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Bones and All (2022) // dir. Luca Guadagnino

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ERIC NORTHMAN and SOOKIE STACKHOUSE  in HBO’s True Blood episode ten, season two “New World In My View”

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          “You’ve got a fuckin’ deathwish, man,”          Hawk says flatly.

He heard Hugo was in town from some shitty promotional article and has been keeping up to date ever since, trying to track his moves. The pussy is pretty good at keeping himself safe—so far there have been no opportunities to kill him—but there’s only so much evading he can do. There’s a target on his back and it’s not going to go away. Too many people are going to take aim. 

That’s the purpose of coming here tonight. A reminder. Without his opposition in the room, Hugo tends to forget his place on the food chain, assumes he’s one step ahead, invincible due to his callousness. 

But it’s different when a real motherfucker is around. He knows he’s safe in a crowded room, but he’s still a little nervous. Good.

He plops beside him at the bar, claps him on the back. 

as long as other people are around, he cannot be harmed. that’s the mantra hugo has been repeating to himself since hawk walked through the door. failing that, security at the venue is tight - for this reason; the city is full of people that want him dead.

it was stupid to come back for heather, but stupider still would be releasing music and then not promoting it even a little bit.

hugo sits at the bar, pretending he hasn’t noticed hawk - at least until the man is standing behind his stool. his quiet presence sets hugo’s teeth on edge. there’s a phantom ache in his finger joints.

“hi.” he does not turn around.

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A Shop for Killers | Episode 01: Murthehelp

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Hawk accepts the beer and offers a smile—a tired smile, but a genuine one. His knee-jerk irritation has dissipated; now he’s a little embarrassed in the face of all the friendly generosity. You are such a fucking asshole, man.

          “Axel,”          Hawk repeats. An Axel that plays gigs. He didn’t get a good look at the other bartender, but the context clues are ringing a bell.          “I’ll have to thank him. He a drummer?”

He and the guys have run unofficial security for a couple of underground shows featuring a drummer called Axel. 

"s'no problem, happens." jordan shrugs. in the back there's not much to write home about. a set of white plastic chairs, cracked and on their last legs, an old freezer that's long since stopped working and a small plastic christmas tree. "axel recognised you from some gig he played at, said you were cool. was too pussy to say anything about the smoking."

jordan produces two beer bottles from the freezer and cracks them open against the side of it. beer foam bubbles to the brim and spills over her fingers. she holds one out to him.

"this is on him."

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okay i lied put your clothes back on we're not having sex i'm fundamentally evil and i need you to kill me

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via Chrome Hearts' Richard Stark Photograph Book

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He knows better than to argue with the bartender, but god-fucking-damn. He wants a smoke and a drink. Needs a smoke and a drink. Usually the gang tattoo earns him do-whatever-you-want privileges. 

Not everybody bows to the biggest, baddest gangster, though. And Hawk has never hit up this bar before. 

She’s gracious enough to be cool about it, at least. Willing to let him take the staff exit. He appreciates that. He downs the remainder of his whiskey in one go and nods, going where instructed.

          “Sorry. Long day.” 

Long life.

"sir, you can't smoke in here." jordan speaks softly, but there's authority in her voice as she slides him a shot of vodka for his troubles. "there's an alley out back that staff use, if you don't want to stand out front, but, uh... yeah."

it's been a slow night. she might join him out there for a quick break, leave axel to handle the regulars for a change. she wipes her hands down on her jeans, jingles her keys to get the gentleman's attention before she nods in the direction of the door marked 'STAFF ONLY'.

"there's chairs back here, too. i'll show you."

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She doesn’t talk about what happened to her in Hell, and he’s never been one to pry—but he knows it was bad. He doesn’t doubt her when she says she isn’t scared of hurting. Whatever suffering Lazarus has in store won’t be able to compare to what she’s already been through, he’s sure. 

But he doesn’t know if he can take it. To endure is one thing, to be forced to watch is another. It’s easier when he’s here alone. He won’t say it, won’t argue—there’s no point—but his resolve doesn’t waver. If he can minimize her torment, he will. She’s been through enough. 

          “Love you, too,”          he mutters.          “It’s gonna be fine. We’re gonna be fine.” 

There’s a needle waiting for him in the car. They’ll get through this, he’ll take her home, and then all of this will melt into a velvety high. He’s had enough of sobriety. It hasn’t gotten him anywhere.

Just let it happen? Willow knows that it would be pointless, stupid, ignorant for her to break into a rant about how given her circumstances, she can't simply allow it to -- Hawk has been through worse, this exact situation an obscene amount of times. He, of course, knows what it's like to be made powerless, to be forced -- and probably in more horrific ways than the one she has been now.

She can't let it go, though. Willow's knee jerks, her foot bounces in an erratic and fast beat. Her eyes start to ache from the staring and the crying. Bulging, burning, dry. Willow blinks hard, keeps her eyes closed and takes a few breaths.

"Don't do anything," She whispers. "Don't try to take anything. I can handle it. I'm not scared of hurting."

The pain and the horror is in the helplessness. Willow digs her nails into her palms, still panting, head down.

"Love you."

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Hawk stares ahead at nothing in particular, eyes bleak and blank. He processes what Willow is saying on a lag, only turning to look directly at her when she threatens to do something risky. 

          “Pissing him off is not the move,”          he says. He looks tired. Defeated. His anger hasn’t been snuffed out, but it’s been restrained, just like his body.         “He’ll do his thing and then it’ll be over. Just let it happen.”

It makes him sick to say it. Like he’s complicit now. She shouldn’t be here. There’s no reason for her to be here, other than whatever point Lazarus is trying to prove—which is what, exactly? That he’s stronger than her? No fucking shit. He’s stronger than everybody. That isn’t some profound revelation. 

Hawk looks up toward the ceiling. His eyes are stinging, threatening to fill with tears. He takes a slow, careful breath.

        “I’ll try to take the brunt of it. It’s fine. I don’t care. I’m used to it. If he’s not lying, then he was right. This is mild for him.”

Willow's eyes track Lazarus until the last second. The bulging, wide, whale-eye of an dog that's been pinned to the floor, licking her lips, salivating, ready to shriek and bark and bite at the next thing to touch her. When he is gone, that terror does not leave her. When he is gone, all she can think about is what's in the next room, what he is preparing, when they can leave.

Without moving her body, she turns her attention on Hawk next. Through the corners of her vision, he comes into focus. The current fears outweigh her need to apologise, but all they have is the silence for a while so she may as well try to fill it.

"I said no. Tried to leave." Close to an apology. "I tried to get him to leave you alone. He's going to keep us here. After. He's not letting us leave after he takes the blood."

Willow informs him. Keeps her feelings (so vague and out of focus now, in her animal state) out of it. Just facts.

I'm going to get into his head.

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          “Med school?”          As in medical school? Hawk doesn’t join Jun on the ground just yet, looking down at him with a raised brow. It’s a surprise. Maybe it shouldn’t be—after all, he had to pay for that fancy bike somehow—but it is. He’d just assumed he was some nepo college kid; maybe an aspiring model or actor, given how pretty he is. 

He takes another drag of his cigarette, squinting at Jun for a moment longer before looking toward the waves. It’s nice out here, a good spot. Beautiful. He likes the isolation of it, too. Maybe he’ll come back with a needle. 

In the meantime, though, it does feel good to be here with someone. To have this shared with him. It’s pretty smooth on Jun’s part, he’s got to admit. He can’t help but wonder how busy that pillowy mouth has been in this exact spot, and how often.

Finally, he joins him on the sand, lying back. 

he’s  clumsily  pulling  off  his  boots  as  he  walks  closer  to  the  water,  narrowly  catching  himself  each  time  before  he  topples  into  the  sand.  he’s  looking  back  at  his  new  friend,  at  hawk,  with  a  bright  smile,  one  bright  like  the  sun.       “  i’m  jun.  ”

once  his  boots  are  off,  and  his  sand  covered  socks  are  pushed  down  into  them,  jun  wiggles  his  toes  into  the  sand,  takes  a  moment  to  enjoy  the  way  the  ocean  wind  whips  up  around  the  both  of  them.  it’s  so  peaceful,  sometimes  he  wishes  he  lives  by  the  ocean  so  he  can  see  this  every  day.

the  dune  he  takes  hawk  to  obscures  the  road  —  no  longer  can  they  see  the  cars  but  they  can  still  see  the   headlights  glittering  off  the  waves.  he  tosses  his  boots  near  but  off  the  the  side,  falling  back  onto  the  mountain  of  sound  with  a  comical  noise  —  oompf  !  a  laugh,  and  he  beacons  hawk  to  do  the  same.

“  you  can  feel  the  waves  in  your  chest  when  you  lay  down  here.  i’m  tellin’  you.  i  used  to  come  out  here  aaaaall  the  time  during  med  school.  ”

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Looks like Willow might be starting to catch on. Hawk smiles a bit, amused at her suspicion. 

He accepts his role as buffer without missing a beat.         “Uh-huh. Got some free kids that came with the wife. And then we had another back in January.”

Ever the proud dad, he’s eager to produce the photos on his phone, of which there are many. He scrolls through them, pointing out Lillie, Walker, the twins, Autumn, and of course little Sunny. With a couple of drinks already in him, it’s easy to go on tangent after tangent about how perfect they all are, how cute, how he’s so happy to have the family he always wanted. 

Eventually he catches himself, laughing.

          “Somebody shut me up ‘fore I get kicked outta here for being too lame.” 

Willow orders a rum and coke. Not her usual, Jay notes faintly - but who is he to gatekeep? It might also be creepy to know what her order is, having barely exchanged three words with her before today. She narrows her eyes slightly at him, then glances back at Hawk with faint suspicion. Says nothing, though. Of course. Jay relaxes.

“—Has Hawk showed you pictures of his daughter yet?” Willow asks abruptly, just before he can start to lay on the charm a little and ask her something about herself. Maybe it’s a bit soon to start flirting, he un-puffs his chest, deflates, but smiles.

“Naw,” To Hawk: “You got kids? Show me.”

Girls love when men are good with kids.

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Holy shit. He’s totally fucking cruising right now.

Hawk hesitates briefly, more out of shock than anything. Then, because why the hell not, he follows Jun, climbing over the fence. 

          “I’m Hawk, by the way.”          He talks around his cigarette, straightening his back. The ocean breeze whips his hair into his eyes; he doesn’t bother trying to fight it.

It’s better to get the introductions out of the way now. On the off chance cock sucking is going to take place. Which it really goddamn seems like it is.

headlights  make  the  ocean  sparkle  as  a  car  drives  by  behind  them.  jun  lifts  his  head  to  the  sky  and  chuckles,  smoke  pouring  from  his  parted  lips.       “  funny  you  say  that.  my  nerd  ass  saw  tron  for  the  first  time  when  i  was  a  kid  and  has  always  wanted  one  of  those  fucking  light  cycles  ever  sense.  ”

it’s  a  gentle,  fluid  motion  that  carries  him  closer,  almost  as  if  the  wind  blew  him  down  in  hawk’s  direction.  that  smell,  the  one  he  has  come  to  understand  as  loneliness,  is  thick  like  brandy  on  this  one.  syrupy,  vanilla  oak  —  all  base,  but  missing  a  top  note.  and  there  is  something…  familiar  about  it.  maybe  familiar  about  him  in  general  —  like  they  vibrate  at  the  same  frequency,  or  whatever  the  hippies  would  say.

“  c'mon,  ”     jun  takes  a  drug  from  his  cigarette,  pulling  the  fabric  on  the  arm  of  hawk’s  jacket  —  a  small  tug  to  follow  him  before  he  lets  go  and  pushed  off  of  the  fence  and  onto  the  sand,       “  the  sand  in  the  boots  is  worth  it,  promise.  i  know  a  cool  spot  further  in  where  you  can  watch  the  ocean  and  the  cars  won’t  bother  ya.  ”

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BILLY HARGROVE in STRANGER THINGS 3 ↳ Chapter Eight: The Battle at Starcourt

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Hawk settles in, watching the two, trying to get a read on their chemistry. So far so good, he thinks. Willow gets comfortable pretty quickly—more quickly than usual, he notices, though maybe that’s because she’s already semi-familiar with Jay—and Jay himself is friendly and charming, sweet. 

Promising. Hawk smiles, hopeful. 

          “I’m always down for another drink. And Willow needs one,”          he says, nodding toward the bartender with a smile.          “Refill for me. And whatever the lady’s havin’.” 

His eyes crinkle at the corners with laughter and remain there with his lingering smile. Jay waves his delicate fingers in a fluttery greeting and takes a sip of his beer to avoid staring at the poor girl too much as she does as Hawk suggests and parks herself between them.

There’s a bit of awkward shuffling; she pushes back her stool a little to open a semi-circle for them to speak in so she doesn’t block one from the other or swivel her neck around too much when one or the other speaks. Jay observes that she likes to lock in on whoever is speaking, to watch as well as listen.

“What’d you say to that poor old lady?” Willow is teasing him. He answers, grinning.

“Told her that the banana bread she gave me the last time I came over was the best goddamn banana bread I ever had.” He grins. “And that she should open a fuckin’ bakery.”

Willow is amused, giggles, still shy but warming up by the second. He looks at Hawk and then at Willow.

“Drinks for you two?”

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Hawk fails to move in time. He barely manages to register what’s happening, still struggling with his injured leg, when a blast of cold restrains him. Another animal shriek tears out of him as he’s pierced with shards of ice. His aching, agonized body makes a futile attempt to repair itself, unable to heal while still impaled. The sensation of flesh trying and failing to knit itself back together is uncomfortable, miserable. 

Tears—both pained and frustrated—fill his eyes. He wails, the sound sharp and chilling, inhuman. And then a sob, frantic and trapped. Finally, a word, though it’s barely intelligible beneath the monstrous roaring: No. No, no, no.

Izaya, of course, is unmoved. If anything, he’s relieved, though all that noise is unpleasant. 

          “Thank you!”          He looks back at Tem, eyes swirling with something strange, manic. There’s something else there, too, flickering through his gaze as he examines her wounds—concern, with little flourishes of righteous rage. 

It is more important to get out of here than it is to get revenge. But Hawk will be hearing from him again later. He thought one little gang fight was bad? He hasn’t seen anything yet.

          “We have to go,”          Izaya says, taking Tem’s hands in his.          “You need to be tended to. I’m—”

Hawk’s despairing, dying-animal sounds are getting worse and worse. Izaya winces as another cuts through the room. Setting his jaw, he whirls around and throws another knife directly into the beast’s neck. It isn’t silver, but hopefully it’ll prove a fucking point. He turns back around, taking Tem’s hands again.

Looking into her eyes, he says the most unthinkable thing of all:          “I’m sorry. Let’s go. Now. There's a car outside.”

　　RIGID FROM HER UTTER HELPLESNESS, Tem can't even be angry with herself. There's nothing to feel besides some abstract fear, an uncanny despair that doesn't even feel real.

　　The commotion helps remind her that she's still a person. There's still something going on and she has to try, try to focus even a little bit. And yet, when Izaya approaches her, swift and urgent, she recoils, as if she's being attacked again. A pathetic whimper gets caught in her throat, but she doesn't struggle any further when he grabs her face. Frost forms where their skin touches, but the warmth of his fingertips almost burns against the iciness of hers.

　　The thing trying to kill her is on the ground beyond them, but the fear of this person is something else entirely. But then her legs are free, and her hands. It takes her a second to fully process it, static ringing in her head.

　　Her arms immediately float to the front of her body, stiff and in pain from being restrained, from the wounds on her wrists, the ripping bite marks in her shoulder. But she can move again. If he wasn't still standing in front of her, peering right into her eyes, she'd most likely have tried to run away. For now, she remains there, only moving to be seated more properly for the first time in hours.

　　Izaya doesn't quite sound like himself. It makes it a little difficult to register, but between the actual sound of his voice, the rings on his hands against her cheeks, and being close enough to his face that his features are unmistakable, it finally clicks.

　　“Oh. Izaya,”　Tem says, voice hoarse, unsteady. She breathes a small, shaky sigh of relief.　“Oh.”　Her glassy expression softens a little, life coming back into her features. A hand comes up to touch his forearm, but the movement hurts. Where is all this pain coming from? Oh, she got attacked, right...

　　Freeze him to the floor. She blinks again, the request starting to register. The beast behind him is moving; Tem stiffens, fear gripping her stomach. In contrast to the blackness of Hawk's eyes, hers have since begun to lighten, as if the color is being drained from her irises like fading hair dye.

　　That's right. He wanted to kill Izaya. Izaya, who she did't think would come. But he's here. They're fighting. She doesn't want to die. She can't let him die, either.

　　Tem pulls Izaya's hands away from her face and focuses on her kidnapper, and Hawk's movements spur her into finally acting quickly. A little too quickly, maybe; the air shimmers and there's an explosion around him, ice forming all around his body, jagged and uneven, artificial stalagmites coming up from the floor. Some of them piercing his ugly, rotting skin. Tem opens and closes her hands, rolls her wrists, her ankles, begins to relax a little more at the feeling of no longer being bound.