#gettin all poetic up in these words tonight

[pocketknifeprayers]

damage control

by cj pocketknifeprayers. 587 words. ao3 link

party was in one of their moods.

not the sad kind. wasn't the wouldnt-get-out-of-bed kind, or quiet-'cept-for-waxing-poetic-about-death-and-hopelessness kind. instead it was the kind that scared kobra a lil more, the one where they snapped at little things 'n spoke too fast 'n the things they said just didn't make too much sense. self sacrificial 'n balls to the wall energy.

he could tell when they were gettin' like this. a certain tone in their voice. on edge, almost. or sometimes jus' a type of confidence that pissed people off, arrogant 'n unlike themself. kobra didn't appreciate that becoming his sibling's reputation. it made him mad. that wasn't them in their right mind.

tonight their tone had an edge to it. he could hear them, talkin' too loud in their room, too fast, rambling 'n then laughing sharply at something they'd said. kobra could hear ghoul's responses, too. taken aback, quiet, listening. tired, too. it was late. he could picture the scene behind the thin wall he pressed his ear against. could picture poison pacing, or worked up 'bout somethin' grand, with ghoul assuming the role of damage-minimizer, worried 'til they came back down in a couple 'a days. (hopefully only 'a couple a days.)

kobra chewed at the skin on his lip as he listened, little pieces flakin' off from dehydration. he heard ghoul say somethin' inside, somethin' quiet that party didn't appreciate, 'n their attitude did a 180. their tone told kobra that they were sayin' something hurtful in return, berating ghoul, 'n kobra cringed to himself. fuckin' christ. he heard footsteps and quickly backed away from the door in time to be out of the way when it swung open, ghoul pushing his way past 'n out, swiping angrily at a tear streaming down his face. kobra made eye contact with a very pissed-off looking party poison inside through the opened door. their glare got even harder 'n kobra flinched when they slammed the door in his face.

ghoul was crying when kobra came in the room. he gingerly sat down next to him on the sagging mattress. stayed quiet 'til he wanted to talk. he did, eventually. all stuff kobra already knew. he coulda predicted what ghoul would say from the start. worry, fear for party's state 'a mind. they took offense to his suggestion that they weren't doing well. this was the best they'd ever felt, theyd said. they always said that when they got like this. clearer than ever. they knew their purpose. they wanted to die for it. wanted to feel it that deep. they couldn't see how not normal that was, ghoul cried, frustrated. how they couldn't see somethin' was wrong.

kobra worried too. was hard not to when your sibling, or in ghoul's case, your partner was sayin' this typa stuff. actin' this way. friggen concerning. they used to take meds for it, he remembered. things were bad when kobra was little. they acted all kinds of sideways, then the city put them on some medication. he didn't know whether he agreed with it or not. it took this violent up 'n down away from them but at what cost?

all 'a this started again with those pink and white pills, crushed under their boot on the sandy asphalt: a renunciation of the system the two of them left behind.

kobra made up his mind to talk about it with them when things had passed. til then, they were doing the best they could. all of them, poison included.

#party poison #kobra kid #my fic #the fab four #fics #danger days: the true lives of the fabulous killjoys #danger days #danger days fic #funpoison

[knivesofgravity]

U pfgm lay. Z wwiq cff tvwi ksqf tydlv oahp ymrpw swwbp. E epkrewzeg lay tlv'g xmmp evflffb ve e azsr, nyk epr nseoa jq lrgm ndi ipiy, esctl, nzgyzz zq qfcm gtee epve ffog rhii nwhxh.

Z hif xsje. Dbuh ryl ffeiocff hitngurx mmlaru epr qzvyb uavzkwa, nyk jwh. Ksl oqqz'x tlzr, pmuy'b savxpb, sayeo ur, eempl zq. Wgtlrd, avm-ermzvc, saaazyo lay yll yawk hpnf senm jmw pzcee. Aylb ga xyta qmc zd agupc jwhdw. Wcqrzh, wluvxc, szcap xfrmgtii tv fupbpv fmjveg.

V xsmp gbg. M czdr ksl. Lty flre gbg eip. Oemzzeiguselt cgpc dbearxpz gtee lvl exrc.

Miqr uftyqh, Z qmrx mk dbvxp. Ksig nprns uapv hpvol swmrpw kszbgky xg iqmed, arqoj ew eqgclqz flv ywg!etrnm br qv hprdi fykr ux yll uapu. Eprdi zd vb bezy. Vbzi ksig oee mm qqjzymq, mrphil. Mwypv fzsn hprz aylb jmw sfzaqh zd vbi rrfouf fle zhurj tv gti ctoufpvda aukye. Bumx zd eumx Z hif. Emercymvzeg yawk.

Omnfl yfzge, ijampuecwg gtvznm vz sep tvri. Z ow aax swizq xyp Dbuh wzz zk eteqbzw, ezz qa M swizq xyp zrmtvc nbd xyp apkxyp ig yc epkx. Ux nla zavv epnz jrtz, foecpa jqmxsmq ilvy buq xzxm pmqv. Lkgused pnhi tzvfqulpvpqw, jfku uw Kccgt. M bymj ilre Q jmw xpbgurx tvga. M bymj flre neqiuzu sdsd epr Hszo ene pzgqas se mwedsnpl guqv, pdrz ej T mkfieomq ux wlz cmwk epr xmdtb sav ld iyx. M jfnsqvvo buq gfyarcyvykre sw xg noxzzvf, nyk tn lay npzr fs jpieol wzz zk vvrzrf, xypzr uw ezvr fs wtvq.

Ux jeiefiu qivzx, pzc xzsn? Ywg vyje qa flre abyikture mk hwhxh sp i smmee jvf qfcm gmbzyo gtee tb ftslwl, ogx ksig flv qqeex kccr emxy ene aypv lay yll ga greku yi fykr ysip, if U wkfuoxiu, aifeiu zcg.

Ksl'gm nxarja oqie eprdi kz knfgy xm, nzh pzc jupc ltjmcj siiq qp epnzoj. Ywg vyje nbd xylb, ogx wzz rhiijbuurx.

Jwh oecw ur hszoprmvk, lvq flre zvzkj Ezhq. Hf jwh fejem gti ezb!qgwk zv layi ewasyv hprz wlnp n zedp nyaaj qzby cff? Qg uw ezb gtek T pnhi ez prmvk, lvq zsi ta vf xyp nnox ksig flv Gwvp lrd unpi r swzq me xm. Lay ntbu kslc ernw glbptiu epbei nzcapw. Z lu br xyp Dbuh, eze, ogx, dzzr flry bumx, Z lu br cff.

Qg'e e jtkxzijd Q jayco vbf azdp hbse lvl axypz, fggtfuourx ew gti jwwj pirep br Zftl. Aax czag, zsk qwesskema, wrfhv vytrnb cdijpziqh. Sfb vf llcbf. Ilre agmvkd if qbylcffmfy bhdrj ew rytkj phzkvc iap qzrznurvd. Acuvrwa vzxf aifemer whf. Xypzr uw fytl es dfku ayi xitug tzcyp ovpx nf frj. Q jaycov'g fvrom gti afuce jfc iakxytvt, nyk epbei Z'x ahdi utl nogvwmemxv xg smxv.

T lvqh yze n rei jwhzkvc ur zimpz qmvvo leqed eprk gfftq. Xsmpl, pmvvo nbd, wlczbgrupl ok jrxqyk ek xg oqhjtlr. Flv qqamp gwipq sw cmff M czvt emenm umh slzrxc cpng.

Aj rwt gtek T unk vvrzrf, M ipnhei kz icapfrqmq jfc buuw. Bywjurx epnf azep zk hvlbu, ksl hwhxh rwt sapcze aax wlz oqlzyl, gtek siasw ypiik ygzv zq, fle bumx zd vbf mk. T evxp ezb nbsczovli wzz xqigtvt yc wluvxc ntbu yi ktt gti ulg V pmvo.

Q jupc ywg mtfwwtudv qwe flv hqft sw xmrfmer itmme epnf M yptq qmksme. Ii yll fqie zbuqv nzzypw, np iyx oepe jq avcm oayeo bbsiksme. Urjpxndeswm.

Bgv jzcye wktty rivw bumx nlg, ga qv. T agupc owa'f echile oeze jtiip Q rzh. Z hqft M tzcyp jvpt gtek epeqeu ew suru jwh. Flv ljfqrtp iptij xweq xylv gti Mzqq pmu Ywg ar ksm javje lnkw. Z'x agqeuj, Q'z exrmtr, flv gwvp gryvbf vvlku yi. Sfb V imjs gbg gfftq.

Ux nla vzimtbnnpv epnf M'u mm gti wtzff sw fa 5 ga hzp. Q qa azdp V teuy'b yqjk jwh imks buq xrebrdiu dmiqvvo zryezya br xylb fayc mwap, impv gtslrp vz xyp tnex ppie ux nla n xser bvyi tzuvzk. Bywjz fvqweq mk sicbiepl. Ogx ksm yuzzyo fuhv ta aqzvc waq sw uwl, ilvy bumx zd tbex.

Kpzeav ryl voi-tztq isidm gtee gwvp tryqp, uw nsig U'h wptg. Yc rykuav, xzvr. Flv dbemrud pbxhzyo zq xfrmgtii, hwiqr zybb m wytmyp, zryqftiu. Tb jmw ulzx, mru tb jmw klz vz qp wcasw. Ksm Iamu lvq flv Gwvp sw jwh, ssep. Iyx M bymj flvy ene xylb V teu Wwff, xylb V Tyie, iap xylb V islwl txeuwg gdeup i gtek T ene xf nceq impv nz slykr aj ksig mkfyg.

V xsmp gbg, M czdr ksl, T tbhi pzc, V xsmp gbg. Cffz cdijpvpq me xg yujv ta javks jnp hrja, zqeed Q umzv oile. Cff ieq afcbu ux rwt nzh dzzr, fs sp tbhiu mg lay ryl ga pfgm vz vvecez.

#omgsmee #eqeoiik #rin speaks #gettin all poetic up in these words tonight #im good i just have many emotions all the time and wanted to have fun w them #💜💜

[ground-muttmeg]

Alfons, of course (for the character thing) also Russell Tringham

I’m gettin real tired so I think I’ll save Russell for tomorrow (love him, excited to talk about him), but tonight-

My boy!! My best boy!! Your fav and mine,

Alfons!

Why I like them: Oh my god you don’t wanna get me started. Oh god. The only reason I’m gonna hold back from a rant this time is bc it’s after midnight and I’m tired as heck rn, but just understand I do have an entire imaginary dissertation to share on Why I Love Alfons Heiderich.

Why I don’t: I’LL NEVER FORGIVE COS FOR MAKING HIM HIT EDWARD IN THE STAIRS SCENE. WHY DO THEY INSIST ON MAKING EVERYONE EDWARD LOVES HURT HIM, WHY

Favorite episode or scene: His introductory scene, him and Ed driving in the car and him laughing at Ed’s story 🥺🥺

Favorite season/movie: th,,,,,there’s not exactly much choice-

Favorite line: Okay besides his entire monologue with Edward before his death, I absolutely fucking LOVE the line he gives after Ed goes crashing through the window and banging all around before he lands inside the warehouse- “:0!......I guess we don’t have to go pick him up now-” FUCKING NNDKKDDJDJ

Favorite outfit: He’s only got one and he KILLS it ok, if it ain’t broke don’t fix it-

OTP: HeiEd!!!! Aahhh!!! I cannot express how much I adore this ship!!!

BROTP: Guess what it’s HeiEd again!!!! Because them as platonic besties is just as absolutely adorable!!! .....also I’m pretty sure Ed’s like the only character besides Noah that he speaks to in the whole film-

Headcanon: I really love the idea that Alfons isn’t only the parallel of Alphonse, but that he’s a representative combination of all the people Edward loved/looked up to—Al’s name and facial features, Winry’s hair and eye color (and engineering profession), Pinako for taking Edward in, Izumi for coughing up blood, Trisha for dying from a sickness, Hughes for dying from Bullet In Chest disease. It’s a really poetic way of tying up the series ngl (and is hella soulmate au fodder for HeiEd enthusiasts)

Unpopular opinion: Alfons is so rare already any opinion on him is unpopular-

A wish: WISH HE WASN’T DEAD THANKS

An oh-god-please-don’t-ever-happen: I’ve read it in fanfics- Alfons confesses to Edward, Edward rejects him, sometimes quite cruelly- As an Alfons kinnie (and Ed simp skdjf but the kinning Alfons is more important here), god, that stuff hurts so much... ,,,I should probably stop reading those djnfjf

5 words to best describe them: rent free headspace 24/7

My nickname for them: Actually my partner’s Ed’s nickname for him, but...Fons,,, 🥺💕💖

#bee talks

[notchainedtotrauma]

scream at you calling ur inbox a dry pussy ... here's two questions in one! firstable ... your blog is very artsy and im OBSESSED with the lil bits of poetry/media u send me; i wonder if you have a favorite poet? also! what books are you reading during the quarantine

You’re going to get a whole essay, I’m warning you. I have many favorite poets. All of them are Black, most of them (as in 98,8%) are women, and they’re all too fucking talented for this world. 

A poet whose work I absolutely adore though is Black lesbian feminist independent scholar and self proclaimed love evangelist Alexis Pauline Gumbs @blackfeminismlives (yes, she is on Tumblr). She released a trilogy of books (Spill: Scenes Of Black Feminist Fugitivity/M Archive: After The End of The World/Dub: Finding Ceremony) who all have in common this one thing: the prose poems they contain are inspired by quotes from three brilliant Black feminist thinkers, all still alive. Those thinkers are Hortense Spillers, M. Jacqui Alexander, who like Ms Gumbs, is a Black lesbian from the Caribbean, and Sylvia Wynter (and also they’re all very much still alive and producing). Her prose poems are just gorgeous and M Archive: After The End of the World might interest you. The story is basically that a Black feminist scientist uncovered information about human lives well after an apocalyptic event. An excerpt:

we took off our leaden clothes and we skipped out of our concrete shoes and we went barefoot enough to bear the rubble we had created just before . . . we touched each other’s hands and found them warm and ridged with remembering. we traced the lines and found home again and again. home was like a pulse. home was where the hurt was. we lunged and pressed toward each other’s chests. we let longing lead past our labored lack. we held each other’s hands. they did not break.

I love Morgan Parker, and I wrote a whole biography, but you know what I’m just going to quote her:

This is from The Gospel Of Jesus’ Wife

“ I must be the B-sideClipped to the editing floorA gold road paved with meAnd Jesus said medium rareAnd I bowed quietly eternallyCleaned his cup on my apronand poured him his bloodIn this parable I am the gobletCrater of birth and serviceI leave no trace”

from the same poem: 

“ I will be waiting in a doorframe until harvestUntil the sky is so clear I seemy lipstick reflecting in the olive treesTake the fever out of meCome in and rise again and again”

I also need to quote AND link Beyoncé On The Line For Gaga:

Girl you know you ain’t that busy.Without me                             you’re just two earsstuffed with glitter.              Spoken gun               your namebaby’s first words when she enters              swag up            covered ingunmetal spandex, cigarettes for eyes.Say my name, louder              come into                   these hipsand live. Letplatform heels tightrope curves,              make Jiggaman jealous.He runs the streetsI pour into them, weave firstfierce nymph of Texas              holy in black.You feel me? This bootyis smooth running water.I shake                                        too thick for love,push records like dimes,rep the hustle                      slick as legs.I know you like that.              I carry the hood up in this bling.Soft brown fingersgot rocks for days. Lips glossed opening              for a special purpose.You say Tell ‘em B I open my legs, throw my shades on like,Divas gettin money.                                         Hard as the boys.Give me allyour little monsters and I will burn them up.Give me your handand I will let you back this up.Tonight I make a name for you.

(How subtly gay)

In terms of books I’m rereading Spill&M Archive (always), and I’m reading this gorgeous book (there are two versions, the academic one and the slightly poetic one I got the slightly poetic one) called Honeypot by E. Patrick Johnson who decided to go interview Black southern lesbian women and it’s just...It’s filled with stories of trauma but also stories of love and communal Black lesbian work and I love the chapter on Black lesbian spirituality. I also am re reading the lovely Dr. Eve L. Ewing (her first poetry book Electric Arches is just...chef’s kiss). She is also a sociologist who has a sociology book published. She is equally a comics book writer and she wrote amongst other things Ironheart (yes, about Riri Williams). I am hoping to get an actual copy of Wayward Lives, Beautiful Experiments by historian Saidiya Hartman and A Dirty South Manifesto by scholar and self professed superfreak  L.H Stallings.

#fluoresensitive

[adriantwrites]

[Working Title] By Adrian Thorn: Episode 1 - Teaser

I don’t know that i’ll be posting full episode scripts here, because that just sounds like a disaster waiting to happen but there are a few parts that I am willing to share and post, and if ever there was a part of my writing that I’m proud of its the beginning of episode 1. Put under a Read More because its a bit chunky ________________________________________________________________

Open on a blank black screen, its silent and still. After a few held moments of lasting silence we hear a long sigh of a held breath being released, like the sound of a smoker blowing releasing a cloud of smoke through their mouth. ADRIAN (VO) How does that old saying go again? A deep low ominous beat sounds out like a toll, as the beat strikes, like a pulse the scene opens INT: BRANDOCK MANOR- STUDY We see ADRIAN ( a young looking man, somewhere in his late 20s the only thing that defies his youthful look is his very premature white hair) distressed and disheveled, sat at a very disorganized writing desk in a darkened room writing by candlelight. The room much like himself looks very disorganized and cramped with clutter. We only hear the rough but quiet sound of his quill frantically moving across parchment as he writes. The shot gradually fades back to darkness like the fade out of the toll but the sound of his writing still persists. ADRIAN (VO) Dead men tell no tales? The same heavy beat tolls, and once again the screen pulses to life. EXT: BRANDOCK MANOR- PATHWAY This time we see CEDRIC, (a member of the police squad who seems to lack the air of authority needed for the job), in a full run. Its night. He is rushing down the long path that winds through what is nearly able to be classified as a mire that leads to Brandock Manor. It is clear that he has been running a long way. Breathless panicked gasps for air as he keeps pushing himself onward merge in with the sound of writing, also lingering as it fades to black again. ADRIAN (VO) What absolute nonsense. Toll. The screen pulses. Now panned up and away we can see a good way down the path from where Cedric has run. A sizable mob moving down the same road, the crowd lit by several torches. The angry clamor and chaos of the mob is too distant to be clear or coherent but their voices join the lingering sounds as it fades back to black. ADRIAN (VO) For it is the words of the departed Toll. Pulse. EXT: BRANDOCK MANOR - FRONT DOORS Cedric reaches the front door of the manor nearly falling against it out of breath. There's no time to catch it however- pounding on the door, desperate to be heard. CEDRIC Adrian! Adrian I know you’re there! Open up! Adrian!! As the others it fades back to black once more, the knocking and calls echoing and lingering. ADRIAN (VO) That speak of the fullest experience Toll. Pulse.  INT: BRANDOCK MANOR Inside the manor from the door’s view we see the vacant foyer. Phasing room to room- the dining hall, the library, the grand hallways, the master bedroom- all devoid of any people or signs of life. All the while the sound of Cedric desperately calling for Adrian to answer over the crowd which has become clearer and clearer as they approach echo through the halls. CEDRIC If not for my sake or your own then for Erica! CROWD Killer! Murderer!! CEDRIC It doesn’t have to be this way! CROWD Send that monster straight to hell! CEDRIC: ADRIAN! Unlike before, as the scene fades back to a black screen, all the sound fades out with it rather then growing in chaos. ADRIAN (VO) And the lives of the deceased- Toll. Pulse.  EXT: BRANDOCK MANOR - FRONT DOOR The mob is at the doorstep. They are eerily quiet save for the breath of flame from torches and the shifting of bodies. Cedric turns to face them, eyes scanning the crowd warrily. CEDRIC Just look at yourselves. For the love of God you’re all acting like wild animals. (fearful recognition) Gregory- Moving to the head of the mob steps forth GREGORY (an imposing man, strong in build, an eyepatch over where his right eye should be) scowling at Cedric as he addresses him GREGORY Don’t make this harder than it has to be. One way or another this ends tonight. Instead of fading the scene abruptly cuts to black. ADRIAN (VO) Which we can learn the most from. Toll. Pulse. A direct continuation from the prior situation. It's still uncomfortably quiet, the clear calm before the storm. Cedric is backing away slowly from Gergory, his back pressed against the door. He draws his pistol with a shaking hand pointed towards the crowd. There's no sound of reaction from anyone. It cut straights to black ADRIAN (VO) Thus in this twilight of my final hour I pray, that one day I too can be heard. Toll. The screen doesn’t pulse to life and instead stays black. It stays silent. After a beat long enough it seems something more should have happened, there is another toll. Softer than before as if it is fading. Once again nothing but lingering darkness and empty silence for another beat. A third softer yet toll. When it seems a fourth should come even the sound does not ring out. Instead the darkness ripples as if liquid, a quill tip dipping into it.. As the screen ripples it eases into the first scene we opened on. INT: BRANDOCK MANOR - STUDY Adrian is placing his quill back into its well. Leaning back in his seat, his eyes turn back to the manuscript on the table in front of him. ADRIAN Its nearly done. With any hope once this is finished, I may yet be saved from this hell. All that’s left is t- As he goes to pick up his work, the sound of a gunshot rings out from outside startling Adrian out of his seat, standing to face his door pulling out his own pistol that had been at his side. Staring like a deer in the headlights the sound of a window shattering snaps him out of his daze. Looking back to his desk in a panic. ADRIAN No, not yet. I have to finish this. SLOTH (VO, distant and quiet, almost inaudible) (whispering) No time Adrian. The sound of a door being busted in coming from far off in the house. Adrian flinches for a moment before steeling himself once more. ADRIAN What choice do I have? Adrian stumbles back to his desk, not bothering with the knocked over chair- frantically looking across the mess of a desk for loose unused parchment. Finding some after a moment grabbing his quill up once more writing frantically yet again dictating to try to ignore the sound of the mob entering the manor now. ADRIAN I Adrian Adstros Thorn, being of sound body and mind (chuckles deliriously) that one’s debatable- MOB MAN 1 (VO, distant) Find him and drag him out! He can’t hide forever! ADRIAN Do hereby decree this to be my final will and testament. (Growing more irritated with the ongoing chaos of the house being ransacked) It all amounts to nothing in the end. Let those that remain kill themselves fighting over what I owned for all I care. MOB MAN 2 (VO, also distant) Don’t let him get away! ADRIAN To Maxwell Lane my- He stops himself and pauses to look over his shoulder towards the door to contemplate those raiding the house for just a moment before scratching out something he wrote and beginning again, irritation replaced by a forlorn expression ADRIAN (Cont) ...my old friend whom I have so deeply betrayed; I do not ask for forgiveness from you. I don’t deserve it but rather I pray- for as dark and cruel as this world is, that you manage to find some peace and light within it once more. MOB WOMAN (VO, closer) Make that bastard pay for what he’s done! ADRIAN My sole other request is that this tale be told- He flinches once again as it sounds like the mob is closer yet, a door breaking down, as someone enters the long hall this room is on. GREGORY (VO) I’ll check this wing, you lot go that way! ADRIAN (hysteric) -that even one soul be spared my fate would be enough! GREGORY (VO) Show yourself coward! Cut to a shot of WRATH, he’s in the same room as Adrian but we can’t see him besides his shadowy silhouette moving across the room with purpose towards the door, keep Adrian out of the shot WRATH Yes, Yes. I heard you the first time. You’ll have my head once I’ve seen how many of yours I can rend from your shoulders before you take it. Back to Adrian, who is still near the desk but facing the door now, gripping the edge of the desk eyes wide almost fearful. ADRIAN N-no. no n- Cut to PRIDE, sitting at the edge of the desk, the view is turned once again so that only he is visible, and like WRATH hidden in shadows. His words melting in with Adrian’s. PRIDE No. Why should I just hand myself over to them when I can end this on my own terms? It robs them the satisfaction. PRIDE thrusts the gun at ADRIAN, we cut to ADRIAN who lets the gun clatter loudly to the floor looking anywhere to not look at the pistol. Something suddenly catches his attention looking to the opposite side of the desk as PRIDE. Cut to GREED hidden in shadows holding a box of matches. GREED Or better yet- few’s all it'd take t’ burn ‘alf the city down on the way out. Justice don’t go gettin more poetic then that i’d think. GREED lights a match holding the lit flame up towards Adrian’s face. Adrian after a beat jumps away from the flame and the gun like they’d bitten him. ADRIAN Enough! I didn’t want any of this! Adrian stumbles away from the desk in horror tripping backwards over the knocked over chair landing hard on his behind. Looking to where the chair once was, instead he sees the shadowed figure of SLOTH. SLOTH All I wanted was freedom, to make my own choices. The floor begins to give way as if it were made of water and SLOTH starts to sink down into it. SLOTH Now all I desire is to be left alone, so I can drift away in peace. Trying desperately to get up and move away from the ‘water’ edge Adrian’s legs fail him only managing to push himself backwards away from it, right into LUST’s crouching shadowed form. LUST puts his arms around Adrian’s chest and shoulders, nuzzling into his neck. For the first time fully showing one of the Sins and Adrian in the same shot. LUST To be gently seduced into death’s sweet embrace. Using one hand he traces along up to Adrian’s neck, weaving a rope into existence, the noose tightening and reaching up towards the ceiling pulling Adrian up, him and LUST both slowly standing as it does so. Adrian staring straight forward seemingly entranced and oblivious melting into the words and hold. LUST Breathlessly shuddering, body writhing, until at least we achieve that final euphoric release. GLUTTONY (OS) Now- Adrian’s attention starts to focus once more, turning towards the voice the shadowed form of GLUTTONY standing by a shelf in the corner of the room. GLUTTON Let us take of one final indulgence. Return to Adrian, no rope around him, LUST nowhere to be seen, trembling in horror as he stares towards GLUTTONY in silence. Cut back to GLUTTONY opening a decanter pouring its contents into a glass. GLUTTONY Forget the pain, the worry, the need. Just drown it out like we have before. He places the decanter back to the shelf admiring the glass as he speaks, before offering it out to Adrian GLUTTONY After all, the last drink is no different from the first - it all goes down the same. Cut back again to Adrian near tears. GLUTTONY is no longer there. His eyes move towards where the decanter was sat and instead a bottle of arsenic sits in its place. ADRIAN Even in death will you give me no peace? ENVY (OS) She died loved, didn’t she Adrian? Adrian’s gaze weakly turns to what's straight in front of him, with a look of someone who is betrayed but not shocked. The shadowy figure of ENVY slowly steps towards him, fingers gingerly caress across Adrian’s cheek wiping away the tears that have begun to fall. ENVY She died loved, and in love. How wonderful such a death must be. You realize no matter your choice, that’s a death you’ll never know, right? Cut back to a full room shot. Adrian in the center of the room- The SEVEN all where they were- WRATH by the door, PRIDE and GREED at opposite sides of the desk, SLOTH not laying down but sitting on the legs of the overturned chair, LUST behind Adrian, GLUTTONY leaning on the wall next to the shelf, and ENVY and Adrian facing one another, no longer in shadows and all their resemblance to him is fully able to be taken in. Adrian hangs his head in defeat going to his knees. ADRIAN (Brokenly) Yes.

#Working Title #TW: Suicidal Thoughts #TW: Violence #Adrian Thorn #Gregory Cromwell #Cedric Gilroy #Envy #Wrath #Greed #Pride #Lust #Sloth #Gluttony