them, because if he let them slip away — the light would go out, and the world would feel a little darker.

Jae’s question made him take pause — his mind was racing before she even ended her sentence. Clairs. Of course she’d bring up Clairs. They were at a Clair charity gala, to be sure, of course the topic would come up. Forest would have to be an idiot to think otherwise.

Luckily for him, the question had circumvented Clairs as a specific topic — Forest hated lying; to him it was one of the worst sins, and to lie to Jae would actually be painful. Any response he gave on any branch of the topic would be misleading at best, but an outright lie — he couldn’t stomach the thought. “I mean... considering all the sums of who I am, I think I know what hate looks like pretty well. And I’m -— I’m sure you remember the protests? The hate there... it was palpable. You could feel it, right? In the air, it was suffocating. I’m really, really saddened by what’s happening, but I’m not surprised. People are afraid of what they don’t understand.” He saw Jae down her drink, and he followed suit, asking a passing waiter to bring him another. Forest had a feeling that he’d need to be pretty tipsy for this conversation. “I even see it at my church, you know? We keep talking about how we need to love one another, how we need to be kinder, and stronger, and more supportive, because there’s a tsunami of anger and fear and mistrust falling upon us, but... I hear people whisper. And I think... I think it would be naive to think of this as any less than it is. Jumping to conclusions is dangerous, but so is underestimating a threat.”

[pembrcke-blog]

all i want for christmas *  #TBT

Forest liked to pretend he was an idealist. It matched his image more — saccharine-smiling, bright-eyed sunshine boy; it only made sense if he thought the best of everyone, right? Unfortunately, life taught Forest to be a lot more realistic in his expectations; of people, especially. Life taught Forest that, and his mother drove the message home.

Forest loved his mother. There were a lot of parts to her that were brilliant. She was a beautiful storyteller, incessantly kind, as generous as she could be. He loved his mother — but he was well aware of how terrible a parent she was. How could she be a good mother? She was mentally ill, precariously housed. She left home at sixteen, was a teen parent. She was a drug addict. She didn’t have the capability to be a good mother. Forest loved his mother, but he was realistic in his expectations of her. He had learned to be long ago. It staved off the disappointment, whenever she fell short.

It was 10 o’clock on Christmas night, though, and this year, the disappointment was hard to swallow. She promised she’d be home for Christmas. She promised she’d be sober for Christmas. But she had been gone when he had woken up, still hadn’t been home, and he had serious doubts that she’d be either.

He didn’t know why he had deluded himself into thinking that it would be anything different; how could he trick himself into thinking that this Christmas would be anything more than another night alone? After her last boyfriend, her mother had gotten bad. She was using full-swing, more and more. She might not have even realized it was Christmas — she probably wouldn’t until tomorrow, when she saw Forest’s puffy, tired eyes, the delicately wrapped present he’d left for her on the coffee table (a hand-knitted sweater, a little scratchy and mangy, definitely too big for her tiny frame, but ravelled together with love). She’d fold herself into the couch beside him, eyes wide and apologetic. She’d be so sorry, baby, Mommy forgot. And Forest would tell her it’s alright, Mama, I understand. Next year, okay?

Forest was moments from finally giving up the ghost when the door creaked open. A shadow slipped through, and he rose from his spot on the couch, a hesitant smile spreading.

Mom was home for Christmas.

He could smell the takeout as soon as she entered the room, hitting him like a wall — Christmases were like that when he was little, splurging on pho, the scent of cilantro and lime filling the apartment. His mother couldn’t cook, and he didn’t learn until he was nine or ten, so Christmas takeout became tradition.

Magnolia put the styrofoam containers on the counter, a present bag placed on the coffee table beside Forest’s, gliding like a wraith towards him. Something that Forest would always remember about his mother was that she was always more of a suggestion of a woman than a woman herself — a whisper, a shadow, a glimmer sparkling when the light hit her just right — but she never seemed to exist on quite the same plane. She’d been an ethereal creature for as long as Forest could remember.

Forest opened his arms and Magnolia landed in them, curling into her son. It’d been years since he started eclipsed her in size, bean-sprout boy he was, but his head curled into her hair, her whispering to him in that cloud-light voice — “Sorry it took me so long to come home, baby, it’s been a busy day, I wanted to make sure everything was perfect for you, I wanted to make sure I was good,” — Forest responding with comforting platitudes, sighs of forgiveness and appreciation — “No, Mama, it’s fine, don’t worry, you’re here now, that’s what matters,” — he felt like a child again, her arms around him. It felt like Christmas, the ones he’d missed in the past few years, when she was too unwell to take care of him. He felt like a child.

This felt like home.

After they broke apart, Forest made quick work of dishing out the pho as Magnolia turned on the Christmas music, letting it rattle through cheap, tinny speakers. They danced around the tiny apartment for a moment, giggling to each other as the cheesy music played. They waltzed through the living room to Mariah Carey crooning, yelling out the lyrics, too-loud and off-key. As the song petered out, Forest span Magnolia, finally dropping onto the couch with a thud.

“Oh, wait, sweetie — before we eat, open my present, alright?” Forest paused for a moment, hand hovering above his chopsticks. It was a good Christmas if his mother bothered to show up. It was a great Christmas if she showed up sober. Even better if she wasn’t jonesing. Forest hadn’t gotten a Christmas present since he was six years old. He could remember it with vivid clarity — a colouring book and a package of markers. He hadn’t gotten anything since, and he learned, quickly, to lower expectations.

Forest didn’t know what to do. So he smiled at his mother, nodded, and opened the present.

It was a sketchpad and a pack of pencil crayons. They were nice, too — specifically for art. Forest couldn’t remember telling his mother about his interest in drawing; they didn’t speak much these days, her always strung out, Forest busy studying, trying to get scholarships. He was surprised she’d know what to get at all. With an immediate grin, he threw his arms around her, wrapping her into a hug.

“Thanks, mama, these are perfect. I got you something, too, you should open it, since we’re doing presents first.” Magnolia agreed, and began peeling away at the package he had for her. He tucked away her gleeful cry when she opened the present, memorized her carefree grin and the way she tossed herself towards him. These were the moments he had to hold onto forever. These were the moments he’d miss the most.

The night petered off after the pho was eaten and all the Christmas movies had played through. It was nearly 3 by the time Forest snuck off to bed, infomercials lighting Magnolia’s sleeping face on the couch.

As he crawled into bed, he thought about how happy he was. He thought about how good Magnolia was, how thoughtful and caring and funny and kind his mother could be. He held the sketchbook in his arms. running his thumb up and down the spine, hardly able to believe it was real. He was so happy. Everything was so good.

It wouldn’t last, though. It never did.

[tyleryoungsource]

[whatsacanada]

[pembrcke-blog]

☠

☠: my muse’s reaction to being told that your muse is missing, and presumed dead

To Forest, Flint is some kind of indestructible, ethereal creature. A Pagan God, peering over Prada sunglasses. sipping coffee, reeking of judgement. To Forest, Flint is Hermes in Hermés, as close to wealth as Forest’s ever going to get. When a person has a bank account with that many zeroes in it, they’re a God. When a person is living dollar to dollar, they’re just a mortal, allowed to live in their God’s shadow.

To Forest, Flint is some kind of indestructible, ethereal creature. He never considered for a moment that his money could make him a target. Where Forest comes from, people just disappear. They fade out from existence, and their name is on nothing, so no one looks. They just don’t matter, in the grand scheme of things. They’re just another ant in the shadow of a God. Flint walks on air. People will notice when he’s gone. He has enough money to get himself back when they do.

So Flint can’t be dead. It just can’t be true. This is the set-up to an action movie. This is a spy book, a story in the news. This is not a thing that happens to boy-Gods like Flint. Flint is an indestructible, ethereal creature — but he’s close enough to touch, and Forest has proof, too-nice towels and sheets in his apartment, expensive coffee cups in his trash and conditioner pricier than his grocery bill in his bathroom — proof that this God is real. To think that Flint is missing — dead — missing is beyond comprehension.

Kidnapping doesn’t happen to real people or real Gods. It happens to ambassadors’ sons, billionaires’ daughters, heirs to thrones. Names on paper that cast a shadow but never live. Forest knows how alive Flint is. It makes it too difficult to accept — that Flint could even have a remote chance of being dead.

Flint is some kind of indestructible, ethereal creature. Prada sunglasses, expensive conditioner, cool smiles and oversweetened ‘coffee’ drinks — those are the things that make him real. It’s all of these things, all put together — that promises Forest that Flint is still alive. He refuses to believe that Flint is dead.

Flint is indestructible, unshatterable ice and diamonds. It simply cannot be true.

[pembrcke-blog]

✿ ((((:

✿: my muse’s reaction to leaving a cut on your muse’s body

Tyler. How long since Forest had last seen that rot-bag’s face?

He’s older now than he was when his mom and Tyler were together. That was two years ago, the year before she died. Now, he’s angry. Now, Forest really understands how much worse Tyler made her. How much sicker she became when he was there, after he was gone. He knows what a scumbag this guy is, how he’s a thief and a dealer and an asshole, and that he was only fifteen, he was only sixteen, he couldn’t have protected her from him. Now he knows all of these things, and his hands curl into white-knuckle fists whenever he thinks of Tyler.

His hands curl into fists when he sees Tyler for the first time since his mom died. The rest of him shakes. Their eyes meet. Forest goes cold.

“Forest? For, is that you? Where your mom, huh? Haven’t seen her around lately, tell her to give me a call —” and Forest is gone, slinking into the crowd. He feels viciously sick, shaken to his core, and the only thing on his mind is get away, get out of sight, get out, out, out. He sees an alleyway, and, feeling eyes on his back, throws himself into it.

He didn’t expect to hit a body.

Especially not Zach’s body — live body, thankfully — in some sketchy alleyway, in the shitty part of town. He didn’t know Zach existed in places like these. Zach existed in libraries and chemistry labs and sunshine-y lakes and college parties and the suburbs. Not in the same world as Tyler. Not the one Forest slipped into when he went home every night. Forest was still shaking as he pulled himself off Zach, still ghost-white.

“Z - - Zach, I — what are you doing in a - a place like this? I’m sorry, um, just, I saw — my mom’s old dealer, and I — oh, jeepers, are you alright?” Forest’s eyes zero in to the sight of red, dotting Zach’s elbow. He must’ve gotten scraped when Forest tackled him, and instantly, Forest was filled with guilt. It was almost good, though, the guilt — it was doing a good job at overriding the fear from moments previous. “Oh man, I’m sorry, Zach, I — that doesn’t look good, I’m sorry I... tackled you. Hey, um, I live near here, if you want to get that cleaned up? I. Jeez, oh jeez. I am so sorry.”

He glanced behind him, and Tyler was gone. Forest wasn’t that sorry.

[pembrcke-blog]

⚈

⚈: my muse’s reaction to finding drugs in your muse’s handbag

At this point, Forest isn’t even surprised — the drugs, the partying, it’s all things he’s seen from her before. He knows who Lena Morgan is. He’s tried to help her, he’s wanted to save her — and she’s spit in his face. She’s not a girl who wants saving.

So Forest isn’t surprised, so when he knocks into her, when her purse falls onto the ground and he sees the baggie of white powder, the baggie of tiny pills, his breath doesn’t catch.

When he sees clear crystals, sparkling in the moonlight, he chokes. Those little crystals sparkle in the backlight of his entire childhood. He’s seen those same shards on his coffee table, in his mother’s grabby fingers, flashing from her boyfriends’ pockets. He’s seen it crushed, on lines across the counter. He’s wiped the dust off of his own nose (once, only once). The people he’s seen — they aren’t like Lena. They don’t just die, they fade out, or they burst into a fiery inferno. They’re not tragedies. They’re newspaper headlines, and statistics. His own mother was just a number.

He’s angry, because Lena would be a tragedy.

Forest snatches up the bag of meth. He waves it in her face — unapologetic, vitriolic. This is the angriest she’ll ever see him.

“This shit? Will kill you. Before you can blink. It will fucking kill you — I’m not even joking, or trying to be preachy. Stick to pills. ”

[pembrcke-blog]

♒ [i lov pain :-)]

♒: my muse’s reaction to finding your muse bruised and beaten on their doorstep

When Forest opens his door, his heart drops past his feet, all the way to the ground floor.

Jaelyn’s one of his best friends in the world. He would trust her with his life — and he’d do anything to protect her. He knows that she bristles and spits acid, that she could beat him in a fight any day of the week, is perfectly fine of protecting herself — but Forest would throw himself in front of a bullet for Jae.

When he sees her, bloody, bruised and beaten, he feels like he’s failed.

Words are lost to him — he moves to action, because there’s nothing else to be done. If he faints from the blood, heaves from the shock at her battered face, he fails her again. So he’s all action, all solutions; he raises her up, gently, slowly. The last time he had to drag someone this beat through the door, it was his mom’s last boyfriend. He had his ass kicked by his dealer. The guy almost died. Forest’s heart is thudding on the ground floor and echoing so loud he can’t hear anything through the pulsing in his ears. Her limp Raggedy Ann-body is deposited on his mattress. For once, Forest doesn’t worry about something staining his course sheets.

Shiny metal scissors tear through fabric with a practiced elegance. Artist fingers finding themselves playing medic as he twists gauze around the cuts, scrapes and gashes he can find. Peroxide bubbles like a science experiment, and Forest whispers whatever soothing platitudes he can muster in Jae’s ear, hands ghosting her hair.

Forest is afraid, and has failed to protect her, but he can fix her.

He doesn’t ask questions. He doesn’t bother — he doesn’t want to know. He doesn’t want to have to fret later, have to hover over Jae, worry about her safety. This has never happened before, and he can only hope it won’t happen again.

He doesn’t rest that night. He’s barely able to calm his racing pulse, his shaking hands — only pacified by Jae’s soft, rhythmic beating; the steady rise and fall of her chest stopping his lungs from constricting. Jaelyn is one of his best friends in the world. He’s had to do this before, had to take his artist hands and dip them into something ugly, but never for someone good. He doesn’t know how to reconcile it.

He’s glad he can fix her, but he never wants to have to do this again.

He’s never been so afraid in his life.

[pembrcke-blog]

✏

✏: my muse’s letter to yours that they left after they passed away

Dear Rai,

If you’re reading this, I’m dead. I guess. Or you’re snooping, which is just rude, and if that’s the case, get out of my stuff! ...Sorry, that’s a little light given the circumstances, isn’t it?

I’m not writing this to try and make you feel bad or anything, or drudge up old memories. I hope you aren’t dwelling on me. I hope you packed me up into a box, and moved on. I know it’s hard to do that, but I’d hate to hold anyone up. Especially not you. I just know how hard it is to have to keep going without closure. You’re my most important person. I want to make sure you get some.

I don’t know how to tell you how much you mean to me, Rai. I don’t know how to write down the words that show you what you are in my heart. I’ve tried to write them, I don’t know how many drafts of this letter I’ve torn up and burned. I’ve tried to draw them, paint them, but they end up twisted messes of colours that don’t work together quite right. I don’t really know what that means, but I hope that you get the gist. I think you’re smarter than me, anyways, so you probably know, right?

Please don’t ever write yourself off, Rai. I don’t know what I wanted to say starting this, but I think that’s it. I don’t want you to write yourself off. Go back to school. Try new things. Don’t sell yourself short. That brain of yours is the most wonderful thing I’ve ever gotten to bear witness to. It’s so full of intelligence and wit and kindness that I think it would be a crime to try and keep it to yourself. You shared a bit of that with me, Rai, and I would be disappointed if that was my privilege alone.

I know you don’t believe in a lot, Rai, and you know I have a lot of faith. In you, in people, in everything. I have so much faith that I’ll see you on the other side. Not soon, hopefully, but I’ll see you there. Do your best to see that you end up on my side, alright? Try and make it the good one. We can do it; both of us.

Don’t let me hold you back, but if you could try not to forget about me, that would be more than enough, alright? Just... try not to forget. Think of happy memories.

Love always,

Forest

[pembrcke-blog]

☕

☕: my muse comforting yours after the death of a loved one

“It’s fine, Seb, please don’t get upset. It was only a plant.”

That’s a lie, and Forest knew it. To Forest, a plant is never ‘just a plant’. Ironically, Forest views all of his plants as extensions of him.

Still, it was kind of funny that Forest was comforting Seb about the death of Forest’s plant-baby. Elvira the Tomato Plant had faded out slowly over the past few months, and Forest’s little desk light simply couldn’t sustain her. Her life was over before it even began. She hadn’t even had a chance to flower — a youth cut tragically short.

Forest rubbed Seb’s back, tears welling in his own eyes. His head dropped on the other’s shoulders as they sat on the bench opposite Elvira’s grave. All that marked that she ever lived, that she ever felt the sun’s light and the cool Seattle breeze, was the tiny tomato marker that signified her unfulfilled purpose in life.

It was kind of poetic, wasn’t it?

“We can grow another, alright? Let’s pick up some seeds and an egg carton today. Elvira’s legacy will live on, I swear to you.

[pembrcke-blog]

☏

☏: my muse’s reaction to getting a phone call from the hospital about your muse

“Owen? Is everything okay?”

Forest has been surprised when he had gotten the call. He and Owen were work friends, they had a few classes — they weren’t close. They had a couple conversations, and Forest got the feeling that there was something else Owen was looking for from him — something he wasn’t ready to ask about, or didn’t feel comfortable. As a good Christian and a good friend, Forest was happy to wait, and would be happy to listen when Owen was ready. Still, they weren’t close — and this was not the kind of call he was expecting.

“The hospital? Oh my gosh, Owen, are you alright?” There was something terribly familiar about Owen’s shaky call, hushed whispers and apologetic tone — Forest had been in that position too many times, caught somewhere bad with no one he could trust to call, just casual friends and teachers that didn’t even like him that much. His heart sank into his stomach just thinking about it. How alone was this boy? How much help did he need?

In that moment, he felt he had caught Owen. He was not just a quiet, coffee-acidic co-worker. He was a jagged edge of a boy who needed a soft touch and a caring word.

Forest liked having purpose, and Owen felt like purpose. Even though it was a little horrible to think, Owen was a bit like a project, wasn’t he? Someone to save. In that moment, Forest decided his mission: be the person Owen could call with confidence, or find someone even better. He could help — he had to. He didn’t deserve a good future (hanging over his head like both a promise and a threat) if he didn’t extend that kindness to others. Owen — such a convenient place to start, falling into his lap like this.

“No, no, don’t worry — no, you’re not bothering me, this isn’t a bother at all. Tell me what you need. Someone to pick you up? Anything. Really, Owen, I want to help.”

[takexshelter-blog]

SEND ME A SYMBOL FOR ANGST;

☔: my muses reaction to opening their front door and seeing yours drenched in rain

⚡: how my muse calms yours in a lightening storm while they’re pulled over on the side of the road

☆: my muse comforting yours while they get a tattoo

☏: my muse’s reaction to getting a phone call from the hospital about your muse

☯: what my muse says to yours after they haven’t spoken for five hours since a fight

✏: my muse’s letter to yours that they left after they passed away

⚰: my muse’s reaction to watching yours die from afar

✿: my muse’s reaction to leaving a cut on your muse’s body

♒: my muse’s reaction to finding your muse bruised and beaten on their doorstep

⚈: my muse’s reaction to finding drugs in your muse’s handbag

✺: my muse protecting yours from a sleaze at the club

☠: my muse’s reaction to being told that your muse is missing, and presumed dead

☺: my muse finding yours on the side of the road, hours away from home

✖: the last thing my muse says to yours before leaving for good

⌛: the voicemail my muse leaves on your phone when your muse hasn’t been heard from for the fifth night this week

☕: my muse comforting yours after the death of a loved one

⚱: my muse’s reaction to waking up to yours muse, beaten by mine, but my muse has no recollection of the night before

☉: my muse’s reaction to finding yours in a public bathroom, drugged and almost unconscious

SPECIFY WHICH MUSE ON MINE AND YOUR BEHALF

[pembrcke-blog]

it’s just so hard to see tomorrow past tonight *  forest + rai

@jayrais

It was very convenient that Rai was already a block away from the gala, ready to go.

It was very convenient, to the point where any reasonable person would question it — like, “Hey, why are you already in a suit? Why are you so close to the event? Did you know I’d agree to go with you? What’s the deal?”. Forest knows Rai well enough not to bother asking. He’d much rather accept it as coincidence, because Rai is a little strange sometimes, and just rolling with it works much better than any other method. Forest has long-accepted that you have to take some people as they come, and he’ll take Rai happily.

He was only a few blocks from where Rai was, so it didn’t take long for Forest to find his friend, lone figure under a streetlight. Walking towards the gala was a little odd for Forest — despite his height, he was used to shrinking away, disappearing into crowds. His face, his clothing, his gait all lent itself to keeping Forest in the background, making him insignificant. In the suit, though, he felt he stuck out like a sore thumb. He never felt at home in clothes like this — even when he was waiting tables, he felt like a fraud, like someone would call him out, say he wasn’t supposed to be there at all. A few heads turned as he walked down the street, and Forest didn’t know what to make of it — which was why he was glad to see Rai. People didn’t look at Rai unless he wanted to be looked at, and when he wanted to be looked at, all eyes were on him, never Forest, and it was better that way.

As soon as he caught sight of Rai, his pace sped up, a determined walk turning into a jog until he caught Rai, arm slinging around his friend’s shoulders, slotting himself into place. “Rai! Hey, I’m here, I got here as fast as I could.” He had, too. A call from Rai was like a call to action for Forest, and he wrangled himself into his monkey suit in five minutes flat, speedwalking to their meeting point. He turns towards Rai, dazzling smile, like a dandelion turns towards a streetlamp, looking for the light. “I’m paying tonight. No ifs, ands or buts. It’s only ten dollars, I can afford it. You can buy me a drink, alright? Good. Deal.”

[pembrcke-blog]

sms * forest

rai: youd make a pretty average ghost i guess : /

rai: you'd knock over a lamp and then apologize to the house owner maybe.

rai: like a taller, string bean version of casper.

rai: i'm older than you im obligated to pay for everything dont stress bout it.

rai: how about you come here. im literally a block away from the venue.

rai: ?? come on im an old man dont make me walk thanks

forest: hhhhh how do u even have more money than me to spend

forest: u have 0 job and i have 7

forest: no ... more than that ..... nvm

forest: alright Old Man i'll come 2 u

forest: i'll leave in 1 Minute be ready 4 me

forest: see u soon 💕

[tyleryoungsource]

episodic stills from eyewitness - ‘mother’s day’

[pembrcke-blog]

sms * forest

rai: forest stop pretending you know me

rai: didnt we make a general agreement never to talk abt that.

rai: you're right !! it could've been us !!! thats sad! definitely !

rai: jk. i wish it was me i want to b spared from misery but okay fine nvm i'll pay for it instead i dont want you wasting money on me.

rai: but where are you, though?

forest: "stop pretending you know me" rai ....

forest: we did but i wanted to bring it up for the purpose of leverage. im sorry if it made u sad tho )~:

forest: rai dont say things like that !!!!! it would be awful if we died i would make a terrible ghost !!!!

forest: come onnnnnn i want to treat you for once

forest: you always pay for things

forest: i'm at the apartment getting ready hurry up rai

[pembrcke-blog]

sms * forest

rai: . .. forest.. i have literally not said anything yet

rai: how dare you assume? ?

rai: yeah but the fee is 10 each youre not gonna spend that much on me tf.

rai: i refuse to pay for this anyway. i feel like its a scam. gut feeling.

rai: if i promise to sleep with whoever the fuck is guarding the entrance, do you think it'd work.

forest: i dare to assume because i've spoken to you for more than five minutes

forest: remember when you tried to steal my wallet but instead of money you just got pity

forest: u are a scam

forest: and its for charity besides .. its for people who died in a FIRE rai it could've been us !!! just be generous to a non-me charity

forest: i think you should just let me shell out the cash and be the nice one for once