Okay, I've made a decision. I need a fluffy bit of trash multishot. I'm sick of researching and censoring and trying to act all smart and use proper grammar. This is going to be a bunch of shit from my brain, which you may or may not like to read. Whatever. I'm not even going to beg for reviews, though they'd be a nice confidence boost. All right? So... here goes.
Me, Myself, and My Anticlimactic Life
...Yeah. Right. O.o
Okay, so since when is it all right to tie someone to a chair and poke them with a stick until they tell you who they like?
Since when?
Apparently, Demyx seems to think it's perfectly okay.
Which is how I ended up here.
Tied to a chair.
Being poked with a stick.
Not telling him who I like.
I mean, it's not as if he deserves to know, he's only my best friend. ...Some friend he is, huh?
You know... It's funny. My best buddy is obsessed with slash controls water, and the man I'm in love with is massively obsessed with slash controls fire. ...And I am light... What the hell kind of a power is that anyways? You can't kill someone with light... Lameass gift... I shall have to remember to take it up with God when I die. "Really? Light? What the hell? ...I mean ...heck?" I guess, because you shouldn't probably mention hell in Heaven. ...Nor should you probably swear at God. I'm guessing he wouldn't appreciate that...
"Knock it off, Demyx!" I shout, struggling in the chair. "If I get out of this damn thing, I'm shoving that stick so far up your ass even you won't like it!"
"Tell me, Roxy!" he whines, putting the stick down.
"Shant."
"Please?"
"Shant."
I sigh heavily when he resumes poking me in the sides with the stick. "Will you tell me now?"
"How many times do I have to say it? I SHALL NOT!" I declare, standing up, still tied to the chair. I whip it around so it hits him and knocks him on his ass, then awkwardly grab the stick and proceed to beat him with it. "UNTIE ME, DAMMIT!" I yell until he un-knots the bow and my arms are finally free. "WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU DO THAT?" I ask, panting a little from my struggle.
"'Cause."
"...'Cause?"
"'Cause."
"...'Cause why?"
He looks at me for a loonnngggg time with his eyes reeaaallll open, then shrugs. I kinda wanna hit him again, but I know I shouldn't, but my arm twitches in anger. I look down at it, "Oh, shush. None of that."
Yes, yes I did just talk to my arm.
No, no I am not on drugs.
"I know you like someone. Who? Who? Who? Who? Who? Who? Who? Who? Wh-"
"OH MY FUCKING GOD WILL YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP?"
"WANNA SAY FUCK A FEW MORE TIMES?"
"SURE! FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK!"
Muahaha, did I mention we're apartment roomies? We're ...what, now? Twenty ...five? Yeah, yupp, we're twenty five years olds and I is a police man and he is ...what does he do again? OH YEAH he be a lifeguard at the beach. He likes water, he does, and he saveses peoples when it tries to hurt them.
"You'se a mean police person," he mumbles, giggling a little.
"Person? I'm a police MAN!" I declare, putting one foot on the couch in a masculine pose.
"Person makes the ladies happier. If you say man, peoples will think there's no WOmen."
I reach over and thump him on the head. "Of COURSE there's police womenses!"
"So who do you like?"
I sigh heavily. "Fine. FINE. I like-"
