Todays Wine Is..
Barefoot Boxed Sunset Red Blend
Less than $20
ABSOLUTELY DESPICABLE
Once again, this wine was not of my picking, and was instead one of my Mother’s usual choices. She usually goes for the Barefoot boxed wines and usually I’m pretty partial to them; they don’t taste too bad and they definitely do the job! However, my mother suddenly started ordering this specific flavor, and I’m not sure if it’s because she began taking a genuine liking to it, because I could not glean a single reason to enjoy this wine. This wine is truly the Devil incarnate, satan himself injected gallons of despicably sour, hot, bitter seed into a vat of aged grape juice, boxed it, and sold it directly to the human race one night because he was bored and wanted to get a rise out of watching mere mortals suffer trying to chase pleasure so desperately they sip through this absolute wretched acid waste by force.
The only way I can enjoy this wine is by mixing it with a juice of some kind, which I will admit, is not one of my proudest moments. Wine should be respected, enjoyed and praised as it without help, indulged entirely as she comes without aid. And yet I simply couldn’t help it, it was wine after all, it needed to be drank… drunk? Me wanted feel funny off the silly juice OKAY? I’ve been mixing it with dollar store orange banana strawberry juice or lemonade, and it’s helped significantly. I served some to a friend during his visit without notifying him about my concoction and he exclaimed, “wow! this wine is really delicious.” What a fool. I could never subject my sweet friend to this wine virgin, it would ruin my credibility. I’m so ashamed, but it had to be done.
Overall Rating
Anyhow, if my ramblings prior didn’t make it clear, the wine alone can’t possibly get anything above an INCREDIBLY RARE 0/10. I have to give credit where credit is due though, it is impossible to create such a revolting drink. Maybe this was all a secret experiment? To create the worst wine known to man? Sell it and get a laugh at the expensive of wine moms all around the country? Who knows.
Barefoot, if you’re reading this… suck my nards, man. What’s wrong you with?
Drinking Buddy:
Its kind of hard to pinpoint a drinking buddy this time around, I’ve had many over the course of my time with this box of eldritch horrors; My aforementioned friend, several unfinished commissions im slaving through… But I’ve been putting off my review of this one for some time, waiting for the right state of mind where I could truly express all my thoughts about this drink to no one but myself (satisfying yourself with your work is most important, of course). So I poured myself yet another mixture that I just finished enjoying this morning with Trigun in the background, so I guess I’ll count it as my drinking buddy for this entry.
I only started Trigun yesterday and have made it around to roughly around half of the entire series, though it is only 27? Episodes, so it isn’t much of a feat. I was looking for a new piece of media to watch while I finished my art commissions, and had the hankering to begin a new anime that I’ve been wanting to watch for a while. I added Trigun to my Hulu watchlist without any prior knowledge of the series beyond the name. Judging by the synopsis and the thumbnail, it looked to be more of a serious, older anime, and I expected to get more of a convoluted and early mysterious, lore heavy, and emotionally strenuous series with very little humor involved. However, I was PLEASANTLY surprised! This serious has been a treat, with a humor heavy plot and a simple to grasp, semi-episodic beginning that I found myself getting a good laugh at, and soon became incredibly invested at the sprinkles of lore and powerful overarching message reinforced at the end of every episode of forgiveness and the fight for peace, even at the expensive of your livelihood. The relentless fight for peace despite the how taxing dealing with the evils of the world is leaves a very inspiring message, even if left by the worlds most pathetic womanizing loser ever (said affectionately of course). I can’t wait to finish the series, as I’m currently watching episode 14 right now, albeit a bit tipsy.
Well that’s it. Fuck barefoot, and god bless Vash the Stampede.
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Wait, is Phil gay? Gasp!
what could possibly have given you that idea ??
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Dry Humor-W.L
“can you write some fluff for Will where the reader (his gf), helps Will with some eboys content, and has very dry humour, so ends up completely roasting the others (and maybe some other friends like sidemen and the Cals), and like the fans find it really funny?“
Pairing: WillNE x Reader
Word Count: 1.9k+
_______________
"Hey, love can you come help me with something?"
It was normal for Will to call Y/n in to help him film something, usually it'd be just another Reddit video, sometimes it'd be for his main channel.
It had surprised Y/n when she found out she was needed for an Eboys video.
"You're not gonna make fun of me, are you?" Y/n glanced at the camera that was flashing a red dot. He was filming.
"Not at all, I actually need your help picking out some of the boys' YouTube videos to review in an Eboys video," Will explained, pulling YouTube up on his monitor.
"Then why are you filming?" Y/n kept her eyes on the camera.
"Oh, in case there're any golden moments that we can put into the video," Will smiled to the camera. Y/n gave him a look, only causing Will to let out a small laugh. "Anyways, let's look at some of Alex's videos."
Will had scrolled down through Alex's videos, finally spotting a good video from around 2 years ago.
"Alex's old thumbnails make me anxious to look at," the h/c girl had a look on her face Will couldn't really read.
"Why's that?"
"I don't know, they look like something a teenage tik toker would make when trying to start a YouTube channel," Y/n had begun to bite on her nails. A smile spread across Will's face, he looked into the camera with a small nod.
"What?"
"Nothing," Will gave a shrug as he looked back to his computer. There were a few moments of silence before Y/n spoke up again.
"It's crazy," Y/n had spoken up as Alex's video began to play.
"What?"
"Alex has gone through more hairstyle changes than I've changed my clothes," Y/n replied, keeping her eyes on the monitor, watching Alex talk as his purple hair was clearly visible. Will let out another laugh.
"Oh, this is great," Will smiled, grasping onto his girlfriend's hand.
Alex's video had finished up, leaving Will to start scrolling through his next friend's videos. He had chosen James Marriott to react to next. He had soon enough clicked on a video from James's series 'Can't Actually Sing.'
Y/n hadn't said much throughout the video, but it only had taken so long before she finally spoke up.
"I'm sorry, but if James keeps talking about Wonderwall, I'm going to lose my mind," Y/n let out a sigh, shaking her head. James had just started to talk about the song again on the video he filmed.
"Wonderwall is really that annoying to you, isn't it?" Will looked over to his girlfriend.
"I use to not care about the song. it's cool that James likes the song, but he talks about it so often. It's gotten so annoying," Y/n gave a shrug.
Will only gave a nod as the couple continued to watch through James's video.
"Okay, since you judged Alex's thumbnails, what do you think about James's?" Will had asked as soon as James's video had ended.
"He literally makes the same face in every thumbnail he puts his face in. The only difference is that he moves it around. Wannabe Sniperwolf, 3/10," Y/n glanced over to the camera for a moment. There wasn't much emotion to her voice, Will couldn't tell if she was being serious or not.
"Wannabe Sniperwolf, that's what I'm calling James now," Will grinned. Finally, it was George's turn to be judged by Y/n.
Will had chosen a video that didn't involve George playing a gameplay. Halfway through the video, George had gotten up and began to walk around.
"Listen, I know I'm short but at least I'm not George," Y/n shook her head.
"Isn't George taller than you?" Will looked over to his girlfriend.
"Yeah, but George is also a 22-year-old and is 5'7," Y/n smiled.
"George and Alex are like the same height," Will chuckled.
"Yeah, well I wouldn't want to be Alex either," Y/n gave another shrug.
"Okay, what do you think about George's thumbnails?" Will had closed out of the video, going back to George's posted videos.
"Some of them remind me of Alex's thumbnails," Y/n cringed. "I just don't like them."
"Do you like any of the boys?" Will let out a laugh.
"Oh, of course. They're amazing. They're like family, I just don't watch their YouTube videos," Y/n quickly explained herself, glancing from her boyfriend to the camera.
"Okay, but what do you think of the sidemen?" Will had cocked his head to the side.
"Why Sidemen? That's literally the weirdest name for a group," Y/n did a playful eye roll. "I've never thought to myself, 'you know, if I had to name a group channel name, I'd name it Sidemen.' Like, are they the side hoes or something?"
"You're amazing," Will laughed. "What are your thoughts on Inabber?"
"I literally love Fraser, but his YouTube videos are just too long. I really don't want to watch a 20-minute video on Onision or Jake Paul," Y/n shook her head.
Will let out another laugh. "This is why I love you."
"Only because of my humor? Wow, you have low standards," Y/n rolled her eyes once more.
"No, I didn't mean it like that," Will shook his head.
"I know, babe. I'm messing with you," Y/n let out a laugh. "Are we done yet?"
"Yeah, I'll text the boys and ask if they're ready to film," Will smiled, leaning in to give Y/n a kiss.
"Alright lads, I brought Y/n in for a bit," Will had grinned at his camera. He and the boys had just started filming a new video for the Eboys channel. "I had her react to a few of you lads."
"Oh god..." James sighed.
"I already know I'm gonna get it worst," Alex shook his head.
"I think I'm gonna have to agree with that," Will grinned, followed by him letting out another laugh. "Anyways, let's start the video, don't we?"
Will had shared his screen with his friends, hitting the play button.
'I don't know, they look like something a teenage tik toker would make when trying to start a YouTube channel,' Y/n finally spoke up on the video.
Alex threw his hands up, "They're old videos!"
Laughter could be heard coming from the boys. The video continued on, having Y/n to continue talking about Alex.
'Alex has gone through more hairstyle changes than I've changed my clothes.'
"Now this is a low blow!" Alex shouted.
"I think she's right," Will wiped a tear from his face. He had been laughing so hard tears had been brought to his eyes.
"Of course you think she's right, Will. She's your girlfriend," Alex shook his head. "Is my turn done yet? Is she done roasting me?"
"Yeah, yeah. I think so," Will nodded, unpausing the video on his monitor.
'I'm sorry, but if James keeps talking about Wonderwall, I'm going to lose my mind.'
"Wonderwall's a good song!" James spoke in a defensive tone. "It's an easy song to play on the guitar!"
'I use to not care about the song. it's cool that James likes the song, but he talks about it so often. It's gotten so annoying.'
"Oh, I'm sorry! I'll shut up about it when you come around, Y/n," James shook his head.
"She's right, mate," George laughed. "You constantly talk about that song."
"She's gonna roast you next, yet you're defending her?" James raised a brow. "Alright, I see how things are, George."
"Oh wow, James got defensive quickly," Will grinned.
'He literally makes the same face in every thumbnail he puts his face in. The only difference is that he moves it around. Wannabe Sniperwolf, 3/10.'
"Oh, c'mon! 3/10? At least I don't put the stupid red square behind me," James let out a laugh.
"He gets defensive over a song, but his thumbnails he can laugh about," Alex laughed, throwing his head back.
"Let's keep going, I think it'll be my turn next," George ushered Will to unpause the video once again. Will, obliged, and it hadn't taken long for George to pop up next.
'Listen, I know I'm short but at least I'm not George.'
"Low blow, Y/n!" George practically shouted, shaking his head. The boys exploded into laughter like dynamite.
'George and Alex are like the same height,' Will had spoken over the video.
'Yeah, well I wouldn't want to be Alex either.'
"Hey! It's not my turn anymore!" Alex threw his hands into the air for another time.
'Okay, what do you think about George's thumbnails?' Will continued to speak in the video.
'Some of them remind me of Alex's thumbnails,' Y/n cringed on the screen. 'I just don't like them.'
"What do you like, Y/n?!" George snapped at his camera. "It doesn't seem to be any of us!"
"Hold on, lads," Will grinned, standing up from his desk.
"Where's Will going now?" Alex sighed. Will disappeared out of the room for a moment, only to come back in with his dear girlfriend, Y/n.
"Hi boys!" Y/n laughed, coming closer to the video call.
"Y/n, how could you say those things about us!" George shouted.
"I'm sorry, I was trying to be funny for Will's video," Y/n sighed. "I love you guys, I really do!"
"She just has dry as fuck humor," Alex sighed, rubbing his face.
Y/n let out a laugh, "I'm sorry, guys. Yeah, I'm pretty dry I guess."
"I genuinely think this was one of my favorite Eboys moments to film," Will kept a stupid grin on his face.
"Of course it is for you, Will. Your girlfriend didn't roast your videos," James smiled.
"I live with her, she roasts me on every little thing I do," Will chuckled, pulling Y/n into his lap.
"I can confirm this is true," Y/n smiled with a nod.
"You two are something else," Alex shook his head.
"We know," Y/n continued to nod.
"Anyways, Y/n you mind leaving us be so we can continue the video, love?" Will gave a peck to Y/n's cheek. Y/n gave a nod as she waved to the boys, beginning her exit.
The boys had yelled obnoxious goodbyes behind her, only receiving another wave.
Dry humor or not, Will adored his girlfriend.
The Eboys's new video had finally been posted, Will sat in his living room, scrolling through the comments of the video, looking for feedback.
'Y/n is iconic.'
'We want more Y/n! Her humor is awesome!'
'Y/n cult>Louis cult'
"Hey love," Will called out, continuing to scroll through comments.
"What's up?" Y/n replied, walking over to the couch Will sat on.
"The fans love you," Will smiled. "Well, of course they do. I don't know how someone couldn't. They really love your humor though."
"That's great," Y/n smiled, sitting down next to her boyfriend. Y/n read the comments as Will scrolled.
"I can't believe how many people think I'm funny," Y/n giggled.
"Oh, they don't think you're funny, they think how the boys are reacting is funny," Will smirked.
"Oh, shut up," Y/n slapped a hand against Will's chest.
"I'm sorry," Will laughed. "They think you're funny, I promise."
"That's good," Y/n smiled, leaning her head against Will's shoulder.
"You're truly funny, Y/n," Will looked down at his girlfriend. "I love your humor."
"I know," Y/n looked up at her boyfriend. "I love your humor too."'
"We're just two funny peas in a pod, aren't we?"
"We really are," Y/n nodded. "Love you, Will."
"Love you, Y/n."
Taglist:
@daddydobrock
@anyasthoughts
@multifandom-but
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Get Real Angry: Interrogation, Final
CW: Institutional brutality, whump of a minor (in the form of a video Jake watches), beating, electric shock, very vaguely referenced past/potential noncon, violence in response to self-soothing stimming behavior, referenced familial abuse, sleep deprivation, creepy whumper behavior
The final part of Jake’s interrogation during his very bad week. Tomorrow I hope to get his reunion with Chris written, and then Jake’s first day back in class after that, and then we’ll return to your regularly scheduled comfort programming now that this little mini-narrative is out of my head!
To understand the frat guy reference (a reference to @deluxewhump‘s Alex), please read this piece here.
INTERROGATION: PART ONE PART TWO
Tagging @burtlederp, @finder-of-rings, @endless-whump, @whumpfigure, @stxck-fxck, @slaintetowhump
When Everly wheels the TV in - big and blocky, on a little metal wheelie cart with a squeaky wheel and rust spots along the frame - and settles it in front of the chair Jake has been encouraged to sit in, Jake is reminded, bizarrely, of a movie he saw a few years ago.
Weird arthouse movie about a guy that takes another guy captive and his boyfriend or whatever tries to hunt him down, they watched something on a TV in an old house… shit, what was it called… Jake’s head hurts, throbs with a kind of foggy ache, and he closes his eyes, head drooping just slightly.
He could drift off just like this, with his wrists still zip-tied, his shoulders screaming pain at him. Since waking up at the sound of the cops banging on the door, sleep has been a twenty-minute nap here and there, as long as they’ll let him drop off, slumped in his chair, forehead resting on the table in the interrogation room.
Everly left for a while, he assumes to get some fucking sleep. They’d set up some kind of weird blaring alarm system that went off while he was gone, going off every hour or so, waking Jake up. His head feels weighted down with the fucking need for sleep.
Once his eyes close, he can’t quite seem to force them open again. God, he could, he really could fall asleep now, with Everly staring right down at him. Rescues talk about it, about curling up on the floor, covering their eyes with their arms to try and find the tiniest bit of darkness in the unending white light, just… drifting away into some kind of doze and fuck, what he wouldn’t give for a real nap right about now-
There’s a slam, palm on metal table, rattling it, and Jake jerks his head back up, staring wide-eyed up at the handler, breathing in harsh pants. Everly’s not even wearing his stupid fake cop uniform anymore. He doesn’t even try to hold up the pretense.
That’s how Jake knows - for sure this time, not just a hunch - that that camera in the corner by the ceiling definitely isn’t turned on.
Wanted to contract you but I was overruled. Jake’s bloodshot exhausted eyes stare up into Everly’s calm, almost pleased flat gray, and he shudders. It’s a thin line between protecting people who need help and being turned into one.
He kind of wants to send a thank-you card to whoever decided he was too much trouble to abduct.
“Wake up, sunshine,” Everly says, pleased as can be, pleased as punch Jake’s nana would have said, when he was little. Tiny little old southern woman, genteel beachside accent, sweet tea on the table, Sunday dinner, what happens between you and your husband is your business, Maggie. Jake shudders, all over.
When you run from a man who won’t stop hurting you with your kid in tow, you have to run from all the people who just can’t give enough of a fuck to help you, too.
“Pretty-… pretty sure sleep deprivation is torture under th’ Geneva Conventions,” Jake mumbles, forcing his head to stay up, his spine as straight as he can make it. Leaning against the back of the chair helps, but shit, what he wouldn’t give-
That’s how it starts, Jake. You think you’d give something up just to sleep, and then they take that, and take more than that, and eventually there’s nothing left.
“Probably,” Everly acknowledges with a careless shrug. “But you’re gonna have one hell of a time proving you were here and not just the unfortunate recipient of a beating outside a bar or whatever the fuck you do in your free time.”
“In m’free time,” Jake slurs - weird how being this tired has made it harder to move his mouth, even, “I mostly feed homeless people. Not… ‘zactly a violent hobby.”
“Weird how that happened to you, then,” Everly says brightly. He picks up a remote on the cart and starts pressing buttons. The TV powers on with a sudden flash of colors and Jake winces as the light hurts his eyes, blinking rapidly, trying to focus.
It’s harder than it should be. Everything is harder than it should be. He’s not even sure he could stand up on his own any longer, his legs feel like noodles precariously balanced on top of concrete blocks.
“No… no folder t’day?” Jake asks, staring as the menu pops up. Smart TV, of course it is. He stifles a laugh at the sight of the little Netflix icon, Hulu, Amazon Prime. “Y’watch a lot of, of fuckin’ TV when you’re torturin’ innocent people?”
“Shut up, it belongs to the police station.” Everly chooses an app off to the corner, something called KINECTREMOT, the letters dancing and refusing to settle as Jake tries to read them. Does it start this way, with the rescues? Does it start with it just getting harder because you’re tired, and then one day the letters start to hurt?
Or is there something else, to that? Something to the training the rescues can’t explain, maybe don’t even remember?
No, Kauri remembers. Kauri’s head is a fucking mess but he remembers more of training than any of the others seem to be. Maybe that’s why his head is a mess. Jake groans, trying to focus, to think.
Everly’s humming to himself, a soft little tune on his lips, as he inputs a login username
[email protected] and a password that just shows up as little circles. He fucks it up the first time, has to redo it. Jake holds back a snort.
“Y’tired, too, huh?” He asks, false sympathy dripping from his tone. “Real tired? Wanna schedule us a fuckin’ naptime, man?”
Everly glances back at him, then leans over and grabs Jake by the back of the head, casually slamming his forehead into the metal table, listening to Jake’s cry of pain with a faint grin on his face, then jerking his head back up, to look into exhausted, foggy light-colored eyes. “Have some fucking manners, Stanton.”
“Fair ‘nough,” Jake slurs, head pounding with pain, slumping to the side. “Can I please request a fuckin’ nap, sir-”
“No.” Everly goes back to humming, tries the username and password again. Wrong again. Jake wonders if he fucks it up again, if he’ll get locked out. Since this is clearly meant to be some kind of dramatic reveal, the idea strikes him as funny. Not just funny, fucking hilarious. Jake starts to giggle, unwillingly, almost helplessly. Big tough guy can’t figure out his fucking password for his Big Villain Moment. It’s funny, right? It’s really fucking funny, and shit, he’s so tired the glint of light off the table and the little spot of blood from his head, smeared across, seems funny because it’s like looking at clouds, what shape is this? and Chris on the grass bouncing up and down on his feet and saying it’s it’s it’s a kangaroo, Jake, it’s a kangaroo, in Australia they call them roos, they just say, say, say say say roo I saw a man on TV he said, said roo, he just said roo and that cloud looks like-
There’s a flash of pain, impact of palm across bruises that have already blossomed dark on his face, and Jake grunts, jerking to the side, somehow managing to stay in his seat.
“Stop laughing. Stay quiet.” Everly narrows his eyes, tries one more time to put the password in. This time it works and the screen flashes black with the KINECTREMOT logo across the front, a soft chime of sound.
What he’s looking at now, Jake doesn’t really understand. Some kind of inbox, but for pictures and videos. They’re all labeled with six-digit numbers, a long list of them, with the words PRIMARY, SECONDARY, TERTIARY next to each one. Not always the same word. Some of them say one thing, some say another. Some of them just say CALL IN or EMERGENCY.
Everly chooses a search bar option and starts painstakingly entering a number, and Jake stares, dumbly, wondering what the fuck he’s looking at, but with a sick certainty that he really, really does not want to know.
Everly’s still humming that stupid song, and Jake realizes why it’s sticking in his head, now. “Are y’… are y’humming Hotel California?”
Everly stops, blinks, looks over at him, genuinely baffled. Then he laughs, a rumbling sound. Jake hates that fucking smug piece of shit’s laughter. “I guess I am. Hadn’t noticed. It was playing on my way from the hotel this morning. You like that song?”
Jake stares at him, as evenly as he can, his eyelids trying to droop down, body desperate for sleep. “Used to.”
Everly chuckles again. “Yeah, it’s overplayed. Anyway… here we go.” He’s picked one number out - 223499, it doesn’t mean anything, and next to it he reads PRIMARY/SECONDARY and what the fuck does that mean? A long line of little thumbnail images pop up, with labels next to them. INTAKE, ISOLATION DAY 1, DAY 2, DAY 3.
The drop in Jake’s stomach gets worse. He feels almost nauseous with fear - not for himself, exactly, but for what he knows he’s about to see. “Wait, wait-… what are you-”
“Shut up, Stanton.”
“No. No, I, I can’t-… what are you goin’ t’do?” Jake looks up, bleary, frightened now. Everly just smiles back down at him, that smug fucking shit-eating grin, and Jake pulls hard on his restrained wrists, feels a flash of bright agonizing pain as the plastic, caked in two days of dried blood, reopens the raw wounds. He grunts at the ache, but everything from his shoulders down has hurt like hell since day one.
“You know, I requested authorization for injectables, too-”
“What th’fuck are those?”
“It’s pretty obvious from the name, I think. Got overruled on that one, too. Fuckin’ higher-ups worried about traceable compounds and shit. I mean, I get the concern. We can’t keep you long enough for that shit to get fully out of your system. But it would’ve made getting to watch this part a lot more fun.”
Everly selects a thumbnail, and the screen opens up - it’s like some bizarre fucked-up snuff-film take on a Netflix episode choice, with the thumbnail suddenly blown up to a larger size and a small description next to it. Someone made a computer program for this, Jake realizes with an even sicker drop in his stomach. Disgust ricochets around his body. Somewhere, at some point, someone built a computer program designed to let these assholes show him a video of… of what?
223499 - CONTRACT SIGNING he reads, just as Everly pushes play.
“Why show me this?” He asks, in nearly a whisper. “D’you… d’you think this is gonna make me not want to, to help?”
“No, I think you won’t break today, and today’s all I got. Give me a week and a white room and I’d have you taking food from my fingers, but sadly, our time together nears its end. Here’s what I can do, though. I can show you something you can’t ever prove. And I can watch your fuckin’ face the whole time. I can get you all riled up, all angry, and send you home with that bitterness just roiling around inside you.”
On the TV screen, Jake sees a small table in a blank room. No pictures on the walls, no decorations at all. Just a small table, two chairs, one on either side. Sitting in one chair is a woman in a suit - everything about her screams lawyer. Behind her, leaning against the wall, in a prim pantsuit, is a woman Jake has seen on TV before, that Renford bitch.
Antoni walked into the room when she was on TV once, turned around and walked out, and didn’t come out of his room for the rest of the day. Kauri flinched when Nat had to wear heels for a meeting and came walking down the stairs.
Jake knows pure soulless evil when he sees it, and there it is, looking bored.
There’s another person, too, mostly hidden by the shadows in the corner, but there’s something weirdly familiar about what Jake can see of him, something he can’t quite place. He’s wearing a pastel-colored polo and light slacks, weirdly fussy looking, like he’s dressed in case he ends up on TV.
Which, Jake guesses he kind of did.
They’re chatting - the sound of it too low for Jake’s tired brain to parse into words he can understand. Just easy, comfortable talk. Coworkers chit-chatting about their weekends, waiting for the day to start. Lawyer’s got a mug of coffee in front of her, takes a sip. It’s normal inane corporate chatter and these are people who do unimaginable damage to other peoples’ lives and they don’t feel a fucking thing about it.
“I won’t get what I want today. But I think I’ll see what I’m hoping to see on your face - and I think you’ll go home with something stuck in your head that you can’t get out.” Everly moves around behind him, stands with his hands on Jake’s shoulders, rubbing thumbs in like he’s giving him the world’s most painful backrub. Jake grinds his teeth together to keep from making a single sound. His eyes want to close, to look away, but there’s some sort of fascination that keeps his eyes glued to the screen.
He’s always wondered what the contract signings are like. The rescues never remember them.
There must be some sound - everyone kind of shifts around in their chairs, straightens up, and the lawyer pulls some papers out of a small folder in front of her, slides them across to the other side of the table in front of the other chair, sets a plastic pen down next to the paper. Fiddles with it, shifting it back and forth minutely, until it’s perfectly parallel.
A door behind the empty chair opens, and Jake stares in perfect horror as Chris is shoved into the room, a man Jake doesn’t recognize behind him, wearing the handler uniform and prodding Chris with a black stick.
He’s so… small, isn’t he?
Jake rarely thinks about how small Chris really is. In the video, he’s hunched over, his hair looks weirdly clumpy. He’s wearing a loose white V-neck T-shirt that’s way too big for him, like it’s oversized or they just couldn’t be bothered to get him one that fit. His knees stick out from under a pair of thin black shorts.
“Oh my God,” Jake whispers. His heart feels like ice in his chest, the cold is spreading through his veins, right to the tips of his toes in his sneakers, now bloodied like everything else he was wearing when they dragged him in here two… three? days ago.
Thumbs dig into his shoulder blades and he hisses, jerking forwards away from the pressure. “Recognize him, huh?”
Jake sets his jaw. “I recognize that you’re a fuckin’ monster piece of shit-”
Everly grabs his head and slams it down on the table again. Jake goes limp, groaning at the spark of white-hot pain, little spots in his vision even with closed eyes. Then his head is jerked back up. Motherfucker really likes walking the head injury line. “Watch. The. Video.”
“This… this won’t make me any less angry,” Jake manages to force out between numb lips. “None of it will.”
“Good. Then you’ll fuck up. The angry ones always do.” Everly grabs his chin from behind him and forces it forward.
On the screen, Chris is sitting in the previously empty chair now, the handler’s hand on one shoulder, thumb rubbing back and forth across the back of his neck. He’s shivering so hard Jake can see it in the slightly blurry video, looking around at everyone. There are deep visible shadows under his eyes, and Jake watches the way he sits, with his hands sort of between his legs, can tell from the tension in his arms he’s gripping onto the chair. “Wh-why am, am, am, am-”
“Fuckin’ broken record,” The handler behind him says, a man Jake has never seen, and smacks Chris hard against the back of the head. He jerks forward, whimpering, and Jake would give anything to be able to crawl into the screen and save him.
There are tears in his eyes he has to blink away, but now that he sees him he doesn’t want to miss a second. He’s so little, even though he’s almost the same age he is now. Being in that place, with those people, makes him seem so small, so deeply in need of protection. He’s so fucking scared and none of them even care.
“No one mentioned a stammer,” The man in the corner says. His voice is familiar, too, it sounds like it’s tailor-made for TV. Smooth as silk, with something rotten hidden underneath. “I’m not interested in a fixer-upper, Karen.”
“I’m not selling you one, either,” Renford replies, and Jake’s hands curl into fists behind his back. “He hasn’t been trained yet. No one starts training until they sign.”
“What…” Chris - not Chris, not really, this is whoever he was before he became Chris - flinches and looks backwards up at the handler, as if checking for permission to speak. Jake swallows back bile when the handler nods, and Chris looks back forwards again, his gaze jumping all over the room. He doesn’t seem to see the man in the corner at all, and Jake squints as he realizes there’s some kind of one-way glass along that area, angled so the camera sees everyone, but he’s pretty sure Chris can’t see the man. “Who’s… talking?”
His words are slurred together and deliberately, carefully spaced.
He talked like this when he first arrived at the shelter, for days after. Flat, meaningless syllables dropped and run from, certain he’d be hurt if he made a single sound that wasn’t allowed.
“Not important, trainee,” The handler says. “Pay attention to what is important.”
“Yes, um… yes, yes, sir,” Chris says in a low, weak voice.
“Bet you’d like to commit murder right about now,” Everly says from behind him.
“You’d win that bet,” Jake growls.
“I always fuckin’ do.”
“What, um-… what’s happening?” Chris asks, softly, looking around the room.
“This is your consent form,” The lawyer says, tapping a fingernail on the paper between them. Chris winces, slightly, hunching back into the handler’s touch. “All your information is there as provided by your adult guardian-”
“Joanne? Aunt Jo?” Chris is looking around, confused, blinking. “But, but, but but she… she, I’m supposed to, to live with her now-”
“Not anymore, you’re not,” The handler says, with a laugh.
“What, what, what-what, what, what does that-”
The handler hits Chris hard across the back of the head again, and he bites down on his lower lip and goes silent.
“You’d have gotten her an even higher payout if you didn’t talk so fucking much,” The handler says, grumbling, like Chris is the problem here.
Chris’s expression collapses from a nervous, frightened curiosity to an awful well of pain and grief. “Gotten her, her, her a what?”
The lawyer ignores him and keeps speaking. “… and your legal identification, confirming that you’re overage-”
“But, but I’m not, I’m, I’m n-not, I just turned, uh-” Chris is struggling, and Jake wants to climb into that screen and hold him, calm him down, help him slow his mouth to find the words. Chris’s eyes are wide, and his fear can be read, oddly foggy and dazed, like he’s operating on a slight delay. “I just, just just just-”
The handler behind him grips the back of his neck, like a man grabbing the scruff of an unruly dog, and Chris’s voice cuts off like turning a radio dial.
There’s a moment of silence where Jake can hear his harsh, panting breaths.
“What did we talk about, ‘499? About lying?”
Chris’s hands come up onto the table, tapping on it, not loud enough for Jake to hear. “N-not, not, not to lie to you, but-but, um, but but but I’m, I’m not-”
“Stop that shit with your hands. Now.”
Nothing visibly changes but Chris goes quiet again, staring straight down. His hands stop moving. His shoulders are hiked nearly to his ears and Jake wonders if the handler holding him by the neck tightened his grip.
“How old are you, trainee?” The handler asks the question heavy with loaded double-meanings, obvious enough Jake can read them. Give the right answer or get hurt.
“Eighteen,” Chris whispers, with wide scared eyes. Everyone in the room seems satisfied with the blatant, obvious lie.
“Good. And is that the legal consenting age?”
“… yes.”
“Good boy.” The handler pets heavily through Chris’s hair, and the boy shudders in disgust - Jake has never seen him react to touch like that, not from anyone. Just one more sign of a person that’s been totally erased.
“Pl-please, please don’t, please don’t-don’t, don’t touch me-”
“That’s not an option available to you any longer,” The handler says, pulling the black stick from his belt - and Jake knows what those are, he knows exactly what those are, he’s had one raining down on his back and his ribs and his arms now, had one stuck against his knee to force electric shock into his nerves. He wants to push back, but he’s so, so tired. “Your options are to take the touch as it’s given and thank me for it, or…” He taps the black stick on the back of one of Chris’s hands. The boy’s hand jerks back, but when the handler tsks, clicking his tongue against his teeth, Chris lays the hand slowly back out on the table.
“Why would you ever tape this?” Jake asks, barely aware his mouth is moving.
“Lunchtime entertainment,” Everly replies, blithely. The two of them watch as Chris says something, but there’s a strange rushing sound in Jake’s head and for a second, he’s so… furious… that he can’t even hear. All he can do is stare, the rushing sound drowning him out, and then the black baton comes down on his fingers and Jake cries out, as Chris’s mouth opens in a painful wail, as he tries to pull his hands protectively back to himself only to have them forced back onto the table again.
And hit again.
And again.
And again.
Jake’s going to be sick all over the floor if it goes on any longer.
The man who has been watching, hidden in the corner, laughs at the sight. He laughs harder, louder, when the handler forces Chris to thank him for the pain.
It’s his laugh that Jake recognizes, finally. It’s the laugh that turns him from shadowy and familiar to a face that Jake’s seen on TV a dozen times or more. Jake has protested his speeches on the human pet industry, has written essays on the complicity of government in human atrocities with this very man in mind, but when he was thinking of complicity he was never, ever thinking of this.
“You sold him to the fucking Governor?”
No wonder he’s so fucking cozy with WRU. They sold him a goddamn teenager for a personal toy-
“Took you long enough.” Everly pats him on the head, good dog, and Jake jerks away from the touch, thinking of Chris doing the same - and how he pushes into every touch now, good or bad, can’t tell the difference. Has to be told, over and over again. How many days without letting me sleep would it take to get me to give in like that? “Watching you watch this… you know who that kid is. You’ve seen him before. Lie to me or don’t, your face gave it all away. Our informant told us you’ve been bringing a kid who fits the description to your classes.”
Oh, God. The raid was my fault.
On the screen, Chris is signing the contract, hands shaking, the handler’s palm still laying flat against the back of his neck, over the heavy black collar he has around his throat.
“Just a homeless kid,” Jake grinds out, staring at Chris’s terrified shadowed face. Watching as he’s dragged back out, stumbling, with the handler’s grip iron-tight on his thin arm. Chris was tapping in the video, Jake thinks. He tapped before, that’s part of him, not something he picked up. Did he hit his head, before, too? “Could’ve been him. Wouldn’t know. He left.”
“Different story than where we started when I brought you in,” Everly remarks. He puts a hand on the back of Jake’s neck. Rubs his thumb, back and forth, just at the nape where skin and soft, short hair meet.
Just like the handler in the video, with Chris.
“Who called?” Jake asks, holding himself very, very still under the touch. He’s seen Antoni go like this, he thinks - just holding himself like a statue, his eyes straight ahead, not looking. When he has a bad night and spends the day on edge, when any little thing sets him off. “Who told you it was us?”
If it was that fucking frat guy - he’s in one of Jake’s classes, he’s probably seen him with Chris, could even have seen him doing yoga over on the grass, could have seen them in the coffee shop or eating lunch in the big seating area, anywhere, really - Jake will hunt down which frat he’s in and personally set the whole goddamn house on fire, starting with that asshole’s bedroom-
“A Professor Gregory Barnham,” Everly says. The words mean nothing to Everly. They mean entirely too much to Jake.
“My fucking Ethics in Political Philosophy professor?” For a second, his brain just refuses to reconcile what he’s been told. He’s been careful in that class. He’s kept his head down, stayed quiet, and the professor never told him not to bring Chris and the professor has smiled at Chris. Said hello. Nice guy, if definitely not super into the pet lib thing, and Jake had been so careful, bringing Chris in the back, keeping him carefully separate from the other students.
Not careful enough.
That son of a bitch saw Jake with a kid who was slowly coming out of his shell and he thought, better call WRU on this one. Better have that kid all fucked up again.
He’s probably not going to go back to that class. He’s probably going to fail it. He’s probably going to spend the next week convincing himself not to light the professor’s house on fire, and feeling like he kind of owes Frat Guy an apology for assuming the worst.
Sorry, dude, you trusted my intentions enough to be fuckin’ vulnerable about your shitty fucking fraternity buying a fucking preson, I decided to repay the favor by assuming you’re the asshole who could have gotten my family killed-
Jake doesn’t think about calling them his family. The word doesn’t even register in his tired mind. It’s just there, the foundation of the thought.
“Why tell me who called in?” Jake asks. He can’t figure out this guy’s angle. He’s giving Jake too much information, isn’t he? Showing him Chris’s video, the contract signing of an underage kid, the fucking governor the one apparently buying him… telling him who called him in… why give him all of this? Why give him all this information?
He’s too exhausted to try and outthink him. He… just doesn’t get it. He needs three days of sleep and probably some serious medical attention at this point, and he can’t even begin to try and think through this until he gets at least one of those things.
“Already told you, numbnuts.” Everly lets go of him, and Jake breathes a sigh of relief as he steps away. “I’m making you nice and angry. Go on, Jakob Collins Stanton. Go be the face of the fuckin’ movement. I can’t wait to see your fuckin’ dumbshit expressions on TV. Go on, Stanton. Get real… fucking… angry.”
Jake sees the black baton unhooked from the guy’s belt in the corner of his eyes, and his muscles tense, but he doesn’t move.
“Why tell me it was the Governor?” He asks, but the baton is already swinging at his head. When it connects, Jake’s head smacks forward into the metal table, he drops to the ground, and everything goes black.
He wakes up and the metal table and chairs are gone. The TV and its little wheelie tray are gone. The zipties on his wrists are gone and his shoulders scream as he pulls his hands forwards, looking at how deeply the plastic dug in. His head is pounding, throbbing, and he feels even more exhausted than he did before.
He cries, for a while. There’s a cop in the room who doesn’t stop him or help, just kicks a box of Kleenex across the floor.
Eventually they tell him he’s been charged with resisting arrest, but that his bail’s been paid. No one tells him but he sees a calendar on his way out, limping heavily, walking in bloodstained jeans and T-shirt looking like he lost a fuck of a fight, and realizes he’s been here for three days.
Chris has been alone for three days.
Any hint of pain Jake is feeling is washed away by the panic that takes its place. Chris can’t handle being alone that long. He needs touch, needs it, the constant never-ending compulsion for human contact that all of the ones like him have. Who even knows what he’d do - go next door or let anyone who knocked in or, shit, just start testing people, like he does, and that could get him hurt or killed or taken advantage of or-
Unless Nat…
“Uh, um,” Jake stumbles over his words, and the cop glances at him, dismissive. “Natalie… Natalie Yoder. The woman with me. Is, is she… was she let go before me, or…?”
The cop gestures ahead of himself, and Jake raises his eyes to see Nat sitting on a bench with a vaguely familiar man that Jake has never actually spoken to before, although he’s seen him watering flowers outside his yard. He looks like some kind of cowboy.
Natalie looks like hell - rings around her eyes and a few bruises littered across her face - but he can tell he looks worse, because both she and the man who lives across the street from the shelter recoil when they see him.
Natalie jumps to her feet. “Jake, what the hell-”
Jake walks to her, as fast as the cop will let him, and nearly collapses against her, resting his head on her shoulder. She puts one hand up over his hair on the back of his head and the other around him, holding him tightly. “I resisted arrest,” Jake says. “Apparently.”
“Yeah,” Nat murmurs. “Me, too. Jefferson here’s our neighbor, he’s come to take us home.”
“Is… everyone safe, there?” Jake asks, low-voiced, just above a whisper.
“We’ll talk in the car. Come on, we’re all paid up, they’re ready to sign off on us going. I… didn’t know about your dad, Jake.”
Jake stiffens and pulls away from her, looking away. “Yeah, well. I didn’t know about your job history, did I? We both kept secrets.”
There’s a silence, long and uncomfortable, broken only by the sounds of the department around them - people working at computers, talking on phones, chatting over coffee. It makes Jake think of the lawyer in the video, sipping her coffee before they dragged a teenager in to sign his life away, watching with a passive, uncaring expression while they beat his hands with a baton.
“Guess we have some things to talk about in the car on the way home, huh?” Nat says, trying for cheer. When Jake responds with silence, she sighs. “Fair enough. I should have told you.”
“Yeah. You should have. I have some other stuff to tell you, too, about who called-”
“I know,” Nat says, heavily, rubbing at her eye with one fist, looking oddly like an exhausted toddler. “They told me. That landscaping company that works down the street.”
“Wait.” Jake frowns, looks around. No one’s really looking at them, now. “Wait. I got told it was one of my professors.”
“You did?” Nat hesitates. “Then they gave us two different stories, Jake. So… which one is true?”
“If you ask me,” Jefferson says, in a soft, unobtrusive voice, “probably neither of them. Come on, we can continue this little guessing game in my car, yeah? I’ve laid down some towels, I had a feeling you might still be, um… bleeding… like that.”
They leave the police station in silence, Jake sitting in the backseat of Jefferson’s ancient Subaru, beat half to hell but the thing’s still running, somehow. All he can think of is getting home to Chris, keeping his promise.
“Look,” Nat says, after they’ve sat in silence other than Jefferson’s quiet NPR playing from the car’s radio. “When I started the job-”
“Not yet.” Jake cuts her off, and his voice is harsher than he means it to be. His eyes have closed and he’s not sure how he’ll ever open them again. “Chris first.”
“You know, your, um… Chris is really doing fine-” Jefferson starts.
“Don’t care. I don’t want to think about anything else just yet.” Jake’s face throbs. His head feels like it’s stuffed full of cotton dipped in acid. His shoulders ache, his wrists look like they’ve been wrapped in razorwire, one of his ribs is probably bruised, he knows his torso is a fucking mess of black and blue, he’s exhausted and starving and pissed off and all he can think about is that fucking handler saying, go on, Stanton. Get real fucking angry.
What does it mean that they want him to be? And if they gave he and Nat two different stories about who turned them in, which one is true? What if neither of them is? What’s their plan? Or is there one? Maybe they just want him to get paranoid and freaked out, see if he stumbles, fucks it up. Maybe this is all just to get him wondering exactly who is out to get him.
Maybe Everly just thought it’d be fucking funny to get him all worked up.
He can’t think about this now. He’s too tired, he’ll only make the dumbest fucking decisions if he tries.
No, he just…
He just has to get home to Chris.
Keep his promises, first. Figure out everything else after that.
Told you I’d come back for you, man.
Jake thinks of the boy in the video, asking about his Aunt Jo, the look of crumbling sorrow in his face at their reply.
I made a promise to you, and I’m going to keep it.
But I am definitely real fuckin’ angry.
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Number 73 "take mine" I'm thinking jacket sharing with Harringrove (either offering the jacket) if you have time!! 💖 💖
so. it’s not jacket sharing, i hope that’s okay!! and it’s actually a sequel to your first prompt? @bambixxblue and i were talking about a fix-it sequel where billy comes back and im weak for fix-its so i ended up with this. it’s. angsty. but also. soft? idk, i hope u like it anyway!!
basically the premise is billy and hopper were both in russia and had to break out together. posted on ao3
—-
Max turned seventeen three weeks ago. It’s hard to keep track of the days sometimes but Billy’s pretty sure he’s right. It’s hard to wrap his brain around Max being seventeen. When he pictures her in his head she’s still a bratty twelve-year-old with skinned knees who doesn’t know when to shut her mouth.
He tells Hop. Tells him about the birthdays he was there for, wonders about the ones he wasn’t. Cries a little too. Funny how easy it is to do that now. It used to be an ordeal, would burn and claw at him until he broke. He’s too exhausted for that nowadays, lets his tears fall unfettered and ignores the shame that still sneaks up on him when he does.
They have to be quiet, always afraid of being caught again. Billy’s constantly looking over his shoulder, jumping at shadows. It’s stupid to risk it, for something so trivial, but he can’t stop the words from spilling out.
“You miss her.” It’s not a question. Hop doesn’t ask that kind of shit, he just knows. Which is why Billy doesn’t respond. Doesn’t have to.
He pats Billy’s shoulder awkwardly. It’s the clumsy kind of affection a father is supposed to offer and it sets Billy off again, tears dripping down his nose and cutting streaks through the dirt smeared on his cheeks.
They’re holed up in an abandoned warehouse this time. Waiting. Always waiting. The plan is to stow away in the next cargo hold with enough space but in the meantime they’re fugitives, laying low wherever they can find empty, forgotten places.
Hop tells him about El while they wait. Billy’s heard most of his stories by now, but he listens anyway. Listens to the wobble in his voice as he talks about teaching El to read, hears the question under it all, about whether he’ll ever see her again.
Billy wishes he had an answer.
~~
The first time Billy set foot in Hawkins, Indiana, he was seventeen, angry and wanting nothing more than to be anywhere else.
It’s three days after his twenty-second birthday the second time. An icy December evening, dark and windy. He’s exhausted. He hasn’t eaten in two days. He’s a patchwork tapestry of scars that weren’t there before, a battered effigy of the person he used to be, cobbled together with scraps of what he could salvage.
Hawkins is the same unremarkable, rinky-dink town it always was. Seeing it again is a relief and a punch in the gut all at once. It’s all he’s wanted for three years, but it’s terrifying.
They end up in Loch Nora, of all places. The Byers’ old house was empty, and going too far into town is risky.
It doesn’t feel real. Standing on Steve Harrington’s front porch, suddenly all too aware of the layer of sweat and grime on his skin. This place is too clean, too quiet. Peaceful, in a way that can’t be true.
Billy chews on his thumbnail, stands behind Hopper while he bangs on the door. There are no cars in the driveway, which means at the very least Steve’s parents won’t answer the door. But there’s no guarantee that Steve even lives here anymore.
He’s getting antsy, glancing around, heart pounding.
Then the door swings open.
Billy is seventeen, half-drunk and stinking like beer, colder than he’ll let on because fucking Indiana and its shitty weather, wiping the drool from his chin when he spots him across a room, already half in love by the time he’s clambered over a couch to get a closer look.
He blinks. He’s twenty-two, pale and shivering, thumbnail still between his teeth, and Steve Harrington’s doe eyes still make him weak in the knees.
Steve’s hair is longer, brushing his shoulders, but other than that he doesn’t look any different. Except that he isn’t looking at Billy with thinly veiled contempt or anger.
“Hey, kid.” Hopper says. “Gonna let us inside, or what?”
Steve is silent. Staring, lips parted. One hand still on the doorknob, the other slack at his side. He sways dangerously, and Billy tenses, prepared to catch him if he falls over. He doesn’t, but Billy’s still itching to touch him.
“Am I dreaming?” Steve blurts, looking dazed, unable to decide who to look at and ending up unfocused and hazy.
Yeah, it’s me, don’t cream your pants. The memory feels like someone else’s. A lifetime ago.
Billy bites down on his lip, battling an inexplicable, and slightly hysterical, urge to laugh.
“Dream about me often, Harrington?” Billy says, because apparently it takes more than nearly dying and spending three years as a fugitive to get over his inability to keep his mouth shut around pretty boys (or one in particular). Though now his voice comes out soft, quiet, betraying genuine sentiment. He’s not sure if that’s better or worse than the armor of taunts he used to cover that shit up with.
Probably worse.
Steve’s looking at him. Only him. Billy had almost forgotten how addictive that is. He watches Steve’s mouth open and close, tracks the way one corner curls up a little when he lets out a little disbelieving huff that isn’t quite a laugh. “More than you’d think,” he murmurs.
And Billy’s brain shuts off. There are a thousand questions stuck up there, but he can’t get a single one of them out because he’s too busy trying to get past, more than you’d think, echoing through his head in surround sound.
He’s startled out of his Steve-induced haze by Hopper’s pointed cough.
It seems like he’s not the only one, because Steve visibly flinches, “Right, shit,” he stammers, “Get—uh, get inside.” He ushers them in, glancing around, checking the street behind them.
The Harrington residence is one of those big fancy houses with more rooms than anyone could possibly need, but that means multiple bathrooms so Steve (as politely as possible) tells them they can both shower whenever they feel like it. And he fusses. A lot. All nervous hands clutching his elbows and teeth worrying at the inside of his cheek, eyes darting between Billy and Hopper like he’s sure they’ll vanish any second and never have been there at all.
Billy isn’t sure how to deal with it, so he avoids his eyes. Then misses looking at him.
An hour later they’re all in the kitchen. Billy keeps plucking at the sleeve of his borrowed sweatshirt, trying to keep calm. It’s too much, all at once. His skin feels raw, weird and tight. The overhead light is too bright, and the smell of Steve on everything is making him lightheaded. The soft detergent scent from his clothes, the shampoo Billy used when he showered (his hair is a lot longer than it used to be, it took forever to detangle it all).
Steve makes some calls. It’s late, too late to be calling people’s houses but he does it anyway.
Not long after, the front door bursts open.
Max is taller than he remembers. Rougher around the edges. Her hair is a choppy mess, auburn waves sticking out in every direction, curling around her ears, and there’s the sharp glimmer of silver in one lobe. She’s wearing a jean jacket with a torn elbow.
And she’s crying, messy and red-eyed, not bothering to wipe the snot from her nose.
“Where. The fuck. Have you been?” she sobs, shoulders shaking, and she practically trips forward in her hurry to throw her arms around Billy’s neck.
He opens his mouth. Closes it again. Feels unsteady, like he’ll fall to pieces if he moves wrong.
“I’m here now,” is all he can manage. She doesn’t need to hear about military hospitals and Russian prisons, about being kept in a cell, wondering if he’d ever see sunlight again… She doesn’t need that right now. Hell, he’s not ready to talk about it. Might never be.
He hugs her back, torn between wanting to squeeze as hard as he can, make sure she’s real, and being terrified of breaking her.
She still uses that shitty coconut-scented soap, and that’s what shatters him. He’s crying into her shoulder, clutching the back of her jacket. He used to dwarf her, remembers her being tiny and fragile, despite her fierceness, yet now she’s supporting his weight while he buckles.
They’ve never actually hugged before, he realizes, and that realization opens a door he wishes he could’ve left closed a little longer.
Guilt. Like undertow, pulling him back to harsh reality, cold steel gripping his heart, weighing it down. He should’ve been better. Treated her better. And now she’s here, crying like she actually missed him, and he doesn’t deserve it.
He pulls away, wiping the back of his hand across his eyes.
She’s still looking at him, hands on his shoulders, a wobbly smile on her face.
Billy is overwhelmed again. It must show, because suddenly Steve is at Max’s side, eyes gentle and his soft mouth pinched in a frown, “Max. Maybe give him some space.”
She clenches her jaw, probably physically holding back an argument, and nods, stepping back despite the reluctance written all over her face.
“I’m sorry,” Billy says, barely louder than a whisper. Then he can’t stop himself from saying it, again and again, gaze fixed on the floor, tears still dripping down his chin. He has to bite his lip hard enough to draw blood to finally stem the tide of apologies. He squeezes his eyes shut, tries to will the world away.
“Billy.” Steve’s voice is soft. He has a nice voice, so Billy focuses on it, through all the angry buzzing in his ears. “Billy, I need you to nod if you’re listening.” He doesn’t want to, he wants to curl up and fucking die, anything but be a person right now because everything hurts and there isn’t enough air in this room and— “Billy?”
He bows his head, twitches, it’s barely a nod but it’s all he’s got.
“Okay, good. Can I touch your hand?”
Billy’s heart stutters, aches. He’s having a hard time concentrating through the burn in the back of his throat, the static drowning out his thoughts. He nods again.
Steve’s fingers are gentle, pulling Billy’s hand from where it had tangled in his hair. He hadn’t noticed the fingernails digging into his scalp until Steve took one of his hands away. It ends up pressed against something warm, soft material under his fingers, moving slow—oh. His hand is on Steve’s chest.
“Can you breathe with me? Concentrate on me, okay?”
He does.
Steve’s cradling his hand. He’s got callouses along the top of his palm, barely there but present. He’s breathing deep, calm and steady. But despite his outward demeanour his heart is racing, Billy can feel it through his shirt. He curls his fingers into the sensation, fingertips digging in as far as he can push them.
Billy almost forgets to breathe he’s so fixated on Steve’s heartbeat.
It does its job either way though, because exhaustion is starting to hit him as the static recedes. He sags, relaxes. Every muscle in his body feels leaden.
He opens his eyes, squints against the sudden light.
He’s almost afraid to look up. Afraid of being judged, of triggering another episode, so fucking terrified, all the time—
“Billy?”
His fingers twitch reflexively, tightening his grip on Steve’s polo.
“You good?” His voice is still so soft, and so close it hurts.
It takes several long moments for Billy to collect himself. Then he looks up.
Max is hovering, standing behind Steve with wide eyes, her worry palpable. Hopper looks grim, but then again, he kind of always does. He’s a respectable distance away, watching. And Steve… Steve is right there still, holding Billy’s hand and looking at him like he cares, doe eyes shining, fixed on Billy’s face.
“I’m okay,” Billy says, voice rough. He sounds like hell, but they all visibly relax anyway.
The room is silent for too long after that. It feels tense in a distant way, like it would be awkward if Billy had the energy to care, was awake enough to feel anything but vaguely fuzzy. He’s still got a handful of shirt and doesn’t plan on letting go any time soon. Steve’s the only thing keeping him upright, and he hasn’t let go either.
“Did… did I do something wrong?” Max asks, her voice is small and tremulous and cuts right through Billy.
“No!” he’s quick to cut in, “No. Max. It’s…” Billy trembles, stutters to a stop. He has no idea how to explain, even to himself, let alone Max. Steve squeezes his hand. His stomach flips. “It’s not your fault.”
She doesn’t look like she believes him, but she doesn’t argue. He wishes he could make it better, but he’s got no idea how.
“We should all get some sleep,” Steve says.
And that’s that. His tone brooks no argument, even in a room full of stubborn assholes. Apparently, the past few years have given Steve time to hone his babysitting skills. Or maybe they’re all just as exhausted as Billy is.
There’s some squabbling about sleeping arrangements though.
Everyone insists Hopper take the master bedroom, Steve says his parents won’t know or care, his old friends did worse than sleep in that bed. They all poke at him until he relents and trudges off, bidding them a quiet goodnight.
Then Billy says he’ll take the couch and both Steve and Max yell at him.
Billy rolls his eyes. “It’s fine, guys,” he mutters. He’s not about to make Max sleep on the weird little couch (he’s done enough to her already) and putting Steve out in his own house would be shitty. “It’s not like I haven’t slept on worse.” He winces as he says it, realizing as the words come out of his mouth that it’s probably the wrong thing to say. It was meant as a reassurance, that he would in fact be fine with the couch, because at least it’s clean and warm, but all it does is make Max look sad and put a little wrinkle between Steve’s eyebrows.
“I’ve slept on this couch before,” Max says, a stubborn tilt to her jaw, “I’ll take it.”
Steve scoffs at that, “You complain every time you have to sleep on that couch, Max. Take the guest bed. Billy can take mine.” His fingers tense when he says it, and Billy realizes they’re still holding hands. His hand slipped from Steve’s shirt while they were bullying Hopper into taking the master suite, but Steve has yet to let go.
And… suddenly he wants nothing more than to sleep in Steve’s bed. But. “Only if you come with me,” he blurts.
Which is really not how he should have said that, but it’s out there now.
“Oh my god,” he hears Max mutter.
His whole head feels like it’s on fire. “Shit. I—I mean—”
“Okay,” Steve says hurriedly, then clears his throat, “Yeah. That. That works. Uh. Okay.” He’s glancing at Max awkwardly, nervous, but she just rolls her eyes. Billy barely notices her do it, too busy looking at Steve, his heart hammering.
“Steve, it’s okay. I’m—” It’s her turn to look uncertain, but it’s only for a second. “Me and El are dating. We’ve been trying to figure out how to tell everyone, and—yeah. Anyway. I’m not going to judge you, or whatever.”
Well, that was not at all what Billy was expecting. He takes a moment to worry about both of them, be terrified of what would happen to them if someone found out. Then he remembers that El can kill people with her brain and Max once threatened to castrate him with a spiked bat. The knot of anxiety doesn’t dissipate but he’s freaking out less.
“How long has that been going on?” Steve asks, sounding more bemused than anything.
Max turns pink, and it’s kind of fascinating to watch. She’s flustered. That’s adorable. “Since, um. Since April.”
“Happy for you, kid,” Billy says. And he means it. He barely knows El, in theory, but really. The kid’s been in his head. He could recite every story Hopper’s told him about her from memory. He died protecting her.
He knows her well enough to know she’s good for Max, and he loves Max enough to want her to have good things.
She grins, bright and real. Billy’s fairly certain he’s never seen her that happy before, and his heart clenches.
“I’m not sure who I’m supposed to give the shovel talk to here,” Steve says, more to himself than anything.
Billy snickers, and tugs on Steve’s hand, “Like you could take either of them.”
Steve steps closer, looking faux-offended, “I’ll have you know I won a fight once.”
“Yeah, three years ago. You’re a has-been, Harrington,” Max chimes in.
“Isn’t it past your bedtime?”
“I’m seventeen, dingus.”
“You’ve been spending too much time with Robin.”
He missed them so much. Missed something he, if he’s being honest with himself, never really had in the first place. They both hated his guts before, and he… he was a mess. Still is. Just a different kind now. But being here, being part of this, is something he always on some level wanted and…
“Oh my god, Billy, are you okay?” Max asks, concern bleeding into her voice.
He’s crying again, smiles through the tears. “Yeah. Yeah I am.”
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Tumblr – Colby Brock x Reader
Tumblr is…a mixed bag. You’d made some of your closest internet friends on this poorly run website, but you’d also received more than your share of crazy fangirl hate. What’s crazy though, is how easy it is to make friends in the Sam and Colby fandom on Tumblr. 99% of everyone you’ve met is super nice and the group kind of shuts down the haters pretty quickly.
This last round of drama kind of wore everyone down. It all started with a hate anon that your friend DaddyDobrock received. “If Sam and Colby saw half of what you guys wrote on here they wouldn’t want you as fans 🙄.” She handled it well. She laughed and told the anon to lighten up and fuck off. You guys were pretty used to petty hate anons and rarely answer them, but boy was this asshole persistent.
Absolute-randomness-forever replied to a similar message with “If you don’t like what we post, don’t follow us?” Again, not really feeding into any drama.
Sp00kybrock got one trying to get her opinion on the whole thing. “Don’t you think most of the Sam and Colby tumblr fandom is toxic? Like, I bet Colby would cringe so hard if he went on this site. 🙄” She defended her friends, laughing it off. “My friends and I aren’t toxic. We post memes and joke around, but we support the boys 100%.”
Jakeywebber commented on a few of the new posts. “Does this person even watch the boys? They obviously don’t know that their sense of humor is exactly like ours.”
The anons continued to come in, a few other people getting them but not replying. They always ended with 🙄. The problem with one toxic anon is that they attract others that want to feed into the drama, and soon the hate is taken too far.
Someone got an anon telling them to kill themselves. Eye rolling emoji included. The blog posted the anon with no comment other than “deleting now” and went offline. To say that the rest of you were up in arms is an understatement. Lightenupbrock, that-one-brock-boy, badassbrock, the-sun-is-dark, colbyjacksmack, rewindfridaynight, xplr-lurker, brockboytrashz…you all jumped in and defended your friend. You sent them messages making sure they were okay, trying to convince them not to delete.
*Twitter notification*
Colby Brock Tweeted : “FYI we see more than you think we see. Don’t pretend to be our fan and then treat other fans like shit. Especially anonymously. 🙄”
Daddydobrock posted “Anyone else see this?” with a screenshot of the tweet.
A few of the others reblogged it, adding comments. By the end of the thread, your group of friends was convinced that Colby either had a tumblr or occasionally lurked on it.
*tumblr messages*
Xplr-lurker : Hey, have you heard from the girl that got the kys anon?
You and Xplr-lurker had been tumblr friends for about 6 months. They messaged you after they saw how you interacted with the other blogs. You were always helpful, kind, encouraging…You had a reputation for being a sweetheart and Xplr-lurker had messaged you thanking you for it. You two became friends pretty quickly, asking how each other’s days went and such. Neither of you ever really posted your personal info on your blogs, but you knew a bit about each other. You both lived in Cali, you were about the same age, and you loved sending each other super emo tumblr posts when you were bored. Usually hella late at night. He knew you were a girl and you knew he was a guy. Other personal details kind of trickled through in your everyday interactions.
Y/n : Yeah. She doesn’t want to be online for a while, but she isn’t going to delete her blog. I gave her my phone number just in case she needed to talk.
Xplr-lurker : I figured you would 😊 I’m glad she’s okay.
Y/n : Me too.
Y/n : Hey, did you see Colby’s tweet? I think he saw all of this go down. I mean, maybe I’m just assuming too much, but he ended a tweet about anon hate with that stupid eye roll emoji just like the anon does.
Xplr-lurker : I mean, he said he checks his dms all the time. Maybe someone sent it to him?
Y/n : Maybe.
Y/n : Honestly, I’m just as mad for him and Sam as I am for the girl. How shitty is it that they have to watch the people who call themselves fans treat other fans like garbage? And they can’t do a thing about it.
Xplr-lurker : That sounds like it would suck.
Y/n : Right?
You had written a whole big post about how hypocritical it was for this toxic anon to accuse everyone else of being bad for the fandom when they were so willing to go out of their way to harm other fans. You reminded them about the videos Sam and Colby used to post about being confident and helping others. Their entire YouTube career started with them making videos wanting to help people. Just like every other post, you signed it with two black heart emojis. 🖤🖤
You had continued talking to xplr-lurker as you wrote the post. Venting a little bit about how frustrated you were.
*Twitter notification*
Colby Brock Tweeted : “Don’t worry, we know there are amazing fans out there, too. 🖤🖤”
Y/n : Dude. I think I’m paranoid, now.
Xplr-lurker : What do you mean?
Y/n : Nothing. I’m exhausted. I just need sleep, lol. You do too, nerd. You said you needed to be up by 9 and it’s already 4am.
Xplr-lurker : Holy shit, my friend is going to kill me if I’m falling asleep tomorrow, haha.
Y/n : Haha, good luck! I’ll talk to you later.
Xplr-lurker : Thanks. Sweet dreams.
See, it’s pretty common for social media influencers to have secret accounts. It gives them a way to like posts and follow fans without starting drama. After collabing with CrankThatFrank, Colby was convinced to make a tumblr. He picked Xplr-lurker so that it made sense for him to interact with his own fans. He mostly just reblogged cool edits and funny traphouse memes. He’d comment on funny posts and throw his two cents in on theories and gossip. For the most part, it was kind of fun. People on tumblr were brutally honest but fucking hilarious. He never planned on talking about tumblr or letting anyone he interacted with on tumblr know that he was behind the username…but then he found your blog. He’d contemplated telling you for a few weeks now. The two of you talked almost every night and he felt bad. He felt like he was lying to you.
He’d first messaged you just to say a quick thanks for being so positive in the fandom, but the more he talked to you the more he kept wanting to talk to you.
The 🙄 anon stopped sending people messages after Colby’s tweet. Your friends on tumblr were able to go back to posting ridiculous screenshots and cool photo edits over the next week or so. You’d reblogged a gif of Colby about to lose his shorts on a waterslide with the caption “I feel like Elton has been trying to get Colby naked in vlogs since the start of TFIL”.
Xplr-lurker : *sent waterslide post*
Xplr-lurker : This is a fat fact. Lol.
Y/n : Right? Hahahahaha
Xplr-lurker : I think he does it for views.
Y/n : Probably. It’s the same reason Colby gets shirtless in his own videos. He knows people will click the thumbnail, haha.
Colby sat on his balcony laughing. You were absolutely right.
Xplr-lurker : Is that why you clicked?
Y/n : Haha, nah. Don’t get me wrong, he’s a beautiful human being. You’d have to be blind not to see that. But I found Colby through TFIL.
Xplr-lurker : What made you keep watching him then?
Colby felt bad for baiting you out, but his curiosity got the better of him. As far as you knew, he was just another fan. This is when he’d get your most honest answer.
Y/n : A lot. First, he’s a huge goofball. Watching him and his friends do dumb shit to make each other laugh is the best.
Y/n : And everything him and Sam have done together? Those two dudes are fearless. They just remind me that I’m the only one holding myself back, you know? One day I’ll actually get out of my own way and make something of myself.
Y/n : He also seems super genuine. He never seems afraid to speak his mind or call something like it is. It actually bums me out watching some of his “friends”, If you know what I mean. I know that not everything they put out there is 100% accurate to how they actually are in real life, but I hate that slimy feeling I get knowing that a lot of them use Sam and Colby and don’t actually give a shit.
Y/n : I know I sound like a massive fangirl at this point, haha. I think I just needed to get that off my chest.
Colby sat there trying to figure out how to respond. He had a huge grin on his face seeing you spill your guts like you did.
Xplr-lurker : Haha, don’t worry about it. You just sound like you care. That’s not a bad thing.
Over the next few weeks, you guys continued to talk like normal, but it got a little more personal. He wanted to be able to call you a friend, but he was still afraid to tell you who he actually was. You two talked more about your passions and the things you struggle with. You’d always sent each other music to check out, but he’d confessed that he’d been dabbling in trying to write lyrics. He needed to find a way to talk to you as COLBY and not xplr-lurker.
*Twitter notification*
Colby Brock Tweeted : “You feel so close but in reality I’m sitting here on my balcony alone.”
One of your tumblr friends had screenshot the tweet, adding the caption “This is how it feels to have better friends on the internet than in real life.”
You reblogged it and tagged xplr-lurker. You added “I wouldn’t trade our late-night talks for the world.”
Xplr-lurker : *sent tagged post*
Xplr-lurker : Yeah?
Y/n : Duh. You know that.
Xplr-lurker : Same.
Colby sat there, his fingers hovering over the keyboard on his phone.
*Twitter notification*
Colby Brock Tweeted : “1 like = 1 ‘don’t be a pussy’ whispered in my ear.”
Xplr-lurker : Not to sound like a creepy internet person, but have you ever met any of your internet friends in real life?
Y/n : Haha, I don’t think you’re creepy. And yes! I’ve met a few of them. Why?
Xplr-lurker : I know we live in the same city and I’ve always wondered if you’d want to get coffee or something.
Y/n : That would mean that you’d get to see how awkward and clumsy I am in real life. I don’t know if I’m willing to put you through that, hahaha.
Colby laughed. That response was better than the “fuck off, creeper” he expected.
Xplr-lurker : Oh, shut up. You’d be the one dealing with me being awkward.
Y/n : Suuuuuuure. You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.
Y/n : I’m actually walking home from my favorite coffee shop right now, haha. It’s called 101. They’re open until 3 am and they have the best food.
Xplr-lurker : WHY ARE YOU WALKING ALONE SO LATE AT NIGHT?!
It was well past 2am and the thought of you walking the streets of LA by yourself kind of had Colby on edge.
Y/n : I live like 5 minutes away. Don’t worry.
Colby pulled up 101 Coffee Shop on his phone. It was less than a 10 minute drive from his apartment. *We actually live pretty close* he thought, switching back to the tumblr app.
Xplr-lurker : Tell me when you make it home safe. LA is scary at night.
Xplr-lurker : Also, that coffee shop is not far from me. If you ever want to meet up there, I’m down.
Y/n : I just walked in my front door. Stop worrying, mom.
Y/n : And I’ll be headed back there tomorrow around midnight. My roommate’s boyfriend is obnoxious and he comes over every night around then. I usually hang out at the coffee shop and work on stuff on my laptop for a few hours.
Xplr-lurker : I’m glad you’re safe. I’ll definitely try to make it there tomorrow.
Y/n : I’ll be the one with the messy bun, laptop, and baggy Y&R hoodie, lol.
Xplr-lurker : If I don’t chicken out, I’ll wear an XPLR hoodie.
Y/n : Well I need to go to sleep. If I don’t see you tomorrow, I’m sure I’ll still talk to you on here.
Xplr-lurker : For sure! Have a good night!
Y/n : You too. 🖤🖤
“Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.” Colby said, sighing. This was it. He was either going to walk into that coffee shop and blow his cover or he was going to chicken out like a little bitch.
The whole next day he had a hard time paying attention to anything or anyone. He was too busy trying to figure out the best way to tell you who he was.
“Colby!” Sam laughed, waving his hand in front of his friend’s face.
“What? Sorry.” Colby said, shaking his head and turning towards Sam.
“You okay?” Sam asked. Colby just stared at him for a minute. “I’m going to take that as a no?”
“I’m not, not okay.” Colby answered, sounding cryptic.
“Okaaaayyy.” Sam said slowly. “Care to explain?”
“I’m just nervous to meet up with someone later.” Colby tried to sound casual. “It’s nothing big. I’m just anxious, I guess.”
“Who?” Sam asked.
“A girl I met online.” Colby said, waiting for Sam to tease him.
Sam furrowed his brows. “Like on a dating app?”
“No.” Colby shook his head. “She’s a fan.”
Sam made a confused face. “Not to make it sound like I think you’re stupid, but are you being catfished again?” He laughed.
Colby couldn’t help but crack a smile, hiding his face behind his hands. “No, actually. I don’t even know what this girl looks like.”
“What?!” Sam asked, confused.
“That’s not the weirdest part.” Colby said, peeking through his fingers at his best friend. “She doesn’t know I’m me.”
“Is this for a video or something?” Sam asked, not understanding at all what was going on.
“Nope. I made an account to interact with fans and we just kind of clicked.” Colby tried explaining. “We’ve been friends for like 6 months, but we only ever talk through our usernames. The more I say this out loud the crazier it sounds.” Colby laughed.
“Sooooo, you’ve never seen a picture of her?” Sam asked.
“Nope. Not for sure. I THINK I found her personal blog, but I could be wrong.” Colby answered. “I only know her name because it’s in her profile, but she’s never asked me mine.”
“Is she going to be mad?” Sam asked, trying to wrap his head around the whole thing.
“That’s kind of why I’m so nervous.” Colby said, biting his lip. “She told me where she’s going to be tomorrow night and I don’t know if I should just show up or if I should rip the band-aid off and tell her who I am in our dms before we’re supposed to meet up.”
Sam had a blank stare on his face. “I honestly have no idea how to help you.”
“Don’t feel bad. I don’t know how to help myself.” Colby laughed.
“Tell me how it goes?” Sam asked.
“Of course.” Colby nodded, zoning out again.
At around 11:30pm you’d walked to the coffee shop. You ordered a drink and your late dinner and sat down in the corner booth. You worked on some things you were currently writing and gone through and caught up with your emails. At about 1am, you’d convinced yourself your tumblr friend had chickened out.
Right around 12:30am, Colby was stood in front of the coffee shop he was supposed to meet you at. There were only a few people currently in the shop, so it was pretty easy to figure out which one was you. He’d taken a deep breath and walked through the door, darting to the counter when he started to panic. With his back to you, he ordered a coffee. *I don’t even like coffee* he thought to himself. He kept peeking at you from the pick-up counter while he waited for his order. You had headphones in your ears, mouthing the lyrics to whatever song you were listening to. When the barista called out his name, he grabbed his coffee and left the shop.
Xplr-lurker : I’m stuck.
Xplr-lurker : You’re normally the person I go to for advice, but I feel like it’s unfair to put this one on you.
Xplr-lurker : You’re beautiful, btw.
You looked up from your computer, searching for your friend.
Y/n : Thank you? Are you here?
Xplr-lurker : I was. I chickened out. I kind of panicked.
Y/n : Aww, I promise you have no reason to panic. So why are you stuck? I’m always here to listen and give advice when I think I can help. You know that.
Colby sighed, sitting in his car.
Xplr-lurker : I guess it’s better just to come out with it.
Xplr-lurker : My name is Colby.
You waited a few seconds for further explanation.
Y/n : Okay? I don’t get it.
Xplr-lurker : Like, I am Colby Brock. I made this account to interact with fans.
Y/n : Please tell me you’re just fucking with me as a friend and not a delusional fanboy that’s trying to actually convince me he’s someone he’s not.
*Great* you thought to yourself. Not only did you have to walk home at night by yourself in LA, now you had to keep an eye out for a crazy person who wanted you to believe they were Colby. You thought this person was your friend and now you were afraid to leave the coffee shop.
Xplr-lurker : Neither? I know I fucked up by not telling you sooner.
Y/n : Well, since whoever is on the other end of this message knows I’m here alone, I’m going to call my roommate to pick me up. You know, you were really cool. You were my favorite person to talk to. This really sucks. You didn’t have to be anyone but yourself.
When Colby tried to reply to your message, the chat said that he had been blocked. “Oh, fuck.” He said, jumping back out of his car. When he got to the door of the coffee shop, he could see that you were packing up your stuff.
“Y/n!” he called from the door, walking towards your booth.
Your eyes flew towards the boy walking in your direction, your hands frozen holding your laptop.
Colby slowly slid into the other side of the booth you were sitting in, putting his phone down with the tumblr app open. “I’m so sorry.”
“What the fuck?” you whispered, still not moving.
“You have every right to be mad at me and I swear I never meant to freak you out. I didn’t really think it through when I told you who I was. Is your roommate coming?” He asked, talking so fast you could barely process what he was saying.
You sat your laptop down and grabbed his phone. “My roommate wouldn’t come pick me up even if I did call her.” You said, looking at the tumblr app on Colby’s phone. You were the only person he had messaged.
“You were going to walk?” Colby asked, grabbing his phone when you handed it back to him.
“I was going to order an Uber.” You laughed. “This is crazy. You’re crazy.”
“Are you mad?” Colby’s face was apprehensive, waiting for you to tell him to fuck off.
“A little.” You nodded, laughing. “You asked me questions about yourself! I fangirled to you about you!” You remembered, covering your now blushing cheeks with your hands, hiding your face.
He laughed. “I feel the need to say this in person…You’re beautiful.” He watched as you peeked over your fingers. “And I’m the one that should be embarrassed about that, not you.”
“Why did you ask me to meet if you didn’t want me to know who you were?” You asked, remembering that this whole thing was his idea.
He laughed, reaching to grab one of your hands. “I’ve been trying to nut up and tell you who I am for over a month.”
“Why me? You didn’t even know what I looked like?” You were still trying to take in the fact that Colby Brock was sitting here in your favorite coffee shop holding your hand.
“I didn’t really care what you looked like. You’ve been a great friend to me since we first started talking and I was just some random person you met online…That has nothing to do with how someone looks.” He explained, blushing before continuing. “The fact that you’re also adorable is just an added bonus.”
You laughed, pulling your hand out of his so you could re-do your messy bun that was currently falling. “This is crazy. I want to re-read everything I’ve ever sent to you to make sure I didn’t make a complete fool out of myself.”
“Y/n.” Colby laughed. “You didn’t. I promise. There’s not a single thing you’ve told me that I don’t like.”
You stared at him for a moment, trying to figure out what the hell you were supposed to do now. “I have one question.” You said, leaning your elbows on the table.
“Ask away.” He answered, leaning forward the same way you were.
“What’s the REAL reason Elton always tries to get you naked in his vlogs?” You smirked, hearing Colby bust a gut laughing.
“Honestly, I’ve questioned it myself. The only answer that keeps me sane is clickbait.” He shook his head. “So, we’re good?” he asked.
“I mean, I don’t know WHAT we are, but I hope it isn’t bad.” You laughed.
“Well, we’ve been friends for over 6 months. I’d like to still claim that even though you know now that I’ve been a dumbass this entire time.” He smiled.
“I think I can deal with that.” You smiled back at him.
“Should I push my luck and ask you if I can buy you another coffee?” He asked, a shy look on his face. “I think coffee is disgusting, but I hear coffee shops make for great first dates.”
“You went from being afraid to show your face to asking me on a date.” You laughed.
“Well?” Colby said, waiting for your answer.
You nodded, your cheeks turning pink. “I’d love another coffee.”
I can remove any of the tumblrs I’ve used if you’re uncomfortable being mentioned. @daddydobrock @absolute-randomness-forever @sp00kybrock @jakeywebber @lightenupbrock @that-one-brock-boy @badassbrock @the-sun-is-dark @colbyjacksmack @rewindfridaynight @brockboytrashz
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Blackwing 602: Chapter 7—A Season 2 Caskett Multi-Chap, Now Complete
A/N: End of Saga. It’s only taken nearly two-and-a-half years, and the gift didn’t end up being quite what I thought it would be. I will, I think, eventually post this as a stand-alone multi-chap on AO3. For the moment, though, Chapter 1 is on AO3 and the other chapters are here on Tumblr If you don’t want to read the first part, all you need to know is that in “A Chill Goes Through Her Veins” (1 x 05), Beckett pockets what turns out to be a very expensive pencil when she’s in Castle’s office. This part is set at the end of Sucker Punch (2 x 13)
Title: Blackwing 602, Chpater 7
WC: 1500
“Just so you know,” Vincent begins, “I am under strict orders from Lanie to give you grief for not giving in to her hard-sell tactics over the summer.”
Kate silently opens and closes her mouth at the other end of the line.
“. . . or–orders discharged?” she stammers when she finally finds her voice again.
“Due diligence done.” Vincent, far more merciful than their mutual friend, laughs. “So tell me about the material. Lanie said it’s a 602?”
“It is.” The response comes out with a little more starch in it than is reasonable, but she hears the skepticism shading the artist’s voice. She hears, and she can’t help being childishly offended. “Genuine, not a reproduction.”
There’s a minute pause. Vincent is a stranger to her, but it doesn’t take an experienced Detective to pick up on the fact that her pushback has provoked the aural equivalent of an eye roll. “Could I get a few pictures of it? Phone camera snaps are fine.”
“Sure. Of course. Just a second.”
The blush of embarrassment catches up to her. It’s a ridiculous thing to get defensive about, and she’s glad enough to have some busywork until she recovers herself. She retrieves the pencil from where it rests, safely back in its magician’s box now that it’s back at home with her, and sets up the shot. The pale wood of the desk is a good enough backdrop for the first shot, but she takes the barrel in hand for the second, wanting to bring the bevel with the lettering into sharp focus.
“Coming through now,” she says, quickly hitting send before any self-consciousness about the curiously intimate image of the pencil resting lightly between her fingers can overtake her.
“Yes, I see the thumbnails. The lettering does look vintage. Just let me—” There’s an abrupt silence on the end of the phone. She thinks for a second that the call has dropped. When Vincent speaks again, he sounds something more than surprised. “It’s used.”
“Yeah.” A feeling of dread settles on her. “Yes. It’s—is that a . . . a problem?”
It might be a problem. The thought hadn’t occurred to her, and in that moment, she’s suddenly aware just how attached she’s grown to this scheme of hers. She’s suddenly aware what a blow it would be to have to give it simply back to him, as is, minus half a dozen strokes in her own hand.
“No,” Vincent says slowly. “It’s not a problem for me. And it does seem to be an original. Based on lettering and some of the details on the ferrule, I’d say it’s most likely on the early end of the Eberhard years.” There’s another pause that just might kill her. “I’m just curious how much a used one of these set you back. Purely professional curiosity. If you’re not comfortable—”
“It’s not mine,” she blurts. “It’s—it belongs to a colleague.” She cringes at the word, but she’s not about to spend any amount of time trying to find a better one with Vincent, The Artist She Is Not At All Interested In on the line. “I wound up with it by . . . mistake, and I didn’t realize—and now it’s been so long, I feel like I can’t just . . .”
She trails off, but Vincent, The More Merciful Than Lanie, steps into the breach. “You can’t send the casserole dish back empty.”
“Exactly.” She laughs a little too hard, a little too loudly, but it’s genuine. “That’s exactly it.”
****************************
The process takes forever, but it’s also done in no time at all. It starts with sketches Vincent sends her of the various options. She thinks, at first, that the most dramatic is the obvious choice—wings spread to their maximum extension, one capacious ear rotated far away from the other. But she’s drawn, suddenly and certainly, to something far simpler, the wings wrapped tightly around the body, the ears perked up, and the gaze straight on, bearing the suggestion of a secret joke.
After the sketches, there’s the hand off. Vincent is easy going and cute. He’s funny, and skews decidedly nerdy at the prospect of working in such a prized medium. He vibes decided interest in her, but rolls with it when she projects Not At All Interested back at him.
And she hands it off in its plain, stiff-sided box—this thing she has held on to and ostentatiously forgotten about without ever forgetting about it—and it’s hard. It takes forever. And it’s done in no time at all.
It’s exquisite. Vincent shows it to her with pride and there’s no need to manufacture even a scintilla of her appreciation. It’s simply exquisite.
She transfers the careful bed of gauzy packing material back to the magician’s box. She flips up the four sides and taps the lid in place. She ties an intricate bow, and the whole thing makes one last trip in her bag and back into her desk drawer.
She’s calm about it now that it’s done—now that it’s perfect. She doesn’t try to map out the perfect moment to give it to him. She doesn’t even really wonder when that might be. She simply tucks it into the drawer and knows she’ll know when the moment arrives.
She does know.
Dick Coonan is dead. Dick Coonan has been dead and no one but her—no one but him—seems to remember where on the scuffed tiles the blood of her mother’s killer pooled. No one but her—no one but him—seems to think her hands look any different.
She’s been on desk duty while the shooting clears. He has been . . . not quite absent. He calls. He texts her things. He comes by for flying visits, and when he’s there, he talks nonstop. He keeps his eyes averted from the exact spot on the scuffed tiles that Dick Coonan’s blood pooled. He keeps his eyes averted from her hands.
And then the shooting clears and there he is, laden down with bags and cartons and containers full of every food imaginable. There he is, talking nonstop until she quietly tells her it wasn’t his fault—until he solemnly tells her that he is going.
But he isn’t going. He can’t go, and she tells him just that. She tells him that this job is hard—that it was hard long before there phantom blood stains on the tiles, on her hands. She tells him that she’s used to him, that he has to stay. And he says he will. He’ll stay.
She doesn’t give it to him right then. They share a meal first. They share several meals, mixed and matched. But she does give it to him later, not with a flourish, but with a simple, matter-of-fact push across the stretch of her desk that they’re sharing.
He gives her a curious look, but he’s too much the kid to delay satisfaction with questions. He studies the watered-silk oblong for a moment, then tugs at the ribbon.Delight spreads over his face as the magician’s box sides fall away. He takes a long moment to appreciate the artistry, then reach eagerly for the gauzy packing material.
She sees realization dawn even as as he pulling the gleaming ebony barrel free. His eyes go wide, and the tip of his thumb finds what is obviously the still-familiar bevel on the eraser. His fingers roam, eager to familiarize themselves all over again, but their movements hardly last half a second.
They stop absolutely when he spies the sculpture, the minute, painstakingly detailed figure of a bat, with its wings wrapped tight around its own body, peering straight out of an intelligent, mischievous face as though it would like to share a secret joke.
“This is amazing,” he says in the end—he says simply as he folds his palm gently around it and brings it close to his heart. “Kate. It’s amazing.”
He doesn’t ask . . . anything. He just holds it close to his heart, and she sees the threads of more stories than she can count spinning out between them.
She sees herself punk-ing him, faking him out with harrowing tales pencil adventures that never, ever happened. She sees him falling for it, wanting to fall for every word. She sees him leaning forward, eager, with his knuckles pressed against his lips as she doles out the whole story—eventually doles it out—in minuscule increments.
“Is there—?” He trails off, enraptured with the gift. It’s an effort of will to bring his attention back to her, but she’s fine with that. She’s absolutely fine with the way his fingers open so he can take quick peeks at the little bat, then close greedily around it again. “Did I miss an occasion?”
“No,” she says, smiling to herself—smiling at him like she has a secret joke she’s willing to share. No, he hasn’t missed an occasion. He won’t miss any.
He’s staying.
A/N: Thanks for reading. I’m sorry—especially at this moment in time—that I wrote something like 8000 words about a pencil.
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lady gaga voice slowly fadin in: ju-Das juda-ah-ah… frankly i missed this ridiculous depressed little man so i’m gna try my hand at playing 2 charas again. the crowd grits their teeth in apprehensive nerves. it’s fine it’s fine it’s all FINE!!!!!!!!! also this is nai btw forgot to say. anyway. ahem. without further adieu.... his intro
he pinterest:
me in the voice of a card magician performing on the street: round up round up pick a pinterest any pinterest!
ta-da it’s aesthetics:
lead marbles instead of eyes, a stolen hearse careening down the wrong lane, wearing a faded smiley face sticker on your forehead while receiving a serious lecture, bags under the eyes that are so big they could pack enough clothes for a three week vacation, a cigarette wobbling from your bottom lip as you squint against the sunlight, passing out on a stranger’s rooftop, placing sunglasses over the eyes of a biology lab skeleton, gangling around the place like shaggy minus his scooby snacks, saying “fuck off” to inanimate objects
about tha Bitch:
ok to start w i won’t lie i’ve pasted in an old intro here bc i just hate intros i hate writing them i hate them................. bt it’s fine.......................... lets pretend this is all fresh n sexy n new....... bsically this is jst a disclosure tht this isn’t tht well written bc it’s old n stinky bt we’re all jst having fun here. bye
he hd to do community service bc he kind of… hd a bit of a breakdown before the funeral of his elderly neighbour who bsically raised him bc her kids rly didnt care abt her they jst wanted her inheritance?? so he… stole the hearse w her casket still in it n ws jst like… drivin around the place sort of… tryin nt to cry…..KJJFHSFKJGHKFG i mean. it isnt funny its actually sad bt :/ in a very bizarre n jude way. he gt caught n taken in fr questioning bt her son kind of realised hw… broken up abt her death jude ws n had a heart n didnt press charges. regardless he stil hd to do community service bc it ws like taken seriously even tho it ws his first proper offence. doin it rly exhausted n depressed him so when he wsnt doin tht he ws just hibernatin in his room……. this ws like 2/3 months ago nw mayb bt... just some fun lore fr u all
in a new development in terms of sexuality i jst am nt quite sure……. hes always thot he ws straight… fooled around w a 90s hugh grant lookalike once n ws jst a bit like :/ my rocks rnt blasted off? bt who knows wht the future holds… who KNOWS wht the future holds ladies n gentlemen
born in sheffield in england, bt they went back and forth between there n san fran a lot
jude was an unhappy accident. his parents never rly used protection bc they were super Liberal n Au Naturel n believed in the pull out method bc… they were maniacs. bt then the ONE time they used a condom in an effort to b safety conscious it broke n hence…. jude was born
they just kind of ran w it bc they had such a passionate relationship tht they were like What The Hell…. may as well! itll be fine we’ll learn to be good parents n love him like normal ppl do
spoiler alert: tht didn’t work out
they were ok to him like they weren’t abusive or anything like that bt they just found him to be a massive burden n hindrance to their plans. they literally….. had sex all day every day n acted like a pair of teenagers. it ws a super weird environment for a kid to grow up in bc he literally had no role models or… guidance or…. anything rly. occasionally they’d joke around w him or pretend they even knew what grade he was going into but for the most part they just Didn’t Care one bit
they were both suuuuper into the arts. they’re both rly good sculptors bt they paint too n they actually own a successful gallery in san fran
as a result he grew up around a lot of creative n sometimes pretentious ppl. the friends of his parents were more present in his life than his ACTUAL parents bc they were always jetting off to diff countries to scout out new pieces fr their galleries n just have a gd time in beautiful places without…. the annoyance tht ws their son forcing them to b responsible n look after someone else. tbh some of his parents friends were rly damaging too bt….i won’t go into that just yet. it doesn’t rly…need properly explaining bc jude never talks abt it anyway n it….is rather triggering so i’ll jst….leav it for now tbh fgkhdfgh. basically they just were Not Nice n jude had a lot of bad memories he keeps repressed
bc of how he ws raised he has a p cultured taste. he luvs classic lit n p much anything artsy. he can play piano 2 n sometimes gets rly high n thinks he’s mozart level gd at composing. i mean he’s gd bt… Calm Down Jude. personality wise he acts out sometimes bc he’s so frustrated. he tried rly hard to be someone his parents wld care abt by doing wild or stupid things so he’d hav funny stories to tell them n tbh sometimes it works n he gets them to laugh w him but it isn’t a parent/son bond n it never rly wil b.
he’s rly sarcastic, sleeps around a bit, has an overflowing secret sketchbook n if he cares abt someone he’ll probably draw them n get rly defensive if they find out abt it fkjgdhfkj bcos he’s an Independent Boy without a sentimental bone in his body. or so he says. at heart he is jst a very Sad Boy w lots of repressed issues like depression genuinely just does NAT giv him a single break bt he plasters over this w wise cracks n never discusses his emotions ever. he’s actually p decent or at least tries to b. he’s kind of like tht bit in superbad where michael cera gets rly drunk n makes a toast to women. tries to b? a feminist bt sometimes fucks up n offends ppl n is like dam….. my bad fr :/
he has p bad insomnia so he like never sleeps fgjkhfgjkf he always has rly sleepy eyes n rubs them tiredly mid conversation. he smokes a lot of weed to try n compensate fr this n make him tired bt he still struggles a lot
ANYWAY that aside he’s at lockwood doing fine arts. he luvs painting n photography n philosophy n all tht. a pretentious fiend sometimes? maybe_so.gif. he isn’t rly pushy abt it tho n tends to like.... take nothing seriously bt at the same time acts like he is??? like he’s very deadpan in everything he does
ummMMMMmm honestly idk i’m blankin on what else to say. ull find him smoking weed reading an american classic or gnawing at his thumbnail n getting charcoal smudges on all his clothes. wandering the streets eating frm a cereal box without care in public. he’s p broody n scruffy n he’s mostly here fr a good time. o and he’s That Guy that would die fr morrissey (his vibe not personality bc i hc jude was depressed n shut himself inside all day when he actually found out what a dick he is dfjkfhg) and all that stone roses the smiths etc stuff music wise. HMU FR PLOTS!!!!!! i’m down fr anything
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lady gaga voice slowly fadin in: oOoohohOhoh im in love w judas.... ju-Das juda-ah-ah... i rly missed jude tbh so i decided to bring him in as a second. i hv faith i cn manage jugglin i... ...... .. . have faith. in case u dnt kno it is me (nai) n this is like. the one (1) male chara iv ever managed to play longer than jst a few weeks. truly jst Zee Fruit Of My Womb! bt anyway. jst gna leap right in to the intro. we die like men
he pinterest:
me in the voice of a card magician performing on the street: round up round up pick a pinterest any pinterest!
ta-da it’s aesthetics:
lead marbles instead of eyes, a stolen hearse careening down the wrong lane, wearing a faded smiley face sticker on your forehead while receiving a serious lecture, bags under the eyes that are so big they could pack enough clothes for a three week vacation, a cigarette wobbling from your bottom lip as you squint against the sunlight, passing out on a stranger's rooftop, placing sunglasses over the eyes of a biology lab skeleton, gangling around the place like shaggy minus his scooby snacks, saying "fuck off" to inanimate objects
about tha Bitch:
he hd to do community service bc he kind of... hd a bit of a breakdown before the funeral of his elderly neighbour who bsically raised him bc her kids rly didnt care abt her they jst wanted her inheritance?? so he... stole the hearse w her casket still in it n ws jst like... drivin around the place sort of... tryin nt to cry.....KJJFHSFKJGHKFG i mean. it isnt funny its actually sad bt :/ in a very bizarre n jude way. he gt caught n taken in fr questioning bt her son kind of realised hw... broken up abt her death jude ws n had a heart n didnt press charges. regardless he stil hd to do community service bc it ws like taken seriously even tho it ws his first proper offence. doin it rly exhausted n depressed him so when he wsnt doin tht he ws just hibernatin in his room....... n thts where hes been 2 explain his absence to any of u whose charas had... connections w him Way Back When
in a new development in terms of sexuality i jst am nt quite sure....... hes always thot he ws straight... fooled around w a 90s hugh grant lookalike once n ws jst a bit like :/ my rocks rnt blasted off? bt who knows wht the future holds... who KNOWS wht the future holds ladies n gentlemen
frm this point on i wnt lie iv pasted in his old intro bc. a bich is lazy! a bich is predictable! and a bich! is! unapologetic!
born in sheffield in england, bt they went back and forth between there n san fran a lot
jude was an unhappy accident. his parents never rly used protection bc they were super Liberal n Au Naturel n believed in the pull out method bc… they were maniacs. bt then the ONE time they used a condom in an effort to b safety conscious it broke n hence…. jude was bornthey just kind of ran w it bc they had such a passionate relationship tht they were like What The Hell…. may as well! itll be fine we’ll learn to be good parents n love him like normal ppl do
spoiler alert: tht didn’t work outthey were ok to him like they weren’t abusive or anything like that bt they just found him to be a massive burden n hindrance to their plansthey literally….. had sex all day every day n acted like a pair of teenagers. it ws a super weird environment for a kid to grow up in bc he literally had no role models or… guidance or…. anything rly. occasionally they’d joke around w him or pretend they even knew what grade he was going into but for the most part they just Didn’t Care one bit
they were both suuuuper into the arts. they’re both rly good sculptors bt they paint too n they actually own a rly successful gallery in san fran
as a result he grew up around a lot of creative n sometimes pretentious ppl. the friends of his parents were more present in his life than his ACTUAL parents bc they were always jetting off to diff countries to scout out new pieces fr their galleries n just have a gd time in beautiful places without…. the annoyance tht ws their son forcing them to b responsible n look after someone else. tbh some of his parents friends were rly damaging too bt….i won’t go into that just yet. it doesn’t rly…need properly explaining bc jude never talks abt it anyway n it….is rather triggering so i’ll jst….leav it for now tbh fgkhdfgh. basically they just were Not Nice n jude had a lot of bad memories he keeps repressed
bc of how he ws raised he has a p cultured taste. he luvs classic lit, especially kerouac, n p much anything artsy. he can play piano 2 n sometimes gets rly high n thinks he’s mozart level gd at composing. i mean he’s gd bt… Calm Down Judepersonality wise he acts out sometimes bc he’s so frustrated. he tried rly hard to be someone his parents wld care abt by doing wild or stupid things so he’d hav funny stories to tell them n tbh sometimes it works n he gets them to laugh w him but it isn’t a parent/son bond n it never rly wil b.
he’s rly sarcastic, sleeps around a lot, has an overflowing secret sketchbook n if he cares abt someone he’ll probably draw them n get rly defensive if they find out abt it fkjgdhfkj bcos he’s an Independent Boy without a sentimental bone in his body. or so he says. at heart he is jst a very Sad Boy w lots of repressed issues like depression genuinely just does NAT giv him a single break bt he plasters over this w wise cracks n never discusses his emotions ever. he’s actually p decent or at least tries to b. he’s kind of like tht bit in superbad where michael cera gets rly drunk n makes a toast to women. tries to b? a feminist bt sometimes fucks up n offends ppl n is like dam..... my bad fr :/
he has p bad insomnia so he like never sleeps fgjkhfgjkf he always has rly sleepy eyes n rubs them tiredly mid conversation. he smokes a lot of weed to try n compensate fr this n make him tired bt he still struggles a lot
ANYWAY that aside he’s at lockwood doing fine arts. he luvs painting n photography n philosophy n all tht. a pretentious fiend sometimes? maybe_so.gif
ummMMMMmm honestly idk i’m blankin on what else to say. ull find him smoking weed reading an american classic or gnawing at his thumbnail n getting charcoal smudges along that Dramatic model jawline. he’s p broody n scruffy n he’s mostly here fr a good time. o and he’s That Guy that would die fr morrissey (his vibe not personality bc i hc jude was depressed n shut himself inside all day when he actually found out what a dick he is dfjkfhg) and all that stone roses the smiths etc stuff music wise. HMU FR PLOTS!!!!!! i’m down fr anything
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Passing Through
Part Two: Western Squall
A/N: You and Ryan finish playing on 16th street, and you show him around the area before the storm blows in, each of you learning a few things about the other.
Warnings: again none. floofy fluff. with a side of momentary sadness.
Word Count: 5,819 (yikes. idk guys, I just can’t seem to cut the details short when it comes to Ryan.)
Songs Referenced: Southbound
The last notes of the song you’d been playing left the piano keys and drifted off the strings of Ryan’s guitar, floating away on the rapidly chilling air. You glanced over at him as the small crowd that had gathered awarded you with a smattering of applause and a few crinkled bills dropped into the open case at Ryan’s feet. You caught him smiling, noting that his smiles came more from his eyes than his lips. The sun was glowing goldenrod behind blue gray clouds, trying furiously to burn them away. But the gleam in his soft nutty irises would have done a better job of banishing the approaching storm. He lifted his gaze from the body of the guitar, and you sucked in a breath as those warm eyes landed on you. He blinked once before one reddened cheek rose as his smile grew. You felt a wave roll though your stomach that had nothing to do with how hungry you were, and everything to do with what it had just felt like to play with Ryan.
You felt an awed expression take up residence on your face, adrenaline and emotion simultaneously causing a tear to materialize, and a giggle to bubble forth. You swiped the frozen tear away with the back of your hand. That felt… It hasn’t felt that good to play in… You’d played with plenty of talented musicians- in studios, on street corners, in bars and basements- but none of them had been quite like Ryan. When he sang, it wasn’t just with his mouth. He sang with his lungs and his eyes and the tilt of his head, with the furrows in his brow. When he played it wasn’t just with his fingers, but with his whole hands, sometimes plucking lightly, other times attacking the strings, with his shoulders raised and his foot stomping as he rocked with the cadence of the song. He didn’t just play. He didn’t just sing. He made music, like a magician conjuring something from thin air. You fell into harmony with him on the songs you sang together, and he adjusted the tempos he was used to to match the slower or faster ones that you played. It felt like you’d rehearsed together for weeks instead of having only met that morning. It was like he understood the things that you felt when you sang, like he could feel them, too, and he was trying to translate them with the help of the glossy maple instrument that was just as much part of him as his long limbs. Playing with Ryan was like reading through your journal and finding passages that you’d forgotten about, and then remembering what you were thinking when you’d written them.
He noticed you wiping at another tear and his eyebrows came together in a quiet question. You shook your head, wrinkling your nose. Another involuntary, breathy laugh slipped out as just as silently you told him that you were fine. More than fine, this is... You felt light, like you could float away just like the song had, on the day of the year that you generally felt yourself heavy with sadness. You know why, Junebug. Serendipity. You could hear your mother’s words as clearly as if she were speaking them directly into your ear. You had to smile thinking about what she would think of Ryan, how she’d be unable to even attempt to hide the fact that she would think he was attractive, how she’d be enthralled with his talent and his passion for music, how she’d unabashedly try to hint that you would make a good couple, and how you would turn the same deep red shade of the piano that you sat before, shrieking “Mother!” while trying to disappear. Absurd. You heard him, he’s passing through. You’re just playing together, it’s just for today, just until the snow comes through. Luckily, a tall, bright faced woman broke you of your thoughts with compliments on your playing. You thanked her warmly as she dropped a $5 bill into the case. Ryan was wrapping up a brief conversation with a man and his son as the small crowd dispersed under the darkening sky. Soon it was just the two of you in the Garden Block; the two of you and the empty flower pots, the bare trees, and the painted piano. You spun on the bench, picking your knees up to your chin so that you could swing your feet up and around to face Ryan. You were about to say something, but he beat you to it.
“That was really sumthin’,” his eyes still twinkled, and you wondered if it could have possibly felt the same to him as it had to you. He laid his guitar across his lap, holding it there with both hands.
“Yeah,” you nodded, that awed expression still rearranging your features. “Yeah, it was. You’re really talented, Ryan.”
He swung his head down and to the side bashfully before facing you fully again. His cheeks looked a touch redder than the tip of his nose, and you knew it was from more than the cold. “Nah, I just-”
You shook your head emphatically, leaning forward to rest your elbows on your knees. “Uh uh.” You narrowed your eyes. “You don’t get to say ‘nah’ like that. Your music is… it’s beautiful, Ryan.”
“Well,” he flushed even more, “well, thank you.” Nodding, he stuck his chin out towards you. “You’re really good, too. You do this for a livin’?” He bent down to start counting and organizing the generous tips the two of you had garnered.
You sighed and sat back up, hugging your arms around yourself against the wind as it blew down the length of the mall. You reached down for your discarded sweater, re-layering. “No,” you said, sliding your arms into the sleeves. “I’m a bartender, who sometimes moonlights...er...daylights...as a musician.” You shrugged, pulling the sweater closed. “I used to play a lot more than I do now.” You sniffed. Change the subject. You’re feeling light, don’t weigh it back down. “We just played for,” you checked the time on your phone, eyebrows flying upwards in shock. “Four hours?! Holy cow!” You looked up at him, and saw that the surprise was mutual. His lips parted and you saw a white flash of teeth as he smiled again. He’s so happy… this makes him so happy. “Are you as hungry as I am?” You reached down for your bag, slinging it over your arm. “I’m starving.”
Ryan finished dividing the cash into two piles, folding one in half and tucking it into the beat up leather wallet he pulled from his back pocket, extending the other pile out to you. You took it with a soft “thank you”. You didn’t unfold and actually count, but from what you could see and the thickness of the stack in your hand, you’d made almost a hundred bucks a piece. That’ll make Max pretty happy, Mom, what do you think? You silently spoke to the wind, smiling inwardly. Ryan scooped up the coins from the case and laid the guitar in the felt lining before answering your question. “Yeah, I could eat.”
You grabbed the two empty coffee cups from hours before and crossed the garden block to toss them in the trashcan while Ryan hoisted the guitar case and an overstuffed backpack that you hadn't noticed earlier onto his shoulders. He stood waiting for you beside the piano, lightly pressing his thumbnail into the thick red paint to gauge just how many layers there were hiding beneath it. You smiled as you saw him do the same, seemingly pleased with the fact that there were at least thirty layers beneath the current one. “So this looks different every time?” He picked his head up to ask the question, completely intrigued by the musical artwork.
“Yeah, it’s pretty neat, huh?” You ran your fingers over the thick, rippled layers of weathered paint. “The city hires a new local artist every few weeks. I just love that it’s here, that people get to play...not everyone has the space or money, even for a little upright like this, you know?”
He nodded thoughtfully, smile faltering ever so slightly, and just as you were starting to worry that you’d said the wrong thing, the smile was back, reaching into his eyes.”I’m glad it’s here, too. People like you get to play it an’ make lots of other people happy.” The air felt heavy with the precipitation that was promising to fall, but standing so close to Ryan, the piano between you...it was like being inside a dome of sunshine and summer; like you couldn’t feel the blustery wind that was making passersby huddle further into their coats.
You laughed and thanked him for the compliment, again thinking to yourself that it had been too long since you’d played. Don’t get into that now. “So,” you cleared your throat. Turning your head slightly to give him a look of mock skepticism you asked, “How do you feel about tacos?”
He tugged on the straps of his case and pack. “Is this a test?” He narrowed his eyes, but you could see the smile twinkling inside of them.
You pulled your phone out and typed a quick text, nodding to his question. “It is. It is a test. Please answer honestly.” You were good at talking and joking with people because your job required those skills, but it was still astonishing how easy and genuine it felt to act that way with him after so few words and such little time. With customers, especially the ones you knew were fly by day and wouldn’t become regulars, there was always a level of disconnect, because no matter how funny the jokes were or how silly the stories, you knew that the relationship hinged on the fact that you were supplying them beverages, and they were supplying you with the ability to pay your rent. Between you and Ryan there was only music, and that was free. This is easy… why is he so easy to be around?
“Well, I feel good about tacos,” he chuckled, a puff of white vapor coming from his mouth as his warm breath hit the frigid air.
You feigned extreme relief. “Oh good, so you can be trusted.” You started walking in the direction of your flavorful destination, and Ryan fell into step next to you just as effortlessly as he had after leaving the coffee shop. “I know the best place in the city, just a few blocks down in Larimer Square.”
He was listening to you, you could tell, but you noticed that his eyes were up and flitting from one thing to the next. You passed a few specialty food stalls, smoke wafting out through aluminum vents, filling the air with sweet, meaty, and spicy smells. You saw him notice the handwritten menu signs and the way that pots, pans and other cooking utensils were hung or stored. In one brightly colored stall, a heavily tattooed cook was dicing green chillies, knife flashing as he proudly and confidently brought the blade down over and over against the hard block of the cutting board. Just next to the impromptu and constantly changing food court, a few more stalls were occupied by artisans and crafters selling beaded jewelry, tie-dyed clothing, intricate dream catchers and small wood carvings. You glanced over at Ryan and you could tell that he was just itching to get closer, to watch the crafters work. “You wanna check that out?” You asked, gesturing toward the woodworker’s stand.
He nodded enthusiastically, already taking a step towards the weathered older man with a kind face and scarred up hands who sat whittling objects and trinkets of all sorts. Ryan’s eyes were on the man’s hands, noting how the artist held his tools, and it struck you how present he was, how attentive and detail focused he was. “Lookit the way the wood curls fall,” he pointed to the floor where a pile of thin ribbons of oak shavings grew. “Twistin’ like that… wood’s hard, ya know? Wouldn’t think it could do that… it’s… there’s beauty in that,” He shrugged, eyes twinkling, focused on the discarded bits and not the ornate piece in the crafter’s hands. Most people walk right on by and here he is stopping to notice the scraps. He turned to you, a far off wistful look on his face. “Growin’ up I used to sit on my grandaddy’s porch and he’d carve all sorts of things...whistles, ornaments, little trains and boats for me’n my cousins to play with.” A twangy voice accompanied by a sad guitar and a lonely fiddle came through speakers inside the woodworker’s stall, and you could tell that Ryan knew the song by the way he tapped his thumb against his thigh in time with the music.
“He ever teach you how to make anything?” You imagined carving tools and a fresh block of golden wood held in Ryan’s tattooed fingers, imagined him liberating birds and bears and fish and trees from the cubes of unfinished oak, whistling or humming or tapping his boot against the floorboards of a porch as he did.
Ryan laughed. “Nah,” he winked and you weren’t ready for the way that wink made your insides dance. “He didn’t trust me with anything sharp back then, and I can’t say I blamed him much. My cousins an’ I were troublemakers with a capital T.”
You laughed and he joined in. “Pockets full of frogs? Pulling girls’ pigtails? That sort of thing?” You guessed.
“How’d you know?” He asked, and you watched as a birthmark beneath his eye was nearly lost to the crinkling of his lifted cheeks.
“Wild guess,” you shrugged. You asked him if he wanted to purchase anything from the stall and he hesitantly answered “no”, peeling his eyes away from the rapidly accumulating splinters and curls at the carver’s feet. His gaze lingered on a small freight train figurine on the table for a few extra seconds, and his fingers twitched like he wanted to reach out and touch it, but he didn’t, just turned to face you with those quiet, soft leather eyes. “Alright,” you rose on your toes to look over his shoulder, making sure that the shuttle bus wasn’t about to barrel down the mall. Once you knew you were in the clear, you bumped your elbow to his. “Onward. One more stop before lunch, if that’s okay with you.”
He stepped down off of the curb as you did. “Sure, lead the way. Not often I get the locals tour of a new city.”
“Hardly a tour, Ryan,” you smirked at him. “I haven’t even taken you to any historic sites or taught you any fun facts. You should demand a refund.”
His jovial laugh rang through the cold afternoon, and you noted how empty the street had become- a few stragglers heading towards light rail stops and rushing into buildings to escape the increasing chill. “Do you know any fun facts?”
“Well, no,” you admitted, and he laughed again. “But I could make some up,” you offered, remembering the “tours” your mother used to take you and your brother on when you were visiting new places, the “facts” that she’d conjure- see that building? It was once a clock factory, but the man who worked there discovered the secret to time travel, and he built a clock that took him away to another time, and he was never heard from again. Now it’s a pizzeria, but you can still hear the gears and the chimes from the clocks that used to be built there. You and Eli, in your infinite naivety and desire for magic to be real, would oooh and ahhh at her stories, and even well after you knew that they were fictional, you’d giggle over the stories fondly. You were quickly approaching the next stop on what Ryan had labeled a tour, and you turned to him. “Don’t worry, I won’t actually make you listen to a bunch of phony facts.” You nodded towards the storefront to your left- Max’s Music Shop- big red neon guitar hanging above the door, lit up against the colorless winter scene. “Just have to run in here real quick to drop something off. You wanna come in?”
You saw his eyes land on a beautiful Alder guitar with a Rosewood fretboard and a colorful, hand embroidered strap. They roved over the curves of the instrument hungrily, mouth dropping open and a small “wow” slipping out as he raised his hand to the glass. “Think they’d let me play that one?” He asked, a hopeful lift in his tone.
You smiled warmly, thrilled to be able to give him good news. “Yeah, I think so. Max is a friend.” You didn’t think Max would be okay with it, you knew he would, and you knew that once he heard Ryan play he’d be eager to invite him back any time. You opened the door, a bell jingling pleasantly above you, and again Ryan’s canvas sleeved arm came from right behind you to hold it for you. You thanked him, looking up and over your shoulder to see that he was looking down at you with excitement clear and present all over his face, the wind blowing the feathersoft hair that stuck out from his cap behind his ears, grin visible under the patchy facial hair that ranged down his neck in some places, and you felt your stomach do another flip. It feels so good to be close to him...this is...I need to stop... again you felt like you were enclosed in his sunny aura, simply by sharing proximity. Your breath caught as his hand brushed yours, completely accidentally, as it came down from the door. You recovered quickly as Max’s face lit up from behind the counter, and he came around to give you a hug.
“Hey! Junebug!” His bright blue eyes shone with genuine excitement to see you. “How you been? Who’s your friend?” He stepped back from you, swiping his blonde hair from his eyes with one hand, the tattered sleeve of his sweater pulled down to his fingers.
You stepped aside. “This is Ryan, we met this morning when I spilled coffee on some asshat in Caribou.” Max shook Ryan’s hand, both men smiling, quietly appreciating the other’s clear love for music. You turned back to Max. “He’s the best guitarist I ever heard, Max. Can you grab that beauty in the window so he can treat us both?”
Ryan flushed from his cheeks to the tips of his ears at your compliments as Max excitedly strode to the window to remove the guitar in question. He brought it over to the side of the shop that had two wooden boxes that served as seating, a faded blue Turkish rug spread out on the floor. “Have a seat, Ryan,” Max gestured to the boxes with his free hand, and Ryan did as he was instructed, completely enamored by the shiny lacquer that covered the unique grain of the guitar’s body. You sat on the second box as Max handed the guitar over, and watched it trade hands, a sort of whimsical enchantment filling the shop’s small space as Ryan’s fingers closed around the neck.
“Thank you, sir,” he directed his words to Max, but his gaze was stuck on the instrument in his hands, gleaming just as much as the shiny wood. Max nodded and crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against the wall behind him, one leg bouncing in anticipation of hearing Ryan play.
You watched as Ryan adjusted his position on the wooden seat, propping the guitar comfortably in his lap as though he’d been acquainted with the instrument for years, as though they were very old friends and not strangers. He strummed his fingers over the strings, delighting in the sound, forehead creasing in concentration as he introduced himself to the bridge and the sound hole, carefully twisting one of the pegs at the top of the headstock. You watched him with the same enraptured awe that he watched the wood carver with, eyes following his fingers from the headstock back down to the strings, and held your breath as he began to play.
You heard Max let out a surprised sound as Ryan started plucking away with his right hand, the honey sweet, magical music filling the small shop almost instantly. You watched the way the knuckles of his left hand moved, pressing down tightly on the strings over the neck before springing away to free the vibrations. Without realizing it you were tapping your foot and your cheeks were aching at the smile his song induced. He only sang a few lines, lyrics having to do with heading south, following the weather to where it’s warm, and travelling by train, and you felt utterly immersed in the song, in the story that we has telling with his words and the way that his body curved around the guitar, the way that his hands increased and decreased pressure on the instrument to denote different volumes, tones and feelings. You only got to sneak a few glances at him while the two of you played, as you were wrapped up in your own playing, the movement of your own fingers as they flew across the keys, and now, surrounded by banjos and ukes, drums, violins, flutes and other musical equipment, now you got to take in the visual aspect of his performance as much as the audible. He quieted the strings by laying his palm flat against them as the song came to a close, and you and Max launched into applause as that flattered red flush came back to Ryan’s face. He smiled sheepishly at his hands before looking up and thanking you and Max.
“Junebug didn’t lie, man, you are extremely talented...you ever record? I have equipment and a studio at home and I’d love to work with you if you’re interested…” Max was speaking quickly like he did when he was excited, and you were thrilled to see Ryan’s eyes flicker with surprise and interest when Max mentioned recording. They spoke briefly about setting up time to record, and you stood, crossing the room to give them privacy. You lingered near the counter, examining a colorful steel drum that you’d seen Max mess around on before.
“Yeah, I’m only in town for a few days,” you heard Ryan explaining to Max, “But I could be headin’ back this way in the Spring, could I call you then?”
You froze, your fingers finding the divets in the steel drum’s basin, as an inappropriate feeling of disappointment hit you at the idea that Ryan would be gone in a few days, just like the snow that had yet to start falling. Stop it, you told yourself for what felt like the eightieth time that day, you’ve known lots of traveling buskers, shit you were one for a long time, you know how this works. Max’s cheery voice broke through your disappointed thoughts as he agreed that any time would be the right time and that the offer would stand for whenever Ryan found himself back in Denver. They shook on it, both of them grinning, and the warmth that came from Ryan’s smile banished some of the sting of his imminent departure. You resumed tapping the steel drum as they walked over to where you were standing.
“So, Max, I did actually drop in to give you something,” you pulled the folded stack of cash from your bag and handed it over to Max. Ryan’s eyebrows wrinkled in confusion as your tip money changed hands. “For the Lois Walsh Junebug Jam Musical Education Program,” you announced, though you knew that Max knew what the money was for. You’d been donating in your mother’s name since you met Max almost four years ago amd learned that he ran private music lessons for kids who couldn’t afford their own instruments, letting them play either second hand instruments at the shop, or his own older guitars and violins at home. You’d been wanting to do something in your mother’s honor since she passed almost seven years ago, and you’d known that you wanted it to be music related, as everything in your mother’s life had been. Twice a year you’d come into the shop and hand over a wad of cash, and twice a year he’d tell you about the kid whose day you made when he was able to present them with their very own trumpet, bass, or flute. Max beamed and thanked you, professing how proud of you your mother would be despite never having met her. You could tell that Ryan wanted to ask questions or say something, but he refrained from doing so until the two of you were back outside.
Though the mountains were behind you, you didn’t have to see them to feel the cloud shelf advancing. Having already swallowed the peaks it would undoubtedly be hanging low over the foothills now, snow blowing about, riding the Western Squall that was on its way into the city. You sniffed against the cold, and against the little rush of emotion that donating on your mother’s behalf always gave you, and when you turned towards Ryan, you were only slightly surprised to see him already looking at you thoughtfully. “That’s a real nice thing you’re doin’, Junebug,” he was quiet, and though he couldn’t know the details about the fund you’d helped Max set up, it was clear that he could tell there was a very personal connection there, and he wasn’t going to push you to talk about it. Hearing him use that nickname, though, made the air evaporate straight out of your lungs. You recovered as quickly as you could with a smile and a little laugh.
“Oh you’re callin’ me Junebug now, are you?” You wrinkled your nose at him in mock disgust, but the truth was that if he forgot your real name and called you that forever, you’d be just fine with it. “But, thanks. I...Max is great, you know? Teaching music to kids and…” you shrugged. “I’m a shitty teacher, so if I can help him out in this way I’m happy to do it.” That was the truth, sans details that he didn’t need to know right now. “But!” you clapped your gloved hands together softly, “It’s taco time, come on you’ve gotta be ready to eat your fist at this point, I know I am.”
Ryan laughed and you lead him a few blocks further down 16th Street and around the corner to Larimer Square, strung year round with lights and banners, it’s cobbled sidewalks making it seem like a small town Main Street instead of one of the trendiest streets in Lower Downtown. You passed a few high end boutiques and eateries- a dress shop you couldn’t even afford to make a reservation in, a champagne bar you’d visited once on New Year’s Eve- and strolled along until you reached the sign for Tamayo, the lettering above the door enough to make your mouth start watering. Ryan stopped abruptly outside the restaurant’s front door. You were still chatting excitedly about the happy mistake that lead you to the carne asada wonderland you were about to experience, and hadn’t noticed that you’d lost him a few steps back. You spun on your heel to see him, shoulders slumped in front of the menu that was posted outside. He looked disappointed, and you immediately had a suspicion as to why. “Hey,” you called over to him, “You okay?”
He turned to face you, a slightly embarrassed look on his face that made you feel horrible. “Yeah, I just…” he looked down at his clothing; tattered tan cap pulled over his long and unruly hair, canvas coat that covered a maroon sweater, dark jeans stained in several places with a thick pair of gray gloves sticking out from his back pocket, paint and mud caked boots with frayed laces, before looking back up at the pristine building, looking through the windows at the tables with white cloths and small candles. “I don’t think I’m dressed for a place this nice.”
You looked down at your own appearance and back over at him. “Yeah,” you said, “Me either. Follow me.” You waved an arm.
He took a reluctant step towards you and paused again. “I don’t...this place, it’s...I don’t think I can really afford it,” he looked down at the sidewalk, and you wanted to take away any feeling of inadequacy that he ever felt. He was the kindest, most genuine, supremely talented person that you’d ever met, and he didn’t deserve to feel inadequate, ever.
“Ryan,” you reached out and touched his arm before you could stop yourself, the tips of your fingers sticking out from your gloves to feel the rough material of his coat. He looked down at your purple gloved hand, and then up to your eyes and you thought you might choke. You shook your head slightly and removed your hand as you continued. “I can’t really afford it either, Ryan.” You winked. “I know a guy that works in the kitchen- helped him out when his band was in a jam and needed a backup keyboardist for a few gigs- and he owes me...I told him payment in tacos was acceptable, and I hadn’t cashed in on it yet, so… come on, I texted him before we left the piano. I bet he’s got everything packed up already.”
He looked dumbfounded. “You’re usin’ your favor on me?”
“Least I could do after you told that asshole off in the coffee shop, and then…” You let out a breath. “And then you...we played together and I haven’t played like that in…” you sighed as the mild confusion on his face faded. “Yes, Ryan, I’m using my favor on you. Now come on.”
He followed you to a back door where your friend Josh was waiting, red and brown stains covering his white apron. He shivered as he extended the bag to you, and you thanked him, promising to get together to play sometime. He disappeared back inside, and you turned to Ryan brandishing the bag of spicy goodness. “Come on, I know just the spot for a picnic.”
Ryan seemed to have left his feelings of embarrassment and inadequacy back on the cobbled bricks of the sidewalk outside Tamayo’s front door, and you were immensely glad. You led him around another few corners until you were at the Colorado Convention Center, and you turned to catch his reaction to the enormous blue bear sculpture that had been added to the building’s exterior. It was positioned in such a way that made it look like the looming bear was trying to peer into the windows of the iconic building, and normally it would be flooded with tourists and visitors to the city, posing for pictures perched on its paw. The snow had finally started to fall, light but noticeable, so the area around big blue’s feet was completely empty. You climbed up on one of it’s huge paws and patted the flat area next to you, indicating that Ryan should join you. He shook his head, a delighted smile on his face banishing whatever he was feeling before and filling his eyes with wonder. He climbed up next to you and wiped his hands off on his jeans. “Painted pianos, secret little music shops…” he tilted his head back to appreciate the sculpture that he sat upon, “taco picnics and now bear statues… I thought you said this wasn’t a tour?”
“Ha, I guess...I guess it was. A tour of my Denver.” You passed him one of the two containers full of carne asada and chicken tinga tacos, and opened your own. You wasted no time in scooping up one of the soft corn tortillas, still warm from the foil pouch Josh had wrapped them in, and took a big, sloppy bite. One look over at Ryan and he was doing exactly the same, and you laughed, mouth full, as his tongue came out to try to catch some pico de gallo that was falling out of the shell in his hand. He was unsuccessful, instead shoving the whole thing in his mouth before sucking seasoning and sauce from his thumb. He shrugged and you laughed harder having swallowed the food in your mouth. “That’s how tacos work- shove it in and hope for the best.”
His eyebrows flew up under his hat and he froze before bursting with a loud laugh that echoed in the empty street and off the glass windows under the bear’s legs. It felt good, laughing with him, sharing your day… a day that you’d normally spend alone and certainly with less laughter. You leaned back against the behemoth sculpture and Ryan got more comfortable, too, and the two of you ate in a semi-silence punctuated by chewing and slurping noises, neither of you trying to eat gracefully around the other. When you’d finished your meal and Ryan his, you hopped down from the bear’s paw and waited for him to join you back on the ground.
“So, I was thinking-”
“So, can I ask you somethin’-”
You both spoke at once, and your heart hammered. Somehow, though you had no idea how or why, somehow you knew that he was about to ask you about the money you’d handed over in the music shop and what it was for and where the name Junebug came from and what you were doing downtown today and why it had been so long since you’d played music. What was worse than the idea of him asking these things, was the idea that you actually wanted to talk to him about it all… You were about to resign and say, “Sure,” when all of a sudden the wind changed, and the squall that had been threatening all morning dropped snow down on your heads relentlessly and you both focused on it instead of the double questioning that had almost happened.
“Where to, Junebug?” he asked, squinting against the flakes that fell sideways, blowing about on the wind to settle in his hair and on his long lashes. He keeps calling me that and it's going to be a problem, you smirked to yourself as you grabbed his elbow and lead him down an alley between the convention center and the building next to it, towards the light rail station.
“Let’s get out of the city, what do you say?”
@something-tofightfor @my-little-dumpster-fire @suchatinyinfinity @lexxierave @benbarnestongue @banditthewriter @thesumofmychoices
please let me know if you wanna hop on or off this train!
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lady gaga vc: i’m still in love w judas Babey..... helo. nai again. i cnt rly write lana atm so! switched her out fr jude. some of u might kno him already bt if nt then here is his pinterest board to kind of get a feel fr his aesthetic or whtever n then u can find out mre abt him beneath the cut. like this or hmu fr plots!!
( cis-male ) haven’t seen JUDE HAYWARD around in a while. the DOUGLAS BOOTH lookalike has been known to be (+) WITTY & (+) PROTECTIVE, but HE can also be (-) SARCASTIC & (-) DETACHED. The 23 year old is a JUNIOR majoring in FINE ART. I believe they’re living in AUDAX but I popped by earlier and no one answered the door. ( nai. 22. gmt. she/ha. )
born in sheffield in england, bt they went back and forth between there n san fran a lot
jude was an unhappy accident. his parents never rly used protection bc they were super liberal n au naturel n believed in the pull out method bc… they were maniacs. bt then the one time they used a condom in an effort to b safety conscious it broke n hence…. jude was born
they just kind of ran w it bc they had such a passionate relationship tht they were like what the hell…. may as well! itll be fine we’ll learn to be good parents n love him like normal ppl do
spoiler alert: tht didn’t work out
they were ok to him like they weren’t super abusive or anything like that bt they just found him to be a massive burden n hindrance to their plans
they literally….. had sex all day every day n acted like a pair of teenagers. it ws a super weird/unhealthy environment for a kid to grow up in bc he literally had no role models or… guidance or…. anything rly. occasionally they’d joke around w him or pretend they even knew what grade he was going into but for the most part they just didn’t care one bit
they were both suuuuper into the arts. they’re both rly good sculptors bt they paint too n they actually own a successful gallery in san fran
as a result he grew up around a lot of creative n sometimes pretentious ppl. the friends of his parents were more present in his life than his actual parents bc they were always jetting off to diff countries to scout out new pieces fr their galleries n just have a gd time in beautiful places without…. the annoyance tht ws their son forcing them to b responsible n look after someone else. tbh some of his parents friends tht stayed w him while they were away were rly damaging too bt….i won’t go into that just yet. it doesn’t rly…need properly explaining bc jude never talks abt it anyway n it….is rather triggering so i’ll jst….leav it for now tbh fgkhdfgh. basically they just were not nice n jude had a lot of bad memories he keeps repressed
bc of how he ws raised he has a p cultured taste. he luvs classic lit n film n p much anything artsy. he can play piano 2 n sometimes gets rly high n thinks he’s mozart level gd at composing. i mean he’s gd bt… chill
personality wise he acts out sometimes bc he’s so frustrated. he tried rly hard to be someone his parents wld care abt by doing wild or stupid things so he’d hav funny stories to tell them n tbh sometimes it works n he gets them to laugh w him but it isn’t a parent/son bond n it never rly wil b. he’s rly sarcastic, sleeps around a lot bt isn’t particularly fond of actual dates except in rare cases, has an overflowing secret sketchbook n if he cares abt someone he’ll probably draw them n get rly defensive if they find out abt it fkjgdhfkj bcos he’s an independent boy without a sentimental bone in his body! or so he tries to pretend. pretty deadpan humour most of the time. luvs strange ppl tht keep him on his toes
he has rly bad insomnia so he like never sleeps fgjkhfgjkf he always has rly sleepy eyes n rubs them tiredly mid conversation. he smokes a lot of weed to try n compensate fr this n make him tired bt he still struggles a lot. he also… smokes a lot fr the sake of his depression bc hoo boy does he hav it bad! he’s tried a bunch of medications n none have rly worked bt u kno. he’s surviving
wld die to protect tha Wamen. once punched a guy fr bein disrespectful to queen n living legend frankie vigo. rly jst… does his best to b a gd guy bt sometimes fucks up mostly frm jst. thoughtless errors
king of bein an lgbt ally. experimented once n ws like :/ when guys jst… weren’t fr him. he genuinely ws disappointed over it n hs sighed at least seven times over the matter. when blake came out as gay he wore this shirt 2 support him. truly jst a strange little man w positive intentions
ummmmmmmm honestly idk i’m blankin on what else to say. ull find him smoking weed reading an american classic or gnawing at his thumbnail n getting charcoal smudges along tht dramatic model jawline. he’s p broody n scruffy n he’s mostly here fr a good time. o and he’s that guy that would die fr morrissey (in terms of…. his style bt he acknowledges tht he ws/is a pretentious twat) and all that stone roses the smiths the cure etc stuff music wise. hmu fr plots!!!!!! i’m down fr anything
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HOW MUCH OF THIS IS EVEN REAL?
We’ve been avoiding this from day one but I have to face my fears so I must admit what we’ve been thinking in the dark recesses of our mind:
The meta ending.
If you can’t tell I’m not a big fan of the whole “none of this is real” idea because I think it tends to be there for the shock factor and makes the entire story a bit meaningless. That being said, there are a few instances where I gave out a free pass because it managed to actually enhance the story’s meaning. Those are few and far between.
But for some reason I genuinely trust Mark’s story telling skills and if it does end up being meta I think it will be done well. So let’s discuss.
There area many possible directions that this could be going. A book, a TV show, but based on the clues hanging around the channel, we’re going to talk today about...*pregnant pause*
dreams.
The most obvious clues are just sitting in plain sight:
go back to sleep...
Don’t remember
It’s all pretty clear. The viewer is sleeping.
Or are they?
The thing that really didn’t make sense was the contradicting messages we seem to be getting. “You have to wake up” but then “go back to sleep,” “don’t remember” and yet “save him.” And I know I always return to the doki doki poem about the viewer and you’re all probably sick of hearing it, but I accidentally memorized it from reading it so many times and it gave me an idea in the first place so don’t scroll away just yet.
What tripped me up was this:
How is it possible to be awake and asleep at the same time?
Funny enough, I have an answer. Let me tell you about a thing called...*another pause*
sleep paralysis. 🎉
For those who don’t know what sleep paralysis is, I’ll try to explain it as I understand it from the research I did (although I don’t claim to be an expert at all) and my own personal experience (cause I do actually deal with this thing).
Sleep paralysis is a sleeping disorder that occurs while you’re either falling alseep or waking up. In the simplest way, it’s basically like your mind wakes up but your body is still asleep. It has to do with your REM cycle keeping you immobilized so you don’t act out your dreams, and it sort of runs into your waking consciousness.
So you’re totally aware of your surroundings but you also realize you can’t move, speak, or wake up. It sucks.
What sucks more though is that you actually start hallucinating. The most common hallucinations are the presence of a shadowy intruder in the room, probably brought on by your newfound helplessness and vulnerability.
There can also be the feeling of suffocation because you are no longer voluntarily breathing, which can induce the hallucination that there is actually something or someone pressing down on your chest, or even strangling you.
You can have feelings of electric tingles all over your body, or you can feel completely numb. There are even reports of people going blind during an episode. And you can hear whispering, laughing...
or even a ringing.
Any of those lovely bolded words sound familiar? Let’s make a checklist:
Please ignore the horrible checkmarks. Except the last one looks good.
Anyway, when you start to think of this whole deal in terms of dreams and sleep paralysis, the cryptic messages start to make sense.
The lone figures on a dark background that seem to be more of a theme lately with the thumbnails on Mark’s channel (has anyone else noticed that yet?).
The voices we hear telling us to wake up, and go back to sleep.
The creepy maskiplier thing laughing and telling us to smile.
The RINGING NOISES WE HEAR EVERY TIME WE’RE NEAR THE TV
Honestly, this could all just be a very convenient coincidence that I just happened to put together. But I probably wouldn’t have talked about it at all if I didn’t know that Mark himself has talked about his own experiences with sleep paralysis, although I think he referred to it as a waking nightmare, and just general recurring nightmares.
This is where I heard it. In hind sight, I really hate the title of the video.
If you want to hear for yourself, go check out his “FIVE NIGHTS AT CANDY’S 3” series. He spends a lot of time talking about his experiences as a child. This was like around March 2017, so it was a while ago that I saw it, but it wouldn’t surprise me if he draws any inspiration from those experiences.
He said that he has nightmares all the time and the thing he said that really stuck out to me was that he would have a recurring nightmare, and he would remember the nightmare itself, but he didn’t remember that it was a dream. I hope that made sense.
Maybe our character is supposed to remember that this is all only a dream. Again, I could be connecting the wrong things, but this is one time where I don’t think I would mind the meta thing too much.
Truly, I’m beginning to wonder if this overarching story he’s got going on has as much to do with WKM as we think it does. Maybe it’s something entirely different, and we’re just not looking at the big picture.
Because let’s be honest, there’s no way that Darkiplier is the antagonist behind all this awesome lore. There’s no motive, and he’s too much of a lil shit.
Like I said, I’ve been avoiding this idea for a while, but it actually turned out to be pretty fun for me, so I guess keeping an open mind really is the best route.
Go figure.
~Mod Fe
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Well ill start my story from the beginning. First BTS music that I watched was bst but I didn't listen to it genuinely so I didn't care about BTS that much. I then came across Mic Drop and I FELL IN LOVE WITH THEIR DANCING AND SINGING. I couldn't get over how amazingly talented they were, and jungkook especially caught me eye cause I couldn't get over how young he was?? I was a pretty judgmental brat back then and my bias wrecker on the first day became Tae coz I thought he looked attractive+🍇
+ I mostly obsessed over them as a whole for like 3 weeks but I liked jungkook a LOT. I learned more about his personality and I realized how we were almost the exact same and I was really surprised. I was watching bts crack videos and I came across this video that said “JIKOOK IS REAL” and I was like…what’s a jikook. I saw jungkook in the thumbnail and clicked on it; the analysis was in Spanish but the vlive’s subtitles were in English so I watched it anyway. 🍇
+the videos on ig were just boring compilations of them either talking or whispering (some being questionable) but not the the point of where that vlive put me. I was scrolling through ig and I saw a few accounts talking about GCF in Tokyo, and I ignored it. But GCF was brought up again, and again, and AGAIN and being sick of it u decided to watch it. When I tell you my life changed after watching that video, I MEAN IT. Nothing has shaken me so much as that video 🍇
+ the song itself started and I was already SHOOK. I love troye sivan and so I know all his songs, and to see that jk used a troye song in this video confused me BEYOND levels. I watched the video and I thought it was adorable and “friendly”… up until the teacup scene. I’m a photographer that has been taking pictures for well over 8 years and I simply couldn’t get over how jk was capturing jimin. Jimins smile, his goofiness, his looks at jungkook, his bigass grin, I was in awe 🍇
+ the fact that jungkook risked his balance on the teacup SOLEY to take a video of jimin smiling and laughing just KILLED ME. And the “running running just to keep my hands on you” part, when he basically checked out jimin with the camera…I was convinced there was something to them. I watched the video about 10 times that day itself and I fell in love with them even more and more. As any other human, I thought I was being delusional cause it was honestly just too good to be true.🍇
I wanted to look more into it, but a lot of the video compilations on yt were so disgusting and “jealous-focused” I didn’t like it, so I took it to figuring it out myself. I watched a bunch of videos, and I was convinced even more that there’s something going on. Jks sly stares at jimin, looking at him when he isn’t even speaking, turning his body towards him, giving him priority, being so soft with jimin while he’s so harsh with Jin 😂, constantly trying to make him laugh 🍇
+it sounds funny to say this, but the paw print emoji after his name is honestly what did it for me. Why just jungkook? And why a paw print emoji? Why only on pics where its just them two only? And then recently his giggles and betting so flustered over jiminssi, that KILLED ME. why would he get so damn flustered over a nickname?? And just the whole jiminssi thing on jimins and jks side kills me. This was so long, but I just wanted to rant cause I love them so much 🍇
+ I fell in love with their love. In all honesty I thought it was one sided cause I didn’t see anything significant from jimins side, but since I was jungkook biased I paid more attention TO jungkook. I realized that if I wanted to know if it was mutual, I would have to get a better understanding of who jimin was. In the process I ended up falling in love with jimin, I couldn’t get over how… perfect he was. He had such a lively personality and he was so PERFECT I couldn’t get over it 🍇
+ I mean especially after the GCF video dropped, their dynamics changed like CRAZY. and that one selfie jimin posted of both of them still has me shook. It was so… I have no words to describe it. Jungkooks big smile, jimins fond look, jungkooks face touching jimins hair, everything just screamed INTIMATE. And then the clear bias jimin has for jungkook, posting SO many pictures of them together. Almost trying to show the world their close relationship. 🍇
+ he was like the light of BTS and he made his members so damn happy. I honestly had a hard time figuring out if he liked jungkook because of his natural flirtatious personality. I couldn’t use simple skinship moments to say “OH they’re definitely dating” cause he would do this with every member. I wanted to know if there was something much deeper. As I observed jimin, I noticed how different he was with jungkook. He treated him in a very interesting way. 🍇
Dear 🍇,Thanks for sharing your story of discovering KM with us. I waited a bit to see if there is more, but this seems to be it; Yeah, the tea cups to the ending is also my favourite parts of the video.
[turns out there were more, tumblr seem to be acting up… still feels a bit unfinished? or maybe just out of order? but thank you nonetheless, i loved reading it.]
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new world
i had, well we had an idea of us (me and my sister) have our conversation recorded. in other words, we will make a YouTube channel. then what will we do? just talk. likewise, like what we do casually every time we have chance to talk then.
back in the days way before this YouTube channel idea. i knew my sister from my brother. basically, we are being connected because she married by my brother. hence, as some of you know that I am a first child in the family. yeah, he by blood is my cousin. his father is an older brother of my father.
enough with the family tree. since then, as long as i remember.. i met her first in her wedding. then the rest is history. i got close with her smoothly. maybe because we had a same education background. foreign language, hers English otherwise mine Deutsch. or because we have same hobby which is reading and watching movies. or else, maybe we just meant to be.
i knew her also since her first book published. a novel. i clearly remember the time she told me about an editor called her back as an answer of her manuscript. then she emailed me the raw one. i read it carefully, thoroughly, wholeheartedly. i bet i still have them stocked in my google drive.
funny is when life lead us meet and live in the same city. yeah, fast forward since years ago.. now we can meet as often as we want. i used to visit her one time in two weeks.
we are clearly different from each other but not at the same time. once we talked, we can discuss from the current joke of our favorite Indonesian stand up comedian until former President Barrack Obama. we can also tell each other about our hometown’s unique dishes until what about human moving to Mars. we talked, discussed, argued, laughed genuinely and naturally like what people did. but, we realize something.
we maybe can share our daily conversation to others. i already started a podcast by Anchor on Spotify and had already 2 seasons. she also had a YouTube Channel since 2019. check it on https://bit.ly/3Df4YB8 . her skill on cooking is impressive. i tasted her handmade food since years and years ago. some of them is not acceptable by my tongue and most of them is incredible.
then here we are. already have a daily conversation by whatsapp about the upload, video-edit, thumbnail picture, viewers, subscribers, comments kind a thing. this is new for me. mixed feelings i have but exciting is one of them. of course we have looooooooong way to go. however, we just do it. we have no proper table or chair, no advance camera, no high skill and tools for video editing, no fancy make up and wardrobe.
welcome, new world. thank you so very much for having faith in me doing this YouTube-podcasting-thing, mbajuk. let’s go :)
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Strawberry Sweet
my gift to @buy-bye-bi for the bnha secret santa exchange. i hope you like it. happy holidays, maya <3
in an au where there are no quirks, the bakusquad decides to have a day out. enjoy some ochamina and background bakukirikami.
A group of five rowdy teens drew glances from around the restaurant as they grabbed a table near a large window. Mina's stomach let out a low growl as she settled into the booth next to her friend Sero. Seated directly across from her, Kaminari laughed in response.
"Man, Mina. You really worked up an appetite playing Dance Dance Revolution," he pointed out with a smirk.
The redhead next to him chimed in with genuine admiration. "How the hell did you get such a high score? You made the professional dancer here look like he was doing the hokey pokey!" Kirishima's comment earned a scowl from Bakugou, who was pinned between the window and his two boyfriends. The booths could fit two to each side comfortably, but three was a bit of a squeeze.
"To be fair, Bakugou's expertise is in contemporary dance, not arcade games," Mina replied sympathetically. She knew how fragile Bakugou's pride could be, especially when it came to things he cared about.
"Yeah exactly," he added defensively, only to be soothed as Kirishima looped an arm around his shoulders and Kaminari mouthed a 'we love you, babe.'
With midterms coming up, the gang decided that it would be a good idea to spend a day having fun and relaxing; and, of course, it was Kaminari's idea. The boy would use any excuse not to study.
They started the day off with the one interest all five of them shared: superheroes. The newest Captain Might movie opened only three days prior, and Kaminari suggested they all see it together.
The movie exceeded Mina's expectations, and she was over the moon when her favorite member of Captain Might's squad was revealed to be a lesbian. Sero argued that the movie's rendition of Captain Might's archnemesis was not true to the comics and it undermined the entire plot, but Bakugou insisted the movie version was far superior in terms of characterization.
The walk from the theatre to the arcade consisted of Sero and Bakugou's back-and-forth over the comic franchise versus the movie franchise, while Mina bounced with residual excitement as she, Kaminari, and Kirishima gushed about the representation.
Dance Dance Revolution was the highlight of the squad's arcade experience, Mina claiming the title of reigning champ with ease. Afterwards, Kirishima suggested ending the night with a large dinner, a 'treat yo self' salute to the calories they burned while trying to hit all of the arrows.
Mina shifted impatiently as her eyes flicked over the menu. She already knew what she wanted, but the wait staff was taking their sweet time.
The boys were going on about something delicious that Bakugou 'had to try,' but Mina's attention was drawn to a cute waitress standing four tables away. Her brown hair was pulled back in a messy bun, and her cheeks flushed pink as she laughed along to what Mina assumed to be a customer’s joke.
Her friends’ chatter faded into a low buzz. Suddenly, the only thing Mina was aware of was a brilliant smile and kind eyes that belonged to one of the most beautiful girls she had ever seen. She was almost entranced, watching as the girl placed some straws on the table and turned in her direction. Round, brown eyes met Mina’s own honey-colored, and in that instant, she felt a volt of electricity run down her spine. As if by reflex, her posture straightened, and her gaze shot down to her lap.
“You good, Mina?” Kaminari quirked an eyebrow, and all eyes at the table were on Mina. Her entire face was heated with embarrassment, though she tried to cover it up with a carefully conjured grin. “Yeah, I-” Her reply was cut off as she noticed the boys shifting their attention to something behind her. Mina followed suit, only to have all of the breath sucked out of her. The same waitress she had been staring at stood at the end of their booth, notepad and pen in hand as she smiled in greeting.
“Sorry for the wait. We’re a little understaffed today. Can I get you guys some drinks to start off with?”
Oh god, even her voice is beautiful.
Much to Mina’s relief, Kaminari took initiative and ordered his drink first. She steeled herself while waiting for her turn to arrive. When it did, she clearly and confidently asked for a glass of water; only, the words that came out of her mouth were not in fact ‘water.’
“Mina Ashido.”
For a brief time, everyone was silent. The boys were most likely processing what just happened, but Mina was incapacitated by her own dread. She could practically feel her stomach drop, and a slight grimace formed in her expression. She couldn’t remember another time feeling this embarrassed, mostly because she rarely felt embarrassment. This was new, and it was bad.
All at once, her friends broke out into a chorus of laughter.
“Did you just order yourself?!” Kirishima gasped between laughs. Kaminari was wiping a tear from his eye and almost fell off the end of the booth. Even the ever so stoic Bakugou held up a hand to cover his snickering mouth.
Sero recovered first, although a smile still pursued. He rested a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I’ve done the same thing before. Don’t worry about it.” The rest of the gang took that as a signal to compose themselves. Normally, if Mina did something dumb, she would laugh right along with them, thinking it just as funny as the rest of them. It was different this time, and she didn’t know why.
She was always quick to bounce back, though, which was something she loved about herself. Even as her hands balled into fists on her lap, she began to correct herself, looking to where the waitress had been standing. But the girl was no longer there. Sure, the boys took their time laughing about Mina’s mistake, but it couldn’t have been long enough for the waitress to think they had finished ordering.
“Uh.” A quick glance back to her friends told Mina they were just as confused as her.
“She might just bring you a water,” Kirishima concluded with a shrug of his shoulders.
“More importantly, do you like Ochako? Do you think she’s cute?” Kaminari teased, wiggling his eyebrows as he grinned mischievously.
Mina opened her mouth, ready to retort, when her thoughts paused. She backtracked the conversation in her mind to be certain, and then looked at Kaminari with narrowed eyes.
“Wait. How do you know her name?”
“She goes to our school, duh,” Bakugou muttered as he chewed on his thumbnail. He seemed more interested in his bad habit than the current situation.
The table shook as Mina slammed her palms down on the surface. “What?!”
Kaminari’s smile only grew wider as he laughed. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
“Dude,” Kirishima whispered, landing a soft, friendly punch on Kaminari’s arm.
“Oh my god, I might see her again, and I’ve made a fool of myself. What’s she gonna think? I don’t think I can bear reliving this moment every time we cross paths at school-” The words spilled out of Mina’s mouth at a breakneck pace, and when she paused to take a breath, Sero took the chance to calm her down. Mina didn’t know what she’d do without him.
“It’s no big deal. Plus, if you haven’t seen her around school before, I doubt you’ll ever cross paths.” Sero’s optimistic look on life tended to rub off on Mina. She smiled in response, sucking in a deep breath as she calmed down. The gang all took turns sharing encouraging words as they waited for their drinks.
The conversation moved on. Having momentarily pushed the embarrassing moment to the back of her mind, Mina was busy explaining her theory about how her two favorite characters in the Captain Might franchise would get together, doing so in vivid detail. She didn’t notice that the waitress, Ochako, returned to their table with a tray of drinks until she began setting them down.
“Here you go,” Ochako smiled as she placed a fizzing soda in front of Kaminari. Mina swallowed in anticipation; no matter how hard she tried to hold her gaze on Ochako, her eyes instinctively glued themselves to the table. It was the waitress’s voice that finally caused her to look up.
“I had them whip up something special for you,” Ochako beamed as she set a tall glass and a napkin in front of Mina. It looked like a smoothie of some sort, pink with whipped cream and some sort of syrupy drizzle.
“It’s my own secret recipe that didn’t have a name before now. Introducing the Mina Ashido!” Ochako chimed, gesturing to the drink as if she were Vanna White. “Hope you like it.”
Mina stared wide-eyed, barely able to say a breathless “thank you.” The boys didn’t say anything, so she assumed they were also in awe.
She watched as Ochako’s attention was diverted to what seemed to be the restaurant’s manager. They signaled her with a stiff wave, and she let out a surprised ‘oh’ and fumbled to set straws down.
“Ah, the guy in charge of this section finally showed up,” she explained sheepishly. “He’ll take care of you for the rest of tonight. Enjoy!” She waved goodbye and dashed off in a flash, disappearing behind the door to the employee workroom. She was gone too soon; Mina finally recovered from the shock, jaws left parted as her true words of gratitude hung on her tongue.
Not even bothering to listen to what the boys were saying, she tore open her straw wrapper and plunged the plastic tube into her drink. One sip and a strong strawberry flavor hit her tongue. She picked out hints of other fruits, and a flavor that tasted how honeysuckle smelled, but the strawberry was the sweetest. Mina loved sweets, and this drink was exactly her style. Frankly, it was delicious.
As she slurped, her gaze rested on the napkin, and only now did she notice numbers scrawled across it in large, neat writing. A doodled heart sat next to the last number, and Mina set her drink down to get a closer inspection.
She felt her heart swell and smiled like a lovesick schoolgirl as she clutched the napkin close to her chest, wondering which was sweeter: strawberries or Ochako.
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TAZ Fic prompt: Taako and Kravitz on their second date please!
6300 words later, this is also on AO3.
PSA: there be some smut here.
Here is a list of the shit Taako has learned about the GrimReaper since threatening to execute some tentacle porn on theman—being?—several months ago:
The accent? Fake. He’s not sure why Kravitzfeels the need to have a business accent, since his normal voice is soft andcharming, but sure, dude, some people have train names.
His hands are cold because Kravitz is dead. This feels like it should have been obvious.
Kind of a dork? It’s strange to equate the shy politeness with the same person who spenta good minute and a half shouting about Merle’s death bounty.
Likes red wine, can’t get drunk, which seemslike a shitty deal.
Taako is considering adding more information to that list,starting with a fucking loser andmoving on from there, because Kravitz just spent solidly five minutes trying toarticulate a sentence over the link between their Stones.
“Hang on, bubbe, let me take a stab at this,” Taakointerrupts, and Kravitz falls silent. “Drinks at the Chug and Squeeze again? Say, nine o’ clock moon time?”
“Yes,” Kravitz says, relieved. “That sounds wonderful.”
“Sure about that?” Taako drawls. “That was like pulling teeth.”
Kravitz laughs a little bit—nice laugh, another fact for the list. “I—well, most people are pretty glad to seeme go.”
“I’m sure they are, handsome, it’s a pleasure to watch yougo.” Kravitz makes a faint choking noiseand Taako snickers, which might be a little mean, but also, Taako doesn’tcare. Taako carefully draws a brush fullof silver-green polish across his thumbnail and cocks his head at the Stone ofFarspeech. “We haven’t died any timesthat I’m not aware of, right? This isn’ta business thing or whatever?”
“Uh, no,” Kravitz says, stumbling over the words. “I was—it was—I was thinking maybe a date.”
Taako grins. WindingKravitz up is probably cruel, but it’s so eminentlygratifying. “I’d take you somewherenicer for our third date, but there ain’t a lot of options on the moon,y’know? I guess we could go to FantasyCostco and you could see how you do against Garfield–”
“Third date?”
“Sure, keep up.” Taako counts them off on his fingers, unnecessary but amusing. “The lab, the Chug and Squeeze, andtonight. Hey, if you count the nightafter Refuge separately I guess this is four.”
“The lab—Taako, I was under orders to hunt you down and execute you in the lab.”
“I dunno, homie, kinky tentacle shit generally counts as adate. I’ll see you tonight, dress nice,okay-peace-bye.” And Taako severs theconnection while Kravitz is still stammering through the start of his response.
Taako keeps snickering the whole time he finishes paintinghis nails, because the alternative is to chew on his lips and wonder what thefuck he’s doing. At least the familiardetail work keeps his hands steady.
Kravitz is nice, is the thing. Nice,fuck, Taako’s never really…nice isn’treally Taako’s type, see, because Taako’s a lot of things and nice isn’t one of them. Taako breaksnice people. Like Glamour Springs. It wasn’t his fault. It was all his fault. You fedthem their death.
Hell, Kravtiz has his big book of badness, shouldn’t he knowthat Taako’s a—an accessory to mass murder?
And for all his grim work—grim work, ha, Taako’s cracking himself up—Kravitz is nice, andgentle, and sweet. He does things likesit with shell-shocked elves after time loops and laugh at little acts ofrebellion and splutter when Taako hits on him, and honestly Taako doesn’treally get his logic. Taako is the bombdiggity, of course, but Taako’s also rude and prickly and downright mean sometimes and that’s not the kindof person that matches up with Kravitz. He doesn’t understand what Kravitz wants. A date, sure. Maybe even a fuck, or two, and Kravtiz’s magically constructed body is apretty hot piece of ass so Taako would be fine with that.
But what the fuck else is Kravitz after?
Taako can hear Magnus’ voice in his head telling him thatnot everyone is after something, but just because Magnus is a big dumb lug whowears his big dumb heart on his big dumb sleeve doesn’t mean Magnus is right.
Everyone’s always after something, with Taako.
God, maybe Kravitz is just lonely. For all that he’s a fine figure, in his suitand…well, his skin, when he’s wearing it, there can’t be that many peopleinterested in chatting up an avatar of death, a vengeful emissary of the RavenQueen herself. And it’s not like he canjust go pick someone up at a bar, even if he had the free time—he’d still haveto explain that cold skin, and that would need to be one hell of a bluff.
That thought makes Taako feel a little steadier. His hands don’t shake when he puts away thenail polish and turns to his closet, which is strewn half across the floorbecause there’s honestly no point inbeing a wizard if he can’t use it to keep his shit from wrinkling.
Right, then. LonelyGrim Reaper. Taako can deal withthat. Besides, Taako hasn’t gotten laidsince before all this Bureau fuckery started—again, one hell of a bluff to pick someone up in a bar, and it’s not like themoon is that big—so he could stand tofuck a handsome semi-stranger in the Chug and Squeeze bathroom.
Or in his quarters, more likely. Kravitz seems like ‘public sex’ is probablyone of his hangups.
Whatever.
He and Kravitz can go out and drink and harass the potteryinstructor, and then they can fuck, and it’ll probably be good because Kravitzjust screams ‘considerate in thesack’, and then they can both go their separate ways and get on with theirgoddamn lives.
Taako waits to feel the weight of anxiety lift from hischest, but instead it just settles into his gut, sullen and thick. He shakes his head, trying to shake thefeeling away, and settles down to picking out some clothes that will get himlaid tonight. His hair will be easy, asimple braid, something that will come undone in a rush if he needs it to—heconsiders putting it up, maybe something effortless like a messy bun, somethingthat would show off his neck, but. No. Taako lets his hair fall fromwhere he’s holding it, looking away from the mirror as something kicks in his chest, like he’s seeing—likehe’s missing—like he’s—like—
The blue skirt will go well with his nails, he decides.
***
Kravitz shows up in the shared living room of the Reclaimerdorm at five minutes to nine, because Kravitz is a monster. Taako had enough time to kill that he’s alreadyset to go, but it’s the principle of the thing. Who the hell is that punctual?
Well, Taako allows with a little smirk, Death, obviously.
“Hi,” Taako says, flicking his braid over his shoulder, andKravitz looks up at him and smiles—fucking beams,really, and Taako really needs to stop hanging out with so many horrifyinglygenuine people.
“Hi,” Kravitz says, a little shy, tugging at his cuffs likehis suit is real and not just a convenient manifestation of his power. It’s a very sharp manifestation, though,Taako has to give him that, black and sleek with a pearly grey shirt and a darkred tie that makes him look a little livelier with its color. “You look incredible.”
“Obviously,” Taako sniffs, stepping over to Kravitz anddraping a hand over his shoulder, toying with one of the long dreadlocks at thenape of his neck. “But really, my dude,so do you. Do you even have to try tolook this fine?”
“It, uh.” Kravitzsmiles down at him, the red glow behind his black eyes warm and cheerful. Kravitz is tall, almost as tall as Magnus,and he has a whole head of height on Taako, but he doesn’t seem nearly as biglike this as he does in his skeletal form. “I’m happy to put in the effort for you.”
“Good answer.” Taakogives the lock in his hand a light tug—hey, might as well start as he means togo on—and makes a point to stroke his fingers along the curve of Kravitz’sthroat as he pulls his arm back.
Kravitz, of course, is incapable of blushing, because he’sdead. But he looks like he mightspontaneously develop the ability in order to cope. It takes him a beat to offer Taako hisarm—because Kravitz is a fucking gentleman—and allow himself to be pulled outof the apartment.
This is going to be a fucking walk in the park.
Drinks and pottery go very much the same, with quietconversation and Taako taking every opportunity he can find to get his handsall over Kravitz. It’s not ahardship. And besides, Kravitz is reallypretty funny, when he’s talking about things that aren’t his divine obligationto execute Taako and his—his coworkers. Taako learns that Kravitz was a bard, and that he can’t help the way hiseyes glow, and that he’s easy to embarrass.
It’s been about an hour and the two of them have split mostof a bottle of chardonnay when Taako sways over to Kravitz and rests his chinon the reaper’s shoulder, close enough that his breath stirs one of thedreadlocks closest to him. His lipsalmost brush the shell of Kravitz’s ear—faintly pointed, enough to render Kravitz’srace firmly ambiguous.
“Hey, thug,” Taako murmurs, shamelessly enjoying the way hefeels Kravitz stiffen against him in surprise. “Do you want to get out of here?”
He lets his hand wander up Kravitz’s thigh, just in case hismeaning was unclear. Kravitz doesn’ttake that as hard as Taako might have expected, but he also seems to havefrozen in shock, so maybe the two cancel out.
“I—are you sure?”
There he goes again. Being nice. Taako almost grabs his dick in the middle ofthe room in revenge, but resists the petty impulse in a show of purewillpower. He settles instead fortightening his grip on Kravitz’s leg, just hard enough to hurt a little.
“Do I not seemsure?”
Kravitz laughs a little at that, and it’s that easy. Kravitz lets Taako pull him outside and steala kiss in the shadows of the quad—Kravitz’s lips aren’t quite cold, just…cool,room temperature, and it’s a little like touching solid water with the way theyslide over Taako’s, and he can taste the wine and power. Magic like nothingTaako can recall, except maybe for the way that the relics leave a crackle ofsomething in the air after they’ve been used. Kissing Kravitz is something like that, maybe, like breathing in airthat’s had an enormous amount of energy put through it very recently, and whenthey separate and Kravitz looks a little rumpled, a little dazed, Taako feels arush of smugness unlike anything in recent memory.
Once they’re back in the Reclaimer dorm—Magnus is still outhitting things with Carey and Killian, and Merle is god knows where doing godknows what—Taako doesn’t hesitate to crowd Kravitz up against the nearest walland kiss him again. More aggressively,this time, tangling his fingers in the cords of Kravitz’s dreadlocks andsighing into his mouth when those broad cool hands came up to rest on hisback. Taako catches Kravitz’s bottom lipin his teeth and bites down, not quite hard enough to do damage, and Kravitzmakes a sound like a growl deep in his chest. It vibrates against Taako’s ribs where they’re pressed together and thesharp jolt of want takes him offguard for long enough to find himself pressed up against the wall in Kravitz’splace, with all of Kravtiz’s height caging him in, and it doesn’t feel likebeing trapped so much as being wanted.
It’s the first time that Taako wonders if he’smiscalculated, but then Kravitz lowers his lips down over Taako’s cheek and jawto the side of his throat and the thought is wiped away like someone fed it tothe voidfish. Somehow Kravitz taking theinitiative is a shock, as if Taako had expected him to be a novice at thiswithout even realizing it, but he doesn’t seem lacking in experience and Taakois profoundly enjoying the benefits of it.
“Fuck,” Taako sighs as teeth scrape against his skin,tipping his head and pressing a thigh up between Kravitz’s legs. He really should ask what Kravitz even is, ifthings like elf and human even apply to him, but whateverthe fuck gives him teeth like that, sharp and even, is a-okay by Taako’sbook.
“Taako,” Kravitz says into the pulse at his throat as Taako’shands busy themselves with the knot of his tie. “If your friends come back and we’re out here, they’ll be unhappy.”
Oh, right, Taako lives with people now. People who might possibly still want to hitKravitz with a war hammer over some limbs or some shit like that. It takes him a few moments to conclude that thisis a sufficiently serious concern to justify moving, because thealternative—letting Kravitz fuck him against a wall in the next fewminutes—seems far more compelling.
“Merle’s never happy,” Taako says, and Kravitz pulls away tolaugh as Taako sulks at him. This timeTaako really does grab his dick in revenge, reaches a hand between them andpalms Kravitz through his pants, and the way the laughter turns into a hissingcurse, a thoughtless push of his hips, is absolutely worth it. “Fine,” Taako says, magnanimous, and reachesup to loop both arms around Kravitz’s neck. “My door’s the second one. Youcan do the work, handsome.”
Kravitz chuckles again and complies, lifting Taakoapparently effortlessly, Taako’s legs coming up to wrap around Kravitz’s waistwithout regard for the indecent way it shoves his skirt up almost past hiships.
“Strong boy,” Taako muses, giving a teasing squeeze to oneof Kravitz’s biceps as Kravitz shifts his weight so that he can catch thedoorknob and open it. Inside, Taako snapshis fingers absently to wake the spark of magic in his lamp, shedding brightlight across the room at once. He wantsto see what it looked like, when one of the Raven Queen’s own elite comesundone in his bed.
“I execute necromancers, Taako,” Kravitz says with a smallroll of his glowing eyes. “I’m very strong.”
“Mmm,” Taako hums, and when Kravitz tries to set him gentlydown on the bed, he twists his weight to trip Kravitz down beneath him.
This, sitting on Kravitz’s lap and pressed up against himfrom hip to shoulder, is possibly even better than the wall, and Taako kissesKravitz again as he starts working on the layersof buttons in the suit. It’s aproduction.
“Why do you wear so many fucking clothes,” Taako muttersagainst Kravitz’s lips as he finally manages to wrestle jacket, shirt, andbraces off in one motion.
“Sorry,” Kravitz says, his hands—almost as warm as Taako’sskin, from contact—sliding up under Taako’s shirt, slowly, as if giving Taako achance to pull away. “Would you ratherthe cloak?”
“God, you’re such a fucking dramatic loser.” Taako ends his statement with a firm grind ofhis hips, and whatever Kravitz was about to say dies unspoken, swallowed by achoked sound as he closes his eyes sharply and takes a deep breath. His skin goes thin and transluscent over hischeekbones for a moment, the edges of a skull pressing through until he getshimself under control, and the high of that is palpable, better than anythingelse Taako’s ever tried, the high of having made a Reaper lose control withnothing but a twist of his hips.
When Kravitz opens his eyes, they glitter, and he pullsTaako’s shirt off over his head, a clumsy tangle of fabric for a moment beforethe shirt is gone and Taako learns some interesting facts about himself, amongthem that, apparently, the temperature thing is a Thing. He can almost taste the spark that jumps to his corewhen he presses up against Kravitz’s bare chest, almost cold against Taako’sflushed skin.
Wow. If he wasn’thard before, he sure as hell is now. That’s a thing that he didn’t see coming.
“Taako,” Kravitz says, almost gasps, like he needs air atall, against Taako’s shoulder, “I’ll need to get up to get my pants off.”
Taako considers just—just not moving, grinding down likethis and kissing Kravitz until they’re both stupid with it, coming half-dressedlike a pair of kids, but the appeal of seeing Kravitz naked is pretty strongtoo. He kisses Kravitz again, wet anddirty and deep, before he slides off and abandons both his skirt and his underwearon the side of the bed.
Kravitz is beautiful, Taako thinks somewhat fuzzily as hewatches him undress. Like, Taako isbeautiful too, don’t get him wrong, humility is for other people, but Kravitzknocks him out a little in a way that very few people can claim to havedone. It’s not just the symmetry of hisangular face or the way his tendons line his hands or the perfect vee shape ofthe bones at his hips, it’s also that he has something other about him, a statement worth making when you could hit abaker’s dozen races with a well-swung cat.
But that’s not to say that the muscles of his thighs and themotionless curve of his ribs and his cock don’t make Taako’s mouth water alittle bit. The latter, in particular.
Next time, Taako thinks idly as Kravitz kicks away hispants, Taako should put a little more planning into this, because he’d reallyenjoy having that inside him. As it is,he’s pretty sure he wouldn’t last long enough.
The thought almost brings him up short. Next time? There’s not going to be a next time. Taako already decided that.
“Are you all right?” Kravitz asks—nice, even standing there completely naked, he’s still nice.
“Fine, babe, all fine,” Taako says, and holds out ahand. “You planning to join me or what?”
Kravitz smiles and takes Taako’s hand and—fucking save him—kisses the knuckles as heallows himself to be pulled down onto the bed. Taako pins him down, and knows that Kravitz is letting him, and stopsresisting the urge to rub up against the cool silk of Kravitz’s skin, untilhe’s breathing hard and rambling and Kravitz is barely breathing at all.
“Taako,” Kravitz whispers, one hand coming up to tangle inTaako’s hair while the other reaches down to find their cocks, his hand bigenough to wrap around them both easily, and if the cool touch of his skin was ashock against Taako’s chest, it’s a fucking religiousmoment against Taako’s dick. Hedoesn’t even try to hold back the yelp, and reaches down to weave his fingersthrough Kravitz when it seems like he’s going to pull away.
“Don’t you fucking dare,” Taako hisses.
“Are you sure, I know–”
“Kravitz, I swear to fucking—fucking everyone, I’ll burn aspell slot on your ass right now if you stop.”
He gets another laugh for that, faint and almost breathy. Kravitz is quiet in bed, mostly soft gaspsand moans when Taako does something he likes, once or twice that bone-rattlingrumble when Taako lays his blunt mortal teeth against Kravitz’s collarbone andbites down hard. But then he doessomething a little unforgivable—laughs and says, “All right, darling.”
Taako’s heart stops in his chest, and his mouth comes downso hard on Kravitz’s that he thinks he might be bleeding from where his teethhit his lip, but the kiss silences anything else Kravitz could say.
Kravitz seems taken off-guard when he comes, a little breathof ah escaping his lips as he goesstiff and his mouth goes still under Taako’s. His hand tightens around the pair of them, and Taako comes too, theworld popping with white lights at the corners of his vision as he shuddersthrough it. The world seems to havenarrowed down to Kravitz, his hand around Taako’s cock and his fingers inTaako’s hair, resting against his neck, the places where his skin is warm fromcontact, the taste of wine and magic on his lips.
By the time Taako comes back to himself, blurry andblinking, his head is bowed down to Kravitz’s shoulder. The hand is still at the nape of his neck,looser now, lax, and Kravitz’s other hand is resting on Taako’s hip, thumbdescribing an arc over the line of the bone, like Kravitz is happy to just…liethere, feeling Taako’s weight on him and not doing a thing about it. There’s a scar on Kravitz’s chest, just belowTaako’s cheek, like someone put a spike through his heart—the only mark onhim—and it makes Taako feel almost special to be so close to it, like Kravitzis sharing something with him.
Taako gives himself a few minutes of that, of the wayKravitz noses kisses into his hair and strokes gently over his skin.
It’s…nice.
Kravitz is nice.
Taako doesn’t let himself think about that anymore as herolls to the side with a sigh and casts Prestidigitation to clean up. He also doesn’t let himself think about theway Kravitz’s fingers lingered in his hair, or the soft warmth in those red-liteyes.
“Thanks, bubbeleh,” Taako says, plastering on his bestgrin. “Call me later, or whatever.”
Kravitz looks bemused. Oh, fucking god, he’s actually going to make Taako kick him out. “Taako?”
“This was fun, we should do it again sometime,” Taako says,ignoring the way that weight settles back into his belly, ignoring the way theback of his mind kind of wants to curl into Kravitz’s side with a blanket overthem, ignoring the look of confusion shading to hurt on Kravitz’s face. This was just sex. Just physical. There’s no reason for Kravitz to look likeTaako’s personally cancelled Candlenights.
Kravitz seems to be getting the picture, though, because heslowly sits up, propped up on one hand. “I—Ican go,” he says, like there’s an offer there, rather than an impliedoutcome. “If you want.”
“As opposed to what?” Taako arches an eyebrow at him. There’sa moment of silence as Kravitz studies him, his head cocked at an angle, tryingto parse something, and Taako waves a languorous hand at him. “It’s all right, thug, I’m not gonna take itpersonally.”
“I’m sorry,” Kravitz says, falling back into stiff formality,and he does a remarkably good job for someone still sitting naked in Taako’sbed. The look of confused hurt has beenerased, his face a politely emotionless blank. “It’s been some time since I did this. What are you not taking personally?”
Ah, right. Kravitzhas been a wandering skeleton bounty hunter since forever. Culture clash or some shit.
“I knew what I was getting into,” Taako says, keeping hisface cheerful. “Just sex, right? And don’t get me wrong, the sex was prettyfucking choice, I’m happy to do that again whenever you have a few hours free,but you don’t have to worry about hurting my feelings or whatever.”
“Oh,” Kravitz says, quietly, and he stands, waves a hand,and his clothes sort of knit themselves back into being on his body, even histie perfectly knotted at his throat.
He tucks both hands into his pockets, straightening up untilhe looks as forbidding and untouchable as he did the first time they met, hiseyes the only trace of any emotion as they linger on Taako’s face for a momentbefore they flicker away. He bends downto catch Taako’s hand in his, and kisses the knuckles again—something lurchesinto Taako’s throat, words throwing themselves at his teeth from behind, someuseless stupid hey maybe you could stay,I could make you breakfast, did you know I’m a chef, and he bites them backmercilessly.
“If you ever need anything,” Kravitz says, still quiet, “callfor me.”
And then he gestures for his scythe and tears open the worldwith the blade, and he’s gone.
Taako lies down on his back and stares at the ceiling. This is the easy thing to do, this is what heknew was going to happen. Hell, giventhe circumstances, this might even have been the right thing to do.
So why does he feel like he just betrayed someone?
***
Taako’s not one for stewing. He’s not one for sitting and brooding and worrying about hisproblems. He’s a master of the art oftaking any inconvenient emotion and kicking it off the nearest available cliff,never to be seen or considered again, because who has time for feelings, thesedays? A Relic hunt would be excellent right about now, somelife-threatening shit to take his mind off everything, and by the time they gotdone being healed by someone other than Merle, he would have forgotten allabout this. He would be more focused onwhether their fighter was finally going to kick the bucket—Taako needs a meatshield, all right, he’s a delicate little magic user, so if Magnus could livepast the age of forty for Taako’s sake, that would be amazing.
Unfortunately, there doesn’t seem to be a convenientlyapocalyptic artifact surfacing any time soon. If anything, things are calmer than usual, like the other two Relics aresquirreled away in some dark dungeon rather than out causing trouble. The mood on the base is bright and confident,riding high on their successful rescue of Refuge, totally lacking in thetension that usually precedes a recovery mission. Carey and Killian and Noelle spend all theirtime bounding cheerfully through the halls like baby deer. Johann cracked a smile and laughed at a jokelast week. There was a party on thequad. Taako’s pretty sure he saw theDirector relaxing.
It’s loathsome.
It’s three days before Magnus asks Taako what’s wrong. Taako rebuffs him easily and pawns him off onMerle, but it sticks with him. Magnus isan empathetic guy, but he’s not a genius, and Taako’s not supposed to haveanything wrong to ask about.
Five days after hooking up with Kravitz, Taako finds himselfin the Icosagon. Training.
Taako does not train. Beauty of Magic Missile: his aim doesn’t evenmatter. Area effect spells are his bitch. His ability to Fireball someone in the faceis entirely unrelated to his abilityto do pushups, Magnus. Wizards do not train, they read some books and blow some shit up and call it aday. Sometimes Taako deigns to do someactual calculations in order to maximize a spell’s efficacy, but that’s hislimit.
So when Taako realizes he’s halfway through a short swordtraining form that he barely remembers, he stops and considers that he mightneed to actually take steps to deal with this situation.
It’s just…he keeps thinking about that quiet oh as Kravitz stood up and it’sbothering him. He’s not really sure why it keeps coming to mind, butwhenever he stands still and silent for a few seconds, it plays through hishead like a Fantasy Vine, a handful of seconds that just don’t quite makesense.
Kravitz had gotten what he wanted, right? Company, affection, a roll in themetaphorical hay. So who the hell gavehim permission to look at Taako likethat as he said oh and stood up toleave, is the real question here.
In Taako’s experience, the only real solutions to hisproblem are to get incredibly drunk or to actually interrogate the man himself. In theory he could also just leave but avoiding the Grim Reapersounds like it would require a bit more effort than just wandering off the sideof the base. Magnus and Merle wouldprobably come try to hunt him down, regardless.
And if he’s being totally honest he’s already tried thealcohol. Avi brings the good shit tocompany parties.
“Yo, Krav,” Taako says, casting Levitate on his Stone ofFarspeech and giving it a flick to set it spinning. He’s back in his room, with his feet proppedup on a desk that has never seen a scrap of Bureau-mandated paperwork and neverwill, if Taako has anything to do with it. “You busy, my dude?”
There’s a pause, long enough that Taako wonders if maybeKravitz isn’t near the Stone, before a voice answers.
“Taako?”
Kravitz sounds hesitant, and there’s a lift at the end ofTaako’s name that sounds like hope and kind of makes Taako want to throw theStone across the room and run.
“Who else, bone boy?”
“What can I do for you, Taako?” Kravitz’s voice goes steely, and he asks, “Areyou in trouble?”
“What? No! I can go more than a week without gettingsucked into some kind of weird timeline bullshit, fuck you very much, and plusI have a Magnus for solving trouble, it would be cruel to deny him the chanceto…hit stuff.” There’s a huff ofamusement on the other end, and a quiet shuffling sound. “Krav, thug, I really gotta ask, does theGrim Reaper do paperwork?”
“Of course I do paperwork,” Kravitz says, a littleaffronted. “Do you know how much work itis to keep files on necromancers and liches and whatever the hell you threeare? Don’t you have to do paperwork forblowing up towns?”
“Magnus does paperwork,” Taako says, leaning his chair backon its rear legs. “Sometimes I sign itif he asks real nice. I dunno who doesMerle’s shit.”
“I should have known.” It sounds like Kravitz is smiling. Taako’s chest heats a little, a piece of charcoal flickering into anember, and shit, that’s not what he’s doing here. “Also, it would be more accurate to call me a Grim Reaper.” The warmth in Kravitz’s voice fades, and thefire in Taako’s chest follows. “Is there…didyou—was there anything in particular that you wanted?”
“Yeah,” Taako says, and Magnus would be proud of him, hereally would, because Taako just fucking goesfor it, just rushes right in before he can think better of it. “You want to come by? Like, are you free right now? To come to the moon?”
“Sure,” Kravitz says, and there’s a rustling sound, papersbeing moved around, before the Stone shuts off.
It’s barely a minute and a half later that the world ripsopen and Kravitz steps through, skin raveling itself into place over the smoothwhite bones of his skull and hands, his cloak fading away into his usualsuit. The rift closes behind him, andKravitz is just standing there, hands in his pockets, looking unsure.
“Hey.”
“Hey, handsome,” Taako says, letting his chair thud backinto place. “You want to do something?”
“Something—like what?” Kravitz isn’t an especially outgoing person, particularly since Taako’smajor points of comparison these days are a proselytizing cleric and the mostabsurdly friendly individual he’s ever known, but he seems more guarded thanbefore, almost like he’s expecting Taako to throw a spell at him again. But he did come, when Taako called.
God, people were so much easier when Taako was younger. He doesn’t really remember what changed—maybedoing the show made him overconfident—but he knows that when he was younger henever felt this clumsy and fumbling.
“Everything all right, Krav?” Taako asks, arching an eyebrowat him.
“Fine,” Kravitz says, and hesitates for a moment, and thenhe meets Taako’s gaze for the first time. “I don’t want to sleep with you,” he blurts out, fast, all in a rush,like he’s been planning it. “Or, I mean,no, yes, I do, but not—I don’t—I think you’re confused? About this?”
Taako opens his mouth with a fast retort, then snaps itshut, because he’s…he’s not sure what Kravitz is expecting from him there. He makes a little go on gesture with one hand instead.
“I thought—I thought I had been pretty clear that yourbounties have been suspended,” Kravitz says, rocking back on his heels like hewants to pace but doesn’t know if it would be permitted. “And Refuge is a nonissue, we already talkedabout that, so unless you and your friends start doing necromancy in your freetime, you’re not under my purview. So—soI don’t want you to think that you’re making some kind of trade, here, with me,all right?”
“Some kind of—hang on, do people try to seduce the Grim Reaper? Wow,”Taako muses, “I’ve got to admire that kind of confident crazy.”
A smile, faint but genuine, flickers over Kravitz’sface. “Every once in a while someone triestheir luck. Although having someonebypass any sort of seduction check and go straight for threats of tentacleporn, that was novel.” The good humorfades, and Kravitz just looks tired and…lonely, Taako decides. He’s spent a lot of his life feeling lonely,he knows what it looks like. “And I don’twant you to be with me because—because you’re scared of me, or because youthink I expect something in order to keep your bounties suspended, or–”
“That, um. Thatactually didn’t occur to me,” Taako interrupts, because Kravitz seems more thanready to keep up his nervous ramble indefinitely. A surge of guilt rushes through Taako’s chestat the open relief on Kravitz’s face, and he sighs. “I just—I just figured this was a casualthing. Company, sex, not much else, youknow what I’m saying.”
“Is that what you want?” Kravitz asks, and the light behindhis eyes brightens as he focuses on Taako, until Taako imagines that he canfeel the weight of his stare, as cool and invulnerable as Kravitz’s handsaround his scythe. “Company and sex andnothing else?”
“Hey, you know me, Taako’s easy.” Taako waves a hand dismissively. “I’ll take whatever. What about you, thug, what do you want?”
Kravitz looks distant for a moment, then sits down on theedge of Taako’s bed, so that they’re facing each other, closer to eyelevel.
“I really like you, Taako,” he says, and the sincerity inhis voice makes Taako want to kiss him, or maybe cast Blink and escape to awhole other plane—except, of course, that Kravitz is Kravitz and could probablyfollow him. “It’s been—it’s been a reallylong time since I had mortal friends, let alone anything else, and I wasn’tmuch good at this while I was alive, either.”
“With that face?” It’s wildly inappropriate given the tone, butoh god Taako can’t help himself,there’s no way that Kravitz wasn’t absolutely spoiled for choice during hislife.
Kravitz grins a little, reaching up to touch his cheek andjaw as if reminding himself of what he looks like. “You’d be surprised.”
“Oh, I’d be fucking shocked,homie,” Taako says thoughtlessly, one hundred percent of his brain fullyoccupied with Kravitz’s words.
I really like you,Taako. What the fuck is a personeven supposed to do with that.
“Taako,” Kravitz says, and Taako snaps back to the presentmoment. Kravitz sounds like he’s maybesaid Taako’s name a few times. “I just—ifyou’re not interested in dating me, you don’t have to worry about telling me,but I’d rather you be honest.”
“Are you,” Taako says slowly, lining up the same thoughts hehad before the date in a different order, “interested in dating me?”
Kravitz tips his head and says, “For someone so brilliantlytalented, you can be a bit dense.”
“Thank you.”
“Taako, you’re charming, and beautiful, and funny, and youhelp save the world. Of course I’minterested in dating you.” Kravitz looksdown at his hands, where they’re laced together in his lap, and he rubs a thumbup the line of a metacarpal, something that’s almost a nervous tick. The pressure drags a line of white bonebehind it, until his dark skin knits itself back together. “I would understand, of course, if you’relooking for something more casual. I’mjust…I’m not built for it.”
God, Taako can’t deal with this. This level of honesty is going to make him break out in fucking hives. The way Kravitz glances up at him through hislashes, a tiny spark of hope in the black of his eyes, is like taking a MagicMissile straight to the chest.
“So, what, you want to hold my hand and cuddle and shit?”Taako demands, and he means it to come out harsh, but instead it sounds almostfragile.
“If that’s okay with you.”
Taako scoffs. “You’rea fucking sap.”
“Well, don’t tell anyone,” Kravitz says. “I have a reputation to maintain.”
And then he offers Taako his hand, palm up, harmless andinviting. I really like you, Taako. It’sbeen a long time since someone made an offer like that, and it went so horrificallywrong last time Taako accepted more than a one-night stand.
But Kravitz is nice. And honest. And he’s alreadytried to murder Taako and the others and then taken steps to make sure he doesn’thave to do it properly, which is a selling point, these days. Half of everyone Taako knows has tried tomurder them, by accident or as a test or just because the three of them were inthe way.
More than anything, though, Kravitz doesn’t say anything,doesn’t press, just sits there with his hand out as a silent offer, waiting forTaako to decide.
Kravitz’s hand is cold, still holding the chill of theastral plane. Taako adds one more thingto his list of Grim Reaper Facts: his fingers fit perfectly with Taako’s.
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