judehayward

[judehayward]

“Makes me, uh... Makes me think of Italy, personally,” Jude reviewed the painting in front of him with Axel at his side, giving a limp jut of his beer bottle to single something out. “Leaning tower. Pisa. You, uh... You see those two boulders? Metaphorical interpretation... The fuckin’... weight of balancing something up, that’s trying to fall down. Crooked shape of that central rod... Pretty, uh... Dunno, I have to say... I’m moved. Bit of, uh... Bit of a lump in my throat. Whoever this piece is by... they fuckin’... knew how to evoke emotion.” The painting in question was just a crudely done penis in red paint, an early addition by students in the Jackson Pollock room with their brains in the gutter. Jude, eyes red-rimmed to the point that it was a borderline cause for concern, squinted as if attempting to calibrate further assessment. “What’s your interpretation? What are you, uh... feeling? Stirred? Fuckin’... overcome?” @axclfms​

#c: axel

[judehayward]

“Cor... Fuckin’ hell, the power on that. The fuckin’... gust,” Jude exclaimed in a fairly muted reaction, considering he’d just witnessed a boy suck so hard on a spliff that he’d inhaled the filter -- stranger sat mortified, a cough had seen it emerging to stick on the skin of his lip, shuddering there like a chandelier pendant. He didn’t seem to know what to do, frozen up in embarrassment between Jude and Teddy like a taxidermy fox. Jude gave a thin sigh, patting his pockets down in search for his tin -- he searched the same pocket three times over, repeatedly forgetting where he’d checked. “’S’alright, I’ll just... Stub that one,” came with a nod, eyes sliding towards Teddy where they slouched in beanbags. They were low enough to the floor that the sunflowers formed a wall all around, blocking them into their very own world. “Got a bit of a fuckin’... hungry hippo on our hands, I suppose. Fuckin’... dining large, Hannibal with a char-grilled spleen. Here.” The pop of a tin. Somebody else had hunkered down besides them but Jude didn’t register, nodding towards Teddy with a hand extended -- he was craving banana, favourites considered, but Teddy was a rare exception to the rule where he always chose for himself. Inside, there nestled pear, banana and grape, all meticulously pre-rolled. “You can pick. I’m, uh... thinking about the time I found a fuckin’... mass of fluff in my belly button, as a boy. Enough to nest a magpie. Bit, uh... Shaken up. Can’t... make decisions.” @teddylawrence​

#c: teddy #this is a bit chunky admittedly. we can shorten it.

[judehayward]

Emerging from behind the Basquiat dinosaur like he’d materialised instantaneously, some mystical apparition, Jude’s cigarette bobbed with his greeting, clump of ash dislodged. “Alright, Vicky Pattinson?” Niche Geordie Shore reference. Painfully British. It gave him some satisfaction that Viktor might not understand just how unhinged of a reality show character she was. “You, uh... Miss Pattinson,” he interrupted himself, expression solemn as he reached up to pat once at Viktor’s shoulder -- waving a red cape at a raging bull, perhaps, though Jude didn’t seem to care. His palm still had paint on from slapping a print onto a Pollock piece, blue as misery. “You seen Rosalind?” With a quick pluck, he removed his cigarette -- a glance saw him registering a scandalised look from a passing girl, to which he merely tapped to rid any further ash. “She, uh... scuttled off, somewhere. Fuckin’... skulking around in the shadows, fuckin’... hyena from Lion King. Shapeshifter. Lost her.” @viktcrr​

#c: viktor

[judehayward]

rosasamuels​

“Ugh, no. I don’t suit hats at all, Jude, I promise. It sort of makes me look like my head’s very… square. Just a slope. No curvature to it at all. Bonk,” If Rosa was known for anything, it wasn’t her subtlety. The second they’d poked their way into a rather cramped room, Rosa’s nose was wrinkling, a small eugh escaping her as she glanced around. The atmosphere reminded her a bit of what she’d imagined the tunnel to the Other World in Coraline had looked like before the movie had come out, left to worry over her own imagination. It’d subconsciously caused her to shuffle closer and closer to Jude, seeking out the safest comfort in that moment. Jude had always made her feel safe in a way that’d always leave her convinced she’d never felt a solace like it in anyone else for the rest of her life, “I don’t know what a Sea Angel is… isn’t that just a mermaid?” she asked, the slug part gone ignored, favouring to stay in a fantasy world. At his next suggestion, she attempted to feign seriousness - lips pressed into an unimpressed line and brows pinched together, school teacher disapproval. There was still a twitch to the corners, though, needlessly entertained by Jude’s deadpan humour, “Cor. Cor, Jude,” she repeated, gaudy and purposely horrendous British accent tacked on, “You’re the most British man alive,” Voice back to normal, before the accent was back, “Cor, bloody hell. No toxic sludge in sight, mate,” If she was being annoying, it went right over her head - she’d thought herself rather entertaining, but still, finally and for the rest of their conversation, slipped back to original tongue, “You’re not very good at this guessing thing. I can give you -,” Waiting for Jude to cross over the bed to the window, the sudden lump stirring caused Rosa to cut herself off with a high-pitched and unexpected shriek. Though she’d settle, she was still mildly on edge, and the random appearance of a human being disrupting their moment had her hands flying in the air, solo cup in her hand slipping out of her grip and splattering dark, red wine across the wall behind her, “Fucking - God, oh my god,” If Jude was startled, he didn’t show it. Rosa didn’t even have time to feel silly about it, eyes still wide and hand clutched over her heart, before Jude was nudging the window open, tea pot crashing to the ground below them. Scurrying forward and trying her best to feel less creeped out by the forlorn student slowly hiding themselves under the cover again, a hysterical bout of laughter bubbled out of Rosa as she reached to clutch at Jude’s hand and drag herself after him onto the slanted roof. Jude had always had an inexplicable quality to him that’d assured Rosa no matter what, he’d always keep her on her toes, “Christ, Judas. I missed you,” The sudden confession was so honest, she didn’t have time to feel embarrassed over that either.

After settling onto the roof, Rosa leaned back and used her elbows to nudge the window back down. The last thing she wanted was for whatever stranger was inside the room they’d just left to hear in on their conversation, but she was weary to turn away from the drop below them, “Not an anklet, though - I’ve never actually properly seen your ankles, I don’t think,” Reaching over to where Jude was hunkered beside her, she lifted up his pant leg just barely an inch, nodding in faux approval when she wrapped a hand completely around the area. It made her blush, clutching at him like that, but it’d been done against her better judgment, swept up in the moment for the joke, “Very sturdy. You’re right, handsome ankles. I’ll keep that in mind for next time,” she promised, dropping her hold so that she could fold a hand in front of her. The other reached into the pocket of her overalls, the one that sat right in the middle of her chest, a special place for what she’d had for Jude. Despite the instances where she’d definitely embarrassed herself within the few minutes of them reuniting, this was when she’d finally started to blush, somewhat abashed with the sentiment behind it. It felt a bit too late now, though. Tugging it forward, she held out the business card towards Jude, clearing her throat before talking, “I got this job at an art gallery that’s opening up downtown in September, and. They were looking for local artists and stuff,” In the corner of the gallery’s business card was the personal number of her manager, with a message indicating that she thought he was Very talented - very interested in meeting. with her personal number underneath, “I showed them that painting you did at my place. When you came over and, like, tried to help me out, do you remember that day? You’re just really talented. Maybe I shouldn’t have - I mean, I know some people wouldn’t like that and would feel, like, violated maybe, but. You don’t have to call her. I think you should, though. I think… I don’t know. You’re just really talented,” At some point, Rosa had grown so overwhelmed with her confession her hands had started to shake. She didn’t have a chance to notice it until she inhaled sharply, speaking so fast and without taking a breath it’d left her almost lightheaded. It felt like she had to spew it out all at once, though, to save herself from chickening out, pretending she’d never gushed on and on about her friend who was the best artist she ever knew, “The second one isn’t, like, a physical thing, it’s just - Do you remember when you told me you don’t remember your middle name? And I said I’d make it my mission to give you a new one, or something?” Working up nerve to continue again included taking a long enough pause for Rosa to reach across Jude, snatching up the bottle of whiskey he’d snatched up from downstairs and taking a hearty swig from it, immediately placing it back into his palm afterwards, “I was thinking - I mean, I know he’s my favourite artist, but you seemed really fond of Van Gogh too, so. I thought Vincent might be cute. Jude Vincent Hayward doesn’t sound all that bad either, right? I just thought… I don’t know. I’m fond of him, I’m fond of you, it sounded nice. What do you think? Too much? Not enough? Doesn’t have the pizzazz you were looking for?”

“Nah. Fuck mermaids. Probably smell of... salmon. Gonna fuckin’... sashimi them. Bastards,” Jude got out with a vague gesticulation, some limp thing his arm couldn’t quite commit to. At her impression of him, he narrowed his eyes to a squint, molars clenched to keep his mouth in a vice -- not that it was necessary, anyway, an inanimate thing, some malnourished prisoner no longer able to push up in his cell by the elbows. It wasn’t something he thought on but if he did, he’d realise he hadn’t properly smiled since Provincetown. That probably didn’t even count, anyway, chemical additives considered. Again, though, it wasn’t like he thought about it. Lately, it wasn’t like he thought much about anything. There was an empty train tunnel in his head, wind howled through. Rats scuttling along the rungs. A drip from the top brick he couldn’t be bothered to plug. “Bloody hell’s fuckin’... Harry Potter propaganda, Rosalind. Ron... fucked it for the rest of us, the scrawny ginger cunt.” Jude barely reacted as he always did, when she screamed. There could’ve been a fire blazing full throttle on the stove in the next room and Jude would probably still sit there idly smoking, ashing onto the carpet, eyes on a television only screening white noise. Staring through it, rather than at it. Staring at something else on the other side, something that held a lead weight in his chest rather than a name. Even her confession didn’t rile anything visible from him, not on the surface. I missed you. Dating Saskia, he’d come to see admissions like these as a cat dropping a dead bird in it’s owner’s lap, something with good intentions that was never well received. He’d never react the same but it still made him pause, remembering. He wasn’t sure what to do with it, words like an ornament he could only mutely stare at, something to appraise on a mantel and never interact with. 

Unconventional in the lax of his grip, his hand slid from her fingers to briefly sit a thumb on her wrist. Intentions unclear to him. Testing for a pulse, perhaps -- seeking comfort in the thump of hers, the reminder that someone like her was alive. It slipped in barely a second, eyes cast down the roof’s slant where the teapot descended. He wasn’t particularly conscious of taking a seat, not even of the slates jutting his ass like the under-bite of an orc with jagged incisors. Instead, the moon took precedent: silver slicking the dew on the lawn, the gutter trembling with earlier rainfall, the crown of Rosa’s head. It illuminated all the edges of her, really. He thought maybe he’d like to paint it. “Fuckin’ hell, Rosalind. Just... treating me like man meat, weighed at the butchers,” he commented with no conviction when she raised his pant leg, pausing in a one fingered itch at the scruff on his jaw to watch her. “You about to take control? Make me, uh... cancan?” Eyes glinting with something unreadable, the compliment went by like water off a duck’s back, short pull of whiskey washing down the itch on his tongue -- it wanted to do something, the longer he spent with her, some internal wrestle that might’ve made him grimace if noticed on somebody else. He almost felt guilty for it, at times, the places his brain went, stumbling so fast down the gutter he’d reached the sewer in seconds. Brow subtly furrowed in a bid to zone in, Jude took a moment to reach out and accept the card, unsure at first what it was he was looking at. From the way Rosa blathered, anyone would think she was attempting to sell a reluctant buyer on a steep six bedroom, not explain a sweet gesture. It made something inside him gently pang, staring at the Biro scrawl, extent to which she believed in him a bit overwhelming. He wasn’t typically a person of many words but he usually at least had something. Do you remember that day? He held onto the question like a glass marble, grasped gently in a fist so it wouldn’t roll or break. A thumb carefully skimmed the letters, moving at snail pace. He’d known a feeling like this, once, when Joyce brought him in from the hallways of his building -- he’d been roaming to avoid going inside, slapping a pack of cigarettes against an open palm. The bruise around his eye was an unhappy accident, drunken elbow gone awry, but he didn’t realise how much it hurt until she called him in and sat him down, tending with a rag that dripped on his t-shirt. Being cared for. It was an extraterrestrial feeling. It was a feeling that, for as long as Jude could remember, had green skin and webbed feet, nothing he found familiar. He thought maybe it was nice, this feeling. He thought he could get used to it, if he knew how to trust it’d stay. 

“Vincent,” he repeated low, still touching the card like he had to assure it was real. Subconsciously wetting his lips, his eyes lifted to find her, silhouette still glowing like the moon had to highlight just how special she was. “Yeah, I...” trailed off, soft breath leaving his mouth -- amused, sure, but for the most part, thoroughly, irrevocably fond. Do you remember that day? It was still clutched in his fist, he realised -- the marble, the way she’d said it. He couldn’t put it down. “I, uh...” Studying her rather intently, he barely moved a muscle. He wanted to stay in this moment, for a while. If he stirred too much, he might forget the dream. “I remember all... the days, when they’re... with you.” He might’ve winced at the sentimentality in that, if it weren’t for her putting far more on the table -- even so, his eyes averted, resting on her knee. “Has a ring to it, I think. Vincent. Vinny, if I’m feeling... Italian. If I eat, uh... a particularly... well done meatball.” Skirting past like he hadn’t said it. Typical coping mechanism. Regret was there, though, as soon as he did -- part of him didn’t want to shy from it, the magnitude of whatever this was, was sick of heading the other direction when he saw a good thing coming. So, he didn’t. He looked it -- her -- right in the face, to the point that it probably felt like the prelude to a kiss, the part where the music swelled before the final crescendo. His eyes drifted all over, taking in everything. Acknowledging every freckle. “Thought about you, when I was away. Dunno if...” Faint twitch breathing life to his mouth at the corners, he just kept staring. He couldn’t remember a time where he’d wanted to kiss someone this badly in his life. “Dunno if I, uh... thought about much else, to be honest.” Jude paused a moment. “You, uh... You can let go of the whiskey, if you want. Don’t... give a shit about it, and...” faded at the realisation one of his hands had cropped up, dungaree strap held in the loop of thumb and finger. “Fuckin’ hell, Rosa.” It almost felt like a joke, how pressed he was for words, when, of everything, she was wearing dungarees. She could probably wear a potato sack and still elicit the same. “Think, uh... Think you should probably... have your hands free,” came before stalling a second, skim almost humming with it. “Bit shit being kissed, otherwise.”

#c: rosa #depression tw #abuse tw #depression more covered abuse jst vaguely alluded to....... #this gt so long i had to split it into three i honestly mke myself sick.

[judehayward]

are your nips the same color as your lips?

“Nah. Pale. Startled, almost. God only fuckin’... knows what they’ve seen. What is it, girls?”

#answered #Anonymous

[judehayward]

you give off Robert Pattinson vibes. anyone on campus that reminds you of certain celebrities?

“Alright? Yeah, uh... There’s a fuckin’... short little man, running around these halls. Hear his feet slapping like... slices of ham from fuckin’... miles away. He’s, uh... He’s as close to Bruno Mars as Icarus was to the sun. Fucked up. Don’t trust him.”

#answered #Anonymous

[judehayward]

something about yourself you're proud of?

“Left nipple. Exquisite. Far superior to the right. Fuckin’... runt of the litter, that one. Bastard nipple.”

#answered #Anonymous

[judehayward]

one thing no one can ever pay you to do

“Suck Bruce Willis’ toe. Fuckin’... fuck that. I’d do it for free.”

#answered #Anonymous

[judehayward]

who u tryna one night stand my dude

“You think I’m about to fuckin’... lick a pen nib and start furiously jotting names? Don’t honestly... give a shit.”

#answered #lame. #Anonymous

[judehayward]

would rather have to wear socks with sandals every day for the rest of your life or whatever shoes you want but it always feels like you're stepping on a lego?

“Socks with sandals. Don’t particularly give a fuck what’s, uh... what’s on my feet.”

#answered #Anonymous

[judehayward]

are you and rosa ever going to be more than friends or do you have your eye on someone else

“Quit fuckin’... sniffing at my ass crack. Not dogs at the park. Bit insensitive to fuckin’... people with lazy eyes. Maybe I can’t... control where one eye goes. Sick cunt.”

@rosasamuels

#answered #ft. rosa #>_> #Anonymous

[judehayward]

which of your faults do you think makes people cheat on you?

“Can’t tap dance.”

#answered #evil. #Anonymous

[judehayward]

question number 3: guns pointed at each other... are you gonna shoot me?

“I shoot a, uh... a hole in the dam besides us. It ruptures, gushing... over everything. A whirlpool begins, fuckin’... swirling around, swirling and swirling. Bruce from Finding Nemo is there. I’m holding an operatic... high note, the entire time. Ave Maria. We laugh... We cry... We forge memories we’ll never forget. Then I, uh... Yeah. Then I shoot you.”

#answered #shooting tw #gun tw #death tw #Anonymous

[judehayward]

question number two: we're in the hospital (different accident) and we're both on breathing tubes and the hospital's really low on money and the only way for one of us to live is if one of us dies.

“Hope there’s fuckin’... complimentary cashews, at this one. Last hospital was a shit hole, bit peckish. I’d, uh... I survive, this time. Too handsome to perish.”

#answered #death tw #Anonymous

[judehayward]

question number one: we're in a really bad train/plane accident. there's a pole going through both our bodies. we figure out the only way for one of us to live is if one of us dies.

“Sacrifice myself. T-pose like fuckin’... Christ on the cross as I enter the light. My last words would be: is she, you know... I strike the pose. Heart monitor flat-lines. They never, uh.... It’s never uncovered, who I meant. But it was her all along... The girl reading this.”

#answered #Anonymous #death tw

[judehayward]

Is there anyone you absolutely hate on campus?

“Nah. Chase is a weird little cunt, though.”

@chxses

#answered #ft. chase #Anonymous

[judehayward]

best places to get high on campus?

“Nice try, cop. Fuckin’... Fuck blue lives. Can tell you’re undercover, Channing Tatum. You’re a fuckin’... beast of a man, wearing a backpack.”

#answered #Anonymous