#handsome garbage;

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Jasper’s phone - featuring @detectivegoldstein, @stressball, @causticprayer and @morgueroulette

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🙊 ― a memory you don’t ever talk about.

"C'mon, Autumn, you can talk to me. I ain't gonna spill nothin'." They were barely 20, two years after Sloane had died. It was after a rare visit from her parents, Jasper had left Faerune to visit the mortal realm, to see Autumn. He'd had a bad feeling. He couldn't explain it, but when he thought about Autumn, his stomach would sink. Autumn was unusually quiet, barely speaking and staring mostly off into the void. The promise of seeing Joseph later couldn't rouse her mood into something better. Something was wrong. He had a funny feeling that her father had something to do with it, compelling her in some way, but every time he brought up the idea, Autumn shot it down. "Dad would never." Oh, but wouldn't he? Anything to keep his kid under control. He could have sworn he'd seen it once. Jasper decided to take matters into his own hands and went looking for her father, traversing the mortal realm as a crow. He stopped, recognizing a rune etched into snow, fluttering down to investigate. The kid that snatched him looked rough, already beat bloody, eyes focused in different directions, almost dissociated. "Mr. Sullivan says 'hello'." The voice was almost robotic as the boy took a pair of wire cutters to his foot, but the malicious joy on his face wasn't. That was all him, not Mr. Sullivan. No, the boy was clearly practiced in mutilation.

Agony overtook his better judgment and Jasper fought back. Even knowing the boy was under some kind of compulsion, Jasper didn't want to stick around to find out what else the kid had in store. He managed to get himself free from the boy's grip and had gone straight for his eye. With an optical nerve clutched carefully in his beak, Jasper pulled, tearing off into the sky, taking the eye with him, all the way back to Faerune, his own wound still dripping blood as he went.

He never spoke of the events, not even to Autumn, only mentioning that he had a run in with a psychopath, and it would never happen again.

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Classic Acid Put me back in the casket

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I gotta give it to you, boy, you know your stuff And I can tell that you're giving it all you got But there's a limit to your budding potential You're gonna need more money

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Like a dehydrated scar, old habits beckon me.

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