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psilocybin--coffin replied to your post: y did u go all goth n shit? man u had everythin and den u lost it because u had sum strange BOOMARANGRANG for ur best frien. britfag n his mole already did that, y u can’t be original? u kno what u shud do? u shud have one of those BUKAKAKAKES wit da rest of de gothtroop. geddit, its like gooftroop but with goths. -p.p pete

what the hell is a bukakake

Fuck if I know.

#psilocybin--coffin #relaxguy

psilocybin--coffin replied to your post: FOR FINGERBANG EYES ONLY

stan is known to use the word ‘babe’ in a lot of his work

I'm sure you'd know, how much poems has he wrote for you again? I'd love to read them.

#psilocybin--coffin #relaxguy

[3rd Long] Henrietta Biggle and Stan Marsh

Summary: Henrietta comes upon Stark's Pond in search of a place to write poetry but finds Stan, drinking there, instead.

Takes place on: Friday, July 6th, in the evening. Part of Miniplot IV: Genderbend.

Stan sat on a log near the front of the pond, staring off against the water. There was a bottle at the side of the piece of wood, half drunk, cap screwed closed for the moment. He took a long breath, finally letting it out as the once boy rested his head against both hands, elbows propped at his knees in the surrounding more foresty area. Seeking a quiet spot away from any pop idol paraphernalia, Henrietta stumbled along down to the pond area, right where she remembered it used to be in her own world. With a composition notebook tucked under her now masculine arm, she took a deep breath of the night air and smiled a little on the inside. Her thoughts were so focused on the day's activities that she had failed to notice Stan looking very much like a bum nearby and, going to take a seat on that very log, she was shocked to find him laying there instead. "Uh, wow, is that what you do when you're not working? Drink and mope? Move over, Stan, I don't want to sit on the ground." Stan started slightly, looking up in something of a drunk stupor through the relative dark--more dark, at least, than the town back down the hill. "....Henrietta?" He asked rather dumbly and it was a few seconds before he frowned, shifting his weight from where he sat to give her more room, albeit it was more on automatic and instinct than anything else. It took a few more seconds for the words to really settle in and for him to look back down, pinching his nose and rubbing the hand down his face as if trying to think properly. "Uh-yea. Yea, this is where I have all my fun...." He winced slightly, voice only a little slurred all considered, "And you...?" "You look like a wreck, but I'm not sure if that's anything new or not," she sighed, taking a seat at the edge of the log and as far away as possible without seeming rude. Henri had to shift her weight a little, mostly out of habit and fear of breaking the log beneath her. "I came down to see if I could do a little writing out here in solitude. Guess not," instead of keeping her notebook close, she set it on the ground, almost abandoning it in favor of conversation. "Hey, Stan, do you mind if I ask something? Are you drowning yourself in booze for a reason or is this normal?" Stan didn't particularly answer, or perhaps he was too along in his own thoughts to pay attention as Henrietta spoke, still massaging his forehead. At the last question however he glanced up, gaze slightly off from focused, now that it was something actually directed toward him to answer. "Mmm...? I'm fine, dude. Just....you know..." He gave a vague wave, and in fact, even at that groped slightly in the darkness without really properly looking for the whiskey at the side of the log, now thankfully a bit closer to him. After finally getting a hold of it, he uncapped the bottle and, rather ungracefully, took a good swig from it. Henrietta looked almost enviously at the liquor and decided it was best to not say much else. Despite being in an awkward situation, sitting in silence with Stan of all people, she wanted to make the best of her time and pulled her notebook back to start writing. Using the light of a freshly lit cigarette to guide her pen, ink met the paper and formed words that one might only find in a Victorian-era novel or a really bad book of poetry. Admittedly, something was irking Henrietta, and she repeatedly looked back at Stan and his whiskey discreetly. Even drunk, the furtive glances didn't go passed Stan. From his own experiences with Evan, he was used to, even drunk, sharing a bottle. It almost would have been downright bad manners while drinking in company, albeit it took his mind to really get to that point only after perhaps the fifth or so glance from the girl. Rather unsteadily, Stan held the glass bottle toward her without a word, listening a bit numbly to the sound of pen scratching against paper, vaguely reminded of Kenny through the smell of cigarette smoke. "Mind if I ask...what you're writing?" His words, while still a little slurred and certainly heavy, seemed to come out impressively coherent for how wasted he seemed, the female body, decidedly, doing nothing for this either. Raising her eyebrows at the offered bottle, Hen timidly took it in her own hands, taking a swig and wiping her lips with her glove. She wasn't expecting the generosity, though she handed the whiskey back without a thank you. Perhaps her gratitude was apparent in the small smile that she hid from view, although, obviously, Stan wasn't going to see it. "It's... just some rambling. The usual. If you have any idea of what the usual is, I'm not actually sure if you do or not." "In...poetry?" Stan took a second to look off against the pond, as if still on something of a distance, or a slow process in mind through the words Hen had spoken. Still however, despite the pause and heaviness in the green eyes as they looked off, he finally spoke, "Well....after...that thing with you guys--back in the day, like, fourth grade. Later on I started tryin' to write...poetry again. Lyrics and things, you know...songs...but I certainly haven't heard your poetry in a while." He gave a slight, soft frown, eventually dragging his eyes back over toward Henrietta and her notebook, setting the whiskey bottle gently, but unevenly, between them to lean against the log they sat on for easy access for either of them. "Hah, well, don't expect that to change anytime soon. This is... this junk is personal and not very interesting at all, but it helps to get thoughts out onto paper," she replied, glancing down at the whiskey again now that it was between them. Henri wondered if Stan would be too wasted to notice if she were to suddenly get up and walk away with his drink, then thought, wow, she wasn't /that/ mean. Her body tensed at all of the movement and shifting around on the other side of the log. "So, have you written in a while? I mean, I bet we could share, sort of like old times, as lame as that sounds." He grinned at that, rubbing his hand against his face again as he looked off. "Yea....yea, I've written. I still write...have a lot, last few years...honestly, they're...most of them are songs now, but...still." His eyes fell back down to the bottle, but surprisingly, even as they held it for a few seconds, seemed to think better of it, instead turning to try and focus on Henrietta beside him. "I uh...get them being personal...I don't even share the songs with anyone. Actually at all." He shrugged, but again gave a tired grin at the last bit, "But...that doesn't sound too bad. I mean, I think I can...probably manage to share some of them." Shaking his head, he continued, agreeing almost in a slightly tired fashion, "I guess sort of like old times..." Henrietta finally took another swig of the whiskey after a long pause and flicked the ashes of her cigarette away. "You have a slur right now, if you haven't noticed. I doubt you would be able to recite any of your songs, but maybe later?" she shrugged, looking down at the boots she had picked up earlier in the week to match her new body, a bit of gloom in her voice. "It would be nice to have someone to exchange poetry or writing with. I don't know if my... um, my friends, I don't know if they write much. It would make it a hell of a lot easier to cope with this shithole." Stan frowned, looking off, "Outside the sky, unreveled by storm, in with the light, I watched your world burn, but stood on the side over and done, wanting nothing, you spoke, a focus to run; here is a speech, this moment, a past unreproaching--so cold, to me and this world--this second, these seconds, I missed your call, soothing and focused. If I could've found it what would I be--no, just a man, a stone, a pause underneath the sight, of a gasping rattle, I can't just bequeath, anything just in focus of a mind that left somewhere, alone, at end, a dark, a turn from heaven, to find you there while the dance begins again." He took a breath, leaning back, still staring off against the water, eventually glancing sideways over toward Henrietta. "I've...been drunk a lot dude. 'ell." He was grinning slightly, sloppily in a dazed and yet certainly grounded manner, laughing for just a second, "most of this stuff I've written drunk." In response, Henri blinked, laughing quietly when he had grinned, so proud of himself. "Eheh. Better than 'I miss you so much, babe, I want to hold you in my arms.' It looks like you've improved, Stan," she smiled softly and blew smoke in the direction of the air current, clearing her throat. "The version of you that I remember was a drunk, too. Always depressed about something or another, so, it makes me wonder. What the deeper meaning is behind your soliloquy. There's usually something, you know? I've read some of my poems that I had written while stoned and they made close to zero sense. But that's the beauty of drugs like alcohol and marijuana; it's like they break your sense of tradition and totally hone all of your creativity into writing. It's great." Hen leaned back, supporting herself with her hands, most likely philosophizing while looking up at the sky. "Mmm....apparentl' it's the same, me bein' drunk...in other realities..." He supplied, somewhat distant on real thought after Henrietta speaks, even as he joins her in looking up to the sky. It's clouded, overshadowed by the lights into town and really only a few stars sparkle out to them. He finds it, regardless, a little relaxing. Peaceful. Comparatively to the town below and everything else and everyone it holds, it's a wonderful escape. "And yea, man, guess that's true...guess I never thought about 't. Honestly. Writing just sort of became something I did." He took a breath of the air, the smell on the forest around them helping sober him up slightly, "To get away, or just to put thoughts down, or...something..." He let the second pause once more, taking another breath while still keeping his gaze focused off against the sky above, the blue hues and stars broken up through the trees around them. "Should actually be thanking you guys honestl', hah. If not for the Raven thing I doubt I would've even started that up again." He grinned just a little on that, still staring above them. "Yeah..." she mumbled, sort of agreeing with everything passively, and rocked forward into standing abruptly. With a flick of her cigarette, Henrietta dropped it onto the dirt ground and twisted her heel on it. "This is... nice. I guess. This spot away from the conformist little clubs and neon lights," she said, distractedly, "No need to be a suck up, Stan, you still ditched us after we helped you out. And now everything is a bit whacked in this universe, and I think all of the emotions involved with your abandonment don't matter at all. It's great that you found a muse and continued writing." She turned around and smiled down at him, gathering together all of her things and holding them to her chest, much like a school girl only in a man's body. "And it's kind of nice to see you here, actually. And talking," Hen nervously continued. "I'm gonna get lost now. Talking is a distraction when I came out here to write." Stan looked up vaguely as Hen made to leave, watching her gather her things, still leaning back against the log with his hands placed behind him. He rose a brow, but smiled weakly through the evening air, "Ah--yea. Than's dude." And as she continued, he gave something on a good grin while she looked down at him, shrugging, "Should stop by here more often." He commented in something of an easy going note, "Def'nitely better than what's into town, if...well, nothing els'." And with that, he rose a hand in a slight, half assed sort of wave as if to say good luck, his other free hand reached down for the neck of the bottle--looking, for the moment, perfectly content to keep drinking, sitting there alone, in front of the pond. "Right, well, um. Don't be a dumbass and fall asleep out here," Henri shrugged, giving him a cold, flat expression. For a moment she contemplated flipping him off as a farewell, which may or may not have been habitual. She forced herself to trek back uphill towards the town, stumbling once in the dark, looking behind her partway up. In the case that he noticed her looming there, which she knew would be rather awkward, Henrietta quickly trotted away back to the dorms.

#relaxguy #log #3rd long #chrome-blogging #psilocybin--coffin #plot: genderbend #submission

[ IM CONVO] Georgie and Henrietta

Summary: Henrietta messages Kindergoth in order to fuss and nag about the dangers of meddling with the antichrist, as well as to make sure Kinder is fine after the fight. They chat about holding a seance, boys, being boys, and... something to do with an orchestra (?)

#relaxguy #Log #AIM #cthulus-cunt #psilocybin--coffin #submission

[3rd Abriev:] Stan, Kenny, Henrietta, Christophe, Cartman

Summary: Kenny's Induction Drinking Party at Gomez Mart and then Sizzlers. Body Shots and Drams abound.

Takes Place: June 22nd 2012

#psilocybin--coffin #afuckinusername #badkittymypotpie #chrome-blogging #letaupetueur #relaxguy

[AIM Convo] Kyle and Henrietta

Summary: After a short conversation on tumblr, Kyle decides to message Henrietta so that they can privately discuss the after affects of his curse. However they end up discussing a lot more than just that.

Takes Place: Saturday night, June 16, 2012

#relaxguy #Log #AIM #redheadnerdgasm #psilocybin--coffin #submission

[IM CONVO] Kyle and Henrietta

Summary: Henrietta messages Kyle about his death in hopes of finding a muse for poetry. Their ideologies clash, but in the end they discover that they can agree on a several things after all. Takes place: June 8th, 2012

#relaxguy #AIM #psilocybin--coffin #redheadnerdgasm #submission

psilocybin--coffin replied to your photo: I made this for Stan with supplies from the Gomez...

evan why have you been acting so fucking nice? please tell me you haven’t been converted to conformity. i don’t want to actually worry about this.

Well, I believe it's the same reason everything around you has been exploding, dear Henri. I guess it's technically a "curse," but I feel like it's a blessing!

I want to shoot myself. Kill me...

No need for ugly or impolite thoughts!

#psilocybin--coffin #relaxguy